#please tell me (i don't think anyone was but i can hope)

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Hello everyone! Once I have finished up with Simply Lilac, this is what I'd love your sims for.

I'll start with this culinary arts enthusiast in pink: Betty Crocker.

(And if she looks kind of familiar, I was paying some homage to Halle Berry as Storm in the original X Men movies.)

more details below

So Betty is starting with nary a simoleon to her name (but still some comfort items) in the newly vacated Von Windenburg manor lot. Will anyone really miss Jacques? I don't think so.

Anyway, I bulldozed and evicted the whole Crumbling Isle because it's nicely isolated from the rest of the world, has a surprising amount of harvestables - and now gems (thank you Crystal Creations pack). There's also plenty of fishing spots - and party bushes for while we're without our creature comforts.

As per the official rules each sim will start with a tent, party bush, cooler (or similar) and items related to the skills they're supposed to max out. Once they've made enough to build a functional tiny home, I can invite the next sim onto the lot.

This is going to be very casual in comparison to a bachelorette but I do enjoy other people's sims - it breathes fresh air into my save files. If you submit someone, here's what I'll need.

Pick one of the following colours: blue, green, orange, purple, red or yellow. Only one sim per colour, sorry 😔

While I'm going to start playing the lot as one big household, if For Rent cooperates the sims may eventually start dating and spawning, so tell me their sexuality and jealousy settings in case my download messes them up.

No skills preferable as it's part of the challenge - let me know if they have any and I'll reinstall mccc to delete them.

If you use cc, please keep it maxis match and to a modest amount. No cc eyes, no sliders and no defaults of anything please.

To give you an indicator, I've uploaded Betty's outfits below:

They can be an occult if you so choose! I love occults! I'll give any merfolk a bathtub to start with - aaaand I'd recommend that any vampires have solar immunity a la Caleb Vatore since they'll spend their initial days tent living. (You can cheat this ability if your vampire is at a low occult level.)

You can give them as many likes and dislikes as you want, and likewise incorporate their colour as subtly (or not) as you like. I mean, you can even make one of the skills they have to max out a disliked activity if you really want to torment them, mwuhaha.

I may still need to avoid updating my game once Simply Lilac has wrapped up, so please send them to me in a zip.

That's it! Hope it all makes sense. While I won't be posting nearly as much or in depth as the Simply Lilac recaps, I will keep everyone apprised of our sims' antics - and with (hopefully hilarious) photographic evidence.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Ransom Drysdale

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: can i put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Please let me know if I missed any!

Previous

The bar isn't as crowded as you'd feared. Usually you spend New Year's Eve in the comfort of your own home where no one can judge you for going to sleep at a decent time. But Ransom had insisted that going to a random bar full of strangers was his New Year's Eve tradition. You probably would have fought him a bit harder but you were still recovering from Christmas.

Ransom knew you were trying to reach out to your family again. That you'd hoped to make progress with them over Christmas. When you came back to the office the day after he saw through your fake smile. He's not pushing for details, part of being a good friend, right? But he can at least hang around so there's someone you can talk to if needed. He'd hoped that going to a bar and picking out potential kissers would be a good distraction for you.

At least until you confessed you'd never had a New Year's Eve kiss before.

"I've told you my parents were...fundamentalists," you griped. "There are some aspects of it that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to shake. Like kissing some random guy being a bad idea."

"Well, what if you get to know the guy first?" Ransom thinks. "Just don't lead with 'never had a New Year's Kiss'. That'll just bring out the weirdos."

That makes you half smile. "Yeah, definitely wouldn't want my first kiss to be with a stranger."

Ransom's brow furrows in confusion, "you mean first New Year's Eve kiss, right?"

"That too," you casually confess before taking a long sip of your Pretty In Pink cocktail.

Ransom gives you a look you can't decipher before saying, "maybe this was a mistake."

"No! It's a new year, it can be a new experience, another aspect of the old me that I let go."

"Only if you're certain now, before you've had too much to drink."

"Aren't you supposed to get drunk first? Liquid courage and all that?"

Ransom hesitates. It wasn't that long ago he'd be the first to encourage you to kiss whatever creep came along, just to spite your parents. Encourage you to be more like him, playing life like a game without consequences. But he's not that guy anymore. Right? At the very least, you're too good a person to be mimicking his behaviors.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, "no. You're telling me now, while you're sober and thinking relatively straight, if you really want to do this. Before you take another sip of that drink."

You give Ransom your best pout and you see him bristling. "I just wanna have some fun, Ran," you pout.

"Maybe this was a mistake," he shakes his head.

"No! You participated in my Friendsgiving tradition, I want to participate in one of your traditions! You said this is something you do every year and I want to participate!"

"We can spend the evening here, but we're gonna both forgo the kissing part," Ransom concedes. "We'll just get drunk and raise a toast at midnight, okay?"

You pout for real this time. "Why is it such a big deal? It's just a first kiss. Aren't women today supposed to be empowered to kiss whoever they want?"

Ransom considers his words. "You're right that you don't need permission to kiss anyone you want. I just...Something I've been trying to work on is reducing my family-induced cynicism. I know from experience that if you treat kisses like they're nothing, they can lose their meaning. I...I want better for you. Better for my friend."

Knowing how difficult it is for Ransom to talk about these things you stop pouting. "Okay," you nod. "Just a toast to bring in the new year."

"Thank you," he sighs, looking a bit more relaxed.

