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violetmina · 1 year

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Chokehold - Ch. 1

Chokehold Masterlist

Tagging @roundroald, since they asked so nicely.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3,574

Summary: After stumbling your way into the boys crew, you quickly realize you're a little out of your depth when it comes to protecting yourself. You thought you could be sly and take some self-defense classes without telling the others. But Butcher has a nose for secrets and demands to take over your lessons. Learning a bit of jiu jitsu from one Billy Butcher can't be that terrible...can it?

Warning: Mentions of injuries and The Boys level of violence, swearing, slight implication of domestic violence. Smut to come in future chapters.

A/N: This was originally supposed to be a one shot, but my brain kept adding to it. Just this part alone took longer for me to write than I wanted, so this may be slow going. But it is in motion! Takes place in some vague space between end of S2 and early half of S3. This is the first fic I've shared in years, first attempt at writing Butcher, and my very first fic in 'x reader' format. It's not the most creative title but it's what my brain can manage right now. I'm open to constructive criticism, but please be kind. I hope you guys enjoy!

Sometimes, you questioned your decision-making skills. If the last few months were any indication, it was a skill you didn't have, period. After all, who goes from a normal, anonymous life to joining your old friend Hughie and his weird, motley gang of former vigilantes? Originally, you had only joined Neuman's team as a project to fill holes in your resume and to reconnect with Hughie. You'd heard he had gone AWOL after Robin's untimely death, but what a shock it'd been when you finally met for coffee and caught up on his new life. Maybe it'd been that sense of shock and awe over his stories, or maybe your innate slight distrust of supes and Vought that he had once teased you about in your younger years. But you'd been curious. And that adorable puppy dog look he gave you when he asked for a little help on one of his group's missions hadn't hurt either.

It was supposed to be a little favor, a one-time thing for an old pal. But then you'd met the boys, this rag-tag lot he was with now, and for all their dysfunctionality, you'd been oddly charmed by them. You'd been swayed by their mission, to finally hold those super-roided celebrities accountable, and the adrenaline of an unexpected car chase during your favor must've jolted something loose in your brain. Pushing flyers and setting up calls in Neuman's call-center wasn't nearly enough after that. You wanted to be part of the growth that had altered Hughie so much. To watch the quirky banter of MM and Frenchie, to get to know the woman Kimiko was, and give her the friend she'd been denied growing up.

And then there was Butcher.

You would have been a liar if you had said that you didn't have mixed impressions about him in the beginning. To say you found him attractive would have been an understatement, though you'd be damned if you'd ever let anyone know that. While his brusque sarcasm and biting temper had been slightly off-putting, it was his smarmy charm, flashes of quicksilver intelligence, and that indomitable will that kept you from walking away altogether. Ever since you had joined the crew, you had given up counting the number of times he irritated the shit out of you. And the number of times you'd caught yourself a little too drawn to Butcher in those briefest glimpses of a softie in him. Like when you'd fallen asleep in the flatiron office and woke with that battered coat draped over you. Or he'd given you the last of his food with a grumble when your stomach protested loudly at you for working too long on a lead.

Hughie had always said that your favorite color was "red-on-a-flagpole". And for your sanity, you'd deny as stubbornly as the day was long that you liked the bastard.

But the new eventually wears off, and the deeper you dove into their world, the darker the waters became. You learned quickly that adrenaline wasn't just a fun little rush in this life - it was a necessity. A lifeline when dealing with supes and their equally narcissistic associates. You learned the hard way how easily you could drown…

Now, leaning against the cool wall of the elevator as it rose to the flatiron office, you were certain your decision-making skills were poor. Well-intentioned but poor. You wiggled the fingers of your right hand slowly, wincing at the jolts it sent in your arm. Trying to bend it per usual sent pain in either direction out from your elbow. It was far from broken but it wasn't comfortable either.

"Damn," you cursed under your breath. This was going to be a lot harder to hide than your previous injuries. If your assumptions were correct though, the others had long left the office and were out about minding their own little businesses. Hughie with Annie, MM had his daughter for the night, Frenchie and Kimiko out for whatever little pleasantry that would make her smile for a while, and Butcher…Well, probably still sniffing out a lead on a supe, tirelessly plotting.

When the elevator announced its arrival, you shrugged the bag on your left shoulder back up from a slouch and stepped out. You would touch up on some paperwork you had left behind earlier to "run your errands", then head back to your place. The evening plans consisted of a hot shower, some leftovers for dinner, and tossing the items in your bag into the laundry. If you were lucky, you would get a full five hours sleep before rolling out of bed again for another long day of supe hunting. Or convincing Hughie and Victoria to let you back out in the field again after your mishap a while back.

A couple of the desk lamps had been left on in the office space, and some of the city backdrop bounced rays off the walls, but it was still a little dim for your liking. You switched your own desk lamp on, perusing over the files of most recent cases now cast in the amber glow. So much damn paperwork.

"Who winged ya, little birdy?"

You manage to only slightly jump at the voice just in front of you. Instead of out plotting, Butcher sat at the desk on the other side of yours, arms crossed and an inquisitive curl at his lip. His eyes, however, screamed interrogation. How had you not seen him in that audacious Hawaiian shirt, even in the dark?

"Christ, Butcher," you groaned. "You normally just sit in the dark like that? You could have given me a heart attack."

"Like we'd be rid of you so easily," he chuffed, rising from his seat. "Now don't avoid the question. It'd be terribly rude if you did that, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." You shrugged, feigning ignorance. You had a strong feeling he wasn't buying it. "I'm good."

"Oh? Really?" He quirked a brow at you as he picked up one of the files from your desk. "Just here for a little light reading then. Don't let me keep you waiting." He held it out to you with a nod. You slid the bag off your shoulder onto the floor and reached with your left hand. He snatched it back just out of reach, then extended it to your right hand with a pointed look.

You tried to play along, even managed to lift your arm without a wince. But the shock in your elbow made your reach noticeably slower, and the twitch in your fingers brought that all too familiar smirk to his face. You sighed in defeat, dropping the file back on the desk. "It's nothing," you muttered.

"And the bruises on your legs? Or the ones on your arms? Those all nothing?" When you blinked at him in surprise he continued, "C'mon, Y/N. Hughie sees you everyday at Neuman's and he ain't blind. Even if he was, you've walked into this place stiff as arthritis for a while. So…" Butcher's smirk faded as he took a step forward, just enough to fill your space. "...Who did it? There a heavy-handed Romeo you ain't told us about?"

"What? No! Butcher, it's not like that," you sputtered, nearly laughing at the idea of him hunting down said imaginary Romeo. But the look on his face killed whatever humor you had. "I'm either working at this office with all of you, or I'm at the other one with Hughie. Like I have time for anything else."

"But for weeks now you got time to run supposed errands and slink back here long after hours? Conveniently when everybody would be gone?" Before you could blink he yanked your bag off the floor. "You gonna tell me this ain't an overnight bag? That you're not avoiding your place?"

"No, it's not. I don't have a - HEY!" He ignored your protest as he quickly unzipped the bag and dove a hand in to pull out some of the contents. Butcher's face quickly shifted from a scowl to confusion when he pulled out not regular clothes or toiletries, but a thick white belt with a black tail. Pulling it open further, a white gi stared at you both. He wagged the black tail of the belt at you.

