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ota-division · 1 year

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C H A R O N

"All souls that die, from every nation, collect here, as one. Pray that you were buried with obolus, so that you may be piloted by the ferryman known as C H A R O N." - Centurion

C H A R O N.

A rap supergroup that took the country of Japan by storm. Second in power only to the famed rap supergroup, TDD. During their six-year reign, there was no one alive who hadn't heard of them. Skill, charisma, talent: this group had it all. And what one member lacked, another more than made up for. Despite how dramatic many thought the name was, none could deny that it fit the power of this group.

"Maggots drink the blood of me, insects lick tears I weep. The hornets pierce me, and the wasps are breaking every single fuckin' inch of skin on me!" - ATLAS

...So the question on everyone's mind is, where did it all go wrong?

Such questions are better suited to be answered by the creators themselves.

Meet the people behind the band. Meet the members themselves.

Meet...

C H A R O N

1. Oracle

Full Name: Chinen Chinami

Age: 29

Position: Main Lyricist/Singer

Bio: The main lyricist of the band, this blind woman, despite having no eyes, was able to write beautiful lyrics due to her natural gift for poetry. Though joining a rap group wasn't what she saw herself doing, after being persuaded by Haru, she decided to join up. She admitted that being part of C H A R O N was one of the happiest moments in her life. Not only did it allow her to make full use of her writing talents, but it also allowed her to meet the man she would eventually marry. His death broke her, and caused her to leave the group, which signified the end of C H A R O N.

2. Centurion

Full Name: Tanabe Haru

Age: 27 (At the time of his death)

Position: Lyricist/Rapper

Bio: An aspiring writer, this nerdy, young lad loved writing almost as much as he loved history. One of the frontmen for the group, he was the one responsible for finding and recruiting people to join. As he and the other lyricist of the group, Chinami, got better acquainted and friendly with each other, their friendship soon transformed into something greater. After a year or so of dating, he finally proposed to her, and the two became husband and wife, bearing one child. Sadly, a year into the marriage, he was shot and killed by a drug addict while the two were walking home from the studio one night. His death is what effectively broke the group and eventually caused it to dissolve. Rumors circulate whether his death was really just a drug-related incident, and not a planned hit. Kira, Chinami's younger sister, who is still looking into the incident, has her doubts...

3. Helen

Full Name: Funai Reiko

Age: 28

Position: Singer/Spokesperson

Bio: To this day, it's still questioned exactly what a famous actress had to gain from joining a rap group. It couldn't be about money, and she already had thousands of fans. Rumors circulate, but the most likely explanation is that she needed some time away from the big screen after a scandal erupted involving a director and a sex tape that somehow made its way online. Whatever the reason, there's no denying that this famous celebrity helped to push C H A R O N into the limelight. With her connections and gift for gab, she was able to quickly get the group noticed.

While she was undoubtedly the face of the group, she was also dubbed 'The Weakest Link' due to having no skill with rapping or singing. After C H A R O N disbanded, she went back to acting. It's unknown if she keeps in contact with her former partners.

4. Rose

Full Name: Hayakawa Aimi

Age: 24

Position: Musician/Singer

Bio: Born an albino, this half-British/half-Japanese person faced a lot of scrutiny because of their appearance. The fact that they were transgendered only made it worse. A lover of music in all its forms, they consider it to be their heart and soul. Thus, it's no surprise that they were the group's main songwriter, composing beats and notes with little to no problem. A neighbor of Haru's, they accepted his offer to join the group, because it got them away from home, far from their scrutinizing and abusive mother, who tried to force them to accept their gender. They idolized Chinami for her inner strength, and Reiko, for her beauty.

After the group dissolved, they struggled to figure out what to do, refusing to return back to their home. With Reiko's help, they were introduced to a music agency, where they are now working hard to produce their first album. They still keep in touch with their former bandmates, and they always find time to visit Haru's grave with Chinami.

5. ATLAS

Full Name: Teagan Oki

Age: 31

Position: Frontman/Rapper

Bio: It's still a wonder how Oki and Haru were able to become good friends despite their personalities being completely different from each other's. Some attribute it to the fact that they were childhood friends, and others believe it's just a concept of how opposites are attracted to each other. In any case, it was his idea to form a rap group in the first place and Haru went along with him. A rapper with an impressive rhyme scheme, he was believed to be the powerhouse behind C H A R O N.

