#but nan's just a psychopath

[pharawee]

Hello Jane,

Do you have a favourite novel and/or couple in the Love Syndrome Universe?

Thank you,

What? Me? No, never!!

... It's NanMac and by a lot.

[arcielee]

How House of the Dragon’s Ewan Mitchell became TV’s most chilling villain [interview + pictures]

He played Barry Keoghan’s geeky friend in Saltburn. Now, the 27-year-old from Derby is riding dragons as Matt Smith’s terrifying nephew.

House of the Dragon, the Game of Thrones prequel series, is coming to the boil for its second-season finale, a cauldron of Targaryen civil war, court skulduggery and dragon-on-dragon dust-ups. For many, the highlight of this season has been the emergence of a beguiling new villain in Ewan Mitchell’s Prince Aemond Targaryen, who has a character arc that’s more like a zigzag. Spoilers follow.

Aemond lost his eye to the knife of his cousin, Lucerys, got airborne revenge when his dragon, Vhagar, swallowed Lucerys whole and is now on the Iron Throne as prince regent after Vhagar barbecued the king, Aemond’s despised brother Aegon, into a walking kebab. What makes the character, though, is the chilling panache with which Mitchell plays him; an impassive psychopath behind his eyepatch.

The showrunner, Ryan Condal, has said that he was at times taken aback by the Derby-born actor’s intensity. “I sometimes forget to blink,” Mitchell, 27, says with a smile. “I need to just chill out a little bit.” Not if it means losing the edge that defines Aemond, the same contained menace that fuelled Michael Corleone. It’s a Dornish-hot day in Covent Garden. Mitchell is softly spoken like Aemond, with striking blue-grey eyes, but considerably more courteous and less terrifying. His hair, which he buzz-cuts for the show to accommodate a wig, has grown to a tousled mop, dyed a Targaryen peroxide for this publicity tour.

To help him to get into character Mitchell listened to Metallica and Slipknot (“Aemond’s straight out of heavy metal”), while cinematic inspirations included Kirk Douglas’s titular swashbuckler (“with his strong chin”) in the 1958 movie The Vikings, the icily evil android played by Michael Fassbender in Prometheus and slow-walking horror villains such as Michael Myers in Halloween. “That’s the message that Aemond wants to give off: that he has you in his sights and you won’t be able to escape him,” Mitchell says. Sometimes he took it too far. In one scene he stalked into the council chamber, “and [the director] Alan Taylor said, ‘Can you speed up the walk, please?’”

His dragon’s knack of pouncing midair (“She comes up out of nowhere like Jaws”) helps Aemond’s aura, as does that eyepatch, even if it took Mitchell a while to get used to when riding horses. He often kept it on between takes, he says, “because over the course of a couple of hours you develop a headache”. That, in his world, is a good thing because it helps to suggest a “volcano that’s boiling underneath the surface”.

We are increasingly invited to compare Aemond with the show’s other compelling bad boy: his uncle Daemon, played by Matt Smith. Both are spares who believed they deserved the crown more than the heir. “Aemond is a prince who stands to inherit nothing,” Mitchell says. “He recognised, similar to Daemon, that everything he wanted to achieve he’d have to go out and get himself. Daemon and Aemond — their names are anagrams of each other and he definitely looked up to Daemon growing up.”

Similarly, Mitchell was a fan of Doctor Who as a child and Smith was his favourite Doctor. “There is a certain resemblance as well. I remember my nan saying that,” he says. Now, though, Aemond and Daemon are on opposite sides, the former fighting with the “Greens”, the latter, nominally, with Queen Rhaenyra’s “Blacks”. Two men with brutal self-confidence, a sense of grievance and prominent chins … the stage is set for a bloody confrontation, as it was in the original Game of Thrones between the brothers Sandor and Gregor Clegane. Aemond has already said he would “welcome” a chance to test himself against his uncle.

When it will happen, Mitchell can’t say. In preparation, though, he and Smith have been avoiding each other on set. That was Mitchell’s idea, but Smith and Condal agreed that it would help them to keep their grudge-match powder dry. “In the same way that Aemond keeps Daemon on that podium, I wanted to keep Matt Smith on that podium,” he says. “Our stories are very much contained and we shot in different studio spaces, so we never really brushed shoulders.”

Mitchell has also decided not to watch or read the original Game of Thrones. “I didn’t want it to influence me whether it be subconsciously or consciously,” he says, before asking me, “Which one do you prefer, House of the Dragon or Game of Thrones?” It’s hard to say until this show is over, I say, although both are equally obsessed with incest. He looks puzzled. “There was only one Targaryen in Game of Thrones, right?” Erm, not quite but I don’t want to spoil it. He smiles. “I’ll get around to watching it.”

He has certainly steeped himself in the world of House of the Dragon, which was adapted from the book Fire and Blood by the Thrones creator George RR Martin and is set more than a century before the first saga. Mitchell drew Aemond’s family tree when he got the part and can’t hide his annoyance when he briefly confuses Driftmark and High Tide, respectively an island and its castle in the show. “I’m kicking myself,” Mitchell says, which feels typical of his obsessiveness.

What is it about the Midlands that produces actors with such bristling presence? Mitchell, like Paddy Considine, who played Aemond’s father, Viserys, in the show, is a working-class son of Derbyshire and studied at the Television Workshop, an affordable, inclusive drama school in Nottingham whose other alumni include Samantha Morton, Jack O’Connell, Bella Ramsey and Vicky McClure.

“It’s just an amazing platform that champions raw talent,” Mitchell says. “I didn’t necessarily possess the means or the finances to go to drama school — no one in my family has ever done it.” His father’s side is “very much military”, he says, his grandfather having served in the SAS in Malaya and Oman after the Second World War. “He was very stoic; didn’t show much at all.” So that’s where Mitchell gets it from — his friends in Derby, where he still lives, call him “the Iceberg”. “I keep my cards quite close to my chest,” he says and he certainly does when it comes to saying if he has a partner.

After graduating he got his break in The Last Kingdom, the medieval drama series, playing Osferth, a kinsman of King Alfred. Good practice for the sword swinging, horse riding and dagger tossing to come. There was also a small role in High Life, the sci-fi-horror film starring Robert Pattinson, and a bigger one in Saltburn, Emerald Fennell’s remix of Brideshead Revisited, as Barry Keoghan’s geeky mathematician friend — one of the few non-plummy characters. “Emerald would give me something new every single take: ‘Play this one like Travis Bickle, play this one like a serial killer,’” Mitchell says.

• Before Game of Thrones — the story behind House of the Dragon

Like Robert De Niro as Bickle, Mitchell is brilliant at showing vulnerability beneath the menace. He loved shooting the scene in House of the Dragon where a smirking, pre-barbecue Aegon finds a naked Aemond in bed with the brothel worker who has become a mother figure. Aemond’s real mother is Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower (Olivia Cooke), whom he, as regent, has just ruthlessly stood down from the Small Council. “He doesn’t want anyone else to notice that he actually really loves his mum,” he says. “Once the war ends he wants to be sat on a Dornish beach with her sipping piña coladas.”

“Horror is definitely a genre I’d love to venture into at some point.”

They may not get that far, although you sometimes feel that Aemond knows how things will pan out — he accepted the regency with a cool sense of inevitability. Condal has stressed the parallels of his story with the Greek myth of the Cyclops, Mitchell says. “He traded one of his eyes to Hades so he could see the day he would die.” Recent events have tested Aemond’s prescience, though, notably Rhaenyra’s recruitment of low-born Targaryen bastards to ride dragons. In the finale “you’ll see Aemond lose that composure”, Mitchell says. “He’s gonna get desperate, and you don’t want Aemond desperate because that’s when he starts to overextend.”

What next? Mitchell won’t say how many seasons of House of the Dragon he has signed up for and we know by now that anyone can be killed off with zero fanfare. He clearly loves movies, peppering his chat with references to Inglourious Basterds, The Untouchables and the M Night Shyamalan film Split, and says he would love to work with Jodie Comer, the Safdie brothers, who made Uncut Gems, and Rose Glass, who directed Love Lies Bleeding. Oh, and “horror is definitely a genre I’d love to venture into at some point.” He would be a natural.

tagging my beloved @assortedseaglass fuck the paywall

copy pasta from The Times

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

How House of the Dragon’s Ewan Mitchell became TV’s most chilling villain

He played Barry Keoghan’s geeky friend in Saltburn. Now, the 27-year-old from Derby is riding dragons as Matt Smith’s terrifying nephew

House of the Dragon, the Game of Thrones prequel series, is coming to the boil for its second-season finale, a cauldron of Targaryen civil war, court skulduggery and dragon-on-dragon dust-ups. For many, the highlight of this season has been the emergence of a beguiling new villain in Ewan Mitchell’s Prince Aemond Targaryen, who has a character arc that’s more like a zigzag. Spoilers follow.

Aemond lost his eye to the knife of his cousin, Lucerys, got airborne revenge when his dragon, Vhagar, swallowed Lucerys whole and is now on the Iron Throne as prince regent after Vhagar barbecued the king, Aemond’s despised brother Aegon, into a walking kebab. What makes the character, though, is the chilling panache with which Mitchell plays him; an impassive psychopath behind his eyepatch.

