#that bashful head toss from Dan

[themothernerd-fandomqueen]

I-

do you ever just CRY?

[charnelhouse]

What’s your take on a fight and subsequent makeup with Frankie? Also I loved your Pope one shot :)

A/N: Frankie Morales x F!Reader. Rough Smut. Slight jealousy. Gags. Insecure vibes. Dirty ass talk. Age Gap. Lil bit of daddy trash.

Frankie’s anger burns low - slow, lazy simmer until it pops to a full boil. He knows that it’s stupid to hold it in - it’s stupid to keep it coiling up in his belly like a damn asp arched on a strike.

You're all at a bar. The beer is cheap but cold and your hand is in the back pocket of his jeans. There’s Tom Petty and Steely Dan pumping through the corners of the wood-paneled room. This place is familiar to him - an old friend - a soothing embrace at the end of a long week. His eyes drift across your warm face - your lovely smile and the puff of your lip over the rim of your glass.

It should be good - it should be an easy fucking night.

But then your ex shows up and Frankie is reminded of his age and the generational gap between you. It’s not like you're a teenager, but you are younger. He’s got creaking joints and a soft belly that is nothing like what it used to be when he was just starting out in the force. You swell with your beauty - with your lush youth. Persephone in his dark, scarred hands.

Your ex is handsome and it has become increasingly obvious to Frankie that this guy is not over you. You treat him politely - allow him to wrap you into an embrace that borders on inappropriate. Frankie won’t say shit - he won’t do anything but burn because he continues to question if you should even be with him. He rots with it - spoils like old milk - as his jealousy permeates his gut.

If your ex only knew what he was capable of - if he knew the bodies under Frankie's belt. He steels his jaw, tugging that part of him back - buries it down because he doesn't like those shards of his identity. They aren't safe and they aren't healthy and he loves you too much to ever present the truth of them to you.

Frankie holds the anger in - he holds it close like a lover - drinks his beer and settles between Santi and Will and their steady shoulders. He watches you bloom in the old, pock-marked bar where men keep their gazes locked on your hips and the swell of your breasts. He shouldn't - he shouldn't.

Of course - it blows its top.

**

“You’re being ridiculous, Frankie,” you groan.

“He was all over you.” He tosses his keys on the coffee table harder than he intends.

“Would you have preferred I push him off?” You put your hands on your hips - tilting your head in a way that makes Frankie feel like the child. “Because I’d do it. I don’t give a fuck about him.”

He sighs - falling back against the wall. The wind in his sails decreasing to a steady hum. “Sometimes I just think you’d be better off with someone your age.”

Your expression startles - your brow wrinkling as you regard him with something on the verge of pained. Shit. He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

He doesn’t know why he’s like this. He doesn’t know why he continues to force you away from him, choosing to bash himself against the rocks out of his own self-pity.

“What do I have to do to convince you that I want you?” you hiss as you step toward him. “Should I suck your cock in front of him? Get on my knees?”

His gaze snaps to your face. Your eyes narrowed and hungry. Every fight you have usually grows and bloats until you both handle it with frantic touching - with his tongue inside you as he apologizes in the tender ways he knows how.

“Yes,” he says - voice ragged and low. “I want that.”

You move backward and he follows - his grip on your hip as you wriggle away from him.

“You wanna own me, Frankie?” you urge - voice going to silk and heat - reminding him of your wet, hot pussy. “You want to fuck me and make me forget all about the other men who have had me.”

Shit. He palms himself over his jeans - his cock filling at the thought. He pushes you up against the edge of the kitchen table - cradling the hinge of your jaw.

“Stretch me out, Francisco,” you murmur - nipping at his lower lip. “Make me forget.”

He’s out of words - the full tang of his anger has driven itself completely to arousal. He wants to ruin you - stuff himself into that slick cunt until you gush around him.

“You gonna be my good girl?” he husks as you unbuckle his belt - as he nudges his fingers through the scrap of fabric over your folds. He licks into your mouth - savoring the taste of you - the needy moan that slips from your throat.

“I’ll be the best, Frankie,” you plead. “I’ll be so sweet if you just fuck me.”

“Then - shut up and take it,” he grunts as he presses the flat of his hand to your chest and forces you down. He hovers over you - stroking your thighs and your belly. He’ll be gentle if you ask for it - he likes to test the waters - making sure you’re good. You say nothing, but writhe beneath his chest - curling your nails into the thick sides of his waist as you ache for a kiss.

He wrenches your face to the side - sucking a mark into your neck - the underside of your ear. He wrucks up your skirt before he tugs at your panties - snapping the elastic against your skin until it tears. You gasp - arching up into him as he takes the torn fabric and stuffs it into your mouth. He knows it must be salty with you - fleshy and musky and you allow it because you’ll be obedient for him tonight.

You’ll play the good little girl for him.

He stares at the obscene display of your spread pussy - the shiny, tender skin that is dark with desire - the peak of your clit hard and in need of his attention. He runs his fingertip through the seam of your sex - catching it on your nub as you whimper.

“You want daddy to fill your hungry little cunt?” he growls - prodding and caressing like he’s just observing his effect on you - clinical and a tiny bit mean.

You nod - your eyes begging.

“Words,” He slaps the bare, stretched flesh of your cunt and you cry out around the gag of your panties.

You say something close to yes - it’s muffled and desperate and Frankie realizes that he’s not being fair.

“God,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Look at that pretty pussy.”

He dips his fingers inside you - savoring the molten clutch of your walls around the crook of his knuckle. He eases his fingers out before he slides them over his length - lubing himself up.

“You’re so wet, princesa,” he croons. “Enough to slip right in.”

He pushes at your thighs - holding you open. “You think there’s enough to use on your ass? You want me to fuck that tight little hole? You’ve only let me in there, right?”

You nod again - your lips swollen around the gag. Your lashes fluttering as you reach for him. Please. Please. Please.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he mutters as he lowers himself over you - as he smacks his hand across the table’s surface above your head. He drops his hips - lurching forward until he buries himself to the hilt.

It’s so tight - strangling even - your hot body swallowing him as your knees dig into his torso.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he groans. “Jesus - you feel so fucking good.”

He drags his hips back before he shoves them forward - knocking a sob from your mouth. He thrusts - pushing as deep as he can as he grips the edge of the table while he impales you on his dick. You’re gorgeous - meeting every snap of his pelvis as you skate your nails through his curls - hitting the cap off his hat.

His belly hangs in just the right way that when you tilt yourself upward - it grazes your clit. He lowers his mouth - sinking his teeth into your shoulder as his cock pulses and throbs and spits. You’re leaking around him - dripping onto the wood - each harsh spear of his cock is met with a lewd squelch.

“You gonna cum, princesa,” he slurs - as he combs your hair back so he can watch you fall apart. “You gonna cum right on my cock?”

He can tell you’re trying - your soft body is jerking beneath his - your pussy fluttering around his softening length. He rasps himself against you - using the point of his pelvic bone to nudge the apex of your sex. He pins you down - blanketing you in his flesh - his sweat and spend.

He sees your climax shatter across your face - flaring hot beneath your skin as your fingers dig into his shoulder blades. The drool-slick fabric still caught between your teeth.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “That’s it - aw fuck hermosa - let me feel it.”

You go soft and lax - a boneless pretty thing as you shove your brow into his shoulder. He eases the gag out of your mouth - stroking your head - your hips - the crevices that he has marked.

“Christ - Frankie,” you tease. “For a guy who thinks he’s too old, you fuck me like you’re 16.”

He laughs - light and airy - spilling from his chest where his anger has long since dissipated. He brushes his mouth over your head - catching the crush of your shampoo before he kisses you again.

He gives you another gentle thrust - his cock beginning to fill at your praise.

“Round two?”

[rottingmanifesto]

██████ let out a grin, jumping to his feet and dragging his suitcase along with him as he practically hopped over to grab the man into a one-armed hug.

“If it ain’t my fuckin’ brother! I haven’t seen you in a long ass time, Matteo! How the fuck have you been?”

“Hah, well, not too shabby, considerin’ Rosie an’ I have been going steady for a bit,” he said with a sideways grin. “Now get in ‘fore I leave your ass.”

“Do that an’ I’m bashing your head in, Teo.”

“Then you won’t be my best man at the wedding.”

██████ rolled his eyes, smirking. “Fine. You little shit.”

“Runs in the family, ██████. You can put your case in the trunk, should be unlocked already.”

██████ hauled the load in his hands over, heaving the trunk open before tossing his only luggage into the space and slamming it shut. He wiped his hands of the trunk’s dust on his pants before climbing into the shotgun seat, taking a cigarette that Matteo was holding out from the soft pack.

“Uncle Dan busy?” …

——

Finally, Jelly ( @floating-space-jellyfish ) and I have finished chapter one of our version of Mafia IV! Yes, the last time we posted something was in December, but better late than never, right? Anyway. Here is the link, and we hope you enjoy!

City of Sinners and Saints: Chapter 1 .

New disclaimer: this is not the official H13 Mafia 4. Don’t kill us.

(At least wait until after finals for me.)

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Boss

Prompt.. Lexa and Clarke sleep together one night, the next morning Clarke comes in to start her new job and turns out Lexa will be her boss (basically how Meredith and Derek first meet in grey's anatomy) yeah cool...love your writing

The tiny townhouse on the corner of Grant and Lincoln was nearly unpacked, but still occupied the unfinished zone of moving in. The furniture was there, with boxes opened and in various states of emptied. Sheets were tossed on the bed, but it wasn’t made. Clothes were rooted through and half hung in the closet at the top of the stairs. The only things in the fridge were little Chinese take out boxes and a handful of sauce packets. 

But that didn’t mean a thing to the bodies on the couch. 

Well tired and sated, the two tangled torsos and limbs hung and clung to each other on the small area, not having much to discuss the night before, but rather making the other body too tired to hear and speak and think, and thus fell asleep in a knot. It wasn’t many hours of sleep between the bar and the sex and the moment one of the bodies shifted and the otehr fell to the floor with a thud. 

“Ow.” 

“What was--��

“Just my back. And hip. And… head,” the body on the floor wheezed slightly, wincing against the pain. 

“Oh shit, it’s daylight,” Clarke squinted toward the windows witn no curtains or blinds and realized how late it was. “Oh fuck!”

“Seems to be.” 

The body on the couch sat up and hopped over the back before snatching the blanket and carefully wrapping it around her naked body. 

“I have to go. I have work...um…”

“Lexa,” she sat up from the floor, propping herself up on her elbows and looking up over the cushions. 

Completely naked, the girl on the floor smiled and pushed away a mess of hair while Clarke looked at her and blushed and tried not to look, desperately. She wanted to look, but that would distract her from the process of getting ready, and Clarke had to get to work. It was her first day, after all, beautiful naked sex god be damned. 

“Right. Lexa. Nice to meet you, but I have to--”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded, tugging a pillow in front of herself to shield as much nakedness as possible. “Do you live here?” 

“Just moved.” 

“Cool. From where.” 

“I really have to-- It was fun and all--”

A pair of blank panties were held up from the floor by hands attached to a mischievous hand oddly victorious grin. Clarke remembered the same smile somewhere between the whiskey and tequila, the smile nd the eyes and the intent way the stranger in the bar listened to her words. More importantly, she remembered the fragments of the sex and the things that mouth could do and that was the reason for the victory, and it was deserved. 

“But you have to go to work,” Lexa repeated. 

With a graceless motion, Clarke reached over the couch and snatched the offending lingerie before agreeing full-heartedly. 

“It was nice to meet you, Lexa,” Clarke promised. “But when I come back downstairs, you’ll be gone, and I’ll be on my way to work.” 

“Right. Work. I should, too. It was nice, to uh, do this. Maybe we can again--”

The offer was barely acknowledged as Clarke hopped up the stairs and toward the shower, leaving Lexa smiling somewhat, amused at the display before she looked down at herself and chuckled at what the past five minutes of her life looked like. 

XXXXXXXXXX

It was incredibly stupid. It was monumentally stupid. It was the dumbest thing she’d ever done, or at least very close to the top of the long list. But after three weeks of refusing to unpack the house and dealing with the question of employment, Clarke couldn’t handle it any longer, and joined the land of the living again. Perhaps a bit too hard, which was, above all else, stupid. Incredibly stupid. 

Clarke didn’t have too much time to think about anything else as she sprinted into the tall building that had its own distinct imprint on the city. Hair a mess and shirt sloppily in the process of being tucked in, she flashed her badge and rushed toward the elevators as she repeated how stupid it’d been to get absolutely drunk and hook up with a stranger on the couch, and then not setting an alarm, for her first day of her dream job. 

Again and with emphasis, Clarke was an incredibly stupid and gay individual. 

“Ms. Griffin,” the receptionist greeted her with a smile. “I’ve been instructed to ask that you wait right here until Ms. Moore is finished with her phonecall.” 

“Right, of course,” Clarke nodded as she attempted to underplay how extravagantly winded she was. 

Grateful for the moment to process, Clarke took a seat in the reception and processed what the past hour of her life looked like. She somehow woke up and kicked out a very naked woman from her house, that she could almost remember the name of somewhat. And she’d run across town and made it to work. On time, or at least on time enough for her boss. 

Only when she’d caught her breath did Clarke realize that she never got Le-- La-- Lara? Lena? Larry? Fuck. She never got the stranger’s number. 

“Hey, Clarke, thanks for your patience.” 

The woman who interviewed her twice finally walked out from behind the hallowed doors of Woods Publishing, and Clarke gave up trying to remember and prayed she did not smell like as much tequila as she’d inhaled the night before. 

“I’m so happy to be here, Ms. Moore,” she grinned and shook the outstretched hand. 

“Luna is fine. We’re the creatives,” she winked and led Clarke toward the door. “We get a little more freedom than the stuffed shirts in editing and sales.” 

As they moved down the hall, there was a minute smell of weed, and Clarke realized that this job was going to be better than she’d ever imagined. 

“I thought for your first day, I’d kind of get you set up, take you to our morning huddle and pitch meetings, and then after lunch make you meet everyone in a super awkward and invasive department bash.” 

“Bash?” 

“Yeah, well, people stop coming when I call them meetings and ice-breakers. I’ve decided to rename things different, more fun words to trick them into the same meetings.” 

“How’s it going so far?” 

“Amazingly well. Just wait until you see the turn out for your meet-and-greet… I mean bash.” 

Clarke couldn’t help but smile. Her boss was calm and cool, funny and approachable, and most importantly, she was clearly very into her job, which was a godsend. Hiring was often abou personality and camaraderie, as in how well a new personality would fit into a team, and Clarke already felt at home. 

The day went by easily enough, as all first days are known to do. She met her team and got her desk, got to feel out a little of how the day flowed with the promise of her assignments arrival soon enough. Luna passed her off around lunch to one of the teammates, and Clarke fell into enjoying her new coworkers with very light company gossip over not terrible sandwiches in the cafeteria. She learned all about the office romances and the merger, the new corporate structure and how great it was compared to other companies. She learned about the owner’s daughter who started a few months ago and was actually nice to work for, and more importantly, Clarke learned that there was a very lax policy when it came to punctuality. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

By the end of the day, Clarke felt like she would like it there, and was eager to help and work on drawing some of the projects. She was ready to work with the team and she was ready to finally be creative and produce something. 

“Thank you all again, for welcoming Clarke to our team,” Luna grinned and held up her glass as the rest of the team did the same. 

She was right, of course, that calling it a bash did something to make them all want to stay a few minutes later and mingle. 

“Enjoy the gift baskets sent from the studio for our last project, but within reason. And we’ll jump right in tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” Clarke smiled and accepted a drink. 

“I’ll see you bright and early. We’ll get you started on part of our new programming and onto the new project.” 

“I can’t wait.”

Clarke found herself pulled into a conversation over artwork for the storyboard on the wall in the main rom, and even though it was technically about work, the other artists were more than eager to talk about their plans, even over drinks. 

And then she looked up and nearly spit out her drink before turning around very quickly so that her back was to the familiar green eyes and the person she’d kicked onto the floor that very morning. 

“Looks like the boss decided to make a stop. I’m going to finally ask her out,” one of the guys decided as he stood a little straighter and awkwardly fixed his hair. 

“There’s no way Lexa Woods gives you the time of day,” Raven scoffed, sipping her drink and sneaking a look at the grinning CEO. “I bet you twenty bucks she doesn’t even speak to you.” 

“She’s really nice.” 

“Oh, I know. But I bet she won’t even notice you.” 

Clarke felt the blood leave her face as she hurried to sneak another look to confirm that it was, in fact, hell freezing over. And sure enough, for some stranger reason, in a city of hundreds of thousands of people, she was in the same room as the stranger she drunkenly hooked up with sixteen hours beforehand. 

