#so I might be seeing things where there are none

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo anticipated questions of course and he knew he really should talk to others about his missions more but he shook his head, "I am very, very rarely on my own in field missions. I have others with me, a team of agents with different skills and access rights and know how." He at least offered as some reassurance he was not just bottling everything up, even if he was very mistrusting of those her went on missions with. "I've got my outlets," he tried though whether or not they were healthy he didn't answer.

"You should still tell me about your travels, I need to know these things so I understand what's going on." He insisted, though he knew it could come to a point where she did trigger an episode from him he thought it was far worse if she decided to keep such things a secret from him. That probably made him a hypocrite but it was different for her, he was her father. "I always have back up, someone in Delta Green always knows where I am and I update them on what I am dealing with." He tried to justify, "you don't have that back up, only me."

He saw her piecing things together, though he was sure to shake his head around Davidson threatening the family, though he wouldn't have put it passed him to have suggested it. "It took a while but they don't do things like that anymore, Samantha and I, once we were in deep enough we could start to adjust things. They don't recruit like that anymore." Delta Green had certainly changed in their time of working for them. "They are not going to send you anywhere and there's nothing that would stop me coming for you if they tried." He promised and hoped she wouldn't think they would trap her in such a place as they had done to him.

Layla came up and Theo's gaze dropped to the floor, he felt terrible for what happened to that group of agents too. None of them had made it out of the mines, except for himself and Violet. "I... went back to the mine after I left you at the hospital," he explained, he had gone there instead of to see a doctor, she might as well know. "I collapsed it, no one is going to find anything or anyone down there." He had also gone after the cultists but that was details she didn't need. "How Layla died isn't known by anyone except you and me." He had not put Violet in his report. How could he?!

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet hadn't really thought about it that way, that her dad wasn't keeping secrets from her, but was actually protecting her from potential episodes. He had told her that knowing about monsters could be dangerous, but she had soaked in so much knowledge in the cowboy timeline and had never felt it chipping away at her mind. What if it still had? What if she was just 'bottling it up' like Samantha had said? And what if it exploded one day? The thought sent a cold shiver down her back.

"I understand," she whispered, "but if you never talk about your missions... how do you deal with them? Whenever I come back from a travel, I tell you all about it, and it helps-" She stopped, and opened her mouth in horror. "Should I stop telling you about it? Could it trigger more episodes?" It was her fault her dad had spent the last four days struggling with his memories. But what if she triggered another episode one day? Because she kept telling him about the monsters and the travels?

She nodded. Yes, she remembered Agent Davidson and the many threats he had told her dad. Just thinking about it made her blood boil. Delta Green might have a noble purpose, but it was not a noble organization. "It must have been horrible," she said with a frown, "knowing that they were always holding this threat over your head." And yet he was so dedicated to the Program. Was it just because he believed in their cause? Because he wanted to protect the world?

"They threatened our family, too?" Her frown deepened. "Did Agent Davidson threaten our family?" Oh, how she hated this man! She hated him more than she had ever hated anyone else. She hated him more than she hated Sloane. She hated him more than she hated the Horned One.

This explained his dedication to the Program, at least. He had given them everything because if he hadn't, who knows what they would have done? Even without the threat of the ward, they had used other ways to force her dad into fighting their battles. "They're wicked," she croaked, shaking her head, "I know they fight monsters but... what they did to you... it's cruel. And it's unfair."

Fear started to trickle down inside her chest, drop by drop, as she thought about the letter she had received. The letter her dad had shredded, to protect her. "Are they going to do something like that to me? Are they going to send me to a ward to recruit me? I- I killed Layla and- what if they tell the Police?"

[maskedbyghost]

after the divorce, you thought you’d finally drawn a line in the sand, clear and bold, separating yourself from simon riley and everything that came with him. but simon? he wasn’t ready to step back. not fully. at first, it was silence—an absence so heavy, but then, slowly, the messages started.

they weren’t the cryptic, blunt texts you were used to during your relationship. no more “you around?” or “we need to talk.” instead, they carried a rawness that made you hesitate before opening them. one night, your phone lit up: “i’ve been sitting here, going over everything. i keep thinking about how i pushed you away, how i let my own demons ruin what we had. you didn’t deserve that. none of it.”

you read it three times before setting the phone down, heart heavy and conflicted. simon never said things like this when you were together. and yet, here he was, baring himself in a way that felt almost foreign.

then came the gifts. small, thoughtful things that carried weight. one afternoon, a neatly wrapped package appeared at your door. chamomile tea—the good kind, the kind you’d mentioned in passing during one of those rare soft moments between you. you’d joked that his taste in tea was pretentious, and he’d grumbled something about chamomile being “too bloody mild.” now, seeing it in front of you, carefully packed with a handwritten note that simply said “thought you might like this”, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

the late-night call was unexpected. his voice was rough, the way it always got when he’d had a drink, but there was a tremor in it you didn’t recognize. “i’ve started therapy,” he admitted, the words slurred but clear enough. “trying to figure out... what’s wrong in my head. i don’t want to hurt anyone else. especially not you. not ever again.”

your chest tightened at the honesty. simon had always been guarded, his emotions buried so deep even you had trouble finding them. hearing him like this—open, vulnerable—was disarming.

when you finally told him he needed to stop calling you love, his answer was immediate. “can’t do that,” he said, his voice low but steady. “it’s what you are to me. maybe i didn’t show it right before, but it doesn’t change the fact. you’ll always be my love, even if it’s just in my head.”

he wasn’t asking for anything outright, and maybe that’s what made it harder. he wasn’t begging or demanding. he was just there—offering pieces of himself you’d spent years wishing he’d share, now arriving when you weren’t sure you wanted them anymore.

simon had always been a storm, intense and unrelenting. but this? this felt different. he wasn’t trying to sweep you off your feet. he was trying to meet you where you stood, hoping you’d see the man he was trying to become. and maybe—just maybe—give him another chance.

-------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

[novvabee]

And They Were Roommates pt.10

summary: friendsgiving, you meet all the slytherins, this kinda doesn't contain a lot, just meeting new characters and wholesome interactions, i might make a part two to this lmao

cw: casual drinking? firewhisky is mentioned but you can interpret it in any way you want really

word count: 2.1k

“Stop that, Siri,” you scolded, swatting at his hand, “It’ll never boil if you keep stirring it.”

You were at the stove, boiling water for potatoes, or trying to at least. Sirius, bless him, wanted to help out, but he was really just in the way if not a downright hazard in the kitchen. 

“You told me to boil and stir, those are my duties and I take them very seriously.” He said with a chuckle at the last part. You rolled your eyes and scooted him out of the way.

You had already baked a lovely cake, and helped James cook some chicken and pasta, the last thing you had to make were the mashed potatoes. Remus had cooked up some veggies and was storing them in the warmer.

About a week ago, you suggested a “friendsgiving” to the boys. They had no idea what you were talking about, staring at you and blinking blankly as you explained the concept. You just wanted to have your friends over, all under one roof, and eat yummy food and play fun games. It sounded easy, in theory, but it turned out to be a lot more work than you were expecting, especially since one of the three boys could not cook to save his life. You decided to put Sirius in charge of drinks and entertainment and that appeased him. 

The house was a rush for a couple days, you all decorated and figured out recipes you were going to make for the whole group. Then there was the inviting everyone and setting a time that everyone was available. It was like herding cats.

Your friends, Mary, Lily, and Marlene, were all easy. They communicated and organized and everything went off without a hitch. But Sirius wanted to invite his brother and some friends that you had yet to meet and they seemed…. Well a little less communicative and organized, but that was apparently very normal for them, none of the boys were upset by it.

“Remus,” you called into the other room. The tall boy appeared on the doorway in an instant. “Would you please help me finish the food?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes to really drive it home.

Remus smirked and rolled his eyes. “Only if I have to.” he replied jokingly.

Sirius whined from beside you where Remus was now moving him out of the way. “Well what am I supposed to do?” he said, pushing out his bottom lip in a fake pout.

You looked at him and smiled, knowing his antics, he was only wanting to stay in the kitchen so he could “test” everything you were making. “Why don't you help James?” you suggested. James was in the living room, setting up some fall-ish decor which included strings of leaves he found outside. He claimed the colors were too pretty to be left out in the cold, so he hung them up insead. It was cute. 

Sirius huffed and exited the kitchen. You continued on cooking, a little faster and more efficient now that Remus was actually helping you. It was a little while later, as you were finishing up, you heard some muffled arguing in the other room. You and Remus gave each other a confused look, then went to go and see what all the commotion was.

You entered the living room and it was completely transformed into a fall wonderland. There were strings of leaves hung up across the ceiling, carved little woodland creatures strewn about, candles lit everywhere, and a fire stoked in the fireplace. The room had a warm glow to it. You stood there in awe, taking it all in. Maybe you should put Sirius on decorating duty more often.

“How did you do all this? And.. you were in here for like ten minutes, how?” you asked, still in shock.

Sirius smirked at you. “Magic,” he drawled, shoving what looked like one of the decorative sticks into his back pocket. James shook his head at Sirius, and Remus coughed from beside you. You couldn’t believe it, he and James must have worked really fast. 

Your attention was drawn to the door, hearing a knock and some cheerful chatter. You smiled, instantly knowing who it was.

You opened the door and were met with the sight of Mary, Lily, and Marlene, all holding dishes they made.

“Hello love!” Mary sang, kissing you on the cheek before stepping inside. You hugged both Marlene and Lily and let them in as well. 

“I can’t believe you actually live with them,” Marlene said to you while handing her dish off to James. “I mean, if you ever need an escape, just let me know and you can come stay with me instead.” she said, conspiring against her friends.

You laughed but answered, “I like it here, the boys are lovely.”

Marlene blinked at you in shock. “The boys? Lovely?” 

“They better be,” Lily chimed in, glaring at both Sirius and James.

The latter held his hands up in defense as the former confirmed “We’ve been on our best behavior.” 

All of you settled in, the girls leaving their dishes on the long table that James had somehow conjured up early this morning. You all found space on the couches or chairs or just on the carpeted floor. Conversation was lively, they all were recounting stories about their school days. 

You learned a little bit more about the boys through the eyes of the girls. Apparently Remus was known as sort of a “casanova” in their years at school, James and Sirius got detention every day for three months but were able to sweet talk their way out of it after only a week, and that they had once set a fire in their common room.

“It was small!” James defended himself and his friends. “And we put it out eventually, didn't we?”

“Yes, because I supplied the water!” Lily laughed, making the rest of the room chuckle along with her.

“What about you, Y/N? You have any harrowing tales from school?” Mary asked.

You shook your head and let your gaze fall to the floor. “I was way too shy to do anything bad or adventurous in school.” you supplied.

“You never got into trouble?” James asked. “Not even once?”

“I mean…Not for anything like setting a common room on fire.” you shot back at him, jokingly. James smiled at you, the perfect, warm smile that he often reserved only for you. The type of smile that would instantly heat your face.

You were grateful for the knock at the door, taking the attention away from you and your growing blush.

Sirius jumped up and raced to the door, opening it to reveal a boy you had yet to meet. He looked almost exactly like Sirius, the only differences were his shorter hair and his sharper features, almost cat like.

“Reggie!” Sirius exclaimed, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. The boy stiffened a bit but pat Sirius on the back. "You didn’t make anything?”

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would I make anything? Can’t we just-”

“Regulus! It’s been too long” Mary called out, skipping up to him and hugging him as well.

“Where are the other two?” James asked.

The boy shrugged. “Honestly I don’t know, I told them I was leaving at 5:00 and for them to be in the car. I left at 5:00.” he said plainly, making James chuckle.

“And they weren't in the car?” James asked again.

“They were not in the car.” The boy confirmed smiling slightly, just the corners of his mouth, but somehow it lit his face up entirely. He turned to you, looking you up and down. “Hello, I’m Regulus.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” you said, giving him a small wave. “I’m their new roommate.” you explained, nodding your head to where James stood beside you.

“Oh right, Sirius mentioned you,” he said. You couldn’t really get a read on him, didn’t know if he liked you or not, if he was friendly or not.

You were saved by Marlene inserting herself into the conversation by asking, “So Reggie, uh, do you know who else is coming?”

Regulus turned his attention to her and smirked. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Oh yeah, Pandora is coming. Can’t wait to see her.” He smiled at her like he knew something, like he was onto some game she might be playing.

“Cool, yeah! Love Pandora. I’m, uh, excited to see her too.” she said quickly, then walked away. Regulus and James laughed.

There was another knock on the door, Sirius again opened it and revealed two girls standing side by side. One with dark brown hair and the coolest clothes you had ever seen, the other with blonde hair and an eccentric aura around her. The blonde was holding a tray of baked goods and the brunette was holding some sort of bottle.

They said their hellos to everyone before the blonde stopped right in front of you. “You must be Y/N! It is so lovely to meet you. I am excited to get to know you more, I’m Pandora by the way.” she said in an airy type of voice. She seemed sweet, kind. You were excited to get to know her more too.

“Yeah, nice to meet you too.” you said.

“I made pumpkin pasties, I hope that's alright with you.” she said, motioning with the tray in her hands.

“Oh, uh, yeah that’s great, thank you so much.” you started, “I’ve never had one before so, I’m happy to try one!” you finished, trying your best to match her cheeriness.

“Never had a pumpkin pasty?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “They are practically all I would eat when I was at-”

“I’ll take that.” Remus interjected, taking the tray gently from her hands.

“Oh Remus! How have you been? I was wondering about…” she started, getting distracted from you and following Remus into the kitchen. 

The other girl now stood in front of you. “Hey, I’m Dorcas.” she said. (you noticed Marlene blushing in the corner, eyeing her. Is this who she was hoping would show up…)

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you repeated to her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she echoed the formality. “So… you’re living here now? With them?” she nodded to Remus and James in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding.

She handed you the bottle in her hand. “This is for you, I think it may come in handy living with that bunch.” she laughed, her voice smooth and soft. “It’s whiskey.”

You giggled and thanked her, taking the bottle. “Drinks, anyone?” you asked, raising the bottle up for all to see. There was an assortment of yes’s and agreements. You made your way to the kitchen to start handing out drinks.

Everyone was mingling and drinking, making their way to the table. You sat between Remus and Dorcas, talking to her about clothes and jewelry. She was wearing some of the coolest rings you had ever seen and you needed to know where she got them. “Oh here,” she said, handing you one you had asked about.

“W-what no. I couldn’t” you stuttered, shocked that she would be willing to give it up. Like she had known you for years, like you were sisters sharing clothes. 

“No, don't worry about it, think about it like a house warming present or something.” she explained, popping the ring  on the placemat in front of you. “Besides, I like making my own rings, I can always make another.”

You thought right then that she may be the coolest girl you had ever met.

There was yet another knock at the door. “Late as always!” Mary sang from the other side of the table, making the room laugh. Pandora was the one who jumped from her seat and made for the door. 

“Evan!” you heard her call out. She re-entered the room with two boys behind her. The first boy was tall, almost as tall as Remus, and blonde like Pandora. The other was slightly shorter and had green streaks dyed into his black hair. The second boy was holding a pie.

“I told you I was leaving at 5:00” Regulus muttered from one of the heads of the table.

“We made a pie.” the one with the green streaks said, extending out the pie he was holding.

Lily crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow “you made a pie?” she said with an accusatory tone.

The green haired boy smiled. “We bought a pie, and the pie is here.”

You stood and walked up to the two new boys. You introduced yourself and took the pie, telling them to follow you to the kitchen so they could grab drinks as well.

