safe in the womb

Through the Ages

This is my first request and ended up being longer than usual, but I think it’s really good. 

Pairing: Laurens x reader

Warning: making out, I guess

Requested: Yes, @secretschuylersister requested #56 ( “What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven?”)   with Laurens.

Requests are super open.

Word Count: 2680

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You met John Laurens the day you were born. Since you were fresh from the womb, and he was only one, it’s safe to say neither one of you remembers that day. However, his parents and your parents, being old friends and next door neighbors, remember it very vividly. They love to tell you how John sat next to you in the hospital bed and was completely memorized by you, a tiny, slightly pink baby.

It often times made him blush, especially when his parents joked that he was taken with you since birth.

You were six and John was seven when John declared you to be his best friend. It was your first day at school and you were headed out to recess, where all the first graders were playing. You saw John and ran over to him. You thought his friends would accept you just like John. Instead they sneered at you because you were a girl.

“You can’t play over here with us. Go sit on the swings and gossip with the other girls,” one boy said.

“Guys, it’s okay. She’s my best friend. She’s cool,” John insisted.

“Then you can go gossip with the girls too,” the other boy chimed in.

“Fine,” John grabbed your hand and tugged you away. You smiled at John.

“Thank you,” you said, as the two of you sat on the swings.

“Anytime,” John smiled his lopsided grin.

From then on, that’s the way you always spent recess.

You were ten and John was eleven when John stopped seeing you as just his best friend.

You were both sitting on the hill near your homes. It was the last day of summer. John was stressed about school, and you were trying to cheer him up. Your jokes were corny, but John couldn’t help but be completely enamored by your laugh. He couldn’t even remember what you two had been talking about.

He turned to look at you, deep in though.

“I could marry you, you know?” John blurted out. You turned to look at him and smile.

“Let’s do it then. Promise me, you’ll marry me, and I’ll marry you,” you smiled.

On that day, John couldn’t imagine he’d ever marry anyone else. He sat his head on your shoulder in content. The sun went down and reflected in your eyes. He couldn’t seem to look away from your beauty.

“You know what married people do?” he mumbled. “They kiss.”

“Kiss?” you said surprised.

“I mean, we’re gonna kiss someday. Why not kiss each other first?” he shrugged. You smiled.

“Sure,” you leaned in.

The kiss was a hot mess, but the two of you were happy and content in that moment.

You were thirteen and John was fourteen when you realized you loved John as well. John got back from a month long vacation in New York during the summer. He knew that was where you wanted to go when you graduated, so he snapchatted you a bunch. However, when John got home, you took notice of how much taller he was and how much deeper his voice had gotten.

“John!” you called. He had come over to your house the moment he had gotten home.

“Y/n!” John yelled, engulfing you in a hug.

“Look at you! You’re so much taller now!” you marveled.

“Yeah, puberty does that to you,” John smiled a lopsided smile. “You wanna go sit since it’s actually late and I start high school like tomorrow?”

“Sure,” you smiled. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hazel eyes sparkled in the dimming sunlight.

The path wasn’t far and the two of you plopped down to watch the sunset. You leaned over to look at him. He had his lip in between his teeth in deep thought.

“You okay?” you asked.

He turned to face you in surprise.

“Hm? Oh yeah. I’m just…nervous about tomorrow I guess,” he smiled weakly.

“Don’t be,” you said. You felt a weight in your chest before speaking softly. “Uhm…and if you should find you don’t really have time for me anymore, I understand,” you said, not letting him see your sad face.

“No,” he said. He grabbed your face in his hands to make you look at him. “I’m gonna be here. We promised to get married, remember?” you both giggled at the memory.

You both got quiet and the silence grew thick as you were both close. You saw for the first time the way his hair curled around his face. The way his freckles made a map of his face. The way his eyes flickered from your lips to your eyes.

You took a leap of faith and leaned. John was quick to close the tiny gap. In your mind, you saw fireworks as the two of you kissed.

You pulled apart breathless.

“We should head home,” John murmured. You both sat in the dark now, the beautiful sunset long gone. You nodded in agreement, but your mind was running with thoughts of John. You were in love.

That same year, you almost lost a best friend. John took you up on your offer of being too busy to see you. That year, he saw you nine times. Your parents had dinner every month, and that was the only time John was ever free to hang with you.

You tried not to let it bother you. John deserved happiness and friends, and he had that.

In the night, you couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in.

That summer, however, things went back to a more tense version of normal. You were nervous about high school. John was nervous about making the baseball team. There was still the tension of not talking to you for a whole year.

When you started your freshman year, John looked out for you. Your friends were in the same social group, yet there was always an unspoken division of boys and girls.

That year John had a perpetual blush on his face. His friends teased him endlessly about his crush on you, but your friends did exactly the same. Things were going perfectly, until John got a girlfriend.

You were fifteen and John was sixteen the first time you both experienced a heartbreak.

It was around this time you realized John was actually hot. He had grown up nicely. John was noticing the same things about you. You had started to fill out, and John’s friends were taking notice. John had to constantly smack the backs of his friends’ heads for making comments on your appearance right in front of you.

John’s friend Charles Lee was the one who finally asked you out. He was notorious for being a fuckboy, but you were naïve, and John was too busy with his girlfriend to notice you. You said yes, even though you didn’t want to.

You and Charles had a lovely date at the movies, until he drove off into a little clearing. You were just thinking how lovely it would be to have an older boyfriend as a freshman. He could be your summer romance, and then for sophomore year, you’d have an upper classman as a boyfriend.

However, Charles had another idea.

“So, how did you like tonight?” he asked.

“It was incredible. Thank you,” you smiled shyly.

“Well, maybe I could show you something more incredible,” Charles smirked.

“What could be more incredible than tonight?” you asked naively. Charles just chuckled before leaning over to kiss you. The kiss was nothing like with John from forever ago. It was too pushy and needy. Soon Charles pushed his tongue into your mouth and clawed at the hem of your shirt. You pushed him off of you.

“Stop. I don’t want this,” you frowned.

“Come on. Don’t be such a prude,” Charles murmured, going to kiss you again.  

