remembered them, Missed Them, but can't draw atm so have some old art :'D

Take Care, Part 3

Here is the final part! Thank you to everyone who's stuck around and enjoyed the last two installations <3 as always I love hearing your feedback and comments so please let me know if you enjoyed it :) Part one is here Part two is here

They lie there together in complete bliss, swapping kisses and touches and smiles, until Achilles’ cold begins to make itself known again. It starts with him mumbling about how his nose itches and rubbing it against Patroclus’ shoulder, seeking relief. Then, he starts to cough again, and Patroclus can see that he’s getting tired. The kisses come more slowly, the touches accompanied by sleepy sighs. Patroclus feels like he’s on fire, spurred on by this moment, but Achilles is quickly melting away in his arms.

“Why don’t you go shower before you fall asleep? It’ll help your congestion,” Patroclus suggests, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Mmm... θέλεις να μου κάνεις παρέα?” Achilles purrs, Do you want to join me?

God, how he aches to. He wants to strip Achilles right now and carry him off to the shower and have his way with him. But Achilles’ sleepy eyes, his sickly pallor, and Patroclus’ desire to take things slow hold him back. He doesn’t want to rush a single moment. 

“Την επόμενη φορά, όταν νιώσεις καλύτερα.” Next time, when you’re feeling better. 

Achilles pouts, but the idea of a shower is too tempting. He presses a kiss to Patroclus’ temple and pads into the bathroom, sniffling as he goes.

Achilles is known for his long, hot showers. Patroclus reckons he has about thirty minutes before the blonde will emerge again, maybe even longer if his congestion is bad enough. He feels the need to tidy this room if he’s going to be staying here tonight.

He starts by opening up the curtains and the windows to let in the fresh winter air, then removes the bed linens and puts them in the laundry. Achilles keeps a clean spare in his bedroom closet, which he fixes to the bed and the pillows. Next he dumps the small bin full of tissues into the larger kitchen bin, then picks up the discarded tissues on the floor that had missed their mark. It feels better here already.

It’s only been ten minutes since Achilles started his shower. Patrocus can hear him humming quietly. He decides to change out of his jeans and into one of Achilles’ grey sweatpants before wandering around Achilles’ room. 

When was the last time he had been in here? It had to have been last summer, when they’d returned to campus for the fall semester and the dorms weren’t open yet, so Patroclus had stayed here. There’s a few new things he doesn’t recognise: some new medals in a drawer from recent track meets that he’s won, a new blazer in the wardrobe, a new cologne that that smells fantastic. It smells like pomegranates and vanilla. He spritzes it across his neck. He goes to Achilles’ desk, tapping his fingers across the surface. The sight of a small photo album book causes him to pause.

Curious, he opens it and smiles immediately. They’re all photos of him and Achilles. A photo of them in their dorm room when they first moved in, a photo of them crossing the finish line at a half-marathon (Patroclus was sure he’d almost died then, and Achilles had had to give up his shot at first place to stay behind with Patroclus), a photo of them cuddled and squished together cheek-to-cheek in a single person hammock, a photo their friend Briseis had taken of them at a party. He looks a little closer at this one. Patroclus is smiling shyly for the camera, his curls a mess. To his right is Achilles, who, instead of looking at the camera, is looking up at Patroclus like he hung the moon. His gaze is so lovingly fond, his smile gentle, his arm wrapped around Patroclus’ waist. He turns the page. The next photo is one he’s never seen before. He’s sleeping on a couch, probably at some party Achilles dragged him to that he was too tired to be at, but instead of a pillow, his head is in Achilles’ lap. Achilles has his index finger pressed to his lips in a “Shhh” motion at the camera, his hand in Patroclus’ hair. Was he too drunk to remember falling asleep on Achilles’ lap? 

The next photo that causes him to pause is a professional photo of them dancing at a wedding. Patroclus remembers this moment well. They had been at Achilles’ cousin’s wedding in Greece, two years ago. Achilles had invited him because Patroclus hadn’t returned to Greece since he moved to America, and he needed a date to the wedding. They’re chest to chest in the photo, grinning ear to ear, both of them looking handsome in their tailored suits. They’re holding each other’s hands mid-dance and their foreheads are pressed to each other. It had been a slow dance. Achilles had made a joke about the father-in-law that made Patroclus laugh until his sides felt split. They’re both gazing at each other as if they’ve been in love and together for years. He cannot believe he didn’t realise it at the time.

