#took a bit longer than i wanted cos. i wanted to get their physique different

[lokh]

beginning to notice a certain trend with recent favorite characters...

for reference this is what anji is talking about

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[chiechie97]

hi!! could I request a jealous james fic? Idk why its one of my fav tropes!! Literally obsessed with your writing and can't wait to see where you take this :))

Ask and you shall RECEIVE Anon, find this on A03 too 😍

Chapter: Jealousy Looks Good on You

“I heard a funny rumour.” A deep voice said, breaking her concentration from the paperwork she was sorting.

“Oh did you now?” Lily asked, leaning back in her desk chair to look at the owner of said voice.

James had clearly just come from the training room, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his usual Auror robes replaced with workout gear that displayed his toned physique far too nicely.

“Yeah, Fenwick said he was taking you out for drinks tonight.”

“And that’s a rumour is it?” Lily asked, her brow cocked in question.

“Of course, you wouldn’t go out with Fenwick.” James insisted, leaning against her desk, arms crossed angrily over his chest.

“And who says I wouldn’t go out with Benjy?”

“Anyone who knows you!” He countered, shooting her an exasperated look.

Lily just shook her head, turning back to the confiscation reports she had to finish before she did indeed go out for drinks with Benjy Fenwick.

“James, I have to finish these reports, would you mind if we had this conversation after you showered? You kind of stink.”

He ignored her, pulling up a chair so he was sat right beside her.

“Are you really going out with Fenwick tonight?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

Lily nearly coughed out a laugh at that one. Why? Well, that was a simple question with a rather complicated answer.

But instead, she just shrugged, “He’s cute, he asked, I said yes.”

“Seems like a bullshit reason Evans.”

Lily did laugh this time, “how on earth is that a bullshit reason Potter?”

He shrugged, “cause he’s not your type.”

“And who is my type?”

Potter just shrugged again, though his expression was now tightly guarded, “Not Fenwick, I know that much.”

Lily couldn’t help the eye roll, discussing her dating life with James was just creating a knot in the pit of her stomach. And his little performance was just making her feel even worse.

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you” Lily huffed, dotting an i on her paper a bit too aggressively. “Now go shower, you really do smell.”

“We’re not done this conversation.” James insisted, though he stood up from his spot beside her.

Waiting until he had moved off to the auror locker rooms, Lily angrily kicked the bin underneath her desk.

Why was he so fucking confusing?

Their entire Hogwarts career James had chased after her. And Lily, who was so wrapped up in her school work and aspirations had only ever seen him as an annoying nuisance. But then they were co-heads, and he matured so much. He was no longer pulling pranks (that she could prove), he cared about becoming an Auror, about making a difference.

By the time graduation rolled around she suddenly found herself unable to tear her gaze away from his jawline, or the way his smirk seemed to crinkle his hazel eyes.

But by the time Lily had come to her senses, James had moved on, and she was just getting started.

He’d started dating Tabitha Cornwall when they began Auror training, and every smile, kiss, hand hold, between the two had been like a punch to the gut.

Even still, Lily remained friends with James, she wasn’t about to stop being friends with a bloke because he didn’t like her back. Though she was able to find excuses to not attend any function Tabitha would also be at.

Lily had the fact able to specialize early to thank for her ability to get out of events. Her genius in potion making meant she got to move away from the other trainee’s and into the magical forensic department. Less time around James and Tabitha meant she didn’t find out they had broken up until a month after the fact.

She would be lying if she hadn’t felt a surge of hope, every wink he threw her way made her heart soar.

But after Tabitha came Marcy, then Georgia, then a beautiful blonde named Clara that made Lily feel like she could never compare.

But even Clara didn’t last, and a long string of girlfriends and dates made Lily believe she really didn’t have a chance anymore.

So she threw herself into her work. Spending hours in the potions lab, and even more hours sampling and collecting data. Liky was so sucked up in her work that it took Marlene pointing it out for her to realize it had been two years since she’d been on a date.

So when Benjy had asked her out for drinks at a fancy new muggle bar in Kensington yesterday afternoon she thought why not. He was cute, funny, dedicated to his work. He really was just her type.

Shaking thoughts of James from her head she went back to her reports. She was going to have fun tonight, and she wasn’t going to let his strange performance stop her from enjoying herself.

By the time 5 O’clock rolled around, she had nearly forgotten about James’s odd protest about her date with Benjy.

Fixing her makeup in the ladies' toilet, Lily nearly jumped when a loud knock sounded on the door.

“Who’s in there?” A male voice asked, muffled by the thick wood of the door.

“Err Lily Evans?” She called back,

“Anyone else?”

A quick glance around the room told her she was alone,

“No?”

The door opened and James stepped in, locking the door behind him.

“James what are you doing? This is the ladies' toilets!” Lily hissed, looking around again as if someone might catch him.

“Don’t go out with Fenwick tonight.” He said, ignoring her.

“Why not.” She asked, setting down the pan of blusher she’d been applying to the apples of her cheeks.

“Because it’s not a good idea.”

“Is Benjy secretly a Death Eater? Because if he is you might want to report that to someone else.”

“No, it’s not that.” James huffed, leaning against the door, arms crossed and brows knit together in a frustrated expression.

“Then what is it. Why shouldn't I go out with him tonight.” Lily implored, eyes searching his face, “Tell me right now. Why should I not go out with him?”

James shook his head, eyes fixed on the floor.

“James.” She said taking a step towards him, her voice softer than before, “Why should I not go?”

He still didn't look up, but he finally spoke. “I don’t want you to go.”

“What?” She asked, more in shock than wanting him to repeat himself.

“I said I don’t want you to go.”

She was now standing in front of him, he’d showered since they last spoke, the smell of his body wash was tickling her nose.

“Why don’t want me to go?”

This time he did lookup. “You know why.”

She barely had time to react when two strong hands cupped her face, bringing his mouth to hers.

Lily wasn’t one of those romantics who described first kisses like fireworks.

But it felt as if her whole body was filled with popping candy, her lips burning where his tongue traced. His hands dragged up her sides, pulling her tightly to his body before settling. One hand on her waist holding her snuggly against him, the other cupping the back of her head.

“Wait,” she gasped, breaking their kiss, “You were jealous!”

He rolled his eyes, “clearly Evans.”

She stood up on her tiptoes, eager to continue, but this time it was his turn to pull away.

“Are you still going out with Fenwick tonight?” He asked, hazel eyes searching her own with a pained expression.

“I think I’ll tell Benjy I need to take a raincheck.”

[argonas]

Are We Dead Yet - Pt III: A Way Out

[[ Co-written with @kidcatgemini​ & @sylaess​ ]]

Avehi led the trio to a small cave. The term was a generous one; it was a hole in the cliff facing, hardly noticeable from the outside. Avehi only found it thanks to a subtle rune placed over the entrance. Not by her hand, but that of a friend. She peered inside, and once it was determined to be safe, only then did the Draenei lower her guard.

Argonas brought up the rear; his hulking mortal form only barely able to slip inside the cave-- and not without a bit of scraping. Still, he managed inside without drawing too much attention to himself or the cave overall. He loitered by the entrance, not keen on delving too deep in the cloistered space. Keeping watch was as good an excuse as any. He exhaled slow, even breaths to suppress his phobia. Few things gave him anxiety like rightly enclosed spaces. But he set that aside, out of necessity. 

For Sinafay.

His eyes turned to her, still unconvinced she was really there. It seemed… impossible. But he knew it was her. He could feel it, even without being able to touch her. She looked magnificent, even as a weary, time-tortured soul. Her defiance burned, an undiminishing aura that was so uniquely hers. He'd missed it so much.

Avehi was less sentimental in the moment. Of course, she didn't know this Sinafay too well. The similarities with her counterpart were strong, though; she blamed herself less for mixing them up the first time she encountered her, looking for the one she knew from Draenor. On second look… it seemed the two were inescapably linked, even across their different timelines. Curious. She shook her head, and turned to Sylaess; the provider and defender of their makeshift hideout.

"Any sign of Raetos?" Avehi asked her hooded elven friend, slinging her hammer over her shoulder once the cave opened up wide enough to allow it. "I don't know how much time we can spend looking for him."

A small shake of her head was all that was offered. The shaded hood didn’t offer much for expression, but it wasn’t really necessary in the Maw. She shifted, rummaging about the small quarry of supplies she’d netted. Two small packages bound in ebon cloth, to be fair. Food. Waterskins. Bandages. Inane things, but not to be expected of the Acherians.

She knew Argo would need these things. Hoped Raetos was good enough to find himself some forage--though it had a cost. Syl tugged the hemp straps tighter, securing them. A nasty Maw-sworn spear rested on the wall beside the entrance. Another thing she’d stolen. 

She didn’t dare steal more than a few glances at Sinafay. She was glad they’d found her, but the sight of her left Syl more confused than she wanted to wade through at the moment. She knew her, but did she really? She couldn’t exactly recall anything determinate about her, other than that she was Argonas’ mate and that she had caused the unlikely friendship between her and Argo. But there was more! 

She smoothed her hands on her greaves a moment and stood up, shaking her head again. “I can guarantee this place for but a few hours. They move fast on very little intel. Resources are not a concern of theirs.” Picked up the spear and stood quietly at the edge of the cave, watching outward. “I see groups moving up the pathways, but none returning yet. That may be our best bet. Won’t be easy.”

“Nothing worth doing is easy.”

