#paradise yarns

[dreamsinombre]

More spinning this time!

This is about 4oz of 100% merino, colorway Blaze from Paradise Fibers. I actually got all these dyed fibers as a gift this past winter from my sister-in-law, of course to go along with the spinning wheel my husband got me. She picked out the colors she liked the most, and while I've been surprised by how much I like some of them, my true love lies in natural colors or naturally dyed fibers. So, I'm using these vibrant and bold colors as my practice yarn before picking up the breed-specific ones I got myself.

I've got the remaining 4-ish ounces of Blaze left, as well as 8oz of a merino/mulberry silk/alpaca blend. I plan to ply the rest of Blaze and half the blend together, and then do a 2-ply of just the blend. And then it'll be on to some corriedale or BFL!

[cosmic-geologist]

we are reaching cob sizes that have never been seen before

[mimucka]

Outfit:

PIXEL BOX:

Steampunk Boots Pockets high heel 2023

Hat Halloween Shop & Hop 2023 gift

Prism - black ruffle blouse

.Shi x Messiah - Side-Drape Harem . Paint

Other:

Fotzi Latzo - Knit animation

[ofvenus]

A sneak peak of a design coming this fall. I haven't decided yet which button looks better though. 🐚 🐚 🐚 🐚 🐚 🐚 🐚 🐚 #crochetlife #summerlook #outfitideas #chihuahuamix #icecream #plantbased #runningmotivation #marathontraining #positivethinking #bunnyrabbit #ammonite #pumpkin #paradise #yarn #gamer #fall #shells #giftsfordad #giftsformom #momtobe (at Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ce6XupQO7_K/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[yandere-wishes]

★ɴᴇᴏɴ ɴɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ★

Synopsis: It's late and you're tired. Trapped within a dreamlike trance trying to figure out if you're sick or just in love. Although to Blade you're just confused and need a little more persuading of how much he loves you.  

Author's note: I don't know how or even when regular people go to sleep. So forgive me for any errors. I typically just stare at my phone until I pass out. 

Warnings: Violence, blood, injury, murder attempt, delusions, Blade being Blade, Yandere themes. 

Inspired by @aluraveil post

🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️

Neon lights bleed into the room, all proton purple and electric blue. They cast shadows across Blade's face, painting him as something surreal, something sweet, anything but a monster, anything but a killer. Just another blazing star, lost in an endless sky. 

You don't let the lights fool you, as you hover above his unconscious form. Knife clutched tight between unsteady fingers.  You know your lover's true colors better than you know your own name. In reality, he's a murderer with a schoolboy crush. Proud and prudent with a sword that's snuffed out one too many lives. 

He plucked you from your home planet, all those moons ago. A land of sands and trees. Oases and blood moons. where the wind would carry tunes of joy and laughter. It had been a perfect paradise. One you have every intention of returning to. Just as soon as you break these shackles.  Freeing yourself from this dreaded man. 

Blade is a monster. You know this as you trace the side of his face, mapping out scares that have healed too quickly. He's the embodiment of every horror harvested out of a children's readable. From eyes that echo the cosmos' insanity to a body that can withstand any calamity.

He's scary.  

But even scary things have their weaknesses.

Or so you hope. 

You learned that the hard way when he would drag you off to his room. Laying you on his bed as he'd settled beside you. He'd dose off after a few kisses and affectionate threats. Whilst you stayed awake counting every boogyman that crawled around his room. You've come to mature since then. Having befriended every terror that crawls around the accursed chamber. Vivid spiral-faced ghouls, all paying homage to both Blade's crimes and agony. You use to wave to them each night before falling asleep. But now they've all merged into the terrifying beast that you lay next to in the dead of night. 

He's beautiful you think as the colors dance across his face. Eyes sewn tight in his first blissful slumber in days. You could almost call him charming, if not for a recently patched-up would throbbing on your upper leg. He's a monster, but a rogue memory forces you to wonder if monsters can love too. If killers ever yarn for a lover's touch as they delve their blades into beating hearts. 

There's a stray moment when something begins to tug at your beaten heartstrings. your heart begins to beat to an unsteady tune, your lips begin to pulse as you recall every forceful kiss he's ever gifted you with. 

You wonder if you love him as you imagine splitting his skull open. with a Xianzhou Alliance paperweight, he keeps on the nightstand.

It's sicking you think as you dream of the cartoonishly large crack along his head. Blood sweeping out and leaking from the corners of his face. It's even worst when you imagine yourself pushing down on his shoulder as you kiss him with every desire you've kept under lock and chain, staining your pristine nightgown with his red essence. 

A grand goodbye

A childish dream. 