“I never thought the day would come when I would be jealous of the marauders.” you heard the green haired boy, whose name you learned was Barty, mumble to the tall blonde boy, whose name was Evan, Pandora’s twin brother.

so this one was so fun to write even though nothing really happened, I just like to flesh out all their personalities kinda... idk. also there is so much magic in this one if you're looking for it. I do wanna do a pt.10 pt.2 lmao but that is so silly

taglist 💌:@too-efn-old-to-be-here @cometsghost @eeviee4 @giuli-in-earth @spicybearnaise @the-lavender-girl @adharalikethestar @champomiel @itsleroyposts @enamoredwithbella @babymash @ilovejamespottersomuch @liszblog @sammyreid @kiaslily @idkman5335 @willowlovestheweasleys @lady-balem @nislame @latenightreadingpdf @v-loves-frogs @meggishhhh @mooonyxoxo @sodavrr @notmonstersapocalipse @plk-18 @prettylittlewrites

[in1-nutshell]

Welp, Ironhold and Ophelia are now all in TFA along with Silveraid.  I’d like to request that we make the family even bigger by adding TFA Fearless.  A random kid that just found the base and proceeds to tom and jerry their way around the base until the Decepticons just accept them.

Introducing TFA Fearless!

Hope you enjoy!

TFA Fearless

SFW, Platonic, Slight Familial, Human reader

TFA

The Decepticons had faced many foes and obstacles in their lifetime.

Most of them being Autobots and the rare occasion of a different alien species.

But this, this had to be one of the biggest foes they had faced yet.

One might be thinking it be a large Autobot like Omega Supreme.

And they’d be wrong.

The mighty foe was none other than a human.

A human that got on everyone’s nerves.

None of the Con’s knew how exactly they human knew where their location was or why they came inside willingly.

All they did know was the puny organic loved to mess with them.

Starscream is walking around the base. The little human was on a ledge holding a can of silly spray. The human jumped off the ledge. Human: “Geronimo!” They land on his helm and starts spraying everywhere with the silly string. Starscream: “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! GET THIS THING OFF ME!!!” Later… Megatron is sitting on his throne so no one can see the writing of ‘KING CON’ on his lower backside. Megatron: “Lugnut… what is that?” Lugnut has a drawing of a mustache on his faceplate. Lugnut: “The human came in while I was asleep My Lord.” Blitzwing is next to him with even more doodles on his faces. Blitzwing: “You think?!”

The Cons have tried to catch the human before.

But it usually ends up with them gracefully evading each trap or taking it apart.

Even when Lugnut and Blitzwing attempted to recreate traps they had seen humans use to keep rodents out of their homes.

The human walked away happy that day with an entire wheel of parmesan cheese

Some Cons have started looking up on the internet to see if the human is some sort of urban legend or cryptic.

The human was given the nickname Fearless.

Though it was meant to be a way words compliment about them being the most fearless being the first to get terminated.

Fearless wore that name with pride, now referring to themselves by the name when they came by the base.

Finally, the Cons decide to ignore the human in hopes that it would just leave on its own.

The human quickly notices the shift and is a bit weirded out by it.

Fearless tried amping up their tricks but the Cons use every ounce of self-restrain to not pay any attention to them.

Slowly the human stops making their usual appearances, which to the Con’s shock found worrisome.

They had gotten used to the little vermin antics that now the base seemed much quieter.

Megatron found himself looking around the floor more often than what he’d like to admit.

Starscream as much as he hates to admit it, missed the little laughter the human made.

Blitzwing and Lugnut have both been caught leaving food and ‘toys’ out to see if the human would come back.

Blackarachnia missed the human playing pranks on Starscream.

The Con’s are going through their usual business, though it’s a bit slower than usual. Fearless quietly walks into the base with a large backbag. They look confused at the slightly sulking Cons. Fearless walks up to Blitzwing’s pede and taps it. Blitzwing ‘Icy’ looks down surprised. Fearless: “Hey Blitzy, whats up with everyone?” Blitzwing ‘Random’ squeals as he scoops up Fearless and turns to the other Con’s. Blitwing: “THEY’RE BACK! FEARLEZZ IZ BACK!!!” Fearless is a bit dizzy by the sudden scoop and gets picked up by the helm of their shirt by none other than the Leader of the Decepticon’s himself. Megatron: “You best have a good excuse for the sudden reclusion, human.” Fearless looks confused before giving him a smug look. Fearless: “Aw! You guys missed me? Even after giving me the cold shoulder for about a month?” There is a lot of stuttering and denying from all the Con’s. Fearless has their arms crossed almost playfully. Fearless: “So, am I gonna get an apology? Cause I can always just go—” They are interrupted as they are placed on Megatron’s shoulder. Fearless can feel him grumbling with an apology low enough for them to hear. They laugh a bit, patting Megatron’s helm while giving him a genuine smile. Fearless: “Apology accepted King Con.”

The Con’s are protective of their little ‘pet’, a title that is not fooling anyone.

Fearless was now a part of their team.

No, they did not help with the Decepticon cause, they were more of a mascot that was just happy to be there.

Now being fully accepted by the Con’s Fearless’s pranking had gone down a bit and showed a bit of a softer side of the human.

Lugnut is walking through the base carrying a crate. The human quickly jogs by his side. Fearless: “Lugnut! Hey Lugnut!” Lugnut: “What?” The human looks at him concern. Fearless: “You, okay?” Lugnut is caught off guard. Lugnut: “Erm…” Fearless: “You don’t usually do these rounds yet, and you look a bit stressed.” Lugnut tries again to ignore the human. Fearless: “Is everything okay? You can talk to me if you want.” Lugnut: “And why would I talk to you?” Fearless: “I think just its better to unload some things from your mind before they get bigger. And what better way to unload it on someone who has no connections to you and your cause!” Lugnut looks a bit unsure. Lugnut: “… You will listen?” The human smiles at him reassuring. Fearless: “No judgement here big guy. Lay it on me!” A couple minutes later… Lugnut is on the ground while the human was patting his helm sympathetically. Lugnut: “I just really miss my Conjunx!” Fearless: “Umm, what’s a Conjunx again?” Lugnut: “I believe it is something similar to a spouse in your language.” Fearless: “Wait your married!?” Later… Fearless, Blackarachnia and Blitzwing unroll a large spread of paper. Blitzwing ‘Random’ is using a mop to paint Fearless’s hands and feet. ‘Random’: “Vhat iz the next part?” Blackarachnia: “This seems pointless.” Fearless: “Hush! Now let the master work their magic.” Fearless starts walking on the giant paper, leaving their footprints and hand prints in a certain pattern. The process repeats until there is a flower in the paper. Blackarachnia blinks a bit surprised. Blackarachnia: “That was… unexpected.” ‘Random’: “OOOOOOHHHHHH! Now my turn!” Even later… Starscream is on his berth sprawled out while Fearless is on his chassis. Fearless: “Have you, I don’t know, maybe stop trying to terminate Megatron?” Starscream: “And why would I do that? I am so close to becoming the Leader the Decepticon’s need!” Fearless: “Have you tried being the Second in Command the Cons need instead?” Starscream goes to retaliate but stops. Fearless: “It would Definity get you some brownie points if you started being nicer to some of the Con’s.” Starscream: “…What are Brownie points?” Even more later… Fearless yawns a bit, clutching their blanket. They spot Megatron’s pede, they sit down and lean on it. Megatron looks down. Megatron: “What are you—” Fearless was now deep asleep on his pede. Megatron blinks before carefully scooping them up and letting them rest on his servo. He gently strokes their back as they snuggle closer into his servo. Megatron: “Foolish human…”

[emmawithtwoms]

The Gryffindor Common Room

@wolfstarmicrofic day 25 -879 words

If you were to go to Hogwarts, in any year, you would have a blast. I mean, going to school in a magical castle, where you learn how to fly on brooms, turn cats into tea mugs and defeat your enemies with magic had to be the best thing ever, right?

But little Chris thought that he got into Hogwarts in the luckiest years. You see, Chris was a fifth year Gryffindoor, very excited about anything cool and extraordinary. He loved mischief and chaos, but he also held a genuine love for learning and studying.

So you could imagine how cool his school years must have been, having the Marauders just a couple of years above him, in his same House.

He admired all of them: James Potter, the fierce, sweet, lovesick fool, always top of his class and never afraid to stand up for what was right.

Sirius Black: charming, cool, witty, extremely cool in an effortless way, the best in ancient runes and advanced magic, the first Black in 300 years to be put in Gryffindor, who was proud of being disowned by his family of dark wizards (Did Chris mention how cool he was?).

Peter Pettigrew, who might have seemed the weakest in the group, but who was really a master of theft. He had many little tricks up his sleeves, and he could pass by unnoticed while causing havoc on his path.

And last but not least, Remus Lupin: the kindest and shyest of the group. Always offering help to the younger years, he became a sort of reference point to all his smaller peers. He created a study group to help those in need and would always help the first years who got lost in the immense castle.

And if it wasn't enough, he was also effortlessly handsome, with his lanky limbs, his shyness, his love for books, his mysterious aura given by his scars, his slightly oversized ears, crooked nose and hazel eyes.

Chris might have had the slightest crush on him, but who could blame him? He found himself countless times on the receiving end of Remus' unconditional help, always with a kind smile on his lips.

Sadly, he resigned himself and accepted the fact that his love was unrequited: Remus would have never liked him back, a guy like him surely had a line of girls hoping to date him (he also overheard two of his classmates making some lewd comments on his bum).

And, if it wasn't enough, there was no way that Remus Lupin was gay.

So he was content just observing him while they were studying together in the Gryffindor common room, Remus was helping him revise for his O.W.L.s while repeating for his N.E.W.T.s. They had been working silently in the common room for the past couple of hours, when they were interrupted by none other than Sirius Black, who was giddier than ever.

"Moonyyyy, there you were. I've been looking everywhere for you! Hey Chris, still revising for the O.W.L.s?"

How in the bloody hell did Sirius Black know his name???? He could barely nod with his wide eyes at the surprise, and Sirius flashed him a toothy grin in return, while placing his arms on top of Remus' chair.

"Hi Pads." Remus lifted his head and smiled at his friend, his smile particularly soft, Chris noticed.

"Yeah, we are almost done for the day, just another hour just to make sure."

"Another hour?? But you've been here for the whole afternoon! It's almost dinner and I've barely seen you!"

"Oh how will you survive this loss, Padfoot?"

"I will not, my Moony, my heart will not resist another second without being soothed by your company. You will kill me, Moons."

Chris was enraptured by this exchange, he could not tear his eyes away. It was weird seeing Remus indulging in this kind of childish behaviour, but the older boy just kept smiling and looking at Sirius like he was painting the Mona Lisa.

"Come on Pads, I'll need just a little more. We cannot all pass our exams without opening our books, you know?"

"Oh come on! You are already competing for the Swot Cup with Evans. Slacking off for one evening will not ruin your records!"

"I said no, Pads, I really need to finish this, I'll join you later."

At that Remus looked back at his book, and Chris thought that the odd exchange was over. But then he noticed a weird glint in Sirius' grey eyes. The black haired boy lowered his face to be at Remus' year level and whispered something. Something that made Remus get redder and redder. When Remus stood up, Sirius grinned like he just won the Quidditch cup, with his arms crossed behind his head.

"Uhm- yeah. Ok, yeah Pads, you're right, I think we've done enough for today, eh Chris? Let's just... yeah, see you!"

Remus barely collected all of his things before following Sirius up the stairs, leaving Chris alone and wondering. Just as he was about to turn his head back on his books, he swore he saw Remus linking his pinky with Sirius.

Oh.

OH!

"Well, Remus definitely does not aim low, huh?"

A.N: Yes, Chris is definitely Christopher from ATYD, I just love him so much

[anxious-lee]

|| Ridiculous Problems Require Ridiculous Solutions ||

A/N: me going to sleep at night knowing i write OOC tickles for serious media: 😴😴😴

Summary: Jayce refuses to get some sleep, but Viktor might have a way to convince him.

Word count: 1292

---

It's easier to scold someone else's lack of self-care than it is to work on your own.

When Viktor neglects his sleep, Jayce knows exactly what to say every time. "You can't keep overworking your body like this. Sooner or later, you're going to shut down."

But when Jayce neglects his sleep, he finds new ways to rationalize his decision thanks to his sleep-deprived daze. He pretends like he can't see Viktor staring ironically at him from down the table.

Okay, so maybe he was being a bit of a hypocrite. But these were special circumstances! They were expected to present a new Hextech device to the council in a few days, and they were running behind schedule. Jayce had tried to speed things along by putting in a few more hours at his station, but what was supposed to be "a few hours" turned into the entire night.

Viktor, as Jayce expected, was none too pleased. He insisted that they had already done more than was even necessary, and that any more modifications could have been dealt with in the morning. He even had the nerve to parrot Jayce's own lecture back to him.

"If you keep this up, sooner or later your body will shut down."

"Why does that sound so familiar?" Jayce groaned sarcastically. Regardless of his ill-advised choices, this machine still needed finishing, and that was what he was going to do.

He couldn't quite remember getting up out of his chair and making his way over to the toolbox, as the world seemed to blur around him, but a curmudgeonly voice brought him back to the present.

"Jayce, please, what you've done is good enough. Go home and get some sleep."

"Viktor, I'm fine, I'm really fine. I can still work."

"What is it you're reaching for right now?"

Jayce blinked down at where his hand was grabbing... thin air. Dazed, he spun around until he found the tool box on complete opposite end of the table.

Viktor gestured emphatically at the box. "You see? You're not thinking clearly," His voice changed suddenly into a compassionate, almost pleading tone. "You've gone too long without sleep. I'll handle the preparations today, you can go home."

"Vik, I can't just drop this now okay? I'm so close now. I mean think about it, what's more important right now: the amount of sleep I get, or proving our value to the council?"

"I cannot believe you're asking me this" said Viktor, sounding more exhausted than his partner in that moment.

Ignoring him, Jayce staggered to where the toolbox actually was, and grabbed a wrench.

Unfortunately for him, Viktor was not willing to let this go. He gripped Jayce by the arm clutching the wrench.

"Jayce, put it down. I don't want to need to use force." Although it was certainly a threat, they both knew implicitly that Viktor wasn't very cross with Jayce at all. But dammit, he would go to bed.

Jayce chuckled. "Not happening, Vik."

"Ehhhh fine. If that's the way it has to be" Viktor said, with something akin to a smirk in his voice. A smirk that usually meant trouble for Jayce.

A hand suddenly began squeezing up Jayce's side, making the scientist bark in a choke of laughter. It wasn't often that Viktor opted to play dirty like this; only when the situation desperately called for it. He was nothing if not a determined man.

Laughing freely, Jayce remained where he stood. At a new ninety-degree angle, sure, but still standing. If Viktor wanted to take this up a notch, then so would he. He'll laugh until his sides split open, but he is not losing this fight.

"Viktor, whahat the hehehelll!" He giggled.

"I have asked you several times to take a break, but if you want to go about this like a child, then I will treat you like one" Viktor teased.

Jayce could hear the smugness in his voice.

"I'm noHOt givihing IN!"

"How unfortunate for you."

The hand at Jayce's side was now climbing it's way up to his arm. Jayce twisted around every which way he could to try and stall its arrival, but to little success. He would rather die than admit it, but he truly couldn't help giggling even if it wasn't involuntary. The sensation, sparkling its way through his nerves like lightning through tree branches, was just so funny. It was pleasant, in the most unbearable way. He couldn't fully wrap his head around it, and he didn't have time to, because Viktor was still clawing into his armpit.

Jayce wasn't going to take this lying down. He started to pull away from his partner, hoping that Viktor wouldn't persist that much. Maybe moving away would be all it took for this tickly spell to be broken.

But to no such luck. Viktor could see his plan to move before he enacted it. Quick as a flash, he gripped Jayce's arm with his free hand, now effectively pinning him to his side.

"And where do you think you're going?" Viktor asked.

"Lehet mehehe gohoho!"

"You know what it is I want Jayce. I'll keep tickling until you go to bed."

"You cahan't brihihibe me into being healthyhyhyhy!"

"Bribe?"

Oh, fuck.

