#king george fanfic

[crazyk-imagine]

Married Off to a Beast?! (Or Troll)

Pairing: King George x Fem!reader Characters: Charlotte, Fem!reader, King George, Adolphus (briefly mentioned) Warnings: A memoriable scene, fluff, Charlotte doesn’t approve of running away, George is a simp, Reader and George are enamored with each other, Charlotte is a hypocrite, George regrets nothing, reader knows she can’t resist him now, reader showing skin O:O Word Count: 1,356

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walk back and forth in front of the wall. You take a deep breath and step closer. "Charlotte help me." 

"No," she shakes her head, wanting little to no part in your escape. 

You spin around to look at her, your body visible for anyone to see if they walk down this path to the garden. "Your brother married me off without my consent, you will help me." 

She huffs, scratching the side of her head. Out of the two of them (her and her brother), she's always had a harder time saying no to you. 

"Fine." 

George watches as you call for her assistance and decides to walk further down. Neither of noticed him, not until he cleared his throat. “Hello, My Lady.” 

You glance over your shoulder to find a charming man standing a few feet away. 

He turns to your cousin. “My Lady.” 

Her eye twitches, you know it did; you didn’t have to look at her to know. “Are you in need of assistance of some kind?” 

“Uh, I am quite fine, thank you.” You return to your mission. “You can go back inside and wait with all the other gawkers.” 

Charlotte whispers your name. She understands your feelings about the situation but there is a better way to address someone. 

"I… will. What are you doing?" 

You huff, “nothing.” 

“You’re doing something.” 

You internally groan, not wanting to berate some man for something he had no control over. “I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are!” 

You jump down from your place and spin around to face him. "If you must know, I am being shipped off into a marriage I did not give my consent to and one I had no prior knowledge of, therefore I am leaving before it can happen." 

"Oh," his brows shot up in surprise. 

“Yes, so I am currently trying to find the best way to climb over this damned garden wall so that I may live my life the way I choose to.” 

He mutters a few things, trying to understand this new information he’s been given. “Whatever for?” 

"For the love of-" She mutters, hearing the wheels turning in your head. 

"I believe he may be a beast.” 

"He isn't," she assures you. 

"How do you know? I mean, do you know what he looks like?" 

She rolls her eyes, knowing you’ve been on edge since... well, since you were informed of your future role. 

“You think he is a beast?” 

“Or a troll.” 

“Uh, who are we discussing.” 

You furrow your brows, “no one who concerns you.” You study the wall, sighing to yourself. “The King. Only because no one will speak of him. No one. So, he can only be a beast or a troll if that’s the case.” 

“Understood.” 

Charlotte shakes her head, lowering it so George doesn’t see the disappointment on her face. 

“If I grab there,” you point to an ideal spot. “You can assist me by lifting me up.” 

“One question. You do not like beasts or trolls? What he looks like matters?” 

You shrug, “I do not care what he looks like. I care about my sanity… and the not knowing. That, that is what I do not like. I do not like the not knowing. Now come here and help me.” You gesture for him to come closer. “She will not help me. You grab here,” you hold your waist, “and lift me.” 

“You want me to lift you over the wall so you may escape?” 

“That is what I said, is it not.” 

You shake your head, mumbling to yourself, “it’s as if he isn’t listening.” 

“Won’t people notice you are missing?” 

“Her brother will make her take my place, I’m sure.” 

“What?” Charlotte nearly screeches. 

“I have little care to worry about that. Now, if you please. I just need a little assistance from a more cooperative audience. Make haste.” 

“I have absolutely no intention of helping you.” 

You’re baffled. You step off the wall and march towards him. “Do you not see I am a lady in distress. You refuse to help me? Again, a lady in distress.” 

“I refuse when that lady in distress is trying to go over a wall so that she does not have to marry someone I think you'll find rather appealing." 

You furrow your brows, "and why's that?" 

"Because I am... his majesty." 

You take a step back, realizing the many errors you’ve made leading up to now. 

“Hello,” he says your name. 

"Oh, no," your cousin mutters. She takes a step closer, pulling you towards her. "Be quiet and bow." 

You start to apologize. “I am deeply s…” 

And then your training (from when you were a young girl) kicks in and you bow, "My King." 

"No, no. Just George." 

"Your majesty." 

"Not your majesty, George." 

"Your-" 

Your cousin rolls her eyes and sneaks away (not wanting to listen to you two anymore). She’s off to find her brother. Not to mention the fact that she needs to hide from her betrothed as well… which explains why she willingly followed you.

"George." 

"You-" 

"George." 

"Y-" 

"George." 

"Your-" 

"I mean, yes your majesty to you, just George… For you, I will be your George, I like that," he smiles. 

“I- I need you to accept my apology. You see, if I had known-” 

“You would have what? Not told me you were trying to escape?” 

“Yes- wait no, I mean…” You huff, “I do apologize your majesty.” 

“George… Your George. The “King” situation towers over us and I was hoping as my wife, I could be just George to you. I mean, that was of course, before I found out that you do not want to be married to me.” 

You furrow your brows, “I did not say that.” 

“You did.” 

“No.” 

“Many times, in fact.” 

You purse your lips in anger, knowing he’s right. “I do not know you.” 

He raises his arms, “I do not know you either… other than finding out… how terrible you are at climbing a wall.” 

You scoff, “you try climbing in this,” you wave to your outfit and lift the skirts of your dress, showing him your ankles. “These garments and shoes. They’re terrible, but if I don’t want to hurt myself, I must.” 

His constant stare worries you. 

“What?” 

“I- No one told me you’d be this beautiful. Perhaps, you’re too beautiful to marry me. People will talk… given I’m a troll.” 

“I believe I said beast.” 

He chuckles. 

Your face twists as if you’re in pain but only thinking of your future marriage. “Your majesty.” 

“George.” 

“George. I- I still do not know you.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything.” 

“Ev- fine.” He gives you information to help ease you into knowing more about him and potentially help your future marriage. 

“It sounds like you’re bragging.” 

He chuckles, “another to know about me is that… I am- well, nervous about marrying a girl I’m only just meeting minutes before our wedding. Only, I cannot show it and climb over a wall because I am the king of Britian and Ireland and that would, cause a scandal. But I promise you, I am neither a troll, nor a beast. Just your George.” 

