The Escape: Backup Plan

Is it weird I want to request a scene that involves Janson? I've been seeing a lot of posts about him and ngl he's kinda hot...is this just me...???

GO FOR IT. I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t know what it is but well… let’s just say I wouldn’t protest because he could slam a clipboard on the table and I’d fold like a lawn chair 😫

PLEASE PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS 🙏🙏

Vaporised

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader (callsign Vapour)

Fluff

Summary: Vapour teaches Hangman to put his mouth where his money is.

AN: tomorrow’s my birthday!! (Yup, sharing the same birthday as Scarlett Johansson and Mark Ruffalo 🥹)

Story under the cut:

Hangman was in rare form that morning—if by "rare" you meant absolutely, maddeningly, always insufferable.

The squadron had barely settled into the briefing room when Jake "Hangman" Seresin made it his mission to antagonize everyone in his orbit.

"Rooster, you planning to keep that mustache after I wipe the floor with you today?" he quipped, leaning back in his chair. "Or is it aerodynamic enough to help you fly better?"

Rooster shot him a flat look. "Shouldn’t you be studying the rulebook, Seresin? I hear you keep forgetting what 'teamwork' means."

Jake laughed, loud and carefree. "What can I say? I don’t need teamwork when I’ve got skill. I’m just built different."

"Built irritating," Phoenix muttered under her breath, earning a smirk from Bob.

In the corner of the room, you—call sign Vapour—remained silent, arms crossed, and gaze steady on the whiteboard. You had no intention of getting involved in Jake’s antics. He’d teased you enough in the past, despite the fact you barely spoke to him.

“Awfully quiet over there, Vapour,” Jake called out, turning his attention to you. “What’s the matter? Saving all your words for your post-match excuses?”

You didn’t even glance at him. “I, unlike some, don’t waste words,” came your reply.

That earned a round of "oohs" from the others, and even Hangman seemed momentarily caught off guard before recovering with a grin. “We’ll see if your flying’s as sharp as your tongue.”

The reason you were called Vapour wasn’t a mystery to anyone. During a training exercise, you’d pulled off a miracle landing with barely a drop of fuel left, earning you the respect of the instructors and the envy of a certain cocky aviator. Jake had never stopped trying to one-up you since.

Today’s dogfight simulation would be the perfect battleground.

Up in the air, Hangman’s taunts were relentless.

“Vapour, you sure you’re up there? Haven’t seen you all game,” he teased over the comms. “Or maybe that’s just your style—light and forgettable.”

Phoenix groaned. “Do you ever shut up, Seresin?”

“I’m just providing commentary,” he replied. “Gotta make things interesting while I mop the floor with you.”

You stayed quiet, focusing on your maneuvers. You weren’t interested in banter—you had one goal: take Hangman down.

Jake was good. Annoyingly good. But he was also predictable. He liked flashy moves and big risks, and you had no problem using that against him. You let him chase you for a while, luring him into a false sense of control.

“Gotcha now, Vapour,” he said smugly, locking onto your tail.

“Do you?” you replied, your voice finally cutting through the comms.

With a sharp roll and a sudden cutback, you slipped out of his sights and got behind him instead. Jake’s curses filled the channel as you locked on and fired the simulated kill shot.

“Hangman, you’re tagged,” Maverick announced.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jake Seresin had nothing to say.

“Vapour!,” Rooster cheered. “Finally someone shut him up!”

You smirked, leveling your jet and heading back to base. 

Back on the ground, Jake’s usual swagger was noticeably absent as the team debriefed. Rooster, Phoenix, and the others took turns mocking him, clearly reveling in his defeat.

Jake made a beeline for you afterward, his expression unreadable.

“Vapour,” he said, folding his arms. “You got lucky.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Luck? Or maybe you’re just all talk.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to figure you out.

Before he could say anything else, you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You know Hangman’s actually the perfect name for someone who just got left swinging in the wind.”

And with that, you walked off, leaving him standing there—thoroughly humbled.

---

HARRY POTTER

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

This is a SFW blog, so no smut (because I'm not quite there yet)

SIRIUS BLACK (POST AZKABAN):

oneshots:

>> Here 🌩️ 🌸 (Synopsis: A chance encounter in Grimmauld Place leads Sirius Black and a former classmate to find solace in each other’s company.)

>> The Ghosts 🌩️ (Synopsis: Sirius gets haunted by the memory of his childhood)

REMUS LUPIN:

oneshots:

>> More than enough 🌩️ (synopsis: After a difficult visit with her parents, a struggling student at Hogwarts finds solace and comfort in Remus Lupin, who reminds her that she is more than enough just as she is.)

