#And Goya was his friend

[microcosme11]

Article behind a paywall. Google translated this from Spanish.

link

[emjayewrites]

fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (1/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @essaysbyciara @saturnville @trentswrld @planetmimi @muglermami @shepgurl @sucredreamer @julescpu

A/N: Please let me know if you like to be removed/added to the taglist. Also, a surprise mention in this chapter that links to another story!

The Madrid sun blazed relentlessly as Aurélien jogged across the training pitch, his head pounding with each step. The air hummed with the rhythmic thud of cleats striking balls and the sharp whistles of Coach Ancelotti directing drills. Aurélien grimaced. Last night's tequila shots at Goya Social Club were exacting their revenge.

Whoever invented tequila deserved a special place in hell.

"Bloody hell, he's trying to kill us," Jude Bellingham panted, falling into step beside Aurélien. "You holdin' up alright, mate? You look proper rough."

Aurélien grinned weakly at his teammate's distinctive Brummie accent. "I'm starting to think I should've stayed my ass in bed."

Eduardo Camavinga joined them, looking annoyingly fresh-faced. "What's this? The great Tchouaméni can't handle a little heat and a few drinks?"

"A few?" Aurélien scoffed. "I'm pretty sure I drank half of Mexico last night. Unlike some lightweights who bailed early," he added, eyeing Camavinga pointedly.

They paused near the sidelines, grabbing water bottles from the cooler. Jude took a long swig before turning to Aurélien, his expression softening.

"How're you really doing, though? With everything coming up next month?"

Aurélien's smile faltered slightly. "It’s… whatever. Not trying to dwell on it."

Camavinga clapped a supportive hand on his shoulder. "The arranged marriage, right? Your old man still pushing ahead?"

"Yeah," Aurélien sighed, his casual facade slipping a bit. "It’s a done deal. My fiancée and her family are arriving next month."

Jude shook his head, whistling low. "That’s a lot, mate. And you don’t even know her?"

"Not a clue," Aurélien confirmed. "Dad’s got it all arranged with her family. They even got the blessing from the elders back in Cameroon, but it's mainly my dad driving this whole thing."

"No wonder you've been living it up lately," Camavinga said, his tone sympathetic. "Fuck, I'd be drowning in women too if I knew I was being forced into a random marriage."

"You would've been if you hadn't ghosted us like that," Aurélien retorted. "I'm tired of planning stuff and you back out last minute, bro."

Jude nodded, his face brightening. "Speaking of hanging out, Lila's planning to visit soon. She's keen to catch up with everyone."

Aurélien managed a genuine smile at that. "That's great; it'll be good to see her again." He shook his head in disbelief, still amazed at how Jude had managed to snag Lewis Hamilton's little sister. The young Englishman's charm seemed to know no bounds. "How'd you swing that again?" he teased. "I still can't believe you're dating her. Talk about punching above your weight."

Jude grinned, a hint of pride in his eyes. "What can I say? The Bellingham charm is irresistible."

Camavinga snorted, nudging Jude's shoulder. "Yeah, right. And I'm the King of France."

As they bantered, Aurélien's mind wandered. He thought about the countless nights he'd spent clubbing, the endless amount of pussy, and the carefree laughter shared with teammates. All soon to be replaced by... what? Family dinners and couple's game nights? Sure he loved his family, especially his young siblings, Anne-Maïsha and Yannis, but settling down at twenty-four years of age seems blasphemous. The thought of being married was almost as nauseating as his hangover.

His phone buzzed in his bag - probably another message from his father, Fernand. The reality of his situation was closing in, and Aurélien couldn't help but feel a mix of resignation and resentment. He'd always known this day might come, but the speed at which it was approaching left him reeling.

They continued their training, and Aurélien tried to focus on the present. The feel of the grass beneath his feet, the burn in his muscles as he stretched, the familiar banter with his teammates. But his thoughts kept drifting to his unknown fiancée. Would she laugh at his jokes? Would she understand the offsides rule? Would she realize she was marrying a man whose idea of cooking was not burning toast? Would they even like each other?

An hour or so later, training was over for the day, and he hit the showers. By the time he stepped out onto the parking lot, he was back in his zone. The sun was still blazing as evening slowly drifted on, but he didn't mind. Sliding into his ride—a sleek, black Porsche 911 Turbo S—he let out a long breath. The leather seats felt cool against his skin as he sank into them, and the engine roared to life with a low, satisfying growl.

Aurélien pulled out his phone, noticing the missed calls from his father. He hesitated, then tapped the number and brought the phone to his ear. The call connected almost immediately.

"Ouais, Papa? (Yeah, Dad?)"

"Aurélien, enfin! Où es-tu? (Aurélien, finally! Where are you?)"

Aurélien sucked his teeth, glancing out at the sun-soaked training grounds. "Je viens de finir l'entraînement. Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? (I just finished training. What's up?)"

His father's voice took on a more urgent tone. "Va à l'aéroport. Ta femme arrive aujourd'hui. (Go to the airport. Your wife is arriving today.)"

Aurélien's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he frowned in disbelief. "Aujourd'hui? Mais pourquoi si tôt? (Today? But why so soon?)"

There was a brief pause before his father answered. "Elle a terminé ses études plus tôt que prévu, et elle commence à décrocher des contrats… tu sais, avec son Instagram. (She graduated early and she's starting to land some contracts… you know, with her Instagram.)"

Instagram? Aurélien blinked, trying to process what he'd just heard. The sarcasm practically dripped from his mind. Great. I'm marrying an IG hoe.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. "D'accord, j'y vais. (Alright, I'm on my way.)"

"Merci, fils. Sois gentil avec elle. (Thank you, son. Be nice to her.)"

Aurélien let out a dry chuckle as he hung up, shaking his head. Be nice? He didn't even know this girl, let alone how to be nice to her. As he shifted the Porsche into gear and pulled out of the lot, his thoughts drifted back to his unknown fiancée. Would she be another high-maintenance Instagram model obsessed with followers and brand deals? He smirked to himself. He'd seen enough of those in his life already.

But there was nothing to do now but go pick her up and see for himself. Maybe she'd take one look at him and decide she could do better after all. A man could dream, right?

Zuri fidgeted nervously, her eyes darting around the crowded airport pick-up station. She had no idea who she was looking for, which only added to the anxiety bubbling in her chest. Her father had given her little to go on, vague descriptions and the promise that she would "know him when she saw him." But how was she supposed to recognize a man she’d never met?

Then, out of the sea of people, she spotted him. A tall, broad-shouldered man with an air of effortless confidence, moving through the crowd as if he owned the place. His smooth, dark brown skin and muscled frame hugged his designer tracksuit perfectly, and his piercing eyes seemed to notice everything around him. Zuri's breath caught in her throat as he approached.

His gaze settled on her with a mix of curiosity and certainty. He stopped just in front of her, towering over her, and offered a polite nod.

"You wouldn’t happen to be the daughter of Ernest Awanto Nchang, would you?" he asked, his voice rich and smooth, though there was a hint of dryness in his tone.

Zuri blinked, momentarily taken aback by his handsomeness and the way his curly taper fade complemented his angular facial features. "Yes, I am," she replied cautiously. He then began to ramble off in rapid French, and Zuri failed miserably at trying to catch up. "Um, I'm sorry, I don't speak French that well."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Ah, my bad. I'm Aurélien."

She nodded, offering a small smile. "Zuri. Nice to meet you."

