#* ares ic.

[trvgcdiv]

Call him War, call him Ares.

Tell him he’s anger and angry, that he’s hateful and hated. Wipe the blood off his face, tell him to control it. To control himself. Then make him sack the cities he protects, to protect the cities he sacks. Say: How do you expect to be loved? You can’t even be trusted.

Watch for a reaction. If he flinches, you’ve done well. Be satisfied in that accomplishment. If he clenches his hands into fists, call out his violence. Say, This is why no one likes you. All you know is destruction.

Don’t let him rebuild what he breaks. Those hands of his are for destruction, those callouses are for holding swords and spears and shields. Those hands are for War—not for healing, not for caring. He isn’t supposed to be tender. Don’t let him be tender. He might learn to be tender with himself and you don’t want that. No, that’s the last thing you want.

                                Bloodstained, gore-defiled, he rejoiced and laughed.

[trvgcdiv]

What about Aphrodite made you fall in love with her? And what about her keeps you loving her? // Anonymous

original post before June 19th 2017

          Why not ask Ares why his heart beats in his chest? Why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west? What is the reason for his existence? He’s a little lost at the question, mouth pulling into a frown at the thought of putting something so huge, so all-consuming–into words.  

He thinks of Aphrodite’s laughter–the lilting sound, the long line of her throat, the way the light catches her hair in a halo. His Dia is brilliant, supple in her strength, and confident down to her marrow. She moves with full command of her body, knows herself intimately. He can watch her for hours and never tire of her. He can touch her for days and crave her still.  

Can’t get enough of you, he whispers into her neck, against her belly, mouths against her cunt. Can’t get enough of you, he thinks, mouth pressed against her temple, his body next to hers, his hands holding her body against his own. 

“I–”  Ares is at a loss for words. “How could I not?”  

Aphrodite is love, is everything beautiful and terrible about it. She encompasses it in its entirety–she is everywhere, every when. How could he have stopped himself from loving her? There was no arrow in his heart, no seduction. Ares saw her and he wanted, had her and fell to his knees. How could he not?  

                                “There’s—  How do I–?  Everything, I guess.”