#and for me its so connected to his femininity

[anomaliex]

Bad Kids (partially shameless projection) queer identity headcanons be upon ye

Notable that I think culturally literally anything that is not human has different ideas of gender than us. Some are very close to the point it hardly matters in a discussion like this (like elves and dwarves. It's mostly the same but I do think most elves are what humans consider to be feminine because they have a different idea of masculinity ((grace)). Or like, most dwarves seem masculine to humans for the simple reason that they all tend to have beards. Stuff like that.), but the further away you get from being hey pretty close to what a human is (like orcs or goblins) the further you stray from human understanding of how things work.

What if being intersex is way more common in a race of people, the concept of gender immediately becomes either way looser and less important or important with completely different values. Also I work under the assumption that whatever counts as "humanoids" (which is a very human-centric term but I like to think that's just because our POV is from a language that is inherently human) is a mammal and will generally have two sexes. But like, there's organisms with more or less than that, and in a fantasy world there's absolutely societies of intelligent species with similar characteristics. Imagine a weird hand wave, not relevant to this specific discussion as the bad kids are all human-shaped but it's something I find interesting. What would gender be like in that society if they had it at all? Living somewhere where that concept isn't really a thing (or at least not a thing in the way we understand it to be) sounds kinda awesome.

That said. Solace is a society mostly shaped by human standards and everyone who lives there somewhat conforms to them; and anyone who grows up there is probably socialised accordingly. Also Gorgug is adopted and doesn't seem all that connected to his roots and Riz is a third gen immigrant who doesn't get to see his extended family all that much. What I'm saying is everything I just said hardly matters in the context of the Bad Kids. Yeah. I just wanted to say it. I'm. I'm autistic. Thanks for reading my word vomit you're a real one for sticking through this far here's what I actually wanted to say.

Kristen. Obviously a lesbian. she/her and calls herself a woman but ultimately doesn't really. Care that much? About gender? And would not mind being referred to with masculine terms, it's more a matter of being afab so that's what she's going with.

Adaine I think has experimented with she/they pronouns. Often times she feels like her perception of life goes far beyond whatever societal constructs influence the present and she does not feel particularly attached to the idea of womanhood. I think she's aro spec but probably allosexual? Develops interest in all that a bit later than her friends and even then it's not. The same. She thinks guys are attractive, maybe girls sometimes, but doesn't actually feel inclined to do anything about that? Isn't looking to get into relationships or anything but yeah.

Riz is aroace because yeah. Personally I think oriented aroace because Baron being masc-ish does mean something to me, so he doesn't necessarily say it / find it relevant for other people to know but Riz personally IDs as gay + aroace. He does think some guys are attractive he's just sex repulsed lmao. I think he's the flavour of aroace where he'd happily engage in deep emotional bonds he just really doesn't understand what the fuck romantic feelings are supposed to be and how it'd be different than just loving his best friend(s) truly so much and is discomforted by the societal expectations and restrictions around the concept of "dating". ALSO about gender he's a he and its whatever. Does not care. Gender apathetic in the way Kristen is.

Gorgug isn't particularly attached to any labels, I think. He just likes who he likes, which is several people sometimes because he's also polyam. I think his lax view of his own inherent queerness has a lot to do with how open (and also inherently queer) his parents are. He just never really thought about it. Hit puberty and started thinking guys are hot and went okay this is not in any way special I'm way more worried about my favourite emo band breaking up rn. The only reason he ever came out to his friends was because he asked them for advice on how to bring up that he's polyam with Zelda (who I think was super cool with that and honestly from what we know that might be culturally normal to her), he does not consider it to be particularly noteworthy. Gorgug is similarly not particularly concerned about gender. I think he goes by any pronouns but also doesn't bring that up unless someone asks because he truly does not care or think it's a big deal.

Fabian's entire general person-ness feels queer to me idk. Bisexual and polyamorous. Probably aro-spec but he needs more time to figure that one out. Exclusively finds himself interested in women who are taller than him, this has nothing to do with being queer I just wanted to note that. He's the only one of the Bad Kids where I want to confidently say yeah this is a he/him man and he feels both comfortable in and connected to his masculinity. He ventures into gender nonconformity (starts with painting his nails, then make up, maybe a skirt when he's chilling at mordred manor) more and more as he gets older and more comfortable, I think, but that kind of only reaffirms to him that he's a man and loves being a man? Idk lol. Also for the record this is nonconformity in the context of Solace. For (high-)elven standards he's not like hypermasc dude bro but he's a pretty "manly" guy. Fallinel is like twink nation idk what to tell you. Now whether he's cis or not is a different question, while I personally think he is I do make a little mental cheer every time someone makes him trans.

Fig. They/she/it. She struggles with the disconnect she feels between her and the girl she thought she was a lot and it sucks, but eventually it does lead them to reexamine how they see themself and their identity and stuff. I think she eventually comes to the conclusion that yeah she has some attachment to femininity but ultimately exists in a space beyond the binary. Which is cool. Idk what label Fig would use, if any at all, but maybe something loose like genderqueer.

I know it's very commonly accepted that she's bisexual but like. Honestly. I think that was comphet. I think Fig is a lesbian who had some of the most horrendous comphet imaginable. None of their interest in those (concerningly) older men was genuine and it was all pretending to be someone else to get something and she isn't even sure why she wants that something that she can't quite place. And even though it longs so badly for the validation and confirmation that it's fitting into whatever role it is Fig is trying to emulate, she doesn't ever actually dare to get "serious". That's not actually what she wants. Uncomfortable and deeply concerning desperation for sexuality from a teenage girl who probably isn't a girl and certainly isn't actually interested in any of the men she's pursuing, and is so scared of just having to exist as herself deep down is such a real experience and if d20 wasn't a comedy show this could be the most visceral arc.

[ineffectualbookseller]

maybe an unpopular opinion but.... Azirpahle was pretty justified in the "I forgive you" blow.

And it was a blow, it was meant to sting. You can see how hurt he was after the kiss but he stopped himself from voicing his initial reaction and stealed himself to throw what he expected to be the final punch of the match.

I don't blame him at all - the kiss was unkind and selfish. The kiss was for Crowley to act out his desperation and he did so without thinking of how it would make Aziraphale feel. And honestly I don't blame him either, but if he's going to hit like that we can't blame Aziraphale for hitting back.

[gloriousangelfuck]

when we have to ask guys to buy us flowers as soon as it leaves our lips it ceases to be a romantic gesture but a chore and i hate it

[pureastrologywisdom]

𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔶 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔡

4th house synastry

This in my opinion is some of the most beautiful synastry you can have with someone. When someone has a planet here its going into some of the deepest parts the other persons natal chart.

These people can get very attached to each other. The best planets to have coming into someones else’s 4th house are benefics, the luminaries and your ascendant. You may find if you have malefics in the fourth house it can cause chemistry but more destruction.

I have experienced someones moon go into my 4th house, this was the most beautiful connection. This person feels like the home I have always dreamed of and their arms felt like the safest place on earth. There is a deep and easy understanding of one another's needs and how to comfort one another. The 4th house and the moon are very similar with what they represent in a natal chart. Being with this person is like breathing, its so natural. Its not quite as uncomfortable as 8th house or 12th house synastry, you are still meeting the person in a private place, but instead of them worrying about you exposing things about them, its more like you have a pact where you say ‘your secret is my little secret too’. I will say if someone has come from an unstable home in the past or their childhood, having a fourth house connection can be scary because it can be overwhelming how comforting the other persons feels, as they never had that before.

My ascendant went into this same person 4th house, once again this makes one another easy to understand. Because the 4th house is a more private part of the natal chart having someone ascendant fall here is interesting. It’s as if the 4th house persons recognises the more intimate and private parts of themselves in the ascendant person, they often admire the ascendant persons for expressing things so easily that they find safer to keep behind closed doors.once again the ascendant person makes them feel so comfortable and safe. This synastry with the person honestly hit me harder than others where I has 12th and 8th house synastry. 

4th house synastry makes you feel as if you can see and have a life with someone, they are someone you want to build a life with and support each other from the foundation up.

Venus conjunct mars

THIS ONE! This was very powerful. It’s an immediate connection and instant attraction. It’s one where you can put your finger on it but you cant get this person out your head. I had my Venus conjunct his mars. I felt like a woman around him and I and him feel like a man in the ways we both wanted. There was this flow, a natural give and take. He made me feel so feminine and beautiful. He treat me exactly like I wanted to be treated and he courted me exactly how I wanted to be courted.

It's quite frustrating because once you experience this attraction its hard to feel the same intensity and same level of attraction in other connections or people after it. No one feels quite as right or attractive as that person. This is one where you will never forget each other.

You know no matter how much time has passed if you see each other again it will be as if no time has passed, that spark will never die and neither will the attraction. 

I will say there is other placements needed to turn the spark into a long lasting wildfire. This can be really difficult if you don’t have other placement to support it because it can create the dynamic of wanting to be with each other so strongly and keep trying and coming back but not being able to sustain it. 

Thank you for reading, and let me know if you want more content like this <3

[callmearcturus]

dottie lasso is the final boss of the show (and ted loses)

someone commented on my ted-is-a-feminine-junior-too post about recognizing dottie lasso and what she did, and i'm a Johnny-come-lately to this fandom so i missed all the discourse

but surely it's been discussed to death that Dottie Lasso is the Final Boss of Ted's life, right? like, she shows up on that bench and you should feel the opening of "MEGALOVANIA" in your soul because she's the villain of the story.

honestly, in Ted Lasso, the main villains are: Rupert Mannion, Twitter, Rupert Mannion again, cisnormativity/heteronormativity, and Dottie Lasso, kind of in that order IMO.

"Mom City" is kind of a genius episode with its thesis and punchline. Because Dottie shows up and derails Ted's entire life and not in a good way. She makes him palpably uncomfortable and all of his usual kindness and interest is just turned off around her.

This episode isn't shy about reminding the audience that Richmond has become Ted's home. From the most fish outta water who nearly gets killed looking the wrong way crossing the street, Ted knows his neighbors, knows the culture here, and is defensive with that knowledge because it's been hard-won over time.

No but really, look at how UNCOMFORTABLE Ted is EVERY MINUTE of this episode. It's so stark bc this charm offensive Dottie's doing on everyone at Richmond is so clearly a Lasso Thing. This is the exact tactic Ted used when he was new in town and completely at sea.

(fuck this got long, there's a lot more under the jump)

But he isn't charmed or permissive or entertained, he never once Yes, Ands what Dottie says. In fact, he corrects her all the time.

jesus fuck look at this specific moment!!!

who the fuck are you and where is ted

because Dottie being here is a nightmare. she's the person who knows the Ted Lasso Source Code and the way she maneuvers and nudges him, he seems helpless against it. So he continuously separates himself from her in what feels to me like a fearful reaction.

Like, when Dottie explains where she's staying, she does this trick

DOTTIE: An adorable little hostel. I've met so many Australians. They are backpacking through Europe. So much sex. TED: Mom. DOTTIE: Not me, the Australians. TED: No, no, I get it, okay. How about you stay here for the rest of your trip, all right? DOTTIE: Only if I'm not a hassle.

This is such a fucking move, you realize? She has been in London a fucking WEEK without telling him, then as soon as she tells him where she's staying, she, a midwestern mom to her open-minded but very romantically private son, invokes sex so he'll be uncomfortable with the situation and invite her to stay. This is a chess move they should call the Wichita Shuffle.

And Ted absolutely hates the way Dottie lies about him. The connection is pretty straightforward; Dottie deals with her trauma and pain by covering them up with pretty little lies and melting truths until they fit the shape she wants them to be in. Everything she says in this episode is bullshit.

(points up) THIS INCLUDED, BTW. This is the Ted that Dottie wants him to be, the guy who will fall on his sword at the first sign of someone else's discomfort.

But that isn't who Ted is anymore and Dottie saying this is vicious and cruel. It's disrespectful to Rebecca, to everyone at Richmond, and to the work Ted's done with Sharon.

which oooooooooh

hey, anyone else remember Ted's "I love meeting people's moms, it's like an instruction manual on why they're nuts" from S2? boy that's a brick joke

and this bit of dottie saying her anxiety re: ted's therapy out loud, that hissing sound is a fuse being lit in this moment

Ted calls her out directly. He knows how she operates because she raised him in her own image. As I noted in the other post, Leslie Higgins is not the only feminine junior at Richmond, so is Theodore Lasso, son of Dorothy Lasso.

