looulouv

[looulouv]

ohhhhhh what the helly

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guess who forgot her password and just now logged in lol

[looulouv]

cloud gazing — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: after years of serving as the queen’s guard, (Y/N) never expected their favorite moments to be spent with the prince of Ithaca—not because of who he is, but because, for the first time, they’ve found a place that feels like home. warnings: mentions of poverty, so starving child, stealing, cold night cold days etc, tele being cute, lil guard being cute and sad word count: 465 author's note: thought ab this as my sims were cloud gazing and it instantly brought a smile to my face oml guardwolf. also ! lil guard's first pov, nice !

not proofread.

pt 1: here!

(Y/N) and Telemachus lay side by side on the soft grass outside the palace walls, staring up at the endless blue sky, barely covered by the refreshing shadow of an apple tree. The afternoon sun was warm, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea, mingling with the distant hum of Ithaca’s life below. For once, Penelope didn’t need their protection—locked away in her chambers, weaving the shroud while the seventeen year old prince and the guard had some time to spare and to get away from the suitors that seemed to multiply by the second.

"That one," Telemachus pointed lazily at a drifting cloud, "looks like a ship. Don’t you think?"

(Y/N) just hummed in thought, squinting up at the white mass before responding with a slight playful tone. "More like a sea monster about to swallow a ship whole..."

Telemachus turned his head to look at them, his lips quirking up. "You always see the most dramatic things."

They smirked. "And you always see the hopeful ones, my prince."

The sky was the same shade of blue back then. The clouds drifted just as lazily, painted golden by the afternoon sun. But there was no warmth, no apple tree—only hunger gnawing at their ribs, only the bite of the wind through their torn, threadbare clothes. Their bare feet pressed into dry, cracked earth as they sat alone, arms wrapped around their knees, staring up at the sky like it held answers from the gods themselves.

Their stomach ached. They had counted the days since their last proper meal—five? Six? Longer? The sun had been high when they last found a scrap of bread left too long in the market dust.

They pointed at a cloud, whispering to no one. "That one looks like a ship."

Their voice barely carried in the empty field.

Ships meant the possibility of escape, of going somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here.

(Y/N) shivered and pulled their knees closer. The wind whistled, rustling through the dry grass, and their stomach twisted again. The world was too big, and they were too small, and the sky, as wide and endless as it was, held no answers.

Not yet.

Telemachus’ voice brought them back. "You see it now? The ship?"

The guard blinked, turning their head to him. He was watching them, soft and curious, waiting for their response.

(Y/N) thought back to that day, alone and shivering, starving and helpless. And right now, they weren't hepless, and most importantly, they weren't alone anymore.

They let out a slow breath, then smiled. "Yeah," they murmured, leaning just a little closer while they turned their attention to the sky once more. They had all the answers that they needed now.

"I see it."

[looulouv]

who would be interested in little extra works about tele and lil guard......... i'm gonna be honest and say that i have like maybe 3 short pieces with a few things about their past in the palace and lil guard's past in pylos, i can't stop coming up with ideas lol

[looulouv]

lil guard x telemachus brainrot i have like 3 drafts of little facts about them and i'm currently writing ab their past shoot me Please shoot me

[looulouv]

writing in spanish doesn't feel as good as writing in english idk what it is and i know my writing skills prob SUCK ASS but what the hell man i literally can't bring myself to write in my language

[looulouv]

Now tell me he wouldn't do that

[looulouv]

words unspoken — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: after the battle, the ithacan palace is left in complete silence. maybe there are still some words to be said, and a new beginning is due. genre: fluff, maybe a just a tiny bit itty bitty angsty, but not really warnings: mentions of battle aftermath, blood, and reflections on death, tele being tele word count: 1.4k author's note: it's here !!!!!!!!! spending my summer writing this instead of doing my homework is so nice. i hope you like it, and don't be afraid to like and comment. also keep in mind that reblogs help me grow <3 besos pt 1: here! first meeting: here!

When his father —who just smiled after teasing him— turned to him with a quiet yet firm command to let his mother know he was home, Telemachus did not hesitate. Or rather, he didn't let his hesitation show.

