talking about the weather
I hate tornado season.
Very, very much.
Also, today? With the threatening to rain all day? Not cool.
Think I'll participate in the guilt WIP meme - the dS fanfic edition.
A sampling from the gfl folder:
A) Ray had passed the "calmly looking for" stage fifteen minutes ago, and was rapidly leaving "rifling through everything" and heading towards "tossing everything off the desk" territory, when Frannie walked by. She paused, watching for a moment, before deciding to intervene before he started throwing things.
"What are you looking for?"
"Nothing. An envelope." He kept rifling through his over-stacked inbox pile.
"Oh. Oh, that. I mailed it for you."
His attention snapped to her. "You what."
B) Anyway, figured you'd be worried about Vecchio, so I asked Frannie who said that he wasn't coming back, even to desk duty, until he was sure he could come back for all of it. 'Cause, once he's back on desk duty, there goes disability even if it turns out later that he can't hack it. But she says he's really okay and is just being a baby. Can't tell if that's the truth or some kind of sister-thing. But there you are. She says 'hi,' again, by the way.
Chicago still seems weirdly big.
C) Ray hadn't realized that it was possible to actually feel the blood leaving his face. Not having seen the red uniform anywhere, he'd figured Fraser hadn't made it down. He should have known better. He should have slipped out earlier.
The wedding party paced by, while he stood staring like an idiot. He waited for the receiving line to get backed up and used the congestion to sneak by.
D)And later, while Fraser slept the sleep of the well-and-truly worn out and Ray lay watching him, he thought at least he had the memory now. Even if it hadn't changed anything, at least now he knew, and knowing, there'd be no way in hell he could keep up the just friends pretense -- except he wouldn't be seeing Fraser again.
E) "I'll write," he had assumed, would mean the same in Chicago parlance as "I'll call." Namely, "Goodbye." He had not been prepared for Ray to mean exactly what he'd said.
F) "That would appear to be the letter I sent you, Ray," he echoed in a snide tone. "Of course it's the letter you wrote me, what I'm asking is, what is this?"
I suppressed the sudden urge to fidget and attempted to take refuge in social niceties. "Would you care for some tea, Ray?" I was halfway to the kitchen area before Ray could respond, which in and of itself might not have been entirely courteous, but discretion being the better part of valor...
"No, I do not want tea, when do I ever want tea. I want --"
G) Fraser, who was sitting at the table, didn't look up. Ray frowned. "Have you been sitting there all day?"
"No," Fraser replied, but he rubbed at his eyebrow as he spoke. Meaning, no, maybe he got up once or twice and possibly remembered to eat, but he did spend most of the day sitting at that table, working on that damn letter.
...
Huh. Some of them could maybe connect better than I thought. If I could pick a POV...
No plot, no point...
Clearly in this instance, "suck my cock" was intended as a retort or an insult. Unfortunately, his mind did tend to work literally and rather visually, the result being a sudden, intense image of Ray as he might look in the throes of sexual passion, head thrown back, eyes drooping shut, maybe his mouth a bit open, as his hips thrust -- Fraser shook his head clear once again.
... this is the kind of story that causes me to turn RED while writing. (What? I blush easily.) This tends to draw the attention of anyone else is in the room. Which is part of why it's unfinished.
I just. Het is too close, you know?
"Invite me to your place for coffee," she said. His eyes popped open, with such a look of concern that she had to ask, "You do have a place, right? I mean, you don't...?"
"Live in the consulate?" he finished for her, with an odd twist to his mouth. "No. It's just that, well, I don't have coffee. Not good coffee anyway. I have instant. And tea, though that's hardly the same thing. If you wait right here, I can go get coffee, there's a shop just down the street." Turnbull began walking down the street without waiting for a reply. Still talking, in fact.
*GUILTS* The beta was very useful, and as a result I know why the first draft(s) didn't work. I just have utterly failed at writing the next draft. /o\
And... it looks like a couple WIPs are on paper/in planning only. I really thought one of them was on here. *pokes computer* Guess not.
