So, a while ago i started writing a little ficlet as a tribute to this illustrationby@ladydenkiart which gave me all the feels. I took some liberties but it’s just as angsty i believe :3c
cws: poisoning, blood (in very small amounts), mentions of minors overdosing on potions (please let me know if i missed any!)
It’s Vesemir’s fault.
He’s let Lambert mess around with highly toxic potions. He’s usually stern about this — “If there’s a recipe, it means at least one person already went ahead and died so you wouldn’t have to figure out the right proportions yourself.” But Lambert, brilliant, stubborn Lambert, who used to drive the old potions master crazy because he would only let everyone see how much potential he actually had when he was ready to put in the work — he managed to coax Vesemir into letting him tweak the Tawny Owl’s recipe (“Come on Vesemir, just trust me on this, I swear it’s safe, I’m doing this for all of us, come on Ves fucking trust me for once”).
The pup claimed he’d managed to find a way to make its energizing properties more potent, something involving stronger doses of wolfsbane and arachas venom. Vesemir had raised an eyebrow at that and Lambert had scrambled to explain that he’d found a way to counteract the harmful effects of the last two ingredients. Vesemir hadn’t caught everything; he liked knowing just enough about potions that it wouldn’t deter him from using them completely, preferring to remain not blissfully, but at least partially unaware of the many ways in which the toxic, poisonous, corrosive ingredients were destroying his body sip by sip.
It all started with something as simple as Lambert and Aiden meeting in a club. The music was blaring, thumping out a beat and Aiden was living his best life. It got even better when he spotted an absolute hunk of a man dancing truly awfully but seemingly not caring. Of course Aiden had to approach, was delighted that the man was willing to dance with him. And, somehow, Aiden had never had a better time than when saying ‘fuck it’ to the social rules of the club and dancing like he’d always wanted to. It was thirsty work.
“Drink?” He yelled over the beat and mimicked the motion for clarity. They made their way to the bar and Aiden grinned. “My treat. I’m Aiden.”
“Lambert!”
Well, Lambert was just the thing Aiden had always dreamed of with full lips, a resting bitchface and a lack of care about appearances if his dancing was anything to go by. All in all, it was perfect. Initiating conversation was a bit difficult but Aiden wanted to try.
“I’m a fitness trainer. What do you do?”
“What?”
Pointing at his chest, Aiden yelled, “trainer” before pointing at Lambert.
The confusion morphed into understanding. For a moment Lambert pursed his lips before shrugging and yelling back “lobster”.
Now Aiden knew they were in a noisy setting and his audio processing was a bit funky on a good day. Still, he could have sworn Lambert had said he was a lobster. To be sure he yelled back “lobster?” and made the claw motion with his hands. Lambert nodded. Fine. A bit weird but maybe Lambert was a mascot? Or a non-furry furry. Either way, Aiden could live with that. He took Lambert home that night and had the best sex of his life.
Wanting to show some support to his maybe boyfriend, Aiden suggested a date somewhere he thought Lambert would appreciate. The aquarium. Before he even mentioned it to Lambert, Aiden had called up the place and made sure there were indeed lobsters there. He could be supportive, even if he didn’t understand.
The date was a resounding success if measured by sexual gratification. Sure, they almost got kicked out of the aquarium because Lambert decided to try and blow Aiden in the corner of the eel section. It didn’t happen for two reasons. Firstly, before Lambert even got further than dropping to his knees, more people came by. Secondly, eels were creepy as fuck and Aiden didn’t think he could get off with those creatures staring at him. So caught up in these issues, Aiden didn’t even question how Lambert had a knack for avoiding cameras and figuring out their blind spots. It certainly was a skill he exhibited over and over again.
One thing that did strike Aiden as odd was the time Lambert ordered lobster at the restaurant. To him it would have felt like cannibalism. Because at this point Aiden was certain that Lambert wasn’t a lobster mascot for work. In fact, other than calling himself a lobster, Aiden had no clue what his boyfriend actually did. Delving into the depths of the internet for answers didn’t help either. So Lambert was possibly an unemployed non-furry furry lobster enthusiast. Though he always insisted on paying, especially if it was his suggestion. Sometimes he picked rundown, out of the way drinking holes. Other times Aiden was treated to the finest dining experiences he could have ever imagined.