Despite his impressive skills, he had a very poor disposition and was known for his numerous fights and brawls, most of which were his own fault. Besides that, he reveled in the envy that C H A R O N received from reporters or smaller rap teams. Also, save for Haru, he didn't get on well with some of the other members of the group, including Chinami. In fact, after Haru died, he blamed her for his friend's death and for breaking the group up. It's unknown what happened to him after the group broke up.

6. Neleus

Full Name: Sawada Nori

Age: 22

Position: Rapper

Bio: He was the lively youngest member of C H A R O N, generally speaking. Formerly from a rich family, he ran away from home with only a few thousand dollars to his name after an incident occurred that caused him to leave. He was often noted as being someone who didn't take things seriously until the situation called for it. He also had a bad habit (he'd call it a skill) to push work off onto other people, and he was very, very sleek about it. Besides that, he was a very easygoing guy who loved to party, play video games, and flirt with people. Despite that, he was known to be a peacekeeper among the group. Even Oki found it hard to be angry in his presence. Attracted to Rose, he allowed them to stay in his flat in Tokyo while they work on their album.

Trivia

Haru was the one who came up with the name for the group. He once stated in an interview, "I chose it simply because I like Greek mythology, and I admired Charon's role in the stories. The fact that the first letter of our names and MC names make up the word was completely coincidental. Honest!"

The group often made a habit of dressing up as Greek characters during live shows.

Despite the group's dissolution, they still remain popular with the people of Japan.

It's only hearsay, but there are rumors that after Haru had married Chinami, he was going to leave C H A R O N so he could focus more on his writing career and so he could be a devoted husband and father to his family. When Oki found out, he wasn't happy and the two reportedly fought over this.

#hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic oc #chinami chinen #haru tanabe #reiko funai #aimi hayakawa #oki tengan #nori sawada #c h a r o n #charon #oracle #centurion #helen #rose #atlas #neleus

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twotales · 6 months

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love how aries is about to go on some tirade but neleus just shuts him down

#sga #stargate atlantis #childhoods end #twotalesrewatch #aries stargate #neleus stargate

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perfectlystrangeangel · 11 months

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#amazon #amazon products #amazon shopping #NELEUS Women's Yoga Running Capris Tummy Control High Waist Workout Pants

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plankton-in-space · 3 months

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Mermay 14 - Shedding Scales 🐠 Merfolk shed their scales once a year and it is an intimate affair. Their tails are highly sensitive and tail care is usuallydone between lovers, spouses or between parent & child. Neleus is famously unattached so he goes somewhere quiet to take care of things!

#mermay #merfolk #illustration #drawing #procreate #planktondraws #art

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figsandphiltatos · 1 year

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Sleep now on the Bed that so Feigns my Breath

read it on ao3 here!

Story: Braved by your Heart's Resolve

Chapter: 2/? "Sleep now on the Bed that so Feigns my Breath"

Characters: Telemachus of Ithaca, Peisistratus of Pylos, Athena, Polycaste of Pylos, Nestor of Pylos, Thrasymedes of Pylos

Pairing: Telemachus/Peisistratus

Summary:

“It is a great honor to host you here, son of Odysseus.” Nestor said as the wine was poured. “We must give thanks to the gods, and Athena above all, for your safe journey here. Come dawn, we will sacrifice a young heifer to her.” With this promise, he poured another libation into the basin near his throne.

Peisistratus watched quietly from where he was seated across the room. A serving girl poured him a drink, eyes cast downwards. She served Polycaste last of all. The princess’s eyes never once left Telemachus. He looked handsome in the firelight, as he had in the light of day. The goddess’s favor was distant, now. He did not appear otherworldly, or intimidating. If anything, Peisistratus thought he looked better like this. Athena forgive him, but Telemachus did not need her presence or favor to make him look kingly.

