#I’m not mentally ill or anything LMAO

[devil-queen]

I love crying over dumb things absolutely every day of my fucking life

[batwynn]

Honestly, why is it always the days I’m the sickest and stuck wrapped up in blankets or in bed that I get hit with all these drawing ideas that I must draw RIGHT NOW?

[ritterdoodles]

> shows sister post about chronic fatigue

> sister immediately gets bored halfway and goes “lol you always tired tho”

> remembers she did the exact same thing when I told her about adhd 10 years ago

[ceciliathecabinwitch]

People hear you do witchcraft and they’re like “are you delusional?” and it’s like

Yeah actually but it doesn’t have anything to do with the magic thing it’s just why my mom makes me go to a psychiatrist every three months

[lyriumsings]

two more sleeps until i see spiderverse

[baileyboo2016]

I don’t think forcing myself to eat after i’m full is helping me get more calories but ok 🤷‍♀️

[awek-s]

ohhhh desperately need to leave this house before i kill myself I fear it’s coming 🤣🤣

[rayvern-sheep]

Update on my mental health: I am doing better! Just in case anyone read those concerning posts the past few weeks and was worried.

I have kinda long-winded advice sorta shit under the cut if you are thinking of top surgery but know you don’t deal w/ change well, or have got it but are wondering why you still feel like shit weeks later when everyone else seems to feel better. And then some more rambling in the tags if you’re into that sorta thing.

Oh boy it’s long under the cut… Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Some advice: if you have a hard time w/ big change, small change, any kind of change. Be prepared to have a hard time w/ top surgery recovery. The general consensus if you research it is that post-op depression is over by abt the fourth week, and that is actually deemed late by some sources. Many said the second or third week. If you are starting to feel worse after that point it does not mean you made a mistake! Don’t panic!

Even though I wrote several notes to myself before the procedure explaining that I did in fact want this, and I know I am bad w/ change, that did not help me when I was in the pits of a doom spiral. I’m ngl that was genuinely the worst I’ve been mentally in years. I had to ring a suicide hotline at one point because I thought I’d lost the point of life. Talk to someone you trust abt how you’re feeling. I just straight up sobbed into my mum’s shoulder abt how I didn’t understand anything anymore and I was terrified I’d made a mistake getting surgery. She talked me through it and reminded me that I’d wanted this for years, that I didn’t go outside w/out a binder on, etc. She reminded me that everyone deals w/ things at different times, just because most ppl feel perfectly fine by the one month mark it doesn’t mean I would. Then after that I just hung out w/ her. The day after that we went and did some chores outside the house. A little time outside is often a good idea, I do regret to inform you.

I’m not gonna say I’m all fixed and perfect now. I’m still low energy and back to hiding in my baggy hoodies (now I can get them on again yippee!!!) but I’m not pushing myself rn. And I wish I had some good advice other than idk have a good system of loved-ones. If you have a therapist talk to them. Don’t be like me and bottle shit up. I’m so good at bottling shit up that I do not notice smthn is getting bad until I’m at the very bottom of the fucking doom spiral and I look up and see how far I fell down it lmao.

I wrote a whole diff paragraph but deleted it. Better version though is just try not to put too much pressure on yourself. Surgery is exhausting, and feeling burned-out even after a month isn’t smthn to be ashamed of. Just focus on keeping yourself sane. If possible take it easy, do things half-assed and low-effort for a while if you can get away w/ it. Just while you mentally catch up to your new stuff.

For some ppl top surgery “fixes” all their problems, but for most it does not. Whatever mental or physical problems you had before surgery, you will still have. Now, my surgeon literally told me surgery would not fix everything. I knew this before going into this, before I even had my first conversation with him, and I still had a bad fucking time mentally. So don’t expect to feel perfect. I was in a weird surreal bubble for the first like 3(?) weeks where I was just physically recovering before my head fucking lost it.