The showrunner, Ryan Condal, has said that he was at times taken aback by the Derby-born actor’s intensity. “I sometimes forget to blink,” Mitchell, 27, says with a smile. “I need to just chill out a little bit.” Not if it means losing the edge that defines Aemond, the same contained menace that fuelled Michael Corleone. It’s a Dornish-hot day in Covent Garden. Mitchell is softly spoken like Aemond, with striking blue-grey eyes, but considerably more courteous and less terrifying. His hair, which he buzz-cuts for the show to accommodate a wig, has grown to a tousled mop, dyed a Targaryen peroxide for this publicity tour.

To help him to get into character Mitchell listened to Metallica and Slipknot (“Aemond’s straight out of heavy metal”), while cinematic inspirations included Kirk Douglas’s titular swashbuckler (“with his strong chin”) in the 1958 movie The Vikings, the icily evil android played by Michael Fassbender in Prometheus and slow-walking horror villains such as Michael Myers in Halloween. “That’s the message that Aemond wants to give off: that he has you in his sights and you won’t be able to escape him,” Mitchell says. Sometimes he took it too far. In one scene he stalked into the council chamber, “and [the director] Alan Taylor said, ‘Can you speed up the walk, please?’”

His dragon’s knack of pouncing midair (“She comes up out of nowhere like Jaws”) helps Aemond’s aura, as does that eyepatch, even if it took Mitchell a while to get used to when riding horses. He often kept it on between takes, he says, “because over the course of a couple of hours you develop a headache”. That, in his world, is a good thing because it helps to suggest a “volcano that’s boiling underneath the surface”.

We are increasingly invited to compare Aemond with the show’s other compelling bad boy: his uncle Daemon, played by Matt Smith. Both are spares who believed they deserved the crown more than the heir. “Aemond is a prince who stands to inherit nothing,” Mitchell says. “He recognised, similar to Daemon, that everything he wanted to achieve he’d have to go out and get himself. Daemon and Aemond — their names are anagrams of each other and he definitely looked up to Daemon growing up.”

Similarly, Mitchell was a fan of Doctor Who as a child and Smith was his favourite Doctor. “There is a certain resemblance as well. I remember my nan saying that,” he says. Now, though, Aemond and Daemon are on opposite sides, the former fighting with the “Greens”, the latter, nominally, with Queen Rhaenyra’s “Blacks”. Two men with brutal self-confidence, a sense of grievance and prominent chins … the stage is set for a bloody confrontation, as it was in the original Game of Thrones between the brothers Sandor and Gregor Clegane. Aemond has already said he would “welcome” a chance to test himself against his uncle.

When it will happen, Mitchell can’t say. In preparation, though, he and Smith have been avoiding each other on set. That was Mitchell’s idea, but Smith and Condal agreed that it would help them to keep their grudge-match powder dry. “In the same way that Aemond keeps Daemon on that podium, I wanted to keep Matt Smith on that podium,” he says. “Our stories are very much contained and we shot in different studio spaces, so we never really brushed shoulders.”

Mitchell has also decided not to watch or read the original Game of Thrones. “I didn’t want it to influence me whether it be subconsciously or consciously,” he says, before asking me, “Which one do you prefer, House of the Dragon or Game of Thrones?” It’s hard to say until this show is over, I say, although both are equally obsessed with incest. He looks puzzled. “There was only one Targaryen in Game of Thrones, right?” Erm, not quite but I don’t want to spoil it. He smiles. “I’ll get around to watching it.”

He has certainly steeped himself in the world of House of the Dragon, which was adapted from the book Fire and Blood by the Thrones creator George RR Martin and is set more than a century before the first saga. Mitchell drew Aemond’s family tree when he got the part and can’t hide his annoyance when he briefly confuses Driftmark and High Tide, respectively an island and its castle in the show. “I’m kicking myself,” Mitchell says, which feels typical of his obsessiveness.

What is it about the Midlands that produces actors with such bristling presence? Mitchell, like Paddy Considine, who played Aemond’s father, Viserys, in the show, is a working-class son of Derbyshire and studied at the Television Workshop, an affordable, inclusive drama school in Nottingham whose other alumni include Samantha Morton, Jack O’Connell, Bella Ramsey and Vicky McClure.

It’s just an amazing platform that champions raw talent,” Mitchell says. “I didn’t necessarily possess the means or the finances to go to drama school — no one in my family has ever done it.” His father’s side is “very much military”, he says, his grandfather having served in the SAS in Malaya and Oman after the Second World War. “He was very stoic; didn’t show much at all.” So that’s where Mitchell gets it from — his friends in Derby, where he still lives, call him “the Iceberg”. “I keep my cards quite close to my chest,” he says and he certainly does when it comes to saying if he has a partner.

After graduating he got his break in The Last Kingdom, the medieval drama series, playing Osferth, a kinsman of King Alfred. Good practice for the sword swinging, horse riding and dagger tossing to come. There was also a small role in High Life, the sci-fi-horror film starring Robert Pattinson, and a bigger one in Saltburn, Emerald Fennell’s remix of Brideshead Revisited, as Barry Keoghan’s geeky mathematician friend — one of the few non-plummy characters. “Emerald would give me something new every single take: ‘Play this one like Travis Bickle, play this one like a serial killer,’” Mitchell says.

Like Robert De Niro as Bickle, Mitchell is brilliant at showing vulnerability beneath the menace. He loved shooting the scene in House of the Dragon where a smirking, pre-barbecue Aegon finds a naked Aemond in bed with the brothel worker who has become a mother figure. Aemond’s real mother is Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower (Olivia Cooke), whom he, as regent, has just ruthlessly stood down from the Small Council. “He doesn’t want anyone else to notice that he actually really loves his mum,” he says. “Once the war ends he wants to be sat on a Dornish beach with her sipping piña coladas.”

They may not get that far, although you sometimes feel that Aemond knows how things will pan out — he accepted the regency with a cool sense of inevitability. Condal has stressed the parallels of his story with the Greek myth of the Cyclops, Mitchell says. “He traded one of his eyes to Hades so he could see the day he would die.” Recent events have tested Aemond’s prescience, though, notably Rhaenyra’s recruitment of low-born Targaryen bastards to ride dragons. In the finale “you’ll see Aemond lose that composure”, Mitchell says. “He’s gonna get desperate, and you don’t want Aemond desperate because that’s when he starts to overextend.”

What next? Mitchell won’t say how many seasons of House of the Dragon he has signed up for and we know by now that anyone can be killed off with zero fanfare. He clearly loves movies, peppering his chat with references to Inglourious Basterds, The Untouchables and the M Night Shyamalan film Split, and says he would love to work with Jodie Comer, the Safdie brothers, who made Uncut Gems, and Rose Glass, who directed Love Lies Bleeding. Oh, and “horror is definitely a genre I’d love to venture into at some point.” He would be a natural.

[vivianbernadetteaurora]

Observations astrology

I don’t know what it is about Pisces film females but they have the most beautiful area of their face which consists of their lips cheeks and mouth where it’s very flashy like that is the only way I can describe it but it’s really beautiful like their mouth, face and mouth and head almost like oval shaped And like really juicy look kind of like Taurus but in a different kind of way that’s the only way I can explain it? Like I say rising like little baby little chubby like Megan Thee Stallion like chubby lips and that and cute little lips and yeah just suck kind

Aries and not that bad they fallen in love with you. I think they could be really faithful and they get a lot of slack but I don’t think that’s why and that’s coming from somebody who went out with an Aries who essayed me.

Pisces men with a lot of Aries in their chart gives psychopathic energy. I was with this man for five years you had this and I was absolutely obsessed with him. He brought out the best in me. He made me feel like never ever man before after he has diagnosed ASD.

Man will literally go out and say that flirting with someone and saying how beautiful someone else’s so I don’t think they ever really get into someone to that degree because there’s always other options plenty more fish in the sea

Sagittarius women, I find with Scorpio placements very terrifying and very aloof but dark at the same time and they can come across is really scary and really but almost like a bully but do not give the same energy, the man don’t give us the same energy maybe they do to other men, but obviously I don’t know cause I’m not a man obviously.

I wish I knew more Capricorns because they seem chill and loyal, but I just don’t seem to have them come into my life

people who have a ascendant Libra, relationships are very very young age and could be married a couple of times or could’ve got married very young and you know why this is it is literally because they’re seventh house? 🏡 Aries house seventh Aries usually the 1st to do something the first person who won survivor was an Aries, because Aries do seem to do things very young e.g. for example losing their virginity they often of♈️ very young, age relationships, and like I said marrying young, maybe even a loping and secret

Maybe a shotgun wedding,

Example of this my Nan, who is a libra rising and a lot of Aries  in the charts in the seventh house r, so it has the air of Libra more to it not getting married very young, because everything in that seventh house 🏠 Aries. ♈️ end up doing things at the youngest, because they are the baby of the zodiac . they will either get married young, a shotgun wedding, they might lose their virginity young, my sister who is Aries 🌞, they might start doing drugs young like my ex-boyfriend who was at Mars and Venus in Aries he started smoking weed at like eight.

Or to give you another example of a libra rising my Nan, who is an Aries son so her son moon and mercury sitting in the seventh house, pregnant 15 and had to get married that’s what happened back then she was a catholic and Irish, and she married this alcoholic piece of shit sorry my grandad, who treated my dad and the rest of his siblings like shit, this is just an example of what happens if you are a libra rising, like I said it’s not always the case, I look at Anna Nicole Smith she married young but she married a very older man, Beyoncé is surprisingly a Libra rising, and met Jay-Z when she was very young.