He bowed his head in reverent thanks. “It is an honor to be hosted by you, King Nestor.” His voice was pleasant. It filled the room in the way kings’ voices were meant to. As they all took turns pouring their own libations, Peisistratus felt jealousy simmering somewhere deep within him.

(also a quick note! it's finals season and i have, no exaggeration, roughly one six+ page paper due daily for the next week or so. so, um, updates might be slow for a hot minute!)

The cool stone walls of Pylos’ palace were familiar to Peisistratus, to the point of monotony, but he could still sympathize with how they might be overwhelming to a newcomer. From his understanding, while frescoes commonly decorated the walls of ornate Mycenaean palaces, they were nothing like this. Nestor had, at times, complained about visiting the palaces of other great kings.

He would pause in his retelling of his first meeting with the great warrior Achilles, to remark, “The walls there are hung with imposing tapestries, which are so well woven they must bring all of Phthia pride. But the walls themselves—more bare than not! It is a great hall, to be sure, and King Peleus was right to be proud of his high roofed house and glorious son, but the plain stone of his walls should put any man to shame. I offered to send our best artists to Phthia post-haste—the men who learned from those commissioned by my great father, Neleus himself. He declined, his mind no doubt preoccupied with the thoughts that dominate men in times of war—honor and legacy and the like…”

Pylos’ palatial floors and walls stood in stark contrast. The floors, paved with stucco and stone and, even at times, carpet, was a grid of vivid colors. It was a testament to Neleus’ power that he could build such a kaleidoscopic hall, rivaling even Iris’ own colors. It was the kind of vanity which their people venerated; a subtle way of elevating oneself among the gods. One had to be careful how they approached such hubristic projects, but Neleus had been a wise man. He would have never boasted blasphemy himself, but his great palace spoke for itself. The gods have never created anything like this. But the great King Neleus has.

The frescoes which decorated the walls honored the gods. It was best to avoid their jealousy outright, and to honor them with such an impressive construction was a clever solution. Men and women dressed in the vibrant colors of nobility led bulls toward the slaughter on the walls outside the throne room. It was a depiction of the very festivities which were still concluding outside the palace walls.

Leading his guest through the grand halls, Nestor said none of this. He beamed with pride, and Peisistratus knew he did not have to. Telemachus, or any man visiting the palace, would have to be a fool to miss its splendor. His eyes were too busy flicking from the vibrant floors to the painted walls to settle on Peisistratus as they had before.

Ithaca, it was said, was a kingdom of rocks and goats. Peisistratus had never been himself, but he had heard it discussed. He tried to imagine it now, but could not. It must have been nothing like Pylos, a bustling city rich in trade.

Fire light flooded the rest of the megaron from the throne room. It was lit by a large, circular hearth in the center, colored by the spiraling and geometric designs Peisistratus was sure he could trace by heart. Great columns stood around the fire like guards, holding the second story of Nestor’s own high-roofed hall. From the balcony, which framed the fire from above, the curious faces of servants peered down at the arriving royal family and their new guest. Word had no doubt already spread that there was a new arrival. Nestor had sent servants running ahead to ready the palace for a guest.

Before Nestor could sit in his great throne, serving girls were already waiting with honeyed wine in pitchers. High-backed chairs bordered the grand room, and Thrasymedes was first to take his seat. It was, as always, to the right of their father. Telemachus was invited to take the seat of an honored guest, to the king’s left.

Peisistratus watched as the prince of Ithaca accepted graciously, bowing his head in well-earned reverence to the old king. Looming over him was a mural of a man holding a blazing white lyre. A bird flew from him, a sign of the gods’ favor. The tales of Orpheus were well known to most. A gentle hero and a doomed love. A journey to the underworld was the greatest feat a hero could accomplish in the stories Peisistratus had heard growing up, and Orpheus had done it all without bow or blade. The griffins and beasts depicted on the walls appeared to dance in the firelight, eternally honoring the great bard’s song even now. As Nestor was a great storyteller, so too was his palace.

He was not unseemly himself. He was from an impressive line of kings. In many ways, he looked like his brothers and father. He had the same dark hair, cropped short. It curled at the nape of his neck and around his ears. His skin was tanned from long days in the sun, commanding scores of troops with nothing better to do than run pointless drills. His great-grandfather’s godly legacy was not lost on him, either.