And that stranger was her boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. That stranger was Lexa Woods, CFO of Woods Publishing, daughter of the owner, inheritor to the castle. 

“What do you think, Clarke?” Raven turned toward her. Just five minutes ago, Clarke liked Raven, but now, she wanted to disappear and Raven was blocking the exit. “Think Dan here has a chance?” 

“I don’t really know anything about her,” Clarke shrugged and downed the rest of her drink, careful to stay turned around. 

She didn’t know anything about Lexa Woods, except how she tasted and the noises she made and this thing she did with her fingers that--

“She hasn’t been here long, but she’s actually not the worst, as far as suits go. She likes the creative floors. Her dad’s given her a few projects I’ve been on and I think we work pretty well together,” she explained, offering Clarke a refill. 

“Cool, cool, nice.” 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or you’re a very bad drinker.” 

“I, uh, had a few too many last night.” 

“Hair of the dog then,” Raven grinned and clinked their glasses. “I think I’m going to like having you around, Griffin. At least until you start asking for advanced tech and drive me crazy with your doodles. Oh shit, there he goes.” 

Despite herself, Clarke turned around and watched the illustrator move through the crowd. She looked immediately at Lexa and actually caught her eye. She held the look and she watched Lexa smile at her, though she couldn’t move to return it. Mortification was at the forefront of her brain. That and oddly proud of herself for pulling someone like Lexa Woods, even when she wasn’t on her A game. 

Only when Clarke saw Dan get close, did she look away and break the stupor she found herself stuck in. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t figured out that she’s gay.” 

“What?”

“Dan has the worst gay-dar of all time,” Raven chuckled. “I almost feel bad taking his money. Almost.” 

Sure enough, as he walked up toward his boss’ boss’ boss, full of confidence and vim, Lexa didn’t even notice him, her eyes firmly locked on Clarke’s as she moved through the crowd, finally deciding to approach. It took a few steps before Clarke realized what was happening, and only then did she feel the two and a half drinks she’d had. 

She really didn’t like Raven. 

“I knew it.” 

Clarke didn’t say a word, but rather looked for a quick escape, though none existed and she already knew that. 

“Hey, I thought I’d come welcome you to the team personally. I’m Lexa Woods.” 

With a smile and her hand outstretched, the CEO stood there, as if she hadn’t gone down on her new employee on her couch. 

“Lexa Woods, as in…” 

“Yeah, that’s my name outside, but don’t hold it against me,” she grinned, holding the handshake a little bit longer. “It was Callie, right?” 

“Clarke.” 

“I’m sorry. Clarke.” 

“I didn’t expect to see you on my first day.” 

“Yeah,” Lexa chuckled. “I can imagine. I like hanging out down here more than upstairs. How are you, Ms. Reyes?” 

“Doing alright,” Raven nodded, appraising the scene before her. “Taking Clarke under my wing, as it were.” 

“I’d be careful,” the boss warned. “It was nice to meet you again, Clarke. I’ll see you guys later. I have a meeting I should try to get to ontime. Punctuality is key.”

Clarke burned red and nodded. 

“Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Woods.” 

“Lexa’s fine.”

“Yeah you are.” 

Lexa just smiled and waved again before disappearing. Dan joined the group a second later and passed a twenty to his friend. The boss left the room a moment later without a look back, and Clarke finally breathed. 

“So,” Raven furrowed. “When did you fuck our boss?” 

XXXXXXXXXX

For three weeks, Clarke managed to avoid all thoughts and ideas of Lexa Woods, CEO and absolute beauty. She didn’t avoid her social media, nor did she avoid much of the idle gossip about her at work, but for the most part, Clarke refused to think about her as much as possible, which amounted to about never. 

Sometimes at work, she was able to go for hours, focusing on her projects. Sometimes, Clarke found herself avoiding areas she suspected she might show up, and for three glorious weeks, she was fairly successful. 

Bent over her drawing board, Clarke found herself in a period of Lexa-less thoughts, happy to escape her life and all else, and instead find some sort of outlet for everything she’d been feeling over the past year. 

“These are very good.” 

“Fuck, you scared me,” Clarke breathed, turning around quickly. “I mean. Not fuck.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t followed up,” Lexa smiled softly, hands tied behind her back as she perused Clarke’s wall of sketches for the short they were doing. “I was out of town on business. How is your first month going, Ms. Griffin?” 

“Do you take such an interest in all of your employees, or just the ones you seduce?” 

“I believe you were the one seducing. I was drunk and adorable and you took advantage of me in my drunk and adorable state.” 

Clarke balked and grit her teeth before seeing that Lexa was making fun of her, which did nothing to calm her. 

“Someone who pins the other to their front door, is not being taken advantage of.” 

She smiled again and Clarke found it infuriating. And hot. But also infuriating a little more. 

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Lexa nodded. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to address that… trist.” 

“It was a fluke, and I think we should stay professional. Like we have.”

“I thought I was keeping it fairly professional.” 

“I just mean, you can’t-- we don’t have to talk about that… trist.” 

“Or we could?” she waited to gauge Clarke’s reaction. “Or not. Definitely not. Very professional. Just pretend it never happened.” 

“Exactly. Thank you for stopping by, Ms. Woods.” 

“Lexa is still fine. We’re going to be working together a bit. Everyone calls me Lexa.” 

“Professional,” Clarke repeated. 

“Casual, even. Professionally casual.” 

“Exactly.” 

XXXXXXXXX

“Professional,” Lexa nodded to herself and tried to catch her breath. The naked body beside her repeated the same thing with a sigh. 

“But we can’t do that again. We were just scratching an itch,” Clarke reasoned as Lexa agreed, humming along with the familiar song. 

If any of that were true, she wouldn’t have been naked in Clarke’s half-made bed, next to a full-naked girl. If she had anything to say about it, they’d be doing it much more and often and professionally. But she was the boss, and she wasn’t allowed to make that call. Clarke had to make it. And Lexa was very grateful that Clarke made it. 

It wasn’t Lexa’s fault that they enjoyed the same bar, or that they happened to notice each other, and it wasn’t her fault that she liked kissing Clarke. 

“I quite like scratching that itch with you.” 

Lexa turned her head and watched Clarke smile before regaining her composure. 

“Don’t sweet talk me, Woods. I’m your employee.” 

“Yeah, but like, only kind of.” 

Clarke turned and gave her a look before Lexa chuckled and rolled toward her, pressing her luck as she pressed against Clarke, kissing her shoulder and her neck. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Clarke turned over as well. “Go into HR and tell them we’re sleeping together?” 

“I could fire you?” 

“Lexa.”

“I could quit?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Or you could agree to go on an actual date with me, and promise not to take your clothes off.” 

“You’re the one that takes them off of me!” 

Despite her wiggling, Clarke let Lexa pull her closer. She ran her fingertips along Lexa’s cheek, squishing her cheeks together so she was making fish lips and smiled at the display, amused at herself and how Lexa let her do that. 

“I zwant tovee hrofeshinal widzth you. Vutd I sink I alike you.” 

“You sound ridiculous.” 

Lexa sighed until Clarke let go of her cheeks, unable to keep the smile there. Instead she held her chin now, between her forefinger and thumb, keeping her steady and there. Fingertips moved up and down her back. 

“I think we can do this without messing up work.” 

“How?” 

“We just don’t work together. I’ll stay off of your projects. Luna has complete control over personnel and who is on what.” 

“If it goes bad?” 

“Then I’ll definitely quit. Sell the company probably. Move to Zurich,” she decided. 

“That plan developed quickly.” 

“It’s always in my back pocket in case a beautiful girl who works for me creates a problem. I will not be caught unprepared again.” 

“Again?” 

“It’s an expression.” 

“Mmm,” Clarke smiled and nodded. 

She didn’t waste a moment. She leaned forward and kissed Lexa because she had to be certain, and she had to find some kind of bravery. She should think about it more, and she should have made a pros and cons list, but something about this moment, this person, Clarke just felt alive, and she’d been chasing it for so long. 

“Did I get the job?”

“You got a date. One date.” 

“I can work with that.”

[howdywrites]

Apollo

A drabble for my WIP They Called Her Delilah

[ Intro post ]

After a late night drive, I managed to break free from the severe writer’s block I was experiencing and sat down to write this. I’m still trying to get a grasp on Thomas’ character, so this is the first time I’ve centered a drabble on him. Hope you enjoy!

Length: 1,046

Warnings: One singular curse word

Comment or message me if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

        Wet acrylic filled Thomas’ senses. His hand flicked, adding purposeful strokes of cool tan to brighten the shadows of his partially finished portrait. The room was quiet save for the soft smearing of brushes on canvas. He paused, dragging his gaze away from his work to look up at the model.

        A man near his age, though no older than thirty he suspected. Dark chocolate curls that shagged around his ears and neck. A strong jaw darkened with stubble and a distinct nose that he filled several pages with in his sketchbook trying to get it just right. ‘Dan’ they called him, a law student who volunteered to pose for them after unending badgering on their instructor’s part. He stood proudly on the small raised platform, white fabric bunched and draped over his body to give him a Grecian aesthetic.

        Thomas silently cursed their instructor for posing him the way she did. Facing him directly so every time he studied him - or rather stole a bashful glance - their eyes would meet. He could see every emotion reflected in those olive green eyes. Power. Certainty. Humor, though he couldn’t be sure why.

        The same humor they possessed right in that moment as they stared each other down. The corner of his full lips pulled upwards, smirking and dimpling the space between his mouth and cheek. Yet another small detail he missed during his quick glances. Dan rolled his shoulders back some, his collarbone peeking out from the draped fabric. How often did he work out? Thomas trailed his eyes over his chest and arms, how they tensed with his small movements. The Apollo Belvedere alive and breathing. 

        Dan dipped his head a bit. Towards him, he realized in horror. Something wet and cold plopped on top of his foot, making him jump out of his stool. Through the leather straps of his sandals, cool tan smudged over his pale foot. Heat bloomed in his cheeks and he cleared his throat. Every eye bore into him, even the ones not directly looking at him. Trying to be cool about it, he simply wiped the mess on the back of his calf. The cold paint smeared. A problem for future Thomas to deal with when he didn’t have captivating olive eyes staring him down.

        Clenching his jaw, he poured himself into his work. Commanding his hand to refrain from trembling as he worked on the details of Dan’s face. That angular jaw. He imagined trailing his fingers over the rough, unshaven state of it. Cheekbones that could cut through his paper thin heart if he wasn’t careful. 

        No shade of green Thomas mixed captured the essence of this man. The first two were too cold, another too warm. He needed a green that could seep into his soul and settle there like soft spring moss. Again and again he mixed and scraped his palette until he settled on something that could pass.

        Like a skittish rabbit, Thomas alternated between his work and Dan. Each time their eyes met those soft lips would curl again and send his brush twitching between his aching fingers. After today’s session, he would no longer be tortured by the sight of him. Both a blessing and a curse.

        “That’s all the time we have today.” The instructor’s bored voice piped up. The room still and the group took a collective breath and broke out into soft chatter. But not Thomas. He stood frozen in front of his easel and realized he no longer had a portrait of Apollo as the assignment dictated.

         He painted Dan the law student. Dimple and all.

         Shit.

        “Here.” A deep voice offered, a figure appearing out of the corner of his eye. Dan stood so close Thomas’ breath hitched in his throat. His head spun as if he were near a god himself. He offered him a blue and white bandana he plucked from his pocket from under his makeshift toga.

        “Thanks-” Thomas’ voice grew weak, his mouth dry. He set his brushes down and stooped down to brush the dried paint off of his tan sandal. He began to spill his guts without thinking. “I’m sorry I got your eye color wrong. I tried about six different shades and it didn’t quite work, and I-”

        “You got my dimple.” Dan chuckled. Thomas snapped his head up at the man, his heart drumming behind his ribs. Those soft lips smirked again. Amusement danced behind those eyes he had battled the entire three hour block. “Got a good eye for detail. Will you be in the figure drawing class next week?”

        “Oh… yeah I think it’s on my schedule.” Thomas didn’t know how he was speaking properly. His tongue always got twisted when an attractive man offered even the smallest interest in him. Dan’s eyes sparkled as he stood up, winking and taking a moment to give him a once-over.

        “See you then.”

        Stunned, Thomas stood there like a deer in headlights. His fingers clutched at the paint smeared bandana that Dan left behind and he watched as he picked his things up by the door and slipped out without another word. His body floated in a void, putting his portrait up to dry and washing his brushes to take back to the apartment. If the portrait class nearly turned him into a puddle, the figure class would surely end him.

-

        Velma looked up from her 4th bowl of cornflakes as the front door to their apartment unlatched and swung open. Thomas stood in the doorway like a ghoul, his face a mix of awe and horror. “You okay, dude?” she asked between bites. She raised a brow at the stained blue bandana tied around his neck in a stylish ascot.

        “I think I need to lie down. Velma, do you think a smile can kill a man?” He asked, shutting the door with his foot and tossing his bags on the ground. She hopped off his couch and sat on the arm. Thomas flopped down, his face buried in the ugly green throw pillows they stole from the dumpster behind a local furniture mart. 

        “No. Why?” Velma spooned the last of her cereal into her mouth.

        “Because I think I met Apollo himself. And I think he might be at my figure class next week.”

        Velma snorted. “That’s rough, buddy.”

--

They Called Her Delilah taglist: @celestialbunnistories @sybil-writes @draculinawrites @sapphcon-ic  @thoughtbloom @phantom-stargazer @mshelleys @ditzysworld  @writingpostmidnight @writerwaage @redwritesreads @aslanwrites @donovyn--nox

[likethetailofacomet]

Viewing Party

So the other night @ooo-barff-ooo and I were talking about how much we loved our TRR MCs, Claire Berkley and Joanna Malone, and how it would be cool if they were friends and I was like well what if they were and then this happened. 

Without further ado, I give you the ultimate friendship of C and J, getting drunk together and watching everyone’s favorite fairy tale on live television: The Royal Romance- Liam and Riley’s wedding. 

FEATURING: JOANNA MALONE, CLAIRE BERKLEY, AND DAN DAN THE BARTENDER MAN. 

“See you tomorrow, Dan,” Claire called from behind the bar.  “Same bat time, same bat place.” He said over his shoulder. He gave a one handed wave and strode toward the front door and sweet freedom. He’d been there since 11 am and it was approaching midnight- the joys of working a double shift- and he was due for another one in the morning, so he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Claire had come in at 5pm, and would sling drinks until last call at 4am, when the shift workers and doctors and construction guys and fisherman had had either thier first or last drinks of the night. Joanna would open, Dan would pull the double, and Claire would close. That was the general flow.

Tonight, though, was not a general night. At roughly 5 am EST the most anticipated marriage of the year would be televised live- the Cordonian Royal Wedding-New York bartender Riley Brooks was rising to the rank of queen as she married future king Liam Rys after falling in love with him in the most modern of Cinderella stories: she took out the trash at his bachelor bash and ended up stealing his heart and his hand.

Claire checked on her ten or so customers, making sure that all of their glasses were full before slipping into the closet they called a kitchen. There was a single basket fryer, a flat top that could fit no more than four frozen burger patties, and a coffee maker. She reached for the can of Folger's on the top shelf and scooped some of it into the brew basket before jamming it into the machine and pressing "start". She leaned against the counter ledge as she waited for the deep brown liquid to fill the little clear pot, pulling her phone from her apron to text Joanna.

-Hey girl, you're stopping for snacks right? I'm starving. 

Jo had been off from work since 5pm when Claire got in. She'd gone home and taken a nap before running a few errands for the viewing party they'd been planning ever since they saw that first tabloid article about the Prince choosing his bride. Claire and Jo were not the type of girls who would normally get so involved in the billion dollar weddings of fancy rich nobles and dignitaries around the world- hell they had been invited to Steve's wedding- a guy they used to work with and actually knew without the need for magazine or television coverage- and despite their manager saying that they could close the bar for a night so everyone could go to the wedding, Claire and Jo declined, not really liking Steve...or weddings. "I have a school thing that night...um...presentation. Of my...thesis," Jo had said. She was working on her Master's degree while slaving at Keagan's, so her excuse seemed to work, even though it was a summer course and she wouldn't actually be working on her thesis for another five months.  "And um, I have an...appointment that afternoon that....I can't reschedule..." Claire chimed in her thinly veiled excuse. She did have an appointment...for hair color...and she'd really rather not reschedule it just to go sit at Steve's wedding. But this wedding, dubbed "The Royal Romance" by the media, was a different story, namely for who would be standing next to the Prince as he said his "I do's".