People with there mars in Gemini ♊️ live wires, they also have the extremely restless ADHD energy. They can’t sit still for five minutes. I have to always be doing, unless they have other aspects that tone is down, but most of them have this going on until some degree

[luminewhosthat]

I think we do not talk enough about how the hell ALICE HAWTHORNE IS STILL ALIVE LIKE ?!?! Isn't she dead ? Wasn't there a funeral for her ? Did she run away? I'm sorry but I totally forgot about that chapter where Jamie found out about Alice being alive. Why is she still alive ? So it is true that Tobias Hawthorne was a psychopath? Or was he just a rich billionaire man kidnapping a poor girl and nan married her off for money 🤑💰 ? I have so many questions bruh, what is her role in tgg ? Why do Nan think she's dead ? Was Alice abused ? Please please guys feed me with y'all's theories 🙏🙏🙏

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Laws of Attraction ep 2

I've waited with bated breath all day for this and it was finally available at 20:00 on iqiyi (with a vpn via a google search). I've watched Be My Favourite, My Ride, and Wedding Plan today so this is going to be a whole different vibe 😂

I love my feral unhinged gremlin. I can't wait to see what he does this ep.

How does Tin have no bruises on his body?

(I just can't stop seeing evil!Nanon in Film/Charn...smh...oh god I love him so much though)

(I just love these two actors together. This is might just push me to watch To Sir with Love/Khun Chai sooner rather than later)

Curious. Why would there be something at Tin's home related to Tonthai?

Me thinks the bodyguard has a conscience and will turn on Tonthai/his father eventually.

At least the bruises actually look convincing on these two as opposed to any other bl.

I love the dramatic music.

A green phone case!...is Tin green, I wonder? A green screwdriver...green in the scene of the grandma leaving in the taxi...this needs looking into...

They don't really know how to end a climactic scene. That fight -, first with Nan (I love her spirit!), then Tin, then with Chan, and Tin again - it was all so great! And then...it just stopped and switched scenes and the music just went flat. Anti-climactic.

Also, I'm certain that it's not Charn's favourite shirt...it doesn't have enough frill or flounce to it.

So Tonthai is more brutal and heartless than he was made out to be last ep. Aaaaaand I wonder where he gets it from (the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all).

I wonder where the mother is 🤔

Oh! It's Tian's (atots) room, right?

Yep, Tonthai's a psychopath...or masking his true feelings because he's so disturbed from his upbringing and life...?

Ok, with this romantic music I can see how people are shipping him and the bodyguard.

It's a bit bright in this bar.

Yas! ORGAN!! And SILVY!

Oh, the subs look better this week, they got niece right, so maybe it is Charn and not Chan.

I forgot Charn has a sad, angsty past. I'm glad for the reminder, now I wonder when we'll find out more.

Oh, ohhhhhh, Tin/the family has a food stall. That's why they have so many plates, and that's what the furniture outside on the street is all about.

Right, so I think Charn is blue - which Tin is wearing in the police station - but Tin is green - Charn comes in wearing his blue but with green poking out of his left chest pocket over his heart (and not for the first time). Ahhhhh, I love colour-coding. (I think red is connected to the law and either the persona Charn has to put on as the ruthless lawyer or the person he was before he became jaded...time will tell.)

The mystery deepens. So I think I was right that the ring is to do with a parent - Charn's mother, it seems, and being blindfolded in the woods may be a flashback connected to it.

Yep. Still enjoying it. Still hooked.

[apanthropypeach]

TF- 141 Tea and Coffee HCs

Had to write this myself because so many non brits just assuming everyone drinks only green tea or earl grey was sending me to oblivion lmao.

Ghost

Milk and one sugar

Not usually fussed about brand but will absolutely refuse to drink PG Tips

(the monkey gives him the ick)

Doesn’t have a preference for what cup he has it in while on base

But while at home, Soap bought him a Scotland Rugby cup as a joke and it’s his favourite

Doesn’t mind drinking coffee but it’s usually just instant no milk no sugar

Price

Milk and no sugar

Prefers Tetley

Refuses to touch Yorkshire Tea. no elaborations.

Has a “world’s best dad” mug that Soap bought him from gaz as a joke (poor gaz had no idea) that he exclusively uses now.

Used to have one that Soap had drawn little doodles on but the pictures started washing off so now he uses that one as a pen holder.

At home this man goes full coffee nut.

Catch him in the kitchen at 4 am weighing his beans out and using a thermometer to check the water temperature so he can get the perfect brew.

Has the swan neck kettle and everything.

Soap

Milk and three sugars

This absolute psychopath swears he can’t taste the difference between brands so will drink literally anything.

Three sugars might seem quite sweet but soap exclusively drinks his tea out of a Sports Direct mug so it kind of balances out.

Sometimes gets a ribbing from Ghost and Price about how much milk he has in his tea, but doesnt get it anywhere near as bad as Gaz

Doesn’t like coffee, will absolutely rail a hot chocolate though

Gaz

Milk and one sugar

Will only drink Twinings English Breakfast.

Is literally the most insufferable about his preference.

Has his tea so milky it's lukewarm.

Gets SO MUCH shit for it.

Doesn’t have a preferred vessel of choice,

Does enjoy a nice quality instant coffee but lets be real Gaz is a Costa Girlie through and through.

Bonus HC’S:

Upon arriving at base and finding out their HQ would only have a zip tap, Price immediately expensed a decent water filter and a kettle.

The filter was Soaps idea cause the tea at his nans was fucking elite because the water there was so soft.

Ghost will occasionally have a cup of earl grey at night while he's reading in bed or finishing up reports. Helps him relax and he knows no one else (except maybe Gaz) is going to touch the stuff.

There are constant arguments about the best biscuits for dunking.

Ghost once mashed and then put the hot spoon on the back of Soaps arm, there's still a mark to this day and Soap constantly holds it against him

As a joke, the gang bought Gaz a tea set one Christmas, but it's somehow become a weekly ritual to sit down and use the set to have a cuppa while catching up about non-work related stuff.

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Bought some Polo mints today like some sort of psychopath who actually plans their breath freshness instead of just hoping for the best. Proper random craving that.

Did some digging about these little rings of death because apparently this is what I do with my time now. They're called Life Savers in America which makes perfect sense because they look like tiny flotation devices for hamsters. But Polo? What absolute cock-womble came up with that?

Turns out Rowntree's nicked the idea after their war-time license to make Life Savers fucked off. Named them Polo because of 'polar' - you know, like fresh and cool and minty. Load of bollocks. Nothing polar about them except maybe how far apart their marketing team's brain cells were. Adding "people who name sweets" to things that give me the ick, right between "cunts who whistle in public" and "anyone who says 'circle back' in meetings."

Here's the proper dark bit though: these holey bastards were invented because kids kept choking to death on solid sweets. Some genius went "Right then, let's put a breathing hole in it!" Like that's the solution to everything.

Imagine being the bloke who had to pitch that. "Listen up, lads. Kids are dying. But what if... and hear me out... what if we just put a hole in it?" Probably got promoted. Adding him to my ick list too, right under "people who think holes solve everything."

Now I'm sat here eating these minty little nooses, contemplating how many lives they've potentially saved. Or maybe they've killed more people. Maybe that's the real reason they're called Polo - because they're playing polo with our lives. Though if I'm going to be murdered by a sweet, I'd rather it be something more dignified. Like a Werther's Original. At least then I'd die like someone's nan.

Wonder if anyone's ever tried to use one as an actual life preserver. Probably. People are proper thick sometimes. Like that bloke in Marketing who thinks comic sans is "friendly." He's on the ick list too. Several times.

Going to finish this pack now while I think about all the other things that could be improved with strategic holes. Like meetings. And people who talk during films.

[dearmaternals]

This is an open letter to my family on my mother's side. I'd like to assure you that my purpose of writing this isn't to make anyone choose sides or turn anyone against her - You're all adults and can make your own decisions and judgements and unlike someone we all know, I don't feel the need to try and control other people's views or actions. I know by sharing this with you, it'll probably get back to her and that's okay - I've written the truth here and there's nothing in it that I'm ashamed of or scared that she'll react to.

My aim in writing this is to be open, honest and to offer up a side to the story that you probably haven't heard before. I have no doubt that you have heard various versions of mine and my mother's relationship that paints me as some kind of villain with her as the victim and completely blameless. I'm not here to slate her, I just want to share the truth with you so that you can make up your own minds.

The truth is, my mother is responsible for a lot of abuse and pain caused to both myself and Pàl. Some of this has been indirect, through neglect, enabling and putting us in vulnerable positions but the majority has been direct, intentional and borderline psychopathic.

From the age of 4 until the age of 7, she would leave us with one of her friends from work who would beat, humiliate and torture both myself and Pàl. She insists that she either didn't know about this or that she was also a victim - What she won't tell you is that she hit us too and joined in on the sadistic 'punishments' doled out to us. I am haunted by the image of her lifting Pàl at least 3 feet off the ground by his ear lobes. I would get horrendous beatings and she would rub ointment into my swollen, bruised face and tell me it was all my own fault. Myself and Pàl are the real victims and the only reason it stopped was because Nan found our bruises and forced my mother to move us out of the area for our own safety.

We moved to Bolton and mother dearest swore us to secrecy about what had happened to make us move into the area, using crocodile tears and emotional manipulation to keep us quiet.

