#not even for some depressing thing either

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 12 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Things have changed between you. But you can't even tell how much.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, mentions of pregnancy, not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

You couldn’t tell what caused his change of heart, but you surely wouldn’t complain. Or be the first one to speak. Maybe, just maybe, your pride wasn't all dead yet.

By the time the door was pulled open, you needed a moment for your eyes to adjust to the light that flooded the cramped space. Again, you couldn’t tell how long you had been in there. A few hours? A day? Longer?

All you knew was that you were starving and your bladder hurt like hell.

And somehow you didn’t care.

You didn’t care about anything actually.

The time you spent in the darkness of the wardrobe, pressed against the wall like a caged animal, had served you to think about the mess you found yourself in. A part of you was still relieved that he didn’t kill you. Another part was strangely disappointed, angry even, that he doubted you in the first place.

You didn’t try to leave. And he didn’t believe you.

But what took far more space up in your mind, was the memory of what you said to him.

I love you.

I love you?

Were you out of your goddamn mind?

Surely, it must have been some desperate attempt to manipulate him into caring, so that he would let go. Surely. Surely.

But a part of you knew that was not the truth.

He had his hands wrapped around your neck, ready to end your life then and there and all you cared to say was I love you?

You felt…betrayed. You had betrayed yourself yet again.

Didn’t you possess any semblance of dignity? Of self-worth? Of anything of which you thought that it made you you?

But before you had the time to get even angrier at yourself, he opened the door.

You blinked slowly and looked up at him. It wasn’t the prettiest sight for sure. Your eyes were red and swollen, your face puffy. Dark marks in the form on his slender fingers decorated your neck. A constant reminder of the pain you were in, the danger. Your body was covered in marks and bruises. Like you were a blank canvas and he was a cruel, deranged artist.

You looked at him, but he didn’t look at you. He didn’t even say anything. All he did was stand there, his hand clutching the door handle tightly. You could tell he was still tense, still furious to some degree. This was far from over.

A stronger version of yourself would have tried to talk to him. To convince him. To beg him to believe you, because it was the fucking truth.

You didn’t try to leave. How could he not see it?

But instead, you carefully got to your feet. Your legs felt weak and shaky, from sitting in your kneeling position for so long. You held onto the wall and slowly stumbled out, into your room. Nothing had changed. A look out of the useless window showed you that it was getting dark outside. A day, then. It had been a day.

You sighed very softly and ran your fingers through the knots in your hair. All you wanted was a bath and a good night’s sleep. But you knew that was probably a very distant thought. Something had shifted between you, you could tell.

You didn’t get to tease him anymore, he wasn’t going to read to you either. You were back to playing games and walking on eggshells. You were back in the fangs of the evil twin.

As if to prove his point, he led you out of your room and into the bathroom, his hand hovering above the small of your back, but not quite touching you.

And then your biggest nightmare.

There was no fucking door.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted in a horrified, and yet oh-so exhausted, gasp. A part of you wanted to beg, still. At least for a tiny bit of dignity. The tiniest bit of being allowed to feel like a human being. But no. That was not what you were, right?

When he pointed to the chair in the middle of the room, you knew you weren’t human anymore.

You were a godforsaken Young-hee doll.

You looked up at him with pleading eyes, despite yourself. Despite the tiny, defiant gleam in your chest. But he still wasn’t looking at you. And suddenly you knew no amount of pleading would ever help you anyway.

You wanted to cry. You really did. But at some point in the wardrobe you had your tears run dry and they hadn’t returned ever since. There was only so much a person could cry, right?

With slow, hesitant steps you finally found your place on the chair. Your eyes were fixed on the hole in the wall where once the door had been. You asked yourself what gracious surprises were there more, waiting for you, waiting to be discovered and dreaded.

When he took your wrists in his hand and tied them together with a tight knot in a tie of his, you didn’t protest. All you did was stare straight ahead.

He needed to do this. He needed to prove to you, to himself maybe, that you were nothing. Just like he had said to you, right before you straddled him and took control of the situation in the morning. You were nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

But his hands were gentle. He wasn’t being cruel or forceful about it. You couldn’t tell if that was, because you were being so compliant or if there was another reason. Whatever it was, he was really gentle. Almost ridiculously so.

When you saw him reach for the pair of scissors, you closed your eyes. You really didn’t want to see it. See, what amount of hair would have to go today. In his eyes, you had tried to escape, right? But as much as you tried to tell yourself that, you were sure, he was punishing you for something else. You just couldn’t tell what it was.

“No.” He said quietly. “Open your eyes.”

Despite the way your body begged you to keep your eyes shut, you reluctantly opened them. Of course. Right in front of the fucking mirror. A crazy man and his clueless victim.

If only you had fled.

Why didn’t you? You couldn’t stop asking yourself. Why didn’t you?

And he still wasn’t looking at you.

That was probably the worst part. You felt you were in so much pain, so much horror and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you? Was this part of the punishment?

You looked up at his face, your expression a mixture of desperation and pleading. And anger. But he never looked up. Never met your gaze. And still, you were sure, he saw you.

He kept his jaw clenched, his fingers clutching the scissors tightly.

Maybe he wasn’t even going to cut it off. Maybe he’d stab and cut you to death. Watch you bleed for his own entertainment and amusement. Maybe this was all you were to him. A cheap entertainment.

He didn’t care about your trauma, did he? Back when you told him about it. Back when you felt you nearly died, talking about it. Back then, you believed it was for some greater cause. To be his. To be free. To be at all.

Now you were sure it was all for nothing.

He took a slow breath, as if to steel himself, but then he didn’t hesitate. The sound and sight of your hair being cut off was like the final blow to your chest you needed to lose yourself entirely.

Again, he didn’t cut off an atrocious amount. You didn’t look like the scary doll yet.

But this time, he cut off double the amount he did last time. And that was nearly a third of your hair.

A few moments ago, you had been so sure that all your tears had dried out, but now you were certain they had not. The slight quiver of your lip was the warning of what was to come, right before your vision was blurred by tears. Your shoulders and your hands were shaking by the sheer pressure you applied on yourself in order not to sob.

He felt it. He wasn’t an idiot. Of course he felt it. But he still didn’t look at you.

And yet, for the tiniest, briefest moment, you were sure, you saw him hesitate.

But that didn’t stop him. He kept cutting the strands precisely and carefully, with a gentleness that was almost mocking you.

He didn’t stop until your hair decorated the floor like a silky carpet. And you felt something inside of you break. It didn’t come at once. It came slowly and stealthily. But you could practically watch in the mirror as the gleam in your eyes faded.

Who were you now? Hana, maybe?

His girl? No. The thought made your stomach churn.

His captive. You were his captive. No more and no less.

And you were sure, that was exactly what he felt as well.

The next few days passed in silence. Neither of you spoke a word to each other. He didn’t yell at you or order you around. You got to sleep in your own bed and he didn’t even try once to approach you. It was a quiet co-existence. You barely spent any time in the same room, unless it was to eat. And even then, most times he had the decency to inform you of the fact that the food was ready and then he’d leave you to it.

He'd go to work in the afternoons and come back in the middle of the night, like he usually did. He only subtly checked out if you were still there.

As if you could just go anywhere else.

But he didn’t speak.

And Hell, you were sure, you weren’t ever going to say another word to him.

The only thing that did change were the missing doors. There were no doors, except for the front door and the one in his bedroom. Of course he got to keep his fucking door. After all, it wasn’t him who got punished.

Despite it all, you found yourself longing. Thinking back to the times you had slept in his bed, felt his breath tickle your neck. The way his arms wrapped around you from behind protectively and pulled you closer to him. The way he kissed your forehead and called you sweetness.

And despite yourself, you were desperate to feel him again. Never in your life before had you ever felt this lonely. So touch-starved. So needy to be with another person. To be with him.

But you knew that was not an option. You had no idea what the situation between you was. You just knew that you hated him.

You hated him for almost killing you, for cutting off your hair. For removing all the doors and for ignoring you.

But you hated him the most, because he didn’t believe you, when you said you didn’t try to leave.

You would have understood his need to punish you, if you truly tried to leave. After all, yes, he informed you of the consequences, right? But, for God’s sake, you didn’t try to leave.

Maybe he was punishing you for the man and the way he looked at you. Like you were some beaten puppy. He had to kill him, right? If he didn’t, you were sure, the police would have flooded the apartment within the next hour.

You almost understood his motives.

And that was what scared you the most.

You tossed and turned that night, unable to find a wink of sleep. He came home later than usual and you found yourself worrying. Had something happened? Or did he finally decide to abandon you?

Maybe he’d come back when he was sure there was no more left of you than a corpse, starved to death. Or maybe he wouldn’t ever come back.

Maybe he found another obsession.

With an annoyed sigh you turned on your back and kicked the blanket away. The jealousy almost ate you up. You ran your hands through your hair and paused when you felt how it was shorter than before. Every time you felt that, you took a moment to remember it. That horrible day. It had taken so much from you. All you actually wanted was to go back in time and for things to be the way they were before. Not before he abducted you. Before that fight, before that scene. Back when he called you my love.

You sighed again and sat up in frustration. The moment you heard the door open, you exhaled in relief. He hadn’t abandoned you. And you felt bad for even thinking he would. But was it truly that unlikely?

You listened to the sounds of him coming back and going about his nightly routine. Everything stayed the same. You heard it all the better, since you had no damn door. You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. He wouldn’t approach you. He hadn’t done so in days.

