#lambert is an asshole and i love him

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Geralt was nervous to bring Jaskier to his home. He was sure the bard would get along with Eskel—their shared love of poetry and talking about emotions should smooth the way. Lambert would just be thrilled to have a new way to tease Geralt, and Jaskier being a bit of an asshole himself would help them bond.

But what of Vesemir? His mentor was not one to tolerate fools. What if he didn’t see past Jaskier’s foppish ways to his golden soul? What if he wasn’t understanding about the bard’s human limits? What if he scared Jaskier away for good?

All of these thoughts passed through Geralt’s mind outside the gates of Kaer Morhen. The gates opened for them, Geralt’s mentor was waiting for them on the other side, and as he came into view—

“PAPAMIR?!?”

Geralt winced at Jaskier’s loud shriek from beside him, and then the horror dawned because what did Jaskier just call Vesemir?!?

However, Vesemir didn’t look angry. He looked just as flabbergasted. “Julian?”

It turns out that Vesemir had once fallen for a widower Count, and he continued visiting the family even after the Count died 100 years ago. That Count was Jaskier’s great grandfather.

Geralt watched, dazed, as Vesemir doted on Jaskier while gently scolding him for not visiting his mother more often.

This is so funny, I love this WPGHWAPGHPAWGHPAW

[lambment]

Any tips on writing character dialogue and interactions? Love your art btw

Hiya and ty!! Im still learning myself, but I can explain to you my current process!

first step for me is imagining a situation (amusing or entertaining ideas) and I develop that Idea by picturing how the characters would react to the situation based on their personalities and what their motives/goals are. basic story stuff y'know. then I rlly start to think key moments with dialogue.

for flow of dialogue sake, I speak the entire comic outloud several times. this helps with pacing, and lets me know if it feels natural or awkward. I like to imagine conversation between characters like a tennis match: reacting, defending, attacking, back and forth.

but as an example, this is my thought process on making character interactions in the Mawwige comic (X):

situation: "wow it'd be funny to explore the lamb trying to immediatley marry Narinder after usurping him."

so knowing that, I ask: what are the characters thinking and feeling in that moment based off of three things : personality, motive, and their experiences/backstory. how would the dialogue btwn the characters bounce off of one another, based on all the information given.

Lambert: is sly, always looking for a punchline, backhanded. motive: wants to marry Narinder (whether as a joke or fr, youll never know), clearly holding a grudge still, shown through them being unsympathetic to narinder having a meltdown.

Narinder: is an asshole, but in this situation, he's locked in a stupor. all he can think about is how he lost his life's work. he's out of it, he does not have a fucking clue what the lamb is transpiring in the background.

based off all of that information, I make the bits + dialogue:

Narinder being shellshocked by the usurpment, contrasted by Lambert unphased and wanting to move on and get to their wedding.

the wedding being planned for months, despite not knowing if Lambert would actually beat Narinder.

Narinder being the last one to find out hes a bride. He’s prideful but a little dense, and the lamb knows that.

the lamb is hinting at the wedding the entire time, literally handing him a veil and wedding pamphlet, and doing it as smugly as possibly.

the sundial watch bit, because I needed the lamb to get them both from the summoning circle to the temple "oh we gotta get going".

the crown objecting because its homophobic hates narinders guts.

I hope this helps? this process isn't linear with finding dialogue, its a lot of back and forth and I usually change the dialogue/ add bits as im in the process of drawing the comic.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Do you know Hazbin Hotel? If so I can ask Leshy, Kallamar and Lambert x a reader who is like Emily? But if you don't want its okay!

-Emily is excitable, bubbly, sweet, friendly and kind to almost everyone around her. I think it would be nice to have an interaction (platonic or romantic, however you feel comfortable) with them.

Leshy Kallamar and Lambert x Emily!Reader

kicks the 2 hazbin hotel masterlists into the void no no ive never heard of that show in my life/lh/j ooough side note i love emily i hope we see more of her in season 2 notes: reader is gn, can be seen as romantic or platonic, post game because i looooove the idea of the bishops being paired with the ray of sunshine cultist as their "hey this person is going to show you the ropes for this place" companion cws: none

LAMBERT

you both bounce off of each other, both sweet- a lot of the time after youre both done with your work and youre away from prying eyes you simply... talk and catch up and check in on each other

you drop everything for them when they need you and they would do the same if the burden of being a crown bearer and leader wasnt weighing them down

will always bring something back for you from their crusades- fresh flowers from darkwood, or pretty gems from anchordeep! sometimes things they buy from shops!

youre a breath of fresh air after a cultist asks to eat feces or after needing to break up yet another bar fight

KALLAMAR

clings onto you because youre one of the few people who has the patience to wait for his nerves to settle... and he does lean into how attentive you are towards him- you always do small things for him to make him feel good and cared for... habitually expects it because.. you know, fallen god

hides behind you whenever another cultist gives him some flack and escalates further than insults and empty threats- youre usually left to diffuse the situation

hes not exactly mean but hes not the most considerate person, but you rub off on him with time, he does his best to make sure your needs are met

no thoughts only reader convincing him to try out some of the more intimidating tasks of cult lift with them- going out on missions for resources, for example

LESHY

as bad as it feels to say, in the beginning he does use your willingness to make things easier on him and to help him to his advantage- from small things like fetching him things to things that could... legitimately put you in danger.. it does stop- at least the danger part- as he grows more accustomed to mortal life

youre sickeningly sweet, he grows protective of you out of the belief that someone is going to use your kindness against you like how he once did

little asshole x sweetheart dynamic, you sometimes counter some of the things he says to others with something kind or "oh he doesnt really mean it when he says he wants your pillow to be warm on both sides!"

you always make sure to involve him in activities, many see you crouching down and talking into some hole- they dont see leshy burrowed into the ground

[tangerinesgirl]

Can I request Frank fingering reader for the first time?

Time is Money

Fem!Reader x Adam "Frank" Barrett (Abigail)

Rating: 18+, NSFW, explicit

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: You and Frank hate each other, you'll do anything to prove him wrong.

Warnings: virgin reader, AFAB reader, asphyxiation, money for sex, enemies to lovers-ish?, humiliation kink, public sex

Notes: use of Y/N as well as specific female body parts mentioned. You can kind of tell I started with the action and panic built/got bored with the conversation before, so don't focus too much on the plot! Enjoy!

🦇

The crew are getting rowdy in the main living room. You decide to go to the bar area in the next room for some peace and quiet. Unfortunately for you, Frank already had the same idea, sat in the corner nursing his whiskey. Although a good leader, his personality rubs you the wrong way. You've clashed the whole evening. Frank is so full of himself and you hate it. You decide to confront him, maybe the night will go smoother with everything off your chest.

You sit on the stool next to Frank, he rolls his eyes. "Look, I've seen the way you've been looking at me, but we can't get personal and I'm not interested".

"Don't flatter yourself, I couldn't be less attracted to you right now."

"Sure kid."

"You walk around with a strut in your step like you own the fucking world, but in reality there's nothing there. Humility asshole, look it up."

"Nothing there, huh?"

"You're all talk and no action. Your Lambert's little bitch and daren't break his precious rules."

"Ah so you do want me? ...You couldn't handle me."

"There we go again, big dick energy, but no action."

Frank pauses a moment to look at you, like he's debating whether he's into you or not, weighing up his next options. You both have to admit, the arguing is hot, maybe you both have pent up sexual energy from the evening and need to get it out of your system. You both clearly have energy, even if you hate each other's guts. Frank loves an opportunity to be proven right, and you love an opportunity to prove him wrong.

"Alright", Frank pulls out his wallet and slides a note across the table, "crisp one hundred says I can make you cum in two minutes".

"Why not make it interesting", you dip into your bra, pulling out two notes, "two hundred says you can't do it in one".

Frank chuckles slightly, "I could probably make you cum with just the sound of my voice, since you've never actually felt the touch of a man".

You freeze, how did he know? Your stomach flips and you turn pale. Frank notices, "Joey's not the only one who can read people".

"Stay the fuck out of my head. Bet's off", you reach to grab the money but Frank grabs your wrist.

He pulls the chain around his neck and drops it on the table, "nine karat, solid gold, worth at least a grand".

You hesitate, weighing up your options. Frank has an advantage, you can't help but find his boldness very attractive, as well as him physically. But you know exactly what gets you off, Frank doesn't. You've definitely lasted longer than a minute on your own before.

"One minute?", you want to reiterate, to make things clear.

"One minute", Frank confirms.

You chew the inside of your mouth, debating. That's a lot of money... It'll only cost you your dignity. Frank raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

"I guess we have a deal", you sit back down. Frank removes his glasses and his watch, placing them on the table.

"Wait, we doing this here? The crew are literally in the other room", you look over your shoulder. You can see Sammy and Peter playing drinking games through the serving hatch, albeit loudly.

Frank follows your gaze, "Well, we'll just have to be quiet then. When the second hand reaches twelve, we'll start."

You look at the watch, this all feels so weird, a knot forms in your stomach. You can't believe you've given away your virginity for $1k. You feel dirty, but you're determined to wipe the smirk of Frank's face.

Frank notices your unease, "You can always back out".