"You gonna tell me the fuck this is about? Karate, really?"

"It's not karate. It's jiu jitsu," you replied, trying not to grit your teeth at how he rolled his eyes. "Now can I have my stuff back, or are you suddenly into my sweaty clothes?"

"What you doing this for?" He tossed the bag to you and you glared in response. "You gonna grapple those bloody files into writing themselves, eh? Maybe turn Hughie into a pretzel for a laugh at the bureau?," he leers.

"I'm trying to get out of here!," you snapped, surprised at how loud your voice echoed back. You took a deep breath before gingerly shoving your stuff back into your bag. "I'm trying to get out of both offices. I want back out there. Out in the field with you and the rest of the boys. I'm cooped up here but Hughie won't even think of talking Neuman into assigning me to an operation. Not since…" You stopped, swallowing back frustration.

"Since that cunt got the drop on you and took you hostage," Butcher finished flatly.

As he nodded in realization you knew he was remembering it as much as you. You'd ignored Hughie's orders and went in as backup when bringing in a supe and their accomplice on human trafficking allegations. It had gone sour and you had tried to sneak into the warehouse to help. Instead of saving them, the accomplice had snuck up on you, nearly resulting in a trade off for the arrested supe. You had been so sure you could handle your own, save the day. The only thing that had saved the day was Butcher dropping from a balcony onto you both…and promptly emptying several rounds into your captor's screaming mouth. Sometimes you wondered if there was still one of their teeth hiding in your hair.

"So what?," he asked, tearing you from the memory. "You thought a few hours at a gym and you'd just skip back out there?"

"You know Hughie will never let me on another operation unless I can prove that I can handle myself."

"Little shit would wrap your ass in bubble wrap if he knew he could get away with it, and roll you out the door from it all!," he snapped. "For starters, what the hell is jiu jitsu - or any self-defense combat form - gonna do you when a supe get their hands on you? Like A-Train? Black Noir? Or that star-spangled cunt?"

"Like we're even close to going after any of the Seven right now! We're stuck with B, C, and D list assholes and you know it! And how would it be any different than the rest of you with all your training?"

"Which brings me to my other point, " he cuts you off. "The lot of us are knee deep in experience, at least. Military, terrorism, gang shit. We all have gotten our hands bloody. We're killers, love. Even Hughie, or did you forget? So why the fuck would you stroll into a dojo that's probably sponsored by Vought anyway, instead of coming to one of us, eh?"

You scoffed, couldn't help it. "Right. I'm supposed to just assume that Mr. Billy Badass is gonna have the will or time of day to teach me self-defense?"

"Now that hurt me feelings, " Butcher replied, holding a mocking hand over his heart. "Oh ye of little faith. I suppose whatever bloke you rolled with tonight is far safer than yours truly. Oh wait." Here he glanced at your arm with a jeer and a nod. "Lemme guess - sparred with someone who likes it a little rough?"

You rolled your eyes. "My rolling partner was fine," you grumbled before admitting, "I did it to myself. He…He caught me in an armbar and I thought I'd try toughing it out a little longer before I'd tap."

He made a tsking noise of disapproval. "Stupid, wasn't it? Is he white belt or color belt?"

"White, four stripes. I think he tests for blue soon."

"Then you're fucking lucky. There's a reason they say spazzy ass white belts cause the most injuries. If you ignore your limits in a safe, cozy class setting, why the fuck would any bad guy out there hesitate on your behalf?" He steps forward to lift your bad arm up, not too fast but it still smarts.

"Straighten your arm all the way out. Slow." You try to do so but hiss in pain just shy of the mark, leaving your forearm at a slight angle. "You'll live. Strained, maybe a slight sprain, that's all." He shuffles past you to the mini-fridge tucked in the corner and tosses you a half empty bag of pizza rolls. You almost laugh at the impromptu ice bag and apply it to the protesting joint.

"You're not going back," he says, as if commenting on the weather. And before you can say anything he's herding you across the room to the couch by the TV. "Keep that on for about fifteen minutes and we'll get started right after." He gives an unceremonious push and you plop onto the cushions with a huff.

"I'm sorry, wha-? Butcher, I'm not quitting! I need to-!"

"I didn't say quit," he answered over his shoulder with a slight grunt as he begins shifting a couple of the desks outwards. "What I said was you're not going back to that bleeding dojo. But knowing your stubborn, annoying ass-" He shifts the coffee table past the TV. "-you're just gonna find another bastard ready to take your money and give you a false sense of security. You really wanna roll that bad..?" He slides the rug out far enough to his liking before sitting back on his heels with a little nod. Then looks up at you with that trademark, crooked smirk.

"You're rolling with me now, love."

You blink at him, your stomach doing a little flip at his words. Sure, when you started jiu jitsu it had been a bit uncomfortable having strangers literally on top of you. In your face, up in your little bubble. After awhile though, you adjusted and you had actually started looking forward to class. But the implication of what Butcher had just said, realizing that he was going to be the one up in your personal space, shifting and heavy and pinning -

You immediately cut off that line of thought. "I-I-I've already rolled. And I don't wanna make my arm worse."

"You're right. You've caught me in a rather generous mood. We're not rolling together now. But you…" He moved and stood over you with a grin. "You're going to drill tonight. Nothing that requires your arm and I'll see exactly what I'm working with. From here on out, I'll be the one to train you, teach you the kinda shit you can actually use when shit goes sideways. If I'm lucky, as short a time you've been training, I won't have to do too much de-programming of whatever the fuck they taught you."

"Butcher-" You go to stand but when you reach your feet he gives you a look that almost has you wobble back on your heels.

"I ain't asking. It's me or nothing." It comes out as a low rumble that will not be questioned. "Do you want back out there or not?"

It's immediately clear that this situation isn't going to be backtracked now. The cat was out of the bag and you had to choose. Spend your days in mind-numbing paper stacks, shoved off on the sidelines but relatively safe. Or try to mold yourself into something more self-reliant and capable…by putting yourself at the mercy of one Billy Butcher.

There's a heavy beat, as he still stares at you, unblinking. Then finally you nod. "Teach me."

The heavy, steely look finally slides off his face. "Good choice. Now come over here." He waves at the open floor space he's created and uses the other hand to steer you into it. "Sit your ass down here and pay attention. It's a simple mobility drill. I'll show you only once. I'm not here to do fucking jazzercise. You'll start once we're done icing your arm."

Butcher settles down to sit straight legged on the hardwood floor, a heavy hand on your good shoulder bringing you with him. You barely manage to not fall on your ass and mimic his stance. "Make a figure four." He pulls in his left leg so his foot is next to his right knee and you do the same. "We'll change your arm position later but tonight you're gonna cradle that wing of yours to your chest. Point is to not use your arms to get up, but your hips. Shift your ass forward." He crosses his arms and moves up into a kneeling position, left shin and knee posted under him, right foot flat in front, his knee just past a 90-degree angle. "See?"

You mimic him again, cradling your elbow like he said and stop once up off the floor. A small pat - almost a swat - on your back startles you, and at your look of confusion he says, "Up straight, don't roll your back. If your back ain't straight, you're not using your hips." When you straighten up he settles the same hand into the small of your back and slowly pushes you forward. "And that's about as far as you should be putting yourself on that front foot. Combat stance. If I tell you to hold that position, you hold it till I say so. Got it?"

