#synesthesia

[cglooksatthings]

syn-es-the-sia

[nico-flo]

new tag game before i go to bed......

tell the person who tagged you what you associate w them! could be an animal, color, number, word, song, etc

i dont get to do it tho cuz im the op but shh

@zeus-thunderwear @undead-crackhead @nonbinarydiseaseexpert @n00dleware612 @weeping-begonia @randomfriendlyloser @souljammr @sillyslumberontop12 @spacebnnui @tck-400 @princefable @v-wuzhere @swordstray

[transgender-png]

fuck it. shout out to "high functioning" neurodivergents

the ones who can mask easily, the ones who can get social cues, the ones who have managed to go most of their life not even knowing they were ND because they didn't present as the stereotypical ND person.

the ones who can pay attention in class, understand social etiquette, who understand societial expectations

the ones who don't feel neurodivergent enough bc they don't struggle in the same ways/areas a lot of NDs do, or they can't relate to other NDs' experiences because they always understood these things easily

the ones with high empathy, the ones who DO get the joke, the ones who are constantly told that they can't possibly be neurodivergent because they don't act like what you'd expect a neurodivergent person to act like.

you are neurodivergent enough. you are valid, and so are your experiences. not struggling as much as others do in some places doesn't mean you dont struggle at all. your condition and diagnosis is valid. your symptoms are valid. YOU ARE VALID. not checking all the supposed boxes doesn't mean you aren't neurodivergent. you are enough. you are valid. you are loved. you are valued. you matter. you belong in neurodivergent spaces, you deserve to use whatever resources are available to you, you are allowed to take up space in these communities. and i am so, so proud of you.

feel free to, and actually, i encourage you to reblog this with your experiences. we belong in this community as much as anyone else. please also tag this w/ any neurodivergent conditions i may have forgotten 💙

since this is getting lots of notes I'd like to add, even if you're undiagnosed or maybe self diagnosed, for whatever reason, (i.e. can't get access to a diagnosis, not being taken seriously, or just not wanting an official diagnosis, etc.) this still applies to you. actually especially to you folks. don't think for a second you're not valid just bc you don't have the paperwork or whatever to say it

[kxsagi]

20. synesthesia

by the time finals end, it’s been a little over two months since the last time you spoke to rin. 

not since the last time you saw him – you still share spaces, still exist in the same city, still pass through the same campus buildings – but since the last time your worlds actually touched. since voices were raised. since doors closed. since something broke and neither of you knew how to put it back together without cutting yourselves on the edges. 

the second semester of your third year finishes quietly. 

no dramatic collapse. no celebratory tears. just the slow, steady completion of things you worked hard for. essays submitted. exams taken. deadlines crossed off one by one until there are none left. when you finally walk out of your last final, the air feels different – lighter, like the world has given you permission to rest. 

a short break stretches out ahead of you before fourth and final year begins. 

and for the first time in a long time, you feel… free. 

you don’t wake up with your chest tight anymore. 

you don’t check your phone expecting a message that won’t come. 

you don’t replay conversations on an endless loop, searching for the exact moment where everything went wrong. 

it’s not that rin never crosses your mind. 

he does. 

sometimes. 

in small, dull ways. 

a familiar silhouette at the edge of campus that you no longer slow down for. a name that flickers across your thoughts and fades just as quickly. a memory that feels distant enough now to be observed instead of survived. 

but he isn’t there the way he used to be. 

not lodged in your ribs. 

not pulling at your attention when you try to focus. 

not coloring everything you do. 

you didn’t notice the shift at first. 

it happened gradually, the way healing always does – quietly, without asking for permission. one day you realized you’d laughed without forcing it. another day you realized you’d gone hours without thinking about him at all. another day after that, you caught your reflection and thought, i look like myself again. 

your days fill up differently now. 

you sleep in sometimes. you linger over breakfast. you take long walks with no destination, earpods in, letting the city move around you instead of through you. you meet up with friends without scanning crowds. you plan things without leaving space for someone who might cancel. 

the weight you carried for months – uncertainty, longing, disappointment – slowly loosens its grip. 

and you let it. 

because you deserve peace. 

because you survived the worst of it. 

because the ache dulled, and in its place came something steadier: self-trust. self-focus. the quiet pride of knowing you didn’t disappear just because someone else did. 

when you think about rin now, it doesn’t hurt the way it once did. 

it just feels… finished. 

unfinished, maybe, but no longer consuming. 

you don’t know what he’s doing. you don’t check. you don’t wonder who he’s with. you don’t imagine explanations for his silence. 

you’ve simply made peace with not knowing. 

and standing there, campus emptying out around you, semester officially behind you, you feel something settle into place. 

relief. 

not just because school is over. 

but because for the first time since everything fell apart, your life feels like it belongs to you again. 

and whatever comes next, it won’t revolve around him. 

you’re doing a good job. 

not in a dramatic, triumphant way, but in the quiet, day-by-day way that actually lasts. 

your mornings start slower now. intentional. you let sunlight sit on your skin a little longer before getting out of bed. you try new cafés just because. you take different routes home. you sign up for things on a whim. pottery. a short language workshop. a weekend volunteer shift you don’t overthink yourself out of. you learn that you like your coffee slightly sweeter than you used to. that you hate running, but love long walks. that you’re braver than you gave yourself credit for. 

you feel more like a person again. 

whole. independent. happy in a way that doesn’t hinge on someone else showing up. 

you’re also careful. 

not fearful – careful. 

you double-check locks. you stick to well-lit streets. you leave places earlier than you need to if something feels off. you walk with purpose. phone in hand, keys and pepper spray threaded between your fingers when it’s late. you don’t put yourself in situations that could turn dangerous, not because you’re paranoid, but because you’ve learned how precious your peace is. 

and – quietly, selfishly – you don’t want to be saved. 

not anymore. 

you don’t want to be the reason spider man has to appear. 

you don’t want to be a headline or a footnote or a risk calculation. 

you want your safety to be your own. 

so when you leave the bookstore just after dusk, arms full of new paperbacks and a tote bag that smells faintly of ink and coffee, you don’t notice the man who’s been lingering too long by the alley across the street. 

you don’t notice the way he straightens when you pass. 

you don’t notice the shift in his posture, the subtle recalculation. 

you don’t notice the presence above you, either. 

high on the edge of a building, rin pauses mid-step. 

his senses flare – not sharp, not screaming, but wrong in a way he’s learned to trust more than alarms. 

his head turns. 

his gaze locks onto you instantly, like it always does, even when he’s not trying to look for you. 

don’t, he thinks. don’t be anything. 

but the man across the street moves. 

just half a step. just enough. 

rin exhales, already moving. 

you adjust your grip on your tote, distracted by the weight of it, by the pleasant tiredness in your arms. you think about dinner. about whether you should start one of the books tonight or save it for tomorrow. you cross the street when the light changes, heart steady, mind elsewhere. 

behind you, something happens. 

it’s fast. quiet. 

a blur of motion and shadow. 

the man never reaches you. 

he stumbles back instead, knocked hard against a concrete wall by something he never sees coming. two webs snap out, one pinning his wrists above his head and the other covering his mouth shut before he can shout. a third web wraps around his ankles. his breath leaves him in a sharp grunt as his feet lift off the ground. 

rin doesn’t say a word. he never does anymore. 

he restrains. disables. disappears. 

by the time police sirens echo faintly in the distance – already called in through an anonymous tip – you’re turning the corner, earpods still in, completely unaware that anything out of the ordinary occurred. 

you make it home safely. you lock your door. you change into something comfortable. you curl up on your bed with a book and think, today was good. 

and somewhere above the city, spider man perches on a rooftop and watches the light in your apartment flick on. then off. 

his chest aches – not sharply, not unbearably, but in that familiar, quiet way. 

you’re healing. you’re careful. you’re safe. 

and you didn’t need him. 

he stays there a moment longer anyway. 

just to make sure. 

the date with shidou is easy. 

that’s the first thing you notice. 

no nerves clawing at your throat. no second-guessing every word. no feeling like you’re being quietly measured. he shows up on time, grinning like the world is a game he enjoys playing, hands tucked into his pockets as if he’s already decided tonight will be fun no matter what happens. 

“you look good,” he says plainly, eyes bright, not weighing the compliment down with expectation. 

“thanks,” you reply, meaning it. “so do you.” 

you walk together through a part of tokyo you haven’t explored much – small restaurants tucked between taller buildings, strings of lights overhead, music spilling out of open doors. 

shidou talks easily, animated, unfiltered in a way that makes you laugh without thinking. he tells stories about random things that happened during the day. about people he’s met. about places he wants to see. 

he listens when you talk. actually listens. not distracted. not guarded. not halfway somewhere else. 

and you realize, distantly, that this is what people mean when they say good date. 

you eat together. share dishes. argue playfully over which dessert to order. he nudges your shoulder when you tease him, leans closer when he laughs too hard, and at some point you become very aware that he’s looking at you like he wants something more. 

not in a way that scares you. 

just… clearly. 

there’s warmth there. interest. curiosity. 

you should feel something. you wait for it. 

you wait for your chest to tighten, for your pulse to jump, for that familiar sense of being pulled toward someone. 

it doesn’t come. 

instead, what you feel is… calm. 

comfortable. 

fond. 

and underneath it, something quieter. 

absence. 

your smile falters just slightly when you realize it. 

it’s not shidou’s fault. he’s doing everything right. 

that’s the problem. 

as you walk side by side after dinner, the city glowing around you, you catch yourself comparing, without wanting to. the way shidou talks openly versus the way rin used to hold his words back. the way shidou’s presence fills space versus the way rin’s used to feel like gravity. 

you stop yourself. 

that’s not fair. 

you don’t want to measure new people against old wounds. 

but the truth settles anyway. 

i’m not ready. 

not for this. 

not yet. 

it surprises you how gently the realization lands. 

you slow your steps a little, hands slipping into your coat pockets. 

“hey,” you say, voice careful, but steady. “can i be honest with you?” 

shidou glances at you, immediately attentive. “always.” 

you take a breath. “i think… i like you. but not in the way you deserve right now.” 

he blinks. then laughs softly. 

“damn. that’s the cleanest rejection i’ve ever gotten.” 

“it’s not a rejection,” you say quickly. “i just– there’s stuff i haven’t sorted through yet. and i don’t want to pretend i’m ready when i’m not.” 

he studies you for a second, expression thoughtful instead of offended. 

“… you’re still healing,” he says. 

you nod. 

“from someone?” 

you hesitate. then nod again. 

he exhales, hands lifting briefly like he’s setting something down. “okay.” 

that’s it. 

no pressure. no wounded pride. no sudden distance. 

“friends?” he asks easily. 

“friends,” you agree, relieved. 

he grins. “cool. i’m great at being friends with cool people.” 

you laugh, real and unburdened. 

and as you part ways later, walking home alone under soft streetlights, you feel something important settle into place. 

you’re not stuck. 

you’re not broken. 

you’re just… not done healing yet. 

and that’s okay. 

rin’s name flickers through your mind – not painfully, not urgently – just as a quiet presence, like a chapter you haven’t fully closed. 

you don’t chase the thought. 

you don’t run from it either. 

you simply acknowledge it. 

i’m still healing, you think. 

and for the first time, that doesn’t feel like a setback. 

it feels like honesty. 

sunset catches you halfway up the stairs. 

the sky outside your apartment building is split into soft oranges and bruised pinks, the kind of quiet, cinematic light that makes everything feel suspended for a moment longer than it should. 

your date with shidou lingers on you like a warm afterimage – not unpleasant, just… unfinished. you unlock your phone out of habit, then slide it back into your pocket. no notifications. no surprises. 

you reach your door and stop. 

