#meve x reynard x gascon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

animereaderinsertwriter · 1 year

Text

a/n: so uhh i know this isnt anime, but i wrote it while a little manic and it turned out okay so i wanted to post it :D enjoy! ao3 link here

Pairing: Gascon/Meve/Reynard

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: smut, drunk sex, mfm sex, double penetration, no beta we die like men, spoilers but only if u squint

Word Count: ~4k

Plot summary: Gascon has always found Meve to be a singular sort of woman. When faced with a difficult choice, she always finds a way to change the game and pick an unexpected, unprecedented option that reminds him of her earned queenship. Similarly, Reynard (Meve's loyal friend and advisor) is the most steadfast and honorable man that Gascon has ever met; it gives Gascon great pleasure to rile Reynard up just to see how far that patience and goodness goes. However, now that things between the three of them have hit a plateau, it is not often that Gascon finds himself surprised by them; he knows him, and they know him.

In matters of the heart, however, Gascon manages to be surprised by them still on one fateful, very drunk evening of respite and revelry.

(Set before the end of the game while still on campaign at a peasant's wedding feast)

There were benefits, Gascon supposed, to stopping in at every town and leaving no good deed undone from Lyria all the way to fucking Nilfgaard. One, naturally, was to tip the karmic scales back in his favor; but another was that, on occasions such as this, when a peasant festival or nuptial celebration was to be had, who wouldn't invite the do-gooder queen and her merry lot of dagger-happy fools to party alongside? And Gascon, a lover of revelry and all other earthly pleasure, was more than happy to take a load off to drink some free ale and eat some free vittles instead of endlessly pursuing this death march of Meve's.

There were problems, though, too, with remembering what it was like before the campaign— and one of those problems for Gascon specifically was simply the cessation of movement for long enough to remember to be alive. From his perch on a log next to a pretty woman who was nattering on about something or other about the bride and groom, Gascon could see miles and miles of green, rolling hills, fertile and full of plenty. The sun was on its way out, the golden hour of the evening finally waning into purple twilight, and as a bonfire and lanterns were lit, a fiddler drew up his bow and began to play alongside pipers and little drummer boys. It was a beautiful evening, full of light and laughter and all the things that made life worth living, and now more than ever, Gascon wished for a home he could truly call his own.

He had not had such a place for many, many years.

Across the way, Meve and Reynard were speaking lowly, their heads bowed together in a moment of shared intimacy. The queen and her second-in-command rarely found a moment alone, but when they did, Gascon was usually lurking close enough to witness; watching them, he felt oddly like a voyeur, as though he should not be seeing what his eyes beheld, though it was never more than this— a simple, emotionally charged moment. If their usual pattern were any indication, it would only be a second or so before one of them would back away, drawing the line and leaving things unfinished between them.

Melitele help them— Gascon was dying of blue balls just watching.

As Gascon had predicted, Reynard drew back after a moment; but then, something unusual happened. Meve reached out and grabbed his hand, saying something that Gascon couldn't hear, and Reynard bowed respectfully before allowing bright, vibrant Meve to pull him over to where the peasants were dancing. Together, Meve and Reynard began to dance as well, each smiling in the arms of the other, and Gascon found that they were nearly too painful to look at in their joy.

Truly, he didn't know which of them he was more jealous of— Meve, who was held steady by the strong, calloused hands of a kind, honest man, or Reynard, who was touched softly by a bloody-handed conqueress, a queen stronger than most kings and hair of spun gold. Separately, they were stunning; together, they were impossible. Gascon wanted to be between them, beneath them— he wanted— he wanted.

Gascon threw back his tankard. He must already be too deep in his cups anyway— might as well finish the job and make his way back to his tent. The girl sitting next to him made a squeal of surprise, and Gason nearly made a bid to take her back with him— she had blue eyes and gold hair, after all, and Gascon's imagination could work wonders with that— but when he stood without explanation, she didn't demand anything or command him to explain himself, and it ruined the effect for him. Meve would never allow him to walk away without dismissal, and if he'd ever tried, Reynard would have stood between him and the door, a solid mass of muscle and steel, strong and steady.

Fuck. He really was far down in his cups.

The journey from Gascon's log to his tent turned out to be a perilous trek. In truth, Gascon was probably too drunk to be standing (he'd started drinking at noon, after all, and had hardly slowed), and well— every tent begins to look the same, after a while, a logs are bloody hard to step over when you can't tell how high to lift your leg. After a good few minutes, though, he managed to find a tree to piss on and a tent that was most likely his own, and he collapsed on the floor, certain he was going to regret getting so drunk on the morrow.

As it happened, though, Gascon was to regret getting so drunk much, much sooner than that.

As Gascon lay quietly, feeling sloshy and almost sea-sick from the spinning world around him and his belly full of liquid, the flap of his tent opened. Standing in the entryway was Meve, tall and regal and lovely, looking down on him with a soft smile that made his tummy do a little flip.