He wouldn’t hold you. Wouldn’t kiss you. He was no more than a ghost in your book. Or maybe you were the ghost. You had no past, no family, nothing. All you had was him and even that seemed pretty uncertain for now.

You squeezed your eyes shut and hoped you would eventually find some sleep. The sounds of his footsteps and the microwave were like a soothing lullaby and soon you were slowly drifting off to sleep. Exhaustion got the better of you, though you didn’t really understand what exhausted you so. All you did was wander these halls, eat, sleep and read a few pages of a book every now and then.

God, your days were so empty without him.

You would have even preferred to play one of his crazy mind games. Yes, you’d even prefer him to get physical with you. At least that would have required some kind of intimacy. A slap sounded just delightful in that moment. At least he’d touch you then. Look at you. And speak to you.

You were already half-asleep, so you didn’t really hear when his footsteps approached your room. Or maybe, if you heard, you told yourself it was wishful thinking. After all, why would he come here? It was the middle of the night and you were still firmly ignoring each other. Maybe it was better that way. That way you didn’t get the chance to anger him further. Maybe that way, you’d get to keep some of your hair.

No. He had no reason to come close. But he still did.

He stood in the doorway of your room, where once a door had been and leaned against the frame. His arms were crossed and he stared down at your unmoving form. He didn’t make a sound as he stood there. A small frown on his face revealed how thoughtful he truly was and how hard it was for him to hold back. There was obviously something he wanted.

You, probably.

None of this. Whenever you were in the same room, he had this cold, this calm and collected air around him, like he truly didn’t need you. Which he obviously didn’t. After all, he almost killed you.

But in that moment he had trouble hiding it. And he was probably grateful that you didn’t sense his presence behind you. He did that sometimes. He used these soft and peaceful moments to watch over you and make sure you were still there. After all, you didn’t speak. He had to make sure that you were still well and alive somehow.

But that night was different. That night the pull was far more intense than it usually was. He sighed very softly and looked down at the blister in his hand. Only four were missing. Four of twenty-eight tiny pills.

Four days in which you took the active decision against whatever the hell that was between you. It was essential to keep consequences out of the way.

But only for four days. And now, it was the eleventh day, but only four were missing. He stared down firmly at it, before he took a step closer and carefully placed the blister down on your nightstand. With another slow step he took, he hovered right above you. You looked so incredibly peaceful. He tilted his head to the side and watched you with the same, thoughtful frown. With a slow breath that he released, he reached out a hand. It hovered right above your face, his knuckles ready to push your hair back and caress your cheek. You were still so beautiful. He knew the hair had probably broken your heart. He had seen the look in your eyes, the silent tears and the way you struggled to look at him ever since. But couldn’t you see that you were still so incredibly beautiful, so exquisite? That no amount of hair lost, that no scar or mark could ever corrupt your undying beauty?

His frown deepened. And after a breath, he pulled his hand away.

He was already about to pull back and leave, when you shifted. You were obviously deep asleep, mumbling to yourself and sighing against the pillow. Your shirt rode up the tiniest bit and it revealed the skin of your waist. He clenched his jaw. Of course he felt the familiar feeling of desire stir in the pit of his stomach. But, no. Not like this. Not ever.

Not, when you couldn’t even look at him.

The sight of your waist also stirred something else in him. The indescribable urge to murder. To murder the man who once murdered your innocence. What a coward he was. To die, before he got to put his hands on him. Gutless.

He reached for the blanket, ready to wrap it around you, when his gaze wandered to your stomach for a moment. Another feeling took hold of him, far more intense than any carnal desire ever could.

His frown deepened even more and he reached out a hand, but this time he didn’t hesitate to touch you. His fingers rested on the soft, sensitive skin of your belly. You stirred, but only for a short moment. He wasn’t afraid you’d wake up. His thoughts were running rampage and he was too focused on the image in his head. The soft curve of your belly, the life that would possibly grow inside you one day. His life. His flesh and blood.

His.

Maybe it was already there. Who could tell? He had only then found the blister. But you seemed to know for what were seven days now.

His frown didn’t falter as his gaze wandered up and down your form. He exhaled a soft sigh and tilted his head down, resting his forehead against your back. He closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep himself from doing anything more.

You hadn’t spoken in days. He couldn’t just wake you up and demand whatever the hell. Even he knew that. But he still had to hold himself back forcefully. The feel of you, the smell of your skin, it drove him wild.

He hummed softly and leaned closer, close enough to press a soft, lingering kiss against the bare skin of your belly. You stirred again and mumbled something inaudible. He took it that was his cue to leave. With a soft sigh he got up and made his way back to the doorframe. He looked back at you once more, before he left the room.

Only four days. Huh.

You truly were his girl.

_______________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Thank you @muriels-lover for the lovely request! I loved it so much and I hope it's approximately the thing you had in mind! And also, I have your other request in the back of my mind still, don't worry, I loved that one as well!

I love you all! SO much! And I'm still working on answering all your sweet messages (which continue making me tear up, in case you didn't know!)

[draggomon]

This is something I've been working through with my current partner. My therapist referred to me as a "emotional medic".

I would constantly prioritize the safety and boundaries and comfort of EVERYONE else before allowing myself even the barest minimum of self care. I would shut down, constantly, just to keep myself safe.

Any emotions I felt that would be an inconvenience to the people I was with would be shut down and ignored until something broke and I was hurt further.

I developed this after years of being with and around people where, even the most minor of boundary setting or messing up (on either side, them or I) could potentially lead them to huge spirals and multi day long depression / anxiety episodes.

It's something I'm learning to get past. I'm tired of being the medic and I deserve to have people who will give me the benefit of the doubt when I fuck up. Who trust me to act like an adult when they fuck up. Who treat themselves and ME as a adults in an adult relationship.

I remember talking to my therapist about my partner at the time not being an abuser. He was a good guy! Just...anxious....yea?

"You don't have to be a bad person to be an abuser. You're being punished and trained to react in a way that fits him. He can be a good guy and still be taking advantage of you, of manipulating you, of hurting you. Until you stand up, you can't walk the path of healing.

Standing up would inconvenience him, and he has trained you to believe his needs outweighs yours. You need to stand up, or you'll die laying down. "

We deserve better. All of us.

Edit to add some further thinking:

We can all be abusers. You can be an abuser without intending on it. I have a partner, and then I have some people I'm intimate with. I've taken advantage of them before without meaning to. I've manipulated them before without meaning too.

You can't make yourself a safe person to exist around until you make it ok to be confronted and questioned. When my partner or "pseudo partners" come to me saying I made them feel a certain way, then it starts a dialogue.

I call this "coming to the table". I make sure the table I keep is calm. If I need to calm down, I'll leave and do so. I won't punish or minimize, but I also will allow myself space to feel my emotions and share my experiences.

I can hurt one of the people in my circle, and it doesn't make me a bad person. But the fact that I can recognize that hurt, make space for it, and can do so without self punishing or spiraling, means they can focus fully on themselves and what they need. That means it's safe to say no, to say they don't wanna prioritize me. It's safe to say I'm not the only thing keeping them together.

I'm wanted, not needed. Which is scary AF. It also is why our relationships are so strong.

It's not just about your ability to not spiral during the minor things. It's you showing love and care during the dark times, without punishing yourself. It's humanizing and loving yourself even after you've hurt someone, so that they don't have to take care of you or minimize themselves.

It's allowing yourself to be strong enough to realize that you're not powerful enough to ruin someone's life so easily, that you're scared and sometimes you hurt people. That you can still love those people, and loving them means confronting that you hurt them by saying "I hurt you. I love you and didn't mean to. I'd like to make space for your healing, however that looks like. I got me, I won't take it personally. We're still a team."

And you gotta trust them to not lash out. To not use this hurt as an excuse to hurt you. Because when we are afraid, when we feel alone or betrayed, and we feel hurt, we attack th3 thing that hurt us. It's in our nature. We're still animals.

If you can't be fully honest when hurt, then you'll retreat and barriers will start to be built. Once built, it's hard to tear that shit down. Make it so that it's safe for others to be fully honest with you, even when both of you are hurt.

Btw when someone says "don't talk to me like that, I don't know you" the normal thing to do is apologize for the perceived overfamiliarity and correct the behavior. Just in case anyone was wondering

[arminreindl]

Croc Paleontology Recap January 2025

The year has just begun and already we got a bunch of pretty neat new studies on fossil pseudosuchians so I'll just briefly go over them and unless I forget or end up procrastinating/getting too busy I'll hopefully be able to keep this going throughout the rest of the year.

Just to give you a brief overview, the highlights of this month include: salt glands in gavialoids, crocodilian predation on azhdarchids, diversifications and extinctions in thalattosuchians and a new species of aetoaur from India. Lets begin.

Evidence for salt glands in gavialoids

Starting off with something relating to the dispersal of gavialoids, we got "Evaluation of the endocranial anatomy of the early Paleogene north African gavialoid crocodylian Argochampsa krebsi and evolutionary implications for adaptation to salinity tolerance in marine crocodyliforms" by Pliggersdorfer, Burke and Mannion.

The title already gives a lot away, but the point was that Argochampsa, from the early Paleocene Ouled Abdoun Basin in Morocco, was examined for evidence of salt tolerance. Why? Because the dispersal of gavialoids remains weird. Both modern forms aren't especially keen on saltwater and are only known to consistently occur in freshwater (tho we have a recent example of an indian gharial caught in a fishing net off the coast of India), yet we have plenty of extinct gavialoids that either indicate that the group must have crossed oceans (see any "gryposuchine") or straight up lived at sea (also see some "gryposuchines").