His eyes flickered to the guard standing beside him, their clothes smeared with the blood of the suitors, eyes now tranquil as ever. He supposed it was due to the new peace the palace had, now silent after years of noise that belonged to them, from the clang of goblets and dishes hitting the floor, to countless fights and brawls, screams and yells to the servants and boisterous laughter that bounced off the walls. The halls of the palace were now eerily silent, save for the muffled voices of the remaining servants, the soft crackle of torches still burning in the aftermath of battle. The smell of blood still lingered, the metallic scent making Telemachus scrunch his nose in slight disgust, but it was faint, overpowered by the familiar sea salt that always clung to to the palace's walls.

As they kept walking, he met their gaze briefly, and they just gave each other a faint smile, still walking through the halls to Penelope's chambers. The walk felt eternal. They walked in silence—not an awkward one, but charged with something unspoken. Telemachus felt it in the way his fingers twitched by his side, in the way his throat tightened every time he tried to find the words.

He snuck another glance at (Y/N), catching the way their sharp eyes softened ever so slightly as they took in their surroundings, maybe feeling the new beginning approaching. He wondered what they were thinking though—if they felt the same weight in their chest that he did, the same tension curling between them like an unstrung bow just waiting to snap.

Then their gaze shifted. And for a brief second, their eyes met.

Telemachus was quick to look away, his heart stammering against his ribs like a startled bird. Gods, when had he become fifteen again? When had he returned to that state? The nervous wrecks, stumbling over words, or just struggling to say anything?

He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to come out steady, praying to the gods that it wouldn't crack. "Y-you fought well today. Like always, I mean, not like you don't fight well in general… I-I just, I've never seen you fight like that so I just thought it was pretty… Pretty good! Yeah, pretty good…"

The guard turned to him, one brow slightly arched like they were wondering what in the world was wrong with him. Then, to his utter ruin, they smiled.

"Mhm, thank you, my prince."

It was teasing. They always called him that in jest, never in true formality, but this time, it felt different. This time, it felt… affectionate.

"And I'm sure you fought efficiently as well. You have improved greatly, I can tell. You look… different." They added, eyes going over his frame, and Telemachus couldn't help but feel warm inside, trying very hard to ignore the flush on his cheeks.

They reached Penelope's door soon after, pausing at the door. Telemachus went in alone, (Y/N) waiting by the door like always, as if they still had to vigil for the queen's safety. Once Telemachus stepped outside, both prince and guard could see the imposing form of Odysseus, looking more and more nervous as he stepped closer.

Telemachus looked at his father, almost like he still couldn't believe it was him right in front of his eyes, and just let him know that Penelope was waiting for him. Next, the king entered what had been his chambers for the first time after twenty years.

From within, quiet voices could be heard—his mother's soft, melodic voice and Odysseus' tone changing to an incredibly soft murmur.

Yet Telemachus and (Y/N) decided to let the married couple have their moment alone, walking through the halls aimlessly.

Telemachus exhaled, feeling his chest ease slightly. His parents were together again, reunited after years and years of waiting. Finally.

Yet why did his chest feel restless?

He turned to his guard, to the friend he had come to adore over the years, to the same person that left him tossing and tossing at night, incapable of sleep due to the amount of space they claimed in his mind. Something in him tightened when he realized they were already watching him, head tilted slightly, as if waiting. As if expecting something.

That was his chance.

"Listen," he started, voice lower now, less confident, with a certain shakiness. "There's something I need to—"

"You have something on your face."

Telemachus blinked. "What?"

His guard let out a quiet huff before stepping closer—far too close— reaching up to brush their thumb just beneath his jaw, then over his eyebrow, and finally, just over the apple of his cheek.

"Blood and… lipstick." They smirked, eyes glinting with amusement before adding a soft murmur. "I suppose both of those are not yours."

Telemachus forgot how to breathe.

Oh, he was going to die. Right there, slain not by a sword, but by them.

"I-It's my mother's! My mother's lipstick!" Like that didn't sound any more embarrassing, but he felt like he had to let them know.

"I know, Telemachus. You didn't have it when you walked into the queen's chambers."

He swallowed, every nerve in his body alight. He wanted to thank them, nervously joke about how his mother had reacted to his return, but nothing came out.

Until it did, and it wasn't even remotely close to what he had in mind.

"I love you." He blurted out in a soft breath, voice barely above a whisper, but he was sure they heard it with how close they were.

"What?" Oh, gods.

Telemachus felt his heart hammering so violently it actually hurt. Gods, why were they so terrifying? Had he made a mistake? He couldn't stop shaking.

