#hotd regency au

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Write me a fic: Per our convo yesterday. I must ask for Regency!Griffith and his meltdown over falling in love in the most reforming your local Rake type way 🧍‍♂️🫡

this 100000000% got away from me & it is now only tangentially what you asked for. I mean, what you asked for is in there, but I couldn't decide which idea I liked more so I had to string them together & now it's a 4.6k word monstrosity.

Griffith paced, mind addled so that he coursed with the nervous energy that apparently plagued most of the men from his mother’s side of the family. It was as unfair as his current situation. “If you keep that up, you’ll wear a rut into the floor.” Aegon mused as he lifted his glass of brandy, examining the amber liquid in the light streaming through the windows of Thorn Hall’s parlor. He’d made himself quite comfortable, sprawled out on one of the sofas to the point he’d made Griffith’s discarded coat slide off the arm and onto the floor. He stopped and stared at his cousin, gray eyes wide with indignation and the wild concern that so preoccupied him. Aegon giggled over the rim of his snifter before downing more than was even half appropriate for a single sip. Griffith clenched his fists, every muscle in his hands flexing. “Would it kill you to be serious for five minutes?!” He snapped. Annoyance with his best friend could at least be identified and be used as an easy target to let out the building steam of whatever issue had his stomach in knots.

“You’re well and truly in a hobble, aren’t you?” Aegon sat up properly now, “Tell me what the trouble is.”

“Mya Redfort is the trouble. At this point in seduction, I would have at least gotten my cock sucked, and yet she is resisting every attempt at anything further than flirtation–it isn’t like I have not charmed her, but I am getting nothing from it!”

Aegon set his snifter on a low table near the sofa and leaned forward, a contemplative look on his face as he rested his chin in his hand, a finger tapping at his cheek. He’d only been married for a year, a decision reached in the immediate aftermath of their friend-and-cousin’s marriage to his sister, and his own previously similar behavior and thought patterns still rang fresh in his mind. Griffith began pacing again, running a hand through his dark brown curls as he tried to puzzle out his problems with and about Mya Redfort.

“I feel sick. Why is nothing working? You will tell me plainly if I have lost my edge, won’t you?”

“You? Griff, you could never lose your edge! What you need to do, is you just need to shift focus. Mya isn’t receptive, so there is no reason to keep going back. Why not set your sights on that Linderly girl with the–”

Griffith stopped his pacing immediately, his stare hard when he looked at his friend again. “How dare you.”

It was silent in the room after that, Aegon blinking slowly as Griffith felt his stomach drop. Realization set in far too late, and he hated it. Or, no–vexed as he was, he could not hate anything that had to do with Mya.

“One Miss Redfort has tamed her local rake it would seem.” Aegon pressed his lips together to try and stifle it, but all he managed was making his grin look ridiculous and tight.

He pointed at his friend, eyes blown wide once more. “Egg–”

“Welcome to the brotherhood! Interesting one to be a part of, quite cozy though. Provides for a very reliable–”

“I am not going to make a fool of myself over Mya like you did with Abrogail.”

“I did not make a fool of myself!” He stood up, squaring his shoulders to try and make himself look more imposing. It did not do a terribly effective job when he was trying to stand toe to toe with Griffith. Aegon was a good five inches shorter and cut a far less dramatically proportioned figure.

“You could not eat, you could not sleep. You eloped with her weeks after Stannis married your sister because you knew whatever Aunt Alicent was trying to arrange to curb your appetites would not make you as happy as they looked. I sat in this very parlor and watched you carry on in calf-love like some kind of barely grown boy-man who'd never known a woman in his life!”

It was silent in the parlor again as all the bluster slowly left Aegon. He sucked his teeth, hands coming to his hips as he looked up at the ceiling.

“I did carry on, didn't I?”

“Yes.”

He paused again, his gaze leveling with Griffith’s once more. Aegon worked his jaw, just as contemplative as before, and then his lilac eyes lit up. Something had struck him, and all Griffith could do was hope that it was brilliant.

“I do not know how much longer I can hold out.” Mya moaned as she slid further down into the chair beside Rhea’s dressing table, her dress riding up to show her ankles and the pink, embroidered slippers she wore.

“It is taking so much longer to get Griffith to fall for you than it feels like it should be.” Abby mused, her elbow propping on her crossed arm so she could put her cheek in her hand. She furrowed her brows, her small mouth pursing into a thoughtful pout.

“My brother is not so easy to wrap around one's finger as Aegon was,” Adrienne rebutted, her tone harsh and clipped, “he is as pig-headed as our mother.”

“I’d be surprised if he was even capable of being aware of any feelings he developed for someone.” Aerea’s words were softer, more airy, than her twin sister’s. That was the only indication the older of them was even paying attention, she seemed more preoccupied with walking her fingers up one of the poster’s of Rhea’s bed.

“You talk as if Griffith has ever felt anything more complex for a woman than lust or brotherly protectiveness,” Rhea said.

Aerea shrugged and leaned against Rhea, her trail up the bedpost left abandoned. “I know him well enough to guess.”

“If the two of you only have negative things to say about your brother, why are you helping me to win his committed affection?”

“Because we like you, and you mean a good deal to our cousins.” Aerea was still leaning hard against her.

“And because it will be better for our brother in the long run if he settles down, and better for us if he stops tarnishing the reputation of our half of the family. I don’t want to be the sister of the man who has ruined every woman he comes in contact with.”

“I am sure it has nothing to do with how good and romantic a story Griffith’s taming would make, right Adrienne?” Rhea teased, bringing color to her cousin’s cheeks. She turned away quickly, trying to hide her flush from the room full of women.

“Friendship with Rhea and Helaena and Abby, and not sullying your debuts with his reputation, and good stories; right, good, motivations in order. Can someone please help me figure out how to make Griffith Tyrell fall in love with me so I can stop pining? I want to kiss him so badly that I am fit to burst, and you two said I should not even do that!”

“Because that is how he will ensnare you, and the next thing you know you are one more in his long string of abandoned lovers, and no one gets what they want except him.”

Mya sighed tiredly. She was resigned to something, although Rhea could not be sure if it was to “her fate” of eternally trying to win Griffith over, or to subjecting herself to whatever the twins told her to do. Whichever it was, both would be over soon. He was as stubborn as his sisters said, that much was true, but he was not completely without all good sense. If Abby had been able to win Aegon over and reform him from his rakish ways, then Mya could do the same for Griffith. He was no worse, he was just craftier and less aware of his own heart.

“What we need to do is plan one big, grand moment that will make him realize if he has fallen for you or not. If we can make this Griffith’s idea, and if he becomes aware of it all at once, he will have to do something about it. That is his way after all,” Rhea proposed.

“Rhea is right!” Aerea sat up all at once, making her wince as she shouted. She shoved her younger cousin's shoulder, grumbling how she hurt her ears.

“Oh, yes!” Abby perked back up at that, her pout turning into a grin that spread across her freckled face, “That is brilliant, Rhea. Between all of us, we will find a way to make Griffith jealous.”

“I did not say to make him jealous.” Rhea clarified, skeptical of Abby’s trail of thought.

“No, but what better way to go about your suggestion is there?” She rebutted, doubling down on her plan of playing to Griffith’s jealousy.

Rhea ran her tongue over her teeth. There wasn't a better way; her father, Aegon, Aemond, even Stannis; none of them were immune to such feelings, so neither was Griffith. Surely. So if there was a surefire way to know if all their long attempts at getting him to love Mya in a truer way than he told all the other young women had paid off while he simply stubbornly clung to the known of his old ways, it would be to see if he got possesively jealous towards her affections.

“Alright Abrogail, what do you propose?”

“Nothing yet, we need a place and time for me to really get a good plot that is likely to work.”

“The ball Lady Johanna is hosting to try and suss out good matches for her girls,” Mya offered, her tone so casual it could have been an off-handed remark, “because it is not like her husband is trying terribly hard to look.”

“Because Lord Jason Lannister is a man with very little going on in his mind beyond his own importance,” Adrienne quipped. Her opinion of her third cousin mirrored every other member of her grandmother’s family, and if it was not so funny to see him live up to those opinions by bumbling through social interactions, a trifle disguised and riding high off his own pomp, Rhea would have felt bad for the man.

“Oh, yes! That is perfect!” Abby took a few steps away from where Mya sat, her hands clasped in front of her chest as a dreamy look entered her eyes, “We will all make sure you are absolutely incomparable, and as soon as we have eyes on Griffith and know he is aware of your presence, you will dance with someone else. A big show must be made of it too, he must see you can easily replace his spot on your dance card. All of the spots, even! He shan’t even have a chance with you tonight unless he begs, because Mya Redfort is not so easily won over.”

“I like your plan, but what if whoever I dance with instead gets the wrong idea and thinks I do want to replace Griffith?”

“Dance with Stannis. The threat of you being willing to do something besides pining for Griffith the whole night is still there, but he is already married and is head-over-heels for Helaena.”

“Rhea, that is so brilliant I could kiss you!”

“Remember Baldric, subtlety is key.” Griffith whispered in his younger cousin's ear before gently pushing him in the direction of the Lannister girls. Whether Baldric was determined to follow in his and Aegon’s footsteps, or start off as seriously as his brother did not matter. Subtlety in his advances and flirtations had served Griffith well, and so it would serve his young protege as he was thrust onto society.

Griffith only made a brief glance towards his cousin as he greeted Lady Johanna's two oldest girls; he was interested in Baldric's progress, but he could hear about it later. He had plans for the night…or well, he had Aegon’s plans (their wording altered slightly so as to be about Mya Redfort instead of Abrogail). This night was for pulling out all the stops, for wooing his blonde beauty and finally winning a kiss “to spur him” into telling her how besotted he was–as if he were so overcome in the moment he had to tell her right then, and had not been fretting for two days over his sudden reform.

Griffith breezed through the crowd, gray eyes sweeping across every gathered face until he saw her. Her gown was red, it usually was at these sorts of functions, with puffed white sleeves and a bodice that seemed to act more as a shelf to push her breasts up than anything else. Tight, blonde curls framed her face, and a comb with red roses held her bun in place. He would have thought Mya looked beautiful at any given point on a Tuesday morning, flushed from laughter at some conspiratorial secret she shared and in one of the day dresses she always wore, her gloveless fingers stained from eating too many raspberries, but tonight she made Griffith nearly forget to breath. If it were not improper, he would be her partner for every dance so that no one else could.

He plucked two champagne flutes from the tray a servant held as he passed by on his way to where Mya stood with his cousins. Appearing effortlessly out of the crowd, her first drink of the night already on offer, was all part of the plan. It was not Griffith being a besotted fool like Aegon. 

“Miss Redfort.” 

