Tonya
Location: Aphrodite's Living Quarters
Who: Ares, Aphrodite
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A dark shadow hovers over the triumph of a victory that compels Ares to seek solace in the presence of Aphrodite.
Stephen
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Legend whispers that prayers to the War God were most potent at the zenith of battle, when the odds tilted beyond conception and the burden of onslaught rained without relent. Legend whispers that It was in these dire straits, as soldiers marched defiantly against fate with invocations of their god on their breath, that Ares would answer their prayers with swiftest vigor. The Thracian legions, sparse in number within the rugged terrains of northeast Anatolia, fought with the fury of a far greater host. Their ambition was vast as they aimed to dominate all of Asian Minor, placing their undying faith in their deity to overcome the formidable land and its vast armies despite the overwhelming odds they faced. 
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Yet, this was hardly a battle; but a brutal decimation. Thracian warriors poured into the chaotic ruins in waves, their souls sent to the haven of Hades before they could even finish their prayers. Arrayed against them was a diverse coalition of Turks, Kurds, Armenians, Chechens, Circassians, Greeks. Did they believe that these unfinished prayers would cease to reach the ears of their recipient? Perhaps they too sent up their own divine pleas, or was it that their certainty of victory negated the need for such supplications?
⠀
As the Thracians emerged from concealment, their primitive weapons stark against the modern armaments of their foes, they were seen not as formidable warriors but as mere fodder for the slaughter. Yet, in the eyes of their god, these were noble sacrifices laid upon the altar of prevalence. And victory was indeed forthcoming. In the distance, a luminous red orb split the sky, blazing as fiercely as the sun, drawing the gaze of all on the battlefield. The clash of arms came to a standstill, arms raised to protect themselves from the glare as they looked upon it.
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While the defenders murmured in puzzled tones, the Thracians exulted in knowing recognition. Their adversaries' confusion turned to dread as realization dawned too late. At first, they presumed it to be a bomb. And in that presumption, they weren't metaphorically wrong. Alas, it was the god, Ares. He descended like a meteor, his arrival marked by an explosive tumult. When the dust settled, the god of war stood formidable, withdrawing his spear from the lifeless corpse of the enemy's commander. The sight of Ares struck just as much awe in his faithful as it did terror in his adversaries. To his followers, he was a magnificent figure of divine wrath, their chests swelling with pride at the sight of their war god.
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To their enemies, he appeared demonic, a shadowy terror whose gaze, barely visible beneath his helm, shimmered with primal darkness. When he turned to eye the collection of soldiers, his face was angled towards the sun, causing the shadows to shift for only a second. In that brief pocket of visibility, the depths of his irises were revealed to the onlookers. They were Indistinguishable from the core of his pupils. Eyes filled with nothingness and everything all at once. The soldiers were horrified. In seconds, their overindulgent confidence had dwindled considerably. Though even so, the enemy lines faltered, but did not flee. Contrary to the addition of this new foe, the tides had not turned the decimation into a proper fight. No, no . . It was still very much a decimation. The soldiers fired with panic, their modern weaponry futile against the divine armor of a god.
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Ares, alongside the remaining two hundred Thracian warriors, cleaved through their ranks with ruthless precision. They rejected their enemies firearms for the visceral closeness of blade and spear, reveling in the ancient art of war. Anatolia's forces were halved in just under twenty minutes. Defenses leveled, thousands slaughtered, sanctuaries fallen in a relentless tide of destruction led by the god of war. Within the span of an hour, the Anatolian forces lay decimated. News of the cataclysm spread swiftly, chilling the hearts of neighboring societies who dared not send reinforcements against an adversary of his caliber. Anatolia was claimed, thoroughly and utterly, by Thracian might. Yet, before his departure, Ares addressed the darker side of victory.
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He summoned those who had overstepped in the fervor of conquest, who had deliberately inflicted harm upon the innocent women and children who sought only to flee from the path of endangerment. One by one, he exacted a grim toll for their transgressions, decapitating them one by one as a stark reminder that the horrors of war must never extend to the defenseless.
Although he would not show it, these needless displays bothered him far more than he believed they should've. Thus chastened, Ares returned to the luminous heights of Olympus. Though it was night, the divine realm buzzed with the vibrancy of perpetual day.
⠀
Striding through the halls with purpose, his armor was still stained with the blood of battle. His presence commanded space, and he spoke not to anyone. Ares bypassed the bustling courtyards and the gathered deities, heading straight for the quarters of Aphrodite. His approach was unyielding as he pushed past attendants and servants to reach the doors of her common room, where he knew she would most likely be at this time of day. There, he lingered in the background, his formidable form leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, waiting silently for the goddess to acknowledge him.
⠀

