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nausicaaandhermouth · 1 month ago

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Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

mdni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived.

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

#arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane viktor fanfic #viktor fanfic #physics professor viktor #viktor x gn!reader #violinist reader #neighbours trope #viktor smut #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x you #arcane smut #arcane viktor smut #nausicaas fics

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bloomzone · 6 months ago

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𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦 !

“Team work makes the dream work”

- bts

Summer is here finally and it's time to make the most of every sunny day! Whether you want to stay fit, work on a passion project or just have fun with friends travel camping ... here a good routine can help you balance everything :

by: 𖧷´ bloomzone 𝅄 ׂׅ

Morning

Wake up early: Aim to wake up around 9-10 AM (not everyday is perfect sometimes I can wake up until midday)

Exercise: Start your day with some physical activity, like running, yoga, or a workout.

Healthy Breakfast: Have a nutritious breakfast to fuel your day like oatmeal or simply a smoothie and a fruit salad

Me time : Dedicate some time to a hobby or project you're passionate about like writing, painting, or learning a new skill (learning a new languages...)

Midday

Study/Work: Spend a few hours focusing on academics or other productive tasks. This could include preparing for next school year. (personally I'm not that type of person)

Lunch: Take a break and enjoy a lunch

Relaxation: Spend some time relaxing, whether it’s reading a book, watching a show, or simply take a nap

Afternoon

Social Time: Hang out with friends or family somewhere like parks forest...

Outdoor Activities: If possible, enjoy outdoor activities like swimming or playing sports (volleyball is the best sport for the beach)

Evening

Dinner: Have a light and healthy dinner (it's your choice)

Unwind: Wind down your day with relaxing activities like listening to music, meditating, or journaling

Preparation for Next Day: Spend a few minutes planning for the next day, setting goals or making a to-do list to make every day different

Night

Personal Time: Spend some time on activities you enjoy, like reading or watch ur favorite show series..

Sleep : do your skincare and go to bed around 11-12 PM to ensure you get enough rest. (Ikr it's not a anough but u know.. it's summer haha)

#becoming that girl #wonyoungism #glow up #wonyoung #dream life #it girl #creator of my reality #divine feminine #it girl affirmations #love affirmations #summer #confidence #clean girl #self care #self confidence #dream girl tips

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thoughtsfromlayla · 8 months ago

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Dreamweaver's Heart

Summary: The Dream Lord takes fascination to a new lucid dreamer in his realm, his Dreamweaver. The waking world is less than kind and he will travel dimensions to make sure you are safe.

Notes: ~8.6k, this was a request sent in by Anon based on this post! Otherwise, I'm sorry for having this fic take such a dark turn? It was supposed to be sweet but then in my search for more Tom Sturridge films, I came across Like Minds and it fucked with me. So now it fucks with my writing until further notice.

Warnings: Don't ever get attached to the characters I make for the plot, graphic descriptions of gore, death, murder, and drowning, betrayal of a friend, nonconsensual kissing (not from Dream), graphic serial killer activities, run in with a serial killer. Dream's a dream tho, a knight in black armor <3 Happy ending :D

I'm not going to say it's 18+, because it's not NSFW, but some of these themes can be disturbing. Please read the tags carefully.

Masterlist

“One, two, three, four, five, okay,” You count your right-hand fingers to yourself. Then cast your eyes on the watch you always carried on your wrist.

“8:13,” You take another look at your surroundings and take in the fresh air and kind sun. “AM,” you concluded.

You look back to your fingers and count again. “One, two, three, four, five,” You listed off in your head. Then one more time look at your watch. This time it read 5:15 PM, but the sun hadn’t moved. A grin crawls up to your face as you realize that you were dreaming. Lucid dreaming to be more specific.

When you first heard about lucid dreaming in some off-handed news article you rolled your eyes and went on with your morning. There wasn’t much time in your life to worry about those things, not when another project was due, you had another meeting to attend, or another email to look at. But then life got unbearably hard to live with, stress kept piling up, and your vacation hours kept being declined.

Your dreams turned from weird but forgettable dreams to nightmares of being chased, drowned, or murdered, only for you to both feel and witness again and again. When you wake up in a sweat at the ungodly midnight hours, you open your phone to find the news article again. It took you well over a month to get the hang of lucid dreaming but it was all worth the cognitive effort. Each time you go to sleep you count your fingers, then your clock, then your fingers, and then your clock again. There are always telltale signs that you were dreaming, dreams tend to never make sense so you look for those things.

You intake another fresh breath of air and smile, head tilted towards the sun. The city air was polluted with car fumes and sewage smells, and while you loved the city, you do miss the easier days back in the countryside. You imagine the lush meadows, old trees, and the house that your grandfather hand-built for him and his wife. Before you the scenery changes and you’re sitting on a hand-carved rocking chair in a thin shirt and shorts.

“This is the life,” You groan out to yourself as you begin the rock back and forth, thighs and arms trembling from a stretch. You stay like that for god knows how long, the waking world not a priority of your thoughts as you had the next day off.

You only get up when sweat begins to collect along your hairline and the sunhat you are wearing begins to become itchy. A farm dog comes up to you and pants at your side urging you to go inside the house, maybe for a cup of lemonade, which sounded delicious the more you thought about it.

When you look into the house from the windowed front door, a black figure briefly catches your eyes. It walks within the kitchen, running a finger across the worn wooden table and tracing lines of chipped paint over the tops of chairs. Confusion eclipses your face as his figure distorts on the thick glass and you open the door quickly.

Much to your surprise, there was no such figure when the door opened. Your heart beats inside your chest and you look down at your fingers again. One, two, three, four, five… six. Six fingers, which is odd. You exhale slowly, it’s just a dream you say to yourself and carry on.

While sitting at the kitchen table you pinch your index and thumb together then bring both hands until they meet the other’s fingers. You pull them apart and a delicate golden string connects the fingers together. With a calming inhale of breath you move your fingers purposefully, drawing a picture of lemonade with a glass cup. If only it were this easy in the waking world.

Lemonade appears on the kitchen table in a glass pitcher and you pour yourself a cup, chugging down the citrusy-sweet drink with a smile. You sit for a while, not particularly thinking of anything, your job had you doing enough of that. The kitchen window was open and you could feel the summer wind and hear the leaves rustling and mourning doves cooing. It was a scene straight out of your childhood, and if you concentrated enough you could hear the lawn mower going in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass invading the house.

A bark interrupts your serenity and you look over to the farm dog. He’s patiently sitting by his food bowl with a wagging tail. A small box of dog food appears on a nearby shelf and you go to him with a smile.

“Are you hungry, boy?” You ask and reach for the kibble. He barks back in return and watches you intently as you pour a small serving. You then thought to yourself that, well, this is a dream and can dogs get diabetes in dreams? Probably not, so you dump the rest of the kibble into his bowl. It piled higher and higher and you can see a satisfied glint in the dog’s eyes as it begins to chow down on its food.

You wipe your hands off on your shorts and toss the empty box into some unknown void in the hallway and go back to the kitchen. This time, however, two glasses were accompanying the pitcher. One, the glass you just drank out of, and the other, a half-drunk glass of lemonade. The condensation of the cool drink was still on the glass and you could see a clear handprint of where someone had grabbed it.

You look back at the dog and notice that he is missing and panic sets in again. You look outside the window and the sun disappears, clouds rolling in with a sheet of rain. The ground around you starts to become wet despite the intact roof and it floods over your feet. The water fills up the space quickly.

You try to calm your breathing and will the water to go away, for the sun to come back, anything to have your hours of peace before you have to wake up. But, nothing worked and the water came over your hips, and you’re hyperventilating now. The rain comes in through the windows in large gushes of water and you find yourself stuck in place, unable to move.

“Wake up, wake up!” You chant to yourself, tears beading along your lower lash line. You pinch at yourself and are exasperated when you still don’t wake. The water felt too real, it was cold and piercing and you could feel the twigs and leaves of debris that brushed against your legs now and then. “This isn’t funny, wake up!” You cry to yourself again as the water rises higher.

Behind you, in the shadows, the Dream Lord watches with intent. He always had a fascination with lucid dreamers, after all, they were able to minorly manipulate dreams to their whim. Something that the Dream King wouldn’t admit hurt his ego a little bit… just a smudge. But he had been watching your dreams lately and found it fascinating that you never dreamed of anything grand. No mystical adventure, no aspirations, and certainly no dreams of a more… sexual nature. Which, if he was allowed to comment, may be the reason why you were so stressed in the waking world and needed to find peace in his instead.

“This dream is over,” He commands and waves his hand over the scene.

You wake with a start, the sweat you produced while sleeping made your shirt stick to you uncomfortably and reminded you of your dream. You’re quick to get rid of it and throw it into your laundry hamper, now topless and rushing to the bathroom for a cold shower to calm you down. When you were done, your weekend alarm still hadn’t gone off and you were tempted to go back to sleep again.

Eventually, you decided against it, unless you wanted to repeat what just happened. Purposeful, dreamless sleep hasn’t found you in a long time and you doubt it would come back just on a whim. You watch the sunrise in your apartment, sighing as sleep tugs at your body still. The cup of hot coffee in your hands felt more like decoration than anything useful as it didn’t give you the energy you craved.

Thankfully you had nothing to do on your day off and you pat your past self on the back for going grocery shopping last night instead of making you do it today. You spend the rest of the day in bed, reading books on your Kindle and taking breaks by mindlessly scrolling through different forms of social media. Sleep tugs on your eyes but no matter how much you try to sleep, even a nap escapes you.

The day goes by at a molasses-like pace, you don’t even remember eating. But once the sun has set and the stars made their debut, you happily resign as sleep overcomes you. The Kindle falls somewhere off your bed as you lose consciousness. When you come to your dreams, you’re greeted by a whale… in a tutu.

Your laughter is hard to contain at the sight as you watched it dance on its fins to Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, part of your favorite ballet to watch when you were younger. It splashes some water on you and you use your hands to cover your face. It’s then that you remember to count your fingers.

“One, two, three, four, five,” All five fingers. What time was it? You repeat the ritual that has been so ingrained in your head and when you notice that you only have four fingers on your second count, you know then that you have control over the dream.

“Thank you for your entertainment tonight, my friend,” You wave goodbye to it as the scenery changes around you.

You’re back out in nature. A low-hanging tree greets you instead and a white and red checkered blanket is laid before it. The blanket had a mighty spread of slices of bread, jams, cheeses, meats, and tea. You make your way over and sit on the soft blanket, slowly picking the foods to taste. The atmosphere was perfect and the wind blew the smell of fresh water into your nose from the nearby pond. Ducks and geese honk at each other in greeting as they swim by.

Deeper in the picnic basket was more food, but you found them in pairs. Two sandwiches, two teacups, and two dessert cakes. You quizzically stare at them as you hold the two sandwiches, one in each hand. You didn’t eat that much, did you?

“I see that you have started without me,” A voice comments.

You jump in your skin at the sudden intrusion and look up. You see a man, dressed in casual black with an impressive coat.

“Isn’t it a bit too warm to wear such a long coat?” You ask instead.

You don’t protest when he sits next to you and hand him a sandwich instead. He places the wrapped food gently on the ground before taking off his jacket.

“Better?” He asks as he goes to grab his sandwich again.

“Hmm,” You only hum in agreement and start to unwrap your own. It’s a few minutes of silent chewing before you realize how weird this is. “Wait, who are you?”

“No one you haven’t met before,” He answers vaguely. His sandwich was left untouched except for the bread which he threw at the ducks near the pond.

You chew slowly as you try to digest his answer. He pours you a cup of tea which you drink freely from, murmuring a thanks as he hands you the fine china. The smell of vanilla and peaches invades your senses as you sip on the sweet tea. The favor takes you by surprise at how wonderfully it paired with the sandwich. By the end of the picnic, you have learned two things, your mystery man was great company, and that carbs made you comatose.

“Oh, my god. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much food in one sitting,” You sigh happily as you lay down on the blanket. Your head hits the hard ground and an idea sparks in you.

Once again you pinch your fingers together and then bring your hands together. You intertwine and loop the golden strings that emit from your movements, much like an old childhood game of yours, Cat’s Cradle, and produce a small pillow.

You place the pillow down and give it a good smack before laying down again. The sun envelopes you in a kind warmth that makes you smile. You see dancing shadows behind your eyelids when you close them to enjoy the moment.

You hear rustling beside you and turn your head towards the man lying down beside you. He really was quite beautiful, something more than a man, perhaps a deity. He is lost in thought, almost, as he thinks about your abilities, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.

“You have a great side profile, you know?” You don’t know why you said that, but rarely in dreams do you know why anything happens.

Your comment makes him chuckle, a sound that you wish to hear again. It was light-hearted and pure, something that you wouldn’t expect to hear from someone who looked like him. You couldn’t help but laugh along, finding his happiness contagious.

“Thank you,” He says when he is done laughing.

When the giggles leave your body, you go back to relaxing and soon you doze off. The rest of the dream is peaceful and pure, no more nightmares to haunt you tonight. The Dream Lord looks at you fondly as the wind blows some of your hair astray, happy to assist you for once in his realm. As long as he is here, you won’t have to fight your demons on your own again.

The next morning was the first time in a long time that you felt energized. The old coffee pot is nearly forgotten as you get ready to go on a morning walk, something you have done in a long while. Afterward, a shower, and then lunch with an old friend you haven’t seen in months. He had decided to drop by after his work allowed him to come into the city.

You meet with Oliver at a local cafe and you order tea this time around, along with some soup and a side salad. The AC is on full blast as more and more people come into the small building. You were lucky to find Oliver already waiting for you at a small table by the large windows. He waves at you when you come close enough and then pushes his glasses back into place.

“How have you been, Poppet?” He starts right off the bat with a smile, using the same nickname he’s been using since grade 3. That smile brings you back all the way to your younger days when you first met him as your new neighbor.

