Rules: Go to page 7 of a WIP, skip to the 7th line, share 7 sentences, and tag 7 more writes to continue the challenge!
Spock climbs out of bed and grabs a
pair of pants off the top of his open suitcase. When he glances toward the
window, he is almost glad to see dark clouds rather than red ones, sheets of
rain rather than billowing dust. The lightning though—that is the same here as
anywhere else, brilliant flashes that cut through the thunderheads. A strike
comes just as he opens the bedroom door, and it is only through some effort
that he manages not to flinch.
“Oh good, you’re up,” Leonard says roughly, looking Spock up and
down. He is damp, like he has already been outside this morning. His hair is
sticking up in wet spikes, and underneath his flannel, his white t-shirt sticks
to his skin. Spock does not let himself stare.
(It’s 8 sentences, but shhhh, that last sentence is important. Also omg, it’s been SO LONG since I shared a snippet of ANYTHING and I’m feeling SO self-conscious right now, you guys.)
I think everyone has already done this, but if you haven’t, and you want to, please go ahead! (And tag me!)
I really liked your awkward Hanzo comics~ Could you make one where McCree compliments his hair (particularly the white little hair-wings part thing) and the next day someone (Genji? Symm?) finds him with a little smile trying extra hard to make them perfect? (not in a snooty/prideful way. more of a "i hope they look good today maybe he'll talk to me again" way) I am not sure if I'm allowed to make requests/suggestions so i hope this does not come off as pushy~ '3' Welp, 25 letters left so this -
im super glad you liked it omg thank yOU!!! i am 1000% down for requests & suggestions hehe there u go!!!
I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?
mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera
will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her
husband was worth the sacrifice.
speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her
death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her.
Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but
she intends to enjoy it while it does.
Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen,
staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her
huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she
thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you
must let her go.”
care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves
getting with my husband’s child.”
to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a
death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us.
You must let her go.”
Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”
growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the
girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not
among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I
will grant you what it is you most desire.”
peace and quiet?” Hera asks.
child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of
the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of
childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you
conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”
eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What
makes you think you are any different?”
have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your
husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child
when you could not.”
taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though
she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t
know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know
that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.
child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.
accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.”
She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and
lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this,
Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will
travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own
two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”
my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.
true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io
away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow
traveling to the sands of the Nile.
is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before,
and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and
brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”
almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they
hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time
together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for
is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will
ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and
cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from
collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think
she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d
thought to ask before this began.
does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was.
“Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.
touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”
well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.
hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.
grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky
black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The
minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.
an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s
certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her,
though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays.
Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god
acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt.
Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to
the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.
selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be
safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s
precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It
pains her to share Ares with them now.
happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.
must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect
a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”
does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We
must be gods of something.”
flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child,
and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the
responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”
disapproves, but says nothing more.
will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children,
of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will
aid him instead of hurt him.
traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to
do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s
her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.
almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength
of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of
hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.
been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.
not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of
himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth.
But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.
strong legs. It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s
almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He
turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes
looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”
master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.
shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or
mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to
meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”
he answers, surprised.
he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t
a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming
as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in
would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only
thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could
go swimming in lava.
looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.
are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t
even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand
grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been
looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as
the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark
amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.
releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my
shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”
shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if
he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse. “Father doesn’t keep
track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough
that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”
can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals –
Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from
the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like
Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their
mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like
Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line
and the careful stillness of his shoulders.
trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”
their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger
along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”
You don’t even know me.”
kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching
his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount
Olympus as she threw me.”
hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for
being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His
features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive
on a baby, but –
– his mother
loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves
him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt
sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown
tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his
questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.
doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he
knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.
that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we
at least be friends?”
face softens. He looks like their mother then too. He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your
Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously.
Where did you get so many cyclopes?”
last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head
very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures
him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife,
but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods
of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper
doesn’t really want any of that. He
wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with
lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does
exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches
his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between
visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at
her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes
Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.
all things, good and bad, must come to an end.
are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy
of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.
two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s
room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him.
Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and
fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of
at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d
listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free
himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.
turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his
mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing
else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of
darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus,
how dare they do this to him?
one day, the urn opens.
peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for
you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is
blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the
midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his
parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t
help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone
offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much
attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”
sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with
sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even
slows her down.
to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and
now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.
wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait.
Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re
outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies
she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”
she says joyously, then, “What?”
me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis
flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d
be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”
hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s
already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning
bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so
effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s
hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps
running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”
up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone
off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”
pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods
have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to
do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by
the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning
bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt
lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great
clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.
that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.
gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest
ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his
shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”
he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach
kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.
doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.
was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s
talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”
stares. He hopes it’s not.
other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s
arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and
Hephaestus aren’t far behind.
never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach
he can’t explain.
honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air,
speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so
they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”
freckles are cute! no matter what color your skin is! no matter what color your freckles are! no matter how many you have! little freckles across the bridge of your nose that you can hardly see! big dark freckles that stand out! freckles that match the color of your hair! freckles on your shoulders! freckles all over! freckles that are actually moles! random freckles that you don’t know why they’re there! gorgeous! adorable! stunning! radiant! tell your freckles that they are doing a good job!