"Forgive me, Meve," he slurred, propping up on his elbow. "I'd stand, but I think I'd puke if I did."

Meve laughed— a low, hearty sound that came from the throat.

"Don't worry, Gascon," she told him fondly, "I just thought I'd look in on you so you wouldn't drown in your own vomit. Give me a moment, and I'll fix up your sleeping arrangements to where you'll be comfortable."

"You don't really need to…"

It was useless. Once Meve put her mind to something, she meant to do it. As the queen busied herself with fluffing and ruffling about his pallet, Gascon took it upon himself to watch her body as she worked. Goddess above, she was lovely, all long limbs and lovely eyes, and wiry strength— Gascon wanted to touch her ankles, kiss the bend of her knee, he wanted to—

"There," she said, putting her hands on her hips in satisfaction. "All done, Gascon. Do you think you can make it over there by yourself, or shall I carry you?"

Meve's eyes shined with her jest, but Gascon knew he wasn't going to make it to the fine little nest she'd made for him. Still, though, he couldn't bear to make her carry him, so instead, he said,

"I appreciate the thought, Meve dear, but the ground here is passing comfortable for my old bones. Come, sit— you'll see what I mean. It's fine ground, this is. You'll like it."

Laughing, Meve humored him, kneeling in front of him. Gascon managed to pull himself upright enough to be face-to-face with her, and he was hit at full-force by the shining of her eyes.

"You're right," Meve told him, sharing his breath. "It's fine ground indeed."

Gascon was confused. When had they gotten so close? Why were Meve's eyes half-lidded? Fuck, was she about to—

"Gascon, Your Majesty," said a familiar voice, and Gascon started. "I brought the water you asked me to—"

Reynard stopped mid-sentence, and Meve turned to him with the most guilty expression Gascon had ever seen on a woman— and he had seen many guilty women. Reynard wasted no time, though. As ever, he shrewdly calculated the situation and sacrificed himself for the good of others.

"I see." He cleared his throat. "Pardon my interruption— I shall impose no longer."

Oh, the poor sod. Even blind drunk, Gascon could see the pain in his eyes. Gascon wanted to take it all away from him, take it back, make it better— but what could he possibly do or say to unbreak a man's heart?

"Reynard, wait," said the queen, commanding and desperate. "It isn't— this isn't— I didn't come here with the intention of—"

Reynard held up his hand.

"You needn't explain yourself to me, Your Grace. You're a woman as fine as any, and you've been campaigning many a hard day. It is only natural that—"

"You misunderstand me, Reynard." Oh, she was truly suffering now— and it was all Gascon's bloodly fault. "You are as you ever were— a steadfast friend, patient and wise and honest. On the most trying days, under the beating sun or in pounding rain, you are my buckler, the shield that fends off the swords of my enemies. You are dearer to me than I can measure."

Gascon looked away then, drunkenly ashamed— he should not be here, he should go, a quip and a laugh, and he could be away, away, away—

But Meve was not finished.

"And Gascon— my, my, what a man you are. So full of laughter, and full of secrets; you are the hunter in the night, the wolf that prowls and stands before my doorstep, a warning to those who would dare to cause me harm."

She reached out to him, blue eyes shining. Her hand, though rough and calloused against the stubble of his cheek, was so tender that Gascon wondered if his face might crack from the pressure of it.

"You are the blade in the dark that protects me when all else 'round me sleeps," she told him, the rasp in her voice like fingertips up his spine. "Gascon… you are the darkness in my own heart."

She paused then, swallowing thickly, and with azure eyes bright with tears, implored,

"Don't make me choose between the two of you. The thought of losing either of you— I cannot bear it. My shield and my blade— I need both in equal measure, else I shall die as surely as Melitele hears me now."

Gascon was gobsmacked, for once rendered speechless— but Reynard, ever the dullard, bowed his noble head and spoke, as ever, with the most foolish, most honorable cop-out imaginable:

"You need not choose, Your Grace. I— I overstep. I am your subject, and you my commander— any, er, relationship that might occur is— well, it's hardly appropriate."

Though Reynard's words were strong and sure, Gascon had an eye for weakness. Even as Reynard was trying to preserve the heart of the woman he loved, his heart was breaking. No— he was breaking his own heart so that she would not have to, in order to spare her the pain of it.

Stupid, noble bastard. He was a stronger man than Gascon.

"I will forever be your friend and ally, Your Grace," he continued, bowing lowly, respectfully. "I am entirely devoted to you; nothing could dissuade me from my task, or from our lasting friendship. Gascon is a fine man, and handsome— not that you need my approval, but—"

He swallowed dryly, his eyes sliding to Gascon in a way that felt fragile, like an alchemist's incendiary concoction in a delicate demijohn.

"But you have it. I could not have chosen better for you myself."

"Reynard," the queen breathed, her eyes wet, glistening, and her closest adviser turned away, unable to contain his own emotion.