Argonas moved just a bit further inside as Sylaess joined him at the cave’s entrance. He pressed his back to the wall, and exhaled a weary sigh. The Maw was taxing; he expected as much. But he had thought it would be taxing on his soul alone, not his body. And yet moving in this place felt like a chore. His body was an encumbrance, unfit for such a place. The Death Knights and Sinafay had no such burdens upon them; the former eternally strong and used to the feeling of willing their corporeal forms around. And Sinafay clearly didn’t have one to slow her down. Despite his physique, he felt fatigue deeply in this wretched place.

His soul was lifted, at least, as he looked to Sinafay. Getting this far was such a boon! Inspiring! He knew he would find a way to save her from this place. With her free from the Tremaculum, their journey was halfway done! He smiled at her, finding the fortitude to see this through.

Sinafay, for her part, seemed oblivious to everything around her. Everything but Argonas, anyway. Her tail swayed, eyes never leaving him. She didn’t know how many years she’d been in the Maw for, or even what it corresponded to on Azeroth. Argonas certainly looked older… or perhaps it was the beard? She noted some new scars on his features, and the longer hair! Her hand reached forward, but the ghostly limb simply moved through him.

She sighed. What she wouldn’t give to have her body back right now. Despite her disappointment in now being able to touch him, she returned his smile. That sight alone was enough to wash away the weariness of her soul. 

“We shouldn’t stay long, regardless. We need to find Sinafay a vessel of some kind, otherwise we won’t be able to pull her from this place.” Avehi replied to Sylaess, tail swaying in unease. “First, however, we’ll follow the group up the pathways you mentioned. Hopefully, it’ll lead to a way out of this place. In searching for both… maybe we’ll get lucky and find Raetos, too.”

This place was grating. It was the longest Avehi had spent beyond the veil, and it wore on her. The whispers were far too reminiscent of the Lich King’s reign. Worse, somehow. She hated it. 

“What do you think, Sylaess?”

“Yeah.” She side-eyed Argonas a moment. Offered him one of the neatly wrapped packages. She could be empathetic to his situation. It mustn't be fun. Wrapping her gauntlet around the spear, she slipped out into the bleak air. Quiet, despite wearing so much armor, and rather light on her feet. Seems she had recovered enough dignity to look professional. A single glance back was all she gave before she struck out. Scouting ahead.

It wasn’t until the hooded figure came near and handed Argonas a package. Sina tilted her head, taking a closer look at the figure.

“Syl?”

She glanced back, but hurried herself out. Nope. At risk of looking like she had just legitimately run away from a ghost, she tugged her hood and stepped it out. Aimed to melt into the motley grey and bleak of the landscape.

Not much use--anyone living stood out here. At least, in her own perspective. The dead carried a very certain...

What was it, exactly? Aura? No. It was something else. She just bloody knew. 

The eyes on her back raising the fine hairs at her nape was really making her begin to grind her teeth.

“The Jailer will have--!” 

She didn’t hear the rest of it. Took a mace to the head. Her stolen spear went skittering across the stones as if borne by a flood of spiders. Watched it skitter from her descending view.

Well, fuck.

The runes along her armor exploded into that terrible light. Pale blue, like her eyes had once been. Blaringly bright in this place. A massive spike of ice shot up under the scout--was it a scout? Who cares.--and through it’s oddly fleshy body. Syl stood up, roughly brushing herself off with a grunt. Scooped her spear. “I think we need to go now.” The mild displeasure in her voice was clear as the sun. Vicious self mocking at its best. These ... people? Whatever. Assholes, more like, came from thin air it seemed. Sometimes.

Sinafay couldn’t help but smile to herself. Yes, this was most definitely Sylaess. She’d fought along side the Kal’dorei long enough to recognize her movements in a fight. 

It was a bad sign that they’d been found already, though Sinafay wasn’t all that surprised. She stood up and walked over to the mouth of the cave to stand next to Argonas. Instinctively, her hand reached out for his… and of course passed right through.

“She is right. We are out of time. Where is our escape located?”

[beesloosewithcanon]

Fictober2019

Thank you, nonny for the prompt submission! 

I’ll admit - I was half tempted to just write smut for this. BUT - the next part to my Close to You series will be preeeetty smutty. So have a Korrasami Bikini Barista AU scene, instead! (I live in a USA State where there are drive-through coffee stands where the baristas wear string bikinis. It’s a thing I didn’t know existed until I moved here almost three years ago now.) It’s over 4k words. I’ve put a “keep reading” line so I won’t bog down your feed.

If you’re interested in seeing a writing drabble from me for a specific f/f pairing, look at this post and let me know which you’d like to see! (I currently write in Dragon Age, Mass Effect, and Avatar Legend of Korra; I’d be open to also delve into the following fandoms – Avatar the Last Airbender, Overwatch, Stardew Valley, to name a few).

Prompt #8 – “Can you stay?”

Fanfiction – Avatar: Legend of Korra

Pairing – Korra & Asami

***

Asami pulled off her sweater in a fluid motion, tossing it towards her discarded leggings. She looked at the window and then back to Korra, a plea of urgency radiated from her bright green eyes bore straight into Korra’s soul. 

“Can you stay?” she pleaded, emphasized by the way she bit the corner of her lip. “Please?”

Korra swallowed hard and her hand missed the handle of her trusty hand truck, causing her to flail slightly before regaining her balance. She’d already dropped off her delivery and would normally bid the barista a good day and be on her way to her next delivery stop. Korra both loved and hated this particular stop - it was Perky’s Beans, the only bikini barista stand on her delivery route. She loved it because the deliveries were often small and quick, allowing her to keep her day moving; she hated it because it made her feel like a cringy pervert. 

The word bikini wasn’t the right term, as the “uniform” the women had to wear were little more than a string and three minuscule triangles of fabric, one over either nipple and the third covering the apex between their legs. So she usually made her delivery as quick as possible so she didn’t ogle the women working; they had enough of that from the men coming through the drive-through. They didn’t need it from the supposed professional who delivered the milk products.

Lately, the same barista, Asami, was the one working when Korra came by for her twice-weekly delivery. Every morning, Asami greeted her with a warm smile and was always still clothed when Korra arrived, usually in loose off the shoulder sweaters and leggings, as she didn’t don her uniform until the stand opened at 6 AM. Korra usually got there around 5:45 and rarely was there longer than ten minutes, considering the delivery itself usually fit on one trip with her hand truck. But she always took the time to actually unload the products and take the empty crates so the baristas didn’t have to worry about storing them in the small confines of the coffee stand. 

Most of the other baristas simply ignored her while she worked which kept the deliveries quick. Asami, on the other hand, always struck up a conversation with her while she was readying the stand to open. It went from being one of her most dreaded stops to her favorite as she got to know Asami over their short conversations, and would try to get there earlier and earlier every time so she could have more time to talk with the woman. She knew it wasn’t professional, but there was just something about her that Korra couldn’t ignore. 

“Please? This customer always gives me the creeps,” Asami continued to plea. 

Korra glanced out the window and saw a large red truck with a suspension rig that made it almost as tall as her delivery truck. She’d seen the truck here every morning as she was leaving. In fact, Korra couldn’t recall ever seeing a different vehicle to be the first to queue up at the stand in the morning.

“Y-yeah,” Korra stammered. “Of course I’ll hang out. I’m running early on my route anyway and have some time to spare,” she fibbed. She was actually already running late, considering her co-worker Bolin had called out for the second day in a row and she had been given extra deliveries to help compensate for his route being unattended to yesterday. She was only on her fourth stop of the morning when she should have been on her sixth. But she couldn’t find it in herself to say no to this woman. 

“Oh, thank you!” the barista said as she moved forward and took one of Korra’s hands in hers, squeezing tightly as she smiled. The movement brought her breasts together and Korra made a distinct point to look up at her face and not at her barely covered body.

Really, the strings left nothing to the imagination. 

The barista’s smile lingered as she let go. She moved away, pulling a hair tie from her wrist and tied her hair up in a high ponytail, situating herself in front of a small mirror in the back of the coffee stand near where Korra stood. 

What Korra liked about this particular barista was that she stayed clothed as long as possible before she opened the stall. It wasn’t that Korra was a prude, but being around women in barely anything this early in the morning always made her feel like she was invading their privacy. Especially with how close she had to be in the small confines of the coffee stand to get her deliveries put away. She wanted to be a professional and treat the women in the coffee stand like she did her other, fully clothed delivery customers, but she was always averting her eyes and feeling uncomfortable and had learned to simply complete this particular stop as quickly as possible. 

But this barista was different; she’d never actually seen her in her work uniform before and it honestly was more than Korra felt she could handle. The woman had supple curves that paired with her somewhat athletic build. The woman was toned, but Korra was unsure what sport she played to gain her physique, but it was a physique that made her hot under her collar. 

She was glad Asami was focused on getting ready for the day instead of trying to keep talking to her at that moment, as Korra knew she would have fumbled over every syllable that came out of her mouth. She knew she needed to look away. The barista had asked her to stay because a customer was a giant creep. And here she was, staring, unmoving while her mind raced with how goddamn attractive Asami was.

It definitely wasn’t the first time she’d found her attractive. Not by a long shot. Korra had been attracted to her the first time she’d seen her in leggings, a holey sweater, and a messy bun. Her smile was what got her - the genuine way her mouth moved as her teeth shone whenever she saw Korra come into the small stand with her delivery. The way her voice sounded when she asked how she was doing or what was new. She was an effortless kind of beauty. Korra was convinced the woman could have been in front of her in stained pajamas and no makeup and she would still be utterly flustered by her mere presence. 