"How about we start the evening with a toast?" you offer, raising your glass. "A toast to friendship and new beginnings?"

Ransom raises his beer bottle, "and to not letting our past dictate our future."

You clink your drinks together and take a sip.

A couple hours and several drinks later you're feeling a little woozy. Ransom offers to go get the refills but you're adamant that it's your turn to do so. He's a bit tipsy himself, you've never seen him smile so much, and he agrees to let you go.

You give your order to the bartender and hold onto the bar to steady yourself when you feel a presence to your left. A tall man in a blue suit leans on the bar next to you. He's pretty handsome, even with the stubble. It actually works with his short hair. He turns to you and you struggle not to gasp at how pretty blue his eyes are.

"Oh, sorry if I'm crowding you," he smiles.

"No, not at all," you giggle.

"You here with your boyfriend?" he asks, gesturing to Ransom.

"Friend," you tell him.

His smile widens, "I'm Nick."

You give him your name as heat rushes to your face. This handsome man is talking with you!

"Got any plans for midnight? It's coming up in just an hour or so," Nick asks.

"A toast!" you say a little too loudly.

He gives you a mock frown, "no kiss?"

"No kisses! Just a toast. Ransom's idea."

"Ransom your friend?"

"Yup! And he's great! Once you get to know him."

"Yeah? Would you be up for introducing me? Letting me get to know him?"

"Sure! He could use more friends and you seem the friendly type!"

"That I am," he smirks.

The bartender brings you your drinks and you pay for them before making your way back to Ransom. Nick is very helpful at keeping you steady on your feet.

Back at the table you beam at Ransom, "I made a new friend! His name is Nick."

Nick holds out his hand to Ransom and says, "nice to meet you Hugh."

Ransom's smile is gone and whatever buzz he'd been feeling is greatly diminished. He grabs your hand, "we're going. Now."

"What? Why?" you pout. But Ransom gives you a look that pierces your drunken haze enough that you're grabbing your coat to go with him.

Ransom's jaw is clenched and he's practically dragging you out of the bar. Risking a glance back at Nick you see him smiling smugly, making you feel even more confused.

Once outside Ransom takes a breath of the cold air to steady himself. The plan was to walk back to your place since it was so close to the bar but now he's not sure. What if that asshole follows and makes things worse for you?

"C'mon," he tells you, taking your arm. "We're going to catch a cab back to my place."

"I don't like your place," you drunkenly confess. "It's so bare."

"Well then I'll make sure to get some interior decorating advice from you while we're there tonight, okay?"

You giggle at the thought but then you shiver, "Ransom, it's cold out here and I don't have my gloves."

"We're going to get a cab soon enough," he promises as he walks down the sidewalk, pulling you along with him.

"What's gotten into you? Oh, why did Nick call you Hugh? Is that what set you off?"

"Sort of," he grunts, looking everywhere for a cab. He doesn't want to use a Lyft or Uber in case this Nick character decides to share in on it.

"My hands are cold," you whine. "Can i put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?"

"When we get into the cab, sure."

You giggle, "I'm gonna hold you to that."

Ransom's barely gotten you into the back of the cab before you shove your hands underneath his sweater, making him yipe.

"Mmm, so warm. You gently squeeze his belly and snuggle close. "Even better than a plushie," you murmur as you start to fall asleep.

Ransom half carries you into his apartment and you give a little squeal when you see the Sweater Pusheen you'd gotten him sitting in a chair.

"You kept it?"

"Of course I did," Ransom admits. "Makes for good company."

You start to tear up, "I thought you hated it because I never saw it after I gave it to you."

"It's a nice gift and I like to have it around. Kept me from getting too lonely at Christmas."

You wrap your arms around Ransom with such force he falls back onto the couch. He tries to unclasp your arms from around him but you're holding tight so he waits for a few moments, letting you get the hug out of your system. Normally you ask permission but he's not going to begrudge you being a happy drunk.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes when he hears your soft snoring and resigns himself to a night on the couch. He looks at you softly and kisses the top of your head. There are worse ways to bring in the new year, he figures.

Next

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @lokislady82

@thiquefunlover63

[bitchwitch1981]

It's written in the Cards

@whatsnewalycat 'tis I, your Secret Santa. I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you @sp00kymulderr for organising everything. Thank you to the @dieterbravobrainrotclub for always being amazing.

Thank you @jessthebaker for holding my hand 😆😘

Summary: Dieter asks you for a tarot reading.

Pure fluff

Dieter comes with his own warnings

Word count: 2522

“Who the hell has a tarot reader at a Christmas party?” you grumbled without any real fire, “Halloween party, yeah. New Year's Eve party, why not? But Christmas?” You shuffled around the fortune-telling tent that had been set up out back of Oscar-winning actor Dieter Bravo’s Sherman Oaks home, placing a cloth on the table and moving the chairs into position.

“And he needn't think I'll be wearing this either. No job is worth pneumonia.” You muttered, picking up the barely there, lacy goth costume that had been provided by the party's host, “There's more fabric in my left sock.”

A flustered-looking woman popped her head through the tent opening, phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other. “Hi, I'm Mr Bravo's assistant. How's everything going in here? Do you need anything?”

“I'm good, thanks.” You continued to move around the tent setting things how you wanted them. “Oh, please let your boss know I will not be wearing the costume he provided. I hope that won't be a problem?”

