word ar

hades is the smell of the cold winter mornings, the smell of the pavement after it has rained, and the lingering scent left on your clothes after a camp fire. he holds your hand as you cross the street, watches the moon with you, and is sitting beside you on long car rides. he is both the coldness of your room at night and the warmth of your bed after a long day.

aphrodite is the smell of rose petals and your newest fragrance. she is the smell of the fog after a nights rain and the odour given off while romantic sex is taking place. she is the taste of your lovers lips and the feeling of your own skin after a shower. she is the butterflies in your stomach, and always has your name on the tip of her tongue. she is the one who sends you your next relationship and ends the bad ones. 

poseidon is the smell of the moist air as the water rolls over the rocks near a lake. he is the smell of the mud in a play ground and the scent of your newest body wash. he’s the one who stares back at you as you stare beyond the horizon of the sea. he is the feeling you get when you jump into a pool after being in a hot tub or sauna. 

apollo is the smell of breakfast cooking in the morning and wet wood. he is the split second of pain in your eyes from the light after being in the dark for long periods. he is the summers day spent at a park, and the excitement of remembering lyrics of your new favourite song.

artemis is the natural smell of your hair. she is both the smell of bark on a tree and your fingers after picking up a wet rock. she gives you grass stains on your pants, and blows your hair in the wind. she finds your favourite places to go and guards your place to sit. 

ares is the smell of your sweat. he smells like sand and is the scent of your father. he feels like slate and the pain of a bruise. he is the one who pushes you that one extra step, and forces you to lose your cool.

zeus smells like fire. he smells like the cold wind and your freshly washed sheets. he is the one who makes your heart pound and is the one who triggers your anxieties. he is the booming of loud music and the cracking of the floor boards at night. he watches you as you walk home in the rain.

- @antikristt

The old gods are dead

Zeus sits at the bar, he’ll buy a thousand and one drinks and the girls who he smiles at will raise their eyebrows and think of the pepper spray tucked into their sleeves.

Hera waits at home. She knows the numbers of all the girls and she has their facebooks open on the computer. Her hands hover over the keyboard., She wants to tell them that men will always lie. She wants to take her own advice. She never will.

Apollo and Artemis travel the world. They are chasing the sun. Chasing the moon. They will never catch up. Their hand are curled around each others hip bones. Never in public though. They look too similar for that now. Society has learned judgement and so they keep their caresses safe in the shadows.

Poseidon wanders the shore. He wears a plastic poncho and carries a bag of trash. His tears mix with the salt water. No one can tell the difference. A girl with hair that moves like serpents trails after him, retribution in her eyes.

Hades lies in bed, his wife curled around him. He smiles because people will always believe in death and finally, finally he has beaten his brothers at something.

Athena paces through college campuses, handing out pamphlets on architecture. She scoffs at professors who are simply going through the motions. She carries signs in her hands as she marches through the streets with the students, screaming about the newest problem. She laughs wild, these children, these fearless children are her people.

Hestia wants her family to come home. She waits in the doorway, arms outstretched and a smile like forgiveness waiting to embrace the siblings whom she knows will never return.

Demeter counts down the days until her daughter returns. She smiles when children cheer over the snow days she gives them. There was a time when she had a child like that.

Persephone kisses her husband and grins when people tremble. She is vengeful and wears flowers in her hair and she will make damn sure that the world will never forget her name.

Ares walks through the Middle East, picking his way around the ruins of an elementary school. He stopped understanding war a long time ago. This was not brave, this was not heroic. This was senseless.

Aphrodite narrows her eyes at boys in cars who yell obscene things. She’s long since stopped romanticizing love. She is gaunt and over worked but sometimes she sees a teenage girl handing her baby over to an older couple who had tried for years and she feels young again. Sometimes, she sees Ares from across the room as soldiers embrace their loved ones and they smile at each other. 

 Hephaestus limps through his shop, his hands are worn down, his back is still twisted but people don’t seem to notice anymore. He makes their furniture, their toys and trinkets and they thank him, they pay him.

 Hermes runs through the streets of New York, Tokyo, London. He is young in this time, young and beautiful and slipping between business men, his hands finding their way into their pockets. He never stops laughing. 

 Dionysus mixes Zeus his drinks. He watches his family grin and cry and get sick in the back room of the bar. He holds back their hair and hands them another drink before they even ask. He’s been here a long time. He’s seen them drunk more often then he’s seen them sober. He is watching them flicker out and fade. 

