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kitkatpadywaks · 2 months ago

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Arcane fic recs

i'm not over Arcane s2.

Key: 🔥Smut - ❤️ Fluff - 💢 Angst - ❤️‍🩹 Hurt/Comfort

Last Updated: 24th January 2025

Multi Fandom fic recs | Bucky Barnes fic recs | Daryl Dixon fic recs

BED CHEM by @yukioos (viktor x reader) ESPRESSO (BED CHEM PT2)

summary: you and mel walk down the hallways of piltover university when suddenly, you encounter two men trying to break into a professor’s laboratory.

🔥virgin!viktor by @pipthepiper (virgin!viktor x experienced!reader)

thinking about cuddling s1 Viktor ♡ by @juststrawberrytea

It's you in the reflection, not him. by @wheatbreadfuckyeah [Viktor x Reader] Graphite Powder Oh, To Capture You In Pages [Viktor X Reader]

🔥Study Date by @honey-pages (Viktor x Reader) 🔥Weaker (Study Date Part 2) ❤️Tea and Biscuits (Study Date Part 3) ❤️Play Fight (Fluff Fics Part 1) ❤️Kiss Me (Fluff Fics Part 2)

summary: Viktor waits for you in the library for an unexpected study date.

Kindling Sparks by @prettybouquets Golden Hour Confessions

🔥academic rivals by @ihopeinevergetsoberr (viktor x fem!reader) 💢🔥i'm in love with a dying man 🔥do you fancy a quickie?

🔥studying birds and bees by @dadsbongos

summary: viktor, alone and glum, is not comforted by the company of a fellow scientist at a hextech exhibition party. not until you mention taking him home, at least.

🔥Take My Hand by @zerun0 (Viktor x Y/N (Female) ❤️Ivy & Iron

❤️💢🔥The Prophecy by @lokidjarin-7567 (Viktor x You)

summary: When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more.

Late Night Studying by @amaranthine-apollo

Asymmetrical Symphony by @sweetflanfiction (Viktor x gn!reader) pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7

summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Across the River by @am-i-interrupting

summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.

🔥❤️‍🩹Viktor x Reader by @bluecookies02 🔥Sub!Viktor x Reader

squeeze you in by @foolinafable (Viktor x reader)

summary: Viktor barely has the time, but he makes it for you

Take A Break by @unoislazy (Viktor x Reader)

summary: Viktor doesn’t want you to be like him. You’re taking a break and you’re gonna like it.

viktor x assistant!reader by @visbacktatto

❤️[4:24 am] what are we? by @aaksuitac

Can you feel anything? by @meownotgood

🔥A 'Quick' Experiment by @supernovalcholism (VIKTOR x GN!READER)

summary: After a long day working in the lab all day, Viktor and you find an anomaly. Another hour in the lab with the man you loved so dearly? Another hour couldn't hurt! Time for science!

Unspoken Rivalry by @supernovalcholism pt2 pt3

Early Morning Whispers by @harbinger-of-enmity (Viktor x GN Reader Drabble(?), brain dump(?)

🔥Keeping Him Company by @grugruel (Viktor x f!reader)

Personal Pigments - Cadmium Yellow Deep Hue by @thefandomsfervent (Viktor x Reader) Burnt Umber (Part 2) Ultramarine Light (Part 3) King's Blue Light (Part 4) Venetian Red (Part 5) Carmine Red (Part 6) Oro Scuro (Part 7) Burnt Sienna (Part 8) Lavender Tinted Gesso (Part 9) Quinacridone Rose (Part 10 - This is now a JayVik (and eventually Mel) x reader fic.)

summary: Heimerdinger forgets to warn the science bros that an artist is coming in to visualize them and Hextech, a collaborative program between a Piltover art school and the academy for some new hall meant to be unveiled at an upcoming progress day. Large paintings can take years to do, with Hextech’s promising growth they are to be started in a preemptive manner.

💢For You, Always by @narnian-neverlander [Viktor x GN!Reader]

summary: You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.” He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

strawberry wine by @fushiguro-megloomy (modern au!viktor x artist!reader) 🔥After the Distance

summary: prompt - “if somebody were to kiss me, i’d want that person to be you”

The Handsome Assistant by @galactic-magick (Viktor x Reader) ❤️A Proper Date (Part 2)

summary: You keep running into the handsome Dean's assistant, whom you find you have a lot in common with. You develop quite the crush, and things get a little messy when your friends find out about him.

🔥💢(feel) whole by @kismetre

summary: ⤷ : in which you make viktor (feel) whole. and hope. and human.

May You Never Forget Me by @inkinflux (Viktor x gn!Reader)

summary: Viktor replays fond memories with his newfound power, though your memory refuses to allow him such peace.

💢❤️🔥Can you do that for me? by @grugruel (ruined!Jayce x f!reader)

summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

🔥i. wildflowers by @zevrra (jayce x reader x viktor) 🔥ii. wildflowers together 🔥iii. wildflowers forever

summary: you and vik get caught “messing around” in the lab by jayce; who surprisingly wants to join in on the fun.

🔥viktor x reader x jayce by @zevrra

summary: fem!reader and jayce help vik “focus” for a speech!

Lab shenanigans by @the-odd-shu (Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!) Hey Hextech, is it gay to cuddle your co-workers? (Part 2)

summary: A thread following the chaotic trio that is, laboratory illustrator!Reader, Viktor and Jayce being unsupervised in the lab.

auspicious (pt. 1) by @alg3a (jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x f!reader) 🔥pt. 2

summary: Viktor and Jayce’s new lab assistant is the hottest topic at a council gala. After defending herself all night, an accidental confession leads to tension in the workplace.