I don’t wanna put anyone off, and tbh worrying abt how bad you’re gonna feel can be a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I just wanna say that it can get rough. But if it does, you are not alone!!! You’ve not ruined your life, it’s not the end of the world, you still have something to live for. Keep pushing through, take it slow, talk to someone you trust. Try to do things that comfort you and help you feel safe. You’re gonna get through it.

Idk man I just wanted to share my experience on this. Because in my frantic research from the bottom of the pit all I could see were smiling faces saying they felt the best they’d ever felt in their life. It was euphoria all day every day. And the only ppl who weren’t feeling perfect were the ppl unhappy w/ their results. But the thing is I love my results, everything looks as expected. It’s literally how I drew it lmao, couldn’t have gone better. Not to brag sorry. But the point was, nothing was wrong physically. The majority of the physical healing was done, but my brain hadn’t been healing at all during that time. It was just putting itself to the side while the body did it’s thing. And when even proper medical sources are saying that ppl usually start to feel mentally better after the fourth week, and I was actually starting to feel shitty by that point, it rlly made me worry smthn was wrong. I was frantically trying to blame something for what I was feeling. And it was likely a whole mess of shit, with the main culprit being my inability to process change. Dude I freak out when a loved-one gets a tattoo or a piercing or changes their fucking hair. I wish I was joking, but I’m not. It stresses me out. And although I always get over it eventually, I should’ve known that this was gonna happen. After those early weeks of the itchy haze, I totally should’ve known a mental spiral was on the horizon. But I was just so lost in the sauce that was the whole experience.

I would not change the experience of top surgery for the world. I only wish I’d been more prepared for the dive my mental health would take so late in the game. I expected post-op depression. But as I said that’s usually only in the first couple of weeks. So when it didn’t happen I thought I was okay. But oooooo boy. I forgot how slow my brain is at processing shit. And hey, if I did “make a mistake” in getting my tits chopped off. If in the future I’m like “Hey I’m a woman now!” then so fucking what. There are titless women out there, and they’re no less woman than a woman w/ tits so big they break her back. Life is for living so fucking do that. I’ve not butchered or ruined my body even if my gender does change in the future. Get rekt transphobes.

ANYWAY… I think I’ve rambled enough. If I remember smthn I’ll prob add it in a RB cos this post is already long enough now. Thank fuck for the “read more” function. So I can hide all my stupid mushy shit under here and not clog up someone’s dash. Yippee!!

[quino7]

Yeah this shit pisses me off so much. Like I get it ur a socialist you have to virtue signal I get it I’m one too. But those things are definitionally a disorder I have them I can tell you that. They probably don’t now that I think about it. And I’m relatively high functioning and I’m fucked in the head, like if you put me in a crowded restaurant without my headphones I will just stop functioning until someone drags me out. And the thinking differently isn’t that much of good thing, neurotypical people typically have thought processes that lead them to be a functional person. Half the time I’m a fucking disaster because I have crippling social anxiety and because of ADHD I experience mania in the place of normal depression half the time which is fucking nightmarish for people who have never had it. And then the hierarchy abolition would probably help a little bit but do you know what helps a lot, fuckin meds, they’re the only reason I’m able to function in society. Even if we lived in a utopian society without capitalism and injustice having this shit would still be a problem, id still experience periods of hyperfixation and dysfunction. Even online without the social contract my anxiety stops me from saying a bunch of stuff. Like no it isn’t a disorder because it’s “different” it’s a disorder because it fucking ruins lives if it’s left unaddressed

[sarumans]

today i spent hours going back through my blog (specifically my text posts) back over 10 years and it's fucking wild to see what a different person i have been. the character growth i've undergone over the past decade.....incredible. i was in such a dark place for so so long and to look back and see that from where i am now??? absolutely mind blowing

[bagelsand-creamcheemse]

ooooowah I want to diiiiiieah

[no-144444]

guilt tripping- o.piastri

summary: oscar asks something of you that you know you can't do. you do it anyway and it ends in you two almost breaking up. almost.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! chronic illness! reader

a/n: hey yall, I just broke two ribs (lol) and got diagnosed with a chronic illness (lmao) so I might not be posting as frequently- just dealing with it physically and mentally so yah 😹

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“I don’t know if I can go,” you sighed, feeling even worse. 