Now, one such example might also be Argochampsa. Both because the Ouled Abdoul Basin famously preserves coastal deposits and because, at least following some phylogenies, Argochampsa might be closely related to the gharials of South America and today (others say its not even a gavialoid but lets ignore that for now). So all things considered one might expect marine habits from Argochampsa, yet so far no such adaptations could be identified. Well, Pliggersdorfer and co. analyzed a thus-far undescribed skull and actually managed to find something. Small depressions on the inside of the skull are suspiciously similar to ones seen in the extinct, fully marine metriorhynchoids, depressions that in the latter have been interpreted as having been left by salt glands. There is also some further evidence through the morphology of the inner ear.

This conclusion further extends to a handfull of other taxa, including the dyrosaurid Rhabdognathus and the recently named gavialoid Sutekhsuchus, and lends itself to the hypothesis that salt glands may have been ancestral to gavialoids, something I personally find unsurprising given their proximity to crocodyloids and their dispersal across the world (really if anything alligatoroids seem like the odd one out).

Fun fact, yours truly is featured in the paper in the form of two silhouettes.

Left: Argochampsa, illustrated by Seismic Shrimp/JW Right: Piscogavialis, perhaps the most famous marine gavialoid, illustrated by Joschua Knüppe

The brain of Paralligator

Second on our neat little list, the neuroanatomy of Paralligator, studied through CT scans and 3D modeling and published on in "Neurocranial anatomy of Paralligator (Neosuchia: Paralligatoridae) from the Upper Cretaceous of Mongolia". Given that I am not great with brain things, I'll keep this one short.

Now for those unfamiliar, Paralligator is part of a somewhat strange clade known as the Paralligatoridae, which contrary to their name are nowhere near real alligators (tho some do look deceptively similar). Instead, they are much more basal members of Eusuchia.

Measurements of the olfactory bulbs, responsible for the sense of smell, indicate that in Paralligator this sense was similarily developed to allodaposuchids and crocodilians, as is the inner ear who's anatomy suggests a semi-aquatic lifestyle. Paralligator does however differ in possessing a mesothemoid, a bony septum in the olfactory region that is also seen in dyrosaurids, baurusuchids and dinosaurs, but not modern crocodiles.

Borealosuchus remains from Colorado

Tho seemingly unexciting, this study, "First record of Borealosuchus sternbergii from thelower Paleocene Denver Formation (lower Danian),Colorado (Denver Basin)" actually helps us fill a neat little gap in our previous knowledge on croc survival across the Cretaceous-Paleocene extinction.

Simply put, though America's croc record across the KPG is rather remarkable, showing both many survivors and some incredible diversification after the impact, Colorado is kind of a blind spot, despite its potential importance. Perhaps one of the best examples of a survivor concerns the genus Borealosuchus, which is both geographically and stratigraphically widespread. To put things into perspective, this genus occured as far north as Canada and as far south as Texas, first appearing in the Late Cretaceous and dying out in the Eocene.

This paper now described several skulls from the Corall Bluff's locality of the Denver Formation, earliest Paleocene, that can be attributed to Borealosuchus sternbergii, definitively extending its range beyond KPG (granted, there are tentatively referred Paleocene occurences elsewhere), making it one of the largest suvivors of the mass extinction, with adults growing up to 2.3 meter in length. The specimens from Colorado are smaller, in the 1.5 to 1.7 meter range, but they are also regarded as immature individuals and are therefore also regarded as usefull in illustrating how the animals changed as they grew into adulthood.

This paper is especially well timed for those that follow @knuppitalism-with-ue 's Formation Stream series. As you might know, Corall Bluffs is to be drawn barely a week from now and this is a fantastic addition.

Left: Borealosuchus drawn by Atak_Draws Right: Distribution of Borealosuchus by Lessner, Petermann and Lyson 2025

Growth of a peirosaur

Our next paper for discussion is "Life history and growth dynamics of a peirosaurid crocodylomorph (Mesoeucrocodylia; Notosuchia) from the Late Cretaceous of Argentina inferred from its bone histology" by Tamara G. Navarro and colleagues. This study conducted the first histology of peirosaurid limb bones, specifically of an indetermined taxon clading together with Uberabasuchus.

As a brief refresher, peirosaurids are a branch of medium to large sized Notosuchians that I personally think can be aptly described as appearing somewhat like scaly dogs or pigs with often robust, wedge-shaped heads and heavily armored bodies.

The results show that the animal had reached sexual maturity, yet was not yet fully grown. What's also noted is the exact growth dynamics of this animal. This is to say, the studied peirosaurid had overall slow growth with cycles of no growth whatsoever and two periods of increased growth, tho once put against other notosuchians the study deems the growth rates to be better described as "moderate". Pepesuchus meanwhile, belonging to the closely related itasuchids, was a fast grower. Extending things beyond their shared clade shows a virtual mish-mash of dynamics, with Araripesuchus buitreraensis displaying slow growth rates (yet Araripesuchus wegeneri having faster rates than the peirosaur), Iberosuchus showing slow rates, and Notosuchus displaying high growth rates (hell, theres even variation between individuals). A final point concerns the age of the individual, which is....contradictory. Based on the limb bones, the study estimates that the animal was at the very least 15 years old, but previous study of the osteoderms has yielded an estimated age of 18 years old. Ultimately, further study is needed, but it does clearly show how the histology of different parts of the skeleton varies.

Shown below, Uberabasuchus terrificus by Scott Reid

Predation on pterosaurs

Here's a fun one, "A juvenile pterosaur vertebra with putative crocodilian bite from the Campanian of Alberta, Canada", once again with a name that tells you very much what you're in for.

Brown and colleagues report on the discovery of a juvenile specimen of the azhdarchid Cryodrakon from the Dinosaur Park Formation of Alberta, Canada. The neck vertebra bears some conical bite marks, notably different from those of theropods, which generally have D-shaped or compressed tooth crosssections (sans spinosaurids, which aren't present). Champsosaurus is also ruled out due to its inferred feeding preferences, weak bite force and slender teeth. Mammals are potential candidates, but the team regards it as more likely that the trace maker was a crocodilian. Considering the fauna of the Dinosaur Park Formation, this would suggest the culprit was either Leidyosuchus, Albertochampsa or an animal described as "Stangerochampsa-like".

Now this is a very interesting, if not exactly unexpected interaction. On the one hand, having direct fossil evidence for this is a big deal, even if we don't know if the bite marks were left due to the pterosaur being actively hunted or if they were simply left when a lucky croc came across the carcass of an already deceased Cryodrakon. On the other hand, crocodiles and kin are notoriously opportunistic and broad in their diet, so one feeding on a pterosaur is something that seems like a no-brainer in principle, especially a relatively small individual with a wingspan of "only" 2 meters. This is further supported by the fact that crocodilian bite marks have also been reported from the Romanian pterosaur Eurazhdarcho.

Obvious difference in prey size and geography aside (and taxon names even within the chosen setting while we're on it), Prehistoric Planet really nailed the nailon the head with this one.

In the left corner, a juvenile Cryodrakton (art by Hank Sharpe). In the right corner, Leidyosuchus (art by Gunnar Bivens) LET THEM FIGHT (or scavenge)

Evolutionary trends and extinctions in Thalattosuchia

This one's a last minute entry, by which I mean this one got just published as I was about to wrap this whole thing up. "Analysing Thalattosuchia palaeobiodiversity through the prism of phylogenetic comparative methods" explores how the evolution and the extinctions of members of this group were shaped by both biotic and abiotic factors.

Given the shere breadth of this topic, a quick summary of thalattosuchia seems kinda in order. In short, thalattosuchians are a group of what are likely to be early crocodyliforms adapted to life at sea. They can be split into two groups, the teleosauroids, superficially gharial like animals that likely stuck to coastal waters, and the metriorhynchoids, open ocean animals with fluked tails, no body armor and paddle-like limbs. Both groups reached their greatest diversity in the late Jurassic, but managed to survive into the Cretaceous before disappearing entirely.

The study recaps that thalattosuchians first reach great diversity during the Toarcian, tho this is likely influenced by preservation bias thanks to Lagerstätten such as the Posidonia shale, and a later diversification takes place during the Bathonian. Regardless, the transition from the lower to middle Jurassic sees an increased trend in both thalattosuchian groups towards shorter snouts, which are associated with durophagy or hypercarnivory. This essentially gives rise to the teleosauroids of the Machimosaurinaei, which appear during the Bathonian and have blunt, robust teeth, as well as the metriorhynchoid Geosaurinae, which appeared at the same time and had ziphodont (serrated teeth). The reasons for this could be twofold. On the one hand, thalattosuchians were very abundant, so expanding into new nisches helped them coexist, with ecosystems preserving fish-eaters, hypercarnivores, durophages and more at the same time. More of an underlying factor could be a drop in ichthyosaur diversity, leaving plenty of open nisches for these crocs to fill.

Subsequently, during the transition from the Middle to Late Jurassic, there was another diversification event with both groups establishing new major clades, possibly associated with the warm temperatures of the Late Jurassic, before the diversity crashes with the onset of the Cretaceous. The authors note that this too might have been related to climate, with the Cretaceous survivors mostly being found in warmer waters.

