bakerstreet | We deserve this.

Entry tags:

[meme] shipping

We deserve this.

Deserve to be Happy

If we're honest, fictional characters can be generalized into two camps: 1. good people who have crap happen to them or 2. just crappy people. But bad or good, cheery or grouchy, undeserving or no, we sometimes shamelessly want them to have something nice in life. Or, more accurately, someone nice. A certain someone to give them kisses and their favorite foods, to make sure they have a blanket when they fall asleep, and maybe to whisk them away on fun dates/adventures? If they're lucky, this somebody may even give killer back rubs.

But forget your shame, okay? No judgement here. This is just a cute meme for all your gross (shipping) needs, where your character can get all the happiness they deserve...or don't. Whatever!

Comment with your character's info, your prefs, all those goodies. You can also include info about what would make your character really happy or if there's a particular role you'd like to play (maybe the one doing the cheering up?).
Reply to others.
Be presh.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

It had been months since Lambert had helped Eskel on the endrega hunt that swiftly detoured into an all-out bar brawl. He was now back at Kaer Morhen, had been for a few nights now. After Vesemir, Lambert usually was the first to arrive. And when Eskel had arrived just after, he'd been relieved. The incident with the knife had reminded him just how easily they could lose one another.

Fighting monsters was one thing. Having it happen because of something he himself had maybe possibly started was something far different.

It was something he shouldn't be shocked about, though. Something that shouldn't still upset him, after all this time. But it did. And now that he was home, he could maybe try to get the fuck over it again and go back to normal. Bottling things up and hiding behind sarcastic remarks and pushing everyone away so he didn't have to worry about anything.

Which is why he was currently standing in the hallway outside Eskel's door, clad only in his smallclothes and a warm chemise and regretting his choice to walk the freezing stone floor barefoot.

If he knew he was capable of feeling fear, Lambert might admit to himself that he was afraid to knock. But witchers didn't feel fear, so he obviously couldn't be afraid, and at any rate, falling back on childhood habits wasn't something he'd get yelled at or mocked for. So he knocked, softly, and whispered the older man's name. Then he knocked again, a little louder.

Eskel's arm had healed fine. Had taken a little while longer than he planned-- he guessed the knife had gotten into the joint and mis-aligned something for a while, but it was fine now. Which he handily demonstrates by punching Lambert affectionately in the shoulder upon arrival. And it had all seemed fine. It was good to be home.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed-- piled high with furs and a wool blanket that was warm enough where the moths hadn't nibbled it too much and only smelled a little bit like musty cedar chips-- looking at the chest of books he kept in his room. There was very little sense in material possessions on the Path, so it was kind of nice to be in Kaer Morhen, where they all had their small things. Books, trinkets from the road. Saucy etchings bought for a penny or two in nice brothels. Exotic weapons from all over the continent. Eskel was considering a volume of old Zerrekanian war poetry when his keen ears picked up a tiny knock.

"Hm?" He sniffed. "Lambert? Come in, it's not locked."

Lambert is quick to slip inside, shutting the door quietly. Rather than join Eskel on the bed, however, he continues to stand awkwardly by the door, scrunching his shoulders up and and crossing his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like the same angry little boy that Vesemir had dragged back to the keep decades ago. He looks around the room for a moment, eyes finally settling on the chest of books Eskel is digging through. He'd always liked to read.

"My room's cold," he offers. It's a lame excuse. He's been here long enough that his room should be plenty warm. But he's not about to tell the older witcher why he's really here. "Can I stay with you?"

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. I think we lost a few more windows." He snorts. He picks up a shaggy skin that probably once belonged to a bear and offers it to Lambert. "Come on, there's room for your skinny ass." He points to the foot of the bed. For all his levity, he watches Lambert carefully as the man approaches. His body language says it's more than just a chill and Eskel knows he's probably going to have to draw out whatever sliver is sticking in the younger witcher's side.

"Glad to have me back? I know you and the old man don't get along."

He doesn't have to be told twice. Quickly, he crosses to the bed and climbs in, settling right next to Eskel. "Yeah. Took him exactly an hour to start in with the questions and the nagging. Told him to go pester those rock trolls if he was so desperate for conversation." Vesemir had asked what he'd found when he'd gone back to the little shack he'd been taken from. The look in the old man's eyes said he already knew what had happened.

Lambert leans over the other witcher's shoulder to look at the chest again. "Bring back anything new?"

Eskel feels like he can tell what Lambert and Vesemir butted heads over. It was unkind of the old man to bring it up. He wraps the bearskin comfortably around Lambert's shoulders.

"Nah." He says, showing Lambert the book, which is bound in some kind of brightly colored leather, embossed with gold. "Just revisiting an old favorite. It's too big to take on the road with me, so I can only enjoy it during the winter." Indeed, the cover is larger than the length of even Eskel's large hands. "See, it's got the Zerrekanian on this side and the translation opposite. I like to read it at night, helps me sleep, I think. Gives my brain something to do."

