#tsoa fic

[storynerd121]

Hi ppl! I just posted a Patochilles oneshot on Ao3 if anyone is interested.

Unable to resist, I lean over and delicately place a whisper of a kiss on his lips. He smiles and pulls me to him again before forcing me upright so he can shower me in a barrage of tender, featherlight kisses on my face. We laugh and I once again admire him. His laugh rings out and his eyes close and crinkle at the corners where the evidence of past joy sits. He laughs like someone who has known the pain of not being able to smile. _____ Just a short fic about Achilles and Patroclus in Elysium. It's literally pure fluff. I'm giving them the happy(ish) ending that they never got. This fic is inspired by the song Fields of Gold by Sting because it reminds me of them so much it's insane.

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

"Achilles, no."

"But the road is clear!"

"There are still speed limits!"

Patroclus was about to die. He wasn't exaggerating like when he'd entered Menelaus' room without knocking.

This time he was serious, and to kill him will be his boyfriend.

He clutched his hands on the dashboard, "If we die here, you won't get your license back!"

[walkinginland]

let the ransomed be free

a little the song of achilles ficlet

Patroclus and Achilles hold hands in the underworld. that’s it that’s the fic.

title from The Oh Hellos’ “Thus Always to Tyrants”

Time passes differently under the earth. It is marked by different measures, decided by different powers. Gods and suns wheeling in the sky above are not permitted here below. Kings who counted their days by dreams of their own glory, now cut short here alone, with no one to mark the loss of their pride.

Two souls entwined together, two souls knowing peace for the first time in their too short too long lives. Two souls whose time on earth was always at a precipice, could now have fields stretching without limits at their fingertips.

Fingers curled in hair, against skin and soul and bone. Pushing against fate and time and the whims of gods and kings. Brushing along the map of love laid in foundations of children and grown in war.

(your fingerprints are your own until you carve them into the gentle touch of another. they become another’s when reverence molds them deeper than stories in stone)

It had been so long. So long, and yet what was time to the two of them? They had been kept apart by the lack of marks on stone, their fingerprints waiting to mark skin and memory in a way far more eternal than a gravestone etching could ever be. Their story carved into pictures and history and scars that should have never been. Their joy and grief a more beautiful legend than any carved record of war.

There was peace here though, in this place. The peace of the dead, the peace of the reunited. The peace that the both of them had sought after for so long above ground, cupped here in their hands at last.

******

The first thing I think is Achilles.

I don’t know how long it has been since that first thought now. Time moves differently here, under these dark trees and besides this silent river. The changing of seasons and the passing of human lives pass us by as noiselessly as the shades across the fields; we do not disturb them, and they do not trouble us.

And the first thing I think is Achilles. When I woke that first time, when I wake every time after. And every time, he is there, with fingers in my hair or brushing against my cheek, smiling that teasing grin that was such a relief even now. There had been a time when I thought to never see it again. I had seen that foreign, horrifying numbness settle onto his face, rooting itself deeper and deeper that day under the sun. Deeper from the moments he was watching me ride away over that hill to the moment he handed his life over and took peace in exchange. He had waited for me on that hill, and then he waited for me under it. He had waited so much longer than I had promised him.

I had promised him tomorrow and it took so much longer to come than a day.

I had been brought to him so many times, followed him to the ends of the earth. When we were but children and I stumbled to his side in his father’s house, wandering and lost through the forest; the sea bearing me to his marriage bed, bearing us to war. I was brought back to him lifeless. Brought through the shadows to meet him in golden light.

I followed and followed and followed. And he waited. In his room, in the mountain forest, in a home by a bed not wanted, in death. He waited.

That time of following, of waiting grows dimmer here with each passing day. Memory has a different hold under the earth, and we were content to let that time of pain and secrets and uncertainty go, to let it run through our fingers like water.

We finally had our tomorrow here, in this place with no shame. No need to hide, not in too thin tents or marriages. After all, if the gods could be with whoever they wished, those of us in the underworld could do the same. We made our home among the shades in a quiet meadow, and in each other. Calluses of spear and needle eased, smoothed over by the touch of skin and gentle timeless time.

