#‘the cashew clan’

[lucky-clover-gazette]

named my sneasel “sneaze” in honor of theamandafiles casually referring to hers as “sneaze the sleaze”

[your-faves-should-get-divorced]

Thrasher and Cashew from @barrenclan should get a divorce!

[barrenclan]

PATFW: Animal Name Systems

As more non-Clan characters get introduced to the story, I’ve been having fun coming up with the naming systems for various animals. In real life there would probably be more natural variety within a whole species, but also making up little systems is fun so I don’t care. Also, as a technical note, obviously none of these names are in “English”. They’re in whatever language animals speak. So, like, Hacksaw is not literally “hacksaw”, it’s the animal word for that object. 

Cats - with the exception of warriors (who obviously have an incredibly specific naming system), cat names tend to be more loose, and can be named after many things. In general, they are shorter. House cats are also an exception, as they are named by people and so their names can be very different. Ex. Cashew, Summer, Rowan, Egret, Thrasher, Jackalope

Wolves and coyotes - like cats, wolves also have a more loose naming system. Often wolves are named after someone else, to honor them. Coyote communities are heavily linked to wolf communities, so their rules are similar. In general, they are longer. Ex. Coldbreath, Nightshade, Lucky-Foot, Antlerhorn, Ranger

Deer - deer are always named after plants. No exceptions to this. Often the plants are ones that the parents admire or enjoy. Ex. Wild Rose, Juniper, Hyssop, Maple, Lingonberry

Mountain lions - they are named after some kind of aspirational trait at birth that their parent is hoping they fulfill. Sometimes this leads to funny, ironic circumstances, but usually the kitten is shaped by their name and strives to embody it. Ex. Ferocity, Swiftness, Cunning, Power, Caution

Porcupines - for the first year of their life, porcupine kits are named after the order in which their mother gave birth to them. Ex. First, Second, Third, etc. When the porcupine has come of age, they are given their adult name. These names are short and functional, usually no more than four letters. Ex. Mud, Snap, Snow, Blue

Falcons - chicks are never given names by their parents, and are generally treated as indistinguishable when young. Once they leave the nest, falcons name themselves whatever they like. Frequently these names are inspired by human artifacts, as falcons (and many other bird cultures, as well as raccoons) value their liminal relationship to humans. Ex. Hacksaw, Highway, Black-Wing, Perils, Artemis

Bears - at birth, bears are given short, silly names, meant to be inconsequential. Ex. Fuzz, Seed, Bug, Baby. When they come of age, they are given an adult name by the eldest bear, whether it’s a large group or just a family. These names are structured as some kind of brag about the individual’s qualities, to impress others and display dominance. They are composed of two words in the trait separated by a hyphen. Ex. Longest-Claws, Fiercest-Roar, Strongest-Jaw, Thickest-Pelt. However, if the bear is disliked or considered weak, they can be also be called a version of this structure that is an insult. Ex. Dullest-Mind, Weakest-Strike, Softest-Heart. The greatest shame of all, though, is an adult bear forced to keep their childhood name. 

[decarabiandivorce]

Til my voice grows tired, I only ask for your embrace.

okay @cashewally-sarcastic when you said Nameless Bard playing the lyre for the ffd au my mind went crazy <3

Anyways here is some Red-haired warrior and Nameless Bard cringe :3 featuring Venti and Amos

He could never forget the smile his friend had when he played that lyre.

It reminded him of the day that they met when he acted as courier between the city and desolate wilds.  The bard sang and sang until his voice began to fade, and he had realized he stood still for the entire day. The wanderer was just another member of the audience, a sword for those who needed protection.

They didn’t talk that day. Nor the day after that. Nor the days or weeks after that.

Yet whenever he wandered back into the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the isolated city, he would spend an hour or so listening to the bard.

There weren’t many musicians in that city, he realized around his fourth visit. Unlike the other nations he had been in, there weren’t people playing the drums on the street corners nor the piano being practiced near a window. It was as if the source of all music came from a single boy with pale blue eyes.

To speak so eloquently was a skill, and the bard smiled as his audience gifted him with coin and cuisine. It was a kind the smile, the one without malice nor bite. He talked a bit with some of the kids, letting them pluck his lyre’s strings.

It was routine.

Until it wasn’t.

“Mister Warrior,” The bard spoke to him around his fifteenth visit. “There is snow on your cape.”

“There is.” He replied.

“Mister Warrior,” the blue eyes looked so wide, “Do you come from outside?”

Then a new cycle began. While the man had coin and cooking, the accounting of a record would do just the same. He told the bard the vast seas of Liyue, and how their mountains were as tall as the very tower they were under. He told of fishes so large that they could swallow a great sword in one fell swoop.

The bard chuckled with delight as he went over every detail, staying quiet as he absorbed every word. As he held the warriors hand and the lyre in the other, the warrior knew that this was no ordinary fellow. He didn’t know what to say when his story was done and silence blanketed them both. To ask about the fellow’s family? To ask what it was like to live under such tyranny? It would do harm to be persistent so soonly met.

But there was one question that had been burning in his heart since the day he listened to the lyre’s master, “O’ Bard, what is your name?”

Then there was something else in that man’s eyes, a child-like mischief, “Oh? You make sure to secure yourself a front row, yet my name you do not know?” He giggled at the warrior, “Guess.”

“Guess?” The flame-haired man barked, “There are a million different names one can go by!”

“And you have millions of seconds to try and try again.” Spoke the bard.

He stared at the person, that kind smile revealing itself to be that more mischievous than a wind sprite, “You can’t be- fine. Are you…. Named after a plant?”

“A plant? In this city?” chuckled the bard.

“Dose it start with a vowel or consonant?”

“Those aren’t guesses.”

“Do I have to say your last name, or-“

“Oh!” The bard laughed and laughed, a chime in the soundless city, “You are so…. Ahahaha! I’ll give you a hint, it’s a lot more obvious than you think.”

Day by day. Night by night. Song by song the warrior returned.

The Gunnhildr clan requested his assistance in transporting some wool they received, to be a bodyguard for a meeting with a Lawerence. Yet as the high priestess, a young women with soft blonde hair, argued with her equal- a lady clad in jewels and dancing hues, his mind wandered to that bard.

“Is it Josh? Adam? Orville? Blake?”

“Do I look like an Orville to you?” The bard giggled during their 21st meeting.

“Cyrus. Gwen. Vergil. Glenn.” “Fine names they may be, but none of them are me!” his laughter was the brightest in the entire nation. His head would tilt just slightly, and his braids would follow alongside it. There was a strange allure to it all, one that kept him as captive without song. Or perhaps this was a song on its own, one without a tune or notes.

“Erik.”

“No.”

“Wendy?”

“Nope!”

“Did I say Blake?”

“Yes you did my dear friend!” The warrior tried keep his heart steady at the words, “Are you running out of names? Then do you wish for a hint?” He nodded, smiling as the bard began to play, “It’s closer than you think, a mouse beneath a sink. It is right in front of you, don’t you worry. It is something that exists within the heart of every being. The name I have- one not in any record, it the name I made for myself- of my own accord.”

Ragnvindr sighed as he tried once more, then concluded the day- determination in his core.

25th, 28th.

32th. 34th.

The time moved on, meeting after meeting, as he tried to list out anything that would fit those qualifications. What could be in plain sight, perhaps sun right in front of him night after night?

“I give up, “hissed the warrior, his arm around his friend’s waist as he did so. “What could be matching such a saint’s voice? No name spoken in human tongue could be of worth.”

The bard laughed, “Well if you must know… the name I have shared so freely with other is the very song I sell. For my name is Carmen, you see and that is song in it’s entirety.”

Ragnvindr stared at Carmen, the only person he had felt such a closeness with for a long long time, and punched him on the shoulder. “Carmen…” He repeated like a prayer, “Carmen… it fits you.”

Carmen grinned as he rubbed his shoulder, “Of course I have used other names in the past, if you were to guess those a point I would award. Himmel like the sky in my eyes. Ventus like the wind that surround by life. Names are the shortest poems one can give, and Carmen is the name what which I live.”

Even after that game was finally done, the meetings between the two were not undone. Stories were spoken, and from then on Ragnvindr knew- the boy in front of him was no sheep. A contender against the very wolves that threatened his home, the bite beneath that silver tongue was a sight to behold. Hawks and eagles were this man’s kin, for the soul of a fighter shined within.

“Soon, I will see that sky,” Carmen muttered as he pressed his face into Ragnvindr’s coat, his voice muffled by the fur.

“I don’t doubt that,” He replied, “I would be more than willing to take you with me the next time I leave.” His friend stiffened, as if he was struck. “Hm?”

“That would be easy,” Carmen’s words were soft now, an air of uncertainty and one other emotion contained within it, “To leave Mondstadt and never return. To fields of yellow and trees that could reach the moon. Yes, that would be nice.”

Carmen’s eyes no longer looked a soft blue, but instead a cold steel, “But I am sorry, dear warrior, I can not leave. Not yet.”

“What could possibly lead you to stay here? In this sunless city of drab and dreary? Shouldn’t a bard such as yourself yearn to make the world your muse?”

He could feel Carmen play with the ends of his red hair as he replied, “Fly fly fly, like a bird in the sky to a ship in the sea. A branch within it’s beak, hope for only those in misery.” He did not chuckle, “This is my home, for the people of Mondstadt need me. They need a song in their steps to help them throughout the day, and while I do need food in my stomach, their smile is all the pay I need.” He brushed Ragnvindr’s bangs aside, “I…. I am planning something. Would you help me?”

Silently, the warrior nodded.

Carmen reached into his pocket, and a small little paper folded into a flower emerged from it, "Pray repay me with hope and a smile, and stand with me to welcome the day when the storms blow no longer."

He held it gently in his hands, his eyes widening,

“Carmen.. what are you planning?”

“Be my warrior, my dear Ragnvindr. Please, I beg of you. Let me see Mondstadt shine with the sun you speak of.”

“I….”

“Ragnvindr….”

“Carmen...”

“…” Ragnvindr’s heart wavered for just a second at Carmen’s silence. The calculating look he had for penning words and analysis was on full display. The eyes of a beast more fearsome than Lupus Boreas was in front of him, and what was worse was he was not after his blood nor his flesh- but his heart and will.

“I do. I promise to stick by you, til the very end.”

--

Whispers of the rebellion snuck into every conversation, tiny non-verbal cues to not let the wind carry their voices. All of it composed by a lyre playing bard, the one who is sitting right besides him holding a small creature.

“What is that.” Ragnvindr asked, pinching its weird feather ears. “It looks evil.”

“It’s not!” Carmen cried out, “His name is Venti!”

“Venti,” Ragnvindr looked, “You named him Wind. Is it cause he can fly!”

Carmen ignored his words as he slowly pet his friend, “He is like one of those birds.”

“I can assure you, he is not a bird.” Ragnvindr grumbled into his palm, “Seriously where did you even get such a thing.”

Carmen gasp and held the creature tightly, “Don’t you dare call Venti a thing! He is a wonderful little wind wisp!”

--

Ragnvindr’s frown turned into a scowl, “A wind wisp. As in. A wind elemental being. When we are going to have Windblume soon.”

“Yes.” Said Carmen, “Well I think its going to take a couple months or so before the final date is settled, Venerare is still handing out ‘props’ to the people.” He hugged the little wind wisp some more, before his smile graced his face. “I wrote another song! May you lend me your ears?”