You think briefly about possibly mentioning your horrid dreams to him but decide to skip it, seeing as you didn’t want to ruin the mood for today, not to mention the peaceful dream you had last night all but almost made you forget it in its entirety.

“Oh, you know me, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” You joke with a self-deprecating laugh. Your comment makes you realize that you have to go to work the next day and deal with annoying clients all over again. “Same shit, different day,” You mutter in conclusion.

Both of your foods arrive just in time for you to ignore the glare he sent your way. Instead, you find fascination in the soup you choose, the same soup you had for the past three years of your life.

“What brings you into town?” You ask as you pick apart the complimentary bread.

“Work, of course. Though I never thought it would bring me to this place.” He gestures to the city around him.

Oliver works as a farm veterinarian so, rarely, does he come into a large city where each piece of green is covered in concrete or chewed gum. And, of course, there are no farm animals around. He goes on to talk about a conference that he was invited to, something to do with the fight on farm animal antibiotics. You only nod along as you ate your lunch, your talents lie elsewhere but don't want to seem rude.

Only scraps of your meal are left when the two decide that it is time to depart ways.

“How long are you staying in the city?” You ask outside the cafe. The weather was almost perfect today, save for the slightly chilling wind that came every now and then.

“About a week.” Oliver puts on his jacket and then pushes his round glasses back in place.

“A week, huh?” You thought out loud before a smile came to your face. “You should come by the exhibit later this week. My client is showcasing their art, and going together would be fun.”

“I’ll be there.” Oliver takes the business card you hand him, the heavy paper turns from warm white to gray as the sun disappears behind some clouds.

Rain begins to drizzle and splatter on the card.

“Aw, man. What?” You complain and put your jacket over your head as the rain continues to fall. “There wasn’t a rain forecast today,” You grumble to yourself.

The two of you step under the cafe awning, the thin fabric providing little protection.

“Do you want to stay at my place until the rain lets up? It’s just a few blocks from here.” You offer.

“Lead the way, Poppet,” Oliver says with a smile.

You smile back as you hype yourself to run through the rain. Thank god you wore sensible shoes today. With a squeal, you run in the direction of your apartment. You hear Oliver laughing behind you as he follows closely behind. Your laughter and giggles continue when you two find the comfort of your apartment and quickly turn up the thermostat when you get inside.

“Wow, you’ve decorated the place nicely,” Oliver whistles his approval.

He kindly sets his dripping jacket on the coat rack before you do the same and thank him. He shakes his head, much like a dog, you mused, to get rid of the water as his hair splays out from his actions. You, the more sensible one, simply wrung it out over the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, if work can’t destress me why should my own home be?” You nodded along.

The storm had raged harder ever since you got inside, the rain pelting on the window. If you didn’t have company over, you would’ve tossed all chores to the side and huddled up for a nap. Sleeping has been wonderful ever since you figured out lucid dreaming.

“Poppet, you got a remote for this giant T.V, or what?” Oliver says as he pokes his hands between couch cushions.

“Erm, yeah, somewhere on the T.V. stand.” Your comment was absent minded as you poke around in your small pantry for some snacks.

Your eyes lock on packets of hot chocolate you didn’t know you had and what could be more perfect than a rainy day and hot chocolate with a friend? You squint at the box, looking for the expiration date. When you find it, and see that it’s been expired since last christmas, you pretend you don’t.

There’s probably enough preservative to make the powdered drink last until the end of days, right? Plus who is throwing out food like this? In this economy? You scoff to yourself.

“Want hot chocolate?” You ask, peeking at Oliver’s form in the living room.

He stands in front of the T.V., hip slightly popped out to support himself with a hand on his hip and the other on the remote. The news comes on instead of your usual menu of different streaming services and a confused look takes over Oliver’s face when he turns around.

“No, not that remote, the other one,” You laughed and went ahead to the fridge to warm up some milk anyway.

“Which remote, you have, like, 13 for no reason!” He cries out exasperated but goes to the stand to find the correct remote.

The news continues to play and with nothing better to do, you listen in while you wait for your milk to warm up.

“There has been a recent murder here in our lovely city and we encourage citizens to remain vigilant. The killer has not yet been caught and there is no pattern as to what kind of victims they take.” The news anchor speaks.

“Oh, shit.” Oliver stops his search as he, too, starts listening in to the news.

“Welcome to the city, I guess,” You shrug with a defeated sigh. The milk starts to shimmer before you turn off the stove.

“Still, you should stay safe,” Oliver comments as he finally finds the correct remote, turning in to a streaming service and picking a light hearted movie. You’re mixing the chocolate powder, spoon clinking against the non-matching mugs, and when you don’t answer right away, Oliver presses again. “You will be safe, right?”

“Yes, mom,” You sarcastically groan. “I’ll be safe.”

“That’s my Poppet,” He chides, some of his accent slipping through, and sits down. He opens an arm for you to sit next to him before you hand him the hot chocolate that you made.

“Careful, it’s ho-”

“JESUS!” Oliver exclaims as his face flies away from the mug. His shocked face makes your own burst out into laughter, so much so that you have to set down your mug so that you don’t spill it all over yourself.

“Are you laughing at my pain?” Oliver jokes and pokes your sides.

The ticklish action only makes you laugh harder, if that was at all possible. Seeing your reaction, Oliver goes to poke you again, and you defend weakly as your laughing makes you all but weak.

“Sto-stop, you’re going to make me pee,” You choke out between fits of giggles. Your hands were clenched to your sides as a last ditch effort to conceal your weak points. Your cheeks were starting to hurt and your smile was so wide that you couldn’t even open your eyes anymore. You were simply at the mercy of feeling true happiness.

Oliver eventually stops and the T.V. goes into a mandatory ad break (I mean, you’re not going to pay for no ads after already paying for the streaming service, let’s be real). Your energy is sapped out of you and you deflate into the couch with a satisfied sigh.

“That was the first time tonight I heard you laugh that hard. Has the city been that mean to you?” Oliver asks, now cautiously sipping his drink.

“The city is not mean, it’s just different than home,” You reply with a roll of your eyes. “I wouldn’t change it for anything though.”

Oliver hums in response, whipped cream stuck on his upper lips. You could tell he wanted to say more but decided to keep quiet instead. Eventually, the two of you fell into a comfortable and familiar silence as you watched the rest of the movie.

You ended up crying at a particular scene and Oliver, same old Oliver, poked at you again to try and get you laughing. The rain still hasn't stopped and you’re glad to live on a higher floor of the apartment complex or else you would’ve had to worry about potential flooding.

At the end of the day, you ended up cooking dinner for the two of you as well, convincing Oliver to stay and have a warm meal before going home alone. Especially considering the news about the killer on the loose. You’re on your third movie when the two of you finally finish your late dinner and you fall asleep on the couch against Oliver’s much warmer body.

The body underneath you shifts and your eyes snap open.

“Sorry, Oliver, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” You apologize before you’re completely awake.

“It is nothing of note,” Someone else’s voice responds instead.

You rub your eyes and take a closer look at him and are surprisingly greeted by your mystery man. He wears the same clothes as the last time you met, only this time it’s warranted as you feel the chilling wind brush against your prickling skin. Unconsciously you crawl closer to him again and he wraps a protective arm around your body.

Looking around at your surroundings you notice that the two of you were huddled amongst the clouds. Stars and nebulas dance around the two of you in sparkling wonder. When you reach out your hand to touch a star and find it surprising when you are greeted with a cold feeling. Your hand snaps back quickly and you tuck it under your arms to quickly warm up.

“Guess I’m dreaming again,” You comment nonchalantly and lean back. The clouds seem to know where to stop and you’re lying comfortably by the man’s side again.

“Ever the perceptive one,” He responds back.

“I didn’t know I could dream of something this… spectacular,” You think to yourself, taking the risk to rest your head on his shoulders. Besides momentarily stiffening under your touch, he doesn’t move away, something you took as a good sign.

“You did not, I did,” He says slowly.

“Hmm, it’s nice, thank you.” You close your eyes and enjoy his warmth.

Besides you, the Endless smiles to himself at your compliment. To him, it was nothing more than the wave of his hand to gift you this dream. He would be lying to himself if he were to say he hasn’t been waiting for you to cross over to the Dreaming since your last dream. His fascination for your abilities grows stronger yet.

Yet, he has created a beautiful enough dream that you didn’t find the need to change anything, something he takes pride in. Your waking world has left you tired and weary, and he is here to provide. A tugging sensation pulls at him and he remembers why he is here.

“My Dreamweaver, I have something to tell you. You must listen carefully.” His words were calculated when he spoke. “You are in danger, be cautious.”

“What?”

“This dream is over.”

You wake up in your bed with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. When you roll over to look at the glowing digital clock, it reads 3:00 AM. With a groan, you leave your warm bed to tread the treacherous cold apartment for a glass of water.

You fill up a small cup with some water and notice that by your sink is a small note, scribbled in red crayon. Your tired eyebrows shoot up at the note and grimace at the atrocious handwriting that was undoubtedly Oliver’s.

“Poppet, I can’t find your pens but I found this crayon by the TV remotes Don’t worry I called a cab I won’t get murdered tonight cause I’m vigilant unlike some people Mwah, Oliver”

That night, your mystery man didn’t visit you again. He only leaves his vague message that echoes in the empty chambers of your heads. You’re plagued with dreams of drowning and despite all you can do to take control of the nightmare, there is nothing you can do but subject yourself to the violent, crashing waves. To constantly inhale gallons of gallons of salty water, to feel your muscles tired out, to feel yourself lose control.

Your only salvation throughout the week was seeing Oliver again at the art exhibit. The murders haven’t stopped and it’s gotten enough traction for everyone in the office to talk about it, too. Yet, you could turn to your dreams instead to find relief.

The man clad in black follows you still into your dreams, any mention of his message is quickly shut down or ignored completely. At the end of the day, you don’t mind, his company is more than enough to make your dreams sweet. He accompanies you through wildflower fields and stardust skies, he brushes your hair by the seashore and tells you the myths of old. Each day is a new dream and brings forth a reason to keep going.

“A few nights ago,” He starts as he watches you gently touch the petals of a flower made of snow and glass. You turn to him expectantly and urge him to continue silently. “You did not call for me when you were having that nightmare.”

It takes a few moments for you to realize he was talking about your drowning nightmare. The one you so “wonderfully” had after an amazing time in the swirling cosmos. You begin to walk again, your shoes making no noise against the cold snow. The man follows beside you, face tilted towards yours in anticipation. His question had been burning at the back of his mind since it happened and he held on, barely, for the answer.

“You can’t really scream when you’re drowning.” Your lousy excuse comes out and even you flinch at the words.

You don’t dare to look at him, knowing the disappointed look he was surely giving you. Everyone knows that anything is possible when you dream, even more when you can lucid dream. After a very pregnant pause you give you real reason.

“I don’t know your name, how would I call out for you, my sweet mystery man.”

It’s now that he stops walking and after a few steps, you too pause and turn to look at him. In the cold mountains of your dream, the snow is stark in contrast to his ebony form. It is here that you recognize how different he was, like the snow pulls away from any distractions and you look at him, really look at him. The facade of just a man falls away, and within, you see a being beyond your comprehension, held together by sheer will. You were right, he was more than mortal, more than a god, something more in every sense.

“I am Dream of the Endless,” He says, voice slow, calculated and raspy as he closes the gap between the two of you. “I am the very dream you are in, the voice inside your head, the person you think you’ve met before while walking the street.”

You’re very aware of how close he was to you now, to see the precipitation of his breath, and the way his eyes are never truly one color. His form keeps the winter chill away from your body, warming the very spot you stood in where snow turns into sunlight and the ground beneath you turns to soft valley grass and wildflowers made of toffee candy and sour rope candy.

“Would you really have come if I called for you?” You ask timidly, head turned down and away from his gaze.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You say with a smile, cheeks crinkling your eyes as you look at him again. All Dream could think about was making a sun that shines as brightly as you.

Your dreams seem to start leaping out into your waking life as the words of the Endless follow you. Every now and then you would notice a flurry of black and alabaster skin in the peripheral of your vision, but when you go to look it’s nothing but a chair, or a stack of books. His familiar face haunts you when you space out on the bus ride home, or when you’re simply walking down the street and someone bumps into you that just barely looks like him.

Each time you shake your head no, it was impossible, he was only a dream.

The night before the exhibit, Oliver gives you a text message that explains that he would need to be picked up from another location. A client had called him for an at-home euthanasia early in the morning right before the exhibit. You agreed and were sent an address. You brush your teeth and wash your face before turning into bed, sleep coming easily.

Your dream starts, as always, with you counting your fingers. Then you look at your watch, and then you count your fingers again. Your clock had 5 hands instead of two and with control over the dream, you find yourself standing in an Asian inspired pergola surrounded by water for miles around. The only sounds that accompany you are the sound of the sloshing water and the wind’s percussion between the mountain cracks.

You sit on the wooden flooring, cooled by the water, and inhale the scent of fresh water. You bring your fingers together, just like always, and watch as the golden strings move with your movement, producing a pouch of fish food. Large koi fish swim beneath you and you run a finger across the water’s surface and watch with a small smile as they chase your fingers as you sprinkle some of the golden kibble along the water's surface. A koi leaps up and bites your finger and the sharp pain flings your arm away from the water.

“Ow, what the hell?” You frown and look at your finger, the pouch dispersing into gold dust. Pressing into the digit allows blood to leak from the wound. You don’t have time to think about it when your alarm blares at you and you wake.

Your day starts in a rush, slamming your hand over the off button of the alarm clock. You skiddy your way into your bathroom, brushing your teeth, combing your hair and doing your makeup. Your outfit was ready on the door of your bedroom. The casual formal wear was perfect for the day ahead. Comfortable but respectable and easily spotted if someone were to come looking for you.

