#brasilian history

[nickysfacts]

Origins of the beautiful game!

🇧🇷⚽️🇧🇷

[collectionstilllife]

Alberto da Veiga Guignard (Brasilian, 1896-1962) • Nature morte • 1928 • Private collection

[thepaintedroom]

Pedro Weingärtner (Brasilian, 1853-1929) • Interior com figura feminina (Interior with Female Figure • 1897

[keptoabysmal]

Don’t usually get sappy on main but tbh I sincerely wish for everyone to be able to experience the sort of international love & interest I’ve seen for my culture these past several months

[garapacomlimao]

ACTUALLY, the Wright brothers would be JUST FINE, after all Santos Dumont would still be The™ fucking inventor of airplanes and aviation as we know today.

[myheartisbro-ken]

nothing quite like spending days and days on a paper, struggling and going nights without sleeping to get merely 3 pages out of yourself, only to be embarrassed to post it on the class’s forum because it’s too personal for everyone to see

[saucetail-hasanewblog]

The history test I'm gonna do is more than likely gonna ask about ancient Greece and Rome and shit so tell me why am I studying about the 1000000 times Brasil changed it's own currency in the 80s and 90s

[pickingupmymercedes]

What it means - Lewis Hamilton

warnings: bits of angst with the w15 but it's fluff through and through.

wordcount: +1k

a/n: the special for Lewis's laps on Senna's mp4 (there was not a single dry eye in that circuit, I guarantee)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The silence in our hotel room felt almost too loud, stretching on as I took off my shoes and let them fall by the door.

The day had been relentless and long, one of those that felt like a whole month.

I hadn’t known my shoulders could hold this much tension, hadn’t realized how every part of me was vibrating with something raw I couldn’t quite pint point yet.

I moved toward the window, looking out at the fading glow of São Paulo’s skyline, the bustling city alive with lights and sounds, so starkly at odds with the quiet turmoil I felt inside.

I could still hear the crowd’s cheers and chants from earlier, though they were little comfort.

This was Brasil, my home, and the Brasilian Grand Prix meant so much. For Lewis, for me, for all of us.

And it hadn’t gone anything like we’d hoped it could.

I barely registered Lewis sitting down on the edge of the bed, watching me carefully. His eyes, always gentle and observant, held that steady patience I’d come to rely on, though I couldn’t bring myself to look at him yet.

I just stayed by the window, the glow of the city casting a soft reflection back at me.

“So” he said finally, breaking the silence, his voice calm and measured. “What exactly are we sulking about?”

I closed my eyes, resting my head against the cool glass. “I’m just… frustrated” I managed, barely louder than a whisper. “I know it sounds bratty but I don’t even know where to start.”

He didn’t say anything, waiting for me to go on, that same unshakeable patience steady as a rock.

Turning back to him, I took a deep breath, my voice a bit shaky as I spoke.

“It’s the race. It’s the Brazilian Grand Prix. Your car was awful, and it didn’t have to be that way. You were out there fighting just to keep it on track, barely able to grip the corners, the rear end sliding all over the place like it’s trying to spin you out. It felt… reckless.”

I heard the edge in my voice, sharper than I’d meant it to be, but the frustration was bubbling up faster than I could control it.

“And you’ve got people here who love you. Gosh, so many people who are rooting for you—not even just because of who you are, but because of who you represent for them. And then today—” I bit my lip, trying to keep my emotions in check, “it was like all of that, was …”

Lewis sat quietly, his hands folded, listening as I poured out words I hadn’t even fully processed myself. I let out a heavy breath, my heart pounding.

“And then there’s my family,” I continued, my voice a bit steadier now. “They came here to watch you, to be a part of this. And they love you and they see what you mean to Brazil, to me. It’s just…” I trailed off, unable to find the right words.

“It sucks” I admitted finally. “It fucking sucks”

He nodded, a small, understanding smile softening his expression. “It was awful out there. I felt every bit of it, just like you did.”

The rawness in his tone made my chest tighten, the disappointment so clearly mirrored in his voice. “But” he continued “I also got something I’ll carry with me forever.”