“Of course,” Ragnvindr said in-time with a chirping from the wind wisp. Venti said on top of Ragnvindr’s friend’s head while Carmen began to tune his lyre. Soon enough he was set to play a song. It was a lullaby, one that whispered of smelling baked goods in the air and spices from afar. As the notes dwindled out, Ragnvindr thought of the cinnamon sticks from down south, and internally promised to buy a jar for him.

Amos was the next person Ragnvindr befriended, even then he would have called that a generous statement. She was Decarabian’s wife to him at first. Then she was Carmen’s other friend. Then she was a pretty good hunter. But a friend? He would have to think about that a bit more. Friendship was something sacred, more divine than the lord of the city. To call a person he had spent time with but not laughs with a friend… hm.

Yet he could not fault her with anything. The way she took care of herself was perfect. The way she took care of other was perfect. In another time and another life they would never have interacted and perhaps would have never even known each others names. She would stare at him sometimes, her eyes drawn to his hair like so many other Mondstadters.

Her hands were soft. Her heart was soft. Her eyes however, colder than snow.

His hands were rough, his heart closed off, and Ragnvindr would never listen to what Carmen said about his eyes. Calling them a kind hearth amidst the winter. Foolish.

“Is there something wrong with my form?” Ragnvindr muttered to her as he practiced his swings in the courtyard. The gales have been getting rougher with Amos now permanently out of the tower, for her spouse was growing desperate.

“I have never seen such a style before, I apologize if I stare.”

Ragnvindr grunted in response, taking the statement for what it is. “Have you ever held a greatsword before?”

She looked nostalgic, “A long time ago. A lady who’s hair was darker than night wielded such a blade. Her family had long since departed and she was going to head out. She was the first to leave, to read the writing on the wall in the midst of the war.”

“Any clue where she went? Perhaps I know of her decesenednts.”

Amos laughed, but it was not a happy laugh, “As if she would tell me. Even so, to befriend someoe’s kin just because I knew their ancestors centuries ago dose not seem fair. Their lives are their own and to bind them to the actions of another… I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

Ragnvindr swings and she rambles, occasionally grunting in response, “That tone of yours…. You sound like you don’t miss her.”

“I do miss her. As I mentioned its been years. I.. have made peace with that. I made peace a long time ago. It’s fine.”

The practice dummy was beginning to break, “We can change the subject if you want.”

“….”

“….”

The duo stood in silence, the only noise being the rustling of wind and the practice of form. Amos played with her hair as she fiddled with the string of her bow, the only gift from her lover she refused to part with.

Ragnvindr readied his stance once more, the movements becoming routine and clockwork. He grumbled, knowing that relying on such muscle memory could make unpredictable movements his downfall.

“Fight me.” He whispered, Amos’s head snapping up as he dose. “Fight me, “ he repeats himself , a little louder this time.

“I don’t want to shoot an arrow though you.” She smiled.

He laughed, “Then pick up a sword and I shall pick up your bow. You could even use a lance if you want.” Her eyes glanced over to rebellion’s hidden armory, amusement dancing on her face as she imagines using such weapons after so long. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps things will be okay.

--

It all comes crashing down like a stack of cards.

A mission gone wrong, intel not accurate. His back is against a wall with a squad of about thirteen men besides him. Carmen is staring at him, that look in his eyes tells him all he needs to know.

“What ever you are planning don’t do it.” He wants to say. He wants to shout and scream at his friend, but they all know what’s behind the corner- blocking their only way out.

Pale blue eyes already look glassy and dead as the bard reaching onto his chest and plucks the metal flower Ragnvindr gave him for their rebellion’s anniversary-placing it on the warrior’s chest. The hesitation in Carmen’s actions as he raises a finger to his mouth only worsens the pain in Ragnvindr’s chest. He hates this. He hates this so fucking much.

Quietly, Carmen makes it to the edge of the corner, and dramatically walks into the tyrant’s gaze. The remaining rebels manage to crawl though a window as their leader talks to the tyrant, his heartbeat pounding in his ears preventing him from listening to what they were saying. He just needed to trust his friend, even if it kills him inside.

Venti and Amos are asking him what happened as the squad recovers from the failed mission. They see Carmen’s symbol. They don’t want to believe it, and neither dose Ragnvindr.

Still, the Windblume must survive, even if its leader’s heart does not.

--

The announcement shatters them.

It shatters everyone.

--

Venti keeps asking why everyone looks so mad when he asks about Carmen.

--

He and Amos aren’t fighting! They aren’t!

--

--

Venti is gone.

--

He wants to storm that tower with Amos. “That would be easy,” he thinks, the dream of taking all away from this panopticon. To leave Mondstadt behind and say fuck you to all that scowl at Carmen’s face. Where the four…three… of them could sit on the deck of a harbor without care.

Yet there were still rebels who believed in them, and that’s what made it hurt even more. Perhaps if everyone simply abandoned their ‘traitorous’ leader, then things would be a clean cut. No. Gunnhildr was adamant that Carmen was innocent. That Decarabian’s machinations were working on them all and that without sunlight, sleep, substance, and song they were all starting to succumb.

His song. His wonderful wonderful song.

In the distance howling winds and the turning of the gales, he could make out the softest hints of a harp. It wasn’t a lyre, but he could feel in his heart that it belong to Carmen. Call him delusional. Call him insane. That was Carmen playing in the tip of the tower, playing a song without a name.

He doesn’t talk on those days, the audience within him not wanting to break the performer’s spell. He feels as if he was back then, just two people meeting on the street with duties of so routine. Yet whenever he wandered back around the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the very few rebels that remained, he would spend hours or so thinking of that bard.

Amos gets him, she understands his hurt. Perhaps far too well, for the one with her heart on her sleeve has given up trying to yell. She cries and sobs into his arms, until he is also weak in the knees. He holds her like a lifeline, another one taken from her by divinity.

Days and days pass, and the nights feel the same. The world around him is as grey as the stones, perhaps another side effect from it being so long without sunlight. The tower feels larger, and he is so small. The tiny spirit of hope that used to beg for fruits from him now shot by an arrow by ones Ragnvindr called friend.

That person was drinking on the edge of bridge, not caring a bit about what they did. Was it because it was so long ago? Or perhaps the alcohol had darkened their soul. The flame of rebellion and blasphemy raged in Ragnvindr’s heart, for he knew that his friend would not want him to taint the rebellion by killing it’s members. That part was soon quelled with the memory of Carmen’s adoration for Venti, how the wolf in sheep’s clothing would be quiet stabby.

It's so easy, such a simple action to do. He was already intoxicated, so a simple push was all he needed to do. Fall from the sky, like the wisp that they killed. Ragnvindr wishes he could sink that low, but he knows himself and his morale code.

He feels frustrated every day, as more and more complain. He tells them to shut up and behave, and they call him a lapdog for a master who is away. For once Amos is the one to tell him not to storm the tower, but he sees in her eyes the thoughts of retaliation. Another announcement comes that day, from the man he hates the most and his best friend right besides him.

He looks healthy, his cheeks never looked fuller but all that doesn’t matter with his now cold eyes. “What happened to you?” He wants to shout, but instead he clutches at the flower on his chest, desperate to not throw such a sacrifice away.

Decarabian places a hand on Carmen’s shoulder, blabbering about how wonderful his son is to the crowd. He can’t read the room, nor tell from the rebel’s hooded glances the emotions boiling within. Amos grips his hand tight, but before he could retort she gestures to a group of people- rebels in their own worth. They see Carmen as bad as his ‘father’ and driven to desperation the people will slaughter. Amos’s sharp gaze catches their movements, as their hold their swords and lances with gazes murderous. He can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t give a shit, when the world itself turns back on someone so perfect.

That night the warrior prays for forgiveness, of a festival for a dawn is something he cannot gift him. Windblume- what a joke. A terrible irony. What use was love when the one he cares about the most was suffering? To save the people of Mondstadt without any adoration was always the goal, but to see them turn their back on the one that sparked that fire made his eyes darker than coal.

Hand in hand they walk to the front gates of the tower, not caring whoever sees them. He can only hope the letter towards Gunnhildr and Venerare was enough, for there was too much rage in his chest to wait to say ‘I am sorry’ out loud in front of both of them. He followed right behind the silver-haired archer as the two of them walked up step by step.

Together they opened the doors, and their fates were set.

--

Carmen looks so peaceful as he plays the injured Venti a tune. Ragnvindr can not help but stare at his friend, as if he was the sun and the moon. He missed this. He could never put into words how much he missed him.

He was using a harp. Ragnvindr tried not to smile as he knew he was right. It was Carmen that played those notes.

He hadn’t asked about the state of the rebellion. The returning of the flower was all the confirmation he needed. Did his friend yearn to take his offer all those months ago? As much as he knew his friend, he could never read his thoughts. They were like a language written by the ancients that made the ruins all across Teyvat, and only Venti was the archaeologist.

Carmen buried his face into Ragnvindr’s new coat, this one with the symbol of the storm god on it. It wasn’t as fluffy as the one he used to wear, but it was okay. This was all okay.

He ran his hand down Carmen’s back, a part of him still in disbelief that the bard was right in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, hugging Carmen tight.

“It’s… fine… You just…cared….” Carmen did not cry, but the faint glimmer in his eyes told him all he needed to know. Venti burrowed himself between the two men, Ragnvindr’s face softening as the wind wisp leaned into the warrior’s palm. Carmen watched as his friend held up Venti like a vase of glass and yawned.

“Perhaps I should sing you the lullaby this time?” Ragnvindr asked.

Carmen shook his head,” Do you even know a lullaby?”

“I’ve been reading some of them.... while you were gone.”

“Oh.” Carmen held Venti tight, “I… am not in the mood for stories.”

Ragnvindr’s heart sank.

He should have arrived sooner.

Carmen brushed Ragnvindr’s hair away from his face, “Tomorrow… let’s do something. Not a story- something real.”

There it was, his Carmen. The bags under his eyes and the crown on top of his head may have suggested otherwise, but Ragnvindr knew that it was still Carmen underneath all those fancy layers.

“I can’t wait to accompany you.” The knight smiled as he pulled Carmen into an embrace. “That man… is going to let me take you into the town tomorrow.” Ragnvindr closed his eyes and felt Carmen’s breathing and his heartbeat. Sure, it was pacing a lot faster than normal, but he had to believe it wasn’t out of fear.

“That sounds wonderful.” Carmen spoke softly. “I don’t have my lyre anymore… so no playing for the crowds.”

“Mh.”

Carmen tried opening his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a yawn.

He was tired.

So tired.

And to lay within his warrior’s coat while holding Venti and Ragnvindr?

It…

It left a bitter taste in his mouth but perhaps… it would be okay…

…

.

The prince of the tower closed his eyes, sealing the fate of all the rebels in and out of Mondstadt- as the last star of hope became complacent.

[delicatefade]

(WIP Wed/Whenever) kissy kissy Dalish elves

What if I actually posted on tumblr instead of just reblogging art? I've been writing a Dragon Age fanfic with no canon characters because I am a clown. It's a love story told in three four stories between my OC Eilan Lavellan and @bluewren's OC Lex Lavellan. They are twenty years old. Here is a fluffy little love snippet. (for any familiar with my main Eilan/Solas story, this is an AU for Eilan.)