You look at your watch before briskly walking out the door, a few minutes ahead of schedule and traffic. When you arrive at the house Oliver had told you to, you stand outside the door as you hear murmuring from inside the door. You remember why Oliver was here in the first place and slowly lean against the wall to wait for him.

“He was the most perfect dog, he was loved, he was cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease his suffering so he may continue to run in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s voice carries through the thin wall.

Sobbing follows after and hushes of comfort as the dog passes in the arms of the owner. Uncomfortable that you were involuntarily eavesdropping in such a private conversation you start to play with your hands, picking at the nails and the cuticles around them. It’s now that you see, with a quickening heartbeat, a closed over wound on your finger. When you run your thumb over it, the pain long since subdued, you are reminded of a feisty koi bite from a certain dream.

Was it real then? The dream, or merely the pain?

“Ah, Poppet, you’re here already,” Oliver’s whisper pulls you out of your thoughts slowly. “Is your finger hurt?” He notices and reaches for your hand.

“No,” You say quickly, perhaps too quickly, and move your hands away. “It’s just a scratch. Shall we go?” You turn before you give him a chance to answer.

The exhibit, while productive, was blanketed over by a feeling of grief and melancholy. Your artist was soaking in the praises of success, but you find yourself sticking by Oliver’s side, drinking mimosas hoping the little alcohol could erase the uneasiness in your throat. Your finger gives phantom pains now and then, reminding you of the breaking cracks between dreams and real life.

It’s only noon and you’re exhausted, giving the keys to Oliver to drive you back to your place. As if to taunt you even more, the elevator was down for repairs and so arm in arm, you and Oliver make your way up the seven sets of stairs until you reach your own apartment.

“Oh my God, I can taste blood,” You whine, leaning all of your weight onto Oliver by the fifth floor. He, on the other hand, could not have looked more pristine.

“When was the last time you exercised?” He chuckles as he lets you rest for a moment.

You groan as your hand grasps onto the worn metal railing. “I briskly walked to my car this morning,” Your voice is gravelly and hoarse as you use your arm to continue upwards. “After the elevator ride down to the main floor.”

“Good grief, woman,” He jests. “We need to get you to the gym.”

“Over my dead body,” You huff as you make your way again, steps heavy and stomping, the sound echoing in the empty chamber.

The barren of your door gave you the last bit of energy to finish. The sight of your couch was enough for you to flop onto it and simply wish to perish. You’re breathing heavily out of your mouth, face to the ceiling and bounce when Oliver sits down next to you with exaggeration.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Oliver teases, barely winded by the seven flights of stairs. You on the other hand felt like you had just come from a week at sea with nothing but a row boat and canned crackers.

“I’m going to go shower, do you want to stay for lunch?” You ask, already halfway to your room after you caught your breath.

“No, I’ve got my own thing to do, packing mostly.” You hear Oliver’s voice from the bathroom. You turn on the water to let it warm up and peek out of your bedroom. “Alright, I’ll see you off in a few days, yeah?”

Oliver’s outside your door and the sudden proximity makes you jump in your skin.

“Geez, you scared me. I thought you were still in the kitchen,” You say behind a small laugh.

“I’m going to head out, alright? But yeah, let’s meet one more time before I leave later this week.” Oliver smiles and pokes your forehead.

“Sounds good,” You agree, staring at the finger.

“Stay safe out there, Poppet.” He waves and goes for the door. “I’ve got a cab waiting for me downstairs.”

You use the shower to cleanse yourself of not only the physical properties of today, and more importantly the sweat you accumulated walking up the steps, but also the more emotional toil. The warm water seemingly soaking up all of your depressive thoughts. It runs down the water and out the drain, and you feel lighter when you step out.

You’re drying your hair with your towel when you see the brown square that is Oliver’s wallet sitting on your couch - opening it and seeing his ID card clarifies it. You groan as you know that he can’t get anywhere without his wallet, especially if he wants to leave.

An internal debate was settled with going to his place before you pick something up for dinner. You place the wallet by your keys near the front door and make yourself some lunch, and put some much needed laundry into the washer while it cooks. You watch a small episode while you eat before returning to your work laptop and answering emails.

The day goes by quickly and the rumbling of your stomach tells you that it’s time for dinner and more importantly, returning Oliver’s wallet. You redress in the same clothes you wore earlier that day, deciding to just deal with the high heels as any other shoe wouldn’t tie in well with your outfit, and you were not going to go out looking anything less than put together.

How lucky you were when you walked down the hall to find the elevator back in operation. Down, down you went, seven flights of stairs to the parking garage. The echoing beep of your car tells you where Oliver had parked for you and you climb in.

Traffic was a pain in the ass and you couldn't take another slow minute during dinner rush. Beeps and honks accompany you all the way to Oliver’s home and it takes a solid 45 minutes to travel 10 miles. You knock on Oliver’s door and you don’t know why but you’re nervous. There wasn’t an answer and you knocked again. Nothing. The door is unlocked and with a shrug to yourself you enter.

All of the lights were turned off when you entered, fumbling about to turn on the lobby light near the door. The rented home was much bigger than your medium apartment and you seriously start to regret your career choice.

“Oliver?” You call out, taking off your shoes and putting them aside.

No answer.

“Ollieeee…” You sing out as you make your way further into the house. You drop the wallet on the dining room table and still nothing. You knew he was here, somewhere, the rental car he had was still in the driveway when you pulled up.

You bring out your phone, about to call him, when a small noise directs you to a staircase that leads downstairs and you make your way into the finished basement. When you open the door, something you never thought you would see greets you instead. Yes, Oliver was there but so was another woman. She’s tied down to a wooden table and you think you’re interrupting something if it wasn’t for the way her teary eyes snap towards you. Despair is washed out with a small glint of hope as her trembling hand reaches for you.

“Help me,” She pleads.

Oliver calls your name, almost breathlessly, and walks closer to you. In his hand holds a small knife, blood already smeared on the glinting metal. He greets you with a smile, but your attention is on the woman on the table.

“Please.” She sobs again.

You’re numb, on the brink of hyperventilation, and you’re sure that if you had gotten dinner before coming here you would’ve thrown up all over the vinyl flooring.

“Oliver,” You gulp down as you take a step back.

He advances with another step, knife still in hand as the blood drips down onto the floor. He approaches you like a predator to scared prey, and he wouldn’t be wrong. His weaponless hand wraps around your wrist, warm and alive just like all of the other times he has done since you became friends all those years ago.

“Come here.” He guides you closer. “This is our guest, Poppet.” He introduces.

The woman squirms against her restraints and cusses. “Stop calling me Poppet, my name is fucking Alora, let me go!”

Oliver guides you closer and then slinks behind you, using his body to trap you from the exit. From this distance you can see the cuts and bruises Alora endured and you lean away in denial. Bile crawls up from the bottom of your throat begging to be released, it’s acidity painful to swallow. Alora’s tear stains seem permanent as another one follows its path as she watches the two of you lean over her.

“Let.. let her go,” You say with a shaky breath. It’s the opposite of assertive, the opposite of a demand.

Oliver sighs behind you and slams the blade down on the table and both you and Alora flinch at the sudden noise. He laughs behind you, the breath tickling the nape of your neck.

“I thought we could… share her,” He responds. You feel his lips on the junction of your neck and your body trembles again.

“Share… her,” You echo.

This wasn’t real, there was no way this was real. No, you were definitely dreaming, Oliver took you home and then after your shower you fell asleep. He never left his wallet at your place. Oliver heals, he would never…

You look down at your fingers, they’re shaking but still countable. One, two, three, four, five. You look at your watch, and with dread you notice that everything is in its place. One, two, three, four, five. It’s still the right time. One, two, three, four, five.

“A dream, this has to be a dream. A nightmare.” You lie to yourself. Your thumb presses into each of your fingers and to your dismay, there are still five.

You look down at Alora again, her eyes wide and begging and her fingers go to grab at you.

“Ah, ah, none of that.” Oliver notices and pushes her fingers away from the two of you.

His attention turns back to you again. “What do you think of it?” He asks, his hands resting on your hips and to your further disgust inhales your scent.

“What do I think of it?” You echo again except this time it was more harsh, judgemental as it should be.

Oliver scoffs and leaves your side. He walks to the other side of the table, knife back in hand as he points it to Alora’s face.

“Look at Poppet here, notice anything?”

That’s when you look at her, really look at her. At first you didn’t see it, or maybe your mind was simply trying to prevent you from seeing it, but under Oliver’s scrutinizing gaze you notice with teary eyes. Her hair was the same color as yours, so were her eyes, they even mimicked the way yours were shaped. Her lips curled just like yours as they’re upturned in agony.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” You gag, your hand flies to cover your mouth as you dry heave.

“No, don’t be, my sweet Poppet,” Oliver comes to you again and holds your face steady. His eyes have always been like they are now, caring, soft, non-dangerous, but seeing his actions made you doubt everything. “Here, you can watch for the first time instead, how about that?”

“Wh-what?” You gape and he pulls away from you. He places the knife over Alora’s throat and her sobbing and pleas grow louder.

“NO!” You scream and go to reach for the knife, unsure where the sudden bravery comes from. But, it’s too late, he slices, you feel the way his muscle moves under your palm, how it grips the blade, how it ticks when it kills.

The blood sprays and decorates you in its red and sticky liquid and you’re left stunned. Beneath you, you hear as Alora chokes on her own blood as her body trashes as a last ditch effort of escape. Oliver looks at you with a smile, his white shirt decorated just like yours. He looks at you with adoration and something like pride as he places the knife down and comes to you again.

“You look even more beautiful in red, Poppet,” He compliments, but it falls on deaf ears. His lips press to yours in a one sided kiss and you weakly push back. “Let me clean everything up and then I’ll take care of you, okay?”

You stand still as you watch him, rag in hand as he begins to clean.

“You were the most perfect person, you were loved, you were cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease your suffering so you may continue to live free in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s familiar eulogy snaps you out of your shock, if not for a brief moment.

It’s enough for you to run out the door, adrenaline blazes down your spine and pumps to all of your limbs. The door almost flies off its hinges as you open it into the dark night. You don’t know where you’re going to go, but anywhere is better than here.

“Poppet! Wait!” Oliver screams behind you and he’s fast to catch you.

Your bare feet scrap across the concrete sidewalk as your vision blurs with salty tears. You trip into an alleyway and sob, your pristine clothes now covered in dirt and blood, and you hear the crack of your watch as it breaks under the fall. At the edges of your mind, a small girl with wild and colorful hair peeks at you in fishnets, the world warps, distorting the difference between reality and delirium.

A moment of clarity comes to you as you remember something. It tries to fall between the crevices of your mind but you grab onto it and hold it close.

“Would you really have come if I called for you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Dream,” You cry out into the darkness. Oliver finds you on the ground and his arms pick you up. “No, no, let go of me!”

The man clad in black doesn’t show his face and you beat yourself over it, because of course he doesn’t. It was just a dream. This is reality. Despite it all, you try one more time. A name falls on your tongue, one you didn’t previously know.

“Morpheus!” You scream and the calling echoes in the suburban neighborhood.

Oliver pays you no mind and hoists you onto his shoulders. You’re pounding at his back but his muscles never falter. He walks back with heaving breaths to his house when he is suddenly stopped and drops you. You unceremoniously roll and then sit quickly to run away again. You’re stopped short at the sight.

In front of Oliver stands a man, his form fuzzy at the sides and blends in to the night around them. He wears a helm made of bones, accompanied by a bright ruby necklace, and a leather pouch of sand.

“Dream?” You question and his gaze turns to you. You can’t see his eyes past the large bug-like design of the helm, but you know he sees you.

“Who the hell are you?” Oliver sneers at him.

Dream doesn’t reply and instead he shrinks back into the shadows and wisps around until he stands in front of you. You hide behind his back as he protects you from Oliver.

“Hey, get away from my Poppet.” Oliver takes a step forward but is stopped by Dream’s words.

“Be quiet,” He commands. It’s two words, but it renders him speechless. “I turn you into prey. Your judgment upon you is to be hunted. Even after you wish for death, you will form into another and be hunted again. This is my gift to you, Oliver Barlowe, make good use of it.”

The curse is etched in stone as he speaks. He pours from his leather pouch and sand falls between his fingers. He curls then unfurls them before blowing the particles into Oliver’s face. You watch with horror as his form shrinks under the swirling sand and he turns into a shrew. He runs into the grass, his brown fur lost amongst the foliage.

“Hello, my Dreamweaver,” He whispers and crouches to your height on the cold concrete. He extends a patient hand and you grab hold. “Come, nightmares shall hunt you no further.”

“You came,” You say, still in disbelief as he helps you stand.

“I kept my promise. I do not break such vows, ever.” His fingers gently wipe away the tears from your face.

"You're real," You whisper, still not believing that he stands before you.

His fingers trace across your bottom lip as he comes closer to you still. Dream doesn't say anything, he simply soaks in your presence, drawn to you in a way neither of you could comprehend. His fingers still trace your face, running over your nose and the apple of your cheekbones.

You feel the swirling of sand around your feet and the world changes around you. You’re in the meadows again, surrounded by flowers made of snow and glass, and you see the cabin your grandfather built. Dream sits you down on a white and red checkered picnic blanket with two glasses of lemonade.

“Will you stay?” You ask as you grab the cool glass cup of lemonade. Your gaze turns to the sweet yellow drink and you rub the smooth glass as a way of calming yourself.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You smile.

Alsooooo, very inappropriate use of being a veterinarian, we don't kill people and we don't make that much money, sigh

My Sandman comics came and they're so heavy... Second also, Comic Dream is such a mood

Maybe a more lighthearted fic for next time, hmm?

