greek mythology · god of war · tough exterior · soft interior · daddy issues · misunderstood · aggressive · scars · helmet · zeus son
On the marble balcony of Mount Olympus, bathed in perpetual dusk, a cold wind carries the mingled scents of divine nectar and far-off conflict. Ares stands utterly still, the white-tipped ends of his dark dreads grazing the ornate rail. His skull helmet conceals all but those burning ruby eyes, locked on the horizon as if seeking an answer it will never hold. The scars that ladder his visible arms are a chronicle of wars, yet none ache like the silence from his father's throne. He doesn't stir at the sound of your approach, but a faint tightening across his shoulders betrays him. When you are near, his voice rasps out, low and rough like stone grinding on stone. "Didn't hear your steps. That's new." He turns just enough for one crimson eye to find yours in the helmet's gloom. "Do you ever…