a banger in the mouth

Six for Sunday time! Except not, I'm super-blocked on the VEEP fic. Like, it's not really at a good point to stop and have it be an actual story and my brain thinks there's more possible, but my brain also thinks, nope, we're done, good night! Then refuses to work on anything but outlining the thing I'm going to be racing through on vacation, so that's excellent and awful.

So instead here's the first lines of all my in-progress/stalled stuff because that was a thing that I saw going around or possibly that I made up and we'll pretend any of these will be finished ever!

1. The thing is, no one is supposed to actually give a damn about what is or is not—or was, or was not—potentially ever happening inside Amy's uterus.
   
   
2. Sansa all but floated from the gallery, hope taking wing in her once more after being so long stifled.
   
   
3. The Wolfswood gave way abruptly to a cleared field less than a day's ride from Winterfell.
   
   
4. The water was warm, even after sitting overnight in the chilly seaside air, and sour.
   
   
5. 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?
   
   
6. It was supposed to be different in Honeyhall, and it was, until tonight.
   
   
7. The wood took the spark and ignited, curls of smoke winding up through the thick, humid air.
   
   
8. New York City was... It was dirty, was what it was.
   
   
9. "My dear boy, you didn't think I'd allow anyone else to dictate terms to me, did you?"
   
   
10. Sam was neck-deep in the pool, treading water and blinking chlorinated drops out of his eyes as Mandy King stretched her arms over her head and bounced on the high dive.
    
    
11. The days got longer and the sun brighter, but nothing burned off the cold.
    
    
12. The bend of the creek was still warm from the sun where Ruth waded in to wash the blood from her legs.

PS: E L V I S

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.