#Barmine

[cat-shouty-13]

Freshly picked produce

Some general memes (with added Carmine is Sholmes's descendant headcanon)

Alternate versions cuz I think they would both do this :)

And finally, when playing tgaac my friend and I made jokes that Ryuu was a robot

[101flavoursofweird]

Espella: Why does Sir Barnham call you baby girl

Carmine: How about we stop talking for a little while.

[roskuil]

Related to this.

[sexymalenavels]

Maximus Barmin

[inexplicifics]

🧡 for Vesemir/Guxart!

There are a lot of things about getting older which have surprised Vesemir.

One of them, to be fair, is that he has survived long enough to grow old. He was a hellraiser as a young witcher, and no one in Kaer Morhen would have put money on his living past his century mark. Hell, Vesemir himself was rather astonished when he hit fifty, and now here he is at something a bit over three hundred and still kicking.

The first time he caught himself scolding one of the young hellions in almost exactly the same words Barmin had used on him decades ago, Vesemir had to go have a drink and run the hardest pendulum course a couple of times to reassure himself that he wasn’t actually becoming an old fogey. These days he borrows Barmin’s lectures shamelessly, and only runs the hardest pendulum course once in a blue moon, when he has to show the young whippersnappers that he may be grey-haired and a little creaky, but decades of practice can in fact make up for the fact that he moves a little more slowly than he used to in his prime.

The years have taught him the value of taking his time on things. He scouts far more thoroughly when he goes out on the Path than he ever did when he was young; he lingers over his meals and his ale, savoring the taste.

And he delights in spending long winter mornings in bed, his Cat sprawled over his chest, sharing lazy, indulgent kisses and the comforting warmth of two bodies curled in his ridiculous heap of blankets.

It’s nothing like the encounters he used to have as a young man. There’s no danger to it - well, aside from sharing his bed with a Cat. He isn’t worried about having to jump out a window, or causing a political incident, or even just having his partner eat him - in retrospect, bedding a higher vampire was not the smartest thing he’s ever done.

Instead, it’s slow and sweet and easy, as so few parts of a witcher’s life are ever easy, and when he was younger he would have been baffled at the idea that he would ever want such things.

Now, though, with Guxart purring softly as they kiss, each lazy press of lips adding to the slow building pleasure of the morning, Vesemir thinks his younger self was very foolish indeed. 

(Or here on AO3!)

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 9

Summary:

Mentions of past abuse of Geralt, punishment spankings, Vesemir is tired of grown witchers acting like children, odd behavior from Eskel and Ciri but it will be explained later, smooches between Geralt and Naurel hopefully leading to more in the next chapter !

Vesemir listened to Geralt as he told the story of what they had learned at the temple. “Barmin spoke of those times but I never dared to hope it would be true again,” he said in awe. “Does that mean that there will be one for all of the witchers again?”

Geralt shrugged, “We don’t know. There is still so much to learn about all of it. All Nenennke could say is that we were meant to be together and that we should spend the winter here before we set out to research so we don’t draw attention to ourselves.”

Geralt watched Ciri practicing defensive skills with Coen in the dining hall. “I’m glad to see she is adjusting well,” Geralt motioned his head toward Ciri. “She seems to want to listen to them more than she does me.” Since they’d gotten back a week ago Ciri had been a bit distant with Geralt, almost dismissive. He knew she would come to him when she was ready to talk about it and until then he would just keep trying to be there for her. Ciri wasn’t the only one acting differently toward Geralt since their return. Eskel was acting differently as well, snapping at Geralt and talking down to him and he had no idea why. Eskel was his closest brother growing up in the wolf school together. They heard a dish clatter to the ground and looked over near the fire.

“Let me,” Naurel said, reaching out to help Eskel clean up the spilled bread.

Eskel jerked the dish out of her hand. “I don’t need your fucking help, you’ve done enough here!”

Geralt was next to her in an instant putting himself between her and his brother while the room grew eerily quiet and everyone stared. “Is there a problem?” he asked Eskel.

“A lot of them brother.” he sneered.

“Eskel,” Vesemir warned but he was ignored.

“No, we all want to know what the fuck makes you so special Geralt? We all come back, beat to shit, bandaged and injured but you, not a scratch. Not to mention you have this little family now like your brothers don’t matter anymore,” he scoffed. “Special Geralt, the most powerful witcher,” he mocked as he pressed chest to chest with him, noses touching. “What the fuck is so special about you?”

“Nothing,” Geralt’s voice held a warning. “I have never claimed to be more than any of my brothers. I never put myself on a pedestal nor did I ever try to lord what was said about me over any of you and I was injured. I nearly fucking died before I got here! As for not treating you as brothers anymore? You’re the one acting like a spoiled fucking child Eskel, not me.”