I swallowed, remembering him climb into that Maclaren MP4, the way he’d paused just before getting in, like he was soaking in the magnitude of it.

The entire crowd had gone silent, breath held collectively as Lewis, their adopted son of sorts, took his place in that piece of Brazilian history.

A pin could’ve been heard in that circuit as he drove around Interlagos. On a rainy Sunday, just like Ayrton had done so many times.

“I dreamed of watching something like that live for so long. But I could’ve never hoped to be the one to drive that car around here” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “Since I was five, since I first saw Ayrton race on TV. He was my absolute hero, and I didn’t know much about the world back then, didn’t know what I could be, but seeing him… it made me believe. And today …” He shook his head, his eyes shining. “it felt like I’d come full circle. Like that little kid who once dreamed had finally made it.”

I found myself moving toward him, the sting of tears burning at the back of my eyes as I sat down beside him. He took my hand in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he went on.

“You looked… I could see how much it meant to you.” I whispered as I watched the way his face softened at the memory.

“Standing there, with that car, in front of all those people who’ve opened their hearts to me… It was a homecoming in every way.” he said, his eyes shining with a quiet pride.

“It took me a while to understand, you know. For the longest time, I thought the respect came from the trophies, the podiums, the points. But it has always been about Ayrton, about the fact that I’ve always looked up to him, just like you guys do. I think…” he hesitated, glancing up at me as he tried to find the words. “I think it’s about the way I see him like you guys do, not just a f1 driver, but as a symbol of what I could aspire to be.”

I bit my lip, feeling the burn of tears prickling at the back of my eyes. It had been easy to get wrapped up in the frustration of the day, to dwell on the setbacks, the disappointments, the what-ifs. But hearing him talk like this, seeing the reverence and gratitude in his expression, it got me out of my head.

“Yeah” I whispered, barely able to keep my voice steady. “I saw my parents watching you. They had that same look in their eyes as everyone else in the crowd. They were in awe. Not of what you’ve done, but who you are.”

“And it’s not just any country, is it?” he responded, his voice dropping to a murmur. “It’s Brazil. Your country, my country now too, because of them and because of you.”

His fingers brushed gently against my cheek, wiping the tear away. “And I know how much you wanted today to go differently” he said, his voice warm, reassuring. “But this it’s bigger than any one race.”

I leaned into his touch, feeling the familiar steadiness of his presence seep into me. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“You care. That’s all it is. And you’ve got every right to feel frustrated.” he replied softly, his arm slipping around my waist.

I closed my eyes, letting his words settle. His warmth relaxing against the jagged edges of disappointment still clinging to me. And I finally let myself relax, my pulse steadying under his touch.

“You know,” he murmured after a pause, “driving Ayrton’s car… that was my way of saying ‘thank you.’ too. To him and to everyone who’s supported me here, even when it hasn’t been easy. It was my way of showing that I haven’t forgotten that little kid back from Stevenage”

I nestled into his embrace, feeling the ache of the day slowly ease away, replaced by a calm I hadn’t realized I needed.

“I’ll carry today with me forever.” he almost whispered, his voice like melody in the quietness.

I let out a chuckle, one that was more relief than joy. “You don’t have to convince me of that. Nor anyone, really. We all saw it.”

I looked up at him, seeing the gentle warmth in his eyes, the quiet strength that had always drawn me to him. “I’m proud of you” I whispered, my voice catching. “For everything. For honoring Ayrton, for the way you’ve embraced Brazil, for everything you’ve done, and mostly for everything you are.”

I reached up, covering the side of his jaw with my hand as I let out a shaky breath, absorbing everything. His eyes softened, and he took a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts, preparing to let me further into this part of his heart.

“When I first slid into that car…” he began, his voice hushed and raw “It hit me, just how much this place has shaped me. I mean, I’m not really from here, but every time I race here, every time I see this place, it’s like … I belong.”

He paused, grabbing my hand before looking out toward the window, the city’s lights casting faint reflections in his eyes. “Like… they see something in me that I’d almost forgotten was there. That part of me that’s still that little boy only watching a race, the part that was told ‘no’ so many times, but kept going anyway.”

