a good soldier.

[assetrisen]

𝘼𝙎𝙎𝙀𝙏𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙀𝙉   ;     an independent and highly selective roleplay blog for 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 of cbs’ person of interest.  written by ace.  show-based, headcanon-influenced, but with plenty of aus and canon-divergent verses. multi-ship and multi-verse with a heavy emphasis on plotting.  mutually exclusive and private ; duplicate friendly.  will contain highly triggering content and mature themes such as violence, human experimentation, ptsd, derealization, etc.  not spoiler-free.  must be 21+ to interact and follow.  originally estab. april 2016.  revamped june 2022.

doc.       prompts.       headcanons.        hope.        multi.

[assetrisen]

fatherofmachine​:

   Despite the fact that Harold really ought to be used to it by now,  the abrupt sound of Sameen’s healed boots colliding explosively with the wooden door made him flinch.  After a brief pause,  he let out a quiet,  albeit sharp exhale through his nose—it could’ve almost been a laugh.  ❝… I suppose you’ve got a point,❞  he agreed reluctantly,  murmuring out of the corner of his mouth with an upward quirk of brows.  However,  given the fact that he didn’t hear anything that indicated her entrance was very unwelcome,  Harold was inclined to believe Sameen was alone.

   ❝Sounds like nobody’s home, if that’s what you mean,❞ came his voice over the comms at its normal volume, along with the sound of fingers quickly gliding over a keyboard. Harold was digging into their numbers’ finances at the moment—it didn’t at all surprise him to see that most of the money Mr. Garnett had earned in his work was gone. ❝ If it’s money he owes, I’m afraid he’s all out of luck … what on Earth has he got himself mixed up in … he’s a marketing journalist for a fifty million dollar company. Pays well, he’s good at his job, has a long-term partner …❞

   Dark brows narrowed thoughtfully as Harold scoured all of the information he could find on the man. He brought one of his hands up, dragging the knuckle of his pointer finger against his mouth. ❝I do at least know where all his money went—it appears Mr. Garnett has a bit of a gambling problem. Perhaps he asked the wrong people for help.❞

              “Somebody’s home, but it’s not our number and they’re not going to be a problem,” she replied. “Judging by the amount of drug debris around, they’re going to be out of it for a while.” She heard the telltale clack of keys, a steady drum that kept her grounded as she worked methodically through the apartment. The details that Harold gave were pretty standard, good guy with a good life with a not so good problem. 

“Winner winner chicken dinner,” she mused at the reveal of a gambling problem. Personally, she had been mentally betting on a secret mistress but gambling was always a solid bet. “Could be why he’s got an apartment in his name that’s being used as a drug den-” She stopped short as she heard voices in the hallway, and she immediately pulled out her pistol and ducked into the kitchen, out of sight but close enough to get the jump. 

Two men walked in, shouting angrily and she heard the two junkies stirring in alarm. Quietly opening the refrigerator, she pulled out the half-empty gallon jug of milk as she heard one of the new players round the corner. She threw it at him, following up with a quick punch to his solar plexus and another to his temple, and he was down immediately. However, the noise drew the attention of the other. He was already shooting as he came around the corner, and Shaw hissed as one of the stray bullets grazed her arm. Two shots to the thigh sent the man to the ground with a sob, and Shaw growled as she kicked his gun away. 

“Still there, Finch?” she asked, breathing heavily as she looked down at her new wound. It would be fine after a few days, and only served as an annoyance in the current moment. “I think I may have found someone who can explain what the hell is going on. A drop from the third story won’t kill him, but it’d hurt pretty bad, yeah?” She had zero qualms about pulling him up and tossing him out of the window entirely, but Finch didn’t like displays of violence like that and he was the one calling the shots. Collecting both men’s wallets, she pulled the IDs out and tossed the rest. “Henry Fulton and Thomas Redd,” she read out with a grimace. “Got anything on these two?” She snaps a picture of both of their faces (one covered in milk and the other twisted in pain), but recognizable enough that The Machine could use it. 

[assetrisen]

griim​:

@assetrisen​ Dollhouse plotted starter. 

