Greek Mythology Oneshots

Achilles x Patroclus [TSOA]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ACHILLES! It's very fitting that our favorite gayest gay has his birthday in pride month. June seventh is definitely the gayest day of the year. 

(HFJSKLDKKJ TODAY IS ACHILLES BIRTHDAY TODAY IS ACHILLES BIRTHDAY AAAAAAAH)

We also love how I prioritized writing this for Gay Day™ over studying for finals.

I just sobbed through the scene in Circe with the conversation with Pasiphaë so that's why I keep talking about mink teeth and quick warning, there's a bit of making out in the chapter but there's no smut.

Requested by @LulaLindaLolipop2

Patroclus POV

"For the gods' sakes Achilles, stop moving." Sweat poured into my eyes forcing me to squint in our already dark tent. The only source of light was the orange-red glow of the beating sun against the thick canvas.

The sealed up room was hot as a boiler and impossible to breathe in, but Achilles had insisted we get ready in here. It's more private, he had said. I want to spend these last few minutes with you and only you.

"Me? Moving?" Achilles cried indignantly. "You're wrapping your cold, clammy fingers around my neck and you expect me to not be uncomfortable?"

"When did I ever touch your neck?" I retorted. "Besides, if you actually combed your fucking hair then this wouldn't be so painful."

"I do comb my hair," he grumbled.

I attack his hair with the comb. "Really? With what? A dead rat?"

He winced as it caught on a knot. "I've been busy the last few days."

I sigh and go to work on the knot, trying to untangle it without hurting him. It is true, the last few days here have been stressful and I shouldn't blame him. We've been trapped on humid, windless Aulis, now committed to sailing to Troy but unable to reach there. Achilles' fate hangs over our heads and the prying eyes of others surround and suffocate us. And now to please Artemis, our "priestess of the wind", Achilles has to get married to Agamemnon's daughter, Iphigenia.

Fuck you warty Arty. And it doesn't help anyone's mood that it's hotter than hell and a Philadelphia congress house combined. The air is sticky with evaporated sweat and so thick it's impossible to breathe. Achilles still insists on practicing his spear every day and with the chaos about the wedding, there's been no time to brush his hair. Now we're struggling at the last minute to make him look presentable for the ceremony.

I shouldn't be mad about the wedding. I know Achilles loves me and I know this is necessary– there's no other choice. But still. First the prophecy and now this? What did the gods have against us? Why couldn't they just let us be happy?

A moment we shared from what feels like eternities ago comes back to me: Name one hero who was happy.

But he will be the first. I swore it.

Gods, we were so young then. Wide-eyed, ignorant hatchlings, full of hope and sheltered under Chiron's wing.

I work on Achilles' damp hair in silence while Achilles hums a tune. In this weather, his hair would never dry. I had poured a bucket of water on his head, hoping it would help, but all it had accomplished was worsen Achilles' mood and get our bedrolls wet. His hair, usually a beautiful gold, had turned into a plain brown from the moisture like a wilted hyacinth.

(oh my gods, the candle has four shadows! Four shadows-)

"HURRY THE FUCK UP," a voice shouts from outside out tent, reminding us our conversation hadn't been so private. The tent walls were quite literally almost paper. "IPHIGENIA IS WAITING. THE WEDDING IS IN AN HOUR."