#hades!derek

[shad0w-ink]

DOODLE! Hades!Derek and Persephone!Stiles cuz I love ‘em

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The Prophecy; the End of Everything - Chapter I

The prophecy stands: when the planets align he will free himself from his cell. The only chance of stopping him is the unity of the Worlds; the child of the Heavens, ruler of the Underworld, and warrior of the Seas.

[AO3]

“Stiles,” his father said softly. “It’s time to go.”

“I know, I know,” Stiles replied, the golden glow of his eyes fading back to their natural dark hue as he finished tending to the wilting plant. The trunk straightened and the wilted leaves grew firm, the edges that had been darkened by rot were now vibrant, lush and green.

Stiles rose to his feet and dusted off the front of his robes. He turned to look at his dad, taking in the weary, sad look on the man’s face.

“It’s only a few months,” Stiles assured him, his voice soft as he stepped over to his father’s side. “And you’re welcome to visit.”

“I know, but he does not interrupt your time with me, it would not be fair if I were to interrupt your time with him,” John said. He let out a sigh. “I do miss you.”

“And I miss you,” Stiles replied, pulling his father into a tight hug.

His father pulled back slightly, cupping his son’s cheek as he looked at him. A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“You’d best get going,” his father told him.

“Can I come with you?” Erica asked excitedly.

Stiles looked at her.

She knew he couldn’t say no to her, but others were not allowed to know where the gates to the Underworld were, nor were they permitted to enter unless dead.

“You can walk with me as far as the edge of town,” Stiles compromised.

Erica beamed at him, hurrying to her feet and walking with him through the streets.

The town was quiet at this time of day; the sun was creeping towards the horizon, lighting the sky with smears of pink, purple, blue and orange. The cool breeze of night was chasing away the warmth of day and those who lived in the village were returning home for dinner.

“What’s it like in the Underworld?” Erica asked, pushing back a stray strand of straw-blonde hair that had fallen out of her braid. “Is it as dark, decrepit and gloomy as everyone says it is?”

“Only if your soul is sent to Hades,” Stiles answered. “Otherwise, it’s just like the Surface World… only, below the Surface.”

“And what’s he like?” Erica asked, looking at Stiles curiously.

Stiles fought the urge to smile as he thought about him—Derek.

“Beyond anything you could ever imagine,” Stiles replied fondly.

“What’s it like to be laid at the mercy of a man like him?”

Stiles slowed as they reached the edge of the town.

A coy smirk turned up the corner of Stiles’ lips as a glint of mischief lit his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at Erica. “What makes you think I’m at his mercy?”

He flashed a smile before turning and walking into the dying light, towards the mountains where the entrance to the Underworld was hidden.

The warmth of daylight faded, the wavering flames of the burning torches lighting his way. The pale silk of his clothes turned black and the golden threads faded to silver, the delicate patterns of towering stalks of wheat, blooming flowers, and twisted vines all standing out against the onyx-black fabric.

The ornate cuffs of golden vines that encircled his arms shimmered brighter than they did in the day as they caught the dim light of the flickering torches.

Flowers bloomed in the wake of his footsteps, their velvety petals as red as blood. The blossoms that were woven into a circlet around his head turned into a crown of ashy thorns and crimson blooms.

The darkness welcomed him as the king returned home.

Cerberus lifted his heads as Stiles approached the gates, his tail wagging excitedly. He wriggled as he scampered to his feet and bounded towards Stiles, sliding to a stop and struggling to sit still.

Stiles wrapped him up in his arms, patting his three heads and he quietly shushed the hound.

When Cerberus calmed down, Stiles stepped past him and through the gates to the Underworld. He made his way through the familiar setting, past the pillars of marble and large doors to his home, and over to the door that led to their bedroom.

The room was surprisingly large and comforting, the walls covered in ornate panelling that was painted black. A tiered chandelier hung from the ceiling, the flames of the candles dim but glinting as they caught the reflection of the shimmering crystals, casting light around the room.

Pies of old books were stacked against the walls—old hardcover books, leather bound journals and other books that looked like antiques, all bound in magnificent colours of scarlet, burgundy, deep green, gold, and grey. The spines of the books were decorated by gold or silver lettering that read the titles, adorned with small metal studs and a few were even fastened with small hinges that looked to be made of brass or silver.

