#girl i am posting ugly after ugly after ugly when it comes to art but whatever. post things you dont like its what being an artist is abt

[stargloom]

ugly celestias iam super sick rn

[cookies-super-secret-blog]

something something grow a pair and state thoughts on ai?

So, funny story, I made a post about this before, whenever the topic tag for it was trending. And like, I still stand by that, sans the part where I call the AI itself a form of art under my definition. A little bit after that, I saw a post, while definitely not in response to my own post, made the point that while we should hate AI art for the rampant theft of jobs and content, that its somehow bad to dislike it as Bad Art or Not Art because "gatekeeping art is baddd". Which like, in the context of someone drawing stick figures or painting giant blocks of color, is valid; we shouldn't gatekeep art from people. I still think AI doesn't deserve that privilege. Like, not to try and define art again, but, like hold on ket me grab something.

This is an ai generated adoptable from deiantart. Now, I have to ask, what's being expressed here- besides "cute girl in big hoodie (despite the one on the left not having a hoodie)"? Like it's easy to take these apart mechanically, but conceptually? It's somehow easier. Like, part of character design is visually communicating stuff about the character. There's nothing here besides anime girl in big outfit with minor armor details maybe? Like nothing else here is coherent! Like she looks sampled off of genshin and honkai characters but that's it. Like the cutains are just blue, and its dull and boring because of it. Why is the jacket neon green? The prompter wanted it that way. Why does she have the shoulder pieces and the case she's holding? Because the prompter likely put "battle girl" and/or "solarpunk" into the prompt. And it's not bad to have design elements for the sake of it, but the ai can't do anything but that, and the content it generates suffers because of it. There's no artistic value there, imo.

Now, not to toot my own horn, but here's my take on this design:

This is still a "cute girl in a big lime green jacket", but there's more to it. It's a high visibility jacket, with stripes reminiscent of construction vests. In the other doodles on the page, this high visibility theme is expanded to a theme of her being some kind of rescue personnel, and/or an angel (see; the halo in the bottom right). While it's fairly easy for me to point these themes out- it is what I intended- I'd still argue an obersever would be able to point out similar, or other themes and motifs that bring this character together.

No ammount of prompts and generation models can recreate that. Even if the prompter had the exact same intent I had when making the og ai content, that intent doesn't come across whatsoever. Because AI cannot replicate human intent and artistic processes.

These image generators register to me as the miserable end point of the sad, art-illiterate belief that art only is, and is only meant to "look pretty". Every time modern art is decried as "ugly and pointless", another prompter gets validated in their shameless attempts to assert their narrow-as-fuck vosion of what art is.

Art is human. Art is messy, art is intricate, art is sloppy, art is beautiful and art is ugly.

No machine on earth can comprehend or replicate that. And the ceasless attempts to commodify and capitalize on art have made some people forget that fact. The kinds of people who prompt really only see art as a gimmick product, pretty knickknacks that will make them rich quick.

For lack of better terms, the dehumanization of art itself is disgusting, and so like hell am I going to consider AI's mass-produced, slot machine-esque, drivel as art.

And I will not be guilted by other people on this hellsite who think its a moral failure to call mindless content what it is because its dressed up in distorted frills and anime girl boobs.

Art is human, and AI is not human. And what a sad world it is, that we're automating and strangling human creation, instead of letting it thrive.

Thank you for reminding me to share my thoughts.

[meekmedea]

Hector & Max raising Clemensia got stuck in my mind again. So here we are with these snippets based on the au idea where Clemmie is sort of a child of divorce...

The first three are set pre-'divorce' and the last is post-'divorce', with a focus on Max and Clemensia's interactions.

Context: Hector lives, the rest of his family (save Clemensia) does not. And he's left to raise his granddaughter alone. Well, Max is there too and he's offered up the presidential estate to the Dovecote grandfather and granddaughter to live in.

~~~~

1.

"Hector," he says, with a hint of exasperation. "It's Gloriam. You would not be so cruel, would you?"

The grin on his friend's face suggests otherwise. "Hmm...I don't know." He turned to the little girl in his arms. "What do you think, dearest? Shall we help your Uncle Magnus, or leave him to suffer?"

`

Was his fate truly being dictated by a 5 year old?

It seemed so.

`

"We should help," says Clemensia solemnly. "Grandfather, it's Gloriam." She made a displeased face, causing both men to laugh.

"That's your expression, down to the frown," chortled Hector. "I can't believe it."

~~~~

2.

"My grandfather said that if you have nothing good to say, then you shouldn't say it," interrupts Clemensia with a huff. The displeased look on her face was all Hector. "And you're wrong! My grandmother would never do anything like that!"

"Well, I never– what a rude child you are–"

Clemensia hardly looked cowed. An impressive feat given her young age, and the fact that Maximinius would have opted for a tactical retreat instead of talking to Gloriam.

Still. It was too cruel to subject her – or anyone, really – to Gloriam's ire. "Speaking ill of the dead, Gloriam? My, how dignified of you." It took everything in Maximinius to keep a neutral expression as Gloriam spluttered indignantly. "What kind of example are you setting for the youth?"

`

"Next time, you should ignore her words," he tells her once he's steered her away from Gloriam and her ilk. "And it is not very polite to talk back like that."

Clemensia gave him a dubious look, as if calling him a hypocrite for his earlier words.

"You can do it when you're as old as I am." Hopefully, this would not come back to bite him.

Her nose scrunched up at that. "But you're ancient, Uncle Magnus."

Ah, the honesty of children...

~~~~

3.

"And these are the finest selection of canes we have."

Maximinius made a hum at that, not very impressed by what he saw. Of course, he could not say that out loud. So he glanced over to his tagalong. "What do you think, Clemensia? Which one would your grandfather like? Be honest."

She took a step closer to where the selection of canes were and studied them intently, like the fate of Panem hung on her decision. After a minute or so, she turned back to him and said, "They're all ugly."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she says without missing a beat.

Turning back to the salesperson, he says, "Perhaps we will return on a different day. I believe my charge is rather tired."

`

Although he greatly appreciated her honesty, Maximinius conceded that perhaps he should teach her the art of subtlety. "Ugly is a strong word," he tells her when they're back in the car. Hector might have his head if Clemensia were to start being a little too honest in public.

"But it was true," she insists.

"Be that the case, it can be rather rude at times."

"Grandfather said lying isn't a good thing."

"I am not suggesting that you lie. Rather, you can word it more politely."

`

At the next event, Maximinius pretends not to see Hector's glance his way when Clemensia calls something 'interesting' when she really meant 'hideous'.

~~~~

+1 Post Divorce ft. Teenage Rebellion.

`

"Child, what are you doing here?" It was not to say she was unwelcome, but it was a bit unusual for her to seek him out so late in the day. "Shouldn't you be home?" Hector would worry, that much Maximinius knew. Even if they weren't on speaking terms anymore.

Clemensia scowled at that. "I'm not going home! Not when Grandfather is being so overbearing! I can't believe him!"

`

The decision is easy to make from there.

He lets her take refuge in her bedroom – Maximinius knew if he were to turn her away, she would not return home no matter what.

The Dovecote stubbornness was a trait that he knew very well. And she would likely wander the streets than return home, if just to prove a point.