"Aw, what's the matter? Not as confident now, Frank?"

Frank gets up from his bar stool and slowly walks behind you. Your gaze follows him briefly, and then back to the watch. Frank's lips ghost around your left ear, notes of whiskey playing on his breath, "3...2...1..."

The second hand strikes the hour and Frank's hands are immediately on your inner thigh, trailing upwards towards your underwear. "Already so wet for me and I've barely touched you". Your heart sinks knowing your body has betrayed you and given Frank leverage. He moves your underwear to one side and starts playing with your clit.

Meanwhile, his other hand is tracing over your jawline, trailing down your chest, into your bra. He rolls your nipple between his fingers while he plays with your clit. You try not to moan to give him the satisfaction. Frank notices your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. He looks you up and down, admiring his handiwork. He breathes heavily in your ear, whispering, "That's it. Good girl. You're taking me so well". You can feel his erection growing through his pants on your back. He starts to rub himself on you, moaning into your ear, "Look what you do to me".

He studies your face, looking for a reaction. You look over to the watch. 20 seconds gone. Frank inserts two of his fingers into your pussy, stretching you out. "Fuck. You're so tight." His head buries into the crook of your neck as he fingers deep inside of you. He kisses and playfully nibbles at your neck, trying to find a soft spot he can abuse. He notices your eyebrows furrow in concentration as he bites on your neck. "Don't fight me, Y/N. Let it happen. I want you to come undone for me. I want to watch you cum".

He continues to push his fingers into you, playing with your clit, the bar stool covered in your wetness. 40 seconds. Frank's other hand grabs your neck roughly. Your breath hitches in your throat from surprise. Frank's head touching the side of your cheek, his stubble prickling your supple skin. He kisses the side of your lips.

"That's it, Y/N. Cum for me". He squeezes the sides of your neck. He tilts your head down so you can see his fingers spreading you open. Your fists clench trying to hold back your orgasm. You look at the watch. 50 seconds.

"Yes...look at you, so desperate for me you don't care who's next door and could walk in, giving me your virginity... Dirty whore", he moans as he continues to grind into you from behind, his last attempt to send you over the edge.

"Shit", you mumble under your breath, how did Frank know you have a humiliation kink? Your hand grips the table, your fingers digging into the solid wood as you cum, hard, to Frank's words. You cum so violently that you squirt all over Frank's fingers and your underwear. Frank notices, you can feel the smirk forming on his face.

As you come back to reality, Frank removes his fingers and wipes them on your dress. He walks back over to his seat, grabbing the money off the table and putting his watch back on. He downs the dregs of his whiskey and leaves the room.

[inexplicifics]

I heard a song that reminds me SO MUCH of Lambert - specifically, how he views himself the way you wrote him. "Bad Guy" by Falling In Reverse (on their recent album "Popular Monster" which has a very modern!Lambert feel). Though all his many lovers and friends would go "haha, NO" (I love how Lambert THINKS he's such an asshole, and then you give him half a dozen or so lovers who all agree "cranky sometimes, but not an asshole.")

Yeah, that's Lambert being mean to himself right there. Probably has that on repeat as an angsty teenager, poor lad.

[catscraftsandcommentary]

I need Lambert/Milena in a Shrek AU.

Just imagine with me:

Duke de Roggeven insults a powerful wizard (we all know he would - he'd be lucky if it was only ONE) who then curses his daughters. All three of them.

(ETA: he pissed off Yennefer. Probably insulted her mixed elven heritage and/or her inability to have kids, so she went "alright. Let's see how you feel when YOUR daughters are inhuman and infertile monsters.")

By night, each of them transforms into a different non-human humanoid: Marta is a succubus (all her lust for power and a crown turned into a different kind of lust - and we'll pretend that succubi *can* live without sex, but they feel sick and hungry the whole time), Marika is an elf (still elegant and pretty, but inhuman enough to shock everyone - Marika didn't piss off Yennefer), and Milena is a witcher (Yennefer saw her strength and kindness and went "this suits you.")

Marta, of course, spends the entire time being FURIOUS at being some "sex obsessed half goat! I am the daughter of a DUKE! The ELDEST DAUGHTER! How dare she!" Marika isn't happy, per se, but she privately goes "it could be a LOT worse. I'll take it." Milena actually enjoys her new abilities - she's so strong! Her senses are much sharper! - and the eyes are rather pretty.

After being COMPLETELY HORRIFIED that his daughters (well, mostly Marta) are cursed to become non-humans by night, Duke de Roggeven locks them in a castle guarded by a dragon and then pretends that he's sent them abroad to stay with distant relatives.

Meanwhile, Marta is getting on EVERYONE'S last nerve with her constant bitching, Marika is trying to keep their lifestyle as pleasant as possible, and Milena...

Milena befriends the dragon. She thinks Villentretenmerth is fascinating, and when she learns that the three ladies who showed up to help the sisters are also dragons, she wants to learn as much as they can teach her.

(Marta refuses to acknowledge any of them. "I will not consort with beasts," she sniffs hautily, and locks herself in a private bedroom every night before sunset.)

So! Back in Redania, Duke de Roggeven has convinced everyone that Yennefer's line about "whoever breaks the curse will gain a treasure greater than gold or gems" means that they can gain literal treasure (and/or magical treasure) by rescuing and marrying his daughters, and not - to take an example COMPLETELY at random - their true love as a bride.

(Yes, true love is the cure. Of course it is.)

So the asshole king of Kaedwen hears about the supposed princess and holds a huge tournament - and Lambert shows up because "that fucker dumped a bunch of refugees in our mountains, the fucking bastard. Who does that?!"

Jaskier, being one of the refugees - and also a bard who can sense the potential for a good story - insists on coming with him. They 100% do the "Donkey won't stop singing until Shrek snaps at him to shut up - and then he hums" scene.

About five times.

(Geralt and Eskel either stayed home to help Vesemir manage the refugees or hang around the Kaedweni court to remind the king of his promise - and make sure he doesn't get any even WORSE ideas.)

(Lambert REFUSED to stay in Kaer Morhen when Vesemir was being bossy - "I get enough of him riding my damn ass during fucking winter, NO GODSDAMNED WAY." And his brothers very sensibly refused to let him stay in court longer than absolutely necessary because, uh, they've MET Lambert and they know exactly how badly it would go. So he gets rescue duty by default. At least the princess will be happy to get to Ard Carraigh and away from him. They send Jaskier with him to try to temper some of his, uh, Lambert-ness.)

Anyway! Lambert and Jaskier arrive at the tumbledown castle guarded by a dragon, and Jaskier is immediately like "oh how wonderful! How majestic! Look at that wingspan!" And Lambert is like "...remember how we're here to fight the bastard? We have to GET PAST HIM to rescue whatever noble bint got stuck out here."

Jaskier pouts.

Villentretenmerth finds all this terribly amusing, especially since he recognizes a witcher when he sees one. So he sticks his nose in their camp and asks (rumbles) "what makes you think that even a witcher can defeat the greatest and oldest of dragonkind?"

So Jaskier introduces them - as dramatically and fancily as possible - and states that they are here to rescue the princess.

Milena creeps out from Villentretenmerth's wing. "We are the daughters of the Duke de Roggeven, and there are three of us. I hope you will still take us home?"

Villentretenmerth sighs. This girl. Always getting underfoot. "I will let you take the ladies with you - but you must convince them to leave freely. If they refuse - now or later - I will take them back."

"He sent THREE girls to some remote fucking castle? Fucker. Yeah, I'll take you all. Jask, let's find 'em and get out of here."

So Milena leads them up to the tallest tower where her sisters spend their day. I can't decide if I want Marta to do the whole "sleeping beauty waiting for a kiss" thing (assuming that JASKIER is her princely rescuer and Lambert is just there as a guard.) If she does, she'll get a rude surprise when Lambert shakes her awake and tells her to pack anything she's taking with her, they're LEAVING.

So the guys get the ladies and lead them out - pretending to ignore the hissing and squabbling that said ladies are doing behind the men's backs - and are unhappily surprised AGAIN because not only are their rescuer(s) NOT a prince and his retinue, they don't even have HORSES.

The dragons, of course, are watching this with amusement...and no little relief at getting rid of Miss Complainer the Eldest.

I'm gonna say it takes less than two days for Marta and Lambert to have a truly nasty fight. She wants a horse. A private carriage, really, but she'll SETTLE for a horse. Purebred, obviously. And fashionable new dresses, and BATHS, and food cooked in an actual KITCHEN, and a private bedroom from sundown to sunrise, and...

Lambert is just like "look lady, I don't get any reward until I deliver you, I don't have the coin for any of that, and I wouldn't waste on stupid fucking luxuries if I did."

This does not go over well. At all. There are very angry words shouted about his lack of preparation, decorum, breeding, proper dress...the list is endless.

Lambert gives exactly zero shits.

Milena is watching the fight with interest - she finds him FASCINATING - and Marika is mostly trying to stay out of it. She agrees with Marta on most of the points - their tower-castle was reasonably comfortable, certainly more so than this long hike back to civilization - but also, freedom.

If only they were returning home instead of to a strange country...

