“I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. It’s just a scratch. I’ll live.”
A kiss to make it better. ;) They sparred for a couple of hours and Keith got distracted causing Shiro to land a hit. Shiro apologized profusely. Keith thought he was being dramatic. So, I’m back drawing these two idiots. :D | Redbubble
*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~
“Your tapestries are so
fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess
Arachne tosses her
head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,
“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”
The merchant blanches
and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.
Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his
time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”
He pays her for her
wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with
grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled
hands curled over a cane.
Arachne is not stupid,
but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes
and declares, “Athena should thank me,
since my talents earn her so much praise.”
She pushes past her and
keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the
They will tell tales of
her hubris. They will all be true.
The next day she bumps
into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.
“Know your place,
mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and
Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is
say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.
She will not lie.
“I do,” she says
coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”
She is not honest as a
virtue, but as a vice.
Athena challengers her
to a weaving contest. She accepts.
Gods are not so hard to
find, if you know where to look.
“It’s a volcano,” the
baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking
money from someone who’s clearly not all there.
She grabs her bag of
sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,
“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”
“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the
first dozen times.
“Thank you for your
help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.
She walks. She grows
hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The
sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s
tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to
But Arachne does not
believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales
will be true.
She ties a scarf around
her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to
her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and
begins her slow ascent.
The muscles in her legs
and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white
dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body
and drips down her back.
“What are you doing?”
Arachne turns her head
and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily
to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She
swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”
The creature tilts his
head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be
smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”
“Is it true?” she
repeats, refusing to flinch.
“Yes,” he says, looking
at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”
“There’s some sweet
bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”
His hands are big
enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead
he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically
small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks
his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the
second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”
“I’m the weaver
Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”
They tell tales of
They are not true.
He’s got a broad,
angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,
and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs
only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,
replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.
“Had your look, girl?”
he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a
“Yes,” she says, and
doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.
His lips quirk up at
the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside
the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that
she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me,
girl. What do you want?”
She slides her pack off
her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have
woven her a cloak.”
He raises an eyebrow
and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands
could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”
They will tell tales of
They will all be true.
With a gust of wind the
oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place
stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her
husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,
richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of
Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.
“Let’s see it then,”
she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.
It unrolls beautifully.
It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.
The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up
along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and
her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced
artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.
Her lips part in
surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus
says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take
The goddess smiles and
Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite
is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the
goddess says, “you have my attention.”
Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,
“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”
Their faces somber.
Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will
lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”
“I know,” she says,
“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”
There are no tales of
their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why
wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both
Gods hate being made to
feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say
Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins
the weaving contest.
“Clever girl,” Hephaestus
Aphrodite stares at her
reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus
left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,
not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench
upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at
her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave
me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”
A gown as exquisite as
the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.
They will tell tales of
They will all be true.
The contest goes as
expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.
The goddess’s face goes
red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the
death blow coming for her.
The blow comes.
Death does not.
She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s
volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no
hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –
She doesn’t believe in
defeat, in loss.
It was a terribly long
journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she
has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in
between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of
sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.
Athena’s cruel joke of
allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow
color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.
It takes seven years
for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that
time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s
a large insect, but not that large.
She arrives just as the
sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the
earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.
Arachne doesn’t return
to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries
and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for
and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.
“Huh,” Brontes looks
onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”
She cautiously skitters
down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that
a piece of a honey bun?”
She looks up at him,
waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand
His face slowly fills with
a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?” She
jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his
massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”
She jumps down, landing
in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running
after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too
small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for
several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself
out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”
There’s that same
breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,
that you had to yell?”
Arachne sees the exact
moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made
entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush
down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”
She warms at that, that
Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven
They’ve told tales of
They are all true.
Brontes points at the
web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the
goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”
she says, “but I know someone who can.”
Then they are in front
of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess
Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”
returns, “I need to see Persephone.”
The man’s face stays
cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck
in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available
for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please
come with me.”
