#getting mental health help is not weakness

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Positive and Negative Characteristics

POSITIVE. Mental strength: This ability is acquired by focusing on things under personal command, which reinforces the internal locus of control.

The behaviors that lead to mental strength are identified below (Morin, 2013):

Mentally strong people don’t feel sorry for themselves; instead, they take responsibility for their own life.

Don’t give away their power to others and thus maintain control over their emotions.

Individuals with mental toughness embrace change and are open to being flexible.

Control is placed on things under the person’s influence, such as their attitude.

Pleasing everyone is not a priority. While being kind and fair is important, making everyone happy is not.

There is a motivation for making calculated risks.

Focus on the present and make plans for the future.

Try to make better decisions in the future and try not to repeat previous missteps.

Demonstrate an ability to appreciate and celebrate the success of other people.

Don’t give up after a failure; instead, they keep trying until they get it right.

Tolerate being alone and staying in silence.

Don’t feel that the world owes them something; instead, they create opportunities for themselves by utilizing their own talents and merits.

Real change takes time, and mentally strong individuals understand this, so they’re patient.

These behaviors are positively supported by characteristics such as:

Tenacity: not giving up when things get tough or when problems arise

Confidence: belief in personal ability to find solutions to challenges

Optimism: the perception that the odds are in one’s favor

Adaptability: openness to new inputs and ideas

Self-Awareness: the ability to shift perspective

Reliability: following through with promises and goals

Responsibility: owning up to personal mistakes and errors

Wellbeing: making personal mental and physical health a priority

These and other characteristics help contribute to strong mental health (Half, 2016).

NEGATIVE. The opposite of open-minded, calm, conscientious, and agreeable characteristics are those defined by judgment, neuroticism, and an external locus of control. Some behaviors that fall into this category are:

Inability to accept setbacks

Lack of clarity and decision-making

Low capacity for critical thinking

Failing to build strong interpersonal relations

Always staying in the comfort zone

Helplessness and absence of persistence

Tendency to lean toward pessimism

Weak imagination and an inability to visualize desired outcomes

(Cardone, 2011)

Individuals with high scores in neuroticism often display narcissism, have inflated egos, and are emotionally distant, angry, hostile, and inflexible. These people tend to display the behaviors above.

Yet one key preventer of such negative traits, according to some studies, is self-control. “The more conscientious or prudent people are–no matter their other characteristics–the less likely they’ll be drawn toward harmful or illegal activities” (Chamorro-Premuzic, 2016).

Therefore, by increasing one’s self-awareness, individuals can spot their shortcomings and adopt habits to help balance out their personality traits. In turn, this helps them thrive.

Source ⚜ More: Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[4linos]

twice the love

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis/request: when you receive unexpected news, minho’s unwavering support becomes your anchor.

wc: 1237

You'd been feeling sick for weeks, nothing too serious, but enough to cause concern. It began with slight nausea in the mornings, which you downplayed as a stomach bug that will pass. But the exhaustion did not go away. You felt weak all the time, unable to finish a full day of work without wanting to nap or take a break. Some days, you couldn't force yourself to get out of bed, and Minho noticed, no matter how hard you tried. He has always done this. Minho had always been the more observant person in your relationship, noticing even the smallest changes in your attitude or behavior. And when it came to your health, he was unrelenting in his concern.

"Y/N, I don't like this," he murmured one morning, putting his fingers on your forehead to check for fever. "You have been like this for too long. You aren't just tired. Maybe it's time to go see a doctor." You quickly dismissed his worry. "It's fine, Minho. Really. It's probably a stomach bug. You know how it is." You tried to smile, but inside you were already terrified. You were afraid of going to the doctor, especially because you had no idea what was wrong. You hadn't really understood what was going on with your health, and you didn't want to hear any bad news.

Minho narrowed his eyes at you, but he knew not to push too hard. Instead, he replied softly, "Please. I hate seeing you like this. Just a checkup, okay? I just want to know that you're okay." You nodded, making a half-hearted promise, but deep down, you told yourself it wasn't necessary. You would be alright. Eventually.

It wasn't until a few days later that the discomfort became too severe to ignore. Your nausea had worsened, and you could no longer ignore the constant dizziness or strange aching in your lower belly. Something was clearly wrong, but you couldn't bring yourself to confront the thought of what it might be. Finally, after much internal struggle, you reluctantly scheduled an appointment. You could scarcely muster the bravery to enter into the antiseptic office, the frigid air within making you feel even more alone. The doctor took some blood tests and an ultrasound, and while you sat there waiting for the results, you could barely breathe. You tried to divert yourself by going through your phone, but your mind kept spiraling, imagining worst-case scenarios.

When the doctor walked in, he seemed calm, maybe too calm. He greeted you with a professional smile, which played a part in your anxiety. "Well, Y/N, I have the results," he said, and turned to the ultrasound screen. "You're pregnant." You froze. Pregnant? It did not even register at first. You stared at him blankly, your thoughts racing. "Pregnant?" you repeated, hoping that hearing the word again would help you understand it. "Are you sure?" The doctor nodded and motioned to the screen. "Yes. You're about a month along, and the ultrasound shows you're carrying twins."

It felt as if the world around you had stopped moving. You couldn't even digest the words completely. Twins? Pregnant? You were overwhelmed, surprised and part of you wanted to cry, but you weren't sure if it was out of fear or happiness. You never expected this. And certainly not under these conditions. It wasn't like you or Minho had planned for this. It had been so unexpected and quick that you felt a flood of panic wash over your body. The doctor offered you more information and scheduled another appointment to ensure everything was okay, but you couldn't hear him.

All you could think about was how to tell Minho.

You were mentally exhausted when you got home. Your body felt heavy, and the thoughts racing through your thoughts were too messy to process. You had assured Minho that you would be alright, and you did not want to break that promise. You didn't know how to tell him you were pregnant, much less that you were having twins. You had texted him earlier in the day to reassure him that everything was okay but you knew deep inside it wasn't true. You'd kept the news to yourself, reluctant to blurt it out. You assured yourself that it was for the best. He had a big day ahead of him, and you didn't want to overwhelm him with something that was so big. You needed to get your head around it first.

But now Minho was home. He walked in the door, his normal comfortable smile fading when he noticed your expression. He knew something wasn't right. He could know when anything was wrong without you saying anything. "How did it go?" he questioned softly, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of a response. You tried smiling, but it came out strained. You dug inside your purse and handed him the ultrasound image. You stayed silent, thinking he would understand.

He took it from you, and for a few while, neither of you spoke. His gaze shifted from the image to your face and back again. His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief. Then his gaze softened, and his fingers trembled as he examined the ultrasound. "Twins?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible. You nodded, your heart racing in your chest. "I—I didn't know how to tell you," you stumbled. "I was really nervous, Minho. I wasn't sure how you'd react. Minho was silent for a long time, his attention fixed on the ultrasound. And then, just when you thought silence would take you whole, a tear rolled down his cheek.

Without saying anything, he reached for your waist and pulled you into his arms, as if he needed to hug you to make sense of his emotions. He buried his face against your neck, and his voice cracked as he said. "I can't believe this. Twins. "You're pregnant with our babies.”You felt a warmth spread through you that you had not anticipated. He wasn't upset. He was not angry. He was happy. The strain in your chest began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of release and awe. "I'm scared," you said softly, your voice quivering. "What if I'm not ready?"

Minho drew back slightly, holding your face in his hands, his thumbs softly brushing away the tears you hadn't realized had dropped. "You don't have to be ready right now," he said softly. "I will be here. We will be here together. We will sort it out, okay? I am so happy, Y/N. I—"I can't believe this is happening." He kissed you lightly at first, pressing his lips against yours as if to persuade you both that everything was well. However, it did not stay soft for long. The kiss intensified, and you felt all of your fear, worry, and joy flood through you in that one moment. When he finally pulled away, his face was flushed and his eyes were wide with amazement. "We're going to be parents, Y/N. And I’m going to be the best dad to our twins. I promise."

You smiled through your tears as your hands rested on his chest. "I know you will," you said quietly, the warmth of his hug erasing all your doubts.

The world outside was unknown, but when Minho wrapped his arms around you, you knew you weren't alone. You had each other. And that was enough.

//

masterlist, request list

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Chasing Ghosts.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: Everything in your life is finally under control and almost perfect, but somehow chasing the ghost of Aaron Hotchner is still an obsession.

Words: 1,9k.

Warnings & Tags: angst WITHOUT a happy ending. hotch being an absent father figure. so much angst (yes, again). temporarily located after he leaves the FBI. same reader as in "tall child" but several years after that. so inspired by “like him” by tyler, the creator and all the edits with the song that I see. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I've been having trouble getting through the second part of "Tall Child" (if you're wondering if I'll write one, yep, and I hope to upload it soon but I'm so blocked:c). This idea came to me out of the blue because I, too, feel abandoned when I start watching the episodes after Hotch leaves<///3.

