Fictober: Day Fifteen

Prompt: I thought you had forgotten

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Attempts at smut

@ashtonsvoodoodoll Here you go!!



An excruciating pain shot all around you and you cried out, the walls seeming to shake when you did. Tears stung your eyes but you pushed harder, squeezing onto the sheets of the bed tighter than before.

“Push!” Ms.Mead commanded, her body placed in between your spreaded legs, Michael standing right by her side.

Sweat trickled down your forehead and you pushed down one last time, feeling a weight lift off of you as you heard the cry of a baby, all of your pain washing away.

“It’s a boy,” Ms.Mead smiled as she cut the umbilical cord, wrapping the baby in a blanket before handing him to Michael.

“Shh,” Michael started to rock your baby, smiling softly down at him. “Daddy’s here.” You smiled tiredly at the sight of Michael soothing your child, but a you wanted to hold him yourself. Michael’s eyes flicked up as if he read your thoughts, his face cold and hard. “You know what to do,” he told Ms.Mead before walking out of the room with your baby.


“Don’t worry about him, or his baby,” Ms.Mead pulled out a gun and pointed it right at you. “You’re never going to see them again.”

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anonymous asked:

Can you please write something including a jealous/possesive Mulder? I'm having a fight with a huge flue and I'm in a big need for something written by you. Thanks :*

I would say get well soon anon, but this prompt is so ill you’ve had time to get better, get sick and get better again. I’m so sorry! Here’s a hint of jealousy for you. 

Lunch Date

Mulder has known Thomas “no please, call me Tom” Jacobson all of five minutes and already he hates him. Six foot something with light brown cropped hair and glistening green eyes, glass which frame his face perfectly and a beaming smile, Tom is friendly, polite and in another world would be perfectly amenable. Ordinarily Mulder wouldn’t have anything against him, were it not for the fact that at this very moment, Tom has his arms wrapped around Dana Scully.

The pair have known each other since they were eight, Scully explains to Mulder once she and Tom have gotten over the initial shock of literally bumping into one another in the street (Mulder is still cursing himself over suggesting their longer walk through the park on the way to the deli for lunch). School friends.

“Childhood sweethearts,” Tom adds with a grin, while Mulder takes a deep breath and counts to ten, trying to ignore the fact this…childhood sweetheart of Scully’s has his left hand dangerously close to her ass. Scully blushes and elbows her ex playfully.

“This is Fox Mulder, my partner,” she tells him, and Mulder interrupts before the other man can launch any sarcastic comments his way.

“It’s Mulder,” he says. “We were just on our way to grab some lunch,” he adds, almost pleadingly, hoping that Scully will take the hint and recall just how she’d been complaining of hunger just moments before bumping into Tom. Sadly for once she’s not on the same wavelength as her partner and appears to be having an off day reading his mind. “You should join us!” she says to Tom, as Mulder suddenly looks down at his feet, willing the ground to open up and swallow him. He can’t think of anything worse than having lunch with this man, especially as Tom still has his hands all over Scully. Suddenly Mulder isn’t feeling particularly hungry anymore.

“I’d love to,” Tom replies without any hesitation, while Mulder grimaces and prays for an alien invasion, the world ending or another flying cow to head his way. His prayers remain unanswered as he hears the other man continue. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.” As Mulder looks up, Tom glances down at Scully’s left hand, and his smug, shit-eating grin widens. “No wedding ring Dana. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.” He winks in Mulder’s direction. Scully says nothing, her blush deepening, while Mulder bites down hard on his tongue and clenches his fists tightly, aware he’s only moments away from grabbing Tom and informing him he doesn’t have a hope in hell with Scully; that she’s chosen him. At least, that’s what Mulder hopes. He’s a little concerned at her silence however, not to mention her sudden unwillingness to meet his eye, and he briefly wonders whether he’s the man who’s sorely mistaken.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says softly, trying – and failing – not to sound like a petulant schoolboy. For a brief second Scully looks as though she’s about to protest but seems to think better of it, while Tom nods and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you Miller.”

