#then Ares goes to the Underworld when he dies so that they can keep sharing stories | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shanastoryteller · 5 years ago

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Hi Shana! I'm a big fan of your work, especially your Gods and Monsters series! Speaking of, can you do a bit on Nike please? Only if you want to of course! Keep doing what you're doing and have an awesome day!

Styx knows Ares needs help.

Hades knows this. Charon knows this. Persephone knows this.Icarus knows this. Athena, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Hera, Artemis and Apollo knowthis. Possibly everyone who’s not Zeus knows this.

But there’s only so much any of them can do.

Hades and the underworld is always a place that he can cometo, a place for him to rest. Ares will go to his brother’s volcanoes and soakhis aching muscles in the magma, Artemis finds him on the battlefield, Apolloplays him to sleep, Hera turns the tide of wars by whispering in the ears ofmothers and wives, but it’s not enough.

There’s so much war in the lives of mortal men, and Aresstruggles to shoulder it all, to endure it all.

Athena had helped the most. Having another war god to sharethe load helped, and it’s not like Athena is displeased with her increase infollowers. But the wars didn’t stop, or even end more quickly, and if theyweren’t all praying to Ares they were still praying for aid in war.

Styx wants to do something to help. But she’s tied to thisriver, to this place, and she doesn’t mind, exactly, except of course for whenshe does.

That’s okay. The underworld is where everyone ends up oneday, and there’s someone right here who can help her.

She’s not afraid to go into Tartarus. Her river flows even there,and unlike those who are imprisoned there, she can leave whenever she likes.But just because she’s not afraid doesn’t mean she likes it, doesn’t mean it’sa place she goes often.

The edges are lined with active volcanoes, and the light oftheir magma is all there is to see by.

Those titans who retain their sanity, their personhood, arein the center of Tartarus. Those on the edge are more monster than god. Theytend to eat every soul that they find that’s less powerful than they are, andStyx wouldn’t say she’s less powerful, but she is differently powerful, and shedoesn’t want to have to call out for Hades to save her.

She can’t die. She is the space between life and death, but beingconsumed by a titan isn’t something she wants to experience regardless.

Unfortunately for her, the titan she needs isn’t the type tohang around the center of Tartarus, not causing trouble. He’s right on theedge. He’s always looking to cause trouble.

Pallas is large even for a titan, standing at the sameheight as a giant, so big that Styx could stand in the palm of his hand. Hisskin is mostly intact, but it’s stretched taught over his bones, and his mouthlooks like it’s filled with jagged glass rather than teeth. “What does thegoddess of the river of the dead want with me?”

His breath comes out putrid and rotten, like something diedin it. Probably several somethings did. She wrinkles her nose. “I need tocreate a person, and I want your help to do it.”

She’s a child goddess, and she can’t bring about a child likeother goddesses can. She may be one of the oldest being of the universe, but itdoesn’t change her body, or her mind, doesn’t change the fact that in many waysshe’s just the age she appears.

Besides, even if she was old enough to conceive a child, Pallaswouldn’t exactly be her first choice.

Pallas laughs, sending more of his rotten breath into herface. “Why should I? Why me? You’re powerful enough to make a person all onyour own.”

“Any being I make on my own will be of me, will be a pieceof what I am, and that’s not what I need,” she tells him. “You are the titan godof warcraft, of battle campaigns. I want your power, and I want your domain.”

He leans over, his eyes as large as a wagon wheel and soonall that she can see. “Direct little thing, aren’t you? You still haven’t toldme why I should help.”

“Why not?” she counters. “A piece of you will be walking theearth once more, a reminder of you to fly in the face of all the gods who stolewhat you had. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

He makes a motion with his face that Styx thinks is supposedto be a smile. “And if I refuse, you’ll take it by force, is that right? Youcould take me on your own, and even if you couldn’t, Persephone could.”

It’s true. She wants to do this on her own, as much as shecan, because she doesn’t want anyone to try and stop her. But if she asked Persephoneor Hecate or Hades, or anyone else in the underworld, for help, then she’d getit. “It’ll work better if you give it willingly.”

Pallas laughs. “Very well, little girl. But remember this. Youasked me for something, and I gave it.”

He raises his hand to his mouth, bites his thumb, and holdsout his hand. Styx realizes what he’s doing just in time to summon a basin underneathit, to catch the couple drops of blood that falls from his thumb.

