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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 2 years

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Books full of affirmation for LGBTQA+ / Queer Christians

In Jesus, God came to earth to show us once and for all that God is on the side of the oppressed, the criminalized, the shamed. But in cultures poisoned through with cisheteronormativity, it’s easy to wallow in messages of hate that aim to drown out God’s good news of liberation and love.

Luckily, there are so many people out there telling stories, making art, creating websites, writing books, preaching and teaching and dancing and singing out the good news that God doesn’t only tolerate our queerness, but delights in it!

If you wander through my #affirmation tag, you’ll find a lot of internet content around God’s love for and celebration LGBTQA+ persons. You might also find my FAQ page helpful to that end. But a few people have asked me to compile books on that topic, so that’s what this post is for!

Contents under the readmore:

Books that argue against anti-LGBT theologies and present LGBT-affirming theologies

Memoirs & anthologies of LGBTQA+ perspectives

Books of poetry by LGBT/queer Christian writers

Books that argue against anti-LGBT theologies and present & argue for LGBT-affirming theologies

OtherWise Christian: A Guidebook for Transgender Liberation by Chris Paige — This book attempts to make academic stuff more accessible and easier to read (along with updating older texts’ language). It “reviews 25 years of transgender-affirming biblical scholarship" to assert “that the Bible shows us story after story of OtherWise-gendered people being used by God to further the kingdom. Yet, we have been bamboozled by a restrictive gender ideology that is aligned with empire, white supremacy and Christian supremacy. Jesus and our biblical ancestors invite us to join a gender-full resistance!” .

Transforming: The Bible and the Lives of Transgender Christians by Austen Hartke — an even easier read than the previous book, theology is interspersed with witness: “Weaving biblical examples of gender nonconformity and transformation with the stories and voices of contemporary trans Christians, Hartke’s approach is both pastoral and prophetic as he addresses harmful Christian theology that has been used to further marginalize and exclude trans people. “Hartke’s scriptural basis for a trans-affirming theology offers a healing balm for queer and trans people who have ever questioned that God loves them based on ‘what it says in the Bible,’ while challenging progressive Christian communities to center trans perspectives in their efforts to become truly open and affirming.” .

(About the two books above: pick Paige’s book if you want aaaall the trans theology and don’t mind a slightly more academic feel; pick Hartke’s book if you want a briefer overview of trans theology with more storytelling.) .

Bad Theology Kills: Undoing Toxic Belief and Reclaiming Your Spiritual Authority by Kevin Garcia — "[Kevin Garcia] believed that God could never love them because they were queer, leading to a deadly shame that nearly took Kevin's life. Kevin felt trapped by fear. Fear of losing their community, their family, and even their connection to God. “That is until Kevin changed their mind, finally hearing the voice of the Spirit calling them to believe something better, and to step in to truly abundant life.Through personal experience, classical theological devices, and a fair bit of profanity, Kevin dives into some of the most common toxic belief patterns that are killing our communities, showing you how to undo them, and how to create new, better theology to lead you back to your spiritual authority.” .

Queerfully and Wonderfully Made: A Guide for LGBTQ+ Christian Teens edited by Leigh Finke — this book is made for teens, but I think that anyone who wants an easy-to-read overview of lots of LGBTQ+ basics could greatly benefit from this book. Content includes advice for when you’re questioning, pondering whether to come out, fearing discrimination / rejection from loved ones, dealing with anxiety and depression; unpacking anti-LGBT church stuff & presenting affirming theology (including “queer icons of Christianity); tips for “queering your community”; and a whole bunch of other stuff! In this book, “You'll get insight and support from an amazing group of LGBTQ+ professionals, as well as testimonies from young adult queer Christians who've recently been exactly where you are. You'll walk away with a lot of answers, prepared with tools to help. But most importantly, you'll hear the good news: God loves you exactly as you are.”

Welcoming and Affirming: A Guide to Supporting & Working with LGBTQ+ Christian Youth — the companion text to the previous book! “A handbook for pastors, youth workers, church leaders, educators, and other adults in Christian settings, the book provides answers to the most pressing questions about sexuality, gender, mental health, safe sex, and more.” .

Queer Virtue: What LGBTQ People Know About Life and Love and How It Can Revitalize Christianity by Rev. Elizabeth Edman — the author is a lesbian Episcopal priest. “Edman posits that Christianity, at its scriptural core, incessantly challenges its adherents to rupture false binaries, to “queer” lines that pit people against one another. Thus, Edman asserts that Christianity, far from being hostile to queer people, is itself inherently queer. ...Lively and impassioned, Edman proposes that queer experience be celebrated as inherently valuable, ethically virtuous, and illuminating the sacred.” .

Our Lives Matter: A Womanist Queer Theology by Pamela Lightsey — this one’s more academic. This book “uses the tenor of the 2014 national protests that emerged as a response to excessive police force against Black people to frame the book as following the discursive tradition of liberation theologies broadly speaking and womanist theology specifically. “Using a womanist methodological approach, Pamela R. Lightsey helps readers explore the impact of oppression against Black LBTQ women while introducing them to the emergent intellectual movement known as queer theology.” You can watch a YouTube interview with Pamela Lightsey about this book here.

Memoirs & Anthologies of LGBTQA+ Perspectives

Trans-Forming Proclamation: A Transgender Theology of Daring Existence by Liam Hooper — The memoir-mixed-with-theology of a trans man who graduated from Christian seminary and converted to Judaism. "Hooper demonstrates his love of both the Hebrew language and the wisdom of nature itself, bouncing back and forth between the insights gleaned from his beloved Grandma Daught and sacred texts dear to both Jewish and Christian traditions." .

Does Jesus Really Love Me? by Jeff Chu — this book incorporates a sense of humor as it covers serious topics. It’s “part memoir and part investigative analysis that explores the explosive and confusing intersection of faith, politics, and sexuality in Christian America. From Brooklyn to Nashville to California, from Westboro Baptist Church...to the pioneering Episcopalian bishop Mary Glasspool...Chu captures spiritual snapshots of Christian America at a remarkable moment, when tensions between both sides in the culture wars have rarely been higher. .

OtherWise Christian 2: Stories of Resistance edited by Chris Paige — an anthology of personal reflections, drawing on both classic articles and new content from contemporary trans, nonbinary, intersex, and otherwise gender nonconforming authors

Poetry collections by LGBT/queer writers that explore God’s love & solidarity with us

Queering Lent by Slats Toole — poems by a nonbinary Christian minister exploring their journey through religious trauma into God’s queer embrace. You can find some of the poems from this collection in my #slats tag. .

The Backwater Sermons by Jay Hulme — poems by a trans “poet, performer, educator, and speaker with a love of ancient church buildings that led him to a sudden and life-changing encounter with the God he had never believed in.” .

The Kin(g)dom in the Rubble by Avery Arden (previously Avery Smith) — (oh gee, that’s me!) “This collection of 38 poems envisions a world turned on its head by the incoming reign of a queer God – a reign so close we inhale it with every breath, yet so distant it might well take a billion years more to fully immerse us. These poems wrestle with God, humanity, and the Bible from a queer and trans perspective, drawing from the author's Catholic and Presbyterian backgrounds to do so. “Scripture and science, nature and personal experience mingle together in the text as bitterness melts into expectant joy and wounds yield unimaginable blessings.” You can find some of the poems included in this book on my website here. .

Tree by SJ Blasko — Tree is “a collection of poetry that explores what it means to be in community, in faith, and in love.”

#queer christians #faithfullylgbt #affirmation #books #recs #list #long post

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yegarts · 2 years

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Métis Artist Frances Whitford Creates T-shirt for Orange Shirt Day

Unity, truth, and a positive path forward

Walk into a local retail store in September, and you may find Orange Shirt Day merchandise. Walk into TIX on the Square, and you’ll find wearable art, designed and printed by Indigenous artists like Frances Whitford of Beadwork & Bannock. Not only did Whitford and her son, Arden Herman, create an orange shirt for others to wear in support of the movement, she created it as part of her own family’s truth and reconciliation.

“Normally, T-shirts are right out of my element,” explains Whitford, who comes from a long line of trappers. “Hide and fur are the mediums I usually like to work with, but I just felt called to tell this story—and to include my children. Part of our coming to knowledge of our past with residential schools is to really shed light on understanding that we have our own story to tell. Knowing that the world is seeing the truth now, we needed to stand in our own truth. So I just really wanted them to understand their history, as much as I can teach it, and as much as I can learn it myself to pass it on to them so they can understand why we are the way we are these days and which direction we need to move in. I needed a positive outlet to empower them to know that healing is possible, and necessary, and important for them to think about. That’s the real legacy I’d like to leave—that we need to move forward in a positive light, and that sometimes extracting a positive from a negative situation is the best way to grow and heal. That’s what I hope my T-shirts will do."

As Whitford explains, her story and T-shirt design are both centered around the Western Tiger Lily, a flower native to her childhood home and symbolic of her family’s path forward.

“I chose the Western Tiger Lily because it is an endangered species, much like Indigenous people are now. I was raised by my grandparents in Anzac, Alberta, where we’d go to a place called Halfway Camp to get our water, when you could still drink water. And that’s where the tiger lilies were. On every trip, I’d always try to pick them, and my grandfather would constantly tell me, “They’re never going to grow in a vase, my girl. You have to leave them where they are.” And even though I always asked why and he never fully explained, I now understand. When this flower is taken out of its natural environment, it dies. And that story just reminded me of when Indigenous children were taken from their environment and expected to thrive and grow somewhere that wasn’t nurturing them in the right way. They assumed that putting them in a vase, and giving them water, and nurturing them a certain way was going to be sufficient. But Indigenous People are a distinct people—the way we are raised, our thinking patterns, and our genealogy are different. So we didn‘t thrive and we didn’t grow. Instead, it had catastrophic effects to the point that we are trying to find our roots again because we were extracted from them."

When it came to designing her orange shirt, Whitford says that all of those story elements just came together. “My son’s father is First Nations and I’m Métis, so the infinity symbol represents me, the medicine wheel represents him, and the feathers represent the children, as does the lily. By encompassing everything in a circle, it’s all connected and just makes perfect sense to me."

The shirts designed by Whitford and Arden are available now at TIX on the Square, where you’ll also find work from other Indigenous artists, many of whom belong to the Indigenous Artists Market Collective (I.A.M Collective). TIX expects to bring in more T-shirts designed by other artists in the coming weeks and months, the proceeds of which will go directly to the artists, who will in turn donate a portion to a cause of their choosing.

That support and sense of community is something Whitford says cannot be underestimated—that when you buy Indigenous products from Indigenous artists, the effect is far more reaching than you might imagine:

“It truly is a preservation of culture and of legacy. Our Indigenous art tells the story of our history, of our connectedness to other cultures and other places, and reminds us of the unity that we need to continue to share. I think it’s good to walk in your individual light and be proud of who you are and where you come from, but it’s also good to be proud of other cultures too, to raise them up and know that you stand in unity with them. So that’s what I’d like people to know—that when they purchase Indigenous art, they’re not only supporting an artist, they’re actually preserving a culture. And that’s an amazing thing.”

#yegarts #tixonthesquare #indigenous art #edmontonarts #orange shirt day

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nillegible · 3 years

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the JGY amnesia Fic

[AN: Someday I will come up with decent titles for my fics... but not now XD I hope you like this fic, the premise is that the issue with XY and NMJ happens before JZX’s death, and so the argument and the stairs moves up in the timeline! And JGY hits his head and gets TV-show amnesia, and remembers no one, not even himself, but is otherwise his sharp, suspicious self...]

He wakes up sure that he is dying, nothing else could hurt so sharp, agonizing pain radiating out from the back of his head, stabbing sharply every time he is swung, and he forces his eyes open. The light burns, but he can make out an earth green and brown collar, and a strong jawline. He is being carried by this man.

He doesn’t know who this is, but he feels… safe. Even though every step this man takes makes his eyes water.

He blacks out.

His name is Jin Guangyao. It rolls smoothly off his tongue, but sits wrongly in his mind. “Temporary amnesia,” the doctor had informed him, when Jin Guangyao could not tell him the answers to any pf his questions; not his name, or the date, or where they were.

A fancy young master in white-and-gold robes, who introduces himself as Jin Zixuan, is the one who sits by his side and tells Jin Guangyao the basics of his life. There is such an obvious lack of detail that it leaves him intrigued. And Jin Zixuan looks ashamed when Jin Guangyao asked if he was Jin Zixuan’s uncle. “No, I’m your older brother,” he says. “We… we share a birthday, but you’re a day younger.”

Jin Guangyao watches him for a moment, and wonders at the source of his brother’s shame. “I’m a bastard, aren’t I?” he asks.

“My father legitimized you!” Jin Zixuan protests. “You’re my brother.”

Jin Guangyao smiles at him. This man is clearly naïve, but has no ill-intent. The man who had named Jin Guangyao Jin Guangyao, however? He is yet to ascertain that.

Jin Guangyao’s memory doesn’t return within the first week. With his head injury healed, though, he’s allowed to leave the infirmary which allows him to collect a lot more useful data.

There is a lot of work piled up in his room. Disorganized, as if someone had gone through it to take the important paperwork to work on while he is <infirm>. That he was assigned so much work that was non-essential makes him wonder if he was actually pretty low on the social ladder, here. He goes through all of them anyway, most of it is useful information, painting a picture of Jin sect’s activities, and the sorts of projects that they allow to drag on for weeks. Jin Guangyao has left meticulous notes in a separate notebook about how to put everything into a more sensible order. That such reworking was required

His accessories, or lack-there-of, are even more enlightening. There’s also a scholarly-sort of hat, and only a few cheap hair ribbons. Nothing at all like the intricate jade hairpins or crowns with intricate metalwork and precious stones that Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun wore daily.

Jin Guangyao’s place here is… obvious.

He wonders who the man who had picked him up after his injury, was. No one tells him, not even Jin Zixuan, he just pats Jin Guangyao’s hand and says, “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” The implications of that are obvious, of course, that the stranger was the one who had hurt him. And yet it’s a subject no one speaks of, of how Jin Guangyao had fallen down the thousand steps of Koi Tower, and he hadn’t asked after the first two times. He stays wary, watching everyone. Someone had tried to kill him, and he doesn’t even remember which of his acquaintances might want him dead.

Lan Xichen arrives two days after his release from the infirmary, Lan-Zongzhu, according to everyone else. He’s beautiful, the most beautiful person that Jin Guangyao has ever seen. Since he remembers all of a week, this doesn’t sound like a compliment, but Jin Guangyao could probably search for decades and not find anyone more beautiful. It would not be fair.

They have tea together, after Lan Xichen – “Call me er-ge, you are my sworn brother, A-Yao,” – has checked him over worriedly, and checked his meridians, and pressed his fingertips gently to the back of Jin Guangyao’s head, to where his head injury had been, and ascertained that he truly is well.