The photos continue on like this. Little moments that he’s forgotten, memories he’s missed that now come flooding back to him. How has he let Achilles slip through his fingers like this? This whole time, he’s loved me too. 

He finishes looking at the photos and makes a note to ask Achilles for the copies when he hears the first of many sneezes come from the bathroom.

“Hh’EHSSHhh’iu! σκατά.” The sneeze is loud, echoing around the bathroom, and is followed by an exhausted curse.

Patroclus sits on the bed, his mind racing back to the feeling of Achilles’ nose against his shaft, his arm wrapped around his back as he sneezed against him in the car. His hand wanders to his cock as he stares at the bathroom door, holding his breath. He can’t wait anymore.

“H’SShh! ETSH’ue!” The following sneezes are short and fast this time. Something is bothering Achilles’ nose, the steam must be working to rid his sinuses of the congestion.

Patroclus lays back on the bed, pulls the sweatpants and his boxers down slightly, exposing his dick to the cool air. He sucks in a sharp breath as he wraps his hand around himself, pumping in long, slow strokes. 

“H’AhTSShh!” Achilles sneezes again. It’s a breathless spray, quiet, absolutely useless to get rid of whatever’s bothering his poor nose.

“Hih’ah… Heh-hh!...” Patroclus imagines Achilles as he was earlier. His muscled chest rising and falling sporadically, his lips curved back over his teeth in anticipation, nostrils flaring. He imagines him dripping wet, his hair flopping into his face with every sneeze, the spray hitting the glass of the shower door. He imagines himself in the shower, Achilles sneezing against his chest, his hand wrapped around Patroclus’ cock.

“Snff– hh’eh… Heh—!” Fuck, Patroclus wished he’d taken him up on his offer to join him in the shower. He thinks about running his finger down the tip of Achilles’ nose, helping him with the stuck sneeze, moving his neck to the side for Achilles’ to sneeze against, telling him how good he is. 

His hand squeezes his cock eagerly, a muffled moan breaking past his lips when Achilles finally finds the relief he’s been looking for.

“H’ETZzSHhh’uh! Hih’EhTSSCH’ehSHhh–! H’ah.. Heh’EZSHhhh’ue! Guhh… H’eh’ih… H’EhgTSHhh’uh! H’edtZzSsshh’ue!”

Patroclus cannot stop the strangled whine that breaks past his lips as his orgasm starts to mount, pulling him towards the peak. He squeezes his cock, so close to the edge, head tilted back against the sheets. He mumbles Achilles’ name breathlessly, his strokes quickening.

His poor lover isn’t done, though, and the sound of more wet, messy, exhausted sneezes make him see stars as his dick pulses within his grip. 

“H’ZzSsshh’ue! H’eHTSShh’iehtsch’sshh!! F-fugcking heh..! Hheh! Haah-ah..! Hh’ATSSHhhh’ue! Heh’EZSHhhhh’ue! Hh’EZYSSHHhhh’ue!!”

Patroclus closes his grip around the tip of his cock, covering his mouth with his palm to muffle a loud moan as pure ectasy claims him. Warm, white liquid shoots across his abdomen. Blinding heat seizes his whole body and settles into an electrified hum as he listens to Achilles blow his nose and sneeze again, this time much more softly -- H'ehztshh! H'ztsch'ue! He’s panting, covering his eyes, his head spinning. His heart is pounding so loudly in his chest he fears Achilles may hear it.

He hears the shower turn off, followed by a few wet sniffles. Patroclus frantically shoots up, grabs the tissues off the bedside table and mops up the mess across his stomach. 

The windows are open. He doesn’t want Achilles to be chilled. He pulls the sweatpants up and shuts the windows tight, racing against time. The bathroom door opens and steam rolls out just as Patroclus is climbing under the blankets.

“Huh’Ehtssh’ue!” Achilles bends forward at the waist as he exits the bathroom, sneezing into a towel. His nose is bright red, his eyes glassy. He rubs his nose angrily against the towel.