“You brought home a woman and we all know you have not laid with her. Your smell is nowhere on her,” he said lewdly. “What’s wrong brother? Need one of us to show you how to do it?”

Naurel grabbed Geralt’s arm as he pulled back to swing on Eskel. “Geralt don’t,” she tried to reason. “Tensions are high right now and you are both going to do or say something you can’t take back.” She moved to stand in between them. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They continued the tense stand-off for what seemed like ages but he finally looked at her and took her hand. “As you wish.”

“Run little bitch,” Eskel smirked as Geralt walked past. Geralt landed a punch that staggered Eskel who swung back in return. Before Naurel could even blink all the witchers had pulled them apart, Eskel’s nose bleeding and Geralt with a split lip.

“That’s enough, both of you!” Vesemir growled. “Wolf, you go out and cool off for a bit. Eskel, in the laboratory and get to cleaning!” When they both opened their mouths to argue Vesemir’s voice grew so threatening it made them all lower their heads. “I will tan your hides just like when you were kids if you don’t listen! Now go!”

Geralt grabbed Ciri’s arm as he stormed out and took her with them. At least if they were going on a walk he would get to spend time with them both. They had only made it out of the archway at the gates when Ciri huffed. “Why is it that I have to do what you what when you want it?”

 

“What?” he asked too lost in thought to comprehend her words.

“You just grabbed me and drug me out here even though I was training. Lambert and Coen are teaching me how to really fight. They aren’t treating me like a looking glass that will break,” she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

He looked at her, “I didn’t mean to take you away from training. I just wanted to spend some time together. I thought we could all go for a walk.” He laced his fingers with Naurel’s gratefully when she squeezed his hand.

“You don’t want me to train,” she continued on her train of thought. “You don’t want me to fight.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” he was honest. “I want you to be safe and when you do have to defend yourself to be ready to do so safely not something you rushed through half-assed for bloodthirsty vengeance!”

“It’s all about what you want,” she huffed. “As long as you keep me protected you don’t care if I stay locked up and never get to do anything.���

He froze where he was standing and carefully chose his next words and actions so that he didn’t lash out in hurt. Keeping his back to her, “Go practice then.” He strode away not looking back; Naurel followed after shooting the girl a glare. He continued walking at speed for several minutes before turning on her. “Do you feel forced to spend time with me too?”

He was in her face, chest heaving, eyes wild with hurt and anger, lips pulled back in a growl and she never flinched. Instead, she reached up and softly stroked the line of his jaw with her hand. “As long as I’m with you there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He softened and pressed a kiss to her head as he hugged her. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

forgotten just how strong the old witcher was until Vesemir had him by the shirt and slammed against a wall.

“Enough! I have never favored one of you more than the others and I never will. Geralt studied more, spent more time in the lab and in practice than you and Lambert. That’s your own damn fault not his! Witchers are brothers and I understand tensions and fights but you are going to end up getting each other hurt or killed!”

Eskel had the sense too look ashamed of how he’d upset his mentor. “I’m sorry that I upset you it was never my intention. It’s just not fair that Geralt gets everything without even trying. It all comes so damn easy to him.” He flopped down on the bench with a sigh.

Vesemir sat next to him. “You and Geralt grew up together here Eskel. He’s older then you by a few years and he always tried to protect you and Lambert.”

“Yea, he did but even then, before the sacking, all the teachers were giving him all the attention and so amazed at how he withstood the trials. I would have taken them when I was that you too but you wouldn’t let me. I could have been the youngest witcher to pass the trial of the grasses.”

Vesemir shook his head confused by the conversation. He’d thought Geralt shared his story with Eskel when they were kids but the boy must have truly suffered through it all alone. He thought back on that time when Geralt was brought there, just a small boy no more than three or four years, and how different things were back then. The sacking of Kaer Morhen was detrimental to the future of all witchers and some of the ones lost back then were good leaders but for the most part, they were sadistic bastards who used the young boys in ways that would have destroyed them were it not for the mutations. Geralt was the last of his generation to have to go through it. Lambert and Eskel had been brought to the keep before the attack but Geralt protected them when Vesemir and Barmin couldn’t. “You need to talk to your brother Eskel because your memories seem to have holes. There are things that you are forgetting about why he went through the trials so young.” He put his hand on Eskel’s shoulder, “You are all mine. I care for you all the same and if you feel like there is a difference it’s in your own mind. Now finish cleaning in here then go get some food. I’m going to give you a chance to make it right on your own but If you and Geralt fight again I’m going to bend you both over the table and tan your hides in front of your brothers just like when you were kids.” He heard the gulp from Eskel as he turned to leave and smiled. Now he would have the same talk with the wolf when he returned.

