#Telemachus Drabble

[randomfandomworks]

“I look into your eyes and I think back to the son of mine, you’re as old as he was when I left for war…”

Odysseus can’t help but smile as he gazes down to the baby boy cradled in his arms.

He’d spent years trying to get home, trying to see his family again. It had never occurred to him that his family may have grown in his absence.

His son, his boy, Telemachus, had grown into a wonderful man. More than that, a wonderful husband and father.

Odysseus had learned quickly about you, his sons betrothed, as he settled in back home.

He watched as his son reminded him of himself, hopelessly in love and devoted to his wife. A proud feeling swelling in his chest as he reminisced and caught the softness of his son's eyes on you.

His pride only grows as he watches his son become a father. A little baby boy that reminds Odysseus so much of the one he left behind all those years ago.

Odysseus watches his son hold his own boy, watches as he shares his immeasurable joy with you, listens as Penelope tells their grandson stories, and imagines what it must have been like after he’d gone.

Baby Telemachus being rocked to sleep with stories of adventures filling his head, growing and only knowing his father as myth, finding you and falling deeply into love just as his father before him had.

Now Odysseus’s grandson rests in the nursery where his son once laid. Now a grandfather, Odysseus rocks the boy to sleep the same way he had so few times with his own son.

And as he lays him in his crib to rest he’s grateful to not miss this. To be here to watch his son be a part of all the things he couldn’t.

For Telemachus to experience all the firsts with his boy that Odysseus missed with him.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I have a thought for epic. Before Telemachus went on his diplomatic mission, he was scrawny because he didn't have any warrior training. And his wife loved that about him. But hear me out. He comes back, after all the training from Athena and such and he is so much stronger and has more muscle and his wife is like "DAMN!!"

A/n: I love this 🤣 also like let me know if you want a smutty part 2 👀

You were one of the best things that happened to him, Telemachus. You saw him for who he was, not for being the son of Odysseus and now....now he was leaving you behind.

(Something he did not want to do)

Lip's quivering, you did your best to not pout as you grasped your husband's hands gently in yours as you gazed up at him. "Come back to me."

Telemachus smiled as he pressed his head against yours as he gave you a soft kiss. "Always."

It's been close to a year, a year without your sweet and gentle husband and now you've had gotten word he was finally returning home. You've always knew that Telemachus wasn’t a warrior when he’d gone.

Not yet.

Telemachus had always been gentle—long-limbed, a bit too lean, always more tongue-tied than bold, except when he spoke of justice. Or you.

You’d fallen for his soul, his smile and those beautiful eyes, not his sword arm. For the way he listened more than he spoke.

So when the guards called out—“A ship! The prince returns!”—you dropped the basket you were holding and without thinking you took off into a sprint.

You ran to the shore.

And stopped cold.

Because the man disembarking was not the same scrawny boy who left.

He was taller now, shoulders broad beneath a dark cloak, a glint of bronze beneath it where his armor clung. His arms—Gods, his arms—were no longer slender but strong, defined with muscle earned from battles and training alike. He walked like a lion now, not a hesitant deer. Confident. Controlled. Powerful.

And then he smiled...that same sweet smile.

Your Telemachus was still in there—that soft tilt of the mouth, the boyish warmth that bloomed behind storm-colored eyes.

“Wife,” he greeted lowly, voice deeper than you remembered, huskier with use.

You blinked once.

Twice.

“…Damn,” you whispered, breathless.

His brow arched in amused confusion. “What was that?”

“N-Nothing,” you stammered, cheeks flaring with heat as you suddenly remembered the many, many inappropriate thoughts now stampeding through your mind. “I just—I didn’t—gods, what did Athena feed you?”

That made him grin.

“You missed me, then?” he teased, stepping closer until his shadow fell over you, until you had to tilt your head just to keep eye contact.

You reached out, placing your hand on his chest—partly to confirm he was real, partly because by the gods, you wanted to feel those muscles beneath your palm. “You could say that.” Your mouth felt dry and you were at a loss for words now.

But when he dipped his head to kiss you, slow and warm and newly confident, you could barely remember what restraint meant.

“I have so many things to tell you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Mhm,” you breathed. “Later. Right now, we’re going inside. And you’re going to tell me with your arms and body and everything else.

He blinked.

Then he smirked.

“By the gods,” he chuckled, sweeping you up bridal-style without effort. “I’ve missed you.”

And if anyone asked why the palace doors slammed shut and didn’t open again until dawn…

Well. That was nobody’s business but yours

[winxanity-ii]

I JUST CANT GET THIS IMAGE OUT OF MY HEADDD

SILLY HEADCANON

ughhhh

Like when the kitchen serve smth that Y/n doesn’t like but she also doesn’t not want to seem like a picky eater she will just take a few bites then play coy and spoon feed it to Telemachus. Mask it as all lovely dovy n stuff, n everyone thinks they are sooooo cute but only Telemachus knows! And after a while he gain weights, like his baby fat returns, yet he still savour every bit of foof Y/n feed him…(he then process to lowkey do the same to Y/n..)

NO BECAUSE THIS??? THIS IS CANON. THIS IS SO THEM 😭😭

Telemachus sitting there, all pink in the face, cheeks full of food he didn't even ask for while Reader's like "oh nooo, I'm just being sweet~ ❤️" when really she's like "if I have to eat another mouthful of this I will simply pass away so YOU handle it."

And the baby fat comeback??? STOP. He's already built like he grew up on war bread and stress, so seeing him soften just a little because of you?? You feeding him with your own hands??? YOU'RE FATTERING THE PRINCE??? I'm about to faint in the name of love and domestic gluttony.

AND THE FACT HE STARTS DOING IT BACK??? I can already hear him all smug like, "Oh, so you didn't like that soup? That's alright, I’ll eat it—open." cue spoon dramatically aimed at your lips like it's war strategy 😩💖

This is the kind of softness that keeps me breathing. I'm clutching my pearls. You are a genius. A menace. A blessing. I want to write this. I want to breath this. I want to experience this in my life 😭

So um. Yeah. Here's a little scene you inspired:

𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (post-move to the palace wing, late afternoon, private dining nook. Fluff overload.)

The stew was… awful.

Not poisonous—just aggressively bland. The kind that clung to your tongue and made your soul beg for forgiveness. A tragic grayish lump of overboiled roots and forgotten ambition.

You took one bite, then another—enough to seem polite—enough to fake it.

Then you set your spoon down with a sweet sigh and scooted your bowl ever so slightly toward the middle of the little table.

"Mm. You should eat mine too," you said, voice honeyed as you leaned your chin into your hand. "It's still warm."

Telemachus looked up from his own bowl, which he had been eating tucked by your window, sunlight catching on the tips of his lashes. He blinked at you, lips parted like he was mid-thought.. "That's the third meal this week you've 'sweetly' surrendered to me," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm starting to think you hate the palace menu."

You tilted your head. "Noooo," you said, much too fast. "I just like seeing you eat. You look happier when you're chewing. Like a thoughtful goat... It's comforting."

You spooned up a bit of your untouched stew and leaned across the table. "Here," you offered with a sweet smile.

He huffed a laugh but leaned forward anyway, letting you feed him a bite. His mouth opened, and he bit down, wincing slightly.

"Mmm," he deadpanned.