“Heh’eDTShh’ue! Ugh, Γαμώτο, δεν μπορώ να σταματήσω να φτερνίζομαι,” Fuck, I cannot stop sneezing. Achilles croaks, shaking his wet hair. His voice is hoarse from all the sneezing but his congestion sounds a little bit better.

Patroclus feels bad for him, he really does, even if that very sneezing fit did give him the best orgasm he’s ever had. He tries not to stare at the way the towel wrapped around Achilles’ hips hangs so loosely, or the way his biceps tighten as he searches for something in his dresser. “Are you okay?”

Achilles just shrugs his shoulders in response and drops the towel to pull some sweatpants on. Patroclus blushes and averts his gaze.

“Δεν χρειάζεται να κοιτάτε αλλού.” No need to look away. Achilles chuckles, tossing his towel in the hamper. Patroclus gives a small, embarrassed smile. If only Achilles knew what he’d been doing a few minutes ago. He probably would’ve been eager to participate, actually. 

Achilles climbs into bed and quickly snuggles up to Patroclus’ side, nuzzling his face into his throat. He smells so good after his shower, like sandalwood. 

“You should put a shirt on. I don’t want you to get worse.”

“Θα με κρατάς ζεστό,” You’ll keep me warm. Achilles hums, pressing a kiss to Patroclus’ shoulder. He sounds so satisfied, as if nothing could disturb this blissful moment. Patroclus smiles softly and tucks the blanket around him before enclosing him in his arms. 

He breaks away when it becomes too hot, and he has to cast off the hoodie and his shirt to join Achilles’ in his topless cuddle. Achilles grins as he runs his fingers over Patroclus’ body, pleased with this development. He observes every inch with a featherlight touch, driving Patroclus to shivers when his fingers tickle his side. Patroclus giggles, says a soft “stop that”, and grabs Achilles’ hand. He kisses each finger, his palm, only pausing when he hears Achilles’ breath hitch again.

His golden eyelashes flutter shut, nose twitching. He looks so tired. 

“H’edtSssh’ue…” He sneezes weakly against Patroclus’ shoulder. It’s soft, exhausted. The spray is warm against his olive skin. Achilles is worn out after his shower and the medicine must be kicking in (fortunately, not well enough that he doesn’t have to sneeze).

“Just one?” Patroclus asks, gently. As if on cue, Achilles' breath wavers again and he presses his nose to Patroclus’ collarbone.

“Hih… H’EZSShhh’ue! Guh..” 

“There we go, good boy.” He brushes back Achilles curls and kisses his brow. “Bless you.”

The second one had been a little bit more forceful, with more mess that accompanied it across Patroclus’ neck. Achilles closes his eyes and sniffles thickly, so full of cold.

Patroclus reaches over Achilles to grab a tissue. He pinches it around his red nose, gently instructs him to blow, and wipes up his lip after he’s done.

“καημένη μου καρδιά,” My poor heart. Patroclus says, pulling him in close and kissing his forehead. “Sleep now, Achilles. I’ll take care of you.”

Achilles hums happily, gazing up at Patroclus with sleepy, lovestruck eyes. He kisses him softly on the jaw, then tucks his head into the crook of Patroclus’ neck, wrapped around him. Patroclus strokes his hair for a few minutes until he hears the sound of even, heavy breathing, before he too falls asleep.

Do you think of me?

Abby meets Cassie’s favorite FNAF animatronic Roxy!