Context: Lex and Eilan have been dating in secret for 8 months. Eilan insisted on keeping it secret because she didn't want to be the center of gossip. Lex didn't care if everyone knew but went along with Eilan's secretive nature. Their cover was just blown and everyone at Clan Lavellan now knows. CW: sex implied, nudity word count: 653

Eilan was surprised by how much she enjoyed having her secret exposed. That everyone knew she and Lex belonged to each other made her feel proud, even smug. Surely she had the envy of every other young woman — who better a catch than Lex? And who would have expected him to fall for Eilan, who was pretty enough but a bit odd, a loner who lived too far in her own head and practiced strange hobbies like elven calligraphy and writing. Being recognized as a couple had its practical benefits as well. They no longer had to invent ruses to explain their absences. They could disappear together, hand in hand, in plain view of their clan. Though Lex and Eilan had never named what had grown between them, in the eyes of the others they were clearly now a committed couple. Eilan was inclined to adopt their view.

To disappear together was as far as she dared express herself in public. When they were at camp Eilan preferred not to kiss or touch unnecessarily. Lex, she suspected, would have preferred to flaunt their relationship. He had sat close to her by the fire and rested his hand on her knee. The following day he swam out to where she bathed in the shallow sea just to hold her, the two of them weightless in the water. She reciprocated with a quick kiss, a small touch or a shy embrace, enough to make sure he never felt rejected, but invariably she would cut short his sweet affections, whispering to him that someone could see. He did not seem to mind. Or if he did, he never said. It helped that they often found time to be alone together. They each had daily duties, everyone in the clan did, but Eilan had found a way to pawn off some her chores onto a much younger cousin by baiting the girl with unfair bets. “I bet that when I drop this quill it will fall upwind,” Eilan said, knowing full well she could tip the quill with a sleight of hand. “Bet you can’t blow out all these candles in a single breath,” she said after having coated two wicks in essence of wyvern’s breath so that they would burn more stubbornly. The girl was only twelve, an apprentice healer of an agreeable and shy nature. By the fourth bet Eilan suspected that the girl had caught on, but was so thoroughly enjoying Eilan’s attention that she was willing to spend the day de-stemming spindleweed in Eilan’s stead. On those days Eilan would meet Lex in the forest where it was his duty to tend to wild gardens, thought admittedly when Eilan was there he tended to little but her. “Hold on. One second. I should check on the peppers,” Lex said as he disentangled himself from Eilan and stood up from the ground. They had just made love on a patch of summer squash. Fat bright leaves clung to Eilan’s bare back as she sat up to watch Lex move, his nude body gorgeous in the dappled sunlight. He pulled free a pepper from a nearby plant and screwed up his nose at it. It was a runty thing, curled in on itself like an angry cashew, bright red and gnarled. Lex raised a bewildered brow. “…the fuck?” Eilan repressed a laugh, her whole body shaking, tears in her eyes, lips twitching as she covered her mouth. “Oh yea?” Lex grinned, trying not to laugh. “You think it’s funny?” He tossed the sad pepper behind him and dove towards her, nipping at her neck as he guided her back into the cushy leaves. She shrieked with delight. “It’s all your fault,” he teased. “You’re the… what’s that word again? The title of your play? The Saboteur.” Eilan gasped. “You remembered the title of my play!” Lex wagged his brows cockily as if to say ‘duh.’

Tagging: @monocytogenes, @crackinglamb, @about2dance, @nirikeehan, @theluckywizard, @oxygenforthewicked @melisusthewee @rosella-writes and anyone else who might want to share their WIPs!

[arthistoryanimalia]

For #BatAppreciationWeek:

Artist: Billy Missi (1970-2012) Sapur Au Kubi (Dark Flock of Bats), 2006 linocut print 12/90 69x100cm Cairns Art Gallery

Artist info:

Place of Birth Mabuiag (Jervis Island), Torres Strait, Queensland, Australia Language Group Kala Lagaw Ya. Totem: Koedal, Kaigas, Dhangal Clan Group Wagedagam, Gumu, Pania

Artist notes:

"During mango, almond and cashew nut season a lot of Sapur (Flying Foxes) come to our village and gardens.

When the sun begins to set in the western sky, the Sapur usually come in flocks from the thick mangroves that fringe the coastline.

The Sapur only come out at dusk to raid the fruit trees so that people cannot see them. Otherwise they would be targeted by hunters and chased away. Despite this they do make a lot of noise as they feed.

The Sapur suck the juice out of the fruit and dispose of the rest making a lot of mess under the trees. They do this all night until morning breaks when they take flight back to their isolated, thick scrubs and mangroves.

Growing up in the islands in the 1970's, these sightings were common during fruit season.

It is our uncles who tell us that whenever flocks of sapur approach the gardens, the fruit is ripe.

This image shows a large number of Sapur flying to the village to feed on the fruit trees. They circle above the trees to choose where they will feed for the evening." - Billy Missi

[bluemoonperegrine]

Moon-Crossed Lovers

Marc and Jack have a lot of splainin' to do after the events of the first two stories in the Hallmark by Knight series, "Those Who Wander" and "Unannounced." With the exception of the system's DID, all of the secrets are out. The region's organized crime group is furious, the alpha of the Russell werewolf clan downright livid, and Khonshu is Khonshu.

Angst and drama, anyone? Pistachio-raspberry croissants will be ready shortly in Chapter 1: The New Normal.

Here's the start.

Long shadows stretched from the scattered palm and oak trees of Bird Park as the setting sun turned the western sky orange and pink. Marc mostly enjoyed walking hand-in-hand with Jack following dinner at the Thai place on Thirtieth Street. The food, company, and weather were perfect. Putting a damper on the evening was the subtle sense of doom that had nagged at Marc since the Tecate mission. There he’d learned that at least three La Araña members knew that Jack was a werewolf, and they weren’t happy that Jack had killed two of their own in self-defense. 

He’d relayed this to Jack, who somehow was able to file away the information and not worry. Marc was more than a little envious. Worrying was a way of life.

Jack picked up his pace and tugged Marc along with him. “C’mon! We need to catch them before they turn in for the night.”

Marc fell into step beside him, happy to get caught up in his boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

They stopped at a park bench beneath a live oak’s impressive canopy. Jack cupped his hands and shouted up at the leafy branches. “Don’t go to sleep yet! We brought cashews!”

An elderly couple walking along a nearby path looked at Jack askance. Marc almost told them that Jack was talking to the crow family that lived there, but thought better of it. The explanation sounded nearly as crazy as the sight of a man yelling at a tree.

Read the rest on ao3.

[musicallyiinclined]

🎉💋 (for either colt&Jake or Alex&cash!)

jake & colt | @cheapxseats

Jake grinned when he saw Colt heading his way, his heart stuttering over the next couple beats as the other man's eyes found his. He still couldn't believe that after so many years of pining Colt was finally his, and he was free to look at him as much as he liked with no fear of his secret being found out. Admitting that they had feelings for each other hadn't ruined their friendship the way Jake had feared, but had instead made it stronger. With the added benefit of being able to kiss Colt whenever he wanted, of course.

As Colt made it to his side Jake snaked an arm around his waist, grinning as the rest of the Tanner clan began counting down to the new year. "Three, two, one, happy New Year!" Before he could say anything else Colt was leaning in to kiss him, and as he returned it all Jake could think was that this town finally felt like home.

alex & cash

Alex watched Colt cross the room to his boyfriend, smiling as she turned back to Cash. "He seems really happy, doesn't he?" She'd always had a soft spot for her the youngest Tanner, ever since they'd first met years ago, and it was nice to see him with someone who was clearly head over heels about him.

Cash's answer was interrupted by the beginning of the countdown, the final seconds of the year ticking away as Alex allowed herself to be pulled into her fiancé's arms. As soon as the ball dropped Alex stood on tiptoe in order to return Cash's kiss, her lips curving into a smile before they'd even fully separated. "Happy New Year, Cashew."

[goannafr]

I have thought of a role for Cashew...

Cashew is an artist, specifically a sculptor of clay. She lives alone in her little house built at the very top of a particularly tall tree and hates uninvited guests. Most definitely owns one of those “please leave by 8pm” banners. She is regarded as weird by most of the rest of the clan and generally left to her own devices which is exactly how she likes it. While most of the time she sits around doing nothing, when she is hit by her surges of inspiration & motivation, she will do nothing else but create her little sculptures non-stop until that surge runs out. Her record length of creating went for 47 hours in which she sculpted without sleeping or eating. 

Cashew exclusively sculpts the following types of critters: worms, snakes, worms with hats, snakes with hats, and snails. She once tried creating a series of frogs but decided that creatures with limbs just weren’t her style. She sells these at the weekend markets, quite successfully since she prices them very cheaply. Most dragons who visit the markets want to walk away with at least something  as a souvenir, so when they don’t feel like paying $30 for a tub of organic honey, a $5 clay worm with a hat often seals the deal. 

[cruella-devegan]

Fully loaded poffertjes topped with hot chocolate fudge sauce, cashew cream, berry compote and candied pecans 🥞

The Merri Clan Preston - Melbourne - Australia

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Sweet Honey and Iced Tea (Part 3): Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

wc: 2.7k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

It's done! We're caught up to the events of Lemonade after this.

"Bye!" you shout back to your mom, dashing to the Charger at the foot of the portico. "See you later!"

"What time will you be back from the sleepover?" she wonders, but you shrug and continue down the stairs. When you open the car door, you toss in your overnight bag and Toji catches it, eyes wide.

"What the hell is--"

"Just drive," you groan, and he places the bag in the backseat, eyeing you while you put on your seatbelt. "I'll explain later." Toji drives off, past the guard post at the end of the road and onto the main road, where you finally relax.

"You look really nice," he murmurs after he clears his throat, his right hand drifting over to your thigh. You're clad in a knee-length black dress, with the necklace he gifted you resting right below the mock turtleneck.

"Thanks," you reply. "You look... normal." He's changed his black shirts out for a blue dress shirt that's slightly unbuttoned and a pair of black slacks.

"So, what's up with the bag?" Toji wonders, changing lanes. "You staying the night or something?" When you don't answer, he looks over at you, wide-eyed. "Wait, you're kidding, right?"

"I never kid," you murmur. "You'll see."

When he pulls up at the tallest tower in the city, you stare open-mouthed, gazing at the massive structure of steel and glass. Toji passes his keys off to a valet, muttering, "Scratch on the car, and you'll have a scratch on your face".

"Of course, Mr. Fushiguro."

Toji opens your door, and you step out, your legs lithely crossing the space between the car and the sidewalk. He takes your hand and laces your fingers through his, walking into the building and past the crowd gathered by the concierge. "This place is packed on weekends," he mentions, and you blink, following him to the elevators. When he presses the "up" button, a door opens, and a man greets you both with a smile.

"Passes up to the Sky Tower?" he wonders, and Toji groans, fishing something out of his pocket. When he hands the man a silver key with what looks like a hotel tag, you watch the man's eyes glaze over. "My apologies, Mr. Fushiguro. I haven't seen you here in a while."

"According to records, no one has ever seen me here," he reminds the man sternly, who nods and hands him the key.

"Of course, sir."

You settle in next to Toji and ride the elevator up to the top floor, clasping his hand the whole way. Was this part of the underground activities your mother spoke to you about? Or was this just...