 The gods are dying. The gods are dead. The gods are us.

-L.D.

The gods are among us.

Zeus drinks himself half to death at the bar. He makes bedroom eyes at every pretty girl to walk in the room. They will clutch their cans of mace a little tighter as they walk home tonight.

Aphrodite helps a beaten girl to her feet, holding her tight as her young body is racked with sobs. Artemis stands nearby, preparing to hunt the thief of this young girl’s innocence. These are the only hunts she participates in anymore.

Athena glares at Ares as bloody knuckles and booted feet connect with battered bodies between them. The fight clubs are their temples now.

Dionysus stands behind a bar, serving drinks to rowdy men and pretty girls. Later, he will be found holding back the hair of girls, too young for the drinks they swallowed, as they vomit the concoctions they drank to forget the pain in the world. Dionysus understands and so he drinks more than anyone, if only to forget the suffering that has filled his immortal life.

Hestia mourns the numerous broken homes. She puts extra effort in protecting the scant few happy families left. So Hestia has created a home for those lost and abandoned, for she too knows how it feels to be cast out by the family who should have loved you unconditionally. She understands what it feels like to be adrift and homeless.

Apollo sits on a busy, crowded street, strumming his guitar and singing a song of loss and pain. He uses poetry and music to mourn the pain in the world. He berates himself constantly, because for every life he saves, ten more are extinguished. He has stopped visiting hospitals because he can’t help but feel his efforts are futile. He hasn’t seen his sister in years, and he misses her most at night, when he can see her beloved stars and moon.

Hermes slumps in a chair, exhausted from the horror gracing the human news. He decides he is no longer deserving of the title “messenger of the gods,” since he hasn’t delivered a message in centuries. Not when the gods no longer keep in touch. So he reverts to his favorite pastime: stealing. But what use is mortal money to a god?

Hera sits in the shadows of a bar and struggles to summon the dredges of the vindictive, jealous anger that used to come so easily to her when she saw her husband with another woman. Hera thinks that perhaps in this modern world, she would do better as the goddess of divorce. Because, really, how can she profess that marriage is the best gift the world has to offer when she can’t even keep her husband in her bed? When he doesn’t even bother pretending that he loves her? Yes, goddess of failed marriages has such a lovely, miserable ring to it.

Poseidon wanders the beach, picking up the scattered trash that poisons his domain. His tears mix with the salt water on his cheeks and he weeps for the suffering of his oceans. He feels the pollution like a phantom pain, and he scoffs at himself, full of loathing for the god of the sea who could not protect his oceans from mortals.

Hades lounges in his extravagant mansion, smiling at his lovely wife curled at his side. Blessed is he, for there will always be death, and mortals will always worship his riches. Of all his siblings, Hades, the scorned brother, cursed to rule the underworld, is the only one to still enjoy immortality.

Persephone is as beautiful as ever and she is happy with her loving husband who always joins her in her protests, right alongside her as she weeps for for the dying of this earth, as she cries herself to sleep at night when she thinks of all the loss of nature’s beauty and life. This world is suffering and she is the only one to hear its cries. They haunt her dreams.

Hecate flips the sign on the window to say closed. She longs for days gone by when people knew the truth. Magic is very real. Instead, she has to smile politely while customers come to her store to purchase items they know not how to use and religious men preach about how witchcraft is a sin, and she will burn in hell. Hecate does not care. She is as immortal as magic.

Cupid narrows his eyes with scorn every time he hears the word love fly from the lips of people who do not understand the meaning of the word. Though who is he to judge them when all his matchmaking attempts end in failure. Perhaps the mortals simple do not want him to decide who they love. Perhaps it is their turn to choose.

Athena prowls through college campuses, holding signs high in protect with the students around her. These fearless children are her people. She scoffs at the professors who are simply going through the motions, who fail to appreciate the brilliant minds all around them. She never fails to notice.

Ares picks his way across a battlefield and finds himself at the ruins of what used to be an elementary school. He no longer understands war, hasn’t for centuries. This was not brave, this was not heroic. This was senseless bloodshed. He sees nothing holy in this ruined world.

