#team fug

[empty-dream]

To the Workshop Battle

[ghostinghome]

i finally got mystery dungeon dx after watching rtgames play explorers of sky, so here are my little guys !!! sriracha the cyndaquil and his partner sorrel the treecko ! together they r team yummy (i couldnt think of a name)

[elminster-big-naturals]

nice to see shart's starting to get nearly as many fugly hair mods as wyll

[kyoupann]

Some bugs that were big fans of fables or something

I finished the game, so I wanted to paint these nerds to celebrate! 🥳💚💛💙

Also Happy New Year's eve to everyone not yet in 2023 and happy New Year to those already there! 🤗

[meliohy]

I just started to read Tower of god again to try to catch up now that the hiatus is over and I'm already back at thinking about my thorn!Bam au

[kagedbird]

I am FIVE seconds away from banishing all my dice into superhell. ENOUGH.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Ghosts - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi finds connections between past and future...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's room, though. That's a different story.

Vi pushes the door inward. The hinges creak. Pale greenish matchsticks of light fall through the widening gap. They strike the mobiles of scrap-metal and colored glass hanging from the ceiling. Fractals of hypnotic blue and pink dance everywhere.

In the shifting ambiance, Vi makes out the room's dimensions. A vanity, a wardrobe, a chaise and a desk. The bed's an extravagant four-poster fit for a princess: all curlicued brasswork and flounced trimmings. The sort of bed Vi and Powder used to dream about as little girls, staring awestruck at old Piltie glossies scrounged from the junkyard.

Except there's a sad, abandoned quality to the fittings: pillows jammed against the headboard, sheets stirred into restless disarray, stuffed animals taking refuge under the mattress. 

It's as if the owner's been snatched from slumber in the middle of the night.

Or swallowed by her own nightmares.

Vi steps inside. Her bare feet sink into the plush rugs. Between her toes, there's a ticklish layer of dust. The room, colorfully cozy, is nonetheless steeped in neglect. Either Jinx hasn't spent much time here the last few days, or Silco's staff have orders not to intrude.

Both, Vi guesses.

Crossing inside, she can't help but stop to pick up the sheeny black leather jacket, dumped in a heap on the carpet, and straighten it. It's the same one her sister routinely sloughs off in her frenetic pacing through the Aerie's corridors. The weave of the silk lining is redolent of chemicals. The acrid whiff of gunpowder, the piercing bite of turpentine, the waxy fug of crayons—all overlaid by the musk of a wild night out.

Yet beneath the olio of adult grime, a sweet, soft note persists.

Eau de Urchin.

A pang of longing seizes Vi's heart. She lifts the jacket, burying her face in its folds. The scent that fills her nostrils is pure Powder. Redolent; unmistakable. For the briefest moment, the years fall away. Powder is in her arms, her heartbeat is music against Vi's ribs, and the world's a safe place.

It's a wish, and Vi holds on to it with every fiber of her being.

Then she sneezes, and the moment shivers away. 

Laying the jacket aside, she refocuses on the room. It's a Jinxian miscellany: cluttered, crammed, kaleidoscopic. But also nothing like Jinx at all.

In Vi's mind, she'd conjured a tiny replica of the Aerie. A hotbox of destruction, filled to the rafters with lethal gizmos. A mirror, in short, of Jinx's psyche: distorted and dangerous and dazzling.

Instead, she's fallen into a time-warp. The décor is a mishmash of hard-edged glamor and girlish whimsy: pastel plushies warring with bold posters of sultry-eyed cabaret stars; an antique dollhouse next to a pair of neon-pink go-go boots; a rosy little lampshade offset by a skull-themed lava lamp.

And the walls.

Good gods, the walls.

Every square inch is plastered with pictures. Many are Powderish crayon drawings, exuberantly signed with a monkey motif. Others are Jinxian marvels, surreally skewed. The subject-matter is a grab-bag: comic book heroines kicking ass and flaunting cleavage, cute little animals cannibalizing each other, fiendish caricatures of chem-barons reduced from bloodthirsty tyrants to fawning buffoons.

There is also a riot of photographs. The sort that'd give Caitlyn's forensics team a conniption. Plenty are polaroids Jinx obviously snapped as she'd stalked the streets, their backgrounds murky with the suggestion of flaming wrecks, smoking guns and dead men. Vi imagines she kept a record of her most prolific heists, back when she'd been Silco's top gun, and the Lanes had quaked in terror at the mere mention of her name.  Others, more innocuous, are a potluck of the crew—Ran, Lock, Dustin and sometimes a shadowed Sevika—in moments of hilarity, brutality, or simple, undistilled banality: target practicing with beer-bottles, ghoulishly lit with neon during poker games, posing like big game hunters with oversized trophies of squid at the harbor or sump-vole at the Deadlands.

In all, there's a dysfunctional joie-de-vivre. Not family, but the camaraderie born from different lives bound by a single cause.

Not, Vi senses, that Jinx cares.

Each photo, badly angled, imprecise, speaks of a childish ardency to be included in the fun, even as she's excluded from the frame. The crew's not her focal point; nor is the cause. Only a bone-deep dread of being left behind.

Then there's Silco.

Silco, Silco, Silco.

His presence dominates the walls. Even in the smallest scrap of artwork bears his imprint. A set of mismatched eyes coalescing from a cloud of stinging-red ink. Somber graphite slashes of a scarred profile in chiaroscuro. Impressionistic smears of an upturned collar, a pristine cravat, a long-fingered hand. In one, he's a long-legged sprawl on a throne of skulls. In another, an elegant silhouette by a window. In a third, a floating shadow at sea, the city rising up to engulf him like teeth.

A man, a monster. Sometimes both.

But always, always there.

In the photographs, his face is never in full focus. He's a blur of movement, half-turned away, or angled just out of reach. A trick of shadow, a distortion of light. In the rare instances Jinx captures his face, his expression seems caught in a series of fractured emotions: a grimace of annoyance, an unguarded frown, the tail end of a smile.

It's as if he's trying to escape from his own portrait. And Jinx, in turn, is trying to hold him in place. To capture a single, solitary truth, in a single, solitary moment.

It never works. Silco always slips away.

Except once.

It's a photostrip, like from a booth at the carnival. Four squares, two bodies. Jinx, plainly perched on Silco's knee, her arms passed around his neck. Her eyes are sparkly as lit fuses; her smile is ravenously wide. In her embrace, Silco is more subdued. He sits, not idly slouched but straightbacked, as if to keep their faces on a level. In the first square, he's plainly irritated to be there. His expression is walled-off, the shark-eye a chilled blank.  In the next, something in his temperature shifts, so infinitesimal that Vi wouldn't have caught it if not for the contrast between the frozen frames. A softening of the good eye, a thawing of the bad. By the third, his arm's encircling the slipping weight of Jinx's giggling body, as if to keep her from falling. By the fourth, their heads come closer, temple-to-temple, and he's smiling.

Smiling.

It's a gut-shock, that smile. Not the smile of a schemer biding his time, or a monster slinking through the dark. It's a smile of simple, unqualified human happiness, stolen from a man unwilling to be caught off-guard but unable to resist the thrill.

And it's not Silco's smile.

Not entirely. There's something about the curve of his lips, the way it softens the eerie luminosity of his shark-eye, and melts the scarred angles of his face, that's so familiar it hurts. Vi's seen that smile before. Seen it refracted through the lens of a whiskey glass in dreams, and split into a swarm of flaming facsimiles in nightmares.

It's Blut's smile.

And Jinx's, mirroring, is Powder's.