Which is about when Villentretenmerth - as the human Borsch - walks into their camp, accompanied by the three dragon woman who have been tending to the sisters. "Marchionesses. Wolf. Bard. I warned you I would take the ladies back if they wished to leave your company."

"The TOWER is better than staying with this BARBARIAN," Marta sniffs. "And Father arranged for marriages for Marika and I already!"

(She knows she gets the crown prince - and she knows that Kaedwen's king is a murderous asshole. Being queen doesn't count if she's not alive to enjoy it...and she won't have allies there to help her plot regicide. She's ambitious, not stupid.)

Somehow, it works out that Borsch and his friends take Marta and Marika back while Lambert and Jaskier continue to Kaedwen with Milena. There is ABSOLUTELY a scene where Lambert is out hunting when bandits try to attack the supposedly unguarded noblewoman and bard, and Milena thoroughly kicks their ass.

Lambert runs back just in time to be HELLA aroused impressed at Milena. Jaskier is already composing an ode to her.

They arrive at Ard Carraigh. Stuck up knights send for the king, who pretends he's a decent person long enough to carry Milena off on a fancy horse. Half an hour later, just as Lambert is moping about losing his new friend, his brothers arrive and go "quick, where's the lady? We have to get out her out of here!"

A very confusing but short explanation-argument later, Eskel and Geralt are chasing after Lambert as he storms the royal palace BY HIMSELF, because like hell will he leave Milena to that monster!

The confrontation is absolutely the most dramatic thing Ard Carraigh has seen in decades, with the witchers storming in just after Milena is crowned but before she can kiss her new husband...

...whom Lambert immediately punches in the face. "HOW MANY WOMEN HAVE YOU KILLED?!? HOW MANY, ASSHOLE? Did you even bother to COUNT THEM?"

Everyone gasps. Eskel and Geralt keep the guards back with drawn swords.

"NO MORE! I *WILL NOT* let you murder Milena for your sick fucking games!"

The king tries to splutter something, but Lambert takes his head off before he can get it out.

And then the sun sets.

And Milena...changes.

Scars from her training with the dragons, greater muscles than any noblewoman should have, and her eyes...

She shrieks - not at the king's death or the witchers' violence, but at her own secret coming out. She's hidden it for so long, and so carefully...she'll never survive this. The Kaedweni court will turn her out, if they don't execute her with her (very briefly) husband -

And then Lambert takes her hand.

"Milena? Are you...okay? Did they hurt you? What happened?"

"I'm CURSED! My sisters and I are cursed - for years now!"

He looks at her. "Y'look fine to me. It suits you."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't lie to you. Never have, never will. And I think you look - good. Really good. The dress is kinda silly - "

Milena giggles. She thought the same thing, when her maids were lacing and buttoning her into the massive thing.

"But YOU are gorgeous. Always have been."

"You still like me? Even..."

"As mutated and scarred up as I am? I'd have to be a fool not to. You're the bravest, strongest, most amazing woman I've ever met."

And she kisses him. She has to, can't hold it back.

(Cue the curse breaking - and leaving her as a witcher.)

Obviously there's cleanup, but Milena IS the queen, and is suddenly betrothed to the man who killed the murderous previous king - so it works out.

And then Villentretenmerth comes back.

[starlightguh]

Lovin’ Me Like Tequila Does

Word count: 1,596

Tags: Alcohol, dancing, slight cowboy Sylus

Summary: You were giving Sylus a bit of a cold shoulder because of a hard week of work, and decided to chase your woes away with your friends in a country bar.

A/N: After getting tequila as a food recommendation and Miranda Lambert’s song coming on my playlist, I felt compelled to write this. True experience for me is my line dancing teacher and I did a bikini bull riding contest at a country bar, so drew major inspiration from that since while I didn’t win, I pictured a laughing Sylus the whole time. Anyways, enjoy this quickie one shot!

He pissed me off.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Sylus dearly, he makes my heart flutter and loves me better than any other man will. But sometimes we’re like oil and water when it comes to our life styles.

Since he was the leader of Onychinus something his job got in the way of mine. A certain protocore had been going around and once he got his hands on it, he ended up trading it for some intel, which lead to the person he traded it to creating more wanders.

I had been busting my ass off in the no hunt zone for the past week, I was so pissed off at him when I found out I’ve been leaving him on read and giving the hardest cold shoulder I can.

Every crow I’ve seen I’ve been using as target practice to ensure he wasn’t spying on me. I currently couldn’t care if he was stalking me, he made me work so hard this week he deserves some tough love and he better work hard to earn my favor back.

My phone buzzed with another text, I glanced at the preview of the message.

Sweetie, please this is all a misunderstanding, I’m sorry.

Sorry doesn’t sweeten my tea or help my back pain asshole, I mentally tsked to myself as I closed my phone and finished styling my hair.

After killing what feels like a million wanderers on patrol, I got a day off. Tara and Simone had invited me out to a girls night at one of the bars in town. It was some country themed bar, Tara was really into westerns lately and wanted to check it out.

The bar had a girls night where the liquor was a bit cheaper, and I planned on getting drunk to chase away my woes. So I didn’t care what kinda place it was as long as the drinks were cheap.

I did do my best to try and fit the country theme as I put on daisy dukes and a cow print mini tank top. I hummed and ignored the constant buzzing of my phone as I got ready to look hot and have fun. Sylus can wait. I had earned a drunken night with my friends.

————————————-

When we walked into the dimly lit bar, it was mainly lit up with beer neon signs and fairy lights all around. I’m the middle of the place was a dance floor where the thunderous sound of cowboy boots stomped in rhythm to the beat of an unfamiliar upbeat country tune.

“This is awesome! Oh wow look at the dancers that looks so fun! Right?” Tara was over the moon at the atmosphere.

My body shifted to head toward the barstools in the further corner of the venue, “Yeah you should go dance with Simone, I’m going to drink.”

“Oh don’t be like that, you should dance with us at least once,” Simone looked at me with puppy eyes.

“Fine. But at least let me get drunk first?” I responded with a laugh.

Both girls nodded and suddenly we were cheers-ing margaritas at the bar. As soon as the sweet sting of tequila touched my lips did my aching body feel relaxed from the high strung stress this work week put me through.

Simone and Tara had ventured off to attempt to go learn a line dance while I stayed at the bar and chased this delicious buzz thrumming through my body.

“Two shots of Clase Azul for me and the lady please,” a deep voice purred behind me.

Too lost in licking the salt rim of my drink did I noticed the shot glass placed in front of me.

“Listen cowboy, I’m not interested-“ I stopped dead in my tracks to turn around and be met with Sylus in a black leather cowboy hat.

“Mmm? Sure bout’ that kitten?” Sylus winked at me with a mock southern drawl.

“What are you doing here?” I huffed, “You’re in time out with me.”

“Oh? Is that what this is?” Sylus chuckled a bit, “You know I can’t stay away from you long. Look sweetie, I didn’t mean for all of this to happen. Had I known that idiot was going to make more work for my precious darling, I would have never given it to him.”

I gave him a flat expression as I chugged the last of my cocktail. I placed my head in my hand and looked at him, “Hmm I knew deep down you didn’t mean to do it,” as his face brightened up, I leaned forward with a charged pissed off energy, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna punish you for putting me through hell. So suffer.”

I smirked and placed the shot he bought me between my teeth and tilted my head back to let the stinging burn warm my insides up and make me feel even more floaty.

Sylus just frowned at me and placed his hands on the bar to cage me in at my barstool. “Please let me make it up to you…How can I get back in your good graces?” There was an edge of desperation in his voice, it ignited fire that the tequila in my system was the fuel for.

“Hmm,” I smiled and leaned back against the bar more to look at him, my eyes shifted to the dance floor with a cowboy trying to twirl both a giddy Tara and a nervous Simone, “Get me drunk and ask me to dance. Let’s see if you got what it takes to make me relax.”

His red eyes widened in shock as he blinked down at me, “Is that all kitten?”

“For right now, yes. You do also owe me a back massage, but that’s a problem for later,” I chuckle. Next thing I know I take the shot glass from his hand and tilt my head back as I place the bottom of the shot glass between my teeth as I quirk my head back and point for him to take his drink.

Sylus chuckles as he leans his torso over me and his teeth grip the glass from me and he leans his head back to take the shot from my mouth. I laugh at the slight scrunch in his face at the burn of the liquor.

“Wanna go shot for shot?” I tease him.

“Absolutely not, you’re already a bit drunk I can tell.” He grabs my chin, “I only like a fair fight.”

“Fine by me, but just know I can probably out drink you.” I chuckle as Sylus flags down the bartender for another round.

By a third round of shots, I had his large calloused palms dragging me to the dance floor, and the other on the dip of my waist.

A slow but upbeat country song played in the background, and in my drunken haze I felt like no one else was on this dance floor. Sylus, the more sober between us, twirled me with ease. But I still managed to help add my own flare to twirls and dips as we danced.

Cause he don’t love me like tequila does, the song rang out as I had my dominant leg raised to my hip and slowly pointing out past the apex of his waist. Sylus let out a whistle at my flexibility as we continued our dance.

The yellow glow of the fairy lights in the bar seemed to blurr into a cinematic haze as my mind tried to focus on the burning red stare of Sylus’ gaze. As he dipped me at the end of the song and slowly lifted both of us back up, I playfully grabbed his cowboy hat and placed it on my head.

