Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
Fun Fact
Tumblr has over 100 million blogs, and only 167 employees.
#Rosa
artist-salvator-rosa · 3 hours ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Anchorites Tempted by Demons, 1665, Salvator Rosa
Medium: oil,canvas
4 notes · View notes
dedicatedtothereaders · 4 hours ago
Text
If I'm Lucky Snippet
WARNING: there is self-harm in this excerpt. If you're sensitive to that kind of thing, or it's trigger for you, please proceed with caution before you read it.
Julian's point of view of the previous one-shot. It's under the cut.
Tag list: @occultanti-heroes @little-bit-obsessed <3
“Julian.”
I looked over at my sister. It was the day after my conversation with Jamie, and we'd gone out later that night. I’d gotten in a fight. It was my first fight. It was against someone older than me—eighteen or something—but because I was an Ultra and they weren’t, they were at a disadvantage. I was also almost at my full height at fifteen. I was the best fighter in the academy.
I broke their arm, I think. Or their shoulder. Something like that. I was a violent drunk. They'd angered me about something but I can’t remember what. I had a nosebleed; my lip was bleeding. I can’t remember clearly how any of it happened. I don’t remember it at all. Some of my friends were there. They joined in. That was it. That’s all I know. Destina was the one who helped me get home.
“Do you think it would happen again?” my sister said, looking away when I looked at her, down at her hands. The cut was still on my face. I don’t think she liked looking at it. It upset her.
“A fight?” I replied, and she was hesitant. Sighed roughly, glanced to the side, nodded. I laughed and she turned again to look at me in surprise.
“What’s funny?” She was twelve. Or thirteen. Or eleven. Twelve? She frowned. She was more like Father. At heart, I was more like Mother, trying to look like my father.
“I mean, God,” I said, shaking my head. My sister and I rarely ever spoke. We weren’t close, didn’t really properly acknowledge each other as anything other as another person just living in the same house. She was invisible and I was a nightmare. “Yes, darling. I think it would happen again, now that you mention it. Almost definitely.”
She stared at me. “And if someone knocked your teeth out? Whoops, clumsy me! Always up to mischief!”
“Nobody would do that, I’m incredibly good at fighting.”
“Drunk?”
“What if I told you that I’m better at it drunk?”
“Doubt. You wouldn’t remember, Julian, you were wankered.”
I scowled. I didn’t like that, the weakness of it. I hated it, actually, and I’m surprised I ever had alcohol again I hated it so much. But I needed the escape. “Well, what’s it to you?” I snapped. “Nobody’s going to knock my teeth out, for God's sake.”
“With your attitude people will certainly want to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re horrible? You’re always horrible to me. Dude, you’re supposed to be my brother. You never act like it. I have to look after you. It’s always about you. You, you, you. Julian, Julian, Julian. That’s all people care about! That’s all they want to talk about! This little spiral is making it worse and I’m sick of it, what am I, invisible?”
I stared at the preteen-however-old girl in front of me and suddenly felt very much like she was a stranger. I’m her brother. Me. I have the responsibility to act like a brother to this random girl in my house. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want that responsibility. I want nothing to do with preteen girls trying to steal my limelight. God, and I hate all the attention most of the time. It’s not my thing. For fuck’s sake.
“As far as I’m concerned,” I replied without intonation, and I might as well have slapped her in the face for the way she looked at me then. I felt a sudden obligation to feel guilty about it, but I didn’t feel guilty. I just stared at her, expected some reaction.
She opened her mouth to reply and I remember feeling suddenly furious that she had the audacity to think to say something. It’s what I was waiting for but I didn’t want it. I wished she'd just walked out.
I didn’t want her to say anything, so rather than trying to stop her by asking her to just shut up, I punched my hand through the empty glass next to me and split my hand open.
6 notes · View notes
dedicatedtothereaders · 4 hours ago
Text
The Beyond Academy Snippet
WARNING: there is self-harm in this excerpt. If you're sensitive to that kind of thing, or it's trigger for you, please proceed with caution before you read it.
It's a Julian and Rosa scene (the scene with the glass mentioned vaguely in the Julian and Auberon scene). It's under the cut.
Tag list: @occultanti-heroes @little-bit-obsessed <3
When I was twelve, my brother got into his first fight.
He was fifteen, and he'd been drunk, and he came home with a nose that we thought was broken but turned out not to be and a split lip.