Left: A Dakosaurus ambushing an ichthyosaur by Gabriel Ugueto Right: A large Machimosaurus rests on the beach as a sauropod approaches, art by Joschua Knüppe

and for the final study I wanna talk about

Kuttysuchus: A new Aetosaur from India

Now, by all accounts one might be surprised to see this just kinda thrown in at the end here rather than getting a dedicated post as I usually like to do with new forms. And truth be told, theres just not that much to say about "A New paratypothoracin aetosaur (Archosauria: Pseudosuchia) from the Upper Triassic Dharmaram Formation of India and its biostratigraphic implications".

Kuttysuchus is our first pseudosuchian to be described this year and to get things out of the way, its not super exciting in terms of material. Like some other recently named aetosaurs, Kuttysuchus is based entirely on a handfull of osteoderms. And there's nothing wrong with that, after all osteoderms are rather distinctive for these animals. It does however mean that the information we can get from them is a bit limited and thus makes it hard to really put together something engaging.

More interesting than the anatomy then is the range and its relationship to other aetosaurs. The fossils are known from the Dharmaram Formation of India, which you might recall is also home to the recently named Venkatasuchus. Both Venkatasuchus and Kuttysuchus are members of the Paratypothoracini, tho the former is significantly more derived and the latter more basal.

Fossil osteoderms of Kuttysuchus, all belonging to the central double row that stretches across the back.

I'll be entirely honest. This was a lot more work to type out than anticipated, but admittedly also fairly rewarding. Hopefully you dear reader found it equally interesting, and hey, congrats on making it to the end.

[deerlysacred]

🍎 i feel so high school every time i look at you . . . { dean winchester x fem!reader }

𐂂 𝄢 { you always felt like you missed out on lots of silly, social & romantic things in your teenage years because you were very shut-down and depressed back then. dean shows you that there's still time to make up for it. }

𖣂 𝄢 plot : established relationship & fluff

♫ 𝄢 concept song : so high school - taylor swift

Clink.

. . .

Clink!

The soft clatter of pebbles against your bedroom window barely registered at first. You were curled up under a mountain of blankets, comfortably burrowed in your own little nest, flipping through a book with a cup of tea precariously (?) balanced on your stomach. You told yourself it was probably just the wind. Or a tree branch. Or, you know, the natural creaks and groans of a house that is absolutely not haunted (you hoped so).

Then— another clink.

And another.

You sighed, your eyebrows knitting together.

Okay. Either a ghost just decided to throw hands, or some poor bird tragically lost its sense of direction.

You went out of bed, padding over to the window as you pulled the curtains away. Your eyes widened against the unexpected scene.

Dean Winchester. Standing in your backyard, throwing rocks at your window.

The sight alone was almost too much for your brain to process. He was grinning up at you like some teenage heartthrob straight out of an '80s rom-com, one hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket while the other —oh great— prepared to lob another pebble.

"Dean?" you whisper-yelled, opening your window. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What's it look like, sweetheart?" he whisper-yelled right back, looking too proud of himself. "I'm sneakin' my girl out for a date. Proper teenage style. Now c'mon, before your strict old folks catch me."

You just stared at him, struggling to process several things at once. One, he is standing in your yard throwing pebbles at your window like a delinquent in a coming of age TV show. Two, he just called you his girl, which— okay, that probably should've sound normal to you since you're his girlfriend indeed. For a while now, in fact. But your brain still short-circuited a little, getting flustered even after all this time.

"…Dean, I don't have strict old folks."

He waved a dismissive hand. "I dunno, Y/N. Your grandma did glare at me once. Feels like I'm riskin' life and limb here."

You bit back a laugh. "You do realize I could just use the door, right?"

Dean scoffed, his breath getting visible with the fog because of the chilly air of the evening. "Oh, sure, and miss out on the whole forbidden romance, Romeo-and-Juliet, sneakin'-through-the-night scene? Where's your sense of drama, sweetheart? Hm? Where's your passion?" He gestured grandly towards the window and flexed his muscles briefly. "Now, c'mon. Climb out or somethin'. I'll catch ya."

You folded your arms, shaking your head as you chuckled. "You will not catch me!"

Dean put a hand over his heart, looking scandalized. "Excuse me? I am a gentleman. I would absolutely catch you."

"Dean, be honest. Do you want to risk finishing this date night before it even began after you broke your arm because you got too full of yourself?"

He squinted, like he was actually considering the question. "…Okay, fair point. Plan B— the a ladder in the garage. We improvise."

You shook your head again, a helpless smile breaking through. You knew why he was doing this. He probably couldn't stop thinking about what you told him last night— how you felt like you missed out on things as a teenager. How you overthink about the past missed opportunities sometimes, okay… Maybe more than sometimes. And here he was now. And because that he was Dean, instead of just saying something sweet or reassuring and get over with it (not like he was very good with words too), he was throwing pebbles at your window like a teenage rebel, giving you the moment you never got to have.

And damn it if that didn't make you fall for him even more.

"Give me a minute." you said, already reaching for your coat.

Dean grinned, all boyish mischief and dimples, retrieving the slightly rusted ladder from the garage, setting it against the house. "That's my girl, come."

You sighed and closed the window before carefully making your way back down. When you were only a couple of steps from the bottom, Dean suddenly spread his arms wide, wiggling his fingers.

"Alright, sweetheart— leap of faith. I got you."

You eyed him warily. "Dean…"

"Oh, come on. Where's your sense of adventure? Woulda made such a cute movie moment."

You rolled your eyes but decided to humor him. With a deep breath, you let go of the ladder and jumped.

Dean, to his credit, did catch you. Mostly.

He stumbled back a step, arms full of you, before he managed to steady them both, laughing. "See? Told ya I'd—oof—catch you."

You clung to him, half-giggling, half-mortified. "That was not smooth."

"Eh, I give it a solid eight outta ten," Dean said, setting you on your feet. He brushed an imaginary leaf off your shoulder, voice dipping low and playful. "Y'know, if this was some cheesy teen drama, this'd be the part where we kiss real slow, right before your dad comes out with a shotgun."

You snorted, tilting your head. "Too bad my dad's not around to threaten you."

Just as the two of you turned towards the Impala, movement from across the street caught your eye.

Mr. Jenkins.

Mr. Jenkins was your eighty-something-year-old neighbor who sits on his porch every night sipping his coffee, watching the world go by. And right now, he was watching you and Dean with the exact expression of a man who has seen some things in his time but has never seen this.

Dean followed your gaze and gave Mr. Jenkins a slow, respectful nod.

Mr. Jenkins narrowed his eyes. Took a sip of coffee. Kept staring.

Dean turned back to you, whispering. "Alright, I think I've been made. Your grandpa's gonna call the cops, isn't he?"

"He's not my grandpa."

"You sure? He's got that 'disapproving man of the house' energy goin' on."

You sighed. "Just get in the car before he starts asking questions."

Dean tugged open the Impala's door with a dramatic flourish, waving you in like he's some kind of old-school gentleman. "After you, milady."

"Dean…?" you said slowly, side-eyeing him.

"Mm?" He looked perfectly innocent. Too innocent.

"You're taking me to a makeout spot?"

Dean smirked. "Technically, I'm takin’ you to a scenic overlook with a great view of the stars." A beat. "But, yeah, also a makeout spot."

You groaned, slumping against the seat. "I hate everything."

"Nahhh, you love it."

…You kind of did love it. But he didn't need to know that.

When he finally pulled up to the clearing, the view was stunning. An open sky stretching for miles, stars shining bright against the darkness, the town lights twinkling far below. Dean shut off the engine and hopped out, you hugged your coat and went out to clim up on the hood of Baby to sit. When Dean came back, he was holding— a picnic basket?

Your brows shot up. "Oh my God, you packed snacks?"

Dean looked vaguely offended. "Sweetheart, I always pack snacks."

You laughed as he set the basket down on the hood of the Impala and sat next to you. He pulled out a few chocolate bars, a bag of chips, and—of course—a pack of beer.

"Very nutritious." you remarked.

Dean popped the cap off a bottle. "Hey, you want gourmet, sweetheart, you're in the wrong car."

You rolled your eyes but took a chocolate bar, unwrapping it as you leaned back against the windshield, eyes drifting to the sky. It really was beautiful up here. Quiet. Peaceful.

Then, the soft strumming of a guitar filters through the Impala's speakers. An old, slow love song, the kind that makes your chest ache in that bittersweet way.

You glanced at Dean, who was busy nursing his beer like this was no big deal. Like he didn't just put on a song as if this was a romance movie. Your stomach flipped, biting your bottom lip, you spoke.

"Dean…"

He cleared his throat. "Just thought, y'know… if you ever wanted that teenage movie moment… well. This ain't a prom, but…" He gestured around you. "Got the view. Got the music. Got the devastatingly handsome date."

You giggled, leaning into his side. "You are pretty devastating."

Dean grinned, draping an arm around your shoulders. For a while, you just sat there, listening to the song and cuddling.

After a moment of silence, he glanced down at you as he was caressing your shoulder gently. "So, what kinda stuff do you think you missed out on?"

"I don't know. Just… normal teenage things, I guess. Like— stupid, fun stuff. Sneaking out just to go nowhere. Sleepovers. Gossiping about crushes. A first kiss that wasn't tainted by some deep emotional crisis."

Dean winced playfully. "Oof. That one hit close to home."

