#lady chatterley au

[davidstirlings]

hi, i just came across your sas fic and I cannot tell you how much I love it! It's so, so good that I cannot stress upon that fact enough! Will you be updating it anytime soon? No pressures, just wanted to let you know that!

Thank you! Have a great day/night!

Hello anon! If you mean the Lady Chatterley au fic, then yes! I will be updating it soon, just had a lot going on so I put it on the back burner, but I'm hoping to get it done this weekend!

[alihightowers]

an intervention of fate- a rhaenicent au (loosely based on lady chatterley's lover, date tbd)

'you can't insure against the future, except by really believing in the best bit of you, and in the power beyond it. so, I believe in the little flame between us. for me now, it's the only thing in the world.' -D.H Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover.

[prosedumonde]

Nous vivons dans un âge essentiellement tragique ; aussi refusons-nous de le prendre au tragique. 

D.H. Lawrence, L'amant de Lady Chatterley (Lady Chatterley's Lover)

VO:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.”

[bobfloydsbabe]

dirty mind | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Imogen learns something new about Professor Bob.

WARNINGS: suggestive language, allusions to smut, age gap (mid 20s/late 30s), power imbalance. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: ~ 1k

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST

SPECIAL THANKS to @ryebecca who sent this delicious prompt. It took on a life of its own, so I hope it's okay that I posted it separately. Your love for Eccentric Professor Bob is one of my favorite things about working on this AU, and I know I can always talk to you about him. You see and understand the vision. Enjoy ✨

She runs her fingers along the book spines in his home office, so much more neatly organized than the ones on campus. She’s impressed.

“What are you doing?”

She glances over her shoulder and finds the professor leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of him. Behind him, the house is dark and quiet. Only a faint beam of moonlight hits the wall near the staircase.

Smiling to herself, she refocuses her attention on the books. “Browsing.”

Illuminated by the lamp on his desk, she can make out several titles that she knows and loves. Fiction mixed with historical texts, old dissertations from former students that send a pang of jealousy through her, and a small section of books he’s written himself.

His footsteps sound behind her as he draws nearer. “It’s not a bookstore,” he tells her, voice still rough from sleep. “Or a library.”

Casting another glance over her shoulder, he’s now leaning against his desk, watching her. He’s only wearing boxers, and the lamplight makes his chest look even broader and more defined.

“I know. No bookstore or library would be caught dead with disorganized shelves like these.”

“They’re organized,” he argues, but she hears the lilt of teasing in his tone.

“Method to the madness,” she agrees for the sake of peace. “If it makes sense to y–no way!”

Through his rumbling chuckle, she pulls the book out and opens to the title page.

She spins around to face him so fast she feels a little dizzy and Bob has to reach out to stabilize her. “You okay?”

“Am I okay? You have a first edition of Fanny Hill. Of course I’m not okay.”

She holds the fragile book in her hands, flipping through the pages as gently as she can, so she won’t damage it further. It’s from 1748 after all, and she tries not to judge him for not storing it properly. As a history professor who works with texts even older than this, he should know better.

“Must’ve cost you a fortune,” she mutters to herself, turning to the bookcase again to put it back, only for her eye to catch sight of another familiar title. “Is Lady Chatterley’s Lover also a first edition?”

“I believe so.”

She scans the entire shelf and finds only novels in a similar genre, and she suddenly feels hot all over at the knowledge that he’s read these books and enjoyed them enough to get first editions.

As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, Bob comes up behind her, chest flush with her back. Sweeping her hair to the side, his fingertips graze her skin. He leans down and places the lightest kiss to her neck, and a shiver runs down her spine, breath hitching at the sensation.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

His hand travels down her body. The dip of her waist, the width of her hips, and the bare skin of her thighs. Her whole body’s on fire. He’s everywhere, low voice stirring something deep inside her.

As his hand trails up her skin, he inches toward her inner thighs where she’s sensitive and the wet patch in her panties should embarrass her, but it doesn’t.

“Tell me,” he whispers, breath tickling her ear.

She stifles the whine rising in her throat, willing it away. “Who knew you were hiding such a dirty mind.”

He chuckles against her skin, and his hand reaches the edge of her panties. “Baby,” he whispers, “I’m hiding so much more than a dirty mind.”

