I don’t like to be political on this page since I’m trying to stay professional, but my existence is political so here we go.
If you support Trump, unfollow me. I’m over it and don’t give a fuck. You don’t deserve to consume my content while not seeing me as a human being.
I am a queer Indigenous person. He wants me and my family forced onto the Reservation of our Nation for the CRIME of being registered. For the CRIME of acknowledging our ancestors and our families. He doesn’t want me or my family to be able to go to school or work off of that Reservation. Rights Indigenous Peoples have gotten in the last few DECADES (dancing our traditional dances, our religious practices, speaking our own fucking languages), he wants to take away. Trump fucking posted the National Guard outside of Reservations during COVID to prevent my people from getting medical care. Instead of medicine or help, he sent BODY BAGS. He was President and he let his own people die because of where they lived.
Don’t get me started on all the other ways he wants me dead. I have medical issues where it would be easy for me to die during pregnancy. I shouldn’t be allowed to love another adult because of our sex. I shouldn’t be allowed to work , have children or own anything because technically I’m disabled.
He is a convicted felon. If he can’t vote, he shouldn’t be President. If you are even considering voting for him, unfollow me, because you don’t see me as a person. I would rather never make another cent off my writing than have people that think my death and my rights being stripped away is a fair trade for another old White Supremacist to be in office pay me.
To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear;
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.
"The Seven Generations and The Seven Grandfather Teachings"
Discover Indigenous wisdom for a life well lived in James Vukelich Kaagegaabaw's book The Seven Generations and the Seven Grandfather Teachings. Based on ancient teachings from the Anishinaabe/Ojibwe people, this self-published (2023) book about the Ojibwe language offers not just historical insight but valuable life lessons for modern times. The book's teachings emphasize the alignment of words with actions and the importance of leading a holistic life. The central theme is the concept of interconnectedness: "Aanji-Bimaadizing means, 'transforming your life'." This is no ordinary transformation. It extends far beyond the self, touching the lives of past, present, and future relatives. We live in a reciprocally interrelated world where every action we take ripples forward and backward in time.
Grandparents – family connections in general – figure largely in Kaagegaabaw's story of the way Ojibwe language was handed down by a people who understand the land and their place on it. He points out that when we hear a word like Nookomis (my grandmother), we hear a sound "created by a person who knew this land back when it was covered by ice a mile high, before Gichi-gami, the Great Lake, Lake Superior, existed. When we use the old words, we are using words that were spoken by someone who saw woolly mammoths, giant Mooz (moose) and Misamik (giant beaver)."
Kaagegaabaw is proficient at explaining the heart of the Ojibwe language. He demystifies the vocabulary, breaking words into small parts for a clear understanding of their meaning. The primal language conveys a "Great Law" that helps speakers live in peace, harmony and balance. He cites the ancient Iroquois (Haudenosaunee) philosophy of considering the impact of each decision on the next seven generations. Seven generation stewardship is a concept that urges the current generation of humans to live and work for the benefit of the seventh generation into the future. As we navigate through the labyrinth of modern existence, how often do we stop and ask, "How do my actions today honor my past and pave the way for my future?"
The seven generation teachings, known as Gichi-dibaakonigwewinan, are truth, humility, respect, love, bravery, courage, honesty, and wisdom. The chapter about honesty indicates that just speaking the truth isn't enough; it's also imperative to align your words, actions, and intentions. Kaagegaabaw asks why would we use a sacred gift from the Creator, the Ojibwe language, to deceive others? The language demonstrates that the consequence of deceit is disorder. Only those who are out of balance will lie. As Kaagegaabaw put it,"Observe how I live, and the truth will invariably come out of it. It always does."
Kaagegaabaw concludes by pointing out that when we change and improve ourselves, we change and improve those who came before us and those to come – connecting them. As Kaagegaabaw so eloquently put it, "If I change myself, have I changed all of my relatives?" Though his ancestors were victims of colonization, genocide, and subjugation, Kaagegaabaw believes they can be healed through his interconnections with them. "I can still heal them," Kaagegaabaw asserts. "We are still writing our ancestors' stories."