Oh, bloody fucking hell. Gascon was going to have to bloodly fucking walk.

Gingerly, he rose to his feet, swaying slightly. Without his usual grace, he made his way one foot in front of the other to where Reynard stood, head bowed in deference and shame. Noticing the shadow Gascon threw, Reynard looked up, and suddenly they were close— eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, too close— and Gascon boldly placed his hand on the back of Reynard's neck, sliding his own calloused hand into soft salt-and-pepper hair.

"Reynard, you fool," he said, his eyes drifting to the other man's lips even as they shared a breath. "As ever, you don't have a single clue. You're going to make our queen cry."

Slowly, almost teasingly, he smiled, tilting his head, requesting permission. Reynard, slow as ever, made a strangled noise, and then their lips touched, dry and soft and warm. Gascon grinned, then chuckled as Reynard kissed him back.

"Sweet goddess," Meve breathed behind them, and Gascon laughed into Reynard's kiss, pulling the other man closer to him until they were flush and his half-hard cock met Reynard's full, muscular thigh. Reynard's hands, resting til now at his side, traveled upwards to touch Gascon's back, and Gascon shivered.

"Don't you see?" Gascon sighed between kisses, holding back a groan as Reynard squeezed his waist. "This is so much easier, isn't it? Easier than the fighting, than the pining— our queen needn't choose. Does she not deserve the both of us? Is she not worthy of both our worship?"

Reynard pulled away, and for a moment, Gascon feared he'd overstepped or somehow given offense— but then he saw Reynard's pupils blown wide, his eyes dark with desire, and Gascon's heart thumped painfully in his chest for an entirely different reason.

"You talk too much," Reynard told him, and Gascon swayed, too drunk to take such a statement and stay standing. Reynard, ever the gentleman, caught him by the waist, steadied him, and Gascon thought he'd never wanted to suck thick, knightly cock more than he did in that moment.

"Well, I see you lads have been keeping something from me— again."

When Gascon looked back, Meve was smiling wryly, but there was a brokenness to it that shamed him.

"Never," he insisted gently, prying himself from Reynard. "Meve, love— I swore to you, never again."

"Hm."

The queen, it seemed, was unconvinced.

Well, that was alright. It wouldn't be long before Gascon could feel his face again, and even drunk, he'd been known to be very convincing when he wanted to be.

With as much dignity as he could muster, Gascon took Reynard by the hand and led him to where Meve sat, long, lovely legs drawn up against her chest, guarded, defensive. Awkwardly, he lowered himself to the floor, pulling at Reynard to follow, and placed a hand on one round knee, stroking it softly with his thumb. Wordless, Meve dropped her head to her knees, hiding her face, and Gascon could feel the wetness of her unshed tears finally break loose from her eyes.

"Oh Meve," he said, "Oh, darling— don't cry, love. We've got you. We're here."

The queen stayed that way a few moments, and Gascon let her. He said nothing further, only stroked her back with one hand and petted her hair with the other. Reynard, equally silent, knelt apprehensively beside her; from his expression, he wanted desperately to touch her, but wasn't sure how, or even if he could. Meve was his queen, his sovereign, his highest power— to Reynard, Meve was sacred, more than queen, more than woman.

That would not do. Meve was all that and more-- but she was a woman, and that side of her deserved to be touched, to be loved like a human, not aestheticized, not objectified. Slowly, Gascon reached out, allowing Reynard time to process the motion, and when Reynard did not stop him, Gascon placed Reynard's hand on Meve's shoulder, squeezed gently, and guided Reynard's movement until the man felt brave enough to take his own initiative.

Once she felt Reynard's touch, the queen looked up, nose red and sniffly, cheeks puffy. Gascon thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"May I kiss you, Your Grace?" he asked, and, bewildered, Meve blinked, then laughed.

"Forgive me," she choked out, attempting to stifle her laughter to little effect, "I don't mean to laugh at you, it's just— I don't think you've ever called me Your Grace before this very moment."

She smiled, took his hand, and added,

"Never has it meant more. Kiss me, Gascon."

Gascon did not need to be told twice. He pressed his lips to hers, sweet and slow, then deeper, tasting the spiced wine on her tongue. His hands pulled at her knees, and Meve allowed them to be moved apart. Gascon knelt between them, his hands in her hair, and then he felt her hands slip beneath his tunic, cold and searching.

"Reynard," she said, the movement of her lips soft against Gascon's mouth. "Come to me."

Gascon took his cue and began to kiss lower, worshipping his queen's neck with kisses, licking the salt-sweat taste from her skin in a way that made her shiver. Above him and to the side, Reynard and Meve were kissing, the movement of their lips making wet, lewd sounds above Gascon's ear. Eager, hungry, but still a bit addled, he began to fiddle with the laces at the front of Meve's shirt, trying to loosen them, but soon got distracted, moving instead to the large, alluring bulge in Reynard's trousers, pressing against it with pleasant friction as his other hand squeezed at Meve's breasts. Mindlessly, he rutted against what of Meve his cock could reach, wondering why the hell they hadn't tried this sooner as Reynard groaned, low and animal, at the press of a palm against his cockhead.

