#Lambert one shot

[justanoasisimagines]

Jealously

Hey my lovelies back with another jealously headcanon! My requests are currently open and my request guidelines are pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

❀Lambert is a jealous person. It comes from a territorial nature. He's possessive of you. Lambert doesn't have a lot of people in his people in his inner circle, so he's protective of them. However, it's magnified when it comes to you.

❀Lambert is abrupt in his jealousy. He becomes confrontational and agitated when he feels like his back is up against the wall.

❀Lambert can get snappy with you. The two of you have argued about Lambert's jealousy. Sometimes he reads too much into things. You are the one to try and reassure him. Lambert has already sat and stewed about the situation. The argument is explosive as you try and get him to see sense.

❀When both of you give each other space to calm down. Lambert doesn't calm down, instead, he goes to confront the reason for his jealousy. He's furious. There has been conflict between the two of you. He's now worried perhaps it is too far this time., he's fearful you're going to leave him.

❀Although you're not going to leave him. You know he needs space to calm down so you can then proceed to talk about it rationally.

❀Except Lambert isn't thinking about it rationally. He's steamed full ahead to the man who caused a rift between the two of you. He's called to the man before engaging him in a fight and now Lambert can't stop. He's not going destroy the individual. The others try to pull him off of him but it's no use.

❀There's only one person who can make Lambert stop and that's you. With a shout of his name, he stops and turns to face you. Your face is mixed with worry and concern as you approach him. Lambert's fierce anger has subsided as he leaves the man and steps towards you.

❀Neither of you says a word, but you have understanding. You understand Lambert better than most. Over the years you've learned to communicate through actions and body language, with an outreached hand, Lambert places it firmly in his.

❀He knows he shouldn't react like this. however, when you love someone as much as he does every feeling is magnified. It's when you're patching him up do you both have that talk.

❀He promises to not use his fists again unless necessary. Lambert refuses to allow anyone to hurt you. However, you remind him sometimes his presence is enough to warn anyone off. He also has nothing to fear because you're not going anywhere.

[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

[lilbitosunny]

"If you're going to dance on my front lawn, at least do it properly."

A little piece I did for the one-shot I posted the other day! Ft. My new Lamb and Narinder designs (Not sure if they'll stick but I like them for now)

[candycane969]

Hiiiiii guys 😋😋 Im alive

I am absolutely not done with this little fella yet, but I made this design a while back and wanted to share it with yall as a treat. Enjoy the lamby lamb!!!! Im planning on adding top scars to them tbh

[nellas-art]

The Dream Team

[felrend]

Dumb and dumber

[solcorvidae]

In my Modern AU, Geralt and his brothers are not actually as close in age as they seem to be in canon. I know that Eskel and Geralt are the same age being born in the same year, but I really liked the dynamics that they'd all have in this AU if Eskel was the oldest, Geralt was the middle child, and Lambert was the baby of the family.

They are all about 3-5 years apart from each other and as much as they fight, they really do love each other to death.

Eskel is the oldest and the most well-behaved of the three. He is the mediator when it comes down to Geralt and Lambert's disputes. Lambert instigates because he likes getting a reaction from his brothers (as little brothers tend to do, of course). Geralt, however, is the type of kid to keep to himself. He was the quiet kid that somehow always managed to sneak up on people, scaring them half to death by his sudden and unannounced presence.

Geralt had an incredible amount of patience even as a kid but there were still times where he would snap back at Lambert for taking things too far or being absolutely relentless with his pestering. These fights were the type that Eskel often had to mediate lest they break something... because then they'd ALL be in trouble for their rowdiness and destructive behaviour that caused damage or disruption to Vesemir's house. Their dad was never very pleased when his boys knocked over displays or accidentally dented the wall while they wrestled each other in the hallway.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]

[writer-of-the-lamb]

cult of the lamb fans rise

i’ve created a blog for my cotl writing >:3

feel free to submit any scenarios or questions you want (as long as there’s nothing unacceptable (like incest, pedophilia, etc)

it’s a violent satanic game after all, so asking or requesting stories about torture or murder is chill, but i wont write anything illegal or nsfw.

obviously my characterisations may not be fully canon, but i love to write as close as character as possible! i also do not own any of this franchise or characters! all credit to the devs and creators of "cult of the lamb"

((however i 100% believe lamb is a slay the house down twinky kinda guy from those animations))