About the Author
James Vukelich Kaagegaabaw, a descendant of Turtle Mountain, is a renowned international speaker, author, educator and digital creator. His keen insights were developed through speaking with and recording elders and native language speakers across North America as part of the Ojibwe Language Dictionary Project. James is a passionate advocate for sharing how to live a life of 'mino-bimaadiziwin,' the good life. For over twenty years, he has facilitated community language tables, consulted with public and private organizations on language and cultural programs, and traveled internationally as a keynote speaker. He has been featured in numerous publications, podcasts, radio & television programs. James lives in the Twin Cities, Minnesota with his wife and son.
Chapter Summary: Your husband returns from his duties and you take a family trip. You end up in the hospital and receive a visitor.
Word Count: Just under 2.4K
Series Masterlist
WARNINGS: PTSD, mentions of war, Reader is a mother (because some readers choose not to read stories with children), mentions of assault, hospital stay, reader is drugged and abducted. *Warnings updated with each chapter*
*Not beta'd thus any and all mistakes are my own*
*Dividers above by @maysdigitalarts *
*Dividers in story by @whimsicalrogers *
Steve Rogers, Chief Petty Officer 2nd class in the Canadian Armed Forces JTF2 Squad, leads a team of SIX MEN through the halls of a dark, abandoned, war-torn building. The men are staggered two by three, wiping out all assailants as they clear the building and silently push forward as a unit. They check every corner and window until the hall ends in a T-intersection.
Steve lies in wait as his team links up. His brother in arms, BREEN LIGHTNING, places a hand on his shoulder. The soldier behind him follows suit, his hand on Breen’s shoulder, awaiting further instruction.
Steve signals the other three men to move forward. James 'Bucky' Barnes immediately comes shoulder to shoulder with him. The two soldiers stand eye to eye as the men behind Bucky mirror Steve’s team, grasping the shoulder of the man in front.
Steve checks their corner and sees everything is clear. He looks to Bucky and motions him to take the lead with his team while signalling his men to hold their position with a raised fist, his eyes returning to the empty hall.
Bucky follows his orders, nodding to the two men on his six. They advance down the hall to the left. Once the last man has rounded the corner, Steve leads his team down the hall on the right.
The sounds of war, VOICES CALL OUT directives and “all clears,” ASSAULT RIFLES BURST, the sounds fade with...
FIREWORKS POPPING.
HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE, young and old, occupy the open fields and rolling hills of Calgary’s Nose Hill Park; all eyes are on the sky as fireworks fly overhead.
Steve stands lost in thought. He's stupidly attractive with or without his current hiatus scruff. However, if you had your choice in the matter, he’d never shave. You reach out to your husband with concern and lovingly rub his back.
Steve stands straighter with a SHARP INHALE as he turns, pulled from his thoughts.
“Where were you just then?”
He smiles, pulls you close, and reassures you with a kiss on your forehead. “Nowhere.”
You rub your belly instinctively and lean into his embrace as you look fondly upon your one-year-old twins sitting in their double stroller. Both toddlers have red maple leaves on their cheeks and stare at the sky in wonder. It makes you smile seeing them so focused and in a state of awe.
4 YEARS LATER
Breen, Steve’s brother-in-arms and best friend, sits with an arm in a sling on the porch swing of a grey house with a navy door.
Your four small children, BRIER (5), BAILEY (5), PEYTON (3), and DELANEY (2), play happily in a kiddie pool in the middle of the yard. Water toys are scattered everywhere but in the pool. Towels and chalk litter the sidewalk and porch.
The front door opens, and you step out smiling with a nursing blanket over your shoulder, a baby monitor clipped to your pocket, and a tray of plates, cutlery, and pink lemonade in your arms. “Here, let me help you.” Breen moves to stand.
“No, no, you rest.” You set the tray on a small table next to a beautifully decorated birthday cake, half blue and half pink, and pour Breen a glass of lemonade as he settles back in his chair.
Breen takes the glass and looks at the kids running around laughing. “They’re all growing so fast.”
You turn to gather the towels scattered around the porch and hang them over the railing, beaming with pride at your four beautiful babies as you do. “I know. I wish they could stay this small forever.” You sit in a chair across from Breen and cut into the cake, quickly offering him a slice. “Here, eat.”
Breen happily sets his lemonade aside as you plate the slice of cake.
“Daddy!” The twins squeal with glee.
Your smile fades as you turn your attention out to the yard. The cake nearly slides off the plate you’re holding and into Breen’s lap before he can accept it.