You nod. Seemingly satisfied, he continues. "Alright. Now go in reverse back the way you started." He rewinds, sitting back, straightens his legs and you follow suit. It dawns on you as you do so that moving on bare, hardwood floors is nothing like moving on the padded mats in class.

"Then switch legs and do the same thing." This time he doesn't move, just watches you slowly follow his instruction. You mind your posture this time, pause for a second and glance at him before reversing back to sitting on the floor again.

Butcher stands, taking the bag of pizza rolls out of the cradle of your elbow as he does. "When I tell you to do combat hip drill, this is what you're doing. Understand?" You give another nod and he walks to the mini-fridge to shove the bag back into the freezer. When you shift to stand up he shakes his head. "Nuh uh. You start now. Go."

He moves past you, back to the couch behind you as you start to go through the motions of the mobility drill. "Pick up your pace, move," he says as he sinks down onto the cushions. You pause at the top of the move to look back at him with a bit of a scowl.

"How many am I supposed to do?," you ask, already noting the protest in your tailbone, knees and shins from the contact on the floor.

"Till I tell you to stop," he grins, stretching his arms out across the back of the couch. "And I didn't say that yet, now did I? Chop, chop!"

You glared at his too-happy grin before rolling your eyes and continuing the drill. Back down, switch legs, up. Back down, switch legs, up. Once or twice he has you pause, hold the pose. But the drill continues. Back down, switch legs, up. After only a few short minutes, feeling his eyes on you the whole time, you begin to notice that you're already feeling some fatigue. Clearly, you hadn't fully recovered from class earlier. You feel a little embarrassed that you're already starting to huff. And you can't help but wonder just what the hell did you sign up for?

After another moment or two, you sit up once again, not quite as forward, not as high. You start to sag back down when there's a sudden pressure just between the small of your back and your tailbone, almost throwing you forward and off balance. You totter over the forward knee for a brief second before restabilizing and whirling round with wide eyes. Surely he did not-!

Oh but he did. Butcher's boot is at your belt line, keeping you posted up. "Hold. When you start again, you keep the pace and move all the way through. You better not half-ass or slouch again. Otherwise…" He taps his toes on your lower back and smirks.

For a brief moment you consider grabbing that damn boot and giving it a good, friendly twist. But the ache in your elbow, and the look in his eye that says he's pretty much read your mind, tells you it's a no-go. You dampen down the urge and he pulls it back as you face forward and hold the up position. A few moments pass before he finally tells you to resume the drill. It's in that moment you know you have your answer.

Hell. You're pretty sure you just signed up for hell.

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys fanfic

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rayroseu · 29 minutes

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I love the contradiction of Overblot Malleus's beliefs. He believes that we need to be surrounded by "happiness" so that we could enjoy our life and not be sad. He accomplishes this by crafting a world where our struggles is non existent and we're able to get what we want (dreams) easily. What he does feels like he's pampering us. But at the same time, "being pampered" is also the thing that Malleus finds icky.

translation by cymr and kimiko ch

Having the chores be completed after him, everything cleaned up and provided before him, without Malleus trying any of those chores (even though he's capable of doing so and is eager to learn) which is why he finds it "annoying" when others complete it just because they want to treat him like a royal prince.

The act of cleaning after him feels similar to what Overblot Malleus' is doing, he's providing us a cleaned up world (a world without pain/struggle) so we don't have to do any chores (like experiencing sadness), just because Malleus considers us the people that he needs to protect and provide to.

Maybe(?) Overblot Malleus does this "blessing", because he believes "the people are weak so they deserve an easier life".

Its like... this "pampering" that Malleus dislikes and his vision of "what life should be", is a contradiction.

Both Malleus and the people, in these situations, are capable of overcoming struggles or learning curves in a difficult task, so there is "no need for an easier route/seamless happy life" because struggles and having autonomy are important.

I guess this is also a nice trait that Malleus really reflects upon his upbringing?? XD

So, essentially, Normal Malleus hates being pampered with, just because he's a royalty (even though he's capable of being independent and can learn through the struggle). This thing that Normal Malleus hates, is also the behavior that Overblot Malleus is promoting.

So it's like Overblot Malleus doesn't see that he would also Dislike it if someone where to trap him in a "room"(dreamworld) where everything is just done for him, just because they have this predetermined assumption that Malleus shouldn't struggle because he's a prince. lol

STYX should just contact us Diasomnia stans if they want to treat the option of “just talking it out with overblot Malleus” more seriously, we'll refute that fae's every hypothesis TRUSTTTT while this organization was busy analysing his magic we were busy analyzing his psyche XD 🤣

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #disney twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #lian notes #twst malleus draconia #twst diasomnia #twst theory #malleus twst #twst analysis #twst theories #twst hcs #twst wonderland #twst headcanons

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aspureasamelody · 4 months

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So after Raimundo betrayed them, Kimiko definitely vented to Keiko, and Omi airs his grievances publicly but probably doesn't personally vent his more personal pains about it to anyone (maybe Chase, way later)

But Clay? He's not on speaking terms with Jesse yet, and I don't think his relationship with his father would have improved enough to be comfortable venting to him by then

So Clay would definitely vent to Dojo

In which case, I can't decide if Dojo vaguely compares the situation to when Dojo's previous group of dragons fell apart while clumsily avoiding naming any names("We'll call this guy, uh... D. And this guy... Ch-- C! And this guy, G."), or if he somehow finds a way to just compare it to how Chucky Choo stole his yo-yo and explain how this is basically the same thing before veering into another unhinged rant

#xiaolin showdown #dojo kanojo cho #clay bailey #chucky choo

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classysassy9791 · 8 months

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As requested by this poll game, here are 12 new lines from the next chapter of TCMTTD!

Excerpt from upcoming Ch. 6:

Miroku stole a glance at the woman who arrived, noting her brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. A taller man stood at her elbow wearing an aloof expression.

“My name is Detective Sango Tachibana, and this is my partner, Detective Takeda Kuranosuke.” She flashed her badge, the man beside her following suit, before she returned it to her hip.

That caught Miroku’s attention, especially considering what Sango wore. Takeda seemed to be wearing the traditional detective attire - clean pressed slacks and button-up shirt - but Sango wore jeans paired with black combat boots. Not often did he see a woman strutting around in those, especially someone on official business.

Kimiko glanced between them. “How may I help you, Detectives?”