“That’s alright,” he assured you, but you could hear the way his excitement depleted and his mood lowered. 

“M-maybe I can work something out, I don’t want to leave you alone,” your guilt grew everyday, this wasn’t healthy for either of you. 

“I don’t want you over-exerting yourself,” he spoke softly into the phone. “I’ll just ask mum if she has any friends that want to go or something. She always brings a million people with her.”

“I don’t want to leave you hanging Oscar. Melbourne is a big race. I’d be happy to come over like a week before, and then come to the race once I’ve had a few days to heal,” you bargained. A 22 hour connecting flight was not something you’d ever wanted to do. You couldn’t do it. You knew the pain would be too bad, yet you still stood there, offering it anyway. “And then I’d come for the race on Sunday, or just small bits on all the days.”

“Really?” his voice picked up, excited now. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure Osc, I love seeing you race,” your smile was more of a grimace than anything, but still, the guilt in your chest lessened as you listened to Oscar speak animatedly about the race weekend, while your anxiety ran through the roof. You couldn’t do all the things he wanted you to do, you never could. This had been a problem at the beginning of your relationship, every time he’d plan a date that wasn’t dinner or a movie, you’d have to break the news that a 15 kilometre hike wasn’t something you’d be able to do on a whim. Things like that took planning, physio, and preparation. Your chronic illness was no joke, and had limited you since you were a teenager. In the past few years he’d gotten much better at everything, from helping you with your physio exercises, attending pilates classes with you, knowing what to do on bad pain days, and always looking out for you in public. You knew he was just getting away with himself, and you didn't want to disappoint, so you agreed to it all, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be a bad week of pain or flare-ups wise. 

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You got into Melbourne and sobbed when you got in the car. Thankfully, it was Hattie picking you up, so she just held your hand as you silently cried, the joint and too much to bear. You went straight to bed as Hattie explained to the rest of the house that you were exhausted, and Oscar took it at face value. You usually get extremely tired after long days, and you’d just had a 22-hour day of travel. 

“I’ll go check on her-” he started, desperate to see you but Hattie cut him off. 

“NO!” she squeaked, trying to not sound suspicious. Oscar raised an eyebrow. “She’s really tired and she’s already gone to sleep.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired so I’m going to bed,” he explained, stretching then yawning. 

“Osc,” Hattie sighed, knowing she had to tell him. “She’s not… alright. She can’t do 22 hour travel days like you or I can. She has Lupus and she’s still trying to figure out her medication, so it hurts all the time. She cried from the airport to here, all to support you because you asked her to, and she feels guilty every single time she can’t say yes. She’s done real damage to herself by coming here. I want you to understand that, do you understand that?” 

Oscar nodded, because the other option was breaking down into tears. Yes, he’d felt guilty that he couldn’t be there to take care of you while travelling, and he knew he was asking a lot of you when he asked. The guilt settled deep in his stomach and made him nauseous, but still he continued on to his bedroom where you were sleeping peacefully. He could see the puffy eyes, the red nose, the open bottles of medication on the nightstand. He wrapped an arm around your waist, another in your hair and pulled you as close as possible, whispering teary sorrys into your ear. 

When you woke up the next morning, you knew what you had to do. This wasn’t fair on either of you, and you needed to make a change. You quickly (but silently) got up, and started to leave the room, but Oscar grabbed ahold of your hand before you could leave. 

“Please don’t sneak out on me,” he begged, sitting up. He looked wrecked, puffy eyes, red rose- had he been crying? God, had you made him cry? 

“Osc, what’s wrong?” you asked, concern clear as day on your face as you cupped his face with your hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I knew I was asking too much when I asked you to come here, I’m so sorry.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. “Osc, I’m alright, I was just tired last night and-”

“Hattie told me,” his voice was deep, deeper than usual, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your hand. “And I’m so sorry.”