A small wooden chair sat in one corner of the room, a blanket thrown across it. Beside the chair was a small alcove that was decorated by cushions, blankets and a book that had been set aside.

The bed sat in the centre of the room, pushed back against one wall. It was covered in black sheets, soft blankets and a golden silk throw which lay over the figure that lay there, fast asleep.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell with his even breaths and his stern features softened by sleep.

He stripped off his clothes, down to his britches. He unwound the golden cuffs from around his surprisingly firm biceps and lifted the crown of thorns and flowers from his head, setting it aside on the chair in the corner of the room.

He stepped over to the other side of the bed. He carefully lifted the blankets, trying not to disturb Derek as he climbed into bed. He lay still, letting his body settle among the familiar sheets.

He heard Derek stir behind him, letting out a weak groan as he shuffled closer to Stiles, wrapping his arm around the young man’s waist and nuzzling his face into the curve of his neck.

Stiles smiled softly as he settled back into the warmth of his husband’s embrace, letting his eyes flutter shut as sleep overcame him.

 ---------------------------------

 Derek stirred himself awake, drawing in a deep breath as he slowly blinked his eyes open. He rolled onto his back, untangling himself from the figure that lay beside him and dragging his hands down his face.

Realisation crashed over him like a wave. His eyes flew open wide as he turned to look at the figure lying beside him.

Stiles rolled over, letting out a weak groan as he stirred. He opened his eyes, looking up at Derek and smiling sweetly.

Derek smiled back, cupping Stiles’ cheek as he leant forward and brought their lips together in a sweet, tender kiss.

“When did you get here?” Derek asked.

“Last night,” Stiles answered. “I was hoping my presence wouldn’t disturb you.”

“Your presence is always with me,” Derek said softly. “It makes it impossible for you to disturb me… and highly possible for you to sneak up on me.”

Stiles flashed a mischievous smile.

“Heavens, I’ve missed you,” Derek whispered, leaning forward and bringing his lips to Stiles’ again.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs, reaching up, looping his arms around Derek’s neck and pulling him down against him.

Derek shifted atop of Stiles, straddling his waist as he pressed their bodies together. He dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth.

One of Stiles’ hands glided up Derek’s arm, up his bicep and across his shoulder blade. His other hand ran up the nape of Derek’s neck, lacing his fingers through Derek’s soft hair.

Derek sighed in return, craning his neck as he deepened the kiss. His hand glided up Stiles’ side, feeling the curves of his waist and the small of his back.

He drew back slowly, gasping for breath.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Stiles said breathlessly.

Derek let out a low chuckle, the sound making Stiles’ heart flutter.

There was a huff under the door, followed by a quiet whimper.

“And I’m not the only one who missed you,” Derek said.

Cerberus let out another heart-breaking whimper, gently pawing at the door.

Derek let out a measured sigh, reluctantly pulling back the blanket and rising to his feet.

A playful smirk played across Stiles’ lips. He pulled the blanket up over his head as Derek reached for the door.

Cerberus came bounding into the room, quickly pulling up to a halt as he realised he couldn’t see Stiles. The smiles fell from his faces as he whipped his heads around, confused. He spun around in circles and paced around the room, looking for Stiles. He wandered back out of the room and in again.

“Where is he?” Derek teased, trying to hide his smirk.

He turned to Derek, tilting his heads in confusion and looking at the man with sad eyes.

Derek let out a low chuckle. He stepped over to the bed and gently patted the mattress, letting Cerberus jump up onto the bed.

The hound gently pawed at the blankets.

Stiles burst into fits of laughter as he pulled the blanket down.

Cerberus dove on Stiles, licking is face and snuggling into his warmth.

Derek couldn’t help but smile as the sound of Stiles’ laughter filled his heart.

There was a bright flash of light.

Derek looked over his shoulder to see Chris standing in the living room.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Stiles, pulling the door almost shut behind himself as he stepped into the large room.

Chris looked tired, his sky-blue eyes shadowed by dark circles and his light brown hair greying with stress.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Derek asked.