[incorrecttowerofgodquotes]

Tower of God S2 OP Analysis (Spoilers)

The opening starts with Bam sinking after being pushed down by Rachel, before eventually being overtaken by a red light, one in which we can see the Thorn hidden in.

In this Wangnan shot, there’s a number of items littered around, with the most important being the ring and crown, signifying his status as the self proclaimed “future king of the tower.” Nia shows up after Lurker bursts in, signifying his true allegiance. There’s also a banner to a ramen place behind him

Bam is wildly reaching for his old Test floor friends as they continue without him. As Bam rips the page, we see a singular star which breaks the rest of the image, showing how Bam’s happiness with his friends was sacrificed just for Rachel’s obsession with the stars. (The lyrics here are “Even if I reach out, I can’t touch it”)

Here we see Horyang, Cassano, and Sophia, as well as the tubes Horyang and Cassano were trapped in when becoming living Ignition weapons. The wings sit upon each’s respective shoulders. (The lyrics here are “getting hurt”)

This is the money shot, so many details. There’s a rip between Khun and Rachel while curtains act as a border, showcasing that everything between the two is an act. Ran, Nobic, Dann, and Gyetang sit on Khun’s side while Apple and Micheal sit on Rachel’s side, hinting at their betrayal. Khun’s side also has an eye watching Rachel, a crown to signify his desire to become the head of his family, and a masquerade mask to show that he’s putting on a mask in front of Rachel, but one she’s able to see through. Rachel’s side has mouths showing how she lies, and a bloody knife to represent her stabbing Khun in the back and Dan in the legs. (The lyrics here are “betrayal”)

Jinsung and Hwaryun stand before a bunch of faceless FUG followers, though we can see Karaka lurking in the background to the left.

Here we see all five princesses we’ve come to know. Yuri, Maschenny, and Repellista are within the boundaries created by Jahad while Anaak and Endorsi are passing the boundary. There’s also a lizard sticker on Anaak’s side and a butterfly on Endorsi’s. (The lyrics here are “it’s painful”)

We cycle through all the important test admins before eventually settling on Hansung and Augusgus as the colors shift and chains in the background disappear. This shows their allegiance to FUG.

This shot (Ehwa) isn’t important I just like it. But we do get to see some important settings such as Repellista’s palace, the 21st Floor Whie Cichlid, and a house (though I can’t quite tell whether it’s Khun’s or S&S’s). (The lyrics here are “Burning red fire, blazing emotions”)

Prince and Miseng pass by, each in monochrome up until they finally notice each other, both giving a small smile towards the other

These shots with Viole are pretty quick but there's a good amount of meaning, so I’ll number them off.

1. The two rings Wangnan and Karaka bear (The lyrics here are “Bonds and a wishing heart, they become the key”)

2. This is Rachel’s wheelchair (thank you @ylge-alt on Twitter). Yellow daisies represent friendship and positivity

3. The scratched off name sheet

4. Nia’s dead body

5. The treasure chest and key containing the sweets from the Floor 28 test

6. This shinsu test machine showing Viole’s number in first place

7. A plate of sweet and sour pork

8. Arkraptor’s earring

9. A bloody knife and an apple with a bite taken out of it, once again referencing Dann getting his feet stabbed

As we reach the chorus, we climb up a pair of stairs as Headon welcomes us and here we go through each arc Viole bears witness to before ending on Khun standing in the entrance to Arlene’s hand.

Finally, we end on Team Sweet and Sour standing together on the stairs that rise even higher, with Wangnan especially excited at continuing his climb.

[theredofoctober]

TWO TIME- BILLY BUTCHER X READER FIC

Crossposted from AO3

Synopsis: Reader is a double agent, struggling with the guilt of informing on the Boys' movements to Homelander. Butcher gets suspicious, and corners Reader in the office to get to the bottom of his feelings...

Reader's gender is not specified

TW: noncon/dubcon, threat, idk Billy is his own warning

Story after the cut, keep reading

It's dark when you return to base, the night swallowing the city like a pothole as you edge furtively through the front door, hoping to pass through it unseen.

You hate coming here. The precarious balance of risk, an asp-coil of danger; you loathe every aspect of your employment, yet you are bound to it through your need to do what's right. Through your loyalty to each member of the operation, who consider you one of them, now.

Even him.

Billy Butcher's rough voice lunges out of the the gloom like a jumping spider, all grinding catankerous gravel.

"What bloody time do you call this?"

He's been waiting for you for hours, must have been, broiling in a stew of his own temper.

"Uh, I don't think it's that late, sir," you stammer. "It's only 9.30..."

"Cunt o'clock, is what it is."

The boss watches you remove your coat, his every motion electric with distrust. One eye squints, a swollen pomegranate ripened by some stranger's fist, and there is blood under the black scruff of beard along his jawline. It scares you how often Butcher seeks out an uneven fight, a masochist, for all his posturing ego.

From across the room you smell him: the musk of sweat, stale cologne, the fug of beer. Rancid. 

"You were due in at seven," Butcher gripes. "Been snuggling up to your pet Supe Homelander all night, have you?"

Primly, you hang up your hat and scarf on the wall hooks, each layer seeming to unearth a new vulnerability.

"Yes, I've been spending time with him," you say. "On your orders, sir."

You hate that Butcher holds this over you, the jig you're forced to dance between him and the tyrannical leader of the Seven. By day, you're the Homelander's latest fling, gleaning intel and private dirt from every interaction. By night, you belong to the Boys, although not entirely, nor could you ever be when the most powerful man in the world scents, on your skin, wherever you go, and who with.

Homelander lets you come here. He seems to thoroughly enjoy whatever game it is he's playing with these lesser beings, their fumbling attempts to end his monstrous reign.

If Butcher ever knew of this particular truth you suspect that you'd be dead. A traitor's end, luridly bloody in the manner of all things pertaining to this man and his hard justice.

"Sometimes I think you stretch my orders to the bloody limit," Butcher complains.

He can't let go of his resentment; more prodding comes, like devilish clockwork, quick, and cutting, and predictable.

"Sleepovers with Supertwat weren't on the fucking schedule. I'm starting to think you like the bastard."

"No," you murmur, placatingly. "Of course not. How could I? He's horrible."

Still, you don't meet the boss's eye as you hand him the folder you've been carrying under one arm, only linger, fidgeting, as he rifles through your painstakingly typed-out notes.

Of the rest of the team only two others are present: the Female, Kimiko, hunching low over a desk, and Frenchie, who watches you with an unhappy empathy, his arms wrapped tightly around his thin knees. They both look tired, strung out, as keen to leave as you are.

"At least Starlight had an excuse to fratsernise with Homelander," sneers Butcher, warming to his theme. "I don't like all this extracurricular you're putting in, alright?"

Tiring of the conversation, you mumble, timidly, "If Homelander asks me to stay late with him, then I have to do it. He gets so agitated; at any second he could hurt me, kill me. If he gets suspicious—"

"Always an excuse, eh, Two-Time?" 

At this you physically flinch.

"Please don't call me that."

"Everyone gets a name here, treacle," says Butcher, grinning widely, proud to have struck a nerve. "Cheer up; least I haven't called you a cunt."

"Not yet," Frenchie mutters, and the boss looks up sharply. 

"Got something to say, have you?"

The smaller man turns up the collar of his jacket and shrinks away into it.

"Nothing, nothing, mon ami."

Kimiko glances up from the table and signs quickly at Frenchie. You only know a smattering of the language, but one particular phrase you do understand, and tighten your lips against a laugh. You can't afford to rankle Butcher any further, who is clearly looking to start a fight with everyone, anyone, and no one in particular.