Despite his bestial nature, he afforded her conversation the respect it was due, unwilling to disrupt her engagements. The onlookers, however, could not mask their unease, disturbed by the war-torn visage of the god who had just reshaped the fate of nations. His indifference to their stares spoke in itself of matters far weightier than their concern.
Celsa
❝ ⌜But in fact, she is just as wise as she needs to be, she knows how to get what she wants.⎯ ✶⌝ ❞
 
Title. [Love is Madness](
Setting. Within Aphrodite's Chambers.
Characters.  ,  
Pings/Mentions. 
Notes:
 
 .𖥔˚.
 
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Bored. She had grown into a state of boredom within the constant pleading from mortals for love. She heard their cries and pleas, for hearts to transform in their favor, for their goddess to grant them the serenity of a night's slumber in their lovers arms. Yet Aphrodite cared not for their pleas and desperate cry outs into the echoes of her temples down below. She cared not for the broken hearts or homes. Wives pleading for the return of their husbands, as their husband lie with another on a war torn battlefield. Fools. They were all fools. And Aphrodite could take the presence of fools little these days. Only to hold their worship in her name, showing her mercy just enough to give them hope. Hope that their goddess was still a merciful one and not the being filled with disdain and envy that existed within her domain.

"Send that one to my son, Eros can handle it." Her hand waved dismissively as a scroll sprawled across the floor in a poetic embrace to the goddess. Read aloud as it spoke to men who fell to their knees in awe of the goddess of beauty and desire. A desire now for mercy. A request of an empire, losing and desperate, as gold and gifts were placed beside her. Crowns that sparkled with the rarity of jewels that would catch any human woman's eyes, but Aphrodite possessed them all. "I can not be bribed if I do not wish it." A growl of offense from her lips, her eyes a warning as flames grew within them. "An enemy of my lover is no friend of mine. Send it back. With a message in warning of my wrath. Their leader will bear no further sons or daughters. He will hold no heirs with the woman he takes as wife, if he so much as glances at my temple once more, he will learn what it is to hold the curse of Aphrodite."

*"Goddess."* 

A humble bow of the head from a servant that had long since learned what it meant to be in the vicinity of Aphrodite within her blood lust. "Good pet." Her voice purred, changing quickly, like the tides of the ocean, as a smirk crossed over lips that men and women alike had died for. A goddess, not of love, but of passion, and just as within lust, war and fury held such an emotion. An honorary figure amongst the battlefields was she, and a beautiful wraith amongst those she deemed her enemies. 

She sensed his presence before her head turned in acknowledgent. The stench of blood rampaging against the sweet scent of roses, filling her lavish chambers of marble and silk as her eyes flickered with lust. "You return to me so soon, my love?" Her voice was honey as it spilled from her lips and she turned to him fully. A respect she returned in his presence, her hand moving to dismiss those around them. A silent demand for privacy. 

Here, in this moment, they were a contrast. Ares was rage, a deep pit of wrath that could never be filled. His hardened exterior, marked by the stains of conflict. Blood dried and pooled in crevices of his skin, but not a scratch seemed to tarnish the perfection that was his immortal body. His eyes spoke of a beast, returned from a successful hunt, while Aphrodite was a vision of silken robes that accentuated her timeless allure and embraced a porcelain body. Exuding an air of ethereal beauty and grace, with curls that formed around her shoulders in golden strands, shone and reflecting against the light. Eyes as blue as the sea she was born from, a pull like that of the sirens with promise of desire beyond the wildest of imagination. 
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"And it seems with the evidence of victory still upon you." Her tongue ran along her teeth with approval. The look of a war torn man had always been a blessing to the eyes, but upon Ares it was awe inspiring. 

