#THE BEST MANDY MONDAY!!

[fishnetinsides]

WE’RE GETTING AMANDA YOUNG BACK 9.27.24 OH MY GOD!!!!!!

[spiralstain]

Happy Mandy Monday to those who celebrate!

[freshbaked-bread]

MANDY MONDAY FOR REAL THIS TIME

(edit: this is now available as a print :3)

[storm-angel989]

Dad val and the other vees with a chubby reader who's insecure about it? I absolutely adore your writing sm and the way you write Vox makes me soso happy <33 !!

Hi Friend,

So sorry for the delay! I am so so glad you like my writing and I hope you enjoy the story! Remember to love yourself and your body as much as the Vee's love Reader and hers!

<3 Mandy

I can tell you exactly when I started to try to take up less space. 

Being the daughter of Valentino, it was expected that I behaved a certain way. Look a certain way. After all, my Uncle Vox made sure that I knew from a young age that I represented the Vee brand- and their brand was perfection. 

So I obeyed. I did everything that I was supposed to do. I did yoga with Aunt Velvette. Went to the gym with Uncle Vox. Joined a sports team like my father expected me to. Was an active human being, even when I didn’t want to be. Even when I just wanted to lay on the couch and do nothing. 

“It’s good for you to move your body,” my Aunt Velvette told me when I protested. “It’s stress relief. It’s flexible. It’s healthy. We take care of ourselves, even when we don’t feel like it. Now come on, let's get to it.” 

On that same note, Aunt Velvette controlled what I looked like in public, or in school for that matter. I wore exactly what she dressed me in. My hair was always done, my makeup on point, and my nails perfectly polished. In my mind, I was to be their little darling, an icon of perfection, the true representation of their brand. I had all the activities, all the possessions, all the confidence of what it meant to be one of the Vees. 

With the start of middle school came the mandate of uniforms. Pleated skirts, tucked in polo shirts. Knee high socks and brown loafers. Suddenly, I couldn’t hide behind the outfits my Aunt Velvet tailored to my shape. Sure, she tried, but with everyone dressed the same, body issues began to stand out. 

“You look fine darling,” my Aunt Velvette told me as I stood in front of the mirror before the start of the year.

I watched as she pinned my uniform to be tailored, an ugly blue and gray plaid. 

“I hate it,” I said out loud. 

“I know. I’m not a fan either. But you look fine,” she repeated as she stuck the final pins in. 

The first day of school brought whispers. Overnight, girls who had been best friends became worst enemies. Wars fought with cruel words whispered and notes passed between classes. 

Shorter. Skinnier. Too tall. Too wide. Chubby. I tried my best to ignore it- Aunt Velvette taught me that there was no victory in making others feel bad about themselves. 

 If you lost a few pounds, you’d be so pretty, the note appeared in my locker mid-october. My throat tightened, and I felt as if I had swallowed an ice cube whole. Unsure of what to do, I stuffed the note in my backpack until I could get home. 

Standing in front of the mirror, for the first time in my life, I studied my body. Sure, I was a little bigger in my tummy, but I wasn’t the biggest girl in the school.

But you’re not the smallest, either, a little voice inside my head whispered. 

It was then and there I made a decision. I would eat a little less, work out a little harder at the gym. And that would fix this whole problem, right? I stepped on the scale and took note of the number as I promised myself the next time I got on, it would be smaller. 

“Bebita, are you feeling alright?” my dad asked over dinner two weeks later. “You haven’t eaten much.”

“I’m not hungry,” I muttered in response. 

That was a lie. Every inch of me wanted to consume every bite on my plate. My tummy ached with hunger that stemmed from skipping breakfast and lunch earlier in the day. But while the number on the scale had gone down on friday, a weekend of inescapable meals with my family brought it right back up- and some, by Monday morning. Not even my extra workouts alone in my room had made a difference. 

I felt my Uncle Vox press his hand to my forehead. 

“You’re not running a fever,” he declared. “Does your stomach hurt?”

I nodded and my father gave me a concerned look. 

“You can be excused if you’d like to go lay down. If you don’t feel well tomorrow morning, you can stay home and rest. Did you do your homework? Do I need to check it over and sign your agenda book?” 

“I don’t want to miss school,” I said quickly. “I’ll fall behind.” I pushed back my chair. “But, yeah. To the rest. It’s all in my backpack by the door if you can check it over and sign it.” 

“Will do,” he replied evenly. 

I felt his eyes on me as I made my way back to my bedroom. Every part of me felt achy, sick and weak. I gathered my pajamas and stepped into the bathroom, hoping that a hot shower would help. As soon as I was done, I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes. Exhaustion floated through me, but to my frustration, sleep wouldn’t come.

“Baby? Are you awake?” I heard my Aunt Velvette’s voice, followed by a knock.

“Yeah,” I called back. “Come in.” 

I heard the doorknob turn and close behind her. I pushed myself upright as she walked over and sat on the bed next to me. 

“Look, sweetheart. Your Dad was going to come talk to you, but I convinced him to let me handle it. He went to sign your agenda and found this stuck to the bottom of it.” She said as she handed me the crumbled up note. “Care to explain?”

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. “I found it in my locker like two weeks ago.” 

“Mhm, right. So does that explain the tummy aches at dinner? Or the fact that you haven’t touched your breakfast stash?” She asked. 

I hung my head. She sighed and pulled me to her. “Sweetheart, kids are cruel. Your body is just fine the way it is.”

I felt the frustration rise. “Aunt Vel, that isn’t good enough. I’m a Vee, am I not? I mean, Uncle Vox says it all the time, the Vee brand is perfection. If I’m not perfect, what does that say about the brand?”

“That isn’t…ugh, no. Honey. He means more…your father…” she sighed. “Don’t pay that any mind. It has nothing to do with you. You’re perfect just the way you are.” 

“Apparently, I’m not to some people,” I grumbled. 

She rolled her eyes. “And those people are wrong. Look. You move your body. You eat healthy. Your body is perfect, just the way it is, I promise.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead as she wrapped her arm around me. “Don’t you ever think otherwise.” 

“Thanks, Aunt Vel,” I muttered as I leaned into her. 

The door knob turned and we both looked up. My father and my Uncle Vox walked in and joined us on the bed. 

“Hey baby girl, feeling better?” my Uncle Vox asked.

I opened my mouth to tell him yes, but Velvette turned around to face him.

“Now you both listen to me. You tell this sweet child she doesn’t need to be perfect and her body is fine the way it is. And you, Vox!” She leaned over and grabbed the corner of his screen. “If you ever insinuate otherwise, there will be a lot more than a hairline fracture shattering that face of yours.” She stood up and began to drag him across the room. “Excuse us while your Uncle and I have a little chat.” 

“Ow! What did I do? I didn’t write the fucking note, ow!” Vox yelled. 

I watched as Aunt Velvette pulled him out of the room. My father sat down on the bed next to me and pulled me to him.

“You don’t need to be perfect and your body is just fine the way it is,” he said as he kissed my forehead. “I know school is tough, but we love you more than you will ever know. We want you healthy, mi amore.”

“I don’t like that I’m bigger than the other girls,” I muttered as I laid my head on his shoulder. “Daddy, if I’m as healthy as you guys keep telling me, why aren't I smaller?”

“Bebita, bodies come in different shapes and sizes. Some are bigger, some are smaller. All are beautiful,” he said softly. “Your body is perfect the way it is, sweetheart. All you need to do is treat it well, because it’s the only one you’ll ever have.”

I felt my stomach growl in agreement and he leaned over and kissed the top of my head. 

“How about we start by getting some food in your tummy? Come on out to the kitchen with me, I’ll make you whatever you’d like.” 

I jumped off the bed and followed him out to the kitchen. Several blueberry pancakes and listening to my Uncle Vox talk about how he was calling the school the next morning, my father tucked me back into bed with another kiss on the forehead. 

“I love you, princessa. And remember, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. There isn’t a single entity in this universe who has the privilege of making you feel bad about yourself. Do you understand, mi amore?”

I nodded and he leaned over and shut the light off. 

“Good. Now sleep tight, bebita princessa.” 

[lemoncrushh]

Fratboy Harry - Part 3

Summary: Harry Styles was a boy with a reputation, one that you couldn’t care less about. Yet one night at a frat party changed everything.

Warnings: Smut, drinking, angst, a very cocky Harry. 18+ ONLY!!

Part 3 Word Count: 2319

STORY PAGE

Five days. Five fucking days since the party.

