#tsoa fic

Summary - Patroclus helps Achilles wash the blood from his body after an unusually traumatic day on the battlefield. Even when clean, a hint of the awful, metallic scent remains on Achilles’ skin. Despite this, Patroclus cannot refuse him comfort.

Tags - blood, mentions of death & suicide, pov patroclus, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, non-graphic sex, canon compliant

Words - 2.8k

Author’s Note - I’ve loved these characters for so long, but it was only recently while listening to the new Auri album (post-TSOA re-read), that I felt the need to write about them in the hopes of dealing with my reading hangover (and eternal heartbreak over their fate).

𖤓𖤓𖤓

I sit with a handful of rags that had, until recently, been a whole linen sheet. I’m about to bundle them up when I hear a swishing behind me. The entrance flap of my tent lifts, allowing passage to a newcomer. The sound is followed by a soft thunk as the heavy material falls back into place, hitting the sand. I already know it’s Achilles, returned to me after a day of fighting. I sense a presence that is distinctly his without needing to look around for confirmation.

The sliver of sunset that hit the back wall of our dwelling is gone as soon as it came, leaving only the glow of oil lamps. The air around me is suddenly thicker. There’s tension and anticipation, both pressing against me, pulling me this way and that like a river current.

“I’m back,” Achilles says.

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.

"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.

by jjmash

Chariton is drawn to war for the same reasons as any other man: glory, fame, fortune, women. But when weeks of raiding go unanswered, he begins to doubt his decision to enlist; it is only the continued presence of Achilles, the famed son of a goddess, that keeps him hopeful. And, always a silent half-step behind Achilles, there is Patroclus.

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A soldier's perspective on the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus.

Chapters: 1/1

BROKEN COMFORT AND EMPTY WORDS - PATROCLUS/ACHILLES

Summary:

I know him as I would know the back of my hand, I know the written pages of his soul, I know how to read between the speckles of gold within his eyes. But it is because of this that I am reminded once again that he no longer belongs to me alone. 

Patroclus knows Achilles and then he doesn't.

Genre: during the trojan war, love, romance, angst, yearning but in hurt

Rating: not rated/general audience

“Pyrrha, you speak to us of goddesses and nereids, but never mention your mother by name,” she began as she leaned her cheek upon her hand, “Will we ever learn who we should thank for blessing us with a daughter as pleasant as yourself?”

Achilles gave her a tight smile, “My mother does not care for mortals unfortunately...I doubt she would wish me to reveal her identity to them.”

“Oh, but surely she must not hate us so much if she sends you here.”

“She has made her choices. I need not understand them, only follow them.”

“Do you wonder if perhaps, she may be ashamed of you?”

He did not answer her. The girls looked between the two, and slowly backed away from him in the following awkwardness.

Deidameia began to wrap the ribbon back into a neat spool.

“I merely joke. No mother would be ashamed of you, Pyrrha. You are sweet as you are humble. Obedient as you are graceful,” She gave him a pointed look, “The perfect daughter.”