Bienvenue sur mon blog

J’ai remarqué qu’il était de bon ton de poster une petite présentation alors je me lance: je m’appelle Audrey, j’habite dans le sud de la France, je suis maman de trois enfants et belle-mère d’un chat.

Vous me connaissez sûrement sous le pseudo de Laudys (sur AO3). 

Je suis passionnée d’énormément de choses très différentes les unes des autres: ça a commencé quand j’étais gamine avec les chevaux, l’équitation, puis le foot, le cinéma, les séries TV, la musique, le rugby, le tennis... plus tard, les fan fictions. 

J’ai des favoris dans plein de domaines différents: Manchester United au foot. Au cinéma, j’aime tous les genres, des documentaires (surtout animaliers) aux biopics (Les heures sombres, The Queen, Le discours d’un roi, Invictus...), en passant par les drames (tous les Eastwood ou presque, tous les Tarantino ou presque, les Burton, les Ken Loach, etc...), les comédies (surtout anglaises), la fantasy (le Seigneur des Anneaux) etc... Niveau séries TV, même chose, j’aime tout autant Scrubs qu’Urgences, Breaking Bad que Walking Dead ou American Horror Story, Sherlock, the Crown, Peaky Blinders... Pour les séries françaises, toutes celles que j’adorais sont finies :’( J’avoue que c’est compliqué de faire une “liste” :’D

J’ai une grande passion pour écrire - et lire - des fan fictions, les toutes premières que j’ai écrites étaient sur Avocats & Associés (je les ai jamais publiées), puis sur Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, House et enfin Kaamelott. D’ailleurs, si vous écrivez sur le ship Venec/Alzagar, n’hésitez pas une seule seconde à m’envoyer le lien pour que je lise, j’adore ce ship, plus je lis sur eux et plus je les aime! Je commente toujours toutes les fics que je lis!

Vous pouvez retrouver mes fanfics ici : 

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laudys/pseuds/Laudys

Ma messagerie est toujours ouverte, même si on ne se connaît pas, si vous avez besoin de parler de quoi que ce soit, je suis open ^^

A bientôt!

Between the lines

Day 8: Mist

The morning had risen in a soft, enveloping mist. The kind of morning where the edges of the world blur, where you float between sleep and waking.

Arthur opened his eyes to a pearl-gray room. The light was diffuse, dimmed by the fogged-up windows. Guinevere was still asleep, peaceful, her features relaxed. He stayed there for a moment, watching her—without bitterness, without nostalgia. Just… calm. She looked lovely like that. When she wasn’t speaking too loudly. When she was dreaming of things he would never know.

He got up quietly, so as not to wake her, and opened the window. The mist drifted in like a caress—cool, almost alive. He breathed in deeply. No decisions to make, no wars today. Just… this suspended moment.

In another room, humbler, the same mist floated in through the cracks of the shutters. Alzagar was sitting at the edge of the bed, his hair a mess, a blanket draped around his shoulders. He was drinking herbal tea, bare feet on the cold floor.

Venec, still lying down, looked up at him. “You planning to get dressed at some point, or did you start a new career as a ghost?” Alzagar smiled without replying, his eyes lost in the blur of the window.

Venec stretched, yawned, pushed himself up halfway. He watched him in silence. He knew that look. Not sad. Just far away. “I like days like this,” Alzagar said at last. “Feels like the world’s forgotten itself a little.”

Venec came over, rested his chin on his shoulder. “You get all poetic when you’re half-asleep.” “And you’re clingy.” But he didn’t push him away. On the contrary, he leaned into him.

Guinevere stretched in bed. Arthur had sat beside her, a cup in his hands. “It’s the kind of weather where everything falls apart,” she said with a sleepy smile. “Or starts over,” he replied. She looked at him, surprised. Then smiled softly, without saying anything else.

