#weft behind

[charlemane]

Mixing materials for darn durability?

I like to darn wool socks with wool, but I understand that it's not the most hard-wearing material out there. Does anyone have any experience or information on whether its lifespan can be increased by weaving it in with other yarns?

To clarify, I don't mean using a blended yarn (I don't have any blended yarns), but like, using yarns of different materials together. When I first started darning wool socks, I used a cotton candlewick thread for the warp, then wool for the weft, but since then I've switched to doing wool both ways. But the socks I've darned haven't been back in circulation long enough for me to tell which method fares better in the long run.

Thinking I might use the next pair I darn as a matched study - one with cotton warp and one with wool - and that way, provided I don't lose either of them, I'll know that they're both getting the same amount of wear and tear. But that could (hopefully) take a while to pay off, so anyone who has advice now, please hit me up!

[freshstitches]

In my previous post, I talked about the stacked stitch technique and said the idea came from warp knit textiles. I promised to tell you more about these knits so here's some info.

The terms warp and weft come from weaving where they are used to describe vertical and horizontal threads respectively (image 2). As hand knitters, we don't generally use these words in relation to our craft, but they correspond to the 2 primary methods of knit fabric production. In hand knitting and on home machines, yarns travel back and forth across each row horizontally (image 3). This is also called weft knitting.

Warp knitting is a process where yarn travels vertically as the fabric is created (image 4). We, as hobbyists, rarely use this term because it is very tedious to do by hand requiring a knitting loom or a lot of patience. Each needle has its own spool of thread and the width of the fabric is essentially determined by the number of bobbins/spools used. Imagine intarsia, but each color is just one stitch wide. Each thread must constantly zigzag from needle to needle in order to create a sheet of fabric and not a series of disconnected crochet chains. This lateral movement is referred to as "shogging." Threads swing to the front of the needle (overlap) and move one unit to the side then swing behind each needle (underlap) and and move to the side one or more spaces.

Warp knits are known for being sturdier with less elasticity and than weft knits. They can be very dense like stranded colorwork or contain extremely large holes. They do not run or ladder, if a yarn breaks, the fabric will slowly unravel and only a small hole will form. 

As in weft knitting, many different textures and colorwork effects can be created using only a few, basic stitches. Tulle, athletic mesh, and flame stitch (image 1) textiles are all manufactured using warp knitting machines.

The cover photo belongs to the @vamuseum and shows a silk shawl from c.1850. I made the illustrations from scratch and I'm very proud of them, please share them so lots of people see them.

[alizalayne]

Hello! this will be a quick process post so that you can see how I needlefelted a fursuit head!

I began by following the "bucket head" tutorial by Matrices, then added a layer of polyfill so that I wouldn't use as much of my merino wool. This is how I typically make a doll head, my "core wool" is often polyfill because it really likes to clump together and fuse.

Overall, this project took about two months of my spare time. This is the first fursuit head I have made, but not my first needlefelt project.

I would really like to encourage other people to try making masks this way! You can do any kind of subtle color with wool and the wool fiber is very cheap. If you wanted to make a fursuit head with the entirety of starry night flowing over it, or a head with tons and tons of complex colors, I think wool might be the best material. I also did not need to know how to pattern or sew in order to make this-- it was sculpture rather than sewing, which I am bad at.

The rest under the cut!

Another angle where you can see that I am building up the structure of the head.

I then made the ears, which are translucent because they're felted, just like real ears!

I wasn't happy yet with the proportions at this point, so I spent a lot of time figuring that out and deciding where and how I'd be placing the eyes.

I made a pair of sculpey follow-me eyes by using a little soy sauce dish as a concave circular mold and tried a foam clay nose and teeth. The sculpey eyes could be more successful, they took a lot of shaving and adjusting to get right and they eventually cracked from the strain I'd put them through while making them more shallow. For a while, I intended to make wefts of white wool to use on the sides of the head, but I ended up preferring a domestic shorthair head shape because it reads the most clearly as a cat vs any other animal.

I originally intended to have the eyes behind clear plastic domes and used "shaker domes" that people use to make greeting cards to cover the eye, but in the end they made the eyes too dull. I made foam clay housing for the eyes and painted it pink with acrylic paint. I used stick-on car window tint to create the pupils. My visibility inside the head is really good!

Finally, after fiddling, one of the eyes was deeper than the other and I had to re-set both to account for it. I added spot glitter on top of the acrylic paint on the eye using some gold watercolor paint I had, which was silly because I'll need to wash the head at some point. I will probably seal the eyes before washing and hope for the best. I intend to spot clean the head until it absolutely needs to be washed, at which point I'll remove some pieces or find a way to protect them while soaking the head in a cool dr. bronner's bath.

I glued down a layer of felt fiber on top of the foam clay "tear ducts" and then felted new fiber over the tear duct skin and cheeks to blend them into the face. I also removed the teeth and closed her mouth because I didn't have time to adjust the teeth as much as I wanted before the con that my friends and I attended. I would like to modify this head so that she can open and close her mouth.

Lastly, I added wire whiskers with little glass beads looped onto the ends and paper eyelashes that I also watercolored and sealed, like the insides of the eyes. Like I said before, it's gonna be a problematic wash, but I'm confident I'll figure it out, and I can always repair her or replace her lashes if something goes wrong.

Last thing, to keep the inside of the head nice and cool and prevent fogging since in the end I closed the mouth and had sealed eyes, I made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece fitted into two collapsible auto funnels.

I would say that realistically this entire project cost me less than $150. I had some materials lying around, like the wire and the beads and the sculpey.

I added two ear vents on either side of the head so that I had options on where to feed the snorkel out. If you look at the other pictures on the blog of me wearing the head, you mostly can't even see the snorkel mouth. However, it was a little problematic to let go of the snorkel to talk. it would be perfect for a silent suiter, but I'm lucky that so many people wanted to talk to me. I'd like to try and replace the snorkel mouth with something I can talk in, but I'm not sure what to use. It should be something that can create a seal to keep my breath out of the head. it's possible that I will be able to make something with a painter's mask.

I hid the "seam" between the head and my body with two yards of tulle tied into a big bow and sewn down onto the neck so that it wouldn't move around.

I hope that if you try making something similar you'll show it to me!

[mdsherry]

My latest weaving exercise: a shadow weave pattern. Both warp and weft alternate between light and dark. By having, e.g. the light weft cover the dark warp (and then duck behind the light warp), or vice versa, we produce lines of light and dark.

This is probably the trickiest warp I've threaded so far, and accidentally transposed a pair of shafts on one side, which is why the bottom piece has a line near its top edge. I fixed that and decided to weave a variant pattern for the rest of the warp (the top piece).

The lift plan resembles a 4/4 twill interspersed with another 4/4 twill, offset by 4. Almost all of the complexity lies in the threading. The top piece is the same, but has sections where the twill doesn't advance, or advances two steps instead of one.

[silkscreaming]

I made a volume 10 trimax vash cosplay for MAGfest and I am SO proud of how it came out :) Some process stuff below! Warning for image and text heavy.

Truthfully this cos is only about 85% complete—I’d purchased a bunch of hardware to really go in on a volume accurate version of his undersuit and belts, but simply ran out of time before the con. It was the first cosplay I’ve sewn since 2017 and the first wig styling I’ve done since 2020, so I’m not gonna beat myself up too much!

(This is all purse hardware off Etsy and some buttons from M&J trim)

This was my first time ever making a muslin mock-up, but I knew it was going to be necessary to get the coat to lay the way I wanted it to. I really wanted to try and create proportions that elongated the legs/torso and widened the shoulders by placing the coat tail splits appropriately and raising up the shoulders with some padding. And of course arm and leg details that I’ll get to someday lol.

I created two mock-ups. One of basic muslin that helped me go from an existing pre-bought pattern to something more Vash-shaped, then a second one on a slightly sturdier scrap fabric with my finalized torso proportions with padding so I could accurately pattern out the sleeves and collar.

I was tracing my pattern pieces onto newsprint and vellum as I went, so once all of those were finalized, it was time to cut my fabric! I used a heavy cotton twill from B&J fabrics and two kinds of fusible interfacing from Mood (I’m spoiled by being local to the fashion district these days). A smarter person would have bought a thinner fabric to line the inner torso with, but I did not feel like getting that complicated with my first ever muslin-drafted AND lined project, so I simply cut double of every pattern piece in order to create a lining.

Sleeves were done by interfacing and cutting into a top panel, carefully snipping at the cutout portions, ironing and fabritacking in place, and then top stitching the whole piece to the main sleeve. I later added some leather backing squares and interfacing behind the larger eyelets for aesthetic while keeping the ventilation in tact. Ideally in the future I'll also add a strip of fabric to the gun arm that creates a slight bunching effect since that sleeve is a little more ruffled over the cuff. Photos below also include three shoulder pads pinned together on each shoulder, but I ended up forgetting not using them on my final wear.

Unfortunately at this point I was approaching con time, so I started cutting some corners that I made easily replaceable for future upgrades. The coat tabs are just painted craft foam cut to the size of the buttons, tacked in place where the button pierces through the tab and where it wraps around the edge of the front panel. The straps that attach to the lapel and wrap under the arms also were just decorated with some silver trim instead of hardware, and I skipped the side button panels at his hips for pattern-making simplicity and time. They'll be added later! I'd also love to do some weathering, but don't think I can quite bring myself to riddle the coat tails with bullet holes as some people do haha.

Gun arm attachment was also a quick and dirty addition, just some vinyl trim on eva foam attached with contact cement and a decorative button. First time working with contact cement somehow, but I look forward to also being able to upgrade this at a later date to a more accurate shape with the full belt attachments!

I was also hoping to update the shoes a bit by making some boot covers for them and rub-n-buffing the soles to disguise the platform a bit, but I love my pick for the cleat-look that Vash has! Some good ol' Demonias in classic vash fashion :)

Last but not least: The Wig. My pride and joy.

I got lucky enough to nab an Arda sale, I think right before Halloween, and picked up the Morpheus lace front in black, along with some extra wefts in pale blonde. (I also bought a whole separate pale blonde Morpheus wig, boldly thinking I could swing a normal trimax vash wig lol. It made for a convenient Eriks wig in the mean time.)

