#msrfanfic

[oohnotvery]

super important AO3 update!!!!

I changed my username on AO3 to match my Tumblr blog. So now, I'm no longer the_eternal_optimist on AO3, I'm oohnotvery. I hope this isn't too confusing, but I found it was way more confusing for people trying to go between AO3 and Tumblr.

[oohnotvery]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: The X-Files Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Fox Mulder & Dana Scully Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Diana Fowley, Walter Skinner Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Jealous Dana Scully, Jealousy, Huddling For Warmth, POV Dana Scully, Dana Scully Needs a Hug, POV Fox Mulder Summary:

Mulder follows Diana Fowley on a wild goose chase. Scully follows them. The three of them end up stuck together in a small, cramped room overnight . . . with only two beds. The other title of this fic is: I am unashamed of how much I love Fowley-induced angst.

[muldermakesmehorny]

Wow!

Plot and hot moments from @cultureisdarkbeer​  and @ms31x129​ amazing fanart is what keeps me coming back to this amazing series.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24623590/chapters/61330678

[ms31x129]

I have been struggling to write anything. Here are 2 6 sentence sections from an alternate take on TFWID.

“At times, I almost dream.”

Scully watched Mulder walk away, the grass blowing in the gentle breeze, brushing his waist like a lover's caress. He held the photo’s of Sullivan Biddle and Sarah Kavanaugh pinched between his thumb and forefinger. She’d been the one to find them in the Hamilton County Hall of Records, were they really evidence? Or just a coincidence? And why did it bother her if they were true?

*********

In her gloved hands it was dry, flaking, cracked and creased with age. The pages within yellowed, tattered, smelling of must and mold. What once may have been a ribbon that wrapped around it, creating the illusion of privacy, now just ragged threads.

Scully looked down, walking towards the shade of a gnarled but heavily leafed tree, inspecting the diary more closely and carefully opened the cover. The ink was faded, but still legible calligraphy marked the page in swirling curls and swooshes. Scully mouthed the name… Sara Cavanaugh.

Random tagging @season4mulder @peacenik0 @baronessblixen @muldermakesmehorny @kyouryokusenshi Please share yours too.

[hagoftheundergrowth]

The stars begin to dance

Hey all. This is a fanfiction. I hope that it puts you at the same level of emotional eternity that it had put me when I was writing it. I don’t know how good my empathy is. Also, this is supposed to be msr, but could really be any exchange between two people alone together anywhere, so I hope u like it :)) . Characters are a creation of Chris Carter’s only. Also it would be nice if more experienced writers could let me know what I could improve on :)

In the blue, drowning darkness, they sit. Him in the driver’s seat, and her, the passenger. There are a couple spots of stars in the black sky, and the soft, dry hum of late August fills the car and everything surrounding them in a sleepy whisper. The crickets chirp very lightly, and the air is warm.  

There is nobody but them. They’ve parked in an old gateway leading out to a field, a couple meters off the road which stretches for another ten miles until it reaches the highway, and even there, maybe one car passes every half hour. Their headlights illuminate the dirt road, which looks rich in iron, sand, and other minerals.  

She tries to remember the last time she saw a house. The thought sends a low churn deep in her gut. Maybe just four miles away, someone, a family maybe, is content in their home. Completely unbothered by the potency of the silent, abysmal night, safe in the warmth and the lamplight. 

Not that she minds being out here with him alone like this. 

She trusts him.  

He turns his head her way, giving a lopsided grin. The sinuous sound of his leather jacket moving with the skin of his neck grabs her attention. Her eyes travel from his jacket collar to his hairline. Her face is steady and levels with his before asking him through the clear, tight air: “Are you okay?”

She exhales, and the fabric of her coat falls with her chest.

His face forms a sneer.  

Her heart races a little, as if it’s a bird in a cage that only wants to fly out and sit on his shoulder.  

He brings his hands to his face and runs them through his blackened hair; bits of light shimmering against it in broken fractals.  

He turns the radio on low. Something about a local bar singer.

The air in the car is now tense, and a little colder. The lights fade from her vision and all she can see is the man sitting across from her, crumpled up in his leather and blue jeans. All rough and harsh are the angles that comprise his shape, and every muscle is rigid, every joint bent. The compact size of him seems to take up more space than usual, as underneath his skin, under his flesh and bones, he rages.  

“Shit” he utters, grinding his jaw.  

They’re deep in farming country. Surrounding them in the field are rows of young trees, and a fence line on the other side enclosing a cow pasture. Poplars neatly stand side to side on the edges of the road, and they blow in the soft breeze, tinkling and fluttering, leaves upturning and flashing silver.

Where they’ve parked makes her a little uncomfortable. They’re not in a back alleyway, or a cornfield, or a parking garage. It feels threatening and too open, like anything could come stalking from either side and find them. No barricade to hide them from anything; nothing except small, thin trees.  

Inside the car it smells like suede and dust.  

“You know, I come out here a lot.” He says.  

He’s looking out the window, and his curled fist is pressed firmly against his chin. She can just barely see the ridges of his squinting eye and brow.  

She says nothing.  

“I come out here and I think. And I spin things around in my head, but you know what? I don’t get anywhere.”

She’s watching his ears and his neck. His fingers are squeezing and contracting. He is still, unmoving, and nonlinear.  

“It’s all falling down around me.”

She’s looking at her hands, not knowing, quite yet, what to say. He just needs to get his head on straight, she says to herself mentally. We’ve been here before.  

The locks click, the door opens, and he walks out, leaning on the front of the van.  

She follows him, placing herself quietly beside him, and she looks to the night sky.  

He eyes her face beaming casually up at him, and he smiles a little.

“Nothing falls forever, Mulder.”  

And they stand there. The wind blows soft, and the stars begin to dance.  

[ms31x129]

All In the Family By Ms31x129

For @agent-starbuck​

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122465/chapters/50264003

Summary:

The house had finally taken on it’s true look. A cadaver of wood, metal and plaster.. Just a shell … now.

Climbing up Count 1 - 2 - 3 The porch steps creaked Wel - come home Ad - e - line Lee

@cultureisdarkbeer​ @season4mulder​ @today-in-fic​ @peacenik0​

[ms31x129]

@xfpornbattle @muldermakesmehorny @cultureisdarkbeer @season4mulder @peacenik0  @today-in-fic (I’m cheating a bit this is Chapter 1.) 

#61 Somehow Mulder has to pretend to go down on Scully. He teases her until neither of them can take it anymore.

AO3 version HERE. Or read below.

Inner Sanctum: Shadow Play

The universe is conspiring against him. Mulder is convinced. Scully thinks the same thing - although neither of them voice the thought aloud.

In 6 years working together they’d only been undercover as a couple once. Once is all it took - it seemed now every time they needed a pair of agents to pose undercover Mulder and Scully were called in to assist.

Which is how they found themselves here on assignment with 2 other pairs of agents trying to catch a suspect in a string of home invasions. All the victims were wealthy and all had confessed to visiting this particular establishment. 

An establishment that catered to specific vises. The outer business, the Inner Sanctum, was a high class cocktail bar. The right amount of power and money would get you through the secret door and into the real business.

Fantasies. Sex…. Shadow Play.

All the victims had come from this rented room. In the middle of was a circular stage the props interchanged as needed for each fantasy. It was simple this time a bed, a chaise lounge, dresser, an antique looking vanity, with an oval mirror and stool, nightstand - a typical bedroom. 

Some type of glass door system and a curtain on a track would allow for the Shadows of those within to be seen by the voyeur or voyeurs watching without. Chairs, lounges, sofas, tables were spread throughout the rest of the room. All with padded wrist restraints. This room was for instructing the Shadowplayer and then watching, listening to the performance without being able to touch.

Mulder could relate he’d held the object of his affection in his arms many times. Kissed her forehead, her cheek - he tried to kiss her once in his hallway - fate in the form of a Bee. What are the odds of that? Some would call it fate. Even he thought that for a while.

He rescued the girl and himself if he was honest, without her… could he have went on? Attempts to push her away after that were unsuccessful. She’d taken his hand that day and told him ‘if I quit now they win.’

Really not fair to repeat his own words back at him. But that was Scully. Diana had strolled back in and if he was honest - it hurt that Scully even thought he wanted to rekindle anything with her. Especially after kissing her doppelganger and telling her the words he had been so good at keeping locked away in his heart. 