“They did not tell me you were injured,” he says. “Da-ge had to, and this is the week of new students for the summer lectures, I could not leave. Jin Zixuan promised me you were well, though,” he says. Sincerity shines through him, and Jin Guangyao wonders what on earth he, an unwelcome child in his own family, could have done to make this man care for him.

So he asks.

Lan Xichen describes a heroic young man, who gave him shelter when he needed it most, who had smiled and laughed at him, and helped him with chores he could not do, and gave him the strength to fight a war. Lan Xichen tells him that this kind young man had gone into a war that did not affect him, only to help, that he had turned spy against a raging mad man, and finally taken off his head.

“So that is why my father took me in,” says Jin Guangyao. There’s a flicker of pain on Lan Xichen’s face as Jin Guangyao tells him what he’s surmised about how he’s treated here. “Did you know?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“I suspected,” Lan Xichen says softly. “But you were too proud to tell me. You insisted you were happy here. I visited when I could, but I never… I’m so sorry.”

Jin Guangyao reaches out to pat Lan Xichen’s hand, it feels so familiar, even if Jin Guangyao can’t remember doing it before. He must have, Lan Xichen’s sad face cannot be borne. “I’m sure I didn’t want to bother you, er-ge. You’re overworking yourself even now.” The signs are there, even behind his flawless composure. “You look so tired.”

“I had to come,” says Lan Xichen. “I was so scared that you…” He trails off, then turns his hand, holding onto him tightly. “If you don’t remember your place at Koi tower, do you want to return with me until your memory recovers? We’re still reconstructing, but Cloud Rececsses is still an excellent place to ”

“This Jin Guangyao is honoured, but what if it doesn’t?” asks Jin Guangyao practically. “I can’t just leave my home like that.” More quietly, he adds, “There must have been some reason I didn’t leave before.”

“You never said, exactly, but I believe it was because of your mother,” says Lan Xichen. “She wished that you would gain your father’s recognition, and a place at Koi Tower.”

“Do you know anything about her?” Jin Guangyao is not an idiot, he knows from the snide remarks, the way that people try not to touch him that he is of low birth, that his mother’s occupation was. That. He wonders if Lan Xichen will lie to him.

“She was an educated woman,” he says. “A renowned beauty. You’ve told me that you take after her, in many ways. She was skilled in the arts. She never taught you art but she was your master in calligraphy and music. She loved you very much and wanted you to have a good education because she knew… she knew that A-Yao is so incredibly smart and destined for greater things.” He squeezes Jin Guangyao’s hand. “Her life was not easy. She suffered, but she loved you. She would be proud of you, to know how much you achieved.”

It should matter, it does matter, Jin Guangyao’s heart squeezes, but it is from sympathy for what Lan Xichen is feeling. The dark honey-gold eyes are bright with tears. Clearly Jin Guangyao had loved her very much, before. But Jin Guangyao cannot find in him any love for a woman that Jin Guangyao cannot imagine. A woman with his face, a prostitute, but educated, talented. And ambitious to have Jin Guangshan’s son.

“My father did not take her in, I gather?”

“He did not. She died of illness shortly before I met you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” says Jin Guangyao.

Lan Xichen stays an entire afternoon, and readies himself to leave at dusk. Jin Guangyao accompanies him to the sky-pavilion on Koi Tower that the Jin disciples use to take off from.

There’s a last nagging question that Jin Guangyao hadn’t managed to slide into the conversation, as it meandered into cultivation theory and Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen had tried to piece out some kind of pattern in what kinds of cultivation knowledge he had retained, and what he had forgotten. It had been an interesting exercise.

“Er-ge, before you go,” says Jin Guangyao. He looks around cautiously, but no one is near enough to overhear. “You’re older than Jin Zixuan, aren’t you?” he asks, and Lan Xichen nods. “So our da-ge… you never said. Is he… did he die during the war?”

“No!” cries Lan Xichen. “A-Yao no, he’s not. He’s fine, he just could not find time to visit.”

Lie.

It’s the first time Lan Xichen has lied to him today, but Jin Guangyao is certain of it.

“No one talks about him, and I couldn’t find any letters from him. I did find a few of yours. No one even says his name. Who is he?”

“Nie Mingjue,” says Lan Xichen, sounding defeated. “Of course you would think to ask, but his name is Nie Mingjue.”

Everything falls into place. Jin Guangyao has seen some Nie disciple couriers on their way to private meetings with his father and the Jin council of elders. Hard faced and angry looking, they kept to themselves and departed the moment they could, without staying for a meal or entertainment.

“You think he pushed me down the stairs,” says Jin Guangyao.

“No,” says Lan Xichen. “We know he did. He kicked you down the stairs. He–”

“And you believe that?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“Of course I do,” says Lan Xichen. “Da-ge was the one who told me. I knew that things were difficult between the two of you, recently, but I had not imagined… It does not matter, we are looking through the records now, so that you can be free of your vows to him, and even if we can’t find something, he won’t visit Koi Tower again, Jin-zongzhu has forbidden it.”

“Oh,” says Jin Guangyao, mind whirring. “Okay then.”

“Is A-Yao afraid we’re covering something up?” asks Lan Xichen. Jin Guangyao is not sure what gave it away, he thought he’d kept his face smooth.

“Naturally I trust er-ge,” he says, smiling up at him. “I just remember him, vaguely. He picked me up. He saved me.”

It’s Jin Guangyao’s first memory, pained and fragmented though it is.

“He did take you up to the infirmary right after,” Lan Xichen agrees. He looks faintly puzzled, like he’s not sure why that matters to Jin Guangyao.

“I understand,” says Jin Guangyao. “Nie-zongzhu would of course regret his action after his moment of anger.”

“He does,” Lan Xichen assures him. “You should write to him, if you are willing to accept his apologies, but Da-ge is terribly sorry.”

“Thank you er-ge, I will,” Jin Guangyao promises. The relief on Lan Xichen’s face is too pure for this world.

He waves goodbye after Lan Xichen takes off, and steps back into the maze of Koi Tower, mulling over all the new knowledge that Lan Xichen had brought with him. He was right, he should write to Nie Mingjue.

But after some more research.

What could they have possibly quarrelled about so badly?

Jin Guangyao makes his way back to his rooms, keeping his face expressionless at the gilded opulence and overt unfriendliness of his home. He doesn’t understand his past self at all.

Why does he still live here, where he’s so clearly unwanted?

Why did he even care for the acknowledgement of Jin Guangshan, who from even just Jin Guangyao’s few interactions this week and the gossip he’s picked up, is a selfish, disgusting pervert who wouldn’t spit on Jin Guangyao if he was on fire.

Just because his mother wanted him to?

She was a good woman, he hears again, in Lan Xichen’s sincere voice. But Jin Guangyao doesn’t get it. She had to have been a fool, to believe in Jin Guangshan, or terribly cold and cruel to send him to Jin Guangshan knowing exactly what kind of derision would await him here. He is a war hero, and yet he’s treated like a servant.

Jin Guangyao is in the mood to be charitable, so he picks the former.

He still doesn’t know why he stayed.

[You can now read part 2 here!]

#meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #3zun #fix-it #JGY revaluating his own life objectively #amnesia #the fictional kind

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spasmsofthought · 3 years

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fractures. (zuko x reader)

This is totally a free for all because I haven’t read any of the comics or watched Legend of Korra at all. Part 2 maybe, if you all think it’s worth it??

Kinda angsty, and mostly political - but y’all, I think Zuko learned how to be a politican as Fire Lord. This is me trying to explore that a little bit.

Like, comment, reblog! Thank you for your support, as always! xo

+ + +

The first time you see him, he is touring the Earth kingdom as the Fire Lord.

It’s been at least two years since he’s been crowned. It’s been two years since a Fire Nation flag last hung over the arches of every town entrance in the Earth kingdom. It’s been two years since a lot of things.

Peace is a hard custom to keep when all you have known is war. Peace is a foreign language when all people know how to communicate is its opposite.

The Fire Nation colonies are no longer known as such. Instead, villages and previous colonies outside of the former Earth Kingdom walls have formed into clans of their own. With the Earth King travelling during the latter part of the war, leadership has been thrown up in the air. There was no one to trust; especially after the Fire Nation invasion of Ba Sing Se. In all the chaos of the war, though, the de facto mantle of leadership among the small number of people in your village fell onto your family. You aren’t aware of the reason why, but being raised in a Fire Nation colony by a mother from the Northern Water Tribe and a father from the edges of the Earth Kingdom makes people feel something like safety in a land subjugated by an unrelenting and ever-growing superpower.

When the crowning of Zuko the Fire Lord happens, with Avatar Aang right by his side, the news spreads rapidly, even across the broken networks of communication established among the clan leaders. But even in the middle of developing a new world, there is still brokenness. There is still pain. There is still suffering.

The world does not seem to heal the way people want it to: very slowly, in pieces rather than in a whole. There is still prejudice and hatred. Very little is still solved with words.

It is the first time a foreigner has walked the land your people call home in two years.

It is the first time people see the color red on someone in two years; before, during the Invasion, red was what everyone saw on every passerby. Travel was severely limited and people mostly kept to their homes in fear of what Fire Nation guards would do to them on top of the restrictions and heavily imposed taxes.

When he is directed to your doorstep by everyone in the village, the only one out of your family able to host him is you. Your father died in a skirmish near Ba Sing Se’s walls on his yearly pilgrimage to trade in a way that would have helped support your village during a time of scarcity two and a half years ago, right before the conquering of Ba Sing Se. Your mother is a figure made up only of stories. A figure who passed soon after your entrance into the world.

For such an imposing figure, he wears very little ceremonial garb. It seems that he understands there is little need for formal ceremonial clothing in this community of people simply trying to survive in a world clawing back from the brink of total destruction.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” He begins with, bowing with hands formed in a traditional Fire Nation greeting.

You bow back similarly, using a specific form of ceremonial bow used by formal authority figures here in the Earth Kingdom. Your hands move in a sweeping motion, directing the Fire Lord to a low table in the middle of the small living room your house has. The table settings are sparse and there is no fancy silverware, but there seems to be something in his countenance that relaxes slightly for some reason.

“Please make yourself at home,” You try to make yourself seem soft. Yielding. Compliant. “Would you like any tea?”

He nods, holding the simple cup up off the wooden structure slightly as you lift the tea pot and fill it halfway with the steaming liquid. You set it back down and it is then that Zuko surprises you for the first time. He nods his head towards your own cup. There is a pause, your mind trying to process the simple action, before you are moving your cup up off the table as well, watching the jasmine tea slowly fill up space that was previously empty.

He gestures a toast to you, holding his cup close to yours while nodding, before he takes a sip. Out of respect, you take a swallow as well before you set your cup back down on the small coaster you were told your mother knit while pregnant with you. Blue and green repeat each other in a circular pattern, reminding you of how beautiful the two colors look together. Reminding you of your own roots face-to-face with someone who carries a vast and rich legacy of his own.

“If it’s alright, I would like to skip the formality of small talk and get to the real conversation. What is the purpose of your visit here?” For such an abrupt change in tone, he doesn’t seem surprised. He sets his cup down, too.

“We would like to begin discussions with your clan about officially coming under the government of the Earth kingdom again.”

You have to take a deep breath in.

When you were little, your father always told you tales of his land’s history; of its vastness and proud strength. As you grew older, however, the tales turned into lessons of caution. He taught you to not trust the central government of the Earth kingdom for a reason. A reason you had soon found out had little to do with his own faith in the people he belonged to and more to do with the fact that the governing body had been crumbling for a long time. There had been a reason there was local autonomy among so many cities and villages, especially during the War. Despite the belief shared among many that the Earth kingdom remained a single political entity, the vastness of land kept that belief more of an idea than something that was practically applied.

“I would love to see the Earth kingdom become the nation it was before the War, but there is a reason my people remain wary of allying ourselves under a central government again. We know about the details of the Coup of Ba Sing Se; we know the corruption that spread vast and wide among politicians, generals, and other administrators.”

“I have been working with the Earth king very closely these past two years. It is our plan to host a gathering at the palace in Ba Sing Se with all local clan and tribe leaders to truly take your input into account while we finalize the development of the Earth kingdom’s government after this long period of strife. That is why I am here, to formally invite you...”

You stop him before he can go any further, “Thank you, but my place is with my people.”

“The Earth king desires that his nation once again be strong and united and at peace once again.” You want to know if he has always been an apt politican, or if this has something he has had to learn in these past two years. You wonder how he mediates both the needs of his own people and those of the world without faltering.

“My experiences have taught me many lessons, as I am sure yours have taught you specific lessons as well. I have very little trust in a central government that before has previously become so easily fractured by whispers of greed and silent grabs for power, and can become so again.”

“There are specific checks and balances in place so that never happens again. I have personally seen to these assurances in the formal writing of the government documents that have been extensively drawn up.”

“How can I even trust you?”

“I-” His mouth opens but more words from your mouth stop him before he can even begin. So much for being compliant.

“I know the legacy of your family. I have witnessed the destruction your family has caused on this land; on the entire world. I do not know you personally. I only know that you have come to ask me to join a government I have little interest in letting rule my people once more when I am right here to make sure they are provided for and kept safe. There is very little about the world I can trust right now.”

You begin to wonder, in the seconds of silence that linger afterward, if you have officially screwed up any chance at the peace people have been so longing for: here and abroad. You want to seem strong, but there always seems to be the chance to second-guess yourself. To back-up and take a new route.

“I only know what it is like to be a new leader. I cannot offer you trust you are unwilling to take, but I can offer you the assurance that the Earth king, the Avatar and I will do whatever it takes to make sure the world is whole again.”

You know he means it. Despite the solemnness of his face and his scar as a reminder to you of the stories of his own life that have yet to be told, there is a fire in his amber eyes that contains no violence, only the longing for the same thing you want: peace.

“My uncle would praise your tea-making skills,” A small corner of his mouth lifts up. Your eyes track the movement for a small second before you are staring down at his cup, too.

“I could give you a bag to take to him to give the next time you see him,” An olive branch, maybe, in light of your previous words.

War has its own effects on everyone, including yourself. Trusting others has not been a virtue of yours for quite some time.

“I’m sure he would love that.” It is a brief glimpse into something about himself, you are sure, that he smiles slightly. A genuine smile. Despite the title he holds, there is nothing but humility. You tuck that observation into you heart to ponder on later.

How can the Fire Lord be so at home in this run-down mill of a home? How can he be so comfortable in the presence of a stranger; a stranger who opposes him in his objective to make peace in a way that he seeks but you do not want?

You find yourself reaching for a stored bag of tea leaves before you can think about it.