Late nights of drinking and research had produced nothing, and a part of her wondered if her father had given up the whole Dollhouse thing. Because if he had, that made her life that much easier, not needing to worry that Matthew would someday recapture her and put her back in that hell. But what could she do if there was no evidence supporting the existence? Nearly calling it a night, something popped up on her screen, a familiar name and face. ‘Shaw? No. No fucking way…’ Sitting up, she enlarged the photo, and sure enough, it was her. Taking a closer look, she even recognized the license plant. It belonged to the house. Gemma would know that license plate anywhere. “Well, looks like either mistaken identity or they have something planned.” Following the car, to wherever it was going, she managed to find the building, one she had passed several times. ‘How could I be so fucking stupid. Of course, they would hide in semi-plane sight. They got away with that once.’ She scolded herself and began to pull up blueprints of the building. If she was going to go in, Gemma needed to make sure this would go off without a hitch.

“I’m comin’ Shaw,” even if the two did not have a friendship, the time they passed one another during the service made up for that. And, if the house got ahold of that mind, who knows what they could do with it. This was what worried her the most, she figured Shaw could handle herself, but she was not going to leave her hanging. After arriving, Gemma used the cover of night to sneak near a guard. Subduing them, she put on the uniform, and after shuttering briefly, she began to make her way through. All of this seemed like muscle memory. However, the terror still dwelled beneath the surface. Reaching a door, she used the badge on the uniform and slipped into the stairwell. Making her way down, she hoped that this would not end with a fight. But, in typical fashion, she brought weapons in case. Reaching where she believed the house was, she opened the door and slipped in. Things seemed quiet, far too uneventful for her liking. Her eyes scanned the area for the woman she was here for. The others would have to wait.

As feet walked along the carpet, memories of her time here made their way to the front of her mind. Deep inside, her mind screamed that she should not be here, that this could all have been a trap, and she was stupid enough to fall for it. However, she quickly rationalized it, knowing that if she sat back while they continued, who knows what they would do. “Shaw…” Gemma mutters, “come on… Don’t tell me they dolled you up. I don’t have the equipment to fix that shit.” Gemma continued as she walked through the house, seemingly going unnoticed.

           She hated the drugs and the way they made her brain feel like it was stuffed with cotton. Ever since she had managed to get a call out to the team, they seemed to have upped her doses, or at least how often she was given them, and the days and weeks slipped through her fingers like grains of sand. The next time she fully came to, she was strapped in a chair, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and one wrinkly familiar one. She certainly hissed out choice words, fighting against metal restraints until another needle slid under her skin, this time not bringing the daze or blurriness, but was some kind of paralytic, keeping her trapped in her body while she was unable to fight or yell. 

Greer talked for a bit, and she only caught some of the words through the rage that filtered through everything. Dollhouse. Active. Wipe. Imprint. Shaw wanted to howl as Greer stepped closer and took her hand, a piece of paper in his hand as he read out phrases. Shaw had seen enough things in the Marines to know that this was supposed to be some kind of call and response brainwashing technique, and her body convulsed in the chair as it whirred to life. She fought until she couldn’t fight any longer, long enough to see smugness turn to slight concern until finally the black claimed her. 

Shaw blinked and stared at Greer who looked down at her like a benevolent old grandfather. She spoke before she even knew what she was saying. 

“Did I fall asleep?”

It was easier from that point, and within two weeks Shaw finally understood what they were doing here, but she also knew that it was only a matter of time before Greer realized that their plan didn’t work. Well, didn’t work fully. Shaw knew what was expected of her as a Doll, the schedules and the childlike behaviors that she saw the others exhibiting. It was both a fight and not, and she hated every second of it. 

On her way to go swimming, Shaw nearly bumps into a guard who definitely isn’t supposed to be there and she stops at the familiar face. “Harding,” she blurts out in surprise. It takes her a second for her to recover and she quickly pulls her to a blind spot from the cameras. “What the hell are you doing here?” Shaw demands lowly. If she was working for Samaritan, then she’s completely just blown her cover, but if she was here for some other reason, then maybe Gemma would be her ticket out. 

[assetrisen]

analoginterface​:

[!] starter requested recipient: @assetrisen​

   Emptiness is what it is. She’d been searching for the right word for the feeling for months now. Or was it weeks? Time was beginning to run together without — Regardless, it was emptiness. Silence. A stillness. A quiet inside her mind. But an empty hole carved from her torso. The feeling of her chest being caved in was a daily occurrence. It was a waking nightmare to have to re-calibrate herself to a functioning level before going about her daily routines. Even now, waiting for Simon Lee to emerge, the silence was crushing.

Shaw’s voice pulled her from her reflection, and she looked away - unable to think of what to say in response. Any other time, she’d offer a smile. A quirky quip to make Sameen roll her eyes. And yet.