Aphrodite's gaze lingered on Ares, drinking in the sight of him with a mixture of admiration and desire. To her, there was a magnetic allure in the aftermath of battle, a primal energy that ignited something within her immortal soul and cast the boredom from her thoughts. She found herself drawn to the remnants of conflict etched upon his form, each smudge a testament to his power and resilience. It was a pardoxial beauty, one that spoke of both destruction and strength, and she reveled in it with a hunger that only Ares could satiate. 
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Stephen
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Ares pushed off from his lean, his movements deliberate as he crossed the room. Those departing, previously oblivious to his presence, now cast furtive glances in his direction. Amidst their surreptitious observations, Ares remained fixated solely on his beloved, his gaze unwavering from the moment she came into view. The goddess's gaze held a power beyond words. In the depths of her eyes, pools of liquid sapphire shimmered with an otherworldly luminescence, radiating a warmth that softened even the sternest of souls—**The** Sternest of souls.

Despite his stoicism, she could always pinpoint the precise moment her influence took hold. Perhaps it was another of her innate abilities. Her voice, powerful yet soothing, confounded even the greatest poets, who struggled to capture the endless beauty of Aphrodite. The mystery to many was how her eyes always brightened for a god who seemed as monstrous at heart as Typhon himself.

Ares moved toward Aphrodite with the tender deliberateness of one savoring a rare delicacy. He was well-versed in the gazes of women, whether they were goddesses or mortals. Often, in their eyes, he found them peering past the blood and brutality to anticipate the allure of the form beneath.

Perhaps in his barest form, devoid of his weapons and armor, Ares felt his essence reduced. Clad in the blood-soaked vestiges of battle, he existed in his truest form. Aphrodite's eyes, however, never rushed to restore his conventionality; they sought to embrace the entirety of his being. This unwavering desire, just as passionate after centuries, drew him back to her chambers time and again. His stare lingered upon her, trailing from her chest back to her eyes. Despite her likely acceptance, he resolved to keep his distance, refusing to desecrate her with the blood of mortals.
⠀

Even in death, they could never be worthy of such an honor. "Come." He uttered bluntly, his voice echoing through the common room. Assuming she would follow, he began to walk toward an alternate exit, his strides purposeful and unyielding. Ares paused momentarily at the doorway, holding it open for the goddess with an expectant glance before following behind her. The cool night air embraced them as they traversed the roofless passageway of an open-air corridor, the path illuminated by a canopy of twinkling stars above. It stretched before them, bordered by ancient columns that cast long shadows. Ares spoke again, his voice low but firm, as they continued their journey. 
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"Something plagues me . . . And I much rather it wouldn't." He confessed, his brow furrowing with unspoken worries. The destination ahead was a private bathhouse, one of many in her ownership. As they arrived, Ares once again opened the ornate door for Aphrodite, his powerful frame silhouetted against the warm glow emanating from within. They entered, and he continued speaking as they moved past the inviting baths toward the showers beyond. "Anatolia is now Thracian territory," He began, his tone dry and flat. "They'll rebuild it in their image, repopulate it with their kind, surround it with effigies and offerings to the god that liberated them." 
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His words were sharp, but burdened. As he spoke, Ares began stripping off his armor, starting with his helmet, which he set in the struggling arms of a brittle servant, who strained to carry it away. "Out of fear, the neighboring nations will pledge their respect," He continued, removing his chestplate and handing it to another quivering servant. "They bring gifts to honor the men who killed their friends, their family, their lovers." Piece by piece, he shed his armor, the bloodied metal handed off to a series of unequipped servants who struggled to carry it away from the confines of the bathhouse.
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"Though I believe that many of my followers confuse the treacherous nature of war with the act of treachery itself. I watched as men snatched children from their mothers and plunged them through the heart. Some would kill the mother first, to instill the child with the fear of hopelessness before they took their final breath." Ares's voice grew softer, almost remorseful, as he stepped into the shower, now completely nude. The hot water enveloping his figure as the steam rose from his skin, cleansing him of the blood and debris. His head tilted downward, allowing the water to wash over him in totality.
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"I etched each of their faces from the battlefield into the annals of my mind.  Once the Thracians claimed victory, I called these men forward, and I killed them. What baffled me . . . Was the look of surprise amongst the faces of the soldiers as I punished these men. It wasn't as if the act on its own was anything they hadn't just committed mere moments past. No, it was because I was the one doing it to one of them. Even as these men confessed their deeds in the twilight of their lives, justice conjured astonishment upon their colleagues, as if they dreaded they might be next. They looked upon me with eyes of the guilty, clouded with fear." His voice lowered with suppression, betraying his internal conflict.
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"That is when it dawned on me, Aphrodite. Do they beseech me as the god of treachery? A manifestation of Kakia? Have they mistaken the great grandeur of war for an infatuation with deceit and terror in the defenseless?" Ares's voice grew more passionate as he spoke, his words resonating with a fervor that bordered on disgust. He stepped out of the shower, droplets of water cascading from the ends of his dark hair as he carefully approached Aphrodite. "Displays like these; the slaughtering of children, of mothers. I know better than to believe it is rare. They do it in the name of Ares. Which means I am attributed to it at a far greater capacity than I have been aware of. Tell me, Goddess-"
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He inches closer, until the distance between them became a difference of centimeters. "Is that how you view me? A god who could ever find pleasure in the pointless murder of the protected?" He asked as he looked down at Aphrodite, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that matched the storm in his soul. Now rinsed, his intent was to return to the bath, but whether or not he would wish for his lover to join him would depend upon her answer.
Aida
❝ ⌜But in fact, she is just as wise as she needs to be, she knows how to get what she wants.⎯ ✶⌝ ❞
 