Steve, now CPO 1st class and wearing dark navy army fatigues, drops a large duffle bag in the middle of the walkway and falls to his knee with arms stretched wide. Bailey and Brier jump into his waiting arms as the two toddlers rush up behind them. After a quick bear hug, the kids all return to their fun.
Steve stands and gives you a slight smile, a little worried about your current state of shock.
You smile back, a smirk that quickly grows into a big toothy grin as excitement fills your heart. It’s really him, he’s been away too long. You fly down the front steps and jump into Steve's arms, squeezing him tight. You shower him with kisses until you find his lips, and his tongue swipes at your lips. You allow him to deepen the kiss, your fingers combing his hair. The kiss is full of passion and longing. He sets you down, rests his forehead against yours, breathless. “I missed you,” you whisper. “Not as much as I missed you,” he whispers back.
The two of you stare into each other’s eyes a moment longer until you’re ripped from your bubble. “Hey!” You turn to find Breen standing on the top step glaring at Steve.
“What’s he doing here?” Steve asks as he protectively pushes you behind him.
Before you can answer, both men advance toward each other, ready to fight. “Would you two get a room?” You say as soon as they are toe to toe. They break into laughter and Steve pulls his friend in for a hug. You scoop up Steve’s bag and haul it over. “So you’re just gonna get yourself injured, come home, and hang out with my wife?”
“I was getting on Maya’s nerves. She kicked me outta the house for the day; figured I’d come here and annoy Y/N.
You drop the bag at Steve's feet. “Honestly, any adult conversation is welcome these days.”
Steve lifts the bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing and wraps his arm around you, kissing your forehead as he leads you back to the porch.
You LAUGH along with your daughters Brier-Lynn and Peyton, who are helping bake cookies. Their little faces and clothes are dusted with flour, as is everything else, but you live for these moments.
Delaney sits in a high chair beside the island, preoccupied with an activity cube. You sneak her a couple of chocolate chips as you discard dishes in the sink. On your return to the island counter, you grab a carton of eggs from the fridge and spot Bailey in front of the large kitchen window, his face pressed to the glass. “Bailey, what are you doing, sweetie?”
“What's daddy doing?”
You look out the window to see Steve cutting and measuring wood in the middle of the backyard. “Daddy's been gone a while, and he's just trying to catch up on some of the chores.”
Bailey quickly turns to you with excitement. “I want to help.”
You glance out the window at your husband, angrily hammering at a piece of wood on his workbench. The wood breaks and the hammer is thrown across the yard as he begins to pace; resembling a caged lion.
“Maybe later, okay?” Steve turns back to his workbench, flips the whole thing on its side, then rips an extension cord from the mess he created. He untangles the cable and wraps it up. You tear your eyes from the window to find your son pouting. “Why don’t you come help us bake cookies? I’ll let you taste the icing.”
Bailey lights up again and joins his sisters on the long step stool in front of the kitchen island.
You look out the window one last time to find Steve tidying the tools and materials around the workbench, now sitting upright.
You tuck in the children and make your way around the house searching for Steve, cleaning up toys along the way. You wander outside and find Steve sitting on the back steps, looking up at the stars and nursing a beer. You sit next to him, one step higher, and wrap your arms around him as you rest your chin on his shoulder. Steve kisses your cheek and leans his elbow on your lap, his eyes returning to the sky above. “I think we should take a trip.”
His gaze falls to the yard as he contemplates your idea. Setting his beer aside, he pulls you into his lap, sweeps your hair out of your eyes and behind your ear. “What if we left tonight?” You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him with bruising desire. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Smoke escapes a cracked window of a dark vehicle idling across the street from the Hillcrest parking lot in Revelstoke.
You and Steve work as a team unloading the SUV. Steve opens a double stroller, loads a few smaller items into the bottom storage compartment, and you transfer the sleeping toddler girls from their car seats into the stroller. As you strap the newborn to your chest, he pulls out a pair of suitcases and tosses a duffle over his shoulder.
Finally, Steve takes a twin in each arm, and you lock up, turning to slip the keys into his pocket. You give him a flirty kiss, hands roaming up his chest to frame his face. You pull away with a smirk and lead the way inside. He quickly grabs the bags and follows behind. King of one trip.
A cigarette is flicked from the cracked window of the dark vehicle as it pulls away and disappears around a corner.