The next few events happened in quick succession - the sound of gunfire providing an odd sense of comfort. At least it was there. Loud. Overpowering. The static missing from her implant had her teeth on edge, as if she were biting into something too hard over and over and over —

As they left the building, Root reached out towards the asset, fingers brushing too soft against her wrist. Softness was not needed. She needed to be pulled apart, torn asunder, put back together like the pieces of an old computer. Broken. Repaired. Over. And - Swallowing against the threatening spiral of dissociation, she tugged at Shaw to pull her to the side.

Talking to her about her feelings would not pass over well, so instead — “It’s planning to kill him. Finch will be contacting me soon to go over what we’ve learned, how we can help him.” Her voice twisted at the end, a slight edge of disgust and venom coating the words as if ‘help’ was the exact opposite of what she wanted to do then. Figuring out her own reasoning and motivation at the moment was beginning to become.. difficult. Moreso than usual.

“We have a moment.” Wrinkling her nose, she remembered that she’d set a precedent. Lying through her teeth, she continued, “Four minutes exactly.”

         There is a steadiness in routine that Sameen has always gravitated towards. Growing up on military bases, being in the military itself, Shaw operated best when she knew exactly what to expect. Of course, experience has made her able to handle a great many situations that others wouldn’t, but it still all settles in her mind as a pattern. The numbers blend together, fearful civilians who realize that the world of violence that they’d only ever seen in the media was now at their doorstep, or remorseless perpetrators hell-bent on carrying out their goal. Whether they entered through the front door or the window, Shaw knew how to handle those. 

She didn’t know how to handle a glum and morose Root. For as long as they had worked together (including they times where they weren’t working together), there had always been a shine in Root’s eye, an almost manic glint, particularly whenever The Machine was involved. It was a spark of chaos that unwittingly drew Shaw to her. Sameen was no stranger to chaos, and even enjoyed causing a little herself every now and again but it was different with Root. And she found that she... oddly missed that spark now that it was gone. 

But she doesn’t say anything, instead interrupted by a hailstorm of bullets and sprinting into action. Even as they exit the building, adrenaline is still racing through her blood and she doesn’t flinch away as a hand brushes against her wrist. Soft, gentle, words that she didn’t associate with Root (didn’t like to, if she’s being honest with herself). Shaw knows what is expected of her, and her words come out like a recording. Like routine. 

“I’ll stick close with him, make sure he doesn’t end up in any alleys or ditches.” But they have a moment and Shaw doesn’t move even though their number is getting further and further away. Root is sad, she realizes, and it makes her stomach twist uncomfortably because the only remedy she usually has is sex and that’s not currently an option. “It’ll be fine,” she mutters, a paltry attempt to be hopeful. The intricacies of networks and computer servers are beyond Shaw, as intelligent as she is, and she almost regrets not listening to all the times that Cole used to ramble on about these things when they were stuck in tiny surveillance vans for hours. “The Machine knows what it’s doing, and we’ll figure out this shit with Samaritan and it’ll be fine,” she ends with a casual shrug. She doesn’t meet Root’s eye, instead focusing on a wisp of hair by her ear. 

Four minutes is almost halfway gone, and still Shaw doesn’t take off after the number, waiting for any kind of reassurance that Root won’t collapse once she leaves her side. 

[assetrisen]

HAROLD FINCH ( @fatherofmachine​​ ) said " It's too early in the morning to kick the door in,  don't you think ?"

         The faint disapproval in Finch’s voice made Shaw grin, even though he couldn’t see her face (though he would probably be able to hear it in her voice). While a part of her found the admonishment irritating, she knew it was just who Harold was, and it was something she respected about him. “Come on, Harold. They’re meth heads. Doesn’t matter what time of day it is, it’s always too early for them.”

As soon as she was finished speaking, there was an explosion of sound as she burst through the door, the flimsy lock snapping under the force of her kick. As expected, the apartment was disgusting, with trash and drug debris scattered all over the place. There were two people passed out on a stained mattress in the corner, and only one of them stirred as Shaw came crashing into the room, though he didn’t seem aware enough to realize that she definitely wasn’t supposed to be there because he flopped over and immediately began to snore again.

With a roll of her eyes, Shaw ignored them and began searching through the apartment for any mention of their number. “Turns out our number owes some very bad people a lot of money,” she murmured into her earpiece. “Judging by the state of this place, I don’t even know if I’d count this as a risk. I think there’s something we’re missing.”

[glitchpaladin]

[assetrisen]

Because @fatherofmachine has got me on my bullshit again, let’s talk about just how much Shaw absolutely respects the fuck out of Harold Finch. (spoilers for POI so that means you Ace)

Shaw doesn’t do emotions as we know, so her saying that she cares about someone generally comes in the form of “well I didn’t shoot you”. But respect is a hard thing to earn when it comes to Shaw, and even John and Root don’t match up to the level of esteem she holds for Finch. 

I always think about the scene in Beta, where Finch is preparing to hand himself over to Decima in order to save Grace, and he literally tells both Shaw and John that “if they harm Grace in any way, kill them all.” And  Shaw’s reaction is just pure perfection, and I think that has so much with how Michael delivered that line. 

Harold serves as the moral compass to the story, the one desperately trying to steer his wayward assassins toward lawful activity, and not the other way around, and Shaw grew accustomed to seeing him as such and that serving as her touchstone when she thinks about her work with Team Machine. Are they doing good? Are they saving lives? Shaw has been told over and over throughout her life that her actions “save lives” but it’s become apparent that’s not really the case. Killing one person might prevent a terrorist attack, or it could create another martyr that incites a rebellion. Everyone has agendas and after the ISA, Shaw is reluctant to trust anyone saying they’re working for the “greater good”. I think the only reason she is willing to join Team Machine is because she sees Finch’s genuineness when it comes to doing good and saving lives. It’s different from the callous nature of the military or the ISA, and with Team Machine, Shaw actually is confronted up close with the immediate consequences of her actions (usually with people thanking her for saving their lives and she just 🧍‍♂️). 

But back to Beta, in that moment, Shaw gets this look on her face and I can’t really describe it, but it’s this realization that sort of removes Harold from the pedestal that she hadn’t realized she’d placed him on. She sees that he has someone in his life that he would turn his back on his moral code for, that he isn’t perfect and this paragon of good, but actually a struggling flawed man choosing to do good every day. And she really appreciates seeing this human, almost feral side of him come out because she respects him even more for it. While she doesn’t understand the emotions behind Harold and Grace’s relationship, even she can see how important she is to him, and how that translates him into being just as cold and unfeeling as anyone else if need be. It makes her trust his judgment even more, compared to the machismo of the Marines and air of infallibility that the ISA always operated with.

When she tracks down Blackwell in the finale, I think it’s really poignant that they used this confrontation as the penultimate scene. At first glance, it might feel like Shaw hasn’t learned anything. Blackwell challenges her and says “Those people wouldn’t want you to kill me” and Shaw agrees (and disagrees, she thinks Root would’ve shot him without a second thought). But I always headcanon that in that moment, she flashes back to Harold’s face and declaration in Beta, how she saw the moment where Finch’s line was crossed, and she agrees that Finch as we saw him throughout most of the show may not want her to kill Blackwell, but the Finch from Beta would have understood why she did. 

She hopes he does. 

[assetrisen]

okay i did finish my doc this morning, which you can find here. now that that’s done, i will be trying to reach out to people who liked my little plotting call, and reply to anything that’s been written for me hopefully tonight. but for now, i must log into work and wade through my inbox.

[assetrisen]

Okay friends! Here is a super lowkey plotting / starter call (plotting first that I will turn into a starter for you). I will be trying to work on a doc for Shaw this weekend (but admittedly, I have a lot to do lifewise so it might slip) but if you can’t find anything on the popups on my page, please let me know and I’m more than happy to c/p that for you. Okay, sorry for the long text, you know the drill. Hit the like or reply if you’re a multimuse and let’s go lesbians! Mutuals only as always!

[phoebedynevors]

#two very different relationships for shaw yet both so important #they both loved her so much but in different ways (one platonically and the other romantically) and its big because for someone that always thought something was wrong with her and no one would ever take the time to GET her #she ended up gaining two people that legit would’ve died for her and vice versa #they BOTH understood her and never judged her and loved her exactly the way she was #not to mention root and reese’s love for her even helped THEM bond in a way that made them start to care about each other #i just have a lot of feelings about these three tbh

[assetrisen]

huh, what’s this old thing?