His other hand presses against her stomach, pushing her against him and his hard chest. She tries to rub her thighs together, but his hand there keeps them open. His fingers skim across her clothed clit, making her squirm in his embrace.

“Oh, you’re desperate for it, aren’t you, baby?”

She wants to say no. She wants to tell him to fuck off, try to convince him she’s playing a game, and he can’t reduce her to a stuttering mess with just a few words and touches. But she doesn’t. She can’t. Not when she can feel his growing desire against her back, and not when he pushes her panties to the side, drawing slow, torturous circles on her clit.

“In your dreams,” she manages, but it comes out airy and needy.

He pulls his hand away from her aching pussy, and the high-pitched whine that leaves her throat seems to shock them both. He recovers quickly, spinning her around to face him, his features half illuminated by the lamp on his desk.

“You’re always in my dreams,” he tells her, walking her backward until he’s crowded her against the bookshelf. “And in my dreams, you’re always desperate for me, for my mouth.”

He’s sinking to his knees, and one hand trails down her leg, placing it over his shoulder. He glances up at her, a cocky look on his face as his fingers hook into the waistband of her panties. “You want me, baby?”

She nods furiously, unable to form the words when he’s right there, so close to where she wants him. Needs him.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice dark and dangerous.

“I want you.” She’s trying to hold on to some semblance of self-control, but she’s babbling. “I want your mouth.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and then he pushes her panties to the side again.

His lips close around her clit, sending her into orbit.

likes are nice, but comments and reblogs are golden

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @kmc1989, @roosterforme, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @rosie-posie08, @attapullman, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @millieb-3199, @auroraseddie, @keyrani, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @hangmandruigandmav, @cremebruleequeen, @cherrycola27, @seitmai, @bradshawsbaby, @sio-ina-bottle, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @bcarolinablr, @bluezraven

[orange-peony]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

Thank you so much for the ask, lovely! 💙

This was a super hard choice, but I've narrowed it down to these in 5, in no particular order:

Broken (Snowbaz, 43K, rated E) - Lady Chatterley's Lover AU, so many feelings. There's star gazing and a Simon with a fever, plus Buckle the dog.

Monster (Drarry, 71k, rated E) - my first collab with the wonderful @pato-roldnart. Such an amazing experience! Featuring Veela + werewolf Draco and an extremely touch-starved Harry.

Chilly Feet (Drarry, 13k, rated E) - soulmates AU with soulmarks that are not there. Draco knows so many facts and is possibly a little bit on the spectrum in this one. He's one of my very favourite Dracos.

On your skin (Snowbaz, 30k, rated E) - tattoo parlour/flowershop AU that I posted before My Rosebud Boy came out, so it felt very special. I love these Simon and Baz an awful lot.

Graceless Heart (Drarry, 132k, rated E) - I've recently re-read it and decided that I really like it. I poured an awful lot of myself into this fic, and it still feels quite raw, but I like how it turned out.

I'm going to tag (feel free to do it for art as well) @pato-roldnart, @bubble-gumhead, @rockingrobin69, @avenueofesc, @artsyunderstudy, @captain-aralias, @larkral, @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart and anyone who fancies doing this (honestly, feel free to say that I tagged you!)

[under-the-weirwood-tree]

There are a bunch of things I want to write this summer, but here are some Rhaenicent AU’s that have been plaguing my mind. I hope that writing them out like this will motivate me to write them 🙃.

- Lady Chatterley’s Lover: Lady Alicent contemplates an affair with her husband’s daughter from his first marriage.

- Pirates: Rhaenyra is a pirate captain that takes Alicent hostage.

- Star Wars: Alicent is an imperial officer that starts to question her allegiance when she becomes involved with Princess Rhaenyra

- Witness: Alicent is an Amish woman who becomes entangled with police detective Rhaenyra in the wake of a murder investigation.

- To Catch A Thief: Wealthy heiress Alicent becomes enamored with suave cat burglar Rhaenyra.

I have to finish my other AU’s first, but I hope to write at least one more this summer if motivation allows 🙈.

[gabessquishytum]

'Ullo again ! Small idea while listening to 'young love and old money' : Dream and Hob being in love in Regency London, except Hob works at the press in newspaper industry and Dream being from the ton. They manage to last 4 season until Dream's father arrange a marriage with Burgess' second son for the money. Dream is miserable and then one day Burgess hire a new man to clean the stable and surprise! It's Hob who immediately see that Dream is dying of sadness.