“Four days,” Chris said, his voice tense.

Derek let out a soft sigh. “I’ve been down to his cell every day for the past month, there is no weakening.”

“The prophecy still stands,” Chris told him. “When the planets align, the Heavens will go dark and he will free himself from his cell. The only chance we have to stop him is the unity of the Worlds; the child of the Heavens, ruler of the Underworld, and warrior of the Seas.”

“And we will stand together when – or even if – that happens,” Derek said reassuringly.

“I mean no offence, but you’re—”

“Not nearly half the warrior my mother was,” Derek finished. “I know. I also know that my powers will not work beyond the Underworld, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight.”

Chris bowed his head.

“I’ll check on him again today,” Derek promised, trying to reassure Chris.

Chris nodded.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“And whatever may come, I have your back.”

Chris looked up at him, his cold eyes softening as he smiled slightly. “And I have yours.”

Derek returned the smile.

[idle-rodent]

okay so I found this gif on @hoechloin 's (go check them out) and nothing

NOTHING

ever reminded me of a modern Persephone holding a baby Cerberus and thinking of names for each of these pups

and guess what from right to left they're Erica, Isaac and Boyd

IT WAS MEANT TO BE

alternative

Persephone!Stiles: you will be Flat White, you Toffee Latte and you will be Double Espresso Mocha because you are the calmest of you three and deserve a cool special name

Hades!Derek: their name is still Cerberus

Persephone!Stiles: you're no fun grumpy eyebrows. are you sure you're not the ruler of grumpiness instead of the underworld?

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The Flower That Blooms in Adversity - Chapter One

Sterek Persephone and Hades AU

When Stiles Stilinski – the God of nature and harvests – is bitten by a viper, Derek Hale – the God of the Underworld – fights to keep him alive, taking him to the Underworld where he can keep him safe. However, the Heavens are not happy.

The boy walked through the field of golden wheat, careless and unburdened. He trailed his hands through the stalks, watching as the crops slid through this fingers like ribbons of water. Veins of gold trailed after him as he wove this way through the flourishing crops.

The radiant sunlight played across his pale skin. His body was covered in moles that danced like the stars in the night sky, charting out constellations on his skin. The soft breeze blew through the tousled mess of his hair, his dark eyes catching the light and sparkling like golden liquor. The fabric of his robes billowed around him, the faint hem of golden embroidery glittering as it moved. A crown of flowers rested on his head, a halo of olive leaves, soft roses, pale peonies, and sprigs of baby’s breath that the children in the nearby town had made for him. Coils of vines and golden cuffs would their way around his slender arms, small buds and blossoming flowers making his pale skin seem radiant.

Stiles. The God of nature and harvests.

He was gorgeous; pure and perfect.

Derek watched him from afar, always scared to step out of the shadows; scared to get too close.

He looked down at himself, dressed in a smooth black leather vest that had been weathered with age. A long black cape billowed from his shoulders, pinned in place by two silver triskelion broaches – the symbol of the three Great Families: Argent—the Gods of the Heavens, Deucalion—the gods of the Sea, and Hale—the Gods of the Underworld. Silver cuffs were wound around his bare biceps, embedded with rubies and onyx. He wore black pants and knee-high black leather sandals that wrapped around his calves, decorated with shiny silver studs.

He felt his heart sink into his stomach, dropping his gaze as he disappeared into the shadows.

How could someone as radiant and pure as Stiles ever like a corrupted being like Derek?

Derek heart skipped a beat as a cry echoed throughout the field.

His eyes snapped up in time to see Stiles’ face turned towards the heavens, twisted in pain as tears broke past his lashes and fell down his cheeks. His scream died away as he drew in a deep breath, his body weakening. The swaying wheat surrounding Stiles withered and died, the golden stalks rotting and turning black as the boy collapsed among the crop. He disappeared among the stalks of wheat, pulling him down like foaming waves that surrounded a sinking body.

Derek leapt out of the darkness, the shadows trailing behind him as his cape billowed around him. The wheat parted as he ran through the field, a howling gust of wind thrashing the stalks. He sprinted to the boy’s side, dropping to one knee as he looked down at the young man.