The corners of your lips twitch. 

Charlotte’s voice interrupts you two. “My brother is on his way, so we must leave now.” 

“I-” 

“I have one question.” 

“Yes?” 

“Have you decided whether you wish to marry me? Or would you prefer to go over the wall?” 

You gulp. 

“As much as I would love to hear your answer, I have to go because I believe there are some anxious guards who think I’ve been kidnapped.” He grabs your hand and whispers your name as he places a kiss upon it. “I hope to see you in there.” 

You watch as he walks away. “Have you decided? Because there will be a scandal one way or another.�� 

“I-” you take a deep breath. “Come with me, you impatient brat.” 

“I am not a brat.” 

“You are.” 

“Am not.”

#Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #queen charlotte #queen charlotte fanfiction #queen charlotte fanfic #king george bridgerton #king george #king george x reader #king george fanfic #king george fanfiction #king george x you #king george fic #king george bridgerton fanfic #king george bridgerton fanfiction #king george bridgerton fic #king george bridgerton x reader #king george bridgerton x you #crazyk-imagine

[bellarkeselection]

The Venus Muse

Princess Y/n has no desire to be just some man's wife. She wishes to explore the world and all the way up to the stars. And she may get her once in a lifetime chance when her mother, Queen Charlotte invites the Bridgerton family to the castle. The artistic Bridgerton son might possibly sweep the princess off her feet.

1 - Welcoming the Bridgerton’s

2 -

???

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list - just ask to be added @abq654 @your-musicguru @imgondeletedis @eruannaaa-blog @cherrylovers-world @benedictbridgertonss @callmedarlingsstuff @carrotcaratsworld @sillynilly27 @emmampl-blog2 @bright-molina @erynel1zasworld @ynbutbetter @stranger-chan @blckbarbiedoll @sanaar3006 @urmoom12345 @ritz-hell-hotel @ritz-hell-hotel

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x princess reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #queen charlotte bridgerton #king george bridgerton #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton x female reader #royalty #buckingham palace #benedict bridgerton series #benedict bridgerton x y/n #secret relationship #lady whistledown #penelope featherington

[maelialuv]

A Farmer's Friend. a Bridgerton fanfic <3

part one: A Chance Encounter

Summary: division brings unity. secrecy creates infatuation. a king's venture into the real world reveals desire.

Warnings: slow burn! strangers to friends to lovers! (Charlotte does not exist) smut! cold showers are on me.

Wordcount: 3.4K

The country side , to you, was heaven on earth. The far roaming hills, the deep valleys. The wide expanse of nothing but lush green fields. There was truly nothing more beautiful.

Your father's farm, to you, was the most beautiful of all. Located at the farthest edge of the county, miles and miles away from the city of London, it was a haven of tall grass, fruitful crops and rich orchards. That is where you spent most of your time, perched between the trunk and wide branches of a tall apple tree in the deepest part of your family's gardens. Far away from the bustling farm house, the uproar of live stock and the erratic, but loving, nature of your home.

From the moment the sun rose over the hills and danced across your face in the morning, to the moment it tucked itself into the valley at night, you were out in the fields. Tucked away indoors, you found yourself claustrophobic. Cased in, stir crazy and a tad hysterical. From a young age, your parents had to heard you inside at the end of a day much like the sheep dogs would heard the lambs back into their pens. It was no different, even as you approached adulthood.

You had your back to the trunk of a tree, a book clutched in one hand and an apple - freshly plucked from the branch above you- in the other, when you caught sight of one of the stable boys chasing after your father in the field ahead of you.

A man of great strength and pride, your father took his work in the fields very seriously. Even after the death of his own father, he was back shearing sheep after just two days. This is why it confused you ever so much , brows furrowed in a frown, to see your father drop his shears at once in front of the stable boy and clutch his chest. The pair raced down the field, sprinting in the direction of the house with the dogs trailing behind them in a flurry of brown and grey and white.

You took a pensive bite of the apple, crunching deliberately. 'Whatever is the matter?' you thought. 'What is the meaning of such fuss?' You tried desperately to get back to your book, the words of the author falling on distracted thoughts as your mind pondered such a reaction from your father. You snapped your book shut with a huff, annoyed and now positively rabid with curiosity.

John, an Orcher in his late fifties, was plucking apples from a tree just next to yours. You peered your head over to him. "John," you called, "have you any reason for father's fuss with the stable boy?"

John's face paled, almost frightfully white, at your question. He took his cap off with the type of remorse one shows with deep apology. "I'm terribly sorry, madam. I thought all the children were aware." You quirked a brow at his words, irritated that the farms people still saw you as one of the children despite being the eldest daughter in the house. His voice was gruff and gravely, years of shouting at yardsmen wearing on his vocal chords. "There is to be a royal visit, madam. Today."

Your eyebrows shot up so fast , you wondered for a moment if they were still on your face. "A royal visit? Here?" The Dowager Princess had not been out in the country since the passing of the late King. Your brows furrowed in deep confusion. "Whatever for?"

John shrugged his shoulders earnestly.

"Lord knows but I, madam. Some sort of review of the farmland, but that's between the King and his advisors."

"The King?" you squawked. You hiked your skirt up, throwing your legs over the branch and jumping down. You stalked to the bottom of the ladder John was standing on. "The King is coming here?"

In all your eighteen years, you'd only ever seen one monarch. Even so, it was a painting of His late Majesty. All you knew of the current King was that he made no visits to the towns, nor galas or balls. He had been labelled somewhat a recluse of a man. You wondered how that could be healthy for such an old person. At least, you assumed he was old. The previous king had died aged seventy and two, so this king must have been creeping into his late fifties now.

"Yes, madam." John said. "Your father has been called now, to prepare. He is due to arrive soon."

Your feet sprang into action, galloping down the aisle of the orchard at lightening speed as you raced toward the direction of the house. You never cared for pompous displays, or the royal family as a whole, very much at all. But today was different. The king himself was visiting your home. Your fields, your valleys and your hills. You felt oddly protective. As if this inspection was to be one with an insulting conclusion. You reassured yourself that they would see the beauty in your home. In the sway of the grassy hills in the wind.