Wolf and flame tag list

@kneelforloki

@shellyshellshell

@warriormirkwood

@mollymal

[my-russia]

Saint Trinity Cathedral, Surgut | Ph: Evgeny Barmin

[on-a-lucky-tide]

(Eskel & Geralt, Eskel/Geralt if you squint; young wolves, first time with potions, Eskel's Canonical Strength with Signs; an interpretation. Rated: T)

His skull felt tight. Like it was closing in around his mind, a vice crushing his thoughts, his consciousness. The thundering rush in his ears made him feel dizzy and the heat under his skin made him feel skittish. His heart beat an erratic rhythm against his rib cage, and Eskel felt like he was spinning, but stuck. Rooted to the spot as the world crashed in around him, control slipping through his fingers, torn away by some unseen force.

Yet, beneath it all—beneath the terror, the burning—there was a rush. Something gleeful writhed around in his chest, desperate to get free even though he tried to press it down. Something wanted to burst out of him, break through his grip, burst forth into the world and—

They had said Thunderbolt was different from the others. It lets the monster out good and proper, Varin had slurred around the chipped rim of his mug the previous night. Some hate it, most deal with it, and then some sick fucks enjoy it a little too much. At that, Varin glanced at the large sword hanging over the fireplace. The one that Master Barmin used on those that weren’t safe to be let out on the Path.

The uneasiness had roiled in Eskel’s stomach for the rest of the evening until it had erupted in the bowl under his bed and Gweld had thrown a pillow at him in disgust—learn to hold yer liquor, Skel, fu-u-uck—before shoving his head under the remaining one.

Was Eskel a sick fuck? Was he one of those that they’d put down before letting the rest of his cohort onto the Path? Was that feeling—? Was it—?

“—he’s grunting like an animal—“

“Give him time. Thunderbolt’s always the hardest. Lad’s doing fine.”

There were others in the room; Master Vesemir, as Eskel belonged to his crop of trainees, and more than one mage. They were scared of what Thunderbolt would do to him. Eskel could smell their fear on the air even now, along with the fetid shit from the lavvies, the cooking meat in the kitchens, all of it made his stomach roil once more. The acidic, bitter taste hit the back of his throat, and every muscle pulled taut. Their muttering grew louder, bouncing around his head until it was an unintelligible crescendo.

“He’s losing control…”

“Easy, easy, let him go, let him try.” 

The second voice sounded less certain. The chattering grew louder, louder. The voices crushed in on him, pressing down, tightening the grip around his head. Heat. Pressure. Burning. 

The fire flooded down from his head, from his chest, swept down his arms, and swirled around his palms. Flames lapped his flesh, singed the hairs on the back of his arms; molten dragon fire poured from his palms.

“He’s—that’s—this needs to stop—“

“No, no, wait. Wait!”

A familiar voice. The first that didn’t feel like a lash against his mind, but a familiar caress. A voice that had drawn him out of the stupor following the Trial of Dreams. A voice that had rescued him from every nightmare, every fear, every uncertainty, since Eskel had first stumbled through the tall gates of the keep, bare foot and wide-eyed, clutching his only possession to his chest; a moth-eaten bedroll. 

Two strong hands shoved against his chest, insistent, repeated. “Wait! Wait, don’t! I can get him back!” 

The shoves became harder. Eskel wanted to shout out, to tell the voice that it wasn’t safe, that something was tearing it out of him and it would consume them both. But whatever it was, whatever darkness, had secured its grip around his throat and the words faded before they had even been born. All he could do then was surrender.

But if he surrendered, the beast would get free. It would devour him and everyone in its Path. Like hellfire.

“Eskel, c’mon! C’mon, move, you big oaf! Move!”

Oaf. 

Two boys splashing in the lake, Eskel cannon-balling and creating a tidal wave, “ahh, you coulda drowned me!” said in jest, a light-hearted slap of water, “big oaf,” said with love, with warmth, with trust. Trust that Eskel would never hurt him. Could never. 

“C’mon, Eskel. Come back to me. Don’t you dare fuckin’--don’t you dare leave me, Eskel.”

A hand in his as they stared at a tall, foreboding door, their fates unknown. Those spindly fingers, callused from swords and chores, squeezed as firmly as they could. “Don’t you dare leave me,” whispered, desperate and fearful, and Eskel squeezed back, “I won’t.” 

A promise kept. 

Eskel went lax. He stumbled. His back hit a door which gave way behind him. The ground underfoot became slippery, like mineral grease on a steel blade.

A rush of cold flooded in, washing the brimstone away, water drops like pins against the searing heat of his skin. He fell. They fell. Because, just as the cold stone connected with Eskel’s rear, a heavy, warm weight fell on his front. 