The quiet hum of the BAU filled the air, the same familiar rhythm of paperwork being shuffled, pens scratching against files, and the faint sound of voices from down the hall. The office you were in—Emily’s office now—still carried faint echoes of what it used to be. The desk was different, the decor had shifted, but the weight of the space hadn’t changed. It was still steeped in years of hard decisions, late-night strategizing, and memories that lingered even when the man who made them had gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

You sighed as you sifted through a stack of reports, scanning them for inconsistencies. It wasn’t even your responsibility—you were just helping out, filling a gap as the team caught up on their endless backlog. You’d been in this office countless times since Aaron had left, but it still felt strange. Like you didn’t quite belong. Like you were stepping on sacred ground that no longer had a place for you.

Being here without him was like being in a different place.

You’d been trying not to think about it, about how long it had been since he left. A year now, maybe more. You weren’t counting. Or so you told yourself for mental health. But in moments like this, standing in what used to be his space, surrounded by the echoes of his presence, it was impossible not to feel the sting of his absence.

You didn’t blame him for leaving—not entirely. Jack deserved his father, a life of peace away from the chaos of the FBI. You’d even admired his courage for walking away from something he’d dedicated his life to…You knew you would never do something like that; he was brave. But nothing of that softened the sharp edge of hurt that had been lodged in your chest ever since the day he said goodbye by a stupid piece of paper.

The truth was, he hadn’t just left the Bureau and all the atrocities that this entailed. He’d left you.

Your eyes flicked toward the desk, now Prentiss’s, and for a moment, your fingers brushed its edge. It was ridiculous how something as simple as the grain of the wood could bring back a flood of memories—of late nights, terse discussions, and the way his voice would take on that steady, commanding tone that somehow made you feel both safe and seen. The way he scolded you when you did things against protocol, the way he almost smiled when he thought you didn't notice, and most of all, the way he left overnight.

A soft knock at the door snapped you back to the present. You looked up, startled, to see Rossi leaning casually against the doorframe. His sharp eyes seemed to take in everything—the reports, your posture, the way your hand still rested on the edge of the desk, as though anchoring you to something unseen.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” he quipped, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You mustered a weak smile. “Just helping Emily with the backlog. Thought I’d clear some of this off her plate.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting around the room. It lingered on the desk, the walls, and the chair before settling back on you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something knowing—that made your stomach twist.

“You’re in here a lot,” David observed, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.

More than a lot for someone who was supposed to stop doing it on the advice of her therapist.

Because you don’t need to keep hiding you in work. Your life was good now, or so you kept telling yourself. You had settled into your role on the team, earned the respect of your colleagues, and built a rhythm that felt steady, even fulfilling. You went home to a warm apartment that didn’t feel so empty anymore, filled with little things that made you smile: books on the coffee table, cozy blankets, a half-dead plant you kept forgetting to water. You even start to have casual dates sometimes to open your heart to the world.

“Just helping,” you repeated, more curtly than you really intended.

“Hmm.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the desk. “You know, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“What?” you asked, your tone, again, sharper than you intended. The defenses around you were activating automatically.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Nothing. Just…noticing things.”

Your jaw tightened. Working with profilers meant every word, every movement, was analyzed. You hated it so much in these moments.

“What?” You demanded, unable to keep the irritation from your voice.

He tilted his head, studying you with that maddening patience of his. “You make the same expressions he used to.”

No. No. No.

Do not mention him. Don't make even the slightest reference to him. Don't think about him. Don’t.

The air seemed to leave the room. Your heart clenched, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. “What are you talking about?” you asked, though you knew. Of course, you knew.

“The furrowed brow when you’re deep in thought,” he said, his voice softer now. “The way you purse your lips when you’re frustrated but trying to hide it. And now, in this desk…you’ve always been like him. Always will be.”

You’re just like him? You look like him?

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Great. I’ve picked up his bad habits too.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Rossi said gently, his voice softer now. “It just means he left a mark.”

You turned away, pretending to focus on the files in front of you, but the words hit harder than you wanted to admit. Of course, Hotch had left a mark. How could he not? He’d been your anchor, your mentor, your constant—even when you were at odds. And then he’d left. He’d walked away from the BAU and from you as if you were disposable.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “He’s gone.”

Rossi didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “Still angry at him?”

The question hit you like a gut punch, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as if the physical discomfort could drown out the storm in your chest. “I’m not angry,” you said, the words escaping your lips faster than your brain could catch them.

It was much more complex than that. Your feeling was more akin to disappointment than anger or rage because you knew you could never hate him.

He didn’t press further, instead leaning more comfortably against the desk, as if he had all the time in the world. “You know he wanted a life for Jack,” he countered, his voice measured. “You can’t blame him for that.”

“I’m not blaming him,” you said, though it felt like a lie even as you spoke it. “But I don’t get why he had to leave everything.” you snapped, the sharpness of your voice startling even yourself. You turned away, staring hard at the stack of files, though the words on the pages blurred into meaningless lines. “He could’ve stayed in touch. But he didn’t.”

Zero calls, zero messages, zero signs that at least you mattered to him.

Rossi sighed, his expression softening with something like sympathy. “Aaron’s always been good at one thing: convincing himself that distance is the best way to protect the people he cares about.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. It didn’t make it hurt your heart any less. Nothing could ever dispel the pain, nothing but the embrace of the same person who provoked it.

There was a long pause before he spoke again, his tone lighter, almost teasing. “You know, there’s a way to settle this.”

You frowned, glancing up at him. “What are you talking about?”

Without a word, Rossi reached into his pocket. The sound of his hand brushing against the fabric of his jacket broke the tension like a crack of thunder in the stillness. He pulled out a small card and held it between two fingers, his expression unreadable as he extended it toward you.

“What’s this?” you asked, the words coming out more hesitant than you wanted.

“His number,” he said simply. “It changed.”

Your eyes dropped to the card, to the string of numbers printed neatly on its surface. For a moment, all you could do was stare. It felt like the weight of the entire room had shifted onto that tiny slip of paper. Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to grab it, yet rooted to the spot.

“I’m not calling him,” you said, though your grip on the card betrayed your uncertainty.

David smiled knowingly, as if he’d already won. “I didn’t say you had to. But if you ever want to talk to him, you’ve got the number.”

You shook your head. “No. If he wanted to talk to me, he would’ve called. He hasn’t.”

“Maybe he thinks you don’t want to hear from him,” Rossi countered. “Maybe he’s giving you space.”

“Space?” you repeated, the word bitter on your tongue. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Abandoning people?”

“He didn’t abandon you,” Rossi countered firmly, though there was no edge in his tone, only understanding. “He left because he had to. For Jack. For himself. And maybe—just maybe—he thought you were strong enough to handle it.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you turned away, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. You hated how much they affected you, how much he still affected you. “Well, he was wrong,” you muttered, the words barely audible.

Rossi didn’t argue, didn’t press. “You don’t have to use it,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But if you do, maybe you’ll figure out that he didn’t leave you. He just…left.”

With that, he stepped back and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing softly down the hallway until they disappeared altogether, leaving you alone in the thick, suffocating silence.

Your eyes fell back to the card on the desk. It seemed out of place there, too bright and clean against the chaos of papers and reports. You stared at it as if it might leap off the desk and demand an answer. But it just sat there, motionless, yet somehow unbearably loud.

Your grip tightened, the edges of the card biting into your palm. And then, with a sharp, decisive motion, you tore it in half. The sound was quick, final, like the snap of a cord that had been fraying for far too long. You tore it again, and again, the pieces falling to the desk in a jagged, fragmented pile. Each rip felt like releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, like reclaiming some small measure of control over the chaos he’d left behind.

When the pieces were no more than scraps, you gathered them up and marched to the trash can. You dropped them in, the fragments fluttering down like ashes from a fire long extinguished. You stared at them for a moment, your chest heaving, your emotions still raw but now dulled by the act of destruction.

Turning back to the desk, you sank into the chair, forcing your focus onto the reports in front of you. The room still felt heavy, the ghost of his presence lingering in the corners, but you pushed it aside. There was work to do. There was always work to do.

And after all, you were just like him.

[bluewaterlily]

I feel so down that it’s February and I still haven’t started a book 😞

[lizard-business]

I hope that, rather than scare you, this fosters compassion for those experiencing mental health challenges (and for yourself when/if YOU experience those challenges).

I work with people who have experienced or are still experiencing some form of psychosis every day. It can be triggered by a lot of things, usually in combination: trauma (old or new), environment, personal or family history of mental illness, upsetting events, relationship difficulties, financial difficulties, etc.

