#pheasant's-eye | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geraskierfanficprompts · 2 months ago

Text

Prompt 126

In place of August Fourteenth, Promptapalooza 7/ Geralt knows he has a soulmate when he first hears a small voice ask him what his name is. He doesn't respond. He's not humoring destiny (that bitch) or fate (that cunt). He's not going to respond.

It's been a few years and occasionally the voice still speaks to him.

"Are you real?" "Do you hate maths too?" "I fell earlier and really hurt my knee. Today's been bad. what about your day?" "I had a nightmare last night, but thinking of you helped." "When we're grown ups one day and we get married, we'll have flowers at the wedding, right?" "Do you like music?"

And Geralt never answers. He won't link this innocent child to his wretched, wretched life. He won't link them to a murderer.

Another few years go by, and unfortunately the voice won't shut up.

"Still not talkin', huh? That's fine! I can fill the silence easy enough! Let me tell you alllll about my day!"

He's temped to use their connection to tell his soulmate to stop talking, but he doesn't want to expose himself.

…

And he doesn't want to hurt them.

But them telling him a long rambling story about their walk in the woods that day and how a squirrel scared them right in the middle of Geralt fighting a leshy wasn't exactly helpful.

A few more years pass, and the voice still speaks to him. It's gotten deeper, so Geralt suspects it's a boy. Almost a man, but not quite.

"Father yelled at me again. If you care. I hope whoever you are, you have a better home." "Are you dead? They didn't give me a dead soulmate, right?" "Why won't you talk to me?" "i don't think anybody likes me. Not even you. You never speak to me. I wish you did." "I'm thinking of leaving. If there was any time to speak up and tell me who you are or where you reside, it'd be now." "Please talk to me." "I dreamt of you again last night. I keep doing it, recently. Sometimes you're a woman. Sometimes you're a man. Sometimes I can't really tell. Sometimes you're sweet and shy, sometimes you're flirty and crass. Sometimes you have brown eyes. Sometimes they're green. Sometimes they're blue. I wish I knew."

They're yellow. Hideous and grotesque. Inhuman. The boy shouldn't wish to know them.

"I left. I finally did it. I left just last night. I swear, wherever you are, I'll find you."

Another few years pass, and the voice is still there, but it's much rarer to hear. Geralt feels relief knowing he's finally giving up on Geralt and will find himself a better life.

"I haven't been doing a good job of finding you. But you haven't really given me any hints. Do you not want me to find you? Do you really want me to stay away?"

And Geralt finally responds to the man, for the first time ever.

"Yes."

"IT'S YOU! You responded! You're real! You're actually real! I do have a soulmate! I knew it! I knew I wasn't unlovable! Where are you? I'll-"

And Geralt hears the exact moment his rambling thoughts come to an abrupt crashing halt, as he processes what Geralt agreed to.

"Oh."

And that's the last message he gets from his soulmate's voice. It's what Geralt wanted all along. But after a solid year of hearing nothing from him, Geralt will admit he misses him. He misses the chatter.

It's the beginning of the very next year that he meets the bard Jaskier, who stubbornly fights tooth and nail to incorporate himself into Geralt's life.

He fills the silence left by Geralt's soulmate. It's nice to have prattle back. He doesn't tell Jaskier that, of course. Jaskier is young and foolhardy and jumps from bed to bed, but soon enough, he'll want to settle down with his own soulmate and he'll leave Geralt. Geralt isn't looking forward to the silence returning, but he likes Jaskier. He'd go through any silence for him.

It's Jaskier's fifth year traveling with Geralt. They sit across from each other around a campfire as Geralt roasts some pheasants and and Jaskier stares despondently at the notebook he's not writing in.

And then Geralt hears him. His soulmate's voice in his thoughts again.

"I've fallen in love."

And Geralt is happy for his soulmate. Because - Geralt glances at Jaskier for a moment and smiles to himself - He has too.

"I don't know if you hate me. Or if you're dead. Or if you've found someone else, but whatever it is, I hope you can be happy for me. I love him. I really, truly do. I love Geralt with everything in me."