THAT FUCKING DARK CHUCKLE, THE "YEAH OKAY" MOMENT this is the fuse finally reaching the dynamite

this is the moment, this moment of push-back, implicitly the first time Ted's ever pushed back in his life

this is the moment Dottie takes every single thing she knows about Ted, everything she put into him, and she destroys his fucking life with the exact four words it would take to make Ted give up everything he's worked for, all so he'll go back to being what she expects from him.

and hell if he doesn't know it.

everything he's done for himself, all the space he's finally allowed himself to fill, the progress and labor he's put into becoming a better person

mom shows up and tells him no, you're coming back.

(and the fact Dottie Lasso, a character who has not said five truthful things this entire episode, tells us how someone else feels should be questioned very fucking directly. i don't trust this woman to honestly report on Henry's opinion of peanut butter and jelly, let alone if he wants his father to give up his life and return to Kansas. i know every single fic has brought up the question of "hey why doesn't anyone ask Henry what he wants" but that's because SOMEONE needs to ask the question instead of taking Dorothy fucking Lasso's word for it, christ)

I don't know how tf you don't read this show as a tragedy. Dottie Lasso is incredible, she's so pitch-perfectly written and acted, and she's absolutely the final boss of the show. And Ted doesn't win that fight.

hell THE SHOW SAYS THE QUIET PART OUT LOUD, i would put the screencap here but I've run out of images, but THEY FUCK YOU UP, YOUR MUM AND DAD, THE SHOW SAYS IT this is a fantastic tragedy, i love it

[thesirencult]

How Will Your FS See You ?

1--2

*****************************************

Pile 1

I'm seeing a vision. A girl is gathering flowers and playing in the sun between trees. At the same time, a man is looking at her like she is his whole world.

What this tells me is that there is a very clear distinction between you and your future spouse's energies. Your FS is definitely more masculine (no matter their gender) and you are more feminine.

This person sees you as a ray of light. You are dainty like a flower and sweet like honey. I'm hearing the word "yellow" 💛. Whenever they are looking at you, you are draped in golden light.

Now, what makes me sad is that you don't see yourself that way. Your person knows that you are picking yourself apart and they hate it.

You are a shiny little star to them. Some words they might call you are : my little star, pooh bear, sweetheart, honey, sweetie, cutie. They believe you are the sweetest, loveliest, most sincere person on planet earth. You believe that you do not deserve love or that you are not that important but they are seeing "You are important. You are as important as the air I breathe. You are necessary to my survival."

Like the sun is the centre of our universe, you are the centre of their universe. Your FS is very affectionate with you. I'm seeing someone kissing the fingers of someone else and breathing in their scent from their neck/hair. First and foremost they find you sweet and cute. Like, to them, intimacy doesn't mean mindless physical connection but love making. They love your hands and your nose.

They adore your expressions and they find certain quirks you have cute. As an example, when you feel tired and puff air out or if you tag on their hand and look up at them.

This person might be bigger than you and they just want to protect and serve you. I believe that they want to set boundaries between you and the world. They want to hold up a mirror for you and help you see your own light.

Whenever you are sad they want to make you smile.

I believe that you and your FS are going to be really close. This is not a normal bond. To others it might not seem healthy, they way that you are attached to eachother, but for you it's perfect...

Pile 2

Your FS sees you as their dream person, not in a childish way but in a mature way. You are what they need not what they wanted.

This person has had lots of experiences when it comes to love. When they meet you they will be going through a "winter" moment, life will have lost its spark. You might be born in March, cause you are going to wash away the snow and help them see the bright side of life again.

This will not be easy. Your FS will see you as their wish fulfillment, but at moments they will be wondering whether God or the d*vil sent you. You will be triggering their old wounds and stagnant energy.

This person will be very caring towards you. They will constantly remind you to take your vitamins and drink enough water. They will tease you about your height or nose just to get to your nerves.

I'm hearing "They are so draining!". Now, this is really funny cause I heard it in a teasing way, like you are at the next room and they are telling your mom you are a pain in the butt when in reality they love your quirks.

They will be constantly worrying about your well-being lol. They will get mad when you are not taking care of yourself and they will be trying to guilt trip you into doing things that are good for yourself.

Let's say you are really shy and don't want to go to the beach but they want to go and you have a dog that loves the water. They will be telling you "See, the dog is broken hearted. You are not a really good dog mom/dad."

This person will think you are sneaky. They will love the sparkle your eyes have as you have a very "active" inner child.

I believe you don't show that side to others that often and no one will believe what they have witnessed. You could have made a crazy food combination or they found you teaching the dog muay thai, to them you can NEVER be boring. It's like, what is she up to, AGAIN?

I also get that you might give them the "puppy eyes" when you get caught doing something you're not supposed to be doing (ex. cheating on your diet) or playing all coy and sweet and they love that!

[samodivaa]

Thrill me, Fulfill me

You agreed to help for one mission—now you are both lustful and carnal, affected by sex pollen—you are flint, he is tinder.

Warnings - sex pollen, smut, rough/possessive sex, Hydra past, breeding kink, choking kink, multiple orgasms

Words - 8k

(the 3D render is for this fic, enjoy :3)

The horizon tips on its side, and slowly, hour by hour, the day spills out and soon the night will spread its darkness—traveling through the countryside is a charming escape and in a chronicle of events, with the light of the days—you feel the light inside too, your human spirit wanders in thoughts as you sit on the BMW’s trunk with closed eyes. It is June, and the world smells of roses, moments like these leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going—in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, Bucky and freedom—your soul feels at peace.

“I talked with Sam, he wants me to help him” There is an endearing nervousness in his voice “I was wondering if you would like to come with us”

In an instant, you reply with an annoyed face “No”

“No? Come on, you need people other than me in your life”

He scolds as he nests between your legs, fingers finding their way on both sides of your hips, drawing soft circles as they travel up towards your waist.

You arch an eyebrow at him, as if the answer is obvious “I don’t need others”

“You will love Sam, I told him about us, I mean-about us living together”

“You did, why?” you clip your words, hissing them into his face as you give a wide-eyed, searching look.

“I used to invite him over to my apartment, he started wondering why I stopped. I wanted him to know anyways”

“What else did you tell him?” you look at him with an arrested expression. His smile fades, and he finds himself staring into your eyes “James?”

It is only a brief moment, but you catch his blink of surprise at your demanding tone before he offers a tentative smile.

“I-I told him about your connections and he was hoping that-” he trails off quietly and you notice a tightness around his mouth and a dimness to his usually bright eyes.

You regard him thoughtfully and he sees the comprehension dawning in your eyes. You know exactly what he is asking.

“Did you miss the part of how I built them?” you ask, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He huffs in annoyance “Well no, but don’t worry-”

“Oh, hey Sam, I am another brainwashed assassin and when I escaped I did it willingly, for money, nice to meet you by the way”

“I get it, but you are changi-”

You snap, pinching your eyebrows close together.

“And this is my former partner who I used to occasionally fuck at Hydra and now that we have reconnected, we are fucking and living together”

“Anything else you want to add?” 

“No, that's all” you finish bitterly, furious with him for letting Sam know so much about you.

“He already met you once in Madripoor, he knows about your past. Trust me, he is a good person, he accepted me”

You let out a hollow laugh

“I am not Captain America’s best friend, James. I am nobody, I don’t even have a legal identity”

You explain in a humorous yet deprecating tone, staring into space.

“Look at me, you need to trust me” he coos, his blue eyes have a doorway to your heart, the place where his care for you resides “I know that you are scared, but you need other people in your life”

It's the caring that he lovingly gives, the passion that he shows—that convinces you every time.

“If I break your heart, I break mine, darling”

Shifting your mouth from a frown into a light-hearted smile, you let out a small chuckle from underneath your breath. His metal hand rests on the small of your back, in that sweet spot that makes you feel feminine and protected—vanity, fear, uncertainty—all such distortions within your own ego—condition you to stay silent about your own feelings. Your programmed mind-pattern still needs to heal, all you need is time, you will get there eventually.

You kiss him on the cheek, which kind of surprises him.

“Хубаво, ще дойда” (Okay, I will come)

His gaze flickers up to your eyes and he can detect no deceit, no mockery. 

There are many circumstances that lead to arrogance: one is when you're wrong and you can't face it—but you decide to face it this time, because you know that your brain relies on the familiar. It is reluctant to experience the unknown, which is the very essence of your human life.

The past should have no power over the present, but it still does sometimes—anger and death are deeply rooted, your emotional thermostat is broken. Everything in you is broken—you view yourself as pieces and Bucky somehow sees you as a whole.

Inside, your soul was so cold that you hated everything. You even despised the sun, for you knew you would never be able to play in its warm presence—you were condemned to stick to the past, working as a hitman for years. Everything changed when Bucky decided to track you down. You knew he was spying on you, because you made it easier for him.

You were afraid of the aloneness that you trusted for so long, but that is the truth that you still store in the granary of your mind. Maybe you will tell him one day. Maybe one day you will let him know that he helps you abandon your corporeal prison.

"Я просто люблю запах страха" (I just love the smell of fear) you whisper—a knife-wielding lunatic.

You face the attackers in a kind of instantaneous flash and see the disconsolate eyes, which remain stamped on your heart like the hot coals of fear, the power of death is then borne out by you—the queen at the bloody carnival, not afraid to spill blood while Bucky tries to prevent hurting, killing people at all cost.

It is easy when you work together, just as in the past—but he is holding back, you are not used to seeing him fight so carefully—Winter’s brutality is non-existent.

You sigh as the last man drops dead to the ground. With a knife in his chest. Or, rather, a pair of knives in the chest.

Yes, you helped them locate the rumored Hydra base, but Bucky’s intense paleness on his face shows regret, because you still don’t mind killing—you give him a pitying smile when your eyes meet before your system is poisoned with something.

It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion that you forget why you are here. And then your eyes meet again, there is fascination in his gaze, menaced by some invisible danger, and you want to succumb the terrible desire to weep when you realize what it is and you look at the mysterious trembling of your hands—your gaze goes up, but Bucky is nowhere to be seen.

He knows he has to go somewhere, he heads back to the apartment and he has feelings of sorrow, regret, directionless rage, a broad feeling of impotence. The horror of this misfortune penetrates Bucky so deeply that he is close to a panic attack—as if reliving the nightmare he sometimes has—Hydra giving him the pollen back in 1990.

He wanders all through the rooms as if walking in his sleep, chewing on his quiet rage.

He knows the theoretical mechanics of the pollen and he can barely stay on his feet because of the weakness of his knees, his skin is burning and he can’t resist the urgent need to palm himself through his pants—it starts slow and will go progressively worse. 

He rubs his hand over his scalp, where his long hair used to be—now shaved very close to his head and bristling against his fingers, he lowers his blue eerily crystalline eyes before closing them. He feels like he should be crying, but he couldn’t summon the tears.

—it’s all his fault. Why did he need to come to your apartment a year ago, on a beautiful August’s evening?

„I knеw that we were following me, Soldat,“ you loudly acknowledge him, drawing out the derogatory term while your back is turned to him.

Stillness wraps Bucky up in a cold embrace, a chill running down his body as he hears you speak. On the string spun of your angel voice, grief and pain drowns him. The tone drawn from memory in his dreams it’s the same, unblinking, robotic as you offer him one spare look before focusing on cutting vegetables on the wooden board.

He exhales, then he slowly enters the apartment. „It is not Soldat, it’s Sergeant now“ his breath hitches and he stops as soon as he enters the room.

There is a crack in his stoic expression, excruciating memories flooding his mind. He knew that somewhere, some day, maybe at a less miserable time, you may see each other again, but he couldn't wait any longer.

The memories are still in his mind and the pain—too ripe in his heart. The more deeply he felt, the less he was able to breath, thinking of grief, and of getting past it.

That's why he came. He needs you in more ways that he wants to confess.

„Oh? What do you want, Barnes?“ your face is carefully blank.

„I wanted to talk to you“ he starts, taking a couple of steps towards.

Shadows lick up the side of his cheekbones, making his skin gold as he slowly walks to the opposite side of the kitchen island, you hear him move the wooden seating.

„And you couldn’t just-I don’t know…have knocked on the door?“

„Sorry, I didn’t know how to-“

He says, a tremor makes his voice uneven. Bucky takes in a deep breath to balance out the embarrassment thrumming through him.

