#difficult days

[afewproblems]

Difficult Days Part One

Even at ten years old Shawn knew he was different. 

It didn’t take a genius to notice, and Shawn was certainly good at noticing things --observing, his dad would be quick to say, correcting him as usual. 

His dad did that a lot, correcting, insisting there was a right way to do things; there was a right way to play hide and seek, there was a right way to camp, to relax, and more often than not it was the opposite of what Shawn was doing. 

While other kids learned how to play baseball and spent their loose change at the arcade, Shawn was instead learning how to navigate through the woods without a compass, escape from the trunk of a car, and how to spot a squeaky floorboard from four paces. 

While his classmates were at the beach, searching for jellyfish in the low tide pools, Shawn would memorize the layout of restaurants and describe the last three patrons to walk through the door in the time it took him and his dad to get their drink orders. 

‘You can’t skate through life Shawn,’ his dad would tell him, breathing the words out sharply, ‘you have skills others don’t and you need to use them the right way, I don’t get why you can’t see that’.

It was exhausting. 

Why was the right way only his dad’s way? It had never been very clearly explained to Shawn, other than how great of a cop he could be -maybe even a detective. But why couldn't he use his observation skills the way he wanted to? This grownup stuff was years away!  It wasn’t like it was something he could turn off, so what was the big deal?

Like Mr. Cooper’s homework spot checks. 

None of the other kids had managed to figure out his system, the pattern to the days when their teacher would ask for their math homework.

Tommy Decker insisted it was completely random, that the man asked for it on a whim -just to torture them all. 

Mandy Holloway on the other hand, whose sister had Mr. Cooper for math the previous year, argued that it was based on the moon cycle and every second new moon the pattern would change - you just have to track it Tommy.

But somehow Shawn always, always, seemed to know without fail the day that Mr. Cooper would ask them all to pass their work to the front of each row.

It wasn’t Shawn’s fault that Mr. Cooper was incredibly obvious, so why shouldn't he take advantage of it? Besides, it was almost mind boggling how the other kids in his class couldn’t see the many, many, tells their teacher had. 

First, there were the heavy purple bags under Mr. Cooper's eyes that would tend to show up a few days before the homework check. 

Mr. Cooper would also become noticeably agitated over the smallest of incidents in the classroom, whether a student was running late or even opened their book bags a little too loudly - it didn’t matter, detention was in their future. 

That coupled with the noticeable creases in Mr. Cooper’s shirts, unironed, and lacking the normal meticulous care --probably on the outs with his wife based on the intermittent wearing of his large gold wedding band.

Finally, and honestly how no one else in his class seemed to see this one, if Mr. Cooper brought in a gas station paper coffee cup as he walked into the classroom -instead of his usual metal thermos from home, that was the nail in the coffin. The final sign that Mr. Cooper would be demanding their homework the very next day. 

It was so, so obvious, at least to Shawn.

But then, so too was Shawns ability to avoid the seemingly random spot checks.

“How do you always know?” Tommy whispers to Shawn near the end of the school year, his voice quiet to avoid Mr. Cooper’s notice as the man wanders up and down the rows of desks.

“Know what?” Shawn says, his voice equally soft as he turns towards Tommy, whose face twists into a sneer at the question.

Tommy scoffs with narrowed blue eyes, “Duh, Cooper’s homework checks, you’ve never not handed it in - what are you some kind of nerd?” 

Shawn blinks, the way Tommy spits out the word, nerd, can’t bode well for him. He remembers just the previous year, how Tommy and a few of the other boys in their grade had given Gus a hard time, even going so far to give his best friend a swirly. Shawn shivers at the memory and shakes his head rapidly, he opens his mouth to argue when suddenly a shadow appears over his desk. 

He manages to quickly turn back to his paper, away from Tommy’s glare, and writes down an answer to question seven from their textbook. It’s not the right answer, he knows that already, but it’s enough to throw Mr. Cooper off his scent.

Their teacher shifts away from Shawn, seemingly satisfied, and looks at Tommy who isn’t quite fast enough.

