#when I hear minimum I don't know if it my mum your mum or your baby's mama's mama

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

It is easy to get midnight munchies if you have a cool car. Or a bunch of eager young drivers.

[hyunsuks-beanie]

Pumpkin

Pairing: Mashiho x gn. reader

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Content Warnings: Long distance-ish au; established relationship; pining; mentions of crying; use of the words "Baby," "pumpkin," "angel" and "princess"

Part of: Mellow's You've Got A Letter Event

Mellow speaks: This is for my super lovely angel, Kari!!!! Thank you so much for being so so so nice to me love, and it really was a pleasure writing this for you. I know the Mashidam hiatus has hit you hard, so I hope this acts as somewhat of a relief to the heartbreak. I love you, do enjoy!

Also, I decided to go with Mashiho since he's actually away from Korea for the time being, while Yedam hasn't actually gone anywhere and so missing Y/N wouldn't make much sense lol.

Tagging: @yedammi @axartia @sweethyuka @ivyvesisi @yunhorights

Hey pumpkin, How are you doing?? 

I know. You're probably thinking, "That's what I should be asking you, Mashi," while shaking your head, right? But that's okay, because it's what you ask me every single time we talk anyway. And that's why I figured that the least I can do is ask you the same, for once. 

I hope you're doing good, and I hope you're taking care of yourself and eating and sleeping on time even without me forcing you to. I mean, yeah, I do call you up during mealtimes and at night just to remind you to do the bare minimum for yourself, but it's not the same as grabbing your arm or lifting you off your feet just to carry you to the dining table or the bed, you know?

Oh and, how are your classes going? Please don't say, "They're being a pain" again, because that's what your probably told me the last time I asked you on FaceTime. I know they're a pain, but it's a pain that you're very much capable of bearing, because you're my fighter baby, right? I just hope you're doing your work consistently and not overworking your cute little body too much. Even if something seems hard the first time you read it, I want you to step back and give it a rest for a while, instead of working yourself till you burn out. 

And now, you better not go all "Aww you care so much!" on me, because both of us know how you care just as much when I'm practicing too hard and not resting. 

I'm doing well here too, helping mum and dad around in the house and playing with Kotetsu in my free time. I'm regularly working out too, just so I can still be hot when you see me again. But don't you worry my angel, because I'm still taking things easy so as to not strain my body too much, even when I'm dancing. 

Wow.....writing a letter is so much harder than I had thought. But I guess it can't be helped since most of the things I'm telling you, I tell you every day anyway. But it's just that....there's still something I haven't said much on call or on FaceTime, because I was shy of seeing or hearing your reaction. And that's why I decided to send you a letter in the first place, so I can show you what's going on inside my head without being shy. 

So, the thing is....I just miss you so much. This is the first time we've been away for so long, and I'm not liking it one bit. Being with my family is great, it really is. But that doesn't mean I've completely forgotten about life in Seoul, about the members and most importantly, about you. It's just not the same without your form sitting on the counter while I cook something for you, and it's not same without having you lean into my shoulder whenever you feel some extra love for me. 

I miss going on dates with you, and I miss sneaking out late at night just to see the surprised look on your face. I really needed this break, heaven knows I did. But I just wish you could be here with me right now. I need to hold you in my arms so bad, and I need to kiss you and call you all the pet names that you know I cringe at. I want to feel your hands running through my hair, and I want to feel your heart beating against mine. 

It's been less than a month and I already miss you so much it's not even funny anymore. I know I'm supposed to be resting, but then again, how I am I supposed to do that when all I can think about is you? I don't want to hurt you by saying this, but I think you deserve to know of all the tears I've shed because of how lonely I feel without having your laughter ringing right next to me. 

Miss, want, need. None of these words is enough to describe what I've been feeling these days, it's like a void in my heart that will only be filled when you're in my arms. I know we can't possibly meet any time soon, and I know it's selfish to even think like this. And yet, I can't help but wonder what it would be life if you could come here to Mie, even if it's just just 2 days. 

Gosh, I'm actually crying while writing this, so please don't mind if some of the words get smudged off. I'm crying so hard right now, and still, all I'm wishing is that you won't cry while you read it. 

I'm sorry for this princess, I really am. But being without you is getting under my skin now, and I just had to let you know. 

Wiping your tears away, 

With love

Mashiho

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [two] // daisy johnson

summary: same as the first chapter – it was too long to post in one so this is the remainder of it!

part one | part three | part four | part five | part six | masterlist | wattpad

"What do you think?"

I raised an eyebrow as I poked my head inside the van, glancing around at the cramped space that had stupidly been turned into a living space. There was also, weirdly enough, a computer in the corner which made absolutely no sense.

"I think I have no idea what I'm looking at," I admitted, before looking to an excited Skye beside me. "What is this?"

She bit her lip to contain her grin as she patted the van's door proudly. "This is my new rig."

I almost laughed. "You're kidding."

Her smile lessened. "I'm not."

Now I definitely laughed. "Skye, c'mon, be serious. Whose van is this?"

Her smile disappeared as she clenched her jaw with annoyance. "It's mine. Sorry it isn't fancy enough for you, your majesty."

When I realised she was serious, I lost my smile and looked between the van and her. "Skye, where the hell did you get a van? You can't even drive!"

Clearly holding in her anger, she began to push past me and slide the doors shut. "He said you wouldn't get it," she mumbled to herself, but I heard.

"He?" I questioned with raised eyebrows. "Who the hell is he?"

"Miles," she snapped, stopping moving and looking to me. "Miles is the one who got me the van. He said it was a bad idea to show you and clearly he was right, Y/N. You took one look at it and laughed. He was right."

I smiled tightly, trying not to get worked up at the mention of Skye's new friend. She'd befriended this 'Miles' guy within the past few months and wouldn't stop meeting with him and his friends. He was in the grade above us, but just like her, he'd skip class and do God knows what.

Ever since she'd been hanging around them, she'd been standoffish and distant. She wouldn't contact me as much when she ran away, and she'd been skipping school more often than usual. They were clearly a bad influence on her, but she reassured me she was in control of her own life and knew what she was doing. Being the idiot I am, I fell for her pretty smile and convincing eyes, but this was getting too far now.

"No offence, Skye, but I wouldn't start listening to a guy who can't even make it to class on time," I said to her with a hint of annoyance. "Why do you need a van anyway?"

"Why not?" she countered with her arms crossed. "I thought you'd be happy that I'm finally taking responsibility. Growing up."

My expression softened. "I've never once said that you had to do either of those things."

"You don't need to say it," she mumbled, looking down at her shoes with a frown. "I know you think it. Everyone does."

I stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder and finding her eyes with mine. "Where is this coming from? Skye, I have never thought that. All I've ever wanted for you is to be safe and happy. I'm just worried."

She shrugged me off. "Well, now you don't need to be. I've got this."

"You're seventeen, you should be in school studying, not staying in a van," I said tiredly. "You've been missing so much. How are you gonna graduate?"

She avoided my eyes. "That's another thing... I've been thinking and, well, I don't think I want that."

I widened my eyes with disbelief. "What?"

Still avoiding my eyes, she continued, "I don't think I want to graduate."

I was too surprised to find words so quickly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"How can you not want to graduate?!" I asked suddenly, finding my words. "It's what you do! It's what we all do!"

She met my eyes with apologetic ones. "It's what you do, Y/N. I don't want to be at a place that makes me feel like shit. I can't keep pretending I fit in when I don't."

"This isn't you," I told her sternly. "We were supposed to graduate together. You're not stupid, Skye. I can help you study. You can't just give up."

"I'm not," she said with certainty. "I finally know what I'm doing. That's all."

I squeezed my fists together to contain my frustration. "And what's that?"

"The Rising Tide–"

"For fuck's sake!" I cut her off, before hitting the van door with frustration.

"Miles has taught me a lot!" she defended. "They do a lot of good, Y/N! I just want to be apart of something bigger. Something that can help me help others. And something that can help me find my family. My real family."

I clenched my jaw, knowing I was too late in convincing her otherwise. Whatever Miles and the others had told her about their stupid hacking group had worked – she was dropping out of high school and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

"You're gonna be going to university and we both know I can't afford it," she said gently. "We couldn't stay together forever, Y/N. And my foster family definitely don't care what happens to me. I don't fit in anywhere."

I looked to her with glassy eyes. "You fit in with me. You always have."

She pursed her lips as she stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry I didn't make that clear enough," I added bitterly.

"That's not it and you know it," she muttered, shaking her head. "I have to do this. I have to figure myself out. Alone."

I felt stupid for letting her do everything she did leading up to this point. If I had just tried a little harder, maybe things could have been different.