Knowing your mother would not let you close enough to see even the Royal carriage make its way through the wooden gates of your home, you rounded the corner of the brown farm house and clambered your way up the large oak tree in the middle of the drive way. From high above in the branches, you would not be seen by your mother - as she so preferred. She yearned for a daughter more like the ones her sisters had. Lady like and proper and ones that smile at every pleasing farmer their mothers set them up with.

Your mother was disappointed in the lack of girlishness in you. She was displeased in your fascination with reading, and your taking to the outdoors. She was put off by the closeness between you and your father, finding it strange that the two of you could be friends as well as father and daughter. She found your desire to spend all day outdoors odd, and you found her desire to marry a farmer whilst hating farms to be odd in return.

You gripped on to the tallest branches, peering through leaves in the hopes of seeing the gleams of gold as the carriage approached. You saw your father and the farmer boys line up in front of the door below, and your mother and younger brothers waited just behind them. In the distance, you heard a low thrumming sound. It got louder, and seemingly closer, as more seconds ticked by. You realised, as you heard the clop clop clop noise, that it was the sound of horses' hooves on the dirt tracks as the carriage came into view.

The carriage halted in front of your door, and your father outstretched his hand to an older gentlemen in a plush blue suit. Though your fathers clothes- an old grey shirt and black trousers- were not as elegant, he looked just as regal as he shook hands with the stranger, who you assumed to be the King. He had greying hair, curled into ringlets by his side. There were several other men beside him, ranging from young to old to very old.

You craned your neck to hear their voices, a chorus of low hums and stiff lipped compliments from the old man you saw to be the king. Several minutes ticked by, boredom creeping in as you swung your legs back and forth over the branch, before the group of men finally split to tour the farm land with your father. You rejoiced, a grumble in your belly making any words they said inconsequential. You began your decent from the tree.

With scraped palms and knees, you made it to the ground with a thud. A successful spying , you thought as you wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress. Your monologing was interrupted by the stifled chuckle of a man behind you. You whipped round, narrowing your eyes at the man. Dressed in a simple white shirt and the same black field trousers as your father, he looked to be a fielder himself.

"Hello," he said, voice even and light. He stood with his hands behind his back, polite and effortlessly straight. He was young, younger than the rest of the group you assumed he had been standing with. He must have been no more than three years older than you, as his cheeks still had the faintest roundness to them.

"What are you doing?" he asked when you did not say anything.

You knew your eyes were wide, those of someone caught. There was no use in lying , nor excusing. This man had watched you climb down the tree, from where you had spied. You outstretched your hands, as if stating the obvious. "I was climbing down. From the tree."

"From the tree?"

"Yes, from the tree."

"From that tree?" the man asked, voice teasing and smile irritating as he pointed to the tall oak you had previously been perched in.

"Yes, that tree."

"Whatever for?" He placed his hands behind his back once more, slowly pacing around you in a circle.

"I was hungry, you see." You deadpanned.

"Ah," he affirmed, "and you did not bring food when you climbed up the tree." He was enjoying teasing you, as the smirk on his face grew larger at your squirming. "Or simply not enough."

"Well," you trailed off, waiting for the man to introduce himself to you.

"Forgive me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I am George."

"Well George," you continued. "Usually the trees I climb have some sort of fruit or such for me to eat while I climb, or lounge, or read. This is not my typical tree to climb." You explained.

"And I suppose you have a typical tree?" His face was oddly gleeful, as if this conversation with you - a stranger- was the best part of his day. His smile was wide, showing teeth.

"Yes, I do."

"Which is?" He asked, stepping closer toward you. His smirk was a teasing grin now.

"The apple tree," you stated, that protectiveness creeping back into your tone. "at the farthest end of the orchard."

"Now," he said, voice lilted with mock impress, "I must see this tree, that you so fondly and regularly climb." His voice was a stage whisper.

"Alas, I cannot." You teased back, some what enjoying the banter yourself. "I do not simply show my tree to strangers."

"Ah, but I am not a stranger," he said, closer again now. "I am just George." He stuck his hand out again, waiting for you to shake it. Hesitantly, you did. "I would be honoured to see your tree."

"Do you not have business to attend to?" You asked, gesturing in the direction the other men and the Royal herd had walked in. George shook his head, waving off your remark.

"They are fine themselves. They have no use for my agreements here and questions there." He said. "And even so, if I were to re-join them now," he took another small step closer to you, eyes searching in the distance, "my mind would think of nothing but this apple tree at the farthest end of the orchard."

You smiled at the man as he looked down at you, and felt the strangest urge to lead him by the hand to your sacred reading spot. Something about George made you trust him, utterly and completely, as if you'd known him your whole life. As if you'd run through the fields with him as children, and he knew where the tree was already.

"All right, just George."

A bright, down right contagious smile etched itself on to his face. You couldn't help but smile just as brightly.

The two of you strode side by side through the back field of the farm, chatting idly as you lead him to the orchard. George told you he was a keen farmer himself, but his family bound him to the city. "Why don't you just leave them?" you asked as you opened the large wooden field gate for him.

George paused, leaning on the gate with both arms crossed. "It is not that simple," he said, his face contort in a frown. "I am obliged to stay there. It is a duty, of sorts." He looked around at the tall grass, the wild flowers that bloomed in the field at his feet. "If it were up to me, I would spend all my time in the country."

You felt immensely sorry for him. The thought of being away from the country for more than a day put a nasty pit in your stomach. Gently, you placed your hand on his arm. He looked up at you with glum eyes. You gave him your best reassuring smile as you squeezed his arm lightly. He smiled back at you.

You fell back into stride with one another after that. George asked about your family, and you told him about your father and your three younger sisters. He asked where they were, and you let out a haughty laugh. "They cower at the sight of mud. They are cooped inside with my mother, embroidering or learning the pianoforte or some other nonsense."

"You see no value in these tasks, then?" George asked with a small smirk.

"I see no point, given where we live. What use have I for musical impress or intricate sewing when I spend my time outdoors?" You paused your walking, gesturing to the cows grazing near by. "Any man I encounter in these parts will be as impressed by my pianoforte as those cows."