❤️pick me up, lily flower by @vieoeil-riae (steb/gn!reader)

summary: your low blood pressure takes you down most literally, but your lovely boyfriend is medically trained and in love with you

steb/mage!reader hcs by @vieoeil-riae

I see you more, more, and more by @vieoeil-riae (steb/gn!reader)

summary: Steb, the romantic

🔥must be dreamin' by @vieoeil-riae (steb/fem!reader)

summary: despite having a strong sense of duty, steb is still as easily distracted by you as he was years ago

🔥take you down with me by @vieoeil-riae (steb/fem!reader)

summary: Both of you think the other might have died in the battle for Piltover, so you get emotional and fuck in a broom closet when you see each other again. Sounds fair, no?

🔥get clean, get dirty by @vieoeil-riae (steb/fem!reader)

summary: in the crescendo of a flirt, you finally push the right buttons to put steb's fantasies of your wet body under his touch in motion

🔥how good it feels by @vieoeil-riae (steb/gn!reader)

summary: the thought of you is enough to make steb break his own unspoken rules

🔥˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎ Il faut être deux... by @neuvilette-tea-party (Steb x F!reader)

summary: You get home, excited to visit the Montains like you are sure Steb does each year for his leave! But when you discover your lover, you realize you're going to climb something different...

Lovesick by @dulcecita-luzita (Steb/Lovesick Reader)

summary: You are utterly, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with Steb.

Lovesick!Steb by @dulcecita-luzita

summary: Steb is consumed by an overwhelming love!

Softie by @dulcecita-luzita (Steb/Softie Architect Reader)

summary: a cool steady architect turns out to be a hopeless softie.

You get injured. by @choas232 (G/N! Reader x Steb)

summary: What was supposed to be a simple club raid goes horribly, horribly wrong.

❤️(eventual🔥)Le Coeur by @moonstrider9904

summary: The owner of a lovely and coveted coffee shop in Piltover falls in love with the Vastayan enforcer who keeps watch in her shop's surroundings.

💀🔥Ma Meilleure Ennemie by @nyxs2 pt2 pt3 pt4

summary: Silco was at his limit. The last few days had been a whirlwind, made worse by Jinx's eccentricities, which Sevika couldn't control. He was exhausted, his nerves on edge, so, as if it were the most obvious solution, one of his subordinates suggested that he relax… in a brothel. The idea was so offensive that Silco almost killed him right there. But in the end, there he was and unfortunately or fortunately you are the lucky one who will serve him.

🔥Sleeping With The Enemy by @grugruel (Silco x reader)

summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

What's Mine by @ro-written (Femme!Reader x sevika)

#fic rec #arcane #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #jayce talis #jayce x reader #steb arcane #steb x reader #silco #silco x reader #jayvik #jayvik x reader

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chiropteracupola · 10 months ago

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"Sleepers in the Peat," 2022.

two years ago I wrote a short story. finally got around to posting it.

The water was bitter here. Beneath thick layers of branching sphagnum moss, it rose from the earth in drips and drenches, pooling in little reed-ringed ponds and lying smooth as glass. A faint curtain of mist drifted across the bogland, obscuring the far-off tree-line and rendering the world somewhat distant from the clear light of the morning.

It was beside one of these little wells of peaty water that she crouched, clipboard and pencil in hand, the raincoat drawn over her broad shoulders a green only a shade less saturated than the moss. Her name, scribed in graphite across the top of her sheet of notes, was Theo-short-for-Theodora, a fact that she had had to explain nearly every time she introduced herself. She had shaped it better to fit herself, although out in the silence of the marshes, there was very little need for such a thing as a name.

Kneeling now, Theo dipped a gloved hand into the water, pressed the acid-tangy water to her lips. She breathed in, and breathed in bitterness. Fibers of moss crept into her nostrils, taking root in her lungs like branching alveoli. This, then, was the culmination of all her work, all her study, the taste of it at last on her tongue.

The faces of the ancient dead had always fascinated her. Their empty eyes, skin smoothed by ice or desert to touch the contours of the skull, lips drawn back from ground-down teeth. It was not the frozen explorers with their eyes still wide and dove-blue that captivated her, nor the ancient kings with their desiccated, dead-lizard hands, nor yet the strange distorted faces of those preserved beneath honey until even their bones took on a sweetness. Theo, young, had traced the crisply-printed pictures set on slick photo-paper in the centers of her books, memorizing the images of those gone down and buried in the peat. She became something of an expert in names that her schoolmates did not recognize, Tollund and Lindow, Windeby and Old-Croghan. They lay still in black-and-white against their backgrounds of sand, so unlike the living people that walked just beyond her windows, and Theo, in her way, preferred that stillness.

Still, she watched the living move all the same. There was a casual grace to them that fascinated Theo, the way in which hips shifted as the feet fell one in front of the other, how hands settled in close at the waist. She herself stood with her hands apart, her thumbs tucked into the loops of a belt.

Just as other children had run in gleeful circles on the blacktop while she stayed inside, book in hand, they kissed and laughed now in dizzy blue-dawn hours. Theo preferred to sleep instead, lazing curled in bed while the world spun by outdoors. Dressed in pajama trousers with torn-out knees and rolled-up hems, she drew layer after layer of blanket over herself, sinking deeper into the quiet dark. In those solitary nights, though, she sought nonetheless, and dreamed of moss beneath her fingers, of the strange faces of the mire-mummified dead. She would see them sure and true one day, Theo knew, and know the taste of the same tannin that so preserved them.