“So-” Lambert was bouncing on his toes, hands jammed into his pocket as he stood outside Aiden’s door, “-we’ve been seeing each other for six months. My family’s nagging me about meeting you.”
A grin was forming on Aiden’s lips. “Are you asking me to meet your family?”
“Technically they’re the ones asking. I’m just the reluctant messenger. I’m quite happy with you being just mine.”
Meeting the family was quite the experience. Aiden had never felt smaller than when he met Eskel, Geralt and Vesemir. Yennefer had an aura about her that made him feel tiny while Jaskier’s personality was so big he eclipsed everyone. Then there were others, Ciri, Letho, Guxart, Gaetan, Fringilla to name a few. The most normal of the lot seemed to be Cahir who looked about as excited to be there as a fly in a freshly cleaned bathroom. Occasionally he muttered something to Eskel about being owed when he is proven right. Pay rises and holidays and better gear. Whatever that meant.
Aiden’s world exploded. Literally. There was smoke, shouts and what sounded suspiciously like gunfire. It was all so disorienting, especially when the bulk of Letho swept Aiden up and deposited him behind an upturned table, nodding to Cahir who was bodily protecting Ciri. And had a gun in his hand. Aiden blinked. He must have had too much to drink. His ears were ringing. He was seeing things. Maybe he fell and hit his head because he wasn’t seeing the family he just met in a full-blown gunfight with intruders who blew a hole in the side of the mansion they were meeting in. Letting out a hysterical little giggle, Aiden tried to wrap his head around the fact they were in a mansion, that Lambert’s family was rich enough for such a thing.
“Don’t worry, you’ll live,” Letho rumbled as if Aiden was some scared kitten. He wasn’t. He was just losing his marbles.
As suddenly as everything went tits up, silence reigned just as quickly. Someone coughed in the smoke and Aiden craned his neck. The crunch of broken glass was accompanied by footsteps approaching their table.
“You okay?”
It was Lambert peering over the table, looking dishevelled, a cut on his forehead bleeding and skin grimy from the smoke. In the background Eskel seemed to be organising everyone, checking over injuries while Fringilla was on the phone and demanding clean-up. As soon as Geralt was over, Ciri was launching herself at him and Cahir stood from his crouch with a furious scowl.
“I fucking told you,” he growled at Vesemir who stared flatly at him. Before anything more could transpire, Eskel snagged Cahir by the wrist and hauled him to kiss him into silence.
Nobody looked worried about the fact that some unnamed group just blew a hole in the wall and tried to…what…kill them all? Standing, Aiden saw bodies and blood strewn around the floor and he let out a strained giggle.
“I’m better than those guys.” For some reason Lambert looked so proud as he laughed. But Aiden wasn’t done just yet. “So what the fuck just happened?”
Once again Eskel shoved his tongue down Cahir’s throat before the man could spew whatever he looked desperate to spout. It left Lambert to shrug.
“Just the usual. You know.”
“No?”
“Babe,” Lambert stepped closer and cupped Aiden’s cheek with a bloodied hand, “this is my life, I told you. This is part and parcel of my job.”
No he didn’t. Lambert was a lobster. No matter what that meant, he’d said so himself. Lobster.
“No you didn’t? How is this part of being a lobster?”
They stared at each other, Lambert’s mouth moving silently before finally finding his voice. “M. As in mobster.”
In the background there was a growl of “if you open your mouth I am shoving my cock in there to keep you quiet, you know I don’t care about an audience” from Eskel but Aiden ignored it as his world started to spin. Mobster. As in gun toting, law breaking, dangerous mobster. A high pitched laugh escaped him.
“I thought you took it a little too well,” Lambert sighed, hand falling away and taking a step back.
Fear made Aiden’s stomach tighten. He knew Lambert’s identity, his family’s identities. That was a liability and mobster families didn’t take kindly to those. Not to mention that Lambert was still Lambert. Just not a lobster.
“It’s a bit of a shock to the system,” Aiden hurried to say, trying to step over the table and stumbling a little. A strong hand gripped him and he nodded his thanks to Letho before staggering after Lambert. “But that’s just how life goes. At least you’re not a lobster, right?”
There was a small grin on Lambert’s lips and he let Aiden take his hand, linking their fingers. Teasing, he asked, “So what exactly is a lobster?”
“I have no clue.” A laugh was bubbling up in Aiden’s throat. “I figured you were a fur free furry or something.”
