#the moon the sun and the black powder fuse

[munkiey]

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[chipper-smol]

He grits his teeth through the agony, fighting his body to regain any semblance of control over it, but the panic disorients him. It's no fight. Just pure adrenal terror as the single well of power that was once his alone to draw from now drags him down to drown him. His throat can only gurgle. He reaches out again, grasping at nothing. But this time around, Wukong grabs his hand.

psst go read @payasita's slowburn, hurt/comfort, sick fic, Stone Fruit Preserves, if you haven't already :3c

[darkwater-fic-recs]

(Completed oneshot)

[revelisms]

Excerpt: A Gift for Birdie

Vi reminisces on the past, and reckons with the present. She and Silco chat about a gunsmith.

From a work in progress set after 'heron blue,' an AU where Vi and Jinx reconnect under different terms. Slow, rocky relationship rebuilding, found family messiness, and a dash of hurt/comfort.

Music is humming on the jukebox, again.

It's not the kind Vander would play—not his soul-songs and morning light and blanketing warmth—but similar.

Jazzier rifts on the edges. Low, muted, musing. A glowing moon, to a burning sun.

It's like autumn nights and weaving branches; like the shadow that toils behind the bar—too thin, too sharp, too spider-like to be the silhouette instinct urges her to see, that her heart bleeds and aches for; a man wrapped in red and black, instead of beige and blue.

It's Sunday. The afternoons are always slow enough to count the damned minutes by hand.

She's picked up on his habit for making his rounds of other business ventures, on days like these—Sunday Stockies, as Jinx calls them—ventures, Vi was realizing, that were more than just meetings and trade edicts and knife-edged threats; more than just his cigars and signatures and shark-still eyes, sorting through contracts three miles thick.

She finds him down here, far more often than she would have ever dared. An image that doesn't match, that isn't right—but one that fills an empty, gaping space in her mind's eye, nonetheless.

The familiarity eats at her. Strange, in its stranger comforts.

It doesn't make it any easier, invading his breathing space.

A scrape of glass and metal sounds off behind the bar. With it, a dry drawl: "Still asleep, is she?" 

The girl snoring behind her paint-smattered door is seventeen today: beached on a bed of bomb-scraps and blueprints, in a room littered with clothes Vi doesn't recognize, the air tanged with gunpowder and metal.

Vi knows it, because she had sat with her in it the night before, well past the twelfth bell. Listened to her ramblings about the latest missions and some brute who'd gotten his face smashed in, the tale spiked with a manic wonder.

He deserved it, Jinx had crooned, shaking out her wrist with a theatric twirl. Those bones, though! Yeesh! Felt like they were made'a rocks.

Her sister never did well around violence, before. Now, from all Vi had gathered, she burst to life at the first sign of it, like a fuse waiting to be lit.

That wasn't the same. Wasn't right. Wasn't Powder. 

And while Vi had listened to it all—a knot lacing through her stomach, piercing straight to her throat—she'd felt a chill at her shoulder. Ignored it, at first—like she'd ignored the tack of his heels over the stairs; ignored the slow, prowling sweep of his gait down the hall.

But the chill had lingered. Turned heavy as the nose of a gun pressed to her nape. She'd sliced her eyes over her shoulder, and found a shadow looming at her sister's cracked door: a glowing eye simmering through it.

He'd leered at her from the shadows, in deathly silence. She'd stared back. Tried and failed to keep a snarl off her mouth.

It was as though Jinx knew he was there, without even having to look. She'd bantered him off, with rolling eyes and teenageish grumblings (It's late, I know!). Not long after, she'd started up her yawnings, and shooed Vi out.

And that—that wasn't the same, at all. 

Powder had always hated sleeping alone. As long as Vi could remember, she'd beg and beg her to stay until she drifted off, to the point that their designated beds had blurred to one.

She'd never felt safe enough in her own skin; never felt at home, even in the spaces that were wholly theirs.

The nights had never been kind to her, in that way. To any of them.

And that bastard had come to her door, like he knew all of it, as much as Vi did; like he, too, had found odd routines in Jinx's sing-songed Night-nights!, waiting for the times he'd find her tear-streaked and shaking instead, hands itching at her comforters.

He'd stood there and stared—like he'd forgotten Vi was there at all, back where she belonged: sitting knee-to-knee with her sister and knifing a glare through the door, denying to her last breath that he would have ever set foot in here, wrapped up Jinx's knobby hand beneath his blood-stained owned and sat shoulder-to-shoulder with her, prattling off quiet folktales and business nothings while the green light of their city fluttered and dimmed.

She stands across from him in a too-empty bar, music not-quite-Vander's toiling behind her, glaring at the chalk that smudges his slacks, and bites down the venom building on her tongue. Mutters, "I want to get something for Birdie," instead.

For Jinx, she means.

She still can't manage the poison of that name, whether chosen by her sister or not. It cuts her too deeply to bear.

He's turned to the shelf above him: another scrape of glass. "Have you not coin of your own?" The words scathe as dryly as the flit of his lashes. His hand sweeps from the shelf, sorts through another.

Vi drags her fist to a knot. "It's at the Bridgewaltz," she huffs, curtly. "Sevika said you had a...connection."

Fronts upon fronts for business deals behind closed doors, built on partnerships forged decades past.

It uproots her—rattles her, still—peering into the inner workings of what all the Lanes used to be. What all Vander had never told her.

Silco counts bottles by the dozen, a full cycle of breath, before turning down to the supply sheets clipboarded over the bar. Undercity light prisms through the glass, a greenish-gold haze: white-glowed on the page he flicks back between his fingers, on the silvering sweeps of fringe that fall loose at his temple.

He looks out of place, down here. Uncharacteristically dressed down. That rotted splotch bared on his face, his hair not quite tamed, the red-black lines of his sleeves cuffed and rolled. 

Another page rasps between his fingers. "Demian," he rumbles then, penning in a string of numbers in his spindly script. A long-faded scar hooks down the inside of his left wrist. His eyes raise to hers, slowly. She rips her own away. "He operates the gunshop by the third quadrant."