HARRY POTTER:

DRACO MALFOY:

oneshots:

>> Drowning 🌩️ (Synopsis: Sharing a moment with Draco over the misery of their families.)

>> Dance with me 🌸🌩️ (Synopsis: Two broken souls find solace in a quiet dance, their shared pain speaking louder than words ever could.)

RON WEASLEY:

oneshots: >> Finding Your Sky 🌸 (Synopsis: When Ron Weasley feels down about his studies and his fallout with Hermione, a quiet Gryffindor steps in to help him regain his confidence, leading to a renewed friendship.)

NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM:

oneshots:

>> Merlin. 🌸 (Synopsis: falling for the clumsy doofus)

CEDRIC DIGGORY:

SEVERUS SNAPE:

WEASLEY TWINS:

—> FRED WEASLEY:

>> In her shadow 🌸 🌩️ (Synopsis: In the shadow of Cho Chang’s perfection, you find the fire to rise—and Fred Weasley lights the spark.)

—> GEORGE WEASLEY:

>> Melody 🌸 (Synopsis: George helps you play piano)

Here

PostAzkaban!Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Angst, fluff (comfort)

Summary: A chance encounter in Grimmauld Place leads Sirius Black and a former classmate to find solace in each other’s company.

AN: **spoilers, please skip this and head on over to the story if you don’t want spoilers** So I had no intention to sneak in the kiss but as I planned this out, I realised it flowed and sort of fit the vibe I was going for so I hope yall enjoy it.

——————————————————————————————————————

The dim lighting of Grimmauld Place cast long shadows across the hallway as you quietly made your way down the worn floorboards, your hand lightly brushing the wall. You hadn't been here long, only a few days helping with Order business, but the house still unsettled you. It was filled with history and weight—just like the man who lived there.

You paused at a door you hadn't noticed before, curiosity tugging at you, but before you could move, a low voice came from behind.

“You always had a habit of poking your nose where it didn’t belong.”

The sarcasm was unmistakable. You turned to find Sirius standing behind you, arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes held that familiar glint of mischief, but there was something else there too—something quieter, wearier.

“Sirius,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I wasn’t—”

“Exploring?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Just taking a leisurely stroll through my family’s personal mausoleum?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, folding your arms defensively. “I wasn’t snooping. Just... familiarizing myself.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because walking around in the dead of night is the best way to get acquainted with a place.”

There was a beat of silence as his teasing words hung in the air. You studied him for a moment—the same Sirius Black you remembered from Hogwarts, but different, aged in ways that went deeper than the lines on his face. He still had that sharp wit, the biting humor, but you could see the exhaustion behind his eyes, the pain he kept hidden beneath the surface.

“Old habits die hard,” you said softly, stepping back from the door.

Sirius chuckled under his breath, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

The tension between you wasn’t hostile, but it was there—an unspoken understanding, a shared knowledge of darker times. He watched you closely as you moved toward the small window at the end of the hall, the moonlight barely illuminating the worn wood beneath your feet.

“I never really noticed you much at school,” he said suddenly, his tone less teasing, more thoughtful. “Slytherin, right?”

“Not exactly in your inner circle,” you replied quietly, looking out at the moonlit street. “But we had classes together.”

“I know.” He was closer now, though you didn’t turn to face him. You could feel his presence, the warmth of him standing just behind you. “You always seemed... different.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Not all Slytherins fit the mold.”

There was a pause, and then you heard him exhale softly. “I missed a lot, didn’t I?”

You finally turned to face him, catching the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he looked away. “We’ve all missed things.”

Sirius leaned back against the wall, arms still crossed, his usual smirk replaced with something more thoughtful, more tired. "Seems like all I’ve been doing since Azkaban is missing things. Time. People. Myself.”

His voice trailed off, and the rawness of it surprised you. There was no bravado here, no sarcasm to cover up the scars. Just him. Just Sirius. And for a moment, you saw the man beneath the layers of wit and pain.

“You’re still here,” you said quietly. “That counts for something.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Some days, I’m not so sure.”

You stepped forward, your hand reaching out without thinking, lightly brushing against his arm. He stiffened at the touch, his gaze snapping to yours, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d crossed a line. But then, something shifted in his expression—just the smallest crack in the walls he’d built around himself.

“You’re not alone, Sirius,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to be.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling between you. There was something in his eyes that spoke of years of isolation, of mistrust and pain, but also something else—a longing, buried deep, for connection.

