#honestly if hes ever hurt emotionally hell usually look kinda betrayed

[shotwest-blog]

💉

who broke his trust huh?

[nightwingshero]

Full bingo angst answers for Wren please! 💋💕

Thank you, baby!!! Kinda hitting it where it hurts today, huh?

TW: Mentions of self-harm, alcohol abuse, and child loss...just kinda...it’s angsty. Sorry guys. 

💙 What would your OCs last words be (or if they’ve died what were their last words)? What were their final moments like? How did they die?

Probably...man, knowing Wren, she’s gonna go down fighting and defending a loved one. She...Wren will use her Wrath to draw the attention to herself, even if she knew it was a battle she wouldn’t win--sacrificing herself to give the other person a chance. Her last words...would be deep and meaningful, something that would hit hard. She would either quote something with a deep meaning or something so pure from the heart...I could also see her saying “Free...I’m finally free.” Or maybe being excited to see her mom again. 

💧 What’s the worst pain your OC has ever been in? Mental or physical? What was the cause of this?

That’s a toss up between her father blaming her for her mother’s death/being mentally and emotionally abusive or the car accident and losing the baby. Both had Wren spiraling in very different ways, both still giving her nightmares to the point of insomnia some nights. Then also losing John later in life. It hits her hard to know that her life partner died sacrificing himself for their son, and that he’s just...gone. It’s hard for her to bounce back from it. 

🔷 Has your OC ever had to leave something behind or abandon something they didn’t want to? Have they ever had this happen to them? How has this effected them over the years?

There’s a locket, a gold locket with a tree on it, that her mother used to wear before she died. It was one of the things she held onto dearly after her mom died, because it was pretty much all she had. Her father got rid of most of Lily’s things, including the piano, and so Wren clung to it through her childhood, drawing strength from it. It “mysteriously” disappeared after her father found out about it, just a few days before she left for college. In turn, she stole her mother’s ashes to scatter them, but it still haunts Wren. It had a picture of the two of them together.

🔵 Has your OC lived through any particularly traumatic events? Does this event (or events) still effect them or have they tried to bury it? Is there a reason why this event is so traumatic for them?

JFC, where to even begin? Honestly, the cards are stacked against her in the worst way, I feel for her. The biggest ones would be abusive childhood, losing her mom, unhealthy relationship with college professor, the horrible car accident, the drinking problem that followed...Wren tries her best with it, truly. It still effects her, mostly through panic attacks (triggers) and her nightmares. She will fall into depressive episodes as well. Most of the time, she will bury it though, like, she’s guarded--if you’ve been through some shit, you could probably pick up on it, you know? But with anyone else, you can’t tell. She hides it well. 

❄️ What is (one of) their biggest regrets or biggest mistake they’ve made? Is there anything they can do to fix this or is it so far gone there’s no point anymore? Is this something they dwell on a lot?

Wren...Wren is on the path of learning what she can and can’t control, and it’s...going as well as it can, because she has such a control issue. She tries to tell herself to not dwell on the things she can’t control...but the thing with Wren is that she needs to feel in control. The biggest ones would be the college professor and the path she took after the car accident. Wren hates giving parts of herself for it to be taken for granted or advantage of. She also sees the alcoholic chapter in her life was a little too close to her father than she cares to admit. But well...you can’t fix the past. 

💦 Does your OC have any self destructive habits? Addictions? Urges? What is the cause of these or the reason for them?

Wren used to have a drinking problem, mostly because of an emotional thing versus having to have alcohol. She just used it as an outlet, but most of the time, it just lowered her walls and made her more emotional in a self-destructive manner--depressive, angry, and antagonizing. She would start fights, which is why she got in trouble and got her shit together. Wren internalizes too damn much, overthinking and jumping to conclusions based on her own observations because she’s not one to trust someone else’s intentions or words. While Wren isn’t judgmental, she’s very open minded and accepting--she can be quick to judge in cases where you’ve invoked her wrath. Did some shit when you were young? Who hasn’t, I still care and accept you. You just crossed and betrayed me? I’m going to make it my personal goal to make life hell for you-- She also has a tendency to use her wrath to push people away and then close off, hurting them both in the process. 

🌊 What is your OC like at their most depressive? In the middle of a breakdown? Having a panic attack? What are they like with dealing with anxiety and stress?

Wren during a panic attack starts with her not being able to formulate actual coherent sentences because her mind is going so damn fast, and her hands shake. Her muscles will stiffen, making her super tense and she shuts down mentally. Most of the time, she will curl up on the ground (in the corner of a room, etc) with her legs hugged to her chest, forehead against her knees. Mostly to hide her face and to make herself as small as possible and to provide herself some sort of comfort (sometimes she’ll grip her hair, too). If someone catches it (if they know what to even look for), they can intercept and help kinda deter it. But Wren internalizes, closes herself even more, buys a ton of whiskey or wine, and just sits with her dark feelings. They consume her easily, which is why she usually tries not to drink when she’s down, it makes it too easy to spiral. Wren handles stress the best she can, but she internalizes that too. Anything negative has a chance of coming out in the form of wrath, so she can be a bit...yeah.

☄️ Does your OC struggle with their emotions and trauma? Do they find it easier to open up to strangers or those close to them if at all? Do they tend to hide their pain from everyone?

Wren struggles hard. Like, she has a harder time coming to terms or understanding the why behind everything, and has a constant struggle with her desire to change what happened that her emotions and traumas don’t fully get resolved. She’s so desperate to be free of it, but there are times where she’s holding her own self prisoner for it due to guilt and heartbreak. She will never open up to strangers, she doesn’t trust people easily, you have to have earned your way close to her before she’s confiding in you. She hides her pain (or tries to) from everyone, including herself. You have to actively pursue Wren and be supportive consistently for that to spill from her mouth.  

📘 Write a sad journal entry, an unsent letter or short sad drabble. + bonus, give a theme!

A piece from Wren’s journal while going through therapy:

"I wish...it starts off normal, and it’s inconceivably misleading, but it draws me in anyway. Then...then its sneaking up on me, so before I know it, I’m in the deep-end, drowning in something dark and sticky, feeling as if it will become my second skin and suffocate me in the process. That’s when I start to hyperventilate, desperate and clawing to find the surface, but I can’t. I start crying, my chest constricting in panic. I turn...I turn and I see an open door, the inside is even blacker than what’s around me and I slowly start getting pulled back into it...and he just watches--laughing and taunting. I cry more, because there’s nothing else to do. Until the hand...it grabs me and yanks me back...I wake up then, screaming and panicking before the door slams shut. I take a shower once I wake up, because I can feel the hand, I feel the darkness on my skin. I don’t sleep most nights. Not anymore.”

🔹 Does your OC have any scars? What are the stories behind them? Do they have any mental scars? Talk about the effects of their trauma in general on their day to day life.

*Nervous Laughter* Scars....alright...so, Wren growing up would often resort to self-harm to cope, unfortunately. She avoided her wrists and opted for her inner thighs, aiming to hide the marks better. Once hitting college, she moved on from it, until the car accident. She started again once she spiraled, even using it a bit as she stopped drinking. It didn’t happen too often, just in major low points. She dropped it completely after she started going to therapy, learning to try and find healthier coping mechanisms. Wren’s traumas come out daily in the form of her having to be in control of herself and situation at all time. She’s the one driving, she makes her own choices, she sits on the outside in booths at diners and whatnot, having the option to leave when she wants. Wren hates feeling trapped and is super claustrophobic because her dad would lock her in the basement or her room for hours at a time. She buys a Jeep so she has the option to remove the top and the doors, everything in on her terms. You don’t touch her unless she wants you to, you don’t come visit her space unless she wants you to. Things like that. 