"Ah, I see." George chuckled to himself. "You are to be a spinster then." You whipped round to face him, annoyance turning your brows into a tight v shape. George laughed again.

"For a stranger you are certainly bold."

"I do not hear a defence."

"No, I am not to be a spinster." You crossed your arms, uncrossing them when George cocked his head to the side slightly. You must have looked ridiculous, like an petulant, spoilt child. You huffed.

"I am not to be a spinster. At least not by intention." You both began walking again, rounding the corner to the long aisle of the orchard. "There," you said, pointing to your tree at the very end.

You turned when George remained silent. His mouth was agape slightly, brown eyes wide and almost honey in the mid day sun. "Beautiful," he sighed out.

It caught you off guard, the strange desire to lead him by the hand to your tree and show him the very best branches. The way he looked at your favourite spot with such awe made you near desperate to share it with him. You had to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching his hand that was inches from yours at your side. You shook your head slightly, as if a jitter would rid of of such peculiar feelings. "Come along, then."

George walked obediently at your side, keeping perfect pace with you. As you walked, he couldn't help but notice the sway of your hair in the light breeze, the way it framed your face so gently. Or the patches of freckles that spotted the bridge of your nose, or the subtle fullness of your bottom lip, how it was slightly larger than the top.

"You said you are not to be a spinster by choice," he began as you reached the foot of the tree. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What I mean is," you said as you reached up to a near branch, pulling yourself up with little struggle, "no man here is in need of a wife, and I am in no need for an elderly husband." You frowned when George laughed again. "You must stop that!" You cried.

"Stop what?" He smiled through his teeth again.

"Laughing at me!"

"I am not laughing at you, forgive me." He said, reaching up to the same branch and - just as you had- hauled him self up with ease. "I simply find it hard to believe no one here is in need of a wife."

"Everyone is already married, or too old, or far too young." You deadpanned. "I do not want to marry a frail old man."

"Let me rephrase," George began. He reached across you, and for a moment you thought he was going to touch your cheek. You sucked in a nervous breath. He plucked an apple that was hanging just above you ear. "I find it hard to believe no one here wants you for a wife."

You found it hard to form words, stuttering over a response. George bit into his apple , smugness radiating off of him in reams.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a moment, your backs leaning against the trunk of the tree while your legs stretched out next to each other. "Do you sit out here all day?" George asked softly, turning his head toward you. His breath fanned over your face slightly. You nodded.

"Most days," you sighed contently. "I am usually the one that goes into the towns if needed. Otherwise, I am left alone to sit here as I please." You looked out as the sheep roamed the field ahead of you.

George rested his head back against the trunk of the tree.

"I am envious of you, truly." He said, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You turned your head to face him. Your shoulders were brushing against each other with every breath.

"You are welcome to come here," you said, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "You can bring a book, and you may sit here for as long as you like, whenever you please. Whenever your family allows you to be in the country."

This close to him, you noticed the flecks of gold in George's eyes. The small freckle above his eye brow. The rosiness of his cheeks. His words echoed in your head.

'I find it hard to believe no one wants you for a wife."

In the distance, you heard the ruckus of the men returning to the front of the house. George shot up. You shot up with him.

"I must go," he said hurriedly. He swung his legs over the branch and jumped off. As you moved to do the same, you saw him waiting on the ground with his hands outstretched. He was helping you down. You reached a hand out to him, and he pulled you down. Expecting a thud, you noticed he had steadied you with a hand on your waist. "I wish I could stay longer, I truly do. Alas, they will run like chickens without heads if I am not back soon."

You wished to find some poetic goodbye, but all you could muster was a soft sigh. "Will you be back?" His hand was still gripping yours.

George chuckled breathily.

"Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. "I must bring a book and see if this really is the best spot for reading."

The voices in the distance got louder, calling George's name now. He looked over his shoulder, then back to you. "I am back in the country in two weeks time. May I see you then?"

You smiled at his politeness, hoping your hasty nod came across as friendly and not desperate. "Of course."

"Splendid."

He brought your hand to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles. "It has been a pleasure, madam." He said with a gentlemanly bow.

He turned to walk away then, and you felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your feet were glued to the ground, unable to move you from that same spot.

"Oh," George called from a distance. "The inspection went fantastically. Your farm shall have a wonderful review." He grinned, all boyish and joyful, before turning back and sprinting in the direction of the loud voices.

His words only sunk in after he'd rounded the corner gate, and you nearly collapsed onto a log.

Not only had you spent your afternoon with a total stranger, telling him your deepest thoughts and secrets, scandalously close should a gossiping eye see it.

You'd just spent your afternoon with the King of England.

#queen charlotte #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #queen charlotte netflix #king george #king george x reader #king george bridgerton #corey mylchreest #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #period piece #slow burn #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #strangers to friends #fluff #smut #fanfic #bridgerton queen charlotte

[blueyellow8green]

OKAY LISTEN imagine a scene where Queen Charlotte rings the bell to send for Reynolds and Brimsley. Nothing too serious they just need something or other. And in come Reynolds and Brimsley rushing in flustered, absolutely red cheeks, hair a mess, and WEARING EACH OTHERS JACKETS. Brimsley in the long blue coat that has Reynolds doing "farmer George eyes" at him and Reynolds in that small red coat looking absolutely comical. The way Charlotte would Smirk and tell them to go fetch them some wine food or whatever and too clean themselves up. Because let's be honest Charlotte and George are definitely aware of what their most trusted advisors get up to.

#brimsley x reynolds #btw guys i know its all far fetched its a fantasy it doesnt have to be historically accurate homophobic. #bridgerton #bridgerton queen charlotte #brimsley #reynolds #queen charlotte #king george #farmer george #bridgerton fanfic

[furoruisa]

Thinking about how happy he was, they were going to have another baby

Thinking about when he hold his child while Charlotte was sleeping and he told princess Augusta that his son was nothing but perfect

Look at him!! He would have loved to play with his children!!

#queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #queen charlotte #king george iii #yes i'm still here #I'm going to stay in denial #someone send help #create a fanfic or smt #i just 😭😭😭😭 #is destroying me

[teewritessmth]

Wings and Pads

Y/n : "Babe, can you please bring me pads with wings?"