„It is easier to be loyal to past habits, can’t blame you“ you murmur, voice perfectly respectful as you think about it with a heavy heart.

You said it as a matter of fact, without the scorn and mockery, but as an accepted truth before placing the knife you have been using, on the cutting board and finally facing him completely as you step closer to the island as well, leaning forward on your elbows.

But the wintery feeling of the pollen is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring that summer's memory of meeting you.

The memory played in his head, with a hopeless nostalgia that he was completely disoriented—he doesn't care if you are heartless, vicious and vulgar, stupid, grasping with incurable programming and mental problems, he enjoys spending time with you. He would rather have misery with you than happiness with any other person, because it is shared, you have a deep and silent understanding.

He was so happy when you suggested living together four months ago—he was okay with the sleepovers at each other's apartments—never was bothered with the need to rush your companionship.

The key to personal development lies in the daily routine—creating new memories with you stretches out psychological time, and lengthens his perception of both your and Bucky’s lives. When he wakes up from a nightmare he is so relieved, because he wakes to a dream, he enjoys the miracle of living with each other as much at the table as in bed.

Bucky finally lays on the bed, his head aches. He admits that he is still human, vulnerable, and sensitive—but he begins to remember how it had been when Hydra gave him the pollen and his self revolted at this, hates himself for not being able to fight it, hates himself for bringing you here.

He is sick with conflict, destructive emotions festeres in him while this sludge eats away at his insides and Bucky is acutely conscious of the swift passage of time, it will make him become blunt and callous—there is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get for him, but maybe this is what he deserves.

When you push open the bedroom door, you can’t prevent it from scraping against the uneven floor. Suddenly, in the absolute darkness of his mind, Bucky is brought back to reality. He is not surprised, for without knowing, he has been expecting you to come.

You close the door behind you as he stands up on his elbows—wondering why are you such a stubborn, blind, obtuse woman—why are you here?

Your scent carries across the room and paralyzes him with longing.

“Stay away, why did you fucking follow me?”

You stop in shock at the words he utters—they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless.

He is vulnerable, slightly paranoid. Although his voice is broken by uncertainty and his hands seem to doubt the existence of things—he tries to appear composed.

You can feel his eyes traveling up your whole body, staying on your side for a split second before moving up to meet your gaze.

“James, we don’t have another choice, we don’t have time”

You can't blame him—he is scared, scared and frozen, afraid of what he can do to you...the old primitive urge for sex. It's getting harder to control it with every passing minute—every second is lived with terrible intensity. It all flows over you with a screaming ache of pain—as you see him, the need grows even faster...and all you can do is remember and feel—the effects of the pollen—like a disease of the blood, dispersing throughout the body.

He looks like a bundle of past recollections, knotted up in a bundle of flesh.You remember what his flesh has gone through—but you also remember what he put you through that day. You feel the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation, you appear solid in front of him, but you are mimicking nothingness.

“God, I smell you. So hot and sweet”

The blank hell in the back of his mind starts to break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence, the pollen eats away the pith of his humanity—the chaotic words pour out of his mouth as he gets up from the bed and you self-paralyze, your back hits the door—but this is the only way that will pull you both out of the plunge of—pain, need.

Your sexual attraction to him has been heightened beyond measure, as much as you try to bury it deep down in fear, the lust is getting greater than any other feeling or emotion. Every part of him is heightened to you now...his voice included.

He stops in front of you, belatedly realizing where his feet have carried him. There is no glamor, no attempt to hide it, nothing: his need taking slowly over all his senses. The unwelcomed bubble of intrusive lust, sinking into an even more heavily occluded state—you feel it too as he molds his front to yours and pins your breasts against his chest.

You are mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he looks—putting your mind into a darker cloud of irritation, waiting for him to do whatever he wants.

You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as he cages you against the door, his consciousness already vanishing and deforms itself in something primal, there is a delicious animal fire in his gaze.

“I want to taste you so desperately, it rages through me-fuck, fuck this-I want to fuck you”

His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning— it’s hard—but not harder than his cock.

“Do it, come on” you gasp out.

“If you don’t get out of here, you know what will happen”

He explains weakly, and when you say nothing, he grabs your waist with both hands, vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire.

Bucky’s control dies a slow death, shedding layers like leaves until—there will be none—he tends to be particularly rough, aggressive and possessive when given the pollen. You remember the feeling of possessiveness he had as the Winter Soldier over you, so intense it transformed into an obsession over your body.

“I'm not leaving, I need this as much as you” you say, tremulous with longing.

Bucky stares at your mouth as you speak—it looks provocative to him when you talk.

“Enough, dammit, leave”

His voice tightens, it pierces your soul—half agony, half lust.

You still have the choice of running away and finding someone else to do it, but leaving Bucky behind—you know there is not a girl in the world that can handle him, no one else has the serum, but you—your brain is ricocheting in between. It all drifts to the periphery of the mind when you meet Bucky’s eyes.

“It’s normal-” you say haltingly, your expression turns guarded.

He is livid, a sad look on his face

“We are not normal” he interrupts with a soft firmness “It’s insane to pretend we are”

You are both aware. Catastrophically aware.

“Stop talking, we’ve been through that once-”

and you look so well-equipped for this that is seems abnormal to Bucky, he is conquered by the obstinacy of you—so docile and willing to help—he wants to be emancipated for the moment from the torment of the pollen, but the guilt is still eating him.

“Do you remember the year it happened?”

"You always ask me whether I remember the stupid years, lets just-” you say with a shrug.

"It matters, it matters to me. I hate that you remember, I hate myself for what I've done to you” He explains, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his human hand.

"James” you whisper his name tremulously “I don’t blame you for anything”

His pain is paramount and you want it to end. His pain, his guilt. You are willing to suffer for the rest of your night so that he can take the easy way out of his needs. You admit it to yourself, without bitterness—you need to sacrifice dearly on behalf of Bucky. 

“I’ll lose control” What you cannot forgive is dishonesty—you would rather know the hideously unflattering truth of his devastating visions than foul evasions “If you try to run now, I will probably chase you down anyways”

With all that waiting you have lost the strength of your legs, the firmness of your breasts, your tenderness look—barely keeping your heart intact. Maddened by that prodigious talking, you shamelessly groan, closing your eyes.

“This is bad,” you whimper “Oh God, this is bad. Please, do something”

The next critical manifestation: the unbearable pain.

“Snezinka-” (snowflake)

“Stay with me” your eyes shone “Play with me, please” like those of a cat.

In that state of hallucinated lucidity—you just can’t take it anymore. Presently the need grows stronger, hesitating then no longer. The attempts to conceal the pollen’s effects don't work anymore.

“At least…give me permission this time” Bucky shakes his head, sadness vibrating through his body as he speaks through clenched teeth.

“Yes, do whatever you want” you moan, shaking, desperate for his touch.

And then you see something possessive wash over him, making your body shiver in anticipation.

“Please, I need yo-”

You say, nodding at the soul-reaching blue crystals, not looking away from him, but Bucky doesn’t let you finish as he kisses you. His lips are warm, his body is heat and muscles against you. He kisses you like a tide, gentle at first, but with the ability to drown, his fingers digging into your waist, urging you ever-nearer to him, even when it’s physically impossible to be. Then his fingers slithers over your chest, hands immediately find your breasts and he starts to massage them for his own pleasure.

His fingers curl around the edges of your soaked blood shirt, pulling and eventually tearing it away from your skin.

There is lust and there is pain, a whirling wheel—not stopping.

He wastes no time, kissing you deeply again, already missing the feeling of your skin.

“I am yours, you know that”

A simple reply, his voice cut into you like glass, his words bleeding into your skin. It isn’t something to be argued against, it’s the truth and you acknowledge that. It’s ridiculous, absurdly sentimental to think that you managed to lay a claim on him like you did in the past. 

You are trying to think of something, coming up short when he presses his hips flush against yours again, the chest harness wrinkling under the tight grip of your fists, pulling him and he hems you up against the door, grinding his cock against you. You slide one hand downwards, wrapping around his hard manhood and squeeze, Bucky moans quietly and involuntarily rolls into the contact, desperately seeking relief.

“Fuck” he says, a bit too breathlessly.

„James-this is not enough“ you undulate your hips against the aching bulge.

His name falling on his ears like that sent chills down his spine, he can hear the beat of his heart, his palms belong on your skin as he closes the gap between you. Nothing is sweeter, nothing else than you—lust is spreading like quickfire in his veins, groaning in the kiss.

“I know, I know” he whispers, a hint of exasperation and affront in his tone, leaning forwards to kiss you yet again, teasingly licking at your lips as he pulls away.

Sexual perversions mix with guilt and adrenaline as his mind sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Bucky grips your waist and lifts you off the ground with ease, dropping you softly on the luxurious white linen bed.

You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs—his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs. The corners of his mouth curve upward when he notices you staring a moment too long as he removes his jacket and shirt.

You remove your own pants and then you spread your legs open, positioned right in front of his standing body—one hand toys with your breast through the bra while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drags them down your legs fast before throwing them in his direction.

His breath stutters as he catches them with his metal arm, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft. It’s becoming more painful. He starts to pump his cock, the veins bulging beneath his grip—even in his large hand, it looks intimidating, the veins in his neck tightening.

He’s quite tall with broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even his leather jacket cannot hide. Your eyes continue their upward travel to his strong square-shaped face framed with short brown hair that falls to his shoulders and deep, blue eyes. 

He then craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten now.

It is the impatience of the way he tears your bra from your body that really scares you: the pollen getting the better of him and you spread your legs wide, exposing your overall and the fragrance of the essences permits in the air, he smells it.

His cock nudges around your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead glides through your delicate folds. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you, burying himself to the hilt.

Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming, this selfish. He is so far in that his balls are right against your pussy lips.

His greedy lips are once again on your skin, devouring everything he can—licking, sucking, and kissing, not holding back his throaty moans. He drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth. His lips are usually gentle and loving, promising long days and summer forever—but they soon turn sharp, peppermint, winter.

Animal logic. Prey. Predator… teeth dragging against your neck, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples; shooting up and down your spine.

You're perfect when you're underneath him, it's where you belong, beautiful face and pretty wide eyes locked onto his powder-blue orbits—curves cushioning him, your obedient body lush, muscular, but still feminine, your eyes flashing—and all he wants is to ruin you.

It's a sinful sight each time he buries the length of his cock all the way inside you, shaft slick and wet and glistening when he pulls it out. You make the prettiest noises when he shoves in deep only to pull out and slam himself back inside, you've got the prettiest expression as he grips your legs and folds them up to fuck his dick into you even harder than before.

“Don’t stop, don’t, please”

There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.

He continues to trail his lips down the front of your throat and you realize that he is mouthing words against your skin “Mine. Mine. Mine”

“You feel so good every time, snezinka” he murmurs at your ear as slide to your throat and he tightens his grip on both sides on your neck, reducing the blood and oxygen to the brain. When he loosens, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by a shamelessly loud moan from your lips “I think that I love you”

“We’re drugged. That’s why,” you gaspe “Did you forget?”

Bucky acknowledges your words, they sink into him—he focuses his attention on your skin. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath, skin breaks out into a pale sweat and your eyes fill with tears. His trusts are ruthless.

“There is no pleasure as good as the feel of your pretty cunt wrapped around me” a dark edge creeps into his tone.

He says as he fills out pounds you, drawing a muffled scream from your throat as he starts to thrust more rapidly, setting a demanding rhythm.

Something strange starts to rage inside him, hearing you inhale sharply as he continues to kiss and bite your neck, leaving bruises deliberately and as he fucks you deeper, wanting to mark you in an entirely different way—he wants to breed you.

And you know you will wear the bruises of Bucky’s hands as you wear the scars of Soldat.

All extremes of the pollen are allied with madness, finally consuming his brain and body.

“You are so beautiful”

He says into your skin, tears welling, confused, mingling in his throat. Old wounds never truly heal, your past will never fully heal anyways. That one tear, that tiny, salty, droplet of moisture is a means of expression—joy, and torment. Although it's just a small tear, it is the heaviest thing in the world. And it doesn't do a damn thing to fix anything in this situation.

“James-” your whole body exhaled a lugubrious lament, your heart breaks for him.

His eyes are always soulful, in some way; they seem to say things that you know he's probably never say out loud.