The North, that was where they were to be found, where ancient peat tracked patchily across Europe and left the dead preserved in its wake. Her grandmother had called that place homeland, and Theo had scoffed behind her hand. What connection had she, really, to that place? Without invitation, she could not walk on that soil with the sort of fierce pride that her grandmother held onto so tightly.

“You’ll see one day, Theodora,” her grandmother said, and nudged back the crooked postcards of green, green hills that had slipped slightly from their places on the refrigerator. The words sat sourly around Theo’s shoulders, and with time, refused to rot away.

They clung, sticky and leaden, and Theo would have liked to scream at the feeling of them. What did her grandmother know, she with her good marriage to her good man, her ticking, soap-sweet house, her fine bed in the back bedroom where she slept as contentedly as a cat? Her grandmother’s hair was short in the fashion of old women, cut so that it hid how pale and thin it had become. Theo’s own hair was just as short, cropped by hand in a dim mirror with a sort of ferocity intended to put the viewer in mind of steel-toed boots and hard-wearing canvas. No use putting them back to back and calling them the same. And so, Theo shut her mouth, dragged her hand down the side of her face as if to tie shut her jaw. For all that she railed against those words, the postcards pinned against the refrigerator door were green, green, green.

Try as she might, Theo never slept well in her grandmother’s house. The air was hot and resolutely mint-sweet, the blankets thin against the heaviness of summer. Time was just as heavy there, a clock always ticking away beside the cabinets in the kitchen, machinery humming uselessly within the walls.

Theo crept from the house and settled in the still-warm chair on her grandmother’s far-too-neat lawn. It had been cut to within an inch of its life just that morning, the first of those two precise twice-a-week rounds of mower and rake and clippers that kept the street-facing yard perfect. All the same, in the warm night, Theo’s skin stuck, sweaty, to the plastic slats of the chair, and the heat of it felt far too alive for her liking. She peeled her arms away from it, drew her knees to her chest, sat folded up in herself like an Andean king of old. Behind her eyes, all was green, the green of hollow hills and deep water.

So she thought on it, and so she laid her plans. She did her work with a tired slowness, her motions static and mechanical even as the tasks, somehow, managed to get done. The grinding stasis of daily life dragged forward, every sample of moss and spreadsheet of data creeping closer to the proper work in the field she sought. And then, all in a maze of mist, there she was in the North of the world, the treads of her boots sinking into wet sedge as the fog drew itself in close around her.

There were other sorts of bogs than the sort that made a face into such a bitter ambrotype as those that so fascinated her. Theo had seen the ones where cranberries were grown before, red as all love in the dark water, crisscrossed with boards to serve as footpaths. This was not such a bog, and made no such deceptions about its helpfulness or its safety. This was peat all the way down, heavy and wet and certain. In another thousand thousands of years, pressure would render that peat down to coal, and in another circling of time, perhaps diamond. All carbon, just as she was, and no light. Cool, static, stable, deep, the water still as it filtered slow and soft through the moss. Not so kind, no, but all the same it might hold her gently in the wide green palm of its hand.

So she knelt down into it, uncaring of the stains it would leave on the knees of her trousers, twined her fingers in among the curls of sphagnum. Pulling it away in fraying chunks, as perhaps the ancestors her grandmother had spoken of had done, Theo dug, watching water rise, grey and changeable as the sky, to fill the opening she had made in the peat. Down below, she knew she would find what she had searched for for so long. And oh — her hand met slick solidity, not peat at all.

The girl in the bog was unchangeable, frozen in amber. She was no body behind museum-glass, lying in state as if to be awoken by a kiss, but sleeping fast in untouchable earth. Her face, leathery and smooth, was unwrinkled despite the years. She could have been born the very same day as Theo, for all that the centuries showed upon her skin. Her hair, falling wispy about her face, had been reddened by hundreds of years of tannins. The sun caught upon it and turned it to the gold of autumn-dried acorns, sharp as straw. There would be grit in her mouth, dust from the rough millstone that had ground down grain, hardly noticeable behind the rich green smell of the bog.

Gloved hands scraped away wet threads of moss, smoothing over skin with as light a touch as Theo could manage. Under her fingers, the girl shifted, drawing up her shoulders as she yawned. Her eyes stayed closed, but all the same, Theo felt that she was seen.

The girl raised herself up languidly on one elbow, water sloughing off in trickles and streams from every seam and crevice of her body. Her ribs stood out in perfect parallel, still wrapped tightly by the skin of her sides.

“Hello,” said Theo, not knowing what else to say. The girl in the bog smiled at her with crooked, blackened teeth, and reached out to her. Her hands were small, round, doll-like, but still soft as burnished leather, the fingernails as neatly trimmed as if she had cut them the day before the peat closed over her.

She stroked the buzzed-short ends of the hair at the back of Theo’s neck as she leant closer, drifts of wet soil sloughing from her skin, and frowned.

“Why did they cut your hair?”

“I cut it myself. I liked it better that way — it felt right to do it before I came here.” Then, pausing, seeing the wind flick at her rust-red, blunt-hacked locks, “Did you—“

“They cut it before they sent me here. But it fits, doesn’t it? It was you that made yourself ready for me.”

“I suppose it was,” said Theo, and meant it. There was a rightness to it, a reason that she had not put words to before.