"Is this a bribe then?" came the voice above him. His voice was like a warm spotlight, exposing him with the softest touch. It was the same tone he got when something truly fascinated him; when his object of study surprised him and heightened his sense of curiosity even more.

Jayce's eyes had shut tight as soon as he realized what he had said, too mortified to dare a look. The tickling had stopped. Of course it did. Why would Viktor keep going after hearing him say something that stupid? He didn't even think it, it just slipped out! But he couldn't say that he was mistaken. Because he was having fun. Goofing off, having Viktor be close to him, playing with him-

Viktor had been quiet for a total of three whole seconds, but to Jayce, it may as well have been twenty. Then came Viktor's voice.

"Well, in that case-" he said, a little too giddy for Jayce's liking.

"Wait, Viktor, I didn't mean it like-"

A hand latched onto his other side, simultaneously pulling him in like an awkward side-hug. The other hand had surrendered the grip on his arm in favor of scratching at his belly. The frantic giggles that left his mouth were not helping to ease the embarrassment of the situation.

"How about this for a deal?" Viktor smiled, a gentle and adoring look in his eyes that Jayce could not appreciate, as his eyes were still clamped shut. "We go home, get relaxed, and I tickle you senseless until you're worn out. Sound fair?"

What didn't sound fair was how flirty he sounded. Jayce's face burned red, and he knew he couldn't hide it. He buried his face into Viktor's chest.

"I'll take that as a yes."

And with that, the tickling stopped. Only for this moment. Viktor's hands now cradled his husband's face, pulling it out from his chest and against his forehead.

"You make me so stupidly weak" he said, pressing a kiss to his nose.

"Which one of us has been *laughing themselves stupid* for the past five minutes?"

That got a giggle out of Viktor. With a final poke in the side, he grabbed his cane and turned toward the door, with Jayce grabbing their coats behind them.

"You don't think anyone heard us, do you?" Jayce asked nervously.

"Don't worry, Sky's not here today."

From behind the closed door, Sky took that as a sign to leave quickly, and she did so without a sound.

---

I swear I am actually going to write lee!viktor soon trust

[milykins]

Hello my dear! ✨️

I was curious if you might be able to write a little something fun/fluffy with Mikey for this prompt:

"Sorry, you're just my type."

I'd love to see what you could come up with for this. Thank you!

🫂💖

Finally ready to post! I hope this doesn't disappoint. I had fun putting my own nerdy spin on this ask and putting it in my AU where they already live among humans just worked really well for this prompt. Thank you for it!

TW: None, set in an AU where they live in the city and have jobs/own businesses. Aged up, adult turtles

Special thanks to @sophiacloud28 for beta reading!

Just My Type

Mikey was kind of a big deal. He was the first of his brothers to go ‘public’ once they had made the decision to reveal themselves. Predictably, Leo had advised him to go about it carefully. Raph followed suit, and Donnie especially. Both were planning to take careful baby steps and advised Mikey to do the same.

Funny that they expected him to listen, did they even know him? Unsurprisingly, he went hard, very much putting himself out there. To him, the choice was easy. If they were to live among the humans, he needed to show them that they meant no harm. The incident at the police station was a painful reminder of how bad things could go and he was willing to do whatever it took to prevent that. Mikey was steadfastly dedicated to shifting humanity’s perspective from ‘monsters’ to ‘heroes’.

To his delight, the expressed reception was largely positive. He was very pleased that his efforts had paid off. Perhaps a little too well. Mikey ended up with a huge fanbase in a matter of months. His popularity exploded across social media and he even appeared on a few talk shows.

Opening his comic book store was huge. People camped outside with lineups around the block for the grand opening. The rush of customers and fans was so intense that Mikey actually had to call his brothers in for assistance. Raph had been more than happy to act as a bouncer for his little brother.

He was quickly becoming very familiar with the term ‘be careful what you wish for’. Our hero in orange was there. The constant fans demanding pictures, autographs, even trying to steal his mask… (he’d lost four so far) had been grating on him a little. He’d been wondering if his brothers were right in telling him he should’ve approached humanity more carefully. Leo certainly had no problem pointing it out. ‘You asked for this, Mikey. What did you expect?’

He couldn’t say. He’d just wanted what they all wanted. Acceptance. Now, it looked like he’d bitten of more than he could chew.

Then you came along.

He’d been watching the day you nervously approached the door. Carefully, you placed your hand on the door handle before abruptly drawing it back like it had been burned. Turning on your heel you left fast, caught up in your own mortification. Stifling a soft chuckle, Mikey went back to his work.

You proceeded to do this twice more over the coming days much to his growing amusement. He couldn’t help but be intrigued and was patiently waiting for the day you summoned enough courage to actually enter the store.

Obviously, you were a huge fan. He was flattered of course but he could tell something was different about you. Typically, his fans had no fear in approaching him and most had even less shame in throwing themselves at him. He found your hesitancy and careful approach to be endearing and a refreshing change.

His heart soared the day you finally summoned your courage and asked to be a part of his weekly one-shot D&D afternoon gaming sessions. Of course it was a resounding yes from him. He was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic as he was more than happy to include you.

It was a wonderful thing to see you blossom during the session. To see your confidence grow as you slowly came out of your own proverbial shell. You’d played before, he could tell. The adorable accent you put on as you fell into the role of playing your character nearly dropped him on the back of his shell. It was so cute. He delighted in the fact that you did not need much help in calculating your rolls either. He was really trying to tamp it down but he was already smitten. Soft, sweet, pretty and shy, but hiding this confident player underneath. You were just his type.

As the session came to a close, he felt a surge of pride upon being thanked by you. A wholly grateful smile on your face. Humbly accepting the praise, he secretly hoped this wasn’t the last he’d see of you. To his relief you shyly approached him after the game, not to ask for a picture or an autograph but to ask if he knew of any D&D groups accepting new members. Hope bloomed within him as he explained that actually there was one. His heart fluttered in his chest as he watched the excitement in your eyes grow. It was a done deal. You were invited to join his very exclusive, only reserved for family and close friends… D&D group.

Those sessions were the most enjoyable he’d ever had the pleasure of dming. Seeing you attend his games became the highlight of his week. You and he soon struck up a solid friendship and for once in his life, Mikey was trying his hardest not to come on too strong. He didn’t want to screw this up by any means. He wanted you to call the shots and was secretly hoping that you liked him as much as he liked you.

Oh, he was in deep. He began noticing the subtle nuances in your behaviour, little things unique only to you. How your cheeks flushed pink when something embarrassing happened or when he’d teased you in-game. Your expression of pure satisfaction and excitement as you rolled a perfect nat20 and your contradictory one of utter disappointment and dramatic woe when you rolled a nat1. He found himself craving these moments, just to see how you’ll react. Truthfully, he’d fudged at least one roll just so you’d have a success instead of a failure. He needed to see the look of pure joy on your face. He wanted to be the cause of that joy.

One day, he couldn’t help it. He had to ask you out. Saying he was nervous was an understatement. You’d think having such a huge fanbase would’ve prepared him for this but alas no. He was still a shy, stuttering mess when he’d quietly suggested dinner and a walk after.

At your soft, surprised yes, he nearly cheered with an overly enthusiastic fist pump. Instead, he tugged you in for a tentative hug and quietly told you how happy that would make him. He had to really hold back from kissing you as your faces grew close. Shyly, you pulled away first to tell him you’ll see him there. He watched you turn with a small wave and a tiny excited smile. You were so adorable it hurt.

The date itself seemed to be a success. He wanted you to be wined and dined, wanted you to feel special, like a princess. He tried to be an absolute gentleman while putting his best romantic foot forward. To his delight, you seemed to be having a wonderful time. If your wide smiles and soft bouts of laughter were any indication. By the time he was carefully holding your hand while walking with you through Central Park he’d thought he'd made it. Reading your body language and how you had glanced up to his face a few times while your cheeks flushed so prettily. He took the cue and leaned in for that once-in-a-lifetime first kiss. It was going to be perfect.

It was… until you pulled away at the last second. Mikey felt as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. Concern laced his features as he searched your face to find out where he’d gone wrong. Then you started talking, your voice stuttering and unsure.

“I’m sorry… I just… I didn’t think you really liked me like that…”

His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. “You… you don’t feel the same way… do you?” There was no hiding his disappointment this time. He watched your eyes widen as you struggled to pick your next words carefully.

Your tone changes then as you shake your head and then nod, stammering a bit. “Wait, wait, wait! No, I do! I do like you, Mikey… I just didn’t think you’d go for me, I’m nothing special… not like those fangirls of yours. Aren’t they more your type?”

This was the answer he’d least been expecting to hear. He’d been sure you were going to let him down easy… that your heart belonged to another… more human guy. Not a mutated turtle guy.

“Not my… you think that they…” His mind was absolutely blown. This gorgeous, sweet woman thought that she wasn’t good enough for him? That was it, he was in love.

“Sweetheart… sorry to disappoint you, you’re just my type. Exactly my type. You’re the only woman I want to be with. The one that knows the real me.” He gave you a truthful and tender smile as he carefully tucked an errant curl behind your ear.

This time, when he moved in for that kiss, there was no hesitation on your part. He wanted you to feel the joy and tenderness he poured into it, right down to your toes.

A tightening of your grip and a deepening of the kiss was all he needed to know that you did feel it. He’d found what most people had been searching for their entire lives. A deep connection you both shared in the depths of your souls. To heck with ‘types’ he just wanted you.

Until the next ask!

Taglist:

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

Please ask if you'd like to be added!

[libraryogre]

I wrote something similar to this... less aboyt unfucking specific ancestries, and more about the philosophies behind racism in RPGs.

So, recently, I've started saying "More Pratchett than Tolkien" to describe my approach to D&D (and other RPGs, but it seems to be more an issue with those who prefer older versions of D&D). But what do I see that as meaning? I've got a few points on this; mostly what I perceive as being the core parts of a "Tolkien" mindset of game worlds, versus a "Pratchett" mindset. Note that I am not ascribing these opinions specifically to JRR Tolkien, but rather than Lord of the Rings is frequently invoked as defense of them. After this, I'll avoid referring to this as "Tolkien" or words derived from that; my statement is pithy, better for a signature than discussion.

1) Racism as a necessary component

One of the primary objections to playing a "humanoid" character is that the character will face insurmountable racism; the 1e DMG says "So unless the player desires a character which will lurk alone somewhere and be hunted by adventurers", before going on to explain that one might want to play a gold dragon, because it can look human, but that no gold dragon would want to do this. The games will often include something like a "Basic Acceptability of Racial Types" table; 1e has one in the PH to cover humans and demi-humans, and the DMG has one to cover most types of humanoids in their interactions with each other; Hackmaster includes it in the PH. With this, it is argued, the game wouldn't be "realistic".

Leaving aside the conception of a world which must, necessarily, include often violent racism, it also shows a lack of imagination, or consideration of the nature of the world presented in D&D and similar games... while many different species live in the world, Good and Evil are real and quantifiable things, and there are gods who can communicate relatively freely with their worshipers on the Prime Material (if they don't live there themselves). A view where violent, unexamined racism can leave one still aligned as "Good" is one that is alien to any understanding of the word "Good" that I have, much less the definition of "Good" as laid out in the 1e DMG. "Basically stated, the tenets of good are human rights, or in the case of AD&D, creature rights. Each creature is entitled to life, relative freedom, and the prospect of happiness. Cruelty and suffering are undesirable." (p 23) How is this compatible with the idea that Good people can freely kill non-combatants of "evil" races?

A particularly evident argument of this is seen in half-orcs (and, in Hackmaster, half-hobgoblins). The 1e PH states that "some one-tenth of orc-human mongrels ore sufficiently non-orcish to pass for human." (p 17). Hackmaster has "Note that even where hobgoblins are acceptable, half-hobgoblins are mistreated and disliked by the locals. Half-hobgoblins share a special bond with half-orcs,alongside whom they are often persecuted as beastly monsters." (HM PH, 31) Despite both being specifically being called out as being non-sterile hybrids, the only consideration is that all half-humanoids will "will always have an human mother and have been born and raised in human lands" and be "The offspring of questionable parentage and violent couplings" (HM PH, 31); none will be, for example, the offspring of a mommy sil-karg and a daddy sil-karg who love each other very much. Hackmaster mentions that "The city of Prompeldia has developed a sizable sil-karg quarter that is threatening to become large enough to count as its own culture." (HM PH, 31). But all will be "The offspring of questionable parentage and violent couplings."

A Pratchett-style view of the game does not pretend that racism does not exist, but rather disputes the idea that it is insurmountable. The dwarves and trolls of Ankh-Morpork do begin with hatred, but they reach an uneasy peace when forced into proximity by the city. Sam Vimes, like many in the city, is riddled with prejudices about non-humans and the undead, but he overcomes them as he deals with them as people. Some of this is inspired by Carrot, the human raised by dwarves, who still considers himself a dwarf in many respects... but also respects all people, learning their names and treating them as citizens, not as trolls or gargoyles.

2) Race as unbending identity

"Humans with pointy ears" is frequently invoked when you have a non-human character who is perceived to act unlike their stereotype, or one of the acceptable range of stereotypes. Are your dwarves "not dwarven enough?" Does he like wine instead of ale? Does he shave his beard? Is he a dagger wielding tunnel rat, instead of a chain-mail clad warrior with an axe? You're playing a short human, not a REAL dwarf.

This also tends to get invoked when dealing with traditionally hostile non-humans. An elf or dwarf might violate their racial alignment, but a good orc? Unheard of. It's argued that it is impossible for any of the "humanoids" to be other than their Monster Manual entries, despite that never really being written anywhere, and several counter-examples, especially from 2nd edition (such as the Monster Mythology deity who prizes his good bugbear converts). Gary Gygax, revered by many old school gamers, even stated "The old addage [sic] about nits making lice applies", referring to noted proponent of genocide John Chivington's statements about Native Americans. As I have argued before, Dungeons and Dragons owes a lot to Westerns, and the attitude towards humanoids in a game tends to mirror the attitude towards Native Americans in contemporary Westerns; in Chato's Land (1973), you have a half-Indian protagonist, while Dances with Wolves (1990) presents the Native Americans as the sympathetic characters.

One objection to having the possibility of non-evil humanoids is the idea that a DM may use these as "gotchas"... "You killed all of these orcs but they were secretly good so now you're all evil!". But this argument fails, in my opinion, as one could also use that as an argument against DMs... "We found a vorpal sword in a crypt guarded by a skeleton with no legs!" It is always possible for a bad DM to make a bad game.

A more Pratchett-style game recognizes that the stereotypes exist, and may be the norm, but they are not the only way characters of that race can be played. Pratchett's dwarves are uniformly male-presenting, with beards and axes and iron boots, with one's actual sex being so concealed that the beginning of a dwarven courtship is "find out if the person is the correct gender." In Feet of Clay, however, we're introduced to Cheri Littlebottom, a dwarf woman who doesn't want that. She wants dresses and jewelry, lipstick and high heels welded to her iron boots. It is noted to be unusual. Other dwarves react with disgust... but it also doesn't make her impossible to exist as a character. Other examples include trolls who join the watch, vampires in the Überwald League of Temperance who abstain from intelligent blood, and golems who buy their freedom to become their own selves.

3) Only certain races are proper.

Some of this ties into the distinctions drawn between humans, demi-humans (elves, dwarves, gnomes, and halflings), semi-humans (half-elves, half-orcs, half-hobgoblins), and humanoids (orcs, goblins, gnolls, etc.). In the older game mindset, players should only be humans, demi-humans, and semi-humans; anything else is too weird or outlandish. For this, I will set aside the humanoids; I feel the objections to them are largely addressed above. This is addressed to what are often seen as the more exotic races... dragonborn, warforged, tabaxi, and the like.

