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mabI saw this on my f-list and thought I'd borrow it. Sounds like fun, yes? If you see it here and want to do your own, link me in a comment so I can read it! XD Additionally, if you're not a writer but still want to play, just list snippets of other people's fics (credited) that fit the descriptions!
— Mab
Meme originated by vmsteenbeans. Post snippets of fics of something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.
I just got an idea. Let’s try this out, fellow fic peeps. Post the following:
1) Something old- A blurb from one of the first fics you’ve ever written.
From Best Two out of Three.
“Look,” he said in a guarded voice. “What are we going to say in there? That it was a tie? Do we have to go five out of seven, or what?”
Harry laughed. “You know, Malfoy. I think you’ve grown fond of these little romps.”
“Shut up, Potter. I am not. It was your idea in the first place. If anybody fancies these romps, it’s you.”
“You’re not fooling me, Malfoy. I saw the smile on your face while you were sleeping last night.”
“What?” Draco shouted. “Now you’re watching me sleep?”
“Shh—be quiet. You’re raising your voice.”
“I’ll be as bloody loud as I want to!” Draco bellowed. “You’re a prat, and I hate you!”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry chuckled, egging him on. “Just shut up.”
“Why don’t you shut up yourself?” Draco spat. “I was not enjoying it a bit.”
Harry grinned. “Shut your fucking mouth, Malfoy, or I’ll shut it for you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Draco retorted, now grinning as well.
Harry pushed him forcefully against the wall and shut his mouth with his own.
Suddenly, a loud boom echoed off the walls as Snape threw an armful of books on the floor.
“Damn it to hell!” he sputtered as the startled boys sprang apart.
Dumbledore stumbled out of the Great Hall with a purple towel tucked into the top of his robes, a fork in one hand, and syrup dripping from his beard. “What in Merlin’s name is going on out here?”
Snape stormed over to Dumbledore, reached into his robes, and withdrew a sack of galleons. He thrust them into the Headmaster’s free hand. “You win the bet, Albus,” he spat, giving Harry and Draco a disgusted look before sweeping away back down the corridor, stopping only to retrieve his books.
“Well, imagine that,” Dumbledore said, glancing at the two boys who were now standing on opposite sides of the corridor. He had a twinkle in his eye as he turned around and went back to the breakfast table to finish his hotcakes.
2) Something new- A snippet from something you’re currently working on, or from the last thing you posted.
I'm working on part 2 of my remix fic. Give Me All You Can. I'm really hoping to finish it off this weekend as I have a sore throat and sinus congestion and won't be able to podfic. *fingers crossed it gets done*
Potter joins him, not sitting next to him, but falling to his knees before him and gripping his thighs with hot, strong hands, looking up as if he were begging.
Draco's cock throbs under his dressing gown. He's helpless under the heat of Potter's gaze, but there's something else present in his eyes, a nervousness.
"What is it?" Draco asks. Usually Potter would have his throat wrapped around Draco's cock by now, but the way he's holding back makes Draco wonder if they haven't just hit the first snag in their arrangement.
Potter swallows. He's still smiling. Almost as if he's trying not to, but can't help it. It's a smile tinged with sadness. The news can't be all bad, but why...
"I'm going to be a father."
The words hang in the air. Hard. Like a door slamming.
Draco blinks, wrinkles his forehead. It's not what he was expecting to hear. He knows Potter has another life, a wife. And soon there will be a child. But then, the very same thing is in the plans for Draco's future. He feels a bubble of bitterness grow in his stomach, but tries to stifle it. He has no right to be jealous. It doesn't stop it from happening all the same.
3) Something borrowed- A scene or section of dialogue from another writer’s story. Maybe something that inspired you or resonated with you. (Credit the writer and link to it if possible, please.)
From Unhook the Stars by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jad. God this fic is way too hot to be allowed. The dynamic between Harry and Draco right here really rings true for me.