Aphrodite swallows the bile in her throat as she hears another rapist has been left free. She glares daggers at boys yelling obscene things at women. She’s long stopped romanticizing love. However, sometimes she sees a young girl handing over her baby to an older couple who tried for years, and she remembers what she once represented. Sometimes she sees Ares across the room of soldiers returning from the horrors of war, and as they embrace the loved ones they left behind, she smiles at him.

Artemis takes her role as protector of young women seriously. There’s a gun tucked into her waistband and a switchblade in her pocket. She can’t save them all, so she has also become an avenging goddess. She can be found in the streets or at battered women’s shelters, preparing for the next hunt.

The gods are dying. The gods wish they were dead. Is immortality a blessing or a curse?

—  The gods were always too human for their divinity (inspired by the writings of @crossroadsbela )
Words for the Theoi
  • Aphrodite: Pulchritudinous- (adj.) Someone of breathtaking, heartbreaking beauty
  • Apollo: Effulgence- (n.) Bright, so much so it seems as if rays of light are being emanated
  • Ares: Defenestration- (n.) The act of throwing someone out a window
  • Artemis: Tenacious- (adj.) Willfully determined
  • Athene: Sagacious- (adj.) Having or showing an ability to understand difficult ideas and situations and to make good decisions
  • Demeter: Petrichor- (n.) The smell of earth after rain
  • Dionysos: Panache- (n.) Flamboyant confidence of style or manner, a certain flair
  • Hephaestus: Monochopsis- (n.) The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place
  • Hera: Redamancy- (n.) The act of loving someone who loves you; a love returned in full
  • Hermes: Facetious- (adj.) Trying to appear amusing, witty and/or intelligent at an inappropriate time, and when it would be better to be serious
  • Hestia: Hiraeth- (n.) A homesickness for a home that never existed, or to which you cannot return
  • Haides: Nepenthe- (n.) Something that can make you forget grief or suffering
  • Persephone: Iconoclast- (n.) One who breaks stereotypes
  • Poseidon: Curglaff- (n.) The physical sensation experienced when diving into cold water
  • Zeus: Sovereign- (n.) A supreme ruler, especially a monarch

The god of war,
But not always the violent kind.
The god of fighting,
He doesn’t care what you battle,
Just keep fighting,
Never give in.

He smiles at teens,
Suffering, struggling, drowning.
He smiles at them
Because they are fighting.
Any battle is worthy
Of the god of war.

“Smile,” he says.
“Show them your strength.”
His eyes burn as he laughs.
“Smile,” he says.
“You win if you survive.
You survive if you never stop fighting.”

The god of war,
Only sometimes the violent kind.
The god of fighting
Finds his temples
In boxing rings
Where everything goes.

Ares represents life,
Because to live is to fight.
To live is to battle
Every second of every day,
Just to breathe,
Just to keep going.

—  Not every war is bloody. Not every war ends
Made from Myth

You were crafted by gods.

Zeus struck down a ferocious bolt of lightening,
The electricity resurrected your pulse-
Your leadership was born.

Poseidon’s tidal wave licked you clean,
The salt cleansing your soul-
Until all that was left was justice.

Hades engulfed you in a swift flame,
The heat of it burning away your sin-
A sense of morality left sizzling in your core.

Ares’ spear pierced your fragile heart,
The cowardice hiding there expunged-
A war cry sounding from your mouth.

Athena’s blade cut down your ego,
The gaping wound a small price to pay-
For the wisdom that took its place.

Apollo’s purifying light filled your darkness,
The blinding brightness tamed your tenacity-
And softening you with the emotions of art.

Aphrodite’s gentle caress awakened your desire
The expert hands molding your body like clay-
Your beauty blooming like a flower.

You were crafted by gods.

Do not disappoint.

they call you the god of war;
the champion in combat.

you were born into this world a warrior,
and you have been fighting
for as long as you can remember.

and you do not tire,
for sometimes you think
that is it the only thing you can do;
to fight.
—  god of war // k.s.
continental drift

(#21 off the Super Sappy Prompts list: “I’m better when I’m with you.”)

It’s an experiment based on a hypothesis based on a coincidence. They’re sharing a room on a roadie, and Nursey has been stuck in a dry spell for a week and a half now. The words just haven’t been coming the way he wants them to, and he’s starting to feel dried out, like all the creative juices have been wrung out of him by school stress and lack of sleep. Maybe it’ll never come back. Maybe he’s just done. All washed up by the tender age of twenty.