-Um, did you see the pictures of the Prince's friend? The dude with the hair and the eyebrows and the denim? He's all the snack we need, C. (but yes I also got snacks for eating) 

Claire laughed at Jo's response, typed out a quick one back saying how excited she was, and then poured herself a large black coffee before heading back to the bar to finish up her shift. As the last patron stumbled out the door and it shut with a tingling of bells, she flipped the sign to the closed side, locked the door and turned off the neon lights in the windows. She went back to the bar cooler and took a tray of jello shots out, setting them on the freshly cleaned bar top. She then went to her bag and took two brightly colored headbands that she’d attached lace and tooling and feathers and beads to, and set them next to the shots. Changing the channels on all the televisions to various news stations, she sat back and enjoyed the “pregame coverage” of the wedding while she waited for Joanna. Just as she finished the last of the coffee she’d brewed hours earlier, she heard a tapping at the window and looked over to see her friend waving excitedly and holding up a bag. Claire set her empty coffee mug down and crossed the bar to open the door and let Jo in.

“Welcome to the wedding of the century, Madame,” Claire greeted her with a flourish and a funny bow.

Jo did an awkward curtsy. “Why thank you Madame, so pleased I could join you.” The two dissolved into laughter and headed over to the bar. Joanna hopped up onto a stool and took stock of the things Claire had laid out while adding the bag she’d brought with her. She picked up one of the headbands and laughed. “Oh my god, Claire, did you really make us fascinators?”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Um, yeah I made us fascinators! Riley has been obsessed with fancy hats throughout the whole social season! Homegirl would not shut up about them- like, every chance she could get to wear one she did and she even brought them up in interviews… I thought it would be weirder if I didn’t make us fascinators.”

“Good point. I really don’t know how Prince Liam is looking past that. He must really love that dizzball.” Joanna plopped the colorful headpiece on top of her noggin and Claire took the other one and shoved it into her frizzy hair. Next Joanna picked up one of the shots Claire had made. “Ew, Jell-o shots?” she made a face, pulling one half of her mouth up to show her disgust.

“Caramel apple jell-o shots, to be exact. You know, because Cordonia’s obsessed with apples? And caramel because I’m obsessed with caramel.” She shrugged. “Once we’re a few drinks in we won’t care if they’re gross.”

“So true my friend. So,” she opened the shopping bag she’d had with her and pulled out several small plastic containers. “We’ve got…olives…stuffed grape leaves…and, drum roll,” Claire obliged, rapping her pointer fingers on the bar top. “Baklava! You know cause,” Jo shrugged, “Cordonia, Greece…they’re sorta the same right?”

“Sure. Probably not but sure.” Claire laughed and Joanna tossed an olive at her.

“Okay well they are tonight. Also,” next she pulled out a sheet of paper. “I made up a drinking game for this here wedding.” On the screen they were showing a photo montage of Riley and Liam from all the different events from the social season. “Okay, rules- If anyone mentions apples, or there’s a flag with apples or we see an apple tree or they say “Cordonian Ruby”, we take one of these gross shots here,” she pointed to Claire’s Jell-o shots. “Any time we see fancy hats, or some noble lady curtsies or some dude in a suit bows, we take a sip of our ciders. If they call Riley “The American” we finish ‘em.”

“Wait, let me get this straight. You made up a drinking game with no whiskey involved?” Claire asked, skeptically narrowing her eyes at Joanna.

“I wasn’t done, C! Okay, so any time Mr. broody Mc Brooderson Drake Walker, love of our lives and real reason that we are watching this ridiculous wedding at 5am, is shown looking like he wants to kiss Riley, we do a shot of whiskey in his angsty honor. I was going to suggest Fireball but-“

“But you remember the holiday party from last year. Yeah, everyone does,” Claire hid her face in her hands embarrassed, preferring to forget that night and the drunken mess she’d been.

“Right. I remembered the holiday party and how Fireball turns you into a demon. So, I figured SoCo would do.”

“Yeah, that’s never made me dance on the bar while trying to fight Steve, so good call.”

Joanna nodded. “Any rules you want to add?”

Claire thought for a moment and then something blue and…unique…caught her eye on the screen. They were talking about Maxwell Beaumont again, and his propensity to wear themed suits. He had this hilarious blue suit with a squid on it; even the bow-tie was a tiny cephalopod. “Oh! Yes! Every time they have to pan away from that,” she pointed to Maxwell in the suit, “so as not to ruin a picture or a shot, we take a cider sip.”

Joanna laughed. “Deal. Oh! Its starting!!” She spun her stool so she could lean back against the bar to watch. Claire poured them each a cider and they clinked them together before taking a sip, pinkies out. “Ugh, and to think, this girl worked right down the street from us. Like, this coulda been us, C!”

Claire blinked before they both burst into laughter. “Yeah we’d both make excellent queens, I’m sure.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Dan unlocked the bar door and opened it, setting the bells jingling. Before he had even set one foot inside, he heard the raucous laughter of his two best friends, and shook his head wondering what he was about to walk into. “Is it just me, Jo, or does the Queen Mother look like a Royal Ducking Bitch?” Claire’s voice was sing songy and full of laughter.

Joanna was laying her arms and top half on the bar top, laughing hysterically, almost to the point where she couldn’t get her words out. She managed to respond, “Quack, mother ducker!!” before giggles swallowed her ability to speak further.

“Did…did you two really just autocorrect yourselves?” Dan called, hands on his hips taking in the scene in front of him. They each had a funny looking headband dangling from their heads, empty jello glasses littered the bar, and at least three shots of whiskey each sat next to them. If only Drake hadn’t been pining for Riley The American Queen so badly, they wouldn’t have had to nearly finish the bottle of SoCo.

“Yes, Dan, we are at a fancy ducking event here.” Claire pointed to her fascinator, to how it was barely staying together after she and Jo had danced and drank and laughed and flopped against the bar top.

“Yeah, and we can’t be ducking rude and curse like sailors, Dan!” Joanna chimed in. “The Queen would not allow it!”

“She would not!” they had put on silly accents by now, not coming anywhere close to the Cordonian accent…or any accent in the world, really, but forcing so much laughter from one another that they cried.

“Okay tweedles C and J,” Dan clapped them both on the back. “Outta my bar, you drunkards. Go sleep off the wedding, I’ll see you back for your shifts in a few hours.” Now it was his turn to laugh almost to the point of tears, as they both groaned thinking about bartending while hungover at 3 in the afternoon.

“Worth it,” Jo said to Claire, high fiving her sloppily.

“Totally.” Claire answered.

tagging people who i think might find this funny even though its really the most gratuitous thing i’ve ever posted: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @brightpinkpeppercorn @zaffrenotes @endlessly-searching-for-you @mind-reader1 @andy-loves-corgis @agent-bossypants

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 19

Title & Song:  Show Me

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 1800+

Summary: Genevieve is a force to be reckoned with. An intelligent, independent and brutal businesswoman. She’s been intrigued by Alfie since she met him. But where will she draw the line between business and pleasure now that they are working so closely together? The way Alfie chooses to celebrate a personal milestone catches Gen off guard. 

Warnings/Tags: Language. Fluff. 

A/N: Every chapter of this story will have a song to work as the title and as a soundtrack. Chapter song is Show Me by Dan Auerbach.  

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes and comments feed this artist to write more!

My Masterlist. (Includes Parts 1-18)

Your yawn and very noisy stretch are interrupted by a newspaper hitting you as it's tossed onto the table next to you.

"You see this?" Alfie asks with a strange urgency, sitting in the chair next to you, tapping one pointed finger, large bauble atop it, at an article you were already familiar with in the Business and Agricultural section of the paper.

You settle your hands back in your lap, nodding at him slowly with sleepy eyes. "Mmm Hmm." you say with a bird-like melodic delivery, a pleasant expression on your face. The medicine you'd been given by the doctor had left you sleeping your life away like a cat. Much like an actual kitten, lying about and looking fuzzy and delicate just the same with your unkempt hair and loose dresses.

"How long have you known?" he exclaims, his hand motioning at you with an attitude.

"I had assumed as much after I persuaded my biggest competitor to sell me their business." you look over at him, shoulders slumped and face slightly dazed from sleep and medication.

"This isn't something you'd think to share?" his chin drops, inquiring with words and the look in his eyes.

You shrug, your mouth in a thoughtful pouted pose. "I suppose...since I did the work it didn't feel like a big deal. My day to day hasn't changed drastically since." you shrug. "It's easy to fall back and forget such things when you're under the influence of heavy medication," you say with a slight shake of your head in elaboration. "Didn't want to go braggin' anyway. I saw the article came out but I've been down so I haven't been up for celebrating in my usual manner." you explain, face back to warm and easy going as it swings back his way.

"Number one producer and seller in all of fuckin' London is something you can brag about dear. Especially to me. I mea I'm fuckin' impressed." he admits, his hands moving at you in praise. As he speaks, a smile slowly grows across your face.

"You are?" your face shifts into a bashful expression he's not seen before. The reactionary and less thoughtful Gen was becoming something he's very aware that he'll miss once you healed up and you weren't a kitten version of your usual jungle cat form. Even if the medicine had made you so out of it he'd seen you walk straight into a door frame, then later into a bust in the hallway and apologizing to both after the fact, looking adorably confused and bewildered before he'd contained his laughter to swoop in and help you.

"Of course I am! Aren't you?" he almost shouts, a warm smile on his face, eyes wide and brows raised at you as his faces leaned closer to yours with an expression of genuine care for your thoughts on the subject.

You look down as a smile hits your lips. It spreads and you look back over, biting your lip before admitting with a drawn-out "Yeah."

"'Course you are. You should be, sweetheart." he holds your chin gently as he speaks purposely at you. "Shame you're hurt," he says, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment in thought before his eyes return to you. He retreats his hand. You're doe-eyed and still, sitting, slouched and soft in your big plush chair. "Since this calls for a celebration 'n all," he says with his grumpy thinking face. "Can't smoke cigars. Don't want ya coughin' and breakin' in half, do we?" he muses, his hand patting yours.

"If I'm still on top once I'm healed, perhaps?" you suggest with a slow chuckle, your eyes blinking slowly as the sweet smile of your pride lingered on your lips.

"I'll figure somefin' out." he nods, looking around the room.

"You don't have to Alf." you say, your nose scrunched, head shaking subtly at his fussing.

"I know I don't gotta but I wanna, so I'm gonna. Yeah?" he says definitively with a playful nod and expression.

"Sounds like you." you say with an almost dumb laugh that moves your chest when you raise your shoulders to accompany a teasing, cheesy smile. ----------------------------- Alfie has been gone for over a week. Thankfully for both of you, he returns in time for the weeks Shabbat and you get to spend the entire evening catching up. He set bottles of wine down on the dinner table when he'd rolled in to join everyone.

"Lad at the counter thought I was mad for ordering nothin' but lavender." he explains, shaking his head as the familiar brown paper crinkles under your hands and the smell hits your nose and you let out a small moan at the olfactory triggered memories. "But you talk about that French lavender from ya home being so much better than ours here and well, I just had to bring you home some, dinnit I?" his head is tilted, his most dashing, charming expression leaned in close to your reluctantly impressed one.

You kiss his cheek and he seems thoroughly pleased with himself from the grin he's directing at you. "Thank you, Alfie." you go back to a pleasant closed mouth smile. "They're perfect, ya big sweetie." you softly sigh as you hold the bouquet like a baby.

You saw him tucked away with Aggie in the scullery, giving her a bottle of some alcohol she couldn't find around here and a small book. She practically swooned and kissed his cheek, patting his face and you knew you wouldn't hear the end of what a wonderful husband and provider Alfie would make for at least the next week.

Now you're sitting on his bed in his room, discussing the pleasure side of his trip, as he seems like he felt a bit chatty about it. Maybe it was the combination of wine and tiredness. He's asked you if you'd had the meals he'd had on his trip before and if you'd seen a particular type of flower he'd seen because they were "bloody everywhere" as he exclaimed. As you yawn, he clasps his hands together and turns to a trunk and brings out a box.

"I got ya somefing." he announces, his head dipping as he approached you to sit next to you on the bed.

You don't respond, you just face him with a very endearing smile.

"I happened to be in a jewelry shop, yeah?" he side-eyes you with a cheeky grin as he sees you bite the bait he's set with vigor. "I know you weren't up for celebratin' but I saw this and knew it were put in my path so it'd find it's way to you, eh?" he beams at you, the charm coming from his genuine enthusiasm instead of wolfish smiles.

You barely suppress your excitement and it doesn't go unnoticed by him. You place the box in your lap and bite your lip in anticipation as you lift the lid of the black silk covered box. Inside sits a necklace. A delicate gold linked chain, holding a gemstone encrusted bee. "Alfie..." you say breathlessly, your mouth open and your hand to your chest, not being capable of hiding the lust in your wide eyes. The body and legs made of a gold,  textured and painted with shimmer that caught the light in small starbursts. A striped thorax sits underneath diamond encrusted, delicate wire wings, it's head tipped in large faceted emerald eyes. "Are you fucking serious?" you inquire with an open mouth, not looking at him.

"I saw it and I knew it was meant to be yours. The timing couldn't of better, yeah?" he pulls the lid back so he can see the piece more clearly. "Couldn't leave without it, could I?" his face beaming down at you, still wide-eyed over the gift.

"This is..." you sigh out in a huff. "It's perfect." you place the pendant in your palm and whine at the heaviness of it. How expensive was this thing? Did he steal it? Did it matter? "It's more than a necklace, it's a work of art." you practically moan. "I know gifts can act as proposals in your religion," you dip your voice and layer it in tease as you smile suggestively at him. "Are you trying to seduce me with this?" you accuse with a smirk, lifting your eyes to his.

"'Course not, Genevieve." he says with an exaggerated head shake and frowns with an animated insistence. "The thought has not crossed my mind," he says with a dismissive hand gesture that moves to his chin, drawing your attention to his now mischievous grin. "Not no more than five, ten times." he adds in a smug tone.

Your expression shifts to match his mischievousness. "Clever, cheeky, charmer, you." you say scrunching your nose at him in a laugh. "I thought the number of times would be much higher, honestly." you tease, looking back at the bee, distraction appears in your eyes again quickly.

"I've wondered what this looks like on you for a week now, c'mon." he says with a chuckle, taking it from you and standing. You move to the mirror on a vanity in his room. He stands out of frame after clasping the necklace shut for you, his arms across his chest, one hand rubbing his beard. "I'm so good at what I do I amaze even myself." he says with a nod of pride.

"It's bloody brilliant." you say, your posture correct, your fingers delicately dragging across your chest and shoulders as you look at the piece.

"It was made for ya, sweetheart." he insists with a shake of his head.

"I have to plan an outfit around this." you state with laid-back enthusiasm, holding up parts of your hair, already planning hairstyles. "Fuck me, now I have to go to these posh business events and show it off, don't I?" you say it like it's a bad thing but you have a cheeky smile on your face. "I have a portrait painting coming up soon I might just wear this." you say, leaning back, impressed by your own idea. "Ohhh." you express your enjoyment of the idea. "That would look so good in my office." you state with hunger in your words. You swing your face towards Alfie, who is biting the tip of his thumb at you. "Chime in anytime, Solomons." you laugh and rest your hands on your waist in a pose.

"I'm happy that you're happy with it Genevieve." he says with a dashing expression. "You look a proper titled Lady now, don't ya? Well suited since ya runnin' London and all now, eh?" he gives you a wink, his hands rubbing your arms as his face nears your shoulder. You roll your eyes at the playful suggestion. "It couldn't look better on anyone else." he voice border lining sweet and predatory, his taller form framing yours in the mirror as you bask in the high of expensive gifts and personal attention as he took in the sight of you. The look in his eyes holds the same fondness that yours did for the image reflected in the mirror. Your gazes meet abruptly, causing an unexpected connection in the tension filled moments. Neither of you prove brave enough to hold the stare for very long.

Pt 20 No You Girls

Tags! Let me know if you’d like to be added or dropped! Thanks!

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester​ @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r​ @iliveonchocolateandnetflix​ @jess2464 @hardygal69​ @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons​ @pootle@negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this

[blissedoutphil]

Sushi & Sex

Thank you for your prompts, I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it too <3 also sometimes I take so long to respond to prompts only because I can’t think of nicer titles omg.

4195 words of top!Phil, bottom!dan, crossdressing, fluff, feederism, feminization, smut

or read on ao3!

“Ughh why do we have so much stuff? We should’ve moved to an even bigger place, can’t believe we’re already running out of storage space,” Phil whined.

Dan picked up the kangaroo outfit and tossed it into the ‘to recycle/donate’ box in disgust. “Maybe if you stopped buying me all these ridiculous outfits for your videos,” he side eyed Phil, “we wouldn’t have so much crap.”

“You love all the outfits, don’t deny it,” Phil teased, putting the golf hat on Dan’s head, who tried to dodge it but failed.

“Hey!” Dan flailed as the green stuff from the hat stuck to his hair.

