laudys83

[laudys83]

☀️ What theme should we write about this July? ☀️

We’ve cooked up four summer-flavored options, and now it’s your turn to decide! Vote for the one you’d love to explore next month.

🌞 Option 1: Slow Burn Summer

For stories that simmer with tension

🐚 Option 2: Summer Leftovers

Stories that take place after the big moment

🏖️ Option 3: One Hot Mess

Give us chaos, disasters, and poor decisions made in the heat

🌅 Option 4: Golden Hour

Quiet beauty, golden light, and soft moments

🍑 Option 5: Heatwave

This theme invites desire, temptation, and melted popsicles

Tag your mutuals, stir up a debate, and let’s see what the mood is for July!

[laudys83]

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Kaamelott Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alzagar/Venec (Kaamelott) Characters: Alzagar (Kaamelott), Venec (Kaamelott) Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Male Homosexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Found Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Poetic, Symbolism, Hallucinations, Memory Alteration, Cyberpunk, Dystopia, Artificial Intelligence, Androids, Gritty, Surrealism, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Sea Monsters, Partners in Crime, Love Confessions, Loyalty Through Chaos Summary:

Textes du défi Moodboard May sur Tumblr by @monthlywritingchallenges

[laudys83]

Northless compass

4. Ocean whispers

They had left the coast at dawn, without a map, without a compass, with nothing but an old jammed needle and a half-empty barrel of rum for a plan. Venec kept saying the island didn’t exist, that it had been made up to shut up brats or wake the dead. Alzagar, on the other hand, swore it was worse than that: that the island did exist, maybe, and that it was just waiting for you to lose enough to dare set foot on it.

The sky had the color of a washed skull. The sea, calm as a grave. Their boat creaked under the weight of the days, patched up everywhere, sails sewn with string, a hull that pissed water whenever someone sneezed too loud.

And yet, it floated. So did they.

Venec stared at the horizon, jaw clenched, fingers stained with rust and old blood.

“You really think we’ll find your island?”

“It’ll find us, if we make enough noise.”

“Brilliant. You gonna scream or did you bring fireworks?”

Alzagar just smiled. One of those smiles that had seen too much to still believe in coincidence.

They sailed for three days.

At night, the sea spoke. Not lapping waves, not the wind. No. It really spoke. Voices rose, from below, sometimes from within. Fragments of sentences, memories, dreams they’d never dreamed.

“You let him die.”

“He wasn’t your father.”

“It was cold, and you closed the door.”

Venec woke up drenched, breath caught, eyes to the sky. Alzagar slept like a gutted cat, brow furrowed, knife under the pillow.

On the fourth day, they landed.

It wasn’t an island. More like the carcass of a city, rotted by salt, towers collapsed like the vertebrae of long-dead gods. The mist smothered the shapes, but you could make out silhouettes: half-eaten statues, scaffolds with no-name ropes hanging from them. Total silence, except the surf dragging razor-sharp shells.

“Charming,” muttered Venec. “This where you take your holidays?”

“Shut up. Follow me.”

They stepped down onto a rickety jetty. In the distance, a blue light blinked like a drunk lighthouse. Songs rose from the depths, long, dragging, slightly off-key. Alzagar stopped.

“You hear that?”

“No. And I plan to keep it that way.”

“We’re not alone.”

He was right. Behind them, in the water, things were swimming. Not quite human. Not quite anything else. Shining lidless eyes. Fingers too long. And a silence so deep it made you want to scream just to fill it.

They froze.

A creature came out of the water. Naked, pale, with scales on her cheeks and the voice of a memory.

“Why have you come?”

Alzagar opened his mouth. Venec cut him off:

“To forget.”

“Wrong answer,” she said. And she smiled. Slowly.

The ground trembled. The air rolled with echoes, like a rising tide. The city began to speak again. The statues opened their eyes. A storm spun up from nothing, in a reverse spiral. And the sea… the sea rose, like a beast disturbed.

Venec grabbed Alzagar by the collar.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

“Too late.”

And they plunged.

Not into the water.

Into themselves.

The city wasn’t a place. It was a trap. A memory-snare. A net of drowned emotions rising up again. It took what you fled from, laid it in front of you, and waited for payment.

Alzagar saw his father again. Venec, a child he’d never acknowledged.

They screamed. For a long time.

Then silence came back.

They woke on their boat, soaked, alone. The sea, flat. Nothing on the horizon. The barrel empty. The compass too. Nothing pointed north anymore.

Just the two of them. Alive.

Venec spat.

“You think it was real?”

“I think we made it back. And that’s all that matters.”

He grabbed a bottle of rum. Alzagar reached for one. They sat there, backs to the rising sun.

In the water, far below, something was still watching them.