“No,” you pushed him back. Charles just stared at you shaking his head.

“I knew you were always Laurens’s whore,” he spat, driving you home.

Tears formed in your eyes, and when you got home, you wanted to run straight to your room. John however, was outside waiting to see how your date went, when he saw the tears in your eyes. When he asked what was wrong, you couldn’t help but spill the whole story, crying even harder. He hugged you tight, muttering things about Charles.

The next day, he found Charles laughing with your friends and slammed him against the lockers.

“John! Stop! He’s not worth it,” you said your voice cracking. John repressed the words he wanted to say. Instead, he pulled back and let a puff of angry air out. His girlfriend came by like she did every morning to whisk him away to make out. There you were, heartbroken and alone. Charles didn’t love you, but that didn’t sting as much as knowing that John didn’t love you like you wanted him to.

John’s heartbreak came the next school year, when you were a sophomore and he was a junior. It was a few days before his seventeenth birthday. The two of you were born one year and two days apart, and you were excited to show John what you had gotten him. It was a wedding ring as a joke, since you two promised to get married.

John’s newest girlfriend had other plans. For his seventeenth birthday, she was going to give him herself. A few days before John’s birthday, she did just that, after only one month of dating. That didn’t sound like the John you knew, and it only added to the long list of heartbreak. However, soon after she broke up with him. John cried.

You two sat on the hill for the first time since middle school, staring into the sunset. John’s head was in your lap, and you were lightly running your fingers through his hair.

“I thought she loved me…I thought she was gonna want to stay with me, but it turns out she didn’t know I was a virgin. She was only in it for the sex,” he couldn’t look you in the eye.

“She sucks. I’m sorry,” you said, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m done with stupid love and shit,” he grumbled. You had planned on giving him his gift tonight, but that seemed to be in poor taste now.

“Promise me something,” John said, sitting up to look you in the eyes.

“Sure,” you crinkled your brow.

“Save yourself for someone who loves you,” he said, urgently. “Don’t make my mistakes.”

“H-How do I know if they love me, though?” you stammered.

“If you can’t decide, just…save yourself for me then,” he rambled out, surprising himself.

“You?” you asked surprised.

“Yeah. If you’re ready and you don’t want it to be some stranger, I’ll be there,” he smiled. He wanted to add “because I love you” but he wasn’t that bold just yet.

“S-sure,” you stammered again blushing.

You looked down, but John tilted your head up. You looked into each other’s eyes for a moment before kissing passionately. John slowly pushing you down into the grass. You slowly began to lift your hands up into his shirt. He broke the kiss momentarily to slip your shirt off. John kissed down your neck softly, then he began to suck on one spot, nibbling on it slightly. You moaned out in response. After a minute, when you were sure, he’d left a hickey, he suddenly pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sadness in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You were too stunned to tell him it was okay. Your mind screamed at you to tell him how much you liked it, how much you liked him. Instead, you sat there. He ran home. You slipped on your shirt.

You slowly drifted apart after that night.

It didn’t take long for the hickey to fade, but it never faded from your memory. It constantly tormented the both of your minds. You wondered if it meant John loved you. John wondered if you enjoyed it and loved him.

You were seventeen and John was eighteen the time the two of you finally fucked. Although, you wanted it to be sweet and slow and nice sex. You knew immediately after that it was a casual fuck.

You and John had found your way together at a party, drunkenly reconnecting. By some grace, you actually made drunk plans for dinner the next night.

That night John couldn’t keep his eyes off the way you filled out so nicely, and you couldn’t keep your mind from wondering about how he had developed.

The sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

The dinner ended with nothing substantial happening, however, when you got to the street you both lived on, both of you fully aware your parents were away on vacation together, things picked up.

“So,” John began. “Did you ever…met someone you loved?” John asked. You fully understood what he was implying.

“Never,” you whispered, leaning in close. “Although, I think I’ll take your advice from forever ago…” you trailed off.

That was all it took. John slammed his lips into yours. You trusted him, although in hindsight he was going to graduate and leave in about ten days. You should have known.

You should have known the way his hands knew just what to do was muscle memory. You should have known this was routine for him.

But the way his body pressed against yours. The closeness you felt with the man you loved. You couldn’t hardly stop yourself and justify it in that moment to your needy brain.
I was incredible, but short lived.

Lying there after, you felt vulnerable and stupid. He rolled right onto his side and began to fall asleep. You sat up, embarrassed. He couldn’t actually love you.

His arm shot up and pulled you back to the bed.

“Stay,” he mumbled. So, you stayed. This changed nothing.

The next Monday, John’s last Monday, everything was the same.

You ignored John. When he graduated, you took one forced photo with him. You didn’t see him for a while after that.

You were twenty-two and John was twenty-three the next time you saw him.

You had finally moved to New York. You had gotten into Columbia college, but had forgotten John was going to graduate school there until one fateful day.

John was rustling around with his friends when he saw you. He wasn’t sure if it was you, until Alex started calling out your name.

“You know her?” John whispered to Alex.

“Yeah, I’m the teacher’s assistant in her intro to law class,” Alex replied as you walked over.

“Hi, y/n! These are my friends, Hercules, Lafayette, and Laur-“ you cut him off

“John?” you asked hesitantly.

“Hey, y/n. Can we talk?” John asked.

“Uhm…We’ll just go now,” Alex said looking suspiciously between you and John, before raising an eyebrow at John, suggestily.

You and John started to walk.

“So…Uhm…It’s been a while,” he began. You scoffed.

“Yeah,” you said coldly.

“So why’d you ignore me after we…” he trailed off, hurt lacing his voice.

“Fucked?” you finished. “Because, you were just going to leave me anyway. You just wanted my virginity for some power trip or something.”

“You have to believe me. That’s not what I meant to do,” he said, his sad eyes betraying the anger in his voice.

“You can’t prove it. You just feel bad about it,” you yelled back.

“Yeah, well what if I told you I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven?” he yelled, his patience gone.

You instantly softened.

“Y-you have?” you asked. He nodded his head in response.

“Well, if you were to say that, I would probably tell you I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen?” you smiled.

“I’d probably do this,” John leaned down to capture your lips in his. From somewhere in the distance, his friends cheered.