“Osc, I could’ve said no if I didn’t think I was able for it,” you tried to reassure him but he shook his head. 

“Y/n, you did say no and I didn’t take it as an answer,” he scoffed. 

You were stunned into silence. “I think we need to have a talk about us, Osc.”

He nodded, taking your hands in his. 

“This isn’t fair on you. I know I can't control my illness, and neither can you. It sucks, but it’s a fact. I wish I could be there for every single race and cheer you on with the other girls, but I can’t. It’s not in the cards for me right now, and I don’t know when it will be. Oscar, I love you so much, and you’ve been with me through everything and I know you deserve someone who can always be there for you, and I’m not that person right now. I love you but I know it’s not enough,” You finally looked at him and he was biting his lip as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and stood up, dropping your hands as he paced his bedroom. “You know how much I love you, don’t you?” he asked and you nodded as you held back more tears. “So you know that I still feel your support even when we’re in different time zones or on different continents, right? You know that I value you being in as little pain as possible more than being at the barricade after a race, right? You know that I fucking love you more than I love racing, right? Y/n, I’ve been here the entire time, since we were 14 years old. You’re the reason I get in the car, you make me better, all the time it’s just you. I plan on being with you for my whole life, Y/n. I want to be there for everything. I plan to sit there through every appointment about medication until you find the one that actually helps you, I plan on being there for every day where you don’t feel up to it, I plan on being there for you, always. I never want to let go of you, and yeah, it is nice to be able to see you after a race, and I know that because fucking facetime exists. If you still want to break up because I fucked up by asking you to come here, go ahead, but don’t ever think that I’m without because I’m with you. I am so in love with you, Y/n. I mean it. I want to marry you one day, I want a family with you, I want to be old with you so we get to reminisce on the good ol’ days and make some more while we have time. ‘The good ol’ days’ will be the days I spend with you. More than any race win, more than any trophy, or than anything. My favourite part about a race weekend is coming home because I know no matter what my result was, you’ll be there with open arms, loving me anyways. You’re more than enough for me.”

You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him, crying into his hoodie as he held you. “I love you too.”

After a few moments of both of you calming down, he finally spoke. “Can you forgive me for being such an asshole?” he asked, wiping his eyes. 

You nodded, a small smile on your face. “I can, can you forgive me for being such an idiot?”

He chuckled. “You’re no idiot,” he picked you up and gently placed you back on the bed lying beside you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[vrystalius]

hi vry!!! i hope you’re doing well and feeling better🫶🫶 i wanted to pretty please request a lil something for sanemi taking care of his partner while they’re sick? 😩 i fell incredibly ill last night for no good reason LMAO and i know you’ve been under the weather too so hopefully this is right up your alley. also no pressure, please take your time and take care!!! 🩷🩷🩷

Aggressive healing

You returned home sick after a gruelling mission that took you all the way up to a cold mountain. Sanemi now resulted to becoming a doting (and a little pissy) husband.

Pairing: Sanemi x gn!reader

You were tucked into your marital bed, multiple stacks of blankets, probably all you and your husband own, spread over your body to keep you warm. A damp, cool towel was placed on your head and replaced by a fresh one by the hour and a bowl strategically placed right next to you on the mattress, just in case you get sick and don’t make it to the bathroom. A large glass of water with a straw was placed right next to a lukewarm cup of herbal tea you didn’t drink. You were just about to mumble a quiet thank you for the glass of water before Sanemi made you shut your mouth as quickly as you opened it.

“You still haven’t drank the damn tea? You know that I’m keep brewing this shit up for you and not for myself, right??”

While he was scolding you, his hands were angrily tucking you tighter into bed, trying to be gentle while doing so. You pouted at him.

“I don’t like it, tastes disgusting. It makes me even more nauseous.”

