the porny bard

I love how just a simple GIF conveys more about your inner workings than the most elaborate epic ever could. The macaroni is stirred so beautifully, I can almost hear the sounds of it. Naturally, it has inspired something. So you'll take what you get, no apologies, returns or refunds offered.

Pavlov's Cat

Of all the philosophical questions to ponder, Lambert never thought he'd be staring into a pan and wondering whether the hunger or the horny came first. Even worse, it was at the ranch for the monthly family meal where it was his turn to cook. Not exactly talented in the culinary department, Lambert thought he'd go for the easiest option; macaroni and cheese. Oh how he regretted it.

Unfortunate musings were interrupted by Aiden's appearance, though he froze in the doorway, eyes wide with concern as the sound of Lambert's stirring registered.

"That sounds like-"

"Yep."

"Are you-?"

"Nope." Lambert paused and shifted uncomfortably. "Yep." Pulling the spoon out, he pointed it threateningly at Aiden. "Don't you tell a single soul or I will carve your heart out with this."

Snorting, Aiden shook his head. "What am I going to do? Wait for everyone to be sitting at the table before announcing 'by the way, Lamby got a stiffy from stirring the macaroni because it sounds exactly like vigorous figner fucking with excess lube'?"

Finding that someone has trawled through my blog is honestly the highlight of being on this hellsite (affectionate). It fills me with such unbridled joy. Having said that, my brain holds memories worse than a sieve holds water so I cannot for the life of me remember anything I post or reblog, as such the ask game is a mystery. By way of apology I shall pop on your doormat a fic like a cat would present a carefully hunted leaf.

Technically the Truth

The perk of Geralt dating Jaskier was that Lambert and Eskel met Cahir. How exactly Geraly ended up dating a popstar was beyond understanding but his makeup artist was a perk for sure, even if they couldn't visit him quite as they wanted to. Cahir had two dogs which, at first, had been a delight for Lambert and Eskel. Alas, they couldn't meet them. Being rescues with a gnarly past, they were distrustful of new people already and fiercely protective of Cahir. Add in their size and the stereotypes of their breed, Cahir did not take any risks. It didn't stop him sending pictures of the dogs in various ridiculous situations, Lambert's favourite was perhaps the one involving duck printed onesies, caps and, for some hitherto unknown reason, a pacifier.

Introductions were slowly made, meeting on a walk. Treats only worked to some extent as a form of bribery and buying the dogs' favour. While out and about, things were fine. But when home, it was a bit of a different matter. Still, they worked hard and finally both Lambert and Eskel were accepted and welcome visitors in Cahir's home.

For a makeup artist, Cahir sure seemed exclusive. He toured with Jaskier and his manager, Fringilla. There were very few other clients he worked with, Essi was one of them and, with some disdain from Jaskier, he also occasionally worked for Valdo. But mostly he was not only Jaskier's makeup artist but also confidant. Tours were one thing but Cahir also tagged along to trips, interviews, appearances. The biggest honour was when he asked Lambert and Eskel to take care of his dogs for a couple of weeks.

Nonnie, this has probably sat in my inbox for coming up to two years, I am so very sorry. If you're still in the fandom, I bring you an apology story of whump but, because of the way the brain gremlins sway, we're whumping Cahir today.

My Friend

Long story short, Kaer Morhen crumbled into dust, the Wolf School was no more. The stragglers and survivors who had been trying to find sanctuary there for the last century or so were left adrift. Options weren't exactly abundant and the Continent was a bit of a mess still. It was at Ciri's insistence that they headed south, to Nilfgaard in the hopes of maybe doing some good.

In a way, things were easier than anticipated. Ciri was welcomed by Emhyr, who was shrewd enough to recognise the potential power in having some witchers call Nilfgaard their home. Though Lambert went gallivanting off after the Cats' caravan, Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir stayed put with Ciri.

As it so happened, Emhyr took great interest in Vesemir's experience and Geralt had also intrigued him. It left Ciri free to explore and she took Eskel along. They didn't do anything as crass and voyeuristic as go into the dungeons. Ciri had no interest in seeing others suffer for their misdeed. Instead, she and Eskel took passages and random doors which led deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the large building. In the end they found themselves in a dimly lit, dank corridor that stank of misery and mould. Noses crinkling, they pressed on, curious about whether they were about to find some long forgotten, hidden cellar where they could carve out a secret space of their own. It was no such thing. Stepping into the room at the end of the corridor, Ciri almost wished she had never found it.

In the corner was a skeltal waif who looked as though he should have been dead some time ago. Yet he was breathing, squinting up at them as they stepped in. What Ciri didn't expect was for the man to panic.

Ooooh! Some 'serious' anon hate going on here XD This has been sat in my inbox for far too long because I was having too much fun laughing at everyone else's 'hate' and their responses then promptly forgot I hadn't replied. But long enough has passed now that I look foolish now rather than just super late to the party. I can live with that. And, as always, an ask gets a ficlet in reply. But an ask like this? It gets "rewarded" with dubious morals, questionable medical knowledge and some bittersweetness.

Choose a Different Path

Whatever it was that Tissaia had done to Cahir, it had left some permanent marks. At first it hadn't been obvious, the fainting spells and funny turns chalked up to being on the run, to sleepless nights, to not having enough to eat, to having lived through horrors beyond most people's imagination. It wasn't until Geralt took his ragtag group to Kaer Morhen that it became apparent more was at play than trauma and lack of physical care.

At first they thought things were getting better. The instances where Cahir's movements slowed to sluggish and clumsy before sinking to the ground unresponsive were fewer. He hadn't passed out at all in Kaer Morhen, even seemed to be able to smile again.

Eskel had a lot to do with the smiles. For reasons he wasn't going to question, Cahir had taken quite the shine to him. And Eskel was never going to reject affection, not even when Geralt glared at him while Cahir was slumped against his shoulder and softly snoring away. In a way Eskel found Geralt's near enough fatherly attitude endearing. He'd seen the way Cahir and Ciri bickered, teased and generally terrorised each other. But while Ciri was more like a niece, childish in her youth, Cahir had lost that attitude years ago. Not to mention that Cahir was the one who initiated the start of whatever it was between them.