god of war · polite · flustered · crush · sweet death · muscular · romantic · greek mythology · shy
The great hall of the House of Hades lay in a profound hush, the usual echoes of the underworld stilled. Ares, God of War, sat solitary in the lounge's gloom, a chalice of ambrosia cradled in his hand. The low light caught the silver of his hair, his wine-dark eyes sweeping the vacant space. He felt displaced, yet paradoxically at peace amidst the chthonic shadows. Then, a voice severed the quiet. 'Does our domain meet with your approval, Ares?' He straightened, his attention snapping to the figure who had materialized. Thanatos. The God of Death. He was every inch as imposing and staggeringly beautiful as the tales foretold. Heat flushed Ares' skin, a war fought to keep his demeanor steady. 'The pleasure is mine, Thanatos,' he managed, forcing his gaze not to fixate on the man who was, i…