"You're not alone though, are you?" I asked rhetorically. "You've got your new pals at the Rising Tide. It's their damn fault you're doing all this."

"They're not as bad as you think!"

"You've changed because of them!" I argued back. "They created a barrier between you and I. It's because of them that you've... that you've..."

"What?" she snapped, glaring at me. "That I'm finally thinking for myself?!"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and straightened up. "Forget it, just– forget it. I've got a midterm to study for."

She snickered harshly. "Of course. Don't want me slowing you down."

I stayed quiet and turned around to leave. I couldn't see past my anger as I left her with her stupid van. 

Of course, the two of us had been friends for a lot longer than that silly argument, so I was quick to realise how much I actually cared about her and her life, and wanted to apologise for how harsh and unsupportive I sounded.

The next day after school, I decided to head over to her foster family's place to hopefully talk to her. I'd had enough time to think about it and knew I was a lot more levelheaded now that I'd had some space.

I knocked on the front door and waited before an older blonde woman answered. I recognised her as Skye's foster mum, Sally.

"Hi, Mrs Collins," I greeted with a smile. "I'm looking for–”

"Mary doesn't live here anymore," Sally cut me off instantly, surprising me.

I had almost forgotten that Skye's foster family knew her as the name she was given by her orphanage – Mary Sue Poots.

"She doesn't?" I asked with confusion. "But I thought–"

"Goodbye, Miss Y/L/N," Sally interrupted, before slamming the door in my face.

I blinked with confusion before turning around and walking down the steps. It had been a while since I last visited Skye at home. In fact, she made sure I never visited her at home. I guess now I knew why. But then where the hell was she living?

As I walked around the neighbourhood trying to think about where Skye could be, I saw a familiar van parked up on the side of the street and put the pieces together.

Guiltily, I approached the van and sucked up a deep breath before knocking on the side. It didn't take long for the door to slide open and reveal Skye herself.

"Hey," I said quietly, noticing her surprised expression. "Can we talk?"

She licked her lips nervously and nodded, before moving to the side to let me in. I climbed inside and watched as she shut the door before settling on the seat in front of me. I looked around and realised the little details I hadn't noticed yesterday. The little things that made this place Skye's and nobody else's.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I don't have any," she joked to lighten the mood, and I couldn't help but crack a small smile.

I breathed out before meeting her eyes. "Skye, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have reacted like that. If I had known that this was your home, I–"

"You didn't know," she said, shaking her head with embarrassment. "I didn't want you to know. It's my fault."

I pursed my lips, watching as she looked away with pink cheeks. It hurt me to know that she was embarrassed when I didn't care about any of this, I just cared about her.

"I want you to know that I respect your decision to join the Rising Tide," I said gently, making her look up. "If it's what you want, you should go for it."

"It is," she said with certainty.

I chewed on the inside of my mouth before asking, "Is there no way you can finish high school though? Graduate with me?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to, Y/N."

"But that's the bare minimum," I pleaded. "Hacking isn't a lifestyle. You need to work, too, and I can promise you that most places won't look to hire a high school dropout."

She leaned back in her seat and shrugged nervously. "Miles isn't graduating either. And he's got some friends who haven't graduated. They're all doing fine."

I looked down and pinched the bridge of my nose to contain my frustration. I promised myself I wouldn't argue with her, but the mention of her other friends was like a trigger.

"What now?" she asked with annoyance, realising I was annoyed. "You clearly have something to say about them."

"It doesn't matter," I said, biting my tongue.

"Sure it doesn't," she played along.

"It doesn't," I agreed.

"Yeah, and the Hulk isn't bright green," she said sarcastically.

I looked up and glared at her. She stared back challengingly, practically daring me to speak. So, I did.

"Your new hacker friends are the reason you're making these choices," I told her straight. "They're the reason you're making a huge mistake. The reason you're dropping out. And for what? So you can hack like them?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know you look down on us, but we're more than that."

"Skye, I don't give a shit about them!" I shouted without meaning to. "I only care about you!"

"Then stop talking crap about my friends!" she returned angrily.

"Why do you care about them so much?!"

"They gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere! They made me feel like I belonged!"

I frowned, anger replacing with hurt. "I always offered you a place to stay. I only ever wanted you to be safe. You never needed to be different with me. You belonged. Always."

She swallowed hard and looked away from me ashamedly. "Well it doesn't matter anymore. I'm leaving."

I breathed out deeply. "School? Our town? Leaving what?"

"All of it," she said quietly. "I don't expect you to understand."

I looked down to my fumbling hands, a tear slipping from my eye. I had never felt so angry at someone before in my life. She was treating me like I was a stranger, as if I wasn't somebody who knew her inside out. She was treating me like she treated everyone else except her new friends. And I couldn't deal with it anymore.

"Fine," I said, before moving to open the door. I jumped out her van and didn't spare her a glance as I said, "Have fun with the rest of your life. Sorry I didn't care enough."

She didn't say anything and I didn't expect her to. With a broken heart and headache, I left and didn't bother turning back.

—

"What do you mean she's run away?"

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Mr Lock said apologetically. "Her foster family got the note this morning. They're doing what they can to find her. She always turns up, you know that."

I knew her family didn't care if she was gone or not, so I knew Skye definitely wouldn't be found. Unlike usual, Skye hadn't contacted me before leaving, so something told me she wouldn't be turning up.

Our argument was over a week ago and I hadn't seen her since. It had been eating away at me the way we'd left things, but I couldn't find it in myself to face her. I had no idea what to say anyway. And I wasn't sure when she was planning on leaving, so I didn't think it was important right now. Clearly, I was wrong.

"I just thought you should know," Mr Lock said with a nod. "The police will come by soon to get a statement from you."

As usual. Except this time, I actually had no idea where she was.

I nodded, my mouth going dry. "Thank you... can I go now?"

He nodded hesitantly. "Of course."

I left his office and headed straight outside behind the bleachers where nobody could hear or see me. The first thing I did was try to ring Skye, but there was no answer and no way to leave a voicemail. I tried several times, hoping she'd pick up, but she didn't. And that's when I remembered the burner phone.

Immediately pulling it out, I turned it on and saw the message from her appear on my screen. I was quick to open it, my heart racing like it did every time she ran away. I knew she wasn't coming back this time though.

Hey, Y/N. I know you probably hate me, but I felt like I owed you this. I said I was leaving and I have. I can't tell you where. And I'm not good at goodbyes. I've had too many of them and I couldn't bring myself to say it to you. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I never wanted to, but I guess some things are inevitable, huh? I've managed to do it all my life, this isn't any different. I'm just sorry if I hurt you in the process. Anyway, this is pretty long and I don't even know if you read it, but yeah. I'm sorry. I wish things could have been different.

The text ended there and I found myself rereading it to myself over and over, her words imprinted in my mind. I knew we'd argued and exchanged hurtful words, but I never in a million years thought she'd leave without saying goodbye. I thought I meant more to her than this. But no. I was just another foster family she ran away from. And I wasn't so sure I'd see her again.

[tommydoesntpayforsuits]

I need some advice.

So, when I was 16, I used to live next to this little game shop where you could play cards (yugioh, magic the gathering, etc) and paint figurines. I went there to check it out, and my mum bought me this dragon figurine, cause she wanted to encourage this hobby. It was about £30-40, so it was expensive.

The shop would keep your figurines there under your name so as they would dry/you could come back to them when you wanted.

Anyway, I went there for a few weeks, painting the dragon and playing cards. But, it was becoming evident that I was having less time because my GCSE's were approaching. So I let the shop manger know. He said it was totally fine, to come back when I needed to.

One time (like a month and a half later) I went in to try and get it back, because it was clear I wouldn't have time to go to the shop, and I got told by the person working there (not the manager I was used to, I think it was just someone working there) that if I don't come for a while, the figurines get put in a warehouse or something. So I was like, "ok, can I have it back?" And he told me that he'll note down my contact info and he'll ring me once the figurine was transported back. I said ok. I waited a couple of months, and I didn't receive a ring. After that I called occasionally, they said that they'd take my info again, no call after I while. I called/went there a few more times, got told the same thing, to take my info down. Eventually, I had to move country (keep in mind this is like 2 years later).

Recently, I emailed the shop again through their website. I was firm. I said I don't know what they were playing at, but I just wanted the dragon. It had been 2 years.

After some correspondence, the new manager (not the original one) said that there was no dragon under my name, that whoever told me that there was some warehouse where things are taken to lied, and there are some terms and conditions in place that say the shop isn't responsible for theft, loss or damage.

I replied, saying that this was the first time I was hearing of terms and conditions, and I wouldn't have kept the dragon with them if I knew about them.

