I woke knowing instantly, breathtakingly, that Jamie was there, holding me.
Thank God he’d come after me.
Thank God that his voice was behind me, urgent with tenderness, and his arms alive with exactly the same as they pulled me close against the chill. “Are ye warm enough, mocree?”
‘Oh, yes,’ I tried to whisper, but the words were subsumed by a tiny sound from my throat—a mew?— of simple, silly happiness; of closeness, of sweetness, and of complete security. I let myself fall back into the dark of him, the heat of his chest against my back; his knees behind mine; my mind swirling lazily, freely within the haven he had made for me within himself.
Then I woke again and his soft, warm mouth was latching slowly into the curve of my neck and shoulder. I was moaning and he was moving higher; higher toward my ear as he whispered unknown syllables into my skin. Moaning. Moaning and feeling his breath, his lips, his love at my ear. Moaning, on my back in the heather with Jamie on top of me, slipping his hand into the neck of my shift to free my breasts. Moaning, gasping as he put his mouth on them, suckling me hard; moaning as his hand slid hard under my hips, pulling me up against him. Feeling him hard, even through the layers of clothing. Bucking against him, my fingers digging into his back. Moaning as he moved urgently forward and back, his mouth never leaving my nipple; moving with him, keening.
“I need ye,” he groaned suddenly in a hoarse whisper against my breasts, his grip on my thigh tightening hard and the motions of his hips growing alarmingly urgent with need. He was gasping from it, his whole body shaking. “I need ye now, mocree.”
“Have me,” I was groaning back, reeling with my own desire, feeling an electric wave travel through me as I heard his moan of lust, as he grappled frantically with my skirts. “Jamie, Jamie I’m yours—Pl—”
I woke, bolted upright, and gasped violently all at once, so fast and suddenly that the horse reared against her tether nearby and whinnied in terror. Instinct brought me flying across the clearing to calm her, but the moment she subsided, I staggered backward and fell hard onto the ground on the far side of her tree, shaking uncontrollably from head to toe—from rage or—something else—I couldn’t tell.
“Goddamn FUCKING hell!” I hissed in fury and despair into the night as I dragged myself up to lean against the tree. “Can’t he leave me the hell alone?”
No, I canna…And ye ken why, lass.
After Jamie’s startling proposal—that ridiculous…. heartbreakingly beautiful proposal— I’d spent the rest of my evening on my hasty but effective escape plan. I’d passed round the laced whisky multiple times along with the plain that flowed freely in honor of Jamie’s pardon; no one had noticed that they were sinking further and more quickly into drowsiness than was usual. Before that, I had contrived a deep and sudden interest in discussing our route with Ned, memorizing the maps he pulled forth from his saddle bag, devouring them and repeating to myself over and over as he talked: that direction to the Ness. Follow it up to Inverness. Then a bit south and a bit east, and not far to Craigh na Dun.
All had gone to plan. Until Jamie had followed me. Granted, I’d traveled infinitely faster on the horse onto which he’d thrown me than I would have on foot, but
Jesus, the way he had looked at me—begged me—
But I had had to go—right then—had told myself I wouldn’t stop even to sleep, wouldn’t stop for a moment till I reached the standing stones and was back in Frank’s world. Yet, I had all but fallen from my horse, and hadn’t even bothered with a fire; just curled beneath my earasaid and fallen into a deep sleep.
But apparently not deep enough to keep out Jamie Fraser.
I sat there in the freezing night, bringing my knees up to my chin and hugging them in frustration. “Beauchamp….you stupid…. lust-crazed—”
It’s no’ just lust. Ye ken that, as well as I; ye ken what there is between us, mocree.
“I didn’t even know what that word means, you bastard!”
But it was clear enough from the way he had spoken it, the way it had sounded in the night as he’d reached for me, that it indicated some deep….
“I care for you, Claire”
“Dear God,” I whispered into my arms, longing, defeated. “…Jamie…”
Yes, of course there was something between us.
Of course I felt it between us almost from the first.
Of COURSE that night in his arms had been…
“Jamie Fraser, you stupid boy! Why the BLOODY hell did you have to propose?”
But thank God he had. Thank GOD, or else I’d have—what? Had him in the woods at the first opportune moment? Had—a life with him?
…I bet it would have been a good life…
“Who….are you, Beauchamp?”