The older mindset tends to describe these are unnecessary. I've even had someone describe the non-evil drow, minotaurs, and other uncommon races described as "played out", as if the dwarves with beards and axes griping at the elves of the forests isn't itself cliche at this point. The small stable of relatively human races is seen as a bonus... provided they don't go outside "appropriate" for their species, that they're human-like is enough. Orcs and humanoids are rejected as above, but there's also examples like Lizardfolk (who have always been Neutral, if cannibals) who are part of the world, but considered too out there for PCs.

The Pratchett-inspired game eschews this; while golems are unusual in Ankh-Morpork, and certainly powerful (more powerful than you might want in a low-level game), Warforged are a similar idea, but rendered playable. Tabaxi represent a different kind of character than "short and resistant to magic in some way". Dragonborn evoke the namesake of the game, again providing a different sort of character to play. That these exist don't invalidate the options to play elves, dwarves, and halflings. A Pratchett-inspired game will have a more cosmopolitan approach to races, both in terms of racism (as above), and in terms of options.

Unfucking Dungeons & Dragons

The concept of some humanoid or near-humanoid species being naturally inclined to evil is a racist one, and, unfortunately, a prevalent one in Dungeons & Dragons, exacerbated by the fact that these “evil species” are frequently the “ugly” ones. Drow are a particularly glaring example - “made black because of their ‘evil’”?! Fuck you - but the duergar - “the slaves … learned only to enslave, really makes you think don’t it” - and the orcs - “they feel the CALL to evil in their Gruumshy HEARTS” - are also super not good. (There’s also a fair degree of ableism, with “insane” monsters - in such cases, I honestly think “unaligned” would be a better description for “too far gone to understand morality”. Evil implies a choice.) Honestly, I wouldn’t mind so much if these weren’t supposed to be naturally-occurring species - always evil demons or fey are fine, because they’re made of magic and stories, although care should of course be taken not to make them look like naturally-occurring species - but elves are really just fragile pointy-eared monkeys, and they have excuses. However, these evil humanoids are also genre staples and often quite aesthetically good. To that end, I offer the Unfucking D&D Guide, which provides what I think are solutions to this problem. (It should be noted that I am whiter than plain yogurt, so my ideas should be taken with a grain of salt and definitely not take precedence over the ideas of non-white folks. If I’ve said something fucked-up in this, please let me know and I’ll fix it.)

Duergar. Keep the “enslaved by illithids, made grim & psionic” bit, toss the “learnt evil from them” part. The duergar are joyless, or can appear so - you can play them either as gloomy and fatalistic or as eccentric and unreasonably concerned with “corruption” - but despite whatever mood they possess, make sure that they are thoroughly dedicated to making sure the horrors of the Underdark stay in the Underdark, and are as righteous and honorable as their hill and mountain cousins.

Derro. The derro are an “insane” species; I bring them up only because I saw them confused with duergar in one post about racism in D&D. Their lore has not been constant - the current lore is “dwarves enslaved by illithids, tortured into madness, and now they’re eeeeeeeevil”, which is ableist, not racist - but their metatextual origin is among the detrimental robots, or Deros, of pulp author Richard Sharpe Shaver’s stories (or possibly delusions). “Born from the dreams of a mad author” would actually be good lore if you can make that author a tragic sufferer of schizophrenia in a time before it was understood rather than an ~*~eViL mAdMaN~*~, but in any event, change their type to construct, fey, or fiend, and, most importantly, don’t take them seriously. The derro are pulp villains, and their evil is grandiose and nonsensical. They ought not to be seen as realistic; they ought to be seen as Snidely Whiplash, Commander Claw, or Heinz Doofenshmirtz. “Reasons” are for other genres.

Drow. Return drow to their mythical roots as trow, nocturnal hunters, tricksters, and magical artisans dwelling in the hollow hills. There’s high and wood elves; dark elves can find a niche. Lolthite culture is good villain fodder, but make sure that you can handle an “evil religion”, and make sure that all types of elves participate.

Goblinoids and trolls. Make them fey, and abandon Tolkien for Rossetti and folktale. Goblins make cruel bargains; hobgoblins attend faerie courts; bugbears hide in closets and create electricity from feed on children’s screams; trolls lurk under bridges and love riddles. As fey, they’re not evil, simply alien and lacking in empathy towards mortals.

Gnolls. If you use the Volo’s lore, change their type to fiend and be done with it. If you want to have them be natural humanoids, go read Ursula Vernon’s Digger for the best-written hyaena-furries in literature and base gnolls off that once you’re done crying.

Kobolds. Kobolds are already draconic cleaner wrasses in lore; there’s no reason that metallic dragons can’t enjoy them as well and influence some populations to good.

Illithids. The mind flayers certainly have great potential as villains. However, there is nothing about their psychology that impels them thither. Their biological requirements could easily be met by feeding on those close to death, whom I might imagine would willingly donate their brains as food or tadpole incubators in exchange for a painless death and the surety that their memories would live on in the illithid. Also, create food and water spells exist.

Ogres. Ogres are wilderness-dwellers who prefer to maintain their personal territories through fear instead of actual force of arms; the idea of the monstrous, anthropophagous ogre is a deliberate sham. They are actually capable of great heroism, even if they aren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed and okay to be honest I started out trying to build up to a Shrek joke but I think I’d take this over canon lore.

Orcs. Orcs are an easy fix; all you need to do is remove Gruumsh from the equation and they don’t have a bullshit “call to evil”; in Eberron, without objective gods, the people of the Shadow Marches believe that half-orcs are the proof that orcs and humans are one people, so there’s even in-game precedent for orcs as members of society.

Yuan-ti. There are two ways to do this. One is to dump all the lore and just have sexy snake cults, although don’t dress them like Asian or Aztec stereotypes like a lot of the art does. (The 3.5 Monster Manual yuan-ti pureblood looks like she’s constantly accompanied by an inappropriate bamboo flute riff, I swear to Istus.) A sexy snake cult (and I am including malisons, abominations, and anathemas in the term “sexy”, not just purebloods) should be fun for everyone.

The other way is to keep their personalities and dump everything else, because if you keep that, you get truly excellent villains. I mean, these fuckers. How dare they drag something as pure as snakes into their Ayn Rand bullshit. Villain yuan-ti should be something transformed from willing or deluded humanoids (histachii raise the sacred snakes and the children of the yuan-ti, who possess their parents’ original race at birth). Couple that with the fact that since snakes very definitely have emotions, yuan-ti logically should as well, which means that they only think they’re above emotions. Now you have Objectivists roped into a magical pyramid scheme, which should offend no-one who doesn’t deserve it. You can mourn for the beings they once were, or just laugh in their dumb faces. Also, the sexy ones all look like Ayn Rand.

[nightmare--void]

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind AU where Suguru erases Satoru from his memory and then Satoru does the same out of spite

But unlike in the movie they’re not meeting each other for the next ten years after that. Till one day someone leaks the files that were kept in the archive by the company that provides the service.

It’s been ten years already. Satoru touches an old ink on paper that forms a date like it's supposed to make everything feel more real. These memories are older than some of his students. He barely even remembers what kind of a person he was back then. All that’s left from his early twenties is a faint feeling of absence — as if he was missing a place that never existed.

Turns out it was a person.

«Do I just tell you everything I think about?» his own voice on the tape asks. «Anything? That’ll help to perform the procedure, right?»

He doesn’t remember this conversation.

He doesn't remember going to that clinic at all.

He goes through the tapes listening to himself — funnily familiar, — his words are almost petty sometimes.

«Suguru never wants to watch the movies I want,» the voice on the tape says. «He complains that I’m being repetitive. I’ve been watching a lot of new stuff lately, you know. I’ve watched ten new movies for the pas…»

His finger skips to another timestamp marked on the list.

«A Chinese restaurant».

«I asked him out that day. I wanted to go to that new Chinese place because I wanted us to feel like a couple again,» the voice says. «It's been a while since we went out together. Yeah, I've been busy, but he’s always in the wrong mood when it comes to anything I suggest. How is that my fault now?»

Does it still matter? That Chinese place he was talking about was closed eight years ago — redesigned to be a convenience store or something like that — now it probably belongs to some retail chain with all doors indistinguishable from one another. He’s moved two times since then.

And another one.

«He’s always sulky, you see. Even after sex lately. I can picture that… Ugh, I can picture that face he does. Right now, I can do it. And he always says he’s fine like I'm supposed to guess what might make him happy. And I never can. Can you get it erased first so that I don’t have to think about it anytime I close my eyes? Can you do it first?»

«This procedure is done in one go,» the doctor answers. «No particular order. Please, continue».

He does.

«He said I can’t change and he doesn’t want to force me. Well, I’m sorry I don’t like to let go of the things that I love. Is that worse than not being able to commit to anything even when it’s hard?»

«I hope he’d be happy if he knew I'm doing this. That's certainly a change, right?»

And another one.

«He never tells me anything», the voice on the tape says. «Not even when I ask. It’s like I know something’s not right but I can’t get an answer out of him. Or I can't formulate the right question, he'd like to answer. It fries my brain.»

«The other day he said we don’t see eye to eye anymore. Why can’t he just talk to me? Why couldn’t he talk to me till it was too late?»

And another.

«Is he punishing me for something I can’t understand?»

The room falls silent. Dead — haunted by the memories. Do they still belong to him or have they turned into ghosts by now? Separate beings with their own mind and will.

He caresses a postcard from Okinawa — unfamiliar handwriting and a ripped edge, he almost feels a salty wind on his tongue, — an old monster figurine, a plain white t-shirt that belonged to Suguru. And the pictures.

They’re so happy in all of them. But the voice on the tape keeps repeating.

«He got me eased. He got me fucking erased. He got me erased.»

Why the fuck did he do that?

Mad at the person he doesn’t even know. Like it’s the only thing that matters in the world right now. Like nothing's happened after that in his life. No new apartments, no new jobs, no new vacations, no new boyfriends.

He’s been through a few relationships in the past ten years but none hurt enough to even consider anything like that.

Because he never loved them.

Because he still loved someone else.

At least now he knows why his life felt empty when he woke up alone in that crammed apartment that somehow felt too big. And why it felt so lonely ever since.

He goes through the files — none of the records contain an address or a phone number. Or an answer to the question on his mind.

What if Suguru is happy with the procedure? What if the words — falling out of his own mouth out of spite — were true.

A call wakes him up on a Saturday morning.

«Hello, Satoru-u,» there’s a smile in that man’s voice he can hear. «I mean… Sorry if it’s too… Sorry. I don’t know if you’re a morning person or a night person.»

He gulps.

That’s him that’s him that is

thatisSuguruthatisSuguruthatisSuguruSuguru from the postcards who bought him figurines as a gift

Suguru who didn’t want to go to a place that doesn’t exist anymore

Suguru who didn’t want to tell him anything

who thought he can’t change or adjust to the changes — yet they’re both still caught

shit

SuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguru

it's him

«Uh, I got…» he coughs. «I went to bed late last night.»

«Did you get the files?»

«Yes, I…» he laughs. «We were a shitty couple, weren’t we?»

And then Suguru laughs too.

A laughs that feels like a first sound of thunder after the drought — like those memories are dried flowers everyone thought were dead till the rain came.

«You’re with anyone right now?» Suguru asks.

«No,» answer’s too fast but he takes a pause before he says: «What about you?»

«No, not really. It’s not serious I guess.»

Satoru smirks.

«Not enough to get them erased from your memory, right?»

A joke doesn’t land as well as he expected. For a moment he almost believes Suguru’s going to hang up on him.

But still he continues.

«I don’t know…» he says. «I don’t know if I should apologise for something I can’t remember but I feel really sorry.»

«I don’t know if I can forgive something I can’t remember.»

Another pause.

Should he — if there’s nothing that holds these memories anymore. It’s like someone dug out a time capsule you hid under an oak tree when you were a child. All those names and events in your notes that were so important. Yet you don’t even remember half of the names.

It still hurts though.

«Yeah, I guess,» Suguru sighs. «I think there’s a bright side to it. We’re older now so we won’t repeat the same mistakes.»

«You think?»

«That's how it's supposed to be when you're getting mature.»

«Hm-m,» Satoru smiles. «I don't know about that actually. We're more experienced now. So we can always use that knowledge to make things worse.»

Sharing another laugh that’s warmer and more familiar like his brain is riddled with the scars that started itching all at once.

They used to laugh a lot, it strikes him.

They used to tease each other, they used to kiss and make love. He used to remember that person’s voice and face better than his own.

Why did he let go of that?

Why didn’t he let it heal and warm him? Because somehow he still knows that guy — he knows what'll make him laugh and he's sure they even talk similarly sometimes, using the same words and phrases.

Why did he let it go?

«Wanna meet?» Suguru asks.

«Do you?»

«Yeah. At least we’ll find out if we're the biggest idiots in the whole world or not.»

«I know I am,» Satoru nods as if they're in the same room and all of a sudden he realises that he doesn't want this conversation to end. «Besides, I think the company’s going to get sued after the incident. There're plenty of other idiots who would want some compensation from them. Which means we’re not getting another chance to chop our brains again. Do you think we can get some money though? I could use a new car. Or a fridge. Probably a vacuum cleaner would do. That's the mature stuff, right?»

A laugh that could belong to a couple of teens — head over heels in love — something he thought he never experienced.

Turns out he did.

And there’s still time.

[latexb0n3z]

Alright yall… this might be the most vulgar fic I’ve written thus far. It’s dirty and weird. Here’s a little snippet. You can read the rest on Ao3 if you like it.

Double Claimed

Wade had no business being here.

He knew it, the brass knew it, and every mutant in the unit sure as hell knew it. But none of that stopped the military from sticking him—plain ol’ human Wade Wilson—in the middle of a mutant special ops squad. “Resource integration,” they called it. A real bright idea to slap someone without claws, fangs, or superhuman anything into the middle of a unit bred for war.

His mouth, though? That was a weapon all its own.

He hadn’t started out in special ops. Hell, he’d barely passed basic training, scraped by with a mixture of charm, luck, and an unsettling knack for violence when the situation called for it. A few successful black ops missions later, someone decided he’d be a good fit for the mutants. Maybe it was his ability to keep his cool when things went south. Maybe it was his penchant for making enemies want to throttle him instead of finishing the job. Or maybe they’d just run out of better options.

Whatever the case, he was here. Here, with six mutants who could crush him in a heartbeat if they decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. And judging by the way Victor Creed looked at him half the time, that wasn’t entirely off the table.

The mission was simple, but simple didn’t mean easy: a long recon op deep in the kind of terrain that turned men feral. Weeks with no end in sight, no backup, and nothing to do but sit in the dirt and wait. No bars, no women, no distractions. Just the squad, their gear, and an ever-mounting tension that seemed to thrum in the air like an unspoken challenge.

Victor was the worst of them all. Not just because he was built like a freight train—towering a full head taller than Wade with arms like tree trunks and a grin that promised nothing good—but because he was bored. And a bored Victor Creed was a dangerous Victor Creed.

Wade wasn’t exactly tiny himself, standing at a respectable six-foot-one and built solid, but next to Victor? He felt like a damn paperweight. The guy looked like he’d been carved out of a mountain, and every movement was slow, deliberate, like he was conserving energy for the moment he decided to break something—or someone.

And Wade, ever the idiot, couldn’t stop poking at him.

The camp was quiet tonight, the fire reduced to glowing embers. Most of the squad had turned in, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts—or so he thought until a shadow moved in the corner of his vision.

“Out here all by yourself?” Victor’s voice rumbled through the stillness, a low, lazy drawl that made the hairs on the back of Wade’s neck stand up.

Wade turned to see the man leaning against the flagpole, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

“Can’t sleep,” Wade said, shrugging as casually as he could manage. “Figured I’d enjoy the peace and quiet. Didn’t realize it was so popular.”

Victor chuckled, the sound deep and rough. “Peace and quiet, huh? Doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” Wade grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Victor pushed off the pole and sauntered closer, his sheer size becoming more apparent with every step. Wade stayed where he was, tilting his head back slightly to meet the man’s gaze.

