#my fair lady AU

[galwithalibrarycard]

This is my outline for a Rizzles My Fair Lady AU, inspired by @miz-chase and her post about Rizzles Anastasia AUs. Of course, in this MFL AU, Jane Rizzoli is our Eliza Doolittle and Maura Isles is our Henry Higgins.

In early 1900s Boston, Maura Isles is an expert in dialects, accents, and etiquette. She moves into a new home with her friend and fellow expert Suzy Chang.

Maura and Suzy are best friends and amicable exes, so while walking in their neighborhood, Suzy buys Maura flowers from a pretty flower seller, who introduces herself as Jane. After they leave the flower stall, Maura laments to Suzy about the lack of etiquette and proper speech she sees in the public, including Jane (a scene standing in for the song Why Can’t the English?)

Jane and her family talk about how lovely it would be to have more financial security and be able to sit in a mansion and eat chocolates like they imagine Maura does. Jane’s mother puts in that it would be possible, if Jane put in more effort to be classy and feminine and marry a good man. Jane ignores this. (Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?)

Jane runs into her friend Korsak, who is also lamenting his financial situation but takes a more optimistic tack (With a Little Bit of Luck)

Jane is inspired to make her own luck- she’ll go to Maura and ask for her help to be a proper lady, so she can get a better job and help her family and Korsak. Maura offers Jane lessons on how to speak and conduct herself like a lady. Jane, desperate not to see her family on the streets, accepts.

Maura and Suzy make a bet, Maura wagering that she can make Jane a whole new woman in six months. Suzy has her doubts.

Jane moves in with Maura and Suzy, and lessons begin. Jane has a ball teasing Maura and giving her a hard time, intentionally messing up and goofing off. Jane loves making her annoyed and fantasizes about revenge for all Maura’s constant criticism- but she also loves making her laugh. (Just You Wait)

But when Maura gets truly frustrated and panicky that she won’t cooperate, Jane takes pity on her and does a perfect impression of a society lady (The Rain in Spain). Maura is so happy and proud that she takes Jane in her arms and waltzes her around the room, and Jane is addicted to the feeling of praise and to seeing Maura happy. All she wants is to feel that way again. To make Maura smile and hold her like that again. Dancing with Maura has Jane on cloud nine (I Could Have Danced All Night).

(I mean really, imagine it. “I only know when she began to dance with me, I could have danced, danced, danced all night.” Gay.)

Jane feels wrong, trying to change her personality like this. The world wants her to be feminine and soft, and she can pretend, but she’s always gonna be butch. And she’s always gonna be a brash Boston Italian.

Instead of Henry Higgins’ raging misogyny, Maura has to overcome her classism. As she spends more time with Jane, she learns to loosen up, try new things, and be less of a pedant about slang and other things she doesn’t understand.

She takes Jane to an awful society event (Ascot Gavotte), where Jane is still somewhat her uncouth self, but Maura’s fondness for Jane overcomes her frustration with her. At the event, Jane meets and hits it off with a man named Casey. We’ll be hardcore ignoring Casey’s On the Street Where You Live moment because Casey is boring (but the song is good, go listen to Jordan Donica sing it, treat your ears.)

Maura continues taking Jane to society events, becoming more and more jealous as men like Casey and others ask to dance with Jane. Her tutoring is working, but losing Jane is breaking her heart.

A local bigwig at an event mistakes Jane for an heiress, meaning her training worked. Maura buries her uncomfortable feelings for Jane behind a celebration with Suzy that she won the bet and now they’ll have backing to open a comportment school (You Did It). Jane overhears them celebrating and realizes she’s just a project to Maura, devastating her. Jane thinks Maura is ashamed of Jane’s true self.

As Jane is fleeing the event, Casey tries to confess his love for her, but she tells him she has no use for words and needs action (Show Me). It’s clear she’s really hoping Maura, not Casey, will show her that she cares about her. Jane wants what she overheard Maura saying to be a misunderstanding, but she can’t quite believe it.

Jane returns home to her family, quickly moving out of Maura’s house to protect her heart. She doesn’t feel at home at Maura’s anymore.

While Jane is at her family home, Korsak arrives and announces his intention to marry Kiki, and the Rizzolis scramble to get him ready for the big day and celebrate his bachelor party (Get Me to the Church On Time).

Maura laments what she lost and wonders why Jane ran from her. Suzy undertakes an investigation to find Jane and reunite them.

When Suzy brings Maura to Jane’s family home to see her, they have a fight, and Jane tells Maura she doesn’t need her, she’d rather be herself and be alone than put herself in a box for someone who’s ashamed of her (Without You). Jane has reverted to her true self and come to love all sides of that self in spite of Maura.

Maura goes home and laments how much she misses Jane (I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face). She listens to the audio recording she made of Jane’s first lesson with her and cringes at how mean she, Maura, sounds, criticizing everything Jane says. Maura writes Jane an apology letter saying she’s sorry, and that she truly loves every facet of Jane and should never have dreamed of trying to change her.

Maura sees a vision of Jane returning to her house and embraces her, and the two embark on a happy domestic life together- but it is ambiguous whether that happy life is real, or whether we’re only seeing Maura’s doomed fantasies play out, her chance with Jane gone forever. You choose whether you prefer a happy or sad ending.

[wisteriasymphony]

ok ok hear me out --- My Fair Lady Adrinette AU:

Adrien (Henry Higgins): A linguistics student who is encouraged by his cousin Félix Fathom to research the factor of accent in determining societal prospects for Adrien's thesis.

Marinette (Eliza Doolittle): A baker's daughter with a strong accent, selling bread on the side of the street. Upon hearing Adrien's conversation with his cousin, she visits Adrien at his home and asks for speaking lessons; She hopes that these speaking lessons will let her work at a boutique one day.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 2: An Ordinary Man

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: none

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: We're only with Aemond this chapter, but Miss Doolittle will return in the next!

An Ordinary Man

Aemond stepped out of the carriage first, extending a hand to help Helaena climb out. He knew his sister well, so he knew her legs would already be sore from dancing all night and did not want her to stumble on the loose gravel drive.

“Did you see the fireflies?” she asked as she climbed out. Her cheeks were still flushed, but her eyelids had begun to droop. “They were insistent, were they not?”

In truth, Aemond hardly remembered there being fireflies in the garden of their host’s estate. He had not ventured outside – the ladies were outside, and he had no intentions of being dragged onto the dancefloor. Still, he smiled at his sister and nodded.

Daeron clambered out of the carriage behind her. His cravat was rumpled, and his hair ruffled, as he always seemed to be after an evening out. “They were! I swear the same one was following me all night. I simply couldn’t shoo him away for longer than a minute.”

“It was all the sweets on the table outside,” their grandfather, Lord Otto Hightower, added as he stepped onto the drive. “I wouldn’t eat a bite. Who knows what other manner of vermin lurked about.”

Helaena flounced through the open doors, smiling brightly at the footman. “Fireflies aren’t vermin, grandfather! They’re beautiful.”

“Forgive me,” Otto said, gently grabbing her elbow so he could kiss her brow. “Of course they are.”

From a distance, Aemond wanted to say, but he wanted to keep his sister happy more, so he remained silent as they all gathered in the parlor. He removed his gloves, dropping them on the surface of the sideboard before withdrawing a bottle of his favorite port, much needed after such a long night.