Still, you're sure that even the unkillable Blade has a weakness. Hidden under unbreakable bones and scarless flesh. You plan to dig deeper. Split him open and reach the one organ that no lifeforce may live without. His heart, his heart must be his only weakness. Granted he even has one in the first place. You're not sure such a terrible creature can even be labeled as a human, let alone possess any humanly needed organ. Still, you intend to find out. 

Curiosity, Curiosity, Curiosity

It's almost romantic you think, as the neon signs outside change to floating hearts in shades of plastic pink and cherry red. It's almost like falling in love with very literal analogies. 

You're lost somewhere on the border of reality and fantasy. A life-like dream that encompasses the room in a surreal glow. It's hard to tell if you're even awake. Nothing feels the way it should, as if someone mixed the pages from a horror story and a love tale. Miss-matched patches crack along your eyes. Blade's face morphos, beautiful and deadly. Desirable and detestest. Loved and hated. The knife feels unbearably heavy in your hand.

You love him, you love him, you love him...

So maybe that's why you must kill him. 

You prep the knife. Clutching its steel handle with both hands and lifting it above your head. The digital hearts outside pop one by one. A countdown bestowed upon you by the universe itself. 

4...3...2...1....

There's a grotesque sound that would make even the Aeon of Destruction flinch in disgust. The knife enters his heart just as the last digital heart pops. Blade's body is jerked forward as his eyes abruptly open. He gasps as if awakening from a nightmare. Eyes unfocused as he evaluates the room. You lean to the side, prepared to run. until his icy hand clutched your shoulder and pulls you back, throwing you to your side of the bed. 

"what the hell are you doing!"

He's angry you realise. All so angry. Wrath spirals off of him like spider lily petals in the wind. Oh, how you wish to kiss him. Your fingers reach for his face, pulled like magnets. He grips your wrist, crushing it between his fingers as he snarls. A throaty growl warning you of moving again. 

"Kiss me" You beg

Blade smirks, cruel and charming. Bits of his anger melting off live flakes of ice. He bites the side of your neck, causing droplets of crimson to leak out. 

"You stupid, stupid idiot" he chastises 

Neon lights flood the room, all lightning purple and mourning blue. They paint you like a shooting star, far from home and lost to time. Blade's weight holds you down, mesmerized by the colors that form a spiraling galaxy upon your body. 

"It's almost like you don't love me...if you did, you'd know a little knife like that isn't going to do anything to someone like me" his voice is a symphony of patronizing taunts. 

Blade straightens his back, peering down at you as if you're nothing more than a pesky insect that awakens him from his slumber. Blood mares his shirt, dripping down onto the velvet sheets. 

"Maybe I should remind you who you belong to." His tone is nothing short of a death threat, one that makes you blush.

He grabs an elastic from the nightstand, right next to the paperweight you'd used as a murder weapon in a dream-like reality. Blade pulls his hair back, teeth subconsciously chewing on the elastic band. His nimble fingers pluck the band from his mouth, tying his hair into a tight pony tale. Majestic and menacing as always. 

He's ready to punish you, you realize as his blood-red eyes focus on you. Funny how you didn't notice the dark bags forming under his eyelids until now. They make him look tired, exhausted, almost, almost human. 

He leans down slowly, lifting your hand up and entwining his fingers with yours. His index finger doesn't follow the dance, instead, it pushes down on your own forefinger, at first a nudge and then...

crack!

the bone breaks and Blade's attention snaps to your middle finger. Repeating the same torture, again and again, and again.

Somewhere along the line midnight bleeds into six am and Blade thinks he's maybe forgotten how to tell time. Or maybe he's forgotten in general, it's hard to remember when there's a knife lodged into your heart. he used to kill his assassins. Not leave petty punishment and loving kisses across their skin. He use to bathe in blood, not ravish in the mere sound of breaking bone. He wonders if you love him as much as he loves you. You're confused he's sure. What he wouldn't give to hear you say that adoring phrase. But the words keep slipping from your mind and your tongue can only muster screams of pain and agony. And oh Aeons you're so beautiful, utterly perfect.

Unterrly his...

By the time the sun rises and the neon lights die down, Blade has already dragged you to the Medical room. Settling you in his lap as Kafka tends to your destroyed fingers. 

She smiles, patronizing and sweet. Looking at the two of you as if she's seen two stars collide. 

"Now this was uncalled for" she chides, as she wraps bandages around each finger.  

 "We all tend to fabricate monsters for ourselves in the dead of night, I'm sure you know this better than anyone Bladie. Little (y/n) was probably just confused, that's all. No need to hold any grudges now. Especially towards someone you love so much" 

Kafka is his voice of reason.

You're wholly grateful for how she keeps Blade on a leash. 

"hmph, confused" Silver Wolf mutters from her place behind a large glowing screen. 