The doors to the elevator open up to a long, dark hallway, only illuminated by sporadic blue lighting coming up from the floor. Toji leads the way again, and you look around, examining the hallway with curiosity. You can't hear anything, you can barely see... what kind of place is this? Once the plush carpet beneath your feet gives way to a path of marble, you regain a sliver of your confidence.

"It's just dinner," Toji reminds you as the doors swing open, unveiling a luxurious restaurant filled with a plethora of carat-encrusted and silk-covered personalities. This isn't "just dinner". This scene tops the best dining arrangements you've seen for clan head meetings.

A woman with long black hair and dressed in a black suit is standing at a marble podium, brown eyes flicking up to watch you two walk into the restaurant.

"Ah, Mr. Fushiguro! You're right on time."

"Was I supposed to be late?" Toji wonders, grinning. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Misato."

"And the same to you, sir. Right this way," the woman lifts two menus from the side of the podium, and as you walk behind her, you take in the sights. Posh seating arrangements cover the expanse of the dining area, each table covered in an eggshell white cloth, and chandeliers are distributed around the ceiling so each table received the same amount of lighting. Gilding decorates the white walls, and portraits of beautiful women in fantasy scenes stare back at you. But you're ushered past a set of glass doors and into a private room, where a table for two sits alone, surrounded by glass on three sides that overlooks the city below.

"Enjoy," Misato says, leaving the menus on the table and walking out. Toji pulls your seat out for you, and you sit in it before he pushes you in a little, then takes his own seat across from you.

"Toji, this is..."

"Do you like it?" he asks, eyeing you carefully.

"I love it," you answer. "But you could have just taken me to a picnic by the lake and it would've been fine."

"I'll remember that for next time," he grunts, lifting a menu and handing it to you. "I normally don't order off of this, but you can take a look and see what you like."

"Why are you doing this?" you wonder, peeking at the green-eyed man over the menu. "This seems like a lot for a first date."

"Is it?" Toji asks, fiddling with his fingers. "Or is this what you should expect from me as a man of stature and influence who is wooing a woman who will soon be on equal footing?" You swallow hard, knitting your brows together. He's right, you realize as he glances up at you, lips quirking into a smile. If he hadn't wined and dined me, I would've thought I was just another one of his playthings.

"Fushiguro!" A man calls out jovially, entering the room from the glass doors. He's tiny, with thinning brown hair and piercing black eyes; his hands raised in excitement. "You've finally brought a beautiful woman to this fine establishment." Toji laughs as the man claps him on the back and turns to you.

"This is my girlfriend, y/n. Y/n, this is my favorite bartender, chef, and confidant Gurumogi."

"Oh, y/n? I've heard so much about--" The man stops, clearing his throat. "I've heard so much about your family! It is such a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well," you smile, bowing your head slightly.

"Listen, I've got something the two of you will love. Give me those menus, you won't need them. I'll bring out two main dishes, one dessert, and as much wine and brandy as you want."

"I have to drive," Toji reminds the man, who cackles loudly. "I won't be drinking tonight."

"When do you ever leave here and drive sober?"

_____________________________________________________________

"Can I eat the rest of my dessert?" you wonder, fully tipsy off the aged wine, stellar food, and even more enjoyable conversation.

"Not in the car, babe," Toji murmurs, his eyes focused on the road. "Gotta get you home first."

"Oh, I'll make sure I keep your car clean," you reply, reaching your hand into the bag. "It's just chocolate cake."

"Chocolate cake, cashew-caramel ice cream, a caramelized banana, and coffee dust." Toji corrects you, and you laugh, touching his arm playfully.

"You really paid attention, didn't you?" Toji's green eyes swim as he looks over to you, and you blink slowly, putting on your best flirty look. "You pay attention to a lot, don't you?"

"What's the bag for?" Toji asks, eyes back on the road.

"What isn't it for?" you shoot back, removing your hand from his arm.

"You're really staying the night, then?"

"I want to," you begin. "I want to stay the night with you."

"Not going back home?" he wonders, turning into a gated residential area and slowing down.

"Not until tomorrow." Toji rolls down his window and makes a motion to the guard at the front, who waves him on, smiling brightly. You don't speak again until you arrive at a large, stucco residence (about the size of your house, if you're being honest) with lights illuminating the facade. Toji swings around the front driveway, parking right in front of the house before stopping the car and getting out. He opens your door again, taking the bag of leftovers and your bag from the backseat before helping you out of the car and up to the door of the house. A bald man opens the door, face stoic as he lets you and Toji into the residence before shutting and locking it.

"I'll have Gulia prepare a room for you," Toji murmurs, climbing the stairs with your things after handing the bag of food to the man at the door.

"Not what I had in mind." Toji turns at this, his green eyes watching you ascend the staircase shakily. "I thought you'd let me occupy your room with you."

"Is that what you want?" he asks, mouth parting slightly.

"Yes," you breathe, standing right in front of him on the top stair. "I want you." His eyes dip to look at your lips but then come back up to your eyes, and he discloses,

"Your wish is my command."

His room isn't too far, but by the time you've reached it, your feet are crying out in misery. As if to acknowledge this pain, you flop onto the bed face down in neatly-made sheets and a tender but firm mattress. Toji takes off your shoes after placing your bag in a chair, rubbing your feet as you lay on the bed in your tipsy state.

"That feels good," you mumble, eyes closed. "Feels really good."

"Yeah?" Toji's voice has dipped an octave, and you can hear the desire in his voice again, just like a few nights ago. Finally.

"You're too nice to me." Toji huffs a laugh, kissing your ankles.

"If it gets me this view," he teases, "Then I'll be nicer than a broke man after your money." You chuckle, lifting up off of the bed and stretching, bones popping back into place.

"Or a rich man after my hand in marriage."

"Oh, I wouldn't be nice about that," he begins, unbuttoning his shirt. "I'd be so mean."

"You would?" You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him pull off his shirt. When Toji finishes, he tosses it onto the floor, then leans over you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Oh, yeah. I'd be so unkind. All I'd need to do is suck up to your family because I'm really marrying them, not you." You run a hand up to his jawline, then pat it twice, shaking your head.

"Then why are you so nice to me?" Toji cranes his head down, lips brushing against yours as he breathes:

"Because I'm in love with you."

When he kisses you for the second time, you feel the jolt of the spark again, but this time, it nearly knocks you flat onto your back. If it wasn't for Toji catching you, you'd be splayed underneath him, ready to be devoured. He holds you close, kissing you hungrily and with need as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling slightly. The growl into your mouth is borderline feral, but it doesn't matter to you.

You want him.

He wants you.

There's nothing left to discuss.

Thick fingers make quick work of undressing you, and before you can really register that you're naked, you're on display for the only man you've ever been physically undressed by. Toji licks his thumb and middle finger, running his middle finger up your slit and nestling his thumb against your clit.

"If you want to stop, say so. I'm not going to push you to do something you're not ready for." You nod, and he begins to circle his thumb on the sensitive nub, drawing a soft whine from you as your hips move up into his hand. When his middle finger sinks into you, Toji hisses, lips curling up slightly. "You're already drenched, baby."

"Just for you," you reply, and Toji closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"Shit," he laughs, opening his eyes. "I want to be inside of you so bad. But I have to make you cum first." His middle finger moves against your g-spot lazily, curling and pressing ever so slightly. You buck into his hand again, losing your breath and running both hands over your breasts. Toji takes this as a sign and leans down to flick your right nipple with his tongue carefully, his eyes watching your face contort into an expression of pure pleasure.

"Please, Toji," you pant. Toji quickens his strokes against your g-spot in response, sucking on your breast with added pressure. When he moves to your left breast, things are becoming hazy, unraveled, incohesive. You feel an orgasm building, your hips rolling under his touch, and Toji feels it, too, his eyes darkening.

"Go ahead," he whispers against the skin of your earlobe. "Cum for me, baby. Whenever you're ready."

"Ah," you exhale, frowning. "Gonna cu--" The gasp wrenched from your throat drags painfully into your lungs. You feel every nerve light up in your body and Toji hums, long and loud, feeling your cunt spasm around his finger.

Your orgasm feels like it might go on forever but it suddenly stops as Toji removes his fingers from you. He frees his cock from his pants quickly, stroking his thick, weeping member as he leans over you. The arm that grasps his cock is covered in a tiger tattoo, the head of the beast sitting right at his wrist. You trail your fingers along the image, but then Toji presses your right leg up and your left leg to the side.

"I don't think it'll fit," you whisper, looking at his cock with uncertainty as he rolls a condom down to the hilt.

"It will," Toji reassures you. "It might take some work, but it will. Just be patient, sweetheart." When he nudges his cockhead into your entrance, you stiffen up instinctively. "Relax," he coos, kissing your cheeks repeatedly. "Just relax for me." You try to let go as he rocks into you slowly, holding your head in his hands as he kisses you deeply and eases himself inside of you. But when he feels he can go no further, Toji lifts onto an elbow and rubs your side carefully. "Feel okay?" His eyes are hooded, but you still can decipher the care and concern in them.

"Yes," you breathe. "Just stay here for a moment." Toji cups both of your breasts and litters kisses across them, sucking harshly in places where he knows the hickies won't be seen. When you're ready, you shift your hips up a little, and he begins rocking into you again, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of being buried inside of you.

"God damn," he mutters. "Probably won't last long..."

"Really?" you wonder, throwing an arm around his back.

"Honestly, I could nut right now," he laughs, and you do, too. "But I'm going to hold off for as long as I can; want to make your first time one of the best." You moan at this, and he lifts his hips slightly to push his final inch into you. When Toji's sheathed inside of you, he begins to pump a little faster, not pulling out fully, but almost. Your panting is timed perfectly with his groans, and before long, the sound of your lovemaking turns into a perfect symphony of slapping skin, moaning, and tender sounds of kissing here and there.

And it's all so perfect.

When you reach the edge of oblivion again (which doesn't take long), you curl your fingers into his back, holding Toji as close as you can. "Fushiguro," you breathe, and he grasps your hips tightly, feeling your cunt close around him.

"I feel you," he huffs. "I'm close, too." It takes almost three strokes for you to lose your mind, and you very nearly blackout as he rams his hips into you before they jerk sharply. "Oh... fuck..." Toji moans into your ear as you keen softly.

When you both come down from your high, still holding each other close, you realize that there's no one else in the world for you, and Toji mumbles, "I'm going to make you my wife someday."

"But our families--"

"Will have to suck it up," he quips, shrugging. "Not our problem anymore."

But you both know you'll have to go up against some resistance. So, when you leave his residence the next morning (after he's made love to you once more before you showered), you agree to keep it a secret until it's the proper time to address it.

Which won't come for another five years.

[barrenclan]

I'm curious about the latest issue and how the clan sees gay cats? How did they not realize then toms could like toms if they already have two lesbian elders? Surely they could have realized that if two queens could love each other it could be the same the other way?

Well, I would firstly say that this is not actually the whole Clan's reaction - it's Slugpelt, Daffodilpaw, and Asphodelpaw only. I would say pretty much everyone in the Clan (with maybe the exception of Redpelt, whom I'd classify as a well-meaning but painfully naive straight girl) does know that toms can become mates, although there are none in the Clan.

Secondly, the environment that Pinepaw and his sisters have grown up in (specifically for their generation!) is hveaily focused on "she-cats must have kits". Nightberry and Cypressfoot? Well, they have kits, so that must be fine. But toms and toms, can't have kits. The idea was just never brought up to them. And next, I'll go through all 3 characters individual reactions and maybe it'll be easier to understand.

