BlueberryFridge



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    As soon as people become suspicious, rumours start to spread.

    An Iliad Modern AU where everyone just assumes that Achilles and Patroclus are dating because of the way they act around each other.

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    10/10
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    01 Feb 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    The first time Patroclus sees him, it's on the football field. He's slimmer than all the rest, leaner. He pulls off his helmet to reveal a crop of blonde curls, falling into his eyes as he grins at his team mates. The shoulder padding bulks him out, but once he's shucked all of that, including his shirt, Patroclus can see the line of his abs and his biceps, skin golden in the sun. He's gorgeous.

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    1/1
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    01 Feb 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Achilles tilts his chin up defiantly, in an effort to stare Patroclus down. He only succeeds in looking like a petulant child. “It is considered a great honour to be a therapon to a prince, you know.”

    “Honour is meant to be earned, not handed out as if to a beggar, or a dog.”

    Achilles’ nostrils flare, his green-gold eyes gleaming dangerously. “Such scorn from someone who was training to be a common footsoldier just this morning. Many of the boys back at the yard would beg for this chance.”

    “Then you should have chosen one of them, perhaps." Patroclus glances down at the expensive chiton and his brand new arms, and hates how heavy and foreign they feel on him. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

    The last thing Patroclus wants is to become therapon to the Prince of Phthia. He had his fill of princelings back when he lived in Opus—hell, he used to be one himself. He doesn't need some stuck-up demigod to size him up and appoint him his glorified manservant. He'd much rather pass, thank you very much.

    Achilles, however, is unlike any prince he's ever met.

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    131,410
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    19/?
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    01 Feb 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 67

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    01 Feb 2026

  5. Rec *

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    After his death, Achilles finds himself in the underworld. Prepared to face his judgement and eternity, he marches into hell, only to learn that Patroclus never arrived. He sets up vigil outside the gates, and waits.

    ~/~

    'Where is he?’ he demanded, his voice breaking against the colossal thrones like a wooden spear against the walls of Troy. The crowd stirred over his shoulder, whispers amongst ghosts, but Achilles paid them no mind.

    ‘And who do you speak of?’ asked Minos, the barbs of his lashing tongue catching Achilles’s skin, tearing what little remained unmarked. He turned his attention to the last of the judges, and spoke solely to Rhadamanthus.

    ‘Patroclus.’

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    31 Jan 2026