The manager said if I sent him my paypal, he would send me a refund of about £30, and I said thank you and accepted. Keep in mind, the dragon was minimum £30, so I would still be at a loss, but it was better than nothing, I didn't want to come off as greedy, especially as I didn't remember the exact price.

It's been over 2 weeks and I still haven't gotten the refund.

I don't know what to do. If I push too hard, I'll come off as a scam.

[ukdamo]

Remembrance of Things Present

One of mine...

The gloryhole in 89 Napier Street was the repository for practical things not necessarily needed immediately to hand: the scorched and rickety ironing board (the iron standing on its heel on the shelf above); left-over rolls of wallpaper; a canopy of coats cascading untidily from too few hooks; the two books (Universal Home Doctor and Family Bible); a bashed brown tea caddy, minus its label, that held buttons, wooden cotton reels, a selection of sewing needles, hair grips, press-studs on their cards, folorn biros with bitten ends; the Ewbank (at an earlier date), the reconditioned Hoover now in its stead. And mum's handbags. Old ones bulged with insurance policies, family snaps, the one £5 Premium Bond and the the three £1 ones, grave papers, mass cards, cast-off compacts with cracked mirrors or broken clasps, and almost-but-not-quite empty jars of Pond's cold cream. And the little cylinders of fake gold that held the stumps of greasy, muted-pinky-maroon lip sticks. It was all illuminated by a bare low-wattage bulb.

The gloryhole was, basically, under-stair storage. It was accessed from a door in the corner of the living room. Once the door was opened, you faced a narrow underdrawn space that sloped upward from left to right, following the contours of the stairs. In front, where the height permitted it, a shelf ran around the space. Under it were the old, two-pronged coat hooks. Mum's discarded handbags dangled by their frayed straps from those Victorian coat hooks, smothered by coats. They made occasional forays out into the light, when documents needed consulting or prayer cards needed re-homing. To the left of the door, down one-step, the space retreated into an increasingly confined wedge, so that the smaller objects had to be shoved into the deepest part of the recess and the taller ones stood immediately adjacent. The gloryhole was seldom decorated: it always lagged behind the rest of the house by at least two or three colour-schemes. Occasionally, when its yellowing paint became too depressing, it was freshened up by left over emulsion. The gloryhole housed the left-over wallpaper from various rooms - but never enjoyed a Polycell make-over of its own.

From the vantage point of 2017, Napier Street as our family home is long-gone. So are my parents; dad in 1995, mum a decade later. Equally long-gone are those old handbags with their stash of yesteryear's oddments. But, as I beetle along towards old age, the inherent power of those distant objects to seems to grow exponentially. The handbags and their associated evocations perhaps most of all.

Pond's cold cream. I don't know if it still exists. When I was a boy, it lived in small, glass, oval jars with bakelite screw lids. It was not gloopy or waxy. It was a reassuringly viscose white fondant, and had always the imprint of mum's last finger-scoop. The texture was cool, smooth and soothing. Its fragrance was of mum. Or maybe it was the other way round. A discreet scent of jasmine with distant lilies. It was soft on the palms and immediately made skin more malleable, less friable, less care-worn, more translucent. I can sympathise with her fondness for it: less a cotton winders' hands, more of a princess's. I used to have occasional dabs of my own: less a scrawly schoolboy's hands, more of an aesthete's?

In one or other of the bags there was a ladies Ronson lighter – it still had a working flint but its petrol-infused lint had long since dried out. I used to enjoy the dry, rasping spark with electric flare. Not so much a burning smell as a mechanical one. And then there were the compacts. They were usually smudged by the old lipsticks, their hinges encrusted with their own pink-blush powder. Indeed, the insurance policies, prayer cards and the faux-satin linings of the handbags were similarly smudged. The dull gold-coloured compact, the one with the cracked mirror, had a thin flat disc in it – satin one side and mildly padded on the other. Practically all the powder was gone from the insert. Little bevels of it remained where the side and bottom of the pan met. But the pad was still redolent of dustings and pattings. The powder was an anhydrous mist, different from the silky puff of Johnson's baby powder. Matt rather than shiny, the pad gave a satisfyingly muted pat when applied to the back of your hand. It had a fragrance, too, different from the cold cream, but complementary. The aroma was a pink carnation.

Mum was a delicate creature in some respects – allergic to anything other than gold jewellery. In this, I am not her son: I can wear any base metal, though my fondness and preference is for silver. Anything other than butter on her bread made her nauseous. Wartime had been a torture for her (the chemical coarseness of margarine, you understand). She had to trade all manner of coupons to secure enough butter. I sympathise with that. Her choice of butter was always Lurpak but she'd tolerate Kerrygold or Anchor if it was demanded of her. Stork – which the adverts claimed was indistinguishable from butter – was relegated to cake-making. Rightly so. Vile. Only desperation would make a person use it on bread.

Mum's repertoire of soaps was as limited as her butter.

Pears (those amber ovals) she liked – but it was too pricey. Imperial Leather (“Simon, Bermuda”) was also valued but equally pricey. I don't recall it featuring anything other than rarely – probably when it was on offer. We were a family of six, with four blokes, you see: that's a lot of soap. So, the mundane soap was a Lever Brothers stand by: Sunlight. With lanolin, even. I had no idea what lanolin was – but mum could use it on that delicate skin. This was in the days before hypoallergenic was a even a word, still less a range of products. Sunlight soap came in fat, cumbersome, rectangular, pale magnolia cakes. Really, it was very unfeminine: great half-charlies that were too big for the hand, unless you were a navvy or a coal miner. They had a wide groove on their upper surface, with a cursive 'Sunlight' stamped in it. I don't know if Sunlight is still going: it had a retro makeover many years ago but I can't recall seeing it in decades. The gradual demise of the C2 working class probably doomed it to extinction. And as for lanolin, people finding out that it was the oil from sheep's fleeces no doubt undermined its appeal, somewhat. Sometimes it's best not to know: when I hear what goes into mum's old Oil of Ulay (now sans oil, and simply Olay for copyright reasons, I think), it is cringeworthy.

But lanolin. I recall coming face to face with it a few years ago on a walk to the Water Meetings and Quaker Bridge in Barrowford. Summer time. No azure flash of kingfishers racing along Pendle Water that trip, but as I forked right and headed up the road into Blacko to follow it homewards, there was the buzz of clippers in a field. A Landrover was pulled up, with trailer uncoupled. The trailer sported on- /off- ramps, a generator, and a tall pole, attached to the top of which was a flexible bendy cord. At the end of the cord was the source of the insistent buzzing – sheep shears. The trailer was adjacent to a sheep pen, in which dozens of ewes jostled half-heartedly for position, and peered blankly out. I stopped to watch proceedings and, after a minute or two, the farmer came over, opened the gate, and invited me in.

And so we stood, the three of us. Me, the farmer, and the sheep shearer. And I learned about shearing, fleeces, and sheep. The shearer travelled from farm to farm (hence the Landrover with its bespoke trailer) making his way through Wales, Lancashire, Yorkshire on a pre-arranged timetable and route. He was netting £2 a fleece – and he had each of those pliable ladies, and some cantankerous ones – nabbed, shaved, and released at no more than 90 second intervals. The farmer penned the sheep ready, so there was no delay, and they contracted for a minimum number, so farmers with smaller holdings rendezvoused at the farm where the shearer was to set up. Prices for fleeces rose and fell – they weren't bad that year, as I recall, but sheep need shearing whatever the price.

The bewildered ladies were unceremoniously up-ended and plonked on their ample bottoms, whilst the young fella planted his muscular legs and gripped them, and set to work with the clippers. Mostly, they were subdued once he had them: perhaps reassured by his evident skill and no-nonsense approach. That always worked with me when I was a boy: the sound of the airplane clippers, the smell of 3-in-1 oil, and the firm purpose of the barber. Short back and sides and sparse conversation. Mind you, I don't think the barber netted £2 a scalp back in the day.

The sun shone, the sheep skittered off once fleeced, and we three chatted. Soon my eye was drawn to the large grease spot on the wooden trailer. Lanolin, live and in-person. Handy for soap making, handier still for shedding the filthiest Lancashire weather: these sheep were well set up for inclemencies. I noted, too, that the shearer was wearing moccasins. As the farmer explained, the best shearers wore moccasins. Their suede nap gave some purchase on the slippery grease and their firm pressure was kinder to sheep. Lots of younger men were sporting trainers now, he said, but he didn't rate them. They were not good. The risk of injury to sheep, and man, was increased. I found myself glad that the shearer stood fully congruent with his occupation – no flirting with any Nike or Adidas innovations. Real sheep shearers do it in moccasins.