Sanemi rolled his eyes slightly and moved the straw from the glas of water to the cup of tea in case you wanted to drink it anyway. To be honest, it was making him a little anxious how you were resisting his treatment. You didn’t want to take any pills Shinobu prescribed, the tea was yucky, you were too hot beneath the blankets, too cold when a single one is removed, you still forgot to drink normal amounts of water and barely ate anything nutritious without him dishing up something for you. It’s like you want to stay sick on purpose!

He sighed while he crossed his arms over his chest, staring at your form being tucked in so tightly. You shifted your position a little, glancing back at him.

“Why do you refuse my treatment, huh? Just let me do my duties as your doting husband.”

“I can take care of myself! My doting husband can go back to his hashira duties instead.”

The wind hashira rolled his eyes at that again with a groan, running his fingers through his white hair that is now probably turning grey from your current condition alone. He snatched the damp towel from your forehead without a warning and gently slapped your cheek with it in timing with every word he said.

“Stop. Being. Stubborn. with. ME!”

Groaning, he headed to the bathroom to wet the towel again before ungracefully slapping it back onto your forehead. You let out a whine.

“I’m not gonna be gentle and kind no more. I’m nursing you back to health even if I have to force the damn medicine down your throat.”

Sanemi leaned over you, staring down at you with big eyes, making you cower beneath the multiple layers of soft blankets. He placed a small kiss on your forehead before messing up your hair a little with an annoyed sigh.

“I’m making you a soup. Don’t care if you don’t like it, you’ll eat every single bite. It’ll be good for you. I’ll even make you a warm bath after.”

💠

I hope this was to your liking, I rewrote this twice because I had three different ideas on what to do or l write 😭 I settled on the aggressive-caring-Sanemi, sorry if this is a little short! :,) And also thank you for your request!! I hope you’re doing better now and/or get better soon! <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves, physically and mentally!!

[phleb0tomist]

people love telling me not to isolate myself when I’m having a crisis- reach out, don’t hide, etc- and while that’s a lovely sentiment, a lot of people don’t seem to understand what it entails in practice? like they truly don’t seem to have considered that me being open during my mental health crisis will mean them actually Seeing and Hearing small parts of that crisis.

“don’t hide yourself” seems to come with a secret caveat of “but don’t be unpalatable either”. often my openness leads not to support but to an ethics debate about whether it was condemnable of me to let my struggle be slightly visible. interesting. when i wear short sleeves or make casual mention of the long-term aftermath of my self injury, it’s somehow perceived as me saying “self injury is awesome! i think the whole world should do it!” instead of being perceived as me living exactly as i always have, just hiding a little less, bringing you into my world a tiny bit, like you asked. healed scars are the only ones i allow to be seen, i cover up healing injuries and i don’t talk about methods or anything overly specific or sensational. i openly discuss harm reduction measures & therapeutic strategies. but somehow ppl still disapprove of the snippets they see when i reach out.

if you want people to reach out during crisis you have to accept that theres no way for a person to make themselves palatable while theyre showing you their severe mental illness lmao. they’re not going to provide you constant caveats while sharing their feelings like “ive been having trouble coping so i fell back on self injury. but i don’t condone it! YOU shouldn’t do it and I condemn myself for having done it btw! I will never forgive myself for this expression of mental illness, i’m so sorry I revealed it to you.”

this post might be a vent I can’t rly tell. open to conversation if anyone has any similar experiences 👍

[ivestas]

underlying bitterness

Summary: You were depressed. The family is quick to notice. 

Tags: platonic!yandere!batfam x fem!reader, reader implied to be mentally ill, depression, coddling, isolation, etc (you know the drill)

Word count: 1.6k

Notes: temporarily back from the dead! decided to finish this since i had it collecting dust in my drafts LMAO---apologies for my lack of writing, i have several projects im combing through and school 😭

The manor never really was quiet; there was always something going on.

The only time the quiet came was when they were out for patrol, or when everyone was asleep—but even then, there always seemed to be a pervasive spirit of noise and life that, on a good day, didn’t bother you.