A laugh went up at that and Aiden ducked his head, a little flustered. Another set of feet approached them and he stared at the blood (and possibly more but he didn’t want to think about that too much) splattered shoes. The hand squeezing his shoulder had him looking up at Vesemir who had a small smile of his own hiding under his moustache.
@thepassifloradiscord is holding a drabble event. Rather than spam followers with ten 100 word posts, I’ve popped them all into one big post. Tags/etc at the top of each drabble.
Vesemir, Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, Aiden There was a fairytale Vesemir had once read, something about four animal musicians who scared off some enemy by standing on each other’s backs. He had no idea why it resonated with him so much but it did. Over the years he watched his three pups grow up and he could almost see the tower they could form. Eskel at the bottom, the solid base, the one everyone relied on. Then Geralt, strong, stable but under too much pressure he’d crack. Followed by Lambert, the firecracker. Only, they were missing a fourth. When Aiden turned up, Vesemir’s hopes were complete.
Pre-Eskel/Cahir Eskel was fascinated by Cahir’s sword. It was unlike the ones witchers used. So he took to watching him train, admiring the way he moved through forms and drills. In a way, it was mesmerising.
“I really like how you handle your sword,” he said to Cahir as he emerged loose-limbed from the baths. The words were met with a blush which was rather cute. “I like watching you wield it.” That didn’t seem to make things better and Cahir spluttered, blush spreading down his neck and across his wet chest. Eyes widening, Eskel stammered, “I meant your metal sword!”
Pre-Lambert/Eskel Lambert had rules for seduction. First, he had to find his target. The security guard looked pretty good. Secondly, he needed to assess his resources - he was at the supermarket, he was going to have to get creative. Thirdly, not only did he have to make first impressions memorable but also full of promise. He sauntered up to the guard whose name badge read Eskel.
“Ever seen someone steal a cucumber before?” The question was accompanied by him twirling one. Eskel shook his head, Lambert smirked. “Now you will.” With that, he deepthroated the cucumber and locked eyes with Eskel.
Pre-Eist/Calanthe This was the big night. Eist had grand plans, he was going to impress Calanthe and make her fall wildly in love with him. Everything was coming together; fancy outfit, a few quips and compliments to drizzle into conversation, he had even had one of the servers putting his love notes onto the plates Calanthe was served. In short, he wasn’t going to fail at wooing his queen. Confident, he strode into the banquet hall, only to trip on his cape and end up flat on his face. “Looks like I fell for you.”
She laughed, the evening was salvaged.
Geralt/Jaskier “And who is that?” Geralt asked.
Next to him, Jaskier drew a deep breath. “The ball sack sweat that festers in your smalls after a performance gone wrong. Never before have I been so insulted to be in the same room with a rancid flake of toe cheese. Now I shall have to boil my eyes, gargle with a whole lemon’s juice and scrub myself raw with a sea urchin. No amount of wine is enough to purge the knowledge that I’ve had to share a stage with a mouldy wet mop.”
“Ah,” Geralt nodded. “So that is Valdo Marx.”
Eskel/Lambert/Aiden/Cahir, Geralt/Jaskier It was all very well that Eskel, Lambert, Aiden and Cahir had found happiness together. But when their night-time activities woke Ciri, that was just infuriating. The first night it happened, Geralt put it down as a mishap. Second night was rude. The third night that Ciri ended up wedged between him and Jaskier, he stomped towards the offending room. It didn’t sound like noises of passion. Grunts, giggles and the odd “stop resting on me, lift your arse.” Pushing the door open, Geralt stared at the game of naked twister in progress before silently backing out of the room.
Lambert/Aiden As a nurse at the emergency room, Eskel had thought he’d seen everything. But there were giggles about the couple in Bay 8 and went to investigate. Somehow he shouldn’t have been surprised it was Lambert and Aiden. At least this time it wasn’t Lambert on the bed but his boyfriend, who was holding a bowl under his chin to catch the copious amount of bloody saliva dribbling from his mouth.
“Do I want to know?”
Pouting, Lambert looked to Aiden who nodded. “We didn’t realise candy canes could be sucked so sharp. He’s got a new tongue piercing now.”