As you hold the bag out in the palm of your right hand, your left resting in your lap, his fingers brush yours. He takes the bag and tucks it into what you assume is a pocket on the inside of his simple cloak. The warmth fades as quickly as it came, and for a moment you want to reach out for more of it.

You stop yourself before you actually do such a ridiculous thing as reach out for the hand of the Fire Lord.

But the feeling stays with you long after you tentatively promise to keep in touch with him as he graciously exits for the day. It stays with you for a long, long time.

#avatar: the last airbender #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar: tla #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #avatar zuko #Zuko #zuko x reader #zuko fanfic #zuko x y/n #zuko x oc #zuko imagine #zuko preference #zuko one shot #avatar the last airbender one shot #atla zuko

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Eleven: Love - SMUT

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, cunningless, tit play, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, food and drink mention, emotional because we’re nearing the end, a family being brought together and our favourite soft, sad dad loving his son and, well… you.

Word count: 4300>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Eleven - Next

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Just entering Black Gold Cooperative again, when you thought the previous night would be your last, drew tears to your eyes. This extensive size office was the place you’d first journeyed too upon venturing to the world of man. The building meant more to you than you had first realised, and it held so many amazing memories of self discovery. Your eyes flicked between the velvet sofa where you had once slept on, and the plants that peppered each corner of the lobby. They were vibrant and filled with life, symbolic of new beginnings. Now, the only magic in the air was love. You could feel it, Maxwell could feel it, and from the way Alistair perked up as you sneaked up behind him, he could feel it too. Love truly was the most powerful thing.

Seeing the way Alistair ran into his father’s arms, and the way he squeezed Max so tight -- like he was afraid to let him go, was enough to make your heart melt into your chest. “Daddy! You’re back!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Did you win?” He asked, his dark brown eyes glittering with hope. Alistair tugged on Max’s dark blonde shaggy hair as he waited for a reply.

“Yeah buddy, I won,” Max chuckled breathlessly. With those two words of affirmation, Alistair burst into tears. You took a step back as you watched the interaction, sensing how high the emotion was. You knew that Max had waited for this day to come for a long time. “No no, don’t cry. You should be happy.” Max cooed apologetically, his eyes widening as he tried his hardest to comfort his son. You were no longer a Goddess, and you had been stripped of your powers, but you could still feel the compassion between them both. And it was beautiful.

“I am happy,” Alistair choked out in between sobs, pulling back to look at his father. Max wiped away Alistair’s tears and offered him a weak smile. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.” Alistair confessed, nuzzling his face into his father’s chest.

Max sniffed and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. “I’m going to redeem myself for everything, Ali. I know… I know I’ve done terrible things and made big mistakes, and I really am a pretty messed up loser but--”

“No,” Alistair cut him off, his tone chaste. “Daddy, you’re a winner. Thank you for fighting for me.”

“Always,” Maxwell hummed, picking up Alistair and cradling him in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

***

Maxwell drove, and Alistair insisted that you sit in the back of the car with him. You obliged, unable to ever refuse the bright eyed little boy. Alistair’s small, clammy hands squeezed yours and he watched intently as you gazed out the window, entranced by all the things you passed. There was still a lot you had to get used to, but it brought you comfort knowing that now, at least you had the time. There was no pressure to return back to Themyscira. D.C. was your home. Wherever Alistair and Max was, you were home.

Alistair nuzzled his head into you and closed his eyes, feeling completely content with your company. “I like your new outfit.” he hummed, his fingers tracing your glimmering gold belt.

“You do?” you asked curiously, and felt Alistair nod against you. “You know Ali, I sorta prefer the normal clothes.” you shrugged, and caught Maxwell smiling in the reflection of the rear view mirror.

“I like this,” Alistair admitted. “You look like a superhero. Like… from my comic books.”

“You don’t need a fancy costume to be a hero, Alistair,” you said, tapping his chin so he looked up at you. “Your dad is proof of that.”

***

Maxwell dropped his keys on the side table by the front door when the three of you returned home. “Are you guys hungry?” he questioned, scratching the back of his head. After a day in court, he’d worked up quite the appetite, he must admit.

Alistair grinned and nodded his head. “Starving! Can we get pizza? Please daddy, oh please can we get pizza?”

“Hmph,” Maxwell grumbled, displaying a faux annoyance before bursting into an adorable grin. “I suppose so. Since it’s a day to celebrate.”

“Yay!” Alistair cheered, running into the living room and jumping on the sofa. By the sounds of it, he’d found the remote control for the television and turned on one of his favourite kiddie TV shows.

Walking over to the telephone, Maxwell caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the many mirrors in the hallway and frowned. He was happy, but Gods did he still look a mess. The blonde in his hair was rapidly fading out and he was in desperate need of a trim. He’d been neglecting his biotin supplements and forgetting to moisturize, and oh, his tired eyes. You caught him hyper analyzing his appearance and approached him from behind. Pressing a kiss into his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, you sighed.

“What are you thinking about?” you wondered out loud.

Maxwell swallowed. “I just… I’m not the man I once was,” he ran his fingers through his hair and gestured down to the power suit that he’d worn to court. “I’m not Max Lord anymore. Not this… big oil tycoon businessman. Not on TV anymore. This whole thing is a facade. It’s not me. And everytime I look at myself… I’m reminded of all the mistakes that I made,” he admitted quietly before taking a shaky exhale. “It’s fine,” he quickly backtracked. “Guess I’ll just have to suck it up.”

“The worst part is over, Max. And you’re a survivor,” you told him, taking his hand. “The world can forgive you, but it means nothing if you can’t forgive yourself. You need to learn to love yourself.”

“Will you help me?” Maxwell asked quietly, a nervous tone prominent in his voice.

You offered him a warm smile. “That’s why I’m here,” you reminded him sweetly. “To help.”

Maxwell turned around to face you fully and placed a hand on your cheek. You swore, in that moment and under his touch, that you had forgotten how to breathe. Max might not have been able to see it, but he truly was so beautiful. The gold in his former life may have been gilded, but the gold in his heart was pure and authentic. And now, it was all yours.

Maxwell pulled his tie off his neck and shuffled out of his suit jacket. “I think it might be time for me to hang up this tie for good.” Maxwell sighed sadly, running the patterned silk material between his fingers.

“Do you want to?”

Maxwell paused for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve worked so hard to get here… I just can’t give Black Gold up.”

“Then don’t.” you whispered, shuffling your body into his. He snaked an arm around you and sighed even louder.

“It’s not that easy, darling. I don’t have the money to keep it going.”

“I won’t let you give up on your lifelong dream, so… we’ll figure something out. Maybe you’ll have to downsize. If oil isn’t making you any money then maybe… you might have to specialise in something else. If the past week has proved anything it’s that all our problems can be figured out through the power of love. And you have that. Right here,” you maneuvered his hand and placed it on your heart before pointing your free hand into the living room at Alistair. The door stood slightly ajar. “And right there.”

Maxwell smiled. “There’s a thing, here. In the world of man…” you could tell he was about to start rambling about Goodness know what. He looked up slightly, avoiding your eye contact as he talked. “Where two people… love each other, a lot. And so they make a promise to dedicate themselves to one another. Asking you to be my girlfriend sounds a little childish,” Maxwell chuckled softly and your eyes widened when you realised where he was going with this. “But I guess… if you wanted…”

“I do!” You said quickly, cutting him off before he could even finish.

“You do?” Maxwell asked, truly stunned that you had agreed so fast. He couldn’t believe someone as magnificent as you would love him back, let alone want to be with him. He never thought he was deserving of love, especially after everything that had happened. If Maxwell had never met you, he would’ve been certain that he’d grow old, cold and alone.

“I do.” you confirmed, grinning and pressing your lips into his.

The genuine smile that was on his face when he pulled away was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. More beautiful than the sands and oceans on Themyscira. More beautiful than the landmarks and caves in Athens. It differed to his television smile. This was one hundred percent authentic. This was Maxwell Lorenzano. “I’m going to change into my pajamas,” you announced. “And I’ll bring Ali upstairs with me and have him get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” Max acknowledged, still grinning. “I’ll set the dining room table for the pizza.”

You guided Alistair upstairs and followed him into his bedroom. You sat down on his bed, and pulled him down to sit next to you. “I told you I had a gift for you, from Athens.” you smiled and watched as Alistair’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yes!” Alistair cried out, bouncing up and down.

You detached the lasso of Hestia from your tunic and placed the rope gently in his hands. “This is my lasso of truth. Remember that one night when I met Julianna and Theodore, and I came to visit you? And I showed you how it worked? Do you remember?”

Alistair nodded slowly. “Yes. You told me the lasso wasn’t powered by you. It was powered by the truth.”

“That’s right,” you confirmed, your heart swelling at how Alistair had retained that piece of information. “The lasso is important to me because it was a gift from my mother. And now, I’m passing it down to you. I didn’t get this in Athens, but it is from Athens originally. I hope my lasso will be a constant reminder for you to always tell the truth, and always see the good in people.”

Alistair’s jaw was agape and he was struck with awe as his fingers traced the magical rope. “I love it…” he whispered.

“I’m glad,” you smiled. “It’s very powerful Ali. Who knows, one day you might be able to use it.”

“And I can be a superhero just like you…” Alistair grinned before biting his lip. “And just like my daddy.”

“Exactly. Just like your daddy. C’mon now, I want you to go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Then we can go order our pizza, okay?”

Before you left his bedroom, Alistair called your name. You sensed hesitancy in his voice, almost like he was nervous. “Can I… can I try out the lasso... on you? Maybe?”

You wanted to ask him why the child might possibly want to do that, but then you realised, he was probably just curious. So, you obliged, and held out your wrist. Remembering how you’d shown him before, Alistair wrapped the rope around your arm and took a deep breath.

“Do you love my daddy?” Alistair asked, after taking a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Will you promise not to leave him, ever?”

“I promise.”

“Would you mind if… if… I called you mommy?”

You felt warm tears prick the corners of his eyes. A mother. It’s everything you had always wanted to be. You were the goddess of home and hearth. The urge to one day have a family was in your nature.

“I’d love that, Ali.” you admitted.

Alistair pulled the rope from your wrist and enveloped you into a tight hug. “Okay. Because I love you mommy.”

“I love you too.”

***

“What do you want?” Maxwell asked his son, pen in hand. He’d been scribbling down the order, the businessman in him wanting to have everything planned out before he made the phone call.

“Pineapple pizza! The biggest one!” Alistair exclaimed gleefully, stretching out his arms. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ali, you won’t eat it all,” Maxwell frowned. You nudged him, as if to say, ‘let him have this’. “Okay,” Max sighed. “The biggest pineapple pizza. And what do you want?” he asked, turning to you this time. You furrowed your eyebrows together, taking another look at the menu that had been passed around the dining room table.

“How do I know what’s good?”

“Well, not pineapple.” Maxwell grumbled.

Alistair gasped, unable to believe the words that had just left his father’s lips. “Don’t listen to him,” Alistair said, grabbing your hand. “Daddy is wrong. Pineapple pizza is so delicious. Will you try some of mine?”

You squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Sure,” you agreed. Maxwell swore his heart melted everytime he witnessed interaction between you and his son. It was so pure, it was like you and Alistair had known each other forever. Granted, you’d known the little boy longer than you knew Maxwell. The day you woke up in the park felt like yesterday. “What do you like, Max?” you quizzed, eventually giving up on the menu.

“Pepperoni, I guess. I don’t eat pizza much.” He admitted sheepishly. Before you could reply, Alistair’s voice made you jump up in shock.

“Boring!” He called out. Max shot him a playful glare and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be rude!” Maxwell chastised, wiggling his index finger, and you couldn’t hide the smile on your face.

“He’s like you,” you pointed out. “Always has something to say.”

“My son.” Maxwell declared proudly, pulling Alistair into his lap and ruffling his dark hair.

Just like Max had anticipated, Alistair couldn’t eat the large pineapple pizza. In fact, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa after only two slices, a Star Wars blanket draped over him and a stuffed toy curled tight into his chest.

“Alistair asked me if it would be alright if he called me mommy,” you admitted quietly as Maxwell gathered the plates and empty glasses. His head snapped to face you the second the words left your lips. “I told him yes. But I figured… maybe you should have some say in it? I don’t know.”

“It means a lot to me that Ali can put his faith in you, and that he sees you as his mother. But this is a big deal. Family is for life and I don’t… he’s already lost one mother. I don’t want him to lose you too. So of course, it’s fine by me. As long as you promise to always be a mother to him, no matter what.”

“Always,” you whispered in reassurance, cupping Maxwell’s cheek and gazing into his dark eyes. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” Maxwell replied, kissing you on the forehead. “I should take him to bed.”

“Let me handle it,” you replied, stretching before leaning down to pick up the sleeping boy and cradling him in your arms. Clearly, somewhere down the line, you had forgotten you had been stripped of your powers and you were now a mortal. You let out a yelp. Once able to carry Alistair easily, you were now struggling. You wobbled slightly and Max hurried to your side to hold you and help you keep your balance.

“You okay?” Max asked, quirking an eyebrow. “He’s heavier than he looks.” you gasped, already a little breathless.

“Wanna trade?” he quizzed, raising a plate.

You mumbled a ‘yes’ and passed Alistair over to his father. “I’ll do the dishes and meet you upstairs.”

***

Max was still with Alistair by the time you had finished up the dishes and headed to the bedroom. You sat by the dressing table, brushing out your hair, and looked at the pile of discarded armour sat in the corner of the room. Maybe one day it would come of use, but for now, this was it. This was the start of a new life where you didn’t need no Amazonian armour. With Maxwell and Alistair, you had all the protection you could ever need.

“Hi,” Maxwell whispered, padding into the bedroom. You turned to face him and smiled. “I’m glad to be home… now… with you. Glad this is all over.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and began to rub them affectionately. “Me too.” you replied warmly, leaning into his touch and nuzzling your head into his chest. You closed your eyes in contentment. Every second you spent with Max, you spent wishing it would last forever. Although you knew better than to make a wish.

“Are you tired?” Max pondered, smoothing out your hair and admiring your face.

Pushing back your hair and admiring your beauty was up there with one of his most favourite things to do. Your eyes looked like home, your lips tasted like home. You were home.

“Mm, no, not really…” you confessed, staring at the image of both you and Max in the reflection of the dressing table mirror. But Max’s gaze was fixated only on you. “Actually. I had an idea, since you know, we’re celebrating and all,” you confessed after a brief moment of comfortable silence. Maxwell raised a curious eyebrow and waited for you to continue. “Remember our first night back in Athens when we…” you trailed off and glanced over towards the bed.

“Yeah.” Max answered, already breathless from the thought.

“I liked it a lot.” You admitted bashfully as you reminisced on your first time with Maxwell.

“Me too.” he agreed.

“So do you want to do it again…?”