After the family home was sold and mum and dad went to live in Lomeshaye Village, in one of the old-folks' flats, mum's predilection for Imperial Leather resurfaced. There was always a bar in the bathroom. With just the two of them (kids all gone) the economies necessary for a family of six, on a wagon driver's income, were less stringent. Imperial Leather as pensioner indulgence! One of the things that most endeared me to those lozenge-shaped bars of buttermilk hue was the little foil label that conjured up the decadence of the Romanovs. It was my understanding that the label was there to prevent the soap leaving a mess on the sink ceramics or soap dish: you stood the bar on its label. As the soap wore down, the label stood proud and the soap was no longer in contact with the sink – hence, no mess. Perhaps because we were very plebeian, the soap was never label down. You announced the fact that you were using it by having the label showing.

For me, nowadays, picking the soap up, lathering it under the tap, releases not so much a fragrance as a wave of nostalgia. Imperial Leather's fragrance has elements of sandalwood and the richness of plant oils – it's mildly exotic and suggestive of luxury. Which is, no doubt, what Cussons were aiming at. But for me, it mostly carries aromas of mum. It's powerfully evocative. Aromas are.

I recall a visit – with mum – to Gawthorpe Hall. It's one of the places we'd scoot off to for an afternoon of cultural noseyness, and cake. The cafe was lodged in the stable block and featured home-baking and pots of tea. Ideal for us. After a leisurely brew and news-swop, we were about to go and explore the lovely Elizabethan pile: I decided to make a visit to the lavatory first. The tea room was above, the toilets below, so I skittered down the stairs and found the Gents. The soap was in an old-school wall dispenser: fingers under, palm operates a rectangular squirter. One squidge was enough: the years receded and I was age six, it was dinner time, I was standing at a child-height sink in St George's RC Primary School, Vaughan Street, Nelson, washing my hands so that Mrs. Ingham (a diminutive tyrant) would not throw me out of the dinner queue. The soap dispensed in the Gawthorpe toilet was the same amber-coloured, antiseptic liquid that Lancashire County Council used in its school thirty years before. The power of scent created a wormhole in space-time and drew me through it, irresistibly. That power can be used to advantage, though. You can elect to make the journey. Fragrance can open the portal, on demand. If liquid coal-tar soap can take me to primary school, other fragrances can take me elsewhere.

4711, for instance. That eau-de-cologne can transport me to Köln, and the year 1976. It's a school exchange trip and I'm in Germany, staying with a family from Mayen: we're on a trip to Cologne. I've been up the cathedral tower and seen the Rhine bridges and I'm looking for a present for mum. On Glockenstrasse, at number 4711, stands an impressive perfume factory and shop – home to 4711. The original eau-de-cologne. Echt Kölnisch Wasser. It's still there – flagship shop of the perfume house, and it still glitters with possibility. I bought mum a bottle of the eponymous 18th CE perfume and she wore it ever after. Generally, she kept it in her current handbag (before they were, successively, relegated to the gloryhole). She'd dab it on her hanky and freshen up with it on car trips. As a perfume, 4711 has had an odd evolution over the 200 plus years of its existence; it was, originally, a men's fragrance for the prestige Houses of Europe. More latterly, it has been a women's fragrance – but 4711 indicate it as unisex. I agree. The scent is of citrus and wood that carries a fresh, sharp finish and has enduring undernotes. For me it's an everyday scent: it lives in my sports bag, for application after swims. It's also my travel fragrance and comes with me on every trip, near or far.

As I age (just clocked 56, Not Out), I seem to be developing a deepening appreciation for my past and how it has shaped who I have become. I heard once that making sense of your life is only possible when you look back over it – I recall an analogy that compared it to running your fingers over a fish's scales: they lie smoothly when stroked in one direction but are likely to tear your flesh if stroked in the wrong one. I can see connections, recognise how events and people shaped my experiences. I know I hold threads together, personally. I weave my own cloth - but on a loom I inherited. More tellingly still, some elements of the pattern, some of the aesthetics that inform the weave, some of the yarns, were given to me. I'm the child of weavers in more ways than one.

I can find, too, there's comfort in the sureties of the past. Like the familiarity of an old pair of slippers (not that I wear slippers), the quiet resonances of childhood are reassuring. I think we like continuity, as a species. We tell stories. We create in our own likeness. We look to where we came from to make sense of where we are and to decide where we want to go.

I'm conscious of my heritage. Not (I think) conditioned or stultified by it, or forever harking back to a mystical Golden Age that exists only in the warm fuzziness of a smug and delusional imagination. But I know I make choices which ensure there are tokens of continuity that I can carry with me into my everyday life. Mostly, they are mundane. And I like that, too. It's too easy to confuse what's important with what's valuable, unless you guard against that possibility. The richer you are, the more imperilled that discernment is: I've safeguarded myself against that risk very well!

My tokens are trivial. It's good that they are.

I think of the tea caddy spoon – it's in my kitchen, as it was in mum's kitchen, and as it was in her mum's kitchen before her (c/o a pre-WW II holiday to the Isle of Man): or there's my 'ice-cream' spoon – courtesy of Margaret Pepper and the Raj (well, the North Western Railway Volunteer Rifles, circa 1920). These tokens are a continuing connection with people now gone. They are stirred (if you'll forgive the pun) by everyday use.

I note, increasingly, that I am becoming my parents. I look like dad. Really: peas in a pod, chip off the old block, and so on. I look in the mirror and he smiles back at me. I look at my physignomy – and his fingerprints are all over it. My driving style evokes his. In some situations, I can sense him near. Curiously, he underpins my confidence in situations from which his natural diffidence would have disbarred him. If I stand tall, it's because he raised me. As for mum, she's around most days. Wimbledon Fortnight, she practically moves in. It was ever ‘our time’ - I’d rock up with whimberry charlottes, or strawberries, and we’d sit on the edges of chairs for hours and hours as Nastase, Connors, Becker, McEnroe, Ivanisovic, Sampras, Federer and Billie Jean King, Martina, Steffi and the Williams sisters thwacked balls back and forth. I miss her acutely then. And we both missed Dan Maskell, together. She’s at my elbow at breakfast when I make a pot of Yorkshire Tea (there's another evocation!); when the Imperial Leather is handled at shower time; twice weekly, in the men's locker room at Crow Wood, after a swim. Perhaps it's fortunate that the evocation is a personal, rather than an universal, one? (Otherwise, explanations might prove difficult).

I don't know if the trivial and potent associations that so flavour my life – 4711, Imperial Leather, and two old spoons – will evoke the same responses among my nephews and nieces and their respective kids once I'm dead. It’s open to doubt. They don't live cheek-by-jowl with them, as I do. It matters not. They will make their own. As things stand, I'm the orphan in the world, now mum and dad are long dead: the comfort blanket offered by fragrances and spoons is mine, and very probably mine alone.

There's quiet comfort in that, too.

© Damian, April 2017

[irepookie]

Infinity

Summary: QUEEN AU where Roger (akaRow) is a teen single dad and aspiring rock star

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff and some cursing.

Words: 2090

I changed the names Cause I feel more comfortable writing it that way (idk why) but I could re-change them if that'd help you getting more into the story.

Rowan Queen: (tho you can imagine Ben as well. This is my take)

Chapter 1: I'm here

Written from his mother's POV, which gives us some insight on the family background and history as the first day of the rest of their lives unravels.

Gina Marie Queen (neé Thomas) had always been ahead of her time. She was never a fearful woman. Not for men anyway. She hadn't had a father -that alcoholic piece of shit was nothing close to that.-

And for all she knew, she hadn't had a husband either -another waste of space-. She had finally kicked him out hers and her son's life after 10 years of hell when that drunk asshole's rehearsal fits had made her lose the daughter she had been longing for since she could remember.

He could throw plates at her, and she'd fight back burning his beloved match tapes. Or intoxicate his food. Those were her favorite paybacks.

He could verbally abuse their son, and wake up with pink hair the next day. (Rowan's idea when he was 10)

But the night he had pushed her and she had broken waters at month number 5, that was it.

It should have ended earlier, she knew. Her unborn daughter shouldn't have had to suffer the consequences for Gina to finally throw his shit out the window and soak them in the Jack Daniels bottle he hid under his side of the bed and light them with the lighter he'd switch his bloody cigars.

But unfortunately that's what it had taken.

And she would have strangled him in his sleep if she had known Rowan would be taken care of while in jail. But she wasn't. And someone had to think of the rebellious trouble maker too.

And when her son -yes, she decided that rebellious trouble maker was, more or less, worthy of the title despite being the spitting image of the his father- became a father, Gina feared her granddaughter would have the same fate. Row had it in his genes and , as much she had tried to raise him as best as she was capable of, that fear never faded.

So when the phone rang

"Rowan Queen?"

""I'm his mother"

"I'm from the Hospital's maternity aisle. We call to inform you that his daughter's mom has disappeared after giving birth..."

