#pillar with bust

[art-portraits]

Izabela Lubomirska

Artist: Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (French, 1755–1842)

Date: 1875 (copy of a painting of 1793)

Medium: OIl on Canvas

Collection: Łańcut Castle, Poland

DESCRIPTION

Princess Elżbieta Izabela Czartoryska (21 May 1736 – 11 November 1816), better known under her married name of Izabela Lubomirska, was a politically influential Polish aristocrat, philanthropist and cultural patron.

[galleryofart]

Trompe l'Oeil with a Bust of Venus

Artist: Caesar van Everdingen (Dutch, 1617/1618-1678)

Date: 1678

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: The Mauritshuis, The Hague, Netherlands

Description

This is a trompe-l’oeil, or trick of the eye. It is supposed to look as if a marble bust of Venus has been placed above the door. In order to mislead the viewer, some ‘real’ details have been added: a pink shawl and wreaths of periwinkle.

This Venus formed a pair with a bust of Adonis (now in Cape Town). They are the only two still-lifes by the history painter Van Everdingen, and they probably hung in his home.

[landgraabbed]

da fans do whatever you gotta do but it i see another person claim that bioware’s games are the only ones that have ever carried world states from game to game i am hitting you on the head with a keyboard

[mythological-art]

Clio, Muse of History

Artist: Charles Meynier (French, 1768–1832)

Genre: Mythological Painting

Date: 1800

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Location: Castle of Wallenreid, Switzerland

Clio, the Greek muse of history, is the daughter of Zeus and Titaness Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory. Clio is depicted here writing and surrounded by objects associated with preserving the memory of historical figures and events: busts, reliefs, and sculptures. This painting belongs to a cycle of works commissioned by businessman François Boyer-Fonfréde for his home in Toulouse.

[kayssweetdreams]

Owls, Neighbors and Caramel Apples

(A BBU X WH FanFic)

As it turns out, Having your own pocket dimension, and not having a party was a combination for being really bored. Barnaby sighed as he gazed at the forever spinning clocks in his manor. He knew that it would be a while before he could throw another party, but he didn't think it would be THAT long.

"Hoo. Who would have thought waiting could be so boring!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the mansion's many halls. He stretched his neck out as he looked around for something, ANYTHING to do. But alas, it was all for naught. There was absolutely NOTHING to do.

Suddenly, an idea popped into the swirling mass of chaos that was his head. If he was bored here...why wouldn't he go and visit somewhere ELSE for a change! See new sights, hear new sounds, 'invite' new guests! Oh it was going to be so FUN! Using his little gem, he opened up a small portal and quickly flew inside.

On the other side of his swirling mass, lied a small, and colorful neighborhood, surrounded by a multi-colored forest. Barnaby's eyes lit up, he never seen so much color before! The most he saw was the orange glow of his Barnaboos, or the bright green glow of acid, so this was quite a treat to him. That's when he heard something, it sounded to be two sets of feet walking to where he was.

Thinking quickly, he transformed himself into a small beetle (of course with his swirling orange and yellow eyes) and flew onto a nearby bush. Barnaby then saw WHAT was walking towards him. There were two...living puppets. One of them was as Grey as the tombstones outside his manor, but wore a colorful vest and bow tie, and was holding a butterfly net, the other one was bright and colorful, with long blonde hair, a pink dress and two small horns on her head.

Barnaby in his beetle like disguise smiled, New Party Guests! He needed to make sure to give them invitations...and a good way for them to die. "Oh Frank! Look at this one! I've never seen anything like it before!" He heard the pink one squeal. Looking up, Barnaby noticed the two puppets looking down at him. He scuttled backwards, he never was the one being looked down on before, especially since he usually was the one looking down on others.

"I must say Julie. I've never seen anything like this either." The Grey puppet said, getting down to the Pink Puppet's level. Barnaby looked between the two of them, before deciding to fly off somewhere else. Finding a good spot between a barn and another house that looked like a costume chest, he then sat down on a small box of props as another puppet, with a sun for a head walked out, along with another orange puppet and a large red bird puppet.

"Ok. Let's go over the scene again. The brave knight kneels before the queen, as the fair queen knights him for his acts of bravery." The sun puppet said. Barnaby internally smiled, this should be interesting. "U-Um...O-Ok...I suppose I could do that...B-But are you sure that I can't use a spoon?" The bird puppet asked "No. It must be the sword of light that the brave knight had brought back from slaying the giant. It'll be alright Poppy." The sun said. The bird puppet shakily held the sword, trembling so much that the sword ended up slipping between the bird's wings, making it squawk in fear.

The sun puppet sighed "It's alright Poppy, the sword is made of foam, you couldn't hurt the mailman even if you wanted to." The sun puppet said. The bird puppet (now known as "Poppy") trembled "B-But what if something else happens Sally? I-I wouldn't want to hurt Eddie, he does so much for us and I don't want to hurt him!" She squawks. The orange puppet gently placed a hand on Poppy's shoulder. "Now Miss Partridge, It'll be OK. I've taken bigger tumbles than a foam sword, I'll be alright." He said, his voice having a southern accent.

