leodiary reblogged
some guy from nazareth rises up from the dead ONCE and no one shuts up about it. meanwhile taylor swift does it all the time. learn your herstory.
leodiary reblogged
Circe by Edmund Dulac
leodiary reblogged
i used to think old greek statues were the epitome of beauty and elegance. that is until i saw you, and then i knew. nothing could ever compare.
leodiary reblogged
Achilles didn't fight for glory, for honor, or for the Greeks. He fought to die. He fought to die only to be reunited with his beloved, Patroclus. And when he died, he died smiling, because he knew he'd meet him soon.
leodiary reblogged
look all i'm saying is that if i found a guy with a stable job, a nice house, and a big dog, i, too, would eat the pomegranate seeds
leodiary reblogged
@ this motherfucker on Twitter who put into words what I couldn’t
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“Are you saying you wouldn't fight for me?"
Hades sighed, and brushed his finger along her cheek, "Darling, I would burn this world for you.”
― Scarlett St. Clair, A Touch of Ruin
leodiary reblogged
Greek Mythology by fdasuarez // Support the artist
leodiary reblogged
fuck you, my child is completely fine!
your child romanticises the idea of running far away and completely changing their personality, looks & soul as a way of coping with having no control over their life & being generally dissatisfied with who they have become
leodiary reblogged
Y'ALL TELL ME THIS ISN'T ZEUS WITH ARTEMIS, APOLLO, ARES AND ATHENA
leodiary reblogged
Honestly it broke my heart when Deidamia was mean to Patroclus and they fucked anyway because every time he describes himself it’s how he perceives he’s being judged. It’s tragic as shit. And even if Achilles had showered Patroclus with praise, Pat wouldn’t include it in the story because he was so focused on saving Achilles’ memory. With that, some thoughts I think Achilles had:
- Oh no, what if he gets in trouble. What if he gets beaten or — he’s so shy that can’t happen to him, he’s be so humiliated I gotta find him PAT! PAT! BUDDY, WHERE’D YOU GO?!
- He can play whatever fucking lyre he wants, you prick.
- Imma boop his nose. No wait that’s so weird he’ll— imma boop his nose with my nose. Agh no— OH SHIT IM DOIN IT. IM BOOPING HIS NOSE.
- OH SHIT IM DOIN IT IM RUNNIN UP THE BEACH
- Dad I don’t want new frenn I want Pat.
- The lovely oval of his face. Unassuming in its perfect balance, deep olive and smooth as still water. Oh to hold it between my hands and not stir the gentleness of its surface. He is taller than me now and the slightest glance down at me is scalds my face with its childlike want.
- This fucking little statue. It’s fucking me. I fucking love it. Oh god I like it so much. It’s so cute. Oh man oh shit oh god I look like a derp because I like this fucking little me so much.
- His curly hairs are so soft. So soft and curly brown. My beautiful boy my beautiful boy my beautiful boy my beautiful — fuck, he’s done brushing his teeth. Play it cool.
- Maybe if I impale myself with a stick he would rub some nice salve on me and bandage me up with his strong hands. Achilles, you sly dog. 😎
- Patpatpat I hadadream you didn’t love —That we— oh thank god I’m awake and he’s holding me.
- He’s still asleep with his arms around me and hasn’t let go all night. His chest pressing into my back is so warm I could cry. Thank god he’s still asleep. He wouldn’t want me if he knew how I needed him, how it really was. I’m getting the pillow soaking wet, his hand is curled just beside my cheek and my tears slide between his fingers. Shit. I mean to ease away from him but all my body will do is hug tight the sleep-heavy arm circling my chest. Endymion clutching the moon’s perfect crescent. What will he think of me? What if he regrets — oh shit, I’m gonna wake him up, I’m shaking so bad and crying so loud and he— Achilles? Fuck. Achilles, are you ok? Hey, easy. It’s ok. Oh no, come here. Is it your mom? Achilles, it’s alright. Don’t you know nothing can take me away from you? It’s alright. Everything’s alright.
- You ever felt like you could eat the world but like … not cook it? Gotta be a word for that. oh my god look at him. I will literally do anything to get him to come put his head in my lap and look at my face so I can look at his face and he can look at my face and his big sad eyes are so sweet how is anyone so sweet?!
- How imma ever stop kissing this cute face? How imma ever stop smooshing this cute bod? Omg I missed a spot! Imma kiss it. My beautiful boy how could I ever stop loving you.
- I swear it. My most beloved.
- Scyros isnt so far. He’ll never stop looking for me. He couldn’t do that, not when he knows I’ll die without—-
- —he thinks I left him. Oh my god, he thinks I don’t want him— I— what— no- he must be so angry and I can’t even tell him -I can’t even say — oh my god I broke his heart.
- Pat you can’t leave again I didn’t want to do it I missed you I was dying it was like dying Pat dont you get it I did it for you I did everything for you I had to do it I had to be with you don’t you get it Patroclus I couldn’t let you think I left you I would do anything I would kill myself before I let you think I didn’t want you please can’t you see me can’t you fucking see my face I didn’t want to i don’t want anything but you all I want is you Patroclus please say something.
- I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.
Inspo credit to this beautiful piece by @meggsssart. And to @axhicleos for a sweet thread wondering how Achilles might describe his Philtatos.
leodiary reblogged
My 13 year old cousin came back from a date with her boyfriend and said, "I can't wait to grow up and spend sunday afternoons with him." At first, I wanted to laugh (after all they're just 13), but I remember being 13 and having the world in my hands. I remember getting excited to talk to someone about my dreams and wishes, and how happy these daydreams and fantasies made me. There's this innocence you can only have at 13 and the world rises and falls and crashes and burns every year... until you do not think about quiet sunday afternoons.
So I asked her about the date and heard her giggle about bubblegum flavored ice cream, and how much she loves this little life. I think she makes me love it too.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
leodiary reblogged
— vladimir nabokov, in a letter to his wife [24 march 1937] from letters to véra (trans. olga voronina & brian boyd)
im so tired of “feminist” art revolving around uteruses and shit like regardless of how transphobic it is it’s just completely trite and unimaginative
Whenever I study historically mysoginistic societies (medieval europe, rome, etc.) that talk shit about women being witches and hosts to demons and slaves to their flesh etc., they always mention that their one redeeming aspect is their ability to bear children. Even the most hardcore of mysoginists, past and present, will at least value women for their ability to bring more men into the world, even if thats all they value them for.
To respond to that history with an art piece implying that you also see the part of your body that allows you to bear children as your most important feature…
If the point of feminist art is to challenge patriarchal ideas then I’m sorry but you’re not challenging anything with that stuff
leodiary reblogged
i just want to be a cat in late spring. because then i could just sit in the sun and blink slowly and maybe chase a bug. i think that’s what we all want