Blade's head tilts down, lips brushing over yours, eyes barring into your soul. A sinister smile chipped across his pretty face.

"Well (y/n) what do you say? I think you've finally learned your lesson this time."

[aaknopf]

In the prologue to Spectral Evidence, Pulitzer winner Gregory Pardlo’s new collection, he writes, “This book is about the legal means by which fear is used to rationalize the persecution of people imagined to be in league with the possessed of supernatural forces. This book argues that the logic used to rationalize the prosecution of witches is the same logic that rationalizes vigilantism and police street justice.” He goes on to consider that both Black men and white women are “similarly pressed into service as both muse and monster in the Western cultural imagination,” while, at their ghostly intersection, the patriarchy is haunted by “the omnipresent but rarely named” Black woman. 

One iconic example, brought forth in these shimmering poems of the self as shaped by (and shaping) American history, is Tituba, the only woman of color to be accused in the Salem witch trials.

Occult

Zero your scales to the burden of a lash, Dear Justice, but let Tituba clumsy the Magistrates’ minds with a wag of her wizened index. A flight risk near forests of the Wampanoag where Christians savaged Queen Weetamoo’s corpse, what else might Tituba, nonwhite and woman, haunt but a margin of error? She’s a catbird’s song trapped in the chimney. She’s egg whites in water, she is the tumescence of smoke. Dear Mami Wata, let Tituba prove to be the stone that splits the stream of their vision. Let her renounce sight and be unseen. Let her cough ground coral in the shedding of a pewter moon, that she, of all the innocents, should live. Dear Three-headed Hecate, replace her, the unthought thought, with wax, twigs, horse hair and straw. Let her not appear as a witness. Nor as evidence. As with the talking dog, let her be the hoodoo that speaks through their mirrors. Let a hang-thread skein of yarn ghost the floorboards tempting a red cat—his familiars, the devil and his counsel, the canary. Let her conjure the man in black they fear who charms pilgrims on the road to paradise, disguised as a harmless birdwatcher. Dear Nemesis, let her feed the court a few names from his register—a taste of her truth, her mise en abyme, her one hell that calls forth another. With no standing on her own behalf, let her sit in judgment. Let this power invested of gavel and oath help her give birth through her mouth like a god.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Spectral Evidence by Gregory Pardlo.

Browse other books by Gregory Pardlo and follow him on Twitter @pardlo.

Click here for a special NYPL recording of Imani Perry and Gregory Pardlo in conversation about Spectral Evidence. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[deanbane]

shuggy Christmas hc

where when they were kids, they'd exchange dumb gifts during Christmas, where the other would never use the items in their lives. Shank's gotten a blue hair tie, a mauve colored lipstick, a too big shoe that was probably Roger's that buggy had stolen and ball of yarn. whilst buggy got a pink frilly dress, one of Rayleigh's old and broken glasses, a sketch pad(buggy is a shit drawer) and a broken glass that Gaban forgot to throw away.

But then, when they separated, Shanks still continued on sending crappy gifts to Buggy but buggy never sent anything to him in return.

And when Shanks went back to Paradise with one arm intact, he received a gift on a Christmas morning, it was a singular glove that was supposed to go on his left hand and a note that said, "Fuck you" in a familiar writing.

That was the time Shanks had fully laughed out loud for a full 10 minutes straight.

[morimementa]

Things I like about Trolls 3

Floyd reassuring Branch the actions of adults are not his fault.

The giant water slide doodle.

Bruce's weight gain isn't played for humor. In fact, Poppy still sees him as a heart throb and it's presented more as a facet of him discovering himself rather than a personal failing.

The macramé interior of Branch's old house.

Everything looks like it has The Good Textures and I want to touch it. I've been underestimating the joys of Computer Animation.

The reoccurring felt and yarn crafts make me feel very seen.

Bridget and Gristle don't have to be conventionally cute to be main characters.

On that note, they're so sappy and cuddly they remind me of me and my boyfriend.

Bridget and Gristle being barely annoyed that their wedding is interrupted for a completely unrelated issue.

I hope Tiny's coffee is decaf because that child doesn't need more energy.

Floyd is my precious baby girl and I want to gently hold him and reassure him that those big rubber meanies won't hurt him anymore.

I'm sewing a Floyd plush to do exactly that.

The officiant at the royal wedding.

Poppy reassuring Branch that despite what his abandonment issues are telling him, she won't leave him.

Poppy getting a sister and it's everything she dreamed of. She deserves good things.

Floyd whump. I want ALL the fics of him being comforted!

Poppy being all protective of Branch. We love protective girl friends in this house.

The Trolls fighting with toys like finger traps and sticky hands.

There's glitter everywhere, even in the toilet water.

Don't sue me, but I like Crimp. She's just a little creacher.