Barnaby fought back a chuckle, he wondered what kind of death he should give this fellow, as he wondered what kind of tumbles he had taken. The sun puppet then sighed "OK. Let's take 5! I'll try and revamp the script so that you can use a spoon instead." She said, getting a sigh of relief from the bird puppet "Oh thank you Sally. I don't know what I would have done if I had hurt Eddie" Poppy said. Wondering what else this little neighborhood had in store, Barnaby decided to fly over to a small store that read "Howdy's Place!"

Landing on a nearby fruit stand, Barnaby looked inside, and saw one lone green puppet wiping down the counters, but upon closer inspection, he noticed that said puppet had 4 arms! That's when he heard a small bell chime, and a large blue dog puppet walked in "Howdy-Do! How ya doin Barn?" The green puppet asked "I'm doing good Howdy. Just got my brand new juggling balls delivered." The dog puppet said, as the green puppet'a lower arms began making what appeared to be a hot dog...covered in whipped cream...and condensed milk.

A little odded out from the peculiar order, Barnaby flew over to a large red house that sat in the middle of the small neighborhood. Outside of the house sat a small yellow puppet with a blue pompadour, a canvas in front of him. "What should I draw today Home?" He asked the house in a monotone voice. The red house that sat beside him creaked and squeaked as two big black eyes in the windows looked at him.

The yellow puppet tilted his head. "I don't know Home...what I want to draw." He said. Barnaby's eyes lit up, the little puppet was bored! Like him! Without a second thought he summoned up a small portal, making the puppet, his canvas and easel fall below him, with him following suit. Back in his ghostly manor, Barnaby returned to his normal owlish form, and stretched his neck down to his new "visitor"

"Ooh Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo! Hello there my felted fellow!" He greeted, his usual smile on his face. The yellow puppet looked up at him with a smile "Oh. Hello there...I'm Wally..." He said, lazily waving at him. "Why hello there Wally! I'm Barnaby! Owner of this dimension, and the best host of parties!" Barnaby said, his face spinning with glee. Wally's smile somehow got bigger "Oh...I have a friend named Barnaby too...he's a dog." He said.

"I saw your friends, and I would like to invite you, and all of your friends to my party!" Barnaby said, hooting excitedly. Wally tilted his head "A Party? That's the Most." He said, still smiling. Barnaby smiled as he sent out his "special" invites back to Wally's Home, for everyone back there "Your friends should he here soon, so in the meantime, would you care for a Caramel apple?"

@bbu-fan-blog @billiebustupofficial

[inkymaterial]

Transcendence • Colorado National Monument

[oh-katsuki]

lol im gonna cum in my pants for real 

[frippp]

I drew a lil athenian owl since i was lucky egnough to visit this week!

[franeridan]

my fundamental belief is that ratio uses his imaginary powers to actively make his statues, he choses how they look himself, all the poses are deliberate and picked by him, I firmly believe this, he's canonically a goofball

[ivilrat]

her power of salt????

[iloveutoodeath]

it’s a heavy time but your (my earthbound heart is heavy) your rhythm makes it light and explode (your heartbeat keeps things light) like a violent star keeps threatening the night (with violence forever threatening the night)

[art-portraits]

Portrait of Richard Miles

Artist: Pompeo Girolamo Batoni (Italian, 1708-1787)

Date: About 1759

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: The National Gallery, United Kingdom

Description

In this striking portrait, a young man stands with one hand placed firmly on his hip, magnificently dressed in a red fur-lined cape, a luxurious silver silk waistcoat and red breeches. He looks forward with pursed lips and no hint of a smile. This is Richard Milles of Nackington, who sat for this portrait when he was in Rome during his Grand Tour. He points to a map which lies next a classical sculpted bust; the map is inscribed with ‘Grisons’, the name of a Swiss Canton that he probably visited on his way to Italy.

Milles was a Member of Parliament for Canterbury from 1761 to 1780. He commissioned Batoni to paint several other works: a three-quarter length portrait (location unknown) and a miniature on ivory (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge). The artist’s portraits are highly finished, with facial features and fabrics vividly and precisely evoked – here, Batoni has confidently imitated the soft fur of the cape and the ruffled linen of the shirt. The swaggering pose appears frequently in Batoni’s portraits and in the work of earlier artists, such as Titian and Van Dyck, as a way of establishing the sitter’s commanding presence and their self-assurance. The mood of this portrait is one of self-assurance and ease, created by the artist to dignify his sitter.

[guummy]

you were addicted to jason's kisses like the birds to the soil on a wet, damp morning.

they always felt different in the morning, peppered kisses between gaping yawns and faked gags. his hands always had the habit of encircing your waist, pulling your half-asleep body into his embrace as pressed his lips to your face, chuckling as you playfully pushed him away at the ticklish feeling.

his kisses in the afternoon were somewhat rushed, yet slow, just like the breeze on a foggy day. you were sat on the marble of the counter, watching as he learnt a recipe; his eyes glancing over at your excited compliments and gazes, almost mocking the glare of the moon. once in a while, he'd stand in betweem your thighs, leaning down to kiss you, his lips slow against yours.

