#tiny fics

megumi entered the kitchen, right after he left the shower, hair wet and sticking to his forehead.

you looked over your shoulder and the sight made your heart give one strong beat and stop.

just behind you was the man that almost took your life and satoru’s all those years ago. the man who shot a little girl. the man who made your best friend abandon question everything and eventually defect.

one heartbeat…

two heartbeats…

“gross” megumi murmured then left the kitchen.

you didn’t realize what happened until he spoke. satoru was behind you, arms strongly tightened around your figure.

from megumi’s point of view it must’ve seemed he was hugging you.

what he couldn’t see was satoru’s tight grip on your hand that held the knife you were using for food with a new, darker, intention.

“easy” he whispered, helping you put the weapon down. when you came back to your senses you gasped and dropped the knife that fell loudly on the sink.

“fuck—oh my god satoru, i don’t know what came over me” you hugged yourself, feeling the scar on your chest throb.

your husband softened his grip, now properly hugging you, “do you think he noticed?” you could feel satoru slightly shaking.

“no, i covered you” you turned to hug him back, kissing the small scar on his forehead, “someday we’re gonna have to—“

“i know” you cut before he could say the inevitable, the scene that haunts you in your dreams, “just not now. we are happy now” his eyes were dark, unlike the crystal blue you always saw.

you kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly. you knew the truth weighted on satoru’s shoulder even more than on yours.

IBMT chapter 8 jinx:

IWMOY ch 7 jinx:

(Un)Forbidden Love jinx:

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@sallysavestheday tagged me for a first line meme (thank you!).

I've recently written a lot of really tiny pieces and had lost track of them a bit. So this is really more of a bit of housekeeping rather than that meme although the meme prompted it!

Links go to a number of different sites.

I grew tall from a shoot; my lord shoots me at need.

 From the wood it came, to the shadows it went

Not often did Gilraen receive any letters in Rivendell from her family or friends at home, although unwritten messages passed between them, keeping her abreast of some of their news. 

Rosemary for Remembrance

Gil-galad looks out on the dawn of the festival of Nost-Na-Lothion.

A Day for Revelry

My dear brother,

You will already have heard of the disastrous loss that overtook us in the mid of victory, unless the messengers went astray—although in these dark times the arrival of messages must always be uncertain!

Gloredhel, in Brethil, to Galdor of Dor-lomin. F.A. 458

Her husband had gone with Aldarion on his voyage.

Numenorean ficlet for Neurodivergent Arda Week (untitled)

‘You can’t,’ Ainairos said. ‘I would like to clear them from our beaches, too—all the flawed jewels they gave, pretending to bestow gifts when they were simply getting rid of sparkling garbage.

Opals and Diamonds Strewn upon the Shores

After the Fell Winter came the floods.

Washed away by the rains and the snows

Mithrellas leans out into the dark and listens to Amroth’s voice on the wind.

Voice from the Sea

‘All right,’ said Galadriel, looking up at the stars.

Further than all other eyes, more clearly than all other ears

It was a long time before she returned to Ost-in-Edhil.

That strength which in old days moved earth and heaven

He moseys down the road, enjoying the sunshine and the gentle breeze that keeps it warm and refreshing in one. He's taken to these little walks through town, eyes scanning the crowds, sometimes dipping into a shop to see who's inside. He never buys anything. He's not searching for something that requires money.

He sees a few possibilities. He checks them out, does the research, as he always does. It takes a few weeks before someone catches his eye who turns out to be perfect.

One

There’s this stillness that settles over the two of them when they’re alone, a calm that others rarely see, so often are they both in such motion that perhaps when they stop they become unrecognizable to their fellow operators. Once in fact, they nearly gave Mark (Specialist Chandar) a heart attack after he had started setting up to work in the main room and not noticed the pair on the couch until Sanaa had said hello. The poor boy had fallen off his chair in shock. It’s performative, this stillness, just that being around people seems to spur them both into movement. 

The favoured terrain of each is very different, Sanaa loves the wide flat plains and deserts, being able to see for miles and with the open sky above. While Tina likes being able to hide in the flora, silenced by the fauna, and dwarfed by gargantuan trees like the ones back home.