But Telemachus, and his father Odysseus before him, were born of the gods of old as well. The way firelight glinted in Telemachus’ eyes reminded Peisistratus of their people’s trickster god. His father had often bragged about the divine lineage of kings with whom he fought side-by-side at Troy. Odysseus, he had said, was the grandson of the messenger of the gods, Hermes. Peisistratus could see it now, in the soft upturn of Telemachus’ lips, or the curious way his hands failed to still themselves as if they longed for something to occupy them.

To distract himself, Peisistratus took a long drink from his golden cup. Nestor was speaking again, this time to give Telemachus a stern warning, “Don’t rove from your home too long.” He was saying, despite having just encouraged the prince to travel to Sparta. “Those men you leave in your home are a craven sort. They very well may carve up what’s left of your home and holdings while you are absent, leaving it all unprotected…”

Polycaste beside him knocked against Peisistratus’ arm with her elbow and leaned over toward him. “He would make a good match for me, don’t you think?” She had only had one thing on her mind all day. Not even the appearance of the daughter of Zeus had shaken her resolve.

“And let him tote you off to Ithaca?” Peisistratus scoffed under his breath. “Who then would save me from Aretus and his terrible banality?” It was only half a jest. It was hard to imagine life without his sister by his side, but he felt certain it would be infinitely more dull. The two of them had kept each other entertained their whole lives.

Pisidice, their eldest sister, had already been married off and carted away to another king’s palace. She resided still in Messenia, and they so rarely saw her. Ithaca was further away by leagues.

“I would bring you with me.” Polycaste teased. “Take you as part of my dowry, along with golden cups and fine fabrics.”

Peisistratus laughed, shaking his head. Suddenly, he felt the weight of those eyes again. His own snapped up to make eye contact with Telemachus, whose attention had slipped from Nestor back towards the two of them. Aretus, too, was looking their way, but he was glaring.

With a huff, Peisistratus sat up straighter and schooled his face back into an impassive mask. He retrained his eyes on his father, who had not wavered at the sound of his son’s laughter ringing through their great halls. “I think, for now, it is time for rest. There will be time for planning and reminiscing all the more when Eos brings her light.” He said. It was a relief that the storytelling would not stretch on long into the night. “If, come morning, you decide to travel to Sparta to visit the great King Menelaus, I will send my son, Peisistratus, as your companion. It will be his bedchambers where you will rest tonight.”

Peisistratus felt his heart leap with excitement. This was his second prayer to be answered that day, alone. Quietly, he promised the gray eyed goddess that he, too, would give some kind of sacrifice before leaving for Sparta. Nestor gestured toward him and he beamed with pride. It was not often that he was singled out by his father, and this felt as though he was being entrusted with something crucial.

If Telemachus was pleased by this news, or in fact if he had any kind of feeling about it at all, it did not show. He bowed his head again. “Thank you, lord. Your generosity with which you host no doubt brings the favor of Zeus upon your entire household.” It was a pretty bit of flattery, a wise thing to say at the time. Peisistratus felt the sour taste of envy again. He should have thought to say something when he was named by his father.

It was too late by then. Nestor was pleased with his guest’s show of gratitude. He promised again that they would sacrifice to the gods the next day before dismissing his children.

The halls beside the megaron were far darker, and not half as well adorned. The walls and floors were still colorful, but without any artistic renderings of heroes or great beasts. They were long and dim, leading towards the staircases which one could follow to the bedchambers. Peisistratus ducked into one before Nestor was quite ready to let go of his shining guest. Polycaste followed, and nearly tackled him once they were out of sight.

She let out a shrill, squealing sound that Peisistratus knew well. He laughed as she took his hands and bounced up and down. At times he thought someone looking at them would have to think he was the older of the two of them. “He is going to bring you with him!” She insisted eagerly. “You’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you?”

“I will.” Peisistratus smiled. “I will tell him that you are a handful and a terror on your best days.”

Polycaste gasped. “A good word, Peisistratus.” She scolded.