"You didn't even chew it all the way," you whispered, scandalized watching as his jaw flexed as he chewed.

"Didn't need to. The pain was immediate." He raised a brow. "Tastes like boiled disappointment."

You giggled, scooping another bite. "C'mon. One more. I'll even give you a kiss if you finish it."

Telemachus froze.

You blinked at him, innocent.

He took it, eyeing you the whole time, before glancing at your down at your bowl. "Wait a second," he muttered. "You hate this stew."

You blinked again, wounded. "I would never—"

"You always get all syrupy with the compliments when the kitchen messes up," he went on, leaning back in mock-revelation. "That soup on Monday. The weird lemon thing on Tuesday. The steamed cabbage loaf yesterday—"

"I was being supportive of the kitchen's dishes and wanted you to try it," you interrupted.

"You made me eat three of them."

"It's character-building," you said, solemn.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

"You're not off the hook, you know."

You blinked. "What do you mean?"

Then slowly, he stood from his seat, circled the table, and crouched beside your chair.

You opened your mouth to say something else—but he plucked your spoon out of your hand before you could.

"Say 'ah.'" he murmured, crouching beside you now.

You blinked. "Telemachus, I—"

"I'm serious."

"You're going to make me eat it?"

"I'm going to feed it to you. Lovingly. Like you do me."

You stared at him with narrowed eyes. "That's evil."

He smiled—sweet, smug, soft around the edges. "Say 'ah.'"

So you sighed… and opened your mouth.

The stew was still awful.

But gods, his grin afterward made it easier to swallow.

He didn't comment when you tried to sneak him another bite halfway through.

He just took it. Quiet. Smiling. Watching you like he'd been waiting for this game to unravel.

And so it went—your silly little food dance. You pretending not to hate it, him pretending not to notice, and somehow both of you ending up full, and quietly warm.

And by the end of the week? His jaw was softer. His tunic snugger. You mentioned nothing.

Until one afternoon, when he poked his stomach and muttered something about needing to train more—because his belt was starting to groan when he sat down.

You just grinned.

And handed him another spoon

[sleepylee3]

Ok so I was in the car driving home today and my brain was full of Hermes drabbles and this happened

*wait a minute Zieru's design for Hermes is perfect for sneaky side tickles or even a tackle and shirt flip followed by raspberries*

Then my brain was like 'oh wait a minute already i can make a little thing about this on tumblr later' so here we are..uhm....enjoy Epic fandom :3

Ever since Odysseus had come home from his 20-year journey, killed all the suitors in his palace, and re-united with his son and loving wife, he'd felt more at peace than he'd ever been. Reasonably enough, he still had a lingering feeling of dread. Now, why would he? All potential threats were taken care of- Poseidon was off his back, the suitors were dead, and he was home; what more could there be to worry about?

Oh, except maybe the fact that Hermes was now a frequent visitor, alongside Athena (who practically lived with the family of 3, considering how much she was around). Thankfully, he wasn't up to his mischievous self the whole week, just......5 days out of 7. Of course, the only real reason he was allowed around (he'd probably still be regardless, but anyways-) was because he helped keep Telemachus busy; Odysseus and Penelope were always together, so Telemachus had no one but Argon, Athena, and his great-grandpa Hermes to hang out with. Luckily for his parents, they did an excellent job of, well.....babysitting; while Telemachus and his divine friends (plus Argon) called it "hanging out", Odysseus and Penelope called it babysitting, because well...that's what it was.

Now, Hermes was quite the help with Telemachus, but that didn't mean the two stayed out of trouble. No- if anything, the trouble around the palace all but lessened. At first, it was little things- rearranged books, weapons missing from the arena and showing up in random places around the palace (one was even in the bathroom), y'know, the little things. But then it started to escalate- water buckets on the top of doors, invisible trip-wires causing flour to pour all over someone, fake spiders in drinks and beds, and overall shenanigans. And there was only one person (ok, maybe two) who could've been behind it.

As Odysseus walked into the arena, he noticed two practice spears missing from their usual stands. Beginning the search, he checked each regular hiding spot, only to find them dangling just out of his reach inside his room. Reaching up he attempted to grab one, missing the end just barely.

"Need some help?"

Odysseus barely had time to react before he felt something scribbling against his exposed underarm, immediately snapping his arm back down and looking around.

Nothing. Why does this have to be so difficult?

Meanwhile, Hermes was watching from the shadows, waiting to strike again. Watching Odysseus reach up to grab at the dangling practice spears again, he slowly drifted forward to once again mess with the King of Ithaca, knowing nothing too horrible would happen, should he be caught. No, he wouldn't- he was too fast for that, surely.

Reaching out, he squeezed the king's sides with a quick yet firm squeeze, then raced back to the shadows just as Odysseus turned around.

"Alright, who's doing that? Come out here, now!"

Hermes had to stifle a giggle from where he was, and decided to pretend like he'd been passing by the room in search of Telemachus, and mess with his grandson some more. As he disappeared out of the room, he reappeared just outside, then floated past calling out Telemachus's name.

"Telemachus! Where did you go? Darling, I found a cool rock!"

As soon as Odysseus laid eyes on him, his suspicions were made true.

"Hermes! Just who I was looking for- come here for a moment, will you?"

Hermes floated over, landing in front of him as if it was just a normal day. Oh, if Hermes had only known what the king was planning.

"I have a question for you- can you get those down for me?"

Odysseus asked, pointing to the dangling spears. He watched as Hermes shrugged, beginning to float up to get the practice spears down, but was stopped by a dug on his cloak.

"From the ground- I wanna see you do something without flying around for once."

The man had to fight back a smug grin as he watched the latter reach up for the spears as he had, knowing that the other's attention was on trying to get them down without leaving the carpeted floor.

So he could only fight back a sly chuckle as he reached out and quickly squeezed the messenger's exposed sides, earning him a rewarding shriek of surprise as he quickly crossed his arms to appear innocent.

"Whahat was that, Ody?"

"What was what, messenger?"

"....nothing-"

The king knew it wasn't just nothing; he'd gotten into tickle fights before, he wasn't dumb. So of course he had to do it again. Reaching out once more, he spidered his fingers across the back of his friend's ribs, earning another shriek, followed by a floating Hermes glaring at him from above; obviously, it wasn't a real glare, they both knew he enjoyed it as much as anyone.

"Are you sure? To me, that sounded like a shrieky little giggle-"

"Shuhut up- if you do that one more time, darling, I can't guarantee you'll be safe from me for the next week, at the least."

"Hmm...I'm willing to take that risk!"

Odysseus lunged at the floating god, grabbing his legs and pulling him down, causing them to tumble to the ground. In the end, Hermes was flat on his back with his shirt (the front of his cloak, really- it was all attached) over his face, and the king wasted no time in climbing on top of the normally smug-looking god (haha get it, normally smug looking bc u cant see his face), sitting on his hips so he couldn't move. Of course, he could always just disappear and reappear somewhere else, but where was the fun in that?

"Odysseus, dohohon't! I'm sohohrryy"

"No, I don't think you are- but look at this, you can't even see me! That's no fun, now is it?"

He reached up, pulling the part of Hermes's cloak-shirt-thing (shoat??) that was over his face down to where his chest ended and his ribs began.

"There, that's better! Now I can see you, and you can see me!"

"Nohoho shihit!"