Max didn’t reply with words, but instead he pulled you up from the stool that you were sitting on and twirled you around so you were facing him. He crashed his lips onto yours and let his large hands freely roam your back, desperate to feel every inch of your body. He’d been waiting to do this again.

Without breaking away from the kiss, you pushed him towards his bed and climbed on top of him. You straddled his hips and began to run your hands over his chest, leaning over and kissing along his jaw and down his neck. Feeling his cock already hot and heavy, he cursed under his breath, dipping his hand under the hem of your silk nightgown and smirking upon finding that you weren’t wearing any underwear. He slowly slid his thick fingers between your folds, causing you to gasp at the sudden bolt of pleasure that ran through you. His thumb began to circle your clit and you dug your fingers into his shoulders as he worked at your bundle of nerves.

He loved to look at you and watch as your face twisted in pleasure. He liked to know you were feeling good. His fingers were like magic, and he truly had a golden touch.

“Want you to cum on my fingers, okay?” Max asked, increasing the speed. You tried to push out a word but just came out as a mangled moan. You nodded your head, feeling your cunt desperately clench around nothing and your thighs tighten as you neared orgasm.

When you came undone, Max’s dark eyes gleamed with desire and pride. He pulled his fingers from under your nightgown and placed them on his tongue, sucking your arousal from his own digits.

“You taste amazing baby,” He praised, unable to contain his smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied back with a smile.

Both you and Max made your way over to the bed, stripping yourself out of your clothes and intertwining your bodies together.

“I don’t ever want this moment to end.” you confessed with a shaky exhale as Maxwell squeezed your breasts, peppering kisses down the valley of your chest.

“It doesn’t have to, princess, we have the rest of our lives to spend together.”

There it was again. The dumb nickname he’d called you from the day you first met. You’d insist that you weren’t a princess, and by no means royalty, but to Maxwell, you were. You were his princess. A rose stuck amongst a bush of thorns. You were the epitome of hope, beauty and love. And you were all his.

So the nickname grew on you, and you’d come to like it.

You felt the tip of Maxwell’s cock tease against your entrance as he swiftly rubbed his length up and down, between your glistening wet folds. By the time he pushed himself inside of you, just the scrunched up look on his face was enough to make your stomach erupt into butterflies. The crinkle in between his eyebrows and the way his perfect lips parted into an ‘o’ shape as your walls clamped around him.

“Fuck, you-you’re so tight,” He gasped, the Adams apple in his neck prevailing as he tried to swallow away his desire. “Always so tight. So per-perfect. Good girl. Such a go-good girl.” he praised, a small strand of dark blonde hair falling out of place and crossing his forehead.

You shuddered at his words.

“Look at me,” you begged, and he obliged, his chocolate coloured eyes snapping open. Despite the glaze of lust that seemed to cloud his vision, he was able to fixate on you, spending a few moments adoring your face -- the face he fell in love with -- as he remained seated deep inside you. He was stretching you open and Gods, it felt delicious, but you needed more. You desperately needed more. “Move, please.” you whimpered, bringing your hands up to cup his face.

Maxwell began to rock his hips into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust. He leaned over you and pressed his forehead against yours as he picked up his speed. “Don’t be too loud,” he warned quietly, his warm breath fanning over your ear.

It wasn’t long before he felt his cock twitch inside of you. “Shit,” he moaned, squeezing your shoulder to signify that he was close. “Neither of us are protected-- fuck, I need, I need to pull out.”

“Mm, no, no Max. Keep going. Don’t stop.” You begged, your fingers tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You could get pregnant.” he rasped out, suddenly remembering you were now a mortal.

“Would it really be so bad?” you asked, and your question alone was enough to throw Maxwell over the edge.

Would it really be so bad?

You had a point. Max had never imagined having any more kids. Hell, he’d never really planned on having Alistair. But times had changed, and he was so in love with you. He figured -- maybe kids were something he could give another go at. Little mini you’s running around the house would simply be so adorable. And who better to have children with, than the goddess of home and hearth? Having a family was written in your destiny. It was always meant to be. Given the time and the place, the prospect of having kids, getting you pregnant… it just felt right.

The start of a new life… both figuratively and literally.

Of course he was certain that this was what you wanted, and evidently, you wanted it to. But the idea of seeing you swole and round, carrying his children… well that was a whole different thing.

“Fuck princess, you’re gonna look so good carrying my baby.” Maxwell grounded, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

You felt your orgasm wash over you, and your walls clamp around his cock. That was enough to push him over the edge.

Maxwell came inside of you, and he made sure to cum deep, too. Once he’d regained his breath, he grabbed two pillows from his side of the bed and propped them under your butt so the lower half of your body was higher than your upper half.

“What are you doing?” you giggled.

“Making sure not a drop of it goes to waste,” Maxwell replied as he pressed sloppy kisses along your inner thighs.

And when he caught a glimpse of his seed beginning to spill out of you, he plunged his index finger and pushed it back in.

“I love you so much.” You whispered as Maxwell smoothed out your hair and kissed your lips.

“I love you too, darling. And I can’t wait to embark on this new life together.”

You pondered for a moment, relishing in the comfortable silence before you brought your index finger and pointed it towards Maxwell. “Life is good, but it can be better.”

Maxwell was trying his damn hardest to fight the grin that was edging to cross his lips. How could one person be so adorable?

“It can always be better.” he whispered, bringing his hand down to your stomach and kissing you again.

———————————————

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I Believe In Love taglist : (tagged in replies!)

#maxwell lord #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord smut #pedro pascal x you

210 notes · View notes

americangirlstar · 3 years

Text

World By Us Quotes

I know when we make aesthetics/art pieces, we like to have little quotes from the books below it! Here’s some quotes for the WBU girls– if it’s not said by them specifically, I put who said it at the end in [brackets], and if it’s not from their main book, I made a note in italics at the beginning.

Makena Williams

As I sorted through the new items on the bed, I wondered what kind of statement I wanted to make. I was going to have fun figuring it out!

As I looked at the outfit now, I realized it still needed... something. I closed my eyes and focused on how I was feeling. I was nervous, but excited, too, like something I had been waiting for was finally about to begin.

I added three gold butterfly hair clips to my twists. Butterflies are a symbol of transformation, and I knew today would be full of big changes. When I tilted my head, the butterflies looked like they were taking off.

On my way to the gym, I passed the big mural again. We Walk Together. I smiled, knowing that I had just met two new friends to walk with.

I have four names: Makena means “happy one” in Swahili; Lilias was my dad’s mom, who died when he was a boy; Cook, for Mom’s family, and Williams. They all matter, and they make me who I am.

“Fashion can be a form of activism. And I wouldn’t be surprised if one day that was your purpose.” [said by her mother]

I want to live in a world where who you are inside matters more than what you look like outside.

I rolled over and pressed the pillow around my ears, but Mom’s question was like a song I couldn’t get out of my head. Couldn’t he see that they’re children? Couldn’t he see? No, Mom! I wanted to scream. That’s the problem. He couldn’t see that we’re real people, with real names and lives and feelings. All he could see was that we’re Black. I cried sad and mad tears, because none of it made any sense.

I’m so much more than what you see / Don’t guess- ASK about all the feels inside me / Get to know who I am for real / Then maybe this world can start to heal / See me, hear me, know me!

My name is Makena Williams. Something happened to me, and I am not okay.

I am a person. See me for who I am. Hear what I say. Get to know me before you make up something about me. Judge me by my words and actions, not my race. See me. Hear me. Know me.

Do you see us now? We’re girls. We’re your neighbors.

I ran my fingers across the letters. There was my idea, my first design, in real life. I was so proud.

My eyes went back to Auntie Bling’s word power. Maybe I could give other people the power to tell their own stories. What if kids could show and tell the world who they really are, how they really feel, in any style they chose?

I’m Makena. I’m proud that my family’s roots in Anacostia go back four generations. I came up with the words on my T-shirt because people weren’t seeing the real me. They were only seeing that I was Black– if they saw me at all. I love West African kente cloth because the colors and patterns tell stories. The green in this skirt signifies renewal. I like wearing butterflies because they remind me that though change can be difficult, it can lead to something beautiful. With my fashion, I am always making a statement.

When everyone had made their statements, we all gathered onstage for a bow. The audience was on its feet, clapping and cheering for us. All the other kids hopped off the stage and started mingling. I stood there, watching adults talking to kid and kids from different communities talking to each other. Seeing so many people come together was powerful.

I believe that when you take time to get to know people, you get to see who they truly are.

I was so proud of what we’d done that I couldn’t stop grinning. Just before I went to join my friends and family, I glimpsed my own reflection in the window. It looked as if the river was flowing right through me. Maybe it does, I thought, along with the strength of my ancestors, and the bravery of Black people before and the bravery of everyone in this room who works for change.

Evette Peeters

When we made the sign last year, I painted a monarch butterfly above the words. Monarchs fly thousands of miles. Their strength and endurance remind me of the people who were on the front lines during the pandemic.

The one good thing about not going anywhere was seeing the gardens change. I never knew it could be fun to watch plants grow, but it actually was.

The bridge was coming up. Pretty soon, we’d be crossing the Anacostia. I’d been crossing that river all my life on the way to Gran E’s house. Every time I saw it, the river looked different. Sometimes the waves were rough, but today they were calm. The sunlight made the pale green water sparkle.

Why did people think skin color defines who we are? It seemed so simple: humans come in different colors, just like flowers.

I put them on and hung my heart necklace on my jewelry tree. Next to it was a locket that had an umoja symbol on it. Umoja means “unity” in the Swahili language. Gran E had given me the locket for Kwanzaa last year, along with a card that said, “Promise always to see umoja: unity in the family, community, nation and race.”

Still, I couldn’t help wondering, Is this how a rift gets started? Something goes wrong between people, and before you know it, there’s a rift between them. Was that how it happened with my grandmothers? And the most important question of all: Could a rift between people be repaired?

The grass was trampled, but seeing the riverbank free of litter lifted my heart.

With a day of hard work, we had healed part of the river. If only it could be this easy for my grandmothers to heal the rift between them.

“A world– by us,” I announced, writing it on a piece of poster board. I looked up at my friends. Somehow when I was with them, anything seemed possible. “That’s what we’ll call it– and that’s what we’ll make it.”

What I’m trying to tell you is not to judge a whole person for one thing they said or did. People can change and learn from their mistakes.

Well, we are one family. So we should all act like it, right?

I know the world has many problems, just as there are many kinds of pollution in the river. But with the sunshine and the music and good friends beside me, I felt a wave of hope rise in my chest. As long as we can imagine a better world, we can make it happen. When people come together, we can do remarkable things. The river taught me that.

Maritza Ochoa

from Makena’s Story: Well, we don’t need to wait until we grow up to make a difference. We can start now, making the kind of world we want to live in.

At school, the girls always play with the boys. The girls are tougher than you think.

Before she passed away, I received a beautiful journal from her in the mail. Inside, she had written inspirational quotes from famous women athletes and leaders. On a note enclosed with the journal, she had written that I should add more inspirational quotes to the journal, because keeping a positive attitude was important when life becomes hard. I had to admit, it was hard to be positive during that time.

I stared down at the salteñas, thinking of what my abuelo said. Prayers weren’t enough, but sometimes prayers are all you have. Was there something more I could do?

The title of the piece was Tu lucha es mi lucha, which means “your fight is my fight.”

Remember, we’re young. Nobody expects us to be leaders, so we must expect it from ourselves.

There was incredible history here, and yet... so much more history to be made.

“She needs me to be her friend,” I replied. And as soon as I said those words, I felt them in my heart.

In soccer, if we see something wrong, we call it out so it can be fixed. I see something wrong, and I want to help.

Tu luca es mi lucha. I will lead with my heart and find a way to help your family.

We don’t just want to talk about injustice. We want to do something about it.

It was as if Tia Mari knew that someday I’d need this quote. Maybe I’m more like her than I even imagined.

All of us are united in our love for soccer, but we are also united in another cause that we want to share with you. Soccer has taught me many things, but most important it has taught me to be a team player and to be vocal if I see something wrong. This past week, I saw something wrong and I want to bring it to everyone’s attention.

If you were here, I would tell you what an inspiration you are to me. I miss you, Tia. I know I’ll always miss you and that’s okay. It will be an extra part of me that will make me stronger and kinder.

#american girl #world by us #makena williams #maritza ochoa #evette peeters #wbu squad #mine #americangirlstar #quotes

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 3 years

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On Education

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published.

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I think every parent struggles with the question of when they should teach their children hard truths. At some point, every child needs to learn about death. They need to learn about hatred. They need to learn about the horrors people will inflict on them for being different. This is something that is as true for ghouls as it is for humans. For most people, it is a fact of life that someone will hate you for existing.

Human-on-human prejudice is still something I don’t fully understand. At least humans have a reason to hate us. I don’t know why they go looking for reasons to hate each other too.

Educating ghouls is a challenge. We need to know about ourselves, of course. We need to know about our kind - our needs, our history, our ways of moving through human society - but we need to learn everything that humans learn too. The more we can fit seamlessly into the human world, the safer we are. You probably don’t know this, what with how much the news loves a story about a ghoul living in secret among humans, their murders exposed to the shock of their friends and acquaintances, but those of us who are brought up among humans don’t get found out very often. It’s the feral children, the big city packs that still hunt most of their food, the all-ghoul communes, that are easier targets for the exterminators. Those of us that are fully integrated are much harder to sniff out, unless we seriously fuck up.

{Editing Note: Don’t say fuck. Even though it’s a really good word}

The best way to make sure a ghoul can pass as human is to start us young. Get us into kindergarten, then elementary school, and keep going all the way through college. There’s nothing better than hands-on training. That’s what my mom did for me, mostly. I was raised in human society, in the human public school system, and I’ve never had a true close call. I’ve never caught the eye of an exterminator, and no human has ever asked me pointed questions about my habits or diet.

For the sake of completeness, I should say that I was in the human public school system for everything except for middle school. It’s not like that’s a great loss, though - everything I’ve heard about middle school sounds like hell. I don’t know how any of you survived going through puberty in front of all your peers.

{Editing Note: I am not talking about ghoul puberty unless I can find a reliable human to tell me what their puberty was like. If I wrote about something that I thought was ghoul-specific but is actually normal I’d die on the spot. I’d call a fucking exterminator on myself.}

Conventional schooling might be the best setup for success, but it’s also the most dangerous route. Kids talk, and that’s as true for us as it is for you. It takes a lot of work to make a child understand that there are some things you can never tell anyone, not even your closest friends, not ever. It’s not a fun burden to grow up carrying either. I’ve known the fear of death for literally longer than I can remember. I’ve known that letting myself be truly honest and vulnerable with any of my classmates would bring it to me and my parents before the day was over {Editing Note: True vulnerability is what I need now, though. I should find a place to talk about my dad}. It’s more loneliness than any child should ever grow up with. I was lucky; I found Scarlet in 4th grade. There are plenty of ghoul children that don’t find each other until high school, if there are even any other ghoul children to be found.