Sex isn't the only way Potter surprises him (although, if this continues, Draco's going to need to make a spreadsheet). Over their (admittedly short) relationship (or whatever), Draco's starting to consider the possibility that Potter might actually be a serial killer and that whole saving-the-world thing was just a foolproof way of getting away with murder.
Draco suspects this for a few reasons, primarily that Potter has a habit of spontaneously saying or doing things with such soulful integrity that it can't possibly be considered normal-person behaviour. Like the first time he told Draco he thought he was beautiful (when Draco was sick with a cold and spent an evening with his head in the toilet, and looked like a Blast-Ended Skrewt), or when Draco was suffering from one of his week-long bouts of insomnia-induced neurosis and Potter sent an Owl to his mother, resulting in the delivery of a large box of homemade sweets that sent Draco into a hyperglycemic fit (eventually exhausting him into a twenty-six hour nap), or whenever Draco went on a rant about one thing or another while Potter listened indulgently with his chin propped up on his hand and — without any warning whatsoever — interrupted Draco with a snog (which effectively ended the rant for the foreseeable future), or when Potter went down on him in the showers they sometimes shared and told Draco how much he loved his body, every inch of it (despite the obvious flaws; really, was he blind?), how he loved when Draco let him touch him like this, because he could do it all day, every day —
The fact that Potter is reclining on his bed, trousers half-open to reveal a hint of sheer material where any normal man would be wearing briefs, serves only to convince Draco that Potter is actively trying to kill him. Right now, Draco doesn't care. Right now, Draco will gladly die bloodily a thousand times over, provided he can get Potter's trousers off first.
Growing up privileged has left Draco used to instant gratification. He isn't very patient under the best of circumstances, which is why he wastes no time in just spelling Potter's clothes off (aside from the collar and undergarment) and away to some desolate corner of the room before sinking to his knees beside the bed, between Potter's spread legs, running his hands up and over Potter's thighs. Potter's stomach contracts at the touch, but Draco hardly notices. His eyes focus on the prize, Potter's fully erect cock flat against his hip, trapped beneath a tight layer of the transparent black material. The knickers are simple, just sheer black nylon with silk outlining and trimmed in emerald lace. They look too tight, stretched across his hips, barely containing his cock and putting it on clear display. There's even a little emerald bow at the top, wrapping up Potter's cock like a present, just for him.
Draco pauses to look up at Potter, who is propped up on his elbows and has his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, watching him.
"Potter," he says, trying to keep his voice level, "are these Pansy's?"
Potter smirks. "Maybe."
Definitely a serial killer.
4) Something blue- C’mon, you know you’ve written a really gut-wrenching bit of angst at some point. Let’s hear the saddest or angstiest thing you’ve got. Alternatively? Tell us about the last time you described the color blue.
This one is a scene from Where Your Treasure Lies. It's sad, but the scene ends on a happy-ish, hopeful note. Still it's the one scene that hits me hard in the gut when I saw this description.
"I missed you," Harry said softly, trying to keep from ruffling feathers.
Draco took a long drag on his cigarette and answered by blowing his smoke in Harry’s direction.
Harry hated the feeling of their grief coming between them as if it were a solid barrier. He didn’t have the first idea how break it down and get Draco talking to him again.
"Talk to me," Harry said finally, desperate to just have words again, even if they were harsh or tear-filled. "What have you been thinking?"
When Draco said nothing still, but continued to stare straight ahead, throwing out the butt of one cigarette to join a pile of them littering the ground and lighting another, Harry pulled his hands out of his pockets and raked his hair out of his face.
"How can I fix it, if you won’t tell me what’s wrong? I’m trying, Draco. God help me; I’m trying so hard to give you time and whatever you need, but I’m really at a loss here. Please! Throw me a bone, something! Just say something!"
Draco’s eyes met his at last, a look of resolution resting in their depths. "I want to move," he said at last, pausing, turning back to look forwards again. "I can’t live in that house any more."