He’s so large that it’s enough to fill it, enough to fill abath with, even if just the idea of it makes her stomach roll.

Pallas has already turned away from her, lumbering in theopposite direction, and Styx peers down at the titan’s blood. It’s not red, butblack, the same consistency as oil. It’ll do.

She drags the basin to the edge of her river, not willing torisk any of her magic altering it by transporting it alongside her. She hasn’tdone this before, hasn’t done anything like this before, and she’s only goingto get one shot at this. Possibly two, if she makes a small person.

Now she’s grateful that Pallas lurks on the edges ofTartarus rather than the center. It makes hauling the basin to her river a muchshorter process. She can see other titans in the distance, nothing more thanhulking, dripping figures, but they don’t come too close. She wonders if it’sanother favor of Pallas’s, or if it’s just because they know that messing withher means messing with Hades, and their bloodlust isn’t quite that self destructive.

Once she makes it to her river, it’s easy enough to guidethe basin upstream, until she’s out of Tartarus but not quite back to the innermostcircle of the underworld where the palace it. It’s in one of the many in-betweenspaces that Hades and Hecate have made, because she wants to be someplace wheresomeone won’t accidentally stumble across her.

With a tug of her hands, the basin widens, doubling in size,and she uses her river to settle it on the bank of her river, make sure she’son the side of the mortal world. She buries her hand into the earth of hershoreline, the soil damp and dark, and drops it into the basin.

The blood bubbles and steams as the soil hits it, and itsmells just as bad as Pallas’s breath had. That almost makes her pause andreconsider what she’s doing, but instead she bends over to scoop up more soilin her hands to add to the basin. What’s she’s trying to make won’t comeeasily, after all, so there’s no reason to think that it’s gone wrong.

She keeps adding soil, and the smell gets worse, like sulpher,but she ignores it. She has to mix it together evenly, but she tries using astick and it just evaporated as soon as it touches the bubbling mixture.

Fine, then.

Styx plunges her hands in the mixture, ignoring the tinglingon her skin. Her waters are more corrosive then a titan’s blood, but not by much.She beats the mixture until it’s the right consistency, moldable but stillkeeping its shape, until it’s more clay than anything else, and when she pulls herarms out they’re irritated and tinged purple, but her skin is still intact.

Now for the hard part.

She’s no artist, she’s not Athena or Hephaestus, she doesn’thave an eye for beauty like Aphrodite.

“Helen,” she says, and she doesn’t use her powers often, butshe’s of this place more than anyone. She can command the dead just as well asCharon or Icarus.

There’s a ripple, and then Helen of Troy is standing infront of her, head tilted to the side. “Yes, my lady goddess?”

“Can you just,” she bites her lips, looks down at her hands,then says, “Can you just stand there?”

Helen raises an eyebrow, but says, “Yes, my lady goddess.”

Styx forms the clay into roughly the shape of a person, eyesflickering between her creation and Helen. She’s not talented, so she can’t usetalent to make this. Instead she pushes her will into the clay to make it intothe right shape, until she’s got a copy of Helen standing in front of her. It’snot exact, her mouth too wide and her nose too broad, her hips slimmer and legslonger, but it’s clearly a person, clearly a woman, and it will have to do.

“Thank you,” she says, and then dismisses Helen back to her homein the underworld.

There’s one more step to this, but she doesn’t look justright, there’s something missing.

“Icarus,” she sighs, because she’s exhausted and sore andwants to be done with this now, the whole idea had seemed much simpler in herhead.

She’s not summoning him, just calling out for him, but there’sno hesitation before he’s beside her, ink smudges on his hands and his hairaskew like he was running his hands through it. “I’m in the middle of,” he cutshimself off, and his eyes go wide. “Styx. What are you doing?”

She tells him, and he shifts his weight from side to side,nervous, but he doesn’t tell her that it’s a bad idea, doesn’t kick hercreation into her river. “She’s missing something,” Styx says.

Icarus rubs his arms, but looks into the basin, then says, “Ihave an idea.”

He’s not as resistant the effects of titan blood as she is,and he winces and curses as he works, and several times he has to take a breakto wait for the skin on his hands to grow back before he can continue. But hedoes continue, and even though it’s been so long since he’s done this, since hewas trapped in the labyrinth, his movements are easy and confident.

