1taliart

[1taliart]

Not yet. |220825 -

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[1taliart]

He just wants to be like his father

[1taliart]

“I wish I had chosen death rather than following your son, leaving behind my bridal chamber, my beloved daughter, my dear childhood friends and my kin. But I did not, and I pine away in sorrow. But let me answer what you ask. That is imperial Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, a great king and mighty spearman. He was brother-in-law to this shameless creature here, unless it was all a dream.”

[1taliart]

“I wish I had chosen death rather than following your son, leaving behind my bridal chamber, my beloved daughter, my dear childhood friends and my kin. But I did not, and I pine away in sorrow. But let me answer what you ask. That is imperial Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, a great king and mighty spearman. He was brother-in-law to this shameless creature here, unless it was all a dream.”

[1taliart]

Himmelfahrt der hl Maria Magdalena (Donauschule um 1510)

[1taliart]

A memory form Pedro San Roque’s childhood, told by himself

“I had only been in the mountains a couple of months as an apprentice bandit, yet I already fancied myself the most feared outlaw in Castile. Of course, looking back now, anyone would have laughed: I was nothing more than a scrawny child with more gums than teeth, since my permanen teeth hadn’t yet come in, trailing like a hungry pup behind the pack of thieves hounds led by my father, José Gestas.

We had gone a couple of days without catching any prey: no muleteer or carriage of worth had crossed our path. That’s why when we stumbled upon a neglected flock the bandits celebrated as if heaven itself had sent us manna. In the blink of an eye, and with the coordination of a wolf pack, they seized enough sheep to feed an entire court, along with several lambs with trembling legs.

One of those lambs (the smallest, with a bleat more breath than voice) grew fond of my sister Juana and me. Being the children we were, we adopted it almost as a brother. We chased through the fields together, answered its bleats, and at night it slept beside us, giving more warmth than the tattered blankets my father allowed us. Once, I even lifted Juana, who was only slightly bigger than the animal, onto its back, pretending she was riding a steed as noble as the white horse of Saint James.

I should have remembered that in the trade I had fallen into, nothing innocent lasts long. One afternoon, while the lamb was butting gently at my legs, my father came toward us with that look of his, the one of a man who would prefer to drive in the knife than waste his breath explaining why. Without preamble, he pointed to the animal and told us it was time to eat.

José, mustering what little paternal tenderness he could, began to explain that killing out of necessity is not cruelty. That a man is forced into many things, and that the one who lets himself go hungry when he could prevent it is cruel to himself. The way he recited it, as though it were a prayer, made it clear he had been chewing on that philosophy for years along with hard bread.

He told me to hold the lamb. Wanting to please him, I obeyed, while Juana wandered off in tears. I took its four little legs together and held it against my chest. It looked at me with those round, black, calm eyes, as if we were still playing. That gentle gaze wounded me more than any struggle could have. My father, without further ceremony, slit its throat with a single clean stroke. When the warm blood stained my tunic, I asked him if it had hurt the animal. My father shrugged and said “I don’t know. I’ve never had my throat cut”

That night, as I watched my father suck the brains from the lamb’s skull, I ate until I was full, just to feel the creature had not died in vain. With the hide, whether for warmth, comfort, or as a cruel lesson, my father had a sheepskin jacket made for me. I told myself I wouldn’t get attached again to anything I knew could end. I wish I had learned the lesson then.

Black and white version

[1taliart]

A memory form Pedro San Roque’s childhood, told by himself

“I had only been in the mountains a couple of months as an apprentice bandit, yet I already fancied myself the most feared outlaw in Castile. Of course, looking back now, anyone would have laughed: I was nothing more than a scrawny child with more gums than teeth, since my permanen teeth hadn’t yet come in, trailing like a hungry pup behind the pack of thieves hounds led by my father, José Gestas.

We had gone a couple of days without catching any prey: no muleteer or carriage of worth had crossed our path. That’s why when we stumbled upon a neglected flock the bandits celebrated as if heaven itself had sent us manna. In the blink of an eye, and with the coordination of a wolf pack, they seized enough sheep to feed an entire court, along with several lambs with trembling legs.

One of those lambs (the smallest, with a bleat more breath than voice) grew fond of my sister Juana and me. Being the children we were, we adopted it almost as a brother. We chased through the fields together, answered its bleats, and at night it slept beside us, giving more warmth than the tattered blankets my father allowed us. Once, I even lifted Juana, who was only slightly bigger than the animal, onto its back, pretending she was riding a steed as noble as the white horse of Saint James.

I should have remembered that in the trade I had fallen into, nothing innocent lasts long. One afternoon, while the lamb was butting gently at my legs, my father came toward us with that look of his, the one of a man who would prefer to drive in the knife than waste his breath explaining why. Without preamble, he pointed to the animal and told us it was time to eat.

José, mustering what little paternal tenderness he could, began to explain that killing out of necessity is not cruelty. That a man is forced into many things, and that the one who lets himself go hungry when he could prevent it is cruel to himself. The way he recited it, as though it were a prayer, made it clear he had been chewing on that philosophy for years along with hard bread.

He told me to hold the lamb. Wanting to please him, I obeyed, while Juana wandered off in tears. I took its four little legs together and held it against my chest. It looked at me with those round, black, calm eyes, as if we were still playing. That gentle gaze wounded me more than any struggle could have. My father, without further ceremony, slit its throat with a single clean stroke. When the warm blood stained my tunic, I asked him if it had hurt the animal. My father shrugged and said “I don’t know. I’ve never had my throat cut”

That night, as I watched my father suck the brains from the lamb’s skull, I ate until I was full, just to feel the creature had not died in vain. With the hide, whether for warmth, comfort, or as a cruel lesson, my father had a sheepskin jacket made for me. I told myself I wouldn’t get attached again to anything I knew could end. I wish I had learned the lesson then.

Black and white version

[1taliart]

Aphrodite fresh out of the shell 🐚

[1taliart]

The darkness always ends, Magdalene. We must remember that.

[1taliart]

Just two brother going topless into active combat. Nothing else to look at.

[1taliart]

Baby Achilles and mythologically accurate Chiron except he looks very cursed

[1taliart]

Achilles didn't die a hero

[1taliart]

Something I made trying to figure out again how to draw using my phone and my finger. I realized too late the resolution of the canvas was to small.

[1taliart]

Lion-hearted Achilles

Lion-hearted Achilles

[1taliart]

Thank you again for the attack ❤️❤️❤️ It’s amazing

the second half of my artfight attacks!

@1taliart, vnll_bn, malleefs

[1taliart]

Tried to do a Renaissance inspired portrait of my OC. Had a breakdown and refused to finish it. Bon appetite

So yeah. This is one of my characters from a story set on 1530-1540s Spain that for the time being only exists in my head. In just a few words, he can be described as religious, autistic and a little bit queer.

, I'm adding the sketch and a version with a red background because I like how they look and this is my blog.

[1taliart]

Let everyone remember now the kindness of poor patroclus

The entire book 17 destroyed me so here you go <3