I bet the reason Vacay is so popular is because being able to bathe in Orbeez sounds like sensory paradise.

Bruce's kids are very realistic kids.

Everything in this movie looks like a fun toy and it makes me happy. I know this is probably to peddle products but I still like it.

Mount Rageous's aesthetic balances between rubber hose Betty Spaghetti people and everything being made of faceted crystal which I didn't realize would work so well.

No one thought about the fact that the authorities would be able to get Floyd to safety easily and then they could do the perfect family harmony on their own time to break the bottle. But then we wouldn't have a movie.

Rhonda.

[haggishlyhagging]

The story of the first people begins in Genesis 2, when God creates Adam, the first human being. The first Adam is a very simple and uncultured being, so simple that in the quest to find Adam a "suitable companion," God creates the animals. At this early point in Adam's development, God can entertain the notion that the animals might be fit companions for the lone Adam. God brings each animal to Adam, and Adam takes notice of each and gives it a name. "But for Adam he didn't find a suitable companion." God then creates woman.

The nature of humanity changes drastically after the creation of Eve. In response to the serpent's revelation that eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge would make her more godlike, she eats, and by doing so she acquires the knowledge of things—cultural knowledge. In this way, Eve wrests knowledge from the realm of the divine, takes the first step towards culture, and transforms human existence. The coming of knowledge is stated very simply: “the eyes of both of them were opened and they perceived that they were naked, and they sewed together fig leaves and made themselves loincloths.” Two things have happened: not only have Adam and Eve realized that they are naked, a category they had not perceived in their childlike innocence, but, in addition, they are now able to sew themselves loincloths out of the available fig leaves. Somehow, the knowledge of this skill of sewing, the beginnings of cultural knowledge, has come with the eating of the fruit of the knowledge of all things. The "natural" state of humankind's Edenic beginnings has disappeared: humans become creatures of culture, able to make creations of their own. They leave the garden and embark on their cultural existence.

The implications of Eve's act are enormous. In a bite, she has “stolen” cultural knowledge, taking it from the sacred realm and bringing it to humankind. Almost immediately, Adam and Eve have to leave the garden of Eden: human beings leave their liminal infancy and enter the world of human reality. God then ratifies this change in their existence, and formally recognizes that they have left the animal world by providing them clothes made out of animal skins.

This story has a long history of interpretation in post-biblical Western tradition, which concentrated on the sin of disobeying God. Early post-biblical literature does not focus on this story as an account of the origin of sin, which it derives from the story of the marriage of the angels to human women, a post-Biblical elaboration of Genesis 6:1-4. From the first century B.C.E. on, the exegetical tradition sees sin originating in the Paradise story, and by the first century C.E. on, Eve is blamed for this fall. Eve is seen as the first yielder to temptation, the one who brought sin and evil into the world.

Western writers since Origen have often associated Eve with the Greek myth of Pandora, the first woman, who unleashes misfortune on humankind when she opens the forbidden box. She is, however, better compared to Prometheus, who disobeyed the gods and brought culture (in the form of fire) to humanity. Like Prometheus, Eve acts on her own initiative; like Prometheus, she transforms human existence: and, like Prometheus, she suffers as the result of her gift to humanity. However—unlike Prometheus—Eve, the Bible's first culture bearer, is human. And she is female. This depiction of Eve as culture hero has an inner coherence and logic to it, for Eve's role in this primeval scene is the woman's role in the life of human beings, and that of the goddesses of the ancient Sumerian pantheon. The goddesses are figures of culture and wisdom just as women are the first teachers of cultured existence, the transformers of raw into edible, grass into baskets, fleece and flax into yarn and linen and then into clothes, and babies into social beings. They are the mediators of nature and culture in daily life, and Eve the first woman is the first transformer who begins the change from "natural" simple human beings into cultural humanity.

-Tikva Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake of the Goddesses: Women, Culture, and the Biblical Transformation of Pagan Myth

[thebubblesareevil]

He’s a big boy!!

Just finished this beast and now I’m making something a bit smaller. I’ve decided to attempt trying to sell the things I crochet so my apartment doesn’t become a plush paradise….i don’t think my cat can contain her urge to attack all that yarn.

Wish me luck!

[ezekiellsplayground]

Thought I’d share the very first spin I did on my new Daedalus wheel earlier this year. This fibre (called Tropical Paradise, which didn’t give me tropical vibes at all) I used as tribute to dial in my preferred settings for singles and plying. Thus the resulting yarn is very over spun, over plyed, and under plyed in places.

My mum happened to like the texture of it, so it’s been yeeted into her stash, because, gosh is this mega skein fugly.

[dreamsinombre]

The promised Malabrigo Nube Hojas colorway & merino/camel 2-ply:

I ended up splitting it into two skeins because it was just too large and ridiculous as a hank. They're almost even, though one has a few more yards and weighs less.

