a banger in the mouth

Or the other way round, actually:

A Little World Made Cunningly

ASOIAF; pre-canon; Elaena & Rhaena Targaryen; G; 1300 words

The king lies dying, and Elaena Targaryen grows tired of waiting.

And:

Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

She sang then, and cupped her hand over his cheek like she had done when he was newly born. Her voice, so thin and reedy in the cold night, rose to join the Targaryens' lament. The heat of the fires melted the tears frozen to her lashes, until they streamed down her face and onto the stones. They washed away the dirt and the blood. Swept the feathers from Bran's hair and rose to cover his face. She breathed them in, tasting the salt on her tongue and in her throat.

Whoops, apparently Sunday comes every week? Who knew!

Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

Arya clucked to Visenya, letting the reins fall slack against the mare's neck, and slid from the saddle. The still-healing gash across her thigh screamed in protest, her left leg almost collapsing under her slight weight. She clung to the straps securing her bedroll to the saddle and panted through the wave of pain. Her pulse pounded in her ears and in the swollen flesh where the sailor's knife had bitten through her leathers.

Sweat curled down the side of her face. Visenya snorted and shifted her weight, almost sending Arya sprawling again.

And the one I meant to do last week:

In the grand scheme of things, following someone you hardly knew and could barely stand halfway across the state to take them up on a job offer was ... a pretty great idea?

Yeah, it took Charlotte by surprise, too.

Ricky was, well, Ricky. Uh, Mr Collins, though it was hard to remember to call him that. He'd always been Ricky, since the first time she found him hiding behind the coats in kindergarten. She would swear he even still had the same rainboots, albeit in a more age-appropriate size.

And the week before that:

For weeks she had been terrified at every moment, from morning to night. Her fear was a monster waiting to snatch her up in its jaws whenever it pleased. It followed her into sleep and waited for her to awake. The queen knew she was ready to bear the king's children, and every day she waited to hear that her wedding day had been set. Or for Joffrey to tell her himself, his foul lips curving around the words she never wanted to hear. Now that Stannis had retreated, there was nothing to stand in their way.

(lol comma splices sigh)

Ugh, where did this month even go?

And why is Zero Hour SO SHITTY.

I have no goals for 2013. I am rudderless. Oh, except for trope_bingo!

( my card )

But screw that for now, because YULETIDE REVEALS. I wrote Open Up the Door and Let Me In for mynuet; Push (2009); Nick/Cassie(-ish), Liz Holmes; 6958 words; PG-13

Rank and sweaty from the oppressive heat, Nick almost dropped his key before he managed to get it in the lock. The blue-white lights buzzing overhead turned his skin the color of fish guts and unnatural shadows jumped in his peripheral vision. He felt like he was shaking off a massive push, bigger than anything Division had thrown at him, instead of just stumbling home from another day in a way too long streak of honest days' work.

It's set about ten or twelve years after the movie (and is probably too headcanon-y to make sense, because it really needs to be about 150k and not timejump). I've literally watched the movie every day for the past two months and read the comic book at least three dozen times, even after posting the fic, so. You know, maybe there's more on the way? There is more on the way. Compulsion, meet obsession. (This will also go up on ishieland at some point for the AO3 averse.)

But ALL MY THANKS IN THE WORLD to Mynuet for such an awesome prompting and for being such a lovely recipient!

Now to go trawling the archive for more fic by the people who wrote my faves this year \o/