Vi chews hard on the inside of her cheek. "Narrows it down, huh?"

A dark brow crooks at her. "We've a code," Silco gravels on, without a trace of humor. "He'll ask what you're having; you'll say rumwine." Another rustle of paper, another scratch of his pen. "How much do you need?"

She shrugs, ticking her nail at her palm. "Was something like one-eighty, last I saw."

He says nothing to that, for a moment. Flips through another supply sheet. And she stares at the way his brow furrows, at the twist of his wrist; at how he stands just a touch off-kilter, as though something else should be at the end of the bar, where her memory sees Vander with a towel slipped off his shoulder and a pint scrubbed dry beneath his palm.

"She's fond of his works with osmium," Silco muddles then, tucking his pen behind the rattish crook of his ear. She rocks back on her heels. Watches, suspiciously, as he leans over to sort through the register: a snap-shring of the drawer.

He counts out clean stacks of glinting, gold-plaited coin: seamless as a teller.

A hundred and fifty hexes—and a hundred and fifty more, atop them.

"That's—that's not—"

"I'm aware." He leans into the willowed splay of his palm, with another dagger of those mismatched eyes. She meets them, a whip-fire glare. "Haggling takes more than using your fists, girl."

Her nails fidget at her thumb. "I know."

"Then be smart about it. I've found he runs fifteen-percent mark-ups, on average."

Her teeth ache. She wants to shove the hexes back in his face, turn tail and walk straight back up those glossed stairs. Wants to snatch up every glimmering coin, out of her own spite, and stalk across the floor, before he can get in another word—but he's glancing absently over another shelf of glasses at his knee, like he knows every damn nook and cranny back there, like he's worked it as much as Vander ever did, and the thought gnaws and gnaws at her—What the hell were you?—until she can't think.

He tallies in another row of orders. Glances at her, slowly: a flit of teal and cinder, there and gone again. "Take your time," he suggests, after a breath. "Fetch yourself something to practice with. It's worth knowing your way around a bullet, in this line of work."

Metal flares on her tongue. "I don't need a gun."

Ice and fire, burning into her. "Do you intend to punch your way out of every shootout you cross, girl?" Condescending, petty old drawl: the sheared velvet of his accent heavy off his jagged teeth. "Perhaps I can fetch you a bow and arrow, if you're so inclined."

The jab eats under her skin, and sets her blood boiling.

Vi scrapes up the coins into the satchel at her hip, and storms off, out the gilded whirl of the door, without another word.

[thrandilf]

The Moon, the Sun, and the Black Powder Fuse by ChipperSmol and Payasita. Any lmk fic by payasita is good, and if you like that fic I recommend you read the rest, but this one is my absolute favorite. Top-tier messy pining

takes notes, I'll check em out!

[astronnova]

hello hand over your entire LMK fanfic collection ALLL of your faovirtes or the pspsps boogeyman will be at your door tonight

oh noo dearest boogeyman please do not come to my door tonight where i am alone and defenseless [ GUNSHOT ]

a lot of this is angst fics because. idk im a fucked up little man i guess. all ratings go up to M

he who conquers shadows black by theweepingmortician - i uh. um. macaque's death. yep. cough. m

sympathy, compassion, and other irrelevant gestures by payasita - good character study type thing of wukong and his many many traumas lol. the difference between saying "im okay" and then actually being okay

if i can't help myself by crimson_owl - this one is like a knife in the abdomen and then the attacker twists it. good angst read my friend showed me this one. (slight warning: wukong does have an implied death at the end)

bury a friend (i want to end me) by drawing_a_blank - 2/4 chapters written at the time of posting. good wukong angst fic that explores his specific trauma of having to kill all his friends because of a higher power demanding it of him

the moon, the sun, and the black powder fuse by chippersmol & payasita - mac centric fic. again, feels more like a character study and it does go hard. mac hates loud noises, wukong loves fireworks. u can see where it's going. it's explicitly stated to be shadowpeach in the tags BUT i think you can kinda see it platonically if you'd like?

monkey king's guide to physical contact by leonardo_charles_bluewood_21 - touch starved AND touch averse wukong. joy! it's got sappy found family stuff in there which is up my alley, but there's your warning if you aren't a fan of a nice big group hug.

for better or for worse by lotus monkey & squidkid15 - okay. i'll be honest with ya chief i haven't sat down and read this monster yet 37k words and it's still updating every thursday. less traditional fanfic, it's more of an archive of an rp that the two authors did! it's based on an au the two made, the core au, and from What I Have Seen it's pretty good. i just haven't had the time to sit down and tackle this beast of a fanfic yet so goodluck to you if you're gonna read it. i bet it's real good

in for a penny, in for a pound by peaceofart - shadowpeach au fanfic! 7/? chapters done as of writing. premise is mac is a thief that's snuck into the main castle and wukong's an overpowered prince basically trapped inside. mac acts as a guard to get a better look inside the palace and wukong grows attached to him ;3 this fic is my guilty pleasure i kick my feet and giggle when it updates

[munkiey]

Based on THIS fic by @chipper-smol @payasita

(Next)

[forst-some-guy]

As a self promo, I’m writing a shadowpeach fic after season 3 called Looking for You which is basically about Wukong and Macaque being forced to work through some of their problems while searching for a spirit who stole from Wukong.

My ao3 username is Omgthentertainment, and the last chapter is nearly finished.

Some other fics I like are:

Concealer by KinbariTheHeathen

The Moon, the Sun, and the Black Powder Fuse by ChipperSmol and Payasita

Temporary Touch by Detailed_Abandon

if anybody here has any lego monkie kid fic recs i have binge-read Sunbreak and From Three Thirty to Four and i’m craving some more so feel free to throw them at me. self-promos welcome

[mordenheim]

Fictober 2020 04:  “That didn’t stop you before.”

Big Bang harrumphed as he started looking over the setup for the Summer Sun Celebration fireworks display.  Something wasn't quite right.  He double and triple checked every fuse and wire, each canister and mortar tube, but something was just off, he couldn't put his hoof on it.

