Dotlookstired

[dotlookstired]

Donate to Support Ceros After Car Theft and Attack, organized by Ceros Whaley

Hello all, my name is Ceros. I've been going through some insanely rough… Ceros Whaley needs your support for Support Ceros After Ca

This dude basically got hate crimed and has permanent damage. If you can help or share, that’d be great.

[jakewag]

[maglev-train-woman]

A balanced diet

[unethical-chinchilla-breeder]

you don't even have a percentage of my power. The bubly hurts you it only makes me stronger, better, more chinchilla

[maglev-train-woman]

you just don't like my overwhelming style and skillllll!

[dotlookstired]

@unethical-chinchilla-breeder can anyone breed with your chinchillas?

[maglev-train-woman]

A balanced diet

[dotlookstired]

Truly nothing more you could ever need to sustain yourself in these cold times.

[maglev-train-woman]

what are all those little # things

[dotlookstired]

It’s magic, I made them in my lower left desk draw.

[maglev-train-woman]

A balanced diet

[dotlookstired]

Truly nothing more you could ever need to sustain yourself in these cold times.

[maglev-train-woman]

hunters

[maglev-train-woman]

hornet

hornet

[maglev-train-woman]

hornet

[dotlookstired]

Chapter 8 of my little witchers fic.

Vesemir went to check on Geralt’s progress with dinner, expecting at least mild competence. He found the stove was splattered with stew, and the cast iron pot sat abandoned on the counter in a small puddle of stew. A pile of washed vegetables sat in the sink and a pan of dough sitting on the table, which Vesemir assumed Geralt had left to rise.

“Well, at least he made some progress,” Vesemir muttered, raising an eyebrow at the scene. With a resigned sigh, he set down the crate of tiny, sleeping witchers on the table next to the dough and rolled up his sleeves. “Guess it’s up to me to salvage this mess,” he grumbled, reaching for a knife.

Meanwhile, in the infirmary, Eskel slowly opened his eyes, groaning as a pounding migraine made itself known. Blinking against the dim light, he realized with a rush of relief that he was finally back at Kaer Morhen. “Thank the gods,” he thought as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cold stone floor sent a shiver through him, but he ignored it, weakly stumbling toward the door—until he noticed another occupied bed.

Eskel shuffled over and carefully lifted the blanket from the bed’s occupant, revealing Coën, who was snuggling with his pillow. Eskel reached out to gently touch Coën’s forehead, and the other witcher’s eyes fluttered open.

“Eskel? What are you doing up? How are you feeling?” Coën mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Don’t worry about that. How are you?” Eskel countered, concern etched across his face.

“I’m okay. I think the infection’s gone now. Just need to fully heal,” Coën replied, his voice trailing off.

“Good. Just rest for now,” Eskel said as he tucked the blanket snugly around Coën.

“You should also be resting,” Coën murmured before drifting back to sleep.

Eskel ignored the advice and continued his escape from the infirmary. His wandering took him past Yennefer’s room, where he stopped to take in a curious sight.

There was Yennefer, crouched on the floor, measuring Geralt before marking a piece of fabric with chalk. She appeared utterly absorbed in her task, as Dandelion sat on her bed, plucking at his lute with bandaged hands.

Eskel smirked. “Good luck leaving the keep alive when she realizes where you're sitting, bard” he thought to himself before shuffling onward.

Eskel followed the aroma of Vesemir's cooking. He shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe for support. Vesemir turned from the stove, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Eskel, what are you doing out of bed, pup?” Vesemir asked gently, setting down a ladle and crossing the room in two strides.

Before Eskel could protest, Vesemir pulled the now visibly wobbly witcher into a firm but warm hug.

“I don’t know,” Eskel mumbled into Vesemir’s chest, his voice muffled and thick with exhaustion. “I just didn’t feel like laying down. I’m so tired, but I don’t want to sleep… I don’t think I can sleep.”

“It could be a side effect of that magic you and Aiden messed with,” Vesemir replied, gently guiding Eskel to sit at the table near the crate of tiny, slumbering witchers.

Eskel slumped into the chair, his gaze flickering to the crate. “How’s Aiden? Honestly, I was pretty sure we were going to die messing with such dangerous magic.”

Without waiting for an answer, Eskel reached into the crate. Before Vesemir could stop him. A flurry of movement and a scared shriek erupted as Eskel woke the beasts.

“Oh, damn it, Eskel!” Vesemir groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as a chorus of tiny grumbles and squeaky protests filled the kitchen as the two in the crate began arguing with each other Lambert's sleep grabbing of Aidens ear. “I didn’t want them awake.”

From the crate came Lambert’s high-pitched voice, dripping with spite. “You never want me around, old man! How was Eskel supposed to know you extra didn’t want me around today?”

Eskel tried to stifle a laugh, which only earned him a glare from Vesemir. Meanwhile, Lambert clambered out of the crate and Aiden sat up. “I was having a very important dream, by the way,” Lambert continued, hands on his hips. “There were fishes. And explosions. And I was going to cook some for Aiden and he was going to tell me how amazing my cooking is. And I was going to sell the rest to buy us a house and get him an actually nice ring!”

“How are you doing?” Eskel asked Aiden. The Little cat witcher paused before answering “I'm ok, i feel a little burnt out but I'm ok. But you don’t look so good” the little elf replied.

Eskle smiled at him “I'll be ok.’ Lambert shook his head “you look like shit, why aren't you laying down?” he bluntly stated.

Vesemir sighed deeply, muttering something under his breath about patience. He reminded himself that Lambert was fragile in this new form and how he couldn’t just throw things at him or his general direction, no matter how tempting. “I think Yennefer needed something from you two,” he finally said, his tone as calm as he could muster.

The two little ones exchanged a glance of confusion, which quickly turned into matching expressions of terror.

“She doesn’t have anything bad planned,” Vesemir reassured them.

The tiny witchers, however, looked thoroughly unconvinced. Vesemir frowned. This was new. Lambert had never been particularly fond of Yennefer, but he’d never been outright scared of her. And Aiden? Aiden was always the curious one, eager to learn about magic from any sorcerer or sorceress he met. Had something happened while Yennefer had them alone?

“What are you two so worried about?” Vesemir asked, his voice soft but probing.

“I don’t want to be stolen,” Aiden blurted out.

Vesemir blinked, confusion spreading across his face. “Stolen? What does that even mean?”

“You know,” Aiden said, gesturing with his tiny hands like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “How sorceresses and sorcerers are. Always stealing people with magical talent and forcing them to learn at those stupid magic schools. Then, by the time they graduate, they’re all alone because their friends and family are dead! I already got stolen once and forced to be a witcher. I’d rather not be stolen again and forced into something else. When im big im not worried because I can defend myself but in this form I really can't”

Lambert nodded vigorously. “Yeah! And Yennefer’s mentor basically forced her to learn magic too, right? And Yennefer doesn’t even hate her for it. She’s, like, grateful. So she might think it’s okay to do that kind of thing to Aiden! I mean, who does that? Who steals someone? I still hate everyone who kidnapped me and turned me into a witcher!”

Vesemir rubbed his temples, trying to suppress a groan. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he was in the mood for with Lambert. “I assure you,” he said, his tone measured, “Yennefer is not going to steal Aiden. She has no interest in turning him into a mage. She’s far too caught up sewing and Geralt would never be able to forgive her if she harmed a witcher and the same goes for me”

Lambert squinted suspiciously. “...Sewing clothes? For us?”

“Yes,” Vesemir said flatly. “Tiny clothes. Because the two of you are currently tiny.”

Lambert and Aiden exchanged glances again, before looking down at their clothes as if just now realizing that they were wearing their adult sized shirts as dresses.

“Well,” Lambert muttered, crossing his arms. “That’s… weirdly nice of her.”

“Yeah,” Aiden agreed, though he still looked uncertain.

