(no subject)
Fandom: Kid Icarus
Rating: ... probably M idk it's weird
Request: Hades/Viridi
For: Curi
Notes: So somehow I made it kinky without making it actually sexual. It's just. Weird in general.
The branch wraps around his neck and tightens.
It's always this little game of balance, to see whether nature can grow faster than it dies. Thorns and vines cut into his skin, but he himself is immortal, a body that regenerates, a concept that always survives even when its incarnation is defeated.
The leaves whither, the wood dries, and as air enters his lungs again he sees her face grow older, just for a second.
Natural balance, she says. All things must eventually return to the earth. But he sees, he who sees people at their weakest, sees them begging and forgetting and drifting into nothing. From her youthful appearance to the green of her troops, Viridi is a goddess of spring.
And yet she herself is old, older than him, and her core is stone and earth, and in this fight like in everything else, she is merciless.
Really, it's no wonder that despite her loathing for them, she lets humans bleed into her. Being nothing but a circle of death and new, mindless growth has got to be lonely.
Which is probably why she's there, and why they're playing that little game of theirs. No armies, no commanders to champion them, no big shows of power, just them, their bodies, and the forces they incarnate, coiling, melting, destroying and sublimating, thorn-hooked to each other like the two sides of the cycle they bear.
They are enemies, and have been ever since his link with the underworld became visible when he was just a godling, but she, like him, is a goddess of those who can't pray, and maybe, just maybe, he understands her a little.
Which is why he's so good at getting under her skin, of course.
Rating: ... probably M idk it's weird
Request: Hades/Viridi
For: Curi
Notes: So somehow I made it kinky without making it actually sexual. It's just. Weird in general.
The branch wraps around his neck and tightens.
It's always this little game of balance, to see whether nature can grow faster than it dies. Thorns and vines cut into his skin, but he himself is immortal, a body that regenerates, a concept that always survives even when its incarnation is defeated.
The leaves whither, the wood dries, and as air enters his lungs again he sees her face grow older, just for a second.
Natural balance, she says. All things must eventually return to the earth. But he sees, he who sees people at their weakest, sees them begging and forgetting and drifting into nothing. From her youthful appearance to the green of her troops, Viridi is a goddess of spring.
And yet she herself is old, older than him, and her core is stone and earth, and in this fight like in everything else, she is merciless.
Really, it's no wonder that despite her loathing for them, she lets humans bleed into her. Being nothing but a circle of death and new, mindless growth has got to be lonely.
Which is probably why she's there, and why they're playing that little game of theirs. No armies, no commanders to champion them, no big shows of power, just them, their bodies, and the forces they incarnate, coiling, melting, destroying and sublimating, thorn-hooked to each other like the two sides of the cycle they bear.
They are enemies, and have been ever since his link with the underworld became visible when he was just a godling, but she, like him, is a goddess of those who can't pray, and maybe, just maybe, he understands her a little.
Which is why he's so good at getting under her skin, of course.