page seven -- tag, you're it!

[traintracks]

I was tagged by crystalusagi!

Go to page 7 of the current manuscript and copy and paste a few paragraphs, then tag 7 authors to do the same. This can either be original fiction or fanfiction.

I'm tagging: birdsofshore, elrhiarhodan, firethesound, kedavranox, marianna_merlo, notearchiver, and writcraft!

Now that I'm looking at my page 7, I'm LMAO, because it might literally be the only page in this whole story with no sex on it!



"Is that…Claudette?" he asks. "Are you people mad?"

Now Harry smiles. "Just watch."

Teddy stands in the middle of the valley, no cover within a hundred meters in any direction while the rest of us shelter behind shields just inside the trees. The dragon folds back her wings and dives for him, her jaws opening. Teddy opens his arms, not passively but ready for something like a bar brawl. It's not even something I would attempt, and Claudette just almost doesn't hate me. My hand goes to my wand as a reflex. I doubt I could get a good spell off in time. Harry could, but his hand is nowhere near his wand.

"Harry…" I start when I feel sure she's going to roast him.

"Wait."

I let the comment go and file it away under 'Punish Later'. I'm too raptly invested in what's happening on the field.

Claudette lets fly a huge fireball, but the shield I wasn't even aware was still there, deflects it easily. Everyone gasps. And as Claudette passes, I see her tail whip back behind her and come slashing down in a fast arc.

This time Teddy doesn't even try to shield. His hands are ready, though, and as the tail aims for his midsection, he jumps, landing on it instead and holding on tight. The crowd erupts in cheering as both dragon and wizard soar over their heads, disappearing over the tree tops, Claudette roaring bitterly as she flies away.

Comments

[elrhiarhodan]

Do I reply here?

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

I think people are making their own posts. But you can do whatever you damn well please, my dear. :-)

[crystalusagi.livejournal.com]

Awww, poor Claudette.

XD 'Punish later.'

[elrhiarhodan]

Okay! I have another meme going that I don't want to overrun, so I will post here (and pokes you to go ask me a question on that meme):

---

Peter made sure he had their hotel room key in his pocket and waited patiently for Neal. They had taken more than the ten minutes they’d promised Moz – or rather Neal had. Not that Peter minded.

“You ready?” Neal emerged from the bathroom, as perfectly put together as he always did. There was no sign that Peter had threaded his fingers through Neal’s curls as he gave him a long and exquisitely slow blow job. There was no sign that Neal’s lips had been stretched around his cock, his mouth filled with hard, hot flesh as he sucked and licked and hummed his pleasure.

Well, no sign other than a slightly deeper pink tinge to his lips, a hint of deepness in his voice. And considering that it had been thirty years since he and Neal had seen most of the people at the reunion, it was likely that no one else would notice.

“Should I apologize for ruining your tie?”

Neal didn't answer the question. He just licked his lips and gave him a sly smile before opening the door. “After you.”

Their room was at the end of a hallway, and there were other people coming and going – people with faces that Peter vaguely recognized. Neal looked at him again, one eyebrow raised in question. Peter tucked his arm through the crook in Neal’s elbow and the walked to the elevator.

It was almost half a lifetime since they came out to the FBI and there were few people in the Manhattan field office that didn’t know who they were to each other, but they rarely made any public displays of coupledom. Peter could count the number of times they touched each other with affection in the office on one hand, at least in front of their colleagues. He chuckled to himself.

Neal asked, of course, “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“This.” Peter lifted their linked arms. “We never get to do this at the office.”

Neal seemed to read his mind. “But we do other things.”

“Yeah. Remember that time, in the storeroom on the thirty-second floor…”

“When we almost flashed the forensic analysts who were working late?” Neal seemed particularly pleased by that memory. “And then there was the other time … In the conference room - at three AM.”

“There were plenty of other times.” Neal shook his head. “Who’d think that we have such a risk kink?”

“I could go down on you in the elevator, if you want.” Peter was only half kidding.

“Here?”

“Or at the apartment?”

“What, not at the office?” Neal asked, laughter in his voice.