[hcdragonwrites]

Letters (a @journey-to-the-au Drabble)

I made another thing (yeah I couldn’t help myself but this one is shorter I think. I hope you like it!) I just. Brain fire.

Inspired by <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/journey-to-the-au/722003448742248448/may-we-hear-about-the-yaogui-attack-0-apologies" >This Post </a>

(Also I suck at linking things I’m so sorry.)

Liu crossed out the line on the parchment before him, splashing ink onto the stone beneath his feet in an frustrated spray.

“No that doesn’t sound right either!” He gritted his teeth, growing frustrated. General Liu, one of the Four great Generals of Flower- Fruit mountain and friend to its King Sun Wukong, had a dilemma.

He set the brush down, still getting used to holding it in his hands. Wukong makes this look so easy! But things of the unmonkey nature came easily to Wukong- how could they not ? He had mastered the mysterious arts that had given him such power, had defeated the demon who had first claimed Water- Curtain Cave in his absence (and more beside.) Wukong had walked among the men of the world and had claimed treasure from dragons.

Wukong would be able to hold a brush with ease and write words with a steady hand. The general tugged at his fur and looked about himself. Rolls of parchment lay about him like discarded rinds of watermelons. All the failed attempts to transcribe what his heart was trying to speak. He tugged more, hairs coming free.

When Wukong spoke of his experience in the world abroad their mountain, he had mentioned how the important people within that strange world of mortals and immortals would communicate through scrolls and parchment.

“It was too quiet at times for my liking!” He reminisced once, splashing some wine as he gesticulated upon his throne. “What silence! What needed to be written that couldn’t be communicated with a clear voice?” He would then call for one of the troop of his subjects to retell a story, for Wukong loved the telling of a yarn through voice and act.

Liu had understood why one would want words written down however. The things he wanted to say- to tell- either fled him like mist before the sun or stuck in his throat like a peach stone. The Marshal scratched behind his ear, brushing the notched edge and remembering. Remembering her.

Rin Rin.

Liu had never been one for such deep hesitation as he was now. In all the Aolai country, among and betwixt the unicorns and the phoenixes who preened and called themselves the most beautiful, where the leopards and the tigers roamed and boasted their own majesty, Liu had faced all that threatened his home with bravery. He loved this mountain, from every blade of grass to every luminous stone deep in Water-Curtain Cave. He thought none of the beasts or birds or celestial bodies in Heaven was more beautiful than his home.

Except Her.

He wanted to tell her. Tell Rin Rin how she rivaled all the clouds in heaven for her softness. How no flower could compare to her eyes and how they shined like the sea when the sun hit it. Her smile could make the trees cry and her anger could chase the stripes off a tiger.

Liu was afraid. Not afraid of her. Afraid to miss this opportunity! His tail lashed and sent a bit of paper skittering over the stone floor, knocking into several stone bowls of almonds.

The mountain was a paradise. The waterfall that crashed beyond, the pine forests that dotted the slopes where their needles spiced the air. He had faced tigers and demons, fought and thrown himself into situation after situation of danger without a second thought for himself.

Now he was hesitant. He acted as he had on that day Wukong had found Water- Curtain cave: hesitant. Marshal Liu had not been hesitant since that time- so why had he returned to this state ?

Liu looked down at the paper and groaned.

“I just want to tell her how beautiful she is…”

Steps approached from outside Liu’s room.

“So this is where you’ve been!” Wukong called, stepping into the room with a frown on his face. “I have been waiting for you in the Throne room for hours! Sentries have spotted what look to be the makings of a camp. We have a troop of creatures lurking in the shadow of our mountain and I need my Generals— what is all this stuff ?”

Liu didn’t bother to cover up his failings- he just lay his head on the stone table and glared at the brush.

“You only called for a meeting a few minutes ago, my king.” He replied from the table.

“Minutes- hours. It has been too long! What have you been up to in here?”Wukong picked up a paper scroll, the feathered crown on his head bobbing.

“You are as pretty as a … hmm. You never finished this one Liu!”

Liu moved his face to flatten into the stone table, feeling his cheeks burn and his ears itch. Of course my king would start reading them.

Shuffling paper noises sounded again as Wukong picked another scroll up.

“My heart becomes a candle when you are near—“ he frowned. “You crossed out the rest in a mess of black.”

Liu wished he could dissolve into the stone.

“You smell as sweet as a magnolia flower- your eyes are the shape of stars —“

“Please My King.” He begged. “Spare me.”

“You wrote them Liu! I am only reading.”

“And I ask for mercy, please.”

“Seems you’ve had trouble finishing whatever you were trying to say.” Mused the Sage.