“Are you going straight to bed?” Daeron asked as Helaena moved toward the stairs. “You don’t want to talk to us?”

“I need my rest!” she called over her shoulder. “My new lady’s maid will arrive tomorrow, and I want to give a good first impression.”

All three men smiled to themselves, waiting until her footsteps faded to speak.

“What use is there in making a good first impression on a servant?” Aemond wondered.

Daeron sighed, rolling his eyes as he stepped up to the sideboard, grabbing a glass and a bottle of sherry before reclining dramatically on the chaise. “Servant or no, the new girl will be her closest companion. Better the relationship be friendly, no?”

He uncorked the port and poured a generous amount into his glass. “I suppose. And it is in her nature.”

“Did any of the young ladies catch your interest, Aemond?”

His hand froze, hovering over the stem of his half-full glass. He swore that if his grandfather brought up the question of a woman one more time, he’d banish the old man to the shabby cottage deep in the woods, where he’d never have to hear that damnable question again.

He had sworn the same the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that.

One day, he may actually follow through on it.

That night, though, he simply seized the bottle of port again, filled his glass to the brim, and downed it all in one gulp. The burn in his throat was far more tolerable than any of the simpering women at the ball.

The Tully girl with the lifeless eyes of a dead fish and equivalent intellect. The Lannister could do little else but bat her eyelashes and assault the ears around her with her tittering laugh. The four Baratheon girls, each utterly vexing in her own unique way. And many, many more besides.

“Aemond?” Otto asked again. The false joviality vanished from his voice.

Damn, he’d waited too long to answer. Perhaps he could still pass it off as being consumed in thought?

“Why even ask?” Daeron half-laughed as he swirled his sherry. He always had to swirl it around for several minutes before he deemed it acceptable to drink but gave no reason for it. “He only ever looks at them long enough to notice their flaws.”

Aemond filled his glass again – only halfway this time. “If their flaws weren’t so noticeable, I may have looked longer.”

“Every young lady there was well-bred and well-accomplished. Several of them were even charming, by my estimation. Any one of them would have made a perfectly suitable wife.” His grandfather leaned forward in his chair, steepling his hands together. It was what he always did when trying to use reason to get his way. Oftentimes, it worked.

But not with this.

“I have neither the need nor the desire to find a wife, as I have made quite plain.”

“Every man of our station is in want of a wife, grandson.”

Aemond huffed. “I have no true station. I am nothing but an ‘ordinary man.’”

The words were not his own. It was only an echo of his uncle’s cruel words after the House of Lords had passed the judgment that left Aemond with no more than what his elder sister had deemed acceptable consolation for losing the lands and title that should have been his.

Now, all he had to his name was an old hunting lodge for an estate and a courtesy title. Rhaenyra had not even granted him a pocket borough to allow him into Parliament – that was given to her fool of a son who only rarely attended his duties.

“Even without the title, you are still an important man in the county. Kingswood is a large and profitable estate, and you command great respect from all.”

The empathy in Otto’s voice grated at Aemond. He, too, was a second son who stood to inherit only what his elder sibling would give him. But he could not truly understand; their situations were far too different. Otto had never come nearly as close as Aemond did to the title. It had been so close he could still feel its phantom presence upon his shoulder.

He stared at his reflection in his glass, elongated and deformed by the curved glass. “I still fail to see what benefits a wife would bring me.”

“A proper wife, a wife of good breeding, would enhance your reputation, grant you new allies, and perhaps even expand your holdings.” His grandfather hesitated before continuing, the only indication of his nerves the tightness in his raised brow. “The right match may even bring a title for your children to inherit.”

Aemond set his glass down with such force that it shattered under his hand, shards digging into his palm. It was a welcome distraction. “Nothing I cannot obtain myself.” Save, perhaps, the title. But he knew better to hope for what was impossible.

Otto was silent a while, sipping on his drink. Daeron did not dare disturb the silence. He’d been witness to this fight before. Aemond knew that in only a few more moments, his younger brother would awkwardly raise a different topic, and they could finally move past this particular subject.

But it was not Daeron who broke the silence. It was Otto.

“If you will not accept a wife for advantage, perhaps you will consider the personal benefits?” He looked at his grandson with an affection Aemond had not seen in years. “This estate is in desperate need of a lady’s presence.”

“We have Helaena,” Daeron whispered.

“Yes, but she lives in her own world, and I have no desire to force her into a role she does not want.” He turned back to Aemond, who steadfastly ignored him in favor of picking bits of glass out of his palm. “But we would all benefit from that role being filled.”

Aemond wrapped his handkerchief around his hand, tying it tight enough to stem the bleeding.

“I am not asking you to love the girl, Aemond. Love in marriage is rare, after all.” Otto’s voice faltered. He had experienced love in his marriage, though he rarely talked about their late grandmother. It was better that way, Aemond told himself. Hearing those love stories made his stomach roil. “But would it not be pleasant to have someone by your side? To help manage the estate and ease the burden on your shoulders? She could read to you, sing for you, play that pianoforte that has been collecting dust for years. She could decorate the house, maybe even with her own art. The ladies we met tonight were exceptionally accomplished. They could do all that and more.”

Wishing he had not smashed his glass for want of more alcohol, Aemond finally faced his grandfather. “Is that supposed to impress me? That they have grown proficient in what they have been trained in their entire lives?” He smiled wickedly. “Even the most foolish girl could be trained to do the same.”

“Even that girl we met in Rosby today?”

With his question, Daeron had shattered the argument as if it were a plate of thin glass.

Otto stared at his youngest grandson, then at Aemond, then back again. “What in God’s name were you doing in Rosby?”

“That creature was more beast than girl.” Aemond clenched his fists as he recalled the pitiful thing sprawled on the dirty road, the horrible noises she made, and…

“She was scared, Aemond.” He had never heard Daeron sound angry, yet here it was. “You frightened her.”

“Yes, I am well aware of that.” Aemond dug a finger into the largest cuts on his palm, almost immediately feeling blood soak through the handkerchief. He remembered very well the way the girl had stared at him – at his ruined eye and horrible scar. It was as if she could not believe he was real. Like he was some terrifying monster that had escaped from a book of faerie tales.

Daeron set down his glass, still full, and crossed his arms. “Then you insulted her.”

“I made observations.” He doubted the girl would even perceive his comments as insults, that she had the necessary intellect to do so.

“You called her a wretch and a goose.”

Aemond clenched his jaw in frustration. Why should Daeron care about what he said to some varlet? “I never said she was a goose. I said she sounded like one.”

“A ‘strangled goose,’ if I remember correctly.”

“Semantics.”

“Cruelty.”

Otto slammed his hand into the arm of his chair and stood, his face red with anger and eyes wide with confusion. “Will one of you kindly explain what manner of creature you met in Rosby of all places? And what she or it has to do with Aemond needing a wife?”

“It was nothing,” Aemond insisted. “An unfortunate encounter that has absolutely no bearing on this conversation. Or any conversation.”

“At the market today, Aemond quite literally ran into a poor girl in Rosby who was selling flowers. She was thrown to the ground, her flowers were destroyed, and she was distraught, and Aemond did nothing but dismiss and insult her. He wasn’t even going to reimburse her for the cost of her lost wares.” Daeron stood from the chaise and approached his brother, arms still crossed and eyes hard. “You just declared that ‘even the most foolish girl’ could be trained to act like a well-bred lady.” “Why shouldn’t that be true for that flower girl?”

