#witcher lambert

[on-a-lucky-tide]

New Lambert gym shirt just dropped.

Getting in the Lambert mood to do some writin', fellas. *Lambskel war drums intensify*

[gingersnappish]

Lambert and Aiden: in some couples it's 'opposites attract' and in others, well....

in others, they are cut from exactly the same cloth.

Does anyone, even Witchers, need that many knives?

~Inspired by that post that went around a little while back that was along the lines of 'when you are undressing with your partner and the pair of you end up with a pile of knives bigger than the pile of clothes' by the end, or something to that effect. It reminded me so strongly of these guys that I had to make this!

[ladycibia]

btw she kept it

(the cutest lil'bleater was crafted by @ishxallxgood 💖💖💖)

[artistsfuneral]

"So you're just going to give up?" Vesemir's voice bellows across the courtyard, "Boy, I did not raise a quitter!"

Weirdly enough his anger calms Lambert.

"You did not raise me," he says, voice steady, "You trained me to do a job and I quit."

[greenapplespider]

Probably should have gone to bed but I reeeeeeeaaaaally couldn’t help myself 😭

[aka-lorterian]

wolf³

[ilikebigants]

New headcannon: most Witchers don't have a lot of sex. The rumour that Witchers are really sexually active was started due to Vesemir's slut era and was solidified due to Geralt's escapades.

Everyone else has depression and can't get it up

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Due to his school being a little more diverse in the contracts it accepts (assassination, theft, etc), you can bet Aiden's going be a pretty passable actor, or at least have some decent improv skills when the occasion calls for it. Jaskier is a bard and a spy - enough said.

So, picture the two of them engaging in a friendly one upmanship of situations they've had to bullshit their way out of while Lambert and Geralt just sit listening in mute horror and strongly considering child harnesses for their SO's because 'fucking hell, how are these two actually still alive??!!?'

Geralt: I'm never letting you out of my sight again.

Jaskier: I know Love. Finish your porridge.

Lambert: Wait, that was when....where the fuck was I during all this?

Aiden: I snuck out when you were occupied at the Inn. We weren't even fucking at that point and you looked like you were getting somewhere with that Skellige bloke, I didn't want to interrupt. Besides, it should have been just a quick in and out.

Jaskier: Is that what Lambert said to the Skellige bloke?

*Lambert starts spluttering and choking around his mouthful of small ale while Aiden just about falls out of his seat he's laughing so hard.*

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Modern AU:

Kaer Moron’s Family Car

@0dde11eth @everything-but-the-not-natural @i-pet-spuders @fandom-junk-drawer @dancinginmyoldsatindress @thequeeninyellowlace

[incorrect-accidental-warlord]

Eskel: Guys, since this looks like the end, I just wanted you to know... You are really not the people I intended to die with.

Lambert: Ditto.

Geralt: This is pretty much what I expected, to be honest.

Jaskier: Actually, I'd always planned on the four of us being buried together in a joint tomb.

Eskel:

Geralt:

Lambert:

Jaskier:

Eskel: If we make it through this, you and I are having a serious talk.

[kenobihater]

i'm thinking hard about how every meaningful interaction the player has with lambert in the witcher 3 is with a man who is grieving. first is the loss of aiden, who lambert is defensive of and shares the bare minimum about during following the thread, basically just enough of his positives so he can ensure geralt helps him track down aiden's killers.

when we see him at kaer morhen before juicing up the phylactry at the circle of elements during the final trial, he's making booze, and later admits to drinking alone. he's not coping well with any of his grief, either regarding the loss of aiden or his more distant past, as is evident by the conversation about voltehre and later the conversation about his childhood.

in following the thread he's mourning aiden, in the final trial he's mourning both voltehre and his life pre-trials, and in blood on the battlefield, well... he's mourning the only real father-figure he's ever known, as is made obvious by his voicelines if keira isn't present and he doesn't feel the need to put on a brave façade.

lambert's entire diposition in game is shaped by the fact that he's actively mourning aiden and later vesemir, and that he's still bitter over both the death of voltehre and of his childhood innocence. he's in pain, and lonely, and resentful of the entire world! he's a grief-stricken man haunted by the weight of the past!! every meaningful conversation geralt has with him feels like traversing a minefield because he's bereaved!!!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A young, horny Lambert sets his sights on an older hunk of Witcher beef. CW: age gap, flirtation.