“You’re a cocky little thing,” Victor said, his tone almost amused. “But I guess you’ve gotta be. No other way a guy like you survives in a squad like this.”

“Yeah, well, charm and good looks go a long way,” Wade shot back.

Victor laughed again, this time louder, and Wade felt his pulse quicken. The sound wasn’t threatening, exactly, but there was something about it—something that made him feel like prey.

“Good looks, huh?” Victor leaned down slightly, his grin widening to show just a hint of fang. “You sure you’re not compensating for something?”

Wade snorted, his bravado kicking in. “Please. I’ve got nothing to compensate for. If anything, I’m probably overqualified for this gig.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk never leaving his face. “Is that so?”

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken tension. Wade wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep, the weeks of isolation, or just plain stupidity, but he didn’t back down.

“Yeah,” Wade said, his grin sharpening. “And you’re not exactly subtle, are you, big guy? All that muscle, all those claws. I bet you’re just dying for a reason to use them.”

Victor tilted his head, his expression unreadable now. “Careful, Wilson. You don’t want to see what happens when I do.”

Wade’s heart was pounding, but he refused to let it show. “Maybe I do.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fire crackled softly in the background, the only sound breaking the silence. Then, Victor straightened, his grin turning wolfish.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, stepping back. “But don’t push your luck, kid.”

“Who’s compensating now?” Wade muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Whatever game Victor was playing, Wade was more than willing to see how far it went.

Victor paused as he stepped away, his broad back cutting a shadow against the dim glow of the fire. For a moment, Wade thought that was it—that whatever tension had coiled between them was just another unresolved standoff in the desert night.

But then Victor glanced over his shoulder, his yellow eyes gleaming with something feral and sharp. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The faint twitch of his lips—half smirk, half snarl—was invitation enough. He was courting him, inviting Wade to do this little primal dance of his.

Wade hesitated, his usual bravado faltering under the weight of that look. It wasn’t just a glance; it was a command. One that promised danger and something Wade couldn’t quite name but found himself craving anyway.

Victor turned and walked into the dark, disappearing further outside camp, behind an outcrop of rocks without another word. Wade let out a slow breath, his pulse already hammering in his chest.

“Yeah, this seems like a smart idea,” he muttered to himself, though his feet were already moving. He knew Victor wouldn’t kill him… whatever it was he had in mind.

The firelight faded behind him as he followed Victor’s path into the shadows, the sounds of the camp falling away until it was just him, the crunch of his boots, and the faint, predatory stillness ahead.

He found Victor leaning casually against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes locked onto Wade.

“You always this obedient?” Victor asked, his voice low and rough.

“Obedient?” Wade snorted, forcing himself to keep it light even as his heart tried to beat its way out of his ribcage. “I am a lot of things, obedient is definitely not one of them. Ironic right?— considering the point of this whole military thing is obedience.”

Victor came closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like a predator stalking its prey. Wade stayed rooted in place, though every instinct screamed at him to move.

“You’ve got a big mouth,” Victor said, closing the distance between them. “Maybe too big for your own good.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” Wade’s voice wavered slightly, and he hated himself for it.

Victor stopped just inches away, towering over Wade like a goddamn mountain. His hand came up, claws glinting faintly in the light, and for a split second, Wade thought he was about to regret every decision that had brought him here.

[moonperil6]

hey :P would you be willing to write something with the prompt #11 from your list? i think jason grace x child of poseidon (sorta enemies to lovers) would be really fun with that!!

thanks and no pressure! love ur writing btw!!

A/N: Awwww! Thank you! (My apologies for making Reader feminine, it sort of just happened)

Pairing: Jason Grace x Daughter!of!Poseidon

Warnings: Both Jason and Reader being jerks to each other. Swearing

Requested?: Yes!!!

Prompt: #11 "Take my hand!"

"No!"

"My god, just fucking take my hand! I'm not going to cut it off!"

The Wind and the Waves

You ran to catch up with Percy. 

“Do I have to?” You complained loudly. Your brother had bribed you into going to a meeting with the seven.

“Shush!” Percy hissed and grabbed your hand, looking around wildly for eavesdroppers, which of course there were. The favoured hero and the only daughter of Poseidon usually made for the best gossip. (Not that you were bragging.)

“My friends already think you don’t like them,” Percy continued.

You furrowed your brow. “No…” you said slowly. “Piper and Annabeth are my best friends, Frank, Hazel, and I have spent time bonding together in New Rome, so now we’re really close, Leo’s like the younger, immature little brother I’ve never had-” You cut yourself off with a frustrated sigh, realizing that you were rambling. “I just don’t like Jason,” you stated simply.

Percy snorted. “More like you hate his guts,” he muttered.

You decided to ignore this, and knowing that you weren’t going to be able to weasel your way out of this particular meeting, you asked the most logical question that came to mind: “Why are you guys meeting above the camp anyway?”

Percy shrugged. “We thought it’d be a good idea to spend a night on the Argo lll. Y’know, like old times?”

You were silent the rest of the way there.

You and your brother boarded the Argo lll, via rope ladder. Almost immediately when your feet hit the deck, Leo rushed up to you like an excited child. 

You gave him a hug, ruffling his hair in the process. He grinned widely and stepped away.

“Where have you been?” Annabeth demanded, stomping up to Percy. “You’re five minutes late!” Trust Annabeth to start an argument over a few mere minutes.

Percy held up his hands in defense. “I had to drag Y/N out of the Poseidon cabin,” he said.

“Why?” A voice asked. “None of us invited her. Or is she butting in again, like she does every time?” 

You raised your gaze to meet the cold stare of your both favorite and least favorite demigod. 

“For your information, Grace.” You spat out Jason’s last name like it tasted foul. “Percy bribed me. I don’t actually want to see you, don’t get an even bigger ego. If that’s even possible.”

Percy stepped in the way before Jason could pull out his sword. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled, instantly going into overprotective brother mode.

Jason turned away sharply, expression not betraying a thing until he got below deck. Then he sank to the ground, cursing himself for being so stupid. 

The truth was he liked you. A lot. He loved how you acted with other people. He wished that you would act like that with him. That instead of picking fights with him, you could show him the same affection you showed Leo and Percy or even Frank. 

You didn’t know if you felt something for the son of Jupiter under the walls you had built around your heart, but you only pushed him away out of fear. Fear that he might break your heart. Fear that it wouldn’t last.

So when all of your attempts to avoid the Roman failed, you resorted to using words as a defense.

A lot of time seemed to pass as he sat there, his thoughts circling around you until a voice broke it.

“Jason!” Hazel called down the steps that led to the dark hallway Jason was currently sulking in. “We’re playing truth or dare!”

Jason snorted as he tried to imagine Hazel, of all people, playing truth or dare. He got to his feet. “Coming!” He said, following Hazel up the stairs.

Leo was just asking you, “truth or dare?” when Jason and Hazel joined. 

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, pondering. You’d chosen two truths in a row already, so you decided to switch it up. “Dare,” you replied.

Leo’s grin turned mischievous and he gave Jason a look that made the son of Jupiter want to run off the ship.

“Who here wants to push Y/N off the ship?”

Silence.

Nobody raised their hand. Percy stood and glowered at Leo. “That’s not funny. Give her a real dare.”

Leo raised his hands, still smirking. “Oh, but it is a real dare. I’ll reposition the ship so that it’s hovering over the lake.”

“I’ll do it then,” Piper said, standing up.

“Pipes!” You exclaimed. “What did I do to deserve your wrath?” That earned a chuckle from the other seven demigods. 

You stood as well, along with Leo, and the three of you made your way to the helm. The rest of the seven trailed behind, giving each other worried looks. Jason couldn’t seem to take his anxious gaze off of you. 

While you didn’t notice this, Leo certainly did, and as he was repositioning the ship so that it was hovering over the lake, he looked back at Jason, eyebrows raised and a cheeky grin on his face.

“Did you want to help Piper throw Y/N overboard?” The Latino asked.

Everybody was looking at him expectantly now. Shit.

Jason nodded.

When you were ready, Piper prepared to shove one of your shoulders, Jason positioned to do the same to the other, Leo started counting down.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

Piper pushed you, making the left side of your body go over the side, but that’s where you stopped.

Your right hand was tangled in some of the rope that had been on deck, though how it was your hand that got trapped and not your foot was beyond you.

You looked desperately at your wrist, which was beginning to sting as the rope started to tear at your skin. 

And there, just above it, a hand reached out, unfortunately, that hand was connected to Jason Grace, and you refused to take it.

“Take my hand!”

“No!”

“My god, just fucking take my hand! I’m not going to cut it off!”

“Well, knowing you, you might!” You shouted at him.

“What do you know about me?” Jason demanded.

You didn’t respond, instead kicking away from his hand.

“I’m not dealing with your dead corpse today,” he muttered as he backed up. He caught Percy’s gaze just before diving over the side. Save my sister, you asshole, the son of Poseidon seemed to convey through his eyes.

Jason didn’t need to be told twice. 

He flew down gracefully (no pun intended) to your struggling figure just below the ship. Jason acted purely on instinct and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

He discovered that this was a good way to make you freeze.

He bent at the will of the winds, pleading for them not to make a fool out of him in front of his crush.

Thank the gods they obeyed, or else he might not have been given a kiss of gratitude when he brought you back on board the Argo lll.

[oneletteredwondered]

!!!!!

That's the thing!!! C!Thomas could probably benefit from indulging in dark creativity, be that breaking something, writing something gruesome, or in general just screaming really loud. He hasn't ever really fully leaned into that and I think it'd be good for him to have that catharsis.

But dark creativity and intrusive thoughts are not the same and can't be treated that way regardless of the fact they are combined into the one facet.

Especially in WTIT where he's fully leaned into the intrusive thoughts role.

Dark creativity is generally beneficial to Thomas because giving Thomas a greater perspective for his art is useful. However, intrusive thoughts are never helpful, and none of them have anything to do with the actual issues Thomas is dealing with. Generally Remus is much more likely to emerge and cause chaos when Thomas is already upset or anxious about something else because when Thomas is already feeling low, it is easier to further upset him. You could say that Remus showing up is beneficial to the other sides to indicate to them that Thomas is upset about something, but nothing Remus does has anything to do with his actual issues or realistic problems, he is just creating more anxiety and chaos because it is fun for him, and that anxiety and chaos that Remus causes has nothing to do with Thomas's actual real life issues, they are separate.

As someone who also has intrusive thoughts (twinsies, you and me, I want the window seat), I agree that Remus works like a litmus test, but more so like a check engine light. The light comes on when something is wrong enough, but the light itself does not tell you exactly what is wrong. You have to go into the system, you can't just trust the light. Remus comes around when something is wrong, but hes not giving any good indication as to what. He's playing to sensitivities and insecurities, and while those things are stuff to work on, they are not the root problem. He's misleading.

The issue is that, if Remus is showing up to show something is wrong and he's trying to help fix it, he's going about it in the literal worst way possible. He's not helping by making Thomas anxious and giving him Intrusive thoughts. And he's not really trying to guide anyone to a solution either. Yes he tells Logan he can't fix Thomas by himself, but that's more of a dig at Logan specifically cause Logan would want to fix Thomas by himself, and he can't. Remus is enjoying the misery.

He may be recognizing something is wrong, but he doesn't seem to care about the solution. If anything, it would be more beneficial for Remus if Thomas was to remain upset and anxious cause that's when remus is more likely to be listened to and kept around.

On one hand I can agree that it might be a disservice to reduce Remus to shits and giggles. How ever, he hasnt really proved much reason otherwise. In general I actually do believe he is in it for shits and giggles and that his character is that one dimensional. He's shallow enough that he would do things, and has done things, for the soul purpose of making someone upset or because he thinks it's funny.

The only solution I can see him being a part of is pushing Thomas so far to the breaking point so that he does indulge in dark creativity, but if he does that, he's not doing that to fix things, he's doing it because it's going to be fun.

In the end I think we just have a fundamental disagreement on what Remus motive is. I just haven't seen anything that indicates he wants to help as a whole. He likes poking the bear "just because" in my opinion.

But I do still agree with original sentiment, I think he's incredibly clever in the way he does what he does, he knows exactly how to get under everyone's skin and takes full advantage of it.

I don't think Remus is given enough credit for being clever.

[bqstqnbruin]

Friendsgiving

Hi so we are going to ignore the fact that it is nearly 2 am but here I am with a fic that I started today because of this tik tok that I saw a few hours ago and I immediately went 'fic'. So, here we are

Warnings: none

WC: 5845

Enjoy!

__________________________________________

“Why and how are you in Vancouver?” 

“Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, my god, did you move to Canada without me? You moved and didn’t even tell me.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you hoped was Lena’s unnecessary panic that you heard through your phone speaker, trying to navigate your way through the airport that you had never been to before. “No, I’m just probably doing something stupid.” 

“And you’re doing it without me?”

“Leen, I’ll catch you up later, ok?”

“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t end up in a ditch?”

“You should probably watch my location for the next few days,” you say, in all seriousness. “But I have to go, I love you, bye.”

You hang up on your best friend as you hear her screaming on the other end about calling the authorities, knowing that she wouldn’t actually do that. Actually, she might. But you can’t think about that right now.

You were trying to find Brock, despite the fact that you had never met him in person and stupidly agreed to fly to Vancouver on a day's notice from your home the week of Thanksgiving. 

You couldn’t believe the last couple of days of your life. You had posted a silly photo of you and your friends at your annual Friendsgiving. You always got together the Friday before, and had been doing so since middle school when your parents still had to either make the food for you, or had to be in the kitchen with you heavily supervising the entire time. This year was the 15th year in a row that you had all gotten together, celebrating in a much bigger fashion than you had in years past; you all dressed up, you all brought the food in the best serving dishes you had instead of the Dollar Tree tin dishes you all normally brought, you had the fanciest bottles of wine you could afford littering the table, and you had even all planned to stay over together for the first time, continuing the event into the morning. 

Brock had messaged you because of the photo. You were mutuals, having some of the same friends in college but never actually interacted with each other. 

All of your friends talked about how you two would get along so well, but it seemed like every time you were supposed to meet, something happened that prevented you from doing so. There was the one party you were supposed to go to with your friends, that you had been planning on going to all week until you got food poisoning from the dining hall. There was the class you were supposed to take together until his practice times got changed and ended up conflicting with the class. You were supposed to go to a formal together as each other's dates until he slept through his alarm and missed the bus to the venue.

You were always supposed to meet, until you didn’t.

But then you got the message from him a few days ago asking if you wanted to come to his Friendsgiving that he was going to with his American teammates. 

It was easily the craziest thing you had done in your life, saying yes to flying out to Vancouver the next day to meet a guy you had never actually met in person, or really talked to before those messages.

It made you realize you really hadn’t done much with your life. 

You walked through the airport, trying to see if you could find the guy you would be spending the next couple of days with by the baggage claim where he told you he would meet you. 

You finally see him, the blonde head of hair sticking out to you for an unknown reason. 

You knew from his pictures on his account that he was attractive, but, shit, he was gorgeous in person. 

He was also dressed up way more than he should be for someone to be waiting for a stranger in an airport; he was in a full suit and tie, his hair looking like he had just gotten out of the shower and styled it immediately. 

“Hi,” he says to you when he sees you, a smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You didn’t even know this guy. “Hi,” you manage to get out as he pulls you in for a hug. “You look good, all dressed up.” 

Brock reaches for your bag, taking it off your shoulder and walking you out of the airport. “Thanks.”

“Why are you dressed up?”

“We’re on our way to the game.”

“We?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look like I’m dressed for a hockey game?”

Brock looks at you as the two of you approach his car, opening his trunk to put your bag in. “You look great to me.”

“I’m in sweats, fresh off a plane. When do you think you told me?”

“Uh,” he lets out as you get in his car. “Yesterday?”

You take out your phone, scrolling through the messages the two of you exchanged. “You told me you had a game, not that I was going to one.” 