“Costume? I don't know about any costume. Wait, let me see it?” She asked, looking confused.

You picked up the scrap of fabric and handed it over to her, barely containing your giggle as she cursed under her breath.

“I already told him not to put this out. Don't worry, it's not a problem at all.” She placed the garment over her arm preparing to walk away. “If you need anything at all this evening, please let me know.” She turned to leave, then paused, glancing back at you, “Please don't read for Mr Bravo tonight. There's a lot of drugs and alcohol around, and both can make him take things a bit literally. We really don't need a repeat of the time that guy told him he would be a great stripper. He shaved his entire body and doused himself in baby oil. It was like trying to catch a greased seal!”

She shuddered at the memory and walked away, calling to various staff members to do things as she went. Leaving you with a mental image that nobody should have.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The evening went pretty much as you expected. The cream of Tinseltown scattered around the property, getting drunk, getting high, and from the sounds emitting from various windows, getting laid.

You had been doing readings all evening. Churning out multiple variations of “Your next project will be your best yet” and “You will be more popular than ever in the coming year.” No one wanted a real reading, too intent on having a good time and taking advantage of all the illicit substances on offer. You had indulged in a little tequila yourself and were feeling a bit squiffy. You decided to start packing your things away when you heard a voice from the tent entrance.

“Have you got time for one last reading?”

You turned to find the party host, Dieter Bravo, standing before you looking dishevelled in a stretched out t-shirt, pyjama pants and a green bathrobe that looked as if it had seen better days, his hands and shirt covered in what looked like paint. It was dark outside, but he was still wearing sunglasses.

“Erm, I don't know. I was told that I shouldn't read for you. Your assistant explicitly told me not to.” you explained as you continued to move around the tent. “Besides, what could you possibly have to ask the cards? You're rich and famous. You have all the awards, and you can have anyone in your bed with a snap of your fingers. You have it all, what more could you want?”

“Yeah, my life's perfect,” he scoffed. “I have everything. Except real friends, fulfilment, love, artistic inspiration.” he peered at you over his sunglasses. You were surprised by the honesty and the look of genuine sadness in his eyes.

You thought for a moment, mentally scolding yourself for weakening at the sight of a man pouting like a child who's been denied a bowl of ice cream. “I guess a quick 3 card reading couldn't do any real harm” you sighed, pulling your Cozy Witch deck out of your bag where you had just stashed it.

Shuffling the cards thoroughly, you fanned them out on the table, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite you, “have your question firmly in your mind, and choose three cards and place them left to right” you instructed.

He contemplated the cards, as if willing the answers to show themselves to him through divine intervention. He held his hands above the cards and ran them back and forth, almost picking out cards and then changing his mind in favour of others. He made his final choices, laying them out in order, gazing at you with big, soulful, pleading brown eyes.

“So, do they say what I should do?”

Turning the cards over, you try to put the representations into a meaningful narrative that could, hopefully, bring him some comfort and maybe a little insight.

“We start with The Patient Witch, which corresponds to The Hanged Man in a traditional deck” You explain.

Dieter’s hands fly to his neck, “hanged?” he whispers, looking spooked.

“It doesn't mean that you will be hanged, sweetheart”, you say soothingly, remembering what his assistant had said about him taking things literally when he's drunk and stoned. “It means you're feeling trapped, confined. Ironically, it shows you are looking for direction.”

The actor chuckled at that. “Like I don't get enough of that. What else does it mean?”

“It means that in order to move forward, you need to get comfortable with being still. Whether that be physically or mentally. I'm sure you have big goals for yourself, but you need to accept that they may not happen, or maybe they won't happen in the way that you want them to. It could be that something better is waiting for the right time to come to you.” you tell him, turning to the next card.

“OK, next is the Ace of Swords,” you announced as you studied the image.

“Swords?” says Dieter warily, “Swords are pointy and sharp. Swords are bad right?”

You shake your head, “No suit or card is necessarily bad, although there can be potentially negative meanings to cards. The suit of Swords relates to the mind and thinking.” You share, losing yourself in the cards and their imagery. “The Ace has to do with ideas. You've got lots of them running around that pretty head of yours, dontcha?”

You paused, realising what you had just said thanks to the tequila you had enjoyed earlier and cautiously peered at the actor, hoping you hadn't crossed the line.

He was smiling at you coquettishly. “So, you think I'm pretty do you?” he teased with a cheeky glint in his eye, “hey, do you wanna have sex with me?”

Blushing, you looked down at the table, “that's not written in the cards for tonight.”

He threw his head back and laughed. Real laughter, not the forced sound you had heard from him so many times in interviews on TV and YouTube. “I like you, you're funny.” he chuckled.

You realised that he probably didn't get turned down very often, but he took it with a grace that you hadn't expected and you found yourself liking him more for it.

“OK, now for the final card, the Two of Wands.” You pointed at the card. “This is a card of choices. Different paths you can go down, and options to take. We aren't meant to know what the future holds for us, because then we would just sit and wait for it to happen without putting in any effort. But we can create through our actions. And different decisions will lead to different outcomes.”

Dieter peered at the cards as if hoping they would offer more insight or maybe some step-by-step instructions. “Is that it?

“Well, let's put it all together shall we?” you replied.

“The way I see it, to stop feeling confined and directionless, you need to put your ideas and creativity to work to build the future that you want. It won't be easy, but you'll appreciate it more for the effort that you put into it.” you offer. You glance up at him only to find him hanging on your every word.