“But I’m keeping an eye on her. Just in case. If she tries to steal Aiden.” Lamber said as he snatched a kitchen knife.

Vesemir sighed, shaking his head. “Just go see what she needs before I lose my mind. He said. “And don't run with that knife!” he shouted as they ran down the corridor.

“Do you think Lambert hates me?” Vesemir asked Eskel but as he turned to him, he found that Eskel had fallen asleep.

Lambert and Aiden sprinted past Geralt, who was making his way back from the outhouse, now sporting a surprisingly well-made emerald green and black striped button-up shirt.

“Lambert, what are you running with?” Geralt called after them.

“A knife!” came Lambert’s gleeful reply, followed by a burst of maniacal giggles.

“NO!” Geralt bellowed, launching into a chase.

Yennefer was in her room, assessing how much fabric she had left, when Lambert burst in, kitchen knife in hand, laughing like a maniac. Aiden followed, slightly winded, and then Geralt stormed in.

“Lambert, give me that knife!” Geralt barked, cornering the tiny menace. “There is absolutely no reason for you to have it in the keep—or in Yen’s room!”

Lambert snarled but was no match for Geralt’s reach. The Gerlat plucked the knife from his little hands as Lambert stuggled.

“What in the hell is going on!?” Yennefer and Dandelion demanded in unison, their faces twin masks of bewilderment.

“Gods only know,” Geralt muttered.

“Well, whatever this madness is,” Yennefer said, her confusion giving way to practicality, “can I measure you two now?” She addressed Aiden and Lambert, though her gaze lingered on Aiden, who hesitated.

Aiden inched forward, visibly uneasy. Yennefer noticed his nervousness and softened her tone. “Don’t be scared. I’m just taking your measurements, I won't accidentally prick you with a pin or anything like that. You’re perfectly safe, I promise.”

Aiden nodded, though he still looked like he was expecting a surprise attack. He squared his shoulders, trying to mask his anxiety. Yennefer gave a small, approving nod and got to work.

Meanwhile, in the background, Dandelion had snuck up on Lambert, and scooped him up“ Oh, I can’t believe the fox creatures managed to make even you this adorable, Lambert!” the bard chirped, cradling the tiny witcher.

Lambert blinked, stunned for a brief moment, before snarling and snapping at Dandelion’s bandaged hands. Unfortunately for Lambert, Dandelion’s nerve-damaged hands meant he barely felt it. Instead, the bard laughed heartily and tightened his grip.

“Unhand me! Geralt, help!” Lambert shrieked, reaching his tiny arms toward Geralt.

Geralt, however, smirked and pretended to be deeply engrossed in Yennefer’s work with Aiden. “what style outfit are you going to make for him, Yen?” he said, stroking his chin with exaggerated interest.

“Geralt, you bastard!” Lambert yelled, his voice a mix of fury and indignation as Dandelion began nuzzling him.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Lambert,” Dandelion cooed. “You’re delightful in this form! I think I’ll write a ballad about this.”

“No one wants to hear a ballad about this!” Lambert snapped.

Notes:

This vine is what I'm imagining while writing the Lambert and Dandelion interaction.

Paul Rugg: people ask me how I relax.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLu2CFDBJk0

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dotlookstired]

Chapter 7 of my little witchers fanfic

After finishing this chapter, I am having a hard time with ideas. I have a vague concept where the littlest ones start playing, and at first, the older ones think it’s silly and cringe-worthy. But over time, they get dragged into the fun and decide to enjoy being kids while it lasts.

That idea feels a bit thin, though, and I’m not sure it’s enough to build on for another chapter. If you have any suggestions or ideas, I’d love to hear them in the comments!

Chapter Text

As soon as they arrived at the stables of Kaer Morhen, Dandelion came sprinting out. “I’m so glad you’re back! Yennefer returned while you all…were…gone—" He froze mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto the tiny witchers. “What in the bloody hell happened!?”

“The fox creature in the village. Here, take Eskel so I can dismount,” Vesemir said, gesturing to the boy sleeping on his lap.

“This is Eskel?” Dandelion exclaimed, staring at the miniature witcher in amazement as Vesemir handed him over.

“Yes. Every witcher except me is now a teen, preteen, or toddler,” Vesemir said, glancing over the group. He dismounted his horse and went to help Coën off his.

Dandelion scanned the group until his gaze landed on a young white-haired boy with bright yellow eyes. “Geralt! Is that you?” he squealed, skipping over like a kid in a candy store, unconscious Eskel still dangling in his arms like a sack of potatoes.

“Careful, Dandelion! Don’t drop Eskel!” Geralt squeaked as he awkwardly slid off Roach, his small stature making the process more of a controlled fall.

“Oh, you’re all so tiny and cute!” Dandelion squealed again.

Ciri, now freed of the littlest witchers by Vesemir, quickly took Eskel from Dandelion before the bard’s enthusiasm could cause any accidents. “It’s toss a coin to your witcher, not toss the witcher” she said as she slung him over her shoulder and headed inside.

With his arms finally free, Dandelion pounced on Geralt, scooping him up in a bone-crushing hug. “Oh, Geralt! You’re like a little doll!”

“Dandelion, please, I need to breathe,” Geralt rasped, struggling to pry himself out of the bard’s affectionate grip.

“Geralt, why are you a child?” yelled Yennefer as she marched over and rescued him from Dandelion.

As Geralt began explaining exactly what had happened, Vesemir, now wearing slings that carried Aiden and Lambert, herded the rest of the group inside. “Ciri, lay Eskel in the infirmary. Coën, you follow and lie down as well. I’ll be there shortly after I get these two situated,” he instructed, glancing down at the two sleeping witchers nestled snugly in their slings.

Ciri hauled Eskel onto one of the old infirmary beds, then flopped into a chair to catch her breath. Eskel might only have been thirteen now, but just as in his adult form, he was still a lot bigger and heavier than the average person. After a moment, she started removing his oversized boots, grimacing at the state of his filthy, ill-fitting clothes and armor.

She recalled that some of her old clothes were still stored away somewhere. Quickly retrieving them, she found a few outfits that might fit Geralt and Coën as well. Returning to the infirmary, she handed an outfit to Coën, who thanked her gratefully. She then set aside a set of clothes for Eskel, assuming he’d probably prefer if Vesemir helped him change rather than her.

Meanwhile, Vesemir was struggling with a rather unexpected problem. Lambert, who was still asleep in the sling, managed to entangle himself in Vesemir’s hair, clutching it in a death grip. “Come on, Lambert, just let go,” Vesemir muttered, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the sleeping witchers. He needed to get the keep situated before he could even think about dealing with their chaos just yet.

His plans were almost ruined when Yennefer appeared, walking swiftly down the hallway with Geralt dangling helplessly under her arm. His legs and arms hung slightly above the floor as she briskly recounted what she’d been up to on her vacation.

“Shush,” Vesemir hissed, nodding toward the slumbering witchers in his slings.

Yennefer paused, offering a quiet apology before stopping to take a closer look at the tiny Lambert. “Aww, if I didn’t know better, I’d say Lambert actually looks cute,” she whispered.

Geralt, still dangling in her grasp, turned his wide, pleading eyes to Vesemir, silently begging for rescue. Vesemir glanced down at him and had to stifle a laugh at his pup’s predicament.

“Yennefer, could you help me untangle myself?” Vesemir asked, nodding at his hair and the Lambert.

Yennefer released Geralt, who immediately scurried away.

Vesemir let out a long sigh of relief, as he was separated from Lambert’s grasp. “Thank you, Yennefer,” he said, his voice a mix of gratitude and weariness.

Yennefer arched an eyebrow, and smirked. “Even asleep he’s causes trouble”

Vesemir noded, his focus on the two small bundles in his arms. Lambert was still fast asleep, and Aiden was curled up, tiny ears folded against his head. Vesemir adjusted his grip. “Now I need to find a place safe to put them while I work.”