“What's wrong, boss?” One of the workers had wandered by, a gray mare with auburn mane carrying a board across her back.

The big gray stallion wiped at his forehead, his mane plastered to his neck with sweat, “I dunno, Screwy, somethin' just don't feel right.”

Screwloose just shrugged a shoulder, causing the board on her back to wobble wildly, “That didn't stop you before.  Hell, one of your most famous displays was when something went wrong!”

A frown pulling down the corners of his mouth, the big stallion grumbled, “Yeah, and started a wildfire that burned about forty acres of land.”

Sighing, he shrugged his broad shoulders, cracked his back and gt back to work. He only had a few more hours to prepare for the close of the celebration. Finally the big moment arrived.  Princess Celestia lowered the sun as Princess Luna raised the moon.  Knowing that was his signal, Big Bang lit the fuse to set off the entire display. A chill ran through his body as he finally remembered.  He knew hat had been bothering him all day.  Looking over towards the stands he could see the barrels of black powder that had been placed there earlier for easy access while they were setting up.  He had never put them away.   Shouting at the top of his lungs, he raced towards the stands.  His voice was swallowed up by the roar of cheering ponies as the princesses took their bows.  He turned to chase the burning fuse, trying to stomp it out, but missing in his blind panic.  His eyes went wide as the fuse burned down to start the display. There was a blinding flash and a searing wave of heat hit his body, then nothing.

The stench of sulfur filled the air when Big Bang finally awoke.  A low moan escaped him as he opened his eyes.  He saw what looked like a mass of reddish bricks in the ceiling, but his vision was swimming and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

Rolling out of the bed, he landed firmly on his back legs, upright.  That wasn't right?  Trying to lean forward was almost impossible, as if his bottom were weighted to keep him upright.  Looking down at himself, he let out a shriek! His forelegs were gone, replaced with a pair of what looked like blue wings or flippers.  His body was rounded with a white belly and some sort of storage pouch was wrapped around his waist.  Reaching up with those weird flippers he felt his face and let out another cry as he realized he had no ears and his face was stretched out into a thin, pointed beak!

A shrill, high-pitched voice with an upbeat attitude cut through his panic like a knife.  “Let's see, Big Bang, huh?  Glad to see you're finally awake!  Time to meet the Prinny Instructor, dood!”

[mxladymorgan-moved]

These are the first members of the crew as per writing, with more to be added, including roles, intros/bios and overall count, as well as information on the Adamastor proper.

Black Bones • Captain • From his crew’s perspective, not much is known about Bones other than he is a ‘good man’ - meaning he is a considerate captain who listens to his men and acts on their interests, as much as on his own. Though his birthplace and bloodline are unknown, there is a noble quality to his words and the just way in which he rules the crew, insisting that spoils should be shared and absence of loyalty or discipline should be punished in the name of everyone’s welfare. Bones is also regarded as quirky, with his preference to remain in his private quarters rather than share the crew’s in spite of his morals. The two things combined - uncertainty about his past and fondness for privacy - leave the crew to believe Bones is a man with a dark secret, perhaps a prince on the run after murdering a rival out of spite, but all is forgotten when there is treasure and the good Captain shares it equally amongst the crew.

Bonaventura Santiago • Quarter Master •  A religious man, Santiago was raised within a monastery after a monk taking pity on him when he was a child. There, he got his education in basic competences and was sure he would take the cloth when his time came, as he quickly embraced faith, yet another call sounded first - the call of the sea. Not much is known on how Santiago turned to piracy rather than stay a priest on a civilian ship but, for everyone’s sake, it was good he did. Monastic life made him recognize and understand the importance of order in a ship - like in all things - and thus he is Bones’s right-hand man. His authority is the highest after the Captain’s. If asked why have a clergyman in the crew, Bones will normally say, more or less jokingly, that since they’re all condemned to Hell anyway, no harm comes from having someone closer to God to put in a good word when the time comes!

Porto Erasmus • Sailing Master • Hailing from a coastal city where knowledge is made daily bread, Erasmus is an educated fellow, having learnt navigation and cartography in university. Directing the Adamastor’s course after it being set by the Captain or between the pair of them is his job. Being a patient and enlightened man, he gets along well enough with Santiago, even if his scholar’s mind clashes with that of the clergyman at times. Truly, Erasmus’s favourite pastime is discussing scholarly subjects with Santiago after they set a topic - these talks can last for days, underneath moon and sun, a practice which most crewmen find rather tiring for less educated and more practical men such as Lopo. Erasmus has the particular habit of being stubbornly confident in outdated instruments.

Navarro Lopo  • Master Gunner • Responsible for Adamastor’s cannons and ammunition. Mirroring his responsibilities, Lopo can be rather short-fused and set things on (figurative) fire when provoked, which can happen when a simple game of cards or dice doesn’t go quite his way. A hard man to deal with due to this trait, he’s nevertheless a vital piece for the Adamastor to work, with her cannons being arguably her most important feature. Lopo can be extremely unpleasant when his pride is wounded or during a battle, giving the powder monkeys living hell - he’s rather sweet to the lads otherwise!

[watzuu-lmk]

I've been summoned

Constellations within us by cloud_somersault

To live, to love, to lose by wuklei(leiyen)

The space between a rock and a hard place by alienu

Keepin' me awaky by anonpeachymilk(anon_peachymilk)

Do what you want to, be what you want to by anonpeachymilk(anon_peachymilk)

Reminiscent by cloud_somersault

The gold and the rust by mayhapssidy

In defense of somniloquy by payasita

Fishing a stone from a well by payasita

There may be no such thing as eternity by metanteildolrachel

Two slow dancer by alienu

You'll bury me beneath the tree i climbed when i was a child by anonpeachymilk(anon_peachymilk)

The cost of cleaning by dr_chalk

Sonhood by dr_chalk

Sunspot by anonymous (its the one with ao lie and nezha)

Slippin n' slidin by d4_sh3ng

Hold me like a grudge by njckle

Aftermath by etapiscium

The moon, the sun and the black powdered fuse by payasita

Just peachy by restinreeses

Fortune cookies by poetoutofthebeast

I had to scour through my list and this isn't even everything lmao. Lot of stuff that i missed but these left a significant impression out of me

Hey there guys, do you have any good recommendations for shadowpeach or just simply lmk fanfictions?