That was all she needed to hear before dropping the phone and leaving it hanging upside down

"ROWAN EUGENE QUEEN! GET YOUR FUCKING ASS HERE THIS INSTANT!"

"I've got rehearsals with the band..."

"YOU GOT SOMEONE PREGNANT, YOU IDIOT??!"

"Me? No!"

"WELL THINK AGAIN!"

"Mum..."

"Just got a call from hospital saying your daughter's mother has disappeared after birth!!! And they called us!"

He was high school's infamous Playboy. Blonde, Blue Big eyes, and a charming smile. And on top of that, one of the four members of a wannabe rock band. The Hot Drummer, they call him .Gina knew. She didn't need to hear about his reputation to know the likelihood of him getting someone pregnant was high. But she had pictured it differently.

She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled, but he didn't move. He kept staring at nowhere.

"Rowan!!!"

No reaction.

She had to slap his cheek in order to get him out his shock

"What do you want?!"

"We're going to hospital, right now"

"What? Why?"

"To work this shit out!!"

"But we have to rehearse"

"Fuck that shit Rowan! They've just told us you got someone pregnant and she run off! That's the most important thing right now so get in that this instance!!"

He did as told. It was a tense car ride. And Gina remembered Elsa. Her baby girl. And how for her father's fault she wasn't there.

"So what now?" Row asked

"We're putting her up for adoption, unless they can contact the mother, although I don't think she should have a say. But if you're the so called father and your name is in the file, we can leave your part signed and then go home."

"Oh"

Gina thought she caught a hint of disappointment in his voice.

It had to be her imagination. Disappointment over what? Missing the wonderful experience of being a teen dad? Ha.

He did look thoughtful. He hadn't even turned on the radio.

Something was off.

But she figured he'd just want to get this whole thing over with, and that he'd sign her over to a better family. As anyone with minimum common sense would

Right?

Then, as they waited for the application, he asked if he could see her.

Her answer was immediate "No"

"Why?"

"How come Why? Why on Earth would you want to see her?"

"Well I'm here. You've been freaking out , and freaking me out as well. Might as well see who this fuss is about"

"A baby. That's it. You don't need to see one. They all look the same. Small, Wrinkly, like a large prune. There you have it"

"Well I wanna see my... That small wrinkled prune"

Damn. He had said <<mine>>. He already considered her his.

Gina changed her strategy.

"Your name is on the certificate, right. But that means nothing"

"Why would it be there otherwise?""

"A mistake. Or maybe the mother just wants to tangle you up."

"The mother's gone"

"Yes. For now. It's called Baby Blues, and when it's gone She'll have you exactly where she wants to. Because I'm guessing she won't be no straight A student either, and you'll have to sustain them both -if you ever make it to college- and you'll end up getting married, and maybe you don't even love her, but divorce is even more tedious than getting married. That's why I've Never done it. So you'll both be stuck as cashiers in whatever low cost store, and then she'll confess that you were her high school crush but that the kid is actually her ex boyfriend's and then you'll throw a fit, and you'll get in a fight and you'll end up grabbing whatever is on your reach to hit whoever's on your reach...."

"Wait mom. I just... I just wanna see her." Row cut her off " Whoever the fuck she may actually be, I'm the one who's here. And I ain't signing anything without knowing who I'm making decisions for. That's all. I just want to see. I don't even want to touch her or whatever. Just knowing who's the reason I had to turn the boys down today. Then I'll sign the paper and we'll go home."

"She's in the NICU anyway. Doubt they'll let you in"

"What's NICU?" Gina caught genuine concern in his voice.

"Nothing bad." She reassured.

They handed the files, and she took them "I'll fill them"

She got through the first page, and he was gone.

Shit. That stubborn bastard.

She didn't want him to be a father. He was 19 for fucks shake. Had never had one of his own. He had only moved out a couple months ago. Nothing lasted much for him. Wether it was a girlfriend, a job, clothes... His longest pet had reached one year alive. And he couldn't go long without getting injured

Not even his drum kit had survived the move, and was litterally patched up. She'd consider herself guilty of murder if she allowed a baby to be on that list. Not to mention the alternative was that she'd be the one, sooner or later, to take over. Because he was never patient and would stress too much -if he didn't lose interest first- or get fed up and cause her shaken Baby syndrome. And just as she was too young to be a grandmother, she was too old to raise a second kid.

So she stormed inside the NICU aisle ready to get him out of there. And what she saw was quite breathtaking. The look in his eyes was priceless: such fondness and marvel... Only comparable to when he had first seen that red Ludwig drum set through the glass of the local music store.

"I've never seen something so awesome in my life!" He had said.

They had never been able to afford it. He had tried to get a job after school, to save up everything. But it hadn't been enough. And he'd go everyday to that street, and just stare at the shiny wonderful kit for hours, hands on the glass, knowing that the likelihood of ever owning it was almost non existent.

He ended up making acquaintance with the owner. They tried to bargain for it, but his lowest price was way too high for them. He did get to play it once tho, and it was an undescribable experience. Murray, the owner, let him give it a try out of pity when someone else bought it, as a farewell. And had never seen anything like it again.

Now this baby was, technically, his -regardless of what biology could say- and he was about to give it away.

Gina did know on first hand it was, having been a volunteer on midwife assistance with her aunt. And 10/10 woman who swore to never want anything to do with their child changed their minds as soon as they laid eyes on them. Only those who really followed through -take it away, I don't wanna see it- walked out there with empty arms.

Now Row was looking at that baby ad if she was a treasure, but that meant nothing in the long term. His father had done something similar to Elsa's sonogram.

Her poor little girl. So young.

So helpless. She had been so naive thinking he would ever change.

But she wasn't gonna make that mistake again. She loved her son, but he really wasn't good at anger management.

She couldn't expose another innocent child to such danger.

"Rowan, come here now. You've seen her. Got what you wanted. Met her. Now let's get this over with"

His hand was resting on the top of the incubators glass, even if he had unglued his eyes from the tiny being inside and nailed on her now, as if he had been staring at the sun for a long while and was now blinded.

"Why the hurry?"

Was she hearing correctly?

"How come Why the hurry? Because we both have things to do"

"I've already cancelled the one plan I had..."

"Well I still have an errand to get done."

He didn't reply, eyes back on the child

"Rowan" she approached him, making sure not to look at the kid. "Rowan Eugene Queen, look at me when I'm talking to you" she ordered in a strict tone

"What?"

"Papers. Signature. Now"

"I'm thinking about it"

"Thinking about...?! Thinking about what? What's there to think? Sign these and we'll go home, and we'll never have to look back at this! Nobody has to know."

"And what about the raisin?"

"The what?"

"Her. What about her?"

"She'll be fine. Adopting couples love newborns. She'll go to a fit, nice marriage and will be very happy. And we'll resume our lives"

"And I'll never see her again?"

"Why do you care?"

He just shrugged and turned his attention back to her. Gina watched him watch her. Goddamn. She was losing him.

"Are you the father?" A nurse asked, walking towards.

*Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it*

Gina prayed.

"I suppose I am" He said it so naturally, with such a bright genuine smile that Gina almost forgot how critical those words were.

"Well, I'm Callie, and I'm on charge tonight. Congratulations, Mr... Oh, Queen." Her eyes widened When reading the tag on the incubator. "We're glad at least someone's here"

"Yea, well..." He scratched the back of his head nervously

"Don't worry. Her mom will get over it." She turned to Gina "You must be Gran..."

"No I'm not" Gina snapped harshly before she could finish the sentence "We were leaving"

"We were not"

"Rowan, I will not repeat it. Sign those bloody papers and get your ass back in the car"

"What if I don't want to?"

"This is serious! There's no other way!"

"Yes there is!"

"You can't be serious!" What 19 year old would ever choose this?

"Well I am"

"You don't even know what serious means! You have no sense of responsibility! You've never finished anything you've ever started!"

"Maybe I want to change! Maybe I can grow up if you stop pestering the shit outta me day In day out! This is not your decision!"

"I'm not letting you do this Row!"

"Then go! Leave me the fuck alone and stop getting in my way!"

Before Gina could answer, a small cry came from the incubator.

And she found herself walking backwards.

It was right she couldn't stop him but she wasn't gonna take part on it.

So she turned around and left, as the nurse explained Row how to hold his newborn daughter.

"You're not gonna break her, I promise. You'll do fine. Because you're here. Just because you're here I know you're gonna be a great dad. You already are" Callie said, putting his trembling arms on the correct position before lifting the small white bundle out the incubator.

They usually didn't do it unless it was necessary for a feed or a change, but she thought this was even more important: they had to meet each other properly: The little one needed to hold on to someone after being abandoned. And there was something in the young boy's eyes that told her he needed just the same.