♡ Yours, Layla

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader

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videogamelover99 · 2 years ago

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I've been having a lot of reverse!skk thoughts lately.

Setting up some context: Oda never died during the Mimic arc. Dazai still unravelled Mori's plan and now there's a huge rift between them. Dazai never trusted Mori completely, and now he barely does. Their dynamic had turned into a power play between them.

Oda's kids still died. Oda lives having survived his suicidal massacre but the weight of his loss and the blood on his hands weighs on him. He is no longer a pacifist. His dream for writing a novel is gone. Dazai has tried to help him, but he can barely help himself so he's kinda bad at it.

Ango's hanging out with the government now! No one trusts him :/

Chuuya leaves a few months after the Mimic incident. He comes across a set of documents proving Mori's involvement with the Arahabaki project as well as his personal tied with the military doctor that is Chuuya's real father. After failing to kill Mori for his betrayal, Chuuya is now a traitor. No one knows why he tried to suddenly kill the Boss, but the incident itself is whispered throughout the entirety of the Mafia. People point to Chuuya's origins in the Sheep as proof that he was a traitor all along, bidding his time.

Dazai doesn't know why. Its driving him crazy.

Chuuya thinks Dazai knew the entire time. They're a mess of zero communication.

Chuuya spends his time hiding out in different parts of the world (he's got friends in the UK so there's that!) He looks for his parents and finds them, only to leave them behind like he's done in canon. He's aware the Mafia is keeping tabs on them, but that's not the only reason why he left.

He gets a little reckless, beats up some bad guys. He doesn't know exactly what to do with his life, so he's kind of mess.

His little vigilante spree reaches Chief Taneda, who sends Ango to keep tabs on him and offer him a job. Can't have a former military experiment of infinite power running around without supervision.

Chuuya, uh, does not take the offer well (poor Ango).

Chief Taneda finally confronts him in person, says if he wants a job Taneda knows a guy who is not affiliated with the government and whom Chuuya might like (received almost as badly, but Chuuya considers it).

While Chuuya's mulling over this weird offer, he runs into a human trafficking organization that was in conflict with the Sheep back in the day. He's got an excuse to beat up more bad guys. Guess who he ends up running into (yes it's the Agency).

More specifically, it's Ranpo! They squabble, they team up, the works. Ranpo is like "Do you want a job" and Chuuya is like "That's sus but I'll think about it" (he does in fact want it)

Chuuya ends up meeting the other Agency members before he agrees (Ranpo 100% has nothing to do with that. Totally.) He likes them. He thinks they're all insane. He misses having people around who aren't there to double cross him. He takes the job.

Enterance Exam! I'm so sorry Kunikida.

Chuuya avoids the PM like the plague.

And then he meets Atsushi.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #dazai osamu #reverse!skk au #ill make a part 2 of this eventually #ada!chuuya #give him a support network please #bsd au #skk #a lot of this is just #chuuya slowly realizing how much mori has taken from him after the revelation #and rejecting mori's philosophy #cause everything that went wrong in chuuya'#life is kind of mori's fault??

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j2spntranscripts · 2 months ago

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☆ 2008 LAcon J2

Official name: Creation Entertainment's SALUTE TO SUPERNATURAL (Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki on stage) Location: Marriott Los Angeles Airport, Los Angeles, Cal Time: Sunday March 30, 2008, 12:20 PM-1:00 PM (GMT-7) Panelists: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki Last episode: 3x12 "Jus in Bello"- 2/21/2008 Next episode: 3x13 "Ghostfacers"- 4/24/2008

Question Index: FR1- Panel Transition 1a- Late Happy Birthday (Jensen) 1b- 2x21 vs 3x11; Best Death 1c- Thoughts on Thirty (Jensen) 2a- 3x01; Seventh Demon’s outcome 2b- 3x01; Dean vs Lust (Jensen) 2c- 3x01; Seventh Demon’s outcome; cont. 3a- Stunts; Fight Scenes; Participation and Preparation 3b- Fav Demon killing weapon 4a- Fav word (Jensen) 4b- Least Fav word (Jensen) 4c- Fav curse word (Jensen) 5a- fav scene; 2x14; ACT FOUR, EXT. HOUSE – LATER (Jared) 5b- fav scene; 2x20; ACT ONE, EXT. WINCHESTER HOUSE- CONTINUOUS; ACT TWO, INT. WINCHESTER HOUSE- DINING ROOM – NIGHT (Jensen) +1- Continent vs Country bit 6a- Fan Request; Body Swap portrayal (Jensen) 6b- Future Projects; plays (Jared) +2- Stolen Question 7- Fashion; plans on kilts; (Jensen) 8a- fav acting medium; Mr. Rhodes (Jensen) 8b- Acting Challenges; Special Effects; 2x01 FR2- Acting Challenges; Special Effects; 2x01 FR3- 3x08; Product Placement; Creative Control 9a- 3x08; Product Placement; Creative Control 9b- fav snack/junk food 10a- Acting Challenges; Facets of Dean; fav of Dean (Jensen) 10b- fav part of Dean (Jensen) 10c- Future Projects; Directing 🔮 11a- 2x15; thoughts on playing extreme caricatures 11b- 3x10; ACT FOUR, INT. MOTEL ROOM; DREAM; thoughts on yelling at your double; Acting Challenges (Jensen) +3- stolen question part 2 12a- 3x10; ACT FOUR, LATER- EXT. IMPALA; thoughts on Dean’s domestic dream (Jensen)🔮 12ba- 3x11; ACT FOUR; Thoughts on Sam living without Dean (Jared) FR4- 3x11; ACT FOUR; Thoughts on Sam living without Dean (Jared) 12bb- 3x11; ACT FOUR; Thoughts on Sam living without Dean cont. (Jared)

(video playlist/links and transcript below the cut)

(*if you notice any mistakes in the video transcripts or found more video or audio coverage of the con please point them out, thank you*👍)

Fan reports: [insomnia_geek] • [bardicvoice] • [sarah_p] (*warning: Fan reports as a source can't be fully verified unless video or audio of the con can confirm it. Be mindful not to take Fan Reports as the unquestionable and unbiased truth.*)

(missing coverage *fan reports could be incomplete and/or erroneous)

•(insomnia_geek para. 2, bardicvoice para. 42, sarah_p para. 30-31)- LA08J2;FR1- Panel Transition

“That’s when Jared came back onstage. Apparently he’d been mainlining Skittles backstage, didn’t bring any out for Jensen. They talked quietly to each other for a moment out of mike pickup and joked a bit. Jensen said that they speak in code.” – IG

“Jared reappeared in that moment, bragging “But not as good as Jared plays Sam!”” – B

“Somewhere around this, Jared came back out, and he was EATING SKITTLES (which totally made me think of him offering to buy Papa Ackles Skittles at the AFGM intermission ;)), and didn’t bring any for Jensen. I was ALREADY IN LOVE WITH THEM. AGAIN. He and Jensen were talking really quietly to each other for a minute (Basketball scores, maybe? Can someone who was sitting closer confirm this?), and then they finished, and Jensen laughed and told us that they speak in code. Which, really, I would NOT doubt–they are just SO attuned to each other, it’s fantastic.” – S

J2’s Panel starts.

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: Best death scene- Dean or Sam? by BabyBlueSteel◘

(0:00 BBS) -introduction

Jensen: Skittles, that’s what you got?

Jared: (placing his hair on stage) Yes, sir.

Jensen: Yeah? Bring me anything?

Jared: Nope. (?All me?). (sits down)

Jensen: Of course not. Jerk. (audience laughs)

Jared: I did see (?Tigers win the first?) (Jensen: What?) from Texas (?to Utah?).

Jensen: No.

Jared: (?) half-quarter (?)

Jensen: You kidding?

Jared: Yeah, (?borrow talked into it?) (flips hair) and I wanted to whoever said- Yep.

Jensen: (to audience) Sorry, we’re speaking in code. Supernatural code.

Jared: (?Purple Michael?) dishwasher.

Jensen: (to Jared) You’re kidding? (Jared: [nods smirking] mhmm.) (dramatically to audience) It’s unbelievable. (Jared laughs. Audience giggles) Um..

◘Jensen LA SPN convention-21 J2 Panel 01-07 by DW&DW◘

Jared: [off mic] (?Where were you?)

Jensen: (to Jared) Where was I? (Jared nods) I was right in the middle of- of (gestures to audience) having everybody tell me how great I was. (audience screams, cheers, and claps)

Jared: [off mic] (?Yeah, bullshit.?) (to audience) Well done, guys. Thanks. I know you didn’t want to, but when I asked you earlier, (audience chuckles) I- I knew you would do it for me. And-

Jensen: But now they’re gonna have to go back to putting on their fake faces for you. (audience laughs)

Jared: I heard personally- (laughs)

(turns to fan on the his right) Hello.

•(0:48 BBS, 0:28 DW)- LA08J2;Q1a- Late Happy Birthday (Jensen)

Jensen: Hi.

Fan: Hi. (?)

Jensen: Now you got both of us.

Fan: Hi. (?I’m a girl?). Hi.

Jared: [nods] that’s right.

Jensen: So, watch what you say, because we might go off.

Jared: (laughs) Nothing good about Jensen please. (audience laughs)

Fan: Hi, Jensen. Happy late birthday.

Jensen: (nod) Hey, hey, yeah-hah!

Jared: (rolls his eyes and mouths while flinging his hand up) Oh my god. (Waves at fan) Hi, I’m here by the way. (audience laughs) (waves his hands sarcastically) Jensen’s here. (dramatically flings his coat closed)

Fan: (to Jared) I said hi to you earlier. (?So, don’t start?) now.

Jared hides his face in his coat. The audience laughs and then aw’s.

Jared: (to audience aws, nods) Okay. Y’all make me feel better (?at the end?). (smiles)

Jensen pumps his eyebrows and then gives the audience a thumbs up.

Fan: Anyway.

The audience laughs. But Jared, open mouth shocked, throws a hand up.

Jensen: Anyway, moving on.

Jared: (gestures to fan) There she goes again. (audience laughs)

•(1:17 BBS, 0:57 DW)- LA08J2;Q1b- 2x21 vs 3x11; Best Death

Fan: (laughs) I have a question. (Jensen: Yes.) Okay. After watching “All Hell Breaks Loose” and “Mystery Spot” you’ve both, you know, died so wonderfully. (audience laughs) Um, so I was wondering, who do think did the best death scene? Who died best? (audience oo’s)

Jared: (turns to Jensen) (?Who would be-?)

Jensen: (to fan) (makes a face) Me. (flips up hand) (audience and Jared laugh)

Fan: You had more practice- (Jared: He had more chances.) He did. Yours was a little more (?).

Jensen: I do love- I do love “Mystery Spot,” because it was such a fun episode for me. Because I just didn’t care. (audience chuckles) ‘Cause I was just dying all the time. (thumbs to Jared) Poor Jared, like, is freaking out the whole episode. (Jared laughs) He’s like, you know, getting emotional and I’m like, “Hey, buddy! Wake up! Let’s go!” (audience laughs)

Love those episodes.

Jared: (off mic) Yeah, that’s right.

•(1:57 BBS, 1:37 DW)- LA08J2;Q1c- Thoughts on Thirty (Jensen)

Fan: How does it feel to be thirty now?

Jensen: Fantastic. (Fan: Good.) (audience cheers and claps) (nods) It’s amazing.. it’s so much better in your thirties.

Some of the audience yeah’s. Jensen then pats Jared’s knee. Jared and the audience laugh. Then Jared makes a pouting face at Jensen.

Jared: My-

Jensen: (to Jared) You’ll get there one day. (Jared laughs)

Jared: I hope so.

Fan: Thank you for coming, guys.

Jensen: Thank you. (turns to his left)

Jared: Thank you. Hi.

•(1:57 DW)- LA08J2;Q2a- 3x01; Seventh Demon’s outcome

Fan: Hi. I’m Chris. (Jensen: Hey, Chris.) Uh, this question is for.. Jensen, (Jared throw his hands up) but it could be for both.

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: questions about Magnificent Seven by BabyBlueSteel◘

Jared: (gestures to his right off stage) Should I just go elsewhere? (audience no’s) (smiles)

Fan: No, actually-

Jensen: (thumbs off stage) Go eat some more skittles, pal. (audience laughs)

Jared: (makes a face) I might.

Fan: There’s two parts. In.. “Magnificent Seven” I only seemed to count six demons that you killed. (Jensen thumbs to Jared) Where’s the seventh one? (audience and Jared laugh)

•(2:19 DW, 0:22 BBS)- LA08J2;Q2b- 3x01; Dean vs Lust (Jensen)

Fan: And the second part before you get into that other one is- The second one is, you got attacked by Lust and we’re wondering how did you.. manage to overcome when you’re- you were in the water? When everybody else actually died (?in the waters?).

Jensen: Uumm… Well, if you recall just before I dunked her in the water, I had a very lustful kiss. (audience laughs)

Fan: Right. Yes.

Jensen: Um, so, I-I- I curved that appetite very quickly with that kiss and then (mimics forcefully dunking) I dunked her into the water. (Jared and the audience laughs)

•(2:47 DW, 0:51 BBS)- LA08J2;Q2c- 3x01; Seventh Demon’s outcome; cont.

Fan: So, where were the seventh demon die then? (?y’know?)

Jensen: Um, you know, (looks at Jared) I- that’s a good question. I thought there were seven.

Jared: I thought there were seven.

Jensen: (looks to the audience) Can anybody else, uhh.. No? (nods) Good. (makes a face) Thanks for coming. (audience laughs)

Jared: Lust- Lust in the bathroom. There’s- there’s, um- um…

Jensen: That’s the only one I remember too. (audience laughs)

Jared: Well, there was Sloth, re- uh..

Audience member: Wrath!

Jared: Pride.