Really, it wasn't fair that the stick-in-the-mud had such a big... stick.

"Reynard," he purred, a bit sing-song. "Take off your trousers, love— I want to taste you."

Oh, the attention that got him. Meve's eyes, bright and hazy with wanting, narrowed with carnal pleasure at the suggestion, and Reynard's widened in innocent shock.

"I— Gascon, that's very generous, but— I mean— I don't think it proper to— "

It took a moment for Gascon to catch on to the reason for Reynard's hesitancy— what man turns down a blowie, anyway?— but then it clicked, and Gascon was suddenly, inexplicably flattered.

"You're worried about sullying my honor, wounding my dignity," he grinned, gleeful and bewildered by such concern. When Reynard nodded hesitantly in affirmation, Gascon's grin turned filthy.

"You're very sweet," he replied, shuffling forward to place a kiss to Reynard's ear, "but I'm the Duke of Dogs. Honor and dignity aren't really my thing, and I think if I don't get to have that fat cock of yours in my mouth, I might just die. You'd be doing me a favor, really."

So saying, Gascon began to fiddle with the laces of Reynard's breeches, and luckily, they were easier to untagle than Meve's shirt. In only a moment, Gascon freed Reynard's length, and, after admiring it for a moment, brushing the thick, bulbous head with his thumb, he lowered his mouth to it and began to suck.

"Melitele's saggy tits," Gascon heard Meve swear above him, and there was some rustling and the soft rip of fabric that he could only assume was Meve's shirt falling victim to Reynard's impatient hands.

Gascon was nothing if not thorough in his ministrations. At a moderate pace, he forced Reynard's cockhead past his lips, teasing the slit with his tongue, and was rewarded with a deep, earthy groan. A few moments later, he let his hands take over to lap and suck at Reynard's thick, heavy balls, their smell deep and rich with sweat and arousal, and Gascon allowed himself a moan as he tasted and touched them, rolling their heavy weight in his hands and sucking them into his mouth. Deliciously responsive, Reynard thrust his hips up and against Gascon's face, and the next thing either of them knew, Gascon was dodging spurts of white and Reynard was shuddering from his release.

"Already?" Gascon teased, and Reynard had the grace to blush.

"It's... been a while," he admitted sheepishly, and Gascon rose to kiss him, soft and reassuring.

"It bothers me not at all," said Gascon, "for the night is young, and I'm only getting started."

Comforted, Reynard brought a hand up to guide Gascon's face to him so they could kiss— a warm, sticky hand, slick with—

Gascon took a sniff or two...

Meve.

Gascon turned to find the queen entirely bare. While he was distracted with cock, Meve had apparently abandoned her clothes, exposing miles and miles of golden flesh and a dusting of fine blonde hair. She knelt beside the two of them, smiling widely, and Gascon smiled in return, beckoning her to come nearer.

"Your Grace," Gascon bowed, a sweeping and dramatic display. "Permission to lap at that pretty cunt of yours?"

"Only if you promise to make it good," the queen teased back.

"Oh, I solemnly swear, 'twill be," he grinned. "On your back, love."

After a few moments of shimmying, Gascon's head was between Meve's legs, licking and sucking at her clit. His hands smoothed over her legs and the soft down of hair there; too drunk on her sex to notice anything else, Gascon nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Reynard press himself flush against his back, cock hard and sliding over the curve of his ass. Wordlessly, Reynard rocked against him, humping like a dog (ha!), occasionally reaching over to tweak Meve's pretty, perfect nipples.

Oh, the feel of Reynard's terribly large cock in the cleft of his arse— they should definitely have tried this earlier, Gascon decided. Instead of fighting, biting like mutts at each other's throats, they should have been doing this.

"Gascon!" Meve exclaimed as he spat messily onto her cunt, grinning like a hound at the mess she looked beneath him.

"What?" he asked, batting his eyes with faux innocence.

"You're— that's— !"

The poor queen couldn't string more than two words together, but her need to do so dissipated as Gascon returned to his purpose, this time plunging three fingers inside her without warning. He sucked at her clit, curled his fingers upwards, pressing into soft, yielding flesh. As he did so, Reynard reached around to grasp his cock, and Gascon moaned against Meve's sex as a rough, calloused hand stroked him.

"Gascon," Meve breathed, "Gascon, what's— oh— oh!"

Gascon did not let up until his face was soaked from his nose down and Meve was threatening to crush his 'mean, filthy skull' between her thighs if he didn't 'stop, dammit, she was fucking shaking'— and only then to correct his queen, because she didn't seem to grasp the idea that such a crushing of skulls was hardly a punishment.

"Are you ready for cock, then, my queen?" he asked, his knees beginning to shake as Reynard's thrusts began to synch with his stroking. "Which of us would you like first?"