“There was a car accident on 34th street Friday night that’s being investigated. We were wondering if you knew who was working that evening,” Sango asked as she leaned against the counter.

~~~

Want to get caught up on what's happened so far? You can find it on AO3 or search my tumblr! I hope to bring you this next chapter soon!

#inuyasha #kagome #inukag #miroku #sango #mirsan #kaede #fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #my fanfiction #the closest moment to the dawn #sassy stays classy

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chase-ships · 9 days

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XC Chase: So Eon, why do you disliked me too much?

Eon: Dude what? I don’t dislike you it’s just because you’re hard to talk with and that doesn’t mean I dislike you *smiles* you’re my favorite lil bro

XC Chase: *smiles* hahaha it was an absurd question I guess

Dashi: Well I guess we need to try to be nice right Guan?

Guan: Eon, your little brother whatever you call is the type of people that loves to play with the others

Eon: Go to hell

Guan: Oop

Raimundo: Looks like we have a fight here SkeeYee

Dashi: ………….. Okay Brazilian kid

XC Chase: Ok but Eon are you okay with me dating Chase? Didn’t you dated Lunniani too?

Eon: Yeah but that’s past

Boomer: I hope that Chase Young and Monk Eon get along all the time since they’re brothers

Omi: Boy you don’t know nothing about their relationship

Ping Pong: It’s like me and Omi have a good relationship

Clay: relationship? Partner he always makes you feel bad

Ping Pong: That was before

Clay: Hmmm Hmmmmm.. Yeah right

XC Dashi: Whatever

Dashi: Shut the hell up you’re jealous

Dojo: Man we hear every day this freaking dialing

Eon: Okay listen, Chase is the only family I have like what do y’all want me to do run away?

*Chase cries*

*Eon hugs Chase*

Omi: This is hilarious damn

Kimiko: B*ch bye

Omi: Girl you’re just jealous as if chronicles Omi gives two f*cks

XC Omi: What did you say? Boy you better watch it

Eon: How come Omi never has a family member before? We haven’t like seeing any of it

Omi: Master Fung is like my father cause I grew up with him so he’s like my father

XC Chase: I never though of it

Ping Pong: Didn’t you said that you’re Omi’s father or family?

XC Chase: No, my only family is Eon besides I’m already married with Chase

XS Chase: *smiles and laughs*

Dashi: Then why do you have kids?

XC Chase: Boy, these are my step kids you know that Drake and Shens are my step kids

Dashi: Oh

#xiaolin chronicles #xiaolin showdown #grandmaster dashi #master monk guan #chase young #monk eon #xc ping pong #clay bailey #raimundo pedrosa

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monkey-network · 1 year

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Good Stuff: Kiff

or How to Stop Worrying and Bring Silliness Back

Kiff is the new Disney animated series that just premiered this month, WHO'S EXCITED?! ...some people, I guess? After Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur and The Owl House finish in April, this definitely feels like Kiff got the middle-child treatment hard. By that, I mean I've seen nothing about this show. No ads, and no mentions; Bob Iger I've seen brought up more recently than this show. This begged the question is me: what's the scoop on Kiff? Is it secret anime kino that got the shaft or is there not much to it?

From what's seen, it's just about a chipper, well-intentioned, and dramatic squirrel girl voiced by Kimiko Glenn, who also voices one of the most popular characters of all time: Baby Shark! And that's it. From the episodes I've seen, there's really no surprise factor beyond the simple joys of it. It feels like a CH Greenblatt show but with neither the pants-pissing comedy gold nor visible emotional bonding moments. It's a pretty irreverent cartoon with the one strong appeal I see is the main character. I like Kiff herself, Kimiko has become a favorite new VA to me, but that's not enough compared to The Ghost and Molly McGee, Hamster & Gretel, or Big City Sneeds which had a strong start and a recognizable premise that you could jell with over time. Not saying you need a master plan story throughline or go awol with ideas, I'm kinda just at a loss of how to feel about it.

Besides Kimiko is doing good out here

Sometimes media reviewers don't have the answer or spin to everything, and I won't pretend there's some special reason for this show's happenings. This isn't a bad show, but it's not a cartoon I can boost avidly like before because what you see is what you get. Then again, if I can offer a takeaway for this series beyond it just being a simple fun time.

That & now I got 3 nickels for every squirrel cartoon

With the era of story-driven kid shows falling by the wayside, I think expectations have skewed against stuff like Kiff and I feel that's not fair. I tried with this series, but while even on a Saturday morning I probably know I won't keep up with this, I know other people will definitely fucks with it. This review isn't just me going "not for me" but I'm saying "It's there for anybody". I'm all for this show, that silliness well needed to obscure the fact I want Disney's downfall now, but it's a soft series that I'm not gonna follow after a couple weeks. This could be the real jumpstart of the possible episodic renaissance of television and it makes say things'll be alright.

7 Out Of 10; Simple Surly-type Series

#Kiff #disney kiff #cartoons #animation #reviews #Good Stuff

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avastrasposts · 9 months

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The British Connection - ch. 15 - Final chapter

Cross posting this properly on Tumblr for the first time so it's been scheduled out throughout the day:

The plot follows MI6 agent Eve Edwards as she's assigned to help Billy Butcher and The Boys take down a new type of supe killing politicians on both sides of the pond. Not much fluff in this, plenty of canon typical violence, smut and extreme amounts of Britishness

Read on Ao3

With a jolt Butcher came to, his hands still gripping Eve’s throat and her limp body slumped against the wall of the hotel room. As if her skin burnt him he ripped his hands away as MM slammed into the door frame, gun raised.

“Fuck, no,” Butcher roared, stumbling back, as MM took in the scene before him, Hughie catching up behind him.

“No, fucking no, I didn’t fucking do this,” Butcher groaned, agony thick in his voice as he put his hands out towards Eve’s throat again, angry red marks already blossoming across it.

“Move, Butcher,” MM was in the room now, trying to push him out of the way, “Let me check on her.”

Butcher didn’t seem to register and MM shoved him aside, making the big man stumble and sink down against the opposite wall.

“Fucking move, Butcher!” MM roared, “Check the supe and grab Kimiko for fuck’s sake, we need to get out of here.”

Hughie glanced over at McKay and quickly looked away.

“Pretty sure he’s dead, half his face is missing.”

MM knelt down over Eve’s still form and pressed two fingers to her pulse point for a few seconds.

“She’s got a pulse, but it’s very weak, we need to get her to an ER or the swelling is going to cut off her breathing completely.” He looked over at McKay and then Butcher.

“Alright Butcher, you need to move, grab Kimiko. Hughie, help him out. I’ll take Edwards and then we get the fuck out of here asap.”

“No,” Butcher growled, pulling himself up, a grim look on his face, “I’ll take her, grab Kimiko.”

Pushing MM aside he knelt and carefully put Eve’s broken wrist, it was laying at an unnatural angle, onto her chest before he scooped her up, one arm under her knees, one around her back.

“Support her head, don’t let her neck bend too much,” MM said as he easily picked up Kimiko, cradling her in his arms. “Hughie, get a photo of McKay, quickly. We can’t bring him, might as well get photo evidence of him being dead.”

Hughie quickly snapped a shot with his phone and retreated out of the room after Butcher and MM.

MM took the lead, taking them down the back stairs he’d come up on with Hughie, while giving Frenchie instructions to get down and meet them with the van next to the hotel. Frenchie confirmed and the van pulled up in front of the hotel as they came out the back door. Moving quickly and carefully, MM got Kimiko onto the floor of the van. Butcher sank down against the wall inside, still holding Eve, his hand keeping her head steady as Frenchie, checking the rearview mirror, sped off, the sound of approaching police sirens closing in on the hotel.

With a gasp Kimiko came back to life, blinking up at the ceiling of the van, as Hughie reassured Frenchie that she was ok, the Frenchman's frantic questions bouncing round the van.

