#oh my god MEVE

[limerental]

as a vessel runneth over

thronebreaker - meve/reynard

god, fine, I'll post this here. "oh this is a small fandom for a niche canon? let's write niche non-sexual kink fic as my first contribution"

summary

In the wake of his betrayal, Reynard offers to kneel at his queen's feet all night to prove his loyalty to her.

Only to be betrayed by his own bodily needs and his inevitable failure to resist them.

[beloved-menagerie]

Oh, les meves criatures, I have missed you, horrible fucking beasts, my besties,

OH

my BÈSTIES!

haha oh my fucking god.

-- Juan

[queenmevesknickers]

Meta Time

So this has been bouncing around my head for ages, and after @stillness138’s excellent post about the locations in Thronebreaker representing the five stages of grief – and for the occasion of TB Valentines – I thought I’d finally better write about it (spoilers ahead!)

Even though I’m sure we can all agree that the idea of Gascon actually being seventeen is laughable (to say the least), his being canonically almost the same age as Villem did make me realise there are several interesting points of comparison between them, and I think there’s enough that they act as narrative foils to each other in a way.

Both were born to lives of noble privilege (royal, even, in Villem’s case); however Gascon had his whole family brutally murdered at the age of eight…whilst Villem grew up in the royal court (though with Meve as his mother, YMMV but maybe Gascon got the better deal there…)

Whilst Villem was leading the life of a crown prince and future king, avoiding responsibility and ‘shirking’ his duties, Gascon (we can assume) was forced to grow up quickly and fend for himself. Given when we first meet him he’s already the leader of an infamous group of bandits, he has a natural talent for leadership that Villem seems to lack – whilst Villem proves to be easily manipulated and led, Gascon is clearly commanding the respect and loyalty of those likely many years his senior

Then of course at the end of the first chapter, we experience the story’s first (and arguably, most shocking) betrayal; Villem, who we have heard Meve disparage and criticise several times for his seemingly ineffectual rule, has schemed behind her back and done the unforgiveable – he has become an unexpected traitor.

Meve’s salvation, however, comes at the hands of none other than “the bandit she’d wished to hang just a half day afore” – an “Unlikely Ally” indeed. Immediately after losing everything as a result of Villem’s actions, it is Gascon’s decision to free her and then join her that gives her the chance to win it all back.

Of course, Gascon’s actions don’t stem from the goodness of his heart – at this stage at least. It clearly doesn’t take him long to decide that selling Meve out to the Nilfgaardians for personal gain is the most pragmatic course of action, given how the odds are stacked against the Lyrians. It’s nothing personal, though – Gascon seems to be acting purely out of self-interest.

This is in contrast to Villem’s motivations, which are more complex. Whilst perhaps he has been led to believe that bending the knee to the Empire is in the best interest of the kingdoms, and the only possible course of action, there is almost certainly an element of wanting to spite Meve – or at the very least, prove her wrong in her assertions that he is not fit to rule, by taking control and making the decisions as he  sees fit.

Gascon, of course, redeems himself by saving Meve’s life alongside Reynard, proving at last beyond a doubt that he truly finds her cause worth fighting for – dying for, even. This redemption arc is then completed in the ending in which he dies – the outlaw making the ultimate sacrifice for queen and country.

Villem’s redemption arc focusses more on his relationship with Meve; he proves himself the bigger person when he attempts to reconcile with her once she returns to Rivia, and earns her respect when he shares his ideas for reform, and proves his fitness to rule after all. If he dies, he completes the arc by sacrificing himself to right his wrongs and restore Meve to her rightful place – and finally proves himself the brave and decisive ruler Meve urged him to be when he take it upon himself to open the gates for the Lyrian army.

There’s further contrast to be found in the ending where each survives: although Meve earned Gascon’s respect, admiration and loyalty, he ultimately turns his back on the life of noble prosperity she has rewarded him with – presumably to make his own way once more Iron Falcons, baby!!!!!! – essentially coming full circle to where he started from

Villem, however, continues to prove how he has grown, by working to regain Meve’s trust and prove himself worthy of her legacy, following in her footsteps at the head of their armies, leaving no doubt that he will be a worthy king one day.

Congrats if you made it to the end of this post - guess I had a lot of thoughts about this 😅  I must really love this game if I’m writing high school text analyses on it...there’s probably more of these to come...

[irene-sadler]

Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

aka “The Tournament”

n: this is by far the longest thing ive ever written, if u read the whole thing and liked it i appreciate u. (also if u read it and didn't like it, tbh.) thats all folks see u next time <3

     By morning, she had the answer; she leaned on the fence next to the empty lists, contemplating precisely how to bring her scheme about and studying the clouds overhead as they blew in on a damp, western breeze.

    “Do you think it’ll rain, later?” Gascon asked her, coming up from behind; she returned her thoughts to the present and said, “Isbel says it ought to. So, are you ready for your fight?”

    “Is anyone, truly, ready to fight Reynard?” he asked dolefully; the man in question glanced their way from across the green, briefly locked eyes with Meve, smiled slightly, and then returned to carefully directing his squire. She smiled back, somewhat dotingly. Gascon glanced at her and rolled his eyes skyward.

    “At least Ethan’s getting on well with him,” he said. “Much alike, those two.”    

    Meve shrugged noncommittally.

    “Anyway,” he said, “Who are you supporting? Sir Reynard or the black knight?”

    “Firstly,” she said, turning a sarcastic glare his way, “I’m not fighting, so there is truly no black knight to support. Secondly, I am a neutral party in this and any contest between my loyal subjects.”

    Gascon considered a moment, then, suspiciously, asked, “So am I expected t’ believe you and Reynard don’t have one of your little wagers on my head, then?”

    “Oh,” she said, realizing in mild surprise that they hadn’t even approached the subject, the night before, when they ran out of important things to talk about; she’d been too busy explaining the play she’d seen in the city’s streets to think of it. “No. No, we don’t.”

    He appeared mildly skeptical.

    “I still owe him on our last one, anyway,” she said; Gascon showed no sign of believing her.  “Not to worry, Gascon; I’m sure you’ll do as well as anyone else, which is -”

    “Badly,” Gascon finished for her. “All things bein’ equal. I don’t know why I agreed t’ this; I wasn’t even drunk at the time, for once.”

    She regarded him, contemplatively, and then asked, “Do you remember when I knocked you off your horse, last month?”

    “How could I forget, since you and Reynard insist on bringing it up every few hours?”

    “Look, Reynard is - I love him very much, but I have to say he doesn’t have a drop of guile in his blood, truly. It would never cross his mind to pull a trick like that in a fight, or, for that matter, at any other time. Nor would he expect someone else to do so.”

    Gascon stared at her.

    “Good luck,” she said to him, turning back to the lists, as Reynard signaled his readiness from the other end of the barricade; Gascon sighed, mumbled, ungratefully, that nobody who said good luck ever actually meant it, and wandered reluctantly toward his horse. Meve leaned against the fence and waited.

    She would never openly admit to not really watching the first, desultory pass the combatants made, but the predictable maneuvers on display bored her, and her thoughts drifted toward the day’s upcoming legislative business. However, as Gascon discarded his lance before the second attempt, she frowned, refocusing on the field. Reynard paused for a moment, evidently perturbed by the Duke’s unexpected behavior; Gascon, meanwhile, quickly booted his horse to a gallop and covered behind his shield. Reynard’s charger had barely achieved a trot when the Duke came barreling down the barricade and met with him. To his credit, the Count was as prepared as decades of experience could make him - lance couched, shield ready - but Gascon turned the point of the weapon aside with his own shield, grabbed the pole near the middle with his free hand, and yanked himself and Reynard off their horses and onto the ground at the same time. The lance struck the barricade in between them with an echoing bang and cracked in half.

    Meve grinned, hopped the fence, and strolled down to where Reynard had fallen; he sat up, raised his visor, and glared at the splinters of his lance. Gascon heaved himself to his feet and popped his helm off. Reynard’s sour gaze traveled up to his face. He shrugged innocently.

    “Tricks,” he said, winking at Meve; she fought down the urge to laugh at Reynard’s expression.

    “It wasn’t cheating, my love,” she said, heaving him to his feet. “It was - creativity.”

    “Oh, no, it was definitely cheating,” Gascon said, to the knight’s cross, remote frown, “You win, Sir Reynard. Congratulations on yet another victory. Carry on with - with whatever it was you had planned for after my defeat.”

    The Count sighed, yanked his own helmet off, and mastered his obvious annoyance.

    “I was going to say that it’s time the black knight retired.”

    “Oh. Yes, well, you may be right,” Gascon said, easily. “I believe he’s served his purpose, anyhow. In any case, I think I’ve had all the jousting I can stand for quite some time; all these falls can’t be good for my back.”

    “Both black knights,” Reynard said, looking toward Meve pointedly; she stared back with casual arrogance and asked, “Oh? Are you sure that’s what you wish?”

    “I’m quite sure, thank you.”

    “It’s just that, really, you’ve yet to defeat the true black knight; an unfinished rivalry is something of a shadow over your record, I’d think.”

    He shook his head at her. She let him wait in suspense for a few seconds, then smiled at his strained frown and said, “Oh, fine; I’ll let it go if you will.”

    “Good,” Reynard said, stiffly, relaxing slightly at last.

    “I don’t really like jousting, anyway,” she added, unable to resist a last teasing dig; his resolute sternness finally broke down and he rolled his eyes at her. She grinned brightly at him.

    “Thank the gods for that,” Gascon said, “Else we’d have no peace at all. Anyhow, now this is over and done, I suppose I ought to go home. Although, first, there’s still the matter of Holt and Gaheris, which some of my men are tied up in; I’d like them back, if you don’t mind.”

    “Oh, right,” Meve said, as if she’d forgotten. “Yes. Send Gaheris to the throne room this afternoon; I’ve various matters to bring before the court, and he may as well be one of them. Sir Holt’s of no consequence; you may let him do as he will. Feel free to leave whenever you like.”