He took a deep breath and removed his glasses to look at you fully for the first time. “Creativity and effort, huh?” he questioned, “and that will get me where I need to be?”

“It seems that it would help to get you onto the right path.” You gazed at the cards again, hoping that you hadn't made a fool of yourself by reading under the influence. You packed the cards away again while he sat and contemplated your words.

“Can I show you something?” he asked shyly, causing you to look up from your bag. You nodded as he stood up and took your hand. “Come with me.”

You walked towards the house but didn't enter it. Dieter directed you to what you assumed was the pool house. He opened the door and ushered you inside. He followed you in and turned on the lights as he closed the door.

There were paintings everywhere. Some were copies of famous works, others were original pieces. There were bold colourful canvases, and there were works that were dark and had a melancholy to them. In the centre of the room stood an easel with a large blank canvas on it. You turned to find Dieter looking nervously at you.

“Dieter, did you do all of these?” you asked, unable to take everything in. “They're amazing. You're truly talented.”

“Could this be the creativity that gets me the future I want?” he queried, seeming slightly unsure of himself. “Would I need to give up acting to pursue this?”

You were hit with an overwhelming need to comfort the man standing before you, his vulnerability on full display. You moved closer to him and placed your hand on his arm. “Do you want to give it up?”

You could see he was thinking things through. “I don't want to give it up, but I think I need to be more selective with the roles I take. No more big-budget franchises. No more dinosaurs.”

You had seen Beasts of the Bubble when it came out. You had also read about the fallout from his divorce from Anika when she left him to be part of a throuple with her yoga instructor and his girlfriend. Dieter had been through a rough couple of years, so it was understandable that he was looking to make some changes and find some stability.

“There's no reason why you should give up acting. You are incredibly talented, and being more considered in the roles you choose could be a smart move. Your art is something you can take with you on location for downtime.” you mused.

“Maybe you could invite me to your first exhibition,” you quipped.

Dieter gazed at you with wide eyes, “You'll be the guest of honour” he said seriously. “Tell me what you think of this one,” he said excitedly as he moved to one of the larger canvases.

You spent the next couple of hours being shown Dieter’s art and listening to him explain the meaning behind each piece. He called his driver to take you home when you couldn't stop yawning.

“My assistant has your contact details, right? So I can let you know if I have an exhibition.” He asked as he settled you in the car.

You nodded yes, trying to speak but yawning instead.

Dieter chuckled, “All alright sleepyhead, you go get some sleep.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, bringing a smile to your face. You waved goodbye to him as he closed the door and the car pulled away.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Over the next year, you heard from Dieter occasionally. More often than not to ask about the meaning behind different tarot cards. You didn't see him again though, his schedule was taken up with new movie roles, mostly indie films rather than big-budget blockbusters.

So you were surprised to find him waiting for you outside your small house one Saturday in December. You had been Christmas shopping and your arms were loaded with bags of gifts. He rushed forward and started grabbing bags from you, talking at a mile a minute. “Finally, you're back! I was beginning to think you were never coming home. Or that you'd moved. Can we put these inside? I need you to come with me, I have to show you something.”

You followed him, smiling, listening to him yammer away. “Hello Dieter, how have you been?” You unlocked the door and he walked in to put the bags down. You felt a bit self-conscious having the Hollywood superstar in your tiny home, having seen his own luxurious house. If he noticed he didn't let on as he escorted you back out to his car.

He chattered on while he drove. Telling you about the movies he had been making and the things he had done and seen on location. He was a surprisingly good driver, getting you to your destination without issue. When you looked to see where you were you saw you were outside a swanky-looking art gallery. Dieter ran round the car to open your door.

“Dieter, what are we doing here” you asked.

He suddenly looked bashful, gazing down at the sidewalk. “Erm, I wanted you to be the first to see it. Seeing as you are a big part of why I did it,” he said.

“Me? What did I do? What did you do?” you questioned him as he escorted you towards the door to the gallery.

“The grand opening is Monday, but I wanted to show you before anyone else comes in.” He walked you around the space showing you all of his art and telling you the stories behind each piece. “This last piece is dedicated to you, as a thank you for giving me the encouragement I needed to do this. It's my favourite piece in the whole collection.”

You turned around to look at the painting, your hand flying to your mouth as you gasped in shock. In front of you was a large canvas depicting a woman sitting at a table lit by candle reading tarot cards, her face obscured by her hair. You recognised the cards as your favourite Cozy Witch deck that you had used to read for Dieter a year ago.

“She's you,” he said from behind you. “You started me down this path, so I needed to have you be part of the collection.”

You turned to look at him, tears springing to your eyes. “It's beautiful Dieter, thank you,” you whispered, stepping forward to wrap him in a hug.

“Thank you for telling me I could do it.” He squeezed you tightly, rocking you gently from side to side, “will you come to the opening?”

You looked up at him, smiling, “If you play your cards right.”

[iizuumi]

Side effects of wearing your sentient Kaiju suit too often ,,,,

[katiekatdragon27]

More Flatland stuffff~~~

[Cursive transcript: I'm so sorry this is so sudden, but I had to keep my Chosen safe!]

So, uh, the 4th dimension, am I right?????

So, on my last post, people were more interested in A. Tesseract than I thought. I did not expect her to stir so much interest, but here you go lol.

