coalescent

Droplets hitting a liquid surface don’t always coalesce. Above you can see a tiny droplet bounce and skate along the surface of a larger, vibrating drop. The smaller droplet doesn’t coalesce because a tiny layer of air sits between it and the vibrating drop. To actually contact and coalesce, the droplet has to sit still long enough for that air layer to get squeezed out. Instead, the vibration of the larger drop bounces it upwards, refreshing the air layer and scooting the droplet along until it falls off the vibrating drop. (Image credit: C. Kalelkar and S. Phansalkar, source)

i think barry must have known that by dating lup, he was essentially in a relationship with lup-and-taako, ie, taako would just Be Around Constantly and thats just how things are. 

kravitz on the other hand does not have this information yet. 

_____ 

bonus content: how many of the twins relationships do you think failed on the two sun planet because neither of them were willing to prioritize their s/o over their family, and sometimes people cant handle that. 

Captain Steve Rogers, Lovecraftian Horror

Title: The Miskatonic Project
Rating: PG-13 for horror themes, death
Summary: Abraham Erskine may have invented something new with the Serum – or maybe he re-created something very old. Something…Elder.
Notes: I should be working on like three other fanfics but I had a TERRIBLE DREAM this afternoon and anyway this only took about half an hour to write.

***

Steve came out of the Vita-Ray machine…different. 

Of course he looked different – taller, thickly muscled, skin gleaming. But it wasn’t the change in his appearance so much as the…sensation people felt around him. Howard claimed not to feel it, and Erskine died before he could weigh in. Peggy felt it, but not in the way others did. To her, he seemed otherworldly, but like an angel or a religious vision – comforting under a layer of unreality. She even liked the strange black pupils he’d developed, so big and dark you could hardly see the whites of his eyes at all. 

Others, however…. 

She didn’t see him pull the Hydra agent out of the submarine after Erskine’s assassination. Only three people did – a cab driver, a little boy, and the boy’s mother. The cab driver wouldn’t say a word, and the boy’s mother stuttered and stammered so badly they finally gave up. The little boy just said, “Well, he got him,” and looked admiringly at Steve. 

Steve wasn’t wet, but the submarine lay on the deck of the pier, and the man next to it was dead, a rictus of horror on his face. 

(There is a readmore below! Read more!)

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anonymous asked:

Okay, so here I am, an innocent lurker, having just found this blog, when I see: "what if the skywalkers were cthulu-type monsters." excuse me??? please elaborate you just wrote that and nothing else im dying ex p la i n y o ur s el f