Sirius let out a breath, his usual defenses faltering. “And what about you? Why are you here, really?”

You smiled faintly, stepping just a little closer. “Maybe I’m trying to remind you of what you still have.”

He looked down, shaking his head slightly, though there was a hint of something softer in his expression. “You’re too kind for this place. Too kind for me.”

You felt your heart tighten at that, the quiet self-deprecation in his voice cutting deeper than any of his sarcastic remarks had. Without thinking, you took another step closer, your hand finding his, your fingers brushing lightly against his.

Sirius looked down at the contact, then up at you, his gaze intense and searching. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you heavy with something unspoken. Then, almost imperceptibly, he squeezed your hand back, his touch tentative, as if he was afraid to let himself feel it.

“I’m not looking for a savior,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“I’m not offering to save you,” you replied softly. “Just to be here.”

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, but before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was slow, careful—two people finding their way through the darkness together. His hand came up to cup your face, the touch surprisingly gentle, as though he wasn’t quite sure this was real.

And in that moment, you knew—he didn’t need saving. He just needed someone to be there with him, to remind him that there was still light, even in the shadows.

---

i love your writing so much !!

Thanks, comments and notes like these— even the likes and reblogs just makes writing more worthwhile. It’s an honour to be able to share my writing with other people who enjoy and relate to it. Side note, this is the first message I’ve ever gotten in my inbox so I’m very flattered, thank you 🤍. In the meantime, I haven’t been posting for the past few days… exams 😭 but I’ll be back soon enough. For the time being, what are we looking for? (I’ll put a poll down below)

I’m trying to tailor my writing to suit different people’s interests so I can cater to a wider audience at this point. Thank you for your patience and support all the way

As always, have a great day

—tisayemate 🤍

---

OKAY IF YOU LIKE MAZE RUNNER PLS REBLOG THIS POST I JUST WANNA KNOW ABOUT MY FELLOW FANS

REBLOG THISSSS

Drowning

Draco Malfoy x Troubled!Reader

Angst

AN: Ghosted for a while, back now. Wrote this because life is fucking miserable. Wrote this during a call from my dad berating me over bullshit. Might take a while to get back to this because holy fuck I can’t do this.

Summary: Two people sink under the weight of the expectations placed on them.

Story under the cut

The forest swallowed your cries whole. The world was black and empty around you, just the way you wanted it. The air burned in your chest as you tried to catch your breath between muffled sobs, but it felt like the trees were closing in, suffocating you.

You pressed your forehead against your knees, curling into yourself like you could somehow shrink small enough to disappear completely. The damp moss seeped into your skirt, and the cold bit at your skin, but none of it mattered. Nothing did.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out here. The castle felt like a lifetime away, and that was a comfort. You didn’t have to hear their voices. Not your parents’, not your professors’, not your friends’. All their expectations, their constant demands—they couldn’t reach you here. But their words? They still echoed in your mind.

“You’ll ruin everything if you don’t listen.”

“Do you think this is about what you want?”

“Ungrateful little—”

A sharp gasp clawed its way out of your throat, and you dug your nails into your arms, trying to hold yourself together. But it wasn’t working. You were unraveling, and no one could stop it.

“Crying in the dark doesn’t solve anything, you know.”

The voice made you flinch. You hadn’t heard anyone approach, but there he was, leaning lazily against a tree as if he had every right to invade your crumbling solitude. Draco Malfoy. His grey eyes glinted in the dim light, sharp and piercing, but his expression wasn’t mocking. Not tonight.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” you croaked, your voice raw and broken.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his boots crunching on the leaves. “What are you doing out here?”

“Go away,” you snapped, though it lacked any real force.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he crouched down a few feet away, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze never left you, and it made you feel exposed, like he could see every raw nerve and broken piece you were trying so desperately to hide.

“You think I don’t know what this feels like?” he asked quietly.

You barked out a laugh, bitter and humorless. “Oh, I’m sure your perfect little life is so hard.”

He stiffened at that, but his jaw only tightened. “Perfect?” he repeated, his voice dripping with something that wasn’t quite anger. “You think growing up in the Malfoy family is perfect? You think having every move dictated, every thought criticized, every mistake punished is perfect?”

His words hit you like a slap.

Draco’s voice dropped, quieter but no less cutting. “You don’t get to talk about things you don’t understand.”