“Frenchie, nearest ER, but don’t attract any police attention,” MM barked at him as he checked Eve’s pulse again. “She’s still with us, Butcher,” he added in a lower voice, “just keep her steady.” Seeing the state of his colleague he put a hand on his shoulder. “She knew the dangers in going up against McKay and this was not your doing, ok? He took control of you like he did with her, she knew there was a risk of this, we all knew.”

Butcher didn’t respond, keeping his eyes on Eve, watching her chest move up and down with the smallest lift as her body struggled to force oxygen past her rapidly swelling larynx.

Frenchie kept the van as steady as possible as he sped through the dark streets, mercifully light on traffic. As he pulled up in front of the ER intake MM ripped open the van doors and yelled for a gurney. Butcher was forced to let go of Eve as two ER staffers stabilised her head and moved her over to the gurney that had quickly been rolled out. Following her into the hospital Butcher grabbed MM’s shoulder.

“Get to Mallory, update her on the situation. I’ll call with any news.”

“Got ya,” MM confirmed and watched Butcher jog after the gurney into the ER.

...

The pain in her throat was dull and throbbing, the need to cough overwhelming, as her eyelids slowly lifted, blinking against the sharp overhead lights. Her hands shot up to her throat, gasping in pain as the first cough racked through her and she scratched at the mask over her face. From somewhere near gentle hands took hold of her own and pulled them down.

“Easy luv, don’t panic,” Billy’s rumble was close as he wrapped his calloused fingers around her hand and bent down closer. His other hand reached out and pushed the call button.

“Just take it easy, you’re in hospital, it’s all fine, darlin’,” he soothed her as her panicked eyes found him. “Don’t try to speak yet, I’ll explain it all once the doctor has checked on you.”

On que the door swung open and a woman walked in followed by a nurse.

“Ms. Edwards, good to see you awake. You had us worried there for a bit.” With practised hands she went through the routine, carefully feeling Eve’s throat, and made notes on the chart as she checked the read out from the machine next to the bed. “You’re going to be in a bit of pain for a while but the swelling is already going down in your larynx and your breathing should keep improving. But we’re keeping you here for another twenty-four hours, I’ve already told your husband.”

Eve’s eyes darted to Billy’s who gave her an almost missable smirk as the doctor continued.

“If you want to you can remove the oxygen mask but keep it nearby if you feel the need for it. Your scan came back looking decent, you’ve got a small concussion and the x-ray showed a fairly clean break on your wrist, you won’t need surgery for it.” She pointed down at Eve’s wrist that was now in a solid cast from just below her elbow down to her fingertips.

“You can drink but no solid foods for the next few days. I’ll get one of the orderlies to bring you some soup. But start with some water, small sips, should help with the coughing. The bruise on your jaw will look nasty for a while but no fracture and no loose teeth, you’ve got strong bones it seems.” With a kind smile she put the chart back and moved towards the door. “Any questions, just press the button.” With a final wave she left the room with the nurse.

Billy had grabbed the jug of water on the bedside table and filled a glass, passing it to Eve.

“Here, small sips, luv.”

“Tell me,” Eve croaked in a hoarse whisper as she took the glass.

“McKay is dead,” Billy said, helping her get the glass to her chapped lips. “Seems you got a shot off and it hit his chest, don’t know how you fuckin’ managed that with a shattered wrist, luv,” he indicated at her cast. “But Frenchie’s the one who got us out. When the tranq shot didn’t work long enough he reloaded with regular ammo and got off a clean shot as soon as he could, straight through McKay’s head.”

Eve nodded her head at Billy with a questioning look.

“I came out of it the second McKay died,” Billy’s voice was low, barely a whisper, “I’m sorry, Eve, I should’ve taken him out straight away, I hesitated. I nearly got you killed.” He dragged his hand over his face, “ I nearly killed you,” a long sigh shuddered out of him.

Eve took his hand from his face and pressed her lips against the back of it.

“Not your fault” she croaked. Billy huffed and gingerly touched the violent marks of his fingers across her throat.

“Sure as fuck feels like it, Eve.”

…

Butcher’s got his coat off, draped across Eve’s hospital bed, as she sleeps most of the day and through the night. The nurse wrinkles her nose at the large black improvised blanket but he stops her from removing it. He’d put it over Eve when the cold hospital air conditioning made her shiver and she’d pulled it up to her nose when she briefly woke up, shooting him a grateful look. The coat stays put under Butcher’s watchful eye.

The following afternoon there’s a gentle knock on the door and it opens a fraction.

“Can we come in, Monsieur Charcuterie?” Frenchie’s face appeared in the gap. Butcher had been drowsing in the uncomfortable “easy” chair in the corner and now he shook himself awake as he waved Frenchie in, followed by Kimiko and Hughie.

Eve’s already awake and she carefully sat up as they gathered around her bed. Butcher took hold of her arm, supporting her as he arranged the pillows behind her back and helped her lean against them. Hughie can’t help himself, his eyebrows shoot to his hairline as he watches the usually so gruff Butcher attentively care for her.

“MM is finding your doctor, going to see if they’ll let you go today, or if they want you to stay another night,” he said to Eve as Kimiko gave her a small bag of chocolate limes.

“She can’t eat those yet, no solid food for a few days,” Butcher moved his coat further up Eve’s legs, smoothing it out.

“Comment te sens-tu, mon ami?” Frenchie asked, gently patting her good hand.

“Better,” Eve croaked, her voice a little bit smoother, with a small smile at him as Kimiko put the sweets on the bedside table. “Thank you.”

“We got scared,” Hughie said, “you didn’t look good in the hotel room, thank god Frenchie knows all the shortcuts.”

Eve reached for a writing pad and paper on the table and scribbled.

Thank god for Frenchie’s shooting :)

“That too,” Hughie smiled while Frenchie shuffled his feet.

“It was nothing, the scope does all the work, I just pull the trigger.” But his grin was proud as Butcher slapped him on the shoulder.

“You did good, Frenchie, can’t deny it.”

There’s another knock on the door and a doctor, the same from the day before, entered the room followed by MM.

“Alright, quite the party in here, but if you could all just clear out for a moment while I check on my patient,” she said and opened the door wide to let them out. Butcher stayed put, still standing by Eve’s side.

“Let me check your oxygen saturation, that’s what I’m most concerned about,” the doctor said, going over to one of the machines next to the bed, checking the monitor. “Seems you've been hovering at about 96% for the past 12 hours. That’s great, within the normal range. How’s your throat feeling?”

“Sore but better,” Eve croaked out.

“And your head?”

“Same.”

“Any dizziness, vertigo or nausea?”

Eve reached for her pad and wrote “Not since yesterday.”

“Ok, Mr Edwards, does she seem coherent to you, like herself?”

Eve hid a grin while Butcher took a moment to react to the moniker.

“What, ye, she’s fine, seems like herself,” he finally got out, hiding his slip by taking hold of Eve’s hand and bending to drop a kiss on her head, “You’re doing just grand, darlin’.”

“Well, I feel comfortable letting you go home then. I’ll leave the paperwork at the nurses station along with a prescription for painkillers, should you need them. Continue to take it easy with solid foods, get your husband to make you some nice soup, if he’s a decent cook.” The doctor winked at Eve and left the room.

Eve reached for her pad; Make me soup, doctor’s orders :)

Butcher chuckled, “You don’t want my cooking, luv. But I’m great at ordering take-out.”

…

Butcher helped Eve change out of her hospital clothes and into the clothes she’d come in with, the only missing item her jumper, it had been cut off her in the ER. As a replacement someone had brought a bright red zip up Homelander hoodie that Eve eyed suspiciously before letting Butcher help her put it on.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. “It was the only thing not kids’ size in the gift shop.”

“Thanks, Billy,” she squeezed his hand as he did up the zipper and he gave her a crooked smile.