Attempting to placate him, you say, "Butcher, please. I think I'm starting to gain Homelander's trust. He tells me things about his feelings. He's very insecure. If we use that, we have a way in. To take him down."

Butcher merely grumbles under his breath, engrossed in your notes again. There is more to his mood than suspicion: a seething, reluctant jealousy, threatened by your proximity to Homelander, with whom he shares a vicious rivalry. Neither man can stand to have his authority shaken, but at times you almost fear Butcher more for his sheer lack of limitations.

Sensing the ugliness of his mood, you persist with your attempts to soothe him, aware, as you do so, of how low your self-respect has sunk.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't back on time," you rasp. "I'll do better. I didn't mean to undermine you, sir."

"Should fucking hope not."

Butcher's mood recedes slightly, and in the corner of your eye you see Frenchie shaking his head. He knows how to grovel better than anyone; you've heard it whispered that he's knelt to many men and women, and taken pleasure in it, as well as suffering.

Has Frenchie ever been on his knees for Butcher in this way?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. The thin line of Frenchie's mouth suggests that even he disapproves of your weakness.

Ashamed, you twist away, glancing longingly at your coat again.

"I... I should go," you falter. "Everything I got out of Homelander today is in that file. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

"Stay right there," says Butcher, sharply. "You and me are gonna have a private natter, one to one."

You blood runs like Arctic water, and you sense Frenchie's tension, Kimiko's mutinous stare.

"Is something wrong, sir?" you ask, quietly.

Butcher shrugs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips.

"You tell me," he says. "If you're as squeaky clean as you claim to be then you've got nothing to worry about, have you, love?"

He claps his rough hands together, and you almost jump out of your skin.

"Come on, then. Let's get it over with."

You scamper at his heels, your gut churning with nerves.

Butcher swaggers into a seldom used office and sits behind the desk, swinging his boots up onto its surface.

"Shut the door," he says. "Don't want them two lovebirds earwigging."

With quivering hands you obey, your eyes cast downwards, anywhere away from him.

"Got any idea what you're doing here?" asks Butcher, straight to business.

You shake your head with a perhaps telling quickness.

"No, I don't, sir."

Butcher groans softly.

"Fucking listen to ya. Like butter wouldn't melt. Makes a difference from the usual cuntery I have to put up with."

You don't reply, only shift from foot to foot like a student pulled up before the headteacher.

"Here's the thing," says Butcher. "I think there's a lot more to you than meets the eye. By which I mean to say, I reckon that you're a fucking liar."

Fear makes rigid every tendon in your body, and you shrink into yourself, your gaze still fixed on the floor, picking out every speck of dust and groove in the boards.

"I— I haven't lied about anything," you murmur, tremulously.

But as Butcher's mouth twists upwards like the grimace of a Halloween mask you regret the words, a stupid falsehood.

"Your report's lacking in some serious detail," Butcher announces. "You haven't said one piddly word about what Homelander has to say about me, and believe me, I know he's said something. Thinks about me like a school girl who's been sent a Valentines' card, the creepy fucker."

"He... he hasn't mentioned you to me lately," you say, clinging to bland denial. "We're close, but there's still a lot of stuff he won't talk about. This is what I was trying to tell you, I need more time—"

"Nah."

Butcher brings his boots down from the desk and leans towards you, his head at a predatory angle.

"You're hiding something."

Your mouth clicks dryly, robbed of its saliva.

"Sir, I—"

"'Sir' my left bollock. Wanna guess how I know there's something up?"

He's been following you, or some unknown party has ratted you out, or else Homelander himself has stopped by to gloat, and make you look the fool.

Perspiration gathers at the back of your neck, and you don't dare reach up to wipe it away.

Butcher says, "I can tell there's something wrong 'cause you can never look me in the fucking eye."

You glance up, unable to shield your surprise.

"Oh. That— that isn't because of Homelander. It's— I—"

Your voice is small, a humiliating wisp.

You can't look at him because you're afraid of him, and would be even if you were not guilty.

A new emotion blooms in Butcher's black eyes, something cruel, and clever, and gleeful. It boils your core with a nervous anticipation of what he may do to you, what you've long imagined him doing, in the sweating darkness of your bedroom, in the night.

"What was that, darlin'?" asks Butcher "You went a bit quiet there."

He stands up from the desk and prowls towards you, and you realise, with a start, how tall he is, his stature—draped in clashing shirt and black overcoat—of the the kind that might engulf you with a mere embrace.

You feel small, so very small, exhilarated, and afraid.

"Oi," says Butcher. "Look at me."

With effort you raise your eyes to his. He seems to like what he sees there, for some of his aggression narrows away, or else morphs into a more playful version of itself.

"Butcher," you almost-whisper, and he lists over you, holding your stare for so long that you wish you'd thought to drop the report and run.

"Nervy little thing, ain'tcha?" he says, mockingly. "Scared shitless. Think I'm gonna hurt you?"

You nod, incapable of speech.

"Aww," says Butcher, and pats your cheek mockingly. "Don't be stupid. You ain't a Supe; I got no reason to smack you about unless you give me one."

A current of anticipation sparks through you, and you nod again, swallowing a filmy clot of spit.

"That's the ticket," Butcher growls, and tilts back your head with a coarse gentleness, admiring your mouth, your throat, your body under the many layers of clothes. 

It's cold in New York, and you've dressed for it, although you suspect that this measure won't last long.

"I wanna see you prove that you're my soldier," says Butcher, slyly. "Dedicated to the bloody cause."

You dither, feeling stupid and clumsy and eager, at pains not to make a greater fool of yourself. 

"I... do you want me to..."

Your eyes dart about madly, resting, finally, at the buckle of Butcher's belt, thinking of Homelander, the usual manner of settling his temper.

Butcher notices the path of your gaze, and revels in it.

"Go on," he urges. "Don't be shy."

He's grinning ear to ear, observing your flustered glances and desperate want to please him. When you reach out shaking fingers to the front of his trousers and touch his groin you find it hard, and wonder how long it's been so. 

"Fucking hell," Butcher breathes.

He watches you with remarkable restraint as you undo his belt buckle and zipper, releasing his rigid heat into your palm. Guilt thrums in a sickly undercurrent as you work your hand along him, thinking how quickly Butcher would turn if he knew all the nastiness Homelander has spilled into your ear about him. All the admiration, the hatred, and the love.

Butcher jerks your face upright again, giving you a little shake of warning.

"If I wanted to stare at the back of your head I'd fuck you over the desk. Keep looking at me, love."

With your fist still around his cock Butcher kisses you, forcefully, but not without a certain affection. It takes you aback, having assumed, through his relentless taunting, that he despises you. 

Now you're not so sure. 

"Get on your knees, Two-Time" Butcher says, softly, and although you wince at the moniker you lower yourself down with murmured assent.

"Yes, sir."

"Sir," Butcher repeats, and laughs. "Where did that even come from, eh?"

Still, you can tell he loves the submission in your voice, the fumbling quickness with which you scramble down onto the floor to take him. He's big, suffocating you with his girth as he rocks into your throat, one large hand coming to the back of your head to force you, struggling, against him.

You pull back, gasping a whooping breath.

"Please, Butcher..."

"Too rough for you, darlin'?"

You think he'll shove you back down again, but he pets your hair coarsely and leers.

"Look at them fucking puppy eyes. Can't say no to that, can I? There you go, then. Do the work yourself."

