Destrier



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Phthia is the land of hail and snow, and this is what they all know, but on Mount Pelion it's always spring. It's like Achilles belongs there. 'The Flame of the North' they call him, for his fire-gold hair; once he goes, Patroclus thinks, all things swift and beautiful and bright will be gone with him.

    Perhaps in another life, if Patroclus fell to his knees and begged, Achilles would take pity on him and stay, or ask him to come with him. But this is not this life. In this life, Patroclus hasn't the power to change... anything. 

    Or: Achilles is the young Prince of Phthia, Patroclus is his squire, in a story where they come together, come apart, then find each other all over again.

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    18 Mar 2023

  2. Public Bookmark 43

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    “Guess what I’m thinking about,” Achilles said.

    This, I told him. The scrape of the waves against the rock. The sun glittering on the water like gold dust scattered with the wind. The seagulls that drifted aimlessly overhead. The stone I had shown him how to skip that morning, sending it hopping far into the sea. This, and this and this.

    Achilles smiled his secret smile and shook his head, like he had so many times that day.

    “You have to tell me,” I finally said. “I’m never going to guess.”

    For Patrochilles Week 2022!

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    17 Mar 2023

  3. Public Bookmark 70

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    Achilles’ smile was bright like a spring sun, snowflakes melting on his lashes. His eyes stayed on me for a long moment, until I tilted my head to the side in question. “What?”

    “Nothing.” His smile softened and slipped sideways as he drew me closer. “When you laugh like this, it’s just… you’re so beautiful, Patroclus. You know that?”

    He was luminous, like the beams of sunlight that fell upon the snow, making it glitter like diamond dust. I linked my arms behind his neck, warmth rolling through me despite the cold. “Sweet talker,” I murmured.

    Wintertime fluff and smut, just in time for Valentine's day :)

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    17 Mar 2023

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Achilles, the sun casting its last rays around his head like a halo, resplendent and aureate.

    Achilles, the soles of his feet flashing pink as he sprints across the beach.

    Achilles, slender fingers plucking the strings of his lyre, eyes green like fresh pressed olives. His cat's smile.

    "Guess what I'm thinking about," he says.

    The robin that flew over our heads but a minute past. The dream he had last night of a ship with purple sails, its prow slicing the waves of the Aegean sea. The wooden amulet that hangs about the augur's neck. This and this and this.

    "I'll be the first hero to be happy," he would tell me years later. "You're the reason."

     

    A collection of all the scenes we didn't get to see in The Song of Achilles. Follows the timeline of the book.

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    17 Mar 2023

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Achilles did not know how long he dozed, his arms circled protectively around the one thing in the world he had left to care for. He only knew that at some point, the soft flesh beneath his cheek began to warm. He thought nothing of it at first, thinking it was only the heat from his own body reflecting back at him, but he froze when, out of nowhere, the chest he lay against rose beneath him before falling, then rising again.

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    17 Mar 2023

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