dukeofdogs - Tumblr blog

[dukeofdogs]

Releasing this one into the wild as part of the bugfucker propaganda

[dukeofdogs]

[dukeofdogs]

Meve/Reynard centric Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales Fanvideo

Music: Snow Patrol - The Lightning Strike

[dukeofdogs]

Gascon tiefling what🧐

[dukeofdogs]

2 versions of Eldain for 6 portraits

[dukeofdogs]

thronebreaker is literally a canon witcher visual novel and yet so many of you are not ready for this conversation

[dukeofdogs]

Yes! Thank you! I couldn't remember his name so it was impossible to find it

Glad I could help

[dukeofdogs]

Hi! Since you're the master of Gascon's things online, do you know the artist that once made a fanart of Gascon/Meve in a tent? It was one of the original Gwent artists thus it was in great quality, but for some reason I can't find it ^^'

You mean this one by Astor Alexander? (kids cover your eyes it's nsfw)

[dukeofdogs]

teddy bear from witcher bear school for @solwiin

[dukeofdogs]

[dukeofdogs]

Made an illustration with my favorite lioness, Calanthe from the Witcher books, for Gwent contest. Absolutely loved her in the books.

Artstation/Commission me

[dukeofdogs]

silly boy

[dukeofdogs]

So, @she-who-drank-vodka-with-cats made this post about Reynard with Meve's clothes and then I couldn't rest until I wrote something about it. Nonsense under the cut. (nsfw)

Finery | 1k words | Explicit | One-sided Meve/Reynard

“If I may assist you in any way, your Grace-” 

“No, Reynard, I thank you, but I’ve nothing else that requires your attention.” 

Meve looks exhausted. Grimy with soot and dust from the road, dark circles dimming the brilliant blue of her eyes. 

“Anything at all, your Majesty,” Reynard presses, “no matter how trivial.” 

“I- well, if it would not inconvenience you terribly, I’ve a few items that need to be taken for washing and my gloves are in desperate need of a repair.” 

“It would not trouble me in the slightest.” 

He stops in his tent first to collect some of his own clothes that could stand to be washed. With their resources so stretched, Reynard tries to send his clothing for laundering only when necessary and now all his shirts reek. Including the one he’s wearing. 

He tosses Meve’s cloak, trousers, gloves, and shirt on his bed and starts to strip out of his clothes. As he pulls his sweat-stained shirt over his head, the rich blue of Meve’s cloak catches his eye. Discarded and crumpled, it looks absurdly out of place in his humble tent. As if there’s any scenario where the queen’s clothes would be strewn about the place where her general sleeps. 

An image crashes into his mind, unbidden and insistent. Meve, stripping out of her filthy, blood-stained clothes after a skirmish… battle-warmed and adrenaline-high… searching for a catharsis to echo the furious clash of bodies and steel. 

His hands shake as he removes the rest of his clothing, the frigid night air biting at his exposed skin even through the walls of his tent. It’s getting colder the closer they get to Mahakam. The full-body shiver that passes over Reynard's bare flesh is a reprimand: control yourself. You’re above this. 

Meve’s cloak is in his hands before he can even think. The color is deep and complex. It catches the candlelight and positively gleams. Embroidered vines glint gold along the edges. Beautiful. The rough skin of his sword-calloused hands catches on the fabric as it flows between his fingers. It’s so soft, warm with residual body heat. Meve’s body heat. Reynard drops the cloak as if burned. It lands next to Meve’s gloves. 

Inspecting them for damage, he turns them over in his hands. A seam is ripped on the right glove and there’s a bad tear in the leather of the left. Damage sustained in battle, most likely. 

They’re far nicer than any gloves Reynard has ever worn. Far softer, too. Probably made of calfskin. Meve’s palms are broad and her fingers are long but not slender. Perfectly suited to wielding a sword, and the wear on the gloves reflects that. Reynard can almost fit his hand inside comfortably. Almost. 