The pin needles turned to rain drops.

It was raining.

Hot breath puffed over his lips, a solid pressure against his forehead, a brush against his nose.

Eskel opened his eyes. 

The faded grey light melted away, and two orbs of melted gold gazed into his. “There you are.”

Geralt.

“Don’t speak, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Eskel must have said it out loud. He leaned back and looked down. There was steam rising from his hands, hot where they rested against the slick flagstones of the courtyard. There were blurry figures standing in the doorway of the laboratory, the colours of their robes melded into one, anxious voices swimming in and out.

His body felt alien, detached. Like he was pulling it back on after someone else had worn it. “What… happened?” he managed to rasp, the words flowing from his throat like gravel.

Geralt took his face in wet fingers, tips tracing the trail of boyish stubble to the hinge of his jaw. “Nearly had a bigger storm than the mages predicted. It’s fine though. Thunder’s always followed by rain, right?” 

Geralt pressed his forehead to Eskel’s again, they shared the same deep breaths, grounded in each other, their hammering pulses slowing, quietening in the lull of comfort. 

Eskel knew then that Geralt had saved his life. If Eskel couldn’t control himself on Thunderbolt, he wouldn’t be leaving Kaer Morhen. It was too much of a risk. 

“You could have… I could have…” Eskel choked out, the vision of Geralt consumed in flames of his making flooding his mind.

“You could never,” Geralt replied, his voice a soft, the touch on Eskel’s face wandering, as if seeking reassurance that he was still intact. “Not you. Not ever.”

Eskel could see himself in Geralt’s wide eyes. Black hair plastered to his skull, the rain dripping from his wide brow and nose, his own eyes sunken with fear. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “Nothin’, nothin’s wrong with you, you’re jus’ Eskel. We’ll get through this. You and me. Like always. We’ll try again, and… and you’ll get it. Then we’ll, we’ll walk out together on the Path, like we always planned, yeah?”

Eskel could hear the hope in Geralt’s voice, but he could see the fear in his eyes–fear of losing Eskel, fear of going it all alone, fear that he wouldn’t be strong enough to get them through–and Eskel knew he couldn’t fail.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, letting his eyes fall shut so he could bask in the chill of the rain and the gentle warmth of Geralt’s touch. “Together.”

[dukeofdogs]

Vesemir

Chest: For many, the phrase "with age comes wisdom" often doesn't apply, but for Vesemir, it is surely the case. However, it was not the numerous punishments imposed on him by Barmin that ended his disobedience, but the harsh reality of consequences⁠—specifically, when others had to pay the price for his sins. When his nighttime indulgences ended up costing the life of someone he promised to defend... Well, that was enough to change the witcher's ways. And with each preventable death he witnessed, he became more and more serious, year after year, until he took on the role of fencing master at Kaer Morhen. Famous for his extensive knowledge and rigorous approach to training, he ensured his young witcher adepts were thoroughly disciplined⁠—for their own good, and the well-being of those they would later have to protect.

Scroll 1: Though it is hard to believe now, Vesemir was once young. After his Trial of Grasses, he was still trying to grow his first beard. Fortunately, he was completely unscathed by the murderous training he underwent⁠—collecting no scars nor deformations. Apart from the colour of his eyes, nothing about his appearance betrayed the witcher mutations.

Scroll 2: Thus, when the young Vesemir⁠—together with master Barmin⁠—set out on the trail for the first time, he found a simple way to hide his provenance. He wore a wide-brimmed hat. The one and only that became Papa Vesemir's famous hat, which no other witcher was allowed to wear, especially Lambert.

Scroll 3: Donning his voluminous cloak and favourite hat, young Vesemir sneaked out under Barmin's nose to devote himself to activities frowned upon by his mentor. In short, he wandered around the local pubs, took part in every possible party and wedding, or climbed the balconies of various mansions to reach one of the court ladies' bedrooms. As for the houses of ill repute... Suffice to say that Vesemir visited more of them in his long life than Eskel, Lambert and Geralt combined.

Scroll 4: And master Barmin, well… Sometimes he turned a blind eye to the actions of his unruly student, but more often he scolded young Vesemir and gave him some extremely boring, time-consuming task as punishment. Like polishing swords, for example.

[beardedmrbean]

China underwent rare scrutiny of its human rights record at the United Nations on Tuesday.

The Universal Periodic Review (UPR), which all UN member states must undergo every five years, focused on Xinjiang, a remote region where China has incarcerated more than 1 million Uyghurs and other Muslim minorities and is accused of crimes against humanity.

The political situation in Hong Kong, where Beijing has imposed a strict set of "security" laws, was also taken into consideration. 

More than 160 countries addressed the hearing in Geneva, Switzerland, and each only had 45 seconds to speak.