Since I was aiming for the end of volume 10 post-Wolfwood death look, I started by trying on the wig, roughly tracing out my hairline, then gently unweaving that portion of black in order to re-ventilate it with blonde.

After I replaced that whole strip of plucked hair, I tried on again to finalize where I needed to ventilate to cover my own hairline, and completed my outline with both blonde and brown-black wefts (i had them on hand lol). All in all, I ventilated more than 4 square inches of blonde, and at least a solid centimeter extension of the black hairline across the whole front of the wig. Probably close to 30 hours of work in the ventilating alone, but I am a little slow since I haven't ventilated in a few years and didn't keep clear track of time.

If there's one thing I should be used to by now about Arda wigs, they are THICK. There is zero teasing in this wig. None. Just got2b, a blowdryer, and a prayer. And a good load of bobby pins. The wig was also sadly a last minute hotel room mad dash, and I do hope to restyle it under less duress, but I do think I successfully achieved the Trimax swoop and am very proud of it! It was unbelievably windy on the walk from our hotel room to MAGfest, so the photos in the start of this post show a bit more droop than my initial styling, but I think I'll be able to touch things up next wear.

And of course, shoutout to my partner for gifting me the official glasses for Christmas :) And thank you to my roommates who barely saw me for a month and a half except for when I needed help with a hem lol.

All in all, I am unbelievably proud of this cosplay, I can't wait to put some more love into it and wear it again!

[silencedrowns]

hi I’m a very long time cosplayer (20+ years experience) who has chronic headache and migraine problems and this is a post about how to prevent your cosplay wigs from giving you painful headaches! Nobody likes wandering around the con in blinding pain and so hopefully this post will help you reduce the chances of this happening.

1. If your wig is way too tight, don’t use it. Get something with a bigger cap. tbh I often wear slightly too big wigs to reduce the pressure! Find out what brands and sellers sell wigs that are comfy on your head and prioritize buying wigs from them! I made a big master list of cosplay wig sellers a while back so here’s a few you might not have known about. Arda (and its Canadian and European sites) sells by far the biggest wigs, but I personally find Classe the most comfortable for my specific head. It’s all very YMMV and it’s totally possible for a wig to not actually be too small but fit your head in an uncomfortable way (Blue Beard on taobao does this to me every time), so just don’t buy from suppliers that do that. Also consider resizing wigs to be larger! For wig clients with extra large heads I like to nip the edge of the wig right behind the ear where your ear and hair from above will cover it and add in a little godet of elastic.

2. Reduce weight! A heavy wig will make head pain much more likely, so here’s a few tips on wig weight reduction!

A) if your wig doesn’t need a ton of volume and is already very dense, rip out some wefts in the bottom half. Anything on the part of your head from the ridge where your head starts going in towards your neck won’t really show unless your wig is very short and it’ll obviously reduce weight instantly! You can replace any missing volume with light crimping or light heat and tease, or leave the wig as is for a natural and silky look without the unnatural volume of a cosplay wig.

B) if you need more volume in your wig, instead of going straight to adding wefts for more volume, see first if combining crimping with heat and tease at the roots will give you the extra volume you need! Crimping or heat and tease adds volume and if you straight up destroy the fiber in the first two inches from the scalp by doing both repeatedly, it’ll add huge volume without you needing to add extra hair! When I do this I like to heat the fiber near the roots, tease it, let it cool, crimp the teased part, let THAT cool, and then brush it out. You can flat out double the perceived volume in the back of the wig this way!

C) if your character has a high ponytail or high pigtails, consider using clip on ponytails that you can easily remove if you need the weight off your head right the fuck now. here’s two tutorials I swear by for making a short wig + clip on combination look more natural! They’re in Japanese but easily comprehensible if you use machine translation thanks to the clear photography. They also help with spreading out the weight on the wig itself, and if your hair is long enough, using a clip on with a fishnet wig cap and clipping through the wig and into your real hair will also he lp make it more secure and distribute weight more evenly.

if your character has high pigtails

if your character has a high ponytail

D) when you need extra wefts, opt for sewing in wefts rather than gluing whenever possible. Glue doesn’t seem heavy but enough of it can make a wig get real heavy REAL fast.

E) redirecting the weight to your entire head and not just the front hairline will feel lighter and give you less forehead tension, which is one of the biggest causes of wig headache. Toupee clips sewn evenly around the edges and a Wig Fix https://therenatural.com (the name brand one, the knockoffs genuinely don’t work half as well) can help with doing this. A Wig Fix will also let you use fewer pins to keep your wig on, which is another cause of wig headache. Can’t suggest trying those enough. There are also some velvet wig grips out there but I find those don’t work quite as well, but they’re by far better than nothing.

3) make sure your wig is easy to remove. A lot of characters have horns or veils or other head things on top of the wig so make sure those can easily come off if you need a wig break! I’m a big proponent of using wig glue or double stick tape to glue strands (face framing layers etc) to your face for a more natural and more flattering look, but if you get headaches from wigs, keep that glue or tape in your bag so if you have to de-wig for a bit, you can get it back on!

4) take the ibuprofen or whatever BEFORE you put the wig on, and not when your wig is already making your head miserable! It’s like taking the ibuprofen before you wear the horrible shoes for a special event; it’s more effective in advance.

5) what are your normal headache triggers? Make sure you’re doing the work to EXTRA avoid them before wearing a cosplay wig. Stay hydrated. Keep up with your electrolytes. If you have any food triggers, make sure you’re managing them properly.

6) try multiple types of wig cap before deciding which ones to use! I’m a big fan of the fishnet kind because I’m in agony every time I try to use the stocking kind. Some people find relief in doing pin curls under their cap, and @/battleangelgif on twitter suggested doing this with damp hair the night before you wear the wig. There are tons of methods! Stretching out fishnet caps can be done more effectively when they’re slightly damp and that’ll make them pinch less. Experiment with what you like best to keep your irl hair in place and once you find a method you like, go for it! Make that your go-to!

7) always remember: wearing a short wig is less miserable than wearing a wig to your ankles. consider very carefully whether or not you can actually handle that wig that’s as long as you are tall. sometimes you just can’t and that’s okay! reduce the length of any super long haired character to hip length and it’ll be FINE. I swear. It’ll still read as super long and it won’t be as terrible.

8) always remember you can just. take the entire wig and cosplay off if you’re in agony. it’s not worth it. don’t do that to yourself. If the migraine hits anyway, just take it off.

Hope some of this might help you out! Focusing on reducing and redistributing weight is what helps me out the most 😌 feel free to reply or reblog or message with questions and I’ll try and get back to you ASAP!

[nqueso-emergency]

The photo of Aisha, Oliver and Ryan shared on Instagram is great, they look happy, I love it. I am also so entertained by the way they're posed for it— Oliver and Ryan are barely touching and you can see the gap between their bodies (but still looking casual and friendly) (because they're friends!). If anyone wants to use the photo to further prove the "ryliver agenda" (or buddie), are they going to also address the way Aisha is tucked under Oliver's arm? The way her whole body is cuddled up to his? His hand on her shoulder? Of course not lmao (I also like how this makes it harder to crop her out of the picture 🤭) No one in the comments is declaring aishiver or olisha 😭😭

It's a nice photo of coworkers that are friends and I see what they are doing and I love it, I bet everyone's having a good laugh about it huh

The funny thing is, that was just supposed to be a picture of Aisha and Oliver since they're both in turnouts. But since Ryan was sitting right there, you can see their chairs behind them, the person behind the lens told Ryan to jump in too.

Probably didn't want people saying that Ryan "looks so sad" or that he's "super focused on that feelings realization" 🤣🙄

Our bestie boos can't stand having their widdle kitty gum drop weft out.

[five-rivers]

Two Times Two

Inspired by this post by @schnuffel-danny

.

Reality often had a kind of symmetry about it.  What happened once could happen again, and the things that happened could be undone, for the most part, time’s arrow excepted.  Mostly excepted.  Clockwork existed.  

Point was, Danny should have seen this coming.  It was just that, even when one of Danny’s parents’ inventions worked on him, he usually didn’t think about them being used on Vlad.  Not unless Vlad was there, like with the Specter Deflector.  There were lines and limits and things.  Not that Vlad seemed to know that

So, he didn’t see this coming.  

Didn’t see himself happening on Vlad stealing some blueprints when he went down to empty the thermos.  Didn’t see a fight starting that rolled into the storage area.  Didn’t see his parents fixing the Ghost Catcher after he’d broken it the last time.  Didn’t see them ramming into one of the shelves and Vlad grabbing Danny in a death grip.  Didn’t see the stupid thing falling out and–

Danny had experienced this before.  This unbecoming.  This split.  This unweaving of warp and weft.  But in a future that hadn’t happened, he’d also heard about another split.  One that had left him… wrong.  Broken.  Evil.  Especially with the addition of Plasmius.  

He clung with all his might.  But clinging couldn’t change how things worked, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the tile floor, staring at himself.  He looked shocked.  He felt shocked.  

“You–”

Danny rolled over and scrambled out of the way.  Vlad would be split, too, and he–

He–

What?

Danny didn’t know what he was seeing.  

No, he did know what he was seeing.  He was seeing Vlad.  He was seeing two of Vlad.  Fighting with each other.  

No, that was a too generous description of what was going on.  One Vlad was getting the absolute crap kicked out of him by the other Vlad.  But not the Vlad he would have expected.  Human Vlad was kicking the crap out of ghost Vlad.  He–  This was going to get complicated.  Masters was beating up Plasmius.  

What?  Why?  Should he help?  He wanted to help, but Vlad had been beating him up moments before, and he had no idea which side to help on.  

Danny didn't always get along with his- With his-

Danny looked back at himself.  The other himself.  Fenton.  

Danny, this Danny, was Phantom right now.  Phantom was the one who had gone crazy and killed everyone in the other timeline, but he didn't feel crazy right now.  But what if it happened slow?  What if–

Human Danny - Fenton - tugged the Ghost Catcher out from beneath the Vlads with an exclamation of triumph.  He swept the 'merge' side down towards Masters and Plasmius, but Masters caught it.  The force of the strike pushed him backwards into the shelves, and he reached behind him to grab a random weapon.  He fired twice, the first shot going wide in one direction and the second curving the other way sharply, hitting the Ghost Catcher halfway down its shaft.  