A lot of folks I work with landed in the hospital after what I'd call A Series of Unfortunate Events, where their brain responded in a not-so-helpful way to several super shitty life events in a row. Substance use is another super common trigger - everyone reacts differently to stuff on a physiological level, & ongoing substance use or abuse often increases one's risk. I've worked with lots of folks who had never had any kind of mental health crisis before & felt that they were completely "normal" prior to whatever triggered their episode. They had jobs, kids, hobbies, etc. But the truth is, it doesn't always take that much. Brains are weird & they're doing their best to keep us alive, but we're extremely complex creatures & sometimes our brains' attempts to make sense of the world or help us navigate it cause more problems than they solve. It's important to be aware that we're all susceptible to this kind of thing & that those who are in the midst of it are just ordinary people deserving of respect just like you. We all need help sometimes.

99% of "mysterious disappearances" esp of people in their 20s who start acting weird for 48 hours and then vanish are not mysterious, thats just when a lot of reality-obliterating mental illness tends to kick in and it's pretty easy to get a short circuit in your brain that makes you go family guy death pose in joshua tree national park. it's not any less tragic, it's just a documented phenomenon and not particularly predictable. its a big reason the medical advice is for people with a family history of schizophrenia to completely avoid weed and psychedelics. "people just go crazy sometimes" is a principle of human health that used to be a lot more accepted prior to the american midcentury and to a certain extent thats a healthier way to conceptualize and prepare for the risk, as opposed to the modern assertion that anyone acting weird is dangerous and broken forever.

[that-dreaded-wolf]

.

[itsalwaysdark]

and also it doesnt even matter if i miraculously get a job tmrw bc we don't have a car . and im too out of shape to walk anywhere bc everything is far away . so i genuinely dont jnow what to do

[sparkbugs]

Very important!! Take care of yourself and do what’s best for you <3

taking medication for your mental health isn’t weak, if anything it’s strong that you’re making the leap to better yourself. remember that. you’re not struggling with your mental health, it’s struggling with you - you’ve got this gamers, always!

[apollo-zero-one]

Too old to be a kid too young to be an adult just the right age to cry myself to sleep

[amazinglyashy]

Too heavy for me? Never

LADS men reaction to you only somewhat joking about being too heavy for them

Sylus -

He'll raise an eyebrow at you, staring down at you as you realize the joke fell flat. You try to back peddle, not wanting to cause any confrontation that never helps you feel better about your body anyway, but he simply holds up a hand to stop you with a shake of his head.

"I don't want to hear it, sweetie. I already know the nonsense you're going to say. How about you just come with me right now to the gym instead?"

You don't know how to tell him that saying that truly shattered your heart into a million pieces, so you just follow him in silence instead. You didn't think he would insult you so casually, and you were now trying to brace yourself for the inadequate feelings and self-loathing you were about to experience by having to train at the gym with him.

But... he didn't ask you to do a workout. He didn't tell you to get on a piece of equipment or to lie down on a mat for a physical exercise.

He told you to sit on a small bench against the wall while he went to the free weights close by.

Wordlessly, he loads weights- two- no, three times your weight onto the bar, before moving to lift it. Once. Twice. Again, and again and again-

His eyes flicker over to you at some point, and instead of making any remark or reference to the emotions clear across your face, he flashes you a slight smirk, just like he always does.

"Have I made myself clear, sweetie?"

Zayne -

Zayne will definitely think you're just pretending to be stupid at first.

He will look down at you with his brows furrowed and a small smile creeping on his lips, thinking it's all a joke.

"I lift myself during my workouts fairly easily, and I am capable of lifting a lot more. Quite funny, though I wouldn't make this form of humor a habit. It isn't particularly good for your mental health."

Then he realizes you're actually being serious in what you're saying.

He's upset, to put it lightly, but hes trying not to let it show. Favoring a small frown across his usually firm expression as he studies your face. Your heart will jolt just a little bit when you process just how sad his eyes look though... obviously he's hurt that you would even think something like that about yourself, much less come to believe it as true.

"Allowing a part of your brain to lie to you is not healthy if you don't push back with the truth. And the truth here, is that you are nowhere near too heavy for me to lift or carrying, even for prolonged periods of time. To demonstrate-"

And like it's nothing, he's picking you up and carrying you. His destination is not important, and the protests spewing from your lips fall on deaf ears as you try to gentle squirm out of his grasp. He'll continue to explain why your viewpoint is flawed, methodically and with logic, and in a way that you find yourself unable to argue back.

He doesn't want you to.

He knows you're wrong, and he will stop at nothing to prove it.

Xavier -

He's more surprised at the statement than anything. At first, he thinks you're making a jab at his strength, and wonders if he slipped up in front of one too many Wanderers and now needs to prove himself just to get you to stop teasing him for being 'weak'.

Once he (quickly) realizes that you're talking about yourself, jabbing at your own body and state, rather than at him, it's like a spark igniting in him.

"What? What would ever make you think that? No- that's not right. That's not right at all."

He's immediately going to try and grab you to lift you up, he doesn't care where you both are or what you're doing. Even if you've just woken up in bed and are still relaxing, he's trying to pick you up right then and there.

He stumbles trying to lift you, falling backward onto the pile of blankets and plushies that has taken over his bed. He feels awful, worried that you'll take his misstep as him falling over from your weight, immediately apologizing and trying to sit up and pick you up again before falling forward from the plush surface he's trying to rise on giving out too much beneath him.

You're both a giggling mess by then, and it's obvious to you that he's going to keep trying to prove it to you, just... a bit clumsily so. Several more attempts will be made as the evening goes on, and pretty soon he's showing you just how easily it is for him to lift you up- especially if he keeps doing it over and over and over again.

And he will continue to do it over and over and over again, even after today. As many times as it takes.

Rafayel -

You definitely made a mistake saying anything self-depreciating around him. Especially with how much he likes to prove you wrong in playful situations, this is something similar, but a lot more serious to him.

He'll make fun of you for anything, as long as you know he's just being lighthearted even if he's grumpy or upset when he fires a quip off at you.

But the second you agree with him, or say something bad about yourself- whether jokingly or dead serious- the gloves are off. He won't accept that from you, and he's already on it to figure out how to turn the opinion you've formed of yourself on it's head and into a more positive outlook.

Lifts you up bridal carry while spinning- quite literally sweeping you off your feet while he whisks you away. You would think you were a princess with how he spins around his studio with you in his arms, with no regard to the paintings or projects around him as he dances with you in his arms. And no matter how hard you protest, he doesn't stop until he feels for himself that he's done enough, giggling the entire time.

"Are you really going to doubt a sea god's strength? Geez, I didn't realize you were such a rude human."

He'll hold you up enough to press his forehead against yours, nuzzling against you with a smile, the slightest sadness playing across his expression.

"Man, I must be pretty lousy that you would ever think something like that about yourself. That must mean I don't think to pick you up enough like you deserve. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you by whisking you away every chance I see you from now on."

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Gentle Love

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of depression, panic attacks, just a lot of hurt/comfort

a/n: surprise! another fic! i know a lot of people have been wanting just rio fics, so here you go! a little hurt/comfort! the goal was to make a mental health fic where it isn't romanticized, so here's hoping i did that! enjoy!!!

Your relationship with Lady Death wasn’t one that had a spontaneous start. She didn’t save you from a painful demise, or help you realize life was worth living.

She had met you on her day off. (Yes, Lady Death gets days off. She’s not the only one working the underworld, you know.) She was wandering through a wooded area when she came across you. You were sitting under a willow tree, humming to yourself as you wove a crown of daisies.

Her heart had practically melted at the sight of you, and she found herself gravitating towards you. Before she knew it, she was introducing herself to you and you were inviting her to join you beneath the willow.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable after that. You spent countless days getting to know every part of each other; mind, body, and soul. Soon enough, you were deeply in love with Rio Vidal: Lady Death. And she could say the same about you.

You both had grown exponentially by being in each other’s presence. But a romantic relationship doesn’t mean the absence of all problems.

Rio struggled deeply with guilt. She hated that she had been bound to this calling, that she had been chosen to wear a face she found hideous and escort living creatures to a world beyond life. It pained her to take children from their mothers, sisters from their brothers, soulmates from their lovers. 

But you were so soft with her. Soft as you kissed her in her Death form, soft as you held her while she shook with guilt and self-hatred, soft as you assured her that she was doing the right thing. That you loved her always.

As for you, mental illness was something you had dealt with from a young age. After all, being a witch who was chased from countless villages and hunted endlessly, all for possessing a magical ability she never asked for…well, it tends to have some lasting negative effects on one’s mental well being.

You were proud to say you knew how to handle it, but you had your weak moments. Moments like now. And you hated them.

As you woke up, you felt a familiar heaviness in your bones. Your heart felt heavy but was racing all the same, your head ached, and your stomach churned with dread and anxiety.

You turned to the other side of the bed, reaching for your comfort, your person, only to find it empty. Your eyes filled with tears as you took a deep breath. 

You wondered if you should call her. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind. You could handle this alone.

“But you don’t have to,” your lover’s words echoed through your mind as you pondered what to do.