There’s no more clay left in the basin, and on her back aretwo large wings, just like the kind Icarus was wearing when he plunged into thesea.

It’s perfect.

“Now what?” he asks, and she stands in front of hercreation. This isn’t easy for her, to breathe life into something when death isall she knows, but she’s not just death. She’s the River Styx, the barrierbetween the living and the dead, and so she is both living and dying andneither. She breathes in, goes on her tiptoes, and then breathes out. The aircoming form her lungs is golden and sparking, and when it touches the figure’sface it spreads, until she’s a figure covered in liquid gold.

Then it all sinks in at once, the glow that’d been surroundingher gone, but she’s not clay anymore.

Her skin is dark and her hair is the same shade, curled andfalling to just below her chin. The lightest thing about her is her eyes, a softbrown.

Well, except her wings, of course.

They’re golden, unfurling from her back and spreading wide,and those soft eyes focus on her, and she says, “Hello, Mother.”

Icarus shifts on his feet, and it must be as strange for himto hear this as it is for her. “You know what I made you for?”

“Yes,” she says, because how can she not, when Styx pressedher intent into every inch of her.

“Go to Hera,” she says, “tell her. She’ll help you.”

Her creation nods, but Icarus coughs, and then in his handsis a short white chiton and a pair of sandals. “She may be more amendable ifyou don’t show up at her door naked, my lady.”

A smile curves around her lips and she takes the clothes fromIcarus’s hands. Styx is running her eyes over her, looking for any mistake, anysign that she was once soil and blood and not a goddess, but there’s nothing.

For her first time making a person, Styx thinks she’s done arather good job of it.

Her creation takes several steps back, snaps open her wings,and then is soaring into the air, flying away from them and towards Olympus.

Icarus is silent until she disappears from sight, then asks,“Are you going to tell Hades, or shall I?”

Styx gives him a reproachful look. “I really don’t think that’snecessary.

“I suppose,” he says, and Styx is relieved until he follows itup with, “It’s not like he won’t find out all on his own soon enough.”

She scowls and jumps in her river, where Icarus can’t followher and tell her true things she doesn’t want to hear.

Hera feels the moment someone dares touch her throne, andshe’s there the next moment, fury in her veins and power gathering in herhands, because whoever dares be so disrespectful of their queen is soon goingto find themselves nothing more than a pile of ash.

It’s a woman, pretty but mostly unremarkable.

Except for the huge golden wingsattached to her back.

Hera pauses, mouth open, thrown enough off kilter that thewoman has time to say, “I apologize, Queen Hera. I needed your attention.”

“You have it,” she says, and there’s power in this woman, enoughof it that if she’s here to steal herself a seat on the pantheon she just mightmanage it. How could Hera have missed this?

She steps forward, and Hera’s prepared for a threat, but shedoesn’t offer one. Instead the woman whispers in her ear, “I was created tohelp your son, my queen. But first I need you to help me.”

A goddess cannot be truly formidable, cannot consider herselfa true deity, if she doesn’t have a domain.

And she was created to have one very specific domain.

She doesn’t have the time to build it naturally, but withHera she won’t have to.

Hera will speak her name and her dominion into existence,and it shall be hers.

When she hears the details, Hera throws her head back andlaughs. There’s a grin curling her lips as Hera opens her mouth to announce herto the world.

Ares is exhausted. That’s not new, or unusual, but his limbsfeel heavy and his movements sluggish. A sword gets past his defenses and splitsopen his shoulder, and he doesn’t even have the energy to wince. This battlehas been raging for weeks, and he’s been fighting for all of it. It feels likeit’ll never end, and he can’t even slip away. The solders believe in him sodeeply, they call out his name in their sleep and give him offerings every hourof the day. No matter how badly he wants to rest, if only for a couple hours,he can’t, not when their belief pins him in place.

Then the battle begins to shift.

They’ve been struggling to hold this ground the whole time,but now they’re gaining it, pushing their opponents back, and Ares lifts hissword with renewed vigor. They’re winning. If they win, then maybe he canfinally rest.

“You’re welcome,” a voice whispers in his ear, but when he swingsaround, sword outstretched, there’s no one there. For some reason, his eyes aredrawn up to the nearest tall hill, and someone is standing there, glinting goldin the rising sun. He thinks it’s Apollo at first, but the silhouette is allwrong.

