puta i know that odyssey sh@rpwolf isnt supposed to be as bad as epic but antinous still wanted to kill him and its weird how the a lot of the shippers' personality is making rape fics of them.
why do we ignore penelope's trauma with the suitors and give it all to telemachus and make him the "sa victim" of antinous? is it because penelope is supposed to be the "strong muscle mommy who needs no protection?" if you want real male sa representation, odysseus exists but i guess he's not counted because he "cHeAtEd."
"cuz antinous wanted to break his pride!!!"
telemachus' pride is protecting his mother and sa'ing him makes no sense.
⋆˚࿔ content warning: none, fluff, telemachus being all sweet and lovey-dovey, i think i love him too much, i like that i'm non-sharing but i make these for tele fans anyway
• Sometimes, he used to be shy about the fact that you're both dating, but not ashamed of course. Overtime, he started talking about you more to others aside from his parents and Athena and he now, he can't stop gushing about how much he loves you, he won't shut up at all ♡
• He loves PDA. He wants to show the world how much you mean to him. While you're walking, he would just hold your hand and intertwine his fingers in yours or link arms as if he doesn't want to let you go. And when you're sitting down, he will hold you close without shame. As long as it's you.
• He loves to give you flowers even if it's small. He would give you his favorite, the forget-me-not (myosotis) flower and just say that it reminds him of you. He would place some other flowers behind your ear while brushing his fingers in your hair or on special occasions, he comes up to you with a whole bouquet or flower crown with a loving smile on his face.
• He's super clingy in bed and would always cuddle with you. He wants to make sure you feel safe in his arms so he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids and your lips. He stares at your facial features and whispers how beautiful you are, making sure you don't deny that. He would also nuzzle his nose on your neck or your chest, whatever makes you both fall asleep peacefully.
• If you cry, he will immediately come to you and take you in his arms for a hug and kiss you on the forehead while brushing your hair with his fingers. He won't force you to explain right away but he is willing to listen to you and help with whatever is hurting you.
• Suprise kisses! You could be focused on reading a scroll and suddenly, you feel his soft lips on your cheek which makes you shriek. He laughs at how cute you are and just hugs you.
• He loves to lift you up and twirl you around just to hear you laugh like you're something to cherish forever ♡
• He treats you so much like royalty. He will carry you in princess style in a way he makes you feel protected, he would give you his cloak if it was a bit cold, all of it.
• Whenever you're sick or hurt, his servants will take care of you but he will sit near the bed and hold your hand and watch over you all day, making sure you heal.
• When he hugs you, it feels warm and safe. His arms are wrapped around you like he wants to shield you from any harm.
• When he kisses you, it's soft, slow and romantic as if he wants to remember what your skin and lips feel like on his lips.
• He IS the type to squeal, giggle and kick his feet whenever he's thinking or talking about you. About something you did, your look, your laugh, your love for him and everything. He's just so in love with you like that.
·༻❀༺·
dividers : viviansturns
a/n : aaaaaaugh i miss writing i deleted c.ai and now my passion for writing is slowly coming back
hopefully i'll try writing and doing requests (very late ik) during the summer break :( for now, follow my art account as i'll just be ranting the whole time on this one (mostly sharpwolf hate though)
no, i hate it because their tropes are all about abuse or sa. don't be suprised that people will whine and crash out on it. what's bad is if you start directly sending threats to others.
imagine introducing your f/o(s) to your culture's cuisine! admire the look(s) on their face(s) as they savor a meal/snack or two. what if you all try to make it yourself? how would that turn out?
៸៸ — ۰ ✿‧ Modern!Telemachus taking care of fem!reader on her period
₊˚ ⪼-➢┊content: short fluff & comfort, since this was rotting in my drafts it's kinda cringe but be happy anyway. i made this in a modern setting cause how tf did people do it in the ancient era
There it is again, the time of the month. You have been extra moody and cranky throughout the day as expected since you immediately disappeared after breakfast to the bathroom to confirm that you were on your period. Now, you and Telemachus were relaxing in the living room while he was reading through a book as you slumped your body beside him with your head on his shoulder as you groaned softly. Telemachus turned his head and observed you wincing in discomfort and he couldn't help but giggle sweetly and then he closes the book and sets it aside to keep his focus on you while also noticing how you are wearing one of his hoodies again which was really adorable to him.
"My dove, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?" He asked.
You laid down and rested your head on his lap and curled up in a ball still facing him as he ran his fingers through your hair as you grumbled while he chuckles again, loving you even in your cranky state.
