#and twice! once really very loudly but the other frankly not that quietly either | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elainemorisi · 3 years

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periodically I will remember the two sets of very directly parallel episode plots and I am just... were they actively trying to make the bromance from hell look bad or like what. what were the thoughts. how did you write the same plot twice and make such a nasty, unsympathetic hash of the friendship you were actively trying to push, twice

IT IS! JUST! HOW I gotta assume this is a different symptom of what I am now FIRMLY convinced is the case, namely “WOW your definition of sympathetic and mine do NOT align”, but what IS these writers' definition it is just!!! so????

so like look right. first parallel which is more obvious in that the two episodes are close together. (second parallel is more obvious in terms of literally verbatim lines). first plot goes like such: Julian and Friend suddenly trapped in a life-threatening situation for both themselves and everyone around them. only two options: abandon and so kill everyone else or put full faith in Julian's cleverness, Julian picks door number two Friend picks door number one. When Julian puts his foot down that it will be door two Or Else, Friend We're Supposed To Prefer henceforth FWSTP not only fully ignores that and carries right on toward door number one, but refuses even Julian's offer to let him, FWSTP, actually get out alive, sabotages his work and dooms everyone else. Then follows up by claiming he had no choice and that Julian is the one who should be more sympathetic. Meanwhile Friend We're Not Supposed To Count: makes his argument, heads for the door, and when push in fact comes to shove begins cooperating IMMEDIATELY. And ends by admitting he was wrong without any prompting whatsoever. The fact that one episode had to end well and one badly is insufficient explanation, it’d have been perfectly easy to force Julian to outwit or overpower Garak in OMB, and give Miles reasoning a lot heavier on 'I love you and don't want us to die' and a LOT lighter on the nonsensical space racism (love you AND TRUST OR RESPECT YOU LITERALLY AT ALL).

And that's just wtf enough! AND YET! what do we then do. We ripoff another friendship arc from two seasons ago, down to Friend taking issue with Julian's smug face, only again! one LITERALLY cannot make the sentence a complete insult and the other says it so convincingly that Julian LEAVES. And sure he comes back but there's a pretty large emotional difference between resolving the Traumatized Friend Gets Help plot with a conveniently-timed “literally be interrupted mid-suicide attempt and carefully talked at until you talk yourself down and accept the help everyone has been waving at you the whole time” and “consciously, willfully, with a plausible option (or, arguably, options, plural) to not, not only actually ask for help but reveal closely-held personal secrets in so doing”

#cut for grumpy overinvested analysis lol #I just am so perpetually disgusted about the bromance from hell and also like???#twice! you wrote episodes that asked his friends: do you love trust OR respect Julian literally one of the three will do #and twice! once really very loudly but the other frankly not that quietly either #(it's a fine to good episode conceptually + wrt its other plots it's just the bromance from hell thread I dislike)#one friend's answer is 'not really no' against the other's 'with my literal life if you must know'#and I just????? did they think that was a good friendship? because it really seems like they did think that #like god bless and by all means write fucky ones but I get no vibes that the nastiness is remotely understood by this writing #garashir is wonderfully and hilariously dubious (at best) as a romance #but in terms of actual onscreen friendship? it's like... really quite a good one #and could you make a more generous reading of the BFH #given its immense amount of material yes of course the whole friendship I'm sure youcould #(I'd probably still be skeptical of such a reading but it can be made)#but these two very parallel sets specifically?#fuckin' a man #these dudes truly do think that if One Man says a relationship exists then obviously it does what more proof do you need #(the One in the BFH being Julian if that's not clear)#the sympathy-definition conviction being borne out at the moment primarily by the sinking realization #that these fuckers not only seem to have no good answer to the Odo character assassination they performed at the start of season six #I'm not even sure they plan to attempt to give a bad one en route to what is truly the CROWNING jewel in the #'Trek writers cannot write the obviously well-founded romance that is right in front of them to SAVE their LIVES' collection #Kira/Odo WOULD have worked! for ages! for ages they DID have the ingredients #but no! truly they had to take their tray of perfectly lovely ingredients and take a dump on it and THEN attempt to prepare the recipe! wow!#you have to admire that degree of commitment to being bad at writing the relationships you mean to write #ds9 tag

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dapandapod · 3 years

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Jaskier needs a hug

Honestly, @the-glorious-half-pints-twin, this started out as your prompt and morphed into something else. Im intending to write your prompt more properly because it’s super cute ang got Soft Potential that I crave.

But this is not what brain did today, so this is looooooosely based on your prompt, with another on it’s way.

In the mean time, please have goofy random cuddles with a Dramatic Jaskier and Geralt with.. kind of a sense of humor?

Anyway, please enjoy! On Aoe here!

~~*~~

It’s been weeks. Months. Years.

Yes, Jaskier is dramatic, what do you want?! Point is, Jaskier needs a hug. Just a hug. Arms around him, or his arms around somewhere else. He isn’t fuzzy, but frankly, there isn’t too much to hug around these parts.

All the good ladies are taken (it’s not much of a problem but Geralt uses that unhappy frown on him for days if he goes for it), most of the men lack most of their teeth (not really required for hugging, but that is usually not their only problem) and in general, most people he met wanted hugs to go somewhere behind closed doors.

Not that Jaskier minds, but he really, really just wants a hug.

What’s left in options is various monsters, trees, Roach and that one Witcher that accompanies her. Yes, he is talking about Geralt, keep up.

Monsters, depending on the kind, would probably give him a great hug. Only once though, because he would likely die from it. To be honest, the trees weren't so bad. The trick is to choose correctly, and when Geralt comes looking for him he claims he is lost. It worked twice, after that Geralt tied a rope around his middle to keep him from straying. If he tries to hug Roach he will meet one out of two outcomes. If not both.

Roach will bite him. Or Geralt will bite him.

And that likely applies if Jaskier actually would work up the nerve to actually try to hug that giant frown of a man.

So yes, Jaskier is grumpy, Jaskier is dramatic, and Jaskier wallows in these two moods and expresses it like an artform. Drapes it around his being like a fashionable cape. Swirls it around himself as he turns, dazzling all around him with grump and drama.