Phil smirked when he picked up the next outfit from his pile. “And this one’s your fave, isn’t it?”

Dan finished ruffling his hair, a comeback already in mind. But cat got his tongue when he looked up and saw what Phil was holding up.

Phil was smoothing out the Japanese schoolgirl outfit, smirking at Dan like he knew exactly what Dan was thinking.

Dan felt his cheeks slowly heat up. He frowned and grabbed the garment from Phil’s grip.

“We’re definitely throwing this one out,” he huffed, making a show of dumping the outfit into the box.

“Aw but why babe? You looked so cute in it,” Phil teased, to Dan’s disbelief.

“Don’t you owe your audience a liveshow? It’s been ages since your last, go entertain them. I’ll help clear out the rest and order dinner,” Dan hastily offered, looking away to hide his blush.

Phil raised his eyebrows, a knowing look on his face. He sat and watched Dan try to act like he wasn’t flustered. It was amusing, really, especially since they’ve known each other for so long, so who was Dan kidding? Phil would probably be able to tell how Dan was feeling even if he was blindfolded. But he got up anyway. He really has been neglecting his fans, Dan was right on that one.

“Such a shame that you’re throwing that dress away, I’m really gonna miss seeing you look all pretty in it,” Phil lamented before swiftly walking out the door, smirking when he heard Dan’s breath get caught. That should do it, he thought.

“Goooodbye!” Phil ended the liveshow, feeling rather happy. He’d missed doing liveshows, and he wondered why he had foolishly thought it was a good idea to stop doing them.

He walked to their room, expecting to see the pile of his props still a mess like how he left it. But to his surprise, the room was clean. He hadn’t actually expected Dan to stick to his words. The box was full in the corner of the room, and Phil noticed that Dan had laid something out on the bed.

When he walked over to the bed, he realised that it was the outfit he wore in the same video that Dan wore the schoolgirl outfit.

“What’s he planning?” Phil mumbled to himself.

He decided to roll with it, and so he shrugged off his t-shirt and put on his old school uniform, complete with the red and yellow tie. He had a suspicion where this was going, he knew Dan loved the schoolgirl outfit too much to admit it.

He headed to the dining room, remembering that Dan offered to get them dinner. He already expected Dan to be in the schoolgirl outfit, but he was still taken aback when his eyes fell on Dan.

Dan was sitting at the dining table, chin in the palm of his hands, big innocent eyes looking Phil up and down. He crossed his legs, making the skirt ride up just enough to expose his upper thighs. Phil had bought the biggest size and it fit Dan just nice, but it was still rather tight in some areas, hugging his figure in the delectable way that made Phil want to grab him by the hips and just fuck him there. He actually probably would later. But first, dinner.

“How was the liveshow, senpai?” Dan asked, his voice a little higher than usual.

Phil had to suppress a laugh. He wasn’t actually sure how to do this whole roleplay thing, but he’ll try to stay in character for Dan. It wasn’t that hard for him anyway, he’s just a British school boy at the moment.

“It was fun, love,” Phil said and bent down to peck Dan’s lips.

Phil let his lips linger against Dan’s and his hand moved to cup Dan’s cheek, feeling it radiate warmth. When Dan looked like he was about to go for another kiss, Phil cheekily moved away to sit down. He smiled at Dan’s betrayed look.

Dan blushed more and then quickly gestured to the food he’d laid out. “I bought us sushi for dinner, I hope you’ll like it,” he said, voice still small and cute and Phil can’t get enough of it.

“Looks really good, darling, let’s eat!”

Dan picked up his food with the chopsticks daintily, taking small bites. Phil wished he could get into this whole roleplay more, but he didn’t for the life of him know how to use chopsticks. He supposed that sort of fit his current role of Clueless British Schoolboy.

Phil stabbed his sushi with the chopstick and Dan had to fight the urge to scold him. He couldn’t stand the sight of food being stabbed by chopsticks, and Phil knew that. He couldn’t believe Phil still hadn’t learned how to use them despite him painstakingly teaching him so many times. But he was the one who initiated this roleplay, so he wasn’t going to break character.

“Oh senpai, do you need me to teach you how to use chopsticks?” Dan giggled a little.

“I do, baby, you’re so good at this unlike me. Come teach me,” Phil pouted and pat his lap, beckoning Dan over.

Dan shyly sat across Phil’s lap and hooked his right arm around Phil’s shoulder. Phil grasped Dan’s waist firmly and smirked up at him.

Dan held up his chopsticks and Phil followed suit, but being the clumsy Phil that he was, he dropped one. Dan giggled and shook his head slightly as he bent down to pick it up.

“Like this,” Dan directed softly as he returned the chopstick and used his hand to gently correct Phil’s fingers holding the chopsticks.

Dan’s touches were so gentle compared to his usual rough antics with Phil, and Phil was absolutely loving this delicate side of Dan. He could barely pay attention to Dan’s directions, he was too busy focusing on Dan’s face and how his cheeks were turning a pretty shade of pink.

“See?” Dan asked as he picked up a piece of sushi to demonstrate. He smiled playfully and fed Phil the sushi.

“Okay, let me try now,” Phil said with his mouth full.

He picked up an unagi roll, his tongue sticking out in concentration. Dan almost swooned at how cute Phil looked at that moment.

“Am I doing it right?!” Phil asked excitedly, but he spoke too soon and the sushi fell on Dan’s skirt, staining it with a little bit of soy sauce.

“My skirt!” Dan whined.

“Oh no baby, I’m so sorry, here let me help,” Phil quickly picked the sushi off Dan’s skirt and tried to wipe off the stain. With his fingers, he went to feed Dan the sushi. Dan opened his mouth without a second thought, letting his lips linger on Phil’s fingers a little before he chewed on his food.

“Let me try again,” Phil said and picked his chopsticks up again.

He went for a piece of sashimi this time. Dan held his breath, a little worried that by the end of dinner, he’d have stains and bits of food stuck all over his outfit.

Phil was holding his breath too, he’d never actually tried this hard to use chopsticks properly before. When he successfully got it level to his face, he grinned wide. Before the food could slip away, he quickly stuffed it to an unsuspecting Dan’s mouth.

Dan sputtered, but he managed to get the food in his mouth without any dropping and messing his clothes further.

“I did it!” Phil exclaimed and he was so adorable that if Dan’s mouth wasn’t full, he probably would’ve kissed him.

“Well done,” Dan smiled fondly when he was done eating, and watched Phil pick up another piece of sushi.

Phil was getting more confident, and he held onto the food with his chopsticks with determination. Dan didn’t miss the glint in his eye. Phil smiled as he held up the tamago sushi and began feeding it to Dan slowly unlike the previous time.

“I’m getting the hang of this, are you proud of me?” Phil asked with a smirk.

Dan hummed happily and nodded, enjoying being fed by his boyfriend. He wrapped his arm around Phil’s shoulder tighter.

“So glad I finally learned how to use these, now I can feed my baby easily,” Phil spoke, already picking up the cucumber maki.

Dan ducked his head shyly, but Phil only tilted his chin back up so he could push the maki past Dan’s lips. Phil wasn’t sure where this sudden fascination of feeding Dan came from, but he loved watching his boyfriend being so bashful while accepting food from him. He loved the way Dan stared at him admiringly while he chewed his food. He didn’t even think about feeding himself, he just wanted to feed Dan all the food they had. He gripped Dan’s waist tighter, squeezing the little love handle there.

After being fed a few more pieces of food, Dan noticed that Phil wasn’t even eating. “Let me feed you now,” Dan offered, but Phil shook his head.

“I’m not that hungry after all, babe. I wanna feed you all of this,” Phil gestured to the food still on the table.

“I’m getting quite full already, and you didn’t even eat,” Dan explained, but Phil didn’t let Dan pick his chopsticks up.

“I want you to be full, babe. So cute when you fill out,” Phil spoke lowly and rubbed his hand over Dan’s tummy for emphasis.

Dan made a sound of protest, but his cheeks went rosy, and he bit his lips in the way Phil knew meant that Dan was actually turned on by the idea. So, he got the ebi tempura between his chopsticks and lifted it to Dan’s lips. Almost immediately, Dan parted his lips and allowed Phil to feed him.

Dan actually moaned a little as the chopsticks were slowly drawn out of his mouth. His eyes widened when he realised the noise he made, and he hastily tried to give an excuse.

“The ebi’s really good.”

“Is it now?” Phil smirked and picked up another piece, “have another then.”

Dan wasn’t even fully done with the previous piece when another was stuffed into his mouth. He had no bloody idea why he was getting turned on by the thought of Phil excessively feeding him, but the fact that he could see Phil getting equally turned on reassured him that he wasn’t the only strange one in the household.

The small schoolgirl outfit started to feel even smaller as Dan continued eating. “I’m so full for you already, senpai,” Dan whimpered a little, feeling so full already.

“Be a good lil girl for me and don’t waste your food, there’s still all these left,” Phil said, and Dan’s cock twitched hearing what Phil called him.

Phil rubbed Dan’s tummy as Dan slowly chewed on an inari sushi, squeezing a little and noticing how the thin fabric was taut around Dan’s lower body, much tighter than it already was before he started eating.

“Love how chubby you get, such beautiful curves,” Phil praised, moving his hands to squeeze Dan’s thighs.

Dan whined needily and let his head fall to Phil’s shoulder. He didn’t think he could eat anymore, but Phil’s praises made him determined to please his boyfriend. When he lifted his head, Phil was waiting for him, food already held in his chopsticks.

When Dan realised what Phil was about to feed him, he shook his head and pursed his lips. “Please not that, I’ll eat everything else I promise!” he tried to argue.

Phil held the natto close to Dan’s mouth. “Beans are good for you, baby.”

“But I don’t like them,” Dan pouted.

“Don’t be picky. Finish your food or I’ll punish you,” Phil said sternly.

Dan started to regret buying this particular set of sushi, but he had no time to dwell on it. He sighed and reluctantly opened his mouth, letting Phil push the slimy beans in.

He scrunched his face up in disgust but he chewed on it anyway. The sight of Phil smiling proudly at him was worth having to swallow down the unpleasant fermented beans.

Phil knew how much Dan hated natto. If it was any other situation, Dan totally would’ve thrown the beans at him if he were to even suggest to Dan to eat them. So the sight of Dan forcing himself to eat the natto now to obey and please him aroused him immensely, and he felt his cock grow.

Dan quickly reached out for the glass and gulped all the water down when he was done with the beans, and Phil let his hand roam Dan’s thighs as he waited. Dan squirmed a little at Phil’s touch, feeling ticklish. It only made Phil squeeze Dan’s thigh possessively.

“So plump and cute,” Phil traced Dan’s skin lightly.

Dan parted his legs a little, inviting Phil’s hand to explore. Phil did just that, his hand slowly stroked Dan’s inner thigh all the way to Dan’s crotch. Dan moaned softly as Phil pushed his skirt further up his thighs and began palming him. Phil was surprised to feel lace over Dan’s crotch. He smirked up at Dan, who was blushing profusely.

“Wanted to look pretty for you,” Dan spoke softly.

“You are so pretty, love,” Phil answered as he felt Dan’s cock harden in the panties.

He moved his hand up, Dan whining at the loss of touch on his cock, and squeezed Dan’s lower tummy.

“Wanna kiss all your curves and stretch marks,” Phil said as he nuzzled Dan’s neck.

“Please,” Dan whimpered.

All too soon, Phil sat back and stopped petting Dan. “But I can’t do that when you’re not done with your dinner, baby.”

“I really can’t eat anymoreee,” Dan grumbled.

“Don’t be naughty,” Phil smacked Dan’s thigh, loving how it jiggled at the impact.

“‘m sorry,” Dan mumbled, and opened his mouth readily when Phil picked up the tako sushi despite feeling like he could burst from just another bite of food.

“There, it’s not that hard to finish up your food, is it?” Phil was kneading Dan’s thigh, his lovehandles, his arm. He couldn’t help himself, he was addicted to Dan’s plumpness.

Phil continued feeding Dan, waiting patiently as Dan slowed his eating pace. Dan was whimpering as he chewed on his food, he wanted to rip his dress off it was getting so tight. He almost cried out when he looked up and saw Phil already ready to feed him with the next piece of food.

But Phil’s praises kept him going. He wasn’t fond of his blubber but he liked how much Phil adores them, it was enough to make him accept and even embrace his little chubbiness.

“Last piece, baby,” Phil cooed, bringing the California roll to Dan’s lips.

Dan moaned in relief as he chewed on it, and Phil rubbed on Dan’s stomach soothingly.

“Well done, I’m so proud of you,” Phil praised and moved his hand lower to palm Dan’s crotch again.

Dan bucked his hips up to Phil’s hand, gasping at the touch.

“Do I get a reward for not wasting my food?” he asked soft and sweet, batting his eyelashes at Phil.

“You do deserve a reward, baby,” Phil said before kissing Dan deep, tasting sushi in Dan’s mouth.

Phil gripped Dan’s waist tight and lifted him to sit at the edge of the dining table. Dan squeaked in surprise and before he could register what was going on, Phil had pushed all the plates to the corner of the table and moved Dan so he was laying on his back on the table.

Dan’s lower legs dangled off the table and Phil stood between them. He squeezed Dan’s thighs and pushed his skirt up to expose the pretty red lace panties. Dan panted, feeling so needy already. He spread his legs invitingly.

“What’s my reward, senpai?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Phil say it.

“Gonna fuck you good just how you deserve it, baby girl,” Phil murmured and he bent down to suck a hickey on Dan’s collarbone.

Dan moaned, getting turned on even more from being called Phil’s girl. The panties were feeling very restrictive and he moved his hand to free his cock from the small piece of garment, but Phil swatted his hand away.

“Uh-uh baby girl, don’t take it off, you look really pretty in it,” Phil spoke and Dan whined in response, reluctantly moving his hand to rest on Phil’s back instead.

Phil pulled away from Dan’s collarbones after licking on the bruises he made. He pulled Dan’s cock out of the lace underwear and Dan moaned gratefully, but he made sure that the underwear stayed on. He pushed the dress further up, exposing Dan’s bloated belly.

Phil started nipping and kissing Dan’s stomach, and Dan threaded his fingers in Phil’s hair as he moaned at the sensation.

“So beautiful when you’re so full and round,” Phil mumbled against the stretched skin of Dan’s tummy.

Phil moved lower and without warning, he went down on Dan’s cock. Dan arched his hips off the table, moaning loudly. Fortunately for Phil, he didn’t really have a gag reflex anymore. He easily took Dan’s whole length and bobbed his head a couple of times.

Just as soon as he started going down on Dan, he went off completely, to Dan’s dismay.

“Please, need more,” Dan whined, squirming on the table restlessly.

“Be patient, my lil girl,” Phil said, moving lower to kiss and lick at the faint stretch marks on Dan’s inner thighs.

Dan strained his neck to look down himself and see what Phil was doing. He was writhing on their dining table half naked, and Phil was at the edge of the table between his legs still fully clothed. He felt exposed and he loved it. His cock twitched and a little precum started leaking.

When Phil was sure he’d kissed every inch of Dan’s plump flesh, he stood up and observed his boyfriend. Dan was looking up at him with blown out pupils, his mouth open and chest heaving.

“So good for me, aren’t you baby?” Phil spoke softly.

Dan nodded, his hips thrusting the air slightly. “Only for you, senp-,”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence as Phil shoved two fingers into his mouth. He enthusiastically sucked on them, only now realising he’d forgotten to have a tube of lube ready. But he was too impatient to ask Phil to get it from their bedroom, and he figured Phil wasn’t patient enough either. So he sucked hard on Phil’s fingers, licking them and getting them as wet as he could with his saliva.

Meanwhile, Phil pushed Dan’s knees up with his free hand so they were bent at Dan’s chest. He smiled when Dan’s stomach formed rolls, and he squished them affectionately. He moved Dan’s panties to the side to expose Dan’s hole. He pressed down on Dan’s tongue and when he felt like his fingers were sufficiently slick, he removed them, hearing a pop as Dan’s lips smacked.

He slowly pushed his fingers into Dan’s hole, and Dan threw his head back as he moaned whorishly. With his other hand, Phil unzipped his pants and let his hard cock free. With his fingers still inside Dan, he moved to the side of the table to reach Dan’s face.

“Lube me,” Phil instructed and Dan turned his head to his side.

He craned his neck and sucked on Phil’s cock, moaning around it. He made quick work of coating Phil’s cock with his spit, rushing so he could get Phil inside him faster.

Phil’s fingers brushed against Dan’s prostate, and Dan keened around Phil’s cock. He moved off of Phil.

“’m ready, please now please,” Dan begged incoherently.

“Shh babe,” Phil cooed. He moved back in between Dan’s legs and removed his fingers.