Title. [Love is Madness](
Setting. Within Aphrodite's Chambers.
Characters.  ,  
Pings/Mentions. 
Notes:
 
 .𖥔˚.
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Aphrodite stood in silence, her gaze studying him as he spoke. So often her lovers looked to her for solace, their heart an open wound that she easily turned away from, but never Ares. Never the man she arguably had always loved, only to be forced to the marriage of another and torn from his side. Divulging them into a deep pit of uncertainty and bitterness that the goddess never did seem to fully recover from. Leaving shattered hearts and torn lives in the wake of her destruction. Still, when he called upon her, she answered with the tender touch and care of a lover. Of the woman beneath the many masks that only the beast of war seemed to hold the key to. 

"It is my turn." She spoke in soft manor, her hands guiding him into the bath in quiet request. Fingers moving the dress made of a cloth softer than silk to brush that of her thighs so that she could place herself around him. Leaning against the stone as her golden curls brushed his bare skin in feather light caresses, hand reaching for a cloth in silent diligence. It was a sight no one else would ever see from the Goddess of love and desire. A servant, only to he whom held her heart. 
_ _

As Ares shed the weight of his armor and the burden of his remorse, Aphrodite stood beside him, a beacon of solace in the storm of his turmoil, her hands gently gracing the skin she had explored countless times over the centuries as she finally spoke in silken whispers. "Ares, my love, it pains me to see your mind give way to doubt and darkness. Do you think that is how I see you?" The water cascaded over his form, Aphrodite working to cleanse not only his body but his spirit of the madness he had encountered upon the battlefield. So often she had seen it stain the minds of mortals, and though Gods had grown strength against the fragility of mortal men, they were not immune to the passions and ideologies that plagued the mind. The cloth stirred within the water as she leaned down, keeping herself dry but diligently washing away the stains of war and the shadows of doubt that lingered in the recesses of his mind. Every stroke of cloth against skin, another man's blood washed away to stir within the water beside them and dissipate. 

In his eyes, she saw the reflection of a god wrestling with his own nature, torn between the primal instincts that drove him and the yearning for something greater, something more profound than the carnage of the battlefield. His vulnerability moved her, for it is in these moments of naked truth that the true essence of his being was laid bare before her and one could see just how breathtaking he was. 
_ _

"My dear Ares," She whispered, her voice a soft caress against the backdrop of his thoughts, "You are more than the sum of their fears and misconceptions. You are the embodiment of passion and valor. The guardian of those who dare to defy." Her fingers moved across his shoulders and chest in practiced patience, the cloth a whisper of cool water against his skin. "If they beseech you as the God of treachery, let them." Her words turned firm in response to the raw intensity of his own, heavy with the weight of a silent need for validation echoing in the hollow spaces of the heart. 

"-But never question the way I see you." Reaching towards his face with gentle fingers, she guided his chin to meet her gaze. "You are no monster, Ares. You do not terrorize the defenseless, but demand the best within." A storm of passion began to swirl in the own unsteady sea of her eyes, a need to see the disregard for self replaced with the confidence of the man she adored. A need to see the assurance of her love for him placed once more upon his soul, to see it remove the wrinkle of thought upon his face. 
_ _

"You are a guardian of a world that teeters on the edge of chaos, bound by the threads of fate that intertwine our destinies. In your arms I find sanctuary from the storms that rage within and around. You are my haven amidst existence. My peace and my protector... And the most breathtaking being I have ever laid eyes upon. May you never doubt that, my love, but I will be here to forever remind you when you do." 