He really doesn’t expect Geralt to pick up the root of the problem. That might not even be what is going in, but three days into moping (because let’s be honest, that’s what this is) Geralt tires of the entire thing.

They are watering Roach just a little way off the main road. Jaskier is sighing loudly, kicking at the leaves and high grass and anything that happens to stick up.

He still has the rope around the middle, courtesy of his latest try to hug a tree, and suddenly there is a tug.

“Stop.”

Tug.

“Quit it.”

Tug tug.

“Fucking… What?? Geralt??” Jaskier turns around, all flare, to give Geralt a taste of that glare he may or may not try to be copying from said witcher.

There is this really tacky dance move Jaskier has seen at very very late night festivals. When one person refuse to dance, and the other pretends to pull at a rope to bring them to the dancefloor.

Picture this, but nobody is dancing and there is actually a rope.

Geralt is pulling Jaskier closer, looking all serious and stone faced and how else you wish to describe that dumb dumb face of his.

“What are you- Why?! What are you doing?” Jaskier doesn’t struggle, but he doesn’t really cooperate either. Just like that dance move he ends up being dragged over to Geralt.

They stand only an arms width away from each other, Roach moved from the creek to graze at the grass, ignoring them completely.

Jaskiers pulse speeds up. Last time Geralt asked him to come closer and Jaskier blindly complied, he earned himself a punch in the gut. On the other hand, this time Geralt physically pulled him closer.

Should he...possibly.. maybe try to hug Geralt?

Before he gets the chance to try, Geralt grabs his shoulders with both hands and looks at him gravely.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“You stink.”

And toss him straight into the creek.

It’s not very deep, but it’s enough to completely soak him as he falls face first. He swallows one big mouthful of muddy water, he spits and coughs with loud protests and moaning.

“THIS IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME SMELL BETTER?! ARE YOU DAFT?!”

He rises from the creek like a water hag, water dripping from all of his expensive clothes. He marches straight up to Geralt, heart set on revenge.

Yeah, Geralt weighs a ton. Have you seen the guy? He is huge, and even if he isn’t traveling in his armor it is impossible to get a good grip. Geralt is entirely too good at steering off attacks.

Fine.

Jaskier doesn’t fear death.

So he marches straight back into that creek.

Falls into it, hugs it if you will, and turns around again all soaking wet.

Take aim.

Launch.

And throws himself at Geralt. Not in the intent of trying to push Geralt in the water, but with the intent to bring as much water on Geralt as he can. Like a sponge.

Either Geralt did not anticipate this course of action, or he accepted it. Kind of.

There is some slapping and flailing but then Jaskier presses himself against Geralt's side, wrapping his arms around his chest and clenching that stupid (and STINKY, Geralt! Take a bath!!) tunic and soaking it as best he can.

“Hah!” Jaskier is so pleased with himself, he throws a leg around Geralt and dries himself off like a dog on grass, rubbing his hair and face against Geralt's shoulder.

So it takes him a moment to realize that Geralt is laughing.

He stops, looks up in wonder. No, not looking, staring. Geralt is laughing, throwing his head back that gives him that adorable little double chin.

Jaskier doesn’t let go.

Of course not. This is way better than hugging a tree.

“Done moping now? Idiot.” Geralt puts a hand on his forehead and shoves him off. Jaskier is too busy staring at that smile to struggle. There are wet patches on his tunic so Geralt takes it off in a smooth motion.

“What do you say, we make camp here for today? Wash our clothes and clean up? I'm sure they will put away the pitchforks in the village if we don’t announce ourselves by smelling. ...Uh. Earth to Jaskier? Hellooo?”

Jaskier is not done staring. Smiles and bare chest will do that to a man. But he closes his mouth at least, so that is an improvement.

It takes a few minutes to get his brain functions back.

During that time Geralt takes off Roaches gear and she goes a bit further away to find more tasty things to eat.

They actually get around to bathe and clean their clothes. They bask in the warm sun, laying in the grass and just enjoy the nature around them and each other's company.

Jaskier seeking revenge probably doesn’t count as a hug, but he will take it. It feels a bit better and he is ready to hang the Cloak of Dramatics on the rack for a while and just enjoy the moment.

But again, Geralt surprises him.

As they prepare for settle in for the night, rolling out their bedrolls (with a respectable distance, thank you very much) Geralt sits against a tree and leans back.

Again, Geralt tugs him closer. This time by the tunic that he got to borrow, pulling him straight down between Geralt's knees and capturing him in a bear hug.

Two hugs. In one day.

“Uh… Geralt?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare to move, not daring to wrap his arms around the witcher. They are chest to chest, Geralt holding him in an iron grip.

“Yes?” Geralt mutters, holding him just a little closer.

“Are you.. Why are you hugging me?”

It feels like his chest is swelling three sizes, a tingling sensation spreading through his limbs, closely followed by a warmth.

“I'm not.”

It’s Jaskiers time to chuckle.

“Oh really?”

“Mmhm.”

Geralts offers up absolutely nothing, but Jaskier now dares to let his arms circle around Geralt's shoulder with a soft sigh. Not the restless, dramatic and grumpy kind that he did before, but a content exhale.

“I really needed this.” Jaskier admits to Geralt's shoulder There is no way he is telling Geralt, he has been behaving really badly today.

“No shit. I absolutely didn’t notice you hugging everything in your immediate vicinity.” Geralt drawls sarcastically.

Geralt's warm, callused hand finds its way under Jaskiers tunic. Little electric sparks climbing up his spine and he buries his head in Geralt's neck.

Up until this very point, this could very much be something one friend does for another.

Still could be.

But also not.

And if there is one thing Jaskier wouldn’t mind, it’s that.

Only, he is afraid it will go away if he points it out.

Jaskier has seen it one too many times before.

And Geralt is the one person he does not wish to lose. His heart is beating hard, with every breath he takes in the (now much better) smell of his friend, breathing him in deep.

“Are you sniffing me?” Shit.