China once again denied any allegations of human rights abuses.

"We embarked on a path of human rights development that is in keeping with the trend of the times and appropriate to China's national conditions and scored historic achievements in this process," China's UN Ambassador Chen Xu said through an interpreter at the meeting.

Uyghur and Tibetan groups each held small protests outside the UN offices in Geneva.

Western countries slam Beijing

Canada's representative to the UN, Leslie Norton, called on China to end "all forms of enforced disappearances targeting human rights defenders, ethnic minorities and Falun Gong practitioners" and to repeal the controversial security law in Hong Kong.

Danish UN ambassador Ib Petersen called on Beijing to implement UN recommendations in Xinjiang and to "release writers, bloggers, journalists, human rights defenders and others arbitrarily detained for exercising their right to freedom of expression, and guarantee this right, including in Hong Kong."

Meanwhile, Czech ambassador Vaclav Balek also urged China to "end the criminalization of religious and peaceful civil expression by ethnic and religious groups — including Muslim, Uyghurs and Buddhists, Tibetans and Mongolians — under the pretext of protecting state security" and "stop cross-border kidnappings and intimidating Chinese citizens living abroad."

Germany, Japan and Ireland also called for better protections of minorities in Xinjiang and Tibet.

Praise for China

Diplomats told Reuters news agency that China had pressured its supporters to fill up their allotted speaking time with praise.

First secretary Ilia Barmin of Russia's diplomatic mission advised China "to consistently improve the understanding and capacity of citizens to use standard spoken and written Chinese in Xinjiang."

South Africa's political affairs counselor Frankye Bronwen Levy called on China to strengthen laws against domestic violence that were introduced eight years ago.

The Indian representative, meanwhile, urged Beijing to "continue taking steps to ensure fullest enjoyment of basic human rights by its people, through inclusive and sustainable development."

Some African countries like Ethiopia and Cameroon lauded China's efforts on human rights.

Eritrea's representative for instance urged China to "to comprehensively promote ethnic unity and progress."

Iran also praised China's "national action plan for human rights," while Bolivia commended China's efforts against deforestation.

[101flavoursofweird]

Title: Starting Over

Description: Espella reunites with Carmine in London… Eve is also there.

Spoilers: For PLvsAA

Set: A month after PLvsAA

Warnings: Mentions of the Great Fire and Espella’s catatonic state following that, but not in much detail… Vague descriptions of a car crash (of course) and a broken leg.

Note: For Day 2 of @layton-npc-appreciation-week - I went with V.S Phoenix Wright. Not sure if Eve and Espella count as NPCs, but you don’t get more NPC than a character who appeared for like 2 minutes in the opening cutscene.

Carmine hadn’t seen Espella Cantabella since he’d crashed his car into the Riverside Park, one month ago.

In Carmine’s defence, they had been pursued by witches… or rather, what Carmine had perceived to be witches.

It had been nothing more than an illusion evoked by a mind-altering drug, according to Professor Layton.

The Professor had also revealed that Labyrinthia— the medieval city plagued by magic and witches— did not exist as Carmine remembered it.

All of it had been a facade— a story— constructed to help Espella live with the trauma of a devastating fire from over a decade ago.

The Legendary Fire that had consumed a town and the majority of its inhabitants… except for Espella, Arthur Cantabella, Newton Belduke and his daughter.

A young Espella, convinced she had destroyed the town after being possessed by the ‘Great Witch Bezella’, had entered a catatonic state.

It seemed nothing could break the spell that had fallen over Espella… but then, Arthur Cantabella had written her a story about the banished witches and the triumphant townsfolk. 

More stories had followed, until Labyrinthia came to be.

Carmine had stumbled into Espella’s story by mistake. He had been extremely lost and subsequently, stupefied by the events he’d witnessed in Labyrinthia.

At the best of times, Carmine was strapped for cash… How was a detective meant to survive in a medieval town when he couldn’t tell fact from fiction? The illogical court system had made his head spin!

He had wandered through the streets— penniless and hungry— until he’d bumped into a girl who took pity on him. 

She had brought him to a bakery and given him of a loaf bread for free…

The bakery owner— upon discovering this transgression— had decided Carmine would work at the shop to pay her back, and she would put a roof over his head in the meantime.

And so, Carmine had found himself living alongside Espella Cantabella, Patty Eclaire and Eve the Cat.