More under the cut lol / lots of notes:

Some basic information on 4th dimensional beings:

They refer to themselves as "hypersolids" and "polytopes". Only Tesseracts prefer a different name than just "hyper(insert shape here)". When talking to other dimensional beings, they call themselves "Spacelanders".

They usually keep their eyes closed, and they do not emote much.

Their bodies naturally morph as they talk. They are also partially transparent, so you can see their inside movements. Not organs or anything, but the next emotions or actions they are going to express. Sort of like key frames or a fade in effect.

They call "Spacelanders" "Heightlanders".

Their civilization is located in space. They are able to breathe through little pockets of air on their rings that recharge when they enter the atmosphere of other plants. (This is why they are spotted relatively frequently)

Buildings are constantly moving spirals. They also fly everywhere, so they require a lot of energy to maintain their health. Luckily, any stars nearby tend to charge them up just fine.

Also, everyone goes by they/them along with another pronoun if they choose. Gender constructs be damned (or certain groups are fighting for that).

There will be more once I think of it, but that's what I have in the world-building department right now.

Some basic information on Angelica "A." Tesseract (she/they):

She tends to say "I'm sorry" after anything they might think could have been of inconvenience or offensive.

They are relatively soft-spoken, but they are incredibly smart compared to her peers.

Her quiet nature causes others to disrespect and step all over her.

She overthinks LITERALLY EVERYTHING. You could tell her something that is even the slightest bit vague and they have the chance of spiraling.

She KNOWS there are more than four dimensions, but they are struggling to prove it with science.

They are much more emotional compared to other hypersolids. They tend to cry easily.

She chose A. Sphere because of his confidence and drive to get his points across. They admire him for that.

Some basic information on A. Sphere in this:

He's much less snarky. His whole vision of the world was destroyed in the blink of an eye, and he's stuck in another world completely unknown to him. He's going though it currently.

He's still blunt about everything. If you suck, he'll tell you. If you are cool, it'll take a little longer, but he'll tell you.

He got his eye busted after the attack on Messiah Inc. When getting removed from "Heightland", his eye got caught in the blow last minute and it got damaged. He can still open it slightly, but he can't see out of it.

He was relatively indifferent to seeing his body transparent. He was more worried about his eye injury over anything else.

At first, he did not like A. Tesseract (cuz kidnapping), but he learns to appreciate the gesture and does his best to help her out.

[Cursive transcript: For now, I'm afraid so... sorry. / I'm so sorry. If I was just a but faster, I could have saved your eye.]

Yeah, their friendship starts out really rough.

A. Sphere adjusted to the environment very poorly at first. He was very standoffish and snappy, but it then soured to just sorta feeling sad all the time. He gets better eventually the more he learns about the world, but it takes a lot of effort out of A. Tesseract to get him there.

I mean, he expected to die, lost his eye, everyone in "Heightland" hates him now, he lost his business and research, and he fails to take the blame for anything for a while. I would also be super pissed and sad.

A. Tesseract was not any better. She feels an incredible amount of guilt for not stepping in in time to prevent A. Sphere's eye damage, and she constantly apologies to him for everything. This sucks for A. Sphere since he finds it super annoying.

[Cursive transcript: N. H.Sphere: You weren't supposed to bring them HERE! / A. Tesseract: I'm sorry, I had to save him- / N. H.Sphere: I should fire you-!]

N. H.Sphere is a mega grouch. He is A. Tesseract's boss who treats her terribly. Discrediting her work, ignoring their research, and just not valuing her opinion cuz women, he is not fun to talk to or just be around in general. No one knows how HR lets him stay in charge, but some theorize that he pays them off or something.

Despite all of the traumatic crap A. Sphere has gone though in this story, he still does not stand for disrespect from anyone. When he learns that A. Tesseract is constantly being pushed around by her bitchy boss, he decides to defend her.

This solidifies their friendship and later science partnership when the story ends. This also makes N. H.Sphere more resentful towards both A. Tesseract an A. Sphere. This leads to A. Tesseract actually getting fired from her job. Thanks A. Sphere.

[Cursive transcript: N. H.Sphere: Why are you so scared? He's fine! / A. Tesseract: It's my un-medicated anxiety!!]

One of the downsides of being in the 4th dimension and living in space is that the gravitational pull is super sporadic with no real patterns. Some areas have super powerful gravity while others have zero. 4th dimension beings have learned to adjust perfectly fine.

The pressure changes and general lack of oxygen negatively impact A. Sphere's body, however, so to help him be okay, he sits in those vacuum boxes that allow for added pressure to be put on him to help even his breathing. He usually isn't put in unless he is fading in and out of consciousness, since he hates the confined space. It freaks out A. Tesseract every time it happens.

Her boss thinks she's stupid for worrying so much and using company tech. A. Tesseract worries more for A. Sphere than keeping her job, so she ignores N. H. Sphere.

[Cursive transcript: Care to see him again?]

Outside of the partial angst and stuff, this dimension is the reason why A. Sphere shows up in A. Square's hallucination.

During A. Square's trauma-induced hallucination, he shows up in the 4th dimension briefly with the Monarch of Pointland. A. Sphere and A. Tesseract take notice, and she offers him the ability to talk to A. Square one last time for closure reasons.

In this version, this scene would be longer, with A. Sphere possibly apologizing for denying the existence of the 4th dimension and not being able to assist A. Square in the way he wanted to. It's more wholesome and conclusive than transactional like in the movie. The other stuff is there too, but having more sentimental moments would be so cool.