Asphodelpaw was not actually surprised at all. She is described as having "raw guilt slashed across her face", but never expresses any confusion at the idea of a gay tom. Later she even gently teases Pinepaw about his crush on Cormorantpaw.

Daffodilpaw... is Daffodilpaw. She's just not terribly observant and I think it literally never occurred to her that the inverse of two she-cats becoming mates is two toms becoming mates. Also, as you can see by her dialogue in Issue 8, she is the one most indoctrinated into the "she-cats have kits" ideology in BarrenClan. So she's most likely to discard any other ideas.

Slugpelt is the least easy to justify, aha. She says that she's never "heard of that before", which is true, but in all honesty I'd just say she's never really considered two toms being together. The only male cats in her life are her dad, her brother, Cashew, and Mallowstar.

Well, all of this to say that I made Nightberry and Cypressfoot mates before I decided to make this into a comic, and I wanted to keep that aspect while also including the traditionalist morals of BarrenClan. So this is a bit of an excuse. But I also don't think it's too, too much of a reach!

[sohannabarberaesque]

Hawai’i calls The Banana Splits back, if but out of sentiment

(With apologies to Webley “Webb” Edwards [1902-1977] and his much-remembered radio program Hawai’i Calls [1935-1975], long the standard for Hawai’ian music--especially of the hapa-haole sort--as much as Hanna-Barbera)

It was your somewhat atypically typical red-eye flight between the mainland and Honolulu, which was cheap to begin with, but hey, such could not have been a better attraction for the quartet of Bingo, Drooper, Fleegle and Snorky, still smarting in some way over their want of appearance at Waikiki some years previous, to kill some time back in Paradise. Even if it meant replacing their traditional costumes with aloha print and swim trunks “to better look the part,” and also making sure the sunglasses were good enough for the tropical sun.

And arrival at Inouye Honolulu International Airport was well past dark, never mind the night life still going strong in especially the old established quarters of Waikiki ... as well as the airport’s Arrivals Terminal being practically empty save for the likes of Japanese tourists returning to Tokyo or Osaka from a long weekend’s rest on the evening flight and whatever passed for their hosts holding up a card in the lobby proclaiming “The Banana Splits” in their distinctive logotype to direct them to as much Baggage Claim as their van to the hotel.

The hotel itself, situated on the approriately-named Hotel Street between Wakiki and Downtown Honolulu, was modest but not seedy-looking; enough, perhaps, to pass for a “business hotel” back in Yokohama, yet the Splits were able to get a modest little suite of rooms as faced the ocean and beach--and even towards the Moana Hotel’s banyan tree under which Webb Edwards’ Hawai’i Calls radio programme emenated from back in the day. Still, you have to remember that this was more or less a personal visit just to relax and recharge themselves as opposed to anything promotional or involving a concert tour (though you could find them in some unlikely jam sessions, as will be evident later).

*************

The hotel’s breakfast was your basic “continental” sort of rolls and coffee, and for the latter, it was the local sort from Kona on the Big Island, attracting an unmistakable smoothness of flavour which earned the Splits’ appreciation ... being followed by some walkabouts in Beautiful Downtown Honolulu and the Ala Moana Shopping Centre which, while not generating mob-like scenes of screaming and overobsessive fans, saw plenty of autograph requests even allowing for the quartet’s going into aloha print as an attempt to “blend in.”

It was at the Ala Moana Centre’s courtyard that a Most Unlikely Encounter came about as the Splits were sipping on tropical-fruit smoothies and yet look casual in Hawai’ian fashion.

“Are you the famous Banana Splits?”

“Uh--?” responded Fleegle, spilling some of his smoothie unintentionally.

“The name’s Suzie Chan. You remember the Chan Clan?”

“Somewhat,” was how Drooper responded.

“Have I ever mentioned how incredibly interesting you are?”

All nodded their heads in agreement.

“What I have in mind,” Suzie remarked, “is that this evening, we might take in some time around Chinatown. Which is itself a rather interesting district around the harbour area, and a pretty eclectic one.”

“I assume they’ve got some decent Chinese food there” was how Bingo put it.

To which Suzie added, “How else could you put it, as if the Oah’u Market and the Manake’a Marketplace weren’t attraction enough?”

With that out of the way after a few pleasantaries of introduction, and a little stretching, the sunset found Suzie Chan and the Splits outside the Hawaii Theater, crown jewel in a way of the Honolulu Chinatown quarter restored in its Art Deco glory ... and what a heady-looking evening and experience it was bound to get, even considering that much of the current look of Chinatown came about thanks to its rebuilding after a 1901 fire which, it turns out, was deliberately set in the name of controlling an outbreak of plague, only to get all too out of control. Just the very aromas of joss, steamed noodles, frying chicken, board wax and even Chinese teas were enough to have the quartet nearly lose their minds, as if cheesy T-shirts as could be had 2 for $10 weren’t too much of a distraction at the Oah’u Market ... yet Suzie’s intimate acquaintenance with Chinatown, learned somewhat from her legendary detective father Charlie, was enough to have the crew discover some rather fascinating back-alley curio shops (especially close to the Nu’uanu Stream) heady with an aroma of moldy cardboard packing boxes somewhat bravely mitigated with joss most aromatic, not to mention Ripley-esque curios as seemed a little esoteric. As well as one legendary for selling some of the freshest in Chinese teas, black and green, as Suzie was especially fond of (and whose clerk recommended unto the Splits an especially aromatic Lapsang Souchong, whose taste came about from the tea leaves being smoked by pine-needle boughs set afire).

The culmination: One Chinese dinner for the ages at a delightfully seedy-looking Chinese eatery fond of tastefully fried rice, cashew chicken, Mongolian pork, pepper steak, chicken lo mein (which Suzie had to explain were soft, yet pan-fried, noodles as opposed to the crisp chow mein they were likely accustomed to), all you can eat egg rolls or potstickers and some especially vibrant-tasting oolong tea, that old reliable among Chinese restaurants for some reason or another (Snorky, we understand, was overheard admitting that it had a taste which was sort of sterile).

So what more could The Banana Splits be picking up in paradise? Next week will have more exciting details!

@warnerarchive @hanna-barbera-land @warnerbrosentertainment @the-banana-splits-blog @jg376 @hanna-barberians @cottoncandy-wannabe @themineralyoucrave @straights-world @screamingtoosoftly @wherearethememesonmyplate @hanna-barbera-blog @moonrock1973 @the-banana-splits-ask-blog

[moriougai-fr]

momo for the dragon asks

- he's trans! he uses he/him pronouns

- he also has a mate! his name is cashew! the two of them are witches who mainly deal with deadly types of magic and also communication with the dead

- he has an obsession and fascination with shiny rocks/stones/gems/etc. he has a huge hoard of them which the clan contributes to in exchange for his services

- speaks very formally and usually calls everyone "miss", "mister", "mx", etc. depending on the person

- although he mainly deals with death and end of life things, he does very much want hatchlings/a family. he just hasn't found the time yet

[cosmokyrin]

an AU where Maria Calavera became a professor at Beacon Academy

inspired by @fairylolz2‘s post

I badly wanted an AU where Maria trained Qrow so I immediately latched onto this one LMAO

so some little things in this AU:

Maria would probably about 45ish and above in the AU, just like STRQ’s canon-ish age in comparison to Team RWBY

Because Maria is hiding from those hunting her down and people who know her, she also hid the fact that she’s a Silver-Eyed Warrior. That’s why her remaining eye is brown -- she wears some sort of contact that looks natural

Team STRQ is amazed at Professor Calavera. Not because she’s terrible at teaching a class, but because she has a lot of “cool stories” as a Huntress (more cashew incidents, I guess)

She’s exasperated at Qrow’s idolization of the Grimm Reaper since she feels that she was a failure by retiring as a Huntress to hide from her enemies. At the same time, she sees a part of her in him that still draws her close to the young boy

Apparently, Raven’s bandit manners, unrefined nature and contrasting ideologies rub off of Maria. Raven butt heads with her so often and Maria’s buttons could sometimes be pushed by her. But because of Qrow’s stories, Maria tries to understand and kinda relates to Raven through her own personal conflict of survival vs. nobility / duty

Maria is obviously fond of Summer because of her optimism + the fact that she’s a Silver-Eyed Warrior. I sort of headcanon that SEWs get “good vibes” from one another immediately because they’re so rare and a part of a single clan

Because Qrow (dragging Raven along) often goes to Maria for tips and “stories” (she’s really good at training one person at a time, though), Taiyang figured he could “pilfer” information about Raven from her since a) Summer teases him relentlessly about her and b) Qrow would tattle about his mad crush on Raven anytime if he knew. He trusts Maria in keeping secrets. Maria is both game and not so game at it

Maria uses a different weapon than a scythe because she couldn’t risk anyone recognizing her. Sketches, stolen pics, trading cards and all that jazz captured some details of her weapons that could give her identity away

She’s the goddamn mother figure of STRQ. YOU CAN’T STOP ME

I’m gonna tag future related drawings as The Grimm Reaper is a Teacher (AU) / Professor Calavera (AU) (check out the tags!!!)

[nathanfryerwoods]

Lucky Stars (Chapters 1-14) - by Nathan Fryer-Woods

                     1    It was a dark, cold night. Which was kind of fitting for the beginning of any story. But in south east Asia, when you start feeling the cold, you know you've been there too long. And as a ginger kid from the north of England, he should have been in his element.

   He was so far from the place he had once called home. And it had been years since he'd felt the long, scalding hug of the hallway radiator, on his return home from whatever trouble he'd been causing, beyond the icy front door.

   He had never really, truly missed home, that was until now. He longed for that familiar smell of the old underlay carpet in the council flat he once had. The flat he received after he was crippled by a speeding police car, whilst trying to cross the road years before. There was no compensation. But, as a result, he became the king of his own castle. A place for him to lick his wounds. It was dark and dingy, and located in the back of beyond where the undesirables of town were kept, but he didn't care. He was happy, and it was his. The only place he's ever really been able to call his own. But now, those days, seemed like a lifetime away.

   Today, he's found himself trapped in a different kind of paradise, one he thought he'd never want to leave. He had always believed humans to be of a semi-nomadic nature, but he had found happiness here, and at one time, for the first time since childhood, he had felt settled.

   That was until, that 'thing' happened. He didn't like talking about it, and when he did, would get so frustrated. No one understood it like he did, not many people at least.

   It had been 3 months since he last saw another foreigner, 3 months since he had seen anything of the world outside of their village. And he was an explorer at heart. Though he never strayed too far off the beaten track, and he'd never discovered anything new, he was always looking, it was just a matter of time... it was in his blood. His itch for exploration, grew stronger by the day.

   His wife was the only one in their village who could speak any English, (although he sometimes felt he got a better conversation from their eight and a half month old son), she was the only one who had even half a chance of vaguely understanding him at a deeper level. They had met 3 years previous in the capital city. A place with a pace he was used to, and found comfort in. But now, thanks to certain 'things', and the changing world around them, he found himself in the place his wife found the most comforting, her parents cashew nut farm. Up a hill, in the middle of nowhere. He felt like an elephant, with sore thumbs, in a pond, full of fish. Sticking out... misunderstood.