Stiles lay on the ground, his face twisted in pain. He was ghostly pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow and trickling down the side of his face. His body was still, limbs sprawled and unmoving.

Derek listened, hearing the frail wisps of breath that passed Stiles’ trembling lips as he struggled to breathe. His eyes rolled over the young man’s body, catching a glimpse of a leathery-black body of something slithering across the boy’s leg before disappearing into the maze of wheat. Derek’s eyes drifted to Stiles’ ankle, falling on the bloody welts that pierced his skin. Streams of blood and clear trails of venom trailed across his skin, droplets like rubies falling to the earth where they shattered like glass.

Stiles’ expression weakened, his eyes fluttering slightly before falling still.

That’s when Derek heard them; the inhuman whispers and animalistic growls.

His head whipped up.

Hellhounds, he thought.

He looked down at the young man again, realisation hitting him hard: they were coming for Stiles.

“Damn,” Derek hissed under his breath.

He tore a strip of fabric from his own robes, tying it around Stiles’ leg to stop the venom spreading, or to at least slow it. He hoisted the boy’s limp body into his arms, digging his feet into the cool earth as he ran back towards where he had come from, to the foot of the rocky mountain bluffs where the entrance to the Underworld was concealed by the shadows.

His feet pounded against the earth, his blood beating in his ears. His chest ached as his heart thumped against his ribs.

They were drawing closer, rolling in like story thunderclouds and bringing with them a tense static that hung in the air.

The heavens above rumbled as the gods realised they had lost one of their own.

The misty clouds rolled into the valley, blinding him as he ran forwards. But it didn’t matter, he knew where he was going; it called to him.

Droplets of rain fell to the earth, gathering in puddles beneath his feet and washing over his face. The fabric of his robes absorbed the water, dragging him back.

He pushed on, running faster. He couldn’t let them catch him; he couldn’t let them take Stiles.

His feet struck dry earth as he burst into the cave, sprinting into the abysmal darkness and into the world beyond.

He burst through the gates of the Underworld and into his home, the heavy doors opening at his will. The torches in the metal brackets bolted to the walls roared to life as fire lit the way.

The doors slammed shut behind him as he burst into the open living space. His feet slid across the marble floors as he ran towards the sunken lounge room, laying Stiles’ limp body on the couch before the marble fireplace.

The flames flickered and crackled, burning brighter as the warm orange glow lit the room and cast shadows across Stiles’ face. In the light of the fire, Derek could see how sunken the boy’s features were; how frail he looked.

Derek felt them approach before he heard them. He ran to the heavy oak door by that was fitted into the wall near the living room, shoving it shut and pushing the heavy iron bolt into place.

The hellhounds slammed against the door. Derek stumbled backwards, his heart racing as the hinges rattled and the door struggled to hold them back. They snapped, snarled and growled ferociously, locked on to Stiles’ scent. The door rumbled as they threw their weight against it, over and over again, desperate to get inside.

“Enough!” Derek bellowed, his voice ringing out through the Underworld.

The room fell silent, the hellhounds retreating from the door.

Derek let out a heavy breath, feeling his body tremble and his power subside. He turned his attention back to Stiles. He hurried into the kitchen, trying to remember the ingredients his mother would use for the times when he or his sisters were bitten.

“Leafless mistletoe aerials, nettle leaves, grape seeds and fox-grape root,” he listed, pulling a mortar and pestle out of the cupboard. He froze, looking at the boy.

If something from the Underworld were to pass the lips of someone from the Surface World they would be bound to the Underworld; that was the rule. And that included medicines.

He couldn’t use the plants that grew in the Underworld. He couldn’t bind Stiles to a life of misery and darkness. He couldn’t deprive the him of that choice, of his freedom.

He rushed over to the lounged, kneeling beside Stiles’ frail body.

“I need you to hold on,” he whispered. “I know you are stronger than people think you are. You’re a fighter. I’m going to help, I just need you to hold on a little longer.”

Stiles’ breathing slowed, no longer stained by pain or weakened. His eyes fluttered as if he were dreaming. His fingers twitched as he balled his hand into a fist.

Derek felt his heart flutter as he looked at the young man.

He was fighting.