And in the hush of the mist, nothing was urgent. The world could wait a little longer.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

6 April 1944 | The Gestapo under the direction of SS-Hauptsturmführer Klaus Barbie raided the Jewish orphanage in French town of Izieu. 44 children and their 7 educators were taken to Drancy & later deported to Auschwitz. Only one person survived, an educator Maja Feldblum.

44 children:

Sami Adelsheimer, 5 Hans Ament, 10 Nina Aronowicz, 12 Max-Marcel Balsam, 12 Jean-Paul Balsam, 10 Esther Benassayag, 12 Elie Benassayag, 10 Jacob Benassayag, 8 Jacques Benguigui, 12 Richard Benguigui, 7 Jean-Claude Benguigui, 5 Barouk-Raoul Bentitou, 12 Majer Bulka, - Albert Bulka, 4 Lucienne Friedler, 5 Egon Gamiel, 9 Maurice Gerenstein, 13 Liliane Gerenstein, 11 Henri-Chaïm Goldberg, 13 Joseph Goldberg, 12 Mina Halaunbrenner, - Claudine Halaunbrenner, 5 Georges Halpern, 8 Arnold Hirsch, 17 Isidore Kargeman, 10 Renate Krochmal, 8 Liane Krochmal, 6 Max Leiner, 8 Claude Levan-Reifman, 10 Fritz Loebmann, 15 Alice-Jacqueline Luzgart, 10 Paula Mermelstein, 10 Marcel Mermelstein, 7 Theodor Reis, 16 Gilles Sadowski, 8 Martha Spiegel, 10 Senta Spiegel, 9 Sigmund Springer, 8 Sarah Szulklaper, - Max Tetelbaum, 12 Herman Tetelbaum, 10 Charles Weltner, 9 Otto Wertheimer, - Emile Zuckerberg, 5

The registration photo of Aron Löwi taken upon his arrival at Auschwitz on March 5, 1942. Five days later, he would be killed at the camp.

From what I’ve heard, this double triangle meant he was a Jewish political opponent? Red triangle on a yellow one.

When lightning strikes

Day 7: Lightning

The rain hadn’t started yet, but the sky promised a storm. The air was heavy, swollen with electricity. That kind of silence before the flash.

Arthur, leaning on the balcony of his chambers, stared out at the black horizon. The first flashes of lightning streaked through the clouds, still too far to hear the thunder. A dry storm. Like one from another life—hotter, more Roman.

A stifling night. White villa walls. A sleeping body tangled in the sheets. And him, unable to close his eyes, heart more restless than the sky.

He flinched slightly when Guinevere entered without knocking.

« Et dans mes petits poings sanglants d’où pendaient quatre ailes dorées, je haussais vers le ciel la gloire de mon père en face du soleil couchant »

Happy Day to all the aces out there ❤️

Wet nights

Day 6: Drenched

Arthur was in his chambers, struggling to pull off his soaked boots, when someone knocked on the door.

“Not now!” he grumbled.

But the door creaked open anyway.

Guenièvre stepped in—dripping. Literally. Water streamed from her hair, ran down her arms, and pooled on the floor. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, nearly see-through in places.

Arthur stared at her, stunned.

I’ve just fallen upon a Reddit post saying how Marbod X Flavus was so “forced” and that Marbod was the “least gay character” of the show and I honestly can’t stop laughing.

homophobia much?

Seven years ago 🥲🥲🥲

The raging sea

Day 5: Storm

The sea howled. Not like an animal. Like a thousand of them.

The sky had closed in on them with a deafening roar, and the boat, shaken from all sides, creaked as if it were about to split in two. The waves hit the hull relentlessly, towering like walls, swallowing the deck in cold, heavy foam. Every moment was a struggle.

Arthur clung to the railing, soaked to the bone, his eyes squinted against the gusts.

“This is madness. This is insane!”

Guinevere, huddled behind him, dared not move. She had screamed at first. Now, she was silent, shaking with chills, her fingers clenched around a corner of Arthur’s cloak.

“Are you okay?!” he yelled, not turning around.