    “Well - maybe I’ll go tomorrow,” Gascon said. “It does look like it’ll rain, this afternoon.”

      Gaheris presented himself as commanded, appearing absolutely unsure whether or not he was attending his own execution. The Queen took no notice of his existence, until the end of an unusually short session with her court, she finally turned her distant stare to him, giving no obvious sign as to why she’d summoned him.

    “One last thing,” she said, cooly. “This fellow is Gaheris, the son of Gors, a stonemason; he is a dependable and competent man.”

    The court studied him, briefly, some dubiously, others with approval - one Baroness in particular nodded, pleased - as the Queen continued, in the same tone, “Because of this, it pleases the crown to attach him to our service, should he pledge his fealty to us.”

    Gaheris blinked, stupidly; Count Odo, standing slightly behind and to the right of the Queen, nodded once, sharply, at him. The man started a little and regained something of his usual confidence.

    “I - yes, my Queen,” he said. “I swear it.”

    “Kneel, then,” she said; the Count handed her a sword, and she tapped on one, then the other of his shoulders, and declared him Sir Gaheris of the Fen.

      “If I’m any great judge,” Reynard said later that day, referring to the new knight, “You won’t find a more loyal soldier than him.”

    “Except for you,” Meve said, blithely.

    “And, I do believe that settles all th’ affairs remaining from Gascon’s tournament,” he added quickly, turning slightly embarrassed. “At long last. I hope he never has another.”

    They were sitting together on the floor of one of her private rooms in front of the sole window. He watched rain drip down the outsides of the thick panes of glass; Meve, not particularly interested in the view outside, lounged across his lap.

    “Well, almost all,” she said, significantly. He looked down at her, warily.

    “Oh?”

    “There’s just one more thing,” she remarked, idly brushing her fingers along his jawline. “I believe I promised a prize, should you win my jousts, and I don’t easily forget my debts, as you know.”

    “Ah. So you did,” he said, and returned to staring out the window as he considered. She sat up and waited, almost patiently.

    “I can’t think of anything,” he finally said, looking back at her; her heart lurched as a gentle smile crossed his face, but she maintained a sardonic tone.

    “Really? There’s nothing at all that you’d want from the Queen of Lyria and Rivia?”

    “No, I don’t think so,” he replied, seriously. “You see, I already have all I could ever ask you for.”

     She nodded, satisfied, and kissed him; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close; there really was nothing left to say, even if either of them had any interest in talking. Gascon strolled in through the door behind them, stopped short, and noiselessly backed out again, unnoticed. Afterward, they had, for once, no interruptions.

[asolitaryrose]

also i just realized we’re going to see meve in the netflix show and now i’m hyperventilating because oh god my body is not ready

[joyandeggs]

For the Character ask: Shoot, Kastro, Kite, Illumi, Knuckle (HxH) and Sonic, Metal Bat, Genos, and Iaian (OPM)! (I have no apologies, you requested lots 😂)

Meve, you always go above and beyond when sending me asks. I love you so much. ❤ So many boys!!! I will talk about them all!! Actually, I'll split this ask into two parts. You may have accidentally sent this ask twice, but no worries! I'll use this as part one for the Hunter x Hunter boys. 💓

Shoot

Favorite thing about them: What can I say about Shoot that I haven't already gushed about constantly? 💓 One of my favorite things is his Nen, and how he uses it. I love his hands, and Hotel Raffelasia is such an interesting ability. Speaking of his hands...I love all of his features. His eyes, his face, his hair, his muscles... Getting distracted. There's so much that I can say. I love everything about him.

Least favorite thing about them: That we don't know more about him.

Favorite line: I have a lot of faves from him. One of them is when he tells Gon "I will live to thank you!" ❤

brOTP: Him and Knuckle, of course! 💓

OTP: I enjoy Nashuu from time to time. I think they're quite cute together.

nOTP: None that I can think of.

Random headcanon: I have a lot, but one of the biggest ones is that he'll use his Nen hands for everyday things when he's feeling lazy.

Unpopular opinion: He is definitely underrated. Even though I've been finding others that genuinely love him more and more everyday, which really warms my heart that I'm not the only one who does.

Song I associate with them: There's actually a lot of songs I associate with Shoot, which are mostly songs by Yuuji Ueda. 💓 This one, if I had to pick just one, and it is a song I hold very close to me and in my heart. For many reasons. Shine by The Northern Hues make me think of him, too.

Favorite picture of them: Oh Meve, there's too many to choose from, I love so many. Here's a few that I share all the time.

❤💍

Kastro

Favorite thing about them: He just seems so...eloquent and respectful. Kastro has this lovely energy about him that I really can't put into words well enough.

Least favorite thing about them: We don't know anything about him really. Too short lived of a character.

Favorite line: I love it when he asks Killua "So, what do you think of me?" ❤ It was so cute.

brOTP: I'm going to go on a whim and say that he would get along with Flashy Flash from One Punch Man.

OTP: I don't have any.

nOTP: None that I can think of.

Random headcanon: Off the top of my head, to make something up on the spot...he really loves the shoreline of the ocean. An ideal spot for him to live if he weren't focusing on living it up in the tournament tower. Actually now that I think about it...maybe he focused on being in the tower so he could live comfortably. Maybe he was struggling growing up, so he wanted to try and have a better life.

Unpopular opinion: Even though...he does look like the typical pretty boy, he had potential to be more of a solid character.

Song I associate with them: Why is he making me think of Legend Of Zelda? He reminds me of Link too much.

Favorite picture of them:

💕

Kite

Favorite thing about them: It's really hard to explain why I love Kite so much. He's just such a unique character in the series. He's so different. I guess I could say specifically how he is as a hunter. He's seen as someone so memorable, especially with Gon but with his little group he works with. Someone who is not only a hard working, respectful hunter but also a big hearted, kind and warm person towards others.

Least favorite thing about them: How in the world does he look up to someone like Ging, I will never understand. Get away from him, I will come over there, shoo.

Favorite line: When he lets out the softest "O-Oji-san?" at Gon when they reunite...is the cutest thing in the world.

brOTP: I genuinely would see him being good friends with Morel, or even Shoot!

OTP: I don't ship him with anyone.

nOTP: Ging and Kite.

Random headcanon: He's so use to wearing his hat to where if he has to take it off or can't find it at the time, he feels naked without it.

Unpopular opinion: He did not deserve what happened to him. At all. 💔 None of it.

Song I associate with them: Hm. I have never thought about this before. He actually gives me Animal Crossing vibes. A specific song would have to be one of the nighttime tracks in New Leaf while it's raining. Or maybe the nighttime tracks in the original AC. Which that specific one is heavily nostalgic for me. Relistening to all of the Animal Crossing music makes me cry. 💗

Favorite picture of them: I actually love the ones from 1999 Hunter x Hunter. 💓

He's so pretty! 💓💓💓

I do love both versions of him though. I love the 2011 Hunter x Hunter him just as much. Look at that smile. ❤ He's precious.

Illumi

Favorite thing about them: I just love the way he looks. He's pretty, yet scary. I also love his voice. Masaya Matsukaze is so good voicing him.

Least favorite thing about them: The way that he treats Killua. It just hurts me.

Favorite line: I honestly had to look back up on episodes, it's been so long since I watched him in episodes. Oh my gosh I still love the scene during the exams where he tells Hisoka "Okay, I'll be sleeping if you need me, good luck." LOL

brOTP: Illumi and Hisoka. They have a good dynamic, even though that might not be the best word to use.

OTP: I've seen Illumi and Hisoka together, and I honestly do like the idea of it sometimes.

nOTP: None that I'm aware of.

Random headcanon: I honestly can't think of any other than the obvious... When he does smile or laugh, he actually looks very sweet. Don't let that sweetness fool you though.

Unpopular opinion: Even though I like him to an extent, I did get tired of seeing him in the series. That was at the beginning of Hunter x Hunter when I watched it for the first time though. I don't have the same opinion anymore.

Song I associate with them: I can't think of any at all. He does remind me of what haunted house music sounds like.

Favorite picture of them: I just realized how much I love this panel, along with how Madhouse animated it in the show.

Illumi is very pretty during the beginning of Hunter x Hunter. What is he so pretty for?

Knuckle

Favorite thing about them: Everything! 💘💘💘 Literally everything, ugh, he is just perfect. His smile is easily my most favorite. His eyes are super pretty. His strength, his kindness, and his knowledge. I truthfully admire how smart he is. Uhm. His voice!! Oh my god his voice is just 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 So so sexy. Wataru Takagi is a gem. His physique... An endless list of things. He really is the perfect man to me. On top of being the typical Japanese delinquent, everyone knows at this point that they are my weakness, of course that makes all of Knuckle my favorite. He makes me melt into a puddle.

Least favorite thing about them: Nothing at all. Aside from not knowing more about his story.

Favorite line: Oh, too many. "Everyone has a heart. That's what I want to believe." ❤ This actually made me cry when he said it. I also really...really love his inner monologue during the Chimera Ant Arc. The entire thing. Perfect.

brOTP: Knuckle and Shoot, of course! 💓

OTP: I like Nashuu from time to time. Like I said, they can be quite cute together.

nOTP: None that I can think of.

Random headcanon: I have way too many for him. Hm... I do see him around his mid twenties, if not just a year younger than Shoot. There's no way this man could be younger than 23 or 24.

Unpopular opinion: It is a huge bummer we never got to see him with his hair down ever. Could you imagine. 💓💓💓💓💓

Song I associate with them: Everytime I listen to Generous Dimentions by TWRP, or Over Your Shoulder by Chromeo...it actually makes me think of him. 💘 Now I'm embarrassed, oh my goodness.