The Ghost Catcher shattered, the frame snapping and the tensioned string doing the rest of the work, pulling itself to pieces.  

Masters took aim at Plasmius, and Phantom finally drove himself to action, leaping at Masters and phasing them both through the corner of the wall, back out into the main lab.  

“Get him out of here!” shouted Fenton, who was also grabbing weaponry from the walls.  

“R-right!” said Phantom, phasing the weapon out of Plasmius’s grip and then going up, all the way through the house and out into the street.  

Masters, of course, struggled.  Phantom dropped him at the first opportunity.  

“Blasted ghost!” He started for the door, and Phantom, naturally, blocked him.  “Get out of my way!”

“I’m trying to help you!” said Phantom.  “You’re going to get hurt if you keep doing that.”  Well, from a certain perspective he was already hurt.  That was him down there.  But from a more… from a…  Phantom didn’t know what perspective he was looking at currently, but…  “You’re going to get hurt, fighting a ghost like that.  Ghosts can– They can–”

Ghosts could kill people.  

Vlad sneered.  “And you left your counterpart down there all alone with that ghost?  Not very heroic of you, is it?”

He had, but Fenton had told him to go.  He didn’t want Phantom in the same room as Plasmius, either.  He didn’t trust him.  

“You can’t–”

“Stop standing between me and the thing that ruined my life, and I’ll show you just what I can do!”

Phantom was glad it was so late.  No one was out to see this, and no one was likely to come out.  Everyone on this street was used to weird noises at Fentonworks at all hours.  And his parents wore earplugs to bed.  

“I just–”

“You’re just going to get out of my way, or you’ll see what I can really do to you without that pathetic thing holding me back!”

Phantom had dropped almost to the ground, the better to intercept Masters if he made another try for the door.  Now, his toes scraped along the ground.  

“Thing?” he repeated.  “But… that’s you.  Vlad, you love your powers.”

“It’s not me!  And those powers were hardly compensation for what I’ve had to go through.  I could have had everything sooner, I could have had everything, if it weren’t for all those years it cost me!  It’s not me,” said Vlad, a horrible smile pulling across his face, “not any more than you’re Danny Fenton.”

Phantom’s head whipped around, checking for anyone who might be listening, a reflex he couldn’t suppress.  “You can’t say stuff like that in public, there could be people listening!”

“You’re a parasite, and if we’re both lucky, he’s down there looking for a way to get rid of both of you before you destroy our lives any more than you already have!”

No, Fenton wouldn’t do that.  They knew they needed each other, and Danny wanted to help people.  But… was that Danny or was that Phantom?  

Usually there wasn’t any difference.  Usually Phantom wasn’t floating in the street while Fenton was in the basement below, doing who knew what.  

.

Fenton pulled an ectogun from the shelf and had it trained on Plasmius before Phantom had even phased completely through the ceiling.  Plasmius, however, didn’t move.  He stayed on the ground, his hands over his head, his cape bunched up weirdly over his body.  

The thought crossed Fenton’s mind that he could solve a lot of problems right now.  He didn’t even have to do anything bad.  He just had to suck Plasmius into the nearest Fenton Thermos and dump him somewhere that Masters wouldn’t be able to get to.  Simple.  Easy.  Especially if Phantom helped.  

He allowed himself the fantasy for a split second.  No more superpowered billionaire trying to murder his father and force him into being his evil apprentice.  No more looking over his shoulder for the other half ghost.  No more having to listen to him being a creep around Mom, because he could just kick him out.  

But…  

His hands shook.  He knew what it felt like without Phantom.  That fraction of a second where he thought that Phantom might not listen to him…

What must it feel like to have your literal other half attack you?  Even thinking back to future Vlad’s vague description of what had happened in that timeline had made Danny nauseous.  Although, the copious amounts of murder and destruction might have had a role in that as well.  

“Plasmius?” he said, cautiously.  “You okay?”

Plasmius made a sort of sobbing sound.  “No,” he said.  

His voice was… different than Danny was used to.  He lowered the gun.  “Do you need help or something?”

Very slowly, Plasmius sat up.  He was a lot different than Danny was used to.  For one, he was younger.  Age-wise, he looked almost like he had when Danny had gone to the past.  His ‘cape’ was actually a blanket.  The rest of his clothes had been replaced by medical scrubs.  He was thinner.  A lot thinner.  Almost emaciated.  His face and neck were covered in oozing ecto-acne pustules.  

Danny, startled, flinched back.  

Plasmius’s face crumpled and he started to cry.  “E-everyone hates me!” he wailed.  

“That’s not true,” lied Fenton.  He was pretty sure it was true.  “You’ve got–”  What did Vlad have, actually?  “You have fans or something, right?”

“No one came to see me in the hos– in the hospital.  And you’re pointing a gun at me, and I don’t–!”  Plasmius continued wailing.  

This was actually pretty pathetic.  

“Hey,” said Fenton, “quit it.  You’re supposed to be an adult, aren’t you?”

“Everyone knows college students aren’t real adults!”

Well, someone had better tell Jazz that.  “Yes, they are,” said Danny, incredulous.  “Look, I know you just got kicked a bunch, but that was by human Vlad, wasn’t it?  You’re a ghost.”

Vlad wailed harder.  

“Oh my gosh!  It isn’t like this is a new development!”  Danny wondered if he should soup Plasmius anyway.  “Just– Pull yourself together until we can figure out how to pull ourselves together.”

Plasmius stilled.  “No,” he said.  

“What do you mean ‘no?’” asked Danny.  “You’re a wreck.”

“No, I’m not going back to him.  He’s awful.”

“He’s you.”

“He’s not.  I would never try to do the things he’s done!  I–”  Plasmius rubbed his eyes.  “I miss my friends!  He wants us to be so lonely.”

Fenton might not even be half ghost at the moment, but even so he could identify the resonance of a ghost talking about part of their Obsession.  

Heck.  

“I won’t do it again.  I won’t.  I won’t.”  His hands moved over his face, nails scraping.  “I want my friends– I want my–  Don’t want–  No.”

“Uh, Vlad?” said Danny, backing away.  “Why don’t you calm down for a bit?”

Things started to lift from the table.  The lights flickered.  Fenton lunged for the thermos just in time for the lights to go out completely.  

.

Phantom looked back as the door opened, and had to get between it and Vlad again.  

“Oi!” shouted Fenton, jumping down the steps.  “Fruitloop!”

Vlad’s whole face twitched into something like rage.  “Daniel.”

Phantom saw Fenton pause, clearly taken aback.  He held the thermos closer to his chest.  “Listen,” said Fenton, “we’ve got to come up with a way to fix this.”

“Yes,” said Masters, folding his hands behind his back as if he hadn’t just been ready to tear Danny’s eyes out.  “Your parents have, however, furnished us with the equipment to do it.  I believe I saw plans for a ghost incinerator–”

“Okay, first off, those don’t work, and secondly, what is wrong with you?”  He shook the thermos at Vlad.  “This is you.”

“It is not.  It’s a piece of ectoplasmic residue that has made my life a hell of indecision and paranoia since your imbecile of a father disfigured me.  Something he did to you as well.”

“Vlad,” said Fenton, “what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about ghosts and their Obsessions.  That pest has had me thinking in circles since it first infested me, and if you have even an eighth of Maddie’s intelligence, you’ll realize that this thing is doing the same to you.  It’s only because of my superior willpower that I’ve been able to resist it.”

“W-wait,” said Phantom, drifting sideways to float by Fenton.  “Are you- You’re saying that you’ve been suppressing your Obsession?”

“‘Suppressing my Obsession,’” mocked Masters.  “Do you even hear yourselves?  It isn’t real, even for full ghosts.  It’s nothing.  An illusion.”

“Wow,” said Fenton.  “You’re even more fruitloopy than usual.  You do know that if you stay this way for too long, you start dying, right?  You are literally only half a person right now.”

“You have no way to know that.”

“I mean, I– we kind of felt it, when we did this before.  It sucked.  Tell him it sucked, Phantom.”

“It sucked,” confirmed Phantom.  “W-we should work together, because this affects both of– All of us, and, um…”

Masters clenched his fists, then smirked.  “You want to work together because you have no way to fix it.”  He turned his gaze to Fenton.  “You’ll come to me begging me to fix your real problem soon enough.”  He started to walk away.  “You know where to find me when you finally see sense!”

“I am trying to solve the real problem!” shouted Fenton after him.  “You jerk!”

Vlad didn’t respond, turning the corner to go down the other street.

“Uh- uhm,” said Phantom.  “You don’t– You don’t think–”

“We need to find a way to get Mom and Dad to fix the Ghost Catcher.  Pronto.”

Phantom’s shoulders slumped.  “Oh.  Yeah.  Yes, that’s good.”

[interludered]

Beginning of The End

Alpha!Vampire Satoru x Alpha!Vampire Suguru

t/w minor character death, gore, descriptions of violence, arranged marriage, murder

word count: 1.9k

a/n an rp reply from an arranged marriage au of stsg. please excuse any mistakes, this is sorta of a heavy read.

The scent that permeates through the air would often make someone sick to their stomach, threatening violent fits of nausea and often begging for forgiveness in the form of vomit making its way past teeth, tongue, and lips. The aroma of burning flesh and hair. The human body has an undeniable scent, one so specific that anyone could pick it from that of another mammal. 

The lack of remorse in Suguru’s face as he wraps the silver chain around his father's neck and tugs is nothing short of alarming. The way the silver burns deeply into his palms poses no deference from the act, only determination to finish the job. 

The Totalitarian Prince was despotic in nature. Raised to be apposite, eliminating those who disturbed the desire. Family was nothing when it came to power, and besides, this is what his Father would have wanted. He’s sure that his seat in Hell is warm and inviting when he sits on it.