“Why not put them in their bed? Or one of the infirmary cots with the others?” Yennefer suggested.

Vesemir shook his head. “I’m worried they might roll out of the bed—or worse, get squashed if the others roll over in their sleep. Besides, I want to keep them close enough to watch but not have to hold them the whole time.”

Yennefer considered this for a moment. “Like a carriage or a cradle?” She glanced around the keep’s aging hall. “You could make something similar out of one of the crates in the cellar. Line it with padding and blankets, and it would be portable. That way, you could carry it room to room.”

“That could work. Could you fetch a small crate—preferably one with handles?” Vesemir asked.

Yennefer hesitated. The cellar was her least favorite place in the keep. “Or…” She trailed off, glancing at the little witchers. She knew how much of a menace Lambert could be but Aiden looked impossibly cute, all snuggled up in Vesemir’s arms, his ears twitching faintly in his sleep. She sighed, knowing she couldn't take one without the other. “ I could watch them while you go.”

“Thank you,” Vesemir said skeptically, passing the two over carefully. Yennefer cradled them against her chest, muttering something as she carried the two small witchers to her room, settling herself by the fire. she found herself smiling, Lambert stirred briefly, his little fingers curling around the edge of her sleeve, but he didn’t wake. Aiden, let out a tiny sigh and burrowed closer to her

“Menaces,” Yennefer murmured as Lambert wrapped his little hand around her finger.

Vesesmir quickly located an adequate crate. He gathered some spare blankets and pillows, and arranged them inside the crate. When he finished he didn’t hear anything from Yennefer so he assumed all was well and took the opportunity to go check on the others.

Vesemir turned his attention to the infirmary. When he entered, he discovered that Geralt had scurried off there. Geralt was wearing clothes that actually fit and had squashed himself into one of the oversized chairs with Ciri, telling her how he was hiding from Yennefer and Dandelion.

He then went about checking on the others. Coën had fallen asleep and seemed fine, Vesemir draped an extra blanket over him before moving to Eskel, who was also asleep.

“Ciri, good job finding clothes for them,” Vesemir told her.

Vesemir pulled a curtain for privacy and gently dressed Eskel. Once done, he returned to Yennefer’s room.

The sight that greeted him made him consider that maybe he was dreaming and this whole ordeal was just a nightmare. Yennefer was sitting in front of the fire, her gaze soft as she observed the two little ones in her arms. Vesemir set the crate down gently and cleared his throat. Yennefer glanced up, her usual smug glare replaced by a genuine smile.

“I don’t think I've ever seen Lambert so relaxed before,” Vesemir said.

“Yes, if i didn't know better I'd say he was probably just faking so i let my guard down” she replied.

Vesemir took them one at a time and gently placed them next to each other in the makeshift cradle before tucking them in. as Vesemir carried them to his next task, Aiden cuddled up closer to Lambert who placed an arm around him.

Geralt had volunteered to start dinner. The tiny, white-haired witcher stood on a stool, carefully chopping potatoes with precision. His focus was broken when a cheerful voice rang out behind him.

“There you are, Geralt!” Dandelion chirped with uncontainable enthusiasm.

Geralt flinched, his hand freezing mid-chop. He turned his head slowly, glaring over his shoulder. “Shush! Keep it down!” he hissed, his yellow eyes narrowing. “There are certain people I don’t want knowing my location.”

Dandelion blinked in confusion, his grin faltering.

“I volunteered to cook dinner because I figured no one would think to look for me in the kitchen—including you,” Geralt growled, his voice dripping with irritation.

Unbothered by the witcher’s clear disdain, Dandelion leaned against the counter, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “Come now, Geralt. Who could possibly resist the allure and risk of a tiny, grumpy witcher wielding a kitchen knife? Certainly not me, i've been terribly board recently and i need some risk and excitement”

Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you’re not going to help, go away before someone follows your voice and I have even more people bothering me.”

“Alright, what do you want me to do?” the bard asked. Gerlat handed him a bowl of chopped potatoes and pointed at the boiling pot of stew on the stove. “Carefully add those without splashing boiling stew all over yourself—or me, for that matter.” ” Gerlat said.

Dandelion carefully added the potatoes while Geralt watched him with intensity and great anxiety. “There! What’s next?” Dandelion asked, turning to face the little white-haired witcher.

“Don’t look at me like that, Geralt. You look as though some monstrous beast is about to leap out from behind me and drag me off. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly competent in a kitchen! I’ve survived all forty years of my life without a single kitchen-related injury,” Dandelion declared, crossing his arms proudly.

Geralt’s brow furrowed as he squinted up at the bard. “You’re forty years old? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dandelion huffed, his arms still crossed. “There’s no need to be rude about it. I’m well aware I look like an old man.” He sighed dramatically.

“You look no older than twenty-three, you fool! There’s no way you’re forty,” Geralt said skeptically. The bard’s expression shifted to flattered. “Why, thank you, Geralt!” he said, giving a small bow. “But I am indeed forty. Why would I lie to you about this? Think about it: we met when I was eighteen. How long have we been friends now?”

Geralt opened his mouth, then paused, his face twisting as he did the math. “...Too long,” he muttered under his breath.

“Charming as always,” Dandelion quipped, placing a hand over his heart.

“But this doesn’t make any sense, you-” Geralt muttered, lost in thought.

Before Dandelion could respond, he let out a screech as the stew began boiling over. In a panic, the bard grabbed the pot with his bare hands, yelped in pain, and hastily plopped it down on the counter.

“My hands!” Dandelion wailed, shaking them dramatically. “I’ll never play the lute again! My life is over!”

“Dandelion, stop flailing and let me see!” Geralt shouted, his tiny voice somehow managing to carry authority.

The bard froze mid-wail, startled by Geralt’s outburst, and held out his hands obediently.

Geralt inspected them, squinting in concentration. “I think they’ll heal, but you’ve definitely scorched them, you idiot. Why on earth didn’t you use oven mitts?”

“I don’t know! I just didn’t!” Dandelion whined, his voice cracking.

“Unbelievable. You should go ask Yennefer to heal it,” Geralt suggested, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Dandelion’s face twisted in horror. “Absolutely not! She’ll just laugh at my misery and misfortune. Plus, she frightens me a little!”

“Well, it’s more stupidity than misfortune, but fine,” Geralt said with a sigh. “I’ll come with you to talk to her. Maybe she’ll take pity on you if I’m there.”

When they found Yennefer, she was kneeling beside a sewing kit, rummaging through one of her chests.

“Yen? What are you looking for? I thought all your winter clothes were in the big chest at the foot of your bed,” Geralt asked.

Before she could respond, Geralt squinted at her suspiciously.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Yennefer asked, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“Why do you smell like Lambert... and his cat?” Geralt asked in confusion.

Yennefer burst out laughing. “Because he and Aiden are small and need supervision! Vesemir handed them to me while he got the keep situated. And,” she added between giggles, “I’m looking for that dress that got ripped while I was gathering herbs in the woods. I’m going to recycle it into tiny clothes for the littlest two.”

“Oh, I see,” Geralt said, avoiding her gaze as embarrassment painted his face red.

Dandelion, ever the opportunist, grinned. “Geralt, are you jealous?”

“No!” Geralt screeched, his voice cracking as he crossed his arms defensively.

“Oh, don’t be that way,” Yennefer teased. “There should be enough material for me to make you something, too.”

Geralt tried to remain stoic, but a small smile betrayed him. “Can you make me a better shirt? This one has a hole,” he mumbled, holding up his tattered garment.

Yennefer nodded, still smiling.

“This is all very heartwarming,” Dandelion interjected, waving his bandaged hands, “but we came here for a reason.”

“Oh, right,” Geralt said, snapping out of his momentary distraction. “Yen, can you please fix Dandelion?”