You were twenty-four and John was twenty-five when the two of you got married, and your lives began.

Fear in the Natal Chart

When you think of fear in correlation to the natal chart there are several themes that come to mind. First and foremost, fears can be psychological and come from the subconscious. One can then immediately shift their attention to primary forces of the subconscious, such as the collective 12th house and the moon as well as the 4th house, which consist of one’s psychological roots. The 12th house and Neptune have rulership over addictions and 4th house and moon can show habit and emotional coping mechanisms. It is through these methods that fear is channeled and continues to resurface, and so fears this deeply embedded into the soul are then difficult to banish.

All the water houses work at an unconscious level, Pluto and the 8th house is where one’s deepest and darkest secrets rest, the house of taboo. Perhaps there is buried shame here pertaining to the planetary or sign energy, and thus fear surrounding this area; a fear that what is buried may eventually come to surface against one’s wishes, like an uncomfortable exposure and nakedness of the psyche. This is the house of intimacy, and what is more intimate than fear fertilizing the walls of one’s mind, bringing about paranoia.

Maybe Saturn is not too far behind, it shows one’s insecurities and this is closely tied to the concept of fear, it can give birth to fear, you know, such as Saturn in the 10th is insecure of their goals and succeeding and so fears failure. Or Saturn in the 5th is insecure of their self-expression and so fears genuinely being themselves and easing into life, they just can’t seem to do it.

While this can all prove true, fear is such a fluid concept that it is not simply limited to certain areas in the chart.

Every placement, house position and aspect has a fear linked to it. A Cancer for instance at their darkest is the needless and desperate mother, or the Jungian archetype of the orphaned child, an inner child who feels alone and thus fears abandonment. Uranus in any house is on a different wavelength, they seek progressiveness and change and so there is a fear of conforming to the area of life it works through primarily, such as Uranus in the 7th does not wish to conform to partnership but seeks liberation from it, or Uranus in the 3rd does not wish to conform to average thinking or communication they think outside the box and around the box and through the box, there is a fear of losing one’s freedom with Uranus. Moon contacts are concerned with emotional safety. There is a clinginess to what makes one feel safe, sound and secure, a retreat to the subconscious womb. We can take mercury/moon contacts; innocent enough, yet may fear losing communicative outlets of their emotions and so the mind can go frantic with unspoken feeling.

Fear is like water, or gas; it is shapeless, universal; it spreads easily and slips swiftly through the slightest openings, accumulating until it overwhelms and consumes the vessel it’s creeping into. In this sense, fear is everywhere in the natal chart.

In the 12th house, we don’t have to know or understand our existence, we don’t have to feel or be aware of ourselves, we can just be. Asleep.

But in the 6th house, we have to face the reality of making a living, of exploring and taking care of our physical body, of living in/with our minds. Awake.

The 12th house is symbolic of the mother’s womb – safe, quiet, solitary nothingness – so the 6th house can be symbolic of the labor of birth, being torn from our silent sanctuary and thrust into the bright, busy, exhausting real world. That’s what it’s like in the beginning of our lives. For the rest of it, it’s the other way around; we have to work and toil in order to be rewarded with the soft and dreamy sacred space where we can finally be at peace. The 12th house represents the pre-conscious and post-conscious realms, and the 6th house is the foundation of everything that lies in-between.

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part V)

Part V – “But we’re still sleeping like we’re lovers”

Twenty-six

I stood there, transfixed by the overwhelming feeling of her in my arms, unbelievingly real against the paleness of my tired memories. I didn’t know what had happened to her – clearly something had happened – but was only glad I had found her, right in the moment when my arms seemed to be so needed to hold her.

“Will ye tell me?” I murmured against her hair – fragrant like a freshly squeezed lemon, like a garden after pouring rain -, my hands rubbing her back in soothing circles. “What happened?”

“I will.” She tilted her chin, allowing our eyes to meet – hers were dry but glassy, as if her body was wrecked with fever. “I want to tell you.”

“Good.” I attempted a calming smile, but felt the muscles of my face stiff from concern. “Do ye want to sit down?”

“We can’t talk here.” Claire told me, finally stepping back, away from the comfort of my body – I felt the loss of her warmth as acutely as I would miss a limb. Phantom pain, permanent and excruciating, constructed by the mind to deal with unbearable loss. “This is Geillis place – she is a close friend – and she’ll be arriving shortly from work. I thought she had forgotten her keys when you knocked.”

“Ye can come to my house.” I offered, almost biting my tongue in eagerness. The image of Claire in my home - the tips of her fingers brushing the book spines in the shelf, her lips drinking from one of my glasses - a kiss shared through the marks we’d both leave there – made my heart swell to the point of bursting. “I mean, we can have a conversation there without being disturbed or interrupted.” I babbled, struggling to explain myself over a bout of flushing cheeks.

“Alright.” She nodded in agreement – trusting me implicitly. Naturally. “Let me just feed Adso and grab my coat.” The feline meowed in agreement and rubbed against Claire’s legs, sleek and charming, as if he had been waiting to be acknowledged.

We made our way through the pleasant streets of Edinburgh, headed towards my house, located just a few blocks away. We traded some words, but were mostly immersed in our thoughts – preparing what we would say and do, when we finally could expose ourselves in a safe haven. As we walked, we didn’t touch – not even our arms bumped into each other, in that casual way of shared movement. We were both consciously avoiding to touch, keeping a safe distance, even if acutely aware of each other.

“It isna a big house.” I apologized in a jumbled way as we entered my apartment, collecting unmatched socks and forgotten papers along the way.

“I love it!” Claire smiled in a reassuring way, admiring the big flat screen and black speakers. Her butterscotch eyes covered my pictures and books, the quilt thrown over the back of the sofa, the magazines and pamphlets I had sorted inside a little basket next to the bookcase. “I can tell you live here – it’s warm and alive. It’s a real home.”

I grinned in content – almost purring in satisfaction -, as she took off her coat. She wandered around, touching objects with a respectful hand and clicking her tongue in appreciation of my book collection. Eventually she talked again, her back turned to me.