When I was 10, she met a new man whilst working at the chippy - After knowing him for a few weeks, she let him babysit us at his house while she was at work - This was the first time that he sexually abused me, while I was in my primary school uniform. He continued to abuse me for the next 4 years, often this would be in the bedroom next to my mum's while she slept but he would also take me swimming and abuse me there. The signs were there; I withdrew to my room, I would often barricade my bedroom door to stop him coming in and I even asked my mother repeatedly if I could have a lock on my bedroom door and she was never concerned with the reasons why.

In fact, that's how I've experienced my mother, as long as I'm adhering to her standards - she doesn't seem to care about me at all. If I'm not following her rules, then all hell will break loose. A good example of this is when I was in year 8, she decided that I was old enough to bath myself (which I agreed) however, she refused to help me with my recurring problem with lice. Having so much hair made it impossible to complete this myself and every time I would ask her to help, she would refuse. I was horrendously bullied because I got to a point where I couldn't manage and often had nits falling out of my head whilst in school. Even then, she didn't intervene, I was doing as I was told and therefore it was no longer her issue. I would spend so long in the bath trying to get rid of the lice that the bath would be ice cold, I'd be in tears and still, wasn't her issue.

Once her marriage with my stepdad, my abuser, broke down - she would disappear for weeks at a time, leaving me to fend for myself. I often had to beg her to come home to either drop off food, or money so that I could do a food shop and get gas/electric on the meter. This was a theme right up until she kicked me out in 2013 - As I was building my life outside of the house and would often be out of the house, I became the bad guy. I had dropped out of uni after a suicide attempt and could no longer afford to give her a hefty percentage of my student loan, which, along with me speaking to mental health professionals about my life, spending as much time out of the house as I could and attempting to build a relationship with my dad, caused some friction.

If you've spoken to her about this, she will probably have said that I wasn't kicked out but instead I chose to leave - I mean, she did offer me a choice but it wasn't a reasonable one. The choice was to transfer every penny in my bank account to her, to stop going to get mental health support, to stop speaking to and seeing my friends and agree to just stay in the house and look after the dogs OR, and these are her words, "get the fuck out of my house". If that seems like a legitimate choice and not coercion, control and abuse then I don't know what to tell you.

When things are good, i.e. she can get something out of the relationship with you, then she will be the nicest person you could meet. But, if for whatever reason, she takes a disliking to you then she can turn very nasty very quickly. A great example of this is when Pàl was getting back on his feet after being kicked out at 17, he had just been paid his benefits and was sharing a flat with quite a few people - Mainly sleeping on the floor. My mum used me by promising me an iPod that I'd been asking for for years to get me to access his online banking and empty it all into her bank account, leaving him penniless so that he had no choice but to come back home and continue to be abused.

I got back in contact with my mum after Nan died, probably because I was grieving and felt a massive disconnect from that side of the family. She saw that vulnerability and wormed her way back in, I would visit her often and I would see the way she treated Pàl - Ordering him around and treating him like shit, all the while she would play Mum of the Year with me to get herself back in my good graces. However, behind my back, she was telling people that I can't be trusted as she believed that I lied about the sexual abuse from my stepdad and she was continuing a friendship with him and escorting him to health appointments. It was in 2016 that I last spoke to her properly, this is when my stepdad died and she told me that they had been friends because "no-one deserves to die alone" - even if they molest and rape your daughter right under your nose, it seems!

Since then, she has reached out to me via text at random and I've consistently shut her down. What I've written here is just a preview of the myriad of reasons why I refuse to have a relationship with such a harmful person and I hope it has shed some light on things for you. As I said at the start, I'm not trying to make anyone choose sides or turn you against her - I just thought you deserved to hear the truth, direct from me.

Not having contact with her, for some reason, seems to equate to not having a relationship with any of you which feels unfair. I personally have avoided it, simply because I am aware that at least some of you speak to her and offering you access to my life, by extension, could offer her some access. I simply keep my distance to deny her even a single shred of access to me that she feels is owed to her, but within that distance I deny myself my family and part of who I am which causes me a great deal of inner conflict and sadness - Feelings that I tolerate because a potential alternative where she has any aspect of control over me is completely unacceptable to me.

Anyway, I've rambled on for long enough - If you've got to the end, treat yourself to a brew and a peeled grape!

[tobiramamonmari29]

Tajima point of view:

I never really liked sports, or even classes, in fact I rather hate school. And strangely, I found myself after class again in this place that I hated so much. but there's a logical reason I did this, it wasn't for yet another hour of glue. Nah it was for a boy, yeah I'm the horny little high school girl in the shojo who crushes on a member of the basketball team. almost too good of a romance, I know, but you know who doesn't know? It's Butsuma Senju, he's in his last year and what he doesn't know is that I've been in a crush on him for 2 years. We are friends, let's say where my presence comes from, even if we weren't, I was never far to tell the truth.

To say that I stay to contemplate my crush is a bit strong, I had never done it before for my old crushes. Nan Butsuma doesn't know it yet but we are soul mates, that's obvious. It's obvious, in all the dreams and scenarios I do to sleep tall that we are.

suddenly I find myself badly sitting on a bleacher watching idiots running with an orange ball in their hands a whole field. I don't know anything about basketball, and I don't intend to make an effort to understand. all i see is butsuma running with the help of his super muscular calves and when he puts the ball in the basket his tee shirt shows off a gorgeous caramel toned chest.

I have no idea who won, I only shout when it's my senju, I mean senju scores. the others are streetlights in my eyes, so much so that I didn't bother to remember their names.

while I fantasized about the senju's tight and sweaty complementing tee, which showed more than enough but still not enough for me, that I hadn't noticed that the match was in its last innings. And I still haven't figured out who won, way Butsuma will tell me.

I started to look at the face of the Senju, I forgot to say it was the captain of the team. So it's very sexy to see him shouted at people. Just his angry face is like being whipped, not everyone likes it, but he loved it.

the match was over, I didn't take a second longer to stay in the stands. As much as my ass is fucked, I prefer it to be Butsuma. My god I was badly seated, it's stiff as a picket that I heard the other man against a wall.

butsuma didn't take long knowing that I must surely be waiting for him like a big psychopath. It was with a sigh that he greeted me the asshole, the worst part is that I love it. Something must surely be wrong with me, who likes his crush to sigh on him?

butsuma: Tajima, I'm sure you didn't understand anything? I growl at his question as he chuckles. We won.

Tajima: Is it thanks to this shot from afar?

Butsuma: Yeah thanks to my three point.

Tajima: It was a nice shot.

Butsuma: Thank you very much.

I just held her, because I had the right to see her pelvis, and her blue boxers, and the beginning of her magnificent chocolate bars, if I don't care.

Butsuma: you know Tajima, if you had been a basketball I would never have made the pass.

Tajima: what? But why is that? I thought it was forbidden to keep it too long.

Butsuma: I know, it's just that I always want you near me.

Tajima: Shit, it was so bad and hot at the same time I don't know what was going on.

butsuma: do you want to meet tomorrow after my basketball training?

Tajima: Damn, I want this.

Butsuma: Cool.

Tajima: as you say.

End.

[jawllines]

So when he rolled up to the nurse’s station at 6PM just before she gave report to night shift, a stolen pudding cup in hand and cheeks rosy from the cold chill of Gibby’s hospital room. Harry grins at her, “Let me drive you to my place, yeah? I’m making dinner tonight.” 

Her brows raise, a smile teases her mouth as she finishes writing down a cheat sheet for each room that she can give to the nurse coming in (she’s a bit new, and doesn’t know the flow of the floor very well yet, so Y/N tries to help when she can) “Yeah? Didn’t know you could cook.”

A gasp leaves him, “Oi, of course I can cook! I could make a Sunday roast that would put any Nan on the block to shame.” 

or

Y/N gets everything she’s ever wanted (Harry does too) 

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

vii.

“Holy fuck.” 

Y/N had been equal parts nervous and excited when Harry invited her to his flat, a mere four days after they returned from Sweden. In all their time together, and in what they had gone through in the past few months, Y/N had not even so much as been extended the offer to go to his flat, let alone actually be privy to it. To no fault of his own -- Y/N reckons that the last thing on his mind was a tour of his home when someone was threatening to rob their company blind and murder his boss -- but that never meant she wasn’t curious. 

She was excited because she thrived off visiting people’s places for the first time and learning what their decorating techniques consisted of. Ever since they’d started chatting past the nurse/family relationship, Y/N had been intrigued to know what his place looked like, and would even theorize about it sometimes if she had a moment to spare. Harry had very offhandedly mentioned that he had a Tanuki statue stationed to the right of his door as soon as you walked in, and Y/N (who also had a Tanuki statue) had her interest piqued immediately. Did she and Harry have similar decorating styles or just equivalent odd taste in staple items? Was that his only piece of decoration? 

Some boys she considered complete psychopaths and had barren walls besides maybe a flag or a singular sports poster -- that’s why she’s nervous. Hell, she’d love him all the same if he was repping a Manchester football poster but visiting his flat would be a bit of a struggle.  

So when he rolled up to the nurse’s station at 6PM just before she gave report to night shift, a stolen pudding cup in hand and cheeks rosy from the cold chill of Gibby’s hospital room. Harry grins at her, “Let me drive you to my place, yeah? I’m making dinner tonight.” 

Her brows raise, a smile teases her mouth as she finishes writing down a cheat sheet for each room that she can give to the nurse coming in (she’s a bit new, and doesn’t know the flow of the floor very well yet, so Y/N tries to help when she can) “Yeah? Didn’t know you could cook.”

A gasp leaves him, “Oi, of course I can cook! I could make a Sunday roast that would put any Nan on the block to shame.” 