EXCITED TO POST STUFF! go wild :3

—

(my main is @perhapsisuppose)

[astaldis]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lambert (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher), Coën (The Witcher), Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Witcher Monster MAYhem 2024, Kaer Morhen (The Witcher) monster attack, Witcher Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, a cheers to Lambert's beard, Blood and Injury, face horror, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Everyone Is Alive

Words: 1,623; Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

"Die, you mother-fucking monster! Will you finally die?" Lambert roars, yet the monster seems to have other plans. For the umpteenth time it reassembles its scattered fragments and attacks again. Damn! While the "Girls" are not at home, the Witchers are attacked by a very strange monster, one they have never encountered, heard of or read of before. A monster that stubbornly refuses to die. Written for Day 6 of the Witcher Monster MAYhem 2024: Song prompt "Die, Monster, Die", the Day 3 prompt "Pointy Teeth" and the Whumpay prompt #9 "Animal Attack"

Read on Ao3:

Die, Monster, Die

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Snowed In: Celebrity Murder Mystery Romance - A Hallmark Movie

Author:  ericdooley

Rating:  T

Status:  Completed in December 2022

Word Count:  8,175

Summary:  Starring: Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Adam Lambert, Cooper Anderson, Harvey Fierstein, grand dame Angela Lansbury.

Tropes/Genre:  Actor!Kurt, Cooper Anderson, Murder She Wrote, AU, alternate meeting, Maine, romance, long one shot

Lynne’s review:  Really lovely story! Great winter descriptions - I needed a warmer blanket while reading!

Read at:  AO3

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

Snowball Fight- Ciri

This is kinda based on the snowball fight Geralt had with Ciri in Witcher 3 game, but it's based on the Netflix version. The reader joins the duo at Kaer Morhen and instigates a snowball fight, all while dragging the other witchers into it.

Enjoy.

"Morning all," you greet as you take a seat at one of the tables in the keep, grabbing some bread and dried meat for your breakfast.

You look around and see the usual company was present at your particular table. Well almost. Geralt was there, as was Triss, Eskel, Lambert, and Coen. But you notice a certain young girl was nowhere to be found. "Where's Ciri?" you ask.

"Hell if I know," Lambert shrugs, taking a bite of bread, "I ain't that little brat's keeper. That's Geralt's job ask him." "Okay," you say turning to the white haired witcher, "Geralt, where is Ciri?" "She was supposed to be eating breakfast right now," Geralt says, "but she said she didn't feel hungry and wanted to get a head start with training instead."

"Again?" you groan in exasperation. "What's the big deal, one missed meal won't hurt the girl," Coen points out. "One meal yes," you agree, "but this has been going for over two weeks now. And it's not just breakfast, sometimes she skips lunch. And sometimes she comes back bruised and exhausted to the point where's she's too tired to eat at all. Is no one else concerned about her physical health and well being? Surely I can't be the only one."

"Of course we're all worried about her," Triss says, "but you know how stubborn Ciri can be. She's wants to learn how to fight and she's determined. Although, that being said she is still a child. She needs time to act like one while she still is." "Ha!" Eskel quips in, "not like any of us had a childhood either." "Eskel has a point," Lambert agrees, "why should the princess have something we've never got?"

You sigh and shake your head, "Can you at least tell me where she went?" "She's at the training course," Geralt answers, "I believe she asked Vesemir to go with her, show her a few of his own tricks with a sword."

You nod and stand, taking a plate of food with you as you exit the keep.

------------------

As you make your way towards the obstacle course, the young girl in question comes within sight. Wooden sword in hand, Ciri made various turns and pirouettes while Vesemir observed, nodding in approval. You were close enough to see the young girl was growing tired already, but despite this state, she seemed determined to perfect her skills.

You sigh a bit and approach. "Am I interrupting?" you speak up, right when Ciri was in the middle of a turn, causing the girl to slip up and lose her sword. "Yes, you were," Ciri sighs in annoyance, "I almost had it and you distracted me." "In (y/n)'s defense, if you were more aware of your surroundings, you wouldn't have been taken by surprise so easily," Vesemir states, "what if it had a forktail or a bruxa instead?" "It wasn't," Ciri points out, "if it was, you would've done something about it." "And if I wasn't here to keep aware for you?"

Ciri remained silent, not having an answer for that. "I'll leave you to take over babysitting for a while," the elder witcher tells you as he leaves.

