| It's Even Worse Than Last Year IX-XI |
[Dec. 24th, 2012|12:37 am] |
Title: It's Even Worse Than Last Year
Author: xheartrockx
Prompt(s): Mine & Yours, On the outside looking in, Smells like snow
Notes: This is the sequel to The Worst Holiday Season Ever – which you should read in order for this to make sense. This starts shortly after Thanksgiving and follows the prompts in order. Sometimes it's one prompt!day per fic!day, sometimes I use more than one prompt to tell a day in the fic.
( Mine & Yours )
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( On the outside, looking in )
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( Smells like snow ) |
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| Gusmas 2012 |
[Dec. 24th, 2012|04:20 am] |
Title: California Roads
Author: ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) kay_jay_dee
Beta: xie_xie_xie
Prompt: December 17th - Cars, Trains, Buses, and Planes
Justin had seen photographs of Californian roads, the quick twists and sharp turns on the cliffs high above the sea. He had looked at those roads on maps, tracing the lines with his index finger and counting miles in his head. He had thought of blowing Brian on those roads and of leaving work far behind.
He had never once thought about packing motion-sickness pills.
"If you puke in the Porsche, I'm throwing you into the sea," Brian said, barely even braking.
"Fuck you," Justin said, not taking his eyes off the horizon.
"Not if you puke in the Porsche." |
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| Gusmas 2012 |
[Dec. 24th, 2012|09:08 pm] |
Title: Chelsea Christmas
Author: brianswalk
Word Count: 100
A/N: Thanks, as always, to my Jeannie. And thank you to Michelle for confirmation on my Spanish.
Warnings: Mild angst, I hope.
Prompt: Dec 18
A/N2 Thats one Drabylon dollar and one dollar for my personal challenge to use prompt "Dec 18"
Chelsea Christmas
Settling into the booth across from Ernesto, Justin chided himself as he looked beyond the rain-spattered lights of the world outside the deserted Chelsea diner. You made your decision to stay and work. No regrets.
“Maybe he’ll surprise you, this man of yours with the big gestures.”
“No, he texted me; he landed in Toronto hours ago.”
Recalling the many lonely Christmases he’d spent in his youth, Ernesto rapped his knuckles against the scarred table and announced decisively, “It’s settled. After our shift, you come home with me. Rosa and the boys adore—”
“No, I—”
“It’s Christmas, mijo. It’s settled.” |
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