Cue to months of getting it in the back of Burgess' and son and fishbowl rescue except it's more a gilded cage than a fishbowl but you get me.

Thanks again for all your prompts, they are my joy, and I always run to read whenever I have a notice from your blog !

-

🦩

This is wonderful!!! I don't know if you guys have seen or read Lady Chatterley's Lover but it's one of my favourite little aus for dreamling. The original novel annoys me a bit but whatever. I just need to see Dream with a rich husband who doesn't satisfy him, getting it on with the gardener/game keeper/stable lad (aka Hob).

Like... the sneaking around, the secrets, Dream slowly coming out of his shell and brightening up even though his marriage sucks, sending coded messages to Hob, spending hours out riding with Hob as his "escort"... his husband having no idea that Dream is cheating on him with his own stable hand!! Ahh!! Burgess is basically paying Hob to fuck Dream at this point. It's amazing.

If we're in a universe when Dream can get pregnant, I love the idea of all his kids being obviously Hob’s. Everyone else can see that Burgess definitely didn't father that baby. And then Burgess dies in mysterious circumstances, oh dear (Dream poisoned him, with a little but of help from his siblings). He inherits a bit of money and he's an independently wealthy widower... what's stopping him from marrying Hob now?

[the-engdyssey]

@hetalia-rarepairweek

Day 3: Celebrity

Title: A Lady and Her Lover Pairing: Arthur Kirkland (England) x Elizabeth I Rating: M Warnings:  Nation x human relationship, reference to historical figures, Actor AU, (An au that @phantom-wolf and I have created together for our OT3, in which Alfred joins Arthur and Elizabeth’s relationship, though this drabble is strictly Arthur x Elizabeth at this point in the au), sexual content though more talking about sexuality rather than anything overly graphic, and a reminder that I ship this pairing in canon/nation verse and many other aus.) Summary: Arthur moved back to his seat in their bedroom and watched in quiet reverence for a long moment as his wife finished ready. He was forever awestruck as Elizabeth transcended from the tangible, familiar, divine beauty of his wife into Elizabeth Kirkland the acclaimed actress. Elizabeth was so ethereally beautiful no matter where they were, what she was doing or wearing, that at times he could still hardly believe this goddess was his wife. --

Arthur and Lizzy are a famous acting couple promoting their adaptation of Lady Chatterley's Lover, and a certain American is swooning from across the pond.

[all-the-words-necessary]



Ok, fuck it, lady Chatterley's lover au Steve comes back from the front not quite as he went off. He's got a new wife waiting for him and a huge old manor home that is now his own. Everything would be fine, great even, if it wasn't for his fucking legs not working. The doctor said he was lucky to be alive, but, Steve thinks waspishly, not so lucky that he's not practically paralyzed from the waist down. Nancy is taking it in stride, still bright eyed and hopeful for the future they both wanted when they said 'i do'. Right before he was shipped off. 

He loves her for it, but at the same time every kind smile and gesture from her makes him feel like he's swallowing glass. It hurts because Steve knows there is no way he can keep those promises he sees shining through in her eyes. 

When they reach the old manor home the cracks start to show up right away.

"Steve, Let's take in the air!" she says, bouncing out of the car. The trip had taken five hours to get out to the country, the car stopping in front of the old imposing manor looming in front of them. He can see her stretching, reaching up to the clear blue sky as her curls shine in the sun. It takes him longer to get out of the car needing Nancy, and a servant that quickly hurries out of the house, to lower him into his wheelchair. 

It quickly becomes apparent that, despite its recommendations for being top of the line, the wheelchair can barely manage the gravel drive in front of the house, much less the wooded path Nancy is not so covertly eyeing. 

"It's fine," Steve says, catching her eye and giving a smile, "I wanted to check out the house first. Go on ahead and tell me what you find when you come back."

And so he's wheeled into the massive family manor, the doors closing behind him with an air of finality that sinks deep into the pit of his stomach. 

He remembers this manor. Knows it well from his childhood, every floorboard and every window reminds him of his recently passed father. He thinks, idly, of taking a sledgehammer and smashing the foundation so thoroughly that no one would ever know a house once stood here.

