#moonjune

[monthlywritingchallenges]

1. Eclipse

2. Nocturne

3. Silver

4. Shadow

5. Whisper

6. Dream

7. Veil

8. Mystery

9. Glow

10. Abyss

11. Starlight

12. Tide

13. Phantom

14. Midnight

15. Reflection

16. Enchant

17. Dusk

18. Ether

19. Obsidian

20. Lullaby

21. Crescent

22. Silence

23. Mirage

24. Velvet

25. Halo

26. Forgotten

27. Ritual

28. Solitude

29. Luminary

30. Eternal

Your thirty prompts for Moon-June! 🌑Here is the Ao3 collection as well.

Have fun and tag us!

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Nimona and Ballister Boldheart (Platonic Soulmate AU)

When humans are born, they are born with songs playing through their ears.

They say that you are hearing the song of the universe when you hear it. They say that this is the song of people’s souls. The song of a heart desperate to find its other half. They say that once upon a time, the gods reached down and rended one half of the soul from the other, man from woman, each meant to be half of a perfect whole.

(They say that Nimona was born wrong, because she could change shape, because she was neither man nor woman, because when she was a child, Nimona thought that she had heard the song on the air, but all she truly heard was the sound of the town burning, the world ending, as everyone turned on someone that they didn't understand, because it was easier to be afraid than to be curious with an open heart.)

Nimona goes a thousand years before she hears the snatch of song in her ears.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, everything has breath inside (there is beauty in the way of things)

Happy birthday @every-moment-a-different-sound! I was working on this as a small celebration for you, based off of a movie you'd mentioned loving ages ago- hope you have a great year!

Also, written for Day Eight of @monthlywritingchallenges' MoonJune: Mystery.

[paigebstorey]

MoonJunicorn Fae🌘

Round I: Days 1 through 3

Nocturne the Liver Chestnut Unicorn could feel the power of the eclipse that overlooked the taiga where their stable was built. Filled with determination, Nocturne galloped to the Silver Lake that reflected the celestial phenomenon like a blinking eye.

Round II: Days 4 through 6

Shadow the Fleabitten Grey Unicorn had heard the whispers among the Seelie of the Waning Gibbous who tended his farmland. Whispers about a Banshee having a recurring dream. A dream about music echoing from the heart of a glacier in a temperate forest.

Round III: Days 7 through 9

The city bells rang as a Chocolate Palomino Unicorn dashed through the Veil. Neither tourist nor resident knew what waited on the other side, but the small, brown Steed emerged on the coast of a moonlit dormant volcano. Waiting for them, stood a Selkie, whose sealskin glowed in unison to the Unicorn’s horn.

Prompts Used

For MoonJune: Eclipse, Nocturne, Silver, Shadow, Whisper, Dream, Veil, Mystery, Glow (@monthlywritingchallenges)

For Junicorn: Liver Chestnut, Fleabitten Grey, Chocolate Palomino (@camelidae)

Also for Junicorn: Stable, Taiga, Lake, Farmland, Glacier, Temperate Forest, City, Coastal, Volcanic (@renthony)

For Junefae: Seelie, Banshee, Music, Bells, Moonlight, Selkie (@errantnight)

[supornova222]

Noc-Turn

Noc-turn was the street you took when the air around you got heavy, your limbs dragged and a hole opened in your chest. Most humans didn’t know about it until it decided they were supposed to know. It was how they kept this place secret. 

Maugry knew about it. But she wasn’t human. She was put together by the crows. Maugry was part of different wholes, ones that didn’t necessarily fit together. Her left arm was heavier than her right, one leg slightly longer than the other, and her face was a sight out of Frankenstein itself. 

Noc-turn was where she spent most of her time. Her world was distorted anyway, two different eyes from two different people, which made it hard to focus on one thing at a time. The street never looked the same. Sometimes it was cobblestone, sometimes brick or cement. Sometimes it was a dirt road in the forest. The hue between dusk and night caught the seams of liminal space, keeping Noc-turn in an eternal blue-hour state. It was just dark enough that when Maugry walked down the street, littered with carcases of birds, the signs that hung from the doors blurred together. 