She bit her lips between her teeth and moved forward. If she was going to be a buffer between Asami and the creepy customer, then she needed to at least look like she belonged in the space. So she moved and knelt in front of the milk fridge and loaded some milk jugs back into the crates she’d just uploaded them from.

She then heard the drive-through window open but decidedly stayed staring at the jugs of milk in front of her. If she looked up, all she would see was Asami’s ass with literally nothing covering it. She gulped and looked sideways - she was too curious not to look.

Asami had put on heels, too, and stood leaning slightly towards the window of the drive-through. The position put her legs, her impressively sculpted calves, thighs, and rear on perfect display. 

“G’morning, Shin. Same as usual?” Asami asked brightly. 

The tone took Korra by surprise and she forced herself to look back at what she was doing. Asami’s chipper tone sounded fake and so unnaturally forced that she was surprised that the customer didn’t pick up on it. 

“Oh, you know it, babycakes.”

Korra gagged to herself. The man’s voice practically dripped with slime. 

“Coming right up!” Asami said and turned around, spinning on the ball of her impressive heels. Korra chanced a look upward and Asami looked like she was withholding an eye-roll. 

“Just let me know if you need me to pop up,” Korra whispered. 

Asami nodded and mouthed thank you before she reached for a cup and then poured ice into it. Korra watched curiously as she pretended to fuss with the contents in the refrigerator while Asami made what looked like an energy drink mixer. Korra eyed the cup as Asami worked.

Why the hell did this guy get up at the crack of dawn every morning to go to a coffee stand for an energy drink? There were cheaper options for caffeine in the morning. But when Korra looked and saw the man’s expression as he watched Asami work, it was clear as day - he came to ogle the women working. His eyes roved shamelessly up and down her body, not even noticing Korra herself. He kept licking his bottom lip and nodding to himself as if he was approving of something.

Korra had the immediate urge to punch him. But she ground her teeth and looked back at her full crates of milk.

“Y’know what would make my day, baby doll?” he asked.

Korra glanced up and saw Asami subtly clench her fist as she reached for a syrup. “What’s that, Shin?”

“If you let me take a picture of you.”

“Shin, you know the rules,” Asami said, her tone fakely flirtatious and sweet but Korra heard past it to hear the annoyance. She then brought a slender finger up to a sign on the window as she mixed the drink with her other hand. “No pictures.”

“Awe, c’mon sweetcheeks. Just for me? I am your favorite customer,” the man said as leaned more against his arm that was perched on his door as he offered his card.  

Korra did her best not to fume. She wanted to help but wasn’t sure how to. She watched as Asami grabbed his card and moved to the register to ring him out, Shin now looking at her chest.

But then an idea shot through her head. She just hoped that Asami would play along. 

“Aw,” she said as she stood, lifting a crate of milk in either hand as she faced the window, doing everything she could to show off her arm muscles. Each crate held four one-gallon jugs of milk, which roughly calculated to be about 35 pounds in each hand. Korra did reps of 50-pound bicep curls at the gym and lifting the crates was effortless. She was thankful for the polo that she had to wear as a part of her uniform, as they were fitted to her arms and made it easier to show off her muscles. “I thought I was your favorite customer?” she said in what she hoped to be a flirty pouty voice. Acting wasn’t something she was good at. But she was willing to give it a whirl to keep this guy from making Asami feel even more uncomfortable. 

Without missing a beat, Asami looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Babe, you know you are,” she said flirtatiously. “And always my first customer of the day,” she added, her voice heady and suggestive. Korra didn’t hear any sound of annoyance, but she did see the thankful look on her face change to one of surprise when she fully looked at Korra, her eyes lingering on her arms. 

Korra might have imagined it, but she was sure that Asami bit her lip. But she definitely imagined it. And even if she hadn’t, she was probably just playing it up for Shin. Especially with how her tone fluctuated when she said first customer of the day - the sexual innuendo wasn’t lost on Korra, nor apparently Shin when Korra glanced at him and he flattened his back to his car seat. 

Korra offered the barista a wink and blew her a kiss, trying to play up her impromptu role before making eye contact with the sleazy man in the window. He looked shocked and leaned further away from the window, his eyes looking anywhere but Asami. She then smiled to herself and bent down and began returning the milk to the refrigerator. 

“Oh,” Shin said from the takeaway window, clearing his throat. “Didn’t know you was taken, pretty lady.”

Asami handed him out his card and his drink. “I’ve told you a dozen times that I’m taken,” she said flatly, not trying to maintain her mandatory flirtatious attitude anymore.

“Well, some girls lie about it, y’know? Rather pretend they have a boyfriend than test the waters with a guy who's interested.” 

Asami shrugged. “I have no idea why women would lie about such a trivial thing,” Asami said, playing up the innocent naivete in her tone but Korra read the bitter sarcasm loud and clear. Shin just gave her an awkward smile and a nod, raising his cup to her before revving his engine and driving off. 

“Well he’s grade A gross,” Korra said as she stood from the milk fridge.

Asami turned around and made direct eye contact with Korra. “I know, right?” She shook her head, the tips of her dark black hair brushing across her shoulders. “If I wasn’t working and had to be nice to him, I would have handled him a long time ago. But here… I have to be miss perky peppy flirtatious airhead.” Asami articulated the last four words with a tilt to her head to either side before she stopped and rolled her eyes. 

Korra frowned, leaning her hip against the counter of the coffee bar and crossing her arms loosely over her stomach. She looked out the window and saw that there weren’t any other cars queuing up yet. 

“They why work here?” she asked, genuinely curious what a woman like Asami was doing here. 

“Because I have to pay for my engineering degree somehow.” She shrugged, setting an empty coffee cup down as she looked through her syrups.

Korra’s frown deepened when Asami wouldn’t look at her as she focused on finding a specific syrup, making her worried that she’d offended her. But before she could begin to articulate her apology, Asami continued.

“Despite how gross some of the people who come through here are,” Asami continued as she pulled two different syrups out and pumped them into the cup. “I make good money doing it. And when it’s slow I can work on my homework. The work is mindless enough that it doesn't interfere with my mental energy that I need for school. So, it works for now.” She then flashed a quick smile towards Korra. “Besides, not everyone who comes through here is all that bad. I have one regular that I really actually quite like.”

“That totally makes sense,” Korra said. “The, uh, money for school bit, I mean.”

Shit. There she went, stammering like an idiot. Of course, there was some cute guy who came through here that she liked. Or maybe she was referring to her boyfriend.

Asami pivoted, her heels scuffing quietly on the wooden floors. She took a few steps, walking directly towards Korra. Her throat felt stuck. Despite being here for the last few minutes while she worked, she had tried ignored the fact that Asami was practically naked in front of her. But now that she was actively walking towards her, she got the full view of how her hips swayed when she walked and how each curve of her body lead into the next. It was impossible not to watch.

The woman was a goddess. And Korra was a mere peasant, unworthy of looking upon her. 

Korra’s collar began to feel uncomfortable when Asami reached out and placed one of her hands gently on Korra’s hip while the other one moved past her. “I need to get in here, babe,” she teased with a wink as she then opened the door to the milk fridge, letting it bump into Korra’s backside. 

Korra finally swallowed but felt the heat of her collar spread up and over her cheeks. “Yeah, yeah of course. Sorry!” and she practically hopped to the side so Asami could work. 

Asami laughed, which caused a whole new sensation to sweep over Korra’s senses. The barista’s laugh was divine and washed over her body in a wave that felt like she’d actually reached out and touched her again. 

She retrieved a jug of milk and poured some into a frothing pitcher and returned the jug to the fridge. “Sorry about the whole babe thing, by the way,” Asami said as she closed the door to the fridge and looked up to meet Korra’s eyes again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by calling you that and insinuating that we were dating.”

Korra shook her head a little too vigorously. “No worries here! You can use me all you need as your pretend girlfriend if it’ll get customers like him to leave you alone.”

Asami gave Korra a sly smile as she packed the grounds of an espresso shot. “And being perceived as gay doesn’t bother you?” she asked passively as she continued to work.

Korra shook her head, letting her arms drop as she shrugged. “Nah. I mean, I am, so it doesn't bug me one bit.”

“You are?” Asami asked, looking over her shoulder as she moved to heat the milk in the frothing pitcher.

Korra nodded. “I’m bisexual.”

Asami smiled and went to say something, but stopped because the sound of the steam wand heating the milk overtook the small space, making carrying on their conversation impossible. Korra simply watched her work, unsure if she should just start to leave. But something compelled her to stay put. 

Turning off the steamer wand, Asami went about putting the drink together. She was meticulous in her craft, taking more time to make this particular drink than she had for Shin. She even finished it with creating latte art, making the foam look like a heart as it mixed with the espresso before she added what looked like a finishing touch of caramel drizzle on top. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Asami said, an edge of flirtation to her voice as she reached for a cardboard sleeve and a pen, writing on it as she spoke. “I mean, telling my regular cringy customers that I’m dating the delivery man will hopefully keep them on their toes and quit asking for pictures.”

“Ha,” Korra sounded with a smile. “Feel free to embellish all you like. I’m just the humble deliverer of jugs.” Korra bowed, extending one hand out as she placed the other flat on her stomach.

They then looked at each other and broke into a loud fit of laughter at Korra’s intentionally poor choice words. 

