Ruins of the Central Hall of the Large Baths at the Villa of Emperor Hadrian in Tivoli by Charles-Louis Clérisseau

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Ruins of the Central Hall of the Large Baths at the Villa of Emperor Hadrian in Tivoli by Charles-Louis Clérisseau
At the Metropolitan Museum of Art
Send me ♡ + a word, and I’ll write a headcanon.
"No more nightmares, dearest one?" Hadrian inquires, his voice straining, his brows creasing. Such mornings did not always bear such good news, and Antinous was commonly afflicted with such dark and sudden moods. "I did, I dreamt of you, the most saccharine of dreams." Hadrian answered, melodically, an answer he often said even when it wasn't true, or wasn't completely true. Even when his sleep was complete and dreamless, frozen as stone, somewhere, he knew his mind was pondering his beloved. Ah, maybe he did love the boy too much…
Hadrian cradled Antinous in his arms, thumb tracing his smooth shoulder, head turning down to kiss the top of the mess of black hair, such a precious and tender object to Hadrian every movement he made was like a potter carrying his most delicate and fine vase. "Why don't we go out hunting today, the sun will be good for your mood. I'd quite like to go, too."
Hadrian's eyes are open but he is not yet awake, not yet wholly present in the bittersweet morning, the soft smell of honeysuckle wafting in through the bare halls. He is watching Antinous, who might as well be from a dream, with dark memorial and doting, nervous fingers.
"Sulk not," Hadrian coos softly, turning his head in the sheets to watch as Antinous falls back onto the white sheets, Hadrian turning over onto his side, his great body vexing itself from deep slumber, wide naked chest still warm with dreams. He is still drowsy, voice low and sugary, Greek laden with an almost forgotten Iberian accent. "Waking and sleeping does not come as easy to me as it does to you, but I am never far behind." His hand reaches out for the flesh in front of him instinctually, hand falling upon hand, patting against naked thigh and chest, sitting up and eyes instinctually closing for a second.
"Come now, I am awake," Hadrian coos again, hand still on Antinous' thigh, "what is it that you do very much want me to do?"
Detail of Bamburgh Castle, Northumberland, by Joseph Mallord William Turner
It explained his indolence, his ardor in pleasure, his sadness, and his total indifference to all future.
Memoirs of Hadrian, Marguerite Yourcenar (via powerandpathos)
Antinous Mondragone in profile
Roman, 130 AD
Antinoo Grimano - Musei Capitolini
The Witches Sabbath (detail) by Frans Francken II, 1607.
I have never cared to gaze, as they slept, upon those I loved; they were resting from me, I know; they were escaping me, too. And every man feels some shame of his visage in the sully of sleep; how often, when I have risen early to read or to study, have I replaced the rumpled pillows myself, and the disordered covers, those almost obscene evidences of our encounters with nothingness, proofs that each night we have already ceased to be.
"…we cease temporarily to exist.“
Memoirs of Hadrian, Marguerite Yourcenar
(via cantillonlefemme)
Endymion, Antonio Canova.
Heroic statue of Lucius Aelius Caesar (b. 101 CE, as Lucius Ceionius Commodus; d. 138 CE), adopted son and intended successor of the Emperor Hadrian. Now in the Louvre. Photo credit: Carole Raddato.
Plaster pugilist peacefully passing into pulverulence. (Pompeii.)
Sappho and Mitylene, 1876
Pierre Olivier Joseph Coomans
The sea and Roman ruins of Tipaza, summer 2016
ALgeria