“I don’t think there’s enough magic in the world to fix him,” Yennefer replied casually, not even sparing the bard a glance.

“Hey!” Dandelion squealed, holding up his burned hands. “He means these! My hands! I’m in pain, you heartless sorceress!”

“Oh, well, that kind of fixing is easy,” Yennefer said, as she turned to another chest. She pulled out a jar of ointment and smirked. “Hold still, bard This is going to hurt at first”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61463236/chapters/158033671

[dotlookstired]

Part 6 of my miniature Witchers fanfic

Vesemir awoken in the early morning hours by a quiet thud followed by a hushed, “Ouch, fuck!” A moment later, something began to clumsily climb over him and towards the door. By the scent and weight, Vesemir immediately knew it was Lambert.

Too tired for whatever nonsense the miniature witcher was up to, Vesemir decided to seize the opportunity. With lightning reflexes, he grabbed Lambert mid-climb and pulled him into a firm hug. hoping Maybe this would discourage whatever mischief he was up to and Vesemir could get a bit more sleep.

Lambert froze as arms suddenly wrapped around him, squeezing tightly. He shrieked and immediately retaliated by chomping down on Vesemir’s arm.

“Ouch! What in the hells—” Vesemir hissed as he sat up, now fully awake. Lambert tumbled into his lap, still latched onto his arm like a giant leech.

Realizing what was happening, Lambert released his grip, looking sheepishly up at Vesemir’s unimpressed glare.

From the bed, Coën’s groggy voice piped up. “The little hobgoblin strikes again. That’s victim number three!”

Vesemir groaned, rubbing his sore arm. “I forgot about your biting problem when you were small!”

“I was scared!” Lambert shot back defensively. “You grabbed me out of nowhere! I’m defenseless right now—what do you expect me to do? I don’t have claws like a cat witcher”

“And I thank the gods everyday that you don’t have claws, I can't imagine the damage you’d have done as a child or now. Who else would be grabbing you, other than the person you’re climbing over?” Vesemir asked, voice heavy with exasperation.

Lambert shrugged, unbothered by logic.

“And where exactly were you even trying to go?” Vesemir pressed, watching the tiny menace shuffle away.

Lambert stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Nature’s calling. And no, I don’t want help. If a bear eats me, I’ll just scream real loud.”

Vesemir sighed, flopping back down with a muttered prayer to the gods for patience as Lambert toddled off into the early morning light.

From the bed, Vesemir heard a groan. He immediately got up, creeping over as quietly as a man of his years could manage. “Eskel, are you awake?” he whispered.

Eskel slowly cracked his eyes open, his gaze unfocused and bleary. “What happened? I feel like I drank a whole keg of ale and then got run over by a wagon… Oh, and I had the weirdest dream. We all got turned into kids, and I had to use advanced magic.” He groaned, rubbing his face.

Vesemir chuckled softly. “Well, pup, you just answered your own question.”

Eskel’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Then realization dawned, and he tried to sit up suddenly—too suddenly.

“Shush, easy now,” Vesemir said, guiding him back down with gentle but firm hands. “Just rest. You’re safe, I’m here, and I’ll handle everything. You did very well looking after the others.”

Eskel sighed, his body relaxing against the bed. “How’s Aiden? I think he also burned himself out with fire magic… and he had a fever.” His voice was barely above a mumble, as he drifted back to sleep.

Vesemir glanced over tiny witchers piled together, his heart skipping a beat. “Where is the littlest one?” he asked, his tone shifting to mild alarm. Scanning the heap of fur and limbs, he was starting to regret letting the toddler-sized witcher sleep with the slightly bigger ones. “What if they rolled over on him? What if they squashed him? After all, that is the reason babies and small children sleep in bassinets” Vesemir thought as he began to panic.

“He’s over here,” came Geralt’s voice.

Vesemir turned to see Geralt uncovering himself from the furs. In his arms was a perfectly unharmed, deeply asleep Aiden, curled like an actual cat.

“See? No crushed cat witchers,” Geralt said dryly, holding the little Cat witcher up like a trophy.

Vesemir exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thank the gods. I’m too old for this level of stress.”

Geralt smirked. “At least you didn’t have his little claws digging into you all night while he rumbles.”

A snicker broke the quiet as Lambert strolled back into the shack, clearly amused. “He was just kneading you and purring. It means he’s comfortable and likes you,” he said, his voice laced with just a hint of jealousy.

Vesemir shook his head, muttering under his breath as he tucked Eskel in more securely. He then returned to his makeshift bed on the floor, gently setting Aiden in his lap. “At least he’s not burning up anymore,” he said, brushing a hand over Aiden’s forehead with relief.

Lambert plopped down beside Vesemir, resting his chin in his hand as he observed Vesemir interacting with his boyfriend. “You know,” Vesemir began, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen him without his eyepatch. Guessing it’s too big on him now?”

“It went missing when we woke up like this,” Lambert replied with a shrug. “He hasn’t even noticed yet, what with all the chaos. I don’t get to see his whole face much either these days.” Reaching out, Lambert carefully brushed a small hand over the closed eyelid of Aiden’s missing eye.

The contact woke Aiden, who blinked groggily before gasping and swatting at Lambert’s hand. “Nooo, it’s gross! Don’t touch!” he whined in his adorable toddler way, his little voice a mix of indignation and babble.

Lambert chuckled softly, before climbing on Vesemir's lap next to Aiden to kiss his forehead. “Relax, you drama queen. We’ll find something to substitute your eyepatch when we get to the keep” Lambert told him.

Ciri’s voice mumbled sleepily from under the pile of little witchers on the bed, “I can help. I’ve got some ideas. I’ll make you a little eyepatch when we get back to the keep. Right after I finish sewing that dress for Eskel’s goat of cures, Maybe i’ll make you one with gems or flowers or maybe something with lots of straps.”

Vesemir visibly shuddered at the mental image of whatever monstrosity the teen might dream up and force onto the cat.

Meanwhile, Aiden, still half-asleep, suddenly realized where he was and who was holding him. The tiny witcher froze, his small frame tense, before slowly tilting his head back to look up at Vesemir with a wide eye.

“Oh, hello Vesemir” he awkwardly babbled as he scooted off his lap.

Vesemir chuckled as Aiden scrambled to his feet. “Hello, Aiden. How are you feeling after last night?” he asked.

The little elf paused, staring at Vesemir as if he’d just remembered he had a body—and that said body wasn’t exactly in the best condition. “I’m tired...but happy,” he babbled.

“Happy?” Lambert asked, raising a brow.

Aiden nodded, his tiny head sleepily. “Yeah. I’ve never done magic that powerful before without nearly killing myself! I didn’t tell you last night because I didn’t want to worry you but I was pretty sure Eskel and I were going to blow ourselves up.”

Vesemir let out a long-suffering sigh. “That was some very powerful magic you and Eskel pulled off. I knew Eskel was more proficient in that area than most witchers, but I had no idea you could channel such energy. What I witnessed last night was stronger than what the average mage can muster.”

Aiden looked quite proud of himself, but Vesemir continued, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Under normal circumstances, I’d scold you both for attempting such a thing without an experienced sorcerer supervising. but i think that you all probably wouldn't be alive if you hadn't done it”

Vesemir gently nudged Lambert off him as he stood. “It seems everyone except Eskel is awake. We should head back to the keep soon.”

“Should I open another portal?” Ciri piped up, sitting up from the pile of sleepy witchers.

“No,” Vesemir said firmly. “I don’t think you’d be able to maintain it long enough for everyone to get through in one piece. But you can carry one of the little ones on your lap while we ride up the mountain. Geralt can hold the other, and I’ll carry Eskel.”

“Not a good idea,” Geralt grumbled as he sat up beside Ciri, holding up his hand to reveal a small bite mark. “Last time we tried separating them on horses, I got bitten. Also, what’s this about portal-opening?”