You and Rio had created a system for times like this. If ever you were feeling like the walls were closing in, like you couldn’t breathe, like you could barely function. All you had to do was think of a color and a name. Her name.

Yellow meant you were struggling, but could handle it alone if need be. Red meant you needed her.

You rarely tended to use red. You loved Rio, and you knew full well that her presence helped to calm you in times of discomfort and anxiety, but you couldn’t pull yourself out of your need to be independent and not rely on anyone for help. You hated admitting the need for help.

Even now, as you laid in bed, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe, you refused to admit defeat. But you knew you owed it to both her and yourself to say something.

Yellow. Rio. Yellow, you thought as you brought your hands to your face, willing your breathing to calm down.

It was no use. All you could think of was how useless you were, how helpless, worthless, weak.

You choked out a sob as the room seemed to get smaller and smaller.

Until you felt gentle hands on your wrists, tenderly pulling them from your face.

“Hey there, sweet girl. Let’s sit you up, yeah?” Rio said softly.

You followed her instructions, allowing the witch to help you to a sitting position.

You met her eyes, expecting to see disappointment and disgust, but instead being met with nothing but love pooling in her brown eyes. 

Her hands moved from your wrists, gently intertwining her hands with yours. 

“There’s my girl. Let’s try and get that breathing to slow down. Wanna get some more air in those beautiful lungs of yours, yeah?” She cooed, her eyes encouraging.

You nodded, and she took one of your hands, placing it on her stomach as she took exaggerated breaths as an example.

You began to copy her, your eyes not leaving hers, feeling safe as you lost yourself in her.

She squeezed your hands softly. “Look at you go. Breathing all by yourself. I’m so proud of you, mi vida,” she whispered as you found yourself finally able to breathe steadily.

You both sat there for a few more minutes, her allowing you the space to feel whatever you may be feeling as you came back to your senses.

You opened your mouth to speak, struggling to find words to express your needs. As if she had read your mind, Rio let go of your hands to reposition herself against the headboard of the bed and opened her arms to you.

You smiled at her in gratitude, moving to sit in between her legs, laying your back against her front as she held you.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just soaking in each other’s presence; Rio running her fingers through your hair with one hand and softly caressing your leg with the other.

Eventually, she spoke.

“I’m so proud of you.”

You shrugged against her and she shook her head.

“I’m serious, my love. I’m proud of you for calling for me.”

“Feel weak,” you mumbled as you hung your head.

Rio furrowed her brows, turning you to face her. “Quite the contrary, love. You are the bravest person I know. You can handle these things on your own. I know you can. But you knew it wasn’t what was best for you, so you called for me. And I’m so grateful to be in love with such a strong, beautiful girl who knows how to help herself,” she said, her voice full of adoration that brought tears to your eyes.

“I love you, Rio,” you choked out, your hands finding her cheeks, thumbs brushing against the skin softly.

She placed her hands on your waist, allowing you to initiate the kiss.

You brought her face to yours, kissing her with all the love you had. She kissed you back, softly, always softly, pecking your lips softly as you pulled away.

“I love you most, my precious girl,” she said, laughing as you rolled your eyes at her need to turn everything into a competition.

She kissed the tip of your nose, relishing in the way you wrinkled it at the sensation.

“Alright, I prescribe you a glass of water, some chocolate chip pancakes, and cuddles with your hot girlfriend,” she said as she got up, smirking at you.

She beamed in triumph as you giggled. “Well if that’s what the doctor herself ordered, who am I to disagree?” you teased.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll be right back, my brave girl. I love you,” she said, her eyes softening again.

“I love you, Rio Vidal,” you said with a smile, and she blew you a kiss before exiting your bedroom.

Yes, she was Lady Death, but to you, Rio Vidal would always be your gentle love.

[martian-astro10]

Astrology observations - Part 4 (use whole signs)

🌟 Moon in 4th is one of my favourite placements. These people usually have a good career, like an emotionally fulfilling one. They won't stay in a job that doesn't make them happy. Their mom can help them choose a career or give them interview tips.

🏮Mars in 2nd house people are so lucky when it comes to earning money, it's like, they get a new money making opportunity just when they're on their last penny. They're also not afraid to get their hands dirty and are willing to do almost anything, very hard working people. They're also the ones managing all the money in their family.

🌟 Mercury in 8th house people are the ones with a "sexy brain" like the WAY their mind works, are so good at analysing arguments and coming up with the best possible solution. Good debating skills. These people have great manifestation skills, I have a list of 100 + incidents, it's honestly a little scary. Can also develop clairvoyant abilities if they work on it.

🏮I haven't met a single non religious, Sun in 9th house person in my life. Even if they're not that religious in their younger years, they will be when they get older. Always willing to help others even when they themselves are suffering, my mom has this, and.....it pisses me off so bad. The "put your own oxygen mask on first" advice is for you all. Stop helping people, be selfish, it's not your duty to make everyone else's life better. My mom doesn't listen, but maybe you all will.

🌟 Venus in 11th house is a placement that's really good from a business perspective. They're great at negotiations so that's helpful. They won't like doing a regular 9 to 5 job as it will suppress their freedom and creativity. They will open their own business pretty early on in life, in like late 20's or early 30's. Great architects and interior designers. I remember when I made the architecture and astrology post, a lot of people had this.

🏮I haven't seen anyone talk about this, but moon in 6th house people can be really good leaders, they're very helpful and kind and their ability to understand emotions makes them extremely likable. They have more of a people oriented leadership style. They focus on building strong relationship with their group members or employees. Also, why are you all always sick 😭? Prone to anxiety and stress and this leads to body pain and digestive issues. Please put your health first.

🌟 It's really funny how ALL my friends, every single one, has Venus in 1st. I would say that rather than us being pretty, we're just very likable. Even if they're introvert or shy, they have a communication style that makes other people want to talk to them. It's just an aura thing, tbh. Also, they're huge people pleasers and will do their best not to offend anyone, like even if a person is being annoying, they won't say anything. (Mars in 1st can change this)

🏮 Jupiter in 2nd house is not good for marriage but great for career and friendships. I know people with this who are still in contact with their pre school friends. Their friends will help them in their career as well. They're intelligent but they think they're not, and this makes them lose a lot of opportunities. Need to have a little bit of courage to succeed in life.

🌟 Sun in 12th house people probably had a painful childhood (more so than others), if mercury is with sun in 12th, then they write poems to express this pain. They're good writers, and can be lyricists, authors, script/play writers, etc. these people are physically weak. Might also not know who they are, as in, not aware of their own personality traits.

🏮Saturn in 12th house people lack confidence when they're young, but become more confident as they get older and learn to get out of their comfort zone. These people have better luck outside of their homeland. This is a good placement if you want to become a psychologist as it gives you the ability to properly analyse those with mental disorders. They also look aloof most of the time. This is another placement that is good in terms of writing skills, many famous authors have this (those who write sad stuff)

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[lifeonmarz-blog]

Pluto Aspects

Sun/Pluto: Dark sense of humor, attracts jealousy through the ability to learn quickly and be talented at many things, seductive, private life/double life, prefers to be in relationships, controlling, self critical, importance on achieving success and public recognition, denial about how social you actually are, obsessive, bouncing back from hardship unscathed, masking true feelings, lover of luxury, worrier, carrying the burdens of many, leaders, strategic, good at balancing multiple careers/streams of income, can work long hours, wiling to sacrifice for future gratification, beliefs being questioned/questionable, operating best with routine, helping the exiled, quiet power, domineering, leading others to the promise land, rags to riches, sharing nature, being taken advantage of, learning self worth, noticing the subtleties, standing in your power, alchemizing, appreciation of scents, restoring the balance and bringing justice, protecter, connection to night creatures, reverence.

Moon/Pluto: emotional rollercoasting, rough tides, tsunamis, delusions, misunderstood, living in the past, victim mentality, feeling intruded upon, enticing, protective, human lie detector, causing shock value with your thoughts, okay with not being everyone’s cup of tea, attracting stalkers/stalking others, a lot of haters and obsessive ppl, determined, my way or the highway, always on the go, quick witted, forgiving, misguided anger, easily triggered or triggering to others, a safe space for authenticity, youthful looking but quickly matured, problem solvers, appreciates luxury, high expectations, stressing yourself out, very strong ppl, the rock of their family, liking drama, needing to be more careful with the words spoken, lucky breaks, nurturing, creating a home that feels beautiful and comfortable, beautiful smile, soft spoken mesmerizing with your cadence, taking care of the things you own, making the old look new, hard choices, a few more restarts than most, word is bond, direct communication, seductive aura ✨

Venus/Pluto: Insecurities being obvious to others but hidden from yourself, ppl pleasing, nurturing vibe, great reader of social cues, bully/bullied, learning to understand and love your body, freedom through movement, talk of the town, being projected on a lot, resilience, cup half full mentality, big mama energy, ungratefulness, ppl trying to manipulate you through financial means, getting things taken away from you as punishment or literally being stolen from, independence, personality that grows on you, attracting jealously based on being the opposite sex’s ideal, player/overly devoted, values the connection to family, the type to plan the family get togethers, prefers to be coupled, generous and great at gift giving, hair that attracts idolization, fierce eye contact, ppl wanting to experience you without worthiness, personal space being important, careful with the people you shake hands with, being exactly what you want to be, near death experiences, night owl, protecter of children and the poor, solo traveler, taking no shit, knowing that it’s okay some bridges need to be burnt 🤷🏽‍♀️, child like innocence, friendships that stand the test of time, health conscious, healing others through food/herbs, high society, rockstar lifestyle might not make it.

