"Granted, it can also give some pretty disturbing mental images once in awhile =)"
~Tamony
In response to Tamony having yet some more stories to post
::boggles:: Jesus, woman, you've become the First Ficbitch of the Tribe list. Productive much? And I assume the one you're posting is Rave/Stevie vignette.
~Katja
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
(added on January 28, 2003)
Missy: My best yet had to with Jerry Lawler and rimming. I ran for it, and I like unusual pairings, so you know it had to be a bit much for my system when I fled!
Tamony: ...*does not allow brain to go there* I love reading unusual pairings, but there are some people I just don't praticularly wanna picture...lol
Missy: It's just that after reading Lawler's book, I never want to have to imagine him in any sexual situation every again. *chuckles*
Tamony: LOL. I don't know whther or not I'm glad that I haven't read it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
On having writers block:
"I have the biggest case of writer's block! MY GOD! *stomps* I know how I want the fic to end but I don't know about the middle! How exactly *does* a person who knows little to none about sex write slash! *ponders*...a weekend with Raven? *giggles* Well, it's *so* obvious that I'm not getting that so like HELLLLLLLP ME!!!!!!!"
~Isha
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Sure," Raven smiled as a flicker of hope returned. "But um, I didn't bring the car."
Jeff gawked. "You walked?"
"I just needed to geel the earth under my feet." He shrugged.
"But it's six miles!"
"And? I do have legs ya'know!"
"Shit!" Jeff exclaimed, "You must be frozen! Say toodles to Tommy, we're going for coffee!" He demanded.
Raven looked impressed. "Assertive!"
"Assertive in rhyme actually," Jeff beamed. "I'm multitasking!"
Raven laughed. "Clever boy!"
~The above is from the story "Winter Sojourn" by Gabi
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Sometimes I wonder how he even manages to get his shoes on the right feet in the morning," Tommy laughed, raising his voice louder so he'd be sure Rob would overhear.
"Must be Dawn," Scott theorised. "She's missing as many brain cells as he is, but at least she knows how to dress."
Tommy snorted. "At least we can blame his shortcomings on chairshots. She... I guess she's just a home-grown airhead."
"You insulting my girl, Tommy?" Rbo asked as he threw himself back intot he booth.
"She's an easy target." Tommy shrugged. "But I'm ready to move on." He sling his arm around Scott's shoulders, grinning when Scott glaned. "Now you," he started. "You're a whole different case altogether."
"Fuck you," Scott said, finally laughing outright.
Tommy only raised an eyebrow and wrapped his arm tighter around Scott. "Not tonight. I have a headache."
"Careful, Jum. Tommy's moving in on your territory," said Rob, snickering when Tommy Flipped him off.
~The above is from the story "Going Under" by Tamony
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The following are different paragraphs from a story called "About Time" by Tamony. Narator being Sandman :D
'Most of the lights are already on because the crew's at work, but of course the hallway to the locker room is dark and I'm probably going to smash my knee on something before I get there. I swear those fuckin' railes and tables and boxes come out of nowhere.'
~*
'I wonder for just a second if he's letting himself be late just to piss me off. I wouldn't put it past him-he's done it before, years ago, but I'd like to think we're both more mature than that now.'
~*
"Shouldn't you be drunk by now?" he asks randomly.
"Don't do that quite so much anymore," I say. "Figured you'd know that by now." I hope I didn't just sound as annoyed as I think I did. Tommy's been updating me so often, I guess I figured it had to have been working the other way around. "Don't worry," I say, just when that damnable neutral expression slips over his face again, "I've got some with me."
"Good," he says. "You hit harder when you're sober." He smiles-a real smile, not his usual smirk. It's contagious.
~*
He looks serious all the sudden. "What?" he asks, and I realise I'm still looking at him but I'm not smiling anymore. Maybe I'm not quite as transparent as I used to be, because he doesn't seem to know what's on my mind.
All I do is shake my head. Nothing's going to make sense if I try to talk out what's in my head, because it doesn't even all make sense to me yet. "Just thinking," I say.
"I wasn't aware you were still capable," he says sarcastically, but he doesn't give me a chance to fire anything back at him before he changes the subject. "So what do you think?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I'll read it. I need to reclaim my inner slash slut."