He isn’t sure exactly where it started, the power-crazed methodology he began to pursue, perhaps it was born into the bloodline. A destiny for those before him, each one failing. Maybe it was the private tutor lessons that taught him about royalty and kingdoms, or perhaps the declarations of war that landed on his Father’s throne throughout the years, all left for an impressionable Suguru to find. Maybe it was the dueling and consistent burns left by teachers, silver scorching his skin with each slice. The threats of vampire hunters are consistent in their assassination attempts. Maybe it was the night of meaningless sex just for him to have a blade go through his stomach in the middle of the night. Maybe, the burden of the Kingdom; of untrustworthy suitors and courting; of strict rules implemented by his Father; of harsh conditioning to claiming to prepare him; of sitting on the throne next to his Father his whole life; perhaps watching his mother die, forced to live out her human life and leaving him behind. It would also be feasible to assume the bittersweet taste of freedom that power guaranteed him. 

Conceivably, he finds himself walking quietly from one side of the castle to the other. The silver chain he holds, wrapped in thick wefts of silk, lays heavily in his hand as he begins. He knows his Father is sleeping, and hears his snores that echo loudly down the hall despite the double doors that lock him away. He makes no attempt to be quiet, the squeal the doors release echoes loudly down the hall into his own corridors to haunt him. A scar is required for untouchability. He remains deadpanned as he wraps the silver around his bare hands, the immediate sear of his skin creating a scent he had grown accustomed to. He kicks the door behind him shut.

It was barely a few seconds before he eagerly wrapped the chain around his neck, crossed neatly at the nape. His foot bore its weight between the shoulder blades of the struggling form beneath him. The screams deafen the walls, only for them to come to a halt as he jerks upwards, chain slipping to knot around the pieces of the spine that protrude from the decapitated figure below him. Cerise, a viscous liquid paints his skin as arteries protest their inevitable exposure. He watches it seep and glue itself to the carpet, hardwood, and cement surrounding him. Suguru wonders how long it will take for the maids to wash out stains, or if burning them would be a better solution. 

The Getou Prince takes his foot off the back of the man, wrapping the dripping chain back inside its silken case—his own hands holding the evidence and branded wounds, laid deep into his palms where he wrapped the weapon around. 

He flexed his hands to regain mobility before pursuing the door, opening it to find a terrified maid threatening to knock on hollow doors. She freezes with her hand in mid-air, chest level with the towering vampire. Getou stares blankly at her for a moment before bringing her hand to his lips to press a kiss against her knuckles, charing her skin with blood that isn’t his. Her scent was sickly sweet, the vulnerability of an Omega human, it nulled all senses he had as he leaned into her ear to whisper an eulogy of “Thank you,” before pressing fevered kisses onto her jaw and onto her jugular and sinking large canines into it. Her screams turned into wet gargling, falling silent as he drained her of all she had to offer. Her body hit the ground with a THUMP, what little was left emanated from her throat. He steps over the body of the young girl, letting the trickle of blood run along his sharp jaw to slip down his own throat. A mocking form of sinister ministry. His own ichor leaks where her nails broke the skin, but they heal within minutes. 

By the time he made it to his own courter, locking himself behind heavy wooden doors, weeping and screams became his lullaby as he drifted to sleep.

✧

Suguru Getou held the record for most kills within the Kingdom during his first 3 days of ruling. He also held the title of “Most Wanted” by more than one clan of vampire killers. In his opinion, he should get a trophy. It was an honor to hold the title, often viewing them as pesky gnats he shooed away with his hand. Though in his first few days of ruling, he found letters his Father kept from him, between him and a neighboring rule. Gojo read proudly at the top of the page, larger than any of the other words. His eyes widen as he looks over the page. From what he remembered, their families were rivals at best. So imagine his surprise when he receives an invitation, as well as a marriage proposal. The Gojo clan was one—if not the strongest around, their territory abundant. Getou decided he had a few weeks of homework which he promptly started on.

Within the next few weeks, he informed the King of the Gojo Clan that his father had tragically been assassinated by one of the vampire killer groups. He also informed them the rising number of deaths in his Kingdom were groups associated with the killers and he was doing so to seek revenge in the name of the late King. He expressed his own mourning and great appreciation that he sees Suguru as a fit for his son. Quickly dismissing that Alpha, although looked down upon, can be mated together and he could ensure that his son was in great hands and the opportunity was something he was forever in debt to. It also helped that Suguru was willing to end the line of Getou’s in order to take the Gojo name. For now, at least. 

Which brings him to now, carefully seated in a dark oak chair, opposing the Gojo King, swooning him easily with words he spoke so delicately into the air. His rich indigo hair was tied half-up with pieces falling to frame his face. The blood-red of his clothes complimented his fair complexion and radiated amber eyes. He had been there for around an hour before hushed whispers of the prince began to circulate. Until then, he continued his chatter. 

“Why, my Lord, you have such a beautiful Kingdom. I hope in my own ruling I become as benevolent as you. Though, you as my guide I am sure to get there in no time.”

“Yes, your Majesty, I had an exquisite ride over. They truly are well-behaved, your imprint must’ve left them in good condition. You must pick your men with such a well-crafted hand.”

“Indeed, Sire, my father's death was tragic. The silver that wretched Killer used burned deep into my palms, cauterized them, and left me with scars. I am sure they will go away with time. Unfortunately, I was just too late. My own servants and maids were terrified. I simply cannot blame them.”

His last reply was accompanied by a furrowed brow and a shake of his head, faux concern etched into his features as he sighed, finally looking back up. As he does, his eyes catch on the bright-haired male who enters the room, his own gaze fixed upon him with deadly aim. Even as the King continues his jabber, Suguru can’t help the small smirk that appears on his face. He is hiding it with the glass he brings to his lips. When the King does recognize that his son appeared, he boasts proudly. The act of defiance he has to his father ignites something within Suguru. 

‘Oh,’ he thinks, setting his glass back on the table, relaxing further into his seat and crossing his legs. ‘This one has some bite.’

When Satoru first approaches him, Suguru makes no effort to indulge him. His descent was aggressive in nature, but Suguru has always enjoyed the rush of a challenge. After Satoru’s first words to him, he continues to ignore the presence he attempts to hold. Getou found it tedious and childish if anything, and the last thing he wanted was to make a scene in front of the one that actually mattered in this deal. 

After a few beats of silence, and twirling his ankle from the leg that rests on the other, he finally looks at him. Though far away, his looks were enthralling, he can’t deny that Satoru is considerably more handsome as he stalks closer. He holds some type of gravity that captivates even the strongest of minds with crystal-clear oceanic eyes and a piercing gaze. His own warmth is a direct contrast to the Alpha that looms over him. Satoru is alluring in the sense of beauty and mystery, a perfectly kept secret that not even the best could be tortured out of telling. 

The only problem is his mouth.

“Well, I would agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.” His voice is deepened slightly at the presence of the other Alpha, to be expected. Though his words come out lazily, if not amused by the other’s actions. If anything, Suguru sinks further into the chair, filling it out in his own defiance. “There are 24 other chairs at this table, surely you would be able to sit in one of those just as properly as this one. If you want to sit positioned at the head of the table…well, that can be arranged with a proper show of manners.” 

His own words are picked out with his own careful deciphering, followed by the raise of an eyebrow. To rub salt in the wound he hopes to filet Satoru with, Suguru adds: “Besides, I’m rather comfortable.” He displays with a spread of his legs, and a release of his scent. 

An initial smokey caramel fragrance makes its way through the air, seeping out of his skin. Part of it was to mark the chair, but the biggest part was to gauge Satoru’s reaction. Although humanoid in form, alpha’s animalistic nature could not be denied. It was buried underneath layers of concrete for some, only to rip apart and explode suppressed anger, and for others, they had learned to embrace it, understand it, and value both its pros and cons. As his scent fades, it leaves behind the smell of burning wood and something faintly herbal. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see a few Omega’s wipe their heads around to look at the source.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Idk if we're already full on the road of forgiveness from arranged reader or not, feel free to ignore if so, but I would love to see more Bruce's struggles because of the way he treated his wife and distrust from reader. Maybe even involving reader being weirded out by seeing him as batman now. Whatever you'd feel like writing, I just need that angst injected straight into my veins

Still not eating. Still not sleeping well. You don't seek him out, but you don't ignore him.

He doesn't know what to do.

And he can't even probe you as Batman to find out what's going on behind your carefully crafted face.

New clothes and new hair. Sure. It made sense. It tracked. You needed a change. You wanted control. Any control.

You stay above it all. Calmly taking the reins of party planning and over seeing events- something Alfred was happy about at least. But as he walked down the hall, the one Alfred had decided to hang your paintings on, he still couldn't make sense of it.

The personal mythology.

What it all meant. What you were trying to say.

Finches. Figures. Liberties taken with proportion and anatomy. Faint checkerboards made with the contrast of light and dark. Hidden over and over again. Sometimes made in the patterns of vines. Sometimes cast on the floor by stained glass. Weaving. Warp and weft was another design. Gold is obscured by grime. Book pages numbered out of order. Your surreal and Rococo elements only got more dizzying the longer he tried to piece it together. The cluttered images. The pastoral scenes all made for good hiding places. There was always one more detail. Always one more piece.

"She's very talented," Alfred observed.

"She's had a lot of practice, I imagine."

"That's one silver lining I suppose." Alfred looked up at the painting Bruce was frowning at and exhaled slowly. "It's always something about the eyes. And the clouds- like a storm is about to start."

"Hn."

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 3: onwards & downwards.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: alone, you take some twists and turns that lead you deeper into the belly of the Labyrinth. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, some violence, some mild injuries, world building!!, strong language, faerie lore!!, some light groping by Helping Hands but nothing explicit, cameo by knight!hoseok and knight!seokjin! word count: 4.8k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

The old dusty, cobblestone path shifted the longer she trekked through the Labyrinth. From something aged and grey to a more tan, refined structure of brink. No longer was she watching for raised bricks that she could stumble over and cobwebs of grand spider-silk wefts she could tumble into. It was far more maintained with its tall walls of oak-brown stones. The watch towers soon were exchanged for simple decorative sphere balls; some hollowed structures to have a flame flickering within.   

There were still rock and rubble, hugging the corners of the path, but, for the majority, it felt like she had entered a different portion of the Labyrinth. It felt like progress. And that made her giddy. She felt a tumble of adrenaline in her stomach, something urging her forward as she continued to turn and weave throughout the endless Labyrinth.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when she peered up onto her tip-toes to look over the walls as best as she could, she saw she was long gone from the beginning of the Labyrinth with the curly-haired fae, Soobin, and Yeonjun.

All by herself.