"I'm in love with you." He said, trying to make his voice sound confident, yet he knew he was failing. "I'm really sorry... I apologize if that's strange for you to hear… B-but I needed you to hear it…"

They just blinked, their hand still on his cheek, and Telemachus prayed that it would stay there.

"I've known you for years, and yet every time I look at you, I see someone new. Someone stronger, braver. And I can't stop looking, I don't want to. I-I don't think you realize how much you mean to the people in this palace— to me."

He just hoped they would at least hear him out, or he was sure that it would be his ruin. Telemachus would willingly throw himself off the window he had by his left if this ended terribly.

"How do you know it's love?" (Y/N) suddenly asked, eyes not leaving his. And Telemachus saw it. The vulnerability, the hesitation. "You were gone for a year, how do you know it's love?"

"Because no matter how far I was, how many nights I was seas away from you, my heart never left you, (Y/N). I thought about you every single day, like you would just appear from inside my mind and materialize. I missed you terribly, and I don't know if you—"

And then—gods above— it happened. Kind of strange, but Telemachus wouldn't complain right, really.

In reality, he hadn't noticed the way (Y/N) kept stealing glances at his lips, like they were debating if they should just go for it or just stop him from rambling any further with their hands over his mouth. Like they weren't sure how to deal with the situation. But in the end, they must have thought… to Hades with it. They dipped him.

His mind blanked. His breath hitched. He barely had time to register the warmth of their hands steadying him, grabbing him by the waist, the absolute audacity of them tilting him back like some swooning maiden—before their lips were on his.

Soft. Warm. Then, certain. Like they were hesitant at first but regained their footing.

Telemachus could feel himself giving in, forgetting about everything, melting into their touch while he lifted his hands to cup their face delicately, like he was afraid to touch them, as if they would vanish into thin air.

And then it was over. (Y/N) pulled away, standing him upright again as if they hadn't just ruined his entire existence with one kiss.

Telemachus just blinked, stunned, still processing what had just happened, his legs trembling and his brain foggy. He swore that he died, arrived at Elysium for a brief second and returned to his home. "That was—"

"Nice?" They smiled sheepishly, eyes wide with expectation.

"Yes!" He let out, rather loud he dared to admit, before composing himself and clearing his throat, giving a small nod. "I mean, yes… That was… Nice."

Then, quickly, before they could tease him further, he added,

"Would you… perhaps, allow me to do that again? This time, I'd like to lead…"

His guard just tilted their head, lips pursing before replying.

Then, simply, "No."

"No?" Telemachus' heart plummeted. "Did you not like it? Was it bad? Is it me?"

Their eyes widened slightly with surprise, as if realizing what he thought. (Y/N) shook their head, short strands of hair flowing before they brushed it behind their ear.

"No, I meant that…" Their voice grew softer, and, for the first time since he had met them, Telemachus could see the faintest hint of pink bloom across their cheeks. "… I want to do it again."

"Oh. Oh!" Telemachus let out, his face brightening. And before he had time to say yes, they reached for his waist again, their other hand gripping the soft fabric of his clothes to pull him closer.

Yes.

Yes, he could definitely live with letting them lead.

[looulouv]

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ lou (or choli) 𖦹 she/her 𖦹 21 . . .

climbin' up to reach your land, never done . . . at the end i'm pulled away, chances gone . . .

c.ai — twt —

please do not post or translate my works on another site. if you wish to base your fics on one of my works then message me for permission first ! i do not tolerate any form of plagiarism.

[looulouv]

Antinous: Penelope is such a MILF

Odysseus: Agreed, she is Mywife I'd Like to Fuckingkillyoufor

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GET OUTTTTT why did i feel nervous writing that shit like it's happening to me oh my god

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antinous: and when the deed is done, the queen will have no one to stop us from breaking her bedroom doo–

lil guard/odysseus: um what ab ME BITCH

lil guard/odysseus: ............

lil guard/odysseus: who THE FUCK are you

[looulouv]

being an x reader writer and trying to be inclusive of all readers makes me overthink so much like should i write about you having smth with milk in it? no no what if the reader is lactose-intolerant. about the reader being the big spoon? noo what if they wanna be cuddled like a little spoon. about fingers through your hair? noooo what if the person reading it is bald

[looulouv]

slept at 4am just because lil guard and Antinous beef and i got really excited to write ab that nngghhhg

[looulouv]

first meeting — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: telemachus hopes that this new guard has everything they need to keep the suitors at bay, someone who exudes fear and respect, who can intimidate them with just one look. but when the ship arrives, he quickly realizes he should have kept his imagination in check. yet, he can't wait to see where this goes. genre: fluff warnings: none ig, maybe one joke about offing oneself word count: 1.5k author's note: lil guard and lil tele !!!!! i was just thinking of making little parts of them interacting, kind of just building their relationship to the ithaca saga and maybe after that. have a nice reading, and please keep in mind that english is not my first language, i apologize for any mistakes ! part 1: here!