When you and Harry had walked out of the bedroom together, nobody had seemed to notice, though you could feel the heat rising to your face. You'd exchanged numbers and Harry'd promised to call. Even then you'd taken his words with a grain of salt, acting nonchalant when you'd caught up with your friends and waved goodbye.

Then he'd texted you. That night. He'd claimed he was just making sure you'd gotten home alright, but you couldn't help but feel elated. You'd texted back and forth until you could barely keep your eyes open. He was really funny and made you laugh and feel at ease. You didn't want to get your hopes up, but you thought you could really like him.

Then nothing.

There was no phone call or text the next day. Okay, one day, no big deal. He might have been busy, you told yourself. The next day, Monday, still nothing. Same for the day after that, and the day after that. By Thursday you decided to just text him yourself.

Hi

One little word but waiting for a response was agony. After starring at your phone for thirty minutes, you laid it face down on the bed and returned to your homework. Halfway through a History chapter, you heard your phone buzz. You sat up straight and reached for it, turning it over to see Harry's name displayed.

Hey

You narrowed your eyes. Just hey? No how are you, how've you been? No explanation as to why he hasn't called? Had he deleted your number and now couldn't even remember your name? You wanted to punch him through the phone, but you kept your calm.

How are you?

Ok. Been busy.

Oh. With school?

Yeah. Lots of homework and studying.

Okay, fine, you could relate to that. You'd been doing your share of studying too. But how hard is it to pick up the phone? Especially after the night you'd shared. You felt a sick feeling in your stomach as you texted back.

Yeah me too.

You watched the three dots come up indicating Harry was typing. You half expected him to brush you off, but you were surprised when you read what came up.

There's supposed to be another party this weekend. Are you going?

What? How were you going to respond to that? Was he asking you to go? Was he implying he'd like for you to? You decided to play it cool.

I'm not sure. Are you?

I don't know yet. I might.

Oh.

You had no clue what else to say. But Harry's next text felt like a kick in the gut.

Maybe I'll see you there?

Your chest shook as you let out a breath. You stared at your phone. You thought you might throw up.

Ok

You didn't bother to wait for a response. You threw your phone back on the bed and finished your homework, though you could barely concentrate.

It was definitely a brush off.

"I don't know," said your best friend Mandy as she scrolled through your phone. "I don't think it's necessarily a brush off."

You and Mandy sat on a bench as she read over your text conversation with Harry. She was the only other person who knew what happened, but only because she was your best friend and because she'd practically begged you to give her the juicy details. Now you were regretting that decision.

"Of course it is," you rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone from her hands.

"I mean, he asked if you were going to the party. That has to count for something."

"It counts for shit," you scoffed. "He's probably just asking if I'm going so he can avoid me and hook up with some other girl."

Mandy shook her head leaning toward your phone. "Where the hell did you get that from? I don't see that."

"It's called reading between the lines, Mandy."

She glared at you for a second. "You're such a skeptic. Maybe he's just been busy, like he said. Look, he even added a thumbs up at the end."

You narrowed my eyes at her. The thumbs up emoji had been Harry's final text after you'd thrown your phone down. It was ridiculous and didn't mean a damn thing to you. You sighed, tossing your phone in your bag.

"It's my own fault. I knew what kind of guy he was. I shouldn't have expected anything more."

"So..." Mandy hesitated. "Are you going to the party?"

You shook your head. "I doubt it."

"Pleeeeease! For me?"

Mandy was a party girl. If there was a party going on, she knew about it, and usually dragged you with her. But you just weren't feeling it this time.

"I don't think so, Mandy. Sorry."

"Fine," Mandy threw her hands up. "Do what you want." She stood up, pulling her backpack over her shoulder. "Let me know when you hear from him so I can say I told you so."

You sat at the end of the sofa, a beer in your hand as the bass from the stereo pounded in your ears. You couldn't believe Mandy had talked you into going to the party. She had run into some guy she knew from one of her classes within the first ten minutes and you hadn't seen her since. Your other friends that had joined you the weekend before had opted out of this shindig, and you'd wished you'd done the same. You didn't know anyone else here. You hadn't run into Jimmy, so you weren't sure if he'd made it. But more importantly, there was no sign of Harry.

You'd kind of planted yourself on the couch as a way to avoid walking around and mingling, but the truth was, you were afraid to run into him if he was there. As you sipped the last of your beer however, you knew you could no longer stay seated. You had to pee.

While you were washing your hands, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. You figured it was Mandy either asking where you were, or telling you she was getting a ride home. You grabbed it, swiping the screen without checking the name. You were surprised when a text from Harry popped up.

Are you at the party?

You resisted texting back, what's it to ya? Instead you just said yes.

Where are you?

Huh? At the party.

I mean where in the house? I can't find you.

You felt a little flutter in your belly. He was looking for you?

Bathroom

Oh ok.

You quickly finished up before opening the door. On the other side of the narrow hallway, Harry stood with his arms crossed, leaning back against the wall, his signature smirk on his face. You shook your head, unable to stop your mouth from grinning.

"Reckoned you might have gone outside," he commented.

"I don't pee outside," you shot back.

Harry threw his head back laughing. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" you asked, stepping back to let a couple people walk through. Harry walked around to stand next to you.

"I meant outside on the deck. Like last time."

"Oh." You were glad it was semi-dark in the hallway so he couldn't see you blushing.

"How long have you been here?" Harry inquired.

"About an hour or so," you replied. "What about you?"

You braced yourself, prepared to hear him say he'd been there a while. He didn't look drunk yet, but that didn't mean anything. He could have just come from the bedroom. You swallowed back the bile in your throat that rose up when you imagined it.

"Just got here," said Harry, immediately reaching for your hand. "C'mon let's get a drink."

"Wait, what?" you pulled on his arm, causing him to stop and look and you.

"A drink," he gestured toward the kitchen. "Don't you want one?"

"No," you shook your head. "I mean...you just got here?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Well, a few minutes ago."

"And you texted me?"

Harry smirked again. "After I wandered around a bit looking for you."

Your face lit up. "You did?"

"Then I remembered I had your number. C'mon."

You allowed Harry to pull you through the crowd to the kitchen. A smaller crowd had settled there and a few people gave Harry high-fives or fist bumps when he entered. You recognized them from the last party, but you still didn't know their names.

You watched Harry grab the bottle of tequila and your stomach churned.

"No shots for me tonight," you held up your hand. "I'm not really feeling it."

"No?" Harry raised a brow. "Alright then. What would you like?"

"Anything else is fine."

Harry nodded, filling two cups with ice. You weren't a hundred percent sure why you didn't want a shot. The knowledge that Harry had come looking for you first thing made you happy. But there was still the fact that he hadn't bothered to get in touch with you all week, and when you'd finally made the move he'd been stand-offish. What was so different about tonight? Was it just the party atmosphere that made him want to be with you?

"Cheers," announced Harry as he handed you a cup.

You smiled softly, bringing it to your lips. Whatever it was, it tasted good.

"Let's go outside," Harry suggested.

You followed him out onto the deck that was lit though the sky was pitch black. A handful of people were gathered around a small table smoking, so you and Harry walked to the far corner next to the railing. As you lifted your cup to take another drink, you immediately felt Harry's hand on your waist. You noticed he placed his glass on the edge of the wood railing before sliding his other hand around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"Harry..." you muttered.

"Hmm?" he sounded as he lifted a hand and pulled your hair off your neck. You caught your breath with his lips met your skin.

Your eyelids fluttered as he continued to leave soft kisses on your neck. But you knew where this was headed. You needed to show restraint.

"Harry," you said again. "Wha-what are you doing?"

You tried to step closer to the edge of the deck, but Harry only closed in the space himself, his body up against your back as you gripped the railing.

"I'm devouring your delicious neck," he replied between kisses.

You cleared your throat, finally turning around to face him, despite his hold on you. However, Harry took it as an invitation to place his mouth on yours, literally taking your breath away. The meeting of your tongues sent an electric charge throughout your body, and your hands involuntarily slid up his chest. You felt it vibrate under your fingers as he chuckled against your mouth.

"Been thinking about me, haven't you?" he smirked when he released you from the kiss.

"What?" you asked incredulously.

"All week."

You furrowed your brows, not exactly sure what he was getting at. Was he being cocky?

"I...um..." you stumbled.

"It's okay," Harry added. "I've been thinking about you, too."

"Really." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, really."

His hands still around your waist, he pulled you closer, easing his fingers into your back pockets.

"Can't wait to feel you again," he murmured in your ear.

Pushing him back with the palms of your hands, you glared up at him and shook your head.

"I think I should go," you declared.