Mulder shakes his hand, and tries not to flinch when Tom squeezes a little too hard, the gleam in his eye suggesting it was on purpose. “You too Tim.” Two can play at that game,” Mulder thinks to himself.

“I won’t be long,” interrupts Scully, addressing her partner. “I’ll see you back at the office.”

“Sure.” Before Mulder can even think about walking off in a sulk, Scully releases herself from Tom’s grip and walks over to her partner, lifting herself up onto tiptoes and kissing him firmly on the lips, taking him by surprise. There’s no mistaking the kiss, it’s not a friendly peck but a romantic embrace with just the slightest hint of tongue, and by the time she pulls away Tom is in no doubt of his childhood sweetheart’s romantic status. Unable to stop himself, Mulder smiles. “I’ll see you soon,” he adds goofily, then turns on his heel to leave them. It isn’t until he’s walking away from them that Mulder realizes, with a sense of satisfaction, that he’s now the one wearing the shit-eating grin.

anonymous asked:

I know you must get a lot of prompts, but if it appeals to you could you do a fill in the blanks fic for the scene in requiem where Mulder finds Scully semi conscious in the woods? He is so sweet and gentle with her it makes my heart hurt. I would love to read your take on what happened afterwards. Thanks!

Fictober day 16.

Sorry this is so short. I’ve loved this prompt ever since I got it ages ago. Thank you, anon.

“Can you get up?” Mulder’s voice is as shaky and uncertain as she feels. She is dizzy, tired. She was was neither of these things mere minutes ago. She doesn’t remember what happened at all. One minute she was looking around, the next she was on the ground, in Mulder’s arms.

“I’m not sure,” she answers truthfully. The ground underneath her is cold and wet. But she barely notices. Mulder’s hand on her face, stroking strands of hair away lovingly, is warm. His love and concern are all she feels run through her body.

“I sent Richie to get you some water. I’d carry you back, but I feel you won’t let me.” Mulder smiles down at her. The hand that’s not touching her face is holding her hand. This is awfully intimate. She should stop him, remind him that they’re on a case. Richie will be back any second and here he is holding her, not caring who sees. His love for her as palpable as the trees surrounding them.

“Mulder, we shouldn’t…” but what they shouldn’t, she doesn’t specify and Mulder doesn’t let go. If she wasn’t feeling so dizzy, maybe she’d get up, pretend they’re nothing but professional. The words he said to her last night still ring in her ears: there has to be an end. There is so much more than this. When will they ever not find the other in peril? Is there an end for them? What if he’s right?

“Scully, even if the whole FBI were standing here, I wouldn’t let go. As long as we’re here, consider me your shadow.” His smile is sad. There’s fear written on his face. “I meant what I said last night. Let’s warn Billy and go home.”

“That is not us, Mulder. It’s not you. We can’t just ignore what’s happening here.” There’s rustling somewhere close. Richie. Scully tries to stand up and finds that she can’t. Mulder helps her. His hands remain on her hips, steading her. The way his eyes sparkle, the way his mouth frowns, she is certain he wasn’t kidding: if she let him, he’d carry her back to the hotel. They both know she won’t.

“I’m not ignoring it. But we can’t do anything here when… we need to warn Billy and then we need to get home.” Scully wants to say more, but Richie returns with a bottle of water. His hands shake as he hands it to her. Scully thanks him and takes a sip. There’s a strange feeling in her stomach. A sensation she can’t put her finger on. Mulder is worried already and she doesn’t want to make it worse. She’ll keep it her secret, for now.

It will be fine, she convinces herself. She gives Mulder a hopeful smile promising him that she’s okay. His hand is pressed to her back. He is not going to let go, no matter what anyone says, what anyone sees. Not until they’re home, until she is safe.