As they collected her luggage - all five suitcases of it - Aurélien couldn't help but suck his teeth. "Damn, girl, did you pack your entire house?" he muttered.

"I didn't know how long I'd be staying," Zuri bristled as she followed Aurélien to the parking lot, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the sleek, black car parked in front of them.

A Porsche? Nice.

The car was immaculate, with gleaming chrome accents and tinted windows that added an extra layer of mystery. When Aurélien unlocked it with a casual click of his key fob, she couldn’t help but admire the luxury of it all. She slid into the passenger seat, and her fingers brushed against the soft, peanut butter leather that lined the interior. The seats were plush and cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the tension radiating off Aurélien as he settled in behind the wheel after packing her luggage in the trunk. The scent of expensive cologne and leather filled the air, making the space feel even more intimate and imposing.

The drive began in uncomfortable silence, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. After a few minutes, Aurélien finally broke the silence, his voice laced with dry humor. "You know, you weren’t supposed to arrive until next month."

Zuri didn’t miss the underlying irritation in his tone. She glanced over at him, her defenses kicking in immediately. "I’m sorry for ruining your plans," she shot back, her words dripping with sarcasm.

Aurélien’s lips twitched slightly, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, surprised by her sass. "Why the sudden change?"

Zuri sighed. "I graduated early from university. My father and I weren't seeing eye to eye about my career plans. He wants me to get a 'real job'," she air-quoted, "instead of pursuing my influencer work. So he decided to ship me off to Madrid, figuring my 'husband'," another air quote, "would straighten me out."

Aurélien couldn't help but laugh. "Gotta love African parents, huh?"

"Yeah," Zuri snorted. "By the way, how do you pronounce your name again? Or-ree-lee-en?"

"Aw-reh-lee-an," he corrected. "And yours is Zoo-ree, right?"

"Close. It's more like Zu-ree. Short 'u' sound."

They pulled up to a modern, spacious house with large windows and a manicured lawn. As they entered, they were greeted by an energetic German Shepherd puppy.

"Zeus, down boy," Aurélien commanded, but the dog was too excited by the new arrival.

Zuri shrieked and jumped back as Zeus bounded towards her.

Aurélien's lips contorted into a teasing grin. "Don't tell me you're scared of a little puppy?"

"He's not little!" Zuri protested, eyeing the dog warily.

"He's only a year old," Aurélien chuckled, picking up Zeus easily, as if the dog barely weighed anything at all. "See? Harmless."

Zuri didn't look convinced, but she tentatively reached out to pet Zeus's head. The dog immediately licked her hand, causing her to giggle despite herself.

Aurélien watched the exchange, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Looks like Zeus likes you already," he remarked, setting the dog back down on the floor. Zeus trotted off, seemingly satisfied with the introduction.

"Come on," Aurélien said, gesturing for her to follow him. "I’ll show you around."

The house was as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. Modern and spacious, with clean lines and tasteful décor that spoke of understated luxury. Aurélien led her through the open-plan living area, pointing out the key features as they went.

"This is the living room," he said, nodding toward the large sectional sofa and the wall-mounted TV that dominated one side of the space. "The kitchen’s over there, fully stocked. Dining area’s next to it if you’re into that."

Zuri trailed behind him, taking in the high ceilings and the large windows that bathed the room in natural light. Everything looked like it had been carefully curated, from the abstract art on the walls to the sleek, polished surfaces that gleamed under the light.

He led her down a hallway, past a few closed doors, and stopped in front of one. "Here’s your room," he said, pushing the door open to reveal a well-appointed guest room. It was cozy, with a queen-sized bed covered in crisp white sheets, a matching dresser, and a small seating area by the window.

"The bed’s already made up, but if you need extra sheets or towels, they’re in the closet here," Aurélien added, opening a nearby door to show her where everything was neatly stored.

Zuri nodded, still a little overwhelmed by the situation. "It’s really nice, thank you."

Aurélien shrugged as if it was no big deal. "My chef usually comes in every other day around two to fill up the fridge, so if you’re hungry, just look there."

Zuri raised an eyebrow, curious. "Do you ever cook for yourself?"

Aurélien let out a short laugh. "Nah," he replied, shaking his head. "Not really my thing. Oh, yeah, I’m usually out early and back late, so don’t wait up for me. It’s cool to eat without me."

Zuri wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she just nodded.

"Well, I’ll let you settle in," Aurélien said, giving Zeus a quick pat before heading toward the door. "Zeus and I are gonna give you some space. If you need anything, just let me know."

With that, he left her alone in the guest room, the door clicking shut behind him. Zuri stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The reality of her situation was slowly sinking in—she was in a foreign country, in a stranger’s house, with a man she barely knew, and would soon be in a marriage she hadn’t chosen.

She tried to keep a straight face, to be strong like she always was, but the fear and uncertainty were overwhelming. Her hands trembled slightly as she sat down on the edge of the bed, the softness of the sheets offering little comfort. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed, but the tears came anyway, slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.

Zuri quickly wiped them away, frustrated with herself for breaking down so easily. She’d worked so hard to build her life, her career, her brand as an influencer. She was known for her confidence, her style, her ability to navigate the fast-paced world of social media with ease. But now, all of that seemed so far away. Her home was in New York, where she knew the streets, the people, the culture. And now, here she was, starting over in Spain—a place she’d only ever visited on a few short trips to Europe.

How was she supposed to navigate this? She could barely understand her parents’ home language of French, and now she was expected to learn Spanish too? The thought was daunting, and for a moment, she felt utterly lost.

Aurélien paused outside the guest room door, his hand hovering over the handle. He could hear Zuri's muffled sobs from the other side, and a twinge of guilt twisted in his stomach. He'd never been good with crying women - it always made him feel awkward and out of his depth. His ex-girlfriends had often complained about his tendency to shut down or retreat when emotions ran high.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. Part of him wanted to go in there, to try and comfort her somehow. But what would he even say? 'Sorry your dad shipped you off to marry a stranger'? Yeah, that would go over well.

Despite his discomfort, Aurélien couldn't help but think about how beautiful Zuri was. Her umber skin was flawless, smooth, and rich like polished mahogany. Her full lips, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes gave her an almost regal appearance. And her hair - a mass of springy curls that framed her face perfectly. She was stunning, no doubt about it.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a text from Jules Koundé:

"Hey man, just landed in Madrid. Still good for me to crash at your place?"

Aurélien winced. Fuck. With Zuri's unexpected arrival, he'd completely forgotten about Jules' visit. He quickly typed out a reply:

"Slight change of plans. The fiancée arrived early. Mind staying at a hotel instead?"

Jules' response came moments later:

"No worries, bro. Hotel might be better anyway - more privacy for bringing back some señoritas, if you know what I mean 😉"

Aurélien chuckled, but then paused. Could he still do that? Bring back hookups? Technically, Zuri was his fiancée now, but it's not like they were going to have a loving marriage. Maybe they could come to some sort of agreement - you have your side pieces, I have mine, just keep it out of the media?

He shook his head. That sounded grim, even to him. But wasn't that the reality of their situation?

Thirty minutes later, Aurélien met up with Jules at a trendy bar in downtown Madrid. The two friends dapped each other, slipping easily into rapid French.

"Mon frère, ça fait trop longtemps! (My brother, it's been too long!)" Jules grinned.