Mars/Pluto: Okay with being cut throat, intimidating, power hungry, holier than thou, superiority complex, triggering insecurity in others while just existing, putting in work that will stand the test of time, legacy is of importance, it ain’t nothing to cut bitch off, knowing how to wow ppl, the defuser of situations, protecters of the weak, chameleon, popularity, rememberable first impressions, quick thinkers, great lovers, career focused, pressure to succeed, feeling you have to always be on your p’s & q’s, controlling lovers, the person others vent to, attracting ppl that feel entitled to your body/possessions, love/hate relationships, social butterfly, observant, bound by nothing, living in the moment, making the best with what you have, animal lover, would benefit from slower living, ingenuity, fashionable, hard headed, ppl trying to silence you, sprinkle sprinkle no bread crumbing is tolerated, lucky items/totem poles, optimistic, teaches lessons on how to be discerning, secret exposer, substance abuse, attempts to hold you back through evil eye, tunnel vision, seeing what needs to be said and saying it, willpower matched with child like vigor, friends and lovers that are protective over you, respected in your community/field, interested in the benefits of all, easily multiplying what you already have, water to wine type of vibe, relaxing when the work is done, knowing when to take breaks, shining bright in dark places.

Mercury/Pluto: realism view point, harsh truth, so relatable, knows better but learns the hard way, passionate speaker, musically inclined, before their time, emotional highs and lows, forgetful/selective memory, dark humor, appreciates the shock value, curse words are like icing, different just to be, thinking outside the box, creating lingo other ppl use, over explaining, paranoia, defending the vulnerable, saying what everyone is thinking, whistle blower, lovers of knowledge, constantly reinventing yourself, conspiracy theories, quick witted, solitude, dating outside of your race, cult leaders, judgmental, biting your tongue, pathological liars, self righteous, polarizing, sweet talkers, accent, making complex subjects sound easy, self critical, creating a lot of opportunity for yourself, taking journeys without a destination in mind, getting to the root of the matter, hard to reach, wise beyond your years, very knowledgeable about niche things, big dick energy, viewing something from multiple perspectives, feeling short on time/waisting time, organized, thoughtful, pouring into others, lending a helping hand/attracting those that want to help you, having to be extremely patient, smoking cigars for enlightenment, stuck on ppls mind, noticing the underlining factors, honesty off the charts, sending warning shots attacking, feelings of overwhelm by choices, defending your stance, being victorious against all odds, just so rememberable.

Jupiter/Pluto: importance on self image, Beyoncé- upgrade you, relating to others though music, greed, great investors, a need to be in first place, critical of themselves and others, perfectionism, requiring patience, materialistic, condescending, over indulgent, substance abuse, bad mouthing others, attracting leeching personality types, look but don’t touch, a lot of ppl have witnessed your transformations, co dependent, persistent, preferring not to be around the bush, learning when to walk away, big personality, topic of conversation, having to rebuild yourself repeatedly, opposites attract, quick manifestations, repeating yourself a lot, sustainable living, being able to balance many things at once, bringing offerings, community leaders, hard earned respect, learning discernment in friendships, solo travels, mentorship, feeling isolated, knowing how to use what you have, tongue like a sword, guiding the youth, transforming the mundane, unique style, taking the road least traveled, freeing yourself from sorrow, seeing the good in anyone, comforted by your bed, the same thoughts on repeat, warrior spirit, connection to horses.

Asc/Pluto: having your items end up in the lost and found, escapist tendencies, prioritizing relaxation, messy room, starting a new project before finishing the last, ppl misjudging your power, manners, sob stories/lack of accountability, fashionable, stand out in crowds, unique style, noticing the little details, valuing peace keeping, don’t mind switching things up and experimenting, self employed, viewed as lucky, ppl keeps tabs on you, being at the crossroads, rumors about your body/hygiene, protecters of their family, collecting antiques, building from scratch, learning to stay the course, loves celebrations.

Chiron/Pluto: learning only when the pain has gotten so bad, feeling like your always falling short even when you have what you perceived to want, intense feelings and relationships, what’s done in the dark coming to light, dismissive, ppl indulging in your hardships, helping others through your struggle, leading by example, survivors, learning boundaries, developing antonymy, life starting one way and ending up much differently.

[g4rvez-r3id]

When You’re Lost in the Darkness, Look for the Light

Ex! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: Your ex, Spencer Reid, has just lost his girlfriend due to her being murdered. When all else fails with the BAU team helping him get through this loss, the only person left to help is you.

Category: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: established past relationship, maeve arc, takes place after 8x12 “Zugzwang”, mentions of death and suicide, technically an AU for 8x13 “Magnum Opus”, spencer is obviously still mourning maeve, mentions of lauren storyline, mentions of breakups, reader was in a past relationship before spencer, kinda sad, hopeful ending(?) let me know if i missed anything! <3

Author’s Note: i feel like this was a bit rushed, especially towards the end butttt i might make a part two to this- just let me know if i should :)

It’d been a few weeks since what happened. Spencer witnessing his girlfriend being murdered right in front of him by her stalker. You knew that he was taking it hard, of course, who wouldn’t after seeing something like that?

The team had been frequently visiting him. Garcia had stopped by with her ninth gift basket on his doorstep, since he never answered. JJ had offered to bring the boys over to cheer him up but Spencer would never answer. Even Hotch, and Morgan tried to get him to get a breather outside of his apartment but of course, Spencer never answered. Blake and Rossi knew that he needed his space, knowing that a loss like this wasn’t easy.

Everyone on the team had tried, everyone except you. And honestly, why would you? Your breakup with Reid was enough reason not to go and see him.

You two had broken up when he’d found out you’d known about Emily taking her death. (You weren’t even supposed to know about it, you had just stumbled across Hotch and JJ having the conversation after you’d found out that your best friend was dead.) After she’d come back when they had a lead on Ian Doyle’s son, Spencer had later confronted you and told you he couldn’t forgive you for knowing for ten months and not telling him about it.

You expressed just how much it pained you not to tell him but that she couldn’t risk telling him. He had to understand that. Frankly, he didn’t.

And it seemed that he still hadn’t forgiven you since then.

It’d been over a year since you last had a full conversation with him since then, only opting for small talk or only talking when it was relevant to whatever case they were on.

And then you found out about Maeve. There were whispers around the office, Spencer was smiling more in the office, he was secretive and not to mention the case with the payphone that you and Blake took him to after needing answers regarding a case. You and Blake badgered him, wanting answers as to why he was being so secretive.

And then his words confirmed it for you — “Because I don’t want them to know about her, okay?”

And so, he had a girlfriend. And you were perfectly okay with that. Of course, it hurt that he’d moved on but someone had to, eventually, right?

Since then, you had avoided him any chance you had. If you two were alone in the kitchenette, you were the one who left first. If there was a spot on the jet open next to Spencer, you’d offer it to someone else quietly. You figured pushing him away — even professionally — was the best thing you could do for your own mental health.

But then Spencer’s girlfriend had gone missing. And you weren’t exactly forced to work a case but it sure felt like it when Hotch said that you guys would be working on your free time. You had half the mind to walk out of the bullpen right then and there. But then you looked at Spencer. Spencer, who looked like a kicked puppy dog with his sad eyes, messy hair and anxious stance and pleading, begging the team to help find her. And you knew that he’d always be your weakness, no matter what. And you’d like to think that maybe he’d do the same for you if the roles were reversed.

It’d taken a few to discover that Maeve’s stalker was Diane Turner, a research assistant at Mendel University where Maeve used to work. Diane applied and was rejected for a PhD after submitting a doctoral thesis about spontaneous cellular death in suicide patients, due to said thesis being biased as it contained references to her own parents, who’d committed suicide. She targeted Maeve, believing she was the one responsible for rejecting her PhD.

You remembered the minute you heard gunshots in the building, heart dropping at the possibility that it may have been Spencer who was shot at, since he offered to trade himself for Maeve. And thought it was better if the team were to wait outside of the building.

You remembered trying to talk him off the ledge but he simply ignored you and went into the building anyway without a vest.

You remembered Spencer trying to talk Diane down as she held a gun to Maeve’s head and growing anxious at the fact that Diane was getting more and more angry.