Despite still being overwhelmed by how little Asami was wearing, she didn’t notice it as much as they continued to laugh together. Their banter felt natural. They’d built up a good conversational foundation from their many mornings of deliveries while Asami was fully clothed that Korra realized that the conversations itself hadn’t changed with the removal of clothing. The only thing that changed was Korra’s growing attraction to the woman with each encounter. But, she knew it wasn’t professional to ask her out. And besides, she had just told her that she was bisexual. Usually, if a girl was interested in women, she would say “me too” or say she was a lesbian. But Asami didn’t do that. And she had mentioned to Shin that she’d been saying she was taken for a while. She most definitely had a boyfriend. So friendly banter and one sided attraction was perfectly okay with Korra. It would fade someday.

Asami shook her head, laughter still in her eyes as she placed the sleeve on the drink she made and handed it to Korra with a genuine smile. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Korra asked as she reached out and received the drink, the hot cup making her somewhat sweaty palm feel more uncomfortable.  

“I call it special delivery,” Asami teased with a wink. “It’s a toffee hazelnut latte with an extra shot and a tiny drizzle of caramel.”

Korra smiled. She’d only ordered the drink once and it had been about two weeks ago. It had been a miserable rainy day and dreadfully cold out and she was having a hard morning staying warm. Asami had offered to make her a drink before she opened the stand to help her warm up and that had been what she’d asked for. And it had been downright delicious. Despite seeming to do the job to simply put herself through school, Asami was damn good at her job. 

“It’s your drink of choice, right?” Asami asked, her lips pursing slightly as she looked down at Korra, their height difference exaggerated by her pencil-thin and tall heels. 

“Hell yeah, it is! Thank you,” she said sincerely before she reached for her wallet. “What do I owe you for it?”

Asami shook her head and took a step forward, putting a hand on Korra’s forearm as she continued to hold her gaze. “Nothing. It’s my way of saying thank you for helping me with Shin. You didn’t have to, but I really appreciate it.”

Korra smiled, hoping that Asami couldn’t see the blush she knew was forming on her cheeks. “A-anytime,” she said. Asami’s touch on her bare skin was overwhelming. It felt hot and cold at the same time and it sent shivers through Korra’s entire body and she didn’t want the sensation to end. “I’m happy to help. And, uh, free coffee is just a side bonus.” She smiled nervously. 

Asami hand gripped slightly tighter on Korra’s forearm and it wasn’t Korra’s imagination this time - she bit the corner of her lip, too. It looked like she was about to say something, but then a small bell chimed in the small space, causing Asami to look at the takeaway window. 

“Shit, my morning rush is about to start. I’ve gotta get to it.”

“Yeah,” she said as she thumbed over her shoulder with her free hand. “I’ve got people in dire need of milk and should probably head out, too,” Korra joked back, trying to ignore the flipping sensation in her stomach from the sustained contact from Asami’s hand.

The barista smiled at her, her hand squeezing one more time before releasing her arm. “See you Thursday?”

“Absolutely! Bright and early as always.”

“Good. Have a fabulous rest of your day, okay?” Asami said.

Korra watched her for a second. She wasn’t imagining it. There was a blush on her face. It was there. There was no denying it. Maybe she was blushing because Korra was blushing? And now she was staring at her, which probably made it worse. 

Korra gave an uncharacteristically curt nod. “Yeah yeah. You too! Thanks again for the caffeine!” she said as she held up the latte to show her appreciation before she moved back, making a grab for her hand truck that she’d already loaded with the haul of empty crates.

Asami gave her a small wave before she turned on her impressively tall heels and greeted a customer at the window, leaning forward and putting her body on display; Korra was sure that the view of her leaning out the window was marvelous, but she got to see her toned legs and ass again and knew she had the better view.

Korra swallowed hard and maneuvered her hand truck with one hand, forcing herself to look away and not be a giant, sleazy creeper. The last thing she wanted was for Asami to think she was anything like Shin or her other unruly cringy customers.

She opened the cab of the truck to put her coffee down in the cup holder before hopping back out to reload her truck with the empty crates and hand truck. When she hopped back into her cab, she looked at the drink and smiled before grabbing it and taking a cautious sip. 

The drink was utter perfection. It had just the right temperature, had the ideal amount of foam and flavoring that mingled with the espresso shots that were perfectly pulled and not at all bitter, like most coffee shops pulled them. Korra let out a satisfied sigh and leaned into her seat. The truck was still running - the perk to having a refrigerated load - and moved to put the latte back in her cup holder to shift gears to drive away and go about her day when something caught her eye.

Asami’s handwriting was on the side of her latte’s sleeve. Korra looked down at it curiously and blinked. She remembered watching Asami write on it, but was apparently too distracted to remember to look at it in her presence. She smiled and picked up the cup again to see what it said.

From one bisexual to another - what’s a girl gotta do to take you on a date? was scrawled on the cardboard sleeve in pristine handwriting, accompanied by Asami’s name, a small heart, and a phone number. 

She didn’t care that she was blushing this time. She was in the privacy of her delivery truck and her smile overtook her face. She was sure it was spread from ear to ear. She unbuckled her seatbelt with the idea of going back in to talk to Asami, but when she looked up she saw that the coffee stand had three cars deep on either side, she remained seated in her cab. She was too busy to talk about a potential date. 

Still grinning to herself, she fished her personal phone out of her uniformed cargo shorts and entered Asami’s number. From one bisexual to another, how does dinner tonight sound? she texted hastily while she bit her bottom lip. Seeing the note from Asami now was probably better. If she’d known that Asami’s flirtations were serious while she was standing practically naked in front of her, spirits knew what Korra would do. She smiled to herself as she shoved her phone back into her pocket, looking back to the coffee stand. She knew exactly what she would do - she would have been a bumbling nervous mess. She normally was so confident in her flirting, even being called overconfident by a date or two. But there was something about Asami that made her a silly nervous ball of butterflies. 

And she was perfectly okay with admitting that she liked it. 

She put the truck in drive and started to pull out of the small parking lot that held the popular coffee stand. Despite already being behind on her scheduled deliveries for the day, she was confident that she would be able to get off work at a reasonable hour. If she was quick and deliberate, she’d get off with minimal over-time and would have plenty of time to get ready for and enjoy whatever date they planned for the night. If Asami was available tonight, that was.

Spirits, she hoped she was. 

[patricianandclerk]

Making An Effort

Gen. Miles Maitland, Gabriel, and Aziraphale. Humour! Rated a light-hearted M. 

“Hello, Mr Fell,” Miles chimed as he stepped out of the rain, shaking off his umbrella. The proprietor of the shop – A.Z. Fell & Co., a delightful little spot – moved forward, and he fussed over Miles most delightfully, a moue tugging at his lips as he reached out and pushed Miles’ slightly damp hair from his face.

“Oh, it is raining dreadfully hard, isn’t it?” Mr Fell said sympathetically, and Miles couldn’t help the little giggle that dragged at his lips as the other man fixed his hair into place. “You must be very cold.”

“Not so cold, Mr Fell, for you know I am most immune to such ordinary happenstances as a drop of rain or, Heaven forbid, a cold,” Miles said, setting his umbrella into the bin for the purpose – although there was something about the shop, perhaps the way the draught and air flowed, that seemed to make one’s umbrella bone dry as soon as one crossed the threshold, so it was not as if he strictly needed to set it aside.

“Looking for any volume in particular?” Mr Fell asked, arching his eyebrow, and Miles grinned.

“No, just to browse, if that’s alright. I have rather devoured the last set of books I acquired from you, and so devoid as I am of night time reading I am forced to go in search of other wicked things to keep me entertained,” he murmured, and Mr Fell gave one of his prim little nods, lips smiling, and bustled further into the shop, allowing Miles to follow in his wake. The resemblance between them, Miles thought, was most uncanny – Mr Fell had tightly curled, blond hair that threatened in the direction of white where Miles’ own was a good deal darker, and Mr Fell was certainly plumper and thirty years older, but certain differences in shape and colouring aside, they really did have very similar features indeed.

“Well,” Mr Fell had said when Miles had mentioned it, and brightly declared they must be cousins somewhere along the line, “everyone has a natural doppelganger, so they say.” And then, he had muttered to himself, muffling the words with his glass of cherry, “And I suppose we must get the blueprints from somewhere.”

He said a lot of odd things like that, did Mr Fell.

The wonderful thing about Mr Fell, however, was his astonishing ability to make sure policemen didn’t come sniffing about – he was dreadfully useful in his gentlemen’s club in Portland Place, which was a rather quiet and boring affair, but was never invaded even by the most supercilious bobby going about his hardworking day ruining a fellow’s life, and here, too, he had a little backroom, dedicated to banned books. Books, one might say, for the discerning patron.

Inverts, like Miles, who just wanted a bit of, well, of romance, and failing that, some erotica.

(It was usually erotica.)

“Come along, dear,” Mr Fell said brightly, and led him off. Mr Fell was an odd duck, and no mistake. He was dreadfully kind – far kinder than anybody had any right being to Miles, Miles thought, although he was grateful – but he was a little sad at times, sad and quiet, thoughtful.

“You might join us for lunch this week, Mr Fell,” Miles said charitably. “Agatha and I wanted to try this new restaurant in Mayfair, and we’ll bring the cabal – you know, Adam, Nina…”

“Not that Tiger fellow?”

“Broken it off with him,” Miles said, looking at his nails and ignoring the sinking pit in his belly. “He was an awful bore, you know.”

Mr Fell turned to look at him, and for just a moment, Miles saw it all, that tremendous pain the man seemed to have sometimes. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over Miles’ cheek, cupping it.