[inbarfink]

I wrote a shorter jokey post about this before but here’s a more detailed explanation as to why I think Phoenix = Crowley and Miles = Aziraphale in Ace Attorney Good Omens AU

(For clarifications, I am mostly talking about Show Continuity, before the show was out I was like “Yeah OBVIOUSLY Crowley = Miles and Phoenix = Aziraphale who would think otherwise????”. After giving it some thoughts, I think with Book Continuity it can honestly go either way. Some of the elements I point out here are.... at the very least less-pronounced in the Book Continuity and can be said to ‘balance-out’ with some of the traits that point into more Crowley = Miles and Phoenix = Aziraphale, such as the Hebrew word for ‘Demon’ originally meaning..... basically a Celestial Prosecutor and Crowley presenting as the more well-off of the two and, like, owning a car. Both of which are unthinkable with Phoenix).

1. Aziraphale is the one of the two who dresses in weird outdated fashions. (And Miles even used to wear bowties as a child)

2. Crowley’s tactics when faced with life-threatning danger? Bluff, improvise, than *bluff some more*

Extremely Phoenix Energy, through that whole scene.

3. MilesEdgeworthDotJPEG

4. Can you imagine Miles Edgeworth - any version of Miles Edgeworth - slouching like that? I sure can’t. 

And yeah, I can think of.... at least one version of Phoenix Wright who would slouch like that. 

This Fucker Right Here. I’m gonna come back to it, but basically when I’m saying Crowley is Phoenix, I am very much thinking of THAT version of Phoenix. A Fallen Lawyer, if you will.

5. While both Miles and Phoenix, being lawyers - are fairly lawful trust-the-system people, Phoenix has always been the more chaotic one and more willing to bend the rules. He literally made Edgeworth ‘fill-in’ for him as a Defense Attorney once! He’s much more likely to come up with the Arrangement, like Crowley did. 

6. Damon Gant has Archangel Gabriel Energies

7. Crowley thought Aziraphale was dead, Phoenix thought Miles was dead (Although with Aziraphale it was 100% unintentional and just for a few hours, he didn’t fake his death for a year........ MILES)

8. Here’s basically What Show!Crowley Is All About: “All I ever wanted was to be good, I didn’t deserve to Fall From Grace like that. But if the Universe wants me to be the Bad Guy? Fuck it, I’ll be the Bad Guy. My Falling showed me that the System I used to serve is bad and full of holes and I might as well exploit it for all it’s worth and I’m gonna be a cool detached badass and I don’t care at all oh whooops looks like I still DO still care, A LOT” 

Which.... isn’t that much like any of Miles Edgeworth’s arcs. But DOES remind me of the arc of one Phoenix “HoboNick” Wright.

Crowley’s story of still being a Mess of self-loathing and doubts about being Fallen and the idea Aziraphale possibly helping him through that.... that checks out pretty well with the concept of Edgeworth helping Phoenix dealing with losing his badge. That’s what I think, at least.

9. And Aziraphale? Here’s Aziraphale’s story “I used to work inside this Perfection-Obsessed System and trust that it was Good and was only harming the Bad people because I had a very Black-and-White thinking of the world. I have someone who is very dear to my heart, but I constantly push away because my Black-and-White thinking painted him as my enemy- even when he was one of the only friends I had in this world. However, as my sense of right-and-wrong started to clash with the System, I realized that it’s Bad Actually. Now I prioritize Actually Doing the Right Thing even if it clashes with the System”.

Now there are some Differences, of course, but it checks out pretty well with Miles Edgeworth’s main character arc. Phoenix, in comparison, doesn’t really have that sort of relationship with the System. And Although he kinda fell into thinking about Prosecutors vs Defense Attorneys in a Black-and-White way during ‘Justice for All’, it’s not as..... iconic a Problem for him the way it is to Miles. Phoenix’s thinking was more of an immediate reaction to the grief of Miles’ fake ‘death’ and a Personal Emotional Issue, then it is an Ideological Problem, has it has been with Miles. (In a way, I see it paralleling Crowley whenever he’s like FINE YEAH I DON’T LIKE YOU EITHER ANGEL I AM GOING TO FLY OFF TO THE STARS ON MY OWN AND I WON’T EVER THINK ABOUT YOU). Phoenix was only really Like That for a year, Miles was stuck on that Prosecutors vs Defense Attorneys thing for four years, and hasn’t really fully shaken it off even post-character-development.

Yeah, put in “Clinging to flase ideas of rivalry against all common sense” as another Aziraphale\Miles comperison. Just imagine Crowley mentally responding to “I am an Angel, you are a Demon, we’re hereditary enemies!” with “(But you were filling in for my temptation qouta today!)” 

And it’s important to remember that in spite of Crowley’s “I’m gonna be a cool detached dude who doesn’t care about anything and absolutely isn’t constantly angsting about being Abandoned by God” facade, he is still the one who mostly engages and reaches out to Aziraphale and constatly considers him his ‘friend’, while AZIRAPHALE, in spite of being the cuddly-soft-Angel, is the one who’s doing most of the pushing-away. (While Crowley only pushes away when he feels betrayed and hurt by Aziraphale KINDA THE SAME AS WITH PHOENIX, who is also usually the one trying to reach out to the emotionally-closed-off Edgeworth - and only pushing him away when he’s feeling extremely hurt and betrayed like in AA2)

Okay, so in general, the idea of a Demons-and-Angels AU with Phoenix as an Angel and Miles as a Demon seems SUPER appealing. You know this sort of “Oh no I am Fallen but this beautiful Angel is like... metaphorically pulling me back up??? With his LOVE???” shit? That’s Good Overdramatic Romance Shit that’s PERFECT for Wrightworth (I mean, this is only SLIGHTLY more dramatic than how Miles talk about Phoenix in Actual Canon). 

But this isn’t really the Good Omens narrative. Like, the part of the whole point of Good Omens is that.... unlike being a ‘Demon Prosecutor’, being a Fallen Angel\Demon isn’t necessarily a mark of Bad Morality. No more bad than being a regular-non-Fallen-Angel is (Maybe it’s even a little better? Angels never really properly questioned the structure of Heaven, Hell in general is Bad - but there might be more Demons like Crowley who had legit questions about Heaven and God and ended up lumped in with Lucifer and Friends???). Yeah, Crowley learned to open up a bit, emotions-wise, and too be less cynical after being burned by both Heaven and Hell and that he can fight for Humanity... But in terms of *morality*? 

I think the more accurate way to look at Good Omens from that angle is that Crowley is pulling Aziraphale down, rather than Aziraphale pushing him up. And like....... that not being a Bad Thing. Crowley is the one who keeps asking the tough questions about Heaven and God that Aziraphale thinks about, but can’t dare to say it on his own.