And it whispered.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[laudys83]

Last drink before reboot

4. Cosmic Chaos

It was a city without a sky—just a stack of towers, cables, neon, and drones buzzing like mosquitoes jacked up on adrenaline. Rumor had it the sun still shone somewhere. But here, in Delta-9, the only light came from ad screens and billboards pumping out canned happiness.

Venec dragged his cracked leather boots down an alley where the water looked like used engine oil. Cigarette in his mouth, gun stashed in his sleeve, and that greasy feeling that the city was trying to digest him. Another deal gone to shit: a black-market neural implant, supposed to enhance the erotic memories of a senator tripping balls. Except the implant glitched. The poor bastard got stuck reliving his own circumcision on loop and tried to slit his wrists with a dessert spoon.

In short: crap week.

At “Maureen’s,” the air reeked of stale beer, fried circuits, and the sweat of washed-up cyborgs.

Alzagar was already there, slouched in a corner, boots on the table, eyes fogged with digital static.

“You look like a blinking USB port stuck in limbo,” Venec muttered, collapsing beside him.

“Fried a sleep module. Eight hours of lucid dreaming. Pure filth.”

“Come on, admit it—you dreamed about me.”

“Nope. Dreamed of an old toaster begging me for political asylum.”

They stared at each other for a second. Then cracked up. A dry, raspy laugh, like an engine coughing to life.

Venec tapped the table twice. The waitress—Series D android, oversized chest, voicemail voice—brought them two glasses of “Regulator,” a local booze that made you forget your name for three hours flat.

“So now what?” Alzagar asked, voice thick.

“We sell what’s left. The memories, the plans, the pride. Then we bounce.”

“To where?”

“There’s an orbital station over Sirius. Zero gravity, low rent, no network. Out there, even God can’t track you.”

Silence. The kind that sticks to your gums.

Alzagar downed his drink. Calmly.

“You’ve always been a real asshole, Venec.”

“Yeah. But I’m your favorite.”

Alzagar sighed. Got up. Grabbed his coat, stitched with wires, nails, and secrets better left unspoken.

“Fine. But we sell your damn pride first. I’m still a little attached to mine.”

They walked out without looking back, leaving the waitress looping her broken goodbye routine.

Outside, acid rain fell in fat, dirty drops. And in the worn-out sky, a soft pink light blinked slowly, spelling out:

YOU ARE HAPPY. THANK YOU FOR STAYING.

But they were already walking toward the edge of the world.

challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[laudys83]

[laudys83]

You know, what's amazing is that apparently a song about hope, love, togetherness and standing strong in the face of adversity is so "controversial" and "political".

I can understand why October Rain was deemed too political and the change was requested because while I love the song, it's not subtle. But New Day Will Rise is literally a song about surviving and getting through the worst of the worst and to be completely honest, if any other country entered that song, no one would bat an eyelid and that is why it's antisemetism to have an issue with the song itself. It's holding an Israeli to a higher standard than anyone else and that is simply bigoted behaviour

[laudys83]

Hey there 🌍💙

I hope you're doing well. Today, I’m reaching out with a heartfelt request. My family is going through an incredibly difficult time, and I need your help to make our story heard.

🔄 A simple reblog of my pinned post can spread awareness.

💖 A small $5 donation could bring hope where it’s desperately needed.

@nasr-daher

Even the smallest act of kindness can create ripples of change. Your support means the world—thank you for standing with us! 🙏✨

@tumblr what are you waiting for to ban these scammers???

[laudys83]

Bread and silence

3. Cozy cottagecore

They had left at dawn, when the mist still swallowed the hills. Not to flee a crime this time, but simply to leave. To breathe. Venec had stolen a mule, Alzagar had swiped two loaves of bread and a jar of redcurrant jam. No one protested, not even the baker, too busy beating the dust out of his doormat.

The road had been long, punctuated by silences that neither of them had tried to fill. And then they’d arrived here. A moss-covered stone cottage, nestled at the edge of a field, lost between nowhere and nothing. No castle, no king, no Round Table. Just an old shack with tiny windows and the scent of dried herbs in the air.

Venec, of course, was complaining.

“This bench is crooked as hell. Scraped my left arse cheek.”

“You shouldn’t sit like you’re royalty,” Alzagar replied, pouring water into a dented kettle. “What do you want? Linden or mint?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy who drinks linden tea?”

“No, you look like the kind who drinks lukewarm wine and uses sticky candlesticks. But that’s not on offer. It’s mint, linden, or nothing.”

Venec grimaced and slumped onto a cushion embroidered with ridiculous little flowers. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, filling the room with the scent of damp wood and singed wool.

Alzagar, for his part, seemed oddly comfortable. He’d hung up his damp cloak, gone barefoot, and was now buttering a slice of still-warm bread.

“How long do you plan on staying here?” Venec asked, eyes half closed.