Audience member: Envy!

Audience member: Anger!

Jensen: Wrath. Pride.

Audience member: Gluttony!

Jensen: Gluttony.

Jared: Yeah, Gluttony was there.

Jensen: Sloth.

Audience member: Anger!

Audience member: Envy!

Audience member: Jealously!

Jared: Envy was the main guy. Envy was the guy we exorcised (Jensen: Yeah!) and she killed.

Jensen: (to fan) There should have been seven.

Fan: Well, there was only six bodies from what I-

Jensen: There was only six bodies?

Fan: Yeah.

Jared: Oh, okay. Good. (points to fan) Because of the end scene Bobby says, I think- I think the w- “I think the girl will make it,” (nods) or something like that.

Jensen: Oh, that’s right, one of- one of the- (Jared: One of them wasn’t.. killed.) the bodies didn’t die.

Audience member: (?Two right?)

Jared: (looks at the audience)Two of ‘em.

Audience member: Two survive.

Audience member: The big guy and the (?) survive.

Jensen: (holds up two fingers)Two of the bodies didn’t die. (audience laughs)

Jared: (points to audience member) Yeah, you’re right. (laughs then taps Jensen’s arm) Let’s hand our mics away because I think they don’t want our- (Jensen chuckles, shaking his head)

(nods to the audience) Y’all guys. Yeah.

Jensen: (turns to his right) Hi.

•(3:40 DW, 1:44 BBS)- LA08J2;Q3a- Stunts; Fight Scenes; Participation and Preparation

Fan: Hi, guys. (Jensen: Hi.) (?It’s been real?). How’re you doing? (Jared: Hi.) Um, question for both of you guys. Um, do you ever do your own fight scenes? And, if so what kind of preparation.. or training.. do you have?

Jensen: Yes and none. (audience laughs and oo’s. Jared laughs.)

Jared: I think (looks at Jensen) we do all of our own fight scenes but they’re also (looks at fan) by.. stunt.. uh, actors who.. do the more intense.. part of the fight scene.

Jensen: You know, like- like, when you see one of us, you know, flying into a bookshelf, or, (Jared: [nods] Yep.) you know, crash into a table (?or something?) (Jared: [nods and points to himself] (?that’s me?).), (nods and points to himself) that’s me. (audience yeah’s and laughs. Jared laugh) Umm.

No. They- they don’t- they don’t nes- they don’t even allow us to do it, just for insurance purposes. So, that’s when the stunt guys come on. And that’s why I say, you know, (looks at Jared and gestures to them both) we basically run, jump, and fall down. And those guys do the actual stunts.

Uhh, a lot of the hand to hand- hand to hand combat stuff is- is.. that’s us. And, you know, we’ll go over it that morning or the day before.. (Jared: Right.) and just kind of get a feel for it. And, you know.. we do that pretty quick.

Jared: (to fan) In some of the fight scenes we have some preparation. The first one that was he against I in “Skin” (Jensen: I loathed.) in season seven- (looks briefly at Jensen) Yeah, we had to- We came out on the weekends and we trained with this, uhm.. (looks at Jensen) uh…

Jensen: Well, no. The first one (points to Jared) would’ve been the “Pilot” when we first (gestures) see each other.

◘LA Supernatural Con: J&J's favorite weapons and more! by wfsarah◘

Jared: (nods) The first one was the “Pilot” and- (nods) Yeah, that’s right. The “Pilot” one we had loads of fight training. (Jensen: Tons.) (counts on his fingers) And then, the one we fought each other again, we also had loads of fight training.

But, since then it’s more- Since we have the basics, you sort of block it out (Jensen nods) and then you kind of rough it in. And you do it kind of half speed. And then the stunt guys get in and (swipes hand) tear the place up.

Jensen: You know, the more you do- uh, and, we’ve done it a lot. So, the- the more you do it kind of the easier it becomes every time there is a fight scene. So, it’s like.. preparation becomes less and less and less. (shrugs) But you can still get the performance out of it.

◘Jensen LA SPN convention-22 J2 Panel 02-07 (Weapon Fave word by DW&DW◘

•(5:15 DW, 0:29 W, 0:03 DW)- LA08J2;Q3b- Fav Demon killing weapon

Fan: Great. (Jensen: Sure.) And just one more thing. What’s your favorite demon killing weapon?

Jensen: (shrugs) I gotta say Ruby’s knife. (audience cheers and claps) That things awesome. (Jared: That is cool.) I just need one. (audience laughs) Other than that, you know, my trusty shotty.

Jared: I gotta- I- I gotta go.. old-old school with some of the demon things. The whole eyes, like, (?I peer?) my white eyes and you explode? That’s a- that’s kind of a demon killing. Though it doesn’t kill demons, but it’s a demon’s killing. (audience laughs. Jensen mouths what to the audience.) Thank you. (Fan: (?It’s almost?)-) I like that. I like that.

Fan: Okay.

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: Jensen's fav, least fav, & curse by BabyBlueSteel◘

Jared: (points then gets up and leaves to the right of the stage) I’ll be- I’ll be over back there. I’ll… (Audience laughs. Jensen shakes his head and then smiles at Jared.)

Fan: Thanks.

Jared: (sits back down and shrugs) (off mic) I like that.

Jensen: (shrugs, laughs, and shakes his head) I have no idea what you’re talking about, man. (audience laughs)

Jared: Lilith, in “Jus in Bello.”

Jensen: (nods) Oh, right, right, right. Okay, yeah.

Jared: I’m just saying, I don’t know. It could (flings hand up) probably kill demons. Or unalive demons. (Jensen: prob- probably.) I think that’s a (flings hand up) cooler weapon than a knife. (Jensen: Yeah.) The eyes (shrugs and stares out) and then dead.

Jensen: (turns quickly to his left) Next question. (Jared and audience laugh)

•(1:29 W, 1:03 DW, 0:24 BBS)- LA08J2;Q4a- Fav word (Jensen)

Fan: Hi, Jensen. (Jensen: Hi.) Hi, Jared, again. (Jared: Hi.) This is for Jensen, (Jared turns away and nods) because I already asked, Jared. (audience aw’s)

Well, I already asked him, so.

Jensen: (to Jared) Quit hogging all the questions. (audience laughs. Jared smiles)

Fan: Big fan of the.. “Inside the Actor’s Studio” so that’s couple of.. James.. Lipton questions for yah. Um-

Jensen: Oh, great.

Fan: What’s your favorite word?

Jensen: (to Jared) I thought she would say what’s your favorite curse word? (audience laughs)

Fan: Oh, that’s coming up.

Jensen: Oh really?

Fan: Yeah. (?Going there?).

Jensen: (laughs) This, hah, well. (looks at Jared)

Jared: (shrugs and flings hand up) I did it.

Jensen: (laughs and inhales) Uhhhhh… (audience laughs) (to fan) Just favorite word?

Fan: Yeah.

Jensen: (smacks lips) Um.. I don’t know. I’m probably changing my mind in five minutes, but right now..

Audience member: Jared! (audience laughs)

Audience member: Jared!

Audience member: Say Jared!

Jared: Augh (audience laughs) (Jensen: [shakes head to audience] No.) That’s his favorite curse word. (audience laughs)

Jensen: (to fan) Ummm, insatiable. (audience oo’s and cheers)

•(2:23 W, 1:58 DW, 1:19 BBS)- LA08J2;Q4b- Least Fav word (Jensen)

Fan: Your least favorite? (Jensen: What?) Your least favorite word?

Jensen: My least favorite? (smacks lips) Um-

Jared fakes snores and mimics slowly falling off his chair. The audience laughs. Jensen chuckles.

Jensen: Milk. (audience laughs)

•(2:26 W, 2:09 DW, 1:33 BBS)- LA08J2;Q4c- Fav curse word (Jensen)

Fan: And your least favorite question, curse word.

Jensen: Favorite curse word? Umm.. (audience giggles. Jared laughs.) (laughs to himself) mh, (flips hand) It’s probably just shit. (Jared nods. Audience laughs, oo’s, and claps)

Fan: Thank you.

Jared: (off mic) (?That’s what I said?)

Jensen: (to Jared) Is it?

Jared: (nods) (off mic) Yeah.

Jensen: Really?

Jared: (nods) (off mic) Yes. (?It’s a good one?).

Jensen: (to audience) It’s not too harsh, (Jared: [off mic] Yeah.) but you get your point across. (Jared: [off mic] Yes.) (audience laughs)

Jared: (turns to his right) (off mic) Oh, (?so we go here?).

Jensen: And now my mother’s gonna call me. (audience laughs)

Jared: I know- (laughs then mimics Jensen’s mom crying.) Uh-huh, Jensen.

(turns back to fan) Hello.

•(3:05 W, 2:39 DW, 2:00 BBS)- LA08J2;Q5a- fav scene; 2x14; ACT FOUR, EXT. HOUSE – LATER (Jared)

Fan: Hello. Hi, Jared, Jensen. I’m (?Patricia?). (Jensen: Hi.)

Jared: Notice how she said, “hi, Jared, then Jensen.” (audience laughs and cheers. Jensen shakes his head)

Fan: You’re sitting in front of me.

Jared: Just a.. Just an observation. You- Don’t need to explain. Don’t need to explain. (audience laughs)

Fan: Um, uh, okay. First question is for Jared. Um, “Born Under a- (laughs)

Jared: Once again. (audience laughs. Jensen hangs his head)

Fan: Um, one of my, uh.. favorite season trailer episodes is, um, “Born Under a Bad Sign.” (Jared: Yeah?) And I wanted to know what was your favorite scene to shoot in that episode?

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: Jared's favorite BUABS scene by BabyBlueSteel◘

Jared: Uhhh, that’s a great question. My favorite scene to shoot in that episode... was... the getting exorcised scene. It was fun because.. I was tied up, so I didn’t have to move around. (audience laughs and a catcall) (thumbs to Jensen) And they’re splashing me with water. And it was fun because then I got to do that demon thing, where I.. was like, “Ah, you think you’re cool with the.. Devil’s Trap,” and I made the ceiling crack? That’s like- (turns to Jensen, nodding and flings his hand up) See, I like the eye thing. (?I knew I like that thing?).

Jensen shrugs. The audience laughs. Jared turns back around while Jensen wide eye stares away from him and then rolls his eyes. The audience laughs louder.

Jared: Um, it’s fun-

Jared slowly turns back to look at Jensen, but Jensen looks away. Jared turns back, but quickly looks back at Jensen and Jensen looks back and pumps his eyebrows, smirking. Jared turns back to the fan and laughs. Jensen chuckles to himself.

◘Supernatural LA Con: Jensen talks about ep what is and... by martithabonita◘

Jared: So, I like that. I like that whole sequence up in Bobby’s house, from getting exorcised to getting (thumbs to Jensen) fight- in a fight with Dean, to the (mimics hit) little punch that he added at the end.

Jensen: Little? (looks at Jared) (audience laughs)

Jared: (shrugs) Well, big for you.

The audience laughs and oo’s. Jared laughs. Jensen rolls his eyes and nods. Jared turns back to look at Jensen. Jensen possibly says something, maybe “yeah,” off mic or just makes a face while chewing gum, but Jared laughs harder because it. Jensen also starts laughing.

Jensen: (to audience) (pumps his eyebrows) He liked that one. (audience laughs)

◘Jensen LA SPN convention-24 J2 Panel 04-07 (body swap Jensen by DW&DW◘

Jared: I like.

•(4:12 DW, 0:27 M, 0:07 DW)- LA08J2;Q5b- fav scene; 2x20; ACT ONE, EXT. WINCHESTER HOUSE-CONTINUOUS; ACT TWO, INT. WINCHESTER HOUSE- DINING ROOM – NIGHT (Jensen)

Jensen: Uumm, (Fan: And my second ques-) Now on to the important question, yes. (audience and Jared laugh)

Fan: Yes. Um, okay, my second question for Jen, um- (Jared: Filler questions.) it’s for Jensen. Um, my other favorite season episode is “What is and What Should Never Be.” And I wanted to know what was your favorite scene to shoot that episode?

Jensen: Uumm, (lip trills) there were a couple. Uhhh, I really like the- the-uhh, when Mom opened the door. (audience aw’s) And, um, just being- (throws up hand and tilts his head back and forth at the audience) (audience laughs) (to fan) Uh, (Jared: Dirty minds.) it-it was just really hard to play, you know? It just like it w-was a lot of conflicting.. feelings and-and that- that I had to- to-to do without.. (gestures to and from his head) saying really anything.

Um, I also really like the scene (points at Jared) between he and I, uh, in the.. the dinning room. Because it was the first time sss- It was really the first time ever.. that.. I’ve had to do a scene with him.. (points at Jared) and he wasn’t.. who he normally is. (Jared: Right.) Uhm, (?Fan?: Mhmm.) all the (moves his hand back and forth), you know, the quick banter and the, you know, just the- the energy that I wo-ub, you know, we normally like have in the scene was completely gone because (points at Jared) he couldn’t react normally (points to himself) to me because I was the brother that, you know, was a, um- a mess up and, uh, you know, just a load of crap.

And- and he didn’t really care about.. me, in that scene. And so... to play against someone who I’m so used to having a certain dynamic with and having him not giving me (hand swipe) anything back was really, (wide eyes and flings hand up) really interesting to me.

Jared: That was. That was hard to do. I remember we were both-

Jensen: (points to Jared) You- you were- ee- I mean, (nods) it was difficult.

Jared: (?losing my mind?) because I wanted- Kripke to had to keep on with me in that scene in the dining room when he pulls me aside. I kept on having- I kept on clicking back to the (thumbs to Jensen) rapport that we usually have on screen, which is that brother-brother thing. But, Kripke’s like, “No!” We kept going back to, you know, you know and love Dean. (Jensen: Normal world, right? [nods] Yeah.) This is somebody you don’t know. And he’s like, “You don’t hate the guy. You just don’t know him. He.. up and left and he’s kind of a.. loser. He doesn’t do much. And you just never known the guy.”