He’s beside her in the next moment, this goddess with darkskin and golden wings and an eager, greedy mouth. “Who are you?”

“I am who will soon replace you in the hearts of men,” shesays. “Not all of them, perhaps not even most of them, but many. Their beliefwill make me stronger, and I will answer more of their calls, and even more ofthem will flock to me, until I’m as powerful as you or Athena. They pray to you,but what they really want is me.”

“Who are you?” he repeats, and there’s something familiarabout her, something he can’t quite place but that puts him at east in spite ofwhat she’s saying.

She smiles, tilting her head up towards the sun. “I am Nike,the goddess of victory.”

Victory.

Victory is how wars end. Victory is how he gets a chance tocatch his breath.

All his exhaustion is gone, replaced by joy, and he liftsNike up by her hips, spinning as he holds her up in the air, her golden wingsgiving off a kaleidoscope of light all around them.

As soon as he touches her, he knows why she feels sofamiliar.

It seems he owes Styx a thank you. He wonders if she’ll takehim distracting Hades from whatever lecture he’s intent on giving her asgratitude enough.

Now that he’ll have the time to do it, after all.

gods and monsters series, part xxxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

#gods and monsters series #styx #nike #hera #ares #greek myth #greek mythology #aaahh #it feels good to write in this series again #happyant21 #asks

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mygrandmathinksimsassy · 5 years ago

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Aidoneus is Hera’s first. He is everything the first should be.

It’s here: The Episode 78 one shot nobody asked for!!!

Read it on Ao3 or Read Below

Aidoneus is the first.

He is careful. Gentle.

Everything the first should be.

They come together in the darkness; their fingers intertwined as they tread this strange, new ground.

When it is done, Aidoneus breathes her name like a whisper.

The air is quiet and Hera holds him close to her breast.

The next morning, Zeus asks for her hand.

She’s surprised he bothers with asking. Zeus isn’t really the asking type.

The conquering hero. The scourge of Cronus.

Brash and brave. Everything a King should be.

But he gets on his knees for her. Tells her she is the most beautiful goddess the world has ever seen.

The pantheon is only a half dozen strong. She knows this, but his silver tongue goes straight to her head.

Hera makes him wait for her answer

Zeus agrees even if he doesn’t understand her hesitation.

Her suitor is not a patient man

He isn’t the only one in need of a wife.

The newly crowned King of the Dead will need someone to ease his burden. Mortals are always dying. His work will never be done.

Hades, he is called Hades now, has left Olympus. To start a new life hidden beneath the soil.

Trapped in the cold and dark for all eternity.

She doesn’t need the sight to see the future that awaits her there.

A goddess of marriage sharing her husband’s tomb. A goddess of family with nobody to talk to but the shades.

Hades never asks, but there is no need.

She marries Zeus.

She chooses the sun.

It is easy to love Zeus. Her strong, handsome husband with the cosmos on a string.

The early days are sweet.

They are the guests of honor at every party, the belles of every ball. The mortals sing their praises and she is strong, getting stronger every time a candle is lit in prayer.

The nights are just as bright.

They christen every room, every corner of Olympus. He is a skilled lover, her clever husband. He conquers her just like everything else.

His silver tongue never stills and she is drunk on being his.

His wife. His lover. His queen.

They have two sons, one right after the other.

Ares. Her brave fighter.

Hephaestus. Her gentle soul.

There will be daughters too. She’s seen them in her visions.

She is happy.

The world is hers.

Her husband is unfaithful.

There is a child. A mortal child.

Her husband’s progeny tainting the shores of Crete.

She screams at him and he roars at her. He is a monster now, as cruel as he is charismatic. Worse than any titan. Gallivanting across the known world, sticking his cock in anything that moves.

The child isn’t the first, he says. Only the first mortal he forgot to hide.

He leaves her crying in the gardens and it’s like he swallowed her whole.

Hera descends to the underworld.

The ichor freezes in her veins and she remembers that all of this could have been hers.

The kingdom of the dead. A world of silence and a life unseen.

She would have died long ago if this had been the life she chose. She is too weak to be alone.

Hera knocks on the door and a beast answers, howling so loud that Olympus must hear.

It stares at her through the window.

Three pairs of eyes glowing like flames. Three sets of gnashing teeth ready to bite.

The monster lunges at her through the glass, stopped by a blue hand on the scruff of one of its necks.