----------

I am very sorry how messy these particular doodles are, I was drawing all these super late at night during my shift, so I was not paying much attention to the flow of the images. When the inspo hits, you don't really realize how incohesive they are until you start photographing the images to post lol

Thank you once again for reading this whole thing, and have a wonderful day :)

[alchemania]

Finally got enough energy to talk about Furina's SQ and while I loved her and the troupe, MC and Paimon were .... Not Great. I talked about this with friends but in Paimon's case especially, the way they interact with Furina feels like people who just don't understand trauma and depression and then engage with someone suffering from both in all the wrong ways.

Talking about how much of a downgrade her house is from the opera house, making fun of how she can't cook, pushing her to act when she's set a very clear boundary and then guilt tripping her after she's stuck to her guns, shaming her for not being able to fight well (Paimon literally talks about how second hand embarrassment is overwhelming and I'm just like ?????), telling her she's "not acting like herself" when she attempts to open up and be vulnerable....it's just really rough. That and the MC asking "is something wrong" when Furina gets sad over Poission ..like bro people died and she couldn't save them and she's tearing herself apart over it. Those people are never coming back and you know it and you have the gall to ask her is something wrong??? Of COURSE there is!!

It just feels especially odd because we literally get to see all of Furina's suffering and Paimon in particular is. SO mean? Like she was more understanding with Wanderer and Ei and THEY'VE tried to kill us multiple times!! I don't get it, and honestly I'm very proud of Furina for refusing to waver. Let her rest!! She's tired and depressed and she needs time to heal; and honestly fuck Paimon for trying to make her feel bad. Furina's worked harder than she EVER will.

[girlivealwaysbean]

hey god if you've created someone for me can you introduce me to them sooner? i kinda need them now

[iftitah]

she's talking on a call with her parents about how it was her luck and gods will what got her into this college who's gonna tell her of course no one because you know 🤡🤡

[sophieswundergarten]

I can't stop thinking about that Wing AU and Sticky plucking his feathers...

(Weird, angsty ramblings that might require some knowledge of bird anatomy to fully understand to follow)

(Basically, when birds grow feathers they start as "blood feathers" which are basically just little sacks of blood and growing cells. After this, they are "pin feathers", and the blood is all inside where it belongs, leaving the feather all rolled up and covered in this papery stuff that rubs off and leaves a fully grown feather. Also, Primaries are the big "pointer finger" feathers at the tip of the wings, Secondaries are the medium sized ones from the "wrist" joint to the "elbow", where they get smaller and are referred to as Tertiaries. That should be it :>)

Because, in real life, it's quite common in pet psittacines (Parrots: so, macaws, cockatoos, budgies, lovebirds, etc.) especially when they are stressed. And it can get out of control really fast and take a long time to train the bird out of even though it's very obviously hurting it.

And I just keep thinking about how young he was when he started being on TV. And for a while the fluffy little baby feathers were cute but an entertainment industry seeking engagement instead of connection demanded he grow up too fast.

And so the make-up/wardrobe department for any competition he was on started pulling some of the downy feathers. There weren't that many left at this point regardless, but they assured him it would make him seem more mature and appeal to a wider audience. And it would be fine, it wouldn't really hurt him, especially since he was growing in big feathers anyway.

So it went. With Sticky being so self-conscious and anxious anyway, he probably kept his wings tucked in tight behind him no matter what people thought about them.

He had never put that much consideration into how he looked, but now he can't stop thinking about it. He doesn't know why it's so important, but apparently it matters to people. He doesn't want it to matter. He doesn't want to be seen or recognised. He just wants to be left alone.

He starts fidgeting with the pin feathers that will one day unfurl into adult primaries, and even though he knows it's counter-intuitive because removing the casings will only free the feathers sooner, he can't help it. A few times he goes too far and starts picking at blood feathers, and even though the red coats his finger tips more often than he'd like, he still can't stop his hands from scratching and pulling and yanking as he grows more and more agitated.

And then he ran away

He ran and he couldn't keep his hands off his wings for more than a few minutes. Tugging and raking his fingers through the feathers in a futile attempt to calm down. The first couple of times, it's an accident.

The first couple of times he's so caught up in soundless panic and all he can hear is his own breathing, it's only later that he notices a small cluster of secondaries, close to his body and almost never seen with how rigidly he holds himself, are missing. Small pieces of the night sky littering the alleyway ground where he'd been hiding.

His wings are so dark in colour, not to mention unkempt after a few weeks hiding and running and flitting from place to place trying to find safety, that the other kids don't even notice anything wrong.

It isn't until a few days later, when they're all in the backyard attempting to practice their Morse Code, and Kate does something that startles him that they really see what kind of a state his wings are in.

Most birds, when scared or on edge, will carefully spread their wings. Maybe not a lot, but they are preparing to fly away or make themselves look bigger in hopes to scare off the threat. (I imagine Milligan having great big owl wings that he puffs up to try and guard the children when the Recruiters come after them in the maze)

But Sticky just draws them in closer to his body. When he is scared, which Constance would note is often, he holds his wings so tightly to his back that they seem half their size. This would be considered odd and in some ways handicapping himself or keeping him from being able to react properly.

But this time, as Kate wobbles unstably out of her cartwheel and lets out a shriek of laughter, landing on the ground right next to him, Sticky jumps. He starts off the bench he had been sitting on, hunching his shoulders and reflexively spreading his wings.

