ARES

ares design what that dawg doing

Aphrodite: why don't you join us instead of complaining about it ?

Ares : [glare]

Hephaestus: No thanks, I wouldn't want to interrupt [sarcastic and bitter]

He did not go off to battle that day

Do you ever think Aphrodite gets grumpy when her lover and sons leave? I like to think so lol as it leaves her mostly alone if she's at home without the Charities visiting. Like it's all too quiet.

Symbolically I meant for it to be like the wives of men going to war being sorrowful that they are leaving, wanting them to stay. And obviously whether they stay or go (willingly or required) would affect the number of soldiers. Basically Ares staying home could cost a side their battle lol, which I think is funny.

Also.. I think Ares is forgetting something-

This happens a lot.

i love your Poseidon

I'll never be satisfied with aphrodite's design cause beauty is subjective af and theres a BILLION WAYS to make it work

Aphrodite glided silently through one of the gleaming marble halls of Mount Olympus, her bare feet barely making a sound against the polished stone. The golden light that streamed through the high windows did little to soothe her troubled spirit. Her usual grace remained, but there was a heaviness in her steps, a weight she could not shake.

She paused near a towering column veined with silver, leaning gently against the cool marble surface as if to steady herself. One hand rose to her temple, fingers pressing lightly as though she might ease the fog clouding her mind. Her heart—once the source of unshakable confidence and beauty—now beat with confusion and unease.

This... this was not natural. Not for her. Not for the goddess of love, whose very essence was harmony and allure. Disorientation gnawed at the edges of her awareness, and a deep, restless ache nestled in her chest, impossible to ignore.

It had started after the quarrel—no, the eruption—between Zeus and Hera. Their voices had thundered through Olympus like an approaching storm, thick with rage and ancient resentment. Their divine fury had torn through the palace, shaking even the foundations of the immortal realm. Though their argument had long since ended, the air still seemed to hum with the remnants of their wrath.

Aphrodite closed her eyes and took a slow breath, but even that did little to calm the storm inside her. The wings atop her head fluttered with distress. The balance of Olympus had shifted, and she could feel it like a crack in the mirror of her soul. Something had been disrupted—something deep and primal. And for the first time in an age, she was afraid.

@lightning-wielder @hera-of-peacocks

@lightninglux3 @0f-high3st-wisd0m

And anyone else who wishes to join.

“My beauty.. my perfect dove... what troubles your mind..? You seem.. tense.. upset even..” *He said quietly. His helmet giving his voice a light reverb he had no swords, no spears, nothing. It was just him and her in that one spot.*

It wasn’t the battlefield now. No clashing swords, no cries of the dying—just the two of them, wrapped in a quiet that felt sacred, suspended in time.

"I’m feeling that strange little sickness again," she confessed after a moment, her voice low, as though admitting it too loudly might give it more power. Her brows knit together, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "It’s odd... I still don’t like it."

The words were blunt, plain, but beneath them lay a vulnerability that she seldom allowed to show. She crossed her arms for a moment, then let them fall again, restless. Her gaze dropped to the ground, as if ashamed of admitting something so intangible, so beyond her control.

There was no fear in her voice. Not really. Only a deep, gnawing unease—an invisible weight pressing against her chest, something she couldn’t quite explain or escape. It wasn't physical, not exactly, and yet it made her feel fragile in a way she hated.

Her hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, as if asking permission without words. Her fingers brushed the edge of his helmet—cold, hard, and scarred from countless battles. But to her, it was more than armor. It was part of him, a familiar constant in a world that never stopped shifting.

She was careful, reverent even, as her hand settled on the crown of it, just above his brow. Her touch was soft, yet it carried an intensity born from all the things she couldn’t say. The gesture was brief, but it lingered with meaning. She knew the man beneath the metal — the god of war, yes—but also something quieter, more human. The one who stood still for her.

She looked up at him then, her eyes searching his face—or what little she could see beneath the helm. And in that moment, her expression shifted—softer, more open, like she was letting down a wall that had stood far too long.

"It frightens me, sometimes," she continued, almost in a whisper. "Not the feeling, but what it means. What it could mean."

She dropped her hand from his helmet, but it brushed briefly against his chest, where the armor was warm from the sun—or perhaps from him. Her fingers curled slightly, reluctant to let go.