Letho&Ciri The great thing about being so large was that people rarely started fights with Letho. That didn’t mean it never happened but usually it was other witchers, which was why he tended to avoid them. Alas, needs must and he ended up wintering in Kaer Morhen. Surprisingly, the wolves and their guests were polite, accepting and actually good hosts. Until one resident yelled and charged at his legs. Hefting Ciri up was no hardship, she was small, young and not too wriggly. But the wooden sword still thunked against his bald head. Letho smiled, he liked Ciri’s courage and confidence.
Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel, Aiden, Lambert, Cahir, Vesemir, Ciri It’s a simple game, they sit in a circle and name the person whose turn it was next. Eskel starts.
“Dick. Lambert.” “Penis. Take it away, Aiden.”
“Schlong and over to you, Geralt.”
“Cock. Lambert again.”
“Trouser snake. Cahir!”
“Meat wand. Uh…Jaskier?”
“Nilfgaardian brain! Eskel!”
“Custard launcher. Vesemir, join us.”
“Why should I talk about fucksticks, hm, Aiden?”
“Because mine’s a third leg, isn’t it, Cahir?”
The door opens to reveal Ciri.
“What’re you playing?” Faux innocence fills her voice.
Stammering, Cahir’s unable to lie. “Synonyms for the word willy.”
“Oh!” Ciri looked delighted. “Have you had princess tamer yet?”
Eskel/Cahir Groaning, Eskel took in the damage around the room. The headboard was cracked, the door looked like it had been slammed hard enough to pull it off its hinge, all his trinkets had been swept off the chest of drawers. His body ached, muscles he didn’t even know he had were protesting at each motion. Not to mention that he could taste blood on his lips, tongue licking over the scab that had formed. However, Eskel couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but contentment as Cahir cuddled up against him, body covered in hickeys. It was a damn good night.
In many ways, Kaer Morhen was exactly as Jaskier had pictured it: The ancient, crumbling stone walls of the keep; the dark, high ceilings of the main hall; the pleasure of watching an array of fine men stripped shirtless and training in the courtyard, sweaty and buff, strong and elegant in their movements.
In other ways, however, winters in the witcher castle were not at all like he had imagined. The main hall was no longer dark and foreboding in the evenings when the fire was lit - instead, it was warm and cosy, with fur rugs thrown over the benches and logs crackling merrily away in the ample fireplace. Vesemir would cook enormous batches of hearty stew, seasoned with herbs collected from around the keep, and the witchers would gather round the long wooden table to eat and tell stories together.
And then there was the knitting. That had been most unexpected.
Jaskier had expected the sword training, and the fitness drills, and the alchemy lessons. But coming down to the hall to find Vesemir lecturing the witchers on the finer points of wool crafts - that was not something he had ever envisioned.
Geralt was methodically working on a thick woolen blanket with an elaborate braided design, an expression of calm contemplation on his face. Eskel was beaming proudly as a jolly bobble hat took shape before him. And Lambert was scowling intently at a pair of bright pink stockings, slightly misshapen.
Vesemir must have caught the amused look on Jaskier’s face. “Making and mending warm clothing can be a matter of life and death in a cold climate, bard!” he chided. In a low voice, he added, “And it makes them happy to create something for once, instead of destroying.”
Jaskier nodded and slipped onto the bench next to Geralt, peering at the soothing, methodical movement of his hands. “How’s it work?”
“Just like this,” Geralt held up his needles, the soft yarn stretched between them, looping one part over another over and over again, forming a neat row of plush, squishy fabric. The blanket looked thick and warm, obviously made with love and attention.
“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said with a smile. It was beautiful to see Geralt like this too, relaxed and at ease, the faint hint of a smile on his face. For once, his shoulders were loose, without the weight of the world on them, the repetitive flow of his movements almost meditative.
“I’m glad you think so,” Geralt said, blushing at the tips of his ears and focusing on his stitches. “It‘s a gift for you.”
Kaer Morhen is everything Jaskier has dreamed of. Foreboding stone walls stretch high into the frigid air, seemingly hewn from the mountain itself. The gates are solid oak, iron-hard from decades of weathering, and as they swing open to reveal the ancient keep beyond he feels an overwhelming rush of possibility.
“Geralt, you grumpy fuck!” Lambert yells. “Good to see you.”
He jogs over and embraces Geralt manfully, with a lot of slapping each other on the back involved.
