Sketches of a 7-years-old Kore. She’s a rather quiet child but her mind is already very curious and inquiring, and she drives Demeter crazy every time for Kore can’t help but covering herself with dirt and mud.
What’s with that strange crystal…?
I thought about this and I t won’t let me be so.......
Hades! Luciano x Phersephone! reader
The lord of the dead sat on his throne of bones and snew, watching the lovely maiden Kore. Her long (hair color) danced as she ran towards the pond. Splash! Hades nearly roared as she dissapeared for several minutes. When she finally did surface her chiton clung to her body, too thin and water soaked to hide it.
Hades leaned forwards, magneta eyes widening. His tan sallow skin flushed bright pink. “Soon, my bride.”
The lord of the dead called to his mother gaia. A pale, blonde with smiling brown eyes sprung up from the rocky earth beside his throne. (2p! Hungary) “My son.”
Hades cast his eyes towards the goddesses’ dancing form once more. “Send to her your most beautiful of flowers. I will make her my wife this night.” Gaia smiled. Her son was finally growing up. The goddess gestured towards the mirror. “Look, there. Benethe the oak.”
Hades leaned forwards more, at the edge of his throne, nearly salivating. Her warmth, her laughter, her sunlight.
His to love, his to cherish, his to keep.
He called Thanatos. The petite raven haired male knelt benethe his lords throne. “What does my lord will?”
“Hades will have a queen this night! Prepare my chariot!” The god of death faded into the perpetual mist that seemed to shround him. (Kuro honda)
A (Skin color) hand reached for (Favorite flower), tugging until it’s dirt strewn roots released their hold on the ground. A bereft, dark hole that seemed to grow larger opened itself before the goddess.
Out of the scar rose a chariot, dark as a moonless night. And in the riders helm, was the lord of the dead, Hades.
You shrank back from his clasping hands, long and claw like to your panicing mind. You screamed, kicking and clawing. Your hands found a hold on his long and surpisingly elegant face. Enraged pink dimonds peered out from benethe your spread fingers.
Fearing for the loss of your beloved sky, your flowers, and your mother, Demeter, You unleashed a wail that made banshees weep. (2p! Nyo! America)
But none the less, the sallow skinned god of hades drug you benethe the scar in the land, leaving your screams unheard and your cries unawnsered.
Lithe arms pressed you closer to a sturdy torso, while a sharp nose buried itself in your teresses, inhaling deeply.