We rested in the open here, leaning back against the pale grass, tucked into each other’s sides. My head kept in the hollow of his shoulder, one of his hands buried in my curls and the other holding mine across his stomach. His long fingers wove between my own, playing a melody even with no lyre in his hands, a song only he could hear.

“Patroclus?”

“Hm?” I rolled my head against his shoulder, catching a glimpse of his face out of the corner of my eye.

He didn’t say anything more, simply pulled me closer, a quiet smile on that quick mouth. I pressed my lips to the place where his neck and shoulder met, pressing a kiss there before tucking my head in closer. I knew what he meant. He had no need to say more. He had my name, and coming from him it was so much more than sound.

His smile widened as his fingers continued sorting through my hair, and light sparked in the darkness, golden in the hope of every touch.

*****

No story is all happiness. No matter what two 16-year-olds may swear to each other in a moment by the banks of a sunlit river, far distant and far above and far before fate or war cast a shadow on shadow on shadow over their peace. Before, when their lives stretched out before them with no horizons. Before this shadow, their shadow, their grand and quiet tragedy painted through years and separation and carried on poet’s tongues.

So, no, no life or pair of souls can be all that pride dreams them to be. But they can be something so much more than fickle pride allows.

(your soul is your own until you place it in the hands of another. it is yours until it bleeds together with another’s love and creates something altogether new.)

And so, the fates perhaps did not allow both happiness and fame. But they are here now. They are tangled fingers and legs and hearts by a far darker stream. They are quiet eons and joyous hearts, stretching beyond moments to an eternity of pouring light. And what could happiness mean beyond that?

***********

thanks for reading!! also on ao3 right here

[ticklishraspberries]

Stubborn (Achilles/Patroclus)

Summary: Achilles has always been stubborn and prideful. Patroclus sees an opportunity to make the best of the Greeks give in, and takes it happily. (I just re-read this book the other day and was struck with the urge to write a fic for it. I know I haven't written in a while, and I haven't written for this fandom in years, so please be gentle, lmfao. I hope you enjoy!!)

Achilles is stubborn.

Patroclus knows this, has always known this, because he has never known Achilles to be anything but stubborn. For a child with such a weight on his shoulders, a prophecy on his head, the blood of the gods running through his veins — well, who can blame him?

If Achilles sets his mind to something, he will do it. Whether that be mastering the use of a spear, juggling figs, playing the lyre, or breaking through all of Patroclus’s walls, Achilles will do it, can do it.

It’s normally a positive trait, that determination. But in a young boy, it can get annoying quite fast. And Patroclus never usually finds Achilles annoying: He’s in awe of him, smitten by him, happily attached to his hip. But Patroclus is only human, after all, and there is only so much teasing one boy can take before he has to seek some sort of revenge.

Achilles has known that Patroclus is ticklish for years, one of the early discoveries that had brought them closer together. However, in all that time, Patroclus has never gotten the upper hand on Achilles, which is just entirely unfair.

“I’m not ticklish,” Achilles had said. It was a sunny afternoon on the grounds of his father’s palace. “I never have been, even when I was small.”

Patroclus bites back the urge to argue that he is still quite small. “Everyone says they aren’t ticklish, to stop others from trying.”

“You didn’t lie,” Achilles replied with a smirk.

Patroclus felt his face flush. “I knew you would try anyway. Lying would have done me no good.”

“I guess that’s true. Well, you don’t have to bother trying. I’ll just get you back twice as bad.”

What should have been a threat had not deterred him in the slightest, though, and Patroclus had tears of mirth streaked down his face within minutes.

It didn’t stop him from trying again, but Achilles was always one step ahead. He always saw it coming, and always grabbed at the offending hands before they even made contact, and smirked before pinning Patroclus to the grass or the mattress and tickling him half to tears for daring to try and tickle the best of the Greeks.