My horrified question resonated in the darkened glade, indicting, with no answer reverberating back.
Go. Go now and don’t think of anything but your husband.
That’s who who’ve got to be: you’re Frank’s wife.
I scrambled to my feet and untethered the horse as quickly as I could.
What a ridiculous fool I’d been, so be lulled into a prisoner’s security with the MacKenzies. My HUSBAND was back in the twentieth century with no notion whatsoever as to what happened to his wife. He’d spent nearly six weeks frantic with fear. And I’d all but forgotten him.
“I’m coming, Frank,” I whispered as I set off at a gallop. “I promise.”
The entire morning, the entire afternoon, the entire evening, my mind was a terror fugue, a mad fury of fear and guilt, punctuated by the haunting tones of Welshman’s song of the woman of Balnain.
I lived for a time among strangers
who became lovers and friends
Jamie, with the wounds I inflicted upon him showing in his eyes.
lovers and friends
At last, as night fell once more, the hill of Craigh na Dun appeared in the distance. I kicked the horse hard and we raced up the slope, both of us panting and heaving. Could the animal feel my terror?
I saw the moon come out
and the wind rose once more,
so I touched the stones
and traveled back to my own land
and took up again with the man I had left behind
The stones were wailing, keening.
I threw myself off the horse.
“Frank…Frank…Frank….” was on my lips as I staggered to the stone circle.
And as the wind did rise,
rose so high my skirts billowed around me,
I slammed my hands against the screaming stone.
Blood dripping down my hands and smearing the stone.
“Oh, God… Frank….”
I had no voice in the dawn light. I had no tears left.
My body was curled around the base of the stone, cradling the memory of the life I had had.
Once more, the stone under my bleeding hands.
The sun was blinding me as I dug, the dirt like glass in my scraped and bleeding hands.
In the hole at the base of the stone, I placed my gold ring. It glinted in the sunlight as I stared down.
From F to C with love. Always.
Thank God the horse hadn’t strayed far. I found her at the stream and caught her by the halter, the panic I had felt rush through me in waves during my night on the hill surprisingly absent.
Frank was gone. Or rather, I was gone. The stones were a one-way voyage that was now complete. It was that simple. The Frank part of my life was now done.
Why doesn’t his loss hurt you more? Have you no heart, you coldhearted—
But those were only echoes of guilt, calling out faintly to me from the hole I had dug—the hole I had covered over, handful by handful— at the base of the stones.
And part of me had known it all along, hadn’t it? Since the first moment I’d realized I’d gone back to another time? The Welshman’s song had given me hope, yes, but of course I knew that there was always the chance I would never be able to return.
In truth, I’d been grieving and healing from the loss of Frank ever since I arrived at Leoch. I had fled to the stones out of guilt, pure and simple. Lord, my very thoughts on that ride told everything in black and white:
‘Frank is worried;’ ‘Frank is your husband.’
NOT‘I can’t bear another day without Frank;’ not ‘what if I never see Frank again?’; not ‘I ache to have you back in my arms, Frank.’
No. It was : “You’ve got to fight your way back to Frank. You’re his wife.”
I loved Frank; had always loved, him even from the first…but I didn’t feel a visceral need of him when we weren’t together; not now, not when we first met, not even during the war.
I hadn’t ever felt in almost eight years—even with nearly all of our marriage spent apart— the way I felt now, missing Jamie.
Yes, perhaps I would hear those echoes from Craigh na Dun many times in the years to come; but I had made my choice and I was turning the horse without conscious thought.
I could make my way south to England, blend in and start a new life among the familiar voices, quietly, living out my life alone in atonement for what was lost and what wickedness had clouded my heart.
But it was north that I was turning; north that I made for with all haste; to the life that the stones had just made possible.
That’s actually a really fascinating question whose answer touches on not only the history of Dungeons & Dragons as a game, but some fairly fundamental issues regarding the tabletop roleplaying hobby as a whole.
Folks who have only casual contact with the tabletop roleplaying hobby tend to have a pretty standard idea of what’s involved: enter dungeon, kill monsters, get treasure, rinse and repeat.
For some games, Dungeons & Dragons among them - as its name suggests - that’s broadly true. However, there can be substantial disagreements between games - including the various editions of Dungeons & Dragons itself - regarding how players are expected to go about achieving these goals, and even what the basic process of play is supposed to look like.