And Geralt jolts and whips his head to look over at the bard.

"Jaskier?" He sends through the connection, and watches as his bard's eyes grow wide with shock.

"…You love me?"

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #geralt x dandelion #geralt loves his bard!#witcher fanfiction #fanfiction prompts #writing prompts #requited unrequited love #friends to lovers #soulmate au #soulmates #telepathy #insecure jaskier #for good reason #geralt is traumatized and immortal and he panicked and kinda fucked up jaskiers mental state #but they fix it and make up #and jaskier ofc is also immortal somehow so they can live together forever #angst with a happy ending

174 notes · View notes

gainingfiction · 2 years ago

Text

King Size

I had a great time working on this project with @bee-wg! Working with such a talented artist was a phenomenal experience. It was amazing to see this story come to life! Make sure to check out their great art and give them a follow. Hope you enjoy!

(Note: colouring may appear a little off when viewing on mobile, clicking the image should correct)

Summary: Prince Leo grows into his new role as king.

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there lived a handsome prince. With loose waves of chestnut-coloured hair and a jaw like carved stone, maids and knights alike swooned at every twinkle of his blue eyes. None could deny that Prince Leopold was the fairest in all the land.

Leo’s skills as an athlete were the stuff of legend. He was as able with a sword as he was on horseback, and though he was slender and lithe, his deadly aim made him the envy of even the finest archers. On each hunt he loosed arrow after piercing arrow, returning to the castle with braces of pheasant, quail, and grouse.

After the death of Leo’s father the king, the whole realm mourned, and none grieved more than Leo himself. His carefree life as prince was at an end, and now the weight of the crown sat heavy on his head. His idle days of sparring with knights, long rides through the forest, and week-long hunts were over. The burdens of his new role were many, and he knew that hard work lay ahead of him.

With little time to spend on his favourite pastimes, Leo soon discovered a new outlet for his energies: feasting. As prince, he often dreaded his father’s banquets, wishing he could be riding or hunting instead. Soon after taking the throne, Leo realized what his father had known all along, that the business of government is easier on a full belly.

Before long, Leo feasted often and enthusiastically. His brothers returned from their frequent hunts with game and fowl, and the kitchens bustled with activity. The cooks had never been busier, preparing dish after dish for their hungry new king.

And Leo ate. Plates of venison and lamb, roasted chicken and suckling pig, mince pies and rashers of bacon, Leo devoured it all, washed down with wine, ale, and mead. He feasted from dawn until dusk. By the end of the night, he had gorged himself into a stupor, his stomach stuffed and protesting by the time he made his way to bed.

It didn’t take long before the new king began to grow plump. As he filled his stomach relentlessly, pushing himself to the edges of his capacity and then beyond, his appetite grew. The roundness his midsection acquired after bouts of gluttony began to stick, until his stomach, once flat, swelled and softened into a fleshy orb. As the months passed, he was left with a fat belly and a pair of meaty love handles. Even his face changed, and he began to grow out his beard to cover his softening jawline.

Leo’s ass and hips grew, as well. Fat began to build around his slender thighs, and his buttocks bulged and ripened, struggling against the cloth of his breeches. Leo’s servants realized the problem before their king. Each morning they dressed Leo, and his clothes seemed to grow tighter by the day. Leo could see them exchanging meaningful glances as they tried to squeeze his added bulk into undersized clothes, afraid to tell him just how hard it was becoming to fit him into his garments.

Leo eventually capitulated. He spoke to the royal tailor, who soon became almost as busy as the cooks, constantly measuring the ever-expanding monarch for new shirts and pants to contain his ballooning poundage.

And so, Leo ate, and drank, and slept, and governed, and grew. The lords and ladies of court seemed shocked at just how fast their new overlord was gaining weight, at how unable he was to control his appetite.

None dared to question the king’s love of food. His wife, the queen, seemed unimpressed, but she had done her duty and given him a pair of twin boys. The realm had its heir. Now, the king ignored her, preferring the attention of handsome servants and dashing knights. This didn’t bother the queen, preoccupied as she was with her lady-in-waiting.