“Eyes on your own paper Thomas, I don’t want to have to tell you again,” Mr. Cooper says sternly, but his voice is tired at the edges. Whatever fight the Coopers had must have been a real doozy this time. Shawn tries not to think about his own parents' fights and the silence that would drift through the house for days afterwards. Did Mrs. Cooper shut down the way Shawn's mom so often did? Maybe Mr. Cooper yelled, like Shawn's dad. It seemed likely given the number of detentions the man had assigned their class this year. 

Mr.Cooper waits for another beat between their desks until Tommy finally shifts in his chair and lowers his face to his desk, the tips of his ears quickly flushing pink beneath curly blond hair. 

“Yes Mr. Cooper,” Tommy mumbles into his desk. 

Their teacher nods and leaves, making his way over to a pair of girls on the far side of the room hiding a magazine under the desk - or trying to. 

“You did that on purpose,” Tommy hisses, shooting a withering glare at Shawn, “you knew he was there-”

“What am I psychic?” Shawn huffs with a roll of his eyes, “how was I supposed to know he was there, huh?”

Tommy turns away again, glaring at the paper on his desk. Shawn watches as Tommy catches the eye of Marcus Boon across the classroom.

Shawn stifles a low groan as the other boy's eyes flick between him and Tommy; Marcus levels him with a sneer to rival Tommy’s own and lifts a finger to his throat before dragging it across in one smooth motion. 

Well, shit. 

So much for making it through at least one school year without getting into a fight. 

***

“You should’a just told him,” Gus breathes out, his chest heaving as he and Shawn scramble over the fence of the Spencer front yard. Both boys make a beeline for the porch, Gus keeps watch while Shawn stops first at the small garden to grab the spare hide-a-key out from the fake rock beside his mom’s hydrangeas.

Shawn is lucky that Gus had been with him on the way home from school, not that it had stopped Tommy Decker and Marcus Boon from making good on their threat from math class, chasing Shawn down the road to the boardwalk.

Shawn winces as his fingers grip the key, his hands hurt from where he had managed to stop himself from falling face first into the gravel after being shoved by Marcus. 

Thankfully Gus had managed to distract the pair of boys long enough for them to make a run for it. 

“Tommy’s an asshole, they both are, why should I tell them anything,” Shawn mutters, wincing as his split lip opens again, the smell of copper invades his nose, making him nauseous. 

He gets the key in the door and opens it, bringing in the fake rock with him. He’ll have to explain to his dad that he ‘lost’ his house key again, knowing that Tommy and Marcus had taken it from him and thrown it into the trees off the side of the road. One more thing for his dad to lecture him over.

Shawn can feel Gus staring as he brings the hide-a-key with him into the kitchen, but says nothing as the pair make their way through the quiet house. 

He places the rock on the counter with the spare key beside it. Gus opens the pantry door and takes a pair of Wagon Wheels out of the already open box, the cellophane crinkles as Gus tosses one to Shawn. 

“All I'm saying is you might get beat up less,” Gus says before taking a large bite of the chocolate snack cake, he wipes the mess of crumbs from his cheeks onto the floor and shoots Shawn a grin at the mess.

“And I'm saying, they don't need much of an excuse,” Shawn counters, matching Gus’ grin as he watches the collection of crumbs grow on the kitchen tile floor.

Shawn chews on his lip, playing with the thin cellophane around his snack cake, “It’s…it's weird, right?”

Gus blinks, his lips quirk into a half frown as he takes another pensive bite of his cake before finally shrugging. 

“Well, who cares? I think we're cool so if that's weird, then we're weird together”.

Shawn lets a groan out and shakes his hands so hard his own snack cake goes flying onto the counter with a soft thunk.

“No!” He breathes out sharply, “I mean, it's weird being able to know things about people without trying, I don’t want to know them, I don't want to be in this situation, it’s weird and it sucks and dad thinks its so great but--”

Shawn stops speaking as the last of Gus’ chocolate cake is suddenly smushed into the side of his face. Crumbs and icing litter the tile around them, some has smeared from Gus's shoes in his haste to dart out of the line of fire. The previously spotless kitchen is now completely filthy in just a matter of seconds.

Shawn slowly looks at Gus, who has the widest grin on his face, and breathes out a startled laugh.

“Dad is going to kill you,” he says, wiping cake and icing from his cheek. 

“He's not my dad,” Gus snorts as he tries to dodge Shawn's swipe of cake hands.

He might as well be, Shawn thinks to himself as he reaches for more cake crumbs from the floor and manages to smear them onto Gus’ face. 

At least one upside to Shawn’s memory is he’ll be able to hold onto this, their laughter in the afternoon sun, the smell of chocolate, for a really really long time.

Wrestling in the kitchen with his best friend, previous hurts forgotten for now and with chocolate smeared all over their clothes, their faces, and the floor, Shawn had never felt less like an only child. 

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf

Part Two

[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]

🤎

[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;;)

[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.

[afewproblems]

Difficult Days Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Read on AO3

Detective Vick is not what Shawn expected. 

First of all, it's Detective Karen Vick, and second, she's much younger and softer spoken than her association with Henry would suggest. 

When she comes to collect Shawn a good twenty minutes later, she clears her throat and waits for him to acknowledge her presence. 

Her shoulder length blond hair hangs around her face in a ‘Shag’ cut that vaguely reminds him of a Friend's character, Phoebe? No that's the blonde, what the hell was her name again?

“Rachel,” Shawn says, snapping his fingers in triumph, only to realize he's spoken aloud and the Detective is starring with an amused, if slightly bewildered, expression.

She presses a hand against her chest and says, “no Mr. Spencer, Detective Vick”. 

Shawn feels his ears burn but still manages a small grin as the Detective motions for him to stand up and follow her to a small room just off the bullpen. 

The tall rookie from earlier is sitting at a desk in the far corner, he watches Shawn before looking back down at the paperwork on his desk, a small self satisfied smirk on his face.

“So,” Detective Vick says as she opens the door and steps aside to let Shawn go first, “I'm sure I don't have to tell you how this works Mr. Spencer,” 

“Uh,” he swallows and runs his now sweaty palms down his jeans as he takes in the ink pads and paper on the metal table in front of him. 

Holy shit.

Holy shit, he was going to jail.

This was real, he wasn't a minor, his fingerprints would be in the system for the rest of his life, he was going to be shipped off to the state prison, how many years would someone get for taking their neighbors car? 

Everything is slipping away from him, Anthony, his parents, his fucking future.

Shawn feels his chest stutter as he realizes he hasn't been breathing.

“I get a phone call right?” Shawn croaks out, his voice quiet enough that Detective Vick has to lean closer to hear.

She raises a single polished eyebrow, her eyes scanning Shawn’s face for a brief moment, assessing something.

Maybe it's because she's a stranger, but her stare isn't nearly as intense as his dads so Shawn meets her gaze, despite his internal panic, waiting for her to say no or brush him aside.

“Okay kid,” she says, tipping her head over to the door, “there's a phone at my desk, dial nine to call out, then come back here and we'll talk”.

Shawn nods, stepping away from the Detective and the open door and making his way over to the desk she pointed out. 

The first thing Shawn notices are the pictures among the neat piles of paperwork and files, one of the Detective receiving an award in her dress uniform, another with the Detective and a tall man who looks about her age, probably a boyfriend based on their expressions. 

The rookie from earlier clears his throat loudly across the bullpen, staring Shawn down as if to say, quit stalling.

Not that Shawn wants to spend any longer here than necessary. If by some miracle he does get to walk out of here tonight, he’ll never so much as jaywalk again.

Shawn shakes himself and reaches out for the phone, dialing the number with a practiced hand.

It rings, long and loud in his ear once before pausing briefly and ringing again. Shawn holds his breath, please, please, pick up, he thinks miserably.

“Hello?” a sleepy voice says over the line and Shawn releases a shaky breath of relief.

“Hi Mrs. Guster, can I speak to G--Burton please?”

“Shawn? Do you know what time it is?” Mrs. Guster says, her voice firm but the barest hint of concern seeps into her question.

He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly through his nose, “I know it's late, but it's important, please Mrs. Guster.”

“Okay, hold on,” she says tiredly. Shawn hears the rustle of clothing as Gus’ mom makes her way upstairs with the cordless phone, then muffled voices in the background as Mrs. Guster finally passes the phone to her son.

“Gus?”

“Shawn? Do you know what time it is? You're lucky mom even woke me up!”

“Gus stop, I-” he swallows the heavy lump that has started to form in his throat, “do you remember when T.S gets dumped by his girlfriend in that Kevin Smith movie we went to see?”

“What? You called me to talk about Mallrats? Shawn--”

“Gus, just,” he feels his voice waver as he tries to keep it light and quiet, hyper aware of the way Lassiter’s eyes keep flicking his way.

“That movie,” his voice cracks slightly and Shawn winces, curling further away from the blue eyes across the room, “it didn't really do it justice, uh, how much getting dumped sucks”.

Gus is quiet on the other end of the line but Shawn hears the sharp intake of air and suddenly he can’t stop the words from coming, falling out of his mouth like vomit. 

“You were right Gus, he uh, he's going to Princeton, can't have someone like me dragging him down, wait, maybe I'm the Brodie in this scenario,” he tries for a laugh that comes out watery and wipes his nose, “I should have listened to you”.

“Shawn--”

“And Henry knows,” he blurts out, cutting Gus off before he chickens out, “it's--it's not good Gus, I'm at the station--”

“What!” Gus exclaims, loud enough that Shawn briefly moves the receiver away from his ear, “the f-- he can't arrest you for being Bi, this isn't the 50s!” 

He hears rustling in the background, the sound of jeans and a belt buckle clinking as Gus presumably gets dressed.

Shawn feels some of the heavy weight in his chest lift and can’t quite stop the ghost of a smile from pulling at his lips. He knew he could count on Gus, he could always count on Gus.

“Could you and your mom come down?” Shawn says softly into the receiver,

“We’re on our way honey”.

“Mom!” Gus sputters and Shawn nearly drops the phone this time, he manages to catch it and bring it back to his ear just in time to hear Gus say, “you were listening?!”

Mrs. Guster sucks her teeth and Shawn can almost picture her rolling her eyes, “oh please Burton, you think I'm not going to listen when Shawn calls us in the middle of the night? I don't need a mother's intuition to know something's wrong”.

Shawn holds his breath again, as some of the anxiety from earlier creeps its way back into his spine, how long had she been listening? 

Shawn knows Mrs. Guster isn't overly fond of him after all the years of trouble-making and roping her son into his antics, garnering more calls to the Principal's office than the Gusters would have expected for their boy. 

And what if she had heard what Shawn said about Anthony, if she was listening the whole time–

“Shawn? Are you still there?” Mrs. Guster says sharply, halting the panicked spiral of thoughts before he can tumble all the way down, “don't say a word till I get there okay? We're on our way”.

“Yeah, that’s--okay,” Shawn breathes out as the wave of exhaustion that has been threatening to wash over him finally spreads down from the top of his head to his shoulders, making him slump slightly as the tension begins to bleed out of his shoulders. He hangs up the phone after another beat and releases a shaky breath, lifting his hands to press his fingers into his eyes for the second time that night.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him has Shawn lookup, slightly startled, to see Detective Vick standing behind him. The rookie is also pretending not to watch him from behind the Detective. He stands at the water dispenser, all legs and lanky arms; it's comical to see him try to be inconspicuous with a half empty paper cup, blue eyes pinched in something awful, like pity. 

Shawn wonders if he could get away with kicking the cop in the shins without adding another charge to his new rap sheet.

“You get a hold of your mom?” Detective Vick asks softly.

“Something like that,” Shawn says quietly as the Detective nods and beckons him back into the room. 

***

After a long night of taking his fingerprints and photos --where Shawn was reprimanded several times to face the correct way and to stop standing on his tiptoes at the last second to inflate his height, and finally his statement --though this was even harder for the Detective to get through without cracking just a bit after Shawn referred to Henry as, ‘what the Assistant Principal in the Breakfast Club wished he could be’.