As Sylus put his hand on my waist and led me back to the bar he sensually whispered in my ear, “Sweetie…Do you know what it means to take a cowboys hat like that?”

I turn around and look at him with a confused look, “No? What are you talking about?”

As Sylus laughs and is about to answer my question, Tara comes up to me and grabs a hold of my hand uttering my name over and over in an excited squeak.

“Simone entered the bikini bull riding contest! Come on, let's go cheer!” Tara exclaimed as she all but dragged me to the adjourned room in the bar that had a mechanical bull shaking its patrons around like rag dolls.

“She what now?” I asked and turned around to shrug at the laughing figure of Sylus behind me. I took his hat and placed it back on his head.

“Sorry honey, I’m gonna have fun with my girls, I’ll put you out of timeout though and call you when I get home?” I asked with a pleading look. The last thing I wanted was more work if Tara or Simone caught on to his true identity thanks to my loose drunken tongue.

“Fine. But close out my tab, drinks are on me tonight sweetie. Be safe,” he placed his hat back on my head, “Don’t dance with anyone else. I’ll know if you do. And don’t take any more cowboy hats besides mine either, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be safe,” I rolled my eyes and hopped into his arms a bit as I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a deep kiss. His tongue entered my mouth, and as I explored his, I chased the high, the burn, and the bitterness of tequila on his tongue.

[meepthemeeping]

Quotes from 'Please Don't Forget Me.' Entries from Aiden's Journal:

“It seems like summer never lasts long enough when I'm with Lambert. This time, I’ve chosen to keep my feelings in check and not let them get in the way of our parting. I don’t want to spoil our goodbye with my emotions. Lambert knows how much I love him, but it’s still so hard to hold back.”

“I realized some time ago that I was being followed, and hopefully it's not actually Jad. He still can't deal with the fact that I kicked his ass. This whole mess wouldn’t have occurred if he hadn’t tried to rob Joël—the asshole.”

“Axel and Cedric are gone, and I’m at a loss for words. It doesn’t seem real; it just doesn’t feel right. I know Gaetan isn’t lying about what happened… At least they were together in the end.”

“I stumbled upon a bunch of kittens curled up and sleeping in the bushes. I tried to draw them because they looked so cute, but the drawing is shit, honestly.”

“Guxart never mentioned me being close to Lambert. I could tell he had figured out what was happening, largely because the other cat witchers can’t seem to keep their noses out of things. A long time ago, before the sacking, Guxart had a close relationship with a wolf witcher, though I can’t recall their name for the life of me.”

“Today was unusual; I received a letter from a mage, of all people. They’ve offered me a contract, but something feels off about it. They’re specifically requesting me, even though I’m nowhere near Lyria.”

“Lambert and I are camping on the coast, and I have to say, the stars are stunning. We’ve decided to spend the night on the beach. Sure, I’ve got sand in my ass, but the view is so incredible that I don’t want to leave.”

“Damn it, what is wrong with me? I accidentally told Lambert I love him, and he completely fucking lost it again. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it seems like it only made things worse. I’m at my breaking point. I’ve had enough of this. I need to start respecting myself and stop letting Lambert’s reactions control how I feel. It’s time to move on and have some damn self respect.’

“I got another letter from that mage. I was hesitant to accept it at first, but since I’m trying to dodge Jad and this contract offers the best pay and is conveniently nearby, I might as well take it.”

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Day 2 of Whumptober! "They don't care about you."

Five times those words echoed in Lambert's head and one time he was able to ignore them.

1.

Lambert knew his father didn't care about him. He's known it since he was old enough to start understanding the words the man would scream in his infant face - probably before that even. "He doesn't care about you." Held the same significance as stating the sky was blue - it was an obvious fact everyone was aware of.

His mother though.

He'd never felt so betrayed as when the Witcher came to claim him and his mother - the woman who had placed herself between him and his father almost on a daily basis, who claimed to love him more than anything - just stood by and let it happen. She didn't even put up a token protest.

Lambert refused to look back as he felt that "He" turn into a "They".

2.

"They don't care about you."

It had become Lambert's mantra, his armour since arriving in this place. They didn't care about him, so why the hell should he care about any of them? About anything?

It had gotten him in trouble more than once but so what - from how the older boys talked, he'd probably be dead soon anyway. Why should he spend what time he had left sucking up to dickheads and assholes. It had never gotten his mother anywhere.

No. They didn't care, so Lambert was determined to care even less.

3.

The world was a spinning vortex of white as Lambert stayed frozen on his knees. Voltehre - the one person in this shit hole he'd consider even close to a friend, the one who was sometimes successful in shutting up that little voice in his head. He was...no, he couldn't be. They were supposed to make it through this together. They swore.

"He's here, Geralt!" He heard a voice call out that sounded like Eskel, one of the younger Witchers - and of course Geralt was with him. He felt himself being lifted as someone wrapped something heavy around his shoulders.

"You did good, Pup. Let's get you out of this blizzard and warmed up."

Blizzard? That would explain the white.

"You sure he's the last? Vesemir will have our asses if they survive Old Speartip only for us to accidentally let them freeze to death."

Ah, So that was it. They didn't give a shit about him, or Voltehre, or any of the others he'd been shooed out of the Keep with that morning. They just wanted to avoid a beating.

"They don't care about you."

4.

The man he'd saved from the drowner was whisked away to the healer for a scratch that wasn't even bleeding anymore whilst Lambert was left in the middle of the suddenly deserted village square, barely able to stand and trying to stem the flow of his own blood running down his leg.

"They don't care about you."

And once again, "The sky is fucking blue" - obvious fact.

Just once though, Lambert would like someone to care when he got hurt. True enough, some people did but it was less of an 'I'm concerned about your well-being' and more 'I don't want to be the one who has to deal with a dead Witcher.'

He grit his teeth and forced himself to move, vaguely remembering some asinine saying about wishes and beggars.

5.

Lambert eyed the Cat Witcher warily. The other either not noticing his mistrust or not caring as he continued to spout random shit and grin whenever he managed to pull a reluctant smile or laugh out of Lambert. Acting like they'd known one another for years and not just been hired on the same contract a couple of months ago. As the evening wore on and the drinks kept coming (courtesy of Aiden of the Cats) and the conversation started to flow easier, Lambert felt the small part of him he thought had died with Voltehre stir hopefully.

"So, I was thinking." Aiden said as he drained his tankard, "That shared job ended up being pretty lucrative in the end and turns out I actually like having someone watch my back so what say we make it a regular thing? Twice the Witchers, bigger jobs, bigger payouts."

And there it was.

Of course he would want something from him, why else would he have been playing nice all night? How could Lambert be so fucking naive to think that the surprisingly pleasant evening had been just that and not a gods damned sales pitch?

"I have to go." He said, standing, "Thanks for the drinks."

Aiden - no, the Cat - wasn't quite quick enough to hide his look of surprised disappointment.

"Alright, well. I'll be around town tomorrow morning if you change your mind."

Lambert grunted in response before turning towards the stairs, trying not to think too hard about the look on the others face. Of course he was disappointed, he'd just lost a potential cash cow.

"They don't care about you."

+1.

Aiden clicked his tongue as he finished up treating the deep gash on Lambert's arm. After putting himself between Lambert and a harpie after it got in a lucky hit leaving him momentarily stunned, the Cat wasn't exactly unscathed himself but had insisted on seeing to Lambert's injuries first, "Out of the two of us, I'm not the one who can't lift their arm above their shoulder right now."

Lambert knew how the rest of the night would go. They would wash up, Aiden would grudgingly allow Lambert to look over his injuries while insisting he was fine and trying his damn hardest to distract Lambert (with varying degrees of success, depending on the level of nudity). Aiden would cook while Lambert cleaned their swords before they turned in for the night and Lambert would wake in their shared bedroll to find that the Cat had both literally and metaphorically dug his claws in at some point so Lambert had no hope of escaping - not that he even considered that an option anymore.

After seven years together - five of those as lovers - it no longer stung if "They" didn't care. He knew beyond a doubt that Aiden did, and that was more than enough.

[bastardofmothman]

If I love you then I love you too much

Tags: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Dreams and Nightmares, the reincarnation au no one asked for but I really really really wanted, Alive Aiden, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Alternate Universe - Modern setting

...          

Lambert wakes up sweating, panting, tears drying on his face, on the verge of whining but he won’t admit that.

Another restless night in the making as he plays over again experiencing a loss so great his chest continues to ache in wakefulness. He wishes he could remember the name of the asshole that keeps dying in his dreams so he had someone to blame instead of thinking about black curls and green eyes and feeling like he wants to cry.

Lambert lays back down, willing the mistiness in his eyes to dry down, preparing to spend the rest of the night staring at his ceiling trying to convince his lungs that just because a figment of his subconscious isn’t breathing doesn’t mean he can’t.

Lambert almost managed to convince himself he doesn’t see the eerily familiar face staring at him from the end of the tasting bar as he serves the other patrons, desperately hoping Eskel will take care of him so Lambert doesn’t have to get any closer to those green eyes. Green eyes he knows have flecks of gold in them. Won’t have to wonder how soft those curls are, how they’d look ruffled. Won’t have to remember exactly how that warm skin looks after death.