Odysseus gasped in mock offense, placing a hand on his chest.

"Language! I can't let that go unnoticed, now can I? That needs to be treated, if you're going to be around Telemachus more!"

As he finished saying this, he brought a hand down to begin scribbling over the messenger's exposed belly, causing hearty giggles to tumble out of the god's mouth like some sort of dam had burst, and all the pent-up things just came flowing out.

"Hehe's ahalmohohost 21! Thahaht's ahahan ahaduhult!"

Hermes managed to say between giggles, his cheeks flushed a pinkish-red color as he scrunched his eyes shut, crow's feet appearing around the corners of his eyes. Odysseus decided to put his newly-shaven beard to use, and it had been a while since he'd used it on someone, much less anyone other than family.

"Hey Hermes, what's my favorite fruit? Do you remember?"

The king asked, waiting Hermes's answer. Now, the laughing god wasn't stupid, he knew what was going to happen; but where's the fun in not playing along? Besides, it had been a while since he'd really, truthfully laughed; this was a much-needed release.

"Nohoho! Daharlihing, I'm sohohrry! Plehehase-"

While the giggling deity may have been convincing to any other, Odysseus knew he was enjoying himself. Plus, this was a bit of payback for Hermes messing with him, before he was given the Holy Moly before fighting Circe, back on her island. Now, he really did have a taste of the power (heh get it).

"Well, do you? It's ok, I do!"

Odysseus brought his head closer to the god's face, just to fluster him more.

"It's raspberries!"

He watched as the god's face turned a darker shade of red, then he leant down and began nuzzling his face into the messenger's belly, his half-shaven beard adding to the measure of tickles shooting through the latter's body, adding little raspberries here an there. Poor Hermes (not really, he loved it-) was laughing himself silly, but dare he admit it, he was having fun.

"NAHAHAHO! OHOHDHYHY!!!"

The king's ears weren't the best, but he could've sworn he almost went deaf- the god's shrieky laughter was so loud, he was sure all of Ithaca could hear him. Endearingly enough though, his ears were the same color as the blush covering his face, his hair was mussed up, and the wings on his head where happily flapping up and down, as if trying to fly away.

Being a father, (and frequent tickle monster, and trickster,) he knew when someone was at a limit, and when they weren't. He could tell the squirming, shrieking, laughing puddle under him that was Hermes was nearing there, so he gave one last raspberry to the middle of his stomach, squeezing both his sides at the same time to bring out one last giggly shriek before getting off the other, allowing them to breathe as Odysseus picked up his bow, shooting the rope that held the spears in place, causing them to fall onto the floor with a satisfying thump.

"Have fun?"

"Mahaybe...."

And with that, the reinging king of Ithaca walked out, carrying the practice spears to the arena to put them back, passing Telemachus on the way.

"Oh, hey dad! Have you seen Hermes?"

Odysseus only smirked to himself before answering with a simple

"Check my room",

then walking past his son, leaving him to find the giggly mess of a god that was on his bedroom floor for Telemachus to find.

[xfilesinamajor]

Trapped

Same isn’t all that far from Ithaca. Close enough that on a clear day, if she sits on the roof of the palace and squints really hard, she can see a dark smudge on the horizon that she knows is home.

It’s still “home” in her mind, even after twelve years of life on a different island, in a different palace, with a different family. That’s probably why Same doesn’t feel like home, even though Euenus and Oitane have made every effort to include her and make her feel welcome in their home. It’s still their home. Euenus still rules Same, and will continue to do so until Eurylochus returns or Leotychides grows to manhood. And Ctimene—she’s trapped in the middle, raising the future king of this place that isn’t her home.

If the war had never come—if Eurylochus hadn’t left so soon after the wedding—if the war hadn’t been so far—if it hadn’t gone on for so painfully long—then things would be different. Her husband would have been her with her to form memories in this palace, to hold her in the cold, unfamiliar bed, to stand by her and help her raise their son. He doesn’t even know he has a son, she hadn’t known herself until weeks after the ships for Troy departed.

He doesn’t know. Ctimene smiles bitterly into the bright sunshine. She’s still thinking of him as if he’s alive, when chances are very good that he isn’t. Other soldiers have returned to their homes over the past two years, most of them in the first few months. She knows the war is over, and the Odysseus survived it. Her parents received word from Menelaos about that, and they had passed the message on to her. Ithaca is a sizeable island, and Odysseus had distinguished himself as a general in the war.

But no one had bothered to send a message about Eurylochus of Same.

Even if he did survive the war, no one from any of their islands has returned home. It’s very likely they all drowned. Mother never gave up hope that they were still coming, that they had only been delayed…she had died believing that any day now, Odysseus would come walking through the doors.

Ctimene was there when she passed. They knew she was failing, and Eumaeus had arrived in a ship to escort her home in time to say her goodbyes. Leotychides had joined her, initially sitting seriously and quietly at her side, looking at her with wide, frightened eyes when his grandmother touched his face with her cold hands and called him Telemachus.

Telemachus, though only older by a year, somehow knew just what to do, and he’d led his cousin off to play a game. Mother had slipped away before they returned. She’d died looking beyond Ctimene and Eumaeus to the doors behind them, telling them calmly and softly that she wasn’t going to the Underworld just yet, she had to wait for Odysseus.

At least she had still died with hope. Father seemed to have lost all hope after that, retreating to the kingdom’s farmlands and forsaking the palace. To Ctimene, it was as though she lost both her parents within the span of only a week. Only Eumaeus, Penelope, and young Telemachus remained of her family.

Poor Penelope. Ctimene doesn’t envy her position these days, even if she has brought the troubles on herself. With Odysseus presumed dead, Ithaca is ready for a new king. And Penelope, lovely as she is, would have no shortage of suitors even were she not Queen. But like Mother, she refuses to accept the loss and move on. As long as she insists her husband is alive, Telemachus cannot become king, and she cannot remarry. Yet she can’t stop men from trying to court her, and already last Ctimene heard there are at least a dozen of them on her doorstep.

At least as long as Euenus lives and rules, no one dares to bother Ctimene or Leotychides. They are left to age and grow in relative peace, in this place that isn’t her home. She ought to be grateful for that.

And she is. She is grateful. Most of the time.

Before Eurylochus, she’d known the touch of no man. She had longed for it, though, and in the few precious weeks they had together, she had come to enjoy it more completely than she could have imagined. Then abruptly that was taken from her, and for twelve years she has been longing for it again. She loves her son, adores watching him grow into a tall and awkward young man, treasures his companionship. But there are other types of companionship she desires.

If Eurylochus will never return, she wants someone to warm her bed, hold her close, share the joys and sorrows of her heart. To find someone who will love her after Leotychides is grown, so she won’t someday find herself old and alone on this island which isn’t her home. She doesn’t want to be lonely forever. She is loath to die like Mother, waiting for someone who isn’t coming back. Twelve years is so long, after so short a time together.

And yet while she is on Same, under the roof of Eurylochus’ parents, the decision is not hers. Until they admit he is dead, she cannot dishonor the family by taking a new lover. She will not open herself up to the sort of slander that such a rash act would bring. She is Ctimene of Ithaca, daughter of Laertes, and she is no whore.