“Come down with me,” she said, and Theo could not help but follow. Half-laughing, she thought of the promises of the red-haired rusalki she’d read of in her books of tales. To walk down into the sweet water and meet a maiden there, and hear her speak words just as sweet of eternal youth in her kingdom down beneath the riverbed, was an old story, and one that she might find herself believing now. But the water of a peat bog is bitter, as are all things that keep memories safe, and it wasn’t youth, but eternity only, that the girl in the bog had promised her.

To be preserved, young arms entwined with ones that centuries ago were young, was all that she’d receive. But what more had she desired to begin with? The choice had been made long before she had ever set foot there. Theo extended a hand, stripped off its pale blue latex glove like a snake shedding its skin. Placing it atop her clipboard, she set aside the plastic barrier as if laying out an altar’s worth of grave-goods. She shucked the green raincoat and heavy backpack from her shoulders — she’d have another coat of that same verdant color where she was going, once the moss had closed over the both of them. Then, lowering herself feet-first into the open space amid the moss, Theo leaned down and met the girl’s mouth with her own.

The kiss was thick with pollen, and Theo inhaled it without any of the fear she had previously associated with such things. There was a sweetness to it, a choking flavor of juniper and sap as it poured like sand into her throat. Theo wondered, a little, that she could breathe through it, but it was no longer a time for wondering. Instead, her eyes slid softly shut, and the cool, deep darkness was all that remained. It was not the iron-red dark of closed eyes in sunlight, but a bitter and at the same time refreshing green-dark, a soft sort of shadow that spoke of nothing at all but the faintest edges of dreams.

Drawing the peat back over them, the girl curled herself fast around Theo’s back, cradling her in earth as if in the palm of a hand. Twining together beneath the moss, the water crept up over them both one more. As Theo sank, her eyelids slipped closed, and her head drifted downwards all the while. It twisted sideways on Theo’s neck, slipping bonelessly forwards, and down with it she went into dreamless sleep, bog water growing ever sweeter in her mouth.

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #bogstory #there are some things that I would do differently if I was writing this now. however this one is going to be what it is.#look! they are posting an original ghost story on a day Other than halloween! what a rare occurrence!

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day Ten — Voyeurism

❝ — 💜 lady l: day ten of kinktober! I hope you like it, dear!!

❝💜pairing: yandere!taehyung x female!reader.

❝warnings: smut, NSFW, female and male masturbation, voyeurism, bad writing.

❝💜word count: 900.

Within an intimate space, a bedroom reveals a woman's unique personality. Dark tones dominate the room, creating a sophisticated and welcoming atmosphere. The walls are covered in an elegant charcoal gray, which serves as a canvas for a contemporary art collection. A large window, framed by black velvet curtains, lets in a soft filter of city light.

The centerpiece of this retreat is a king-size bed, with a luxurious midnight blue velvet duvet and silver satin pillows. To your right, a minimalist dark wood bedside table holds a lamp with a soft light for evenings reading. On the other side, a wall shelf displays a collection of contemporary literature books and pieces of art.

The floor is covered in a plush, graphite-colored carpet, inviting bare feet. A large full-length mirror, framed by wrought iron, reflects the splendor of the space and adds a feeling of spaciousness. Next to the window, a designer armchair with emerald green velvet upholstery offers a place to contemplate and gaze at the cityscape.

An integrated closet with mirrored doors reveals an arsenal of modern clothes and accessories, meticulously organized. Dimmable recessed lighting creates the perfect atmosphere for any occasion, from relaxing to getting ready for the evening.

In these rooms, dark tones combine with the elegance and personal style of the woman who inhabits it, creating a luxurious and welcoming retreat in the heart of the city of Seoul. This room was her refuge, the only place she felt comfortable and truly relaxed.

And it was her favorite place to relax and do something therapeutic and healthy for herself.

You were sprawled out on her bed, your head resting on your soft pillow, your eyes closed and your hands played with your breasts under the bra you were wearing.

You bit your lip and moved a little on the bed and placed your hands behind your back and unclasped your bra, exposing your breasts.

His fingers squeezed and massaged her sore breasts from spending so much time in a bra. You bit your lower lip and took your fingers to the waistband of your pants and played with the buttons until finally deciding to unbutton them. You lowered your pants and removed them, leaving you in just a pair of red, lacy panties.

When you were down to your underwear, a deep breath came from your closet. Someone, without your knowledge, was watching you and taking great advantage of it.

Taehyung knew what he was doing was wrong.

He knew it was wrong to spy on people, to break into their homes and hide in their closet when they weren't looking.

He knew all this but he didn't care.

Not when he had the privileged view of her practically naked body. You only wore a pair of red panties that he was sure you picked out for him. Such a naughty girl.

You really liked teasing him, didn't you? Always so naughty and desperate to be touched and fucked by him.

He licked his lips. Just a little longer, you just needed to wait a little longer.

His breathing became strained as you slid your index finger over your underwear, towards your slit. You let out a low, sly moan at the contact.

Taehyung couldn't move because otherwise he was sure he would be seen and he didn't want you to know about the love he felt for you like that. Without him noticing, his right hand went to his pants and squeezed the bulge that had formed due to his excitement.

He took a deep breath, biting back a groan when you reached inside your panties and started rubbing your clit. He followed your movements and slipped his hand inside the pants he was wearing, going through his underwear and feeling his cock.

