Who is this girl who has been writing for all three of her fics at the same time???? Idk her.
Lost But Found: Chapter 5 - The Task at Hand
“Of course. I’ll see what I can do.” Louisa jotted down a note in her notebook.
“Jonas, have you contacted Dagna about getting Louisa a tablet?” Leliana asked, eyeing Louisa’s notebook. “That way, she can be included in the project management software.”
“No, but isn’t Cullen taking her down to the lab?” Jonas asked, not looking up from his own tablet.
Louisa looked between Leliana and Jonas.
“Yes, but I think it would be the courteous thing to give Dagna some notice.” Leliana narrowed her eyes at Jonas.
Pure Magic: Chapter 21 - Breathe
He stopped in front of one of the portals and stared at it for a moment.
“What’s going on?” Maeve asked, looking up at the portal.
Rolan responded with a kiss on top of her head.
“Give me a few moments.” He murmured as he unwrapped his arm from around her and moved towards the portal. “Please don’t stand too close to the portal.”
He whispered a spell before placing his hand against a marble circle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he channelled the Weave.
Enough For The Both Of Us: Chapter 6
Zailia groaned before unlocking the door.
“Well, good morning. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d stop by. You know, since we’re supposed to talk about last night at the apocathary.” Astarion’s voice was light and smooth, with a smirk across his lips.
“Is that what you’re going to call it?” Zailia sighed, rolling her eyes. “Please, be my guest.” She opened the door to let him in.
“Now, now. I brought food to make up for clearly interrupting your morning.” He said, folding up his umbrella.
“How charming of you.” Zailia smiled, her lips in a tight line.
**this fic will be posted during my maternity time away**
She couldn't help but to growl at the High Lord as Varian shifted uncomfortable next to her. "When was the last time you paid attention to her, boy? The last time you actually listened to one of her mission reports instead of telling her to leave it in your office?"
Rhys opened his mouth to defend himself only to pause as Amren snarled at him. "You have not given y/n a single ounce of care since your mate came. You even stripped her of her duties to her home and court so your mate would have a place." Amren settled back into the chair, not even realizing she had stood in her anger until Varian gently grabbed her small hand in his.
"They married, Rhysand." He said softly. "Unless you plan on ripping the bride of the High Lord of Summer away and starting a war, there is nothing you can do but ask to visit."
(A little chunk of Jus Sanguinis for the week while I try to scrape together enough brain cells to finish the last major scenes)
The coastal city of Spargus had lived with the storms for generations, watching the once broad oases narrow and dwindle as the winds displaced topsoil at devastating rates. The sands had swallowed many of their warriors before the Spargans created The Crawler. The massive armored vehicle, replete with emergency supplies and enough armor to give even a metalpede pause, undoubtedly saved lives. But it was slow moving, and Wastelanders on foot often did not have enough time to get to the mobile shelter before the damage to their skin and lungs was beyond the power of an eco pack to heal. And being the only vehicle of its kind meant that if one part broke -- say, a blown head gasket -- the behemoth was stranded until a replacement could be located and driven to its location...after the storm had ended.
"Piece of crap-!" Jak aimed a vicious kick at the front end of the cab and slammed the door behind him.
"This never happens when Daxter is here."
"I don't know whether that is meant to compliment Daxter, or to insult me," his companion said dryly.
King Damas pulled his scarf further up over his mouth and nose and gestured grimly to the massive tank on the Crawler's back.
"The wind is picking up. We need to get inside."
Jak shook sand out of his goggles and dropped to the ground to join him.
"What about the rest of the raiding party?" he snapped, "We can't just leave them!"
Damas’s hand twitched -- the only visible indication that he had any opinions on Jak’s tone.
"Getting angry is counterproductive," he said sharply. "They are all experienced survivors. They will know their best bet is to make it to Broken Sandal Canyon."
You're tense, too! Jak wanted to shout.
But fighting with Damas, he had long since learned, was a very poor life choice. Besides, this man had all but pried him out of the jaws of death before he even knew what Jak was capable of, binding their lives together despite the doubts of his subjects. Jak knew he didn't deserve to be lashed out at. But he just couldn't help it!
Without Daxter he was on-edge. Unsettled.
It couldn't be helped: Daxter was very unwillingly resting at home with some variation of a local childhood disease. As it turned out, being born hundreds of years earlier did not make one immune to The Gripes. Jak, curiously, had yet to manifest the allegedly contagious disease, despite having been in close quarters with Daxter until leaving with the raiding party that morning. Perhaps it was his generally eco-saturated nature that made him resistant to some germs?
