#weft faced weaving

[gregorvorbarra]

I’m going to take decent pictures of it later once i’ve finished weaving in ends but I can’t wait any longer to show you all MY WEAVING

LOOK AT IT

[viciousewe]

Lol. Lmao.

I have completely neglected the alpaca/merino project in favor of the Icelandic fleece. Like I said I wouldn’t.

[auressea]

wow! astonishing work! How much does it WEIGH?

[ID in Alt]

the two widths of the båtrye im weaving for my bachelors thesis are done and fresh off the loom, and i figured that calls for some pictures!

[handweavers]

Would it be recommended to make ribbon on a loom? I see jacquard ribbon in stores and I know that’s a type of loom. Is this something a person could make at home?

you can absolutely make ribbon by hand! many cultures have versions of band or tape weaving (those are older terms to refer to thin decorative strips of fabric, and helpful to know if you're researching weaving this type of textile) and they can be warp or weft faced, in other words the vertical threads can make the patterned design or the horizontal threads can make the patterned design. warp-faced woven bands are very popular in many cultures because they make a durable, strong fabric that can work for anything from straps for bags or other utility items, to decorative applique on garments and even hem-facings

norwegian pick up band weaving gives an effect similar to jacquard ribbon, you can see more about it here

brocade tablet weaving also gives a similar effect, which you can read about here

more about band weaving

fingerweaving is another technique that can create elaborately woven bands, and has been practiced in northern europe as well as among the indigenous peoples of the americas. it is the technique that métis sashes are made with, and bands woven with this technique have also been found in old viking graves. you can read about it here

if you're interested in learning any of these techniques, you don't need a table or floor loom to make them. some work best with an inkle loom, which is generally small and portable, or can be made off loom using heddles or tablets. searching 'band weaving' either online, at a book store, or a library site can lead to a ton of resources on the subject, far too many for me to cover here 🤎

[mawofthemagnetar]

TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly

(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)

TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug. 

It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.

TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter. 

He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon. 

TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat. 

TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message. 

<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out. 

He put his comm down, and took another swig. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out. 

And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet. 

It had been a whole ninety seconds.

TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance. 

Of course. 

He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse. 

<Renthedog was blanched to death> 

<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE

<Vintagebeef was portaged to death> 

<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!

TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘

“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned. 

And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...

<Iskall85 became part of the weft> 

<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS

“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.

And on and on it went.

<Xisumavoid was hooked to death>

<Grian was torqued to death>

<Tango was unraveled to death> 

<Zombiecleo was racqueted to death>

“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…” 

He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks. 

While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button. 

He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior. 

And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button. 

The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior. 

Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap. 

“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages. 

<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?

<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL

<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph! 

<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad! 

TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message. 

<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?

Silence. 

No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in. 

Finally, Cleo broke the silence. 

<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds. 

<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?

<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!

<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah 

<TinfoilChef> anyway 

<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee? 

[batbetbitbotbut]

So I am still a very very very new weaver and things don't always turn out how I want. This was my first attempt at "overshot", a weave structure which is meant to have a soft thick weft making fancy patterns over and under a square plain weave background, and it was awful! I got the plain weave maths wrong so it isn't square to begin with, and I got the yarns wrong so despite the coloured cotton being twice as thick as the white cotton it didn't cover it up at all. I hated it!

Tried again with half as many plain weave weft shots, to force the colour to be a little denser even though the plain weave was much further off square, and I still hated it and also it was really hard to keep track of the pattern.

And then something on the loom came loose so I couldn't weave at all and I was so disheartened and also I couldn't figure out what was wrong so I pretended the loom didn't exist for like 2 weeks. It was the brake tension screw and it's fine but for a long time I couldn't even face troubleshooting it. Also I made this warp quite wide which was A Choice(TM) for my first attempt at a new technique and it just made all the fixing harder.

Anyway, problem fixed and I made yet another attempt, this time doubling the weft. And it's working! We're finally getting some solid patterns! It's not perfect but it's workable.

In theory, those ovals were meant to be circles. So after working 1 full motif I started afresh yet again and shortened the pattern a bit. Switched to purple because I was concerned about using up so much pink on these samples.

And!!! It's okay! It's not everything I had hoped for but it's alright to look at and it's alright to weave. So finally, FINALLY I moved on with the rainbow instead of restarting again.