"Ugh... just cramps again..."
"Awww, sweetheart, you're on your period, huh? does it hurt a lot?"
"Mhm."
Telemachus takes one of your hands in his, pulling it close to his lips and kissing it before he placed his hand on where it was aching, rubbing it comfortably, trying to ease the pain while still looking down at you with love and concern. He knew what you needed since this is not his first time taking care of you like this. He carries you in his arms as he stands up and walks to your bedroom that you share with him.
He pushes the door open with his body and places you down on the bed, tucking you in the blanket to make sure it was comfortable before walking out to the door again, still looking at you first.
"Did you take your meds yet? ...You should, dear. I'll be right back."
You nod as he closes the door and while waiting you drank your medicine that should ease the pain faster. A few minutes later, you sit up on the bed and Telemachus comes back with a small tray with a hot compress and a cup of raspberry leaf tea. He places it down on the bedside table and places the hot pack on your lower belly where it cramps then, serves you the cup of tea, taking a sip.
"Does that feel better, love?"
He asked. You nodded as you continued drinking tea and finishing it. You always feel a lot better especially when he pampers and takes care of you which always makes you smile.
"Better now. Thank you, dear."
"Of course, anything for my sweet princess."
Telemachus smiles in response as you lay back down on the bed with him beside you under the covers before he leans in closer to give you a tender kiss on the forehead while lifting the blankets up, wrapped in a cocoon to make sure you feel warmer. He plays with the strands of your hair for a moment before he places a hand on your lower abdomen, not minding the heat of the hot compress but rather doing anything to make you feel comfortable again while you place your hand on top of his in return. He sees your eyes drooping which shows that you about to fall asleep any second now and he whispers to you in your ear:
"Sleep now, sweetheart. Let's rest for the whole day until you feel better. I love you."
"I love you too, Temmy."
You yawned and kissed his cheek before resting your head on his chest while listening to his rapid heartbeat for you. Your eyes start to occasionally close before you gave in and comfortably fall asleep in his embrace and suddenly, you forget about the pain you were feeling earlier by the help of his presence and his love for you.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ : sorry this took so long!!! :( i really don't have motivation to write as my main thing but i'll still post and do my requests when i can!
hii may i ask for some telemachus x reader (friends to lovers maybe,,) one day since you asked for requests for epic related fics
The Prince and the Seamstress
pairing: Telemachus x fem!Reader
content: friends to lovers, fluff, sexual harassment (from the suitors), probably historically inaccurate, potential ooc?
summary: All your life, you’d seen Telemachus as nothing more than a friend. Every time the concept of the two of you as a couple was mentioned, you brushed it off. He was a prince, after all, and you were just a seamstress.
word count: 6.2k
a/n: sorry this took so long anon </3 I genuinely had so much fun writing this though so thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy!! :)
masterlist
You had known Telemachus your entire life. Your mother was known through Ithaca as one of the finest seamstresses the world would know, and at the turn of each season she would take you to the palace to fit and make new seasonal wardrobes for the royal family. That was where you’d met him.
At first, neither you nor the prince were particularly eager to fulfill those duties. You weren't keen to learn your mother’s trade and Telemachus wasn't a fan of staying still. As children, the two of you would find an opening to sneak off while your mother measured his. More often than not you would find yourselves in the kitchens, snacking on whatever the cooks found appropriate to spare.
When the two of you were found, your mothers would separate you. Penelope would scold her son, though it was never harshly. As she led Telemachus back to her chambers (where she preferred to be measured) she would tell him a story of his father the brave King Odysseus.
Yours, meanwhile, would pull you aside and give you a brief lecture about how you had to leam the skill so you could continue the work after she died. She would also adol on that Fetemachut you and Telemachus Fed off each other's energy, so one of you needed to chose to be a leader.
You didn't know why that had to be you. Telemachus was the prince.
But that never stopped you. Every time your mother was called to the palace, you and Telemachus snuck off.
As you and the prince grew closer, it was no surprise that he chose you to be his special guest at most events. You finally decided to pick up the art of sewing the first time you were invited.
“Y/n,” Penelope had said. You had already helped your mother pack her measuring tapes and fabric swatches away. You had just bid Telemachus goodbye and were about to leave with your mother, but the queen's voice held you back. "My son would like to extend an invitation."
Telemachus stuttered, whipping his head around to glare at Penelope, who only nodded in response. Telemachus looked like he has been slapped when he slowly turned back to you.
"Y/n," he began. You hadn't noticed at the time, but he was holding onto his chiton to steady himself. "The first festival of the season is soon. I would like to invite you to be my special guest.”