You remembered what Maeve spoke to him — her last words — “Thomas Merton, he’s the one you can never take away from us.” The proof of how much she loved him.

You remembered Diane pulling the trigger on herself and Maeve and Spencer’s painful pleading as both Diane and Maeve landed on the ground in a puddle of their own blood.

And you hated it but you remembered Spencer falling to his knees, sobbing over Maeve’s body. You could hardly believe it, even when it happened right in front of you. You’d fallen beside him, hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him the best way possible. And he grabbed your hand. Granted, he probably didn’t know or didn’t care enough to know who it was in that moment, but he took your hand anyways.

And since then, not a word from Spencer. And it was starting to worry the rest of the team.

But when you arrived in the office a few weeks after, staring at Spencer’s empty desk, JJ had spoken up and said — “Everyone else has tried but you. And I think you’re the person he needs right now.”

You’d responded, telling her that you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now in his time of mourning. But JJ had encouraged you. You’d known him in ways the team didn’t. Hell, you dated him. And you also knew what it was like to lose someone you loved.

A few years before you dated Spencer, you had had a boyfriend. You were dating him for three years until he lost his life in a car accident. You were heartbroken from the lost and you didn’t go to work for over a month after. The only person that gotten you through that had been Spencer. He always had a way with words and you remembered him being there for you the entire time you dealt with it. A couple of years later, you and him finally began to date.

And now here you were, standing outside of his apartment, wondering how the hell you got yourself in this mess. You’d told Hotch that you needed to take care of something and that you wouldn’t be joining them on this upcoming case. It was true and it wasn’t like you to just call out of work unless it was an emergency. It technically wasn’t a lie, Spencer was your emergency. And you knew that Hotch would understand.

You’d hesitantly knocked, so quietly. “Spencer? It’s me,” You’d spoken up, your voice hoarse. “I, uh, I know I’m the last person you probably want to talk to right now… but… I’m here. If you need anything, I’m right here.” You assured.

To make your point, you moved two of the gift baskets away from the door so you can plop right down on the floor to sit against the door. “And I’m not going anywhere.” You rested the back of your head against the door. “And we don’t have to talk. We can wait however long you need to. I’ll be here.”

“But, please, give me something so I know that you’re alive in there.” You asked and quietly pleaded, “Please.”

You’d waited thirty seconds before you lost hope entirely and then three soft knocks came from the other side of the door and you smiled to yourself in relief that at least he was conscious.

And soon the minutes turned into hours, with you resting your head against that door and shifting a couple of times to get comfortable. Spencer still hadn’t budged since he’d knocked on the door. You’d taken the opportunity to help yourself to one of Garcia’s gift baskets since Reid hadn’t seemed to claim them. You’d opted for one of the fresher baskets since the others had probably been sitting for about a few weeks now. There was a basket with the mini chocolate chip muffins that you snacked on while sitting there.

And after hours and hours of still waiting there with no peep from Spencer, your eyes began to flutter closed at how sleepy you were getting. Sleeping outside of Spencer’s apartment wasn’t the best place for your back or your neck but you had slept in worse places.

You’d probably succumbed to sleep at least a few hours later until you had a rude awakening involving Spencer finally opening his door.

You hit your head right on the floor, which had woke you up. “Ow.” You muttered and looked up, seeing Spencer’s ghostly figure standing above you. You could’ve sworn you were dreaming. “Spencer?”

“You’re still here?” He asked, confusion in his voice. You finally stood up from the floor and nodded at him to answer as he began to walk away from the door and went back to the couch.

It was then that you got a look at his apartment. There were books on the floor everywhere. If you knew better, you’d say Spencer may have thrown them out of anger, pain. Old takeout boxes on the kitchen counter and living room table. It smelt like death — (but it actually might’ve been Spencer). You had to squint to look around since it’d been so dark. “Oh, Spencer…” You mumbled and turned to him on the couch. He was in a fetal position on the cushions, his hair falling in front of his face with an evident frown engraved on his face. He looked like a fragile child and it ached your heart to see him like that.

You found yourself kneeling in front of him and brushed the hair away from his face — like it was second nature to you. Like you’ve done it before. And you have.

You looked around, wondering what you should do, what you can do. And you finally find something small to start with. “When was the last time you slept in your own bed?” You asked and Spencer didn’t answer. You expected that.

You stood up from kneeling in front of Spencer and walked to his room, grabbing a few clothes — a plain t-shirt, a pair of underwear, plaid pajama pants and a pair of mismatched socks. You then went into the hall closet to pull out a towel and a washcloth for him and walked towards the bathroom to start running the water. He always liked it not too hot or not too cold but just warm enough.

You walked into the living room and found Spencer sitting up on the couch. “Why don’t you hop in the shower? I’ve got it running the way you like it.” It took a few seconds but Spencer nodded at you and began to trudge to the bathroom. He’d left the door a crack and you wondered why he did. But then it occurred to you that maybe he didn’t want to feel quite alone for a minute and you were right there if he needed anything. And he knew you had a guilty conscience, knowing that if he had closed the door and he’d done something to himself, you’d never forgive yourself. And you wouldn’t want him trapping himself in the bathroom either.

As Spencer went into the shower, you’d taken care of the rest of the apartment. You started with opening the blinds to bring some sort of light in and then with the kitchen counter, clearing out all of the old takeout boxes and washing dishes and wiping down the table and putting the books back on the shelves. All except for one. The Narrative of John Smith, it’d been the one book that he was clutching onto the entire time she’d been here until you told him to get into the shower. You knew he needed to put that one away on his own terms.

You fixed the couch up, laying the throw blanket neatly over the couch and then walked to his room, setting up his own bed. Wanting for him to be as comfortable as possible.

When he finally exited the bathroom, you didn’t hear him. You hadn’t heard his footsteps as he looked around the living room, seeing how you tidied up the place while he was in the shower. He almost thought you left, until he heard your humming from the other room. You were singing to yourself, a habit you picked up often doing casual things like laundry or spring cleaning. He missed the nonchalance of your presence and as he walked towards the door and found you making his bed, he missed it even more. Missed you even more.

You finally noticed that you weren’t alone, looking up to see him in the doorway and you smiled towards him. “Oh, hi.” You said and he walked into the room, looking down at his newly made bed. “Are you feeling better?”

He didn’t answer verbally, just shrugged.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, you look down at his perfectly made bed and say, “Why don’t you get some rest?”

Spencer nods at you weakly and gets under the covers. You almost want to tuck him in, like he’s a child, but you refrain from doing so. You look down at him and felt like you’ve done everything you could for him. Made sure he showered, tidied his apartment. Surely he’s sick of you being here now.

You ease the awkward tension, sucking in a breath and patting your knees. “Well… I’m just… gonna… see myself out. Get all of the rest you can, Spencer. No rush to come back, just take your time.” You assure finally and silently plead him to ask you to stay longer. Because you don’t exactly feel accomplished at the fact that you haven’t done anything except ask him to take a shower and clean his apartment. It didn’t really feel like a win. Instead, you felt more heartbroken for Spencer.

And somehow, by some miracle, you felt him grab your hand and you turned to face him and his gleaming eyes. “Can you…” The words trailed off from his lips as he stares into your eyes. “Can you stay?” You look at him, with wide eyes. It was like he read your mind. “Please?”

You look at him and try to maintain your composure as much as you can. Because this is the first time he’s asked you to stay the night since you two were together. “Yeah, of course, Spencer.”

He moves towards the other side of the bed to make room for you and you’re shocked by the gesture. You hadn’t shared a bed with him since you were together, either. You sit up against the headboard and he gravitates towards your thigh, resting his head on it and closes his eyes and your hand finds his hair, running a hand through it and trying to maintain his curls at the back of his neck.

Then, you remember. You look towards the drawer next to the bed on your side and wonder. You open the drawer and sure enough, there it was. The brown comb you left behind. You often used it to brush his hair, especially when it was shaggy down his shoulders and he’d often rest his head on your thigh like he was doing now and you’d run your hand through his locks until you’d finally bought a comb. It surprised you that he still kept it. You would’ve thought it ended up in his ‘Y/n box’ like how everything of his ended up in your ‘Spencer box’.

And like second nature, you began to brush his damp locks with the comb, trying your best to angle your arm to not interrupt his rest. You softly smiled at the scene, his eyes closed and nose scrunching every few minutes or so.

You’d suspected that maybe he’d fallen asleep to you combing his hair because his breathing evened and he was quiet with his eyes still remaining closed. But you still found yourself still combing through his hair despite getting the tangles all out.

“I miss her,” He admitted and for a moment, you stopped your movements, not only because his words shocked you but also because you thought he was asleep. “I miss Maeve.” He added and you notice as his lip quivers at his own mention of his dead girlfriend and you do everything in your power to keep your lip from doing the same.