“I must do something for you, you know,” he said softly, in that paternal manner he sometimes had with Miles. He was like this with a lot of the young inverts – he’d not allow anybody into his bed, but he’d feed them biscuits and cocoa, give them the right books, set them up with one another. He was so... soppy, Agatha might say, but Miles couldn’t help but think it was the soft-heartedness of a man who’s own great love story had gone rather awry. “Find you a young fellow who’ll be as sweet to you as you deserve.”

“I don’t like sweet,” Miles said.

“Liar,” Aziraphale murmured, with his crinkling eyes, his little wink, his little smile, and then he patted Miles’ cheek. “You’re the only one in, dear boy, so give me a moment, and I’ll pop and make you a cup of something.”

“Something stiff?”

Aziraphale gave him an indignant, disbelieving look. “It’s eleven in the morning, Mr Maitland.”

“It’s midnight somewhere,” Miles said, tone wheedling, but he grinned, because he knew he’d be refused. It was funny, when Mr Fell decided to be so stern, like a father.

“No, your options are tea and cocoa.”

“Cocoa, then,” Miles murmured, and then glanced to the side. “Oh, is that the new Henry James?”

“His autobiography,” Mr Fell said, in his sometimes snooty way, and he went back down the stairs, leaving Miles alone to pick up and examine the novel with interest.

--

Gabriel liked to check in.

It was a way, he thought, to touch base, whatever the Hell that meant, and to keep close with his favourite of the retinue, all his most problematic. Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate, kinda fit under both umbrellas.

Gabriel liked Aziraphale.

Guy was weird. Oh, the guy was weird.

He had kinda… Gone native a little. You know, the top brass had bodies, they knew what it was like, and Gabriel liked some of it – he liked picking out nice clothes and feeling all the fabrics, loved the texture some stuff had, liked to jog and do discus and swim and all the sports the humans kept coming up with, but…

Aziraphale, he ate. That was just—

Aziraphale, he ate. That was just—

Yigh.

Just the idea of it, of having stuff in his mouth, on his tongue, on his perfect teeth – Gabriel’s perfect teeth, not Aziraphale’s – it was just… creepy! But Aziraphale, he loved that. And Aziraphale, he could do all kinds of cool stuff – he did a little of the magic tricks that humans did, and he could do this wild thing called origami, which frankly blew Gabriel’s mind, and he could, you know, read.

Impressive guy.

Gabriel dipped into the bookshop, and he glanced around, seeing the shadow of a hat up on the second floor. He jogged up, whistling idly to himself. It was a good day. Aziraphale had good figures on his miracles – he was doing good, he was doing good. It was all good in the… Neighbourhood? Somewhere.

He was the archangel Gabriel, so everywhere around him was kinda contractually obligated to be good, so…

“Hey,” he said, and he clapped his hand onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. He was dressed a little differently to normal, with paint on his face, or something – eyedarkness? Eyeshade? That stuff, on his eyes, and he was wearing sunglasses, and the fabric… Ooh… Gabriel dragged his fingers over the fabric on Aziraphale’s shoulder – it was a deep purple, and it shimmered, but it felt smooth under Gabriel’s fingers, smooth and silky.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said slowly.

--

The grip that clapped down onto his shoulder was a sudden, vigorous strike, and Miles looked at it, finding neatly trimmed fingernails and a rather handsome hand, under a lightly lilac suit – one of those subdued lilacs that pretended to be grey, except to the determined viewer. He followed the hand up to the face it belonged to, and took in the handsome visage of a fellow about Mr Fell’s age, with neatly trimmed hair and—

Goodness, what eyes.

“Hey,” the fellow said – an American with pretty, violet eyes, and hands like that? What was the saying? God will provide?

“Hello,” Miles said. “May I, ah, help you?”

“We have to talk in private,” rumbled the fellow, with a sort of bright and cheerful confident, an easy smile on his face. The handsome fingers were stroking the fabric of Miles’ jacket, now, a pleasant shift over his shoulder.

Reaching up and pushing down his sunglasses that he could get a better look at the man, taking in his physique. He was big. Big, tall, broad-shouldered… He was a handsome one. And bold, too, very bold. “Oh, yes,” Miles agreed, settling his own hand on the American’s thigh, which was gorgeously hard and plentiful of muscle, and giving him a grin of pearly-white teeth. “I believe we do.”

He pressed on the false door to the room with the banned books, and he reached up for the American’s hand, tugging him inside and pulling it closed again.

“Oh,” the American said, glancing around the little book-lined room as Miles pushed him back onto the little couch. Mr Fell might get… just a bit annoyed with him, if he thought Miles was the only one in the shop, but honestly, it wasn’t as though they’d be the first to have a tousle in this little room, and in any case, the fellow was handsome. Even Mr Fell would be able to allow Miles that. “I didn’t know this was here.”

“Well, you do now,” Miles murmured, dropping into his lap, and the American’s eyes widened. “Why so surprised?”

“Just— Never had someone sit on my legs before.”

“No? Oh, you poor dear,” Miles murmured, setting his sunglasses aside, and reached for the American’s trousers. “Don’t worry, I’ll be between them soon enough.”

The pretty violet eyes widened further, but no protest was made, and when Miles guided the American’s hands to his hips, the American was most obedient. Somewhat simple, evidently, but easily handsome to make up for that…

--

Aziraphale did so like it when Miles decided to drop in. He was a charming young fellow, and Aziraphale did know it was important to have friends and connections, particularly since he no longer spoke with Crowley. There was something kindred, he felt, with young chaps like Miles, with the individuals at the Hyacinth and Vine on Portland Place, and with Aziraphale himself.

Forbidden love and all that.

Oh, he ached sometimes, thinking of Crowley. Where was he, now? Still in London? Still about…?

At the scream from upstairs, Aziraphale dropped his mug of cocoa and was utterly heedless of its shatter, rushing out into the bookshop proper and running up the stairs faster than he’d ever moved in his life, his speed heavily augmented by a little magic at his heels, and he shoved open the false wall, looking into the private gallery.

He surveyed the scene with his mouth fallen open.

Young Miles Maitland, languishing in a dead faint, over the lap of a tall, broad gentleman with his trousers unbuttoned – a gentleman, in fact, who was not a gentleman at all, nor even a man, and was Aziraphale’s superior, the archangel Gabriel. Gabriel’s expression was one of baffled horror, and he looked askance at Aziraphale.

“He just— he—” Gabriel stared at him, looking between Aziraphale and the prone form of his patron. “Aziraphale?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale snapped, lamenting as ever for Gabriel’s immeasurable stupidity, and he came forward, leaning and gently scooping Miles into his arms – and that took a bit of a miracle too, honestly, not that the young chap was too heavy. “For goodness’ sake, Gabriel, what did you do to him?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He was already carrying the poor thing downstairs, to lay him down on the plush sofa in Aziraphale’s office. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever fainted, at least – young Miss Runcible, his good friend, had told a few amusing stories as to Miles’ unfortunate afflictions, and Aziraphale could at least be comforted by that. His pulse was steady, and Aziraphale was quick about laying him down and covering him over with a blanket, rushing to clean up the cocoa and make him a new cup for when he woke up.

“I didn’t do anything!” Gabriel was saying, peering down at the poor boy.

“Button up your trousers,” Aziraphale hissed, forgetting his usual reservations with even mild rudeness to Gabriel – the chap was his boss, after all, and he did worry about being honest about how much he disliked the other angel, but— But, honestly. “What did you— Why in goodness’ name was he—?”

“Well, he just! I thought he was you, you look the same!”

“Oh, well, take that up with the Corporations Department, it’s hardly my fault!”

“Well, he just— Aziraphale, I said hey and he said hey back and I said, well, we have to talk in private and he said yes, we do, so why would he agree?” Gabriel’s voice was rather loud, and Aziraphale had to restrain himself from smacking him and telling him to shush as he poured out more cocoa. Not only did the bast— No, not only did Aziraphale’s beloved commander feel the need to invade the shop now and then to “tickle base” or whatever nonsense he was calling it now, he was molesting the patrons! And poor Miles, of all— “And he sat on me and reached into my pants, and then he just… Made that noise, and fainted.”

“What’s in them?” Aziraphale asked.

“What’s in my pants? Nothing! I don’t like putting stuff in my pockets, it ruins the lines of the fabric.”

Aziraphale tightly pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly through his nose. “I meant,” he said quietly, looking at the red-faced, uncertain form of Gabriel, “what sort of effort did you make?”

“Effort?” Gabriel repeated blankly.

Aziraphale, pink dashing his own cheeks, looked at Miles, still out of it, and then to Gabriel. “Show me,” he said crisply. Gabriel was without anything like modesty, and he undid his trousers again, tugging them down. Aziraphale looked, for a long moment, at the blank curve of flesh there. Decades later, he would recount the story to Crowley, and tell him, tears streaking down his cheeks, about how Gabriel had invented the Ken doll years before its creators. In the moment, it was not funny at all. “Of course,” he muttered. “Do button them up, Gabriel, you’ll give him another shock.”

“Well, what did he expect?”

“Well, I don’t know, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, more archly than he meant to, and regretting it even as the words tumbled from his lips, “perhaps a penis?”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, understanding dawning like a sunrise over a particularly stupid mountain, and Aziraphale sat down on a stool beside the prone form of Miles, gently patting his cheek.

“Miles? Miles, darling, are you with us?” He set a smelling salt beneath the poor thing’s nose, and Miles blinked, his head tipping back against the couch. He drew a hand gently through Miles’ hair, and Miles’ head lolled, turning to look at him. Aziraphale watched his eyes very carefully, making sure they were focusing properly.

