Tenebris (Hades x Male!Reader)

Y/n and Demeter

A/N: Image of Arum Lilies

Amongst the fields in Nysa, two deathless divines dwelled. Y/n and his mother, Demeter, made a home in the temple the mortals had built to honor the Harvest Goddess. Demeter was always lavished with sacrifices, celebrations, and love from the mortals. She was mother to all and instilled into the earth, life. Fragile, fragile life.

Y/n, in contrast, was a mere shadow; a shade of his mother. There were no temples built in his honor nor was he worshipped. The mortals did not even deem it significant to remember neither his name nor his existence. His mother and he shared the same the symbols, the same gift of life, and the same divine duty.

...Perhaps the worship of Demeter was by extension worship of Y/n as well. Even so, Y/n was not held in the same high regard. But did that make him bitter? Envious?

Not in the least. Y/n resented attention, celebrations, and mortal worship. He'd rather spend his entire undying life beneath the sun with only the flowers as company. His mother, too, if she were not so unkind.

To the world, Demeter was a motherly figure, unable to do wrong. However, to Y/n she was that, and something else. The other side of Demeter was a harsh woman who did not tolerate imperfection. Y/n had learned over the course of his life, that to be seen or noticed by Demeter, was to be ridiculed; abused.

Ignorantly, most were of the opinion that a god's powers were inherent. That a god was born and knew exactly how to utilize their gifts — but that was not the case. Not, at least, where Y/n was concerned. Even now, the young god sometimes killed more flowers than he nourished.

But practice makes perfect.

Which was why they made a home here. It was relatively isolated; quiet. Somewhere Y/n could perfect his divine powers, hidden away from the world lest he embarrass his mother.

On this afternoon, Y/n was surrounded by a patch of Arum Lilies. They were beautiful flowers with cone-shaped white petals and a golden core. They were blinding; breathtaking...

Y/n's first love would always be flowers.

Yet, in his excitement, he allowed his power to flow through his veins and beneath his gentle touch, the flowers wilted. Horrified, Y/n pulled his hand away and stared at the shriveled plant. Shame filled him.

He was ashamed of himself. Truly.

"Y/n!" at the call of his name by a very familiar voice (the only voice Y/n really knew) the young god quickly hid the dead flower up the sleeve of his robes. It would do no good to allow his mother to see more evidence of his failure.

"Yes, Mother?" Y/n cried back.

Demeter appeared in the temple's doorway, white robes rippling like creek water being disturbed by a small stone and elegant dark hair bounding over her shoulders like sleek racehorses.

"Come here," she ordered, gesturing him over with a stern hand. "We must prepare for the festival this evening and bless the rains for tomorrow."

"Yes, Mother." Y/n meekly obeyed her, abandoning the lilies and joining her at her side.

The faint smile on Demeter's face vanished and before Y/n could stop her, she snatched his wrist in a vice-like grip. Y/n knew no good would come of him attempting to rip it away so he stood by as she slid her hand beneath his sleeve and retrieved the blackened, withered corpse of the lily he had hid away.

"I can explain," Y/n rushed out. "I made a mistake —"

"How many times have I told you that life flourishes through hard work? That it is not our power that strengthen the flowers and the crops, it is our determination."

"What about you, Mother?" Y/n shot back. "You barely breathe on a plant and it unfurls, becomes vibrant, as if you are the essence of life itself."

"I —" a muscle in Demeter's diminutive jaw flexed, "— have worked hard." She gestured her hands wide, "Everything you see here is the fruit of my labors. In time, when you cease your childish lack of control," her fingers twisted around the dead lily and it crumbled to ash, raining upon the stone bricks below, "you will learn what it means to bring life into everything you touch. Tonight, after your duties, you may meditate upon my words in the undercroft."

"Oh no, please, mother don't —"

Demeter held a hand up, "Silence yourself."

And Y/n held his tongue. It was futile to go against his mother.

The undercroft was a foul place. A chamber below the temple that Demeter locked him in — sometimes for days, perhaps weeks, months (there was no sense of time there) — when Y/n did something she did not approve of.

Y/n hated the creeping darkness, hated the solitude, and hated, most of all, how the light of the sun could not penetrate the underground.

And Demeter knew so she used it against him. A punishment most vile.

"Come," a hand curled around Y/n's shoulder. "The festival first and then the blessings."

As always, Y/n attended as her shadow and when the blessings were done he was locked in the room beneath the temple.

Locked... in the darkness of the underground.