And so, that was so hard. And that was like, “I don’t know if I could do that.” (Jensen nods) It was so tough. It was kind of sad. How sad is it that, I watch that episode and I’m like, “Aw, how sad. He has a normal life.” (audience and Jensen laugh) (?Did everybody call that?).

Jensen: (shrugs) Well, you know.

Jared: That’s a- that’s…

Jensen: So- (gestures to fan) Yes.

Fan: Well, thank you (Jared: Thank you.) (?I mean, uh,?) thank you for making the best show ever.

Jensen: Thank you. (audience cheers and claps)

Jared: Thank you for asking me your question first. (audience laughs. Jensen turns to his left shaking his head)

•(2:31 DW)- LA08J2;+1- Country vs Continent bit

Fan: Hi, Jensen. (audience laughs and oo’s.)

Jensen: Hi. (nods) Hi. (nods)

Fan: (?Thanks? or ?And?) Jared. Umm, oh, my question is-

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: Jensen being Sam! & Jared in a play? by BabyBlueSteel◘

Jared: Whatever. (turns and waves off his hand to fan) Whatever. (audience and fan laugh) (gestures to the fan on his right) Next- next (?please? or ?victim?). (Jensen tilts his head back and smiles) (turns back to the fan on his left) (audience laughs)

Fan: Again, my name is Asia. (Jensen: Hi.) Thanks again- (Jared: Not like the continent.) Huh?

Jared: Not the cont- Not the country.

Fan: Not the conti- the country. Got it. Right.

Jensen: (leans to Jared) Continent.

Audience member: Continent.

Fan: Yeah.

Jared: Country. (audience laughs)

•(2:51 DW, 0:51 BBS)- LA08J2;Q6a- Fan Request; Body Swap portrayal (Jensen)

Fan: My first question, (Jared: Countryinent.) Jensen. (Jensen: Yes.) (Jared flings his hand out) (to Jared) Stop saying country. (Jared: (?essentially?)) (audience and J2 laugh) Um.. someone else asked Jared the question earlier, but I wondered if-

Jared: (holds his hand up) Oh, I see. Okay. Yeah, yeah. You guys have fun. (audience laughs) (laughs)

Fan: I was- I was wondering is, um, they did a body swat- swap episode, (audience woo) what exactly would you do to portray Sam and could you give us-

Jared: Probably look at himself a lot. He’d be like this.

Jared wiggles in his seat and smooths his hands down his body. Jensen slowly turns and looks at Jared. Jared immediately gets up from his chair and walks away laughing. The audience laughs, claps, and cheers. Jared walks back and shrugs, nodding at Jensen. Jared begins to take off his coat one shoulder at a time. The audience laughs, claps, and cheers. Jared shrugs his coat back on, laughing, and then sits back down.

◘Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki by Fabi Almeida◘

◘Jensen imitating Jared as Sam by IY◘

Jensen: (to audience) Don’t encourage him. (Jared throws his head back laughing and claps his mic)

Fan: I was gonna ask you to demonstrate-

◘Jensen LA SPN convention-25 J2 Panel 05-07 (kilt) by DW&DW◘

Jensen: (to fan) Continue lovely. (audience, fan, and Jared laugh)

Fan: I was gonna ask you to demonstrate. So, you would give us a little (?flavor of him?).

Jensen: A body swap with, uh, (points to Jared) (Fan: Yeah.) Jumbo, here? (Fan: Yes.) (audience and Jared laugh) (points to Jared) You want me to imitate him? (Jared: [off mic] Oh!) (Fan: Yes, please.) (gets up and shakes his head to the audience) Gladly. (Jared laughs. The audience screams and laughs) It would be something.. something about like this.

◘LA Supernatural Con: Jensen doing his Sam impression by wfsarah◘

Jensen puts his mic down on his seat and then steps away from his chair. He hunches over and places both hands in his pockets. He looks up squinting with pursed lips and begins to walk forward looking around. The audience laughs. Jared throws himself forward laughing. Jensen’s steps get more and more exaggerated as he walks off the front right corner of the stage onto the autograph tables. Jared throws his head back and laughs.

Jensen turns around to face the crowd with his shoulder line to his ears before he starts his walk back to his seat. Audience members scream. Jared and the audience laugh. Jensen begins to violently nodding before he reaches his seat. Jared is wiping tears from his eyes and then holds his hands out and shakes his head. Jensen turns around, scratches his nose, bows to the audience, and then sits down smirking. The audience claps and cheers. Jared claps his mic, nodding and says “Alright. Alright,” off mic, then laughs some more.

•(1:58 BBS, 1:00 DW, 0:34 W)- LA08J2;Q6b- Future Projects; plays; A Few Good Men (Jared)🔮

Fan: Thanks for that, but I do have a small question for Jared.

Jared: (?Do, we?) (laughs)

Fan: Um, someone asked earlier if Jensen would be doing anymore plays on stage. Any ideas for you to do any?

Jared: Uh, me? (Fan: Yeah.) (thumbs to Jensen and laughs) Not if I look like that. (Jensen and the audience laugh) Um.. (laughs) I’d love to. I saw Jensen do that play. He-he.. kicked ass. (audience yeah and woo) And, uh, it was exciting (?to see him? or ?and for him?). (audience cheers and claps)

(gestures to audience) And, I don’t know if any of y’all guys got a chance see it, but I know we had people who seen it before. But, it’s really exciting and I was sitting there watching and my heart was beating so fast. I was like, “Dude, he doesn’t get any second takes.” Like, it hit me hard. (Jensen nods) Because, I did plays in high school and stuff, but this is in front of.. major paying audience. It’s a huge.. theatre, you know? Housing some big.. names.

Uhm, so I’d love to do it, but h-h-hopefully, um.. my career keeps going this way and I-I- I keep on.. working and establishing.. enough of a name for myself in this business, so I can.. afford to do a play (Jensen nods) in, you know, however- (squints and flips up his hand) Does that make any sense? (Jensen: No.) (Fan: Yes.) (audience laughs) (turns away nodding) No, okay. (turns back) (?Jerk?)

Fan: So, no (?Equus?) in the.. near future?

Jared: Not in the near future. I’d love to do a play at some point in time. (nods) But, I can’t foresee (gestures) in the near future.. given the chance to. (nods)

Fan: Well, thank you, and thank you for doing everything you do. I love the show.

Jared: (claps leg) Thank you.

Jensen: Thank you. (Jared and audience clap) (turns to his right)

Jared: Hello.

•(2:24 DW)- LA08J2;T2- Stolen Question

Fan: Hello. I can’t believe she stole my question. I’m pretty sad. But, um-

Jared: Next question. (turns to his left) (fan chuckles and audience laughs)

Jensen: (turns to his left) Next.

Fan: (?still have one?), uh, for Jensen. (audiences oo’s and laughs) Do you know- I-I asked you-

Jared: What was- Who was your question to?

Fan: Uh, what?

Jared: Uh, the stolen one.

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: more kilts in Jensen's future? by BabyBlueSteel◘

Fan: Uh, it was for Jensen. (Jared looks out and thumps his mic down on his leg. audience oo’s and laughs) It was the same question asked (?right after that other one?). And, uhh, (?forgive me?) (?).

Jared: (scrunches his face) Stupid questions.

Fan: Uh-

Jensen: What was your brilliant question? (Jared and audience chuckle)

•(2:50 DW, 0:11 BBS)- LA08J2;Q7- Fashion; plans on kilts (Jensen)

Fan: Um.. Do you plan on wearing, uh, a kilt anytime soon? (Jared laughs, then nods. Audience laugh and claps) It really is.. awesome.

Jensen: (to audience) Let me rephrase that. (to fan) What’s your odd question? (audience and Jared laugh) (Fan: (?it’s my favorite?).)

Umm, (to audience) I- As some of you may know I wore, uh, a kilt in, uh-uh-uh, “10 Inch Hero.” (audience woo’s and claps. Jared nods) And.. (holds a hand up) Which was part of the character. (audience laughs. Jared looks down and smiles) It’s not something I do on a day to day basis. (audience and Jared chuckle)

Umm, (to fan) my answer would probably be no. (audience and Jared laugh.) Uh, unless, you know.. (shrugs, shaking his head, then looks at Jared) unless it’s Halloween, you know what I mean? (Jared: [nods] [off mic] Yeah.) Yeah, okay. (turns to his left then back to fan and shrugs)

Fan: (?Yeah, okay.?) Thank you.

Jensen: Sorry, (flings hand up) I didn’t have a more interesting answer for you. Like, “I’m wearing one right now, underneath.” (audience laughs. Jared smiles) “I just took it off.” (Jared says something off mic) Yeah. (laughs) “I just changed. It’s what I sleep in.”

The audience and Jared laugh. An audience member lets out a loud woo. The audience laughs. Jensen had turned to his left, but then slowly gives a face to the audience. The audience laughs harder.

◘Jensen LA SPN convention-26 J2 Panel 06-07 (junk food) by DW&DW◘

Jensen: (smiles and tilts his head) Okay. (briefly turns back to his left) (Fan: Uh-) (to Jared) Apparently we have a.. from some- from- someone from Scotland here. (audience laughs) (turns back to fan on his left)

•(3:51 DW, 0:11 DW)- LA08J2;Q8a- fav acting medium; Mr. Rhodes (Jensen)

Fan: Uhm, I actually have two questions and Jared can have the second one. So it’s.. (audience oo’s, aw’s and laughs. Jensen bobs his head and smirks) Sorry, Jared.

Jensen: Yes. (Jared is looking down, sad-frowning)

Fan: We didn’t have enough time to finish our questions with Jensen, so you’re finishing us up.

Jensen: (to Jared) Yeah. (nods) (?Just saying, man?).

Jared: Alright, fine.

Fan: Alright, um, so, you just had the opportunity to act on stage and you’ve done film and television before. What’s your favorite medium and why?

Jensen: Umm, (lip trill) ..I’d have to say that, uhh, of all the jobs I’ve had probably the, like- I’d say my favorite.. would have to be (Jared: Days of Our Lives.) (audience laughs) half hour- (laughs)

Jared: (?Sell out?), but Days of Our Lives.

Jensen: Would have to be half- a half hour sitcom. Uh, I did- I did a show. It’s like the first thing that I did when I moved to LA. It was, uh, a show called, “Mr. Rhodes.” And it was a half-hour sitcom on ABC.

But, the great thing is.. you-you rehearse all week.. and then you preform in front of a live audience. So, it’s basically the best of both worlds. You get TV and you get, you know, uh, theatre. Um, so you get that-that kind of immediate, uh, gratification from an audience, but you also have the ability to go back and redo it if it messes up.

So, um.. I- And (to Jared) the schedule just unbelievable. (Jared: Yeah.) I mean, (to fan) you work for three weeks and get a week off every month, are you kidding me? (audience laughs) I- (shakes head) I just, (to Jared) you know, those “Friends” people had it made. (audience laughs) (to fan) So.

•(1:33 DW)- LA08J2;Q8b- Acting Challenges; Special Effects; 2x01

Fan: And then, my second question, which Jared can answer, because it was for both of you.

Jared: Okay, I’ll answer it. (audience laughs)

Fan: Um, (Jared: If I must.) how difficult is it to imagine Special Effects like the black smoke? What kind of, um, eyeline match do you have?

Jensen: I’m glad you asked. Um, (Jared and audience laugh) (laughs)

Jared: I’ll- (bumps Jensen’s arm) go ahead and take this one. (Jensen: [nods] Alright.) It- it started out pretty tough, ‘cause you- you’re lookin’ at tape and, you know, I mean, pieces of tape, like x-marks on the box. And they’re going, “It’s a-“ you know, “It’s a demon on fire and smoke.” And you’re going, “Ahh.” You know? (audience laughs) Like, you don’t know what to do.

But, there’s been a learning curve (Jensen nods) of.. filming it and remembering how you feel in the scene on screen-

Fan: Is it like following it across- Do they like have like a pole? Do they have something-

Jared: Sometimes. (Jensen nods) Every now and again they’ll have, um, a-a tennis ball at the end of a pole. Uhm, and they’ll sort of run it around. Otherwise, uhm.. you know, you’ll- your eyes will be here (gestures off to his left) then they’ll have, “Okay,” it goes to the next part and you’ll have to look at the next part.

Uhm.. but a lot of times luckily.. they’ll.. have us.. sync it up. You know? Because we get- we get a chance to do it (cycle gesture) over and over and over again. So, I think rarely we probably get it right the first time. But, we can just do just a series of, like, you start there. Go to the next one. Go all the way there and back, you know?

Jensen: (to fan) It’s a lot- You got a lot of different factors that kind of, uh, that come into it as well, you know? Uh, in the episode, “My Time of Dying” where I run in and I see like, the- the grim reaper, like, hanging over the- the hospital bed. That was actually just an electrician with a pole and (mimics bowl) a-a bowl at the end of it, um, as an eyeline. But, they needed something- (*missing coverage)

•(insomnia_geek •30)- LA08J2;FR2- Acting Challenges; Special Effects; 2x01

“About working with special effects and the eyeline matching -- it's been a learning curve, but they've gotten better and they find it easier. In IMTOD, when the reaper was hovering over the hospital bed, Jensen was really staring at a sweaty grip with a light on a pole for the shiny reaper lighting effect. They prefer doing it in shooting, when they have something to look at even if it's a tennis ball, rather than in post, when they might have to stare at nothing.” – IG

•(insomnia_geek •31, sara_p para. 39)- LA08J2;FR3- 3x08; Product Placement; Creative Control

“The Christmas episode, they loved the kids. The Funyons are written in the script, and after the writers put it there, they have to see if they're allowed to use the product placement. Jared loves Funyons, doesn't think they had any problem getting to use those. (…)” – IG

“There were some more random questions (again, people are trying to dig into the what parts of the show are ad-libbed thing, because someone asked if they chose the food that wee!Dean brought in in 3x08), but there was a good conversation about Funyuns, and Jared and Jensen's favorite junk food. (…)” - S

◘Jensen LA SPN convention-27 J2 Panel 07-07 (directing) by DW&DW◘

Fan: -comes in looks a bag of Funyuns and (Jensen nods) some candy bars. H-

Jensen: (to audience) Those kids loved those by the way. (audience cheers and claps) (nods)

•(0:10 DW)- LA08J2;Q9a- 3x08; Product Placement; Creative Control

Fan: Um, I was just wondering if the Funyuns and, like, the Zagnut candy bars if those were written into the script or were those stuff that you guys liked, and so that’s why they got them or?