Eskel doesn’t even seem to notice him. That or he’s ignoring him because he sees how intently the man is staring at Lambert. Which is probably exactly what he’s doing because Eskel is a hopeless fucking romantic and Geralt, the useless fuck, isn’t here because his partners insisted he needed a day off to spend with them and his daughter. If Lambert didn’t know for sure Ciri was at a friend’s house he’d be less pissed off about it but he knows the lecture Vesimir would have given him if he’d denied Geralt a night off on one of the busiest nights of the week.

He should have known better than to hire his brothers after the massive layoffs. Fuck loyalty if they’re both not going to be available and doing their jobs when he needs them. (He doesn’t really think that, in fact he’s sure he would get along with strangers less but it’s still annoying as shit and he’s supposed to be the annoying one, not the responsible one with his own distillery and a thriving customer base.)

The man is still staring.

Lambert finally cracks, he’s served everyone on his end of the bar and is out of excuses. He sees the man sit up and flush when he realizes Lambert is heading his way.

“What can I get for you?” He asks gruffly as he turns red from being stared at so openly.

“Can I get two house flights for our table?” The man says a little too breathlessly. Why is he so flustered? Lambert is the one who’s been having dreams about loving him so much he wanted to die with him.

“Coming right up.” Lambert turns away to prepare the flights, the man turns and heads back to his table.

When he delivers the flights the man is still staring but Lambert turns away and heads back to the bar. He refuses to acknowledge the ache in his chest or the blush still staining the tips of his ears.

…

He keeps seeing him, the man with the green eyes, dark curls, and a feral grin. 

One time he gets rather impressively tipsy and leans across the empty bar to stage whisper “I know this is the worst pick up line but I swear I’ve seen you in my dreams.” He starts to reach towards where Lambert’s hand is resting on the counter top as he says this.

Lambert pulls away, “I’m calling you a cab.” He states before walking away. It takes forever to get there, what with how rare a callable cab line is nowadays and all the while the man sits there and grins at him.

He comes in the next week, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry about last time, I did mean it though. Name’s Aiden by the way.” Lambert can’t help it, can’t keep looking at him, at Aiden. He storms away.

…

Why can’t he just leave well enough alone?! Is there a brain in there under that dark halo of curls? There doesn’t seem to be because no matter how many times Lambert refuses to continue the line of conversation, refuses to take the bait, refuses to acknowledge how flustered he gets under the other man’s gaze, Aiden just. Won’t. Leave. Him. Alone.

The worst part? Lambert doesn’t even want him to. When he finally lets up and starts responding, Aiden's eyes light up  and he smiles like Lambert’s given him a gift, even when Lambert can’t resist being a snarky, sarcastic asshole. Luckily Aiden can dish out as well as he can take it. Neither of them bring up the dreams again. At least, not for a while.

…

Lambert has to ruin every good thing that happens to him, and like it or not Aiden’s company has gone and turned into a good thing. He craves it, he looks forward to seeing Aiden’s tall, lanky form walk in through the door, even catches himself missing him when Aiden doesn’t come in on his regular night a few times.

Lambert ruins every good thing that happens to him. He’s sure this will be no different.

…

“Do you remember when I said I’d meant it, seeing you before?” Aiden asks one day.

Lambert absolutely remembers. Remembers it vividly. Remembers dreaming about holding Aiden’s dead body in his arms and screaming to a raining sky with his entire being vividly too.

“Not a clue, I don’t pride myself on remembering the ramblings of drunks.” He lies through his teeth, resolutely wiping at the counter and refusing to meet Aiden’s eyes, hoping it plays off like him not caring instead of avoiding it.

“Hey!” Aiden responds indignantly, having taken the bait. “I’ll have you know that I am not a drunk, I am simply a connoisseur of fine liquors such as those served at this establishment which, by the way, are swiftly draining my bank account.”

“Not my fault your favorite is the one that took me the longest to perfect and takes the longest to age.” Lambert says offhandedly while wiping out glasses still warm but damp from the back. It takes him a minute to realize Aiden is staring at him again, god he’s always fucking staring at Lambert with this soft look in his eyes and that stupid attractive smile on his face. Except not this time, this time he looks a little surprised.

“Wait…you created this?” Oh…whoops. Lambert guesses he forgot to mention this is all his at some point, but he doesn’t pride himself on presenting as the owner, he works here, he puts in the effort. He just also perfects every single product his distillery makes. “You’re the reason I can taste heaven on earth?! Oh I want to live inside your brain.” Lambert has to bite his tongue to keep from telling Aiden that he already does, and it doesn’t end well for him most times. There are the rare good dreams, the hazy beautiful ones where they’re together and relaxed and fucked out and happy. Those dreams almost make the risk seem worth it, but Lambert has experience with making high risk decisions and despite his thriving distillery he knows how they end. It isn’t worth it. It’s not worth having to feel that pain again.

Aiden's too busy gushing to circle back around to his original thought. Lambert hopes he never does.

…

Lambert rarely gets the things he hopes for. He hadn't even hoped for his distillery to stay open. Just resolutely kept working at it all the while berating himself for putting this much effort in.

The only thing he's hoped for lately is that Aiden keeps coming back and never fucking brings up dreams about them again. Lambert can't bear the idea that it wasn't just him. Can't bear the idea of repeating how it ends.

“I’ve seen you in my dreams, you know, even before we met.” Aiden ventures on another day, completely removing the question aspect from his statement, likely having figured out Lambert’s misdirection from last time. 

“Aww, you don’t have to lie to tell me I’m pretty.” Lambert bluffs, trying for a different type of misdirection, the fun one that ends in them blatantly flirting back and forth but never goes anywhere because he just can’t let it. This is enough, it has to be.

“Lamb c’mon, I’m trying to be serious here, don’t you think that means something?”

“It means you’re using current information to fill in the memory of your dreams is what it fucking means.”

“I know you saw me staring the first time I came in here.”

Aiden has him there. Backed into a corner.

“Aiden, I can't talk about them.”

“Have you had dreams about me too?” Dreams, nightmares, and everything in between, but Lambert isn’t ready, he doesn’t think he ever will be. He knows it’ll all be over if he opens his mouth.

“If I answer you will you drop it?”

“For now.” That’s the best Aiden is going to give him and he knows it.

“Yes.” Lambert whispers.

“The plot thickens. So anyway as I was saying I think America made a big mistake with horses, like, they look like plastic toys, what is the purpose?” Aiden has this talent for going directly backwards in a conversation seemingly without a tell that he’s interested in another topic. Lambert notices how his nose crinkles and his eyebrows lift but says nothing while Aiden goes off on his frankly terrifying amount of knowledge of horse breeding practices.

…

Aiden brings up the topic a few more times over the next months, pulls bits and pieces out of Lambert because Lambert just can’t give him a complete no. 

"So what has happened in your dreams?" Aiden ventures one day.

"A lot, usually there's rain." And blood, lots of pooling blood.

"Oooh, I don't have a lot of ones with rain. Unless your dour mood counts when it's raining on my parade. Don't worry, I've always been good at taking it in stride. I think you only ever really upset me in one, but we had fantastic make up sex so I won't hold it against you." Aiden doesn't even blink at being so forward but Lambert can see the soft flush to his face and knows it took more than Aiden's letting on to bring it up. He isn't sure if it's the reference to the fight in their dreams or the reportedly amazing make up sex but Lambert decides to throw him a bone. And flirt a little.

"We have pretty fantastic non-make up sex too."

"Laaaamb, you flatterer." They're both blushing like teenagers instead of adult men.

"Leave it alone, Aid." Lambert states, effectively cutting this off from where it's spiraling, and the conversation moves onto less treacherous topics.

And then one day it comes to a head and the moment it’s all ruined is at Lambert’s doorstep and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

…

Aiden follows him outside, “You can’t.” He states, voice filled with anger, “You can’t, you can’t, you never fucking can why won’t you just tell me! I know you have feelings for me and you know I have feelings for you and we both know about the dreams so why can’t you talk to me?!” He yells.

“Because I just fucking can’t, okay!” Lambert shouts, it echos off the neighboring buildings.

“But why not!? Why can’t you just tell me why you have that fucking stick up your ass about this? I just want to talk and you keep pushing me away every time I get close to you.” 

Lambert takes a deep breath, he can’t do this, he can’t fucking do this and he can feel traitorous tears in his eyes and he takes another deep breath ready to start the screaming match again-

“I can’t go through losing you again.” It comes out soft and broken, his voice cracking. “I can’t fucking do it again.”

Aiden takes a cautious step forward, and then another. Slowly getting into Lambert’s space one step at a time. He reaches out and his hands shake as he brings long fingers carefully up to Lambert’s face and gently directs Lambert to look at him. 

“Lambert I’m not going anywhere, they’re just dreams, nothing’s happened to me in them-”

“Yes it did!” Lambert snaps and pulls away, crossing his arms across his chest to create some distance, “I had to lose you over and over and fucking over again before we even met. I had to watch you die before I even knew you. You say you know how much you fucking cared about me before we met, so did I! But I had to lose you and I just- I can’t fucking do it again Aiden.”