Your eyes widened. You attended the annual festivals as a “special guest” anyway, since your mother was often invited as Penelope’s guest. You tagged along since you were her child.
You nodded. “I would be honored.”
Telemachus smiled, the bright and boyish smile of a boy that hadn’t yet endured hardship. Your mother thanked the prince for the invitation before pulling you along with her.
“You’re growing up,” she said as she climbed into the wagon after you. “You’re old enough to be invited to festivals by princes now. You’ll be married to him before I can even let this moment sink in.”
You laughed at her jest. She was always poking fun at your friendship with Telemachus. “Ew, mom. Telemachus and I would never get married.”
Your mother’s chuckle was a joyful sound. “Oh, I’m only kidding. Of course you’d never married a prince.” She winked at you, an action that made you think she was lying through her teeth. “Though, you will be married before I know it. That’s how time moves.”
She stroked your hair, soft touches that made a smile grace your lips. The two of you exchanged a glance before the conversation shifted.
—
It was only after you received the prince’s invitation that you took an interest in your mother’s trade. Although your mother had ensured you never looked a fool when you accompanied her to these festivals, you wanted what you wore this time to be your own. Made by your own hands and paraded on your body proudly because you had made it.
Your mother helped, of course. She made sure the seams were sturdy and guided you in the embroidery you stitched along the hem, but the design choices were entirely your own.
It was good for a first try at anything. The fabric held together well and the stitches were finely done, but you would look back at it years later and recognize the tremble of your hand. The unsteady olive branches were more obvious to your now trained eye, but you regarded the garment with endearment.
When you found yourself longing for a simpler time, you pulled the cloak from the chest beneath your bed and held it close. The faint smell of dust grounded you and with it, you felt close to your mother.
It was a thing for comfort, often draped at the foot of your bed as a reminder of where your passion started. You’d smile at it fondly and remember the joy you often felt while sitting over a needle and thread.
—
The first five suitors vying for Penelope's hand arrived as a group when you were sixteen. They came to Ithaca in grand ships and bore the emblems of their kingdoms with pride. You and your mother were called to the palace to fashion extravagant garments for the suitors.
It didn't surprise you when your mother fell I'll soon after. You blamed the suitors' arrogance and loud mouthed squalor. Their demands and constant dissatisfaction with their clothes left your mother slaving away day and night. You knew from the moment you met those pompous suitors that they would cause a while slew of trouble.
Early in your mother's illness, when the only ailments she showed were fatigue and a paled complexion, Queen Penelope proposed that your small family of two move into the palace. That way, she said, your mother wouldn't have to take the long and tiring journey as often. That, along with the fact that your mother grew weaker as the days passed. If she needed assistance, then the kingdom's finest physicians would be close by.
In her final days, you spent more time with Telemachus than had recently been allowed. While your mother slept, the Prince would slip into the room with scrolls and maps any chance he got. He would sit with you at the table, signing off on papers and considering policies while you embroidered and beaded clothing. The two of you had been too busy to see each other lately, so you regarded those hours highly—even the ones where not a single word was exchanged.
“Who is that for?” he would ask. You would tell him the name of the suitor who had ordered it and he would hum, offering an off handed comment in hopes of making you chuckle.
Your mother passed before the worst of the suitors arrived. Queen Penelope encouraged you to continue residing in the palace. Once your grieving period was over, she said, she would be sure to pay you for any work you completed for her, Telemachus, and the suitors.
You were back to work three days after her death. The suitors were relentless in their demands. While you were mourning they would pound against the doors of your chamber and call for your expertise to dress them.
Telemachus had tried to get them to stop bothering you once. The laws of Xenia had been thrown back in his face and he had been tossed against your bedroom wall.
That had been your final straw. You tired of their clambering and regretted that your closest friend had to get involved, so you continued your work in a black veil and robes.
—
After a few weeks, you had lost your lace veil. Folded and put it in the same box that held your first cloak. The black veil was an heirloom from your mother. One that her grandmother had made to mourn the loss of her son and passed down until it reached you. You planned to preserve it so you could continue the tradition, and you feared that it would ruin with how reckless the suitors were.
You still wore black and pinned your hair out of your face. It fell down your back in a way that resembled a veil, but your face was uncovered. When the suitors saw that, they took their chance without care of the color of your clothes.
The first time it happened, you were carrying rolls of golden and silver fabric. Penelope had requested a new dress to welcome men that had allied with Odysseus during the Trojan War to Ithaca. You weren’t sure the official business they were coming for, but you couldn’t reject a request from the queen.