“No.” Jaskier says and yelps when Geralt pinches his side.

“Fine, fucking… yes. So what. You smell good.”

Geralt falls weirdly quiet and Jaskier has time to have a small internat panic attack and prepare to be shoved away.

“You can sniff me if you want.” Geralt says quietly.

They are stock still in each other's arms. It’s an odd thing to do, an odd thing to say. Jaskier finally caves and pushes his face a little deeper in the crook of Geralt's neck.

Geralt's hands climb higher over Jaskiers' back, and he leans his head against Jaskiers.

“You smell good too.” Jaskier almost dies. “Well. Now you do. Before the bath, not so much.”

“Fuck you.” Jaskier chuckles.

“Nah. Would be real awkward in the morning.” Geralt says, and again they both freeze. Yeah, this is one weird night.

They don’t say anything more after this. Just sits there under the tree, listening to the evening birds and Roachs munching in the distance.

And if they pulled their bedrolls closer together, and slept with their legs tangled, and woke up too warm curled together, that is just what friends do for each other when you feel lonely.

Probably not.

But that is not a conversation they are ready to have.

For now, there are only hugs.

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wordsablaze · 3 years

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13~ masked by my pride

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: sorry it’s been a month but guess which dorks tried to borrow the braincell from scorpion ??

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @havenoffandoms @lasaga666 @mayastormborn @alllthequeenshorses

previous chapter

“You’re Jaskier the bard, aren’t you?” someone asks as soon as they get to Piana.

Jaskier doesn’t miss a beat before he nods, smiling politely. “That would be me, yes, lucky for you. Who’s asking?”

Eskel moves to go stable Scorpion but even as the stranger starts talking, Jaskier squeezes and tugs on Eskel’s hand just enough to stop him from going anywhere. He could easily pull out of the bard’s hold but he finds that he doesn’t want to so he just waits, biting back his smile lest he scares the stranger off.

There is no logical reason - or any other kind of reason, for that matter - as to why he’s become addicted to the feel of the bard’s fingers interlaced with his own and yet, he’s already resigned himself to that fate. And he’s not complaining.

“-nd should I report back a confirmation?” the man asks.

“Of course, it would be rude of me to refuse such a gracious offer,” Jaskier replies smoothly, and Eskel wishes he hadn’t zoned out of the conversation.

It’s not until they’re seated in the corner of a tavern that Jaskier relaxes, leaning into Eskel’s shoulder and slumping in his seat.

“Is something wrong?” Eskel asks, now trying to hold himself as still as possible so he doesn’t jostle Jaskier; he’s used to blending into the background but this feels different, like something precious.

“Of course not,” Jaskier replies immediately and, much to Eskel’s dismay, straightens up and pulls himself to his feet.

Eskel definitely does not sound at all forlorn as he asks, “Where are you going?”

Jaskier cocks his head to the right and holds his lute up with a small smirk. “We’re in a tavern, darling, and I’m a bard. The situation speaks for itself, I think.”

He’s bounding towards the man who looks like he’s in charge before Eskel can point out that he should probably take care of his own stomach before everyone else’s ears, but he’s not sure if that’s specifically a Jaskier thing or a general bard thing so he lets it go for the moment.

Obviously, he regrets it when Jaskier starts singing about Eskel heroically saving the continent from sirens, but he thinks even that’s growing on him already. And either way, watching Jaskier move through a room is a rewarding experience in itself, not that he’s incapable of taking his eyes off the bard, what an absurd situation that would be.

“Sing the other one! With the other witcher!”

Jaskier pauses, having just finished a song about pirates or something, and his eyes flicker to Eskel before he nods, launching into toss a coin with an easy smile. Eskel tries not to dwell on wanting to punch the man who’d requested the song - it has benefited them all, after all - and instead wonders how long it’ll take for Lambert to complain he’s being left out.

The second time Jaskier leans into Eskel’s shoulder is almost equally as precious. “How long before you need to set off again?” he asks as he tucks his lute back into its case.

Eskel frowns, pushing one of the two drinks that’d been set down on their table towards him. “We’ve been travelling all day, Jaskier.”

Jaskier nods but doesn’t move, clearing his throat after taking several large gulps and wincing. “You said you had somewhere to be.”

“There’s no hurry,” Eskel says, and he’s not even lying just to be polite; his path is generally north towards the keep but there’s still far too much time before winter sets in to be hurrying. Besides, he has little motivation for cold treks when he can feel Jaskier’s warm breath brushing against him.

“Well, in that case: fish.”

It takes Eskel a moment to realise that’s not some sort of cursing and instead a reference to food, which Jaskier immediately goes to find, leaving Eskel clutching a lute. It’s quite frankly just ridiculous how many times Jaskier gets away with slipping off somewhere in such a short space of time.

“Smells nice,” Eskel says honestly as Jaskier returns with two plates.

The bard smirks at him. “What, me or the fish?”

That takes Eskel a second to recover from. He shrugs. “Good point, could be either.”

Jaskier elbows him in faux offence as he settles yet again, but neither of them say anything more until their plates are empty. Not even two seconds pass before Jaskier yawns so hard that his eyes water.

Eskel laughs quietly. “We should head to the inn.”

“Oh but that would require moving,” Jaskier complains.

It was probably meant to be a humorous comment but Eskel can’t help frowning, wondering why Jaskier hadn’t asked for another break or something during their journey if he’d been getting so tired, not to mention why he’d decided performing was a good idea if he was ready to fall asleep.

“Stop that or I’ll actually write a ballad about the frowning witcher’s adventures,” Jaskier grumbles, poking his arm.

Eskel’s frown fades naturally as he smiles. “I thought you said the metaphors would be too hard?”

At that, Jaskier sits up and squints at him for a moment. “So you were listening after all, then. Is that a challenge, darling?”

“Maybe when your eyes aren’t drooping,” Eskel suggests, very much hoping Jaskier forgets about the whole conversation by tomorrow.

“My eyes are not drooping!” Jaskier argues, but the fact that he’s slumped against Eskel again doesn’t seem to do him any favours.