Slowly, she immersed herself within the healing waters of renewal. A single foot and then another, to gently caress herself around him. Her dress remained, as she gave Ares the permission to demand her leave from his side, if he so wished it. As she wanted him to be the one to remove her clothing in order to stay, if he so required it. Her lips brushing against his own breath mingling as one to caress the skin, she whispered to him, "In the midst of war there is passion, there is love, there is a need to survive, and a beacon of light to fight for. You are not treachery, but hope, my love. You are my beacon." 
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Stephen
Ares stood silently, his towering form cloaked in the stoicism of the warrior god he was. The water lapped gently at their forms as Aphrodite's golden curls brushed against his bare skin, her presence a soothing balm to his often restless spirit. Her words, tender yet potent, drifted through the air, touching something deep within the war-hardened recesses of his soul.

Ares rarely spoke if he did not genuinely feel as though words were necessary. His nature preferred the language of action to that of speech. Therefore, his response to the love goddess was not in the form of utterances, but in the firm, assured grasp of his hands on Aphrodite's soft, smooth skin. His touch was bold, each hold, a silent declaration of his intense nature, yet tempered by her profound effect. Even his aggression, typically raw and unyielding, was refined in her presence, his grasp assertive but mindful, never crossing the threshold into pain.

Aphrodite, sensing the shift in his demeanor, continued her gentle ministrations with the cloth, her motions reflecting the care and reverence she held for him. She spoke of valor and passion, of the misconceptions cast by others who saw only the god of war, and not the true deity beneath.

As she leaned in closer, her body pressing lightly against his, Ares' hands moved with a controlled urgency. He grabbed her dress, his fingers rough against the soft fabric, a stark contrast to the gentleness of her touch. With a decisive movement, he removed the barrier of her clothing, revealing her divine form to the steamy air of the bath. His actions were rough yet devoid of harm, a complexity that matched the contradictions of his nature.
⠀

In that moment, as he stripped away the last vestiges of her outer defenses, Ares recognized the truth in her words. The misinterpretations of others were their own to bear. Could he really expect much of the same beings that deemed Zeus a god of peace and fairness? Such an epiphany was unlikely to stop Ares from killing those who sought to take pride in savage war crimes . . But none of that mattered at this moment. In the clarity of her gaze and the purity of their secluded cocoon, he saw that their views did not define him; only she held that power. He realized that he was not the monster they claimed, but the protector, the lover, the guardian that she knew him to be.

Ares remained largely silent, his few words a mere whisper against the symphony of her assurances. "You are my truth," He stated simply, his voice a deep rumble, barely audible over the sound of the water. It was all he needed to say, his eyes locking with hers in a gaze that conveyed depths of emotion he'd never openly admit.

The chamber around them seemed to still, the world outside their watery embrace ceasing to exist. With a firm yet gentle pull, he drew her into the depths of the bath, his actions declaring her his beacon, his respite, and his undeniable equal in the vast pantheon of gods. As they settled into the warm embrace of the water, Ares abruptly leaned in and captured her lips with his in an aggressive kiss, his raw power and passion unleashed. The taste of her was like the electric charge of a storm, fierce and exhilarating, while the warmth of her skin against his burned like the hot embers of a fire, igniting a primal urgency within him.
⠀

Her kiss is not at all the same as any woman or goddess, but one steeped in a passion that ignites. Ferocity blends with gentleness, fervor intertwines with longing, all weaving into a sensation so transformative, it must surely be some kind of magic. It is the promise of realness, of the primal desire that lives within. And with it she tells him that she is awake, connected within, that she embraces herself wholly. 

As their bodies sank deeper into the steaming bath, the quietude of the chamber was disrupted by the splash of water cascading over the sides, a wild symphony to their fervent embrace. Ares, driven by a tempest of emotion, shifted his focus from her lips down to the delicate curve of her neck. His kisses, imbued with reverence, traced the lines of her collarbone with deliberate care. Each one punctuated by soft, yet fervent bites, marking her as his own in this secluded realm where only they existed.