"could kiss you all day," he mumbled with a small laugh, the microwave timer echoing through the kitchen causing him to part from your touch.

your nightly embraces were often associated with his soft mumbles, a voice you wish you could sow to your mind. his lip was busted from a punch he took too hard, yet he was being much more careless than he should have been. the gush of the running bath sung throughout the coloured tiles like a choir as his lips melted against yours. your arms were wrapped around his neck as he grasped at your waist, the warmth of your body intertwining like a pillar of fire.

"fuck," he groaned, bringing the pads of his fingers to his lips once your parted, blood adorning the skin.

"you need to get in the bath, baby," you whispered.

"fuck the bath," jason replied as he kissed you again, yet, more feverishly than the last, hungry for your biting moans and shivers.

his kisses were a godly language.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

HELP

I am losing my mind over beleaguered babysitter xie lian trying to manage fu yao and nan feng in this chapter. honestly I think his proposal regarding fu yao's eye-roll frequency and duration is quite reasonable.

[jinxedgods]

thinking of how terrifying ellie must be from abby’s perspective. you’re killing some guy and this random scrawny girl busts in, but you stop her. she screams,”you’re all gonna die” but you ignore her because these are just the pleads of a desperate person, right? you go back home. you settle into routine. you aren’t paranoid at all. overnight, all of your friends are dead. you are shocked when you discover 2 of their bodies. there’s a map left behind showing all of your locations and marking progress towards eliminating all of you. you only evaded your would be killer by chance. someone has infiltrated your territory and has been meticulously plotting to kill you and your friends and you had no idea until it was too late.

you try and give up on revenge. a year-ish later you’re in an entirely different location. a slave tied to a pillar and dying of exposure. you think you’re hallucinating, but its her. its her and she’s come all this way after all this time to kill you.

and you don’t even know her name

[ohthewh0rror]

Honestly I love accidentally going back in time reader x Tom Riddle cuz there is alot you can do with it.

I always had this idea of the reader being a muggleborn and having to hide it as they are placed in slytherin. (Which was not their house in the present) and like they have to navigate trying to adjust to the time period and also staying alive with tom always suspicious of them.

I love you and I love this because this almost the exact premise that I think of.

Picture this:

The year? 1996. The setting? Department of Mysteries. 16 year old, Hufflepuff!Muggleborn!Reader being chased through the Ministry. Wand broken, head bleeding, finds herself in a dead end hallway. She hears Dolohov before she sees him, knowing she can’t turn back, darts through the first door she sees and locks it.

She presses her back to the door, eyes shut, trying to control her breathing and just think. Her mind is racing and she feels dizzy, no idea last for longer than a second and she’s forced to open her eyes and inspect her surroundings to see if there’s anything that could help her get out of this place. She was expecting a normal office, one where the walls are filled with photographs and achievements, and a wooden desk sitting in the center covered in personal charms and paperwork.

Instead, it’s a room with singular marble pillar with a small glass box sitting a top of it. Reader takes tentative steps towards it, unsure of what could deserve its own room. As she reaches the pillar she finally sees what’s within the box: a time turner.

She’s hesitant, she didn’t know much about time travel or the intricate details of the effects of time travel, but she just needed to go back an hour. If she could go back an hour she could do something, anything to prevent being stuck in room with a sociopath hot on her heels.

Her hands reach for the glass case, gently opening it, fearful that anything other than a gentle touch would somehow break it. Her hands shake and palms sweat as she holds the fragile rings in her fingers. As she goes to turn the rings, Dolohov’s voice booms down the hallway she was just in, taunting her, trying to coax her to come out.

Her body jolts at the sudden noise and the time turner slips from her grasp. She scrambles to catch it, but it evades her. The time turner hits the wooden floor and the shattering of glass and thudding of golden rings echoes in the quiet room. Reader doesn’t have enough time to panic because just as Dolohov bust through the door, her vision blurs as she feels herself being dragged backwards.

When Reader comes to again her head is pounding and she can feel the vomit quickly making its way up her esophagus. She has enough time to roll onto her hands and knees before it’s spilling out her mouth and onto the cold stone beneath her. If she wasn’t actively vomiting she would have jumped at the feeling of hands pulling her hair back. The person holding her hair waits until she’s finished to ask her if she’s alright.

She gives a weak yes, looking at the kind person that decided to help her, but her heart plummets to her feet. Before her is the most beautiful boy she has ever seen. His hair dark and wavy, perfectly slicked back with a pristine uniform, not a wrinkle in site. She can smell the faint hint of cologne coming off his white button down and if she wasn’t internally shitting herself she would have leaned into his kind touch. But this is no ordinary boy, it’s a 16 year old Tom Riddle, and the curiosity shining through his eyes makes her blood run cold.

A curious Tom Riddle is a dangerous Tom Riddle, and she has just made herself the prime focus of his curiosity.