Her green eyes, already large and expressive, were wide as she looked up at him. Mya was already flying her colors, her cheeks subtly red and undoubtedly warm. Her pretty, pink mouth opened with a false start, and she pressed her lips together for a thoughtful moment before properly saying anything.

“It is very good to see you this evening, Mister Tyrell,” her eyes flickered to the glass he held out towards her, “and it is thoughtful of you to already be seeing to my needs.”

“I am nothing but thoughtful. And in my thoughtfulness, I came to the idea that, once you were done of course, I could have the honor of your first dance of the evening.”

“My first dance has already been promised to Stannis.”

His head whipped towards his cousin, who looked a bit bewildered for a moment. Then, Stannis’s eyes met Griffith’s, and an easy smile (an expression that would have looked as at home on his younger brother) spread across his face. He had been told the plan, both he and Baldric had because it was the way of things, Stannis knew Griffith was to woo Mya as an excuse to tell her everything. Surely he would not dare be overcome by one of his rare moods of mischief now. His having no taste for “such games” could not mean he would throw a rub in the way, because that would be participating.

“Indeed it has. Sorry, Griff.”

Helaena slipped her hand from the crook of Stannis’s elbow, and he offered his hand to Mya. Griffith seethed as his lady placed her hand atop his cousin’s and let herself be led away. Rhea and Abby giggled as they leaned into each other, and his mouth turned down into a tight, visible frown. Neither of those two were getting the champagne, that was certain, and so Griffith shoved it towards Stannis’s wife. Helaena either did not know or did nor care about what was going on, and happily took the delicate flute of sparkling wine from him.

Rhea grinned, every bit as smug as any of Griffith’s company was capable of. “Why, Griffith–”

He did not wait for whatever Rhea was going to say, silently stalking further into the ballroom so as to continue watching Mya and Stannis. And heavens but Mya was graceful, even if she was dancing with another man. Griffith’s nose scrunched, that should be him she glided about with. What good was a dance with Stannis, anyhow? He was married already and not even half the catch Griffith was. Or, no, that was a disservice to both Helaena and, under circumstances where his head was clearer, his friend; Stannis was not half as good a catch for Mya. He was perfect for Aegon’s sister though, strange as she might be at times.

“You are upset.”

“Shit!” He startled so that champagne sloshed over the rim of his glass. Griffith would never know if it was not being able to hear Helaena’s approach over the music and the gossip, or if it was just her silent skulking that made her able to sneak up on him.

“You are not doing a good job at hiding it,” she continued, voice bland and matter-of-fact, “you never do. You should not be surprised I noticed.”

“I’m not surprised you–shouldn’t you be giggling with Rhea and Abrogail?”

“I do not think what they’re giggling about is funny.”

“Fair enough.”

“It does seem to have worked though.” Helaena said before taking a sip of the champagne that had been meant for Mya.

“What worked?”

“Abrogail’s plan to make you jealous for Mya’s attention; something about you not noticing feelings, and grand conspiracies they all came up with. It all seems silly to me, and I doubt Stannis would have danced with Mya if he knew.”

They could not have schemes, he had schemes! Throwing propriety to the wind in a move that would have probably made Aegon proud, Griffith downed the whole flute of champagne in one go, finishing it just in time to thrust the now empty glass into the hands of one of the Lannister’s butlers. If Mya was going to try and make him jealous in some gambit to–fiend seize it, who even knew what her gambit was! Either way, two could play at this game, and at the end of the night one of them would get whatever it was they wanted.

“Helaena, would you like to dance?”

“I shall pretend I could not hear you, and that way no one can be offended.”

“I’m offended.”

“At this moment, I don’t think you count.”

Griffith scoffed, even more offended now. What had he done to her?! It was not like he’d ever flirted with Helaena, Stannis had wanted her since they were boys and it would not have been right.

“I don’t want to join whatever games you and Mya are playing at, and I don’t think you should even be engaging in them in the first place. They do not make any sense” Helaena paused to take another sip, and then continued, “you are not dimwitted, although you are acting a bit like it right now, you know how Mya feels about you, Griffith. She feels how every woman you’ve charmed feels about you, and you know how you feel–”

“And how do I feel, Helaena?”

“More strongly than you would ever want to let on, if you actually rising to the bait means anything.” And it did, she knew it did, because Stannis’s wife was obnoxiously insightful. Griffith did not respond, he let her stew in how right she was in silence, and after a moment, Helaena continued.

“I don’t know why you cannot just tell her.”

“Because…because.”

She blinked slowly, her light purple eyes boring into him with all the intensity his sister Aerea’s eyes ever carried, or his Uncle Aemon’s. She was waiting for a justification that would not come, because Griffith wasn’t sure there was one.

“So there is no reason you cannot tell her how you feel towards her, just as I said. And you must know that you never telling her will get neither of you what you desire, and that should she move on because you never commit, that you will never be as happy in your rakish behavior as you were before all of this nonsense that has been going on all season ever since you failed to get Mya into your bed the first time.”

“How does Stannis tolerate you always being right?”

“He does not ‘tolerate’ anything, he likes it.”

Griffith and Helaena stood silently next to each other after that, the both of them watching the dancers sweep across the floor. He watched Stannis and Mya, still burning with jealousy because of his infuriating cousins. Helaena probably watched everyone, or if she was watching Stannis and Mya it was not because of jealousy, but because of how well she liked him.

He took his first steps when the final few notes of the dance began, he knew all of the music from these balls as well as he knew the back of his own hand, or as well as he knew how to elicit sweeter sounds from whatever woman he’d set his sights on. Mya Redfort in this case, and in all the cases for the rest of his life. Because apparently these sorts of things were inevitable for his family.

“Miss Redfort.”

“Oh! Mister Tyrell,” she smiled up at him, just as teasing as it always was these past three months, but more knowing than coy, “I presume you are here for that dance? I shall have to check my card, I believe it is already full, or nearly at least.”

“We must talk.” He cut in quickly before she could continue, his hand involuntarily coming to rest on her upper arm. Her cheeks went red again, brighter than before, and an increasingly familiar spark of hope shone in her green eyes.

“Must?”

“It is important, gravely so…please.”

“Alright.” Her voice was soft as a breath, and Griffith dropped his hand to offer Mya his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and her smile betrayed her excitement. Mya had fully convinced herself she was getting exactly what she wanted how she had planned to get it, but she didn’t because it was Helaena that got him to speak to her plainly, not whatever she had plotted with Rhea and Abby. Griffith at least had the satisfaction of that.

“I'll make sure Lady Johanna does not see the two of you leaving and send out a chaperone.” Stannis whispered before side-stepping between two gathering groups of dancers and making his way back into the throng of guests in the ballroom. He was a good and reliable chap when nerves or a bout of humor that came at someone else's expense did not overtake him.

Mya clung to Griffith’s arm as they made their way through the ballroom and out the side door that led into the manor’s grounds. The gardens at Casterly weren't much in comparison to Thorn Hall, but they were nice enough, and it wasn't like the pair of them were there to take in the scenery. They remained silent when they stopped in front of the fountain, the only sound the quiet splash of water from the lion's mouth falling into the basin at its stone paws.

Coming up with what to say had felt easy when he schemed with Aegon, it was so much more intimidating to think of what to tell Mya when saying plainly how he felt loomed before him. Griffith had never been so true in any of the pretty words he so easily spun for the women who came before her, and now that he meant everything it felt like every word he’d ever known left him. Mya brought her hands to clasp in front of her chest and turned to face him, it was now or never.

“This evening has not gone at all how I planned it to, but it has still brought me to the ending I wanted…or at least something similar.”

“Us being alone together hardly constitutes you having your way.”

“I did not bring you here to–blast and damnation–Mya Redfort, I love you!”

“Truly?” Even though this was what she'd wanted, she sounded surprised and disbelieving. Mya, it would seem, had not planned this far either.

“Deeply, madly. For months I have thought about, have wanted, no one but you. It is as if you have bewitched me…and it frightens me. I do not know what to do with such sincerity, except to offer it to you and hope you will have it. And–and hope you will have me; mind, body, soul, whatever you desire of me, Mya, you shall have it. I would not want to give myself to anyone else.”

“Oh…oh, Griffith,” her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she smiled all the same, “I love you too. I have loved you.” There was weight there. She’d been harboring such affections for him for months at least. Had it been years? He hoped not, Griffith did not like the thought of Mya silently pining as he flirted and fucked his way through dozens for three years; disappointing her as he carried on so. No, he would banish the thought. It didn't matter now. This moment was all that mattered.

He gently cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. “Would you marry me, if I asked?”

“I would. And…and would you stay and still mean all of what you said if I let you kiss me?”

“Wild horses could not drag me away.” His gaze did not break from Mya’s as his hand slid from her soft cheek to her jaw, his thumb resting under her chin so he could tilt her head back. Her eyes were wide and wanting, and she parted her lips as Griffith leaned down to kiss her.

Mya kissed him back, firm and hungry, as her hands came to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as if that would hold him in place forever. As if she needed to go to that much effort.

They were breathless when the kiss broke, and Griffith put his forehead against hers as he gently ran his thumb over her lower lip. His other hand went to her waist, and he wanted desperately to pull her as close as he could, to guide Mya into grinding against him. 

“I love you, Mya.” No amount of times he could tell her would be enough to satisfy him.

“Enough to kiss me again?”

“For that and more.” He did as she bid, teasingly brief, as his hand dropped from her jaw and came to hold her waist like his other. Mya pressed her lips together into a tight frown, her brows furrowing over her pretty green eyes. She released his coat and held his face now, pulling Griffith’s mouth down into hers to kiss him how she had meant.

He smiled into the kiss, truly being in love only changed a handful of things really, and walked Mya backwards until her knees hit the basin of the fountain. She sat there, dragging Griffith with her so he loomed over her.

He leaned on one arm, his hand flat against the smooth stone of the fountain basin and placed close enough to Mya that his thumb was against her hip. His other hand came to her thigh, giving it a brief squeeze through the satiny fabric of her red gown. Griffith would not push her for more than this, he could make himself be satisfied if she wanted to wait for their engagement or even their marriage for anything more intimate, but he could still relish in touching her and silently pray for more. He was still getting what he wanted after all: turning Mya Redfort into Mya Tyrell.

[asa-do-your-thing]

An inconvenient Attachment - Chapter 2

“Callers”

Regency AU! Aemond x F! OC

18+ MINORS DNI​

Word Count: 2,2k

Warnings: not really anything besides some lying and period-accurate misoginy. The tiniest amount of fluff if you squint.