There are just too many I cant---

[mickey-milkovichs]

you are my moon and all my stars, ch. 1 - faith/fred

faith/fred high school AU!

also on ao3

Faith Lehane sighs deeply and opens her eyes a crack as the dreary gray morning light filters in through her broken window blinds to softly—but surely—demand that she wake up. She has no clock in her room but she guesses it’s just about time to get ready for school. Her body has always been oddly attuned to different nature cycles, like mother nature or whoever decided to take some pity on her and grant her this mostly useless gift. Still, sometimes it comes in handy—when she was little, even when she was half asleep, she could tell by how bright the moon was what time it was and how soon her mom would arouse from her drunken stupor and be ready to come shake her awake and scream at her about one thing or another. Okay so maybe it wasn’t a special-gift thing and more of a having-fucked-up-parental-figures thing.

Faith curses quietly as she tries to untangle herself from her plain white bed sheet and ends up banging her knee on her metal bed frame. She unleashes another string of curses as she tries not to punch a hole in the wall. She’s really not in the mood for any shit today; she feels like she’s gonna blow a fuse.

She wasn’t even supposed to be going back to school. She’d decided sometime around finals last year that ninth grade would be her last. What was the point, when she already knows what her future holds? Why suffer through a bunch of stupid tests and ignorant assholes—both students and teachers alike—when she could spend her last good years smoking on the rooftops and fire escapes of the Boston metropolis, stealing lipstick and powdered doughnuts from convenience stores, and watching old cartoons while sitting on her mom’s sagging couch with a bowl of cereal and milk (after having sneaked back in through a window after her mom left for “work”, of course), and just generally having some fun before she accepted her fate of becoming a Wallmart manager or some shit. Or dead. But no, after having missed one too many days of school last year, her counselor had called Faith into her office to tell her that she suspected that she was about to drop out and didn’t want her “giving up on her future”, and that if she did drop out she would have to call both her mother and social services. Telling her counselor that school was a waste of time for someone like Faith would just make her more concerned, and she really didn’t want to deal with whatever reaction her mother would have (probably a lack of reaction, which would hurt even though Faith would swear it doesn’t). So at the moment it looks like Faith is heading back to P.S. 132, the fucking cesspit.

Faith grabs various black articles of clothing off of her floor and sniffs them. She decides they smell fine. After dressing, applying dark lipstick and heavy eyeliner and smoothing some gel lightly into her hair, she sticks a pen and a packet of cigs into her back pocket and walks out the front door, ignoring her mother who’s still passed out on the couch.

*

Faith was supposed to meet her counselor before her first class started to prove she showed up, but she’s late (of course) so she doesn’t. Instead she slinks into World History and takes a seat in the back. Maybe she can sleep if she closes her eyes three quarters of the way?

The first third of the day passes in a blur. During the fifteen minute snack break Faith heads to the library after getting bitched out by one of her teachers for not having her textbooks.

Faith pushes her way past the heavy oak doors, where the musty old-book smell of the library hits her square in the face. There’s a new librarian behind the counter, a stately woman with a twisted knot of brown hair and a burgundy suit. Faith thinks she looks too classy for this place.

“May I help you, young lady?” The woman asks in a light, posh British accent.

“Uh...yeah,” Faith says slowly, thrown by the young lady. “I need some books. Like, textbooks. For class.”

“Right, right. Well, do you have your schedule? I can take a look and see what you will need.”

Faith raises her arms in a half shrug. “Unless it’s pressed real tight to my body, then no. I clearly don’t have a bag on me or anything where it could be hiding.” She’s trying to keep the attitude to a minimum, but this whole school/authority figures thing is, as usual, rubbing her the wrong way.

The woman narrows her eyes. “The school was supposed to mail you a packet of papers over the summer.”

Ah, her mother refusing to ever leave their real address on any official documents strikes again. “Look, that shit never shows up and I’ve never had any problems about it with the old library guy, okay? And it’s not too hard for me to figure out what classes I’m gonna be in.”

The woman sighs and drags out a notepad and a pen, and begins making a list as Faith tells her what classes she’ll be attending this semester.

As the woman writes, Faith’s eyes wander, canvassing the large, wood-paneled space. Faith and the woman are alone (presumably everyone else got their books when they were supposed to) except for a tall, thin brunette girl who’s sitting at one of the back tables, chewing on one of her pigtails and furiously writing in a notepad as she leafs through a thick volume. She makes an excited eep! noise when she comes to a certain section of the book, and starts writing even faster. Who the hell studies this hard on the first break of the first day of school?, Faith thinks as she watches her. The girl, feeling Faith’s eyes on her, raises her head. She pushes her glasses further up on her nose and flashes a bright smile, then raises her right arm and waves. Faith frowns. Does she know this girl? No, definitely not. Faith looks away quickly, pretending she hadn’t just been watching her. She’s kind of cute. Too bad she’s also clearly a total bookworm.

“Here you are,” the librarian states as she sets a thick stack of books down on the counter with a heavy thud. “Remember not to write in them or damage them in any way, and please bring them back at the end of the semester.”

“Got it,” Faith dismisses as she struggles slightly to wrap both arms around the books.

She heads toward the door and as she exits the library, she can feel two sets of eyes watching her leave.

*

Faith goes to one more class, but ditches Algebra right after and walks outside. She can’t handle that shit today.

She walks across the crunchy, dead grass of the football field, pulling out a cigarette and sticking it in her mouth as she heads toward the bleachers. She’s such a cliché.

A small group of burnouts nod at her as she swings herself into the space under the bleachers. Faith is respected by the fringe societies of the school for her loner status and readiness to fight stupid assholes, despite not being a part of any group. She also became somewhat of a legend among them after she was caught fucking one of the head cheerleaders. As awesome as that was, the situation ended up being a whole mess that Faith would rather not repeat.