Hairdye and Heartache

Had this idea floating around my head for a few days so I thought I’d get it out and see if anyone liked it. Post season 9 so I suppose there’s some angst happening.
Tagging: @today-in-fic and friends @baronessblixen @softnow @peacenik0 @ellivia 

It hasn’t even been a week, only 5 days to be exact. They’re stopped somewhere in the Midwest, he can’t remember the state, let alone the town. Everything started to blend together around day 2. They’d drive for hours, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the east coast as possible. They’re headed to California, or at least that’s what he tells himself. The complete other end of the country, as far as they can run. Right now, though there in a motel room, how typical, because they both agreed that they wanted to sleep in a bed tonight, and maybe they’re a safe enough distance away to stop for the night. They made a quick stop for food at a convenience store. She comes back out with two bags and when she tosses them down on the bed later he sees a box of hair dye tumble out of one. He watches closely as she stuffs it back in the bag then drags the whole thing into the bathroom. He follows, concern etched across his face. He watches as she removes the contents of the bag. Shampoo, conditioner, the box of color and other assorted products.

It’s something they’d talked about, needing to change their appearance in case anyone came looking. Unfortunately, Scully’s hair is a dead giveaway. He was growing out a beard, hoping it’d help conceal him but changing Scully’s hair was going to be a process. He perched on the edge of the tub and watched her go about preparing things. Grabbing towels and mixing color in bottles, shaking it up with plastic gloves on her hands. Eventually she stopped, bottle in one hand and a brush in the other. She didn’t move, just stared at herself in the mirror for a while. When he saw a tear slide down her cheek he stood up and silently moved across the small bathroom. He wrapped his arms around her in a loose hug then leaned down to kiss her softly.
“I am here.” He said quietly. She nodded, and he stepped aside, letting her gather herself. She takes a few deep breaths and then begins. He watches as she slowly squeezes the hair color onto her head and uses the brush to spread it out. She’s methodical, taking her time, covering every strand of her copper hair. It hurts him as much as he knows it must hurt her. He loves her red hair, fiery and bright just like her. He’ll miss it terribly.

When she’s done she sets her tools down and looks herself over in the mirror. She nods her approval and wipes her tears then steps back out into the room.
“25-minute wait, you hungry?” She’s pulled herself together again, stuffing the pain that he knows is there to the back of her mind.
They don’t eat anything, he can tell she’s too nervous about the change to do anything so instead he just holds her. Careful not to get hair dye on himself or anything else he pulls her down to sit on his lap on the bed and just holds her close. She wraps her arms around him and rests her forehead against his own and for that moment in time, it’s enough.

He does glance at the food they bought but it doesn’t look appetizing, mostly power bars and things they can eat on the go. If he’s being honest he’s ready for an actual meal. Maybe tonight they’ll order Chinese and it’ll feel like old times. When he’d show up at her door with a bag of takeout containers under the guise of wanting to work on a case but really, he just wanted to be with her. She would play along, and they would eat their food and no none would ever mention a case. He misses that. Tonight, tonight they’ll pretend.

It doesn’t seem very long but eventually Scully grabs some clothes and heads into the bathroom. He waits anxiously, sitting on the edge of the bed. He runs his fingers over the scruff forming on his jaw, the changes they must make to survive.
He hears the shower turn off and stands up, he needs to see her. He knocks on the door, but she doesn’t answer so he opens it. Standing in front of him, wrapped in a towel is his Scully, but no one else would be able to tell. He walks up to her and runs his fingers through chestnut brown hair instead of red and it breaks his heart. She had to change who she was for him. Because they won’t stop looking for him, she’s missing this part of herself now.
“I am so sorry Scully.”
She pulls him into a hug and whispers against his chest, “Not your fault.” But they both cry anyway.