Harry's expression shifted drastically. "What? Why?"

"I see where this is headed," you explained, backing out of his arms. "I'm not that girl."

"Not what girl? What are you talking about?"

"I don't come to parties to hook up, Harry."

"Neither do I," he shrugged.

You pursed your lips and glared at him again.

"I don't," he said. "That's not my intention."

You scoffed. "It wasn't your intention to get me into bed last weekend?"

"No," he shook his head. "But it was amazing, and I'd like to do it again."

He took a step closer to you, reaching out but you backed further.

"Ugh," you rolled your eyes. "You're unbelievable."

"Y/N, c'mon, what's wrong? I thought you liked me."

"I did!" you exclaimed. Here it was. The word vomit. You were about to let him have it. "In fact, I liked you a lot, Harry. You actually texted me that night when I got home, I couldn't believe it! I thought maybe this was going somewhere, or had the possibility of going somewhere. Then you let five fucking days go by without a word. I finally had to text you, and you claimed you were busy."

"I was!" Harry nearly shouted.

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever."

"Y/N, I swear, I was! I had a big test yesterday that I was cramming for. I thought I was gonna fail the class. I was nervous as hell. I spent every waking moment studying. When you texted me, I was studying."

"So was I," you remarked. "But I still made time to pick up the phone."

Harry dropped his head and his shoulders. "I'm sorry. But I swear to God it's the truth."

You swallowed hard. You wanted to believe him, but right then you just couldn't.

"I'm going home," you announced.

Harry lifted his head, a frown on his face.

"Please don't," he whispered.

"Yeah," you nodded. "I'm not much in the party mood anyway."

When you turned around, you heard Harry sigh and curse under his breath. When you reached the back door, you looked over your shoulder at him. You felt your heart squeeze just a bit.

"Call or text me later...if you want," you said before walking in the house and leaving him on the deck.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

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[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 16

Hello, darlings! I wanted to get this to you before I got too busy and forgot. My birthday is on Monday and I'm having a party on Saturday that I'm preparing for today, tomorrow, and most the day Saturday. I hope to get something out during that time, but I might not be able to get it up until Sunday.

Also I found out I was accidentally tagging @chaoticlovingdreamer twice! I don't think it did anything, but it was funny it took me this long to catch on!

Speaking of tagging, it used to be easy to tag from a copied list, just click on name, select drop down, move on to the next. But for some stupid reason I can't anymore and have to delete the last character in their username to get it to pop up. Is anyone else having this problem or is it just my life deciding to make it more difficult again?

Today for your enjoyment: communication, drunk Robin, and soulmate bonding!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

***

Eddie crowed inside when Steve blushed at his comment. “And for record, sweetheart, I could see us tangled in your sheets. Not just the hot sex but everything before and after. All I’m asking is to take it slow.”

Steve gulped. “I’ll go at whatever speed you need, Eds. Honest. You set the pace.” He gave Eddie’s hand a squeeze. “And if you change your mind tomorrow, I’m down for that, too. If you decide we’re better as friends, I’ll be your best friend, okay?”

Eddie smiled. “I think Jeff and Robin might take offense to that.”

Steve laughed. “Nah, nah, Robin is my platonic soulmate, that’s separate from best friend.”

Eddie grinned. “I guess Jeff is more like family then a best friend. All the guys are.”

“There you have it,” Steve said smiling at him, merriment sparkling in his eyes.

They walked hand in hand all the way the way to the Rainbow High Club. They were forced to let go to flash their IDs, but they stayed close to each other, blushing and smiling at each other every time they caught the other’s eyes.

Chrissy’s eyes lit up. “How have I never heard of this place?” she asked, trying to take in as much of the sights as she could all at once. “It’s amazing.”

“Who’re the DDs tonight?” Robin asked, gleefully rubbing her hands together.

Steve, Gareth and Mandy all raise their hands. Eddie pouted.

“Stevie, you’re not drinking tonight?” he whined.

Steve laughed. “I’m working on your tattoo tomorrow, sunshine. I am not working on you hung over.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

*

Now that Eddie and Steve knew where they stood with each other, that last barrier of tension vanished between them. They were laughing more freely. Touching more readily. Just having a blast knowing the potential for more was there waiting for them when they were willing to take that step.

Steve knew where the line in the sand was now and cranked up the charm to eleven. Just being a gentleman.

Eddie ate up the attention like a sunflower in summer following the sun. He felt that last bit of worry just clatter to floor like a chain coming off of a worn gate after so many years being locked away.

Jeff and Mandy ate it up on the dance floor, pulling Gareth with them as they got the shyer man to come out of his shell a little bit.

Brian even managed to get the DJ to play a little metal. Steve sipped on a Coke and laughed as he watched his friends get silly on the dance. He had barely finished his drink when Robin grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor.

He cussed her out but she just kissed his cheek and told him to move his hips for fuck’s sake.

His dancing was terrible, but he let himself join the crowd and sway to the beat.

Eddie said in his ear, “You know in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ being a bad dancer meant you were bad at sex.”

Steve snorted. “Seriously?”

Eddie nodded. “So you know I’ve got to ask...”

“No, trust me when I say I tango better in bed than out of it,” Steve said with a giggle.

“You got receipts for that, big boy?” Eddie asked, dropping his voice low, startling a gasp out of Steve.

His giggle turned into a full on laugh. “You want a list of my very satisfied exes?”

“And their phone number,” Eddie teased back. “If you’re going to win me over Casanova, I’m gonna need references.”

“I think I can handle that,” Steve said in total seriousness.

Eddie pushed him away, a laugh stuttering out of him. “Get off, you menace. Jeez!”

Steve backed up, giving him the space. “You started it.”

“Sorry I forgot you were Mr Charm Everyone’s Panties Off in high school,” Eddie said rolling his eyes.

Steve chuckled. “I’ve still got it, I just don’t date much because I have to run a shop.”

Eddie leaned back in. “And honey, I’ve got nothing but time.”

Steve grinned.

*

At the bar a blond man with legs for days and a cocky grin leaned against the edge of the bartop with his elbows. Ink peaked out of the black tank top he was wearing and he had piercings in both ears and a snakebite piercing on his lower lip. He lowered his sunglasses as he watched Eddie and Steve on the dance floor. His bright blue eyes glittered with malice, the grin never leaving his face.

*

Steve got a giggling Robin up the stairs to their apartment and into her bed. He pulled off her jacket and shoes and rolled her under the covers. She made grabby hands at him when he stood back up.

“I’m going to get ready for bed and I’ll be right back,” he told her.

She pouted, but let him go.

Steve made a mad dash to his room, where he threw on his pajama pants and a faded band tee and rushed back to Robin’s room.

“Where you go?” she asked with a frown.

He shook his head and climbed into bed with her. She immediately latched to him like some kind of possessive sea creature. Like a an octopus or a barnacle.

“Why did you surround me with pretty girls?” she wailed. “All the pretty girls all at once.”

Steve snorted. Mandy and Chrissy were not ‘all’ by anyone’s stretch of the imagination.

“Mandy has a boyfriend,” he gently reminded her.

“Did you know she did ballet?” Robin whisper-yelled. “That’s why she has such long legs and great tits.”

“Yes, I was there when she told us,” Steve soothed.

“And Chrissy was athletic, too!” Robin continued. “Cheerleading is scary hot.”

Steve huffed out a small laugh. “What does that even mean?”

“The...” she made a weird motion with her hands, “and the woo...” she threw her arms in the air, “and the ‘yay!’ That’s scary.”

He rolled his eyes. “The tumbling?”

Robin hit his arm over and over. “That, that! Yes. And the hot is the uniform. Have you seen the uniform?” she growled.

Steve laughed. “I was in basketball, yes. You know one of the two sports that has cheerleaders?”

“The skirt is itty-bitty,” she slurred, putting her hands together as close as they would go without touching. “And no sleeves! Bare midriffs too. And and the cute little socks!”

“Can’t forget the cute little socks,” he agreed.

She slapped his arm again, this time harder. “And don’t you dare try to change the subject. I see you.” She pointed at her eyes and then at him, nearly poking his eye out.

“I didn’t change anything,” he muttered, “you started talking and haven’t stopped.”

“I saw you run the bathroom after the concert, gig, thingy...” she frowned. “What is it called the every day one not the tour-y one?”

“Gig,” Steve said gently.

Robin slapped his arm again. “Don’t change the subject!” she hissed. “You got hella horny watching your boy sing!” She threw out her arms and did hit him in the face that time.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I will be better prepared next time we go.”

“You have the hots for Eddie,” she said leaning in close.

But before Steve could answer, Robin was out cold. Her low tolerance for alcohol knocking her out at last. He carefully untangled himself from her embrace knowing that her drunken snoring would be like a buzzsaw in his ear if he slept in her room.

He pulled his shirt off and slipped into his own covers a smile on his face.

*

The next morning he had coffee and the greasiest breakfast sandwich he could find ready for his platonic soulmate when she staggered out of bed and into the kitchen. He handed her a small glass of water and painkillers, which she took under his watchful eye.

“I feel like I should hate for this,” she muttered into her steaming styrofoam cup.

Steve grinned, knowing full well that if laughed, she would straight on murder him and he really didn’t want to go yet.

“Also, don’t think you dodged the talk about you rushing to the bathroom after the show,” she grumped. “Because that was a bit pervy even for you.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he chowed down on his own less greasy sandwich. “I was totally unprepared for how hot he was that close up,” he snarked.

Robin raised an eyebrow. “He did seem particularly out to get you with that little number he was wearing last night.”

“Seriously,” he agreed. “But I’ll know better next time, plan ahead, sit behind the table.”

She giggled.

He propped his head on his hands, elbows planted on their counter. “But enough about that. I want to talk about two lovely blondes making goo-goo eyes at each other all night.”

She pushed his arm causing him to almost smack his face into the counter as he lost the support.

“Shut up,” Robin hissed. “She did not make goo-goo eyes at me all night. I would have noticed.”

Steve laughed. “I noticed you didn’t deny making goo-goo eyes at her.”

She blushed, and took a sip of her coffee to hide her embarrassment. “She’s so pretty and smart and how I am suppose to win her over when she so far out of my league.”

Steve came over and grabbed both of her cheeks in his hands. “Robin Eloise Buckley you are just as beautiful and smart and talented as she is. Just in a different way. I know right now you’re feeling morose because you have a hangover. So trust me in this moment, you are every bit as awesome as she is and if she doesn’t see that then we say?”

“Fuck that?” she whispered.

“I don’t think I heard you,” he said cocking the side of his head so he could tilt his right ear her direction.

“Fuck that,” Robin said with more conviction.

“There you go,” he said and gave her a fierce kiss on the forehead. “Now what I want you to do while I’m gone is watch the ‘Pride & Prejudice’ mini-series with that tub of Ben & Jerry’s I know you’ve been saving and when I’m done I’ll grab Chinese from that favorite shop on the corner, okay?”

She set the coffee down and gave him a fierce hug. “You’re the best soulmate a girl could ask for.”

Steve squeezed her back. “Hard same.”

She laughed. “You are such a dork.”

“Yes, but I’m your dork.”

***

Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1@a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @aizawa-emma @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @archermightbegay @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: eating disorders (mentioned), anxiety attacks

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

exploring the inner workings of a tim drake kinda hurts you guys… anyway, here’s bentley struggling with many many things, and tim, also struggling with many many things

part twenty

❝ I’D GIVE YOU MY LUNGS (SO YOU COULD BREATHE) ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 10 — 9:17PM

DR. KEENE TAUGHT CLASS THAT DAY LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED. Which threw Bentley all off.

If he had been guilty, the police would’ve arrested him, right? If he was still on their radar, they wouldn’t let him go back into a classroom full of kids, would they? Nico suggested that he was questioned because he was the last person to see Mandy before she disappeared, which was what Bentley settled on. Mostly because it was less terrifying than the alternative.

So, if he wasn’t guilty, what really did happen to Mandy Todryk?

That’s exactly what Bentley intended on figuring out, and exactly why he was thumping down into the Batcave at nine-at-night. To bother Tim about it. If anyone knew anything about her disappearance, it was Tim.

Bentley’s phone was shoved in his jacket pocket, vibrating almost incessantly from the group chat. Asten and Nico were discussing ways to (covertly) send the police the wrong way, and had been since school ended. Bentley only replied minimally — throwing in a suggestion here and there. He didn’t want to be on his phone a lot; too many opportunities for Bruce or someone else to ask to see it. To see their plans. It was too risky. But using Tim for information? He could probably pull it off without a hitch.

Poor Tim. Bentley didn’t think he’d as much as taken a step toward the Manor since Dick got attacked. He hadn’t been going to dinner, to bed, to work, as far as Bentley knew. The only two things he did anymore were stare at the Batcomputer, and go on patrol. Nothing else. He blew off Alfred’s offers of food and suggestions of rest, staying completely and utterly engrossed in his casework — And Bentley was worried about him.

Well, the Bentley that was buried beneath the Puppeteer.

But, seeing as he was the Puppeteer, he shouldn’t have cared enough to worry. He was only using Tim for information, after all. So he quickly decided that, like every other problem in his life, he was just going to do what he did best.

Ignore it.

And Dick Grayson, the family’s resident make-everything-better-er, promptly decided that he was going to do what he did best.

Not ignore it.

Bentley could hear his voice long before he even made it to the end of the staircase that led into the cave. Dick was talking and talking and talking like he always did, and Bentley couldn’t hear him exactly, but he was pretty sure Tim was the only other one in the cave that he could’ve been talking to. Bentley, instead of walking inside, settled at the bottom of the stairs, keeping himself out of their line of sight.

“You need to take a break, Timmy,” Was the first thing Dick said that Bentley could really decipher. His voice was moving, like he was walking, or pacing. He’d been getting more and more restless over the past week or so — he couldn’t patrol, and he couldn’t leave the Manor, in fear of the Secret Keeper getting to him. So he was just… benched, as of current. And benched plus energetic circus performer equaled a very jittery and bored Dick Grayson.

“Don’t call me that,” Was Tim’s distracted response. Bentley would be lying if he said he couldn’t hear it in his voice — the weariness that seemed to be growing more and more common around Wayne Manor. The fatigue that came along with fighting an endless battle they were destined to lose, against someone they couldn’t see.

Bentley sighed lightly, lacing his hands together in front of him. Something inside of him told him to leave, that he shouldn’t listen — but the Puppeteer knew he had to. Words were leverage, knowledge was power, and he needed power in order to win.

Dick continued: “I’m serious, Tim. We’re worried about you. Bruce is worried about you.”

Bentley heard a snort. “Yeah, right. He’s been so focused on you and Bentley that he hasn’t talked to me in two entire days.”

If there was ever a statement that could make Bentley want to claw himself out of his own skin, that was it. To hear Tim say something entirely too similar to what Damian had said — that he was being pushed to the backburner while Bentley stayed center stage. Hearing it from Tim, complete with resentment, annoyance… that made it hurt all the worse. Now that Tim said it, too, Bentley couldn’t blame it on an impulsive assassin having a bad day. All he could blame now was himself.

No one really wanted him there, did they? He was just a burden taking up space.

“Tim-“

“But that’s fine. I’m used to it, after all,” Tim trailed off, and Bentley heard his typing from the Batcomputer grow louder. “Jack Drake always had other things to tend to, as well. He just didn’t have other kid card he could pull to make himself look innocent.”

“Bruce-“

“Just go away, Dick. I’m trying to focus,” Tim ordered. A long bout of silence came and went, but there were no footsteps, which meant Dick didn’t intend on leaving. He was a bleeding heart, and Bentley was afraid that, one day, he would bleed himself dry.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Came Dick’s voice again — softer, gentler. Tim just grumbled in response.

“Dick,”

“I’m serious,” He repeated, as though his words would stick if he said that enough. “I haven’t seen you come upstairs in a solid week, at least.”

“I have,” Tim shot back.

“You’re deflecting,”

“You’re being annoying,”

There was another long silence.

Bentley heard Dick inhale and exhale deeply. “Alfred and I are worried you might be… y’know… slipping… again. He says you haven’t eaten what he brings you.”

“You really have a way with words,” Tim sassed. “If I were you, I’d put that on your list of things not to say to people.”

“I’m trying to get through to you,” Dick replied with a light huff. “I’m so proud of you, Tim, we’re all so, so proud of you. But you have to tell someone if you start backsliding.”

“I’m not backsliding!” Tim spat, a sort of bite, a venom unique only to him laced in his words like deadly poison. Bentley had never heard him turn toxic like that. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was Dick was talking about, what Tim was supposedly backsliding into, but it sure seemed to make him upset. “Here’s some advice, Dick — if it sounds good to you in your head, you should probably keep it to yourself. Go. Away.”

There was a tense silence.

Dick’s voice came back even quieter. “I just care about you, Tim. I want to help if you need it.”