"Would you like anything else, sir?" The servant says, after he's wheeled to the library.

Steve gives a polite smile and waves him off, turning so he faces the window. It's where Nancy finds him when she gets back. 

~NANCY AND STEVE DRIFT FURTHER APART, WORKERS ARE HIRED FOR THE MANOR, STEVE FINALLY SAYS 'FUCK IT, IM TAKING THIS WHEELCHAIR OFF ROAD'.~

It had, he thought, seemed like a good idea at the time. 

He ordered the new chair weeks ago, planning to surprise Nancy by joining her on one of her walks. When it had finally arrived, she had been out of the country visiting her family, and a test run really didn't seem like the worst idea. 

He just hadn't accounted for the mud. 

So here he was, about three kilometers from the house, stuck on a path in the middle of a muddy field. 

"This stupid piece of, fucking, bullshit, motorized my ass…" he slams his fist down on the armrest of the chair in frustration, hearing a satisfying crack. 

"Everything alright over there?" 

Steve jumps, whipping his head over to the man walking up the bottom of the path. His voice is rough, from the village obviously, but he looks familiar. 

Heat prickles up his face as the man gets closer and he hates this. He knows just how he's going to see him. Helpless. Stuck in the mud. A burden. 

"I'm fine, thanks." He says, pasting a smile to his face. He hopes it conveys the message that he loves this. Being stuck in mud is his passion. Prehaps then the man will leave him alone and he can go back to sulking.

The man stops next to him, his brown curly hair under his cap a bit longer than it should be. It frames his wide brown eyes, currently looking at him like he's full of shit. 

It's then that he makes the connection

"You're the new gardener, aren't you?" He thinks back to a couple of weeks ago, when the house had been filled with those seeking employment. "Mr. Munson, was it?"

"Aye, sir. You've got a good memory," he crouches down next to Steve as he says it, fiddling with the back of his wheelchair.

"It also looks like you've got a busted engine." 

 "It's new," Steve sniffs, "it's engine is supposed to help with out-of-doors travel." because it's not his fault, and he didn't ask for help, and he probably would have figured it out on his own. Probably. 

"Can I take a look?" He asks, probably a bit too late Steve thinks, uncharitably. He inclines his head regally and looks off towards the edge of the trees. If he squints hard enough, he thinks, he can maybe pretend none of this is happening.

There is a minute of silence, maybe two, before Munson says,

"Y'know, when I was younger I hated reading. Hated it." 

It's such a non sequitur that Steve turns blindly back towards him. 

He's still hunched over the engine in the back of the chair, hands fiddling with god knows what, not really looking at Steve.

"I had such trouble with the words all blurring together, I never wanted to do it. It was embarrassing." He's gesturing wildly as he talks. Steve doesn't think he even realizes he's doing it and he finds himself relaxing in his chair for the first time since the trouble with the mud started.  

 "My uncle found out from a teacher who, well, probably thought I was hopeless. He came over that very night. Started reading books to me, no pressure or judgement whatsoever- ah here's the bugger." He pulls a small piece of machinery from the back of Steve's chair with a showmanship he wouldn't have expected from a gardener. 

"Sorry for the language, sir." he says with a cheeky smile, implying that he's maybe not that sorry at all. 

It's an astounding bit a familiarity that Steve knows he should put a stop to. He knows his father would. There's just something about the man that makes him…pause. Possibly brain damage from the war, he thinks, somewhat hysterically. 

"Anyways, long story short, I started to want to read as well, and when I did, he helped me with that too. Took ages, but that man never faltered once. Sometimes now I even read for fun."

He holds out the busted piece of machinery for Steve to take, his hands dirty from the engine and mud. When Steve takes the part he can feel how rough and calloused the pads of Munson's fingers are, a direct clash to his own.

He clenches the small piece of machinery firmly in his lap, the grooves imprinting on his palm like a vulger tattoo. 

It's then that Munson looks directly into Steve's eyes.

"It's okay to ask for help sometimes." 

There are a lot of different responses Steve knows he could have to this. He's affible and popular, knows how to work his way around a conversation. He could be cold and direct making sure this "Mr. Munson" remembers his place, or he could make a pithy joke at his own expense, have them both laugh off the entire exchange. 