Reynard, who had been very much lost to his pleasure for the last few minutes, seemed to snap out of it a bit at that. Suddenly once more unsure, Reynard stopped moving altogether and just sort of froze, awkward and insecure.

Oh, bloody hell, Gascon should have just kept his mouth shut.

"Well," said Meve, propping up on a hand as she glanced between the two of them, "I don't very well see why I cannot have the both of you at once."

The suggestion was so matter-of-fact and without a hint of teasing that Gascon had to pinch himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Similarly affected, Reynard's mouth hung agape, and the queen threw back her head and laughed at the both of them.

"What, skittish now, Gascon?" she teased. "And you, Reynard, my bravest knight— why do you balk?"

"Hey, love, no one's balking," said Gascon, the ale running away with his tongue, "It's just the fact that you said what you said out loud and expected us not to faint like blushing virgins. You're quite filthy, Your Grace. It's a wonder you haven't killed poor Reynard."

Reynard was still frozen, the poor sod, so Gascon reached for his hand and brought him to his side. Reynard shuffled forward, his ridiculously large cock bobbing comically between his legs, and Gascon knew Meve was going to need more prep to take that girth plus his own.

"Come on, chap," he said, clapping Reynard on the shoulder. "We've got work to do if we're to please our queen, and it's going to take both of us to prep her well. Are you up to it, or shall I take over for a bit?"

Without waiting for Reynard to answer, Gascon sank two fingers into Meve's cunt, scissoring and playing in her wet heat. With his other hand, he guided Reynard to mimic his motions, and soon they were both four fingers in, spreading Meve obscenely wide as she writhed and whined beneath them. Fuck, if this wasn't every depraved man's wet dream, Gascon didn't know what was.

"Ready, Mevie?" he asked with a kiss, withdrawing his fingers. "We don't want to hurt you."

"M'ready," she replied blearily, chest heaving with pleasure. "Just get on with it, will you?"

With a gentleness that surprised even himself, Gascon took charge, maneuvering them until Reynard was sitting behind Meve, his cock resting against her sex, and Gascon pressed a kiss to both their mouths before lifting Meve until Reynard slid smoothly into her, eliciting a filthy gasp from them both that would live forever in Gascon's memory as the most lewd noise he'd ever heard. Wasting no time, Gascon took his own cock and pushed slowly in, allowing Meve time to adjust and forcing himself to be present enough in the moment to appreciate the sensation of sharing a woman this way. There was so much sensation all at once that Gascon was afraid that he would embarrass himself, but then his hips moved on their own, rocking into Meve and against Reynard in delicious friction that was better than anything had a right to be.

"Oh, goddess," Meve keened, arching her back as Gascon began to fuck her in earnest. "Oh, goddess!"

She pulsed around them, reaching orgasm, and Gascon found himself not too far behind. A few moments later, and the heavens opened; a choir sang, his vision went white, and Gascon came harder than he'd ever come in his life. He pulled out, choosing to spend his seed over Meve's belly, and in improbable, impossible queenly fashion, Meve dragged her fingers through the mess and brought it to her lips, tasting him— but that was not all. She turned, opened her mouth to kiss Reynard, pushing seed from her mouth to his, and Gascon thought he might pass out just from watching them.

"Melitele help me," he breathed.

As he watched Reynard lift Meve bodily and thrust up into her with all the fervor of a zealot in his worship, Gascon made a vow. For these two, he would do anything, break any vow, keep any oath; Gascon would die before them, because none would touch them while he yet lived. Meve had called him her blade in the darkness, the wolf at her door— Gascon had not realized how right she was until that very moment. He would be that which stood between them and the world, and no matter how this Nilfgaard business shook out, Gascon knew where his loyalties lie.

For once in his life, Gascon stood for something, and it felt right that it should be this.

That it should be love.

#thronebreaker #thronebreaker: the witcher tales #queen meve #meve x reynard x gascon #reynard odo #gascon brossard #ao3 #smut

5 notes · View notes

bard-llama · 2 years

Text

Gascon’s Price Chapter 1

Another new fic for today, because my goal is to have 400 fics published on AO3 on June 1. In addition to all these new fics, I have several chapters that are ready to be posted, so we’ll be doing an update a day for a while longer.

Gascon’s Price

Before Meve had even known who the Strays of Spalla were, they had negotiated a deal with Count Caldwell. Ultimately, Caldwell may have doublecrossed them, but Meve still wanted to know - what had the Strays asked for? What was the price of her people's lives?

Read on AO3

#throne3 #thronebreaker #meve x reynard x gascon #eventually #the witcher #my fics

2 notes · View notes

hungerofhadarr · 9 months

Text

Thronebreaker main trio but ummmm :3

#the witcher #thronebreaker #gascon brossard #queen meve #reynard odo #I love drawing characters and saying ‘ [ x character ] but EPIC ‘ afterwards #need to shake these three around like they’ re little light up stress toys

11 notes · View notes

continentcakeshop · 1 year

Note

Reverse casting time!!!! Cakeshop peeps as Witcher characters. Go!!!