"I brought you breakfast, Ciri," you say, handing her the plate, "Geralt said you didn't eat anything today, and if you want to get better at fighting, you need food to keep you strong." Ciri seemed reluctant, but it was clear her tired state and growling stomach was making it difficult for her to refuse. She took the plate from you and scarfed down the contents.

"Clearly you've been neglecting your basic dietary needs," you state, "don't eat too fast, honey, you'll get sick." "Sorry," Ciri says, mouthful as she swallows what food was in her mouth, "I just wanted to get these new tricks perfected. Vesemir's been showing me every day but I can never seem to get the hang of it. I need to get this right."

"You don't need to get it right all the time," you point out. "Geralt said anything less then perfect can get me killed," Ciri points back. "Yeah, I'll need to have a chat with Geralt about that," you mutter, "you know, Ciri, sometimes when you keep trying at something for too long you may find yourself actually getting worse at it. It may be a sign that you need to take a step back, rest from it, maybe do something else to take your mind off it." "Well what else am I supposed to do around here?" Ciri huffs.

You think about it for a moment. There wasn't much to do in Kaer Morhen beyond sword fighting and making deadly potions. This place wasn't really meant to encourage looking into hobbies apart from killing monsters and collecting coin. You look around to see the snow on the ground. This was winter after all, that's why the witchers were here in the first place. You take some snow from the ground, roll into a ball, and toss it at Ciri's head, taking her off guard.

"Hey!" you couldn't but giggle, "well, what are you going to do about it?" you sass.

Grin on her face, Ciri rolls up a snowball of her own and tosses at you. You dodge, but Ciri rolls up another ball. You dodge that one, but you hear a familiar 'oof' sound behind you. "Watch it, girl!" Lambert scolds, wiping snow off his beard.

"Sorry," Ciri giggles a bit. "Lambert, what are you even doing here?" you ask. "I was going to see ol' Vesemir kick Ciri's arse," the witcher simply answers, "especially after that little stunt, she damn well deserves it, the little brat."

Your own eyes narrowing, you throw a snowball at Lambert, "what the fuck?" Lambert exclaims. "Oh I'm sorry," you sass, "I just thought you damn well deserved it." "Alright, if that's how you want to be," Lambert says, taking a snowball in his own hand. "Run, Ciri!" you say, happily running off with Ciri while Lambert chases the two of you.

As the three of you got closer to the keep, Lambert kept throwing snowballs at you and Ciri. Coen and Eskel had walked out right at that moment; Lambert threw snowballs, hitting the two witchers in face.

"What the fuck, Lambert?!" Eskel exclaims. "That was hardly called for," Coen agrees, wiping the snow off him. Both witcher now had crossed looks aimed at Lambert, "Ah, men, I swear, that was not for you," Lambert insists, backing away, "don't give me those looks."

Eskel and Coen both pick up snowballs and toss them at Lambert. You and Ciri did your best to contain you laughter as Lambert gets chased around. The two of you were so busy containing your laughter, neither of you notice Eskel and Coen turn and throw snowballs at you.

You and Ciri get behind some broken walls and return fire.

"What's going on out here?" you hear Geralt's voice as he walks out, which everyone stopped the snowball fight at this moment. You throw a snowball at the white haired witcher.

You quickly get behind the wall before Geralt could retaliate. Eskel, Coen, and Lambert started laughing, so Geralt took some snowballs and threw them at his brethren. You and Ciri throw snowballs at Geralt, so now the witcher went back and forth throwing snowballs at either side.

In need of some cover, Geralt runs off and jumps to a high point in the keep. Triss took a peak outside to see the little 'battle' going on. Smiling she goes to join Geralt as reinforcement.

"Ciri, I need more snow!" you exclaim, throwing snowballs at Eskel and Coen. While Ciri did so, you felt multiple snowballs hit you on the back and practically cover you from head to toe. "Hey!" you call out, shaking off the snow.

"Nice shot, Triss," Geralt compliments. "Always happy to help," Triss says with a smile before you and Ciri throw snowballs at Geralt, catching him off guard and knocking him off his feet. "Oh gods," you say, concern in your voice when you saw Geralt fall and land on the snow.

"Geralt!" Ciri calls out as you and her rush to make sure he was okay. Geralt laid on his back, seemingly not moving. As you and her get closer, Geralt then suddenly stands up and pelts the two of you with snow.