“CERBERUS.”

The beast yelps.

“BAD DOG!”

That thing isn’t a dog. That thing belongs in Tartarus.

The monster scampers back into the abyss and Hades opens the front door.

His hair is shorter than before. It suits him.

“Wh..what are you doing he-”

He stammers like the old days, back when the world was new.

“-aren’t you going to invite me in?”

He steps aside and her heels clack on marble quicksand. This is dangerous ground they’re covering. It doesn’t matter that they’ve walked here before.

He is a terrible host.

She pours her own brandy and lights her own cigar, trying to force some semblance of conversation as she gathers up her nerve.

“You got a dog?”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Technically, we’re coworkers.”

“I can get you some curtains for the kitchen,” she says. “You might have neighbors one day. Do you want them looking in?”

“If I wanted curtains, I would have curtains.”

That is all he says about it. They stand in silence and she wonders why she came.

Zeus never hides what he’s thinking. He practically monologues during sex.

But this isn’t about her husband.

This is about her.

And Hades. To a lesser extent.

He smokes a pipe like the old man he’s always been and she watches him take a drag.

He has strong hands. Thick fingers. She remembers all too well what those fingers can do.

A thrill runs through her as she takes his face between her hands. She kisses him and he tastes exactly like before.

It’s been centuries since their first embrace yet he is always Aidoneus and she is the girl who tends his wounds.

He breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away. Their foreheads are pressed together, close enough to share a breath.

“What about Zeus?”

He is nineteen and terrified.

Her poor, lost Aidoneus.

“What about him?”

She leans in again. He kisses back.

There is a desperation in the way he holds her. Centuries of restraint unspooling in a crimson thread.

He takes her on the kitchen table. He still says her name when he comes.

They share a cigarette on the kitchen floor.

Her head rests on his shoulder and they must make quite the sight.

Gold and Blue. Sun and Sky.

They look good together.

For a time, she was the most beautiful goddess ever beheld by the cosmos. Still is to the most enlightened mortals. She would look good with anyone.

Hades lets the ash build up until it’s about to crumble, breathing only when he must.

She doesn’t feel … better. Better wouldn’t mean goosebumps running up and down her arms.

Better would mean Zeus never strayed.

But at least she doesn’t feel worse.

“It’s freezing down here.”

“I’ll get you a coat.” Another drag. “For your next visit.”

How dare he plan for a next time. There will never be a next time.

There will be. She’s already seen it.

She puts their cigarette out.

“We’re having a dinner party this weekend,” she says. “You should come.”

“I don’t-“

“You’re coming, Hades. You don’t have a choice.”

“I never have a choice, Bunny.”

Hera feels his sigh all the way down to her toes.

“The boys want to spend time with you.”

She brings his hand to her lips. It’s a different type of kiss than before.

It might even be a kiss that heals.

“They should know their uncle.”

She breathes easier when she’s back on Olympus.

Her bedroom is filled with jewels and Zeus is on his knees again, begging to return to the temple of her bed.

He will never betray her. He says this as he trails kisses up her thighs. He will love her, only her, for the rest of eternity.

She wants to believe him. She doesn’t, she will never believe him ever again, but she wants enough to almost make it true.

His stupid, silver tongue. He makes her want to play the fool.

Hades is the first one to show up for dinner.

He brings gifts for the children. A wooden sword for Ares. A model train for Hephaestus.

They are getting too old for toys. Ares says so over dessert, he inherited his father’s tact, but her boys aren’t babies anymore. They’re almost men.

One day, she’ll wake up and they’ll stop aging. Their bedrooms will be empty and they’ll leave her all alone.

That’s a problem for another day. She can’t fuck her way out of that.

There is a bracelet for her. Covered in emeralds and amethysts, matching the peacock feathers in her hair.

He doesn’t bring her husband anything and he sulks about it all night.

Not quite a punishment. But definitely deserved.

It becomes a thing.

Zeus fucks her.

She fucks Hades.

Never in Olympus. Always in the dark. Just like before.

It’s safe, familiar.

Hades is the blanket to shelter from her husband’s storm.

It is a bad idea. A terrible idea.

The worst.

She’s the goddess of marriage for fuck’s sake. The morals seek her guidance on how to be a perfect wife.

The perfect wife endures the bad for the sake of the good. The perfect wife doesn’t suck her brother-in-law’s cock.

