#the only stuff he touched upon is his trauma regarding moon

[ikamigami]

I have such a bad feeling that Sun's going to die on July 16th, it just has that vibe, and/or he learns Dazzle's secret and then dies

Yeah.. I think the same, dear anon..

I have a feeling that Sun will willingly die.. idk what will happen though..

[codyfernaesthetic]

Dichotomy

 Part 14

Summary: Mallory is searching for answers. Michael is searching for his path. They both find each other.

Author’s note: Context, context, context!!! I’ve never been more nervous about a chapter. lol. This monster might confuse you, especially if you didn’t spend hours researching the Salem Witch Trials in both history and AHS canon. This is deep cut stuff. If it’s wanted, I can answer any questions on who or what an event or person is, or whatever. It’s mostly the first part, so after you get through that you should be in the clear. Hopefully it’s explained well enough to not be confusing. I know you guys are smart, I’m just anxious about where this takes things. I want it to be interesting and evident how it’s relevant to the story. But enough rambling. Let’s find out what Michael and Mallory find out about themselves and each other! never 

Warnings: Blood, language, NSFW (Nothing explicit)

A lone woman, a refugee from her broken home, found herself weeping in a dingy motel room in the city. She was pregnant, the catalyst for her ostracization from her abusive parents. She didn’t know where to go or what to do. She’d stolen cash from her father’s wallet and run away. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant had hit the road the moment she told him, and she couldn’t afford an abortion. She’d decided to make her deathbed the ugly, stained spring mattress of the motel room. Her face was wet, her fingers trembling as she poured out a bottle of pills in her hand.

A burst of white light shot through the room. The woman screamed, dropping everything and backed up against the wall, staring as this light took on a humanoid shape.

“Do not be afraid, Agatha.”

The voice was gentle, it sounded as if it came from everywhere and nowhere at all.

“Who are you?”

The light hovered closer.

“Do not be afraid to bring forth this child.”

Agatha felt a warmth caress her belly like a hand.

“I have set aside this child for a great purpose. You shall give birth to a daughter, and upon her 18th birthday she shall become pregnant, through no will of man, but by mine. And her child shall be my chosen one, who will save this world from destruction.”

She gawked at the message, doubts and fears assailing her.

“How can I possibly take care of this child? I have nowhere to go!”

Tendrils of light spread about, “Take no care as to how you will be provided for; behold, lilies of the valley neither toil nor sow, and kings are not clothed like one of them.”

Agatha crawled closer, enraptured. She reached out her hand to touch the light, electricity buzzing on her fingers.

“All right,” she answered breathlessly, “I’ll do what you say.”

The light faded, leaving Agatha in blissful assurance that all would be well.

When she took a shower that night, she noticed a new mark on her body, like raised scar tissue.

A single star over her heart.

1692

Sarah Good was among the first to fall in the Salem Witch Trials. She was a homeless, pregnant beggar despised by the community; she was tried and imprisoned, leaving behind her husband and 4 year old daughter Dorothy, who was also taken into custody upon suspicion of witchcraft. After the 4 year old was released, the trauma she suffered left her unable to function and she spent the rest of her life as an invalid. Her mother meanwhile, gave birth in prison to her sister Mercy; but the newborn died mere hours after her birth, then Sarah was led to the gallows and hung declaring to her judge and executioner, Judge Matthers, “God will give you blood to drink.”

Heartbroken and desperate, Sarah’s husband begged the newly risen Supreme of the escaping witches to raise his daughter back to life and give her a chance to live freely. She agreed, bringing the newborn back to life. Mercy Good was given into the care of Hephzibah Green and her young daughter Jescha, and was renamed Mara, meaning bitterness. The witches escaped, leaving the horrors of Salem behind. Years passed and justice for Sarah Good was left undone…

25 years later

The town of Salem, Massachusetts lay sleeping under the pale moon, its people having put away their business for the day and said their nightly prayers for protection over their souls during the night.

All except for Judge Matthers, who sat at his desk by the candlelight working into the late hours. He stifled a yawn, dipping his quill in the ink pot.

A noise disturbed him. Something against the window. He inspected the origin of the disturbance, seeing and hearing nothing else. He had just made it back to his desk when the front door swung open with a loud bang. The old man jumped and stilled his heart, shuffling over to close the door.

“Working late into the night, Your Honor?”