Aemond snarled, the left corner of his lips twitching upward into a sneer. “I never said it wasn’t. But as I said, she had nothing to do with – ”

“Prove it.”

Both young men snapped their attention to their grandfather, their own argument forgotten.

“What?” Aemond asked. His anger was quickly morphing into something like dread.

Otto approached. There was no longer a trace of anger or confusion on his face, only a delighted smugness that Aemond knew well to fear. “You say any girl can be taught to be a lady. I am asking you to prove it – with that girl from Rosby.”

Daeron barked out a laugh, returning to his sherry and raising it in a toast. “A brilliant idea, grandfather!”

“I can see no reason why I should do such a thing,” Aemond insisted. He was fighting to control his anger and indignation. His jaw was clenched to the point of pain. Perhaps it would shatter like his glass had.

“If it is a reason you are looking for, grandson, I will give it to you.” Though he had no need to, Otto tilted his head back to look down his nose at Aemond. “If you prove that even this pitiful girl you’ve described can indeed be trained to be a proper lady, then I shall never broach the topic of your marriage again. You shall be free to marry whomever you wish or to not marry at all. But only if this wretch from Rosby becomes a passable lady – and not only by our estimation. She must prove herself publicly. The Embassy Ball would be ideal, don’t you think?”

He stepped even closer, forcing his grandson to retreat a step. “But if you cannot, and the poor girl makes a fool of herself, you will marry. I will arrange a match with one of the many fine ladies we saw tonight, and you will marry her within the year. Without protest.”

It was too great a risk, Aemond knew. It was more than likely that he would end up married to a woman he did not love who would upend his perfectly peaceful life.

But there was a chance…

A chance to leave all the countless arguments over his marriage in the past, to never have to hear his grandfather’s nagging again. He could live his life precisely as he wanted, without having to sire heirs he did not want or worry about inheritance. Daeron would be his heir, and his children after him.

Otto knew it, too. He knew he was dangling a feast before a starving man only to lure him into a trap. It was that knowledge, along with the self-satisfied smirk his grandfather wore, that made Aemond’s decision for him.

 “Very well, I accept.” He extended a hand to seal the wager.

As his grandfather shook his hand, Aemond could not help but feel as though he had made the worst decision of his life.

[tawnyevergreen]

Poster art for the silver screen bang!! It’s My Fair Lady!! In collaboration with the loverly @cousin-serena on AO3 and organized by @do-it-with-style-events <3

More to come, stay tuned! :D

[golden-headband]

Lady Time… and your new helpers.

Fem bodied!Reader x ESAU Wukong and Macaque

AU created by @emelinstriker

Macaque appeared as if he was about to whine like a puppy, looking up at you as you lay on the bed, unmotivated, and without energy. Uncomfortable. And slightly irritated.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” You heard Wukong ask gently to your right. You turn your head into his arm. You had assured before that just lying down with them near you was enough to sooth you in this time of… well… being born a female.

After they discussed-many times-how they could help, you came up with a position that both of them could stay by your side and help you. Knowing they liked the closeness and that feeling of helping you even when there wasn’t really much they could do. Macaque could lay on your left side, using his portal- or shadow powers- to bring chocolates to you while Wukong laid on your right with his hand over your tummy. Where your pain was centered on. You knew that period pains were different for everyone. For you? It felt like your bladder was turned into a vortex of dull knives. You knew the remedies were either painkillers first thing in the morning, or just having something to eat. Hot beverages, heat over the pain. That’s what worked for you before. And chocolate. Lots. And Lots. Of Chocolate. Hence why they had caught you making chocolate chip cookies a few days ago. You were the kind that kept a calendar marked for every time so you could ready yourself for that messy week- or in your case the first few days of the more extreme pain. And since then, they had been eager in helping you in your time. Apparently they had gone through enough Master Incarnations that they had familiarized themselves with more remedies than even you had thought of. You were honestly amazed at how attentive they were. You had only been with them for about three weeks. This was your first time being their Master with your menstrual cycle arriving.

You had always been told guys get uncomfortable with the mention of periods, so you were more used to dancing around the topic, but here they were talking about all the remedies like you were coming down with the common cold and they would be there to help you the whole while. It was endearing.

“The warmth is enough I don’t need any pain killers…” You assured them. Feeling Macaque nuzzling into your side. Making you smile, almost laugh. “I’m better than I was this morning, I’m thankful for that.” You reassure them, moving your hand to lazily scratch Macaques head, feeling him leaning into your touch. On your right you could feel Wukong nuzzling into the crook of your neck. It was all so soothing.

“You sure you don’t want to hit us?” the dark simian offered, making your heart sink. And making him lower his head. Right. You always forget they can ‘feel’ your emotions through this whole ‘bond’ thing that made them insistent on serving you. You wondered if they also feeling this period pain. You sure hoped not.

“That won’t make me feel better. If anything it’ll just make me worse.” You reminded Macaque. You cared too much about them to take your anger out on them. “Besides, I’m not all that angry. I’m just uncomfortable. The chocolate helps though… thanks for making another batch of cookies. It really helps.” You turned and he rose up, knowing exactly what you were going to do. Your lips touched his forehead, and he melted. Both of them curled into you. Their soft fur soothed you. And gosh darnit feeling their tails around you filled your heart with butterflies all over again. They stayed close… until you had to get up.

“Are you alright?” Macaque hurriedly asked. You knew they already missed the excuse to cuddle with you.

“I’m fine. I’ll be right back.” You didn't look back at what face Macaque was making or the probably concerned look on Wukongs face.

“Do you need us to do anything? We’ll do it right away!” You heard Macaque try to reassure you as you stood up and almost wobbled-the price to pay for not using your legs for so long-focusing on the specific door.

“I don’t think this is something you can help me do.” “Why not?” It would’ve made your heart sink hearing how distressed he was. Like you were dismissing his abilities, no confidence in him after all he's done. But then you turned, and he saw which direction you were headed.

“I’m just gonna use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” You heard how deadpan your tone was. And seeing their expressions almost made you laugh. But you really did need to go. No matter if you had chocolate, pain killers, or heat… if you needed to go, your pain wouldn’t subside.

You knew as soon as you were done, Wukong and Macaque would be there to be your lil snuggle buddies and take care of you while you ride out this whole period thing. You planned on giving each of them a kiss as thanks for everything they did. But where though? Head? Cheek? Lips? ... eh. All of them. Yep. All of them. You concluded with a smile.

[mlleclaudine]

En couverture de Vanity Fair: Noémie Merlant, portrait d'une actrice en feu

by Norine Raja - Vanity Fair France, July 24, 2024

Tragic, comic and now erotic: Noémie Merlant continues to prove that she can play anything, including a radically contemporary version of Emmanuelle.  But how do you reconcile sensuality and feminism in an era that leaves so little room for nuance?  Norine Raja asked her.

Suddenly, the interview’s soundtrack changes drastically.  At the café terrace where we're chatting, the lyrics of Maître Gims give way to an electro remix of the familiar melody of Bella Ciao.

Is it a sign?  The music seems to have anticipated Noémie Merlant's thoughts: «At one point, I felt trapped.  Now, it's like this song: freedom, freedom, freedom!»  she says to the beat of the chorus.  Has she reached the point of total emancipation?  «Not yet, but I’m getting there», she says with a smile.