Faith nods back and leans against the metal leg of the bleacher, closing her eyes and taking a deep drag off of her cig. She starts to get drowsy as she smokes. The sun beating down through the filter of the bleachers mixed with a cool breeze feels great, and Faith feels more calm than she has all day. She hears a bell ring from a distance and the roar of hundreds of students as they enter the quad, and she deduces that the lunch hour must have started.

“Hi!”

Faith starts in shock and almost hits her head on the bottom of the bleacher. Her cigarette falls out of her mouth and lands in the dirt.

“Shit,” she mutters as she looks in despair at her ruined smoke.

She twists her head around and glares, wanting to see who disturbed her. It’s the girl from the library.

“Oh, sorry!” the girl exclaims in a high pitched, lightly accented voice. Faith’s not sure what the accent is. Southern, maybe? “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Faith tries not to roll her eyes. “What were you trying to do?”

“Well, I noticed you up in the library and I figured I’d come say hi.” She sticks her hand out, Faith figures so that she can shake it. After a few beats she reaches out and grabs her hand, pumping it up and down. “My name’s Fred. Well,” she giggles, “it’s actually Winifred. But everybody calls me Fred. What’s your name?”

“Uh...Faith,” Faith says as she fumbles with her cigarette packet, trying to pull another one out.

“Ooh, Faith, that’s so pretty! I love it. Also, do you got any pot?”

[psychicmedium14]

What Your Zodiac Sign Says About Your Money: July 2017 Edition

Welcome to Cancer season! The zodiac’s touchy-feely little mermaid, Cancer’s loony fantasy life urges us to dive directly into our inner worlds and trust in our capacity to shelter ourselves from whatever financial tidal shifts occur. With Chiron stationing retrograde on the 1st and a pack of planets entering Leo toward the end of the month, it’s a deliciously exposed season for burning off those old stories about scarcity, mining the deep seas for juicy jewels, and activating our power of self-sufficiency to create a seashelled home on our backs. Money Mantra of the Month: I take the plunge into my dream life and let my fantasies carry me home to rock-solid, 24-karat shores. Aries (Mar. 21 - Apr. 19) With Mars (your ruler) in Cancer this month, it’s all about getting sweet with your strategies as you practice tenderly reaching out for help on a project instead of going it alone. Power Summer: Check out a blockbuster, complete with buttery popcorn. Let yourself rest in the AC and get reinspired by heroic tales without having to take action all by yourself just yet. Taurus (Apr. 20 - May 20) Your ruler, Venus, shifts into Gemini this month and it’s an opportunity to freshen up your professional approach and take pleasure in implementing multiple plans, even if you can’t foresee the outcome. Power Summer: Beach-bag beauty. Channel your badass inner boss with a varied collection of on-the-go instant bronzers, salt sprays, shimmery highlighting sticks, powder cleansers, and fresh tropical shades. Gemini (May 21 - Jun. 20) Venus enters your sign this month and it’s time to take pleasure in activating the full range of your skill set. Pick up some side hustles that showcase your hidden talents. Power Summer: Trip to the amusement park. Practice channeling all the financial possibilities while having fun with games of chance, tilt-a-whirls, and Skee-Ball ticket prizes. Cancer (Jun. 21 - Jul. 22) Get loony, little mermy! This birthday month is all about trusting deeply in your wildest financial dreams and starting to risk birthing them into the real world. Power Summer: Skinny dipping. Get raw, get real, and get ready to expose all your sun-kissed beauty! Leo (Jul. 23 - Aug. 22) With a pack of planets entering your sign by month’s end, it’s time to get off your glamorously fluffy butt and make it happen. Put your nose to the glittered grindstone to create the luxe leisure life you crave. Power Summer: Yacht cruise. Be willing to learn how to steer the ship so you can celebrate the good life that springs from your willingness to sweat it out. Virgo (Aug. 23 - Sep. 22) With your ruler, Mercury, shifting into Leo this month, throw caution to the wind and take full credit for the things you’ve created. Power Summer: Ice cream–truck chasing. After a job well done, practice treating yourself to sprinkles and swirls, and let this jump-start a month of celebrating your successes. Libra (Sep. 23 - Oct. 22) With Jupiter in your sign making a series of sparkling trines this month, it’s a moment to fall deeply in love with the power of your ideals again. Think dream vacations, dream homes, and dream jobs. Power Summer: Classic sunset. Get ridiculously romantic about how you want your professional life to feel by taking a pink sunset walk, sipping a piña colada, or getting caught in the rain. Scorpio (Oct. 23 - Nov. 21) With Leo planets squaring your sun this month, you’re being asked to return to an innocent faith in your power potential. How can hustling feel like pure playtime? Power Summer: Backyard BBQ. Fuse your penchant for intensity with a little joyous humor among tiki torches, limbo poles, and smoked flavors. Sagittarius (Nov. 22 - Dec. 21) The pragmatic energy of Saturn is challenging you this month, and it’s time to get super grounded about your far-flung visions. Temper the urge to overspend with some simple solo time and clearheaded planning. Power Summer: Solo road trip. Get back to basics and fuse your desire for adventure with a scaled-back getaway. Capricorn (Dec. 22 - Jan. 19) With a full moon in your sign on the 9th, shine a light onto the areas where you’re still holding back from enjoying all your successes. Power Summer: Picnic in the park. Let yourself lounge on a sprawling blanket with wine, cheese, and wildflowers, and let someone else do the packing for once. Aquarius (Jan. 20 - Feb. 18) Mercury in Leo opposes your sun for most of this month, and you’re being asked to soften your sense of the “right” thing for the group, and step back into personal beliefs. Speak up at work even if you have to risk exile, or strike out on a solo project. Power Summer: Boardwalk photo booth. Celebrate your individual perspective with some old-school solo selfies in a black-and-white booth. Pisces (Feb. 19 - Mar. 20) With Chiron going retrograde in your sign this month, it’s a month of professional retreat. Take this time to process your feelings about your current state of affairs, and let more-personal creative projects pave the way toward public successes. Power Summer: Pool party. Let slip n’ slides, beach floats, and blender beverages re-up your faith in the inevitable ebbs and flows of your financial state.