there’s a piece of paper taped to it. 

white. folded once. your name written across the front in familiar, unmistakable handwriting. 

your breath leaves you in a shallow exhale. 

you don’t need to read the name to know who it’s from. the sharp slant of the characters, the pressure in the pen strokes – rin has always written like he means every word, even when he doesn’t say much at all. 

for a second, you just stand there. 

then your hand reaches out and peels the paper off the door. 

your heart starts beating faster, like your body recognized it before your mind did. 

you don’t open it. 

not yet. 

you step inside, lock the door behind you, and lean back against it, staring down at the folded page like it might explode. the apartment is quiet, washed in the same warm light spilling through the window. this feels too intimate already. too deliberate. 

“no,” you murmur to yourself. 

you walk to the trash can. 

lift the lid. 

hover the paper over it. 

this would be easier. cleaner. 

you could throw it away and pretend it never reached you. pretend he never wrote it. pretend nothing has changed. 

your fingers tighten around the edge of the page. 

your hand won’t let go. 

with a quiet, frustrated sigh, you lower the paper and step away from the trash instead, crossing the room like you’re surrendering. you sit on the edge of your couch, the sunset light painting your hands gold as you unfold it carefully. 

your eyes drop to the first line. 

the first word. 

synesthesia. 

you blink. 

“… what?” 

a soft, incredulous sound escapes you before you can stop it. your thumb traces the margin of the page as your brain kicks into gear automatically – definitions, lectures, late-night conversations flashing back to you unbidden. 

you remember explaining it once, half-laughing, half-serious. how senses bleed into each other. how some people see sound or taste color. how the brain refuses to keep experience neatly categorized. 

you remember rin listening quietly. not interrupting. watching you like he always did when you talked about something you loved. 

“he remembered,” you whisper. 

your chest tightens. 

the room feels suddenly smaller. warmer. heavier. 

you don’t read any further yet. 

you just sit there, holding the paper in both hands, the sky outside darkening inch by inch, knowing, deep in your bones, that whatever is written on this page is going to matter. 

and that choosing to read it means choosing to feel everything you’ve worked so hard to steady again. 

your thumb presses lightly against the word synesthesia. 

and you breathe in. 

once. 

twice. 

before turning the page. 

synesthesia is a condition where the senses blur into one another. 

sound becomes color. color becomes texture. memory becomes taste. it’s the mind misfiring beautifully, creating connections that shouldn’t exist, but somehow feel undeniable once they do. 

people who have it rarely notice at first. they grow up assuming it’s normal that certain voices feel warm, that certain names taste sweet, that certain people arrive already wrapped in color. they don’t question why an old woman might taste like strawberry shortcake, or why a couple across the street look like blush pink folded into soft gray. it’s just how the world has always been to them. 

i don’t have synesthesia. 

i’ve never thought i did. 

even after a spider bite rewrote my body and my life in ways that defy explanation, my senses stayed clean and separate. sight was sight. sound was sound. the world made sense because it stayed in its place. i relied on that. i needed it that way. 

so i was certain. 

until you. 

because after you, the rules stopped holding. 

every time i look at you, i hear rain. not the violent kind, but the gentle, steady kind that soaks into the ground and quiets everything else. the kind that makes the world feel softer, slower, survivable. it doesn’t matter where we are – lecture halls, crowded streets, empty rooms – you bring that sound with you. 

your laugh has a color. i’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s always the same. soft coral, fading into peach and gold, like a sky just before night takes it away. the kind of color that feels nostalgic. the kind you want to memorize before it disappears. 

you smell like salt in the air and rain-soaked earth at the same time. like oceans and storms and something deeply familiar i can’t trace back to any memory except you. sometimes i catch it in places you’ve never been, and it still stops me. 

when you say my name, i hear waves breaking against the shore. when you’re quiet, i see stars – distant, constant, watching. when you sit beside me, the world shifts its weight, like it’s paying attention. 

nothing else does this to me. 

only you. 