Still experimenting with the pattern a bit, so this particular tea towel won't quite have even stripes, but I like it more and more as I go. It only took like a week of warping and two weeks of suffering and a week of slowly facing the pain and shame. Next project will be anything but overshot, but he only way out is through.

Onwards!

[forgingtheblade]

WEAVING WRITEUP PART 3: FINISHING TOUCHES

part 1 part 2

i’ll admit, 24 hours after having finished writing the first two parts, i don’t know exactly why i split this off into a third part, but we ride

after taking them off the loom, i still needed to put the emblem itself on them. I had originally toyed with the idea of doing the symbol while weaving using a warp and weft faced technique, but that would have been kind of unwieldy and even more math heavy than just embroidering it, which is what i ended up doing.

honestly knowing what i know now, i’d probably do the design using double weave. i’m going to be in a weaving class again next semester and I might play with that idea then, though it might be a different piece.

the embroidery itself was pretty simple—my friend gave me a 14 inch embroidery hoop they had bought for a different project and i put on spies are forever and worked on it til a solid 3 am. ahh, the finals week project grind.

also, my cat was a massive help and not a nuisance at all! her name is shylie btw. i love her.

ultimately because of the finals time crunch, i only ever finished the embroidery on the plain weave one. i think this is for the best, though—on the finished cosplay, id like to do the emblem with a beaded appliqué that will match some of the appliqué work i’m doing for the cloak itself! that’s strictly if I can find the time to do that though, because. well. beading is incredibly time consuming and i have a lot of it ahead of me.

the finished banner made its way into my first critique this semester alongside some other fun pieces that i’ll be showing off here very very soon!

[jewellery-box]

Robe à la Française

French, ca. 1770

The robe à la française, with open robe and petticoat, was the quintessential dress of the eighteenth century. Characteristic of 1770s costume are the piece's low neckline, fitted bodice, narrow sleeves with double layered cuffs, as well as the sack back and fullness at the hips supported by panniers. This exquisite example is constructed from a rare Chinese export silk dating from the first quarter of the eighteenth century. The textile is an ivory "bizarre" patterned damask (created by reversing the weave structure so that both the warp-float and weft-float faces of the satin are on the same surface).

As early as the late sixteenth century, Chinese craftsmen created silks for the European market, which were exported by the East India companies of England, France, and Holland. Due to the exchange of design motifs by both Eastern and Western artisans, Chinese export silks often bore little relation to traditional Chinese aesthetics. While this patterned damask closely resembles the European "bizarre" silks popular during the first quarter of the eighteenth century, the selvedge-to-selvedge width, fabric weight, and selvedge markings all indicate Chinese manufacture. To fully appreciate the sumptuousness of this dress, one might imagine the sense of movement candlelight would have created across its surface.

The MET Museum

[autumnslance]

Dawntrail OST - Smile Official Lyrics

(Got my CD today, any transcript errors are mine)

Music: Masayoshi Soken Arrangement: TomoLow, Masayoshi Soken Lyrics: Michael-Christopher Koji-Fox, Phil Bright Lyrical Concept: Natsuko Ishikawa, Tomohiro Kawasaki, Magumi Onozuka Lyric Translation: Natsuko Ishikawa Vocals: AKINO from bless4

-

At the crossroads, standing here Not a star in the sky to guide me tonight Left for lost, and lost in fear Deep in darkness drown my cries

All this pain inside of me Don't know where it starts or when it'll end Try and tame the agony As I close my eyes and scream to the wind

Look around and find I'm standing all alone (Look again, we're standing there) 'Cause the storm has taken everything I've known (Leaving loss you needn't bear) Don't know why I thought I'd make it by myself (After all that we've been through) Out of time, I'm runnin' blind. Can't somebody help? (Know we're always there for you)

Learned so much in life I couldn't understand (Understand we're by your side) Standing tall we'll face tomorrow hand in hand (Mine in yours and yours in mine) Weaving mem'ries, through the warp and weft we wend (This, our tale, a tapestry) Never losin' sight of everywhere that we've been (And everywhere we're gonna be)

In lightning's wake did naught but ash remain Yet with the rain, does life's song ring again O'er ancient forests, out beyond the plains It carries on, we'll carry on, whoa

So smile and let the rainbow sing (Red and yellow, blue and green) Alive with everything it brings (Laughter, peace, and harmony) We walk a neverending trail (In our hearts, we carry hence) One love, no, it shall never pale (This is our inheritance)