She inhaled. Maugry didn’t mean to stumble down the dim ally; she never does. The stumbling steps, the fearful eyes with the accusatory word monster splashed across their pupils, the weight of her own immortality — it dragged her away. The pungent smell of rot filled her nose and she was drawn to it. 

There were always dead birds in Noc-turn. 

The air was too thick for them to fly. It was a place where gravity reached its clawed hands from the ground and wrapped them around your throat to choke out whatever air was left in your lungs. Once you were down, suffocating on your own grief, the shadows would come out of their hiding spaces and enter through your pores, sucking the light from within and leaving only a bone-dry carcass in its wake. 

Birds were too free for this place, and too fragile to make it to the other end. Humans, however, were frequent visitors. They were stronger than the birds. They would inevitably shake themselves free and run as quickly as they could towards the dying sun, some so frail from staying in the Noc-turn they couldn’t do much more than crawl. 

Maugry tried to help those she could. Because of the distorted light, humans didn’t regard her in such a disgusted manner. She could grasp them under the arms and hoist them from the shadows grip, set their gaze forward and push. Few ever looked back, some stumbled and fell down again. Maugry has carried a few herself before, far enough that the shadows disperse and the light on the other side burns red welts in her skin, but brings out an angelic glow in humans.

She couldn’t save all of them, though. There were so many people in the Noc-turn all the time. Although Maugry wasn’t the only one lifting them to their feet. 

Cats roamed the street of Noc-turn, silent creatures whose eyes glowed green and yellow and blue. They had a magic of their own, and would use it to guide people out of the space. 

This was Maugry’s purpose. This was why she lived as an undead. The shadows had already eaten her, taken her inner light in her lives before. She was but her own shadow, a memory only she carried. 

“I hear… singing,” the woman in the yellow dress mumbled distractedly. Maugry gripped her with unfaultering hands. 

“Yes, my dear. Go towards it,” she replied to the ghost-faced woman, using all her minimal strength to keep her from falling back down. The echo of Maugry’s voice sounded like the creatures who put her together. It was hoarse, she croaked out the words as if she was merely mimicking. It reminded her of the birds.

“Who is that? Who is singing?” the woman asked, her own warm, fleshy hands jumping to grasp Maugry’s. 

“That is your hope.” She watched as the woman’s legs firmed up beneath her, and Maugry slowly let go, watching as she dragged herself towards the sound only she could hear. 

This was a place of silence. Any words that were spoken were eaten by the thick atmosphere unless you were inches away from the person. The suffering that happened here was not loud. It was the type you accidentally stumble into on a friday night at the bar when you realize no one's listening to you and your friends are busy having lives of their own.

It took a while for people to notice your absence. 

And when they do, it's usually too late. 

Written for @monthlywritingchallenges Moon-June! This one was Nocturn. My own original writing, mostly just to explore this character I created. I hope to write more, but I'll have to wait for my brain to cooperate. Tips and kind critiques are appreciated! trying to improve!

[cruelparty]

Moon June

Day 5: Whisper

Tags: @monthlywritingchallenges @randomwriter23

Pairing: Eric Forman x Buddy Morgan

During summer vacation, it was easy to catch an early matinee. The movies weren't to Eric's tastes, but it beat being in the basement all day. The early pictures were usually old films, older than his parents.

Sometimes there were a few people sprinkled around. There was nothing else to do this early in Point Place.

"Did you know that Buster Keaton did his own stunts?" Whispered Buddy.

Eric took a sip from his slurpee, "No way?"

He nodded.

"How the hell did he do that?" Eric pointed.

"That part was a failed stunt. He was supposed to jump across to the other building but missed the jump. There was a net below but he still got injured."

"How do you know this much about movies and you're still popular?"

Buddy chuckled and shook his head, "I don't talk about these things to other people."

Eric still couldn't believe they got along perfectly. They were from two different worlds but wounded up together somehow.

Eric turned around debating on getting more popcorn but noticed the theater was completely empty this time.