However, here, in Chiron’s cave, the morning is quiet and still. The centaur is off fetching something to fix a meal, and Achilles is asleep beside Patroclus, unclothed and lying in a particularly vulnerable position, one arm tucked beneath his head of golden hair. Patroclus isn’t sure what compels him to do it then, to ruin the peaceful moment, or why tickling Achilles is even at the forefront of his mind: They’re older now, and this is surely something childish, but the chance to startle a laugh from the other boy has never felt stronger.

Patroclus cuddles close to his side, stroking the hair from his face. Achilles barely stirs, only gives a pleasant hum in his sleep. It’s probably cruel to pull him from such a peaceful slumber, but he doesn’t care. How many mornings had Achilles jumped onto his bed at sunrise, pushing bony knees into his sides and shaking his shoulders, pressing their faces close and loudly announcing the break of a new day?

Maybe Achilles deserves a morning of ruined rest, too.

Patroclus doesn’t quite know where to start. In the past, he’s always tried the obvious places: Stomach, sides, feet. Achilles has never reacted in the expected ways, never cracking a smile or squirming away. Perhaps there’s another spot he can try?

His hand still lingers by Achilles’ face, and he brings it slowly towards his collarbone, his touch featherlight as it traces the curve there before moving up to stroke the side of his neck.

He’s surprised when Achilles twitches in his sleep, his brow furrowing and his shoulder shrugging upwards. This only encourages him further, bringing his other hand to Achilles’ ribs and repeating the same motion.

Achilles makes a noise somewhere between a giggle and a groan as he seems to slowly awaken, his arms lazily moving to push at Patroclus. He rolls over onto his side and tugs the sheet, trying to cover his body, but Patroclus pushes it away and scoots closer, throwing an arm over his waist and pulling his back flush against his own chest.

“I thought you said you weren’t ticklish,” he mutters in Achilles’ ear, making sure his lips brush against the shell of it.

Achilles shivers. “No one but you has ever really tried.”

“So, you admit it then? You are ticklish?” Patroclus asks, grinning. He’s tickling his belly with both hands now, hugging him around his middle so he can’t squirm away. Even with all his strength and stamina, Achilles is still tired and caught off guard, and his body is weak to resist as the soft laughter comes in waves.

Still, he says, “I don’t admit anything.” The sentence carries much less weight when it’s said between laughs, though.

Patroclus shouldn’t be surprised by this. Like he’s said, Achilles is stubborn. For someone who says he hates to lie, he omits the truth and dances around topics like this, to uphold both his integrity and his dignity. It’s quite endearing to watch, honestly.

Patroclus chuckles. “Of course you don’t,” he says.

In an obvious attempt to distract him from the tickling, Achilles flips over and presses their lips together, and Patroclus can’t help but kiss back. However, he’s not going to give in so easily.

He runs his fingers along Achilles’ lower back, up his spine, over his shoulder blades, the touch light and teasing, and he feels goosebumps rising over the skin. While soft touches like this usually tickle Patroclus, he knows Achilles will find them soothing, even sensual. Luring him into a false sense of security will help him regain that element of surprise.

It’s funny, how strategically Patroclus is thinking about something so obsolete. He plans like a war general whose enemy is the ego of his lover, and his attack is to send a fleet of tickling fingers to his weakest spots.

As they kiss, Patroclus grabs onto Achilles’ sides and squeezes them roughly, and a startled laugh falls from the half-god’s lips, his body shrinking away.

“Admit that you’re ticklish,” Patroclus says in a voice so unlike his usual tone, deeper and more commanding. There’s still plenty of mischief dancing behind it, though.

“Never,” Achilles grits out.

“Then I’ll never stop,” he replies. He figures there are worse things to fill his days with. Touching Achilles, hearing his laughter. It would be a quite fulfilling existence if you asked him.

He explores bits of sensitive flesh, but no spot seems to get a greater reaction than the crease where his thighs meet the sacred place between his legs. Pressing the pads of his fingers there actually makes Achilles whimper, and the sound is dizzying.

“Okay, okay,” he finally pants. “I’m ticklish!”