Lambert’s breathing heavily now, he can’t make the words stop, can’t make the tears at the edges of his eyes stay put, “I don’t know if I’d survive it this time, I’m not even sure I did last time because I never had any dreams about what happened after, only about losing you and not wanting to stay in this shitty world anymore when the best damn thing to ever happen in my life was gone!” Lambert sobs on the last word. He doesn’t know if knowing will save Aiden this time but he has to try, the only thing he knows is that last time they were in each other’s lives and maybe if he can change that he can save Aiden maybe he can–

Aiden is holding him. Gently running his hands up and down Lambert’s back until Lambert uncoils his arms and hugs Aiden back, and then Aiden grips him tightly and starts swaying them back and forth. He’s trying so hard to be gentle but Lambert can feel the tension in how tight Aiden is holding on, like he’s afraid of losing something right now.

“Does the risk of it happening again really mean we don’t deserve to try and be happy? That they don’t deserve us trying again?” Aiden whispers, sounding not far from the edge of tears himself.

“Then it’s all up to destiny and she’s a stubborn bitch-tit of a phenomenon.” Lambert mutters, Aiden chuckles at him, still gripping him tightly like he’s afraid if he lets go Lambert will be gone and they’ll never come back together again.

“Maybe destiny was trying to keep them apart and we’re just too stubborn, did you ever think of that?”

“That’s not the encouragement you think it is.”

“Maybe not.”

"Aiden, I–" Lambert pauses, tries to gulp his heart down from his throat back to where it belongs. "I'm scared. I want you so much and I'm scared of it."

"Me too, wanna be scared together?"

Lambert thinks for a moment. "Yeah," he says cautiously, "yeah I think I do.

AO3 Link

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

NEW HAVEN WARDS THOUGHTS. ok i have. many. primarily though i would love to hear what fucking. tide's pov of insane tidalwave situation is. or just like. nhw tide thoughts in general!!!! him!! he!!! ok ok gotta go put goats 2 bed brb

AHAAAA HAHA I LOVE YOUUUUUU TIDE LAMBERT. i love you tide lambert. i also am extremely delighted by the fact that you and whiskey both sent me asks at the same time indepenently asking me about tide and mark. awesome little bowl of seeds for me in my inbox. under the cut with you

i haaaaave so many emotions about nhw tide the more i think about him.

i am still so MASSIVELY undecided on the whole clone thing but i do feel so strongly about the endbringer thing i brought up one time. i dont remember the way they are in canon but i have a lot of thoughts about tide and his siblings and their "ages" (magma is the oldest, tide is VERY close second (theyre not twins, but theyre probably only a year or less apart so they are The Oldest as a unit to the others. magma still plays the "im older than you" card to tide though). whirlwind and seismic ARE twins and they have such middle child energy. shockwave is the youngest until elle and has a complex about not being the youngest anymore. elle is the beloved baby girl. trust me i have experience in this this is basically the way my dads side of the family is) . anyway im getting distracted. anyway. tide and magma being the oldest and also being given powers specifically to counter leviathan and behemoth. i have emotions about this !!!! (i actually still dont really know whether behemoth is specifically fire coded but he does sleep in volcanoes so let me dream until worm proves me wrong). so like. even if theyre not clones they still get the whole "i was created for a purpose and i feel like i have the weight of the world on my shoulders because of it and its my only purpose and without it im lost and i dont know what to do with myself"

anyway. thinking about. tidalwave first meeting or like. early stages of meeting or whatever. tide is fucking INTIMIDATING. hes REALLY powerful, and also including that thing i put in my one liveblog the other day about Sere- if tide Wasnt A Hero it could be a goddamn disaster because his powers have the potential to be so fucking scary and bad and dangerous. luckily he is also the worlds biggest softie. tide is marginally less emotionally repressed than mark is, so he's more willing to initiate things.

i constantly think about tide in the context of that one post thats like "i hate when people say it costs nothing to be kind. it costs so much. i mean i'll pay it but damn" (im so mad i cant find that rn but. nhw tide thesis statement) hes not naive!!!!!!!! he knows how awful and shitty the world and the whole cape system is. but hes trying so so so hard to do the right thing and help people. that fucking gets on marks nerves so bad. tide is Too Nice and he hates it. "why cant you be more of an asshole so its easier for me to hate you" etc etc etc.

ANYWAY. early tidalwave. tide looks at wavelength and immediately sees a difference between him and some of the other villains hes fought. theres this almost feral desperation to him. outwardly hes cold and calculating and brutal but like. just a little bit beneath the surface he is. like a cornered animal. he doesnt Want to be doing this, but he Has To. and tide can. really sympathize with that and understand that i think. Mark Also Hates This, He Does Not Like To Be Perceived. i imagine theres a lot of back and forth like "i understand" "how could you possibly understand"

they become sort of like unofficial rivals- tide knows how the hero system works and how fucking nasty things could end up for mark if he fights someone who doesnt care about what happens to a villain, so its always tide seeking him out (fight to maim, not kill. sorry that sentence lives in my mind forever now). tide maybe lets him slip away and escape way easier than he should. because he Gets It. he genuinely does want to help mark, not in an "i can fix him" way, but in more of an "i can see youre in a horrible situation and i dont want to kill you just because of that, so im helping in the small way i can without making things worse for you" way. mark knows hes doing this. they never talk about it. they talk more than people who are supposed to be intent on killing each other should talk. neither of them will ever say it out loud but. the human connection outside of their respective Situations is kind of nice. regardless of how fucked up the whole thing is. ill-advised hookups, unmasking, etc etc all of that. but They Dont Talk About It Ever. next day theyre back to trying to kill each other like nothing happened. tide maybe privately mourns this, but still never says anything about it. tide visits mark in the hospital because no one else will. tide tells mark about ashe because no one else will, even if he knows that will basically shatter everything between them (its not tides fault, why would it be, but mark is a very "shoot the messenger, ask questions later" kind of guy)

anyway. i think about them a lot

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 121

In place of August Ninth, Promptapalooza 2/ Geralt has brought Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier couldn't be happier. It's on the second night there that he says it. Jaskier wakes up and Geralt has left their room. He ignores him the whole day. Jaskier thought that- What with Kaer Morhen- And how close they seemed- Maybe he could- It's pointless... Jaskier waits in their room for Geralt to come back, but he never comes back that night. Jaskier stayed up all night waiting for him to return, but he never did. Jaskier sleeps away the day, since he stayed up all night. He wakes up around dinner time and decides to skip it. What if when he goes down for dinner, that's when Geralt decides to come back? He'll be alone again. But he doesn't come back. Again. The door eventually opens and Jaskier looks over with pure elation only to dim when he sees it's Lambert. "...Uh, Birdie, you haven't left your room." "Our room." "Right. Are y'sick?" "...I'm waiting for Geralt to come back. He hasn't come back ever since I said it." "Said what?" "...I- I told him I love him. And he left. He won't come back. I thought we finally were close enough. I thought after all the years he'd be able to hear me out. I knew deep down he'd never love someone like me, but I didn't think he'd just... Abandon me for the whole winter." Jaskier sighs and turns to look at Lambert, only to see him crying. "Lambert?" Jaskier asks in confusion. "Fuck-" Lambert whispers in horror, before scrambling out of the room.

Lambert finds Geralt and shoves at him like a true brother. "Go find your bard, Asshole!" "What?" "He's in your room sobbing over how you left him cause he's unlovable!" "What!?" "Go fix it! I'll see you next winter." Geralt's brow furrows. "What do you m-" "I have to leave. I have to see someone. I'll tell you all about it next winter- We- We'll tell you all about it next winter. I have to go." "Lambert, what-" "I did the same thing, you idiot! He said he loved me and I panicked and I ran-" "Jaskier?" "NO! Aiden! Idiot!" "Who is Aid-" "NEXT WINTER!" And without another word, Lambert barrels out towards the horses.