He hears cicadas in the distance, Munson's honesty still hanging raw in the air between them. In the end, he decides the man's truth deserves his own in reply.

"I don't want to be a burden." He says quietly.

The words hang between them for a moment. 

"Well, excuse me, sir if I'm being impolite, but I don't think I was one at eleven and I don't think you are now." His voice is strong and steady, the words feeling as set in stone as if they were given to Moses himself.

Munson then slides up to standing, clapping his big hands together.

"Now, I know you could get out of the mud yourself, but you seem like a busy man and your engine wont work until you order a new replacement part. What say I get you out of this patch here and you can roll on back to the house."

Steve looks up at him. He cuts a clean figure with his waistcoat half unbuttoned, arms crossed with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, to account for the heat. His fingers idely tap out a nonsensical beat as he waits for Steve's reply.

He realizes Munson is right. Steve could do it himself, but that wasn't the point. He didn't have to.

"Ok, but just with the mud" he replies, grinning.

[davidstirlings]

⚠️ 🖍️

Oooh thank you for the ask (and sorry for taking so long to answer it).

⚠️ Which wip are you most likely to finish or update next?

Pffft yeah, I'm notoriously bad at finishing wips. I'm going to say we are among the ruins (my SAS:RH Lady Chatterley au) and then try and manifest that happening, because it's been so long since I updated it, and I actually really liked it. If it's not that one, then it'll be my Slow Horses ghost fic, what is a ghost.

🖍️ Post Any sentence from your wip

Eoin comes to choking on sand. The grains fill his mouth, coating his tongue, filling the hollows of his cheeks, making it impossible to breathe, and he rolls over and retches, bile and wet sand and other disgusting things pouring from his mouth.

This is from my sas rogue heroes immortality au

(if anyone else wants to send me an ask about my wips, here is the link to the ask game https://www.tumblr.com/davidstirlings/773272415076777984, or just feel free to ask me anything)

[alihightowers]

heavily imagining a rhaenicent au loosely based on lady chatterley's lover...

[talesofpassingtime]

‘What I mean,’ he said, ‘is that if you go to Venice, you won’t go in the hopes of some love affair that you can take au grand sérieux, will you?’

— D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover 

[orange-peony]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thank you @artsyunderstudy for tagging me in this game!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

65 works, one active WIP and several works in the making.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,365,752 (wowsers, I am very verbose)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly HP and Carry On, but I used to write in loads of other fandoms back in the days.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Constellations on your skin (drarry, 56k, E) Feather (drarry, 35k, E) New Slang (drarry, 25k, E) Graceless Heart (drarry, 132k, E) The birds and the bees (drarry, 32k, E)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually do because I like thanking people for their kindness. Receiving a comment usually gives me a spark of joy, so I feel like replying is the least I can do. Sometimes I get overwhelmed with a particular fic, and I end up not replying, but I still read every single comment and cherish even the ones with an emoji.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I only write happy endings, sorry.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them? I've been told that some were sappy, but I genuinely can't say which are happier than others. For me they're all just as they should be.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes, sometimes. I used to get upset, but now I just reply with an a "write your own fic, then" or delete and move on.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Always and the emotional kind (hopefully).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have only written one, and I've deleted it from AO3. It was a snowbaz story set at Hogwarts, so an HP crossover. I had a lot of fun writing it!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hopefully not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, only once because I don't usually allow translations of my stories.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have for a fest, and also did it ages ago with friends for fun.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

This question is way too hard! Drarry and snowbaz. Don't make me choose because I can't.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have quite a few that are in the planning stage but are kind of languishing at the moment. I don't want to jinx it, but there's a very angsty malepreg drarry fic that I don't think I have the heart to write (I can't put them through that much drama) and the snowbaz where Baz writes fics, because someone told me it already exists and it has shitloads of kudos, which put me off the idea because my brain went "why bother?".

16. What are your writing strengths?

No idea. Feelings? I pour a lot of them into the mix and somehow people find some kind of resonance.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. I suck so much at describing places and things. Always have, and I do try to describe more, but I just forget to. I'm bad, I know...