                       2    It was the 21st of December, not only the day of the winter solstice, but in the year of the 'Great Conjunction', between Saturn and Jupiter. Tonight the world would see these astral giants, seemingly merge into one, forming what is known as the 'Christmas Star'. It had been 397 years since this alignment last took place, just 13 years before Galileo built his first telescope to marvel at the heavens above.

   This event had to signify something, he knew it would, but he was far too apprehensive to look so deeply into it. He convinced himself it was a positive, auspicious event, but at the same time made a mental note to his brain's list of 'things to do', to see what the ancients made of it. After all, when the God of Thunder and his mighty Son do a high-five in the night sky, one should be prepared, or so he believed. But, that list in his head seemed to never end, it would only ever get longer. He knew, and readily admitted to himself, he would probably never get round to it. And in time, as soon as it was far too late, that entry like many before it would drop off the list, as just another faded memory.

   The day before, he had tried to explain to his wife, the solstice, the tilt of the Earth, and the reason for it being so cold this time of year. But soon realising that the battle for her attention against her best friend - the phone, was a battle he always lost, he promptly gave up.

   The previous week, her two youngest siblings (the brothers, aged 11 and 14), had asked him if they had shooting stars back in England. After 7 years of practice, his level of the local language was good enough to articulate most of the things he wanted to say (although this particular part of the country was the last of the true tribal areas, with 13 different clans each with their own dialect, making understanding them more of a challenge). He explained to the brothers, in as simple of terms as possible, the physics of the phenomenon. How more often than not, a shooting star was nothing more than a small pebble from outer space, travelling at unimaginable speed towards the Earth. And how it's magnificent trail was made as it burnt up in the atmosphere before it was able to reach us.

   Seeing the mystery and magic in their faces fade before his very eyes, he quickly moved on to let them know how it was customary back home, after seeing a shooting star, to make a little wish to yourself. And that this, was not to be wasted. He imagined, how even the most hardened criminals themselves probably couldn't resist this, and even they would make one. Maybe it's quite  likely that wish would be for guns, drugs or money. But you never know, the inner child in all of us, where that belief is instilled, only wants one of two things; love and happiness. And with that, comes security. The magic we're raised with as children, if at all, dies hard. And even with years of learning from science, logic and reason, some magic we just can't let go of. No matter how many times it's failed us.

   After seeing at least some of the mystery return to their faces, he moved back - with faith, to cold, hard, facts. He explained how if these space pebbles were any bigger, and hadn't completely burnt up on their descent to Earth, even a rock the size of a toy car (available to hand at the time), could devastate the planet. At the very least, make a real mess around the site of impact. He used the 3000 year old crater lake, situated down the road as an example. This, would be the last thing he'd say on the matter. The brothers went on to let him know, how their hole in the Earth was different. Through the unique use of their local, hillbilly twang, they managed to get the point across that in fact, their crater was made by a great, angry, pig-like God from the skies... obviously, and he should have seen it coming.

   The shattered pain that was once on the boy's faces, had transferred onto his own. He retreated back into his own mind, to his own thoughts. A place he understood, and needed no explanations. With no brick walls that he could waste his time with, by banging his head against.

                       3    The Sun had set, another day was done. The candy floss pink and tangerine orange that had painted the sky was gone, but the clouds remained, blanketing the Earth. Tonight was noticeably warmer, though he was still cold. And no matter how the clouds littered the sky, he still had hope that he would be able to see the events in the sky unfold. He'd poke his head out of their bedroom every twenty minutes or so and peer upwards. And around. Every direction, as he was a little unsure as to which way was west. The cloudy blanket persisted in its existence. All that was visible was a near half Moon and Polaris, the north star, slowly but surely running in circles, chasing its tail. He headed back inside, his hopes unscathed, there was still time.

   'Just one more hour', he thought to himself, 'and the great high-five of the Gods would set sail over the horizon'. The anxiety got the better of him, he zipped his jacket back up, and ventured out again.

   The Moon had become but a faint shimmer in a dirty pool, and Polaris was nowhere to be seen. In 5 brief minutes, the sky-scape had taken an unfortunate turn for the worse. The magic, once again, was passing him by. His wife came out with their Son in arm, to see what they'd been missing. She had been listening. It was a trade off that he was more than happy to make. 'I can wait sixty years for the next alignment', he thought to himself, 'I'll catch it in the next life'. His new little family meant the world to him, and nothing much else mattered.

                       4    It was 8am when he rose up out of bed. Not so early, but not too late either, in his opinion at least. He could have done with an extra hour, but the rooster that had been howling since 4am, couldn't be ignored any longer. He threw on his jacket and headed outside.

   The Sun was glaring down on him, the clouds had dispersed.    "Thanks clouds", he grumbled under his breath. "Any other day this month, and last nights weather would've..." and then, that thought vanished. He'd caught a glimpse of his Son's peaceful face, sleeping, swinging in the cammo hammock. His mind instantly emptied itself with ease, and in the same moment, filled the vacuum with a calming peace. His Son's happiness was contagious to him, a contagious cure to all his frustrations.

   His extended family had been up for a few hours already, as was normal. 6am usually, to start the day with the important things in life. Sewing tapestries, playing on phones, picking their faces, more sleep. They looked down on him for not being awake so early, but he was unsure of what they expected him to be doing at 6am. He never saw them doing anything important at that time of day, and very little changed as the day went on.

   Another thing that didn't help, was their inability to grasp the concept of sleeping disorders. His diagnosis came far too late for him, at the age of 25, just a few years before leaving England. It had already shaped his life by then, and in some way or another, had made him who he was. He now knew, that what had forever plagued his sleep was a combination of apnea, delayed sleep phase disorder, and the slight hint towards a long standing, yet self-coping problem called narcolepsy. A diagnosis the doctor didn't want to make. He learnt to never go with a self diagnosis of a problem again. A well paid opinion, is obviously worth so much more than anyone else's. Even when blood tests showed he had the gene needed to predispose a person to this condition, they were reluctant to admit he might be right. He was prescribed with the search of a night job.

   His father in-law was a good man. He'd worked hard all his life to provide for his wife and five children, and then their children too, of which little Finlay, was number four. He loved them all like they were his own.

   The farm was around half a hectare in size, with around sixty large cashew trees, five mango trees, and banana and papaya also being dotted about. The land fairly rugged and unkempt, as cashew season didn't start for another month or so. Soon, the whirring of the weed-whacker would fill the air, making the search for nuts and the spotting of snakes much easier.

   The family tractor was being rented by an owner of a sweet potato farm, 100km away, southwest of them. This way good news, it was old, and it stunk. And now, it was someone else's problem to fix every other day, and they were paying for that privilege. The last time Lawrie was here was when Finlay was born (sorry, I've never been good at introductions, but baby is Finlay, or Finn, and Dad is Lawrie. Well, Lawrie's his surname... Dan, Daniel, Danny never appealed to him, and even his parents stuck to calling him Lawrie). Ok, where was I..?

   ...yeah, so the last time he was at the in-laws farm, was when his beautiful baby boy was born. Early April, a healthy 3.6kg. And as sure as anything, without fail - every other night, Pa would be half submerged in the belly of this beast, covered in oil as it spluttered away. Not such a soothing sound to send your Son to sleep.

   These days, Pa would spend his time making furniture at his sister's house just beyond the back of the farm. Each evening, a new chair, stool or table would appear, and the huge piles of illegally logged wood, dotted around the plot would slowly, bit by bit disappear. As did the jungle that surrounded them.

                       5    Their village was located 10km outside of the nearest town, and the closest city was another 30km beyond that. That was the city of Lombang, the province capital (though the spelling of this, as did many other place tended to vary, wildly). The city was big, whilst at the same time, all being nicely spaced out. Apart from the market area, nowhere seemed to get so busy. The city itself wasn't over commercialised, the way a western city would be, mainly made up of independent, family owned businesses, it had a very local feel to it. That's what Lawrie liked most of all about this country... the people, the locals. For all the differences in culture, and the difficulties they created (of which there'd been many over the years), only added another layer of excitement and adventure to his whole experience. No matter how different other people saw him as being, he seldom cared. He had spent his entire life back home as the ginger sheep, and that had prepared him well, for life out here.

   He missed the city. He'd only managed to explore it for one day the last time they were here, when Finn was around two months old. He lost the plot one morning, waking to find his wife, Nib, sat feeding the baby, downwind of a roaring fire made entirely of plastic. He was sick of telling her, and she was tired of hearing it. He turned his back and walked away, away from the stench of burning straws, and the feeling of absolute futility. He gathered the essentials, made the small trip to the road at the top of the plot and flagged-down the first van he saw. Finally, it was adventure time. It all happened so fast. He loved being on the road, but all the way there, couldn't stop thinking about his new born bundle.

                                               6    The driver and the passengers all seemed friendly enough. Very inquisitive, as once was normal, but on this occasion, a nice surprise. Especially with how the world was turning these days. He wore his face mask, no matter how useless he knew it was to him. It was unfortunately, an essential item.

   Forty kilometers and two and a half bucks later, they arrived. He found the journey so refreshing, though Finn was constantly in the back of his mind, with not much to see along the way to steal his thoughts completely. Just miles upon miles of lush, jungle-covered hills, beyond the back to back farms that were broken up every so often by a roadside shack of a shop. So many farms.. cashew, pepper, mango, rubber, you name it, he saw it. And every so often, the odd little spot of deforestation in the distance, clearing space for a few more.

   He spent the day exploring, and enjoying his first taste of freedom in what felt like years. You see, his wife's hometown is so rural, and that trapped in their tribal mentality, even they have a hard time getting out. And generally, unless they have to, they just don't bother. Nib had told him how a while back, one of her uncles had an infection in his leg, a drunken mishap from a motorbike fall, from which he burnt himself on the exhaust pipe. He had to do the three kilometer journey on foot, through the next village to the one beyond it where the nearest thing to a hospital was. About half way there in the next hometown, you pass by the the village chief's house, who on this particular occasion, for once was awake. He imagined him stumbling out of some grand, overly ornate, heavy wooden chair, on the orders from ten or so yelping, mangy dogs. One well worn flip-flop on, while failing miserably to secure the other, not giving it the slightest bit of thought, as he starred intently at the intruding stranger, hobbling by. The chief had demanded from him, one buffalo, in order to let him pass. You're welcome to go back and read over that line again, but you got it right first time. Yes, a buffalo. A few minutes of talking by the roadside, and they'd worked out a deal, two chickens would seal it. Her uncle shuffled back home, dragging his manky leg, and after snagging two of his most sickly looking birds, started the journey again. All in the hope, of paying someone to gouge out a huge chunk of his inner thigh.

   The relative bustle of the city was a much welcomed change for Lawrie. He criss-crossed his way  down the main roads and through side streets to reach the city limits, and then double-back on himself in a slightly different direction, stopping here and there at the sight of an esky cooler to pick up a fifty cent beer.

   He arrived rather early by his standards, maybe 8.30. But with no watch, phone, or any idea of what time he woke up, he could only guess. Over the years, he had gotten pretty good at working out the time, between the Sun and the shadows. He was usually only off by about 15 minutes or so.  But who cared what time it was? It's his day off.  And this called for another fifty cent-er.

   The day went on and his heart was glad. He knew that fresh emptiness he felt in the background wouldn't be there for long, and that soon enough he'd be back with his boy. He missed Nib too, but pushed that thought out, whenever she crossed his mind.