She lies back on the roof, melting into the heat of the sun-baked tiles, and closes her eyes. In her mind, she tries to conjure up Eurylochus’ face. It’s not difficult—Leotychides looks so much like him. In fact, she remembers Eurylochus at eleven years old. After the harvest every year, and in the spring, he and the children from other surrounding islands would come to Ithaca. Mother and Father would throw a feast and listen the ideas and requests of all the smaller kingdoms. He was the one who taught her how to climb trees. After years of tagging after Odysseus and Eumaeus and begging for their aid, this tall, dark boy had taken the time to patiently show her where to put her feet and instructed her on how to pull herself up to the lowest branch. Once she’d made it that far, she’d caught on quickly. Climbing came as easily as her to breathing now. It was why this roof had become one of her favorite places. She can sit quietly, undisturbed by duty or honor, stare across the waters, and see home.

But the young man who kissed her in the highest branches of the tree outside her parents’ palace—Odysseus’ palace—is not the Eurylochus of today. If he even lives. Tears burn the backs of her eyes, and since she is alone she feels no shame at letting them roll down her cheeks. If he’s still out there, why hasn’t he come home? Why does he leave her to suffer like this, forever a guest in his home, queen of nothing but loneliness? How could he still be out there, changed beyond recognition by time and war, walking about under the same sun that’s warming her skin?

She wants it to be possible. She longs to see what they years have done to him. She can imagine just the way his arms will fit around her, and the adorable look of shock on his face when she introduces Leotychides. The picture in her head makes her smile, and she remembers how he used to make her laugh. Every time she did something unexpected, he’d make that silly face of surprise, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

His family had paid a huge bridal price when he asked to marry her. He’d thought, somehow, that without it, her family might refuse. She’d laughed when he told her that. She still remembers the moment. On their wedding day, after all the ceremonies. She’d laughed and demanded to know what had made him think for a moment that her parents would stop her marrying whoever she chose. “I didn’t think you’d chose me,” he’d said, and she could have slapped him.  “If I didn’t want you, you stupid man, then no amount of money could have bought me.”

She used to laugh so much. She used to be so young. She used to be so free.

She wants him to come home, even though she knows in her heart that he’s dead. She can accept the cruel fate the gods have dealt her, however it plays out. She’s never been one for denial.

But all the same, Ctimene misses her husband. Perhaps she always will.

[im-so-normal-i-swear]

Ok so I haven’t posted since (checks notes) April. So. Have an apology Telemachus and Penelope thing

Telemachus stood on his tippy toes, straining his neck to try to seem taller.

“See, Mama, I’m so tall,” he said, then promptly lost his balance.

“Did you have both feet flat on the ground?” Penelope teased, ruffling his curly hair.

“Yes, I did,” Telemachus insisted. He crossed his little arms and gave a mock pout.

“Are you sure?” she singsonged.

“Well, maybe I cheated a teeny bit.”

“Oh, well if that’s the case, we’ll have to try again, won’t we, little wolf?”

Telemachus hummed in agreement and pressed his back to the wall, feet flat on the ground this time. He fidgeted his hands excitedly, waiting to be measured.

Penelope bent down to mark the wall with her knife, her dark hair brushing Telemachus’s face.

After a moment, she stepped back. The wall bore a fresh line, with the words Spring, 6 beside it.

“I’m so tall, Mama.” Telemachus pointed out a line that read Spring, 5. “Look how much I’ve grown!”

His mother’s hand rested on a line above any of his. The word beside it was a bit too high up for Telemachus to see from where he was, but he knew what it said.

Odysseus.

Penelope’s face grew sad, the corners of her lips tugging downwards.

Telemachus frowned to match her. “Are you okay?”

Penelope looked down with a start, then gave a small sigh. “Yes, I’m alright.” She crouched down to be at Telemachus’s eye level and laid her hands on his shoulders. “Your father is coming home soon, alright? Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. He will return.”

“Okay…” Telemachus looked down. “Will I be taller than him? When he comes back, I mean.”

Penelope laughed. “I hope not, honey, but I think you eventually will be.”

That was the dream. Telemachus knew Penelope didn’t know when his dad would be back, but he really hoped he would get back soon. Was it silly to miss a man you never even knew?

The scratch of the knife against wood was a familiar sound by now. Every season of his life, he had stood against this wooden wall, waiting to be measured. Penelope wanted Odysseus to know when Telemachus outgrew him. She wanted him to have some semblance of growing up with his son.

The war was over, and Odysseus hadn’t returned. Diomedes had gone back to Argos, Nestor was sitting on his throne in Pylos, though he was old enough to have died several years ago, and even Neoptolemus, Achilles’s son, had made it home safely.

“All done,” Penelope said, stepping back.

Telemachus turned towards the wall. The new mark read Summer, 13. It was above Odysseus’s line for the first time.

“He’s gonna come back, right?”

Shadows crossed Penelope’s face, and she turned towards the window. “He will.”

[kaz-identified]

Telemachus tilts her head, watching Orestes nail the padded wall before him with blow after blow.

"I have to admit," she chirps from her perch far above. "I admire you Titans."

Orestes nods, breath coming out fast and hard as he pulls back, slamming his leg into the wall. "Never thought I'd hear a Hunter say that," he jokes.

"I mean it!" Telemachus insists. "You Titans, you have a real sense of brotherhood. Even between your orders. You all seem to greet each other as friends."

"We're fightin' for the same side. No reason to hold grudge against an ally," Orestes muses.

Telemachus shrugs. "Weird. Hunters don't do that."

"No?"

She shakes her head. "We all think we're better than each other."

"Makes sense. You hunters, you're spiteful little bastards. Hard to get along with something so tricky."

She laughs. "That may be true."

He looks up at her, standing back from the wall. "Not you though. You're easy to get on with."

Telemachus beams down at him slyly. "Why thank you!"

He grins. "Yea, you're more a Titan than a Hunter for sure."

"HEY!"

[luvuomi]

✎ . . . ❝ [ amethos but, epic au! ]❞ .ೃ࿐

dedicated tracks: “the horse and the infant” & “just a man”

though strategic in his battle tactics and a master in the art of war, sethos is not one who particularly enjoys the bloodshed and adrenaline that comes along with it. unfortunately in this day in age, not many would agree. for them, to harbor such skilled yet deathly attributes, should thus be carried with pride. only then, can a man ever wish to become that which is greater than himself. this is how many view the reigning king of tulaytullah.

an adversary that is neither man nor mythical, but one’s darkest moment.

but would his fellow comrades still think the same of him now if they saw him hesitating on striking down his greatest foe? granted.. said foe was nothing more than a mere infant.

a fragile, defenseless being he now cradled in his arms, a familiar gesture that brought forth memories of his own child as he looked into their eyes. how could such innocence be deemed a threat by the gods? to be the bearer of such great calamity?

he couldn’t do it. how can when all he sees as he carries this child are fleeting images of his own son and wife.

where as he stands out on the balcony overseeing a once prosperous nation now set ablaze and ringing with battle cries from his invasion, he imagines for a moment that he’s back home in tulaytullah. even after all the years, away from everything he’s known, he can still see the image of the streets below bustling with vendors as they open up shops and prepare for the day ahead. instead of the smoky air, he imagines the mellow summer breeze that travels through the air of his kingdom, greeting him a pleasant morning.

in this daydream, sethos continues to hold the infant in his arms, having decidedly taken him in to raise as his own. at his right, his own son tugs at him, eagerly wanting to meet his new little brother and on his left, is his wife — amélie . her head resting upon his shoulder while tender eyes gaze upon the infant that she of course welcomed with open arms. it’s a distant future but one that is so picturesque, he almost believes it to be true.

but as the infant’s cries suddenly echo out, everything vanishes as quickly as it came, reduced to nothing more than the ashes that fill the darkened skies.

the world he desires is not awaiting him should he go against the will of the gods.

to have sympathy now would come at too much of a cost. one he can’t afford to lose as a man who’s just trying.. begging to go home.