“I had the funniest dream, Mr Fell,” Miles said. “About a man with no genitals.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said, feeling only the slightest bit guilty for the disapproval he injected into his tone, “I have said before you ought sup from your white mistress’ table a bit less, my dear. Have you much on you?” Miles was rather a devil for cocaine, as was the fashion for a lot of young people these days, and Aziraphale didn’t suppose it was too naughty to encourage him away from it.

“Just my compact,” Miles mumbled, giving him a childish pout.

“Well, you gave Gabriel quite the shock, fainting like that.”

“Oh,” Miles said, following his gaze to Gabriel, who was wide-eyed and looking between them. “So you do have a cock, after all?”

“Of course,” Gabriel blustered, “and chickens, and a coop. Just a normal man with a cock. And a penis too, of course. I have one of those.”

Aziraphale stared at him, but Miles had mistaken Gabriel’s honest idiocy for dry humour, and was giggling.

“Oh, you are a treat,” he purred. “Handsome and droll – Mr Fell, wherever were you keeping this delightful evening meal?”

“Gabriel is my cousin,” Aziraphale lied, gesturing for Gabriel to go away, which Gabriel either ignored, or didn’t understand. “From America.”

“Goodness,” Miles said, absently taking the cup from Aziraphale’s hands and drinking from it. His gaze was quite voracious as he took in Gabriel’s body, and Aziraphale wrinkled his nose slightly. “Well, you must dine with me, Gabriel.”

“I don’t eat,” Gabriel said as Aziraphale winced.

“Well, you must simply sleep with me, then, and we’ll leave dining by the wayside.”

“Stop it,” Aziraphale scolded him, but Miles, the incorrigible, only batted his eyelashes in Gabriel’s direction.

“Sit down,” Miles said to Gabriel, patting the sofa beside him, and Gabriel took a step forward, butt Aziraphale stood, stopping him and shaking his head emphatically. Gabriel frowned.

“Do excuse us for a moment, Miles,” Aziraphale said, and brought Gabriel out into the main body of the shop. “What— Gabriel. What is it you needed?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said. “Touching base.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “Well, all is fine here, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Consider base touched. You’re sure it isn’t tickled?”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Gabriel asked, and Aziraphale looked up at him, somewhat surprised. Gabriel, like most other angels, wasn’t especially in touch with the individuals humans that populated the Earth – they tended to see them as a swathe of mortals, a wider group, and it was down to lower angels in the pecking order to care about particular ones.

“Yes, quite fine,” Aziraphale said. “He’ll be tickety-boo, given a little time to recover.”

“You sure I shouldn’t…?”

Gabriel wiggled his fingers meaningfully, and Aziraphale grabbed his wrist, tugging his hand down.

“No,” Aziraphale said softly, but with no small amount of haste in his tone. “The last time you did something to help a human, that poor girl got pregnant. The madness there was, trying to fix all that up once you’d done that. The husband was furious.”

“Only to begin with,” Gabriel said. “And look what happened after!”

“Thank you, Gabriel, for— for tickling base,” Aziraphale murmured. “But I’ll look after him.”

“Alright,” Gabriel said, with the smallest bit of reluctance, and Aziraphale went back to Miles.

“I wish they made more men like him,” Miles said softly. “Goodness, isn’t he just a meal and a half?”

“Oh, I think I can find you someone better. More your age, at the least.”

“He isn’t so old,” Miles said.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured, shutting the door to the shop at large, and clicking the lock to the shop entrance with a thought. “You’ve not the slightest idea.”

[thenarcolepticone]

Would You Like Fries With That?

by TheNarcolepticOne

(AO3) (FF.net)

Summary: Without any other alternative for a lunch break, Arthur decides to settle for McDonald's; his least favourite establishment in proximity to work. But along the way, a rather odd foreigner decides to take some part of the stage too. Fate seems to always have it that way.

A/N: I’m going to try and transfer some of these fics to Tumblr. Maybe people can tell me later about some prompts they want me to try lol. Let me know! Warnings: Rated T, language, and sexual concepts. Nothing outta the ordinary gay fluff lmao

Arthur was late. He hated being late, and he hated leaving bad impressions on people. The concept of not knowing when he might arrive at a specific location at a specific time just bothered him enough to make his chest ache, and thus, his dislike for tardiness. But it couldn’t be helped. From the time that he had started on his paperwork last night, to the early morning memory of seeing the digital clock read 3:39AM before he dozed off; it made it an understandable mental mistake. But a mistake like that usually bargained his job, and his paycheck by extension. He might not be able to afford pressing down on the gas pedal to an almost horizontal position if he lost it today. Though, he believed it best not worry about it now.

The radio was off; it was a distraction to his focused driving. He honked a man for being unbelievably slow in accelerating after the light had turned green. He barely saw the hand of the man he passed (probably giving him the middle-finger) out his window before he overtook him. And a string of curses left his lips as he continued to tailgate another car, and promptly turning left so hard that his Alfasud nearly tilted on its side.

Arthur practically sped down the straight path leading to his building; able to maneuver the traffic with practiced skill (though it was more likely from experiencing lateness more than he’d like to admit). His car had barely fit between the two lines of space provided. Arthur wasted no energy wanting to fix it as he stumbled into the building with only four minutes to spare.

The next round of orders began to start up as Alfred adjusted the black hat with the famous M on his head, along with the headset for listening to the drive-in orders from outside. He sighed, getting to his station as he started to clean it up a bit. Another six hours of standing in one place and taking the same orders every time. Not that he really found it bothersome, however. He did get paid, and generously too. The manager seemed to have an interest in his rather peppy personality, to which he took as both a compliment and another reason why he was always asked to take longer shifts than his co-workers.

Days like this usually stacked on him, though. Homework and housework had to be put on hold for those six hours, and it usually didn’t mean any good news for him later when his mother came home with a tired look, but fuming rage. At least he was doing something productive, or else his (new) phone would get confiscated.

Alfred, despite being here for 2 months now, had just barely moved to England and was currently waiting for the start of the academic year to begin at the University of London. Getting into a foreign institution was difficult; what with the sudden separation of his parents and his mother’s hasty decision to return to where she was raised. But he was able to make it just fine, albeit being technically alone and friendless until then. It didn’t really let it get to him, and instead chose to think positive by smiling every day like the happy meals he was meant to advertise.

He was a little later than normal to come to work. The busy traffic and the rush of people trying to get to their offices by their strict time quota was a familiar battle he had to fight every day. The only difference was that by the time they got to work, the entire memory of the ordeal would go away instantly until the next rush hour for lunch and the third one on the way home.

Conversely for Alfred; it was an unending cycle of less than happy customers demanding specific orders from the menu all day every day. From the morning people who want to buy a quick breakfast at Mickey D’s, to the asswipes who yell at him because his co-worker forgot the mustard.

It was jumble for everyone on board.

The shift thankfully didn’t start until fifteen minutes later. His lunch break was only so short. Alfred propped his elbow on the counter, staring out through the small window with a strong sense of irritation.

Some shitty excuse for a driver wanted to ruin his morning by not even giving him a chance to move forward even an inch before the light switched. The American didn’t feel the need to dwell on those thoughts for long, but he often wanted to vent his stresses privately some of the time. His happy-go-lucky façade couldn’t always keep itself up.

Alfred knew afternoons weren’t always his favorite type of the day. But he would get off soon enough. The stench of burgers seemed to always fill his nose and he was, lord forbid it, actually getting tired of the stench.

Ugh. He probably needed to purge himself later by buying another Big Mac on the go.

“Are you doing okay, Alfred?”

The blonde’s head turned. Before him stood a kind man, gentle with the way he spoke but with a certain independence that was admirable even to Alfred. He didn’t speak much, but only if he was concerned for a friend.

“Yeah, Toris,” he sighed. “Just a bit tired. And a little bit of road rage left in me. Nothing bad, I swear.”

The other shifted in his step.

“Well…I suppose. You’re still getting used to it here, anyway. You mentioned you lived in rural area before coming here. It’s a big change. I thought m-maybe I might relate a little, being a foreigner too…”

Alfred rose his eyebrows. His smile went back to full blast as he pat Toris on the back. It was rough enough to make him stumble.

“Thanks for worrying about me, man. I feel fine. Don’t sweat it.”

With a final glance over in his station, he stood there, ready to take the orders. The monitor revealed a familiar looking car in the line, and Alfred turned the headset on.

Arthur yawned, staring ahead as he waited for the next car to finish their order. McDonald’s wasn’t a place that he would rather prefer to eat. His preferences usually consisted of sit in, full course dining restaurants with a little bit of class and some variation with the foods; not really some branch-extended business that was only there for the sake of profit. But alas, the other cafés were particularly full and this was the only option near enough to his workplace without much concern with the distance.

The car ahead finally moved forward, and he pushed down his parking brake and accelerated slightly to align himself with the large walkie. He rolled down his window with some effort before he leaned out enough for the man to hear him.

“Hi! Welcome to McDonald’s! What can I get started for you?”

Arthur took a moment to ponder the voice. American. He blinked, uneasy at the fact that he almost assumed that he was in the States for a few seconds.

“Uh, hello,” he greeted rather offhandedly. “I’d like a cheeseburger, please. No pickles or condiments. And a drink as well. Sweet iced tea, if you have it.”

There was a moment of silence as the order began to go through. But before the actual price was announced, a different response came out instead.

“Are you sure that’s it, sir?”