You slid your panties off and got rid of them, finally exposing your beautiful pussy to him. The way he was, Taehyung could see your entire pussy and he salivated, his movements on his cock intensifying when you slipped a finger inside your cunt, moaning softly to yourself. He could clearly see your pussy greedily swallowing your finger and Taehyung regretted that it wasn't his cock being swallowed.

''Oh...'' You moaned as you inserted a second finger into your pussy and your thumb slowly rubbed against your clit. You groped your right breast with your free hand, moaning at the pleasure you felt.

''Fuck!'' Taehyung moaned softly as he touched himself harder, knowing he wouldn't take long to cum. He just hoped you wouldn't be long. The movements of his hand intensified as you fucked yourself with your fingers. You moaned loudly as your pleasure increased and your thumb rubbed your clit hard as your fingers were penetrated into your pussy.

You closed your eyes and fucked yourself harder, feeling incredibly turned on. Your mouth opened and you moaned loudly as you squirted, staining the sheets with your liquid, you continued rubbing yourself for a few more minutes until it became too much.

The moment you came, Taehyung released himself into his own hand, not taking his eyes off your body for even a minute, he moaned your name like a prayer as he came and breathed heavily.

He clenched his fists.

He couldn't wait any longer.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober day 10 #bts #bangtan boys #yandere bts #yandere bangtan boys #taehyung x reader #yandere!taehyung #yandere taehyung #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere!bts #smut #v x reader

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queencharlott · 2 years ago

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To Those We Hold Tight

Also available on ao3!

Summary: With three boys so far, the King and Queen hope for a daughter.

Pairings: Queen Charlotte/King George III, King George III & his daughter, The Princess Royal Charlotte (Charlotte Augusta Matilda Queen of Württemberg)

Characters: Queen Charlotte, King George, George IV of the United KingdomFrederick Duke of York and Albany, William IV of the United Kingdom, Charlotte Augusta Matilda Queen of Württemberg

