Part 2 Of The 80s Band Au, Punk Eskel And Lambert

Part 2 of the 80’s band au, punk Eskel and Lambert 🤘🗡

The Witcher but it’s Chris Fleming

Geralt: (giving dating advice) Sit on a grassy hill near their apartment and just…pet a crow. That way your lucky so-and-so will wake up and see you there, sharing secrets with night fowl.

Jaskier: Why even bother with demolition vehicles anymore when we could just grab a freshman theatre major auditioning for a cabaret troupes? The SWAT team should hire them to blow doors open.

Eskel: I don’t know if you’ve ever seen those oil paintings of goat demons screaming in the 1400′s, they’re horrific, but they look tame compared to a field hockey player roaring: “MY ANACONDA DON’T WANT NONE UNLESS YOU GOT BUNS, HON!”

Yennefer: This will show him that you’re not a Victorian piece of string cheese holding in her period until she’s whisked off her size four glass slippers by her prince, who in this case is a business major who can only get it up when he sees his own reflection in the TV during a Bond marathon.

Renfri:  Witnessing an Adventure Family in the throes of an outdoor activity makes me want to put myself in a pelican’s mouth and say, “Just drive.”

Lambert: What kind of a prude enjoys a Crunch bar? You might as well just eat toast.

Triss: Panera is just McDonald’s that studied abroad and came back wearing a beret and cigarette jeans, thinkin’ it’s the shit because it got fingered by a mime!

Vesemir: Quit your day job and help me throw chicken nuggets at my neighbor’s fruity son.

Ciri: Nothing makes you feel more like a bed-wetter than your loved ones conspiring together behind your back. 

Taking prompts? Maybe Geralt had a bad game, and Jaskier treats him with dollar store snacks and a blanket???

(I needed this tonight, fam)

tw: slightly horny

---

“Geralt!” Jaskier screams, flinging himself down the aluminum stairs of the football stadium seating and onto the side of the field. His boyfriend had just gotten rammed into by the other team’s frankly enormous quarterback and knocked flat onto his back; which wasn’t unusual.

He isn’t shaking it off like usual and getting back up, though.

That’s the problem.

Jaskier flies onto the field, past several pairs of grasping hands, and drops to his knees at Geralt’s side. The school nurse is also there, and makes her assessment while Jaskier quietly panics, his hands fluttering over the quarterback’s prone form. “G-Geralt, my love?”

A pair of confused golden eyes flutter open and Geralt rasps out: “Huh?”

“Oh thank gods,” the nurse sighs, pressing a hand to her chest. “I was getting very nervous about you, young man. I was close to calling an ambulance.”

“I’ll...be fine.” 

The nurse removes Geralt’s helmet and runs a few quick tests on his pupils with a pen-light. Whatever she finds is not satisfactory and she purses her lips, declaring: “Well you’re not going to be able to finish out the game, unfortunately.”

Geralt is clearly disappointed with the nurse’s decision, but allows himself to be escorted off the field by the coach and Jaskier, who each have an arm looped around his back beneath his arms. “This is embarrassing,” he grumbles. 

“Better embarrassed than concussed,” Jaskier replies. The coach agrees.

---

“Let Jaskier drive you home,” Coach Granger orders. Geralt rolls his amber eyes and tries to hide the fact that the motion makes him dizzy. 

“Fine.”

“Thank you. Have your parents take you to the ER if your speech slurs or if you still feel dizzy in a couple hours.”

“Alright. Sorry coach,” Geralt says, gaze dropping to the locker room floor. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” the man shrugs. He pats the team captain on the shoulder and gives him a genuine, encouraging smile. “That was a tough hit to take. If I’d put O’Leary on the field first he would have broken a bone. Now, go spend the rest of the night being spoiled and looked after by that excitable young boyfriend of yours.”

Geralt’s face goes beet red and he mumbles out a quiet: “Yes, coach.”

---

Geralt allows Jaskier to bundle him into his old blue Ford and buckle him in. “I’m not a complete invalid.”

“I know. I’m just being fussy. Wait, no, what did Coach Granger call me? Excitable?”

“He’s right, you know,” the older boy grins. Jaskier rolls his eyes and starts the truck. The radio blares to life and the sophomore quickly adjusts it to a pop station. 

“I love this song!” the younger boy declares, pulling slowly out of the high school’s parking lot in the direction of their nearby neighborhood. “Oh Geralt you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Geralt! Hey Geralt!”

“Those aren’t the-”

“OH GERALT YOU’RE SO FINE, YOU’RE SO FINE YOU BLOW MY MIND, HEY GERALT! HEY GERALT!”