Derek grabbed a blanket, draping it over Stiles’ frail body. He gently brushed aside the stands of hair that clung to Stiles’ face.

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “Just hold on.”

He leapt to his feet and ran for the doors, the heavy gates opening before him as he sprinted towards the Surface, the darkness carrying him like a breeze. He ran through the fields gathering the things he needed before rushing back to the Underworld.

He slid to a stop when he noticed another person in the room; a dark figure standing by the couch, looking at Stiles with an expression of confusion and contemplation. His brown hair was pulled back from his face, his pale eyes flicking up to meet Derek’s.

“The God of Death, trying to save a life?” his uncle scoffed. “How ironic?”

“Peter,” Derek said warningly. “I do not need a lecture from you right now.”

He turned and rushed into the small kitchen. He set the herbs and plants down on the counter, sorting through them as he grabbed the parts he needed and put them in the mortar. He began to grind them together in a paste.

“What makes him so special?” Peter asked, glaring at the small figure that laid on the couch. A look of disgust twisted his face.

“He—” Derek stopped himself. He felt his heart skip a beat as he answered, “He just is.”

Derek set the pestle aside, gathering bandages and carrying the mortar full of paste over to the couch. He lifted the blanket, looking down at Stiles’ ankle, bile rising in his throat as he looked down at the bite.

It had gotten worse.

His veils were pulsing black as the venom spread, the bite was swollen and bruising, colouring his ankle with smears or black, blue, purple and green. Blood streamed from the wound, droplets falling into a pool that was gathering on the marble tiles.

Derek tried his best to be gentle as he wiped a cloth across the wound, clearing away the blood and fluid. He smeared the paste across the wound.

Stiles’ body tensed, but he was too weak to pull away. He whimpered in pain, making Derek’s gut twist with guilt.

“You do remember that your role as the God of the Underworld is to ferry dying souls into the Underworld, right?” Peter reminded him. “Not to try and save them.”

“Peter, please,” Derek said, impatience wearing this voice thin.

“Fine, I’ll leave,” Peter huffed. “But I can’t wait to see how you explain this to Argent. I warn you, it won’t be pleasant.”

Derek ignored his uncle, gently wrapping a bandage around Stiles’ ankle.

Derek watched out the corner of his eye as his uncle’s image blurred into smoke, folding in on itself as he teleported somewhere else.

He let out a sigh and sat down on the rug by the couch, waiting by the Stiles’ side until he settled.

[AO3] - [Ko-fi] - [PayPal]

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The Flower That Blooms in Adversity - Chapter Six

Derek sat on the small chair by the couch, leaning forward as he rested his head in his hands.

The thundering boom announced her presence as Allison stepped forward, her eyes darkened with sorrow and her expression twisted by fear and pity. She drew in short breaths, trying to fight her tears. “His father…”

“It’s okay,” Derek said quietly. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

Stiles straightened, looking from Allison to Derek. “What’s going on?”

Allison swallowed hard. “Your father has waged war against the Underworld.”

Stiles’ eyes flew open wide. “What?” he gasped. “No, he can’t…”

“He can,” Derek said quietly. “And he has.”

He rose from his seat, slowly walking towards the door.

“You’re going to fight him?” Stiles rasped, torn between the two.

“No,” Derek admitted. “I take full responsibility for the decisions that have led to this. I go willingly, alone, and without resistance.”

“You can’t,” Stiles started, fighting back tears.

“I must,” Derek replied.

“No,” Stiles muttered, shaking his head. “No, no, no.”

He met Stiles’ gaze, his aventurine eyes swirling with emotion as he said, “I am willing to die if it means that you are safe.”

He didn’t grab his cape, nor draw the shadows into armour. He wore only his clothes as the large doors opened and he made his way through the dark tunnel. He held his head high, ignoring the sound of Stiles’ cries as they trailed through the shadows, crying out for him.

Tears of rage fell down Stiles’ cheeks. He staggered to his feet, stumbling over to the fire side. He reached for the small plant that grew there, plucking the red and green apple that hung from the branch. He lifted himself onto his feet, his legs pedalling beneath him as he ran for the tunnel. He collapsed against the cavern walls, the damp earth soaking his shirt. The soft cotton clung to his frail body as he forced himself to keep going, his ankle throbbing in protest. He grimaced, tears streaking down his cheeks as he pushed himself further.