On this June afternoon, the actress is back home in the Paris suburbs after having attended two festivals in a row – Biarritz and Nantes – to present her second feature film as director, Les Femmes au balcon.  Espresso started, unfussy outfit, bag casually laid on the floor, hair in a ponytail.  She weighs her words, relishes the silences.  Then, the next minute, she rivets you with her electric gaze and makes her point with total conviction.  Just try to pigeonhole her.  She’s got a 14-year career under her belt and as many different roles: a rebellious teenager in Les Héritiers (2014), a naive aristocrat in Le Retour du héros (2018), a trans man in A Good Man (2020).  «She's a perfect blend of precision and abandon», said Céline Sciamma, who directed her in Portrait de la jeune fille en feu (2019).  «She can play a powerful woman, but also hint at vulnerability», adds Audrey Diwan, winner of the Lion d’or for L'Événement (2021), who has just directed her in Emmanuelle – more on that later.

Because she remains an enigmatic figure in the public eye, no persona seems too outsized for her.  Think she’s limited to dramatic roles?  She displays unexpected comedic flair in L'Innocent (2022), in which she plays Louis Garrel's brash best friend: twinkling eyes, a mischievous attitude, raucous laughter.  Her feigned nervous breakdown in a highway restaurant is unforgettable.  The role (finally) earned her the César for Best Supporting Actress in 2023.  Audrey Diwan hasn't forgotten that performance: «Every time she smiles in this film, she turns the world upside down.»

That same year, the filmmaker was working on a remake of Just Jaeckin's Emmanuelle, the famous erotic feature film of the Giscardian era.  At the time, Noémie Merlant had never seen this landmark of 1970s sexual revolution, the first installment in a 15-part saga.  So she met the director without any preconceived ideas or images.  She was inspired by the character.  «She must be exhausted in her search for pleasure», she suggested to Audrey Diwan, who offered her the role before the meeting was over.  She insisted on watching the original film after shooting was done.  Her verdict?  «It's a disaster.  The first part is interesting, with this open relationship.  But then there's a storyline with Emmanuelle and an older man.  She gets raped in front of him...»

The film has aged badly, but the 2024 version is free of any misogyny.  The look and feel have been modernized.  Replacing the postcard Thai décor and its whiff of orientalism is a luxurious Hong Kong setting.  Not a young woman pandering to the desires of others, but an ambitious thirtysomething in the throes of self-discovery.  A complete reinterpretation, in other words.  I hesitate to ask: was she afraid to embrace this character and her sultry aura?  She dismisses the idea out of hand: «That never even occurred to me.  What interests me these days is working with women directors who are seeking to redefine representations of women, their imagination, their sexuality.»

Céline Dion, her idol

Sorority was Noémie Merlant's guiding principle, long before she became aware of or defined the concept of female solidarity.  The daughter of a pair of real estate agents, she grew up in Rezé, a town of 40,000 people near Nantes, in a happy household where television held center stage.  Evenings were spent watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and crying over Titanic, she admits with a touch of embarrassment.  Like thousands of French people, we'd like to tell her.  She is very close to her mother and older sister, who suffers from a disability.  To avoid adding to her parents' burdens, Noémie learned not to take up too much space.  After years of therapy, she's come to realize: «It's nobody's fault, just the dynamics imposed by society. And then, at the same time, school teaches you not to make waves, society tells women to be well-behaved.»

So she found other means of expression.  She was a soloist with the Nantes Conservatoire choir, and dreamed of following in the footsteps of her idol Céline Dion.  She also practiced ballet and modern jazz for ten years.  Her father was convinced that Noémie was destined for a career in the arts.  One day in the mid-2000s, he saw an advertisement for the Cours Florent and encouraged her to try her luck.  The 17-year-old was scared, but eventually let herself be convinced.  She headed for the capital, where the transition was rather brutal.  «When I arrived, I was thinking: “I don't know anyone, I have no culture... What am I going to do?”»  She compensated for her imposter syndrome with a thirst for knowledge.  Here she lists the directors she needed to catch up with: Bergman, Cassavetes, the great Italian filmmakers like Visconti.  And reading?  «There's nothing to be done about it, I just can’t», she says frankly.

At the same time, she pursued modeling to «earn money, even if you only got paid in clothes», she says pragmatically.  She did photo shoots, fashion shows, and trips without really thinking about it.  She didn't want to «bite the hand that fed her», and would realize only much later the full extent of the toll this experience took on her.  The «Shut up and look pretty», the memory of being sexually assaulted by a photographer, the feeling that her body was no longer her own.  To the point where she weighed only 45 kilos.  «That gave me a massive eating disorder, which I'm still trying to overcome.  I was anorexic-bulimic for almost ten years.  I'm not any more, but I'm still hypervigilant about what I eat, and I'm always careful not to let myself go.»

There was only one thing to do: get out of the fashion world as quickly as possible.  Sometimes, it's all about meeting someone.  In 2013, the actress auditioned for Les Héritiers, a film by Marie-Castille Mention-Schaar inspired by a true story.  It tells the story of how a teacher enrolls her most unruly pupils in a history competition, an experience that will change their worldview.  Noémie Merlant was 24, but looked young enough to play the class rebel, wearing a leather jacket and with headphones on.  On set, the filmmaker was impressed by her talent and intense presence.

Filming with Desplechin

A year later, another text message: «Would you be available to meet?  I'd like to talk to you.»  [Mention-Schaar] offered her the role of an average young girl, radicalized by jihadists, in Le Ciel attendra.  To prepare for the role, Noémie Merlant met with teenage girls in the process of deradicalization, and tried to understand their mindset.  «We found girls from all social backgrounds, cultures and religions.  For many of these teenagers, there was the feeling of being misunderstood by society, but also frequently the beginnings of anxiety about death and shame.  The desire for an ideal, for something unconditional, even in love stories.»  The film was released in a volatile context, less than a year after the attacks on November 13.  But the actress took a cleareyed view of this phenomenon, which she believed revealed youth in search of meaning.

This total commitment paid off: in 2017, she was nominated for a César in the Most Promising Actress category.  In an interview filmed around this time, she appears smiling and fulfilled.  Well aware, too, that the road ahead is fraught with pitfalls: «The hardest thing is to maintain self-confidence, even when you don't believe in yourself, or when you have periods of emptiness.»

What was Noémie Merlant dreaming of at this very moment?  When asked about whom she’d like to collaborate with, she almost mechanically cited Arnaud Desplechin or Abdellatif Kechiche.  She didn't know it yet, but the revolution would be born in a female microcosm.  In 2019, the young woman played a painter hired to create the likeness of an aristocrat (Adèle Haenel) in Portrait de la jeune fille en feu.  Céline Sciamma's fourth feature is an incredibly intimate costume drama: a manor house, a cliff overlooking the sea and just four characters.  At first, the actress was confused by the script: «Conflicts are nonexistent or immediately defused.»  The absence of dominance hierarchies unsettled her: there were no saviors or anyone being saved; there were creators but no muses.  «Just a gentleness and a wonderful equality.  And in spite of everything, there’s an exciting story full of surprises.  That's what makes it so powerful.»  A head-on collision between two great actresses, where their eyes meet, sizing each other up, caressing each other.  Like when Noémie Merlant’s character places a mirror between her lover's thighs, then sketches her self-portrait.

