#camille on her deathbed

[helpimstuckinafandom]

JUSTICE FOR DAVINA CLAIRE I'M SO FUCKING SERIOUS FUCK OFF OH MY FUCKING GOD

[pasdetrois]

The closest thing [Marian] feels to romantic impulse circumscribes her sisterly intimacy with Laura and is presented in nearly sexual terms. Collins excised certain passages from the manuscript that might have brought the suggestion of lesbian erotic devotion to the forefront. Of her sister’s impending marriage, Marian laments in the manuscript, “In less than a month, she will be his Laura instead of mine! [italics hers] The bare thought of it throws my mind into such confusion that I can neither look back nor look forward. I can only ask myself—must the sacrifice be made? Is there no way of escape for us before the twenty-third?”

Camille Cauti's introduction to The Woman in White

[gh0stlymoth]

Have you ever see a painting that rewired something in your brain and you have never been same again afterwards.

[xxthewolvenstormxx]

Happy Ten Year Anniversary Friends At the Table!

Moonrise in ghosts - Jean Dubuffet | Camille Monet On Her Deathbed - Claude Monet |Ghosts of UFA - Richard Hamilton | Orfeova Smrt - Emil Filla | Ghost Dance (The Vision of Life) - Ralph Blakelock | Introduction. Picture from the magazine Vampire - Boris Kustodiev | Death Knight - Salvador Dali | Death of the Striker - Vasile Dobrian | Mitsukuni Defying the Skeleton Spectre Invoked by Princess Takiyasha - Utagawa Kuniyoshi | Lace and Ghosts - Victor Hugo

[elsaqueenofstress]

art + grief + control

jeanette winterson / camille on her deathbed, claude monet / the fabelmans / bojack horseman / lulu wang / the two fridas, frida kahlo / how to train your dragon, #1 / fun home / untitled, félix gonzález-torres / cabaret / little women / the sick child, edvard munch / jason schwartzman / "supercut," lorde

[yan-yangs]

stumbled upon my final paper for my only art course in pre-med which i wrote years ago and im bawling (read it i beg)

Camille Monet on Her Deathbed (1879) by Claude Monet

[roses--and--rue]

Peter Hujar is perhaps best known for his photos of the downtown NYC art scene of the 70s: They are technically perfect, uncannily intimate, & emotionally revelatory. They immortalize a brief & beautiful time in New York when I know I would have found my tribe, but the feelings his work inspires go way beyond FOMO. 

Peter never could have known when he took these photos in the catacombs of Palermo that his own death would claim him just 25 years later, and that the entire world he documented would disappear in an instant during the AIDS crisis. The juxtaposition of these Palermo photos alongside portraits of his friends & colleagues- so many of whom we lost- haunts me tremendously. These images contribute to my acute & persistent fears that I am wasting my time, particularly now that I am older & have noticed the first signs of my body beginning to decay. They make me feel very urgently that I need to live- immediately, ferociously, & without reservation. 

They are also an intense reminder of what my community lost. As a queer creative, I am constantly aware of it- I carry it with me like a vendetta. It reminds me to remain vigilant & engaged, as once again our community is under attack, with our trans & nb siblings & youth the most vulnerable. Consider this an advisory to vote, & a warning that it will take a lot more than just voting to keep what is precious to us safe.

Palermo photos are from ‘63. The others:

Fran Lebowitz, ‘75

Candy Darling on her deathbed, ‘83

David Wojnarowicz, ‘81

David Brintzenhofe Making Up, ‘82

Charles Ludlam as Camille, ‘74

[sightofsea]

top 5 art pieces

a painting my uncle did, when he used to paint, of him and me as a toddler holding hands looking out at the ocean. not gonna link it bc there isn't one obvi but it's very special to me

all of claude monet's work but right now I'm feeling particularly haunted by "camille on her deathbed"

fighting bucks by oscar howe

Plage à marée basse à Ambleteuse, le soir (Beach At Low Tide, Ambleteuse, Evening) by Théo Van Rysselberghe

klimt's danaë

[foodsies4me]

‘Meet me in the future, love me in the past’? :)

Meet me in the future, love me in the past aka the time-travel Malec soulmate AU because I am a one trick pony! 😂

The brief summary is that Alec ends up in the past after a mission gone wrong. It’s there that he meets and falls in love with Magnus.

Souk marks in this verse are a sentence you are born with. Your soulmate will be the one to say them, but it can happen at any moment: the first time they meet you, on your deathbed, or on a Sunday morning over coffee.

Alec and Magnus’s marks are inspired by dialogue of Howl’s moving castle: « Find me in the future » and « I've been looking everywhere for you! »

Here’s a small snippet. It still needs quite a bit of fine-tuning, but is leagues better than the other snippets I have thus far:

“Find me in the future,” Camille simpers, glee glistening in her eyes as she once more reduces the words on his wrist to just another weapon she can hurt him with. “We both know you’ll be back for more after all, won’t you Magnus?”