Words: 3000

Status: Complete!

~~~~~~~~~

September 1766

Charlotte embroiders in the quiet comfort of her husband’s bedchamber. George loves to watch her delicate hands find their way in and out of the fabric, painting with thread. When she is in the room, he finds it difficult to focus on anything.

The light of the fireplace envelops the royal couple in a soft, flickering orange glow. It is there in his room they can strip the formality of their everyday lives, to become George and Charlotte– no other titles necessary. The room is quiet save for the crackle of the fireplace and the soft scratches of graphite on paper. Both steal glances of the other when they are not looking.

Her King sits across from her, legs crossed in the armchair, planning his garden plots. His face betrays nothing but pure concentration. He will meet up with the gardeners at Kew to discuss his ideas, but for now he is lost in thought.

“I hope you do not think me terrible for saying I wish this one a girl,” says Charlotte, stopping mid-needlework to look at her husband sheepishly. From underneath her nightgown, there is no hiding how big she is. Charlotte feels she is nearly about to burst.

George looks up from his work and sets his paper down on the table beside him. He moves to take his place beside his wife on the settee, having been reminded how long it has been since he had last kissed her.

“No,” he says honestly. “I do not.”

“In fact, I say I feel similarly,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. He kisses her lips first, before gently making his way down to her neck. The tension she was holding in her shoulders melts away and she is swept away by his touch. Each stroke, kiss, caress, and touch is a word in a language only they know. He writes love letters on her skin.

The baby stirs. She places his hand on her stomach, inviting him to feel. She is used to this strange sensation, the feeling of life within her, and thinks back to her original comment. The coin has been flipped. Whichever he or she shall be, they do not know yet. Of course she will love any of George’s children, but that does not make her desire for a daughter abate.

The pair love their sons dearly, but three rambunctious toddlers have left them both longing for something different. Their situation is unusual: many might wish only for sons and nothing less. They had secured the heir, a spare, and a spare for the spare in due course. Perhaps they believe a girl will be easier to raise. Or perhaps they know, as do most of the aristocracy, a girl is often easier to control.

—

When the Princess Royal Charlotte is born, her exhausted parents breathe a sigh of relief.

The King and Queen present their daughter to their sons. The eldest, Georgie, is not yet four, the youngest, William, just barely over a year. They gaze upon her, a baby with jet black hair wrapped in their mother’s arms, unsure of what to do with the thing.

When the boys are sent to bed, George takes the bundle from his wife and cradles her in his arms. Each child different than the next in his arms, each one undoubtedly eliciting pride and joy as he gazes down at what they’ve created. The Queen beams at them both, exhausted, before slipping into a deep sleep. George leaves with the baby, attendants shutting the door quietly behind him, and the infant Charlotte is nothing but epitome of perfection. She snoozes peacefully, blissfully unaware of her new life on this earth or her place in the palace.

June 1772

A man in a nearly see-through linen shirt left little to the imagination, especially when that man was her husband.

King George is Farmer George today, dressed in a common man’s breeches and shirt, strutting about the gardens with a fierce sense of purpose. It is those days he feels most himself, most connected to the earth and to his place in it. He is a humble speck in the universe. Not a king, not chosen, simply George. He tends to his gardens like an Everyman.

The Farmer King is freshly thirty-two. For all the pomp and grandeur that accompanied a royal’s birthday, he did not feel much comforted by the passage of time. The Americas were becoming more and more a disfiguring pockmark on his reign, a question without an answer. Whatever he chose to do or not do felt like entirely the wrong answer. He was a silly king who had never been taught how to properly come into his role. To fail on all fronts seemed to have been prophesied, and who was George to trifle with God about such matters. The only thing he could venture to do to retain what was left of his sanity was to shut the world out, to occupy fully the role of father and of scientist.

Often, Charlotte would make her way into the garden too (save if it was too hot or she too pregnant), Reynolds always by her side, holding a parasol as she watched her husband diligently. She could remember that moment years ago when she had watched him from the window, unable to comprehend why a man like him wanted to farm.

Even on the long summer days when the sun shines brightly in the sky and when the heat of the eager sun threatens to bring her inside, still she watches. There are times when he is so enraptured with his work even her presence can not break his concentration. Charlotte likes those moments most, when she can peer into his mind as a gentle observer, watching as he enjoys the peace and prosperity he deserves in every second of his life. When the fantasy is gone and when royal duties demand attention, Farmer George transforms before her eyes into King George. She loves them both fiercely, but most of all the man underneath both costumes, the Just George who plays both roles.

Their boys burst from the french doors like cannons, chasing each other with wooden swords. They’re dressed in a variation of George’s farming outfit, with loose linen shirts and breeches, an innovation of their father in the aftermath of some very expensive fabrics being torn and muddied beyond recognition. If he was to have a common man’s outfit, so too should his sons.

Today, Charlotte is not overly pregnant and the weather is agreeable. As to the first point, she is not quite sure if she is with child, though her courses have come late and eight times of prior experience leaves little doubt. Perhaps she will tell George tonight, or save it for another evening when he needs cheering up. It would be such a disappointment to bring both their hopes up only to have a doctor shoot their dreams down.

She watches from a bench in quiet consideration, book in hand, her young boys growing taller and taller by the day, soon to be young men. Georgie is eleven now, three inches taller than his younger brother Frederick and unafraid to let him know it. William is not nearly seven yet, but tags behind his brothers anyways, hoping that their duo could one day be a trio. She is too far away to hear what her husband says to their children, but she knows George delights in his children’s presence.

George looks up when the boys come bounding outside. Sometimes he was apt to chase them, to excite their energies even further (and hopefully, when it came time for bed, to make the experience easier after a long day playing in the sun). William comes running at his father full tilt, and George obliges by crouching down to pick the young boy up. Soon he has a posse of his sons encircling him, all catching their breath.

“Georgie, play nice,” George says to his eldest son. “You too, Frederick.” He gives them a not-quite-pointed glance, before grinning.

“And you,” he says to the child in his arms, “You go show them who's boss.”

William beams at his father and nods, before being set back down. The trio bolts, only one heeding their father’s advice, to play in a fantasy world of their own making. Perhaps they’ll imagine themselves as princes in their new world, or perhaps, like their father, they will go where royal expectations cannot touch them.

With great delight George realizes his eldest daughter has come to pay him a visit. The five-year-old is adorably dressed in a white cotton frock with a pale blue sash, running with delight towards her father before he picks her up and throws her into the air. She shrieks in delight as he catches her and he cannot help but laugh.