  • The Force is everything that ever was and ever will be, every storm and every silence, the hunting krayk dragon and cowering bantha calf: it is huge, all-consuming, completely inhuman. How, then, could its children be anything short of monstrous? (Wonders, yes. But monsters all the same.)
  • Anakin Skywalker is boy-shaped, but Obi Wan cannot bear to look at him. 
  • A clarification: he can look at him with his human eyes; but he must clamp down the extra eyes his Force-sensitivity gives him, because when he doesn’t – well. The first time he met the boy he hadn’t closed those eyes; he’d open them, wide and curious and seen –
    • teeth and claws and roiling shadows, a slipslide of features and starfire, the white blur of warpspeed and it hurts –
  • Anakin Skywalker is the son of the Force, half human and half something extraordinary. There’s a reason the Jedi don’t like him, why Yoda mistrusts him; they all have to close their extra eyes around him; and even when they’re white-knuckled with effort, clamping down so the Force can’t so much as whisper to them (and that hurts Jedi, of course it does, it runs counter to all their training about opening up and trusting in the Force) and even then they still feel the velvet quiver of unseen limbs over their skin. 
  • And more. And worse. When he is angry – which is often – his shadow warps into something awful, and even the least Force-sensitive being quails at the profound wrongness of the sight. His features warp and melt, teeth spiralling out from his pupils, his mouth cracks open wide, his tongue growing scales and feathers and catching fire and he smiles, oh how he smiles and –
    • nothing like him should exist and
    • and you blink, lose the moment, he’s just a young man glowering at you, and his shadow is the same, but the memory of that horror is seared into the back of your brain.
  • It is no surprise that Padme dies in childbed. 
  • The first child’s cry makes Obi Wan’s bones rattle. It – you could not call it anything but an it – is a twisting, squirming mess of light and dark. There’s a wing, a thorned branch: you cannot focus on it. You cannot pin a shape to it. Obi Wan wants to run away, run and never look back. But the Med Droid is offering it to him; and it is a child, of a sort; and Obi Wan takes it, and it coalesces into a soft pink baby girl. He places it – her – against Padme’s white breast. Padme cradles it. “She’s beautiful.”
  • The second is just the same: pushed out like any human baby, but a roling mess of lightening and thick syrupy cloud, one moment tentacled and the next furred, pure power condensed. Obi Wan takes it in his arms and it solidifies into another fat baby, small and squalling. 
  • He’s not like the other babies, Luke Skywalker. He’s a funny one. When he smiles, you have the sudden absurd impulse that he’s got too many teeth for his face. His hair is corn-gold, but when you see it out of the corner of your eye you swear that it isn’t hair at all, but fire and teeth. Looking at him too long is like staring into the sun. 
  • The other children are scared of him, Behu says to Owen, once. And Owen says: children always know. And Behu says: he isn’t a bad kid. Owen says: he’s a wonder. And that’s the problem. 
  • Jabba’s goons go to the Lars farm to collect water once. Only once. They return to Jabba’s palace gibbering nonsense, with their eyes burned out. Both mumble something about there’s something wrong with the boy and then jump into the ragnar pit. 
  • Don’t do that again, says Owen, but he hugs his nephew all the same, pulls him close, kisses his temple. He feels something hot-cold run over his spine, like something far larger than the child is trying to embrace him back. That night, Behu runs her fingers over the new white scartissue on her husband’s back, and says, he’s a good kid. Owen says, I know.
  • If I was there I could have saved them, Luke says to Ben Kenobi, years later, and in that moment he has a thousand thousand eyes and all of them are burning, and he has no limbs but a dozen wings bearing him aloft, and each feather is molten gold and each feather drips blood. Ben thinks of Anakin, screws his Force-sensitivity closed. Luke is a monster. A wonder. But first and foremost he is a boy, and he is grieving. 
    • Ben Kenobi holds him while he weeps. 
  • When Leia comes, she turns into a celestial horror with more teeth than Han cares to count. “Huh,” he says, after their first time. She’s so little in his arms, but so vast. He feels something gentle his back. He says, “Next time, I’ll wear a blindfold, princess. Don’t want to blind me, do you? Then I won’t be able to see when you’re doing stupid shit.” She titters, presses her face into the curve of his neck. 
    • Love comes to everyone, including monsters. 

flonde  asked:

On punching Nazis: if you advocate violent suppression of opposing viewpoints you might be a fascist.

On liberals that misunderstand fascism so severely that they ignore every other characteristic of fascism (e.g. hostility to socialism/liberal democracy; perceptions of community/national decline/obsessions with myths of nationalist rebirth & greatness; an emphasis with racial or national “purity;” the scapegoating of “others,” often racist in nature; the fetishization of violence as a political tool to purge or “cleanse” the nation of “corrupting” or “alien” elements; prioritization of military might and national security; seeking to replace the current ruling elite with their own idealized class; the imposition of their brand of “order” on the rest of the population; an obsession with nationalism/ultra-nationalism; wanton disregard for human rights, intellectuals, and the arts; rampant cronyism and corruption coalescing around the ownership or control of government by one person or a tiny group of people) in their ahistorical attempt to paint anti-fascists as fascists using false equivalence: if you believe that fascism is an “opposing view point”  and not a completely discredited, potentially lethal, utterly illegitimate belief system; if you think fascists can be prevented from murdering people with your liberal witty repartée or hugging it out; if you’re completely oblivious to the use of physical force smashing fascism during world war two or beating back the fascists of Daesh in our times; if you sit on your fucking hands and do sweet FA when fascists are openly organizing in your community but rush to condemn those brave enough to stand up to them before they start shooting up mosques or calling bomb threats into Jewish centers or setting immigrant-owned businesses on fire or randomly shooting racialized people or stabbing black men to death in the streets or attempting to beat refugees to death; then you’re just as bad as the fascists are.  