And instead of the fully extended mix of fully grown flight feathers and occasionally wayward piece of down the other kids have, Sticky's wings are a mess. They have a skeletal quality, with just enough plumage that when they are folded in it's hardly noticeable, but when they are extended it's clear there are significant gaps. The remaining feathers have the dull, stunted quality of someone who has been under an incredible amount of stress without nearly enough nutrients to fuel them, and indeed Sticky looks rather like a feral cat in that moment: Spooked and curling in on himself as if expecting a fight.

He quickly realises his overreaction, and then processes that the girls are staring at his wings (Reynie's eye did dart up, but quickly returned to looking at Sticky's face), so he jerks them back into a resting position. Though there's nothing particularly restful about how stiff his posture is, back ramrod straight and muscles so tight he's beginning to shake.

However, this is something that the others know he doesn't want to share yet. And he doesn't need to. Not until he's ready.

So, Kate grabs the flashlight from where it had fallen to the ground, a sheepish grin on her face as she apologises for scaring him.

Reynie suggests they all go inside, take a break and get something to eat before they begin again.

Constance glares at Sticky suspiciously, but right as she opens her mouth she seems to think better of her questions and simply shrugs.

And Sticky is grateful for his friends, grateful that he has these people who love him enough to trust him with his secrets, even though they don't know each other very well yet. So he follows them inside, and if Kate dumps a little bit more food on his plate, and Constance doesn't try to swipe his juice glass this time, and if that night (for the first time) Reynie shyly asks if the two of them could take turns preening each others' wings, when it's just the two of them alone in the room, Sticky thinks he might be able to trust them too.

[irgendwiepoetisch]

why is there so little going on in my life that a simple crush on a person i barely know takes up so much space in my brain...why

[greencarnation]

And more thing, Rachel House (Mary Read on OFMD) has signed a letter of NZ/Aotearoa calling for a cease fire and I wouldn’t assume she’s the only cast member (besides Darby) who has done likewise/similar. Please please please do not spread misinformation

guys i'm so so sorry for saying that the whole ofmd cast is complicit it turns out that a minor character who was in like 3 episodes actually signed one whole letter!! obviously this excuses both creators (waititi & jenkins) and a huge chunk of the cast from being zionist fucktards currently cheering for genocide. everyone go back to business as usual!!!

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

is it weird to email a film & tv studio just to find out which stage a show was filmed on

[kikizoshi]

Funfact: whenever I see you complain about BSD having too many plot holes I'm incredibly amused, because I get reminded of a series I followed for about 8 years by now and has only revealed the answer to one of its core mysteries after 500+ weekly chapters. I see that we still have 4 more years before we can call anything in BSD a plot hole.

Ah, yeah, I can see that. And I do like stories that give you plenty of room/time for analysis. For me, whether or not I deem something a likely plot hole at all comes down to how much trust I have in the author.

For example, there are so many unexplained things about Bloodborne, and I love going through all the lore, the various takes, everything everyone's managed to compile—and when something doesn't quite seem to add up, I think that there must be something we missed. Because I have faith in the creators of Bloodborne, and I know they wouldn't put in something without there being a meaning behind it. I've a similar feeling for whenever a character in Arcane acts differently than I would have expected—that I must be missing something, because Arcane is so well-written that character inconsistencies are extremely unlikely. But it's because of my trust in the writers of these works that I can engage with them in that way. I have to believe that there's something there, a deeper meaning behind the contradiction I've unearthed, otherwise any effort on my end is meaningless.

And, with BSD... It's hard for me to explain, but it's just not well-written a fair amount of the time. It has parts that really shine, and then it has... space time sword. And, yes, it's possible that some of the plot holes will come back and be filled later (hopefully not with a retcon), but plenty of them are just lost, floating in the sands of time, never to be seen again. And that's only regarding plot holes—there are plenty of perfectly understandable things that don't make a lick of sense either.

I feel like, with BSD, more characters and new plots are valued over satisfyingly concluding old ones, and the whole story suffers heavily for it. That may be why his shorter, more self-contained stories are so much better, actually.

So, at this point, I have very little trust in Asagiri as a writer, to write a story in a consistent and well-thought-out way, which is why I'm so aggravated with it. Because I've seen/read stories of his that were actually good, but in his long-form, overarching shounen-type plot, he just seems to flounder ever more with each passing year.

But, yeah, TLDR: I do know plenty of stories take their time, but whether I consider inconsistencies plot holes or clues depends mainly on how much trust I have in the author's writing abilities.

[zoologica42]

Temperate Lake Dashboard Simulator

🐦‍⬛2xcrested_cormorant Follow Going to try and eat this weird fish

♻️🐦‍⬛2xcrested_cormorant Follow wilmdlife hopital

🐸rana-bufo Follow No one can ever truly understand what BULL4rog's music means to me 😭 this song in particular argrgrgrgrgrg the way he puffs out his vocal sack asdfghjk

BULL4rog: listen here on spotify ♻️🐸rana-bufo Follow I think I huave chytrid

🐟ilikeeatingminnowsFollow I just migrated here from finstagram please be nice

🐠powerbottomfeeder Follow

I have HAD IT with this lake, it’s the third day in a row we’ve had nitrates above 8 ppm and uug the algae, my allergies I can’t do this

♻️🐟carpy-diem Follow

Lol we regularly get nitrates up to 20 ppm in my lake ♻️🦞crawdaddy Follow uhhh you shouldn't be bragging about that, it's really unsafe ♻️🐟carpy-diem Follow suck it you little oligotrophic bitch

🐢snappturt Follow Dear Tumblr, am I the Basshole for the way I catch minnows? I was chatting with some of the guys I bask with and they said the way I catch minnows is problematic; What I do is I sit on the bottom of the lake, I hide myself in the mud and I open my mouth. My tongue looks a lot like a little worm so I wiggle it around- and because of that, minnows swim over and check it out. Once they get close enough, then I bite down and eat them. Some of my rockmates have told me that this is manipulative and toxic behavior- but they also eat minnows...I don't know guys...