Vesemir didn’t need to ask which little witcher was responsible. He immediately turned to glare at Lambert, who ducked his head in shame and scooted closer to Aiden for moral support.

“I wanted to get to you as soon as possible, so I had Ciri open a portal,” Vesemir explained.

Geralt’s golden eyes narrowed, and he turned his glare on both Vesemir and Ciri. “Do you know how dangerous that is?! Her magic is unstable! You could have been dismembered!” he screeched.

Vesemir struggled not to laugh at how funny Geralt looked and sounded when angry in his tiny form. “Well, she won’t learn to control and stabilize her magic if you baby her and micromanage every use of it. I was there, supervising, and I wouldn’t have walked through the portal if I thought there was a significant chance of failure,” Vesemir told his son.

Geralt didn’t respond; he just grumbled and glared at him.

Vesemir could no longer hold back his laughter. “Ciri’s right—you do look like an angry little garden gnome,” he said, laughing openly.

Geralt growled low in his throat, his glare intensifying as he started to sulk. Vesemir’s laughter abruptly died when he noticed tears beginning to pool in the corners of Geralt’s eyes.

“Aw, wolf, I’m sorry,” Vesemir said, crouching down to brush a hand against Geralt’s face. “I understand why you’re worried about Ciri, and I shouldn’t have laughed at you. I just forgot how funny you looked as a kid when angry with all that white hair.”

Geralt angrily swatted Vesemir’s hand away and turned his face, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you some space—” Vesemir began, only to be cut off when Geralt suddenly launched himself at him. The little witcher wrapped his arms around Vesemir’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder.

Vesemir froze for a moment before his expression softened. He hugged Geralt back and stood, holding him securely. “It’s been so long since I was able to pick you up like this,” he murmured, gently swaying to soothe him.

Ciri, Lambert, and Aiden all stared, shocked, as Vesemir rocked the infamous White Wolf—now a very emotional, very tiny version of himself—while he cried and vented his frustrations.

“I’m just so tired, and I have so much going on,” Geralt cried, his voice wavering. “I’ve felt terrible for so long. I want to leave my room and spend time with the others in the keep, but I just can’t bring myself to do it, and I don’t even know why. I feel like I’ve been neglecting Ciri. I’ve barely spent any time with her since winter started, and I think Yennefer might hate me. And on top of all that, I’m so stressed about Ciri’s powers!”

Geralt continued venting, his words gradually becoming more incoherent.

Vesemir, realizing Geralt probably wouldn’t want Ciri to see him like this, gently ordered her to ready the horses and help the others prepare to leave. Once she and the others were occupied, Vesemir focused on comforting Geralt, who was still fussing and letting out his frustrations.

By the time everyone was ready to go, Geralt had calmed down and was now just clinging to Vesemir.

“All right, Geralt,” Vesemir said gently. “We need to get moving. We can talk more when we get home, okay?”

Geralt nodded reluctantly and finally unlatched himself from Vesemir, staring sheepishly at the floor and refusing to meet anyone’s gaze as he shuffled out of the shack.

Coën explained to Vesemir how they had managed to get this far with the tiny witchers despite the challenges. Geralt was not in the best headspace, Eskel was unconscious, Vesemir was the only one large enough to hold Eskel while riding, and Coën was injured. Taking all this into account, Vesemir decided Ciri would carry the tiny witchers in makeshift slings.

First, Vesemir carefully helped Coën onto his horse, ensuring he didn’t strain his stitches while climbing up. Then Vesemir mounted his own horse and had Geralt and Ciri hand Eskel up to him. Eskel woke in the middle of being maneuvered, screeching in confusion as they tried to situate him. Geralt and Ciri nearly dropped him, but they managed to set him gently onto the ground.

Eskel blinked sleepily at everyone, his confusion evident. “Sorry, Eskel, we were just trying to get you onto Vesemir’s horse,” Ciri explained.

Eskel grunted in acknowledgment and attempted to stand, but his knees buckled, and he slumped back down.

“Relax, pup. Let them help you,” Vesemir instructed, extending his hands.

Eskel hesitated but then took Vesemir’s hands as Geralt and Ciri supported his weight, helping to lift him onto the horse. Vesemir adjusted Eskel on his lap, and the younger witcher immediately relaxed against him and drifted back to sleep.

With Eskel secure, Geralt helped Ciri get the slings in place. Aiden was settled in one, looking drowsy but content. When it came time to lift Lambert, Geralt turned to him and said in true older-brother fashion, “Bite her or pull any stunts, and I’ll drop-kick you into the lake.”

Lambert scowled but behaved as he was lifted into the sling on Ciri’s back.

And with that, the group set off toward the keep.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dotlookstired]

It’s kinda cringe as fuck, but I made a multi chapter Witcher fanfic. Lots of cute Lambert/Aiden.

Winter was always a tough time in the keep. The howling winds, negative temperatures, and chest-high snowdrifts weren’t the worst of it—no, it was the lack of non-destructive and harmless outlets for everyone to focus their energy on. With nothing to hunt, no contracts to fulfill, and no outside work to be done due to the snowstorms, the inhabitants of the keep turned a bit crazy. Boredom had brought out their “creativity” in the most spectacular and worst ways.

“Lambert, if you blow up the lab one more time, I’m throwing you out into the snow without boots,” Vesemir growled, his voice echoing down the frigid halls.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, old man,” Lambert shot back, though his mischievous smirk said otherwise. He leaned casually against a wall, tossing a small vial of something volatile-looking between his hands.

Lambert had been an absolute menace, teasing and bothering just about everyone in the keep and blowing things up with his experiments in the lab. He’d been intentionally prickly to everyone except for his boyfriend, Aiden, but even he wasn’t exempt—Lambert had unintentionally gotten on his nerves as well.

Speaking of Lambert’s boyfriend, behind him—or more like above him—was the stir-crazy Cat Witcher who had miraculously survived an assassination attempt by his brothers a year earlier, escaping with only a missing eye and a damaged eardrum. He sat on one of the running support beams for the roof, occasionally flipping down to the floor and then back up again. If Lambert’s shenanigans weren’t enough, Aiden’s “zoomies,” as Lambert had explained it, and his insistence on climbing everything in sight only added to Vesemir’s growing headache. At least he was cleaning the rafters as he went—Vesemir had reluctantly handed him a duster after the third time he’d climbed to the highest point in the keep without going outside to “stretch.”

Geralt, meanwhile, had come down with some seasonal depression and had isolated himself from the rest of the keep. He only emerged to train Ciri briefly before retreating once again. Yennefer, frustrated with Geralt’s reclusiveness, had spent the past week bossing everyone else around and had gotten into a spat with pretty much everyone in the keep, even Ciri—but she especially had it out for Lambert and Dandelion. One morning while she was bathing, Lambert, having had enough of her, seized the opportunity while her guard was down and threw a snowball at her. That had led to a shouting match that still echoed in Vesemir’s ears.

Eskel wasn’t much better. Because his brothers had been caught up in other things and didn’t feel like interacting with him very much, he’d been very clingy and had not let Vesemir have a single moment to himself—until Vesemir had assigned him to look after an orphaned baby goat after its mother died. The sight of the hulking Witcher cradling the tiny creature like a newborn had at first been endearing. But now he had become obsessed with the goat and was treating it as if it were his actual son. Vesemir’s patience was tested when he heard Eskel softly cooing, “Shhh, darling, it’s just a storm,” to the goat in his room one night during a particularly bad blizzard.

Dandelion had gotten severe writer’s block for writing anything decent and had started composing roast ballads in which he mocked whoever had gotten on his nerves that day (almost always Yennefer).

Coën was in the infirmary with relatively minor injuries considering he had been attacked by a bear. One morning, he had been fishing on the local river and had caught quite a large salmon. However, a hungry bear had noticed and also wanted his fish. Coën did not want to share, and a struggle ensued that ended with Coën coming home with not only a salmon but also a bear for dinner.