You smirked. "Right?"

Dean leaned back on his palms, looking thoughtful. "Yeah, I get that. I missed out on a bunch of crap, too. No high school parties. No prom. No dumb summer jobs or college road trips. Just—" he huffed a dry laugh. "—training, hunting, and trying to keep Sammy safe."

You frowned, reaching for his hand. "That's not fair. You deserved those things, Dean."

He shrugged, squeezing your fingers. "Yeah, well… wasn't in the cards for me."

You looked down at your joined hands, your thumb tracing over his knuckles. "Sometimes I think about it. What kind of person I would've been if things had been different. If I'd been happy back then."

"You ever wish you could do it over?"

You hesitated, then shook your head. "No if it meant I wouldn't end up here. With you."

Dean's lips parted slightly, like you just knocked the wind out of him. Then, after a second, he cleared his throat and smirked. "Damn. You keep talkin' like that, and I'm gonna have to start writing poetry."

"Oh, please. I'd love to hear your poetry."

Dean straightened, putting on a dramatic voice. "Roses are red, Impala is black. Every time you kiss me, I forget how to act."

You laughed and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. "That was beautiful. You should publish that."

Dean grinned. "Oh, totally. I heard bad poetry is in high demand."

"Then congrats, baby, you're about to be a bestseller."

You sat like that for a while, the laughter fading into something softer, warmer. Then, as the song playing on the radio faded into another slow melody, Dean suddenly sat up.

"Alright, that's it." He turned to you with a grin. "We're fixin' this."

You blinked. "Uh… Fixing what?"

He hopped off the hood, holding out a hand to you. "We missed out on stupid teenage things, right? So let's make up for it. Starting with a slow prom dance under the stars."

You huffed a small laugh but didn't resist when he took your hand, helping you down. The second you were standing, Dean turned, grabbed a soft flannel blanket from the basket, and carefully draped it over your shoulders.

"Wouldn't want my girl gettin' cold." he murmured, making sure it wrapped snugly around you. Then, with a boyish smirk, he added: "Also, this way you can't run when I step on your toes."

You giggled. "Wow. Confidence through the roof, Winchester."

Dean just grinned and pulled you closer, swaying you two gently to the quiet music playing from the Impala's radio.

At first, it was ridiculous. He exaggerated his steps like some old-school ballroom instructor, guiding you dramatically across the dirt like you were at some grand gala instead of parked on an empty hill. But you played along, batting your lashes and letting out an over-the-top sigh, as if you'd just been swept into the most magical moment of your life.

Then, somewhere along the way, the teasing melted into something softer.

Your movements slowed, your bodies falling into an easy rhythm. Your arms looped around Dean's neck, your fingers absentmindedly curling into his hair. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs drawing lazy circles through the fabric of your clothing. The blanket cocooned you in warmth, shielding you from the cold night air.

For a while, you just swayed. No words, no hurry. Just you two, the hum of the radio, the distant chirp of crickets, and the glow of the stars above.

Then Dean dipped his head, his nose brushing lightly against yours. His voice was quieter now, softer. "Y'know… I think I like our version of prom better."

You smiled up at him. "Yeah?"

"Mmhm." His voice was lazy. "No bad music. No ugly corsages. And best of all…" His lips quirked up. "I get to kiss the prettiest girl here."

You barely had time to catch your breath before Dean tilted his head, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. This one wasn't playful or teasing— it was deep, unhurried, and sure. Reassuring. Reassuring in a way that told you you didn't miss out on anything, everything little step in life brought you here. To him. And you knew, that this was more meaningful and real than any ghost of a never-happened memory.

[bomberqueen17]

middle-aged stuff

This is the time of year when I have determination and free time so i do all my medical appointments. This year I'm old enough that they want to screen me for colon cancer.

it's funny because current events, so i'm like, ah, it's the downfall of the western world. my taxes are funding genocide and man-babies playing dolls have decided that cruelty makes their enemies squeak satisfyingly and I get to watch babies starve about it. Meaninglessness blah blah. Oh and I have to get all these cancer screenings, and petition my insurance company about having them covered since they're supposed to be. And oh yes this and that. Mundane. Boring.

Also in current ongoing things, my most politically-active IRL friend, who lives over near the farm and dedicated her life from 2016-2024 to the Run For Something kind of aesthetic of trying to reform local politics first, recently (this week) succumbed to a prolonged fight with cancer, and it's incredibly sad and depressing and at least I know she's not seeing what's happening now, but I'm like. Well.

Well I'm taking my cancer screenings seriously I guess. Hers was a special case with many contributing factors but oh my gosh it was brutal and they tried everything and she fought so hard and god, how draining. I said goodbye to her in November, and she was so cheerful about it because that's the kind of person she was. My sister and BIL were taking some of the shifts to sit with her toward the end, so her family could sleep sometimes. It's just so brutal. So.

One thing: this is only the second time I've managed to go get a mammogram, but the form is the same. on the form, they want you to attest: I am not pregnant. And then they give you three boxes you can choose from, for how you can prove to them that you are not pregnant. One: I am postmenopausal. Two: I use an effective birth control. (List it here.) Three: I have undergone surgical contraception/sterilization (List date of procedure). None of these is the extremely, incredibly common scenario that happens to be my scenario, which is My partner has undergone sterilization and I am monogamous. Which I understand is not foolproof-- if you are lying or in some other way not actually living up to the second part of that statement (I myself have in idle thought exercises fallen victim to the extending my I-can't-get-pregnant-by-accident relief to scenarios that of course would not be covered by it; I'm sure many people over the ages have absentmindedly forgotten that their Foolproof Birth Control that affects only their partners actually makes it *more* important that they avoid all contact with anyone else.) But good Christ if I am lying, even to mysef, then this form is void. It kind of drives me nuts every time and I know they don't really care it's a CYA form but oh my god. (There's also no option for I am not sexually active or I am not sexually active with a partner who could impregnate me, which are also both foolproof and common scenarios!)

But as for colon cancer screenings, I'm gonna put that behind a cut.

There's this newfangled thing right. You can either go in for a colonoscopy, which is a routine and basic and fine normal thing people do all the time don't even worry about it, OR they can send you a kit where you submit your uh relevant excreta for testing and they look at it and find out if you have the DNA or other markers of cancer in that, and it's good for only 3 years instead of the 10 that a colonoscopy is good for, but I was like well, I will try that and see how it goes.

Friends. Friends. I thought, I am a person who, due to my lifestyle, quite often shits in a bucket in the woods, I am not precious about my toileting facilities, to be perfectly blunt. But I discovered that it is extremely difficult to contemplate shitting in a box in your own house, and then taking that box, nicely-packaged as it is, and sealing it up all nice and bringing it to a UPS store to drop off, and the outside of it has the testing company's logo and slogan, which mention the colon, prominently emblazoned.

It was not trivial. And at one point, as I struggled with my body's reluctance, I thought, it would probably have been better to take the turbolaxatives they give you, and the indicator liquid, and go and get buttwanded in a hospital. So I will do that next time.

All this is just to say, when you reach the appropriate age for such a thing, do not fall victim to thinking "shitting in a box at home sounds way easier than shitting for twelve hours and then going and being sedated in a hospital" like, by default. It may well be, you may well have really good reasons to think that, but my gosh. It was not as much easier as I'd expected.

(It's not really shitting in a box they send you a whole kit with the collection container and a sample thingy and preservative and a sealing lid and a hundred pages of instructions and a video you can watch that's sort of disturbingly clean and smiley but like. In the end. It's you, and this box, and your sense of self.) (Actually it would have been significantly easier for me to have done this in the woods than in my own house, now I think back on it. Context is king.)

anyway. anyway.

oh and. am i insane or did doctors used to be able to send prescriptions/referrals straight to the other facility? I showed up for my mammogram having left the piece of paper the doctor gave me about it on the kitchen table at home, and said as much to the receptionist. "Should I drive home and get it?" I asked-- 22 minutes each way-- and she said no no, i'll call them, but i have to call them, I can't go ahead and do the test without the thing. Best if i can speak directly to them and get a verbal approval. (What? do we not have emails anymore?)

She came to me and was like "they're not picking up and I have to check in other customers, can you call them" so of course when I called them I got right through, and they said oh we can send it, but the fax doesn't always work, so if you need a verbal, call right back and we'll pick up. I wanted to hand the phone straight to this receptionist but she was checking in a disoriented 84-year-old and I felt I really couldn't break in. So I hung up, the receptionist then said the fax thing hadn't worked, so I called back. The phone rang until it automatically hung up.

The confused 84-year-old who'd arrived after me went in for her screening. The sixtysomething with a cane who'd come in after her went in for her screening. The thirtysomething with impeccable nails who'd come in later than either of them went in for her screening.

20 minutes on hold later, I finally got through, to a different person at the doctor's office who could not understand what I wanted, did not know what to do, I finally handed my phone over to the receptionist at the radiology clinic, who managed to convey to this person what we needed.

God, I miss the like. halcyon good old days of 2012 when they could actually electronically send one another forms. And when not everyone was so horrifyingly understaffed that the prerecorded phone thing had twenty minutes of material on it because they know they won't get to your call.

Nobody wants to work anymore I guess????