“Better watch your mouth, Miss. Gregory has a keen sense of hearing and would beg to differ.” She clicks her pen shut, looking up to where he was leaning against the counter, “I’ll let you drive me, yeah, but can we stop by my place so I can grab Ubbe and a change of clothes? Reckon you don’t want the scent of hospital clouding your flat.” 

‘Yes we can stop to grab Ubbe, no you may not grab any clothes. Want you in mine.” 

Y/N pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, fixing a response for him in her head but Johnathan just about trips over himself with a convenience store cappuccino and a reusable grocery bag with his lunch, “I’m so sorry m’late, my bloody dog decided he was going to wee on my scrubs.” 

“Well, I hope you changed out of them.” Harry notes and Y/N snorts, rolling her eyes before she rolls her chair over to him and starts her shift report. 

Things had been calm since they returned from Sweden. Or as calm as they can be post-kidnapping, attempted murder, gang fiasco they had encountered there. When Y/N saw Gibson after it had happened, he pulled her into his body closely and squeezed her tight enough that she had a bit of trouble breathing. Y/N couldn’t lie, she was immensely happy to see him, and despite what she had learned about his relationship between him and his son, she let herself enjoy the cuddle.  Even the kiss that he pushed to her temple, before holding tight on her shoulders, “I am not a man who fears many things,” he had started slowly, “Nor am I a man who cares about many things, but you -- I care about you,” he cradles her cheeks in his palms, patting it gently, “I’m glad you’re safe.” 

Gibson -- just as Harry -- had a knack for making her feel like a very important addition to their lives. He was relieved to know that she would be his main nurse for the day, and Y/N it’s so he could keep an eye on her. She couldn’t fault him for it though because she beckons Harry around so that she can keep an eye on him. Niall doesn’t think anything is out of the ordinary regarding it, since they usually traveled in something short of a pack. The only reference to the night before that he made (other than asking about her hand, which she had promptly explained that she drunkenly broke a vase and tried to clean it up with her hands) was squeezing her shoulders and uttering, “Champagne turns you into a lightweight, ey? Harry treat you right?” Harry smiled a bit to himself and Y/N cleared her throat, tucking the hair behind her ear. 

“Tucked me in, got me water, nursed my hangover, the whole nine.” 

Niall patted Harry on the shoulder, “Nice then, mate. Hear one thing about you hurtin’ her and I’ll have to do ya in.”

Harry pouted, “What’s with all the threats my way?”

The night before had felt surreal; a bad, hyper-realistic dream that stuck with her like syrup to a plate. There wasn’t much on the agenda for them since the wedding had passed so they all kind of lingered in Niall and Gibson’s room. They ordered room service, rented a horror film (Gibson was something short of a horror buff, it turned out), and relaxed for the first time in a very long time. It felt like everyone had collectively let out a sigh (apart from Niall, who remained blissfully unaware and fast asleep most of the day). 

Harry allowed the others to love upon her for a majority of the time they spent in Gibson’s room. She alternated from being close to where Gibson sat, to leaning against Mickey, and hell she even hung out with Niall a bit when he bothered to wake up. The only bits alone they had together were when she would take Ubbe out for a wee, which normally Mickey might want to accompany her during, but Harry was insistent that he be the one. Had practically pushed her over attempting to get up before Mickey could even think to say that he wanted to go, which he later apologized for. 

“I just. . .it won’t be like this for long, but I just -- I wanna be near you, y’know?” 

She did know -- because she didn’t want him out of her sight. The few moments that she had to spend, leaving him behind with someone who would ( did) harm him given the chance -- she couldn’t stand it. Could have crawled out of her skin even -- and she knows he must have felt the same, if not worse. Y/N was even more thankful now than ever that they were sharing a hotel room. 

Because by the end of the night, when Y/N gave Gibson his nighttime meds, tucked Niall in, and pecked a kiss to Mickey’s scruffy cheek -- they got to flee together. Popped open the door to their room, Ubbe ran in first and beat them to the bed, and Harry suggested a cheeky shower together which -- well, Y/N said if he didn’t mind her in a shower cap (she couldn’t be arsed to wash her hair) then they could go right ahead and do it. 

So they did, and Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever been this close with someone before. She helps him tie a plastic baggy over his thigh so that the bandage didn’t get wet before she changed it, and in turn, he helped her tie her own around her hand, “It’s good that I’m here, hm? How else would you clean this arm if you didn’t have me?” 

“Niall is dexterous enough.” She teased him. 

“I can assure you that I’m far more adept with my fingers than Niall.” 

Nothing but bare, smooth skin that their hungry eyes drink each other in. Harry had a lot of tattoos and she can’t help but outline them with her gaze, though she does attempt not to let them wander too far downward -- she would feel bad to stare at his bits, even if he was getting a good look at hers. She did take a whack at his peachy bottom when he leaned over to turn the shower on, and he squeaked, putting his hand over it palm outward, “Aish, that hurt!” Y/N went for him again, a little harder on the other cheek until he straightened out and pivoted, looking at her with furrowed brows, “I’ll spank your bum, see how you like it.” 

(Y/N reckons she would like it.) 

The shower had been good; it was hot, steamy, and they hadn’t even done anything sexual. They just enjoyed one another, soaked in the hot pelts of water against their skin as they both took turns with who was in the direct line of the water. Harry cleaned her, sudsed her up with strawberry-scented soap, and made her all bubbly before nudging her back into the water. He sang obnoxiously loud, ticked her when he could, and he did get her back with a few swats on her wet bum, leaving a resounding smack that bounced off the walls in an echo. She had fun, and when he bent down to slide their lips together for an innocent little peck, she was over the moon. 

It was just good to be with him, and she was happy that her feelings were finally able to be expressed. And he had almost immediately quelled her worries when she thought that maybe this was just a Sweden thing -- maybe they would go home, Harry would not feel the need to be around her constantly since the initial threat had been dealt with and he could go on about his normal life. When she really thought about it, she was sort of just a wrench in his normal plans -- an unnecessary addition and disruption, having accidentally gotten involved in their whole scenario. 

But almost as soon as they landed, an hour or two after they had all parted ways to unpack and destress, Harry rang her phone and when she answered she got a, “I don’t think m’quite ready to not be around you 24/7 -- can I come over?” 

With a grin that threatened to split her cheeks, she told him to hurry up. 

While things were calm now, Y/N still strayed from going out too late at night or lollygagging when she went on her walks with Ubbe. She’s cautious still, of course, but it doesn’t feel like she has to keep looking over her shoulder. They were still taking care of some things, tying off the problem with a nice, neat little bow, and figuring out the semantics of what Elias had left behind with the people he’d hired. From what she understood they were paying them off with a suitable amount to make sure whatever they had discovered or heard wouldn’t be discussed, along with the looming threat that they had actually kidnapped her, and they shouldn’t be a problem any longer. Especially given the fact that they had no emotional ties to the whole situation. 

There were still a few questions she might have and confusion on some parts of what happened, but Harry opens up and explains it to her if she asks him anything.

And now she was outside his flat, after climbing seven flights of steps with an ecstatic Ubbe who was beside himself with the new smells. It was a nice area -- a rich one, at that -- the kind of place that she would press her nose up against the window glass as they pass, before looking it up later and realizing that it’s a month’s salary for rent alone. The outer exterior was all sleek and white, about a thousand windows that decorated the building and peered into the lives of the residents. There were balconies as well, each flat had one and from where she could see when they were driving around it toward the parking garage, they were evenly spaced far apart from each other. Which she reasoned that they would be decently large on the inside. 

They could have taken the elevator but Y/N felt too guilty to drag Ubbe in when there was an older woman and her friends stepping in, so they took the stairs.  When Y/N had suggested it she hadn’t known he was on the seventh fucking floor, but she trudged up and huffed every time he giggled and teased her, even though he huffed and puffed himself. 

He was quick with his keys, the slide of the teeth into the lock was smooth and clicked in a fluid motion that she envied (she had to jiggle and jangle her own), but he paused before he twisted the knob, and turned toward her, “Listen -- this is. . .new for me. I don’t invite people over ever . . .not even like hookups or anything, so other than the movers and the occasional Mitch  -- nobody else has been here. This is my own little safe space, y’know, I try not to sully it with all the shite I’m in but you -- I just can’t get the thought of you in here out of my head. Needed to see it for myself.”

Her heart was full upon entry, which she hadn’t known if that was his intent or if he just needed her to know beforehand that he wasn’t used to having other people in his flat and he might be a little squirrely. Either or, she leaned forward and nudged her forehead against his shoulder (her hands were full with a wriggling Ubbe so at the time it had been her only option to show affection). She was still a little nervous about initiating the kisses -- Harry was typically the one to initiate it and Y/N melts into them. 

Harry opened his door and Y/N was almost immediately greeted with the beloved Racoon dog statue. He told her to go ahead and let Ubbe run amuck (he was her good boy though, he wouldn’t climb any couches or beds without explicitly being told he was allowed to) as she was looking around the small foyer-like entrance. Right away she could tell that Harry had somewhat of an eye for interior design -- everything was cohesive in color and sense of style, he easily put her flat to shame. The sofa was facing away from the door and loveseat was caddy corner to it, both large, and a light grey that looked incredibly pricey but lived on -- there were blankets rumpled atop of it like he might have napped there, the pillows only kind of positioned correctly on the couch. They sat on a rug that is a lighter grey in tone, atop of smooth pine flooring. Behind the sofa, there was a dark console table that stretched along the length of it with a modern square lamp on either end. To the left at the end of the couch, he had an electric fireplace installed into a wall of what appeared to be marble, and above it his tv was fixed to the wall, far bigger than what she was used to. His coffee table looked like it was made of black glass, magazines and books were halfheartedly thrown in the middle. 