Crowley is the one Aziraphale feels comfortable sharing the fact that he gave away his Flaming Sword to humanity (a fact that he has hidden from everyone else for 6000 years). Crowley is the reason Aziraphale realizes the conflict isn’t as Black and White as Heaven’s propoganda would have him believe, Crowley is the one who talked Aziraphale into trying to prevent the Apocalypse in the first place, that helped him see it as the more moral option. It’s his conflicting loyalty to both Heaven and Crowley that allowed Aziraphale to see Heaven for what it truly is. 

And if we ignore the general cultural context in which we assume Fallen Angel = Bad and Angel = Good.... This checks a lot better with Miles Edgeworth’s story arc of realizing Demon Prosecutoring was Bad and that the System he works in sometimes doesn’t give a crap about the Truth. 

[samingtonwilson]

Dusk Till Dawn - Bucky Barnes

Summary: based on Dusk Till Dawn by ZAYN feat. Sia (watch here, listen here).  

Warnings: language, a little angsty, a little fluffy, a little funny (you know how i do), metaphors involving boners (is that a real warning?). it’s honestly just super long

A/N: i love this song, i love bucky, i kinda like this super long fic. if you listen to the song, wait until zayn’s lil raaga vocalization at the VERY end of it. i love my desi king

Not tryna be indie Not tryna be cool

The pace was always slow with Bucky.

You’d understood why— you’d understood every facet of why.

It’d taken months to graduate from receiving two word replies to receiving sentences and stories, it’d taken months to move from one second smirks to lingering smiles and booming laughs. And in those slow, syrupy months, you’d found yourself trading stolen glances for knowing stares and forced conversations for comfortable silences.

In those drowsy, sluggish months, you’d found yourself longing for something more. You’d found yourself wishing he would open his door for you at 3 A.M. when his screams in the bedroom above yours shook your ceiling, you’d found yourself wishing he would let himself go a little further when he kissed you deep enough for heat to find the tips of your toes.

But, eventually, the pace became too slow with Bucky.

You’d wanted to understand why— you’d wanted to understand every facet of why.

Steve asked you to keep patience, Natasha asked you to not hold your breath, and you asked Bucky to follow you to your floor. You then asked him to kiss you, asked him to hold you, asked him to not be so afraid of what lied beneath clenched jaws, darkening slate blue eyes, metal appendages, and leather jackets he wore over cotton t-shirts even in the summer.

You thought he might be afraid of vulnerability, you thought he might be afraid of risking control— he could’ve held you a little tighter, he could’ve slammed into you a little harder, he could’ve stayed a little longer.

While Steve thought it was a matter of Bucky trusting you, Natasha thought it was a matter of Bucky slowly realizing his feelings for you, and Wanda thought it was a matter she should keep herself out of, you convinced yourself it was largely a matter of Bucky trusting himself.

You stared up at the ceiling. One of your hands sat flat against your forehead, your other hand flat atop your stomach. You shut your eyes. You breathed deeply and evenly. You opened your eyes once more. “It’s not working, Sam.”

There was a snort to your left but you didn’t bother looking at him. You could just picture the wide grin brightening his deep brown eyes and creasing the skin beside them. “We’re trying to build your patience so you need to be...” he trailed off with a smile to himself. “Well, you need to be patient.”

Your hand slid from your forehead to cover your eyes, blocking what little sunlight seeped through your curtains. You sighed loudly. “I’m tired of patience. It smells like a fucking spice cabinet in here.”

“It’s incense.”

“It’s ludicrous.”

You finally spared him a glance, propping yourself upon your elbows and nudging at his chest with your socked toes. You scowled at him when he looked up from his phone. His posture was relaxed with his back against your headboard, his lips pulled into a small smile, his head tilted— you were extremely jealous.

“If you had a boner,” you almost smiled at the sudden shift in his features, ��like, a full raging salmon, a total stonker— and, for whatever reason, you were left to deal with it on your own, would lighting a few incense sticks help? Would a pink candle that smells like a burning rose bush help?”

“A stonker?” he repeated with an eyebrow raised. He looked to be struggling against laughter. “You’ve been left with a stonker?”

“An emotional stonker, baby boy,” you answered with a single nod, lying down once again. “A huge, totally emotionally engorged stonker that doesn’t go away no matter how much I jack off in the shower.”

Sam made a face. “Maybe you should consider using a different metaphor.”

“I understand why he look so long to reach this point,” you continued. “And I understand why he’s a little hesitant about all of this, about everything. But I still want to cry my fucking ass off.”

You propped yourself up again, your elbows digging into the mattress. You narrowed your eyes. “I’m betraying feminism, aren’t I?”

“Think it takes a hell of a lot more than this to betray an entire movement—”

“I’m betraying feminism and pledging allegiance to stereotype,” you continued. “I’m undoing years of progress because Bucky put his penis in me and I can’t stop thinking about it, about what it all means, about what it makes us.”

He made a move to hop off the bed. “We might need a little something more than incense and candles.”

“If you suggest yoga, I’ll tell you what Bucky looks like when he climaxes.”

“So that’s a hell fuckin’ no to yoga.”

Just tryna be in this Tell me, are you too?

You’d memorized every last detail of your ceiling by now— where the bumps were more concentrated, where the paint was faded from sunlight, where the shadows of the ceiling fan’s blades stretched and ended.

You could hear the sink running in the bathroom over the booming of your heartbeat in your ears. Your breathing had yet to even out fully, the air conditioning almost harshly cool against your sweat-slick skin.

Lying as you usually did with your head at the foot of your bed and your heels by your pillows, you held your phone above your face and narrowed your eyes at the messages to Sam you typed out only to delete moments later. When the bathroom door clicked open, you took a breath through your nose and tossed your phone aside. “I miss Sam.”

“Yeah, that’s what a guy wants to hear after some of his best work.”

You snorted, craning your neck so you could meet Bucky’s gaze— albeit upside-down. “Sam’s easy to talk to.”

“I’ve never felt that way.”

You rolled over onto your stomach, the sheet wrapped even tighter around you as a result. You propped yourself up on your elbows and smiled at him as he grabbed his shirt from where you’d tossed it. “God, you’re like my grandparents.”

“Is that a dig at my age?”

You snorted once more. “Wow, Sergeant Barnes has jokes.”

He shook his head, smiling a bit as he sat beside you. “Sergeant Barnes has a coping mechanism.”

You smiled to yourself, the brief expression faltering when he leant down to retrieve his boots. “You don’t have to leave.”

He hummed questioningly though you knew he heard you.

“You can sleep here,” you pressed, still hesitating to even attempt meeting his gaze. “Bed’s big enough, everyone’s on that mission so the compound’s practically empty except for Bruce, and I don’t snore or sleep-talk.”

A sigh that forced your teeth into your bottom lip left Bucky’s parted lips. You were glad to not be looking at him. “Doll, —”

“Sam tried incense and candles,” you interjected, clearing your throat. “But they make my allergies go haywire. Then he tried introducing me to meditation— but I can’t really clear my head. So he finally tried retail therapy and now I have a closet overflowing with things Tony paid for but no peace of mind.”

Bucky sat silently, his eyes tracing your profile. He intended to look away when your eyes found his but was unable to.

“I’m usually really good at this,” you added, looking from one of his eyes to the other. “Sleeping with people without asking them to stay, I mean. I asked Steve to include that in my file as a superpower but he said everyday powers don’t count, let alone a power so crass.”