A box-office success across the Atlantic and a critical triumph, the film was in the running for ten awards at the 2020 Césars.  But on the evening of the ceremony, one name brought all the tensions into focus: Roman Polanski.  The director, who is currently facing several rape allegations, had been nominated in several categories for his film J'accuse.  French cinema had never been so fractured.  Adèle Haenel, who revealed that she had been molested as a child by director Christophe Ruggia, was in shock.  For her, honoring Polanski was tantamount to «spitting in the face of all victims».  No one heeded her: the filmmaker won the prize for best director, to the applause of part of the audience.  «Someone shouted: “Well done!” recalls Noémie Merlant.  It was clearly a response to Adèle's speaking out.»  In protest, the cast of Portrait de la jeune fille en feu left the auditorium, after shouting a resounding «Shame!»  In the wake of her commitment, Adèle Haenel announced her retirement from cinema in 2023.  Has Noémie Merlant thought about following her example?  «It wasn't easy to keep going, she acknowledges.  I admire Adèle's courage.  But staying is also a way of continuing the fight.»  The actress has no illusions about the seventh art.  No promotional newspeak, no generalities or shortcuts in her remarks.  Even when she salutes the «extraordinary people» she has worked with, she qualifies that with «but that's not always the case».  You get the sense that she is torn between the desire to talk about her difficult experiences and the fear of endless controversy.  She mentions «casting directors, actors, who promise you things».  How do you recognize them?  «Thanks to my experience as a model, I'm like a fish that spots the hook before the worm.»

Portrait de la jeune fille en feu «changed everything» for her.  She set off in search of more meaningful roles.  She reassessed her place not only in cinema, but also in the world.  She reflected on «patriarchal oppression», confronted the traumas that resurfaced.  «Even my relationship dynamic no longer suited me.»  She left her partner at the time and moved in with Sanda Codreanu, a friend from the Cours Florent.  She hesitates over the precise terms, but speaks of «escape» and «sanctuary».  In this haven, words flow freely and bodies are liberated.  They laugh as much as they talk about the violence they've suffered.  She, who used to move from one relationship to another, embraced a new perspective on relationships.  Why should romantic love count for more than friendships?  Why force yourself to have sex to please the other person?  Noémie Merlant now knows what she wants... or rather what she doesn't want.  These days, she's in a «healthy, unstructured» relationship.  She adds: «We're not afraid to experience things separately.  The important thing is that each of us is fulfilled.»

The Cate Blanchett method

Recovery also involves the body.  Onscreen nudity doesn't bother her.  «There are fewer and fewer actresses who agree to undress, which I understand.  But I don't have any issue with it, so I'm happy to go for it.  I think there are things to explore and advocate for in this freedom.»  She asserts her willingness to explore eroticism and sexuality through the eyes of other directors.  Female desire in all its forms is a common thread running through her filmography: she develops an attraction to an amusement park ride in Jumbo, plays a writer infatuated with a libertine photographer in Curiosa.

For a long time, sex scenes had been reduced to a few lines in a script and improvised on set.  In Jacques Audiard's Les Olympiades, the ballet of bodies is carefully designed.  Playing a thirtysomething woman who becomes fascinated by a camgirl, Noémie Merlant was coached by choreographer Stéphanie Chêne.  She learned to abandon dialogue in favor of her gaze and body language.  For the first time, she thought about her character's movements.  «It allows you to feel safe and to work with respect above all else.  And so you can go further, seeking precision through imagination.»  Farewell to the good little girl.  She avoids tyrannical filmmakers, those who push the actors' limits.  At one point, when a director tried to manipulate her to extract emotions, she almost walked off the set.  «I made him understand that I was making this film above all for pleasure and for creativity, and that I couldn't accomplish anything with that kind of method.  In the end, it turned out well, but I wish I hadn’t had to go through that.»  It was like revenge for all those outbursts she’d had to swallow.

Behind the camera, Noémie Merlant has also chosen irreverence.  In her second feature, Les Femmes au balcon, she imagines a Marseilles-style Rear Window, somewhere between comedy and outright gore.  The pitch: three girlfriends have fun spying on their mysterious neighbor across the street, with whom they develop a relationship that goes beyond exhibitionism.  It was difficult for her to find an actress who would agree to film naked, until she came across the luminous Souheila Yacoub.  One question nagged at her: how to film a body without sexualizing it?  First, by disarming the issue with humor.  «Right from the start, I give the viewer a heads-up: “Here you go, boobs.  Now that you've had a good look at them, let's move on.”»  She also uses the expression «shirtless» for women, a way of denouncing double standards.  There's no idealizing of her heroines' bodies.  She films them in their everyday lives, in positions that are not always flattering, and welcomes a touch of vulgarity.  «It's a form of sincerity as well.»

Taking risks is finally paying off.  In the last couple of years, Noémie Merlant has turned a corner in her career.  Like Marion Cotillard, Adèle Exarchopoulos and Juliette Binoche, she is now sought out by foreign filmmakers.  In 2021, Todd Field sent her the script for Tár.  And for a significant role.  She plays the assistant to a famous orchestra conductor, starring opposite Cate Blanchett – and speaking perfect English.  An intimidating experience?  Idolization is not her style: «It's important to demystify people who are in the limelight.»  Still, she took the time to observe Cate Blanchett in action.  The way she handled a complicated sequence shot or filmed the same scene twenty times without complaining.  Her ability to juggle lessons: piano, German, baton handling.  «There's no mystery.  It's all about the love of the craft, precision and the quest to relinquish yourself to the role.»  She adds, a bit idealistically: «Often the ones who succeed are also good people...  Not always, but I prefer to tell myself that.»

Yet Noémie Merlant has no desire to sacrifice her whole life for her profession.  For a long time, she took one role after another, as if for fear of missing out or being forgotten.  These days, her priorities have changed.  «I want to do Qua-li-ty», she says with a smile and a funny inflection.  Wouldn't this be a good time to enjoy it, too?  Her financial situation now allows her to help her family.  She has adapted her house to accommodate her father, who has been in a wheelchair since having a stroke in 2009.  She has helped her parents find a new home, and paid for outside help to relieve her «very exhausted» mother.  How does her father view her success today?  «He's very, very, very proud.  He tells himself that he was lucky, because it might not have worked out.»  He follows every step of her career, keeping track of every press article.  «He's definitely going to be handing out Vanity Fair to all his friends.»  You can sense her admiration for this close-knit clan, for their ability to face adversity.  A few years ago, she took out her camera to film them in their daily lives, around Christmas time.  She has started editing, but still has some work to do.  Recently, she went back to the rushes, but hasn't managed to finalize the project.  Perhaps it's too intimate.  I propose a hypothesis: what if she had primarily sought to freeze time?  She continues: «There's something interesting about the way they talk, the way they live, with a lot of humor and joy in spite of everything.  I want to share this story, because it can do a lot of people good.»  Could this be the next step toward freedom?

[Please don’t repost this anywhere, in part or in whole.  Feel free to reblog, or at least cite your source and provide a link back here.  Asking permission would be nice in an ideal world, but I’m a realist – I know far too well how easy it is to appropriate stuff on Tumblr.  I would be the first to admit that my translations are not perfect – there are some words and phrases that simply do not drop neatly into an equivalent in English, and I constantly fix typos and make changes or corrections in older posts – but they do take a lot of work and time.  Thanks for understanding. - C.]

h/t @morningmightcomebyaccident - thank you, Grey!