*He allowed her hand to rest in his as he looked down at her.* “I’m not good at comfort.. but for you.. my dove. I’d try anything once.” *He said before moving and picking her after standing fully. He’d been slightly bent to accommodate her height. He lifted her and smiled. At least.. she hopes he did.. he then began to move. Her robes whispered but his metal armor make small clunking noises. They were light but she could hear the contrast.. she was then placed onto his bed after he carried her to his room.* “Perhaps we could rest.. sickness is supposed to leave with rest.. right?” *He said as he pulled off his helmet and the pads for his body armor. His face had those scars. The one on his lip, on his nose. His longer braids and dark skin showing. Something only she was allowed to see. The softness of his eyes on her.*

Her voice was soft, laced with a faint warmth that pushed back against the uneasiness churning in her chest. A weary smile curved her lips—not quite full, but genuine. In that moment, she wasn’t the radiant goddess of love admired by mortals and gods alike. She was simply a woman, tired and overwhelmed, grateful for the one soul who brought her solace.

She looked at him with a quiet reverence, her gaze lingering longer than usual. There was something about seeing him like this—unguarded, calm—that always struck her deeply. So often the world knew him only as the God of War: fierce, destructive, relentless. But she knew better. She had seen the man beneath the armor. The subtle gentleness that others missed. The stillness he could offer when all else was chaos. All for her.

And she cherished that more than she could ever truly express.

She exhaled a quiet breath and turned her gaze skyward for a moment, as if searching the stars for answers she couldn’t find in herself. Ares’ presence had a way of grounding her. Even in silence, he made her feel seen, understood in ways words could never fully capture.

She shifted, drawing her knees closer as she sat beside him, her voice dropping into a softer, more reflective tone.“The latest fight between your parents…” she began, trailing off briefly. “It was deeper than usual. Violent, yes, but there was something else in it this time. Something raw. It stirred something inside me, something I don’t quite understand.”

Her brows knit together slightly, and her hand found the fabric of her gown, gripping it absentmindedly.

“I started feeling like this not long after that. Like there was something broken in the air—something I didn’t know how to fix. It was like watching love turn into a weapon. And it scared me, Ares. I won’t lie.”

She paused again, trying to steady the emotion bubbling up in her chest.

“But still... seeing what they’ve become, what they’re willing to do to each other... it made me wonder if even love has its limits.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, though she tried to hide it.

A heavy silence settled between them, filled with all the things she couldn't bring herself to say aloud. That she feared losing what they had. That his presence was the only anchor she had left when the world threatened to fall apart. That without him, she wasn’t sure who she would be.

She reached out then, almost without thinking, her hand brushing lightly against his. Not enough to demand anything, but enough to say: I’m here. And I need you to be, too.

“Perhaps in some circumstances.. love is wrongly used as a weapon but, that doesn’t make you the wielder of the weapon. The “war” of “love” is hard. Not all love is ment to be but.. you can’t change it. Sometimes it is ment to be but it’s forbidden. Just because love can be a weapon or barrier doesn’t mean it’s your fault, Little pearl.”

Adventures of little Neal: Aphrodite and Ares

Aphrodite glided silently through one of the gleaming marble halls of Mount Olympus, her bare feet barely making a sound against the polished stone. The golden light that streamed through the high windows did little to soothe her troubled spirit. Her usual grace remained, but there was a heaviness in her steps, a weight she could not shake.

She paused near a towering column veined with silver, leaning gently against the cool marble surface as if to steady herself. One hand rose to her temple, fingers pressing lightly as though she might ease the fog clouding her mind. Her heart—once the source of unshakable confidence and beauty—now beat with confusion and unease.

This... this was not natural. Not for her. Not for the goddess of love, whose very essence was harmony and allure. Disorientation gnawed at the edges of her awareness, and a deep, restless ache nestled in her chest, impossible to ignore.

It had started after the quarrel—no, the eruption—between Zeus and Hera. Their voices had thundered through Olympus like an approaching storm, thick with rage and ancient resentment. Their divine fury had torn through the palace, shaking even the foundations of the immortal realm. Though their argument had long since ended, the air still seemed to hum with the remnants of their wrath.

Aphrodite closed her eyes and took a slow breath, but even that did little to calm the storm inside her. The wings atop her head fluttered with distress. The balance of Olympus had shifted, and she could feel it like a crack in the mirror of her soul. Something had been disrupted—something deep and primal. And for the first time in an age, she was afraid.

@lightning-wielder @hera-of-peacocks

@lightninglux3 @0f-high3st-wisd0m

And anyone else who wishes to join.