“Where is your bedroom?” She asked in a rough voice, unhinged – and then, predicting my puzzlement, she added in a low and hesitant tone, as if talking to herself. “I haven’t been sleeping much – I didn’t want to close my eyes and let my mind roam freely. I can barely stand on my feet, to be honest. Besides,” Claire turned and glanced at me, fumbling again with her sleeves. “I think it would be easier to talk if we touched.”

“Aye.” I breathed deeply, walking towards my room. “Whatever ye need.”

I watched as she laid down on my bed, above the plaid that meant home to me – taking off her boots and socks in the process. Her movements were slow and calculated, as if she wished to cause minimal impact with her presence, so that I would carry on with my life after her departure. Claire rolled to her side, curled like an unborn child, safe and peaceful in the womb.

I came around the bed and managed to lay down – silent and precise as a thief in the night -, leaving an empty space between us, as I faced her. She seemed tired beyond her years and utterly broken.

Without a word she slid her hand to the middle of the bed, where I could reach out and touch it – I did so, softly playing with her fingers until she relaxed and our hands were entwined.

“Why are ye here?” I asked, my voice husky. Her face was a duality of shadows and bursts of light, coming from the window to dance on her features. “In Scotland?”

“I had to come.” Claire adjusted her face on the pillow, caressing the nail of my thumb with her fingers, her golden wedding ring cold like a fetch between us. “I couldn’t be in Boston right now – I needed time to think. This is the one place that has been home to me.”

“Are ye still married?” I risked, watching in anguish as she winced in pain. She sighed – but the movements of my hand in hers seemed to calm her enough to go on.

“Separated.” She licked her quivering bottom lip, avoiding my eyes. “It turns out Frank wasn’t the man I thought he was.  He wanted to own me.” Claire pursed her lips in anger. “And when he couldn’t own me, I wasn’t enough. Everyday became a war between us. A long and tiresome war.”

I gulped, taking in the shrapnel of her destruction. With a swift movement of my spare hand, I rolled up the sleeve of her sweater, revealing bruises the colour of mustard and moss, screaming against her marble white skin – marks of resentful fingers, forceful enough to break vessels and spirits. A lonely tear streamed down her cheek.

“He hurt ye!” I hissed furiously between clenched teeth, fighting the urge to maim the husband who had so recklessly broke the vow to protect her – to love her. She needed my restraint and I could offer it to her – not another display of bad temper by a man she had trusted. I hesitantly touched the bruises, wishing to erase them with kisses, to heal them with the adoration I would bestow upon her.

“I hurt him back.” Claire assured me, a look of shame crossing her face – as if I could pay witness to the degradations inflicted by both during their marriage. “He didn’t want me to leave. Frank said he still loves me.”

“Does he?” I asked with gentleness, battling the urge to ask her if she still loved him.

“I don’t know.” The tear track on her face glistened like a dry river, leaving thirst in its wake. “His love didn’t hurt like this, before.”

I wanted to ask her details on her failed marriage – her unhappiness was patent and unbearable – but restrained myself. She must have spent hours replaying the film of her derailed life, echoing words meant to harm – there was no cure to be found in saying them once more. I wished only to placate her pain – to take it all into myself, if I could. I longed to be the bringer of her smiles and not of her tears.

“I called ye.” I suddenly revealed, half embarrassed. “I waited too long – ye were gone by then. Maybe if I did…things would have been different.”

“Perhaps.” Claire agreed, haltingly. “But you were right – I shouldn’t have settled for less.”

I risked to brush her hair – silky and curly, so elementally Claire that took my breath away – and she closed her eyes in enjoyment of the intimate touch.

“What will ye do?” I asked, so afraid of the answer I could die. I wished for nothing more than to have her in my bed, lying so close to me as I memorized her, for the rest of my days. And yet I knew I had no guarantee of intimacy, of another conversation, of another touch – I savoured them all as a gift, for they were precious and not promised.

“I have to go back to Boston.” Claire explained, gripping my hand with strength. “I have a life there – a nursing job, medical school, friends and - .” She stopped, her eyes wide open.

Frank.” I swallowed hard, fighting against myself to offer her an encouraging smile. “Ye are still married to him.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, almost sobbing. I brought her hand closer to my mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“I won’t tell ye what to do – that is for ye to decide, mo nighean donn. But I need ye to know something, Claire.” I touched her chin with tenderness, urging her to open her eyes. “Ye alone hold all my heart – even before I knew yer name, ye meant light to me. I’ll wait for ye my whole live – and gladly so, even if it means that I’ll watch ye from afar, happy and fulfilled with another man, worthy of ye.”

“Jamie, I – “ Claire started, but I kissed her hand again and brought her against my chest, where my heart kept pounding, speaking enough to silence her.

“I’d rather ye dinna make promises ye may not wish to keep afterwards, when yer heart is less sore. When – if - ye mean them, I’ll be here.” I pleaded, staring into her eyes – she held my gaze for a while and nodded back. “Rest now, mo nighean donn. Let me watch over ye as ye sleep. Let me see ye safe.”

“I’m always safe with you.” She whispered.

I cherished her and held her hand until she fell asleep – finding new reasons to love her while she dreamt. She felt safe and protected with me – and, for that moment, it was enough.

Even when night came and we were left in complete darkness, I listened to her breathing, absorbing the symphony of the lover I craved. Once in a while I closed my eyes, making sure I could remember her perfectly – opening them again to correct a small detail, to drink another drop of her, afraid I would forget. Tormented I wouldn’t.

In the wee hours of night, I fought against sleep. I felt raw and tender, heart and body aching, calling me irresistibly to slumber.

I must have surrendered at some point. I had the vague recollection of a chaste kiss against my lips – timid, yet burning.

In the morning, she was gone.

Simply using feminine imagery for God does not resolve all the problems of God language. The Bible speaks of God as King, Judge, Creator, and many other traditionally male roles that are not linked to fathering. Much of the feminine imagery is maternal, which suggests that women are most like God when they are mothers, while men are like God in most of their activities. Maternal language about God can also become stereotypical. God the Mother is safe, warm, and gentle. God the Father is tough and demanding, but very strong and protective. God the Father is still clearly the boss. If the divine feminine is always linked with love and nurture, while the divine masculine is always strong and rational, our stereotypes about male and female will be perpetuated rather than challenged.