Eventually he leaves her to put herself back together. In the meantime, he handles getting dinner. He digs through the phone book and dials the first Chinese place he can find. He’ll surprise her, he’ll do something to make her smile. The delivery man sows up a few minutes later and he pays him and collects their food.
He can hear a blow dryer running and he knows he has just a few minutes to get everything ready. He stows the shopping bags on a chair in the corner and then sets the takeout containers on a small round table. He arranges things and re arranges things until the noises in the bathroom quiet. Then he stands and waits. His heart is pounding, and he realizes he’s nervous, nervous to see this new Scully, hoping that he’ll be able to make her smile.
The door swings open and her eyes meet his and he smiles first, beams brightly. She’s beautiful, of course, when is she not. The new color is such a change, but he finds he likes it. It’s not drastically dark, just a warm brown and it makes her eyes seem even more blue, he thinks.
She glances over at the table and her mouth turns up into a smile of her own and his heart swells at seeing her happy.
“Chinese.” She says, stepping over to the table
“Like old times?” He asks, and she takes his hand and squeezes it gently.
“Like old times.”

Half an hour later their sitting cross legged on the bed, sharing fortune cookies. Everything feels like old times right now, the motel room, the takeout food, Scully’s laughter at his bad jokes. But the spell is broken every time he catches her brown hair.
“Do you like it?” He asks eventually, because he doesn’t know what else to say.
“It’s not bad,” She admits, “It’ll take some getting used to.” He nods in agreement.
“Thank you for helping me through it though.” She adds quietly.
“The least I could do since it’s my fault you had to change it.”
She sighs, “Mulder,” But he interrupts her.
“If I would have kept my nose out of things we wouldn’t be here right now. I drug you into this and look what you have to do.”
She holds up a hand to stop him.
“You didn’t drag me into this, I chose this, just like I chose you, just like I’ll keep doing every time.” She crawls across the bed and curls herself up in his lap. He wraps his arms around her instantly, so small against him. She looks up at him and runs a hand over his jaw, the stubble scratching against her palm. He leans down and kisses her slowly, pushes his fingers into her hair and holds her close. She sighs against his lips and returns the kiss with as much passion as she can. Minutes later they pull apart and she rests her forehead against his.
“Hair is just hair,” She says quietly, “When this all blows over, and it will, I’ll change it back. We’ll get through this, and if changing my hair means getting to keep you it’s a small price to pay.”
She leans in and kisses him again. He pulls her back and they settle next to each other on the bed, slipping into an easy embrace like puzzle pieces sliding into place. He holds her close and runs his fingers through her hair, watching as the strands fall back into place. She’s right, of course, if a different color hair is the price they pay to be together then he can be content with brunette Scully for a while.


a fictober chronological series of mulder and scully, every day of october.

set post season 4 in an isolated, timeless, choose your season, universe. ratings up to nsfw. enjoy.

October 16

The rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek reminds her of being on her father’s boat. She’s lulled by it, easily tempted to keep her eyes shut and enjoy the rolling wave of his body beneath her. However, they never did get around to ordering pizza, instead filling up on each other’s tongues and sighs, falling asleep against lazy, pillowy kisses.

She should be ravenous. She should be feeling the empty pang of hunger deep in her gut. She should get up and make them breakfast with whatever spare items he has hanging around. But she feels so full in the spaces between her stomach and her heart as he wraps his arms around her back.

“Scully,” he says, and the deep rumble of her name in his chest makes her nuzzle closer.

“Mulder,” she gives back, as if they are trying out each other’s names on new lover’s tongues. The glory of that, she thinks, is it sounds no different than it always has; it’s always been like this between them, even from separate spaces in rental cars and different beds on the other side of adjoining doors. She knows now it will be okay—to love him, that is. To let him love her. To do so physically. Her abdomen clenches and she can nearly taste the smoke in the air from the fire being smothered between her legs.

“We should eat.”

He grumbles, squeezes her tighter.

“I feel… young,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… nothing much hurts, not right now anyway, but I’m feeling things tenfold…”

She lifts up to meet his eyes.

“Like, physically?”

He palms each side of her head, looking as serious as the brooding teen he must have been.