But today was a bad one. Today, everything was an unbearable stretch of life, a near-constant torment of both mind and soul, leaving you incapacitated by your own head. 

It was these days where the bearable—hell, even the nice—was acidic on your gaunt body. 

A knock on the door had you wearily raising your head. 

A call of your name bounced through the door. The voice was bright and chirpy, downright dripping with honey. “You okay in there? Can I come in?” 

Eleven minutes alone? New record.

You sighed. The question only had one answer. 

“Yes, and yes.” 

The door to your bedroom opened silently, barely a squeak from the hinges. Dick revealed himself with a giant dopey grin, Damian just a step behind him. 

You didn’t bother smiling. “Hey.” 

“Hi!” Bright as always, his movement carried an excitable sway, acting more like a kid than a 20-something bonafide detective/vigilante. There was something predatory about it, an inherent layer of manipulative intent with it that never left you at ease. 

At least Damian was always himself, the deep-set frown never leaving his face in anyone’s presence, including yours. 

You would’ve been inclined to like him had it not been for the palpable softness that eased the furrows of his brows. 

Shifting under the heavy blankets, you pat the other side of the bed, the movement practiced and learned. Routine. 

Damian was the one to take the invitation while Dick sat at the end of your side. He rarely sat there. You didn’t care to decipher his intentions, merely regarding him with the same placidity as you had before. 

“So..?” 

“The family’s noticed you’ve been off lately?” 

Ah.

You shifted some more, feeling the weight of their stares assess every micro-movement made. It wasn’t subtle. This was an interrogation, not their self-indulgent visits that had you puking right after. 

“I’m on my period,” you responded bluntly. 

“Your cycles aren’t during this time of month.” Dick’s voice was deceptively light. 

"Hm, well, the female body works in mysterious ways.” 

“Then I’m gonna go check the washroom garbage.”

The silence of your mind buzzed to life. “What?” 

“I’m gonna go check the washroom garbage.” He repeated, rising from the bed. 

What the fuck.

You could let him go and find out for himself that you were, indeed, lying. However, you weren’t in the mood to deal with the punishments that came with that...

...Though, regardless, you were going to be punished. Lying—especially to Dick of all people—never bode you well. 

Really, maybe you just weren’t in the mood to deal with the drama, the stormy face he’ll don when he walks out the washroom after finding out the lie. 

So you sighed tiredly, back sinking further into the thick pillow. “I lied.” 

Dick’s pleasant expression flickered. Damian’s stare deepened in its calculating weight. 

Dick spoke slowly. “You know what happens when you lie.” 

You sighed again. It bordered a scoff. “Hurry up with it then.” 

The smile turned to a neutral line, though you knew he was feeling anything than neutral. Dick loathed lies, but he kept a calm voice. “Why’ve you been off lately?” 

“I lied, Dick. Aren’t you supposed to do what you usually do? Neglect and all.” You were flippant. This was gonna make it worse, and at this point you knew better, you always tried to avoid this, but something was possessing you. 

A will, or more accurately, a lack thereof. 

“Just tell him,” Damian hissed. 

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “No.” 

Dick breathed slowly. “Why?” 

“Because you’ll make me feel bad for it.” 

He blinked. Surprised. 

Why was he surprised? Is this another manipulation tactic? 

Probably. Why did you even bother trying to decipher his intentions? Their intentions?

“You’ll make it about you guys. How bad you guys feel. How you want the best for me.” You yawned. “I’m not in the mood to humor that. Pull that some other time, I just need to recuperate. Touch bases with my soul and all that hippie shit.” Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Okay?” 

A pause thickened the tension in the air tenfold. 

Then, it was Damian who spoke. “You’re..?” 

“Depressed.” Dick finished, mild disbelief lacing his words. What stood out was the underlying offended tone the word wore. 

You didn’t bother responding, keeping your eyes shut, pulling the covers over your chin. It was only midday, but you were tired. 

“Why are you... ‘depressed’?” Damian was the one to speak, now with incredulity. 