But what really takes her, that she’s trying to drink in entirely, is the wall of windows that is opposite of where she stood. It was clearly the way to the balcony that looked far larger than it did from the car, the panes of glass were so clear that she would probably slam right into them. They only stopped when it reached the kitchen, because of its open concept she could see it from where she stood and it was all sleek, marble counters and black appliances that all looked incredibly new. There was an island counter with bar stools that she reckons he eats at. On the opposite end of the flat, there was a hallway that she believes led to what she presumes was the rooms and bathrooms. 

“Holy fuck.” That’s where she was now, her brows raised as she turned to face him, “We’ve been at my crowded, old, rickety flat when you’ve had this just laying around?” 

His brows furrow deeply, “Oi, I love your flat. It’s cozy and comfortable, don’t you dare talk about her like that.” 

Y/N is too enamored with what she’s seeing to pay much mind to his words. She’s looking around with her face permanently stuck with her lips in an ‘o’ as she looks up and around, taking in the artwork that he had chosen, how it smelled like him, the way it appeared well lived in yet still pristine and polished, “If I lived here, I reckon I wouldn’t leave,” she continues, reaching out, letting her fingertips stroke against the couch wondering how the material could just feel expensive, “I’d be one of those nurses that answers panicked calls from parents at like 3AM ‘cos their kid sneezed.” 

A snort leaves him, but he shakes his head all the same, “S’not that great. Gets a bit lonely.” Her face is pressed against the cool glass of the windows, looking out on the dazzling lights that twinkle from the city below them, but his words and the sad inflection in his voice drags her from it. She turns to face him, where he’s setting his things down on his coffee table before sliding up beside her, “It looks much better with you stalking around it though.” 

She laughs, leaning her head against his shoulder, “I’ll come stalk about whenever you want then.” 

Harry maneuvers them, kisses his teeth to garner her attention before stealing her lips in a kiss when she turns to face him. Her nose scrunches up and she giggles -- he’d let his facial hair grow out some, and it tickled her face when he pressed their mouths together. She sinks into it though as she always does, and Harry can only kiss her for a few moments before he begins to smile against her, and withdraws, “Christ,” he pecks another kiss against her mouth, “Alright, I’ll show you how to operate my shower, and I’ll have some clothes out for you to change into. Will you teach me how I should wash your scrubs?” 

His bathroom is just as modern and seemingly hi-tech as the rest of his flat. He surpasses the one in the hall in favor of taking her to his own through the master bedroom, which has a Hilma af Klint painting (he and Mitch have similar tastes), a bed the size of a room that she’d grown up in (it felt like at the very least) that was made, with a black comforter and about thirty thousand pillows. The headboard was large, rectangular, and a dark stained wood that his other furniture matched. Across from his bed, there is another TV affixed to the wall, with a screen saver of a night sky during a thunderstorm. It smells like lavender and Harry -- she’s comforted by it. 

There’s a sleek, black tub, an entirely separate shower that came straight from the ceiling, his sink counter is large -- like, several people could keep their morning and nightly skincare routines on there. He shows her how to use the shower (there was a fucking touch screen on the wall that she used to decide the settings), makes a cheeky joke about watching her undress before he left her be to shower. 

It was unlike any showering experience she’d ever had before. He showed her the rainfall setting, gave her a spare loofah to scrub with and he let her use the rose-scented body soap he had a huge container full of. She scrubbed her skin raw, washed away every bit of the day. Harry had told her there was a surprise about the towel when she was finished, which she was soon to find that he had a heated rack. The towel is warm, big, and soft as she wraps it around her body, and she finds that he had left her some clothes to change into. It was a grey soft, worn Harley Davidson shirt and sweatpants. Y/N wriggled them on and left the bathroom. Harry told her he would be in the living room, so she ventured out from his bathroom, but she pauses when her eyes flicker across his dresser. 

Set on his drawer chest, there was a photo frame that made her heart swell. 

Y/N very vaguely remembers taking it -- the night of the bonfire, when she was scared to be alone and that man who’d been following her turned up at the park when she was there. Harry had come to get her, made her feel safe and soft. It was the first night she had met everyone, hung out with them, drank with them until she got sleepy, and managed to slump into Harry’s body. She remembers being lulled to sleep by the steady drum of his heart, how nice it sounded, how warm she felt, and she remembered how he accommodated her body with his arm around her while he let her rest. All of that she remembers quite vividly, however, the picture that was taken is what she has to dig through her thoughts to be reminded of. It was right after Harry had woken her up, called her snoozy, and patted her bum before letting her lean against him so they could walk to the car. Just before they had started their venture to the car, she remembers Mickey stopping them, having been trigger happy with a camera the entire night. 

“Big smiles! This one’s for the books.” 

Y/N’s eyes shut and she smiled sleepily, her fingers thrown in a peace sign and Harry grinned wide, a dimple dotting his cheek. The ember glow of the fire outlines them in an orange-ish tint as the flash illuminates them in the night, and Y/N wonders what possessed either of them to wear ripped jeans when she was almost certain that night it was below freezing. 

“Tha’s my favorite photo,” Harry’s voice rings from behind her and she nearly startled out of her skin, turning her head to look at him, the frame in hand, “Mickey gave it to me like a month or two after he had developed it, I thought we were right cute.” 

“We are,” she thumbs the wooden frame, the ridges dabbing into her skin, “This is the night you first stayed at my flat.” 

“After you practically tore me a new one for suggesting otherwise,” his chin hooks on her shoulder, nose dipping into the curve of her throat, “You look nice in my clothes.” 

“Reckon?” She leans back, melting into his touch, “They’re very soft, kinda feels like cuddling with you. Guess if I have your shirts I don’t have to bother with the body and your freezing toes.” 

“Oi,” he grumbles, sliding his arms around her waist, “Be nice, Pet, or I’ll take ���em right back. Besides, clothes can’t pet on you, or feed Ubbe, or even turn on the godforsaken vampire film or cook dinner.” 

A gasp leaves her as she spun in his arms, “You put on Twilight?” 

“Of course I did, you wouldn’t shut up about it before, which had me wondering if I remembered it correctly. Figure after you we eat and you tell me about all the gross shite you had to deal with today, we could watch it.” 

It was true -- on the way to his flat, she had not so subtly mentioned that it felt like she was being invited into a vampire’s home before delving into a scene by scene explanation of the better half of Twilight. Harry had openly admitted to not really liking the film but he let’s her rant and rave anyway, even offered his commentary on what he did remember from it. Y/N thinks it’s the first time anyone other than her mother let her express the teenage nostalgia that still resonated with her and the movies as a whole. 

And for him to put it on for them to watch? In his beautiful flat that smelled like him? Where she would be fed, be able to chat about her day with someone other than Ubbe, feel warm and happy? She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her time. 

“As long as we can cuddle, I think this might be the perfect night.” She tells him and he rolls his eyes playfully, teasing her with a squeeze at her ticklish sides. 

“Of course, we’re going to cuddle. You think I spent the last four months pining after you, just for us not to cuddle?” 

Y/N lets her eyes flutter shut, leans into him, and smiles. 

[warnersister]

Psychopathic - Marcus Flint x Reader

One

My Masterlist

My Harry Potter Masterlist

My Marcus Flint Masterlist

Psychopathic

Third Person

Marcus walked into St. Mungo's with a bouquet of flowers for his Great-Grandmother. She was still hanging on bless her, but bed-bound. His parents had told him to say his goodbyes, but he didn't want to believe it.

Alzheimer's.

The God forsaken thing, that had taken her from him. Even in her hundred-and-twenties, she had still taken him on adventures as a young child - The Quidditch World Cup when he was six, which made him want; to take up the sport. Taught him potions. Took him for ice cream. Went for a Muggle thing, called a bike ride. Taught him to bake.

And now, he was leaving her. One-hungered, and-thirty-four. She was still young for the average age, but death takes no mercy. He takes them, when they least expect it.

He took a deep breath, and climbed the steps, to the eighth floor. Pressing a button to a locked door, a voice appeared through the box. "Name?" "Marcus Flint. I'm here to see Berula Mackintire." The woman's voice cut off, and a buzzing sound appeared - notifying him, that he was allowed into the ward.

Bed 1

Bed 2

Bed 3

He passed numerous room, with patients similar to his relative, until he saw her room.

Bed 18

He knocked, before entering - seeing the woman's head slowly look in the direction of himself. "Hello, gran." He smiled gently, moving to replace the: now-dead, flowers; in the vase.

"What are you doing?-" She asked hurriedly, pressing the orange nurse's button repeatedly. An aged nurse rushed in, and peered around. "What's the problem, Berula?" She worriedly asked, moving carefully towards her bed - as to not spook her.

"H-he just walked in! Who is he? Get him out!-" She began wailing. And the nurse began to calm her down. Marcus let out a shaky breath, as his eyes welled up. All of the memories, flooding back - once more. "Mrs Mackintire, this is your great grandson, Marcus." She squinted her eyes, sceptically. She never changed, even when confused.

"Marky?" She slowly said, and he nodded, thanking Godric, that she seemed to recognised him.