A corner of his lips quirked up, parted with the intention to speak.

You cut him off, though. “I’m not asking to marry you. It’s just sleeping here. Sleeping’s not a big deal, I mean—”

“I haven’t said no, doll.”

Your mouth snapped shut and you offered him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

He leant down once again, this time to remove his boots and toss them away. He then leant towards you, his back still bent so his eyes could meet yours. He wrinkled his nose. “Has anyone ever told you that you ramble?”

You let yourself lean in his direction as well, your nose brushing against his. “Only when I’m nervous.”

“Avenger and genetically enhanced world-class spy, and I make you nervous?”

“Don’t let it inflate your ego, Buck. I’m always nervous around people I like.”

He tilted his head and raised a dark eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips which were so, so close to yours. “You like other people?”

“Would it be a problem if I did? S’not like you and I are a thing.”

He sighed, narrowing his eyes before he shifted around so he was lying on his stomach beside you, propped up on his elbows the same way you were.

There was something about the gentle way in which he looked at you— eyes soft, features relaxed— that made your heartbeat stutter in your chest.

“We aren’t?”

“Well, you never sleep here.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’ve never asked.”

“So this is a thing?”

“I’d like to think it is.”

Can you feel where the wind is? Can you feel it through All of the windows Inside this room?

Bucky stared at your ceiling. He traced the city lights pouring in from your curtains, tried to figure out what part of the ceiling his bed sat above, and even resorted to counting the bumps on the plaster surface.

He couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. He knew he’d have a dream, he knew he’d throw his limbs around in a battle with an unseen enemy, he knew he would hurt you. He couldn’t risk falling asleep.

Just like he couldn’t risk holding you too tightly, kissing you too roughly, or slamming into you too forcefully.

It could never be that he didn’t trust you enough— he thought he might trust you with every bit of humanity he had left in him— he just didn’t trust what lied beneath it all, what you worked so hard to convince him to see the beauty in. Because under that clenched jaw, those slate blue eyes, that metal arm, and the leather jackets he wore no matter the weather, he saw nothing but destruction, ruin, and harm.

He turned to face you, tracing your features with his tired eyes. He saw the beauty in you— he saw it easily. He saw beauty, and purity, and light— a light he thought might be too bright for hundred year old eyes that had shut too many times to keep splattering blood out.

There was peace spread over your skin, a softness in your parted lips. Your hair was a mess, tangled and tousled in the most angelic way. The dark grey henley you wore was loose, buttons undone so the collar slipped off one of your shoulders.

He glanced at his own shoulder then, following the jagged scars, the permanently pinkish skin, the raised imperfections where flesh met metal. He sighed and faced the ceiling again, balling his fist and letting it loose once more.

His breaths came in short puffs now, the air conditioning suddenly pinching his skin harshly.

He shook his head and shut his eyes. He tried to slow his breathing to no avail.

He pulled the covers to his chin, attempting to snuggle further into the mattress.

It took mere moments for him to grow too warm. He tore the covers away, adjusting them so he was partially covered, partially uncovered. He let the comforter sit over his shoulder and tucked it under the metal of his arm.

He was still too warm, the air conditioning suddenly inadequate.

He thought he could crack a window, crack a damn hole in the wall if he had to, if it would help him breathe even a little.

Shutting his eyes again, he took a deep breath. He felt you shift as you moved closer to him, your breath washing over his skin. There was a hitching in his chest and a rhythmic beating began. His eyes stayed closed.

But you'll never be alone I'll be with you from dusk till dawn Baby, I am right here

He wasn’t sure when sleep took him under so deeply and so all-encompassing in its nature but, the next thing he knew, the covers were on the floor and you were straddling his lap, your hands holding his wrists to the bed tightly.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, features twisted in visible struggle. Your grip tightened on his wrists, your eyes opening one by one when you noticed he’d stopped in his squirming and thrashing. You let out a breath of relief. “Buck.”

Alert and present grey-blue eyes searched yours and you thought you saw disappointment in what he read, his lips falling open once he swallowed thickly. He shut his mouth and swallowed once more.

“You’re okay,” it wasn’t a question and nothing in your voice made it seem so, your hands releasing him when he twisted his thick wrists a little. You smiled at him. “All safe.”

He thought he needed to look away, he thought even his gaze on your smile could corrupt you, could ruin you in some way. He looked at the window that he’d left shut, the thin layer of sweat over his skin sticky. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you asked with a soft snort. “Nothing to be sorry for. I was probably snoring my ass off anyway.”

His lips quirked up on one end despite himself. “You said you don’t snore.”

“I did say that— never said I don’t lie, though,” you laughed slightly, placing your hands flat upon his chest.

“I should probably leave.”

You stared down at your fingers, spreading them over his bare skin. You took a breath through encircled lips. “You don’t have to. But if you’re more comfortable in your room and—”

“It’s not about being comfortable, I just— If I fall asleep, it’ll probably happen again.”

“Then I’ll wake you up again.”

He sighed. “Doll, —”

“If you want to leave, I won’t force you to stay.” You offered him a small smile. “I just really want you to.”

“Why would you want that?”

“Room’s cold, you’re warm,” you shrugged, climbing off his lap to sit beside him. “I also really like you.”

He glanced at you. “Even after that?”

You tilted your head before you lied down. “Maybe even more after that.”

“What, are you a lot more sick and twisted than any of us realize?”

You met his gaze and laughed, twisting your fingers through your hair so the strands didn’t obstruct your vision. “All of us in this tower are more sick and twisted than anyone else realizes. S’why we’re here.”

“Touché.”

“But me liking you more isn’t an indication of that.” You sighed and propped yourself up on your elbow, body lying on your side to look at him. “Everything that just happened, everything that’s happened with you and to you— You’re still the way you are through all of it. Warm, kind, protective.”

You smiled when his eyes found yours and raised your eyebrows. “You know, when you first got here, you didn’t smile much and, when you did, it was a little broken, a little hesitant. But now, —”

Something pinched at the border of his throat and he decided he couldn’t let you finish. He let out a soft sigh of your name as he shifted so he was holding himself above you, his hand on your shoulder to push you onto your back. He leant down so his nose brushed yours and his lips were only a centimeter away— pink, plump, and so inviting.

You closed the distance before he could, your fingers combing through his dark hair as your lips moved with his. You sighed into his mouth when his metal hand slid from behind your neck to your shoulder, his thumb brushing over you in a soothing manner that still made goosebumps erupt over your skin.

He needed to be woken up one more time that night, but it took less effort then. You only needed to place your hands on his and squeeze with a few soothing words, the warmth rolling off of you comforting enough to rouse him from a nightmare that would otherwise incapacitate him.

He looked at you with dilated pupils and parted lips, his arms going around you instantly. Tighter this time, almost as tight as yours.

We were shut like a jacket So do your zip We would roll down the rapids To find a wave that fits

You were sat atop the kitchen island, swinging your legs and humming a tune you could vaguely recall hearing on some advertisement for carpet steaming. A bowl of washed strawberries sat on your lap, one of your hands cradling the ceramic carefully as the other flicked through the pages of one of the many magazines Tony bought just because he was on the cover.

You read each word of his interview in which he expressed the need for a rise of women in STEM jobs with a smile pulling at your lips, your eyes rolling when he took any opportunity he could to brag about how many women held high-position jobs in his company.