What had started as repaying a debt became Patty and Espella patiently teaching him how to bake (and forgiving Carmine’s many mishaps!), listening to the neighbours’ gossip, exploring the Great Archive with Espella, learning the history and the strange customs of Labyrinthia…

Hurrying home with Espella and avoiding the Order of Knights’ hard gaze…

Laughing with Espella and Patty during a flour-fight—

Getting interrupted by the intrusion of five knights, who accused Espella (kind, gentle Espella) of being the Great Witch…

Defending Espella while Patty warded them off with a rolling pin… 

After that, Patty had begged Carmine to take Espella and flee— far away from Labyrinthia. Carmine had agreed.

But he and Espella had been followed, and  knocked off the road.

(Curse his terrible luck and his last name…!)

Carmine had been injured, of course, but Espella could still run. He had urged her to go without him— to find Professor Layton and deliver his letter.

Much to his relief, Espella had obliged; she had left him to traverse a city she didn’t even know the name of.

Carmine didn’t blame Espella. Not for anything at all.

He’d wanted her to be safe and he knew Professor Layton would ensure that.

And the Professor had succeeded! He had solved the puzzle of Labyrinthia! (With some help from his assistants and an American defence attorney…)

Most importantly, he had helped shed light on Espella’s troubled past.

Espella was free now. Free to be herself. Free to process her trauma. Free to leave Labyrinthia, at long last…

She was meant to be visiting Carmine today, at the hospital. 

(He’d recovered from the injuries he had sustained during the car crash, but since then, he had broken his leg while trying to escape out of a window on the ward.)

Carmine glanced at the clock on the wall of his hospital room. Espella had said she would arrive at 3pm… but it was coming up to 4pm now.

He frowned. Where was Espella? Had she simply been delayed during her journey? 

Had the boat ride from Labyrinthia gone smoothly…?

Or had something happened to Espella when she reached London? 

Was she travelling alone? Could she have gotten lost? What if she had been waylaid by some lowlife in a dark alley?

Just as Carmine was envisioning every misfortune that could have befallen poor Espella, he heard two tentative knocks at the door.

“C-come in!” Carmine exclaimed as he leapt out of bed. His left leg, wrapped in a cast, crumpled under him as soon as he tried to stand. “Ahi—!”

He landed on the floor just as the door opened…

Espella was standing in the doorway. 

Her beaming smile faded when she realised Carmine had collapsed.

She let out a cry that sounded both ecstatic and concerned.

Carmine was nearly bowled over again as she caught him in a hug.

Somehow, with her arms locked around his neck, Carmine choked out a laugh. “You made it, then?”

Espella’s grip loosened. She looked at him and nodded. “Made it.”

He smiled. “I’m so glad!”

“There’s someone I want you to meet…”

Espella’s head turned towards the door, where Carmine noticed a figure waiting in the shadows. 

The figure glided into the room and Carmine recognised her.

“You—!” Carmine gasped. He pushed Espella behind him, but he kept glaring at the intruder— the one who had once posed as the ‘Great Witch’. The one who had caused Espella so much grief. “Stay back, you…!”

“Carmine— it’s alright!” Espella protested, gently moving him aside. “This is—“

“Are you— being influenced again, Espella?” Carmine peered at her. (She seemed lucid…)

There was a sigh from across the room. “Espella… Haven’t you explained everything to him?”

“I did, in my letter!” Espella insisted. She pointed from Carmine to the purple-haired woman. “Carmine, this is my friend, Eve—“

“Eve?” Carmine repeated. He glanced around. “Where is Eve?” Aiming another glower at the purple-haired woman, he demanded, “Have you done something to Eve?”

The woman rubbed her forehead with her hand and huffed, “I think you’re confused—“

“Eve the cat is fine and she’s back home,” Espella clarified. “Eve Belduke, my childhood friend, is here.”

Eve— the woman, Newton Belduke’s daughter— gave him a small wave.

“Ah…” Carmine cleared his throat. “I’m sorry— can we start over?”

“I believe I’m the one who owes you an apology,” Eve Belduke said solemnly. 

Espella gave her a reassuring smile. Carmine hummed.

Eve exhaled. “But yes, let’s start over…”

[vesemirsexual]

People in charge when Vesemir is not there (ranked):

• Eskel

• Lil Bleater

• Every single horse

• Geralt

• The spirit of Barmin

• Any round object with a face drawn on it

• Literally any other person or inanimate object

• Lambert

[hudine]

This is something of a plot bunny I came up with… don’t have a name for it either. Just a sort of prologue. This part takes place a couple hundred years before the Witcher season 1. Cannon is an unholy fusion of all three plus whatever my brain comes up with. Will be Geraskier.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Two mages and two Witchers sat in one of the mage’s work rooms in the depths of Kaer Morhen looking utterly board.

“So why exactly can’t you do the trail of the grasses on the initiates yet?” Rennes, grandmaster of the school of the wolf, asked the mages.

“Alfred is late,” Dagobert the senior mage answered.