Naturally, individual groups can play the game however they want. By nature, however, even the simplest game rules encode a vast array of assumptions about how the game ought to be played. For brevity, I’m going to call this body of baked-in assumptions a game’s default or assumed mode of play.
As noted, different editions of D&D have very different assumed modes of play, to the extent that Dungeons & Dragons basically isn’t one game, but half-a-dozen completely different games that just happen to share a title and a handful of common terminology.
Of course, the fundamental activity of D&D generally remains “enter dungeon, kill monsters, get treasure”, so the question of what D&D’s assumed mode of play is reduces to a more focused question: what is a dungeon? There are about five different answers to that question, each reflecting broad trends in the tabletop roleplaying hobby as a whole.
1. A Dungeon is a Logistical Puzzle
Though D&D has a lot of superficial trappings lifted directly from Tolkien, at its inception the internal nuts and bolts of the game were much more strongly informed by the swords-and-sorcery fiction of the 1960s and early 1970s: writers like Fritz Leiber, Michael Moorcock, and Jack Vance.
One of the common threads in the genre is that your typical swords-and-sorcery adventure is basically a heist narrative: a group of highly skilled professionals, each with their own signature specialty, must combine their talents to break into a secure location and steal some desired object without being apprehended. Think Ocean’s Eleven with evil wizards.
Early D&D - or OD&D, for brevity - followed largely in these footsteps. Each dungeon was essentially a logistical puzzle: how can the party marshal their resources to extract the treasure from the dungeon as efficiently as possible?
Unlike many later tabletop RPGs, experience points in OD&D were awarded primarily for recovering treasures, not for killing monsters, so combat was something of a failure state - a high-risk, low-reward activity to be avoided wherever possible. It was preferable by far to trick, sneak or fast-talk your way past the monsters; indeed, the desire to have fast-talking always be an option is the reason that most D&D monsters are intelligent and capable of speech, even the really weird ones - a quirk that would carry forward into most later iterations of the game. Out-of-combat activities had a formal rounds-and-turns structure, just as combat did, creating a constant time pressure with the threat of the dreaded Random Encounter Table hanging over players who might otherwise prefer to dally.
The drawback to this heist-style mode of play is that it’s extremely demanding on the GM (that’s “Game Master”, for those just tuning in - i.e., the person who’s running the game); in order to play this style of game effectively, scenarios need to be very carefully designed, and running them demands keeping track of a great deal of information. Among many groups, there was a natural tendency to de-emphasise the logistical big picture in order to focus on overcoming individual set-piece obstacles, which leads us to…
2. A Dungeon is an Obstacle Course
In order to fully understand how this mode of play developed, you have to bear in mind that Dungeons & Dragons started out as a hack for tabletop wargames - the earliest rulebooks explicitly positioned it as a fantasy roleplaying “overlay” that could be added to your wargame of choice, rather than as a standalone game - and for the bulk of its early history, wargaming clubs remained its primary venue of play.
It’s for this reason that, once D&D had become popularised, the question of how to play it competitively arose. This might sound like a very strange notion to modern gamers - competitive roleplaying games? - but it seemed perfectly obvious at the time.
In order to avoid damaging the game’s party-based structure with infighting, rather than having individual players compete against each other, the approach that was eventually settled upon was to hold tournaments at gaming conventions, where several groups would be run through the same adventure in parallel. Some tournaments emphasised speed of play, while others awarded points for completing specific objectives, prefiguring the ideas of both speed-running and video game achievements by some decades. However, the variant that emerged as by far the most popular was the survival module.
A survival module was a pre-written adventure that, unlike others, was not actually expected to be completed. A typical survival module consisted of a relatively linear series of extraordinarily deadly obstacles, many of them blatantly unfair, intended to kill player characters as quickly as possible. Each player would typically be allocated more than one character, with replacement characters dropped in as the current one expired (e.g., like lives in a video game); the tournament’s winning group would be the one whose last surviving character’s corpse hit the ground furthest from the dungeon entrance.
Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition (which is actually the third iteration of the game, owing to its somewhat muddled early chronology) was the child of this era of play. It’s here that the screwjob monsters and magic items discussed in the previous post came into their own - and in context, it’s easy to see why! Many of the era’s infamously deadly pre-written adventures were originally survival-based tournament modules, repackaged and sold in hobby stores with no indication of their original purpose, which inadvertently helped to popularise that style of play among players outside the tournament scene.
