Written for @leiascully xf writing challenge: forgiveness
Set after “The Truth”
It rains the first night they’re on the road. The raindrops
pelt angrily against the windshield and the wipers do their best to give Mulder
a clear view of what’s ahead. Their scratchy movement contributes to the
peculiar symphony they’re listening to; their silence, however, is the loudest
Things they want to talk about, really should talk about now
after all this time, they’re swallowed in kisses, in moans instead. Here in the
car, though, the distance between them seems inexpugnable. Mulder considers taking
her hand in his, the need to feel her soft skin against his is almost painful. But
he doesn’t reach over. Despite their desperate love making last night, he is
not sure where they stand. Their bodies remember each other flawlessly, as if
never having been apart. The distant look in her eyes, emotions playing on her
face he’s never seen before, they remind him that she lived through a hell he
did not walk through himself. Just like his hell is his very own. They’re both
burned, but their wounds no longer match.
And Mulder’s secret, he fears, will make it only worse.
Cause newer, rawer pain.
His eyes wander over to her small body, slumped in her seat,
her head leaning the window. She’s fast asleep, still trusting him enough to know
he’ll get them there, wherever, safely.
“Forgive me, Scully,” he mumbles, “I am so sorry.”
The words come easy now knowing she can’t hear them.
“Where are we?” Scully wakes up with the sun, her voice as
warm and gentle as the weather.
“We just passed Tucson.” Mulder adjusts his sunglasses, preparing
himself for her next question.
“Where are we going, Mulder? Mexico?”
“No.” She waits for him to elaborate, tell her, and he just
can’t find the words.
“I’m sorry, Scully. It’s just- let’s just drive, all right?”
She doesn’t answer; she leans her head against the window
again, her eyes trained on the bleak landscape surrounding them.
“Don’t be sorry, Mulder. We’re in this together, remember?”
He nods. But she doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.
They eat at a shabby road side diner, just like in old times.
Mulder grins at her remembering mornings and afternoons spent together discussing
cases. He misses it. Scully smiles at him softly, nodding to herself as if she,
too, wishes they were still these people.
A few miles later Scully tells him to stop.
“You need sleep, Mulder.” She doesn’t offer to drive and he
knows she’s right. They check in as Mr. and Mrs. Hale paying in cash with
crumpled up bills. The room is clean enough, he figures. Silently he strips
down to his boxers as Scully shuts the blinds.
She watches him get comfortable in bed.
“You’re not joining me?”
“You should sleep, Mulder. I’ll be fine.”
“You know, I can behave myself. Come to bed, Scully. I’ll be
a gentleman.” She takes off her jacket, her blouse and finally her skirt. Mulder
keeps his eyes on her face, determined. His cock betrays him, throbbing gently,
tightening his shorts.
“But who says I can behave myself?” She whispers and Mulder
lets go, lets her take the reign for the moment. When he comes, her walls clamping
down on him, guilt surges through him, reminding him that he doesn’t deserve
this. When she kisses him after with a smile on her face, he tastes bitterness.
Her eyes begin to flutter and her breath evens out.
“I love you,” Mulder whispers into the room where the air
conditioner gently hums, almost like a lullaby, “I love you so much, Scully.”
There is no answer and he is glad.
“Forgive me, Scully. Forgive me.” And he, too, sleeps.
When Mulder changes the direction north, Scully shoots him a
look but stays quiet.
What did they used to talk about on these drives? Mulder
doesn’t remember. In his memory, they’re always talking, quarreling. Cases,
theories, ideas but nothing he could pinpoint. It was a time before his death,
his resurrection. Before there were new partners assigned to find him, to have
her back. A time when there was no baby boy; no regrets on either side why he isn’t
with them now.
“We could stop in Las Vegas, make it official.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but Scully’s silence and her
somber face tell him it was the wrong thing to say. He doesn’t apologize. Not
As the scenery changes, the mood in the car remains the
“I really am sorry, Scully. For all of this.” When she
doesn’t answer, he believes she’s asleep again. He doesn’t question her exhaustion,
doesn’t ask why.
“Stop apologizing, Mulder. There’s nothing to be sorry for,
nothing to forgive.”
“You heard me.”