~Anicee on me asking if anyone would like to read my slash fic "Fuel My Fire"
"Great job. You'll be a certified slash slut soon. Just ask Carley"
~Anicee after reading the fic
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The next paragraphs are quotes from the story "Too Far" by Tamony (the second part to "About Time")
"You need a ride back to the hotel." It's not a question the way he says it.
"You drove me here." I remind him. "You think I'm going to fuckin' walk back?"
He rolls his eyes and sighs. I have to bite my lip hard to keep from laughing at him--every damn time he does that he manages to look and sound just like a thirteen-year-old girl.
He's getting impatient, but I feel like being a dick tonight so I make a show of packing up my shit as slowly as I can. I hear him sigh again, then he picks up the shirt beside me and tosses it into my bag. I take it out and glare at him, but it's really fuckin' hard to keep from grinning. "You're fuckin' up my system, Scotty," I complain.
He growls and launches himself off the bench. "I'll be in the damn car."
I really shouldn't still have this much fun pissing him off.
A few minutes later I actually make it out to the parking lot, and he's sitting there tapping his fingers against the wheel. See, it's all right for Scotty to lose track of time and make himself and everyone else late, but if he's ready to go and someone else isn't, he gets irritated pretty damn quickly.
I grin when I get in the car; I'm going for innocent, but I'd be my last beer that it's not working. He just stares, then half-smiles. As we're pulling out of the parking lot, he looks over for a second. "You're an ass, you know that?" Damn right I do.
**
"You need to quit putting that shit on your face," I say. He'll protest.
"I've been using 'that shit' on and off for years." Yep. Predictable. Somehow it's comforting that, as much as I can't usually tell what he's thinking, I can figure out how he'll react to jabs, at least the ones I come up with.
"Looked stupid then, looks stupid now."
"You never complained about it before," he says. It's a lie, but one I expected. Oce in awhile I used to tease him about his random paint jobs, but not often enough that it became a running joke or anything.
I shrug, and play along. "Just looking after my own best interests. If I'd have complained..." If I'd have complained, he might have left it on just to piss me off, rather than letting me drag him into the shower and scrub the shit off him. "Never mind," I finish. I don't need to be thinking about this now.
He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't push. "Running out of witty comebacks?" he asks.
"You fuckin' wish," I snort. That wasn't witty, and it wasn't much of a comeback, either. Guess I'm zero for two.
**
"How the fuck can that be comfortable?" I ask. He's lying on his back on the bed now, feet still flat on the floor, and his jacket's balled up awkwardly underneath him.
He looks at me like he has no idea what I'm on about. "Flat on my back is perfectly comfortable."
I snort. "Familiar posiition for you, anyhow," I say. He scowls, but it's only because he knows he walked right into that one.
"Lame, unoriginal, and obvious," is his analysis. Wrapping one warm hand around my elbow, he uses me to haul himself back up. His hair falls into his face again, and I must be more relaxed than earlier because it's just reflex for me to shove it out of his eyes. Doesn't do a damn bit of good anyway, because as soon as I take my hand away, it falls right back to where it was before. I saw a bit of surprise on his face for a split second; I guess he wasn't expecting me to do that. Hell, I wasn't expecting me to do that.
He doesn't take his eyes off me as he runs his hand through his hair and somehow gets it to stay back. I can't help it... that's still sexy as hell, even though--or maybe because--he does it so damned often without realising it.
"What?" he asks, breaking my train of thought. I think I'm grateful.
I shake my head. "Just thinking."
"I wasn't aware you were still capable," he smirks.
"Christ." That has to be the fifth time this weeks he's used the same fuckin' line on me. "Now who's being unoriginal?"
He shrugs. Classic Scotty ending to an argument he can't win.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I say to nobody in particluar, "I give you... Rave. Intelligent as fuck, but uncreative in arguments, in insult contests, in bed--"
"Hey!" he loudly cuts me off. "That's bullshit."
"You know I'm right." Christ, this is immature.
"Bullshit."
"Half the fuckin' locker room knows that's why you never fuck any chick more than once. They'd get wise to the fact that you've only got one basic moveset."