He releases you, allowing you to take his arousal at your own pace. You lap at his shaft, feeling stupid and unskilled and still so wanting of his praise. Yet you don't even need him to speak: every grunt and mutter and clash of his teeth feeds you with the knowing that he adores every second of the attention.

"Been thinking about doing this for months," he rasps. "I could have been fucking you all over the place, and I waited this long..."

Butcher tugs himself free of your throat on a stream of glittering drool and leers as you wait wordlessly for his command. 

"I'm gonna fuck you silly," he says, "and when I'm finished you'll thank me for such a lovely time."

Then he barks, abruptly, "Oi! Where are you going?"

This added as you scramble up, towards the door, caught in a sudden crisis of conscience and common sense.

"We— we can't do this," you stammer. "I can't. Homelander—"

"He can go fuck himself," snaps Butcher. "You're mine, not his. He can fight me for you."

"He—"

"You gonna keep arguing with me, sunshine?"

You stand, one hand pressed to your slick mouth in horror of what you've allowed to go so far. All too easy to envision Homelander boiling your core to acid with a bolt of his stare, breaking your skull as simply as shattering a tea cup.

Butcher clearly reads these thoughts in your expression, for he says, in a slightly gentler tone, "He won't hurt you, alright? I won't let him. Trust the boss."

Unconvinced, you only dither, and the softness in Butcher skids away.

"You want this," he grinds out, "or you would've buggered off out of here already. Wouldn't ya?"

You hold your silence, shaking so violently that you catch a fragment of your tongue between your teeth and taste the salt tang of blood. In some sideways fashion Butcher is giving you the opportunity to flee, and yet you remain, shackled by your coward's yearning to appease him.

A shuddering breath escapes you, and Butcher twitches his head irritably.

"Say somethin', will you?" he grumbles.

His length is a stone in his fist, and you sense that he holds himself back from you only to preserve some unspoken rule, waiting for permission with the trembling violence of an attack dog, which, with a word, might be called down.

"I—" you start, and cough, your voice so thin that there is no substance to it. 

Moistening your lips, you try again.

"I, uh, I want to follow orders, sir."

Butcher looks at you sideways, and you feel want roll off him with the heaviness of a dream.

"Well, it's your lucky day, darlin', 'cause I've got one for you. See that cabinet over there? I want you stood, facing it, your hands on the doors. No moving about, no noise; don't want them nosy cunts in the other room asking questions."

Nodding, you cross the room and stand as you've been asked, shuddering gently as Butcher steps up behind you, his hot breath upon your neck. You know, both of you, that this is a very bad decision, and proves nothing but that each of you are prey to individual weakness.

Butcher is so still that you wonder if it is he, now, that's changing his mind, but then one vast hand pushes at your back, thrusting you flat against against the cabinet with a tinny jingle.

"Get your fucking legs apart," he growls, and you almost slip in your rush to acquiesce. "That's it. Nice and wide."

His fingers rip at your clothes with a black bear's savagery, baring your skin to him, the space between your thighs he's thought about, before now, in derisive and idle lust. Again he pauses, only to thrust two broad fingers into your mouth. You dare not think of the likelihood of them being unclean.

"Get 'em wet for me," says Butcher, and presses his knuckles to your tongue until they come away dripping with spittle.

You hear him snarl a coarse breath as he blunts his fingers inside you, as taken up by your plaintive moans as with your tightness. His hardness is like a switchblade against your thigh, and you remember, acutely, that you fear this man as much as you desire him. He knows it; you feel the smugness of it in his rough kisses on your neck and mouth as he ruts against you.

One palm cups the back of your skull, flattening your cheek to the filing cabinet as, in a ragged motion, he enters your yearning heat. He's so big that you cry out, the wounded whimper of a trapped coyote.

"Keep it down, I said," Butcher reminds you, but you hear the grin in his voice, endure, through his rough strokes, the madness of his appetite. 

And you— you're afloat in pleasure and submission, inebriated with it, like some God of drink and sex. Every curse and demand from Butcher lures another butterfly of sensation through you, and in the thicket of feeling you forget Homelander, forget that the man fucking you now is bad, and exploiting you for what you've so feebly offered up to him.

You've wanted, achingly, the freedom of being controlled, the pathetic thrill of degradation. The coarseness of it all is cheap, and filthy, and necessary. 

Butcher twists you about so that your back is against the cabinet, your legs a knot about his waist. He juts his face close to yours, and with a start of terror you realise that you're looking him in the eye, unable to escape their directness.

"Tell me who fucking owns you," says Butcher, and his possession coils about you like a strangling weed. "Say it."

He still thrusts within you, but slowly, brutally, until you have to ball your fists to prevent yourself from grasping him for support.

"Start talking. Who do you fucking belong to?"

"You!" you blurt out, at last. "You, not him, not Homelander—"

Butcher's mouth crushes yours in a grappling kiss, and there is a desperation in it as well as conceit. The pitiful nature of it somehow only strengthens your arousal, and as his strokes resume their previous force you slip into a quick and stunning ecstasy.

Butcher's eyes glaze, and you think, again, of some stupid, brutish animal, spirit of athirst, wild and thoughtless. He comes so hard that, in a slip of teeth, he bites your lip, and that slip of authority awakens, in you, an endless wonder.

"Shit," mutters Butcher.

He lets you down from him almost gently, then turns away, scrubbing your blood from his chin. Suddenly he is all shifting agitation, but if he regrets what he's done then he does not show it, smoothing away his inner thoughts with bluster.

"Glad we could clear the air, Two-Time. You get yourself cleaned up, then go home and write up that report the way you should have done the first time. I want it back here tomorrow. No pissing about."

Stuffing yourself back into your clothes you make conversation with the floor again.

"No, sir. I mean, yes, I'll do that. Of course."

You touch your lip gingerly, and Butcher has enough reluctant grace to acknowledge it.

"Better put something on that, love. Don't wanna spoil that pretty little face."

The compliment—a mockery, but a compliment, still—flowers a dim flush across your features. Butcher reaches up to pinch your cheek playfully as he saunters past you on his way to the door, his thumb grazing your warmth.

"Night, then."

It's only when Butcher is gone and you're standing alone, loose-limbed and quaking with exertion, that you think of Homelander again.

Fuck. What is he going to do to you when he finds out what you've done?

[lennjamin-o7]

Y'all have no idea how much I want to do a Twins Tower of God AU, but I resist and put it on my "to write" list.

The short of the AU would be Technoblade as Bam and Wilbur as Rachel.

The longer more detailed is that Wilbur found the Strange Boy locked away and he looked so much LIKE him, so he taught him how to read and how to survive and gave him a name. And when Wilbur went to the Tower because he knew he was Chosen for Greatness, Technoblade followed.

Just like the show, Wilbur was NOT chosen. Technoblade opened the door and Wilbur just fell through.

Wilbur does not handle that well.

Cue Techno trying to find his twin, but running into Philza (Khun's equivalent) in the first test. They team up with a bad mouthed kid who thinks he's better than Everyone named Tommy (Rak equivalent). They pass the tests together.

Techno runs back into Wilbur again and wants to know why he left him. Wilbur comes up with a bullshit lie that Techno sees through.

When it comes to the final test, where in Tower of God Rachel pushes Bam and everyone thinks Bam died, this would be slightly different. I would have Wilbur's and Rachel's motivations/knowledge be different.

Wilbur pushes Technoblade and assumes that Technoblade would be okay, not knowing about the plan by BLD (FUG equivalent) happens. Just being told he could push Techno out of the test. He would be fine. And then Wilbur will get to be the Main Character.