He turned, startled at the new voice. A young woman in her mid twenties stood in his home, dark eyes flashing with rage.

She lifted her hand, “Detendo.”

His body was thrown against the wall, his limbs gluing to the wooden surface, paralyzed. He couldn’t make a sound.

The woman strolled toward him, “Dost thou remember a woman by the name of Sarah Good?”

His mind raced back to a gallows, a fiery, deranged woman he’d condemned as a witch.

She continued, “The woman you hung 25 years past in your self-righteousness?”

She stepped closer, “I am her daughter.”

His eyes widened in terror.

She gave him a malicious chuckle, “Aye, the one pronounced dead when you showed my mother no compassion. I hath returned from the grave to exact her prophecy upon thee. Innocent blood you spilt, but in thine own sin-cursed blood shall ye drown.”

She reached into her cloak, whispering, “Patentibus.”

His mouth opened without his consent. He started shaking.

She held up a closed fist to his face, “Behold the vengeance of Almighty God, Most Honorable Judge, and the vengeance of Mercy Good.”

She opened her hand, blowing a white powder into his mouth. He coughed violently, his body trembling harder as she waved her hand to drop him to the floor. Blood poured from every orifice, his skin turning a disgusting gray as his blood splattered all around him before he collapsed dead. She spat on his corpse and left the Judge’s home, slipping away without a trace.

_____________________

Jescha confronted her upon her return. Mara hung their clothes on the line, her adopted sister asking, “Where wast thou really?”

She didn’t look up from her work, “Repaying a life for a life.”

“Hast thou no regard for your own safety?” She scolded.

“Not since my birth hath the town known me, and even then presumed dead.”

She crossed her arms, “Thou canst not put the coven in such danger.”

She looked up at her, shrugging, “I have not. No man recognized me and I did not use my given name. All is well, justice has been done.”

She huffed, stepping beside her to help her finish her chores, “Some justice shouldst be left unto the Lord.”

Mara nodded, “‘Twas if I be His messenger.”

“Beware of pride, Mara. Lest thou think thyself too important.”

“I have thee to blame. Thou hast told me I am special.”

She smiled, “And ye are. Thou art also as stubborn as the ass of Balaam.”

She bumped her, “Aye, but the stubbornness of the ass twas the Lord’s will.”

Mara had no desire to become Supreme; she was happy to spend her days tending her garden and living in peace, despite both Jescha and Hephzibah’s insistence. She did eventually attempt The Seven Wonders at their behest, only to fail the very last.

“T’would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed,” Jescha told her after the tests as they sat by the river.

She laughed, “Should I take that as compliment or criticism?”

“Both.”

“Why?” She skipped a rock, “If I am not the Supreme, then I am not the Supreme.”

Her sister pouted, “I had such faith that ye were.”

“And why hast thou not attempted the Seven Wonders? Go and show thyself to be the Supreme.”

She balked, “If thou couldst not do it, then surely I cannot. I am merely a garden witch.”

Mara feigned offense, “Careful of thy words, I am merely a garden witch.”

She leaned her head into the crook of her neck, “No, not merely. You are among the most powerful of our coven.”

Mara patted her, “Thou art just as essential as I. Providence will grant you great things, dear Jes. I’m sure of it.”

“As I am sure of you, Mara.”

The two women continued in their happy states. Jescha eventually moving away, marrying into a rich family. Meanwhile, Mara’s descendants continued the line of powerful witches. Until a girl was born with the power of special connection to the spiritual world, claiming communication with the entity most commonly called God. This woman’s name was Agatha, who did give birth to a daughter she named Leah. And according to Agatha’s predictions, Leah did become pregnant at 18 years old, though no one ever knew who the father was. And Leah gave birth to a beautiful baby girl she named Mallory.

_____________

Mallory sat on her grandmother’s knee, listening to her story. When she got to the end, Mallory clapped gleefully, “That’s me!”

Agatha ran her fingers through her granddaughter’s hair smiling wistfully, “That’s right, Mallie. Grandma knew you would be born even before she had mama.”

“Do I have magical powers?” She wondered in awe.

Agatha cupped her face, “You have more power than anyone, Mallie. You have the blood of Salem and the heritage of divinity.”

She bit her lip excitedly, “Do you still have the star?”

“No, but you do, don’t you?”

She nodded, “Mama says it’s a birthmark.”

“It is. It’s a very special birthmark. It’s a sign that you are gonna save this world one day, Mallie.”