Brings pads with wings, doesn't actually bring chicken wings

- Chunkz, Niko, George Wise

Brings pads with wings.....and chicken wings..

- Aj Shabeel, Yung filly, Harry Pinero

Brings 5 different colours of pads with wings. Thinks they have different flavors.

- Sharky (my preshas boi), James Chewbonic

Forgets pads, brings wingstop.

- Darkest man, Kenny

#betasquad #betasquad x reader #niko omilana #king kenny #aj shabeel #chunkz #sharky #darkest man #harry pinero #james chewbonic #george wise #ukyt #ff #fanfic #niko omilana x reader #sharky x reader #chunkz x reader #aj shabeel x reader #king kenny x reader #harry pinero x reader #james chewbonic x reader #george wise x reader #yung filly #yung filly x reader

[meraki-yao]

George-Hebry reincarnation? I'm very intrigued 👀

Oh my God this one, I'm gonna have to do a lot of character study on show George if I wanna get this one right

I think the idea started with seeing a post in passing on Weibo on someone saying that George reincarnated as Henry and getting to be loved instead of used and be used, so the core idea isn't an original idea from me

But it did get me thinking about possible parallels

I have a similarly structured fic planned out but not written for my other fandom: Shadowhunters, for Raphael Santigo -> Rafael Lightwood-Bane, but the idea is reincarnation is a second chance of some sort

So in George and Henry's case, the basis is that Henry is George's second chance, one where things are opposite: genuinely loving immediate family with adoring parents, being told to suppress his sexuality instead of flaunting it, having power given to him instead of fighting then being corrupted by it, getting to experience true love without alternative motives

I need to watch it with an analytical lens, but I feel like George from the first episode, although kind of petulant, is a starry-eyed good kid who believes in die-hard romances and love before all. That transparent heart was polluted inch by inch until it was black.

Now look at Henry, someone who wants and believes in die-hard romance and one true love, just thinking he can't have it.

So what if the starry-eyed kid George used to be actually got to grow up without having that part of him twisted?

This is more a character study in the form of a fic more than anything. The structure will kind of be George's story first, then Henry's story phrased as paralleling lines of George's.

Something else about this fic that I thought about is that how movie Henry still has his middle name "George Edward James", but now has the surname "Stuart", the same name as the King who loved George more than the world. Something something taking your spouse's surname something something symbolism.

Also there's a contrast/ parallel to be drawn with the meaning of their names:

George, the impoverished boy who rose the power to the point where he was the de facto ruler of the kingdom: Farmer

Henry, the prince born into power but being so careful with it, wanting to do actual good with it: Ruler

James: May God Protect Him

Alexander: Protector of Man

I don't know maybe it's just me but I'm a sucker for poetic paralleling shit like this

Ask me about my WIPs!

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #taylor zakhar perez #alex claremont diaz #nicholas galitzine #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry hanover stuart fox #firstprince #mary and george #george villiers #king james vi and i #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fic #meraki writers #mary and george fic #character study #damn this turned into an essay #meraki essay #answered #meraki fic

[what-if-queen-camilla]

Like grandfather, like grandson - Chapter 3 - Grandma knows best

“Milla, darling, wait!”, Charles shouted in complete panic, running through the halls and corridors of Windsor Castle like an absolute maniac. After the sudden departure of his girlfriend, he had been in a state of shock for maybe about two minutes, she couldn't have come too far in the meantime… “Darling, please, don't leave me like this!” Camilla, crouching in a small gap between two walls, somewhere between the library and the state apartments of this huge, ancient building, suddenly felt so lonely and cold that she couldn't fight her tears any longer as she heard her boyfriend desperately searching for her. “Darling? Darling!’, she heard him calling out for her once again, and eventually admitted defeat. “Yes, darling, I… I'm here…”, she sobbed, and Charles’ heart stopped for a few moments. “Darling!!!”, he screamed, turned around, and immediately ran over to where he thought that her voice came from, and eventually found her, a little piece of misery, and protectively pressed her against his strong, manly chest. “Oh Darling, I'm so sorry!”, she sobbed, but he didn't even let her finish. “No, darling, I'm sorry!”, he said, tenderly stroking her back. “I shouldn't have put you under such pressure…” “You didn't, darling.”, Camilla responded, slowly but surely overcoming her short mental breakdown. “What you did was… so sweet. And just… perfect.”, she reassured him. “And I love you, darling, I really do. But I can't give you the answer you want to hear…” Charles desperately tried to hide his disappointment and tenderly wrapped his arm around her. You don’t have to, darling. Take your time. Let’s get back to London now and take you home…”

Buckingham Palace, London, two hours later

“But she didn’t immediately say ‘no’, lad, did she?” Bertie summed up what his grandson had just told him about his proposal to the girl he had lost his heart to and couldn’t help but smile, as he gently stroked over Charles’ back. The poor boy had had a complete mental breakdown as he, obviously slightly over dramatised, had told the King what had happened, and the young Prince nodded crestfallen. “No, she didn’t.” He replied, but immediately added bitterly: “Because she is too kind for that! But she will never agree to marry me! Oh grandpa, I am going to die! If I can’t marry her, I won’t marry anybody! And end up like Uncle David…” He sobbed and Bertie meanwhile struggled keeping his composure. The lad really was even more dramatic and sensitive than he himself. “Now, come on, my darling boy.” He tried to soothe him a bit. “May I remind you that I had to ask your grandmother thrice before she eventually agreed to marry me? And she did say ‘no’, plainly and clearly!” “Who said ‘no’ to what?” A well-known and always more than welcome voice asked and Charles' spirits immediately brightened up as he recognised his beloved grandmother standing in the door frame. “Granny!” He happily exclaimed and rushed over to and greeted her affectionately. Being the loving and caring grandmother she was, Elizabeth immediately noticed that something wasn’t quite right with her darling boy. “Charles, my dear, what’s the matter?” she asked concernedly as they jointly walked over to the two Edwardian chaise lounges in Bertie’s sitting room. “I was just telling our darling boy that I had to propose to you three times until you finally agreed to marry me.” The King said romantically, took his consort’s hand and kissed it tenderly, which made the Queen blush and the young Prince melt. “Well, my love, it can be quite frightening for an innocent, young girl to be asked THE question by somebody who could possibly be King one day!”, she chuckled before adding: “And you weren’t even heir apparent at the time, were you, Bertie?” “No, darling, I wasn’t. But I’ve always known that you’re the one. I’ve always seen the wonderful, loving and devoted Queen you eventually became, you’ve always been destined to become.” Now it was her who gently took his hand and lovingly pressed it. Charles had listened to his grandmother attentively and was left completely confused. “Granny - if I may…” He began and the Queen smiled at him. “Yes, of course, darling!”