At fifteen, Telemachus was still an imaginative boy.

His mother had been vague when she told him about the new addition to the palace, only saying that they would be arriving today from Pylos, sent from Nestor himself, and that it would be his duty to escort them from the docks. He hadn't thought much of it at first, assuming that it would be a strong individual—a hardened soldier, someone experienced, someone who could keep the palace safe from the growing number of suitors infesting their halls.

The more he thought about it, the more his expectations grew. He could picture it, a real soldier—a warrior, the kind who loomed over men like an unshaken pillar of war, the kind whose armor groaned with the weight of its own history, the kind that had fascinating stories from gruesome fights and countless kills on their book. Perhaps an older man, one of Nestor’s veterans, weathered by years of battle, with a face carved by scars and a voice like grinding stone. That was what Ithaca needed. That was what his mother needed.

Instead, the figure stepping off the ship looked like they had just come from weaving garlands in a meadow. The first thing that registered was that they were… small. Not in the sense of frailty—there was something too controlled about the way they moved, too precise. But they were young, maybe his age. And their features— Gods help me, they're beautiful—were delicate, almost angelic, like a marble sculpture of a very beautiful, elegant noble.

For a brief, horrifying second, Telemachus thought they might be a companion for his mother, a royal from Pylos. Then—gods forbid—his future betrothed. His heart seized in panic. But when they finally reached the dock, standing at full height, they squared their shoulders and spoke with calm, unfaltering precision.

"My greetings, Prince Telemachus."

Voice smooth, measured, utterly professional—and completely at odds with their face. He was staring. He knew he was staring. He could not stop staring.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He barely managed to keep his reaction contained. He must have looked ridiculous—stiff-backed, mouth slightly open, blinking like an idiot. His hands twitched at his sides as he forced himself to snap back to reality.

"Uh—Yes. Welcome." He cleared his throat, struggling to gather whatever dignity he had left. "Of course, hello."

They didn’t react to his awkwardness. If anything, they barely regarded him at all before shifting their focus to the steward beside him, awaiting further instruction. And that's when it clicked.

They weren't a noble. They weren't some delicate thing come to weave at his mother’s loom. They were the guard.

This was the new guard? The one meant to keep his mother safe? The guard sent by Nestor of Pylos, sent to protect them, to make them feel safer over the looming shadows of the suitors.

His eyes flicked to the sword at their hip, the careful way they carried themselves. Now that he was looking properly, he could see the truth of them—disciplined, well-trained. The confidence in their stance wasn’t that of a teen used to courtly mannerisms, but of a soldier used to command.

Telemachus finally managed to force his mouth shut, though his brain was still playing a losing game of catch-up. His expectations had been torn to shreds, and now, as he walked alongside the newly arrived guard, he was scrambling for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

“So… uh, you have a name?” he asked, attempting casual conversation. He regretted it immediately, his face scrunching up with embarrassment. Of course they had a name. Everyone had a name. What kind of question was that?

The guard turned their head slightly toward him, eyes unreadable. "(Y/N)."

Oh. A nice name. Not that it mattered. Not that he was thinking about that. Not that he was kind of reciting it in his head, his mouth itching to repeat it...

"Right. Good." He nodded, as if that somehow helped. "So, uh… you came from Pylos? How was the trip?"

(Y/N) didn’t hesitate. "Pleasant, my prince."

Pleasant. That was all. No complaints, no small talk, no elaboration. He had never met someone around his age who spoke with so much restraint. It was almost unsettling. Almost impressive. Intimidating, he dared to say.

They reached the stone steps leading up to the palace, and just as Telemachus was about to say something else—anything to fill the unbearable silence, probably something stupid again—a servant carrying a heavy amphora stepped out too suddenly from the side, directly in (Y/N)’s path.

Before Telemachus could react, they shifted. A small, precise movement, nothing flashy, but enough to pivot neatly around the servant without so much as brushing their tunic. The servant, oblivious, continued on their way.