I turn around and what do I see? (Turn around and there we'll be) A light that guides our way to the key (Do you still remember me?) A silent flame that burns ever bright (What you've lost you won't forget) To see us forward out of the night ('Til tomorrow comes and then…)

Tight! Seize the day and hold on tight The sun is risin' Life, take it slow and take a bite

So high, on the dawn we set our sights A new horizon Fly, ever forward, starry-eyed

Hold tight, this land we call our home (Built upon a common dream) We fight to never let it go (Arm-in-arm, we still believe) Of fire, we have not seen the last (And the storm on which it rides) We'll rise again once it has passed (All for one, we march in stride)

And if you think you're ready to fly (I'll lift you up and carry you) We'll spread our wings and take to the sky (There is nothing we can't do) Come wipe away the tears in your eyes (What we've lost we won't forget) Together for the rest of our lives ('til tomorrow comes and then…)

The path ahead is steep And from the heavens the gods shall grant no relief Still we go on, we carry on, oh Never can we stop Never can we stop

Here come together, this land we'll defend Now and forever, for we won't end

[irish-dress-history]

Making late Medieval Fringe

Fringe was an important part of 16th and 17th century Irish fashion. In this post, I will discuss the historical evidence for its use and my attempt to reconstruct it.

Fringe shows up on Irish garments in several period works of art.

1680 Portrait of Sir Neil O'Neill by John Michael Wright and the 'Civill' Irish Woman from John Speed's 1611 map of Ireland, both shown wearing a fringed brat (Irish mantle).

Detail from 'Drawn after the Quicke', an anonymous 16th c. English print showing Irish men wearing ionair (Irish short coats) embellished with fringe.

Historical Research:

The Irish use of fringe is mentioned by several period writers. In 1548, Paolo Giovio stated that most Irish men wore, "a soldier’s woollen cloak, with a fringed and variegated edge for elegance" (translation from Harris 2007). Similarly, William Good said Irish men and women wore "mantles or shag-rugs [. . .] fring'd round the edges with divers well mixt colours" (1586/1695). 17th century writers Luke Gernon (1620) and John Lynch (1661/1850) both described how the Irish continued to wear fringed mantles in spite of British colonial laws banning them. Gernon stated that the Irish mantle (ie brat) "differs nothing from a long cloke, but in the fringe at the upper end, which in could weather they [the Irish] weare over their heades for warmth," suggesting that this use of fringe was such an important part of Irish fashion that it was a marker of cultural identity.

This fringe appears to have been a separate trim, typically made of wool or silk, that was added to the garments. This is suggested by John Speed's description of Irish mantles as being "purfled with a deepe Fringe of divers colours" (1611). Applied fringe trim can be seen on the brat in Sir Neil O'Neill's portrait. In his poem "A Vision", 16th c. Irish poet Tadhg Dall Ó hUiginn describes a fairy woman wearing, "A purple mantle with satin fringes" (1550-1591/1921). Fringes made of silk and wool are found among recorded imports to Ireland in the late 16th c. (Flavin 2011).

Despite all this period evidence, I sadly do not know of any extant examples of Irish fringe from this period. Since at least some of the fringe used in Ireland was imported, I decided to look at examples from other parts of Europe to determine how Irish fringe might have been made. Looking at 15th-17th c. examples in the V&A, I saw 2 common manufacturing methods: warp-faced plain weave and tablet weave.

I decided to go with tablet weave for this project, because tablet woven bands have been found at earlier Medieval sites in Ireland (Wincott Heckett 2002). Following the historical costuming advice of The Welsh Viking that simple things less likely to be wrong, I used this simple late-15th c. fringe from Sweden as the basis for my pattern. Simple tablet-woven fringes continued to be used into the late 17th or early 18th century.

I used wool yarn for this project, because I wanted something that could have plausibly been made in Ireland and afforded by Irish commoners, instead of a luxury import like silk. Wool also seemed like the best fit for John Lynch's characterization of the fringe on a brat as a practical feature which protected the wearer's neck from the rain (1661/1850). I chose blue based on a combination of the availability of woad in 16th c. Ireland (Flavin 2011), the noted fondness of the Irish for bright colors (McClintock 1943), and personal preference.

My reconstruction:

I used Garnhuset wool weaving yarn I purchased from Vävstuga Weaving School in size 20/2 for the warp and 28/2 for the weft. (Check out this video, if you need an explanation of how tablet weaving works.) I made a box loom out of a cardboard box, although I suspect that any loom type that works for tablet weaving would also work for this.