Favorite picture of them: Meve, there's too many I absolutely love, help

💘

[shade-without-color]

The Thieving Magpie Chapter 1: Send my Condolences

Note: We finally got into my modern AU fic for Thronebreaker! Anyway it took quite a while, given some personal events in my life kinda drifted me off but y'all I am pretty excited about this. And I want to give a shoutout to @highkingofhuckleberries for being my awesome beta reader. Anyway, I will post this up on ff.net and other sources. For now please enjoy this little piece <3

A man in a sweater and jeans peeked through a tunnel of bibs and bobs. Ancient Greek sculptures are hidden in shadows, a painting of Rubens in exquisite colours celebrating Peace triumphing over War. He always wondered how Rubens painted the shields so exquisitely and how Mars stared at that woman with a heavenly crown with such submission. That sight was indeed marvellous to look up while drinking a cup of coffee. Dog-eared books chronicle obscure topics he does not care about (except the thoughts of Anna Karenina which he mildly enjoyed). Surely they will bring a fortune to an ordinary man.

And the only figure capable of getting his hands on these objects, without dropping some hard cash for them is no other than Gascon Brossard. A skinny figure who seems to be taken out of the ballads of Robin Hood and placed in the modern world. Maybe it is just for kicks, but honestly, he always aimed bigger - to appear all over social media platforms for impossible steals.

That itself is the thrill of the game.

“You heard about the news, boss…”

“What…” Gascon pursed his lips slightly into a boyish chuckle. “A new discovery of an obscure Asian artist? A watch worn by Cary Grant, just stolen that from a previous millionaire… Or wait, better…” as he slung a replica of a necklace into his hands. “Or a tipple to add to my collection."

One of his men shrugged slightly at his excitement “Well, you figure… Check your phone, dude…”

Gascon ran his fingers through his hair, as he flicked through his phone playfully. Newsflash about a certain sculpture lost in the crevices of history found in a house. “It supposed to be a symbol of protection against the evil for samurais. No surprise.” He zoomed in on the details of that figure. “I would be shit scared if I ever crossed paths with him…"

“That seems interesting…well, who does own this….?”

One of his men simpered quietly. “Well, you figure, boss, you know what is up…” And soon Gascon has a big grin on his face as he fiddled over the notifications in the phone. It seems that news went on forever and ever until his eyes peered quietly to a certain hint.

“The rarest of all fell to a rich bastard – Reginald… owner of many corporations, a philanthropist and at most, has many priceless treasures that could attract all…” He glared quietly at her photograph, she seemed magnetic as Grace Kelly herself, should she lived in modern times "It seems that she would be interested; we must pay a visit to that heiress.”

Meanwhile, Meve winched slightly as Reynard fixed that wound on her lip with stitches and rubbing alcohol. “Damnit Reynard, you should be a little gentler...”

“Sorry, madam...”

Reynard swallowed slightly. It seems that their kickboxing session went a little too heavy-handed. “I knew that you tried to out best me...” Meve gently gripped his hand and did a flip, throwing Reynard over her back. His look of surprise satisfied her spirit. Reynard groaned in pain “Madam… you have been sharp… using your charms to your will...” Meve beat her hands up and down with a smirk painted on her lips.

“I know my way around...”

“You’re sure?”

Reynard held his hands up with defeat. "Madam... you seem to be on the edge..." As he took the towel and wiped himself sheepishly. "Perhaps there is something that you wanted to tell me.” He noticed the bloodstains on the towel, probably Meve punched him too deeply on the nose. “Caldwell is setting all the matters from your late husband. You should not worry about these things, focus on taking care of your sons and managing our guests.”

“Reginald…”

Meve throttled slightly his reckless actions. “Well, he did not listen to me, took no lessons. Pretty expected of him… He has been secretive over things, not just his debt due to his hoarding of priceless art.” Reynard dabbled his mouth, watching Meve frown in disappointment. Everything seemed to be rushed so quickly, not to mention she had to manage the funeral arrangements.  “For reasons, madam…”, he simpered quietly “I knew him for years - yes, he could be eccentric, but it was all the matter of time, people would get their hands on his collection…"

“For now we must figure what to do next…”

Meve heaved a sigh as she plaited her hair. “Yes…Reynard…” as she wiped away the sweat with a towel. “I hope it all runs smoothly without anything flashing on the news…” Reynard gave her a tap in the shoulder. “I am sure, everything is guarded and no one will be able to break in the house, even before our next move.” However, Meve had a sinking feeling in her stomach as they both walked away from the gym. Maybe there is something that Reginald did not spill, let alone to her sons who inherited certain aspects of his eccentricity. “It is best, madam that we made appearances in such a difficult time."

Meve came over at the drawing room, it used to be the part of Reginald’s haunts and deals with Caldwell, a personal lawyer to the Rivia family. Instead of papers and new artworks all wrapped in bubble wrap, it was arranged with wreaths of white roses and lilies. She walked over the coffin of her husband, and she smiled bemusedly. Indeed the embalmer did a great job of fixing up what remains of him.  Reynard came to the coffin calmly “I suppose you have any wishes for my husband. Now it is the time” 

Reynard held his silence. He gave a nod to him. And soon he could see a stream of mourners coming by “We better be ready…” Meve could only do, at that moment is to stay composed. 

Later, at the funeral, Meve pursed her lips slightly, kissing a group of strangers clad in black. To be honest, she hated the choice of flowers that Reynard chose for the funeral, for it made her stomach turn slightly. And what made it worse, is that her sons took that role too well, especially Villem. In fact, a former flame of her husband came to the funeral and wanted to initiate small talk with Meve. She could smell her breath tingled with tequila which made her nauseated. Thankfully Reynard took the trouble to set her aside on the nearby table, where she sobbed noisily that she should have married him.

Gascon tipped his sunglasses slightly, as he scurries through the funeral. He always liked to imagine what would the rich think of Reginald as they gathered around his casket somberly, maybe he was a man filled with life and joy - while one or two would despise him. He would rather think of the other. He suddenly observed a stout man with peering eyes as he shuffled to the heiress. She donned herself in a simple black shift dress and her face obscured by a veil. Despite her grief, she stood tall and strong, ready to face anything.

“It seems tragic that your husband took the worse in his recent diving trip.” Gascon overheard intently the conversation as he quietly pressed the button in his cuff. “It must be difficult, Meve, you own something greater and I have yet to draft out what will be next for the auction.” He notices the drawl in that man’s voice. He seems to hold great importance as he passed a certain document.

“Please do not cloud me with condolences, Caldwell, he should have known better, even the reports pointed out to one source, but alas…”

Caldwell gave her a reassuring look. “Do not worry, I am no torturer… I too wanted to be done quickly lately - your husband’s collection gave food to the gossip circles, and in fact, I am surprised that all will come not to pay their last respects but to glimpse treasures, which I am afraid you will not comprehend. True, he had a kind heart, but it was in the wrong place.”

“Alas, it must be…"Meve shook her head slightly. “I assume that the plans for the auction went well…” Caldwell paused, watching over the crowd. “It is indeed, have you thought about the eulogy about your husband…?"

Somehow Gascon helped himself to the canapés, as he bit off the toast from his plate. He suddenly brushed to that lady’s shoulder, causing a commotion between the heiress and him. "Oh, my apologies… Damn, where the hell..." He quickly scrambled for his sunglasses and covered his face “Why are you wearing this...” Meve raised an eyebrow slightly and Gascon hid his face as he quickly pressed the button from his cuff. “Well... it is something to deter from people...” Meve raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Oh, condolences to your dead husband...” Gascon tutted slightly, as he managed to scrape this off at the back of his hand. He quickly texted one of his men “Make a commotion…"

“Do not kid me, who the hell are you?”

Gascon’s pulse quickened at that, he must leave the scene quickly without anyone knowing his identity. “Well... I am an old friend of your husband...” He tried his best to change his accent to something unusual. For now, in his mind, he thought to impress the heiress, a Brooklyn accent would be sufficient. “We used to go to college together, and I took his….” even before Gascon could finish up these words, Caldwell glared at him. “Who the hell are you?” There was ice in his voice.

“You are not invited…”

Caldwell watched him intently. “I knew his contacts well.  And you seem to stick out from the crowd like a sore thumb…” Gascon’s heart raced as he felt Caldwell grip his wrist. He stared at the security cameras with bated breath and hoped that things will turn for the better. “That is it, I am calling security to escort you out." Dammit, why do I have to think now? He constantly looked over at the cowering guards coming over to him and raised his hands in surrender “Fine…fine.. fine…I will move off.. if only…”, he gave Caldwell an irritating grin, watching them crowd by that handsome figure, Gascon could guess it was the god Apollo reaching his hands to the heavens. “I was talking to her, before we got interrupted, after all. I am connected to something greater.” He smirked cheekily at Meve, as he snapped the document from her hands. And before she could say a word, a glass window shattered at the distance.

“What the hell, send Reynard to check this out…”

And before long, Gascon slipped away amidst the madness with a bemused chuckle. He watched the hordes of guards searching over for him. It was fun to blend in the crowd of the rich and famous though he despised the taste of Reginald and his family with the gold-flaked marble pillars and of course the way how badly he arranged his possessions in a disarray. No surprise the management team had a difficult time handling his affairs. But nevertheless, it was a moment he will never forget.  And it helped that he managed to get a glimpse at the heiress, which by now was flustered about the mysterious break-in. 

Damn. She is beautiful. Pity, she has to take care of the affairs, Gascon thought wistfully. He read briefly that her affairs with Reginald were nothing but flickers of passion. Most of the time she had to manage the mounting finances of Reginald, and on top of that deal with her meddling sons, which he could infer from conversations with friends that they became rivals. He gave a last look at the mansion before he glanced at the bus.  He thought the breaking in is a little excessive judging by the bodies moving in the mansion. He hoped that it will distract them for a long period before the funeral service.