Even Ciri was joining in the chaos. Because Geralt was too depressed to spend much time with her and Yennefer was in such a terrible mood, she’d started clinging to Vesemir. When she wasn’t clinging to Vesemir, she was helping Lambert with his projects and mayhem, trying to watch and imitate Aiden’s parkour, or sewing Eskel’s goat a little outfit. The keep smelled of singed wood and sulfur more often than not, and Vesemir was certain the explosive sound earlier had something to do with her and his youngest son.

Vesemir sighed. The keep needed order. Or at least a distraction.

The rumors came with the latest supply run from the village at the base of the mountain. A fox-like creature had been spotted in the woods, strange and humanoid, with glowing eyes that unnerved even the bravest hunters. Stranger still, the creature seemed to curse those who encountered it—transforming them into either animals or elderly for a few days before the curse wore off on its own.

At first, Vesemir dismissed it as winter boredom. The villagers, like the witchers, had little to do in the cold months but gossip and weave tall tales. But the stories were persistent, and strange enough that they couldn’t be ignored. Vesemir gathered his pups and honorary pups around the hearth.

“You’re all going to investigate,” he announced, his voice leaving no room for argument. “The fox creature. At the base of the mountain.”

“You just want the keep to yourself,” Lambert muttered, earning a sharp glare from Vesemir.”Yes, I indeed would like a few days where nothing explodes, and with no goats are in my house,” he said.

Ciri perked up. “I want to go too!”

But Geralt placed a hand on her forehead. “Not with the fever you currently have, you’re not. You’re staying here.” Ciri scowled but didn’t argue. “Eww, stay away, keep your plague to yourself” Lambert sneered as he took a few steps away from the sick teen.

Yennefer, overhearing that Gerlat was leaving and not being able to tolerate being alone with Dandelion, quickly volunteered herself for a “vacation” away from the madness, leaving Vesemir to babysit a sick Ciri and a creatively blocked Dandelion.

The Witchers—Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Coën, and Aiden—set out into the snow. By the time they reached the village at sunset, the welcoming warmth they were used to was nowhere to be found. Most humans were hostile toward Witchers, but this village had always been different—trading food and supplies and offering shelter in return for protection. Something had changed. Doors remained shut, and familiar faces turned away.

The new mayor, who had seemingly taken over by force, was a staunch bigot. He’d declared all non-humans unwelcome, expelling those who had called the village home and imprisoning any humans who stood up for them. His glare lingered on Aiden in particular. Not only was the Cat Witcher a Witcher, but he was also three-quarters Sun Elf, a fact unmistakable from his appearance. In truth, no one would suspect any human ancestry in him unless he explicitly disclosed it.

Geralt stepped forward. “We’re here to help. The fox creature—”

“We don’t need your kind of help,” the mayor snapped. “Leave. Now.”

Disgusted, the Witchers turned away.

“Well, it’s not like the creature is in the village—it’s outside, in the woods,” Eskel said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, but I’m not sure we’re going to be able to find it in the dark,” Lambert replied bitterly. “The creature has only been reported during daylight so far, and I really don’t want to sleep in the cold, snowy woods. We also didn’t bring much food or sleeping gear because the villagers usually accommodate us.”

As they neared the edge of the village, a woman gathering firewood hesitated before hurrying over to them.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed voice. “The mayor doesn’t speak for all of us.”

Coën was about to respond when he shivered and flinched in pain from his still-healing wounds. The woman noticed and asked if he was okay, but he assured her he would be fine. Lambert, however, wasn’t convinced Coën would manage a night in the woods and voiced his concerns openly.

At this, the woman paused, her expression thoughtful.

The Witchers watched her closely, curiosity evident in their faces.

Finally, she spoke up. “Can you guys move quietly enough that no one would notice you?”

“If you can sneak into my barn, you can stay there for the night. I’ll bring food and blankets.”

The Witchers exchanged glances.

“We’d be grateful,” Geralt said.

The barn was warm, insulated with hay stacked in the loft. Lambert flopped onto a bale with a sigh of relief. “Better than freezing to death in the woods,” he muttered.

As they settled in, however, they noticed that Coën was shaking. Coën caught everyone staring at him. “I’m fine, just a little cold,” he said.

Eskel walked over and placed a hand on Coën’s forehead, finding it too warm. “You’ve got a fever. Maybe you caught what Ciri had?” he suggested.

Coën shook his head. “No, I don’t feel sick—just... off,” he replied.

Eskel pulled up Coën’s tunic to examine his wounds. His frown deepened. “You’ve pulled some stitches, I'll have to redo them. You also might have an infection. Does anyone have any medicine?”

Geralt opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a sudden sneeze echoed from above. Everyone glanced up to see a sniffly, trembling Aiden perched on a rafter.

Aiden cleared his throat. “Sorry—it’s dusty up here,” he lied.

“Well, come down, then. I want to go to sleep anyway,” Lambert told him.

In truth, Aiden wasn’t feeling well enough to climb down. He’d been feeling off since halfway through their journey down the mountain, but it hadn’t fully hit him until now, when he had a chance to relax. Still, he didn’t want to worry anyone. If he’d been with his Cat brethren, he knew he’d likely be berated—or even left behind—if they realized he was sick while on a mission.

Aiden shook his head, immediately regretting it as dizziness washed over him. “Why don’t you come up here and sleep, love?” he suggested, trying to hide how rough his voice sounded.

Lambert narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I can’t balance up there while sleeping. I’d fall and break my neck, and you know Wolves don’t share the Cat obsession with high places,” he reasoned.

“Well, the hay is gross. What if it has bugs in it?” Aiden countered, his voice rasping despite his efforts to hide it. “I’ll just stay up here by myself if you won’t join me.”

Lambert’s suspicion deepened, tinged with a bit of hurt that Aiden didn’t seem to want to lie with him. He was about to press further when the farm woman appeared, carrying a pile of blankets, a pot of warm tea with honey, bowls of delicious-smelling stew, and a first-aid kit.

“I thought, given how sick the injured one looked, some herbal tea with honey might help, along with fresh bandages,” she said, glancing at Coën, who offered a weak smile. “And with all of you being out in the cold all day, I thought some warm stew would be nice.”

“Thank you,” Eskel said gratefully. “We’d be in much worse shape without your kindness—especially since it looks like another one of us is coming down with something.” His gaze shifted upward to Aiden, who was now lying on the roof rafter.

Aiden raised an eyebrow, his glowing yellow Cat eye peering down at them. The farm woman startled, clearly unnerved. Aiden tried to jump down as he normally would, but his strength failed him.

He began to fall—but Lambert reacted quickly, catching him before he hit the ground.

“Easy, love. I’ve got you,” Lambert said, cradling Aiden. “You’re burning up!”

Aiden mumbled something incoherent to Lambert before managing a rasping apology to the farm woman. She waved it off with a kind smile, setting the supplies down.

“There’s medicine in the kit,” she said gently. “Take care of each other. I’ll keep watch for the mayor.”

The Witchers decided to prioritize tending to the sick and injured before anything else. They laid blankets over the hay bales to create makeshift beds and carefully helped Aiden and Coën out of their armor. Both of them were visibly exhausted. While Coën allowed himself to be gently guided to his makeshift bed, Aiden was far more reluctant.

He had been terrified of any medical treatment ever since the trauma caused by the surgeries he underwent after surviving an assassination attempt by his brothers. The injuries, including an arrow that had to be removed from his eye and brain, along with other severe wounds, left deep physical and emotional scars. Given that Witchers don’t have much money, anesthetic hadn’t been an option for most of the procedures, making the experience all the more harrowing.

Lambert sighed in frustration. “Your child has given Aiden her plague!” he hissed at Geralt.

Geralt, too focused on helping Eskel tend to Coën, barely acknowledged him, muttering a distracted, “Neat.”