The book of Hosea offers us a useful antidote to stereotypical feminine imagery by portraying God as a female figure who is both maternal and furious. God faithfully fed and cared for the Israelites; but instead of being grateful, they forgot God. That made God say angrily, ‘I will fall upon them like a bear robbed of her cubs, / and will tear open the covering of their heart’ (Hos 13:8). This maternal image invokes no romanticized piety, softness, or sentimentality. Mothers, and the Mother bear in Hosea, are fiercely protective. Elizabeth Johnson wrote of the paradox of angry love, 'The wrath of God is a symbol of holy mystery that we can ill afford to lose. For the wrath of God in the sense of righteous anger against injustice is not an opposite of mercy but its correlative. It is a mode of caring response in the face of evil.’

Another nonmaternal feminine image of God is as midwife, which occurs in Psalms 22 and 71. The psalmist described his feeling that God has abandoned him. His ancestors had trusted in God and were saved, but he felt God’s scorn. In the midst of despair he said to God, 'Yet it was you who took me from the womb; / you kept me safe on my mother’s breast. / On you I was cast from my birth, / and since my mother bore me you have been my God’ (Ps 22:9-10). He recognized that God has been present at the vulnerable time of birth, assuring his safety and comfort, and ever since. Comparing God to the one who helped deliver babies meant comparing God to a woman. It is an intriguing image, because midwives are active throughout a birth. They offer encouragement, they teach the mother how to work with the pains of labor; but they cannot do the laboring themselves, and they cannot take the pain away. The metaphor suggests that God encourages and supports human beings even when God cannot take their pain away.

—  Lynn Japinga, “Language about God”

Cancer is a storm, those storms when rain spills from the sky at the speed of bullets and lightning wakes everyone from their safe and peaceful slumbers. Everything is gloomy for a while, and it is midnight so loneliness befalls the soul. The skies are a dark sinister violet, with dust-colored clouds stretching for miles. Some things are damaged, such as fallen trees or broken power lines. The mood of the storm causes old melancholy to surface, reflection of the past. Nevertheless, water does what water does best, it sustains. It heals too. The calm after a storm… Cancer lies resting in the clouds, safely tucked away until disturbed again. The skies have had their mood swings. The sequence continues constantly, never quite the same as the last. Although it leaves ruin in its wake, it has cleansed the lands, nourishing them with purified waters, a necessity of life.

Scorpio is a volcano, destroying and burning the earth, but bringing forth new creations. The volcanic ash creates fresh and fertile soil for new life to blossom. The process repeats, always out with the old and in with the new, a soul purification. The time of eruption is never known, sometimes it’s spontaneous, impulsive, but other times it’s bubbling inside the earth, waiting to emerge…It isn’t always explosive and theatrical. Lava can flow slowly from the earth. It eventually cools once touched by air and then solidifies and hardens…representative of Scorpio’s silent, seeping and long-lived bitterness, but also the building of resilience. The hardening of the heart, a protection and strengthening method. Frightening and shadowy at first; the skies are ashy and daylight is engulfed in darkness, the colors of death, yet full of vibrant, sometimes loud and fleeting colors once it erupts, the colors of life. Scorpio suffers with internal wars yet finds peace through the purging of inner corruption, harbored anger, and toxicity; Rage gives birth to Serenity, or Darkness to Light, Evil to Good…neither can co-exist without the other, and similarly, no one can exist without the cycle. It is an end that brings beginnings.

Pisces is equally the oceans depths and its waves, at dawn preferably, moving back and forth in uncertainty. Is it safe? The waves move forward tentatively. No wait, it’s not safe. And so, the waves retreat. The vast emptiness is the subconscious womb in which one retreats for protection. When the waves are finally calm–but not truly, the waves of the sea are never asleep—Pisces is lost in thought and sheltering themselves privately in the abyss until it’s safe to surface again. Pisces uses seclusion as rejuvenation of the soul, yet the Piscean soul needs 12 eternities to recover. Who knows when that will be?

The Empress, Touka and Mutsuki

(This is the first time I actually do some tg meta, so if you disagree with anything said in this post or want to add something it would be pretty fine, also English is not my native language)

I really wanted to talk about this, but to clarify I’m not going to do a full analysis of the subject

In this panel we can see Touka defending herself from Mutsuki’s attack. What got my attention was the number three on her wing. So I decided to investigate what it meant in the tarot cards.

3- THE EMPRESS III

KEYWORDS:

maturity, children, marriage, beauty, love, fertility, motherhood 

This are recent topics we have seen on tg:re. Besides there are a lot of metas talking about the possibility of Touka’s loss of fertility by the hands of Mutsuki.

Fertility is directly connected to motherhood. (The Empress indicates pregnancy or birth.)

 The Empress reversed indicates issues with pregnancy, whether it is infertility or an unwanted pregnancy.

(x)  womb removal theory

“The Empress signifies the ‘queen of life’, the perfect woman, the archetypal mother, fertility, sexuality, and the generative forces”

The Empress shows a deep connection with femininity

In the latest chapters Mutsuki has shown the feeling of disgust towards women, even to the point of calling himself grotesque for being originally born as a woman.

Recalling the marriage keyword, who is going to get married in tg?

Yoriko Kosaka, Touka’s best friend in high school.

(i quickly want to add up the fact that the empress is asociated with the butterfly)

i don’t really know what to expect for the next chapter but i really hope Touka’s womb (lol) , Yoriko and Kaneki end up safe and sound.

Ishida plz listen to my prayers ☻

I hope you liked my meta because as i said, this is the first time i actually do one and i really tried to do my best writing and analysing this last chapter.
feel free of adding any idea or opinion to this

thxxxxx.

Alexander Hamilton x Reader- Stay

Warning- fluff, almost death


“Where is he!!” you screamed, clutching your stomach.

“He’s coming, love. Don’t worry.” Angelica said, trying to comfort you.

“He said the battle was over! Why isn’t he here!?” you screamed again, trying not to cry as horrible ideas started to flood your mind.

