Fan Fiction

    This story has been set to a rating of PG-13. Age verification is required to proceed.

    Age Verification

    I am years of age as of today, July 15, 2019

    Enter your current age into the field provide above. Stories with a rating of R or NC-17 may contain material not suitable for children. LesFan requires that all individuals wishing to read these stories confirm they are of at least 17 years of age. LesFan uses the MPAA rating labeling system for all stories.

    LesFan will also make a best attempt to filter profane words in stories that are not rated R or NC-17 unless the individual confirms they are of at least 17 years of age.

    LesFan uses the following rating scale for stories.






    Submit

    A Date with Chavela

    Alone in a corner of Bimbos Cantina, Callie Torres sipped her jalapeño infused tequila. The bar was moments from closing, and few patrons remained. By now she was on her third shot, not much really, but she’d already finished off four Pacificos. So she was quite sloshed in that dark corner of the bar she usually didn’t frequent. It was on the other side of town from the Emerald City Bar, Joe’s bar, where most of her chums hung after their shifts at Seattle Grace Hospital. But she was in no mood to socialize either with her close friends, the other attending docs, or with the needy residents and immature interns. No, she needed alone time away from her usual habits, to think through the mess that was her life.

    “I should’ve stuck with men,” she muttered to herself. “They’re easy and uncomplicated.”

    She sipped her drink, looked into her glass, and shrugged. Enough of this sipping, she thought, and shot the liquor down. The fire in her throat caused her to close her eyes, and she kept them closed a long moment while her head spun around.

    “No, Callie,” a voice said. “You see, we aren’t less complicated. We’re less cluttered.”

    She opened her eyes to see George sitting across from her.

    “What the heck, George.”

    “I’m just saying.”

    “You’re not saying shit. You’re dead.”

    He bobbed his head side to side. “Yeah, but I’m still just saying.”

    Callie closed her eyes again. I must be really drunk, she thought. I haven’t hallucinated George in a long time. She peeped one eye open to see him smiling his dopey grin.

    “Damn, you’re still here,” she said. She waved to get the bartender’s attention. “Another round?”

    “We’re closing in ten minutes,” the barkeep said. “Time for you to catch a cab home.”

    Callie groaned while she glared at her ex-husband…her dead ex-husband.

    “What do you want, George?” she asked

    “Thought you’d like someone to talk to, maybe help you work this thing out with Arizona,” he said.

    “Because you’re such an expert on women.”

    He shrugged. “I did okay.”

    Callie scoffed and dug in her wallet for cab fare. “Sure, if moving from me to Izzie all the while being in love with Meredith and never telling her is considered okay, then, I guess you’re an expert on women.”

    Page 1 of 12123Next ›Last »

    Comments

    1. Here’s my first non-TLW fanfiction. I hope you diehard TiBetter’s will give it a chance. I do appreciate your feedback both on this site and on Twitter. And just some background, when I was a little girl, my daddy had many of Vargas’s records. When I was at his house, I’d listen to them and gaze at the album covers as I was completely awash with infatuation for the woman. Even today, a dark haired, dark eyed butch turns my head every time and makes me giggle like an idiot. If there is an existence beyond this life, I hope I get to meet Vargas one day and have a dance with her. Thanks for reading!

    Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this:
Skip to toolbar