“Who did I tell that to yesterday?” he says, staring out through his front windshield, wracking his brain. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I can take you back to my place, if you want.”

“Would that make you late for the game?”

He glances at the clock, pulling out his phone. “Very late, yes.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile that you couldn’t help. “I’ll go to the game. I’m sure I have something I can change into stuffed in my bag.” 

The two of you fall into easy conversation, much like you had when he first reached out to you. There was something about him that was easy to talk to. 

He pulls up to the arena, still talking about one of the parties you were both supposed to go to in college.

“Do you remember that one kid, Chris, who somehow threw up at every party he went to?” he asks you, leaning against his car as you rifle through your bag in his trunk, searching for any semblance of an outfit that was better than the sweats you were currently in.  

“Hold on,” you tell him, climbing into the trunk and pulling the hatch closed, trying your best to change in the cramped space. You managed to find jeans and a black shirt that could pass as a non-airport outfit that you were smart enough to pack as a spare since Brock didn’t really give you a ton of information as to how the week was going to go. You could see him standing outside the car, dumbfounded by the abrupt nature of you practically commandeering his car as a changing room for yourself. “Ok, I’m good,” you say, opening the door back up in what you were sure was record time for changing in a car trunk.

“Wow,” he says, you noticing the slightest shade of red appearing on his cheeks. 

“Better?” you ask. Your foot catches on part of the trunk as you try to get out, practically falling out of his car. 

You feel Brock’s hands catch you, spreading across your back and under your legs. “Much,” he says, his face inches from yours. He clears his throat, his face turning bright red as he puts you down.

He wasn’t about to kiss you, was he? And why would you have been ok if he did that? “Thanks for that,” you tell him, embarrassment seeping into your voice. 

“So, uh, Chris?” he asks, walking you into the arena with his hands now firming shoved into his pockets.

“He really did somehow end up in the bathroom at every party.”

“Even if he didn’t have anything to drink that night.” 

“I wonder what he’s up to now?”

“He just got engaged, actually,” you tell him. “His fiance was one of my lab partners back in college.” 

“Wow. Never would have known that,” he tells you. The two of you walk through what you could only describe as the tunnels of the arena, Brock showing you around and trying to explain to you what everything was. 

“You’re gonna be in here,” he tells you, showing to a room that was filled with women and children who all seemed to know each other. Before you can ask anything, he checks his watch, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Shit, I’ve gotta get ready. I’ll meet you right here after the game.” 

Brock runs off, leaving you standing at the entrance to this room that you could see was at ice level, filled with people you didn’t know. 

You couldn’t enter the room. This was already ridiculous, you being here in the first place with a guy you just met for the first time in person less than an hour before. Now you were apparently supposed to go into this room with a bunch of people and do what? Talk to them? 

No thank you.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, leaning against the wall next to the entrance of this room as Lena calls you again. “Ok, you did not fly all the way to Vancouver to see a Canucks game.”

“I’m going to stop sharing my location with you,” you laugh.

“Ok, spill, why the hell are you in Vancouver?”

You recount the whole string of events to her, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation sounded now that you were actually verbally articulating everything. “And now, I’m outside of this room with a bunch of women and I think this is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of the game.”

“Are you in the WAG room?”

“The what?”

“The WAG room.”

“No, I heard you,” you sigh, “What does that mean?”

“The wives and girlfriends.”

You stare at the wall on the other side of the hallway as people you ignored scurried around you. “But I’m not a wife or a girlfriend?”

“Well, as long as you have that established. I heard there’s supposed to be amazing food in those rooms for the families.” 

You peek your head into the room, seeing a line of the women forming on the other side of the room in front of what looked like an incredible spread of food. “I can see that.”

“Go in!” Lena shrieks in your ear. “Have fun, make friends, and bring me some food when you get back.” She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you there with your phone pressed against your ear and no one on the other end of the call. 

You finally work up the courage to go into the room, trying to slip in and stay in the back, out of the way of anyone who would feel the need to come to talk to you. You stay along the wall closest to the door, trying to take in the room around you. There were children seemingly everywhere, running and shrieking as they played with each other. Toys were scattered all over the floor, bags lined against the wall. You probably looked like a freak the way you were moving through the room, trying to find a seat that you could sink into and become invisible in.

“Shit,” you let out, slamming down onto the floor, tripping over one of the toys you were somehow too busy to notice. 

“Are you ok?” one of the women asks you, crouching down on the floor to meet you at what was now, embarrassingly, eye level. 

You could feel your face getting hot. “Other than my ego being bruised, I think I’m good.” 

“I haven’t seen you before,” she says to you. “I’m Lexie. I’m Thatcher’s wife.”

You had no idea who Thatcher was, but it probably wouldn’t look good for you if you admitted that. 

You introduce yourself, finally getting up off the floor and dusting yourself off. “I’m here with Brock.”

Lexie’s eyes light up with excitement. “You must be Brock’s mystery girl.” The room seems to go silent when Lexie practically shrieks that, even the children making no noise. “He had been telling us he was seeing someone, but we never thought he would bring you to a game early.”

“Oh, I,” you start, getting nervous now that all eyes were on you. You had no idea what he had told these women, or their husbands, or boyfriends, or whoever these people were. “Here I am.”

“I can’t believe Brock would just throw you to the wolves like this,” Lexie says, linking her arm with yours and walking you over to the food table.

“Are you kidding?” another one of the women chimes in. “This is exactly something Brock would do. I’m Natalie, by the way, J.T.’s wife.”

The two women start chatting your ear off, you unable to comprehend what they were saying. Brock had a ‘mystery girl,’ that you had now taken on the identity of. Brock was probably seeing someone who couldn’t be there this week and now he was going to look like an awful human when you suddenly disappeared and were replaced with another person next week. 

But, why did you care? You barely knew Brock.

You had no idea how much time passed by when they all start filtering out the seats near the ice, the players skating around in circles. 

You join them, unsure what else to do. You pull out your phone, getting an idea and starting to type in a new note, trying to wave Brock over to the boards when you finally get his attention.

They think I’m your ‘mystery girl??? you show him with your phone screen pressed against the glass when he comes over. The color seems to drain from his face, mouthing ‘I’m sorry,’ and shrugging way too casually for your liking before practically sprinting away from you to the other side of the rink. 

You head back into the room, beelining for the exit and pulling up Lena’s number.

“Brock told everyone he and I are dating?” you try not to scream too loudly, hoping that none of the people in the room or in the hallway 

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s not great.”

“Not great?” you say, running your hand through your hair, feeling yourself panic. “This is crazy. What if this turns into a psycho killer situation?’

“He’s way too high profile in the area to get away with killing you.”

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“I’m just saying he wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Adelena,” you stomp your foot like a child out of frustration, using your friend's full name.

“Ok, calm down,” she says. “There’s no need for the government name here. I think you just need to talk to him after the game and figure out what’s going on. I will fly out there and save you if I have to.” 

You take in a deep breath. This was the dumbest thing you could have done, regret seeping into you with every passing moment that you spent in Vancouver. “I’ll let you know.” You go back in the room, trying to pay attention to the game as the people around you milled about, trying to get to know you and about your ‘relationship’ with Brock.

“How long have you two been going out?” Lexie asks eagerly. 

“Um,” you panic, “Not that long, honestly. This is all really new.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We went to college together.” 

Before Lexie could ask you another question that you probably didn’t have an answer to, a toddler runs up to her, crying. “Gotta go,” she says to you, lifting the toddler and trying to comfort them. 

You sat and tried to watch the rest of the game, writing down everything you told Lexie in hopes that Brock would have said something similar. You spent the rest of the game on your phone texting with Lena, thankful that no one else in the room came up to you to talk to you or ask questions the way Lexie had, only going back to the ice and looking up from your screen to see Brock scoring.

You wait outside the room for Brock once the game was over, his teammates coming out much faster than he was as the hallway and the room behind you slowly emptied out, leaving you alone in the hallway. 

“What the fuck,” you ask him when you finally see him. 

“I’m sorry, I know,” he tells you, walking out to his car. 

“I don’t care if you need me to pretend to date you, but I would have liked to know about it before you threw me into the Gossip Grotto.” 

Brock exhales when he gets into the car, resting his head against the steering wheel while you stared at him with your arms crossed in front of you. “The guys keep bugging me about not dating anyone so I told them I was seeing someone to get them to shut up.” 

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to mention when you invited me here that there was a good chance they would think I’m the girl you’re dating?”

“No. I figured they would have forgotten about it by now.” 

“Well, their wives didn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

You stare at him. “I could leave on the next flight and get out of here and probably be mad at you forever. Or, we pretend we’re together.”

He whips his head to you, his eyes crazy with shock. “What?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone and showing him the notes you made during the game about you and him being together. “We fake date. I’m only here until Wednesday, and you said we were only going to be seeing your friends on Tuesday night. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“We have a day and a half.” 

You scoff. “You think I haven’t figured out more complicated things in less time? I got a plane ticket and got myself here on twelve hours notice.”

“So, we fake date?”

“We fake date.” 

_____________________________

“What are you doing?” you ask, walking into Brock’s kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spent the night in his guest room, sleeping in what was probably the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. You spent the night before starting to hash out the story you would tell his teammates and their partners, agreeing that you would only share information about the two of you if you were directly asked about it. 

“Debating whether or not to make us breakfast,” he tells you, one hand on his hip, the other holding open the fridge door. Brock had on no socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, all of which showed off to you just how unfair his entire physique was. His hair was messy in a somehow perfect way that would have made you drool under any other context. You could pretend to drool over him, but real drooling was out of the question right now. 

“What’s the other option?”

He closes the fridge door, turning to face you. “I don’t make breakfast and we go out for food instead.” 

“How good are you at making breakfast?”

“I make a mean bowl of cereal.” 

“We’re going out for breakfast, get dressed.” 

“Wow, my girlfriend is bossy,” he smirks as you walk away, looking over your shoulder at him and sticking your tongue out.

Was that too flirty? You had agreed last night that flirting was ok so you could ‘get used to it.’ How could you flirt in front of other people if you had never done it before? 

You call Lena while you were getting ready. 

“You could just real date him,” you hear her suggest, crunching on something on the other end of the line.

“You could just give me real advice and not chew on something in my ear.” 

“It’s morning, let me eat my apple,” Lena says, obviously with her mouth full. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Right now, getting ready for breakfast. Beyond that, watch my location.”

“Yeah, I have no job. I can just stalk you all day.”

“If I end up dead how are you going to know?”

“Ugh, fine,” she sighs. “Have fun, don’t die.”

She hangs up, leaving you alone to get dressed for a day you didn’t know the details of. You pull on leggings and a sweater, your sneakers on and grabbed a jacket that you didn’t even know if you needed. You head back out to Brock’s kitchen, finding him leaning against the counter on his phone.

“You need to change,” you tell him. He had on black jeans and the same color sweater as you. 

“This could be a cute couple thing,” he jokes. “We could take a picture together and post it, or something.” You hesitate, walking over to Brock as he extends his hand with his camera open. “At least pretend to like me,” he tells you, plastering a smile on his face as he starts taking photo after photo.

You rest your hand on his chest, leaning into him and smiling at his camera. You did look good together, if you had to admit. 

“Can you do one where you kiss my cheek?’

“What?”

“Don’t couples do that?’

You stare at him for a second. Would it be weird to do that? He asked you to do it. “I normally scroll past those photos.”

“Me, too.” The two of you stand in silence for a second, neither of you sure how to go on. “Maybe we don’t do that. Too much, too soon.” You nod in agreement.

“So, where are we going?”

Brock smiles at you, leading you out the door. 

_____________________________

The breakfast he took you to was amazing. He said that he had an entire day for you planned as a thank you for coming out here in the first place. 

“How are you with hiking?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long the trail is.”

Brock laughs, putting his car in park in front of a water front. 

“If we don’t stop, it’ll take two hours.” 

“That seems like a long time.”

“That’s how long my games are.”

“Yeah, that was a long time,” you tease him, getting out of the car. 

The trail was beautiful, a breeze off the water cooling you down as you walked alongside Brock. This could easily have been a real date if the two of you were actually together. 

You shake your head slightly of the thought. This was just supposed to be you helping him out, even though that wasn’t the original purpose of your trip. “So what are you supposed to do for Friendsgiving tomorrow night?”

Brock stops walking, the person behind him nearly knocking into him as he scolds Brock for stopping in the middle of the trail. You pull him over to the side of the walkway, ignoring the spark that you swore ran through you as laced your fingers in his. 

“I have no idea, actually.” 

“So you’re off to a great start.”

“I think I was told to bring something in the group chat,” he says, using his free hand to pull out his phone and start scrolling through the message thread that seemed to go on forever, your hands still intertwined. You weren’t sure he even noticed at this point, but part of you didn’t want to be the one to break the connection between you. “Ah, mac and cheese.”

“Have you ever made homemade mac and cheese before?”

“It has to be homemade?”

You roll your eyes, starting to walk again with your hands still locked together. “Did you think it would just magically spawn in front of you once you got to Quinn’s place?”

“I only have boxes of the store brand of mac and cheese.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pulling out your phone and finding the recipe you make for yourself when you have motivation. “Can you use Quinn’s oven when you get there or will he not have space?”

He quickly types on his phone as the two of you keep walking. “Yeah, we can as long as it doesn’t take too long,” he tells you, showing you the message from Quinn.

You nod, scrolling to the recipe on the website. “What do you have from these ingredients?” 

Brock quickly scans the list, nodding along and mouthing each component to himself. “I have the flour, salt, and pepper.”

“So you were supposed to be making mac and cheese and you had neither the mac nor the cheese?”

“That would be correct.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again. Brock stops walking, pulling you off to the side of the trail again. “What?” Brock gestures to the water in front of you, the sun making the ripples shine, the sky absolutely pristine. “Wow,” you let out. 

“What do you think?” you hear him ask, not taking your attention away from the sight in front of you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” You look over at him, seeing him tuck his phone away into his pocket, his eyes on you instead of the view. 

_____________________________

“Why was getting all of this way harder than I thought it would be?” Brock asks, putting the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Because you had no idea where anything in the store was and we had to keep doubling back for things we missed the first time.”

“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“We’re dating, isn’t that something you’re supposed to know?”

Brock laughs, pulling out pans and bowls from his cabinets as you start to get everything prepared for the mac and cheese. You tell him what to do, giving him step-by-step instructions.

“This is nice,” he tells you. 

You think for a moment, shredding the cheese into a bowl. The recipe called for more cheese than any recipe you had ever made before, and somehow the mountain of cheese in front of you still didn’t feel like enough. “It is.”

“My mom and dad used to cook like this,” he tells you, his voice somber as he comes up behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“She would tell him what to do and he would do it. Badly, but he would try his best.” You laugh along with him. He had told you that his father had passed away a couple of years ago, but you didn’t know anything else about him other than what she could find with a quick google search that now, in a weird way, felt like an invasion of privacy. “We could always tell which things Dad helped with because they tasted just a little off.” 

“You miss him, don’t you?” you say, slowing down your shredding and turning towards him. He was facing you again, his arm around you but not touching you, resting on the counter on the other side of you. 

“Always.”

You swore he was going to lean in, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You clear your throat, turning back to the cheese. “You should check the pasta to see if it’s almost done or not.”

Brock nods, smiling and winking at you before doing what he was told.

_____________________________

“This is all fake.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t feel fake.” 

“Well, you aren’t a great actress, are you?”

“Lena,” you whine. 

“I saw you try out for The Little Mermaid in middle school.” 

You had texted her once the mac and cheese was done and you were back in what Brock now referred to as ‘your room,’ panicking that he had almost kissed you again. What if you were just reading into things? You felt stupid to think that he was doing anything more than pretending for the sake of getting used to things for tomorrow, right?

“Is there a chance for this to turn into something not fake?”