Ugh. It was incredibly stressful and time-consuming and meant that I was so sweaty by the time the tech was trying to take images of me that she yelled at me for having put product on. (No ma'am, that's just stress sweat, you told me I couldn't have deodorant remember?) Had to baby-wipe myself off and then dry off on the ludicrous hospital gown. Ay yi yi. But I got my squashed glamor shots, and I am here to reassure you that all those horror stories about mammograms hurting are really for itty bitty titty types, if you have gazongas you can just plunk up there & it's a ton easier for them to get good pictures. So don't worry. It's not pleasant but like, i can basically stand outside the room while they're doing it. (No, this is hyperbole. I did take ibuprofen afterward but there were other contributing factors. My first time, when I was not so sweaty and stressed last year, was much easier.)

i am getting a lot of writing done. much of it is The Wrong Thing but it's all good. it's all good.

[polyamorousmood]

It's not exactly poly-related, but I don't know other blog with life advices, so. Maybe you have an idea what to do with frustration from being the one "normal" between your friends and partners? I'm only one without any confirmed diagnosis (we have consensus that something definitely not right there, but no one can be sure if this an adhd or chronic tiredness or I'm just born this way etc). And in practice it means that I'm the one that should adapt to everyone's quirks. I'm the one that will make decisions when no one else can. I'll be cleaning because everyone's too depressed, I'll offer comfort when someone's triggered, I can't drop my work no matter what because everyone else disabled and can be unemployed for years, etc. Don't get me wrong, I like be the one that's stable and can help, I thrive on being useful. But also sometimes it's horrifies me that I don't have any room for error, not in small things (because what can be a small thing for me can badly trigger other person) and definitely not in big (because no one would be there to pick things up). I'm working two jobs now and still mostly the one that usually cleans and cooks and thinks about things like what we will gift to that or this friend and how to pay our credit card etc. And I understand that I'm in this position because others literally have it worse! But I'm at the point where small adjustments in plans makes me see red and it's not great for everyone. No I'm not utterly underappreciated and sometimes people drops "it must be hard for you" or "you probably disabled too I don't know how you handle it so well" into conversation, but it's not like words help when I literally need for people to just deal with at least some shit. Also yes I have some control freak tendencies but they are built on the experience thst people *won't* do shit or will do it incorrectly and I'll need to redo it anyway, so I can't just "let it go". No one there malicious and I *want* to be good and accepting friend and partner. I just really tired and don't know what to do.

yeahhhh you don't really go here [insert Mean Girls gif] I mean maybe you do but this isn't the thing I'm here for blah blah so no offense, but you're not getting my best, here

See a therapist, work on ✨️boundaries✨️

No one is going to die if the dishes go unwashed a couple days longer than they should. Having someone to lean on when triggered is really nice! But panic attacks do pass on their own sooner or later. They'll be okay if you don't intervene on half of them. It feels bad and shit - I PROMISE, I get it - but I spent 6 months being 24/7 support for a suicidal person, and (aside from ensuring physical safety) me being their didn't usually help them out of the really bad moods any faster! And sure, maybe it spirals a bit with other people in the mix. That shit happens. It's okay.

Secodarily. Look at life structures and CHANGE THEM.

They can't do the dishes? Not even with a stool to sit on and video playing on their phone? Nobody can? Well then FUCK dishes, this is a paper plate household now!!

Youre the only one who can cook? Maybe like, full meals. But someone there other than you can handle fucking frozen pizzas and a kitchen timer, or microwave meals. Stock up. Stock up on snacks that require no cooking - eating those as a meal a couple times a week won't kill anyone.

80% of household shit can be made much easier in this way if you just adjust your standards a bit

I mean no disrespect at all for anyone disabled. But the vast majority of disabilities still allow you to contribute something at least sometimes.

Quite frankly, if i were in your shoes, I'd pick a couple chores I know a couple others can help with and make a group announcement I won't be doing those anymore -- ever. If they don't get done, it's their problem now, you're sorry, but you're burnt out, and you can't help them if you have a mental break.

And that last part is true, so I'd do this sooner rather than later.

Either way, I feel for you and your whole group. It sounds less than ideal for everyone, and I hope you can find something more easily sustainable soon

[theartsynebulawhodoodles]

Killer Sans and Color Sans Head-Canons

[Angst, Themes regarding mental health struggles and sensory sensitivity]

Color has naturally shaky hands and can’t handle some textures. It makes them sad and frustrated quite often. But with their shaky hands, they began to make art with shakier lines. Seeing the beauty of it made them feel better about their shaky hands. And using softer paper with less smoothness feels better for them.

Color has issues with their back being touched due to sensory sensitivity. Each touch feels extremely uncomfortable to the point of painful.

Color can’t handle loud noises often and it stresses them out, so they carry around noise cancelling headphones just in case.

Killer doesn’t like to show his chest without a top on, as his ribcage has damage to it and he feels ashamed of it.

Killer is not the best at handling embarrassment. It overwhelms him and makes him too ashamed to show himself again. Even if it was just a silly accident that isn’t a big deal. It makes him feel so small and stupid.

Killer, despite how he shows himself, is quite sensitive and experiences stress and anxiety often. He stresses over things others don’t see or see as something to stress over and it makes him feel insignificant.

Killer goes through periods of depression that can range from weeks to months. During those times he can’t do the things he likes, and it’s hard for him to go through a single day without having a moment of spiraling through negative thoughts.

[Dividers belong to either sister Lucifer or dividers that were reblog/like to use or free to use, killer sans belongs to Rahafwabas, color sans belongs to superyoumna]

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

FINAL PREDICTIONS

Here are my final predictions for where each character will end up as the series comes to an end! I mostly believe that things are going to be ending happily for everyone. This is at least somewhat informed by a September interview with Rashad where he said their goal was to give us an "incredibly satisfying" ending that will give the audience the feeling "that we are leaving all of these people right where they should be at the end of their journeys." (More recently, Rashad has been hyping the possibility of characters dying, but he's never actually said with 100% certainty that a main character would die.) I may be too optimistic here, but WE'LL SEE.

If anyone wants to discuss, my ask box is open! Tell me your predictions!

TK—quits his job, adopts Jonah, happily ever after with his husband and

Carlos—adopts Jonah, happily ever after with his family 🥰

I think during the final episode he will be helping out at dispatch in some way, but there probably won't be any additional major events for him to end the series with, aside from becoming a dad.

Owen—There are 2 possible options, but he leaves his job regardless.

Option #1: He takes the New York job as planned.

Option #2: He gets offered a similar job in Austin.

I’m leaning towards Option #2 at this point because it felt like they were setting him up to change his mind. However, I don't feel entirely confident.

Tommy—did not die at the end of episode 11, suits up for what she'll believe to be the last time to help out post-asteroid, but will discover by the end that miraculously her cancer isn’t as bad as the doctor thought and she’s going to be ok.

Maybe the scan was read wrong. Maybe it was just swelling and the swelling went down. Maybe she goes in for another check and her tumor shrunk. I don't know. But if she isn’t dead now, I really doubt they’re going to kill her at all. She basically already had a death scene, so I don’t think they would do what would amount to killing her off twice in the span of two episodes! I feel fairly confident about this.

I guess there's also the possibility that they'll leave it open, since Rashad did say that they left some doors open to continue. If that's the case, I imagine that they will leave us with Tommy at least doing well enough that we can imagine her cancer quickly goes into remission.

Judd—becomes captain of the 126 when Owen takes a new job.

Maybe there will be a mention about Grace coming home soon, or maybe that will be left open since they did have a slight hope for a season 6 renewal as they were finishing up. They wouldn’t have known whether Sierra would be able to be part of that at the time they were filming, so they might not have wanted to promise Grace's imminent return.

Mateo—2 options: he either dies or has an NDE. If he survives, he won't be deported.

Leaning towards NDE right now based on some things said in interviews and just the general feeling that it would be too depressing to kill him partway through the final episode.

If he survives, I feel pretty sure he won’t actually be deported, so that just leaves the question of how he gets out of that. One possibility is that he and Nancy get married (even though this definitely wouldn’t stop deportation in real life). It seems like they probably brought up Nancy’s opposition to marriage for a reason. That reason could have been to set up Nancy changing her mind after Mateo almost dies…I think this is possible, but I don’t know if it’s most likely. They also may have brought it up simply to answer potential viewer questions if the general audience started to wonder why they didn’t just get married to stop the deportation.

Another possibility could be that they decide not to go through with the deportation after Mateo and the rest of the 126 save the city. This is again not something that would likely happen in real life, but it seems like something that could happen in the Lone Star universe. I think this would probably be my preferred outcome.

Nancy—Potentially marrying Mateo, if not then probably happily ever after in a long-term relationship with Mateo and as a member of the 126.

Since we see Tommy in captain dress uniform in BTS, Nancy probably won't be captain anymore at the end of the series, but I assume she would be poised to take over for Tommy when Tommy eventually retires.

Or if Mateo dies, Nancy will have a bittersweet ending mourning the man she loves yet still being part of the 126.

Paul—maybe a little more with Jax and then a happy ending as part of the 126.

Marjan—I think Marjan basically already got her happy ending in episode 10 so probably there won’t be any major new developments with her. Like Paul, it will probably just be a happy ending as part of the 126.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

There are several pretty interesting and well-written analyses here that suggest that Mike suffers from depression (and hypothetically) an eating disorder. I'd be interested in your take on this (I realize that analyzing a fictional character with so little confirmed evidence is difficult, but as you said it's fun, and if there are these hypotheses, especially coming from Stranger Things where the brothers have made it clear that every detail (even clothes or colors) matters).