It takes well over two hours before Shawn is released back into the main lobby. It’s still dark out thankfully but Shawn has no clue what time it is between the lack of daylight and the new wave of exhaustion that hits him in the gut as he slowly makes his way to the waiting area. 

Despite the wait in the horrible chairs in the lobby, Mrs. Guster and Gus are both there, waiting patiently for him. 

Gus launches himself off the chair faster than Shawn can say his name as he finds himself nearly tackled to the cold tiled floor.

“Don’t do that again man,” Gus says softly into Shawns shoulder as he hugs him tightly before pushing him away harshly, “it’s two in the morning, what the hell did you do that it took so long to get out? You didn’t actually murder Anthony did you, because I was hoping to get a shot in--”

“Dude!” Shawn squawks, his eyes dart to Mrs. Guster who is pointedly looking at the clock on the wall above their heads. She’s wearing a long cardigan over her pajamas and a tired expression on her face as she turns her gaze back to Shawn and her son. The periwinkle bonnet covering her hair does nothing to soften the air of annoyance following Mrs. Guster as she gives them the barest shake of her head and tells them to get in the car or start walking. 

Shawn releases a sigh of relief as Mrs. Guster herds Shawn and Gus into the little Ford Pinto, she hasn’t said a word since they left the building and seems content to listen to Gus speak for the both of them as they pull out of the department parking lot and onto the empty Santa Barbara downtown streets. 

He was expecting a lecture, or at least a stern warning to never call their home in the middle of the night like this again. But the silence is almost more terrifying as Gus begins to nod off next to Shawn in the back seat, he can’t get a good read on Mrs. Guster in her silence. Shawn picks at his thumbnail absently as he turns his head to the passenger window, startling slightly as Mrs. Guster clears her throat from the front seat.

“Shawn,” she says softly. Her eyes catch his in the rearview mirror, “I know we haven't always…” 

She breathes out and tries again, shifting her gaze back to the road, “Burton has always said you were a good boy, and we--I…”

Mrs. Guster releases another long breath and goes quiet, her brow furrowing slightly as she grips the steering wheel just a little tighter.  

Shawn holds his breath, the seat belt stretching tight across his neck like a noose as they continue down the highway. 

Then, in a voice softer than Shawn has ever heard Mrs. Guster use in more than ten years of knowing her, she says his name and holds his gaze in the rearview mirror once more. 

“You have a place to stay. With us…I hope you know that,” her voice is steady now but just as soft as when she said his name, “and I don’t care what that father of yours thinks, there is nothing wrong with you, do you understand?”

Shawn only manages a small nod as the lump in his throat doubles in size, erasing his voice completely. It earns him a kind smile in return from Mrs. Guster as she holds Shawn’s gaze for another beat before shifting her attention back to the dimly lit road. 

Shawn doesn't speak for the rest of the ride that night. Content to let the silence in the vehicle, punctuated by Gus's soft snores, and the soft golden light of the street lights wash over him as they make their way home.

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf @newgrangespirals @riverofrainbows (If you want to be removed or added to the tag list please let me know!)

Part Five

[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.

[captainjonnitkessler]

Do you guys notice how when Shawn Fain, president of the United Auto Workers union, started planning a general strike, he did it by a) targeting his messaging towards unions with the ability to safely and effectively strike in large numbers, b) laid out a clear, actionable plan for those unions to follow (setting contracts to all expire at the same time, since many unions cannot strike while under contract), c) is using union contracts to set clear, actionable demands that can be met in order to gauge success and provide an end goal, and d) started organizing FOUR YEARS before the proposed strike date to give people the chance to plan accordingly, because it takes a really freaking long time to get tens of millions of people organized?

You notice how he didn't do it by slapping a message on Twitter saying 'hey nobody go to work on Monday, that'll really show 'em'?

[raconteur-wanpi]

Egghead from Stella's POV is very funny.

[bunnieswithknives]

What a blessing to meet someone like you With eyes as dead as mine, it's fine It's normal people things just to lie here in silence

Fanart of Changeling Timmy from @cubbihue's AU, please check it out if you haven't seen it already!

[myheartrebel]

Dealing with difficult days