[antinousletmehit]

𐙚 ⋮ Aphrodites gamble ꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇This series is basically like what if Antinous had a younger sister that likes to bully Telemachus but plot twist they fall in love and Antinous crashes out.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

╰─ ♡ Main series:

୨୧┇Chapter one

୨୧┇chapter two

୨୧┇Chapter three

୨୧┇Chapter four

୨୧┇Chapter five

୨୧┇Chapter six

୨୧┇Chapter seven

୨୧┇Chapter eight

୨୧┇Chapter nine

୨୧┇Chapter ten

୨୧┇Chapter eleven

୨୧┇Chapter twelve

୨୧┇Chapter thirteen

୨୧┇Chapter fourteen

୨୧┇Chapter fifteen

୨୧┇Chapter sixteen

୨୧┇Chapter seventeen

୨୧┇Chapter eighteen

୨୧┇Chapter nineteen

୨୧┇Chapter twenty

୨୧┇Chapter twenty one

୨୧┇Chapter twenty two

୨୧┇Chapter twenty three

୨୧┇Chapter twenty four

୨୧┇Chapter twenty five

୨୧┇Chapter twenty six

୨୧┇Chapter twenty seven

୨୧┇Chapter twenty eight

୨୧┇Chapter twenty nine

୨୧┇Chapter thirty

୨୧┇Chapter thirty one FINAL!!

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ Antinous and Y/N sibling stuff:

Talking about their relationship/past

Scenarios from when they were younger

More scenarios from when they’re younger but antinous is shittier

Reader is injured

Antinous being a shitty brother (and character designs)

Antinous walks in on his sister smooching Tele

Antinous dying during hold them down

Reader having a breakdown during chapter 19

Chapter 20 scenario that anti talked about

A brother’s plea

Readers dead

Kid reader is drunk

Emotional manipulation.

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ Extra:

Ithaca saga scenario

Ithaca saga scenario pt2

Bad ending (not cannon)

The cast as cats

Reader is dead again

Eurymachus’s first time meeting reader

Early palace scenarios

Reverse au

Younger reader and Tele

Pillows….

Caught in the act

Odyssey!Tele meets reader

More early palace

College au Drabble

How would odyssey!telemachus deal w this

Early palace pt3

Antinous’s bad babysitting

Telemachus fearing for his life

Early palace pt4

Early palace p5

Odyssues finding out of readers past

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ SEQUEL

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ COMMENT TO BE ON TAGLIST

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast @dorkyfangirl24

[xo-cuteplosion-xo-2]

A Light In The Dark By Cuteplosion Mastelist

Telemachus x reader:

Summary:

In which a girl named Y/n has never known affection without condition before a prince opens his heart to her. Will the young Dove soar free of her brother's cage, or will she remain where she is comfortable? Will the prince and the dove fall in love and end with a smile, or will their love be their undoing and end in tragedy? AKA The reader is Eurymachus' younger half-sister and a chess piece in his quest for power, but he forgets that all birds are born wanting to soar. Your wings could only stay clipped for so long, and Telemachus is the one with a chance to free you if you'll let him. TW's/Intro post link (Click here)

Chapter 01 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 02 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 03 Differs from the SFW version Chapter 04 Differs from the SFW version Chapter 05 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 06 Differs from the SFW version Chapter 07 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 08 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 09 HUGE difference between SFW and NSFW major TW Chapter 10 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 11 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 12 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 13 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 14 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 15 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 16 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 17 No difference Between SFW and NSFW Chapter 18 Differs from the SFW version major TW Chapter 19 Differs from the SFW version (soft smut) LAST CHAPTER

Additional content from asks and/or drabbles

[lunette-png]

𐔌  .  waves of ithaca  !  ୧

╰ disclaimer ╮

⤷‧₊ interlude

⤷‧₊ prologue

⤷‧₊ interlude 2

⤷‧₊ chapter 1: the tides brought her home

⤷‧₊ chapter 2: anchored shores

⤷‧₊ interlude 3: coin in the wind

⤷‧₊ interlude 4: where the light lingered

⤷‧₊ interlude 5: the messenger and the lightbearer

⤷‧₊ drabble 1

⤷‧₊ chapter 3: the unwelcome and the unseen

⤷‧₊ chapter 4: to keep ithaca afloat

⤷‧₊ chapter 5: salt and shadow

⤷‧₊ chapter 6: the weight of absence

⤷‧₊ chapter 7: unmoored in a silent storm

⤷‧₊ interlude 6: through distant stars

⤷‧₊ chapter 8: in the quiet of his mischief

⤷‧₊ interlude 7: the weight between waves

⤷‧₊ chapter 9: to aim once more

⤷‧₊ not just a name (10k reads celebration)

𐔌  .  oneshots  !  ୧

⤷‧₊ telemachus x siren! reader: when the sea fell silent

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐧 || 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐬 ||

A/n: Smutty part 2 of this fic

The door barely closed behind you before his mouth was on yours.

Telemachus kissed you like a starving man—desperate, heady, sure. Gone was the hesitant touch of the boy who left. In his place was a man whose hands knew how to hold, whose mouth devoured with hunger and heat.

You gasped when he backed you against the wall, his hands sliding down your waist, fingers digging into your hips possessively. His lips moved to your neck, hot and wet as he whispered, “I dreamed of this. Of you.”

You clung to him, overwhelmed, stunned by how solid he’d become. Muscles rippled beneath your hands, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you as your fingers explored the hard planes of his back, his chest—gods, he was all grown now. A warrior. A man.

“I missed you,” you breathed against his ear.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, chest rising fast. “Then let me show you how much.”

He lifted you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to your shared bed. The moment your back hit the sheets, he was on top of you—kissing you deeply, his weight grounding you, thrilling you.

Your hands trembled as they tugged at his cloak, pulling it off his shoulders to reveal sun-kissed skin, marred by new scars and sculpted with earned strength. Your mouth parted in awe, but he caught your gasp with a kiss, deep and hungry.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. God's you missed him, missed him being by your side.

“So are you,” he rasped, his hands slipping beneath your robes. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

Clothing was shed in frantic, reverent touches. When at last you lay bare before each other, Telemachus slowed. His gaze roamed over your body as if memorizing every curve, every freckle, every place he ached to kiss.

“Let me worship you,” he said softly, voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, heart fluttering—and he did.

His mouth found your collarbone, trailing kisses lower. You gasped as his lips closed over a nipple, warm and wet, and your back arched with a needy moan. He lavished your breasts with devotion, then moved lower, dragging his tongue down your stomach, nipping at your hips until your thighs trembled.

When his mouth finally met your heat, you cried out—hand fisting in the sheets as he licked slow, purposeful strokes that made your entire body burn. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“T-Telemachus—” you gasped. “I need you. Please.”