He knew Derek wouldn’t offer a fight; he had to get there before his father killed him.

He dug his bare feet into the earth, forcing himself to sprint as he ran through the seemingly endless darkness. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his hands and knees sinking into the mud. He pushed himself upright, grabbing the apple as he ran.

A glimpse of light broke through the darkness as he sprinted out into the light of day.

Heavy grey clouds filled the sky, rain crashing against the earth and soaking him through. The winds lashed at him as he staggered forward, squinting against the pouring rain. He could make out a lone figure standing at the edge of a field of wheat, showing no resistance to the army that charged towards him.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped.

He pushed himself away from the craggy bluffs of the mountain face, running into the open field. He stumbled past Derek, ignoring the man’s protests as he stood defiantly between Derek and his father’s army.

Stiles slid to a stop, standing tall as the wave of armed forces raced towards him. Horses’ hooves thumped the earth, the pounding beat rolling through Stiles as he stood still.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he kept his gaze focused on the figure at the front; his father.

The advancing army slowed to a halt as John’s eyes fell on his son.

Stiles tightened his grip on the apple, lifting it towards his mouth.

“Stiles, no!” Derek screamed, sprinting towards him.

But he was too slow.

Stiles bit into the apple, letting the bitter juice flood his mouth, the crunchy flesh falling against his tongue.

Derek stumbled to a halt, stopping as he stared at the boy, his eyes wide with shock.

Stiles’ father stepped forward, his face mirroring Derek’s confusion.

“Stiles,” he said, struggling to find his voice. “Why would you…?”

“I’ve made my choice,” Stiles said.

“Stiles, you have no idea what you’ve just done,” Derek rasped.

“I grew this apple myself,” Stiles pointed out. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m putting an end to all of this.” He turned to face his father. “I know you’re trying to protect me, I know you feel bad about what happened to mum, but none of that is Derek’s fault. He has done nothing but protect me. He saved my life.”

John shook his head and muttered, “You’re as stubborn as your mother.”

“I prefer ‘defiant’,” Stiles replied with a smile.

There was a thundering boom as Chris appeared, sparks of electricity dancing over him.

“Argent, please, tell me there’s some way to undo this,” Derek pleaded.

Chris shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the rules are the rules. Stiles is bound to the Underworld.”

“Only partially,” Stiles corrected. He tossed the apple to Chris. “It was grown in the Underworld but with heavenly magic, making it an amalgamation of the two Worlds. Which means I can roam both, as long as I split my time evenly between the two.”

Chris couldn’t help but smile with pride.

“He’s right,” he announced. He turned his clear eyes to John. “Your son is a smart man.”

“Something else I get from my mother,” Stiles said, a mischievous smile lifting the corners of his lips as he winked in his father’s direction. He turned and reached for a stalk of wheat. “That, among other things.”

He felt his power flow through him, his eyes glowing as streams of golden light seeped into the ground. The wilting crops flourished, filling the fields with golden wheat. The open stretches of grass burst to life, bursts of colour spread across the lush green as the wild flowers bloomed. The leaves returned to the trees, lush fruit hanging from the branches.

Stiles let out a weak sigh, his eyes fading to their natural hue.

His body weakened as he fell back into Derek’s strong arms.

The man steadied him as Stiles tried to regain his senses.

Stiles looked up at Chris, watching as a kind smile spread across the man’s weary face.

“Stiles Stilinski; God of Spring,” he paused for a second before adding, “and King of the Underworld.”

[AO3] - [Ko-fi] - [PayPal]

[bleep0bleep]

scerek au by pocketlass, scott as persephone + derek as hades, based on [x]

It’s that Scott looked at him, looked into his eyes for the tiniest of moments, and Derek felt fire coursing through his veins. He felt sunshine warming his face, and springy earth beneath his feet, and a gentle breeze chilling his skin. It was nothing more than a fleeting glance, a chance meeting of eyes, but for the first time, Derek felt alive.

The god of the Underworld. Alive. He can practically hear Peter laughing at him from Tartarus.