As Joy Kogawa put it, “if there’s just one thing that history teaches us, just one thing, it’s that bystanders and perpetrators are both on the same side.“  

We’re don’t need to hear your tired, old, liberal-ass nonsense, flonde.  Give your head a shake and do something fucking useful for once in your life or GTFO of our way - we have important, life-saving work to do.  

When Styles returned to L.A., an idea landed. The idea was: Get out of Dodge. Styles called his manager, Jeffrey Azoff, and explained he wanted to finish the album outside London or L.A., a place where the band could focus and coalesce. Four days after returning from the movie, they were on their way to Port Antonio on Jamaica’s remote north coast. At Geejam, Styles and his entire band were able to live together, turning the studio compound into something like a Caribbean version of Big Pink. They occupied a two-story villa filled with instruments, hung out at the tree-house-like Bush Bar, and had access to the gorgeous studio on-site. Many mornings began with a swim in the deserted cove just down the hill. Life in Jamaica was 10 percent beach party and 90 percent musical expedition. It was the perfect rite of passage for a musician looking to explode the past and launch a future. The anxiety of what’s next slipped away. Layers of feeling emerged that had never made it past One Direction’s group songwriting sessions, often with pop craftsmen who polished the songs after Styles had left.
Coalescence {nessian AU}

Coalescence is defined as the process of joining to form something or to bond, or the union of two things in one completely new and unique in which the original parts are still recognizable. It’s also the term used to describe the union of two galaxies.

Tags: Nessian College AU. A lot of feels.  A lot of bickering.  A lot of teasing. Song based. Sisters bonding. Attempted Sexual Assault. Rated mature due violence and sexual content. 

Read on AO3.

Special thanks to @rowaelinislife​ for correcting my terrible english mistakes. I’d like to thank @bloodshednesta​ and @banafsaji​ as well for reading it before and tell me their opinions.

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Part ONE

He said he need a bad bitch with an alibi

I.

The chair felt too cold, even with the balmy weather of spring. Her ears followed the sounds of many voices, unconsciously gathering the new informations about the case. Audiences from the Disciplinary Committee weren’t exactly a popular activity, but, apparently, everyone and anyone who cared about the College’s position in the national ranking of football decided to show up and take a good look by themselves.

Feyre sifted in her own chair for the millionth time, dragging her eyes from the spot Nesta has been staring since she entered the room. It was a neutral spot, right in front of the table the ‘judges’ would be reunited, the line between the dark carpet and the wooden floor, a safe spot that would help her to focus her attention in her hearing instead of her vision. If she was supposed to care, of course.

“Can you stop it?” Nesta spoke without looking at Feyre again, she could hear the sound of her sister chewing her nails.

“How are you not nervous? He can be expelled!” Her sister’s voice was colored with worry and it made her give her a small eyeroll.

“Why would I be?” The nonchalant tone was real enough that Feyre’s eyes shimmered with disbelief. She opened her mouth to reply, but the head of the Disciplinary Committee decided to approach her seat, bringing with her the football coach and two professors that Nesta didn’t know.

She felt him, even if her eyes were now checking the woman who held his fate in her bony hands. She had a dark, ebony hair, pulled tight in a bun, her clothes were black, from the blazer to her shoes and she seemed to be confident of her function. Good, Nesta admired strong women.