“Don’t you think like that. Alexander is fighter, he will be here for his son, he promised you that.” Eliza said, coming into the room with a bowl of water and a cloth. She ran over to you and started to dab at your forehead and tried to make sure you were comfortable.

You thanked god everyday that you were a Schuyler sister, not because of the money, but because your sisters were the nicest and most caring people on the planet. Not to mention they were smarter than half the people in this city.

You tried to calm yourself until you felt another wave of pain, making you scream again. You reached for Peggy’s hand and squeezed it until the pain pasted.

“Ow!” Peggy yelled, feeling your nails dig into her hand.

“Sorry,” you panted, releasing her hand. Peggy laughed at your apology.

“Don’t worry about me, just make sure my nephew enters this world safe and sound.” she smiled, letting you take her hand again. You just smiled in return.

The delivery last for a few more hours with maids and doctors rushing in and out of your room. The only people to stay by your side the whole time where your sisters, but you were willing to give anything to have Alexander by your side right now. You were terrified, not knowing where he was, if he was okay, if the battle of York Town claimed him.

You haven’t received a letter saying where he was. You kept thinking of Laurens. He died after the war ended, he had no reason to die. If the love of your life was dead, you would never forgive Washington or Lafayette, the men who told him to come back to the battlefield.

But, at the same time, you couldn’t be happier. Your child, your most precious treasure who has been kept safe and warm in your womb for the past nine months, was about to be right in front of you. You were about to hold him and get to look at him with your own eyes.

“Push! You can do it!” Angelica yelled.

“Come on, just one more.” Eliza gently said.

With one more push and scream, you felt a massive sense of relief and heard a baby crying. You let your entire body go limp as you listened to your baby take its first breaths.

Peggy quickly left your side and ran over to your child, completely amazed by him.

“He’s beautiful (F/N).” she breathed. As soon as the doctor finished cleaning him, she took him from the doctor and took him over to you. You slowly raised your head and gazed at your son, a weak smile on your face. You slowly lifted your hand and gently touched his cheek.

“Look at you.” you whispered. You smiled at your child until your vision started to get fuzzy and clouded. Your head and hand drop, your whole body going limp.

“(F/N)!” all your sisters yelled in unison. Suddenly, you had no energy. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything. You felt this force pulling down on you, telling you to sleep.

“(F/N)! Stay with me now.” Angelica said, shaking you, trying not to cry. Eliza ran to the doctor and talked to him, trying to figure something out that would help you. Peggy just stood there, holding your child close and shushing him, horrified at what she was witnessing.

You wanted to sleep, that’s all you wanted to do, just get a little sleep. You need to rest, anybody would after doing what you did. Nobody would blame you. You would feel so much better afterward. You started to slip away, hearing everybody call out to you, but there was only one voice that brought you back, a voice you love and have been longing to hear again.

“Where is she!” you heard the voice yell. You heard footsteps rush up the steps and you slowly opened your eyes to see Alexander in the door frame, worried and out of breath. A weak smile formed on your face upon seeing him.

“(F/N), my love, stay with me. Don’t leave me.” Alexander said, rushing to your side and taking your hand into his own. You felt a surge of energy run through you when you felt his hand around yours. He started to kiss your hand, your forehead, everywhere, begging you to stay. The more he touched you, the more you could keep your eyes open.

With his help, you slowly began to sit up.

“I’m not going anywhere.” you smiled, gently cupping Alexander’s cheek. You heard everyone let out sighs of relief as you moved more, happy to see that you weren’t done yet. Angelica let out a quiet sob before pulling you into a hug.

“Thank god.” she whispered, placing a light kiss on your forehead. You looked over at Peggy who was still glued to the wall. She only left it when you extended your hands to her. She quickly ran over to you took your hand, letting a few happy tears fall. Your gaze dropped from Peggy to your son.

“You want him?” Peggy laughed, noticing your gaze.

“Please.” you replied, holding back your tears. Alexander watched in complete awe as Peggy placed your son in your arms. You gave Angelica a look, signaling for her to ask everyone to leave you and Alexander alone.

Once everyone left, Alexander sat on the bed next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“He’s amazing.” Alexander smiled, lightly kissing your head.

“What shall we name him?” you asked. You heard Alexander make some noises as he contemplated, making you laugh.

“I’ll leave it up to you.” he replied after a few minutes. You did the same thing he did when he was thinking, making him laugh. As you looked at your baby boy, the most perfect name came to mind.

“Philip. I want to name him Philip.” you smiled, looking up at Alexander.

“Perfect.” Alexander said with a loving smile, bringing you into a sweet and gentle kiss.

“Can we came back in so we can meet him?” you heard practically everybody else yell from the other side of the door. You pulled away and looked at Alexander, who nodded his head.

“Yes!” you laughed. One second later, everybody came rushing back. Basically all at once, everybody asked if they could hold him. You automatically handed him over to Angelica and everyone automatically crowded around her, giving you a chance to breath.

“I love you.” Alexander whispered in your ear, rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you too.” you said back, bringing Alexander into a quick kiss.

bean-about-townn  asked:

james/thomas, 13 or 14 :)

13 “Kiss me.”
14 “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

Thomas woke suddenly, the tightness of the sheets and sudden cold forcing his mind to cave in on itself. He was cold, too cold, the dark was clawing at his throat and he was so cold where was the door-

“Thomas,” a voice called, a candle in the dark, “Thomas it’s me, James, I’m here!”

He reached out to grasp that flame, holding it to his chest to feel warmth again, anything but the cold seeping into his bones. They were going to take him away again they were coming-

“Help,” he whispered hoarsely, “James please…”

Hands were touching him. Warm, calloused hands he remembered from a dream long ago. He moaned, leaning into that embrace and felt the comfort of it almost like being back in his mother’s womb.

He was safe.

“It’s alright. Hey, it’s alright I’m with you now, okay? I’m here. Always. No one will send you away again,” James whispered into his hair. “I’ve got you. You’re free.”

Thomas began to settle, the warmth returning to his fingers and his eyes taking in the world around him. James was holding him, his face softened by concern, and Thomas looked up at him from where he was laying.