Needless to say, I was very upset. I was worried, because he really could have been hurt, it was with people much older than him, and he was drunk. Who knows what could have happened?
And we never talked, my brother and I. I never bothered to approach him or talk to him because it was like I was invisible, inconsequential, and I was too scared to be anything more than that.
But the next morning I decided I had to be honest and talk to him about it.
Imagine; me, twelve years old, approaching hesitantly this almost-six-foot-tall fifteen-year-old, and him, staring into space with this empty glass of water next to him, with this massive injury on his lip.
"Do you think it would happen again?" I asked into the silence, and he looked at me then, like I'd spoken myself into existence. Even thinking back, it was weird that I existed to him at all. That he existed to me. That we could have just talked. We lived in the same house. He looked at me, and it felt like it was the eyes of a stranger. I didn't know him at all.
And he had a bloody lip, and it was upsetting.
I looked at the floor, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to see the proof of the fight, the injury, or meet his apathetic eyes.
"A fight?" Then he was speaking to me, like I was nobody at all, and for a moment then I hated him. I sighed roughly and glanced off to the side and nodded, wondered if I really did want to speak to him at all. This terrifying teenager who got drunk and got into fights with people half a decade older than him.
Then he laughed.
I hated his laugh.
"What's funny?" I asked, frowning. He laughs a lot, my brother. He's always laughing. Everything's just a bloody joke to him.
"I mean, God," he said, and shook his head, and he was still finding something very funny. I was invisible and he was a nightmare and I felt like the only sane person in the whole house. I felt like I was living with aliens, or I was the alien. I just wanted him to tell me no, never. But then he continued, "Yes, darling. I think it would happen again, now that you mention it. Almost definitely."
The patronizing sod, I thought.
I wish you'd just told me no, I thought.
I'm twelve, I thought. Just lie, for God's sake. Put some effort in to not get into fights. For God's sake, for God's sake, for God's sake, get me out of here.
I stared at him, rather than saying any of this. Then I said, “And if someone knocked your teeth out? Whoops, clumsy me! Always up to mischief!”
“Nobody would do that, I’m incredibly good at fighting.”
“Drunk?”
“What if I told you that I’m better at it drunk?”
“Doubt. You wouldn’t remember, Julian, you were wankered.”
He scowled at me. He hated me, I thought. It seemed so much then like he hated me, the way he looked at me like I was some kind of stain on his life, some burden. Because I asked him to not get his teeth knocked out. Because I was upset. Because I was worried. Because I wanted him to be OK, and he hated me for it.
"Well, what’s it to you?” he snapped.
I'm your sister, I'm your sister, I'm your sister! You showed up at 2am! You woke up the whole house! What's it to me? I'm your sister.
He continued, “Nobody’s going to knock my teeth out, for God's sake.”
“With your attitude people will certainly want to.” It felt so relieving to finally say that.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
And I kept going. Being honest. Sick of it. Twelve whole years old. “You’re horrible? You’re always horrible to me. Dude, you’re supposed to be my brother. You never act like it. I have to look after you. It’s always about you. You, you, you. Julian, Julian, Julian. That’s all people care about! That’s all they want to talk about! This little spiral is making it worse and I’m sick of it, what am I, invisible?”
It felt selfish to say that. Your mental health is making me irrelevant. That's what I said, and it's what I meant, and maybe it was wrong, but it didn't feel wrong, because honestly, I should never be irrelevant to my parents or my brother. I didn't care how much trouble he caused. I still existed. I was still there.
And then he responded to me.
And he told me the truth.
He told me what he thought, what he'd always thought, without snapping, without ranting, without going on at me. He answered my question, and I wish he'd said nothing, because it stayed with me. It'll always stay with me.
He said, without intonation, "As far as I'm concerned."
And there was the truth.
It felt like he'd slapped me.
I don't know what I was going to say and I never got to say it, because I opened my mouth. I was going to say whatever the bloody hell it was that would next come out of my mouth.
Then he did the thing that defined our relationship for years and years after, something that cut me and burnt itself in my mind just as easily as the words that came before it.
His face masked with sudden, inconceivable fury, he whipped toward the glass next to him, and smashed his hand on it. I held my hand out to stop him. His hand split itself open.
He didn't even seem to know that he'd done it until he was bleeding everywhere.
"Stay there," I said softly, because there was nothing else I could have said. "I'll go get the first aid kit."
Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I've been mistreated and underestimated for the better part of my entire life by everybody except Fernando, Everado, Valentino, Auberon and Yesenia, whom I didn't see very often at all at this point.
But sometimes I look back and I just wonder.
He started drinking at thirteen. I learnt that when I was older, because nobody ever told me, and I just think that he was so young to need an escape from the world. He stole cigarettes from Mother at thirteen.
He was, looking back now, so clearly tortured, and I wish I'd known him. I wish, thinking of my brother now, that I knew that man, that stranger in my house. I've been so desperate, all my life, desperate to know him, desperate to make some kind of impact on him. And I never did. Not once.
And I still wish I knew the guy, I really do. Back then, at least. But I don't need it anymore. I had Fernando, at least, and that was a good thing. There's regrets I have, but I tried my best. I tried my best for him. For the family.
That time with the glass.
It made me afraid of him. I was guilty about the injury with his hand. I knew he could be violent, because he had been the night before, but to witness it. That was different. Because I said something he didn't like, and he wanted me to be quiet now, and rather than just asking me to please go, it was the first thing he turned to.
I knew my brother wasn't well. I know my brother wasn't well.
He's much better now, but all I can ever remember is that day and all the days that came after.
He wasn't a violent person.
I rarely ever saw him be violent.
I couldn't rid myself of that impression of him, either way, and it carried me through the rest of my life. Be quiet, don't stand up for yourself, be eager to please.
If you try to talk, people get hurt. He might do it again. Be quiet, Rosa. Then you won't be guilty.
4 notes · View notes
dayanadionisio · 5 hours ago
Text
Rosa no espelho
Tumblr media
Acrílica sobre pequeno espelho
0 notes
watchanalyse · 12 hours ago
Link
0 notes
karinanails69 · 14 hours ago
Photo
Tumblr media
#ilikekn69 #yavolvimos #uñas #gelish #pestañas #cejas #labios #uñasacrilicas #guadalajara #zapopan #KarinaNails69 #KN69 #nails #jalisco #mexico #sinfiltro #rosa #naranja #amarillo #art #arte #acriliconatural #acrilicocalidadsuperior #manos (en KN69) https://www.instagram.com/p/CNpjAyVBIYB/?igshid=vron6mxfg42y
0 notes
astratv · 15 hours ago
Text
Ο Marco Pantani, η πιο αγαπημένη Maglia Rosa…
Ο Marco Pantani, η πιο αγαπημένη Maglia Rosa…
Οι διοργανωτές του Giro d’Italia πραγματοποίησαν έναν διαγωνισμό μέσω ψηφοφορίας για τον πιο αγαπημένο ποδηλάτη ανάμεσα στους 32 νικητές στην ιστορία του αγώνα που κατέκτησαν τη Maglia Rosa, τη φανέλα του νικητή της γενικής κατάταξης. Ψήφισαν πάνω από ένα εκατομμύριο φίλοι της ποδηλασίας και η νίκη κρίθηκε ανάμεσα στους Fausto Coppi και Marco Pantani, δύο Ιταλούς πρωταθλητές με μεγάλο νικητή τον…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
0 notes
althelifeisfake · 20 hours ago
Text
Está nube oscura, pesada y asfixiante, que ronda en mí cabeza y no me deja en paz.
"¿Qué esperas? Ya date un tiro en la cabeza. Ni eso puedes hacer. Tú hermano se mato, y hasta eso pudo hacerlo mejor que tú."
Te odio. Te odio por ser egoísta, te detesto por dejarme. ¿Por qué? Me gritaste en silencio tantas veces, que sorda fuí. Pediste ayuda y te ignore. Que asco. Sigo llorando en silencio porque en está casa sí haces ruido sangrarás por desobedecer.
Sigue apareciendo, sé que son alucinaciones, pero te siento tan cálido, como nuestro último abrazo.
No me enseñaste a volar, solo a aletear.
1 note · View note
Photo
Tumblr media
Albert, Companion of Saint William, 1661, Salvator Rosa
Medium: engraving
3 notes · View notes
Photo
Tumblr media
Paesaggio Con Pastori, Cavaliere E Armenti Presso Una Fontana, 1673, Salvator Rosa
3 notes · View notes
molecolapesce · a day ago
Text
Tumblr media
io che gioco di specchi sul mare mi sembra di volare
3 notes · View notes
sopadeelfo · a day ago
Photo
Tumblr media
I feel love, by me <3
0 notes