"I'm going for it."

"Lambert, don't be a fucking idiot. They'll laugh at you."

"They might, but he won't. You miss all the chances you don't take, right?"

"Your funeral."

Lambert licked his lips and smoothed his hair back as he stood. He hadn't torn his eyes away from his mark for a single second since said man had swaggered into the hall a few hours before. This was the winter he'd do it. He was a man himself now, which meant he had every chance of bagging himself the hunk of good-lookin' he'd been coveting from the moment his dick had started getting hard at night and hair had appeared on his jaw.

Eskel.

It wasn't just that Eskel had two decades on Lambert or that he was becoming a seasoned witcher. No other Witcher in the keep compared. Sure, some tried. They might step toe to toe during drills or try to outflame Eskel's igni, but they never could. The only one that outmatched Eskel was his pale shadow, Geralt. They even looked a little similar. But cream puff was a fucking bean pole of a man, and that shitty headband...

N'aw, Lambert wanted big. He wanted heat, and honey eyes, and that thatch of dark hair he'd seen on Eskel's barrelled chest in the baths, and that huge fucking d--

"You lost, Lambert?"

Lambert blinked. Gweld, the ginger prick, was frowning at him, ale tankard halfway up to his mouth. The others had paused their card game; Clovis looked drunk, Geralt was slouched back trying to see Clovis' hand and Eskel was watching Lambert speculatively.

Watching, with those honey-coloured eyes that turned Lambert inside out. The words caught in Lambert's throat; shit, fuck, why was he so fuckin' stupid the moment Eskel looked at him?

He took a breath, conscious of Clovis elbowing Gweld with a chuckle, while Geralt looked over with a smirk.

Lambert found his words. He folded his arms, thrust his chest out, widened his stance and put on his best cocky smirk. "Was just wonderin' whether Eskel wanted some better company. You losers can't handle your beer at the best of times."

They laughed. Gweld elbowed Eskel who cocked a half smile, eyes rolling not at Lambert, but his friends, proving Lambert's point. Obviously.

"Is that right?" Geralt asked, amusement turning his narrow face bright with a toothy grin. Lambert had been told that as witchers matured they honed their sense of smell, could identify a man's emotions from his body language, the flush in his skin. Lambert knew Geralt had him sussed. "And what kinda company are you offering?"

"Geralt..." Eskel growled in warning, and it went straight to Lambert's groin. Fucking hells.

"Whatever he wants. I'm a man of many talents."

More laughter--"little man has game, shit; fuck, I'm chokin, too funny"--but Lambert wasn't put off. Eskel's eyes were on him, warming him like the sun. The lines around those eyes were wrinkled with mirth, and damn if that smile wasn't snatching the breath right out of Lambert's chest.

"Does your master know you're out?" Eskel asked, placing his cards face down. He leaned back in his chair and slung his elbow onto the back of it, knee turned out while a hand tapped at his drink.

Lambert tried to keep his eyes level and resist the urge to... look. Eskel's codpiece put on an absolutely fucking heroic effort, but it could only hide so much and that was when Eskel was soft. "What he don't know can't hurt him. No business of his who else is in my bed as long as I am."

Eskel pressed his lips together to smother his smile while the others guffawed. More was said but Lambert didn't really hear; he was too focused on keeping his heart from beating out his chest and appearing suave.

Eskel hummed. "Aren't you a little young to be lookin' for that kinda fun?"

"Worried you won't be able to keep up, old man?" Lambert felt momentum. He could do snark, he could meet Eskel on this well worn ground, toe to toe, and the way Eskel's head tilted to the side and his eyebrow rose. It wasn't a no, right? He looked interested. Amused, but he didn't dismiss Lambert outright.

Gweld slapped Eskel on the shoulder with a bark. "Eskel here's got stories that'd make your balls shrivel up into yer belly, lad. I don't think he's a good choice for yer first ride, best drop your ambitions."

"Fuck off, Gweld," Eskel said, but there was no heat to his words. Just wry amusement.