This only made Lambert angrier. “This is not neat! As I’m sure you’re aware, a virus must be particularly nasty to have any effect on a witcher!” he screeched, his voice rising enough to make Coën flinch and Aiden cover both his functioning ear and his barely functioning one.

Realizing his outburst was affecting Coën and Aiden, Lambert muttered an apology before turning his attention back to Aiden.

“Relax, love,” Lambert murmured, crouching beside his partner. “I’ll be right next to you soon enough. Unless you’ve been hiding injuries from us, you don’t need stitches like Coën,” he added with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “We just need to check your temperature and maybe give you some medicine, that’s all.”

Aiden’s single cat-like eye was hazy with fever, and he swayed slightly, clearly disoriented. Lambert gently guided him to lie down, though Aiden, still foolishly trying to convince the group he was fine, muttered a few sleepy protests about “being fine.” The heat radiating off him was alarming, and Lambert suspected the fever was making him delirious.

Meanwhile, Eskel began re-stitching Coën’s wounds. The Griffen School witcher winced but stayed mostly calm as Eskel worked, talking softly to distract him. When Eskel was finished, he gave Coën a dose of antibiotics. Coën, though pale and weak, swallowed the pills without resistance, muttering his thanks before curling up under the blankets.

Aiden, however, was a different story.

Geralt joined Lambert to help him check an uncooperative Aiden’s temperature, which turned out to be dangerously high. Lambert frowned, brushing damp hair away from his lover’s sweat-soaked forehead. “That’s not good,” he muttered.

Eskel, after finishing with Coën, returned with the first aid kit. “If it’s that high, we’ll need to get some medicine into him,” he said, rummaging through the supplies. Unfortunately, the fever medication had to be injected.

Lambert paled at the sight of the syringe, glancing down at Aiden, who was now mumbling incoherently. He knew very well of the Cat Witchers' deep trauma surrounding medical procedures. Lambert had even been present for some of the gruesome procedures.

As Lambert tried to reason with Aiden, Eskel prepared the syringe. “Aiden, you need this,” Lambert said, cupping his lover’s flushed cheek. “It’ll help, I promise.”

But Aiden’s eyes widened and his pointy ears folded back defensively at the sight of the needle, and he instinctively tried to pull away, weakly struggling despite his fever.

Geralt, who had also had a bit of medical trauma from the additional experimentation as a White Wolf, knelt beside Lambert. “Aiden, please be reasonable. I know you’re scared—these kinds of things make me uncomfortable as well, I know how you feel. But if we don’t do this, the fever could kill you.”

The words didn’t seem to reach Aiden, who shook his head furiously, tears welling up in his yellow eye. “I don't want anymore poking and prodding” he rasped, his voice weak and scratchy. “Please, no…”

Lambert ran a hand through his non-existent hair, clearly distressed. He didn’t want to hold Aiden down or force him, but the fever was getting worse. He glanced helplessly at Geralt and Eskel.

“Can either of you jab him while the other restrains him?” Lambert asked in a low voice. “I… I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to hurt him.”

Geralt sighed. “I’ll hold him. I’ve been where he is—I can’t jab him either.”

Eskel nodded. “I’ll do it, but you need to stay with him, Lambert. He’s going to need you.”

Lambert nodded, though he was already feeling guilty at the thought of what they were about to do. Slowly, Geralt approached Aiden, who blinked blearily up at him. “Hey, Aiden,” Geralt said as gently as he could with his gruff voice, sitting down beside him. “I’m just going to sit here, okay?”

Aiden hesitated but nodded sluggishly. Geralt carefully slipped an arm around him, then swiftly pulled the feverish Cat Witcher slightly onto his lap. Aiden startled at the sudden movement, his body tense, but Geralt began running a soothing hand over his arm. “Shh… It’s okay,” he murmured. Aiden’s tension eased slightly, and he started purring softly, the sound vibrating weakly against Geralt’s chest.

Lambert joined them, sitting beside Aiden and taking his hand in his own. He pressed a kiss to Aiden’s knuckles. “I’m here, love,” he whispered, squeezing Aiden’s hand.

Aiden’s purring grew louder, and for a moment, it seemed like they might get through it without much resistance. But as Eskel approached with the syringe, realization dawned on Aiden, and panic flared in his fevered eye. He started weakly struggling, begging them to stop.

“Don’t! Please, don’t!” Aiden pleaded, his voice breaking.

Lambert cupped Aiden’s face, turning his head away from the needle. “Look at me, Aiden. Just look at me, okay?” he said softly. “It’ll be over before you know it. You’re strong—you’ve been through worse than this.”

Eskel took the opportunity to quickly jab the syringe into Aiden’s arm. The Cat Witcher let out a sharp cry, his body tensing as he tried to pull away. Geralt tightened his grip, holding him steady while Lambert continued to murmur reassurances.

“It’s okay,” Geralt said firmly, his hand still stroking Aiden’s hair. As Eskel pushed the plunger down and withdrew the needle, Aiden’s cries turned into soft whimpers. Geralt loosened his hold, and Aiden immediately wriggled free, drunkenly and wobbly climbing and retreating to the rafters of the barn while Lambert tried to stop him, fearing he'd fall again. He perched there, trembling and blankly staring into the void with tears rolling down his face, his ears twitching every once and a while with agitation.

Lambert sighed, running a hand over his face. “I hate this,” he muttered.

“We did what we had to,” Eskel said gently, though his expression was troubled.

Coën fell asleep almost immediately after eating, exhausted from his injuries and infection. Eskel wasn’t far behind, snoring softly on his hay bale. Geralt and Lambert, however, stayed awake, trying to coax Aiden down from his perch with a bowl of stew.

Eventually, the medicine seemed to take effect, and Aiden began to think more clearly. He cautiously climbed down from the rafters, though he kept his distance from the others. He sat with his back to them, nibbling at the stew in silence, refusing to meet their eyes.

Lambert approached slowly, sitting down beside him. “Let’s take this off for the night, it’s not good for it to be covered 24/7” he said as he reached for Aiden's eyepatch, but the Cat Witcher flinched away.

The rejection stung, but Lambert didn’t push.

“I’m sorry,” Lambert said quietly. “I didn’t want to do that to you, with what you’ve been through.”

Aiden didn’t respond, his ears flattened against his head. But the fact that he’d come down at all was a small victory. Lambert decided to give him space, hoping that with time, Aiden would forgive him.

Outside, the horrifying scream of an unfamiliar creature echoed through the hills. Geralt’s eyes narrowed as he stared out the barn window. “It’s close,” he said.

“Good,” Lambert muttered, his voice low. “I need something to stab.”

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dotlookstired]

This is part 2 of a thing I made while doing homework on a welcome to night vale binge.

[dotlookstired]

This is part 1 of a thing I made while doing homework on a welcome to night vale binge.

[dotlookstired]

Fuck Riverdale Fix it AU fanfic idea/rant!

I know this is going to sound like an angry tirade, and that’s because it is—but just hear me out, okay? I’m tired, sick, and I’ve had a lot of NyQuil.

First off, I want to say that I hate so many things about the show right now. I’ve got an idea for a fanfic, and I want to know if anyone’s interested. Basically, I’d disregard most of what happened after Betty came back home from being captured by TBK, and even some things before that—like what they did to Charles. Seriously, why? He was my favorite character! It was so unnecessary, and I plan on changing that.

Here’s the gist: Jughead would be asexual, and FP would move back in with Alice as soon as Jellybean goes off to college. The twins would get way more screen time, and the whole superpowers storyline wouldn’t happen—except for Cheryl’s witch stuff. I’m planning to add a lot of elements from The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. (Side note: I never finished Chilling Adventures of Sabrina because I lost interest when they revealed she was part of some prophecy in that cave.)