   He wandered through the rest of the day. No plans, no direction, and not so much to worry about. He ate, drank, bought a dummy and a rabbit teddy bear which he called Barney and headed back to the edge of town that he'd arrived at, making his way home before sunset. Nib was waiting on the front, waiting with a hug.

                       7    It was Christmas Eve, and this year looked like it was set to be Lawrie's best and worst to date. But considering the problems that the people of Earth were facing, it was likely, this year was to be a historically bad one worldwide... with maybe only the 'black death', and world wars outdoing it. These were strange days to be living in.

   His lack of cash, and no real friends or family to share what little he did have, made the whole occasion rather pointless. He'd been asking Nin for the last nine days to help him find a pair of wooden chopsticks. He'd tried, but with no luck. He also hadn't mastered the pronunciation of 'chopsticks', it was a tricky one.

He wanted to fashion them into baby sized drumsticks, the first part of a home made drum kit he planned to make. As money was scarce, and Finn was too young to understand the concept of Christmas, he decided that this was ok. Especially, as no one for miles around, gave this holiday even a single thought.

   Chop-drumsticks were kind of perfect as a Christmas present out here. Lawrie had been tapping away rhythms and singing to his Son, ever since he found out he was in Nib's belly. He'd play him songs too on his guitar, and old song recordings online. Classics from the golden era of the 60's, as his parents had done for him, when he was young.

   Apart from being cheap and cheerful, chopsticks were also importantly, disposable, bio-degradable, and readily available everywhere in Asia (everywhere but, apparently, this village). He'd come to learn that while living on the farm, nothing here was actually his. Nothing belonged to anyone it seemed. At any moment, someone's grubby little mits could appear, and 'borrow', anything they wanted, not return it, and leave it half buried in the dirt to be found a week later. Just days before, the younger brother, Rutt, had taken Lawrie's lighter and Finn's favourite toy. A small, yellow, rubber pig. As Finn was teething, it was more of a chew-toy for him (the dummy by this point, had been savaged by dogs). He loved that little pig, and upon spotting it, would shuffle over, pop it in his mouth and gnaw away. Who knows where it ended up. Apparently, not even Rutt knew.

   'Give it a week', he thought. 'It'll turn up.' Probably as a charred, molten puddle, next to a broken lighter, but he'd find it eventually.

   The day was surprisingly calm and quiet. Pa had left early, sometime before sunrise, making the eighty kilometer journey to the city of Somtang. Life on the farm was always a little more relaxed when Pa was out of town. Lawrie couldn't work out why, as he was the most placid of the whole family, making him Lawrie's favourite. Even so, Pa's brief departures were always good news, a little more peace and quiet on the farm was much needed. He'd be back in a week or so, and he'd be bringing the rasping roar of the tractor with him.

                       8    Between the hours of midday and 3pm, were Lawrie's best time of day, as he usually had the house to himself. The screaming match that accompanied lunch, would cease around 12pm. Not completely or instantly, but it would get quieter and more distant, as they each skulked off in their various directions, with their own, distinct rackets.

   Ma and Nib would go to one of three places. The shop over the road, the one around the corner, or Pa's sister's house out the back. Basically, wherever the card game is happening that day, where Ma can loose the money someone else has given her, and then spend the rest of the day spreading bitterness because of it. Lawrie didn't know where the rest of them went, and never cared to ask. But he knew where Pa was, Pa was always working.

   He sat alone in the bedroom, enjoying the silence. His only disturbance coming from a faint yet piercing buzz in his ear, from a rouge mosquito that had managed to sneak in through the gaps between the concrete walls and wooden ceiling. A clap, or a self-slap to the side of his face would usually sort that out, or half of the time at least.

   He had, ever since the age of nineteen and had he left home for the last time, been some sort of vegetarian. For as long as his memory went back, he had always hated the thought of things dying for his food. To him, it just seemed so unnecessary. But out here, with the snakes, spiders, scorpions and mosquitos, his long standing beliefs were set aside. Some things were asking to be killed. He'd always say sorry, and wish them better luck in their next life... all except the mosquitos, he took pleasure in wasting them.

   He had been surprised upon first arriving in the country, by many things. During the three days it took him to get here, he felt excitement at the thought of visiting a Buddhist country for the first time. He imagined all the food and flavours he'd discover there, and how it must be much easier getting a decent meal that was death-free, and involved fewer funny looks, as the majority of people there were Buddhist.

   But he was wrong. Totally, fucking wrong. It wasn't long after arriving, when he saw a sight he'd never forget, and that would help him on his way to understanding the madness of the place he found himself...

A monk, driving a car, drinking a coke, smoking a cigarette.

'Wow', he thought to himself, visibly gawping, his jaw on the floor, catching flies. 'Wow'.

                       9    With an almighty, thunderous CLAP!..  another pesky bloodsucker was eliminated from existence. Silence resumed. Only the static like sounds of the insects outside remained, and the faint background hum from the rare moto or truck, that was making use of the empty roads as the others ate, slept, and played cards.

   He eventually managed to get a good enough data connection and logged into his messaging app. He'd always been terrible at keeping in touch, but at this time of year, there was no excuses. You can miss all the birthdays you want, and it's all forgotten by Christmas. And that's why you can't skip it.

   He scrolled through the pictures that he and Nib took with Finn the week before. They were all dressed head to toe in various shades of red, the closest thing to being Christmassy, that they could manage. He selected three pictures, tagged his family and the extendeds, and wrote a short message which he cringed at within seconds of clicking 'post'.

   He hated talking online. He hated talking on the phone as a kid, but these days preferred it to SMS and instant messages. It all felt so impersonal. To many people, he'd quite often come across as self-centered, and uncaring. But to him, his problem was he cared too much in other ways. He cared about wasted the moment he was in, and ignoring the people around him, whilst staring at screens. The past and future are pointless without a present, and the present, was drumsticks. He shot out of his chair, and with determination set off, on a final hunt.

                       10    He woke the next morning, and was glad to find that the visiting calm hadn't skipped town in the night. The only sounds to be heard were the distant chugging of heavy machinery, the here and there hum of the main road, and his wife rigorously brushing away at the laundry, by the stream that ran down the side of the farm.

   She would always wait until everything was dirty, which usually took around a week, and then spend half a day literally attacking it. Lawrie's clothes were thin, frayed and full of holes because of this, and something would always come back worse off for the abuse, but he didn't complain. It wasn't a job he was fond of, and it would ruin the callouses he'd built over the years, making playing guitar a pain. And because he'd rush through it, she wouldn't let him wash any of her clothes, and he couldn't blame her.

   He dusted the sleep off, and made his way outside. Ma was sat at the front on one of the two big, heavy, wooden bed frames facing the road, doing her sewing. He never got to the bottom of it, but most ot the houses out here had beds outside, while everyone would sleep on mats on the floor inside, but he never asked and it remained a mystery to him. Too many more important questions still had no answers.

   Finn was asleep in the hammock. It was coming to the end of its swing. Lawrie kissed his forehead, and gave him a little push.

   Suli, was the Son of Nib's youngest sister, and was the second of Finn's three cousins. For once, he was keeping himself to himself and being nice and quiet. It wasn't his fault he didn't know how to behave, and Lawrie knew that. And with Pa being away today, he probably hadn't drank half an energy drink, like he normally would have by 8am. Lawrie took the string-bound, straw brush, and swept the tiled floor, as he did every morning.

   His wife was the eldest of five. The two brothers, and the youngest of her sisters all living on the family farm. The middle sister (the most well-rounded of them all), had the right idea earlier in year, and got the hell out of there. The middle sister's two children, still spent a lot of their time at the family farm, and Suli had lived there all his life. His mum, had done what was expected of her, and left him there while she went back to work, leaving Ma to raise him. At three years old, he was understandably, a handful. But Lawrie couldn't help but worry about him, and feared he had a lifetime of problems ahead. Problems not only for Suli himself, but for the family doing the half a job of raising him. A half job they weren't doing so well.

   His top row of front teeth were nothing but black stumps, half decayed, causing him great discomfort. He was almost always covered in dirt. And usually, by the end of the day, had the remains of every meal he'd eaten, still round his mouth. Flip-flops were uncommon, and he rarely wore pants, maybe 3 times in the past few months.

   Unfortunately for him, for his first two years of life he was Ma's responsibility. And his problems, Lawrie saw as her fault. The middle sister being back to work, was expected to send money home, while it was Ma's job to play cards and sew whilst raising her grandchild. The same Ma who had done a shocking job with her own children, and it was time to do it again for theirs.

   Suli, was toilet trained. But Larwie, expected this lesson was probably taught by the dogs. He would piss anywhere, whenever he needed to go. That was usually from the tiled floor outside the house, and onto the dirt a step below. But if he was upstairs, he'd do it from there. And no one had the slightest of problems with this.

   Lawrie quite often, when going around the back of the house where there actually was a toilet, would find someone there. Usually Ma, but sometimes Nib, ten feet away from the toilet, squatting.

   Ma was so lazy, in every aspect of life. And she'd passed that on to most of her children. And by the standards that Lawrie had been raised with, she was a truly terrible mother, and in general, a mean spirited person with very little compassion. Lawrie found her unbearable. But at the same time, he just had to deal with it, and knew she didn't know any better. She was never going to learn, and it wasn't really her that he could blame.

   The civil war, decades before, that had torn this country apart, had given her parents generation a living hell to endure. An event so disastrous, it's effects still rippled through life to this day.

   Her first three children, the sisters, were all left at Grandma's house as soon as they were able to eat mashed up rice soup. This was and is, pretty much 'the norm', for kids over here. Never really knowing their parents as the grow up. Children are seen as laborers, and in a way, sort of like a pension. Breaking your child's heart isn't really an issue, if it means you've been out working.

   Now today, the third generation of children are making their way through life, and thanks to this practice, are doing so with their own broken hearts. With a level of distrust only their people know, and with the job one day, of passing this on to their own children.

   At the age of fourteen, Nib and her sisters started living with their parents who had got together enough money to by their farm, which was five-hundred kilometers away, up north. Pa built a simple wooden hut, and they called it home. There they would spend the following years learning who their children were, and catching up on all they had missed. And Ma got bigger, as they waited on the birth of their first baby boy. It was time to learn how to be parents.

   Soon after baby number four was born, Nib, with a modestly sized bag packed to the brim, was put on a plane bound for Malaysia to work in a factory making mobile phones. She did so with the help of her auntie's passport and was greeted at the airport by another aunt, who also worked there. Over the next two years, she managed to send enough money back to build the beautiful house they live in today.

   It was the nicest house in all the village, and probably the neighboring ones too, and it stayed that way for years. Pa was so proud of it, he was so grateful to Nib, and she became his favourite, and he had no worries letting the others knowing it.

   When she returned home with her final salary, the house was pretty much complete. Ma was pregnant with Son number two, and with the spare cash, Nib enrolled at school.

                       11    Lawrie had finished sweeping. The dog had been shooed off from laying on the dinner table, and he was now finishing the picking up and bagging of all the plastic crap his in-laws had tossed on the floor the day before. As he looked around searching for any last stragglers, he noticed that Finn needed another push. But his stealthy dash towards the hammock, turned out to be a mistake.