Geralt snorted into his drink and Clovis made a vulgar gesture with his hand, but before Lambert could respond a familiar voice barked through the hall and sucked all the building sexual tension into a vacuum. "Lambert, get your arse to bed, you missed roll call!"

Lambert clenched his teeth, shoulders lifting towards his ears. For fuck's sake...

Three of the witchers in front of him groaned in mock empathy. "Oof, tough break, Lambino. Cock blocked by Vesemir," Gweld said, shaking his head while Geralt and Clovis snickered. "Don't worry, we've all been there. Ain't that right, Gerbear?"

Geralt guffawed in protest and smacked Gweld on the shoulder. It quickly devolved into a wrestling match on the floor, one which Gweld was definitely going to lose. Eskel watched them briefly before he looked back at Lambert. "Another time perhaps," he said, toasting Lambert with his ale. "G'wan, before he decides the target dummies are a little light on straw."

Lambert grunted, frustrated, but stalked away. He'd made inroads, and the way Eskel's eyes had shone, and that crooked grin. Eskel hadn't outright rejected him, hells, he'd--well, that smile... Eskel didn't smile at everyone like that.

Lambert laid in bed with that smile behind his eyes and a hand under the sheets, determined that it would be Eskel's instead of his own by winter's end.

[gingersnappish]

Remember that wherever your heart is, there you will find your treasure. ~Coelho, "The Alchemist"

Have I mentioned how much I adore Lambert's nerdy, experimentation-loving, explosion-prone, alchemist self? The geeky side of his character is such a wonderful juxtaposition with his grouchy gremlin self who begrudgingly fights monsters for a living!

Also, I totally subscribe to the idea that Lam makes potions and bombs for both Aiden and himself, 'cause Aiden is a little bit shit at alchemy. Meanwhile, Aiden takes care of the cooking for them, because he's marvelous at making really tasty meals out of thin pickings (and Lambert has been known to not bother with salt or even cooking his catch all through if left to his own feral devices).

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 16

Jaskier gifts Geralt something at least once a month. A silly horse knick-knack that reminded him of Roach, some rock he found, a flower (that's the most frequent). New gloves, new boots, gear, a sword sharpener, really, at least once a year Geralt has something new that means the world to him. So he keeps them all in his room in Kaer Morhen. Which means that every winter his brothers start trying to squeeze out information about who gives him these presents. Year by year, Lambert and Eskel tackle him and demand to know who gives him PERSONALIZED HAIR-TIES, GERALT! PERSONALIZED HAIR-TIES! AND IS THAT A FUCKING THROW PILLOW WITH FLOWERS ON IT!?

One year, they finally, FINALLY, get out the information that it's the bard he travels with. But surely if he gives him this many gifts and has stayed this many years, he should be spending at least one winter in Kaer Morhen with them, right? Geralt gets all sheepish and snaps at them to leave it alone and to stop bringing up "Jask." Well! A brother's gotta do what a brother's gotta do. Thus commences Lambert and Eskel's race to see who can find Geralt's bard first, and invite him up for the winter so they can wingman their poor emotionally constipated brother

[artistsfuneral]

What if Lambert were the older sibling?

The one wolf who hates being a witcher so much it takes him years to return to Kaer Morhen and many more to overcome his bitterness.

The one wolf who's incredibly brilliant when it comes to alchemy but avoided by all his brethren due to his awful temper and unlikable personality.

The one wolf who is so incredibly protective over their younglings that few others dare to argue with him.

Always ready to fight for the kids, snarling and snapping at those way stronger and crueler than them. It takes four grown witchers to hold him down when he learns that a group of boys will undergo the Grasses a second time. The grandmaster of the wolves wears a scar on his face from the time they discovered four witchers weren't enough.

Lambert is forcefully removed from Kaer Morhen. The children are watching when they drive Lambert off. Small boys, barely old enough to hold a knife, bare their teeth. For years to come they remember. The younglings turn vicious.

One after the other, grown and trialed wolves leave the keep behind, not willing to return home until they've seen him again.

One after the other, witchers return home for winter with their fangs sharpened and a feral smile on their face.

Kaer Morhen falls.

Lambert returns to the keep with his head held high. In the end he's victorious, in a way.

[greenapplespider]

Lambert all nice and colored before bed