“You would have me lie, then?” It was the way of siblings, to try and get under each other’s skin like this. Something about Telemachus taking Polycaste back with him to Ithaca left Peisistratus uneasy. He would be a good husband, certainly, but it would mean never seeing his sister again.

Polycaste opened her mouth to let fly her rueful retort, but was cut short when a shadow appeared from the doorway into the throne room. Telemachus was imposing with his face cast in shadow.

“You are Prince Peisistratus, are you not?” His voice was hushed, uncertain. It was nothing like the stoic impression he had projected while the goddess walked with him, or even the charming prince he had been when speaking with Nestor in the throne room. He sounded most like he had when he had insisted he would never be accompanied by a god, young and inexperienced. It was a crack in his facade that left Peisistratus wondering: Why make Telemachus a champion of the gods and not him? But he could not pretend not to understand. He had seen the way Telemachus composed himself in front of kings and gods. Some men were born for greater things than others.

“I am.” Peisistratus said.

“Good.” Telemachus seemed, for the first time, to notice Polycaste. He stepped in from the throne room, allowing light back into the hall. The cut of his jaw was more dramatic in this lighting, making him appear like all sharp angles and swirls of auburn hair. When he smiled in greeting, Peisistratus heard his sister let out a breathless sigh. He thought to himself that this was the noise people made when hit by one of Eros’ arrows. “You must be one of Nestor’s lovely daughters. My apologies, I did not catch your name.” He was the same Telemachus who had spoken to their father, now, all charisma and confidence and wit.

“Polycaste.” She introduced herself. Peisistratus did not have to look at her to know she was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. “I must be going.”

It would have been unbecoming for her to stay and talk longer with the prince without their father’s permission. With that, she turned and disappeared down the hallway. Peisistratus listened to the sound of her sandals on the stairs as he tried to read Telemachus’ expression. He was charming but Peisistratus could not tell if it was for genuine interest in the Pylian princess or not.

“I am tired.” Telemachus said suddenly. “If we are to leave for Sparta tomorrow, it would be wise to rest well tonight.”

“You have decided to travel to Sparta, then?”

“I have yet to find answers, so yes.” Telemachus almost sounded irritated that he’d be questioned.

Peisistratus tried to imagine what it might have been like, if his father had never returned from Ilium, but Nestor’s return had been quick and safe. He had been shepherded home quickly by his grandfather, he who holds the earth. For the first ten years of his life, Peisistratus’ father had been a ghost. Stories of his exploits filled the halls, serving girls followed instructions left by him years ago, even from across the sea his name alone commanded respect. But Peisistratus had been unable to put a face to the name which weight he bore. How many times had he introduced himself as Peisistratus, son of Nestor, while Nestor was still a stranger to him? His mother had told him stories and Echephron had spent hours listing off everything he could remember about their absent father and brothers, but it was never enough. Peisistratus had sought out whatever vestiges of Nestor remained in his palace like a desperate scavenger. Once, his mother had scolded him for sneaking into the old soldier’s armory and stealing one of the few spears he had left behind. When he tried to envision what another ten years of living like that might have been like, he could not.

“Good.” Was all Peisistratus said in response. He turned towards the smooth, stone stairs at the end of the hall.

Walking through the heavy silence between them made the path to his room feel much longer than it really was. Telemachus did not hide his awe as well, now that they were alone, perhaps he felt he did not have to. Peisistratus was not some legendary king for whom he had to perform.

They passed a mural of a war. Men attacked each other at the crossing of some river or stream. Peisistratus was sure his father had told him the story it depicted, before; Pylians fighting Heraclidae, or the Elians. Telemachus stared at it in quiet wonder before having to speed his steps to once again catch up to Peisistratus, who did not stop to humor the other prince’s distractibility.

Peisistratus’ own room was relatively plain. Some tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of great heroes. One had been gifted to him from his father, upon his return from Troy. It had been torn from the walls some time after they had waited in the famous horse and taken the city. The mastery of the weavers who pieced together the scenes on them must have been great.

Apollo and Poseidon schemed on the fabric, Leto begged at the great thunderer’s feet, and the two gods were cast from Olympus. The bottom half of the tapestry was taken up entirely of the Trojan wall itself, which his father and his brother’s in arms had broken through after ten long years. The two gods, serving penance for their treason, carried bricks at the very bottom.