I really love that blank stare. Been awhile since I've caused it.
"Bullshit!" he says again, which really isn't doing much for his side of the argument.
"You can't prove me wrong." I'm just fuckin' with him. I don't think he can come up with much of a comeback for that.
"I could," he said, and I think he was trying to continue the joke but it didn't quite work. He looks a little more serious than he should... shit, he's got that fuckin' look in his eyes. Christ. I haven't seen that look in years and I don't know if I want to see it now. Three years ago he'd have had his tongue down my throat by now, but he's just watching me. Waiting for me to say something. Or do something.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
This is from the story "Might As Well" by Tamony (third part to the above story)
Steve laughs at us. "Listen to him," he says to me. "He'll fucking pine away without you or something," he continues, overdramatic as hell. Dumb fucker, but at least he's entertaining. I flip him off.
Scotty suddenly grabs my hand, and I really think he's trying not to smirk. Shit. He closes his hand around mine and holds it up in front of him. "Well, the width is about right," he says, looking at my finger, "but I think it's a little too long."
I stare, even as Steve and Simon just about kill themselves laughing. Nice to know some things never change. I guess Scotty must be relaxed, otherwise he wouldn't be slipping back into the same old jokes. I can't even think of anything decently insulting to fire back, either. "I think I liked you better when you were a depressive fuck-up."
"I think I liked you better when you were a fucking drunk." He's let go of my hand and he's not even looking at me anymore, just re-lacing one of his boots.
I snort. "I still 'am' a fuckin' drunk." All right, so that's not exactly true, but it's good enough for now. I'll be well on my way to buzzed within the hour, anyway.
He doesn't even acknowledge that, just changes the topic. Fucker. "Try not to sprain anything out there tonight, all right?" he says.
"Try not to step on my goddamned wrist and I might actually manage," I say. After all the injuries we've given one another, that was one stupid screw-up on his part I'm never letting him forget.
He sighs, but it's not a tired sigh, it's that sound that means he thinks I'm a fuckin' moron. "Just interference, remember? I'm not even in the ring with you tonight."
Shit, I wasn't thinking about that. "There is a god," I fire back after a second.
"Fuck you," he says.
Aww. Christ, that's not even worth respinding to, but I do anyhow. "I'll consider it... if you admit you wrestle in a fuckin' skirt." He has, many times--hell, that's what he calls it all the time, but something tells me he's going to protest more for the sake of protesting than because I'm actually wrong.
"It's a kilt," he says. Now he's not just sighing at me, he's looking at me like he thinks I'm a moron, too. I'm fuckin' immune to that by now, that way he can make people feel about two inches tall just by the look in his eyes, and I'm thankful for it. Otherwise, I'd never get anywhere with him.
"It's a fuckin' skirt, Scotty."
He sighs yet again. "Fine. It's a fucking skirt. Your point?"
I just shake my head. "You wear a leather skirt--"
"It's plaid, and it's not leather."
"It was leather before, jackass. Now let me finish. You wear a leather skirt and you grope sweaty men for a living... I don't know, sometimes I wonder about you." Pot... kettle... oh well. It's just a little fun, and damned if I'm not grateful that the tension's melting away.
He smirks. Shit. I'm doomed. "I'd be about as inclined to wonder about a man who has a well-documented obsession with hitting other men with a four-foot-long wooden dick."
I have to laugh at that; it wasn't nrealy as low as I thought it was going to be. I notice a couple of the younger boys watching us, trying not to grin, and I remember that I have a damned loud voice sometimes and they probably overheard the whole thing. Scotty and I catch each other's eye and I shrug. It's not like either of us care.
**
"You could always come with us, you know," he says, as if it's the most obvious option in the world.
"I don't want to get in the way." It's mostly the truth.
Scotty looks honestly confused. "Since when the fuck have you ever gotten... oh." He scowls. "For fuck's sake>" I suddenly get the feeling that he wants to smack me in the head, but all he does is cross his arms. "You're an idiot," he declares, and that's his way of telling me that I've been completely off the mark. It's not the first time I've read him wrong, but it annoys me.