honestly no wonder harrow forced ianthe to lobotomize her so she could save gideon. listen…LISTEN…if i was a secret-war-crime cult nunlet princess worshipped by my entire planet and the only person that (barely) kept me in check was my childhood nemesis—a butch a year older than me, towering over me in stature and physical prowess, and so hot it made my teeth hurt from how hard my jaw clenched in her presence, who wielded a two-handed seven-foot sword and had irritatingly huge biceps and told very lewd stupid jokes and also learned how to wield an entirely new weapon and be my bodyguard with startling accuracy in three months—only to have us finally learn to trust each other because we got invited to a magic murder mystery and then before the bubble burst i spilled the worst secret about myself that i was born because my parents murdered an entire generation and tried to Kill Her along with them and she just wouldnt die, and i told her this expecting a swift death i believed i deserved, only for her to fucking cradle me in her big butch arms and kiss me on my forehead with her soft butch mouth and just. forgive me for a shameful weight ive carried my entire life and then MAKE AN ACTUAL NECRO/CAV VOW with me despite every evil thing i have done to her……to have her tell me, in the end, bleeding and broken after putting up the most beautiful and glorious fight of her life, that she understands purpose and she understands duty and she knows loyalty more fiercely than ever now, that she knows who she is to me, that there is no her without me….to have her backed into a corner and make the ultimate sacrifice…..for me…..to recite scriptural wedding vows of eternity to me in her last wisps of soul-consciousness…..if i thought there was even a snowflake’s chance in the pyre that i could save her by turning myself into her very own locked tomb, i’d be begging ianthe tridentweirdius to crack my skull open and turn me to mush too, goddamn. i understand you harrowhark girl you don’t have to explain a thing to me. god said you couldn’t undo the lyctor’s bond bc it’d kill you. you told god and his angels that not even a lyctor’s bond could outshine the power of female spite and lesbianism and they didn’t listen. they didn’t believe you. but i heard you loud and clear and i was 17 and hormonal and hopelessly romantic not too long ago unlike those fucking dinosaurs and i’m saying it’s valid it’s what i would have done and really everyone should be thanking you for not being worse and more wretched about it, all things considered

don't think I'm not still deep in the episode 7 brainrot. because OH BOY AM I

(also one more extremely, obnoxiously self-referential thing, I'm -- I'm so sorry)

slipping through my fingers

Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine

Aaanywayss here’s a redraw of my favorite scene from Goncharov 1973

I am feeling fine and perfectly normal about them. :)))))))

⚪️ afab (assigned female at birth)

⚪️ amab (assigned male at birth)

🔘 acab (assigned catboy after banishment)

❤️

god. GOD. the underlying anger in everything terry writes really IS apparent in hogfather bc fuck u mean this is how things should be? no the fuck it shouldn't. poor people shouldn't have to be satisfied with what they get, that's just fucking capitalism. i REALLY like that terry decided to use death as projection for what he thinks bc death doesn't know anything and it has to be explained to him and by it being explained to him it shows how fucking stupid those things are. bc ok here's this world where an equivalent of santa ACTUALLY exists and, because it mirrors our world, it's still unjust. santa actually fucking exists in this world and he could give ANYONE ANYTHING bc he's essentially a god and people gave him that power by making him up, BUT because ppl imagined him in a way that poor people don't get shit (like they usually do) and rich people get EVERYTHING they want, he exists like that. whereas death has seen the absolutely WORST of humanity and he STILL thinks that's bullshit and it's not how it should be, it's just how it goes. bc capitalism is always capitalism where there's money and the world will always be fucked up as long as there are oppressor to hold it up. like i just.

Side by Side ❤

What drives me even more insane about this scene is how you'd expect Gojo to imagine High school era! Geto in the crowd. Or at least not the cult leader, worst of all the curse users Geto Suguru. But no, it's the cult leader Geto. It's Geto as Gojo last remembered him. As Geto last was. Whatever choices Geto made, wherever his choices led him and them, however he was, whoever he was, traumas and messed up ideas and bad choices and ill reputations and scorns and all. Gojo wanted Geto Suguru there. Not any ideal version. Not any "what if" version. Not any "at some point in time before things went downhill" version. Not any "when your hands weren't stained with innocent blood" version. He knew very well what he wanted. And he wanted it all the same. He wanted Geto Suguru. However he was. He just wanted him to be there. He just wanted him to be.

And he didn't want him to help him, he didn't want him to fight with him even if they were strongest together and always fought together for a while. He just wanted him to be there in the crowd and cheer him on. He just wanted him to stand there and give him one of his sweet, heartwarming smiles that shaped his eyes into crescent moons. He just wanted him to be. Then even if Gojo had died in the end anyway, he would have been satisfied. It would have been worth it. Only if Geto was there.

You ever think about how neither of them got to say goodbye?