#childlaughter

[monkeybrainworld]

#happymonkeybrainday Lily and The Monkey Brain So we were hunting around in some new spots and found this all cloth child mannequin. Which our little one immediately named Lily. Because when she grows out of things or stops playing with things we take them to the Lily store. (Thrift store so that a girl named Lily who lost her house in a fire 2 Januarys ago can get them to help her out.) However, no quater was given to Lily this morning when she apparently started a wrestling match and our Littlest Monkey Brain had to defend herself. Apparently Lily woke up in the middle of the night and stole her derigible and won't give it back.🐵😂🤣🌞 We just hope Lily survives the throttle so we can introduce the little ones clothes we are working on. . . . #monkeybrainworld #ejmaxmonkeybrainworld #findmonkeybrainworld #ourlittlesmonkeybrain #steampunkimagination #monkeybrainimagination #steampunkart #steampunkstlye #steampunklaugh #kidslaugh #imaginationstation #steampunkkids #bohemianlaughter #gyspsylaughter #livetolaugh #imaginetolaugh #childlaughter #childimagination #imaginationcreation #imaginationlaughter #lilyandthemonkeybrain https://www.instagram.com/p/B1AMK0TjCAk/?igshid=1lmewrc021l72

[ari-riot]

Postcards from Eorzea: Ishgard

[A careworn scrap of paper, nearly a circle. A faceless statue stands at the end of a bridge. The bridge stretches over some eternal void painted in angry purples and reds. Spear in hand, the stature is implacable, protective, cold as Ice. Children scuttle as bugs, hands filled with snow. On the back, in lilting Dalmascan:]

Dear Owyne and Olyffe,

white drips out the sky as so much blinding dandruff—it sears where my clothes don’t cover, trickling rivers of pain running down my bare skin—the Chill burrows deep deep in me with its razor claws—my teeth make to chatter out my skull—

they tell me I should dress less like a Dalmascan, but what, then, should I dress as?

their brume of unwanted, unnamed myste children swells around the Forgotten Knight—a thousand years of war make no people kinder—

the tavern’s fire sings for me—I make for the stairs—

some freezing things spatters with force on the back of my head—a child giggles bright as the sun glinting knifesharp off snow—another handful of cold hits me, splashing across my left shoulder—another peal of childlaughter—

surrounded, suddenly, by this mishmash of hyur & elezen myste children, all with balls of freezing white in their unwanted tiny hands—the melting cold seeps deep into where usually my blood Boils—but I—laugh as they pelt me with more—

in that corner, I see your impish smiles—Come and play, ari—

one of their TempleKnights oversees without interest—for enough coin, he would turn the other way, if I wanted to slice the children open on my blade—who would miss them?—

I scoop snow up into both my hands, packing a perfect ball—it flies at one of the children—

the Game begins—

Love,

Ari

[richrantferguson]

Falling Up

Melancholy Aprils crying endless rains. Radiant May days showering down flowering sunlight. Clouds alternately assuming shapes of animals, objects, and human faces as they amble across endless fields of high-above blue. Bruised stormclouds, the puffy faces of pugilists refusing to give up the fight. Sunsets, great nuclear explosions of magnificence. Dawn, a golden burst of childlaughter. Starry…