Sunday night blahs + fic-bit
+ My yagkyas fic is finished! It's been beta'd. I'm letting it sit for a day before I look at it again, make any additional changes, and then submit it. \o/
+ All holiday shopping (minus one pair of liners for crocs) is complete. Multiple loaves of pumpkin-pecan bread are cooling, and banana-walnut batter is waiting to be poured into the baking tins when they become available. \o/
+ I still haven't addressed any holiday cards yet. /o\
+ I'm most of the way through S1 of The West Wing. I might be the only person in the world who didn't watch it when it was being broadcast. Between 1996 and early 2004, I watched college football, hockey, and the occasional episode of ER, and that's pretty much it; I read a fuck-ton of books and scientific papers, though. Anyway. I am in love with CJ. Seriously, my competence kink, she hits it EVERY EPISODE. And 1.7, the state dinner episode where she's in the gorgeous grey silk gown, barefoot in her office? I needed a moment. (Aaron thinks this is hilarious; for some reason he - who watched TWW with Rachel - thought Sam would be my favorite. Um. No.) I have to ask: is Danny Concannon based on the actual WaPo WHPC rep, or a nod to Danny Schechter, News Dissector?
Anyway. I won't ramble, because I'm sure that the awesome of TWW is already known to most of you.
+ I have eight different tabs of poetry open. I would love for someone to write GK fic based on Frost's Not To Keep.
+ Since the exchange fic is done, I am allowing myself to think more about the college AU, or maybe a vampire-politics AU. Here, have a fic-bit of the former.
This is how Nate meets Brad. It seems pretty inauspicious, as life-changing meetings go.
Technically, class isn't even over yet. But since they just took their second quiz and Nate's pretty sure he failed it, he's not going to hang around the lecture hall while other kids turn in their answers and joke about how they aced it. Instead, he checks the room number and office hours for the Chemistry Help Desk, and heads for the stairs.
When gets to the room, which began life as a janitor's closet, the door's cracked open, and there's a guy with shaggy blond hair sprawled out, balancing a chair on its rear legs, his feet propped up on the desk.
"We don't need to schedule summer practice. I'm telling you, Mike, take some time off. The new kids won't get to campus until mid-August, so we can start planning at the beginning of the month."
The guy cocks his head.
"Yeah, I know. Doesn't matter. I checked out some of the casual practices the Terps set up down in Silver Spring. Unless their recruiting went way better than Stafford's reporting, they're not going to be serious competition this year."
Nate doesn't think he's done anything to attract attention, but suddenly blue eyes are pinning him in place. He feels transparent, like this stranger can see everything: how he's struggling in his science classes, that he's not sure he wants to be a doctor at all but doesn't know how to tell his mom and dad, that the classes he enjoyed most last semester were world civ and the philosophy class where his prof paused and read from Plato in Greek, trying to explain things that just didn't carry when words were translated from their original language.
There's a spate of words from the phone and then, "Mike. Go ride a horse or kiss your girlfriend or something. We're not going to lose NCAAs before the year even starts. And I've got a confused chem student to enlighten."
He tosses the phone down onto the table carelessly.
"VSEPR theory or carbons, hydrogens, and oxygens giving you trouble?"
"Um, Organic. The latter."
The obviously he receives in reply is unspoken, but clear.
"Have a seat. I'm Brad, summer slave labor for the chemistry department."
Brad swings his legs down and his chair settles all four legs back to the floor with a thump.
+ All holiday shopping (minus one pair of liners for crocs) is complete. Multiple loaves of pumpkin-pecan bread are cooling, and banana-walnut batter is waiting to be poured into the baking tins when they become available. \o/
+ I still haven't addressed any holiday cards yet. /o\
+ I'm most of the way through S1 of The West Wing. I might be the only person in the world who didn't watch it when it was being broadcast. Between 1996 and early 2004, I watched college football, hockey, and the occasional episode of ER, and that's pretty much it; I read a fuck-ton of books and scientific papers, though. Anyway. I am in love with CJ. Seriously, my competence kink, she hits it EVERY EPISODE. And 1.7, the state dinner episode where she's in the gorgeous grey silk gown, barefoot in her office? I needed a moment. (Aaron thinks this is hilarious; for some reason he - who watched TWW with Rachel - thought Sam would be my favorite. Um. No.) I have to ask: is Danny Concannon based on the actual WaPo WHPC rep, or a nod to Danny Schechter, News Dissector?
Anyway. I won't ramble, because I'm sure that the awesome of TWW is already known to most of you.
+ I have eight different tabs of poetry open. I would love for someone to write GK fic based on Frost's Not To Keep.
+ Since the exchange fic is done, I am allowing myself to think more about the college AU, or maybe a vampire-politics AU. Here, have a fic-bit of the former.
This is how Nate meets Brad. It seems pretty inauspicious, as life-changing meetings go.
Technically, class isn't even over yet. But since they just took their second quiz and Nate's pretty sure he failed it, he's not going to hang around the lecture hall while other kids turn in their answers and joke about how they aced it. Instead, he checks the room number and office hours for the Chemistry Help Desk, and heads for the stairs.
When gets to the room, which began life as a janitor's closet, the door's cracked open, and there's a guy with shaggy blond hair sprawled out, balancing a chair on its rear legs, his feet propped up on the desk.
"We don't need to schedule summer practice. I'm telling you, Mike, take some time off. The new kids won't get to campus until mid-August, so we can start planning at the beginning of the month."
The guy cocks his head.
"Yeah, I know. Doesn't matter. I checked out some of the casual practices the Terps set up down in Silver Spring. Unless their recruiting went way better than Stafford's reporting, they're not going to be serious competition this year."
Nate doesn't think he's done anything to attract attention, but suddenly blue eyes are pinning him in place. He feels transparent, like this stranger can see everything: how he's struggling in his science classes, that he's not sure he wants to be a doctor at all but doesn't know how to tell his mom and dad, that the classes he enjoyed most last semester were world civ and the philosophy class where his prof paused and read from Plato in Greek, trying to explain things that just didn't carry when words were translated from their original language.
There's a spate of words from the phone and then, "Mike. Go ride a horse or kiss your girlfriend or something. We're not going to lose NCAAs before the year even starts. And I've got a confused chem student to enlighten."
He tosses the phone down onto the table carelessly.
"VSEPR theory or carbons, hydrogens, and oxygens giving you trouble?"
"Um, Organic. The latter."
The obviously he receives in reply is unspoken, but clear.
"Have a seat. I'm Brad, summer slave labor for the chemistry department."
Brad swings his legs down and his chair settles all four legs back to the floor with a thump.