Looking for signs of the castle, she had to turn completely around to find its looming shadow. The rolling Labyrinth ahead made it look higher than where she was, if possible. How did it end up behind her? How did it seem to loom as if she was in a deep valley and it on a hillside? That hadn’t been the case outside the Labyrinth. Despite that oddity, the Runner smiled and headed on her way towards the castle.

She can do this. She was on a roll.

Twisting through the pathways was easy. One foot in front of another. There were no signs of other folk, not like before. In fact, some areas of the Labyrinth looked surprisingly well tended. There were ivy covering some of the walls, but it was not brittle and dying like outside the Labyrinth. It was thriving as it crept towards the artificial light of the high-floating candles. Some brittle branches were dead, but it seemed the further into the Labyrinth the more life flourished.

There were the large obelisks at the center of some of the pathways. These were much taller than the ones outside of the Labyrinth, and they weren’t cracking or crumbled. They stood tall with elaborate carvings on each of its faces now.

The Runner paused at each one, hoping they could help her. Maybe they held a story or hints to where she was. Each one as elaborate as the last. Some portrayed the tale of baby-snatching goblins; others illustrated mushroom faerie rings and their powers. There were some carvings of a young girl who was gilded in gold and a man painted in white robes.

As she crept along, she saw a face that looked like the Goblin King’s but younger with an inscription below in that unfamiliar language. He was painted with a gold halo – almost angelical.

It was interesting. She wondered if these were like painted glass windows of churches, retelling lore of the Underground or if they were simply décor. Old myths or moments of the past that were mute as dust. After all, they were stuck here in the Labyrinth.

They didn’t help – she knew that. None really felt like they could point her left or right or that way or this way. So, she continued onwards.

Her eyes took in the landmarks – a trail of ivy, the obelisk with faerie magic rings, a twisted branch with sparkling dewdrops.

Down this path, and then the next. Is this the way or that the way? No, no… she had seen that branch before. Pausing, her lips formed a straight line, and her brow furrowed.

“You’ve gone in circles thrice, Y/N,” a voice taunted and jested in her ear, the brush of phantom lips against her skin eerily familiar.

Her hair rustled in the wind with the sound. It made her stomach dance as she realized it was his voice. Gooseflesh raised on her arms as she turned her head towards the voice. Only to be greeted with nothing.

His laughter shook her; it felt like it shook the rock walls of the Labyrinth even. She heard a scattering of a raven’s caw as a bird-like creature flew away from its perch atop a sphere rock atop the walls.

“Only 10 more hours, my Runner,” he hummed again.

 It felt like he was beside her, murmuring the soft words into her hair. It sent chills down her spine as the cool air of his breath tickled her ear. She did shiver when she felt a phantom chill on the apple of her cheek – like a kiss from a ghost. It was icy cold, taunting, and most of all unnerving. She jumped away before walking off quickly, in a direction she wasn’t quite certain of.

There was no laughter, and she didn’t know if he was still there. Or was he everywhere? It made her feel like someone was watching her. Leering at her. Her footsteps were quicker now as she walked down another path until… she saw the same tree branch again.

“Dammit,” she bit out through her teeth.

She has been going in circles.

How could she keep track of where she was going?

Looking about, she saw there was pile of rubble. Picking up a rock, she tested it against the fine stone of the floor. The flat tiles were more organized and leveled than the cobblestone of the earlier pathways. Gritting her teeth, she hoped this worked as she dragged down the rock against the tile. An unpleasant scratching noise occurred but there was what she wanted. A line carved into the soft tile.

It was her way to keep track of where she’s been – her string of thread within the Labyrinth.

Adding an arrow pointing towards her next choice – turning left - she felt triumphant.

Her smile was cunning, almost a mimicry of the King’s. She rose to her feet, energized as she began her trek.

She wasn’t so dumb.

Every so often, she’d pause and kneel to scratch her path onwards onto the ground.

-

The Goblin King chuckled as he waved a glass bauble aside, a projection of the Runner within its shimmering surface. As he let it go, it floated off into oblivion, devoid of magic and becoming nothing but a regular soap-like bubble rather than a portal to view and affect his kingdom.

Sighing out, impatience clung to his bones as he slung a leg over his throne’s arm rest. The throne was a worn thing, not something of greatness. It wasn’t painted in jewels or gold or ever blooming flowers. It was a simple circular throne, large, with a comfortable cushion of dark velvet. It was elevated above the main floor of the room, forever placing the King above his subjects. The arm rest and backrest were one singular curving bone that had many crushed night-sky drapes tied to it. If anything, it looked like a crescent moon dragging along the night sky.

He was comfortable here, but impatient and, frankly, annoyed by the chatter about. His gaze rose to rest on the grand clock, currently hovering above the doorway of his throne room.

If you could call it a throne room. . . In true Goblin fashion, the entire place has become more and more decrepit over the years. Not in the sense it was falling apart like parts of the Labyrinth. It just was messy. A mish-mash of different eras of goblin elite lived in this space forevermore.

Old memories of his father’s court lingered by way of reckless Changeling-Goblins who had little respect for much, causing chaos or drinking honeyed mead ‘til they drowned in it. Even older remnants of the previous Goblin Kings remained with old shrines to fae folk long passed decorating the walls in grand sculptures. The décor wasn’t to Hyunjin’s liking.

The large throne room was in the highest tower of the castle. With mostly open space, the circular interior had dark greys rockwork building it up. Platforms for goblins and goblettes of all shapes and sizes were perched in the tower’s rafters. Creatures from Aboveground, stolen or sacrificed, hobbled about, crowing or hissing. Sometimes there was a puff of magic and a goblin would mimic a chicken or snake to the amusement of his onlookers.

Fae folk of the higher court – with their humanistic glamour and aged visuals - were gossiping about in the alcoves, donning old lace and leathered finery of Court standards long passed. It was never quiet in his throne room. It had become less of his throne-room and more of a gathering space for the court.

Which he despised.

Hyunjin didn’t like gatherings of drunkard goblins and fae-folk. He hadn’t in sometime since he’s taken the throne. In his younger years as Prince, he adored the Court life. Preened on his soon-to-be-subjects’ attention. Before he realized, like a child with toys he outgrew, he didn’t want something simple any longer.

He liked challenges. And the Challenge of the Labyrinth was the truest challenge there was in the Underground. It wasn’t often someone wished themselves away – it used to be village children wished away by towns, babes by their frustrated mothers, forgotten sacrifices to deities unknown, or woeful wanderers in the woods who would be taken by passing through faerie rings.

The wisher – or the taken - would take up the Challenge in exchange for the return of what they so desired – the babe they wished away foolhardily or their ability to return to the mortal realm. Or they’d stay and once 24 hours of time Underground passed, their humanity was the King’s. 

His father oversaw these Challenges and, now, so did Hyunjin.

Y/N wasn’t his first Runner through the Labyrinth; most didn’t make it far and none have won against him. He treated his Labyrinth like a game board. It was a game he had studied since adolescence. He knew the rules inside and out, and he liked to win.

Despite this, he can’t recall whom the previous Runners were anymore. Trophies gather dust in his kingdom – sometimes their visages blend together. One had a dimpled smile and blonde hair; another a crooked snaggletooth and soft eyes… or was it reversed? They all failed in their runs and, therefore, were changed. Wishes and deals were magic, and magic was steadfast and always. Nothing can stop it – not even the King.

Their human blood turned to goblin. And goblin-blood took more than it gave; changelings were proof of that. They lose their humanity and something else. Sometimes it’s their talent, or their wits, or their will, or themselves entirely. Some maintained their human-touch, and some shriveled into the very winged, yellow eyed creatures they were trying to conquer. A shadow of themselves and utterly lost.

Hyunjin had at first tried to take care of his Changelings – his father had before him, before he lost everything he had – but it was frustratingly boring. Some whined; some lost their minds. Most were sent off into the castle or the city. Some wandered off. Hyunjin let them most times. After all, he had gotten what he had wanted. Like a spoilt kingling.

There were few Challenges in this day and age. Most of his Changelings were eras old by now.

Hyunjin remembered how his father was overlooking a Challenge every other 13 hours it felt. The older man smiling fondly at the goblins about him. Tending to his changelings with the fondness of a father. He knew their names – given and chosen.

Hyunjin could count those he knew the chosen name of on one hand.

Given names were a different story. Given names were something one kept close to their chest. Hyunjin loved to know given names. He loved having the upper-hand.

Which of course is why his throne room was a circus to the court.

He loved knowing things that happen in his land and what better way to learn that by listening. Listen and give those food and mead and other pleasantries. His goblin-blooded folk were simple. The room a cacophony of noise as they scurried about, chittering and chattering and clanging. Maid-folk and servants rushed to try to clean the mess the goblins left behind. There were few fae-folk of human glamour that were more tamed, lounging beside the open-windows of the tower as if they could spot the Runner. Gossiping at how this one hadn’t given up yet.

Interesting. Intriguing. Insulting.

Hyunjin huffed as his gaze flickered from the clock to the court ladies by the window and back again.

“Can you spot her?” The voice sounded like the garble of a river’s brook, crackling and clinking like rushing currents against river-rocks.

“No, no. Can you?” Another voice - squeaky like a mouse in a field.

“Not quite. I’ve heard something from a guard though.” A third - deep like a fire pit’s roar.

His gaze flickered back to the clock. The clock ticked one second forward, and yet it had felt like five minutes. His fingers tapped against his scepter.

The Runner was taking forever.

It almost humored him. Impatience. Time hadn’t mattered before – but as she stumbled through the Labyrinth’s Outer Rim, he was struck with the realization that she was progressing quicker than any other.

“You won’t believe it, but Han helped her – I heard it from a guard. A fallen pixie tattled for aid.”

Hyunjin’s ears perked at the mention of that.

“Luella! Don’t let the King hear you say his name.” The river-brook voice garbled with a giggle.

“Oh, Han.” The mouse-like fae squeaked with a giggle and swooned into her cohorts. “I miss him.”

Chortles of giggles escaped the trio, their glamours shuddering and revealing their true forms – flickering of flames, moving mist, and, frightening enough, a collection of writhing mice making up a body.

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched as he slung his leg down from his throne’s curved armrest to put his arms on his knees and stare at the clock, harder.