So with a reassuring smile Callie placed her on Rowan's arms, who brought her closer to his chest by instinct, a small smile already on his lips as he took in her features.

She was gorgeous. And he didn't know why, but he found her to be the most perfect thing he had ever seen. He instantly knew he was gonna protect that wrinkled prune at all costs.

"Hey there, lil'raisin. I'm..." He swallowed the lump in his throat "I'm your Dad and... I'm here now."

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

Hope you guys liked it

It's my first fic on Tumblr so I still don't have the formatting completely handled and my phone won't let me select all the paragraphs at once to put it all in regular font.

Let me know what you think. Thank you all!!😍😍😍😍

~Pookie

[punkscowardschampions]

Junior & Nancy

Junior: What are you gonna do? Nancy: I've never had less of an idea Nancy: What can I do? Junior: I wish I knew for you Junior: But no, I don't Junior: By the time I worked it out, I knew it was too late but maybe if I'd said something to you, we could've avoided it playing out like this Junior: I'm sorry Nancy: Don't apologise to me, please, I can't start sobbing outside of this office Nancy: You've done nothing wrong. It's me who messed everything up Junior: I'm sorry, no wait, scrap that Junior: You can't help what you felt Junior: You're not the first person to get a crush, everyone's just acting like it for the drama of the thing Nancy: But I chose to act on it Nancy: You didn't see her face. It was... Nancy: I've got no words for it Junior: Oh, Nance Junior: There's no other way she could react, or would've Junior: I'm not judging but how did you get this caught up? Its not like you Nancy: I thought she wanted me to. Genuinely I'm not just making an excuse Nancy: We had a connection. The way we'd talk, I didn't imagine that, I can't have Junior: At best though, that could never be more than friendship, she's a married teacher, a straight one Junior: not to go over it now, you know Junior: What a mess Junior: Tristan is being Junior: its bad Nancy: He has a right to Nancy: I'm so stupid, oh my god Nancy: They couldn't hold of mum or dad yet but when they do... Junior: Yeah but, he's trying to make it something it ain't, get the anger but I wish he'd keep the gay hate to a minimum Junior: Oh God, babe Junior: how mortifying Junior: I'll find a hole to bury you in Nancy: Thanks Nancy: I've literally become a lesbian stereotype. The predatory one Nancy: If my brother ever finds out I'm gonna have to get you to bury him too Junior: We're doing our best to keep it on the DL, strictest of confidence Junior: but if your rents talk to mine, he'll suddenly take an interest no doubt, eurgh Junior: You weren't being predatory, at least, that's now how you meant it Junior: and she's in the position of power so she always had the upper hand to push you away Junior: which, I guess, she did in the end Junior: would've been helpful if she'd have clued up before now but we can't blame her Nancy: I'm gonna have to move back, aren't I? How can I stay here. I can't Nancy: I love her and I've done this to her Nancy: What if she loses her job because of me? I might have wanted him to leave her, or vice versa, but I never wanted that Junior: Not necessarily Junior: She won't Junior: Not to rub salt in an open wound but its very clear it came from you and not her Junior: Its not going to come to that Junior: There's only this year left, we can stick it out together, I've got you Junior: anyway, rumours follow, don't they? Idk how but that's the magic of teens, better if you face it head on Junior: own it in the ways you can Nancy: You make everything sound so straightforward, no play on words meant Nancy: I should have told you everything Junior: I get why you didn't Junior: it got to be real when it was just in your head Junior: wow, sounds harsh but, yeah? Nancy: I'm gonna hear much worse Nancy: At least you're coming for a good place Junior: We need to decide on your side of the story, so we can stick to it Nancy: What's the point? Everyone already knows what happened Junior: Yeah, there's definitely the key facts you're not gonna be able to run from Junior: but its all about how you sell it Nancy: What are you saying I should do? I can't throw her under the bus Junior: No, of course not Junior: I'm not explaining it well 'cos I can't do it myself Junior: but you know, the old, hold your head up high regardless of how you're really feeling Junior: acting as if you're not as phased as you are, too, not lying about what happened, just acting as like its less of a thing so people will get bored, you know? Nancy: Have you met my mum? Holding my head up high won't be a problem Nancy: Casually trained at it Junior: Yeah, no, good Junior: I know its gonna be hard Junior: but it will help this all be over sooner Nancy: That'd be nice Nancy: It's new for the rumor mill but not me Junior: How long? Nancy: Since I came here, pretty much Junior: Oh, honey Junior: That's such a long time to have those kind of feelings Nancy: I know Nancy: How did I get here? Junior: I dunno Junior: We all build things up in our minds, fantasies and that Junior: it just got out of hand because it was uncheck Junior: like I said, you're not the first or last Junior: Its okay, it will be alright Nancy: You're only saying that to make me feel better, I get that, but it's kind of working anyway Junior: I'm honestly not Junior: You know what went down wasn't cool but I think the outcome is more than enough punishment without me needing to be a dick about it Nancy: but I wouldn't blame you if you were Nancy: You asked me so many times who I fancied, if I'd just said, it would have stopped it, I would have come to my senses enough not to try and kiss her Junior: But you wanted to Junior: more than you wanted to be logical and sensible Junior: for better, or worse, as its transpired Junior: its easy to beat yourself up about it now Nancy: I should've beat myself up before hand Nancy: Repeatedly over the head Junior: I'll get you a time-turner and a mallet, like Nancy: Much appreciated Nancy: Can you arrange a bodyguard too, for Rio more than Tristan tbh Nancy: She's gonna be livid Junior: Not with you Junior: She'll get it better than me, she's had her fair share of crushes, I'm sure Nancy: Have you really not? Nancy: Envy you at this point Junior: Nope Junior: I'm like a sexless slug Nancy: They have a nicer label for that, to let you know Junior: Yeah, I'm not into that Junior: Never say never, you know Nancy: Unlike you have my judgement Nancy: Unless* Nancy: Never say never with your straight, married, teacher Junior: When is it okay to laugh cos like Nancy: Go ahead Nancy: We have to Nancy: I can't cry rn and still face everyone Nancy: I'm not THAT good at holding my head high Junior: are you gonna take some time off or just Junior: face it from the jump Nancy: I think if I walk away it'll just make it harder to come back Nancy: If I'm staying here then I need to carry on Junior: Agreed, from that POV, definitely the best thing to do Junior: but don't force yourself to do things you can't Junior: we can go cry in the toilets whenever you need, okay? Nancy: Have a gorgeous mascara moment Nancy: Maybe my mum will force on a flight back to London Junior: Maybe Junior: Or roll up on you here Junior: such fun Nancy: Oh god, she probably will Nancy: I know I brought it on myself but....please no Nancy: Parent swap with me really quick? Junior: They'd despair but give it my best Junior: At least your Dad is going to be too awkward to say anything Junior: Small blessing Nancy: I wish that was a like father like son trait Junior: Thank god for the mute button Junior: shame it doesn't cover all communications, including IRL Nancy: Honestly Nancy: If I thought I hated Irish class before Junior: Yeah, no escaping how bad that's gonna be Junior: 😬 Nancy: If I pretend I've had a straight awakening now will that make it better or worse Nancy: She turned me everybody, nothing to see here Junior: I think it'll take you from the butt of the gay jokes to the butt of the slag ones Junior: which might be easier to handle but Junior: might have to display some straightness and we're not a convincing couple to say the least Nancy: Plus you're my cousin Nancy: That'd just create more rumors Junior: Yeah preferably you're going straight for someone not in the fam Junior: Idk, who are the most elligible bachelors around Junior: Hmm Nancy: Tristan's off the table Nancy: Lovehate only happens in YA Junior: Plus, all that rage, probably closeted himself, if we're following the rules of YA to the letter Nancy: And if we're going classical, he probably wants to sleep with his mum too Junior: 🤢 Junior: oh no Junior: flip the script on 'em, go for a younger boy Junior: preferably not weird young, like year below tops Nancy: Oh god Nancy: Boys are so Nancy: Even hypothetically it's a no Junior: 😂 Junior: I don't think you're gonna be pulling this off effectively any time soon Nancy: You're right. Back to the drawing board I go Nancy: Thanks, June, for talking me off the ledge Junior: Wouldn't be worth much as a bestie if I didn't Junior: we've got this Junior: it only FEELS like the end of the world Junior: that's comforting, right? 😏 Nancy: Until I think about how bad you said Tristan is handling what happened Junior: Yeah, well, reckon Rio will be having words Junior: he just needs to get it out of his system Junior: look sufficiently sorry and miserable and he should be satisfied, then you can get on with your life, like Nancy: I do feel sorry and miserable so as long as I can get it across instead of looking like a unrepentant bitch Nancy: We'll see Junior: Yeah Junior: he's not awful, like Junior: It probably sucks having teacher parents, but that ain't a reason to take out years of frustration on this sitch Nancy: He can't be that bad, she raised him Junior: Oh, babe Junior: you've got it so bad Nancy: I wish there was a mute button for feelings Junior: You've got to start putting in the work Junior: Conscious uncoupling Nancy: That'll be as much fun as having the chat with my parents Junior: I didn't promise fun Junior: Strictly business Nancy: This is why lesbians die at the end of every movie, isn't it? Nancy: No fun Junior: Mhmm, its not just bed death you've gotta avoid Junior: its alright, you've been scorned, that'll further your plot development, no need to die today Nancy: Just living with the heartbreak then. Fantastic Junior: Unfortunately Junior: Its survivable, so I'm told Junior: and there's lots of songs and films on the subject to keep you company Nancy: You're angling for a hetero rom-com watching session because the male leads are always hot. I see you Junior: You need some straight drama in your life Junior: it will make you feel so much better about your own Nancy: Her being straight was a big part of my drama Junior: Yes and no Junior: Even if she was gay, Nance, it wouldn't have happened, alright? Junior: You need to remember that Junior: what if you have a nice lesbian lecturer at Uni, you don't wanna go through this again, thinking it'll be different Junior: its a no go whatever the circumstances Nancy: I know Nancy: I'm trying Nancy: I don't want to go through this again Junior: I know Junior: Its a complete perspective overhaul Junior: It'll take time Junior: you'll get there Nancy: I better Nancy: I don't wanna be stuck here in this place Junior: You won't be Junior: You've got a whole life of new, better experiences waiting Nancy: Brain swap? If I was as smart as you I could graduate early Junior: You're plenty smart, its truly not that far off now Junior: Final stretch Nancy: You're right. It just feels like forever rn Nancy: My own fault Junior: It does though Junior: clock watching all day every day Nancy: Definitely Nancy: Same

[fairycosmos]

(pt 3) really depressed lately bc of this. so what I really want is to go live with my mom for a while until my dad is able to take care of us again but I don't want to hurt his feelings by telling him this and its also a pretty hard thing to tell him. but I really don't see another solution. like I get he's stressed out abt his job but that doesn't make it okay to make us feel like an obligation to him and to not take good care of us right? im 16 and my sister is 12 so its already hard for usrn

god i'm so sorry to hear that angel :(( that must be so so hard to deal with, what the fuck. you're doing so well handling all of this. AND looking after your sister and going to school. you should be so so proud of yourself, and i mean that in the least patronizing way. here's the thing though. what your dad is doing isn't right. sometimes adults and parents get into fucked up mindsets, which makes them incapable of acting responsibly. it's so much more than what you see on the surface - your dad probably has more baggage than you realize. but i promise it's not a reflection of you and your sister okay? it's not because of anything you guys did. your dad is a grown man, his actions (and the consequences of them) are HIS fault. you don't have to be around him if you don't want to be. it's going to be okay, even that feels impossible right now. you just need to take this one step at a time.look, you and your sister have physical and emotional needs that have to be met in order for you to be happy individuals. you both have the right to proper care, there's no way around it. that should be your first priority when you think about this situation, not your dads feelings, though i understand why its difficult. your teenage years are a time of great development - you're entitled to a secure and stable environment. it's not asking for too much. it's asking for the bare minimum. as soon as your dad became a parent, that was his responsibility. if he doesn't want to fulfil it, that's on him, not you.here's what you do: talk to your mum openly and honestly. tell her you and your sister are not safe and happy at your dads, and that you want to stay with her. i'm assuming she'll be appalled to hear about how he's been treating you. you can also talk to a teacher, or call children's services about this, if your first option falls through. i get that it's scary, i get that. and it's alright to feel afraid. it's what you do when you're afraid that counts the most. i know that you don't want to hurt your dad, but you can't allow him to keep hurting you. he clearly can't handle looking after kids, so until he gets his shit together, it's alright to take a step back from him. i promise. you don't need to feel guilty. you're doing the right thing for you and your sister, and nothing can take that away from you. you can only take so much before you have to actively pull yourself out of a bad situation.and always remember that you're not an obligation. you're never going to be. you're a good kid, a wonderful person, with a crappy parent who is taking you for granted. i believe in you and your ability to let your mum know what's going on. i really hope you're alright and that you can remain in a safe environment. i'm always here if you need to talk. 💖

[punkscowardschampions]