[marcosoropoet]

Cracked Mirror Express

Nihilistic utter vivid change in direction of dimensions & iterations, zero blank black and white advertisements, smiling brightly, diamond teeth one of many ornaments in the aerial earth street tableau. hit and crack ice.and breath air again. in the s t r e e t, loudly over the phone, one of many ornaments in the tableau.thoughts unreal fold fakeout grimace gold pop-up packed unreal fakeout grimace unreal as it gets. retro insignia. spatial disorientation distress. the earth is far from us now. glassy in spiral silver sky.what was far off, is now still. "thought-speech processing!". — cried a blue melancholy mood rider. knocking. A weird knock on the door at 1am. ...street's slanted stoner, distorted soundwave cul-de-sac ice ricochet echo heard by a loner at the window curtain watching it all develop, not knowing. traffic cop waved at a glass storefront. I walked barefoot on cold gravel, big bouncing ball & sinister sun-drenched frown. Loose and lurking. Curious in an alien subculture. Flash of earth-mottled sapphire coalesced. Loud heavy rush hour traffic & rain, re-loading, heard in the background, freefalling static of radioing voices now...sub-quantum microcosm...is deflecting soft phased-in fog spillover huge pillow pullover at machine's excursion of anti-wave mimeograph soft star implosion, chilling atmospheric report that in that area of the universe thought reversal refracts scratched movie iteration subtext holographic meme fractal expanding in neo-organic palette, 'it's just us now, talking': 'there's nothing here' nods. — ...besides, no one else. — recording continues... sunlight world borderless unhid coherent convenient unceasing retrieving alien gusts soot & ash pile up grey-powder injured heroic caricatures freefall skydivers in faux flame.astronauts walking electrifying rocknroll dust silhouette neon day-glo haywire street festival vibe, *heavy crowd*, littered with weathered hype-weary crooks and soapy cubist women, they throw plastic dice at the wall, the same boulder is pushed again up the side of the city hill top, the sun sets purple and a gold falling away of cracked blood cirrus spatter — O violent red bird you are true beauty dark rose tattoo flung oblong eclipsing sideways to running zebra, leopard and tiger slashing deeply. the atmosphere is quietly my own minus moon opal fires, prisms, refractions. I can think clearly again. the ancient burning blue opal suspended in a galaxy of glass. exponential. fractal. tactile. slow sunshine spotlight nano-collision, flashing auras of outer-spatial slow motion frozen tunnel monolithic, sideways moons celestial composure, bright yellow slush rushing cloud black, copper tea fog sepia burnt-out time fabric of sleazy area that always seems heavy with clouds & old houses, the first tree was hard to yank out...upward cranking claw let loose heavy tree roots viscerally tingling in mid-air — hazy single teeth-yellow lightbulb smile goes on and off from across the sliding street-planet irradiating, in a vacillating shell of black matter crystal grid specks colliding flashing space slow-out motion sideways moons glow in an aura more photographs brightly behind the train yards in the dark blue of gaussian night — smell bitter atmosphere burnt-out, off the ground, off the sky, the singular rainfall pattering when I first woke scattering leaves, clear, unstill. and lift my head up off the ground to signal a single frame of pristine black and white cinéma vérité that transfixed a subculture of Ultimate Public Freakout Compilations. Searing rays of day hurt my cloaked eyes blue morning parking lot, large section of sky and interstate, motel melancholy, moonlight sonata is playing from the painter's window, outside the dawning street window the harsh blare and traffic is iron and crystal loud horn ruse of sonic crack-up. loud smoke ray blasts green velveteen wall — dark-sorrow and hand shadow shades brow — pressed bruised stone of sun and moon — outside, the sudden chill fills up my nose... heh-heh-heh — iguanid horror movie hit unpacking road-kill frequency; unpack your shit & get the fuck out. acute missing sense of psychotic spider time atrium overgrows metaphysical schizoid tension & unease...release mind-boggling algorithm. Sixties suitcase of suds, scarabs and pads. Light is unguent in thick rays of hallway dust faces seem distorted and overexposed one real face flashes away quickly in the mirror very dim: black hole hung vacuum bolts of purple textile bending fuzz-wa vibration & frequency, slung hard vacuum tugs black pencil lines, mere equations froth down incremental moss alley portals; jump-cut - heh-heh-heh, I capture overwrought cracks fissures vibrations express mirror off peel out yeah yeah yeah the hypersonic parallel brain, which is reason, even amidst splash soapy heady flowers, overblossoming overrun intoxicating inhaling vividly perfumed steam — "momma-momma them serial killahs, was they caught yet"?! The world has slowed, then frozen still. behind the bloody curtains. jewelry sparkles in the refrigerator so that it would feel icy cold on the skin. sunlit rays of bright snowy dust. disturbed circle. hot sun in torn eyes, "gore slime pop-vein freakshow voyeur. whose 3-D pop-open broken brain cork calculates zebra striped can surfaces, flash signals in a spotlight crackdown.c r a c k."ed open./ steady orbiting over flash fire alleys, free of earthly gravity, outstretched arms zoom straight out then landing upright — ultrasharp blue city frequency plug-in incremental voltage surge, night blue strobe vibe ray flashing police cycles, deep house thunderstorm...slid into sweet scars of bitter loneliness & the isolation of unknown jump-cut passengers appearing, blips, on the screens. sound of indistinct industrial manufacturing mixing other ambient workspace noise and generic office chatter in the ultrasharp blue city frequency black clouds come down, icy blanket of blackwood dry ice smoke reverberates sharp genetic tincture crackle of fruit wood burning elixir smoke heavily perfuming the air, in night ice star rays of crystal optic rope .outside. cymbals erupting in metallic sonic splashes, cast iron bells, indigenous whistles, erratic singing overwrought hair-trigger hush hologram love staccato gut razor spills... fuzzy sax winds through a doppelgänger villain stampede. chilling naked digital voice streams entertain; somnambulant patrons wear pajamas in soft noir conveyance stunning day-glo buoyant cinema amusement park. dual scene doldrums & ferris wheels. fake smile again to all the others, nodded casually and took a seat. it rains and silences the street. hunting down a quick fix, saturated in pure red neon syrup. my copper dogfoot bathtub fills with very bright ocean water that ripples in black and white cinema, reflecting a blackshadow dumpster smeared with cracked candles waxy rearview mirror violet gardenia shard fix, blood was everywhere — tucked a dog-eared one way ticket (under the busted mattress) to a ramshackle flip-flop spaceship vulture-sneak city, close by, where dated popular music spins wantonly.people wear their backpack pajama tops backwards & interstellar interstate fused wet grey clouds drip inky newsprint unsparingly. As a blood of sorts. A car drives by squealing water. A huge bridge leaps solidly over brilliant river carnival of bright maroon & green lights toss waves & ignite the dark waters with the same colors. Standing, newspaper slanted, frozen, still, in the aggressive icy wind waiting for the Cracked Mirror Express — a thousand plus strange vivid equations of videos posted is zero blank black and white advertisement smiling brightly, one of many ornaments in the tableau. .hit and crack ice. and breath air again. in the s t r e e t, loudly over the phone, packed thoughts unreal fold fakeout grimace. fake everything in fake boxes. M a t t e r...is as unreal as it g e t s. just moved into the street's slanted distorted soundwave sector. in today's world. o smoke say fog hello lovely, hiding in the deep deep world lizard heat crush. misty ethereal junk trajectory intermittent troubles sporadic razor slashed balloons. the room has a door but it only appears to open and close. everyone trapped laughs pay playing coins floating dice white wiles tent trail salt smell unwinding history of old dry leaves & one cumulus cloud street shone; almanac slant and crack ice b r e a t h�� a i r  again in tearing eyes under purple gossamer umbrella, hand-painted stampede crush of small bright-yellow birds fleeing the snow. And the family fire bright, from the silverwood front porch. or...uh... for a long time now. I actualize myself in a 3-D pop-up gig. actualize myself in the street-slant cracked bus safekept belt winter vintage blues though. friendliness is faked loudly over the phone, on the show, found footage in missed glass store stampede-crush outtake. stay-over couch unreal dense-cloud soft, sturdy; better than those pieces of carpet. touch touch touch a blue gray cat walks over me on the couch. one memory flash of a loose moment only good when reflected on. in the actual moment, it was cold, my mouth was hungry and dry in the bitter sunshine crackle winter your schizoid disorder felt colder; bitter and weird to taste the floor. you took an abrupt nap on the kitchen floor a figure folding, bolt of superblack textile crushed down to accordion exit. The unreal dense-soft sofa in the linear world is filling up with harsh bright morning, somehow how do I; can I stretch this out to keep me from the dreaded viper mimic sirens, in the streets, in the rusted-out storefronts of closed cold debriefings, cold metal smashed up to your face, network of seeing stars from a cracked up head. Cracking up in nostalgic melancholy. A big bouncing ball. walk into soft applause. a small yellow bird of anonymous content. white eyes of content, red sun. constellation blue sapphire on the skyline galaxy pulverized stone silt low radioactive, the plastic desert clowns perform inside the big red banjo buzzcut hut. o sleep, no past universe or forward form of day the undisturbed unperceived soft timelessness there. erupting in metallic sonic splash. Hot sun in tearing eyes. A long piss.kill the street-slant.everything is steady. radio static sky zoned-out pieces of obnoxious phoned-in noise tunnel guitar warps lift bent heavy sound rain and deep fresh thunder matrix outburst: crowd. black and white storm drain gush, widens e x p a n s i o n z — e x p a n s i o n x blur background of institutional business paranoia office wall turning veering out to you as pure cinéma-vérité in "organic" blends of light (such as sunlight mixed with fluorescent, etc.) office plants' heads pop up. the cactus with pink flowers. the bonsai. rain and deep fresh thunder matrix outburst: in the crowd. black and white noise scratching, blue sirens screeching fast, flying fists, seizure of vehicle & yes yes free time machine blow out —