You looked away, shame prickling at your skin. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, you heard him exhale, the sound sharp and shaky. “I know what it’s like,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “To feel like there’s no escape. To wake up every day knowing nothing you do will ever be enough for them.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to argue, to tell him he didn’t understand. But the words wouldn’t come.

Draco sat down beside you, leaving a deliberate space between you. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “Sometimes I come out here too,” he confessed. “When it gets too much. When I can’t breathe in that place anymore.”

You turned your head slightly, studying his profile in the faint moonlight. His sharp features were unguarded for once, his usual smirk replaced by something that looked suspiciously like pain.

“I didn’t think you cared about anything,” you whispered.

He let out a dry laugh, devoid of humor. “I don’t have the luxury of not caring. Not when everything I do reflects back on them.” He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “And neither do you, apparently.”

Your chest ached at the truth of his words.

“They’re never going to stop, you know,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the shadows ahead. “They’ll keep taking and taking until there’s nothing left of you.”

“I know.” Your voice broke on the words, and you hated yourself for it.

Draco turned to look at you then, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Then don’t let them win,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Don’t let them take everything.”

You laughed bitterly, tears streaming down your face. “And what’s left for me to keep?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, to your surprise, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours briefly before pulling away. The touch was fleeting, but it was enough to ground you, just a little.

“You keep the parts of yourself they can’t touch,” he said softly. “Even if it’s just a shred. Even if it’s just the fact that you’re still here.”

You didn’t answer, but something in his words stayed with you. It wasn’t comforting, not exactly. But it felt real, and that was enough.

Draco didn’t say anything else. He just stayed there beside you, the two of you sitting in the darkness like shadows made flesh. It wasn’t peace, but it wasn’t loneliness either. It was something in between. And for now, that was enough.

---

Melody

George Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

Comfort, fluff

Summary: George helps you play piano

AN: I was playing a piece and this came to mind ITS SO CUTE 😭

story under the cut

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as the amber light spilled across the piano’s polished surface. You sat on the bench, determined to make the music sound right this time.

Your fingers danced across the keys—well, stumbled, really. You played the same section again, but no matter how you adjusted your hands, the notes sounded jumbled and wrong. Frustration tightened in your chest, your shoulders tensing as you pressed harder.

“Easy, love,” a voice drawled behind you, smooth and teasing.

You startled, your hands slamming against the keys in an ugly, discordant crash. Whipping around, you found George Weasley standing there, his grin crooked and far too smug.

“George!” you snapped, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Admiring the show,” he quipped, strolling closer. “Though it sounds like the piano’s losing this duel.”

You narrowed your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m trying to practice.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” he said, his voice light as he rounded the bench. Without asking, he slid in beside you, his knee bumping yours. “Here, let me see.”

You froze as he leaned in, his arm brushing yours as he placed his hands on the keys. His chest nearly touched your back, his warmth and the faint scent of pine overwhelming your senses.

“This part,” he said, his tone lower now, softer, as if the quiet demanded it. “You’re hitting this note.” He struck it, his finger lingering before moving to the correct one. “But it’s this one. Feel it?”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his voice rumbled near your ear. “Yeah,” you managed, barely above a whisper.

“Go on, then,” he said, leaning back just enough to let you play.

You placed your hands on the keys, but your fingers trembled slightly, and the notes wavered.

“Relax,” George murmured, leaning over again. This time, his hands slid to either side of yours, his fingers brushing yours as he guided them. His arms caged you in, but his touch was gentle. “Don’t think so hard. Just… feel it. Like this.”

He played the melody slowly, his fingers gliding over the keys with an effortless grace that left you mesmerized.

“Your turn,” he said, tilting his head so his breath fanned against your cheek.

You nodded, focusing on the keys despite how close he was. You played the first few notes, and when you faltered, his hand moved over yours, correcting your fingers without a word. The warmth of his palm sent a shiver up your spine.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low hum. “See? You’ve got it.”

You tried again, and this time, the melody came together perfectly, the music flowing like water under your fingers. A smile broke across your face, and you turned to him without thinking.

“Perfect,” George said, his grin softer now, his eyes warm as they met yours. “Told you you could do it.”

You blinked at him, realizing just how close he was. The firelight cast soft shadows over his freckled face, and there was a quiet sincerity in his expression that made your heart race.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“Anytime,” he said, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you felt the space between you keenly. “I’d hate to see a piano reduced to tears.”

You laughed, the tension easing as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously helpful,” he corrected, his grin returning to its usual mischievous tilt. “And speaking of helpful, what are you doing here alone? Shouldn’t you be off saving the world or something?”