He kissed back up your body, his skin hot against yours, his length pressed heavy between your thighs. He braced himself above you, his gaze locked on yours as he guided himself to your entrance.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised, voice hoarse. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You pulled him closer. “I want all of you...I need you.”

He pushed in, inch by inch, stretching you around him. You moaned—half pleasure, half disbelief. He felt so big, thicker than before, filling you completely. He buried his face in your neck as he bottomed out with a shaky groan.

“Gods,” he whispered. “You feel like home.”

When he began to move, slow and deep, your hands clung to his shoulders. Every thrust was purposeful, every roll of his hips sending sparks through your spine. He kissed you between moans—messy, open-mouthed, murmuring your name like a prayer.

Your climax built slowly, sweetly, each thrust sending you closer. His pace quickened, his breath ragged, as this was something he was waiting for.

“I’m close,” he groaned, voice rough against your ear.

You cupped his face, pulling him down for a kiss. “Together.”

And when you came—gods, you shattered. Your body clenched tight around him, legs locked at his waist, back arched off the bed, as he followed with a deep, gasping cry, spilling inside you in pulsing warmth.

He collapsed gently over you, pressing kisses to your jaw, your temple, your lips. Arms still wrapped gently around your body as he held you close.

“I love you,” he breathed.

You smiled, fingers brushing the damp hair from his brow. “Welcome home, my warrior. My husband, my love."

He chuckled softly, breath hitching when you kissed his jaw and whispered with a sheepish smile on your face.“I really like the new muscles.”

And just like that, his hunger returned.

And that night, the prince proved just how much he’d grown.

[winxanity-ii]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄/𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍:

𝐀 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 (fluff/angst-ish?; between ch.23 (blessings and burdens) -24 (divine liaison)

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: odysseus gave mc the title 'divine liasion' to kind of bridge the gap between mc and his son, like a lowkey olive branch or a way to give her a role that would keep her close but still protected. 😩 (BTW THANK YOU SANMAO from Quotev for jogging my memory of this lol)

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting soft amber light across the wooden walls of the study.

Maps lay spread before Odysseus like a battle waiting to be fought, inked lines and fraying parchment curling at the corners from years of handling. He sat hunched at his desk, one hand resting on a goblet of wine that had long since gone lukewarm, the other holding down a scroll as his eyes flicked over strategy reports from the western coast.

Across the room, Penelope sat by the hearth, quill in hand. Her writing was smooth and elegant, like the sweep of her wrist was practiced even when her mind was a world away. She was drafting a letter—he didn't ask to whom. Probably a cousin on the mainland or one of the allied queens who still wrote in spirals of gossip and veiled concern.

The only sound was the gentle drag of her quill and the occasional sigh from Odysseus as he reread the same line for the third time without absorbing it.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that came only when a queen and king had learned to share space without needing to speak.

Then—three sharp knocks. Quick. Nervous.

Penelope's quill stilled. Odysseus lifted his head, gaze narrowing.

"Enter," he called, voice low but firm.

The door creaked open, and in shuffled a young servant—barely more than a boy, really—hair mussed and eyes wide like he'd sprinted the entire length of the palace. He bowed, words spilling out before he caught his breath. "M-My lord, my lady—pardon the interruption, but I—I thought you should know."

Penelope sat upright. Odysseus arched a brow. "Well? Speak."

The servant swallowed hard. "People. At the gates. Dozens—maybe more by now. They're saying the girl—the one who healed the boy on the ship—word's spread. They think she's blessed. Touched by the gods. Some have traveled from neighboring isles already—hoping to be healed."

He blinked, clearly rattled, and added, "Should I alert the guards? Or... or send for the priestesses?"

Odysseus exchanged a glance with Penelope, his jaw tightening. He waved a hand. "No. That'll be all. Go back to your post. And... breathe."

The boy stumbled out with a bow, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence returned—heavier this time.

Penelope was the first to speak, voice soft but tinged with wonder. "Gods... it was just yesterday she helped that boy. Word travels fast."

Odysseus didn't look up from the scroll still unfurled before him. His fingers pressed into the parchment like he could will it to say something else. Anything else.

"I heard," he murmured.

Penelope didn't miss the tension in his jaw or the way his hand lingered too long on the page. She leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting toward the crackling hearth, and let her voice fill the silence he refused to break.

"They're calling her a healer now."

He said nothing.

"And a prophet. A siren. A daughter of Apollo." Her brow arched, the corners of her mouth curving into something between amusement and disbelief. "Gods, someone said she was Artemis in disguise just yesterday. And now this?"

"She's not Artemis," Odysseus said quietly, still not looking at her. His eyes remained fixed on the scroll, though the words there had long since lost meaning.

Penelope rose, slow and fluid. "No?" she said softly, a teasing lilt slipping into her voice as she walked over to him with  the kind of grace that made him feel seventeen again. She bent slightly, brushing a kiss just above his ear. "And here I thought you'd tell me she was the Muse of Ithaca next."

Odysseus grunted, shifting in his seat, but the tips of his ears—traitorous as ever—flushed red.

Penelope chuckled, the sound warm and fond, and rested a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were light, barely pressing down, but their presence settled him in a way nothing else could. She glanced at the maps scattered before him, then back to his face.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, voice gentler now.

Odysseus exhaled slowly. "Earlier today... I spoke to her...____."

Penelope said nothing, only waited.

"She asked me what it meant to carry a god's favor," he said after a moment, eyes still on the fire now. "Said she wasn't sure if she was ready. If she'd ever be. I gave her advice, but..." His lips pressed into a tight line. "She's still young. Still unsure."

Penelope hummed, stepping closer. "She's loyal," she said. "She's kind. And clever in a way that doesn't need to be spoken aloud."

He nodded once. "Dangerous combination."

"She reminds me of someone," she mused, her fingers trailing across his shoulder before resting beneath her chin. "Someone I used to know, before the years turned us both into shadows of our sharper selves."

He glanced at her then, eyes shadowed but soft. "That so?"

She turned to meet his gaze. "I was once a girl in these halls too, Ody." A small, secret smile ghosted across her lips. "Weren't you the man who taught me how to wield a dagger hidden in a spindle?"

"I was the fool who gave it to you," he said with a dry chuckle.

"And I was the fool who didn't use it on you when you returned from war, reeking of smoke and half a dozen curses."

They shared a look—wry, exhausted, and full of something older than pain. Something that survived it.

Something that endured.

Odysseus shifted slightly in his chair, the weight of memory pressing into his spine like old armor. He turned the scroll over, finally letting it go, and ran a rough hand through his graying curls.

"I've decided," he said at last, voice low.

Penelope tilted her head.

"There'll be a feast tomorrow," he continued. "A formal one. Public."

Her brow lifted. "What for?"

"I'm giving her a title."

That earned a blink, then a slow smile. "Oh?"

"I'm going to call her the Divine Liaison."

Penelope let out a soft hum, something between surprised and amused. "A liaison?"

"To the gods," he clarified, as if that explained everything. "She sings. She speaks. She listens."

"She also braids linen," Penelope murmured, crossing the room to refill her wine, "and shuffles quietly through the halls when she thinks no one's looking."

"She's not no one," he said, almost too quickly.