“I did. It’s just- I sent you away, Mulder. To keep you safe
and to… if there’s anyone who should be sorry it should be-“
“No, Scully. Don’t. Just… don’t.”
Silence takes over after this and Mulder feels it deep
inside himself; the guilt manifesting itself inside, striking roots. You don’t
know, Scully. You don’t know.
She’ll find out soon and then… and then.
They arrive with the sunrise. Orange flames lick at the sky as
Mulder steers the car onto the graveled path.
“Where are we?” Scully’s voice is still thick with sleep.
She runs her hands through her hair automatically.
“Mulder, where are we?” He stops the car, the house still
small there in the distance. Mulder turns to Scully, who stares intently at him.
There have been moments like this before in their long partnership; Mulder
running off, leaving her with merely a sliver of the truth. Once she did it to
him, too. This, he knows, is a different betrayal. One she might not forgive
“We’re in Wyoming.” There’s no reaction on her face. She has
“Scully, I couldn’t, I-…” Mulder trails off; he can’t do
this. He starts the car again, Scully’s blue eyes burning into him, never once
looking anywhere but his face. It takes maybe another 20 seconds, 30 tops,
before the house comes into focus. Scully’s eyes leave him someone walked out
the door. Mulder slows down the car and it finally stops in clear sight.
“Mulder…” He doesn’t recognize the emotion in Scully’s
voice. He listens to the click of her seat belt, the soft close of the car door
as she steps out. The woman on the porch holds her baby tightly, fastening her
Mulder takes a deep breath. He couldn’t have told her. He
doesn’t have the words for it. Opening the car door, soft air hits him, reminds
him of a place somewhere, of something he can’t put his fingers on. The baby
kicks gently, like happy children do when they’re excited, and Mulder looks at
his son for the first time in over a year.
“Mulder, why…” Scully’s voice breaks.
“Forgive me, Scully.” He pleads.
He needs her to forgive him because he can’t let go, can’t
forgive himself and partly her, for giving up. For giving up their son.
“We’re taking our son home.” He says, determination in his voice.
Rey has been unconscious and woken up in bad positions a few
times in her life. Fainting from heatstroke and waking to find all of her haul
stolen. Falling from her climbs on star destroyers and hitting her head on the
way down before also having her haul stolen. More than a few times when hunger or
thirst got to her she awoke to find a teedo patting her down, searching for the
nourishment she didn’t have.
Nothing could compare to being knocked out by the Force,
though. Nothing so shocking as waking up strapped to an interrogation table with
metal cuffs cutting into her wrists and the dawning realization that her captor
crouched in front of her.
Marinette was suspended. Her parents were angry of course but once Marinette had explained what had happened they understood. She was, however, grounded for the duration of the week because “violence is never the answer Marinette.” Being grounded was fine by her, it was an excuse to keep from socializing, but that didn’t keep Adrien from stopping by and dropping off notes and instructions for their group project. Marinette wished he would leave her alone. Thus far Adrien had caused her more problems than she currently needed in her life right now. She knew it was irrational to be angry at him for Chloe’s behavior but she couldn’t help but feel a little bitterness towards the model. If he left her alone Chloe would have less incentive to approach Marinette of course after the stunt Marinette had pulled Chloe would probably keep her distance when tormenting her now. Maybe her dislike of Adrien stemmed more from Chloe than it did from his actual actions but Marinette couldn’t find it in herself to change that. She was exhausted by people. Talking to anyone, even friends became a chore. The only emotions that came easily now were overwhelming sadness, anger, or complete apathy. Sometimes it was easier to just mask over one’s sorrows with the all consuming hate that anger brought. It was a reprieve from the drowning misery of grief. All this made it easier to dislike Adrien. He himself might not be the problem but by being associated with him it had caused more face time with the people of her class, and to her utter horror, more biting comments from Chloe- neither of which Marinette wanted.
Unable to intercept Adrien at the front door, since she was grounded, Marinette’s parents scheduled a time for her to come by his place and work with him. Marinette was hoping that she could just do all the work by herself, her parents, however, did not agree that that was fair. So Marinette stood in front of the Agreste Mansion, ready to get through this as quickly as possible. The gate stood slightly ajar. Marinette looked to the telecom used to beep people in and grimaced. She didn’t need any extra interaction today. Talking to people was like forcing herself to chew on glass. It was painful, forced, and left her feeling mangled and raw. With a deep calming breath Marinette pushed the gate open and wound her way up the long walkway to the door. She rapped on the door and waited. There was no answer. Agitated about already having to be here Marinette knocked again this time more forcefully. A tall dark haired woman answered the door a confused and harried expression pulling her face.
