#blame my adhd but my hand needs to do something and it's not needed to take notes

[fluffyfangirl]

I have a workshop at work, but Byler is always present in my head and my hand needs to be busy:

[autisticlee]

no one knows just how hard I work at things. how I have to work 1000000x more than the average person to compensate for being autistic and adhd and probably other things i'm working out with therapist, and having a sort of physical disability i've not received any help or treatment for. everyone assumes I don't try or give up too soon. they think I just started, need more practice. they think I expect everything handed to me immediately with no work or effort and don't acknowledge the multiple years i've put into things. they think I have no right to be upset about still failing to get where I want even after working my entire life to get there, while watching people around me surpass even my meager goals within a fraction of the time and work i've out into the same thing. constantly getting surpassed by everyone around me who seem to barely do any work to get there compared to me. it's all handed to them and falls into their lap so easily. all because they don't have the extra obstacles to overcome and work around that I do. while they go from point A to Z immediately with no major stops in between, I have to go through every single letter and then some, often getting sent back to the start. but it's always *my* fault, according to everyone. it's not the fault of those around me who ignore me, don't support me, don't help me, don't believe in me, etc. it's my fault they don't do those things. because doing the work of 10 people in one isn't enough, just because it's me. and not reaching Z as fast as everyone else means I don't deserve any of the support or help or anything else and means i'm not trying hard enough. it doesn't matter that I *need* to work harder than 100 "normal" people combined to get even half the result! Just because I can't reach what they do means i'm not trying hard enough! ugh.

[frothingatthemaw]

> puzzling

summary: vessel and reader do some puzzling. pairing: vessel x gn!reader warnings/tags: softbf!vessel, clingy!vessel, mentions of guilt, reader has autistic/adhd traits, use of petnames (love, darling), slightly suggestive (if you want to view it that way), bad dialogue. word count: 1.2k a/n: i was compelled by thoughts about this while watching a puzzling youtube video, this was supposed to be a very small thing but turned into this. also my first sleep token fanfic so please be nice to me. this hasn’t been proofread either, apologies for typos or something of the such.

You had decided to take up the challenge of completing a puzzle. This was something you hadn’t done since childhood, a hobby that would take up some hours of your time at Christmas, as your family seemed to like gifting you puzzles. You didn’t mind though, even as a child you enjoyed sticking the pieces together. This struck your love for them at all.

By this time, you had been going at this specific puzzle for just over a few hours. It was 1,000 pieces; you knew what you signed up for. It had taken over every bit of your attention, completely engulfed in the task at hand. If there was one thing about you, it was that you never left something half finished, so you’d be damned if you left the dining table with the puzzle yet to be completed. 

Still yet, this was taking longer than you remembered it took you when you were young, too, which was frustrating. You tried not to think about it, tried to not blame yourself too badly for being slow at this. You brushed it off on your child mind being much sharper than these days, and also the time it had been since you puzzled last. Benefit of the doubt. 

It had been so long you'd been at this, in fact, that your boyfriend had started to feel abandoned to the point of waddling his way into the dining section of the kitchen in your shared apartment. You didn’t quite catch the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders and draped over his head, he was only a blur in your peripheral vision, and you had vaguely heard his footsteps. You’re thankful you heard him because you can feel that you would’ve jumped out of your skin at his touch on your shoulders if you hadn’t. You let out a small gasp despite this. 

“Still going at it, love?” Vessel asks you, hands slipping over your shoulders more. 

You hum back to him absentmindedly. Your eyes were darting across the pieces laid out across the table, furrow in your brow. It was becoming a little infuriating that you couldn’t find this specific piece and your brain wouldn’t allow you to move onto the next until you found this one. A huff comes from you. At this, Vessel starts to massage your shoulders. 

“Do you need help?” He speaks again. You notice that his voice sounds tired. It makes you feel a twinge of guilt that you can’t dwell on. 

He leans down, hands still on your shoulders, leaning his face against yours. He places kisses along your jaw, up to your check, back down to your neck. He missed you.

“Can you see this piece?” You point at an empty space in the already assembled other pieces. “I can’t fucking find it and I’ve been looking for ages,” you sigh. You finally allow yourself to feel some of his touch.

Vessel angles his head to get a better look at the puzzle sprawled on the table. He’s still close to you, enough where you can hear his breathing. You feel the blanket around him, falling further back into the chair to try your best to be closer to him. Something about Ves being like this makes your core melt. You adored when he was all soft and cuddly. Especially for you.

His fingers brush through the small pieces of printed cardboard, eyeing them with the same intensity you had been before. He sucks in a breath while he picks one up, then places it into the spot you’re trying to fill. It slips into place perfectly. You almost want to curse him for it. 

Instead, you opt for saying, “Maybe I should’ve recruited you to help me earlier.” Your tone sounds tired, even you can hear that now. 

A dry laugh comes from him, you stare at the smile on his face. He looks proud. You want to bite into him. “I think you need to take a break, darling.” 

Okay, yeah, you did need to take a break because a headache bursts through you at full force. You’re not going to tell him that. 

You’re reluctant to reply, but you eventually settle with, “I really want to get it finished first though.” You pout at him, sinking a bit down the chair. 

Vessel’s hand squeezes at your shoulder, planting a kiss to your neck in unison. “Let me help you then.” 

“Do you really want to?”

“I miss you,” he says. Your heart aches a little. Maybe a lot. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. You didn’t mean to get so focused on this that you blocked everything out, including him. 

He leans backwards, standing straighter. He takes your chin into his hand to make you look up at him. “No sorries, yeah?” 

You nod. 

“Good.” He leans down to kiss you, lingering there, he savors it. He tastes you, slowly. It was a hunger in his stomach that had been building for the last few hours, and he was taking his time to satisfy it. If the puzzling hadn’t melted your brain, his lips and tongue finished that for you. 

When he pulls away, the way he looks at you only amplifies the puddle you’ve become. Vessel had this way of his eyes saying how much he simply adored you. It was identifiable, instantly, and it never failed to do its job. 

“Wanna get up so I can help you?” 

Your brain didn’t understand at all what he was implying under the fog he placed upon you. It wasn’t until he took your hand, pulled you up, sat down in your place, and tugged you back down to sit on his lap that it clicked. All of it seemed like a blur to you. You were having trouble processing things. 

This feeling dissolved when Vessel started questioning you about what you were planning on looking for next, asking about your sorting arrangement as well. The questions were grounding. Ves also had a way of doing that, placing you atop clouds and bringing you back to Earth in the same breath. 

And so, the next while was spent with you on his lap, the two of you finding it much easier to finish the puzzle together rather than you on your own. This didn’t mean that he didn’t get distracted a few times by kissing your neck, saying that he’s proud of you, and reiterating how he had missed you. 

After the puzzle had officially been approved by you as accomplished, Vessel had dragged you to bed with him. Here took place of many sleepily shared kisses. 

“No idea how much I needed this,” he told you between the kisses. 

You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t tell him either, that this melting of your chemical compounds was needed in a form of saturation. The shaking of his hand as it came up to hold your face almost broke your skull in half. He licked into your mouth with more hunger than in the dining room, believe it or not. 

The act of this had lasted until neither of you could not go any longer, jaws almost sore. And the exhaustion was an honorable mention too. You couldn’t have even guessed how much time had passed. Though, it didn’t take any time at all for Vessel to put both of you to sleep through his whispered praises to you. Even in a state of deliriousness, he couldn’t help but to utter how much he yearns for you.

[morganbritton132]

I love that Eddie is a craft guy! It just makes so much sense. Do you think he's one of those people who is CONSTANTLY doing a new craft and their house is just littered with Eddie's crafts, and he's always making little hand made gifts for Steve, the party and the band? I can totally imagine Steve coming home and the house just being in total disarray and Eddie's just like "I made a bird table and i personalised all your coffee cups :))"

Eddie Munson and the ADHD urge to start a new project before you finished the last one.

Despite Eddie’s big personality and the joy he gets galivanting across cafeteria tables and award show stages, he is very much a homebody. His favorite places growing up was his bedroom, Gareth’s garage, and the drama room where he hosted D&D. Then he went on tour and when the shows were over, he just wanted to be home.

He liked being able to strip away the Eddie Munson persona, sit down, and channel all the ideas in his head into a creative output.

Honestly, making money just made it worse. He can afford shit now.

Steve’s the opposite though.

Steve likes to be out of the house. He was a kid that lived in a big house with parents that never wanted to see or hear him, sometimes year-round sports were the only thing keeping him sane. Once Eddie made it big and was touring, Steve was once again alone in a big empty house and so he found things to do.

He meets up with Robin at least once a week to get dinner and drinks, and sometimes they go dancing or they sing karaoke. Him and Dustin meet up semi-regularly to catch up. He was a part of their neighborhood walking group before Diane annoyed him out of it. He goes bowling with some teachers from work occasionally and takes a pottery class that he sucks at. Him and Max are a part of a trivia team that has only ever succeeded at being the drunkest team in the game.

So, the combination of ‘Steve is 90% of my impulse control and he’s not here right now’ and ‘If I don’t create something, I will die’ means that sometimes Steve comes home to a new windchime or a questionably made bird house.

 Sometimes he comes home to Eddie embroidering one of his jackets by hand even though he bought an embroidery machine that he has never used. Other times, he comes home and Eddie has carved every bar of soap they had into a little fucked-up guy or he found a recorder and wants to play Steve a song.

Or sometimes, Steve returns home from the cooking class he’s taking at their local community center to beads. Beads everywhere.

Beads in the carpet. Beads on the hardwood. Beads in their shoes by the stairs. Beads everywhere.

Steve – who is pretty Type-A about their house being clean and organized because he has a shit memory and needs to be able to find things – very calmly sits aside the ravioli that he made and says, “Eddie, what the fuck?”

“I dropped them.”

Steve makes a gesture like ‘yeah, no shit’ and then just makes a distressed noise, but Eddie waves him off as he dumps a handful of beads into the good punch bowl that they use for parties, “Don’t blame me. Your cat tripped me. I nearly brained myself.”

“She’s only my cat when she’s bad,” Steve sighs, sitting down to help pick the beads up. “Why do you have beads anyways? Since when do we have beads?”

“Do you remember those beaded lizard keychains?” Eddie asks, and then when all he got was silence. “I’m going to make you one…after we pick up two thousand pony beads.”

Steve makes another noise that’s somewhere between ‘you’re causing me actual pain’ and ‘I love you so much it makes me stupid’ and Eddie grins at him. He gestures to the punch bowl and says, “Stevie, think about it. Once we fill this bad boy up, we can separate the beads by color. That’ll be fun, right?”

“…Yeah, I’d actually really like that.”

[thestoryofella]

hii i love ur writing for steve and was wondering if u could write something about him changing bedsheets for an autistic reader ? maybe they're trying to cuddle and watch a movie or something but the reader can't focus/stop squirming ? certain textures/fabrics are very much sensory hell for me and i've had this problem a couple times and didn't want to be rude so i barely got any sleep lol

no pressure to write it ofc !! ty for reading :]

thank you for requesting; you’re my first request ever and I couldn’t wait to write this! I’m not on the spectrum but I do have adhd and am very familiar with sensory issues, so I tried to focus on those since I know them well. I hope that’s okay lovely!

warnings: fluff

steve harrington x reader ✿ 1393 words

You and Steve had been dating for three months and had the quintessential, imperative, and possibly relationship-changing date planned tonight: the sleepover. To put it plainly, you were terrified. You liked Steve, a lot. He was kind, thoughtful, and so handsome it made you wonder how you were dating him in the first place.

When you got to his house, you had packed the essentials: pajamas, a blanket, personal care items, and popcorn for your movie, of course. Despite being well-prepared, you couldn’t shake the nervousness from the first sleepover with a new significant other, or the butterflies in your stomach that you could only blame on your infatuation with your honey-eyed boyfriend.

Steve’s parents were out of town for the weekend, which thankfully allowed you to avoid the whole meet-the-parents situation, along with sharing the house. You packed your trunk and drove over to Steve’s house with some anxiety bubbling in your throat. When you pulled into his driveway, you prayed things went smoothly.

When you reached his front door, you only had to knock your fist on the door once before Steve opened it quickly. It appeared that he had been waiting for you, and he opened the door with a smile gracing his lips. He stood with one hand on his hip, and the other posed in a wave when he saw your face.

“Hi, honey,” he spoke, one hand reaching out to grab your backpack, and the other to grab yours. Your cheeks warmed at the thoughtfulness of his actions, not used to having someone so readily help you with heavy bags, or grab onto your hand so quickly.

“Hi, Stevie, how are you?” You asked genuinely, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. He smiled in return, leading you inside by your hand.

“I’m doing good; I’m just excited to spend some time with you,” He answered, tugging your hand after placing a gentle, delicate kiss on the back of it, and leading you to his bedroom. He hadn’t dropped your fingers since you walked in the door, his thumb now gently rubbing over your knuckles.

Steve quickly led you into his cozy bedroom. You had both agreed that watching a movie there would be more comfortable so you could fall asleep directly afterward. Upon entering, it was clear you didn’t need to bring any blankets, as Steve’s bed was piled with everything you could need for sleep.

He was already dressed in comfortable clothes wearing blue plaid pajama pants and a white wife beater that accentuated his strong biceps and revealed a peek of his brown, sparse chest hair and skin dotted with moles. He added your blanket to the mountain-high pile on the bed and plopped your backpack down on his floor. “Do you wanna go get changed?” He asked after taking in the sight of your day clothes, which probably weren’t very comfortable to watch a movie in.

You huffed, a bit disappointed by your lack of planning, wanting to immediately crawl into his arms and get comfortable. “I guess I should; give me a few minutes,” you said, a displeased sigh added to your words. Steve laughed in response to your obvious disdain and after digging through your backpack, threw your pajamas into your hands while putting the bag of popcorn you bought on the bed.

Walking into the bathroom, you got changed into your pajamas hurriedly, excited to watch a movie and cuddle with Steve. You had brought the most comfortable clothes you owned–though maybe not the cutest–a T-shirt that went down to your middle thigh and shorts that wouldn’t shift during the night. You hated when you woke up with your shorts in disarray, not arranged on your torso or hips correctly anymore.

After changing, you ran into Steve’s room, plopped down next to him, and got situated for the movie. You both sat next to each other on his bed, in relaxed positions. His arm was slung around your shoulder, lightly rubbing your scalp, and your head plopped onto his shoulder, breathing in his scent of vanilla, citrus, and woodsy musk. One of your legs was tucked under his, allowing his warmth to keep your frequently cold toes–wearing socks in bed was a cardinal sin–comfortably warm.

You guys decided to turn on The Princess Bride after deciding a horror or thriller movie was too intense, and after approximately one hour, you both had carefully shifted down the bed into a sleeping position. One of Steve’s hands was now thrown over your waist, the other under your midsection, and one of his legs was tucked in between yours as you tucked yourself into his chest, keeping you both warm.

Sleep had evidently taken over Steve; his breath hit your shoulder in warm, slow, even cycles. You could even feel his chest moving up and down behind you, and his hand on your waist had gradually gone from a grip to an effortless touch. The issue? You could not get comfortable. His sheets were so soft and grippy that they resembled a microfiber towel, seemingly sticking to every hair follicle on your leg, more similar to Velcro than bedding.

You tried to carefully shift to get more comfortable, tired, frustrated, and eyes heavy with sleep. When you shifted your midsection though, you accidentally put more weight than intended down and pressed hard on Steve’s hand.

Stirring, he lifted his head and chest a bit in response to your motion. Voice heavy, muffled with sleep, and eyes squinted, he yawned briefly and then asked, “You okay, sweetheart?” Reaching up to rub his groggy eyes with one hand and gently grabbing your pointer finger with the other.

You hesitated. You were so tired, but you also didn’t want him to get upset with you. Although you were comfortable with Steve, and he had given you no reason to not trust him, three months isn’t a long time to be with someone. Ultimately, after taking a moment to think, you decided to tell him the truth. After all, Steve had always been so receptive to listening to your complaints in the past concerning clothes, loud sounds, and overstimulating social scenes.

“I’m okay, I just can’t seem to get entirely comfortable. The sheets keep sticking to my legs,” you spoke quietly, slightly embarrassed at your confession.

Steve almost immediately sat up at the confession, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “You should’ve told me sooner! I’ll be right back.” He hurriedly got out of his bed. In the distance, you heard a closet open and close, as well as his footsteps, heading back to the room. When he came back, he had his arms full of new sheets which he put down on top of the duvet.

Reaching his hand out, he grabbed onto your fingers and pulled you up, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I promise I’ll be quick,” he spoke earnestly, proceeding to wrap your shoulders with a stray blanket to keep you warm while you stood.

Stripping the bed, he quickly pulled down the blankets and ripped off the old sheets. “I stole my parents' expensive sheets; they should be a lot more comfortable,” he spoke, offering you a toothy grin while you stood next to the bed, slightly embarrassed by his actions.

It took him only a few minutes to replace the sheets and throw the duvet cover back on. When he finished, he promptly hopped back into his previous spot, making himself comfortable. For a second, you were worried he was a little bit upset, but when he pulled the blanket up for you, an invitation to nestle back into his chest and get some rest, you felt a strong sense of relief.

You hopped back in bed next to him, returning to your previous positions. He tucked his arm back under your torso, nestled his head into the crook of your neck, wrapped his remaining arm around your front, and stuck one of his legs comfortably and loosely between yours.

“Try to get some rest now,” he spoke, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, loosely interlocking his hand under your torso with your own. You fell asleep to the feeling of his chest rising and falling, comfortably warm, and confident you had the best boyfriend in the world.

[mistressoftheelderitchwhorehouse]

Affection = 1

A/N: Someone pointed out how Chuuya has had little to none positive affection that wasn't transactional, or didn't result in violence. So here's a drabble series about it.

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Pairing: Chuuya x Reader

___________________________

Chuuya didn't date.

He would fuck when he had the time, might even have the occasional friend with benefits if it was a slow month. All the sex he had was spit, and blood, and hastily discarded condoms. The girls typically didn't look at him twice after, and if they did it was to ask about his bank account.

Dazai had told him once that he wasn't made for relationships, that he would push away the first person that tried to allow him the space to be vulnerable.

Dazai ended up with a broken nose that day.

And yet Dazai's syrupy words clogged his ears and poisoned his heart as he watched you idly play with his ungloved fingers.

It wasn't deliberate like after sex. When your fingers squeezed his to keep your mind from floating away while you came down from your high. Nor was it the more annoying poking you did when you wanted him to get up to get the remote.

No, here it was soft, and almost lackadaisical. Starting between his thumb and pointer, you made looping patterns up along his knuckles, down the length of his middle finger, and back up to his knuckles.

You couldn't have needed anything. The movie playing was your choice, he had whipped you both up a quick meal, and he'd let you pick the wine this time despite knowing it would be something overly sweet.

He continued racking his brains for whatever needed fixing. You had things, you weren't initiating sex... Wait, did you need comfort?

His gaze shifted from your hands to your body. The movie wasn't emotionally taxing. Just a romance that had a happy ending, according to you. You also didn't appear injured. The dark skin peeking out from your night dress didn't display any marks he hadn't been previously aware of-

"Red, you good?"

He blinked and looked up at your face. Despite trying to focus, he could still feel your hand on his own, your movements halted.

"Yeah. 'm fine."

You raised an eyebrow. "We can switch the movie. I know you like ones with a bit more atmosphere."

You removed your hand from his, and he let out a soft breath, hand finally relaxing.

"Are we doing animated or live action?"

"Look. Sweetheart." You paused, hand on the remote. "Can we… Is it okay if we do a serious talk?"

And then Chuuya realized why he was willing to try the whole relationship thing. You set the remote aside after muting the TV, and turned to face him completely. "What’s up, Chuuya?"

He killed people for a living.

Watched them get their fingers broken after pulling off the nails. Setting buildings on fire with people still inside. Ripping people out of their beds while their families watched…

And yet facing you to ask such a basic question…

He scratched the back of his head, gaze pointedly fixed on his hands.

"I didn't get why you're messing with my hand."

"Hm?"

He clicked his tongue, but did his best to keep the anger out of his voice. "You were messing with my fingers, and…"

"You can just tell me to stop, Chuuya. I won't get upset."

"That's not it. I just don't get why." Frustration creeped into his tone, and yet you didn't even flinch. "I know my body runs warm, and I know I got rough hands. Can't see the reason for it if you don't want something."

You stared at him for a long moment, before you tilted your head to the side. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No."

"Does it feel bad or annoying?"

"No."

Well, honesty time..."

He raised an eyebrow when you began twisting your own fingers. "I gotta do a lot of things at once. Blame the ADHD. And, you know, I like you so… I wanted to just show that."

He could pratically hear Dazai laughing at the confusion running through his head. He'd need to break that idiot's nose again...

You crawled closer to Chuuya, and grasped one of his hands in both of yours.

"It's like when you tuck me in. You don't have to. It's pratically auto pilot, right?" When he nodded you smiled. "but it shows you love me. This is how I wanna show you that I love you. I guess showing that I desire you for you. Ya know?"

He looked away sharply, his mouth twitching with a smile. He knew even with his shock of hair, you could see how red his face and neck were getting.

"I think I get it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He heard the couch shift, before he felt warm lips against his cheek. "Thank you for asking me about this. I'm very proud of you for handling this conversation so well."

"Yeah, yeah. We're adults. Gotta talk about shit when it happens."

"Exactly!"

He placed his hand on your lap, and you laced your fingers with his.

Fuck. What did he do to deserve you?

[natureboy96]

I hope Tamlin will be able to forgive himself.

I know a large portion of the ACOTAR fandom won’t ever forgive him, and that’s their prerogative. I don’t know if Rhysand would forgive him either, but he’s honestly besides the point.

A lot of people relate to Feyre for her journey of finding her voice and her own strength, and I hope it was something good in their lives. For me, though, I spent a lot of time when I was younger punishing myself for mistakes I made. Some of them harmed others, some were more the actions of others I blamed myself for. Some were caused by my own mind; I didn’t know I had ADHD until I was an adult, and I took on a lot of self hatred because of my perceived faults, being lazy and unable to do something even though I knew others were counting on me.

I’ve also been proud, too proud to admit sometimes when I made a mistake. I lost a good friend because I was embarrassed and too proud to apologize for what I did, and I felt guilty for it for a long time.

It took me a long time to realize I needed to give myself some grace and forgiveness. I can’t change the mistakes I’ve made, but I can try and learn from them, grow into a better, more forgiving person, for my faults and others. To realize not everything is my own fault, even for my own actions. I made my own mistakes, especially when it came to meeting deadlines, and I accept them, along with the knowledge that my brain literally wasn’t doing me any favors either.

I don’t want Tamlin to ask for forgiveness from Feyre Rhys, at least not to start with. As someone who’s beaten themselves to tears over the mistakes I’ve made, I want Tamlin to be able to look at his own mistakes, understand why he made them (the circumstances and things he was dealing with that were out of his control), accept them and give himself some grace and forgiveness.

Any forgiveness that has to come from Rhys of Feyre wouldn’t be complete without it, and putting your own self worth/image in the hands of another person isn’t fair to yourself either. Perhaps those bridges are burned already. Tamlin’s already done a lot to make up for what he’s done, and it might never be enough. I want Tamlin to be able to live without their forgiveness and find meaning and joy on his own again. Everyone deserves the chance to find meaning in their lives, even people who have done terrible things. Sometimes making up for the wrongs you’ve done don’t involve others’ forgiveness.

(Had a bit of a bad night, some stuff brought up some stuff I’d accepted years ago. I reminded me though of why Tamlin is a character I do relate to; I’m not a centuries old fae dealing with trauma or ruling a land, but I still realized his story spoke to me on some level. Hopefully this wasn’t too rambling)

[tetsunabouquet]

Omg i just found your blog and its just what i need. What do you think about imayoshi, midorima and hanamiya with a very enthusiasm reader who for sure has adhd???!?? I mean, once i read somewhere thats imayoshi dosent like enthusiasm woman or somethin like that.

A/N: Here you go, a drabble for each!

Midorima

He was your calm other half, and you were the energy crackling under his skin visible to the naked eye. His bouncy other half. At first, people were a tad bit surprised when the two of you starting dating, that Midorima was interested in someone so, well, unlike him. Until they saw how well the two of you balanced each other out, and then everyone had declared it a match made in heaven. And thus there you were, at the front in the audience. Wearing a cheerleader uniform. It was Takao's idea, considering your enthusiasm whenever you came to watch Midorima play. You always came up with fanchants for Midorima in days leading up to big games like these. Your easily distracted mind, would often drift to them in class and you'd practise them during lunch break. It was the only form of humiliation that Midorima would put up with, but they always felt like they boosted his confidence once he was actually hearing them when playing. Your fanchants were like magic spells, but he knew that when he'd utter that out loud he'd sound horribly stupid. So he only ever told you that when no one was around. You couldn't even sit still in the train, so Midorima kept you occupied with a game of 'I Spy', partially also to distract himself from the nerves of having to play. He really didn't knew how games would be like without you now, without your fanchants lifting him up higher then the skies. Without your nervous energy reflecting what he felt on the inside when you gave him a good luck kiss. He needed you to cheer him on, so it was rather fitting for you, even though Takao had suggested it as a way to tease Midorima. If he were to be honest, the cute cheerleader outfit that just happened to be in Shutoku's team colors was doing something to him that he was trying very hard not to think about. So when the other team remarked Shutoku seemed to have a cute cheerleader, Midorima couldn't help but make the remark you were his girlfriend with absolute pride. He certainly made sure to kiss you for it, after he left the locker room during the breaks. "Thank you for being my good luck charm. Your energy is always so contagious." And to this, you smile.

Imayoshi

The moment he saw you, a whirlwind of energy as you raced through the infirmary that time he sprained his ankle during basketball training, he fell in love with you right away. You used your hyper-activity as a way to keep an of the To-Oh students with the misfortune to land themselves in the infirmary, cheerful. You were the leader of the school's health club who helped the nurse at the infirmary, and everyone knew you as the sunshine of the infirmary. Everyone's favorite clown. Imayoshi loved how you used your nature to the benefit of others, how you turned what others might perceive as a weakness into a strength. You were clever and attentive, not just some loose cannon that would annoy him. And he was overjoyed when you said yes to being his girlfriend. He loved greeting you each morning, loved the feel of your hand on his, his arms around you. He loved the little things, like whenever you were bored and hyper to do something, you'd bake him something nice. Imayoshi considered himself quite the lucky man, having a girlfriend such as yourself. You were waving your arms around as you bounced off the stairs, "Shou, good morning!" You chirped, your hair falling in place with such a slow pace Imayoshi would wonder the air wanted to take a chance and play with your hair. Imayoshi couldn't blame the air if it wanted to do so. He grabbed hold of your hand, and grinned. "Shall we go to class?" You nodded enthusiastically and you were swinging the hand holding Imayoshi's as the two of you walked to class. Five months ago, doing something so bold across the hallways would have perplexed many. For Imayoshi wasn't known for being a silly person, except for his drawings or when he wanted to get under someone's skin, but you just opened him up in a whole new kind of way. Sometimes, it felt like his only delight were these little moments the two of you shared, and he'd gaze sleeplessly at the ceiling all night long, thinking of you. It was the experience of young love, so sweet and tender. Even a clever fox like Imayoshi would be humbled and left a fool in its face.

Hanamiya

When he first spotted you, bouncing cheerfully across the hallway, he was struck by how innocent and gleeful your expression was. It lit up your beauty in a way that he previously had only read about in novels with a romantic plot- ones he'd never admit to read to others for the sake of his own pride. My oh my, did the bad boy of the Kirisaki team experience the wonders of love at first sight? The joy in your steps was so pure, the energy bright and sparkling like fireworks. To Hanamiya, you were a mesmerizing sight. Before he knew it, he felt himself rigging team games during P.E class for you and watching your every move from the shadows, like a predator waiting for his prey. To attack and snatch your heart at the perfect time. Hanamiya had made sure to have planned it out perfectly, threatening any student who'd dare to come close to the music room, where he had planned his confession considering you were fond of drumming as a way of releasing your energy. He'd also made sure that they wouldn't utter to you that he had threatened them to begin with. He didn't wanted to receive a scolding from you. You always kept him from crossing too many lines after you had started dating. Energetic, pure and honest, you were pretty much the opposite of his character. Which he liked. It was so often exhausting, to be so much more intelligent then everyone else. Having someone so drastically different then himself yet understood what it's like to be unlike the rest was incredible. To finally be able to sit down next to you, lay his head on your shoulder and just let all his frustrations with annoying stupid people's opinions wash away, was something he had desperately needed for a while now. He smiled as he watched you sprint your way towards him. No one else, other then you, would approach him with such upbeat energy, everyone seemed to be cautious because of the dark rumors about his character. But not you. You actually tried to understand. As you reached him, he wrapped his arms around you, like the threads of a web holding onto a spider's prey. He was going to hold onto you, with all of his strength.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

This is my third time in your inbox, I'm so sorry 💀💀

Can we get more insight on Konigs childhood? You mentioned abuse from his father. What exactly did he do to Konig and his mother? Why did he cut his face up? Why did his mother not leave him? Where are his parents now? Was his childhood the reason he joined the military? Will he fully open up to the reader abt it?

Ty for tolerating me 😭🙏🏾

Please. My inbox is always, always open and I love these questions! (Like... someone wants to hear my ramblings about mentally unstable, fictional men?? You are godsend, my friend 💖)

Thoughts on König's childhood:

CW/TW: emotional, verbal & physical abuse, talk of personality disorders (by someone who is not a psychologist lmao), aggravated assault/murder, self-hate

So, I wrote König as a sociopath (otherwise known as antisocial personality disorder) with borderline pd. He's also neurodivergent (prob. ADHD). Now I don't know shit about these things but I tried my best to do some research on different pds and neurodiversity and thought this potpourri might fit well in König's character profile.

Unlike psychopaths, sociopaths are made, not born. So his dad had a definite hand in creating one out of König. He thought his only son (K is an only child in my canon) was a freak because he was bigger than "normal" kids, tall and lithe and on top of everything else, behaved oddly. König was bullied at school which made him even more asocial and anxious, which in turn made his dad project his own insecurities onto König even more. He needed to imprint it on König that he's a freak by cutting him.

There was a strict routine and order in his childhood home: dinner was to be served at 6'o clock sharp, every piece of clothing had to be pedantically ironed, no tv past seven, etc. Any misstep on these rules and there would be violence, mainly verbal and emotional but at times, physical too. König's mother was never enough, nothing she did was ever enough. König for sure did everything wrong by simply existing. For a boy of his size, he learned to become surprisingly invisible at a very young age.

Sometime during his teenage years, he started to have enough. He started to rebel, learned how to walk tall and straight, started to jog and train inside his room, do 100 pushups every morning. The idea of joining the army was born during these times as well, and becoming a sniper was soon König's biggest dream.

He enjoyed when his schoolmates, even some of the teachers, began to fear him (if you cannot be loved, better be feared than ridiculed). He was the odd, silent, big freak who was only getting odder, bigger and more silent every day. People at school literally feared the day König would arrive at class with a gun.

His father started to cut him even more when he began to show signs of independence and grit. At some point König realized he could easily beat his own dad if he wanted to. At 15 he started to go to the gym, and a year after, when he saw his father yell at his mom about something utterly insignificant, he finally snapped, took a simple kitchen knife and drove it to daddy's ribs (16 times).

His mother had a tiny mental breakdown after that. She didn't want her child to get into trouble, but seeing such a violent murder was the last straw for a woman who had tried to keep the peace by playing by this crazy tyrant's rules. The reason she hadn't left was because she feared he might kill them both. (Also the breakdown was far more severe than the one reader had after the break room incident, and it def. brought back some not so fond memories)

König got the minimum penalty for the crime because he was a juvenile offender. His mother forgave her child quite soon and deemed that her husband was evil and that König did the right thing for freeing them from such a man.

Things got better after that, but his mother was forever damaged from everything that had happened. She began to blame herself for not divorcing her husband sooner, for then he would still be alive and König wouldn't have suffered so much in his hands. One of the reasons König started to wear the hood was because he didn't want to remind his mother of what had been done to him. Instead, the mask only caused her only more pain. She started to avoid her own child, even fear him, feeding into König's insecurities and anxiety even more.

When König finally joined the army at the age of 17, it was to get away from home and pursue his dreams to become a sniper. He thought it might be best for his mother, too, if he wasn't around the house to remind her what had gone down and how her only child was not only a monster, but a murderer, too.

König's childhood is so filled with trauma that he has pretty much distanced himself from it. The geographical distance helps too, and he's not keen on taking reader on a vacation to Austria, for example. But he will open up about his past if and when he sees it's safe to do so. Sadly enough, the thing that bugs him the most about it is he fears he might look weak in reader's eyes. He's been in a survival mode for so long that he doesn't quite understand that he was a child at the time, and should've received love and care.

Btw I totally got inspired by @random-thot-generator 's gospel truth on how König's first kill was his own father! Also the Conan t-shirt as his (first) mask is my canon now

[soporificlily]

so obsessed with elden ring rn, and I have this drawing tablet that my girlfriend's ex left behind mwahahhaa I'm such an amateur I need help.. but I'm trying my best! figuring out the style and techniques as I go. originally wanted to make it look as if my character draw and painted the map by hand on her travels but... I like drawing little details so idk how believable that'd be. photos are bad cuz I'm in car and those are screenshots I sent to friends. I want to do the *entire* Lands Between, even the underground areas, and once I get the DLC (I'm too broke rn) I'll be able to fan the flames of my obsession even more !!! but that's probably something I should leave off for a little later... have much to do irl 😪

bwa forgot to mention I'm just focusing on the weeping peninsula rn, will then move north to limgrave, maybe stormveil, I really want to do caelid tho that'll be fun

so yeah, first time drawing digitally and thanks to having my ADHD under control (to some extent), I am able to actually have hobbies! woah! starting to post now because I'm sure the two people who I talk to about my obsession with the deep and marvelous world of Elden Ring, are probably getting tired of it. I don't blame them hehe.

aaahh watercolors are hard to paint, if only I could do everything in one looooong stroke...

i also plan on drawing other things, like characters and creatures. Biomes and such.

The possibilities are endless!

I will wield my pen until my bones crumble into dust!

alright enough rambling... hi! please interact if you have something nice to say! or constructive, even! I'll try not to cry (promise).

[shoukiko]

hi bestieee :3 could i request some roach headcanons :333

Anything for you Bestie~ :3

Gary "Roach" Sanderson Headcanons!!

In my head, he's slighty shorter than the rest of Task Force 141, maybe like 5'11 or 5'10.

Voluntarily mute, He can talk, he just doesn't want to.

He speaks when needed though.

People think he's a silly lil guy, to me, he's terrifying

Just a bit

The dude never talks

You can never hear his footsteps because of how light he is on his feet.

He fiddles with his hands a lot. Picks at his nails a lot, you had to start bandaging them jsut so he wouldn't pick his skin off.

Big rough hands!!!! Yummy!!!!

LOVES Rock music, like classic rock music. Led Zepplin is def one of his faves, I don't blame him.

Get's distracted easy when he's not working.

ADHD as a person

Would own bugs, like you know those people who care for and breed beetles and other bugs. That's him on his freetime.

Gifts you a terrarium, very nice.

Doesn't like pickles, It just doesn't feel right for him to like pickles.

"He asked for no pickles" - You, probably.

If you're trans/gay/lgbtq+ and you come out to him he'd be like

*thumbs up*

Maybe a headpat or two

He's not huge on affection, he's pretty closed off, but I feel like he'd open up.

Thinking about holding your hand would make him realize he doesn't feel uncomfortable like he does with anyone else.

You're special to him.

Get's jealous easily, but not the toxic kind obvi

If he sees you helping someone out with something, he'd come to you for help with the same thing even if he knows how to do it himself.

You call him Gare Bear, like Spongbob. He thinks it's silly.

Dude can EAT

Bottomless pit, he eats so much and barely gains any weight.

Fast ass metabolism

Buff man, not a six pack but theres something there

Fit man

muah I kiss

[madlittlecriminal]

Hello! I hope you’re having a great week! I saw your requests were open and it’s the perfect time cause my best friend has just started pointing fingers at me and telling me that I’ve been only talking about myself.

I’ve tried to explain to her that I have a habit of gushing about things I like - as I have ADHD and I am an extrovert - I tend to over share sometimes and she isn’t listening to me. I’ve listened to her before and I’ve tried to listen to her more but she hasn’t reached out to me as much and now it’s making me worry if I did something wrong :( So I may be losing my best friend, I don’t know yet.

Sorry that I put that all on you but I promise it ties with my request.

I was thinking of the reader dating Jaime Reyes and he knows how insecure she is of herself being an extrovert and wanting to share her feelings and excitement with others. And her best friend has started blaming her for not looking out for her best friend and it’s taking a toll on the reader - making her feel like she’s a horrible person.

Khaji Da senses that the reader is feeling down and Jaime confronts her. The reader starts asking Jaime if she’s too much for him to handle and if she’s annoying him. Jaime reminds her everything he loves about her and maybe even shows her through some love making? 😳😳 (only if you’re okay with that).

Also I am 20 by the way in case you want to write smut! Also the emoji I was gonna put down for this request is this little ducky 🦆

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I’m sorry that this is so long, I didn’t know how to shorten it at all without it now making sense. 💜😊

The Listener ➜ Jaime Reyes × Extroverted!Female!Reader

READER HAS ADHD!

im sorry for taking so long to release this! this is obviously through Jaime's eyes (mostly), but as someone who is in Jaime's shoes for this fic (my bf has ADHD), Jaime is kind of self inserted & i apologize. i promise, he still very much Jaime

Warnings: might not be 100% accurate, insecurities, like one joke about him being blue beetle, love bombing because i said so, light smut, praise (?), short

He loved hearing you talk. Not only because he loved the sound of your voice, but because of the light in your eyes when you spoke.

The happiness in your voice was enough to make him feel all warm in fuzzy inside because he he loved seeing you happy. He thought he would catch on when something was wrong, but God, did he feel like crap when he didn't notice it.

You came to see him and your silence was loud...at least to Khaji Da as they were the one who noticed it.

"Jaime, something's wrong with her."

Jaime stopped mid-sentence when he heard the AI's words. He looked over at you and tilted his head to the side. "What's wrong?" He asked as he walked towards you before sitting on the couch next to you.

"Nothing." You gave him a soft smile when your eyes met his, but you can tell he wasn't buying it.

"Tell me, love. What's wrong?"

You exhaled sharply and tugged on the bracelet he gifted you. "Am I annoying?"

He furrowed his brows. "What? Why would you think that?"

"My best friend kind of said I was..."

He clenched his fist on his lap. "Kind of or did she?"

"She did. She said I talk too much and that I was too much for you to handle because I'm extroverted and move around too much."

Jaime snorted and took your hand into his. "Do you have any idea how special you are to me? Listening to you speak is the highlight of my day. Trust me, I look forward to it if it's in person or if it's through the phone. Switch from topics all you want, be as introverted as you please, move around as often as you need. I don't care. It's what makes you you and I love you for it."

You squeezed his hand. "Do you really mean that?"

"Eres mi tesoro. Don't ever forget that, you hear me?" (You're my treasure.)

You gave him a small smile. "She's just been saying it for a while, so I felt bad, y'know?"

"Don't feel bad. I love listening to you. I'm your listener, okay?" He poked your nose, causing you to let out a soft laugh. "There it is. That smile that I love so much."

You felt your cheeks warm up before looking away.

He grabbed your chin softly and shook his head. "No. Don't look away." He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your lips.

You kissed him back, your arms snaking around his neck as you leaned in closer before sitting on his lap.

His hands rested on your hips before pulling apart from the kiss, peppering small kisses along your jawline, and trailing to your neck.

You tilt your head back to give him more access as your fingers tangle into his hair.

"You're perfect. You'll never be annoying to me. I love every part of you," he whispers against your neck, his hands trailing from your hips to your thighs, and squeezing them gently.

"I love you too, pretty boy."

His eyes met yours, desire written on his face as he gave you a nod. "Your pretty boy."

[austinsastrology8991]

> Mer{Cure}Y <

I gots some drugs for yall fiends > plug back <

1 > No one wants to talk to each other Hi how are you? good thanks :) Nice day isnt it. It for sure is! Hey wyd. not much wbu. Im chilling. Same lol. what are you doing? Im watching something on youtube. Oh nice. Wbu? im watching anime. Oh cool. No wonder we are all fiends for some entertainment, because we are incapable of entertaining each other. 2 > The insecurity of not sounding smart makes everyone conform into a retarded form of one another. We all have the same views. The same topics are constantly being brought up. And when someone speaks about something new, everyone loses interest because no one can handle the reality that maybe they don't know something. Oh and the only reason you listen to each other is to get something from that person whether that be attention, or clout or whatever the fuck you define as your ends. Since most of us, are in a state of fear, we aren't able to talk about something we don't know about. 3 > Mercury is about confidence. And most of yall bite your tongues but love to act tough. Every person who has told me they are hard, is incapable of pushing the envelope. I think you are more caught up with your own image, and are afraid of not appearing tuff. But guess what true courage is about revolting against whats normal, or the courage to be wrong. Show dont tell true?. ANd im done hearing about whoever the fuck you think you are. Show me something interesting dont tell me what you think you are. Don't tell me what you want me to hear. 4 > Conversations are being ruined by people who are constantly telling others they are wrong. Excuse me fucker. But are you capable of arguing against me? No beyond that. Can you stick to the conversation at hand, or are you going to source the same sources every SJW ever has cited. Your not even a real person, your just mimicrying beliefs you believe in. Pathetic tbh. Hey whatever more people will agree with you because we are all jsut looking for a place to belong. so good for you. You chose the easy way out bravo. I thought conversations were a place to discuss and learn. But your so focused on being correct. to me you look wrong, but you do 'sound' right because well .. to reiterate we all want to be right so we band together with whats acceptable. 5 > School fucked you. You were told to sit down and stfu. and if you were invested in to the conversation in the class room. You were memed on by all ur class mates. School breeds insecurity, and teaches people to sit down. Thats why some of yall are so forceful in standing up for yourself. Trying to break the chains of the past. And before you point the finger at me. Don't shoot the messenger. we were all brainwashed, I dont blame anyone trying to change the foundations of your past, considering how fucked it all really is 6 > "Im not that smart" This is just an excuse. Learning everyone can do. You just need to concentrate and put effort in. "oh I canT beCauSe I HaVe ADHD" well my bad just take more of that meth shit that way you can turn into mini hitler and become smart I guess. Also if your so insecure go cry to your psychologists like ffs. Eveyrone can be smart. YOu just need to develop your confidence > Rule 3 <

7 > You learn from what you see. monkey see monkey do. if your surrounded by a bunch of dumb cunts. YOur a dumb cunt now. If your being put down by people in your clique you are surrounded by negativity. If your being constantly praised for nothing you are surrounded by yes man. Find diversity. use discrepency. Its perfectly okay to judge people. stop suppressing that urge to appear 'normal' Many people are not normal but we are so caught up in trying to act normal when we are all pretty fucky 8 > The past was different and so will be the future. Would you shut the fuck up with the pessmism. Things will change. You need to be open to receiving it. You've had happy times as much as youve had bad times. ANd if your trapped in a big pit hole of death. well you better get climbing because no one can be bothered to help anyone anymore because we are probably the most selfish we've ever been ever (social mediaaaaasaa) and the adults are still trying to adjust to the internet because the world been flipped (itll flip again) 9 > No one cares about your opinion more than you Thats why your so uncomfortable speaking your truth. Because everyone is more into their own truths. So we practise the art of self affirmation by denying other peoples truths. When everything exists for a reason. WE are so caught up in making our own manifestations true by denying others 'truths.' Selfish cunts.... But hey wtf am I saying Im just an anonymous pluto I don't know shit ;')

My next post is my last post. Don't cry. I have my reasons. My next post however is going to my >master piece< ;')

[evesburden]

Tormentum Tactus [Ominis x F!Slytherin Reader]

Part two of Malogranatum. In which Ominis learns very swiftly what it’s like to be an idiot. Something he previously had only the honor of seeing others excel at. As usual this isn’t proofed so please don’t yell at my mistakes. I’m going to blame the adhd.

It had been several weeks since you both had your chat in the common room. Ominis had been sure to take alternate routes to any classes you both shared, stealing end seats next to Sebastian as a makeshift barrier, and keeping his attention into books to avoid conversation. Fingers gliding along pages, ridges meeting the pads of his fingers, brows neatly knitted somewhere between concentration and irritability. A firework sign of ‘do not interrupt me’.

However, he was never actually getting any reading done.

He had tried, of course, but all he could focus on was you. The looming anxiety at the mere prospect of having to talk with you. His frustration that he needed to act this way at all. Your chiming voice and his own swearing that he could feel your gaze on him. It always left his neck as it did after reading outside during summers in Feldcroft - hot to the touch and no doubt lightly burnt in an uncomfortable splotch.

He hoped to Merlin it wasn’t outwardly discolored to where anyone else would notice. If it had been, everyone had been charitable enough not to bring it to attention. Lest of all, yours.

History of Magic was different, and it was the class that he both thrilled and dreaded. A makeshift of his own personal Hell, no doubt fabricated by the very universe to achieve nothing but to torment him. Ominis always walked through that threshold every day feeling like he had swallowed a bogart, and it was attempting to claw its way through his ribs and up his throat. Clenching his heart and lungs beneath grasping feral hands.

It was the class you were assigned to sit next to one another.

Ominis would have sent an owl weeks ago to request his family say something, anything, to get him out of that class entirely. Unfortunately, he also knew that there would be no way headmaster Black wouldn’t be so tactless as to confidently tell you why you no longer had any classes with the Gaunt child.

If there was anything worse than his masochistic situation at hand, it would have been you knowing about it.

So be it. If the halls of Hogwarts had deemed it worthwhile a mission to make Ominis miserable, he was at least going to sleep through the dull hour that was Professor Binns’ drolling.

Or, rather, he would be if it wasn’t for the off beat fidgeting you were assaulting upon your thigh. It was overwhelming his sense of hearing entirely — Barely being able to make out the pre-course chatter of your peers around him.

Tap-tap.

Tap.

Tap. Tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap-

Ominis felt his brow twitch as he automatically reached over and firmly pressed your wrist down against your thigh, voice tumbling through a pale clenched jaw, “Your incessant tapping is driving me mad.”

A thrill sparked uncomfortably through his chest, down towards his stomach, his lungs feeling a tad tight. Ominis could have sworn his heart stuttered as well, but the feeling was so fleeting it was difficult to discern.

That’s new.

Ominis pulled his hand away abruptly, turning his head as if he were capable of accidentally making eye contact. He had never felt his screened eyes as vulnerable when it came towards reading his emotions — but now it was a worry. With his hand now neatly concealed under the table, he stretched the sinew of his fingers at an attempt of exorcising the ghost of your flesh from his.

The sensation was…oddly unpleasant. Yet, he could feel something inside him wanting to replicate the feeling over and over again. Was he the only one who felt that?

He couldn’t possibly.

“Oh, sorry Ominis,” You sounded so reprieved, “I’m just worried about Sebastian.”

Ah.

He cleared his throat, as if it would dispel the new, much sharper pang of discomfort at your mention of his friend, “Yes, well…That makes two of us.”

Thankfully, neither of you got to continue your conversation as Cuthbert Binns hovered at the chalkboard — marking the start of the lesson.

Ominis was sure to gather his things quickly once his personal torture was over and make haste away from you.

For once, he was not able to feign sleep during the lecture.

——————————————————————————

“Why won’t you come with us?” Sebastian tempted, his voice sparking upwards that suggested he was entirely excited by the prospect. The auburn haired Slytherin had been pestering most of the day for Ominis to join you both at Honeydukes.

“It’s tumultuous. Aside, I don’t want sweets.”

“You think we’re loud?”

No.

Ominis equated the notion with confusion, uncertainty, and turbulence. A metaphorical potion that only Garreth Weasley himself could have concocted in all of its very disruption to his senses. However, Sebastian’s take on the word was what he had so hoped would be the interpretation.

To be honest, Ominis wasn’t sure what to make the three of you as a group. You always knew what to say to soothe his own anxieties, and when to push or pull him to an end. However, you also brought something out in Sebastian that greatly worried him. While you made Ominis feel uncharacteristically mortal and vulnerable, he could tell that you made Sebastian feel unrestricted.

It was a troubling thought.

“I just don’t think your new friend and I are well suited,” Ominis explained with a small gesture.

Ominis was prepared for a cheeky comment, the reeling of a line that he didn’t even know Sebastian had set. Usual playful banter and perhaps a hand quickly clasping upon his shoulder. What he was met with instead was just silence. Ominis let it marinate for a moment. And then another. A few beats of nothing but the shuffle of their robes as they walked down the halls.

It was out of character enough that he turned his head, “Sebastian?”

“Ah,” his voice meekly punctuated, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “She heard you.”

Ominis’ heart crashed several stories beneath him, leaving a ringing in his ears so loud he would have been shocked it wasn’t audible to others.

His roaring anxiety became outwardly camouflaged by anger, his tone sharp and accusatory, like it would transfer both his guilt and panic to another, “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“How was I to know? She was coming right around the corner! Besides, you usually sense her coming before I even do.”

That much was true, as embarrassing of a fact it was. He wasn’t even so much sure if it was a sense, or if he had subconsciously committed the slightest sound of your gait and scent to memory without realizing. Just like the touch of your wrist this morning, pieces of you seemed determined to haunt him without his consent.

Ominis groaned. He did want to avoid you for his own benefit, but the last feat he had set to accomplish was to hurt you. His thoughts drifted to what your expression must have looked like. Did your face fall? Did you force a obviously deceptive smile as you walked by? Did your eyes meet Sebastian’s or had you opted to avoid them?

Were you looking at him instead?

And why did he not realize you were so close?

He was near cursing himself at his catastrophic demonstration of idiocy, “I…I should apologize.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Sebastian? Kindly shut up.”

[obsidiancreates]

Why Bounce Around To The Same Damn Song (Part 1)

(Another Henry Revealed As Asshole fic but Real Psychic Shawn flavored this time)

“Whoa, dude, stop here.”

“What?! Shawn, the Arby’s closes in like, fifteen minutes!”

“What? Since when does Arby’s close in the middle of the day?”

“I don’t know!”

“Just- pull over, man. I’m getting a vibe.”

Gus pulls The Blueberry over, parking in front of a set of small, run-down shops under apartment buildings. He peers around Shawn’s head and reads the sign. Miss Ivana’s Nirvana. “A psychic shop?”

“Yeah.” Shawn tries to look through the curtains of the window. “I feel like I should go in there, man.”

“You’re already psychic, why would you need a reading?”

“I’m not… sure.” Shawn tilts his head, squinting. He’s still not great with figuring out what the feelings-only parts of his abilities are. They’re a lot more complicated than picking out details in a shaky vision, or catching hidden meanings in words, or even catching snippets of another person’s thoughts- which he’s also not great at, yet, but he’s good enough to know Jules is just being nice when she says Buzz’s wife’s homemade tapioca is good. He didn’t know someone could gag so intensely in their mind without it showing on their face.

The feelings-only are different. It’s like when his ADHD acts up and makes him forget why he entered a room, or where he put something he was just holding, or the thing Gus told him was really important to remember before talking to someone he probably shouldn’t be talking to. He knows something is just there, just out of reach of his comprehension, and it’s almost like a physical, tangible blockage that he could potentially push away but he just can’t quite get the right footing.

“Maybe she’s a fraud who needs exposing? You still can’t talk to ghosts, right?”

“Still not even sure if they exist, Gus. All those websites you send me say different things. Plus, I think if spirits really existed and could demand revenge on their behalf there’d be a lot less white people in the world.”

Gus nods. “Alright, but make it fast, or I’m leaving you here.”

“Fast. Got it.”

Shawn steps out of the car and opens the shop door. It’s dimly lit, cluttered, and there’s a section with big velvet curtains and a table covered in classic fortune-telling props. The air smells like incense and sage, making him cough a little.

“Welcome to my Nirvana,” a young blond woman says in a thick non-specific Eastern European accent, sweeping otherwise soundlessly out from behind a shelf cluttered with crystals. “You are looking for something.”

“Yeah. Your real accent.” Shawn angles his head at her with a disappointed look. 

She straightens up, her incredibly numerous amounts of jewelry clanking together like she’s a windchime. “How’d you do that?”

He brings a hand up to his head. “I’m a psychic detective. You can take your pick on which of those told me the accent was fake.”

It was the psychic part.

“So… what? Are you scoping out the competition?” She crosses her arms. “Because I am not packing up shop. This is the first time I’ve made a steady living from this, you know.”

“Look, honestly I don’t know what I’m doing here either. I got a psychic vibe while driving by and now my buddy is about to abandon me so he can go get at least five meat-piled sandwiches for half off, and I can’t even blame him!” Shawn looks around. “It’s not like I don’t have crystals like these, or tried this uh… burning stuff.”

“Incense.” Ivana raises an eyebrow. “What, are you new to being psychic?”

“No! … Maybe. Are you?”

“I’ve had the gift as long as I can remember.” She sits down at the table. “Now are you gonna buy anything, or are you just going to stand there making my shop smell like Axe deodorant?”

“For your information, it’s Axe body spray. And you call yourself psychic.” He scoffs. But that twists something in his gut, his voicing doubt. It feels… bad. 

“You’re the one using his hand to convince me you can hear the spirits.” 

“So there are spirits.”

“Duh? Did you come in here just to learn how to fake it better?”

“Do you think I’m faking?”

“Maybe.”

“No you don’t.”

“If I think you’re real then you should know I am too.”

“... Fair.” Shawn looks out the door to see Gus literally pulling away. “Wh- Gus!”

“I saw that coming.”

“And you didn’t warn me, wh- I was looking forward to those sandwiches! Man… so much for helping a fellow psychic out.”

“You’re like, ten years older than me. You should’ve been able to see it.”

“Okay first of all, there’s no way I’m ten years older than you. Second of all, I… am working on the future-seeing thing, still.”

Ivana leans forward, resting her elbows heavily on her table. “You have a very bright presence, for being so annoying and childish.”

“Thank you. It’s because my hair is a blessing.”

“No… it’s because you carry the gratitude of many.” Her eyes trail over Shawn, unfocused and glassy. “Why’re you here?”

Shawn steps back. That look is really unnerving. He hopes he doesn’t look like that when he’s analyzing people. “Because my partner just drove off without me, and I don’t want to walk anywhere.”

Ivana rolls her eyes. “Come here. I’m going to do a tarot reading for you.”

“Uhhh, no. No, I don’t do that stuff.”

“You’re a psychic who doesn’t do tarot?”

“No, I do not! Or crystal balls, unless I think the client will pay extra for that. Then I have five.”

“Sit down and pick a card.” She says it so forcefully that Shawn just obeys- because a psychic pull told him too, and definitely not because he was intimidated by for a second. Not at all. He goes to pick one- and finds himself picking three, leaving them face-down, knowing how this is meant to go even though he’s never done this before.

She flips the one on Shawn’s left over first. “Do you know the meanings?”

Shawn actually thinks he does. He doesn’t want to. “Uh, no.”

“So that’s why you’re here. You’re denying something that the spirits wish you weren’t. This is The Emperor, reversed. Someone in authority, abusing that authority.”

“No, I don’t think so. The Chief is actually very lenient with us.” He knows it’s not talking about The Chief. Or Lassie. Or even the Psych office landlord who keeps trying to raise their rent before Shawn reminds him that more than half his properties aren’t up to code and Shawn can prove it if he has to.

“This card is showing us something from the past, something already done. What was. The next to are what to do, and what to avoid.” Ivana flips over the middle card. “The Three of Cups.”

“That one’s not so bad.” He sees images of him and Gus getting tacos together, him bringing Jules a smoothie, him breaking into Lassie’s house to restock the man’s peanut butter because he always forgets to and Shawn wants a reliable store of PB in every house he regularly infiltrates, dammit. “It’s uh, quality time, right? With people I care about.”

It doesn’t escape his notice that someone is missing from those visions.

“Now I’m starting to believe you.” Ivana flips the last one over. “The Six of Swords, reversed.”

Shawn laughs, even as something twists in his gut and squeezes in his chest. “That one’s a mistake.”

“It’s advice. You’re being warned not to leave something big in your life unresolved.”

“Yeah, I got that. But uh, it’d sort of ruin… everything, so I think I’m going to leave now.” He gets up. “And I’m-I’m sure yours and the… spirits, intentions are good, but there’s no way in hell I’m following that advice.”

Ivana looks at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“For once, yes.” Shawn turns, sticking his hands in his pockets and walking to the door. He freezes just before opening it, sucking in a sharp breath as his hands fly to his head.

Gus is ten years old, listening to Shawn complain about something Henry did. Gus is nodding, listening, but Shawn hears him think ‘There’s no way it’s that bad.’

Mrs. Guster stands in the doorway, talking to Henry, while five-year-old Shawn and Gus play in the living room. “Now I’ve heard around town about your… unusual way of raising your son, and I want your word right now that you’ll leave mine out of that sort of thing, because if my Burton comes home and tells me that you did anything he says Shawn talks about, I won’t be bringing him around here again.”

More recent, a case- their thirteen year high school reunion. Gus looks at Shawn and says “That’s easy for you to say, Shawn. No-one had any expectations you would amount to greatness.”

Shawn’s whole body feels tingly, and he has to shake himself to get feeling back into his limbs. Ivana is standing next to him, wide-eyed. “What was that?”

“Um.” Shawn looks down at his hands to make sure he’s here, really here. “I don’t-”

“Was that a vision? I’ve never had one that strong.”

“Really? I get those all the time.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah, a little.” Shawn shakes himself again. “Not totally.”

“I told you, you’re being warned. Something is blocking you from contacting the spirits who want to speak to you, I can feel it. It’s something emotional, and they’re begging you to resolve it.”

“I thought you said you don’t get strong visions.”

“I’m better at mind-reading and tarot, it’s true. But-” She moves to touch him, and Shawn pulls away. “But I can feel a very strong presence around you while standing this close. Hovering, worrying, desperate.”

“Great. That’s-that’s exactly what I want. Another looming presence in my life pushing me to do stuff.” Shawn huffs. “Awfully hypocritical of them. Can you just, tell me how to avoid that kind of thing happening to me again?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? You’re clearly a different kind of psychic than I am.”

“What, are we dogs? There’s different breeds?”

“It’s time to leave my shop.”

She shoves him out the door, literally, just as Gus pulls back up. Shawn takes a moment to compose himself, looking anywhere but The Blueberry, before getting in- or trying to.

“Dude, you didn’t leave any room for me to sit down.”

“There’s room right there.”

“I’m not some twig anymore, man, I can’t fit in a seat literally piled with sandwiches.”

“You’re the one who decided to abandon me for a talk with a fraud.”

“She’s not a fraud, Gus.” Shawn tosses all the sandwiches into the backseat, despite Gus’s whine of protest. “She’s the real deal.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I could feel it, which was super freaky. At one point I just mentioned she might be a fraud and it felt like that time I ate those expired mini-tacos from your freezer.”

“Eugh!”

“Point is… apparently I was drawn in there because spirits are real, and… I can’t talk to them. Yet.”

“So… what? They lead you somewhere you could get advice?”

“Sort of. She can’t talk directly either, but she… gave me a tarot reading.”

“I told you we needed to invest in a set.”

“Not until we find one with either all of the Thundercats on each card, or themed around Tears for Fears songs.”

“You can commission custom sets from local artists, Shawn.”

“Really? … Sounds expensive.”

“What’d your reading say, Shawn?”

“Right. That.” Shawn shifts in his seat as Gus pulls away. “I uh… so, weird part first, knew what the cards meant just by looking at them.”

“Which makes sense since you’re psychic.”

“Yeah, yeah. And uh… they were kinda about… my dad.”

Gus waits for Shawn to go on. Shawn licks his lips first, suddenly feeling very, very trapped.

“... Shawn?” Gus glances over, concern starting to seep into his expression. “What’d they say about your dad? … Is he dying?”

“No, no. Nothing that bad.” So, so bad. Henry just- gone. Forever. Shawn can’t even imagine it, and he doesn’t want to imagine it, for all he might fight with his dad. “But uh… Gus, how-how much do you remember, about the uh… training, I did, growing up?”

“What?”

“The cop stuff he made me do.”

“I don’t know. I know I thought it was kinda intense.”

“Yeah, but… what specifically? Do you remember?”

“Well… I remember the stuff when we were scouts, with the rocket and all that.”

“Right.”

“And him using a lot of stories about him and his partners to give us lessons.”

“Yeah.”

“And I guess I remember you talking a lot about him making you earn desserts and stuff.”

“... Yeah.” Shawn leans his head back against the headrest of the seat. “Do you remember the case at our reunion?”

“Of course I remember it, it almost ruined all my hard work!”

“Remember going through the yearbooks?”

“Shawn, I know you’re stalling by trying to make me piece everything together myself. What does this have to do with your dad?”

Shawn sighs, looking out the window and pressing the top of his tongue to the center of his top lip before saying, “You said no-one had any expectations of greatness for me growing up.”

“I did? … I did.” Gus’s concern melts into guilt. “But your dad did, didn’t he? I’m sorry, Shawn, in the moment I just totally forgot.”

“It’s alright, man, I-I didn’t say anything to correct you or anything. … But I guess I’m… trying to get a read on how much I need to tell you, to… I don’t know, unclog my psychic senses or whatever.”

“What?”

“... I’m supposed to open up about, Gus. The spirits want me to tell you, and Jules, and even Lassie about all the stuff from when I was a kid.”

“Wow. … Isn’t that kinda-”

“My personal hell? Yes, it is.” Shawn thumps his head against the window and watches the sidewalks, counting hats. “Which they know, apparently. So I don’t know why they’re asking me to do that. I’m kind of doing just fine without talking to any spirits, anyway.”

But you could be doing better. He’s not sure if the thought is some psychic intuition or just him knowing the truth, and frankly he doesn’t care. It is true. It’s probably always true. It’s a thought that, nine times out of ten, comes into his mind alongside the frowning image of an old man with a rough voice and disappointment just dripping from the words.

“Shawn, did your dad…”

He doesn’t need to be psychic to know where Gus’s train of thought is going. “No, not like that. He never hit me. At most he-he handled me a little rough while booking me for the car thing. But that’s why I don’t wanna do this, man, I just- I know everyone will make it a big thing and it’s… it’s not not a big thing, but it’s a big thing for me, you know? It’s not really anybody’s else's business.”

Even though the spirits disagree.

“... You should probably take some time to think about how you wanna do this, then.” Gus glances over again, Shawn can see it in the reflection in the window. “I know this kind of thing isn’t easy for you.”

“That’s an understatement,” Shawn says with a huffed and bitter chuckle. God, he hates this. These ugly, nasty feelings that bubble up whenever he thinks about it. He drowned in these feelings for years and it was the worst time in his life, and because he couldn’t get his head above the water he started trying to push the water itself below and now it just sits there waiting for him to stop pushing it-

He has to suck in a breath as the feeling of actual water in his lungs passes over him, and he reaches to slap Gus’s hands without looking away from the window. “Stop the car!”

“Wha-”

“I totally just got a vibe, man, I think someone drowned around here, recently!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re avoiding it.”

Shawn groans, tossing a crumpled paper ball at the trash can without looking. It goes right in. “Gus-”

“It’s been a month, Shawn. I know I said to take some time and think about how you’ll do it, but I know you and I know when you go from taking time to putting something off.”

“Gus, don’t be your coffee mug handle that broke when I picked it up.”

“Shawn, I’m serious. You basically got spiritually kidnapped into a creepy tarot reading specifically because you needed to talk about it, and now you’re not talking about it!”

“I have dinner with my dad in two days, Gus. I don’t really want to churn up all that stuff before I have to go help him prepare a fish or something again, I hate that enough.”

“So cancel.”

“Already tried- stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“I can totally read your mind right now, Gus, it’s like you’re literally shouting at me. Every time I talk about my dad now all your alarm bells go off, and that’s exactly what I don’t want!”

“Since when are you so protective of how people think of him?!”

“I don’t know! I just- I don’t want the three of you going around thinking he’s a monster or something all the time! Even if he kinda is. Man, you know I’m not good at figuring these kinds of complicated feelings out! Stop asking me to!”

“Not until we make some progress.”

“... Fine. Fine, I will… talk to everyone, as a group, here in the office, next week. Happy?”

“As I can be in the situation.”

“It’s not a situation.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I can do this all day, Shawn.”

“Well that is a complete waste of your time, and especially of mine!”

“Yeah, well, suck it.”

“You suck it!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jules and Lassiter are cleaning up their desks when they both get a text at the same time.

Just had a major psychic feeling, guys, come by the office ASAP. Bring good snacks. <3

“Aw.” Jules smiles as she tucks her phone into her pocket. “Carlton, did you also get-”

“Yeah, I got it.” Lassiter sighs and swings his jacket on. “I’m not stopping for any snacks.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn is sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together resting against his lips, one leg shaking up and down and making a fast taptaptaptaptap sound against the floor as he waits. Gus sits next to him on the couch, and gives Shawn a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s going to be good for you in the long run,” Gus says for the millionth time that day.

“Man, you know I’d rather have things be good for me in the short run.”

They hear the door open, and both look up as Jules and Lassiter enter the office. Jules looks immediately concerned, while Lassiter looks more annoyed than anything.

“Shawn? What’s wrong, you look nervous. Is this is about a case?”

“Not uh, not quite.” Shawn gestures for Jules and Lassiter to sit in the armchairs set up across from the couch. They do, with Lassiter rolling his eyes as he sits. Shawn is kind of grateful for the irritation- it’s more comfortable than the way Gus and Jules are looking at him. More familiar.

“What is this about, Spencer?”

“Well, I uh…” Shawn opens his mouth to continue, but he just can’t. He just… can’t.

Gus, as always, is there to put together the missing pieces and fill in the gaps. “Shawn recently had a… metaphysical revelation,” Gus says. “He’s been dabbling in new ways to hone his abilities, and he was given the advice to unblock some parts of his mind by sharing some things.”

Shawn points at Gus to confirm it.

“What, like group therapy? This is ridiculous.”

“Believe me Lassie, I’m not happy about it either.” Shawn laughs, hollow, and his leg starts shaking faster. “But uh, every time I think about not doing this, preferably ever, I get a real kick in the ass by the spirits.” Mostly visions of people defending his dad, or his dad making all those claims about how he’s not responsible for why Shawn is the way he is, and god does the reoccuring vision of his dad claiming “A good cop trusts his gut, his instincts,” make Shawn just… mad.

“Shawn… what is this about?” Jules reaches out and puts a hand on his leg, stilling it. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Maybe. … I-I don’t…” Shawn takes a deep breath. “So it’s uh… about my dad.”

Lassiter scoffs.

“You know, with him… getting involved in cases as much as he does, and uh… Gus, I-I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. I believe in you.”

“Spit it out, Spencer, after a shift I want to go home, not hang out in a fire hazard.”

“The spirits want me to tell you guys about my dad and how he raised me,” Shawn forces out. “Apparently keeping it to myself is ‘bad for me’ or something. And I uh… I don’t really know where to begin, so just… bear with me here.”

Lassiter eyes Shawn suspiciously. “Raised you how?”

“... I guess I’ll start with us, with this.” Shawn lets out a deep breath. “Lassie, you remember when my mom did your psych eval?”

“Unfortunately.”

“She told you she has an eidetic, tonal, memory.”

“How did you kn-”

“My dad, has an eidetic visual memory. I… have both.” Shawn pulls his hands apart and puts his hands to his temples and plasters on a grin that’s probably the least convincing fake smile he’s ever given. “And he knew it, real early on, before I can even remember.”

Jules gasps softly. “Oh, Shawn, but the things we see on the job-”

“It’s not that bad,” he says quickly. “Trust me Jules, I’m fine with all that. But uh, on top of that, when I was really young my mom diagnosed me as also being hyperobservant.”

Lassiter stands up and points to Shawn. “Aha! That’s it! I knew it, I knew you had some secret-”

“Lassie, sit down, I’m also genuinely psychic.”

“Yeah, right-”

“You’re excited to have caught me but you’re also thinking about how many arrests will be overturned or reexamined if you turn me in. You went to a bar on Saturday and ran into someone you liked in highschool, but h- uh, she-” Shawn glances at Jules and squints for a second, then nods. She knows, Lassie told her, good for him. “He, was already married so you went back home and looked into getting a dog for the rest of the night.”

That wipes the triumph off Lassiter’s face, and gets his ass back in the chair.

Shawn rides the high of that for just a moment before Gus clears his throat and Shawn remembers why they’re all here. He looks back down at his knees. “So uh… yes, I have a lot going on up here is what I’m trying to say.” He gestures at his head, waving his hand in a circle around his skull. “And pretty much from birth my dad figured, hey, I’ll train the kid to be the ultimate detective. The job was everything to him, and uh… he made sure it was everything to me, too.”

“That’s a pretty heavy expectation for a kid to carry,” Jules says in sympathy. “Especially with your dad having such a high-standing reputation.”

“No kidding,” Shawn laughs the same empty laugh. “So a uh… a lot, oh my childhood, was training. Stuff like uh… like even when Gus and I would play hide-and-seek, you know? He’d turn it into a lesson about how to keep a perp from seeing or hearing me if I was sneaking up on them, or-or blindfolding me, and telling me to figure out what he was doing around me just by the sounds, stuff like that.”

“Sounds fun to me,” Lassiter says.

“It was, usually. And I did really, really want to be a cop, just like him, but it was still pretty…” Shawn claps his hands back together and purses his lips, searching for the words, the feeling. “Pretty overkill, a lot of times. I mean, come on, teaching me to-to forge stuff in case I ever went undercover? I was six. I didn’t even know that kind of thing wasn’t normal until I started going over to Gus’s house. And then I started wanting to explore more things, and… started kind of… thinking about how Gus and my lives were different…”

Shawn takes another deep breath. “Like, his parents didn’t bury his Easter eggs underground and leave broken glass and a tarp over it and expect him to dig them up on his own.”

Lassiter sits up straighter, and Jules pales. Gus lets out a soft “Oh my god.”

Shawn grips his hands together. He hates this, he hates it, he doesn’t want them look at him like this, he doesn’t want them to know about this-

“Spencer, that’s a serious allegation of mistreatment and child endangerment,” Lassiter warns.

“I’m not- this isn’t a case, Lassie. I’m not trying to get my dad in trouble, and certainly not trying to get him arrested, alright? I’m just… trying to get a few things off my chest, out into the open.” Shawn clears his throat. “So, yeah. At Gus’s house he didn’t have to do that, or-or get locked in a car trunk in the afternoon to learn how to kick out a taillight, or have to hear about kids spatter brains on driveways when he brought a comic book home.”

Jules makes a sound like she might vomit. “And he knew you’d always remember all of that, perfectly?”

“... Yeah. And it uh… didn’t make me love my whole… deal.” Shawn flicks a hand up at his head again. “He never believed in psychics, so that was fine, but the other stuff… I dunno. I guess he thought it meant I just shouldn’t have been a kid or something, but I know he still thinks of me as a kid anyway.”

“Can’t always blame him.” But Lassiter’s words are as hollow as Shawn’s previous laughs, an understanding dawning in his eyes. “So he spent your life training you to be a cop, and never let you consider anything else.”

Shawn nods. “Got upset if I even mentioned it. Ever. But he also wouldn’t let me do stuff like take karate, which is weird, because I think a cop who knows martial arts seems super dope but I guess he thought a gun would be enough.”

“Did he train you in firearms too?”

“Oh, yeah. And it turns out being psychic gives you crazy good long-distance vision, which is neat, so I got really good really fast. He always freaked out when he thought I was in danger, still does, but he wanted me to be in the middle of shootouts someday at the same time. He’d have me run away from him in the middle of the woods to teach me avoidance tactics, and then lecture me for doing the same thing because I didn’t want to kill fish with him.”

Jules and Lassiter share a look, and both lean forward at the same time.

“That wasn’t okay, Shawn. Any of it,” Jules says firmly. “And if talking about this is helping you clear something up with your powers, we’ll listen to every example you’ve got.”

Shawn leans away from them a bit, mouth parting, and looks over at Gus. 

Gus is crying. Not in the full-face-scrunch whistling tea kettle way he usually does. Just quiet, horrified tears over all the things he just missed during their shared childhood.

“Hey, stop that.” Shawn shakes Gus by the shoulder. “Don’t you dare feel guilty, Gus.”

“I can’t help it,” Gus sniffles. Jules reaches behind her for Gus’s desk and passes some tissues over. “Thank you.”

“I’m not- I’m not looking for guilt or pity.” Shawn looks each one of them in the eyes. “I’m not looking for anything, just for the spirits to leave me alone about this, okay?”

“We understand,” Jules assures. “Right, Carlton?”

“Right.” Lassiter is looking at Shawn in a way Shawn isn’t used to. He tries to reach out, just a little, to get a glimpse of what Lassie is actually thinking about him right now. It’s like trying to reach for something in a dream, where your arms don’t really exist and neither does what you’re trying to grab, and focusing too hard wakes you up before you can grab it but focusing too little sweeps you back into nonsense. Shawn can’t quite get a grip.

Shawn sniffs a little, and then nods, and then nods again harder to make his whole body move with the motion. “So uh… just, telling you guys everything, then? Because that could take a while, with the whole… memory, thing.”

“As much as you need to tell us. No more, no less.” Jules offers him her hand to hold. “And Shawn, I just want to say that I’m really, really honored that you came to us with this. That you’re trusting us, even though this is hard for you.”

“Of course, I trust you guys. I’d trust you both with my life, literally. If we got body-swapped I’d be completely relaxed knowing you’re probably treating it even better than I do.”

“That’s not really a high bar, Spencer.”

“Even my hair? It’s a high bar to trust you with styling my hair, Lassie.”

Lassiter considers this, and then nods in agreement.

Shawn takes one more second, and then looks up fully. “Time to get into the details, I guess.”

And he does.

And it turns out to be a long, long night.

Everyone wishes Lassie had stopped for snacks.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn wakes up the next morning, groggy and sleep deprived and feeling wrung-out like a hand towel in an industrial kitchen, he hears his grandpa’s voice.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Henry Spencer walks into the SBPD the next morning, Juliet O’Hara elbows him hard in the gut as she walks by, and while Henry is still leaning against the front desk corner catching his breath Carlton Lassiter walks up and yanks him away from the desk to throw him out the door.

“What the hell-!”

“For your sake, we better not see you around this station for at least a week. Any sooner and I can’t guarantee you leaving it without O’Hara pumping you full of lead.”

“Wh-”

“I mean it, Henry. Stay out. Or else.” Henry learns what Or else entails a week later when he follows Shawn into the station and hell breaks loose.

[caffeinatedopossum]

Ranting about my most recent psych visit

When I went to talk to my psychiatrist recently about my adhd and getting my meds dosage upped (I was on a very low dose), she tried to say all this bullshit about coping and writing stuff down and setting goals. Don't get me wrong, I do think other strategies and forms of support that aren't meds are necessary for adhd (for people who can't take meds, don't want to, or need extra help) but they are not a substitute for the medication I need.

"Oooh but you'll become dependent on it!" Guess what, fuck face? I already am! I can't *function* without meds. And I don't mean "be productive", I mean *function*. Technically I can't function even with them but they drastically improve my quality of life.

She told me I should take break days and only take the meds when I need to get something done. That if I was "just relaxing" I shouldn't take them- I don't think she understands. I literally cannot even sit still and focus to play video games or watch tv unmedicated. I'm a mess and I can't do anything that would make me happy, contributing to my depression.

Also she completely brushed it off when I said that I can't write things down, at least not physically, due to how my disability affects my hands. You have to sign a paper when going on adhd meds because they're a controlled substance and even that hurt me a lot and took me a long time to write. It always does.

She was just very dismissive and I'm so tired of doctors not taking me seriously. They always try to blame my adhd symptoms on my depression and at first, I was like "yeah, ok, seems fair" but after 4 unsuccessful antidepressants and 1 successful adhd med, I think I can say it's the adhd contributing to the depression more than the other way around.