“Considering he lives in a different country, unless you want me to actually move to Canada without you, no.” 

“Do you want it to be something that isn’t fake?”

You hesitate, knowing that Lena had a stupid smirk on her face that would turn into some sort of ‘I told you so,’ later in the conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You sigh. “He’s great, but I’ve known him for two days. You don’t fall for someone like that in two days, it’s absurd.”

“Jack and Rose did in Titanic.”

“And that’s fiction, not real life.”

“Ok, if you had more than two days, then what?” 

“Then, I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“So, what do you do about it?”

“What can I do, Leen?” You flop down on the bed. “I’m here for less than two days before I leave and probably never talk to him again. The best this can be is fake.” 

_____________________________

“Are you ready for this?” Brock asks you, handing you one of the trays of food you made. “No.”

He smiles at you. “Me neither.” 

You head towards the door of Quinn’s place, ready to be as overwhelmed with the people you were about to encounter as you were two days prior at the game, even if you had already met most of these people. 

Lexie is the first one to greet you, somehow, through the chaos of everyone else around you. She leads the two of you into the kitchen, even though Brock already knows his way around. “I’m stealing her,” she tells Brock, grabbing you by the hand and leading you off to another room while all the guys stand around the kitchen island, somehow the ones in charge of the food.

“It is so good to see Brock so happy,” she tells you, handing you a glass of wine as she poured one for herself. The two of you were alone in the room she pulled you into, leaving you amazed that with that many people in the house, there was even an empty room to begin with. “I mean, those photos he posted of you? You are the most photogenic person I have ever seen.”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell her, knowing that you have to stop stammering everytime you try to give someone an answer. 

“You don’t know about the pictures?” You shake your head. She prompts you to pull up Brock’s page, the most recent pictures one from yesterday.

You scroll through the carousel. The first one, as you saw, was the one of you two before you went out for the day. The second one was one of you in the airport, looking for him. You thought you looked awful, but somehow, he made you look good. The third from the game the other night, one of the photographers probably captured a photo after he scored of him looking at you and smiling at him before he heads to the bench. The fourth and fifth were ones you had no idea he took; when you were looking out at the water yesterday, smiling at the sight while your hair somehow perfectly framed your face, and while you were hunched over the cheese, grating too many cups of the stuff for today. 

“He’s in deep,” Lexie smirks, drinking her wine. 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at the photos, which he captioned, Thankful for you, with your handle tagged. 

“Now it makes sense why I’m getting so many notifications,” you joke, setting your glass down on the table in front of you. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find the bathroom.” 

You head back towards the kitchen, hoping to find Brock there. 

“I’m surprised you actually are dating someone,” you hear someone’s voice in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Brock responds.

“I thought you made her up,” another voice agrees with the first. 

“I’m not Quinn, I wouldn’t do that,” Brock lies.

“That was one time when I was in sixth grade,” the first voice argues.

You hear Brock laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound, immediately hating yourself for that. You’ve known him for a few days, why did you have to remind yourself about that?

“How long have you guys even been together?” Your heart stops,hoping Brock remembered all the things they talked about the last few days. She knew what he should say, but that didn’t mean he would say it.

“Only about two months, I think.” 

“You think?”

“Petey, you know he’s not good with time.” 

You finally work up the nerve to walk into the room, seeing Brock’s face light up at the sight of you. 

He was faking it. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, pulling you close and kissing the side of your head. 

“God, you two aren’t going to be the kind of couple who overdo the PDA, are you?” Petey asks.

“Only if you piss us off,” Brock says, not taking his eyes off you. 

“So, um,” you say, coming back to reality and turning to the other two. “Everything looks great.” 

Quinn looks at the clock on the oven. “We should probably eat soon. The food should be in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll get everything on the table,” Brock volunteers the two of you, grabbing one of the plates and handing them to you.

“Everything is going well, so far, I think,” you whisper to him once you’re out of earshot of the others. 

“Everyone thinks we’re actually together. I think we might pull it off.” 

_____________________________

The rest of the night went surprisingly well, the attention largely kept off the two of you most of the time as the team seemed to be more interested in teasing each other while their partners rolled their eyes at the guys’ antics. Brock drove you back in silence, a smile on his face the entire time. 

You headed to bed, knowing that you were going to be leaving when you woke up the next morning, part of you dreading the moment Brock would drop you off at the airport. 

He pulled up to the terminal, neither of you moving once he put the car in park. 

“Can I admit something?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I want you to leave.” 

You look at him. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“But,” he starts.

“I have to.” 

Brock gets out of the car before you could say anything else, heading to grab your bag from his trunk. 

“We were good at fake dating, though,” he says, handing you your bag. 

You nod as he pulls you in for a hug. “Was all of it fake?” You don’t know what compelled you to ask that, other than you not thinking before you speak.

Brock smiles, his arms still wrapped around you. Before you can fully process it, his lips find yours, a sweet, slow kiss as your lips moved together, his hand on the small of your back pressing you into him. 

“No.” 

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

7 - Highway To The Danger Zone

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: mentions of smutty things but none, otherwise nothing spectacular

A/N: Please don't hesitate to reblog and leave comments! I wanna know what y'all think! Pop on over to my Twisters story if you haven't read that for a Jake cameo too! Yes, this story and that one are connected! This is part 2 of that series. Part 3 will be coming soonish, and even as I'm writing part 3, stuff for these two fics will still be written! Please enjoy! And keep an eye on the playlists as they'll be getting updated again soon too!

Taglist: @mrsevans90

Playlist

Jake awoke early as usual, but groggy as fuck. They hadn't had any alcohol so the only thing he could think of as a reason for that was how extremely turned on he had been last night. He hadn't been that horny in years. In his book, that had been some of the best sex he'd ever had. Even better than that Captain he'd fucked in Lemoore while they were off duty. And she was a smoke show if nothing else. But with Sam it felt different. It was different. So different.

Jake's heart was dictating all of his actions. The way he felt for Sam in just a couple of short weeks had him reeling. It had him acting fucking silly. He couldn't explain what exactly it was because it was so many things, but he knew what had sparked it. Her attitude. She was sassy and confident and she had been so last night in bed too. There had been a shared dominant energy in the room that Jake had enjoyed. The majority of women he'd been with just wanted to fuck a navy guy so they pretty much let him do whatever so he rarely went down on them. He had a hard and fast rule that his mouth didn't go below the belt if he didn't know the girl well enough, and he always used a condom. 

He knew he was going to break both of those rules for Sam. He almost did last night. He’d almost let her trick him into sliding in without the condom, but he stopped himself. He wanted this relationship to work, but neither of them needed any more stress than they already had. Her stresses were his. He’d promised that. He begged her to let him take some of the strain, to dump it on him when she needed it. 

He felt her stir beside him, as she rolled to face away from him. She pressed her ass up against his hard morning wood and he groaned and his eyes rolled back from how goddamn good she felt. While he had elected to put his boxers back on last night, Sam had decided against clothing and Jake was more than thankful for that. He ran his finger tips up and down her side so feather light that as she awoke, her brain was not aware of it, but her body responded with a shiver anyway. Her back was arched slightly, so Jake let his hand travel across the soft skin and up to her shoulders, where he massaged for a few moments each. He could see the smile forming on her lips as she rolled again to face him.

“Sleep well, pretty girl?” He asked and she nodded, opening one eye to look at him.

“Did you? Also, is that a missile in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” She giggled and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer so that he could kiss her. His lips met her forehead first, then the tip of her nose, and then her mouth. She shrugged away slightly, trying to bury her face in his chest but he wouldn’t let her.

“Ah, don’t get shy on me now. Course I’m happy to see you.” He said and reached a hand down to tilt her chin up. He kissed her, this time poking his tongue out. She shook her head.

“I have morning breath.” She whispered and he kissed her again. She laughed louder this time, forgetting to care that anyone else might be home.

“Yuh, I do too, so what? Actually, my breath probably smells like your pussy. That was a pretty good night time snack I had.” He growled and Sam gently punched him in the chest.

“Jake!” She barked with a huge smile.

“Oh fuck,” he sighed, and then he almost spilled the beans, “Sam, I lov-like you...I like you a lot...”

“I like you too, Jake. A lot.” She said back, tilting her head and leaving her chocolate brown eyes to cast a spell on him and he was all too willing to let it happen. 

They took their time getting dressed, stealing kisses and passing touches here and there. For several moments, Sam felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She didn't feel the pain of impending grief, nor the thought of being without her father and best friend. All she was thinking about was Jake.

Sam led Jake down to the kitchen where her mom was making Ice a smoothie. Ice turned in his seat and smiled. Her mother took a sip of her coffee and tapped her foot as she looked at the two young adults.

“Samantha...what's the rule about boys?” Her mother asked and Ice had a shit eating grin on his face.

‘Mom...I just graduated college...” Sam scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. 

“And you still live in this house until you find your own. What's the rule?” She scolded. Sam sighed and Jake bit his lip feeling like he was the one in trouble.

“No sleeping over.” Sam said and Jake's eyes went wide. 

Sarah smiled and shook her head as Ice made a motion as if to say ‘no harm done’ as Sarah spoke again. “Just tell us next time so I can make him breakfast too.” 

Sam grinned slyly and Ice stood, kissing this daughter on the forehead. His gaze met Jake's, who straightened up and saluted. Ice saluted him back and waved his hand as if to say ‘at ease’. Ice headed out to the back porch and Sarah followed, but turned before closing the door.

“Oh, Sam, there's a few large yellow envelopes on your father's desk. Could you bring them to the naval base and give them to Beau?” she asked. Sam nodded and said, “Sure.”

Sam went to get the envelope and when she came back, Jake was checking his watch and phone. She placed the envelopes on the counter in front of him. “How long is your day today?”

“Should be done around one, why?” He asked and she smirked.

“I'll come with you for the day.” She said and she nearly ran to grab her laptop bag and change her clothes. Jake wasn't going to argue, partially because, even though he wanted to keep this a secret in some capacity, he did also want to flaunt the fact that he and Sam were seeing each other. Although, he was pretty sure the cat was well out of the bag after the other day. He glanced at his watch again. They'd have to grab something for breakfast on the way. She came out dressed in a black pencil skirt with a pretty plaid blouse and low black heels. Jake's eyes went wide.

“Why?” He motioned to what she was wearing with the biggest grin on his face.

“Oh I have to hop on a Zoom call for work at ten. I actually do have to be dressed despite what people think about remote work. They expect me to look the part.” She explained and he nodded.

“Well, you look the part.” He said and wrapped his arms around her waist as they headed to the door. “And you look like I wanna show you off.” 

🛩️🛩️🛩️

“Hey, did Hangman come home last night?” Phoenix asked Coyote as they got out of their cars together. Bob, Rooster, Payback and Fanboy were all waiting outside their cars and trucks as well, as they liked to walk in as a group. 

“Uh...I never heard his truck, no.” Coyote said, just as Jake’s black Ford pulled up and parked.

“Holy...shit...” Fanboy said as they watched Hangman step down out of the truck and go around to the passenger side, helping none other than Samantha Kazansky, the Commander’s daughter, out like a princess coming out of her carriage. They all stared as Hangman reached behind her, his other hand on her waist, and grabbed her bag for her. He swung it over his shoulder, making clear that he would carry it for her. She tugged on it and he just pushed his nose toward her with a wide smirk. That classic Hangman grin, that had so many ladies swoon for him, seemed to be aimed in a different way, as if he wasn’t trying to impress her. It was more casual, less flirty. His expression seemed softer in a way that none of them had ever seen before.

“What the fuck.” Rooster said, shaking his head, and they watched Hangman pull Samantha in close and kiss her. They’d all seen him make out with girls before, but this wasn’t his typical manner. The way he held her, it was like he didn’t want to lose her. It was like he couldn’t afford to lose her. And they all noticed it.

“You know they’re all looking, right?” Sam mused as they headed toward the front doors of the main building. Jake just nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, I’ll catch shit for it later too, but I don’t give a fuck anymore. Want them to know you’re my girl.” He murmured. “Uh...I’ll come with you to the Vice Admiral’s office.” He said, as they headed through the front doors. He glanced to his left, remembering that there was a photo of her father and Maverick there in the lobby. They stopped there for a moment and Sam’s jaw worked as she looked at the photo.

“He was so young. He never got to take me up in the air like he wanted...” She said solemnly and Jake glanced down at her. 

“I’ll make it happen. I’ll take you up there someday. Promise.” He said and Sam gazed up at him, eyes slightly misty. He pressed a feather light kiss to her forehead, and they decided to head up to the Vice Admiral’s office. When they approached, Cyclone and Warlock were sitting, and Maverick was standing, briefing them on his lesson plan for the day. Sam knocked on the door and Cyclone perked up.

“Samantha...Hangman...come in.” He said, both of them entering, Jake’s hand on the small of her back as they approached the Vice Admiral’s desk. Jake then folded his arms behind his back, at attention for his superiors. “At ease, Lieutenant.” Cyclone said and Jake relaxed his posture and leaned a little closer to Sam. Maverick tilted his head and a corner of his lips turned up. Sam reached in her bag, taking the envelopes out and placing them on the desk in front of Cyclone.

“My father asked me to drop these off to you. I was also wondering if you didn’t mind me borrowing an office or a conference room for the day, sir?” She asked and Cyclone smiled warmly at her.

“Anything for Ice’s daughter.” He said softly and then his eyes locked on Jake. Everyone’s eyes locked on Jake, in fact.

“Sir. I’d like to inform you that Samantha and I are in a relationship. I hope this won’t affect my position or fitness for this mission.” Jake said and Cyclone nodded.

“If her father is fine with it, then your relationship with her will be viewed objectively and have no effect on your position.” He said and Jake nodded. Sam knew by doing this, he was trying to make sure that he wasn't given any special treatment. He wanted a fair chance at being selected for this mission. He needed no special favors just because he was seeing Iceman’s daughter. He wanted no special favor for it. He wanted work and pleasure completely separate.

“Thank you, sir.” Jake said and Cyclone dismissed them both. 

🛩️ 🛩️ 🛩️

Sam settled into a conference room, which was across the hall from the ready room where Jake and his co-pilots were going to be going over their plan for the day. She’d just opened her laptop and was typing, while waiting for the Zoom call to come in. She heard a knock and looked up to see Nat. She stood and they met in the middle of the room, in a hug.

“Hey...um...can we talk a minute?” Nat asked and Sam nodded. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I feel like I have been there for you...”

“No...you’re busy. This mission is super important.” Sam said, and Nat shook her head.

“But I could be making time for you like Jake is...” She said and Sam’s brow furrowed. Nat spoke again before Sam could. “I am happy for you...I’m just surprised you picked him.”

“He kinda picked me...he’s really nice, Nat. He just doesn’t show it because he thinks it’ll make him look weak.” Sam said.

“As a woman in the Navy...I get that. But he doesn’t have to be such a dick...” Nat said, agreeing with Jake’s facade, because she had one of her own to uphold. 

“Hey...I have an idea...Come to dinner. Please?” Sam begged and Nat scrunched her nose at the thought.

“With Bagman? Hard Pass. It’s enough that I deal with him here, I really don’t need to spend time with him outside of work.” She said and Sam grabbed her hands.

“C’mon Nat, please? For me? I swear he'll be on his best behavior. Bring Bob too if you want.” Sam said and Nat figured it wouldn't hurt to give him another chance. One more chance. Nat left Sam with that as they heard her computer trying to connect the Zoom call she'd been waiting for. Sam sat back down and she saw the pilots, including her boyfriend, file into the ready room. Maverick poked his head into the room that Sam was in to say a quick hello and then headed in to instruct for the day. 

Sam glanced over every once in a while and she saw that air of arrogance in Jake that he was so well known for. It oozed from him even as he just sat there. He knew he was the best of the best and he wasn't going to let anyone think he wasn't. 