“That’s one of my favorites.”

You glanced up from the pages, narrowing your eyes at Tony as he set his mug under the Keurig you still had no clue how to use. “You shouldn’t count how many women work for you.”

He pursed his lips in confusion. “How else am I supposed to brag about it?”

“You don’t.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s in here,” you said as you pointed to your heart, smiling at him when he snorted. “Being a decent human being in silence is so much fun. S’like Disneyland, or that feeling I get when I jack one of your cars.”

“Ah, so that’s the opposite of the feeling I get when you borrow one of my cars without asking?”

“The legal term for that is joyriding, Tone.”

“What’s the legal term for leaving melted milkshakes in the cupholders?”

“Courtesy because at least I took all the empty fries cartons out.”

He cracked a wide smile at that. “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.”

“I am. Otherwise there’s no way in hell you’d be okay with me telling you that your R8 is in some impound lot in Brooklyn.”

He let out a long and loud sigh, shaking his head. “Which one?”

“The one on Sands and Navy. Apparently red curbs are only for firemen and not firemen and Avengers.”

He shook with laughter and a roll of his eyes. “What were you doing in Brooklyn anyway? Red October show you his old stomping grounds?”

“I asked Bucky,” you said pointedly with a glare in Tony’s direction, earning only a smile in reply, “where he goes on all his walks considering he’s out for hours at a time—”

“Walk-in freezer at that bulk wholesale store?”

“You know the store is called Costco, I know you know the store is called Costco— stop pretending that ten-foot teddy bear you got for Pepper last year is from anywhere else.” You let out a soft whine of protest when he took the bowl from your lap. “He told me he takes this familiar route to his family’s old house with his bike, helps him remember things that are still a little fuzzy. He wanted me to get on that damn motorcycle with him— but this hair and that wind? No.”

Tony’s smile was small when you looked at him, a warmth in the depth of his brown eyes you always found adoration in. “Seems like he’s opening up to you.”

“Took him long enough.”

He nodded, leaning his backside against the edge of the counter. “Patience, kid. All he can do is try.”

You smiled and took the bowl back, unable to frown even when you noticed there were only two strawberries left. “Didn’t think you’d be advocating for him.”

“I’m advocating for that smile of yours. If you like Grease Lightning, I guess I can give him a chance.”

“Good,” you replied with a nod, setting your elbow atop Tony’s shoulder. “So when are you adding the cooling system to my suit—”

Before you could finish what you were saying and before Tony could make forty-thousand excuses in response, Bucky’s heavy footsteps announced his arrival loudly. He was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, t-shirt still creased thanks to your balling-up of the fabric the night before.

Tony waggled his eyebrows at you, making a face before he playfully and silently saluted at Bucky with two fingers and left the common area with his coffee abandoned beside you.

You shrugged and picked it up, taking a long sip of the still-warm liquid and sighing out.

“D’you tell him ‘bout his car?”

You frowned. “I can’t believe you made that my responsibility. What happened to chivalry? What happened to that nineteen-forties gentleman nonsense I always hear about from you and Cap?”

“You told me to get with the times, doll,” he replied, voice still thick with sleep. He offered you a tired smile, swollen eyes narrowing from its impact. “I’m gettin’ with the times.”

“Real fortuitous timing on that.”

“‘Sides, you’re Stark’s favorite. You could total twenty-nine of his cars and he’d still give you the keys to the thirtieth if you asked.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Still.”

“You doing anything today?”

You watched as he retrieved a bowl and the box of instant oatmeal Tony and Sam would always scowl at, his steps carrying him to the refrigerator for the milk. “I wanted to train but my ankle hasn’t healed yet which means Steve will probably shriek if he sees me in the gym.”

Bucky laughed through his nose, ripping a package of maple-brown sugar oatmeal and dumping the contents into a bowl. He poured some milk in next and set the bowl in the microwave, starting it up instantly. “There’s this café a few blocks from here. Food’s nothing special, coffee’s just okay, and their AC is always on full-blast— but I like it there, I usually go for lunch.”

You nodded wordlessly, smiling softly so he’d continue.

“Maybe it’s because everything in there is so much slower than it is everywhere else. Maybe the temperature agrees with me, or the owners are too old and uninterested in current events to know who I am. I don’t know what it is.”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason— you can like something without justifying it.”

He nodded, glancing at his oatmeal through the microwave door. “I want you to come with me.”

“You do?”

He nodded again but there was a bit of insecurity in the bluish grey of his eyes when they met yours. “You don’t have to say yes— it’s not too exciting. We could go somewhere else, anywhere you like— I just,” he shook his head, “wanted to show— You know what, it’s fine—”

“I haven’t said no, Buck.” You bit down on your bottom lip to stop your wide smile. “Has anyone ever told you that you ramble?”

He shook his head, his sigh heavy and loud as he took the bowl from the microwave. “S’the first time I’ve ever done that.”

“You know, I’m glad you’re showing me more parts of your life. I love it, actually.”

“Yeah? S’not boring?”

“I’ll tell you this as many times as you need to hear it: I’m happy whenever I’m with you, doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

He smiled to himself, stirring the oatmeal with his spoon. “S’corny.”

You scowled with a wrinkled nose. “I know, I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Don’t tell Sam.”

I'll hold you when things go wrong I'll be with you from dusk till dawn

You tried not to groan with each step you took, a sharp pain shooting up your leg each time your ankle so much as jostled. There was an ache in your head as well, resonating as a pulse which seemed to expand and contract the hard bones of your skull. You continued to your room, though, only able stomach being under the bright lights Dr. Cho subjected you to in order to patch you up for so long.

You would be fine in the morning, if not sooner— your enhanced healing abilities always made sure of that— you just needed a bottle of water and a lot of rest.

You wouldn’t call it an unsuccessful mission— the larger victory, the more important achievement was earned by your small team Steve had ordered while small losses were suffered by each one of you individually. And perhaps that was what made the smaller losses so much more difficult to cope with— they were yours and yours alone, the experience was entirely individual and almost too shameful to even discuss.

You sighed as you took a long drink from the water bottle you’d retrieved from one of the Tower’s many kitchens, relishing in the coolness that ran down your throat. You held the bottle against your forehead, hoping to cool your skin as you slid it down to your cheek.

You had thought of taking the elevator up to Bucky’s room, knocking on his door and maybe asking him to hold you in the way you often held him when his hair was in knots, his skin was coated in sweat, and his eyes were wide with freshly seen horrors. You decided against it, though, and got off at your floor.

It wasn’t until you approached your door and heard the deep snores that your chest collapsed in surprised relief.

The door clicked shut behind you, your hands making quick and quiet work of your tactical suit. You stole few glances in his direction as if he would sense your gaze in his sleep and the peacefulness over his features would break, the disillusionment of it all would break, and he would vanish.

Though it had been months since the first night you asked him to stay, you never stopped fearing that it would all come to a screeching, abrupt end. You never wanted to push too much on him too quickly and that soon resulted in never pushing anything on him, never leaning on him when you needed to— and you needed to often.

It wasn’t that Bucky wouldn’t oblige, you knew he would. You felt he had too much to deal with already, too much weighing his shoulders down, too much occluding the beautiful mind you’d seen more than just glimmers and peeks of at this point. You didn’t want to be just another thing that disrupted his sleep, his peace, his happiness— you wanted to be a reason for their promotion, not for their demise.