I love you and oh brother as a response was not what he expected. Whey were all these thoughts rolling in his head now before this important stakeout? Maybe it’s because they were all just informed they would have to act out whatever the customer wants - no matter what.

Or maybe it’s because Scully and the other 2 female FBI agents just walked out in their ‘costumes.’ Scully locked eyes with him almost daring him to look anywhere else. It was too late he’d been tracking her movements the moment she stepped into the room.

While he and the other male agents were all dressed similarly in t-shirts and jeans the female agents were dressed for their part - the bored housewife who calls for a repair man. Dressed for seduction and Scully was in black lace.

How was he going to survive this assignment? Mulder could feel the moisture rise to the surface of his skin. He barely resisted the urge to wipe his brow. Was the room suddenly too hot? Was his blood boiling? No it was Scully fantasy #5 and it was live in front of his eyes. To be honest black lace wasn’t a requirement Scully in any color lace would be a turn on. 

Correction … Is a turn on - there’s an undeniable thickening beneath his denim. Shit.

Mulder glanced at the other agents he noticed he wasn’t the only one fidgeting. Scully finally arrived at his side and he resisted the urge to offer her his coat when he saw her shiver. That fact he wasn’t wearing a coat was beside the point.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She stared straight ahead and responded, “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with. Hopefully one of the other pairs of agents will be chosen.”

No such luck. The universe was dead set on wrecking havoc on Mulder and Scully’s lives.

The client’s came in a couple, they sat down and an attendant locked their restraints. It was like a private production.

“Welcome to Shadow Play. You know the rules choose your couple and once they enter the Shadow Stage they will follow your instructions. They are your puppets and you are the puppet masters.” The attendant paced before the couples and with a flourish of his hand he spoke.

“Choose the lady of play.”

The man was tall with closely cropped blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His voice was a deep bass with a slight English or Australian accent when he spoke, “The little one - the redhead. Darling do you like her?”

His feminine counterpart nodded, “Oh yes she’ll be perfect.” With her husky alto it sounded more like purr-fect.

The attendant nodded to Scully, “Please enter the chamber and the other ladies may exit.”

Mulder saw the deep breath Scully took and his hand automatically went to her back as she walked around him and they started into the chamber. He was brought to a halt with the attendants next words.

“Now who do you chose for lord of the play?”

Wait. What? 

Scully paused and then continued on her way - her shoulders had slumped for a moment and then firmed with resignation. This wasn’t the prearranged plan and his eyes narrowed. There was no way anyone, but him was going in there with Scully. Plan or not.

The three men stood still. Mulder felt like chatel - did the other agents feel the same he wondered.

“Darling? Don’t you want the one in the middle? His hair is the same color as mine?”

“He is quite striking, but he doesn’t hold a candle to you. I won’t be able to see their hair color behind the curtain anyway…. I don’t know how can I decide when they are clothed. I need to see their cocks.”

The attendant cleared his throat, “That is not part of the rules, everything happens in shadow.”

“Fuck the rules MAN, my wife wants to see their cocks and I’ve paid for our time. In fact bring Red back out give them some inspiration… I know I’m inspired.” His erection was clearing outlined by the navy trousers he wore and his wife licked her lips feeling her own body responding.

The attendant was clearly ruffled, Mulder noted the fact and filed it away. Scully stepped back out every eye was one her. Creamy skin dusted with the faintest of freckles she stood unafraid and comfortable in her own skin.

“Drop the straps luv, give the gents something to wonder about. I see firm high breasts a perfect handful - are those nips pink like a kitten's tongue, peachy like a succulent apricot? Or dark rose like the juicy flesh of a woman’s cunt?”

Scully reached up and slid first one strap and then the other, until they draped like a piece of black licorice he wanted to gnaw through. And he didn’t even like black licorice, red - cherry flavor yes. That didn’t help his growing problem thinking about Scully in red.

“Okay c’mon gents don’t be shy we all know why we’re here. Whip out your equipment my wife wants to see your packages. We’ve all got ‘em. If my hands were free I’d whip mine out right now. Wouldn't I darling? You'd suck me off right here on your knees. Yes my pet sucks like a Dyson.”