Eskel hums. “As you say, bardling.”

Jaskier pulls himself upright to prove his point, his hands on his hips as he raises an eyebrow. “See?”

Grabbing Jaskier’s lute as he stands, Eskel nods. “I see. Shall we head to the inn then?”

Jaskier’s mouth drops open as he glances between their now empty seats and Eskel. “You- Did you just- Did you just trick me into…?”

Eskel snorts, neither denying nor confirming the accusation. Thankfully, the inn isn’t far and they manage to get there with no problems, though that’s possibly because their hands are linked so even if Jaskier had started to wobble, nothing major could have happened anyway.

“We humbly request one of your fine rooms, if you will!” Jaskier beams at the innkeeper, a woman who looks a little sceptical at first but quickly softens as she looks over them properly.

“Just the one?” She asks.

Jaskier nods emphatically. “Just the one! No need to wear out the bedrolls, right?” he asks, more for Eskel’s benefit than the innkeeper’s, really.

“Right... Up the stairs, third door on the right,” the innkeeper says, handing him the key and nodding at Eskel with a hint of a smile, to which he nods back gratefully.

Jaskier pulls him along and yawns loudly as they find their room, finally letting go of his hand and flopping back onto the bed with his arms spread out. He’s only managed another quieter yawn by the time Eskel gets himself out of his armour and somehow, that’s equally as sad as it is endearing.

“Jaskier, you need to take your boots off at least,” Eskel whispers, trying his best not to laugh.

Jaskier looks up at him as if he’s just declared that lutes are outlawed. “Are you sure?”

Praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way, Eskel sighs and goes to tug Jaskier’s boots off himself. He tenses up initially but when he realises what’s happening, he just laughs and awkwardly shrugs his doublet off to contribute.

“If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could’ve just asked,” he drawls, but then promptly yawns again.

“Unfortunately, I don’t speak yawn,” Eskel replies, and this time he does laugh, nudging Jaskier so they can both settle properly.

Jaskier vaguely kicks at him in response - assaulting only the air, of course - before Eskel feels arms around him. It takes a moment to relax his muscles and by the time he’s comfortable with the idea of Jaskier once again acting as a very strange but far from unpleasant blanket of sorts, said bard has already drifted off. Surprisingly, he finds himself doing the same.

“Eskel?”

He jolts awake immediately, his grip instinctively tightening on his weapon. Except it’s not a weapon he’s holding, it’s someone’s waist. Jaskier gasps sharply and Eskel all but flings himself out of the bed, leaning heavily on the closest wall as he clenches his fists and breathes slowly.

“Alright so perhaps waking you up with your name isn’t such a good idea,” Jaskier says eventually.

“I’m usually a light sleeper,” Eskel replies, beyond relieved that Jaskier seems to be amused rather than scared - he’s not sure what he’d do if Jaskier were to be scared of him.

Jaskier nods. “Right. Except you weren’t just then. Well, no matter, but if I don’t get to the privy in the next two minutes, we definitely will have a matter.”

Eskel doesn’t realise he’s kind of laughing until their room door swings shut. And even though Jaskier had taken absolutely no offence, he can’t help but feel embarrassed. So much so that he makes sure to slip out of their room just as Jaskier returns, freshening up before heading to the stables instead of opting for breakfast.

“Hey, girl,” he mumbles to Scorpion, who all but huffs impatiently when she finds his hands to be empty. “Sorry, I was in a rush,” he adds.

He opens his mouth to explain but she seems to be having none of it, stomping on his feet hard enough for it to hurt. He’s only just able to sidestep to avoid her doing the same thing twice, cursing under his breath. “You don’t need to break my toes to stop us from leaving,” he mutters angrily.

“You were leaving?”

Oh no.

Eskel turns on the spot even as the air fills with smoke and ash. Not literally of course, but it may as well be with how horribly strong the scent of distress is.

“Jaskier, I was just-” Eskel starts.

Jaskier shakes his head, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want to- Could you just answer the question? Please? Were you leaving?”

“No,” Eskel replies immediately. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t do that. And nor would Scorpion, it seems.”

Warm, fresh bread dilutes the smoky distress in the air and Eskel sighs with relief; apparently Jaskier believes him.

“Is everything okay?” Jaskier asks eventually, as if the answer to that doesn’t depend on his own emotions rather than whatever Eskel is thinking.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Eskel says honestly, “I just needed a minute.”

Jaskier nods. “I can give you a whole day, actually. How does meeting back at the inn tonight sound? Yes? Great, see you then!”

For all the good that enhanced senses do, Eskel wishes they came with enhanced processing because he’s getting tired of being too slow to register the bard’s words before it’s almost too late. Almost.

“Jaskier, wait!”

He’s not fast enough to stop Jaskier leaving the stables but thankfully the bard doesn’t disappear down some alley this time and he manages to end up in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. When Jaskier doesn’t say anything, biting his lip, Eskel sighs. “I don’t know what you’re thinking but it’s probably wrong. I simply… felt bad.”

“For what?” Jaskier asks softly, frowning.

Eskel clears his throat. “For this morning.”

Jaskier’s frown deepens. “What happened this morning? Did you break something or-” he gasps, “-did you hurt my lute?”

Eskel shakes his head, thoroughly confused. “Of course not! I- Why would I do that?”

With a shrug, Jaskier pinches the bridge of his nose. “What are you all guilty about then? We’ve not even been awake for an hour yet, what else could you possibly have done?”

“When you woke me up, I- I thought I might’ve hurt you?”

Jaskier blinks. And blinks again. He opens his mouth to say something only to close it again, then laughs. “Seriously? Oh, darling, that was nothing! It felt like getting hugged by an over-enthusiastic child, far from painful and definitely not something to fret your handsome self over!”

Eskel sighs, inwardly cursing himself for somehow having acted strangely enough to be compared to an over-enthusiastic child, and in an attempt to stop himself from genuinely attempting to flee, focuses back on something else that had bothered him.

“What did you mean by being able to give me a day?” he asks.