Relief flooded Harry’s system at finally receiving a response. "Fine!" he agreed readily. "That will give me something I can do. I’ll put the house up for sale and start looking at other places tonight. We’ll find somewhere else to live. We can start over again and things will be good."
"No," Draco said, closing his eyes; the hand holding his cigarette trembled where it rested on his knee. "That isn’t what I meant. I want to move — and I want you to stay."
It felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the very air. Harry couldn’t breathe. His lungs ached. He thought his heart would break free from his chest. "You," he stammered, throat tight. "You want — a divorce?"
"Look," Draco said coldly, tossing his half-smoked fag away and turning to face Harry on the bench. "It’s a wonder we made it as long as we did, Potter. You and me, well, we knew from the start that this was a long shot. I just can’t keep doing this anymore. I can’t keep feeling like I’m falling short. Compared to you, I am nothing. It isn’t fair to me and it’s time for me to take care of myself for once."
"What the hell are you even talking about?" Harry demanded, eyes filling with tears. He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. "We’re soul mates, Draco. You’re everything to me!"
Harry couldn’t stay strong any more. The more he tried to hold his tears back, the faster they seemed to come, regardless of how many he’d shed earlier. He fell to his knees in front of Draco, staring up into his stony grey eyes as they widened minutely. He couldn’t do this. Not here, not today. Hell, not any day. He would not let Draco go without a fight.
"Don’t you understand?" Harry choked, sobbing. "I’ve tried so hard to stay strong for you, when all I’ve felt like doing is curling up into a ball and dying. With the kids gone …" His words caught in his throat as another cascade of tears flooded his face, making him feel swollen and hot. "I’m so sorry, Draco. Please forgive me! It was all my fault! I shouldn’t have bought that broom; I should have been out there watching them; I should have done so many things differently and then we wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t hate me."
Harry buried his face in Draco’s lap, unable to hold back his terrible grief and guilt. The tears fell faster and the sobs shook his entire body, making his back ache and his head pound.
Fingers smoothed back his hair with gentle strokes, sending a calming rush through Harry’s nerves, soothing him as if they were a balm. He sniffled, his face pressed against the cooling mess his eyes and nose had made on Draco’s lap. He let Draco caress his hair as his tears finally ceased. He felt raw, so open and weak, laid bare before Draco, confessing his sins, but the gentle tugs against his scalp were like heaven in that he hadn’t touched or been touched by Draco in so long.
"Potter, look at me," Draco said, his voice sounding more gentle than it had in ages.
Harry shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed, feeling his glasses biting into his face, but unwilling to move lest the magic of the moment break and he not be allowed to touch any more.
"Harry," Draco said this time.
Harry pulled back at last, sitting on his feet, his legs numb from the position. His glasses were fogged, and smeary, but he could just make out Draco’s face if he peered over the rims, though it was blurred.
Draco lifted Harry’s glasses off his face and wiped them clean using the bottom of his shirt. He put them back a moment later, allowing Harry to see the tear tracks on Draco’s face.
"Please," Harry begged. "Don’t leave me."
"This is the first time you’ve shown me you’re human since it happened, Harry," Draco said softly. "I was afraid you were beyond help."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused. His knees protested at being pressed into the stone slab in the ground before the bench, but he refused to move until he knew there was hope.
Draco sighed, frowning sadly. "It wasn’t your fault, idiot. It was mine. I was the one who checked the safety of the broom and gave them permission to use it. It’s my fault it happened, not yours."
Harry watched a fresh batch of tears building in Draco’s eyes and reached out to catch them before they fell, wiping them away with his fingers. He shook his head, feeling his own eyes filling again, wondering how many tears he could possibly have left.
"No, please don’t blame yourself," Harry pleaded, his hands gripping Draco’s thighs through his trousers. "I need you. I’ve missed you so much."