"Je sais, je sais," (I know, I know,) Aurélien replied, signaling the bartender for two beers. "Mec, tu ne croiras jamais ce qui s'est passé aujourd'hui. (Dude, you won't believe what happened today.)"

As they settled into a corner booth, Aurélien recounted the day's events - Zuri's unexpected arrival, the awkward drive home, her fear of Zeus.

"Elle est comment? (What's she like?): Jules asked, leaning in with interest.

Aurélien took a long swig of his beer before answering. "Belle. Vraiment belle. Mais aussi... je ne sais pas. Perdue? Effrayée? Je l'ai entendue pleurer dans sa chambre. (Beautiful. Really beautiful. But also... I don't know. Lost? Scared? I heard her crying in her room.)"

Jules whistled low. "Merde, c'est dur. Qu'est-ce que tu vas faire? (Shit, that's rough. What are you going to do?)"

Aurélien shrugged, feeling helpless. "Je ne sais pas, mec. Je ne sais vraiment pas. (I don't know, man. I really don't know.)"

Aurélien and Jules continued their night, moving from the bar to a pulsing nightclub. The bass throbbed through the air as they made their way to the VIP section, immediately drawing attention from the other patrons.

Two women approached them, exuding confidence with every step. The taller one, with sleek box braids cascading down her back, sidled up to Jules, while her friend, with her hair styled in loose waves and curves that her dress hugged perfectly, set her sights on Aurélien.

"You look like you could use some company," the woman with the braids said in accented English, her dark eyes locked on Jules. "You want to dance?"

Jules smiled coolly, already angling towards the dance floor with his companion. "Sounds good to me. Aurélien?"

Aurélien watched his friend smoothly lead his dance partner away before turning his attention back to the woman before him. She was stunning, her skin a rich, deep brown that seemed to glow under the club lights.

"I'm Lia," she said, leaning in close to be heard over the music. "And you are…?"

"Aurélien," he replied, his eyes appreciatively taking in her features. He knew exactly where this was heading, and a part of him hesitated. The image of Zuri, alone and crying in his guest room, flashed through his mind.

But then Lia's hand was on his arm, her touch warm and inviting, and he found himself leaning into it. Didn't he deserve one last night of freedom before diving into this arranged marriage mess?

"So, Aurélien," Lia's voice pulled him back to the present. "What brings you out tonight? Celebrating something?"

Aurélien chuckled, a hint of irony lacing his words. "You could say that. Let's just say I'm trying to… clear my head."

Lia tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? And how's that working out for you?"

Aurélien’s gaze lingered on her, sliding from her eyes to her full lips, then lower, drinking in every curve with deliberate intent. "I think it's starting to help," he murmured, his voice low and thick with suggestion.

Lia’s lips curled into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with intrigue. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them until their bodies were nearly touching. "Is that so?" she teased, her tone laced with challenge.

Aurélien leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Why don't we find somewhere more private?" His hand brushed her waist, fingers skimming the fabric of her dress.

Lia didn’t hesitate. She got up from her seat, leading him out of the VIP section through a dimly lit hallway and into a nearby storage room. It was cramped and cluttered, but it provided the seclusion they needed.

Once inside, Aurélien wasted no time. He pressed Lia against the wall, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her close. Their lips met in a heated kiss, all hunger and need, as their bodies moved together in a feverish rhythm. His hands roamed over her curves, exploring every inch as she eagerly responded, her fingers threading through his hair.

The kiss broke, and Lia dropped to her knees, her eyes locking with his as she unbuttoned his pants. Aurélien's breath caught as she freed him, her hand wrapping around his thick length. His cock was long and veined, the skin taut and smooth, with a slight curve that Lia seemed to appreciate. She took him into her mouth, her lips stretching around him as she began to work him over with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue.

Aurélien groaned, one hand resting on the back of her head as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock before sliding down his shaft. Lia knew exactly what she was doing, her movements expertly designed to drive him wild. Her slurping sounds filled the small room, a wet, rhythmic symphony that matched the pulse of his desire.

He hated that he was here, in some grimy storage room at a club, getting his dick sucked like this. It felt beneath him, almost disrespectful to himself, but he couldn’t deny how badly he needed this distraction. The tension, the frustration, all of it melted away with each skilled flick of Lia’s tongue, each tight, wet pull of her mouth.

But even as his body responded, his mind wandered. Thoughts of Zuri crept in, uninvited, disrupting his focus. He imagined her face, the way she looked at him earlier with a mix of uncertainty and defiance. He could almost hear her voice, questioning what the hell he was doing. The thought made him grit his teeth, annoyed at himself for letting her into his head at a moment like this.

Lia's pace quickened, her mouth moving faster, more desperate to push him over the edge. Aurélien let out a low growl, trying to banish the thoughts of Zuri from his mind as he focused on the warmth of Lia's mouth, the tight suction that was driving him closer to release. He tightened his grip on her hair, thrusting deeper into her throat, the need for release overriding everything else.

Finally, with a rough groan, Aurélien came, his body shuddering as he spilled into Lia’s mouth. She took it all, swallowing greedily as he rode out his climax, her lips still wrapped around him until he was spent.

When it was over, Lia slowly pulled back, wiping the corner of her mouth with a satisfied smirk. Aurélien leaned against the wall, catching his breath, his mind already turning back to the reality he was trying to escape.

"Needed that," he muttered, his voice rough.

Lia stood, straightening her dress as she shot him a playful look. "Anytime," she teased, giving him a light tap on the chest before standing up to her full height. "Y'know that was only a preview right?"

Aurélien adjusted his clothes, feeling the weight of everything settling back on his shoulders. "I know, but I'm fine with that preview."

"You sure?"

"100%," he said, deftly ignoring the pout on her lips. "Thank you."

Lia shrugged as she fixed her dress, "You're welcome, I guess."

This had been a temporary distraction, nothing more. As he exited the storage room, his thoughts were already drifting back to Zuri and the mess he knew was waiting for him.

Should've kept my dick in my pants.

Aurélien felt surprisingly guilty as he made his way back to the main area of the club, spotting Jules near the exit with Lia's friend. The two men approached each other, exchanging a quick dap.

"Heading out?" Aurélien asked, eyeing the woman waiting with Jules.

Jules grinned, "Yeah, man. You good?"

Aurélien nodded despite his slight uneasiness, "All good. See you tomorrow?"

"For sure. Later, bro."

With a final fist bump, they parted ways. Aurélien watched them leave before calling for his own ride home.

The house was dark when he arrived, save for the flickering light of the TV in the living room. As he approached, Zeus lifted his head from the couch, tail wagging slightly at the sight of his owner.

"Hey, boy," Aurélien whispered, moving closer. That's when he noticed Zuri, curled up on the couch next to Zeus, fast asleep.

A small smile tugged at his lips. He'd have to tease her tomorrow about cozying up to the dog she was so afraid of earlier. Quietly, he retrieved a blanket from a nearby chair and gently draped it over her sleeping form.

As he leaned in, he couldn't help but notice the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. The sight sobered him instantly, reminding him of the reality of their situation.

"We're both fucked, huh sweetheart?" he murmured, more to himself than to her or Zeus.

With a sigh, he turned off the TV and headed upstairs. In his room, he shed his clothes, the scent of the club – and Lia – still clinging to him. As he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over him, his mind raced.

This arranged marriage... it wasn't what either of them wanted. But it was their reality now. As the water ran cold, Aurélien couldn't shake the feeling that his life had irrevocably changed. The carefree bachelor was gone, and in its place? A reluctant husband? A man trapped in a loveless marriage?

As he climbed into bed, exhaustion finally overtaking him, his last thought before drifting off was of Zuri's tear-stained face. Whatever happened next, he realized, they were in this together.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[la-femme-au-collier-vert]

IWTV Season 2 Sources & References

(The 1st 4 were cited by the Writer’s Room)

The Ethnic Avante-Garde: Minority Cultures and World Revolution by Steven S. Lee

Paris Journal 1944-1955 by Janet Flanner (Genet)

The Vampire: A Casebook by Alan Dundes

Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles: An Alphabettery

The Fly cited by Jacob Anderson

King Lear by Shakespeare cited by Rolin Jones

Melmoth the Wanderer by Charles Maturin

Sebastien Melmoth by Oscar Wilde

Amadeus (1984)

The Lost Boys (1987)

Gaslight (1944)

Batman

Casablanca (1942)

Now, Voyager (1942)

The Third Man (1949) cited by Levan Akin

An American in Paris by George Gershwin (1928) cited by Daniel Hart

Moulin Rouge (2001)

The Phantom of the Opera

Les Vampires (1915)

Dracula (1931) credit to @vampchronicles_ on twt

Le Triomphe de L’amour by Pierre de Marivaux

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin cited by Jacob Anderson

Existentialism is a Humanism by Jean Paul Sartre

Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie

Hamlet by William Shakespeare

Vampire’s Kiss (1988) credit to @talesfromthecrypts

Les Morts ont tous le Meme Peau by Boris Vian credit to @greedandenby

The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Barclay Beckett credit to @rorscachisgay on twt

An Enemy of the People by Ibsen

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

Vie de Voltaire by Marquis Condorcet

Simone de Beauvoir: A Critical Introduction by Edward Fullbrook and Kate Fullbrook credit to @iwtvfanevents

Nightwood by Djuna Barnes credit to @iwtvfanevents

Beloved by Toni Morrison

Artists and Salons Referenced:

R-26

Palma Vecchio

Andre Fougeron

Elsa Triollet

Fred Stein

Lisette Model

Gordon Parks

Miguel Barcelo

Taxidermied Javelina by Chris Roberts-Antieau

Ai WeiWei (wallpaper)

David Hockney (Lemons)

Wols 

The Kiss of Judas by Jakob Smits

Salome by Louis Icart

Ophelia by John Everett Millais

Shelter by Peter Macon

The Kiss by Edvard Munch

The Vampire or Love and Pain by Edvard Munch credit @iwtvasart

Ruiter on Horse by Reiger Stolk credit @ iwtvasart

Portrait of Frank Burty Haviland by Modigliani credit @iwtvasart

Self-Seers II (Death and Man) by Egon Schiele credit to @90sgreggaraki

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters by Goya

Movie & Play Posters on set (in chronological order by year):

Tarzan and his Mate (1934)

Avec le Sourire (1936)

Les Deux Gosses (1936)

Le Jour Se Leve (1939) about a man who commits murder as a result of a love triangle and locks himself in his apartment recounting the details as the police attempt to arrest him. Credit to @laisofhyccara

Nuit de Décembre (1940)

Mademoiselle Swing (1942) about a girl who follows a troupe of swing musicians to Paris.

Les Enfents du Paradis (1945) about a woman with many suitors including an actor and an aristocrat.

Fantomas (1946) about a sadistic criminal mastermind. This version includes a hideout in the catacombs where he traps people.

Quai des Orfevres (1947) watch here

Monsieur Vincent (1947)

Le Cafe du Cadran (1947) about a wife’s affair with a violinist.

La Kermesse Rouge (1947) film about a jealous artist who locks up his younger wife and a fire breaks out while she’s trapped.

Morts Sans Sepulture by Jean-Paul Sartre (play) also published in English translations as “The Victors” or “Men Without Shadows” about resistance fighters captured by Vichy soldiers struggling not to give up information.

Mon Faust by Paul Valery (play)

Musical Influences:: @greedandenby collected all music used in Season 2 here.

Henry Cowell

Meredith Monk

Howling’ Wolf

Shirley Temple

Jason Lindner Big Band

The Teeth

Carlos Salzedo

Alice Coltrane

Thelonius Monk

David Lang

Caroline Shaw

Gadfly by Shostakovich (for Raglan James)

musical career of Martha Argerich

Season 1 here (these lists are updated regularly)

Season 3 here

[your-dandy-king]

Hi, Helene. Can I paint you and Ombré?

- @headlessgenius

Papa had told her, "This is the nice man who sent you a painting last time, and he's your Uncle Eugene's friend too. He wants to paint you again, this time -- " Papa had paused here because he still doesn't believe her when she tells him Ombré is real and Ombré won't show themself. " -- with your friend Ombré. Promise me you'll stay still for him, and you can have a mint chocolate mousse for dinner tonight?"

Helene had perked up at the mention of Daddy's mint chocolate mousse. "Uh-huh, yeah!"

Papa's left now to go get a little rest, so she's just here with Monsieur Goya, who doesn't look very headless, and Ombré, who is around here. Somewhere.

(@murillo-enthusiast, @headlessgenius)

[itsguysnightitsironic]

Fur coats and pumpkin labyrinths.

What would be Crete if Theseus, dagger in hand, enter the maze and the Minotaur exited, using the front door, wearing the hero's head and wearing it better? What would be Theseus then? A scapegoat? A body for something divine to use and scream, as an oracle trapped between the hands of her gods?No mind or self, just, skin and fur.

I would like to say that this started as just a pumpkin labyrinth idea and I lost my mind, and I blame all the hot johns and I'm glad they are dea--

More ramblings under the cut:

----- ready for some nerd things? (in broken English, sorry)

1- The yarn it's a reference to the three Moirai, who control faith and human lives. (spinning the yarn, forming the thread and cutting the thread. Birth, life and death.)

Frost carries his life around his back, keeping control. (He carries his own faith. / Also, also, also references the threat that Ariadna gifts Theseus to not get lost in the labyrinth, he's able to control his life and mind.)

2- The cup and the laurel leaves are references to the religious practice of the Oracles of Delfos.

Where the oracle drank water from the fountain of Castalian and chewed laurel to purify herself to be able to be the voice of the gods, in Frost's case to think clearly. (Clear thought.)

3- The red yarn getting cut represents Frost getting lost in his own mind, overthinking, and losing control over his life. (Also his tail, which might link to the "having the tiger by the tail" saying.)

The labyrinth, who seems logical at first it's intended to have no exit (it's mirrored), it's Frost's emotions that keep him trapped behind his own logic.

4- Torbek being covered in blood and bones represents the goat sacrifices made to the oracles for enlightenment. Scapegoat, get it?

(You would also make a case linking him with Hercules "losing his mind by a divine power" wearing a lion skin with the whole "being punished by his crimes and gaining his identity back by getting a new identity by becoming a god", but it wasn't intentional.)

All the smoke that moves and represented the party that dances around Torbek, are references to the belief of some historians that oracles sat in a tripod on top of a rock that emanated gases causing them to get high and get hallucinations. Though it's not proven.

Also, it is a very poor reference to "Vuelo de Brujas" 1797 by Goya, which lives in my head rent-free. (You would say Frost is blinded by them since he's "witched", look at me making connections.)