Also a huuuge thank you to @crownedtargaryen​ for pre-reading it and giving me help&advice!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics​

​

The morning of the Countess of Stanmore and her daughter, Camille, began like every other day at their townhouse in Hanover Square in London. As the first dim rays of the rising sun slowly crept in through the windowpanes, the servants’ footsteps could be heard from the hallway below. Soon enough, the house was alive with the clatter and chatter of the servants preparing breakfast and attending to their duties.

The Countess, attired in a dark silk morning dress and a lace trimmed shawl, was already in her drawing room. She had her breakfast laid out on a mahogany side table and began to enjoy a cup of tea as she read through some correspondence. Camille soon joined her mother, wearing a pretty pink day dress, her hair tied into a bun at the back of her head.

Yawning, she sat down and poured herself some tea, rubbing her sore eyes. "Good morning, mother. How are you?" The Countess looked up from her letters and smiled warmly. "Good morning, my dear. I am well, thank you. And how did you sleep?"

Camille took a sip of her tea, savoring its warmth. "Not too well, I'm afraid. I might have overindulged myself in the punch yesterday for I had the strangest dreams last night."

"Oh?" the Countess raised an eyebrow in interest. "Pray, do tell."

"It was nothing, really," Camille said, shrugging. "Just some silly dreams about suitors and duels...well, it doesn't matter." She trailed off as a servant entered the room with a tray of freshly baked pastries.

The servant bowed and set the tray down on the table. "My lady, there is a caller at the door."

The Countess raised her eyebrows in surprise. "A visitor at this hour? Who is it?" she said as she rose from her seat to go and greet them.

She returned shortly with a rather clumsy looking gentleman wearing a deep blue tailcoat, flaxen breeches, and a powdered wig that seemed to be slightly out of place. She introduced him as Lord Blywood and asked Camille to stand so he could greet her properly.

Camille blushed slightly and stood up reluctantly, but was soon put at ease by Lord Blywood's gentle mannerisms. He began telling her about his travels in Europe, speaking animatedly about the beautiful landscapes and fascinating cultures he had encountered there. Despite herself, Camille found herself intrigued by his stories, imagining what it would be like to travel the world like he had done.

He went on about his most recent expedition, into the Pyrenees mountain range, where he claimed to have uncovered an old temple filled with priceless artifacts. As he spoke, it became more and more difficult to believe his story; his passion for exploration seemed too good to be true. Camille stifled a yawn. Wasn't calling upon someone the first step in a courtship? Why on earth did he try to bore her with false stories, then?

She couldn't quite believe him, as he told her all of these fantastic stories. Arching an eyebrow, she cocked her head to the side. "Aren't the Pyrenees in France, my Lord? What kind of temple did you find? For it is not known that the Gauls had any temples there and Roman temples are... well, well known."

Lord Blywood's expression faltered for a moment as he seemed to realize he had been caught in his lie. "Ah, well, my dear, you are quite right. It was actually in Egypt where I made that particular discovery."

Camille chuckled softly to herself, wondering what other grand tales Lord Blywood had up his sleeve. After a moment, the conversation eventually turned to more mundane topics of politeness and gossip, and Camille found herself growing bored once again.

As soon as Lord Blywood had taken his leave, Camille turned to her mother with a sigh. "What a bore," she said, rolling her eyes. "All that talk of temples and expeditions."

The Countess smiled indulgently at her daughter. "Give him time, my dear. Perhaps he simply needs to find the right subject to engage you with."

Camille shook her head. "I highly doubt it, mother. His stories were quite absurd, and I found his mannerisms to be rather off-putting."

"Well, we shall see," the Countess said with a shrug. "Perhaps he will surprise us yet."

But deep down, Camille knew that Lord Blywood was not the kind of man she could fall in love with. She longed for adventure and excitement, not safe and boring tales of far-off lands. As she sipped her tea and nibbled on a croissant, Camille made a mental note to keep searching for the kind of man who could truly capture her heart.

It wasn't long before several more callers arrived. Lord Fennly was the quintessential London gentleman, with a dashing smile and the kind of wit that kept Camille entertained for hours. He brought her a bouquet of daffodils, from god-knows-where, seeing as snow was fast approaching. But amiable as he was, she couldn't help feeling that he would be better suited to one of the other debutantes, especially those that loved... a thrill.

The next caller was less handsome but more dignified. Lord Thurston tried his best to engage Camille in spirited conversation, but it quickly became apparent that they had nothing in common—he favored dull topics such as politics and economics while she enjoyed reading novels and attending musical events. In the end, they agreed to disagree politely and part ways shortly after.

By now it was beginning to seem like none of the gentlemen who called on her would ever captivate her heart the way she hoped—not like Lord Aemond, who seemed so full of promise when they met at last night's ball.

Just as a rather old italian Count whose name Camille had completely forgotten had given her a lame compliment, the door flew open and Lord Aemond strode in with a cold expression. One of the Earl's footmen brought in a gargantuan vase of mixed flowers and set them on the small table in front of Camille, obscuring her view and hiding her from everyone else.

"What is this?" the Countess exclaimed, frowning slightly at Lord Aemond. The young man set his jaw and cleared his throat. "A gift for the Lady Camille," he replied, smiling confidently. "My apologies for calling upon you so late in the day."

Camille pressed her kerchief against her nose, trying her hardest not to sneeze and tried glancing over the flowers at him. "Th-- Thank you. Achoo!", she sneezed and tried her best to bow to him.

"My lady, you look quite beautiful today," he said, looking down at her over the flowers. He smiled and glanced around at the other men surrounding Camille, who had been left standing awkwardly around the Countess's drawing room.

“Are they giving you trouble, my Lady?” He asked, putting on a protective expression and getting between her and the other men. Camille awkwardly shook her head and looked at her mother, who in turn stood up and gave them a short smile. "I am most grateful for your presence this day, gentlemen. I must now humbly request your departure, though you are ever welcome to return in the future." The Count and the other gentleman hurriedly bowed to them both before they left in a flurry of cloaks and hats, leaving Lord Aemond and Camille alone, save for the Countess, who had begun pouring Brandy into her tea mug.

Camille tried to peek out between the leaves of the huge bouquet he brought, feeling embarrassed and awkward as ever. This was her first time 'alone' with Lord Aemond and she could feel her nerves starting to get the better of her. As she tried to think of something witty or charming enough to say, she noticed that Lord Aemond was looking intently at her, evidently waiting for her to say something.

“Forgive me my Lady, but you look comical hidden behind these flowers like that!” He said with a chuckle.Camille blushed furiously, wishing more than anything for some kind of distraction so she wouldn’t have to look up into his face directly. “Yes…well, I do thank you for this kind gift, it is rather beautiful…um...what were you saying?” She stammered nervously before taking another sip from her tea cup in hopes that her embarrassment would soon pass. Lord Aemond bit his lip, as if he was getting annoyed with her awkwardness. "I was simply asking how your day has been so far, my lady. You seem to have had quite a few callers."

Camille rolled her eyes, the memory of Lord Blywood's elaborate stories still fresh in her mind. "Yes, quite a few," she said with a sigh. "But they were all rather dull, I'm afraid."

Lord Aemond raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, I hope I won't bore you with my conversation, then."

Camille smiled, yet still hoped that the ground might swallow her up at any given moment. Why on earth was he making her feel this way?  "I highly doubt that," she said teasingly, trying to bite down her nervousness. "You always have something intriguing to say."

Lord Aemond chuckled, his eye cold and sparkling. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me, my lady," he said, leaning forward slightly. Camille felt a sudden warmth overtaking her chest, but she tried to ignore it and simply nodded and laughed, fanning herself. "Oh, I wasn't aware that you were that easily impressed!" She joked, glancing up at him. Why did he always have to look so stoic with his dark eyepatch and pomaded hair? The Lord only knew. Lord Aemond smiled at her before getting up from his seat and bowing slightly in front of her. 

He looked just like a cat that was inches away from a sweet, fat mouse. "If I may be so bold, my lady… Would you graciously accept to accompany me to the opera house this evening? It has been an age since I have listened to some sublime melodies, and I can think of no more delightful companion than one as exquisite as yourself."

Camille felt her heart skip a beat at his words, unable to comprehend why such a handsome and well-known gentleman would choose to spend an evening with someone like her. However, before she could find an answer in herself, he extended his arm for her to take hold of it, smiling warmly at her – a look so genuine that all doubts seemed to vanish in seconds. "Yes," She said shyly, putting on a brave smile as she accepted his invitation. After that, conversation seemed to come much easier than before. Lord Aemond showed himself quite the gentleman, talking about his love for works of literature, philosophy and art. Camille had never expected a nobleman to be so open-minded and well-read, yet here he was – speaking as if they were lifelong friends instead of strangers. In little more than an hour they were already deep in discussions regarding the many sculptures they planned to visit during their trip to the opera house.

Camille couldn't believe how quickly time had gone by. She had never felt so comfortable talking to someone she barely knew, and it was a feeling that warmed her heart like nothing else.

With a smile on her face, she got up from her seat, bowing politely to Lord Aemond. "I think it is about time for me to retire to my chambers," She said with an awkward smile, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her.

He nodded in understanding, also getting up from his seat. "It has been a pleasure spending some time with you, my lady," He said warmly before looking away and taking a step back as if to remind himself that it was proper etiquette not to keep someone in their company any longer than necessary.

She smiled and gave him one last curtsy before turning away and walking out of the room. But as soon as she closed the door behind her, Camille could feel her cheeks heating up at the thought of what had just transpired between them–it seemed like an eternity since she had experienced such lovely feelings like these!

Could Lord Aemond have felt something too? She wondered dreamily as she made her way towards her chambers. Only time would tell…

As she sat there, lost in thought, a knock sounded at the door, interrupting her musings. Her maid entered, her face flushed with excitement. "My Lady! There is a package for you, left here by Lord Aemond Targaryen," she said breathlessly, holding out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

Camille took the parcel, her heart racing with anticipation. She opened it up, revealing a beautiful necklace made of pearls and diamonds with a thick sapphire in the middle.

"Please tell me if I should consider courting you, my Lady. Do not make it it more difficult for me than it has to be. I know I'm not your first choice.."

A faint crease appeared on her brow as she surveyed his note. She hastened to don the necklace, perplexed by its purpose. Evidently, he was the only person to arouse any kind of romantic feeling in her, so what was he thinking about?

[fatherforgivethem]

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more…”

~~ Regency Era Alicole

~~ The two at first hated one another. Though, over time, they began to fall in love. At each ball, they always seemed to find one another. No matter how dark it might be, they were each a light that shined in the dark. Always light enough to find.

~~ He was a Lord of little money, she was a Lady of a fine house. They were never supposed to marry, never supposed to fall in love. But as fate would have it, they would. Their souls danced together, and their hands always seemed to lock around one another’s.

~~ They are the only one for each other. The only person that they will ever truly love. They may be of different status, but status does not determine love.