Lewis seemed to sense the shift in my mood, and a subtle smile tugged at his lips. “And” he began, a playful glint brightening his tired eyes, “I got to make a few couple of grown men tear up a little out there.”

I let out a surprised laugh, feeling some of the tension ease out of my shoulders. “You mean you didn’t join them?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Nah, kept my cool. Just don’t ask Viviane to confirm that.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. “Right, Mr. too tough to get emotional.”

He chuckled softly, then leaned back, looking thoughtful again. “Honestly, though… driving that MP4 today? It was like stepping into a different world. That car was something else. Made me think, maybe we’re doing things wrong with all these tech-heavy cars nowadays.”

I smiled, glad to see him loosening up. “So, is that 90’s McLaren better than your Mercedes?”

“Yeah” he replied without hesitation, a mischievous glint in his eye. “That McLaren, it has a soul, like it wanted to race just as much as I did. The W15 has a temper and it’s always trying its hardest to throw me off track”

I laughed, feeling the weight of the day slipping further away. “Guess we could try and convince them to swap your car for a classic.”

Lewis squeezed my hand, grinning as he met my gaze. “Only if you promise to be there to cheer me on, every single lap.”

"Always" I smiled as I took a deep breath, letting the emotions settle like dust after a long day.

“He would have been proud of you.” I whispered squeezing his finger back, my voice barely a breath. “For everything you are, for everything you stand for.”

He closed his eyes but the emotion was clear in his voice “Then I guess all I can do is keep showing up” he murmured “for him and for all of us.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[kurtvrich]

Tumblr Hunk…

The 2024 Paralympics are history. How does Brasilian bronze medalist Sambucca return to normal life? Seems he’s now chosen to become a home chef, entertainer and on camera contortionist. Part I.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Afro-Brazilian artist Rosana Paulino is suturing the past to the present

Centering Black feminism and anti-racism, Paulino’s work is being celebrated from New York’s High Line to the Tate Modern

In 1865, the French photographer Augusto Stahl made images of a naked Black woman in Rio de Janeiro. They show the unidentified woman – Stahl didn’t bother to record her name – facing the camera, in profile, and from behind, in a sequence that inevitably recalls police mugshots.

Stahl was working for the Swiss-American biologist Louis Agassiz, a professor of natural history at Harvard University, who had commissioned photos of “pure” Black people to support his racist theories, such as the idea that miscegenation would lead to inferior human beings.

“The images affected me deeply, but I didn’t know what to do with them,” said the Brazilian artist Rosana Paulino, 57, who recalls first encountering them while reading a book in 2011. “I took a photo of the page and put it in a drawer.”

About a year and a half later, she transformed it into a work of art, Assentamento, named after the altars of Afro-Brasilian religions. The photographs, printed life-size on fabric, are adorned with embroidery of a heart, a foetus and roots. Each one is then cut into four parts and “sutured” together – with some misalignment, to represent the psychic and physical scars borne by generations of black Brazilians. Each picture is flanked by two mounds of paper clay arms piled up like firewood to symbolize the way Black bodies were consumed as fuel for Brazil’s economic growth.

Continue reading.

[nickysfacts]

The Amazon Rainforest is one of the most beautiful and unique places in the world, easily comparable to a mythical world!🇧🇷

🏹🐊

🐆🏺

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

I sincerely apologize for the messages you received! We Brazilians are not like that. 😭🇧🇷💖

Unfortunately, inconvenient and horrible people will always appear. Although I don't agree with you on certain things, I respect you, and I think the work you do here with the history of the Barça women is very cool! Keep doing your job, and I hope you'll be here on tumblr for the Women's World Cup in 2026 in Brazil! 🇧🇷✨️

and last but not least: raphinha ballon d'or 2025 💥💥✨️✨️✨️🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

the campaign starts now

(I also invite you to come to Brazil to eat pão de queijo, coxinha, drink caipirinha, and see Christ the Redeemer.)

