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katiemcgrath:

p h i l t a t o s
‘That is–your friend?’ ‘Philtatos,’ Achilles says, sharply. Most b e l o v e d. ‘best of men, and slaughtered by your son.’
^{― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles}

ghafai:

moodboard: the song of achilles

I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, 
by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth.
I would know him in death, at the end of the world. 

inegjhafa:

P A T R O C L U S • greek hero (for @josieofrp)

washtrash:

❝ Name one hero who was happy.❞

                                                        ❝You can't.❞

listen | download | (x)

tsoadaily:

I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me. If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth.
As if he had heard me, he reached for my hand. I did not need to look; his fingers were etched into my memory, slender and petal-veined, strong and quick and never wrong.
“Patroclus,” he said. He was always better with words than I.

fecitysmoke:

mythology moodboard: achilles

“We reached for each other and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake in this room loving him in silence.”

- (requested by anon)

aminyard:

“I will go,” he said. “I will go to Troy.”
The rosy gleam of his lip, the fevered green of his eyes. There was not a line anywhere on his face, nothing creased or graying; all crisp. He was spring, golden and bright. Envious death would drink his blood, and grow young again.
He was watching me, his eyes as deep as earth.
“Will you come with me?” he asked.
The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. Perhaps in some other life I could have refused, could have torn my hair and screamed, and made him face his choice alone. But not in this one. He would sail to Troy and I would follow, even into death. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

ladymcbeths:

will I feel his ashes as they settle against mine?

queermalfoy:

ya lit meme: [3/5] protaganists → achilles pelides; the song of achilles by madeline miller

when he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.