Speaking of Sabrina, I think her cousin Ambrose would be a great boyfriend for Charles. I also kind of want to add some witch lore to the Jones bloodline, similar to the Blossoms. I don’t recall FP’s mother being mentioned, so I think she’d be a great way to introduce that storyline. FP’s relationship with Fred would also be explored more, as well as all the parents when they were younger.

Basically, I’d be changing everything people seem to complain about. Would anyone be interested?

[dotlookstired]

ooh honestly pookie I think a new fic and adding it to the Vampire chronicles would be soooo sick but ofc do whatever you think you have the time/energy for!! I’m just really looking forward to the Daniel and Armand being parents dynamic. I haven’t read any fics that depict them that way so your fic created an obsession for me lol.

Sorry for the late response, I finally finished it.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dotlookstired]

I finally finished the alternate ending for my Armand/Daniel eggpreg fic

Summary:

This is an alternate version of the previous fanfic I wrote where it's vampire mating season. Daniel notices a change in Armand and is worried. Armand explains the cruel joke that is mating season: vampires can’t reproduce by mating, but every century, they feel this deep, instinctual desire to try. Soon, he will feel the need to build a nest, mate with Daniel, and then lay an egg. However, because of the hormones still in his system, he'll still want to care for it and will become very depressed when he finally comes to his senses and realizes it will never hatch. Except in this version, with some help from a fae, the egg does hatch and there is a happy ending. I do plan on adding another chapter to this later that will have them taking care of the baby.

Daniel had let his hunger build enough. He didn’t think so, but Armand refused to let him go hungry any longer. “You are not coming back to your typewriter until you’ve fed properly!” Armand growled before kicking him out of their bedroom, which doubled as Daniel's office. Usually, Armand was gentler with encouraging Daniel to feed, but lately, he’d been in a weird mood. Daniel figured perhaps he had done something to anger his master, or maybe Lestat had done something to piss him off.

As he walked through a shortcut through the woods to get to the city, he heard a muffled cry. He froze and looked around. The moon hung low, casting an eerie feeling into the woods. Daniel didn’t see anything but heard more noises coming from deeper in the woods. He quietly stepped off the beaten path and crept closer to the sounds. He found a group of men surrounding a little girl who looked to be maybe around 11.

“Sorry, kid, but you witnessed a deal that could get us all locked up for life if you snitched. We can’t let you go,” the leader said with a wicked grin as he raised his revolver to her temple.

Daniel's rage flared. In an instant, he was upon them. The first man barely had time to register his presence before Daniel’s fangs sank into his neck. The others tried to flee, but they were no match for his inhuman speed. One by one, they dropped to the forest floor, lifeless and drained.

Daniel expected the girl to be terrified but to his surprise, she was just standing on a tree stump, staring at him with unblinking eyes. He assumed she was in shock or too frightened to move. Slowly, he approached her. He planned on erasing her memory with his mind gift and returning her to her parents after he gave them a stern scolding about keeping better track of their child of course.

“I won't hurt you, Are you okay?” he asked gently. The girl didn't respond or even give any indication she heard him at all.

“Where do you live? What are you doing out in the woods at night?” he tried.

The girl smiled. “Thank you, for intervening,” her voice echoed in his head. Daniel nearly fell over in surprise. “What are you?” He asked his voice trembling.

“I believe the word that mankind has for me is fae” she replied, her voice still echoing in his mind.

“You're a fairy? Are you alright though? I saw them being pretty rough with you.” he replied, still in disbelief.

He heard her giggle in his head as she nodded. “You've just learned you're speaking to a fairy, and the first thing you ask is if I'm injured? You sweet little thing. I think for your kindness, I will reward you with something very special, something that no other of your kind has ever experienced or will likely ever experience,” she said.

“Thank you, but no payment is necessary. I already got an easy dinner out of the situation,” he humbly replied.

“You may not want it now, but trust me with what you are about to experience, you will be very satisfied,” she said before jumping off the back of the tree stump.

‘Hey, wait!” Daniel shouted. He ran around the back of the tree stump but found nobody there.

Perplexed, and well fed Daniel made his way home to his grumpy lover.

He found Armand lying listlessly on the couch watching Phil Swift cut a boat in half with a chainsaw and then fix it with flex tape.

“I’ve had one of the strangest nights ever, I discovered a new creature!” he excitedly announced.

“That’s neat,” Armand said without looking away from the tv.

Armand had felt off for a few days now. The symptoms crept in slowly at first: persistent tiredness, irritability, and a slight fever. His joints ached in a way that was both foreign and alarming, given he is an immortal vampire. The mood swings were the worst, though. One minute he would be calm and collected; the next, an overwhelming sense of anger would wash over him. possessiveness would grip him, making him growl at anyone who came too close to Daniel.

Daniel had noticed the changes but had no idea what could be the issue. He was beginning to think maybe Armand was somehow sick, or angry at him for some unknown reason. The uncertainty gnawed at him until he couldn’t take it anymore. Daniel decided to go into more detail about his weird encounter in the woods later. Right now he was more concerned with getting to the bottom of whatever was the issue. “Armand,” he said softly, sitting beside him and taking his hand, “what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting so strange lately. Are you sick? Or… are you mad at me?”

Armand blinked slowly, the fog in his mind clearing slightly as he focused on Daniel’s concerned face. It took him a moment to process the question, but when he did, a wave of realization washed over him. “Oh,” he murmured, squeezing his hand gently. “It’s not you. It’s… it’s that time of the century again.” he said more to himself than to Daniel

Daniel frowned, confused. “What do you mean? What time of the century?”

Armand sighed and sat up, running a hand through his messy auburn hair. “Vampire mating season. It’s a cruel joke, really. We can’t reproduce by mating, but every century, we still feel this deep, instinctual desire to try. The symptoms you’re seeing… are because of that.”

Daniel’s eyes widened in shock.

Armand took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “Basically It means that for about a week, I will feel the need to build a nest and have lots of sex. It’s intense, and we become very territorial. Afterward, the vampire who was on the receiving end, in this situation me, feels a painful pressure in their lower abdomen, as if an egg is forming. Eventually, they’ll feel the need to push and… lay the egg. Of course, there will be no baby but the vampire who lays it will still feel a strong need to care for and protect it until they come to their senses. It’s a delusion our bodies force upon us. And then… then we grieve over what can never be.”

Daniel listened in stunned silence, his mind racing to comprehend what Armand was telling him. “Other than the intense sex part that sounds kinda awful, there’s nothing we can do to stop it?”

“No,” Armand replied softly. “But I’ll understand if you don’t want to be here for it. It’s… a lot to handle.”

Daniel shook his head firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re a couple we should both have to suffer.”

As the days passed, Armand’s symptoms grew worse. He became increasingly restless, driven by an uncontrollable urge to gather soft materials and create a nest. Daniel watched as Armand collected blankets, pillows, and even some of Daniel’s worn clothes from the basket in the bathroom. Daniel thought it was kinda gross at first but Armand explained that Daniel's lingering scent on the worn clothes was incredibly comforting to him. Armand meticulously arranged them into a cozy, safe space in their bedroom.

Daniel did his best to help, while out on a hunt one evening he stopped and bought some more blankets. while at the store he started thinking about the clothes thing and wondered what other scents might comfort the little vampire. On his way to the checkout line he stopped by the pharmacy area of the store and picked out some sandalwood fragrance oil, the same scent Marius tends to wear around. He could see how important this was to his vampire lover, even if it was all based on an illusion. The process brought them closer in a strange way, as they shared the labor and the anticipation of what was to come.

.

Then, the mating desires began. It started one night when Daniel was typing away on his typewriter at his desk in their bedroom. Armand had been staring at him from the nest all night, Dnaiel figured it was just another symptom of the vampire mating season. Armand slowly crept out of his nest and approached Daniel. Daniel looked up at him “You alright boss? Are you still having joint pain” Daniel asked.

The rest can be found on my ao3

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