“None of this is helpful,”

“Then tell me what I need to do,” Dick ordered, and Bentley heard steps. “Teach me how to do this so you can take a break.”

“What you need to do is shut up and leave me alone,”

Another long silence passed. The tension in the air was so thick Bentley could probably cut it with a knife if he tried, and everything was still. Quiet.

“Okay. I’ll go. I’m sorry,” Dick said. He sounded like he’d been wounded. “But… just so you know, Alfred told me he’s planning to weigh you before you patrol tonight. I… guess you know the drill.”

Tim snorted again, some strange mix of rage and amusement. “You should teach a class on how to talk to anorexics, Dick. You’re doing great.”

Bentley froze.

He’d learned what anorexic meant from his Social Worker, that many children became it after moving from traumatic households. That if he saw the signs, he should tell someone he trusted. But he’d never thought… he couldn’t have assumed… that Tim…. 

And Dick had said backsliding. Which meant that this wasn’t the first time?

“I love you,” Dick said.

“Go away,” Was Tim’s reply.

Bentley scuttled back up the stairs, and decided he would talk to Tim tomorrow.

Or never.

—

That tomorrow came a little sooner than he’d expected.

Because, at eleven that night, when patrol had just begun, a door slammed in the hallway so hard it shook the walls and jolted Bentley straight out of his group-chat trance.

He glanced around his dark room warily. His only sources of vision were the light from the bathroom that was streaming in through the cracked door, what minuscule amount of neon green light was shining from his alarm clock, and his phone.

He, Nico, and Asten had been discussing Mandy for the better part of two hours. Thankfully, Asten no longer wanted to interrogate Dr. Keene, since it would seem suspicious, but now, he was inclined to do something even more insane: steal his phone.

Everyone hides their secrets on their phone, had been his defense. Nico, in true Nico fashion, made a bulleted-list of reasons why that was a terrible idea.

Messages kept flooding in like a running river. Was Dr. Keene guilty? Was he bribing the police to keep them quiet? Was the Secret Keeper an alien that was mind controlling him to help her abduct people? Had he secretly killed Mandy? Would he kill them? What’s up with the Areopagus? How were they going to beat the police?

With a soft sigh, Bentley put his phone on his nightstand without replying, running his hands over his face. His mind was so full it was hard to think about anything anymore. Everything he’d locked away when the Puppeteer returned didn’t seem locked away at all. In fact, it seemed to be more prominent, like it was beating on the door to get let out.

Damian and Tim didn’t want him there — he was just a burden, an extra head. The Secret Keeper kept visiting him like he was her favorite coffee shop. Asten and Nico had been chased — literally chased — and could be killed by her almost anytime. They all could. Dick still wasn’t fully back to being Dick. Mandy Todryk was missing. Not to mention Nico’s family, and what Bentley had learned about Tim. That they needed to find a way to trick the literal cops. Why did everything seem to be either impossible or falling apart?

And to top it all off, Bentley had to outsmart Bruce Wayne, the greatest detective in the world. The Puppeteer had to upstage Batman.

He could’ve started crying and not stopped until he was turned twenty. But he couldn’t… he wasn’t supposed to feel like that since he was the Puppeteer. So he pushed it away in hopes it would fade by itself.

He didn’t really want to bother Tim after earlier, but he could go bother Barbara — she had access to the Batcomputer, which would have all the information he could ever want on it. His only obstacle may be getting into the Batcave after he was supposedly asleep, but given most of the family was patrolling and his sleep schedule was botched, it probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

So Bentley pushed himself out of his bed with a stretch. The soft sailboat pajamas he’d changed into used to be Jason’s, he was pretty sure, which would be good for if he needed to beg Barbara to watch patrol. She was a sucker for when he was cute, much like Dick.

He shoved his phone in the side pocket and pulled his door open, glancing out in the hallway warily. He couldn’t see whoever had slammed their door. With the way it shook his walls, he assumed it would’ve had to have been Damian or Tim — their rooms were closest. Maybe Duke if he slammed it really, really hard. But Bentley didn’t think Duke would do that anyways.

With an inhale and a quiet prayer that whoever was angry wouldn’t come out of their room, he stepped into the hallway and closed his door.

It was quiet and dark — the hallway. Laced with the tension that had been floating about the Manor ever since the Secret Keeper made everything go wrong. Bentley usually liked when the Manor was loud. He usually liked to know that there were other people around, but right now, he preferred the quiet. 

He took three successful steps before he heard a sound. A familiar sound that he’d only heard from himself and Dick, so far. A sound that made his Puppeteer mask crack and the old Bentley who cared seep through, like blood through a cut.

Fast, shallow breathing.

The old Bentley in him made him stop and look around, attempting to locate exactly where it was coming from, even though the Puppeteer was screaming that he shouldn’t care. That he should leave. When did making decisions become so much harder?

He wasn’t very surprised when the sound led him straight to Tim’s bedroom door.

Between the conversation Bentley had heard earlier and the slam, he could only assume Tim had been benched from patrol. That would make the most sense given the circumstances Bentley shouldn’t have known about. 

Even as his entire brain told him to go downstairs, that he shouldn’t care enough to check, that this wasn’t getting them any further in their fight for the Secret Keeper — he knocked.

“Tim?” He questioned softly, probably as quiet as humanly possible. Why did it get so hard to talk when someone else was upset?

When he got no response except bated breathing, he tried the handle — unlocked. So he breathed in and pushed the door open.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the bathroom light through a cracked door, just like Bentley’s had been. He squinted into the dark, scouring the area for Tim. The bed, the desk in the corner, even as far as searching for a shadow in the bathroom. He wasn’t there. But the breathing was, coming from straight ahead.

And then he saw Tim in the floor.

It wasn’t very clear in the dark, but it looked like he’d only made it to the footboard of his bed and decided that’s where he’d stay. He was sitting there, looking unusually small, even for him, legs all curled up like Bentley did when he was uncomfortable. The child could see him trembling even despite the lack of light. The nineteen-year-old had made himself as tiny as he could, wedging himself against the footboard, tugging at his own hair.

His Puppeteer facade fell away far too easily, leaving a stunned Bentley there to blink. He knew what this was — the breathing, the shaking, the curling — it was the same thing that happened to him at the grocery store. In the janitor’s closet. 

Tim Drake was having an anxiety attack before his very eyes.

He crossed the threshold into the bedroom and fought away a burn that tried to surface behind his eyes. “Tim?” His mouth felt like a desert, his voice, miles away from his own ears. He was not prepared to handle this. He wasn’t. All his mind supplied was a repetitive string of oh my God, oh my God, oh my God that played like a broken record.

He stepped slowly, like movement too fast would break him, letting the door gently swing closed behind him. Tim was staring at the floor. He wasn’t crying like Bentley had during his attacks, but he was shaking like a leaf, and struggling even harder to get air into his lungs than Bentley remembered. 

What the heck was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to help?

He took a deep breath and came to rest on his knees in front of him, just like Tim had done when they were at the grocery store — eyes level with each other. “Tim.”

Geez, what had Tim said to him at the store? Why did he feel so useless and terrible when it came to helping? Why couldn’t he remember anything that came out of Tim’s mouth that day?

He reached, instead, for Tim’s hand, and said his name again, because apparently Tim was the only word his mouth could produce at the moment. He copied the only thing he could remember from the grocery store that day — he put Tim’s hand against his shirt and said: “Breathe with me.”

He then made sure to breathe deep and dramatically and slowly, like Tim and Bruce did when they were trying to calm him down. Tim’s glassy blue eyes stayed locked on the rug beneath him, the hand Bentley wasn’t holding laced through his hair. Bentley kept breathing and kept breathing, loud and dramatic and deep, but Tim just kept wheezing and kept wheezing and started coughing and Bentley started to panic a little because it wasn’t working.

“Tim. I… I know you feel like you’re in danger… but you’re not. You’re safe,” Bentley tried, cringing at his desperate attempts to help. He always felt so dumb when it came to other people. “Can you feel me breathing?”

Tim said nothing, but gripped at the front of Bentley’s shirt. 

“It’s just us. We’re safe,” He muttered. “I know you don’t feel good, but it will go away soon. Just… try to take deep breaths. Like me.”

Bentley breathed in and out for what seemed like forever, but it never seemed to help — Tim’s breathing didn’t slow, his shaking didn’t stop, and Bentley was starting to feel a little bit hopeless. A little bit like he was going to cry. A little bit like he wanted to go get Dick, the only other one home from patrol.

“Tim,” His voice cracked. When did it get so hard to talk? And why were his eyes burning like that? “Please… we’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim made a noise — not a sob, but not not a sob, releasing Bentley’s shirt and bringing his hand back up into his hair. Making himself into a box; closing out the rest of the world.

Bentley was suddenly crying.

“I’m sorry, Tim, I’m sorry, I’m not good at this, I’m sorry,” He muttered, wiping furiously at his leaking eyes with his fists Because crying wasn’t helpful in the slightest. “I’m sorry, I don’t… I-I don’t know what to do. I… I… I’ll go get Dick.”

Bentley couldn’t even stand up before Tim had ahold of his pajama sleeve, practically rooting him to the spot. Bentley sniffled: “Let me get someone that can help better!”

It was no use — Tim didn’t let go. Bentley was full-on panic-slash-frustrated-slash-hopeless crying now, feeling more useless than a bag of rocks.

He sat back down, his own hands shaking as they hovered, completely unsure of what to do, where to go. He desperately wished he could will the tears to stop coming, but they seemed to appear on their own. What had Nico done in the janitor’s closet? Just waited it out with him?

Bentley, completely lost and overwhelmed, just moved forward and hugged him as gently as he could, both of them shaking, both of them distraught, both of them lost… and he waited.

How was he supposed to pull off an entire secret plan when he couldn’t even keep his Puppeteer mask up for two days?

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

[craigslisthorses]

Medusa aka Mandy, for Magnificent Monday. A twenty-something year old lesson horse and conformational trainwreck with a bite like a shark but you can't tell from this picture. Truly the best boy who's carried many kids around their first jump courses and me to many rosettes (when he was younger). The horse who taught me to listen. Love him to the moon and back.

[sweetperversiongirl]

Thank you Rayray @rayrayor for encouraging me to participate in the Drabble Challenge ♥ Thanks to Mandi @bawlbrayker for helping me edit this ♥

Here's my drabble on request number 15: “I’d kill for a coffee...literally.”

Morning crept inexorably into Ian and Mickey's bedroom, along with the sun's insidious rays. They should have gotten new blinds to replace the old ones Ian had taken from Lip and Tami's house in Milwaukee. In fact, Ian wasn't the least bit bothered by the fact that he had to wake up literally at the crack of dawn. He had long since gotten used to the strict regimen. The same could not be said for his husband, who had become particularly restless lately. Besides, Mickey had always hated the beginning of the work week.

Not that Ian thought there was any reason for Mickey's restlessness. But apparently Mickey himself thought otherwise.

The agitated tossing under the covers signaled to Ian that his husband was awake, and not in the best of spirits. It didn't come as a surprise to him either.

"Fucking shit!" Mickey jumped up from the bed so abruptly that the phone Ian was holding fell onto his chest.

Raising an eyebrow, Ian decided he wasn't going to release any comments just yet. Instead, he preferred to focus on enjoying the magnificent sight of his grumpy and completely naked husband. He couldn't hold back a disappointed sigh as Mickey quickly picked up the first boxers he could find from the floor and put them on, thus depriving Ian of an important part of his aesthetic pleasure.

Standing in front of the window, Mickey grabbed the blinds, crumpling them at the edges. He then jerked his arms violently, pulling the blinds off the window, allowing sunlight to fill their bedroom.

"Might as well not have this shit in here," Mickey yelled, throwing the now permanently broken blinds to the floor. Glancing over his shoulder, he threw Ian an angry look. "You should give this shit back…” he kicked the blinds with his foot,"to your fucking brother. I'll be fucking glad to know that asshole has as fucked up a morning start as we do."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with my morning," Ian couldn't resist commenting, for which he was immediately rewarded with two blue knives pointed right between his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I completely forgot that you are Mr. 'Nothing Can Take Away My Zen'. In that case, Master Shifu, could you stop thinking only about your own ass for a second and take care of your fucking neighbor? Isn't that what fucking kung fu teaches?"

"Actually, kung fu teaches you to be more tolerant of your neighbor first and foremost," Ian snapped back. "I'm sure I've been pretty good at it so far, Mickey."

With those words, he threw back the covers and slipped out of bed. His morning boner stared proudly at the ceiling as Ian stalked naked into the bathroom. He didn't like the fact that his husband had managed to get him off balance so quickly, but Mickey's lustful sigh behind Ian's back made up for that brief discomfort.

Ian's peace of mind was fully restored after Mickey caught up with him in the bathroom doorway. Ian received his rightful morning blowjob, which he immediately returned to Mickey with all the enthusiasm of which he was capable.

Brushing his teeth, Mickey mentioned in passing that Kit, their new West Side client, had turned out to be a sneaky bastard who'd tried his best to drive the price of shit down. Ian simply reminded Mickey that credit should be given to Kit, since it was Mickey who had arbitrarily jacked up the price of shit. The incident was over.

Until it turned out that there was no coffee in their apartment.

________________________________________________________

As they approached Starbucks, they found a line a mile long, which in itself was not surprising for a Monday morning. The next coffee shop was much less crowded, much to Ian's sincere joy. All his hopes of getting the morning going again were dashed immediately after the waiter mixed up their order and brought them iced coffee.

"If I liked drinking this shit, I'd have stayed in fucking Mexico!" shouted Mickey desperately as Ian dragged him outside, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

Eventually, after all the morning's misadventures, they found themselves in a tiny, unremarkable coffee shop. By West Side standards, it was just a hole in the wall, mostly ignored by the civilized locals. Ian figured: why not? After all, he and Mickey were still ghetto dudes, right? His temporary excitement quickly faded when he and Mickey walked up to the counter and found there.... the laziest barista in fucking Chicago.

Ian read the man's name on the nametag.

"Good morning, uh... Squidward?" he greeted the barista with the most idiotic name he'd ever seen. After the guy didn't even bother to look up from his phone at him, Ian decided to order anyway. "Double Americano and an Americano with cream, please."

Again, no response. Throwing a glance at his husband, who was leaning his butt on one of the tables, Ian realized Mickey was approaching boiling point. He returned his attention to the barista, already seriously contemplating that a plate of stale oatmeal cookies would look good on this guy's head.

"Hey, Mr. Tentacles," Ian muttered through clenched teeth.

Meanwhile, Mickey had gotten his ass off the table and walked over to the counter, resting his palms on it. A sly smile played on Ian's lips as he reached across the counter and slapped Squidward hard on the shoulder. The man didn't even flinch at this unceremonious invasion of his personal space. Instead, he slowly raised his head and stared at Ian, blinking his sleepy fish eyes stupidly, as if he didn't know there was anyone here but him.

Ian arched an eyebrow and nodded at Mickey's tattooed fingers, which his husband defiantly spread, knuckles pressing against the counter.

"I suspect you can read. Can you see what it says here?"

This time it apparently reached Squidward what an unpleasant situation he had gotten himself into. He swallowed awkwardly, and then, like an idiot, began to read aloud the writing on Mickey's knuckles. This made Ian growl impatiently and Mickey snort smugly.

"Bite him, Hercules!"

"Jesus Christ," Ian rolled his eyes, ignoring his shithead husband's retort. "Are the people in this place even capable of reading between the lines?" The barista blinked dumbly again. "Look," Ian noisily let the air out of his lungs. He points at Mickey’s tattooed fingers and spells it out, "It says, 'I'd kill for a coffee.' And that's not a euphemism, Mr. Tentacles. We understand each other now, right?"

With a hasty nod, Squidward jumped up from his seat.

A few minutes later, Ian and Mickey were enjoying a fairly decent coffee, seated at a table in the deserted coffee shop. They'd even allowed themselves to get a little fucked in the bathroom because Mickey was so damn horny. Ian thought he guessed the reason for that.

"Bye, Sponge fucking Bob. See you later," Mickey called out cheerfully, waving goodbye to Squidward as they left the café.

Once outside, Ian put his arm around his husband's waist and pulled him to him for a brief but deep kiss.

"Do you think he'll be happy to see us here again?"

"I don't care if he'll be glad or not," Mickey snorted. He looked relaxed now, which Ian couldn't help but be pleased about. "We'll definitely come back here again. Dude's a dickhead, sure, but his coffee's pretty damn good."

A wolfish smile blossomed on Ian's lips.

"Are you sure it's not because I turn you on so much when I'm angry?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Peter fucking Pan," Mickey rolled his eyes. "You know you look like a golden retriever most of the time, right?"

Twisting out of Ian's embrace, Mickey headed toward their parked car. Ian rushed after Mickey, resenting being demoted so abruptly.

"Hey, what happened to fucking Hercules?"