Lambert pulls the bearskin tighter around himself, letting his head stay on Eskel's shoulder. "Makes sense...And if you really wanted, you could probably learn Zerrekanian." The cover is pretty, and it's kind of a shame it's too big to be taken along on the road.

"What do you do on the road, then? To sleep?"

"Same as you, Lamb. Meditate as long as I can stand it and then drink. But if there's a place that sells old books, I can pick up a volume or two if they're small, that helps." He shrugs. "I worked my ass off this fall. The vineyards easy of Novigrad have a huge problem...spiders the size of dogs. I was there for two months just running damage control before I found the nest. Apparently they have queens, like bees or some shit. Had to burn down like a quarter of an acre to eliminate the infestation. Most nights I was out pretty quick, between the things' venom and the potions I had to take to counteract it. So...keeping busy helps. But you know all that as well as I do. And I imagine none of that helped you sleep any, in the end."

"No, not really. Couldn't...really sleep tonight, either." He sighs and shifts so that he can flop back while managing to keep the bearskin covering himself. "Papa Vesemir had me helping to chop and stack firewood. I should be tired. 'M not."

"Thought you couldn't sleep because you were cold." Eskel says wryly, shifting the bearskin. "And don't let him catch you saying that or you'll get put on wall repair duty and your arms will be jelly for weeks." He snorts. "Come on, get comfortable. I'll sit with you and maybe you'll sleep, if I'm keeping watch." It was always easier to sleep with another witcher at one's side. Knowing that, for once, there was someone else capable of taking on the things that lurk in the dark.

They have single beds, and they're not mere boys anymore, but with some shifting about they manage that. Eskel settles back against the headboard, crossing his long legs, and pats the pillow, inviting Lambert to settle in.

"Why can't it be both?" He scowls at Eskel for a moment, then moves so he can lay his head on the pillow properly. "We're all gonna be on wall repair duty before spring." Tucked up close to the other witcher like this, Lambert can easily pick out his scent from that of the bedding. Leather and horse, sword oil, the tangy hint of magic, and a musk that was distinctly Eskel. It was nothing like huddling together with Voltehre after their first Trial, both clumsy and overwhelmed as they sought comfort in one another in the dark.

"You don't have to keep watch. Nothing can get in here, even if the place has gone to shit."

"But your instincts don't know that." Eskel points out, picking up his book and resting an arm on Lambert's shoulder. It really was like it had been when they were younger, wasn't it? Witcher code and culture probably dictated that each of them fight their own battles as they lay awake at night but Vesemir never really did anything about the fact that the young witchers would often sneak into each other's quarters, looking for warmth and just the presence of another person. Eskel and Geralt had fallen asleep in each other's arms more than once, especially right after their changing, when the pain of their ravaged bodies, their overwhelmed new senses was simply too much. When they got news that someone wasn't coming home, as their numbers got smaller and smaller so too did Eskel's bed because--on occasion-- he and Geralt found themselves curled around Lambert, the young witcher secured between them. Each of them probably wondering if he was the broken witcher for being unable to bear up under the feelings of crushing grief they weren't supposed to have.

There had been other, more intimate times. Of course there were. Brought here as children, fellow apprentices were all the witchers had ever known. At a certain point-- especially before the Changes dulled (though clearly failed to eliminate) pesky human wants and needs-- there was a different kind of comfort to be had in the beds of one's brother witchers. Usually these furtive liasons dwindled over time and there was an unspoken understanding that nothing more lasting than an unshakable fraternal bond develop, especially when the witchers were Changed, became men and set off on the Path. Eskel had not held Lambert in such a way for many decades, as Eskel had tried not to indulge Lambert's more youthful tendencies: his need for physical comfort and his temper tantrums among them and because Eskel found he had vastly preferred the company of women. At least before he became so violently disfigured and turned every ounce of his devotion to the Path and away from outside distraction.

Eskel rubbed Lambert's shoulder as he read, a reflective, comforting gesture.

The arm resting on his shoulder prompts Lambert to scoot the scant few inches closer that he can manage, throwing his own arm over Eskel's waist and lifting his head a tiny bit so that he isn't smothering himself in the other's hip.

He's rather glad Geralt isn't here yet. As much as he loves his brothers, and as much comfort as he'd found sandwiched between them when they were all younger, there's no way they'd all fit in a bed now. He and Eskel barely fit. Lambert had no issue getting so close, however. He'd fought tooth and nail to set himself apart from all the other witchers, clinging to every small comfort he could, seeking out what he needed wherever he could get it.

During those years when they were changing, growing--both naturally and unnaturally--Lambert had discovered those same more intimate comforts as every other boy. He had no problem staying detached emotionally, knowing any of them could die suddenly and that it was safer to snuff any romantic notions out before they could begin. But he'd discovered there was a deeper level of comfort to be found, something primal that could be soothed, if he gave up control to someone he trusted. He didn't have to stay on guard, or think, or keep his emotions reined in. And once he'd set out on the Path, he hadn't cared to get rid of that particular habit. It was difficult to find someone he trusted as much as his brothers, though. Whores could be paid for all manner of services, but there were things he was unwilling to ask for. Even from the few male whores he'd encountered. Then he'd met Aiden and found that the Cat witcher could absolutely be trusted with his life.