“Oh.” Lambert’s grin widens as he turns to face Jaskier. “And what a delight to see you again, sweet thing.” He steps forward and puts an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him close. Jaskier can feel the heat from his body as they press together and the warmth of his breath tickles his nose. “Will you be keeping up company this winter? Lucky us.”
Jaskier can’t help it. He giggles and feels a blush spreading over his cheeks. It certainly is nice to be appreciated for once.
“Erm.” Geralt’s tense voice shatters the moment. “You two… know each other?”
“Our paths have crossed before.” Lambert winks and Jaskier’s blush deepens. “Wasn’t expecting to see him here though, what an unexpected pleasure for me.” He releases him, but not before swatting his arse playfully. Jaskier giggles again and Geralt makes a strained sound.
“Jaskier,” Geralt growls under his breath. His forehead creases into a frown. “Have you… you and Lambert…”
Jaskier hums noncommittally. Sometimes these things happen when on the Path. Geralt should know that better than anyone.
“I’ll go and get Eskel,” Lambert says breezily. “I’m sure he’ll want to see you both.”
“Both?” There’s a vein throbbing at Geralt’s temple. “I don’t understand. Jaskier, did you -”
Jaskier is saved from having to answer that particular question when another witcher appears in the doorway to the keep. “Vesemir!” he calls. “Hello again!”
“Greetings, pup!” Vesemir waves cheerfully. “You do bring colour and song with you as always. Come on, get inside where it’s warm.”
Geralt has gone very pale. “Vesemir too?” he hisses.
Jaskier shrugs. “He has this sexy older man thing going on, you know, it’s actually rather appealing -”
Geralt is staring at the ground like a man reconsidering all of his life choices. Eventually he sighs. “This is going to be a long winter, isn’t it?”
It was going to be a very long winter. Lambert was still gleefully chuckling, eyeing up Jaskier like he was the sweetest dessert in the whole of Kaer Morhen. If asked, Jaskier would have heartily agreed. However, before anyone could move, a delighted coo rang though the air.
“Little Lark? You come to make these dreary old halls echo with your song?”
Squealing, Jaskier bounded across the space and took a running jump at the newcomer. “Aiden! It’s been too long! How’s Gaetan doing? And Letho?”
Next to Geralt, Lambert stood stock still, his smile melting off his face.
“Seriously?” He spluttered and watched Aiden spin Jaskier around in a hug. That was how Aiden greeted him usually. Lambert bitterly regretted thinking he’d been special all this time.
Geralt smacked Lambert on the back. “Welcome to the club.”
But what if Vesemir was a farmer who adopts all of the abandoned pets he finds? What if Geralt and Co are a bunch of dogs, now happily living with him? What if-
okay but jaskier tries to play footsie with geralt beneath the table at kaer morhen but the problem with just SO FUCKING MANY tall people is that it’s easy to lose track of who’s who among the long legs beneath the table without looking, so really jaskier has played footsie with every wolf BUT geralt
Like oil to water, fuel to fire (Vesemir&Lambert, 1.563 words)
So, a while ago i started writing a little ficlet as a tribute to this illustrationby@ladydenkiart which gave me all the feels. I took some liberties but it’s just as angsty i believe :3c
cws: poisoning, blood (in very small amounts), vomiting, mentions of minors overdosing on potions (please let me know if i missed any!)
It’s Vesemir’s fault.
He’s let Lambert mess around with highly toxic potions. He’s usually stern about this — “If there’s a recipe, it means at least one person already went ahead and died so you wouldn’t have to figure out the right proportions yourself.” But Lambert, brilliant, stubborn Lambert, who used to drive the old potions master crazy because he would only let everyone see how much potential he actually had when he was ready to put in the work — he managed to coax Vesemir into letting him tweak the Tawny Owl’s recipe (“Come on Vesemir, just trust me on this, I swear it’s safe, I’m doing this for all of us, come on Ves fucking trust me for once”).
The pup claimed he’d managed to find a way to make its energizing properties more potent, something involving stronger doses of wolfsbane and arachas venom. Vesemir had raised an eyebrow at that and Lambert had scrambled to explain that he’d found a way to counteract the harmful effects of the last two ingredients. Vesemir hadn’t caught everything; he liked knowing just enough about potions that it wouldn’t deter him from using them completely, preferring to remain not blissfully, but at least partially unaware of the many ways in which the toxic, poisonous, corrosive ingredients were eroding his body sip by sip.