“As long as we’re left alone. And if no one comes, all the better. Do you realise there’s nothing to hear? No coughing guards, no whores screaming. Nothing.”

Venec opened one eye. There were dried flowers hanging from the ceiling, a garland of garlic cloves on the wall, and on the table, a checkered tablecloth far too clean to be trusted. It made him nervous. He wasn’t used to softness.

“What if someone comes looking for us?” he mumbled. Someone, of course, meant King Arthur.

“We’ll say we’re dead. Or growing cabbages,” Alzagar shrugged.

“You, gardening? You ever tried to plant anything?”

“A dagger in a guy, yeah. But now I’m thinking about courgettes.”

Venec burst into a tired laugh. The kind of laugh that heals more than it amuses. Then he took the cup Alzagar handed him and held it in both hands like an old cat soaking up the sun.

They didn’t speak for a long while. Only the wind occasionally sighed down the chimney, and a tit pecked gently at the windowpane.

“This isn’t you, all this,” Venec said eventually. “The curtains, the tea, the cushions…”

“No. But I can pretend. And you—you’re pretending not to like it, right?”

Venec shrugged, unable to lie this time. He felt good. He always felt good around him, but today, it was a different kind of peace—unexpected, startling.

He watched Alzagar butter another slice of bread, slowly, like the world paused between each motion.

“If you plant courgettes, I’ll make a garden next to it.”

“Really?” Alzagar feigned surprise.

“Yeah. We’ll grow useful things. Gentle things.”

A silence. Then a smile. Outside, in the mist-drenched field, a buzzard circled slowly above the mossy roof of a tiny, perfect kingdom.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[laudys83]

Frémont x Abbé Martin confirmed!

Ils se disputent devant La Feuillade, qui les interrompt et leur dit qu’ils lui font penser au marquis de je ne sais quoi et à je ne sais plus qui, qui se disputaient sans cesse, qui se sont même affrontés en duel à plusieurs reprises et qu’on a retrouvés, nus, emboîtés dans un même lit un jour.

l’abbé et Fremont super gênés partent chacun de leur côté.

et moi je peux faire un pied de nez à mon mec qui me dit qu’il faut que j’arrête de voir des ships gays partout 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

[laudys83]

My name is Abed.

I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔

The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚

Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️

I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍

If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨

Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏

Post Link

But you have Internet and Tumblr, right?

[laudys83]

Rain beneath the stone

The drizzle fell endlessly over Kaamelott. One of those Britton rains—dull, relentless—that seeped into your bones and your oaths. The cobblestones shimmered with a sad glow under the flicker of oil lanterns, and the lower alleys reeked of wet straw, sour wine, and rotten promises.

Venec walked alone, hood down, his steps brisk but unhurried. He knew this part of town. Knew every hidden door, every crooked stair only thieves or lovers used. He had a meeting in the back room of a one-eyed tanner’s shop, closed for months and now used for anything but leatherwork.

He pushed the door open without a sound. A lantern hung from a blackened beam, flickering weakly. The smell was unbearable: rancid grease, mold, and dead skin. But worse still was the waiting.

Alzagar was already there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He looked dry, as if the rain had chosen to avoid him out of respect. His eyes burned with a feverish gleam. He held a small roll of parchment tied with a filthy cord.

“You got it?” Venec asked without preamble.

“Nearly died for this shit,” Alzagar said, tossing the scroll onto the table. “Three guards, a priest, and a scribe screeching like a virgin.”

Venec unrolled it. The words were coded, but the symbols betrayed their weight: royal seals, guild marks, the signs of an old, deep-running traffic that tied the crown to the underworld. Names appeared. People they saw every day at the Round Table.

“Shit…”

“Yeah. Told you it was gonna stink.”

A long silence. Only the dripping from a leak in the ceiling filled the space. Arthur was about to be betrayed. Then Venec looked up.

“What do we do with this?”

“What we always do,” Alzagar said. “Sell it, or run.”

“It’s too big…”

“Then we run before we end up swinging from a tree.”

Venec smiled. More of a grimace than a smile. Tired, resigned. But alive. They were still here, together, like always. Two rats in the foundation of a kingdom rotting from the top.

He stepped closer to Alzagar, eyes locked with his.

“If we go down, we go down together. But I can’t leave the king in the dark. I have to warn him.”

Alzagar stared back, expressionless. Then slowly, he held out his hand. Venec took it without a word.

Outside, the rain intensified.

challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[laudys83]

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[laudys83]

Suspended in stillness

Ethereal dreams

Night had fallen without a sound. One of those rare nights when even the wind seemed hesitant to stir the tall grass. Venec and Alzagar had left the camp earlier, with no clear purpose. It wasn’t a getaway, nor a mission, not even a planned walk. Just a quiet urge to move away from the human murmur, from that world reeking of grease, sweat, and bartering. Kaamelott was behind them, and that was just fine.