[buffaluff]

Sketching Sunday 🦬✏️💖

(a thing i’m making up since i enjoy everyone’s writing on sunday but also want to pretend like i’m also participating with the big kids)

plucking away slowly at my ren faire au drawings in my (limited) free time but having fun!

tagging anyone who wants to share a bit of art they’re working on ☺️💖 i wanna see!

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

Y'all heard that song "one of your girls" by Troye Sivan its Pining TimKon coded. Cuz like:

"Give me a call if you ever get lonely I'll be like one of your girls or your homies Say what you want, and I'll keep it a secret You got the key to my heart, and I need it Give me a call if you ever get desperate I'll be like one of your girls"

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Is it too much to ask for My Fair Lady Vilya and twin siblings content? Drabble, blurb, anything.

(That au takes up a good chunk of my brain lol)

turned my water into wine #51

All of the grown-ups are talking, and it's dreadfully boring. Vilya keeps hearing lots of words she doesn't understand, words like crisis and allies and contingencies, and she's sick of it. She leaves her mama and her papa and the rest of the adults to their chatter. She'll entertain herself, if she has to.

She wanders into the twins' room, which she has vague memories of not always being attached to the house. Inside, Korrin and Elaina share a crib, but Vilya knows they're getting too big for it. Soon, they'll need their own space, just like Vilya has. Except they can't have her room. That's hers.

Korrin is curled up in the corner, using one of Vilya's old dollies as a pillow, but Elaina has pulled herself up to standing using the bars of the crib. Like this, she's taller than Vilya, looking down at her older sister with wide, watery eyes. "Ah!" Elaina chirps, reaching out toward Vilya.

Vilya frowns, confused. She doesn't know what her baby sister means by ah, or what she's reaching for. "You're lucky you're a twin," Vilya pouts, resting her head against the crib bars. "You always have someone to play with. I'm all alone."

Elaina's tiny fist reaches out toward Vilya again, and she lets out another "Ah!" This time, Vilya reaches up so her little sister can grab onto it. Elaina tugs, as if she can hoist Vilya up into the crib.

"You want me in with you?" Vilya asks.

"Ah!"

Vilya sizes up the crib. It's not that tall. There's a small box off to the side full of nappies; Vilya gets behind it and pushes with all her might, and after a few moments, it begins to slide across the rug. Once it's in place, Vilya climbs on top and then slowly grabs onto the cribs rails, pulling herself up with as much strength as she can muster. Elaina claps happily and giggles as finally Vilya collapses into the crib, panting. "Okay. I'm here."

Immediately, Elaina grabs her favorite blanket and shoves it at Vilya. Vilya takes it and covers herself, which seems to be the right thing, because once she does, Elaina curls up into her side and instantly falls asleep. Vilya blinks in surprise. They've never done this before, not unless they were all cuddling on the sofa in front of the fire, but somehow, this feels right. Vilya scoots down to rest her head just beside Korrin's, and as if he could sense her in his sleep, her baby brother twists so he's pressed into Vilya's shoulder.

Okay. So maybe this little sibling thing isn't so bad after all.

It's not quite what she was hoping for when she left her boring parents in the common room of the cottage, but as she feels her own eyelids start to become heavy, she's glad she came in here, after all.

.

Keyleth is exhausted. When she abrogated her nation and allowed its constituent city-states to forge their own paths, she did not expect her decision to be tested so quickly. But here they are, not even five years from that momentous change, and already Pyrah is calling on the other Ashari confederates to take up arms alongside their fighters in its brewing conflict with the Kingdom of Othanzia. The Zephran High Council has no interest in such a conflict, not so soon after the bloody war with Draconia and not when the outcome of said war would have little effect on the people here. And yet Sovereign Cerkonos is threatening Pyrah's removal from the Confederacy if he does not receive the support he demands.

It is late into the evening before the impromptu Council meeting held in her and Vax's home disperses, and she is finally able to drape herself dramatically onto the sofa. "I take it all back. I want the power to tell Cerkonos to shut up again."

Laughing, Vax reaches down to rub at her shoulders. "None of this is of concern to you anymore. Let us on the Council deal with it."

Except they both know she's never been good at letting anything go. "And what do I tell our children, Vax? That I abandoned the needs of my people because it technically wasn't my job?"

Vax's hands still. "Where are our children?"

Terror tightens its fist around Keyleth's heart. She cannot remember the last time she laid eyes on Vilya, the last time one of the twins cried. She exchanges a wild look with Vax, and then both of them launch into motion, scrambling toward the children's bedroom doors. Vax throws open Vilya's first. "She's not in here!"

Keyleth's shaking hand grabs the handle to the twins' door, and when she creaks it open, the sight on the other side stops her in her tracks. In the crib, Vilya is stretched out beneath one of the twins' blankets, one sibling curled into each side of her. All three are fast asleep, heads lolled about and chests moving slowly with their deep breaths. As the fear ebbs away, it is replaced with a sentiment so overwhelming it nearly knocks the air from her lungs.

She feels Vax come up behind her. "Oh," he whispers. "Look at that."

Keyleth leans back into her husband's arms. "They're so beautiful."

"And more importantly, quiet." She elbows him and he breathes a laugh. "Should we wake them?"

They should, because they all need to eat, and at this rate, there's no way the twins will be sleeping straight through the night. But they look so peaceful, their children, so untouched by the machinations of the adult world, that Keyleth cannot bear to pull them from their dreams. "Let them sleep." She shuts the door with a soft click, the sleeping children none the wiser.

[nonuggetshere]

I had a realisation yesterday about FaaF and my own ocs

Not to mention they're all gods and royal

[mediumgayitalian]

I will never not swing open the gates to get people to listen to everybodys worried about owen

Anyway, representative by everybodys worried about owen is a will solace song. Good night

i shall add it to the queue and update you about my thoughts

[skitskatdacat63]

Re: prev rb("oh he's your 'right hand man'? for what, jerking you off?")

^ i implied it already in my tags, but god, this is literally Fernando @ Mark and Seb in the boy king au 😭 He's literally constantly ragging on them. It makes it even worse than Mark's role is literally called "Groom of the Bedchamber." It's like "oh he's your groom? Of the bedchamber? Better get to your martial duties, right? What else does he do to you in your bed?" And once Seb is emperor, Mark is definitely called his right hand man by outsiders, just fueling the fire for Nando.

[tragedy-peanut-gallery]

I am going THRU it rn I was thinking of drawing Naerys and her cousins in like, a modern au or smth but I decided it’d be fun to like- idk do some weird math shit involving timelines and stuff. Apparently!! If the current events of asoiaf were happening in the year of our lord 2023, that means Naerys would’ve been born 162 years ago- girl would’ve spawned into existence in 1861!! That isn’t a modern catholic goth chick that is a victorian gentlewoman dying of a double-whammy combo of tuberculosis and lead poisoning!!!! GIRL!!!!!!!

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 1: Loverly

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond is just a bitch ass rude motherfucker

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Enjoy happiness! Or at least more than you'd get with WIB...