And it certainly wasn’t as if Bucky didn’t try. He often told Steve how much it frustrated him that it didn’t feel even, it didn’t feel reciprocal. He was unloading his every worry onto you, watching as you smiled reassuringly and held onto him with a contradictory gentle-tightness he’d never been so comforted by before— but you never did the same.

He’d grown to trust himself around you, he’d grown to trust who he was around you. He wasn’t a metal arm wielding weapon around you, he wasn’t a tired, washed-up HYDRA assassin with a swiss cheese brain and pathetically violent muscle memory around you. He was Bucky— and, around you, that was enough.

Or so he thought. Perhaps if just Bucky was enough, you’d tell him more, you’d lean on him more. Perhaps if just Bucky was enough, it would be equal.

He stayed around you more and more, he showed you more and more, he loved you more and more all with the hope that you would be able to see enough in him to stay more, to show more, to love more— hell, to love at all, really. After all, you were all light, and beauty, and purity and he wanted nothing more than to preserve all of it.

Sam often asked you if it was even, if it was reciprocal, if it was equal— and you’d respond the same way each time. “The pain itself isn’t equal, Sam.”

Sam hated it— the response, the awful Hardship Olympics you’d given yourself a bronze medal in. He knew, perhaps better than anyone else, that pain couldn’t be measured, it couldn’t be given rankings. Pain was pain and your pain was just as important as anyone else’s. He also knew, however, that you never did anything for Bucky with the intention of having it reciprocated— you did it out of love, and there were no expectations of reciprocation in love.

Still, it worried him and he hoped and encouraged that you would open up to Bucky just as Bucky had done to you. Sam knew for a fact you needed Bucky just as much as he needed you and showing him that wouldn’t hurt anything, if anything it would help both of you. The love there was evident, the trust there was evident, the respect there was evident— it just needed to be expressed.

Stripped down to just a pair of spandex training shorts and a matching sports bra, you stood before your bathroom mirror and squinted through the bright overhead lights at your reflection. Your eyes followed every bruise on your body, zeroing in on a particularly angry cluster of them starting above the waistband at your hip.

Shaking your head to rid yourself of the images of the bruises’ attainment, you took a shaky breath through encircled lips before noting the stitched up gash on your right forearm.

That was an image you couldn’t shake, a feeling you couldn’t rid yourself of. The helplessness of it all, the almost pitifulness of it all. You were capable of more, you were always capable of more and of better— you just couldn’t rise to it, could you?

You set your hands far apart atop the counter, dropping your head so your chin touched your chest as your eyes stung and grew flooded. When the first soft cry left your lips, you couldn’t stop the ones that followed, your shoulders shaking as tears splashed against the pale grey marble. It didn’t take long for your tired legs to give out on you, forcing you backwards until you could sit upon the edge of your tub, your face in your hands.

His phone’s constant dinging with new useless notifications from applications he didn’t know how to delete or, at the very least, turn off, interrupted Bucky’s sleep but didn’t wake him entirely. It was the sound of quiet, strained whimpers from the bathroom that woke him entirely.

He sat up quickly, glancing at the pile of clothing in the corner of the room he recognized as your suit. He then noted the slightly open bathroom door, a sliver of light shining through and stretching across the floor.

The beating in his chest grew irregular as he knocked on the door once, twice, three times. He heard you sniffle and shuffle around, clearing your throat to say quietly, “Yeah?”

He dropped his forehead against the door. “Can I come in?”

There was a brief pause. “I’m okay.”

Then another whimper, another heavy pull in his chest. “Doll, please?”

The next whimper was louder, akin to a chest-shattering sob. He shook his head to himself and opened the door anyway, trying not to focus on what came over him upon noticing your crumpled form, your defeated posture.

He knelt before you, placing his hands on your knees. He looked over you, taking inventory of your injuries and noting that you’d been down to medical by the looks of it.

You dropped your hands when a metal thumb rubbed comforting circles against your skin. Your eyes met slate blue irises that forced your teeth into your bottom lip, caging in a soft cry. “I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head, eyebrows together. “You haven’t done anything to be sorry for.”

“You were sleeping.”

He nodded. “Phone woke me up— but I wish you would’ve. What happened?”

You shook your head, wiping your cheeks with your palms and taking a deep breath. You sat up a little straighter. “Hostages are free and we got what we needed.”

“That’s good. But what happened?” He didn’t care that his voice was growing increasingly desperate.

Another shake of your head. “Nothing, Buck, I’m just tired.”

He placed his flesh hand under your jaw, fingers closed around the back of your neck so his thumb could brush your cheek lightly. His eyes never left yours. “You can tell me.”

“It’s noth—”

“I know it’s not ‘nothing.’” He sighed. “You can trust me enough to tell me.”

You watched him for a moment longer— the pain in his eyes, in his voice, in his soft grip. You thought Sam might be right, you thought it might need expressing. “I had one, small job. Clear the western wing of the building. It wasn’t supposed to be heavily guarded but— The heat scanners didn’t show anything either.”

He nodded.

“I got past most of them, I was even able to do that thing Nat showed me where you use the wall as leverage to get on their shoulders,” you continued, sniffling and accepting the three squares of toilet paper he offered you. “But someone got past me and got to this little girl.”

“Is she okay?”

“Cut her pretty badly but Bruce said she’d be fine, said the injuries are temporary and she was just in shock but—” you inhaled deeply. “But she has to live with the memory of it for the rest of her life and I didn’t— I didn’t make it any easier, I made it worse. She could’ve had such a happy ending and I just tainted it.”

“Doll,” he sighed, pushing himself up so he could sit beside you and take your hands in his. “She’s okay, she’s safe because of you. She got her happy ending.”

“I could’ve done better. I’m capable of doing better.”

“You went into a terrible hostage situation and took an entire wing to yourself. You got past every guard on your own, got every victim out alive. Doll, no one is capable of perfect— but you were almost as close as it gets.”

For a minute, you didn’t believe him. You’d always been told perfection was attainable and was the only acceptable standard— and you fell short. He should’ve clicked his tongue in disappointment at you, he should’ve looked at you with less admiration in his eyes rather than stare at you with more love than you’d ever seen.

It shook something deep within you and, without a second thought, you threw your arms around him and let out whatever was left against his t-shirt.

His metal arm wound around your waist and pulled you into his lap, letting you adjust yourself so your legs were spread apart to sit on either side of him.

Careful of your bruises, he tightened his hold ever so slightly and you sighed against him, words spilling from your lips before you could help it. “I love you,” you admitted softly.

A smile pulled at his lips, turning his face so his face was buried in the crook of your neck. He pressed a kiss to your skin. “I love you.”

It was all even, it was equal, it was all reciprocal.

Baby, I am right here

[alteabellerose]

”*Putting this under a submit since this might be long and I don’t wanna split it up in several asks that Tumblr might eat. Sorry for any inconvenience*”

”I have some thoughts about the latest chapter. I was not expecting the feels to hit me like they did. But I actually understand why MC did what she did. How she did it was harsh and unnecessary, but I do understand the point behind it.”