A moment later Harry was on his back, his legs sore and numb, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered in the world was that Draco was on top of him, they were holding each other, sobbing, and kissing, and it was wet and messy and altogether perfect.
— Mab
Meme originated by vmsteenbeans. Post snippets of fics of something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.
I just got an idea. Let’s try this out, fellow fic peeps. Post the following:
1) Something old- A blurb from one of the first fics you’ve ever written.
From Best Two out of Three.
“Look,” he said in a guarded voice. “What are we going to say in there? That it was a tie? Do we have to go five out of seven, or what?”
Harry laughed. “You know, Malfoy. I think you’ve grown fond of these little romps.”
“Shut up, Potter. I am not. It was your idea in the first place. If anybody fancies these romps, it’s you.”
“You’re not fooling me, Malfoy. I saw the smile on your face while you were sleeping last night.”
“What?” Draco shouted. “Now you’re watching me sleep?”
“Shh—be quiet. You’re raising your voice.”
“I’ll be as bloody loud as I want to!” Draco bellowed. “You’re a prat, and I hate you!”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry chuckled, egging him on. “Just shut up.”
“Why don’t you shut up yourself?” Draco spat. “I was not enjoying it a bit.”
Harry grinned. “Shut your fucking mouth, Malfoy, or I’ll shut it for you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Draco retorted, now grinning as well.
Harry pushed him forcefully against the wall and shut his mouth with his own.
Suddenly, a loud boom echoed off the walls as Snape threw an armful of books on the floor.
“Damn it to hell!” he sputtered as the startled boys sprang apart.
Dumbledore stumbled out of the Great Hall with a purple towel tucked into the top of his robes, a fork in one hand, and syrup dripping from his beard. “What in Merlin’s name is going on out here?”
Snape stormed over to Dumbledore, reached into his robes, and withdrew a sack of galleons. He thrust them into the Headmaster’s free hand. “You win the bet, Albus,” he spat, giving Harry and Draco a disgusted look before sweeping away back down the corridor, stopping only to retrieve his books.
“Well, imagine that,” Dumbledore said, glancing at the two boys who were now standing on opposite sides of the corridor. He had a twinkle in his eye as he turned around and went back to the breakfast table to finish his hotcakes.
2) Something new- A snippet from something you’re currently working on, or from the last thing you posted.
I'm working on part 2 of my remix fic. Give Me All You Can. I'm really hoping to finish it off this weekend as I have a sore throat and sinus congestion and won't be able to podfic. *fingers crossed it gets done*
Potter joins him, not sitting next to him, but falling to his knees before him and gripping his thighs with hot, strong hands, looking up as if he were begging.
Draco's cock throbs under his dressing gown. He's helpless under the heat of Potter's gaze, but there's something else present in his eyes, a nervousness.
"What is it?" Draco asks. Usually Potter would have his throat wrapped around Draco's cock by now, but the way he's holding back makes Draco wonder if they haven't just hit the first snag in their arrangement.
Potter swallows. He's still smiling. Almost as if he's trying not to, but can't help it. It's a smile tinged with sadness. The news can't be all bad, but why...
"I'm going to be a father."
The words hang in the air. Hard. Like a door slamming.
Draco blinks, wrinkles his forehead. It's not what he was expecting to hear. He knows Potter has another life, a wife. And soon there will be a child. But then, the very same thing is in the plans for Draco's future. He feels a bubble of bitterness grow in his stomach, but tries to stifle it. He has no right to be jealous. It doesn't stop it from happening all the same.
3) Something borrowed- A scene or section of dialogue from another writer’s story. Maybe something that inspired you or resonated with you. (Credit the writer and link to it if possible, please.)
From Unhook the Stars by
jad. God this fic is way too hot to be allowed. The dynamic between Harry and Draco right here really rings true for me. Sex isn't the only way Potter surprises him (although, if this continues, Draco's going to need to make a spreadsheet). Over their (admittedly short) relationship (or whatever), Draco's starting to consider the possibility that Potter might actually be a serial killer and that whole saving-the-world thing was just a foolproof way of getting away with murder.