The bus came over and he slung his backpack to his lap. He somehow couldn’t help but think of her. All of the sudden his daydream broke out when a buzz rang in his ears. “Dammit, a bit much…” Gascon hissed slightly, as he adjusted the frequency of the earbuds. “Sorry boss, got myself caught up in some shit…” Gascon slipped his headphones quietly as he looked over the messages of the phone. Data of the mansion flowed rapidly as he quickly zoomed in on the plans of the house. “It seems that hacking the system of the Rivia mansion is like taking over Helms’ deep…” Gascon rolled his eyes slightly. “Enough of that reference, get to the point…”

“Well, it may be your most ambitious steal to date… How are you going to do that?”

Gascon cracked his neck slightly. “Well, I got one part settled… Now it is just the rest….”. And soon he unveiled what he has stolen. A document of the will of Reginald. “I am going to read this all up, maybe it will point us to the location of the statue…"

"We are going to give our dear heiress and all associates a ball of a lifetime.”

Gascon gave a cheeky grin as he looked over the buildings and unto the rows of apartments. For that moment, it all seemed in place.

Meanwhile, Meve clenched her fists as she watched her cleaners dust up the shattered glass pieces. “Damnit, who is that bloody stranger who intrudes the wake…” Caldwell moped his eyebrow slightly, catching his breath. “Barely caught sight of him, but I knew of his actions. Rumours said that he challenged himself to steal the biggest treasures known to the world. Called himself 'The Thieving Magpie’…"

Meve flexed her eyebrows. That seems interesting that he seemed to have a particular taste of music. “Like that Rossini piece…”

“I hate that, to be honest…"

Caldwell seemed troubled by that intrusion. She watched Reynard crossing his arms with fury. “No sights of the mysterious invader.” Meve squeaked slightly.

“We tried, it seems that he did not do this all alone, I think there is another accomplice that helped him to sneak through the funeral…” Reynard slowly signalled to one of his guards to find another man with a bloodied nose, grinning at Meve. “Seems that he works for that ‘Thieving Magpie’.”

“Damnit, I need scans from our security cameras and search from all forces to find this thief.”

Caldwell gritted his teeth. “No luck, Meve…”, as she watched him heave. “He also took something else from you during that brief encounter. Thankfully I saved a backup in my computer.  I think, Meve, to ensure the safety of your husband’s inheritance we should do the auction under closed doors after his burial.”

“Yes, Caldwell…” Meve pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Reynard, do an inspection of the patrons when they come to view our private gallery, make sure that there is nothing suspicious.”

She swore that she will clip the wings of that thieving magpie whoever the hell he is. He will indeed pay for the invasion.

Tag List (Please DM your name so I can tag you)

@dukeofdogs

@this-is-a-job-for-vesemir

@tcustodisart

@etaedraws

@akazireael 

@dukeofqueers

@witcherislovewitcherislife

[etaedraws]

Bittersweet Promises

More fanfiction, wooo I’m on a roll here Since the canon ending left the sappy, happy-end loving idiot that I sometimes am not 100% satisfied, I decided to add a little to it.

Subtle Meve/Reynard/Gascon in terms of pairings, Major spoilers for the ending of Thronebreaker, kinda hurt/comfort I guess?

“We'll be fine, stop acting like this is a battlefield instead of a forest“, Meve sighed at her scout, a young huntsman just newly appointed to these woods. It prompted the man to bow low, yet starting to say more. Only to be cut off once again.

“Reynard is with me and I've fought many more battles than you, lad. Just wait here for us“, she shook her head at him, eventually spurring her horse into motion to leave the man behind. He was inexperienced and worried, especially considering the sprained ankle Meve had brought home from her last hunting trip. But such a minor injury didn't stop her from seeking some time on her own – the one exception in company being Reynard, of course.

In the past, Gascon would accompany them as well, but it had been a few months since the former Duke of Dogs had vanished into thin air. If she was honest with herself, Meve had suspected something like that – Gascon had started to grow antsy, fidgety, uneasy with his suddenly comfortable lifestyle. She had tried to coax him to tell her where this restlessness came from, but Gascon, secretive as ever, wouldn't tell her. Until he was simply gone one day.

Yet, she had hoped he'd at least wish them farewell before running off to chase the Gods knew what kind of thrill and adventures.

The horses whinnied and reared as a dog suddenly raced past them, then stopped and barked at them. The animal seemed to think of it as a game, playfully bouncing about and running around the horses. While they actually were used to dogs, this one had certainly startled them and Meve and Reynard had quite the struggle to calm down their steeds.

“Where did this dog come from? Did Edwin follow us?”, Meve questioned, staring at the hound running around their horses. But it looked nothing like the hound their scout used to chase down game – a red and white mutt it was, ears slightly flopping at the tips and tail wagging excitedly despite the graying muzzle.

“... Knickers?”, Meve stared at the dog in confusion and surprise, not having suspected to see it again after it had disappeared alongside its owner.

When he finally calmed down and came to a stop right in front of them, Knickers let out a long howl – which was answered in a similar fashion, yet with a hint to it that made it sound off. Like not coming from a dog, but from something – or someone – else.

Meve turned in her saddle, trying to figure out where the answering howl had come from – and finally saw movement in the bushes.

“Aw, no answer? That's almost disappointing – I mean, I know Reynard is way too stuck up for that, but I hoped at least for a small howl from you, Mevie”

“Oh you- You damned bastard”, Meve sputtered, the tone of her voice betraying the words she spoke. Of course Gascon wouldn't be far away from the dog that had found a big place in their hearts those years ago.

“How did you find us?”, interjected Reynard, while Meve already jumped off her horse to give their old friend a welcoming hug and Knickers a pat and a scratch behind the ears.

“You're really asking that?”, Gascon replied, his grin even wider than usual, “My dear Reynard, I've been hunting with you for how many years? I'd wager I know the routine by now”

Reynard snorted silently, eventually dismounting as well, yet looking at Gascon with raised eyebrows as the Duke of Dogs waited with open arms. “Come on now, I know you've missed me too”

The taller man shook his head and rolled his eyes, but let himself be pulled into a short embrace nonetheless.

“Why didn't you tell us you'd leave?”, Meve wanted to know.

“Because I know you, and you would've wanted to stop me. Your prying the weeks before was indication of that enough – and no, don't look at me like that, I'm not doing anything illegal this time. Well, maybe on the borderline but nothing that should be of any harm to you”

The queen looked at him, arms crossed at that reply. She had learned that she could trust Gascon's words, yet his answer didn't satisfy her.

“I'm sure we would've found a solution that's better than living as a brigand once more”, Reynard added.

“Mercenary right now, please. There's a difference and I think you'd know”, Gascon sighed, “Listen, I know it wasn't fair to you two to leave like that, but I didn't intend on skipping out on you entirely. Just leave me a few years of freedom, aye? And come up with a plan that'll actually knock me out because I'm currently enjoying myself a lot”

“And you couldn't just have. You know, mentioned to us that you're not happy?”, Meve continued dourly. “You know we've noticed it, and yet you didn't bother to just talk to us” She had done everything in her power to make sure their friend would stay on a righteous path and still hadn't been able to prevent him from falling prey to old habits again. The thought had gnawed on her subconscious ever since Gascon had vanished and now she at least had the chance to confront him about it.

Gascon looked her right in the eyes for a few moments before replying. “No”, he said, a seriousness to his voice that didn't appear often, “Because I need to figure this out on my own first, you hear me? Some time to find out what I actually want, without anyone else interfering, no matter how good the intentions. I know you care about dumb old me, both of you. But I had made up my mind already and let's just say you aren't the only ones who are incredibly stubborn here” He grinned for a second, before becoming serious again. “I didn't mean to hurt you, I promise. Just … trust me one more time on this”

Seeing Meve's face still crinkled into a frown, though sad now instead of angry, he simply pulled her into a hug once more, tight and reassuring – a promise that he'd be back in time. His gaze met Reynard's while he was still holding the embrace and the worry in the other man's eyes nearly made him choke. Gascon beckoned him over with a small gesture, extending the hug, as well as the promise, to Reynard as well. “Don't you dare getting yourself killed”, the tall one mumbled. The moment lasted for a while, until Gascon eventually spoke up.

“Alright now, enough of those sad puppy eyes of yours!”, he called out and gently wiggled himself free from Meve and Reynard, “I'm just going to write you cryptic letters and stalk you on your scheduled hunting trips, alright? But now, we're here for hunting after all, so let's actually get going! Don't want to come home empty-handed, right? ”

The ensuing silence didn't last long, as Gascon went and clapped his hands before pushing both Reynard and Meve back to their horses, finally a small smile back on their lips.

As bittersweet as the moment was, they knew he'd keep his word.

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: Happy Weedmas #420

I have a couple of fics that I started for 420, but sadly, only one of them is really in a state to be posted (see These Edibles Ain’t Shit). However, WiP Wednesday means that you get unfinished bits soooooo, enjoy! 

First piece is a random crew of folks smoking at a party in Nilfgaard, 2nd one is Meve’s first time getting high. 

Smoking in Nilfgaard

The thing about diplomatic banquets was that they were long and boring, and if you were at all connected to anyone important, you were expected to stay for hours.

Truly, the only way to make it through was to bring something to strengthen one’s spirits. Specifically, a strong something.

“Hot Shot called this blend the Devil’s Tatas and he swore it would make any evening survivable,” Gascon reported, as he packed his pipe. They’d ducked out into the royal gardens and he was positive they weren’t the only ones smoking. He was also positive that his weed was better than anyone else’s.

“Better deliver,” Vernon muttered, glaring suspiciously at their surroundings. Considering that was pretty much his default expression, Gascon didn’t make much note of it, instead lighting the pipe and taking a deep hit, exhaling slowly.

Vernon did the same, settling onto the bench next to Gascon, and for the first time all evening, some of the tension actually began to unwind from their shoulders.

“Shit, that does actually smell good,” said a muffled voice from the other side of some hedges. Gascon was pretty sure he recognized that voice, though, and from the way Vernon startled, he did too.

“Geralt?” Vernon called.

A moment later, two figures rounded the hedges next to their bench – one very clearly the infamous White Wolf witcher, who Gascon had met in passing once at the Battle of the Bridge, and the other a dwarf, who was nursing his own pipe.