Of course, Han had to have helped her. He’s always getting into his private business. His foot tip-tapped against the tiled floor.

9 hours and 58 minutes. 9 hours and 57 minutes.

She will be his and his alone.

-

The Runner kept running onwards. Stopping every so often to scratch her directions into the rock work. It felt like she was making progress. Until she paused as she turned a corner. There was a branch that looked a bit too familiar. The curl of it looked like a skeleton hand pointing her away.

Biting her lip, she looked back the way she came only to spot something unusual. The stone she had tagged with her rock was bare of any marking.

“What?” she breathed as she rushed over to it once more. Her hand reached out to rub at the stone – right where she had scratched into it – to feel unblemished stone.

She marked it again, scratching deep into the rock, and watched it with a stoney look. It stayed like any mark should.

Weird.

She looked back in the direction she was headed and when she looked back down, the stone was clear.

“Dammit,” she cursed out, rising from her crouch and tossing her rock aside with a clatter. “That’s not fair!”

“That’s not fair,” the wind mocked; the King’s voice laughed.

She glared up at the cavern sky of candles before stomping off in another direction only to run into a dead end; a large grassy hedge blocking her path.

“This isn’t a fair fight – what’s fair about moving the Labyrinth?’ she gritted out as she turned her back to the hedge to stomp off another way.

“That’s right! It’s not fair!” a voice chimed out.

Now, that wasn’t the King’s voice. Its voice was higher, almost windshield-wiper squeaky as it giggled.

Her head whipped around to see, not a wall of greenery, but two knights guarding grand oxidizing- copper doors, crawling with ivy. They looked very different from anyone she had met yet. Not the worn look of the fae from outside the Labyrinth nor the soft sheltered attire Soobin wore. No, they both were knights that was certain.

They were both tall but one felt larger; mostly, due to the large armor he wore. It was a copper-like metal, flickering orange in the candlelight high above them. Shoulders, chest, neck, legs, everything had the suit of armor in place as if he was ready to go into a fight here and now (except for the fact it too looked rusty like the blue-orange doors they guarded.) How long must he have worn it to become rusted like that? His head, however, was bare of a shielded helmet and, instead, revealed a red-headed sweet-faced man with a heart-shaped smile.

The other knight was much more relaxed, wearing sparse leathered armor over a deep navy-blue velvet button-up and dark slacks. His hair was a dark coal color, swept to one side. He had lips that were a pouted strawberry color and a hyena laugh in his throat.

The red head was ready at attention while the coal-haired man was slouching against his doorway’s arch spinning his sword casually in his hand.

“Oh, hello!” she sputtered at the two strangers.

“Hello, hello!” The redhead greeted as he stood at attention. He smiled at her still, heart-shaped kind.

“You’re here!” The other awed. “Finally!”

“Finally?” she queried.

“I mean, we’ve heard you’ve been here and knew you’d end up here.” One said.

“It’s so nice to meet a real human for the first time,” the other cheesed.

“It isn’t the first time, Jin,” the heavily-armored one claimed with a pursed lip.

“Yes, it is, Hobi,” Jin retorted, as if offended by the others words.

“No, it isn’t,” Hobi replied.

Then, the bickering continued, back and forth. Back and forth. It made Y/N’s head pound. Her eyes shut as she looked about a bit lost with what to do. Behind her was a new dead end, made of cobblestone wall rather than green hedge-work.

God, this place kept changing it’d give her a headache… if Hobi and Jin didn’t first.

“Where is here? It was a dead-end just a moment ago,” she countered. “I need to get to the Castle; is this the way?”

“Oh, this is the checkpoint to the next point of your journey,” Hobi beamed. “The only way to get out of here is to try one of these doors!”

“One of them leads to the castle at the center of the Labyrinth, and the other leads to certain death,” Jin revealed, leaning against the opposing archway of his door.

“Bum-bum-bum-bah!” he dramatized, with a wiggle of his fingers in her direction.

Hobi giggled sweetly. It was almost endearing as if they were some middle-aged married couple with their bickering and yet… they seemed to enjoy each other’s presence.

One must learn to like the person they’re stuck with if there are no others around them.

“So… which is which? You must know,” Y/N prompted.

“We can’t tell you,” Hobi said with a frown. “And we don’t really know why we can’t either.” His pout was gentle and child-like.

“It’s the rules,” Jin reminded.

“You can only ask one of us a question regarding the doors,” Hobi added.

“That’s part of the rules, too,” Jin commented. “One of us always tell the truth and one of us always lies. That’s a rule too.”

His blue eyes flashed to meet hers as he raised a hand up in a mock-whisper. “He always lies.”

“I do not!” Hobi exclaimed; there was a clank of metal against metal as he jumped in offense. His orange eyes flashed to meet hers, almost panicky to prove himself.

“I tell the truth!” he insisted.

“Oh, what a liar,” Jin cooed, reaching a hand to pinch Hobi’s cheek.

It quickly made Hobi giggle lightheartedly as if he wasn’t just called a liar again. Their relationship was odd, bubbly, and cranky yet fond and casual. It was distracting.

“One question,” she hummed as she looked between the two of them.

Jin nodded slowly as he shifted to stand tall in front of his door. A brow raised.

Okay. . . how would she figure this out? She only had one chance. How should she phrase it? She can’t just ask them if their door would be safe? Because they could lie. But—

Y/N smiled.

“Would he,” she pointed to Jin, as she spoke to Hobi,” tell me that your door leads to the castle?”

Hobi’s lips pressed together as he looked at Jin and then her, over and over. It was almost comical if she wasn’t waiting for the answer.

“Yes?” he murmured after a moment. It sounded more like a question than an answer.

“So, your door is certain death,” she said, “and his leads to the castle.”

Y/N beamed brightly.

Hobi looked towards Jin who shrugged in agreement.

“But—he could be telling the truth?” Hobi countered.

“But, he wouldn’t be. So, if you told me he’d say yes, I know the answer is no.”

“But, I could be telling the truth,” Hobi pleaded.

“But then he would be lying, so if you told me he would say yes, the answer is still no!”

A blink, blink, blink from Hobi before he turned to Jin with wide fire eyes.

“Is that right?” he whispered as if she wasn’t there, and, to be honest, she giggled a bit. Because she knew this had to be the right answer – it had to be.

“I don’t know; I never really got the rules,” Jin replied casually before the two of them started to giggle.

The three of them were giggling; it was a bit odd but she realized everything here was a bit odd.

“I think it’s right, really I do,” she commented. “There’s no other way it wouldn’t be… I think I’m getting smarter with this place.” Y/N approached Jin and he scooted out of the way with grandiose.

He bowed to her as she opened the door.

“Thank you, Jin… Hobi – I mean, you were actually really nice!” she complimented as she breached through the door way.

A huff let her as she felt her shoulders lighten from stress. She did it. She took a few more steps into the passageway, the light growing dimmer as Jin began to shut the door.

“It’s a piece of cake,” she breathed with a grin.

Before, she fell through the floor violently with a scream.

-

Not many people experience free-falling. Sure, tripping or stumbling was common-place. Even jumping into a pool might excite. But it was all controlled. All small distances. All happening with an end in sight.

The Runner was falling straight down into a dark pit that felt endless.

The feeling of surprise hadn’t faded, still bubbling in her stomach like she had cracked open a soda can. Her heart was in her throat as she screeched out. Hands above her head trying to grasp onto something hopelessly.

But she was falling too fast.

“Help!” She screamed. “Please!”

The fall felt infinite, empty, frighteningly so until it felt like things were brushing over her skin. Branches? Rocks? Overgrown damp fungus? She couldn’t tell as she scratched out with her hands

“Help?” she swore she heard a feminine voice chime.

“Help!” Y/N screeched again. “Please.”

Before with a jolt, she was caught. Air knocked out of her and a pain radiated where she had been caught – her arm. Something held first her wrist but then she felt hands on her waist, her shoulders, her legs. Hands everywhere wrapping around her limbs, some squeezing them tightly, others trailing damp-fingers up and down her skin.

She couldn’t help the scream that tore from her throat, raw. Jumping in the hands embrace.

“Stop it,” she whimpered out as she felt more hands crawling, crawling, crawling.

One poked her ear and it made her jolt away. Her head looked up as if she could see where she fell from.

“Help!” she yelled. Maybe Jin or Hobi would come help. They were knights; knights help, right?

Another hand crept to squeeze at her throat, almost curiously, only stopping when she wheezed. The hand wrapped around her wrist tugged her upwards, another hand tugged her another way. She felt like a ragdoll amongst angry toddlers

“Hey, hey, hey,” she heard a masculine voice mutter. “We are helping. Helping Hands.”

In the dim almost grey light, she some of the hands form … figures. Faces of different shapes made of fingers and thumbs and palms. Horrific in the darkness. Something mussed her hair, twisting it into knots around chubby fingers.

“You’re hurting,” she mumbled, as a sickly pale hand cupped her cheeks and squeezed them.

“Would you like us to let go?” the voice was now a deep mumble of a thing, and she felt some of the hands release her on command. The pressure on her held wrists ached as gravity took hold and pulled her downwards. Her shoulders felt like they were popping out of their sockets.

“No!” she screeched, fingers outstretching to grasp onto a corpse-cold hand.

The hands returned with eagerness. Nails scratching at bare skin, fingers prodding at her waist. A thumb dragged over her ankle. Some fingers combed through her hair like she was a doll.

“I want a body,” she heard a voice murmured quietly.

She couldn’t help but cringe away by some of the cold limbs.

“Which way would you like to go?” she could see a shadowy amalgamation hand-like face speak, the lips fingers and its makeshift eyes two pairs of palms.

“Up or down?” a squeaky voice screeched, almost like it was a poorly oiled door hinge.

“Pick one! Pick one!” that voice sounded childish.

“It’s a big decision for her, hush,” a motherly tone chided.

“Which way do you want to go?” A more urgent voice pushed. A hand tugged her hair and she yelped.

“Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way?”

It was almost hypnotic, how the different voices layered together as they chanted the words urgently. How many people – hands? – were there?

“I, uh,” she blinked as she looked down into darkness and then upwards which showed the same thing. “I guess down? If that was where I was headed?”

“Down?” a voice cooed.