“No. Not like physically.”

It’s getting harder to pull her hips away from his when he kisses her like he does—one hand in her hair, one hand on her lower back, his tongue sweeping between her upper lip and teeth—but it’s that much more delicious when she gets to do it again.

“But this,” he mumbles and pulls her bottom lip away from her teeth with his own before releasing, “has a youthful something, too, Scully.”

Fictober18 Day 8.

Fandom: Gravity Falls ||  CW: Manipulation  ||  “I know you do.“


“Hey, better you found out from me than from him stabbing you in the back, right!”

“Of course, Bill.” Ford halfheartedly smiled at him, the expression falling back down again when he stopped putting the effort into it. It’s not that he wasn’t appreciative. He was, but…

Bill put a hand on his shoulder, floating over his head. “Come on, lighten up, IQ.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just… Fiddleford was my only friend for a long time.” Ford spoke openly. “I wouldn’t expect him to well… pull an ‘Edison.’”

Not on him, at least. Although, really he wouldn’t have expected Fiddleford to plan on doing something like that to anyone. He’d known Fidds for several years during college. He knew him. Or… well, he thought he knew him…

“You knew him back THEN. People change a lot in six years!” Bill floated a bit away from him to point at him. “Plus, you’re a horrible judge of character!! That’s what I’m here for though, smart guy!” He said, certainly to reassure him.

“I thought you were here for intellectual inspiration.” Ford teased lightly.

“Some from column A some from column B!” Bill waved a hand. “On the bright side, you’ve at least got one friend who cares about you for more than your work!”

Ford genuinely lightened up a bit from that. “Thank you, Bill, for warning me and being a true friend. I really appreciate it.”

Bill’s eye crinkled up happily. “I know you do!” He threw his arm his shoulder. “Now just watch out for that engineer, huh. If he starts acting shady, you know what’s really going on.”


msr | general | words: 72

fictober day something.

— — —

She fits exactly perfectly in the curve of his body. His perfect little spoon. He could’ve imagined—could have and did—but knowing is an entirely different thing.

Knowing is…knowing is this sweet little dip behind her ear that smells like warm apples. Knowing is her small, cold foot tucked between his calves. Knowing is the way she holds his hand against her chest, right there between her breasts, and breathes.

Thor/Loki - In Solidum - Supernatural AU

Fictober Day 16/31 - 1376 words - It’s not your average SPN crossover, let’s just leave it at that - also on ao3


Running the Roadhouse had its perks.

For one, Loki was able to absorb all the knowledge he needed and wanted without having to stray too far from his creature comforts. He’d done his years on the road, and maybe they hadn’t been as long as others’, but they had been enough for him. With the Roadhouse, not only did he get to enjoy the knowledge and experience that came from the road, he got to sleep in his own damn bed.

Another benefit of the Roadhouse meant that, because it was his home, he got to have a library on hand. He was able to become a resource for those who passed by. He suspected, a lot of the time, his accent made the lore he imparted carry even more weight; he sounded like he knew all the old-world things he was saying.

The Roadhouse, finally, made it very easy for networking. Loki was, at heart, a social being, but on his terms. The Roadhouse meant that he could have his bar, average, every day, and he could have his hub. The place where hunters from all over the country came to check-in, stay the night, recuperate, and pick Loki’s brain for knowledge.

And as the owner of the Roadhouse, Loki had gotten quite the reputation. Former hunter, expert in lore and demonology. Fiery personality, fond of his protective jewelry, long hair and polished nails. He was eccentric but brilliant and that was fact that was simply known.

There was one last perk of running the Roadhouse that Loki tended not to bring up when people asked him why he did this. That was both because of his own need to preserve the mystery, and not wanting to point anyone in a direction that would end with his own envy.

That reason walked through the door late in the evening on a Tuesday, and Loki nearly dropped the whiskey bottle he’d been pouring from.