“Sure smells better than our shit,” the dwarf laughed, though that didn’t stop him from taking another hit.

He wasn’t wrong, though, their weed smelled rank.

Gascon coughed, wrinkling his nose. He shared a glance with Vernon, but hey, the more the merrier, right? “Join us?” he invited.

“You sure?” the witcher asked, frowning uncertainly.

“Of course,” Vernon said easily. “C’mon, Geralt, sit down. You look like you could use a good hit.” So saying, Vernon tugged the witcher down into place next to him and stuck the pipe in his hand, relighting it for him.

Geralt shrugged, inhaling deeply and letting it out with a low hum, passing the pipe over to his companion.

“Oh, that is good,” the dwarf reported. “Thank you. Name’s Zoltan – nice to meet you.”

“Hi Zoltan, ‘m Gason, this is Vernon. So how’d you two end up stuck at this shindig?”

“Ugh,” Geralt groaned dramatically and Vernon laughed.

“Dandelion is performing,” Zoltan explained. “And from long experience, he cannot be trusted to look after himself. So…”

“So you’ve gotta do it for him,” Gascon snickered. “Fair enough. Always wanted to meet Dandelion.”

“Really?” Vernon cocked an eyebrow.

He flushed, shrugging. “Seventeen year old me had a huuuuuuuge crush on him,” he admitted. “Him and Calonetta were like my bisexual awakening, okay?”

Zoltan guffawed. “They’d both find that delightful.”

“Oh gods, you cannot tell them,” Gascon pled, face red. “Anyway, it’s not like it was anything special. Every teenager has a crush on Dandelion and/or Calonetta! They’re the heart throbs of the continent!”

“That’s beyond horrifying,” the witcher said blandly.

“Yeah, it hasn’t affected his ego at all,” Vernon snarked.

“You know him?” Gascon blinked. “Like, personally?”

“He worked for me for a while, as an informant,” Vernon shook his head. “Submitted all his reports in fucking iambic pentameter.”

Geralt and Zoltan both burst into laughter. “Of fucking course he did.”

“I’d recognize that braying laughter anywhere,” a brash voice said from across the garden and then three people were approaching them. “Ha, told you I smelled weed.”

“Never said you didn’t,” the other man accompanying the speaker said, “just said it didn’t smell very good.”

The woman with them just rolled her eyes, but she waved at them. “Hey, Geralt, Roche. Hiding from the party?”

“Yes,” Geralt said easily. “Okay, Keira I get being here. But what the fuck are you two doing at a diplomatic party in Nilfgaard?” He stared at the two men who, now that Gascon looked closer, had the same cat-like eyes all witchers had.

“I like parties,” dark-skinned man said. “And Lambert likes dressing up and judging people.”

“Speaking of,” Gascon felt the need to say, “your dress is gorgeous.” And it was – while relatively simple, it was a lovely deep red and had been tailored precisely to show off the curves of his body, from the way the high collar and lack of sleeves emphasized his shoulders, to the way the skirts flared out with a slit at the hem to expose the length of his leg.

Lambert smirked, painted lips curling coyly. “Thank you. It should maybe be noted that he likes parties because they make for easy marks.”

“Shh, don’t give away my secrets,” his companion shoved his shoulder lightly, eyes alight with amusement. “I’m Aiden. Would you mind if we joined you for a smoke?”

“Sure,” Gascon shrugged and introduced himself. “And I assure you, my weed is the one that smells good.”

That made all three of them snort, taking the pipe eagerly. The woman – Keira, apparently – was actually a mage, and revealed this fact by setting her fingertip on fire to light the pipe.

It was the kind of dramatization that Gascon adored, even if it freaked him the fuck out when she did it.

“So, what do we think of this shindig?” Vernon asked after a long moment of silence in which they circulated the pipe.

For the prompt: “first time high, now they’re really horny 😈😈😈”

Meve shifted, sitting next to a number of soldiers and Strays around the main camp fire and wondering how she’d ended up in this position precisely. It had started, she was fairly sure, with Gascon.

Most of the trouble in her camp these days seemed to start with Gascon.

Gascon had ended dinner with a claim that his man ‘Hot Shot’ had come through with a new blend and that tonight promised to be a good one for any who imbibed. It had, in all honesty, taken Meve several minutes to realize that Gascon was referring to a blend of intoxicants – specifically, herbs that he packed into a pipe and lit easily. But by the time she had that revelation, the pipe was already circulating the camp and, well, it wasn’t truly as if this could be much worse than the effects of ale on her army. 

She did make a note to cut off the liquor supply, though. The last thing they needed was anyone getting sick from overindulgence.

By the time the pipe reached the table near her, Meve had half-dismissed it from her mind, refocusing on her meal and on the paperwork she’d brought with her. So she was entirely unprepared for Gascon to step up and stick the pipe in her face.

“Want some?” he asked easily, as if the queen getting intoxicated alongside her troops would be no big deal.

“I shouldn’t,” Meve shook her head, pushing his hand away and signing a report with a flourish. 

“C’mon,” Gascon weedled, “you said it yourself – the camp has been overly tense of late. Besides, if you partake, then your General has no excuse not to, and frankly, both of you could use a night to unwind.

It was… oddly tempting. But… “at least one of us should remain in control of their faculties,” she pointed out.

“Okay,” Gascon agreed. “Then let it be me. I had a hit earlier, but I’m already sobering up. Seriously, you need a break, Meve.”

Meve frowned, looking up to meet his eye. He stared back at her evenly, face unusually serious. 

“One night,” he bargained. “Doesn’t have to be drugs, but however you wanna relax, do it. I’ll be on guard for the three of us tonight, all right?”

Slowly, Meve nodded. She supposed… if he insisted, then there wasn’t truly any harm in trying it out… was there?

“All right,” she murmured. “Then how do I do this?” she gestured at the pipe he was holding and he lit up, grinning at her and passing it over. 

“Hold it like this,” he instructed, moving her fingers into place. “Then, when I light it, inhale deeply and let it out slowly. You’re gonna wanna cough, and that’s okay, just breathe in what you can. Ready?”

At her nod, Gascon lit a match and held it to the bowl as she breathed in. 

He was right – she definitely coughed. But aside from that, she did feel kind of pleasantly lightheaded, the world almost starting to spin around her.

“Feel okay?” Gascon checked.

“Mm,” Meve hummed, closing her eyes, unaware of the way she was swaying slightly. “I think so.”

“Good. Now I’m gonna talk your General into taking a hit.” He winked at her, then sauntered off towards Reynard, who looked mildly alarmed to be the sudden target of Gascon’s attention.

Meve giggled to herself, finishing her food and just watching her soldiers as they laughed and smoked with each other. The floaty feeling in her head was nice, and it made her unaware of the passage of time, but when she next thought to look for them, Gascon and Reynard had both left – and suddenly Meve needed nothing more than to see them. Moving her body felt like swimming through molasses, but she staggered to her feet and headed off towards the command tent, mostly out of habit. That was, after all, where the three of them spent 90% of their time.

“No,” she could hear Reynard snap, “I’m not interested in your drugs.”

“Fine,” Gascon sighed, exasperation clear in his tone. “So don’t use drugs. But for fuck’s sake man, if you don’t take that stick outta your ass for even just a few hours, you’re gonna end up having a fucking aneurysm.”

Meve ducked into the tent just in time to see Gascon grab Reynard’s shoulders and look him seriously in the eye.

“Look,” Gascon said, “I promise I will not let anything happen to Meve or your men or anyone else, but seriously, you need a fucking break. It’s just one night. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Staring past him, Reynard caught sight of her and his eyes widened, “Your Majesty.”

“He’s right,” she said softly, licking her lips. “It’s… I didn’t think I should either, but feeling this way now? Yeah, I needed this.”

“See?” Gascon waggled his eyebrows. “The drugs make it easier. But the point is giving yourself a break.” He held out the pipe again, offering it to Reynard.

Meve thought back to what she’d seen some of the soldiers doing, how she’d seen them sharing the smoke between them. She could – she could do that with Reynard.

She swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. 

Vaguely, she was aware that, were she in her right mind, she absolutely would not do what she was about to do. But at the moment, it was difficult to care. Instead, she took the pipe from Gascon’s hand and held it to her own lips, waiting for him to light it for her. Then she inhaled deeply, stepped close to Reynard, and dragged him down into her, until she could force his lips apart with hers and breathe the smoke out into his mouth.

Reynard inhaled sharply, breath hitching and choking lightly, but he didn’t pull away, even when she ran out of smoke but didn’t quite feel like withdrawing just yet. 

“Oh,” Gascon gasped next to her ear, and she drew back slowly, eyes fluttering open to meet Reynard’s shocked hazel ones. “Well, uh, that’s one way of going about it,” Gascon said, clearing his throat. 

There was something off about his voice, but Meve couldn’t seem to look away from Reynard for long enough to check. Instead, she brought the pipe to her lips again, a question in her eyes.

Reynard’s lips parted in answer and she kissed him, exhaling the smoke into his lungs. 

It was easy to lose herself in Reynard, in the movement of their lips against each other, especially once he began to respond in turn. But even so, when the gravel turned under Gascon’s boots as he moved away, her brain made note of it and she dropped the pipe, reaching out to grab Gascon’s wrist instead.

The clatter of the pipe against the floor startled Reynard, and he licked his lips, stepping back and staring at them both with wide eyes. 

The world spun around Meve a little too fast, and the way her blood pumped through her body was making her restless, making her hips shift. She could feel her heartbeat in the sensitive flesh between her legs, which she was fairly certain was not a regular occurrence, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad sensation, just an empty one. 

She knew how she could potentially fix that.

“Um,” Gascon coughed, tugging on his wrist lightly, though he didn’t pull himself out of her grasp. 

She frowned, and when she spoke, the words felt weird in her mouth, like they didn’t quite fit. “Where’re you going?”