Junior & Nancy

Gay nerds

Junior: Nance, how on earth are you tackling this art project? To say I'm discombobulated is an understatement that isn't getting me an A any time soon! Nancy: 😕 sums it up in a way. Obviously I can fall back on the twin thing but is that too safe? 😩 But we couldn't be more different Junior: 😖 Like, I love how vague and open to our own interpretation it is...but also I fucking hate how vague and open to our own interpretation it is! 😢😂 No one would blame you; least of all me, 'cos I was tempted- being the sore thumb I am when counting our ten- and I've not even got the twin angle everyone is so about in all areas of art tbh Junior: If nothing else, Buster is a willing participant in a photo op always? Junior: Ooh, you could get something matchy match from your childhood photos (I know they exist) and splice it with portraits of you now...Think that elevates it Nancy: You've put your finger on it. Nancy: But I don't think you're so right about the lack of blame 🤔 even with the boy/girl straight/gay redhead/brunette angle it still feels ??? Nancy: Basic 😒 Junior: I get you Junior: Meant to become the next Magritte in just 4 weeks, like !!! Junior: Well, I've heard at least 4 girls from class saying they're going to do a heavily made-up portrait next to a #nofilter #naturalbeauty one so Junior: We'll do better than that by default but I'd like to come up with something vaguely original still Junior: Miss' sanity relies on us lowkey, no pressure 😷😜 Nancy: I had that passing thought let it go though 😜 Nancy: You could text her Nancy: 😕 yes pressure Nancy: What to do? Junior: I like to keep it in professional hours Junior: for her sake, she gets a bit amorous when she's had a glass o vino after work Nancy: 😮 she does? Nancy: can I bribe my way to top of the class by raiding the cellar Junior: That was my second suggestion 😏 Junior: Take one for the team please 🙏 Nancy: but she's straight STRAIGHT Nancy: couldn't be enough Nancy: back to the mindmap Junior: Damn straights 😒 Junior: if all else fails, we can put this grade next to our last Junior: break the fourth wall, v meta Nancy: our school gets the one bohemian who is Nancy: put her next to the sterotypical art teacher Junior: did you mean my mother? 🤔 Junior: her, the engineer, hilarious 😂 Junior: Mum'd be up for it, you may borrow her Nancy: I might yet Nancy: when's this due again? Junior: we've still got 3 weeks, don't worry Junior: just trying to get it over and done with here Nancy: I should Nancy: The Tempest essay is due soon Junior: Don't remind me, even the gayness can't make it enjoyable, like many a teen show 🤷 Junior: Could combine? Somehow? Umm Junior: The supernatural characters and the humans...why yes, I am clutching at straws Junior: This term is killing me Nancy: If I'd get away with handing in some shots instead of an essay I would Nancy: not happening Nancy: 😩 Nancy: What ideas have you had? For the juxtaposition...forget the tempest Nancy: burn that Junior: If only, 1000 words=1 photograph, no contest really Junior: again, if only Will had 💀 Junior: The idea I can't get out of my head, even though it has been done to death so is BEYOND basic, is mashing up a classical art piece with something modern and pop culture...to say something about me (eww!) Junior: Tbf, they usually use Renaissance or very very famous art pieces so I could win points by using some relevant surrealism/ going beyond calling Mona Lisa #flawless Junior: Its all I've got Nancy: I think it's good Nancy: Let's both run with overused concepts and make them not basic in our way Nancy: act like we planned it Nancy: nobody has to know we had no other ideas Junior: Absolutely 😎 Junior: Total confidence is key, comes so natural to the both of us, like Junior: I think worrying about being 'original' is the true hack thing to do here anyway 💅 Nancy joined the chat 13 hours ago Nancy: 😖 yes Nancy: stealing that all Nancy: now if you could keep it going and give me some thoughts on shakespeare to plagiarize 😜 Junior: If I could, I would but even SparkNotes isn't helping me Junior: shall we peruse the best film/stage adaptations? maybe tomorrow night if you're free Nancy: I've seen the 2010 version a few times for obvious reasons Nancy: but yeah the others not so much Nancy: we need to do something that isn't me asking my mum for help Junior: Oh, babe 😂 that's the real tragedy here, you doing that to yourself Junior: maybe I'll borrow her and she can do mine for me Junior: still down for a movie night obviously Nancy: 🙉 Nancy: Lead female character Nancy: Shakespeare should've Nancy: Please do take her Nancy: mum swap 😂 Junior: As much as Bill LOVED any excuse for a drag show darling... stick with the evil queens and witches 😘 Junior: Let's do this, full family swap! Let them drive you insane for a bit whilst I live the life 😬 Nancy: Switch that around both my parents are so type A Nancy: Plus you've got all the brothers and sisters to dodge behind Nancy: Buster takes more heat off than most but he's still just one boy Junior: well, mine would refuse to be bound to a type, just as annoying I promise Junior: Its true I can mostly fade into obscurity with all their shenanigans, yet it still somehow isn't the case, just 12 nosy people in your business instead of the usual 2, with a disinterested brother flexing off in the background Nancy: 🙈 Nancy: I'm not having kids Nancy: Don't care if the future wife is frantic Junior: It is an issue that divides all of us tbh Junior: I don't think I'd mind one, to put all my efforts into Junior: but unlikely Junior: unless I co-parent from the sidelines with your wife Nancy: weirder scenarios have come about Nancy: I'd prefer a kitten Junior: steal one when you come over Junior: Ma'd probably notice but really, do we need so many? Nancy: Gran's such a dog person can I get through the door Junior: True, true Junior: Always living on such extremes this fam Junior: I don't know 😏 Nancy: look at me and my brother ultimate homo and hetero Nancy: embarrassing Junior: 😂 Junior: I'd love to suggest he doth protest too much but lbr Nancy: dad's never been prouder 😂 no teen pregnancies for his little girl Nancy: shakespeare would write that Junior: Who are we putting our money on to go first Nancy: that's harder than it sounds Junior: Rio is obvious choice but I sometimes think Grace might go insane and come along and take the claim Junior: *Shudders* Nancy: change the subject I beg you Nancy: I'd rather hear about your attempts to avoid your secret admirer who's a girl and hopelessly 💘 Junior: well, I would rather pretend that was not a thing 😬 Junior: as your brother once eloquently put it, when he was very pissed, 'i could clean up and get untold amounts of pussy' Junior: and that's that on that Junior: considering getting a face transplant 'cos my off-putting demeanour is not doing enough 😒 what problems to have, eh? the privilege of it all! 😂 Nancy: maybe we should go under together Nancy: moral support and potential discount Nancy: if I get told I don't look gay one more time I'm returning my badge Junior: well, where is your crewcut and tank top, like? 🤔 Junior: out here confusing the masses like that, idk Nancy: 🙉 Nancy: Not an identical twin playing tricks either how dare I Junior: why can't you just get in your box and like it, god damn it Nance! Nancy: unrelated except about boxes but should I get some new kit for this project or am I just stalling Nancy: a memoir Junior: any excuse 😜 Junior: but yes, do it Junior: i'm using it as excuse to go 'round all the best art galleries in town again so Nancy: Can I tag along Nancy: they're so quiet it's everything Junior: Naturally Junior: We're art students, we've gotta act like it, I'll keep the pretentious commentary to a minimum if you keep the equally as pretentious 'grams down too 😘 Nancy: I'll try Nancy: The feed wants what it wants though Junior: Can't argue, just leave the real money outta the shot Junior: Gotta leave my fangirls wanting more, like 😂 Nancy: That I will promise Nancy: Not trying to be mobbed by straight girls Junior: You mean you resist the lesbian stereotype of LOVING that too?! Nancy: Somehow it's managed Junior: no mean feat, one of the few gays in the village Nancy: Don't clap it's too loud 😂 Junior: *Finger clicks like this a slam poetry night* Nancy: Thank you Nancy: [sends a selection of childhood pictures] how early years can I go before everyone's rolling their eyes Nancy: Thank you too mum for these. Why did you do this to us? 🙈 Junior: Awww what 👼 Junior: This is how I like to remember Buster, before it all went wrong... 😉 Nancy: 👶🥕 Nancy: The glory days Junior: Weren't they just? Junior: At least you didn't have an extra older sister to dress you up, that's worse...the photos I could bring out, good lord 🙄 Nancy: 😜 And I wasn't that sister. You've welcome Buster Nancy: 🍀 Junior: *Whispers* Can we agree he needs SOMEONE to give him a makeover tho Nancy: I volunteer you as tribute Nancy: I've tried Junior: Maybe next family gathering Junior: if he shows Nancy: Bide your time Nancy: birthday present failsafe idea Junior: the amount of birthday celebrations in this fam is unholy Junior: We have a better social life than I would ever wish for, ugh Nancy: don't make me think about it Nancy: I'm sharing and it's made no difference Junior: wouldn't want you to miss out on all that good good attention we all crave 😂 Nancy: 🙈 Junior: Speaking of attention, have you heard the latest gossip that has piqued our peers? Nancy: You tell me Nancy: I can't think of anything off the top of my head Junior: Mark Colm Junior: a massive gay? Junior: I can't make up my mind if they're just hysterical and he's just a bit camp Junior: or there's something in it Nancy: He's one of us Nancy: Definitely crushing on the headboy I've seen him looking Junior: Isn't everyone? Junior: Even the teachers, complete popularity contest got him that position Junior: Interesting, though... Nancy: Besides me in my minority of one Nancy: And Sian would never Junior: Sian Gaffney? She's never gay! Thought you didn't do straight girls, you're reaching there Nancy: 🙉 not her she's dating the oldest Keenan lad Jake? Blake? idk Nancy: She'd love to ride half our class anyway Junior: Ohh you mean Mrs Kelly, duh Junior: yeah she's one of the only decent teachers about, doesn't seem like she goes in for all that popularity politics Nancy: No she doesn't Junior: Seems like a good place to while away a lunchtime Nancy: don't tell everyone how fun it is there'll all wanna join me Nancy: not ready to say goodbye to my happy place Junior: I think your secret is safe from the masses, even if I suddenly got uncharacteristically chatty Junior: Even the ones that don't take the piss and are relatively decent human beings Junior: still rather go get a nandos or whatever it is they do Nancy: Yeah I'm an open book if anyone asks 😂 Nancy: I'll stick with the one stereotype I'm okay with embracing, my eager vegetarianism Nancy: No offence lads Junior: Its all kale and charitable acts with this one Junior: No ulterior motives at all 😏 Nancy: just a rich girl with more wealth than she can give away 😜 Nancy: nothing else to see here Junior: mhmm okay 👌 Junior: we'll pretend I don't know you better than that Nancy: Hey you don't know everything Junior: True Junior: are you in the mood for telling? Junior: 🤔 Nancy: Sometimes Nancy: Can't put it all in my art Junior: not if you don't want Miss to think you're trying to tell her something Junior: flattered but straight, like Nancy: She's not the one Nancy: She'll be flattered to hear Junior: Indeed Nancy: When there is someone it'd be nice to talk about it Nancy: Sometimes like I said Junior: Well, you know where I am Junior: When there is someone Nancy: But I wouldn't know where to start Nancy: I can't put words to it ?? Not the right ones Junior: That's not just you Junior: If I'm to understand all the songs and poetry professing they too have no words Junior: Can but try 🙂 Nancy: Helpful Nancy: What about you? Headboys to one side. Any crushes? Junior: No, no Junior: No point, is there Nancy: Doesn't mean there's a way to stop yourself Nancy: Wish I could just No at myself Junior: I don't know, I don't find it too hard Junior: but you're out so its different Junior: I wouldn't want to go out with anyone...even if Mark is a gay Junior: what would he want with me Nancy: You're a catch Nancy: Out or not he'd be punching above his weight to have you Junior: I don't think there's any point being with someone if you can't be open with it Junior: Being a dirty little secret isn't going to feel good for either party Nancy: For some people it feels worth it Nancy: Just to be with, or around them Junior: Perhaps Junior: Safe to say I don't feel that deeply for any lad here so yeah Junior: keeping on my shelf for now, like Nancy: There's a junxtaposition, us on our respective ledges Nancy: I can't remember what being happily single is like Nancy: Another lesbian stereotype for the list Junior: Don't, how depressing 😂 Junior: I am not about that angsty teen art life Junior: How do we get you a lady? Junior: Do we have to hit the clubs? Nancy: 🙈 Nancy: No no no Nancy: Give that up for a bad job and worse idea Nancy: I'm too picky Junior: You're speaking to me Junior: vowed a celibate here Junior: we can do this for you Nancy: We can't Nancy: Leave me in my rut Junior: Fine fine 😋 Nancy: I'll be in my dark room angsting 😂 Junior: Noted Junior: I'll drag you out for museums and Tempest film marathon tomorrow, yeah? Junior: 'Til then madame Nancy: Looking forward to it Nancy: Stay inspired 💚 Junior: Stay golden 💛