-This is a fairly long submission but it’s also worth a read bc anon makes a lot of good points about this whole mess but I don’t want to clog your dashes with this super long post so I’m putting the submission and my response under a read more-

”Something I felt hasn’t been addressed a lot in the story is the fact that MC gave up her whole life to be with Altea. She literally left her own world behind to move to an alternate universe. For Altea. Someone who is willing to give up everything to be with you is a big deal and shows a huge amount of trust, especially in the messy situation they’re in with the Witch Queen and an approaching war. Then she learns that Altea, who probably felt like an anchor, has been lying about a lot of things. Even something as trivial as the fact that she’s two years younger than she said/implied she was. From personal experience, I can say that that plants a seed of doubt that is REALLY hard to get over. Suddenly you’re questioning everything and you feel all alone. Even if you aren’t.”

”Even more so if, like MC, if she feels like she literally has no one to turn to. She didn’t just move to a different city, a different state or even a different country, she literally moved into another universe where no one from her past is. Where she has no way to contact them. And we know that Chicago is where she feels safe since Altea told her to think of a safe place and they ended up there. In Chicago, she probably would called Sophie or her parents or anyone else in her life to confide in/vent. In the L&L world, that person would most likely be Altea, but this time she’s also the one right in the middle of a huge mess.”

”MC only spoke to Iseul because he sought her out. The guys had to bring it up because of MCs aggressive behavior during training, MC didn’t go to the courtyard with the intention of talking to them. In fact, the one MC ended up confiding in was Helena (which kinda makes me suspicious btw).”

”Then add the fact that Mireille didn’t make a good first impression by threatening MC. Or the fact that she shoves MC out of conversations by talking to Altea in a language she knows MC doesn’t understand. Or hijacking the day she and Altea should’ve had together. Or the way she seems to have a thing for Altea or at the very least she seems to disapprove of MC and Altea’s relationship. Then, finally, saving Altea right in front of her.”

”I feel like MC probably had Helena’s words echoing in her head about people always being tempted by those who have been with them since the beginning. How Mireille will know Altea’s heart and have memories MC can’t touch. It probably doesn’t help that every other conversations Mireille and Altea has is basically “hey, remember when….” which would make anyone feel left out. Then Altea says she wants Mireille to stay with them in the castle…”

”Basically MC is feeling insecure as all hell and the only who seems to get it is Helena.”

”Sidenote: Considering you literally pick between Altea and Helena and how this chapter ended, I just have to say: If this is the point where Helena’s route starts, I’m gonna be livid! I want a clean beginning, not MC running to Helena because she and Altea are having problems! Not here for breaking Altea’s heart for Helena!”

”Anyway, there’s a distinct lack of communication between everyone, which is turning this into a bigger issue than it should’ve been. MC’s insecurities are very flawed, but also very real. And from her POV, Altea doesn’t seem to want to understand. She feels like Altea doesn’t get it, but really how can Altea get it when MC doesn’t communicate her feelings. Its irrational, but doubts and insecurities will do that unfortunately. ”

”No one is innocent in all this. MC should’ve communicated her feelings/thoughts to Altea. The necklace was an immature lashing out that’ll only cause more hurt. But Altea should been more upfront, should’ve considered how betrayed MC might feel given the trust she had shown Altea and communicated her thoughts instead if just announcing something like the fact that she wants Mireille to stay and expecting MC to be ok with it.”

”I feel like Iseul should take his own advice and tie both Altea and MC to Reiner’s chair until they actually talk to each other… They both have some apologizing to do. And, more importantly, they need to freaking TALK TO EACH OTHER. A real heart-to-heart where they both talk and they both listen.”

Okay so I’m gonna open by saying that I never saw a notification for this so idk how late I am at getting to it and I’m sorry if you sent this yesterday or this morning and I didn’t get to it earlier

But! Yeah honestly I think you’ve made nothing but good points here. I think literally every day about how hard it must be for MC to deal with the knowledge that she left literally everyone and everything she’s ever known behind, like sure she loves Altea and the guys are her friends but she left behind her best friend and who knows how much family all for Altea and this war with the witch queen when she could’ve easily gone back to her old life, not put herself in danger every single day, not left 25 years of her life behind. I wish we’d get more about that in the story, even if it was just in the form of comments from MC sometimes, like when she was talking to the witch queen about her memories of the garden her mother had, except wherein she’s talking to someone who will listen and care

I know that I’ve been making a fair few angry/hurt posts about this and generally siding with Altea, but I don’t want to make it seem like I think MC is completely at fault for things. I can’t say that I’ve been lied to on that scale, but I can say that I can relate to what Altea says about her parents and so I also understand why she would lie about that at the very least. I don’t mean that I approve of it, but I’m not exactly mad. I am, however, pretty much entirely on MC’s side in regards to the jealousy issue with Mireille, I’m secondhand jealous tbh, and it surprises me that Altea was oblivious enough to the issue to suggest that Mireille stay permanently. Definitely was not happy with her about that.

The main thing I’m upset with MC about isn’t necessarily leaving Altea, it’s leaving Altea when she barely addressed the jealousy issue with her. It’s not that I don’t understand MC’s reasoning. I had a similar problem in a relationship when I was 16 and I stewed for like, weeks, but instead of, interestingly enough, returning the necklace he’d given me and I had hardly taken off in the year and a half we were together in a symbolic breakup gesture, we talked it out and lo and behold, we stayed together for a while longer. MC walked off and GOD do I understand the “she saved you when I couldn’t comment” because I kind of have a protectiveness thing going on and christ that’d kill me, and Altea just says “I don’t hold a grudge against you for that, it was just chance” but like, I’d hold a grudge against myself for the rest of my life probably and now I’m rambling so anyway, Altea goes after her and asks what’s wrong you know, and MC is like “I’m jealous” and then hands her the charm???????? When they talked about her feelings for all of two minutes?????????????????????

I’m frustrated with the lack of communication happening, and from the perspective of someone outside the relationship of course it looks easy to solve so I’m trying to avoid judging too harshly but god if they would just talk to each other! I’m also frustrated because I’ve mentioned on this blog that I’ve played/am playing virtually every game I can get my hands on where you can play as a girl and romance a girl, and god only knows how many bi/pan/lesbian LIs I could rattle off right now, but Altea is my all-time favorite. So maybe I’ve been harsh on MC for doing what she did but god I just keep thinking about what my favorite girl ever must’ve been thinking when MC put the charm in her hands and it’s killing me and kind of clouding my fair judgment here

Like. I love MC and I support her always (usually) but TALK TO YOUR GIRL!!!!!!! I’m glad you said that the lack of communication is turning this into a bigger issue than it should’ve been because that’s by far my biggest problem with what’s going on. It just doesn’t need to be this bad.

Re: your sidenote god same. I was happy when Alain’s route started and I assumed they’d do the same thing with Helena, like have it be an AU type deal where MC just happened to get picked up by the generals instead of August and Iseul, but now I’m scared. I wouldn’t be able to play Helena’s route at first. I’d have to emotionally gear myself up for it, lmao. Helena getting a route is literally a dream come true for me, as in literally I wanted it so badly I dreamed about it once before they announced it, but I don’t know if it’s worth the expense of Altea’s heart. That’s a cheesy thing to say about fictional characters but it’d hurt her so much. I couldn’t do it.