She nodded. Or maybe she was crying. He wasn’t sure anymore. His arms ached from holding on.

Farther away, Venec remained bent at the center of the boat, legs firmly planted, his face unreadable. One hand gripped the mast, the other resting on Alzagar’s shoulder to keep him from slipping.

“Don’t look at the horizon. Look at the boat. Breathe.”

Alzagar struggled to catch his breath. His skin had turned grey. The water lashed his face. He kept his eyes shut, as if praying.

“It’s not natural…” he murmured, more to himself than to Venec. “The sea is angry. There’s something…”

Venec didn’t respond. He had never liked storms, but he knew them. He knew that shouting was useless. He also knew that Arthur would lose patience soon.

“By all the gods of Britain, tell me we’re close to land!” Arthur yelled.

No one answered.

A stronger gust of wind caused the boat to list. Guinevere slipped, her shoulder hitting a barrel, and she let out a brief scream. Arthur cursed and pulled her toward him.

“Get that damn barrel overboard!”

“If it goes over, we’re following it, you idiot!” Venec spat, teeth clenched, before catching himself. It was still the king.

For him, it was just the voice of someone who had already survived this. Someone who kept control for two.

Alzagar forced his eyes open again. He looked at Venec, and despite the spray, the fear, the panic, he saw nothing but a fixed point. A solid man, grounded. He wanted to kiss him. But the moment was not for that.

“You’ll tell me if it falls apart, right?”

Venec smiled despite himself.

“Don’t worry. We’ll hold.”

A lightning bolt split the sky. The white light flashed across their faces, revealing Arthur’s pallor, Guinevere’s distress, Venec’s tense calm, Alzagar’s trembling lips.

Then, again, darkness.

The sea continued to howl.

And they, on their frail little boat, faced the furious belly of the world.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

As dawn lights up another day Visions I once had fade away All of those words unspoken My wildest dreams all broken It wasn't supposed to be that way

Should I leave, why should I stay? Leavin' behind me yesterday Am I free or forsaken? Cheated or awakened? Does it matter anyway?

Against you, despite myself

Day 4: Umbrella

The rain was pouring down on Kaamelott, turning the paths to mud and drenching everything in its wake. There wasn’t a single gust of wind, just that relentless, heavy downpour that forced passersby to take shelter wherever they could.

Arthur and Guenièvre had found refuge under a stone awning, protected from the deluge. Well… Arthur was trying to be sheltered, but Guenièvre was clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

“Could you step back a little?” he grumbled.

“But it’s raining…” she whined, pressing even closer against him.

“No kidding!” Arthur hissed, his shoulders tensing. “Do you really need to stick to me like a barnacle on a rock?!”

Shattered reflections

Day 3: Puddles

The rain had stopped, but the castle courtyard was still covered in puddles, reflecting the dull grey sky. The air smelled of wet stone and earth, heavy with the remnants of the storm.

Arthur walked with his usual heavy stride, his mind elsewhere, when his foot landed squarely in a puddle. Water splashed around him, distorting the reflection beneath his feet. He frowned, his eyes flickering to the surface. For a brief moment, he saw Guenièvre’s face staring back at him, her features rippling before vanishing into nothing. He exhaled sharply and moved on without a word.

A few steps away, laughter broke the silence.

Venec barely had time to turn before a splash of cold water hit him straight in the legs.

“Oi! What the hell?”

Alzagar smirked, standing triumphantly in the middle of a puddle, his boots soaked but his expression victorious.

Venec glared at him.

“You’re acting like a bloody kid.”

Alzagar shrugged. “I’m just testing how deep they are.”

Another step, another splash. Venec jumped back just in time, but Alzagar was already grinning.

“You do that again, and I swear—”

Splash.

“Alright, that’s it.”

Venec lunged forward, boots landing squarely in the water, sending a wave straight at Alzagar, who barely had time to shield himself. Their laughter echoed across the courtyard as the puddles turned into a battlefield, their game a stark contrast to the cold, silent reflections left behind.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges