#Famous Nude Painting

[theartprinter]

Luis Ricardo Falero - Witches going to their Sabbath (1878)

#art #artist #artwork #artistic #artistic nude #luis ricardo falero #witch #witches #sabbath #19th century #vintage #culture #painting #painter #oil painting #famous art #wall art #art print

[leatherandmossprints]

‘The Triumph of Venus’ by François Boucher, c. 1740.

#the triumph of Venus #francois boucher #vintage art #classic art #art #painting #art history #art details #rococo #oil painting #old art #classic artwork #famous paintings #nude art

[naderhaitian-art]

Myriam Nader Haitian Art Gallery in New York offers the most impressive and important collection of Haitian artwork with a stellar service experience specializing in selling and appraising Haitian art. We also offer flexible hours and personalized consultations tailored to our client's individual needs. Our gallery is based in New York and is independently owned and directed by Myriam Nader-Salomon who has been dealing with Haitian Art since 1989.

#hatian art for sale #traditional haitian art #famous haitian art #haitian art gallery #famous haitian paintings #haitian wood sculpture #private art collection #abstract rock painting #Latin American art #abstract art. #black art #Caribbean art #Latin American Art #Naderhaitianart #haitian wood carving #haitian wooden sculptures #wood sculptors #haitian nude women #4x5 canvas #Black artist

[citizen-zero]

sometimes I see people call Timothee Chalamet hot and it’s like. I mean sure he’s hot in an “I would make him the face cast for my favorite villainous white boy OC” sorta way but I don't find him hot in like a real world way. handsome yes beautiful yes but not hot. to me “hot” means I want to fuck him but I don't want to fuck him. he's attractive in a way where if it was 1892 I would bring him to my atelier and have him model semi-nude for my paintings that'll someday be on display in the louvre and the met. we would have an emotionally torrid but physically chaste affair and I would not leave my wife for him. eventually he would contract TB or cholera and die and I would have to pay for the funeral as he was without any family in the world and the final painting he modeled for would become my most famous one ever and would be the one that put my name in art history books. so yeah he's not hot to me he’s tragically beautiful. also I keep getting him mixed up with Tom Holland for some reason

#personal #erika's blog and bar #timothee chalamet #I found a screenshot of these tags from a post I reblogged ages ago lmao #I still believe this

[art-4-sale]

FAMOUS PAINTINGS, PRINT

#Frida Kahlo #Edvard Munch #Vincent Van Gogh #Will Barnet #Salvador Dalí #Andy Warhol #Pablo Picasso #Henri Matisse #Francesco Clemente #Avigdor Arikha #Angel Planells #Leon Bakst #Gordon Bennett #Bielers  #Isabel Bishop #Beckmann  #Basquiat #Eduardo Arroyo #Juan Barjola #Balthus 

#Frida Kahlo #Edvard Munch #Vincent Van Gogh #Will Barnet #Salvador Dalí #Andy Warhol #Pablo Picasso #Henri Matisse #Francesco Clemente #Avigdor Arikha #Angel Planells #Leon Bakst #Gordon Bennett #Bielers #Isabel Bishop #Beckmann #Basquiat #Eduardo Arroyo #Juan Barjola #Balthus

[seriesxwriting]

Could you write a fic where everyone wants klaus like cami, Hayley, caroline but klaus only wants y/n like and when they get inside his house, cami finds a room filled with paintings of y/n (some even nude) and they realise they'll never have him.

Thank you so much for this request I LOVED the idea and really enjoyed writing it<33.

I want you.

Pairing- klaus x y/n

Series- the vampire diaries/ the originals

Warnings- kissing, swearing, drinking?

Summary- request <3

“Amazing party klaus” Marcel smiled with his hand around Rebekah’s waist. He looked at her and squeezed throwing a smile her way. Her hand reached up to his chest and she returned the smile back at him. Finally happy klaus and him were getting along.

“Must you two flirt around me” he raised an eyebrow drinking from his delicate champagne glass. Rebekah turned around looking around at the crowed. “I don’t see y/n yet, is that why your salty?” She smirked at her brother.

“Salty? Me? Never, she’s simply outside with some of the other girls” he shrugged knowing exactly where she was. “We must have missed her” Marcel told her simply. “Indeed you did and so did I, we haven’t had the chance to speak yet” “why don’t you go and get her, the music will start soon I presume, you’ll want her near so you can ask her to dance” Rebekah tapped her brother on the chest.

He smiled at how well she knew him and she returned the knowing look. Klaus reached his head down to his sister’s cheek and kissed it softly. “Thank you sister”.

——

I was sitting on the benches outside with Hailey, Cami and Caroline sipping our drinks and talking about nothing in particular. The outside seating was quite clever actually as the hall was so crowded with random people and it heated up quite quickly. “I just think red is too bright for a car” Caroline shrugged sipping her drink sitting back on the bench. “My first car was red” I shrugged.

“What type of car was it” “Toyota, it did me a good service” I laughed remembering back to it. “I’m sure it did” hailey giggled catching onto what I was saying. It took a moment but the other two eventually realised and started bursting out laughing. “Was it your first time?” Cami questioned intrigued to know more. “If my first time was in a car I wouldn’t remove it from my memory” I shook my head.

“The cars way too small, my head was hitting the door the whole time” I whispered mid laugh. “Bet it steamed up loads too, must get stuffy” cami raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never done it in a car?” Caroline looked at cami shocked. Even hailey found it to be surprising. “No- and I wouldn’t want to” she laughed. “Who doesn’t want to do what?” Klaus voiced making us all jump out of our skin. He was walking over to us and stood next to where I was sitting. “You startled me klaus!” Cami winned.

“Girl talk klaus, we couldn’t reveal our secrets to you” Caroline put a finger to her lips raising her eyes flirtatiously up him. “You look great- the suit is fitting” cami told klaus bringing his attention to her. “It was on the house” “of course it was, that’s such a klaus thing” hailey spoke.

I watched as the girls tried getting his attention saying literally anything to make him look at them. I sat there in silence watching the show. The way they giggled when he addressed them. Made me feel sick.

His hand fell on my shoulder.

“The real reason I came over was to ask you to dance” he told me staring into my eyes with that famous klaus smile on his mouth. “You- want to dance with me?” I stuttered in shock he’d picked me out of all the girls here. Me and klaus had a complicated relationship. We’d slept together a few times and we’d stop and talk to each other if we bumped into one another but it was a casual thing. I didn’t think he’d choose to dance with me.

“Of course you can have me for a dance, I’m just going to find the restroom and then I’ll look for you” I nodded at him with a little smile on my face. “I’ll be waiting” he took my hand and planted a kiss softly before vamping off back into the party.

“He’s so fucking gorgeous” hailey threw her head back groaning. “Literally heaven sent- god took his time with that man” Caroline laughed. “I’m definitely going to cut in for a dance after” Haliey looked over at me.

She didn’t say it maliciously. It wasn’t condescending, she was just being genuine and letting me know her plans. “Mmm not if I get there first” cami wiggled her eyebrows. “The things I’d do to him if he’d let me”. The girls giggled to each other, making me wonder which one of them would get him. They were all attractive girls each having their own personality and opinions, he’d be a fool to not pick one of them.

“I’m off to the bathroom ladies” I smiled standing up. “Come on girl we aren’t going to let you go in your own” Caroline told me bouncing up from her seat. I tipped the last of drink down my throat before saying. “Great because I have no clue where it is and this house is massive” I laughed as we made our way inside. Us four climbed the stairs taking a left as a gut feeling. “It must be around here somewhere” cami shrugged looking at the mass of doors.

“Try this one” hailey opened one of the doors, but it was just a libary. Full of old books from the ceiling to the floor. “Boring” she slammed the door closed making us laugh. “What about this one” Caroline pulled open the door opposite to it. “Woah- it’s not the bathroom but…” she blinked looking inside. “What is it?” Hailey sped to the door looking inside. Her face became mesmerised and slowly she started walking in. The two girls followed, I felt a bit odd snooping around his house.

It felt wrong. But when I saw what was in the room it felt like privacy didn’t really matter to klaus as much as i thought it did. The room was full of art work, paintings on easels, on the walls, everywhere. They were all of the same thing. Me.

The girls looked at me and I gazed around the room, my eyes were wide in awe. There was portraits, some where I was standing in felids or other dimensions. They were so creative. The ones that caught my attention the most were the nude ones.

I remembered the set I had on in one of the paintings, he’d put me in a position lying me on the bed with a rose in my mouth. They were so creative so extraordinary. He’d only seen my body a few times yet he got it so spot on. The detail and time that had been put into it was incredible.

“Fuck” hailey whispered under her breath as reality sank in. Cami bit her lip looking around the room. Her eyes were sad almost. “Did you pose for him? Did you know he did these?” Caroline asked me quietly.

I shook my head still in shock. “I had no idea about any of these” “they are all of you- every single one of them- there must be over a hundred” cami whispered not even looking at me. “What does this mean?” Hailey turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “I’m going to go find out” I swallowed and before waiting for anyone to say something

I was out of the room and running down the stairs. My eyes scanned the room for him and eventually spotted him talking to a large group of vampires.

I ran towards him swerving past people left, right and centre. Klaus noticed me straight away and stopped his conversation. “Why are you running? What happened?” He quizzed with a worried gleam in his eyes. His hand fell to my arm. “Klaus- why’s there a room full of paintings of me?” I pannted under my breath. I asked him straight out not caring for him to judge me. He’d be a hypocrite to cuss me for breaking boundaries or privacy. 

He just smiled before moving his hand to my face. “Because I want you y/n” he breathed out staring into my eyes. My heart skipped a beat. It punched me in my chest. My stomach flipped as those words filled my ears. “Me?” I blinked as my chest rose. “You have three beautiful girls pining for you and…” “and I want you” he cut me off shaking his head slightly. “All I want is you y/n”. In that moment I lept towards him, pushing my face onto his.

Our lips met in sync and the hand that was on my arm moved to my hip. Klaus pulled me closer to his body. Softly but passionately kissing me back. “Klaus” I whispered pulling only an inch away and leaning my forehead on his. “I want you”. “You’ve got me” he told me kissing my forehead before placing his back against mine.

His eyes wondered from me to the stair case where hailey, Caroline and cami stood watching us. I turned to look at them. They tried to hide the fact they weren’t happy about us being together but they didn’t do it incredibly well.

In that moment the music switched on. Klaus caught my eye again as people started getting ready for it. “May I take you for a dance m’lady” he smirked putting his arm out. “Of course you can handsome” I smiled linking arms with him. And with that we made our way to the face floor smitten with each other.

Klaus masterlist

The vampire diaries masterlist

All series masterlist

Masterlist of masterlists

#fyp #netflix #imagines #writers on tumblr #writing #short storys #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries #tvd fluff #tvd imagine #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikealson imagine #klaus x you #klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus imagine #klaus x oc #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #tvd klaus #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus x y/n #klaus michaelson #the originals #tvd x oc #tvd x you #tvd x reader #tvd fanfiction #tvdu #tvd fandom #tvd universe

[modernimpressionism]

a higher power compelled me to write this

Swann Arlaud x Reader Fluff

(First meetings, art museums, slight awkwardness)

1285 Words

• ───── ୨୧ ───── •

Like the work of art she was, he first saw her at a museum.

More specifically, at the Musée d'Orsay. Standing in front of Olympia. He had wandered in on a walk home from a meeting with his manager, feeling a little stressed and pretty annoyed. He assumed a walk around an air-conditioned maze would calm his mind a bit, and this one was just the closest when he googled 'museum'. He recalls visiting it as a boy because being a child in Paris meant field trips to insane historical monuments and world-famous museums.

She stared at the painting as if trying to memorize every brush stroke, occasionally adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder or tucking her hair behind her ear, but not moving onto another piece. The relaxed nude figure seemed to entrance her like the woman was communicating something secret and sensual and womanly through 150 years of dried pigment.

This gave him plenty of time to memorize her as well, to notice the hair falling gently on her back. Her fingers, the nails neatly painted but the skin around them picked and chewed to bits. She wore a watch on her left wrist, a real watch that ticked silently with the seconds, he thought higher of her because of this but couldn't place why. Her clothes looked nice, but not excessive. He imagined her being picky with what she wore, and not caring about brands or fashion houses, which felt rare in Paris. The tote bag on her shoulder was obviously full, and he yearned to hold it for her, to take the weight off if only for a moment. She obviously carried it every day and thought little of the weight anymore, but he was willing to take it.

He paused his study for a moment to look around the gallery. He noticed the similarity between all of the paintings, and with how long she was staring at the one, he assumed she must be a fan.

Shit

He leaned over to check the name of the artist on a few of the paintings, Manet, Manet, Manet, ok. He pulls his phone out and quickly searches for him. If he's going to talk to this woman, he should at least pretend to have a reason to.

He was starting to regret not paying attention during those field trips.

He slipped his phone back into his back pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. It seemed like he was eternally trying to fix it, and if there was ever a time for it to behave, it was right now.

He took one confident step before she started moving and he lost all of his nerve. He snapped his head around before finding a random painting to pretend to stare at, hoping she didn't notice his extended and possibly creepy staring. He shoved his hands in his front pockets to try to look calmer than he was.

He heard the slight tap of her shoes against the stone floor but didn't dare to look where she was going. This is disastrous, he thought, deciding to leave as soon as she stopped moving. He was counting down the seconds when he felt a slight shade move on his left side and heard her movements more closely.

She stood right next to them, looking at the same painting.

His plan to abandon ship quickly dissipated, knowing this was the only opportunity he had to talk to her. If he ignored her now and followed her around the museum to talk to her later, he would look mental.

He scanned the painting in a panic, trying to understand 150 years of art history before opening his mouth. To him, it just looked like a couple of people standing on a balcony but he felt like it meant much more to her. He thought that if he waited any more, he would lose his nerve, so he opened his mouth and...

"J'aime le chien"

"Oh, I. I'm sorry but I'm still learning French, I'm not sure-"

"You're American!"

Shit!

In his anxiety-ridden brain, he forgot to shut his mouth and his words bypassed any filter he possessed. It's over, this was a total failure, he thought as he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

But instead he heard her giggle gently, before responding,

"I am! All of my life actually"

Oh god, and she's funny...

He smiled back at her with his signature goofy lopsided smile, too engrossed by her face, her mouth, her eyes to actually respond to anything.

"I like the dog too", she replies after a few silent seconds.

They both stared at the small animal painted in the bottom left corner, tucked into the petticoat of a figure. His eyes weren't visible beneath his fur, permanently hidden from the world. Looking at the animal and hearing her approval gave him the confidence to keep their conversation going a bit longer.

"So is he your favorite?"

"He's one of my favorites, i just love the choice of subjects, how average they were."

He's entranced by her voice. By the way her lips move to make the words, by the way her eyes light up as she speaks about art. He realizes that he must look silly, staring at her speak with a dumb smile, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Have you ever seen where he painted? In Giverny?"

She tilts her head slightly at that question, slightly confused.

Shit.

"Do you mean Monet? With the lilies? He painted in Giverny. This is Manet."

SHIT!

His mouth opens and closes like a fish, feeling like a deer in headlights, he can't possibly save this now.

So he just starts laughing. A genuine belly laugh, full of joy at his own stupidity. And then she starts laughing just as hard.

"Did you just google him a minute ago?", she asks, in between giggles.

"I did, it must have been uh... vérification orthographique.. spellcheck"

They look at each other earnestly, both admiring the other.

"I'm Y/N", she says, reaching out her hand.

He grabs it and is astounded by how comfortable he feels in hers

"Swann"

*One Year Later*

"Love I told you, I didn't want anything for our anniversary, just to do things together"

"Well this is a together present, sort of, it's for uh.. l'appartement"

He pulls a large, flat, wrapped present from the back of his closet, lifting it and placing it in front of Y/N, who's sat on their bed. He sits down next to her, leaning one hand on the bed behind her, subconsciously wanting to be close to her.

Her hands reach for the paper and start tearing, she makes a mental note of his gift-wrapping skills, assigning him that job in the future. Her were always horribly crumpled, but he was neat and untarnished, and she almost felt bad destroying it.

She quickly uncovered a gold frame with a glass pane, something familiar peeking out from inside.

"It's the Manet painting, The Balcony. A print of it, I mean. I thought it would be nice to hang out here since it's ours." he says, almost shyly... No matter how confident he was, he always felt the risk of gift-giving.

"Swann, I love it, It's perfect"

She places the framed print on the bed behind her, safely, before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him with as much love as she could muster. It was such a quick transition that he was almost surprised, but he soon caught up and reached his arm around her and grabbed her waist, pulling her tighter. After a while, he placed a hand on her cheek to pull her away and leaned in to kiss her lips gently and with love.

"Joyeux anniversaire chérie, I would get you the real painting if I could.

#swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #fluff

[rafferty3207]

omg I'm the anon who requested the jamie x reader neighbours fic and boy you delivered! fucking love it! can't wait for part 2

This is so lovely anon, I'm so glad you liked it!!! For you, I will deliver a part two with the caveat that I'm so sorry I got carried away and now it will be in three parts (sorry again), but the last part will be the finale!!! Anyway I present to you:

Too Good to Be True (part two)

read part one here

warnings: allusions to abuse, mention of anxiety/panic attack, daddy issues, two hopeless idiots flirting, a bit of angst at the end but worth it (sorry again)

A/N: I have nothing to add except this gif is not mine and has turned me feral

It’s been several days since you left your phone number and you are nervous. 

You don’t get why you care so much.

It’s just Jamie, your annoying neighbour. Your annoying, but also extremely handsome neighbour. Your annoying, handsome neighbour who massaged your feet, and your legs, and almost your thighs and god you couldn’t think straight. You’d been able to get nothing done as you had spent the last few days just constantly replaying that evening in your head. And to make things worse, it turns out Annoying Handsome Jamie was in fact a very famous Premier League footballer. Who has also been caught having sex on TV. (Yes, you had binged the entirety of his Lust Conquers All series since that night, but that was neither her nor there.) 

After almost a week you had given up. The exhibition was just under two weeks away and you hadn’t seen him in the garden or outside the house at all. He had probably come to the conclusion that you were both too weird and too normal for him and the only conclusion was move on with your life and forget his stupid sexy face ever existed, when you got a text. 

u free tonight

Jxoxo

Of course, you wanted to play it cool. After all, you had spent the entirety of the week waiting for this message.

29 minutes and 59 seconds later.

I might be.

The phone immediately pings.

do u not know??

xoxo

Depends, what are you thinking?

thought u wanted a model

Xoxo

Of course, he was thinking about the painting. As you also definitely were. You were a professional artist. Almost.

What time?

ill come after the match

You spend your evening preparing and also perhaps figuring out an outfit that says 'casual bohemian artist that definitely doesn't care' while redoing your makeup twice. However, as the hours stretch on and on and on you are at the point of giving up and going to bed, when the doorbell finally rings.

You race down, before waiting a minute, quickly checking yourself in the mirror and pulling out your phone to pretend you had already been looking at something when you open the door.

But before you can pull the casual act, he walks right past you.

“Hello to you too, Jamie.”

He strides into your living room where the canvas is set up and immediately starts taking his clothes off.

“Woah, what do you think you’re doing there?”

“Er, I thought you were painting nudes?”

“Er no-”  At this point his shirt has already come off and he’s starting to unbutton his trousers. Of course he is very toned, with tanned arms and neck where his football shirt has been. You feel the breath knocked out of your body, glimpsing the very top of his boxers as you struggle for words.. He looks at you confused. Eventually you stutter an answer. "K-Keep the trousers on, okay?” 

“What should I do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do I pose, like?” You shrug.

“However you want to, Jamie.”

“I dunno what I want.” You sigh.

“You just need to stand there and look pretty.”

“Well I do that all the time, so.”

“Great. So just…keep doing that.”

Jamie smiles to himself.

“What is it?”

“So you do think I’m pretty?” He smirks at you. You fold your arms.

“What are you, a sixteen year old girl Jamie?” You start sketching. “Besides, you know what you look like.” You go back to drawing in silence. You swear you see his cheeks dust pink for a second before he ouffs his chest back out and smiles.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I think you’re pretty?”

You freeze.

“No, because if you haven’t noticed, I’m not sixteen. I am an adult woman and I don’t need random men for unsolicited affirmation, no matter how pretty they are.”

Jamie opens his mouth, before closing it again. Maybe that was a bit harsh, but what else could you say? Tell me how pretty you think I am Jamie. Or better yet, show me. I’m dying to know. You could practically feel the feminism leaving your body.

You dismiss these thoughts and get back to sketching. You can see Jamie is looking down and acting fidgety, swinging his arms.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” You walk over and plant your arms on his shoulders. He is surprisingly warm and firm to the touch, and you try not to blush. “Is it okay if I move you?”

He nods, surprisingly quiet. You turn him ever so slightly, before gently pushing him down onto your stool. As you move one of his (very muscly) arms, you swear you feel a slight tremor. Was he shaking? You step a little closer, a hand on his back. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Jamie.”

His face hardens.

“But I said I will, so I will.”

“But you don’t have to. Only do this if you want to.” You smile at him, and his face softens again.

“I do want to, trust me. It’s just been a long day.”

“Okay, but if you need to stop or take a break, just say the word.”

You step back to your canvas. You try to focus solely on the drawing, but every time he looks at you, you find your whole body heating up. Despite this, you steal glances anyway. He stares at you constantly, in a way that makes you feel stupid and giggly. Observing all the soft and hard lines of his body, you eventually start to notice small scars all over his body until you reach his hands. You don’t know why it took you so long to notice, but his knuckles are slightly bruised.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?” 

“Tell me about your day.”

“Why? It was dead boring.”

“I don’t know. I find it helps me find the right mood.” You prepare your brushes. “You know, it tells me what colours to use.”

“Oh. I mean, nothing much happened.” He looks down at his feet. “I got up, went to play football, came here.”

“But why did you text me? Why today?”

“I dunno.” You sit in silence for a moment, as you mix the colours. “I mean, my dad came to the match.”

“Right.”

“Pulled his usual shit.”

“Usual shit?”

“Just being a complete dickhead.” You start painting. 

“In what way?”

“Saying stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just the usual stuff.”

“You keep saying “usual” Jamie. I don’t think whatever he said is usual for most people.”

“What about your dad? He said that thing about you being a teacher right? Because you couldn’t paint or summat?” You put your brush down. 

“Yeah he did say that. He says a lot of shit, none of which I would consider usual. Or at least it shouldn’t be.” You step off your chair and towards Jamie, reaching gently for his hand. “We don’t just have to take this shit, you know.”

“I don’t fucking take it!” He pulls away. You flinch back. He looks alarmed as he realises. “I should go.” He starts to walk out.

“Jamie, I didn’t mean to upset you -” You walk after him as he paces towards the door. He halts at the entrance.

“I’m not upset,  I just - I came here because I didn’t want to think about my dad. When I’m with you, I never think about him. Or anything else, really.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.” Before you can reply, he runs off. 

The next few days pass by. You send a few texts to Jamie, but no reply. The exhibition is only a couple of days away now, so you try to keep yourself busy. But his words won’t stop swirling in your head to the point you struggle to sleep. So you do what you always do: paint. 

It’s not until one of these nights when you're up late at the canvas that you glance out of the window. Your heart stops. Someone is lying in Jamie's garden, very still. You dare to look closer. Is that..Jamie? He looks glassy eyed. He can't have...Without thinking, you run down.

"Jamie! Jamie!" Your heart is thumping in your ears so loudly you can't hear anything else. "Jamie are you okay?" You ask as you scramble to climb the fence. However just as you are almost over, you catch your foot, spectacularly falling over it into the bushes.  You hear that trademark laugh.

"Why are you laughing? I thought you were dead, dipshit!" You say, crawling out of the shrubbery. 

He remains lying down but he’s smiling at you now.

"Why would you think I was dead?"

"Why are you lying in your garden on your back completely still at 2am? Let's not pretend this is normal." You crawl down next to him.

“You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“No I won’t.”

He looks away from you.

“I mean everyone else does, why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think they do.”

“There’s my dad. Plus, I’ve read Twitter.”

“You know how I feel about your dad and Twitter is full of very stupid people. But never mind them. I can promise you I don’t. And let’s be honest, I’m the only opinion that matters.” He scoffs as you offer him a pinky. But, he puts his pinky in yours before looking back up at the night sky.

"I can't get up."

"What? Are you injured?"

“No…I dunno, I told you it was stupid."

“It's clearly not that stupid. Are you okay Jamie?”

"I dunno. I was thinking about the other night with you and my dad and then I came outside because I needed some fresh air and then I lay down and started thinking about everything and now it feels like I'm stuck here. It's stupid -"

“Stop saying that.” You lie down and grab his hand. “Sometimes when you've gone through some shit, it comes out of your body in weird ways. But you're okay. We can stay here for as long as you like, but when we get up, you will be able to.”

He nods, and the two of you lie there holding hands in silence. You take some deep breaths and he follows. Eventually a small voice pipes up.

“I think I can go in now.”

You sit up and slowly pull him.

"See?"

He smiles at you gingerly before he looks down.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?”

You look down. Both your knees are cut, along with one of your palms and your wrist.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” 

He gently holds your wrist up to the light. He looks sad.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I need to work on my graceful dismount. Either that or just walk around to the back door.”

“I mean, I dunno, I think you could give Simone Biles a run for her money.” You swat him.

“Oi, you cheeky shit! Next time I’ll just leave you for dead.”

“I think the blood loss is going to your head, we should treat that ASAP.” He leads you into his house. “I think I’ve got a first aid kit upstairs.”

He starts walking up and you follow him. He seems surprised. You realise your error.

“Oh, I can wait downstairs if you like.”

“Er, no, it’s fine.” He steps into a bedroom and starts rummaging around in what is clearly an ensuite bathroom. You sit on the edge of his bed and look around. There’s pictures of him and his mum, as well as some pictures with the team and one with a slightly older moustachioed man.

“Is that your dad?”

He pokes his head out and laughs. 

“No, that’s our coach Ted.” You look up at him. “He’s a nice guy though. Annoyingly nice. Almost too nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” It was clear Jamie was soft on this man, but you wouldn’t push it today. He sits down and starts gently wiping the cuts. It is the same tenderness he held your foot, and it is the same tenderness that is slowly melting your heart. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were starting to fall for Jamie Tartt.

You yawn as he applies the final plaster. “Right, you need to go to sleep.” He says, through his own yawn.

"I could say the same for you"

You sit up to leave, but hesitate. YOu feel Jamie’s about to say something.

“Hey, I don’t suppose.. You’d maybe fancy…”

You turn around.

“Staying around?”

Jamie looks at you pleadingly.

“No funny business I promise.” He looks up and offers you a pinky.

“What if I want funny business?”

“Eh?”

“I’m just messing with you Jamie. Besides, I’ve already stolen your knickers anyway.”

“Someone told me that’s a weird thing to say to people.”

“Well, that person sounds very wise.” You look around. “Can I use your bathroom?”

He gestures towards it and you go in. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you think: what the fuck is going on here? You splash some water on your face and tell yourself to get a grip.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the blue pot if you need it.” Jamie calls through the door.

“Ew gross Jamie, I don’t want to use one of your many girlfriend’s toothbrushes!”

“I’ll have you know that’s brand new as I don’t have any girlfriends at the moment. Although there are sanitary towels if you need them love.”

“Piss off you patronising git!”

“‘Ey, I was trying to be nice and a good feminist and that.”

You brush your teeth before coming out and leaning against the doorframe.

“No girlfriends? What happened to the Island’s top scorer?”

He groans before flopping back onto the bed.

“I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I’ve been doing my research.” You get into the bed next to him. He flashes you a dirty grin.

“Bet you have, you little perv.”

“Me? The perv? What you did in that jacuzzi was a crime to my eyes, and probably in several countries.”  

“Woah, you have been doing your research - that was like episode 42? 43?”

“What can I say, you make good television?”

Jamie pulls the duvet back before hovering for a moment. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He gestures to the bed.

“I know. But I’ve been in your position before, and I really needed a friend back then. And I think you would do the same.”

“Any time.”

You squeeze his hand.

“Now go to sleep, you menace.”

“Aye aye captain.”

____

You wake up and find yourself once again not in your own bedroom. In fact, not only are you not in your own bedroom, but you appear to be cuddling Jamie Tartt. You panic silently. Your leg is swung over his, while his arm is draped over you. You try to move, but still asleep, he squeezes you a little tighter. And then something really surprising happens.

He kisses you. Just a little kiss on the forehead, but your chest is fluttering.  You hate to admit it but, it feels just so natural. You’re so content and relaxed in his arms then…

Fuck. You fell back asleep. You’re in the exact same problem as before.

This time however, you are both awoken by Jamie’s phone going off. He reaches to switch it off, eyes still closed, but then it rings again. And again. The third time his eyes shoot open.

“Shit!”

“What is it?” You ask from behind bleary eyes.

“The match!”

You slowly sit up and watch him run around and get dressed, silently handing him things on occasion. He runs downstairs and you plod along after him, still half asleep. He runs out of the door, before abruptly stopping and turning around.

“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck or something?”

You wrinkle your nose at him in confusion.

“I don’t need to. You’re going to smash it anyway.”

“How do you know that?”

You shrug and smile. 

“I just know.”

At this point, he strides right up to you, before cupping your face in both his hands. 

“Jamie what are -” Before you can finish, he kisses you, hard. Your eyes flutter closed and you melt into the kiss, before he pulls away, but only just. His arm reaches around the small of your back and his forehead touching yours, he whispers.

“Wait for me.”

He runs off to his car, and you stroke your bottom lip, where you trace the swell of where he used to be.

Your heart is still pounding and you are unsure what to do with yourself, so you try to make yourself at home. You take a very long, hot shower before getting changed. Of course, you didn’t have any clothes here, so you find some pyjama shorts along with one of Jamie’s old jerseys.

You sit down to watch the match. You had never really gotten into football, but now you were glued to the screen. You couldn’t believe that the little Jamie on screen was the same one who shared a bed with you last night. And the same Jamie that kissed you…

The game is electric, and Jamie in particular is the standout player. Even the commentators remark on his zest this match as he keeps skilfully weaving through the players to lead Richmond into not one, not two but three goals.

Once the match is done, you watch, still glued to your seat when Jamie is invited to an interview.

“Jamie the way you played today was extraordinary, against Man City too. If you don’t mind us asking, what happened?”

“Ah well, I was really inspired by Simone Biles. She’s honestly changed my life.” At that moment, he turns straight to the camera, grins and winks, and you feel like he’s somehow winking right at you. Your heart skips a beat. You were really in trouble.

You look at your phone and Jamie Tartt is trending. Simone Biles herself has already tweeted reminding everyone she is a married woman and has never met Jamie. There are plenty of other women, including some famous other gymnasts and celebrities offering their Biles-like services to Jamie in some rather explicit tweets. You wonder if Jamie reads these ones too.

You walk to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and as you wait for the kettle to boil, you look at Jamie’s calendar. There’s all sorts of notes, primarily training and matchs but you notice your exhibit is there too, with a little heart drawn around it. Jamie never stopped surprising you. But then a cold shock goes down your spine. You remembered today’s date. You are meant to be going to the gallery this evening to plan the exhibition. Shit. You check the time. You’ve still got three hours left, but you need to get back into your flat ASAP. You scramble around before realising that you had left your phone in the flat last night in the chaos to get out. But you also remembered Jamie and what he had said.

Wait for me.

You write a little note and stick it on the fridge.

____

Jamie comes back way later than he planned. Of course, after the match, there were drinks and celebrations but he couldn’t concentrate on them, just trying to leave to get back to you. He finally manages to break away, but when he gets home, he finds the living room empty. He searches around the rest of the house, and you are nowhere to be found. He checks his phone. No messages. He gets a message through from Keeley about how he’s trending online. 

Of course he sees all the Simone Biles stuff and smiles to himself. He made a note to send Simone Biles a message in future, if this all worked out. Then he sees all the stuff other women are saying online. A lot of it is quite graphic and he wondered what you’d think. He imagined the two of you laughing together at them. Then he sees. The tabloids are already speculating. Not only do they actually think he’s having an affair with Simone Biles, but they have already posted some paparazzi shot of him with Keeley, along with long extensive timelines of his tumultuous dating history. His stomach drops. Anyone would run away if they saw this much baggage.

He tries to ring you. Once, twice, three times, No pick up. He’s desperate and pacing, until he realises he can just walk over to your front door. He rings the bell several times, before loudly knocking. Still nothing.

He can’t believe how much he’s fucked it. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you, but he couldn't help it. No one had made him feel like this, like he was going crazy but also that he was calmer than he had ever been, like riding a lifeboat in the centre of the storm. As he walks back into his flat and into his kitchen, he doesn’t see the small corner of a note that has fallen under the fridge. He checks his phone again. 

Still nothing. What could he do?

____

Sorry for the angst kids, hope it was worth it and the finale will be juicy!! lmk if you want to be tagged in the final part!! Not sure if I've done these tags right, apols if not!!

@skewedcherries @e-mmygrey @reading-blogs @alex-sulli @cameoutstruggling93 @sqrlgrl22 @maydayfigment @aiyaiy @alipap3 @okkkkkkksure @city-of-cards

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt x reader #fanfic #romance #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt

[marzipanandminutiae]

"Marzi, what actually IS Enchanted Doll, though?"

for me, it's this little fake person who lives in my house:

this is Maryse. everybody say "hi, Maryse!" she was made some time in the early-mid 2010s as part of a limited blank, nude resin BJD line sculpted by artist Marina Bychkova (her face was most recently painted by the incredible Cat, "maybeawerewolf" on IG)

but Maryse has. much more famous porcelain sisters. and they look like this:

any gems or precious metals you see up there are real. for reference. this woman is not just a doll artist, but a seamstress and jeweler Par Excellence in the bargain

costumed porcelain Enchanted Dolls are the shining stars of the art doll world: dazzling and unreachable for all but a lucky (and usually deep-pocketed) few. the blank resin ones are rare enough to find secondhand- they're not being made anymore -but the porcelain are like..."if I marry a multimillionaire, may she propose to me with a porcelain Enchanted Doll holding a ring from a crackerjack box" status

the eye candy is real

#long post #dolls #enchanted doll #bjd #art doll #I dream of finding one at an estate sale where the person's children have no idea what it's worth #(not that I want anyone to die! but I suspect at least some of the owners must be elderly and may come to that point in time) #it makes me sad that Maryse will one day lose elastic tension and yellow and have faceup scratches #almost inevitably #if I could wave a wand and make her porcelain I would

[thestalwartheart]

James Bond doesn’t like crowds.

Q’s only just started noticing. He supposes the fact that he’s noticed at all is a result of spending more time with Bond outside the office and the field.

Dating, some people might call it. He and Bond never bother to call it anything.

Really, the aversion to crowds should have been obvious. Q doesn’t like that it’s taken him long to catch on, but now that he knows, it throws a dozen past conversations in a different light.

Whenever Q suggests taking the Tube anywhere, Bond declines and offers to drive instead. It's something Q has, until now, put down to a) Bond’s well-known love of cars and b) a snobbish disdain for public transport. On their admittedly rare weekends away, Bond never suggests a city break. They always go somewhere quiet; often, it’s somewhere rural. Q had assumed it was because they live in a city (at least he does—Bond never stays anywhere long enough to be considered a local), and Bond was keen to shag him somewhere without the kind of walls the neighbours could hear through.

But there are tells to say otherwise.

Chief among them is the one in front of him right now. In the middle of Trafalgar Square, which is bustling with the signs of weekend life, Q tries to link his arm with Bond’s.

Bond flinches at his touch.

“James?”

Bond pointedly doesn’t look at him, though he does relax ever so slightly under Q’s hand. Yet, as they walk on, Q can tell there’s something still off.

“You know,” says Q, at the bottom of some of the most famous stairs in London, “I’m not much in the mood for art, after all.”

It was a romantic idea to come to the National Gallery. To see the Turner paintings again. To listen to Bond groan at Q playing the pretentious art critic while he reduced all the nude paintings down to cheeky one-liners. It was, perhaps, too romantic an idea for what they are to each other. Q parks that thought, leaves it to worry about in the midnight hours. The more pressing matter is that it’s too uncomfortable for Bond to be here at all.

“You’re terrible at lying,” Bond tells him.

“Yes, well. So are you, sometimes.” Q looks around at the busy square. The sky is turning that dark and foreboding grey that signals rain is on the way. The fountains look dull and coppery under it. “I know you hate crowds. What do you say we get out of here and go for a drink?”

It’s a gamble. It’s always a gamble trying to guess at Bond’s moods, but today, the gamble pays off. Bond offers Q a fond, relieved smile and squeezes the hand Q has resting on his arm.

“Thank you.”

Inside, Q warms. No doubt it shows on his cheeks. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss against Bond’s chapped, chilly mouth, one that promises more kisses to come. It’s the kind of kiss Q likes best: slow and thoughtful. Cosy.

All the while, he promises himself that he’ll pay more attention to Bond’s tells. He prides himself on knowing his agents, after all. What sort of Quartermaster—what sort of friend or, well, whatever—would he be if he didn’t?

#00q #my fic #idk if i'll post this on ao3 since it's more of a headcanon and it needs polished #but it's here for your consideration nonetheless!

[delguy]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧 later famous as the not really nude painted gold bictim in "Gold Finger" Hardwood floors ahead of their time.

#cheesecake #pinup #Blonde

[naderhaitian-art]

Myriam Nader Haitian Art Gallery in New York offers the most impressive and important collection of Haitian artwork with a stellar service experience specializing in selling and appraising Haitian art. We also offer flexible hours and personalized consultations tailored to our client's individual needs. Our gallery is based in New York and is independently owned and directed by Myriam Nader-Salomon who has been dealing with Haitian Art since 1989.

#hatian art for sale #traditional haitian art #famous haitian art #haitian art gallery #famous haitian paintings #haitian wood sculpture #private art collection #abstract rock painting #Latin American art #abstract art. #black art #Caribbean art #Latin American Art #Naderhaitianart #haitian wood carving #haitian wooden sculptures #wood sculptors #haitian nude women #4x5 canvas #Black artist

[eiightysixbaby]

thinking about taking eddie on a date to an art museum and he just absolutely cannot take it seriously. he’s walking around making jokes about all the sculptures with teeny tiny dicks, giggling to himself like a kid. he stands in front of different ones and copies whatever pose they’re in, putting on an exaggeratedly serious face and making you take his picture.

or he’s wolf whistling at various nude sculptures or paintings you pass, pretending to flirt with the people depicted. he stops at a painting of a few naked women and is like “hey ladies, lookin good. you guys wanna get outta here, maybe come back to my place?” and you’re just rolling your eyes at him, stifling a laugh when other museum goers give him dirty looks.

and he’d totally be shit talking super famous artworks, like, “what is this? you call this art!? i could paint something better with my eyes closed”.

not to mention his clumsy ass would probably almost knock a sculpture over, or he gets way too close to the art while looking at it and triggers an alarm, and you’re literally dragging him away before he gets reprimanded.

#tell me i’m wrong i dare u #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb

[psykopaths]

Lady Godvia

The Nude Ride

The legend of the nude ride is first recorded in the 13th century, in the Flores Historiarum and the adaptation of it by Roger of Wendover. Despite its considerable age, it is not regarded as plausible by modern historians, nor is it mentioned in the two centuries intervening between Godiva’s death and its first appearance, while her generous donations to the church receive various mentions.

According to the typical version of the story, Lady Godiva took pity on the people of Coventry, who were suffering grievously under her husband’s oppressive taxation. Lady Godiva appealed again and again to her husband, who obstinately refused to remit the tolls. At last, weary of her entreaties, he said he would grant her request if she would strip naked and ride on a horse through the streets of the town. The painting below, from 1892, depicts her moment of decision.

Lady Godiva took him at his word, and after issuing a proclamation that all persons should stay indoors and shut their windows, she rode through the town, clothed only in her long hair. Just one person in the town, a tailor ever afterward known as Peeping Tom, disobeyed her proclamation in one of the most famous instances of voyeurism. In the story, Tom bores a hole in his shutters so that he might see Godiva pass and is struck blind.

In the end, Lady Godiva’s husband keeps his word and abolishes the onerous taxes.

So, if this is true, then indeed, Lady Godiva is a heroine, a martyr of sorts, and probably venerated by the townspeople. Too bad all she is remembered for is the naked part.

#lets learn something interesting today from the past #historic figure #history #body art #a e s t h e t i c #aesthetics #sculpture #art #nudity #artistic nude #nude art #pale aesthetic

[pazzesco]

Queen of Bohemia

Amedeo Modigliani -Jeune Femme (Nina Hamnett) - 1917

Roger Fry - Nina Hamnett avec une guitare - 1917

Nina Hamnett (1890–1956) was a Welsh artist and writer, and an expert on sailors’ chanteys, who became known as the Queen of Bohemia. Flamboyantly unconventional, and openly bisexual, Hamnett once danced nude on a Montparnasse café table just for the “hell of it”. She drank heavily, was sexually promiscuous, and kept numerous lovers and close associations within the artistic community. Very quickly, she became a well-known bohemian personality throughout Paris and modelled for many artists. She went on to have a love affair with Brzeska, and later with Amedeo Modigliani and Roger Fry.

Amedeo Modigliani - Woman with Red Hair (Nina Hamnett) - 1917

Nina Hamnett - Self Portrait - 1913

British painter, designer, and illustrator, famous more for her flamboyant bohemian life than for her work. She was born in Tenby, Wales, the daughter of an army officer, and studied at various art schools in Dublin, London, and finally Paris. On her first night there she met the Italian painter Amedeo Modigliani. He introduced her to Picasso, Serge Dighilev, and Jean Cocteau, and she went to live at the famous artist’s residence of La Ruche which housed many other Bohemian artists and modernist writers. It was there that she met the Norwegian artist Roald Kristian (also known as Edgar de Bergen), whom she married in 1914. She seems to have been relieved when he was deported as an unregistered alien during the First World War; they never saw one another again.

Like other women at the time reveling in a newfound independence, she had her hair cut short in a ‘crophead’ style (what we would now call a basin cut) and she wore eccentric clothing:

"I wore in the daytime a clergyman’s hat, a check coat, and a skirt with red facings … white stockings and men’s dancing pumps and was stared at in the Tottenham Court Road. One had to do something to celebrate one’s freedom and escape from home."

Roger Fry - Nina Hamnett - 1917

Nina Hamnett - "Rupert Doone" - Dancer - 1922

Nina Hamnett - "Dolores" - 1931

From 1913 to 1919 Hamnett worked for Roger Fry's Omega Workshops; Fry (with whom she had a love affair) painted several portraits of her. In the 1920s, she spent much of her time in Paris, where once again she knew many leading figures of the avant-garde, including Jean Cocteau and the composers Satie and Stravinsky.

During the 1920s (and for the rest of her life) she made the area in central London known as Fitzrovia her home and stamping ground. This new locale for arty-Bohemia was centred on the Fitzroy Tavern in Charlotte Street which she frequented along with fellow Welsh artists Augustus John and Dylan Thomas, making occasional excursions across Oxford Street to the Gargoyle Club in Soho.

Nina Hamnett - Illustrated Osbert Sitwell's "The People's Album of London Statues" - 1927

However, she often returned to London for exhibitions of her work, which included portraits, landscapes, interiors, and figure compositions (notably café scenes) in a robust style drawing on various modern influences. In addition to paintings, she made book illustrations (spontaneous pen-and-ink drawings), notably for Osbert Sitwell's The People's Album of London Statues (1928). From the 1930s the quality of her work declined, partly because of the influence of alcohol.

In 1932 she published a volume of memoirs entitled Laughing Torso, which was a best-seller in both the UK and the USA. Following its publication she was sued by Aleister Crowley, whom she had accused of practicing black magic. The ensuing trial caused a sensation which helped sales of the book, and Crowley lost his case.

Hamnett enjoying herself with some new friends

Her success in this instance only fuelled her downward spiral, and she spent the last three decades of her life propping up the bar of the Fitzroy trading anecdotes of her glory years for free drinks. She took little interest in personal hygiene, was incontinent in public, and vomited into her handbag.

Her ending was as spectacular as had been her previous life. Drunk one night she either fell or jumped from the window of her flat and was impaled on the railing spikes below.

#art #Nina Hamnett #Laughing Torso #Osbert Sitwell #artist #Queen of Bohemia #amedeo modigliani #paintings #drawings #roger fry #aleister crowley #picasso #hamnett #illustrations #modigliani