I'm pretty sure Mike is depressed because you don't jump off a cliff at 12 just to save your friend's baby teeth and it's clear in season 4 that he's not in the best of shape… but I would be very interested by your psychological expertise point of view ?

Could Mike’s behavior suggest any psychological challenges, such as anxiety, perfectionism, or even mild depression?

Hello there, lune. Thank you for this interesting Ask.

As you mentioned, analyzing a fictional character is very difficult. We're only able to use what we're shown in the course of the canon content. Even things said off-the-cuff by members of the cast or writing staff would be questionable in such an exercise unless it were reflected on-screen.

That said, Mike's behavior does point to some concerns worth further investigation.

You specifically mentioned people talking about Mike having depression or an eating disorder, so I will start with those.

In order to be diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, someone needs to meet the following diagnostic criteria. Yes, I did pull my DSM-V off the shelf for this.

I will highlight any areas that I think could apply to Mike.

A. Five or more of the following symptoms have been present during the same 2-week period and represent a change in prior functioning; at least 1 must be either depressed mood or loss of interest.

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, as indicated by subjective report or observation. In children or adolescents, can be irritable mood.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in activities most of the day, nearly every day, as indicated by subjective report or observation.

Significant weight loss when not actively dieting (+/- 5% body weight in a month) or significant change in appetite.

Insomnia or hypersomnia nearly every day.

Psychomotor agitation or retardation nearly every day as observable by others.

Fatigue or restlessness nearly every day.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.

Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.

Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or specific plan for committing suicide.

B. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.

C. The episode is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance or other medical condition.

So, as you can see, Mike does not meet the criteria, in my opinion, for a depressive episode, let along Major Depressive Disorder. However, it cannot be denied that he shows some hallmarks of depression, so let's shoot over to differential diagnosis.

ADHD can sometimes make people think about depression, but it's usually due to the irritability that can come with lower impulse control. Mike certain can be irritable, but I don't think he shows criteria for ADHD.

But then there's Adjustment Disorder.

I won't list out the entire criteria here to avoid boring everyone, however it can present similarly, but less seriously, to depression. The key component here is that someone shows an onset of emotional and/or behavioral symptoms within 3 months of an identifiable stressor. These symptoms include significant distress that not proportional to the stressor and/or significant impairment in important areas of functioning. The symptoms also fade within 6 months of the end of the stressor. It's important to not confuse bereavement with adjustment disorder.

When thinking about Mike's mood at the beginning of season 2, it can be easy to think he might fit the bill here, but he was technically grieving El, who he thought was dead. Same with season 1 when he thought Will was dead. I think what we're just seeing there is that Mike becomes withdrawn, sullen, and irritable when grieving. That's not really abnormal, and he does get better in both cases when the one he is grieving is revealed to be alive.

I also don't see any evidence of eating disorders. I'm not sure where this one comes from. I know Mike is skinny, but that's because his actor is skinny.

Honestly, I think Mike's "issues" are overblown. He is a teenager going through teenage things for the most part, and he has a lot of supernatural stress on top of the mundane stress. Yes, he jumped off a cliff, which is highly concerning. However, when you look at the larger picture, Mike just doesn't seem to meet diagnostic criteria for any disorders, at least based on what we see. In the moment he did that, he was in a significant state of despair. Will was alive, but his only hope in finding him, El, was missing. Couple that with a bully holding a knife on one of his friends, and Mike may have just been so emotionally exhausted that he couldn't come up with any other solution. Indeed, when we see Mike when no supernatural bullshit is happening, he's more or less a typical teenager.

Mike probably should have something that can be diagnosed. Hell, all these kids should, considering what they've experienced. However, it's not depicted on screen in Mike's case. If I were personally writing Stranger Things, I probably would try to write Mike as having depression, or some symptoms, at least. It fits the course of his story and where I think it is heading in season 5. Perhaps the Duffers felt that it would be a bit much to be so heavy on the psychological repercussions on their characters. Perhaps it's because they decided to hit on these concepts a bit stronger with Will (season 2) and Max (season 4).

Regardless, Mike has a lot going on, even if there's not enough of any one thing for a diagnosis. Just because he hasn't met criteria yet, he still could in time if he doesn't get help and/or his situation doesn't improve. At the very least, his willingness to put himself in harm's way to save others is concerning. However, I think it comes more from a place of wanting to help others than hating himself. He doesn't so much devalue himself as he does simply value others more.

[jedidragonrider]

I have to tell this story.

When I was graduating college, I did so early. I took 3 years instead of 4, which had always been the plan, and I was going to get my MLIS. I had a full ride to graduate school, a job to support me, I had an apartment set up with friends from high school, and I was beyond sure for the first time in my life that I was doing God’s will. During my last semester of college, even though I was sad to have to say goodbye to my friends a year earlier, I was so excited to become a librarian. I also knew that if I ever got married, I would be able to either work part time or volunteer at a library, and then I could use my skills to build a functioning home library, which is something Ive always wanted if i had lots of kids (and I always would tell people I’d want 10+ kids!!).

We come to the Feast of the Assumption (March 24). We go to High Mass and then to a friends house for a party. These aren’t my friends really, just friends of friends, but the friends I knew well were also present (I really just wanted to hang around them because I had about of month of school left and wanted to spend every possible moment with them). Now this party was an absolute disaster than made me so disgusted with radtrads, but the worst bit was when a freshman girl who had somehow come into my friend group asked me what I was doing after graduation. So I excitedly told her I was getting my masters, I was going to work in a library, and I’m thankful for all the ways God has worked things out to where I can afford it and have a place to live.

She looks me in the eyes and goes “you shouldn’t be getting a masters degree or a job.”

I was taken aback, so I asked why.

“Because you should be getting married and be a stay at home mom.”

Now, college for me was an absolute roller coaster when it comes to dating, discerning marriage, etc. This girl did not know that, but I was still so hurt by what she said. Of course if I get married and have kids I’m going to stay at home to raise them! Maybe do some part time work in the evenings because I genuinely like being a librarian, but I’ve always wanted to homeschool my 8+ kids and bake bread and make elaborate dinners because that was my experience growing up, plus I genuinely enjoy it as well! Where was mister answer to prayer one month before graduating? Was I supposed to marry one of the douchebags at the party who were making fun of women? How am I, in the 21st century, going to support myself and meet someone if I don’t have a job? And, as a side note, the most marriageable men in my humble opinion have been the men I met in graduate school, so at the time I was hoping to meet a graduate student with the same intellectual gifts as me so we could be a powerhouse couple raising our kids in a classical education at home. But that comment threw me off so much because… girlie pop you are a freshman, you do not understand that we are in completely different phases of life. She admitted to me that the whole reason she went to college (idk if she believes in women being educated) was to meet her husband. Girl was paying thousands of dollars a year for her MRS. degree.

It depressed me so much.

Anyways, I have a masters, I work a full time job, and I’m still trying to meet someone. I haven’t dated anyone, I’ve been on four dates in my life and none have been exciting save one that I knew wasn’t going to work out anyways. I don’t know what to do to suddenly get married, but I am excited to not work anymore and have kids. Genuinely! It just… arg, it rubs me the wrong way to tell women “this is your place” yes ok but you have to be a better man to deserve me then!

there are some radtrad religious ppl online who are like "uggghhhh women should be ✨more feminine✨ and acknowledge that being called to motherhood and to stay in the home with the children is a higher calling. women who are so career-focused are just not listening to their vocation". like yeah i get that housewives feel beleaguered in the face of our current society/economy and i have nothing against women in the home

but like shut UP like my sister in Christ that has been my ENTIRE dream since i've been very little. HOWEVER. not all of us were graced with our perfect Spouse the moment we turned 18 or whatever. like i didn't ASK to be dating shitbags for the past literal decade+ and missing out on getting married early. i didn't ASK to be a business bitch.

i just did this because it is better than chewing cotton candy dreams of a man appearing out of the fucking blue to provide a cushy lifestyle for me, and me just polishing off my social graces like some lady going to a finishing school. ribbons in my hair and veiling so demurely at mass like a good little girl.

like i wasn't given the same gift as the rest of some of y'all and you know what? so happy for you. ha ha. glad for you happy for you. but like i have been independent and essentially provided for myself since i was 16. i wasn't sitting on my ass waiting for God's plan to just show up at my doorstep.

even now that i'm in a steady relationship it's not like things are suddenly Perfect and i can go back to making sourdough barefoot in the kitchen bedecked in ruffles. economy sucks babe it's all i've got to say. times are hard and it's for richer or for poorer. sometimes both sets of hands have to work. that's just how it is.

would all these people rather that i just sat around hoping for prince charming and meanwhile did nothing to provide for myself?

i'm soooo tireeeeddddd

[youling-the-ghost]

The urge to dramatise my life is incredibly strong right now

[buttercupshands]

Chapter 419 Analysis or "How to completely break Tenko Shimura" a manipulative guide from All For One (part 1)

This is mainly a character analysis of Shigaraki Tomura or Shimura Tenko, any other character present is there to help.

Chapter 419 was hard to comprehend even with just summaries right on April 4th. Some things need at least fan translation to fully make sense. Or just hurt more in that matter.

Warning of spoilers to the whole manga to the point of chapter 419! All of the warnings from the respective Tomura chapters are applicable.

So like... mentions of death, killing other people, manipulation, emotional abuse and many more!