“I’m positive I know what I want, yes.”

“No…lettuce? Or tomatoes?”

“I probably would have mentioned that in my order, sir,” he said, getting slightly annoyed with the questions. Was this business really just bent on getting his money on basic vegetables? “Now may I please proceed?”

“Uh, sure,” he said awkwardly before stating the price. “I’ll be at the window.”

Without so much as a hasty ‘thank you’, he put his upper frame back inside his car and left his window open as he drove to the window.

By the time he got halfway there, he heard the same voice, asking the car behind him about his order. A fast worker, no doubt. He began to feel the weight of his exasperation lift by a fraction. Despite the man’s obvious rookie-like style of work, at least it was something. Arthur briefly wished he could go back on his years before attending London University and work like the cashier was doing instead of the relaxing he did back then.

He was a first-year graduate student now. There really wasn’t any need to dwindle on the past.

The windows realigned again, and Arthur yanked up the parking brake before looking to the employee.

And his heart thumped.

The individual in question wasn’t quite ready to talk to Arthur but was instead typing the orders onto a monitor. Arthur noticed the way his black polo seemed to hug his body in the right places, revealing to be what looked like a well-preserved athlete’s physique. It was hard to find those types in the autumn. Even his face appeared more foreign than he expected. Sure, the man was blonde like him. Except hearing his voice alongside actually looking at the physical body made it all the more different.

It screamed American.

And he swallowed.

What a bloke.

Eventually, the other got off of the headset and walked to the window, smiling as he leaned down (almost casually) to Arthur’s height.

His car wasn’t elevated, so it made some sense why he was doing it. Although he actually believed that his Alfasud was a piece of junk, perhaps it had some use after all.

He had a good view of his cashier.

“Hi,” the American greeted again. “Cash, credit or debit?”

Arthur cleared his throat, looking back to his empty seat and grabbing his wallet.

“Cash.”

For a moment, the stare of the attractive man was rather embarrassing as he sifted through his wallet. He pulled out two, five-pound notes and handed it to him. From this action, he was able to get a name from the name tag he wore.

Alfred F. Jones.

He couldn’t have gotten any more American than he already was.

Alfred took the money, putting it in the register before handing back the change.

“Alright. Excuse me a moment. I’ll be back with your order.”

Arthur put the extra change back in his wallet before sighing.

Christ. He thought his hormones were at a standstill after Francis. And it just resurfaced as quick as a rabbit’s birth.

Alfred returned soon enough, and with the paper bag. Arthur retrieved it, putting it into his lap and checking the food to make sure it was right. It was.

“Thank you,” said Arthur without looking at him. He feared if he did, he would be blushing a lot more obviously than he was now. Arthur set the food right next to his wallet on the empty seat. He was about to release the parking brake, but not before Alfred spoke up again.

“Would you like fries with that?”

The Englishman glanced up.

“…since you’re asking…but make it quick.”

Alfred looked as the man drove off while he waited for the next in line. Sometimes, people didn’t appreciate this establishment like they should. And Alfred wanted to get it a point to get as many snobby Englishmen to try and taste the burgers first before saying it stinks. He was glad he was able to convince the last customer otherwise.

Before he could even try and turn back to the monitor, he just caught the sight of the recent car driving away.

On its bumper was the coat of arms for the University of London. It made itself familiar in two ways. The first with its obvious relevance to him. The second being that it was the same asshole who decided to honk him.

The cutest asshole he had ever laid eyes on.

And he had just gotten him extra fries for being such an asshole.

It made him feel like an asshole.

…but fuck that.

He hoped he’d stick around longer tomorrow.

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Dennis Davern, the boat captain who was there on the night time Hollywood star Natalie Wooden died, is talking out for the primary time in 4 years.

Davern participated in a 12-part podcast titled “Deadly Voyage: The Mysterious Demise of Natalie Wooden.” His episode airs Friday.

NATALIE WOOD’S SISTER TELLS ALL

Wooden’s physique was discovered floating within the water off Santa Catalina Island on Nov. 29, 1981. She was 43.

“The West Facet Story” star was touring on the household’s yacht Splendour along with her husband, Robert Wagner, in addition to Davern and Wooden’s pal, actor Christopher Walken.

Boat captain Dennis Davern spoke out in regards to the night time Natalie Wooden died to the podcast “Deadly Voyage: The Mysterious Demise Of Natalie Wooden.”

 (Reuters)

Davern instructed podcast producers he nonetheless vividly remembered assembly the actress and the way she averted water each time potential.

“She was a really, very, candy, candy girl,” he recalled. “We had a bit of space up within the pilothouse or bridge, no matter you’d prefer to name it, the place you drive the boat. It was a seating space the place she would hang around. And she or he could be doing her needlepoint, and he or she would do some sketching.

“I’d spend quite a lot of time along with her, truly, up there, as a result of Robert Wagner and [their two girls] Courtney and Natasha, could be… swimming within the ocean. And naturally, Natalie, she would by no means even stick her toes within the water, as a result of primary, it was chilly,” added Davern. “And the opposite factor is, she didn’t like being close to water.”

The Splendour yacht is the place Natalie Wooden met her finish.

 (Getty)

Davern took Wooden and Wagner on their Catalina getaways the place they seemingly loved their escapades away from Hollywood.

“Properly, I can inform you, once I would provision the boat to go to Catalina for a weekend, I’d get quite a lot of wine, perhaps a case of Pouilly Fuisse,” he claimed. “We’d have our liquor stocked. We had the whole lot well-stocked. And once we arrived in Catalina, the bottles of wine would open. Drinks have been poured. And there was no drawback about carrying stuff like that.”

Davern claimed he and Wooden rapidly turned associates.

“We truly began to change into one another’s therapists, as a result of I had a girlfriend on the time, and I used to be… asking her questions, like, ‘What ought to I do about this?’ ‘What ought to I do about that?’” mentioned Davern. “And we form of exchanged conversations loads with one another. After some time, it was identical to we have been associates.”

Natalie Wooden was reportedly afraid of darkish water.

 (Getty)

Nonetheless, Davern insisted there was one thing in regards to the fateful journey that appeared ominous from the beginning.

“Natalie known as me and mentioned that we have been going to take the boat out on Thanksgiving weekend to Catalina,” he defined. “And I instructed Natalie… ‘The climate isn’t purported to be superb. I don’t know in the event you actually need to maintain these plans.’ And she or he mentioned, ‘Properly, sure, we do.’ And I mentioned, ‘OK, I simply need to know, as a result of I’ll begin to provision the boat.’

“So, because it acquired near occurring Thursday, I did all of the procuring, and I made a pair extra telephone calls making an attempt to discourage taking this journey to Catalina, as a result of the climate was purported to be horrible.”

Robert Wagner and spouse Natalie Wooden throughout happier occasions.

 (Getty)

And whereas Wooden was reportedly afraid of darkish water, she refused to vary her plans, regardless of Davern’s warning.

“She insisted,” claimed Davern. “And she or he mentioned that Christopher Walken was going to be coming. And I mentioned, ‘OK.’ So, the day that we have been purported to be leaving, it was freezing, freezing chilly. I imply, anyone of their proper thoughts wouldn’t go away for a weekend. However, they insisted on going. After which we ventured throughout to Catalina.”

However dangerous climate wasn’t the one factor on Davern’s thoughts. He claimed Wagner didn’t disguise his insecurity in the direction of Walken, Wooden’s co-star in her 1983 posthumous movie “Brainstorm.”

Natalie Wooden and Robert Wagner.

 (Splash)

“As we begin to get underway, RJ [Wagner] needed to form of exhibit a bit of bit to Christopher Walken,” alleged Davern. “He was making an attempt to be very spectacular to Christopher. And I don’t assume Christopher actually, actually cared an entire lot about that, however I believe Robert Wagner needed to indicate him that, ‘Hey, you already know, I’m the person on this boat right here.’ At that very, very starting, I might see a bit of friction.”

Davern, who believed Wagner could have probably been jealous of Wooden and Walken’s friendship, claimed his conduct solely intensified as hours handed. The temper allegedly felt so poisonous, Wooden needed out of the getaway.

“… Properly, the jealousy began to construct a lot that Natalie couldn’t take it any longer,” claimed Davern. “I imply, the preventing and the whole lot simply began, the whole lot simply began to escalate. And earlier than it acquired uncontrolled, Natalie says, ‘You understand, Dennis… Can you are taking me ashore?’

She says, ‘I can’t be on this boat.’ So, I checked out RJ, and I mentioned, ‘You understand, your spouse is asking me to get her off this boat, and I really feel like I have to, as a result of issues aren’t wanting good right here.’ So, Natalie and I, we acquired within the dinghy. Due to the way in which he was performing. I imply, he was performing so loopy. It was simply so completely uncalled. I imply, she was petrified… I felt so sorry for her. It was a disgrace.”

Davern alleged Wooden was “hysterical” when he took her ashore on Saturday. Searching for refuge from Wagner, Wooden allegedly went to a close-by motel and spent Saturday night time there. She confided in Davern, who claimed to function a bodyguard for the visibly distressed star.

“In fact, nothing went on, which individuals have requested me,” he mentioned. “However like I mentioned, I used to be her pal… I’ve whole respect. And Natalie and I, we sat there and we talked, and talked, and talked. I imply, we talked about so many issues… She needed to get off of the island. She needed to name her sister. She talked about leaving Robert Wagner.