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The 9 Esoteric Challenges and Triumphs of Scorpio

1. Sexual- restraining inhibited appetite, becoming a slave to desire  
2. Physical surroundings ~the comfort created by material acquisition 
3. Money, Resources, Abuse of Power, discarding spiritual invocation 
4. Fear ~ Elevating consciousness into higher dimensions so the torment of fear evaporates
5. Hatred ~ the ability for extreme love can transmute to hatred 
6. Ambition ~ the power of devoted aspiration transmutes to a vessel of healing
7. Pride ~ Grandiose self delusions to unraveling ego so body can connect to soul
8. Separateness ~ forced isolation, disconnecting the self, and transmuting this into union
9. Cruelty ~ satisfaction resulting of maltreatment, often for reasons of power

Scorpio is a sign of judgement and tests, resulting in the figurative phoenix rising from the ashes and eventually triumphing in glory. form light, soul light, and the pure light of life emanate and coalesce in Scorpio. The head of the hydra held 9 raging heads. (”Returning, Hercules stood before his Teacher. “The victory is won”, the Teacher said. “The Light that shines at Gate the eighth is now blended with your own”.-Francis Merchant). The Scorpio’s first test involves relinquishing the need to prove to God, or fellow men that he or she is something, it’s consciousness must be aligned with acknowledging the grand delusion, that nothing is containable or capable of being possessed, because none of it exists. 
-C.

“Lemme get this straight - You’re saying nothing was an accident?”

“No, not in general. Just where you’re concerned.”

“Ohh-kay. Could you take it from the top again?”

“Where do you want me to start this time?”

“Let’s skip the intergalactic shenanigans. Stick to us.”

“Understood. To start, we’ve been here since before your planet even existed. We found your star as it was just coalescing from its accretion disc, and we started our work then.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“We guided the process as the planets began to form, slung one of them into yours to destabilize it and throw it off axis.”

“Why?”

“We needed a death world. Something inherently unstable, that does whatever it can to kill life.”

“Yeah, sure. Then what?”

“We seeded it. Basic stuff, single-cellular, compatible with the galactic standard.”

“Sure, sure. Galactic standard. And then?”

“We guided it. Prodded here and there. Protected promising developments, guided things forward.”

“Protected. How many extinctions was that?”

“All of them. Well, all but the last. That was all you.”

“Yeah, okay. Shift the blame.”

“There’s only so much we did. When your species showed promise, our interference became more direct, more, erm, pointed.”

“Your race is indirectly responsible for more of our dead than anything or anyone else.”

“Indeed. But we needed you to develop quickly, and it was the only way short of direct uplift. And that wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because we needed you the way you were. Vicious, cruel, cunning, wise, caring. You’re the greatest predators in the galaxy, the most protective friends. Your race is everything we aren’t.”

“And why would you need that, exactly?”

“We needed something that could not just survive the worst deathworld we could design, but dominate it. We needed something that could take the worst blows possible and throw them in the face of whatever threw them.”

“Why?”

“Your race, like many others, has asked a question of themselves since their first conscious thoughts. ‘Why are we here? What is our purpose?’“

“Yeah, so?”

“Your race is perhaps the only one to have a definitive answer to that question. You’re here because we designed you. Your purpose, humanity’s purpose, is to save the galaxy from whatever darkened our skies. Your race is too young to have seen the galaxies that vanished under the horde, but you’re here to stop it.”

honestly? im glad we all just decided that roadhog has nipple piercings even though the sharkbait/mako skins are the only ones that have them. it was a great coalescence between all of us. the planets alligned, the stars spoke. “all roadhogs have nipple piercings”. thank you

youtube

Blow the bridge to the past / wipe the fingerprints
Melt your heart encased in wax / steal it with a kiss

Our fate engraved / scar enslaved / as we mutually destruct
Repose, my love, i’ve sinned enough for the both of us

In the name of love…..