There are nights where she feels guilty and nights where she is greedy and days where she feels nothing at all.

Hades deserves more than nothing.

They become friends over the years. Not friends who fuck, but friends who ask about each other’s days. Friends who learn each other’s fears.

Years turn into centuries and their visits are always full clothed.

It’s better this way.

She wants him to be happy. She needs someone to call his own.

Minthe is a terror.

A pointy-eared cretin in a too short dress, desecrating her home with tacky earrings and cloven footsteps.

Hera could forgive bad taste, but that is the least egregious of Minthe’s sins.

The nymph screams and rants at Hades like she has earned the right. Flirts with the satyrs passing out canapés and leaves Aidoneus out in the cold.

He should have someone better.

Someone who loves him the way he deserves.

Not her, of course. Definitely not her.

Someone else. Someone strong enough to love the dark the way she never could.

Minthe outstays her welcome. It hurts to bite her tongue, but that’s what Hades asked for. He asks for so little; Hera owes it to him to keep her mouth shut.

She only promised to try and like the nymph. That doesn’t mean she has to succeed.

If he is happy, she will be happy for him.

Yet his eyes still seem so sad.

Little Kore grows up beautiful.

All pink and ripe and lush. A berry ready to be plucked from the vine.

She is a lovely little thing, pretty in a provincial sort of way.

Beautiful enough to be part of the family. Not as beautiful as her.

She’s perfect.

Hephaestus is too busy managing Pomegranate to court her properly.

Ares is Ares. It’ll be another thousand years before he’s ready to settle down.

Hades, on the other hand.

Persephone stares at his portrait as though one look would breathe life into him. Like that idiot sculptor Aphrodite mentioned at brunch.

Hera might have looked at Zeus like that long, long ago. She can’t remember. Life was simpler at nineteen.

This whole chastity business has Demeter’s green thumb all over it.

Annoying, but easily remedied.

Hades would never stray, but he should have a wife that warms his bed.

—

Hera kisses Hades for the last time.

—

She knows it will be the last time, but it still stings a little when he pulls away.

He honors vows Persephone has not yet asked him to keep and the torch he carried is snuffed out for good.

He passes the test.

Persephone has chosen well.

Apollo is condemned.

Any sentence is more than she expected, but it isn’t justice. Justice would mean a sickle rending limb from purple limb apart. Justice would wipe his name from mortal memory until they forgot the monster who held the sun.

The tribunal empties into the hallway. You could cut the tension with a scythe.

Persephone stumbles over her hair, a shroud of brilliant rose. Hades catches her when she falls, cradling her with a lover’s arms.

They are a radiant pair.

Pink and Blue. Love and Sorrow.

It only lasts a moment. They break apart and go their separate ways.

One to the underworld. One to the mortal realm.

Her heart aches for them.

There is a third path to Olympus and she lets her husband take her arm.

Minthe strikes Aidoneus.

The sound echoes down the hallway and the pantheon stops and stares.

She raises her hand again and that is the last thing she does.

Hera blinks and there is a sprig of leaves where a demon used to be.

Persephone hovers in the air. Her eyes glowing red. Her hair filled with thorns.

She is ferocious. Ghastly. Everything a Queen should be.

Hades falls to his knees.

His head is bowed when Persephone returns to the soil. The thorns are gone now and there are pomelias, twinkling like stars, as she holds him in her arms. Persephone speaks to him in the old tongue, whispering his name like the holiest of prayers.

They take shelter in one another. Persephone is brave enough to weather the storm.

The next day, Hades asks for Persephone’s hand.

Demeter rants and rages, but Zeus stands firm.

Persephone is a woman grown. She is the only one who can speak to her hand.

Her husband isn’t always an idiot. He’s smart enough, at least, to do as she says.

The last of the Kings gets married.

With seven dogs dressed up in bow ties. And a smile in his eyes.

Persephone walks the aisle alone.

—

She is a perfect Queen of the Dead

Hera is the first to toast her reign.

#lore olympus #lore olympus fanfic #lore olympus fanfiction #hades #persephone #hades x persephone #hades x hera #hera #zeus #hades (lore olympus)#persephone (lore olympus)#hera (lore olympus)#sassasticmad #this comic is honestly everything and if you aren't reading it #catch up now #and get fastpass so we can talk about it

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