#persehades

[bigidiotenergytm]

sigh,,,,, hades,,,, the man that u are,,,,,,,

[afroyows]

Hi! I was bored so I drew this using @starmybunny 's Persephone and Hades designs

I died

[lucyfelle]

I'VE DONE IT

This is just a little part and the designs are def gonna change BUT since I'm already here, I wanna point out something about the scythes: The reason why we associate it with Death, it's because scythes cut all kind of glass, no matter how long or strong, just like Death cuts all kinds of lives. I've had this idea for a while of Narinder having the traditional giant one, but Lamb having a work sickle, since sheeps are pastoral animals, and to represent how they're just like Narinder, a deity of death, but kinder. I could go on as to why this myth specifically is so fitting for them, but I already made a thread about it and I'm not sure if anybody would like to read it, so tell me yourselves ☺

Also thanks to @neoma-butterfly for letting me know that there is a fic about this concept by @alilcherrysramblings because I swear, I've been looking everywhere for someone to see this vision as well 😆 I still didn't get to read it but I'm pretty sure I'll get to it soon 👍

[ananiel]

Conected to my last post about how each one would be in an Orpheus situation, i want to add some details

WHO PERSEPHONE LIKES MOST

Persephone, gentle and bright, the goddess who blooms even in the shadows —

she favors Romeo. And i will DIE on this hill.

Not because he is the strongest or the bravest or the most righteous.

But because he loves like she once did.

She sees in him a devotion so absolute that it hurts her.

The same devotion she felt for Hades before millennia of darkness softened it into something quieter.

Romeo’s love is pure, untrained, impulsive, fragile —

a kind of love Persephone hasn’t seen in centuries.

She calls him:

“Little swan boy.”

She watches him walk through the underworld with your voice trembling behind him and she aches.

She wants him to succeed.

She roots for him.

When he hesitates — she flinches.

When he cries — she touches her own cheek.

When he finally turns…

she covers her mouth and whispers:

“No… oh no…”

Because she knew this kind of love doesn’t survive silence.

She favors Romeo because he loves you in a way she remembers loving —

once, long ago, before she learned how gods endure loss.

.

.

.

WHO HADES FAVORS MOST

Hades, ancient, sharp, tired of mortals’ tragedies, is surprisingly fond of:

High-Humanity P.

P walks into the underworld with no fear.

No trembling.

No desperation.

Just steady resolve.

He bows politely to Hades.

He doesn’t plead.

He doesn’t scream.

He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

And Hades respects that.

Not sentimentally — analytically.

He sees P as someone who can bear the weight of love without collapsing under it.

He sees a man who might actually succeed.

And Hades hates that.

So he watches him with the anticipation of someone observing a rare challenge.

WHO HADES SABOTAGES — AND WHY

Hades sabotages everyone except the one he knows will fail without help. Which in the right scenario could mean anyone.

But he sabotages each differently:

Romeo

He lets your cries echo louder for him.

He amplifies them.

Twists them.

Makes them break off suddenly to trigger his panic.

Because Romeo is too human.

Too emotional.

Too fragile.

Hades knows Romeo will turn the moment things go quiet.

And he wants to watch him break — not out of cruelty, but because tragedy is the currency the underworld knows best.

Carlo

He shortens the distance between the living world and the last step.

Just enough.

He knows Carlo will sprint the moment he senses freedom.

His pride is predictable.

Hades loves predictable men — they ruin themselves without effort on his part.

High-Humanity P

Hades waits until the very end.

If he sabotages P, it is with the cruelest trick:

A scream in your voice.

A sound of danger.

Something meant to trigger his protective instinct.

Hades only cheats with P because he knows P could win fairly.

And Hades hates letting anyone win fairly.

Low-Humanity P

He doesn’t sabotage him. He doesn’t need to. Low-Humanity P doesn’t come.

Real Boy Carlo

Hades laughs. There is nothing to sabotage. He does not enter the underworld for you.

Hades doesn’t even bother remembering his name.

The Nameless Puppet

Hades is silent. If the puppet comes, he lets him wander. After all the puppet was once a Being in his realm, that was brought back by Geppetto

He is fascinated by him, in a distant way.

He lets him touch your grave, tilt his head, stand there in quiet confusion.