[daynascully]

3x5 | 5x13

[meggiesawyer-deactivated2021012]

[marszzoid]

Tumblr RP Gothic

you make a post to say how much writing you will do today,  but every time you go to your drafts,  you are somehow back on the dashboard. several hours have passed and you cannot escape the dashboard.  it holds you captive. you get no writing done.

you clicked on your drafts a second ago.  it says you have seventeen.  you look at the clock,  several hours have passed. your drafts are empty,  but you have posted nothing.

everyone talks about doing their drafts,  but none of you have ever seen any.  they must be lying. what are they afraid of ?

you spend endless time making a promo,  you are proud of it.  when you post it,  it slips into a void so dark that no one will ever see it.

you are compelled to make another promo. you don’t know why.

what is the void and what does it want ? we all have the question,  but we receive no answer.

everyone says to use the rp tags. you see them,  but you are not convinced that they exist.   U S E   T H E   R P   T A G S   everyone says. you wonder why they always say it in unison and why it is always written in bold capital letters.  whenever you think to ask these questions,  no one understands you.  you stop asking.

every time you reblog a promo,  it vanishes.  you cannot remember where you found it and you are too afraid to ask.

a red notification appears over your inbox.  you check,  but there are no new messages. the notification lingers,  taunting you.  it only disappears after you’ve forgotten about it.

your inbox says you have one message. your inbox is empty. your inbox always says you have one message,  but you have never seen it.

you approach someone to plot and they enthusiastically agree to do so. no plotting ever happens.  did they ever truly exist ? you can’t remember.

your posts get a max of 7 likes,  but 500+ people follow you.  what happened to them ?

there was one person on your dashboard that you did not recognize yesterday,  now there are five. you cannot remember following them. who are they ?

someone messages you to say that they remember you from your previous roleplay blog. you have no previous roleplay blog. you do not remember them.

you struggle to write for the day.  the cursor blinks at you menacingly as you stare at your partners multi-para reply. suddenly,  ten paragraphs have been written,  but you do not remember writing anything.

you started attempting to write at noon and now it is 3am. you have posted a ten paragraph reply. no one sees it. you look at the clock,  it says 3am.  it has always been 3am.

a new blog follows you.  you read their pages but nothing makes sense.  you realize the blog is blank.  it has always been blank.

you refresh the dashboard,  but nothing changes. you follow 300+ blogs. it has been a week.

a month passes where you write several replies a day and you are proud of them.  once the month passes,  you cannot write anything. the chosen month is random. who chooses it ? 

you have over a thousand icons,  but you can never find the expression you need.  you find the cap and make the icon. when you try to upload the icon,  it is gone. you go to make the icon again and now you have two. you never find the icon.

you start a thread with someone. a month has passed and you are pretty sure they haven’t replied. you go to find the thread,  but it is gone. you ask your partner and they have no memory of the thread. neither do you.

[assetrisen]

The last thing Shaw says to Harold in ITE is “second chances are overrated”, right before she uses her second chance to sacrifice herself so her team is safe. The more powerful the piece, the more useful they are to be used for sacrifice. 

[assetrisen]

you make me feel like that. like life is happening.

Shaw glanced over at the couple that Root was referencing. Normally, she would balk at such a comparison, but they weren’t doing anything schmoopy or even remotely PDA-like. They were simply having an animated discussion as they walked down the street, completely zeroed in on each other while the rest of the world fell away. She understood suddenly what Root meant, and her chest tightened at the reminder that despite her reservations, the hacker knew Shaw better than anyone else in this world had.

But saying so out loud would just make that stupid look in her eyes appear, and she was already too uncomfortable with how similar to a date this was. Normally they stayed in and ordered delivery, seeing which one could fluster the poor delivery guy more as an extra bit of fun, but today Root had insisted on going out to one of Shaw’s favorite steakhouses.

Never one to refuse a steak on someone else’s dime, Shaw agreed, even deciding to forego her usual whiskey given Root’s discomfort with the subject. Dinner was just as good as was expected, though as she eyed Root’s barely touched plate, she made sure to order a few desserts to go. With a variety of textures and flavors that Root could choose from later. They were currently tucked away in the paper bag that Shaw held in one hand, while Root had hooked her other arm and was currently sprinting strolling along with her absurdly long legs. Shaw grumbled as she moved faster to keep up with Root’s pace. Even now, it wasn’t safe to linger on the streets.

“Life is happening, nerd,” she grumbled, though there was the slightest affectionate edge to her voice. “I know you spend a lot of time up in here,” she gently pressed a finger to her head. “And you’re the eyes and ears of a thing that has a million eyes and ears. But sometimes you gotta join the rest of us down here too.” It was the most she’d said all night, content to let Root chatter away as she normally did, interjecting and offering sarcastic commentary when appropriate. The couple in question was gone now, having turned a corner a block and a half ago. “Besides, you would hate being them. Not knowing anything about all of this,” she pointed out. They weren’t normal, weren’t meant to be. That was the sacrifice of the job.