“Why was it frightening? What exactly frightened you?” The young Prince could absolutely not understand what on earth could be frightened of the prospect of becoming a member of the Royal Family? In fact, he could hardly imagine anything more reassuring and safer. His grandmother threw her head back laughing. “Oh Charles, you really are exactly like your grandfather!” She giggled. “You two wonderful, sweet and naive lads, you…” Elizabeth laughed, before, a bit more seriously, adding: “Well, of course you wouldn’t know because you were literally born into this world, you don’t know anything else. But for me it was very scary back then. I had enjoyed a wonderfully, quiet and idyllic childhood up in Scotland, in a loving, normal family, without any pressure, protocol or any of that nonsense… I was used to having a certain freedom, which I appreciated and which was quite difficult for me to give up. I was a nobody, the ninth out of ten children of the 14. Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorne. Nobody, no newspapers or anyone cared about me, what I did, what I said, what I wore, where I was and where not. I knew that, if I agreed to marry Bertie, I’d never have that again. I’d be in the limelight, be watched and my every step would be judged and scrutinised for the rest of my life. And that really frightened me.” Both, Charles and Bertie, had been following her reflections with great interest and attention. It was the King who first dared say something again, as he, almost anxiously, asked. “But, darling, you’ve never regretted it, have you?” “Of course not, darling!” Elizabeth replied and lovingly kissed his cheek, which left Bertie visibly relieved. “But, Granny…” Charles eventually dared ask.  “What made you change your mind? I mean… How did you eventually find the courage to marry grandpa?” “Well, my darling boys… I’m not sure whether I have ever told you this, Bertie, but in fact… I got a visit from your mother.” “You got what?” The King echoed in total disbelief. How on earth could that be? They’d be married for 50 years in a few months - how could it be that Elizabeth had never told him such a significant detail? “Yes, darling, your mother came up to Scotland one day and invited me on a long, nice walk. We walked and talked and at the end of it, she simply told me that she was now convinced that I was ‘the one girl that could make Bertie happy’, but that, of course, the choice was mine. She kissed me on the cheek before she left, and that was the moment I knew I was not going to turn you down again, darling.” “I can’t believe you’ve never told me!” Bertie said, looking at his wife slightly disappointed, but they both knew he loved her way too much to be cross with her for too long. “So apparently they’re actually right when they say ‘Mother knows best’...” Charles pondered and his grandfather added: “Or, perhaps in your case, grandmother!” And while Elizabeth was left entirely confused, the King and the young Prince exchanged a mischievous glance, and Charles knew exactly what he had to do…

#king charles #queen camilla #royal family #fanfiction #fanfic #queen mother #king george vi #buckingham palace #queen mary

[themuselesswriter]

A Mad Queen for a Mad King - Chapter 6: Unwanted Guest

Characters: King George, Queen Charlotte, Brimsley, Reynolds, Original Female Character

Summary: George reconnects with an old childhood friend, although him and Reynolds are excited to have her, Charlotte and Brimsley have other thoughts.

Word count: 1700+

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi guys! It's me again with another oneshot unhinged collection! Feel free to write down your requests, I have muse! and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! P.S. AI might've helped me writing the letters and some chapters are less edited than the rest.

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is Picsart

---------------------------Teaser------------------------

George had been on his nerves lately, he was pacing around, mumbling whenever Charlotte caught a glimpse of him, he preferred his solitude rather than her company, it began ever since he heard the news of his mother's illness, he had been quite distressed, regardless of what Charlotte said or did.

His odd behaviours caused Charlotte to feel anxious as well, at first, she thought he was going to have an episode, but it never came, she suspected that he was going through an episode but he seemed sane enough, then one day, she sneaked into his observatory and went through his papers and found letters, strange letter that seemed to be written by a woman.

My dearest George,

Pray accept my humble salutations, and may this missive find you in the finest of spirits. I pen this epistle laden with heartfelt remorse, beseeching your gracious pardon for my untimely absence and regrettable inability to partake in the sacred union of your nuptials, as well as the subsequent array of festivities that ensued. Yet, tidings reached my ears of Princess Augusta's ailing constitution, for though her grace may not always have exuded warmth, her profound affection for you, akin to the depth of your devotion, remains indelibly etched in our collective hearts. Her regal maternal presence remains a cherished treasure to us all. I implore you, dear friend, how fares your own well-being amidst these tumultuous times? Undoubtedly, the weight of conflicting emotions and the shattering of your worlds must be an arduous burden to bear. Is there aught within my power to alleviate your distress?

With all the ardour of affection,

Matilda

The trail of messages continued, the more Charlotte read the more threatened she felt, she asked many of Matilda, but no one seemed to know her, or perhaps they wished not to tell the Queen of her, she assigned Brimsley to learn of her but all he heard that she used to stay with George, she would come and go, until the news of his marriage to Charlotte, then she disappeared and she has been gone since.

Today at breakfast, George seemed odd, he was not his usual upset self, he was anxious but the good kind of anxious, the excited kind, when Charlotte asked of the reason, he told her he was expecting visitors.

Continue Reading

#original character #bridgerton #queen charlotte #king george bridgerton #king george iii #king george x reader #reynolds #brimsley #ao3 fanfic #fanfics #museless fanfic #ao3 #queen charlotte and king george #queen charlotte a bridgerton story

[altaneenarts]

perpetuam memoriam (chapter 9)

DNF, Assassin!Dream x King!George, royalty AU, dark fic, slowburn, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

CW: Blood & Violence, Murder, Existentialism, Morally grey characters

Mature | 47.9k wip | Chapters: 9/?