He hates that she wields it every time she breaks up with it. That he lets her wield it. That he gave her the power to do so. He hates that she’s right.

But, above all, he hates that he still can’t stop himself from looking at his wrist. That he still can’t help but wonder if this is the day his words will light up.

They don’t.

The disappointment is nothing new. The relief is.

Thanks for asking!💜

[elizabethanism]

1) Camille on Her Deathbed, Claude Monet (1879);

2) Laura Palmer Wrapped in Plastic, Twin Peaks, David Lynch (1990).

[artdaily7]

One Way or Another by Naomi Shihab Nye

She is gone, where did she go? He can’t imagine how the house will feel when he enters it, moving room to room. Now that the wait is over, a larger pause will blanket the roof, softness settling slowly down. By which window or door may future days enter? And what about minor questions called out, to which there was always that lilting reply?

Claude Monet 1879 Camille Monet on Her Deathbed, oil on canvas, Musee d'Orsay, Paris

[sartle-blog]

5 times Twin Peaks was Inspired by Art History

[artist-monet]

Camille Monet On Her Deathbed, 1879, Claude Monet

[lepromatosis]

Camille Monet on her Deathbed, 1879

Here you see Monet’s dead wife, Camille, who suffered from TB and uterine cancer. 

I’ve been staring at this for about a week. I made it my desktop today. I can’t say I’ve ever been particularly drawn to Monet’s work before this, but this is profoundly beautiful to me. 

[yan-yangs]

Camille Monet on Her Deathbed (1879) by Claude Monet

this was something i wrote when i saw this blue painting by monet of her long time muse for the first time. gloomy mood tonight.

[openheartthot]

Sick Day

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 1,635

Warnings: This might be hard to read if you’ve been having trouble with a certain pandemic ~ahem~ so be warned there is a virus involved here. Also like one curse word. 

Summary: Ethan can’t stay away when Camille comes down with the flu. 

Y’all were so sweet with my first story that I’m back with another one today. Thanks to everyone that read and enjoyed, it really means a lot! :) 

***

His knock echoes in the empty hallway, and Ethan shifts uncomfortably. He can’t just stand outside her apartment all day. At some point, he’s going to have to accept that she’s not answering the door. Still, he can’t help himself from raising his fist to the door and rapping his knuckles against the wood once more. 

The knock is a bit harder than he means for it to be, a sign of his desperation. He needs to see her, needs to know that she’s okay. Until he can see her with his own eyes, every minute that he’s left standing out in the hallway is torture. 

Finally, as Ethan is reaching for his phone to call Sienna Trinh and demand her assistance, the door slowly swings open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Camille standing in the doorway. 

“Ethan?” Camille’s voice is raspy, and she wraps her arms around herself, shivering despite the oversized UPenn crew neck she’s wearing. Besides the sweatshirt, all she has on are a ridiculous pair of over-the-knee pink wool socks. As outrageous as the socks may be, Ethan’s mouth goes just a little bit dry at the sight of her bare thighs. “What are you doing here?” Camille asks, her confused tone wrenching Ethan’s attention away from her legs. 

“Erm…I just thought I’d deliver these to you.” Ethan says, brusquely thrusting a thick stack of patient charts into her arms. The excuse sounds flimsy even as it leaves his mouth. “I heard you called in sick, so--”  

“So you left Edenbrook to come give me my patient charts?” Camille interrupts, bemused. “You know we have digital copies of these, right?” 

“Of course.” The silence between them stretches out for just long enough to become awkward. Ethan knows she’s waiting on a real explanation, and furthermore, he knows he owes her one. “I was…concerned. When Baz told me you wouldn’t be in, all I could think about was if you’d been hurt…or…” He swallows hard. “Why didn’t you call me?” 

“Ethan,” Camille reaches out and takes his hand. Ethan notes the heat emanating from her skin. “It’s just a virus. And we still haven’t had a chance to talk over everything yet. The last thing I wanted to do was drag you away from work to take care of me.” 

It’s true. They still haven’t spoken about the kiss outside of Ethan’s apartment, or the kiss at Mass Kenmore, for that matter. Ethan’s so buried in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice Camille swaying slightly, letting go of his hand to grip the door frame for balance. 

He immediately steps closer, steadying her with a hand on her waist. The back of his other hand, he uses to press delicately against her forehead. He had been expecting fever, but he’s mildly alarmed by the heat radiating from her skin. 

“Sorry,” Camille mumbles, leaning into him gratefully. “I’ve just been having some vertigo. Could be a symptom of--” 

“The common cold. Or influenza. Type A has been going around this year.” Ethan interjects. “And don’t apologize for being sick.” 

“I know what the flu is.” Camille says indignantly. “I should’ve known you’d try to one-up me when I’m on my deathbed.” she pouts, the congestion in her voice bolstering her self-pitying tone. Ethan’s lips twitch into a smile. 

“You’re delirious. Can I take you to bed?” He instantly regrets his choice of words as Camille lets out a loud peal of laughter, which quickly tapers off into a coughing fit. “I meant, you need to lie down.” He glares at her, and she grins back. 