You often wandered through the palace and passed suitors. They rarely paid any mind to you, regarding you as a servant like many others. The only difference, really, was that you weren’t seen as desirable.
You weren’t sure what changed that day.
The rolls of fabric slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor and unrolling some. With a sigh, you dropped to your knees and pulled them back toward you one by one. Even though you hadn’t seen anyone in the hall, it only took a moment for a pair of helping hands to appear in your vision. You glanced up.
Antinous. The golden rings in his hair glinted in the sunlight as he rerolled the fabric and handed it back to you with a gleaning grin. You tentatively took it back, your hands shaking as you set it to your side.
“Careful, seamstress.” His voice was a low timbre. A sound that might have made you swoon if he were anyone else. From him, though, the tone made you shake. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face.”
You pulled back when he reached forward. His grin widened and his brows raised in amusement.
“Don’t be afraid,” he mused with his smooth voice. The handsome man shifted so he knelt before you, reaching forward once again and grabbing hold of your cheek. “I won’t hurt you, seamstress. I’m only curious about why the prince clings to you.”
You stumbled back, pushing yourself away from Antinous with your heart pounding in your ears. He followed, but you were quick to push yourself to your feet and step away.
“Leave me.” You tried to make it a command, firm in the same way you had heard Penelope speak to the suitors, but your voice came out with a tremble. “Prince Telemachus will—”
“Prince Telemachus is weak, and he cannot protect you,” Antinous taunted. He took slow steps, one of his large enough to equal two of yours. It wasn’t long before you found yourself cornered. “It is not well for you to call upon him.”
Footsteps sounded down the hall. You wanted to look—to see who it was—but you knew that if you did, Antinous would take the opportunity to bend you to his will. Despite the way your veins filled with fear, you held the arrogant suitor’s unwavering gaze. You tried not to flinch and tried to move away when he reached, but you were not swift enough. He firmly grabbed you by the shoulder, holding you in place and pressing himself against you.
“Antinous.” It was Amphinomus, the kindest and most respectable of the suitors. His copper hair gleamed in your peripheral. “Leave her. She belongs to the prince.”
You flushed, embarrassed that someone else had to cut in. Not only that, but the fact that he had to put you under the claim of another almost made your skin crawl. It would have if Amphinomus had said anyone besides the prince.
“You cannot hide behind Telemachus forever, seamstress,” Antinous sneered. “He is of a higher rank, and he will soon bore of what you cannot give him. When he does, it will be me who takes your broken pieces and forces you back together.”
Antinous seemed to take pleasure in the way you flinched when he stepped closer. His lips curled into a smirk before he turned away, the metal detailings of his chlamys clicking together.
You were shaking, so distracted by what had just happened that you hadn’t even noticed Amphinomus gathering the fabric and holding it out to you. When he noticed your state, he held the rolls closer to him and led you back to your room with a steady hand between your shoulder blades.
It wasn’t until you crossed the threshold to your chambers that you felt able to take a full breath. You gasped and clutched at your chest, letting the air fill your lungs in heavy breaths.
You fell to your knees. It was embarrassing, but there was nothing you could have done to prevent the way your knees buckled beneath your weight. Amphinomus set the rolls of fabric against the wall before he knelt beside you, his hands hovering over your form.
“Are you alright?” Not exactly, but you nodded anyway. Amphinomus gave you another moment to catch your breath before he took your hand and guided you to your feet. “Prince Telemachus would like to know—”
“Do not tell Telemachus,” you snapped, meeting the kind suitor’s gaze. “Please. He has no claim over me, and it is embarrassing enough that you came to my aid.”
“Antinous would have—” You shook your head and held your hand out, stopping the words. Amphinomus’ lips pressed into a line before he relented. “Fine. I will not speak a word, but you must know that if I come across another scenario that you are in the center of, I will help.”
That was all he said before he left. The door closed behind him with a soft thud and you were left in the quiet serenity of your room.
—
You were sure Amphinomus had told the prince. Telemachus hadn’t spoken a word to you about it, but after the incident he was by your side more often. He rarely came into your room, but it seemed that any time you had to leave it, the prince was trailing you.
That was fine. Let him uselessly follow you and see that you didn’t need his assistance.
Except, it seemed that the one day he wasn’t trailing you, Eurymachus found it appropriate to sidle up beside you and place a possessive hand on your waist.