He was say next to Buddy Morgan, in a dark secluded theater, with no one around. This was every girls dream and he was living in it by complete accident.

His palms started to sweat just thinking about it. He took a sip from his slurpee, the brain freeze hopefully freezing his thoughts.

Buddy turned around, "Oh hey we're alone we don't have to whisper any more."

He yawned exaggeratively and put his arm over Eric.

"Did that work on you?" Said Buddy.

Eric could only nod and stare at the movie screen. He relaxed his body and let his head rest on his shoulder.

[nofatclips]

Secret Laboratory by Anchor and Burden from the album Kosmonautik Pilgrimage

[burlveneer-music]

Machine Mass Sextet - Intrusion - jazz fusion band follows up their Hendrix tribute album with a set of originals & covers of Coltrane & Zawinul

MACHINE MASS started out in 2011 as an idiosyncratic MoonJune power duo made of longtime collaborators American drummer Tony BIANCO (Elton Dean, Paul Dunmall, Evan Parker) and Belgian guitarist Michel DELVILLE (The Wrong Object, Vegir). Hailed as a « feisty and rebel rousing exhibition that contains a surfeit of diametric contrasts and smoldering exchange » (All About Jazz), it has since then morphed into various forms and ventures involving guests such as Dave LIEBMAN (Inti, 2014) and Univers Zero and Wrong Object keyboardist Antoine GUENET (Machine Mass Plays Hendrix ; 2017).

Intrusion, Machine Mass’s fourth official album in a decade of existence, is a full-blown sextet extravaganza comprising eight live-in-the-studio tracks (six originals and two covers) featuring Wrong Object bassist Damien CAMPION alongside two seminal members of the Belgian and international jazz scene: Laurent BLONDIAU (Mâäk's Spirit, Andy Emler MegaOctet, Octurn) and Manuel HERMIA (Slang, Orchestra Nazionale della Luna, Hermia-Ceccaldi-Darrifourcq Trio).

Three years after the psychedelic fireworks of their acclaimed Jimi Hendrix tribute (which Brazilian producer Arnaldo de Souteiro described as « probably the best tribute to Hendrix since the legendary 1974 Gil Evans album ») Machine Mass’s Intrusion offers a set of steaming acoustic jazz laced with moderate yet significant amounts of electric and electronic guitar sounds. The album builds as much on modern-day jazz structures and rhythms as it harks back to the relentless ostinati and horizontal intricacies of modal jazz (the CD opens with John Coltrane’s « Africa » and closes with Joe Zawinul’s « In a Silent Way »).  Michel DELVILLE: guitar, Roland GR09 Tony BIANCO: drums Antoine GUENET: piano Laurent BLONDIAU: trumpet Manuel HERMIA: saxophones Damien CAMPION: double bass

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Clove and Katniss (Both Win The Games)

By the end of the banquet and the final speeches, Clove gets back on the train with Brutus.

Katniss stays.

Clove goes.

And whether Clove likes it or not, whether she’ll ever admit it, some sinew of her heart digs itself into the train station in Twelve the last time that she and Katniss kiss at the platform and Katniss’ hand cups itself around the back of her neck, fingers entwining in the curls at the nape of Clove’s neck, perfectly soft thanks to her stylists’ work, both of them playing the perfect part.

There’s a moment before they part from yet another televised kiss that some part of Clove thinks: I don’t think I’d mind more than this. 

It’s a terrifying thought. A thought that shouldn’t exist. She’s supposed to hate Katniss. Katniss killed Cato like a fucking dog.

Katniss is supposed to hate Clove, because instead of Katniss getting to go home with her perfect baker’s boy, she’s been stuck with a knife-edged girl.

And yet, Katniss gives Clove back her voice in the sort of way that even Clove’s mentor—the person who was supposed to be her support system for the rest of her life—could not.

As the train pulls away, Clove stares out the window and wonders when exactly she dug a knife into her own heart and bled out enough to stain the Girl on Fire’s feet.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, when it all goes up in flames (want to break my baby)

For @sapphic-corgi!

Written for Day Ten of @monthlywritingchallenges' MoonJune: Abyss.