“Kiss me.”

“Are you sure?”

Thomas nodded. He needed that grounding feeling of James’ skin. He needed to feel loved, warm, to feel as though he was real again-

James lips were like soft petals against his own. Impossibly soft, warm, drawing the poison of the past from him with each moment they touched. He grasped at James’ nightshirt and sobbed, the relief draining energy from him so fast he almost fell back onto the pillows again.

“It’s alright,” James whispered again. “No one can hurt you. I’m here, you’re alright.”

He was safe with James. He was warm and safe.

anonymous asked:

Your writing is so good! Can i request bokuaka omegaverse where Bokuto wants to start a family and Akaashi is already pregnant

Ahhh!!! :D Thank you, I try writing and sometimes its good sometimes its not but I try and thank you. 

Yes of course you can request that!!! I hope you enjoy this little fic, and thanks for the ask!!

WARNING OMEGAVERSE (omegaverse tag)

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Good Enough (20)

prologue; part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen; part fourteen; part fifteenpart sixteen; part seventeen; part eighteen; part nineteen; part twenty; part twenty one; part twenty two; part twenty three; part twenty four; epilogue.

bonus scenes: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Making sure you were fast asleep, Sehun left you under the watchful gaze of Kara and headed up to the neonatal ICU to visit Tadpole. He’d spent hours up there already with you once you had finished giving birth and had cleaned up. You just cried into his chest with your finger in the incubator as you watched Tadpole’s chest desperately rise and fall with the help of lots of tubes and wires. It broke his heart to see his daughter in such a way when she was barely an hour old but he had to stay strong for you.

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Hekate Solitary Ritual

Hekate Solitary Ritual

On the night of the Dark Moon, as late as you can possibly stay awake, stand outside and breathe in the blackness of the night.  It is Hecate’s night, the Crone Goddess has covered you in her blanket and given you the time to consider all those things in your life that you no longer need.  You are safe within the womb of the Dark Goddess.

Consider that which you wish to banish from your life.  Take your time, allow Hecate to guide your thoughts.

When you are ready, and you feel that you know exactly what must be banished turn widdershins to the East. Feel Hecate cleanse your mind of all unhealthy thoughts.

Turn widdershins to the North, feel Hecate cleanse your body of all unhealthy energies.

Turn widdershins to the West, feel Hecate cleanse your emotions of all that is causing you pain.

Turn widdershins to the South, feel Hecate cleanse your Spirit of all that is hindering your spiritual growth.

Breathe in the darkness of the night, breathe in the regenerative power of the Dark Goddess Hecate.  Know that you are cleansed and purified, ready to begin mental, physical, emotional and spiritual growth with the coming of the New Moon.

It is done.  So Mote it Be!

Rowan Morgana  2010
Source:  http://sacredwicca.jigsy.com/solitary-dark-moon-ritual

The Symbolism, Tools, And Methodology of Magickal Lockdown and Warding

I am going to discuss the symbolism of locks, and how they can be used magickally, as well as the theory behind locking things down via magick. I will also look at why this might be necessary. In short, I’m discussing privacy and safety within a magickal context, and how a person can go “on lockdown” to increase their privacy.

This post is a consolidation of information collected in my notebook directly following the trip, but just prior to everyone falling ill. I would rather not go into why I was researching this or what I did with the information, but suffice to say, it was a money issue that was ultimately resolved, in part via what I’ll be talking about here. Anyways, here goes.

Basic Symbolism and Associations

Nobody really knows when locks were invented, but we’ve always had a need for them. Not everyone is benevolent, and there’s the necessity of keeping out those who wish us harm, thus keeping ourselves and our belongings safe. 

The thing is, locks are symbolic rather than merely practically. For this reason, symbolic locks will be effective magickally, though magickal methods of “locking” should not be used as a direct substitute for physical locks, and ideally, the two would be used in tandem. 

A physical lock that is actually used would be a more powerful conduit for magickal locking due to the symbolism of the thing constantly being reinforced via practical use. In this way, even non-magicians can create something resembling magickal wards simply by repeated use of locks.

We lock to maintain silence and secrecy. This has always seemed like a vaguely Saturnian practice. Locks are restriction made tangible, and remembering to maintain a locked situation (by locking and unlocking it when necessary) requires a modicum of discipline, which is definitely an aspect of Saturnian forces. Locks are often associated with maturity within societal custom; children receive keys to various locks at various stages of development. This solidifies the Saturnian association, as well.

A locked object is in darkness, symbolic or otherwise. There is an element of peril and death, as well. Keys may be lost, or the object within a locked context may be forgotten. And, really? If something, anything, remains in a locked situation for too long, it might as well be dead, if only symbolically. It ceases to interact with the world and form connections.

Connections are Mercurial in nature, and Mercury is associated with air, hence this is both true metaphysically as well as physically. I mean, think about it. If you truly and fully lock something alive away, it’ll slowly die of lack of air. And, something that isn’t alive in the traditional sense might as well die of lack of air, too, insofar as it loses its connection to the world.

Since that which exists behind a lock is secret, after a fashion, it can easily be mentally conflated (and in a useful way) with the mysteries of any given tradition, particularly if they are oath bound. Having a locked area that you open frequently is a symbolic penetration of the mysteries. This is similar to how, during the communion portion of the Gnostic Mass, the celebrant is required to symbolically “cross” the Abyss by stepping towards the altar (Kether) - it’s a preparation for the actual Crossing.

Locked areas are also analogous to the womb, because, once full and sealed, they keep out danger and can be an area of “germination” if properly tended. Thus, as a burgeoning magician, it is particularly advantageous to keep your diary in a locked situation. This is obviously practical, but also magickal. It keeps the seeds of your Attainment safe. Perhaps more importantly, though, the locked space’s similarity to the womb promotes gestation and transformation. This no doubt makes for growth spiritually. Naturally, though, a seed must be watered, so keep your magick consistent and opened regularly - otherwise, it will die, as noted, from lack of connection to you

Specific Magickal Warding With Locks

Again, it is extremely useful to keep magickal diaries and other tools in a locked environment, regardless of your living situation. A lot of people live alone and nobody else ever sees these objects, but I still believe it advantageous to have them “locked,” either physically or magickally, and ideally, both. It’s very rare to find a practical, usable notebook with a working physical lock on it - I realize this. Symbolic locks, though, can be just as effective magickally. Many notebooks feature a clasp, and this is a good start. If your notebook does not, one could easily be made by hand with all kinds of things. You could just tie a ribbon around it, even!