“Couldn’t let you go home in just my coat.”

Eve scribbled on her pad; Pretty sure you would’ve enjoyed that a little bit too much.

He chuckled, “You know it, gorgeous girl.”

…

They found the rest of the boys waiting by the nurses station and after Eve had been properly discharged, with a paper bag of medication, they made their way down to the lobby. Butcher was back in his black coat, an arm around Eve’s waist as if to keep her steady.

As they walked across the open atrium space to the doors two figures stood up and came over.

“Good to see you on your feet, Edwards,” Gracy Mallory greeted them.

The other person was a man in his 60’s, neat grey hair, dark suit and tie, well polished dress shoes.

“Ms. Edwards,” he gave her a nod, “good indeed to see you in one piece.”

“Cochran?” Eve looked surprised as he stopped a few steps in front of her. “Why are you here?”

“With McKay out of the picture you’re being recalled to London, effective immediately, I was instructed to escort you back and a debrief as soon as possible.” The MI6 man’s crisp British accent mirrored Eve’s own and his tone was direct. “There’s a flight waiting.” He stepped back and held out his arm towards the exit, expecting Eve to follow him outside.

“Hang on now,” Butcher raised his voice. “She’s just been discharged from hospital, look at the state of her. She needs to rest and recover, not get on an airplane and be debriefed with you, mate.”

“I’m afraid that’s not up to you, Mr. Butcher.” Cohran said, eyeing the tall man with disdain. “Edwards, you’re flat here has been packed up, it’s all in the car. Whenever you're ready, please.” He took two steps forward, putting his hand out towards her and with a menacing growl Butcher stepped in front of Eve.

“She ain’t going nowhere with some MI6 wanker. We’re not done here, she’s not done here.”

Eve put her good hand on Billy’s shoulder and stepped past him, looking at Cohran for a few beats, seemingly deciding how to respond as her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Butcher’s right,” she said, her voice raspy, “We’re not done here, we still don’t understand McKay’s motivation, why he killed politicians, why he killed Sadiq Mohammad and the viscount and his granddaughter. Why he killed my father, ” she added in a sharp tone, aimed at Cochran. He dropped his head a fraction.

“Edwards, you’re an excellent operative but you have a record that doesn’t make you popular at Vauxhall. Don’t provoke it further. This mission has been terminated, effective immediately.”

“What are you not telling us?” Eve asked, looking at Cochran before shifting her gaze to Mallory.

“Edwards, your diplomatic visa has been revoked, as of midnight tonight you no longer have the right to remain in the US.” Mallory cleared her throat, an uncomfortable sound. “I’m also to remind you, William, that you’re not a US citizen.” She gave them both an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, it came from higher up, it’s out of my control.”

Cochran put out his arm towards Eve as if to usher her with him and she took a step back, her shoulders slumped slightly, defeated.

She looked back at Billy and the rest of his crew behind him. “Let me say goodbye, “ she said with a pained look at Butcher, an almost missable shake of her head.

“Of course, whenever you’re ready,” Cochran gave a curt nod, turned and walked towards the exit, stopping just inside of it.

“Good job, Edwards, all things considered,” Mallory said, giving her a dip of her head, before heading to the exit, a glance at Butcher’s dark face.

Eve turned towards Billy.

“Alright, you lot, clear out, say your goodbyes and leave. I need a word with Edwards,” Butcher growled, not looking at her. Kimiko hesitated for a second before carefully hugging Eve and letting her go with a small smile. Frenchie bent and kissed her once on each cheek, “Tout le meilleur, mon ami”.

Hughie awkwardly gave her a pat on the shoulder as MM leaned in and gave her a gentle bear hug. “Stay safe, I’ll keep an eye on Butcher for you,” he whispered low enough for only her to hear and she mouthed a silent “thanks” as he looked down at her before grabbing Hughie and walking off after Frenchie and Kimiko.

Billy put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around so that his wide frame blocked them from Cochran and Mallory by the exit.

“Didn’t want to say goodbye to you like this,” Eve croaked, her voice catching.

“It is what it is, darlin’,'' Billy mumbled, carefully cupping her non-bandaged cheek in his big hand, gently stroking it with his thumb. “Sort out the toffs at Vauxhall, then come back to us. We’ll swing you a green card somehow.” He drew a deep breath, “we might need you ‘ere after all.”

“We, or you, Billy?” Eve asked quietly.

“Bit of both I reckon,” he whispered.

Eve bit down hard on her bottom lip, fighting back the stinging in her eyes, and Billy gently tugged her lip loose from her teeth. “Don’t give yourself another injury, luv,” he smiled, dimpling his cheek. He moved his fingers under her chin and leaned in, pressing his lips gently to hers. Eve’s arms, injured and good one, reached up around his neck, pulling him in, as his arms circled her waist, letting his hands stroke up along her spine.

When he finally moved back from her his face was serious, “Don’t let them give you any shit, gorgeous girl, give them only what they need, and get out. Close that chapter, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good. And stay in touch. I’m shit at replying but just let me know ok?”

“Ok.”

Eve gave him a last look, taking in his tall frame, hands still holding on to her waist, the black beard and hair, small freckles over his nose under intense hazel eyes that were fixed on her.

“I’d better go,” she said. He nodded and she moved around him, his hands falling from her waist. She took a few steps towards the exit before she turned and gave him a small smile.

“They probably left the Yorkshire Gold and Hobnobs in the cupboard when they emptied out the flat, you’re welcome to them if you want.”

Billy chuckled, “Thanks, luv.”

She gave him a wave and turned back towards Cochran, Mallory already walking towards her car.

As Eve reached Cochran he fell in step with her and held the door as they exited the hospital, walking towards the waiting black car.

“Always knew you had a soft spot for East End boys, Edwards,” Cochran said as they reached it.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Cochran.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

#the boys #the boys fanfic #billy butcher #billy butcher x ofc #billy butcher fanfic

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semitransparent-glob · 7 months

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not sure how to word this but im just curious about kazuyas design and character? :0 i was wondering why and in what ways her character was inspired by nagito, and other characters' inspiration from other canon characters, not in a bad way at all its just interesting to me in how canon dr does this as well and the function and purpose it serves in implications and expectations it creates for the characters. its really fun to me :3

also i really like your ocs, their designs, talents, personalities, etc is all really cool !!

thank u!!! kazuya is prob the most obviously based off of a canon dr character but he's not the only one, and in fact i made a lil chart a while ago for who is based off of what canon dr character, whether it be for personality or design

Kazuya was the first dr oc i made and i had a clear idea in my head of what i wanted them to be. Me and some friends were talking about how it would be awesome if komaeda was a lesbian instead and i said hey, what if i just make an oc exactly like that. But as much as he is a direct inspiration from nagito i try to keep him a bit different (or at least i hope i do).

But kazuya also has an in-universe reason for his connection to nagito :^3c. This cast is kinda like the v3 cast in that they are fictional characters with implanted memories, but unlike v3 they got to design and create the characters they play themselves, even if they didn't know that's what was going to happen at the time. So for kazuya, before he got his memories wiped he was a huge komaeda fan and wanted to be just like him lol, so that's why he made his own character like that

i could go into a lot more detail for the other charas on the chart but i'm gonna try and keep it relatively brief and put it under a readmore

starting from the left column and going down, Emiko was kinda passively inspired by komaru, but they ended up very similar in some ways. Their designs are similar and they have similar types of confidence issues that lead to inaction. Also they are both in love with girls who are terrible (said lovingly).