“None of the words formed well enough on the paper.” Marshal Liu sighed. There came a shuffle and a brush beside him. He lifted his head to see Wukong had crossed his legs beside him, a shoulder companionably against Lius. The Monkey King twirled the brush between his fingers, unrolling a new scroll of parchment.

“If I help you Write your love poem to Rin, Will you stop mooning so sadly ?” Wukong cocked a brow at his general, side eyeing him in a way only a friend could.

Marshal Liu felt his pride pricked, just a bit. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liu- you have been my friend for countless years. Longer than most monkeys usually live.” Wukong dipped the brush into the inkwell, checking the ink stone and grimacing at its diminished size. “I know you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your fur. We have fought and bled side by side. You may be a master at strategy and planning but. My friend.”

Wukong turned his whole face to stare at Liu. “You suck at hiding how in love you are with Rin Rin.”

The Marshal sat up, opened his mouth to defend, to deflect —

Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, waited. His face set in a neutral and very are you really going to argue with me? expression.

Liu closed his mouth, tugged at his fur and set his chin on the stone table. “She makes me feel so—-“

“Mhm.”

“She’s so—!”

“Mhm…”

“I just can’t get the words out!” The Marshal admitted finally. “Each time I start to tell her, I freeze. I’ve tried so many times!”

When Rin and He had shared a sweet patch of strawberries he had tried to say how he loved her.

When Rin had been tending to a scratch on his face, chiding and reprimanding him for his recklessness again. Her anger had made him want to hold her and reassure her that he was fine.

When they had decided to stay out late, tails curled together as they counted the stars. Liu had wanted to compare her to each one.

And each of these times his words had either fled him or had refused to come out.

“And you thought to write them out because they keep getting stuck.”

Liu nodded.

“Give me the words and I’ll write them down.” Wukong set the tip, ready. “If I write this for you, then will come and put your mind back to keeping our mountain safe?”

Guilt itched beneath his fur. “My King i'm sorry—“

A affectionate rub of Wukongs head against his own shut the general up as the king tugged at his ear in play.

“Liu. I may not understand the power of what you are feeling,” Wukong cut off, tail thumping against the Marshals “but that doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t important. And … seeing you so distressed makes me distressed. I can help my friend in this simple task at least.”

Liu felt a warmth well from him. For all his Kings boasting and prideful proclamations, Wukong cared for each of his subjects - even in the face of his incomprehension. He would do what he could to ease his friends, his subjects, his families struggles. Wukong began to write as Liu began to speak, his face warm and his hands slowly beginning uncurl from his fur.

After just an hour with Wukongs transcribing and Liu describing, the confession was complete. Liu clutched the scroll and strapped it to his side.

He had been able to attend the Council with a lighter heart and a smile on his face. The discussion and the plans to increase patrols along the pine forest to the west of Flower Fruit Mountain had been unanimously agreed upon as the troubling information came to light.

The scouts' reports had indicated that there had been activity - a half made campfire kicked over and cold with bones from what looked like a small deer- not a few leaps and bounds from the slopes. Liu had frowned at the description of the tracks- five footed, fur and the scent of musk in the air. Another band of Monkeys … but they seem to be scouting us as well.

When Liu had this brought to attention, an immediate patrol had been sent out to gain more information on how many may be circling their home. The unspoken kept being danced around but all in that council chamber had a suspicion. Demon Monkeys….

Until they knew further who and what they were facing, Wukong wouldn’t risk a war troop to prowl the nearby hills and leave the rest of his family and people exposed.

Liu had a bit of time beneath the growing moon of night to find Rin Rin now. Before his nerves left him. Wukongs handwriting had made the words look better, flow better, feel better to the Marshals eyes. His King had sat through his flowery language, and had written it all diligently if with a little bit of snorting at times. (“Don’t compare her to pine nuts!” “But she smells of the pines and the wood and everything I love!” “…. But pine nuts ?”)

If his words failed him, Liu had them written down. If they stuck in his throat, he could pull them apart with the help of his letter. His heart was thumping, his fur was sticking out a bit as electric nerves rolled on his skin. Liu was in full armor having come from council, and it jangled softly in the night air. But it was a comforting jangle- a separate staccato rhythm against his body.

As the moon rose outside of Water-Curtain Cave casting the spray in silver light, Liu gazed out. Some other monkeys mingled in the cooling air enjoying the clear night. Tending to loved ones by either grooming fur, sharing ripening fruits from the many orchards across the vast mountain, or cuddling down in the soft grasses to gaze upward. Liu greeted each in turn, butting heads or brushing hands. Pride welled in him, making Liu stand taller. This was his home- his family. The peace they lived in was hard won and protected by their King and his Marshals- and that peace was precious.