He'd found his own ways to deal with his shit, and he didn't care if it wasn't the proper way for a witcher to be.

Laying here now, it was tempting to want to fall back on those ways. He'd been alone with his thoughts too long. But the older witcher had discouraged these childish habits long ago. He was probably lucky to be invited in at all.

Eskel read for a while, hoping to soothe Lambert just with his presence. The comfort went both ways, he would never pretend otherwise. Unlike the notorious (if sometimes accidental or bewitched) Lothario that was their brother Geralt, Eskel eschewed both relationships and the night flowers that bloomed enticingly in the brothels of Novigrad, Oxenfurt and Vizima. Unlike Lambert, he preferred to walk the Path alone. He didn't think of himself as touch-starved or lonely most of the time but now that Lambert was there he found the sense of presence comforting. And vaguely nostalgic. After a while, however, his nose and intuition picked up on some kind of discomfort or melancholy in the younger witcher.

"Hey...you're not still worried about my shoulder, are you? It's nothing, I'm fine now."

"Yeah, I know, you greeted me with a punch. Memory starting to go~?" he teases. The young wolf knows he can't lie about being fine, though. Just as he can sense the calm that had washed over Eskel, he knows Eskel can sense that he isn't quite comfortable. He could talk about it, admit to what was going on, or he could lay here and ignore it.

"Just lay down already. Unless you still wanna read."

"Keeping you up?" The wolf teases, but he leans over to blow out the stub of candle next to the bed and lays his book aside. There's some groaning and shuffling as the older witcher gets settled.

"You're gonna have to pick: big or little spoon?" Eskel snorts. "We won't fit otherwise." There's only one double bed in Kaer Morhen, a mystery relic perhaps from a mage or other, less ascetic person. And only guests sleep there. "You wanna be the little spoon? Like back in the day?" He asks. He's half teasing, half in earnest, starting to realize that may be what Lambert needs.

Lambert shifts and rolls so that his back is to Eskel, trying to make himself as small as he can. It's difficult, but he makes it work.

"It'd be weird if you were the little spoon anyways." The difference was marginal, but Eskel had always seemed bigger. And, when given the choice, he wasn't about to pass up a chance to be held. If he's a little too eager when he reaches to tug Eskel's arm around himself, can he really be blamed? "Have you ever been the little spoon?"

"Maybe when I was way younger. You know, before we Change and get all bulky." He snorts. "We didn't all get to be weirdly lanky like Geralt. My shoulders are too big." He shrugs. "Hmm...Once I met a guy from Skellige, the first time I ever went there. He was beefy enough, built like a polar bear. He managed it." They hadn't exactly slept in that position, which turned out to be a doubly novel experience for Eskel. "But I don't spend a lot of time with men like that, so." He shrugs against Lambert's back. "You ever been the big spoon?"

Lambert is nice and warm and smells familiar. To say that it was a reminder of the joys of their youth would be a lie: the childhood of a witcher is hard and there's all kinds of reasons why so many of them don't make it. But it was a reminder that none of them was truly alone in the world. Not yet. The bonds of their order were stronger than the world that would have broken any one of them if given the chance.

Edited 2020-08-16 21:27 (UTC)

Nodding, Lambert thinks over this new information. "'S a shame you don't. Or that there isn't a woman big enough." He never would've thought Eskel would be the type to look for that outside the keep, but going out on the Path for the first couple of years was hard.

"If a woman lets me stay, after, and wants to cuddle up." Which was a bit of a rare thing. "Aiden and I switch, when we're not sleeping face to face, or just...on our backs. But I like being the little one."

"Nah, I like being the big spoon." He says, giving Lambert a reassuring squeeze. Butting his head against the back of Lambert's, nose buried in the back of his neck.

"You gonna ask Vesemir if you can bring Aiden around of these winters? I know Cats got reputations but I trust you that he's alright."

The soft breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck pulls the tiniest gasp out of Lambert. He shifts a little to get more comfortable.

"Do I have to ask? Was kinda planning to just show up with him next year. It'll save me an argument with the old man this year, 'cause you know he's gonna say no." And then, because he likes making his brother laugh, he adopts the voice he uses to mock their mentor. "Witchers from the Cat School cannot be trusted! They are all...scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells!"

"Okay but you gotta make sure I'm here so I can see the look on his face." Eskel laughs. "I mean if Geralt can bring his sorceresses up here, you should be able to bring Aiden. I mean, arguably, the Cat has more right."

Lambert relaxes considerably at the laugh. "He's a witcher! He does. Why don't you just meet us at the trail head and we'll go up together?" That way, Eskel can get to know him, too. Two Wolves vouching for him should surely convince Vesemir to allow the Cat to stay.

"That's a whole year away, though."

Lambert || The Witcher 3 || OTA for canonmates

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject