#These things I cannot verbalise because they are not typically me

[sevilemar]

Hi Sevi 👋 I'm just popping in to say I'm watching The Mentalist and it's such a snake media, but not in a good way haha, I think it could actually trigger a lot of loyalists because a lot of the bad guys hurt their own people, sometimes for somebody else's sake, but most of the times it's greed, ambition, money, etc. Also, just a thought but have you ever considered a strange type of bird primary for Patrick? Maybe it's just a part of built system that snakes can have, but he does have it. There's his deduction system that people act this x way and it shows this x. But there's also a type of 'killers act this way, liars act this way and then bcs of morality has to get this punishment' system. He also has this bits and pieces of information to explain the world and people. In second season he asks a man was it worth to off his wife's killer, and you sence that he would drop all of his revenge if the man would have said no. The only thing is, I think Patrick doesn't change or update his systems, if he's wrong he brushes it off with his secondary and he's fine. I guess it was a long time since you saw the series, but I'm just throwing this in. Idk what do you think?

I think we have seen very different tv shows. Which is fine, everyone comes at things from a different perspective. But if I'm sure of anything, I'm sure that Patrick Jane is a double snake. When he asks the man if taking revenge for his wife was worth it, I see it as idle curiosity. Something along the lines of 'I don't really care what my life is gonna be like then, but here's an opportunity to get some insight, why not use it?'

As for what you call his deduction system, it's what happens when a snake sec hones one of their talents, gets a shit ton of experience, and then verbalises what they're doing for other people. The same way I can write a post about different personalities typically found in a group I'm teaching, Patrick Jane can tell you exactly why that person is lying, or that person is afraid of another, etc. It's not part of a primary, because it's all about the 'how', and not about the 'why' at all.

I'm not sure what Patrick's stance on punishment actually is, but I don't think morality plays into it. At least not morality in the sense of 'you violated the rules of society which means you must get punished for it'. His revenge is much more savage, much more personal, much more snake-coloured: 'You hurt me so I'm gonna destroy you. It is my right because you killed my persons'. And I resonate with it on a level I don't usually acknowledge. Underneath all the knowledge that reality cannot work like this, I feel a deep satisfaction that it does for him. Because he is right. He did the right thing, and it is right that the show lets him get away with it. That's why 'The Mentalist' is, at heart, a snake primary show.

In general, I don't think he cares if another criminal goes free. You can see that clearly in the episode where he looses his memory. He only learns to think different because of Lisbon. Which is another indicator for snake primary. We change our 'system', our 'morality' for our people. Not because of facts or information, but because our people give us these facts and information.

And that episode, and also everything after he actually gets Red John, shows us that he does, indeed, change his system. For Lisbon, and only for her. I don't want to spoil the end too much if you haven't seen it yet, but there is a scene where he asks Lisbon to run away with him, just the two, and he means it. He doesn't need anything or anyone else but her, and that's pure snake, primary and secondary.

#the mentalist #sortinghatchats #ask answers #snake primary #snake secondary

[doctorreids]

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FOUR - exile 

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word count: 2.3k

a/n: so i thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter so i hope you all enjoy! i’m the slightest bit worried that spencer is ooc but i’ll let myself lose sleep over that at some point. the donny hathaway song i’m referring to is this one - one of my favourite songs ever, so so so beautiful. reblogs, likes and comments are, as always very much appreciated - thank you for all the love so far x

“i can see you standin’ honey, with his arms around your body, laughin’ but the jokes not funny at all.”

It had been 3 months, 2 weeks, 3 days. He wishes he could recall the exact time but, for once in his life, he can’t.

There was life before Y/N and there was life with her, he never imagined that there would be a life without her; because if this is life…

The curse of having an eidetic memory is recalling every word, every glance, every silence, and every mistake. They filled his head every day, cacophonous and relentless.

He knows that 50% of couples break up then reconcile, he knows that this is more typical for unmarried couples to do. Yet, statistics do nothing to calm his frustration at himself. Statistics don’t tell him what he can do to fix what is broken.

There’s so much that he misses; her jumping at any chance to be with him, accompanying him to foreign film festivals, conventions, and anything he showed the slightest interest in. She would do anything for him, long before he ever called her his.

He’s still processing the depth of his loss. He had convinced himself for the first month that he could carry on and ignore the chilling cold of his bed at night or the loneliness of the subway journey home. By the second month, he could hardly look at himself. Now, three months on, the pain is so visceral, so real, that he cannot escape the crushing silence that surrounds him. No more quiet conversations on the jet, or laughter in the bullpen.

He wonders if her apartment feels just as empty as his.

He can’t help but let his mind wander to the conversation he overheard between Emily and Y/N in the bullpen - something about setting her up with a guy she knew from outside of work. He tried hard not to read into how reluctant she was accepting Emily’s offer or how defensive she looked when he went back to his desk.

What did he miss? Were there signs? Or did he, like he always did ignore the cracks as soon as they started to appear?

He didn’t want to think about someone else holding her, making her laugh, or being the reason for her smile.

It was dark outside, leaves littering the street, the rain pattering on his window. The sound of the occasional car passing by was the only sound that filled his apartment. Autumn was always his favourite season, it reminded him of change and growth, and when he first met her. It was cool that day, she was wrapped up in a royal blue knitted scarf and a soft brown worn coat - he swore to himself that he’d never seen anyone as beautiful before in his life.

He could barely focus on anything nowadays, from paperwork to books, everything was too difficult to confront. Sure, he’d been attending meetings, discussing his urges to numb himself from the world again. The beginning of his battle with addiction came before she did, it haunted him.

If he was being honest with himself, his addiction was the only thing he had fully confided in her.  She gave him all the understanding that, at times, his own chosen family didn’t give him. He didn’t resent them for it but it was frustrating.

He knew he immersed himself in work too often, the sea of paperwork and cases kept his head above the water that threatened to drown him. After all his years working for the BAU, he still didn’t know how to properly talk about what they witnessed. He tried to chalk it up to facts and probabilities, that evil exists in the world and all he can do is use what he knows to prevent it from happening again. But he couldn’t stop it from happening in the first place.

Despite how much responsibility he placed on his shoulders with his work, he questioned whether or not his career was what he really wanted. He’d promised he would find a cure for schizophrenia by the time he was thirty. Yet, here he is - alone, many a Ph.D. to his name but no overwhelming achievement.

He knew his first mistake was not telling her about how he was feeling. But he was angry, he didn’t know how to verbalise what was overwhelming him. Frustrated and choked up, he pushed her away. He kept telling himself that he felt suffocated, he was anxious that he would lose her to his job and he couldn’t prevent that. There was so much in his life that he couldn’t control.

His mother wasn’t improving, getting worse day by day, and all he could do was stand by and watch. He could write as many letters, call every day, and visit as often as he could but he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t change what was happening.

He was surrounded by people he considered to be his family yet he felt alone. All the time. So, he pulled up his guard, plastered a smile on his face, and carried on. She would always go before him in his life, nothing could change that.

Work had been…tense. He knew from the start that the girls would be protective of her and he didn’t blame them - he knew that very next day when she didn’t reply to his texts or calls or when JJ told him to ‘give her space. His only other option was Derek and his advice wasn’t, at times, what he wanted to hear.

Derek told him to fix it actively but he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to fix. Himself or their relationship? Some big romantic gesture would win her back, he was told, but he knew she hated those. He tried bringing her favourite flowers, roses, but he would freeze up every time he got to her front door. By now, it wasn’t the season for roses and he was running out of options.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia never treated him any differently, he just felt exiled from their bullpen meet-ups. From the start, all he wanted was JJ’s advice. That night they all went out, he sat in her house with Henry, listening to him babble on about Aunt Y/N and Uncle Spencer.

He won’t ever forget the sad look JJ gave him when he left, underlying anger and bitterness in her voice when she bid him goodnight.

He can’t help but think that he had irreparably messed up.

“all this time, we always walked a very thin line.”

They always said that working together was more of a blessing than a curse, they were never without the other. They could read each other like the back of each other’s hand. Until one day, they couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what switch flipped in his mind but his ability to be vulnerable with her and to open up completely was turned off. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the words to express what was going on in his mind.

Then again, neither could she. That connection between them was lost, there was this impenetrable distance between them now.

He couldn’t get comfortable in his chair, his glass of whiskey sitting beside his growing stack of books. He kept trying to find room for them but he just couldn’t bring himself to put them away - it reminded him of her apartment; books scattered on different tables, never on the shelf. It was the only trace of her left in his apartment.

His pillow no longer smelt of her, sweet and fresh. Her toothbrush was no longer sitting by his sink nor her shampoo in his shower. He’d taken down the photos, they were too painful to look at almost every day. Yet, he still kept that scarf she had left at his apartment after one of their dates, the royal blue one. Her perfume was fading on that too.

“you’re not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending?”

She had been quiet the entire car journey home, exhaustion clearly written on her face. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked softly.

A slight smile flickered across her face for a split second. It went as quickly as it came, she was angry.

“I just want to get us home in one piece, Spence,” she snapped, “can you let me do that?”

“Sure.”

She wasn’t just angry, she was pissed.

By the time they got back to his apartment, she was tired, cold, and frustrated with him. He was equally as tired but grateful to be with her, alive and well. His run-in with the unsub resulted in an overnight stay in the hospital and minor surgery. Well, he thought it was minor. She clearly didn’t.

She didn’t stop for tea the way they normally would nor did she bother to leave the light on for him in the bathroom. She just crawled into bed without a word spoken to him since they’d gotten back to his apartment. In all honesty, he thought she was just going to drop him off then go back to her own home. He was surprised that she didn’t.

Lifting the covers, he slid into bed as silently as he could as not to wake her.

“What you did was really stupid, you know that?”

She was awake. He should’ve guessed.

‘I know.”

She sighed, turning to face him, “Spencer, I know our jobs don’t exactly meet safety regulations but you can’t play the hero all the time. I had to tell myself a long time ago, that you can’t save everyone. I know you, Spence. You’re a good man, brave and you have more courage in you than literally every other man that I’ve ever met and I love you for it. But you can’t keep doing this to me, to us.”

“Doing what?”

“Scaring us all half to death. You don’t remember me holding your hand while we waited for the medics. You don’t remember Morgan telling me that you’d pull through. You didn’t get to see everyone’s faces in the waiting room. But I remember it all, I don’t think I’ll forget it.”

He was stunned into silence.

“I could only think of the worst. How was I going to be able to tell your mother? How was I supposed to carry on knowing,” her voice broke and his heart shattered, “that I would never get to hold you again, or hear one of your many facts, or be able to explain how much you mean to me.”

“But, you didn’t have to-“ he started.

“I know. You’re alive and I’m so grateful. But if you ever pull a stunt like that ever again…”

His smile was sad, “I won’t ever leave you. You’re my home. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“And you’re mine too.”

“i think i’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending.”

The memory echoed in his mind. He thinks about what could have been, the family he pictured them having. He knew, even though it was unsaid, she wanted a little girl. He couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t want to see a miniature Y/N running around. He always wanted his own kids ever since Henry was born and something inside him changed when he saw you holding Henry for the first time.

He saw his future before him.

Or so he thought. His dream disappeared when he heard his front door slam that night. He would give anything to take that night back. Take back the things that were said, the things left unsaid, and go after her.

By now, he thought he was too late. He witnessed the most perfect, the most precious thing he had in his life play out like a Shakespearian tragedy on the big screen. His heartache played like a movie he had seen far too many times before.

Maybe they were doomed from the start, their ending determined by fate. Something he only ever believed in with her.

“You can’t save everyone.” He couldn’t even save himself. He thought he was kidding himself when he thought he could ever win her back, too much time had passed, too much distance.

There were oceans between them, and for too long he was too scared to start to cross the vast space.

He stared at his now empty whiskey glass and out onto the street - the rain was heavier now. He had no idea what time it was, it was late. He wonders if she’s still up. If she’s sitting in that chair by her window, like he is, thinking about him.

His whole body aches for her touch. He aches to tell her everything, to apologise and to tell her all the small little things that have happened since they last spoke. Like how that mug she used to always drink out of shattered when he was putting it back in the cupboard and how he cried because he couldn’t glue it back together. Or how he searched and searched for a new one but he couldn’t find it so he decided to not buy a new one, it couldn’t be replaced.

He would tell her that he listens to that Donny Hathaway song she used to always play in the car late at night. He’d like to think that she would be proud that he knows all the words - that he doesn’t just listen to Beethoven. Morgan told him to play a song over a boombox outside her window. He didn’t get the reference but he knew he would play that song.

He opened his wardrobe to pull out his pyjamas when it caught his eye. The scarf, a shimmer of glitter caught in the moonlight.

He knew what he had to do.

Grabbing his coat, keys, and the scarf, he opened his door and walked out into the night.

#spencer #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #reidxfolklore

[sixgoldensuns]

Transience

I did not need to be here. I chose to be here. How then, can I bear so much resentment in my heart? Perhaps it is the thief named comparison that is here to steal my joy. In the spirit of wanting to be a better clinician, a more knowledgable person, to go where God might open a door to, I jumped at the chance to be here in Broken Hill without a hesitation earlier this semester. But I also find my heart wandering, flirting with the what-ifs of leisure and time that I can have with loved ones if I were not here. I first lamented about this in my conversation with Dawn last week (our much needed catch up!), but as quickly as I heard myself utter the words, I was adamant that this was good, I was here for a reason, when I look back in hindsight, I will not regret it. So I’m putting all my Broken Hill chronicles up here, that I might actually have something to look back on.

It has been over a week since I have arrived at Broken Hill. Typically, time flies by especially when I arrive at a new place- so much to do, so much to see. But time seems to crawl here in Broken Hill. Maybe this is what it is like to be in rural Australia? Maybe my inner city-girl self is just shocked and I just need to be a tad patient with myself and get accustomed to what this quaint and beautiful town has to offer? Maybe it’s because I haven’t made quite the effort to meet and socialise with others? 

In my first week in Broken Hill, my interactions with people reveal a sense of detachment that stems from understanding that people come and people go- most students are here from 2-4 weeks for placements, like myself; employees are on short 1-2 year contracts. It’s like a collective fear of abandonment and disillusion. That said, the people are warm, friendly and welcoming... but also never getting too close. At some level, it’s sad, but I guess people do get quite jaded from saying Goodbyes all the time and would much prefer to keep within their circle. I think I, too, have a part to play in that. I know the transient nature of my visit. And I guess the inability to form a deep relationship with anybody here has made it rather difficult for me to understand why I have been placed here. But again, I am telling the story as I am living it out right now; I’m hoping at the end of it, or when I look back at this experience, this entry in hindsight, I would have better insight and understanding. Or it may just remain a mystery forever? Only one way to find out. 

Still, I have to say that despite the apparent mundanity (something I’m starting to accept as part-of-the-job), I really am learning a lot about the organisation I’m working in, the complex issues in providing health care to indigenous communities, and about rural Australia. I was given the opportunity to go up to Wilcannia, a small town about 2-3 hours drive from Broken Hill, with the speech pathologist and allied health assistant. Of note during the visit is when we went to see a 3 year old boy, who had reportedly been uncooperative in previous sessions. Completely contrary to what I was warned about, he was engaged, enthusiastic in play and in given tasks. He also verbalised much more than in previous sessions. The speech pathologist was thrilled. My heart was filled with joy. He had shown how he is capable. It reminds me that a large part of my job in assessment is to do all that I can in my power to bring out the best in the child. To recognise that there is untapped ability that can be unlocked, and not be so fixated on the problems and things that the child cannot do. It requires belief and patience, to see people beyond their deficits and difficulties. 

Over the past week, there has also been a running theme in my bible reading, church sermons, books that I have been reading. I am learning that suffering in this life is to be expected but there is also great joy in the hope that we have in Christ. In the past, I was so fixated on the first part of the message- the pain that God would demand of me to be obedient, and I bolted. I was so afraid of what God might call me to sacrifice and the great pain that I would have to endure, as a testament to my faith. Everytime I come across an amazing sharing about how God has worked in someone’s life, I am fixated on the price that the person has to pay. But I am starting to see that, the person did not pay the ultimate price- Jesus already did. Jesus’ warnings of suffering was to give us a realistic picture to expect. The Christian life is not one that promises a cushy life, and he made sure not to sugar coat it (Matthew 8:18-22). But there is a second part to the story that I have overlooked- the reality is that along with this suffering, is the beautiful promise that God will not forsake. God knows our needs and he provides them in the most timely fashion (Matthew 10:29-31). The full and complete picture is that there are bound to be storms, but there are also shelters. 

May I be true and authentic in my laments, but also have the faith and obedience to trust in God’s sovereign rule over my life, knowing that Jesus has already paid it all. 

[joshuas-light-foundation]

Words are like seeds......