Haruka's design was based somewhat on byakuya's, and i sometimes even joke and call him 'femme byakuya'. But also his snobbishness is a trait i stole from him as well. But, like celeste, his air of sophistication is all a lie to make it seem like he's not just some guy.

skipping kazuya

For ayumi i kinda just stole leon's motive and his thing where he wants to be something other than what he's actually talented at. For ayumi its that she wants to be a philosopher. Also she is the first killer.

Chou's is pretty simple i just took the mask design element more than anything else

and for the right column, Hideaki shares in toko and byakuya's idea that no one can be trusted and that cooperation will not work in monokuma's killing game. Hideaki is also an author like toko and his demeanor is similar to her's as well, but perhaps not as extreme

Rokurou is like gonta in that they are the muscle charas but they have ultimates in STEM rather than a sport like you'd expect. And rokurou is like mikan in that he is a nervous wreck

Junichi was very directly inspired by kirumi, because i love the concept of an ultimate maid, and i think butlers are cool. I wanted to make a character that was what i thought kirumi was going to be when i first played the game. Basically, i wanted a chara who was depended upon too much, and snapped as a result, but in a much more selfish way than kirumi. His motive for murder is very much inspired by celeste (he also wants to be rich and live in a mansion) and he is the ch 3 killer who kills two people.

Once again i borrowed byakuya's snobbishness for kimiko's character. I put the imposter on there as well because kimiko kinda becomes a bit of a leader in ch 1, keeping everyone together and working towards a goal (in her own bossy way) until she becomes the first victim, much like the imposter.

Lastly, ryuuji is a lot like mondo in his mannerisms, but like kazuichi he cracks easily and is a huge wuss.

#ty for the ask!! 💖💖 sorry for the essay lol but i hope its interesting :'^)#my ocs

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noccolibroccoli · 1 year

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C, I, and T for the ask meme

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will.

mmmmmmmmmmmm raik/im, mostly because I just like them better as friends/siblings and i honestly think there wasn't really much in canon to support them being A Canon Couple, like rai definitely had a crush on kimiko but i don't think she returned it. i feel similarly about ch/ack lmfao

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

Xiaolin Showdown. :)

I know i still talk about it and i have a sideblog and everything but honestly i'm done with the fandom and have been for 7 years. i'm just trying to get this last story out and then i'm going to move on for good.

#breaking the ship names up so i hopefully don't show up in the tags and get yelled at

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jaenomins · 7 years

Photo

the badass women of sekairph

hwang haneul: stomps on men with her stiletto heels, taking names and paving the way for little haein

asakawa haruka: a vixen, a dancer, a firecracker, never stopping, never quitting, take me or leave me, i’ll run circles around you anyway

harada kimiko: treat me like the princess i am, bisexual goddess, alcoholic on the weekends, model for the work week

kang seolbi; rare blue eyed goddess, a singer, a flirt, lover of all things pink, never take no for an answer

#my aesthetics #ch: haneul h.#ch: haruka #ch: kimiko #ch: kang seolbi

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violetmina · 9 months

Text

Chokehold - Ch. 9

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot @itsyellow @lmarina2000 @d3adite666 @casualfansoul @missrandomheart @cvstle

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,787

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, mentions of assault, drugs, blood, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: A slightly shorter chapter for once. But hoping it's still a good one. Enjoy!

For the first time in weeks, you don't dream of Butcher. You don't dream at all, solely because you can't sleep. You're wired, a captive in your bed, bound restlessly by unresolved lust, feelings you don't dare yet name, curiosity, and one that suspiciously resembles the most dangerous of them all - hope.

You blame Butcher's kiss for that one. If it had been a heated thing, a biting, bruising contact that you would expect from someone as rough and ragged as him, then you'd probably feel a bit different. You just hadn't expected him to be soft. You weren't prepared for the tenderness, for the contrast of the scruff of his whiskers to the plush of his lips, like a warm ghost resting at your mouth.

With the possibility of hope comes a more familiar feeling. Fear. Just a little, coiled beneath your sternum with potential to grow. It's familiarity is not comforting and you twist in your sheets as you try not to taste it, or seek any trace of Butcher left on your lips.

You may not dream in slumber but you still daydream. Another reason you can't sleep. Because you keep wondering all the ways he meant when he had said those three little words; we ain't done. You keep wondering, half-hoping that he'll call, letting you know all that had been found at the hospital. Or even for him to show up at your door immediately after, that brusque knock to sound at any moment. You wonder, despite trying not to, just how deep his well of tenderness could go.

A press of your fingers and you check the time on your phone. One AM. You sigh against the pillow. Also against your better judgment, you keep wondering just how different your night would be right now if Frenchie hadn't forgotten his damn key. Which afterwards you realized wouldn't have mattered much anyway since MM still had called only moments after he and Kimiko had left. And that annoying little voice had been right; you wanted more than just a short string of one night stands with Butcher. Nonetheless, lust warms between your hips like warm coals again at the possibilities.

If they hadn't shown up, if you had given in, do you think he would have ignored that call?, it whispers. Or do you think he'd shush you while he kept you writhing on-?

"Christ, calm down!," you hiss into the dark. With an irritated huff, you throw back your covers and sit up in bed. You then pad to your bathroom, wrenching on the faucet to splash cool water on your face. After patting your face dry with a towel, you sigh in defeat and head out to your kitchen.

Sleep is too evasive tonight, so you fill your kettle to lure it with some tea. As the water begins to heat, you glance over your texts. MM's about the gala that you'd shown Hughie nags at you, reminding you that you should get in contact with Annie somehow. And still nothing from Butcher.

Rather than torturing yourself further, you put your personal phone aside and dig out your burner. You thumb through the pictures of the Persuasion files, skimming for anything you might have missed. Some little clue that would shift all this in your favor.

The devil is in the details, you remind yourself. So let's exorcize it. What are our details?

The kettle begins to softly squeal its displeasure and you pause long enough to prepare your tea. The little domestic task does nothing to distract you from the growing unease you feel along your spine, and after a quick scalding sip you start digging again. All the information is still there; the tests, the notes, the ambiguity of the subjects left both nameless and faceless. A single line of text nibbles at your interest; alternative demographics in market.

The unease seeps into tension across your shoulders and the back of your neck. What could that mean? What demographic or market did Vought not already have their greedy, controlling fingers in? And how is Walsh involved?

Then another thought, suddenly, What if it's not about Vought? What if it's now for somebody else?

You lean back against the kitchen counter. What if it was for Vought and isn't anymore? What if the company was right, that it was stolen…they just didn't realize Walsh was the thief? You tap your fingers against your mug as the ideas continue on. It still left the riddle. Vought had all the means of making Persuasion into something, it was for their supes. So…

"What do you gain, James," you whispered into your tea, "by crossing Vought and staying on their payroll? Why do you avoid their resources?"