hi anon - thank you for your kind message 🫶, and honestly, you should not be apologising for anything because you are nice and normal. it's those so-called vini jr. stans and extremist brasil ultras that take everything too far. it's one thing to disagree about who should win the ballon d'or, which at the end of the day is a subjective award, but it's another thing to send constant vile, disgusting, and harassing messages to people who disagree with you.

anyway, i've met many a nice and friendly brasilian, and i love pão de queijo and picanha steak. 2027 women's world cup will truly be awesome!

and finally, this is what we can all indeed agree upon:

raphinha ballon d'or 2025. 💥 what a truly classy man! he even made a separate story for aitana 🙏

[thepaintedroom]

Juarez Machado (Brasilian, b. 1941) • I'm going to Make a Confession • Unknown date

[minetteskvareninova]

I've never seen something as infuriating as Americans posturing on how their states are so distinct from each other and junk, just like, if not more different than different European states. They fucking dare compare their little regional bullshit to countries with different histories and government. Most European countries don't even speak the same language! "People from Texas and Pennsylvania are sooo different you guys" - they say about desert Orava and American Záhorie. Fucking pathetic.

And I mean, that basically goes for other continents, doesn't it? This is just the Africa Is A Country trope for people who don't want to be racist, but would still like to be smug and annoying and wrong.

Also not to say anything, but USA isn't the only country divided into states. And you never see Brasilians or even Indians (who by the way have way more ethnic, linguistic and cultural distinction, like it's literally called a SUBCONTINENT) say shit like this, it's always the Americans.

[neptunianashes]

Europeans always saying the best football is in Europe with the exception of Brasil and they are always shitting on Argentina. Brasil has 5 world cups, Argentina has 2 even tho we reached the finals many more and lost them only in the final 5 minutes of the match or less and there were questionable referees. When you see the scores between Brasil and Argentina it’s crazy how evenly they are it’s always a 50/50 the data 42 victories to 41, whereas germany won 5 matches against Brasil and lost 13. So, if Argentina vs Brasil it’s always head to head why europeans are still always trashing us, this is not only france Mbappé trashed Argentina a lot this year but he is not alone, belgium and germany do this all the fucking time too. Brasilian best players in the history of this sport like Pelé, Neymar or Ronaldo are never alone in the top, and they are always being compared to whom? to ARGENTINES and not fucking europeans, they are always compared to Maradona, to Messi. stfu europeans challenge you ain’t shit.

[alicedrawslesmis]

You've seen Napoleon (1927)? How did you enjoy the heavy-handed visual metaphors? One of my favorite works of historical cinema, if only because of the rather impressive crowd/battle scenes...

I caught the movie on TV by accident, me being a long time les miserables fan (plus I'm Brasilian and we have some weird history re: the napoleonic wars) I already had background knowledge on the whole story and so I was just. Fascinated. Its SO weird and cool like.

Your typical early film visual metaphor but turned up to eleven with surrealist-inspired image association to convey meaning. That era of film where they were inventing new techniques left and right you had Eisenstein and Kuleshov already, and some fucking french guy decides to make an ENTIRE MOVIE of FREE ASSOCIATIONS to tell a story that ENDS ON A TRIPTYCH with the marseillaise like CAN YOU IMAGINE WATCHING THAT LIVE

also the original cut was 9 hours long. I love that movie. That movie is my white whale

And I was telling my dad about the movie because, you know, oh my god! And he told me his uncle, João Sócrates, (who worked for years as the main technician in the british film institute) was in charge of the restoration and I had a big chat with him about it. How the finale with the three projectors never worked because no one ever listened to him that you have to turn on the other 2 projectors like half an hour earlier so the light has time to heat up and match luminosity with the main screen and he always left any projection of the movie pissed off. And how the french film institute hated the BFI for beating them to the restoration and promised to come through with the 7 hour cut, even tho Abel Gance said the 3 hour cut is the final form it should take (where? I don't see it. They supposedly have Netflix backing. They supposedly were coming out with it in 2019. WHERE? But this is not the first time french cinema disappoints me. Boo)