But Techno seemingly dies. And Wilbur is distraught. He didn't want Techno to get in his way but he didn't want him to die.

Unlike the OG series, Wilbur regrets and tells Phil and Tommy what happened. They are furious, but they grieve Techno together. Wilbur wants to make amends SOMEHOW. Philza and Tommy decide to climb the Tower with Wilbur (why? Idk, I just want it).

But, if you know Tower of God, you know Bam didn't die. Neither did Techno. He was caught by the Anti-Jerry's rule of the Tower group BLD. And trained to be their perfect weapon to take down the King of the Tower.

And that's all I got. I kind of want Skeppy and Bad to be a part of Team Sweet and Sour later. Ranboo as Wagnan would go HARD.

But yeah, that's all I really have. The amount of worldbuilding I would have to do for that AU would be INSANE. But its a nice thought to twist and turn in my brain.

[deiaiko]

#22.9 Kindness

Ran woke up with far less aching than he anticipated. Though what shocked him more was that the long haired FUG was the first one to greet him.

"Oh. Hello." The FUG guy, Bam –as A.A called him– wore a soft smile, but half of his face was still hidden behind his long bangs. Ran didn't know if he wanted to respond to him or not. 

"Ran~!" Shibisu cried fake tears, "My cutie~ you made me worried!" Ran grimaced when Shibisu leaped from his seat with two hands outstretched. He was so troublesome, but at least he was good at noticing the line he shouldn't cross, by stopping himself from actually enveloping Ran in an embrace.

Ran gritted his teeth and pushed himself up to sit to get a better look at his surroundings. Seemed like there were only the three of them in the room.

"Mr. Agni said he has healed most of your injuries, and he left you here to rest until you feel better." Bam informed him unprompted. "Khun and Mr. Rak had just left to get lunch at the cafeteria, they should be back soon."

Ran ignored him. He had no intentions to be friendly with this guy. He also noticed that Shibisu was oddly quiet, observing him and Bam. And Ran felt his judging stare pricking his skin and poking his conscience.

Bam glanced at Shibisu, and Shibisu raised an eyebrow. They seemed to have a short telepathic conversation.

"Ah, sorry. I should've introduced myself first. My name's Bam, but you can also call me Viole. I'm Mr– ah, I'm Shibisu's old teammate."

Ran already knew. He had heard about Bam from hushed tales between his allies; about an irregular that took the test with A.A's team and died back on the second floor.

Despite the fact that this person named Bam was long gone, A.A's world seemed to still revolve around him. Like how he couldn't seem to let go of their team that bickered all the time, and how his goal was to take that annoying blonde girl to climb despite his unsubtle hatred toward her.

But the worst of it was how A.A would be so hard on himself to ensure every floor test went perfectly. 

And truthfully, Ran had hated this Bam ever since, for making A.A live like that.

"Are you thirsty, Ran? You haven't spoken in a bit." Shibisu pulled Ran out of his thoughts.

Ran cleared his throat at the mention. And Shibisu was right; his throat actually felt so dry that he wanted to talk even less. Too troublesome.

"Ah, right. Uhm…here." Bam picked up and offered him a glass of water, along with a pill in a small container. "Mr. Agni told us to give this to you, he said it could help relieve some pain."

Ran was skeptical about taking the pill, so he only accepted the water. He watched Bam place the container back on the table, silently glad that neither of them forced him to take it.

Bam was being really thoughtful so far. Maybe he'd consider giving Bam a chance to justify himself. To prove that he could be forgiven for hurting A.A in such a way.

"...Ran." Ran mumbled, "My name's Ran."

Bam beamed and Ran had to mentally squint from the sudden rays of sunlight, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Ran! If you need anything else, just tell me. I'll do my best to assist you."

Ah, troublesome. Ran immediately regretted his decision.

However, now he understood why A.A had been so devoted. A.A was weak to kindness, because Ran knew they both grew up without it. And as far as Ran knew, A.A had always chased after something hard to attain, one of a kind. Whether it was jewelry, weapons, authority,...even people. And Bam fit the criteria too well.

The automatic door opened and revealed A.A. Their eyes inevitably locked and A.A's disappointment was clear to Ran.

Think of the devil…Ran felt his annoyance bar rapidly rising.

"What did I tell you?" A.A navigated his way to them, not once breaking his glare. "Only consume redan when it's absolutely necessary."

Ran was taking none of it. "Hmph!" He had lots of fun with the spar, so he wouldn't say he regretted it.

A moment passed with A.A still staring daggers into him. It almost made Ran feel bad. Almost. In the end, A.A sighed and let it slide. "Suit yourself."

A.A brought three plates filled with an assortment of food. Though Ran figured that none of them were for him. Ran's stomach rumbled defiantly when the smell reached his nose.

Instead of being teased, Ran was taken aback when Bam offered him his yet untouched food. "You can have this, Mr. Ran."

Ran didn't know how to react to that, feeling a little uncomfortable. He felt like it would be wrong to refuse, but he didn't want it. He looked at A.A instead, hoping that he'd get the hint.

A.A noticed this and said, "You don't have to be nice to him, Bam."

"Hm? Why?"

Unfortunately A.A didn't say a better explanation other than, "Because that's how it is with him."

Shibisu slung his arms around Bam's neck. "What Khun meant is…Ran appreciates your thoughtfulness, but I think he would rather get his own food than take yours because he doesn't want to bother you. Right?"

Isu winked at Ran, and Ran rolled his eyes. That was not exactly true, but it was a softer way to put it. "As he said."

"Ah," Bam retracted his offering hands, "I see."

Ran wasted no time and swung his feet off the bed, glad to find that they weren't hurting as much. 

Bam had leaped from his seat as well, ready to catch Ran with his free hand if Ran didn't make it to stand. However it only made Ran much more eager to leave the room and get away from Bam.

Getting nice gestures from someone else he barely knew usually means they have ulterior motives, and he was so tired of being treated that way.

Bam might have meant well, seeing how much A.A trusted Bam. But Ran just hadn't gotten used to receiving kindness.

"Well then," Ran went for the door and it automatically opened for him. He didn't bother to look back to check if they followed him out. "I'll go and get some food."

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[deltastra]

My Thoughts on Tower of God Season 2 Episode 7

BAM VS EMILY (Urek lol) LETS GOOOOOO

WEBTOON SPOILERS WAS TEASED BUT NOT OUTRIGHT STATED

Rating: 7/10

Summary: Ohhh boy I had to read the chapters againt to make sure they weren't pulling my leg but man...I have mixed feelings. First half was ehhh okay? Second half I liked!

He's such a fanboy, so adorable!

And with that, we can see why he's an Irregular lol. His ideal was honestly the most unique out of anyone's when it comes to the tower. Climb to the top? NAH I WANNA GET OUT OF HERE.

AND THAT'S MY FAVOURITE VIOLE QUOTE!

Okay so here's my take. I read the webtoon again and saw that they really did follow it as much as possible, Viole and Urek barely fought. But I still feel like they could have gotten away with animating an actual fight? Heck, add more dynamic camera movements like in episode 1?! Sigh. (I did see a bit more shaking and impact in this fight though so it isn't that bad)

A very important scene! While people can be annoyed over Minseng getting in the way of the fight. This shows that while Viole cares a lot about passing the tests for the sake of his friends, he will not disregard the safety of his CURRENT team and will even risk his own life to protect them. I love Bam so much.

Now I try not to nitpick over slight dialogue changes or cut content but...sigh.......PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THEY CUT OUT THIS OTHER PART OF THE DIALOGUE?! Please tell me he said it in japanese and the subs got it wrong ;-;. It's very important because it shows that Urek isn't as "awful" as a person he portrayed himself to be. He let them live because Viole literally prioritised his teammate during their fight. From that, he saw that not only is Viole pretty strong, but also that he isn't like those Rankers who send people to their deaths. In the Tower, someone as kind as Bam is very rare.

By removing this last piece of dialogue, Urek comes off as cocky (which yea, he can be. But he's also a somewhat good person). Now an arguement can be made that the original dialogue was not that subtle, so they omitted it and let the scene speak for itself. I would agree, but with all the stiff characters and facial expressions, it's hard to tell when they are trying to be 'subtle'. I'm getting a bit off-topic, moving on!

YES THEY'RE PLAYING 'BUBBLE IN THE WINE GLASS'. LETS GOOOO I ALWAYS ASSOCIATED THIS OST WITH UREK!

I always loved the reveal that Urek wasn't actually there to mess around or assert his authority. He was there to help preserve wildlife! I remember my jaw dropping over this reveal because it was all the proof I needed that Urek is actually a pretty good guy!

Haha. Love the casual reveal that he's working with Yuri too lol.

No seriously what the hell is that. I swear I didnt see that in the webtoon.

OKAY JINSUNG'S FACE LOOKS BETTER HERE

THAT WAS NOT IN THE WEBTOON. SIR WHAT IS THAT. WHY ARE THEY ANIMATING THIS. Music went hard tho.

YES. HERE. JINSUNG'S FACE IS PERFECT HERE (for anime standards).

I loved this scene because it shows that after what Viole did. Team Sweet and Sour no longer fears Viole. To them, Viole isn't a FUG slayer candidate, but a fellow teammate. It's a nice way of showing that now, Wagnan will not be the only one who's comfortable around Viole. Everyone will support Viole as a teammate.

It's amazing how one act of kindness can resonate so much in someone. And that kindness wasn't even towards Arkraptor himself, but the girl he lowkey sees as a daughter.

People make fun of Yihwa for not being able to do basic household chores and that Hwaryun was "roasting" her for it. But like Horyang said, this encounter with Urek and the lies of Yihwa's family being exposed is testing Team S&S's resolve. They will face worse as they climb higher (*cries*), if they can't handle what they saw in this episode, they can never climb the Tower. Yihwa was sulking in her room because she didn't want to face reality. But Hwaryun's "insults" were said in a way to motivate someone as proud as her to get up and start doing something about it!

I LOVE HER! Okay but in all seriousness, this is an anime-only scene that I actually like. In the webtoon, she just declared she would cook and we don't know if she actually did it, it was implied that she was about to, but was stopped.

Here? SHE STARTED COOKING RIGHT AWAY. WHO CARES IF THE FOOD WAS HORRIBLE. THIS ANIME-ONLY SCENE SHOWED THAT SHE ACTUALLY TOOK THE INITIATIVE TO DO SOMETHING NEW AND GROW!

Like I said, anime-only scenes are not bad as long as it enriches the main story! This is a prime example of that! (Apron cute too!)

And I love how they took the time to actually animate this part of the webtoon instead of just taking the easy way out and just adding voiceovers while Wagnan goes out to see Jinsung (like what happened in the webtoon). Also the way all the tension between the guys was cut by Yihwa's silliness?! Love it! I miss Team S&S so much!!!!!!

Haha. Don't know why they made Wagnan give one lollipop instead of three. But to be honest, I genuinely forgot that this was where Jinsung's lollipop obsession started.

AND FINALLY KARAKA IS HERE! OKAY TIME FOR MY FIRST IMPRESSIONS ON HIS ANIME COUNTERPART!

I'm not too nitpicky about his design because I get that it's very complicated to animate it consistently, so they had to smooth him out. Shame, but hey I get it!

His voice surprised me, I never pictured him with THAT voice. Not a fan for now, but maybe it'll grow on me?

Oof. Even I felt that jab.

WAIT SO UNLESS HORYANG STRETCHED THE FABRIC. DID THEY BUY THE SAME APRON BUT A DIFFERENT SIZE JUST FOR HORYANG?! THAT IS SO CUTE.

This was in the webtoon too but I love Yihwa. She really dresses the part for whatever responsibility she's given lol! She's locked in!

Oh..this shot was beautiful. I like it.

Alright so sadly, Viole vs Urek was not as great as I hoped, even if I was cautiously optimistic. But I'll acknowledge that they followed the events within the chapter almost perfectly. I still think a few extra scenes showing Urek's power would've been better, or at least more camera angles and movements to show his intensity.

I did love the second half of the episode more though! I appreciated the extra scenes! Karaka was revealed and I may need more time to get used to him.

Now I also want to talk about Crunchyroll's treatment of the Tower of God anime. Not a fan. This was the same issue in season 1 but now it's somehow worse? Like come on they literally messed up the subtitles and played the NEXT EPISODE's subtitles instead. They also took 4 years to announce season 2, which led people to believe that it took 4 years to work on this anime, when really, that may not have been the case. I'll avoid making baseless speculations but it's sad to see Tower of God treated this way while manhwa like Solo Levelling get the A+ treatment from them.

Part of me is just happy we got a season 2 to begin with, but I also wish a bit more effort was put in, the first episode of season 2 genuinely gave me hope. But now it feels like the episode was just used so that it can look good in the trailers. Workshop arc will have more fights, I hope the studio has more time and resources by then. (I want to state the fact that I am not claiming that the studio doesn't care about Tower of God. I believe they do care, but lack the time and resources. If they didn't care, episode 1 of season 2 would not have been THAT good!)

Sorry this post took so long, I watched the episode when it first came out (that's why I knew of the Urek = Emily joke). However, I just didn't know what I wanted to say about this episode, did I like it or not? I feel more on the neutral side.

Well, next episode is in a few hours! See you in a few days lol.

(Funny how I said that I didn't know what to say about this episode, and yet, this post ended up being one of the longest for my ToG anime reaction posts.)

[swearyshera]

This scene in canon legit made my blood boil cuz I was very much NOT aboard the "everyone welcomes Catra on the team" train yet, so this bit was... less than endearing. The writing team and target audience had obviously been in agreement with Catra being cute for a long time but... I had yet to be persuaded and wouldn't be for a good while.

I know its to show how out of her depth Catra is dealing with actual friendship and how much of a ball of sunshine Bow is, but 'specially with the lack of Angella resolution this cutesy shit felt like they were jangling keys in my face to distract me from the past. Bow here showing he hasn't forgotten what Catra did even in a minor way lifted the fug off this scene for me. Amazing how I can get SO angry yet be appeased by the smallest changes. This series is like emotional/narrative aikido. Or maybe I just take shit in media way too personally and need my little hand held thru every scene that isn't immediately solving my foremost issue. Regardless, great job.

I think this episode, and to some extent the two either side of it, creates a lot of tension in the audience because of how uncertain everything is with Catra and Adora. And I don't mean tension between people who think Catra's all fine and forgiven now and those who don't, it's a tension where we see the characters going on as if everything is normal when we, the audience, know it's not. I've been thinking about this from two points:

Firstly, it's from a story structure point of view. This part is where Catra, and Adora to a degree, have what they want (each other), but not what they need. The entire story so far, on a personal level to them, has been about wanting each other back with them - and now they've got it, so everything is fine, right? They want to believe it is, so they act like it is. But they haven't learnt what they needed to (now what that is is open to interpretation, but for this, I'll say they needed to open themselves to love), and so you have this really uncomfortably awkward situation where they're both forcing themselves to accept that this is it. This is all they needed. And it's not.