“Jas-”

“Cause when you say you will, it always means you won’t! You’re giving me the chills baby, please, baby, don’t! Every night you still leave me all alone, Geralt!”

The football player lets out a deep, bellowing laugh at his boyfriend’s antics and Jaskier finally stops belting the edited lyrics. Geralt raises his eyebrow and gives the younger man a slow once-over, “You can come over later and play nurse if you want.”

“Promise?” Jaskier asks, eyes still trained faithfully on the road. He’s trying not vibrate off the truck’s leather bench with excitement and crash the damned thing. 

“Yeah. You can check my wound and everything.”

Jaskier finally pulls into Geralt’s driveway and parks the truck. He turns to face the quarterback, whose smirk clearly reveals his intentions. The younger boy giggles flirtatiously and rolls his eyes fondly, “What wound? You only have a little bump on your head. It will probably be gone in the morning.”

“I’m sure we can think of something for you to check,” the senior winks. Jaskier blushes brightly and opens the driver’s side door. 

“Oh fuck off.” 

“Hmm.”

Witcher Eskel of the Wolf School 

getting primed up to talk shit about Yen to Geralt again.

Oh no I love him

Jaskier shows Lambert it’s okay to be passionate about something…

An easel sat on the shores of the lake near Kaer Morhen. Jaskier spotted it for the first time while on a romantic boat cruise with Geralt; the Witcher did all the rowing and Jaskier lounged back opposite with his lute across his lap, but that was beside the point. The easel sat at the very bottom of a steep path, with a small chest at its side, which probably contained the mystery artist’s equipment.

Jaskier made a mental note to investigate further.

When the snows cleared towards the end of the season, the beautiful, mist-wreathed views of the Blue Mountains from Geralt’s bedroom window reminded Jaskier of a painting, which in turn reminded him of his mystery artist. One afternoon, he set off on foot. When he reached the top of the path, he looked down the slope and saw someone he really didn’t expect to.

It was Lambert.

The youngest wolf of Kaer Morhen stood with a palette in one hand and brush in the other. A leather case sat unfolded on top of the chest containing more tools of his trade; scalpels, brushes and other miscellaneous items. He was currently measuring up a perspective of something in the distance.

“Lambert!” Jaskier stood downwind, so called out to let the Witcher know of his presence. He really didn’t expect Lambert to swirl ‘round, wide-eyed, and then immediately throw his tools in the lake. Not only that, but his left hand twisted into the Sign for Igni and he set his entire piece of art on fire. The bard sprinted down the path—no mean feat, he wasn’t exactly a spiritely youth anymore—and kicked the easel into the lake.

Too late. The painting was ruined. Jaskier pulled the canvas out of the wet mud, and looked at it forlornly. “Lambert, why—?”

Lambert shook. His fists clenched. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” The Witcher looked genuinely distressed; his teeth gritted, eyes wild. Rather than engage with Jaskier any further, he snatched up his bags and stormed away. Geralt warned Jaskier of the potential for drowners, foglets and water hags in the area, so the bard didn’t tarry.

After a little bit of prodding, some moonshine and a game of Gwent, Lambert finally opened up. He was… embarrassed. Worried. He thought that if the others found out they’d take the piss and if there was one thing he couldn’t deal with—there were quite a few, but Jaskier wasn’t brave enough to point that out—then it was someone ripping into him about a private passion. It was his. No one else’s. Something he could enjoy outside the bullshit of the Path. But it was very un-Lambert. It was gentle, and peaceful, and everything the Path wasn’t, and—he just didn’t want anyone to find out, alright?

Despite giving assurances that Eskel and Geralt really wouldn’t tease him about something he was passionate about—and deep down, the prickly wolf knew this to be true—Jaskier didn’t push Lambert to reveal his secret. Instead, he decided to support his Witcher quietly. For the following solstice Jaskier bought Lambert a present. A set of watercolours. The winter after that, he bought him a new drawing pad and some charcoal. They never talked about it and Jaskier never saw the products of his gifts. It didn’t matter. He was showing Lambert that it was good and healthy to have something just for yourself.

Until the fourth winter.

Lambert approached quietly, tentatively, and placed a small square wrapped in brown paper beside Jaskier while he was basking in the fading winter sun. He left without a word. The bard set his lute aside and picked up his gift. The paper and twine fell away to reveal a beautiful watercolour; a small, full-bodied portrait of himself sat within a buttercup that took up the rest of the background. His miniature self was singing, happy and bright, with the gorgeous yellow shades reflecting the joy of a bard’s heart in full flight.

Lambert had signed it at the bottom, with a very small ‘thank you’ scrawled beneath.

The small watercolour became one of Jaskier’s most beloved possessions.