“Fine, you’re right.” Camille turns, starting to pull away from him and take an unsteady step in the direction of her bedroom. She doesn’t get very far before Ethan tugs her back to him, cradling her face in his large hands. 

“Let me take care of you.” he says, gently stroking her cheekbone. “Please.” Ethan knows her roommates are all working double shifts, and he can’t bear to leave her here alone. He’s certain his feelings are written all over his face because Camille’s eyes soften immediately.

Before she can say anything, Ethan leans down and scoops her up with ease. He carries her bridal-style into her bedroom and lays her down in her bed, trying very very hard not to think about what happened the first time he saw the inside of this room. Or the second time, for that matter. The sight of her bare ass is not something he’s likely to forget. 

Once she’s safely tucked into her bed, Ethan moves for the door, bracing himself to take stock of her kitchen. Camille and her roommates don’t seem very domestic, but hopefully they’ll have enough ingredients for soup. Camille’s hand reaches out and closes around his wrist before he can reach the door. 

“Stay.” Her eyes are slitted, her hand hot on his arm, but he can’t say no to her. 

 He kicks off his shoes and unknots his tie, sitting on the bed beside her. He hesitates for only a moment before drawing her towards him and wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. He runs one hand over her tousled blonde locks, and Camille lets out a little sigh, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes. 

The afternoon has bled into evening by the time Camille wakes up, and by then Ethan has relocated to the couch. He’s slowly combing through the stack of patient files he brought with him. He pulls off his glasses and looks up as Camille shuffles out of the bathroom. She’s obviously just gotten out of the shower, because her wet hair is tossed up in a messy bun, but she’s wearing the same outfit from before. 

“I made soup.” Ethan offers, gesturing towards the kitchen. Camille rubs her eyes, and despite her bleary eyes and rumpled appearance, his heart melts at her shy smile. 

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” She reappears from the kitchen a few moments later, holding a bowl of soup in her hands. She takes a few steps closer to him, eyeing the chart in his hands. “Read it out loud.” she insists, settling onto the couch next to him and tucking her legs underneath her. 

“This is the case we’re working on right now.” Ethan says. “It’s Gwyneth Monroe’s assistant, actually. She had her first seizure last week, and a physical exam revealed multiple muscular cysts. Gwyneth requested our team immediately.” Ethan fights hard not to roll his eyes. As much as he dislikes the obnoxious Pictagram influencer, her assistant does need medical attention. 

Camille swallows a spoonful of soup, then taps the spoon against her lips. “Well, it’s gotta be Cysticercosis, right? Cysts caused by tapeworm eggs. If the larvae have traveled to her brain, that’d explain the seizures. Not to mention that it’s pretty obvious where the eggs came from.” 

Ethan nods, marking down a few notes on the chart. “Exactly what I was thinking, Rookie. Good work. We can start her on anti-parasitics and anti-inflammatories first thing in the morning.” 

Camille grimaces, setting her half-empty bowl of soup to the side. “All this talk of larvae and eggs kinda makes me lose my appetite.” 

Ethan chuckles, and sets the stack of files down on the coffee table as well. “That’s probably enough work for tonight. You need to focus on getting better as soon as possible. Come here.” He opens his arms for her, and Camille gratefully shifts closer to him, letting him fold her into his comforting embrace. Holding her is so nice that he doesn’t even mind her wet hair dripping all over his shirt. 

Ethan swings his legs onto the couch, stretching out so Camille can maneuver herself to lie on top of him. Ethan has to admit, those ridiculous socks certainly feel nice as Camille tangles her legs with his, settling on top of him so every part of her body is flush against his. He strokes the strip of skin just above the hem of her right sock, and smiles as he feels her smooth skin break out in goosebumps. 

“Thank you for taking care of me today.” Camille whispers against his chest. “I know we still need to talk, but--” 

“Shh.” Ethan commands softly, tilting her chin up so he can meet her eyes. “I’ll always take care of you.” A slight shiver runs through Camille’s body, and Ethan suddenly realizes how close he is to her. Without thinking, he closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers. 

“Ethan!” Camille protests weakly, pulling back after a kiss that is entirely too short for Ethan’s liking. “You’ll get sick.” she scolds him. 

Ethan grunts. “I don’t care.” He grips her chin in his fingers, returning her lips to his. Her warm fingers reach up to touch his face, skating over his beard as she kisses him back. Even with the dry heat of her fevered skin and the taste of cherry cough drops on her tongue, she’s still the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

He thinks he could probably keep kissing her forever, but eventually she breaks away to cough, which for some reason he finds endearing rather than disgusting. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, and she nestles her head into the crook of his neck, clearly intending to fall asleep again right there on top of him. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Camille promises sleepily, “when you inevitably get sick from this.” And that’s when Ethan realizes that he really must be in over his head. Because if falling ill means he’ll get to spend another day curled up in bed with Camille, then he can’t think of a single thing he’d like to do more.

***

My taglist consisting of one lovely individual: @edgiestwinter​