He’s not even trying to write as he watches Dex from across the room, tracking his fidgets and expressions as he sits hunched over his laptop frowning at the screen. It’s been a while since he and Dex have been in the same room for an extended period of time – a fortnight, about. Dex has been on a project, and Nursey started isolating himself about when the drought hit. But it was nice to sit with him on the bus today, and it’s nice to dump his bag near the bed and just relax, hands behind his head, and drink in his presence. It feels like something he’s been missing for far too long.

Nursey’s not sure what it is that makes the words start coming back, but it’s like a cloudburst on a hot day – a few lines, scattered drops against a parched sidewalk, then all at once he’s drowning.

He writes for four hours that night. His poems are full of microchips and anger, all about the gray morality of man against the rigidity of binary code, and by one a.m., when he should really be getting his beauty rest for tomorrow’s game, he’s starting to formulate a theory.

The theory is that maybe being in Dex’s proximity jumpstarts his creativity. In a phrase, Dex inspires him.

So Nursey resolves to test it.

Keep reading

ghost
is what they call you;
soldier
weapon
asset-

entropy
is what you are;
volatile
disorder
chaos

—  they should concede to call you Ares | s.m.

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens fed on cream and curds.

I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees,
Gilded and sticky, with a little sting.

Elinor Wylie, “Pretty Words,” Selected Works of Elinor Wylie (Kent State University, 2005)

Storms

Sometimes I wonder if this is real
If this is religion that I feel
If maybe the voices inside my head
Are merely just my illnesses instead

If my belief and sense of peace
At ancient Homer’s poetry
Is me escaping reality
If it’s proof of my insanity

Out of the dark, Hades comes to me
Pulls me out of my revery
“Storms come but they soon fade
When you’ve got a pantheon to your aid”

Suddenly the rain starts pouring down
And Zeus rises from his throne
Hera sings me a lullaby
While Apollo keeps the music alive

Aphrodite bends down and takes my hand
And I feel a little warmer then
I hear Dionysus laugh with glee
And he brings joy and peace to me

Ares roars his battle cries
And my weeping eyes begin to dry
Athena'a wisdom from a thousand wars
Teaches me what I’m headed for

Hestia warms the room that I pray
And keeps me safe every day
Hermes guides my feet on my way
And I feel my worries melt away

As Artemis sprints through the trees
Running faster than the breeze
She calls out to humbled me
Saying to fight for what I believe

The winds pick up and the tides have turned
Poseidon comes like a galloping herd
Demeter hears me, listens to my woes
A commands a season’s change in my soul

With Hephaestus’s hammer gripped tight in my hands
I feel stronger than a mortal man
When my storms come to roar and rage
Like a lion trapped in his cage
And they try to darken my heart
I just remind them
How strong my gods truly are

2

The demon language in Love & Legends is called Shae’Kath. Saerys has been teaching the Heroine, and here are some of her writing notes: 

“Writing rules: Consonant-vowel pairs are combined, such as in hangul, into a single character, in the order they appear in the word (”ar” is an “a” above an “r”, “ra” is an “r” above an “a.” Words are written vertically, sentences are written left to right. Since there isn’t machine printing, characters can vary slightly (especially when combined) in size and shape.”

Join us next time, for how to write some simple words and phrases in Shae’kath!

Ares

Ares is a burly, buff man. He is mistaken for a biker more than he can count. His muscles ache with the strain of a thousand trainees. His mind flashes to every battle, every war, every front he has fought. His dreams are riddled with flashes of dying faces, of the screams of grown men, the blank eyes of innocents. His back is wide. The flag of whatever country of the solider he is defending shines in a blazing tattoo on his back. It furls and waves with his muscles as they twist to the beat of a soldier cadence. His beard is a crazy mess of salt and peppered black, grey and white. His eyes are a startling blood red against his black eyebrows. His body is covered in scars for each of dates of his losses, the tattooed humble dates of his victories - for when a good man dies, it is not a true victory in his eyes. His body has seen the weapons of a hundred thousand wars. His bald head is burnt from the days in the sun. His tan stops at his elbows and neck. His steps are powerful as cannon fire. His laugh filled with vulgar jokes and hoarse roars of encouragement are like grenades exploding. His black out sunglasses hide eyes that know more death than any. He stands at the front lines of every platoon. His badge is never uncovered, ever covered by a black band.