"No," Penelope agreed, glancing over her shoulder with a flicker of mischief. "But you're not doing this for her. Not entirely."

He didn't respond. Just stared at the crackling fire.

Penelope returned to stand beside him. "You're doing this for him."

Odysseus didn't deny it.

Her smile widened, voice warming into something teasing. "What, no snarky quip about strategy and optics?"

He exhaled through his nose, a half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "It'll put the right kind of eyes on her. Keeps her close, but not too close. Grants her place, not power."

"And Telemachus?"

He paused. His thumb traced a line along the rim of his goblet. "It gives him a reason to protect her."

Penelope's laugh was soft—surprised and fond, like the sound of wind through linen. "As if he needed one."

"I'd rather he had a title to point to than a heart to confess," Odysseus muttered, the admission slipping out like a stray arrow.

Penelope's smile faded into something quieter. Her gaze lingered on him, eyes kind. "You think this is love, then?"

Odysseus looked down at his hands. Calloused fingers, faded scars. Hands that had built ships, drawn blood, buried friends. Hands that had once held her, trembling and young.

"I think..." He swallowed. "He looks at her the way I used to look at you. When I didn't think you'd notice."

That silenced her.

Not from surprise, but from memory.

She stood straight, eyes misty with something too old to name. "I did notice," she said after a beat, voice a hush against the crackle of fire. "I just wasn't ready to believe it."

Odysseus nodded, quiet for a moment. Then. "He follows her with his whole chest, Pen. Tries not to—tries to act like he doesn't—but gods, it's written all over him. Like he's always waiting for her voice in the hall, like he counts her footsteps before they reach him."

Penelope let out a breath, touched one hand to her heart.

"He watches her like he's trying to memorize something he knows he doesn't deserve."

She smiled softly. "Then he's your son, alright."

Odysseus huffed a laugh. "And she... she doesn't even see it. Or maybe she does, and she's just scared. Either way, she's in it too deep to leave without bleeding."

Silence stretched again, long and tender.

Penelope's voice, when it came, was almost a whisper. "So this title—it's not just for show."

He looked at her.

"No," he said. "It's a tether. A shield. A warning."

"To whom?" she asked gently.

His jaw flexed. "To anyone who'd think to take her from him."

And for a moment, the only sound was the hush of the sea through the window... and the way their breaths seemed to fall in time. The fire crackled low behind them, casting long shadows across the stone, but neither moved to tend it.

Then Penelope whispered, her voice so soft he nearly missed it. "We tried for years, you know."

His head turned sharply.

She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze had drifted somewhere distant—far beyond the parchment, the hearth, the years worn into the lines of her face. Her quill sat idle on the desk, ink bleeding slowly into the paper's edge.

"Before Telemachus," she continued, barely louder than the tide. "We tried, and the gods were quiet. I was beginning to think they didn't listen to women who prayed softly."

"Penelope—" he started, but she kept going, the words fragile and real and unshakable.

"But then... he came...Telemachus... Small and loud and full of everything I didn't know I'd needed." Her voice caught slightly. "And you were gone."

Odysseus reached for her hand. Found it. Held it.

His thumb brushed along the curve of her knuckles, memorizing them all over again.

"I never got to be his father while he was small," he said, his voice rough. "I came home to a boy with your eyes and none of my memories. A stranger, who I loved like he'd always been mine."

Penelope turned to look at him now. There was no judgment in her eyes. Just grief softened by time.

"I can't undo that," he added, a bitter edge creeping in. "But I can give him this. A chance. A way to—"

"Love without losing," she finished, her eyes searching his.

He nodded. "Exactly."

They sat like that for a long time. No more strategy. No more prophecy. Just two parents on either side of a life they tried their best to build.

The fire had nearly gone out when Penelope broke the silence, voice low and wry.

"You're terrible at pretending you don't care."

Odysseus huffed. "And you're worse at pretending you don't hope."

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his knuckles, her eyes never leaving his. "Maybe. But this hope feels... right."

He nodded once. Didn't speak.

Because if he had, it would've been something soft. Something too bare to say aloud.

Something like: Me too

Penelope laughed softly at the silence that followed, not mocking, but something warmer. Something full of understanding. "You know," she said, eyes crinkling with affection, "I think I love her more each day."

That made him glance up.

"She's brave," Penelope went on, voice quiet but sure. "Even when she's angry. Even when she's hurting."

Odysseus smiled faintly. The corners of his mouth twitched upward like he couldn't quite help it, like something small in his chest was loosening.

"She reminds me of you, you know," Penelope added, reaching over to brush a speck of dust from his shoulder. "Not when you're scheming. When you're... trying. When you're trying to be good."

"Gods help us," he muttered. "Two of me."

Penelope smacked his shoulder, light but pointed. He chuckled, and she did too. The kind of laugh that curled at the edges of a long day. Familiar. Worn in like sea-soft leather.

And then—quieter now—she said, "I think she's the closest thing we've had to a daughter."

Odysseus stilled.

His smile faded, not in rejection, but in reverence. Like the weight of those words deserved room to breathe.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The wind outside rattled the olive branches against the shutters, a whisper of the island beyond. The fire in the hearth hissed softly, like even it had gone still to listen.

"I know," he said finally. His voice was quiet. Measured. "That's what scares me."

Penelope's expression shifted. Softer now. She stepped toward him, cupping his face in both hands, gentle and sure.

"She's not a god," she whispered. "But she's ours. And if the gods want her—well, they'll have to go through both of us first."

He closed his eyes.

And smiled.

"...Then let them come."

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ahhh! im happy you guys enjoyed my other headcanon/drabble oneshot haha tbh i have a bunch of these ranging from pretty much everywhere/anything from 'what if'aus etc, to alternative choices; so like think of things i managed to post for divine whispers but are too much small word count to post haha, but yeah, i'll pretty much might upload these whenever i have time/or someone's comment remind me of a scene i wrote and i'll dig through my docs to fix up, etc. hahahah (but yeah this little chappie is full of stuff i was researching about odypen, specifically the theory of them being married for years before having telemachus 😭😭💔) but yeah just a small update, i'll try to update the next chappie tmr/layter today thank you all

[witless-winion1]

Me: I’m gonna write a self-indulgent, fluffy lil drabble

Google: A drabble is about 100 words or less

Me, an hour and three minutes later, holding a Notes doc with 1,035 words: whoopsies

ANYWAY

Penelope sighed softly as she traced the wet cloth over her son’s face, gently wiping away the sweat gathered on his young brow as he twisted under the branches of his parent’s wedding bed. 

“Shhhh,” she soothed, cupping his face as he moaned, face twitching. “It’s alright. I’m here…”

With another soft, hoarse hum, his eyes fluttered open. His eyes were glossy and uncharacteristically shadowed, still fearful from the nightmare. 

“Mom…” he mumbled raspily, his fingers twitching out towards her. Wanting her closer.

“Shhhh. I’m right here.” Penelope set the cloth aside and stood from the chair and settled in beside him, her back meeting the familiar wood of the olive tree. “It’s alright, little wolf. I’m right here.” 

Telemachus reached out, curling up by her and hugging her, lying across her lap and in her arms just as his father used to. Just as Penelope longed to again, hopefully soon. The war had been raging for eight years now, and day by day she refused to let her hope diminish. Odysseus would return to her and Telemachus. Her husband was too brilliant and too full of wit and love not to. 