But that was also why they worked together. Shaw couldn’t hide from Root, and even more, she found herself less bothered by that thought than she should have been. Shaw had built her life off of shadows and anonymity, keeping her past shrouded in secrecy to preserve the memories of a relatively happy childhood, yet with every Sameen that dropped from Root’s lips, she managed to slip right past her walls. And as they entered the apartment, Root muscled her against the door, predatory intent clear in her eyes, and Shaw let the forgotten bag of desserts drop from her hand in favor of gripping Root’s leather jacket.

They fuck, as they’ve often done before, frantic and heady and loud enough that she’s sure her neighbors hate her, but Shaw could give less of a fuck while Root was making those sounds. But there’s also something else tonight. A hint of tenderness, nothing overt, but a silent acknowledgement between them that this was different. Never one for words, Shaw let her actions do the talking instead. 

It wasn’t until later that night, when she was nearly asleep that Shaw finally put her finger on why everything tonight had felt so... charged.

“Did you seriously take me on a date to celebrate the first time you tased me?”

[assetrisen]

Made a post about this way back when but I can’t find it and I can’t be fussed because I’m sure my thoughts have changed somewhat since I first wrote it. But basically, this post is all about why I think Shaw has schizoid personality disorder, and therefore why I play her that way.

We’re never given a straight diagnosis on the show. All we get is that she has an Axis II personality disorder. For people who have never studied psychology or the DSM (which, why would you unless you had to), this literally means nothing. The DSM used to be designed in a multiaxial system, though this has been done away with in the most recent edition of the DSM, though while Shaw was in med school, this would have been the prominent diagnosis scheme. Anyways, history lesson aside, Shaw saying that she has an Axis II personality disorder is redundant, because all personality disorders are axis II disorders. Never mind the fact that literally no doctor would ever say that someone has an Axis II personality disorder, at least not with a straight face, but I digress. Saying that she has an Axis II personality disorder is the functional equivalent to saying that she has an Axis I clinical disorder, when she’s really trying to say she has depression. 

Semantics aside, I pegged Shaw as having schizoid personality disorder, which is described as lack of interest and detachment from social relationships, apathy, and restricted emotional expression. Perhaps I settled on SZPD for Shaw because I also have it, but I like to think I’m more rational than that, and really, none of the other personality disorders quite fit the character that we see on the show. The flattened emotion in general ( “I don’t get [scared]… or sad. Or happy or lonely.” “I’m just not wired for this kind of stuff.”) is a huge indication of cluster A disorders, that are grouped together in that way because they all share an unwillingness/inability to form social relationships. 

The disorders in cluster A are paranoid personality disorder, schizoid personality disorder, and schizotypal personality disorder. They all start with this core struggle with forming social attachments, but the reasons behind that inability differ for each disorder. For paranoid personality disorder, it’s kind of what it says on the tin. A person with PPD doesn’t form social connections because they are constantly second guessing and being irrationally suspicious of others, and therefore refuse to let them get close. A person with schizotypal personality disorder, wants to form those attachments, but gets supremely anxious and uncomfortable when interacting with others because of distorted thoughts. Neither of these particularly sound like Shaw. However, a person with schizoid personality disorder straight up just doesn’t have much of an interest in forming those relationships. From the way Shaw refuses to carry a cell phone/really get involved with John and Finch at the beginning of S3 (”I’m only in it for the dog.”), to the way she interacts with various numbers who try to appeal to her empathy (”Here’s your liver.”), Shaw has ample opportunities to connect with the people she comes across, but she simply has no desire to. 

Like many people with schizoid, eventually those relationships and attachments do form, but it’s almost a begrudging formation. She didn’t set out to cultivate them, but rather found that they snuck up on her and maybe she doesn’t mind it so much. She’s not grandiose or excessive or fearful, and actually has quite a low sense of self-worth. Shaw sees herself as expendable in many ways (”You can’t bench me for every mistake.”) and it never really crosses her mind that the team actually needs her/wants her around. Even in 6741, we see what Shaw believes happened, aka Harold and John giving up on her, but if we look at what actually happened, we know that’s not the case. 

Anyways, all that to say that Shaw has schizoid personality disorder and she really doesn’t care if you don’t like her.