You’re fast asleep in a hospital bed clutching a pillow to your chest.
Bucky Barnes, ex-SAS, charming, devilishly handsome, eyes hiding the trauma of a dark past, races down the hall. A PAIR OF NURSES trail close behind in an attempt to stop him.
DOCTOR BRUCE BANNER, naturally curious and friendly, sees the chase and steps in to block Bucky’s advancement. “Excuse me, sir...” Bucky nearly collides with the man. “Can I help you?”
“I'm looking for my wife.“ Bucky states.
“We can help find her once we get you signed in.” Doctor Banner tries to lead him back the way he came.
Bucky steps out of his reach with an exasperated SIGH as he places one hand on his hip, smoothes his beard with the other and then runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, the white gold band on his ring finger on full display. “My wife is right there. I just want to see her. She needs to know she is not alone.” Bucky pleads, pointing to the room just behind Doctor Banner.
“My apologies, sir. The patient in that room arrived only moments ago. She is still currently a Jane Doe. I am sure one of these nurses wou--”
“I know it's her! I followed the goddamn ambulance. I’m the one who called the fucking thing.” Bucky cuts him off, letting his frustration show.
“Sir.” Doctor Banner shrugs, hands tied.
Bucky takes another step back with a calming breath, hands raised in surrender as he tries to think. “I’m sure I have... Something.” He searches the pockets of his grey dinner jacket and pulls out a photo name tag. Bucky hands the card to Doctor Banner and unconsciously wipes the front of his sweater as if to straighten the tie beneath. “I must have left my wallet."
Banner examines the name tag.
“I know it’s horrible in terms of identification.” Bucky glances back at the two nurses, CLEARS HIS THROAT, and returns his full attention to the Doctor. “We were on our way to The Sutton Place Hotel.” He continues. “I was supposed to be a guest speaker representing my architecture firm. The wife,” He nods to your room, "saw the bakery on our way, heard about it through one of those magazines she's always reading. Instead of waiting until my schedule cleared up, I pulled over and told her I'd park the car.”
Doctor Banner hands the card back.
“As soon as I stepped foot in the alley, I saw her lying there. Her purse and everything was gone, even her ring.” As if remembering something, Bucky holds up an index finger, tucks his name tag away and pulls out a phone. “I have photos.” He offers the phone to Doctor Banner.
The Doctor flips through a few pictures and hands the phone back. “I apologize, Mr. London.” He steps aside, and the nurses return to their desk.
Bucky enters the room with the Doctor at his side. He hesitantly moves closer to your bed, overwhelmed with emotions. Is he dreaming? If he is, he never wants to wake up now that he finally has you within his reach.
“She was slipping in and out of consciousness when help arrived. We gave her a mild sedative to calm her nerves.” Doctor Banner observes Bucky’s apprehensive movements. “Does your wife have any allergies to medications?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off of you. “No, nothing.” Taking your hand in his, he lets out a shuddered breath and kneels beside your bed. He fights back angry tears at your current condition, kisses your hand and a tear escapes. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.” More tears fall as he tenderly tucks your hair behind your ear.
“Mr. London, you should know that the police are on their way. They will want to speak to you and...”
There’s a visible tick in his jaw at the interruption, though he still keeps his full attention on you. “Y/N”
Doctor Banner is hesitant to interrupt further. “When you are ready, we have a few forms that you will need to fill out at the nurses station.”
Bucky gives Doctor Banner a slight nod, and the Doctor immediately excuses himself, drawing the privacy curtains closed on his way.
Bucky’s head snaps up with the look of a stone-cold killer. Eyes dry, a completely different man than the one who entered moments ago. He removes a syringe from his inside pocket and inserts the needle into the IV, eyes trained on the curtain.
Cool idea I'm too white to do: I would read the hell out of someone re-writing a story based on the indigenous people in Peter Pan. Like, there're so many missed opportunities to have actual indigenous practices (preferably of one culture, to many misrepresentations some from trying to blend all indigenous people onto a monolith) blend with the environment of Neverland. How does the existence of mermaids and fairies change a naturalistic tradition? How do they use Neverland to their advantage against the lost boys and the pirates? Is there difficulties that arise from these settlers encroaching on their homes?
Like I said, even with all the research in the world, it's not my place as a white chic to write this. However, if an indigenous writer did this, I would read the hell out of it.