Patroclus stops instantly, rewarding Achilles for his good behavior. He presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, pushes back that golden hair once again.

“That’s what I thought.”

Breathless but smiling helplessly, Achilles nudges him in the ribs with his elbow. It’s rare to see him admit defeat, but it’s a beautiful sight. His flushed skin, his laughter lines.

Stubborn is an accurate way to describe Achilles, yes, but Patroclus will always mention his beauty first. Heroes are usually remembered for their fatal flaw, but Patroclus will always know him for the good things: The golden hair that cascades down his back like a waterfall. His determination, his resilience, his kindness. His laughter. The fact that even with godly blood in his veins, Achilles is just a boy, who juggles figs and is ticklish.

This, and this, and this. The good, the beautiful things.

[terymlxyrstdus]

Barty: *constantly flirts with Evan and almost kisses him*

Evan: *actually kisses Barty*

Barty: *runs away in gay because he didn’t think that far*

[orphicachilles]

Dose anyone have any patrochilles fanfics recommendations im spiraling into patrochilles madness

[wordsofhoneydew]

“I am made of memories.” - Patroclus

Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

[darlingsart]

OC-tober Day 13: Memes

I had way too much fun with these LMAO

[iktend]

“Don’t let him talk you into anything.”

But what if Patroclus wants him to?

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

⟣ ✦ ⟢

Scene is based off of Youre A Walking Disaster by @johaerys-writes pls read (rn) its amazing (and for context of the comic)

sorry if there are any errors (grammar wise or if the paneling looks weird) this was my first time using the csp comic function ^^ hope you enjoy

[spineless-lobster]

Anyone who writes trans/intersex/gnc achilles is keeping me alive btw

[judasofsuburbia]

i would hold on for all it's worth || a patrochilles missing scene

rating: teen and up || pairing: patroclus and achilles || word count: 1782|| read here

summary:

For someone like Aristos Achaion, one might think he would have servants to do what Patroclus was doing. But after sleeping all day while Achilles was out, purely so he would be awake for his return, Patroclus was happy to do this.

Happy might be a bit of a stretch. Still, he was not about to give this task to a servant, someone whose time with Achilles is much more meaningless. 

Every second left with Achilles felt precious.

or: during an after battle bath, patroclus tends to achilles the only way he knows how.

thank you @seths-rogens for beta editing and also simply being the best<33

[darlingpoppet]

Where The Dead Forget — Chapter 8: Glory

Hades Gameverse Memory Loss AU | Achilles/Patroclus | E | Chapters: 8/22 | Words: 87,923 (Ch 8: 16,680) words)

Chapter 8 Summary: A treatment of the Scyros episode from the Achilles myths. Patroclus is called upon to honor his allegiance to war, and Achilles is keen to join him, for the sake of love and glory. His mother Thetis, however, has different plans.

Excerpt:

“Father,” Achilles began, “We have been told there are tidings you wish to share with us.”

“Indeed,” Peleus said. “I have called you both here—however, these are matters that primarily concern Patroclus.”

Next to Achilles, Patroclus’ bowed head lifted.

“Me?”

“Yes,” Peleus answered him. “I have just gotten word of a disturbing incident out of Sparta—a grievous crime in violation of the sacred customs of hospitality. Prince Paris, son of Priam of Troy, has abducted Queen Helen, the wife of Menelaus, son of Atreus. And since Helen’s former suitors from all over our kingdoms had sworn by oath to honor and protect their union, King Menelaus, along with his older brother, King Agamemnon of Mycenae, have called upon all those men bound by that oath to assist in ensuring Helen’s safe return to her rightful place.”

Achilles turned to Patroclus, astonished by this news. Patroclus, however, did not seem to notice him. He lowered his head once more, closing his eyes as a small, knowing smile appeared on his face.

“Ah,” he said simply.

“They intend to wage war against Troy?” Achilles asked, turning back to address his father. “And you mean to tell us that they wish for Patroclus to join them? Because—“ he blinked, quickly putting the pieces together, “—because he is among those who made the oath?”