Further developments aren’t strictly germane to the question, so I’ll touch on them only briefly:
3. A Dungeon is a Story Path
The “dungeon as obstacle course” mode of play would remain dominant throughout the life of the game’s 1st Edition and into the early part of the 2nd. However, changing trends in the tabletop roleplaying hobby - brought on in no small part by the unprecedented popularity of White Wolf’s “World of Darkness” games (i.e., Vampire: The Masquerade et al.) - created demand for more a narratively focused gaming experience. By the mid-1990s, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition had shifted to adventures structured less like obstacle courses and more like Choose Your Own Adventure novels, with each room in the dungeon serving as a decision point in a branching narrative. Of course, not all adventures were created equal; many were derided for their penchant for “railroading”, essentially reducing the player characters to passive spectators to a story whose outcome was already determined.
Toward the very end of the 2nd Edition’s tenure, another shift began that leads us directly to…
4. A Dungeon is a Simulated Environment
If you’re playing a game where the walls have hit points, you’re playing this. Coming into its own in the game’s 3rd Edition, the major impetus of this mode of play is to provide a single, unified set of game mechanics that allows the dungeon to be treated as a simulated environment - a sort of Sim Dungeon, if you will. This unification extended beyond characters and monsters, to the extent that everything up to and including individual ten-foot sections of dungeon walls would be assigned its own traits - hit points, elemental resistances, etc. - to govern basic interactions. Dungeons & Dragons 3rd Edition was also the first iteration of the game to post-date mainstream Internet access, so this is where theorycrafting and competitive character-building - facilitated by the game’s emphasis on mechanical rigour - really took off.
It wouldn’t be Dungeons & Dragons without an abrupt shift in focus every few years, though, which is how we get…
5. A Dungeon is a Series of Tactical Set-Pieces
Motivated partly by a dissatisfaction with the 3rd Edition’s perceived tendency to emphasise theoretical character-building over actual play, the game’s 4th Edition pulled a hard 180. Returning to D&D’s roots as a modified tabletop wargame while incorporating elements of modern board games, this mode of play reenvisions a dungeon as a series of tactical set-pieces: carefully constructed combat scenarios that focus on heavily stylised map-based play with no pretence of simulating anything in particular. The GM’s role shifts from that of a supervisor or referee to that of an opposing player, and the tone departs from high fantasy to become more like that of a kung fu movie - the kind where people are leaping and being hurled all over the battlefield and calling out their special moves by name.
(This was, needless to say, a controversial move. Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition was perceived as hostile to its online community in many circles, and was widely derided as being too video-game-like in is execution - though ironically, most detractors compared it to completely the wrong genre of video games, failing to recognise that most of the elements they decried as MMO-isms had been borrowed by MMOs from earlier iterations of D&D in the first place. In practice, if video game comparisons are unavoidable, it plays more like a tabletop implementation of Disgaea or Final Fantasy Tactics.)
RFA + V and Saeran with an MC who eats very little
I finally watched the new Yuri On Ice episode and no spoilers but ohh my god I have the biggest crush on Yurio and his personality reminds me so much of Saerans, probably why I have a crush on him :’)
- texts you 24/7 asking if you’ve had a meal yet
- are you sure you don’t want to finish that MC
- are you sure about that
- / are you sure /
- he’s fine as long as you tell him you just are a person who doesn’t eat lots of food, you get sick from overeating easily.
- Just doesn’t want his babe under-eating for the wrong reasons!
- He’ll call his nutritionist to make sure your meal plans are healthy and safe because he’s concerned at the amount you eat
- once they tell him you’re fine with the portions you have right now he’ll be okay with it
- Elizabeth the 3rd gets sick when he overfeeds her too so he understands if you leave some things on your plate.
- he doesn’t eat a lot of food either!
- so he feels you on that one.
- won’t even really comment on it because he’s so used to leaving things behind on his plate or eating slow, it’s not new to him!
- but he does make a lot of meals for you so you have to remind him you don’t eat that much when he makes enough food to feed a country.
- he’s fine with it! As long as you eat slow/less for good reasons.