Some parents decide that the risk is too great. They’d rather have alive children than well-adjusted children, so they homeschool them {Editing Note: Okay, that’s way too harsh. Don’t be biased}. I did get to experience this approach for those couple of years when I wasn’t in middle school, and it does have some advantages other than safety. When I was in public school, my mom had to find time after school to teach me about our people. In a homeschool setting, ghoul studies could actually be integrated into our curriculum. It wasn’t completely asocial, either - ghoul parents often use their Society connections to find other ghoul children that are homeschooling so we can learn together. I met my second best friend, Scorpio, because we were homeschooled together.

{Editing Note: My friends are going to read this. I need to make it super clear that Scorpio is the second best friend I made chronologically. I’m not ranking my friends in front of the entire world.}

Scorpio’s a good friend, but he’s also a good case study for the drawbacks of homeschooling. He was homeschooled K through 12 and he is definitely the worst of my friends at passing. He has no idea what’s normal for ghouls vs normal for humans, so he compensates by either saying nothing or saying the most obvious, outlandish lies you could imagine when childhood comes up in conversation. In his defense, those lies are usually pretty funny, and he does connect pretty well with the right kind of people. Scorpio’s got a bunch of very specific subjects that he knows a ton about and loves to talk about. He and Scarlet can go on for hours about literary theory.

{Editing Note: That’s too meandering. I’m just trying to explain why some ghouls homeschool and some don’t - I don’t need to put my weird friends on blast.}

There’s another kind of formal schooling for ghouls that’s much, much rarer - the ghoul private school. The only one I even knew of, St. Raymond’s, was shut down last year by exterminators. Normally I’d tell you to take the lurid details you hear on the news with a healthy pinch of salt, and I still would, but that many rich young ghouls, completely cut off from the rest of humanity… it’s hard to predict what becomes normalized in that kind of echo chamber.

Fortunately, my patron knows more people than I do, so I have more to offer you than grim speculation. According to her, these kinds of places always have a very small student body, rarely breaking a hundred. The lesson content is pretty similar to homeschool - fully integrated ghoul curriculum, plus a few specialized lessons on blending into human society. Out of necessity, they’re almost always boarding schools. It’s easier to keep a low profile if you don’t have a bunch of ghoul kids not used to hiding going to and from the campus every day.

Apparently, it’s that kind of logistical challenge that makes these schools so rare. Aside from all the money you need to run a school in the first place, and how careful you need to be to pass scrutiny from the Board of Education, providing discretely for the needs of that many ghouls is an organizational nightmare. I mean, there’s a reason that ghoul families are so small, a reason why even our extended households rarely do more than scrape the double digits. There’s only so much flesh that can be safely obtained in one area at a time. There aren’t a lot of ghouls that have the resources and the inclination to put one of these schools together.

There is, of course, one more ways that ghouls are educated - the school of hard knocks {Editing Note: That’s such a trivializing way to put it. Have some sensitivity, me}. Given how short our average life expectancy is, it’s inevitable that some ghoul children have to fend for themselves from a very young age. I doubt it comes as a surprise that most of them don’t manage to integrate into human society very well. The lucky ones figure out early on how to kill discreetly, how to hide their nature from observers, and how to vary their hunting patterns enough to avoid the attention of the exterminators. The rest either starve quietly or die violently.

Most of these feral ghouls who survive to be teenagers eventually find each other and form packs. From a pure survival standpoint, this is a bad move. A group of feral teenage ghouls have a much harder time covering their tracks than they would as individuals, but for most, the chance at companionship is too tempting. It’s miserable, being alone in the world. Packs offer most of them the best chance to escape loneliness that they’ll ever get. And for most of them, it ends in a shallow grave within a year. Putting down a pack of feral ghouls is a good headline for an exterminator, and it’s a lot less work than trying to ferret out those of us who’ve figured out how to pass. That isn’t how the majority of ghouls die, but it’s how a plurality of us do.

For those few feral ghouls that survive to adulthood, their lives take one of three paths. Sometimes they find a patron and fall in with a household, and they do their best to heal from the trauma of their childhood. They do their best to find a happy life in human society, just like those of us who were luckier. Sometimes they become true Hunters, living their lives on the outskirts of our Society; still embraced by us, if only at an arm’s length. I’ll talk more about them later.

And sometimes, they become the Lost. Not that ghouls from any walk of life are immune to that fate, but… I’ll get to them later too. You may not have heard of them by that name, but I guarantee you’ve heard of the Lost.

{Editing Note: That’s a really grim note to end the chapter on. I should play with the structure a bit and find a more uplifting note to leave this subject on.}

{Editing Note: Or I could ask Kestrel. I’m sure she’d have ideas on how to better write the section on feral ghouls, and she could help me strike a more authentic tone. But… I don’t want to upset her. She doesn’t like to think about it, and I don’t want to hurt her. Is this important enough? Would she think it’s important enough?}

#my writing #original fiction #not tlt #memoirs of a flesh eater

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myflowermylovemydear · 2 years

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Needing advice for senior year art project

Hi everyone. I’m looking for some advice/constrictive criticism/ just for someone else to read my work.

I’m at the end of my final year of high school and am creating an art project surrounding growing up undiagnosed autistic / my childhood / my experience with the world being neurodivergent. I’m mixing my own poetry with my childhood and family photographs. Below are some of the poetry i’ve written and am looking for some people to tell me if the work is at least decent! Thanks in advance :)

1. I want to experience it all again. I want to relive it all. The anger, resentment, freedom, hope and immaturity of a child. Is this just it?

2. I spent my childhood copying. I copied the way I stand, the way i walk. Every single thing about me down to the dot is a behavior i observed and learned. i did everything i could when i was younger to be as normal as possible, to avoid potential conflict and hurt. the final result of that was me not knowing myself.

3. through my mother, my mothers mother, and generations of women before, i have inherited experiences and trauma i have not seen. i have heartbreaks from 1856 and my ancestors forced femininity within my blood. i keep memories of childhood betrayal, and have been given the ancient form of ‘speaking with the eyes’. i hold their memories in my hands with anxiousness. i am looking for a way to free myself, to make my own memories and not relive the patterns of those before me. its so deeply imbedded into my mind that it has moulded into me. it’s a privilege to be handed these experiences, but sometimes i question wether they're truly meant for me.

4. what if....when i’ve healed......when i’ve put in all the work into being whole and content....what if i don’t like what i find? what do i do then?

5. i need someone older and wiser to tell me that i am good. that i will be forever happy from this moment forward. i need them to not judge me when i cry. i call out to the universe for that every day. maybe she’s listening?

6. i had a dream about you once. i dreamt that you held me. you kissed my cheeks that were covered in tears and told me you loved me. you moved the hair away from my face and lightly brushed my forehead. you hushed me with love and allowed me to sit in your arms in silence. you were myself. you were another piece of me.

7. i truly recognize nature and it’s ghosts - for they have seen it all. i apprehend the history it holds in beings as small as a centipede. even though a garden may look as simple as a plate of grass with a few trees a bushes, there’s overwhelming life within the perceived simplicity. we believe our lives to be far more intricate and important than an animals, but how would we know what they are thinking? for all we know their lives might be entangled with commitments and relationships, just like us. we are so driven by our perceived importance in this universe when in reality we are just bugs in the garden of a much larger entity. parasites even.

8. i know it’s not my fault. it’s not my fault that i’ll never fulfill every dream i’ve ever had, but still here i am, i am here just waiting for the tides to turn in my favour. my arms open and my eyes closed.

9.i fear that one day, one day, i will be ripped open from the inside. i will be on display and the world will see who i truly am. this will be the only time all earth will have it’s eyes on me. but these eyes will not show remorse.

10. i constantly flow through who i am and who i was. i am never not one of them. though i am trying to become the person i my future, it feels as if i am abandoning the little girl who so desperately wants to be seen.

that’s all the ones i need help with for now! please don’t steal any of my work and thank you again for reading!!

ps: i apologize if my spelling sucks hahah

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darkobssessions · 4 years

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Coping Tips for Autistic Women

I am compiling a list of resources for aspie women along with tips to manage symptoms and navigate the world. Regretably, most of my personal experience comes from living undiagnosed and unaware about this for the last 27 years. There was a giant elephant in the room with everything, and I have only recently worked it out. This means that most of my habits prior to this point were ones attempting to cope with a giant unknown, the limits of which were unclear. But they more or less worked, because, as I am realising, there’s always been something they are attempting to address.

With other diagnoses and ways I attempted to explain and understand my difficulties, there were finite causes and treatments. I should have been improving if I tried x, y, or z. And I did improve my symptoms in many ways, but there was something missing from the picture. That is that autism is my personality, my state of being, how I process and view the world. And no tool, medication, process or treatment was ever going to change who I really was. Being misdiagnosed (or being missed and failing to receive the autism diagnosis) means that I have been trying to correct something that you cant ‘correct’, and shaming myself for something fundamentally me.

Some of the tips I learned over time, from how I am as a person, without the framework of reference of neurodivergence or autism:

Sensory:

My sensitivity has always been a big waving flag. I felt and saw things others didn’t. I felt more deeply. I sensed the microeffects and changes in everything. I responded harder and faster to any chemical, environmental shift, any positive or negative event, As we all do on the spectrum, we attempt to navigate our sensory environment. And we come up with coping mechanisms, good or bad, before or after we realise we are on the spectrum. For me this was a strong aversion to the things that upset me, that disturbed my senses. It was an orienting of myself in a way to avoid the disturbances, going inwards, withdrawing and even shutting down. I learned that I could not and did not want to handle crowds, loud places, supermarkets. I lived in a giant simulation attempting to minimise and avoid as much as possible the things that hurt. I learned that I was extremely sensitive, no one else seemed to be, and I just had to manage it. Since discovering autism in the last weeks, I am able to embrace the fact that sensory overload is a thing, and I really do feel pain in my body when things are too much and too loud, and just wearing earplugs has mitigated so much of this. I was gas lighting myself before about feeling a certain way because there was no explanation, that I was aware of anyway.

Physical:

I have had so many problems over the years, since I was a young girl. I used to get food poisoning symptoms really easily. I had hidden allergies. I remember a lot of my childhood spent doubled up with stomach pains, or having a fever. My family didn’t know any better and fed me and treated me as they did every other member. I was not the same, I did not feel the same, but I took it all in. By the time I was in my early teen years, I had cemented my aversion to certain foods, taken the only control I had at the time against an encroaching and controlling mother and turned it into anorexia. I avoided things I didn’t like, again, and set up a system of control that made more sense than the gaping wounds and confusion within me. Starvation triggered bulimia. And a viscous cycle of malnourishment and dysregulation unfolded. I didn’t learn until many, many years later that my system was so sensitive and damaged that if I tried to go back to how I used to eat as a child, I would get terrible symptoms. So my coping tips as I have healed from the eating disorders and become more aware is to figure out what the triggers are, what hurts, and to avoid it. This along with adding in nutrient dense foods and working on the deficiencies has done wonders for me. I’ve done tremendous work on my autoimmune conditions, gut problems, sensitivities and inflammation levels and the difference is like night and day. That I can induce psychotic symptoms by deviating or introducing foods I am intolerant to is no joke. The tip I can share is elimination diets truly do work, the keto diet is recommended, and eating the carnivorous way saved my life. My eating disorders for almost 15 years INCLUDING the 7.5 years I was a vegan, mostly high raw and fruitarian depleted my nutrients so badly that every symptom was enhanced 100% and I was eating pretty much ONLY food I was actually intolerant to. Ahem, plants, I’m talking to you. The peace I feel, the nourishment and rest on a nervous system level having eliminated them is unreal.

Social:

I have always known I was different, in a deep, visceral way. How the adults in my life answered questions was inadequate. I saw through people and things. I was far too intense and serious. I learned to watch and observe humans and pick up cues so as to attempt to fit in. I spent the majority of my life masking, something I am only now finding out about and unraveling. I kept notes on the human experience, and saved colours, sounds, feelings, because I felt like I couldn’t communicate the truth of myself otherwise. Over the course of my life there have been inexplicable (until now) events. Lost friendships and relationships, strings of broken promises, people not acting on what they say, confusions and miscommunications, and many dangerous situations and predatory bonds. I made what sense I could of it from whatever lens I could find. It was the trauma, it was my soul contract, it was what I deserved, it was being targeted- all close, but not quite within the realm of being so naive, open and fundamentally different as you are on the spectrum. I just always assumed everybody was like me. I had to learn the very extremely hard way that not everyone felt and thought in the same way, nor had good intentions. I still struggle with the fact that humans don’t tell the truth. It is of no relevance whether they secretly know it. Most people are more comfortable with illusions. I always knew this, but the diagnosis gives me a lot more peace around it. It’s allowing me to accept the fact that if I look around the majority of the people I see are not walking around processing and over-analysing everything, feeling sounds, decoding patterns and obsessed with hacking the code of reality. Less pressure that way, and more in the way of what can be viewed as natural interaction on my part. I will solve the mystery of the universe out loud otherwise, and get the blank looks and the discomfort. I have found my people, a tribe of likeminded individuals, I have gathered friends over the years that didn’t run from my weirdness. But I am mostly content to be on my own, knowing that I can only use what is around me to try to convey how I feel and who I really am. And that will probably be a book, a movie or a work of art, much better than a 2pm rendezvous when I can’t stop talking about the hidden signs.

Emotional:

With the intensity of my emotions I have developed borderline personality disorder as a means to cope with being autistic and not knowing. I have been diagnosed with both that and bipolar because I have intense stints of emotions. They come and go in waves, lasting hours, lasting days and weeks. I consider it to be an energy management system to cope with the demands and stressors of modern day living. Creatives always withdraw and hibernate, and come out with new insights and art to share. The way that I feel and view the world is special. It’s at the basis of my writing, what I choose to engage with and how. My emotions make me who I am. I feel intensely, I share passionately about how I feel. I snap, I break, I shutdown, I come out again and I am a bright, shooting star. There is an excited little animal that lives within me and it is the strongest most passionate thing known to man. I thought that my negative experiences or trauma killed it, but this is before I knew it IS me and cannot die. So I have stopped trying to cram these emotions in or explain them. Stopped trying to attribute them to whatever script people were following when they dealt with me. Throwing me into the depressive, anxious, panic stricken, eating disordered basket case category. The missing piece now makes so much sense. The ways I responded to being autistic were coping mechanisms, such as developing a personality disorder, to deal with the pressure. My psyche splintered under the weight. My tip here is in embracing your inner life and world, embracing that you are different, so that all of the mental and emotional acrobatics needed to attempt to explain the issues or fit in can be put to rest.