“I think that’s a little too risky, even for us.” But Peter was more than a little aroused at the idea of having sex in such a publicly accessible space. Not that they’d actually do it, but it would be fodder for a more private time.

Re:

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

Claudette's fine. ;-) The only scene in the movies to actually make me sob is when they rescue the Gringotts dragon. I bawl my head off. So I'll always be nice to the dragons. I hate that they're used in the Triwizard and that they play on the mothers' need to protect their young. Seriously. HATE.

Re:

[crystalusagi.livejournal.com]

=( Yeah. One is definitely reminded that even the people who are supposed to be on the good side are douches sometimes.

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

That is one excellent page seven!!!!!!!!! :-DDD

I'll totally do your meme, too! Gimme a sec!

[crystalusagi.livejournal.com]

Ooh, coworker sex! (Sorry, I was just commenting and saw this, so >__>). The mention of blowjobs was hot *grin*

Is this an original thing or part of some fandom? Am not familiar with either character.

[tamlane.livejournal.com]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! I love that scene. The crowd gasping and cheering, and Teddy being all badass. YESYESYES.

I let the comment go and file it away under 'Punish Later'.

Considering the speaker, I'm going to consider that line to be sex in itself. :D

[elrhiarhodan]

I'm deep into White Collar - in canon, Peter is an FBI agent and Neal is his criminal consultant, who - through the strange magic of television scripts - actually works on a day-to-day basis at the NY FBI field office.

This is an outtake from a WIP for a long-running A/U where Peter and Neal are both FBI agents, they had been friends since elementary school, lovers since high school and had recently gotten married.

This Page Seven is from a story where Peter and Neal are attending their 30th High School reunion.

Thank you so very, very much for your comment and appreciation!

[crystalusagi.livejournal.com]

Oh, cool! I've seen White Collar around, yeah. If I ever watch it I will remember this XD

Thanks for the info =D

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

Thank you, bb!!!!! :-D

[capitu]

What is this!

And I know that He is Charlie. :P

... isn't he??? *lol*

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

The first 'he' is Draco. 'I' is Charlie. :-D

[birdsofshore]

I haven't got a page 7 DD: I'm not sure I've got a paragraph 7. I can't actually bear to look.

Yours is delicious. I love a dragon called Claudette. And a beautiful adverb there with her roaring bitterly ♥

(not to be a party pooper, but isn't it a bit naughty if people are writing for anon fests?)

[capitu]

That's what I said! Only I think I said it properly in my head. ^^

[firethesound]

Aw, I was tagged! ::excited!!:: And lovely, it's a perfect excuse for procrastination!! This is part of something that won't be posted for a while because it's long and only half-written.


As casually as he can, Draco turns to look over his shoulder toward the Gryffindor table, and immediately his eye catches on Potter. Not because of any Potter-obsession, the way Blaise seems to think, but because Potter is clambering up to his feet with a stony-faced McGonagall hovering over him, and now they’re both rounding the table and, oh Merlin, coming his way. Draco turns around and snatches up a miniature Yorkshire pudding and crams it into his mouth. He’s likely getting hauled off for a lecture of legendary length, and he’ll be damned if he’ll face it with a growling stomach.

It’s still mostly whole when he swallows, and he barely has time to stuff a second into his mouth before McGonagall’s hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she says in a voice chilly enough to freeze Fiendfyre. “If you’d be so kind as to come with me.”

Blaise sends him a look that clearly says, ‘Rotten luck, mate,’ as Draco stands without a word and follows along after her, shouldering roughly past Potter, who manages to elbow him back before Draco passes out of range.

McGonagall sweeps down the hall, her robes flaring behind her with as much drama as Snape had ever managed. At the thought of his old Head of House, Draco’s throat closes up, anger and sorrow warring viciously within him. He’s only just learned of Snape’s role as a double agent in the war, having first been confined in the Ministry awaiting his trial and then sentenced to six weeks in Azkaban where he wasn’t exactly encouraged to keep up with current events. Snape could have gotten him out, he could have helped Draco escape the Dark Lord. And he hadn’t. He'd left Draco to muddle through it on his own.