ALRIGHT I spent like 2 hours on this and the shenanigans that happened with everyone laughing and helping out... BUT ITS LONG. So it's behind a cut. It's not complete, because oh man I gotta go do errands, but we did our best!

@on-a-lucky-tide is immediately our Eskel @hungarianbee as Erland @lookoutrogue is Coen @major-trouble is the best Valdo ever but countered with @sometimesiwrite as Essi (she LIVES THO) @trickstermoose67 is Ciri ... but @so--many-fandoms is Baby Ciri (from W3, with the freckles) @jayofolympus is Serrit @frenchkey is Auckes @tumbleweedtech I'm claiming Keldar thanks @angry-cajun-lady is Gaetan @lohrendrell is Ivo @thirstyforred is Jacques de Aldersberg @stellecraft is Nenneke @round--robin is Arnaghad @piranhaincaps is Gezras @greenbirddraws is Letho @anonymousblueberry is Ves @cylin-aka-ankamo is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy @liaonyxrayne is Dettlaff @jlyarts is Kiyan @justhereforeskel is Lil' Bleater @justleaf is Iorveth @zzzett is Isengrim @whysowlowl is Philippa @heyriel-art is Vesemir @eyesofshinigami is Shani @lokibus is Geralt (complete with horse pics) @straysinfiltrator is Meve @iboughtaplant is Gascon (she has the BEST boy) @pressedinthepages is Angoulême @jaskiersvalley is Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach obscure potato is Reynard @Towelapocalyse is Aiden @andtosatvrn is Ivar @disaster-imp is Lambert @resident-beekeeper is the beekeeper that Regis thinks is a werewolf? sdorim is an npc who wrote punny letters to Geralt @winter-fir is a farmer NPC. Her rakes are not broken, and if you press X you get an 🍎 And who you've probably been waiting for? @skaldingrayne would be Jaskier.

#cakeshop shenanigans #ridiculously long taglist

43 notes · View notes

queenmevesknickers · 3 years

Text

The Illustrated Bandit

“You knew?!”

“I didn’t know, Your Grace – merely suspected.”

Meve folded her arms. “And you did not think to share these suspicions with me?”

Reynard frowned slightly, then spoke as though he was weighing his words carefully. “I did not like to speak in haste, Your Majesty. There has been enough bad faith between us as it is – I did not wish to alarm you, or malign Gascon, unless I was certain there was sufficient cause.”

Meve found herself annoyed by this unexpected development. All night, she’d lain awake, consumed by Gascon’s shocking revelation in the cemetery and all that it implied. It all seemed so obvious now – how had she never even suspected? Her one consolation had been that Reynard would be just as astonished, and she had been all impatience to finally have a private moment with him to share what she had learned. If, however, she had been expecting the gratification of seeing him as stunned as she had been whilst they were waiting for Gascon to join them in the command tent – reliably late, as ever – she was sorely mistaken; she knew as soon as she uttered the words that the intelligence of Gascon’s past was not news to her general.

“What tipped you off?” she demanded. “For I don’t mind admitting, I’d never have guessed it if he hadn’t told me.”

Reynard hesitated for a long moment before finally speaking. “He has…tattoos…including one of th’ Brossard crest.”

This was not the answer Meve had been expecting – though what she had been expecting Reynard to say, she wasn’t sure – but it did not escape her notice that he did not quite meet her eye as he said it; he was staring very determinedly at a point just over her left shoulder. She pondered the statement for a moment; certainly, she had never seen any evidence of Gascon’s tattoos, but then again, it was not as though he was in the habit of undressing in front of her. She supposed there might be any number of perfectly innocent reasons why he might have done so in front of Reynard – but the tide of pink that was steadily making its way from under Reynard’s collar to his face suggested that the truth was not among them.

Reynard was granted a momentary reprieve from her interrogation by the appearance of the subject of their discussion. He took one long look from Meve to Reynard and sighed deeply.

“Yes, alright, I suppose we all know th’ truth o’ my exalted and dishonourable heritage now. If you’ve any more exclaiming to do about it, please get it over and done with – I’d much rather put it all behind me again, if you don’t mind.”

“Gascon,” said Meve, unable to help eyeing him speculatively. “Reynard – Reynard tells me you have tattoos.”

Gascon blinked, seemingly bemused by this unexpected turn in the conversation. He glanced over to Reynard, who flushed even more deeply, then back to Meve, the beginnings of his customary grin playing on his lips. “Guilty as charged, Mevie. Why, would you like to see ‘em?”

Her reply came out of her mouth before she so much as thought about it. “Yes.”

To his credit, Gascon looked taken aback for barely a moment; if it was a bluff that she’d unintentionally called, he did not seem put out in the slightest. “Well, anything to oblige my favourite queen in th’ North.”