Leah and Mallory’s stepfather found them sitting out in the garden, dragging a pouting Mallory from Agatha to go home. Leah would always try and undo her mother’s damage, telling Mallory that her grandma was senile and delusional. But to Mallory, she was the only one who understood her, the only one who confirmed the deep sense of destiny she’d felt even as a little girl. She especially became a safe haven when Mallory turned 13 and was found levitating in her bed by her stepfather. Her parents dragged her to several priests as more powers manifested; the ability to manipulate fire, psychic visions, disappearing and reappearing, etc. They believed she was worshiping the devil or possessed by a demon. Mallory was forced to endure several painful exorcisms, her powers manifesting in the middle of them due to her emotional distress. This only fueled their fear. The worst incident was when Mallory found a dead rat in their yard, torn to shreds by a local stray cat. She brought the rat to the front porch, cradling it in her hands. Her parents screamed for her to put it down, but she only placed one hand over it, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

The rat stirred to life, its wounds completely healed, even appearing younger. It scampered off in its new life while she stared in amazement at her own power.

It was the last and worst exorcism she had before running away to live with her grandmother. When her grandmother died, she felt like she’d lost her only home.

Then, a woman named Cordelia Goode announced nationwide that she ran a school for women with exceptional powers, witches.

Mallory packed her bags and left for New Orleans.

_______________

There is no love which is not pain

There is no love which does not bruise

There is no love which does not fade

There is no love which does not live from tears...

Michael felt as if he was thrown back into his body; like he was snatched away on the cusp of discovering the final truth. He gulped in air desperately, looking around him. Mallory lay there still in a peaceful trance. She should have woken up with him.

He went to her, touching her face, “Mallory…”

She remained unresponsive.

“Mallory!”

She was still breathing, but was lost in his past, being buried beneath his darkness.

He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, lovingly laying on his black silk sheets, propping her head on a few pillows.

Hours passed...days...weeks…

“Mallory, please,” he begged everyday, “Please come back to me.”

He refused to leave the house. His food, his work, everything was ordered to be delivered to that single room. Several Cooperative members pleaded with him snap out of it; they promised to place a guard at the house, to set up a cycle of servants so he could be notified if or when she woke up. They were met with fury.

All the while she was plunged into the deep dark waters of Michael’s past. She witnessed everything, felt everything he experienced. It was enough to surely kill her.

