✨My version of the “Abduction of Helen”, which is my contribution to @singomusezine, last volume coming out in July, as you know, full of great fellow artists drawing Greek Mythology awesomeness.
I chose this episode from The Iliad, Book III as the theme of the zine this year is about The Trojan War and all related.
🍏🦢 Paris and Helen of Sparta/Troy.
I was going to write about the meaning of the illustration and what I’ve expressed here, based on that episode, but I prefer to leave it to your understanding and imagination. And I’m sure you can also spot the little symbols I’ve included.
I hope you like it ❤️
My odypen fic for @erostober is here! I really hope those who read it enjoy it. I've never written a purely smut focused fic before, and while I'm happy with it and had a good time writing it, I'm also a bit nervous as a result!
Thank you so much to anyone that checks it out, and all those that have expressed their excitement for it. <3
sing o muse
There were many moments when Penelope felt as if she had known Odysseus all of her life.
It wasn’t true, of course, but it was a sentiment he shared, even during their earliest meetings, well before she had experienced the taste of his lips or the lovely spread of his hands along her skin.
When she closed her eyes, she could recall the first time he said it, feel the warm presence of him at her side, as if she could sense his need to touch her burning within him, barely contained.
He had laughed, with something like wonder, or disbelief. Looked at her as if she might vanish if he dared to turn away.
I think I’ve always known you, his low voice had been right next to her ear, making her shiver.
But she had giggled instead, as if the notion were ridiculous and didn’t make her face flush, her heart pound. As if she hadn’t been staring at him, hoping that his restraint would crack and he would reach for her, and do all the things she had already been dreaming of doing with him.
As if they both hadn’t realized that they each felt the same.
In spite of this truth, the first year of their marriage was full of new discoveries: of him, of herself, and who they were together. What joys and hopes and desires they already shared, and what they awoke in one another.
Recently, Penelope had made such a discovery, one she was eager to further explore.
It began due to a busier-than-usual day at court...
Sing, O Muse! Chthonic Visions is officially out! Featuring works from 38 amazing artists illustrating the spookier side of Greek Mythology from monsters, witches, and of course the gods of the underworld.
Get your copy via our linktree
Our zine is free digitally, through Gumroad (although they will ask you to name an amount twice before checkout, you can just add “0” to proceed without adding payment information).
And for a limited time, you can also purchase a print copy of the zine through MagCloud for $15 USD plus shipping. MagCloud is a print-on-demand service so there are no limited quantities however, we are only selling the print version until 1 January, 2026 so please plan accordingly! All proceeds of the print copy (and any tips we get from gumroad) will be donated to the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund.
BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! It’s officially @classicstober and this year’s theme KATABASiS coincides with our zine. Keep the spirit of spooky season alive by developing creative works based on some spooky selections from ancient Greece! Make sure to tag your creations with #Classicstober25 you never know if we’ll be looking at this year’s entry for potential new artists to join us for volume III.
A big thank you to everyone for their support and enthusiasm for our project. We hope you enjoy Chthonic Visions!
Summary: Daeron, at King's Landing Pride, gets ready with the family to march. Stuck on face painting duty, he's got time to watch, observe, and enjoy himself.
Warnings: none, everyone lives, everyone is happy
Pairings: Daeron Targaryen x Wyle Manderly x Alysanne Stark, Baelor Targaryen x Lonnel Snow
AO3 Link
The only reason Daeron can see why he gets stuck on face painting duty is because he is the one person who actually has the degree in fine arts and does painting for living. Which is a crime, in his mind of course, because Wyle definitely can do face painting when he wants even if he was specialized in photography, and he is sure that somewhere along the line Lonnel has picked up some skills that were easily transferable.
He is proven right on the latter guess because when they make it down for the parade, there is Baelor with a neat pride flag on his right cheek, Lonnel with one on his to match on his left, and Matarys has a riot of colors all over his face looking as if he decided to go with the whole entire rainbow at once in some strange cameo fashion, finishing it off with a bucket of glitter poured over his head. His red locks were now very sparkly and seemed as if they were on fire.
Hopefully that was done outside because glitter was a pain in the ass to clean up.