“How did you get in?” The woman asked suspiciously.
“The gate was open,” Marinette explained. The woman’s eyebrows shot up, realization crossing her features. “I’m here to see Adrien,” Marinette said expectantly.
America Softly licked the fat orange skin that was sitting on top of him. He was relaxed, and he was pleased to be licking trumps fat naked body. “Mr Trump,” he asked. “What is your gender?” Trump glared at the white cis American in anger and rage. “ALFRED I IDENTIFY AS OGRE GENDER HOW MANY TIMES DO YOU NEED TO MISGENDER ME”
America was disgusted. Trump ripped off a layer of skin, appearing to be an actual ogre. Now America was turned on because shrek was his daddy. America hugged the ogre. “I’m sorry babe, I didn’t know you were an actual ogre!” Shrek Trump looked down at America and left him. “You misgendered me far too many times for me to forgive you, farwell. I’m deporting you.” America sobbed and drove down to Mexico. End.
You said silver crowns with rubies and emeralds and
sapphires; you said ballerinas in soft satin balancing on tiptoes; you said
eyelashes heavy with golden glitter. You promised beauty and delicacy and grace
and glory, and I was a girl with big eyes shining with dreams of wedding bells
and picket fences, listening to your voice like a pyromaniac watches magma
You weren’t what I wanted, not orange licking flames, but
you were all heat and destruction. You insisted you were the void, the inside
of a volcano, and I wanted you to see your glowing embers. We both fell short,
and we both tried to convince ourselves otherwise, and you know what the worst
It worked, and no one threw a rock at our little glass
house, smudged and cracked at the edges anyway; but we handed each other a
hammer and an axe, then we asked ourselves if the glass raining down on us was
worth the soft rainbows and blood on our cheeks.
It made it harder to accept that our cheeks were wet with
blood, not tears; harder than realizing the four walls you’ve lived in all your
life were in the middle of a maze all this time, and really, there’s no way
out. The difference is that there was a lamp-lit garden path away from the
remains of the glass, but the remains never stopped.
Characters: Simon (The Walking Dead), Negan (The Walking Dead)
Tags/Warnings: Explicit language, eventual smut, slow burn, Spanish cocktail-making, bad flirting, a bit of cheeky semi-self-insert???
Gif Credit: GIF is not mine, credit goes to the creator! (Also, how nice does he look in this gif? Seriously)
NOTES: In which Simon is a big dork who makes Spanish cocktails, meaning I spent a good hour or so on the Smirnoff website taking notes and regretting my obsession with trying to be realistic. Vamanos!
It’s several hours later and I’m
shifting awkwardly from foot to foot outside the door of the bedroom
I’ve been told is Simon’s. In my arms is a soft white towel and a
toothbrush, as well as clean underwear – which one of Negan’s wives
begrudgingly bestowed on me – and fresh clothes for the next
“I know what you’re thinking.” The
blonde girl – Amber, someone called her, I think - whispered as she
handed me the fragile lace undergarments, her fair brow furrowed.
“It’s disgusting. But we chose this for ourselves. He wasn’t
“I didn’t mean that I thought you
were gross.” I replied, ashamed as I accepted the clothes. “I
“What’s the difference, really?”
She shrugged, moving her long hair over her shoulder. “You’re lucky
he didn’t kill you for talking like that.”
“Does he usually do that?” I asked
after her, but she’d already disappeared into her own bedroom.
“Okay, so…” I murmur to myself,
rolling the toothbrush between my fingers. “Hi, Simon! I know we
just met but I got in trouble with your rampantly-sexual boss and now
I have to sleep with you.” I say to the closed door. “Not with
you, just in the same room as you. But it’s cool because I don’t take
up much room – I can fold up like an accordion and just, like, slot
under your bed. You won’t even know that I’m there, I’m super quiet.