You froze, tray of food in hand. You had been retrieving the queen’s lunch. She had invited you to eat with her before you had to continue your work, so you figured you’d grab the meal yourself on your way to her chambers. You’d passed her suitors, but they hadn’t paid any mind to you initially. You assumed that you’d be able to pass through without trouble.
Eurymachus whispered something in your ear. You couldn’t hear it over the rushing panic in your veins, but you could imagine what he said with how his hand shifted to possessively grab at your hips.
You glanced at him through your peripheral. He was shorter than many of the men—maybe even Queen Penelope—but that didn’t deter him from taking what he wanted with an arrogant smile and a fine toothed bite. There was a sweet venom in his words, a charm to his voice that might have made the right person fall. He wasn’t handsome like Antinous, but he could talk his way out of anything with that silver tongue.
He stayed like that, possessively clinging to your form even when you moved away. His rough hands grabbed at your clothing, trying to slip under the fabric to get a feel at what you covered. To see if it was worth it.
It must have been. Any time you tried to slip out of his grasp, Eurymachus would only tighten his hold on you. You moved down the corridors with him, though you began to realize that he was shifting you in a direction different than your intended.
“Eurymachus.” You recognized the voice instantly as Telemachus’. When you turned to see him, he was fuming with a quiet rage that was barely contained beneath his skin. “Let her go.”
Eurymachus barked with laughter. “Or what, prince? You are not king. You hold no power here.”
“This is my household. The law of Xenia demands that you respect it as we have respected you.” Telemachus took a step closer. Eurymachus took two back with you still in his arms. Telemachus’ expression tightened. Let this be a game of cat and mouse, then.
“But she is not.” The grin Eurymachus gave the prince was wide-toothed and cunning. “You cannot protect her yourself, little wolf, so she is anyone’s to claim.”
Your heart seized. It seemed that anytime you left your room, someone tried to stake a claim through your being. You wouldn’t let it be, if the men you were up against weren’t so large and unfair.
“Let her go, Eurymachus,” the prince repeated. “She is not worth it. If you are seeking someone to lay with, then there are plenty of servants willing to do so.”
“I’m afraid they don’t have the same charm as your seamstress does. I’ve always loved a woman with nimble fingers.” You pulled away when the suitor reached to trace your jaw with his fingertips. It made a smirk cross his face and an amused breath fall from his lips. “Tell me, prince, is she any good?”
Telemachus’ brows furrowed. He looked about ready to leap forward and pull you from Eurymachus’ grasp, but stayed planted in his position. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Don’t you? You don’t spend as much time as you have with her without getting a taste.”
Telemachus cringed. “Of course I haven’t. I do not value desire over connection. Now, let her go. I will not ask again.”
“Oh, you’re no fun. Come on, now. I’m sure you and I could enjoy some quality time with this pretty thing.”
That was the first time the Prince of Ithaca put his hands on a suitor first. He shoved Eurymachus away from you, a hand planted on your shoulder to push you behind him. The tray of food you’d been carrying dropped, its clanging against the floor and alerting anyone nearby to the dispute.
You watched with your hands over your mouth as Telemachus shoved the suitor against the wall. You knew it was not something done with his true force—Eurymachus let him do that. You had seen the prince get thrown around by men weaker than Eurymachus, there was no doubt the man was downplaying himself to make a fool of the prince.
“I said to leave her.” There was an edge to Telemachus’ voice that you had never heard before. A venom that you didn’t know he was capable of producing. “Or I will have a guard take you away.”
“You can’t do that,” Eurymachus taunted, his teeth gleaming in his cunning smirk. “You are too respectable to break the law. What terror do you think Zeus would bring down if you did?”
For just a second, Telemachus faltered. He loosened his white-knuckled grip just enough for a semblance of color to return to them and his brow smoothed. Eurymachus took the opening, striking the prince across the face. The suitor barked with laugher when the prince hit the wall. He turned his gaze to you, eyes blazing with the fires of lust.
Lucky for you, Eurymachus left with a sneer, spitting at the prince’s feet. Scattered around the hall, other suitors had began to gather. When Eurymachus walked away, though, they dispersed with quiet footsteps.
Telemachus lifted his head, brushing his dark hair out of his face and ghosting his fingertips over his cheek. When he pulled away, blood stained his hand and dripped down his cheek. One of Eurymachus’ rings had left a nasty gash.
You softly gasped, stepping closer and taking the prince’s face in your hands. He allowed you to, glad that the suitors had already gone so they didn’t see this moment of vulnerability. Your thumb grazed the bronze skin beside the cut, brows furrowed in concern and lips pursed.