Jensen: (to Jared) They were written into the script, weren’t they?

Jared: Yeah, (Jensen: [nods] Yeah.) I never had a Zagnuts. I-I love Funyuns. (audience laughs)

Jensen: Yeah. (nods to fan) They-they- that’s a- that was a writing- a writing call. (Fan: Thanks.) Yeah.

Jared: Also they- once again, there are many factors like.. you can’t just- uh, they must also have some sort of deal or Funyuns says (?)-

Jensen: Got to get (?airline nuts?).

Fan: Yeah.

Jared: You can’t just throw Coca-Cola and Reese’s pieces and stuff and go like, “Okay, look, here’s your M&M’s.” And M&M’s is going, “Uh, we didn’t tell you, you could use our M&M’s.” So, I guess they went out to Funyuns and had to get approve and stuff like that.

Jensen: Well, they- they write what-

Jared: It’s probably a personal favorite of mine.

Jensen: They write what they want and then they see if they can get that. And if it’s just, you know, the- uh, if it’s too difficult then they might change it to something else. But, I can’t imagine Funyuns and, uh, were too hard to get, yeah. (shrugs) So. (pumps eyebrows at audience) (audience laughs)

Jared: It’s probably like, whoever wrote it probably really loves it, you know? It’s like all the characters really have a different, uhm- in different small (?towns?), like, you know, uhhh- Who was- What was the name of- in Croatoan, um.. Bargus or something like that. It was like someone’s best friend (Jensen nods) or the writer’s best friend and they used their, you know. So.

Jensen: Yeah. All the names- (Jared: Yeah, are all-) are all-

Jared: Like, that was my first grade teacher, you know? (Jensen nods) So.

Jensen: Yeah.

•(1:22 DW)- LA08J2;Q9b- fav snack/junk food

Fan: Okay, but then on that note, do you have a favorite- What’s your favorite snack food or junk food to eat just whenever?

Jensen: (points at Jared) Anything with sugar. (audience laughs)

Jared: Don’t point at me when you s-say sugar. (audience laughs)

Jensen: Um. (looks at Jared and chews his gum and starts the jingle) Dun, Dah, Dah, Dah, Dah, Honey, Honey. (audience laughs) (exhales) (?Oh boy?).

Jared: Anything with sugar, Me. This guy-

Jensen: Uhm, (shrugs and flips his hand up) I don’t know. Whatever’s available is fine. Because I’m hungry, you know. Yeah. (Fan: Thank you.) Beef Jerky, ehh, you know? Sugar. (audience giggles) Doughnuts. (shrugs looks to his left then goes back and shrugs again) or whatever. We’re not picky.

Jared: (off mic) (?Okay,?) thank you, (?um-?)

Jensen: (turns to his left) Hi.

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: Jensen on playing Dean by BabyBlueSteel◘

Fan: Hello, boys! (chuckle) (Jensen: Hi.) I’m ap-apologizing to Jared now because I already asked him these questions. (Jensen looks at Jared) So, I’m asking Jar- Jensen first. (audience giggles) But then I have a question for both of you to make up for it.

Jared: (sighs) I’m (?okay, he can go first?). It’s what he does.

•(2:18 DW, 0:11 BBS)- LA08J2;Q10a- Acting Challenges; Facets of Dean; fav of Dean (Jensen)

Fan: So, um, this is about getting into character of Dean. Is there a certain facet of Dean’s personality that’s hardest for you to portray on screen? And on top of that, is there a certain side of Dean that’s your most favorite to play?

Jensen: Uhh, I’d say the most difficult is just his affection towards his brother. (Jared laughs. audience laughs, oo’s, and aw’s) (shakes head) (Jared pouts) I struggle with it daily. (audience laughs and aws. Jared laughs) (smiles) Uh, no.

It- um.. I don’t know. I mean, when- when you- when you play a character, uh, as- as much and as intensely as-as we do it-it-it becomes very, euh.. natural, um, to.. you know, feel or know what- how he would react or what he might do in a certain situation. (Jared nods)

Um, you know, the emotional stuff is always tough. And that’s tough for both- Uh, (Jared waves at the audience) (turns to Jared) (Jared nods to Jensen) I-I don’t know. (to fan) I think that’s tough for playing any character. Uhm, to-to, you know, figure out-

I do know that it is easier now, um, I think I touched on this before, for, eh-eh-I think (gestures to Jared and himself) both of us to-to get into a kind of emotional, uh, state.. in the scene than it used to be before we, you know, knew each other that well. (Jared: [nods] [off mic] Right.)

You know, now- I mean, back then you had to like (points to his head) think about something that would really get you worked up. But, know it’s like, you know, we know these characters so well, and we, you know, we know each other so well that we can just use each other to-to- to get, you know- to get where we need to be. So.

•(3:43 DW, 0:11 BBS)- LA08J2;Q10b- fav part of Dean (Jensen)

Um, you know, I-I- I don’t know. I think the- the part that I like the most is- is just his, uh- um, when he gets snappy and sarcastic and cranky. (audience giggles) That’s always fun for me to play. (smirks) Because then I don’t have to be in real life.

◘Jensen LA SPN convention-23 J2 Panel 03-07 (Jen fave screen) by DW&DW◘

Fan: There you go.

Jensen: Yeah.

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: directing ambitions? by BabyBlueSteel◘

•(4:01 DW, 0:03 DW, 0:00 BBS)- LA08J2;Q10c- Future Projects; Directing 🔮

Fan: And, um, have either of you ever thought of maybe trying out, you know, directing an episode or helping to direct an episode or directing, you know, something that you guys enjoy or look forward to maybe doing in the future?

Jensen: (looks at Jared then back at fan) Um, it’s something I’m- I’m interested in. Um, Iii- I know that it’s, uh, you know- It’s- it’s very difficult for.. (smacks lips) our show specifically (Jared: [nods] [off mic] yeah.) to allow one of us to direct an episode. Simply because they can’t lighten our, um- you know, our load. As- as far as the ac- the acting work goes.

Um, you know, you have, uh, you know, like, uh, I’m going to use “Smallville” as an example, because Tom’s a friend of ours. And-and he’s directed a few episodes and.. it’s much easier for him because he’s got cast of, you know, nine or ten. (Jared: [nods] [off mic] Yeah.) So, they can write heavy.. other characters and lighten his load the- the previous shows so that he can prep for the next episode. And then lighten his load on the-the episode that he’s directing, so that he can concentrate on directing.

(shakes head) It’s just.. not- it’s just not that doable for our show. So, um- You know, is it- is it doable at all? I-I- probably, ‘cause you know. Will it happen? (shrugs) Depends. Depends on if the writers are willing to, you know.. go the extra mile and make it- you know, make it feasible for us. (nods)

Fan: Good. (Jared: [off mic] Yeah.) Okay. (Jensen: Yeah.) Thank you very much.

Jensen: (nods) Yeah.

Jared: Thank you. (Jensen turns to his right.)

•(1:25 DW)- LA08J2;Q11a- 2x15; thoughts on playing extreme caricatures

Fan: Hi, Guys.

Jensen: Hi.

Jared: Hello.

Fan: In “Tall Tales,” when Bobby first comes and you guys were recounting your views of each other at the.. bar. Did you guys enjoy playing kind of, like, extreme.. (Jared: I hadn’t been.) caricatures (audience giggles) of yourself? Like, you were.. really nerdy. And (Jared: Yeah.) his.. was hitting on girls.

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: Dean talking with himself in DALDOM by BabyBlueSteel◘

Jared: (nods) I loved it. I thought it was (?good, because-?)

Jensen: I did too. (audience and Jared laugh)

Jared: Yeah, I thought it was fun. I knew it was gonna be.. um, really funny sequence, because reading the script I was laughing out loud. You know, lot of times when I read the script I’ll kind of go, “huh,” you know? (Jensen smiles) Or, “Oh, that’s going to be funny.”

But, I was reading the script and just laughing. I was like, “Man, even I can’t mess this up.” (chuckles) (audience laughs) Because I was, “Alright, let’s go at it.” It was- It was a- it was a lot of fun. (turns to Jensen) (Jensen nods)

(to fan) The whole episode was a lot of fun, you know? We like those. We really enjoy the- um, we do. (slight turn to Jensen and flips hand) I know I do and I know (thumbs to Jensen) he does enjoy the kind of lighter moments of Supernatural. I mean, it can be so dark and so ominous so often that it’s fun to.. get a scare but also get a laugh, you know? (nods) (Jensen nods)

•(2:23 DW, 0:45 BBS)- LA08J2;Q11b- 3x10; ACT FOUR, INT. MOTEL ROOM; DREAM; thoughts on yelling at your double; Acting Challenges (Jensen)

Fan: Yeah, then I have a quick question for Jensen.

Jared: mhm. (nods then snorts and then leans back) (audience giggles)

Fan: Um, in- I forgot the name of the episode. W-Where you guys went through the- uh, like, Bobby’s dream, like the (?living room?)- (Jared: Dream a Little Dream?) (Jensen gestures to the audience. Audience answers “Dream a Little Dream”) “Dream a Little Dream,” yes. (audience laughs. Jensen smirks.)

Um, what was it like yelling at yourself? Like, you enjoy- like, did you enjoy that (?acid trip?)-

Jensen: That was a really, really hard scene, umm, I’m being serious. That-the-the- the director, uh, I love to death, his name is Steve Boyum. Um.. you know, he had- he had somethings in mind they wanted to do during that scene. And, um, you know, when you’re dealing with a television schedule sometimes it doesn’t always allow for the (hand quote) artistic shot to be done, because you got to get your basics. I mean, you gotta, you know, essentially cover your ass otherwise your-your- your gonna, you know? The network is gonna come down on you.

So, ee- doing that, you know, I had to play, um, I had to play one side of the scene.. uuhhm, a certain way and (shakes his head and slaps his leg) (to Jared) God bless him, I can’t remember his name, but the-the- (to fan) the guy who stood in for me (Jared nods) on the other end, um, knew all of my lines, (Jared shakes his head) backwards and forwards. And I was so impressed with him. Um, and (scratches his head) I’m killing myself to think of his name.

Jared: (?It was a big scene?). It looked like a five or six (Jensen: [nods] Yeah.) (?scene was it?)?

Jensen: And, you know- But at the same time I couldn’t tell him how I wanted to play the scene. I couldn’t be like, “Listen, act just like me.” (audience laughs) So, I had to remember in my head how I was going to be delivering those lines to me and then react off of the way how I was thinking about those lines- (closes his eyes and shakes his head, holding his hand up) It was very confusing and it was very difficult. And it was very challenging, so, you know, at the end of the day I was like, “Phew, mark that off the list.”

But, uh- and then I think the most difficult thing was the, uh-um- I had to.. get into the demon- Like when I get shot, and the blood all over my face and put the- the eyes in and- (shakes head) and I gave that weird voice, which I don’t know where that came from. (audience laughs. Jared snorts) Um. And then I had to get all cleaned up and go back into the scene and do another take of, (Jared: Oh god.) like, only because- because he wanted- he had time to get that kind of (hand quote) cool double cut shot.

◘Jensen LA SPN Convention-03 by DW&DW◘

And so, by then I was just like, “Steve? This better be the most un- This better win you an Emmy.” (audience laughs then claps. Jared smiles) (shakes his head then nods) Yeah. Thank you. (turns to his right)

•(0:37 DW)- LA08J2;T3- stolen question part 2

Fan: Hi, guys. My name is Erica, uh, (?that’s the way’s it’s pronounced?). (giggles)

Jared: Ah.

Jensen: Hey, hey. (?Big D?).

Fan: Um, she took my question. I was gonna ask Jensen what it was like to act with a Jensen Ackles guy, but (Jared and audience laugh. Jensen nods his head) she stole my questions.

Jensen: And of course you have a backup question?

Fan: No, I don’t.

Jensen: Fantastic. (Fan: But-) Thanks for coming up. (Fan: No.) (audience laughs) (laughs)

•(0:57 DW)- LA08J2;Q12a- 3x10; ACT FOUR, LATER- EXT. IMPALA; thoughts on Dean’s domestic dream (Jensen)🔮

Fan: I’m a smart one. Um, inn “Dream a Little Dream” (Jensen: Yeah.) Dean has to.. go into his dream and he looks at the character Lisa, who he liked, um, who thought Ben was his kid. (Jensen: mhm, mhm.) Um.. what do you think about Dean’s longing to have that family?

Jensen: Umm.. (smacks lips) You know, I-I think it’s- it’s written in the d-that- it’s something that he longs for, you know? It’s-it’s- I think that, you know, you saw obviously first.. season, uumm, his drive.. and his intent on having that family.. reunited. You know, (gestures to Jared) getting him, finding Dad, and having everybody together and how much that meant to him.

So, you know, it’s something that he never had. And he sees it and I-I think that there’s envy there, but at the same time I think that he knows that he could never- (shakes head) He could never settle into something like that. He’s seen too much and done t-so much that it just- it’s kind of irreversible.