Penelope stroked her fingers over her son’s hair, messy and sweaty from fever. The healer had checked him out and given good odds that he’d be fine with some care; he was a strong, healthy young boy, after all. Penelope still wanted to stay by his side, though. 

Telemachus’s eyes fluttered closed once more, relaxing under the warm touch. Another weak moan left him, as he shivered under the blankets. Penelope rubbed his shoulder with her other hand, watching him and silently praying to Asclepius to ease her son’s suffering. 

A soft whine drew her attention; not from Telemachus, but a familiar whimper of a dog. Penelope lifted her head to see a brown snout poking up at the end of the bed. 

The queen shook her head and sighed. The maids will change the sheets later anyways…

She whistled softly, patting the bed beside her son. Telemachus shifted, confused, but his eyes opened again as his favorite pup backed up into view, got a running start, and still barely managed to clear the bed’s top. The hunting dog immediately trotted across the blankets to the prince, sniffing at his ill master. 

“Argos,” Telemachus croaked, reaching up to pat the canine. “‘m okay, boy, lie down…”

Argos continued to nuzzle the prince, whining softly in concern, so Penelope just rolled her eyes and said in a much firmer voice that Telemachus never wanted to use on Argos: “Lay down.”

Argos gave her pleading puppy eyes, but after meeting her stern royal gaze, he obediently curled up by Telemachus’s side, snuggling into his boy. Telemachus patted his fur, his shaky hand coming to rest on the dog’s neck. 

There was a long, still silence for a while, as Penelope could feel her son- and, with begrudging acceptance, his dog, who at least seemed to be comforting him- resting their weary heads on her lap and legs. 

Telemachus’ breathing was tired and a bit wheezy, but Penelope trusted that he would be alright, just ran her hands through his hair like she had done with his father to calm him. But he seemed to be having a harder time falling asleep again, shifting and coughing occasionally. After a while, his soft, rough voice piped up. 

“Mama?”

Penelope’s lips were touched by the faintest smile; she thought he’d grown out of calling her that. “Yes, my dear?”

Telemachus leaned deeper into her caress. “Are..are there any stories a..about Dad that you haven’t told me..?” 

Penelope’s smile grew. This boy never tired of hearing about his father, relishing every story he could get from Penelope, his Aunt Ctimene, Eurycleia, his grandparents, anyone. It was endearing, and Penelope loved to refresh her memories, watching her son grin with each detail about his estranged father. 

“Hmmm…” Penelope hummed. “Have I ever told you about what he was like with you when you were a baby, before he left for war?”

That earned a groggy hum of interest from her son, which she took as a no. “Well, you see,” she began, smiling down as her son’s  fever-dulled eyes brightened. “When you were first born, he was so happy to meet you; he was crying tears of joy. He cried so hard, in fact, that he passed out from dehydration. Your aunt Ctimene took you from his stubborn hands hardly a second before he collapsed, and his friend Polites had to catch him.” 

Telemachus let out a little laugh, broken up by soft coughs, but he was clearly eager for more, so she continued. “And once he could hold you without nearly drowning you in tears, he very rarely put you down. He loved holding you; you almost didn’t want to sleep in your own crib. We often joked you would perhaps sleep better if Odysseus carved the crib to feel like his arms. But he wouldn’t want to put you down long enough to carve it!” Penelope gently poked his head as his giggles increased. 

“…I wish I could remember what his arms felt like,” Telemachus whispered, head bowing under her long fingers. 

Penelope’s smile faltered for a second, but it returned as she squeezed his shoulder. “You will know someday,” she promised softly. “They feel wonderful. Strong and warm and with an abundance of love.”

Telemachus was quiet, for so long that Penelope wondered if he had fallen asleep, before he murmured, “I can’t wait…”

She sighed softly. “Neither can I, my dear. We shall wait together for his return….perhaps the time will pass a bit faster if you sleep, hmm?”

The young prince gave a weak nod, head growing heavier in her lap. “M..more stories..?”

Penelope leaned back a little more into the olive tree, the wood still strong and healthy. “Hmm. Well, you know how our marriage bed is made from the olive tree where we first met..? Your father is a brilliant carver. You know the little figurines you have in your room, the sirens and the cyclopes, the giants…harpies, chimeras, the Minotaurs…even Cerberus. I think he got a little carried away with that one…”

[pecchbear]

lil teleneo drabble 🫣

As Telemachus stares down the arrow shaft, locking onto his target, Neoptolemus can’t help the stirring in his chest at his visage.

In most cases, Telemachus’ serious expressions are a mask meant to convey his status and poise. Neo has grown to understand the smaller tells: the twitch of his brow, the shine of his eyes, or the curl of his lip. This one, however, is no mask. His searching gaze is sharp, not with curiosity but cold calculation—a spitting image of his father, cunning Odysseus, sacker of cities. The warrior persistently lurking in Neo’s mind screams to prepare a defense; this man is no doubt a threat. Neo knows before Telemachus releases the string that he won’t miss.

The arrow whips through the air, passing by every obstacle and sinking into the target with deadly ease. Telemachus pauses momentarily before lowering the bow, and a light breeze spins his curls as he smiles. Unrestrained pride brightens his face further as turns to Neoptolemus.

Just beyond, the gentle glow of moonlight basks Ithaca's shores in silver. The reflection of the sea in Telemachus' eyes gives them an otherworldly gleam; if Neo didn’t know better, he could mistake him for a god.

He is radiant, and Neo wants him more than anything.

[plushiesssforcrying]

heyy pookie!

i was gonna request something and take revenge on you for all the requests dumping you did to me but i remember that yo ass be doing anything but writing so nvm

🔔 message received !

— BITCH??? ykw just for that. i'm putting you in a box.

୨୧ character ┊ telemachus.

୨୧ pronouns ┊ they / them.

୨୧ contents ┊ modern au. aquarium date... tooth rotting fluff, i think. established relationship. based off taroko by august greenwood. drabble. not proofread.

A dim shadow passes overhead of Telemachus as he passes through the tunnel, quickly following the swimming figure above him. He blinked, a smile breaking out on his face as he saw it was a stingray chasing after a smaller fish.

He released the warmth of his partner's hand to take a closer look at it moving elegantly in the water. [Name] stared curiously, a soft gaze held on his figure.

They didn't say anything, watching Telemachus admires the oceanic sight as they admire their boyfriend's excitement in return. They stepped closer, arms wrapped around him tightly and their head buried at the neck of his nape.

Confused, he glanced back at [Name] with a hand brushing against their skin. “What?”

“You're pretty.” They mumbled without looking up. He could feel heat crept up his neck, hearing their bold claim. No matter how long they've been dating, he's never getting used to hearing compliments so frequently.

Squeezing their wrist, he loosened their arms to turn around—engulfing his beloved partner in his own warmth. His nose buried into their hair, the smell of their shampoo overwhelming his senses.

He pulled away slowly to admire [Name], gently cupping their cheeks as he watched the blue of the water shine down and mix in their eye colour.

There wasn't a single hesitance in his mind as he pulled them closer until their lips met.

Kisses with Telemachus had always been slow and steady, nothing to rush or be quick about. Just their own moment to love each other, stay in each others embrace for a while.

fun fact; i'm actually sick. it's not fun.