Jaskier offers him a sheepish smile. “That man yesterday? Well, I may have promised the Alderman I’d play for him again and then uh, forgotten? Turns out he didn’t forget and he’s ever so nicely offering to overlook the fact that it’s been several years if I perform today. Nothing important but it happens to be someone or the other’s name day and I usually attend those alone so…”

Oh. Of course very few people would want a witcher at their name day and even if they did, they wouldn’t want him; it’s not like scaring the children is ever part of the event.

“Well, I would hate to interfere,” he says after a pause.

Jaskier frowns again, seemingly considering something but only nodding in response. “Yes, there’s really no need. I’ll be done with it all by dinner and if you wouldn’t mind staying another night, we can set off tomorrow?”

Eskel smiles. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Marvellous! Until then, my dear witcher!” Jaskier smiles brightly and this time, does slip past him, fleetingly squeezing his hand as he goes.

Never has he had such a bewildering conversation before breakfast. He thinks he can maybe understand why Geralt had initially seemed averse to travelling with a bard but no, he still cannot comprehend how all the warmth and kindness wouldn’t be seen as worth any amount of confusion.

He appears to have been blindsided by said warmth and kindness though, because it takes him a stupidly long time to remember that he’s capable of spending the day doing something other than just waiting for Jaskier. Capable and very much required to, in fact.

It seems he’s spending his day with the local drowner then.

i'm beginning to suspect this fic is merely a myriad of clichés hiding in a trenchcoat but we're too far in to question it,,, my utmost appreciation to anyone who's somehow still sticking around <333

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

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yun-shuten · 6 years

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Narcolepsy Pt. 4

Summary: I can’t believe Henry killed Sammy

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

Sammy was having a perfectly fine day for once since the day he started working for Joey Drew Studio.

First off, he woke up on time to eat breakfast without needing to rush.

Then there was no traffic in the road, so he arrived to work on time.

When he came to work, he discovered that the ink pipe in his office didn’t burst over his hard-written works for once.

Then there were the other musicians who didn’t screw up as often during their rehearsal, and thus they didn’t waste time on silly mistakes.

His day got better when Wally didn’t lose his keys again, and go asking around if anyone had seen his key

Finally, the best of all, nobody bothered Sammy all day.

The lack of distractions gave Sammy all the beloved ( and well needed ) time to finish his work that was needed for the upcoming Bendy cartoon episode, and frankly Sammy was pleased that he wouldn’t have to stress over the deadlines again.

Needless to say, Sammy was having a very good day.

Until he tripped over the stairs on his way to Joey’s office. Bundles of sheet music in his arms and all of them flying into the air as the songwriter loudly swore in his descent down the stairs.

---

“You know, I’m surprised Henry hasn’t passed out on his desk today yet.” Jack remarked as he stared at Henry’s desk which was filled with stacks of drawings, “You’d think that with his narcolepsy that he’d fall asleep already.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that just yet.” Thomas replied, leaning back on the chair he was sitting on, “Knowin’ that sleepyhead? He’s probably sleeping somewhere else in the studio right now, waiting until someone finds him again.”

“Right now?” Jack rose a brow at the janitor, “But he just left for his lunch break.”

“Obviously you haven’t seen how fast he can fall asleep.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “I bet you one of Joey’s biscuit that someone’s already tripped over him.”

“Deal.”

---

Shawn stared down at the staircase when he had heard someone swearing loudly.

Funnily enough, it sounded like Sammy Lawrence.

Then he glanced back at the body on the floor.

“You couldn’t have picked a better place to fall asleep?” He muttered mostly to himself as the person in front of him was far beyond the point of unconsciousness to hear him.

“Alright Henry, let’s get you to the couch,” Shawn said as he wrapped his arms under the sleeping animator, “Before someone trips over you and falls down the stairs.”

---

If people called Joey creepy, then Henry was twice creepier than Joey whenever he was lying still on the couch.

People would pass by the employee break room and see Henry watching them without blinking until they left. Even Wally didn’t remain for long as he moped the floor as fast he could, and left once he was done, muttering about Henry’s blank stares being terrifying.

Henry was still on the couch when Norman walked inside and noticed Henry being wide awake.

“You’re up?” Norman asked.

Henry said nothing, instead opting to watch Norman.

Norman frowned at the animator’s silence and approached the couch.

Neither of the two said a word, instead they stared at each other dead in the eye.

Eventually there was a flash of recognition in Norman’s eye as his mind came to a conclusion.

“Is this the sleep paralysis you were telling us about before?” Norman asked, “Look up if it’s a yes.”

Henry’s eyes moved up.

“I’ll stay with you until it wears off then.” The projectionist said, sitting down in front of the couch.

Henry did his best to convey his appreciation through his eyes.

---

Henry concluded that sleep paralysis sucked.

Falling asleep at any time without so much of a warning?

That’s okay, he can deal with that. He just has to work harder while he’s awake to compensate for the time lost, and Joey doesn’t mind that.

Wake up on the studio floor with a few developing bruises that comes from collapsing?

Yeah, no problem. They have an infirmary for a reason and Henry is well acquainted with the first aids there by now.

Waking up and not being able to move anything at all except your eyes though?

It was forcing him through boredom that seemed to stretch on forever. There was nothing that Henry could do to distract him, except maybe imagine ideas for a bit but that would get boring very quickly.

He couldn’t really talk either, so it wasn’t like he could hold a conversation with someone to pass the time, much less start one.

So, all he does is watch people in the end.

Which is really boring too.

It was a good thing that Norman found him. He had set up a projector in the break room and moved the couch Henry was on so the animator could see the screen. Now they were watching some of the Bendy cartoon episodes until the sleep paralysis wore off.

Norman had always been a bright man and Henry found himself appreciating the projectionist all the more.

---

Wally looked up at the stair case before moving his gaze down to the body of Sammy Lawrence.

There was a sizable bump swelling on the musician’s head and if Wally hadn’t known any better, he’d think that Sammy was dead from falling down the stairs.

Which was starting to sound pretty morbid now that he thought about it.