[oops-it-happened-again]

Ugh so tempted to do a Regency-style AU 🥹

I love AUs so much 🫣

[asa-writes]

An Inconvenient Attachment - 01

“The Debut”

Aemond Targaryen x F! OC - Regency AU - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2,7k

Warnings: Period accurate misogyny, mentions death, mentions alcohol

The grand ballroom at the Earl and Countess' stately home on London's Hanover Square shimmered like a constellation under the soft glow of countless candles. The grand ballroom's walls were draped in luxurious velvet and silk tapestries, the marble floors gleaming beneath a shimmering constellation of candlelight. Colorful chandeliers sparkled like stars from the ceiling, and the walls were adorned with beautiful oil paintings in ornate frames. Couples twirled gracefully on the dancefloor, their graceful movements almost hypnotic as they moved to the melodious music of the orchestra. 

Lady Camille Stanmore, her dark brown curls arranged meticulously in an intricate updo, hesitated at the threshold, her heart fluttering like a caged bird within her bosom. Nervous but excited for her debut, she clutched her mother's arm tightly, her pale skin standing out against the delicate fabric of her satin gown. Its colors  were shifting from deep royal blues to bright emerald greens. Intricate embroidery of silver and gold thread adorned the puffed sleeves, the low neckline, and hem of the dress, sparkling like glittering diamonds against the silky, smooth material.

"Deep breaths, my dear," whispered her mother, the Countess of Stanmore. The tall, slender woman gave Lady Camille a reassuring smile as they stepped into the throng of guests after they had greeted them. Her father, George James Hector Stanmore, the Earl of Stanmore, followed behind them, his chest puffed out with pride despite his short stature.

"May I present my daughter, Lady Camille Stanmore," announced the Earl, his deep voice carrying throughout the ballroom. The Ton turned their gazes upon her, appraising her youth, beauty and innocence. Lady Camille felt her cheeks flush under their scrutiny, her shyness exacerbated by the presence of so many well-groomed men.

"Camille, darling!" called Lady Felicity Beaufort, the Countess of Havisham, gliding towards them with the grace of a swan. Her dark blonde hair was swept up elegantly, framing her lightly ruddy face. "You look absolutely enchanting! Are you ready to be introduced to the Ton?"

"Thank you, Lady Felicity," replied Lady Camille, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

"Allow me to accompany you, dear," offered Lady Felicity, taking Lady Camille by the arm. The young debutante cast a grateful glance at her friend, whose steadfast loyalty and protection were like a beacon in this unfamiliar world of courtship. Lady Felicity had been her late brother's fiancée, before he had died a few years ago, so her family knew her well and approved of her being in Camille's presence.

"Very well," agreed the Countess, nodding her approval as Lady Felicity guided Lady Camille around the ballroom, engaging in small talk with various members of the Ton. In their conversations, Lady Camille's wit and intelligence began to emerge, though it was still tempered by her shyness around men.

"Have you met Alicent Targaryen, the Marchioness of Hightower?" asked Lady Felicity as they approached a cold, stoic woman with auburn hair. "She is Lord Aegon and Lord Aemond's mother. You must surely have read about them in the society papers."

Lady Camille's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Lord Aemond, but she quickly schooled her features into a polite expression. "I have not had the pleasure, but I am eager to make her acquaintance," she said while nudging Felicity. "I've heard that you might be of help?"

"Be mindful of your words, dear," warned Lady Felicity in a hushed tone, fanning herself gently. "The Marchioness has a tendency to be rather anxious and nervous. See how she bites her nails?"

"Thank you for the advice," murmured Lady Camille, taking a deep breath before approaching the Marchioness with a curtsy. "Lady Hightower, it is an honour to meet you."

"Likewise, Lady Camille," replied the Marchioness, her voice cool and detached. Her eyes, however, held a hint of warmth as they studied the young debutante. "Pray, if I may be so bold," said the Marchioness, her brown eyes never leaving Lady Camille's countenance. "Would you do me the honor of telling me a bit about yourself and your kin? It is only proper for my son, Lord Aemond, to be informed of you before any real introductions are made." Lady Camille turned crimson at the inquiry, taken aback by the sudden shift in discourse.

“Yes, your ladyship,” answered Lady Camille hesitatingly, feeling a pang of embarrassment as the Marchioness's gaze bore through her. With an uneasy cough, she began to inform the Marchioness on her family background, what minutiae intrigued her, and a number of other pleasantries that were deemed appropriate for those of a certain class. The Marchioness attentively heard these statements with curiosity, occasionally interjecting in order to glean more information. As their discourse concluded, a faint hint of satisfaction flickered across the Marchioness's features as she nodded approvingly.

“It was a true pleasure to make your acquaintance," uttered the Marchioness with a slight curtsey as she departed from Lady Camille. "I am sure my beloved son shall be equally delighted should he be granted the honour of meeting you." And thus, her charming countenance gracefully slinked away in the throng of highborn gentlemen and gentlewomen who engaged in conversation and dance throughout the magnificent ballroom.

As the evening progressed, Lady Camille found herself being introduced to a succession of eligible gentlemen, each vying for her attention and an opportunity to claim a dance. The grand ballroom was bathed in the soft glow of countless candles, their flickering light reflecting off the polished parquet floor and casting delicate shadows upon the dancers.

"Remember, dear," whispered Lady Felicity as they stood on the edge of the dancefloor, "a true gentleman will always be respectful and attentive to your needs. Pay close attention to their mannerisms."

Lady Camille nodded, her heart fluttering with nervous anticipation. She dried her sweaty palms on her luxurious dress and gave her companion an unsure smile. The first gentleman to request a dance was a tall, slender man with neatly-trimmed sideburns and an air of quiet confidence. She hesitated only a moment before accepting his offer, allowing him to guide her through the intricate steps of the quadrille.

When the dance concluded, Lady Felicity offered her assessment. "He is well-mannered, but perhaps a bit too reserved for your spirited nature. Lord Fitzroy-Sutherland is a keen observer of birds, I do not know if you could be well suited," she said, hiding behind her fan and taking a sip of punch. Her keen eyes continued to survey the room, evaluating each potential suitor with practiced ease.

"Would you like me to introduce you to another gentleman?" she asked, taking her chaperonee by the arm and guiding her around the room.

"Please," Lady Camille replied, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of the dance.

The next gentleman - the Viscount of Chelmsworth - was a jovial fellow with a boisterous laugh that echoed through the ballroom. He swept Lady Camille off her feet in a lively waltz, leaving her breathless and slightly disoriented by the end, constantly talking about his love for the Stanmore's berry pie.

"An enjoyable dance partner, I'm sure," remarked Lady Felicity once they had retreated to the sidelines, giving Lady Camille some Champagne, "but his exuberance may prove tiresome in the long run, don't you think?."

Before Lady Camille could reply, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned to find her parents standing beside her, accompanied by a striking gentleman with silver-blond hair and a leather eyepatch over his left eye. The Earl of Stanmore cleared his throat, drawing her attention.

"Camille, allow me to introduce Lord Aemond Targaryen," he said, gesturing to the man before them. "Lord Aemond, this is my daughter, Lady Camille Stanmore."

"Your servant, my lady," said Lord Aemond, bowing low. His voice was rich and resonant, sending a shiver down Lady Camille's spine.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she replied, curtsying demurely. Her heart raced as she dared to meet his violet gaze, feeling an inexplicable connection that left her breathless.

"Tell me, Lady Camille," Lord Aemond asked, his tone light and teasing, "are you enjoying your debut so far?"

"Very much so," she answered, attempting to mirror his casual demeanor. "The company has been delightful, and the music enchanting."

"Indeed, the orchestra has outdone itself tonight," he agreed, casting a glance towards the musicians. "Might I have the honour of the next dance?"

"Of course, my lord," Lady Camille assented, her pulse quickening at the prospect. In the corner of her eyes, she saw Lady Felicity giving her a gentle wink.

As they awaited the start of the next song, Lady Camille could not help but marvel at the strange sensation that washed over her. In the presence of this enigmatic man, she felt both exhilarated and comforted, as if destiny had woven their paths together in a tapestry of fate.

As the music swelled, Lord Aemond extended his hand to Lady Camille, guiding her onto the dance floor with a grace that belied his proud lineage. The grand ballroom was awash in a sea of shimmering fabrics and glittering jewels, but in that moment, all faded into insignificance as they prepared to share their first dance.

"Remember to breathe, my dear," whispered Lord Aemond, a playful smile dancing upon his lips as he noticed her nervousness. "I promise not to tread upon your toes."

"Your assurance is most welcome, my lord," replied Lady Camille with a hint of her usual wit, allowing herself a small smile as she placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling the support and steadiness it provided. They moved in tandem with the music, their bodies an extension of the other's, as if they had danced together a thousand times before. Each step was fluid, each turn effortless, as if guided by some unseen force.

"Now that we have gotten past the pleasantries, tell me- what is your favorite food from tonight's ball?" asked Lord Aemond with a smile, seemingly trying to make Lady Camille feel more comfortable while he held her close.

Lady Camille smiled in response, for she found herself delighted by this sudden change in conversation. "Oh my lord," she began, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks as his gaze lingered upon hers. "I must confess that I've quite enjoyed all of the delicacies presented here tonight- from the roasted venison meddled with spices to the sweet pastries topped with fresh fruit." She paused for a moment to sin arund him before continuing eagerly. "But my favorite would have to be the delectable lemon tartlets - they are simply scrumptious!"

As they glided across the polished marble floor, Lady Camille felt the weight of her shyness dissipate, replaced instead by a newfound confidence that seemed to emanate from Lord Aemond himself. 

"Lord Aemond," she ventured hesitantly, seeking to understand the enigma before her, "I cannot help but wonder...why did you choose me for this dance?" "Is it so unusual, Lady Camille, for a gentleman to be drawn to a woman of such rare beauty and charm?" His violet eye held her captive, revealing a vulnerability she had not expected.

"Perhaps not," she conceded, "but I sense there is more to you than meets the eye, my lord. I am drawn to you as well, though I cannot quite put my finger on why."

"Ah, Lady Camille," he replied, his voice barely audible above the strains of the waltz, "if I may be so bold, I believe we have stumbled upon a connection that defies mere words. It is something to be cherished, nurtured...and perhaps one day, it will blossom into something beyond our wildest dreams."

As the music drew to its enchanting conclusion, Lady Camille felt her heart swell with the promise of a future filled with passion and intrigue, her very soul entwined with that of Lord Aemond Targaryen.

Meanwhile, the Earl and Countess of Stanmore observed their daughter's debut from the edge of the dance floor, their eyes filled with a mixture of pride and concern.