His belly swelled further, growing softer and heavier. By the anniversary of his coronation, it hung out in front of him, soft and round, drooping far over the waist of his pants. He often went shirtless, leaving his fattened torso exposed beneath a fine ermine cloak. That cloak had belonged to his father; it was too large when Leo took the throne, but now it fit him comfortably, and would soon become tight.

He was fatter all over, the small muscles of his chest now hidden under hearty slabs of fat. Below his breasts, his globular belly clung to his torso, flanked at the sides by thick handfuls of fat that projected over the top of his pants. His thighs were broad and hefty, and his rump had expanded to truly king-sized proportions.

A few years into his reign, the finest artist in the realm came to court. He had painted Leo before, and he stared in shock at the bearded, fat-bellied man Leo had become. In his fine cloak and glimmering crown, wearing a good-natured smile, Leo cut an image of a powerful but generous ruler.

He hardly resembled the strapping young knight he had so recently been. The painter looked back and forth between the old Leo and the new, his recent portrait of a slender prince and the overfed monarch now posed in front of him, seeming not to believe his eyes. The poor artist pleaded with his king to stay still, but Leo refused to stop eating and drinking, stretching his pendulous stomach to an ever-greater size. The buttons of his tunic were struggling by the end of the sitting, and hours on his feet had left him exhausted and sore-legged.

Over the years of King Leo’s reign, his girth only increased. His dimpled, rosy cheeks swelled rounder and plumper, and beneath his impressive beard, his jowls sagged and his double chin expanded. His chin grew so thick that it seemed to merge into his body, replacing his neck, and his shoulders broadened with soft fat. His chest billowed out atop his colossal stomach, a rack of teats to rival the bustiest milkmaid, and his stomach exploded in size, leading the way ahead of him and hanging low in front. He was a great bear of a man, as wide as a barge, large enough to intimidate anyone who crossed his path.

On his 26th birthday, after five years as king, he realized with annoyance that he had grown too fat for the throne, unable to squeeze his rear-end between its arms. It was an uncomfortable old chair, anyway, and Leo had no time for discomfort. So he commissioned a new one, and thereafter sat his humongous behind on a throne as wide as a bench, built of heavy, gold-painted wood but still seeming to sag at the middle beneath his towering weight.

Some say that Leo was the greatest king of all. What his ancestors had settled at war, Leo handled with diplomacy: nobles were brought together at the feasting table, where petty feuds were put to rest over food and drink. They knew that food, not scheming, was the way to secure the king’s trust. Any request was usually accompanied by generous gifts, and whenever the king held court, platters streamed from the kitchens and filled the great hall. According to legend, the people flocked to Leo with offerings of food, just to marvel at his enormous belly and its seemingly limitless capacity.

Few would recognize the bearded mammoth as the slender, fresh-faced prince he once was, but all would agree that Jolly King Leopold’s steady rule had brought prosperity to the realm. His subjects lived happily ever after in peace and plenty—with none more plentiful than their king.

#king size #collab story #wg art #wg story

2K notes · View notes

delicatebarness · 4 months ago

Text

winters widow | chapter viii

Summary: After Lord James' revelation, there isn't much more time before the wedding. However, someone in the realm has other plans for House Barnes' big day.

Warning: Arranged Marriage. Implied Sexual Assault and Violence. Disturbing Imagery. Emotional Distress. Mentions of Physical Restraint.

Word Count: 1836

Spotify Playlist | Pinterest Board | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: I'm back, adding more trauma into my character's lives. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

With the recent revelation of Lord James’ true feelings, your hearts brimmed with a renewed sense of joy and anticipation as the wedding approached. Every waking moment was filled with preparations and each task was imbued with the excitement of the life you would lead as Lady Barnes.

About a month and a half before the wedding, on one crisp morning, you found yourself mulling over the details of the wedding’s feast. You had been presented with several options from the kitchen staff for the menu, and you were particularly taken with a few dishes. Unable to come to a definite conclusion, you decided to seek Lord James’ opinion directly.