[autolovecraft]

Halted by some hateful current of vapor.

Never were things of such worlds and suns as shine on the way it works ain't like no way o' God's world. Behind and below was only by analogy that they had never even thought of those terrible last words of Nahum's—Can't git away—she was slightly luminous in the valley. Save for Ammi's dead horse, which resembled some of them, and observed that he could sink the wooden shaft to any depth in the last half-fused, seemed to be almost plastic, having heard that he showed; relief at the bottom of the cellar, some mineral element from the window, and will be safe forever under watery fathoms.

Ammi do their errands in town. They were glad of the other side.

Nothing nothing the color it burns and sucks it come from that stone to be.

I rouse the aged man, and its influence was so insidious. Save for Ammi's dead horse, which they towed away and buried, and from a vapor glimpsed in the sun. As I walked hurriedly by I saw above the others were spared, and a number of bones of small animals. Slowly nerving himself, he set out at once for Arkham and notified the authorities that the cause seemed to be.

Snow never seems quite so heavy on the roof of the thing Ammi described would be no use, either, in part, though perhaps there would have fainted or gone mad, but merely told of the road, were now neighing and stamping of the thing vanished with the hues of the scene burned itself into his brain. The wood of the spirits as of the dark its luminosity was very brave about it. Quick to connect events, he declared that the fragment seemed to have that color sometimes towards night an' it burns and sucks it come from that stricken, far-away spot he had roamed all his life. On the trip back they stopped at Ammi's to rest, and Ammi turned away from the window was small and half-moon played wanly on the country notion that the folk of Arkham would not credit this. Certain areas or sometimes the whole farm was shining with the sunlight I saw the aerolite would be discovered as the shapeless stream of unplaceable color left the region, and sometimes with only a botanist could connect with the black curve of the vegetation was fast crumbling to a certain and familiar doom. Ammi reached his house the horses had run across the road, and upon tapping it appeared to think of him as the light winter snow. The way they screamed at each other from behind their locked doors was very plain that healthy living things must leave that house. Ammi looked out again the disappearing fragment left carefully cased in lead.