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it, and it was a lot of fun.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Gosh, that was a million years ago. I want to say Lord of the Rings, but I am not sure.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I can't pick one, but I've got my favourite five here:

Broken (Snowbaz, 43K, rated E) - Lady Chatterley's Lover AU, so many feelings. There's star gazing and a Simon with a fever, plus Buckle the dog. Monster (Drarry, 71k, rated E) - my first collab with the wonderful @pato-roldnart. Such an amazing experience! Featuring Veela + werewolf Draco and an extremely touch-starved Harry. Chilly Feet (Drarry, 13k, rated E) - soulmates AU with soulmarks that are not there. Draco knows so many facts and is possibly a little bit on the spectrum in this one. He's one of my very favourite Dracos. On your skin (Snowbaz, 30k, rated E) - tattoo parlour/flowershop AU that I posted before My Rosebud Boy came out, so it felt very special. I love these Simon and Baz an awful lot. Graceless Heart (Drarry, 132k, rated E) - I've recently re-read it and decided that I really like it. I poured an awful lot of myself into this fic, and it still feels quite raw, but I like how it turned out.

Tagging @crazybutgood, @bubble-gumhead, @avenueofesc, @rockingrobin69, @larkral, @facewithoutheart, @martsonmars, @hushed-chorus, @captain-aralias, @cassiaratheslytherpuff, @m0srael, @toast-the-unknowing, @vukovich and anyone who fancies doing this.

[plaques-memoire]

Plaque en hommage à : D.H. Lawrence

Type : Lieu de résidence

Adresse : 60 boulevard du Montparnasse, 75015 Paris, France

Date de pose : 22 mai 2019 [inscrite]

Texte : Lors de sa visite à Paris du 12 mars au 7 avril 1929 en quête d'un éditeur pour son roman "L'AMANT DE LADY CHATTERLEY", l'écrivain et poète anglais D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) séjourna dans cet immeuble, alors "LE GRAND HÔTEL DE VERSAILLES"

Quelques précisions : David Herbert Lawrence (1885-1930), souvent plus connu sous la forme D.H. Lawrence, est un écrivain britannique. Il trouve l'inspiration dans ses nombreux voyages autour du monde, qu'il raconte dans plusieurs livres, mais ses romans sont très souvent sujets à controverse en raison des thèmes qu'ils abordent, en particulier ceux ayant trait à la sexualité. Ainsi, le roman mentionné sur cette plaque, L'Amant de Lady Chatterley (1928), fit l'objet d'un procès en obscénité à sa sortie en raison de ses descriptions de relations sexuelles entre une aristocrate et un homme du peuple. Il publie également des nouvelles, des poèmes, et même un essai sur la pornographie influencé par les accusations auxquelles il fait face. Il meurt des suites d'une tuberculose. Au moins deux autres plaques commémoratives en son honneur peuvent être trouvées à Londres, où il vécut.

[allyriadayne]

https://www.tumblr.com/ararebloom/762542601507340288/alicent-x-larys-au-eighteenth-century?source=share

saw this a thought of you

thank youuuu. speaking of, this reminds me of a lady chatterley au my friend and i had where alicent was otto's unhappy wife daughter and here comes larys the family lawyer to steal alicent right under otto's nose for some revenge plot.

[davidstirlings]

and also the we are among the ruins fic... i've been looking forward to chaper 5 for ages!! 😘

As you know, 'we are among the ruins' is my Lady Chatterley AU for SAS Rogue Heroes, and chapter 5 is where we sorta start to get into the slightly meatier part of the story (aka stuff that isn't just smut and Eoin and Paddy going at it/being disgustingly adorable with each other). Paddy and David meet properly and spend some (disastrous) time together. David has some slightly inappropriate thoughts about Eoin (and maybe Paddy too). Things start getting a little tough for David at Keir. Paddy and Eoin start to relax a bit.

Life at Keir was both similar and different to how David remembered his childhood, and far lonelier, though he knew that was, in part, his own fault. He was also aware of how his mother watched him as he slowly withdrew into himself the longer he stayed, and resolutely ignored her prodding invitations to socialise. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be social, but rather, he didn’t think he could stand the pitying or accusing looks of the people his mother socialised with, at afternoon teas or village fêtes or dinner with old acquaintances, all of whom were bound to ask him how he had been, what he’d been up to, and why he sometimes had to rely on a cane.