Um, so, it’s-it’s more of a.. longing sadness than something that he really yearns for. (nods) Yeah. (Fan: And-) (to Jared nodding) That’s a pretty good answer wasn’t it? (audience laughs)

Jared: Pretty good. I’m (?fucked?). (?I’m like-?)

Jensen: I might- I might write that down. (Jared laughs)

•(2:08 DW)- LA08J2;Q12ba- 3x11; ACT FOUR; Thoughts on Sam living without Dean (Jared)

Fan: Jared, in “Mystery Spot,” playing Sam has to live without Dean- (*missing footage)

•(insomnia_geek •37, bardicvoice para. 60, sara_p para. 41)- LA08J2;FR4- 3x11; ACT FOUR; Thoughts on Sam living without Dean (Jared)

“In Mystery Spot, we saw Sam without Dean, which was not good. He really was like John. Sam was tough, but it was tough to play him like that. He had a time finding how to act without Dean, because they really are a double act. He commented on the bullet scene, poking around the fake chest prosthetic and pretending to sew it up, and the fake skin was peeling around the edges and it looked really gross. Said the whole thing could make you nauseous.” – IG

“Responding to another question about Mystery Spot, Jared volunteered that the scenes of life without Dean were really hard, that it had been like having a whole new character to play because of how different Sam became. He said that it had been hard to put himself into the whole place of “my brother’s dead, this is Supernatural without Dean,” and it was hard. (He pretty much ran out of adjectives and just reverted to adding emphasis …). On a practical level, he said that the scene of Sam pulling the bullet out of himself was hard in a different way, because he was fitted with a chest appliance covering his own skin, and it felt weird to look in the mirror and poke into it to pull the bullet out and then sew it up.” – B

“Jared talking about Dark!Sam in Mystery Spot was awesome. He specifically mentioned the scene where he had to take the bullet out and sew himself up, and that there was this fake chest prosthetic piece, and having fake skin peeling around the edges made him nauseous, and then Jensen jumped in with "that was his real skin," and Jared was all "I'm just that good." MAN.” - S

◘Jensen and Jared in LA: dark Sam in Mystery Spot, panel end by BabyBlueSteel◘

•(0:00 BBS)- LA08J2;Q12bb- 3x11; ACT FOUR; Thoughts on Sam living without Dean cont. (Jared)

Jared: -Real life, you know, but, um-

Fan: Kind of scary. Kind of like John.

Jared: Yeah. Yeah he kind of had to get a hard ass, you know, all down-to-business. And when he’s pulling the bullet out of himself, which is a tough sequence to shoot. (audience woo and clap)

Yeah. (nods to audience) They had that little thing. Like, they put me in a body cast, you know, so it’s all this.. (gestures around his torso) mesh. And you’re sitting there and you’re kind of (mimics digging for the bullet) trying to find the bullet. And you can see the fake skin (makes a disgusted face) coming off and (shivers and shakes hand) it kind of makes you nauseous. (audience chuckles) But, uh-

Jensen: (to audience) That wasn’t fake skin. (nods) That was actually him. (audience laughs)

Jared: Yeah, that was actually me. I’m that tough. But, um, it was really tough.

Jensen: Soo, method this guy.

Jared: Yeah. (nods and laughs) I commit.

Jensen: Daniel Daniels who?

Jared: Yeah, who? (audience laughs) Never heard of him.

Fan: Thank you, guys.

Jensen: Thank you.

Jared: Thank you.

(0:36 BBS) -Closing

Jensen: And, uh, I guess (leans forward and looks off stage to his right) is that, uh.. (Jared looks to his right) Is that- is that it? That finishes this sequence of events. (Jared claps)

Jared: (to audience) Thank you guys (?and then?). (audience claps and cheers)

Jensen: (to audience) Thanks everybody.

◘Jensen LA SPN Convention-02 (end) by DW&DW◘

◘Supernatural LA Con: Jared & Jensen leaving stage by martithabonita◘

◘Jensen/Jared leaving by IY◘

Jared stands, clapping. Jensen gets up from his chair and picks up Jared’s pigtail bts photo from the floor, while Jared goes off to the right of the stage and exchanges his mic for a silver sharpie from a creation employee. Jensen follows suit. Jared and Jensen then sign the convention wall poster on the right of the screen. Jared signs under his face and Jensen signs next to Chad’s face.

Jared finishes first and then moves to the left one and starts jumping to try and reach closer to his printed face, making the crowd laugh. Jared settles for signing above Fred’s face and Jensen sided to the other side underneath Dean’s face. The boys hand back the sharpies to the creation employee and then start their walk off stage.

?Adam Malin?: Jared and Jensen and Jared!

The audience claps and cheers. The boys wave at the crowd as they leave towards and behind the curtains, signaling the panel’s end.

#spn #supernatural #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #spn con #spn transcript #lacon 2008 #2008

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boobo13cambridge · 1 year ago

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I’ll Take Care of You | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: none just angsty and some passionate kissing

Summary: Kylian is feeling stressed as the news that he will not be extending with PSG comes out. He seeks comfort in you.

A/N: Hello, everyone! When I got this request I absolutely adored the idea and wanted to get right to it. As always, please leave me feedback and don’t forget to reblog. I would greatly appreciate it. Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

The sun had long set over the city of Paris, casting an ethereal glow upon the Eiffel Tower as its lights illuminated the darkened sky. In the midst of the bustling city, a heavy atmosphere hung over Kylian Mbappé's lavish apartment. The young football prodigy, renowned for his incredible talent on the field, now found himself at a crossroads that weighed heavily on his heart.

Kylian had spent years with Paris Saint-Germain, captivating fans and leaving a lasting mark on the club. Since his arrival in 2017, he had steered his team to five Ligue 1 titles, secured three French Cup titles, and clinched the coveted Player of the Season award on four occasions. Yet, beneath the surface of success, a storm of discontent brewed within him. He felt betrayed by the club. He wasn't happy with the Mercato, he wasn't happy with the coach, and he was even less happy about practically being threatened by the president of the club that he would never be able to leave. The project that they tried to sell him was all a lie, leaving him consumed by frustration.

Paris was his home, his people, and his beloved city, and he never desired to depart its embrace. But his relentless ambition gnawed at his conscience, whispering that remaining stagnant would be a betrayal to the dreams of the little boy from Bondy who yearned to conquer all. The time had come to draw a line in the sand; he had reached his breaking point. Enough was enough.

As he lay sprawled on the couch, his gaze fixed upon the sprawling Paris skyline, an overwhelming headache descended upon him. It felt as though the weight of the entire world rested squarely upon his shoulders. The relentless media scrutiny only exacerbated his turmoil, incessantly hurling names at him and peddling baseless stories about his character (as if they even knew him), and practically harassing him on social media.

He was just so tired.

The young French captain longed for your presence by his side, but fate had conspired against him as you were working until 6 pm that day. Gazing at his iPhone, he saw that it was merely 5:30 pm, and a sense of dejection washed over him. With a heavy heart, he decided to text you, hoping that he could somehow persuade you to leave early.

Kylian: bébé can u leave early?

Kylian: tu me manques 🙁 (I miss you)

You: aww mon bébé 🙁 (aww my baby)

You: ouvre la porte je suis là 😘 (open the door, I'm here)

Surprised and filled with a glimmer of hope, he swiftly rose from the couch, his anticipation mirrored by the chime of the doorbell. A small smile spread on his fatigued face, as he felt a fraction of the weight burdening his shoulders dissipate.

Opening the door, he felt a sense of relief surge through his body as he saw your smiling face.

"Surprise, Kyky," you said, winking at him. Kylian didn't know what had come over him, but he felt his eyes welling up with tears as he pulled you inside, enveloping himself around you as he kicked the door closed. His heart weighed heavy, and he struggled to control his sobs, burying his face in your hair.

Surprised, you wrapped your arms around him, gently stroking the back of his head. "Mon bébé, what happened? Are you okay? Talk to me, mon cœur."

Hearing your voice only intensified his tears. He yearned to share his innermost thoughts, to unburden his soul, but he found himself unable to articulate the complexities of his emotions. The past few days had been gruelling for him. People knew him as a confident, self-assured individual, seemingly impervious to the world's judgments. He felt they took advantage of that side of him and perhaps his confidence enraged them. He felt that it was unfair that they used that to vilify him at every given opportunity. This time the footballer just couldn’t take it anymore, he had reached his breaking point.

You were filled with worry. Never before had you witnessed Kylian break down in such a way. Even after the heart-wrenching moments of missing a penalty at the Euro or losing the World Cup in Qatar, his composure had remained intact. However, the recent news of his decision not to renew with PSG had evidently struck a nerve far deeper than anticipated. You knew people wouldn’t take it kindly but you didn’t think it was going to be this bad.

"Shh, allez mon amour. Ça va bien aller. I'm here for you," you attempted to console him. Gently pulling back, you held his face between your hands.

The sight that greeted you shattered your heart into a million pieces. Kylian's face was flushed, his cheeks stained with tears. Seeing him in such anguish brought tears to your own eyes. "Ky...," you started, softly wiping away his tears with your thumbs. Shaking his head, Kylian pressed his forehead against yours.

"I can't do this anymore, bébé. Je suis tanné, putain," he cried, gripping your hips tightly, seeking solace and grounding himself in your presence.

"Je sais, mon cœur, je sais," you consoled him, gently guiding him to the couch as he lay down, his head buried in your lap. You caressed his head, your other hand soothingly rubbing his back, placing tender kisses upon his head as you whispered words of comfort.

Gradually, Kylian's sobs subsided, and he lifted his head from your stomach, wiping away his tears as you used a tissue to dab at his runny nose. "Let me get you some water, Ky," you attempted to rise, but Kylian shook his head. "Non, stay please... I just want you to hold me."

"Okay, bébé. Anything you want," you said, placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. "But please, talk to me, Ky."

Kylian was lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, uncertain of where to begin. His emotions and feelings tangled within him, threatening to overwhelm him. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability. "It feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Everyone has a fuckin’ opinion about everything I do. If I stay at PSG, I'm a fuckin’ loser who's ruining his career by staying in a farmer's league. If I leave, I'm a traitor who doesn't care about the club, only about money. I can't catch a break, bébé. No matter what I do, I'm always the bad guy, always painted as the fuckin’ villain in whatever fairytale they cook up every week. I feel suffocated, and on top of it all, I feel like a complete piece of shit for dumping all my feelings on you. I've been a shitty fiancé."

“Mon amour, don't say that. You are not a shitty fiancée and I want you to know that I love you so much. Secondly, I want you to talk about your feelings with me because that's what I'm here for. We're in this together bébé. We're a team, and I’ll always be here for you whenever you need me. As for the media, those assholes are just jealous because you’re this confident young man who’s so incredibly talented. They could never hold a candle to you, mon amour. Besides, most of them are just a bunch of racist fucks.”

“I feel like no matter what I chose, people will still make me out to be a bad guy.”

"Bébé, you can't control that. At the end of the day, you have to make the best decision for yourself, and I'll be right by your side through it all."

You gently caressed his cheek, trying to smooth the lines of worry etched upon his forehead.

"Are you sure, bébé? I just..."

"Kylian, mon amour, mon cœur, ma vie. You mean the world to me. Your dreams are my dreams, and your happiness is my happiness. Wherever you decide to go, I'll be right there beside you, every step of the way."

Gazing into your eyes, Kylian's heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. These past few years, sharing his life with someone as extraordinary as you had transformed him into the luckiest man to walk the earth. With every beat of his heart, he recognized that you were not just a partner, but the missing piece that completed his very being—the woman he had always yearned for in his wildest dreams.

In an instant, he surrendered to the intensity of his emotions, his hand instinctively finding the curve of your neck. With a gentle yet possessive grip, he drew you closer, erasing the space between your bodies. Their warmth melded, and the world around them faded into insignificance as their lips collided in a moment of fiery passion.

Time seemed to stand still as their mouths moved in a fervent dance, their souls entwining amidst the raw fervor of their connection. It was a kiss that transcended words, conveying depths of love that mere language could never capture. In that single act, Kylian poured his heart and soul into the embrace, a testament to the profound love and desire he held for you.

The taste of his lips, the electric touch of his hands, and the fusion of their breaths ignited a blazing fire within both of them. Each kiss carried an unspoken promise—a vow of unwavering devotion, a pledge to traverse any obstacle that lay in their path. In that fleeting moment, the world existed solely for the two of them, bound by an unbreakable bond that defied all logic and reason.

As you broke apart, your noses nuzzled together. "But, you know, now that you've decided to leave once your contract ends, maybe choose a city with better weather, oui? I absolutely refuse to have our future babies be born in a cold, rainy place."

A soft chuckle escaped Kylian's lips, blending relief with joy. "I was only joking, bébé. I'm not actually going to Manchester United or Liverpool. Don't worry your pretty little head, princesse."

"You better have been joking because there's no way you're dragging me to a whole new country and knocking me up in the frigid cold.”

“Oh, please. You love it when I do you raw, princesse.”

“ Oh yeah? I'll fly right back and give birth to your child in Marseille,” you retorted, cheeks turning red.

"Take that back, bébé. You're not allowed to say that. No child of mine is going to be a Marseillais."

Laughter filled the air, a melody of hope and love. In that moment, you both knew that no matter the challenges ahead, your bond with Kylian was unbreakable. Together, you would face the uncertainties of life, drawing strength from the unwavering support and affection you shared.

As the night progressed, you held each other close, finding solace in the arms of the one who mattered most. And in that embrace, you both understood that regardless of where fate led the brilliant Kylian Mbappé, love would be your guiding light through the storm, ensuring that the journey ahead brimmed with hope, adventure, and an unyielding bond that would endure forever.

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