tracykestler

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Remember, even the most famous authors started out as confused people yelling at their laptops.

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In between planning and writing the Ares centric story, I've entered a writing contest to expand my practice. Feel free to go read my weekly short stories.

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I’m telling dad!

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Can you share your designs of Hera? I'm really curious and your artstyle is amazing

hera before zeus ruined her life and she became a bitter woman and resentful mother

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With KindleVella closing, I've found a new place to put my stories. As I learn which platforms and processes work for me.

Fictionate.me is a very similar process. A place to begin my career as an author. Come read about Jack Lloyd and his search for the truth behind the ghost haunting his lighthouse.

Curse of the Wandering Devil

"Doomed to die by the one you love." Such a curse lingered on the subjected soul. If only Jack Lloyd had known his solitary position as the ancient lighthouse keeper placed him in the center of a paranormal mystery. Jack suddenly found himself lost among ghosts, witches, and psychics after one strange summer night under the Hungry Ghost Moon. All Jack had wanted was to find out who Captain M. Sosa was and lay those bones to rest. He now had a curse to break.

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Ruhender Ares (Resting Ares) (c. 1850-1900)

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ares teaches eros to shoot

(this is like a modern au)

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Glad to see more people join in to worship Lord Ares

He doesn't get enough recognition

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You shouldn't be afraid, Hermes, Zeus is busy bragging

//link to the original //

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ares slays his daughter’s rapist

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ares, aphrodite, and harmonia

‘he feeds her bloodlust and she dresses him in softness

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To accuse me of something I didn't do is to give me (and Hermes) an idea.

@the-speedster-god

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Sleep Paradox

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Really man?

Hades: what are you doing here?

Dionysus: i'm here to find my wife Ariadne and my mother Semele

Hades: and why would I let you?

Dionysus: look man, i'm immortal and can spend the eternity bothering you about it

Hades: .... Thanatos help him find those two

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Someone on pintrest said that Ares is the God of the frontlines. They see him as a man trying not to breath while hiding in the mud and blood. The God of the brave and terrible front lines in war.

So I'm gonna expand that. He is the God of The men trying their hardest to not die in no-man's land, the holding your brother's hands and trying to help them be brave enough to stand and fire during their first assignment, the fear of having a Hand brush across your shoulder in veitnam, unsure if it's an enemy or a friend trying to find their way, not seeing where you are, not seeing your enemy. The retreat into the mangroves and being dragged under by the crocodiles. The ugly beauty of the fire and pain and death as a nuclear bomb falls on a Japanese city, the refugees fleeing the countries, the rebellions against dictators and fascists. Two tanks slowly backing away from the wall as the west and east slowly back away. The man standing in front of a tank, arms spread out, a citizen, hoping for peace so badly wishing and giving people hope.

He is the God of the prisoners of war, a man who looks at the unhealthy jew and offers them aid instead of death, the man who bribes soldiers and lies and sells his fortune to save them. The people taken and starved in the cells beneath palaces. Priests and ministers and people speaking their thoughts, forced to labour day after day for a crime they didn't commit.

He is the fear that he chokes down, the fear that a brother is dead, the fear of the enemy. He and Thanatos have always been at odds since Ares cuases so much death and yet his followers fear it so much. The fear of having to die, the fear of having to kill. The people that rake through the dead, find lockets and letters to loved ones, letters that will never be finished, children who will never meet their parents. He has his own collection, people who die and he keeps their name and picture, men more divine than he. He walks in the infirmaries and the nurses who work there sing to the soldiers, bring comfort and he can't help the praises that spill from his lips, for even as a god this is ugly and people like Miss Nightingale are saints for a religion Ares will never know. He is scared and hurt and he feels nothing like the naive God he was back in Troy, crying to his father when he got hurt.

He is of the protesters in Shanghai, the people fleeing from rhe smoke and gas. The people who put patches on their jackets, hair dyed and spiked and home made and punk. The anarchists who scream and yell because their so-called democracy failed them. The brothers and sisters who rally under a flag, their right to live taken by the very people who claim to protect them, and those who parade in the streets, people jeer and call them slurs and he, wishes them all the best.