[folkloriansolitairian]

hyper-analyzing and looking too deeply into ben hopes final scene in heartstopper season 2

so i think it’s needless to say that ben hope is a terrible human and everyone hates him (at least i would hope so), but after rewatching heartstopper more times than i’d like to admit, i’ve discovered how multi dimensional and complex of a character ben is, and how much there is to analyze in his scenes this season. so it’s deep dive time! buckle up mother fuckers this will take me a minute.

so basically this is bens final scene in both the season and show as a whole, when he goes to elle’s art exhibition and gives a lousy attempt at apologizing to charlie. first and foremost i want to say how JOYOUS it makes me that alice and the writers didn’t take the easy way out and hand him a impactless redemption arc on a silver platter. i loved to see charlie’s response to bens apology and charlie basically saying “that’s nice you want to be a decent human but i don’t want to be there to see that happen” that was amazing!!! a common thing i see in media, especially with queer storylines is that a character does something to hurt another queer character, and they just accept their apology no questions asked, which is super belittling to the character and the community it’s representing in the show. i really appreciate that ben maintained the asshole image he’s had the entire series, no strings attached

on the topic of this scene, the rainbow wave coming from lamberts doors after nick and charlie walk away from ben has so much meaning and foreshadowing that needs to be talked about more. so the first layer meaning of this scene is that the queer community is welcoming him and this is his invitation to join them and begin his journey in finding comfort in his sexuality and accepting himself and becoming a better person, and since you, the viewer, hates this character SO much you’re thinking come on, just walk in and accept the warm and comforting embrace of the community. there’s other people just like you in there! you as the viewer know that there’s a community there notorious for their abundant acceptance that could help him embark on his journey of self discovery and acceptance, is he would just reach out and accept it, but he doesn’t. and even though you have such a deep, burning hatred for this character, it still breaks your heart a little to see him walk away. this shows that he will never be able to accept himself for who he is, and that this will always be apart of him that he will never be able to express.

this scene also has parallels to nick and charlie’s relationship. the rainbow at bens feet is reflective of a wave at the ocean, which nods back to nick and charlie’s beach date at the end of season 1. ben walking away from this symbolizes the fact that accepting himself and the queer community would also open the opportunity to experience a raw, deep love like nick and charlie, something that ben expresses in his apology to charlie is something he longs for. walking away from the rainbow wave means ben is walking away from any opportunity to heal and accept himself and in return experience a real, happy relationship with someone he truly loves, not someone he thinks he’s ‘supposed’ to be with.

so to summarize ben hope - though very hateable - is such a detailed and complex character who i could go on and on for hours about his few scenes and little screen time and how much thought goes into all of them, and how much meaning they all have, not only for ben but for the other characters as well. i could make many other posts about ben and his character arc in s2, but i thought for this post specifically i’d just keep it contained to this scene in particular, because i’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately and i just had a lot to say. so yeah comment if you want to hear more about my thought in ben i guess? thanks for reading!

[dat-carovieh]

Bite me cat

Ship: Lambert/Aiden

Rating: T

Wordcount: 685k

Tags: Fighting, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Biting, Getting Together, First Kiss

Read on AO3

“What the fuck where you thinking, Lambert? You can’t say that to our contractors,” Aiden yelled while he threw his bag on the ground, on the clearing they had just arrived on to make camp.

“They where fuckin assholes, so yes I can say that,” Lambert yelled back, still furious from the encounter earlier.

“Yes, I know, you can say fucking everything you want and don’t care that they don’t pay us, but then you complain, when we have to sleep in the woods again and have nothing to eat. And I have to put up with you being irritate! If you could just shut your mouth and leave the talking to me.” He was mad about his friend but even more about the stupid villagers who wanted to trick them and pay only half of what was agreed upon. And then Lambert had lost his temper with them so Aiden had to drag him away as the villagers had started throwing stones at them. That way they had ended up without any pay.

“Ugh, bite me, cat,” Lambert said annoyed and rolled his eyes. With two quick steps Aiden was up in his space, pulled him closer and actually sank his teeth in Lambert’s neck. His hand moved in his hair and grabbed hold there, pulling Lambert’s head to the side.

“Fuck… that… that was not what I meant,” Lambert breathed. He grabbed Aiden’s shoulder to hold himself up, because his knees had suddenly gone weak.

“Oh not? Sorry,” Aiden answered with a smirk.

“That doesn’t mean you should stop,” Lambert growled.

Aiden wrapped his arms around Lambert’s hip and pulled his whole body against him and sank his teeth in the smaller man’s neck again. Lambert tried to conceal his little moan but Aiden still heard it and Lambert could feel the lip curl against his neck in a wicked smirk. Damn cat. The stubble from days on the road was scratching over the soft skin, making him shiver.

Aiden let go of his neck and only with difficulty, Lambert was able to suppress a disappointed sound. A second later he was pushed back until he hit a tree and Aiden’s body was pressed against his, the golden eyes, that where so similar to his own staring at him.

“I’m going to kiss you now, at least if you don’t have any objections,” Aiden said cheeky. Lambert’s thoughts spun. Yes, he wanted Aiden to kiss him and he wanted him to never let go. This was to much for him right now, he felt frozen, no idea how to deal with that kind of affection. He wanted it, he wanted Aiden to touch him, he wanted to touch Aiden, everything at once and somehow, he was scared. No one had ever looked at him like that… with so much want, with so much… love?

Now his knees really gave up under him and he slid down the tree, out of Aiden’s grip, his knees hitting the ground. Aiden followed him quickly with a concerned look.

“Lambert? I’m sorry, if I misinterpreted, I didn’t mean to…,” he started. Lambert grabbed his shoulders.

“No, please, kiss me,” he pressed out. It had always been hard for him to ask for something he wanted and now more then ever but he could not risk Aiden leaving him now. Aiden carefully touched his cheek and he instinctively leaned against the hand, his thumb brushed over Lambert’s lip before he finally leaned in and captured Lambert’s mouth with his. Lambert’s arms moved around Aiden, his fingers tangling up in the shoulder length hair. He felt like he was drowning and holding on to Aiden was the only way to stay safe.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” Lambert whispered against Aiden’s lips.

“Oh, look the wolf can actually apologize,” Aiden teased.

“Don’t go there now. Just kiss me.” And Aiden did.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you,” Aiden said between kisses.

“Whatever,” Lambert answered. They could talk about this later.

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: Lambert/Aiden

I still have almost an hour while it's still Wednesday and I've been working on a couple of Laiden pieces lately, but this one is actually the first fic I started for them. Set post-W3/post-Battle of Kaer Morhen.

(below the cut, forgive the formatting)

The assassins didn’t kill him, but they tried damn hard. Which is why it had taken Aiden the better part of a year to go looking for his companion. His friend. Aiden had been hoping to maybe change that to more than a friend, before everything had gone to shit.

But here he was now, fighting his way through monsters to the Wolf Witcher fortress at Kaer Morhen. He entered through the front gate, as a show of good faith – he wasn’t here to attack, wasn't here to steal secrets. He was just here for Lambert.

A Wolf Witcher with vicious scarring on his face found him first. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

Aiden held up his hands. “I’m not here for a fight. I just want to see Lambert.” As he spoke, he caught sight of two more Wolfs making their way down from the keep to the front gate. He swallowed, wondering how Lambert might react. He’d heard rumors that Lambert and another Wolf had avenged him. In his recovery, he’d held that close to his heart as a sign that Lambert cared. 

But he’d gone and died on Lambert. He wouldn’t blame the Wolf for punching him, screaming at him, anything to express the rage that hid his deep concern. Lambert truly did care, underneath his asshole exterior, and Aiden bit his lip and focused on that. Lambert cared. Even if he was mad, he probably wouldn’t run Aiden out of Kaer Morhen.

He hoped.

Aiden saw the moment Lambert drew close enough to recognize him, to smell him and realize that his senses weren’t lying. There was a rough gasp that echoed in the still air and then Lambert was running at him.

Aiden braced himself for a hit, but instead, a warm body pressed against him and arms wrapped around his neck. “Aiden,” Lambert said, and his voice sounded on the edge of tears, which was terrifying.

Lambert never cried. Aiden had been the one to cause this and he cursed himself for it. 

“Oh, this is Aiden,” the scarred Wolf said, his smirk twisting the edges of the scars where they met his lips.

Aiden’s spine straightened in indignation, but then the white haired Wolf who’d accompanied Lambert drew level with them and said, “you better have a damn good explanation as to why Lambert thought you were dead.”

Aiden swallowed. “I–” 

“Fuck off,” Lambert snarled, pulling away from Aiden to glare at his brothers. Aiden mourned the loss immediately, his front feeling colder than it should after Lambert’s warmth. “I want to talk to him. Go – fuck a goat or something.”

The other two witchers sputtered and Aiden had to bite his lip to keep from snickering. That was the Lambert he knew and loved.

He reached out tentatively to touch Lambert’s shoulder, and Lambert surprised him by whirling around and catching his hand in midair, hauling him towards the keep. Stumbling, Aiden let himself be towed along, unreasonably stuck on the feeling of Lambert’s fingers against his.

Lambert led him into the fortress and halfway up a tower before pushing open the door to a room and pulling Aiden in.

“They’ll probably still listen in. Assholes.” Lambert said.

“I’m sorry,” Aiden blurted out. “I didn’t mean to– I heard you avenged me. Thank you.”

Lambert made a small pained sound that Aiden never wanted to hear ever again. “Yeah, well,” he scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor and then seemed to realize he was still holding Aiden’s hand, because he dropped it like it was on fire. 

“I came as soon as I was able,” Aiden said softly, feeling like he had to justify his absence. “When I realized you thought I was dead, I was too weak to send a message. And you probably wouldn’t have believed it anyway.”

“Hmph,” Lambert grunted. He flexed his fingers a few times before determinedly crossing his arms over his chest. “How did you survive?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. One moment, I’m getting ambushed and my ass kicked, next moment I’m waking up in a cave with half my chest on fire.”

“What!?” Lambert stomped forward and reached for Aiden’s chest as if he could feel the injury underneath the armor. But when his hand was halfway up, he froze and started to let it drop again.

Aiden caught Lambert’s hand, bringing it up to his shoulder where the burn scars peeked out of his collar and tilted his head so Lambert could see. “It looks bad,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

Lambert slowly let his fingers reach out to touch Aiden’s skin, and the Cat Witcher couldn’t help but let his eyes slide shut at the soft drag of callused fingertips. 