Arachne weaves a dress
for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.
“I can take you
somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”
Arachne pauses at her
loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you
like me to leave?” she asks instead.
Aphrodite scoffs, “Of
course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the
spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the
goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a
moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”
She looks up at the
goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else
would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”
To declare your company
equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.
They tell tales of her
“An excellent point,”
Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.
Are the words just not coming? Try getting away from the screen for a few minutes.
Do Something Productive
Take care of the dishes – load or unload your dishwasher, or wash a sinkfull by hand. If you have to leave any to soak, try writing for a few minutes while they do.
Put away that basket of laundry you’ve been ignoring.
Clean your bathroom sink.
Put away any shoes, jackets, or other outerwear you left lying around.
Do Something Fun
Write/draw/paint in your journal, if you have one. Do a page, then try writing again.
Read a chapter of your current book.
Set a timer for five or ten minutes and play a simple game that will let your mind disengage–my go-to is Spider Solitaire.
Call/Skype/text a friend and have a chat for a few minutes.
Make Your Writing Space More Pleasant
Straighten up your desk. Throw out any scraps of paper that have served their purpose, but check to make sure you’re not tossing out story notes! Dust the surface off, and put away anything that belongs somewhere else.
Light a candle.
Get a glass of water, or make yourself tea or coffee.
Take Care of Yourself
Grab a small snack if you’re hungry.
Are your hands dry? Mine get terrible in winter. Moisturize!
Lips, too –grab that lip balm.
Feeling sluggish? Take a short walk or do some jumping jacks to get your energy level up.
Feeling grungy? Take a shower. “Inspirational” showers are my favorite, I get so many ideas in there.
If one of these doesn’t break you from your funk, try one from another category to switch things up. And if you still don’t find your writing mojo, maybe you need a longer break, or to pack it in for the day. Just remember, working hard is great, but forcing yourself to write can burn you out, so keep yourself in balance!
Aries: Pounds your back to make sure you know how intense their love is
Taurus: Perfectly aligns hearts and holds you tight. A powerful warmth begins to spread through your body. Your eyes well up. A single tear threatens to fall. Then the hug breaks, and the moment is over.
Gemini: Asks first: “Do you need a hug?” Wraps arms around you, holds tight for a sec, then slaps your back in a brolike fashion and awkwardly breaks apart to avoid seeming too touchy-feely
Cancer: Gives and takes hugs in equal measure. Soft, gentle, and warm. Why hugs were invented
Leo: Casual hugs all the time, no biggie
Virgo: Getting a hug from them is like getting a hug from God; you can’t believe you made it to this moment, you must have done something right
Libra: hugs who they want to hug plus EVERYONE ELSE just to be fair so it doesn’t look like they’re showing favoritism or anything
Scorpio: *checks pockets*
Sagittarius: Short hugs, touch-and-go, like they’re about to catch a flight out of the country. Are they vacationing, or on the run? Will you ever see them again? No one knows
Capricorn: You have just sealed a pact of friendship forever, expect them a call from them at 8 pm on a Wednesday night 20 years from now to catch up like you just saw each other yesterday
One day when the pain subsides and my heart is mended, I will thank the universe for allowing our paths to cross. I will be able to be grateful for the time we spent together, no matter how short it was. But for right now, I’m cursing it for taking you away from me before I was ready. I’m cursing it for breaking my heart again.
But I know it’s for the best and who knows, maybe this isn’t the end… just a pause in our story -Jess Amelia
Sometimes advice to be more productive asks a lot of you, perhaps too much. It’s okay if you’re not ready to throw away your TV. It’s okay if you don’t want to get up at 4AM to work out. Through extensive reading of self-help books and trying these myself, I found these little tips yield big results.
1. Get Out of Bed Earlier. Most people naturally have more energy in the morning. But not all of us are morning people. It helps to:
Let in natural light. Open the blinds to wake yourself up.
Drink a glass of water. After sleeping, you are usually dehydrated, and often dehydration is confused with tiredness.