"At least he's alright," Coen sighs in relief. "You actually thought he was gone?" Eskel snorts. "Well, if he was, it would be a shit way to go for a witcher," Coen points out, "death by snowballs. Vesemir would never let any of us live it down. Or Lambert now that I think about it." "Where is Lambert?" Eskel asks, looking around.

Right on cue, Lambert had shown up with a giant snowball he spent the better part of the late morning rolling. "Incoming!" Lambert shouts, rolling the giant snowball towards his colleagues, whom wisely dodge. That was right when Vesemir came outside, "what in the name of Melite is going on out here-"

Before the elder witcher could really finish his question, the giant snowball makes full impact. You, Ciri, Triss, and the other witcher break out in laughter as Vesemir pops out of the disintegrated snow boulder. He was mad at first, naturally, but a small smile formed on his face from watching you all with your own smiles, even if it was at his expense.

The snowball fight soon turned to a full scale battle for the rest of the afternoon.

Masterlist

[justanoasisimagines]

Sweetheart

Hey my lovelies, back with another love letter. My requests are open and you can find my request guidlines pinned to the top of the page! Also if you have any Autumn/Halloween requests send them in! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

I hate to be away from you, but work is work and it gives me the opportunity to provide for you in hopes we can comfortably. I don't want you working all hours at the Tavern. I have seen how the owner and the patrons treat you. It isn't acceptable love. No one needs to speak to someone that way. To treat you as if you are less than. I don't want you working there anymore which I've been working so hard. I want to help you make your dreams come true. I want you to set up your stool on the market, to say your wares. We could travel together this way. I wouldn't have to be away from you all summer. Then in the winter, we could retire to Kaer Morhen. As almost like a break at the end of a long year. You've always loved in there in the snow. Perhaps, we can find a space in the castle so we can get away from the others from time to time. They are my family, but we need our privacy. I'll be stopping by in the next moon cycle or so depending on work. I love you, Lambert x

[longingthoughts]

I don’t belong, and my beloved neither do you

𝅄  ✧  .˚ fandom: twilight

𝅄  ✧   .˚ focus: novella lambert, novella lambert/rosalie hale

𝅄  ✧  .˚ content warnings: kissing, anxiety

𝅄  ✧  .˚ tags: longing, slight jealousy, shipuary, happy ending, rosalie likes leather and so does novella, pining, reincarnated soulmates, reincarnation, past lives

𝅄  ✧  .˚ music: ivy by taylor swift

𝅄  ✧  .˚ word count: 1,351 

𝅄  ✧  .˚ originally posted: 2022-02-02  

crackship by kai

March 2005        Novella had waited for what felt like a lifetime to know what happened after the baseball game had occurred. Though Emmett had come around the bakery promising to keep an eye out for her and her family he wouldn't answer her questions and neither would Alice, who told her to ask Bella. Novella glared at Emmett in the bakery as he asked her about the baked goods.        "Can you at least tell me if she's okay? That she's not dying? Charlie isn't even home yet" The short girl huffed as he asked another question about the cinnamon rolls.        "She's in the hospital but she'll survive," Emmett replied, and sensing her about to ask another question he put his hands up. "That's all I can tell you okay?" Novella glared at him again but avoided asking another question. She would just have to ask Bella when she was back. And if she didn't come back she would just have to be the most annoying version of herself and get her friend to talk to her. Novella knew that Bella hadn't felt the most at home but she wasn't sure if that had changed now. Novella softened and chewed her lip as she answered every question Emmett had about the sweets. After all, the thought of tasting cardboard for all time seemed horrible.       About a week later though charlie was home and so was Bella. Novella made fresh baked goods that she knew both the swans enjoyed, carefully baking them to perfection as if the sweets could get some answers out of Bella. It wasn't even that she just wanted to know what had happened, though that curiosity was there, she also just wanted to make sure that her friend was okay. That she was okay after everything. "Sai I finished the box, can you still give me a ride?" She asked her best friend not trusting the bike with the baked goods she had specifically spent all day on. "Yes Nov, this shift is almost done." She heard her friend say from the front of the bakery, the tone of her voice telling Novella the bakery was empty.        Fifteen minutes later they were outside of the swan residence she told Sadie that she could walk home and she would call if she was late before she made her way up to the door. It was charlie who greeted her at the door. "Hi Charlie I brought you and Bella's favorites," Novella peered around him into the house. "She's home right?"        "Yeah kid, she's up in her room recovering, could you bring her favorite baked good up to her? I don't want to interrupt your girl time." Charlie said and the care he had for his daughter tugged at Novella's heartstrings.        "Of course, thanks" She replied easily grabbing a small plate and putting the cream cheese danish on it before she made her way upstairs. It was a little too staged the way that Bella was sitting as though she was trying to seem casual.        "He ruined my dramatic entrance didn't he?" Novella joked also pointing out that she in fact did know that Edward had been there. Bella looked as though she was going to deny it before she let out a sheepish grin. "I knew it!" Novella exclaimed as quietly as she could to not make Charlie worry.        "Oh, and I have a cream cheese danish for you."She said almost as an afterthought.        "Oh."She heard the taller brunette say as she took the plate.       "So come on tell me what happened? Also don't just say you fell down the stairs, I was at the game in case you forgot." She added the second part almost as if it was an afterthought.        As Bella told her what happened she listened intently wanting to know everything but her brain kept going back to one of the first details she shared, that she had to trade clothes with Rosalie. It wasn't something that she should be jealous of, Bella was literally running for her life, but her brain kept going back to the fact. Part of her wished she got to trade clothes with Rose. Though the idea of going on the run was terrifying it wasn't that she was jealous of. She was jealous of the closeness she had gotten to be to Rose by wearing her clothes. Still she knew the thought was stupid so she kept pushing the thoughts away as she listened to her friend's story and added her own quips.