Chapter Summary:

The years had changed Karl, that was the first thing George noted. The haunted look he’d worn the last time they’d spoken was softened now—not that it was easy to tell by the way he was looking at him.

His eyes were wide, mouth half-open as if to scream, like a ghost had appeared before him. Perhaps that’s exactly what George was.

// A meeting of companions, both old and new, gives a glimpse of the past and the future.

Link to prologue

Link to chapter 9

#altaneenwrites #dnf fanfic #dsmp fanfic #assassin!dream #assassin dream #king!george #king georgenotfound #dnf #georgenotfound #dreamnotfound #dream smp #dark fic #angst #slow burn

[allylikethecat]

Hey! I’m sure you did some already at some point in here but after Fridays adorable atkh date chapter I’m desperate for more scenarios of fictional Matty and George together so do you have any more sickfic hcs for atkh? Both characters are rlly different than they are in all the other fics

Ahhh first off, thank you so much for reading! I'm so happy to hear that you're enjoying All the King's Horses and how fluffy Friday's chapter was! I've talked about ATKH head canons before- they can be found HERE, HERE, HERE, and HERE. The most important being that Fictional!Matty is a blue raspberry vape enjoyer, obviously lol

In terms of more sickfic head canons for those two... hmmm

Fictional!George is for sure more dramatic when he is ill/injured, he really wants Fictional!Matty to like take care of him? But honestly Fictional!Matty doesn't really know how? No one ever took care of him so why should he be taking care of anyone else? Like he doesn't mean that in a malicious or ill willed way at all, but like being vulnerable is embarrassing why would you WANT someone else around to see that?!

Meanwhile, Fictional!George tries really hard to take care of Fictional!Matty when he's unwell, but it's hard sometimes for him to even know when Fictional!Matty isn't feeling great - he hides it very well, is maybe a little more snappy (which isn't like him at all) but nothing major - he's also extremely uncomfortable with Fictional!George taking care of him be just doesn't know how to accept that kind of care / help

The biggest thing though, is that sometimes Fictional!Matty's back will bother him, maybe he twisted the wrong way in his sleep, maybe he was riding a horse that was a little special, maybe Fictional!George got a little too rough in bed, whatever, something has triggered it and Fictional!Matty would really like to just lay on an ice pack on the floor and feel sorry for himself in private (especially because even though he's been clean for two years, that's when the urges and cravings are the worst, it would be so easy to just take something and make the actual physical pain that he is very much feeling stop.) Slowly, eventually, maybe, he'll start to realize that Fictional!George wants to help him because he cares.

Thank you so much for reading and for like being interested in head canons about these two! This version of Fictional!Matty and Fictional!George are so special to me and so different from any of the others I have written and I love them SO MUCH and I'm just so grateful others have been so accepting and welcoming of them too!

I hope you continue to enjoy ATKH and that you are having a wonderful weekend!

❤️Ally

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #keep it kind #fanfiction #matty fic #gatty #fanfic #all the king's horses #atkh #equestrian au #headcanons #head canons #headcanon #head canon #thank you so much for reading! #and caring enough about these two to look for bonus content! #sick fic headcanons #i love them so much #took pop on a trail ride today and spent the entire time dreaming about fictional!matty and fictional!George #then Pop spooked at a trash bag it was like he was reminding me that he is the main character and he wants me to pay attention to him pleas #lol

[bellarkeselection]

1 - Welcoming the Bridgerton’s

Part 2

The Venus Muse

Here's the first chapter y'all! I am sorry to say that I couldn't tag some of you that asked to be added. If you could give me an update profile tag I will add you that way.

Buckingham Palace was always busy with something going on. The royal castle had many children over the years running around it. I knew this place better than anyone else could imagine. And that truth will help me change my life forever. 

“Your highness, which tiara would you wish for today?” One of my handmaidens named Sunset asked me. 

She was standing by my table vanity that had quite a few tiaras sitting on top of them. Sitting on my bed the fabric of my golden dress swayed when I walked up to her. “The one with three center jewels and the pearl necklace.” 

“Of course, my lady.” She nodded where I lowered my head and she set the tiara in the center. 

The tiara sparkled when the light bounced off the light coming through the window. I stood in front of the tall mirror eyeing my gown that was golden, short sleeves decorated in lace and was long where you couldn’t see the short brown boots I wore unless my dress flew up from the wind. “Sunset, do you think my mother shall begin pressuring me this year?” 

“It is not my place to speak on.”

I reassured her otherwise. “Don’t worry about prying ears. I am asking for your opinion.” 

“I would say she seeks what is best for you, Lady Y/n.” Sunset answered with a shrug of her shoulders. 

Someone knocked on the outside of my door before another lady in waiting peaked her head inside. “Princess, your mother is coming this direction.” I nodded brushing my hands down the front of my dress. 

The door of my bedroom opened for me to see my mother, Lady Danbury and Brimsley all walking up to my room. “I yearn for someone fresh, someone unexpected,  to turn this season on its head. That is what we need. There is no room for indifference.  Apathy is a blight the monarchy simply cannot endure.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty. But remember, a young lady cannot be a diamond until you anoint her as such. So if for any reason you do not find one among the candidates today…” 

My mother cut off her friend. “Do you think she will return?  We have heard nary a peep from Lady Whistledown since last season ended. Perhaps the writer came to her senses. Perhaps she realized taking on her queen was a bad idea, and she will never publish again.”

Lady Danbury responded. “It is a convincing theory, ma'am.”

“Or she simply left for the country, as the rest of us did in the off-season, bored by the lack of any real gossip.”

Lady Danbury made a noise. “Hmm. “

“You do know what that would make her, then?” My mother Queen Charlotte trailed off. 

I finished her sentence being fair too noisy, needing to listen to the conversation of the famous gossiping writer. “One of us.”

“My darling daughter, you look radiant as ever.” My mother turned away from her friend to face me. 

I sent her a smile waving to Lady Danbury to not be rude. “It’s good to see you, Lady Danbury.” 

“Good to see you too, Princess Y/n.” She smiled. 