Peisistratus knew the story well. His father had told it to him, when he was first given the tapestry, and it pleased Thrasymedes to brag that Poseidon, their great ancestor, had helped them tear down the very walls he himself had built.

The prince’s arms were carefully laid apart, left neglected for the long day of festivities. To the side stood his corded bed, bands of hide stretched across the frame, covered in fine skins serving as blankets.

“Will the servants not bring a pallet or something?” Telemachus spoke again, for the first time since the hall.

Peisistratus turned to him and raised an eyebrow. It was an odd question. It was not uncommon for noble guests to share beds with the princes. Besides, Peisistratus had been raised with brothers. He had many times fallen asleep in the same bed with Aretus after their mother told them some story, or shared a bed with Echephron after a particularly harsh nightmare when he was younger. He could not understand what the other prince, raised in the isolation of rocky, guestless Ithaca, might have been troubled by.

“The bed is not as small as it seems.” He said, assuming that comfort was Telemachus’ chief concern.

He was met with silence. Peisistratus was eager for bed, and made a move to pull off his tunic. Only then did Telemachus speak again, interrupting him.

“I wanted to ask you.” He blurted out, again sounding utterly unsure of himself. Peisistratus turned to him with a frown. His hands were fidgeting again but, now, it appeared more like a nervous quirk than some godly inheritance. “You appeared angry on the beach. I wanted to know why.”

Peisistratus paused. “I apologize if I was not an honorable host.” He said, thinking that this was what Telemachus meant. His pride chafed against his apology—he had been a perfectly amenable host for his part—but it was best not to risk angering Zeus.

“No, that is not the problem.” Telemachus insisted. “There is no problem. I was only curious.”

Where Peisistratus had expected double edged words, there were none. His frown deepened, but he nodded slowly. “Did you believe what you said, about the gods never coming to your aid?” He asked suddenly.

Telemachus looked sheepish. It wasn’t an expression Peisistratus would have been able to fit onto his features before seeing it himself. Yet, it was nice. It softened his eyes, which looked away bashfully. “I did.” Despite how embarrassing it might have been, he was honest. “I suppose you must think I am a fool. Would that Athena had seen fit to smite me for it.”

Peisistratus laughed, despite himself. “She is not so fickle.”

“You are right. Apologies.”

“No need. I will not smite you on her behalf.” He waved away any concern, and Telemachus smiled. It was not the same shining grin he had given Polycaste, but some shy, lopsided thing. That he was descended from Hermes, giver of charm, was not hard to believe. Peisistratus tried to recall his resentment from earlier, but it was much harder to feel while alone with him. “We should get some rest.” He insisted, shaking off thoughts.

Telemachus nodded quietly in agreement, but made no move to prepare for sleep. Sand from the beach still clung to his tunic. It rubbed against his skin and no doubt got stuck in his curls when he pulled the garment off. He shook it off unceremoniously before draping it over his low-backed chair. He did not envy the serving girls who would be tasked with washing sand from the entire royal family’s wardrobe.

After an entire day of feeling Telemachus’ eyes on him, Peisistratus found it hard to ignore the way the prince’s gaze avoided him now. He suddenly seemed invested in the bed, then the tapestry of Troy’s walls. He said nothing about either sudden interest, only carefully inspecting each one and meticulously avoiding looking up. Peisistratus thought it was strange, but said nothing of it. For now the only conclusion he had the energy to reach was that Prince Telemachus was strange.

Without a word, Peisistratus climbed into his bed. A long day in the sun had sapped the energy from him. He could tell that sleep would come quickly to him. It occurred to him, after several long moments of watching Telemachus’ back dragged past, that perhaps the Ithacan prince might move again if he pretended it already had.