- eats like a race horse though so he’ll finish whatever you have left on your plate for you as long as that’s okay ~
- he’s not used to someone who eats so little so he has to get used to it but doesn’t bother you about it as long as you don’t complain about how many chip bags he devours lmao
- he LOVES food so he’s always trying new things and cooking up weird stuff he finds online so you gotta explain to him you don’t eat a lot of food so he doesn’t think his meals are gross and that’s why you leave things on your plate
- spare his feelings don’t let him think his foods gross
- he doesn’t really care after that he just hopes you like his food regardless of how much you eat tbh
- he’ll ask you about it when he notices right away that you tend to eat slow and leave things on your plate
- after you explain you just don’t eat much he doesn’t really think too much about it
- he stuffs everything in his mouth and eats so fast
- so he’ll actually try to copy your eating habits and eat a little slower so he doesn’t eat as much or too fast at a time.
Murder and madness, incest, slavery, and witchcraft…
It wasn’t just the presence of Tom Hardy that made Taboo a dark,
disturbing, break with tradition, by Jim Shelley
lived up its name and proved nothing is sacred – not even the most
comforting conventions of that great British tradition: Saturday night
legions of caterwauling karaoke contestants had been silenced and there
was not a Doctor or Dalek in sight. Politicians desperately doing
ballroom dancing and sad celebrities belly-flopping off the top board
were noticeable only by their absence.
The magical, innocent, days of sword-fights with Robin Hood or The Musketeers were, like Merlin, ancient history.
Taboo appeared, spreading like a dark, disturbing, stain across the
screen, causing the same contemptuous chaos with the schedule as it’s
black-hearted hero (played by Tom Hardy).
As alternatives to the norm go, Taboo was certainly comprehensive.
first episode alone included references to rape, incest, and slavery,
pedophilia and prostitution, evil, witchcraft, ghosts, madness, and ‘The
Beast With A Million Eyes and Ears’; men whose lives had been devoted
to murder, military genocide, grave-robbing, gold-trading, and
bear-fighting in Chancery Lane. Not to mention talk of bags of testicles
being devoured by whores and drunken experiments setting ships ablaze
with mashed potato. (+)
A/n: A drabble based on 7x21/7x22. I got a little carried away and it ended up being a little long (like 4k words long) Enjoy!
I don’t love him.
It’s what she tells herself.
A promise that she owes to her heart.
One that she intends to keep.
She does not love him.
Not even when her eyes stray left and glance up at the mirror, watching his eyebrows furrow in concentration as he focuses on the road. Not when he reaches for the gear stick and she feels his hand brush the bare skin on her knee and a shiver ripples throughout her body. Not when she catches him biting his lip to stop himself from laughing when she dictates the wrong turn or when he flips on the radio and bobs his head slightly or when he always offers to drive so she can sleep instead.
I’m not too into tabletop RPGs, mostly because I never feel like I can get the hang of the rules. But I like them. I have fun with them. I eventually decided to run a campaign once (in Numenera, so the rules wouldn’t hold me back so much). But this is not that story. This is a much earlier story about a Pathfinder game I was involved in.
At the time, I was either fresh out of or about to be fresh out of high school, tagging along with a group of my sister’s friends from Academic Decathlon. We’d get together over the summer and play games – Magic the Gathering and Super Smash Bros. Brawl, mostly. One of those friends was named Christopher, but we all called him Topher for reasons that I don’t really remember. Topher was one of two Mormon friends my sister had, and he was the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always, ALWAYS had a better grasp over the rules of any game than I did, and he could deduce things about his situation to such a degree that I couldn’t even begin to understand where he’d started from. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that he had a mind palace he was always ducking into.
So, with that in mind, allow me to tell you about the time we played Pathfinder with him.
To be honest, I have no idea what Topher named his character, so I’m just going to keep calling him Topher. Topher was a Monk who had some kind of elemental power. I don’t remember what race he was playing, but he had a racial ability where he could light his fists on fire before he started punching people. Naturally, he was very fond of doing this.
The campaign kind of revolved around Topher’s character – or at least, it felt like it did at first. Out of all the PC’s, Topher was the only character who didn’t start out in jail. Topher up down to the local mountaintop kingdom to pick up his cousin, Willow (played by my sister), a mad witch who was in prison for vomiting spiders on the king. (Technically, she didn’t earn that ability until Level 2, but the GM let her get away with it.) I was playing a Kitsune bard who was in jail because I had repeatedly propositioned the king. So that was fun. We also had an anthropomorphic cat-ninja in the party (arrested for either stealing from the king or being my accomplice, not sure which), and a druid who dropped out after one session, to be replaced by a gnomish(?) alchemist played by the GM. And a dragon. So that was nice.