It was difficult not to play favorites when it came to the younger Charlotte. The Princess Royal was, thankfully, a spitting image of her mother, with bright brown eyes and a head of tender black curls. Out of all eight children the royal couple had produced, none other than Charlotte had the most fitting name.

“What did you learn today?” asks George, tucking a stubborn tendril back behind her ear. It was a customary question, one which the five-year-old Princess was eager to answer.

“Letters,” she said proudly. George grins.

“Letters?” he asks animatedly, as though each word she said to him was the most interesting thing in the world. Which it is.

Charlotte nods. “All of them.”

“All of them?!”

The girl laughs and nods again, trying to convey to her clearly daft papa that they did indeed work on letters today.

“Well,” George says, “then you will soon be reading like your mama. Do you see her?”

George turns around, the Princess Charlotte on his hip, and waves at his wife from afar. Their daughter joins in, and the Queen acquiesces, giving a hearty wave back. She is glad of the vignette of her Farmer George and their children. She will covet the memory closely to her heart, escaping to the good memories when the world seemed to crash down upon them both.

Queen Charlotte retreats to the palace where her mind is preoccupied with royal duties, from arranging invitations, scheduling visits, replying to various correspondence, and a whole barrage of other things that seem silly to waste one’s precious 24 hours in this life on. She often felt at odds with the world, distant from her children when the royal duties beckoned her back to the inescapable title of Queen. She was either Queen Charlotte or she was Mama, never truly both at the same time. George could somehow be everything all at once.

George sets his daughter down on the pathway, taking the hand that’s nearly a quarter the size of his own in his, leading her towards the Orangery.

“Do you like your tutors?” he asks. Perhaps it was unusual for a King royal to bring so much care and attention to the education of his children, but George had been determined to break and bend the traditions of his Hanoverian past. The Hanovers had a long history of cheating on their wives and hating their sons. Only his father had broken the tradition of the latter, but he had left this world by the time George was thirteen. The first true born and bred English King was not going to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors.

“Oh yes,” says his little girl with gusto. “I have fun.” She thinks a minute before adding, “Sometimes.”

“And français?”

She nods. He raises his eyebrows at her.

“Oui,” she giggles, catching on.

“Très bien,” he says, nodding approvingly. “And Deutsch? ”

“Ja!” answers the little voice. “Mama helped.”

“Oh?” Queen Charlotte was apt to guide her children’s education. George is unsurprised to hear it, and rather quite proud. If there was anything that her children were going to learn, it was her mother tongue. He is glad to hear it.

Charlotte stops mid-walk to give him the eyes of a beggar. It was a cheap trick and they both knew it, but the King was eager to oblige. Perhaps a stronger willed father would not humor her, telling his daughter that she was five years old and could walk perfectly well with her big girl legs. But he cannot. He will let his children be children for as long as they want. He had not been afforded that simple luxury himself.

He picks up the delighted child once more and his heart melts as she nuzzles herself into his shoulder. He can forget the world at this moment. The bickering in Parliament, the disquiet in the Americas, the ever-present mental illness that loomed over his every action. He isn’t a Farmer, he isn’t a King, he isn’t sick. He is a father. Her father.

They reach the Orangery, a stunning white brick and stucco building that bears the arms of George’s mother and father. Seven large, arresting arched windows frame the front of the building. From afar he can see the red-brick facade of the palace, sitting in stark contrast to the bright white of the Orangery. He wonders if that’s where his Queen has retreated.

Attendants open the stately doors to let the pair inside. He almost objects, but he is for once glad of the chance to keep both his hands free to keep his daughter tight to him. The Princess gasps in delight at the wide array of plump citrus in front of her. George lets her pick out her favorite one, which she pulls off of the great tree in front of her.

He smiles to himself, knowing that her mother had once done the same. Such a small act of defiance and autonomy, but she had done it nonetheless.

The ceiling in there is high, the branches and leaves stretching to the very top. The citrus trees eagerly soak up sunshine from the grand windows. It is an explosion of greenery with spots of orange and the two royals are delighted.

“Your grandmother had this built, did you know?” says George, melancholy lining the edges of his voice. Charlotte shakes her head, the memories of her grandmother more of a mist, soon to be forgotten in time.

The Princess Dowager Augusta had died that year, not four months prior. She and her son had a deeply complicated relationship, where often duty was confused with love or something similar to the feeling, but now that she was gone there seemed to be few he could rely on. Maybe her sharp edges might have been dulled if his father had remained alive, if he had taken on the mantle of king instead of George himself. He can (and has) spent days mulling over the what ifs, though its effect on reality was negligible. There is only the here and now.

“Grab one for your mama,” he whispers. Charlotte obeys dutifully, grabbing another off the branch and handing it to George. He tucks it away safely in his pocket.

As they exit, the young princes nearly come crashing into them. Seems he was right about wanting a daughter , he thinks with sardonic amusement.

They look at their father, wide-eyed, unsure what he’s going to say next. George is not in the mood to be mad, and the look on their faces is apology enough.

“Oh go on,” he says, and ushers them away. “Go grab an orange and go back to the palace. Afternoon lessons will be starting soon, will they not?”

“Yes, sir,” says Georgie quickly.

The band of brothers release a breath of air, tucking their swords away and bounding into the Orangery. George and Charlotte take their leave, but are outpaced by her brothers within fifteen paces. There was nowhere the young princes would not go without sprinting.

When they return to the palace, clothes will be changed and roles will be carefully put back on. Royal titles and duties will resume. There will be people to meet, places to go, decisions to make.

When George returns he is dressed in a fine silken navy blue waistcoat and matching breeches. Gold embroidered flowers paint the edges of his jacket, a showy reminder that he is no longer a common man and never was. George finds his wife at a desk, scribbling away. Her robe à la français , the navy blue gown which she’d been wearing all day, now seemed to be part of a matching set.

Charlotte turns around at the sound of his footsteps. She knows him. Even when he is down the hallway or outside, she knows the pace and weight of his feet on the ground.

“I have a surprise for you,” says George in the doorway. From behind his legs, Charlotte can see the outline of her daughter. The Queen grins. George steps aside and the Princess Royal runs to her mother, brandishing her orange. There he is again: the man who is her husband, her King, and the father of her children, all at once.

“For me?” she says with delight as the little girl nods heartily. “It is lovely, thank you.”

“She picked it herself,” says George. “Just like her mother.” Charlotte stares into her husband’s eyes and she cannot imagine a more perfect man.

The Princess runs out the room to her governess, who takes the young child away and back to her lessons.

“I have a surprise for you as well,” says Charlotte, turning over the fresh fruit in her palms. She does not need to say any more, for they have done this song and dance eight times. Each time, though, he finds himself forever surprised.