In one swift motion, Phil slid his saliva slick cock into Dan’s stretched hole. Both of them moaned loud. Phil moved all the way in til his balls rubbed against the lace covering one side of Dan’s butt. He stilled to let Dan adjust to the intrusion.

Not long after, Dan was moving his hips desperately. “Move please,” Dan begged, and Phil obliged.

Phil started a slow pace, but he gradually moved faster. “Such a tight pussy, feels so good,” he praised, “and you’re so pretty babe.” He pulled on the lace panties and let it snap back onto Dan’s hip.

Dan was grunting as the force of Phil’s thrusts caused him to rock on the table. “All for you, senpai,” he breathed out.

Phil moved Dan’s legs to wrap around his own waist. Dan dug his heels into Phil’s hips, trying to bring him even closer. Phil then rested his hands on either side of Dan’s head, staring deep into his boyfriend’s lust blown eyes as he thrusted in and out of him.

Dan pulled on Phil’s tie, bringing him down to meet his lips. He opened his mouth and let Phil dominate the kiss, moaning as Phil bit on his lip. He wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck, not allowing Phil to go even an inch away from him.

They continued kissing, only breaking away occasionally to gulp in some air before locking lips again. Phil’s hands roamed on Dan’s body as he fucked into Dan, stroking and squeezing Dan’s stomach rolls and thick thighs around his waist, feeling the lace stretched tight around Dan’s groin.

Dan felt so full, first from the food and now from being filled by Phil’s thick cock. He loved being filled by Phil, for Phil. He moaned in pleasure and clenched his ass to get the same reaction from Phil.

Phil’s thrusts increased in pace and intensity as he felt his orgasm approaching. He brought his hand to Dan’s achingly hard cock and Dan moaned gratefully as he finally received the much needed touch.

Phil started stroking Dan’s cock and made sure all his thrusts angled right against Dan’s prostate. Dan screamed out Phil’s name, his nails digging into Phil’s back as he was overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Make sure you don’t stain your pretty dress or lace, baby,” Phil warned as he pumped Dan’s leaking cock fast.

Dan moaned in response, feeling his lower muscles tighten.

“‘m gonna,” he rasped out.

“Go ahead, baby,” Phil answered, still thrusting into Dan relentlessly.

Dan immediately spilled over Phil’s hand, strings of cum pooling onto his stomach. He cried out as he came, shaking with the force of his orgasm. Phil was still fucking into him hard, and he trembled from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Phil stroked Dan through his orgasm, making sure to milk all his cum out. He groaned and grunted as he came deep inside of Dan a moment later, slowly rocking his hips as he rode his orgasm out.

“So hot, baby girl,” Phil moaned as he finally pulled out of Dan and tucked Dan back into his panties.

Dan whined at the loss, suddenly feeling very empty. He kept his legs hooked around Phil’s waist, not letting Phil move.

“Tsk tsk, what a mess you’ve made, love,” Phil said.

Dan looked down at himself. “But I didn’t stain my outfit,” he proclaimed proudly.

“That’s good you didn’t, but look at your dirty tummy.”

Phil bent down and lapped up at Dan’s cum on his stomach, and Dan moaned at the sight. His soft cock actually twitched at that. He squirmed as Phil’s tongue tickled his skin there when he licked and swallowed Dan’s cum. After Phil was done lapping up Dan’s cum, he placed soft, loving kisses on Dan’s now clean tummy.

“You’re so perfect,” Phil murmured against Dan’s skin.

Dan managed to grab a hold of Phil’s now loose tie and pulled Phil up. Phil moved up and Dan pressed a kiss against Phil’s lips, licking and nipping Phil’s bottom lip.

When they pulled apart, Phil rested his forehead against Dan’s.

“I love you,” Dan murmured.

“I love you too,” Phil replied, feeling Dan’s warm breath against his lips.

Phil prised out of Dan’s grip and slowly pulled Dan to sit up on the table. He carried Dan to the bathroom, already excited for cuddles in the bath.

“I knew this was your fave outfit that I got you, I’m so glad we’re keeping it,” Phil commented, giggling when his boyfriend’s cheeks turned pink.

What I enjoyed most from writing this was finding a way to drag Phil for refusing to do liveshows this year lmao. also getting myself some sushi to reward myself for finishing it :P

[a-table-of-fics]

The Man from Utah, Chapter 4, Draft 1, Part 6

“What--?” Liam started, but already people were arriving, brandishing shovels, picks, and bits of rebar.

They stood between Sir Daniel and Creta, preparing to approach the still-faltering knight. Thinking quickly, he let go of his cart, running forward with his hands out.

“Hold it!” he cried. “I have already tranquilized this giant! See? He’s already…already faltering. Lemme take him away to be disposed of properly; he might still be dangerous before he falls.”

“Tranquilized with a PPK?” one of them asked.

“Don’t listen to him!” Creta shouted. “I’m the one who took care of the monster! This… this outsider helped him kill my poor Luca!”

“He what?!” demanded one of the crowd of twenty. “You got a lot of explaining to do, stranger.”

“I…erm… look, we…”

“…behind me… sir… Liam…” Daniel managed.

The people had run out of patience, having charged in with lethal intent. One swung, knocking Liam down with the face of his shovel. After a moment to catch his breath, and a couple rolls to avoid pickaxes, he was able to jump onto one of his foes, taking their rebar and knocking them out.

He felt something try to bash his head in; someone’s shovel glanced off his helmet. Liam spun around, tripping that person with his weapon before backing up to Dan. Three people were on him, and more came to replace the ones he feebly tossed aside. There were several folks between Liam and his friend, though, and they were preparing to attack him, as well.

Backing up, he tried to block attacks with his rebar, but there were getting to be too many, and they were all still going for the kill. Another shot rang out, and one of them fell over dead. The brief jump back from everyone else gave Liam just enough time to sprint back, seeing to his horror that two of the locals had already dug out a couple of the guns he had purchased from his cart, and were already loading them

There was no way he’d be able to make it there before they shot at him, and one look at their postures told him they had far more experience at shooting than he did.

He was truly doomed, with melee assailants on one side and gunners on the other.

“Get…down!”

Liam was shocked that Dan was still talking, but he ducked just in time for the knight to tumble over him, blocking the gunners just in time. He could hear the bullets ricochet off his friend’s armor rapidly, along with cursing.

Dan still had enemies climbing onto him, trying to pry his helmet off, but Liam was able to shoot them point-blank, before turning back to the twelve other adversaries rearing to take him down. He knew he couldn’t stop the fight on his own, especially when he realized his only gun was a lot lighter.

Then, he saw the huge SUV, doors still wide open. A bulky, possibly armored vehicle like that might be his only chance, especially since his own truck was over by the gunners.

Unsure of how much ammo he had left, he was able to keep most at bay just by pointing his pistol at them, being sure to sweep back and forth. Finally, he made it to the steps of the car and rolled them up, closing the door. He was quick to slam the driver side shut as well, but there was another problem,

The driver’s seat was made for someone far taller than him.

[archionblu]

How about Dan catching Arin watching him take a nap and he invites Arin to go take a nap with him, Arin's all flustered and red as Dan cuddles into his side

He didn’t mean to drift off, but Arin had been grinding between episodes, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration, and Dan had been dead beat. Too many late nights at the studio recording, too many grump sessions, too soon ‘til tour and the albums and and and and. 

But something changed that roused Dan from his doze, a change in noise level, or a small movement, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that as he blearily opened one eye, two chocolate brown ones were staring back at him. 

Arin let out a startled little “Oh,” in surprised, and quickly leaned back, his cheeks red. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” Dan asked, his voice amused and a little gravely. 

“No. Well, maybe.” Arin fiddled with the controller in his lap, suddenly unable to look at him.

Dan felt a warm rush of affection in his chest. “C’mere, Big Cat.” he said, scootching his scrawny butt further into the couch cushion.

 “There’s room enough for two.” 

Arin seemed to hesitate for a moment, glancing at the save screen that had obviously been up for quite a while. His face was still red, and he looked downright bashful. 

“I don’t know…”

“Look, you obviously need a break. Come be my Snuggleman, and then we can get back to it in like twenty minutes, good as new. Sound good?”

It must have, because Dan let out a quiet “Oof!” and a laugh as he found himself with his arms full of Arin. 

Dan carefully shifted them around, pulling one of Arin’s knees between his own and Arin gently lifting Dan’s hair out of the way so he could lay his head on his shoulder. Dan absently set an alarm on his phone before tossing it on the floor by the couch. Curling into the warmth of his friend, he drifted off again into peaceful slumber.

[abutterflyscribbles]

Griselda and The Laughing King

A Changing of the Seasons Drabble

How Bog’s parents met

The party was in full swing. Drinks were circulating and no one had to send up a shouted demand for more, because there was always a fresh cup close to hand. The buffet table, groaning like a dying creature under the weight of the food, was being kept presentable no matter how many dishes were snatched off or how many dancers bumped into it, sending the centerpieces into disarray. Griselda and her troops of nieces and nephews pattered back and forth between the kitchen and the party, making sure the wedding feast ran smoothly.

Griselda had done some counting the night before and figured out that this was the twenty-third family wedding she had presided over as organizer. She had begun her career working under her uncle Horatio. He had been an old goblin with a cheery disposition and a love of seeing others happy. He had often said that he was so busy looking after all his relatives that he felt no need to find a wife and have children of his own.

“Everyone is kind enough to share their little ones.”

Griselda had been one such little one. She showed such a knack of minding other people's business for them that Horatio, his skin bleaching with age and hands growing too stiff to attend fine details, decided to make her a successor of sorts.

This was a decision that Griselda had been in perfect agreement with. The bustling life of organizing celebrations and bustling from one branch of the family to the other to help out when an extra set of claws was needed, it suited her right down to the ground. She was allowed to boss and mother anyone and everyone and enjoy the sight of blissful newly weds, whose big day had been made perfect thanks to Griselda's handiwork.

This wedding, the twenty-third, met a small hitch. Not that Griselda wasn't up to dealing with hitches, big or small. It was just an unusual sort of hitch. It was a pair of uninvited guests. Which was odd because these family weddings tended to extend invitations to the surrounding village. Or villages, if the hosts had deep enough purses and magnanimous temperaments.

The uninvited guests were not from anywhere nearby, that was certain. No one in the family had any connections to high goblins. And these were indeed high goblins, both in rank and stature. Both of them had to duck to enter the hall. Credit had to be given, they had entered dramatically, out of the darkness in a swirl of wings and cloaks, but they had not kicked up a fuss. Only those nearest the door had noticed them enter.

Griselda tossed her braid of wiry red hair back and marched forward to greet the guests. She had her head lowered to make her horns point at the intruders. There was food and cheer enough to share with a few strangers, but only so long as they weren't there to make trouble. She would let them know from the get go that disruption to the happy occasion would not be tolerated for a second.

“Now, what's this?”

She stood with her fists on her hips and head tilted back to get a good look at the faces far above her. She was well aware that her mouth was exceptionally wide for her face and she made good use of it, giving the strangers a pronounced and disapproving frown.

“Well . . .” the taller of the two, who had his arm around his friend as if keeping them up. Griselda wondered if they were already in their cups. The taller one rubbed the back of his neck and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “There's a bit of a story.”

“Isn't there always?”

The taller one laughed again.

He was one of those scaly, armored sort of high goblins. Wings, too, black curtains twitching nervously under Griselda's unwavering gaze. He had a pronounced burr rounding his words, an accent not heard anywhere nearby, so whoever he was he had come a long way. He didn't seem to be a young troublemaker. He looked to be more in his forties, face already creased with laugh-lines. But there was a sparkle of mischief in the goblin's eye that made her suspicious.

“Well, you see,” he laughed once more, “my friend and I sort of ran into a little trouble. There was a sort of snake and these were the first lights we saw.”

He paused to heft his friend back up, as they had been slowly sliding out of his grip while he talked to Griselda.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled his friend back up, “Hang on for another two minutes or I'll just nudge you under a table and grab a drink.”

“The tavern is closed,” Griselda said, folding her arms, “They've parked their kegs here for the night. How are you two already drunk? Have you been skimming off the barrels in the back?”

The taller, and at least less drunk of the two held up his hand when Griselda stabbed an accusatory finger at him, like he was trying to surrender before a battle even began. A genuine, cheerful grin was given as a peace offering.

“No, no! I would never be so rude! If I had known you lot were in the middle of a party I would never have . . . Ha! Actually, I would have anyway. But with possibly more discretion. I apologize . . . sorry, I didn't catch your name, miss . . .?”

Griselda rethought her previous opinion. It was likely that the laughing one was just as drunk as his unconscious friend, just better at holding his liquor. He was very steady, but the constant stream of giggling pointed to him being not quiet in a sound state of mind. He was beaming. The heavy ridge of his brow did nothing to hide his amber colored eyes and their good-natured shine. Nor did it hide that persistent twinkle of mischief.

Really, his grin was sort of catching. Griselda was finding it hard to keep her frown in its proper downward curve. She was finding herself very near to ending the interrogation and giving him an official invitation into the party. A slumming noble might add even more life to the party and Griselda would really like to find out what the secret joke was, that made him laugh so much.

“Dan,” the unconscious one roused long enough to be heard, “Dan, if you don't stop giggling at her I'm going to bleed out.”

“What?” Griselda dropped out the half a dozen threads of thought that she had been weaving around introducing these two—or at least the conscious one—into the party.

“Oh,” the tall one blinked, “Oh! Yes! Yes, I mentioned the snake? Anyway, there was a snake and it was rather quarrelsome. There was a bit of a dust up and she—my friend, not the snake—got roughed up. A bit. A large bit.”

“Dan,” the injured one hissed.

“Yes. The snake is dealt with but she got bounced off a tree or two.”

Griselda was hustling them away before Dan finished talking. She shoved them both down the hallway that led to the bedrooms, cast a quick glance back to make sure there was no blood on the floor or witnesses goggling after them. There were neither and Griselda continued to shove until she had the two of them contained in a guest room and the door shut behind them.

“Put her on the bed, Danny,” Griselda ordered, stripping the bedding away and tossing a clean leaf over it.

“This is all your fault,” the injured one complained while Danny set her on the bed. A ruff of fuzz circled her neck and it was flattened with sweat and dirt. She clawed at it, itching no doubt, and growled when it pulled at her injuries.

“I didn't ask you to get bashed about!”

“We wouldn't have been in a position to get bashed about if you hadn't insisted--!”

Griselda cut her off by pinching her nose. The high goblin had an impressive nose and it made an easy target. “Pick your bones later. Lay back and keep a lid on it.”

“It's for your own good,” Danny said in an poor attempt at a serious tone.

His friend tried to kick him.

“I will tie you both up if you don't knock it off!” Griselda smacked Danny's hand. He smiled and backed away to sit out of the way. The patient bared her teeth in a mixture of pain and annoyance.

“Now,” Griselda peeled the leaves that had been put on the armor just below the patient's armpit. The hasty bandages were soaked with blood but it was already drying, “I'll see if I can handle this. If not I'll pry the good doctor Bones away from the buffet and roll him in.”

The patient looked skeptical.

“What does some backwoods housewife know about medical care?”

Griselda removed the last of the bandages and refrained from ripping it right off the wound. “I'll admit, my great lady, that I wouldn't be much help with a fancy disease or something going wrong with your insides, but you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone around here who doesn't know how to look after a few cuts.”

“Dan, if I die here, under the care of some self-taught old--”

“I am also not a housewife,” Griselda interrupted, “I'm a spinster. Also Griselda.”

The patient was considerably battered. The fine layer of velvet that covered her armor had been scraped off in large patches and would need to be trimmed before anymore peeled off. A number of fresh cracks had been opened up in her carapace—which was more like bone than Danny's brittle-looking armor--but thankfully nothing that couldn't be patched together and left to heal. One of the two blunt horns on her head had been snapped off, but aside from a possible wound to her vanity it would cause no lasting harm.

“The wound under your arm is nasty, but not dangerous. A good cleaning, a couple of stitches, you'll be fine. And unless the fine lady has any objections I'll do just that. Is that alright with you, miss . . .?”

“Spruce.” the patient growled. “Fine, get it done. I just need to be able to get home.”

“Your gratitude is unmatched,” Danny said, grinning in his corner, “Don't mind her, Griselda, she gets cross when she loses blood. Be careful with her, she's fragile.”

“Dan!”

“No, but really. Be careful with her. She's my best friend and I kind of like her in one piece.”

Griselda wasn't sure why her heart suddenly warmed at the revelation that the two strangers were not a couple. It didn't matter to her. It never mattered to her whether a fellow with pretty eyes and a cheerful grin was married or single, except to help him find a nice match if he were the latter. And just because he wasn't attached to this particular person didn't mean he was without a wife. If he was married you couldn't expect him to have his wife on hand at any given moment to prove he was taken.