Like a ninja-”
“Who’re you talking to?” Says a
familiar voice and I give a spasmodic jerk, almost dropping the
objects in my arms.
Sitting on the fire escape of Blaine’s rundown apartment, Kurt and Blaine play a one-sided game of 20 questions. (1058 words)
Okay, so this is going to need a little bit of explaining. This is a one-shot I wrote for a story that’s not up yet - Creature of the October Night Sky - that I’m writing for @sunshineoptimismandangels. The main story isn’t done, but I finished this for her birthday, which isn’t for a week now, but I’ve been online so sporadically, I didn’t want to miss it. So, here you are, love. Happy early b'day. <3
Warning for mention of drug use. Dragon Hybrid Kurt, Dragon Hunter Blaine.
“So, I checked on the roast,” Blaine says, climbing through
the bedroom window and onto the fire escape. Kurt, sitting in the far left
corner, doesn’t watch Blaine approach, too busy eyeing cars passing by on the
street, and watching the sun sink down to the horizon. “It should be ready in
about an hour.”
“We could have just eaten it raw, you know.”
“You could have.
Your internal temperature is, like, a thousand degrees.” Blaine sits on the
metal grate at a respectful distance so as not to get in the way of Kurt’s
wings, in case he wants to stretch them out, warm them in the rays of the
setting sun. More than likely, he won’t. He doesn’t like the attention it
attracts. But Blaine likes Kurt to know that it’s an option. “As for me, I’d
prefer not to get salmonella. It would kill the next three days.”
Kakashi’s dark gray eyes were unreadable as he held his weapon’s blade less
than an inch away against his opponent’s throat. Ignoring the sweat that rolled
across his temple, green eyes glared back at him, daring him to move any closer.
Feeling the tip of a kunai pressed against his chest, he wondered how in the
hell they ended up like this today.
Sakura was straddled against his abdomen, her lips slowly tugging into a small
knowing smile. Her face was slightly smudged with dirt, but by the way she was grinning
she couldn’t have cared less.
Summary: When the new feline mutant took a liking to him, and only him, Kurt felt special. But then she started spending more and more time with Scott.
Warnings: Length. Even after major edits this is still long :/ Oh, and a shit ton of time skips.
Word count: 3889. I need to learn how to edit.
Request: hello hi i really like your kurt imagines and was wondering if you could do one where kurt gets jealous from the reader hanging out with scott to much but kurt wanted to get her back so he hangs out with jean and gets all out of hand when scott and kurt actually do have a huge crush on her (kurt x reader) ❤️🌎
Dedicated to: @sleepysebb thanks for all your support, hun!
Here are some final pictures I took of my girl, Hyori. She was the sweetest, most well tempered pet I’ve ever had. She loved people and other rats and loved to play, climb, and give kisses. She’s been staying with my best friend @i-m-snek while I was planning my wedding and, recently, finding space in my house. Due to unfortunate events, she birthed a litter of babies and began to bleed internally, as something must have gone wrong with her birthing moments. In these pictures, you can see her ears and skin are white, the pink gone. My bestie took wonderful care of her, made sure she stayed warm, and gave her lots of final treats. I gave her a tiny piece if Mandarin Orange to lick on before we put her to sleep. She left peacefully and with just as much love for us as she’s always had. She was definitely tired and I didn’t want her to suffer anymore.
Laura found some shiny stars and soft substrate to lay her in so she looked comfortable and natural as we put her in the box.
I love you baby girl. You’ll be a part of my yard for good ❤✨💛
she is the sun. she is the fire in your heart and the heat on your cheeks. she is the stars in the sky and the life of the plants. she brightens your day and tells you there’s hope. she’s a hot summer’s day, and the sticky inbetween of your fingers when you eat an ice cream cone. she wants to save the rainforests and she will she will. she’s the orange lick of your candle flame and the pride you feel when you finally get yourself out of bed and open your front door to face the day. she’s the diploma in your hands, and she is that feeling you get when you stand on stage to shake the principal’s hand, smiling. the one that screams you could be anything, do anything. (you can). she’s the twinkle in your eye when you talk about what you love. she’s the glitter of the nightclub, and the roar of the lion. she is who she is and what she is and what she’s going to be and she’s not sorry for it. she lives in all of us, and she wants to be brought to the surface. she wants to soar.