Recalling what he had been told via the healers, he approached slowly, and pulled her into a tight, loving hug - the tears beginning to flow, feeling her weak arms embracing him also, as loose as it was. She grinned up at him, and moved her thumbs - to wipe under his eyes. "Why are you crying? You daft sod!" She cursed him, and he chuckled - taking in the moments, that he had with his great-grandmother, while he had the chance.

"Mr Flint-" A voice pulled him out of his thoughts, it was her healer, even though she wasn't doing much; healing. "I'll be back in a minute, nan." He smiled, before exiting, and closing the door behind him. "So..." He looked between the healer, and the nurse, who shared a look. "How is she?" He asked, hopeful - but knowing that nowadays, any news, was bad news, unfortunately. They shook their heads at him, not needing to say anything.

He begrudgingly asked the dreaded question, rubbing his temples attempting to accept this reality. "How long...?" I closed my eyes, preparing myself, but obviously not enough. "Two weeks-" She began, before getting cut off. "TWO WEEKS?" He exclaimed, his voice raising quickly. "TWO. BLOODY. WEEKS? BUT LAST WEEK IT WAS A YEAR!" He erratically began to fumble, cursing at the doctors. "Mr Flint, please-" "NO! THAT IS MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER. AND YOU'RE TELLING ME, THAT SHE HAS TWO, FUCKING WEEKS?" He paced back, forth. "Take a minute, we understand-" "NO YOU DON'T!- N-no, you don't!" He collapsed in a pile of sobs, into the aged nurse's arms.

"She can't leave me. S-she can't." She understood him. She cared for him. He understood her. His parents were different. His mother loved him with all of her heart, and his father... well his father was probably off fucking the Dark Lord, seeing as that was all he did. Attend his meetings.

"I need her!" He cried, as the healer stroked his arm comfortingly. "Why don't you give her a nice hug, and go and calm down, yeah?" The healer suggested. He nodded, trying not to hyperventilate as he re-entered her room. Noticing the frail woman sleeping peacefully, her arms limp by her sides.

"See you soon, gran." He kissed her cheek, and gently pulled her figure closer to him. "I love you, and I'll be back soon." He reassured, himself - more than anyone else. She awoke, her eyes fluttering open at his (attempted) quiet sobs. "What are you doing? Bugger off!" He pushed him off of her. "I'm trying to sleep." She laid back down, and he chuckled at her naivety. "Yeah, see you later." He walked back out, taking one last look at her, before telling himself he'd be back to see her tomorrow, as it was Sunday.

"Can't you do anything?" He asked the two women, who were thoughtfully waiting outside, to take him elsewhere - to calm dow. "Unfortunately, no. It's a Muggle disease, even our own advanced magic can't cure this. It's inevitable." His eyes welled once more, hearing the response that he heard every time he had asked. A text book response. The one had heard, every visit, for the past seventeen months.

He knew St. Mungo's in, and out. It was depressing really. He didn't need, to he escorted to the waiting room. He knew where he was going. It just felt comforting, knowing that someone, was there for him. Even if it was their job, to do so.

[lazywolfygirl]

J’vais vous donner mon top 5 de mes pilier favoris dans kimetsu no yaiba !

Et je rappelle que ceci et MON avis ! Pas le votre, donc si toi t’es pas content car il a pas ton pilier préféré et que tu viens m’insulter je te demanderai d’aller te faire foutre :)

5 OBANAI IGURO, PILIER DU SERPENT

que dire sur obanai ? Déjà j’aime énormément son style, c’est yeux verront le rend unique et il n’a que de rare personnage avec se genre de yeux, le fais que il porte un masque le rend mystérieux et j’adore particulièrement son passé !

Se que j’aime aussi c’est que il sois protecteur envers mitsuri, sa le montre bien que il tient à elle et que il l’aime !

Je trouve son souffle hyper original et intéressant ! Le fais que le souffle du serpent lui sert a se trouver un chemin pour tuer le demon le rend super pratique !

4 SHINOBU KOCHO, PILIER DE L’INSECT

Je sais pas vous mais je trouve que Shinobu, elle et HYPER détester par quelque personne, car je cite « c’est une psychopathe » car elle sourit TOUT LE TEMP

je rappelle que si elle sourit tout le temp c’est pour honorer sa grande sœur nan ?

Le fais que Shinobu se base sur c’est poisson plutôt que à sa force la rend vraiment intéressante et forte ! Car je rappelle que Shinobu et la plus faible physiquement dés pilier !

J’aime son style ! Juste je la trouve trop styler j’adore son haori (sa veste si je peux dire aussi)

Son combat contre douma, une pépite surtout que je déteste douma, et son petit « vas faire foutre connard » était magistral :)

3 KYOJURO RENGOKU, PILIER DE LA FLAMME

Comment ne pas le mettre ? Cette homme incroyable et tout simplement magnifique

Kyojuro et juste gentil, attentionnée, drôle ET PUTAIN DE FORT !

Son combat contre Akaza, une pépite 👌🏻

Sa mort et clairement l’une qui l’a le plus fais chialer mes grand m*** :’) et a garder son sourire malgré tout

C’est citation son mes préféré, il et fière d’être un humain et c’est juste honorable

3 MITSURI KANROJI, PILIER DE L’AMOUR

Juste adorable, la plus gentille des perso avec tanjiro, une fille qui a un passez où on peut parfaitement se voir à sa place

Se faire pas accepter par les autre car on rentre pas dans la « normalité », donc on change on se force à faire les choses que on aime pas forcément et on arrête de faire les choses que on aime !

Mais mitsuri elle et un exemple car elle s’est dis grâce à kagaya « FUCK YOU JE RESTE COMME JE SUIS » et s’est beau ! Son souffle représente parfaitement son désir de trouver un homme qui l’aime pour se qu’elle et et elle la trouver, VIVE LE OBANAI X MITSURI PTN

1 MUICHIRO TOKITO, PILIER DE LA BRUME

14 ans et il defonce déjà tout se gosse-

J’aime juste son caractère de base, et quand je l’es vue la première fois je trouver que il ressembler à inosuke de OUF a cause de leur cheveux-

Son souffle juste je le trouve trop styler

Il a un air si innocent mais tellement insolent en vrais que il t’insulte toute ta famille sans remord

Juste son histoire et si touchante et si triste en temp

Voila c’était tout pour moi et mon top 5 de mes pilier favoris !

[ao3-saiki-updates]

I Think We Could Do It if We Tried

i think we could do it if we tried by tomiesaotome

Of all the people Kusuo could've encountered at Café Mami, it just had to be them.

Words: 139, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 斉木楠雄のΨ難 | Saiki Kusuo no Sai-nan | The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Saiki Kusuo, Saiki Kusuke, Teruhashi Makoto, Chisato Mera (mentioned)

Relationships: Saiki Kusuke/Teruhashi Makoto, Saiki Kusuke & Teruhashi Makoto

Additional Tags: Drabble, Secret Relationship, Psychopaths In Love, Saiki Kusuo is so Done, my WORST guilty pleasure ship, I'm Sorry, this is a coping mechanism

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33995701

[youarejesting]

BTS365 Prompt.Week25

[Full Masterlist] [Prompt Masterlist]

Beta: @jung-hoseok-s-airplane

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════

        June 18th - 24th

═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════

Kim Seokjin - panic @absoluteyoongit (I am so sorry I didn’t get to post it on your birthday, but still Happy Birthday my love)

You were at the BTS concert. It took all your savings, a countdown timer and quick refresh skills and you had scored mosh pit tickets. The concert was amazing. The fans were shrieking, pressing you to the gates and you were a little annoying. Until you were actually elbowed in the face by a fan during Dionysus. 

You fell forward over the gate and was grabbed by security, passing out with an apology. 

You woke to ice to your neck, you were sat hunched forward, hands holding your shoulders and chin. 

You blinked sitting up noticing the two medics were holding a bloody rag to your nose and you apologized taking the cloth and holding it. 

"How are you feeling?" The woman asked. 

"Uh my head hurts, some girl elbowed me during Dionysus, but I guess you couldn't blame her it's a really good song," it was awfully quiet and you had a nervous sick feeling, "what time is it, am I okay? I don't want to miss the concert"

"It is over," she said and you frowned.

"No it can't be over, I paid so much and I didn't get to even see them perform their new songs"

"I am sorry, but the concert is over, you can head home if you are ready just follow the exit signs," she said quietly you nodded holding your emotions in. 

You grabbed your small bag and stepped out the infirmary, tears starting to flow. Following the exit signs the further away you got the more you broke down. 

Until you bumped into someone re-injuring your nose and fell back onto your behind, openly crying as you sat like a child, shirt all bloody and nose bleeding once more. 

"Oh I'm so sorry" the voice said, it was soft and unsure, "I didn't mean to hurt you?"

A figure crouched in front of you and tilted your head a little to look you over, "Are you badly hurt?"

"I missed the concert," you sobbed and wiped your eyes, “I used all my money for the best seat in the house but I was knocked out. I didn't get to see any of their new songs.” 

"Hey shh, neoneun neui jigu, nege nan just a moon, me mameul baikyeojuneun neoui jageun byeol, neoneun naui jigu and all I see is you," he sang and you looked up to see the Kim Seokjin kneeling in front of you holding his handkerchief to your nose and smiling. 

The only appropriate response was for panic to set in. 