She finally came to after nearly two months of unconsciousness. Michael was at her side immediately, caressing her sweat-soaked face. “It’s ok,” he whispered over and over again, “It’s ok, I’m here.” Her breathing calmed, her mind cleared; she looked at him, seeing beyond him. It was as if she’d journeyed through his soul, seeing every crevice, every hidden thought, surveying every molecule of his essence. It was terrifying. She saw slit throats and corpses, demonic claws sinking into his heart, endless dark. It was sorrowful; brimming with abandonment and loss, desire to change, but no one to help, a small, scared child thrust into the arms of people who only saw him as a means to an end, a tool. Bottomless loneliness and a starving for love, true, faithful love. But more than anything... It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Despite it all. She should hate him, she should want him dead. But only love flooded her heart. There was a bond between them now that their souls were bare before each other, a golden thread that weaved among their atoms, threading them together; they were darkness and light, a dichotomy, two coexisting infinities that could never be separated. She took his face in her hands, admiring every detail of his face; she touched their foreheads together, breathing him in. “You will never be alone again.” Tears sprung to his eyes, his fingers brushing over her neck. The thread tightened, pulling them closer and closer together until their lips connected. Michael groaned the moment their lips touched, ferociously pouring out every ounce of built up sorrow and desire. Emotion overflowed in both of them; tears began to fall upon their lips, and they shared them, letting go of every pretension. Michael snapped his fingers, their clothes disappearing. They became a mess of entangled limbs and passing breaths. He kissed all the way down her body, wrapping his arms around her thighs. She sighed, her skin burning with each touch of his lips. She entwined her fingers in his silken hair, threading through it assuringly. He gave a gentle bite on her stomach, earning a surprised moan. He looked up, concerned, searching to see if she was displeased. Her pulse quickened, slick heat burned between her thighs as she looked into his pleading gaze. “I’m fine,” she whispered, “That felt so good,” she pressed her lips to his forehead, “You make me feel so good, Michael.” A desperate noise left his lips as he pulled her closer, leaving more love bites on her stomach and inner thighs, relishing every utterance of praise from her. He snaked his hands under her and started to lay on his back, Golden hair spilling on the black silk. He looked up at her under heady eyes. “Take your throne,” he begged breathlessly. She bit her lip, pulling herself over him; he made quick work with his tongue, tasting her with desperate ferocity. Her legs trembled; her grip on the headboard tightening as the pleasure exploded through her body, primal moans and worship flowed from her like a hymn. Michael’s fingers gripped and dug into her flesh; the taste of her dripping on his tongue sent a jolt of need through him. Unable to bear it, he reached down and attempted to relieve some of his growing desire for release. With a heavy breath, Mallory slid herself down his body, straddling his stomach. He was taking in air like a dying man, his tongue running over his lips with little moans of pleasure. He looked up at her, eyes begging and submissive. He traced his hands over her, cupping her breasts, massaging them, treating them like sacred objects, reverently venerating her skin. He slid his fingers up to her throat, slowly curling around it gently, whispering in an uncertain tone, “Mine?” She kept her eyes on him as she took his thumb and wrapped her lips around it, biting and sucking. His other hand traced down her body to feel her wetness coating his stomach. She leaned into his touch, sighing and raking her nails across his chest. Her own need curling into thick tendrils in her core. She leaned down, giving him a passionate kiss, “Yours.” He groaned, bucking his hips, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please, Mallory,” he could barely speak, the need building within him stealing all of his words. He sat up to grip her face and pull her into a desperate, devouring kiss. “Take me,” he whined, “Please, take all of me.” She kissed him again, but he pulled back with a needy grunt, “I need you. I need to feel you surrounding me, please. Oh, please, Mallory...” the rest of his pleas were unintelligible noises of wanton hunger. She slid down further, lowering herself; he released a shaky, prolonged moan as she took him. She vocalized her pleasure with each thrust of her hips, her rhythm and speed building with her desire. Faster. Harder. Both of them riding out their pleasure, their bodies relentlessly chasing its zenith until Their release struck them like lightning. Michael couldn’t temper his volume as he screamed out her name like an irreverent prayer. Mallory could barely breathe as pleasure like bursts of light shot through her veins. They collapsed together, slick with sweat and languid. Michael, with little strength, wrapped his arms around her, planting lazy kisses on her face and neck. She clung to him like a survivor to her last hope. “Mine.” He breathed into her ear. She kissed his neck, “Mine.” They would delight in each other several more times that night, much slower and gentler. A sensation washing over them that neither of them had felt in a long time... Peace

__________

The two new lovers were wrapped up together, sleeping as they hadn’t in years. Michael’s face was buried in Mallory’s neck like it was his refuge; her legs circled his waist, hands still entangled in his hair.

A faint hum disturbed her rest. She opened her eyes to find herself staring up at a night sky, stars dotting the velvet canvas. She eased herself up, glancing around at the field where she had first met the being posing as Cordelia. Only this time, instead of the greenhouse, a large, wispy tree curled its silver branches up to the sky, gorged, white fruit with speckles of gold hung low upon it. She approached, curious at the sight.

A rustling of footsteps caught her attention. The woman stood there, still in the guise of Cordelia, staring at the tree with forlorn eyes.

“This is not how I intended this to happen,” she sounded far away, “It was all supposed to be much simpler than this.”

Mallory glared, feeling no sympathy, “Why couldn’t I bring Cordelia back?”

She sighed deeply, meeting her gaze, “You can’t cheat death forever, Mallory. Eventually it comes to claim its due.”

She stepped toward her, “You’re lying.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, “I won’t let you, that’s why.”

“Who are you?” She demanded.

The woman shook her head, pouting slightly, “I have imagined this moment for years, eager to welcome you with open arms. And now here we are, and you already hate me.”

Mallory took another confrontation step, “Who are you?”

She smiled ruefully, holding up her arms as if in defeat, “Simply...I am God.”

Mallory stared.

“I am the bringer of light and creation. I am the light from which the daughters of Salem draw their power. And you” she dared to come closer and brush the back of her fingers over Mallory’s cheek, “...are my daughter.”

“I don’t understand,” was her dumbfounded response.

