LINKDING

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  • #fandom:classics | Aristophanes looks the torchlit Narcissus up and down. Around his brow sits a garland of white anemones and violet hyacinths. There is the infamous trailing cloak, Tyrian purple embroidered with gold thread, its hem submerged in the muddy puddle where—just this evening—the hens had been pecking for worms. Aristophanes could weep for joy. “You look perfectly all right to me.” The languid Ganymede sways towards him; then, finding himself bereft of anything on which to lean, retreats to the gatepost. “By Athena, I’ve been called a mincing sissy.” He is barely older than Aristophanes, a few years at most. Not as tall, too, as he can appear when discoursing before the Boulé or gliding through the agora with a quail up his sleeve. Aristophanes says, “Aren’t you?”
    2 years ago | View Shared by tei
  • #rating:e #fandom:classics | “Come on then,” Stelios says. “Away from your father’s sight.”
    3 years ago | View Shared by tei
  • #fandom:classics | Patroclus knew three things as he died. First: If Achilles had loved Patroclus more than his own godsdamned pride, he’d have joined the battle and the Greeks would have won the day. Second: if Achilles had loved Patroclus more than his own godsdamned glory, they would never have joined the war in the first place. They might have lived out their days together in peace, far from the bloody plains of Ilium. And Patroclus would not have died in a foreign land, alone. Third: Death had stripped away the pain in his body. The pain in his soul remained.
    3 years ago | View Shared by tei

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