So by allowing to stay under his roof, at least he could keep an eye on her whereabouts. He did not think Hector would survive should a single hair on Clemensia be harmed.

~~~~

"Where is she?" asks Hector, getting straight to the point the moment he arrives. "I know she's here, Maximinius."

No matter how many times he heard it, it would always sting to hear 'Maximinius' instead of 'Magnus' coming out of Hector's mouth. "In her room."

"I see."

`

"She's 16," he calls out as the man made to leave the room.

Turning to face him, Hector muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'of course, she told him'. "She's still a child."

"She's not that little girl anymore."

The scowl on his face was identical to the one on Clemensia's face from earlier.

Dovecote stubbornness, meet Dovecote stubbornness.

[muchmuch-xii]

Morine is a character I created a long, long time ago. I was still in secondary school. Since then, I've grown up, but she hasn't. And I abandoned her for a long time.

I was focused on other things, my friends, my family, other projects. Then during the lockdown I came back to her. I drew her, rewrote her story and drew her again. It was the first time I'd drawn a character I'd created. Before that, I'd only made copies or fan art. I was proud. I realized for the first time that I was capable of drawing something myself.

Well, with hindsight today I find her very ugly, but that's not the point !

Thanks to her, I met a friend with whom I've been in daily contact ever since. She inspired me to write again. She gave me the courage to create other characters that I love do much.

And then I abandoned her again. My studies took up a lot of space and, above all, another character occupied all my thoughts. After rewriting Morine's story, I decided to take on a much older character. I rewrote her whole life, her history, her past, her design, her way of being, her relationships. It took time, a lot of time, and energy. I couldn't think of Morine and this character at the same time. So I left her out.

Then, a little over a year ago, I decided to focus on Morine again. And I couldn't believe how lame the character was ! She was flat ! No depth ! A real Mary Sue... Normal ! She had been written by a 15-year-old girl. And when I rewrote her, I didn't yet have the creative tools I have now.

So I started all over again. I've changed her name : back then, she was called Kabune, which meant "cub" in japanese. You can make the connection with the wolfhound in the old drawings. I changed her character, her story, her interactions with the other characters. As a result, Morine is hardly the same character as Kabune.

There were a few hitches too. For example, I had trouble coming up with a new name. In Noragami, names are important, so the author often plays with kanji to make them interesting and meaningful. But I don't speak Japanese. So I had to rely on online translators... Big mistake !

Morine means Forest + the suffix Ne, which is significant to the Yato group. All his Shinkis have a name ending in Ne. Yukine, Kazune, Tomone. Since Morine has a special connection with the woods, I wanted a name that meant that word. Quite simply ! Except that in French, we have a homonym between the word for wood and the verb to drink, conjugated in the present tense. Can you feel the problem coming ? My translator translated the verb to drink in Japanese instead of wood, so I ended up with a name that, while very pretty, didn't really mean anything ! Nomune…

I realized this when talking to someone who was learning a little Japanese. I was disgusted! So I settled on the word Forest, and here I am with Morine. Which I think is beautiful and suits her perfectly.

Another problem : spoilers at the end of Noragami.

I wanted Morine to transform into a deer. Since Shinkis have the ability to transform into either an object or an animal, I thought it would be interesting in terms of the story I wanted to tell with her ! Except that in the meantime, the final chapters of Noragami have been released, and guess what ? Yukine has unlocked this ability ! This little rascal turns into a wolf. It's very stylish, but I was pissed off. Fun fact, in her first version, Morine (Kabune at the time) also turned into a wolf.

But despite all that, today I think I've found a story that suits me. A story that suits her, coherent and interesting. I'm missing a few details that will come in time, but I know what I want to tell. And even though no one gives a damn, no one reads these posts or cares about my work, I can't wait to write it so I can say to myself again : I did it ! I created her by myself.

[simplynotcapable]

i saw a post about the syrax with valyrian glyphs in her horns concept art (haven’t seen it) and now i’m just thinking of how beautiful that idea is

a dragon hatches for a prince and it grows with him, it ages with him, it loves him as best as it can, and he takes a blade to the softness of their horns. it does not hurt, no, no, and he sings as he carves, sings a lullaby that soothes so deeply, and he leaves his name behind.

(it is a tradition of which so few speak, just as they do not speak of how he took his blade to the skin above his heart afterwards. how he carved in the glyphs for its name, this creature that chose him, and sealed the wound with salt so it would scar him deep. so they would own each other equal.)

a girl claims a dragon that belonged to her uncle, once, and it bows its head for her, it spreads its wings for her, and she touches his name on the horn and adds her own there, too. i am here and so were you, and this creature chose us both. and on impulse, thinking nothing of it, she writes i love you, i love you, i love you on the other horn, a never ending spiral, circles on and on and on, a message for the creature who loves her and chose her, and her dragon sings beneath her.

(she puts its name in the center of her chest, a bloody red beacon, and it scars raised and ugly. she thinks it is the most beautiful thing she had ever done to herself)

a boy claims a dragon that belonged to his mother, once, and it bows its head for him, it spreads its wings for him, and he touches his mother’s name on the horn and adds his own there, too. she’s been dead ten years, but he hears her voice again when he touches her i love you with shaking fingers—not a message for him, but one he takes for himself anyway. it has been so long now since he last heard her voice. i fly with you he adds to the clutter, a promise to whoever comes after him, a vow that his ghost will watch them.

(he writes its name into the flesh on the side of his thigh, a mark he touches when he frets, and he reopens it whenever it fades too much for his liking)

a girl claims a dragon that was her grandfather’s once, and it bows its head for her, it spreads its wings for her, and she touches his name on the horn and adds her own there, too. she reads his word and the promise inside them and, each time they take to the skies, she thinks she feels his hands resting proud upon her shoulders. sweet one, she adds to the mess, the very thing she whispers when they land, the soft name she calls it by, and the dragon coos beneath her.

(she writes its name in the very center of her brow, a defiance that her parents bemoan, a blemish that the nobility shy away from, but she does not mind. the dragon chose her and she chose the dragon; a scar on her flesh is nothing)

generations pass and pass and pass, they die and die and die, but the dragon keeps living with the mark of the riders it once chose carved into its bones. it carries their names and their love and their calls to each other through time, and, when it dies and its skull is taken with the others, the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those it loved will still play in its shadow. they will still stretch out soft children’s hand and read in the shaky, unsure voices of babes still learning.

they say, i love you

they say, i fly with you

they say, sweet one

and they say the names of riders almost forgotten, lost to everything but history books with doodles in the margins.

they say them over and over again, their names and their promises, and the ghosts follow the sound. they follow it home. they follow it back to their dragon. they kiss its lovely bones

[jellyseungmo]

tw: uses of she/her pronouns. death, and this is poc friendly but the word pale is used to describe the readers normal skin.

reader is heavily based off of Wednesday Addams because I love the new show and it gave me inspiration!