This is Part 1 - See Part 2 for something less depressing

This is going to be long! So let's start, shall we?

First of all we'll need to take into understanding ALL the chapters that we'll need to remember/reread just make this chapter worse (skip if already familiar with them):

Chapter 222 - Tomura Shigaraki: Distortion

Chapter 234 - Destruction Sense

Chapter 235 - Tenko Shimura: Origins

Chapter 236 - Tenko Shimura Origins, Part 2

Chapter 237 - Tomura Shigaraki: Origins

This is your "Tenko and Tomura understanding" starter pack, basically. Without them it's harder to even start unpacking what just happened with Tomura's perspective in mind

Well then.

The chapter starts and we are immediately greeted by AFO semi-agreeing without wanting to, that Tomura was strong enough before Izuku started trying "saving" him in his own way and even succeeded making Tenko's will all the more fragile than it was when he returned using his hate to his advantage.

Even after Izuku holding Tenko's hands for the whole chapter he was still stubborn enough to continue even without that hate in his heart

And the thing that initial summaries missed was the fact that Tomura actually reacted to AFO reapperance.

Still not understanding why AFO was even saying that.

Tenko was literally taught by AFO to follow "what he wants" in ch 237 with Tenko making his first decision to kill someone himself. And never actually hiding that Tomura just needed to never forget that hatred and those bad emotions that Tomura never really understood. And it took Izuku seconds to decipher them.

With AFO reassuring Tomura that he has no need in following morals of society and just should follow whatever he wants - his want to destroy everything that hurts him. And only AFO would accept and help him. He was constantly reminded of that.

Even if Tenko was feeling sick from killing at first, even if hands that he wore were still making him sick 15 years later without him understanding anything. Decisions made while person is emotional are usually the ones that the person might regret the most and Tomura lived with those unstable emotions for years. Knowing that they hurt him and make him feel sick.

But Sensei said that it's okay to follow those emotions. That's it's actually great that he does it.

Everything was for his sake, everything was for Tomura Shigaraki and Tomura Shigaraki only. He was his Sensei's successor and no one should argue with it. He's the only one to be next ruler of the underground and the next king. And Tomura gladly accepted that as truth.

Since it was easier than facing his guilt.

Because AFO just needed Tomura to have enough willpower to get OFA when the plan is ready. To make Gigantomachia to follow him while Garaki was watching knowing full well how the plan is going. Both knowing full well that Tomura is still holding himself back.

In this chapter however we finally see how all of the things AFO told and taught Tenko were just to make him so sure that HE was in control and allowed to do whatever he wants to completely break his worldview in the end "after he gets OFA" which is an unreachable goal now since OFA is gone for good.

By just saying that Tenko never had any choice to begin with.

Tomura already knew that AFO manipulated him and he was just a pawn, needed only to get OFA and piss off All-Might he accepted and embraced it as something unimportant. It was his choice and he was free to do it and not feel bad about it. Since he's born to destroy.

Until suddenly it wasn't just his life after Decay that was manipulated.

But his whole life from birth. Just because AFO didn't get his hands on Hana sooner and she was happy while AFO needed someone hurt and broken. And Shimura's household wasn't as bad as he needed it to be at first with Kotaro loving his children, wife, in-laws and even his mother.

And AFO destroyed it by creating so much conflict and even going out of his way to make sure Tenko's father knew that he was playing heroes with some kids. And even saved them by putting his own quirkless life in danger.

In some sense narrator-Tomura's words at the end of ch 236 still might hold true. AFO didn't just create his hate out of nowhere, to make it feel like even if Tenko remembers everything it's still he's doing not a villain appearing, not just some accident that it actually was.

Although AFO doesn't say anything about people who didn't help Tenko even though he he knew that it happened so he most probably was watching it happen until Tenko lost all hope entirely to finaly make him dependent on his help.

And he succeeded for the most part.

Tomura was making an assumption after he remembered everything that he "must've been yearning for that" and from that point onwards explains everything that happened as "I wanted it - I did it" and was clinging to it like a lifeline to explain everything.

He accepted that if Re-Destro is talking about his Decay quirk affecting him he exists only to destroy.

And now it seems he found a false motivation for himself that AFO created by cruely manipulating everything from his quirk to his family. Making him believe he had a hand in it. Breaking one of "safe" truths that Tomura never doubted. They only made his decisions feel right.

Which makes that a hopeless loop of broken memories being staged just to let Tenko become Tomura who hates and destroys everything believing that it's his choice. Only choice at that.

And if destroying is him only choice because of his quirk... then what can a quirkless person do while having so many people dead from his own hands? Hands that were literally cursed to have destruction quirk in them not because he was born to do it. But because his own Sensei wanted that.

And he's "unwavering heart" is now nothing but an illusion that was destroyed by both Izuku and AFO together.

There's no "Can I be a Hero?", because can he even be a Villain if most of the choices that were from Decay and the hatred in his heart weren't actually his own?

[all4horsemen]

my favorite headcanon for AnderPerry is that anytime they kiss, Neil holds Todd's face. every single time, he holds Todd's face.

another one is that Neil tells Todd that his favorite thing about Todd is his voice. he loves to hear Todd speak, even if it's about the small things, the stupid things. Todd isn't used to people actually wanting to hear him, so it makes him a little nervous, but it feels nice.

in fact, Neil has such a fixation on hearing Todd, that when they're cuddling and Todd isn't talking, Neil will put his ear to Todd's chest and listen to his heartbeat instead.

also Neil is maybe the clingiest person on the fucking planet earth and every time they cuddle (every. single. night.), he likes to lay on top if Todd and sometimes crawl under Todd's shirt if he's wearing a looser hoodie or sweatshirt. Todd really likes the weight, and Neil just likes the physical touch aspect.

I love AnderPerry........

also, some Meeks and Cameron friendship agenda

Meeks and Cameron like to do jigsaw puzzles together, play chess together, read together...all sorts of things. usually it's fairly calm when they hang up, but sometimes they can get very aggressive with their chess matches. at some point when they've been friends long enough, they reach the point that they can effectively play mental chess, and sometimes they'll pass a paper back and forth in class, writing down their moves, no chess board needed.

sometimes Cameron will say something really sad about his childhood and/or home life without realizing how depressing it sounds and Meeks just stares at him: "That's...not okay. That's really sad, I'm sorry you had to go through that." "What? No, it's not a big deal." "It really is, but okay..."

they also both really love bugs and sometimes will just start info dumping to each other about different kinds of bugs.

lets see if I can find some nice Chameron ones.

Cameron and Charlie I think have a very rocky and messy relationship when they're young, but as they get older they both chill out. they get a cat. Charlie pretends to hate the cat, but Cameron has an album of photos that proves otherwise (lots of very cute photos of Charlie and the cat napping together).

also not to be corny but older Charlie and Cameron totally slow dance late at night if either are struggling to sleep.

on that note, both of them have trouble sleeping. Charlie likes to talk himself to sleep a lot of nights, and Cameron falls asleep listening to his voice.

also when they're roommates at Welton, Cameron complains all the time about how Charlie never shuts up and is so loud, but whenever they all have to go home on break, he really misses the constant noise. Charlie is Cameron's constant, and his talking is almost like ambient noise to him now. in a modern au, he'll call Charlie occasionally. he hardly speaks to Charlie on the phone, and rather just lets Charlie talk about whatever he's been up to.

and maybe some Mittsie, I think I have one or two.

Pitts has a large and very loving family, they're all very close and he has a good relationship with his parents and siblings. when Pitts and Meeks start dating, Pitts' mom starts inviting Meeks to stay over breaks and such. Meeks is a little overwhelmed by how rowdy the household initially is, but eventually gets used to it.

Pitts is a napper. that boy lovessss to sleep, loves to nap. you can find him and Meeks curled and cuddled up together like a couple of cats pretty much anywhere. library, student lounge, on the lawn, etc.

Todd and Cameron friendship agenda too ↓

in the early stages of Todd and Neil's relationship, Todd (raised Catholic) struggles a lot to reconcile his faith with the fact that he's gay. he and Cameron have a lot of late night talks about it, sometimes they'll go sit in the school's chapel to talk about things. Cameron is very good at convincing Todd that things will be okay, and Todd is very good at convincing Cameron to believe his own words.

all the other poets can get very very rowdy, even Meeks, so Todd and Cameron kind of use each other as their place to get away from how overwhelming the rest of the world is.

I head canon that Cameron has some pretty intense paranoia issues, which stopped him from getting very close with the other poets for a long time. Todd, on the other hand, is anxious and avoidant. once they've been friends long enough, they get good at identifying when the other is getting wrapped up in that anxiety/paranoia, and pulling them away from that spiral.

I hope these are good I hope you enjoy them. sending much love your way <3

2 days till I leave my old house and cat forever yay I'm so fucking happy rn I'm totally not bawling my eyes out

drop your wholesomest, softest, fluffiest Dead Poets Society headcanons/ideas/whatever about anderperry or chameron or mittsie or chrisginny or just the poets ANYTHING PLEASE

[zebratimw]

Spirit animal SQH

[steelthroat]

I'd always thought I preferred the messiest, most chaotic and fucked up people but with a grain of wil and spark that makes them do something over passive people that do nothing wrong, that don't care about anything but themselves and that never help...

AND I WAS RIGHT

People who are willing to try, that give a shit, that MEAN IT when they try to do something, smuah smuah come here here’s your smooches smuah.

[lordelmelloi2]

🥲