Ok so we need some more fan fic to help us through up until Season 9 starts
I know the colab we did (yang hunt anatomy) was rather hard to get off the ground so I though something a bit different
Shli is moving this week so Im going ahead in her place and hope you enjoy this .... fanfic (P.G 13) and or drabbles 100 words no more no less. (even poems if you are inspired)
Here is the list of titles/topics choose one and then post here or post the fanfic link here however you interpret these titles is fine (does not have to be the obvious)
1. Greys Halloween Party 2. Owen as a child 3. Im in the Army 4. Staff meeting 5. And then there were 3 6. It made me cry 7. A funny thing happend on the way to the.... 8. Macbeth 9. Mercy West's biggest day 10. What to do with all the staff ?
Post by browncoatwhit on Aug 20, 2012 22:03:07 GMT -5
Okay! I just sat down and ripped this out -- I started with the goal of just a drabble, but just couldn't stop!! (Drabble x8 here, forgive me, please!)
# # #
"So what was it like?" Cristina asked on their first real date, over beers and lime esponjaldo at that little Columbian restaurant overlooking the cobblestone street of Pike's Place Market. "What's it like over there?"
It was a question he had been asked before by others, and which he never found the right words to answer. Owen tried now not to frown as he groped for the simple words, the safe ones, the ones not shadowed by memories of violence. "Iraq?" he said, when what he would have rather have discussed was his fascination with the nape of her delicate neck, or the way her luminous dark eyes caught and reflected the Christmas lights that blinked on and off all around the terrace's railings. "They call it the sand pit for a reason," he said, with a pull at his Snoqualmie Falls hefeweizen. "And you can't get anything like this most anywhere I served. You never realize how much you miss a really good beer until you're serving deep in-country where it's strictly banned."
Her laughter fizzed, and the reflection of the lights were dancing in her eyes. "No, really!" Cristina insisted. "You tried to recruit me for the big adventure once. Tell me now. What was it like?"
He took another drink of cold beer, fighting a delaying action that was doomed, because Owen knew he could not refuse this woman anything. But even so, when he opened his mouth to talk about where he had been, the words created a logjam in his throat. No, not a logjam -- that invoked water and debris straining to get loose. No. When he tried to speak, the words simply vanished, as though desiccated by a fierce shamal wind and blown away as dust. Owen looked at the dark glass bottle in his hands, and felt the raindrops of condensation beneath his fingers. He felt the weight of her expectations, the weight of her waiting, and groped for words. "Dry," he admitted.
Cristina laughed again -- it was, he was sure, the sweetest sound surely to have been heard by mankind since Helen of Troy drew breath -- and he wasn't entirely sure if she was laughing at him or not. "No, really" she said again, her tone gone all take-no-prisoners.
He had been a good officer once, so Owen knew an order when he heard it. Again, he groped for what to say. He didn't want to think about the sandpit itself -- and more than anything, he didn't want to pull a seat up at this table at this time with this beautiful woman, and invite the War to sit down with them. So he seized on memories of the opposite of where he had been and what he had seen and done. He thought of how he had been born and raised here, in Seattle, which was really to say that he was a child of the rain and of the low-hanging gray skies. He thought of how it had been to grow up grow up waiting for those rare days when the skies cleared up enough that a pale sun burned away the clouds and exposed Mt. Rainer or the coastal range. He thought of watching the distant ash plume that had been the top quarter of Mt. St. Helens throwing Harry Truman and his cabin full of cats straight up in a mushroom cloud. He remembered sitting in his bedroom and listening to local bands he had loved, comprised of other local boys, fellow students of rainfall. He remembered of drinking his first beer with friends, after midnight at Bruce Lee's grave and arguing why there was no statue for Seattle's superhero. Most of all, he remembered the young man he had once been, who had dreamed big, dreamed of getting away from the wet streets and the fog, Lake Washington and the floating bridge and the industrial-tainted water of Elliot Bay. And he had done just that -- he had gotten away, to a land of constant sunshine and cerulean skies. That experience had nearly killed him, soul and body both. So the hometown boy had found his way back, to where he prayed the rain could wash him clean again.
"Really," Owen said. "It's dry in the desert. And hot. I've never lived anywhere without trees. You never realize how good it is, here at home, until you've been so far away. I'm not sure what I missed most. Good beer. Good coffee. Or the trees."
To his profound gratitude, Cristina took that as answer enough. She picked up the conversational baton and ran with it. "I grew up in California -- south of the hippie part, that is. I was shocked when I moved up here and saw how green a city could be. Trees everywhere. It's all creepy, like a real-life Twin Peaks or something."
She laughed again at her own words, and her smile was like a promise. Owen watched Cristina's smile and thought of two kisses he had stolen from her, and of how her mouth had tasted like the rain.
Post by browncoatwhit on Aug 21, 2012 14:13:13 GMT -5
The Hunt family home was only blocks from St. Mark's Cathedral on Capitol Hill, close enough that for years, every Thursday evening, the madrigals of the men's choir practice would drift through Owenâ€™s bedroom window. There came a time when his younger self had replaced those lilting harmonies with Soundgarten and Mudhoney, Nirvana and Alice in Chains, and his favorite little band that he still thought of as Mookie Blaylock. But long years later, when he woke from a restless sleep in his empty bed, it was the sound of those ancient madrigals that lingered in his ears.
Post by princessleah on Aug 22, 2012 0:38:18 GMT -5
Two triple drabbles, because I have an inability to censor myself:
"…If you don't like the way I wash your Stanford sweatshirt, you're more than welcome to do it,” Owen reminded Cristina as he opened the door for her.
Cristina scoffed as she exited the resident’s locker room so they could walk to the hospital entrance. "You know I don't do laundry."
He tried not to roll his eyes at the argument they’d been having since that morning. “So, theoretically, you shouldn’t get a say in how I wash your clothes."
The stony look in her eyes informed him otherwise and he swallowed in response even as he outwardly held his ground in their mini face-off. “I’m going to Joe’s with Meredith. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
Owen kissed her cheek gladly, a poor attempt to conceal his relief that the asinine argument was temporarily over. "See you."
"Bye." She walked off to catch up with Meredith, and Owen's stomach sank as the two of them turned to fix him with annoyed expressions before leaving the hospital.
"So what did you do?" He heard Derek's resigned voice behind him.
"Washed her favorite sweatshirt with the wrong detergent.” Owen ran his fingers tiredly through his short hair. “You?"
"Screwed up Zola’s hair," Derek sighed. "Mark's heading over. Callie and Arizona are giving him the evil eye too."
Owen winced at the sight of Callie's narrowed eyes and Arizona's pursed lips and quickly made an executive decision even though all of their workdays were technically over. "Staff meeting?"
"Yes." Mark agreed without hesitation as he fell into step with the other two men.
They made their way to the former chief's abandoned office where they reached for the secret stash of scotch still in the cabinet and gratefully took the opportunity to drink away their women for a few hours in peace.
“This is stupid.”
“Dressing up in a costume just to go door to door begging strangers for candy. It’s stupid. And possibly the first step on the road to prostitution.”
“I’m pretty sure trick or treating doesn’t lead to prostitution.”
“Whatever. This non-holiday is stupid,” Cristina groused as they looked through the costumes. “No princesses. No animals. No cartoon characters. No Star Wars…”
Owen shook his head, grinning before his eyes lit on the one that had a chance of gaining Cristina’s approval. “How about this one?”
He knew he had her as she finally fell silent, considering, and declared a silent victory in his mind as Cristina took the set of infant scrubs from his hand and deigned to look at the costume herself.
“The scrub cap’s lame. We’ll have to fix it. Callie has all that arts and crafts crap, right?” Cristina showed the costume to Mia, who was in her stroller and far more eager than her mother to look at the selection. “What do you think, Mia? Yeah? Are you going to be a cardio god in this?”
Mia babbled back at her, reaching out to touch the scrubs and Cristina grinned triumphantly. “That’s my girl. You have good taste in costumes, don’t you?” She kissed Mia’s cheek and stood up. “She’s going to need the scrub cap fixed. We can have her wear the toy stethoscope we have at home. And we can make an ID for her so they know she’s cardio and not neuro. Or plastics.” Cristina shuddered even as she went on animatedly about what Mia would need for the costume she was probably going to wear less than two hours for trick or treating.
Owen just smiled and winked conspiratorially at their daughter, feeling that on some level, she understood.
Reptillus: Greetings friends!
Oct 27, 2015 2:00:45 GMT -5
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rayme: I love Grey's Anatomy
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rayme: Can we talk them here
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stormtrooper68: Hello, everyone. anybody else spotted the mistake in episode 13 of Journeyman. Happens during the dance scene.
Apr 24, 2017 4:03:57 GMT -5
veroni: My name is veronica and I am from South Africa. On which date will Grays Anatomy Season 11 debuted in Norway. No one else detected the slip-up in scene 13 of Journeyman. Occurs amid the move scene.comfortable mattress.
Jul 14, 2017 3:25:05 GMT -5
garym: Hi everybody Im Gary from Keith in Scotland . My mothers mother is his grandmas sister a 2nd cousin I believe and to all his fans out there reading,no need to be jelous Ive never even met Kevin. Would be super cool to tho
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