Spiritual:

Being different and feeling differently means I naturally saw and expressed things in quite a strange way. I was convinced of a secret world to reality, behind reality, living on behind a paper shell, so to speak, that would rip if only I could reach out and tear it aside. That conviction was rewarded as year after year my awareness grew, my gifts multiplied, and the experiences I had revealed to me the hidden hand of god. There was very much design to the universe, a pattern, weaving through all things. And i was a part of it, not some discarded afterthought or simple byproduct that had no place. In the early years, I kept my convictions to myself, nursed them with experience. I died a thousand deaths in dark nights of the soul, crashing against the turf of my ignorance. I broke open, and everything I had been so sure of as a child was revealed to me again and again. I was convinced I had a purpose, I could feel the deep tides of human emotion and motion, could feel into the genetic sequence that had birthed me. I felt like an alien, but that slowly over time the map of my operation was being revealed to me. This is what it feels like so many years later to stand here and find out about being autistic and realise that how I felt in my soul all these years was real, and that I can begin to truly fulfill this mission now, to share my experience in words I know others will understand because they feel the same way too. It was the challenges that I never understood, while the gifts were the reason to stay alive. My message to myself and others now is that there is a point, a reason to persevere and understand yourself more. The suffering reveals so much of the true state of things, so that we can protect our tender hearts and build new things that honour who we really are, our souls.

Resources, movies, literature to follow. I just wanted to share something of a summary now of my realisations since coming home to myself.

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tarotinapinch · 3 years

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Pile One: Green Fluorite Tower

1. Soul Gift: What you came here to express and share with the world.

*Portal: Doors are opening. You decide. Rewards. Wild Card.

*Share Your Voice: Come out of the cave. Persecution. Expression.

*Death

*Joy

You came here to share your own unique voice, one that is different than anyone else in this world. You may have been raised a certain way, but you are meant to break the mold and transform yourself into someone who is so vibrant and full of joy. You are meant to make your own decisions, unaffected by other people's opinions. Sharing your voice with the world could mean so many different things, whether it be singing, writing, becoming a licensed therapist, doing private readings for people or sharing public readings for the collective, being an influencer on social media, or even making YouTube videos ranting about your personal experiences. The possibilities are quite endless. But you have a specific calling that feels right to you. Go after it, that is your life purpose and you are meant to share these gifts to help raise the collective consciousness.

2. Karmic Wound: What you came here to heal.

*You Got The Love: Hadarian Energy. Codependency. Boundaries

*Keepers of the Earth: You are not alone. Ancient Ancestors stand beside you.

*Take Risk

*Authentic Truth

You have a major karmic wound within your blood family ancestry and that wound is named codependency. I could probably write an entire book on my own experience with this subject, but the main focus for you right now is how to set healthy boundaries. You very well could have grown up with a lack of boundaries as a kid and even into adulthood. Your immediate family could struggle with boundaries with themselves, therefore cross yours more often than you'd like to realize. Boundaries aren't hard to learn, but they can definitely be hard to practice, especially when those around you do not know how to set healthy ones. Here's some good news, though: you are the one who is meant to break and heal this family curse of unhealthy boundaries and codependency. Does this feel like a huge undertaking? I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't. But here's some more good news: although this may be quite the quest to take on, the solution is super simple. All you have to do is take the risk to live your most authentic life, to do what you want to do and be who you want to be at a soul level. These ancestral patterns will break and the healing will start, all just by you being unapologetically you and living only within your truth. Setting boundaries with yourself and with your family to uphold your promise to yourself about living authentically won't exactly be easy, but it will get easier with time and practice. Remember that it's normal to feel guilty when you first start setting boundaries, but also know that feeling guilty does not mean that it's the wrong thing to do. Start small, take it one step at a time. Before you know it, you'll be in such a better place and ready to take the next, even bigger step for spiritual journey.

If you would like to do some self-help research of your own, I highly recommend that you get your hands on a copy of Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Tawwab. Her book is the how-to manual on learning everything about boundaries. The way that she writes is so easy to understand and absorb. No psychobabble, just real talk and experiences.

3. Life Lessons: What you came here to learn.

*All Paths Lead Home: Inner authority. Intuition. Turn your gaze within.

*Deep Replenishment: Retreat. Rest. Be held.

*The Wildling

*Divine Animals

You came here to learn that no matter what path you choose to go down, no matter how crazy it may seem, you will always find yourself going the right way. In fact, the "crazier" your choice may seem to others, the more likely it's what is meant for you. You will never make the wrong choice, you will always end up home, whatever that word may mean for you. Your intuition is always on point and you're here to learn how to follow that inner voice with confidence, even if you may not be able to see the path forward at certain points in your life. You are also here to learn when to give yourself a break. You're a hard worker, perhaps brought up and taught that "there's no free handouts” and that you need to work hard in order to achieve anything in life. As much as we hear this "advice" from society, it's quite the toxic mindset. You should /never/ have to overwork yourself to the point of burnout just to be comfortable. You need passion and focus, of course, but those things do not have the same definition as "hard work". If you really enjoy what you do, then the "work" should be easy and fun for you. The more easy and fun the "work" is, the more time you can spend doing it without burning out and the more money you can earn. The more money you can earn, the more time you can take away to rest, rejuvenate, take a vacation, and care for yourself it whatever other means you feel necessary. Animals may also play a major role in your life whether they just be family pets that you have a close bond with, part of how you wind down and destress, or they could even be a part of your career. Whatever the case may be, you definitely have some important animal friends in your life that were sent by your guides to be a spiritual companion.

4. Current Obstacle: The thing that's challenging you the most.

*Star Ancestors: Hidden secrets. Lost Wisdom. Look a little deeper.

*Dance With Life: Do something to change your energy.

*The Outlaw

*Let Go

The hardest thing for you right now could very well just being able to feel like you can be yourself and do what you want to do without the fear of judgement from others. You may be feeling a bit stuck in a rut, our energy becoming a bit too stagnant for your liking and only adding to the stuck feeling. Know this: no one is holding you back or keeping you stuck. The only person in the entire Universe that can do that is your own self. So you can move and change your energies any time that you wish to. But you may be having a hard time letting go of the way things are because the logical part of your brain tells you "but this worked in the past, so why can't it continue to work now? Why shake things up when everything seems to be running okay?" True, it may have worked in the past, and it may be running okay now. But that doesn't mean that you are okay with how things are, nor does it mean that you have to accept things as they are if the energies don't vibe with you anymore. We are constantly evolving and therefore what we are comfortable with and what we are no longer comfortable with also fluctuate many times during the course of our existence. Do not fear what others may think, or the judgements they may make. This will only hold you back. The only opinion that you need be worried about is your own. As long as you are doing things for you that make you feel good about yourself and you are not intentionally harming others, then you're doing the right thing! Take a minute to meditate, clear your mind of anyone else's thoughts or opinions and ask yourself directly, "What do I want to do? What is it that would make me happy?" Whatever answer you come to that is not tainted with your family's, friends', or even society's opinions, is the true answer that you are seeking to follow.

5. Soul Calling: What your soul is calling you toward.

*Wait: It's not yet time. Things are being woven.

*Don't Dim to Fit In: How are you dimming your light in order to fit in?

*The Observer

*Focus

Right now is a time for some observance. Hold on a minute. Take a step back and really focus on your life and where you are currently heading. Are you doing the things that you truly want to do? Or are you doing things because you feel the need to fit in with others or with society as whole? Are you dimming down your true, vibrant personality because you feel like you need to fit a certain mold to get by or to be successful? If any of these questions ring true for you, spirit is telling you it is not time to move forward quite yet. Only move forward when you know that you are moving towards what /you/ want for you, not what others want for you. Stop dimming that beautiful personality down. Let it shine brightly like the stunning star that you are. Once you start living within this energy, really focused on your personal wants and needs, that's when it will be time to move forward with the next stage of your life.

6. Guidance Message from your Spiritual Team

*Seeker of Coins

*Become Aware: Create Space today to connect with your body. Find a comfortable place and close your eyes, bringing your awareness to your physical form. How does it feel? What does it speak to you? Do hidden emotions reside within? After you have connected with your body, ask yourself what your body needs in this moment

*Forgiveness

*Following the path of another. Your path is being redirected to where it should be.

Your guides want you to know that what you are meant to do for "work" in this life is quite different than what those around you do. I put "work" in quotation marks because I believe that if we are aligned with the right career path, "work" will never feel like work, it will just feel like a fulfilling and fun life that provides you with all that you need and more. These cards suggest that perhaps there is a family business or perhaps a career path that almost everyone in your family follows that you feel you are expected to follow as well. Just because your family follows this path doesn't mean that you have to as well. And you don't need your family's or anyone else's approval to go after the career choice that you truly long for. Maybe you've felt a pull to this path for a long time somewhere deep in your bones, but have kept putting it off to appease others, or for the fact that it seemed easier to follow an already paved road rather than to clear a path of your own. Whatever the case may be, forgive yourself for the time that you spent dwelling on this. You did not waste time, this time only made you realize what you did not want, and that is very important. Also forgive those around you who seemed to be persuading or pushing you in a different direction than what you really wanted. At the end of the day, they were most likely just trying to help you achieve the goal that they think you wanted. Don't be afraid to speak up for yourself and your needs. Express how you truly feel about things and start to go after the choices that feel right for you. Your true family and friends will respect and support your decisions and you will always be supported by the universe when you go after your dreams to make them a reality.

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lailoken · 3 years

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“Stones of Power:

The Flints which find their way to the surface of the land are beautiful and varied but nevertheless quite small. The few larger stones which are found around Norfolk are mostly glacial erratics. Due to their relative rarity, such stones are considered remarkable and are rich in history, often having been meeting places where significant decisions were taken. Unsurprisingly, they have much magical lore associated with them and retain considerable power, which can be drawn upon for magical purposes. This sometimes involves spells but is more often a means of developing our understanding of unwritten history. After all, the memory of stones is deeper and denser than the Mercurial gifts of pen and ink of of the whispered word. The sonorous voices of these stones have a language of their own, unfettered by grammar and vocabulary. They "speak’ to one another across the landscape, maintaining, not only their ancient kinship, but also an intricate pattern of silent power lines. The following examples represent just a small selection. There are more which can be sought out.

The Cowell Stone

This stone is to be found on Swaffham Heath, about 150 yards from the B1122 road to Downham Market. It stands at a truly liminal spot, marking a hundred boundary, as well as those of the parishes of Swaffham, Marham and Narborough. Part of the Icknield Way, marked as Peddersty or Saltersty, and the East-West Fincham Drove, which is a Roman road, pass very close to it (Clarke and Clarke, 1937). Its magic draws together the footsteps of the many who have trodden these paths and lived and died in the surrounding parishes.

The origin of the stone's name has a number of possibilities. Ben Ripper (1979) suggests it is named after Cow Hill, or a corruption of coal, since the stone once guided pilgrims to a beacon hill near Colkirk (Coalchurch). The stone used to be situated in a field nearby, where workers sat on it to eat their dinner. However, in the 1980s, it was moved by two local historians, Ben Ripper and Peter Howling, as it was considered to be at risk of damage from ploughing. The move seems not to have disrupted its energy in any way, perhaps because it was conducted with respect and honourable intentions. It has a warm, welcoming lenergy, one which encourages the seeker to both broaden and deepen their quest for knowledge, not just of stones, but of all aspect of the magic of the land.

The Merton Stone

The Merton Stone, nestled in a shallow marl pit, just off the Peddars Way near the boundary of the parishes of Merton and Threxton, is thought to weigh between twenty and thirty tons and to be the largest glacial erratic in the United Kingdom.

Some people say that to stand on it is a chilling experience, where the presence of malevolent spirits can be felt. However, on a warm, sunny day it is more likely to be a very pleasant, and indeed healing experience. It is well known that, continuing a centuries-old tradition, young ladies wishing to fall pregnant still sit on the stone and find its magic effective. The plants around it, especially the Mugwort, seem to derive extra energy from their proximity to such a powerful character.

There is a long-held local belief that, if the stone is removed, the waters will rise and cover the entire Earth (Clarke and Clarke, 1937). Moving the stone was apparently attempted by the 5th Lord of Walsingham, one of the ancient de Grey family. He assembled all the local men and women, together with much beer and many ropes, but the failed attempt ended in an "erotic debauch". Another attempt to move it, in the 1930s or 40s, this time using a large rotary plough, was equally unsuccessful (Burgess, 2005b), although I have been unable to find out whether this ended the same way as the previous escapade.

The Stockton Stone

The Stockton Stone currently stands on the raised grass verge of a lay-by on the A146, between Beccles and Norwich, just outside the village of Stockton itself. This lichen-covered, sandstone glacial erratic weighs several tons and is said by some to have been an ancient track marker. According to Michael Clarke, it marks the old meeting place of the Clavering hundred, possibly the place where the 10th century Danegeld was paid, although Geldeston, near Beccles, might be a more likely candidate, given its name.

Like the Merton Stone, the Stockton Stone has a curse upon it that anyone who moves it will fall victim to terrible misfortune or death. Much to the consternation of many local people, it was indeed moved, in the 1930s, to accommodate the widening of the road. Not surprisingly. one of the workmen involved collapsed and died.

In spite of its unfortunate location, so close to a very busy road, this stone retains an amazingly powerful energy and people still leave small offerings there. While paying our respects recently, a group of us found a rather attractive blue stone egg, which looked as if it had not been there for very long. Moved by the moment and by the atmosphere, one of our party suggested that we should hold hands and dance around the stone three times, which we duly did, much to the amusement of passing motorists!

The Great Stone of Lyng

This is another erratic brought to us by the glaciers of the Ice Age. There are many local tales surrounding this mysterious Stone, which is said to bleed if pricked with a pin. Some claim the blood is that of victims from a time when the stone was used as a sacrificial altar, while others are of the opinion that it is the blood of those who fell during a ferocious battle between King Edmund and the Danes. Others tell of treasure hidden beneath it and how the landowner has never been able to move the stone to unearth the spoils (Burgess, 2005a).

The grove in which the stone stands, almost hidden beside the path, does have a rather unnerving feel to it. One can "see" all too easily soldiers struggling up the steep escarpment and the bodies of the slain sprawled on the bank to the other side of the path. Rod Chapman informs me that, not so very many years ago, some of the children of the village had to walk through the grove, past the stone, in order to get to school and, in the winter, these children were allowed to leave school early so that they could walk through before it was dark. This is completely understandable. On climbing out of the hollow to the fields above, the atmosphere suddenly changes completely. There is almost a sense of relief and a feeling that one no longer needs to speak in hushed whispers.