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Fictober Day Sixteen: This Is Gonna Be So Much Fun!

Anime: Little Witch Academia

Pairing: Hannah England x Akko Kagari

“This is gonna be so much fun!” Barbara squealed. “We should audition, Lotte!”

“I don’t know,” Lotte said sheepishly. “I’d be better suited for the production team.”

“Nonsense, sweetie,” her girlfriend insisted. “Everyone would be star-struck to see a cutie like you on centre stage.” Lotte blushed and giggled into her hands.

“Yuck,” Amanda said as she walked by. “Calm down, you’ll get cooties everywhere.”

Hannah, who was walking nearby with Akko, aimed a kick at Amanda’s shins. “No raining on their parade. Don’t let your jealousy get to you, lonely girl.”

Amanda switched targets. “Well if it ain’t my favourite couple, Hannah and Akko, a.k.a. the Head-Ache.”

“What did I say?” Hannah rolled her eyes. “Jeal-ous!”

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The creased and faded picture shows a boy with hair falling in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder at the camera. Over his bony shoulder, unmarked by ink.

It’s Eames, before.

Before he was Eames, before he made the body he’s comfortable in now. Before he made himself.

He props it on his desk, where Eames sees it the next day. He picks it up. Arthur watches his expression shift from a frown to a sort of fondness.

“I was 14, I think. God, I was skinny!”

“You should have seen me at that age. I was angular.”

Fictober Day 16, Arthur and Eames.

Also on AO3: More Sketches

No picture! Because this picture exists in my head, not on the internet.


Josephine’s mother had been proud of the dwarven timepiece that they displayed in the formal dining room beside the portrait of a great-great aunt with an Orlesian mask, but no one had ever really looked at it. The sun, the chantry bells, and the height of the water on the docks had been all anyone needed.

Fereldan mostly uses candles, smoky tallow columns with notches and intricate markings to count down the hours. It seems a very subjective way to keep time. She misses the smell of the sea and how the waves had lapped at the shore at sunrise.

    10. “You think this troubles me?” 

You watch Gabriel from the doorframe, looking so convincingly domestic. The heavy fabric for the cape he’s been working on cascades over the table and spills onto the floor. He’s peaceful when he’s focused; a face you know well, one he wears sitting alone with his ceramic coffee mug, chin resting in hand or scrolling mindlessly on his tablet.

“The party is starting soon,” you remind him, gently. You’re not there to rush him.

“Not a problem, babe,” he says with confidence, peering up through reading glasses that have slipped down the bridge of his nose, things he only wears for detailed work—like this. “I’m almost done anyhow.”

“Aren’t you worried about being late?”

“Not if Reinhardt starts telling stories,” he laughs, dryly, standing to flourish and fasten the cape over his shoulders. It hangs proudly, his sly expression becomes framed by the high, jagged collar. “Besides, I’m going to have the best costume out of everyone… even if it means walking in with a pumpkin on my head.”

(inktober-for-writers day 16: angular)

Anders leaves his notes lying around their bedroom like his dirty socks - notes from the clinic and notes for the manifesto and notes actually intended for Hawke, in no particular order. Most of them wind up moved downstairs to his workroom eventually, the ones Anders doesn’t feed to the fireplace; but Hawke kind of likes the clutter, the assurance that Anders hasn’t changed his mind and fled the far-too-public Hightown just yet. Except for the dirty socks.

Hawke moves a few papers off his desk to retrieve the book he’d been reading - Land of the Wilders, bookmarks at the stories of Flemeth - and Anders’ notes from last night are decorated with doodles all the way down the side of the page, more drawing than writing. Random swirls and geometric shapes, and then a cluster of templars at the bottom of the page fleeing from some kind of undead creature in heavy armor, the undead lovingly detailed with angular features and dark circles around the eyes.

The few lines of text have been scribbled out so thoroughly Hawke can’t tell what they were; and the notes that look like this, covered in doodles, always tend to end up in the fireplace. It’s a shame; he likes the little bogeyman scaring the templars away.