A small bundle of babes shot past, one carrying a lychee fruit as a prize to be kept from the others. A pair of older simians gazed into the waters of the pool, leaning into each other. Liu would fight a thousand demons, all the celestial beings in the world, to keep this peace. He would tame dragons and pull the moon down from its boughs in Heaven to preserve this peace.

Liu turned, green eyes seeking. There, just beneath the pomegranate tree overlooking a mossy spray of water, he spotted the cloud gray of Rin Rin. Even in the shadow of the tree he could see her moon flower perched behind her ear, the fur perfectly groomed in wonderous swirls. He wished he had a bouquet of moonflowers to bring her or a cup of tea to present to her. He wanted to come bearing gifts and to tend and tidy her hair and weave flowers throughout it.

He came bearing his heart instead.

Said heart thumped against his chest. Steady Liu.

Liu took a moment to groom his finger through his fur, his tail, and to dust at his armor. He grabbed at a small patch of pine needles, snapping them between fingers and briefly rubbing the tips over his fur. He wanted to look his best to smell his best to be his best.

Then, gathering himself and tapping the scroll's top at his hip, Liu straightened and stepped forward.

He would tell her how much she meant to him. He would show her how much she was worth to him- between the words he had been able to wrangle and place onto a page.

Liu would never get the chance to unwind that scroll however. The night air that had been full of gentle chatter and warm conversation was broken by screams as the mountain's peace was shattered into a thousand screams of fury and fear rang off the mountain.

[brarb-does-stuff]

WIP Wednesday

Some crochet updates this week: I started working on block 3 of this year's Moogly CAL...

... and Birds of Paradise is growing slowly but steadily:

Still not sure if I have enough yarn, but I will find out soon.

[harunayuuka2060]

Lucifer: *sternly* What are you doing here?

Simeon: We're just here to see how MC's doing. Are they not causing trouble so far?

Lucifer: No. But it's not any of your business anymore.

Simeon: *smiles* You don't need to be hostile, Lucifer.

Lucifer: I'm not. I just don't understand why you would care about someone you banished because they're defective.

Simeon: ...

Luke: *spotted MC coming out of the room* *wearing glasses and reading a book*

MC: I'm having difficulty in finding the correlation between the two events that occurred.

Satan: I'm not surprised. That's still a draft after all.

Luke: MC!

MC: *looks at him* *confused for a second then smiles out of courtesy*

Lucifer: I guess MC is mirroring you, huh, Satan.

Satan: I have nothing else to do so I took the opportunity. *smiles*

Luke: *sad frowns*

Lucifer: Now that you have seen them, I would need to ask you to leave.

Simeon: Can you at least let Luke to say hi?

Lucifer: ...

Lucifer: *sigh* Go ahead.

Luke: *approaches MC*

Luke: MC! Do you still remember me?

MC: ...

MC: *smiles like Satan* Of course. How can I possibly forget you?

Luke: Whaa! You made me worried for a second there! *hugs them*

Satan: Oi!

MC: *hugging Luke back with eagerness* Whaa! I have missed you so much!

Luke: Me too!

Satan: *slightly annoyed*

Simeon: MC? Won't you come with us for a moment? *smiles*

MC: *beams* Okay!

Lucifer: What the-

Simeon: Don't worry. We're just going to talk outside.

-----------------------------------------------

MC: *still mirroring Luke*

Simeon: How's your life here, MC?

MC: *shyly* I-It's great. B-But I'm not saying that it's good living with demons! No! I'm not thinking that way! *defensive*

Simeon: *chuckles* Luke, you're influencing MC.

Luke: Oh, sorry. I just don't like knowing that they enjoy living here...

Simeon: *smiles* It's okay, Luke. *touches MC's hand*

Simeon: You are me now. Try to speak up.

MC: ...

MC: *smiles gently* This place is a paradise.

Simeon: I'm glad to know that. Michael will finally feel relieved knowing that you're in good hands.

MC: Would he?

Simeon: *nods* Yes. I'm sure you understand.

MC: *shakes their head* *smiles apologetically*

Lucifer: MC! Get back here now!

Simeon: Alright. We're taking our leave as well.

Luke: Bye, MC...

MC: Goodbye, Luke.

------------------------------------------------

MC: *mirroring a kitten* *is now lying on the dirt, playing a yarn ball*

The brothers: ...

Lucifer: Now who the fuck-

Levi: Let me explain!

Lucifer: *frowns* It better make sense.

Levi: Okay. Earlier, I have noticed that MC was feeling down. And none of us wanted to be mirrored because we felt annoyed by the fact that Simeon and Luke visited to ask if they were "okay".

Levi: So to erase the sad feeling, I made them hold a kitten.

Lucifer: *not amused*

Asmo: Um, guys? MC has climbed the tree and they're about to fall.