There is a recent tale of a brave, tough, yet inexperienced witch who was determined to camp out for a night by the stone, in order to become better acquainted with the ghosts and spirits of the place. He pitched his tent right near the stone and was confident that he would have an interesting and informative night's vigil. However, he became so frightened by the eerie sounds and the terrifying atmosphere that he was forced to run from the place and ring a fellow practitioner to come with their car and rescue him! The stone does look something like a Dragon and has a hole in it just where the eye would be, which is deep enough for an adult to insert their entire arm. Quite a few people I know have done this and come to no harm, although it is not a pleasant experience.

Not far from the grove, in the middle of a field, are the ruins of a nunnery known as St. Edmund's Chapel, which was said to have been built to honour those who died in the battle.

It has been suggested that Blood's Dale, between Drayton and Hellesdon, on the slopes leading down to the River Wensum, where the Danes are also said to have fought the Anglo-Saxons, may have been the site of King Edmund's death in 896 CE. Abbo of Fleury (870 CE) tells us that King Edmund died at Hellesdon, and Joe Mason (2018) argues convincingly, that the unusual number of churches dedicated to St. Edmund along this stretch of the River Wensum is significant. The survivors, having found the King's severed head with the help of the Wolf, could have taken his body upstream to Lyng, to the aforementioned chapel. Although not fully excavated, some pottery dating from the time of King Edmund, has been found there. Furthermore, an old tithe map refers to the Grove as King's Grove and a map published in the Eastern Daily Press in 1939, names the Great Stone as King Edmund's Stone. Perhaps this would have been a suitable burial place for the miracle-working king? (Mason, 2018) Some of us would like to think so. Certainly, the Ash keys collected from a tree growing on the ruins of the nunnery are particularly effective in assisting those who wish to speak with spirits of the dead.

The Aldeby Rune Stones

Not all our standing stones are ancient, and just as exciting are those being erected now for the benefit of ourselves and of future generations. Aldeby, in South East Norfolk, is a wonderful such example. Here, seven standing stones have been carved with runes and with Christian symbols, and placed around the parish boundary as part of a Millennium project, known as "Pathways in Stone". The runes spell out the name of the village but are also related to the powers of the stones themselves. The Stone of Dawn, for example, features the Day Rune (dagaz) and a Medieval symbol of the World and the four Elements, while the Stone of Wisdom has the God Rune (ansuz) and the square and circle symbol for the material and spiritual worlds. One stone, the Stone of Destiny, combines all the symbols found on the outlying stones, with the addition of the othel rune, symbolizing ancestral land and heritage. The stones are carboniferous limestone, so had to be brought in especially for the project, but in spite of having been in place for a relatively short time, some of them are already giving off some very interesting energy.

These stones form a pilgrimage walk around the village and are best seen in the Winter when they are not obscured by vegetation.

The Druid Stone of St. Andrew's

When Ray Loveday pointed out to me his "Druid Stone", at the North-east corner of St. Andrew's Church, in the centre of Norwich, I was astounded that I had walked down St. Andrew's Hill so many times, admiring the cleverly-knapped Flint of the church wall, without noticing this stone. It is another of those magical items which are hiding in plain sight, but once the attention is drawn to it, the remarkable ancient power it holds becomes apparent. This stone, at least what can be seen of it above ground, is not large, and has a fairly flat top with a number of circular indentations which are often filled with' water, and work well as scrying pools. Ray is unsure whether they are a natural feature, were deliberately carved out or have developed over centuries as a result of water dripping from the church roof. There are several smaller, less well-rounded dips too, which tend to get rather muddy. The stone, which has a very feminine feel to it, welcomes small, discrete offerings, such as a ring of twisted Periwinkle stems or a little Daisy chain; nothing too elaborate or containing any artificial materials. It certainly deserves respect and attention, as it appears to form part of the magical foundation of the city.”

—

Chapter 2: ‘Sacred Places: Stories Within the Landscape’,

Of Chalk & Flint:

A Way of Norfolk Magic

by Val Thomas

#of chalk & flint #Val Thomas #Norfolk Magic #Norfolk lore #East Anglian Magic #holy stones #sacred stones #traditional witchcraft

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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 4 years

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An Indigenous Presence: Cultural Survivance and Contemporary American Indian Art & Design

Museum exhibitions, especially those featuring cultural items, can sometimes give the impression of cultures or peoples frozen in time. Behind the scenes, however, CMNH is a flurry of active research and knowledge production. Work to link our collections and exhibitions to the present moment is vital.

As an art historian who studies modern and contemporary art, I often think about the connections over time and space between historic objects. Lately, I’ve been thinking about many of the American Indian belongings we have on display in Alcoa Hall, and contemporary art. This contemplation reveals the influence American Indian artists have exerted and continue to exert on the American art world.

In the early 20th century, Indian artists were instrumental in the formation of American modernism. Artists such as Awa Tsireh (San Ildefonso Pueblo), the members of the Kiowa Five (Spencer Asah, James Auchiah, Jack Hokeah, Stephen Mopope, Monroe Tsatoke and Lois Smoky), Angel De Cora (Ho-Chunk), and potter Maria Martinez (San Ildefonso Pueblo) influenced the growing trends of abstraction and patterning that defined modernist painting in the United States. These artists, along with other American Indian artists and artisans helped establish the US as a growing center of modernism in competition with Europe. Despite having their contributions and innovations undercut or co-opted by Euro-American artists and collectors, Native artists continued to produce artwork as acts of survivance. Survivance, a concept developed by cultural theorist Gerald Vizenor, is an expression of active presence. The term denotes a response to the attempted cultural and physical genocide of Native peoples in the United States that is beyond simple survival, but involves acts of resistance that declare a dynamic presence – often combining traditional ways of knowing with contemporary technologies that are specific to an individual or tribal affiliation.

Later in the century, Native artists continued to define the American art scene. Artists like Fritz Scholder (Luiseno), Kevin Red Star (Apsáalooke), Edgar Heap of Birds (Cheyanne and Arapaho), and Jaune Quick-to-See Smith (Salish) continued (and continue) to challenge the mythology of the Indian in American imaginary. These artists, whose creations have been collected and exhibited by major museums across the country, also view their art as a form of resistance. Their work can therefore be understood as acts of survivance.

Contemporary American Indian artists are still grappling with the politics of representation, regularly fighting stereotypes while also working to preserve the cultural knowledge that the settler state tried to destroy through forced assimilation. Because of these complicated and often violent histories, it is important that, most of us, as descendants of settlers, think critically about Native inspired designs in the objects or clothing we buy. Instead of coopting from indigenous cultures, shop from companies that employ Native designers. Better yet, buy directly from Native artists who are demonstrating how traditional knowledge and ways of making are thriving in the 21st century. Featured below are just a few of the artists whose work is connected to the cultural forms and belongings on display in Alcoa Hall. Many of them also have great items for sale on their websites – just in time to find some special holiday gifts!

Bunky Echo-Hawk. Image credit: Ryan Redcorn

Bunky Echo-Hawk (Pawnee and Yakima) is a painter and designer who has worked with companies such as Nike and Pendleton to design Plains Indian inspired products and fundraise for Native organizations. His eye-catching and exciting work plays with indigenizing popular culture and addressing environmental racism while reinterpreting Plains Indian oral history and record keeping traditions, like winter counts, through his live painting performances. To learn more about winter counts, visit the display in Alcoa Hall featuring the Carnegie Winter Count by Dr. Thomas Red Owl Haukaas. Echo-Hawk was also the subject of a recent episode of American Masters, the PBS documentary series. Check out his website to browse some of the great prints and stickers he has for sale.

Bethany Yellowtail

Bethany Yellowtail (Apsáalooke and Northern Cheyenne) is the brilliant designer behind B. Yellowtail, a fashion brand launched in 2015. Her work is intimately connected with her social justice work in Indian Country. Her website features indigenously designed goods as well as her own collections – inspired by Apsáalooke traditions, like elk tooth dresses and ribbon skirts. Her clothing functions as wearable art that demonstrates the power and resilience of Native women and matrilineal cultural systems. I’ve purchased some of their cloth face masks – the proceeds of which benefit Native communities suffering from COVID-19. I’m confident you’ll find something you love on B. Yellowtail’s website.

John Isiah Pepion (Blackfoot) understands the ceremonial importance of making artwork, including its healing power. Pepion’s paintings, drawings, and designs are inspired by traditional practices such as winter counts and ledger drawings. Ledger art dates to the 1850s, when ledger books became one of the primary materials available to Plains Indians, especially to those imprisoned in forts as prisoners of war during the 19th-century Indian wars, without access to traditional materials like bison hides. Pepion’s work in this medium serves as cultural preservation, keeping him and his artwork tied to Blackfoot history and to Blackfoot ancestral lands. His website features original artwork, prints, and all sorts of items with his designs including scarves, stationery, blankets, and jewelry.

Sage Protection Pin by Margaret Jacobs. Image credit: Taylor Robinson.

Margaret Jacobs (Akwesasne Mohawk) is a sculptor and jewelry designer who works primarily in steel and pewter. Her forms are primarily abstract, but the material represents not only strength and resistance, but also references the history of Mohawk iron workers, featured in Alcoa Hall. Her abstract forms play between the organic and man-made, connecting color and shape with storytelling and family histories. You can find her sculpture or jewelry, which truly functions as wearable art, on her website.

It is important to note that Carnegie Museum of Natural History, and much of Western Pennsylvania, is on the traditional lands and waterways of the Seneca, Lenape (Delaware), and the people we refer to as the Monongahela (their autonym is currently unknown). These lands and waters were also important to the Shawnee, Wyandotte, and Osage nations. These lands carry the histories of these people from before their forced removal and through their struggles and triumphs for survivance well into the present moment. To find out more about the Seneca Nation (including about Seneca artists) visit the Seneca-Iroquois National Museum or Ganondagan Seneca Art & Culture Center. To learn more about the Lenape, go to the Delaware Nation or the Delaware Tribe of Indians. Or visit the Museum of Indian Culture, in Allentown, PA.

Jessica Landau has a joint appointment as Assistant Curator of Anthropology and Archaeology at Carnegie Museum of Natural History and as a Lecturer in Curatorial Studies in the History of Art & Architecture at University of Pittsburgh. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Anthropology #Art #Jewelry #American Indian artists

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amwritingmeta · 4 years

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15x18: The Most Loving

I’ve indulged. All day, I’ve indulged in this episode. In all of it. But, yes, mostly this scene. I’ve made gifs. And watched this scene. Obsessively. What’s life? THIS is life right now. This is the air in my lungs and the joy in my chest and, oh, my loveliest lovelies, I know you’re right there with me. Gods!

Too bad Dean doesn’t love Cas back, huh?

KIDDING.

Just kidding. He does. I believe it more strongly than ever. *fingers crossed and sprinklings of salt* But let’s have a look at why I believe it more strongly than ever, shall we? Yes we shall! (let’s see if I get through this without crying) (highly doubtful) (update: I didn’t)

Let’s start with Dean. He’s a very good place to start.

Look at how what Cas is about to say to Dean, all those beautiful soul-affirming things he’s about to share, is set up right there, in this moment, with Dean losing hope by the second, moving softly from anger into a despair that makes him see his anger clearly, just not the root of it.

The shining brightly detail here is that the frustration and the fear don’t make him defensive, which, to me, is important because the immediate naming of the anger, without hesitation, the awareness of it, the quiet acceptance of how he got them here, leading into that gentle “I’m sorry” is like his character progression this season just balled up into one glorious half-minute of character insight: his, and ours.

With the good -- that immediate apology -- comes the bad, though -- the thinking of himself as an arrow of killer instinct, lacking control of this thing inside him when it takes over and not knowing what to do about it or how to fight it.

This thing being?

His anger.

And what is it symptomatic of?

Well, I would say his Shadow. His unconscious. His repressed emotions. His inability to be honest with himself. Which leads to frustration with himself. A feeling of perpetual alarm. He can never just be himself, because he never feels as though he’s enough.

And feelings are weaknesses that will get you killed.

And his mother died when he was so young and shook him out of any sense of stability, and he’s longed for home, love, family ever since, but every time he’s dared dream or dared believe or even hope, something has happened to take good things away, because good things don’t last.

Not in Dean’s experience.

So the happiness of home, love, family has always been equated with pain. With hurt. With loss. So it was easier not to think an actual future was in the cards for him. Easier to push it down and begin to believe that he can’t possibly be loved for who he is, because what he is, is a killer.

What he is, deep down, is a monster.

His true identity has been covered up by toxic masculinity armour and he’s lost all sense of his true self, out of fear of rejection he has continuously rejected himself and out of fear of failure, failing to Protect Sammy -- a purpose so tightly bound to Dean’s sense of identity that anything threatening it has instantly been perceived as a threat to Dean’s entire understanding of himself -- Dean has bought into the lie that feelings are weaknesses and that, to survive, he had to walk in his father’s exact footsteps.

And of course it hasn’t helped that John’s revenge trip stemmed entirely from losing the love of his life. Luckily, Dean has seen his parents reunited. Luckily, Dean knows they’re now together, happily so, in their shared Heaven. If he can internalise this knowledge and accept it as a good thing, then there’s a basis for healing right there.

Leaving that behind because now here we are, with Dean verbalising his view of himself (hopefully for the last time) which has kept him perpetually in a pattern of behaviour that has been, at its root, self-destructive because of his lack of ability to love himself and see himself worthy of being loved.

Cas doesn’t go all “Dean” on Dean for no reason.

He goes all Dean on Dean because he knows better than to agree when Dean claims all he knows how to do is hunt and kill and be guided by fury and the vengeance mode that his father’s image has left like an imprint all over Dean’s personality.

And Cas is about to tell us how much better that better truly is.

*i’m cry*

The beginning of the better is linked to Dean’s instant apology, his instant admittance that he was wrong, brought by him recognising his mistake, realising he let his anger lead him once again.

(just like he did when he shut Cas out and made Cas feel he had no choice but to leave the bunker and strike out on his own) (because Dean refused to apologise for behaving like a stubborn dickhead yeah?)

And this instant apology is... well. It’s Jensen Ackles style beautiful. Because->

->the apology starts here, with this absolutely devastated look at Cas, as though Dean thinks Cas doesn’t want to be here, with him -- he wants to be with Sam and with Jack -- and Dean is keeping him from seeing out their final hours with his entire family. And so->

But the apology, sincere and selfless and wishing there was some way out of this situation because Dean would save Cas from this fate in an instant if he could, triggers Cas’ realisation that there’s something he can do to save Dean.

Because?

Well, I would hope it’s because the narrative is rewarding Dean for learning the lesson of having so much self-awareness that it doesn’t take him ten and some episodes to land in an apology. It takes him less than five minutes into this scenario to admit that his choices were the wrong ones. To Cas, but more importantly to himself.

So then, reward time, and Cas’ brain starts working overtime as he remembers who Death is afraid of, what might be powerful enough to conquer Death itself.