“I know.” You say, your voice so soft and nurturing as you continued to comb through his hair.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else but you were glad he’d spoken out just what he was feeling in that moment. You lean against the headboard, wishing to say more but what Spencer really needed right now was someone in his corner, not someone who wanted to give their own opinion about the situation or relate to him — just someone to listen to him.

You continue brushing until you finally decide that his hair is silky smooth and place the comb on the table next to you and look down at his resting face and instead of the frown you’d seen earlier, you finally see some sort of look of peace. Of course, the sadness is still etched on him from a mile away. But you glad to grant him some form of peace in a time where he’s most desperate of it.

You begin to run your hand through his hair, massaging his scalp like you often used to do when you were together. And for a moment, it’s like you two are dating again and it’s like it’s casual, like you’ve done this before — which you have. But it’s been so long, you never thought you’d be in this position again.

Eventually, he falls asleep on your thigh and his soft breathing is more even than it was before and his mouth is slightly parted as he sleeps. And you don’t care about the crick you’re going to get in your neck from this headboard, you don’t care that your leg is dead and that your pant leg is slightly damp from his wet hair. What matters more than anything right now is him getting the rest he deserves.

And what mattered more than anything and your goal was that Spencer was going to fight through this gaping hole of darkness and find his light eventually. And somewhere deep down inside of you, though you’d never admit it out loud — you hoped that that light was you.

[etheraltides]

Of Tears and Triumphs

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summarize: A quiet morning at the Cameron estate becomes a turning point as the reader grapples with anxiety and a relapse in her eating disorder journey . Rafe, noticing the distress, offers comfort and support, reminding her that nothing is ever lost.

Warning(s): Eating disorders (compulsive eating), body dysmorphia, anxiety, emotional distress (shame, guilt), mental health struggles (depression, self-image issues), substance abuse (reference to past drug use).

A/N: To anyone reading this who is struggling right now, I want you to know that you are not alone. It's okay to feel lost, to feel overwhelmed, and to not have everything figured out. Healing is a journey, and it doesn’t happen overnight. Be kind to yourself, even when it feels impossible. You are so much more than your struggles.

Remember, reaching out for help is a sign of strength, not weakness. There are people – therapists, counselors, loved ones – who can support you through this. You don't have to face it alone, and you deserve to find the peace and healing that’s waiting for you. Please, take the first step towards getting the help you deserve. You are worth it. 💙

The sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, casting a gentle, golden glow over the Cameron estate. Everything was deceptively perfect: the ocean's rhythmic crashing in the distance, the birds that chirped from the tree canopies, and the soft rustle of leaves carried by the morning breeze. Yet beneath this serene surface, a storm brewed in your chest.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs folded underneath you, the light duvet twisted in your restless fingers. Rafe's side of the bed was empty, the indentation of his head still fresh on the pillow. He'd gone out for an early surf with Kelce and Topper, leaving you alone with your thoughts – a dangerous place to be.

The room felt stifling, the silence pressing into your ears like cotton. You glanced at the old Polaroid on the nightstand. In it, you and Rafe were beaming, arms slung around each other at some summer bonfire weeks before. Your hair was wild from the salt water, and his grin was as reckless as ever. It was weeks after your steady recover, before you tripped and the weight of guilt and shame began pressing down on you like lead.

Yesterday had started normally. You’d woken up with the soft glow of the sun filtering through the curtains, feeling almost optimistic. It wasn’t until you scrolled through Instagram that the first thread of anxiety wove itself around your chest. A picture from a girl you used to know, toned and confident in her bikini, had appeared at the top of your feed. The caption read “Hard work pays off.”

Your thumb froze mid-scroll, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Memories of skipped meals and endless calculations surfaced like unwelcome ghosts. A voice in your head, sharp and familiar, whispered, Why can’t you be like that?

The feeling followed you through the day, clinging like a second skin as your whole algorithmic seemed to sense your mind and show you all the gorgeous and thin girls in your feed. By the time afternoon came, the anxiety had grown into a suffocating mass that sat heavy in your chest. You paced the kitchen, each footstep echoing in your head. The silence was unbearable, the ticking of the clock like a countdown to something inevitable. You knew you weren’t going to settle down or forget until you did it.

The pantry door creaked as you opened it. Your fingers hovered over the neatly stacked items, trembling. Just a little, you told yourself, reaching for a handful of crackers. Just a few so I can cover this awful feeling – some good, old food comfort. But one taste turned into two, and soon, control slipped through your grasp like sand.

You moved on autopilot, the familiar numbness settling in as you grabbed chocolate bars, chips, anything you could find. Each bite was frantic, fueled by desperation and self-loathing. The last spoonful of ice cream melted on your tongue, its sweetness turning bitter as regret surged up, hot and suffocating.

When you came to, the evidence surrounded you: wrappers crumpled like discarded dreams, smudges of chocolate on your hands, the tub of ice cream half-melted on the counter. The kitchen, once a place of comfort, had become a cage, and you were the only prisoner.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. The weight of shame pressed down, crushing and relentless.

This morning, the mirror was your jury, and it was merciless. You tugged at your shirt, the fabric clinging to your skin as if conspiring against you. Your eyes, usually bright with laughter, were rimmed with red, dull and haunted. The internal monologue was relentless:

You’re weak. You’ve ruined everything. How could you let it happen again?

The silence in the house was shattered by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Rafe's voice echoed through the hallway, carefree and light. “Babe? You here?”

You didn’t respond, the shame was too raw, too close. You pulled your knees tighter to your chest, staring blankly at the mirror as if it would offer some kind of reprieve.

Footsteps approached and then paused at the threshold. The room was drenched in the soft, fading sunlight, but it did nothing to lift the heavy atmosphere.

“Hey.” Rafe’s voice softened when he saw you, the smile fading from his lips. Concern clouded his eyes as he took in your hunched form, your tear-streaked cheeks. He set down his phone without a word, crossing the room in three long strides.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low and gentle. He knelt beside you, resting a warm hand on your knee. The weight of his gaze was heavy but not suffocating, it was grounding.

“I messed up.” You whispered, voice breaking. “I messed up so bad.”

Rafe’s brows knitted, and he took a breath, steady and patient. “Talk to me, baby.” he coaxed. When you didn’t reply, he shifted to sit beside you on the floor, pulling you closer.

“I ate. I ate everything yesterday. I couldn’t stop.” you admitted, the words spilling out in a rush. Your voice trembled with the weight of confession. “And now I can’t stand to look at myself or… or to look at food again.”

His jaw clenched, not out of anger but out of a protective frustration. “Hey, hey” he whispered, turning to face you fully. His hands found yours, fingers weaving together with tender insistence. “Listen to me. You are not defined by one moment, alright? Not by yesterday, not by what happened.”

Tears welled up again, and you looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Rafe reached out, tilting your chin up so that you had no choice but to look at his blue eyes. “You were there for me, remember?” he said, his voice thickening. “Every time I messed up, every time I felt like I couldn’t crawl out of that pit with coke. You pulled me through. Don’t you dare think I’m not going to do the same for you. For however long it takes.”

The room stilled, the truth of his words settling into the spaces between the pain and you couldn’t help the sob that escaped your lips. You felt pathetic and mess, and yet Rafe was being understanding and loving – he was treating you like you should treat yourself.

He took your hand, placing a kiss to your palm as his eyes watched you tenderly. “Why don’t you take a nice bath?” he suggested, his voice gentle but firm. “It’ll help you feel a little better.”

You blinked at him, the exhaustion and emotional weight making it difficult to argue. Reluctantly, you nodded, and with a small smile, Rafe guided you to the bathroom, making sure you were settled before stepping out quietly, having lighten up your favorite eucalyptus scented cantle on the way out.

As the warm water wrapped around you, easing the tension in your muscles, Rafe was already in the kitchen, brow furrowed as he watched a YouTube video on his phone, the volume low so you wouldn’t hear. The video was one of those wholesome, comforting cooking channels, and he paid close attention, following each step precisely. He wanted this to be a surprise, a moment where he could make you feel seen and cared for like you had made him feel when he was struggling to keep clean.

Half an hour later, you slipped into one of Rafe’s sweaters, not wanting any fabric hugging your body. The scent of simmering herbs greeting you as you opened the bedroom’s door. Your curiosity piqued, and you made your way to the kitchen to find Rafe standing over the stove, a look of focused concentration on his face as he stirred a pot.

“Rafe?” you called, the sound soft, hesitant.

He turned, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he caught your surprised expression. “Hey, I thought you could use something warm and comforting.”

“You didn’t have to—” you started, but he interrupted with a warm look.

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly. “It’s just a light soup to warm your stomach and keep you up. Something gentle to help you feel a little more settled.”

A few minutes later, he ladled the soup into a bowl, sliding it in front of you with a spoon. “This is going to be the best soup you’ve ever had.” He promised with a wink.