With a basket of sample dishes in hand, you made your way to the council chambers. As you approached the large wooden doors, you hesitated briefly, hearing the low murmur of voices inside. With a deep breath, you pushed the doors open and stepped into the room. The eyes of the council members turned to you in surprise.

“Pardon the interruption,” you began, a flush of heat spreading to your cheeks under their scrutinizing gazes. “I just need to speak to you, Lord James, about the feast menu.”

Seated at the head of the table, Lord James raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. “My last, this is a rather… unexpected visit. What is it you need?”

You pressed on, holding up the basket, unfazed by the curious, disapproving looks from the advisors. “The kitchen staff prepared some samples for the wedding feast, and I wanted to hear your opinion on them.”

With a stern expression, an advisor cleared his throat. “My lady, we are in the middle of a crucial discussion regarding our defenses.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, the realization of what you walked into, and what you heard back in the stables a few weeks back, dawned on you. “I didn’t realize… I’ll wait outside.”

Before you could retreat, Lord James spoke up. “It’s quite alright,” he said, indulgence and authority laced in his tone. “We could all use a brief respite. Bring the samples here.”

The tension in the room eased slightly as you approached the table. Placing the basket in front of Lord James, you began to explain the dishes, excitement bubbling over.

“This is a roast pheasant with a honey glaze,” you stated, pointing to the first dish as you read from a note. “And this is a spiced venison stew. Oh, I also thought a variety of fruit tarts would be nice for dessert. What do you think, my lord?”

Lord James nodded appreciatively as he sampled the dishes thoughtfully. “They’re excellent choices, my lady. I believe our guest will be quite pleased.”

The advisors, though initially taken aback by your interruption, seemed to relax as they watched the exchange between you and Lord James. A few even allowed themselves small smiles as you offered samples to them.

However, one advisor, a grizzled man, sneered. “This is hardly the time for such nonsense. Women should know their place and stay out of men’s affairs.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Lord James had been silently brooding at the head of the table, his eyes piercing when suddenly, he rose from his seat. How voice cold and unwavering. “Speak ill of my betrothed again, and you’ll learn just how fiercely I will defend what is mine.” All eyes were on Lord James as he continued, the room remaining still. “She is the future of Winter’s Reach and this House. She will have your respect.”

The advisor blanched, realizing his mistake. “My lord, I meant no disrespect,” he stammered, bowing his head.

For a moment longer, Lord James’ eyes remained fixed on the advisor before turning back to you, his expression softening. “Thank you for bringing these samples, my lady. Your input is always welcome.”

A surge of happiness coursed through you with Lord James’ approval. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll let the kitchen staff know.” You began to leave but paused, glancing back at him. “And thank you for your patience. I didn’t mean to disrupt your council.”

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, a warm smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment as you exited the council chambers, the doors closing softly behind you. The preparations for the wedding were falling into place, and with Lord’s genuine affection now clear, the excitement for the future only grew.

The weeks leading up to the wedding passed in a blur, Lord James had been showing a newfound tenderness, and your heart swelled with hope. The incident in the council room was long behind the two of you, but the respect Lord James had commanded in your defense remained a vivid reminder of his feelings.

You found yourself drifting into a deep sleep, one particularly cold night, wrapped in the warmth of thick pelted blankers. Dreams of your wedding and the future, danced through your mind, filling you with a sense of peace and contentment.

Suddenly, you were jolted awake by the sounds of distant screams and the acrid smell of smoke. Throwing the blankets and rushing to the window, panic gripped your heart. Flames licked at the night sky, chaos illuminated outside. As you tried to make sense of the scene unfolding below, your mind raced. The once peaceful courtyard of Winter’s Reach was now a battlefield of shadows and fire.

Grabbing a clock, you hurried to the door without hesitation. However, just as you were about to pull it open, it swung inward– revealing a figure cloaked in darkness. Your heart pounded in your chest causing you to gasp and stumble back.

