#meve of rivia

[pumpkincalico]

“he invented love” i say pointing to an emotionally constipated man who has been pining after his queen for 20 years-

[virgin-iorveth-causa-salutis]

radovid's in the lower right corner bc he sleeps with the fishes

haha get it

[card-queen]

I'm in an insanely good mood.

Observe my Witcher redraws!

[northernolddragon]

White Queen and White Wolf.

The Gvaedyn Meve, who remains one of the prominent rulers of the Northern Kingdoms. And the valiant knight Geralt of Rivia, who could well have served at the queen's court, if not for forced circumstances and his 'escape'.

Incredible Queen Meve by @witcherscreenshotsdump.

[definitely-not-iorveth]

Eastern European Wedding Pictures (TikTok), featuring the Witcher, part 2 (part 1)

temerian beer stolen from this

[bookcalanthedaily]

" what is it, cali? come now. roegner is gone, and so is reginald. we are free again, free to... " " meve... you will always have a place in my heart, but... "

[louiloeve]

For Shuuuuupe!!

I love the trolls in the witcher games. All I can think, whenever I see one, is Geralt patiently explaining consequences to Wham-a-wham, saying "I'll swish-a-swash-a-swunk you" while flapping his arms around.

[geraltgwynbleidd]

Ardal aep Dahy had at his disposal a huge group of the “East” army, even if don't take into count the countless number of spies who constantly, in one way or another, tried to interfere with the Lyrians and Rivians on the way to liberating their lands from the blacks. Even with such an army, the general was doomed to defeat at the hands of the golden-haired queen, whose name struck fear into all Nilfgaardians for many years, and her small army.

The Battle of the Jaruga Bridge gave Geralt his famous nickname. Geralt of Rivia. Having shown valor, the motivation of which was actually Ciri, Gwynbleidd also received the title of knight. But neither fame nor honor forced him to hesitate, sending him on a further search for his daughter along with his gang in the person of Dandelion, Regis, Milva and Cahir.

[mulderitsme]

top 10 favorite female characters of all time?

hi anon, on the top of my head:

Regina Mills (Once Upon A Time)

Yennefer of Vengerberg (The Witcher)

Anora Mac Tir (Dragon Age)

Isabela (Dragon Age)

Leslie Knope (Parks and Rec)

Catelyn Stark (ASoIaF)

Dana Scully (TXF)

Furiosa (Mad Max Fury Road)

Rebecca Welton (Ted Lasso)

Aloy (Horizon Zero Dawn)

[stillness138]

now i think i understand what kicked off the nonsensical, continuity disregarding mess that is witcher 3 politics. they wrote way too many endings for the second game and convoluted them to a comedic degree. now i need to find at least a half-logical way to off Henselt who not only can be spared by Roche but unfortunately survives Iorveth's path, because i don't want the cheap "oh Nilfgaard just conquers everything" way out; that's one of the most stupid parts of w3's setup.

yesterday, i finally snapped a little and went like, fuck it, i'm gonna write up a handy list of what i'd change about witcher 3! shouldn't be that hard at this point!

and then i began attempting to comprehend witcher 2 endings.

[jaskiercommabard]

Just thinking about Geralt of Rivia and all the things he thought he couldn't be

Just thinking about "Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde"

Just thinking about Geralt learning and using an accent that didn't belong to him for the rest of his life so people would trust him

Just thinking about Geralt wanting to be a hero

Just thinking about Geralt becoming the Butcher of Blaviken

Just thinking about Geralt becoming the White Wolf

Just thinking about Geralt being the same man through all of that

Just thinking about Geralt being fundamentally and irrevocably changed by all of that

Just thinking about Geralt finding out that his name is the one Visenna gave him

Just thinking about Geralt being knighted by Queen Meve thus legitimizing the name he gave himself

Just thinking about how Geralt feels choiceless and yet creates himself

Just thinking about how Geralt feels fundamentally alone and yet is created by those around him

Just thinking about Geralt being so completely formed by a world he thinks he stands outside of

Just thinking!! About Geralt!!

[pumpkincalico]

reynard and meve stills from this reel i made 

[virgin-iorveth-causa-salutis]

the witcher + eurovision 2023 music videos

it's eurovision season!

i accept no responsibility for any psychic damage inflicted proceed at own risk.

[fandom-space-princess]

women...

input pls and thank

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 4

meve/reynard post-canon gooey fluff with a touch of chivalry/praise kink

A sleepy Reynard misspeaks, inspiring Meve to indulge in sharing a silly girlhood fantasy.

It's a simple slip of the tongue one morning, a misplaced word heavy with sleep. Both the Queen and her consort are slower to rouse these days, loathe to leave a warm bed for their duties in the winter chill of the castle.

Reynard in particular has never slept so deeply, rising slowly to consciousness with little sighs and grumbles rather than snapping alert, and Meve delights in it, rolling to her belly to tuck her face against his sleep-warm shoulder and trail her fingers across the span of his chest as he mumbles nonsense and groggily protests her occasional whispered requests that he wake.

Some mornings, she wakes him more pleasantly, rising to straddle him or slipping beneath the bedcovers, but the hour is already late enough that the servants meant to dress and feed them and prepare them for the day are likely growing antsy waiting outside their shared bedchamber, as they’ve instructed them to do.