authors note: hey! i haven't written much lately because I'm not very motivated. My works aren't as noticed as I'd like for them to be, although I know that not everybody enjoys these sad drabbles or my way of writing and it does take a while to be a top notch writer with a dedicated audience. I just hope for the best in the future! I have a lot of unfinished stories for a few of the members so hopefully my posts will be more consistent! xx

.

.

.

I hated him. I hated him and his art, and his face, and his voice. I hated how fascinating he was, and how much we had in common. I hated that I loved him, and I hated that he knew it.

He used it against me too.

"you cant hate me forever." He spoke up as he sat beside me at the lunch table outside of the cafeteria, this was where all of the seniors sat.

"yes I can." I said bluntly, my posture was nice but this was only because I felt awkward, my hands were fidgety and I couldn't keep my eyes open.

"well why? If it's because I'm mean to you, I jus-"

"no." I interrupted him, putting my hand on his right shoulder.

"i envy you, hwang hyunjin." I looked him in the eyes and smiled, not a large smile with teeth, just a small grin.

"i observe you, I hear you, I see you all of the time with all of these girls and all of these people that you think are your friends." I continued.

"but they aren't your friends, hwang hyunjin. they are evil and malicious and they all want money or sex." I looked away from him, my eyebrows were scrunched and all I could do was look down at my hands. All he could do was blink. Sit there with a blank face and blink.

"and I know why you're mean to me. you're mean because I'm different. you're mean because the feeling is mutual, you envy me." I stopped.

He glanced over at me, playing with his fingers.

"i wouldn't say that." he shook his head.

"you envy how alone I am. you envy how I don't want to be wanted by nobodies like the people that are your so-called friends."

"well said, y/n. I also envy how smart you are, and how unbothered you are. you don't have to worry about your looks like I do" he finally spoke up

"does that mean I'm ugly?" i taunted him

"no..." he whispered

"you just don't know that you're beautiful, and your beauty is rare. people come up to each other when they see you and they say "who is she?" and they say "I dont know her name but she's pretty." but everybody knows my name, y/n."

"i never knew you could be a serious person, hwang hyunjin." i smiled softly

There was a long pause before he asked out of the blue

"wanna go to the dance with me?"

i shrugged and got up, leaving him alone as he wished for.

before I knew it, we sat beside each other, drinking punch and trying not to touch knees.

I stared straight forward as he stared at me.

"You know, you look pretty."

"i think you say that to all of the girls." i said emotionless.

He sighed and got up, holding his hand out to me

"let's dance...this is a dance after all" he said with emphasis on the word dance.

i looked up at him and grinned, taking his hand.

"why did you ask me to this?" i questioned cluelessly

"well because I know that it's out of your comfort zone." he shrugged.

"fair point, I'm getting eyed like a hawk by all of your girlfriends." i looked around

"just focus on me then." he smiled softly at me held my hand tighter.

"i don't care that you're different, y/n." he said, reflecting on what I had said a few days before.

"i adore your art work and I love how you call me by my full name every time you talk to me." he continued.

"i just like your name" I smiled

"and I like you." he said, smiling as well

I wasn't stupid, but I knew that my heart wasn't beating the way it was supposed to be and the pigment in my face wasn't as pale as it usually is. That night I rejected him, was the night that everything changed. I wish it ended there. I wish He never spoke to me, I never spoke to him, we graduated and boom we're done. That's not life though. When you lose somebody that means something to you far beyond what you thought was possible, it messes with you. The day that Hwang Hyunjin left, was the day that my life was ruined. He ruined my life and left me in pieces with no excuse. If I said yes, he wouldn't be gone. But we all die, don't we?

[random-mailbox]

Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - Week 17 - New Years

We have officially made it to 2023! I want to start this post by thanking all the amazing people in the Sailor Moon Fandom that helped bounce off ideas, looked for stories that I have read and could not remember the titles of, made art (@beej88 ❤️) and GiFs (@goddessalthena ❤️), re-blogged and commented. And of course, BIG thank you to @floraone for giving me the nudge to start this series in the first place.

Today's theme is New Year's and is our last holiday themed one for a few weeks (until Valentines Day! And after that one, I am thinking St Patrick's Day?)

As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).

Resolute - @goddessalthena

Usagi and the girls are spending New Years at Unazuki’s party. And who would naturally show up fashionably late with 20 minutes to midnight but not our favorite "baka".

January 11th - @areptiledysfunction1107

While technically this takes place AFTER New Years - it is definitely a New Year's story to me. Mamoru gets a very lemony start to the year, after having missed the Holidays with Usagi due to snow storms.

Start to a Very Good Year - Chelbacca

In this New Year's countdown one-shot, we get both a very protective Mako and Mamoru that would like to start over with how he has been treating Usagi. This is a start to a very good year indeed!

Take Me Out, Take Me Home -@moonchildoh8

This story is is fun take on "fake relationship" trope (sorry for the spoiler right from the start) BUT it does take place at a New Years party. Usagi is helping to organize a gala and who would make an appearance, making all the ladies swoon, than our own Chiba Mamoru.

Missed Call - @initiala

This adorable little one shot centers around the time when Mamoru is studying at Harvard and unable to make it home for the Holidays. Usagi and Mamoru make the best of the situation by calling each other as much as they can.

This wraps up our post for today, but here is what the schedule looks like for the rest of January (thanks to @lilliebellfanfics @caelenath and @riverlethe for helping me narrow things down!)

January 9 - Highschool AU

January 16 - Slice of Life

January 23 - Coffeeshop AU for @moon-daisuki

January 30 - Huddle for Warmth

Here are the links to the previous Tumblr posts in these series to explore more amazing works based on different themes - make sure to check them out if you haven't had a chance! (Click on title name to go to the post) - I will keep updating the list every week as new posts come up:

Week 1 - Groundhog Day

Week 2 - Established Relationships

Week 3 - Sex Positivity

Week 4 - Unfinished Stories

Week 5 - Darker Stories

Week 6 - Potions 🧪

Week 7 - Reveals

Week 8 - 👻Halloween🎃

Week 9 - Wrong Perceptions

Week 10 - Non-Senshi AU

Week 11 - In-Progress Fics

Week 12 - Mutual Pining

Week 13 - Enemies to Lovers

Week 14 - Slow Burn

Week 15 - Christmas Part 1 - Ugly Christmas Sweaters and Santa!

Week 16 - Christmas Part 2

[tazzertopia]

my thoughts on the hxh phantom rouge movie

pls do not take this too seriously i just wanna talk about things i noticed when watching it while sleep deprived last night 😊👍😊👍

🚨YAPPER ALERT🚨

-ik kurapika defo would’ve mentioned him at some point to gon and killua but how the fuck did they recognise (puppet) uvogin… like no hesitation….. did kurapika show them a picture or what

-why was kurapika so badly dumbed down and ooc in the movie it actually pissed me off (not really) like one of the main plot points is that the puppet guy (insufferable prick who I’ll get to later) used dead pairo to steal kurapika’s eyes but the issue is that he used pairo’s child self to lure him in like…. 🤨 based on the flashbacks i’m assuming kurapika was around 11-12 when the kurta clan massacre happened and pairo was probably either the same age or a year or two younger (i am not looking this up due to i can’t be bothered) so how the fuck did kurapika not question why his supposedly alive friend hadn’t aged a day in about five years

-especially as kurapika is mostly pretty level headed and logical so how would he not figure that out

-the timeline was confusing as hell to me bc based on uvo and pakunoda being dead in the movie and killua still having illumi’s manipulation needle i’d assume it’s anywhere between the end of the york new arc to the end of the greed island arc but thanks to the power scaling it’s really hard to tell ????????? like somehow gon and killua were basically unscathed after getting directly hit by uvo (the physically strongest member of the troupe) but basically just attacked by combining their nen and overall didn’t seem that strong like how strong are they meant to be by this point