Anyways, he is on face painting duty at the meeting point for all family members, Targaryen, Stark, and assorted related clans who have made the trek down to one of the biggest festivals in the month to celebrate and support the family members who were out and about. Pride in King’s Landing was a huge event, with parades, festivals, and a carnival, both of the family fun variety during the day, and several more adult versions at night.
Wyle is somewhere wrangling all the younger generations to get into some sort of line for face painting, Aly is fiddling with a rainbow canopy on the wagon to hold their offspring as they walk, and their children currently are sitting next to him, dutifully handing him brushes every now and then while sucking on ice pops and getting sticky. Lysandaer seems to be picking colors that match the paint while Davos, still too young to actually care much about anything, seems more interested in the ice pop than helping out dada save for shoving the ice pop in Daeron’s face every three minutes to offer up a lick. The baby is one though, so he can’t really blame him.
“Not the eye, not the- ow, ok, Aly, come get our spawn and relocate them,” he calls out from his makeshift studio of a blanket, several scattered face paint pallets, and two folding chairs. The children have their own blankets and small chairs, with Davos on Lysandaer’s lap.
Which does not happen right away because he looks up just for a second when a shadow suddenly appears.
“Hey dad.”
All he gets in return is a shake of his head and Maekar scooping up both children into his arms, much to both of their delight. “Grandpapa,” is screeched loudly by Lysandaer, right in his ear and of course Davos is giving sticky kisses all over the neatly trimmed white beard. Daeron pauses just for a second to twist and look at the shirt being worn, because it looks like it fits pretty well and he got his dad. A black shirt with Proud Of My Son in white, a rainbow cutting through the lettering, and it fit like a glove. Still appropriate for pride, but in a classy way that fits his father.
“It looks good on you.”
“I expect nothing less. And these two seem to be lacking balloons every other child seems to have so I will now take them away while you finish here,” says his father, booking no argument with his tone, and stealing away with his sons to get a rainbow balloon for each of them. Or so Daeron hopes it is one balloon and not the entire bunch, because he can see Maekar buying out all of them for any child of his brood. All he knows is that his children are absolutely spoiled by all three sets of grandparents, Targareyn, Stark, and Manderly, and he just hopes that they are as sensible as their mother when they're older.
There’s about ten minutes of time left, and he goes back to his face painting, shooing away Valarr’s daughter and sending her back to her parents once the rainbow on her cheek is finished, leaving… Wyle… shirtless with only a rainbow vest on, thanks to the heat.
“Bi flag on my chest please.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Awwww, Dae… come on.”
“You’re insanely ticklish. We went through this the last two years. It kept getting messed up every time you moved.”
“But I’ll be good this time."
“Not unless Aly holds you down.”
“Kinky. Too many people around though and it’s more your thing in bed.”
A flush rises in his cheek. Not now. Paint now. Options are weighed. He could attempt it now, mess up, and have to fix it later, or he could wait for Aly to finally finish setting up the wagon and hold Wyle still as he works.
Or…
Daeron pulls off his sweaty shirt and holds out a second pallet for Wyle to take. “Try focusing on putting the same on me as I do you,” he orders, pleased when Wyle brightens up and takes the pallet and brushes, though not before sneaking in a quick peck on the lips.
It takes every ouch of self control not to shiver when the brush hits his skin, but they both seems to be doing fine, and despite Wyle definitely holding back his giggles and being the worst to paint on, he manages to get the flag centered, outlined, and colored with the blue, purple, and pink for bisexual pride on his boyfriend’s chest. The same is on his, not a mirror image, but close enough, and both of them lean back to eye the handiwork.
“Ooo see if I wouldn’t get in trouble I’d ask the same to be put on me, since I’d be going shirtless. Maekar have our boys?” says a voice from above and they both look up to see Aly, a bi pride flag on both cheeks that Daeron had done first, who is holding out a matching vest for him to wear. All three of them in the same rainbow vest makes sense, and she leans down to hook an arm around both of their necks before planting a kiss on each of their cheeks.
“Mmm, they lack balloons so he’s getting them. After Davos stabbed me with his ice pop, right in the eye, babe,” he says, putting on the vest but not his shirt.
Wyle yanks on one of her braids. A pretty pair of pigtail braids, with rainbow ribbons woven through. “Lonnel do that?” he asks, and Daeron is wondering if there isn’t anything her uncle can’t do.
