#wingsoftheangels

Party wings and mocktails.

Why is this a Sackler fic in the making?

Adam Sackler decides to leave NYC and head to the West Coast, where he tries his hand at Hollywood.

He plays the part, going to obnoxious parties and networking events where he feels out of place and again at the bottom trying to crawl his way to the top. Along the way he keeps running into RC, who works for a popular catering company.

They are at some parties and on sets, working as a server with a little who still believes in the magic of Hollywood but fully understands the ugly underbelly. They always seem to pop up when he’s at his lowest and he grows pretty fond of them but only sees them at industry parties.

They end up running into them at a non-industry party where Sackler is exhausted by LA and RC takes him out for the night to show him how to properly enjoy LA.

Maybe probably they kiss watching the sunrise over the ocean.

**

a little 58, 65 and 72 for our resident playboy and dashing hunk, Phillip Altman. 🤴💋

Looking forward to your answers, Altman.

You think I’m dashing? Shit, you’re making my whole day.

Booty or Boobs?

You’re really gonna make me choose? Really? Fine. I’m a bit more of an ass man.

What is your bra/penis size?

Well hey there. I’m just shy of 9 inches. Got a little curve to me, too.

Which not-genital part of your body do you like being touched?

Pale had no fuckin’ idea why he agreed to this bullshit. Fuck, he had no fuckin’ idea why you’d want to do somethin’ like this anyway. Go wandering around in some abandoned building that was supposed to be haunted. On Halloween.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you want to see some scary shit, let me take you home for Thanksgiving,” Pale teased you. “That’ll put hair on your chest.”

Not that Pale believed in any of that haunted shit or anything. It just seemed like a waist of a perfectly good evening.

Now, the two of you had been wandering the hallways of the old abandoned asylum in Jersey for the better part of an hour. And while Pale loved you holdin’ his hand and clingin’ onto him, he wanted a little more out of his evening.

“I think they conned you, sweetheart,” Pale squeezed your hand. “I have more skeletons in my own closet than this place does.”

“It just turned midnight,” you pulled him in for a kiss. “We have to stay through the witching hour.”

Pale sighed dramatically, tilting his head up to glare at the roof.

“Alright, come out ghosties,” Pale boomed, amplifying his naturally loud voice so it echoed off the walls and down the sprawling hallways. “Let’s see some action, you dead fucks.”

“Pale!” You smacked his chest roughly, “You don’t want to disrespect the spirits!”

“I guess when ya think about it, ghost are thin skinned, aren’t they?” Pale laughed, earning another smack from you.

You opened your mouth to scold him further when a loud scrape pulled your attention down the hallway. It sounded like something between a chair being scooted across the floor and nails on a chalkboard.

Pale stiffened beside you, his huge hand locking around yours. He took a step forward, placing himself between you and the noise.

You both stood, frozen in place, trying to penetrate the darkened hallway ahead. Somehow it seemed a little darker than it was just minutes earlier.

Pale jumped almost as much as you did when it sounded again. This time it sounded like nails on a chalkboard mixed with a screaming moan. This time it sounded much much closer.

You looked to Pale, hoping to absorb some of his bravado. The look on his face made your heart threaten to break through your ribs. He was focused ahead on something you couldn’t see, but his eyes were wide and his face was blanched.