“Chocolate éclair,” McGonagall says to a monstrously ugly stone gargoyle.

“You kept his…” Potter begins, and he and McGonagall share a wistful look.

Draco wants to hex them both. He settles for glowering at the back of Potter’s head as the stone gargoyle turns aside and they step into the spiraling staircase that takes them up, up, up to the Headmistress’s office.

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

Ah, hell. I hadn't thought of the anon fest issue. Obviously, my own isn't for anything. Or maybe not so obviously.

I feel like all I've done is made you feel bad that you have no page 7, dammit. <3

Man. I suck. LOL.

Thank you for the support of my adverb!!!! We must unite and stay strong. And do so unwaveringly, courageously, proudly. ;-) ;-)

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

Oh!!! <333 Whatever this is, I can't wait to read it! It's lovely!! I LOLed about Draco stuffing his face full of pudding!

[firethesound]

Luckily the thing I'm writing for an anon fest doesn't have a page 7 so I had to pick something else. Plus, it's mostly gibberish at the point because it's still mostly a fleshed-out outline so nothing I posted from it would make sense.

[firethesound]

Haha, you might have a bit of a wait on it. It's 45k so far and I'm guesstimating it's going to end up somewhere around 120-130k. Of course, now that I poked at it again I want to keep writing it now instead of the things I should be working on. It's an 8th year Veela fic where the boys start out hating each other. It's got the most vicious argument I've ever written in there and I love it to pieces.

[traintracks.livejournal.com]

Oh that sounds FUCKING FABULOUS!!!!

[birdsofshore]

I'm with you unhesitatingly, staunchly, cheekily, defiantly. :D In fact, 'defiantly' was an actual adverb removed recently by my lovely and longt-suffering beta, which I defiantly replaced as soon as she looked the other way ;-)

I didn't need any help feeling bad about my missing pages, don't worry! It was sweet of you to think of my miserable, barren self ;-)

[notearchiver.livejournal.com]

This meme thing makes me smile. I shall reply here in a second.

[notearchiver.livejournal.com]

Okay, here goes. It's never going out in the real world, so it's a harmless little ditty that I wrote today -- no real effort, unedited, all that cal. It's part of a series of interconnected narratives.

---

To be honest, the summer of 1958 was hot, but not nearly as scorching as the one of 1945. Of course, back then we were all excited for the boys to come home. It was the time when everyone would hitch over to Anna Marie's for Sunday supper and talk about how John had written saying he would be coming back in a few weeks now that the war was winding down, how Henry had written to Mary about getting married when he got back. It didn't matter that the few weeks turned into two months, or that St. Augustine needed its roof repaired, because Anna Marie's mash and Susan's chicken filled our stomachs just fine.

The summer of 1945 may have been hotter, but it was a fine sight better than 1958. In 1945 there were still people living around the Rambling Woods. No one had left because of the land or heat or just the darn weariness that cocoons the body. Nowadays there's no one to invite to supper and wars just aren't as exciting as before.

Now it's just Holm—if he's still around, even—and his sister and their Momma—if she hasn't died yet—and Anna and Anna Mae. Now there's just me and Dan.

I was fourteen in 1945, too young to go to war, so I worked in the fields with Dad who couldn't go to war on account of his bad arm. When I was younger he told me heroic stories of how it had been injured—how he had fought off wolves and coyotes to save the chickens. It wasn't until 1944 that Momma told me he had been stepped on by old Delilah. Looking at the fat bay that night, I wondered how she could ever have shattered Dad's arm. She snorted at me.

The summer of 1945 was a time when war was still fun; a time when Dan was nineteen and he came home smiling and telling stories of French girls and killing Japs. When Dad and Mom died it was just me and him, and then he got drafted. When he came back from Korea with a bum leg, it felt like it was just me.
Yes, the summer of 1958 was hot, but the heat didn't make the dirt roads shimmer and the trees melt together in a mirage. The summer of 1958 only made things clearer.