“That is correct,” Peleus answered.

Achilles turned again to Patroclus. “I did not know of this.” He hoped his tone did not come off as aggrieved, even if he did feel a considerable degree of shock.

Patroclus looked back at him, his expression solemn, but strained.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to keep any more secrets from you. The truth is, it is something I simply did not think would ever come to pass, so I had put it out of my mind completely. I was so young then—not even ten—I had petitioned for Helen’s hand at my father’s behest.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I did not have a choice back then… and it appears I do not have a choice in the matter now, either. So I shall go, and honor my duty. I suppose since I am no longer a prince, it is simpler this way. I have no army of men at my command, so I will be able to leave at once for Mycenae on my own.”

Achilles shook his head.

“What are you saying, Pat?” he exclaimed. “What in all of the heavens and earth makes you presume that I wouldn’t come with you?”

Patroclus’ eyebrows lifted, eyeing him seriously. “I presume nothing. You are not bound to this war,” he said.

“But I am bound to you, aren’t I? You are my dear companion, and my duty to you is just as important as your duty to myself. If this is something you must do, then of course I will be by your side to protect you, and keep you company. And it does not matter that you are not a prince, without an army to call your own. You are a Myrmidon now—one of us. If you have no contingent, then you may share mine, and together we will muster the most splendid army in all of our kingdoms!”

Peleus, who had been listening to their conversation all the while, appeared delighted. He grinned handsomely.

“A magnificent plan, my son,” he said. “Of course, the kingdom of Phthia would be honored to do right by Patroclus, and extend its means to assist the Atreides brothers in their righteous cause. The both of you shall secure glory and victory for yourselves, and for us all. How particularly fortunate you are as well, Achilles. A man could not ask for a finer gift for his coming of age. You should be very pleased.”

Achilles nodded, flushed with pleasure and excitement. “There, Pat, you see? We all love you. And I don’t just mean those of us here in this chamber. Every one of us in Phthia.”

Patroclus eyes darted between father and son, both of them smiling widely at him with warm enthusiasm. At first, he appeared almost stunned by this, but then he bowed his head once again, his eyes glistening.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion. “I am grateful.”

Read the rest here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43292178/chapters/150227206

Previous Chapters: 1. Drown | 2. Grief | 3. Grace | 4. Weakness | 5. Together | 6. Guilt | 7. Known

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

Patroclus was not jealous.

When you were engaged to the second sexiest man in America (Times had to re-prioritize), jealousy became bad for digestion.

Achilles was beautiful. Achilles was famous. Achilles had a fan base of groupies that would dwarf a Republican convention in Texas.

Patroclus knew all this before, and he had accepted it.

However, there were times when he had to remind Achilles that he was no longer on the square.

[purple--queen]

i totally believe that if Patroclus would have brought Achilles to meet his mother she would have been soooo happy & hugging him until he could not breath anymore

[patrochillesvibes]

Five Fic Friday

Some patrochilles fics that I read that I think you should read too 😘

wherever you're going (i'm going that way) by Kenna21 | M | 46.9k |

A coming-of-age 80s AU.

you've become my crutch by villainous_intentions | M | 2.2k |

5 times achilles and patroclus fall asleep together and the one time they don’t.

eromenos and erastes by ixyon | M | 7.8k |

Patroclus arrives in Phthia, a few years older than Achilles, and is assigned his erastes to teach Achilles the ways of a soldier. Drawn to one another from the very first day, they grow closer as the years pass, their love flourishing like no other.

such tired wings to fly on by orphan_account | M | 9.6k |

Achilles and Patroclus have wings in this ABO and Mpreg AU.

i picture it, soft, and i ache by achxlleshubrxs | M | 1.5k |

Toppy Achilles and Toppy Patroclus keeping warm on a cold winters night.

Fics are listed in no particular order. Want more? Check out some Pyrrha themed fic recs. Also check out some Spicy patrochilles fic recs.  

[restlesskeychains]

Y’all drop your fav Patrochilles fic for a hungry goblin like myself in the comments