“Are you alright?” he asked before you could suggest seeing his nurse. You gave him a nod, letting your hands drop back to your side.
“We should find Eurycleia,” you said, forgetting the meal you had spilled as you gently tugged Telemachus’ robe, urging him to follow you. He did, trailing behind you like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Eurycleia was swift with her work. She cleaned Telemachus’ wound and sewed the skin shut with a stitch. It would take a few days, she said, but it would heal fine.
You waited by the doorway, arms crossed and folded in on yourself, as she checked the prince. When she finished, Telemachus went with you to your room.
When you crossed the threshold and the door shut behind the prince, your knees buckled and you collapsed. It seemed as though the weight of the day’s events had finally dropped onto your shoulders. For what it was worth, Telemachus was quick to fall by your side and comfort you.
You let yourself fall into Telemachus’ arms willingly. It wasn’t like with Amphinomus where you were embarrassed to do so. With Telemachus, it almost felt natural—so much so that tears had slipped from your eyes without your knowing. His arms fit around your frame in the same perfect way that your body slotted against his.
He dried your tears, murmuring soft reassurances in your ear and rocking back and forth. He held onto you tightly, his forehead pressed into your hair to keep you as close as possible. He was silently praying, though you weren’t sure to what god.
There was an unspoken agreement that passed between the two of you by the time you pulled yourself away and Telemachus pushed himself to his feet. You curtly thanked him. He offered a nod before he left.
You never spoke of it again, but every day you would remind yourself of his touch and what it felt like to be held so gently. You wondered if, one day, the prince might hold you with love.
—
Since the arrival of the suitors, it was rare that you and Telemachus could find a moment to be truly alone. You often found yourself drowned in silky fabrics and sparkling threads, and Telemachus found himself quite busy as a source of entertainment for the violent men's whims. He did trail you when you left your room, but that was all. Interaction between you two was rare.
It was a good thing, you supposed, that Telemachus was leaving for whatever diplomatic meeting he needed to attend. Even if it meant you wouldn't have that small layer of protection against the suitors. Without his leave, though, you wouldn't have had this long of a block with him.
"When do you leave?" you asked as the Prince stepped onto the stone block pushed to the side of your room. Telemachus was the only one allowed in your personal chambers, save for any maid or servant you knew. Penelope as well, but you often went to her own room so she could avoid needless interactions with her suitors.
"Four days." Your eyes widened. That was so soon—thankfully you were only tailoring and refitting clothes the prince already had. You wouldn't have had time to make anything entirely new. "I'll only be gone a month."
"And this trip is to inquire about your father?"
Telemachus nodded. "Soldiers that fought beside him in Troy have risen to power. I'm going to hear about my father's possible whereabouts and learn their varying fighting styles."
You hummed, fingers brushing against the golden skin of his shoulder. For a moment, you didn't say anything.
You blinked yourself out of whatever stupor you were in, clearing your throat before moving away. You didn't even have the measure in your hand, so there was no excuse for your lingering touch.
"You will learn a lot," you said, if only to diffuse whatever tension you might have been imagining. You couldn't help but wonder, though, where the muscle on his build had come from. For a long time, Telemachus had been a lanky boy with little more than skin on his bones. He was still slender, but his arms were sturdier than they had been.
"That is what I hope." Your hands were nearly shaking when you lifted them to his arm again, measuring tape in hand this time. "And if I find that my father is dead, then I'd at least like to strengthen foreign relations. And myself, of course. I'd like to better protect both you and my mother from the suitors."
Your gaze lifted to his as you stretched the length of your rope across his collarbone. There, looking up into his clear blue eyes, you wondered two things: the first was a question as to whether or not this was too intimate a position for a pair like the prince and his seamstress.
The second thing you wondered was when he had grown into his features and became handsome.
Your mouth had dried. You darted your tongue over your lips to wet them before looking back down at your hands. "I can protect myself," you said, though your voice came out quiet and weak.
"I'm aware," Telemachus started, reaching up to adjust his chiton once you pulled away. "You shouldn't have to, though. Those men should know not to treat someone with such abhorrent behavior."
A soft sound of amusement fell from your lips. It made Telemachus' own quirk up.
"Well," you began,"I don't think they've ever been polite to begin with."
"No, I don't think so either."
The two of you shared a laugh, the finals bells of it ringing out and bouncing around Telemachus' head as you stepped away. You jotted down a few number on a strip of parchment in front of you, feeling the warmth and presence of the prince creeping closer to your body.
"I like this," he mused, reaching for a length of blue fabric that shifted shades with the light. Your gaze flicked to his hand and you watched his touch brush against the fabric. "Could you make me something from it? When you have time, of course."