“I know baby, I know,” he nibbles on the side of your neck “You are so beautiful, I am sorry-so sorry, I can’t stop” his growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length “I need this, I need you”

You’re powerless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his voice sends shudders through your body, reacting in all the right ways to the words. The orgasm has gutted your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp, tears slipping down the old salty trails as he doesn’t stop, his head lulling on your shoulder.

He leans down, nose brushing against yours as he pants, thrusts never faltering, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb. He closes his eyes, because of the volcanic eruptions of fever still goes through his body—his orgasm is long, raw, reaching all his body senses.

Sex is unthinkable without roughness tonight—he is already thinking about his second orgasm—should he just cum in your mouth when he makes you fall to your knees… or if he should take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. Of the few times Soldat has face fucked you—gagging you to near vomiting—you’ve never miss a drop of cum. He remembers it.

His hand closes around your throat and the grip tightens, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. Your head is spinning, ears are ringing—suddenly, without warning, he withdraws completely, leaving you coughing and gasping for air. As you try to catch your breath, you feel him get up from the bed which urges you to come back to your senses faster.

In his temporary madness, an idea comes to his mind.

In seconds, he is back on top and when your vision finally clears—his lusty orbs descend to your cheeks, detailing your skin before leaning in to lick off your tears—some form of mercy which you don’t need.

He is now in that state of fire that excites you. You want to be burnt.

His eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and he smiles, nova-flare eyes blazing into your own—you look for love hiding in his eyes, in his face, and you find nothing but possessiveness.

But something is not right.

His eyes are cold and dark.And your heart stops.

He is taking you over. Staking a claim.

He slowly thrusts his hips forward, his cock pressing into your front, earning a squeal from you as he ruts back and forth dragging his length across your opening and then slowly plunges into you. You exhale, trembling as you feel the tip pressing against your opening and penetrating you. He is mesmerized by the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

Bucky brings both of your wrists above your head and grips them in his metal arm, restraining you from moving them—and you tremble like a downy rabbit caught in the clutches of a wolf—he seizes you as boldly as Soldat used to capture his favorite prey—you—in the past.

A flash blinds you for a moment and you see him holding his phone—this feels surreal—leaving you breathless with an inexpressible delight of it. Bucky’s inner voice of lust speaks, it is so spontaneous and unannounced. Your mind searches for the logical thought of his action.

“Fuck, I can cum just by looking at it” He musters his primest tone, throwing the device to the side.

You whimper as your abdomen contracted painfully around his hard length at his words. He lets his fingers release your hands as his cold digits swipes back the hair from your face. Cursing, he grips the back of your neck and brings your lips to his while the metal ones grip your hip so tightly you are sure he’d leave a bruise. You whimper as he starts to fuck you, slamming you into the matress.

The usual warmth of his hands is not there. They chill your skin as they hold you close to his body, and you realize he is scared. The extreme joy mixes with the bone-crushing grief—what if you don’t want to be around him after this night? What if you condemn him, consider it with high and unjust resentment and leave him? It pierces his soul, but he can’t stop—he is half agony, half animal...the past beats inside like a second heart now.

Your soft fingers trail his face and continue to attempt a connection that he refuses to acknowledge at first—the past slips and vanishes like sand between the warm touch of your fingers, acquiring material weight, only in its recollection, because the more shared past there is in any relationship, the more present you need to be for each other.

“Let go," you whisper and he loosens the grips—he is ashamed of holding you so tightly "No, not of me," you say smiling.

You look right into his eyes, right into him as far as you can see, because you want him to hear you, you want him to hear you with everything you say—and his chest tightens as if some euphoric drug has gone straight to his nervous system—but it is not the pollen, it is you—reassuring him, leaving a psychic imprint in his mind.

It’s both a blessing and a curse to share the same trauma. And even though you are sometimes harsh, restless and despairing—he is your weak spot, you love him in your own way.

"You can hold on to me as long as you want. Let go of the past, let go of the pain" you say, giving him permission, taking him into your flesh, a clear invitation to madness.

Emotions clamp down on his heart, but he stays terribly silent. Bucky says nothing after that, only your name, as if your name is not a name but a question. He shakes his head and kisses you, long and quiet.

He grabs your jaw in one hand forcing you to look at him, tears coursing down your cheeks as he thrusts into you, making low, growling noises in his throat—a predator purring with pleasure while it devours its prey, picking up a brutal pace once again. Your legs tighten around his waist, hooking over his hip bones as he practically folds you in half, nails digging into his back, surely breaking his skin with your manicured fingers.

He groans at the pain and removes your hands, intertwines his fingers with yours, pins your wrists flat to the mattress on either side of your head. He holds himself up over your body as he fucks into you, supporting his weight on his forearms. His cock is slamming into you, balls bouncing against your clit just right, the sight of his well-muscled body, covered in a thin layer of sweat, invites you to utter depravity, it is what drives you over the edge.

“You look so good taking all of me” he pants against your throat “I will fill you again-so good”

Hard, long, deep trust that forces moans out of both of you.

You whimper and nod dumbly, screw your eyes tight as another wave of pleasure spread throughout your body in orgasmic tingles as he pulls his own climax with you. He presses his face against your neck as his hips lose any and all sense of tempo and when he finally stills, he holds himself deep inside as he leans back—with every breath, your bust heaves, sweat droplets running between them and attracting his gaze.

It pollutes his mind even more, it cripples his morality, because he is infatuated with fucking you like this again—is it the pollen at this point? 

''Bear with me'' He murmurs, gritting his teeth ''I need…more” his cock slowly sliding out of your tight pussy before sliding back inside with equal slowness, sliding through copious amounts of thin lubrication and cum. Your legs wrap around his waist and prevent him from pulling out even if he wants to—your understanding, your willingness is a kind of ecstasy to him.

The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put your finger on. What is he thinking about?

A part of him cares about you.

But there’s a depravity in his mind right now that enjoys seeing you like this—your hair is in disarray, several tendrils scattered across your face and constricting your view of him, sweat pricks at your hairline and down your back. There is something unmistakably exultant in turning you into a mess—such a mess of cum and tears. Gently, he brushes the tendrils out of your face, tenderness in his touch—that’s the part of him that cares.

“I need you on the floor, on all fours” —that's the part of him that's deprived tonight.

You can feel the desire. The thirst. The absolute beast threatening to tear from his skin.

Soldat loved to fuck you against solid ground. He never truly left, sometimes Bucky is on the verge of cracking and showing the color of the thing beneath, but you don’t mind, you are not scared, you never were. 

All he wants is for you to be filled, marked, bruised from staying up all night, taking his cock into your body until you are depleted of all your strength. Even then, he will fuck you. He doesn’t say more, but he groans as he gets up—what a sinful twist of his lips, watching you slowly get up, your legs are incapable of supporting your weight much longer.

Your cunt hurts, too—you feel his cum dripping down your thighs, making yourself position in doggy style, legs winched apart, everything exposed to his view and he goes to stand on knees behind you, eagerly holding up his cock then he lines up your hole. He twists your hair around his fist and yanks your head back, at the same time thrusting into you from behind as his fingers slide to dig into your ass. 

Bucky grunts as he slams into you “Я без ума от тебя” (I'm mad about you) his balls slapping against the sensitive nub. You choke on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. You arch your back more and dig your nails into the floor, clawing at the dirty ground as he relentlessly pounds into you. Sweat drips down his neck as he watches himself entering and exiting you.

He grips your hips tightly, slamming into your snatch with ferocity. A wave of pleasure suddenly overwhelms you, and the tingling is growing stronger once more.

“Я предан тебе…ты моя девочка”(im devoted to you)...(You are my girl)

You can only mewl and gasp as you are rocked back and forth on your knees, losing your breath every time his cock hammers into your cunt. You clench around him when you hear your full name spoken in his gravelly tenor.

He molds his front to your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. He grabs your hair and snaps your head back roughly before it travels down around your throat and squeezes tight while his other palm splays across your stomach.

His lips rests on the back of your shoulder, hissing

“Очевидно, что , нас чувства друк к други” (You can’t deny what's between us)

He carries on rutting you like an animal. Your skin slapping together, your pussy squirting around his cock as it invades your snatch repeatedly, making suction squelching noises with every thrust in of his length. It keeps on hitting your cervix, your nubile breasts swing with the force of your body rocking—you know that you will be sore later.

"You fill my heart, I fill your cunt"

But his words strike every inside your body and his honesty brings the euphoria of complete surrender.

“Enough, stop, it is too much”

You plea and nearly asphyxiate on the words as your orgasm bursts upwards from your abused cunt. A sob wracks your throat and he continues thrusting, riding your orgasm until your entire body is convulsing and you are desperately trying to wiggle out of Bucky’s arms with the last of your strength, but it's not enough compared to the strength of his arms holding your hips with renewed vigor, determined to breed you.

You catch sight of him from your peripheral vision, his eyes closed, his lips are silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in, the way he fucks you. And you thought that he chose that position, because he was embarrassed, but he was not—he wanted to disguise from you how much he was enjoying himself.

You have the strength to kill him, but here you are—so obedient.

His little submissive.

His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind.

“James” 

His name on your lips sooth a place deep inside him, and the urgent need to hear it in again pulses in his heart, making himself guilty of such a secret, he must perforce hold it—

—but he shamelessly let out a loud moan, he never felt so out of control. You are a disease worse than the pollen itself.

“Bucky” 

That makes him groan like an animal, noises coming out of him that you never heard before, he was never this vocal. The groans are desperate, endless, but the sound of his name is unspeakably erotic to him. He can’t get enough of this. He will die without it, without you.

“You look too pretty when you’re getting fucked like that” he blurts out, without even thinking.

There is already a fissure in his mind and madness just rushes through. Praising him puts him on edge, it’s something he never thought he wanted or needed. You wreak havoc on his life.

He squeezes his eyes shut—to utilize the entire spectrum of the other senses, moans of ecstasy crescendos and his breaths come in short instances, each with a slight pause in between as his body is rack with his orgasm, cum is flooding out of your cunt, dripping of you onto the hardwood floor and there is a charm about it that makes it unspeakably desirable for Bucky.

In this stillness, he finally finds serenity. 

All you want to do is crawl back beneath the mound blankets—he gently picks you up and you smile crookedly at him, something about your smile loosening a knot in his chest, because holding you in his arms is more natural to him than his own heartbeat.

Morning came in through the blinds cutting everything into ribbons, but the light can make the most vulgar things tolerable—you are aware of the aching hips, and your whole body hurts like hell as if you have been run over by a train.

Bucky steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered with a white towel around his lean hips. He takes a half step toward the bed, and his jaw works for a moment before he asks

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired, did you tell Sam what happened?”

“No, of course not. He is thankful that you helped us” He says and rakes his fingers through his damp hair, making it stand on end “He invited us to Louisiana”

You barely resists smiling at him “Okay”

He raises a brow “Just like that, okay?”

“If you give me my bracelet back”

You both look at the bracelet around his right hand. Then he bites his lip as he grins.

“Not happening” he says, his tone flattening and he can't help the smirk that tips up the corners of his mouth.

“Guess I need to buy a new one then” You peel back the covers, indicating for him to get in and you watch him climb next to you “With your name on it”

His palm reaches up to wrap around the back of your head, his fingers tangling in the depths of your hair, pulling you closer, his lips hovering over yours. Everything about him pleases you.

Not just his looks, but his patience and his kindness. He is an obsession waiting to happen. Kissing him is terrifying, breathing the same air makes your knees weak, a liquid sensation swooping throughout your stomach—but you've been betrayed, stabbed by every single person in your life, the body heals, but it injures the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime. You are scared of love, scared of these new feelings, scared of trusting anyone, but you are trying—that’s why you gently press a kiss to his mouth.

(Her kisses are deliberate and polished. When she kisses me—she doesn't want me. She has me and knows it.)

Bucky throws himself onto the couch next to Sam, slewing his eyes over to him.

"So you are sleeping and living together, but you are still not in a relationship?"

He takes a long sip of his drink when he hears the words, tips his head back against the couch, and decides he could…maybe live with that.

"Yeah"

Sam’s lips tighten to suppress a smile "That's a bit weird, Buck"

He chuckles, low under his breath "The part where I live with my ex-coworker or the part where we sleep together?"

James takes a deep breath, and Sam can see his blue eyes searching for his, like he is looking for an answer.