Anyway, the king decided to send all us dangerous criminals off on a mission to the five surrounding kingdoms, Suicide Squad-style, to investigate the growing tension between them and bring the land back from the brink of war. Topher decided to tag along. Perhaps it was to keep an eye on Willow, or perhaps it was just because he wanted adventure. But I think it was mostly so that he could feed The Bag.
You see, Topher’s order of monks was an odd one, for they were devoted to the service of The Bag. The story goes that once upon a time, long ago, someone tried to make a Bag of Holding. However, the enchantment that they cast on the bag went… awry. Somehow, the bag became linked to a horrible extra-dimensional entity, transforming it into a Bag of Devouring. Anything placed inside The Bag would be pulled inside and eaten, never to be recovered. The Bag even drove Willow stark raving mad at one point, by showing her what it was linked to. (This is what allowed her to become a witch, since they derive their powers from insanity. But I digress.) Topher’s order of monks, who had possession of The Bag at the time, decided that they had to keep The Bag from doing this ever again – or worse, letting whatever it was attached to come into our dimension – so they dedicated themselves to keeping The Bag fed at all times.
Naturally, Topher decided to bring The Bag with him. Because you don’t write a backstory like that if you’re not going to do anything with it.
So, we all set off to the goblin kingdom to the south. None of us could read or speak the Goblin language, so we ended up wandering lost through cornfields for a while. After a few encounters (and the requisite feeding our fallen enemies to The Bag), we eventually came across a mine, and naturally we decided to do some spelunking. The mine was your standard affair at the entrance – a stone tunnel with wooden supports. Nothing unusual here… or so we thought. But Topher, always alert, noticed something odd about the tunnel. At the foot of every wooden support, there sat a potion of some kind in a glass flask.
So naturally, before we’ve gone 50 feet into the cave, without telling any of us what he was doing or what he’d discovered, Topher picks one of the flasks up and drinks it. He later justified this by saying his character was not too bright, and the only potions in glass flasks he’d ever seen had done good things – healing potions, status buffs, and so on – so, logically, drinking the strange potion he’d found on the ground would do something good for him. But he also said that drinking the potion was the most impulsive thing he could think to do at the time, so I don’t think he was taking it that seriously.
Anyhow, after drinking the potion, Topher turns to the alchemists and asks him what the potions are, and what they do. The alchemist turned to him, with a perfect “are you trying to fuck me over” look on his face, and explained the purpose of the potion. The goblins, as it turned out, weren’t stupid. They had rigged this cave, the only way out of their mine, to collapse if there were intruders nearby and the situation was desperate enough.
In other words, the alchemist explained, Topher just drank a bomb.
So naturally, Topher pulls out The Bag, shoves his fingers down his throat and expels the contents of his stomach. He spews out flaming vomit into the mouth of an all-consuming eldritch abomination – which then reaches out to him, speaking directly into his mind simply to say “Hey! That’s not cool, man. Don’t ever do that again.” (Or something to that effect, anyway.) Topher ended up surviving that with only 8 fire damage, but he later said that if he’d been GM'ing that campaign, he wouldn’t have let himself make it through that.
Topher went on a mission trip to Rio de Janeiro shortly after that session, and had to leave the party. But damned if he didn’t go out on a high note.
Supernatural Con - Jensen Ackles x Reader (Part 3)
Title: Supernatural Con
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader
Word count: 1,065
Request: Part three was requested by a few. (So, since a few requested a part three I decided to actually gather any ideas I had and write it. As promised, it’s up before Friday. Really did not know what to write in this so I just started and went with it. Hope it’s good. Enjoy~! xx’)
“Well there is actually a movie that I had fun being in, more than any other” you said through the mic “I certainly remember being really excited for it. When I got the script I got super happy because that meant I would take a break from Supernatural. Don’t get me wrong, I love Supernatural, we all do, but really you guys have no idea how exactly it is.” you chuckled slightly.
“I mean, spending so much time with Jared, Misha and Jensen can have a serious impact on a girl. It certainly had on me!” you said matter-of-factly.