I’m ready to bury all of my bones
I’m ready to lie but say I won’t
So tell me your secrets / and join me in pieces
To rot in this garden made of stones
Eternally yours

I feed like you taught me and selflessly swallow
We coalesce in darkness, so selfishly hollow
Examine the wreckage / writhing in tempo
Invisible anguish casting a shadow

and in the name of love…

I’m ready to bury all of my bones
I’m ready to lie but say I won’t
So tell me your secrets / and join me in pieces
To rot in this garden made of stones
Eternally yours

As we rest in pieces, though I know not your name /
I would suffer forever to absolve all your pain

And in the name of love

I’m ready to bury all of my bones
I’m ready to lie but say I won’t
So tell me your secrets / and join me in pieces
To rot in this garden made of stones
Eternally yours

I’m ready to bleed to make amends
And sleep in this dirt we call our bed
So tell me your secrets / and join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
Eternally yours

I’m more than willing to rot in hell with you.

WTF Is Energy Vampirism (101)

So writing this post, I’m coming into this subject with a pretty atypical perspective. I’m a psychometrist and empath that has had issues with emotional and mood energy for as long as I can remember. I also acted as a donor for my best friend for a solid six months, donating to her every one to two weeks. To top it off, in the end, I’m someone that’s ended up as a vamp due to an eldritch energetic awakening following six months of dormancy. It’s all a hot mess.

My point is that I have perspective from all three of the positions you see with these informative posts. There are empath-centric posts out there that really, really take a lazy understanding of vampirism, just calling any douche energy drainer a vamp and coalescing it with an us-verus-them mindset. As an empath myself, y’all gross me out. My goal in writing this post is to represent all three perspectives in order to give a really fleshed out understanding of just what energy vampirism even is.

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Confession rehearsal

A/n: in which Marinette lies to Adrien, daily


The sounds of the city have become a muted thing, all she can hear is the rushing of her heartbeat, a crazy lub dub that fills her sight with stars.

Or maybe that’s just because she’s forgetting to breathe again.

Even the buffeting wind that encircles them is oddly quiet, a blessedly cold caress against her flushed cheeks.

But he’s here. His eyes are wide and curious and the prettiest shade of green. Almost exactly the color of sunlight drifting through leaves.

And she’ll lose her focus if she thinks anymore, because in stark contrast to his eyes, his smile is comforting. It’s a soft, little thing of warmth and encouragement.

Her reality cements itself again when Chat Noir gives her the most earnest thumbs up, the material of his suit is so blatantly loud as he shifts awkwardly.

She gathers up all the courage settled into her dots, the thing that’s decidedly a part of Ladybug and not Marinette.

Her cheeks burn and the words fall out with a vague rush of relief. She shuts her eyes, lets her dry lips stretch and contort to shape what she needs to say.

“Sorry, I know it’s really sudden and all…but I…I really, really like you. For a long time…a-actually…oh god.”

Her eyes are still screwed shut, and this time the stars she sees are from that rather than lack of air. She wonders if she can make a wish on these ones, considering Paris is too bright to ever see real ones.

His soft laughter causes that same familiar pain to lance through her, she wrings her hands in agitation and irritation mixed with all her affection tinges her words.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh.” She chides, closing the distance between them, and with a strangely Herculean effort, punches him casually on the shoulder.

He chuckles a bit more, rubbing at his arm.

“I’m not…not at you…not exactly, Ladybug. It’s just you always close your eyes. It looks really painful. But at least you didn’t call him ‘beautiful boy’ this time around.”

He seems to notice her underlying discomfort and thinks she’s genuinely still worried about this night’s rehearsal. He takes it in the way she wants him to.

(And in the way she really doesn’t.)

And like always, he makes her confidence a priority. His encouragement is the farthest thing from false.

(Even if it hurts…oh so much…that she’s practicing these confessions for some other person.)

He places his hands on her small shoulders, his smile is that a little more mellow, a whole lot more sweet as he looks down at her.

He thinks that she should really keep her eyes open during her confession. Because they’re such a starkly bluebell blue, that he thinks, no matter who she confesses to with those shining bright eyes, they’ll say yes.

He would in a heartbeat. Or less.