Maybe Anders won’t mind if he hangs on to this one.

Fictober #16: Obsessed

“Dude. You have a problem.”

Clint doesn’t look away Bucky, who is standing in the doorway of Clint’s room with an expression of what can only be described as disgusted horror. Maybe Bucky has a point. Maybe the dozens of different cereal boxes pinned to the walls with throwing knives are worth being disgusted about. But Clint doesn’t care.

He shoves his hand in deeper into the box of limited edition Captain Crunch, and digs out another handful to shove into his mouth, still staring at Bucky.

“Gross,” Bucky says, and leaves.

Perfect. More cereal for Clint.

Here’s the prompt list I’m following || My Masterlist

Fictober 2k18: Day 12

Yeah, I know, I know, I’m like 5 days late. Being sick sucks, my dudes. But I’ll try my best to catch up now.

Anyway, have some ridiculous Jedi Consular team shenanigans for the prompt I left off on, partially inspired by @seckritlab and @heartofbucky.

Prompt List | Masterpost

12. “Who could do this?”

Master Tereela nearly ignores the video at first. Titled with the absurdly fanciful “Jedi troll challenge,” it seems nothing more than frivolity, which, between training acolytes and rebuilding Tython, she hardly has the time for.

On the other hand, however, it was sent to her personal account, which few individuals even know about, let alone have the address of, though apparently this HolidayCharm, whoever that could be, did.

Intrigued in spite of herself, she sighs, clicking on the link and watching it load in a new screen.

The inside of a ship solidifies in the background of the video, though the attention is focused on a pale young woman, the blue paint on her face naming her one of the Sarkhai, recently brought into the folds of the Republic. But rather than displaying the dignity she would expect from one wearing Jedi robes, the girl is giggling, a hand pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound before she composes herself.

“Are we recording, Tharan?”

A deeper chuckle sounds from behind the camera. “My darling Holiday has everything taken care of, I believe. Take it away.”

The Sarkhai grins. “Excellent. We commence the Jedi trolling challenge.” Her eyes focus directly on the camera, bright with mischief. “Who could do this, extranet?”

The camera follows her as she darts through the hallway and down a flight of stairs, to what is recognizably a meditation chamber and office, where an extremely familiar blue-skinned togruta is bent over a desk, though that is hardly the most noteworthy part of the scene.

Tereela blinks, feeling her eyebrow raise.

Before the camera, her former acolyte, Jedi Master Ahnalya Zaniir, Barsen’thor to the Jedi Order, sits hard at work and apparently completely oblivious to the stack of datapads balanced on her head.

The trick is almost artistically done, pads piled around and on her montrals in a way that illustrates careful thought and planning. And given the way snickering filters through the video, yet doesn’t seem to register to the Jedi in question, Ahnalya at work now is just as focused as young acolyte she once was, utterly unaware of her surroundings.

The fact that the Sarkhai darts forward and lays another datapad to the pile without incident only proves that. She hurries back, grinning at the camera and mouthing “your turn, extranet” before the video comes to an abrupt end.

Shaking her head, Tereela can’t help but chuckle softly to herself before closing back to the message with a sly smile and making a mental note to keep an eye on the extranet. Given the… flighty nature of some of the Jedi, she has no doubt that there will be more than a few attempts by the padawans—and even some masters themselves—to one-up that.

And she has to know if someone works up the courage to try something similar with Master Satele.

anonymous asked:

A1: prompter’s choice. April and Andy celebrate baby Jack’s first Halloween with him, a few days late

Ah, of course! Thank you for this prompt anon. I love it. Hope you enjoy reading it!

If you want a Halloween fic, shoot me a prompt!

[ AO3 | ffn ]

“Andy, we have to do this.”

She’s been stuck between bed and Jack’s crib, right now with Andy standing over her and Jack in his arms. Their son seems content for now but the space between okay and losing his mind, crying, is so thin that April feels on edge at all times. It’s definitely a new experience.