But it really didn't matter.

“Now that her ladyship finally condescended to take her medicine she should sleep through the night.” Griselda was scrubbing her hands. Danny was helpfully pouring water from a pitcher. “All that's left is to put your somewhere and get back to work. I've left things in the hands of my nieces and nephews, but you can't expect them to have all the details in hand.”

“It is a wedding then?” Danny tipped his head, listening to the sounds of music and dancing coming from the hall, “Sounds a great deal more cheerful than they let mine be.”

Now Griselda's heart dropped all the way down to the floor with a hard bump. Which was uncalled for. Maybe she had been overworking herself. The last three weddings had come one after the other . . .

Danny continued, “The experience never made me keen to have another, though everyone else seemed to think I ought to.”

Griselda's heart wobbled uncertainly on the floor. “Your wife is . . .?”

“Died a long time ago, bless her.”

Griselda's heart returned to its rightful place in her chest but insisted on jumping up and down in an uncomfortable way.

“I wonder . . . would anyone object if a lofty noble too full of his own dignity joined in the party?”

The idea that Danny was even on speaking terms with dignity made Griselda laugh. “They'd forgive you your rank, whatever it is, but possibly not your lofty height. What would your friend Spruce say at the idea of you joining in on backwood festivities?”

“She'd say 'Dan, no'.”

“You don't know that for sure. But you can't exactly ask her now, can you? Guess you'd better just do what you think is best.”

Danny laughed. So far he had restrained himself to quiet chuckles and giggles, which Griselda has mistaken as a result of him having had one too many. Now he laughed out loud and the strength of it threw back his head while the sound of it boomed off the walls and ceiling. Griselda had never thought a high goblin would be able to laugh like that.

“What I think is best?” Danny repeated, “oh, Spruce and I would disagree about the definition of that! But, as you said, I can't just assume. I'll have to follow my instincts and inquire if I can join the party, have a drink, and maybe dance with a charming lady?”

“Oh, I'm sure I can find you a charming lady or two.”

“Don't put yourself out. I've taken care of that already.”

“Oh!” Griselda smacked his arm and hurried out of the room. Danny followed, laughing.

The next day the troops of helping sprouts were surprised and scared of Aunt Griselda's sharp orders and peevish mood. The clean up was less festive than she usually made it.

She was mad.

And she had no reason to be mad.

Danny was some high goblin who had stumbled across a quaint little scene of the peasantry and decided to have fun pretending to be one of them. So what if he danced with Griselda and her heart had been floating weightlessly in her chest all night. It didn't matter that he had lovely eyes, a blinding smile, and a wonderful laugh.

It's not like he had done anything but flirt a little. Griselda had seen hundreds of flirts. She knew their words were empty, like little puffs of spun sugar. Sweet, but nothing to them. She had even been flirted with, when she was younger, and done a fine job of flirting back. And it never meant a blessed thing.

Yet when she found out Danny and Spruced had hopped it sometime in the middle of the night Griselda had found herself . . . not devastated, that was too strong. Let down. She had thought there was something to it all. At least a friendship. Or the courtesy to thank her for her hospitality and say goodbye.

Nothing. Not even a note.

Griselda snorted. Maybe he didn't think the simple peasantry could read.

By midday Griselda had burned out most of her anger and decided she was being an idiot. She was thirty-seven and somehow had made the mistake of a credulous girl who read too much into every smile cast her way. Nothing had changed, it had all been a little hitch in the usual flow of her world.

She baked up some potato for the children who had suffered through her moodiness and was lavish in portioning out spices, butter, and cheese. The happy couple were off to look at their new home, as if they hadn't inspected every inch of it already. Griselda had already packed up leftovers from the party to take to them. She knew from previous experience that they would be too busy rearranging furniture and being in love to remember things like cooking.

After that she had to check up on all the victims of hangovers, fill them up with remedies, and resist smacking them one between the eyes. It was hard work, rolling huge goblins to bed—or at least out of the way of cleaning—and make sure they were comfortable. Many parties ended up with a hall full of unconscious guests that Griselda and her sprouts would cover in a comfortable nest of leaves.

She managed to get so involved in her work that she wasn't even thinking of Danny when he flitted out of the forest and perched over the door to the kitchen.

“What are you doing up there, you loon?”

“I assumed you'd be angry with me for vanishing into the night and thought I should open the conversation at a safe distance.”

“Why should it matter to me what you do?”

For some reason Danny was carrying a staff. A very nice staff of metal, and a great chunk of amber at the head. Griselda wondered if it could possibly be real, but threw away the thought. Many lesser nobles adorned themselves with baubles of yellow glass to make themselves look more important than they were. There was no way that anyone would be carrying around a piece of amber that large.

“Oh.” Danny scratched the back of his neck. The plates of his shoulders flipped up and down in a nervous way. “I was hoping it might.”

“Even if it had mattered, why should it now? You sweet talk a girl all night and then run off without so much as a kiss. I know your type. Honey-coated nonsense.”

“Hey, now!”

“I was quite willing to be kissed, you know. But that was last night.”

“I was quite willing to do the kissing.”

“Yes, but that was last night.”

“I missed my chance?”

“As if you had one.”

“Look,” Danny dropped down off the roof and onto his knees, letting his staff drop so he could take Griselda's hands, “Kissing you was on my mind last night. Excessively so. It's just that it would have been under false pretenses.”

“If you think I haven't noticed that you're some sort of noble doing a bad job at going incognito--”

“Look, my full name is Aidan.”

“That supposed to mean something to me?”

“Give me a chance, love!”

Being called 'love' encouraged her to give him that chance. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“I think you're adorable. I want to pick you up, carry you around, and show everyone how fantastic you are. I want to see you meet . . . um, the people I know and watch you boss them all around like they were children. Nothing phases you, not even an idiot and his half-dead friend. It's just that . . .”

“Go on!”

“I'm . . . I'm sort of . . .” Danny was turning very red in the face, “. . . called Aidan the Laughing King.”

He offered a nervous giggle to back up this declaration.

Griselda looked at the discarded staff. On closer inspection it was definitely decorated with amber and not with mere glass.

“That . . . that actually makes sense.”

Both of them giggled.

Griselda's head was in a whirl. A noble was one thing, a king was another. The Autumn King had just . . . fallen into her life. They'd both taken a shine to each other, but that would be the end of it. He was a king. She was a nobody.

“That makes it kind of complicated,” Aidan went on, “because I'm already absolutely head-over-heels for you and want to marry you this second, but a king is kind of a lot to take on when you weren't expecting it--”

“Say that again.”

“Which part? I've said a lot of stuff and I've lost track.”

“The marrying part. Were you serious?”

“Strangely enough, I was. And I've been told I'm not serious about anything. And I know that it's all or nothing with this. I can't ask you to put up with me and all of the court unless I were really serious, otherwise I wouldn't have brought it up so soon.”

She had meet him just last night. This was ridiculous. She couldn't be falling so easily for the last person she was suited for. The discussion should have been over. Danny—the Laughing King should have been the one to end it! A king was supposed to be responsible and there was no way that having anything to do with her was anything but irresponsible. This wasn't supposed to be her choice!

“I'm nobody, though.”

“You've got enough personality and lung power to be three somebodies. And I think your family would disagree with you. Hey, hey, kid!” Danny waved at a little sprout wandering by with an armload of plates. “Do you think this lady is amazing and wonderful and important?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Elaborate!”

“She helped my mom after we lost my sister and she made my mom smile again. And Aunt Griselda is really fun. I like her.”

“Thank you! See? All night long all I heard about was how glorious Aunt Griselda was. I know that the court would write you off as nobody, but you wouldn't let that stand. Not you. If you wanted to you could rule this whole kingdom better than I could.”

“No thanks! Idiot. Get up.”

“Nope. Gotta look you in the eye. And if I'm standing up I won't be able to help myself. I'll pick you up and make unwanted advances, like playing with your hair.”

Griselda was really afraid she was going to kiss him soon.

“I'll need a month.” she said.

“For what?”

“To make sure my niece Fang is ready to step into my place. I can't just get swept off my feet by some lunatic king and leave everyone here without--”

Aidan kissed her. Which wasn't fair. If he had let her finish talking she would have kissed him.

[wesawbears]

For @sirandking for the @tfcfemslashnet‘s exchange. The prompt was “Renison during canon.” I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! The rest of the vignettes are under the read more.

--

i. Believe it or not, Allison understood why Renee sparred with Andrew. While Dan and Matt fretted over her, Allison knew that Renee could take care of herself. Allison wouldn’t be friends with her if she was all sugar and no spice. To be honest, her tough side was what made Allison first realize that she was developing feelings for Renee, but she also knew that with everything with Seth happening so recently, she wasn’t in a good enough place mentally to start another relationship right now.

Still, she allowed herself to think about how nice it felt to be protected and cared for by Renee. Allison had spent her entire life on the defensive and much of her relationship with Seth had required her to be the strong one. It was nice to know that Renee was there to hold her up for once.

Allison didn’t want to take that care for granted though, and she made it her mission to take care of Renee too. So when Renee came in after a sparring match, Allison had everything ready.

Renee raised a tired eyebrow at the display. “You know candles aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

Allison waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t care about the rules. Go shower and then I’ll brush your hair.”

Renee smiled and Allison refused to acknowledge the flutter in her chest. “Thank you, Allison. That’s very kind of you.”

Allison felt a blush rise high on her cheeks. She felt guilty for a moment before realizing she had no reason to feel wrong about being happy. Allison didn’t regret anything about her life and she wasn’t about to regret Renee. “You know I’m here for you.”

Renee nodded gratefully and headed for the shower. Allison was so gone for this girl.

ii. Things were, to say the least, extremely tense after the riot. After they dealt with Andrew flipping out and choking Kevin, the team had each retreated to their separate corners while they waited for news from Neil and tried fruitlessly to get a little sleep.

Renee and Allison ended up huddled together in a seat towards the front of the bus, while Allison worked on patching up Renee’s split knuckles. Renee kept glancing worriedly at Andrew, so Allison said, “Do you want to go talk to him?”

Renee shook her head. “No. I’m afraid that would just make things worse.”

Allison clicked her tongue. “He still freaks me out, but I feel bad for him. After all this, you’re still not going to bet on him and Josten?”

Renee shook her head again and Allison felt suddenly self-conscious. “You-the bet of you two together is bullshit, right?”

“Yes, Allison. We’re not together.”

Feeling too vulnerable from that line of thought, Allison changed the subject. “You didn’t have to fight all those people for me.”

Renee smiled at her softly. “Yes I did.”

Allison raised an eyebrow at her. “Is it a weird Andrew protection thing?”

Renee’s lips curled up in a wider smile. “Sort of. But it’s also an ‘I care about you’ thing.”

Allison swallowed hard as Renee reached out and squeezed her hand and she ducked her head to hide the traitor blush on her cheeks.

“You should get some rest,” Renee said. “I’ll watch over you.”

As Allison settled her head in Renee’s lap, she was sure of one thing: Renee Walker was a goddamn angel.

iii. Despite the circumstances she had been given in her life, Renee knew she had a lot to be grateful for. As such, she felt the need to try and pass that on to her friends when they needed grace. Though she knew they wouldn’t all accept her prayers if they knew, they would have them nonetheless.

The night Seth was found dead, though, for once prayers didn’t feel like enough. Renee saw Allison for only a brief moment as she gathered some clothes before leaving to take care of the final arrangements. Renee knew Allison wouldn’t wasn’t anyone to see her looking weak and that she would put on a brave face until she was alone, but it still hurt to see her put on the same mask she had come to Palmetto with four years ago.

In spite of this, Renee knew she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t do something in Allison’s hour of need. She put a hand gently on Allison’s arm before she could leave the room. Allison stared at her with her trademark impatience, but didn’t chew her out, which Renee considered a good thing. Sighing, Renee unclasped the necklace she wore and placed it in Allison’s palm, before clasping her hand. “To protect you as long as you need it.”

Allison swallowed hard before nodding and turning away. Renee said a quick prayer for Allison’s safe travel and for Seth’s soul to be at peace before falling into a deep sleep.

iv. Renee looked at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t often that she took stock in what others thought of her appearance, but tonight was the fall banquet- their first since becoming national champions and Renee’s last as a Fox. Most pressing, though, was the fact that she was going with Allison, “since both of our usual dates are otherwise occupied.”

As Renee was brushing through her hair one last time, she saw Allison in the mirror behind her. “You clean up nice.”

Renee smiled at her approach. “Hello, Allison. You look lovely as well.”

Allison quirked an eyebrow. “Lovely, huh? That’s a new one.”

Renee turned and placed her hand on Allison’s wrist. “But one you can get used to?”

Allison smiled, looking uncharacteristically bashful. Renee thought shy suited her. “Yeah. I think I can get used to it.”

They stood there smiling at each other when Dan and Matt entered the room. “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” Matt chanted.

Dan swatted at him, but Renee went on her toes to kiss Allison’s cheek. “Let’s go.”

They held hands through all of dinner and they both reveled in the comfort it brought them. Allison noticed Andrew looking at them and said, “What? If I hurt her, you’ll kick my ass?”

Andrew snorted, “No. If you hurt her, she’ll kick your ass.”

“Hell yeah, she will,” Allison said, squeezing Renee’s hand.

After dinner, they headed onto the dance floor, holding each other close. As one of the songs neared the end, Renee felt something in her hand.

“My necklace?”

Allison tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t need it anymore. I have the real thing.”

And as they swayed together on the floor, they got their kiss.

[spacednp]

When You Wish Upon a Star

WATTPAD AO3

TW: NONE I DONT THINK besides swearing but that's legit all my fan fiction lmao wait I think I mentioned condoms once but again legit all my fanfics at this point

SUMMARY: PARENT PHAN TAKES CHILDREN TO DISNEY WORLD IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS WTF

ADDITIONAL NOTES: p a r e n t p h a n i s m y k I N K

I DIDNT MAKE THE KIDS CALL PHIL DADDY BC THATS DANS JOB K? K

no but really Phil being daddy is too real

this legit is my favorite thing I've ever written asdfghjkl

WC: 3.7k

"Winne I swear to fucking Jesus if you don't stop moving for three seconds so I can put on your fucking socks I will fucking bash your head in you little shit," Dan hissed at the wiggling toddler in his lap. He loved his little girl, but she was also a brat, and that wasn't a good thing for the easily frustrated 30 something.

"Daniel! Watch your language in front of the children!" Phil chided his husband, covering their older child, Dillon's, ears.

"Papa, I'm seven and a half whole years old!" Dillon protested. "I already know all the naughty words!" Phil gasped at this and sent a glare at Dan that went unnoticed as Dan was preoccupied with the annoying little bundle of joy crying about not wanting the socks on.

"I'm no wanna!" Winnie cried, flailing her arms about. As Winnie was still learning how to speak, she had a few quirks and speech impediments. One of those was "I'm". The young child never used "I", it was always "I'm". When loud footsteps filled the house as Winnie ran about, she would scream, "I'm run!", which neither Dan nor Phil had the heart to correct her on. Winnie was their only baby. They adopted Dillon when he was 5, so they missed out on all the baby years, which they didn't want to miss again, so Winnie was born from a surrogate. Now Dan and Phil loved Winnie a hellova lot, but she was a fussy little brat.

"Goddamn it Winnie!" Dan spat as he grabbed onto the child's foot in a vain attempt to still it enough to get her foot in the sock. Dan let out a frustrated groan as he shoved Winnie's foot into the pale colored sock. "Philllll," Dan whined as Winnie kicked her sock off and caused it to fly across the room. Phil smiled slightly as he crossed the room to pick Winnie up off of Dan's lap, setting her on his hip and looking down lovingly as his very frustrated husband who was leaning back into the couch, almost melting into it. Dan smiled up at Phil and blew a curly hair out of his pink face.

"Thank you, babe," Dan said as he stood up and whipped off his sweaty palms on his dirty black jeans (they were clean, and then they found out that Winnie did NOT like peaches).

"You're welcome, Bear. Go help Dil get packed and ready," Phil said as he plopped down on the couch Dan had left unoccupied, laying Winnie down next to him. "Looks like its a sandal type of day, huh Winnie?" He asked his daughter, causing the two year old to giggle, sharp blue eyes full of happiness. God, he was going to die when she got old enough to date, he just might have to buy a gun.

Phil somehow managed to get the squirmy toddler into some white sandals with little pastel flowers decorating them that Dan said were "too fucking adorable". The family was rushing about trying to get ready as it was the day of their first trip as a family, and just like every other basic non-American family, they were going to Orlando.

"Philly!" Dan cried from Dillon's room, sounding frustrated. Phil laughed lightly, looking down at Winnie.