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Balearic Beats (The Album Vol 1) 1988 Balearic Beat / Disco / House / Industrial

Man, this is such a momentous fuckin' album that was compiled by legends Paul Oakenfold, Pete Tong, and Trevor Fung back in '88. Here they deliver the first compilation to *ever* attempt to encapsulate the sound of the wide-ranging 'Balearic beat,' a dance phenomenon whose home was in the party capital of the world, on the Spanish isle of Ibiza, where plenty of Europeans would visit and end up drawing inspiration from. And with this album, these three guys appear to have finally successfully broken through, able to bring this very quirky vibe into the UK to coat its own exploding dance music scene during the historic 'Second Summer of Love,' which saw the Chicago-born genre of acid house reach critical mass among the youth and spawn a first generation of ravers.

But Balearic beat is not something that one can easily describe, because its most defining trait is that it really only has one rule: so long as there is some sort of tangible beat that's danceable, it'll do. Essentially, Balearic beat represents an extremely expansive coterie of a whole bunch of different genres: pop, rock, house, disco—pretty much everything that ranges between James Brown funk records and industrial music, and with blends of psychedelia, Italo flavor, plenty of leftfield experimentalism, guitar rock, and chunks of world music too. It's probably the single-most unique dance music scene that this world's ever borne witness to, and it not only allowed, but actively encouraged DJs to take unprecedented levels of risk in their own selections, as a culture of decadence, hedonism, freedom, and acceptance was nurtured and fostered.

And Oakenfold and co. really tried to bring this vibe and approach into the UK's own dance consciousness a couple times between '87 and '88, after returning from summers spent on Ibiza and opening up a couple nightclubs. But things finally started taking hold with Oakey's own Monday club night called Spectrum at gay superclub Heaven in Westminster, London. And this comp, with liner notes provided by Boy's Own's Terry Farley, represents those Spectrum club nights, as well as stuff from Shoom, which is the club where the UK's acid house movement first originated. Shoom was founded by Oakenfold compatriot Danny Rampling, whose own first trip to Ibiza with Oakey and others is what inspired him to open up the club in the first place. And Rampling took ecstasy for the first time on that Ibiza trip too 💊😁🥹.

So, from a glance, by looking at this tracklist and not having any familiarity with what Balearic beat entails, you might see this list of songs and inevitably scratch your head: Italo-jazz saxophonist Enzo Avitabile?; pop starlet Mandy Smith, who's unfortunately best known for having an underage relationship with former Rolling Stone Bill Wyman and then marrying him 🤮?; San Francisco avantgardists The Residents taking the bassline from "Billie Jean" and fashioning a cover of a Hank Williams honky-tonk tune out of it?; EBM group Nitzer Ebb?; industrial act Fini Tribe on a weird, cocaine-fueled tribal disco tip with ringing and clanging bells??? What on earth is this?!?!?

But don't worry, now that you have a proper frame of reference, it'll all make a whole lot more sense when you actually put this album on 😎.

And we gotta make special mention of this release's opener too, "Jibaro" by Oakenfold and Steve Osborne's Balearic electronic project, Electra. Yesterday I posted about an Italo comp that was put out by this same Pete Tong-run FFRR label called The House Sound of Europe - Vol. V - 'Casa Latina', and I remarked that although the Electra track on there really had no business being included—because it was neither Italian-made nor really a house tune—it was still the best track that that comp had to offer, as it was the pure ultimate in 80s Ibiza silky-chillness. But this "Jibaro" track, a cover of a mid-70s Spanish psychedelic disco-funk tune, and whose own 12-inch art inspired the album art for this comp itself, represents a different branch of that girthy Balearic tree, because this one's a full-fledged house jam; slower than a typical house tune, but a house tune nonetheless; and with a richly patched-together sonic quilt of different sounds that *majorly* diverges from all the black, queer, and acid-jacking beauty that'd been emanating from Chicago.

So, ultimately, this was a very important album in the grand scheme of things. Balearic beat brought a very elastic dimension to the acid house movement writ large in the UK, and if you'll now all allow me to unveil my corkboard-and-yarn setup here to give you all a parting glimpse of just how intertwined all of this got within the UK's own vibrant, fluid, and interconnected music landscape, let's bring all of this full-circle by talking about legendary Manchester new wave band New Order.

New Order once took a two-week trip to Ibiza that had such a profound effect on them that it yielded their fifth studio LP, Technique, in 1989. And they also owned a very popular club in Manchester called The Haçienda. In '88, The Haçienda would launch its own Ibiza-themed club nights, which then played an integral role in the development of the city's own Madchester scene, a style of alternative dance music that saw indie bands mesh their sound with psychedelia and acid house beats. And one of Madchester's biggest landmarks ended up being 1990's Pills 'n' Thrills and Bellyaches, an album by a group called Happy Mondays that was co-produced by none other than the Electra boys themselves—Paul Oakenfold and Steve Osborne! 🤯

Highlights:

Electra - "Jibaro" Code 61 - "Drop the Deal" Beats Workin' - "Sure Beats Workin'" Enzo Avitabile - "Black Out" Mandy Smith - "Mandy's Theme (I Just Can't Wait) (Cool & Breezy Jazz Version)" The Residents - "Kaw-Liga (Prairie Mix)" The Woodentops - "Why Why Why (Live)" Fini Tribe - "De Testimony (Collapsing Edit)" The Thrashing Doves - "Jesus On the Payroll"

[baddygab-bi]

The last two episodes were incredible. I think most of us guessed that Wolf’s dad was alive, but it being Mandy was such a good twist. I think it shows a lot about the show and how much the people in charge care, since they purposely fooled the online audience into thinking he was going to be a mentor for Wolf (which… he is/was), and I’m so glad they did that.

This show is so visually beautiful and their ability to create complex characters is so damn good. I also love the pacing of the show, nothing feels rushed like other shows. I mean that episode-wise and arc-wise. Like Nichols could’ve said he loved Wolf but he didn’t, he said falling for, which is so good since it’s only been a few months so yeah maybe they’re not at that point yet but they’re not nothing and this is so much better than an I love you.

My parents watch this show too (dad actually recced it to me). They’re GA in their 60s. They don’t watch live, in fact they watch super delayed (I know, I know). He loves the show, but his exact words when I told him about the possibility of no renewal were “yeah, it’s a good show, but I think the fact that it has three or four gay people would be the reason it isn’t renewed because people don’t like that as much and especially starting now [Trump era]. But the show is good.”

So from a GA standpoint the show is solid and good, but some seem worried about the queerness of the show playing into renewal status. I think the show would be in a better spot if it was doing better than some other new shows, not that it’s doing badly, but the time slot is doing it zero favors. That’s something else my dad mentioned, he was like “they should push it an hour later” but that would kill it. It would do best in a mid-week 8pm time slot. Monday at that time is a hard day for TV because of sports. If there’s a season 2 they need to work out a better schedule for it, because if this was a test slot, I think it wasn’t an accurate rep of the amount of people watching. Plus they don’t take international or pirate views into account for renewal. Unless international is through official channels.

Anyways I loved the season, the last two episodes, and I need a second season now please thanks

[sleeepying]

Its the best mandy monday ever bc i get to give blood for saw today 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

[callmebrycelee]

MY MAN CRUSH MONDAY ELIJAH WOOD SPOOKY SEASON EDITION

Elijah Jordan Wood was January 28, 1981 in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The 43-year-old actor and producer is best known for his role of Frodo Baggins in The Lord of the Rings film trilogy and The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. Elijah also has appeared in and produced several horror films including The Faculty, Maniac, Come to Daddy, Mandy, and Daniel Isn't Real. Other films of note for Elijah include Back to the Future Part II, The Good Son, The Ice Storm, Deep Impact, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Sin City, Happy Feet, Happy Feet 2, and Grand Piano. Elijah Wood is 5 feet and 6 inches tall.