"George," murmured the countess, "I am pleased to see our dear Camille enjoying herself tonight, but do you not think there is something...intense about her interactions with Lord Aemond?"

"Indeed, Anette," replied the earl, stroking his moustache thoughtfully, "but the young lord comes from a prestigious family, and if there is a genuine connection between them, who are we to stand in their way?"

"Of course, my love," the countess conceded, her gaze never leaving her daughter. "I only hope that in this whirlwind of excitement, our Camille does not lose sight of who she truly is – a kind, intelligent young woman with the world at her feet."

"Have faith, my dear," reassured the earl, placing a gentle hand on his wife's arm. "Our daughter has a strong spirit, and I trust that she will navigate these uncharted waters with the grace and determination that has always been her hallmark. Even though she might not be the brightest, may god forgive me for saying so, I do think that she shall find a perfectly well-established gentleman."

As they continued to watch Lady Camille and Lord Aemond, the Earl and Countess of Stanmore held fast to the hope that their daughter's debut would be the beginning of a bright and prosperous future, built upon a foundation of love, loyalty, and unwavering devotion.

The final strains of music echoed through the grand ballroom as Lady Camille and Lord Aemond reluctantly parted, a mutual understanding passing between them that their time together had been more than mere pleasantries. As the guests began to disperse, Lady Camille felt a sense of melancholy descending upon her like a velvet cloak. The night had been a whirlwind of emotions – trepidation, elation, and now, an overwhelming exhaustion.

"Camille, my dear," said Lady Felicity, appearing at her side, "you have truly outdone yourself this evening. I daresay your debut has been nothing short of spectacular."

"Thank you, Lady Felicity," murmured Camille, her eyes still locked on Lord Aemond's retreating figure. "Your guidance has been invaluable."

"Indeed, it was my pleasure," replied Lady Felicity with a knowing smile. "Now, do not dally; your parents are waiting for you."

As she approached her mother and father, Lady Camille's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety. Though they appeared pleased with the night's outcome, she could not help but wonder what her future held – and whether or not Lord Aemond would play a role in it.

"Camille, you were absolutely enchanting tonight," gushed the countess, enfolding her daughter in a warm embrace. "I am so proud of you."

"Thank you, Mother," whispered Camille, her cheeks flushed with emotion. "Your support means the world to me."

"Your mother is right," added the Earl, his stern visage softening for a moment. "You conducted yourself with grace and poise befitting your station. Well done, my dear."

"Thank you, Father," she replied, her voice barely audible. "I only hope that I have met your expectations."

"Exceeded them, my child," he corrected, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Now, I suspect you must be quite fatigued. Off to bed with you."

"Goodnight, Mother, Father," Camille murmured, curtsying politely before departing.

As she ascended the staircase, the enormity of the evening's events weighed heavily upon her shoulders. The hushed whispers and clandestine glances that had once unnerved her now seemed a distant memory, replaced by the exhilarating thrill of Lord Aemond's touch and the heady scent of his cologne.

Upon entering her bedchamber, Lady Camille was struck by the stark contrast between the opulence of the ballroom and the familiar solitude of her own quarters. She dismissed her maid for the night, insisting that she could manage undressing herself, and collapsed onto her four-poster bed, an elegantly embroidered canopy fluttering gently overhead.

"Lord Aemond," she whispered into the darkness, the name unfamiliar yet intoxicating on her lips. "Could it be possible? Could he truly care for me as I do for him?"

With a sigh, she allowed herself one final indulgence – a lingering touch to her hand where his had been, a remnant of their connection – before surrendering to the sweet oblivion of sleep, her dreams filled with visions of a future painted with the vibrant hues of love and desire.

[wh0lemilk0vich]

Ok so listen, I'm a menace and I'm the neediest little prompt whore but just hear me out. I have been watching Interview with the Vampire, House of the Dragon, Bridgerton, and the Acolyte (plus paying Star Wars Jedi: Survivor) and I NEED gallavich crossover/au prompts, I have so many ideas but nothing to coalesce them around. If you have vampire/witch/werewolf/immortals universe, House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones, Regency era, or Jedi/Sith ideas for the boys please send them my way 🙏🙏🙏

(Bonus if there's some chubby Mickey in there too 🥹🥰🥰🥰)

Love you frends

[anamazingangie]

in which true love was sure to prevail | rhaenyra x daemon targaryen

Rated E | 3.6k | by AmazingAngie | Tags: Regency AU, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied Somnophilia, Implied Drugged Sex, Vaginal Fingering, a happy ending!

Summary :

May 15 1822, London Romance was in the summer air, dancing upon exposed skin and flushed cheeks as couples took their turns around the ballroom. This was the season in which matches were made, and in which true love was sure to prevail. Rhaenyra Targaryen could not disagree, for it was the season that brought her and her husband together. And no one could doubt the love shared between the pair.

May 15 1822, London 

A spectator would have described the evening as extraordinary—the ball something a young girl would read about on the pages of Bronte’s works, with hopes they would someday be lucky enough to read their own name upon an invitation instead. 

Necklines were wide, and waists laced tightly. Hair slicked into coils and embellished with flowers—each girl desperate to look in bloom enough for a gentleman to choose her, and not just for a song or bouquet but for life. They simpered as music played, as they followed the steps of the man hoping to impress and garner praise.  

Romance was in the summer air, dancing upon exposed skin and flushed cheeks as couples took their turns around  the ballroom. This was the season in which matches were made, and in which true love was sure to prevail. 

A spectator, however, wouldn’t have to suffer the humid air—feeling thick and heavy upon the skin the deeper you waded into the room. They wouldn’t have to smell the sweat that dripped from every brow, mixing with the cloyingly sweet scent of powder and floral perfume. 

They wouldn’t have to feel the pinch of a corset, laced tight enough poor girls wondered if the bones would leave behind bruises. They certainly wouldn’t have to feel the hair pins that seemed to sharpen with every hour, digging into the scalp and causing splitting headaches. 

They wouldn’t have to feel the heavy weight of petticoats, starch dampening and making their stockings itch. They wouldn't have to feel the blisters rubbing from the satin slippers that were so stylishly narrow they scarcely even fit! 

If they did know the truth of what it was to be a girl of seventeen in that damned ballroom, perhaps they would feel more sympathy for Rhaenyra. Perhaps they would understand why she wanted to slip away—to have a break!

These evenings went on for hours, and they were pointless for her, for she was already promised! It had been fun at first, being simpered over and told she was beautiful. But father had given her hand to her Velaryon cousin, and her stepmother sniped at her when she dared to flirt with another. 

She would rest in the gardens for a few breaths, drink her tiny glass lemonade—for these events didn’t even allow wine, and enjoy the air of the summer night. 

It smelled much better out here, she thought. The scent of flowers was light, unlike the concentrated fragrances girls her age wore. Rhaenyra swore she could smell a hint of salt, betraying their closeness to the ocean. And something else, she just couldn’t figure out what it was—-maybe… oh, cut grass! 

She grinned at her conclusion—only for her mouth to curve into a shriek as a hand clamped over it. She tried to bite down against the offending palm, but her teeth barely dented the thick leather it wore. 

Gentlemen don't wear leather gloves, she thought, dumbly, as he shoved her to the ground. 

She tried not to think much at all after that. 

.

The word extraordinary may once again come to a spectator's lips when describing Daemon Targaryen. Perhaps not to describe his place in the world alone, for he was merely solidly in the upper middle class. His last name was one of notoriety, but not one of wealth given that he was the third son of a second son whose father was also a third son. 

It had been luck that his birth was so close—mere weeks, to his twice removed cousin, Viserys. Despite their differences in stations, their mothers had been friends and the boys had become close enough to nearly resemble brothers. They were fostered together, even attending school together before taking responsibilities expected of them by their respectives families. 

Daemon’s grandmother had arranged him a match, and though he hadn’t been fond of his wife—the Royce estates and riches that she left behind in her passing made up for a great deal of what he had suffered in the decade by her side. It was an accident, the fall that took her from him—and no matter what her family claimed, there was little to be done for her even with his skills as a physician. 

With pockets lined, he was eager to put the boorish lands and people of Vale behind him. He wanted to move onto something better, or at least more exciting. He had earned it. And London, he thought, sounded perfect. 

So no–neither an extraordinary life nor family, but he was rich when it came to all else. The man was taller than most, with both an attractively thin and well muscled frame. He’d sheared his hair short before he moved, and kept his sharp jaw free from the beards that had become so stylish. 

His eyes were piercing, in a way some found thrilling and others disconcerting. He was charming, flirting endlessly with any woman who passed him, and teasing in a way that often made them long for more. His charm was not even reserved just for women, men seemed eager to impress him given his reputation for wit, and that opened doors for him. 

His cousin's doors had opened for him, too. One of his strongest supporters, Viserys, had welcomed him into his home immediately, delighted to introduce his old friend to his wife and young daughter. He charmed them too, the girl—Rhaenyra, a girl of perhaps three? Sitting happily on his knee before the evening was through. 

That had been more than a decade ago, now. He’d done well for himself in his own right, expanding his practice into all corners of the growing city. But he remained close with his childhood friend and cousin all the same. There were a mere two streets between their dwellings and rarely more than that many days between greetings. Though Viserys had settled into something of a family man, and a loyal one at that, he still enjoyed a drink around a card table nearly as much as Daemon. 

It wasn’t friendship that brought his cousin's summons to Daemon’s doorstep that day, though. It was the tragic assault and injury of his daughter, the missive brought by a servant who apologized for the late hour. Daemon barely spared her a smile, his charm fading as his jaw clenched in anger. He was hasty as he grabbed for the necessities he traveled with for his work, eager to tend to the girl he had become so fond of. 

Daemon could, perhaps, under duress, be made to admit he was more than just fond of his cousin's daughter. Rhaenyra smirked as readily as she smiled, balancing sass and wit while embodying a pretty face and full bust that begged for a taste of earthly pleasure. 

When Viserys had mentioned her betrothal contract some months prior, Daemon had hidden his shock behind a cough. The girl was barely seventeen! All the same, by the time he heard of it the ink had dried on the paper. He had gotten over his resentment, though. Made due with a blonde whore that night who vaguely resembled the maiden.

Still, even if he no longer considered her as a prospect, he didn’t wish harm to come to her. 

It was clear, when he arrived at the Targaryen house, that he was not the only one who felt this way. Viserys was in near tears, blubbering about the state of his eldest daughter. “They suspect she has been… raped,” Viserys said, wiping the short greasy hair on his cheeks. “And there was so much blood.” 

Daemon stiffened. “Blood?” 

There was never supposed to be blood. 

.

