patrochillesvibes

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☀️In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun. ☀️

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just the guys being the dudes

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It’s meee!

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Have been bratty all day and teasing him. I know that he isn’t amused about my behavior and I know that I’m playing with fire.

It could happen every moment now that he snaps and fucks me against the nearest surface. And it excites me not to know when it will happen, but I’m sure that it will happen

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Nose booping and forehead kissing is the patrochilles way.

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Aristos achaion | Philtatos Testing out pc and screen for painting, still figuring out because it looks all wrong when I look from a different screen 😵

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"He was spring, golden and bright. Envious Death would drink his blood, and grow young again."

Madeline Miller, TSOA

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thinking about them

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achilles tending to patroclus’ injuries

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one tragic trio

click for hd

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he is mine again, now. he will not be when he returns tomorrow.

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Upon A Lazy Bed — Patrochilles (TSOA)

The Song of Achilles | Achilles/Patroclus | M | 4.7k Words

My first* Patrochilles fic is two years old today! I’m still really proud of this one (everyone’s fic that’s designed to vent all their pent-up TSOA feels is always quite meaningful right?) So I wanted to reshare it here on tumblr <3 Thanks for everything so far, Patrochilles pals, I love talking to you all and creating for this fascinating ship <3 <3

Excerpt:

Achilles is in high spirits.

Throughout the night, he takes each opportunity as we edge past one another in the tent to fondly squeeze my shoulder, or playfully blow in my ear, or place a kiss on my forehead. He eats his dinner of spiced mutton and bread with a smile, complimenting my cooking tonight as particularly delicious. Even the dogs receive extra rubs behind their ears. If Achilles were anyone else, I might have thought there was something untoward about his easy affection and generous compliments, but I have long since outgrown my mistrust of his sincerity.

In truth, I am grateful for the ease in tension. After Phoinix came to relay the events of the first day to us, the enervating haze of suspense amidst our idleness has abated somewhat. Achilles’ plan seems to be working. I am anxious of what may yet still come to pass if his gambit fails, but for now, the cost has not been too great.

He reclines now in our bed, humming sweetly. One hand is behind his head while the other plucks at invisible lyre strings somewhere in the air in front of him. His ankle rests against a drawn-up knee, and his calf muscles flex as his foot bobs in time to the tune he composes.

I am there, too. My head lays against his shoulder while I listen to his voice and play cat’s cradle with a favorite bit of spun wool. My restless hands have been fidgety all day, so it is satisfying to bind them tightly while my fingers weave patterns into the string, and then release them again. The slashes on my wrist which Achilles redressed for me after dinner still ache underneath the fresh bandages, but the pain has dulled since yesterday.

Achilles’ hum is soothing, like a mother’s lullaby. My body tingles pleasantly. I still remember what his voice sounded like when it was yet untouched by the blossoming of his manhood. Sometimes I miss it, but since then it has deepened into a handsome tenor that seems to vibrate at the same frequency as my very core. I love it.

“What is that song?” I ask him.

He pauses for a moment to answer. “The story of Psyche.”

“Ah.”

I understand why it might be on his mind. In the stories, Psyche had betrayed the trust of her husband, the love god, Eros. Full of regret, she faced a series of trials given to her by the goddess Aphrodite, the last of which resulted in her death. Touched by her fidelity, however, Eros had forgiven her, and rewarded her with immortality upon Mount Olympus. A happy ending where love and devotion win the day.

I think back to our argument from the night before. How we had both wounded one another with our treacherous actions. But in the end, we had been able to overcome it.

I have no chance of becoming a god, of course, but I indulge for a moment in the fantasy of saving Achilles from his prophesied fate myself—that somehow my love alone might be enough to make the gods take pity on us and let him live so that he could stay by my side for the rest of our days. That the beauty between us is pure enough to grant him his eternal fame. And then he would have no need of things like reputation and honor in the eyes of the other Greek kings. The both of us, we are enough.

The humming stops again and Achilles is silent, as if weighing something.

“Are you… getting tired?” he asks.

He often inquires this when he is trying to gauge my interest in intimacy, but this time his tone is unusually diffident. Perhaps he is unsure if the past couple of weeks have irreversibly chilled my appetites. Even before our quarrel, we had been fearful to touch one another in the midst of the plague, and too busy and exhausted for it besides. This is probably the first chance we have had since the hardships began.

“I am not,” I say.

“I am not, either.”

I have his full attention now. He plucks the tangle of string from my fingers; I flex a few times to invigorate the blood back into them. He takes one of my hands—the bandaged one—and presses a kiss into my palm. His lips are soft, and achingly gentle. My breath hitches. Achilles, thinking it’s from pain, stops immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I reassure him. “Do not stop.”

He nods, redirecting his affection to my face. Slowly, and ever so tenderly, he plants a kiss at the corner of my mouth. My lips part slightly, hoping to lure him in, but he is not done yet. He leans over to one side to place another gentle kiss at the point where my neck, ear, and jaw meet. I wonder if he can taste my pulse there, I think to myself. The tip of his nose drags against my cheek slightly as he pulls away, jarring loose a few locks of hair that had been tucked behind my ear. I am in a trance now; my eyelids lower, my mouth hangs open. Smiling, he gives one final kiss at the corner of my brow that is light, and yet so fond that I begin to tremble.

Even when he is hardly doing anything at all, he has the ability to leave me breathless.

“Achilles,” I whisper. It is the only thing I can say when there is nothing else that needs to be said.

“Patroclus,” he murmurs in answer. His voice is heavy with desire. I want him to always sound this way when he says my name.

READ THE REST ON AO3 HERE!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41398932

(*Technically a Hades Patrochilles ficlet I wrote beat this one to the ao3 publish button, but this one is certainly the first published patrochilles fic I actually started working on so I’m still giving it the title, haha)

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Sorry ppl all I can think about is them I wake up and the first thought that pops up in my head is how can I put the blonde man and his boyfriend in a situation

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"My pulse jumps, for no reason I can name. He has looked at me a thousand thousand times, but there is something different in this gaze, an intensity I do not know. " [The song of Achilles- Madeline Miller]

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Could you draw cowboy au Patrochilles? I just wrote a whole lot of lore for them that I am very proud of. Hope you like it :3

@cowboy-iliad-au

I READ UP ON THE LORE AND ITS SO GOOD HONESTLY?? I LOVE IT A LOT 🫶🏼🫶🏼/GEN/POS

here are the sillies from the cowboy au <333

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Fun Fact from The Iliad: The phrase “to eat a man raw” is a very particular phrase reserved just for the gods, as only the divine are exempt from the culture-defining restrictions of human society (ie cannibalism, incest)

Fun Fact from TSOA: Achilles’ last words to Hector are “There are no bargains between lion and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.”

Fun Conclusion: Achilles sacrifices his humanity to avenge Patroclus :)))))))

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I will never ever get enough of drawing these two. Ever. 🌿💛