After closing his eyes, Peisistratus waited patiently for Lord Hypnos to steal away his consciousness. It took longer than he might have thought and, instead, he listened to the silence until it was interrupted by the shuffling of feet. The familiar sound of fabric pulled over the head came next, and Peisistratus felt curiosity prickling at the back of his eyes. He chanced a glance through lidded eyes, catching a brief glimpse of the muscled back of Prince Telemachus. The chamber was shadowy, and looking through his eyelashes further impaired his vision, but it was clear to Peisistratus that he was looking at the kind of man who was carved into marble and painted on amphorae.

When Telemachus turned toward the bed, Peisistratus closed his eyes once again.

Warmth spread across his back as Telemachus settled into bed. The bed was not small, as Peisistratus had said, and their skin only barely brushed against each other when Telemachus shifted to get comfortable. He expected the new found warmth to bring on sleep more quickly. There was a gentle, steady rhythm in Telemachus’ breaths, so close that Peisistratus could feel the air of his exhalations pushing softly at the nape of his neck.

But something about the closeness, being so near to someone and not touching, suddenly made Peisistratus feel as if he had never been tired at all. The woody, earthen scent of cypress and almond oil filled Peisistratus’ lungs, like soil just after rain in the early summer months. The smell of the sea, salt and summer breeze, still clung to Telemachus’ skin, too.

Peisistratus opened his eyes again, when he failed to drift off, and stared at the smooth stone wall across from him. When he did close his eyes again, images of fire dancing in eyes and the dark outline of a well-muscled body flashed before him. He tried to distract himself from those thoughts, and stop himself from ruminating on the comfortable warmth at his back, by thinking of traveling to Sparta. But the anticipation, and a growing list of things he would have to do the next day before they could leave, weren’t particularly calming.

When sleep did finally come for Peisistratus, it was fitful and brief.

#pls enjoy my over researched fawning over nestor's palace at pylos disguised as a chapter of fanfic #i am not kidding that while researching for this chapter i stumbled upon a very helpful academic paper--written by my actual mythology prof #just‚‚‚ really incredible stuff all around #telestratus #telemachus #the odyssey #peisistratus of pylos #greek mythology #fanfic #bbyhr #braved by your heart's resolve

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homomenhommes · 8 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more …

c.2000 B.C. - 1200 B.C. – In Greek mythology, Daphnis was a Sicilian shepherd who was said to be the inventor of pastoral poetry. According to tradition, he was the son of Hermes and a nymph, despite which Daphnis himself was mortal.

Daphnis is also described and portrayed as an eromenos, that is, a boy-lover to older men. His mother was said to have exposed him under a laurel tree, where he was found by shepherds, who raised him, and named after the tree under which he was found. He was also sometimes said to be Hermes' favourite or beloved (eromenos) rather than his son.

Pan also fell in love with him and taught him to play the pan pipes.

A naiad was in love with him and promised to be faithful to him. However, he was seduced, with the aid of wine, by the daughter of a king, and, in revenge, this nymph either blinded him or turned him to stone.

c.1280 B.C. – Hercules (Greek: Herakles) was not only the strongest of the heroes (even as a baby he killed two great serpents with his bare hands) but he was also the craziest (he murdered his first three sons in a fit of madness) and the smartest (what he could not accomplish by brute strength he achieved through guile). What is less well known is that he was as heroic in bed as he was in battle.

One time he was invited by King Thespios to help him rid his land of a huge lion that was terrorizing the countryside. When the king set eyes on Hercules he had a better idea: "Come and stay the night at my palace, and rest yourself before the hunt," said the king to Hercules, "and meet my family." The king's family was made up mostly of his fifty virgin daughters, for whom he had not found fitting husbands until then. That night Hercules made love to forty nine of them (the fiftieth was too shy). The next morning, he and the king went off to hunt the lion, and nine months later all forty-nine daughters gave birth to sons.

But much as he loved women, Hercules loved young men no less. Plutarch said that the number of his lovers was beyond counting. What we know for sure is that he had more than even the god Apollo (who was also a practitioner of male love). Most stories about the beloved boys of Hercules have been lost or destroyed, but among his lovers were said to be the young heroes Admetos, Iphitos, and Euphemos, all of them Argonauts; Elacatas, honored by the yearly Elacatia games in Sparta; and Abderus, an Opian boy and son of Hermes, whose love for Hercules cost him his life, and who was honored with his own festival in the city that bore his name.