“I thought you were dead.” He’d never heard Lambert’s voice so soft. It almost scared him. How badly had he hurt Lambert? Could he ever make up for that?

“I know.”

“I mourned you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Gods dammit, you asshole, I fucking cried for you!”

Aiden’s breath caught. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t realize, not until after.” Lambert said nonsensically, shaking his head. “After you were gone and I couldn’t do a damn thing.”

“What?”

Lambert just shook his head, his hands fisting at his sides again. He glared at Aiden with suspiciously shiny eyes and Aiden had no idea what was happening, but he would happily stare at Lambert for as long as the Wolf permitted.

“Fuck it,” Lambert huffed, and then he was striding towards Aiden again, his hands sliding over Aiden’s cheeks like he was something delicate, worthy of gentle touch. Aiden couldn’t help the small sound that escaped him, but it didn’t matter, because Lambert’s hands were followed by his lips pressing against Aiden’s, and then everything else in the world ceased to exist.

Lambert’s lips were rough and chapped, catching as he tried to slide his lips across Aiden’s. Aiden dared to let his tongue swipe over Lambert’s bottom lip, and suddenly Lambert’s hands were slipping up into his hair, curling around his ears, and Lambert’s mouth opened against his. Lambert sucked on his tongue and pulled Aiden closer, and Aiden suddenly remembered that he had hands, hands that were uselessly clutching at Lambert’s chest. He slid them around Lambert’s waist, pulling him even closer.

When they drew back to catch their breaths, Aiden stared into Lambert’s eyes, which were half lidded with pleasure. Had he truly done that? Was this really happening?

“Lambert,” his voice came out breathier than he’d like and he swallowed. He tried to think of what to say, but his mind was reeling in shock and relief and joy, and all he could do was clutch at Lambert to stay upright as his knees turned to liquid.

“You’re really here,” Lambert whispered, his fingers sliding out of Aiden’s hair to trace the lines of his face. “If you’re some sort of doppler or illusion, I swear to fuck–”

“I’m not. I swear, it’s really me.” Aiden had to bring his own hand up to trace Lambert’s jaw. “You really–?” The calluses on Lambert’s fingertips caught on a small scar that Aiden hid under his stubble and he shivered.

“Shut up,” Lambert said and kissed him again, sucking on his bottom lip. Aiden melted into the kiss, cupping the back of Lambert’s neck. Lambert’s fingers traced over the edge of his scars, and it was strangely nice to feel the flickers of sensation interspersed with the numbness of deadened nerves as Lambert’s fingers moved across his skin. “Let me see,” Lambert demanded, really asking permission.

Aiden nodded and reached for the clasps to his armor. Lambert helped him, a million contracts together making his fingers quick and practiced. Aiden pulled his chest plate off and the shirt underneath was soaked in sweat and sticking to his body. Lambert didn’t seem to care, because his fingers followed the scar that peaked out through the shirt’s neckline before fisting his hands in the fabric and ripping it from Aiden’s body.

“Lambert!” He’d been aiming for scandalized, but it came out more amused. What was it about Lambert that seemed to do away with all of his training and control? As a Cat Witcher, he was well versed in disguise and impersonation and stealth – and yet Lambert had never been deceived.

In all honesty, that was one of the reasons Aiden liked him.

Lambert kissed him again, and Aiden was beginning to realize that not only was Lambert extremely good at kissing, but he seemed to love it, making small noises as their lips slid together. 

Aiden had never thought of kissing as anything special before – it was just a thing some people liked and some didn’t, like any other kind of foreplay. But as Lambert sucked at his lips, sending tingles of pleasure down Aiden’s spine, he was suddenly a huge fan of kissing.

He would be even more of a fan of it if they were horizontal. “Bed,” he gasped against Lambert’s mouth. Lambert hummed, but didn’t move, instead sucking kisses across Aiden’s jaw. Aiden cupped his hand around the back of Lambert’s neck again and opened his eyes long enough to glance around the room and find the bed. Then he was moving Lambert directly towards it, trying not to trip over the mess across the floor.

If Aiden weren’t so attached to Lambert, the sheer amount of dirty laundry on the floor would disgust him. As it was, he just found it oddly endearing. 

Fuck, he really was gone on this asshole, wasn’t he? Fortunately, Lambert seemed to be just as gone as he nipped and sucked marks along Aiden’s jaw. The idea of wearing Lambert’s marks made his back arch and Lambert rumbled in pleasure.

It took far too long to reach the bed, but finally, he pushed Lambert down to sit on the surprisingly homey-looking, hand-knitted bedspread. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Lambert had knitted it himself – and if so, would he make something for Aiden? – but most of his attention was fixed on Lambert, staring up at him with heated eyes and swollen lips, staring up at him as if he were the most glorious view on the continent. Aiden couldn’t stay apart from him a moment longer, so he straddled Lambert and pulled him into another kiss. Lambert’s hands slid around his waist and then up his back, pulling him closer, but also just touching. As if he were worth savouring.

Aiden swallowed, feeling a surprising tightness building behind his eyes. Lambert’s hands curled over his shoulders, and then the Wolf Witcher pulled back to look at him, fingers resting at the tip of the burn scar. It was a stark and ugly thing, Aiden knew. Stretching from his naval to his collar, just peeking out beyond what was easy to conceal, the rough pink skin was mostly deadened to sensation, but the edges of the scar were almost more sensitive for it, and as Lambert dragged two fingers down the his chest, tingles spread in their wake. 

His breathing was growing faster, Aiden realized, and the anticipation of what was to come, the sheer euphoria of this moment – it had his head spinning. He’d flirted with Lambert for so long – well, others might consider his words insults, but Lambert knew – but he’d never truly believed that he might actually get to have this. Lambert, under his hands, between his legs – it was even better than he’d ever dreamed.

Lambert’s fingers reached the ragged edge of the scar across his navel, then he brought his palm up to press against Aiden’s heart. “You’re alive,” he repeated, voice rough and broken.

Aiden covered Lambert’s hand with his own, spreading his fingers between Lambert’s. “I’m alive. I’m here.” With his free hand, he cupped the back of Lambert’s neck and brought their foreheads together. 

“I didn’t – I knew,” Lambert huffed, struggling to string his words together, “I knew I wanted you. I mean, fuck, we’ve been circling around each other for–”

“Years,” Aiden whispered. “Since the first time I propositioned you and you laughed in my face.” It was actually a fond memory, despite the sound of it. His come on had been half-joking, the two of them celebrating the end of the hell contract that had brought them together with copious amounts of ale. Wise? No. Aiden’s teacher’s would have screamed at him for leaving himself weakened and vulnerable with a potential threat, but he had liked Lambert from the first moment he’d heard the Wolf swearing at the Ogre they were contracted to cure of a curse. 

Lambert’s smile looked even better from close up than from afar and Aiden had to press his mouth against the corner of it. Lambert chuckled and the arm around his waist moved until a warm hand splayed against the small of his back. It was truly ridiculous how supported and special that made Aiden feel and he tilted his head to kiss across Lambert’s cheek.

“Didn’t think this would ever happen,” Lambert said, his voice full of wonder and awe. “Thought I’d missed my chance before I even realized what I actually wanted.”

“And what do you want?” 

“You.” Lambert licked his lips, “completely. Entirely.”

Aiden’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

“You’re – I wasn’t right without you.” Lambert’s jaw clenched and Aiden stroked over it soothingly. “I – everything was the same, but you were gone and I –” he shook his head, “I had to go after Karadin. That was the only thing I could focus on. But after – I was actually glad Geralt wanted to fight the Wild Hunt just to have something to do again.”

“Wait, wait, you did what!?”

Lambert shrugged with a half smile. “It all worked out. Somehow. It’s actually been kind of crowded here since then.” He squeezed Aiden’s hand where they were joined over the Cat’s heart. “But now you’re here.”

Aiden nodded, his hand on the back of Lambert’s neck stroking through the short hairs there. “I’m here. I’d,” Aiden took a deep breath and the softness in Lambert’s eyes gave him the courage to continue, “I would always stay by your side, if you’d let me.”

This time it was Lambert’s breathing that hitched, then their lips were meeting again and Lambert flopped back onto the bed, pulling Aiden with him. Their landing jarred their mouths apart and Aiden laughed as he leaned his forehead against Lambert’s. 

“When I dream of happiness, I dream of you,” Aiden murmured. “Thoughts of you were all that got me through recovery. Of finally seeing you again.”

Lambert shuddered, his eyes wet. “I never want to live without you again,” he said, his voice low and cracking. “I – you’re –” he flailed, clearly searching for words.

Aiden cupped the back of his neck and dragged him up so their mouths could meet. “I’m here,” he whispered against Lambert’s lips and let the other pour what he couldn’t say into the kiss. Lambert kissed him with such devotion and passion and care that Aiden felt himself melting, eyes squeezed tightly shut to keep tears from forming.

When Lambert eventually drew back, Aiden was startled by the quiet, needy noise that escaped him. Lambert smirked, cupping a hand around the back of Aiden’s head, threading through his hair.

And then, so quickly he felt his stomach jolt, Aiden found himself lying on his back, blinking up at Lambert’s grinning face.