“Why is the sky blue?” You muttered. 

Cold fingers brushed your cheek, a colder voice poking through. “Open your eyes when you talk.” 

You did as told, looking up at him from your curled position. “Why are you depressed?” He repeated with a voice of iron. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you responded. “None of it does. I’ll be better soon. I just need you to give me space.” 

Another pause. 

Then, uncharacteristically, Damian slipped away. He glanced over where Dick was. 

Dick, even more uncharacteristically, nodded and slipped away, walking with Damian out the room. 

In any other circumstance, your blood would run cold. 

But, at that moment, you were thankful for the temporary relief. 

-----

You hadn’t thought you’d sleep, but you did, only to be awaken by Tim. 

“Dinner’s ready.” He said, eyes burning into yours. 

You grunted, tossing the sheets away. The cold raked your body. Getting off the bed, you glanced out the barred window. 

Sunset. 

How long did you sleep? 

And how come they let you sleep for so long, undisturbed? 

You didn’t care to wonder. Blearily nodding to Tim, you tipped your head to the washroom. “I’m gonna clean up a little, give me a—”

“You look fine, just come.” His hand, now wrapped tightly around your wrist, left no room for complaint. 

Faintly sighing, you nodded again. He led you out the room and through the colder corridors of the manor, down several staircases and past various pillars and paintings you’re always surprised to see, as if you hadn’t been housed in the manor for two-something years. 

Two years. 

730 days wasted here. 

730 days, never to be recovered. 

Your chest tightened, but your heart was empty.

Pushing the thought away, you blankly focused on the outstretched dining table you’d eaten countless meals on. 

Tim said your name. 

You look at him, confused. 

“Sit?” 

Oh. Right. 

You slipped onto the chair, vaguely aware of your surroundings. 

“...That’s my seat.” 

“Sorry,” you moved to get up, but his hands pressed down on your shoulders. 

“No, it’s fine, I’m just surprised. That’s all. You’re usually pretty attentive.”

“Sorry,” you repeated. 

Tim didn’t respond, opting to sit beside you. 

You were vaguely aware of the rest of the family settling in their respective positions—Bruce sitting at the head on your left, Dick sitting across you with Damian to his right, and at the end of the table Jason settled with a tired huff.

What you were fully aware of however was how good the food. The aroma was thick and savory, leaving your mouth to water 

Raising a fork, you dug into the food. 

“How was your day?” Bruce was the one to break the silence, and you notice him looking at you. 

“It was good,” you mumbled around the food. 

A silence cradled the room for a moment, the clanks of silverware mute. 

“Was it?”

“Yeah.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“What, is there a right answer to this?” You were daring, careless with your tongue. “Should’ve given me a textbook, woulda studied real hard before coming down.” 

“The right answer is the truth,” Jason spoke up, mouthful of food. “Dickie’s all red and angry you can’t even tell the truth. Honestly? So am I.”

“We all are,” Tim murmured. 

“But you know? We care for you. So just tell us what’s up, yeah?” Although his voice was light, there was an underlying threat to Jason’s words. Tell us or else. 

You set the fork down and looked at Bruce—whose eyes were sweeping all over your face, calculating—the both of you having frowns tugging at your lips. “Okay. I feel like shit. A dumpster fire. Like my very body has been corrupted by dark—I don’t know exactly what that means, but I feel it, so worth mentioning, right?—anyway, all I ask is to be left alone for a bit. That is what will make my mind better. Just a day of quiet. Please?” 

“...Voluntary isolation is a sign of clinical depression,” Bruce began. “And that would do you no good. What you need is the support of family to help you through this illness.” 

“God, no—”

“Listen.” Damian hissed. 

You shut your mouth, eyes downcast. 

“What will happen is every night, you talk to Dick about whatever’s bothering you. Or anyone else. You will talk, and that will help. Anything you need, just tell them; you know this.” 

“Why not get an actual therapist?”