“It’s a free period,” you said, shaking your head. “I just wanted some quiet.”

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching lazily, “I’d say you’ve got the right idea. Though if you ever need another pair of hands…” He wiggled his fingers dramatically.

“Thanks, George,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

He lingered for a moment, his gaze soft as he looked at you. “You’re better than you think, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, and before you could respond, he flashed you a wink and started for the door.

“Don’t forget to keep playing,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re a natural—once you stop overthinking everything.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, you stared at the piano, your cheeks still warm. His words echoed in your mind, wrapping around you like the notes of a melody you couldn’t quite name—yet.

---

Live and Let die

Obi Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader

Angst and comfort

Summary: Finding solace in him through suffering.

Inspired by: Live and Let Die by Wings. (Yes, from Shrek)

Story under the cut:

The bruises from the mission hadn’t even begun to fade, yet the sting of failure burned far deeper than any wound. You replayed the scene in your head—the split-second hesitation, the wrong move that cost lives. It didn’t matter that your mistakes weren’t intentional. The weight of them crushed you all the same.

You were supposed to be better. Stronger. Wiser. But instead, you were here, curled up in the shadows of the Jedi Temple’s gardens, your hands trembling as you wiped furiously at the tears tracking down your face.

“I thought I might find you here,” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the quiet like a gentle blade.

You stiffened, dragging your sleeve across your face as if you could erase the evidence of your breakdown. “I’m fine, Master,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Obi-Wan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he moved closer, lowering himself onto the stone bench beside you. The silence stretched, his presence steady but unyielding.

“You’re not fine,” he said at last, his tone soft but resolute.

That broke something in you. “Of course I’m not fine!” you snapped, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. “I keep screwing up, Master. Over and over again. No matter how hard I try, I always let someone down.”

Your fists clenched on your knees, your nails digging into your palms as you stared at the ground. “Do you know what they said?” you whispered, voice cracking. “They said I hesitated. That if I hadn’t—if I’d just been faster, stronger—people wouldn’t have died. And they’re right. I keep failing, and I don’t even know how to stop.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed, his expression shadowed with concern. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Padawan,” he began carefully, “you’re carrying the weight of this entire mission on your shoulders. That’s a burden no one should bear alone.”

“I have to bear it,” you shot back, your voice rising. “If I don’t, who will? I’m supposed to be a Jedi, aren’t I? We’re supposed to protect people—keep them safe. But I keep failing. How can I call myself a Jedi when I can’t even do that?”

Your words hung in the air, raw and bitter. For a long moment, Obi-Wan said nothing. Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy with memory.

“There was a time,” he said slowly, “when I stood where you are now. When I thought every failure was a sign of my inadequacy, a mark of my weakness. I believed I had to be perfect. That anything less meant I wasn’t worthy of being a Jedi.”

You looked up at him then, startled by the vulnerability in his voice. His gaze was distant, as if he were seeing ghosts.

“But perfection,” he continued, “is an illusion. One that will destroy you if you let it. The galaxy is cruel, Padawan. You can do everything right, and still, it won’t be enough. You can’t save everyone. And that… is not your fault.”

Your chest tightened, his words both a comfort and a knife. “It feels like my fault,” you whispered.

Obi-Wan’s hand tightened gently on your shoulder, grounding you. “That is the burden of compassion,” he said. “We carry the weight of others’ pain because we care. But if you let it consume you, it will drown you. You must learn to let go—not of your care, but of the guilt that comes with it. We live. We let go. And we learn.”

Tears burned in your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “Because I believe in you. Even when you doubt yourself, I will never doubt the strength I see in you. But that strength doesn’t mean never failing. It means standing back up, no matter how many times you fall.”

His words cracked something open in you, the floodgates breaking as the tears spilled freely. Obi-Wan didn’t move away. He stayed beside you, his presence a steady anchor as you let yourself feel the weight of your grief and frustration.

When the tears finally slowed, you turned to him, your voice hoarse. “What if I mess up again?”

“You will,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We all do. But you’ll rise again. And when you do, you’ll be stronger for it.”

You nodded slowly, his words a lifeline you clung to. The weight on your chest wasn’t gone, but it was lighter now. Manageable.

“Thank you, Master,” you murmured.

Obi-Wan rose, offering you a hand. “Come now, Padawan. There’s much to do, and tomorrow is another chance to grow.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. And for the first time, you felt like you could keep going.

---

Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

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Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

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Playing a rebellious character.

How to portray a sociopath.

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How to play a serial killer.

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How to play a character with social anxiety.

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How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

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