“You see, Michael’s father and I,” she chuckled, “Satan as he likes to be called, he and I are a balancing scale...a dichotomy which brings the universe into order. There is good and evil, light and dark. From the very beginning of time, we have fought for balance in the universe. However, there came a point where we stopped fighting for balance, and began fighting for dominance,” her face darkened, “He decided that he wanted to tip the scales, create chaos and violence over the whole earth. And now it is time to tip the scales back again. I am tired of his malevolence and wrath, I want to create a new world. One where death and disease is an ancient memory,” her smile returned, wistful, “And I will use you Mallory. I will use you to build this new creation. You were born to rule a new earth.”

The memories of the stories her grandmother told her crashed over once again.

“I’m just a witch.”

She cupped her face, eyes widening, “No, Mallory. Oh, you are so much more. Don’t you understand? No witch has ever been able to do what you can, because you are not simply extraordinary, you are divine.”

That doesn’t explain why you refuse to let me resurrect Cordelia.

She threw her hands down, turning in a huff, “Can’t you think of anything else?!”

Storm clouds began to gather on the horizon, “I have just told you that you are the daughter of God who will bring about a new world, and you’re worried about one stupid witch. Cordelia had to die. So did every other member of the coven,” she shook her head, frustrated, “Mallory you are my daughter, but it is also true that you are a witch. If every other witch was dead then the power of Supreme would transfer to you.”

Her words from before crossed her mind, “I wasn’t the next Supreme.”

She turned away from her, “No, Coco was.”

That was a punch to the gut. A sudden flash of a vision appeared before her. Her ancestor, Mara...and her adopted sister Jescha, who faded into Coco.

Her knees trembled. The woman went on, belligerent, “She was a vapid, stupid little girl but her powers were growing and given time and attention she would have ascended after Cordelia.” She faced Mallory again, a regretful expression scrunching her face, “Michael planned to kill everyone in the Outpost, I made sure that if no one else, Coco wouldn’t survive.”

“You wanted Michael to kill the coven,” the revelation shook the ground beneath her.

She held out her hands, almost in penance, “I know you cannot understand, but what I did was for a greater plan, a greater good.  The witches had to die...Mead had to die. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Michael’s father and I knew that in order for both of our children to be put on the right path...there had to be a catalyst. Mead’s death forced Michael to the Cooperative and allowed me to ensure that you would have all the power you needed to stop him.”

Fire exploded from Mallory’s fingertips, threatening to consume the woman; but she stopped the fireball, extinguishing it.

“You killed them!” Mallory screamed.

“Me?” her shoulders sagged, hurt, “Mallory it was Michael who walked into Robicheaux’s and erased your sisters.”

“You not only watched it,” she cried through gritted teeth, “you set up the pieces for it to happen.”

She tried to touch her, holding out her arms as if to embrace her, “I know my ways are difficult to understand!” Mallory knocked her back, “Don’t!”

The woman regained her stance, watching her daughter with pleading eyes.

“You think you’re different from Michael’s father? My life, Michael’s life, all of our lives are nothing but a game to you! You didn’t care about stopping the Apocalypse, you cared about winning. You and him are the same thing with different masks.”

“I am trying to make a new world!” she screamed, thunder peeling from the distance, “I want to mend everything that Michael has broken. And the only way for me to do that is if you defeat him.”

Mallory was shaking visibly, “I won’t hurt him. I won’t.”

She scoffed, “He sheds a few tears and suddenly you think you know him? He is a curse, an ugly blot on creation that should never have taken his first breath.”

She attempted to embrace her again, “You are my chosen vessel, my beautiful shining light that will destroy darkness once and for all.”

“I don’t want whatever world you create,” she spat.

The woman grew deadly serious, her voice dropping to a low, threatening tone. The storm rolled closer and closer, “Mallory, don’t make me hurt you. This will end on a battlefield, whether you choose to go willingly or not.” Mallory turned away from her, “Go to hell.”

She opened her eyes in Michael’s bed, hearing his steady breathing beside her. She clung to him and began to cry.

He awoke with a start, looking her over and trying to comfort her, “What’s wrong?”

“I know exactly who I am. And I wish I didn’t.”

He held her tightly, fully aware of their plight. He caressed her hair, “Every light casts a shadow, Mallory.”

She sobbed, “I won’t hurt you.”

“We won’t have a choice. Prophecy-“

“Fuck prophecy,” she pulled back, “fuck their stupid games,” she kissed him, “I love you.”

He breathed in deeply, laying his forehead on hers with an expression that declared his knowledge that this bliss couldn’t last; it was never going to.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

...there is no happy love.