“You can’t trust all therapists,” Dick jumped in. “I’ve trained in psychology, I know all the therapy ins-and-outs. I can help you as well as any licensed one would—if not, better!”

You stifled a sigh but didn’t bother pushing saying anything. 

“You don’t look to happy about that,” Dick commented. “It’s okay. I know its hard to open up when you’ve suffered in silence for so long, but we’re all on your side, okay?”

Jesus. 

You looked down at the food, picking up the fork. It took you everything not to bash your head against the table.  

[anthonys237thfreckle]

i need need need headcanons for anthony with a gf who’s like got a career in STEM and she’s super smart and as an actor he’s amazed by her lmao.

this is so cute! thanks anon

I’m looking for a woman in STEM - Anthony Ramos x F! Reader

prompt: headcanons for Anthony who’s girlfriend is in STEM - i’ve picked biomed for a degree since my mom wanted me to do biomed in high school

TW: mentions of academic stress and panic attacks, mention of drugs used in medicine, mention of mental illness

🔬 when you both first met, and he first asked for where you graduated from, let me tell you - mans did NOT expect you to say ‘Cambridge’

🔬 ‘Oh, so like Cambridge College in Massachusetts?’

🔬 This man omg

🔬 When you said ‘No, England’ he felt goosebumps cause like ‘geez louise CAMBRIDGE?’ and when you casually said you did biomed he was like ‘wait what-’

🔬 ‘Me? Oh, I did Musical Theatre’ he says matter of factly, and you’d add ‘Oh, I played piano when I was in elementary-’

🔬 You’d be the definition of a perfect golden child. He knows that couldn’t have been easy

🔬 When you two do start dating, he’s always bragging ‘Oh my girlfriend does lab research for this new supplement for this drug for schizophrenia in children-’ HE’S A PRO YAPPER. Especially in interviews.

🔬 He’s so proud of everything you’ve done - doing medicinal research at NYMC (New York Medical College)

🔬 Maybe in the winter as you two are baking (you always make sure the measurements are perfect, never letting him measure anything out lol) he always says baking is an ‘art’

🔬 ‘Actually babe, it’s chemistry’ you’d chuckle, taking a bite out of some gingerbread cookies, and ever since, he’s jokingly kept a lab coat and goggles and chides you for ‘not tying your hair in the lab’.

🔬 You’d tell him about how hard high school and college was for you, having to get a scholarship, going to British private schools because the medicine industry is mad competitive and honestly, you need to show something off in your application.

🔬 You’d tell him how even though you did Cambridge IGCSE and A level courses all throughout high school, it was no match for what England had in store for you - panic attacks became a weekly thing.

🔬 I mean, you did Pure Math, Biology, Chemistry and Psychology A and AS levels for gods sake - its an absolute mindfuck.

🔬 He’s always there to reassure her how smart she is and that she’s human no matter what - that college is over, and the drug trials will end up great, and a bunch of kids will get some damn good medication.

🔬 He LOVES it when you come watch his shows and movies. It means the absolute world to him.

🔬 Soon, he kind of drifted away from theatre after Hamilton, and started in film, and would always get super excited whenever he’d get some remotely science-y role.

🔬 Like in In Treatment, he’d come to you for help for some advice on his role, on some deeper level analysis (not as deep as an actual therapist guys, just a psych student level) and you’d be squealing with pride when you see him on TV.

🔬 And when he got into the more Sci-Fi movies like Transformers, he’d tell you ‘it’s not that deep, baby.’ whenever he’d catch your brows furrow in confusion at the misuse of a niche scientific term

🔬 He’d be so happy when he landed Twisters, even though you weren’t a meteorology student, your use of organic chemistry would def have some revelations when watching Kate use some form of polycarbonate.

🔬 ‘they’re right! they use silver iodide for cloud seeding!” you’d giggle.

🔬 affectionately calls you ‘nerd’ all the time.

— for anyone not british, igcse is from grades 9-10 and a levels are a bit like AP! but like they have a lot of depth. you’re not expected to do more than three.