“And so the following morning, Natalie, she needed to name and see about getting a seaplane. Properly, she couldn’t get seaplane, for some purpose. And I mentioned, ‘Perhaps if we return to the boat, perhaps.’ I’m making an attempt to say, ‘Hey, let’s attempt to and make this factor work.’

“… I mentioned, ‘Perhaps if we return, and I’ll aid you with the breakfast. And perhaps we will all proceed, and perhaps say, ‘Hey, final night time was form of scary,’ or ‘Perhaps all of us drank an excessive amount of,’ or one thing like that. ‘Perhaps we will begin recent.’ So she mentioned, ‘OK, perhaps we must always attempt it. So we went again to the boat. We did the breakfast, and it was form of like nothing occurred. And it was form of like, all of us knew one thing occurred, however I believe all of us form of needed to start out considering, ‘Hey, let’s try to make this work.’”

Natalie Wooden and Robert Wagner

 (AP)

On Sunday, she was useless.

Davern beforehand spoke to “48 Hours” again in 2011 and revealed it was a “tension-filled” weekend that was allegedly fueled by alcohol and Wagner’s jealousy.

Whereas the preliminary coroner’s report dominated the dying as “unintended dying by drowning,” the case was reopened in 2011.

That very same 12 months, The Hollywood Reporter revealed Davern admitted he beforehand lied to investigators in regards to the night time of Wooden’s dying. Nonetheless, the podcast defined Davern has since handed a number of polygraph exams when requested about his model of occasions.

It’s additionally been reported that Davern offered his story to tabloids for cash and collaborated on a tell-all e book through the years. Nonetheless, Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Lt. John Corina mentioned in February of this 12 months his model of occasions “match.”

“Makes extra sense of what occurred and is corroborated by different individuals,” he mentioned.

That very same month, the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Workplace introduced Wagner had been named “an individual of curiosity” within the “suspicious” dying. The workplace additionally confirmed Wooden’s drowning was being investigated and that new witnesses had come ahead.

A rep for Wagner has declined to remark. He has additionally refused to speak to officers about Wooden’s dying because the case was re-opened in 2011.

The post Natalie Wood was warned about ‘horrible’ weather before tragic drowning, claims boat captain appeared first on BoomBerg News.

[beefybrit-blog]

Day 1

As I sit here lying on my sofa, waiting for the fast food to come, the events of the past few days have affected me greatly. Last night I went and saw a music school perform as my girlfriend was in it with a group of people. She is a great drummer, having come from nothing to being able to keep a beat for half a dozen songs from memory in about 6 months. Between the ages of 12 and 15 I was an avid Drama enthusiast, my love for music, drama and public performing has never really left me. I always get a tingle before they roll out on stage to do their thing.

As I sat there watching in-between sets, I saw the stage floor. It’s a soft rubber matting that doesn’t reflect light and is extremely grippy. I remember what it felt like to be on that, especially in just socks. You felt glued to the ground, your every step slightly cushioned by the rubber absorbing your energy. Felt good.

Food just came, my Mrs is off to see her family this weekend so we had a ‘goodbye’ meal of ‘Tost’ which, since I’m in Turkey right now, means ‘Toast’. It’s basically a toastie with extra shit inside like Salad and stuff, well see for yourself.

Not good for you, but tasty. Anyway, I decided last night that once my girlfriend had left that I would fly right. Before I came down from 160kg to 100kg. I then put back on 25kg, since I hit my goal, I lost the track. I was so focused and disciplined, I even lost weight on a 10-day holiday. But I lost it all. I want that back. I figure the best way to do that is to set myself another goal.

I originally set 100kg as a goal, because at 160kg I thought to myself ‘No Fucking Way Can I Ever Get there’ I went past it and got to about 98kg. It’s weird, I’ve never actually written it down, seeing it go from 3 digits into 2 is a strange thing.

So I’m starting at 125kg and here is me. Anon. I am going to sign myself up for a bodybuilding physique competition next year (2018) so I have a goal. Having a structure, like I did before, will enable me to remain focused and concentrate. I believe I have what it takes this time. I’m ready to make a go of it.

I’d managed to Vlog most of my transformation, but keeping up with a daily vlog, I realised that my life as it was, was way too boring to vlog about once a week. I would set myself unrealistic goals and ambitions. And never ever keep to them. I figured that writing my thoughts down and just spilling onto a keyboard might be a better way of tracking it, including photos of highlights, rather than trying to maintain a ‘WHATS UP GUYS THIS IS JOEY SALADS’ kind of personality that YouTube content is driven by.

I can’t blame YouTube, but I do feel as though I’m not ready to continue my Vlogs, since I’m down in the dumps about this whole weight gain thing. Once I’m back on track, I’ll try to transition into doing both. I’m sure at least 100 Blogs a day are started about ‘This is my first day’ and I’d wager that 90% of them fail in the first few weeks. I’m going to try to succeed in keeping up with these entries once or twice a week, some might be shorter and some might be longer.

I’d say that my knowledge of Diet, Fitness and Nutrition rivals about 80% of the publics, that’s not to say I know everything, it’s to say the public are massively ill-informed about both, I’ve read the books, watched the videos and asked the right questions. So I will be making the correct choices in that respect. One of my friends, who I met at the gym, offered me the advise of not eating carbohydrates after 5 o’clock. He is very lean and looks great, but I didn’t even bother explaining the logic flaw to him.

Him, like many others, look for that ‘1 Method’ of doing something. If I stop eating this I’ll lose weight, if I don’t drink that I’ll lose weight. And sometimes it works, but not for the reasons they think. These methods/theories/techniques often work because these people radically change several things at once and they see results, however, they tend to glorify the catalyst that started it all i.e. not eating carbs after 5.

The best diet is one you will stick to, the body responds to consistent changes over time and doesn’t like flip-flopping between extremes. Moderation is the key, no matter what you say or see, moderation is the key. Sooner or later, those who don’t moderate (like me the first time) eventually burn out.

My first massive weight loss, I completely cut dietary fat out of my diet for a whole year, all I got was the bear minimum from chicken breast and a few eggs and nuts. Not even close to the RDA. You know what happened? My Testosterone, a hormone that uses saturated fat to synthesise crashed. I’m not sure the exact science about what happened, but my body shut down producing testosterone.

I noticed it when I felt so incredibly weak, wasn’t making any gym gains, ZERO sex drive, tired, moody and just feeling off colour. One of my co-workers at the time said I looked anaemic, so pale, weak with bags under my eyes. I knew I wasn’t, since I give blood regularly and they test for iron levels before they take the blood. I ordered a ‘Full body blood test’ off the internet. Why would I do that? Because if you go to the NHS and say, ‘I feel rough’ they will make sure you don’t have anything deadly, which is fine, and then begin a very long process of finding out the rest, sometimes not even doing that. I know a little bit about cars. I spent years fixing up my land rover, I can diagnose what’s wrong with my car these days to a close margin. When I go to the mechanic, I can tell them pretty much exactly what is wrong and what needs replacing. Then, them being the experts, will tell me if there is anything more. I took the same approach with my doctor, I went there with a professional private medical blood test result and showed them.

To their surprise my testosterone, which an acceptable tolerance is between 10nmol/L – 31nmol/L, mine was 1.8nmol/L. The NHS use a different tolerance than this company whose limit is lower, but as you can see below. I was half way to losing my manhood!

After a whole YEAR of tests including an MRI, Ultrasound and several blood tests, they couldn’t find a reason. Doctors can be very ignorant when their patient suggests something like diet. But that’s by-the-by in the end I went for treatment privately since a whole host of NHS incompetence’s left me massively under dosed for 6 months, causing me to feel worse not better. I am now on 500mg of Sustanon a month which I inject into my quad once a week. Lesson for every man, don’t neglect dietary fat.

It took about 6 more months to feel the effect. So a 2 year payment for a stupid mistake. But I started getting my old self back eventually and made gains etc, I even went on to compete in strongman competitions and training. Although I was seriously bad!

So other than that, that’s been my life. Now it’s time to change. Now it’s time to set another goal and stick with it. A goal has to be SMART

Specific Measurable Attainable Realistic Time based

So my smart goal is this:

I want to compete in a bodybuilding physique competition in 2018, although not officially released, the dates tend to stay fairly similar each year. May 26th is my date . I will measure my progress with 3 steps, short term goal, medium and long, the latter being to compete. It is attainable based upon the large timeframe I have given myself and it is also realistic because of that. Time based, meaning I will track myself weekly to gauge my aesthetic appearance and my weight.

I will start with a 16 week ‘Cutting Period’ During this time I will lose 30kg at a rate of 1.8kg per week following a strict diet. I will measure if my progress IRL is matching with my predicted progress and adjust as needed, I will be setting my goal to what I know is safely attainable, through personal experience and research recommendations. Once this 16-week cutting period is over, I have left myself 4 weeks to pick up any slack and make any corrections to the diet, meaning, if I arrive at my goal weight/physique of 90kg and I am still not happy, I have time to continue before moving onto the next step, this should bring me to October 2017.

If I am on course I will begin ‘Lean Bulking’ on a small caloric deficit each day. Until a physique which I believe is presentable has been attained. Since the competition is on May 26th that will give me 6 ½ Months before cutting down 8 – 12  weeks prior to the competition date.

I am aware of the emotional problems, since a member of my family has terminal cancer, they will likely die during this period, I am prepared and won’t let this affect my progress.

I am determined. I am ready for it. I’m not ready to share my social media or anything yet, nor will I be posting pictures on my social media until I am confident enough, this is, after all a mind-game.

Wish me luck buddies.

Love you Bye.