“And if you can’t eat much, that’s okay but you just gotta try, alright.” He pulled a chair, his arm sneaking around your waist as he brought you to his lap. His hand on your hip brushing a soft pattern under the fabric.

“Thank you.” you whispered, the tightness in your chest easing a little as you blinked a tear away.

Rafe pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Always,” he said, his voice unwavering. “And remember, we’re in this together. Every single step.”

The first bite was warm and soothing and you felt your cheeks burning as he guided the spoon to your lips but his gentle whispers distracting you from feeling ashamed. He watched, eyes hopeful and patient. “It’s… really good.” you said, a small, genuine smile breaking through.

“Told you.” he grinned proudly, his lips moving to the bare skin on your shoulder. “And if we have to go through this a hundred more times, we will. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening, replaced with something warm and steadfast. Hope didn’t feel so far out of reach.

“Tomorrow, we’re booking an appointment with the best therapist in Charleston. We’ll find someone who can help, okay? Someone who can give you the support you need.”

The sincerity in his voice brought fresh tears to your eyes. It felt like an embrace, even though he hadn’t moved further.

“You can do this, baby. You’re my tough girl, remember?” He whispered, his hand running up and down in a soothing rhythm on your back as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

General Mills and cheaply bought "dietitians" co-opted the anti-diet movement

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in NEXT THURSDAY (Apr 11) in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroehttps://cockeyed.com/lessons/viagra/viagra.html, then PROVIDENCE, RI (Apr 12), and beyond!

Steve Bannon isn't wrong: for his brand of nihilistic politics to win, all he has to do is "flood the zone with shit," demoralizing people to the point where they no longer even try to learn the truth.

This is really just a more refined, more potent version of the tactical doubt sown by Big Tobacco about whether smoking caused cancer, a playbook later adopted by the fossil fuel industry to sell climate denial. You know Darrell Huff's 1954 classic How To Lie With Statistics? Huff was a Big Tobacco shill (his next book, which wasn't ever published, was How To Lie With Cancer Statistics). His mission wasn't to help you spot statistical malpractice – an actual thing that is an actual problem that you should actually learn to spot. It was to turn you into a nihilist who didn't believe anything could be known:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#harford

Corporations don't need you to believe that their products are beneficial or even non-harmful. They just need you to believe nothing. If you don't know what's true, then why not just do whatever feels good, man? #YOLO!

These bannonfloods of shit are a favored tactic of strongmen and dictators. Their grip on power doesn't depend on their citizens trusting them – it's enough that they trust no one:

http://jonathanstray.com/networked-propaganda-and-counter-propaganda

Bannonflooding is especially beloved of the food industry. Food is essential, monopolized, and incredibly complicated, and many of the most profitable strategies for growing, processing and preparing food are very bad for the people who eat that food. Rather than sacrificing profits, the food industry floods the zone with shit, making it impossible to know what's true, in hopes that we will just eat whatever they're serving:

https://journals.plos.org/plosbiology/article?id=10.1371/journal.pbio.2003460

Now, the "nothing can be known" gambit only works if it's really hard to get at the truth. So it helps that nutrition and diet are very complex subjects, but it helps even more that the nutrition and diet industry are a cesspool of quacks and junk science. This is a "scientific discipline" whose prestigious annual meetings are sponsored (and catered) by McDonald's:

https://www.motherjones.com/environment/2014/05/my-trip-mcdonalds-sponsored-nutritionist-convention/

It's a "science" whose most prominent pitchmen peddle quack nostrums and sue the critics who point out (correctly) that eating foods high in chlorophyll will not "oxygenate your blood" (hint, chlorophyll only makes oxygen in the presence of light, which is notably lacking in your colon):

https://www.badscience.net/2007/02/ms-gillian-mckeith-banned-from-calling-herself-a-doctor/

When the quack-heavy world of nutrition combines with the socially stigmatized world of weight-loss, you get a zone ripe for shitflooding. The majority of Americans are "overweight" (according to a definition that relies on the unscientific idea of BMI) and nearly half of Americans are "obese." These numbers have been climbing steadily since the 1970s, and every diet turns out to be basically bullshit:

https://headgum.com/factually-with-adam-conover/what-does-ozepmic-actually-do-with-dr-dhruv-khullar

Notwithstanding the new blockbuster post-Ozempic drugs, we're been through an unbroken 50-year run of more and more of us being fatter and fatter, even as fat stigma increased. Fat people are treated as weak-willed and fundamentally unhealthy, while the most prominent health-risks of being fat are roundly neglected: the mental health effects of being shamed, and the physical risks of having doctors ignore your health complaints, no matter how serious they sound, and blame them on your weight:

https://maintenancephase.buzzsprout.com/1411126/11968083-glorifying-obesity-and-other-myths-about-fat-people

Fat people and their allies have banded together to address these real, urgent harms. The "body acceptance" movement isn't merely about feeling good in your own skin: it's also about fighting discrimination, demanding medical care (beyond "lose some weight") and warning people away from getting on the diet treadmill, which can lead to dangerous eating disorders and permanent weight gain:

https://www.beacon.org/You-Just-Need-to-Lose-Weight-P1853.aspx

Fat stigma is real. The mental health risks of fat-shaming are real. Eating disorders are real. Discrimination against fat people is real. The fact that these things are real doesn't mean that the food industry can't flood the zone with shit, though. On the contrary: the urgency of these issues, combined with the poor regulation of dietitians, makes the "what should you eat" zone perfect for flooding with endless quantities of highly profitable shit.

Perhaps you've gotten some of this shit on you. Have you found yourself watching a video from a dietitian influencer like Cara Harbstreet, Colleen Christensen or Lauren Smith, promoting "health at any size" with hashtags like #DerailTheShame and #AntiDiet? These were paid campaigns sponsored by General Mills, Pepsi, and other multinational, multibillion-dollar corporations.

Writing for The Examination, Sasha Chavkin, Anjali Tsui, Caitlin Gilbert and Anahad O'Connor describe the way that some of the world's largest and most profitable corporations have hijacked a movement where fat people and their allies fight stigma and shame and used it to peddle the lie that their heavily processed, high-calorie food is good for you:

https://www.theexamination.org/articles/as-obesity-rises-big-food-and-dietitians-push-anti-diet-advice

It's a surreal tale. They describe a speech by Amy Cohn, General Mills’ senior manager for nutrition, to an audience at a dietitian's conference, where Cohn "denounced the media for 'pointing the finger at processed foods' and making consumers feel ashamed of their choices." This is some next-level nihilism: rather than railing against the harmful stigma against fat people, Cohn wants us to fight the stigma against Cocoa Puffs.

This message isn't confined to industry conferences. Dietitians with large Tiktok followings like Cara Harbstreet then carry the message out to the public. In Harbstreet's video promoting Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Cocoa Puffs and Trix, she says, "I will always advocate for fearlessly nourishing meals, including cereal…Because everyone deserves to enjoy food without judgment, especially kids":

https://www.tiktok.com/@streetsmart.rd/video/7298403730989436206

Dietitians, nutritionists and the food industry have always had an uncomfortably close relationship, but the industry's shitflooding kicked into high gear when the FDA proposed rules limiting which foods the industry can promote as "healthy." General Mills, Kelloggs and Post have threatened a First Amendment suit against such a regulation, arguing that they have a free speech right to describe manifestly unhealthy food as "healthy."

The anti-diet movement – again, a legitimate movement aimed at fighting the dangerous junk science behind dieting – has been co-opted by the food industry, who are paying dietitian influencers to say things like "all foods have value" while brandishing packages of Twix and Reese's. In their Examination article, the authors profile people who struggled with their weight, then, after encountering the food industry's paid disinformation, believed that "healthy at any size" meant that it would be unhealthy to avoid highly processed, high calorie food. These people gained large amounts of weight, and found their lives constrained and their health severely compromised.

I've been overweight all my life. I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting when I was 12. I come from a family of overweight people with the chronic illnesses often associated with being fat. This is a subject that's always on my mind. I even wrote a whole novel about the promise and peril of a weight-loss miracle:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781429969284/makers

I think the anti-diet movement, and its associated ideas like body acceptance and healthy at every size, are enormously positive developments and hugely important. It's because I value these ideas that I'm so disgusted with Big Food and its cynical decision to flood the zone with shit. It's also why I'm so furious with dietitians and nutritionists for failing to self-regulate and become a real profession, the kind that censures and denounces quacks and shills.

I have complicated feelings about Ozempic and its successors, but even if these prove to be effective and safe in the long term, and even if we rein in the rapacious pharma companies so that they no longer sell a $5 product for $1000, I would still want dietary science to clean up its act:

https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/fullarticle/2816824

I'm not a nihilist. I think we can use science to discover truths – about ourselves and our world. I want to know those truths, and I think they can be known. The only people who benefit from convincing you that the truth is unknowable are the people who want to lie to you.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/05/corrupt-for-cocoa-puffs/#flood-the-zone-with-shit