But it is our own love.

[isagrimorie]

[January Meme] - Which season is your favorite in regards to the 12th Doctor?

“Which season is your favourite with regards to the 12th doctor?” For @thecatwriter

Series 10!

I liked some episodes in series 8 (Deep Breath, Time Heist, Mummy On the Orient Express, Flatline) and I thought series 9 was a step up in terms of Twelve’s characterization (The Magician’s Apprentice/The Witch’s Familiar, Zygon Inversion/Invasion, Heaven Sent/Hell Bent) with the magnificent, magnificent best in class episode in Heaven Sent.

Husbands of River Song was really really fun but it’s series 10, I think where Twelve as a Doctor has coalesced into the Doctor he’s meant to be. He’s not trying too much in either direction (Am I a Good Man? / And acting like a Teenager) Twelve is finally settled in himself. The 24 years with River and the 70 years with Missy and being around humans seems to have really help calm down.

And one of the best elements of series 10 is Bill Potts and her relationship with the Doctor, it’s a shame Bill’s story gets muddled into Twelve’s ending story and Missy’s redemption arc. But before it happened Bill Potts was amazing and Pearl Mackie had such great chemistry and dynamic with Peter Capaldi. I’m forever mourning Bill is a one season Companion, I would love for Bill to meet Thirteen.

I love how Twelve was with Bill, and I love that Bill questioned Twelve about his ‘if a person has a gun to his head, you have no time to mourn’ mentality to everything. Bill truly felt like Twelve’s student and a sort of parallel to Susan.

I will always remember the touching bittersweet scene in Twice Upon a Time :

Bill: I hope we talk about it loads. I hope we spend years laughing about it. Come back alive. 

Twelve: Be here when I do.

My heart. Then, of course, there’s Missy and her arc with Twelve, who at that point of her many lives is also making more than an effort to be friend Twelve. What started was a long con turned into something that slowly started to change her, only to be set back once again by her past self (Simm!Master) and unknowingly influence her past self by killing Simm!Master the way she did: Thinking of the Doctor and among Cybermen, which would explain Missy’s Cybermen plot in series 8. Bootstrap Paradox.

Twelve himself, who has gone a long, long way from where he started from in Deep Breath to The Doctor Falls (‘Just be kind’).

Peter Capaldi’s run was such a wild ride for me: I adored his initial casting, because, CAPALDI! And then was slowly disillusioned with his mean treatment of Journey, Danny, and Courtney. I stopped for a couple of years and then learned about his character arc.

I love a great character arc, it’s like a siren song to me, so I tentatively dipped my toe in with Husbands of River Song, loved it and then dove head long into a rewatch starting from Time of the Doctor. A terrible episode send off for Matt Smith, IMO but a great set-up to Twelve’s post-war trauma and just fell in love with, deliberately skipping the episodes that made me drop the run in the first place, and circled back to them until after ‘Heaven Sent/Hell Bent’ and building up a lot of good will. The Caretaker still felt like it was a rusty steel wool scrub over my skin, adding Kill the Moon to that mix, which was really unpleasant. They wasted Hermione Norris (HOW DARE THEY) Twelve’s continuous mistreatment of Courtney (his last minute compliments to Courtney were that, last minute and an after thought), and the way he was so condescending to Clara.

The only one and great thing about Kill the Moon was Clara’s scorching tongue lashing of Twelve, finally shaking him off that high horse and his ‘she’s my carer so I don’t have to’ attitude.

Then the brilliant Death in Heaven moment between Clara and Twelve and we finally see how much Twelve truly cares for Clara, once he, again, stops being so into his head.

Series 9 had all the fantastic episodes, culminating in series 10 with Twelve’s characterization making its completed run. I just honestly love how it all comes together. There are stumbles, of course: the Lie of the Land fan bait with the regeneration. Clara, Donna, and River needed to appear and give Twelve slaps because wow, was that cruel and undeserved.

(Unfortunately, much as I love series 10, I also feel like it gave Bill the cruelest thing to happen to a Companion ever. Sure she got her happy ending, what happened to her getting there? Yeah, I can’t forgive or forget that.)

Let’s focus on the awesome stuff tho: Twelve’s character arc, Bill! Missy, and the almost TARDIS team we got with them (and Nardole). Too bad they all kind of died on the first outing. Um, Team Disaster Go?