Very, very much.
Also, today? With the threatening to rain all day? Not cool.
Think I'll participate in the guilt WIP meme - the dS fanfic edition.
A sampling from the gfl folder:
A) Ray had passed the "calmly looking for" stage fifteen minutes ago, and was rapidly leaving "rifling through everything" and heading towards "tossing everything off the desk" territory, when Frannie walked by. She paused, watching for a moment, before deciding to intervene before he started throwing things.
"What are you looking for?"
"Nothing. An envelope." He kept rifling through his over-stacked inbox pile.
"Oh. Oh, that. I mailed it for you."
His attention snapped to her. "You what."
B) Anyway, figured you'd be worried about Vecchio, so I asked Frannie who said that he wasn't coming back, even to desk duty, until he was sure he could come back for all of it. 'Cause, once he's back on desk duty, there goes disability even if it turns out later that he can't hack it. But she says he's really okay and is just being a baby. Can't tell if that's the truth or some kind of sister-thing. But there you are. She says 'hi,' again, by the way.
Chicago still seems weirdly big.
C) Ray hadn't realized that it was possible to actually feel the blood leaving his face. Not having seen the red uniform anywhere, he'd figured Fraser hadn't made it down. He should have known better. He should have slipped out earlier.
The wedding party paced by, while he stood staring like an idiot. He waited for the receiving line to get backed up and used the congestion to sneak by.
D)And later, while Fraser slept the sleep of the well-and-truly worn out and Ray lay watching him, he thought at least he had the memory now. Even if it hadn't changed anything, at least now he knew, and knowing, there'd be no way in hell he could keep up the just friends pretense -- except he wouldn't be seeing Fraser again.
E) "I'll write," he had assumed, would mean the same in Chicago parlance as "I'll call." Namely, "Goodbye." He had not been prepared for Ray to mean exactly what he'd said.
F) "That would appear to be the letter I sent you, Ray," he echoed in a snide tone. "Of course it's the letter you wrote me, what I'm asking is, what is this?"
I suppressed the sudden urge to fidget and attempted to take refuge in social niceties. "Would you care for some tea, Ray?" I was halfway to the kitchen area before Ray could respond, which in and of itself might not have been entirely courteous, but discretion being the better part of valor...
"No, I do not want tea, when do I ever want tea. I want --"
G) Fraser, who was sitting at the table, didn't look up. Ray frowned. "Have you been sitting there all day?"
"No," Fraser replied, but he rubbed at his eyebrow as he spoke. Meaning, no, maybe he got up once or twice and possibly remembered to eat, but he did spend most of the day sitting at that table, working on that damn letter.
...
Huh. Some of them could maybe connect better than I thought. If I could pick a POV...
No plot, no point...
Clearly in this instance, "suck my cock" was intended as a retort or an insult. Unfortunately, his mind did tend to work literally and rather visually, the result being a sudden, intense image of Ray as he might look in the throes of sexual passion, head thrown back, eyes drooping shut, maybe his mouth a bit open, as his hips thrust -- Fraser shook his head clear once again.
... this is the kind of story that causes me to turn RED while writing. (What? I blush easily.) This tends to draw the attention of anyone else is in the room. Which is part of why it's unfinished.
I just. Het is too close, you know?
"Invite me to your place for coffee," she said. His eyes popped open, with such a look of concern that she had to ask, "You do have a place, right? I mean, you don't...?"
"Live in the consulate?" he finished for her, with an odd twist to his mouth. "No. It's just that, well, I don't have coffee. Not good coffee anyway. I have instant. And tea, though that's hardly the same thing. If you wait right here, I can go get coffee, there's a shop just down the street." Turnbull began walking down the street without waiting for a reply. Still talking, in fact.
*GUILTS* The beta was very useful, and as a result I know why the first draft(s) didn't work. I just have utterly failed at writing the next draft. /o\
And... it looks like a couple WIPs are on paper/in planning only. I really thought one of them was on here. *pokes computer* Guess not.