Draco suspects this for a few reasons, primarily that Potter has a habit of spontaneously saying or doing things with such soulful integrity that it can't possibly be considered normal-person behaviour. Like the first time he told Draco he thought he was beautiful (when Draco was sick with a cold and spent an evening with his head in the toilet, and looked like a Blast-Ended Skrewt), or when Draco was suffering from one of his week-long bouts of insomnia-induced neurosis and Potter sent an Owl to his mother, resulting in the delivery of a large box of homemade sweets that sent Draco into a hyperglycemic fit (eventually exhausting him into a twenty-six hour nap), or whenever Draco went on a rant about one thing or another while Potter listened indulgently with his chin propped up on his hand and — without any warning whatsoever — interrupted Draco with a snog (which effectively ended the rant for the foreseeable future), or when Potter went down on him in the showers they sometimes shared and told Draco how much he loved his body, every inch of it (despite the obvious flaws; really, was he blind?), how he loved when Draco let him touch him like this, because he could do it all day, every day —
The fact that Potter is reclining on his bed, trousers half-open to reveal a hint of sheer material where any normal man would be wearing briefs, serves only to convince Draco that Potter is actively trying to kill him. Right now, Draco doesn't care. Right now, Draco will gladly die bloodily a thousand times over, provided he can get Potter's trousers off first.
Growing up privileged has left Draco used to instant gratification. He isn't very patient under the best of circumstances, which is why he wastes no time in just spelling Potter's clothes off (aside from the collar and undergarment) and away to some desolate corner of the room before sinking to his knees beside the bed, between Potter's spread legs, running his hands up and over Potter's thighs. Potter's stomach contracts at the touch, but Draco hardly notices. His eyes focus on the prize, Potter's fully erect cock flat against his hip, trapped beneath a tight layer of the transparent black material. The knickers are simple, just sheer black nylon with silk outlining and trimmed in emerald lace. They look too tight, stretched across his hips, barely containing his cock and putting it on clear display. There's even a little emerald bow at the top, wrapping up Potter's cock like a present, just for him.
Draco pauses to look up at Potter, who is propped up on his elbows and has his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, watching him.
"Potter," he says, trying to keep his voice level, "are these Pansy's?"
Potter smirks. "Maybe."
Definitely a serial killer.
4) Something blue- C’mon, you know you’ve written a really gut-wrenching bit of angst at some point. Let’s hear the saddest or angstiest thing you’ve got. Alternatively? Tell us about the last time you described the color blue.
This one is a scene from Where Your Treasure Lies. It's sad, but the scene ends on a happy-ish, hopeful note. Still it's the one scene that hits me hard in the gut when I saw this description.
"I missed you," Harry said softly, trying to keep from ruffling feathers.
Draco took a long drag on his cigarette and answered by blowing his smoke in Harry’s direction.
Harry hated the feeling of their grief coming between them as if it were a solid barrier. He didn’t have the first idea how break it down and get Draco talking to him again.
"Talk to me," Harry said finally, desperate to just have words again, even if they were harsh or tear-filled. "What have you been thinking?"
When Draco said nothing still, but continued to stare straight ahead, throwing out the butt of one cigarette to join a pile of them littering the ground and lighting another, Harry pulled his hands out of his pockets and raked his hair out of his face.
"How can I fix it, if you won’t tell me what’s wrong? I’m trying, Draco. God help me; I’m trying so hard to give you time and whatever you need, but I’m really at a loss here. Please! Throw me a bone, something! Just say something!"
Draco’s eyes met his at last, a look of resolution resting in their depths. "I want to move," he said at last, pausing, turning back to look forwards again. "I can’t live in that house any more."