Barmin, Rennes’ second, snorted. “Alfred Pankratz has probably just drank too much faerie wine and got stuck in yet another orgy. How that sorcerer gets himself caught up in these things I don’t know but he does too much thinking with his cock. Remember last year? He stumbled in all rumpled, covered in scratches and bite marks, then bragged about how he had a tryst with the Queen of the Seelie Spring Court. Can you not start without him?”

“If only,” the other mage, Reidrich, grumbled, “We need an ingredient only the fae can give us, and has to be given willingly. It’s the most vital component of the formula. Alfred went to fetch it from them. They don’t like Dagobert because he used to dabble in monster production, and I can’t go without risking a diplomatic incident because King Eredin of the Unseelie Night Court took grave offence that I beat him in a game of gwent of all things.”

“That’s all?” Rennes was astonished.

“He insinuated that I cheated because I won a rather valuable magical object,” Reidrich complained.

“Did you?” Barmin asked with a raised eyebrow.

“For once in my life actually I didn’t… which is probably the only reason I got out of there with my life and without the wild hunt on my tail. Anyway that leaves only Alfred without having to get one of the other schools involved. He’s late.”

As if summoned by mentioning him the lab door opened and in walked a tall wiry man with auburn hair and cornflower blue eyes, wearing loose clothes, a backpack on his back and in holding a small bundle. He looked rather frantic. “Sorry I’m late, something unexpected came up that held me back.”

“Alfred, thank the gods. You have what we need?” Dagobert asked.

“Yes, yes, that’s not the problem—“ Alfred started only for the bundle in his to start crying. “Oh come on kid. I managed to feed you, you don’t need changed, please don’t start crying again.”

“Why do you have a baby?” Rennes demanded, moving closer, catching a whiff, “A fae baby at that.”

“Remember how last year I said I had a tryst with the Spring Seelie Queen… well apparently the contraceptives didn’t work…”

“Wait… are you serious? The fae aren’t pulling a joke on you?” Reidrich inquired while moving closer to take a look.

“Yes I’m serious!” Alfred snapped back out of exasperation, “Changelings are just a myth humans made up to explain the tragic deaths of infants. A Fae child takes around two hundred years to reach the age of majority. Even the most blind human would notice if it took around eleven years for a baby to have just a year’s worth of growth.”

Alfred rocked the baby to try and quiet him as he paced frantically. “What am I going to do with a baby that will be an actual baby for a couple decades!”

“Ok we established the baby is yours. You still didn’t answer why you have them,” Barmin cajoled.

“The Queen’s consort was rather offended. Not that the child wasn’t theirs oddly enough. Although Fae do pair off with someone for many years, apparently they still don’t do strict monogamy. Not in their nature. No they where offended the baby was half human and a potential heir to the throne. Not that it’s that likely, they are the Queen’s third child and her oldest daughter who is next in line has two children herself and another on the way. Anyway although harming a child is a grave offence to the fae she was worried her consort might harm them. So now sudden and unexpected parenthood for me.”

“Well your mother has been going at you about producing an heir for a while now. At least you can now tell her you have the next Viscount de Lethenhove. She might not even mind they’re half fae. She is getting on in years after all,” Reidrich joked and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Alfred looked even more panicked all of a sudden. “What am I going to tell mother?”

“You’ll work something out. So boy or girl?” Rennes asked.

“Undecided,” Alfred replied and got odd looks from the two Witchers.

“What? I’m sure it has to say it in one of those bestiaries somewhere. The spring court are shapeshifters as well as gender fluid. They quite literally change their sex organs from male to female all the time as children until they settle on their gender expression… some never do and change back and forth at a whim their entire lives. They can also change into one animal form instinctively but can learn how to change into others as they get older.”

“By all that howling I think that little one is going to be a wolf,” Barmin joked, “Here let me take them. Babies are very good at picking up emotions. You’re a nervous wreck it’s just going to make things worse.”

“What’s their name?” Dagobert asked this time as Alfred handed the baby over to the Witcher with some relief.

“They didn’t really have one yet. The fae wait a while before naming their children, get to know them. I’m not sure what to name them. They’re gonna be powerful magically, just feel the raw chaos. They’re a source.”

“Right now the babe sounds like they’re gonna be a bard. Not one of those flashy troubadours either that just sing, dance, and play instruments. No a true bard that can weave magic with their voice and into their songs and music,” Barmin commented. He’d got the baby to quieten down some but was still crying, just not as loudly. “Certainly got the lungs for it.”

“I should give them a male name. If my mother thinks it’s a boy it will make my life a lot easier,” Albert said thinking out loud. “Julian. It was my great grandfather’s name, my mother’s favourite grandparent, who also raised her. It also means youthful, to see the world through a child’s eyes. Appropriate given how long they will be a child compared to a human lifespan. Julian Alfred Pankratz. We can call them Jules, that’s gender neutral.”