"Do you like bush, men? My pet has a nice little bush just enough that it tickles my lips when I'm eating my fill of pussy."

Both agents Barber and Kinney unzipped their flys and exposed themselves. Scully didn’t react. She was aloof, waiting for the partner the clients would choose. Could she do it - if it wasn’t Mulder? If it was Agent Barber or Kinney? 

“Ooo those are some lovely cocks. Are those boxers or tighty whities I see … it's sort of like they’re popping out of a little fabric nest, like a bird. Not very lively though… Are you two cold?” The woman laughed and her husband chuckled along and then her gaze fixated on Mulder. “How about you? Are you cold too? You can’t be shy or you wouldn’t be here. Honey if he won’t show me his cock tell him to leave. I’ll just choose one of the others.”

“You heard my wife. If you don’t show us your cock get the fuck out. Do you have a teeny weenie, perhaps?” He picked up on the quick eye contact between Mulder and Scully and a wide smile formed. “Or do you just need a little help? Hey Red, why don’t you help him out.”

Scully took a step toward Mulder. “No!” then quieter, “No, I’ll do it.”

Mulder closed his eyes. How could he forget today of all days? He’d bought these button fly jeans on a whim and his hands were working the buttons through the tightly stitched holes until  …

“Holy Mother of God! Get out! The rest of you get out! He’s the one…. Honey? Tell them to leave!”

“You cretins heard my wife. Get out.” The room cleared of all but the main players. “Good God Man! I consider myself well-endowed, but Holy Shite! How do you keep that monster under control? And commando to boot.”

“I think my wifes glazed over eyes means you two meet with her complete approval. Let’s get this show on the road. Into the chamber you two. My first request is for you to suck those titties… I’ll tell you when to stop… use the chaise please.”

Mulder followed Scully into the chamber the door snicked shut, the curtains closed with a swish and the lights dimmed. Scully reclined on the chaise and Mulder gingerly sat beside her. Could they pull this off?

“C’mon man speed it up suck her tits and describe them… we want to hear about those ripe tips… make her moan … make her wet for you.”

Mulder dropped his head, nose and lips nuzzled her neck. Traveled down. Skimmed across the slope of each breast. God, Scully you smell so good. There was a hitch in her breath. Did he say that out loud? 

“Hey, Supercock! This isn’t love’s unfolding flower or some teenage romance. I don’t hear any sucking or slurping and we damn well aren’t hearing any moaning Reds or yours. Get on with it.”

Mulder wished the guy would just shut the hell up. He was trying to make this look real, but not be real. But she was so soft and smelled so delicious… He was only human dammit.

And then Scully let out a throaty moan. Uh-oh. His mouth released the nipple he had been sucking, the lace and silk damp. Her nipples were clearly delineated, hard, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been sucking but his mouth and lips felt the loss.

“More…Mu…” Before she could say his name his hands cupped her breasts and his lips went back to feasting.

End Inner Sanctum: Shadow Play Chapter 1

[ms31x129]

Time for Chapter 5! Posting a little early & I had to make a another DJ! I felt compelled! I hope I have ideas for 2 more! @cultureisdarkbeer @monikafilefan @today-in-fic

Chapter 1 - Courage to Jump Tumblr LINK  AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 2: Luck of the Irish Tumblr LINK or AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 3: Graffiti of the Heart Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 4: Leave Your Demons At The Door Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 5: Truth Is the Pain Inside Our Hearts (Click on the name for AO3) or if you like Tumblr just clickity-click on the Keep Reading link below.

{Summary:

Grab your Kleenex, because the forecast calls for angst with a few passing heartfelt admissions.

Jackson has left the bar and returned to the motel where his mind dares to tread back into the memories of Dana Scully at one of the most vulnerable times of her and Fox Mulder's life.}

“The greatest sacrifice is when you sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of someone else.” -Unknown

Jackson found himself stumbling back into his motel room what seemed like hours later. With his head already pounding, he peeled his soaked jeans off and nearly lost his balance as he tripped his way into the bathroom. His stomach tumbled with the jolt and he quickly felt around for the location of the toilet bowl in case he lost the rest of his liquor.