Given that a lot of people reading this are obsessed with the net and computers, it’s reasonable of me to guess that many might not even have a physical diary to do this with. Instead, you might keep all your notes on your computer. Naturally, passwords are thus important, but I don’t recommend using a password with obvious magickal significance, because it would be easily guessed by someone who knows you or anything about the occult.

Nevertheless, a savvy person can augment their actual passwords with a sort of symbolic password that is used alongside the actual one. Creativity is the key here. An “analog” password could be a song fragment, poem, or, better yet, a memory. Even a tertiary symbol representing flow and breaking down barriers (Mercury or Uranus, respectively), would work. I do this. 

When I go to enter my password on my computer, I often visualize or, if I’m in a certain mood, draw a sigil representing these things, while also typing in my actual password. When I close my computer or shut it down, I draw a symbol representing restriction and barriers upon it.

Secondary Techniques: Vigilance, Etc.

Naturally, even if you use all the above methods, you’re going to need to add other techniques to increase their usefulness. For example, lets say you’re using a purely magickal lockdown mechanism - how do you know if the lock has been broken? This is important to know. Whereas a physical lock will have signs of having been picked or, y'know, destroyed, how do you tell with a magickal ward?

One way to tell if a magickal ward has been breached is as follows. Obtain something that is associated with you, but which isn’t crucial or magickal in and of itself, nor particularly precious. For me, I used a hair band. Cut or break the object in half, but with the intent (which is crucial) of maintaining a strong connection between the two halves, as if they were parted lovers poised to reunite. Perhaps some kind of love oil would even help with this, as the lovers analogy is pretty apt.

Place one piece of the object within the locked space, and carry the other on your person at all times. if your wards on the locked space are working, you should easily be able to forget that you’re carrying the object. Why? Though not exactly broken, the connection is dampened severely by the wards. If someone breaches the wards, the connection between the two halves will suddenly return to full strength and you will quickly become aware of it happening. You’ll suddenly remember that you’re carrying the half of the object. Thus, you know that a breach has occurred. This worked for me several times.

It’s important to regularly break through your own locks or wards, though, because as I’ve said, there can be a symbolic death of the contents if you don’t. As to how often you need to do this, well, it’s highly dependent on what the warded or locked area contains. A box of heirlooms might not need to be “unlocked” quite as much as your journal or magickal tools. Use your own discretion. This is partially why I fell out of journalling at one point after being unable to access the journal for an extended period (two weeks). I personally got a feel, later on, for when things were “going stale” when I opened the warded areas, and modified things accordingly.

It’s a good practice to keep the area locked or warded after the objects have been removed and it is empty, as well. This will reinforce the wards, even though they’re not necessarily protecting anything at that point. It goes back to the old idea of repeated motions having more symbolic and magickal effects than one-off actions.

Don’t ignore modern methods/symbols of secrecy and safety when choosing your wards. I packed my giveaway box with bubble wrap, though this wasn’t necessary. The stuff I was giving away wasn’t such that it’d get damaged via being put through the mail normally. I just associate bubble wrap with safety in that context, and, of course, I wanted to keep the contents safe. That may seem like a silly thing to do, but it made me feel better, and of course, things arrived safely. I didn’t feel comfortable warding it otherwise or in traditional magickal ways, due to consent issues and the fact that I was sending it to another person, whom I’d never met.

In Conclusion…

One thing to consider: safety and secrecy are distinct and very different at times. There are situations where safety and secrecy aren’t compatible. If there’s crime going on, you don’t want it to stay secret, for example. Revealing dangerous secrets is the first step to fixing the problem. For example, if some creep is following you around or otherwise harassing you, it’s best to go to a public area and make as many people as possible aware of what’s happening

Still, in the modern world, secrecy can be the fastest route to safety in many situations. And yes, a lot of the above advice will work equally well for non-magickal things. I mean, I’m sure all of you can imagine why a person would want to hide something. Yes, yes, there are people who say that you shouldn’t be doing anything that you would need to hide, but that’s a horrible statement that flies in the face of everything known about human psychology and history. Hence, I thought I’d post this, give people some advice.

Upcoming is a shorter, but hopefully useful post about specifically hiding magickal practice and witchcraft, so stay tuned. It contains a lot of practical mundane advice as well as magickal exercises.

im a mother

i breed warriors in my womb safe and warm
with thread wrapped tightly around their fat purple little feet
to pull them out when they are done
i sharp knifes in my livers
coughing up silver and blades and my child will pick them up wisely firmly
i bring them to life fleshy teethless and mumbling
cutting through my skin and tearing up my amulets
i swallow them whole sew my mouth shut with cotton
i tell them “grow” and they do with their chest glued to their ankles
and i feed them with blood and with sorrow and violence eating it everyday in beautiful porcelain plates
i touch their warmth with my tongue taste the beating pulse of it
the anger running through their vains sounds like a violin to me
we dance when they born and i set them off to the battlefield
holding their face in my hands firmly my nails in their reddened cheeks check for their horns growing scratchy infected forehead where sausage fat flies will come play in his cadaver
the vision of it in the back of my glass replacement eye
still i push their back and whisper a motherly goodbye
holding their portraits and little bits of hair teeth nail kept in containers of heritage silverweare call them all holy
bending down to their knees
and making their way down their stomach are bright pomagranate seeds
and i’ll see them gutting their hand picked enemies
and i’ll see them dying with no one in there but me
and once im done with sorrow i put that same dress again
the devil is calling and i know im just weak human flesh.

Unexpected.  Part 2

Hello friends!  This ran a little longer than the previous part.  The overwhelming positive vibes I have gotten these past few days have made me cry in joy so many times.  I hope I continue to live up to the expectations you all have of me.  I’m not a confident woman, but if you all believe in me I think I can be.

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