2. Get Ready to Face the Day. It usually helps to be dressed when facing the day, even if you have nowhere to be.
Get dressed. Nothing fancy, just something comfortable, something you might wear to school.
Wash your face + brush your teeth.
Eat a substantial breakfast.
3. Start With the Hardest Thing. If you haven’t already made your to do list for the day, make one, and then begin with the hardest task on the list. Since the morning is when you have the most drive and energy, putting it off might mean that you may not have the energy to accomplish it later.
5. Take Breaks and Stay Hydrated. As I mentioned before, sometimes when we feel tired, we’re really just thirsty. Also, some people find they work best in 90 minute sprints, while others work best with shorter periods of focus broken up with short breaks (See: Pomodoros).
so I’ve come to notice that this will be a lot of people’s first time watching Skam through the full real-time experience so I wanted to break it down and try to explain how it will go down, cause it took me a while to understand last season:
for those of you who don’t know, episodes of Skam come out in short clips throughout the week, not just as one full episode on Friday (although that is a possibility if you don’t want the full experience). The clips are released exactly when they are expected to take place. Season 4 episode 1 will begin on Monday at 13:28, which means it’s a clip of Sana in the middle of the school day.
An episode’s week starts from Saturday and ends on Friday. This means that the first clip of an episode could be released on Saturday, and the final clip that ends that episode comes out on Friday. There is always a clip on Friday, and it’s usually the longest and the most dramatic because it ends the episode. But as for the rest of the clips, we have no idea when they will be released. The first clip is usually around Saturday or Sunday, but sometimes we may have to wait until Monday if there’s nothing important to mention for the weekend. For example,
we got a lot of Isak and Noora’s clips that started on the weekend so that we could get more Kollektivet action, but a lot of Eva’s were during weekdays because she would be at school or hanging out with the girls. The first episode of season 4 will begin on Monday, and will end on Friday.
The length of the clips kind of depend on how long the episode will be. Usually we find out beforehand how long the episode that week will be, but it’s not always accurate. (I’m thinking back to when it said the final episode would be like 50 mins long or something….wow rip we really thought) The clips that get released in the beginning and the middle of the week are usually short, maybe about 3-4 minutes long. Friday clips are much longer and can range from like 7-15 minutes.
Summary: Looking back on your past, your life has never been anything out of the ordinary. Although your parents had left you on one mysterious night, leaving you little to no explanations, you live out the rest of your years residing in a new town under the custody of your aunt. That is, until you return to your hometown to investigate the whereabouts of your parents during your senior year in high school. It was that fateful decision that led you to find a boy collapsed on your front porch one night, wounds gaping and life fading when your entire life is spun out of control. Somehow being dragged into a life of crimes in the underground business of his, you discover the twisted secrets hidden behind the world you thought you had known all along.
A/N: And here we are! 1 year and 7 months later, we have finally arrived at the final chapter of The Labyrinth. There have been countless times when I just wanted to discontinue this series and quit writing overall because of the lack of an audience, and yet I persevered because this was a story I wanted to tell and it is a work of mine I hold dear to me. But alas, more and more people started to read this massive series, and before I knew it, the reason I continued to write this series was not only for me, but also for you, my readers. So thank you so much, because YOU guys are one of the reasons why I’ve been able to learn the things that I did from writing The Labyrinth. It saddens me that this is where it all ends, but I’d like to take this time to thank you all, those from the beginning, middle, and even future, for the endless support and I love you all so very much. Without further ado, here is the final chapter of The Labyrinth! // 01/29/16 ~ 08/01/17
“I can’t believe you’ve never been to a track meet before.”
“I’ve never had a reason to come to one,” you say, defending yourself against Wanda’s accusatory tone and disapproving gaze.
“That’s no excuse,” she responds with a click of her tongue. “Now hurry up, we need to secure a good spot.”
You follow her blindly, not knowing what qualifies as a ‘good spot’. Unlike Wanda who has spent years attending track meets with her brother, you’ve never been to one. Like you told her, you never had a reason to attend one. Not until today.