The leather is butter-soft against his skin. So smooth. He can’t help himself, he brings a gloved hand to his cheek and leans into it. The touch is rendered strange and new by the barrier of the glove, startlingly intimate. Reynard can almost imagine that it’s someone else’s hand, not his own, skimming over the rough stubble on his jaw. He can imagine - vividly - that it’s Meve’s fingers on this side of his throat over his racing pulse. 

This is wrong, his last shreds of reason scream at him from a distant part of his mind. Reason be damned, shame be damned. In a wild rush of impulsivity and lust Reynard grasps Meve’s shirt from the bed, holds it to his face, and inhales. 

It’s everything he’s imagined- every guilty fantasy made real. The scent of Meve’s body, her sweat, fills his nostrils and sinks into his mind like poison. He’s gone mad, he thinks, this is completely mad. But he can’t stop. He just drifts. Jaw slack, eyes fluttering shut, too lost to feel ashamed. 

Reynard comes back to himself just long enough to notice that he is painfully aroused. His breathing has turned shallow and sweat is clinging to his temples. Despite the cold, a line of blazing heat is searing through his body from his chest to his groin. 

The hand that is not holding Meve’s shirt drifts down his throat and comes to rest over his thundering heart. This is where he stops himself. This is where he regains control. This is where- 

A gloved thumb brushes over a peaked nipple. Reynard’s breath catches in the back of his throat and threatens to choke him. The gloved hand continues its descent down his chest, over the impossibly tense muscle of his stomach, until it reaches its destination. 

He takes himself in a soft leather grip and thrusts into the tight clutch of his own fist. The first few strokes send sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, the sensation bright and sharp. As he continues to touch himself the pleasure turns thick and heavy, his whole body flushed with it. Tension builds quickly, too quickly. It’s been so long since he’s known any touch other than his own- even a poor substitute like this. But his cock doesn’t know the difference and Meve’s scent is still flooding his senses. 

Reynard has enough of his wits left to rip off the glove before he makes a mess of it. Stifling a humiliating groan, he bites down on the fabric of Meve’s shirt as he shudders through his climax. He gives himself a few more firm strokes to draw out the aftershocks, only stopping when the oversensitivity twists from pleasurable to painful. 

The cheap camp bedframe creaks as he collapses on top of his thin mattress. Reynard stares up at the canvas roof of his tent, dazed and deafened by the rush of his own blood. His heart is pounding, his chest heaving, sweat is drying cold on his skin. 

Shame descends on him in a crushing wave, so potent he struggles to breathe. It’s perverse, what he’s done. A court martial would be too kind. 

With his stomach churning and his mind racing he staggers over to his washbasin to clean the spend from his hand. He’ll atone for this somehow. He’ll run extra drills, he’ll take on more work, he’ll hunt down the stupid, useless parts of his heart and brain that can’t get over Meve and strangle them into submission. Gods. 

But that can wait.

Once he’s found cleaner clothes and put himself back in some semblance of order Reynard gathers his and Meve’s garments in his arms and steps out into the brisk night air.

One final selfish deep breath pulls the lingering scent of his queen into his lungs. He'll atone for this. Later.

[dukeofdogs]

𝐾𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑀𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ⚔️

[dukeofdogs]

warrior cats phase is baaack!

thronebreaker x warrior cats

[dukeofdogs]

Meve with Reynard's yellow cloak will never not be amazing, but have you ever thought about Reynard with Meve's clothes?

throwing her blue cloak over his shoulders and checking in the mirror if the colour suits him, just in case he might have a reason to match her one day

picking up her worn shirt, no use in even trying to put it on, her shoulders are broad but not as broad as his own, but when he presses it against his face, the fabric reeks of her sweat and it makes him dizzy with want

putting on her gloves, they're a little too small, but when he touches himself, he can pretend that it's her caressing him

[dukeofdogs]

my biggest achievement in thronebreaker is using the villem card to steal nilfgaards fire scorpion ballista and ever since then ive had the mental image of him just grabbing the whole thing and jumping to lyria’s side 😭😭

lil reel too