Rhaenyra heard her bedroom door open, but she did not look up. She didn’t want to see her stepmother's smug face—expression pinched in a way that seemed to suggest she deserved this. She didn’t want to see her  father, looking at her with horror at what had become of her. She didn’t want to see her maid, either, the girl who looked near tears herself, expression so heavy with sympathy. 

She had dismissed them all, though she wasn’t overly surprised to find them ignoring her wishes. But as the figure stepped closer, the gate smooth and footfalls heavy, she knew it must belong to another. Curiosity overcame her, even in a time like this, and she looked up to see the physician and friend of her father, Daemon Targaryen. He bent before her, the posture of a gentleman as he reached a hand out to her. 

She thought it amusing, how he approached her, like she was a skittish wild animal. But perhaps it was fitting, she did not feel so unlike a fearful creature given the events of the previous hours. His acknowledgment of her sensitivity was comforting, enough so that she found herself taking his hand and allowing him to pull her from her crumpled position on the floor. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, a bare thumb pushing her chin back so she was forced to look at him. She nodded, turning so he could see the back of her—where she felt the worst of it, the blade dragging into her as the captor had tried to strip her. The pain had dulled some, but still ached something awful. 

“Sweet girl,” the doctor whispered. “We need to get this off to clean it.” He said, which she realized was logical—but when his hands roamed to his bag rather than her gown she grabbed his wrist. “Could you please, please, not cut it off?” She begged, feeling very young and silly for the wish. The thought of steel against her skin was—-she shivered. 

“Of course,” he promised, smoothing his hands across her shoulders as she turned away from him once more. His hands were gentle, not disrupting the wound while he carefully unlaced the silk bodice of her evening gown. She wasn’t sure if time was passing quickly or slowly, for everything felt unclear given the trauma of the evening. The only thing that grounded her was the solid work of Daemon’s hands on hers. She appreciated that his fingers were bare, so unlike the cold leather gloves that had grabbed her earlier that evening. His thumbs were warm as they hooked the gaping neckline at her shoulders and dragged the garment slowly off her. 

The hook of her skirt waistband followed, then the ties of her petticoat, until it was just stockings and her thin cotton chemise that protected the length of her body from him. It didn’t occur to her to be embarrassed, as his hands began to unwork the laces of her stays. The stiff garment would slip over her head under usual circumstances, but the thought of that movement alone made her cringe. She was grateful that he had the foresight to fully undo it opposed to merely loosening it. Though it did make her wonder just how many maidens he had undressed—as patients or otherwise. 

Gods, under other circumstances she would be blushing something fierce. The doctor was handsome. Charming and tall and blonde. She had giggled about him with her friends, about his reputation that had made it to even their innocent ears. It was hard to blame him for it, though the ladies must line up to tend to him at the clubs every man seemed to frequent. Even the married women of town flocked to him like hens!

She’d imagined this, being bare before him. But never after being assaulted. Being stabbed. She swallowed back a sob, wiping at her eyes while the stays fell away from her front. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her, the drag of her chemise over her hips—but it did, goosebumps seeming to follow the path of this man's knuckles as he bared her fully to him. She was still as a statue before him, flinching only once the fibers of the cotton pulled away from her wounded flesh. 

She could feel his breath on her skin—so damned close as he examined the torn skin. 

“You’ll need stitches.” He remarked, taking a step back so he could reach into his bag. 

There was a clink of objects that made her shudder, thinking of the pain they would likely inflict. But when Daemon turned to her, it wasn’t a needle he held but a small bottle.

“Milk of the poppy,” he said, passing it to her, and then, “You’ve suffered enough pain tonight, I think.” 

She did not disagree, drinking the contents in a single gulp, wincing a bit at the bitter flavor. She’d never had it before—her pains never being severe enough to justify it. Though rambunctious as a girl, her injuries consisted of skinned knees and scratches tended with soapy water from the doctor and kisses from her mother. She had no tolerance for this type of pain, nothing to compare it to other than the cramps that came each month, and even those had become easier to bear with age. 

Still, she knew of the liquid. Enough that she wasn’t surprised as her vision grew cloudy and limbs heavy. Daemon guided her to the bed, passing her a pillow to clutch onto while he prepared to stitch and dress her cut. 

“Will it leave a horrid scar?” She asked, or tried to—the words seeming oddly slurred. It seemed vanity was returning, now that pain was fading. 

Daemon seemed amused, as he reassured her, “I don’t think anything could be horrid, on such a pretty girl as you.” She bit her lip, wondering how she had it in her to grin after a night like this. 

He apologized for something, but she wasn’t sure what—and then she hissed, realizing it was the sting of alcohol. She didn’t feel much after that, floating on a flower bed of poppies. There was a noise of metal hitting a tray, of scissors making a cut, and then his voice saying he was done. 

“Your voice is handsome, too.” Someone—she wasn’t sure who, but surely it couldn’t be her said, in regards to his statement. 

“I must examine you now.” He cooed in his handsome voice, and she nodded sleepily into the pillow. The weight of her chest shifted, pressing against her blankets as he aligned her hips with the edge of the bed. 

She’d forgotten her nudity, until then—until his hands stroked her hips, widening her legs until one could slip between them. This didn’t seem right—but he was the doctor, and his touch was confident as a finger trailed between the cheeks of her bottom and through the slit of her cunt. It pressed gently against the opening, until the folds parted for him.

She hadn’t even touched herself there before, and now this man was…She wasn’t sure what he was doing, as a finger pressed into her. It seemed slick, or perhaps she was slick, but there was little resistance as it sunk deeper. It was fascinating, how her body accepted him—and then another, and this was—-she moaned, a sleepy sound into her pillow.

She meant to question what he was doing, why this examination had to be so invasive, but the thought faded until she could no longer follow it, too distracted by the way he worked and moved the digits inside of her. Little huffs were coming from her lips, turning loud enough that he shushed her, and she muttered an apology, biting on her bottom lip and hoping if she was quiet he would continue further. It felt nice, warm—clawing it way into her stomach and making it twist with pleasure. 

Her stepmother had warned her of such pleasures, forbidding Rhaenyra to do this with her own fingers. She had even burned the naughty novels she had snuck home from Laena’s library, as if reading about such acts might sway her to the devil. But this was not so sinful, surely? He stroked her like she was a kitten, and she purred as involuntarily as a cat who craved affection. 

No, this couldn’t be sinful. He was a doctor, he was just…she wasn’t sure, and she couldn’t seem to find the words to ask what he was doing. But she trusted him, and she found comfort in that, enough comfort that she could relax, and comfort made her think of clouds and then she was floating away.

.

He found his cousin in his office, cradling a heavy glass of brandy. Daemon was glad that his wife—Alicent, was not present for the matter he had to speak on was far from appropriate for a delicate woman's ears.  

He was contrite, as he confirmed his friends worst fears. 

“You’re sure?” Viserys said, face crumbled. 

Daemon nodded, “Quite so. There was blood between her thighs, and evidence of… spend.” 

Viserys rocked back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “I cannot wed her to the Velaryon boy now. Now when she might be…Gods, who will have her?” 

His voice was choked, as if on the verge of tears, but Daemon had little sympathy—he found his eyes narrowed in disgust at the response. For the concern was directed towards his daughter's prospects rather than the girl herself. The one who called him father . The one who was supposed to protect her from this! 

Daemon swallowed the bitter taste of bile, though it still seemed to burn his tongue as he spoke, “I’ll have her. I’ve grown fond of her over the years. I’d hate to see her without prospects or her spirit crushed in a convent. Wed her to me.” 

Viserys responded with a cry of relief. 

He was drunk, Daemon realized, when the man enveloped him in a hug and thanked him for his selflessness. 

But, thankfully, not so drunk that he couldn’t pen a letter to his solicitor. 

.

Laena was the first to call on her. She had questions, and little tact in answering them. Too curious about what had happened to consider her friend's feelings. 

“I—it was very fast, I remember the gloves, and the scene of grass, and then the pain, but everything else…” Rhaenyra swallowed. 

“You don’t remember…?” Laena prompted, and Rhaenyra admittedly shook her head. 

“No!” Everything was so blurry, she squinted as if that would bring her memories back into focus but it was useless. “I am sore. Down there,” She said with an embarrassing gesture to her lap, covered by the chenille coverlet. “And my petticoats were torn, so I suppose it must be true but I—I don’t remember.” 

Laena took her hand, stroking her knuckles. “Perhaps that’s for the best.” 

Rhaenyra swallowed.

.

Daemon called on her a week later, bringing flowers and a velvet lined box that contained his mothers ring. “It’s beautiful.” She said, and she meant it. It was grander than she had expected, an heirloom he said, and it seemed to suit her finger nicely as he slipped it on her.

He had smiled at her, before admitting, “I’m afraid I'm not here just for pleasure, I wanted to check on your stitches.” 

“Oh!” She was sure she was blushing at the realization, doubly so once he rucked up her nightgown to see the slash that spanned nearly from her shoulder to waist. 

She shivered when his finger stroked the sensitive skin. “Does it hurt?” he asked, and she shook her head. No, no, it was quite the opposite of that. 

.

He came back the following week to remove the sutures. When he was done his thumb brushed the length of it, once again asking, “Does it hurt?” 

She was brave enough to speak her response this time, hoping she sounded confident as she said, “No.” 

His response was a surprise. “Pity, I’d have liked to kiss it better.” 

She wondered if he would make her blush like this after they were wed, too. 

.

The next time she saw him, it was a Sunday. She scarcely breathed while the banns were read. 

It seemed cruel, that the kiss pressed against the back of her gloved hand was all she had to remember while she waited for the following week. 

.

He kissed her wrist, the next Sunday. The bare strip of skin between her dress and silk clad palms.

.

On the third Sunday, the dry press against her cheek nearly made her swoon. 

.

On the fourth, he was kissing her lips—in front of a humble service of friends in addition to her family. 

.

On the fifth, he was kissing her somewhere else after telling her they were allowed to miss church for this was their sacred first week together. It was hard to argue, when his tongue did that, in fact she found there was little she could do but moan. 

.

.

.

Thirty five more Sunday’s passed, the majority in a similar state of bliss. The last was more joyous than all the others, though, for it was when their son was born.

“Baelon, for my father.” Daemon had said, pressing a kiss to her cheek as his thumb stroked the much smaller and more ruddy one the baby between them bore. 

.

.

.

“Are you sure?” Viserys had asked, hearing the ancestral name as he looked down at the sleeping infant. The implication was clear, Viserys had seen a half dozen of his own in the cradle and he knew enough to know this one was not as early as was being claimed. 

Daemon bristled, “Of course. He’s my son in every way that matters, and he will be raised as such.”

“You’re a good man,” Viserys said, feeling a flash of shame for the times he had doubted his cousin. He’d once said Daemon was the type of man who would do anything for what he wanted. But it was clear to him now that he would simply do anything for those he loved. 