   ''Boo Ree!" (Uncle Lawrie) Suli screamed at the top of his highly pitched voice... he'd been spotted, and after doing so well. In the same instance, Finn's eyes pinged open, beaming, to find his father stood over him, startled as Suli's screech was still ringing in his ear. He smiled and raised his arms, and Lawrie followed suit. "Merry Christmas Son".

   Suli loved Lawrie, and this was mutual. He hardly ever saw his father, who was even more useless than his mum. Lawrie saw it as his responsibility to look out for him, as no one else seemed to be a positive influence. This wasn't just for Suli's own good, but Finn's too. Raising a child here was a constant worry for him. These bad habits and behaviors, were not for his Son to learn. He desperately needed a plan to get his family out, safely away. And this would need to be a plan even Nib would be happy to go along with, and before he inevitably snapped again.

   He placed his bundle into the 8 wheeled, brightly coloured walker thing, and gave him his tambourine, one of the few toys he still had. He didn't like the tambourine so much, but it kept him occupied for a few minutes. Just enough time to build a barricade around the edge of the floor using ten heavy, tree trunk stools. Suli was rolling round on the floor next to him, pant-less and screaming to himself. He made sure all the stools were placed in such a way that Finn couldn't kamikaze off the edge, and headed back to the bedroom to take stock of all he could consume that day. He loved his coffee, and cigarettes too, but was annoyed with himself. He'd practically quit before coming back here. He had promised himself that he would pack them in by the time Finn was born. He failed, and promised again by the time he was six months old. And not far off that time, had got them down to three a day... that was when they moved back, to the madness of the farm. Straight out the window.

   $1.10, thirteen cigarettes and a dollars worth of data that yet to be put on the phone. 'It's going to be a good day', a sarcastic joke to himself. He didn't laugh. It wasn't funny. He took 50 cents, and made for the shop, to treat himself.

   ''Four 3in1 coffees please,'' it was Christmas after all.

   Half way through his double strong coffee (it was actually 6 in 2), the clouds in his mind started to clear, and he was ready to take on another jam-packed day of next to nothing.

   Finn, still in the walker, had now been let loose on the dusty, red dirt at the front of the house. Lawrie was uneasy with this as the walker was light and flimsy, and flaws in its design made it that going in a forward direction was practically impossible. Almost all the plastic products sold out here, were only ever things that hadn't passed the stringent watch of Chinese quality controls. Finn spent most of his time in that thing, going round in circles, or at very best, doing his famous crab impression, scooting sideways.

   Suli was dragging around the frame of an old, crusty pram, that had seen much better days. It was full of rust, had no seat and only one of the three wheel it had left, actually turned. Suli had no toys, the ones he did have, had disintegrated in his hands shortly after being given them... their remains scattered in the dirt.

   Outside the front of the house was a huge 30 by 30 meter steel roof, hanging around 20 feet above. Suli and his pram, had made their way beyond the roof's reach, and over to where the overgrown, straggly vegetation had been thriving since that year's rainy season.

   Lawrie, had been the only one watching. He put down his coffee, and started walking over, seeing the potential for disaster as Finn chased after. He got as far as calling out Suli's name, with the hope of reeling them back in, when Finn hit a divot in the ground. The walker was sent over sideways, Finn's face smashing into the ground. Lawrie, with a heavy heart picked up speed, blurting out some frankly useless words of comfort as he made his way, to pick him up.

   Fountains of tears rolled down little Finn's cheeks, his left one being covered in small stones and dirt, with a few grazes on his chin. His wailing cut through to Lawrie's core, and he felt responsible for not getting there sooner, as he saw it coming.

   By this point Ma was screaming too. Lawrie tried to explain to Nib how it wasn't Suli's fault, in a vain attempt the message might get passed on, and Ma would shut her trap. Suli wasn't to blame, he was a child and didn't know any better, and Lawrie knew what was likely to happen next.

   Ma, still shrieking had gotten down to Suli's level and was now yelling in his face, slapping his legs, his bare backside.

   ''Viscous mutt'', Lawrie said audibly, without a care who heard. 'Silly bitch', just wouldn't have cut it, and his choice of words went straight over Nib's head. With his years of being out there, Lawrie had learnt how to best disguise his words of anger and frustration. He sometimes surprised himself with the off-the-cuff, creative expressions his mind would muster up out of the ether.

   Ma had now stood up, but was still barking. Suli was in tears and had been almost as long as Finn, who was now in Nib's arms, but still in distress as he watched the animalistic behavior unfold. Ma, taking a thin branch from the sapling of a fruit tree, was snapping off all that once grew from it. Because obviously, providing fruit for your grandchildren, and one day their children, isn't nearly half as important, as whipping a child that's done nothing wrong.

   Suli cried in this way, at least four or five times a day. A few months before, Lawrie had counted eight times in one day. He'd seen enough, and headed back to the bedroom with his mixed feeling of anger and helplessness.

   If he'd have still had his guitar, he would have been unzipping it's case as soon as he got inside. But he had no guitar these days, and upon spotting a pen on the desk, found a scrap piece of paper, sat down and started writing. And this would be the case over the coming months, a daily compulsion. He couldn't help it, he physically couldn't stop.

                       12    Maybe an hour had passed and Lawrie was still writing, when he heard the not so distant cry of his boy. Nothing like the sounds he had made earlier, but just him letting the world know he was still upset, in the only way he could. Lawrie looked out of the window to see Finn and Ma on their way back from over the road. 'No surprise he's upset', he thought to himself. He hated seeing Ma walk away with his Son, and was glad he hadn't seen this time, as it would only have played on his mind.

   He sat back down to his writing, knowing that Nib was out there and Finn would soon be at ease, filling his not so little belly.

   He could overhear a conversation between Nib and her mother. It wasn't difficult, as they only really have two levels of communicating out here, Nib's family especially. Those levels are shouting and screaming, making everything far too easy too hear, and whether you want to or not.

   Apparently, Pa was already on his way back, and was four hours away by tractor. He tore open his fresh pack of cigarettes, and threw one in his mouth biting down on the end.

   His cigs came in packs on thirteen, cost 12.5 cents, and had a very well know cartoon rabbit eating a carrot, printed on the cellophane bag they came in. ''Maybe it's this one that finally kills me'', he wondered out loud. He stepped outside, and just in time to see the younger sister making off on the moto, Finn under her arm. ''For fuck's sake...''

                       13    Lawrie was crouched down at the corner edge of the tilled floor, intensely staring down the road as far as he could, in the direction Finn had gone. He was on his second cigarette. As he rolled it between his fingers, the end fell to the dirt below. He put it out with a small piece of chipped concrete and placed the dimp in an empty discarded bottle that was laying next to him.

   Looking up, he saw Finn and the sister, with a thick cloud of red dust following after them as they made their return. A huge sigh of relief spilled out from him, he thought it would never end. Any bigger or longer, it might have been worth contacting the people who compile the world record books.

   Lawrie hated it. Too much of what they thought of as normal, he saw as an unnecessary risk. He'd had his concerns shouted down already, the first time he saw it happen, and this was just another thing he had to begrudgingly accept. But he promised himself, if she ever caused his Son any harm, he would slap her so silly, it would take them a week to find where she landed.

   When the Sun had set, he'd gotten down three full pages of writing. Not a massive achievement, and you wouldn't have mistaken it for Hemmingway (who he knew nothing about, though quite sure he's the Maradonna of writing), but he was proud of the fact that he had achieved a little something.

   He'd always enjoyed writing, mainly just songs, the first of which he wrote at the age of eleven after watching an Adam Sandler film. He'd also, always written down the strange thoughts, or scenarios that came into his head. He had no real use for them unless they were to be used in a song, but while growing up, had a few drawers full of scrappy bits of paper with random ramblings of madness scribbled down. He would sort through them one day, but they were all boxed up in his mum's garage back home.

   His first song was terrible, and unfortunately, he had come across the only physical reminder of it's existence years later, the lyric sheet. He'd written it on the keyboard he had before he had a guitar. After finding the sheet, the melody came rushing back, regaining it's place and taking up space in his memory. He realised his interest in song writing early on in life, back in primary school when they would sing in assembly. He enjoyed singing, as it was usually better than the rest of their day, and after hearing some bright spark from a few years above, singing 'toilet painted green', during the chorus of Yellow Submarine, he spent his remaining years there trying to out do it.

   The Sun was about an hour off setting, and he couldn't delay calling his family any longer. No one that he needed to call, had dependent children, and they were all likely sleeping-in. Their days of cursing Baby Jesus at 5am, covered in wrapping paper, had already been and gone.

   He called his Dad who was stuck in Bali, his Mum stuck in the UK, his Grandma stuck in hospital, and his Uncle David who yes, was also stuck. Everyone, everywhere was, trapped wherever they were when the world stopped turning.

   David, one of his Dad's half brothers, was in London. His business of delivering butchered meat was doing quiet well through all of the craziness. A good business to be in during times like these, apparently.

   His Dad had let him know that his Uncle had sent some money electronically, and that it was waiting to be collected. His Uncle was a good man, as was most of his family, but Uncle David knew Lawrie's situation quite well, as he's come out to visit him not long before the troubles started in the world. Out of most of his family, David had a much better idea of the problems Lawrie was facing.

   He knew just how lucky he was for having the family he did, but felt such guilt for not showing his appreciation as much he should. He rarely contacted them, and spent years wishing he had done so more often.

   He went with the elder brother, Ren, to collect his lifeline Christmas gift.

   Ren was only fourteen, but he rode the motorbike as he did every time, with Lawrie on the back. The in-laws, Pa in particular, were scared of what might happen whenever Lawrie left their hometown. Mainly of the police, who in all fairness were pretty corrupt. But Lawrie, who had left home the first time at the age of fifteen, was pretty savvy, and hadn't ever been in trouble with the law out here. There had been many times, after being stopped by traffic police, that he'd ride away with a new friend he'd just drank a beer with. One time, a police man gave him his fine money back, after seeing how little he had with him. Even though this was, here was tribal land, and he just had to get on with it.

   The Sun was half way over the hill when they got back to the farm. Lawrie dished the money out... a little to Ren for the trip, a little more to his wife, and way too much to Ma. She would probably be playing cards tomorrow, but as Pa was still out of town he had no choice.  Choices weren't such a big thing here.

                       14    It was around eight-thirty when Pa arrived home. Dinner had been sat there a couple of hours, waiting on the roar of the tractor, and on his arrival, the younger ones erupted with screams of happiness. Everyone loved Pa, not just the family, but those outside as well.    

   Lawrie skipped to the shop and bought four cans. They all ate rice, him and Pa drank, and then everyone went to bed. Everyone that was, except for Lawrie. He stayed up researching online, looking at maps of Lombang City. There was a few places that last time, he hadn't managed to get to. He had more than a few things to pick up, and there was a couple of people he was hoping to meet. This time, knowing how long it might be till the next, he had to get as much done as possible. Most importantly, was getting an ID photo... the next step of the only half-decent, long-shot of a plan he had. And thanks to Uncle David, all this was possible, and Finn's first Christmas was back on. And although being a day late, Lawrie couldn't be happier.

                       15        ...to continue reading, and become one of the hero’s in this story, please donate. All the kind souls that help me out of the situation will receive a full copy once completed, a name-drop on the dedications page, and the knowledge that they’ve helped this story on its way to a happy ending.

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Nathan Fryer-Woods

nathanfryerwoods@protonmail.com