The time it took for Gascon to remove his armour and clothing from the waist up was easily long enough for Meve to reconsider her answer and declare they ought to get on with the business of the day instead – but she found she had no desire to do so whatsoever. She certainly found cause to be glad her face did not betray a blush as easily as Reynard’s did, however, for as soon as she caught sight of the first glimpse of the pale skin of his stomach, she began to feel rather warm.

Gascon grinned as he turned away from them. “Th’ best ones are all on my back – shame I don’t get to enjoy them as much, but I suppose it makes for a nice view…eh, Reynard?”

To this, Reynard made no reply – though to be fair, neither did Meve; the sight before them was far too distracting. Gascon did boast several tattoos, the dark blue of the ink a stark contrast against his fair skin; the Brossard crest Reynard had recognised sat over his shoulder, though Meve’s eye was drawn to a dagger which extended below the waistband of his trousers. Equally compelling, however, was the sight of Gascon himself: the slope of his ribs down to his slim waist; the smooth definition of the muscle through his shoulders and arms. Not to even mention the soft dark curls that covered his head, twisting tightly at the nape of his neck in a way that demanded to be touched. She hardly noticed herself stepping forward, reaching out; when she gently ran a finger over the blue outline of the pointer, she felt him shiver slightly under her touch.

He turned his head to face her, his full lips now forming a sly smile. “Well, Mevie? See something you like?”

She glanced up to meet his eye, taking in his dimpled grin and the long sweep of his dark lashes, before looking to Reynard, still blushing furiously, but watching them both with an intensity of expression that sent fire racing through her veins.

“I rather think I do.”

#Thronebreaker #Queen Meve #Meve #Reynard #Reynard Odo #Gascon #Gascon Brossard #fanfic #fan fic #my writing #the witcher fanfiction #vignette #ot3 #meve x reynard x gascon #meve x reynard #meve x gascon #reynard x gascon

76 notes · View notes

gwynbleiddancrevan · 3 years

Text

Birthday trio for @straysinfiltrator inspired by the ongoing fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/33409345/chapters/82986691 👑🤲

#my art #thronebreaker #ot3 #meve x gascon x reynard #meve/gascon/reynard #they.. care him…🥺🙏✨#💛

72 notes · View notes

octinary · 2 years

Text

Third Wheel

This is my gift to @mevelongsword for the @merrywitchermas event!

Rating: T

Pairing: Gascon/Meve/Reynard

Word Count: 5.1k

CW: Some insecurity and jealousy regarding botched polyamory negotiations, but it all turns out okay in the end.

There were many aspects to life at court that Gascon found he was not innately suited to—stuffy dress codes, vacant formal pleasantries, long tedious audiences, Reynard’s ridiculous assertion that the day’s work begin promptly when the sun rose as opposed to several hours into the morning and after a decent breakfast as the gods intended—but the parties were, without a doubt, not one of those. The great hall was full of sound and colour and music and people and, weaving and bobbing his way through the throng like a bright autumn leaf whirling effortlessly along the river rapids, Gascon couldn’t help but laugh with the energy and fervour of it all. He stole a drink here and a dance there, laughed at a crude joke with the captain of the guard, feigned much desired ignorance on the topic of the new tax policy Meve was planning on introducing, and nodded along sympathetically to the elderly Lady Vanade’s tiresome tirade on the endless toil of trying to marry off eight daughters. This was politicking he not only knew how to do but enjoyed—he grinned as his eyes were drawn again to the impressively laden head table—unlike some people in the room.

Meve herself was radiant and serene in layers of cream and gold silk, diadem proudly sat upon her gleaming curls and smiling proprietarily over her successful harvest banquet, but Reynard, on her right and cutting equally as impressive a figure in a neatly tailored violet doublet with delicate golden embroidery, looked as if he was present only on pain of death. Even with his scowling though, Gascon had to admit, as always, that they looked good together. Since their triumphant return in the spring of the year, there was looseness to their bearing around each other, a sense that a great weight had been lifted between them now leaving a lovely and much earned lightness. While Gascon was very well aware that it had not gone unnoticed at court, no formal announcement of their relationship had been made.

That had been his first kernel of wisdom to them as the newly minted Lord Brossard, peer of the realm and esteemed member of the privy council.

When Meve and Reynard had pulled him aside on their second day back in Rivia, the damage from their own successful siege against the castle still causing a flurry of construction around them, Gascon had been a little surprised that they had thought to ask him for his advice at all. Now, seeing how easily Reynard flustered and how seriously Meve shouldered the crown and everything that came with it, he understood a bit better why they had wanted an outsider’s perspective.

It had still been awkward as fuck though.