“I dunno, go on watch, I guess,” Gascon shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. “So you two can cut loose.”

Meve couldn’t articulate her thoughts, but she did not like the idea of Gascon leaving right now. Reynard, it would seem, agreed with her, because he staggered over to the chair next to them, sinking into it and snagging Gascon’s other wrist.

“Uh?”

Inspired by Reynard’s move, Meve had the brilliant idea to push Gascon back until he collapsed onto Reynard’s lap. Before he could recover, Meve crawled up into his lap, hoping absently that she wasn’t crushing either Reynard or the chair.

That was how they ended up with Gascon stuck between Meve and Reynard’s bodies, all of them breathing a little too quickly. Meve leaned close, her chest pressed against Gascon’s, pinning his back against Reynard’s chest. Like this, she was just a little bit taller than all of them and she straightened in delight, enjoying that for a moment before she dipped down to kiss Gascon.

Gascon startled, but his mouth was soft and giving against hers. “Meve,” he whispered, sounding wretched. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You’d never do this sober.”

“Says who?” she asked, squirming closer until the throbbing between her legs pressed snug against his pelvis. 

He let out a strangled sound, head falling back, and she couldn’t help but lean down to nip and suck at the exposed skin of his neck. Reynard likewise seemed to find it irresistible, because the General buried his face against Gascon’s neck opposite Meve – and if sometimes, while mouthing at Gascon’s skin, their lips met… well, that was just a bonus treat.

Gascon’s hips bucked, twitching as he tried to control them. “Meve,” he said seriously, “you’re not in your right mind. You and Rey-nard.” His breath hitched halfway through Reynard’s name and he arched as Reynard worried a mark into his skin. His hands circled her waist, but they were careful to remain respectfully placed. “You don’t want this.”

“Rather think I can prove that wrong,” Meve scoffed, grinding her hips down against his. She could feel the way his cock twitched and grew against her and it made her hungry for more.

“Fuck,” Gascon whimpered, and he wiggled, either trying to get away or to get closer – but he had no leverage in this position, and there wasn’t much he could do except be held between Reynard and Meve.

His movement rocked over her clit and it made her shudder, grabbing his face and devouring his mouth once more. His grip on her waist turned bruising and he swore against her, kissing her back like he couldn’t help it. She rewarded him by rolling her hips in deliberate circles, enjoying the varied pressure against her cunt, especially as his cock continued to grow. She rocked against it, practically riding him through their clothing, and she could see the way it affected both of them. Gascon, of course, was obvious – arching and bucking and whining, no longer trying to convince her that she didn’t want this. But below him, Reynard was equally affected, and Meve could tell from the way his dark eyes watched the movement of their bodies, from the way he muffled his low moans against Gascon’s neck, from the way his own hips jerked on occasion, even his iron clad control faltering in the face of this. 

Meve shivered, kissing Gascon again and again and again.

[cerbin-aen-feainn]

im trying not to engage in any netwitcher content beside my friend's commentary for the sake of my sanity but i just saw the character that's supposed to be Queen Meve and now i want to SCREAM even more oh my fucking god

[mmonbebs]

things @shownubf and I said while watching a kcon LA livestream

(and being hella emo because I wasn’t there)

we started watching right before kard performed hola hola and then watched to the end and lemme just say tHat was a time and now I’m even more sad that I couldn’t go

warning: excessive keysmashes and caps lock

“what a nice time for the stream to freeze”

“i’m gonna cry when NCT comes out”

“HEIZE HEIZE HEIZE”

“Kang b00ty”

“WANNA ONE WANNA ONE DJSHDUFFEJJSFBEJSBDIHDJDOO”

“jsghsdfo;thAHJERO;ITGIOPAERGHAERG”

“SHOW ME THE BOYS”

“give me my guanlin close up”

“DAVID”

“thank you camera man I can see ong’s shirt so well”

“zoom in gdi”

“fuck I knew that last chorus was coming” (when you get played by burn it up)

“YAS MOONBIN”

“moonbin sounds like the name of that hippo” (ily moomin)

“whomst is that guy” (apologies to kim tae woo whoops)

“JJ PROJECT HOLY HECK WHAT”

“god what kind of fake stan am I”

“NEBEE”

“MEVEE”

“NEVEE”

“N E V E R  JFC” 

“i just missed my bias’s part fuck u chromebook”

“DANIEL THAT’S ILLEGAL”

“peenata”

“PEENATA”

“I NEED ALL OF YOU TO YELL PEENATA”

“3 2 1 PEENATA” (i’m sorry we were way too amused by this) 

“THEY HAVE TSHIRT LAUNCHERS”

“SHOOT ME IN THE FACE FROM THE SCREEN”

me, realizing that that’s taeyong dancing: “THIS SJRBAJSHKSxbzkejs” 

“THIS IS BCT”

“bct wtf” (nct who I only know beo culture technology)

“YES WINWIN”

“taeyong isn’t even my bias but damn that man is ATTRACTIVE”

“damn taeil did you eat the cd”

“JOHNNY I LOVE YOU”

“also his thighs omfg I’m going to dIE” 

“I love you Mark you’re the beautiful one”

“HAECHAN!!! HAECHAN!!!! H A E C H A N” 

“I’LL SING ALONG FROM MY HOUSE”

“PPALLI PPALLI”

“the camera hecking zoomed out when they were doing the leggy part god dammit why”

“yugyeom has cheeto hair oh no”(first hoshi now yugyeom, what is this cheeto hair epidemic”

“P E E N A T A”

“lucky fans”

“still high key shook over johnny tbh”

“ALL THE ARTISTS ARE COMING BACK ON STAGE”

“BM HAS A SELFIE STICK”

[entergamingxp]

The Witcher Tales • Eurogamer.net

Hello and welcome to the first of our Clash of Fans write-ups. This week we’ll be getting together in pairs (virtually) and forcing each other to play a beloved game. Then we’ll chat about what we made of it all. First up is Spintires and Thronebreaker!

Thronebreaker

Chris: I have sort of fallen off of collectible card games over the last few years, and in the back of my mind I think they’ve all become variations on Hearthstone. This is wrong, obviously, but it’s taken Thronebreaker to remind me of that. For the first ten minutes I was filtering everything through the question of – how does Hearthstone handle this? But very quickly that ceases to be meaningful.

A few initial observations – there is so much here beyond the cards. The overworld map, the resources and all that jazz, the camps. And the writing. God, so much storytelling all over the place. I am a story-skipper by nature, and you can just about do that here, but it’s clear the care and pride that’s involved in bedding this card game into the Witcher world.

Two more things – the animated cards are absolutely dreamy. I love the lighting and sense of caricature – huge hands and golden light. Then there’s the board. I get the sense that you could almost play this on a pub table with the grain of the wood standing in for the different rows. There’s a lovely sense of a game that has emerged from the stuff you find in a tavern, the stuff that’s lying around.

There’s a murkiness to Thronebreaker which is in keeping with the darker Witcher world.

Bertie: Can I just say I am so glad you’re playing this. Thronebreaker didn’t really make much of an impression the first time around and I’ve always thought that was a great shame. It wasn’t a spectacle like The Witcher 3 and that hurt it. But actually it’s a really indulgent, um, experiment I guess, and you can feel that quality as you explore. I actually think it draws characters as vividly as The Witcher 3 and tells some stories as powerfully, and the way it plays around with the rules of Gwent to keep the combat experience interesting – particularly in the puzzles – is masterful. There’s a lot of love and care in this game.

Chris: It’s definitely got that thing I love about card games in that it feels like as much as you’re making a hand you’re designing and programming a little machine to do in the enemy for you. I also love that the battles themselves really do a good job of making you feel like you’re moving an army around and dealing with lots of units on a battlefield.

Areas change, though. Here’s Bertie in the snowy dwarf land of Mahakaman later on.

Overall I prefer the puzzley battles to the main events. There’s something really gripping about dealing with boulders falling towards you in the first one of these I played. I love that this game is about tweaking the rules of a game that’s already established. I think I would get a lot more out of it if I’d encountered Gwent in The Witcher 3. Just that opening up of the potential of something, that messing around with the boundaries that have been established.

What I’m left with most is what you mentioned – the care and enthusiasm that has gone into this. I appreciate the game itself and I can imagine wanting to really learn it and understand all the nuances. But more than that, I am moved by how much the developers clearly love what they’re doing. Thronebreaker feels like a game that’s been over-delivered in the best way. They couldn’t stop adding story or little flourishes or little puzzles that momentarily turn everything on its head. In that respect it’s properly a game that comes from the best places: love and enthusiasm, a developer that can’t help itself, that’s properly under the spell of its own work. You know this team – do I have that understanding of the game right, do you think?

This is a story battle in Mahakaman with some altered rules. It’s not a puzzle battle though, which are particularly bespoke.

Bertie: Over-delivered is a wonderful way of putting it – that’s exactly what it feels like! And I’m glad you clicked with the puzzles because they’re my favourite. They’re like riddles in how they give you everything you need to solve them but you need to work your brain to get to the solution. I love that feeling, especially when you eventually nail it.

I don’t know if you’ll have time to get to it but a few hours in the game takes a wonderful turn. I remember feeling a bit nonplussed by Thronebreaker. I mean, it was nice but I wasn’t bowled over. Maybe it’s because I had trouble relating to a monarch’s storyline. But then it all changed.

A major story event at the end of the first main area flips everything on its head, and your Queen Meve suddenly finds herself vulnerable and exposed. The story gets personal. She’s stripped of the power she had and has to rebuild from scratch, recruiting people she considered enemies moments before. This is a great idea because not only do you know them very well from the fights you’ve had so far, you’ve built up an enmity towards them, which fuels the dialogue and story to come.

It’s here the game really begins.

Here’s a quick look at how the game begins. It’s a lavish production. Reminiscent of Heroes of Might and Magic if you ask Bertie.