“Well Jules, welcome to Kaer Morhen. You’re a damn site more lucky than most boys who come through here because I assume no one is going to put you through the trails,” Barmin said to the baby in his arms.

“I’d kill Dagobert or Reidrich before I let them experiment on my child by putting them through the grasses,” Alfred stated. He was the youngest of the mages at only sixty years old, but no one doubted he would follow through on his promise. “Besides. That boy isn’t just fae, he’s Hen Ichaer, elder blood, just like his mother and the rest of the fae royal families. He was tested before I left. He’ll grow up to have the strength, speed, hearing, vision, and the rest of any Witcher. We really need to get making the potions we need. We’re running late. What are we going to do with a baby in the middle of it?” Alfred asked, remembering why they’re there.

“Oh that’s easy. We got a young upstart we had to take off the path for a while because of an incident people are blaming him for. Not his fault really, it’s just the optics. Best keeping him here for a while until people forget. He doesn’t like kids much, so we made him a fencing instructor a week ago,” Rennes said with a smirk.

“Oh… the kid is gonna just love this,” Barmin agreed with a laugh. “Don’t worry we have the perfect nanny in mind. We should leave you to it and go find Vesemir.”

@xxx|}::::::::::::::::::::>

[sexymalenavels]

Maxim Barmin

[inexplicifics]

Listening to "I have Heart-Fire and Singing to give" again and thinking about the One (1) cool professor Jaskier must have had. He taught rhetorical thinking/arguing whatever and didn't give two shits what the other stuffy teachers think of him.

He was already relativly old when he taught Jaskier, this 60-something human (which was ancient to 18 year old Julian) and he wasn't the cool professor but they all feared and worshipped him anyway.

So Jaskier sits at the academics table at Oxenfurt listening to his old teachers grovel and Old Scrunkly rocks up like "Heard your Wolf-Rising-Cicle. You still do the (thing he admonished baby Jaskier in class for and made Jaskier cry about)". *sits down next to the scariest Witcher and starts munching on the softest food available because his teeth ain't what they used to be*

He isn't afraid of Witchers even a little bit and when Eskel comments on this Old Scrunkly looks him dead in the eyes and says: "Boy, for the last 40 years I taught privileged Teenagers how to not think/talk stupid things. I fear neither King nor God. Cut that bread into tiny pieces for me, will you, laddie."

Okay this is hilarious and I love it.

The Witchers would love him. He reminds them of Old Barmin or Old Keldar, even if he's literally younger than Eskel. It's great.

[fingons-rad-harp]

cataclysm

To say that Vesemir was surprised when a Viper witcher showed up at Kaer Morhen would have been an understatement.

He didn’t like Vipers. They were vicious, and cunning, and didn’t care whether the contracts they took were on monster or man, so long as they got paid in the end.

This Viper was built like a brick shithouse, far bigger and broader than most of his school. His sleeveless leather armor showed off arms like tree trunks, and there was a nasty V-shaped scar cutting across his scalp. This was the Kingslayer, Vesemir knew from Geralt’s descriptions.

The Viper stopped a furlong away from the keep, eyes darting around and posture tense. He’d sensed Vesemir; he just hadn’t spotted him yet.

The old Wolf leapt nimbly off the battlements and dropped down to the ground. His joints creaked in protest, but he didn’t let it on in his demeanor. “Letho of Gulet,” he said, crossing his arms. “What brings you to Kaer Morhen?”

Letho seemed to make a conscious effort not to posture up in a threat display. “Geralt sent me,” he said, and of course this had something to do with Geralt. “He… helped me fake my death. Said I could lay low here for a while.”

“Hmm,” said Vesemir. His first instinct was to say no. For as long as he could remember—which was very long indeed—Vipers had never been allowed in Kaer Morhen. He wasn’t quite old enough to remember the first Schism in the ancient Order of Witchers, where brother had turned on brother and the schools of the Bear, Viper, and Manticore were born, but he heard the story from Barmin, who had been there.

When Vesemir didn’t make any move to let Letho in, the Viper sighed heavily and rubbed his hand over his scar. “He also said… that he was looking for the pup. And I hope you know what that means because I sure as hell don’t.”

Vesemir froze. He probably didn’t mean Leo, since there was no reason for him not to just say the kid’s name, so he had to mean—

He was looking for Ciri. 

Ciri, who hadn’t been seen since Geralt’s own supposed death. Ciri, who must be—Gods, she must be an adult now. A woman grown.

Vesemir turned towards the keep, gesturing for Letho to follow him. “Come in,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “You’ll help me rebuild.”

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