before you, everything was sharp. defined. loud in a way that never stopped. the city, my thoughts, my responsibilities – they all pressed in at once. but you changed the texture of things. you altered the volume. you turned chaos into something i could endure. 

you became the background of my days. the color behind every moment. the sound that lingered after everything else faded. even when you weren’t there, you were still… present. woven into the quiet. 

i tried to tell myself it was coincidence. proximity. habit. something that would pass if i ignored it long enough. but it followed me everywhere. into my routines. into my silences. into the spaces i keep locked. 

i see you in every sunset now. i hear you in every rainfall. i feel you in the pauses between heartbeats. 

you exist in my senses the way truth exists – uninvited, unrelenting, impossible to deny. 

and i don’t think that’s synesthesia. 

i think synesthesia is a word people use when they don’t want to say love. when something rewires you so completely that the world refuses to look the same afterward. when one person becomes sound and color and meaning all at once. 

maybe it isn’t a condition. maybe it isn’t something that can be studied or cured or explained. 

maybe it’s just this. 

you. 

and whatever you’ve done to me. 

– rin

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

masterlist | ch. 19 | ch. 21

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @rosesanddiaries @byzantiumhollow @lylisimps @n0tbelle @xoxolalia @fairyofprose @anastasiatheloveofyourlife @burekforsatoru @alonelyartist1432 @adidistupipi @beepbopzlorp @kazumei-claude @angelin4ssss @iqxatlantic @ranzess @yumerinns @timble-tumble @wishmerin @mihyas-dieehefrau @quixoticeulogies @v1kt3l @x3nafix @t0r4s @silkiziuu @thenightsflower @yuunishin @simpingmyassoff @elliehenry24 @getoslefthairstrand @cocoloveswhip @vikaamor @toasteddbreadd @haiqyu @livelaughlovekuni @noyamlv @danhoneyyy @foz-eya @piccolos-slut @maeviees @starrydreamers304 @v4mp-carm1ne @ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler @ibyobi @jellychee @leabeedaria @xxxanimesimpxxx @jellyfish1a @schourei @unknownowlbokutoswifeyy @penpennie

dividers from: @sister-lucifer 🖤

[that-1-url]

so something I've noticed within a lot of fandoms is that people will post their "neurodivergent" headcanons. which is fine ofc, however when they say "neurodivergent" they are typically only referring to autism or ADHD. maaaayybbee ptsd if the character(s) are "traumatized enough" (by that I mean, there's typically one who everyone uwuifies and infantilizes because their trauma is most prominently on display within the media). a common headcanon that often fails to address the trauma of other characters, or that trauma doesn't always manifest itself as PTSD/C-PTSD.

point being, while there's nothing wrong with headcanoning characters with these (autism, adhd, ptsd), maybe...do research? branch out more? imagine how nice it would be if suddenly large amounts of people were not only educated about other lesser-known forms of neurodivergence (ocd, did, npd, bpd, aspd, schizotypal disorders, etc.) but destigmatized them by giving these headcanons to well-loved, popular characters (rather than the villains or antagonists, or even just less popular or even hated characters). (and hey, if you didn't know, schizophrenia and autism can present similarly)

(that being said please do research before you head canon something stigmatizing or ableist.)

it could pave the way for real, genuine, non-stigmatizing or demonizing representation.

and this could probably be a separate post but I wanted to include it here as well:

POC CHARACTERS CAN BE NEURODIVERGENT. POC CHARACTERS ARE ALSO AUTISTIC, ALSO HAVE ADHD, OCD, AND MORE!! STOP LEAVING THEM OUT, STOP ONLY HEADCANONING THE WHITE PROTAGONISTS AS AUTISTIC.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, please feel free to add on

[writercultureis]

writer with synesthesia culture is wanting to listen to music while you write because you don't have time to do it separately and it's so inspiring but the colors are so distracting you end up typing a word a minute

[johannesviii]

Synesthesia drawings of personal favorite hit songs - 2009: “Fireflies” by Owl City