Spintires

Bertie: What on earth have you signed me up for? Trucks and hills and mud? The kind of mud you curse whenever it rains and you’re in one of those make-shift car parks in someone’s field and it gets waterlogged. You spin the wheels trying to get out only to dig yourself deeper while everyone looks on disapprovingly because you’re doing it all wrong and then the farmer has to come and tow you out, which I suppose, now I come to think of it, is what Spintires is all about.

It’s hard though isn’t it? It took me about 10 minutes to get out of my parking spot, although to be fair, I’m not much better in real life. Spintires doesn’t really explain anything, it just chucks you the keys and off you go – well, off you try to go. It’s slow going. There’s none of this barrelling along country tracks like a rally driver, no sploshing through great piles of mud, no crashing through trees and bushes and over fallen logs. All of that holds you up or breaks you.

It’s nothing at all like all the other car games I’ve played, or in games that have cards, like Grand Theft Auto, where you can off-road in a breezy, relaxed way because realism isn’t really the aim. Getting around in Spintires is hard. It’s as hard as accidentally driving in tractor tracks and getting marooned on the middle bit, wheels spinning uselessly like child’s legs dangling from an adult’s chair.

But what am I actually supposed to do?

This jeep isn’t very good.

Chris: This is definitely how my Spintires experience started too. I think what I love about this game more than anything is that I jumped into it and realised I was never going to be any good at it, so that freed me up to allowing myself to be bad at it and enjoy it. I have enjoyed making progress so incredibly slowly in this game. I got to a point where I enjoyed all the mistakes and accidents and all the times I did one stupid thing and properly screwed myself up. I hate to throw around words like zen, but Spintires can be a pretty calming experience if you don’t care about getting nowhere.

Have you had a proper close-up look at the mud yet? This is one of those games that reminds me that the best things in games as far as I am concerned is material physics. I love to zoom in close on the tires as they’re churning through the stuff. There’s such a lovely grainy feel to the mud in this game. It feels a bit like magic?

Ah, now, a tractor! That’s better.

Bertie: Tractors are bloody amazing! I took out a crappy truck and failed at the first mud pile, but then I got in my tractor and oh my goodness gracious it’s a transformation, nothing can hold me back. I even went for a swim in a lake and it was fine. What a machine. Mind you, those wheels are as big as a person, and I love how the game represents them being softly inflated so as to give extra traction, which makes it look like you kind of flump along. Attention to detail!

Talking of detail: have I seen the mud? Have I seen it? I’ve wallowed in it. I’ve revelled in it. The mud is glorious! It’s like a squelchy beast undulating around you. A dirty octopus that clamps its suckers on you. I can almost feel its muddy grip through my keyboard, me fighting to get free, urging my brutish mechanical champion onwards.

There’s something so ironic about needing something so brutish to conquer such a serene landscape, my black smoke sputtering and engine grinding as I force myself on. There could be no clearer contrast between machine and nature, no clearer signal that these machines do not belong there. But it’s that which gives it its thrill, as this person-made beast conquers nature. It’s disgusting and beautiful at the same time.

But this tractor is everything!

Chris: Yes! Oh man, the ugly beauty of this game is off the charts, isn’t it? In a way Thronebreaker and Spintires, which are so completely different, Thronebreaker being so fully featured and sumptuous and over-delivered and Spintires which is so weird and specific and threadbare in a lot of places, in a way they come from the same place? The passion has overwhelmed the projects in both cases, and sort of defines both of them? CD Projekt could not stop embellishing this simple card game. With Spintires, the commitment to mud makes for a game that has fascinating tunnel vision?

Bertie: Singular games, that’s what they are, which makes them more fascinating to me. I reckon CD Projekt had big ideas about a suite of games like Thronebreaker, which is why it tried so hard with it, but it fell on deaf ears so the plan was abandoned and it remains an overlooked overachiever.

But who comes up with an idea like Spintires? Someone with an obsession, like you say, for sure! I wonder about them. I picture them travelling the world to find giant new machines to test drive so they can take back their experiences and program them faithfully into their game. Big-wheel hunters, they could be called. It actually sounds like quite a fun thing to do, and that’s probably why it translates so well in the game too.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/05/the-witcher-tales-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-witcher-tales-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[queenmevesknickers]

Breaking Point

A short prequel to Blood is Thicker Than Wine, taking place a few weeks before the story begins: Meve and Reynard’s notorious argument...

---

“Will you stay?” she murmured sleepily to the man wrapped tightly in her arms.

He shook his head. “No, Meve. I can’t, not tonight, not with th’ guests from Skellige staying in th’ castle…I’d rather not have to creep all th’ way back to my rooms before dawn.”

She yawned, trying to hide her disappointment. It had been weeks since he’d last shared her bed. “You wouldn’t have to, if you’d just move into rooms closer to mine – as I keep saying. Then you wouldn’t have nearly so far to sneak back…though why you insist on slinking out of here like a child who’s been stealing sweets from th’ larder, I don’t know.” 

“You know I can’t. People –”

“– will talk, yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Gods forbid, that anyone should ever talk about us.”

He sighed.

“Fine. Marry me, then.”

A deafening silence followed. Eventually, he choked out: “What?”

“Marry me. Then you can take th’ rooms next to mine, and there’ll be no need for sneaking around at all.”

He sat up and stared at her. “Meve. You know I can’t – th’ very idea –”

She folded her arms. “I don’t see why not. You don’t want people to gossip, well – let me make an honest man out of you, and then they’ll have no cause.”

“We’ve spoken about this before,” he began evenly, in that oh-so-very-patient tone that immediately made her scowl. “We agreed –”

“That was six years ago! And every time I’ve tried to raise th’ topic since, you’ve changed th’ subject.”

“Because there’s no point in discussing it further,” he retorted, an edge creeping into his voice. “Meve, what we share is undoubtedly the very best thing in my life, but we can’t let it make us foolish –”

“Foolish? Marrying me would be foolish, would it?”

“Don’t twist my words. You know very well what I mean – th’ difference in our status, for one –”

“I could grant you a new title any time I please; I wanted to, after th’ last war, but you would have none of it.”

“Because I don’t want one! I’m content as I am, I’ve no wish to beg favours from you, I don’t need –”

“You never ask anything of me. You’re too damn proud, Reynard Odo – proud to a fault, you won’t even accept that which you’ve earned half a dozen times over. Most times I admire you for it, but other times it’s absolutely infuriating.”

“Meve,” he sighed. “You know how much I love you. I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat. But I simply cannot do this. I have thought about it, time and time again, and come to th’ conclusion –”

She pulled away from him. “You think too much. And you care too much what other people think.”

“Better to think too much than too little,” he retorted. “This is not something we can jump into headfirst, without a care for th’ consequences –”

“When have I ever recklessly thrown myself into anything?” she demanded. “Don’t answer that!” she snapped, when he opened his mouth to reply.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she said, getting up and beginning to pace the room. “All these years of sneaking around, hardly daring to look at each other in public; trying to snatch moments together here and there, always listening for th’ knock on th’ door, th’ footsteps in th’ hall? That whenever we are invited to feasts and banquets, you get sat half a dozen places away from me? That we can sleep in the same bed perhaps once a month, if we’re lucky? Aren’t you tired of it, Reynard? Gods know I am.”

He stood and joined her, taking her hands. “I know it’s not easy, Meve. But it’s what we must do. We can’t give into…imprudent impulses…”

“No, I don’t see that we must do anything of th’ sort. Fine, don’t marry me, I’d be very happy not to go through that whole bloody rigmarole again. But for gods’ sakes, let’s be done with th’ pretence! I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about it, Reynard – I’d be happy for th’ whole world to know what you are to me, and hang th’ consequences! How much time have we wasted denying ourselves the simple happiness of truly being together, whenever we like, as much as we like?”

“You might not care,” he said quietly, “but I do. You know it would cause a scandal, and even if it wouldn’t bother you at all, I cannot say th’ same –”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“It’s not a question of want –”

“Do you?” she demanded.

He exhaled. “If things were different…if circumstances were such, that –”

“It’s a simple question!”

“Yes! Of course I would want to marry you, if I could, but –”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Then just marry me, damn it! You think they don’t gossip about us anyway? D’you really think we’ve managed to keep this affair so secret that there’s a single bloody person in this castle that doesn’t know about it already?”

“No,” he snapped. “I will not. It would be a wasted opportunity, Meve –” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth, furious “– it’s plain to see that th’ negotiations between Villem and Cerys are going nowhere fast; we won’t be securing our alliance with Skellige with a wedding anytime soon. We might be at peace now, but our allies are more important than ever – if you were to wed, it ought to be for political advantage –”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. “What? I’m not – I’m not going to marry anyone else, not for any alliance, not even if Emhyr var fucking Emreis himself proposed to make me Empress of Nilfgaard! I’m marrying you or not at all.”

“Then I suppose you won’t be marrying anyone,” he replied, clenching his jaw. “Because you won’t be marrying me.”

“I could command it of you!” she spat out, and instantly regretted it. “Not that I ever would, but –”

“You promised.” Reynard’s voice was beginning to rise. “You promised that you would never command me in this. But as soon as you cannot get your way, you hold your crown over my head and threaten me with an order! When have I ever denied you anything? When have I ever refused to obey you? You have no more loyal subject than I, Meve, but this is too far!”

“Oh, first you claim that you don’t wish me to elevate you or grant you a new title, and now you complain that I hold too much power over you!”

“That is not th’ point and you know it!”

“It is exactly th’ point! I warned you of this from th’ start, and you said that you didn’t care that I outranked you, that loved me as your queen as well as a woman –”

“And I do, but gods, Meve – you make it difficult, sometimes.”

“Imagine how difficult it is for me!” she yelled. “A bloody thankless burden, this crown is, but I bear it, day in, day out – everyone always wanting something of me, a never-ending series of demands and negotiations and prices to pay, and th’ one thing I want for myself –”

“Lower your voice!” he hissed. “Someone will hear –”

She clenched her fists, resisting the temptation to seize something and throw it. “Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet! I am sick to death of this! I can’t do this anymore, Reynard. I can’t.”