[laresearchette]

Monday, April 01, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: VANDERPUMP VILLA (Disney + Star) THE SYNANON FIX (HBO Canada) 9:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT?: 2024 iHeartRadio MUSIC AWARDS (FOX Feed) LOVERS AND LIARS (CW Feed) ALL AMERICAN (Premiering on April 08 on Showcase at 8:00pm)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA ALLAN QUATERMAIN & THE LOST CITY OF GOLD AT CLOSE RANGE BLAME IT ON RIO BLOODSPORT BREATHLESS BULLETPROOF MONK CASINO CLASS DARK BLUE DARK ANGEL DR. SEUSS’ THE CAT IN THE HAT EYE OF THE NEEDLE FLAWLESS FLESH+BLOOD HARLEY DAVIDSON AND THE MARLBORO MAN KOYAANISQATSI THE LAST WALTZ LOL: CHI RIDE E FUORI (Season 4) MOBY DICK NOT WITHOUT MY DAUGHTER THE PARTY ROLLING THUNDER TOP GEAR (Seasons 14-25) THE TRAIN VALLEY GIRL VAMPIRE’S KISS WARCRAFT WHITE NIGHT

CBC GEM DYLAN’S PLAYTIME ADVENTURES

CRAVE TV LITTLE JESUS THE SYNANON FIX (Season 1, Episode 1)

DISNEY + STAR VANDERPUMP VILLA (Three-Episode Premiere)

NETFLIX CANADA THE MAGIC PRANK SHOW WITH JUSTIN WILLMAN

CURLING (TSN/TSN5) 8:00am: LGT World Men's Curling Championship: Canada vs. Italy

NHL HOCKEY (SN) 7:00pm: Panthers vs. Leafs (SN Now) 9:00pm: Oilers vs. Blues (TSN3) 9:00pm: Kings vs. Jets

MLB BASEBALL (SN1) 8:00pm: Jays vs. Pirates (SN Now) 10:00pm: Giants vs. Dodgers

NBA BASKETBALL (SN Now) 8:00pm: Suns vs. Pelicans

MURDOCH MYSTERIES (CBC) 8:00pm: After a man dies in a drunken brawl at the Starbright Lounge, Murdoch's suspect is another detective.

WARDENS OF THE NORTH (Discovery Canada) 8:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Conservation officers crack down on boaters not complying with the law; a routine fishing patrol has officers tracking down over-the-limit anglers; a kayaker is reminded that lifejackets work best when worn, even when close to home.

SOCIAL MEDIA MURDERS (T&E) 8:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Alex Rodda, a 15-year-old teenager, is murdered by 18-year-old Matthew Mason in December 2019, six weeks after they first exchange messages via social media.

SECRETS IN THE ICE (Super Chanel Fuse) 8:00pm (SEASON PREMIERE): A grim discovery in a Swedish lake reveals ancient practices; in the Canadian Arctic, the fossil of a previously unknown mammal is found; bizarre ice formations in the Antarctic Ocean; a discovery off the east coast of Canada.

BELGRAVIA: THE NEXT CHAPTER (CBC) 9:00pm (SEASON FINALE): As Frederick grieves the loss of Clara, Enright receives a letter that pushes Frederick to confront his past; Clara and Davison adapt to life in the North, as Clara grapples with happy memories of home.

OUTBACK OPAL HUNTERS (Discovery Canada) 9:00pm (SEASON PREMIERE): The Bushmen bring in an explosives expert to blast through the toughest rock in Grawin; plus, a brand-new team brings cutting edge technology to the opal fields.

SPOOKED IRELAND (DTour) 9:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): The team ventures to Charleville Castle, where they face a multitude of spirits who seem to have turned against the castle's current occupants by trapping them in cupboards and keeping them up at night with screams and singing.

EXPEDITION X (Discovery Canada) 10:00pm (SEASON PREMIERE): Phil and Jess explore the world's most haunted forest near the site of the Dracula legend and where Josh Gates had his most terrifying experience; during a night investigation, Jess finds herself being watched by someone or something sinister.

THE PLAYBOY MURDERS (Investigation Discovery) 10:00pm (SEASON PREMIERE): In the late '90s, Playboy twins Sandy and Mandy Bentley's fame soars until an affair with a Vegas High Roller leads to a fall from fame, stolen jewels, a shadowy buyer and a brutal double murder in the Hollywood hills.

MASTERCHEF AUSTRALIA (CTV Life) 10:00pm (SEASON PREMIERE): A group of 12 home cooks will compete with 12 former contestants.

MURDER AT MY DOOR WITH KYM MARSH (documentary) 10:00pm/11:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): The story of 17-year-old Thomas Griffiths, who killed his girlfriend and arranged the crime scene to look like a suicide after she broke up with him. In Episode Two, 19-year-old Mundill Mahil lures a young TV executive to his death in an act of revenge following an attempted rape six months earlier.

[mourntheantagonist]

Hey Mandi!!! I'm writing this at like 3 minutes to midnight because my Monday was honestly horrible and I tried picking myself up out of this depressive slump with some fanfics and I finally got around to reading your mother. effin. AWESOME series "Billy Hargrove's exploration of beauty" which BLEW MY MIND!!! I'm in awe of how talented you are with words- oh my gosh! I hope to write my fics as well as yours one day and I really wanna say thank you SO MUCH for making this new ship that much more fun to fall in love with because Billy - I can't describe, he is such a layered character that's so brokenly beautiful, and him and Steve just work so well together. Your works are amazing! I can't wait to read more and I look forward to you finishing the latest installment of the series. I haven't read it yet, but take all the time you need to finish, I've got your other beautiful fanfics to read!! xoxo

I can't tell you how emotionally wrecked I was to read that series, but it made my heart melt in the best way and really brightened up my evening, so thank you SO SO SO MUCH! ❤️

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THIS IS SO 🥹🥹🥹🥹 HELP THIS IS SO NICE! It’s literally the best thing to hear when someone likes my writing, and especially that one because that one holds such a special place in my heart that I cannot even begin to describe. You describe Billy so perfectly—beautifully broken, brokenly beautiful. It’s why I love him so much and am always searching for new ways to put him back together.

Thank you so much for this, seriously. I always get so insecure about the way I write, and it’s always helpful to hear that there’s a reason I keep these fics posted to the internet ❤️

[wolf-innsheepsclothing]

Monday, November 11 — The Comment Section: Write ten comments your character has left around the Internet— perhaps a YouTube video of a song that means something to them, a TikTok that they got into a fight in the comments of, a recipe that they tested from FoodNetwork.com… the sky’s the limit! Can be from the same site or different ones.

10 Comments That Were Absolutely, Definitely NOT Left By Wolfgang Amadeus

Todd Martin (@toddle-along) on Instagram commented on The Hauntley Manor Inn's Post:

"The renovations are looking fantastic! I really look forward to seeing them complete!"

2. Andy Jones (@aj4651) on YouTube commented on 'How To Level A Pendulum Clock to the Beat'

"Very informative. Thanks."

3. 'Guest' on Ao3 left a comment on 'You're The colour Of My Blood' by mystic_Mel0dy

"Your writing is very vivid. It brings the scene to life. I could almost picture myself there. Great stuff."

4. Mandy Williams (@me--andMyG0ld3ns) on instagram commented on [A competition give-away for 2 people to go stay at a fancy London hotel and have paid for shopping and experiences and stuff]

"Ooooh my god! I'm tagging @ sazzledazzles my best friend, she's had a really tough year this year with work and I absolutely think she deserves this amazing treat!!!"

(Sarah Young (@ sazzledazzles) replied: Omg baaaaaabe <3 love you for that so much, this WOULD be amazing, fingers crossed amiright ;) )

5. 148901102638_186342 on Youtube commented on 'AMAZING new tool just cut my work in HALF!!!!!!!!!! (Paid Review)'

"This is very poor. Most of that tarnish would have come off very easily with hand cleaning, and you have deliberately missed out many of the steps of the process. Misleading. If you want to buy one that is fine but do not trust this review."

6. Mandy Williams (@me--andMyG0ld3ns) on instagram commented on The Hauntley Manor B&B's post:

"Oh wow!!!!!!!!! The rooms are looking even better than before! Can't wait to book my visit!"

7. Giacomo Martinelli (GiacomoM1978) left a customer review on 'Steel Toed Work-Boots: Black'

"Hard-wearing and reliable. Can be hard to wear in but worth it. I have been buying pairs for years when they wear out. Good ankle support."

8. 'SomersetLocalHistory658' (@somelocalhistory658) on Youtube commented on 'The Somerset Beast' Mystery

"People have been investigating these claims for centuries and they have no unity. Local tracks are almost certainly individual werewolf activity! The idea you propose here that it is one mysterious creature that can change size and paw shape, and is centuries old and massively varies in appearance is ludicrous! People have seen different creatures and amalgamated them into one fantastical beast to sell cards to tourists."

9. Andy Jones (@aj4651) on Youtube commented on 'Restore this Iconic Bauhaus Barcelona Chair With Me'

"Great restoration, very sympathetic of the piece's history. What thread did you use for re-sewing the details?"

10. Chuck Rogerson (@woodchucky-tennessee) on Instagram commented on The Hauntley Manor Inn B&B's post:

"Gosh! I just love the sound of that new winter menu, it all looks fab!"