”Maybe it is what it's meant to be for now” A frown settles on Bucky’s face as he considers that “She has a lot to experience, too. If you pressure her with anything, you might lose her completely”

“I don't want to be in love, but she is making me, Sam” he sighs, a headache blooming right between his eyes. He rubs at the spot, stalling as he tries to figure out what he wants to say “But you are right, she needs to heal”

Several emotions swirl in Sam’s eyes. Worry, sadness, maybe even intrigue. But not judgment. Never. “Did she agree to go to Wakanda?”

He wets his dry lips and says the most basic truth:

“No, she is too untrustworthy, I can’t believe she even agreed to come here”

Sam sees it as hope—and he wants to put that light within his friend, too “But she did”

They can’t talk about it anymore, not when they hear you, Sarah and the kids coming back, and when your gazes meet, your soft smile and the look in your eyes, they are the best interpreter of your mind—you are truly happy, seeing you like that makes him feel like he can single-handedly vanquish an army.

He has outlasted all family, desires, dreams, his grief alone is left entire—sometimes visiting the lonely desolation of nightmares, they are gleamings of his empty heart—Bucky is a heap of ashes, but meeting you—kindled him back into fire.

Oh my goshhh thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this project!

More of this ex!Asset AU? - MASTERLIST

[casualaruanienjoyer]

My design for Female Titan Armin! Based on a lot of reblogs and replies under this post! Dedicated to @aruanimess @blueguydraws and @pitruli who motivated me to work on this sketch further and actually finish the concept!!

In my vision, Armin's female titan is unique through its strenght to lure and command other titans and it's ability to speak! This version of the female titan has an almost siren like voice, rather than a Zeke-like scream.

His strategic mind also helps him come up with very creative solutions to problems such as getting cornered, chased, etc. Very much an imprevisible titan. You can never read his mind.

I also think it would be neat if Armin gave himself away by using certain words or phrases that Annie recognizes as his. This would be in a similar fashion to how we figured out Annie was the female titan through its signature fighting stance!

Maybe he does not speak at all until he is put in a situation where Annie is in danger from another titan, or himself, and he shouts something that clicks inside Annie's mind.

Much like Armin, she takes a long time to admit this to the rest since by this point she had developed feelings for him and had gotten close, seeing him as a pillar of hope in her life. So you can imagine all her hope just shatters the moment she connects the dots😭.

Armin's titan, although tall, is actually not very physically strong and that's why it's almost always followed or surrounded by an army of titans which protect its legs and lower body. However, he can control his hardening very well, which saves him a lot of times. It's all about strategic placement!

In terms of the design, I took a lot of inspiration from Annie's Female Titan, Armin's Colossal Titan and a few other background Female Titans from the last arc.

Funny enough, I went for something more feminine and gentle. Armin feels a lot of comfort in this bodily appearance, and I wanted to reflect that. Especially since him getting the Female Titan might have triggered all sorts of issues both internal and external for him in Marley. This could also be reflected in the way Reiner and Bertholdt treat him or perceive him as the weakest of the group. And also with the scouts due to his weaker body.

Let me know what you think! And I'd love to discuss more ideas with you!

[readychilledwine]

Housewife

✨️Kink education with Elizabeth✨

The Housewife kink, also known as the 1950s Household, is a power play exchange dynamic that typically involves a dom and service sub. It is characterized by one partner being seen as a homemaker and one as the breadwinner. During the 1950s, the homemaker’s “job” was to take care of the household chores, dinner, children (if they had any), and following norms, their husband's needs all while being the picture perfect example of soft femininity and breedability.

Subs partaking in this form of play tend to wear dresses, heels, aprons, ect, while maintaining a clean home and cooking. Many people enjoy this dynamic due to its ability to come into real-life play instead of just hiding in the bedroom.

It is one form kink play that does not necessarily have to be sexual, but that's not why we're all here 👀

NSFW BELOW CUT

💕Peep Valentines Day Bingo Here 💕

Azriel x Reader

Summary - After a long day of interrogations, Azriel is more than pleased to come home to dinner made, a clean home, and a pretty wife.

Warnings - sub and dom dynamics, references to completely power exchange play, oral (mreceiving), slightly demeaning behavior towards females

A/N - I apologize for the delay. My little is going through a growth spurt and a little fussy today. Plus, it took FOREVER to find the perfect gif.

Azriel opened the door to his cabin. His shoulders were slumped forward, wings hanging slightly lower than normal.

It had been a rough day. He had been torturing the same prisoner for 3 days now. They refused to yield, they refused to break, and they refused to bend and give the shadowsinger what he wanted.

He knew that all would change the second he saw you, though. You were currently setting dinner on the table. Your hair was softly curled and pinned back, a soft touch of makeup graced your face highlighting his favorite features of yours.

You were wearing a blue sundress the flowed out at the bottom with heels and a blue bow in your hair.

“How's my wife today?” He took pleasure in knowing you would not address him until he addressed you. He took pleasure in knowing that within seconds of hearing his voice, you were trained to get him a glass of whiskey and greet him with a kiss.

“Azriel, you're home early,” you immediately went to the liquor counter, dress swaying as you did. You poured him a finger of whiskey, moving to add ice before walking to him and kissing his cheek. “How was your day?”

Azriel drank as you began removing his outer heavy layer for him, watching like a hawk as you hung his coat and placed his already kicked off boats into the precise place he had told you they go.

“Same prisoner as yesterday,” he watched you blink in confusion. “The bastard will not break and submit. Did you make dinner?”

You nodded enthusiastically, walking him to the table and getting him a plate. “I made your favorite.”

Azriel settled into the couch after dinner, watching you as you cleaned dishes. Every soft movement of your dress had his eyes locked on the hem. Each time you'd reach forward slightly, he was rewarded with a glimpse at the garter belt straps that connected to the satin tops of your thigh highs. It was a constant reminder to him that you were his present, waiting to be unwrapped so delicately as a reward for your continued obedient behavior.

“Angel,” he spoke softly. “Are all your chores done after this?”

It should have bothered you as a wingless Illyrian female to hand over submission so willingly out of hope you'd be rewarded with your mate's cock pounding into you over and over, but instead knowing you were about to be rewarded, that he was about to use you like a pretty cock sleeve, that had your thighs pressing together. “They are. Unless you wanted me to do something else.” A cool shadow began swirling your leg. Its touch was like soft kisses and left shivers in its wake.

Azriel leaned back, watching his shadow go on its mission, watching as you took a gasp, spine going straight before moaning his name. “Let me know when you finish.” He placed an arm on the back of the couch, scenting your arousal filling the air as you whimpered and went back to the last few dishes.

It wasn't fair. Trying to focus on scrubbing and rinsing as a shadow sat vibrating against your lace covered clit was nearly impossible. 5 dishes, you reminded yourself. He lets you leave them overnight to dry. Just 5 more. You focused on the dishes, doing the best you could to ignore the growing wetness between your thighs.

You almost jumped as rough hands ran up your arms. “My pretty little wife. My mate,” one of his hands wrapped and held your throat. His other hand ran down your chest, through the valley of your breasts, before settling on your hip. He started placing soft kisses along your neck, your ear. “How lucky am I to have such an obedient wife taking care of my home?” He squeezed your throat softly before his other hand began lifting Your dress. The hand on your throat moved to join the other one as he moved you away From the sink and to a different section of countertop, bending you over it and place one hand at the back of your neck to hold you Down. He groaned as his shadows held up that pretty dress, exposing those sapphire lace panties

"The dishes," you panted.

"Can wait. I can't. I've been hard since I walked in to you setting the table wearing my color, wearing a little bow tying your hair back like some innocent little thing." Your panties were moved to the side. Two fingers began to run the length of your core as Azriel groaned behind you. "So fucking wet I've hardly done anything."

You heard a muffled moan and could only assume he had put his fingers into his mouth. "So sweet, baby." You could hear him undoing his pants, feel as the head of his cock ran your folds. You could feel down the bond that it would be a long night.

You gasped loudly, gripping the counter with a mix between a moan and scream as he pushed into the hilt. Azriel wasted no time, threading one hand into your hair and pulling while the other held your hip. Azriel growled as you wiggled slightly, causing you to still. "Such a good little wife."

He wasted no time, setting a pace that had your toes curling in those heels that made your ass look phenomenal. Shadows quickly moved to hold the dress up, allowing the hand on your hip to move to your still covered clit.

There was something freeing about being below him, serving him, being used by him. It was enough for that coil to tighten faster as your mind went blank, focusing on nothing but the feeling of his heavy hard cock hitting every nerve inside of you, angling until he found the spot that had you scream his name.

Despite the roughness he fucked you with, the power you were freely handing to him, Azriel still sent wave after wave of his love, his admiration, and his pride down the bond. With each wave, that coil got tighter and tighter, your moans louder and more desperate as your body felt like it was on fire. "Be a good wife and cum for me," his fingers pressed down on that bundle of nerves, hips pistoning into you even faster as you screamed his name, walls milking his cock.

Azriel pulled out instead of following you over the ledge, ripping that dress off of you and leaving you in the lingerie and heels. He lifted you into his arms while you still came down from the high, your vision almost blurred.

You felt the soft bed under you, smelling the fresh sheets you had just changed hours ago. Azriel smelled them too as he positioned you with your head hanging off the bed. "You spoil me," his hands ran to your breasts, squeezing and tweaking your nipples.

His cock sat heavy and leaking near your face, soaked in your release, "Open." You smiled, opening your mouth wide, allowing him to push in just as two fingers slid into your heat.

He was gentle this time, for now at least, fucking your throat. You ran your tongue along his length, hollowing your cheeks and swallowing around him. You were at his mercy, wiggling and moaning around him as the wet noises of his cock in your mouth and his fingers thrusting in and out of you echoed with his moans and occasional whimper.

His pace picked up as his fingers did, making him chuckle in satisfaction as you gagged around him. "You deserve a reward for how hard you worked today, don't you, y/n?" He groaned as you moaned around him, vibrating his cock as he held it deep in your throat. "Not a single thing out of place, every chore finished, and I came home to you looking like a delicious treat? What a good little wife." You felt your vision getting slightly blurry until he pulled out again, your pleasure almost maddening as he avoided the spongy spot inside of you and brushed your swollen clit with ghost like touches. "That's what you are isn't it? No thoughts in that pretty mind of yours but pleasing me and taking my cock like an obedient whore?"

You would have nodded, begging him to give you what you needed as you agreed to every word, but his cock was still occupying and twitching in your mouth. You knew from the way his fingers had become messier in their rhythm, from the way his words were getting breathy, from how each moment of your throat burning as he held himself deep inside grew longer and longer that he was close.

You had been dreaming of his all day. Dreaming for your reward for dusting, for cooking, for cleaning. The reward you'd get when he came home to a spotless house, to his laundry done, to you wearing your pretty outfit for him.

His fingers curled into the spot you needed, pressing and tapping there as shadows curled and flicked your nipples and his thumb ran gentle circles on your clit. You finished within seconds with no warning, crying around his cock, hands fisting the sheets.

Azriel fell over the edge soon after, spilling with his cock shoved all the way into your mouth forcing you to swallow what you could, head thrown back as his wings flared and he moaned your name without shame.

He pulled out, fisting the exposed length and allowing the last of his cum to land on your face, admiring the mess of drool, makeup, and his seed you had become. His fingers left your cunt, going to his own mouth as he licked them clean with a smile. He watched as your hand waved and the bathtub began to fill.

"I'm not done with you yet," he panted, hands trailing your body.

You smiled, your own hands running up and down his thighs. "I counted in that, but let me take care of your other needs first."

Azriel looked up, a wide smile on his face as he sent a silent prayer to whoever blessed you with acts of service as your love language. "I would really like that."

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish

@novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer

As always- please let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist 💜

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece VII: The Sea, and Conclusion

AO3 Part I Part VI

“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.” —Herman Melville

There is nothing more Romantic than to yearn for the sea. In his book Image of the Sea: Oceanic Consciousness in the Romantic Century, Howard Isham describes what he calls the “cosmic liquescence” that artists, writers, and musicians so often tapped into during the Romantic era. These were the last days of the sail, the world teetering on the edge between eras. To be alive during this time was to endure change, and the image of a ship being tossed about by the sea was a metaphor for those caught up in the spirit of the age.