Not sabotaging, not helping.

Simply watching.

WHO PERSEPHONE PITIES MOST

She pities Carlo.

Romeo breaks her heart, yes, but Romeo’s love is open and bright and obvious.

Carlo’s love is buried under anger, pride, impatience, fear —

things Persephone knows very well.

She sees the moment he turns too early.

The relief on his face.

The eagerness.

The hope.

And then the horror when you are dragged down again.

Persephone presses her hands over her eyes and whispers:

“Oh, you foolish boy…”

She pities him because he tries so hard and ruins himself.

She pities him because she has seen that kind of stubborn, brittle love in Hades once.

She pities him because even after losing you twice, he keeps walking.

Wounded but alive.

[bcowlick]

Starting to feel a bit better, yeih!

Hopefully tomorrow i'll get some art published, in the meantime, enjoy this re-post:

[acequeenking]

3. Pour the Fruit of the Vine

Characters/Pairings: Hermes & Persephone, Persephone/Hades (with mentions of an adult child)

Rating: T

Warning: cigarette smoking, mentions of alcohol

Summary: Hermes and Persephone enjoy a late summer smoke, waiting for a train.

Here they are, herself and her brother: just two lost souls, waiting for a train.

Hermes is being a nice one today, keeping her company. Seems like for a woman who travels as much as she herself has done, an awful lot of her life is like this: sitting in the in-between, waiting to go from one place to another.

Which just goes to show, really, how much even gods gotta wait for transportation. She laughs at her own thought, amused, and Hermes looks at her kinda odd. Guess he ain’t read it out of her mind.

“Think it’s the first time I’ve seen you in a jovial mood in many an age,” he says with a drawl. “Usually ‘round now, you’re cursing his name.”

“Oh, don’t bring him up.” She grabs a cigarette out of her bag; she’ll stink to high heaven when he comes, but she has to calm her nerves somehow, and this seems as winning a possibility to do so as anything else. Honestly cigarette smoke is hardly the worst thing the old man has smelled on her.

“Sorry, sorry.” Hermes leans a hand down into her bag, ever-so-carefully touching at her booze. She hits his hand lightly; he’s getting slow. Was a time when he coulda picked her pocket before she even knew he’d gotten within six feet of her.

But they’re both getting old, now. Slowing down. Entropy the only thing in this universe to make even the very gods cower.

“Why you come sit and with me, brother, year after year?” She asks; she is curious. Hermes almost always keeps her company when Himself is coming to call. Hermes smiles and shakes his head, doesn’t answer the question.

“He pay you to do it?” She has wondered, over the years. By her own request, Hades doesn’t storm up too often. She’s not got the time for him to make pleasure visits, and were he the type to make visits for pleasure, he would insist on wholly occupying her time.

“No, sister girl, he don’t. I should ask though.” Hermes looks mock-pensive for a moment, before shooting her a shark-skin grin. “Bet I could get quite a bit of back-pay at this point.”

“Mama bribe you in hot cakes then? She give you a little extra beer for the bar?” The bar is a new addition, ever since Hermes picked up Calliope’s little stray boy. She wonders if it’s odd for Hermes, to stay in one place.

He has traveled so long.

“Your momma makes my beer, ‘course, and I do get the family discount. But I’m charming enough to get that all my own. Don’t need to be bribed into spending time with you. You’re my sister, after all. You just have to accept I like your company.” He glances toward her bag again, and the cigarette in her hand. “Don’t suppose you’d help a brother…?”

“Fine,” she says; Hades will buy her more cigarettes. Rare is it that anyone wants to indulge in a nice smoke with her anymore anyway. “Just don’t complain to me if it’s too strong for your blood.”

“Much obliged,” he drawls and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it with a quicksilver lighter he keeps in his pocket, which she raises her eyebrows at.

“Ain’t had one in an age. Problem of parenting, I’m afraid. You know. Afraid of being a bad influence. Like you, when you was little missy no-liquor-passes-these-lips for a few years.” He gives her a teasing look, and she frowns. Wishes Hermes wouldn’t talk about that either. Zagreus hasn’t been around in a couple of summers, himself busy with his own work, and she misses him, but she doesn’t want him to see what his pa has become.