They’d been walking for a while, their steps not really seeking direction. The forest had given way to gentle hills, then to a strange kind of field—vast and bare, edged by distant trees like the blurred outline of a dream. A fine mist crawled over the grass, like a breath too shy to rise. Fireflies floated through the air, glowing and slow. Too many to be natural, too calm to belong to the real world.

Venec stopped first. He wasn’t the kind of man to be easily awed, but something here twisted in his gut. Not fear. More like the sensation of crossing a threshold, of stepping into something fragile, sacred, without having the words to name it.

“Sleep here?” he murmured, more to break the silence than out of need for an answer.

Alzagar said nothing. He was staring at the sky, still, almost solemn. Then he nodded. They settled down, in the middle of nothing, without a fire, without a tent, without anything from their usual hardened nomadic routine.

Alzagar sat in the grass, legs crossed, back straight, looking as focused as a priest mid-ritual. Venec remained standing, arms hanging loosely. He watched the surroundings: that ink-blue sky pricked with stars, the gentle mist licking their ankles, the thousands of tiny lights hanging between earth and air. There was something too beautiful about it. Too simple. Almost suspicious. As if someone had set it all up just for them.

He finally sat beside Alzagar, stiffer, more wary. He didn’t like when things slipped out of his control. But he liked even less being away from them.

They stayed like that, side by side, without speaking. The silence between them wasn’t empty. Nor was it heavy. It was a full space, rich, a soft substance woven from trust and familiarity. How long had they known each other? Venec didn’t really know anymore. There had been years, hardships, half-assumed betrayals, stolen kisses, nights spent in the shadows of tents or empty warehouses. He’d never put words to it. Neither had Alzagar. But tonight, in this nowhere field, they didn’t need to.

Alzagar lay down slowly, face turned toward the stars. He closed his eyes. His breathing was slow, steady. Venec stayed sitting a little longer, watching the area like an uncertain guard dog. Then he gave in. He lay down too, a few centimeters away. Not too close, not too far. Just enough to feel the warmth of Alzagar’s shoulder without touching it.

Above them, the sky was so vast it felt like it might swallow them whole. The stars didn’t twinkle; they pulsed, like distant hearts. A veil of thin clouds drifted slowly, fraying like half-held dreams. The entire space seemed suspended between two breaths, between waking and sleep.

Venec wasn’t used to peace. For him, silence often meant the worst—an ambush, a betrayal, bad news. But here, there was no threat. Just… a strange calm. As if the whole universe was offering him a break. A reprieve. And instead of rejecting it on instinct, he accepted it.

He turned his head slightly. Alzagar was asleep, or almost. Mouth slightly open, brows relaxed, his face softer than usual. Not handsome. Not ugly either. Just that familiar face he’d seen twisted in anger, in exhaustion, in pleasure. That face, here, looked at peace.

Something tightened inside Venec. A raw emotion, nameless. It wasn’t desire. It wasn’t tenderness. It was something else—older, more fundamental. A kind of loyalty, maybe. A quiet gratitude for this strange man who, despite everything, was still here. With him. Still.

He lowered his eyes, fixing on a point in the void. The mist still danced, the fireflies floated aimlessly. A dream. Everything felt like a dream. But Venec had never had dreams like this. His were full of shouting, of debts, of daggers in the dark. Not magical fields. Not living skies. Not peace.

And yet, he was here. This moment existed. Alzagar slept beside him. The world wasn’t harassing them. There was nothing to sell, nothing to bargain for, nothing to run from. Just the two of them, under a sky too beautiful, in a night too gentle, with that silence wrapping around them like a blanket.

Venec sighed, deeply. He closed his eyes too, letting a deep and restful sleep take him.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[laudys83]

Hey there 🌍💙

I hope you're doing well. Today, I’m reaching out with a heartfelt request. My family is going through an incredibly difficult time, and I need your help to make our story heard.

🔄 A simple reblog of my pinned post can spread awareness.

💖 A small $5 donation could bring hope where it’s desperately needed.

@nasr-daher

Even the smallest act of kindness can create ripples of change. Your support means the world—thank you for standing with us! 🙏✨

your story is a lie

[laudys83]

Hey 💌 I’m Saja — a mother trying to hold onto hope through days that feel impossibly heavy.

I know you probably see a lot online, but if you could take just a moment… I’d be so grateful.

💫 A reblog of my pinned post could help our story reach someone who cares.

🌿 And if you’re in a place to give, even a small donation could bring comfort to my daughter and help us feel safe again.

@sajagz, thank you for listening.

Even gentle support creates strength.

From one heart to another — thank you 🤍

Yeaaaaaah, suuuuuuuuuuure

[laudys83]

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

Fck Hms (and yourself, fckn scammer)

[laudys83]