Relief flooded Harry’s system at finally receiving a response. "Fine!" he agreed readily. "That will give me something I can do. I’ll put the house up for sale and start looking at other places tonight. We’ll find somewhere else to live. We can start over again and things will be good."
"No," Draco said, closing his eyes; the hand holding his cigarette trembled where it rested on his knee. "That isn’t what I meant. I want to move — and I want you to stay."
It felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the very air. Harry couldn’t breathe. His lungs ached. He thought his heart would break free from his chest. "You," he stammered, throat tight. "You want — a divorce?"
"Look," Draco said coldly, tossing his half-smoked fag away and turning to face Harry on the bench. "It’s a wonder we made it as long as we did, Potter. You and me, well, we knew from the start that this was a long shot. I just can’t keep doing this anymore. I can’t keep feeling like I’m falling short. Compared to you, I am nothing. It isn’t fair to me and it’s time for me to take care of myself for once."
"What the hell are you even talking about?" Harry demanded, eyes filling with tears. He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. "We’re soul mates, Draco. You’re everything to me!"
Harry couldn’t stay strong any more. The more he tried to hold his tears back, the faster they seemed to come, regardless of how many he’d shed earlier. He fell to his knees in front of Draco, staring up into his stony grey eyes as they widened minutely. He couldn’t do this. Not here, not today. Hell, not any day. He would not let Draco go without a fight.
"Don’t you understand?" Harry choked, sobbing. "I’ve tried so hard to stay strong for you, when all I’ve felt like doing is curling up into a ball and dying. With the kids gone …" His words caught in his throat as another cascade of tears flooded his face, making him feel swollen and hot. "I’m so sorry, Draco. Please forgive me! It was all my fault! I shouldn’t have bought that broom; I should have been out there watching them; I should have done so many things differently and then we wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t hate me."
Harry buried his face in Draco’s lap, unable to hold back his terrible grief and guilt. The tears fell faster and the sobs shook his entire body, making his back ache and his head pound.
Fingers smoothed back his hair with gentle strokes, sending a calming rush through Harry’s nerves, soothing him as if they were a balm. He sniffled, his face pressed against the cooling mess his eyes and nose had made on Draco’s lap. He let Draco caress his hair as his tears finally ceased. He felt raw, so open and weak, laid bare before Draco, confessing his sins, but the gentle tugs against his scalp were like heaven in that he hadn’t touched or been touched by Draco in so long.
"Potter, look at me," Draco said, his voice sounding more gentle than it had in ages.
Harry shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed, feeling his glasses biting into his face, but unwilling to move lest the magic of the moment break and he not be allowed to touch any more.
"Harry," Draco said this time.
Harry pulled back at last, sitting on his feet, his legs numb from the position. His glasses were fogged, and smeary, but he could just make out Draco’s face if he peered over the rims, though it was blurred.
Draco lifted Harry’s glasses off his face and wiped them clean using the bottom of his shirt. He put them back a moment later, allowing Harry to see the tear tracks on Draco’s face.
"Please," Harry begged. "Don’t leave me."
"This is the first time you’ve shown me you’re human since it happened, Harry," Draco said softly. "I was afraid you were beyond help."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused. His knees protested at being pressed into the stone slab in the ground before the bench, but he refused to move until he knew there was hope.
Draco sighed, frowning sadly. "It wasn’t your fault, idiot. It was mine. I was the one who checked the safety of the broom and gave them permission to use it. It’s my fault it happened, not yours."
Harry watched a fresh batch of tears building in Draco’s eyes and reached out to catch them before they fell, wiping them away with his fingers. He shook his head, feeling his own eyes filling again, wondering how many tears he could possibly have left.
"No, please don’t blame yourself," Harry pleaded, his hands gripping Draco’s thighs through his trousers. "I need you. I’ve missed you so much."
A moment later Harry was on his back, his legs sore and numb, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered in the world was that Draco was on top of him, they were holding each other, sobbing, and kissing, and it was wet and messy and altogether perfect.