Jackson winced. “Ugh, shit!” Flicking on the lights was a bad idea. He groaned as he turned the shower on and watched the steam billow up around him. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until small droplets of hot tears crept down the swell of his cheeks. His veil of stoicism had finally fallen and everything he’d been holding back rushed to the surface.

The fact that he’d just scared the living hell out of several people in a bar—including a little kid—was not lost to him. In fact, for the first time in a long time, Jackson felt found.

He swiped away his tears of relief and realized that weight of resentment and anger had lifted. He’d been dealt a complicated hand in life, yes, but he had recently come to understand that his birth mother and adoptive parents had stacked the deck for him; not against. All he had to do was lay down his cards and play his final hand—to finish the journey he’d started when he ran away from the last two people who cared about him.

He stripped the rest of his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pour down his face in rivulets as he finally broke down and mourned the life he left behind.

After the water ran cold, Jackson draped his soiled clothing over the shower to dry and donned a clean pair of pants. It was then that he remembered the letter tucked away in his jeans.

Frantic at the thought of losing the last tangible piece of his past, he rushed to carefully unfold the fragile paper. It was damp along the edges and a few of the more exaggerated letters at the end were bleeding into one another. Otherwise, the rest of the words written by Dana Katherine Scully were still perfectly legible and staring him in the face.

“I’m tired of not knowing,” he admitted, ready to accept what the past showed him. “I need to know more.”

Jackson sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his thighs as he stared intently at the next sentence written for him. He ran his tongue along his top lip while the letter shook between his fingers as one knee vigorously bounced up and down. “A nervous habit,” his mom would have to explain during every parent teacher conference at each new school as his teacher’s studied him from across the table.

He readied himself for another vision that he now expected to receive, embracing it. This time he read aloud…

“Chance embarking with this other on the greatest of journeys—a search for truths fugitive and imponderable.”

He felt it instantly: the burn and sting of his mind connecting to the past, delving into the memories of his birth mother as he was once again sucked into a world lived without him.

December 1st, 2012

Jackson paced the wooden floor within his mother’s body. She stared at herself clad in powder blue scrubs within the floor length mirror of a bedroom, playing with her Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital ID card that dangled from her lanyard. One slim finger traced along the address of 227700 Wallis Road, Farrs Corner, VA as Mulder’s shirtless figure loomed behind in the background.

“The timetable on something as radical as this, Mulder, is imponderable. Not only that, it’s improbable,” she spoke to the mirror in a tiresome tone resembling one she might use if she were debating on whether or not it would storm that night, or what to have for dinner.

She was resigned at the notion that Mulder would never hear her out and accept the fact that the pending alien invasion would in all likelihood, not happen at all. They were in a good place together—happily “married” while living life without darkness. Jackson felt a pang in her chest grow as she thought about the possibility of the man she loved so desperately falling off the edge if the invasion actually occurred and he could do nothing to stop it.

She watched in the reflection as Mulder ran a frustrated hand through his hair and scoffed. He took two purposeful steps forward and locked his driven gaze onto hers through the glass.

“Scully, It’s happening. It WILL happen. Why can’t you just believe it?”

Her patience fled instantly and Jackson felt her defensive walls fly up. He recognized the reaction and realized it was to protect herself from what she’s been hiding deep within her heart: guilt. Guilt surrounding his adoption flashed like fireworks in her mind and he could feel it eating her alive from the inside out.

She spun around and shook her head up at him. Her little body trembled with caged emotion.

“I don’t WANT to believe it, Mulder!” she cried and wrapped her arms around herself, as if that could soothe the shared pain they equally felt. “I… We sacrificed our son for a better, safer life and now you still want to believe in this?” She pointed to a calendar hanging on the wall with a red X through the number twelve. “Don’t you see goddammit? I can’t believe it!”

“Christ, Scully! I don’t want to believe this shit either,” he growled and grasped her hand gently. “Don’t you remember me not wanting to speak the words aloud to you in that hellhole of a jail cell? Fuck! My son—our little boy, Scully…” he choked.

“Don’t!” She jerked her hand out of his and sidestepped around him. Jackson could barely hold onto the vision with the powerful waves of anger, grief, and guilt that washed over her. “I fell in love with you because you never give up, Mulder, but please don’t say things we can’t change.”