Catch me crying like a baby when they have their inevitable heart-to-heart though, I’m a sucker for this stuff

Thanks for sending this in, I could talk forever about L&L lmao & I appreciate your apparently slightly more balanced perspective than my own

[coldgirled-a]

let’s   break   down   how   each   face   claim   fits   siobhan’s   character   (   this   is   not   the   witch   version.   that   is   a   whole   different   area   )   starting   with   the   main   of   CARLSON   YOUNG.   carlson   is   my   main   because   of   how   tiny   appearing   she   looks.   the   way   i   envisioned   shiv   is   that   she’s   incredibly   tiny.   between   5′0′’   and   52′’   for   the   effect   of   projecting   helplessness   as   a   lure   hence,   the   fake   damsel   in   distress   trope   she   likes   to   convey.   for   carlson,   this   is   the   closest   to   siobhan   in   her   appearance:

^^   the   HAIR.   the   hair   is   always   usually   this   style   of   the   first   gif.   it’s   wavy   /   curly   and   is   rarely   straightened   as   portrayed   in   brooke   maddox   and   the   other   gifs   so   the   hair   isn’t   particularly   accurate.   brooke   kinda   fits   in   episodes   1-3   in   the   first   season   with   mannerisms.   especially   with   these   gifs.   in   short   ?   carlson   is   my   appearance   of   siobhan   with   these   gifs   being   extremely   siobhan   like   in   her   mannerisms   and   i   see   HER   as   siobhan   the   most.   especially   the   last   two.   with   the   middle,   it’s   a   clear   indication   she   is   up   to   something   or   just   being   cheeky   --   it’s   hard   to   tell   at   times.   i   think   we   all   know   what   the   third   represents.   yikes.   and   also   the   jewelry   but   not   so   much   the   outfits.   

SASHA   PIETERSE.     fits   more   in   personality.   the   pre   series   alison   is   quite   a   bit   similar   to   shiv.   shiv   is   very   detached,   cold,   with   a   bit   of   a   mean   streak   but   she   is   not   evil.   let   me   repeat   that,   SHE   IS   NOT   EVIL.   she   makes   bad   choices,   ones   that   will   make   people   question   her   sanity   even   if   it   makes   all   the  sense   in   the   world   to   her.   she   has   shut   herself   down   emotionally,   completely   believing   she   cannot   feel   love   or   is   deserving   of   it   and   she   is   okay   with   that,   accepted   it   even.   (   honestly,   who   would   believe   they   deserve   it   after   killing   their   family   ?   this   is   not   to   say   she   feels   bad   about   it   because   she   doesn’t.   )   while   the   murders   were   premeditated,   she   had   zero   desire   to   hurt   anyone   else   but   she   did   like   the   power   she   held   for   such   a   tiny   girl,   that   she   could   make   someone   quake   at   the   edge   of   a   blade.   one   can   argue   in   a   tvd   setting   if   her   humanity   is   off   but   the   answer   will   always   be   NO.   she   would   never.   the   only   way   her   humanity   would   ever   be   off   is   if   it’s   compelled.   if   she   met   a   vampire   with   it   off,   she’d   find   them   weak   honestly.

okay   now   the   gif   interpretations.   first   gif   below   is   SO    siobhan   like.   she’s   very   slinky,   seductive   and   teasing   with   a   playful   demeanor   on   good   days.   she’s   alluring   with   just   her   eyes - she exhibits   that   little   bit   of   mysterious   air   around   her,   you’ll   never   know   her   true   identity   as   she   is   many   /   quick   to   shake   things   up   /   be   unpredictable.   i   can   go   back   and   forth   if   i   see   her   eyes   brown   like   cy   or   blue   like   sp   but   regardless,   she’s   usually   always   BLONDE.   the   second   represents   her   mindset   after   a   kill.   she   enjoys   being   what   she   is.   she   takes   excessive   PRIDE   in   it.   she’s   stronger,   faster,   more   powerful   than   a   human   and   above   all,   she’s   fearless   with   it.   third   &   fourth:   obviously   they   are   after   she   died.   she   believed   herself   to   be   incapable   of   love,   until   she   actually   fell   for   someone   with   the   last   bit   of   humanity   she   held   onto.   he   had   been   working   against   her   and   left   her   to   die   in   a   shallow   grave   being   betrayed   in   the   WORST   way   you   can   do  to   someone.   the   fourth   !!   reminds   me   a   lot   of   her   way   as   DARING   you   ---   especially   if   you   wanna   threaten   to   kill   her   but   don’t   be   fooled   by   her   small   stature.   that’s   what   she’s   counting   on.

NINA   DOBREV.   while   nina   is   NOT   an   alternative   face   claim,   she   holds   a   lot   of   siobhan’s   mannerisms,   wardrobe   and   HAIRSTYLE   as   shiv   would   have.   siobhan   wears   a   lot   of   black,   a   lot   of   leather,   boots   and   expensive   accessories   to   match.   katherine’s   attitude   would   also   fit   the   NEGATIVE   portions   of   her   worst   side:   cold,   vindictive,   aggressive.   when   siobhan   hates,   she   HATES.   with   every   fiber   of   her   being.   murder   is   no   big   deal.   it’s   a   shame,   but   no   loss.   in   the   words   of   ted   bundy   himself,   “when   you   cross   that   line,   it   becomes   easier   to   do   it   again.”   yet   when   she   loves   /   bonds   ?   she   LOVES.   practically   blindly   loyal   (   evident   by   how   much   she   adored   her   mother   ;   it’s   possible   amanda   was   also   a   motivation   for   the   murders   )   there   is   no   in   between   as   she   works   in   extremes   --   some   of   you   might   have   noticed   that   by   now.   only   she   is   not   open   to   the   idea   of   love   (   much   like   kat   i   know   ),   she   has   zero   patience   for   it   as   it   restricts   her   will   to   be   free   or   time   for   it   hence   why   in   my   guidelines   i   said   shipping   will   be   rare   and   MUST   be   plotted   in   depth.   one   night   stands   ?   she’d   do   maybe   only   once.   twice   at   the   most   unless   she   didn’t   INTEND   on   it   but   that’s   part   of   a   control   headcanon   so   different   hc   for   a   different   day.   she   loves   sex   --   call   her   a   sex   junkie   however,   she   isn’t   a   slut   /   whore.   she   is   PICKY   as   all   hell   as   she   has,   “   more   class   than   prostitutes.   “   as   she   would   say.

essentially,   she   is   super   complex.   she   is   small,   with   fire   in   her   palms,   ice   in   her   heart   aka   she   is   FEISTY   and   will   eat   you   within   seconds   or   make   it   slow   and   torturous.   ASK   ELIZABETH   SPENCER.   she’ll   go   on   about   how   siobhan   is   soulless   which   is   ...   kinda   accurate   only   ‘cause   siobhan   cannot   stand   her.   to   her,   liz   is   the   zebra   to   her   lion   and   is   taking   her   time   with   the   hunt.   her   heart   is   there,   it’s   buried   beneath   ice   and   dirt.   good   luck   finding   it.

SIDE   NOTE:   i   am   TOTALLY   okay   with   muses   underestimating   her.   it’s   the   whole   point   of   why   i   chose   her   to   be   so   small.   plus   it   makes   her   like   B’   )))   when   they   do   so   shiv   voice:   game   on   bitches.