🦆tree hole-nester-acorn-eater Follow

is it just me, or is this super homoerotic???

🐟bigpikexxl Follow liveblogging diving down to the bottom

♻️🐟bigpikexxl Follow dark

♻️🐟bigpikexxl Follow big log

♻️🐟bigpikexxl Follow rock

♻️🐟bigpikexxl Follow kinda cold

♻️🐟bigpikexxl Follow oh hi @deepwatersculpin!!!

♻️🐠deepwatersculpin Follow oh hey @bigpikexxl!!!

never thought i'd seen one of my mutuals irl!!! I didn't even know we lived in the same lake!!!

🐠Shadlad Follow I'm not sorry, and I'm not afraid to say it, if you're an introduced species, go dry yourself out. You're not welcome to eat up all of our resources and live in my ancestral longs and rock crags. These things are for us to relate to and not for you to squander.

♻️🦞crevice-steve Follow

Can't believe this type of fishcourse is still popular on this site, introduced species didn't choose to be introduced and have as much of a right to live as anyone else. Bigotry against introduced species is still bigotry and that's a hill I will dry on. ♻️🐠Shadlad Follow Go ahead, dry yourself out then ;) ♻️🪷nootnootnewt Follow Hey man, I hate invasive species as much as anyone else but please stop telling people to beach themselves for political reasons- yeah that includes inavsives too ♻️🦐typical_scud Follow Did you legit just use the word Invas*ve to describe introduced species? ♻️🦢flatfootswimmer Follow anyone in this thread eat pondweed?

♻️🐟largemouthbASS Follow A colab with my mutual @2xcrested_cormorant after they got released from the wildlife hospital. They haven't been on much since the Fish and Wildlife Service released them in the wrong lake and it took them a while to get back to their colony. We hope this guide will help you avoid accidentally eating/engaging with bait!

[secondpersonpoetry]

hi! heard the released “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” (which i’ve seen you’ve heard live, if i’m not mistaken!!) this morning and i don’t know if there’s really a particular vibe/dynamic/ship hrpf-wise (personally haven’t yet been able to put my finger on it) that quite relates but the lyrics have been rotating in my head all day and i was wondering if you had any thoughts? hope you have a good one! <3

OH ANON HAVE I EVER SEEN IT LIVE!!! and the second that song came out i zoomed it straight into my fic playlist and unfortunately there are so many guys this could be. right now the one that's resonating is, of course, the golden boy and his haunted ghost themselves: mcstrome.

i am thinking about connor, specifically, after the stanley cup final. that game seven. how angry he was, how loud the silence when they told him he won the conn smythe. how close he's come before and again and again lost. there's nobody else to blame but himself. he's in the empty room and he knows why (1)

at!! your best!!! you were magic!!! oh, golden boy. connor the anointed, of course. at the very beginning of his career we always knew he was something special and who wouldn't have fallen in love with him? weren't all of us a little bit dylan strome in awe of the generational talent? we were all bathed in radiant light just by being in the vicinity (2)

don't even tell 'em that you know me breaks my heart (3). in terms of building a narrative i think i've said before there is a universe where connor/dylan were together before the draft and to protect both of them, dylan breaks up with him. connor says i love you and dylan says i don't. because he doesn't, you know? he loved connor. he loved davo. he can't be in love with connor mcdavid, first overall pick of the edmonton oilers. i'd rather be hurt forever than have to watch us try to make this work and destroy us.

and after connor mcdavid left the otters, dylan strome captained them to a memorial cup win. what a haunted home, eh? to be captain of the team you and your best friend were on, only now he's left you? don't call me to tell me about your rookie season with the oilers--we both know about your broken collarbone. don't call me to tell about becoming the youngest captain in franchise history when i stepped into the shoes of your captaincy here. don't call me. (4)

narratively: dylan's the one who broke connor's heart and his own but by god it wasn't easy. we both know what happened, you went first overall. please don't make this harder on me. please don't call.

this verse can be about the weight of dylan having to live up to connor's standards and always being measured by him. i would just like to bring up the connor stepping stone chart for absolutely no reason as well (5)

we are, at long last, at the potential future of now: dylan strome, happy, smiling, thriving on the washington capitals. connor, on the oilers. i'm not yours, dylan can say. haven't been for a long time. it took some time but i made this. please don't call and ruin this for me, stay out of my life. i don't want you or need you (6)

[p.s. this took a while because when i received this ask i was a) immediately possessed to write this verse by verse breakdown i had never thought of before and then b) immediately plagued by the idea of making you a little graphic (above the read more) and finally got to do it after banging out all the actual lyric thoughts two (?) weeks ago. emerging two and a half hours later from the fugue state of GIMP with 37 layers in this bad boy hope you enjoy!!!]