The brothers: ...

The brothers: *runs to their rescue*

[cassieno]

Crowley, Aziraphale, William Blake and John Milton

Let me spin you a yarn. Well, not really. I’m going to preface this with: I did never study literature, I just enjoy reading the occasional poetry and my brain is currently relating everything to Good Omens.

So here goes nothing.

William Blake’s The Tyger has been a favourite poem of mine for a while. I go back to it every few months. This time i found myself comparing it quite a lot to Crowley. It goes:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies. 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

Now the imagery here is playing into themes of revolting and revolution. (Frankly, it was about the industrial revolution at the time, but as far as I’m aware the religious imagery was used here.) Remind you of someone?

The use of the word “Dare” in the last two verses especially. How dare Crowley ask questions? but also How dare God destroy his nebula? How dare God destroy creation. How dare she create destruction.

The end of the poem goes as follows:

When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The poem very clearly involves themes of duality and violence. Did God make the lamb and the tiger? Did they make something innocent and something violent to destroy it? Did they smile upon their creation? Upon its destruction? Or maybe these are shades of grey?

Same with Crowley. We saw him struggling with his place in the world during S2. “Lonely? Yeah.” Was he only created to destroy whatever good was in the world? He knew heaven was wrong just as he knew hell was wrong, too. But it poses the overall question: What place did God carve out for him when devising the Ineffable Plan?

Now the Beauty of this Poem is that it has a pair called The Lamb. The Tyger was published as part of the book “The Song of Experience”. The Lamb was published before as part of “The Song of Innocence”.

For my purposes here i relate these titles to Before the Apple and After the Apple, or Before the Fall and After the Fall. Innocence and Experience.

The lamb is so contrasting to its views of God. It very much reminded me of Aziraphale in that way.

Little Lamb who made thee 

         Dost thou know who made thee 

Gave thee life & bid thee feed. 

By the stream & o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing wooly bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice! 

         Little Lamb who made thee 

         Dost thou know who made thee 

         Little Lamb I'll tell thee,

         Little Lamb I'll tell thee!

He is called by thy name,

For he calls himself a Lamb: 

He is meek & he is mild, 

He became a little child: 

I a child & thou a lamb, 

We are called by his name.

         Little Lamb God bless thee. 

         Little Lamb God bless thee.

Just looking at these poems next to each other shows the contrast. The Lamb has a very easy answer to the question: Where do I come from? What’s my purpose?

As it’s easy for Aziraphale to say, too )or at least it was before Job): God.

He came from God, God was good and hence everything else was in order and just and jolly good.

Anything else was bad and therefore opposed God. His purpose was to follow heaven and the Plan.

The Tyger then poses the same question we as the viewer got in S2: How far can you go along with that easy answer? Did God really have to test Job? Did she know beforehand that Crowley and Aziraphale would work together? And if so: Did she make the Tiger and the Lamb?

Now onto John Milton because this post isn’t quite long enough yet: Blake used a lot of metaphors in The Tyger from Paradise Lost. Mainly about the Fall of Lucifer

But. BUT when i started reading it the description of the Serpent in Paradise Lost hit me like a train.

I cannot post the whole part here, but please read the whole section for yourself.

Here’s my favourite parts:

The themes of rebellion, revolution, the fall, the sorrow in Hell, the pain, the description how the efforts were futile.

It just all fits so very well. You feel bad for the Serpent, you can feel the loneliness seeping through the lines.

And of course this reminds me of Crowley.

"He trusted to have equal'd the most High" is Crowley feeling safe enough with God to go and ask a question. Make a suggestion.

“With vain attempt” Like with Crowley, nothing changed. He had to take it into his own hands.

"With ever-burning Sulphur unconsum'd: Such place Eternal Justice had prepar'd. For those rebellious" is the juxtaposition of eternal damnation as a form of ‘Justice’. It’s Crowley’s “I only ever asked questions. That’s all it took in the old days.” It is not just

"O how unlike the place from whence they fell!" it’s that we saw the pure joy that is Angel Crowley.

"Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace. And rest can never dwell, hope never comes" is the only part that doesn’t fit.

Because for Crowley hope did come in the form of Aziraphale and Humanity. He clings to music and plants and fine wines and sleep and cars and love.

I don’t know if this whole thing has a point. I think it is fun to find parallels in media. I think literature raising these imageries of Eden, the Serpent, God and Morality are bound to raise the same questions.

Isn’t that wonderful to see? How humanity will always try to figure out the same things in new ways with the same metaphors and maybe not the exact same questions but it boils down to something similar, doesn’t it?

Or maybe Crowley sat down with Blake and Milton at a bar once and told them what he really thinks over a few bottles of wine.