In truth, tradition dictates separate bedrooms, which they maintain for the occasional sleepless night, but they’ve gladly shirked tradition and wasted far too much time to sleep apart.

As much as Meve would love to lie here beside him half the morning, to allow Reynard as many moments of peaceful comfort as he deserves after everything, both of them have too many responsibilities looming.

Meve prods him in the ribs and rises on an elbow above him, giving to the impulse to press a brief kiss to his jaw, rough with the previous day’s stubble.

“Reynard,” she says, “it’s time you woke. What ever are you dreaming about?”

“Urgghhff,” he huffs, slack brow tightening as his eyelids flutter, gaze unfocused. “Hmmph?”

Meve prods him more insistently.

“Up,” she says. “No more lazing about.”

“Mmm,” Reynard hums and blinks open his eyes. She knows she’s gotten through at last when he stretches, groggy but conscious, and reaches for her, touching a hand to her cheek as she looms above him. He appears so openly besotted as he looks up at her, that Meve feels her face grow hot. His thumb strokes her cheekbone, as gently as though touching thin-blown glass. His eyes drift shut again.

“Reynard,” she says, her voice hardening into the sharpness of an order. “Wake up. On your feet.”

He’s fully awake at once, stiffening to sit up with covers pushed aside.

“Yes, Sir,” he tells her firmly, realizing only a moment later what he’s called her by mistake. “I mean… Your Grace… err… Meve.”

Meve giggles breathlessly, deeply amused by his mortified expression as much as the slip of the tongue, and she forgets their waiting duties and antsy servants and rises to straddle his lap, planting a hand flat against the ridge of scar tissue at his sternum to tip him backwards against the pillows.

“Call me that again,” she says, laughing. “Sir Meve, hmm?”

“M-my apologies,” stutters Reynard, “if I’d been more awake, I wouldn’t’ve–” Tutting over his embarrassed flush, she catches her fingers in his greying hair to kiss him soundly in apology for the teasing. 

“Oh hush. I must confess I like how it sounds,” she says even as she coaxes Reynard’s hands to grip her hips, her own hand stealing between their bodies to cup his morning erection. There’s truly no time for such intimacy, but then again, all of Rivia and Lyria can wait beyond their bedchamber as long as she wishes. 

“Meve, we should–”

She shushes him and kisses down his throat and does not hesitate to lift her hips and settle him inside her body, delighting in his quickening breath and pinched brow as much as she had his relaxed slumber.

“D’you know as a child I yearned for th’ day I’d be knighted and all would have to call me sir rather than princess?” She rocks back as she speaks, tangling their fingers together at her hips. “My mother had to inform me of th’ proper title. Unfortunately, Dame doesn’t have quite th’ same appeal.”

Reynard laughs, breathless. 

“Call me it again,” she says.

“Sir,” says Reynard, “yes, Sir.”

His hips move up against hers, and she remembers as a girl dreaming of gleaming armor and glorious battle, of earning the respect and adoration of doting tournament crowds. Of being powerful and important, far more than a simple princess destined to be married off into the meek servitude of matrimony and motherhood. 

Gripping tight to lean against the leverage of clasp of their hands and Reynard’s raised arms, Meve tells him every foolish fantasy, even as he responds in turn, muttering praise against the skin of her breast, looking up at her through dark lashes as they move together.

The repeated, earnest whispers of sir warm her thoroughly.

They laugh together, sweaty and spent.

Meve knows she has no need of the fanfare of admiring crowds, though these days they wait anywhere she goes. She cares only to have earned the respect and doting adoration of this man beneath her, who would follow her into any battle and indulge her any silly fantasy.

[cherrypoison1889]

That night brought a storm, common for early spring in Rivia, but ferocious. Meve lay between her steadfast count and her wayward duke, kept awake by the wind and the occasional crash of thunder. Attempting to block out the sounds of the storm, she shifted closer to Reynard and pressed her ear against his chest, covering her other ear with her hand. He was sleeping soundly, despite the storm, and Meve focused on the slow thump of his heart. The steady rhythm had almost lulled her to sleep when Gascon twitched in his sleep, his knee hitting the back of her thigh.

 She twisted around to face him. A flash of lightning lit up the strained expression pulling at his features. His brow was furrowed, his teeth clenched as his lips moved soundlessly. Gascon’s limbs jerked again and his breathing turned fast and shallow.

 Meve pulled him towards her and murmured comfort. His shoulders were tense beneath her hand as she rubbed his back. Behind her, she felt Reynard shift, his arm winding around her waist. As the storm moved off and the sounds of thunder grew distant, Gascon relaxed into her arms. His breathing slowed and Meve felt her own nervousness lessen in turn. Her eyelids grew heavy.

 Soothed by the warmth of the bodies on either side of her, Meve closed her eyes. She could no longer hear the storm. Instead she just heard breathing; two separate patterns of inhales and exhales. For a brief moment, they matched. The same steady tempo. Meve added her own breath to this harmony as she drifted off to sleep.

---------

I commissioned the lovely @johix to draw a fanart from one of my favorite fics, @aretuzagradschooldropout‘s “Tempo”. I am blown away by how talented they both are!!

Also, Thronebreaker is an awesome game and you should definitely check it out :D