The janitor curiously brushed a hand against Sammy’s head and inspected his fingers. Only the tip was slick with blood.

Good thing Wally remembered where the first aid kit was stashed on this floor.

Hopefully Sammy wasn’t dead by the time he got back.

---

The time of the sacrifice for his Lord was nigh.

The wandering sheep had arrived in the halls where he, his Lord’s Prophet, roamed.

Sammy watched from atop his balcony as the man wandered into his sanctuary, presumably to use the valve that was hiding within.

He observed in glee as the man successfully held off the horde of searchers that had come to test his sacrifice, gaining only a few wounds that weren’t too serious.

This man would be the perfect sacrifice to appease for his Lord Bendy.

Perhaps even enough that the Lord would grant his prophet his desired freedom from the inky abyss.

The sheep had wandered into the infirmary which the prophet found no issues with.

He could not have the sacrifice being damaged too badly from his scuffle with the searchers – he wouldn’t dare to offer a broken object to his Lord.

It was outrageous, scandalous, and outright blasphemous.

What kind of prophet would he be if he dared to serve that to his Lord?

‘However,’ Sammy thought with growing irritation, ‘The sheep has been inside for too long.’

Time had long lost its meaning to the Prophet, with the timeless state that the studio was trapped in and his admittedly spotty memory. The only way one could tell the time was to check the clocks scattered throughout the studio but there were too many that Sammy didn’t know where they were.

Even if he did know, he didn’t recall where he’d seen them.

“Sheep, sheep, where are you?” He hummed to himself quietly as he made his way to the infirmary, hopefully to run into the wandering sheep.

He had not expected it to happen literally when his feet caught onto something, and his face was quick to meet the floorboard.

He had also not his head to hit the wall with a solid thud.

---

Henry woke up with the feeling of something heavy over him.

His suspicion was confirmed when he registered a body covered in ink lying atop of his back and boy, did Henry did his best not to shriek in panic.

Because it wasn’t every day that you woke up on the floor of the hellish studio that you used to work in and also had someone’s body over you.

The stranger was heavy too and that did not help Henry at all, especially with how small he was in comparison to the stranger.

Henry grunted as he pushed and wiggled his way out from under the inky body and let out a relieved sigh once he was free.

The former animator stared down at the person who had somehow collapsed over him and experimentally poked him with his toe.

There was a small groan from the body which made Henry back out of the infirmary to down the stairs.

Nope.

Henry was not going to stick around and wait for this ambiguously human male to wake up.

Absolutely not.

#Noot's fanfiction #bendy and the ink machine #batim #batim henry #batim sammy #jack fain #Shawn Flynn #norman polk #thomas connor

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soldrawss · 7 years

Photo

Percy blinked once. Twice. Three times for good measure.

"W-what?" Was the smartest thing his brain could supply under the circumstances. Because really, what else do you say to an accusation like that?

"You. Left. Me." Annabeth choked again through gritted teeth, clenching her hands tightly to her chest and holy crap she was crying. That was the first thing his malfunctioning mind registered. Annabeth was crying and she was yelling at him about something and she looked so scared and hurt and what on earth was she talking abou-

"You think I left you?" Percy asked slowly, connecting some invisible dots inside his mind.

"I don't think anything. You did! You left me! You left me with those Raiders and- ARGH! I can't believe I trusted you and-"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Percy said, putting his hands up defensively, daring to take a few careful steps towards Annabeth, who only retreated every step he advanced. "Annabeth, what are you talking about? I didn't leave you-"

"Yes you did! You did, you absolute jerk! God! I can't believe-"

"Annabeth,"

"-that I thought I could trust you! I let my guard down for one second, confident that you wouldn't betray me-"

"Annabeth!"

"-but oh, fool me once, right? I should have known better than to let it happen again, I should have known, but I thought you-I thought you would be different and-ACK, STUPID! I'm so stupid for hoping otherwise. So stupid for thinking that I could trust you-"

"Annabeth!"

He didn't mean to back her into a wall, or to shout so loudly, but it worked long enough to snap her out of her hysterical breakdown. He held her shaking arms secure enough to be able to hold her up if need be, and stared at her puffy grey eyes, the tears were now cascading down her cheeks. Her breathing was hitched and rigid, and Percy felt his stomach drop to the floor at the sight of her.

"Ok, first of all, breathe. You're having an anxiety attack, just, breathe. Please," Percy cooed in his softest voice, trying to calm down Annabeth as best he could. But in all honesty, he was having a hard enough time trying to calm himself.

His gut twisted uncomfortably. They'd been traveling together for a month now, practically spending every waking moment with each other trying to survive. You get to know someone pretty well when you're both stuck in an apocalyptic setting trying to stay alive. But he never thought, it never even occurred to him, that Annabeth could break down like this. That the headstrong, resilient, stubborn and wickedly smart Annabeth could cry like it was the end of the world all over again.

Except this time, it was his fault.

"Annabeth, I didn't leave you," Percy started off again once Annabeth's breathing had regulated and it looked like she wasn’t about to sock him in the stomach for touching her. "I would never- could never leave you."

His mind briefly wandered to the events from earlier, because, truth be told, he did leave her. But it was only for a second and that was never meant to be a lasting thing.

They had been cornered by a small gang of Raiders. Only about eight of them, which wasn't huge by any standards, but they still outnumbered him. How they had even snuck up on them without Percy noticing, he'd never know. But they did, and Percy was quickly trying to rack his mind around how to get Stella the heck out of there.

He had a bat with nails in it. Annabeth had a sharp dagger. They both had Stella cowering behind them. Really, they weren't the most threatening bunch.

But the Raiders didn't seem very tough either. It was an all-male gang, which wasn't uncommon but it was still unsettling. They were a scraggly looking bunch, probably the runts of the litter of other larger and more intimidating Raider groups. All they had between them were a few metal poles and bloody fists.

We could take them, Percy had decided, but not with Stella around and in immediate danger. He needed a quick out. Just long enough so that he could hide Stella away for just a second.

The out came with a price.

Annabeth, for their freedom.