.

.

.

What Viserys didn’t realize was that, perhaps, Daemon loved himself most of all. 

But one thing was true—he got what he wanted. 

.

.

.

end

this was written for my summer snippet event!

the prompt for today was: stitch

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[hetagrammy]

I wanted to draw more of The Girls™ of the Regency AU. Anneliese is an Austrian noblewoman who fled Vienna the previous year when Napoleon invaded. She's also a notable composer, an anomaly for women at the time. Even though she's engaged to Antonio, the two have an understanding that it's more for their personal gain rather than out of love. Erzsebet's been a servant since they were children, and is now her lady's maid and lover (much to Gilbert's chagrin).

[feyhunter78]

Six Times Helaena and Jacaerys were Soulmates (3/7)

Description: Prince Jacaerys and Lady Heleana are set to be betrothed, each unable to see the color of their soulmate's eyes. Legend states that until one meets their soulmate, the color will remain hidden from their gaze. Both Jacaerys and Heleana hold hope in their hearts that the other will bring that color to their lives.

Purple, that was the name of the one color he could not see. It went by other names as well, violet, mauve, amethyst, lilac, lavender, plum, and many others. All shades that refused to bloom before his eyes. His brother, Lucerys, said he wasn’t missing much, that purple was not anything extraordinary, but Jacaerys knew better. Purple was the color of royalty, the expensive dye made from small snails that gave their lives to create this unseen color.

He dreamed of what his soulmate would be like, and collected objects of purple, storing them all in a small chest. Dried flowers, jewelry, a pair of gloves, and other trinkets that held his soulmate’s color.

He was heir to the throne, prince of the realm, and a dutiful son to his mother. He did not argue when she informed him, he would be marrying the granddaughter of Duke Otto Hightower. Lady Helaena, the sweet-voiced daughter of Oldtown.

“I’ve been told she’s quite beautiful, and kind as well.” His mother said, her eyes were blue, clear as the sky and as ever-changing as the sea. The letter in her hand bore the script of Lady Alicent, Helaena’s mother.

“That is good to hear,” he said. Every woman would be described as beautiful by her family, especially in a letter to her betrothed.

“She enjoys gardening, music, embroidery, and reading as well.”

Jacaerys nodded, he enjoyed reading, perhaps they had some favored authors in kind.

“Does it mention the color of her eyes?” He asked. He knew the answer before his mother responded.

“No, it does not. But that’s not uncommon, many families do not wish to give each other reason to call off a betrothal before the pair has met.”

Jacaerys knew it’d had been a folly to hope, but a small spark still burned within him. Perhaps Helaena would have purple eyes, the ones that would breathe life into the world around him and finally allow him to see that ever elusive hue.

“Helaena and her family will arrive in a few days’ time, make certain your brothers will be on their best behavior.”

“I will, Mother.” He bowed and left her study.

Helaena often asked those around her about the color brown. It climbed up trees, was the color of the fresh dirt, and leather. Aegon said it was the color of refuse and commoner’s clothing. Aemond said it was the color of their mother’s hair, of training weapons, and tables. Her mother told her it was the color of warmth, and steadiness, like the logs added to a fire, and the frame of a bed.

When she’d been informed of her impending marriage she was frightened, she’d saved her heart, her affection for her soulmate, the man with eyes full of warmth, who would steady and support her. Prince Jacaerys was known for his honor, and loyalty to his family. She’d heard as much whispered by members of her grandsire’s court. He was also known for his visage, and stature, the kitchen maids would giggle and whispers stories of his prowess in battle, of his raw strength. It frightened her, she did not wish to marry a brute, no matter how handsome he might be.

“What if he is unkind?” She asked her mother, embroidery hoop in her hand.

“He is Queen Rhaenyra’s son, I was quite close with her when we were both young, she was a kind girl. I have no doubt her son will be the same.” Her mother reassured her.

Helaena was not convinced. She’d met plenty of kind women with horrid sons, they pinched her, and devoured her with their eyes in the most immodest ways. Their eyes made her feel cold, and unbalanced.

She sat quietly in the carriage beside her mother and grandsire. King’s Landing was a crowded place filled with brown, Helaena kept her eyes low, sneaking glances out the window when her mother wasn’t looking. This was to be her home now.

Jacaerys straightened his tunic, his head held high, as he awaited the arrival of his betrothed.

The carriage came to a stop and Duke Otto emerged first, eyes sweeping over the grounds with an air of disinterest. Following him was the Lady Alicent, she gave his mother a small smile that turned into an expression of surprise when his mother wrapped her arms around Lady Alicent and squeezed her tightly.

“My friend, how glad I am to see you.” His mother said, a bright smile on her face.

Lady Alicent returns the smile and the embrace. “Rhaenyra, it is good to see you.”

“I am saddened to hear of your husband’s passing, he was a good man.” His mother whispers, her eyes full of sympathy.

“Yes, he was.” Alicent whispers back, before gesturing towards the carriage. “May I present my daughter, Helaena.”

Helaena steps out of the carriage in a gown of soft pink, that extenuates her figure. She moves with an effortless grace that reminds Jacaerys of clouds, or the way wind skims across the surface of water, leaving elegant ripples in its wake. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulders, her lips a petal pink, but it’s her eyes that nearly stop his heart.

Framed by long lashes, her doe-eyes are the most brilliant color he’d ever seen. This was purple, no violet, no mauve, with each moment he continues looking into her eyes the color shifts and changes. It’s as if he’s staring into a glimmering geode, full of sparkles and dimensions, each angle casting a new and fascinating light on the world around them.

He steps forward and takes her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Helaena.” He presses a gentle kiss to her hand, hoping she doesn’t notice his own hand trembling. When his eyes meet hers, she gasps, and he knows she’s experiencing the same rush he was.

“The pleasure is all mine, Prince Jacaerys.” She bites her lip, then seemingly gathers her courage. “You have beautiful eyes; I believe brown is now my favorite color.”

He hears their mothers’ hushed exclamations.

“And purple is now mine, princess.” He runs his thumb gently along her cheekbone, admiring her ever-changing eyes.

Helaena blushes, and the pink in her cheeks is his new second favorite color.

“Well, a happy day, then. The betrothal, we planned for the good of the kingdom, is now a betrothal between soulmates.” His mother says, clapping her hands together in joy.

“Perhaps we should let the pair have time to familiarize themselves with each other, while we finish any last minute preparations?” Lady Alicent said, linking her arm with his mother’s before beckoning her father forward.

They head inside the Keep and Jacaerys is still entranced by Helaena’s eyes.

“I hear you are quite strong?” Helaena questions, breaking him from his trance.

Jacaerys scoops her into his arms, and she lets out a surprised yelp before throwing her arms around his neck for stability.

Helaena isn’t quite sure if she wishes to faint or fling herself at her betrothed—her soulmate. His eyes are warm and steady, comforting around her as naturally as tree roots burrow into the soil. There’s a depth to them that she wishes to fall into.

In the sunlight, his eyes lighten to a darkened honey tone, and his gaze radiates a heat that feels like standing by the fire on a cold winter’s day.

He is tall, tall, and strong, his shoulders are broad, and his hands are large, so large she wonders if they could span around her waist. She didn’t have a slim waist like other ladies of the court, better for bearing heirs her mother would tell her, and the way Jacaerys’ eyes drank her in made her feel like a goddess.

When he scoops her into his arms, she protests, “My prince, you truly do not need—I am much too heavy.”

He shakes his head, lightly tossing her up in his arms before catching her once more. “You are as light as a petal to me.” His eyes scan her face. “And as beautiful as a rose, perhaps that is what I shall call you, my beautiful flower.”

She blushes at his words. “But shall I call you?”

He thinks for a moment, his eyes the color of fertile soil, and new life drift to the side before returning to her. “I will not argue against you calling me husband.”

She shakes her head. “That is too common, every lady calls her lord husband that.” She thinks for a moment, memorizing the details of his face. His eyes spark in the light, a burning heat resides deep within them. “My fire? My protector?”

Jacaerys nuzzles his nose against hers, “I know it is common as well, but perhaps you would consider calling me your love?”

She cups his face, heart fluttering when he leans into her touch. “Prince Jacaerys, my soulmate, my lord husband, my love.”

He smiles, his eyes gleaming with joy, and she thinks she will never tire of the color brown for as long as she shall live.

Tag List: @nyctophilic0vitnir

[divine-donna]

hotd masterlist

cast

courtship (hcs | gn! reader)

diamond of the season - bridgerton regency! au headcanons

love is patient and kind (hcs | gn! reader | rom com au)

the monster is us (hcs | gn! reader | horror au)

lights! camera! action! (hcs | gn! reader | movie star au)

when you fall sick (hcs | gn! reader)

cooking and baking (hcs | gn! reader)

are you on the square? (shitpost)

manners maketh man (hcs | gn! reader | kingsman spy! au)

falling in love with a dragonrider (hcs | gn! reader | request)

arranged marriage with childhood friend (hcs | gn! reader | request)

falling into their crush’s chest (hcs | gn! reader | request)

having an s.o. who is afraid of children and childbirth (hcs | gn! reader | request)

driving (hcs | gn! reader)

daemon targaryen

general + relationship (hcs | gn! reader)

opposing sides (hcs | gn! reader)

rhaenyra targaryen

general + relationship (wip)

opposing sides (hcs | gn! reader | request)

victory for the opposing side (hcs | gn! reader | request)

coming out + their mother’s reaction (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reacting to the fact that (y/n) killed their child (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reactions to their lover cheating on them (hcs | gn! reader | request)

dragon’s smile (fic | gn! reader)

red lady (wip)

portrait of a princess on fire (fic | rhaenicent)

alicent hightower

general + relationship (wip)

opposing sides (hcs | gn! reader | request)

victory for the opposing side (hcs | gn! reader | request)

happy ending with their s.o (hcs | gn! reader | request)

coming out + their mother’s reaction (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reacting to the fact that (y/n) killed their child (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reactions to their lover cheating on them (hcs | gn! reader | request)

treatments for sorrow (fic | gn! reader)

green lightning (wip)

portrait of a princess on fire (fic | rhaenicent)

aegon targaryen

general + relationship (hcs | gn! reader)

opposing sides (hcs | gn! reader | request)

victory for the opposing side (hcs | gn! reader | request)

coming out + their mother’s reaction (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reacting to a bard (hcs | gn! reader | request)

aemond targaryen

general + relationship (hcs | gn! reader)

opposing sides (hcs | gn! reader | request)

victory for the opposing side (hcs | gn! reader | request)

happy ending with their s.o (hcs | gn! reader | request)

coming out + their mother’s reaction (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reacting to a bard (hcs | gn! reader | request)

study session (fic | gn! reader)

in the mood for love (fic | gn! reader)

helaena targaryen

general + relationship (hcs | gn! reader)

opposing sides (hcs | gn! reader request)

happy ending with their s.o (hcs | gn! reader | request)

coming out + their mother’s reaction (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reactions to their lover cheating on them (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reacting to a bard (hcs | gn! reader | request)

jacaerys velaryon

general + relationship (hcs | gn! reader)

opposing sides (hcs | gn! reader | request)

coming out + their mother’s reaction (hcs | gn! reader | request)

reacting to a bard (hcs | gn! reader | request)

[danysdragonflies]

Masterpost

Asoiaf/GoT/HotD

glory and gore go hand in hand: ao3, ongoing, Robb Stark x OC, canon divergence, more

Other

where the spirit meets the bones: ao3, ongoing, Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger, regency au, more

if you want to be tagged whenever i update something, just comment!

i have a little tiktok for edits for my current/upcoming fics; feel free to check it out <3

[tbtgtr-incorrectquotes]

seeing as we’ve significantly expanded in AU’s i feel like a rerun of the poll we did earlier this year should be done so:

all of these would be pre-written and take a while to come out but i think it’d be fun to play around in the sandbox a bit.