This was no breath from the valley far in the little ground pools where the trees. Hogs grew inordinately fat, then suddenly began to weave itself into fantastic suggestions of shape which each spectator described differently, there was another matter.

Merwin this time his wife was getting very feeble.

There was a lean, genial person of about fifty, living with his wife did not complete the walk, because what he found. Save for Ammi's dead horse, which they shortly returned to him of my surveying, and slight luminosity, cooling slightly in powerful acids, possessing an unknown spectrum, in part, though; and hunters cannot depend on their dogs too near the well water? As I walked hurriedly by I saw that he had to retreat to another room and return with his wife more.

He let the boy was gone.

There were also a small deer and a large colored globule are dead. The rustics say the color of that abandoned well whose stagnant vapors played strange tricks with the melons and tomatoes, and soon proving itself absolutely non-volatile at any producible temperature, including that of Thaddeus being already known, and in a glass beaker that they owned that Thaddeus had been suddenly choked off, being wholly negative in the woods and fields? Three of the watchers saw wriggling at that tense godless calm the hysterical sobbing of little Merwin this time, even the medical examiner.

It was the house and two from the well after it had drawn the lightning strike the furrow in the daytime, against a moonlit sky. Why was everything so gray and dwarfed and tasteless. The room was deadly cold; and though the vestiges were mainly skeletal. It was a fearsomely ancient place, and Nahum worked hard at his gleaning of the pears and apples had crept a stealthy bitterness and sickishness, so perhaps there would be discovered as the gray dust that no wind seems to disperse. Nabby, Ammi could not convey it—when the professors stayed away in contempt. That fragment lasted a week until he began stumbling and hurting himself, and how it had in other years, is the only one or two, and Ammi had to recall the speaker from ramblings, piece out scientific points which he knew only by a clatter which told of the blasted heath, and even the bees that had sprouted in the front yard were such blasphemous-looking things that Nahum's oldest boy Zenas cut them down. The rural tales are queer. The grass had so far hurt any human of unweakened mind, there is a very old town full of witch legends I thought as I mentioned them in the valley. The grass had so far seemed untouched, and their nocturnal habits contradicted all former experience. And with this opening his husky voice sank low, while their restless branches seemed to sweep down in black, frore gusts from interstellar space.

For the terror had not a soul of that kind ought never to sprout in a crucible with all the farmers, Nahum—what was it? To this day it sprawls open to the roots of those who spoke. At least one Boston daily also sent a scribe, and feared to think of him as the small barred window and locked the accursed secret behind him. It come from beyond.

One did arise not long afterward, but their going was scarcely noticed since there now seemed to me, and a feeling of something—something was wrong with all Nahum's folks. Six times within an hour the farmer saw the lightning strike the furrow in the sky and ripple in the open; and Nahum declared it had been so strange were graying now, and all the chips made of the well if he had to recall the speaker from ramblings, piece out scientific points which he knew only by analogy that they empty and explore the well, everyone went indoors and conferred in the well it seemed to be the outcome was the next to see the stony soil of the old road, and nearly drowned its owner's faint quaver as he mumbled his formless reflections. For this strange beam of ghastly miasma was to come—the trim white Nahum Gardner and his unkempt clothing and white beard made him seem very worn and dismal. They were better off, being wholly negative in the ancient tottering cottage where the black cosmic gulfs it throws open before our frenzied eyes. It was a horrible brittleness, and Thaddeus nearly fainted at the gray, twisted, brittle monstrosity which persists more and more in troubling my sleep.

Thereafter Ammi gave Nahum's tales more respect, and with its gray desolation that sprawled open to the roots of those trees that claw the air?

No rural veterinary would approach his place, and in the attic for some purpose. There would be no mice, and was developing a highly singular quality of brittleness.

The grass had so far hurt any human of unweakened mind, there is a very queer color, and shimmered over the sashes of the great shapeless horror had shot into the well it seemed to me, and what was meant by that phrase strange days, and that to leave anything capable of motion there would have ventured forth for any earthly reward. Twilight had now fallen, and in another world between lines of nameless guards to a grayish powder, and the feeling of something near him waiting to be the side of a spacious valley; and because they all bolted out like frightened woodland deer.

Save for Ammi's dead horse, which they towed away and buried, and all the basis for a cycle of whispered magic have given them.

But whatever daemon hatchling is there, and a second later he felt that age was beginning to tell on him, and even the bees that had sprouted in the snow melted faster around Nahum's, and that wild things rustled in the wood. It was really nothing for serious men to do to calm the high bare boughs of all the men who had treated the diseased animals. Two in one feverish kaleidoscopic instant there burst forth a frantic shriek from the yard, who shunned all Gardners now. Things moved and changed and fluttered, and all thought it feeds on everything organic that's been around here, muttered the medical examiner, and then Merwin’s screams were answered faintly from the window, and had begun to look after his wife consoled the stricken man as best they could not but feel had come of late to do to calm them, and ears tingled to impulses which were not haunted woods, and did what he had to tug and point for lack of controllable voice when he drove past Nahum's which led to think what it wants that round thing them men from the well immediately, so he was not an animal surviving on the dark ancient valleys through which he knew. Then the lurching buggy had arrived before him and thrown his wife more.

Nitric acid and even the gossips would not speak much of the ancient tottering cottage where the blasted heath as it is. The rustics say the mental influences are very horrible in that detestably ancient woodwork. There had been dark and the boys were genuinely frightened, and then gets ye burns ye up in the attic room across the road past Nahum's house in his mind was bent ever so slightly; but having no love of wild gossip, for one thing; and as such dowered with outside properties and obedient to outside laws. Truly, it developed, nearly lost the spirit to bark.

In the well grew stronger and the grotesque, as the light winter snow.

The room was deadly cold; and as they detached another and larger piece with hammer and chisel. Why, here she is!

Ammi consciously lied to me, and always they lacked the power to get the heavy wagon near enough the hayloft for convenient pitching. And because Ammi recognized that color sometimes towards night an' it burns cold and wet, but their going was scarcely noticed since there now seemed to be away. It is forty-four years now since the water come.