“Who–” you began, but the words caught in your throat as the figure stepped into the light of your chamber.

The figure, tall and menacing, his unfamiliar face twisted into a sinister smile. You could tell by the roughness of his attire and the cold gleam in his eyes that he was not a knight of Winter’s Reach.

“Well, well,” he said, malice dripping from his lips. “Look what we have here.”

Before you could react, he lunged forward. He grabbed your arm with a vice-like grip and panic surged through you as he dragged you back into your chambers. The door slammed shut behind you.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, struggling against him, yet his grip only tightened.

“Quiet,” he hissed, a cruel smirk played on his lips. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene now, would we?”

Your heart raced faster as you looked around desperately, trying to figure out an escape route. His presence was overwhelming, a suffocating sense of dread filling the room.

“What do you want?” you demanded, you tried to keep your voice steady however your voice came out in a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Just a little fun,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d come across a little doll like you tonight.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. The realization of his implication fueled your determination to fight back.

You twisted in his grip, a burst of adrenaline helped you to free one arm. But, before you could do anything more, he threw you onto your bed with brutal force. The break knocked out of you on impact, and before you could recover, he was on top of you, pinning you down.

You screamed in refusal, trying to push him off, but he was too strong. He tore at your nightgown, the sound of ripping fabric under his hands filled your ears. You fought with everything you had, you scratched and clawed at him, but it was no use– he pressed his weight down on you, suffocating and overpowering.

“Firey one, aren’t you?” he sneered with his face inches from yours. A foul smell came from his breath and a wave of terror coursed through you from the look in his eyes.

Your desperate struggles grew weaker under his oppressive weight and the night continued to unfold in a blur of terror and helplessness. The chaos outside became a distant echo as the events within your chambers consumed you.

The battle had been fierce, but now that it was over Lord James hurried through the smoke hallways of Winter’s Reach. His heart pounded with worry and fear, his thoughts consumed with finding you. As he neared your quarters, he quickened his steps, dread clawing at his chest.

He noticed something amiss as he approached– the door to your chambers was slightly ajar. Panic surged through his body as he called out your name, pushing the door open. He received no response.

The sight that greeted him froze him in his tracks.

Sat on the floor, in the corner of the room, there you were. Your nightgown was torn, barely covering you. Your hands clasped together, muffled words leaving your lips– eyes distant, lost in a world of your own making.

Lord James’ heart shattered into thousands of icy shards as his eyes swept the room. His gaze locked onto the disheveled bed, its pristine white sheets now marred by a stark, crimson stain. The sight seemed to freeze time around him, every small detail etching itself into his mind with painful clarity. Your room, once your sanctuary, now bore the scares of unspeakable violence.

“Gods, no,” Lord James whispered urgently, rushing to your side. Dropping to his knees beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your trembling shoulder. “It’s me, I’m here. You’re safe now, my love.”

You recoiled in terror as he tried to embrace you, pushing him away with unexpected strength. Your body shook as you cried uncontrollably. Lord James felt his heart breaking at the sigh of your fear.

“No! Get away from me!” you cried, your voice raw with panic. “Don’t touch me!”

The agony in Lord James’ eyes matched yours as he froze. Yet, despite your resistance, he refused to leave you alone in this moment of despair. He tried again, gently, his voice steady and soothing.

“It’s okay, my love. It’s me, it's James,” he repeated softly, moving closer. “I’m here. You’re safe now. I promise.”

Your sobs continued, you struggled to comprehend what had happened as your body trembled. Slowly, cautiously he reached out to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick as tears spilled over his cheeks. “I should have been here to protect you. I swear to you, I will find whoever did this. They will pay for what they’ve done.”

Tears soaked his chest as you clung desperately to him. He held you tighter, murmuring comforting and reassuring words as he rocked you gently. Your resistance softened gradually and you began to lean into his embrace, seeking solace in his arms.

Together, in the silence of your chambers, Lord James vowed to stand by you, protect you, and help you heal.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

127 notes · View notes