Min Yoongi - picnic

You were planning to have a picnic with your boyfriend of many years when he called and said he wasn’t able to attend but everything sounded suspicious especially the woman giggling in the background. So here you sat in the parking lot of a hotel with a picnic basket full of homemade snacks 

You entered the lobby and made the trek to the front desk. The young man at the front desk looked up and laughed at your light sky blue sundress, mismatched red coat and picnic basket. “Hello, little red riding hood, how can I help you?”

“I am looking for my boyfriend,” you said seriously, giving him the name and his face fell looking at your concerned face. “Are you sure he is at this hotel, maybe I spelt his name wrong.”

“The idiot used my credit card, I know he is here with another woman. You will give me the key to the room I paid for.”

“With pleasure little red, I will come with you purely for your protection.” He grabbed the keys and sprung over the desk shouting “I am on lunch, Mister Seokjin!”

The two of you took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor, where he asked you about you and your partner. He asked you all sorts of questions and generally being nosey but he was funny.

“Who rents a room at midday to cheat on someone, psychopaths, I am glad you found out now before you got murdered or something.” Making you laugh and taking your mind off the present issues regarding your cheating and lying boyfriend. 

“Listen little red, I finish work in less than thirty minutes. Let’s go on this picnic” He gave a cheeky smile showing all his pink gums. And for a moment you were happy with what had happened.

Jung Hoseok - sauntering

Hoseok was walking leisurely through Malta trying to find some souvenirs for the other boys. It was a hot day and he had lost Namjoon in a crowd, the music pulled Hoseok and when he looked back he was alone with only one cameraman. That’s when he saw you working at a restaurant, weaving through tables while dancing to the street music. 

You moved so elegantly rolling your head to the side while placing plates down at the tables. You didn’t walk, you glided slowly captivating him, every movement was so simple and yet looked like you were an angel floating and inch above the ground. 

In a way he was right, your six-inch heels kept you lighter than air on your feet and yet never let you touch the ground. Your hips swinging in figure eights exaggeratedly and seductively but it was your natural gait. 

He adjusted his collar and hat and went to saunter over letting his body move to the music in hopes to impress you like some nature documentary where the male species must impress the female with their moves. 

Kim Namjoon - juggling

The circus seemed like a fun idea, he thought the other members would enjoy the stunts and jokes and more. They were only in town for a week so he knew he had to get it over and done with before they missed out. It was a carefree night filled with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ but then she appeared in a sparkly crimson leotard her lips as red as her outfit and she moved with grace to the music. 

Lowered from the ceiling she unravelled herself like a present and he watched her move the lights hitting her figure just right casting a silhouette onto the back of the tent, she rolled her hips and danced on pointed to kicking her legs and she began juggling three became four became five, six, seven and she spun and danced never dropping a single one. 

She started juggling both hands above her head and she slid into the splits and caught all the balls raising both hands into the air. He would be back. 

Park Jimin - Daylight (this will become a story but the details of the scene and how the reader finds the elevator might be different) 

You were being chased by a young woman trying to take your bag, you took a wrong turn in a shopping mall’s parking lot followed by at least four more until you reached an old abandoned floor below the basement you could hear her coming and you looked around finding a door with a faint glowing keypad, you pressed each number four times. 

1,1,1,1. No.

2,2,2,2. No.

3,3,3,3. No.

4,4,4,4. Beep. Yes, the reset sequence works on most old pin code machines. You snuck inside and it locked behind you.

Inside the room was kind of dark, you saw small glowing arrows one pointing up the other down, pressing the down arrow the doors opened and light poured in. 

It was an elevator and it looked like it was in good condition, stepping inside you pressed the button and headed down. What you saw shocked you; it was like an artificial world. It seemed to go on for a fairway, you could just see walls in the distance but there were lights that created an artificial daylight. 

The roof had screens showing a fake sky, there must have been UV lights as the trees and vegetation were growing well. Then of course there was the elevator shaft you were in, the further you went down the more you saw, animals and buildings and people. 

They turned to you watching the elevator come to a stop each holding weapons, it was then you noticed how big this underground ecosystem was and on top of that, the people were all handsome young men. 

They all looked scared of you except one. Jimin looked at you curiously. He had never seen anything like you before, what were you, you looked like him and yet different?

Kim Taehyung - ring

Taehyung’s ears were damaged and he barely had any hearing left all except for the constant ringing. He decided to just use sign language and live his life that is until he met you. You were like a breath of fresh air and you could sign a small hearing aid in your ear brightly colored for your own enjoyment and for others to notice. 

Jeon Jungkook - writer

Jungkook took his monthly wage and ran through the town, he passed a man with a long scar down his face which vaguely reminded him of the king. His thoughts were interrupted by a bearded man hitting him over the head with his fishing pole and Jungkook grabbed him by the collar and punched him. 

The scuffle didn’t take long, as both parties had yielded blaming the man with the scar. Jungkook continued on his way and finally arrived at the postal service. 

“Any letters for me Jimin?”

“None today,” he smiled, “you here to send another?”

“Only the best for my pretty flower.”

“What would you like it to say?”

“My dearest…” Jungkook poured his heart out and Jimin wrote it for him. And the letter was sealed and Jimin grinned, taking the small silver coin and handing back a few even bronze ones. 

[doopcafe]

The Michael Burnham Show: Die Trying (3x05)

Summary: Michael Burham collects seeds to earn the trust of a Starfleet admiral, above.

Comments: I was so disgruntled from that awful Voyager holodeck episode that I "convinced" Akina to return to Season 3 of Discovery (note: one does not simply convince Akina of anything).

Okay, so we left off with Adira recovering her memories on Trill in Episode 4 and giving Burnham the coordinates to future!Starfleet.

So let’s get this “plot” out of the way first. Discovery meets up with future!Starfleet and the admiral in charge recounts some recent history of the Federation for the audience: they’re down to just a few dozen member worlds, and “without warp,” they’re unable to contact others or coordinate their organization. Skipping over subspace communications and the fact that there were ships warping around the first couple episodes, the admiral thinks the Discovery crew are temporal agents and up to no good. The episode shoves in some dying aliens the first chance it gets and Burnham concocts a plan that drives this episode: She’s gonna use Discovery’s spore drive to jump to the last known coordinates of a seed ship (a seedbank spaceship), get some seeds, then return to cure the nameless aliens (with the seeds). Spoilers: they collect the seeds, cure the aliens, and earn the admiral’s trust.

This show feels like I accidentally wandered into the funeral of a stranger. Everyone is crying, people are expressing heartfelt condolences, and there’s lots of hugging and crying. But... I don’t know any of these people. Sure, I can feel sorry for these people, but can’t feel sorry with these people. I’ve never had the chance to get to know any of them in any meaningful way.

Continuing the analogy, someone tells me that the deceased was a beloved husband, father of four, yadda yadda, which helps me understand what’s happening at a cognitive level but not at an emotional one. Who is this guy that died again? Did I know him? Maybe someone I once knew in high school, or...?

That’s the feeling of Star Trek Discovery. There’s a scene in this episode that illustrates the idea. Nan (?), the security chief (?), decides she’s gonna leave Discovery. On cue, Burnham cries and then Nan cries and everyone cries (and hugs) and talks about friendship and feelings but like... have we met this lady? She came aboard with Pike, right? What has she done since? I vaguely remember Nan saying “yum yum” in response to Georgiou saying something about “joining her in making Leland scream” in the middle of kicking things. See, I remember that because it was emotional. Sure, that emotion was overwhelmingly “cringe,” but it was still an emotion and I remember it. Nan says super cringey, sexualized things at inappropriate times. Got it.

But here (in this episode, as an example), some character is leaving the ship and I’m just watching the funeral of Star Trek that I accidentally wandered into. Yes, I understand that maybe Burnham and Nan got drunk together a few times, played pranks on Saru or whatever, and shared a few laughs together, but we never get to see any of that shit. So... Who is this lady again? Why should I care?

Anyways, they just leave Nan on the ship that’s running on auxiliary power right next to an ion storm. Yup, just left her aboard, alone with a fatally wounded psychopath who wants to kill himself. Nan and Burnham emerge from their unearned emotional embrace, Burnham’s like “one to beam up,” then Nan walks over to the window and by the time she gets there, Discovery is already spore jumping away.

Jeez, I hope they transported over some emergency rations or supplies or something. No one aboard questioned why Burnham was returning to Discovery alone?

Anyways! Georgiou only kicks one thing in this episode and it wasn’t even sentient, so that was a nice change—

Wait a minute... In the scene when Discovery wanders into future!Starfleet HQ and there’s ships all over the place, the Discovery bridge crew is, well, having an Unearned Emotional Moment™ about some of the ships. Then someone—Tilly I think—notices the USS Voyager... but with registration number suffix of “J,” the eleventh generation of the ship.

How does the Discovery crew know what Voyager is?

They’re from before Voyager’s time, right? And the Sphere data they’ve collected is also from before Voyager’s time... so while the crew might know what Trill are from the Sphere, the Sphere could not have collected data on Voyager, right? And they jumped way into the future, well after Voyager’s time. Did I miss something again?

Look, these are all small things, but the occurrence is so prolific that it’s extravagantly clear the writers have no knowledge of canon or use for internal consistency. Which, honestly is fine... if you create something better than the original. But if you vomit garbage, that second nail in the coffin (internal inconsistency) just hurts a little more than the first (poor writing).

My enjoyment: 1/5

Did all the lower-ranked crewmembers aboard Discovery also travel to the future? Jeez Burnham, literally everyone on the ship must really love you.