Speaking of eco, were you paying attention to your dark intake during the ambush?
Jak shoved the thought away and trudged through the worsening winds to the back of the Crawler.
His eco levels were a little high, sure, but nothing he couldn't handle. He'd gone days without exploding before.
Liar. You exploded every single day in Haven, or near enough to it.
At least the engine failure didn't prevent anything else in the Crawler from working. The closing of the back hatch left them both stranded in a little island of flickering overhead light, while the sounds of the storm faded to a muffled hiss. Damas lowered himself to one of the benches anchored against the wall and stretched his legs out, using the net of medical supplies hanging from the overhead rack as a kind of backrest. He seemed far more comfortable with the situation than Jak was. He watched Jak pace in front of the hatch, noting with some interest that Jak was far more on-edge than usual. He wasn't just frustrated, he was rattled.
"It's just a storm, kid."
Damas leaned back and closed his eyes.
"You've driven in them before."
"Yeah," Jak grunted, "with Daxter."
"Hm." The king raised his brows, but did not open his eyes. "You're not often apart, are you?"
"Not if I can help it," Jak answered shortly. "Not looking to repeat two years of involuntary separation."
The hiss of the sand against the hull rose for a moment in the quiet that followed Jak's words. Then, half to himself, Damas murmured, "Ah. The prison."
Jak's stomach turned a flip.
He still didn't know what had possessed him to confess to his erstwhile conservator why he could transform. What had been done to him in the pits of the Fortress. Damas had taken it well at the time -- no disgust, or condescension- or worse, pity. But the fear nagged at Jak regardless with each following day, whispering in the back of his mind that Damas was looking at him different now. That if Jak strayed too far out of line, his past might be held up in front of him in an attempt to make sense of his actions.
The second he told people something was wrong with him, it became their go-to explanation every time he did something they didn't like. Even Dax did it once in a while- though he at least made conscious efforts to be less careless with his words. Honestly, Jak was shocked Damas hadn't brought it up after his moment of defiance in the Arena.
Something smacked against the Crawler's armor -- likely a rock -- and Jak jumped and cursed. It was too quiet in the shelter. He didn't like the quiet, or the lack of windows showing him what was going on outside. It was like being in a storage crate, or a garage.
Or a cell.
Feeling an electric twinge of weirdwrongbad crawling along the nerves surrounding his scar tissue, Jak began to pace quicker. He focused on breathing as much as he could, and let his gaze sweep across the hold. Any detail that could set this place apart from the cells was noted and clung to.
"Settle, boy."
Damas still hadn't opened his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight slightly.
"We'll need our strength once the storm has passed. Don't waste your energy on restless nerves."
"Easy for you to say!" Jak retorted.
Watch it, Jak. Eco's boiling up. Get it under control before you really start mouthing off.*
"We've both seen what a storm like this can do to a person. To a broken down vehicle. How are you so calm right now?!"
The older warrior's lips quirked up with a soft chuckle.
"I've been around, kid," he answered wryly, "I've waited out my share of storms in the Crawler. This is no larger or smaller than any other sandstorm I've faced before."
Oooh...a little sneak preview of the Halloween jump-cut saddle pads I juuuust started working on. :D So excited for these. Who doesn't loooove Halloween...! ^_^ (Oh! And...I will also be including just some Autumn themed/colored saddle pads as well! Autumn (and Winter) is my absolute fav time of year (I loath Summer, especially here in Hot and Humid southeast Florida, yuck) and I love the whole Autumn-themed color-scheme <3
Once again I’ve caught the writing bug. And once again I’m just too excited about what I’m writing so I thought I’d share a little bit
So come on! Come get your pre-canon Spear of Selene angst! All though this part ain’t too angsty. And this hasn’t been beta read and still a work in process so it ain’t final
Also in case you couldn’t tell, I love writing for Duckworth:
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“LOOK OUT BELOW!”
After hearing the inane shouting of Della, Bradford let out a quiet exasperated sigh; which was then followed by a rather loud startled gasp as the buzzard spotted the duck sliding down the stairs, using a shield as her personal board.
“Ah! Bradford?!” Della then swung her body into the direction away from the buzzard, causing the duck to wipe out off her board but away from Bradford.