“She chose down!” Another boomed with a jovial cackle.

Laughter that sounded less than nice and coos of ‘poor thing’ crowed out around her as she felt her body shift and move as the hands tugged and pulled her downwards before.

“Down, the Runner goes!”

“Wait,” she tried to stop, before all of the crawling wriggling fingers disappeared, and she was falling again.

“No, no, was that wrong?” she cried out as she continued falling, the sounds of the Helping Hands laughter crowing, growing distant.

Violently, she finally hit the ground. Her knees and legs took the brunt of the fall, aching painfully as she let out a cry. The floor was of dirt and grime, and she coughed as a plume of dust surrounded her.

Lifting herself up onto her knees, she looked around. Darkness was all about her but, suddenly, a light shined high above her as a lid over the hole where she came from with a secure snap.

Sealing her wherever she was, deep below the Labyrinth.

Y/N couldn’t help but sag as adrenaline left her in a huff.

-

His crystal orb – larger than that of the one he showed Y/N in her bedroom – showed not the Goblin King’s dreams, but his reality. His entire kingdom’s reality. And it showed her. Sitting in the dark of an oubliette after falling down, down, down. His eyes looked closer at her face. What a beautiful face – frustration written clear on her features as she rubbed her knees that were certainly bruised after such a fall.

Hyunjin frowned.

“She shouldn’t have been this far along.” He muttered out, glaring at his Labyrinth-Runner.

He had to admit she was clever – far more clever than he first thought. After all, he thought she’d give up –a life devoted to him was not horrible (so he thought). But the scrambling of goblin-feet about the castle, servants of goblin-blood and changelings from failed runs revealed the truth. The High Fae of the Underground, the royal line, were not of softness. They took and took and took. And he wanted her.

Licking the corner of his lip, he stood from his throne, kicking one leg off the arm-rest to stand.

“Someone must be reminded of their place.” The King muttered, grabbing his staff with ease. “An old friend.”

There was a giggle about as the goblins who were lazing about – the favorites – chuckled at their king’s words.

They knew exactly who he was speaking of.

[wholesomemorbid]

I made myself pretty today,

as nice as I can be,

in your favorite mask, my dear,

so that you’ll let me leave.

The skin I stretched is dewy fresh

The clips all match my dress

I know you want my back exposed

and that you’ll be impressed

I’ve woven this with warp of flesh

And wefts just like your brother.

His tendons feel like luxury

You’ll never want another. :)

—

Image description: a digital ink illustration of a feminine humanlike creature viewed from behind as she moves away, glancing over her shoulder. Her skull face has a partial skin mask stretched over it. She’s probably wearing a wig. Her skin is covered in vaguely anatomical patterns, while she wears a slinky dress.

If you vibe with this vibe, consider following me. I’m usually funnier. 1 like = 1 brother-in-law vivisection for fashion’s sake

[clockworkcreature]

Hang on to these for me for a sec.

Finished blending wefts for the tail, and apparently I’m using Gatafu’s head as a weft holder instead of the actual holder right behind it.

[theliterarybeldam]

Love Beyond Time - Chapter 1: A Fateful Encounter

It's finally here y'all! Please enjoy something that caused a lot of sweat and tears for me ❤️😭

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story besides my OFC and potential future OCs. This is purely a work of enjoyment.

Series Masterlist

The heart of London pulsated with energy as Lady Elizabeth Pierce, a woman of resplendent African descent, emerged from her stately home onto the bustling streets. Her radiant skin, as rich as the coffee beans of Ethiopia, contrasted beautifully with her elegant white dress. Her tightly coiled hair was tastefully pinned up, revealing her regal countenance and sparkling hazel eyes. Her mannerisms echoed a bygone era, a grace and elegance that seemed out of place in the current world.

The secret behind her timeless beauty was known to only a few. Time, for Lady Pierce, was a frozen river, her life a pause button that had been hit in her late twenties. Like Adaline Bowman from a story she once read, Elizabeth too did not age. Her tale was not of fiction but her own reality, woven through the warp and weft of over two centuries.

Lady Elizabeth Pierce was born in the heart of Ethiopia, a land teeming with lush flora and fauna, hidden from the world, housing secrets as old as time itself. The vibrant city was an advanced paradise, a stark contrast against the backdrop of its rich traditions and culture. 

Her childhood was saturated with the vibrant hues of the Ethiopian festivals, the thrill of tribal dances, and the wisdom conveyed through the ancient tales of her ancestors. She was brought up in the shadow of the majestic Panther God, always aware of the potent power that pulsed through their lands.

However, her life took an extraordinary turn when an encounter with a revered shaman left her with a cryptic prophecy - an intertwining of her destiny with the enigma of time. This mysterious event marked the beginning of her timeless existence.

Centuries later, as she stood on the foreign land of England, her memories of Ethiopia were as vivid as the sunsets, the rhythm of its pulse echoing in her heart. Her roots ran deep, grounding her to the heart of Africa, regardless of the miles she had traversed since then.

Her transition from a young Ethiopian woman to Lady Elizabeth Pierce of London was a tale of resilience and resourcefulness. With her timeless existence, she bore witness to the changing world around her, her eternal youth a blessing from the shaman that allowed her to navigate the ebb and flow of the centuries.

Embracing her immortality, she used the wisdom acquired over the years to amass knowledge, skills, and wealth. She found herself intrigued by the distant land of England, its culture, its monarchy, and decided to make it her home. With her wealth amassed over the years, she bought land and a stately home in London, her grand residence soon becoming a symbol of her stature.

Her intelligence, charm, and philanthropic nature soon caught the attention of Queen Victoria, who was so impressed by Elizabeth's contributions to society that she bestowed her with a title, officially making her Lady Elizabeth Pierce. Over time, she became a figure of fascination and respect, her seemingly eternal youth adding to her aura of mystique. However, she kept her secret carefully guarded, the mystery of her agelessness becoming an unsolved riddle in the heart of London.

Away in the frosty expanse of Russia, Count Alexei Vronsky led a life of solitude in his vast estate. Since the tragic end of his tormented affair with Anna Karenina, he had withdrawn from society, living with the ghosts of their past. However, the news of a grand ball in London, hosted by the illustrious Lady Pierce, coaxed him out of his reclusion.

As Vronsky embarked on his journey from the frost-laden expanse of Russia to the buzzing metropolis of London, he found himself in a state of melancholy contemplation. The biting cold of the Russian winter seemed a reflection of his own solitude, its icy grasp mirroring his internal chill.

The trip was long, the scenery changing as he moved across the continent. The vast Russian plains, stark and blanketed with snow, slowly gave way to the greener landscapes of Eastern Europe. The monotony of the endless expanses was occasionally broken by huddled villages and bustling towns. The harsh Russian winds slowly softened, replaced by the crisp, cool air of the west. Each part of the journey echoed his solitude, whispering tales of his past, stirring memories he had long since tried to bury.

He passed through cities that bristled with life, each one a stark contrast to his current emotional state. The elegance of Vienna, the charm of Paris, the majesty of the Swiss Alps - these places, magnificent as they were, held no joy for him. They were but waypoints on his journey, devoid of the warmth of home, echoing his own emptiness.

His arrival in London marked a significant shift in his journey. The city was a vortex of energy, teeming with life. Its grand architecture, the bustling streets, the rhythmic hum of the city - everything felt different from his homeland. Yet, as much as it was disconcerting, it also offered a glimmer of hope, a chance for a fresh start.

As he moved through the city, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds, Vronsky couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity. His heart, which had been in a state of icy numbness, seemed to thaw slightly. Here, in this city of endless possibilities, perhaps he could find solace, perhaps he could escape the shadows of his past.

The grand ball held by Lady Elizabeth Pierce was a spectacle of elegance and sophistication. Every detail was meticulously curated, each element a testament to Elizabeth's exquisite taste and attention to detail. The grand mansion was transformed into an extravagant carnival, its opulence matching that of the royal court.

The grand hall was illuminated with hundreds of glistening chandeliers, their light casting a soft glow on the assembly of distinguished guests. Nobles from the length and breadth of England and from continental Europe filled the hall, their gowns and suits adding a vibrant palette of colors against the rich tapestry of the mansion.

A live orchestra was stationed at one end of the hall, the music they played was a captivating blend of classical and contemporary tunes. Their melodies filled the air, adding to the cheerful buzz of the gathering. Couples twirled on the dance floor, their movements fluid and graceful, mirroring the rhythm of the music.

Servers, dressed in pristine white uniforms, moved around offering a plethora of delicacies. The aroma of roasted meat, baked goods, and exotic spices wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fine wines and perfumes.

Conversations ebbed and flowed around the grand hall. From political debates and discussions of recent literature to harmless flirtations and whispers of latest scandals, the gathering was abuzz with engaging dialogues. Laughter rang out, toasts were raised, and connections were formed.

Entering the lavishly decorated ballroom of Lady Pierce's mansion, Vronsky was greeted by the intoxicating music of the orchestra and the heady scent of perfumes. However, it was Lady Pierce's striking beauty that held him captive. Poised and graceful, she navigated the throng, engaging with her guests, her lively eyes taking in the merriment. She was the perfect hostess, her aura commanding respect and admiration from her guests. Vronsky almost started to believe this was a goddess idly chatting with people who were truly clueless to who that was. 

The grandeur of the ball was momentarily forgotten as Elizabeth's gaze locked with the newcomer's. There was something hauntingly familiar in the man's eyes that drew her in, a sense of shared solitude that resonated with her own. She gracefully navigated through the crowd to introduce herself.

"Count Vronsky, I presume?" Elizabeth said, extending her hand in greeting. 

He took it, bowing slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Yes, and you must be the enchanting hostess, Lady Elizabeth Pierce."

Elizabeth gave a small, appreciative laugh. "Flattery so early in the conversation? One might think you're trying to win my favor."

"Only stating the obvious, Lady Pierce," he replied with a half-smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine admiration.

Their conversation unfolded naturally, starting from polite pleasantries and gradually delving into deeper topics. Elizabeth found herself drawn to the man's intellect and his perspective on art, literature, and culture, which mirrored her own. 

"You have quite the appreciation for art, Count Vronsky," Elizabeth observed, referencing their discussion about the Renaissance.