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Fictober - Day 16

Prompt: “This is gonna be so much fun!”

Category: Fanfic - Enderal

They were in the market when the drizzle of rain changed to a torrent. It bucketed down in sheets so heavy it was difficult to breathe let alone see, and the roar as it struck shingle and stone seemed to drown the whole city in sound. Merchants closed up their booths or took shelter under wagons while townsfolk bolted for the nearest tavern. Even the guards kept to the shelter of doorways and overhangs, waiting for the downpour to pass.

The two boys were running for cover when Eska suddenly grabbed Sirius’ hand, tugging him off course. “Wait!” He had to shout to make himself heard over the rain. “This way!”

He sprinted towards the North Stair, Sirius scrambling after him, their bare feet splashing in the warm water pooling on the stones. The steps themselves had transformed into a waterfall, rising up into an impenetrable grey curtain of rain.

“Where are we going?” Sirius caught his arm as he started up the stairs.

But Eska just grinned, wet hair plastered against his face. “This is gonna be so much fun. Trust me!”

“But we’re not allow–” he broke off with a yelp as Eska pulled him forward, bounding up the steps to the High Market.

At the top of the stairs they burst onto an open, empty street.Through the downpour, they could make out fine buildings of wood and stone, built tall and straight, lining either side. There were no guards in sight to stop them as they scampered past shops with colorfully painted signs, their windows glowing with light, and houses that towered several stories above the street. Buildings they had only ever glimpsed from far below.

“Sirius, look…” Eska pressed his face to the window of one of the homes. Candles sat in ornate silver stands, warm, flickering light illuminating a table set with heaping platters of food. More food than either boy had ever seen before. A roast half as big as they were sat in the center of the table where a slave cut steaming slices of meat for the two women at opposite ends.

“Is all of that just for them?” Sirius breathed. By now both of their faces were crammed longingly against the narrow pane of glass, their hungry eyes round as saucers.

It was then that one of the slaves noticed them, nearly dropping a tourine full of soup in surprise. But by the time the door came flying open, both boys had vanished into the rain. They splashed down the empty street, Eska still giggling at the close call and even Sirius couldn’t help grinning.

The road opened onto the main square, the High Market proper and both boys slowed to a halt. Eska had seen it once before, under cover of darkness, and Sirius had only ever heard others speak of it. Broad, clean paving stones covered the ground, orderly and even, unlike the irregular stretches of cobbles in the lower quarters, and through the rain they could dimly make out the fountain at its center.

Sirius began to waver. Only respectable folk were permitted in the High Market and rain this heavy couldn’t last much longer. But Eska turned to him with a look of pure glee, snatching his hand, “C’mon! We’re almost there!”

The fountain rose before them as they sprinted across the open square, a figure carved in stone, grotesque in its depiction of agony, a rendering of the woman from the Third Proclamation who had taken shelter in the Temple from the rain. But the water flowing from it was clear as crystal. Far too good for the likes of them. And with a whoop, Eska vaulted straight over the side and into the water.

He whirled around to face Sirius, grinning like an idiot. “Come on!” he cried, sweeping a hand through the water and splashing it at his friend. Somewhat more hesitantly, Sirius stepped over the wall, cupping a handful of the clear, cold water and putting it to his lips. He quickly gulped it down, and then another mouthful, and another. He’d never tasted water so clean before. It tasted like shade on a hot summer day.

Eska stood under the gushing fountain, trying to catch the water in his mouth, laughing as he dragged Sirius under it with him.

The rain began to slow. The fountain was no longer obscured from sight, the high, peeling laughter no longer drowned out by the thunderous deluge. There was a cry from the far end of the square and both boys froze, turning abruptly to see from whom it came. Sure enough a pair of guards was hurrying across the square towards them. The boys exchanged a glance, still grinning despite the imminent danger, and took off running.