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Loverly

“Now, what are you doing here, Miss Doolittle?” Mrs. Cunningham asked from behind a wall of flowers – peonies and daisies, roses and hydrangeas, violets and lilies. “I thought you’d be well on your way to Kingswood by now.”

“And miss me last market day? Never!”

There was very little in the world that was more exciting to Miss Doolittle than market day in Rosby. For others, almost anything else was more exciting, but not to her. For a few hours once a week, the sleepy town of only a few dozen people that made up her entire world grew into a bustling city. New people, new gossip, new trinkets and doodads from all over the countryside for her to gawk at.

It was better than a circus.

At least, she imagined it to be. She’d never been to a circus.

“Can’t hurt to earn a few coins more before I leave, can it?” she asked as she stooped to the ground and began picking through the smaller stems that had fallen on the journey between Mrs. Cunningham’s wagon and her brightly painted stall. Those that were still mostly passable found their way into a threadbare basket.

Market day was when she made her living, even if it was just enough to pay the rent on her tiny basement apartment and cover her tab at the local pub. Though sometimes, she made enough to share with those even less fortunate than her.

“And what would you be spending it on, dear?” Mrs. Cunningham asked, not so slyly dropping a few of the finer blooms. She was a kind woman, a florist from King’s Landing. She had a shop in the city where she sold her flowers and bouquets most of the week, but she came to Rosby each Saturday. Most of the rich people in the county lived in the city, but there were several manors further out in the countryside that needed their flowers, too.

Fancy folk loved fresh flowers. Even the ones who weren’t actually rich enough to be fancy, but tried to pretend like they were, would pay for a flower just to show that they had the money to spend on something that’d be dead in a day or two.

She was only nine years old when Mrs. Cunningham gifted her an old wicker basket and began letting her take the flowers that were too small, slightly crushed, or not quite the right color to use in her bouquets that would otherwise be discarded. Then, she’d flit around the marketplace, selling them for a penny each.

If she had a good day, she’d make enough to pay her expenses and buy herself a sweet or two after her evening meal. If she had a bad day… she’d find a way to make do.

It wasn’t charity, like her father used to say before he drank himself to death. She worked for it, and that meant she earned it—every penny. Mrs. Cunningham always told her so, too. The old woman was very proud of her little protégé, in fact. So proud that she’d begun making inquiries about other jobs for the girl – real jobs.

Miss Doolittle shrugged, “Oh, this ‘n that. Fare for the journey ‘n such.”

“Your new employers are making you pay for your own journey?” Mrs. Cunningham asked with a raised brow as she wrapped a satin ribbon around a bouquet of pale yellow lilies. “I thought they were sending one of their own to fetch you in the morning.”

She would know. A fortnight ago, it was Mrs. Cunningham herself who found Miss Doolittle a new opportunity: a position as a lady’s maid for the eccentric daughter of a duke. The poor lady was so odd she’d frightened away nearly every other employable girl in the county, so her butler had no qualms about hiring someone with so little experience as long as she had at least one decent reference.

So tomorrow, Miss Doolittle would leave her basement behind and travel deeper into the forests of County Westeros to Kingswood Manor, where she would begin to look after the eccentric Lady Helaena Targaryen, son of the late Duke Viserys Targaryen. With the wage they’d promised, she didn’t need to be selling flowers today.

“Thought I might should get some new shoes or… ribbons for my hair?” She shrugged. Perhaps she could even make enough to buy something nice to put in her room in the Manor’s servant’s quarters. She’d always wanted her very own clock.

“Gotta pay off some folk, too,” she sighed. The basket was nearly full now, but she wanted to try to nab a few of those pink roses – they were always popular. “Don’t want to have to send my wages all the way back here.”

Mrs. Cunningham dropped a bundle of nearly perfect rosebuds in the basket, then drew the girl’s gaze back to her face. “Buy yourself something nice, dear. You deserve it.”

Tears began to spring to her eyes, and she looked away to avoid meeting Mrs. Cunningham’s kind gaze – she’d only cry harder if she did. “Thank you. For everything. I –”

Her ramblings of gratitude were cut off when the florist took the girl into her arms, squeezing tight enough to choke her. “Just make the best of it, dear. Work hard, like you always have. And never stop coming to see me, promise?”

Finally, she hugged Mrs. Cunningham back. “I promise.”

The best customers were always near the dressmakers and textile sellers, young women who couldn’t resist the perfect flower to match their new frock. It was on the other side of town, but if Miss Doolittle wanted to afford a clock, that’s where she needed to go first.

She had taken only a single step into the street when someone large and firm collided with her, knocking her to the ground in an instant.

“AAAAOOWWWW!”

Her knees pounded with pain, the edges of her vision pulsing black, but she pulled herself up to her elbows, focusing only on what was directly in front of her.

The flowers were scattered across the cobblestones, half already trampled on by people scrambling to avoid falling with her. Those had been the best blossoms, the ones she put at the top of her basket to entice people into buying from her. All that remained in her basket were the scant pickings she used to make the basket look full.

Nearly a full day’s wages – more, with those rosebuds – gone like that.

“What in the devil’s name was that noise, girl?” The bastard who ran into her sneered. She’d never before heard a voice so suited to sneering. She lifted her head to growl something back at him, but any biting words quickly died when she saw who looked down at her.

He was finer than any man – any person – she’d ever seen in Rosby. Not a single silver hair out of place, not a loose thread anywhere on his fine clothes, or a speck of dust on him. Well, except for the slight smudge of grime left on his deep green tailcoat from where he’d crashed into her. The sight of it made her want to crawl into her dirty basement and never come out again.

“You should watch where you’re walking, brother,” another man, standing next to the severe man who had run into her, said. The familiar resemblance was obvious in their coloring – the silver hair, the eyes so vibrantly blue they were nearly violet.

The severe man scoffed, his lip curling as he looked at her. “I was, Daeron. But the little wretch came out of nowhere.”

“I ain’t no ‘wretch!’” she shouted, indignation burning through her fear and embarrassment. “I’m a respectacle woman, I am!”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, and only then did she notice: his left eye was entirely white, its milky paleness emphasized by the angry red scar stretching from his forehead down through his cheek.

She didn’t mean to stare, really. But she had never seen a man who looked like him – scar or no. He was like something out of a fairy tale. Especially when his scowl deepened, and his one blue eye seemed to catch fire.

“Have you looked your fill?” he growled. She immediately averted her gaze, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t think of a single word.

The other man stepped forward, angling his cane slightly in front of his brother. He was softer, kinder looking. “Now, now, she’s just had quite the fall. Allow her to recover her senses.”

“I doubt she has any to recover.”

She flinched at his cruel tone and tried to hide it by picking up her basket full of little more than mulch. “My flowers…”

“Lord, she can’t even talk properly.” The severe man turned to his brother as she began picking through the spilled blossoms. “She sounds like a strangled goose.”

Evidently, the scene was too much for even the worst of the gossip mongers to endure, and the final gawkers turned back to their business. How was she ever supposed to speak to any of them again after this?

At least she’d be gone tomorrow. No one at Kingswood would know about this.

The kinder man – Daeron, the other had called him – hissed something before kneeling with her to help her pick at the flowers. He didn’t care to see if they were ruined; he just put them all back in the basket. “These are yours?”

She nodded.

“What are they for?”