“Umph!” Della grunted as her face made contact to the ground. She then quickly looked up to greet her guest.
“Bradford.”
DONK
The shield that Della was using as a stairboard landed on top of the duck’s head.
After the shield fell off her head, Della got up onto her feet, “I mean, Mr. Buzzard. Sorry, I thought you were Donald! He’s coming back home today and well you how siblings can get, right?”
“…No. I do not.” Bradford answered, “and yes, your uncle did tell me that your brother would be arriving sometime today.”
“Yeah! He’s going to meet the kids for the first time!”
“Yes, he also did mention your unexpected pregnancy.”
“Heh, yeah.” Della rubbed her head as she awkwardly picked up the shield from the ground. “Well I’m past that part, now all I gotta do is sit on them till their ready. So far, I think I’m handling things well. But let me tell yeah, pushing those three out was a whole another story. You ever push out-, never mind…”
“I see…and do you at least know who the father is?”
“Some asshole I hope I never see again.” Della chuckled which became rather awkward when she noticed the unamused look on the buzzard’s face. “I uh, suppose you’re here to see Uncle Scrooge?”
“Uh, yes.” Bradford cleared his throat and then look passed Della. “Does he know that I’m here?”
“Oh keep your shirt on, Bradford I’m right here.” Scrooge said as he made his way down the stairs.
“Augh, Della,” Scrooge sighed. “Did you just go surfing down the stairs while we have company?”
“Uncle Scrooge, I did not know, I thought he was Donald.”
“That’s not the point lass, I don’t want ya treating my house like it’s a skate park.”
“Oh come on, I was just having some harmless fun” Della explained as she once again rubbed the bump on her head, “our guest is fine and King Arthur’s shield is perfectly intact.”
“Della, please put it back where you found it.”
“I was gonna,” Della assured her uncle as she awkwardly backed away from the two older birds, “Anyway, I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk about business. Woo! Business. Heh, yeah…”
“Yes, thank you Della.”
“No problem, Uncle Scrooge. I’ll just, uh, be in my room till Donnie gets here.”
As Della made her way up the stairs she hissed to her uncle’s passing butler. “Thanks for the heads up, Duckworth.”
“I’ll be sure to speak faster next time, Della.” Duckworth remarked before joining Scrooge by his side.
“Now Bradford,” Scrooge began when Della had left the area, “I thought we agreed that you’d come over after noon, my nephew should be here soon.”
“Oh, right.” Bradford cleared his throat. “Sorry, I must’ve mixed the times up I can come back if you’d like.”
“Perhaps you can get yourself a personal planner,” Duckworth suggested getting a glare from the buzzard, “I find those to be quite useful when I organize my day.”
“Nonsense, Bradford. There’s no point in you leaving when you came all this way, I’ll have plenty of time for Donald later. Duckworth that’ll be all for now.”
“I’ll be taking care of young Della’s nasty bump if you need me, Scrooge. Mr. Buzzard.” And with that said, Duckworth left the two businessmen alone.
tagged by @reyesstrand and @sunshinestrand so I figured I may as well post everything I have for this Marjan coda I spent several hours staring at today because it is sadly not much more than 7 sentences.
If there was one thing she learned from having her best friend and his parents die in front of her it was to never take those you loved for granted.
She liked to think that she hadn’t, that she had appreciated every moment she spent with them. She appreciated the way Joey’s parents were always happy to include her, the way they were so often there for her when her own parents weren’t. They took her in with an effortless love; never once making her feel like a burden or a chore. They were kind and they were caring. They took an interest in her; went out of their way to try and help her shine in a way she never thought possible.
Sometimes she wished they could see her now.
Mouse had become Firefox: the daredevil; the badass firefighter who always stood up for what was right and never backed down. Not once. She had never forgotten what they had told her during that last fateful car ride: to always be heard. She had kind of taken it to heart.
She had spent the rest of her life trying to live up to those expectations, to be who they always thought she could be. And she had—once she started trying it turned out it wasn’t that hard to be someone who was heard. What started as a facade became a way of life and before she knew she had people telling her that she was an inspiration; that they wanted to be like her.
maybe posting it all will be the catalyst I need to actually continue it, who knows?
no pressure tagging @kiras-sunshine @detectivecarlosreyes @reyescarlos @welcometololaland @strandnreyes @moviegeek03 @justaswampdemon and @morganaspendragonss