It would be... everything if this moment is actually about how the defeat of Death has nothing to do with showcasing the power of the Shadow, but of what Cas’ honesty and open heart leads to: his moment of integration.

Finding internal balance, as he’s no longer suppressing or repressing anything inside of him, but can face all of his emotions head on. No more self-deception and no more confusion. Only clarity.

And if this moment, in the broader sense, is about what brought that moment of integration on: Cas’ love for Dean.

Meaning the one thing powerful enough to conquer Death itself, really, is love.

Wouldn’t that be something? Isn’t that what has conquered Death over and over again in this narrative? Yes. It truly is. To have it stated unequivocally would be spectacular.

Now, I would look at both of them in this post, only, it’s already a long post, so let’s focus on Dean, because though I could talk for eons about what this means for Cas’ arc and it culminating in such a glorious act of self-actualisation, I believe what it means for Dean may play an even bigger role moving forward. *fingers crossed*

Cas reaches the realisation of how he can use the Empty for the purpose of defeating Death, yeah, and Cas reveals this realisation to Dean by finally laying all the cards on the table.

Cas: When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him. Dean: You what? Cas: The price was my life.

And at Cas telling Dean that this deal, that Cas has kept from him, means Cas has bargained away his life, Dean’s face does this-->

Look... at how... his eyes... widen... with the sheer... shock and terror of that statement and then... there’s that soft... or so I see it... understanding that Cas once again has done that thing he does: he’s put himself on the chopping block. As if he doesn’t matter. (remind us of someone?)

So the first bit of information is that Cas has given his life for Jack’s and that he is, basically, a dead man (angel) walking.

Right. Shock and terror.

Then Cas delivers this gut-punch:

Cas: When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned and it would take me, forever.

And Dean’s face does this->

It’s like his brain is start-stuttering... true happiness?... the Empty?... summoned?... taken forever??... And then he’s like, wait what? What does this have to do with anything?

And he challenges this strange pick of a moment to share all these things by asking:

How exactly is this relevant in this moment in time, Cas? I don’t understand.

Because he really doesn’t. He does not have a clue for the entirety of this exchange, even with Cas stating that the one thing Death fears, the one thing strong enough to defeat her is the Empty, and they know the Empty can only come when summoned. They’ve talked about it, not that long ago, and still, Dean’s brain is not putting two and two together.

Because he would never, not for one second, ever equate Cas’ true happiness as having anything to do with him. Not ever.

All he can think is... well, wouldn’t all he can think be that he was about to get them both killed, and now Cas is telling him this other way he’ll die, so even if they did make it out of there alive, Cas is... what? As good as dead? No matter what? There’s this premeditated way that Cas has set up for him to die that Cas hasn’t told him about. Cas dead in all the scenarios presented to him right now is all Dean can focus on.

And so Cas begins to explain himself.

Cas: I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what my true happiness could even look like.

And Dean looks like this.

To me, because Dean’s deepest fear is happiness.

And because his brain is trying to make sense of what is happening, but it looks like there’s white noise going on, like all he can think is What Is This What Are You Trying To Tell Me I Do Not Understand Cas Something About Happiness Why Are You Talking To Me About Happiness I Can’t Help You!

And then Cas takes it a step further, and tells Dean this:

Cas: I never found an answer, because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have.

And Dean is like... what is it??

And of course, Cas obliges, because there’s no turning back. Oh, Cas.

Cas: But I think I know… I think I know now, happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it.

And Dean is getting softly defensive, worried at this point that this is headed somewhere wholly new and unexplored and the expression on Cas’ face is starting to get to him, those eyes already shining with tears and the earnestness all over him, and Dean doesn’t want to not listen to him, but he also doesn’t like the not understanding what the hell is going on, so->

And Cas isn’t about to slow down.

Cas: I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you...

And this is barking exactly the way Dean was afraid of: honesty. So much honesty. And Dean is taking it in like he’s still wondering what exactly this is. Is this Cas’ idea of a deathbed confession, because Dean’s not sure he wants to hear this... but...

Cas: ...you’re destructive and you’re angry and you’re broken—you’re daddy’s blunt instrument.

At the mention of John, Dean starts to reign himself in. He’s starting to shed the confusion for the understanding that Cas is about to speak a whole lot of truth and he’s just gonna have to hear it. So he begins steeling himself. Hence the first hard swallow.

Cas: And you think that hate and anger, that’s… that’s what drives you, that’s who you are… It’s not.

I like to read this as the words “It’s not” being the last thing Dean ever expected to hear. He looks so completely taken aback. He was, because it’s his modus operandi, most likely expecting judgement at this moment (because he fucked up and brought them here) and rejection, because he always expects it and always thinks he deserves it.

And instead, he gets what he needs most. He gets told to see himself through Cas’ eyes. Because (hopefully) it’s the only way Dean can finally recognise his true identity and stop hiding from it as if it’s an abomination.

Cas: And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done—the good and the bad—you have done for love.

And Dean reacts the same way he reacted when Cas told him that the price to save Jack had been Cas’ life: look at the slight widening of the eyes, look at the furrowed brow -> shock and terror.

Because love?

Cas: You raised your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are.

And Dean lets the words sink in somewhat, but still... this is not how he sees himself, this is not his understanding of himself, of who he is. It’s so far from it, but this is Cas saying these things and wait...

...this is how Cas sees him?

Cas isn’t done, of course.

Cas: You’re the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.

And Dean is about to start crying too, but he keeps the emotion back. Look at those clenched jaws, the hard swallow, the set expression. Determined not to just lose it.

But he’s close. Nostrils flaring, lips trembling, he’s fighting back the tears like, no, I will not bawl my eyes out.

Cas: You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me.

And Dean just...

This very nearly breaks the dam. He’s just swallowing down those tears like there’s no tomorrow. He refuses to cry, even now, even when his body is like Give Me An Outlet For All These Feelings.

But naw.

Stoic stoic stoic.

Cas: Because you cared—I cared. I cared about you… I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack… but I cared about the whole world because of you.

And Dean begins to have this ice-cold feeling run through him... that Cas is saying all these things for a reason...

And all Dean can do is listen...

Cas: You changed me, Dean.

And he looks so defeated. Because he can’t even imagine having to say goodbye. And there was that other moment of dickheadery, not that long ago, when Cas left him that still smarts.

One where Cas said some truths before walking out the door of the bunker, and Dean thought he’d fixed it with that prayer, but this feels reminiscent. It feels like Cas is gearing up to push even harder than he already has, and like Cas thinks Dean’s response will warrant him leaving.

And Cas confirms this is not the beginning, but the end.

Cas: Because it is.

Oh. Oh no. No, you don’t.

But Cas does. He really does.

Don’t put me in this corner.

But that’s not even close to what’s actually happening, is it?

Dean has completely forgotten how this conversation started. He’s forgotten about Death at their door, he’s forgotten about the mention of the Empty, because all he can think about is how Cas sees him as a selfless, loving human being, who has changed him for the better.

And he comes across as though all he can think is that this is too much.

And Cas mirrors his head shake...

...because all I can see here is how Cas wants Dean to take it in now. The truth of it. He wants Dean to hear him. To know that he’s loved and deserving of it, not deny it or refuse it.

And Dean, for just the breath of a second, thinks don’t, Cas. Don’t make me question my entire self-view. Because I will.

Because though he cannot deal, he can’t lose Cas again either, as this episode has gone to great lengths to tell us. (like how he stepped between Cas and Billie plus all the loss of one half of couples that’s threaded through the ep)

And then all thoughts are interrupted. The Empty arrives. Moment of true happiness style. It has been said, and Cas is... well.

And the door opens as Billie breaks through.

And Dean turns to Cas and his face is wearing this expression->

As he says “Cas?” because he still don’t understand why this is goodbye. He doesn’t get that it’s goodbye because it has to be. Because Cas is about to sacrifice himself to save him...

And then we get this expression as Dean responds with that stunned

“What?”->

Because he wouldn’t have pushed Cas away for saying I love you. Sure he was internally having a mild fit, and he’d need a moment or two to gather his thoughts, and perhaps he’d have to say no, you don’t a few times, and have Cas say yes, I do, back in order to really convince him, but that goodbye...

That was supposed to happen only if Dean didn’t get his shit together.

And Dean would have gotten his shit together. He just needed a bit more time.

So for Cas to go ahead with the goodbye, even as Dean sees the Empty entering through that wall, is nonsensical. Hence the “What?”.

What do you mean I love you goodbye?

And then...

Oh that handprint.

Please let it be a symbol for putting the past to rest and moving forward into a healthy now, with hope for the future. Oh, Cas, please come back. And Dean, please instigate the return. You are loved because you deserve it. And you deserve good things and to be happy. Both of them do. Gods, I hope they get to be happy together.

*please please please please*

#spn 15x18 #spn meta #time for bed so this is not edited one bit #pardon me #deancas #destiel #i love you #goodbye #the greatest love story ever told #*fingers crossed*#:)

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wtffundiefamilies · 3 years

Text

From reddit user bubblegum1286. What might have been for Josh.

I interned for a year as a counseling grad student for an SOTP (sex offender treatment prevention) program. Here's the help Josh should have received years ago...

The program I worked with had men from ages 16 up to old old men. It was a court-mandated program that was required as part of their probation or parole (depending on their sentencing). The crimes ranged from possession of child pornography to aggravated sexual assault and torture with a deadly weapon. Some guys had never served any actual time in jail, while one man had just been released after 45 years in prison. So we had a hodgepodge you could say.

The program in my local city is/was run by a PhD psychologist and a licensed marriage and family therapist who also happened to be a former sheriff's deputy who worked for twenty years in law enforcement. These guys didn't take bullshit. They were amazingly professional and working with them was an excellent experience for me. Only two graduate students were selected each year to intern in this program, and I considered myself very honored to get to work with them. It was eye-opening to say the least.

The primary aspects of the program have been explained by other snarky mental health professionals (I love that you guys came out of the woodworks to add to this). Accountability is huge.

We did six hours of group therapy sessions every single week. Every week, their POs would come by to make sure they were attending in person. Arrest warrants were issued for missing even one session. This was a very important aspect of the program.

Our sessions always involved open accountability in which we would revisit the nature of the crimes involved. We swept nothing under the rug. They went around the room every single week and stated why they were in attendance with this particular group of people. This isn't intended to shame them, but rather to keep their crimes at the forefront of their thoughts so they stay more closely connected with the nature of their crimes. Distancing oneself from the nature and weight of your own sins or compartmentalizing "that aspect of your life" causes you to feel like "I'd never do that again! That's in the past. That's so long ago, I don't even remember."

The victims will never forget.

So each session would go around the circle like this: "I'm Josh. I served three months in county and a year of probation for touching my underage sisters in their private places." The doctor would then say, "Please only use correct anatomical terms." And J would then say, "I touched my sister over her clothes on her vagina and under her clothes on her breast."

They would go around the room saying this. The new ones struggled very badly saying what they did or using correct terminology for body parts, but the guys who had been in the program for years would rattle this off like ordering from McD's.

We focused on all kinds of things in therapy- triggers, temptations, personal struggles that might weaken their resolve to never offend again, etc. For example, the loss of a job could send an offender into a mental tailspin where they start thinking about offending again. So those things were addressed and worked through.

Triggers were a huge topic of discussion. We used a method of cognitive behavioral therapy where the men would recognize their own thought patterns and stop themselves before they even began walking down that mental path. If there were certain smells associated with their sexual fantasies or certain songs on the radio or locations, whatever, we would work with the men to take these thoughts and triggers captive and be fully aware of them. If someone shared that they had a fantasy (sexual or violent in nature) about a woman at the grocery store, it was noted and reported to their PO. But then in the actual group session, it was dissected entirely. Not "what was she wearing." No. More of like, "What triggered your weakness? Were you taking care of yourself and your own thoughts? Have you been seeking out pornography lately?" That sort of thing.

Now, I didn't participate in the one on one sessions. The men were regularly given psychosexual polygraph tests if there was any concern that they were potentially re-offending. (I understand there's plenty of debate about the validity of polygraphs, but this is a fairly standard practice at finding out if someone has been reoffending in a counseling type setting like this one).

They also went through a kind of test called the penile plethysmograph where an offender would actually have a device put around his penis and he would be shown images and the device would read what aroused him. I, as a female intern student, never participated in these tests, but I was told all about them by the doctors at the facility. I had a lot of questions regarding how these men were held accountable outside of the group therapy sessions and PO check ins. From my understanding, this tool was used primarily on the child sex offenders, not the cases of adult sexual assault, but I could be mistaken. It's been a few years.

The program made a huge emphasis on accountability outside of the group. We kept in close contact with these men's families, bosses, and other people who would serve as accountability partners throughout the re-entrance to society process. We made a big emphasis on service. "Your brother allowed for you to move in with him after your release. What have you done for him this week?" I had one guy who got out of prison after a very long stint, moved in with his brother (who's home was approved since it was not near a school, playground, community center, or church), and he struggled to find a job. No one would hire a felon, much less a registered sex offender. So he spent that entire summer renovating his brother's garage. He built shelving, organized junk, built cabinets, etc. I could tell it was healing for him to give back to his brother for giving him this second chance. (He was one of the good ones who I walked away truly believing wouldn't offend again. It's been six years and so far he hasn't). We also checked in with these family members, friends, and employers so they were a big part of the process.

We frequently talked about improper or inappropriate or disrespectful kinds of attention. In other words, we were trying to teach these men to stop being creepy or stop being predatorial towards others.

We offered sex education in a healthy, rehabilitative way. We talked a lot about consent. We talked about how you can violate a person with your eyes even if you aren't touching them or talking to them.

These guys also have no internet, no computers, no smart phones, etc. That was also monitored.

This program was the end of the line. You don't come, you go to jail. You don't participate, you go to jail. These men had all been convicted, so this wasn't an alternative program to time served. I understand this may be more than Josh would have endured were he turned in appropriately, but I think he still would have endured a similar rehabilitation program.

I know people might jump on me because Josh was still a minor at the time of his crimes, and I realize that some of these methods wouldn't be utilized on a minor. However, my point is this: If he had been properly reported, the courts, counselors, doctors, etc. would have moved heaven and earth to try and rehabilitate him and to protect those girls.

I understand, as a parent, that the idea of your child doing something so unspeakable is stomach-churning. I can't even fathom how horrifying it was for Meesh to hear that he was touching the girls. However, I do not believe that all hope is lost for all sexual criminals - to a certain point. I worry that Josh is past the point of no return. To hear the descriptions of the porn he was viewing is sickening.

Unfortunately, we won't ever know what could have become of him if he had been dealt with sooner.

#Josh Duggar #JimBob Duggar #Michelle Duggar #sin in the camp #team legitimate rape #duggar family

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