“I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about there, brother. That boy’s a good boy, your little guy.” She takes another inhale, exhale; enjoys the view of the smoke that, for once, isn’t coming from her husband’s smokestacks. Tobacco’s a more natural thing. “Never knew you smoked.”

They both ignore his train, comin’ round the tracks. She hears the chugga-chugga-chugga noise of its engines in the distance; won’t be long now.

“I enjoy the odd vice now and again. Just ain’t had reason to indulge.” She nods, doesn’t point out that all she’s got is reasons. That all he’s given her, for seasons upon seasons upon seasons, is reasons.

He takes a long puff and blows a smoke ring, and she laughs, and he smiles. “Nice to hear you laugh again, sister. Maybe that’s why I like traveling with you.” He studies the cigarette in his hand. “Or maybe it’s that this thing is packed so full of nicotine it would burn out even auntie Hestia’s lungs.”

It is hard to burn out a living ball of flame, of course. But she knows the comment is meant to suggest something she already knows.  

Here comes the final whistle; she takes a deep puff of her cigarette. Man couldn’t even let her get it half-smoked.

“Here he comes,” says Hermes, standing up. “You ready?”

“No,” she says. Of course she is not; he is three months early and the bottle in her bag is a watery and pathetic vintage because of it. “And sit your ass down, he ain’t worth the respect of you standin’.”

Hermes looks at her for a long moment, hesitates slightly – her husband is a king, and a peevish one at that, unlikely to miss a slight. But after a long moment, he agrees, and he puts himself down next to her, just two old people sitting and smoking on the bench.

There’s room for one more, too, and part of her wonders if maybe he’d stay and sit with her for a bit. After all, he is a King. Sets his own time-table.

The door opens, and a man steps out. Old Man Winter himself, dressed in his finest little coat. He sees her and Hermes, sitting there, smoking ‘em down, and he frowns.

“What’s this?” He asks.

“Some of us need help to get our voices down low,” she says, because it’s a harmless joke and one she thinks he’ll laugh at.

He doesn’t.

“Time to go,” he says.

“In a minute, in a minute.” She pats the seat next to her; she wants him to be a person who will stay, even knowing from the face of him that he wants to go. She reaches down with one free hand and pulls out the wine. “Let’s catch up. You ain’t talked to Hermes in an age.”

She ignores the look on Hermes face that suggests he might like to keep that streak going. She cracks open the wine, water-weight though it is.

“Persephone,” her old man warbles.

“Not yet,” she says. “You can sit here, or on the train, but we’re gonna finish our smokes, with our without you, and have a glass of wine for good measure.”

She cannot say why she decides that moment is her line to cross; perhaps it is that it is three months early and she wants it to be two months and twenty nine days and some insignificant amount of hours instead. Perhaps it is that she misses her boy and deludes herself into thinking that if they linger, he might have heard pa’s whistle and come to see the sound – as much as she does not want him to know of Hadestown, she thinks, it would be nice to see her boys together again. Perhaps it is just that she is tired, and life is long, and one of her few pleasures left is to smoke a bit of tobacco and drink some bad wine while her husband makes up awkward small talk with Hermes.

Still, whatever it is, it is enough to make her almighty husband bend. He holds out a hand and she passes him a cigarette, which he lights with an old lighter that he filches from her pocket, a reminder of a long-time intimacy that’s gone somewhat fuzzy around the edges. She fishes around in her bag, digs out three cups – meant for the workers, really, but they’ll work here just as well.

“Sit down and let’s pour the wine,” she says; she’ll probably get ash in the cup, but eh, wine’s bad enough it’s good to have an excuse as to why it tastes bad. For now, she’s gonna enjoy herself, sitting with her friend and her husband.

“Pour the wine,” says Hermes.

“I suppose it’s summertime,” grumbles old man husband, unhappy about it. She ignores them both, pops the cork, and tries to preserve that unmistakable summer warmth for just a few seconds more.

[incorrectloreolympus]

Persephone: what would you do if i was evil and ran at you at very fast speeds

Hades: my arms are strong, i would catch you and hug you.

[reyturnofbensolo]

Lore Olympus - (S2) Episode 187

Witness what the gods do…after dark. The friendships and the lies, the gossip and the wild parties, and of course, forbidden love. Because i

💘