Round Three - Ready, Set, Write!
Prompt Post for Round Three is now closed. Let the writing begin!
I must say we received some objectively awesome suggestions. Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts!
Some Rules/Guidelines for Submission and Feedback:
1. Drabbles should be submitted by commenting on this post. There is no word minimum or maximum. If your fic doesn't fit in ( Read more... )
I must say we received some objectively awesome suggestions. Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts!
Some Rules/Guidelines for Submission and Feedback:
1. Drabbles should be submitted by commenting on this post. There is no word minimum or maximum. If your fic doesn't fit in ( Read more... )
“Indeed, Lemon, indeed. Sitting on a tenement-esque roof in the dead of winter, in Kmart Blue Light special folding chairs most suitable for a trailer park, sipping vastly inferior white wine, waiting for a reputed meteor shower which, thanks to the over-powering illumination of Manhattan’s skyline and ever present cancerous haze floating above New Jersey, we will likely never see. What’s not to like?”
Her vexed expression only heightens his amusement. “I got these chairs at Target, jerk face. And they don’t even have Blue Light specials at Kmart anymore.”
The Donaghy trademark grin engulfs his chilled face, instantly appeasing her anger. He raises his plastic throw-away champagne glass to hers. “Cheers, Lemon. This has actually been a strangely pleasant evening.”
“Told ya,” Liz mumbles into her glass as she finishes the remainder of her wine. He notices her visible shiver and offers his coat. “Then you’ll get cold.”
“I won’t. Come here.” He grabs the arm of her matching neon pink plastic chair and yanks her over next to him. Quickly removing one arm from his long wool peacoat, he wraps both fabric and appendage around her shoulders.
“No, no. I’m fine, Jack. Really.” She awkwardly slithers beneath his arm, knocking her stocking cap off in the process.
He picks it up off the ground, tosses it in her lap. “I was trying to be a gentleman, Lemon. Nothing more.”
Covering her head once more, her tune suddenly changes. “Okay, okay. But if I hear one word about geologists or snow caves or --”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Lemon.”
Several eye rolls later, she’s comfortably tucked in against his chest, his crimson scarf overlapping hers, and her head on his shoulder. “You know, we should just go inside. You’re right. We’re probably not going to be able to see anything anyway.”
Jack grabs their shared bottle of cheap wine, takes a giant swig directly from it before transferring it to her mittened hands. “Let’s give it another half an hour.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
She smiles fully. “Thanks, Jack.”
END
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And I adore the phrase "his/my Lemon" :-) Jack needs to let that slip on the show at some point...
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