“My beauty.. my perfect dove... what troubles your mind..? You seem.. tense.. upset even..” *He said quietly. His helmet giving his voice a light reverb he had no swords, no spears, nothing. It was just him and her in that one spot.*

It wasn’t the battlefield now. No clashing swords, no cries of the dying—just the two of them, wrapped in a quiet that felt sacred, suspended in time.

"I’m feeling that strange little sickness again," she confessed after a moment, her voice low, as though admitting it too loudly might give it more power. Her brows knit together, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "It’s odd... I still don’t like it."

The words were blunt, plain, but beneath them lay a vulnerability that she seldom allowed to show. She crossed her arms for a moment, then let them fall again, restless. Her gaze dropped to the ground, as if ashamed of admitting something so intangible, so beyond her control.

There was no fear in her voice. Not really. Only a deep, gnawing unease—an invisible weight pressing against her chest, something she couldn’t quite explain or escape. It wasn't physical, not exactly, and yet it made her feel fragile in a way she hated.

Her hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, as if asking permission without words. Her fingers brushed the edge of his helmet—cold, hard, and scarred from countless battles. But to her, it was more than armor. It was part of him, a familiar constant in a world that never stopped shifting.

She was careful, reverent even, as her hand settled on the crown of it, just above his brow. Her touch was soft, yet it carried an intensity born from all the things she couldn’t say. The gesture was brief, but it lingered with meaning. She knew the man beneath the metal — the god of war, yes—but also something quieter, more human. The one who stood still for her.

She looked up at him then, her eyes searching his face—or what little she could see beneath the helm. And in that moment, her expression shifted—softer, more open, like she was letting down a wall that had stood far too long.

"It frightens me, sometimes," she continued, almost in a whisper. "Not the feeling, but what it means. What it could mean."

She dropped her hand from his helmet, but it brushed briefly against his chest, where the armor was warm from the sun—or perhaps from him. Her fingers curled slightly, reluctant to let go.

*He allowed her hand to rest in his as he looked down at her.* “I’m not good at comfort.. but for you.. my dove. I’d try anything once.” *He said before moving and picking her after standing fully. He’d been slightly bent to accommodate her height. He lifted her and smiled. At least.. she hopes he did.. he then began to move. Her robes whispered but his metal armor make small clunking noises. They were light but she could hear the contrast.. she was then placed onto his bed after he carried her to his room.* “Perhaps we could rest.. sickness is supposed to leave with rest.. right?” *He said as he pulled off his helmet and the pads for his body armor. His face had those scars. The one on his lip, on his nose. His longer braids and dark skin showing. Something only she was allowed to see. The softness of his eyes on her.*

Aphrodite glided silently through one of the gleaming marble halls of Mount Olympus, her bare feet barely making a sound against the polished stone. The golden light that streamed through the high windows did little to soothe her troubled spirit. Her usual grace remained, but there was a heaviness in her steps, a weight she could not shake.

She paused near a towering column veined with silver, leaning gently against the cool marble surface as if to steady herself. One hand rose to her temple, fingers pressing lightly as though she might ease the fog clouding her mind. Her heart—once the source of unshakable confidence and beauty—now beat with confusion and unease.

This... this was not natural. Not for her. Not for the goddess of love, whose very essence was harmony and allure. Disorientation gnawed at the edges of her awareness, and a deep, restless ache nestled in her chest, impossible to ignore.

It had started after the quarrel—no, the eruption—between Zeus and Hera. Their voices had thundered through Olympus like an approaching storm, thick with rage and ancient resentment. Their divine fury had torn through the palace, shaking even the foundations of the immortal realm. Though their argument had long since ended, the air still seemed to hum with the remnants of their wrath.

Aphrodite closed her eyes and took a slow breath, but even that did little to calm the storm inside her. The wings atop her head fluttered with distress. The balance of Olympus had shifted, and she could feel it like a crack in the mirror of her soul. Something had been disrupted—something deep and primal. And for the first time in an age, she was afraid.

@lightning-wielder @hera-of-peacocks

@lightninglux3 @0f-high3st-wisd0m

And anyone else who wishes to join.

“My beauty.. my perfect dove... what troubles your mind..? You seem.. tense.. upset even..” *He said quietly. His helmet giving his voice a light reverb he had no swords, no spears, nothing. It was just him and her in that one spot.*

Hey ares

What if I told you I'm wanted in 59 different states for war crimes *war rizz*

*Hes laughing at you bc im laughing at you. STOP.*

But the 9 and the zero are RIGHT next to eachother