Telemachus, however, was left blinking. He had seen plenty of people stumble in similar situations, caught off guard by sudden obstacles. But (Y/N)? Not even a second of hesitation. Their footing had been steady, controlled—like avoiding a collision was second nature to them.

The guard barely acknowledged the servant’s near collision, continuing up the steps with the same measured stride. Meanwhile, Telemachus forced his mouth shut before he embarrassed himself even further. He had been staring again, and judging by the brief flicker of attention (Y/N) gave him, they had noticed.

He cleared his throat and picked up his pace, gesturing vaguely as they walked. “Right, so, uh—this way.”

They followed without question, as silent as a shadow. It was unsettling. Telemachus found himself talking just to fill the empty space between them, pointing out the stone archways, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the walls, the occasional glimpse of the sea from a high window. He fumbled with his words, surely talking more than necessary for the both of them, letting out a few nervous chuckles and internally dying every single time (Y/N) answered with less than ten words.

“This will be your home now, I suppose,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Not that you’ll have much time to enjoy it. Lots of standing around, glaring at people, that sort of thing. Sounds fun, right?”

(Y/N) said nothing.

Gods help him, he should stop talking.

“Uh—what I mean is, uh, I’m sure you’ll, um… do well. Not that you need me to say that, obviously…” Another nervous laugh. “You probably know exactly what you’re doing.”

A beat of silence. Then, they finally spoke.

“Yes.”

That was it. That was all they gave him.

Telemachus had never wanted to fling himself into the sea more in his life.

Finally, after a few moments of silence —silence that made him want to scream or just jump out of a window— Telemachus took the new guard to Penelope's chambers, informing that it was less likely for his mother to be out in the day, as she preferred to keep her sanity, and that meant to stay away from the suitors that roamed the halls, infesting the place with their stupid faces.

"Welcome," Penelope greeted warmly once they made it through the wooden doors, her voice as soft as it was strong. There was no distance in her tone, no royal stiffness. Only kindness.

(Y/N), to their credit, straightened even further and bowed their head. "My lady."

"Oh, my dear. Nestor spoke very highly of you," Penelope continued, stepping forward. "We are grateful for your presence. I trust your journey went well?"

They hesitated, but only for half a second. "Yes, my lady. It was… comfortable, thank you."

A small pause. Then, Penelope smiled—a true, open expression, one meant to ease tension rather than demand respect.

"I imagine Ithaca must seem a bit different from Pylos," she mused, her tone light. "I do hope you’ll find it welcoming."

For the first time, the new guard's carefully composed expression wavered. It was subtle, but Telemachus caught it—the slight shift in their features, the way their shoulders, previously held so stiffly, lowered just the tiniest bit.

And then, to his complete shock, they… smiled.

Not much, just a small, barely-there curve of the lips, but it was real. Genuine. "Thank you, my lady."

Telemachus stared. He had barely gotten more than a handful of words out of them, but his mother? With just a few kind phrases, she had already coaxed out something warm, something human. He could understand it, though. His mother just had that energy that screamed kindness and warmth, and made every soul that met her feel at ease.

He quickly looked away, focusing instead on the blue, clear sky outside the window while his mother kept easily coaxing words out of (Y/N), getting to know them like he hadn't tried to do that for two hours straight. (Y/N), despite their small moment of softness, had already returned to their professional demeanor, yet their words to Penelope were soft, gentler than when they had arrived. Telemachus had seen it now—the glimpse of someone who wasn’t just a guard, but a person. And he prayed to the gods above that he could be the one to make them smile again.

He had a feeling that he would make that his favorite hobby.

[looulouv]

tiresias screaming FUCK YOU MAN IT WASN'T EVEN THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND

*a few months after The Ithaca Saga*

Odysseus: *wakes up at the dead of night drenched in cold sweat*

Penelope: Love? What's wrong?

Odysseus: That prophet son of a bitch- IT WAS ME!

Penelope: What??

Odysseus: I WAS THE MAN WHO WAS HAUNTING ALL ALONG!!

Penelope: *pulling him down and hugging him* ok dear just go back to sleep.

*meanwhile in the Underworld*

Tiresias: Fucking finally that dumbass

[looulouv]

currently writing a pt 2 of the bodyguard ..... maybe it's pt 0 bc i wanna narrate how they met lol