"Looks like Daddy is having some problems with Dil, huh Winnie?" Phil asked his little daughter as he picked her up and walked to Dillon's room, the toddler just giggled the whole walk, like she always did. As Phil entered the room covered in dinosaurs (because "they're the coolest things ever!"), he was greeted by a flustered Dan and a suitcase full of dinosaur toys, some stuffed and some plastic. Phil laughed at the mess and his upset (but still adorable) husband.

"Oh dearuh!" Winnie exclaimed in her sweet baby voice, causing even the very frustrated Dan to crack a smile. Phil rubbed Winnie's back as he looked around for Dillon, only to find him angrily crossing his arms in the corner.

"Yes, Winnie, very oh dear," Phil agreed as he met Dan's eyes. "What happened?" Phil asked his husband. Dan just shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

"Dil is being difficult," Dan said, gesturing to the suitcase full of dinosaurs and the fuming child. Phil smiled weakly and set Winnie on the ground before walking over to Dillon and crouching down to his level and looking him in his anger filled sea green eyes.

"What's up buddy?" Phil asked, aware of Dan fangirling in the background, as he always did when Phil acted all "Dad like". In the end Dan was just Phil trash #1, in any situation.

"Dad won't let me bring all my dinosaurs," Dillon grumbled, pouting slightly.

"Okay, but you need room for your clothes, how about we just bring two dinosaurs?" Phil offered, knowing Dillon would try to bump it up to three and that they could compromise like that.

"Three," Dillon countered just as Phil thought he would, to which Phil pretended to be iffy on for a minute.

"Okay then, three," Phil finally said, standing back up to full height and looking down at his now smiley son.

"Thanks, Papa!" Dillon yelped, throwing his arms around Phil's middle/waist area. Phil let out a small 'oof!' before patting his son's head and letting him hug him. Eventually Dillon pulled away and ran to pick his dinosaurs. Dan quickly replaced Dillon, wrapping his arms around Phil, causing the older man to giggle and wrap his arms around Dan's waist.

"Thank you," Dan muttered into the crook of Phil's neck. Phil loved the moments like that, when he was reminded of the years before, like in 2009 when he held Dan in the train station, like in 2012 when he told Dan they'd stay together, just times when their bodies were pressed together, two people oblivious to the world and content and happy in each other's arms, two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, as cheesy as it was.

"You're welcome," Phil replied, enjoying the warm cinnamon smell of Dan's body wash. Eventually the boys untangled themselves from each other's arms and went back to packing.

"Philly," Dan said from where he was squatting next to Winnie who had one of Dillion's dinosaurs sticking out of her mouth. Dan quickly pulled the toy out of her mouth and tossed it to the side before Dillion caught of glimpse of what his sister was doing. The two loved each other, very very deep down. Dan and Phil knew it, but they also knew that if one even looked at something that belonged to the other, it would result in all out war, and no one had time for that when they were about to be stuffed together in close proximity for hours as they flew to America.

"Yes?" Phil asked as he folded Dillion's clothes and neatly set them in the suitcase. Most of which were tee shirts with various graphic designs on them, mostly dinosaurs. The prehistoric reptiles just fascinated Dillion, which always made his father's break into grin. After all, how could someone not find that adorable? It was near impossible.

"You have kid duty, I have to finish our packing, okay?" Dan asked as he made his way out the door, not really giving Phil an option. Little did Dan know, he had a shadow. A small, wiggly, sticky, chubby cheeked, little shadow.

"Ha, looks like you also have Winnie duty," Phil called after Dan, setting down the green dinosaur jumper in his hands to watch Winnie speed crawl after Dan. She could walk... kind of. It was more of waddling, so she mostly crawled around as her main method of transportation. Dan turned around and looked down at the tinny bag of giggles and put his hands on his hips, a stupid grin on his face.

"Where are you going, Winne poo?" Dan asked in a voice a little higher pitched and softer than his usual voice. It was the voice he talked to babies with, everyone had that kind of a voice.

"Wit Dadda," Winnie replied, still on all fours like a dog. Her pastel pink and white sported dress was flipped over so it showed her entire stomach and diaper, which made Dan wonder if they should of put shorts on under it. Dan decided it would be fine, it was only a two year old's diaper anyway.

"No no, Winnie poo, you gotta stay with Papa," Dan argued softly, gesturing to Phil who had gone back to helping Dillion pack and wasn't paying any attention to his husband or daughter.

"No no, I'm go wit Dadda," Winnie said, pulling herself up with Dan's still sticky and gross jeans that he really needed to change. She grabbed Dan's hand and waddled away, like she was trying to get Dan to come with her. Dan followed, like the good Dadda he was.

When they reached the stair case Dan scooped Winnie into his arms, and she didn't protest. She knew better. Both kids did. No one was aloud up the stairs without permission, which helped with the kids being safe and Dan and Phil being safe to do whatever they please in the privacy of their room. Plus, it was funny to watch the kids try and find a loop hole around the whole "no upstairs" rule, like "what if I have to pee and both the downstairs bathrooms explode". That one had to be Dan's favorite.

"Let go uppie!" Winnie sung, waving her chubby arms around in glee. She loved uppie, well, she did when it was somewhere she wanted to go, if Dan or Phil picked her up to go to her bedroom for sleepy time, she threw a fit. Their daughter was as much of a night owl as her fathers. Dan remembered one occasion when he picked her up in the store because she threw a temper tantrum (Dadda didn't get her the candy), and it only made it worse. Dan was so angry that he yelled at his daughter, but regretted it the second her saw how sad it made her. He was so tempted to just buy her the damn candy because he loved her so much, but he held strong, until later that night when he cried in Phil's arms. He couldn't help it, he loved Winnie an awful lot, and seeking her unhappy physically hurt him. She was his baby.

"Yay, uppie!" Dan cheered, wondering how in God's name he was going to pack for both he and Phil and watch Winnie to make sure she didn't get into anything she shouldn't be in. He knew he'd forget something, he just hoped it wasn't watching his daughter, he had no idea how he'd be able to explain to Phil how Winnie managed to swallow a condom. That would traumatize everyone involved, including Dan.

"Are you sure we have everything?" Phil asked for the millionth time. Dan nodded, trying to fiddle with his keys to lock the door. It was hard when you had a wiggly child and about a thousand bags in your arms. Okay, it was two bags, and Phil and even Dillion were carrying more, but still, they weren't carrying a Winnie.

"Yes, love, we have everything," Dan assured his husband.

Turns out they didn't have everything, in the rush to get packed and ready quickly, they forgot toothpaste. Now, since they were spending a week in Florida, they needed toothpaste. So, after hours of kicking and screaming and embarrassment from the flight, Phil had to go to a nearby Walmart and buy some toothpaste. Dan was at the hotel with the kids while Phil went, mainly because there was no way in hell Phil was being left alone with them that moment. Phil loved his kids and was even more patient with them than Dan, but the man needed a break. Even if it was just for 15 minutes, he enjoyed it. It was rare that he was the one who got a break, usually it was Dan before he actually murdered one of their kids.

Phil rushed through the rows upon rows of shelves, many of which were filled with things that seemed less than useless. (Seriously America? Who comes up with a stuffed animal that turns into a demon faced beast when you press a button?) He kept his head low, hoping he wouldn't be noticed by anyone. Usually he loved the fans and didn't mind being recognized and taking a few pictures with them, but he wasn't looking very great at the moment and would rather there not be dozens of copies of a photo where he had greasy hair and stained jeans on covering every social media cite.

Phil finally made his way to the personal hygiene area and scanned the shelves for the toothpaste he and Dan typically used. He found it and grabbed it, making his way to check out. He almost got out of the store without being recognized, until Maria behind the counter wanted a picture. Dammit. The fact that he didn't manage to go the entire shopping trip without being noticed bothered Phil, nevertheless, he took the picture with the girl and gave her hugs. She asked how Dan and the kids were and Phil said they were great and then he left, head down in embarrassment. He probably should of showered and changed before leaving the hotel, but he didn't.

Soon enough he was back in the hotel room, happy to find both Winnie and Dillion happily asleep in their shared bed. They had gotten two twin sized beds in the hotel room and hoped Winnie and Dillion would be okay with sharing, and thank goddess they were or else Phil might just cry. He walked towards the bed of his sleeping children and kissed each of their foreheads lovingly.

"Good night," he whispered to the sleeping forms as he turned to the door. He jumped a little to see someone standing behind him, but soon saw the curly fringe that belonged to his husband and felt relief fill him. Dan had his arms crossed across his chest and a loving smile across his face.

"They were very tired from being little shits for so long," Dan said, gesturing to their children on the bed. Phil giggled a little bit, Dan wasn't the most poetic person. For a boy who knew more words than anyone else Phil knew, he sure seemed to have his favorite words, which were just profanities.

"I'm sure they were, must be hard to embarrass your parents for hours on end," Phil said with a yawn. It was only eight in Florida, but in London it would be one in the morning and it had been a very long day. Dan soon joined Phil in his act of yawning and cursed at Phil for making him tired, though Phil knew it was just Dan being difficult and his words had no vicious intent.

"Let's go to bed," Dan said, giving Phil no real choice and dragging him to their bed. Phil shook his head and pulled out of Dan's grasp.

"Pajamas first," Phil ordered in a hushed voice (suddenly remembering that his kids were sleeping and not wanting to wake them), gesturing to his tight jeans. Dan, on the other had was already in his pajamas and looking very comfortable. Dan rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed, quickly getting comfortable and tucking himself under the sheets.

Phil walked over to he and Dan's open suitcase (they decided to share because in all honestly neither knew which clothes were even his at that point, but hey, "what's mine is yours" and other shit that comes with marriage) and flipped through the mess of clothes until he found some pajamas. He didn't even bother going into the bathroom to change because his kids were fast asleep and it wasn't like it was anything Dan hadn't seen already. As he pulled off his shirt in one quick motion he heard Dan give a low two toned whistle from their bed and he just rolled his eyes. You'd think that after years of marriage Dan would give up on that cat calling, you'd be wrong. The boy was a massive flirt and since he was married Phil received all of Dan's flirting needs. Sometimes it was sexy but most times it was bloody annoying. Phil quickly shuffled out of his pants and pulled on his pajama shirt and pants before running over to check if the door and all the windows were locked. Once satisfied that they wouldn't be brutally murdered, raped, and/or kidnapped in their sleep, he crawled into bed next to Dan.

"Night night you sexy motherfucker," Dan muttered as he laid his head on Phil's chest, earning a snort of laughter from Phil.

"Night night," Phil replied, wrapping an arm around Dan's waist while using his other hand to pull the blanket over them both. Lots of sex, drugs, and death happened in hotels and Phil quite honestly had to force himself to not think about that to ever sleep in one. Having Dan next to him made it a little better, but bottom line hotels were disgusting and Phil hated them.

Slowly but surely Phil drifted off to sleep, happy that the next morning he and his beautiful family would enjoy the day at Disney World.

"Philly, I shouldn't have read all those Disney horror stories last week, you were right, I'm fucking terrified of this goddamn ride and holly shit I swear that robot just moved," Dan said in one breath, scooting as close as possible to Phil while squeezing his husband's hand so hard it hurt both parties. Phil meanwhile, was only half paying attention to Dan as he was terrified himself, but only because one of his kids, Dillion, was three rows away and he didn't want to lose his. Now, Phil wasn't all that over protective, okay, maybe a little, but any responsible parent would be afraid when their child(ren) could be in harms way, and his baby was so far away! God, Phil was going to have such a hard time sending either of his kids off to uni.

"Love, you'll be fine, they're supposed to move," Phil said, reacting over Winnie and patting Dan's knee with his free hand that wasn't caught in the death grip of a very terrified man. He stretched himself up a little to get a better look Dillion, who seemed to be having a blast. Winnie was laughing her head off in Phil's lap (it was the only way she'd be aloud on the ride and Phil knew the first chance Dan got he'd throw her like a grenade at the first thing that moved) and Dillion seemed to be screaming the lyrics to "It's A Small World". Phil was really happy his kids were having fun, but he still worried. He wished Dillion could of just sat closer to his fathers but nooo he was too cool for that. The little shit.

Eventually the ride was over and Dan was shaking too badly to hold Winnie, so Phil just set her down and told Dillion to hold her hand. Dillion was going to refuse but Phil gave him the "I swear to God if you don't do what I told you, you're grounded until you go off to uni" face and he obliged.

After a few rides where Phil and Dillion went on alone while Dan stayed on a bench nearby with Winnie, the color started to come back to Dan's face and they could go on a few more rides as a family. Then, Dillion and Winnie managed to get their fathers to get some ice cream eam (or 'i cweam', in Winnie's case), and they stopped by a nearby Dip-n-Dots cart.

"Winnie Pooh, you like your ice cream?" Dan asked, holding the now empty spoon Winnie had just taken a bite off of (Dan was feeding her because Winnie didn't really understand the concept of hot and cold yet, or spoons for that matter). Winnie nodded eagerly, a trail of melted pink ice cream falling down her cheek that Dan quickly whipped away.

"I cweam!" Winnie exclaimed, clapping her somehow-sticky hands to show her excitement. "Yum!"

Dan smiled affectionately at his daughter and felt a cold kiss on his cheek from Phil. "I swear to got Phil if you got fucking ice cream on my cheek I'm getting a divorce," Dan said, a smile on his face because there was no way he'd actually divorce Phil. He turned to his husband who had a huge grin on his face.

"Ops," Phil said, licking his thumb and rubbing it on Dan's cheek where he'd just kissed him. Dan scrunched his eyes in disgust.

"Ewie, 'pit!" Winnie cried, slapping her hands over her eyes in disgust.

"Exactly Winnie, 'ewie 'pit'," Dan replied, pushing Phil's hand away from his face and replacing his thumb with a napkin, like that would magically make the DNA on his face disappear.

"Stop with the PDA!" Dil said from across the table. "You guys are gross!"

Both Dan and Phil laughed at that, because somewhere down the line they'd become the gross couple that's always hugging and kissing in public with two adorable kids that were messy as hell. At that, was the dream. They were living the dream, a wish they wished many years before, before they even met, and as they say in the land of dreams, "when you wish upon a star, your dreams come true".

[phanwritings]

Send A Postcard

Tittle: Send A Postcard

Word count: 1.4K

Summary: Dan and Phil were two teenage boys living in the 1960s. Oh, and they kissed at a time where homosexuality was illegal.

Warnings/TW: Use of the q**** slur, mentions/implications of sex, birth control mention.

A/N: I have done so much research for this and I found out a lot of cool things. First, FrostyO's were an actual cereal in 1963 (idk when they came off market) and it was basically honey nut cherrios covered in sugar. Incredible. Second, women weren't allowed birth control! A lot of protests for birth control were going on during the time that this fic takes place. Third, homosexuality between guys was illegal (I knew this), but not between lesbians. Kind of weird, right? It was just heavily disapproved between the gals. Also, I'm not the proudest of this fic but I want to post it anyways. I would feel bad letting it go to waste. Sorry for the super long a/n.

*

"Hush, they can't hear us or we'll be caught," Fifteen year old Dan said, pulling his best friend, Phil, through his window. It was 1967 and the boys were doing what they did every Saturday night. "Come on, don't wake my parents up."

Phil finally made it into his room, his chest collapsing against Dan's as he held him up. They were doing their usual night routine - sneaking into each other's rooms on the weekend and kissing until midnight. It was illegal and risky, but they were teenagers, what did you expect them to do?

Phil stood up properly, still as close as ever to Dan. They backed up to his bed, falling onto it.

It was a practiced routine, one that had been perfected over time.

*

Phil always left by midnight. They were always at risk by just sneaking into their houses, they couldn't risk falling asleep in the same bed.

Dan opened his eyes slowly, automatically stretching as he woke up. The sun was pouring into his room and the clock on his nightstand told him he had only thirty minutes until he had to leave for church. Dan didn't dislike church, he believed in God and figured that He didn't hate him for how he felt for Phil. He just didn't like getting up earlier than he had to on Saturday to go sit in a stuffy church for a few hours. The good part was that Phil's family (the Lesters) always sat next to his family. It made things more enjoyable.

He got up and picked out his best clothes, slinging them over his arm and walking into the bathroom. He quickly showered and washed his face, slipping into his clothes afterwards. He rushed downstairs to have a bowl of FrostyO's - his favorite cereal - before climbing into the car with his brother and parents.

The car ride to church was only ten minutes or so. He spent most of it gazing outside of the window. They came to a stop at an intersection. Dan looked through the wind-shield where a cluster of women - and some men - were marching with signs. "Oh, I wish they wouldn't protest on a Sunday," His mother mumbled. "It's the Lord's day, they shouldn't be asking for birth control on a Sunday of all days." His father nodded as he drove the car around the mob of people and continued on the road to the church. Dan looked at everyone as they drove by. He kind of wished he could be with them.