“I sell ‘em,” she explained, wiping away an errant tear. The cruel man scoffed again when she sniffled. “Penny a bloom, tuppence for three. But…”

Daeron looked at the trampled violets, daisies, and rosebuds, then at the meager offerings that remained unharmed in her basket. The only reason anyone would buy them now would be to feed some animal. For that, she’d hardly get enough to pay her rent and have to use what little money she had hidden in a wooden box under her bed to cover her tab at the pub.

She wouldn’t be able to buy the clock.

“How much for the basket?” Daeron asked as he pulled out a pouch of coins.

“What?” She and the cruel man said at the same time, in the same disbelief.

He stepped forward, a large hand gripping his cane like it were a club he’d beat her with. “It is nothing but weeds, brother. Let’s move on.”

As much as she hated it, she agreed with him. “I don’t want your charity, sir,” she told Daeron. “I earn my money.”

The cruel man put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, ready to pull him away. “You heard her. Let us go.”

“No, Aemond!” Daeron pulled away from his brother – Aemond. The name was familiar to her, somehow. But the man himself turned away, his cheeks flushing slightly. Perhaps he was embarrassed, too. Good.

“It is not charity,” Daeron insisted. “We have damaged your wares, and we are compensating you. It is a fair exchange.”

“I…” she was too flustered to truly comprehend his words, much less calculate how much the destroyed flowers were worth.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Aemond stepped forward, pushing his brother back. He snatched the pouch, withdrew a few coins without looking at them, and tossed them toward her basket. Only one made it in, the others plinking onto the cobblestones. “There. You are compensated. Let us go.”

She vaguely heard Daeron say something in protest, but both men were gone when she looked up from gathering the stray coins. No one looked at her, as if she had dreamed the entire encounter. Depositing the coins in the basket, she quickly left the market and returned to her little room in a dirty basement.

Miss Doolittle dumped the contents of the basket on her bed. The flowers were thoroughly ruined now, but seven coins were glimmering amongst their dull petals: a sixpence, two shillings, two half-crowns, and two crowns.

Whatever the flowers had been worth, this was so much more. Perhaps more than she had ever possessed in her life. It could buy her that clock – the finest clock at the market, even. And more. But when she touched the coins, they felt oily. Wrong.

She had not earned it, and neither was it charity. These coins were an insult, a dismissal. That cruel man—Aemond—had thrown them at her like they were table scraps and she was a starving mutt.

It was more money than she ever dreamed, yet it was nothing to him but the soon-forgotten cost of ridding himself of an inconvenience.

She could not buy the clock. Not with this. But she would not let it go to waste. She added the sixpence, shillings, and one of the half-crowns to her box. That would pay all her remaining debts.

That still left her with two crowns and one-half crown. And while she had no intention of spending it, she knew someone who would have no hesitations whatsoever about doing so himself.

Market day ended the moment the sun set, and Rosby was once again just a quiet little town. Nearly every resident, now exhausted from a day hawking their wares or frantically trying to buy everything they’d need until the next market day, converged in the Ailing Rooster, the beloved, if more than a little run-down, local pub.

Miss Doolittle would usually be found in the middle of the throng, soaking up any gossip she could find and happily picking bits off other people’s plates. But tonight, she had merely claimed a small corner table where she sat staring at her three remaining coins. The longer she looked at the stamped faces on the coins, the more they started to look like that man – Aemond.

If that was how fancy folk saw her, what hope did she have for when the Duke’s daughter saw her? Would she be fired on the spot?

The excitement in her chest began to turn to nervousness at the thought. Was she little more than a fool for thinking she could actually do this?

Part of her was tempted to throw them into the fire to watch that stupid, sharp, beautiful face burn, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even if she didn’t want the money for herself. There was someone out there who needed it. Or at least, who would appreciate it very much.

“How’re you gonna sulk the day before you go to live in bleedin’ paradise, ‘Little?”

She swiped the coins back into her little purse before Alfred could land in the seat across from her, his compatriots, Harry and Jaimie, close behind him. If he saw them, he’d only try to convince her to buy them all a round, but while the money was still hers, she would not allow it to be spent on drink. “I’m not sulkin’, just tired. And it’s not gonna be a ‘paradise.’”

“Yer sulkin’,��� Harry laughed as he slyly swapped his half-full tankard with Alfred’s full one.

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jaime leaned forward, genuine concern on his face. “What’s wrong, girl? I thought you were excited about leaving?”

She sighed. “I was – I am! Just havin’ a bad day, I guess.”

All three men exchanged a look.

“We ‘eard,” Jaime nudged her with a shoulder. At least they hadn’t been planning to bring it up themselves. “Rich bastard.”

“Shit-sack,” Harry added.

Alfred slammed his tankard on the table. “Twat.”

A small smile bloomed on her lips. “Well, least I’ll never have to see ‘im again, right?”

Harry raised his stolen ale. “I’ll drink to that!”

“In a week, you won’t remember this,” Alfred added, flapping his hands about like he could swat the memories away from her. “You’ll be in a palace wearing silk and gold and won’t give a damn what some moron said to you.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing Harry’s tankard and taking a large gulp. “I’ll be a servant, I don’t think I’ll be wearing any silk or gold.”

“But you’ll make good money, maybe you can buy yourself something nice!”

Jaime nodded. “Maybe you’ll make enough to buy your own palace in a few years?”

“I don’t want a palace,” she admitted. In truth, she’d never really thought about a future beyond Rosby until about two weeks prior. “It’d be too big for just me.”

“Who says it would just be you, ‘Little?” She glared at Harry, and he swiftly looked away, already ruddy cheeks blushing even redder.

She leaned back in her chair, her hand reaching her pocket to fiddle with her coins. “Even if there was someone, I don’t want a palace. I just want…”

What did she want?

Something better than Rosby, but nothing too grand. She wouldn’t fit somewhere grand. So…

“All I want is a little cottage somewhere nice, where it doesn’t smell like cattle or sheep.” The more she spoke, the clearer the vision became. “I want a massive fireplace, so the whole place stays warm even when it’s snowing. And a garden – I want a place to grow my own flowers. Wouldn’t that be loverly?”

When she looked back up, all her friends were smiling at her. She soon joined them.

“Loverly, ‘Little,” Alfred agreed.

Suddenly, she did not feel so nervous to leave for Kingswood in the morning. She knew what she wanted, even if the details were still fuzzy. Holding that dream close to her chest, she was sure she could endure anything to get that loverly little cottage.

[ravendruid]

Vaxleth, 3 fic recs

From this Ask Game

My Fair Lady by @waltwhitmansbeard A medieval AU where Keyleth is a princess and Vax a guard.

Happily Ever After by @romeoandjulietyouwish An AU where Vax doesn't go with the Raven Queen.

Heaven Couldn't Shake by ScarletSorceress on AO3 This is technically about Orym's upbringing, but it's also Vaxleth. I don't want to give away too much, but he's basically raised by two moms and a raven dad.

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

This post gave me the idea for a modern AU where Eliza Doolittle is rooming with an older couple, Higgins and Pickering, and keeping them up to date on whatever the latest memes and drama on social media are. Hell, maybe they're even still giving her lessons on professional diction, but then she uses that style of diction to talk about Xitter's latest trashy celebrity drama (in place of "come on Dover, move yer bloomin' arse" and the preceding gossip involving a family member and a spoonful of gin).