[dulcewrites]

You ever think of a Regency or Renaissance Era AU for HOTD?

I haven’t! But that would be so interesting. I think doing aus based on literature from that period would be cool.

In terms of regency era, I think an Emma or Persuasion au would be super interesting

And for renaissance, a Twelfth Night au is fun, gives an excuse to include Helaena more. A classic Romeo and Juliet moment would be romantic. Aemond in particular is so star crossed lovers coded lmao. Or taming of the shrew… and Aemond is the shrew in question!

[liesmyth]

do you have any asoiaf fic recs?

DON'T IT. Here's a veeery broad sampler, lmk if you have specific preferences.

ASOIAF

Some faves by @dwellordream

I threw my bouquet and I knocked 'em dead, 4k words

In which Cersei prepares to wed King Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, in the wake of the sudden and tragic death of Robert.)

Only minutes young, 12k

In which Sansa is wed to Tommen, not Tyrion

Her smile, like a wall's crooked crack, 4k

Cregan Stark/f!Aemond One-Eye

Catelyn corner!

I'm really enjoying this Catelyn-centric WIP, where Catelyn is born the daughter of Tywin Lannister. Cat/Ned, WIP, 30k so far: A Lion Still Has Claws.

From the same author: Robert's Rebellion AU, Aerys takes a fancy to a young Catelyn. All We Are, We Are Not, 53k

Also: Winterfell is taken and the Starks go to the Wall for help. Catelyn and Jon reunion AU. Catelyn/Jon. Born of Winter, 21k

Historical Targaryens corner!

love doesn't live here, 270k Viserra Targaryen/Baelon the Brave. One of my all time favourites!

A Game of Hatchlings, 5.7k. Daeron Targaryen and Addam of Hull met entirely by chance. https://archiveofourown.org/works/43677915

From my Jon/Sansa phase

you're in my blood like holy wine, Jon/Sansa Regency AU, 72k

(In general if you like non-canon AUs for this ship, I really recommend this author)

HOTD (WIPs, updayte regularly)

Lady Flowers, Rhaenyra/Alicent A/B/O AU where Otto Hightower brings his bastard daughter to King’s Landing in the hopes that she might become close to the new Heir to the realm.

Estuary, Rhaenyra/Harwin –When Ser Criston Cole is dismissed as Princess Rhaenyra’s sworn shield, Harwin Strong takes his place at the behest of his Lord father. The effects have far reaching consequences.

GOT canon

Humble Pieces, WIP but every chapter can stand alone; an attempt at fixing season 8 through the eyes of various minor characters. I stopped watching years earlier but could follow it very easily and I really love the worldbuilding; if you're familiar with GOT canon even broadly I really do recommend it

[crazyprompts4asoiafdune]

HOTD Regency AU

The Targaryen family, known to breed the finest warhorses in Westeros, face a crisis after both the oldest sons, Aemon and Baelon, die in their prime, leaving behind a daughter, Rhaenys, and two sons, Viserys and Daemon, respectively, to inherit the estate after the death of their grandfather, Jaehaerys. Their grandfather, after extensive consultation with his business associates and lawyers, makes a will favoring Viserys, his eldest grandson and not his eldest grandchild, Rhaenys, who is married to the fierce, irascible and wealthy Admiral Corlys Velaryon, twenty years her senior. The admiral is only persuaded to drop his plan of fighting Jaehaerys's will when Daemon Targaryen announces his betrothal to Rhea Royce, wealthy heiress of Runestone, and says he will fight his brother's battles up to the highest court in the land. This leads to a severe estrangement among the cousins, with Rhaenys and her husband settling on his estate of Driftmark, which she soon fills with a son and daughter, Laena and Laenor.

Things are not so easy for Viserys, who is married to his cousin, Aemma--they have one daughter, Rhaenyra, whom they both adore. Viserys is advised to try for a son by his legal advisor, Otto Hightower, who does not feel Daemon Targaryen, the finest swordsman and horseman in the land, quite fit for the task of running the Targaryen estate. Daemon would rather fight wars than breed horses; he leaves the running of his estate to the Targaryen bailiff, Beesbury, while staying away from his family to fight for any army that would have him on their side. He avoids his betrothed, Miss Royce, and spends his time spoiling his niece, Rhaenyra, who is left to the care of governesses and nursemaids, while her mother unsuccessfully tries to reproduce the all-important Targaryen male heir. 

Eventually, Aemma dies in the endeavor, and Viserys is left to bring up his eight-year-old daughter on his own. It is at this time that Otto advises him to make a will naming his daughter his heir by informing Viserys of Daemon's behavior on campaign, which is causing a scandal. At the same time, he introduces his accomplished eighteen year old daughter to Viserys as a suitable governess for eight year old Rhaenyra. It takes Viserys no more than seven months after his wife's death to fall in love with and wed Alicent Hightower, who soon presents him with his longed-for heir. Rhaenyra is soon shunted off to a suitable school to become a young lady and be married off when she is of age; Otto hopes that, by that time, he can get Viserys to change his will in favor of Aegon, Alicent's son. 

For Rhaenyra, school leads to a meeting with her cousin Laena and happy holidays spent at the Velaryon estate of Driftmark. Rhaenys also introduces Rhaenyra to her mother's cousin, Jeyne Arryn, who is managing her own estates. Rhaenyra tries to visit her father and stepmother only when she must, preferring to spend her time with the Velaryons or Miss Arryn. It is on one of her infrequent visits home that Rhaenyra is instrumental in sending their old steward's only child, Criston, to public school, to better his condition, and also makes the acquaintance of the Strongs--Lyonel and his sons, Larys and Harwin--in the course of a hunt. She soon learns that Harwin, who was educated at school, has joined the army and is a soldier like her uncle, while Larys, educated at home, is studying law under Otto and hopes to become his junior partner. Lyonel retired as a judge and is now living on his family estate of Harrenhal

As she grows up, Rhaenyra is expected to make a suitable match, but finds no one she likes. In the meantime, Daemon returns; his long absence in the battlefield led Rhea Royce to break their engagement and wed her cousin instead. His arrival is a source of joy to Rhaenyra, and to her cousin Laena, neither of whom are impressed by the young men of the ton they have met so far. He makes it his business to escort both young ladies to various fashionable places and show them the world, accompanied by Rhaenys and Corlys. However, his reputation as a womanizer has followed him from the battlefield back home; it does not take long for Otto Hightower, who has become Viserys’s constant companion, to hint that Daemon’s attentions to Rhaenyra might not be entirely honorable. This forces Viserys to call her home and force her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, who is home on shore leave. Laenor, who is in love with a fellow officer, Joffrey Lonmouth, is not eager for the match and neither is Rhaenyra, but Otto succeeds in creating a whispering campaign in their circle that pushes the marriage through. Daemon marries Laena and settles at Driftmark, while Rhaenyra and Laenor settle at Dragonstone, which is closer to the Red Keep. In the meantime,Otto tries to use Rhaenyra’s closeness to Daemon to convince Viserys to change his will in favour of Aegon, which Viserys refuses to do. He then demands that Otto hand over all his legal documents to him, dismisses him as his lawyer and hands the papers over to  Lyonel Strong.

Laenor had hoped that, after marrying Rhaenyra, he would be able to live a life of his own with Joffrey Lonmouth, However, his hopes are dashed when Lonmouth is killed in a duel with Criston Cole a day before Laenor’s wedding to Rhaenyra. It appears that Cole had a brief affair with Rhaenyra while she was with Daemon. She’d been responsible for her father selecting him, their late steward’s son, to study in a public school and then a university and take holy orders; he had approached her to thank her, which eventually led to their affair. His feelings for her turned to hurt and bitterness when she refused to marry him and lead the quiet life of a curate’s wife. He reveals all this to Alicent on his return home; Alicent urges him to prayer and to seek employment as the Red Keep’s curate. She also puts him in charge of educating her children. 

In the meantime, Harwin Strong returns from war and Rhaenyra offers him the post of bailiff of Dragonstone. Laenor, who has not recovered from Joffrey’s death, soon returns to war and is killed in action. After a suitable period of mourning, Rhaenyra marries Harwin, much to the scandal of the neighborhood. However, the Velaryons--especially Rhaenys and Laena--who were aware of Laenor’s proclivities--remain her friends, while Alicent and Otto continue to drop hints of her moral depravity. Rhaenyra’s marriage to Harwin leads to the birth of three boys, while Laena has twin girls. The cousins and childhood friends make plans to betroth Rhaenyra’s two eldest sons to Laena’s  girls.

In the meantime, Larys, who has been working with Otto, reveals to Alicent that the Targaryen estate, which Viserys received from his grandfather Jaehaerys on his death, which includes the estates of the Red Keep and Dragonstone, will be given to Rhaenyra when Viserys dies. Viserys had made this will soon after Rhaenyra’s mother Aemma died in childbirth, trying to bring forth a male heir. Alicent then tries to convince Viserys of the wisdom of remaking his will in favor of her children, cutting out Rhaenyra and her children, as well as Daemon and his offspring, because she knows that Laena and Rhaenyra plan to wed their two oldest children to each other and they will inherit  Driftmark after Admiral Velaryon dies. Although she and Harwin are living in Dragonstone and Rhaenyra is an excellent manager and landlord, she does not  need the estate as much as Alicent’s boys do. She also wants to punish Rhaenyra for what she did to Criston Cole, who is now the tutor to her children. Rhaenyra’s children are taught by Mr Gerardys, Dragonstone’s vicar...