His chin quivered as he shook his head. “We never talk about him… My son is living his life with another father, another family,” he rasped and followed her movements around the bed as she kicked off her shoes. “But he’s safe and loved and unharmed by the men who have harmed us!”

Tears burned down her cheeks and the lump in her throat threatened to choke her. “Mulder…”

Suddenly he was there, standing in front of her with his arms embracing her tightly as silent sobs wracked through her body. She melted into him and nuzzled her face into his warm chest. The love she felt for him was as fierce as the ache in her heart.

“You did the right thing, Dana,” he whispered into her hair and she whimpered, squeezing him closer. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

The intense moment overwhelmed Jackson too much, jarring him out of his mother’s mind and sending his back bouncing off the mattress.

“Jesus Christ!” he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t understand this feeling—the same feeling his mother had felt so fiercely. The same one that had slowly been rebuilding in his heart over the last year.

But asking the age old question to which he was sure no one held the answer to, was the only thing that he could think to say in response to witnessing something so powerful.

“Why does love hurt so much?”

Hours flew by in a blur for Jackson. The images from Dana Scully and the memories from his childhood that he’d witnessed tumbled through his mind on an endless loop. Seeing something once usually left a permanent imprint on his brain, like a fingerprint pressed into glass. The image may fade but it still left its mark on him forever. He recalled reading that same fact about Mulder in his dossier when he hacked into the FBI’s personnel records after seeing he was partnered with the woman who birthed, and raised him for almost a year. An eidetic memory and an IQ worthy of much more than a man labeled as a spooky ex-fugitive. Maybe he and Mulder had much more in common than he thought.

He held the letter in front of him. The things he’d seen and felt from just reading simple words scrawled onto a piece of paper would brand Jackson for life. Yet, his mother’s words weren’t simple at all. They held great meaning—possibly even a power to set in motion what fate had preordained for them all before he was even born.

With a shake of his head at his aptitude for physics, he couldn’t help but think of how Isaac Newton’s universal law of gravitation pertained to his life. The law states: every object in the universe attracts every other object with a force that is directed along a line joining them. What if the force directing him was the letter and the objects being slowly pulled together by the powerful connection they shared were he and his birth mother?

He tossed a pillow across the room in frustration as new questions arose. Was it all fate? Was his existence created through the laws of science, the experiments through Project Crossroads meant to be? Was he a miracle child born of a love so strong it withstood life’s ultimate tests like his mother had written? Were these people that he’s come to understand so deeply meant to suffer while living a life without him?

“How fucked up is that?” Jackson sighed and sat up to grab the bag of peanuts he had stored in his bag. The salt cravings that always seemed to strike during times of stress required him to carry a bag of peanuts or salt-laced seeds with him on his travels. As he popped a couple into his mouth, he continued his philosophical reflection.

Everything he had witnessed through his visions while flexing his pineal gland enlightened him as to the true sacrifice that was made by everyone. It burned and blistered beneath his own skin. Strangers that he knew only by looking within and now he couldn’t bear to live without. If he held the key to destruction and annihilation, perhaps they held the key to his redemption.

He wanted to know them now, in the flesh, as if his own DNA screamed for it. Maybe it wasn’t as much about who he was or why he was, but who he chose to be. After reading the lines of the letter, immersing himself within the emotions, possessing the suffering endured for their cause in his own soul, he now understood so much more.

It was time. Time to take that leap. To fight alongside the one that bore him and loved him in the beginning even knowing the possibilities. There might be a war raging, but it didn’t have to originate from him. He had to step from behind the shadows and free himself from the prison of his own mind.

Jackson thought of the words of his idol, Malcolm X: “ Nobody can give you freedom. Nobody can give you equality or justice or anything. If you're a man, you take it.” He needed to take back his heritage, embrace it, and allow it to set him free. It was time to stand for something and stand against the ones that meant to use him to feed the monster. Before, he had been asleep under others control; now it was for himself. There was no more avoiding, no more ignoring of the signs written out for him in ink.

He would claim the life he lost with the people who love him and understand. Most of all he would stop running and avoiding what was no longer calling, but screaming out into the world. If fear held him back, then their love could cast it away. Just maybe he needed that, too.