You nodded, lifting the fabric and draping it lazily over his shoulder. "A sash, perhaps? Or a chlamys?"
He smiled at you. It was a soft thing that he had shown you hundreds of times before, but this one made something unfamiliar flutter in your chest.
"Whatever you think will look nice."
You returned his smile and continued your work. The rest of the time was spent mostly in silence, aside from the occasional comment exchanged.
By the time he left your room, you found that your heart was pounding in your chest. It was odd, leaving an interaction with the prince feeling that way.
But it was not unwelcome.
—
The month without Telemachus in the palace was nothing short of torture. Without him, the queen's suitors had found that you acted as an ample replacement for entertainment. Morning, noon, and night one (or multiple) would come banging on your bedroom door and demanding for you to come out.
You only obeyed once, a time when they had grabbed you by the waist and pulled you against their large bodies. From then on, most of your days were spent with Penelope in her chambers.
"My son is returning soon," she mused from where she was perched at the window. "I've received word that he wishes for you to meet him at the docks upon his arrival."
"Me?" The queen nodded. "Why?"
Penelope smiled faintly, like she knew something you didn't. "He didn't say. He only expressed that he'd like you to greet him."
You hummed. If that were true, then why had he sent the request to his mother and not to you? Had he been too embarrassed to ask?
You gave Penelope a nod. "Alright. Do you know how long, exactly, until he's back?"
"Two days."
And with that, the topic was dropped.
—
Telemachus' face lit up like the heavens when he realized you were the one waiting for him. He was quick to end whatever conversation he'd been having with the ship's captain and even quicker to meet you where the cobbled pavement met the dock's wood.
"Y/n." He smiled at you and you stared in shock (and slight awe, though you'd never say that) at how much he had changed in just a month.
It wasn't just physically. Though, his arms were thicker and his collarbone was more defined than it had been. But Telemachus seemed to take up more space with an infectious smile and bright eyes, as well. You couldn't quite explain it, but he was different. This was not the same prince that had left.
He called your name again, pulling you out of your own wonderment with furrowed brows and a concerned tone. "Are you alright? You look alarmed."
"What? Oh, yes. I-I'm fine," you stuttered. "Uhm . . . What were you saying?"
"I was just saying that I bought you something." Despite the changed demeanor, you supposed he was still the overeager prince you had always known. He still fidgeted with his own hands, cracking his knuckles and picking at his cuticles. "We went to a market in Crete and I found some things I thought you'd like."
"Oh." You gave him a tentative smile. He'd thought of you while he was away? "What did you get me?"
"It'll ruin the surprise if I tell you." Telemachus chuckled, falling into step beside you when you started walking.
"It's a surprise?"
"Of course." He flashed you a grin. "I'll have it sent to your room. I do think you'll enjoy it."
You returned his smile. "I'm sure I will."
—
The next time you saw the Prince of Ithaca, you were wearing the finely woven peplos he had gifted you.
Upon seeing it, Telemachus' lips curled into a gentle smile. Draped over his shoulder was the chlamys you had crafted from the blue fabric he requested while he was away.
Your lips curved cheekily. “I take it you like your new chlamys?”
“It is wonderful.” Telemachus reached for the hem absentmindedly. “Did you enjoy your gifts?”
You nodded, grin widening into something happier and more genuine. “I love it. Though, I wonder if it’s too much for a servant?”
Along with the silk peplos you now wore, Telemachus had also sent a box of small trinkets to your room. Small, nearly indiscernible things that were souvenirs from Crete. That, and he had also wrapped a fine pair of scissors. Silver. Sharper than any pair you or your mother had owned in your lifetime. The handles of them were shaped into cranes and tiny gems of obsidian had been set where the eyes went.
But Telemachus shook his head. “Nonsense. You are not a servant, you are my oldest friend. It would be inconsiderate if I did not think of you while away.”
Your heart skipped. You couldn’t tell if it was in disappointment or content. It was true, you were Telemachus’ oldest friend and vice versa, but perhaps there was a small sliver of your being that wished for more. The same small sliver that had hoped he’d been thinking of you differently while away.
You didn’t let it show. You let another faint smile grace your lips. “I thank you anyway, my prince. It was a beautiful gift.”
Telemachus hummed. Then, very slowly and very hesitantly, he took your hands into his. “I was wondering,” he began, his voice lowered like he was sharing a secret, “would you care to join me tonight? I’ve learned that the stars will be the brightest they have been in decades tonight.”