He looked at her a long moment. “All right,” he said stiffly. “I can see we are at an impasse. I understand that maintaining our relationship under th’ present terms is no longer acceptable to you. If that’s th’ case, I will burden you with my company no longer.”

She stared at him. “What?”

He picked up his clothes and began to get dressed.

“Reynard, what th’ hell does that mean?”

“If we cannot agree to terms, there is no point continuing this discussion.”

“What th’ devils do you mean? We can’t just leave it there –”

“Good night, Your Grace.” He bowed and turned to the door.

She stood frozen in place for a long moment, before realising he was actually walking out on her. She grabbed her robe and yanked it on, hurrying after him. “You can’t just leave like that!” She followed him out into the passageway, past her startled guards, who looked as though they would rather be anywhere else in the world at that particular moment. “Reynard! Reynard Odo! Come back here at once!”

But he did not turn back.

[queenmevesknickers]

30. “It’s not what it looks like…”

Back to the prompt fills...this one for @theleavesoflorien  💕💕

---

“Hey ho, Reynard. Oh, say, is this a bad time?”

Reynard started and swore. He quickly yanked his cloak over to cover his lap. “Do – you – mind.”

“Not at all, thank you.”

“Did your mother never teach you to knock?” he snapped. “Or were you raised by bandits, too?”

Gascon’s eyebrows shot up. “Temper, temper, Reynard dear – no need to cast aspersions on my breeding. Rest assured, from what I saw, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of…must say, I’m afraid to ask why you have a knife out, though.”

Reynard silently thanked every god he knew that he hadn’t taken off his underwear. “It’s these damned ticks. How they manage to get in under my armour and all th’ way up – ugh.” He slapped at a mosquito that had landed on his bare leg. “What is it? Am I needed somewhere?”

“No…I was hopin’ to ask a favour, actually. I’ve got th’ same problem as you.” He nodded towards Reynard’s dagger. “Little bastards are eatin’ me alive.”

“…and why d’you need my help?”

“Some of them…well, some of them are in places I can’t reach so easily.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Gascon folded his arms. “I’ve been told I’ve got a rather nice arse, Reynard – I’m not about to let just any man with a knife near it. Take it as a compliment, on your skill with a blade.”

Reynard narrowed his eyes. “Gods, it can’t be…you’re not squeamish over a few ticks, are you? Th’ notorious Duke o’ Dogs, frightened of a few tiny insects?”

Gascon looked pained. “I am not frightened of them. Just…I don’t like th’ look of ‘em burrowed into my flesh, all right? Fine, I’ll be frank – I’d rather take on a few more of those vampires we’ve been seein’ about than deal with these little bloodsuckers…happy?”

Reynard sighed deeply. “Fine. Go on, then…”

The sounds of hushed voices greeted Meve’s ears as she approached Reynard’s tent, causing her to frown slightly. Well, at least that explained where they’d both gotten to...

“Damn it, Gascon, will you just hold still…”

“Argh – fuck’s sake, Reynard, how about you watch where you’re sticking that thing!”

She did not pause to reflect on what scene she might encounter when she entered the tent, but even if she had, she doubted she could have imagined this one even in her wildest dreams.

“It’s not what it looks like…” they both said at once.

Exactly what it was supposed to look like, she couldn’t say; her gaze moved from Reynard, crouched on the ground, dagger in hand, to Gascon, naked from the waist down, his hands tugging his shirt down to cover himself in a vaguely desperate fashion.

“Quite,” she managed faintly. “Well…when th’ two of you are…finished…I would see you both in th’ command tent. No...no need to hurry.” She turned to leave without waiting for a reply.

The two men glanced at one another. Gascon opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, a burst of laughter could be heard from outside the tent – and a most un-queenly snort.

[queenmevesknickers]

ICYMI: this week I’ve started a new discord sever for Witcherverse fan fic writers! We’ve started a weekly writing challenge to work on our writing skills - here’s my work for this week’s prompt: ‘It could be worse’.

Please feel free to drop into The Void and join us!

---

‘It could be worse’.

Gascon sighed as Reynard snatched the spyglass off him again. “Would it kill you to say ‘please’ every once in a while?”

Reynard made no reply, already focussed intently on the imposing outline of Tuzla Castle in the distance. “Th’ western wall…” he murmured. “They’d do well to set th’ catapults towards it…sling a few boulders…”

“You might wish to speak up, friend – not sure darling Meve can hear you all th’ way back here.”

This time, Reynard turned to glare at him. “Is this but a jest to you? I suppose you think it’s all par th’ course to be cast out as a traitor – but I would never have been in this position if it weren’t for you –”

Gascon folded his arms. “Strange – I must've had a lapse of memory, for I really can’t recall compelling you to go behind Meve’s back and correspond with th’ enemy...seems to me you’ve no one to blame but yourself for your share in our predicament, Reynard.”

Reynard turned back to survey the field of battle once more, still scowling.

“Oh, come now – it could be worse.”

Reynard lowered the spyglass to stare at him incredulously. “Worse? Perhaps my powers of imagination are deficient, for I cannot conceive of any circumstances more dire than our own, at present – I beg you, please do enlighten me.”

“Our heads are still attached to our shoulders, aren’t they? I don’t know about you, but personally, I shan’t take it for granted – why, I don’t think I’d be half so handsome without mine.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” came the terse reply.

“– you wound me, Reynard, that really is striking a man when he’s down –”

“Not what I meant.”

Gascon raised his eyebrows. “You think you’d be better off dead? Gods, and to think I’m th’ one accused o’ doomsaying.”

“Ought I to believe otherwise? Disgraced in th’ eyes of my queen, cast out in this accursed land, behind enemy lines and yet powerless to strike at our foe, saddled with the company of th’ rogue who sought to sell us out –” 

“Will no one appreciate the fact that I did no such thing in th’ end…” Gascon trailed off. “Say, is that someone at th’ tower window?” He snatched the glass off Reynard, ignoring the latter’s grumbles. “Bloody hell, it’s Caldwell –”

“What? Let me see –” Reynard made to grab it back off him but froze as they watched Caldwell’s portly figure plummet from the window.

“Well,” said Gascon quietly. “Can’t say I envy his fate. Still think I’m mistaken to believe things could be worse?”

Reynard opened his mouth to reply, then paused and frowned. “Do you…do you smell smoke?” He peered around the boulder they were sheltering behind. “Damn it...Caldwell’s men’ve burnt th’ bridge. They’re trapped – and so are we.”

Gascon blinked. “It’ll hold off those Blackclads on our heels, though – won’t it?”

Reynard shook his head slowly. “They’ll have a whole company of engineers, I don’t doubt it. To ford th’ river will be but half a day’s work, at most.”

Gascon turned his gaze back in the direction of Tuzla. “Then there’s nothin’ for it. On we must go.”

“Into Ysgith.” Reynard’s expression was grim.

Gascon shuddered – they’d already heard much of the swamps where even the most dauntless of the Angreni dared not tread.

Reynard sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but – I must admit I’m glad not to be going there alone.”

He grinned. “Ah now, never dreamed I’d hear such tender words from you, Reynard. Well, as much as I should like to prolong this touching moment, I don’t fancy being interrupted by those Nilfgaardians. Shall we?”

[queenmevesknickers]

Touché

“Good morning, Reynard.”

He looked up from his desk and smiled at his queen as he stood. “Good morning, Your Grace. Off to th’ training grounds, I see?” he said, noting her quilted vest and close-cut breeches. He tried not to eye the latter too closely, though they were undeniably distracting.

“Quite right – I’d hate to get out of practice. But I find I’m in need of a partner.”

“Oh?”

“Can I have you, Reynard? For an opponent?”

Yes. Of course. I’m always yours. “Oh, ah…I’m not sure I can spare the time this morning, Your Grace. You see, I have…uh, all this…to attend to.” He gestured vaguely at the stack of reports that he’d already read half a dozen times over.

Coward.

It seemed Meve was not to be put off. She came round to his side of the desk and sat on the edge. “Who else should I spar with then, if not my finest knight?”

“Uh…what about Gascon?” he said a little desperately, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on her face, and not on the very shapely thighs that were now alarmingly close to his. Gods, he needed to pull himself together.

She pursed her lips, considering. “Hmmm…while I’ve no doubt Gascon would make an energetic partner – I fear he might lack the, shall we say…finesse…of a more experienced swordsman.”

Meve said the last few words in such a deliberate way that Reynard felt the back of his neck grow rather warm.

“I doubt I’ll be a thrilling opponent, Your Majesty. You’ve seen me fight too many times; you must know all my tricks by now.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, with a smile that made his heart race. “You’ve always struck me as a man who knows exactly what to do with his sword – if I’m honest, I’ve long wished to face you myself.”

“I’m yours to command, Your Grace.” The words came out rather stiffly.

She looked at him curiously. “You’re not worried about me getting hurt, are you? You know I can hold my own.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty. In truth, I’m more worried that I’d be th’ one to get hurt,” he said, with a small smile.

Her expression softened, and she gently laid her hand over his where it rested on the table. “I’d never let that happen, Reynard. You mean – you mean far too much to me.”

They remained that way for a long moment; holding each other’s gaze, their fingers touching. Reynard felt as though he could hardly breathe.

“So,” said Meve rather suddenly, sounding a little breathless herself. “Shall I see you on th’ training grounds then, Reynard?’

“Yes, Your Grace.” He sat down, feeling a little dizzy, and he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it was he’d just agreed to. “I shall see you there shortly – allow me to just, uh, finish up here.”

“All right, but don’t keep me waiting too long.” She stood and walked to the door. The sway of her hips was so entrancing that – just this once – Reynard allowed himself to watch. When she turned back, he felt his cheeks flush, sure he’d been caught out. But she merely smiled. “And Reynard – don’t forget your sword.”