But her feelings aren’t for him. There for some mystery person. Someone who makes her stutter and devolve back into the adorable politeness that was his classmate…

“Marinette…you should really have more faith in yourself. Honestly, you’re ready. You’ve been ready to make that confession for a while now. I don’t think we need to practice every day now.”

She vehemently shakes her head, and her eyes are narrowed in dogged refusal to listen to him.

“I need more time. Maybe on…Christmas of next year.”

“You really…really need to see that you’re already there, Marinette…and that’s like,” He takes a moment to tally up the time, before humming in frustration. “That’s twenty months away. You can’t keep putting this off.”

But there’s this sick twisted part of him that wants her to feel just a little unsure. That wants her to keep fake confessing to him…just so he can pretend for a few more nights that the girl he loves, loves him too.

Still, her uncertainty runs deep. It seems to be a part of her own bones, lacing through her just as surely as her kindness does.

He can’t promise that the object of her affections will return her feelings…but he can promise her that she’ll be fine if they don’t. After all, he’s currently an expert on an unrequited love. Except she’s got a lot more gumption that he does and she’s been practicing.

She’s still shaking her head, although a bit dizzy by now and he sees the edge of mischief curling her lips.

He moves his hands to cradle her cheeks, thumbs laid just over the edge of her mask. It takes effort not to move his fingers, not to trace the planes of her precious face.

But he does it, and she’s still trying to shake her head in jest, straining gently against his careful hold.

“You’re the worst bobble head ever.” He snorts, and tries to catch her gaze with earnest joy. “But no matter what you want to do, you’ll be great. You can mess up. It’s totally fine. Whatever happens, it wasn’t you. That person just wasn’t…the right one at that time.”

She stops shaking her head long enough to catch the seriousness of his tone, and he has to look away before those pretty blues drown him in curiosity.

Because under no circumstances will he allow their friendship to be ruined because he couldn’t control his emotions.

His hands fall away quickly from her, fiddling with the trailing end of his tail as he finishes his point.

“You’ve…you got this, Marinette.” He says gently, and even beyond her Ladybug suit, he sees the way his encouragement helps. The way she stands a little bit taller. The way the energy of her hope seems to make even her ribbons perk up a bit.

“Thanks…Adrien. It really…it really means a lot. I’m so happy.” She answers back…and somehow she doesn’t sound entirely truthful.

She doesn’t sound happy, but Chat decides to attribute that to lingering uncertainty.

(And for once, she wishes her cat was more observant.)

But the night devolves into a gentle, easy conversation. Ending with him scribbling down the answers to the physics homework for her with a half hearted complaint.

“These only cover your butt for the homework. You’re actually going to have to learn the concepts for the test.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“So what if I take the path of least resistance?” She remarks, picking her away from around the chimney stack and beginning to swing her yoyo to begin her journey home.

“Did you just make a joke about circuits? Ohm my god….” He deadpans, his grin turning into one that is absolutely shit-eating.

She laughs sweetly, and waves at him over her shoulder…eager to leave before he catches the harsh beating of her heart.

(And he watches her arc through the sky, a streak of red luck breaking through the winter haze with his heart in his throat. His fingers still tremble, regretting everything.)

She knows she’s being entirely selfish.

She knows she’s being entirely stupid.

But there was a culmination of circumstances that had lead to her current conundrum

And that word happened to start with a C too. Chat Noir..who was Adrien Agreste…who as Chat Noir..

The reveal is inconsequential. How it happened is anticlimactic at best and underwhelming at worst.

She had pieced it together before him. It had been an amalgamation of overly specific puns and a shared reference that only the two of them could have known.

He’d found her out after they’d both gone into the same broom closet to transform…the strangest of liminal spaces encasing two confused heroes and two giggling kwamis.

Another story for another time.

For now, what matters is that the reveals had lead to a better friendship. A relationship the spans both sides of their coins. A person with whom they could share everything.

Well, almost everything. She can’t very well tell Adrien that she’s loved him since day two. She can’t tell him that now her first love and her almost love have coalesced into one wonderfully flawed and dorky boy.