Of course, he hated the suggestion as soon as the bastards offered it. There were no women in their group. So of course, they'd think Annabeth was the perfect 'prize' to bet over. It made Percy sick to even think about it. But it had sparked another plan and frankly, in the moment, Percy couldn't think of another option.

So he agreed, only if they could catch her. He quickly told a horrified Annabeth to run and booked it in the opposite direction, Estelle thrown over his shoulder.

He knew he'd have no trouble finding Annabeth again once they separated, and he knew that the Raiders wouldn't hurt her even if they did capture her before Percy could hide away Stella. He found an old black minivan with all of the windows still intact and with the keys still in the ignition. He told Stella to wait quietly for him to return, ‘hide under the seats and don't move a muscle’, locked the car behind him, and hauled ass back towards the sounds of shouting and ugly grunts.

Thankfully, they led him right back to Annabeth. She had managed to knock out two of them, but they had quickly surrounded her, Annabeth swinging around her knife widely in a protective ring around her, daring them to take a chance forward. Obviously, none of them did.

Which was just fine with Percy, because it gave him the chance to sneak up on them and take a few out. They fought for what felt like half an hour. Finally, Annabeth and him managed to knock them all out and get away, Percy not hesitating to grab Annabeth's wrists and drag her along behind him as he led her back towards the black mini-van. Stella, thank God, was totally and completely unharmed, which was better than what Percy and Annabeth had to show for the encounter.

But they were ok. The few scratches and cuts they got in the quarrel were nothing compared to what it could have been. They escaped with only a few words spoken between them, and Percy (dumbly) just chalked it up to being a bit shaken by the whole thing.

Obviously, looking back on it, it wasn't the best thing to do in the slightest. But he never intended to leave, leave Annabeth. Never intended to leave like he was never going to come back for her. Because of course he was going to come back for her. The fact that she even thought so, that she was so afraid that he would actually even consider abandoning her, left an awful taste in his mouth that he felt he was never going to get rid of.

"I'm sorry. Listen, I'm so sorry if it seemed like I'd just run out on you. But I wouldn't. Annabeth, honest to God, you gotta know that I would never abandon you," he didn't realize his hold on her arms lesson as he slowly let them drop to her hands, squeezing them gently. "And you're right, that was such a jerk move, I'm sorry I did that. I promise I'll never do something like that ever again."

And it was true. He really did feel awful about it, because she had a right to be mad and feel hurt. In her eyes, he just upped and left her, a seventeen-year-old girl, to fend for herself against eight grown men while her only chance of escaping just bailed on her. Percy was angry at himself for the douche move.

"But Annabeth, I trust you more than anyone on this planet. I knew you'd be fine long enough for me find a safe place for Stella. You're so amazing and prepared and just so goddamn smart, I knew you'd find a way to be safe until I could come back, but that’s no excuse. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel like you couldn't trust me and I shouldn't have just expected you to understand my plan at the time, and yeah, again. Jerk move. But I really do trust you." Her breathing had regulated out, thank God, and for the time being, it seemed like she had stopped crying so Percy guessed this would have been the best place to stop monologuing.

He dared to let go of one of her hands, and gently placed a thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear streak. "I need you. I really can’t do anything right without you. So I'll do whatever it takes to get you to trust me again."

They stayed that way for awhile, just taking in each other's presence. Percy slowly started to panic as he came to terms with that fact that his hand was still palming Annabeth's cheek and the fact that she hadn't slapped it away meant that she was either really, really pissed at him or-

"Do you... do you really mean that. You really wouldn't have left me?" And Percy tried not let the crack in her voice break his heart as he gave her a soft smile.

"I mean, I didn't, did I?" He tried to joke, then cleared his throat because come on Percy, now was not the time for a sense humor. "No. Not for a heartbeat."

And when she sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his hand, Percy just about felt his heart palpitate to almost dangerous speeds.

"Thanks," was all she said as she closed the distance between them, pulling him into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head just under his chin. Percy prayed to all the gods of every religion that she couldn't hear his racing heart through his chest as he slowly lowered his awkward arms around her and held her back.

They stood there for what felt like hours. There breathing slowly matching each other's paces. Percy tried to keep his mind off the fact that a very pretty girl was hugging him and how she just seemed to fit perfectly in his arms when Annabeth interrupted their rapport.

"I'm... I'm sorry for all those things I said. I was just, scared. And angry. And I just thought you’d... I'm sorry." She sighed again. And Percy shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see him do it.

"No. No, don't be. You had every right to be mad and it was like you said, I-."

Suddenly, Percy's once racing heartbeat practically stopped as a recalled what she had said earlier. Grabbing her shoulders and pulling them apart, Percy looked at her hard. Dread and concern weighing heavily on his chest.

"Wait. What did you mean by 'let it happen again'?" Percy asked, and the look on her face sent a cold shiver through his fingers where they connected to her shoulders. "Annabeth, did something happen before we met?"

She immediately looked at the ground, a flash of panic washed over her face, like just remembering the incident was as painful as sticking your hand in a fire. She leaned backwards, out of Percy's reach (regrettably so because after seeing that look, Percy didn't want her farther from arm's length again) until her back hit the wall. She slid down it until she was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees that she pulled close to her chest. Percy didn't hesitate to sit next to her.

"It was right after the virus boom," she said after a long pause of just them sitting together in silence. "After my dad got infected and died, I knew I had to prepare myself for the worst to come. I had to get back to the camp. I knew it would be safe there. We knew it would be safe. Luke and I."

Percy had remembered her mentioning Luke a few times before, just in conversations they had to pass the time during their long drives when it was actually safe to drive between towns. He was always curious about who the guy was or what he meant to Annabeth, but he didn't press the matter. It never seemed like Annabeth liked talking about him for long. Percy just assumed it was because he had died in some horrible fashion.

"Since neither of us was infected, we thought the best thing to do was to travel together. Go back to the camp that we both went to over the summers when our dads were too busy with work. Luke was my childhood friend. We did almost everything together. I'd known him practically my whole life. He was... he was my best friend." Percy didn't like the pause she took as she admitted that, or the fact that her nails had begun digging into her arms so hard the tips were turning white.