If I refer once again to John Yorke's excellent Into the Woods, this puts us firmly into Act 4 territory: Your character will have changed in some way, but not enough to achieve their goal and overcome their flaw. The weakness is revealed in a low moment of the story (for Catra and Adora, this moment is the end of Failsafe). These few episodes are, by design, supposed to evoke the same sort of response you've had. In regards to Catra getting angry about being called cute, that's a perfect example of her not having overcome a flaw.

The other way I've been looking at it is from another, more realistic, and how people with BPD (if you're playing Sweary bingo, cross that one off!) would react to being reunited with their Favourite Person(TM). It's an innate ability to many of us with Brain Please Don't to suddenly forget the shit that happened when that one person graces us with a tiny amount of love (or, at least, something that isn't outright hostility). And I think for Catra here, that's exactly what's going on. Adora saved her, welcomed her back, waited for Catra to stop being angry, and now everything is FINE. Catra doesn't want to think about the past, she doesn't want to think about her flaws (or Adora's) that led to them splitting apart and fighting each other for so long.

You can see throughout this episode, the stress of forcing herself to be fine just so it doesn't rock the boat with Adora, coming out in these moments where she gets intensely angry for just a moment. I think, ultimately, they've moved from the unstable 'we're apart' relationship to the unstable 'we're together' relationship, and both need to learn a little more about how they fix that.

So yeah, this scene and this episode aren't really about 'Catra's suddenly been forgiven by everyone', but more 'everyone thinks Catra's been forgiven but they haven't sorted out the real problems', and that drives the conflict for the latter half of the season.

[cooganbegs-blog]

Somehow I’ll never get used to the fug of hot humidity that envelopes when you walk outside the airport in KL! My brain is fuggy and I’m feeling overwhelmed. Read a great book on how to build and coach product teams, it seems like so much to change and implement and drive and champion. I’m not sure even which bits I should start with or even if I care enough to try.

The longer I’m in this role, the more I realise I hate managing people. Working in a team, love it…. managing up and down, I hate it. So am trying to nut out, how do I keep the parts of my job I love and leave the shit I dread and that drains every fibre in my body!

Have reached out again to a possible opportunity I met through Sprout. Only this time I was clear that the catchup on Wednesday evening is most definitely in my capacity as a Head of Product and not the Chair of Sprout. Go Steward … combines finance and small scale producers with an awesome business model. Not sure what I could bring to the table but I’m definitely keeping the conversation going.

What is my next role. I commuted to three years at the orange company, once again if I make it it’ll be by the skin of my teeth and where grit and stubbornness! Surely there’s a world where I have a role that is challenging yet is In a company with a product I actually believe in. And I’d take a pay cut if it was possible .

Hilton Doubletree, that cookie is going to get smashed shortly!!

[udonnnnn]

THEORY: PARACULE IS PART OF FUG OR REVOLUTION

Hear me out

Paracule makes constant references to revolution all the way in season 1.

Revolution is actually a group affiliated with FUG seeking to bring change to the tower, first mentioned in the Marriage Arc → Paracule could be referencing them.

In season 2 to keep track of Bam’s friends FUG had Ron Mei watching team shibisu via Anaak and Michael + Apple watching Khun and Rachel

For FUG, though, who was watching Rak? Rak was alone on an island → Paracule knew where Rak was and was the one who traveled with him to WSB → was Paracule the Ron Mei for Rak?

Paracule’s silhouette giggling before Ran and Anaak’s fight about it being his turn → seems to run around the arena pointlessly, but then manages to perfectly arrange himself underneath Ran and Anaak and knock them both out in the all-in opportunity.

This just happens to be the one opportunity where every gambler except two, both of whom are FUG, are dropped out → allows the rigged final to melt Bam.

Is the one who stops Bam from running away from Endorsi and Rak, yes, BUT Novick had already arranged to distract the guards and Xia Xia and Reflejo so they wouldn’t get caught → in the next scene Reflejo says that they planned the thorn thingy, but this could also be implying that they PLANNED for Bam to break the deal and make contact first + how would Reflejo know that this happened if he was out and Xia Xia was drunk unless he got outside confirmation?

UNLESS Paracule planned for Rak to storm in and meet with Bam → stops Bam from escaping to force the meeting and thus Bam has broken the FUG deal → now Reflejo can do what he wants without having broken the deal first, AS REFLEJO PLANNED. And Paracule, as the witness, was the one who reported it was successful.

My conclusion: all these coincidences and plot points could possibly be lining up to reveal Paracule was part of FUG or Revolution.

My only other explanation is that Hwaryun somehow foresaw all of this, and accounted for Paracule and told Reflejo, but for Paracule to be this specific in that last action (didn’t arrive with Rak and Ehwa, and I think he isn’t part of Khun’s team either, but still knew where Rak and Ehwa were heading → timed it just in time, not even assessing the situation, to leap right in front of Bam → then immediately leaves with the others as if it was planned) then it’s likely in this scenario Hwaryun worked with him in some way →

either she a) manipulated him to be JUST in time with the right info, OR b) they were working together (and thus Paracule would be working with FUG)

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony (14/?)

“Not here,” Rhonda swallowed, still trying to catch her breath. “I don’t think they know you’re here . But the FBI,” she panted, closing the door behind her. “They were at the diner when I got in this morning. They had pictures of you. They knew you were there last Friday.”

Mulder could feel his panic face settle onto his face, and Scully reached out to grip his hand tightly.

“How?” he asked.

“Nobody said anything,” Rhonda clarified. “I don’t know how they knew.”

There was a choking whisper from next to him, and Rhonda’s eyes slid over to his partner.

“What?” he said, looking down at Scully.

“The chip,” she said, trying to find her voice. “They knew because of the chip. It was the last place we were before we took it out.”

Mulder swung his eyes back to the waitress.

“Were you followed?” he asked.

“No,” Rhonda shook her head. “I came the back way. Took me damn near forever. I’m certain. You’re still safe.”

“Do we need to leave?” Scully asked, pulling on his hand to get his attention. “Do we need to move?”

“I-” Mulder began. He could feel sweat break out on his upper lip, and he reached up to wipe it away. Should they leave? The answer was probably yes. But in the last few days Scully was finally turning back into herself, the safety the cabin offered them the most welcome respite. And how could they run anyway, with a baby? “I don’t think so,” he finally said, and watched Scully exhale a relieved breath. “Not yet.”

“Good,” Rhonda said, moving further into the cabin. “Good.” She reached into her pocket and slid a small scrap of paper over the countertop in their direction. Mulder reached forward and took it. It was a business card.

“Skinner,” he said, relieved. “Was he the only one there asking about us?”

Rhonda shook her head. “I think they called in the cavalry.”

“This man,” Mulder said, holding up the card between two fingers. “Were you able to talk to him? To just him?”

Again, Rhonda shook her head. “Turn it over,” she said.

Mulder flipped it so that he could see the back. In Skinner’s scrawling chicken scratch, he saw two words:

“Say nothing,” he read.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Walter Skinner swirled the cold dregs of coffee around the thin paper cup once before knocking the rest of it back and sucking the bitter liquid through his front teeth. He was bone tired, jangly from caffeine, and too big for the creaking conference table chair he sat in. His team was in the back office of a shabby Sheriff’s department on the outskirts of the Teton mountains.