5- The sad cat in the pumpkin it's a reference to EP. 4 Lose your illusion from the whole scarecrow situation where Frost falls in deep sadness while carving a sad kitty face.

Scarecrow's usually symbology shadows, a version of oneself that it's usually more linked with "darkness".

By being a scarecrow, Frost considers himself a shadow of what he used to be and now Torbek is. (Well, Torbek only has the skin.)

7- The pumpkin falling it's a very "losing your head" situation.

8/9- Frost by throwing away the laurel and the cup, which would give him the ability to see the future (to be able to see the situation logically and analyze it) he's refusing to believe there are other options than his friends abandoning him. He's jumping to conclusions.

And by it, it makes him distressed. (his fur falls and grows leaves, doubt.)

This makes the phrase "leaves no room for doubt" pretty ironic.

-----

thank you for reading all that, have a cupcake. 🧁

[usergreenpixel]

An art piece I commissioned from… @michel-feuilly , 😂. Always happy to commission things from friends when I can tho!

( @josefavomjaaga , @that-enragee , @maggiec70 , @amypihcs , @cadmusfly )

Anyway, this is an artistic representation ™️ of the meeting between the hero and the villain of the Peninsular War story.

“By the Maestro’s Side” has an aristocratic protagonist, which is definitely a departure from the norm for me, but it was a fun way to get variety.

Meet Carlos Joaquín du Plessis y Gonzaga del Prado, a 13-year old deaf boy who is the oldest son of a French emigré duke and a Spanish duchess from Zaragoza. (Yes, THAT Zaragoza.)

Joaquín lives in Madrid, and his family wanted to flee the capital when they got wind of the brewing uprising, but Joaquín accidentally got lost in the chaos and would have died if not for a benefactor who saved him and took him in.

The benefactor? Francisco Goya himself. Now, to avoid suspicion while he is trying to locate his family, Joaquín has to lay low and assume the identity of Goya’s distant relative/apprentice.

At first, the cover story works fine, but when Joaquin catches wind of a French cavalry officer’s plans to steal a precious Murillo painting, he feels like he has to get involved, as said officer will stop at nothing to get the painting, and is not above killing Goya to get away with smuggling it out of Madrid.

The officer, Augustin Robespierre Klein (he has a Republican name, which was a trend during Frev) is the man Joaquín is looking at, and he seems to be plotting already… That flask in his hand sure does look suspicious…

P. S. Joaquín’s white forelock is deliberate. It’s a sign of his genetic condition, known today as Waardenburg Syndrome. It’s a genetic or sometimes a spontaneous mutation.

There are four types, but usually the telltale signs are heterochromia (different color of the eyes) or just vibrant blue eyes (like in Joaquín), hearing loss which can vary from person to person (Joaquín is COMPLETELY deaf), a white lock of hair and/or premature hair graying.

What Joaquín has is Type 2, which usually has less physical signs, but also has more profound hearing loss associated with the people who have this particular type.

P. P. S. I am NOT a fan of royalists and never have been. So here is a spoiler but the villain is NOT a stereotypical evil Jacobin.

[le-fils]

The afterlife diary of Eugène de Beauharnais - entry 4

It has been some time since I’ve last noted down my impression of this afterlife, and frankly, too much has happened since for me to cover everything in full now. In short:

almost burned

almost drowned

tossed about by a whirlwind in between

almost had myself painted

baked some cinnamon rolls (excellent!)

While I do not pretend that this journal will be of interest, let alone of use to anyone, I do want to keep it up, so as to not completely drop the habit of writing after having maintained such a vast correspondence all my life. Also, you have to fill your hours with something.

My afterlife acquaintances have somewhat increased in number. There is now a third manifestation of my old friend Bessières, whom I surely want to meet in person at some point, especially as he has recently married. Whom? Why, Marshal Lannes. I’m still shaking my head at this event. But then again, would I have expected Marshal Lannes, of all people, to show an interest in baking? I never had that much fun with Lannes before. Ever! I assume, Bessie No. 3 knows what he’s doing.

And who knows? Next thing, I might make friends with Masséna … nah. Probably not.

In any case, there should be a fourth Bessières so they can all play whist together. As it stands now, they can only play whist mort – which of course also sounds rather fitting.

Somebody whose friendship I treasure very much, by the way, is court painter Francisco de Goya. He has been kind enough to invite me to his home and to introduce me to his family. I hope that, at some point in this strange new existence, I shall be able to repay all the friendliness and hospitality I have received from so many people.

Perhaps I should set off again soon and continue on my way. There’s too much to see out there, though I have noted that, the longer I stay away from things I remember from my days among the living, the weaker I tend to get. Before I encountered the strange run-down circus troupe in the forrest I almost believed to see my fingers starting to dissolve into mist…

Alas. We will see. No risk, no fun. Maybe I will encounter some of the folks on the road of whom I know they are here but whom I have not met yet in person. Mostly my dear Duroc, and Marshal Ney.

[webnovel-deluxe]

Isn't Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? Side Story Chapter 16

i also upload this chapter in my YT, read there to support my effort, click here👉 Link

***

After that, the demon's resistance was quite intense, and there was an incident where the entire outer wall was damaged instead, but this side's power was so overwhelming that it was quickly subdued.

The demon was pierced by the spear of Orix, my exclusive escort knight, who had grown dramatically in the past, and was annihilated.

But I didn't feel the cool feeling inside.

It was because of the words the devil left before he died.

“Even if I disappear, the darkness does not disappear. No matter how many times you catch and kill black magicians, revenge only breeds revenge.”

Priest Maurice, who surrendered himself to an intermediate demon, turns out to be a priest who saved his life once thanks to Miya Binoshu in the past.

Denying the fact that his best friend, Miya, was the vessel for the Great Devil's Descent, he turned to black magic to prove that she was right and misunderstood.

'It's the blood of a high priest, so maybe an intermediate demon was summoned.'

Maybe it was because when Miya displayed the power of a demon disguised as healing power, that power was transferred to the priest.

‘The latter is more conjecture.'

“… The divine power returned before the thought body disappeared, didn't it?”

He watched from the side as I poured out my divine power to catch the thought-form that was about to disappear.

“yes.”

“What exactly was the cause of the divine power leak?”

“Rather than a leak, I think it’s more accurate to say that my subconscious was reluctant to use divine power and interfered with it.”

“.....”

“To be honest, I’m tired of being a saint.”

When the thought body was reminded of the existence of darkness, he realized the need for divine power and was soon able to use it.

However… It was not always easy to confront the evil and vicious demons.

“Deborah.”

“yes.”

“In the past, Princess-sama has lit a lot of candles.”

“.....”

“So, you don't have to burn yourself to light the darkness. Because there are so many people around Princess-sama like that.”

oh I see.

After putting off all my busy schedules for me and looking back at my people who followed me all the way to Hellia, suddenly something hot hit my heart.

No one was forcing me to be a hero, but I was carrying the burden on my own. That is why the divine power did not return.

When I decided not to think of a blue elephant, something similar to thinking about a blue elephant came up.

“I am stupid.”

“The real fool is over there.”

Isidor chuckled at Pope Rega and smiled like a party.

Isidor replaced all the healing stones I received from the Pope with healing stones that were empty of divine power. It will probably look like it's been used up for a purification ritual.

‘Advanced healing stone, eat well.'

A feeling of emptiness in the stomach, as if suddenly taking a digestive aid.

When he was feeling the feeling of fullness given by unearned income, his eyes met the Pope.

“Oh my gosh, saint!”

He approached me with a fuss, and the eyes of the priests and people around me were focused.

“How did you find and destroy a special evil that even holy water does not know to! My faith in St. Mary has grown stronger and deeper!”

"....."

he said fervently.

“At the upcoming monthly event, everyone will be informed about the saint’s activities, and the shrine will provide all support to the saint in addition to the finest healing stones!”

I quickly waved my hand and said what he wanted.

“You don't need to be rush. Since the Pope has given me the Healing Stone out of pure good will, I have only returned it with good intentions.”

“...yes.”

The pope responded with a little patience in his anger.

Still, it was good to try. It would have been right for Susie Goya to show her condolences in front of everyone who had already been robbed, and who had given her saint a healing stone.

“I am very grateful to the Pope.”

From expensive healing stones to relics made from dragon bones. There was no donation angel.

“… Thank you too. It is natural for the temple to spare no effort to support the saint. ”

“Really, I didn’t know you would support me so generously.”

I continued speaking with a smile as benevolent as possible.

“Thanks to the Pope personally visiting the capital and sharing the news about the relics, we are able to recover them before they are further damaged!”

“Huh?...”

At the word recall, he seemed to be at a loss for a moment, and I pressed once more.

“The holy relics will be purified with all my might in the future! Fortunately, the contamination didn't go away if I had it, the incarnation of the saint was in trouble, so no more worries!”

“It’s been a while since I’ve shown such a great divinity, until I dealt with the remnants of the temple and purify the holy things....”

“You are amazing! Saint!”

Isidor incited me by clearly listing my actions, and Oryx, the simplest, responded to the instigation and clapped with a huge hand.

clap clap!

In applause, I gazed intently at the priests next to the Pope.

“President Henri, High Priest Louis, and Priest Jacques. I will remember your generous help even when I return to the capital.”

The names of the high-ranking priests who participated in the mid-level demon investigation were known in advance through Isidor. There is no need to carry the entire temple and pretend.

“Sister remembers my name… !”

“Huh, hey, it’s an honor!”

“I, we will never forget the visit of Saint ”

When I personally called out their name, even the high-ranking priests of Hellia, who had been in a hurry, seemed to be visibly happy and shaken.

So, with the applause pop, my itinerary in Hellia came to an end.

***

“These white marbles were dragon fangs.”

I tinkered with the rosary and admired it.

The invincible material that can contain all kinds of power, including divine power, mana, and magic, is the dragon's bone.

'It even contained a strong thought-form.'

“Princess, where are you going to use that thing? Are you going to keep it like that?”

“yes. I plan to keep it.”

In the past, Isidor was displeased with me, who loved the rosary, even though it was an object he had carved himself.

'It's just that he treated himself as a black history in his previous life.'

“You can sell it to other countries at a very, very high price. I will process it properly so that no one notices that it is a holy relic brought from the temple.”

He reached out a hand of seduction, but I shook my head.

“I think there are probably people I want to give it to.”

At my words, Isidor's expression became more serious.

“What… . Hmm! Who are they?”

“Our babies.”

“!”

His face turned bright red like a ripe apple in an instant.

“Wh, why?”

“I thought I was going too far ahead, but when the princess said that, my heart raced… .”

Isidor murmured.

“How the hell have you gone so far? ? Did you make plans for your retirement in advance like I did?”

“I even thought about how to donate gifts to my great-grandchildren.”

“… I have gone very far.”

I overlooked the inheritance of wealth... . It is also unusual because it is not the blood of a dragon.

He looked at the rosary in my hand with a slightly reminded face, and after a while he spoke softly.

“… What we give to our children is unconditional approval.”

I swallowed my laughter as I listened to the shy voice and looked up at the branches with green shoots. One warm spring was coming.

5. May's Bride

“.....”

Early in the morning, Duke Seymour came out of the annex and gazed into the garden full of red roses.

In May, the garden becomes brighter day by day. Every time she went for a walk, the fresh scent of flowers filled her nostrils, just like when she was there.

- Georgesah.

Duke Seymour looked at the dewy red roses and recalled the vivid remnants of a dream last night.

Until now, even in my dreams, I didn't show you a single piece of clothing... The wife in my dream last night was so vivid. So much so that I can even feel the scent of lilac that she always carries.

My wife was wearing a white dress, holding the bouquet I had offered her in the past.

As far as the Duke can remember, he called his name in the form of the most daunting moment.

With a soft smile on his lips, he gently wrapped his arms around him. It was also lightly patted on the back of her hand. As if encouraging them that you are doing well.

Even though it was a dream, it felt kind and warm.

‘Did I have such a dream because it was May?'

Because the wife was the bride of May.

In the Empire, the most weddings took place in May. Not only because of the mild and warm weather, but also because there is a legend that the goddess in charge of fertility and fertility disappeared in winter and then resurrected in May.

'May is the most appropriate time for a wedding. '

Perhaps because of this tale, there was a superstition that a bride getting married in May would be happy, and the Duke also thought that May would be better if his daughter got married.

'By the way, I'm afraid I'll graduate early.'

My studies must have been completed, and after the preparations for the wedding that flowed like water, the wedding to the Duke of Visconti was already approaching.

'I feel more peaceful than I thought.'

I thought it would be very sad.

Lately, there have been times when I feel like my daughter is already married.

Hey, maybe it's because of Isidor, who comes to visit me like a son-in-law.

Isidor often came to the townhouse to teach Enrique's swordsmanship, even when Deborah wasn't there. He is a genius who can handle magic and sword at the same time, and in fact, Enrique did not have a good teacher.

“By the way, why is the youngest suddenly obsessed with swordsmanship… ?”

I was a little puzzled, but due to moderate exercise, the child's complexion was improving day by day, so I left it alone.

Inspection on Seymour.

In the past, I would have objected with a sense of rejection, but now that I see that it is not so, I wonder if I am old.

'Did Deborah say she was flexible?'

Duke Seymour looked at Enrique and Isidor wielding wooden swords in the backyard beyond the garden for a moment, then returned to his office to return to work.

Anyway, it's still too early for the youngest to do what he wants to do.

Target is 20 Likes and i will upload the next chapter.

[simple-giant-ed]

(Goya was never a big fan of war, despite his nominal neutrality. Still, he finds it impossible to be angry at a cute golden retriever of Mortier.)

Hello… Marshal.

*head scritches*

Oh, Goya! Hello! You must be that painter from Spain. Times were strained then, and probably more so for those like you. But now we can be friends without any tensions! Have a dragée!

He happily accepted the head scratches.

[plaguedoctormemes]

I and my partner and friends we live with are still looking for houses to move into and i’m getting antsy cus all of my stuff is in storage and i bought a goya Saturn Eating His Son back patch for my cream corduroy shirt and im getting antsy cus i want to combine these items so so so fucking bad i want to show it off to you guys its gonna look so fucking sick

[scorndotexe]

so today my friend referenced saturn devouring his son and i started telling her about francisco goya's black paintings for like a full 5 minutes. and i almost wish she followed me on here to see how perfect that was considering my icon

[jellogram]

I feel like all the Saturn Devouring His Son memes miss out on the wildest parts, which are:

Goya never named the painting. That title is an interpretation.

Goya never indicated that he thought it would see the light of day.

It was painted five feet tall in his dining room and only discovered after his death.

Imagine you get a letter that your friend has passed. You haven't seen him in a while. They're clearing out his house. They find this on the wall:

How do you deal with that? What are you even supposed to think? Or say? Yeah okay, it's totally Saturn devouring his son. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.

[beerecordings]

Hey, regarding Bluegle and Eric’s little self-defense lessons—there’s a YouTuber I watch called Footless Jo, and she has a below-the-knee prosthetic, and she does jujitsu specifically without her prosthetic on, so that she can always defend herself regardless of whether her leg is cooperating. And I thought it would be kinda cool if Google did days where he trained with Eric legs-on and some days legs-off, or with different configurations of crutches or prosthetics or mobility devices, cuz ya gotta cover all your bases.

that is really cool. I suppose since Eric is missing both legs below the knee that would be self-defense from a seated position? maybe I can look into that

here's a sneak peek from later in the story since people have been interested, although I still don't know if I can finish the story:

“I'll kill you if you ever tell anyone this,” Google whispers, tucking his hair behind his ears and trying to stimulate breathing steadily. “I'll show you trepanation up close and personal.”

Ippy just laughs. His hands are warm on Google's kneeplates. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me anyway.”

He means to say something like, “I'm having a cognitive malfunction” or “my emotional processor is out of control,” or “yesterday I looked at a stupid Francisco Goya painting and decided that I hated it, that it was revolting and awful and I didn't want to see it again, and how can that be when I was made to know but never to understand?”

But what comes out is just fear.

And he says, “Edward, do you think the darkness would get rid of me if I stopped being useful?”

The clock on Iplier's desk ticks softly by. The air conditioner kicks on in the next room over and cool air filters down through the vents. The stress ball under Google's fingers has burst, and he just sits, and waits, for Iplier to speak.

He has dark eyes and a kind mouth. He's grown his beard out heavier than Mark's and he's wearing his lab coat even though there's no one to see right now but his friend.

“I don't know,” he says finally, reaching out to adjust the glasses fallen down on Google's nose.

They've never lied to each other once in their lives. Not on purpose, anyway.

“I don't know if he would throw you out.”

They sit together for a long time yet.

“But I wouldn't,” adds Iplier gently. “No, shut up, let me be here, okay? I wouldn't throw you out, Google. So you focus on figuring this out. On finding out who you want to be. And I'll be right here when you need me. Okay, buddy?”

Google sighs. “Don't call me buddy.”

Iplier ruffles his hair and makes him growl. The doctor laughs and Google manages not to smile, reaching out to shove gently at Iplier's chest, where his human heart beats fragile beneath twelve pairs of thin white ribs.

“Everything's going to be okay,” says Ippy, and Google, in an act that he knows is pure human, chooses to believe him.

[triptychgrip]

Up to 180K words on my post-canon Yuri!!! on Ice Olympic Games fic

If you're looking for something long/immersive to read in the Yuri!!! on Ice universe, I've now reached 180K words on my post-canon, married Viktuuri 2018/2022 Olympic Games fic, "Gold's On The Inside, Elevated My Feet".

I know many people aren't into long fics (especially if they're WIPs), but if you don't mind that, I hope you'll consider checking it out, or my other post-canon fics, of which I've got several.

My story (and the larger series that it's part of) covers two Olympic Games -- the 2018 and 2022 Games -- and delves into the aftermath of a scandal (note: not doping) that occurred at the 2018 Olympics, which had major impacts on Yuuri, Viktor, Yurio and others. Despite how heavy it sounds, it's largely a fluffy story about support and friendship, and explores the question of "how do Yuuri and Viktor care for one another long after canon ends?"

It switches point of view, so you get a chance to see things from both Viktor and Yuuri's (and other characters') vantage points.

One reason I'm so attached to the idea of writing post-canon Viktuuri is that I've always been fascinated by the idea of how their relationship would evolve over time, and, specifically, how their trust in one another would grow once they've faced hardships together. In canon, we see how Viktor supports Yuuri into growing into a more self-assured skater, and we get the sense that Yuuri supports Viktor in a number of ways, as well.

But I wanted to explore this in depth, specifically that latter point, about Yuuri growing into supporting Viktor, too. This is a concept I focus on in the main fic, as well as the other stories in my overall series.

I hope you'll give it a shot!

I'm including an excerpt below from the chapter I just uploaded, which covers the Men's Short Program at the 2022 Olympics, from Yurio's point-of-view.

--------- “It’s fine, old man…don’t worry about me,” Yuri mumbled, realizing that both Taku and Viktor were standing in front of him. “Katsudon will be up soon.”

At the subsequent hum of murmured Russian, he realized that Lilia was still nearby, but hovering behind him instead of in front of him. She seemed to be passing something to Viktor, and then he sensed a wad of tissues being pressed to his cheek.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Let me focus on you,” his coach said, sounding firm.

Yuri was just glad that neither he nor Taku had made an attempt to hug him; if they had, he had no doubt he would have completely broken down.

“And now, we have our final group of skaters in the Men’s Short Program event! First up, in group 5, and representing Thailand, please welcome…”

“Phichit Chulanont!”

The rink commentator’s voices boomed out, along with thunderous applause. Yuri wasn’t even aware that Viktor and Yuuri had been having a silent conversation of glances and hand gestures until Katsudon stepped up next to him, in the spot Taku had just been in.

“Yura…I know it’s not quite the same as petting Goya, but give it a try: put your hand on Meni’s head,” Yuuri urged, in whispered Russian. “We can share him.”

His friend/rinkmate was cradling the pristinely white toy poodle much like he’d hold a baby, and Yuri gave him a bit of a baleful glare; Meni might be around her size, but he was a rather poor substitute for Potya. Plus, he was entirely too high-energy for Yuri’s tastes. At least Goya was a bit more reserved.

“ну ты вообще! One should not be too proud to accept help when it is offered, Yura,” came Lilia’s chiding refrain. “You never know, it might be a good distraction until you’re up.”

He didn’t even have to look behind him to picture how her lips were pursed in disapproval. Not wanting to invite a lecture, Yuri reached his hand out and reluctantly placed it on top of the pup’s head, in between his ears.

And of course, it was nothing like petting his perfect Potya; he cringed in disgust as Meni immediately tried to lick every single one of his fingers until Viktor began to murmur in a sing-song tone to “settle down, settle down Meni-moppet”.

About a half-minute later, Meni did in fact settle down, and even though Phichit’s performance was clearly going on in the background – as evident from the raucous cheers and screams – Yuri found, somehow, that he was able to block out the noise and just focus on the warm, slightly vibrating body underneath his hand.

Amazingly, once the geezer had implored him to relax, Meni seemed quite content to keep absolutely still, only panting happily under the attention of the surrounding trio of bodies.

It was…

…surprisingly calming.

Damnit, he hated when Lilia was right.

[le-fils]

A ʙ̜ᴇᴀ̟ᴜ͓ᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ꜱʜɪ͖ɴɪ̴ɴɢ ᴀʀᴍᴏᴜʀ, ᴡ̥ɪ̡ᴛʜ ᴀͦ͞ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ̚-ͥᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ̦ɪɴɢ ʜᴇʟᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴄᴀ̃ɴɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ͢ ᴍᴇᴛᴀʟ ʙᴇꜱᴛɪ̨ᴀʟ ʟᴇɢꜱ, ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋꜱ ᴏɴͤ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ ᴏꜰ @headlessgenius. Wʜ̛ᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ ɪꜱ ᴀ͛ɴꜱ͟ᴡᴇʀᴇ͟ᴅ, ʜͪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴏᴡ ᴍᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʏ, ɪɴ ᴀ ɢʟɪᴛ́ᴄʜ̩̽ɪɴɢ ᴅ̧ɪͪꜱᴛᴏ̕ʀ͟ᴛᴇ͉ᴅ ᴠͣᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪ͉ᴀʀ-

???: salŭt monsieųrͥs! its you͚r̩ best friend here͗!

d̬ont fret!

im not here to check on th҉ḙ progre̿ss of wha̺teve̢̖͌r paint̮ing ol' rỏḭ nicola͢s has g͓oẗ́ goin on im sure its very pretty a̭nd al͟l im just h̡ere to deliver a longwinded let͖ter for the vic̘ero̚y of̥ italy

and then ill fu̜ck off a̧n͉d you two can̨ continue cohabit͇ing or somethin

T͟ʜͮᴇ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴀɴ̸ ᴇʟᴇɢᴀ̑ɴᴛ ᴘᴀͯʟ̱ᴇ̼ ꜱʜɪᴍᴍᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪɴ̷ᴋ ᴏɴ ʙʟᴀͨᴄᴋ ᴘᴀᴘᴇ̤ʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ̺ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀ̉ʙ̾ꜱᴏʀʙ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴀ̶ʟ ᴏꜰ @murillo-enthusiast ᴏɴ ɪͭᴛ.

—·—·—·—·—·—··—·—·—·—·—·—

My dear Prince Eu͉gèn̷ͬe Rose de Beauharnai͇s,

It was a surprise, an̟ hon̨ͬour and a pl͟easuͭre to m͑eet y̾ouͧ in the pre̛se̹nce of ou̠r d̼ear court pai̹n̯tĕr. How wo͐nderful to see a cultured you̕ng mân as your̿self ta͠ke an͐ in̍terest in the arts.

We regret that we c͛annot speak with you i̛n person as o͟f the momentͮ, f͢or we a͎ͮre currently tą͚k̶ͩing the wate͛r̮sͯ of our homelan̜d̲. P͝erha͔p͚s one day we w̫illͪ hȁve t̥he pleasure ǒf inviting you here.ͮ As i̗t is, we hop̝e̴ that our messénger does not mͬistrea̱t you; he is a crude͓ yetͅ gallant̡ man who is ut̑terly unt̬rustwort̴hy.

As wé sp̜oke to you̪, w͞e wondered if we c̠ould f̌eel̅ a hunger in y̵ou tha̘t weͨ h̷a̕ve n͠ever noticed bef̱ore͞. Therȩ is a danger i̧ͩn c̘̀omplacency and͔ a͢lloͦwinğ the events of h̦ist̿ory to play out;͘ one must fiṉd the̴m҉se͚lves se̘izing̷ͤ th̊͠e r͟ein̝s of such things, if the͈y wish to reign. And, well, is t́his after̕life not an uncoͩnͥquered kingdom? It doe̯s n̲ot seem fair̺ to us that othe͏rs may reign͟ ovͯer lush landsca̺p̏es͟ and beaut͊ifȕl h̼om̀es, butͅ y̵ou a͚re left to drift̠ b͢etween lands,͠ s̫um̢moned on̎ly by̰ f͝ragi̻͜le me͏mories and the ḵ̐ind͔nes̃s of͓͢ auld acquainten̶ces.

Wͯe̊ aȑe kin̏dred spiri̊ts, weͤ believe̴, in m̋ore͙ ways than on̴̉e. Thu͍s, we off͘er y̷ou our frie͐ndship, from on̠e r͋oyͯal̪ to another.

If͠ you wish t̍o corresp̷̹ond̖ fur̝t̖her with us, speȧk our na͐me and of ou̸r glory, and whatever let̢te̘ŕ or words youͩ addrëss to us will c̤ǫmé to o̽ur attenͩti̜on. Ev҉en if yͅo̸u do not, w̪e will contac̜͠t̐ y̍ou ag̬ain, soon.

Hon͂o͝uȓable re͛gar͜ds̄,

Roi Nicolas-J̰ean-ͫde-Dieu S̐oult, the Rigͩht͉ful͟ Regenͥt of North̪ern͟ Lusitania, Maréchal ďe La Grande͘ Arm̵͈ée du Néant

—·—·—·—·—·—··—·—·—·—·—·—

Eugène takes the letter, but instead of opening it he stares at the knight with the dog helmet, then throws a quick confused glance over his shoulder at Monsieur Goya, then stares at the knight again.

The helmet, the plate armour, the metal legs ... this is all strange enough. But the voice and even more the manner of speaking are unmistakable, no matter how much they have been twisted.

L-Lannes? Pardon, of course I meant "Your Excellency". But please, come in, give us news of Marshal Soult. Can you explain how he became a monarch in the afterlife? And pray tell us: what's going on with the masquerade? - Wait, is there a ball? You know how much I love to dance! Does Roi Nicolas give a ball?

He starts beaming even before the knight who may or may not be Lannes can answer, and opens the letter fully inspecting it to be an invitation to a masked ball.

He skims it. It is indeed some sort of invitation. But not to a ball.

-

(( @headlessgenius, @murillo-enthusiast ))

[desimonewayland]

José María Sert (1874-1945)

'Vision de Naples'

An eleven-leaf screen, circa 1923

Giltwood and black glaze; decorated with scenes against the Bay of Naples, 390 x 800 cm.

Sotheby’s

Catalogue Note:

José Maria Sert (1874-1945), the "Tiepolo of the Ritz", is part of the closed circle of the great society artists of the 20th century. He married the famous Misia Godebska whom Forain introduced to him, better known as Misia Sert, a central figure in artistic and literary Paris at the end of the 19th century and between the wars. Muse successively of Mallarmé, Vuillard, Renoir, Proust, Diaghilev and Cocteau, Misia was also the confidante of Gabrielle Chanel for whom Sert created this screen.

Undermined by the Parisian avant-garde, he is part of a primarily decorative painting tradition influenced by Goya, Manet and of course Tiepolo. In his studio in the rue Barbet de Jouy, Sert created a grandiose decor in the image of his painting, mixing baroque furniture, gilded bronzes, crystals and Coromandel screens. Gabrielle Chanel retained this lesson in decoration and applied it in all her Parisian residences thereafter, as her apartment on rue Cambon still testifies. Sert held a salon there where he received the entire Café Society of the time, who commissioned him for multiple projects. Specializing in very large wall decorations and screens, he went from polychrome painting to monochrome painting on a gold background, which better suited his exuberant style. He received important commissions at the turn of the century throughout Europe and more particularly in England (between 1914 and 1915 for Lady Ripon at Combe Court and Sir Philip Sassoon at Lympe and between 1918 and 1919 for Sir Saxton Noble at Wretham Hall). He received his first commission in the United States in 1924 for Mr. Joshua Cosden's music room in Palm Beach. An exhibition in New York at the Wildenstein Galleries completed his launch across the Atlantic. He then undertook grandiose projects such as an entire room at the Waldorf Astoria in New York in 1930, and the entrance main building of Rockefeller Center, built in 1933.

"Art loses the last representative of great painting", wrote Paul Claudel in Le Figaro on 14 December 1945, on the death of his friend José María Sert. The monumentality of his work and the power of his personality made Sert an artist unanimously admired in his time.