Abderus was the young man to whom Hercules entrusted the man-eating mares of King Diomedes. Not strong enough to keep them in check, they tore him to shreds and devoured him. Heartbroken, Hercules built the city of Abdera in his memory.

There was also a myth, now lost, that claimed that Eurystheus, the king for whom Hercules performs his labors, was one of his lovers, and that Hercules undertook the labors in order to please him. If so, then male love becomes the central motive force of the Hercules cycle, just as the love between Achilles and Patroclos is the fire that drives the story of the Iliad.

Also among his lovers, but not so unlucky as Abderus, were Philoctetes who inherited Hercules's bow and arrows, and who was called upon to use them in the Trojan war, and Nestor, the youngest son of King Neleus, whom he grew to love more than any other lad. Nireus, Adonis, Jason, Corythus, Stychius, and Phrynx were reputed to have been amongst his lovers as well.

Of all his boy-man lovers however, the ones he loved the best (besides Nestor) were Iolaos of Thebes, and Hylas of Argos. Iolaos, was also his nephew and, though only sixteen, his helper in many of his labors. It was said that their love was such that Hercules found those labors easier when Iolaos watched him. He was Hercules' charioteer and beloved, just like Patroclos was for Achilles.

As Plutarch tells us: "And as to the [male] loves of Hercules, it is difficult to record them because of their number; but those who think that Iolaos was one of them do to this day worship and honor him, and make their loved ones swear fidelity at his tomb." And also, "It is a tradition likewise that Iolaos, who assisted Hercules in his labors and fought at his side, was beloved of him; and Aristotle observes that even in his time lovers pledged their faith at Iolaos' tomb." The Thebans thought so highly of Iolaos that they worshiped him together with Hercules, named their gymnasium after him, and in his honor held yearly contests, the Iolaeia.

As for the love between Hercules and Hylas, the poet Theocritus had this to say: "We are not the first mortals to see beauty in what is beautiful. No, even Amphitryon's bronze-hearted son, who defeated the savage Nemean lion, loved a boy-charming Hylas, whose hair hung down in curls. And like a father with a dear son he taught him all the things which had made him a mighty man, and famous.

"And they were inseparable, being together both day and night. That way the boy might grow the way he wanted him to, and being by his side attain the true measure of a man. When Jason sailed after the golden fleece, and all the nobles went with him invited from every city, to rich Iolkos he came too, the man of many labors, son of noble Alcmena.

And brave Hylas in the flower of youth went with him aboard the Argo, the strong-thwarted ship, to bear his arrows and to guard his bow."

1994 – UK: A panel of magistrates in London dismissed a paternity suit against singer Boy George for lack of evidence. By George is an English singer, songwriter, DJ, fashion designer and photographer. He is the lead singer of the Grammy and Brit Award-winning pop band Culture Club. At the height of the band's fame, during the 1980s, they recorded global hit songs such as "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me", "Time (Clock of the Heart)" and "Karma Chameleon".

George is known for his soulful voice and androgynous appearance. He was part of the English New Romantic movement which emerged in the late 1970s to the early 1980s. In his autobiography Take It Like a Man, George stated that he had secret relationships with punk rock singer Kirk Brandon and Club drummer Jon Moss. He stated many of the songs he wrote for Culture Club were about his relationship with Moss.

2005 – Off-Broadway musical Naked Boys Singing! re-opens in Milwaukee after being closed by police on obscenity charges two weeks earlier. Naked Boys Singing! is a traditional American vaudeville-style musical revue, with book and direction by Robert Schrock, musical direction by Stephen Bates and choreography by Jeffry Denman, that features eight actors who sing and dance naked.

This campy Off-Broadway musical comedy opened on July 22, 1999 at the Actors' Playhouse in New York City. The show transferred to Theatre Four in March 2004, and again in 2005 to New World Stages Stage Four, until it closed on January 28, 2012. The show has no plot; it contains 15 songs, about various issues, such as gay life, male nudity, coming out, circumcision, and love. The official Off Broadway Revival opened at Theatre Row's Kirk Theatre on April 5, 2012 and is still enjoying a healthy run today

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