Also used bamboo chopsticks, tape to cover the rough edges of the cardboard, and a shoelace. Not pretty or historically accurate, but cheap and easy to make.

My tablet weaving pattern uses 6 cards. Cards 1,3,5 are Z threaded. Cards 2,4,6 are S threaded. All 6 cards are turned in the same direction until too much twist is built up on the warp to continue, all 6 cards are then turned in the opposite direction until too much twist is build up to continue. Reverse direction and repeat until you run out of warp.

For the weft, I used 5 strands the of 28/2 yarn run together as if they were a single weft thread. I placed a rectangle of sturdy cardboard against the left side of the warp and looped the weft around it as I wove. I neglected to get a good picture of this on my actual loom, so here is a picture of my test piece setup.

The relevant part here is the light blue and purple threads. Ignore the shuttle of black thread.

As I advanced the warp, I slid the cardboard rectangle forward to continue weaving. After I took the completed fringe off the loom, I took a pair of scissors and cut the bottoms of the weft loops.

If you try this, I strongly recommend covering the long edges of your cardboard rectangle with tape. This will both protect your warp from being chewed up the cardboard and make the cardboard more slippery and easier to to slide forward. Also, make sure you are beating the shed well and pulling your weft tight. Once you cut the loops, the tightness of your weave is the only thing keeping your fringe from pulling out.

Results:

I whipstitched the completed fringe to the edge of my brat. I am extremely happy with how this turned out. I had never done tablet weaving with wool before, so I had no idea what to expect.

This method creates a thick, fluffy fringe which I think does a nice job recreating the look of "Drawn after the Quicke". You do lose quite a bit of length though. The wool yarn is kind of stretchy, and tablet weave is kind of stretchy (similarly to a twill-weave fabric). Between the ends of the warp lost to setting up the loom, and the stretchiness of the finished product, 11 ft (335 cm) of measured warp gave me 92 in (234 cm) of completed fringe. Oh, well. At least my loom can easily accommodate a longer warp, and this piece only used 20% of my 2 skeins of yarn.

I did also make a test piece out of DMC Pearl cotton. The warp is size 8 embroidery thread, and the weft is size 25 embroidery floss with all 6 strands used together. It is slightly easier to work with than the wool, (wool warps do have an annoying tendency to stick to each other), but I don't like the way it looks as much.

Wool fringe above, cotton below. Ignore the purple fringe. It has an extra weft thread that is not part of the fringe, which is why it looks more gappy than the light blue.

The cotton tends to stay in its discrete clumps rather than feathering out to form a nice fluffy, connected whole like the wool does.

I then went to the Ren Fair and located an appropriate sword.

(Yes, that's an English kirtle and smock. I haven't finished making my other Irish garments yet.) Me carrying a sword a la Albrecht Dürer's kern.

I really should have made this fringe longer. It's only 1 in (2.5 cm) long. Looking at the scale of Speed's "Civill" woman, I would estimate that hers is closer to 2 inches long. I may add a longer second layer. John Lynch does say that the brat has a doubled layer of fringe in the neck area (1661/1850). Adding a second color to the weft would probably better match William Good's description of "divers well mixt colours" and Paolo Giovio's "variegated," but I like the way the solid blue looks.

As a bonus, I will say that the wool fringe feels softer and nicer than the cheap coating wool I used to make my brat. I suspect that may be part of the reason the 16th-17th c. Irish were so fond of having thick fringes in the neck area, to protect the skin of their necks from the irritation of a brat made of coarse wool. The léine would have protected most of their body, but it largely left the neck bare.

Irish woman wearing a brat with a deep fringe by Wenceslaus Hollar published 1643

Want to give me a tip? Ko-fi page

Bibliography:

Flavin, Susan (2011). Consumption and Material Culture in Sixteenth-Century Ireland. [Doctoral thesis]. University of Bristol.

Gernon, Luke (1620). A Discourse of Ireland. https://celt.ucc.ie/published/E620001/

Good, William (1695). The Ancient and Modern Customs of the Irish. In W. Camden (ed) Camden's Britannia newly translated into English, with large additions and improvements; publish'd by Edmund Gibson (p. 1042-1048) (Edmund Gibson, Trans.). Edmund Gibson. (Original work published 1586) http://name.umdl.umich.edu/B18452.0001.001

Harris, Jason (2007). Ireland in Europe: Paolo Giovio's "Descriptio" (1548). Irish Historical Studies, 35(139), 265-288.