-the townspeople in this movie are coming out on top in the idgaf war because the way none of them reacted to uvo demolishing a hospital… like no commotion. NADA. they just minded their business the entire movie (inspirational tbh)

-but also why was the hospital so desolate and why was kurapika the only one there

-the way only gon, killua and the blonde girl reacted to uvo fucking up the hospital while kurapika remained unbothered

-finally gonna talk about that ugly mf omokage

-he looks like a toxic love interest from an early 2000s dark fantasy harem anime

-like why was he in a completely different art style

-his ability soul doll or whatever it’s called is stupid op bc you’re telling me he can just create puppets of anyone he wants with their exact strength just like that ???????

-also what is the criteria for creating the puppets bc i swear they never explain how he’s able to create them

-like does he need their hair or what

-still confused on how kurapika used chain jail on him considering he isn’t a spider anymore (no clue how the limitations to his power were so flexible) #plotconvenience

-illumi looked uglier than usual in this movie especially at the beginning when he killed those kids

-hisoka’s hair being more orange than red also pissed me off

-we got one shalnark line in the movie tho 😍😍😍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍 crumbs

-speaking of crumbs for a movie about the phantom troupe they had barely any screen time

-like barely even five minutes 💔

-lastly just wanna say how fuxking ugly the blonde girl’s puppet was i hate it so much

-lastly lastly ik i posted this already but the cgi fish made me giggle bc they look so out of place (ik i couldn’t do any better i just found them funny tee hee)

that’s it hope you enjoyed reading my complaints about a cash-grab anime movie 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕😜😜😜😜 can’t wait to watch the last mission tonight so i can complain about it tomorrow 💙 that’s what you get when you’re desperate for hxh content lols but like i said pls don’t take this too seriously okay mwah xoxoxo

[clawcakes]

doin the ask game for @sonic-oc-showdown because i want to infodump about my funny sonics!!! also ft. plucky and lyre even though theyre not in the tournament just cause you cant have one without the other two, man. original post by @/schondezert956 here

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name? puns. tommy: a tom-tom is a type of drum plucky: guitars are plucking instruments lyre: a lyre is a stringed instrument (bit of a stretch with this one but A. i really like the name lyre, B. naming her violet would've been too obvious)

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range) all 3 are young adults around their early 20s

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)? does a QPR count as love interests? cus they queerplatonically love eachother so much.

🍕 - What is their favorite food? tommy: she loves ice cream so much she's made her bandmates equally obsessed with it plucky: acorns. they'll find one on the ground and crack it open with their teeth and start dining. lyre: shitty instant ramen. she is embarrassed about this and will instead say it's 𝐵𝑜𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓊𝓍𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝑒 𝓁𝒶 𝒞𝓇𝒶𝓅

💼 - What do they do for a living? they're a traveling band, man! they're The Shooting Stars!! their music has 700000000 listeners on spotify (in plucky's dreams)!!!

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies? tommy: she likes to draw in her spare time. her art style is strikingly reminiscent of sunky.mpeg. plucky: they're the kinda Gamer Girl to accidentally electrocute their controller because they got extremely mad at fortnite. they also like to collect pins and cool rocks. lyre: he enjoys and creates all kinds of art, music is just the one he made his profession. she's knitted countless ugly sweaters for her bandmates (and has to stop herself from crying whenever she seems them wearing one).

🎯 -What do they do best? disregarding the obvious answer of "music LOL"... tommy: she's very skilled at making people feel relaxed, whether it's deescalating arguments or calming someone who's stressed. she has a very Chill Aura that makes it easy to be around her. also, silly bear. plucky: keep a positive attitude! it's hard for anything to ever keep her down. lyre: she's a quick learner and a quick thinker, so she's great at adapting to any situation. her actual response to this question would be "i am the best at anything and everything," said while shaking and sweating and gripping the table so hard it cracks.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do? tommy: repetitive tasks are very calming to her, so she's the designated chore-doer of the three of them. she doesn't particularly hate doing anything-- if it bothers her, she'll find a way to make it fun! plucky: they love exploring, seeing new things and meeting new people and experiencing new thrills. the thing she hates doing most is nothing; she is very easily bored and always needs an outlet for her endless energy. lyre: she loves creating, no matter the form; the art of making art is enthralling to her. he hates cooking because he sucks at it and has managed to make every single kitchen appliance explode. including a spatula.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories? tommy: she'd think about it for a moment-- her best memory-- then realize she's just listing off every single second she's spent with her bandmates. plucky: the shooting stars's first venture after the band first formed. it was at that moment plucky fully realized this is what she wanted to do, and these are who she wants to do it with. lyre: when she told her bandmates she loved them, and they told her they loved her too.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories? gonna be real everyone's backstories are so barebones that i do not have an answer for this LOL. theyre just my funny girls i dont want them to be sad

🧊 - Is their current design the first one? not quite, but almost! i basically knew what i wanted right from the get-go, i just had to fiddle with everyone a bit before i got em perfect. it was very important to me for tommy to be fat and hairy and have Susie Deltarune Hair. V here is their first concept sketch from back in may!

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC? sonic music is so fucking good i heard it and was like I GOTTA MAKE SOME GUYS OUT OF THIS. they were specifically inspired by Fist Bump (Instrumental), which is why lyre is violin and not like bass or something. (their species also came from me googling "woodland animals" on google images because i was desperate for inspiration.)

🌂 - What genre do they belong in? sonic fangame that lowkey looks like it was made in roblox

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality? tommy: aromantic lesbian, girl but you can't tell if she's trans or cis or non-binary or all three at once (she/her) plucky: non-binary, aroace (they/she) lyre: bigender, bisexual. bicycle (she/he)

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have? tommy: a single older sister (and a niece that she has claimed her younger sister) plucky: an uncountable number. she could list all their names to you and you'd lose track halfway through. lyre: 0, she's an only child

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like? tommy: her parents "disappeared" when she was too young to remember them-- for all she knows and cares, her uncles are her parents. she sends them letters often. plucky: they love their parents and each and every member of their comically large family! she chats with em whenever and however she gets the chance. lyre: her parents held her to very high regard, expected very great things of her, and taught her all the wrong things. she hasn't spoken to them in a long time.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PICK JUST ONE THING MAN. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THEYRE MY EEBY DEEBIES MAN. probably their designs (tommy's in particular, she's like my magnum opus).

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC? it fluctuates, as it does with any other of my ocs. at the current time im rotating them around in my mind like rotisserie chicken

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC? NO!!!!!!!

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias? tommy is comically fearless. being around water makes plucky uneasy, due to their electricity powers. lyre will scream at the top of her lungs if she sees a spider.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival? i've vaguely rotated around the idea of making a rival band to the shooting stars, a fellow traveling trio who play emo music and are all super emo (*lyre voice* plucky you know i'm scared of emos!!!). they'd be like the goth to the shooting stars's prep, and whenever they see eachother they immediately get into a fistfight. haven't done anything with the idea though LOL

🎓 - How long have you had the OC? i first came up with their concept in may this year, but i named and finalized them in july! they're babies.

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC? classified

[mthofferings2023]

sarahyellow

See sarahyellow’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Tumblr: sarah-writes-stucky

Preferred organizations: - Center for Reproductive Rights - Innocence Project - National Network of Abortion Funds - Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN) - Red Umbrella Fund (See the list of approved organizations here)

Will create works that contain: A/b/o, kink, AUs, D/s, smut, elements of sci-fi/fantasy/dystopia, period romance, power imbalances, meet uglies, arranged marriage, sex pollen/necessitated fucking, prostitution, humiliation, fringe kink (seriously, hit me with your weirdo garbage, I've written diapers and cannibals before, I won't be shocked), juicy societal issues

Will not create works that contain: fics that have no smut, overly fluffy meet-cute fics, 5 and 1 fics, dbf! fics, HTP, mega-heavy angst and torture with no happiness in sight, MCD, fics with a main cast of like, 20+ characters, crack (humor okay)

  -- Fic or Other Writing --

Auction ID: 1015

Will create works for the following relationships: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers - MCU Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers - MCU Bucky Barnes/Peter Parker/Steve Rogers - MCU Steve Rogers/Original Female Character - MCU Bucky Barnes/Original Female Character - MCU Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Female Character - MCU

Work Description: Hi! I'm ready to write a one-shot Stucky or Stucky threesome (with Darcy Lewis, Peter Parker, or an original female character) fic for you. As a note, I'm recovering from an injury that affects my typing ability, so it would be best to start discussions about the auction fill in early January. Higher bids will result in higher word counts! $5 - (starting bid) 2000-3000 word fic $10 - up to 6,000 word fic $15 - up to 12,000 word fic, multi-chapters permitted! $20 - up to 20,000 word fic, multi chapters permitted! $25 - same as $20, plus matching artwork (I'm a novice artist though, so that's why it isn't the auction item itself.) $30+ - same as $25, but with multiple matching artworks, one of which can be anything in the story-you specify! Fic by no means needs to be porn-without-plot, but I'm only interested in writing fics rated E, so if you want explicit stuff, I'm your girl! I'll work with the winning bidder at multiple points to make sure they get what they want: 1. I'll communicate back and forth with you (Tumblr, email or Discord) and get a list of everything that you'd like to see (and not see) in the fic. Feel free to list as much as you like, in as much detail as you like, and be sure to rank how important which parts are. 2. Within 3 days of Step #1, I'll send over a detailed story outline for your approval. 3. Within 4 days of Step #2, I'll send over the first scene (1000-2000 word sample) of the fic for your approval. 4. Within a maximum of two weeks after your Step #3 approval, you will have your very own, custom, completed fic. It is free for you to keep private, translate, podfic, illustrate, or post as text on any social media site you like, so long as I am credited as the author. Bids over $25 include matching art, and therefore have a longer timeline. You will still have your finished fic within 2 weeks, finished art may take up to 1 month. (I will make any edits and changes to the story that you'd like, but only up until that last step #3 - i.e., once the first few pages are approved, then change requests can still be made, but will not be guaranteed.) Lastly, I genuinely enjoy writing on request, so when you fic is all is said and done, if you'd still like to stay in contact, then I would love to connect through Tumblr, Discord, etc. I'm super excited to make someone's vision come to life!

Ratings: Explicit

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[ccborrega]

Just some examples on what I mean by how people in Deviantart who do comment are just way too comfortable being inappropriate, there was:

Rando who commented on everything Toy Story I posted with lyrics from the CATS musical but adapted to the TS characters. It could be literally anything, character concepts for No Name, a Woody/Bo piece, a Prideyear thing, a sketchdump. He’d never comment anything even remotely related to the piece. Turns out he’d written that crossover and he figured rather than use his words, he’d just push.

Generally people who rather than ASK if you wanted to look at their stuff, just pushed it onto you. Like. I’m not your kindergarden teacher, PLEASE, give me space.

The dozens of askers of ‘Can you draw this for me?’ who additionally often got defensive or downright rude when I pointed at my commission prices. I knew literally none of them but they expected me to draw them stuff (Highly specific stuff too, most of the time) for free.

Person without basic knowledge of how recessive and dominant genes work who did a cheating joke on a TP Zelink piece I did with their fankid ‘cause the kid’s hair was red (A nod to classic Zelda.) 

Weirdo who would just comment on my BLOSC with ‘Post more’ and directly lifted details from my design for Buzz’s mom to tweak her own pre-existing one to, and I quote ‘Make her more interesting’ (So it really did come off as ‘Race is something we do for brownie points, not because it actually matters.’) When I blocked her, she just went into an alternate account to keep it up. She was the reason I stopped posting about BLOSC there, I simply didn’t have the patience or energy for it. 

Funny dude who constantly dropped into my Ghostbusters stuff containing Peck to comment the ‘That man has no dick’ bit.

Another funny dude who constantly dropped on my GB art to comment downright incomprehensible jokes at the expense of my shipping Janegon.

Person who demanded I translated a comic (That, I cannot stress this enough, WAS translated in the author’s comment) after saying I was dumb for making it.

Rando who dropped in a Bo/Woody piece to say ‘It’s a bad ship’. Nothing useful or even interesting, just tripe. Additionally, when I told them to look elsewhere, then, they acted like I was over-reacting. My sibling in the Ide, how, pray tell, the fuck am I supposed to react. I wasn’t even being rude, just setting boundaries.

Peep whose only comment in one of my TP Zelda pieces with heavy ambient tint was ‘Why is she blonde’.

Mean girl trio who picked on a friend who was just learning how to art and made fun of me when I asked them to lay off, said they’d pick on whoever the fuck they pleased ‘cause they were badass like that, and then proceeded to clutch their pearls when I told them to ‘Have fun with that’ because I figured they were pathetic and not worth my time. My friend, sadly, ended up leaving due to them and I lost all contact with him.

My sister, who would go into my pieces and just generally ridicule me.

Alternate shipper from a fandom I was who redrew (More like copied) a well-known piece from a more or less famous fanartist but for their ship and got amazingly defensive when it was pointed it out. Said it was ‘Referencing’ and refused to credit the original.

The shipping discourse regarding Jack Frost.

There was a generally bad experience with the fangroup of a relatively popular Zelda fanfic but it’s too complicated to explain? Let’s just say, it was a cult to the personality of the author and it got UGLY.

QueenZelda and whatever the hell was up with her.

[iheartmisty]

“she has everything” is probably what people think when they look at me.

look at me. I have cute & perfect outfits. i wear short shorts and try hard, brushed hair, glasses, great manners, im kind, helpful, smart, and caring. I put others first. I’m shy. I’m quiet, but observant. i’m a deep thinker. I’m in all honors classes. I’m incredible at art. I write beautiful poetry. I’m a great singer. I play guitar and piano. some might even say im pretty. I have a roof over my head, food, and money to buy whatever I’d like.

does that diminish everything I’ve been through?

how about you see me instead. listen to my real story. when I was little, I had a friend group of five. we all loved the same music, the same colours, our parents were best friends. it was perfect. ooooh but I guess we all grew up now, cause I’m left here loving them and wanting them and they’re here giving excuses to not see me. then I moved. went to a new school, met some new people. thought everybody was my friend; and everybody loved me because I was nice to them. turns out, im just stupid and clueless and people aren’t what they seem to be. I got my heart broken, twice. and it hurt a lot more than it should’ve because they both were not very nice people. they were manipulators, and haters, and apparently bullies too. I thought I was brave for confessing. twice. after covid, none of my hundreds of friends even texted back. I guess we weren’t friends. my good friends never asked me to hang out, and were somehow always busy. I got framed, cyberbullied, harassed online, rumors spread. and this didn’t happen once, but at least like 10 times. my friends didn’t care. they just left. they left me there. they added fire to the flames. now im left with attachment issues and the fear of abandonment. [insert most preposterous thing I would never do that makes 0 sense]. then I get bullied for that? oh then I tried to ask my best friend to defend me, please, and she was like “ur making my mental health worse” “im suicidal now” and starts getting her friends to bully me more and curse at me for quote on quote, “ruining her life”. I’m sorry that I wasted my time trying to help her and her relationship. I’m sorry I spent so much time on her when she did that to me. its so unfair that she gets to be posting about it and gets people wishing her and supporting her when I never got support when I was doing the same. I was bullied more if someone ever found out. i hated myself more and more. I cut myself more and more. no one noticed. no one cared. my grades slipped.

I think that’s really funny cause first of all, she lied, second of all, I love how she gets all the support in the world for her fake story of a paper cut and I was out there bleeding to death from stab wounds that would never ever heal. but its whatever. then, another one of my best friends comes over, body shames me, calls me ugly and calls me out for every single thing and made me feel more insecure than ever, and then walks out after telling people that im the one who body shamed her. oh im oh so sorry for defending you while you were getting bullied, but this is my return gift, thank you? now I cant run away from my anxiety or anxiety attacks and I’m still alone. i wish I wasn’t. I wish someone understood. I’m really not who you think I am. my friend once told me that the way i dress would give off the impression that im a “popular girl”. that I’m materialistic. that I’m shallow, and cold-hearted. maybe thats the girl ive been trying to portray. im really not materialistic, or shallow, or cold-hearted. im the opposite. maybe ive been trying to hide away and blend in the shadows. maybe ive been trying to pretend like im a pretty girl. I havent ever told anybody that. maybe part of me wishes karma would get it over with already, because they all seem to be doing better than me. I think being a good person doesn’t have many rewards, unless you keep doing it, even through this. and I will, because thats just who I am.

now lets see more about me. things someone could maybe actually love. uhh, the way i always give others the bigger half. or the cup with more water. the way I’m always smiling or maybe my favourite songs. maybe a poem I wrote about someone I love. im my favorite quotes and the colour of my room and the movies I watch. and I found people who love me for all of the above. the first impressions. the dark parts. the beautiful ones. and I hope to never let them go. i hope to never let myself go.

[minhosimthings]

Je Te Veux: A Jay Fic

Chapter 2: Cupcakes and Construction Sites

Important Note: This Chapter will be posted in two parts, which will be linked. A part of this chapter is also in screenshots and the very end. I apologise for the inconvenience because Tumblr has not been working properly lately. I promise I will fix the problem soon, but please bear with me for some time and enjoy this chapter.

Summary : Lee Y/N, youngest daughter of the Lee empire which rules of South Korea, meets a stranger one night at a Christmas party. Only fate knows what happens to both of them.

Pairings: Reader × RichHeir!Jay, includes rest of Enha. Mentions of Itzy, stray kids and other groups

Warnings: Mentions of food and alcohol, mention of dead bodies and blood, descriptions of falling and reader has an accident

A/N: second chapter yayyy. I know it seems kinda predictable from now on but I have something planned hehe

Part 1 ||| Part 2

Champagne is considered the most elegant of all alcoholic drinks because of its fine golden colour and it's sparkly little bubbles. But you disagree. You think that wine is the most beautiful alcoholic drink to ever exist. It was the first alcoholic beverage ever to be created in ancient history and there's even a colour named after it. The smooth blend of aged grapes with certain flavours to make this melancholic drink made you feel at ease. The colour was also such a calming one, one that could comfort you when no else did. Wine had different flavours which only a person with super taste buds could venture upon. Wine wasn't alcohol, it was nectar. And all of that came rushing into your brain as you came back home with Riki, Sunoo and Yuna,who were all oblivious to the current state of your very delusional brain.

Afternoon came surprisingly sooner than it had felt in the morning as you waited for Jay beneath the sycamore tree with a glass of red wine from Bordeaux, your favourite. You wore a simple lilac sundress which reached your knees with your favourite sandals from Spain. You always admired cultural art of different countries. Whether it be traditional leather puppets from India or Gothic wood carvings from Germany, your eyes always seeked out delicate pieces of fine art, usually made by families who had passed the tradition down from ancestors to ancestors. Those sandals you were wearing were a gift from your best friend Chaeryoung who also had a leather empire of her own in Spain and France. You admired her a lot, calling her your unofficial wife, and always supporting her even when she had nothing at all. After all female friendships are something that you had ways cherished your entire life, having grown up with six boys your entire life. You still had distinct memories of dealing with and period days, heart wrenching breakups, sudden thoughts about death and life and crackhead moments with Chaeryoung and your girl group which consisted of Giselle, Lia, Wonyoung, Gauel and Yunjin. You had obviously told them about your recent delusion with Jay to which Lia, Gauel and Yunjin added more to the delusion and Giselle and Wonyoung shook their heads.

Minutes turned into hours as you waited and waited for Jay to arrive. Horrible thoughts filled your head as to why Jay hadn't come yet. 'Does he hate me?' 'Did he ghost me because I'm not interesting?' 'Am I too ugly?' 'What if someone kidnapped him?' That last one felt unlikely because Jay had bodyguards much buffer than yours and he was with your family too. The heat from the warm afternoon sun sang you a lullaby as you slowly drifted off to sleep, dreams now flooding your brain.

"Y/N. Y/N wake up." You felt a gentle shake of your shoulders as you slowly opened your eyes and blinked twice to remember who and where you were. You hair was disheveled now and your dress covered with grass. Sitting beside you was a broad shouldered figure, clad in a tight blue shirt with white trousers. He had a greenish-black watch on which further accentuated his beautiful arms. Jay sat beside you and woke you up from your slumber. He was clutching a bottle of wine and a tiny pink box which had 'Minho's Bakery' written on it. You stared at him for a solid minute until you snapped back to your senses and blurted out "You look beautiful." Jay gave you that soft smile with his eyes and chuckled "You look beautiful too Y/N. I got a bottle of wine but it seems like you've already gotten one. And it's my favourite kind. Bordeaux does have good grapes. I also bought you this." He motioned towards the tiny pink box. "Sunoo told me you like this bakery a lot so I got a cupcake for you." The way he talked and the way he pronounced his words was so soothing and it made you want to sleep even more. Hearing the fact that he had gotten you a cupcake and that your favourite wine was also his favourite wine, fed your delusions even more and heart was doing gymnastics inside of your body. Slowly taking the box, you peeled open the pink stickers and opened the box to find two mint chocolate cupcakes inside. You smiled at the thought of Sunoo telling Jay all of your favourite things so that his OTP (which he is dying for) can be completed. You offered Jay one of the cupcakes but he simply shook his head. "I don't really prefer mint choco. Sunoo tried to get me into it, but I think there's room for only one mint choco maniac and it's already occupied by Sunoo. So go ahead and have both of them. I'm just going to enjoy this beautiful glass of wine." You laughed at his mint choco joke and helped yourself to the pretty little cupcake. It was moist and stuffed with chocolate inside and it slowly melted in your mouth as if it had been waiting a long time to meet your taste buds. Jay just simply drank his wine and you slightly admired him from the corner of your eye. How can this one man in just a basic blue shirt look more prettier than any other man in a basic blue shirt? "So how did the meeting with my family go?" Jay stopped his sip of wine halfway, turned to you and said in a buisness like tone "It was good. Your father signed yet another contract for five years stating that my family will be providing your family with weapons at a lower rate. Heeseung was against it but this has been going on for 16 years so not even fate could rewrite this event." "At a lower rate? That's weird. Usually dad pays a higher rate for friends and family. He considers it his own little 'gift'. You could have said something though couldn't you?" Jay gave you a sad smile and said "Well I could have. But who would listen to boring old me? I just run the money part of our company. Sunghoon does all the designing part. Businessmen like me aren't really that respected in this field of work. Even my parents rarely listen to the 'money talk' as they say in their words. All I have left at the end of the day is this glass of wine." He raised his glass slightly as the liquid inside splashed around gently. You stared for a while, yet again into his magnificent eyes, which held the moon and Venus inside of them. "Do you ever think about running away? Starting your own empire of whatever good you want to produce? It would be better than whatever we do now.", you questioned Jay. For a moment, Jay looked moved and for the first time you saw his eyes slightly falter. He composed himself again as he slowly said "I did think about it once. When I was 16. When I was young, dumb and stupid. I used to think I could become a billionaire with my sewing business.". You noticed as his ears became red as he said that so you asked "Are you quite good at sewing?" "I think I am. I used to embroider on handkerchiefs to give to the local orphanage sometimes."

I would once again like to apologise for this inconvenience. Tumblr hasn't been allowing me to post the full fic since a day cause this was supposed to be posted last night. If incase it does get better, I will probably edit this to remove the screenshots and just type the remaining part in. But this chapter will probably be divided in two parts forever. This my fate I guess. (Hehe fate)

[iamshay]

Hi

First and all. I didn't remove the previous post I just hide it. Don't get twisted. Bitches!!

I want to post the screenshot in the same post. Ones I transfer them back onto my pc.

I am still going to expose this person for lying through their teeth. Keep running your mouth. This guy is hoe period clout chasing.

In my blog, I talk about Anything I want. If any bitches feel butthurt That is YOUR PROBLEM, NOT MINE.

I won't allow any idiot to dictate over my life what I talk about. If talk you about me. I will talk back. fair is fair. I will always defend myself I will not tolerate this witch hunt bullshit. You can keep continuing to be ignorant mf** do you bish.

I will not fold allow some bitches to step on me just like that. Thanks for giving me a view of my page. Love my haters ;) So keep hating and coming at me. Talking about someone on stream it's against Twitch ToS. ;) ADvice you to read the guidelines again.

You'll just be giving me all Ammos and people will see how some people treat other people all over fucking video games. It just shows how horrible a person you are, to people's eyes that read my blog.

Keep my name out of your mouth So I will do the same!!!!

When coming to me I moved on, before me and she went into a huge argument. I only post that previous post Cuz I get a message from multi people this bitch is on every big stream dick that has interacted with me in the game and ruin my RP with them cuz she running her mouth about them. DAmn, this girl got so much time on her hand, to do that. GO outside and touch the grass!! Focus your RP stop being on the big streamer dick whom they RP with.

If they being petty bitch running their mouth on stream and D10 which I got a screenshot harassing I will take this professional way and go talk to twitch. You keep false reports it helped when I got proof. I am defending myself is not a crime. But what they do is a big no-no for twitch.

I just want to make things clear. This is my page at least I don't talk about that on live stream and break twitch guidelines. Plus If they push my button more and more. Next time will not go to D10 staff I will take it with Twitch!!! as I told them in the ticket.

Anyways my dear readers, and haters ;)

I got so much content coming I am still not done with a few of my artwork. I was not much in the city because I was busy working on my emotes and art. Also, I am super excited about gathering Christmas visits at my brother's place and niece I have not seen them for months I see my brother and her daughter but my niece I have not seen them for a while. Because they live far.

I will post pictures if take pictures that day.

Also, I plan to buy my first home.

I am thinking about getting a nice big house with maybe 4 bedrooms. I keep saving money behind scenes. Also trying to get into NFT or bitcoins, I know people doing this stuff and how they make money. They also tell me I should get into it since I am so good with my financial money, That I am very organized and good at saving money like that. But the thing is I want to educate myself always before i get into heavy stuff always. I need to learn more about both of them. I am always like that anything I don't know much about.

I like educating myself about it. I will be fine I am a fast learner. I mean I study hairdresser and took some course glass in beauty and self-taught nail technician I do my own nails. I don't like wearing long nails all the time. But their time i put on nails =)

I know 6 fucking languages All is self-taught. Just my Persian i was born with.

So these haters don't know you they hatin cuz they got some insecurity with themself. There is always how it works. After a long talk with the staff, I am going to me. I am going to keep doing me. If I am talking about I will defend myself.

Some people choose to stay ugly inside and out and stay ignorant and little bitch and petty. Now it's fun and a game for everyone to have laughed but at end of the day, they won't be their minions tail them forever.

I am a pretty educated person I know more shit they know. Some haters are so privileged in their little ignorant close-minded. They don't know your struggle they don't know what you have been through. Girls with daddy issues always act like this.

I was blessed with two amazing parents I don't have daddy issues. Mine was around the day I was born the day he passed away. I doubt i would say the same shit to my haters. Bad behavior is taught.

When comes to family I am pretty privileged. I was raised better, I was also raised don't allow anyone to step on me. I don't fold just like that ;)

I pity my haters. It must be super hard for them growing up. Not having good parents raise them better. So I blame their parents to be the horrible person they are now. How they treat others. I know all the Anyone going around like they do. is a result of insecurity because I clearly got something they don't have. A person that grew up in a happy family that two-parent been together thick and thin. and a stable household would never act like that. All my twitch content creators I know come from stable households and never act this way. That is because they come from happy places.

So dear readers, Just remember that if you got stalkers and people talking shit about you constantly. This symptom behavior stems from this.

insecurity

Daddy issue

bad household

bad person

narcissistic

If you deal with anyone trying to bully you. Defend yourself don't fold.

Don't fucking allow anyone to come here and try to say bullshit and try to bring you down.

They are just sad individuals that never have good parents around them to raise them better. I mean do your own research on all these behavioral stamps from these things. Ask any professional they would tell you the same thing.

I am pretty sure my haters on my page read. But it just benefits me. I get hits ;)

I might go broke if I spend more time on this app ngl. This app is freakin crazy about how well it makes your selfie into art. it costs money just you know. You need 20 pictures in the order it works at least. I have multi selfies I have not posted. Different look selfie. the different poses you will get a different art look.

[roger-that-cap]

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez 

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

[agentrouka-blog]

ASOIAF fruit symbolism: Plums (Pycelle)

@istumpysk is bullying me* to get back to my plum meta of Foreshadowing Poetic Justice and my old draft is malfunctioning because it’s too large to handle the amount of purple truth. 

(* bullying = mentioning it like twice in the span of a week)

I’ll have to break it up into individual character plums. There are absurdly many. 

So instead of something insightful and organized and thorough, like what you may expect from our heralded @butterflies-dragons or @batterydeaddotdot or @fedonciadale or @cappymightwrite (YOU, when are you coming back? I want Byron!), I will make small disorganized posts like a toddler proudly waving around their dried pasta art project. 

Just so nobody gets any ideas. If you want quality research, citations or handsome pictures, you go read their metas. Mine are for people with a small attention span and low standards. And a thirst for justice.

First up, the really easy one: Pycelle.

This is the one that really solidified my faith in the power of the plum. The power as a signifier of thematic endgame foreshadowing within a scene, that is. Or just for consequences or poetic justice for the characters involved. 

If a plum shows up, it’s time to pay attention.

This plum-heavy scene with Pycelle also involves Tyrion, but we are ignoring that one for now. What we are looking for are hints for Pycelle’s narrative crime. and Pycelle’s narrative just desserts. 

Tyrion goes to visit Pycelle to scheme, and soon they appear.

In the airy chambers beneath the rookery, his girl served them boiled eggs, stewed plums, and porridge, while Pycelle served the pontifications. “In these sad times, when so many hunger, I think it only fitting to keep my table spare.”

“Commendable,” Tyrion admitted, breaking a large brown egg that reminded him unduly of the Grand Maester’s bald spotted head. 

(ACOK, Tyrion IV)

A head like an egg? Or an “Egg”?

This breakfast is the backdrop for Tyrion’s “test of loyalty”, where he plays merry-go-round with Myrcella’s potential betrothal. Pycelle’s test involves, not coincidentally, Dorne. 

"Dispatch them now. Stewed plums will keep. The realm may not." 

Stewed plums will keep, i.e. a delayed consequence. So Pycelle will be paying for a crime long ago.

Pycelle is uncomfortable keeping Tyrion’s plans from Cersei.

"Ah," the old man muttered into his plums. "Doubtless you have the right of it, my lord. It is most considerate of you to . . . spare her this . . . burden." 

“That’s just the sort of fellow I am.” Tyrion returned to the unsatisfactory porridge. “Considerate. Cersei is my own sweet sister, after all.”

“And a woman, to be sure,” Grand Maester Pycelle said. “A most uncommon woman, and yet . . . it is no small thing, to tend to all the cares of the realm, despite the frailty of her sex . . .”

House Lannister is a House divided, so Pycelle literally can’t win! In spite of his sexist reassurances, Pycelle fails Tyrion’s test, which is revealed in the following chapter. Plum!

Let her flay half my face, it will be a small price to pay for her consent to the Dornish marriage. He would have that now, he could sense it.

And certain knowledge of an informer too . . . well, that was the plum in his pudding. (ACOK, Tyrion V)

And another chapter later, Tyrion goes to visit Pycelle with his mountain clan friends to confront his informing ways, punishing him for being loyal to his own House, and learning a very interesting fact. 

Pycelle's breathing was rapid and shallow. "All I did, I did for House Lannister." A sheen of sweat covered the broad dome of the old man's brow, and wisps of white hair clung to his wrinkled skin. "Always . . . for years . . . your lord father, ask him, I was ever his true servant . . . 'twas I who bid Aerys open his gates . . ."

That took Tyrion by surprise. He had been no more than an ugly boy at Casterly Rock when the city fell. "So the Sack of King's Landing was your work as well?"

"For the realm! Once Rhaegar died, the war was done. Aerys was mad, Viserys too young, Prince Aegon a babe at the breast, but the realm needed a king . . . I prayed it should be your good father, but Robert was too strong, and Lord Stark moved too swiftly . . ." 

(ACOK, Tyrion VI)

This is the revelation that the plum conversation and loyalty test were leading toward.

The realm needed a king. And baby Aegon was too young. We know he died at Tywin’s orders. Pycelle was loyal to Tywin. Pycelle could guess what would happen, and he worked to make it so. After all, he has certain realm-related philosophies:

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. "My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?" He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. "Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?"

"Kinder," Varys said. "Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed." (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

So Pycelle (who is a lying liar about his loyalties) thinks a little murder of innocent children can be a just thing, if it means ensuring a greater good for the realm. This is what I would identify as the actual crime seeking consequences. Pycelle made himself an accessory to child murder. And he keeps justifying the concept. Pycelle’s fortunes wax and wane in the course of the series, but he’s doing alright again by the end of ADWD. 

So if the plum indicates that the punishment should fit the crime, will the child murder participation be reflected in his ending?

In the above quote, we have an ironic agreement here from our friend Varys.

And this is our last glimpse of Pycelle:

Then he saw. Grand Maester Pycelle was seated at his table, his head pillowed on the great leather-bound tome before him. Sleeping, Kevan thought … until he blinked and saw the deep red gash in the old man’s spotted skull and the blood pooled beneath his head, staining the pages of his book. All around his candle were bits of bone and brain, islands in a lake of melted wax. (ADWD, Epilogue)

That egg-head has just been broken, hasn’t it? But why?

“Varys?” 

The eunuch set the crossbow down. “Ser Kevan. Forgive me if you can. I bear you no ill will. This was not done from malice. It was for the realm. For the children.”

The same reason Varys gives for shooting Kevan likely applies to Pycelle.

There are many like you, good men in service to bad causes … but you were threatening to undo all the queen’s good work, to reconcile Highgarden and Casterly Rock, bind the Faith to your little king, unite the Seven Kingdoms under Tommen’s rule. (...) Doubt, division, and mistrust will eat the very ground beneath your boy king, whilst Aegon raises his banner above Storm’s End and the lords of the realm gather round him.”

“Aegon?” For a moment he did not understand. Then he remembered. A babe swaddled in a crimson cloak, the cloth stained with his blood and brains. “Dead. He’s dead.” (ADWD, Epilogue)

Pycelle’s sin is showing up again. When he counseled Aerys to open the gates out of loyalty to Tywin, he could guess what would happen to Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys. He rationalized it as serving the greater good of the realm. Or at least House Lannister, none of whom ever care to appreciate it. 

But the stewed plums have kept, and his loyalty to House Lannister ultimately lead him here. Killed “for the good of the realm”, to pave the way for the return of that very Aegon. Not so differently to how Aegon was supposedly killed, head smashed in. 

Even more ironically, the plums and egg were served by a girl who is a spy for Varys. That same girl served Ned his sweet milk in Pycelle’s office. That same girl opens the door to Kevan in the ADWD epilogue. She really ties it together.