Even more than our own, the world of One Piece is one of water. The ocean as metaphor has the benefit of being extremely broad, at times, paradoxically so. With a little bit of effort, the sea can represent basically whatever you want it to. In the real world, it can mean freedom for those who sail it, but with the proliferation of the Atlantic slave trade, Barbary pirates, and young men being press-ganged into service against their will it can just as easily be a symbol of oppression, terror, and slavery. Pirates were known to be somewhat democratic, but sailors stuck serving under cruel and unreasonable captains could be led to a watery death with no say in their fate. The ocean is life, sustaining countless people with its bounty and giving employment to sailors, fishermen, and any and everyone related to those trades. It is also death, cold, impersonal, and certain. 

A ship might be stuck helplessly in the doldrums or ravaged by savage wind and waves. It is adventure and mystery, for no one knows what lies beyond the horizon or what lurks beneath the surface. It is the thing that separates us, but also the means by which we travel, enabling new connections and the exchange of trade, culture, and colonialism. Depending on their purpose for setting sail, ships of this era were one of the few places where people of vastly different national origins, languages, religions and cultures not only lived together in close proximity, but depended on one another for their livelihoods and survival. An excellent example of this in Romantic literature can be found in Moby Dick, where the American point of view character Ishmeal becomes fast friends with the Pacific Islander Queequeg while working on the international whaling crew.

The sea can be feminine, the primordial mother of us all. Aphrodite was born of sea foam; mermaids, sirens, and nereids roam the waters to tempt, seduce, help, or destroy unwitting sailors. Ships are almost always referred to as she. Via the tides, the ocean is connected with the moon, also traditionally feminine. But the sea is also be masculine. Characters such as Old Man of the Sea, Poseidon, Oceanus were all male, as were the winds all ships depended on.

During the time that the Romantics wrote, sea-side vacations were increasingly prescribed as a health cure while sailors themselves suffered from ailments such as scurvy, typhus, and dysentery. Several poets reminisced longingly about their youthful childhoods swimming care-free in the sea. But the ocean is unfathomably ancient and supremely haunted by the souls of countless lives lost beneath its waves. 

In Moby Dick, the titular whale could represent God, the Devil, or Nature itself. To Tennyson, the breaking of the waves represented grief. The journey across the sea in Rime of the Ancient Mariner deals with life and redemption. To Wordsworth, the sea was immortal. To Byron it was freedom. Shelley writes of the West Wind stirring the sea—and thus the dreamer—awake from a deep summer slumber. To quote Keats, “Oh, ye! who have your eyeballs vexed and tired/Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea”.

I could go on, but let’s not belabor the point. In light of this vastness of metaphor, it is fair to say that in One Piece that the sea isn’t representative of one single thing. The New Era is brought in with Whitebeard’s crashing waves during the Marineford War. The terrible power of the Agua Laguna shows the force of Robin’s darkness breaking the Straw Hats apart, while the stormy skies of that time show the turbulence going on within the crew. Sailing brings people of different cultures, societies, and ideas together, and that forced interaction can break down prejudice and foster understanding between different species and cultures, as shown in both the Fishman Island and Skypiean flashbacks.

The Grand Line itself is portrayed as a cogwheel of fate, bringing the strong together in a clash of wills, and the limited navigational tools means that it is difficult, if not impossible to backtrack—you must live your life without regrets, and continue to move forward as you grow stronger as a person and crew. The sea represents the life of a pirate, often cruel, unfair, and dangerous but ultimately liberating. The promise of adventure exists somewhere beyond that unbroken horizon, a place of wonderland and dreams

The World Government may rule over a hundred and seventy allied nations, but no one owns the sea. Thus, as Luffy says at Sabaody, the Pirate King isn’t about conquering anything, but to become the freest man in the world.

I would also be remiss not to mention that the Sea Metaphor of One Piece is incomplete, and will be until the secrets of the Devil Fruit are finally revealed. It is curious that the force that’s presented as the epitome of freedom completely rejects Devil Fruit users, including the one representing liberation. Egghead also added the interesting element of the sea being an existential threat to the entire world, when the destructive power of the sea over land had been previously limited. It would be interesting to revisit this topic after the series has ended to see how Oda resolves these seemingly competing ideas.

But if there is one metaphor I think rules above all else, it is the sea as home, specifically home for the outcast. Robin says during her flashback, even before the Buster Call comes, that she’s studying to become an archeologist in order to go out to sea with her mother. Her home life on Ohara is one of ostracization. Even the archeologists, who love her dearly, don’t let her in on their deepest, darkest secrets. This is for her own safety, but to an eight year old girl who’s been rejected by everyone else on her home island, even her own family, it’s enough for her to seek solace in the promise of the sea. Then, during the Buster Call, Saul promises her that in the vastness of the sea she will find friends, and she will find family, that no one is born to be alone. It’s a sentiment Reiju echoes to Sanji during the Whole Cake Island flashback.

The sea is an escape. Most of the Straw Hats in one way or another have complicated relationships with their places of origin, and for many returning would be difficult if not impossible. Even a character like Nami, who is universally beloved by her hometown, spent eight years thinking that the people of Cocoyashi Village hated her, making her relationship with them relatively fraught while she was a member of Arlong’s crew. During that time the sea, and the treasure she found therein, was her only hope of freedom. The only Straw Hat who ends up staying behind has strong ties anchoring her to someplace other than the Going Merry. It’s not until hundreds of chapters and many real-world years later that an even greater force usurps Vivi from her homeland.

Similarly, fights with the marines and other enemies often end once the Straw Hats hit the open water. The society that tries to squeeze the citizens of the world into a specific shape loses its power over the boundless ocean. This is, of course, a double-edged sword. Water 7, the bandits of chapter 1, and Garp’s blackmail of Dadan show that it also deprives outlaws like Luffy the benefit of society’s protection. But those who refuse to conform to the whims and pressures of the world gain from fleeing to the sea, and what is to dream if not to refuse to conform in one way or another? Every single one of the Straw Hats want something that conventional wisdom says is impossible, but they search anyway, and in doing so find like-minded friends with which to band together. And like how a cord of rope is stronger than its individual fibers, together this found-family has the ability to challenge society and win, finding their own freedom in the process. 

The reason I hone in on the Sea as Home metaphor so strongly over the more general Sea as Freedom metaphor is developed during Luffy’s post-Marineford flashback. It’s here while he’s forcibly befriending Ace that Luffy reveals to him that being alone is the worst pain in the world, worse than being punched all day by a grown man in spiked boxing gloves. It’s after this that he, Ace, and Sabo discuss the freedom of the seas and piracy, and the moment they become brothers. It is this desire for connection, the longing for the outcast to find their place with other outcasts, that drives Luffy to the sea in the first place. It’s there he finds his people, and while he’s not able to navigate, or cook, or do anything remotely useful on a sailing vessel, he’s able to protect the people flying under his flag. It’s a symbiotic relationship between captain and crew, a complete and total interdependence that is required when sailing the treacherous waters of the Grand Line. 

During the Davy Back Fight, Luffy makes a prophetic statement when fighting Foxy that he’s willing to fight to the death for his friends. It’s an idea echoed during his fight with Bleuno on Enies Lobby, when the latter wonders how long Luffy will keep fighting against the combined might of the World Government. It’s the reason why the death of the Merry, the fight against Usopp, and Robin’s supposed betrayal is so devastating both for the reader and the Straw Hat Pirates. The found family that had developed over the course of the manga has ruptured, and they lost the ship with which they’ve called home.

The Water 7 Saga ends with a reconciliation between brothers and their home built anew, this time stronger and more able to weather the stormy waters that wait ahead, the peaceful lamb exchanged for a fearsome lion with a mane as bright as the sun. Nothing has challenged the internal fortitude of the Straw Hat Pirates quite like that saga and nothing ever will again, because both their home and family has been forged into something unbreakable, allowing them to sail the sea, and pursue their freedom, any way they wish.

Conclusion and Final Thoughts

”Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt in solitude, where we are least alone”—Lord Byron

I want to end on this point, because despite all the similarities between the Romantic movement and One Piece, in this we see one great difference. For all that the characters in Moby Dick are forced to depend on one another and the good judgement of their captain to survive, the book ends with everyone except Ishmael dead. Romantic poetry calls for solitary contemplation, and the landscapes of this era diminish the individual in favor of the wide, open spaces of nature. The zeitgeist of the age celebrated the misunderstood, melancholic genius. If One Piece were written during this time, Luffy would never have been the main protagonist. The rise of the Byronic hero would have made sure that honor went to a darker, more brooding character like Law or Ace.

In 1770, a boy of 17 named Thomas Chatterton committed suicide in his small garret apartment. Having grown up fatherless and in poverty, this young genius of a poet was unable to scratch out a living with his writing, and after battling both depression and the pressure of changing his profession, he instead chose to end his own life.

The death of Chatterton sparked a cult following. His life and death would be commemorated in art, plays, and operas, with poets like Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelly, and Keats all dedicating works to his name. His influence can still be felt today in the trope of the suffering arts that he and countless others helped codify.

One Piece is the story of a boy who rejects the confines of society in search of his own freedom, but he does not do so alone. Luffy is driven as much by the desire to be with his friends as he is by his desire to find the One Piece. The series agrees that risking death is an acceptable part of chasing one's dream, but rejects the notion that it should be sought out or celebrated. In One Piece, it’s better to live an undignified life in the hope of a better tomorrow than to give into an easy death. 

It is ironic that for all that the Romantics emphasized the self, many were friends with one another, Wordsworth and Colridge collaborated in writing Lyrical Ballads. Mary and Percy Shelly were married, and Mary Shelly famously wrote Frankenstein while on a retreat with Lord Byron. The German Romantic movement kickstarted with a group of men who wrote and studied together at the University if Jena, with similar groups later popping up in Berlin and Heidelberg. The American Transcendentalists even formed a club, with Thoreau only able to conduct his two year stint in the woods because the property was owned by Ralph Waldo Emerson, while his mother did his laundry. 

One Piece recognizes that genius is not a solitary venture. Those seeking their freedom cannot and should not do so alone. Existence isn’t a crime, the sea is vast, and your people are out there somewhere.

There are of course other differences. One Piece is written in a post-nuclear, modern world. Among other things, the mysterious, idealized past of the Void Century is not one of primitive nature but hyper-advanced technology, and the progress of man is something to be embraced rather than rejected. 

Yet the biggest difference I keep circling back to is One Piece's unabashed celebration of life. At the end of the day, it’s a story meant to make people laugh. Oda is unafraid of plunging into the depths of despair and tragedy, but he doesn't linger there before pulling the reader back into joy.

LP Hartley once wrote that, “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”. One Piece can never be mistaken as a story of the historical Romantic movement. There’s just too much difference between the world of today and the one where these works came.  But I hope that I've shown how it carries some of that legacy into the present day. Intentionally or not, Oda has taken an old idea and used it as a guardrail for the entire series. Like the sun, guiding the dawn of a new era. The dawn of Romance, if you will.

A Romance Dawn. 

[thewisecheerio]

Messmer's Insignia

This is Messmer's insignia, stamped all over his Keep, as well as his soldiers' shields and tents. This post is going to be a canon-compliant lore analysis, meaning that not all of this will be explicitly mentioned in canon but will attempt to be compliant with what we do know explicitly.

There are a few important elements coming together to make the insignia: 1. The left-hand flame 2. The right-hand woven ring 3. The outer ring 4. The overlaid, central spear

I'd like to pick these apart in the same way you might pick apart a heraldic coat of arms to look at what each piece might mean individually, as well as what the placement of some elements relative to others might symbolize.

The Left-Hand Flame

Along with the horizontal panel of flames, this is obviously symbolic of Messmer's flame. However, I do want to note that you can absolutely see a cute little winged serpent shape hidden in the flame's design with its head on the right, its tail on the left, and the central portion of the flame forming a wing. (Or maybe it's a dragon. Or maybe I need to seek help for my advanced brainrot, which is causing me to see things. You decide!) Given that Messmer's Phase 1 design—and his public persona—is a mixture of flame and specifically winged serpents, this seems an apt way to capture both ideas in one. A bit on the nose maybe, but hey, his day job is genocide, not graphic design (insert obligatory gRaPhIc dEsIgN iS mY pAsSiOn here).

The Right-Hand Ring

Many people have connected this to Marika's circlet, which I'm not sure I see. Her circlet is a lot more angularly braided, rather than the smooth coil shown here. Plus, I think that Marika's circlet is supposed to be similar to Miquella's Circlet of Light, in that it signifies a (fully) divine aspect of the wearer—something Messmer assuredly is not, since he is a demigod without grace (or, at least, with only the artificial grace bestowed by Marika's seal alone). But either way, none of what I'm about to say contradicts this interpretation, and you can have both be true at the same time.