Lynch, John. (1850). Cambrensis Eversus (Matthew Kelly, Trans.). Dublin: The Celtic society. (Original work published 1660) https://archive.org/details/cambrensisevers04kellgoog/page/200/mode/2up

McClintock, H. F. (1943). Old Irish and Highland Dress. Dundalgan Press, Dundalk.

Ó hUiginn, Tadhg Dall (1921). The bardic poems of Tadhg Dall Ó Huiginn (1550–1591) (Eleanor Knott, Trans.). (Original work published 1550-1591) https://celt.ucc.ie/published/T402563/index.html

Speed, John (1611). The Theatre of the Empire of Great Britaine: presenting an exact geography of the kingdomes of England, Scotland, Ireland, and the iles adioyning. William Hall, London.

Wincott Heckett, Elizabeth (2002). Irish Viking Age silks and their place in Hiberno-Norse Society. Textile Society of America Symposium Proceedings, 427. https://digitalcommons.unl.edu/tsaconf/427

[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.

[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."

[talonabraxas]

The Secret Knowledge—Purusha-Prakriti in the Cosmic Operation

His works, his thoughts have been devised by her, His being is a mirror vast of hers: Active, inspired by her he speaks and moves; His deeds obey her heart’s unspoken demands: Passive, he bears the impacts of the world As if her touches shaping his soul and life: His journey through the days is her sun-march; He runs upon her roads; hers is his course. ||14.4||

A witness and student of her joy and dole, A partner in her evil and her good, He has consented to her passionate ways, He is driven by her sweet and dreadful force. ||14.5|| His sanctioning name initials all her works; His silence is his signature to her deeds; In the execution of her drama’s scheme, In her fancies of the moment and its mood, In the march of this obvious ordinary world Where all is deep and strange to the eyes that see And Nature’s common forms are marvel-wefts, She through his witness sight and motion of might Unrolls the material of her cosmic Act, Her happenings that exalt and smite the soul, Her force that moves, her powers that save and slay, Her Word that in the silence speaks to our hearts, Her silence that transcends the summit Word, Her heights and depths to which our spirit moves, Her events that weave the texture of our lives And all by which we find or lose ourselves, Things sweet and bitter, magnificent and mean, Things terrible and beautiful and divine. ||14.6||

Her empire in the cosmos she has built, He is governed by her subtle and mighty laws. ||14.7|| His consciousness is a babe upon her knees, Her endless space is the playground of his thoughts, His being a field of her vast experiment; She binds to knowledge of the shapes of Time And the creative error of limiting mind And chance that wears the rigid face of fate And her sport of death and pain and Nescience, His changed and struggling immortality. ||14.8||

His soul is a subtle atom in a mass, His substance a material for her works. ||14.9||

His spirit survives amid the death of things, He climbs to eternity through being’s gaps, He is carried by her from Night to deathless Light. ||14.10||

This grand surrender is his free-will’s gift, His pure transcendent force submits to hers. ||14.11||

In this description of the Sankhya metaphysics poetry might look somewhat thin but it holds another plain descriptive charm, charm of bareness; there is another fascination in it, its own well composed beauty, saundarya, its own serene yet tranquil essence, rasa, a deportment that has the quality of bringing wideness of the spirit itself. From a spiritual point of view the description is of the secret knowledge that Aswapati has to have if his concern is dealing with the cosmic issue, this creation opening to the higher possibilities that must enter into it. The Soul is at the back of everything and the job of Nature is to prepare this world, full of anguished mortality, to receive the immortal gifts of greatness, of light and love and sweetness and power and knowledge and joy. Let us read Sri Aurobindo’s Triple Brahman from the Upanishads. (pp. 45-50) ‘Love is a Cosmic Force’ Alex Grey

[ghostweaver]

Has anyone ever done weft-faced weaving like this? I made this little tiny "loom" in my campus makerspace just for kicks (mostly to have a more portable project) but I don't entirely know what to do with it.

I've just been messing around so far, but if anyone has any tips, tricks, or patterns, they'd be very appreciated!

[tiuhtaviuhta]

Sample 2

Weft faced rib (2:4)

Warp: 100% cotton

Weft 1: Polyurethane coated tape yarn

Weft 2: linen-cotton blend

Idk what is it about ribs but I really like weaving them. Black yarn photographs like shit.

[gregorvorbarra]

I keep forgetting to post weft-faced weaving updates, so here’s a big update!

this is so exciting and so much fun