“Oh my darling,” says George, inviting her to stand up from her chair. His hands find her hips and his lips find hers.

“You are the brightest star on this earth.”

#queen charlotte fanfiction #queen charlotte #king george bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #charlotte x george #charlottegeorge

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tameblog · 19 days ago

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“If you happen to be on the lookout for your favorite ‘coastal grandma’ button-down linen top in the quilt form, Brooklinen’s Linen Quilt in White Diamond is for you. As someone who is very sensitive to certain fabric textures, I found this 100% linen quilt to be softer to the touch than most linen products I’ve come across. One of my biggest pet peeves is falling asleep feeling warm, especially in the summer months, and I was hesitant to use this product, thinking it might be on the heavier side. To my surprise, the quilt was very lightweight, super cooling, and breathable. And the high-quality elements don’t end there. The stitching showed no signs of pulling on the threads, which is always a green flag. Since the crisp white color of this simple yet stylish quilt is very neutral, I can definitely imagine it being versatile when fitting into a specific decor aesthetic. From a French country farmhouse to a prewar city apartment, this quilt is bound to look good in any space.”Schoolhouse Channeled Cotton QuiltAccordionItemContainerButtonSizes: Twin, Full/Queen, KingColors: Alder, channeled blue, channeled ochre, channeled greyTester: Mel Studach, AD PRO senior editor“There’s something about a channeled quilt that brings to mind swinging open the linen closet door come fall and picking through the stacks of collected blankets for one more layer. Despite the style’s longevity, it still feels incredibly classic to this day. There’s just one difference with Schoolhouse’s iteration: It’s far too pretty—with its wide channeling and subtly ruched texture—to ever want to hide it away in the closet. Luckily, it’s light enough to cover the bed year-round and reversible, should you want to flip the pigment-rich side for a quieter heather-gray option as seasons change. Made of 100% cotton, the layer is nicely breathable (great news for those who sleep at a warm body temperature but still desire a quilted topper) and machine washable. Both sides are also wonderfully soft—so much so that it could double as a cozy layer on the sofa for movie nights.”West Elm European Flax Linen Box Stitch QuiltAccordionItemContainerButtonSizes: Twin, Full/Queen, KingColors: White, natural flax, frost gray, slate melange, graphite, dark olive, cedar, celadon, silver mist melange, ocean, midnight, lilac melange, adobe rose, shell pink, terra-cotta melange, amber, dijonTester: Megan Wahn, former associate commerce editor“After a lifetime of duvets and comforters, West Elm’s European Flax Linen Box Stitch Quilt converted me into a quilt purist. Needless to say, I haven’t looked back since. I bought this when I moved to New York about a year ago and, like your favorite pair of jeans, it’s only gotten more comfortable in that well-loved kind of way. It’s the optimal softness and weight for all seasons—warm enough when paired with a throw blanket during the winter, but also light enough to keep me pleasantly cool in the summer—that I’ve never had to dedicate any space or time to the arduous bedding-change process whenever the weather turns. Though it’s shown very little wear over the last year, it does seem to have a few small pulls in the fabric (although, in my opinion, it kind of adds to the overall “lived-in” feel and look of the quilt). The quilt comes in a few earth-toned color options, and you can also purchase a bedding set that comes with matching shams. To me, this quilt isn’t just some big glorified blanket—it’s the safe haven I look forward to hugging around me at the end of every night, 365 days of the year.”Jungalow Kahelo Quilt SetAccordionItemContainerButtonSizes: Full/Queen, King Colors: CoralTester: Lizzie Soufleris, visuals editorLizzie Soufleris“After seeing her incredible cover story come together, it came as no surprise that interior designer Justina Blakeney knocked it out of the park with this quilt from her brand, Jungalow. It’s light, breathable and, of course, looks adorable in my plant-filled bedroom. The faded dusty-salmon hue is the optimal neutral-without-being-boring solid color and paired up perfectly with one of my favorite sage green linen sheet sets. Inspired by tiles from all over the world, the gauzy fabric is laced with intricate stitching. Upon closer inspection, I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the details, especially for such an affordable price. As a die-hard duvet user (and clumsy bedside coffee drinker), I must admit that I was a little concerned about cleaning a quilt. But my trepidation turned out to be unnecessary because this one is machine washable, and you can even throw it in the dryer.”Dusen Dusen Check BeddingAccordionItemContainerButtonSizes: Twin, Queen, KingColors: Blue, beige checkTester: Audrey Lee, commerce editorAudrey Lee“I would gladly have Ellen Van Dusen design my entire world—so it should come as no surprise that Dusen Dusen’s green check coverlet takes a top spot among my favorite bedding I’ve tried (and trust me, I’ve tried a lot!). Since this coverlet set makes a statement on its own, I’ve been outfitting it with some simple and elegant linen sheets (though the brand has plenty of patterned sets that would also match beautifully). The coverlet has a lightweight design and an airy quality that’s been perfect for spring-to-summer weather, but it’s also super cozy on chillier nights when paired with a nice fuzzy throw (like this one from Kassatex). As for the textile pattern, I’ve never been more eager for bedtime. The cream-and-sea-foam palette provides just the right pop of color, while the checkerboard itself feels like a chic update on a classic motif (not to mention the delightful matching shams really tie the whole look together). The cotton material was already supremely soft straight out of the bag, but since tossing it into the laundry for a wash (just make sure you follow the care instructions!), it’s even softer and gauzier than before, making me excited to sleep with this bedding for years to come.”AccordionItemContainerButtonSizes: Full/Queen, King/California KingColors: White, oatTester: Rachel Fletcher, commerce director“It’s been smooth sailing with this quilt since day one. I washed it straight out of the box and felt it soften immediately. I had intended to layer it over my duvet but have ended up favoring the quilt on its own. Its softness and breathability from the hemp fibers are really pleasant, and I still feel sufficiently bundled up. This quilt has a neat box-quilted pattern that feels visually interesting and almost veers into checkerboard territory. It’s available in white or oat (I chose the latter, which feels sophisticated and not too flashy if your bedroom leans more minimal, as mine does). It’s also a pretty thin layer, which I appreciate, and doesn’t feel overly heavy or suffocating. If you’re looking for a visually striking quilt, there are definitely bolder options on this list, but this is perfect for a serene setup. Looks and functionality aside, I love that hemp linen specifically has outstanding sustainability cred. I think it’s a great choice for anyone looking to upgrade their bedding without sacrificing the planet.”Other Quilts and Coverlets We Recommend:Brooklinen Organic Cotton Quilt SetAccordionItemContainerButtonSizes: Full/Queen, King/Cali KingColors: Vanilla or blue marinaTester: Melissa Studach, senior AD Pro editor Source link

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ramestoryworld · 19 days ago

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zillifurniture · 1 year ago

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tejuskumar13 · 8 months ago

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sumuraj · 1 year ago

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alexha2210 · 19 days ago

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