Rather, I think a different interpretation might be that this is intertwined serpents, similar to the shape his own winged serpents make as they coil around his body. The winged serpent is typically a symbol of Caduceus in alchemical lore, of which Elden Ring is rife. The Caduceus is explicitly two intertwined snakes topped with wings. So that seems like the most straightforward interpretation for what this might be a nod to.

To learn more about Caduceus's role in alchemy, I highly recommend the two videos linked below by Max Derrat and Smoughtown. But the short of it is that the binding ritual that produces a rebis—a divine, single (merged) soul of masculine and feminine energies (e.g. Marika/Radagon)—requires some sort of binding material to happen properly. In alchemical lore, this binding material is the "prima materia", or the formless base of all matter in the universe associated with chaos and the void. The material is often referred to as Mercurius, named for the god Mercury who carries a Caduceus staff. Thus, we end up with binding/prima materia = Mercurius = Caduceus = 2 intertwined serpents.

(Side note: This is also an EXCELLENT reason to believe that Messmer is the son of Marika and Radagon. The White Queen and Red King of alchemy are often shown with the Caduceus between them, which would seem to fit well with the idea of Marika and Radagon having a child between them that is associated with dual serpents.)

I also think there is a connection to the (singular) base serpent by way of the alchemical Caduceus, however. Besides the prima materia/uniting matter, Caduceus is also often used as a symbol of duality. Namely, it is a symbol of the tension between "higher" and "base" desires, with the former being associated with wisdom and the latter being associated with chaos. We absolutely see this in Messmer's lore, as we learn from the Winged Serpent Helm that his winged serpents act as wise friends that keep his base serpent in check. As such, the duality of the Caduceus may also represent the duality of the winged and base serpents. So this coiled symbol involving two snakes might also represent the singular base serpent indirectly, making it function like an image-based palimpsest. When we peel back the layers of one, we find evidence of the other.

The Outer Ring

I mostly think this is just meant to be a uniting graphical element. However, it is cute that it kind of evokes the imagery of a Great Rune, all of which are rings. Messmer does not have a Great Rune, as he did not participate in the shattering. So instead of an actual Great Rune, he ends up with this imitation insignia instead. Adorable. Maybe this is why his otherwise heraldic-looking insignia was designed as a circle instead of the more classical forms that heraldic coats-of-arms tend to take.

The Central Spear

In the center of the insignia, we get a spear wrapped with a singular(?) serpent. The question mark is there because we do not actually see the serpent tail, so you would be reasonable to question whether this is truly a singular serpent, or something like an unending ouroboros. (Or, you know, both.) I'm going to go forward with the assumption that this is a singular serpent. Cutely, the head of the spear forms the serpent's head.

Obviously, the most straightforward part is that the spear is Messmer's spear, the Spear of the Impaler. I find it highly apt that the spear *overlays* the other elements of the insignia, almost dominating them. War is definitely the thing Messmer is most publicly known for, as a myriad of NPCs—both spirit and corporeal—curse him for the honorless war that he has wrought without mentioning much else about him. Meanwhile, his internal relationship with his flame and serpentine nature is something really only known privately. After all, the Fire Knight set tells us that it was only those few knights under his personal command that knew the truth of how he felt regarding his flame and his serpentine nature.

Armor of the Fire Knights under Messmer the Impaler's personal command. Distinguished by its red cape and twin golden snakes which adorn the neck, enhancing incantations of Messmer's flame. These were the only ones who truly knew Messmer. His flames, like serpents. The painful fate that accompanied his accursed form.

Building on this, the dominating nature of this graphical element is important in another way. The flame and other serpent imagery seems to be something intrinsic to Messmer: he was born with a serpentine nature, and was either born with or cursed with flame very early in his existence, too. Meanwhile, war is something that was *imposed upon him* as a request by his mother, as we learn from his armor set. He doesn't do genocide just because he enjoys fighting like Godfrey or Radahn; rather, he does it on behalf of Marika and ends up pretty sad, tired, and self-hating because of it. In this way, warfare ends up as an intrusive element in his life, similar to the way the spear almost seems to be a dominating, nearly intrusive element in the insignia's design.

The serpent coiled around the spear is also really interesting, because it appears to be a singular serpent in contrast to the dual coil on the right. The most straightforward interpretation is that this is a nod to his hidden inner nature as the (singular) base serpent.

Given what we learned above about the Caduceus itself symbolizing a tension between higher and base desires—and repeated in Messmer's story as tension between the wise winged serpents and base serpent—I find it apt that the snake more associated with base desires is the one wrapped around the tool of war. I enjoy the link between warfare and base desires, as it ties into Elden Ring's overall themes around cycles of violence, explicitly characterizing the desire for violence and war as base.

The Central Spear: An Alternative Interpretation

This next bit is unhinged brainrot territory and what I think is a weaker interpretation of the spear symbolism than the above, so be warned. But I also think something interesting can be said if you look at this as a nod to the Rod of Asclepius. Asclepius is the god of healing and medicine, and the Rod of Asclepius (containing a single serpent wrapped around it) is often used as a symbol of medicine both in real life hospitals as well as in alchemical lore. Messmer's most obvious connection to medicine is Marika, as the Blessing of Marika and Remembrance of the Impaler items tell us that she attempted to heal him before finally gouging out his eye to seal the base serpent away instead.

So if this is a nod to his mother's attempts to heal him, two things are true. First, this is an adorable nod to mom from Elden Ring's biggest momma's boy. Second, one might also read into it that these attempts to heal him of something he was naturally born with—and isn't intrinsically evil in and of itself, as far as I can tell—were actually intrusive.

Certainly from Marika's perspective, she worried that others would judge Messmer for his serpentine nature. In some sense, she was right, as Messmer's followers (like Black Knight Andreas) specifically rebelled against him after learning of it. But if your child is disabled or otherwise different in some way and people will judge them for it, is that actually a reason to seek a cure rather than an accommodation, especially if the cure comes with other costs? The answer is complex and varies by individual, of course. But in Messmer's case, we see signs of self-hatred and even neglect as a result of being taught that the base serpent is intrinsically evil. For evidence of this, see the linked post about how there are bits of shed skin on the base serpent, which is a symptom of neglect for snakes!

If Marika's cure resulted in self-hatred and neglect of a critical aspect of his being, can it really be said to be medicinal? Or is it just as intrusive an element in his life as warfare seems to be? I think if you believe the latter, this could be another reason to read this part of the design as intrusive and dominating over the other elements in the insignia that represent his natural self. That said, I think the base serpent interpretation is the more lore-accurate one, but it's fun to think about what it might mean as a symbol of Marika's attempted healing, anyway!

To Sum Up...

So overall while the design is maybe a slightly messy conglomeration of ideas and images, I think this insignia gives us so much. We get fire imagery, winged serpent imagery, base serpent symbolism, a graphic palimpsest of the winged and base serpents and the duality of man, warfare, warfare as a base desire, maybe a cute nod to Great Runes, and maybe even a cute nod to Momma and her attempts to heal. In this way, I think it functions in the same way as coats of arms do in heraldic design: they can also be pretty graphically messy, but it's on purpose to fit a lot of symbolism into a small space.

[lexieloo28]

HAPPY S1 FINALE EVERYONE!!

OK CINDERELLA BOY NATION SOOOOOO

NOW THAT I CAN FINALLY POST THIS MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAH I HAVE SOME THEORIES/ COMMENTS ON STUFF AFTER EP. 61

SPOILERS AHEAD IF U HAVENT READ IT!

SERIOUSLY YOU'RE NOT GOING TO WANT TO GET SPOILED FROM ME. PLS GO READ PUNKOS AMAZING FINALE FIRST!

Ok so throw back to Ep. 56

When bronze entered the book and only encountered that rustling. He himself states that either Buddy/Nox wasn’t there, or left the book.

The rustling in the bushes could have just been ambience ORRRR Buddy/Nox could have spotted him and left quickly! Bronze would recognize him right away, so it TOTALLY makes sense that he would leave. However, he didn’t show up at all when Deacon was Ridin’ Solo. So he probably either has a direct link to Silver, or Chase himself. If Violet is linked with Silver, Buddy/Nox prob skedaddled the moment he saw our peanut butter boy.

The book shown in EP. 61 shows a bunch of lines and junk (including Buddy/Nox's moon) with Violet's key presumably in her spot? Which could connect her to Silver? Idk

Another thing, I’ve been thinking about :

What role exactly Buddy/Nox has... When Chase first wakes Silver in Ep. 9

We can see here that Chase says purple key and villainess and Silver confirms. I saw someone in the comments mention that he has the moon on his back to mirror Goldie, so maybe he is the villain key? Like, for masculine roles while Violet is for feminine roles. He does mention that he’s never been the hero…

Some more food for thought,

Look at how sad he is here in Ep. 13 :( Chase has no idea that he’s saying that to a fellow key who probably knows Silver better than Chase does.

A few panels earlier Buddy/Nox calls her an “it” so I wonder if he was somehow turned into a key after they were separated, and never met her? Or he could just be throwing Chase off. He seems genuinely surprised when Chase tells him off.

And Next,

This episode had me thinking of Buddy/Nox bashfully asking Violet to make him outfits for each story LOL. I love when we get peaks into his shy personality. He has a snooty persona he keeps putting up, and I hope in season two we get to see him show more genuine pieces of himself :’)

(Ep. 40)

Now, discussing some moments from the actual episode 61 (and ofc I freaked out for a Hot Minute after The Reveal) I wanted to share a bit of a “haha” moment where this image

Did not in fact make me freak out. For the right reasons. I went “WOAH VIOLET IS SO BIG”

…

I was so shell shocked from the kiss that I didn’t even CONSIDER that Buddy/Nox is TINY 😭

And then we get to see more of his facade crack as he sadly reminisces after the kiss. Not a cute moment like Chase, but a realization that he’s fallen deeper than he should have. And it’s getting in the way of his goals. Their goals.

And finally,

Looking back at some of the other episodes, Buddy/Nox lets himself indulge in Chase sometimes. When he calls him a little idiot, strokes his hair, tries (badly) to idk seduce? him. Its making my mind RACE! Was he aware of his feelings? Did he look forward to seeing Chase in the books? Did it give him a sense of normalcy and make him feel human again? Did he feel a sense of dread when he realized that he likes Chase, or chose to ignore the reasons he shouldn’t and let himself indulge? Or push his feelings deep down and not once mention it to Violet?

Punko, you are a LEGEND I cherish this webtoon SO MUCH.

SO GLAD I CAN FINALLY POST THIS IVE BEEN FROTHING AT THE MOUTH RGRGAGGR

[anachronistic-falsehood]

Vash and Femininity: Trigun Stampede and its Themes of Bodily Autonomy, Exploitation, and Vague Gender Fuckery

alright sit the fuck down. we're gonna talk about THEMES

I was on Twitter- terrible idea usually, but a couple people I follow made some tweets that got me thinking about Trigun's overall themes, and here we are. So let's talk about some themes in Tristamp! And I'll take a couple looks at Trimax as well, just for fun :3

Let's look at how the showrunners utilize gender roles and exploitation of feminine characters to show how unhealthy Knives' obsession with his ideal of Vash is, and how horrific his exploitation of Vash and the Plants is.

Vash, from the beginning of Tristamp, is someone who cares about people's choices. When people kill others in front of him, he reiterates that whether someone lives or dies is not another person's choice to make. This is something he learned from Rem (a prominent female figure in his life). He refuses to kill people because that is not his choice to make. To kill someone is the ultimate removal of their bodily autonomy. They can no longer make any choices at all; they're dead.

Vash is also someone who has almost no choice in what path his life takes. He's constantly dragged around by outside forces, namely situations that are caused by Knives (which we'll get into later). Vash doesn't make things happen, things happen to Vash. The majority of events that occur are not his fault. He's pushed and pulled in a thousand different directions. His entire life is completely out of his control.

This can be seen as early on in his life as the Fall, something he had no control over and had no idea he even had a part in. Even later, in the ship with Luida and Brad, after he's been rescued from the desert, he's kept in handcuffs right up until he's shown to be of use to them and the Plant on their ship. After that, he could theoretically say "no, I don't want to go to other ships and heal their plants," but he doesn't. He's Vash. He's helpful and nurturing at his core, and these people have done so much for him just by letting him stay, so he'll do whatever they ask, no question.

