#difficult days

[afewproblems]

WIP Snippet from Difficult Days

This is rough, but I just had to share because I am kicking my legs up in the air at this interaction!

Shawn clears his throat, realizing just how close Lassiter’s face has gotten, “uh yeah, we have your back Lassifrass”.

Carlton hums, his eyes closing blearily for a moment before he looks at Shawn again, “you ever take your own advice Spencer?”

Shawn bristles slightly. 

“Listen, this isn’t about me, you're a striking man with strong features, eyes that I--that people--that women--” Shawn swallows harshly, ignoring the way Lassiter’s eyes trace over his rapidly heating face, all because of Shawn's stupid, big, dumb mouth.

“Women wanna do cannonballs into, you have great posture and uh, penmanship the likes I've never seen”.

“You're honestly a catch Lassie, don't be so hard on yourself".

“I'm a catch”.

“Yeah Lassie, you are”.

Lassiter stares at Shawn for a beat, his blue eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness of the pub and Shawn is so, so, aware of how close they're sitting now. He watches transfixed as Lassiter lifts his hand from his lap to reach up and trace a soft knuckle across Shawns cheekbone then down to his chin, slightly tipping Shawn’s face up.

Shawn feels himself stop breathing.

What. The fuck. Is happening??

Klaxons blare in his mind once again as a chorus of , ‘DANGER, DANGER WILL ROBINSON’, repeats over and over. 

“A catch,” Lassiter repeats, the words rumble in his chest. He smirks slightly, his blue eyes crease at the corners as he tips his face away to mutter something under his breath about catching someone. 

[ae-cha08]

Sometimes God will let us be uncomfortable for a dark, difficult period so He can bless us later on. He’ll close a door, which we don’t like, but later on He’ll open a bigger door. God is not as concerned about our comfort as He is about our purpose.

There are times when He will shake things up to force us to change. His goal is not to make our life miserable; He’s pushing us into our purpose. ✨️

[serenityquest]

[owaridewanai]

This week it feels like I've been grieving. Day to day, on and off, there are tears behind my eyes and this suffocating weight on my heart. But through kindness and patience with myself, I still made it through the week.

I don't know why I feel this way. Maybe I miss the ignorance and innocence of my childhood? The nostalgia has been heavy in general. It feels like I'm finally physically realizing the past isn't where I'm supposed to be and that's a strange growing pain to have for me.

I've always clung onto things that seem unreachable, but gradually my world is just shrinking and I have less to worry about day by day. Now I just want to spread love and light to the people that pass my small world by.

Seeing your posts this week were spots of brightness I needed in some moments, thank you very much!

I'm glad I've been a spark of light, in all my Ozzy-like splendor!

And, may I dedicate some lyrics to you? They came into my mind before I read this ask, and I think they're for you.

"One day you think that you're right, that you're a great man. Another day you wake up and you have to start again from zero. [...] At this point, you mustn't let go, here the fight is harder but, if you are beaten up, you have to insist more."

(Italian lyrics: "Un giorno credi di esser giusto, e di essere un grande uomo. In un altro ti svegli e devi cominciare da zero. [...] A questo punto, non devi lasciare, qui la lotta è più dura ma tu, se le prendi di santa ragione, insisti di più!" - Un Giorno Credi, by Edoardo Bennato)

It's like he says, my dear. You're stubborn (in a good way, as in you're giving all you've got), so you can save yourself.

I love you to the moon and back. Wait, what am I saying? I love you to PLUTO and back!

[gukuuuu]

🤎

[an-na-ko]

Lyra, my beloved cat of 13 years, passed away this year on Father's Day. She's been by my side through very difficult times and was my little rock of steady and unrelenting love. I struggled a lot drawing this, and struggled a lot posting it, but I know I would've wanted to read a comic like this that validated my grief for her when I lost her.

Wherever you are, Lyra my little summer star, I love you always! Thank you for being the best thing in my life.

[tom4jc]

2 Corinthians 13:4 Live By His Power

For though He was crucified in weakness, yet He lives by the power of God. For we also are weak in Him, but we shall live with Him by the power of God toward you. 2 Corinthians 13:4 Day to day living can often be very tiring. All of the busyness and events in a life filled with many different trials can cause one to become very weary and weak. Being able to keep moving forward becomes difficult.…

[kindnessisstillhere]

Aching

Some days are tough;

The world is heavy,

Limbs are tired,

Brain reluctant to work.

Some days are difficult;

Tasks going wrong,

Mistakes coming back,

Arguments breaking out.

It's been a slow day,

Dragging and tugging,

But we got through it,

A step, a task, an email

Each one thing at a time,

Perhaps it's not the best,

Not a superheroes day or work,

But it's something at least.

[lilsleepybear]

"Today was a Difficult Day," said Pooh.

There was a pause.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Piglet.

"No," said Pooh after a bit. "No, I don't think I do."

"That's okay," said Piglet, and he came and sat beside his friend.

"What are you doing?" asked Pooh.

"Nothing, really," said Piglet. "Only, I know what Difficult Days are like. I quite often don't feel like talking about it on my Difficult Days either.

"But goodness," continued Piglet, "Difficult Days are so much easier when you know you've got someone there for you. And I'll always be here for you, Pooh."

And as Pooh sat there, working through in his head his Difficult Day, while the solid, reliable Piglet sat next to him quietly, swinging his little legs...he thought that his best friend had never been more right."

A.A. Milne

[ssalballoon]

Mystra showed him the secrets beneath the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. 'Chosen One' she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

poor gale :'(

- the dialogue is from ea gale's explanation about his folly

- i kinda like that she ended up looking like a mother-of-pearl inlay lacquerware!

- oh this was a subconscious choice, but Gale is sitting in seiza which is a posture for showing respect especially to elders. it's also known to be a painful position to sit in for extended periods of time, which is why it was sometimes used as a method of (morally dubious) punishment. however, experienced people can maintain this posture for much longer. food for thought :-)

- (edit: deleted this point bcs it didn't really make sense + detracted from the art a little;;)

[afewproblems]

Difficult Days - Part 8

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six , Part Seven or Read on AO3

“I told you so,” Gus says as Shawn straightens his shirt collar and fixes his hair in the precinct bathroom. 

Shawn sighs through his nose and turns on the tap to run the tips of his fingers under a short burst of water.

It's been two weeks since the incident with Lassie and Henry and it has not blown over.

If anything, Lassiter is…weird around him. 

Sure he's still surly and quick to yell and argue about their presence in the field and at the station, but every now and again Shawn catches the Detective staring at him.

And not some passing glance or vacant unassuming look, no.

This is the full-on, piercing, cop stare down, complete with a terminator scan and infrared analysis.

Needless to say, it's starting to freak him out.

Shawn has brought it up to Juliet and Gus separately, with Juliet's response being a single raised eyebrow and the question, “since when is Lassiter not monitoring you? I'm pretty sure he only just started trusting Buzz and he's been stationed here since before my transfer, Carlton can be a bit of an intense guy Shawn”.

And Gus's response--

“I told you so”. 

Shawn rolls his eyes and runs his wet fingers through his hair, twisting them up to ruffle the ends just right.

“You did not--”

“Uh no,” Gus speaks over him, “did I not say that Lassiter was pissed?”

Shawn looks at Gus through the reflection in the mirror, “Gus--”

“Did I not say that calling him a dog would end in him shooting you?” 

Gus raises a single challenging eyebrow as Shawn turns the tap on again to run his whole hand under the stream before flicking cold water at his friend.

“Shawn!” Gus yelps, darting out of the line of fire, “this is a new shirt!” 

“I don't think those were the words you used and come on, it's just a little staring right? It's only…a little weird, right?”

Gus raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, looking at Shawn through the mirror.

And yeah, okay, it might be a little more than just a little weird.

“Whatever,” Gus grumbles, "I do eventually have to get back to my real job so can you stop primping so we can talk to Vick?”

Shawn reaches out for the paper towel dispenser and grabs a sheet to dry his fingers before crumpling it up and raising his arm high above his head to throw the makeshift ball into the garbage can. Shawn groans as the tiny ball of slightly damp paper barely hits the rim before it tumbles to the tiled floor of the SBPD bathroom.

“Gus,” Shawn huffs as he reaches down to pick up the paper, “you know as well as I do that people are much more likely to give you what you want if you present yourself well and take pride in your appearance”.

“You literally have a queso stain on your shirt Shawn”. 

Tossing the paper directly into the trash, Shawn side steps the comment and Gus as he turns on his heel and makes his way to the doors.

Their caseload has slowed down to a crawl recently. Shawn blames the weather, scorching heat and enough humidity to make a seal sweat. All the potential clients, and criminals, are either holed up at home with AC or busy at the beach --not that Shawn wants crime to happen necessarily, but the lack of cases does present a problem when it comes to their financials, which Gus maintains he should pay more attention to.

Thus the visit to their favourite interim Chief, Vick.

Maybe there's a brand new case that they could assist with, or stowaway on long enough to earn a paycheck.

Either way works for Shawn.

Shawn rounds the corner of the next hallway --Jesus, the precinct is either way bigger than he remembers or they've actually managed to fall into the Labyrinth from Labyrinth. 

Not that Shawn would mind running into Bowie at this moment, especially in those pants. 

He halts suddenly as he sees, who fucking else, but Lassiter and Henry talking just outside of Sargent Bart's door.

Perfect.

Shawn takes a step back, closer to a display cabinet on the wall and quickly reaches for Gus to pull him back beside him.

“Why the hell is he here again?” Gus whispers.

“Because I'm cursed, because the universe hates me,” Shawn says under his breath as he peeks around the shelf again just in time to see Henry laugh at something Carlton says.

“See?” Shawn says, gesturing towards the pair, “hates me”.

Shawn frowns and closes his eyes, trying to visualize the emergency evacuation floor plan they were provided when Vick hired them, maybe there was a way to get around the pair without being seen…even with Vicks office being two doors down from where his father and Lassiter are standing.

Shit.

“We should have gone left instead of right, that would have been faster,” Shawn admits with a frown as he slumps back against the wall and out of sight.

“If someone hadn't insisted on messing with his hair for twenty minutes we wouldn't be in this situation,” Gus hisses, throwing his hand out to slap at Shawns shoulder, earning a muted yelp which Shawn tries to quell as best as he can.

Shawn retaliates with a slap of his own at Gus's arm and just as he ducks out of the way of another hit he hears Lassiter’s voice float down the hallway. 

“Spencer has been a menace since he started”.

“Shh! I hear my name,” Shawn hisses as he peers around the shelf again, he feels Gus move behind him to match the position. 

Henry is facing away from them but he can see his dad nod at the Detective. 

“He does some good work but he's got no respect for protocol or authority,” Lassie continues looking at Henry with a strange expression that Shawn can’t quite qualify.

“I don't know what the chief sees in that waste of space,” Lassiter huffs, the words are irritated and clipped but his sharp eyes are scanning Henry now. 

Evaluating, looking for something.

Henry stiffens at the words, and Shawn watches as his dad steps closer to Lassiter. He breathes out a low laugh that has the Detective’s eyes narrow as though he's caught something, but Shawn knows that laugh intimately and hears ‘Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!’ blare in his mind as his dad's posture changes. 

Henry leans in even closer, his voice quiet and cold, as he says, “you call my kid a waste of space again, Detective, I'll put you through the wall, are we clear?” 

Shawn lifts his right hand to stick his index finger in his ear, twisting it hard, because there was no way in hell he heard that right. 

Since when did Henry defend him to the other officers --especially his new best buddy Lassiter.

He looks at Gus whose raised eyebrows have cut harsh creases across his forehead in surprise, he shrugs as they both turn back to the strange scene down the hall.

Lassiter blinks once, his face triumphant for a brief instant before he schools his expression into one of shock. The Detective nods as he steps away from Henry's imposing shadow.

“Crystal, sir,” he says, adjusting his tie before nodding at Henry and making his way back to the bullpen. 

Shawn slowly slips back behind the shelf as though dazed, and lets his shoulders connect with the wall behind him.

Because, what in the hell was that?

“What in the hell was that??” Gus whispers as he falls beside Shawn, letting his shoulder roughly connect to the wall. 

Shawn shrugs as he stares unseeing at the floor, “weird, bizarre, peculiar, flummoxing, yeah, that’s it, it’s flummoxing”.

He looks back up in time to see Gus raises a single, exasperated, eyebrow.

“Jules got me a word of the month calendar last week”.

Gus rolls his eyes, but a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he taps Shawn with his elbow, “I'm just surprised you used it correctly”.

Shawn grins, motioning for Gus to head back up the hall the way they came, “it’s always the people who love us who end up hurting us the most,” he sniffs with a false wobble to his voice that has Gus shooting another glare his way.

“You know that’s right, keep it up man”.

Shawn snickers as they make it back to the washroom entrance so they can reorient themselves in a more vacant part of the station, Gus says something about hitting the head while they’re there but Shawn is barely listening. 

Henry's behavior in the hall was flummoxing, that goes without saying.

But Shawn couldn't stop thinking about the strange triumphant expression on Lassiter’s face when Henry tore a verbal strip off him. 

Something was going on with the Detective, and Shawn didn't need a vocabulary calendar to know it was weird with a capital, W. 

Maybe they found themselves a case after all?

***

Shawn should have gone home after his date left, although to call her a date would be entirely inaccurate considering her recent engagement, barring a slight misunderstanding.

Shawn smiles indulgently as the petite brunette immediately snaps the flip phone open, a radiant expression of relief on her face, and speed dials her brand new fiance, mouthing ‘thank you’ at Shawn before disappearing into the crowd of Tom Blair's pub.

It wasn't often that Shawn got to use his observations like this and it always managed to make the tightness of overwhelm in his chest loosen after a long day.

He breathes out a long slow sigh and lifts his gaze to the crowd around him now.

Sometimes people watching would yield something interesting, a breakup, a meet up with a mistress, a promotion --though those were more rare for a neighborhood pub like this. 

He tilts his face to the bar and it's then that Shawn's gaze lands on a familiar face sitting at a table in the far corner.

Detective Lassiter, drinking alone. 

His blue eyes fixed at a far point in the middle distance as he lifts a glass of dark amber liquid to his lips. His shirt is undone by two buttons revealing a swath of chest hair that his loosened tie rests on. 

Holy shit. Lassie looks…good.

If Shawn were being honest with himself, Lassiter has always looked good --if a bit stuffy sometimes. He blames those damn eyes and Lassie's surprisingly strong build. Shawn had been manhandled enough by the Detective to know just how strong he is.

“Spencer?”

Oh holy hell.

The Detective is waving at him, his long, lanky arms curving in a large arc above his head --thankfully not the one holding the glass.

“Spencer! I didn't know you were here!” Lassiter says, his voice carries clear across the pub, causing several other patrons to turn and look at them. 

Lassiter stands up, somewhat wobbly from his table, drink in hand, and makes his way over to Shawn.

Just what in the Bizzaro wonderland has Shawn managed to stumble into that Lassiter is coming his way and sitting down?

“You’re here!” Lassie says loudly, turning a few heads as he sits down heavily in the seat beside Shawn. He’s not exactly smiling but the lack of his signature scowl is just as strange, especially directed at Shawn.

“I am,” Shawn hums as Lassiter takes another sip that is more of a gulp of liquor. The acrid smell of scotch floats over the air between them making Shawn lean away, or try to anyway. 

But a heavy arm makes its way around his shoulders, suddenly pulling Shawn into Lassie’s side. From this close Shawn can smell the spicy aftershave Carlton only sports on special occasions, what might have prompted it Shawn has no idea for once.

“Listen, since you’re here, there's something I have to get off my chest,” Lassiters's voice is clear even over the din of the bar crowd, Shawn would have expected a slur given the nearly empty glass in the man's hand and the overwhelming smell of scotch on his breath.

“Please say it's not your shirt,” Shawn huffs, trying not to picture exactly that as Lassiter snorts into his glass. He hopes the Detective is distracted enough by the alcohol and the lack of lighting in the pub to notice the way Shawn's ears heat at the image, he's sure they must be a bright crimson by now.

Maybe Lassie will finally explain his weird staring the past month, or maybe the Henry incident, as he and Gus had taken to referring to the very flummoxing Detective showdown in the hallway outside of Sargent Bart’s office.

Lassiter shakes his head, his blue eyes wide as he removes his arm from Shawn’s shoulders and turns in his seat to face him fully. 

“You astound me”. 

And that's definitely not what Shawn expected when Lassie came over to his table at the crowded neighborhood pub.

Shawn had been surprised to even see Lassiter at a bar on a weeknight, and even more surprised to see him clearly drinking so heavily.

“I--come again?” Shawn pulls on his earlobe roughly because there was no way--

“It’s beyond astounding.” Lassiter says as he reaches over and places a warm hand on Shawn's elbow and squeezes lightly, "it is some of the most impressive reasoning I’ve ever seen.”

Shawn breathes out a startled laugh, “is there a punchline to this?”

“I don’t know how you do it. I mean it’s not psychic-ness –we both know that’s a crock of crap. You sir, are unstoppable. Guaranteed arrests.”

Shawn opens his mouth to speak but Lassiter keeps going, “can I tell you something else?”

“I really wouldn’t recommend it, no”.

“You know how everyone thinks my wife and I have been separated for nine months?”

Oh.

Oh boy.

“Look, Lassie,” Shawn says lowly, he really shouldn't be listening to this.

As much as Lassiter has been grating on his nerves the last few weeks with his rigid, by-the-book bullshit, and his irritating friendship with Henry, it doesn't feel right to stand by while the alcohol makes this straight-laced handsome weirdo spill what is clearly not meant for Shawn’s ears.

“Two years. Two years tonight,” Lassiter continues as though Shawn said nothing, he takes a long draught of scotch and sets the now empty glass down on the hightop with more force than necessary.

“And I’m the one who keeps trying to fix the damn thing”.

Lassiter wipes a large hand down his face roughly and laughs, “you know I used to be a good cop”.

He doesn’t wait for Shawn to respond, “seriously, stunning arrest record,” Lassie punctuates the words with a sweeping gesture of the hand, “one of the best in the department --you know I caught the Back Bay Killer, there was a tip--”.

“I remember that,” Shawn nods as he shifts in his seat, “the blue sedan”. 

Shawns eyes widen at the same time as Lassiter’s. 

Shit.

He hadn't meant to let that slip, especially not in front of a very drunk and quite possibly armed Detective.

“That, was you?” Lassiter says slowly, he pulls away slightly but keeps his hand on Shawn's elbow.

Shawn feels his heart rate tick up at the proximity and the way those blue eyes have begun to scan him just as they have the whole last month.

“It, uh, it might have been--”

“You know what,” Lassiter interrupts him, pulling out his handcuffs from his back pocket, he slides them across the hightop. The silver metal glints the low light bouncing their sheen on Lassiters face as they move, “you should have these Spencer, you'd actually make better use of them”.

Shawn stares at the cuffs, making no move to take them from the table. 

“Lassie--”

But Lassiter continues as though Shawn hasn't spoken, “I have officially hit rock bottom. A month ago I got this case, right? A healthy 42-year-old astronomer dies. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, spends all day in an ergonomically-designed chair charting the night sky,” Lassiter huffs, his face scrunched into a frown, counting on his fingers as he lists the facts of the case.

Which, okay even Shawn is intrigued now. 

A waitress comes by their table but Shawn waves her off with a tight smile, the last thing they need is more alcohol at this table. She nods at him with a wide grin that drops into an irritated grimace as she turns on her heel to another table that would definitely yield a larger bill to tip on. 

“‘Natural causes’, that’s what the coroner comes back with,” the Detective scoffs, tossing his hand out to connect lightly with Shawn's shoulder before it wraps around his shoulders again and tugs him close.

“Does a full autopsy, no red flags, nothing.”

Carlton sighs, his head drops to hang low enough that his hair brushes the tabletop before he brings his eyes back up to look at Shawn with the most dejected expression he's ever seen on another man's face.

“I know he was murdered, I just can’t…”

Shawn waits for a beat as Lassiters gaze slips into something unfocused. He reaches out to tap the other man's hand lightly, bringing his blue eyes back to Shawn, “can’t what, Lassie?”

“I can’t prove it, Chief doesn’t want us to waste more time on something this ‘open-and-shut’,” Lassiter grumbles, letting go of Shawn to raise both hands to make air quotes before letting them fall to his lap.

And maybe this is the reason for the constant staring at work, has it really been jealousy this whole time?

“Should just retire, fold up shop, it's not like I have anyone that would notice,” Lassiter mumbles under his breath, and nope. Nope. 

That is just unacceptable. 

“Come on Lassiepants, you’ll figure it out just like you always do. People have your back,” Shawn taps the Detectives hand again, firmly this time, glaring as Carlton scoffs again at the words.

“Like who?”

“Well, Jules, and Chief Vick, and Gus, and me--”

“You?”

Shawn clears his throat, ducking his face to hide the way he can feel his ears begin to heat, “uh yeah, we have your back Lassifrass”.

Carlton hums, his eyes closing briefly for a moment before he looks at Shawn again, “you ever take your own advice Spencer?”

Shawn bristles slightly, annoyed for the first time since Lassiter made his way over to the table. 

“Look, this isn’t about me, you're a striking man with strong features, eyes that I--that people--that women,” Shawn swallows harshly, ignoring the way Lassiter’s eyes trace over his rapidly heating face, “women wanna do cannonballs into, you have great posture and uh, penmanship the likes I've never seen”.

It’s like verbal vomit, it just keeps coming and Shawn can’t seem to stop it, “you're honestly a catch Lassie, don't be so hard on yourself”.

Lassiter stares at him frozen as Shawn bites his tongue, swallowing nervously. Him and his big dumb mouth. 

“I'm a catch”.

Shawn nods, looking anywhere but at the Detective and his bright gaze, “uh, yeah, yeah Lassie, you are”.

Lassiter continues to stare at Shawn for what feels like an eternity. His blue eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness of the pub and Shawn is so, so, aware of how close they're sitting now.

He watches transfixed as Lassiter lifts his hand from his lap to reach up and trace a soft knuckle across Shawns cheekbone then down to his chin, slightly tipping Shawn’s face up.

Shawn feels himself stop breathing.

What. The fuck. Is happening??

Klaxons blare in his mind once again as a chorus of , ‘DANGER, DANGER WILL ROBINSON’, repeats over and over.

Lassiter’s drunk, that's what's happening here, Shawn thinks as his brain starts to come back online, there is no way that the Detective is making a pass at him.

“A catch,” Lassiter repeats, the words rumble in his chest. He smirks slightly, his blue eyes crease at the corners as he tips his face away to mutter something under his breath about catching someone. 

Right, Shawn thinks to himself in what he hopes is relief rather than disappointment, the murdered astronomer. 

Shawn shakes himself and leans back in his seat, out of Lassiters's immediate orbit.

“You should go home Lassie, sleep this off so you can catch the guy like I know you can,” Shawn says, rapping his knuckles against the bar table for emphasis.

Shawn pushes himself off the stool and shrugs on his bomber jacket with shaking hands, startling at the sudden clatter behind him. He turns just in time to see Carlton stumble and sit gracelessly on the sticky pub floor.

“Jesus Lassiter,” Shawn huffs out as he wanders over, assessing the potential damage as he moves. 

“Falling already,” Carlton says, his slurred words taking on a dreamy quality that Shawn has never heard the man use before. 

“Yup, that's what happens when you drink half the bar man,” Shawn mutters to himself as he grabs Lassiters hand and hoists him to his feet once more. 

Thankfully the Detective isn't so out of it that he can't stand on his own two feet --though Shawn finds it terribly unfair how Carlton leans his face down into Shawns neck as he drapes his long lanky arm across Shawn’s shoulder once again.

The feeling of Lassiters warm breath on his ear is also so distracting that Shawn almost walks them into a pillar as they make their way to the entrance.

By the time they actually get to the front doors, and Shawn has flagged down a cab, Lassiter seems to be vacillating between sleepy petulance at being forced to leave the bar and something resembling contentment as he leans against Shawn heavily.

“Okay Lassie, let's get you home--”

“I'm not that easy Spencer,” Lassiter grumbles and Shawn nearly combusts, his face and neck heating again at the thought. At least the Detective isn't paying attention to him, instead turning his concentration towards buckling his seatbelt. 

The cab ride is uneventful but just long enough for Shawn to struggle to keep Lassiter from falling dead asleep; he resorts to flicking his seatmate in the ear, smiling at the irritated snuffle Lassie makes every time he does. Luckily the Detective also has enough cash in his wallet for the cab fare. Shawn refuses to feel bad about using it, it's not like Lassie's paying Shawn's way home too, he'll just walk back to the Psych office to crash there. 

It's fine, Shawn thinks; trying his best to ignore the feeling of phantom hands on his face or warm breath on his neck as he makes the trek down the boardwalk. Besides, if Lassiter was drunk enough to look at Shawn like that…

No. 

No way, it’s just jealousy, that’s the reason for the staring and for the strange confession this evening. That’s all. 

On the plus side, he’s solved the case of ‘what’s been eating Lassiter’ without any additional effort or the need to be held up at gunpoint this time. 

But, on the down side, it’s yet another case he’s made no money on for Psych. 

Shawn wipes both hands down his face before wrapping his arms around himself as he continues down the well lit path home. 

At least Lassiter was drunk enough that he won’t possibly remember tonight. 

Not at all.

And that’s fine. Totally fine.

***

“You should have seen him, Gus, he tried to give me his handcuffs for crying out loud”.

Gus rolls his eyes and flips the page of the magazine in his hands, pretending not to follow Shawn’s path as he paces across the Psych office. 

It's been three hours since their debrief at the station and over 14 hours since Shawn had managed to drag a nearly unconscious Lassiter home from the bar the previous night. 

Shawn is restless and Gus just doesn't quite understand. If he'd been there it would be so much easier to explain, plus Gus could have helped carry the Irish lug to his front door rather than Shawn offering their cab driver a huge tip to help him half drag, half carry the giant Detective.

“And?” Gus huffs, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the desk in front of him, “I would think that Lassie quitting the force would make things way easier for us Shawn, no more having to fight for cases or getting kicked off crime scenes”.

Shawn makes his way to the mini fridge in the corner, one of the few purchases he had insisted on that Gus actually agreed with when they first opened the place. He opens the door and snags a snapple from the shelf.

“I think we should help, it just feels weird for Lassie to be so down and out, like watching baby Darth Vader call Natalie Portman an angel, it's pathetic in an endearing sort of way”. 

Gus stares at Shawn with narrowed eyes now and sits up in his desk chair, “endearing? Lassiter?”

Shawn cracks the cap of his drink and pauses to read the ‘Real Fact’ printed on the inside.

On average, a human being will spend 2 weeks of their lives kissing, in their lifetime.

He frowns at the bottle cap in his hand, wondering just how ‘Real’ these facts actually are, or if they’re the product of a bored intern at Snapple. 

“Lassie’s all bark and no, we'll that's not right, but that's actually what I mean, he can't be no bark and no bite, that's just craziness in action Gus--”

“Oh my god,” Gus says slowly as he straightens in his seat, “you like him”.

Shawn rears back as though slapped, his mouth opening and closing several times before he manages to say, in a strangled voice, “no--thats--why would you--”

“Because you like people that don't like you Shawn, you always do this, you pick assholes”.

Well that's not fair.

“Gus--”

Gus waves his hands in front of him and stands abruptly from the desk chair which rolls backwards, stopping as it connects with the edge of the rug, “no Shawn, he's threatened to shoot us how many times? He's put his hands on you!”

Shawn tries for a swarthy grin at Gus, “don't knock it till you try it--”

“No! Nope,” Gus cuts him off sharply, “don't try to change the subject or throw me off with,” he shakes his hands again at Shawn, “the thought of naked Lassiter”.

He visibly shudders while Shawn feels the tips of his ears begin to heat, as he feels the phantom warmth of Lassiter's arm around his shoulder from the night before.

Gus sighs, pinching his fingers into his eyes briefly before pinning Shawn with a look “I just don't want you to get hurt again Shawn”.

Shawn thinks of the way Lassiter looked at him that night and the way his knuckle felt against his face and the hand on his elbow, firm in its grip but still gentle and warm from the alcohol coursing through his system. He side steps the thought of how much the lack of recognition in Lassie's blue eyes had hurt that morning during the briefing.

“I might not know exactly what I’m doing Gus, but I think it'll be okay”. 

“Now let's go, I hear the planetarium is playing Laser Floyd, may as well grab two birds before the bush kills them”.

Gus looks at him with wide eyes and a bewildered expression that slowly shifts to something very pained, “I think you just butchered two very well known idioms Shawn”.

“I've heard it both ways, now come on!” 

“You're so full of shit dude,” Gus grumbles behind him as he locks the front door to the office, earning a bright bark of laughter from Shawn as they make their way to the Blueberry.

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf @newgrangespirals @riverofrainbows @steddierthings @newgrangespirals @eriquin @childofposiden71 @theoxymoronicpoet @cinderellarhea

[ae-cha08]

Life is filled with ups and downs. But sometimes, the hardest place to be is in between.

When David wrote Psalm 62, he was under attack from his enemies. And as tempting as it might have been to take matters into his own hands, David chose to wait on God.

We can put our trust in lots of places - in money, in our own wit or our own abilities. But nowhere is it safer than with the God who made everything, knows everything, and can restore anything.

[thepeacefulgarden]

And if that's too much, take it breath by breath.

[devine-acension-831]

She feels she’s not good enough

And thinks she’s become insecure

By constantly thinking about stuff

That has her feeling unassure.

Caged inside these four walls

Her thoughts start talking aloud

And her confidence falls

For she’s lost from feeling proud.

Feeling trapped inside this cell

Her mind starts echoing voices

And everything they care to tell

Leads her to insecure choices.

She tries covering up her ears

to deaden their loud screams

But her fears turn into tears

As they also haunt her dreams.

She thinks she can calm down

And pretend they don’t exist

But they just stick around

And she’s unable to resist.

The louder her thoughts become

The more she feels trapped within,

Wishing her mind would go numb

But they just yell at her and grin.

She’s fallen victim to her mind

From insecurities ran wild

And nowhere inside can she find

A peaceful solution that’s mild.

Walls keep closing up on her

As the echos become so loud,

Making her wish to be a blur

And fade into the abyss cloud.

No one will understand the pain

That she continues going through

Until the thoughts within our brain

Begin screaming just like hers do.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x emotional support omega reader)

The mission was grueling, and you hated it.

Every passing hour in the frozen wasteland tested your patience and resilience- tested everyone’s. You kept up without complaint, truly, the biting cold barely registering against your naturally warmer body though trecking through blowing snow simply sucked.

The same couldn’t be said for the others, however.

Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were alphas through and through, instincts geared toward endurance and strength- like a solid mountain. But even they couldn’t ignore the toll the icy environment was taking. They shivered beneath layers of gear, their movements noticeably stiff and sluggish, exhaustion etched into their expressions. Still, they soldiered on without a word of complaint.

You’d offered to help before- several times, in fact. Because you know, it’s literally your job- but every time, they waved you off, their responses varying from polite to outright dismissive.

“Captain,” you tried again during a brief break, your breath puffing in the frigid air. Your mouth pursed like a wound stitched close, brows furrowing. “Let me help. I don’t feel the cold like you do. I could- ”

“No,” Price interrupted firmly, eyes narrowing at you. Moments like these reminded you that they’d been against you joining their team- saw you as an intrusion upon their pack. You’d worked hard to show them otherwise, but- “We’ve got it handled. Just focus on keeping up.”

“But I-”

“You don’t need to play nursemaid, love,” Soap chimed in, though his tone lacked its usual warmth. “We’re fine. Promise.”

You bit your tongue, swallowing down a retort. Their pride was getting in the way, as usual, and you didn’t want to push too hard lest you ruined the delicate standing you had with them. But it was hard not to feel frustrated when you could see how much they were struggling.

When the storm rolled in, things took a turn for the worse. The biting wind turned into an unrelenting blizzard, forcing the team to take shelter in a decrepit cabin barely standing against the elements. The walls creaked ominously, snow seeped through the cracks whenever the wind blew too harsh, and the air inside was almost as cold as it was outside.

Horrible, horrendous mission.

You sat in your corner, arms wrapped around your knees, watching as the four alphas slowly huddled together for warmth. Their breaths came in shallow puffs of condensation, bodies tense.

You couldn’t stand it. Truly.

“Captain,” you said softly, breaking the silence once more. “Let me help. You’re freezing. I can- ”

“I said no, Corporal.” Price snapped, low but cutting. His tone made you flinch, but you still held your ground.

“You’re going to make yourselves sick,” you insisted anyways, your own voice trembling more from frustration than the cold. “I’m an Omega. I run hotter than you. It just makes sense- ”

“Enough,” Ghost interrupted, tone as frosty as the weather. “We don’t need you to play hero. Focus on yourself.”

“But- ”

“We’re fine,” Gaz said through chattering teeth, though his body was visibly trembling. “Just leave it, alright?”

The sharpness in their voices stung, and this time, you hesitated. It wasn’t like they were wrong- you were the outsider here, brought onto the team as an emotional support specialist, not a core member of their tightly-knit unit. No matter how competent you were, they always seemed to keep you at arm’s length.

Still, it hurt to watch them suffer when you could help. When you wanted to help.

Hours dragged by. The storm howled outside and kept delaying Nikolai from picking you up, the cabin offering little in the way of real protection. The Alphas were trying to conserve energy, huddled together but clearly not doing well. Their shivers had become more pronounced, their movements lethargic, and you could hear the subtle wheeze in Soap’s breathing as he tried to curl deeper into himself.

Finally, you really couldn’t take it anymore. You stood and crossed the room toward them, gritting your teeth. “I don’t care what you say. You need help, and I’m not going to stand by. Let me do my job-“

“For fuck’s sake, sit down!” Price’s voice lashed out, sharper than you’d ever heard it. His glare was ice cold, and it froze you in your tracks. “We don’t need you, Corporal. Stop asking.”

The words hit like a slap, and you staggered back a step. Your chest tightened, your breath hitching as you retreated to your corner.

If they wanted to be stubborn, fine. If they wanted to freeze so bad, then so be it.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the storm showed no sign of letting up, that something shifted. You had dozed off in your corner, curled into yourself for more warmth, when you were startled awake by the sound of someone moving towards you.

Price loomed above you, his expression grim but resigned. He looked exhausted, the frost clinging to his beard making him seem older.

“We need you, ‘mega.” He said quietly, the words heavy; a reluctant admission clawing its way out of necessity.

“What?” you blinked, sitting up. You had drifted off ever so slightly, but now you were fully awake.

“We can’t…we can’t keep this up,” Gaz huffed from where he slumped against the wall, standing up with a sigh. “You’re right.”

Soap, right beside him, gave you a weak, sheepish smile. “Should’ve listened earlier, huh? We’re bloody idiots.”

Ghost didn’t say anything, not like you expected much in the first place, but the way he avoided your gaze spoke volumes.

Without a word, you stood and crossed the room to them. Soap reached for you first, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close with a relieved sigh. The others followed, each pressing in until you were surrounded by their trembling bodies.

The warmth you offered was instantaneous, your heat chasing away the chill and calming all frayed nerves- scent blanketing them warmer and deeper than the snow itself.

“You’re all so stubborn.” You muttered, your voice soft and scolding.

“Stubborn idiots,” Price agreed, laced with regret. His head rested lightly on your shoulder, burrowing himself close. “We were wrong. Thank you.”

As the minutes ticked by, the alphas slowly fell into a calmer rhythm, their breathing evening out as your warmth continued seeping into their chilled bodies. They leaned heavily into you, their weight a comforting, grounding presence, but your heart felt… heavy despite the closeness.

This was the closest they’d ever let you be.

Your fingers rested lightly against Soap’s back, hesitant to move too much in case you broke the spell. His breathing had steadied, his earlier wheeze gone. Gaz’s head pressed against your shoulder, his warmth a subtle reassurance, while Ghost remained silent behind you, his steady presence both comforting and overwhelming. Price, ever the leader, curled protectively around the group, breaths slow and measured against your temple.

You should’ve been happy, content even, to finally have this moment. But all you could feel was an ache deep in your chest.

This wasn’t permanent.

They needed you now, but it wasn’t a real shift. They’d go back to holding you at arm’s length once the mission was over, retreating into their tight circle while you hovered on the outside desperate for any crumbs. This warmth, this closeness- this was all temporary. A necessity born of the freezing cold and nothing more.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, closing your eyes to keep your emotions in check. You weren’t upset at them- not really. You understood; it wasn’t their fault they didn’t see you as part of their pack. But it hurt all the same, knowing that this fleeting moment would likely be one of the very few times you’d be allowed into their space.

It stung because you were a social person, and always knew it, and it’s why you’d even taken up this job. You craved connection, touch, and camaraderie. You wanted to laugh with them, to feel their trust without having to fight tooth and nail for scraps of it. Yet here you were, soaking in their warmth like it was the only drink of water in a desert, knowing it would be taken away soon enough.

The worst part was how natural it felt. How right it was to have them curled around you, their bodies seeking out your wamrth, their presence anchoring you as much as you did them. You didn’t want it to end, but you knew it would.

In the meantime, the alphas were beginning to stir, their exhaustion fading as you worked through the last of the cold.

Soap nuzzled closer, his cheek pressed against your collarbone, breathing in your scent seeping through your thick clothes. “Bloody hell, lass,” he murmured, low and drowsy. “How’re you this warm? Feels like heaven.”

Gaz made a soft, content noise from your side, his head still tucked against your shoulder. “Better than any bloody blanket I’ve ever had.” He muttered.

Ghost didn’t speak, but you felt the way his grip on you tightened subtly, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. Price shifted slightly, his hand resting lightly on your arm as he exhaled slowly, the tension finally leaving his frame.

“Should’ve listened sooner,” Price admitted after a long silence. “Would’ve saved us all a lot of trouble.”

You didn’t respond, unsure of what to say. They were only just now realizing how good it felt to have you close, while you were acutely aware that this was temporary- a privilege born of desperation, not true acceptance.

None of them said it out loud, but the thought crossed all their minds: why had they kept you at arm’s length for so long?

More thoughts

[spookberry]

tucker goin thru it