Percy didn't bother stopping himself from grabbing her hand nearest him and holding it. If this was going to be painful, Percy rather her hurt him than herself by remembering it. She didn't seem to acknowledge it, which Percy was thankful for, but she didn't let go either. And every time she squeezed his hand, he squeezed back.

"After a few days of traveling, we barely saw or ran into anyone. Just a few zombies, here and there, but nothing Luke couldn't handle. Which, honestly, should have set off alarm bells in my head, cause California is huge, but all I could think of was just how easy this was and how safe Luke made it." She paused again, this time squeezing Percy's hand so tightly that he'd have imprints of her fingerprints on his skin for the rest of his life. If that were the case, Percy could live with the pain. "But then, one day, we ran into them."

"Them?" Percy propped, only to the response of Annabeth's face frowning darkly and he immediately wished he hadn't asked it at all.

"The Crooked Ones."

This time it was Percy's turn to frown, almost mirroring Annabeth's disdain. She didn't need to explain further who they were, they were infamous across America.

A Raider gang, a large and nasty one. Said to have over 200 members, which, considering that most of the population was dead or part of the undead, was a frighteningly substantial amount. And they really were a crooked, awful bunch. They raided other groups, pillaged, really, it was their group that first incorporated keeping some prisoners as slaves. And they killed for sport. Most of the time, their game wasn't just limited to zombies.

Percy hoped they'd never came to face to face with them. He squeezed Annabeth's hand back.

"It was just a small group at the time, only about 30 or so people. But they were horrible. And they had their leader with them. The self-acclaimed Kronos." She spat out the name like it was bile on her tongue. Percy didn't blame her. From the rumors he's heard, that guy made Hitler look like nothing more than a grumpy painter.

"We tried to escape, but there was just too many of them, and I ran out of bullets and Luke ended up getting a really nasty cut over one of his eyes so he couldn't see anything. It seemed hopeless, but to be honest, in that moment, I wasn't afraid. All I could think was, 'as long as Luke is beside me, we can get through this. We'll survive this and make it to camp and everything will be just fine.'"

This time, instead of squeezing his hand, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Tears threatening to fall once more. Percy couldn't very well hold her face to soothe that pain, so he opted to sling an arm around her shoulders. She fell into it almost immediately, and once again, she was in his arms, clutching the front of his shirt.

"But he- Luke- He gave me up. He begged, pleaded with them to let him go in exchange for me becoming Kronos's personal slave. As if it was as easy as flicking on a light switch, he betrayed me like that. Years of friendship. Years of having each other's back. PLaying together. Laughing together. All of it. He threw it all away. He threw me away." Annabeth sobbed into Percy's shirt, and Percy did his best to ignore the wet stains he felt through the fabric as he held Annabeth tight, rubbing smooth circles into her back.

"He left me to rot with that slimy, horrible, low-life- I don't even know why Kronus let him go. He's never let anyone go. But I guess he liked the way Luke groveled at his feet pathetically and thought that was a fair enough trade. His skin and dignity, over me." She was now trembling in his arms, her shaking and hitched breathing hiccuping her words as she cried into Percy's chest. And Percy felt like just about the most useless guy in the world, able to do nothing but hold Annabeth tightly and listen as she continued.

"And you know what the worst thing about it was?" She asked, as if handing Percy a loaded gun and aiming it at her. Percy was smart enough not to take it. He only held Annabeth closer.

"It wasn't the two weeks I spent with those monsters, indulging in their senseless murders and horrid raids. It wasn't the skimpy clothes they made me wear or the awful things they said to me as they paraded me around like some kind of show pony. It wasn't even... It wasn't even when that bastard Kronus would... touch me," and Percy held his breath at the part, not realizing he was digging his nails so hard into his palms that they were starting to bleed.

"It was that during all that time, all that time, I kept believing that he would come back for me. Luke would show up like the knight in shining armor he'd always been and rescue me with some amazing daring plan like he always did. And everything would go back to the way it was and be ok but he- hic- he didn't come back. He was never going to come back." She was practically whispering now, but every word she spoke held so much anger and pain, she might as well have been shouting with how much her words stung Percy to his very core. And Percy would have held her tighter to him, but she was already so close she was practically on top of him.

"It finally took Kronos threatening to take it too far that I knew he was never going to come back. So I made my escape, cost me a nasty cut on my arm, but I finally got free of him. Of them. Of everyone." She growled, and Percy subconsciously rubbed the bandage on her right arm. "After that, I thought if I couldn't trust someone like Luke, someone who'd been my friend for so long, then I couldn't trust anyone. No one was safe. I had to be smarter, tougher, more careful about every single move cause I knew that I was the only one I could trust. There was no one else. I was all alone."

They sat there in silence, letting the atmosphere that was created settle and sink into their bones, making them feel heavy against each other.

Percy didn't know what to say. What could he say? Words couldn't even begin to describe the rage that was boiling in his chest. The murderous intent that was plaguing his mind at the thought of what Annabeth went through. What Kronos put her through. What Luke put her through. Percy hoped he never got the chance to meet either of them. Because if he did, well, Percy wouldn't know how to explain to Stella why there was dirty blood on his hands.

But in a way, there wasn't anything he needed to say that she didn't already know now. Because she had said it herself. She was alone. Was. Past tense. She wasn't anymore. She knew that; she had to know that now. Percy didn't know how else to convey it any better that he was gonna make sure that she was never going to be alone again than by continuing to hold her tight against his chest.

She was not alone. Never again was Percy going to leave her side. He'd fight all the zombies and raiders in the world to make sure of it.

"I'm not Luke." Was all Percy dared to say, mumbling it firmly into her hair.

"I know," she whispered back, her voice rigid and hoarse from crying against his skin.

"I'll never be Luke," Percy replied, more defiantly. Annabeth only squeezed him tighter, burying her face into his neck.

"I know, Percy. I know."

I'm never going to let you go again.

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