“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jared asked you with a funny face.
“I should better not give any information on that!” you said with a fake shudder “Anyway, as I was saying there actually was a movie I really enjoyed. Basically because it gave me chance to be away from Supernatural for a while. So I was so excited the first day of shooting and I went at the set, in the morning, happy that there would be no Jensen to eat the waffles before me. Or no Jensen to make funny faces behind the camera and distract me. No Jensen whatsoever. So I thought with relief finally no-” you continued speaking but Jensen cut you off.
“Wow I feel the love!” he said, putting a hand over his heart.
“Shut up Jenny.” you shushed him “Well as I was saying. I thought relieved that finally there was no Jensen there and I would maybe get a break from… everything that Jensen is. But you can guess my surprise when, once I went to get some waffles, I found-” you stopped and looked behind you to see Jensen had gotten up from his seat and was at the side of the stage where you had set your bag, and was devouring the mini croissants you had brought with you. “-THAT!” you exclaimed and pointed towards him.
Jensen raised his head, mouth stuffed “What?” he managed to say thought his mic with his mouth full off croissants.
“Nothing” you said with a slight sigh and a small smile “So, really, although I had more fun than in any movie I’ve been, I have to say that-” you let out a dramatic sigh “-I’ve missed the taste of waffles in the morning ever since!” you said with a chuckle.
“Well-” Jensen swallowed the last piece of croissant in his mouth “-you could always get some free waffles in the morning if you wanted to” he said simply, coming to sit back next to you.
“How?” you asked with a small frown. You wanted and feared to hear the answer.
“Well, you could always invite me home some evening” he said simply and you frowned more.
“And?” you asked, sure that there was more to that.
“Oh yeah, you know, and in the morning I would make you breakfast, waffles included” he said once again as if it was the most simple things in the world.
“And how do you connect one evening with your making me breakfast in the morning? Not to mention, why would you make me breakfast whatsoever!” you said really confused.
“Well that’s what a boyfriend does” he grinned cheekily.
“Jensen you’re not my boyfriend!” you tried to reason with him.
“Well after the night I would be” he winked and your eyes widened.
‘Whooing’ could be heard from all around, clapping and some laughter.
“Yeah, like hell am I letting you-” you started but he cut you off.
“Oh you will” he winked at you.
“Whatever, keep dreaming” you mumbled and avoided eye contact, opting for looking at the fan to avoid more heat to rise on your cheeks.
“I hope my answer was good enough for you, because now you’re gonna hear things that will surely blow your mind” you pointed at Jensen.
“And no Jensen, I’m not letting you blow out my mind with-” you cleared your throat “You ain’t getting any!” you said strictly and Jensen rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, just my luck. But to answer your question-” he started talking to the fan “-I really enjoyed that movie more than any other. Not only because I had to co-star with (Y/n) but because we actually had lots of fun there. I just guess I would have liked it better if there was some actual action in it” he said.
“It was an action movie. How much more action would you want there to be?” you frowned at him.
“I don’t mean that kind of action” he said with a smirk and you frowned more, looking at him in an expecting way “I mean the kind of action that involves only two people, most of the time male and female. Maybe a bed though it could be done-” he started speaking again but you cut him off.
“Ok we get it!” you exclaimed and everyone chuckled.
“Action with whom?” the fan asked. She seemed like a sweet girl but right now she was surely pulling your leg!
“I think it’s pretty obvious” he motioned to you “I mean, I was really freaking lucky to actually be her boyfriend in the movie but not enough as to get some action from it. Hell, there wasn’t even one complete freaking kiss scene! Just as we were about to share a kiss near the end of the movie a bomb went off nearby and we had to run. Only for me to actually get killed after that.” he said over-dramatically.
“And, believe it or not, I was actually happy that my death scene came because the script said that she would give me a final kiss. Couldn’t wait for that. But of course she had to ruin that too! She just opted for a kiss on the forehead and the worst is that the director didn’t mind it!” he said with a shake of his head.
“So yeah, although the movie was the one I enjoyed more than anything-” he let out a small sigh “-I’m still waiting for that kiss” he looked at you with puppy eyes and a small pout.
“And you surely ain’t getting it. Try as you might.” you said with a smug grin, pushing his face away.
“A guy can keep dreaming” he said with a small shrug.