This carries over into his adulthood. At Jeneora Rock, he goes to look at their Plant at one simple request, doesn't protest when he's dragged into a duel-- he doesn't take initiative unless someone's life is immediately at stake. He lets people tell him what to do and lets himself get dragged around by the wrist. He doesn't even pretend to have control over his life like Trimax Vash does, which I mean. Fair. Why pretend to have a grip on your existence when it's impossible to do anything without a gun pointed at your head?

Vash is a very passive character. He's nurturing, kind, gentle- he's a guy that fits a lot of very typical feminine character stereotypes. If you wrote this same story but made him a woman, I wouldn't bat an eye (but I would definitely be looking at it a lot more critically, what with the amount of stereotypically nurturing/motherly female characters in media already.)

This contrasts directly with Knives. He makes a decision and carries through no matter what stands in his way. He takes initiative. If Vash is a passive character, Knives is an active character. Wherever he goes, he leaves a lasting imprint. He makes shit happen! If outside forces make things happen to him, he'll go out of his way to make sure that particular force doesn't affect him again.

These two tweets I saw are what got me thinking about this originally. I just feel like here's a good place to put them as a segue into talking about episode 11.

Episode 11 is where a lot of this feminine imagery really just. Explodes in your face. IT'S RIGHT THERE. You can't dance around it if you try. And it kind of reaches a peak when the connection reaches 100%, the gate opens, and. well. THIS happens to the Plants.

Plants, in both Trimax and Tristamp, are almost always typically feminine-looking. Knives and Vash are the only two who are male or even masculine at all. Knives, as the most masculine out of all of them, is the one trying to take charge, and mould the world as he sees fit, to a degree that is detrimental to both him and everyone else. And Vash-- passive, feminine, kind and nurturing, whose Angel Arm in the manga always sprouts decidedly feminine-looking Plant parts-- is the one being exploited for Knives' plans. It's no mistake that they made the giant plant formation at the end of ep 11 look like a giant woman that almost resembles Rem.

Vash wants people to make their own choices and keep their autonomy when it comes to their bodies and lives. Knives is the exact opposite. He wants all Plants to become independent and he uses Vash to achieve that goal, without asking what Vash wants or even knowing what the Plants themselves would prefer. He exploits Vash for the soul purpose of trying to make these Plants have Independent Plant babies. He's completely incapable of seeing that his choices are not for the greater good! He thinks he's saving them, but none of his actions are for the good of anyone but himself. He’s just violating them for his own gain.

They're really leaning into gender roles for these guys, but in a way that screams "HEY, LOOK AT THIS! ISN'T IT FUCKED UP? LOOK AT HOW FUCKED UP THAT IS. LOOK AT THIS, AND BE UNCOMFORTABLE, AND KNOW THAT IT IS FUCKED UP."

Because it is! It's so extremely fucked up. They're using this imagery and these roles, something that makes most of us intrinsically uncomfortable, to drive home how unhealthy Knives relationship with his ideal of Vash is. That's the point. We're supposed to be uncomfortable with this.

Now of course there's some nuance to it. Like, you could see Knives as somewhat of a feminine and/or queer-coded figure as well, ESPECIALLY if you look at some of his panels in the manga, which could in turn lead to themes about infighting and control within marginalized communities, but that might be something for another post. :3

And there's definitely different ways you could take this! Vash, with all this feminine imagery, could be either transfem or transmasc coded, depending on what way you'd rather see it, which could lead into themes of how people outside the norm constantly face a lack of bodily autonomy and are exploited for purposes outside their boundaries. We could also look at Wolfwood and his lack of choice over joining the Eye of Michael and becoming the Punisher, and how masculine men (particularly men of colour) are often forced into violent roles against their will. If we look at Trimax, the exact same could be said for Livio/Razlo and people with disorders such as DID/OSDD.

There are many different ways you could spin these themes, some of which I don't feel personally qualified to discuss. If anyone who is qualified to talk about Wolfwood or Livio/Razlo or even other characters related to these themes, then god PLEASE add onto this post or make a post and tag me or something. I would love to read it!

Anyway, in conclusion: Vash is a feminine figure constantly taken advantage of and exploited and and he's so incredibly trans/nonbinary-coded that it drives me insane. Thank you

[corysfavoritetoenail]

sfw/nsfw klaus mikaelson headcanons

(keep in mind i had a feminine reader in mind but no gender was specified until the nsfw)

tw: (sfw)mentions stalking(briefly no yandere shit), (nsfw)reader is called a good girl, has breast and a vagina.

sfw

°even before you got to know the soft side of klaus he’d constantly try to flirt with you

°when he realized flirting wasn’t helping he stopped a decided to play the nice guy approach(meaning constantly spoiling you with his riches)

°he’d buy you pretty dresses, jewelry, flowers, food

°klaus loves stalking, whether it be a girl he’s into or his enemies, he likes knowing what your up to but elijah raised him to be(somewhat) respectful

°he only watches over you when you leave your house to make sure you make it back safely

°one day you left your house to go meet with bonnie and elena at the grill and a stray tuxedo cat approached you. klaus watched as you awed and adored the cat softly petting its fur. he saw how sad you looked when you had to leave the cat to deal with a vampire emergency that had nothing to do with you.

°the next morning you heard a knock at the door but when you checked outside there was nobody but that same tuxedo cat with a pretty pink bow around her neck and a note that read “please adopt me”. although it did feel weird you shrugged it off welcoming your new furry companion.

°you never knew who was sending you these gifts until you received an invitation to the mikaelson ball with writing on the back asking you to save klaus a dance, along with a pretty blue gown and gloves.

°you decided to go to confront him, he’s been sending you expensive gifts for a while and he’s also been harrasing and almost killing your friends for a while

°the moment you step into the lockwood mansion and lock eyes with him it seemed different than the other times you looked at him. maybe it was the suit, or the slicked back hair, or the fact that the chandelier lighting was making his eyes look soft and beautiful.

°you were baffled when you confronted him.

“why have you been sending me anonymous gifts for weeks?”

“because you’re as gorgeous as a queen and deserve to be spoiled as such. but if it bothers you i will stop.”

°that was the moment your perspective of klaus changed. you guys began going on walks together and having deep conversations and you slowly started falling for klaus.

°he continued to send you gifts and it made you feel bad that you haven’t gotten him anything. so you saved up all your checks you’ve received from working at mystic grill and bought klaus a small silver necklace with a wolf charm attached to it.

°once you gifted to him he cried(jk he cried on the inside) but seriously he deeply appreciated it although he kindly lectured you about spending your hard earned money on him.

°he was so touched and when you explained to him it was to repay him for all the gifts you’ve received from him he was assured you were the one for him. and asked you out right on the spot.

°since that day you guys have been inseparable.

now onto the spicy shit

°klaus is a giver and a damn good one

°gives you the best sex, the best head, the best orgasms, while still giving you an emotional connection

°this man is a god at dirty talk and foreplay no one can tell me otherwise

“ssh love i know it’s a lot, but i know my good girl can take it”

“just like that -fuck- keep going princess”

“mm baby you sound so angelic”

°this man will give you head at any moment! but for his sake demand that shit. nothing gets this man harder than you bossing him around and putting his face where you need him the most!

°being one of the eldest vampires this man has lots of experience, even as a mortal he had game

°he’s always willing to try any position that’ll make you happy but he loves missionary.

°he loves watching the different faces you make as you moan, he loves watching your eyes roll back and you mouth hang open, the feeling of your thigh trembling, your gentle pushes on his pelvis when it’s too much

°loves scattering marks all over you as much as he loves drinking blood

°your neck, your thighs, your hips, your stomach, your arms, your breast, no where is safe from his mouth

°don’t be afraid to tell klaus exactly what you like or want he’s tried everything, he’d be excited if you come up with something new to him

°no threesomes! anything involving sharing you he cannot do. he’s a selfish man wants you all to himself. he doesn’t even like you going outside but he tolerates it because you’re always with him

°praise him! call him handsome, call him a good boy, tell him how good he’s making you feel.

°he’s not use to being praised and will melt in your arms but if he’s really worked up that day your praise will go straight to his head and you’ll receive a good vampire speed fuck.

°the first time you called him a good boy he came immediately. poor boy wasn’t used to the praise, just thinking about being your good boy made him hard all over again

°he definitely overworked you that night

°gives amazing aftercare, he feels bad everytime no matter if it’s a quickie or if you’re making love because he’s bound to drill the shit out your pussy

°he plants kisses on your sore skin, if your really tired and can’t get up he’ll bring you water and clean you up before you sleep

°doesn’t fall asleep until you do, places a soft kiss to your forehead everytime before he eventually sleeps besides you.

(this is my first official post on tumblr, i still have to figure ts out lol. honest feedback is always welcomed! if you enjoyed this headcannon reblog please🙄. but i honestly think i’m officially retired from wattpad but im still trying to write and keep my creativity going. so any suggestions or prompts are appreciated.)

[pureastrologywisdom]

𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔥

A man’s Lilith conjunct a woman’s ascendant 

I have been getting a lot of questions about this placement in a synastry chart so I thought I would make a post on it. I will also be touching on when a woman Lilith comes in contact t with a mans personal placements also.

A mans Lilith is a placement that shows what he finds attractive yet intimidating in a woman. He desires her but he fears her at the same time. Because of this having your ascendant aspecting this point in his chart is very intense. Its creates this magnetism, a sort of push pull affect within him. When a woman’s ascendant falls here he is extremely physically attracted to her. The ways she carries herself is very interesting to him, he finds her sexy. This is initially a more visual attraction, however it can grow overtime into something deeper, especially if you have other placements to support you.

In the worst case scenario, Lilith in a mans chart shows you the type of woman he wants or tries to control. He is initially attracted to all these wild and enticing things about her, but when he has her he tries to dampen her fire. The more insecure and undeveloped a man is the more likely he is to fall into this outcome from the placement between you. On the rare occasion, if a man has issues with his feminine energy or rejects the feminine in his life, he may be repulsed by her because of her free and untamed nature. Its something he cannot understand or empathise with.

However if he is secure, confident within himself and has worked on himself he is more likely to admire how powerful you are and it only adds to the attraction between you two.

I will say with this placement more often than not, a woman with this synastry with him will be his weakness in some way or other, not always in a bad way. Lilith is a representation of pure feminine power, that is often untapped because this is an area that is repressed within a woman through her life and growing up by family, peers and society itself. 

Having this placement with a partner in synastry can also show at the best of times that this man will help her feel more connected to her own power and femininity. He can help her open up to this side of herself. This is also the case when a woman’s Lilith is aspected by a personal planet in a mans chart - more common when it’s this way around. 

In turn, the woman can help him surrender to the feminine and embrace her. Healing his own wounds around women and femininity. Realising that its not something to control or tame but something to admire and work with.

Thank you for reading everyone. This is a topic I am extremely passionate about and I love working with Lilith in clients charts.

If you would like to work with me in embracing this side of yourself through your natal chart send me a message on here or email me at pureastrowisdom@icloud.com

Please title your email ‘Lilith work’ - My Lilith readings are priced at £5

I am so grateful to you all who follow me and work with me

Pureastrowisdom <3

[cartoonsinthemorning]

i wasn't sure if constance was a tomboy or not! i still love that she's very feminine i think it does fit stan as a general character to be loud and proud about however hes presenting himself (makes it easier to ignore/run from their actual insecurities/issues)

i loooove the idea of her forging documents to become ford's wife though god stan WOULD and im grinning just imagining the aneurysm ford would have when he eventually finds out (and i saw your tag on the answered ask and im on my hands and knees begging for 60s constance)

im kind of glad to know that deep down ford does have faith in his sister's capability. i think its very fitting he would be burying that quite a bit. all of his need of being the smart one, the successful one, and now the eldest son who takes care of his little sister - i can see how it would grate at him to see constance excelling without him. its easier for him to pretend its all just the usual misogynistic reasonings (especially because its a reason everyone else will gladly back him up on) than have to acknowledge that stan never really needed him. he always just needed her

-🐶 (and yes thats my little sign off lol. im too shy to make a blog for stancest stuff but i poke around on the tumblr community enough i felt like i should start connecting the asks i send to people)

Hello 🐶! Thank you so much for enjoying my previous answer, for chatting, and egging me on lol, it's a lot of fun! ❤ Sorry for taking so long to reply, but I could never find the time to finish the 60s Constance- up until now at least! I hope you like her.

(I may rework some details, later, but for now I don't mind how she turned out).