My mother clasped her hands together in front of her puffy white dress. “I have been needing to speak with you and what this evening needs to entail for you and your happiness.” 

“You wish for me to marry a prince and provide heirs for the crown.” I rolled my eyes already thinking of the answer she would say. 

Yet to my surprise she said almost the opposite. “I wish for you to have happiness and many children. It would help if your husband was royalty, but it is not a requirement.” 

“It isn’t?” Knitting my brows in confusion. 

She takes my hands in hers. “I didn’t get the chance to search for love on my own. My brother arranged my marriage with your father. So I secretly hope that you, my firstborn daughter, can have some fun.” 

“Mother, I…that means so much to me.” I smiled through some happy tears. 

Footsteps came down the long hallway and around the corner before we saw my father’s servant named Reynolds. “My Queen, my princess. I have news.” He bowed with a hand behind his back. 

“What is it, Reynolds?” I asked him. 

He shifted his gaze to mine. “You're father is having an episode, Princess.” 

“Oh…” I made a noise in discomfort. I knew of his illness 

That was the secret my mother and the rest of my siblings and I kept hidden from thr world. They needed to believe that the king was just always busy and so his wide made the appearances out on the town. “Hmm it appears we may have to cancel the ball tonight for the Bridgertons.” My mother sighed in defeat knowing her husband came first. 

“We shall not cancel.” My mother and Reynolds’s both shifted their attention over to me when I had spoken up the opposite of what they assumed would need to be done. “We should not cancel because I can represent the family in your place, mother.” 

She tapped her chin in thought. “I suppose that could solve our problem. I don't wish to cancel the months of preparation that were put into this.” 

“Exactly that would be a tragedy.” 

The queen turned to her husband's helper with instructions. “Inform my husband I will come to his aid. Brimsley?” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” 

She gave him a different set of orders. “Inform the Viscount Bridgerton that my daughter shall be appearing tonight before myself.” He bowed and went in a different direction then Reynolds. 

“Thank you, mother.” I smiled curtseying to her before we parted for the evening. It was quite a few hours before the ball with our castle subjects and the Bridgertons would even begin. By the evening the moon was shining up in the sky and the grand ballroom was lit up like a christmas tree. 

Standing silently outside the currently shut double doors I stopped fiddling with my dress when one of the royal guards gave me a head nod saying it was time. I could hear the announcer's voice before the doors had even begun opening. “May I present to you her royal highness. The daughter of King George and Queen Charlotte, Princess Y.n of England.”

“Thank you, sir.” I whispered to another guard that came to me when I had made my entrance through the doors feeling all eyes on me. Sucking in a tiny breath he escorted me to the small throne before we unlinked arms leaving me on my own. The small crown on my head had never felt so heavy as it did right now. “Greetings my subjects. I am here to announce that my mother got called away tonight for an emergency. But she saw no reason why this event couldn’t go on as planned. So with that in mind let me extend a warm welcome to Violet Bridgerton and her family for traveling here for a few months.”

Everyone began clapping and cheering with an older looking woman who had dark brown hair up in a crown on her head that came up to me and gave a lovely curtsey. “Princess, it is a pleasure to get an invitation.”

“I hope I can get to meet your family greatly over your stay, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Princess Y/n, may I ask you something?” Someone called my name causing me to lift my gaze up noticing someone moving through the crowd. The figure paused beside the Bridgerton woman who seemed to give the man a confused but amused depression on her face. 

I clicked my tongue and answered the stranger's question. “What is your question, my lord?”

“I was wondering if you would accept my offer for a dance together this evening.” The stranger seemed similar to the woman he was standing beside him. I was fairly certain they were related, but which son was he if they were. 

He extended his hand up to me and I smiled, placing my smaller hand in his larger one. “I accept so long as I know which Bridgerton are you?”

“Benedict, Benedict Bridgerton.” He replied leading me out and onto the dance floor with the entire room having theur eyes focused on the two of us.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list - just ask to be added @abq654 @your-musicguru @imgondeletedis @eruannaaa-blog @cherrylovers-world @benedictbridgertonss @callmedarlingsstuff @carrotcaratsworld @sillynilly27 @emmampl-blog2 @bright-molina @erynel1zasworld @ynbutbetter @stranger-chan @blckbarbiedoll @sanaar3006 @ritz-hell-hotel

#the venus muse #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #Benedict bridgerton fic #ask box is open for anything #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated #benedict bridgerton series #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfic #penelope featherington #eloise bridgerton #violet bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x princess reader #royal family #buckingham palace #queen charlotte bridgerton #king george bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x y/n #lady whistledown #secret relationship

[girlogies]

WELCOME to my blog.

an 18 year old lazy writer who needs a fictional escape.

characters I write for.

o. the bridgertons and king george

o. james maguire

o. tom riddle , theodore nott , blaise zabini

o. jamie reyes , miguel diaz

o. ricky bowen

o. rafe cameron

o. ethan landry

o. obx

in any category is completely fine, excluding non consensual behaviour in certain context ( unless specified ). + lover of revenge & happy endings <3

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

please feel free to request though i might deliver the request in different timing depending on the character and the type (smut, angst and so on)!

#fanfic #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #derry girls #james maguire #james maguire x reader #derry girls x reader #miguel diaz x reader #cobra kai x reader #miguel diaz #hsmtmts #ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #hsmtmts x reader #blue beetle #jaime reyes x reader #blue beetle x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #tom riddle #theodore not #blaise zabini #fluff #king george bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #colin bridgerton #rafe cameron #ethan landry x reader #obx x reader

[venusleontios55555]

PLEASEEE

Petition to make Reynolds's Christian name Francis.

(his first name is not mentioned in the Netflix series and books)

#brimsley x reynolds #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #queen charlotte #reynolds #king george iii #king george bridgerton #king george #brimsley #incorrect quote #incorrect bridgerton quotes #venus #adorable #just george #farmer george #I have read this in so many fanfics #it sounds real

[l-alan-l]

I can’t be the only one who thinks that Bertie and King George VI look so much alike???

They could literally be siblings.

#or cousins #but the way the Kings nickname is also Bertie??? #it has potential for a great swap fanfic or something of that sort #jeeves and wooster #bertie wooster #king george vi

[queencharlott]

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