Maverick finished his speech for the morning and then dismissed the pilots to go get their flight gear on. Sam was taking notes, not only on her call, but also about Jake as he walked out of the room. Sure, he had Javy, but no one else seemed to want to be involved in even light conversation with him. Sam felt bad because she sort of knew who he was behind the scenes, but she knew most of his copilots would never see that side of him and then she understood what his call sign meant to them. They didn't trust him and they knew he was in this for himself. He thought he was the hero and they didn't. And that was another part of why Sam gave him a chance.

🛩🛩🛩

When their day was done, Jake came into the conference room and sat down while he waited for Sam to finish up another call. He had changed back into his khakis and a black tank that showed off his biceps. Sam couldn't help but let her eyes wander, seeing him reclined in a chair, scrolling on his phone. She wondered what had his attention so fully, drawing a smirk from him. He glanced over at one point and their eyes met, both smiling wide. 

Sam rattled off some numbers and statistics that her boss asked for and Jake was impressed, his gaze settling on her as he placed his phone down. He’d never been with a girl that was as smart as Sam. As her call ended, he picked his phone up again and stood from his chair. She sat down at hers, as she’d been standing while reading figures to her boss. Jake had assumed she just needed to stretch. He prowled over to her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She glanced up at him, then finished typing on her laptop, and closed it.

‘What had your attention so intently?” She asked and he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and put his phone in front of her. He was on Instagram. On her profile. He was looking at pictures of her from two summers ago, when she visited Virginia Beach. When she had her fling with Rooster. But she didn’t know if Jake knew that, because he’d probably kill Rooster if he did.

“You’re fuckin’ hot, y’know that? Can’t believe how gorgeous you are.” He murmured next to her ear and pressed his nose to her temple. She reached up and ran her fingers through his short hair, her nails scratching his scalp and making him push into her more. He loved when she put her fingers in his hair. 

“So...I invited Nat and Bob to dinner later? You pick where.” Sam said and she felt Jake tense.

“Okay...then you come over to my place after...you’ve never been.” He said, something uneasy about his tone, so she agreed without question. That was only fair. 

🛩🛩🛩

Jake found a place, a little hole in the wall Mexican taqueria on the waterfront. He and Sam arrived first and acquired seating. Jake ordered a round of beers for himself, Nat, and Bob, and a cider beer for Sam. Jake had decided a plain black shirt with the sleeves rolled and jeans were good for tonight, and Sam used it as an excuse to put on a pretty pink dress, a thin cottony fabric that sat off one of her shoulders. Jake was going to make sure he paid special attention there tonight as her neck was exposed and was prime real estate for kissing.

“You sure they'll show? I’m pretty sure they all hate me at this point.” Jake said, leaning back against the booth they were sat in and placing his arm across the top of it, a partially possessive gesture as his hand laid lazily off the back of the booth, fingers brushing her shoulder. 

“Nat wouldn't skip on me. She's been my best friend for so long. She knows I wouldn't forgive her.” Sam said, and Jake could her the confidence in her voice.

“If you say so...oh...shit...they did show.”  He took a swig of his beer and looked up, just as Nat and Bob came through the front door. They walked over to the table that they'd gotten, in the corner of the room. They said hi and sat. Jake thought it odd to see them out of uniform or flight suits. Bob looked relaxed in jeans and t-shirt and Nat had decided on a pretty black dress with quarter sleeves. 

“Did you order yet?” Nat asked and Sam smiled.

“Got you both a beer and some chips and salsa. I've heard it's great here.” They both smiled and there was a bit of an awkward silence in the air as Jake pushed their  beers toward them. They each took a sip just as the chips and salsa arrived. The waitress gave them a few more minutes with the menu and they decided to get a couple flights of different types of tacos to try. There was another moment of awkward silence as the three pilots seemed to be trying to figure out what to talk about. Sam on the other hand, had snuck a selfie and sent it to her friend, Shelby, who responded immediately.

Shelby: holy fuck hes gorgeous

“So...you two are seeing each other?” Bob asked, which made Sam look up from her phone. Her and Nat reached for chips and salsa at the same time and bumped their hands together on purpose with a laugh. 

“Been seeing each other, yes.” Jake said, letting his arm slip off the back of the booth and across Sam’s shoulders fully.

“Been seeing? Wait for how long?” Bob asked.

“Since the beginning of the detachment. When I asked her out and she said yes to dinner. I saw her the next day. And the next, and every single day after.” Jake explained.

“Hangman actually goes on second dates?” Bob said with a lilt of humor in his voice.

“Hangman goes on many dates apparently.” Nat said, wiggling her brows at Sam. She knew that they’d be spending time together, but Nat didn’t know quite how much time. So when Nat told him to be there the other day, he had already been and continued to be. Meaning he had also seen how bad Ice was. Nat could then only assume that Jake was beginning to understand the effect it was having on Sam.

“Yeah.” Sam said, running her hand up and down his bicep. He glanced at her, and actually smiled at Nat and Bob. And it looked genuine. By the time their food arrived, the tension between everyone had loosened significantly and by the end of the dinner, Nat and Bob could almost say they enjoyed hanging out with Jake Seresin outside of work.

[blindseer0]

First Route

I'm curious; what Route of Echo did you first play and what were your impressions of each of the main characters, just from that route?

I did Flynn's route first.

Chase: Despite the reveals and some of his behavior, I actually liked him. Super flawed, but still relatable and somewhat tragic.

Carl: Had a big part in Flynn's Route; I thought he was a bit of a goof, but well meaning. Felt pretty bad for him when the interview went south. Was definitely weird seeing him in other routes without Daxton to bounce off of.

Leo: I ended up picking all of the Daxton option, so Leo was muy loco here. Still didn't tip me off to how his route was going to go though. Mostly I just felt bad for him (if a little scared) because it was very clear choosing not to talk things out led to this.

Jenna: Jenna came off as overprotective, but even though she was overly harsh with Flynn, I did get where she was coming from and couldn't judge her too hard. She also redeemed herself (and her relationship with Flynn) when he trusted her to use a gun, and she shot the monster on the road (and the ending with little Jenna left me loving her and her relationship with Flynn).

TJ: I kind of feel like this is TJ's strongest route; he tells Leo and Jenna to shut up and stop babying him and willingly tells Flynn what happened. While he spends the rest of the route scared out of his mind (understandable), he's still less comatose than he is in Leo and Jenna's routes. I'd say he left a pretty good impression.

Syd the Kid: I think I'm slowly coming around to the idea that kid Sydney is my favorite character, and I've replayed his scenes more than any other part of the game. They're just so good and they give you such a good sense of who this child was. I know he bullied TJ (and the tragic backstory doesn't excuse that), but I still love him (and what he could have been).

Flynn: Man of the hour. One of the, if not the most tragic character in the game. Chase wanted to know what his deal was, and this route sure did tell us his deal. None of this excuses how he treated TJ (or the others), but knowing his motivations (and what he's done) makes his actions in the other routes, particularly Jenna's, much more meaningful. Came out of this really admiring the complexity of his writing and how he never stops being an asshole, but is an asshole you root for. (Disclaimer, Flynn is the character I most relate to, so I might be a little biased.)

[anonajn]

out of these i'm picking ian mckellan and tim curry in amadeus, but what i really want to see is keanu reeves doing hamlet in winnipeg in 1995. here is a review, and i also put it below

Most Excellent Prince

"What a piece of work is Keanu's Hamlet!"

This is one role that might have been written for the star of Speed, says Roger Lewis.

I crossed oceans of time to find him: 30 hours from my house in France, through several time zones and the polar wastes, to Winnipeg -- of all places the most God-forsaken. Situated in the dead centre of Canada, ice-bound for half the year, once a trading post for the Hudson Bay Co, and now a maze of subterranean shopping malls, Winnipeg is a town even the locals mock: "Winnipeg folk travel a lot -- to get away from Winnipeg";"Winnipeg looks great -- after dark, when the view is better..." They need not be so diffident. The standard of living is high (no beggars, no litter, no germs); they have opera, ballet, theatre -- and Keanu Reeves, the 30-year-old actor who had fled there, to be far out of reach, to play Hamlet.

Let's get it out of the way at once, and wipe that smirk off your face; if you had anticipated Bill and Ted's Shakeapearian Adventure, forget it. He was wonderful. He quite embodied the innocence, the splendid fury, the animal grace of the leaps and bounds, the emotional violence, that form the Prince of Denmark. He has the sheer virility of Larry Olivier's melancholy Dane -- which Keanu saw on video just the other week -- plus the Peter Pannishness, the little-boy-lost quality, that I remember Mark Rylance bringing to the role. He was both vulnerable (as in the scenes with Gertrude when a goodnight kiss goes on and on until mother and son recoil in horror at their arousal) and severe (as in the bit where he flies at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern for presuming to "play upon me...you would pluck out the heart of my mystery").

He is one of the top three Hamlets I have seen, for a simple reason; he *is* Hamlet, and he has been a lonely a resourceful type, who won't submit, in film after film. He is full of undercurrents and overtones, which is why the world's big directors want to work with him. He is killingly attractive, no question. He can look, from moment to moment, faintly oriental, with his slanted black eyes -- he has Chinese, Hawaiian and British blood in him -- or crew-cut clean Caucasian; he can be Californian (especially in his locutions: I'd not been asked whether I felt a really cool dude before) and exotic, like a Canadian-Indian -- I kept seeing his profile in ancient Inuit sculpture, which Winnipeg has museums full of.

But his physique is just the first thing which sets him apart. What counts is the impression we get of a nature that is turbulent and proud -- though he can exude calm and courtliness -- and that he has a gift given to few; like Garbo, he is an actor who can register -- simultaneously -- both pleasure and pain. And, like Garbo, he prefers to keep his own company. He doesn't want to be crowded.

Is that why he chose Winnipeg? A self-enclosed community in the lonesome prairie? He was there without bodyguards or companions; there is not Court of Keanu; no agents or PR persons or those curious factotums, former ballet dancers usually, who tend to cluster around a star, like maggots on a chop. He walked to work, shuffling through the snow (it was minus 25 degrees C) in his curious, dancing, tripping-over-himself way. He'd been seen in a cafe on his own, nursing a Perrier. Here was the paradox of this famous and desirable man, and there is nobody with him, ever. He is loved -- by million of hungry fans -- but does he know how to love? He went to the Prarie Oyster restaurant with the cast, and left early; taking his food away in a doggy bag; he went to an Italian restaurant and left in case two girls at the bar pestered him. None of this behaviour is sulky, tantrumy, make no mistake about that, for he has a great and unfeigned tenderness; it is more that, like Hamlet, he has a world within himself.

He is coping with stardom, and trying to appear normal (when he knows he is not) by ignoring it. He doesn't own a house in L.A. He lives in hotels or in the rooms of actors who are out of town. He doesn't want too easy a life -- the mansions and the flunkeys. He anchors his ship for a little while only, and this is how he struck me in conversation -- though he is sitting there, he is not quite there all the time, as he darts from mood to mood, curving and winding, cautious and direct. Though he had been an athletic, piratical Hamlet, there is this huge, I can only call it ethereal, element. He is retiring from society, from life -- and that might be dangerous; his spirituality could intensify, and he could spirit away. He is in his dressing room hours and hours before the show. I'll bet he is bouncing around and getting himself into mortal and human shape so that he can appear or stage. For he is an eagle, really; or a glossy and supple stallion.

Hollywood, meantime, would prefer this wild beast to be back with them, making more bomb-on-the-bus stuff; there were brokers and moguls, less interested in him than in the money he makes, doing their best to scupper the production. Shakespeare in Winnipeg! Three weeks on a basic Equity rate! When he could be reaping billions after Speed! (After all, reports last week of his sign-up fee for the new movie, Drop Dead, ranged from 4 million pounds to 10 million pounds.) Thus, the Manitoba Theatre Centre, a concrete lump that looks as though it is dissolving, was forbidden from arranging publicity interviews with the Principal Boy; there were to be no press tickets, photo calls, nothing. CBC was forbidden to run a clip of Keanu in action -- so their bulletin was literally Hamlet without the Prince.

Hollywood pretended it was not happening; they were deeply contemptuous and suspicious of the entire affair. The rumor was that Keanu's own representatives would not fly to see his performance until they were absolutely certain he had not made a fool of himself. Supportive, huh? It just makes him the more like Hamlet, coming here, against the odds; embattled. It had been his idea to work again with his drama school mentor, the Toronto director Lewis Baumander, for whom he was once a thrilling Mercutio; and the production was built around Keanu, quite deliberately. Gone is the messy, modern, neurotic Hamlet; Baumander has encouraged us to see the character's sense of duty; and Keanu -- who is himself facing a challange, taking a risk -- would make a good King of Denmark, because he has re-discovered the splendour of heroism, its Camelot quality; which is how he transfigured Speed, giving it extra spin and nuance.

The Winnipeggios were tickled pink to have him in their midst -- they had not seen a star since Charlie Chaplin drove through on his way to fish in the lake -- and this, plus the fact that all 22,000 seats for the run were sold out on subscription (i.e. before the box office opened), was a story in itself. The local press had a Keanu Hotline: "If you see Keanu out and about in Winnipeg, don't keep it a secret. Call 697-7368." But this scheme was spiked -- by the readers. "It's wonderful what he has done for Winnipeg," I was often told, and though most people had indeed spotted him, he was to be accorded respect and privacy. This seemed rather British -- old-fashioned and virtuous -- British like an Ealing comedy. People were so polite, they would phone the theatre and ask if they could ask for an autograph ("He's very approachable," said the receptionist. "You could come and see him in the lobby"). The staff at the Sheraton, not wanting to over-do it, obtained a single signature and photocopied it.

Best of all -- a moment out of a Boulting Bros. film -- was the opening night itself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding for the Governor General of Manitoba and Mrs Carlton Browne, and the Lady Mayoress and her goddaughter Patsy." And in trooped these Peter Sellers characters, in medals and ostrich plumes and we sang God Save the Queen. That this was followed by a burst of jangling rock music and Keanu in a spotlit tableau grieving over his father's tomb is I suppose what these days gets to be called surreal.

Afterwards, the cast party: to which the entire audience was invited. Though the Winnipeg Free Press and the Winnipeg Sun reported this as a stellar evening to outrank Graumann's Chinese, the atmosphere, for all the ice sculptures of Elsinore and cavier canapes, was actually much more like a village hall -- with Keanu down at the end scribbling on people's programmes and posters. He was still performing -- or continuing to be, in endless permutation. For each person, he would adjust, to make them special: a puppyish younger brother with men; a chivalric knight when calming the hyperventilating teens; the adored grown-up son to the older women, who want to be his mother, Wendy to his frowning Peter Pan. Men and women desire that he should like them, and he would speak to them and pose for their Instamatics, and they'd fantasise forever that he'd stay with them. (There were no ogling gays in evidence, by the way. Perhaps the Canadian cold snaps keep them down.)

He doesn't need applause; he wants to survive the flattery. His exhortation to me was to deal justly with him. He is measurelessly puzzling and fascinating.

I'll never forget one occasion. It was midnight and we were standing outside the theatre, wrapped up against the cold -- and there was this huge hearse-like stretch limo 20 or so yards away. This was the only touch that said "movie star" and was very un-Winnipeg. "My mother," he said, in his low, soft and furry voice. "She had come to town to see the production," and the sinister car conveyed her -- and him -- around the corner to the Westin Hotel.

Before disappearing, he glanced at the the vehicle with amusement and embarrassement. Dressed in his layers of black, tall and elegant and as slim as a shark's fin, and with the snowflakes softly falling on his hat, twinkling and refusing to melt on his skin, and with his face inclined towards me, so intent you would swear he could listen to the wolves barking amid the ice and frozen rivers, he was very beautiful.

Time Travel Question 67: Assorted Performances VI

These Questions are the result of suggestions from the previous iteration.

This category may include suggestions made too late to fall into the correct grouping.

Please add new suggestions below if you have them for future consideration.