“Actual Baelor did them. He did them also for Kiera and for her little girl.”
Oh. That’s news to him.
He would respond but there is a small child crashing into his side, yelling, “Daddy, look. Rainbow balloon,” right in his ear, and of course it’s Lysandaer holding onto one very large rainbow balloon. Well it’s just one and he scoops his son up onto a hug, careful to not get the paint on the shirt Lysandaer is wearing, and then passes him over to Aly. Wyle stands to take Davos from his father’s arm, also with his own balloon carefully tied to his wrist. “And look at you, little man, all ready to ride in the parade?” he coos, walking over to help Aly put their children into the wagon that is fully decked out, with shade, fans, and seatbelts to make sure no one escapes.
They learned from last year with Lysandaer’s great escape, which was thankfully foiled by Duncan Pennytree, who was there with Lyonel Baratheon, and caught the boy before he broke off into a run to find his Uncle Aegon and Grandpapa Maekar.
“Are you pushing the wagon this year?” he asks, as he starts cleaning up and putting away the brushes and pallets in a bag. Chairs are folded up by his father, and they’re heading over to where both of the boys are being buckled into the wagon, headphones over their ears to protect from the loud noises, before putting the bag inside and chairs in the compartment underneath.
As if he assumed his father wouldn’t, because he gets a look shot at him, entirely condescending, as if there was no universe in where Maekar Targaryen did not push his grandsons in a rainbow decked out wagon in a Pride Parade while his grown eldest son marched with both boyfriend and wife. Or loving partners bound in a handfasting ceremony that technically was not a legal union but ceremonial and made it all the more real to the three of them.
If they could figure out how to legally get married, the three of them, they would, but that had been the next best thing.
“They are my grandchildren, Daeron,” is all the response he gets, before Baelor and Lonnel show up with Matarys in tow, and Valarr and Kiera roll up next to them with their own colorful wagon and daughter waving a tiny flag. Aegon, Rhae, and Daella are somewhere, and he can see the top of Maegor’s head because of course Aerion would put his son on his shoulders to attempt to tower over everyone. Duncan’s over on the side, with Lyonel practically trying to climb on top of him, much to no one’s surprise, and Daeron shakes his head at the chaos.
Two sets of arms loop around him, Wyle on his left, Aly on his right, and he gives both of them a kiss each, before they kiss one another, and he steadies himself as they all prepare to walk down to the festival together, the shorter one of the parades that was picked mostly because of the carnival afterwards.
He dreamt about this, a dragon flanked by a direwolf and a merman, and a riot of colors, as they moved across a sunny sky filled with rainbows and laughter. A few weeks ago, and it was a nice dream he had woken up from, a change of pace from some of the strange and unsettling ones he tended to have.
Reality was better than dreams in this case, as he is squished between his partners, and they move together, flanked by family.
Closeup details of an Ares illustration entry that I made for my Sing O Muse zine contribution last year. Ares, in my version, is often hanging out with Aphrodite and the Graces, Hera + her daughters, and Poseidon the most, either for his warrior bodyguard duty or just running casual errands in his home. Zine is out now, so you better check them out and grab them while you can since they are still piping hot from fresh printing !!!!
The temple background was that of Aphrodite Ourania in Kythera, one of the oldest structures dedicated to her located in mainland Greece dated from the 6th century BC, which was later converted into Agioi Anargyroi church (St. Cosmas & Damian) during Byzantine times.
According to legend, Aphrodite was born from the sea foam stranding to the seashores of Alvemonas Bay of Kythera first before arriving in Paphos, Cyprus. Aphrodite Ourania, as in her “heavenly love” aspect was depicted as an armed warrior goddess within this modest temple right here, and there are still fully preserved walls + niches within the current ruined building along with its Doric columns!!!!
Over on the sight of the divine couple is another chryselephantine statue of Aphrodite Ourania herself, with her foot standing on a tortoise. Made out of gold & ivory, with black stone eyes and carved by the famed Phidias who was known for the Athena Parthenos and Athena Promachos in the Parthenon, Athens; as well as the statue of Zeus of Olympia. (I knew that this statue of Aphrodite Ourania would later be transferred to Elis, in the further northern region of Arcadia, but I still loved it to be standing there, tbh.)