Known for talking the "hind legs off a donkey", I thought I would try my hand at blogging; something that I have wanted do for some time now and hope that this linked-series engages a few folk.

Okay, let's give it a go........

The following - talking, conversing, listening, hearing..... These are all umbrella terms for the association that links each of them......

words.

When reflecting on "words" many things enter my mind, but there are two particular sayings that spring to the forefront that I am sure you are familiar with: 

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me", and

"Actions speak louder than words".

Is anyone as surprised as I, when reflecting on how many times I have spouted these old proverbs? And yet, when you stop and analyse these sayings, there is actually a secondary undertone that only now screams at me.

So what are your first thoughts? Let's take the first saying for now.

Well typically the British are very well known for the "Stiff Upper Lip" persona, and this well-established aphorism does us proud, right!?

I, myself, remember being bullied at school and on one particular occasion whilst standing there face-to-face with one of the many bullies, I opened my mouth and started relaying the above saying. Now this was in the 90's and by all accounts, wasn't the "coolest" thing to say.......... Suffice to say that they and their cronies laughed!! Within one day, it felt like the whole school knew my "comeback" and considered me a bit of a geek!! It's amazing to think that rather than talking and attempting to diffuse a situation, others would rather you exchange words for violence! Anyway, I could digress here......

Okay then, the second saying. You will have most definitely heard and said this a few times, surely?!! Can I ask you though - do you actually believe this saying, or is it simply something ingrained into us whereby we therefore live by this and do not stray from the meaning?

When you analyse these old proverbs, they both insinuate that words are just....... well, insignificant. It screams to me now, that if someone were to verbally abuse you or cause you emotional harm, then you should be able to deal with it because, "Words cannot hurt me".

Now don't misunderstand my harping on, I am all for constructive criticism-in fact I welcome it in my personal and professional life, and although sometimes hard to hear, I believe it helps a person to reflect and gives them a chance to change something for the better. However, there is such thing as overstepping the mark and to what some from Yorkshire would say, "Being reet nasty!!" So here, the other old saying of "Honesty is the best policy" is quite significant. I would agree that in some situations, honesty enables solid foundations to be built upon, but with what price mentally? And surely there lies an unwritten rule of etiquette, whereby one doesn't verbalise everything they are thinking. The good old "filter" comes into play here, or at least it should, right?

You may be wondering as to why I am droning on about "words" and their respective meanings. I can promise you that there is a reason for this, yet this lies deep under the sorrow that has been caused by harm, such as verbal and emotional.

My brother lost his life as the tender young age of 18 years old. From the age of 7, he was subjected to low-level bullying. I will- at some point- write a further blog regarding this matter, but what typified this was the disregard for words used against him from this innocent young age. We know that children can be nasty to one another- it’s part of growing up and finding their place within society- but when does this become a problem and when should those responsible for these children step in??

My brother was no problem to anyone; incredibly smart and advanced for his age meant that he stood out. Because he was so intelligent, he would help other children in class and try to be their friend, and this continued until his final days in senior school. He would always go out of his way for people, but secondary to the smart and quick thinker's attributes, he was also very tall for his age and subsequently, a little clumsy. Sports and detailed coordination were therefore not his strong points. “PERFECT”.........a couple of other things they could pick on him for!!

Being the personality that he was, he never moaned or complained about anyone, or anything. He didn't want to make a fuss; it's a quieter life then. I suppose, on reflection, if you are subjected to verbal bullying for such a long period of time, you must become immune to it and accept that "this is life"! It also makes you wonder that going back to my original points, is the society we live within disabling us from recognition that words are hurtful and that words do make an impact? 

“Words are like seeds. Once you plant them, they grow into the tree you intended.”

I can reflect on my days at school and remember the devastation caused to me by bullies. There was never really anything physical to show for this, other than a fractured ankle after being tripped up once, but the scars that have been etched into my memory still remain. On reflection, these scars and memories are fading, but it has taken over 16 years to get this far and I consider myself to have got off lightly.

Just think - if you are recognised as "different", with that normally comes inappropriate and hurtful verbal abuse. Is this really acceptable?? It really isn't and in order to change this culture, we need to change how those who deliver this nonsense- act and speak! Let's make a stand and change society..........

Let's talk about it.......

#bullying #mental health #mental illness