So she lies. Sort of.

She tells him that she likes someone in school.

He asks if he knows them.

She shrugs and says she thinks so.

He asks about their hobbies and what they look like.

She resorts to nauseating poetry to throw him off.

Eyes the color of la Seine in winter. Hair that is woven from ambrosia. A smile made of sunbeams.

He laughs it all off, in a way that’s too easy…to casual for her to even fathom that he feels anything other than amusement.

She’s noticed…a miniscule change…but after the reveal, he’s less flirtatious as Chat. A lot more laid back and maybe just the tiniest bit more sarcastic.

A mark of friendship…something blessed and cursed at the same time.

So when she confesses, she’s not lying. She tells him everyday in various iterations how much she loves him…and he still has no idea she’s confessing to him.

It’s painful, but it’s a hurt of her own making.

Except for now…today is the day. She won’t lie anymore, because unfortunately she’s noticed the growing numbers of Valentine’s he’d received last month.

Because she’s noticed how much more at ease he is with girls that fawn over him and how much more familiar he is with everyone in class.

Because one day they’ll graduate and one day Hawkmoth will be defeated and her pride is stubborn enough not to let her confession happen because a man with a butterfly obsession threatens to throw her life into chaos.

It’s the same scene. The same cloudy haze and the same bright city.

The same stars she sees in her sight because she’s not breathing right, but she’s got no more time.

She’s silent for a bit, and it’s enough to prompt the usual encouragement.

“Hey…I’m really cheering for you.” Tumbles from his mouth when she feels it break.

Despite her months of practice, she still screws her eyes shut and practically shoves out her confession.

“Sorry I know I lie all the time, but I’ve lo..liked you for a long time…and I don’t want to hide anymore. I know I’ve messed up everything…I know you might not like me back, but I really…I really needed to tell that to you, Adrien.”

It’s only now that the volume has returned. The loud rushing sounds of traffic float up from below, the wailing of a boat horn in the distance…the brief, choked laughing that comes from him.

Beyond her vulnerability, anger and hurt make her eyes fly open. Make her fingers curl into fists and make her open her mouth to tell him to please realize that she’s being serious, but…

He stands there with a giant smile, a boy made a little bit of laughter and a little bit of tears, as he says-

“I love you too.”

June 10, 2017 Full Moon in Sagittarius

The Sun is in Gemini which makes this month’s Sagittarius moon cycle a Full Moon. This is because Sagittarius is the duality of Gemini.

This is a mentally oriented axis so it illuminates the
mind and touches a wealth of ideas and mental rituals that must be
cleansed and rinsed away by healing moon water. With the Moon in Sagittarius the feeling of wanderlust sets in as we long to escape to exotic
locations, and we can walk the tightrope of oppositions and do this in the splendorous Gemini mind, filled with rollercoasters and cerebral delight. 

The mind is alive tonight. Wisdom from the coalescing of the lower (Gemini) and higher (Sagittarius) mind as they become one, like the wholeness of the full moon. Everything about this opposition longs for unity and relationship. We hear that it’s all too easy to lose your bearings under the hypnosis Full Moons, this may be especially accelerated by the manner in which this axis touches the mind. 

The inner light is switched on here, especially in the mind, as soul and body take flight into the lilac cleanse of the moon. Emotions
are satiated by learning and laughter. Because the wise come to realise everything in life has a comedic light, and God is laughing
because look at our own life, it is all such a joke. Hermes and Zeus are reunited. They are shapeshifting and flying through stormy and sunny skies together, across horizons, and through to the gentle bliss of Venus in Taurus. We could dissociate, the lines between the unconscious, conscious and subconscious are blurred as we drift in and out of reverie and thought dancing with the divine.
The lure to drink and dance in hallucination calls, and under the Full Moon the dissolution between worlds seems a most splendid
lunar celebration. Sagittarius will shoot for the heavens, and land on the sun, and divine faith and thought can shatter the laws of physics all together.

Remember to cleanse your crystals <3

C.