June 2006       If someone had asked her what she thought her life would be like now she would not in a million years have been able to have guessed this. She sat in the cabin she had been staying at lately that the Cullens promised would keep her and everyone safe on her request feeling she wasn't ready to be in the Cullens house full time. It had been a lot to process since April, the month she had been turned by victoria as some sick act of revenge against the Cullens and Bella. After turning she not only had memories of now but also of before of Rose. It had been hell to process those alone while also taking on the other newborn's guilt. It looked like it would be a little better now, though the Volturi wanted Bella turned yesterday. But she couldn't control any of that. "Hey Rose" She said feeling the presence of her nearby.       "Do you remember the talk we had the other night?" Rose asked. Novella felt mortified remembering telling Rose about how she had been jealous of Bella when she had been on the run. The worst part is she couldn't even blame something like sleep deprivation or something on it because she was a vampire now and sleep was impossible. "Don't worry Neph," Rose replied using the nickname of her past life as if it was as easy as breathing air. "it's not as embarrassing you think. I actually think it's really cute." She heard rose say steadying her embarrasment all at once.        "I remember." Novella said shifting to look at Rose as she sat on the couch with her. Rosalie was holding a box Novella raised her eyes at her in question.        "Well, I wanted to bring you this, open it." Rose said handing the box to her. Novella took the box carefully looking at it. It was clearly a new box for this specific occasion. It was a black box wrapped in a magenta ribbon carefully. It was clearly picked out with Novella in mind. She gently tugged at the ribbon not wanting her new strength to hurt the delicate thing. She opened the box exposing more magenta this time it was tissue paper. She was a lot less careful with this than she was the ribbon pushing it back to see black leather. Novella couldn't help the small sound of amazement that came out of her mouth. "It's from the eighties, I bought it because it seemed like something that you would wear and I really missed you. When you talked about being jealous of Bella it made me remember it. I've worn it to school for a week so it should smell like me." She heard Rose say. Novella carefully pushed the box to her spot on the couch as she grabbed the jacket and settled it on her shoulders. Looking at rose's smile made her melt completely. "You look beautiful with it on" She heard the blonde say to her.        "Rose have I told you lately that I love you?" Novella asked her settling on Rose's lap instead of the rest of the couch. To some, it would have been fast but it really wasn't. Novella, having been named Nephele at the time, had spent the rest of her life in love and mourning her. The whole time the Cullens had been in forks she felt drawn to her. These feelings were always there. Novella wrapped her arms around Rosalie's neck and kissed her. Feeling Rose's arms wrap around her waist. It just felt right.

[laserpinksteam]

September's Single Shots: Pet Sematary Two (dir. Mary Lambert, 1992)

[enzombie]

Needed to gif this scene sorry <3

[vulpinesaint]

ik i do not post pictures of myself on here so. for anyone wondering what i look like, imagine a combination of soft brown sweater adam lambert and edgy black outfit adam lambert from his better than i know myself music video