"Only as much as you do, Lady Pierce. It's rare to find someone who appreciates Botticelli as much as I do," Vronsky replied, his interest in her visibly growing.

“There is an agelessness about you. It feels as if you've seen the rise and fall of ages."

Elizabeth met his gaze, a soft smile touching her lips, "Perhaps I have."

They shared light-hearted banter and stories, their connection deepening with each passing moment. The world seemed to blur around them, their focus solely on each other. 

"Do you believe in fate, Count Vronsky?" Elizabeth asked suddenly, her gaze intense.

"I can't say I've given it much thought," he admitted, slightly taken aback. "Why do you ask?"

"Perhaps it is fate that has brought us together tonight," Elizabeth proposed, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. 

This unspoken shared understanding marked the beginning of a poignant bond between the two, a bridge of companionship across the chasms of their solitary lives. Their shared experiences of love and loss, and their ability to transcend them, tied their fates together in a dance as old as time.

As the last notes of music faded away and the merry chatter of the departing guests grew faint, a deafening silence descended upon Elizabeth's grand mansion. She found herself standing in the now deserted ballroom, the echoes of laughter and music only serving as a stark contrast to the stillness that enveloped her. 

The flickering light from the dying candles threw long, dancing shadows across the room, the extravagant decorations now seeming almost eerie in their quietness. Elizabeth's gaze was drawn to her reflection in the grand mirror on the far wall. Her timeless beauty, framed by the gleaming diamond necklace around her neck and the rich silks of her gown, was a sight to behold. Yet, the woman who stared back at her felt like a stranger, her radiant appearance belying the inner turmoil she felt.

Her heart felt heavy with names etched deep within its corners - names of lovers she had once held dear, whispers of affection shared in the silent watches of the night, remnants of love stories that had faded with time. Her life was a testament to the endless cycle of love and loss, each love story a reminder of the agonizing loneliness that followed their inevitably brief existence. 

The grandeur of her life was a double-edged sword, the vibrant celebrations and extravagant balls merely temporary distractions from the solitude that awaited her. As she stood alone, her heart echoed with the melancholy of lost connections, the vacant halls of her mansion reflecting the emptiness she felt.

The fear of losing someone again was a constant gnawing presence, a silent specter that loomed over her every time she found herself growing close to someone. Yet, she also recognized the longing for companionship that tugged at her heartstrings, the yearning for the warmth of shared affection, of heartfelt conversations, of love.

She was caught in a constant struggle - a tug of war between her desire for love and the fear of the inevitable loss that her immortality brought. As the silent witness of passing ages, her heart was an immortal battleground of conflicting emotions, the scars of past losses a grim reminder of her endless existence. Her solitude was not just a condition of her circumstances, but a fortress she built around herself, a protective barrier against the inevitable heartbreak that loving mortal beings entailed.

With the quiet hum of the London night as her only company, Elizabeth settled at her mahogany desk, the flicker from the nearby candelabrum casting a warm glow on the parchment before her. Picking up her quill, she paused, her thoughts lingering on the evening's encounter.

"Dearest Esther," she began, her script elegant and precise. Esther was her oldest confidante, the one person who had managed to see beyond Elizabeth's mask of endless youth and understand the solitude hidden behind it. Their friendship was a source of strength for Elizabeth, a treasured connection that had withstood the ravages of time.

"I met a man at the ball tonight, a certain Count Vronsky from Russia," she wrote, her thoughts returning to their engrossing conversation, the ease of their banter, and the depth she'd seen in his eyes.

"There's a depth to him, a sorrow that resonates with my own," she continued, her quill dancing across the parchment. "He carries the weight of his past like an invisible shroud, much like I do."

A thoughtful smile traced her lips as she remembered his words, his appreciation for art, his passion for literature. "His intellect is as captivating as his charm. His words weave a tapestry of profound thought, mirroring my own fascination for art and literature."

The memory of his gaze, warm yet haunted, caused an unexpected flutter in her heart. "His eyes, Esther, are windows to a tormented soul. I found myself drawn to him, compelled to understand the mysteries they hold."

Elizabeth sighed, her gaze momentarily drawn to the starlit sky outside her window. "I know the perils that lie in the path of my heart, yet I cannot help but wonder. Could I dare to love again? Could I dare to risk the agony of inevitable loss for moments of shared love and companionship?"

Her words echoed the turmoil within her. "I find myself at a crossroads, Esther. To love or not to love, that is the question that plagues me."

She signed off, "Yours always, Elizabeth," before sealing the letter. As she dispatched it to Esther, she felt a strange mixture of relief and anticipation. Sharing her thoughts with her old friend, even in the form of a letter, had always brought her solace. Now, she could only wait for Esther's wisdom to guide her through her inner turmoil.

[cuddlytogas]

yesterday some friends and i went to the special ancient egyptian pharoahs exhibit at the ngv, and i got so utterly entranced by a linen funeral shroud, i think i saw god and/or went completely insane for about fifteen minutes

the fibres were so fine. and not just fine, they were uniform. it was from the roman period, so only (only!) 2,000 years old, but the fibres were still so fine and uniform

i'm not good at identifying weft and warp on a piece of fabric - i think i got it wrong while i was looking at it - and obviously it's very hard to know what's inherent to the fabric and what's the product of degradation over time or mishandling, but there was this long, thin tear right down the middle, and i thought it was maybe a seam that had come apart, but the painting alignment didn't quite fit that, and there were a few threads crossing through it that i could see, so i wonder if maybe one or two weft threads had degraded or torn or been pulled loose. but the tear was so straight and exact, and held together at one end by the other fibres, it was so incredible to see

and there were a couple of places where i thought there were slightly chunkier threads - it happens all the time in modern linens - but when i looked closer, i could see that actually it was two threads in the same part of the weave (warp threads, i think?)

and again, okay, could be a product of the degradation, or damage - but also... it could so easily have been a slight fault in the manufacturing, and i don't know the first thing about ancient egyptian weaving techniques, or what kind of loom they did or didn't use, or any of that - but still, it was so easy to imagine these two warp threads being set slightly too close together on a loom, and being caught together by the weft, and leaving this slightest bulge, this perfect imperfection in the cloth

it was beautifully, intricately, colourfully painted, too, yes - but underneath that, i can only imagine that lovely dun, beige colour was unbleached and undyed; and yet again, yes, of course it would've darkened with age and use - it was a funeral shroud, there was a corpse under it once - but to look at this linen and see the colour of the flax two thousand years ago, it's just - absolutely mind-boggling

the whole exhibit was deliberately structured around highlighting the craftsmanship behind the artefacts, as well as the power, social structures, and cultural significance they represented, which was fairly well done. I watched that video after seeing the exhibition, and in hindsight, yeah, I did notice that many of the labels highlighted the detail and excellence of the items, and they had things like jewellery moulds and scribe's tools, as well as the big impressive statues and murals. at least a couple of the room introduction wall texts made sure to mention craftspeople; and there were a few places dedicated to both the bureaucratic structures, and working people and villages, that created and kept up the temples and palaces.

but there was also definitely a slight lack of information, i felt, in regard to the crafts, especially if that was their goal. i might also just be underestimating the general public, but there were a few times where we were wondering what something in an image was, but found nothing in the label; and it would've been cool if they, perhaps, had images or recreations of craftspeople in the period showing how the items would have been made.

like, obviously i'm biased towards the fabric, because that's my craft - and to be clear, the shroud was part of the room on jewellery and adornment, with the label pointing out the jewellery worn by the painted figure, rather than the craft of the item itself. but it would've been cool to have, in this example, either a contemporary image or a recreated one of what tools would have been used for the spinning and weaving of this cloth, and by what groups.

there were many parts of the exhibit where you could see on the glass where people had pressed their hands or noses or foreheads to try and get close, to see the intricate work on tiny rings or murals or votive items, the engraving and carving and painting done with such incredible skill. and again, they had those scribe's tools, and jewellery moulds, a few weapons, and (iirc) both ritual and functional builder's tools. which i DID VERY MUCH appreciate!

but fibre arts are already often devalued in our culture, and with industrialisation, we've really lost sight of the work and skill that, for thousands of years, went into making fabric. i would've loved to have seen them highlight not just the image of jewellery on this shroud, but the shroud itself.

because, yeah: this linen was beautiful. and to see this cloth, with these fibres that are finer and more uniform than many modern fabrics... like, obviously it's very good linen - the label only said it was for a woman called Isetweret, not what her status was, but i think it's a safe bet she wasn't the proletariat - but still.

just. i really fucking love history, oh my god

[gribbo]

"Must you look at me like that?" asks Astarion, tetchily undoing the cuff of the minstrel's sleeve.

The minstrel gives him a sour smile. "Where should I look?"

"At the sky," says Astarion with an expansive wave of his hand. "At the fire. At Karlach balancing that spoon on her nose—I mean, really, Silk," he adds, as if exasperated with the minstrel's table manners, "would you like it if your dinner watched you eat?"

That there is perhaps a difference between himself and a sausage-link seems, to the minstrel, too laborious to explain. He watches an ant bend a blade of grass by his knee.

They've become routine, these bloodlettings: a prick at his wrist, the pain surgical and small, and then the spreading chill. The minstrel doesn't even wince. It occurs to him as he settles down to wait that these encounters, the stuff of bodice-rippers and tawdry taproom tales, are wasted on him—

"Weft of the Weave," Gale remarks behind him, "the spoon's red-hot!"

"It'll melt," Karlach says knowledgeably. "Give it a minute."

"Karlach," says Wyll with princely warmth, "you're one of the wonders of the world."

"I feel we're missing something momentous," murmurs the minstrel, almost amused. He glances over his shoulder at their other companions—and is struck, to his surprise, by a rare moment of fondness for them all. Even the magistrate. He must be light-headed. "Would you like the play-by-play, your Honor?"

Astarion, his fangs still stuck in the minstrel's wrist, makes a noise of vague assent.

"Vada that," the minstrel remarks, his eyebrows climbing. "It is melting. It's gone. Gale's casting colored lights in celebration—Astarion," he says wearily, "don't lick my arm."

"It was dripping," the vampire says with sweet dislike. "Waste not."

"Blinkin' mad, you lot," grumbles the goblin Sazza, trundling past. "You need the Absolute."