They both love the ocean, growing up by it. The way it holds so much power over humans. It makes even the most advanced technology bend to its whims in a way no force of land can. You either follow its lead, or you drown. Perhaps this is also due to the absolute vastness of the thing, the fact that it remains unconquered and unconquerable. Even the Amazon loses more of its mystique each and  every year, Lidar and deforestation chipping away at its mask of mystery.

“I had a dream about you.”

“Wow! It’s been a while.” Lilly tossed her hair over her shoulder, flopping down on the end of Veronica’s unmade bed. “Was I wearing something fabulous? Please tell me I was wearing something fabulous.” Glancing down at her forever outfit of green shorts, knee-high sports socks, and pep-squad shirt, Lilly let out a giant sigh.

“Kinda. You were wearing a bridesmaid dress – it was pink satin.” Veronica stated, walking slowly around the loft bedroom.

Piz had mercifully left for work early, so she didn’t have to worry about what he would think about Veronica talking to ghosts.

“Ew. Okay. But if it was pink satin, then you must have been the bride.” Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Lilly leaned back on the bed, glancing over the disarray. “Who was the lucky man? The Piz-man? Because congratulations Vee…I didn’t think you could find a more boring man than Donut, but here you are…”

An involuntary shudder ran through Veronica. “No - it wasn’t Piz. Or maybe it was…I don’t know. All I remember was you were there and I was in my Columbia sweatshirt, getting ready to put on my dress and you kept asking me over and over again ‘Is this what you really want?’.”

Rolling her eyes, Lilly sat upright, pulling her feet up underneath her. Sweeping her hands across her, Lilly huffed. “Well, is it, Veronica? Is all this what you really want?”

Pausing near the mirror hung on thr back of the closet door, Veronica stared at herself, trying to catch a look at Lilly in the reflection, but couldn’t. This was just a figment of her imagination – stress from securing an interview with Truman-Mann next week. It was manifesting in her brain in strange ways. She had worked so hard and come so far. Was all this what she really wanted?

Jelly Baby

For the past hour, her head has been inclining towards his shoulder in increments punctuated by delicate sips of pinot grigio. The movie is just background entertainment now: the occasional boom of action, the occasional shimmering of lights, the soaring score. 

“Time for bed,” he says, when her head bumps the juncture of shoulder and arm. In no time, her head is crooked there, face pressed against pec. She snuffles and then giggles.

“You’ve got lovely tits, Mulder.”

On screen, a woman is undressing and whilst Scully’s accuracy is usually spot-on, he has to disagree.

“No, really,” she says, rubbing through his shirt. “Your nipples are always so…” she scrunches her nose and lifts her head away slightly so he can see the glaze in her eye, “so…tight, and the way there’s just this sort of mound of flesh that I can hold, it’s like…” her voice trails off. She pushes herself up and he feels the cool of singledom again. “I mean, boobs are lovely, aren’t they?”

She whips off her top and in that practised way pulls off her bra. She lifts her own breasts, massaging them, to prove her point. It’s working.

“Scully, I think you’re a little tipsy.”

She falls against him and circles his nipple again, then kisses through the cloth. They can’t harden any more. It would be against medical advice. “Scully…”

“Mmm, I love the little nubs of them, the way they peek out of your dress shirts. That used to drive me wild back in the day, Mulder. Skinner always used to side-eye me. He knew, you know. He saw them too.” She leans up to kiss his mouth, taking away his cluck of disbelieve. Her arms fall around his waist and she’s managed to climb into his lap. She giggles suddenly. “I think he has a soft spot for you Mulder. Old Walter Sergei, manly man, loves his little Foxy.”

Scully goes back the the Hoover Building as a favour, to cover a week of lectures for a pathologist she trained. It feels like an echo, or a shadow maybe. They’ve carpeted some of the hallways, muffling her heels so that even walking seems somehow wrong. The unlit basement light mocks her from the corner of the elevator, and her heart breaks when she hears someone mutter, “Mrs Spooky’s back”, his snide grin tucked behind a file folder.