They finally reached the church and sat down in a pew. Phil came in a few minutes after them and service began shortly after that. The preacher droned on and on like he did every Sunday and after an hour and a half they closed with a prayer and they were dismissed. Dan and Phil eagerly asked if they could go outside and play with the other boys in the field outside the church. Once given permission, they rushed outside to play ball.

"There was a big march on the way to church," Dan commented as he threw the ball to Phil. He caught it and tossed it back to him. "I kind of wish that I could've joined them."

"My dad said they shouldn't be marching at all," Phil replied. "He said they should be happy enough that they can still work after the war. He thinks they should all stay at home and take care of the children." Dan rolled his eyes, catching the ball as Phil threw it again.

"Why are women any different though?" Dan asked, really thinking about it. His mom wasn't even allowed a credit card, it was a bit crazy. He didn't really understand.

"It's because they get crazy, you know? At least that's what my dad said." Phil said.

"You should try thinking for yourself, I'm sure your dad isn't always right." Dan retorted. Phil laughed and Dan threw the ball again.

"Don't let him hear you say that, he'll have more reason to dislike you." Phil mentioned.

"I thought he liked me?" Dan questioned, not realizing that Mr. Lester held something against him.

"He doesn't dislike you, he just thinks you're a queer." Phil mumbled, making sure the other boys didn't hear.

"I mean, he's not wrong," Dan muttered, matching Phil's quiet tone. "What does he think about you?" Phil shrugged.

"I don't know."

*

Another week passed and this time Dan was the one squirming through the window. They didn't always make-out, sometimes they would just talk more. They were in the same classes at their school and endless tales of gossip.

"Did you hear that Ms. Wright got fired for being a dyke?" Was the first thing that Dan said when he landed on Phil's bed, which was pressed against the wall underneath the window. It made climbing in and out a whole lot easier.

"I thought she got fired for something else," Phil said as he continued to read his book.

"No, and that's not even the most important part," Dan said, feeling smug when Phil finally looked at him. "The school is taking the case to court because she claims its illegal to fire someone based on who they sleep with. It's not illegal for girls to sleep with girls."

"Lucky." Phil muttered.

"Phil, that's not the point!" Dan inched closer to Phil, to the point where they were side by side. "People are starting to fight for queers rights, this is important! It might not be illegal anymore." Phil didn't bother with a reply and instead just kissed him. Dan took what he could get.

*

"Why are you here so early?" Dan asked, surprised to see Phil crawling through the window.

"Guess you didn't want to see me then?" He said, teasing.

"No, I just don't want to risk getting caught," He replied. "We haven't even had dinner yet." Phil waved away his concerns and pulled him by his hands to his bed. Phil sat on the edge of the bed, Dan kneeling between his legs. Their mouths lined up perfectly when they sat like that.

They kissed for a few minutes, ears practically deaf to the world. They were so into it they didn't hear the door creaking open.

"Dan - woah, Dan?" Said his older brother. Dan pulled back from Phil, eyes wide.

"Don't tell mom and father, please, I'll do anything, just don't tell them." He begged, standing up to walk close to his brother.

"I won't, but why are you kissing Phil, he's a boy?" Dan shrugged. He couldn't really explain it.

"Just don't tell anyone." He said quietly.

*

It was a year later, they were both nearly seventeen and still climbing through windows on the weekends. It was the summer of 1968 and more and more women were starting to protest the unfair way they were treated. Dan admired them for what they were doing.

Phil and Dan hadn't done anything other than kiss and say "I love you," but Dan had a feeling that would probably be changing in the near future.

*

Every newspaper was reporting on it: The Stonewall Raid. Dan's father openly bashed the queers that were caught in the raid. Dan instead was empowered by the articles. He told Phil everything he had learned - which was a lot - and clipped out parts of newspapers to hide under his bed.

"Phil, we could run away to New York City. They ave these things that they call 'gay villages' there, we could pretend to be roommates or something!"

Phil looked at him with a sad smile on his face. Dan could feel his heart drop. "Dan, you know I can't. My father already thinks that I might be queer, I don't need to give him more reason to believe that. If I went with you I would basically be disowning myself from my family."

"You don't need your family, you have me." Dan argued, grasping Phil's hands. Phil shook his head.

"I'll always be here for you, but I'll be here. I can't go to the city with you, I'm sorry."

Dan looked at his best friend of five years, his boyfriend of sorts for three years. He wanted to stay with him, he really did, but he couldn't stay here. He took his face in his hands and kissed him on the mouth.

"Okay, I love you," He said, waving to Phil as he climbed out the window. "I'll send a postcard."

Phil just gave him a watery smile, waving to him.

The next day Dan packed most of his belongings into two suitcases and bought a train ticket. He had money saved from working in a McDonald's.

He was determined to live in New York City. But, he would miss Phil.

[ecotone99]

[MF] Nosedive

Emma was up in the air about her position up in the air.

Being a flight attendant just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It was no longer the glory days of the classy Pan-Am stewardess, adorned in her robin blue dress and cap, long legs and aura of elegance. There was no more mingling with wealthy jetsetters in those luxury liners in the sky, those flying spectacles of glitz and glamour, jetting off to the globe’s most exotic locales. Now it was all about waiting on the impatient masses. The ever-impatient masses.

“Just a second!” Emma hissed. The fat man in 36C was trying to monopolize her attention again. He leaned back on his neck pillow, folds of sweaty red flesh billowing out the sides. Earbuds in, he snapped his fingers above his head as if the plane would nosedive straight into the ocean if she didn’t come serve him. Right. That. Moment.

She clamoured past Margaret, her near-octogenarian co-worker. Fifty years and a hundred pounds ago, Margaret could’ve been one of those glamorous Pan-Am girls that a young Emma had pictured in her dreams. Margaret pushed a clunky metal service cart, loaded with reanimated frozen food (“chicken or pasta?”, the modern attendant’s catchphrase). Her oversized rear-end nearly sent Emma tumbling into a row of French businessmen, pattering away on laptops.

“Sorry love” Margaret purred. Her rosy cheeks and sweet old lady demeanour masked her gross incompetence. Emma liked her slightly better than the other attendants though, a bunch of middle-aged chain-smokers with skin like leather. And Craig.

Cursing her life choices, she finally reached the fat man, who resembled a raging toddler. He was watching some lame action movie, Tom Cruise sprinting across the miniscule screen as a hoard of thugs and dead pixels closed in.

“Yes sir?” Emma asked in her customer service voice. Despite her extreme disdain, her paycheque mandated that she attempt to remain pleasant.

The man swished something around in his cheeks, and proceeded to spit a chunk of half-chewed food into the plastic platter on his tray-table. It was flanked by a small cup of water, a roll from the Middle Ages, and something the airline deemed a ‘brownie’.

“I ordered the pasta.”

“And what is that?

“It’s chicken!”

Dammit Margaret. Emma wearily glanced around. Margaret was headed into first-class, backside squeezing down the cabin, begging for a hard kick. There were rows of seat-backs and human scalps as far as the eye could see. She didn’t like breathing the same recycled air as these people. Only one thing to do.

“Craig!” she called out. Craig, the only other attendant her age, spun around, spilling a stream of orange juice across the lap of the woman with the sleep-mask he was serving. Craig had always had a massive crush on Emma, mainly because there as no one else to really have a crush on. He was kind of cute, as one would describe a puppy or a small squirrel as cute, with a soft baby-face and patches of adult acne.

“You got any more pastas?”

Craig fumbled through his cart, unsheathing a tray of regurgitated dogfood with steam-soaked plastic wrap over the top. He tossed in some packaged utensils.

“My lady” he cooed, passing it over the passengers’ heads between them.

“Thanks” Emma muttered, cringing.

“Don’t mention it!” Craig said excitedly. “I’ve got so many pastas. And chickens. And pastas. And chickens. And vegetarian pastas. And…”

Emma smiled at him, and he visibly swooned. That did the trick. She placed the new meal atop the fat man’s tray-table.

“There you go, one pasta.” She resisted the urge to add your majesty.

The man poked at a congealed glob of tomato sauce with his fork. “How long til Paris?” he sneered.

Emma glanced at her watch. “Just a couple hours.” The man could’ve easily looked at the virtual map on his TV. One of the few conveniences of modern air travel.

He grunted.

“Are you traveling with your wife?” Emma asked, mistakenly advancing the conversation. An equally-obese woman pooled in the seat beside him, dead asleep, slobber leaking from an open jaw. She wore a football jersey and Cheetos dust.

“Yeah” he sighed. “It’s our anniversary trip. She always wanted to go to Paris.”

“And what are you most excited to see? The Eiffel Tower? Notre Dame?”

“Euro Disney” he answered. “I’m gonna try to give her the slip in Frontierland.”

Emma nodded with the most plastic smile she could muster. Thankfully, she was pulled away by the monotone ding of a ‘call attendant’ button a few rows down. In fact, there were multiple ‘call attendant’ dings, an entire ear-piercing symphony. Emma shuffled down the fuselage to find an exasperated mother in a middle seat, yelling with a strained voice, two shrieking gremlins darting around her. They slipped through her arms whenever she attempted to snatch one. Deep crayon strokes were embedded in the seat-back. The old man in front of them, nose in the latest Dan Brown atrocity, was growing more agitated with each kick and jab.

“Uh, hi” Emma muttered, with a quick wave.

“Sorry, sorry, look, I didn’t press it, they’re just…” the mother started. A gremlin resumed spamming the ‘call attendant’ button, the ding blaring, the little light flickering. “JASON! STOP PRESSING THAT! YOU’RE WASTING THE NICE LADY’S TIME!”

“Shhh!” hissed the old man from ahead.

“Emma! Emma!”

What now? Emma spun around from one train-wreck to the next. Margaret stood at the border with business class, leaning out the iron curtain, trying to get her attention. Emma swallowed her wits and hurried forward, vaulting over a pair of bare legs stretched across the aisle.

“What Margaret?”

“We’ve got a teeny bit of a problem up here, love” Margaret explained. “8B brought a chihuahua in her handbag. Very adorable of course. But he seems to have gotten loose and had a little tinkle on the floor- the chihuahua that is, not the passenger.” She glanced back behind her. “A wee more than a tinkle I’m afraid.”

“…And?”

“And it’s my break time. I was hoping you could be a dear and swab it up?” Margaret tossed a roll of paper towel, which Emma caught before she could react. “Thanks love!”

Looking at the paper towel, Emma felt something that certainly wasn’t job satisfaction bubble up inside her, pushing towards the surface. She swallowed it with a few deep breaths before slipping into the nearby lavatory, flicking it locked, and taking a seat on the closed high-suction toilet. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror, stained with God-knows-what. Heavy bags hung beneath her eyes. Leaning closer, she could even make out a few faint wrinkles, commencing their journey across her cheeks. Her lips throbbed from fake-smiling. Was this really what she wanted to do with her life? A glorified babysitter stuck on a Transatlantic tube, at the beck and call of every ridiculous tourist and their nonsensical demands? She briefly wondered if any Pan-Am girls had ever stooped to scrubbing up chihuahua piss. Probably not. Too classy. Emma fantasized about storming into her manager’s office once she finally made it home, slamming a big fat resignation letter on her desk. Maybe this would be her final flight after all.

As she soaked in her fantasy, she was interrupted by a sudden jolt. More than a jolt really. All at once the plane lurched abruptly sideways, sending Emma crashing into the sink, knocking the wind out of her. Just as she started to get up, smoothing the front of her stewardess uniform, there was a sudden thrash the other way, knocking her over the toilet, her knee bashing on the side. The lights flickered with a questionable buzz.

Pushing out the lavatory, Emma came upon utter chaos.

“Uh, this is your captain speaking, you may’ve noticed that we’ve hit a wave of turbulence” came Captain Ronaldo’s voice over the static-y intercom. “Should hopefully clear in a few minutes, but the seatbelt sign has been turned on and oxygen masks have been deployed for your safety. Please direct any questions to a member of our cabin crew.”

Nope!

Ignoring the prehistoric-sounding mess in the cabin as passengers scrambled for their masks- biting, clawing, kicking small children- Emma ducked into the galley where Margaret and Craig were already seated. She tugged on her dangling mask from overhead, her steady breaths soon inflating the small bag at the end.

Craig, his bag widening at a much faster rate, gripped her arm. She carefully pried him off like an unwanted Band-Aid.

“We’re going down…we’re going down…” he gasped between breaths.

“Oh, don’t worry love, we have Captain Ronaldo at the helm!” Margaret cheerily exclaimed. “This will be over in a few minutes! Everything is going to be fine, tip-top, we…OH SHITTTTTT!”

The plane plunged suddenly downward. Turbines screamed as it collapsed into a dizzying spiral, dropping hundreds of feet per second, the icy black waters of the mid-Atlantic rising to meet it.

Emma lurched forward, body straining against the seatbelt, clinging with white knuckles to the edge of her chair. She glanced around. Time seemed to have stopped. A coffee pot, knocked from the adjacent counter, hung in mid-air, a ribbon of black decaf floating out the lid, like something out of the space station.

This was how it ended, she supposed. Trapped in a plane with all these stupid people, Margaret and Craig her seatmates for eternity, no legacy but a name on a forgotten memorial plaque on a blustery seaside somewhere. She should’ve quit while she had the chance. Lived a little. Experienced life outside the tube. She never got to fall in love, never got to find herself, never got to have an adventure. Never got to see Paris beyond the overpriced airport hotels huddled around the tarmac. It was, indeed, her final flight. A weird sort of irony.

Emma braced for impact.

Suddenly, yet another jolt shook the craft, and it somehow leveled out. The dimmed lights reignited in full force. Emma watched the floating coffee pot shatter across the floor. Margaret was muttering “oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear” under her breath. Craig looked catatonic. Then came the bland tone of the seatbelt sign switching off, and Emma knew it was going to be okay. She brushed her windswept hair back into place, gingerly pulling off her oxygen mask and unclipping her seatbelt, filled with utter awe.

She’d been given another chance to live. And maybe the flight attendant life wasn’t so bad after all. Serving a few unruly passengers was sufficiently better than plunging to a freezing death in the middle of the ocean. Most of them were quite nice anyway. A few bad apples, rotten from travel stress and general indecency, ruined the bunch. That was it. None of it was personal. None of it was defining. Emma strode towards the cabin with a restored passion. Perhaps the very same passion that those retro Pan-Am girls had felt.

Upon arrival, every ‘call attendant’ button was screaming, the flashing lights like a sea of strobes. Feeling something bubble up inside her again, Emma wearily headed for the fat man in 36C, frantically snapping his fingers above his head.

submitted by /u/SupremeCourt955 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/360WNH9

[latoyarubalcava3546]

The Woman Who First Played Aunt Viv on Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air Is Blaming Will Smith For Her Son's Apparent Suicide Attempt

OK, there's a lot to wrap our heads around here.

You no doubt remember the classic 90s sitcom Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, starring one Will Smith as a West Philadelphia boy, born and raised, on the playground is where he spent most of his days... who moves to El Lay to live with his Uncle Phil and Aunt Viv.

Well, the first actress who portrayed Vivian Banks -- a woman named Janet Hubert -- has apparently been pissed at Will for DECADES after he allegedly labeled her as being difficult to work with, as she apparently feels that he ruined her career.

Related: Will Smith Returns To The Rap Game...

Now, over the weekend, Hubert's son reportedly attempted to commit suicide -- details are scarce, but allegations are flying around from all corners -- and Hubert appears to have used it as another moment to... bash Smith?

Here's a screenshot of the reported Facebook post where Hubert appears to confirm her son's attempt while also tossing shade at Will (below):

Darksin Aunt Viv is still onn Facebook wylin about Will. She always has time but this is a bit much pic.twitter.com/A4G7FHbdzM — Angela Renay (@angie_goodwood) June 2, 2018

Whoa!!!

Video: Will Road Trips Thru The Internet In Viral-Filled Clip!

Those more in the know tried to explain some of the interesting -- and LONG -- back story here, too (below):

She basically had her whole career ruined because Will Smith Labeled her as difficult to work with, On top of her being an older Dark Skinned actress in the 90s. You can only imagine her being labeled as "difficult to work with" would have done for her career. — Revolution Dan (@wimberlyOneTIME) June 2, 2018

Lets try to show a little empathy and look to understand where she’s coming from, instead of immediately gaslighting the dark skinned women — Revolution Dan (@wimberlyOneTIME) June 2, 2018

Hmmm...

Inneresting.

Thoughts, Perezcious readers?!

Obviously, we hope the best for her son to recover and be healthy. As for all the Will Smith drama beyond it... who knows...

[Image via WENN.]