You could feel the callouses on Telemachus’ hands. The ones he gained from years of putting his hands to work. Of yielding a sword and learning Ithacan fighting techniques and honor. Despite that, you wanted to hold the roughness closer.
“I’d love to,” you told him. “I’m sure the moon will look beautiful, as well.”
Telemachus smiled. A wide, boyish one. The same one you hadn’t seen him give in the publicity of the palace corridors since the suitors arrived. He lifted one of your hands, planting a soft kiss on your knuckles. “It’s a date, then.”
When he walked away, you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought.
—
The air was cold. Telemachus had wrapped his cloak around your shoulders to protect you from the atmospheric chill, though you found that the thing keeping you warmest was the lingering touch of the prince’s hands against your arms.
He’d met you at your room after dinner. You followed him through the palace with soft chatter until you reached the gardens, where he drew you closer to a blanket that had been lain out. There were stones atop the corners so it didn’t blow away in the crisp breeze.
A huff of amusement had fallen from your lips at the sight. You teased, “How fancy.”
Telemachus smiled. “Only the best.”
You shivered, and that was when Telemachus unclipped his cloak and hung it over your frame. “I don’t need it,” he told you, but you could already see the gooseflesh rising on his arms.
When you settled on the blanket, you settled close to him. “So you can be warm, as well,” you told him, unclipping his cloak and arranging it so it fell over both of you. Despite the soft shivers and raised skin, Telemachus was warm.
He smiled at you—sweetly and softly. Like he believed you to be the very reason the stars shone so bright and the moon hung so high. You returned it for just a moment before casting your gaze to the heavens.
Although your eyes were on the sky, your thoughts were far from it. What was this? Telemachus had said a date, and you hadn’t corrected him. Did you care that you didn’t? Did you want it to be a date? Was that what he wanted?
You couldn’t quite pin down when you had started viewing the prince in a different light. When playful jabs turned into flirtatious teasing. When actions became less intentional and more because you cared. It had slipped and transformed between your fingers before you could even know what was happening.
You spoke silently with him, exchanging stories about the constellations you had heard hundreds of times. Perseus and Andromeda, the crowns of Ariadne and Dionysus, Orion and Scorpius, who stood at opposite sides of the atmosphere. You told the stories to each other, editing every other one to make a happy ending.
The moonlight reflected off of the prince’s grey eyes when he looked at you. It made your breath catch. Truly, when did you start to see him as more?
You wondered, for a moment, what it might be like. Telemachus was a prince, though, and you were nothing more than his seamstress, so you didn’t wish to dwell on it long and end the thought with a torn apart heart.
Telemachus seemed to have no such care for his title. When he met your gaze, his lips curved with feeling. His gaze was that of a caring lover’s and when you absently commented on it, his smile only widened. “Perhaps I wish to be that,” he whispered to you.
You had flushed, the back of your neck suddenly warmed by the heat of his words. “Would a prince like yourself truly be happy with a seamstress?” you found yourself asking, if only to distract from the fact that he wished to be your lover.
“I would not tire of you, and I would not grow bored.” His tone was firm in a way that said he knew something. A reassurance. “What Antinous said to you was a lie. He was upset that you would not let him touch you.”
So Amphinomus had told Telemachus about that. You pursed your lips. “Who’s to say I’ll let you?”
“I do not wish to,” he said, and then corrected himself. “Not now, or soon, anyway. I hope that one day you’ll share my affections enough to let me, but that is not what I seek now. Now, I seek your heart and your mind. I seek to be yours, if you’ll let me.”
You blinked at him. Being so close to the prince was making it hard to think, but you had a feeling that you’d have hazy thoughts no matter how far you were from him. You pulled your gaze away from him, turning it to where Selene’s work shone brightly in the sky.
“The moon is beautiful tonight.”
Telemachus’ fingers grazed your jaw, turning your head back. His gaze searched yours, and he gave the slightest raise of his dark brows. You gave the softest nod in return, and he pressed his lips to yours under the moonlit sky.
In the future, far down the line when Telemachus is crowned king of Ithaca, you may not be able to have this. Telemachus will be a monarch and you will return to your role as a seamstress where the feel of his lips on yours is nothing but a distant fantasy. But for now, he is only a prince, and when the prince of Ithaca wishes to have you as a lover, there is no harm in saying no.
This will end, you know that. But you will let yourself have all things mortal while you can.
y/n developed a personality like halfway through and then it disappeared and then came back uhm. i have no explanation sorry y’all
anyway hope you enjoyed ♥️
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