Keep Reading on AO3

#Thronebreaker #Gascon x Meve x Reynard #fan fic #misunderstandings #friends to lovers #OT3

13 notes · View notes

straysinfiltrator · 3 years

Text

Thronebreaker: The Real Ending

The heavy gates of Lyria Castle opened to deafening trumpet calls. Gascon rode in first, his mounted retinue and carriages following with great fanfare. Festive banners flew from the towers, the Lyrian eagle lifted amidst royal blue and red and gold, soaring in glorious agitation. Gascon glanced up in sympathy. He had waited months for this, and it had felt like longer, until his new estates’ affairs were ordered enough to be left in the hands of his administrators, until Meve had finally relented and believed him when he wrote her, yet again, that there was nowhere else he’d rather be than with her.

Guards and nobles bowed as he entered the yard. He nodded to the assembled gathering, then dismounted smoothly and tossed the reins to one of the several stewards who materialized at his side. His hands absently pulled the embroidered silk of his sleeves over his wrists; the chill of irons haunted his memory of the last time he had walked this path.

He scanned the far end of the courtyard, and his heart lurched as he saw footmen snap to attention, then part for their queen. Her face looked at once comfortingly familiar and brilliantly fresh, her smile radiant; she was resplendent in her armor and crown, the consummate picture of royalty. Reynard walked just a pace behind her, silver to her gold, an ever-steady mountain of strength. It would not have been appropriate to simply run up and into their arms, and for once Gascon forced himself to follow protocol, with no small effort.

The rest of the day was taken up by a formal reception, several official audiences, elaborate feasting, and a casually pompous hunting event that took hours and would have left them all starving if they’d actually had to rely on the game they caught for their dinner. It was not until the evening that he finally found himself in the company of Meve and Reynard alone, in one of the castle’s lavish private sitting rooms.

“Some peace, at long last,” Meve said, collapsing into a chair. Reynard poured them all some wine and sat down himself. They toasted, to the old times and the new. Gascon took a sip as he paced restlessly, tasting the sweet sharpness, wondering if nothing or everything had changed.

There was a massive book on the table, open to a page with an elaborately intricate illustration in earth tones. He glanced at it sidelong, intrigued.

“Take a look,” Reynard said, gesturing.

Gascon set down his cup and bent over the volume, then flipped slowly through the gorgeously illustrated pages, careful to only touch their very edges. The drawings were shaded in astounding gradients, looking almost painted, and there were even a few that were in full color. And as for the text—

“An account of our journey, and our fight, to preserve for the future,” Reynard said. “Copies have been sent to monarchs across the Continent, as well as important academic libraries. Our friends in Mahakam have shared their latest printing press technology for the illustrations; they seem to think our story will make others reconsider before treading again on their neutrality.”

“It’s incredible,” Gascon said with genuine awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He paged through perfect renderings of Meve and her companions, and landscapes sketched so accurately he felt himself transported back to the places they portrayed. He stopped at a picture of himself; it showed him stashing away a scroll while glancing suspiciously over his shoulder. “Hah! Is that when I stole the document for the dwarf lass in Mahakam? I look pretty sharp in that one, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s a good likeness,” Meve said matter-of-factly. Gascon glanced up and met her sparkling eyes; she pressed her lips together to suppress a smile.

Heat rose in his cheeks. He looked down, turned more pages.

There was an illustration towards the end, showing Meve in full armor, majestic and beautiful as always, sitting on the throne while Reynard stood proudly behind her. Gascon read aloud: “She ruled with an iron hand, not fist, Reynard ever at her side, tempering, supportive. That’s news to me—did you truly manage to temper her, Reynard?”

Reynard made a dismissive sound and waved the notion away: “As if anyone could.”

“Certain passages may have been, shall we say, smoothed over—for easier reading,” Meve said. “But the ‘supportive’ part is right, at least.” She set down her goblet, leaned over and kissed Reynard full on the mouth, pulling him close with one hand on the back of his neck. Gascon watched as the proud general melted under her touch. It was good to see them again, good to see them like this.

Gascon flipped to the next page idly and choked out a surprised laugh. “You had me riding off into the sunset, really? Atop some wild stallion that’s about to throw me off, no less!”

“It seemed like your style,” Meve replied with a bright smile. “Anything understated would hardly do you justice.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Gascon said with a lopsided grin and a shrug. “And I suppose you couldn’t exactly lay out the whole truth, considering the intended audience.”

“Some things are best left out of the history texts,” Meve agreed, rising. “The events of tonight, for example…” She circled Gascon as she spoke, then ran a hand through his hair, firm and sweet and cool. It was the first time she had touched him since his return. The shiver went all the way to his bones. She trailed a single fingertip down the side of his throat; he swallowed involuntarily and felt his heartbeat pounding against the gentle pressure, frantic with craving.

Reynard lounged back into his chair across from them, one arm resting casually on the hilt of his sword. He met Gascon’s eyes and raised his cup in salute; then his lips curved in a knowing smile as he settled in to watch.

#my writing #thronebreaker #ot3 #reynard x gascon x meve #the witcher tales #meve #queen meve #reynard odo #gascon #gascon brossard

20 notes · View notes