“The way I see it,” Agent Kent was saying, pulling to loosen the tie around his neck, “they’ve moved on. Probably kept heading north.”

“Heading for the border,” said Kolinsky. “They’ve got money now from Scully’s mother. It’s what I’d do.”

Several of the other agents around the table muttered their agreement. The small room they’d taken over was hardly big enough for the six of them, was too hot, and had a repellently warm fug redolent of stale coffee and B.O.

“Is that the consensus?” Skinner asked, reaching up to pull off his glasses so he could rub at his eyes. It would be a relief to get the team out of this town. Something about the way the waitress Rhonda had called out the ‘mug shots’ of Mulder and Scully made him think she knew more than she was letting on. If he could get the task force moved north, away from this town, it might give his friends time to get away.

He heard a few muttered yeses before one firm “No.”

All eyes turned to the man who had said it: a new agent none of them knew, assigned to this task force by the Section Chief himself, on loan apparently, from the Seattle Field office.

“You disagree, Agent Bryson?” Skinner asked, feeling his shoulders tense. The providence of the agent’s assignment was murky, and Skinner had been having enough trouble leading the rest of the team in the search for Mulder and Scully. And all of them were good, earnest people whom he’d vetted himself. When the child from the Van De Kamp farm had been taken and dots had been connected, stern orders came from on high and so had Agent Bryson, who had met the team at the small airport in Jackson Hole the day before.

Skinner’s ability to contain the situation was on the precipice of being untenable. He feared for Mulder, Scully and their child. He’d known that other, darker forces were at work – it’s why he’d sent a warning about the boy to his two erstwhile agents in the first place – but now those forces were knocking on his door. On all their doors.

“I do disagree,” Bryson said, his face blank and hard to read. “They’re still here. They’re in the area.” He spoke with a surety that made something clench behind Skinner’s sternum.

Just then, a knock on the door to the conference room pulled everyone’s attention.

“Come,” Skinner barked.

A local deputy stuck his head through the doorway.

“Sir?” the deputy said.

Skinner was about to ask the young man what he wanted when he noticed that the deputy wasn’t looking at him, but at Agent Bryson.

“Yes?” Bryson said, like he was the one in charge.

“We found an abandoned truck off of a scenic turnout off highway 56. We ran the prints. They belong to your suspects.”

“Any idea how long the truck has been there?” Bryson asked.

“The county emptied the trash can there on Thursday and it wasn’t there then. So it was within the last few days.”

“Thank you, Deputy,” Bryson said, dismissing the man.

Bryson then turned somewhat smugly toward Skinner. “As I said,” the agent went on. “I believe they’re still in the area.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“So here’s what I think the plan should be,” Rhonda said.

William had just woken up from his nap, groggy and a little crabby, so Scully was walking him around the cabin, pointing things out. The baby was having none of it, and was clingy and morose. Mulder sat on the couch following his partner with his eyes as Rhonda spoke.

“We’re about out of food here. And pretty soon you’ll need more diapers and other supplies. I’ll take a trip into town and get stocked up. This evening. I’ve got shifts all the rest of the week and a damn date with Jerry on Saturday. If they have an eye on the diner, it’s better if I don’t come back here after that. If I go on like my life is normal. I only come out here about once a month, if that. So I’ll resupply you tonight, go back to work tomorrow, and we all lay low for a while. I’ll give you my number if you need anything.”

“If they suspect we’re in touch, they might be bugging your phone.”

“Damn,” Rhonda said, without a solution.

“We’ll have to figure it out,” Mulder went on. “But it’s as good a plan as any.”

Rhonda nodded and turned her eyes to follow his gaze; at William, who was still fretting in Scully’s arms. Rhonda made her way over to the piano and sat, and the baby perked up, following her progress. When the woman lifted the lid off of the keys, William leaned back dramatically and Scully sat him down, watching as he scooted quickly across the floor to pull himself up on the piano bench.

He and Rhonda considered each other quite seriously.

“Chopin, do you think?” Rhonda asked the baby.

William grunted.

“No, you’re right,” she said. “Something new, then. Like you.”

And then she started playing a song Mulder remembered hearing recently on the radio. The baby was instantly delighted.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Rhonda moved through the aisles of the small grocery store dropping anything she could think the little family might need into the already overflowing cart she pushed in front of her. She had reluctantly taken $500 in cash that Mulder insisted she have, and so help her, she was going to make sure the former agents and their son would want for nothing in the coming weeks.

Produce, canned goods, batteries, ice cream, anything and everything, if she thought it might be useful to them or get them through, she was going to buy it.

When she turned into the aisle that housed the baby and feminine care supplies, she paused, considering briefly whether or not she might need an extra cart. There was still a bit of room in the shelf on the undercarriage of the cart that might be able to take a few large boxes, and so she started loading it up with small packages of tampons and pads in various sizes – she had no idea what Scully might need or use, and wanted her bases covered. When she got to the diapers, she paused. There was no way she could fit anything else in the cart, even if she heaped it precariously on top.

The aisle, housing some of the more expensive items in the market, had a large rounded mirror attached to the ceiling that gave the cashier working the front a view into the aisle – no doubt so that some poor mother couldn’t shove a few canisters of pricey baby formula into her purse or shirt (horrific, thought Rhonda) – and if she hadn’t been scanning her eyes over some of the items on a top shelf, she likely wouldn’t have seen it: Movement, in the mirror. Fairly surreptitious movement at that, as she had thought she was the only one – other than a single cashier and a young kid stocking shelves – in the store.

She turned from where she was standing in front of the diapers toward the end of the aisle. Her heart began to pound, but she was determined to overcome her fear.

“I can see you,” she called out. “There’s no need for the cloak and dagger routine.”

A moment later a man stepped forward, somewhat blocking the aisle’s exit. “Good evening,” he said, a small, cold smile playing about his mouth.

“Special Agent Bryson, was it?” she said, pulling herself up to her full, if inconsequential, height.

“You have a good memory,” the FBI agent said, moving forward to stand in front of her cart. “I find it interesting that you didn’t remember seeing particular patrons that I know were in your diner on Friday.”

Rhonda swallowed, but didn’t dignify his remark with a reply. Unfazed, Agent Bryson slowly ran his eyes over all the items in her cart.

“Lot of groceries for a single woman of fifty-five, don’t you think, Miss Fitzsimmons?”

Rhonda clocked that he knew her age and last name. She shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m throwing a party. Maybe I’ll invite you.”

“I do like parties,” the man said, and Rhonda was so put off by the way his dark eyes bored into hers, that she decided she’d had enough of his games.

“Are you following me?” she asked blatantly, and the agent raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Is there a reason I should be?”

“No,” Rhonda stated, and pulled her cart back so as to move around him.

He casually stepped in to block her path again, this time turning to look at the display of diapers before them, and then down at her cart.

“My apologies,” he said, taking a step back so that she could pass.

Rhonda wasted no time and pushed past him, maneuvering the now unwieldy cart with difficulty.

“Didn’t you need some of these?” he called out to her as she turned toward the cashier.

She didn’t respond, and started loading the items onto the conveyor belt quickly, her heart pounding, a nervous sweat beading on her face.

Later, as she was loading the bags into her small car, she watched as the FBI agent left the store and got into a dark sedan parked several rows over and several cars up. She watched him as he sat in darkness, not starting the car, not leaving the lot. When she finally returned her cart to the front of the market and made her way back to her Datsun, she saw the bright flare of a lighter flick on in the interior of the car, and then the dull orange glow of a lit cigarette within its murky shadows.