The symptoms for both supes and non-supes of the study stare back at you from the screen, giving you no answers. All that uncertainty, the pain they suffered, and the scientific callousness only pushes your unease further. You finally jam the burner back in its hiding place, defeated again. You can't hardly think with all the hairs standing on the back of your neck-!

You swallow a mouthful of tea, slowly looking about your shadowed apartment. It's very much like hours ago, back at the office, and a pesky little spark of excitement rises up. With cautious steps you begin surveying your home, peering around corners.

"Butcher?," you softly inquire the silence. After a pause, moving in the direction of your living room, you try again. "Billy?"

You knew he had a reputation for sneaking - or rather breaking - in and out of wherever he pleased. You wouldn't put it past him to attempt another jump on you. But as you step into the living room, the hairs on your arms also raise, the spark sputters out. This feels different. This feels wrong. You swear you feel eyes on you, intense enough that you make a rapid mental sweep of any and all weapons in your home.

You hold your breath for a moment, ears straining for any sound out of place. There is nothing. With ginger fingers you creep up to your window, turning so your back is to the wall and not the room, and just barely part the curtains to peep. Your eyes scan the scenery, craning to the street, glaring into windows for a chance of someone glaring back. Still nothing out of place. But the feeling of being watched persists.

Just as your eyes rise up to the rooftops across from your apartment, there's a disturbance high in the atmosphere. You suck in a breath as you step back from the curtains, not daring to look up into the sky. Then shake your head, stumbling back to the kitchen to pound the rest of the tea.

You crawl back into bed, unnerved even though the feeling of being watched has receded. Closing your eyes, you try to encourage sleep to take over again.

You didn't see anything, you try to soothe yourself. It was probably just cop lights reflecting off the building. And a plane overhead. He doesn't know you even exist. He wasn't there.

But when you eventually drift off, the briefest blur of red, white, and blue on the roof, just that fraction of a second, still plays on a relentless loop in your mind.

^^^

Are you okay?

It's one of the few things you recognize in Kimiko's sign language, and it's one of the first things said to you when you walk through the door the next morning. She cocks her head to the side as she looks you over, an air of concern in her frame. As you slough off your coat at your desk with a sigh you nod, hoping your smile is reassuring.

"You look like you need an espresso IV," MM calls as he lines up a stack of papers on his desk just so. "Did you not sleep last night?"

"A little," you shrug, slipping into your chair as Frenchie props his boots up on his own desk. "Just so excited to be working with you guys," you half-joke.

"What? No frisky rendezvous for you last night? What with you and all your 'plans'?," Frenchie grins with a waggle of his brows.

You can't help the scalding look you throw at him. No thanks to you!, you think. But you instantly remind yourself that it's not really his fault and it was probably for the best anyway. Instead, after Kimiko generously hands you a cup of coffee and a small serving of donuts, you thank her and reply to him, "Not in the cards for me right now. I'm sorry I didn't really get to those files. I know it wasn't exactly professional just throwing my bag in the door last night. Was in a rush."

"All good. We moved it last night, we were here for just a moment," Frenchie says. "Besides, we have some things for you before we deal with your new cases."

"Such as?"

"Butcher and I followed up on a lead last night," MM cuts in. "A young woman was dumped at the ER over at Bellevue. She checked off the symptoms."

"What did you find?"

MM pulls over a chair to sit on the other side of your desk. He shakes his head as he settles into the seat. "Not anything good. She was out of it. Eyes more glazed than these goddamn donuts. She seemed one of the lucky ones that didn't have a bad trip coming down."

"Did she tell you what happened to her?, " Frenchie asks.

"Not much. From what we could make out, she went to a party with her friends. Having a good time. From what she can remember, they were approached by a few guys, offering to buy them drinks. And then she woke up in the hospital."

"Assault?," you ask quietly.

"It looks like there was an attempt. She had defensive markings. Thankfully, the medical staff who examined her says that there were no signs of sexual assault. Working theory right now is whoever gave her the drug tried to get her to a second location, and with a fight she was able to get away."

"Who dropped her off then?," Frenchie asks with a shrug. "If we know where the party was, perhaps we can find out who slipped her this shit in her drink."

"That's where it gets weird," MM replies with a wave. "She didn't drink. All her tests came back clean of everything, even alcohol. Just Persuasion. She said she's usually the mom friend, so she was staying sober to keep an eye on them."

"So they didn't administer it orally. Sounds like she needed a mom friend this time," you muttered. You glance about the office, wiping glaze crumbs from your mouth before asking, "Speaking of friends, where's Butcher? It's not like him to dodge new cases."

"Butcher left right after the ER to track down the party venue, see if we could get eyes on security footage."

You blink as a little anxiety stirs at his words. "He's not back yet?"

"Haven't seen him this morning," Frenchie answers with a mouthful. When you turn to Kimiko she only shakes her head.

"Has anybody called to see where he's at?," you ask, trying to keep the edge from creeping into your voice. "Check to see if he's found anything?"

"Relax. Butcher's a grown ass man. He can handle himself and whatever bullshit finds him just fine," MM answers. His eyes narrow as he peers into your face. "What's got you on edge?"

"I'm not on edge," you counter. "I'm more concerned about his ability to find bullshit where there wasn't any to begin with."

Frenchie snorts as he swings his feet off the desk with a thud. "You can say that again."

MM gives a slow nod. "Mmhm…" He shifts, leaning towards you. If anybody had better interrogation skills than Butcher, your money would be on the imposing man before you. You feel like you're under a microscope. After a beat he continues, "That reminds me of the other thing we needed to talk about before we go any further."

"Oh?"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm kinda glad to see you getting back with all of us in the gang. Hell, we all are. Except maybe the kid, of course."

"But…?," you press with a wave of your hand.

"But we all got fairly common ground on this. Either Vought took someone from us, or some precious part of our lives we can't get back. We got skin in the game. And as far as we know, you don't." He taps the desk for emphasis. "So before we catapult you back into the trenches with us, we gotta know - Why? Why you wanna be in all this so bad?"

All eyes on you, MM's in particular, you shift in your chair. You take a long sip of coffee as you gather your thoughts as coherently as possible. Finally, you answer, "I was just helping an old friend at first. But not long after that first favor, Butcher said something that I couldn't get out of my head. It made me want to try to fix things."

"And what, pray tell, did that sly bastard say?" A touch of disdain colors MM's tone.

"He said…that Ryan had asked Mallory if he could still have piano lessons."

There's a long beat. You could hear a pin drop as all their faces go blank at the unexpected response. Kimiko makes a sign that you're not certain of, but you suspect is equivalent to “The fuck?”.

"I, uh, I don't -" Frenchie shakes his head. "I don't understand."

"Ryan was taking piano lessons," you say firmly. "He and Becca were in that compound. And he had piano lessons. Somebody was in there giving him lessons."

After a second of letting it sink in you press forward. "They had neighbors. They had a garbage truck that came by everyday for almost eight years. Someone drove that truck. Somebody cut his hair. And Becca's hair. I don't know if there was a faux grocery store. But somebody made sure there were groceries for all of them."

You take another sip of coffee, watching the slow realization fill the room. "Vought built an entire compound and filled it with people, like some petting zoo. All for that kid. But they don't see him as a kid, do they? They see a reboot of Homelander. Growing him up like a cash crop. And maybe all those people were just part of the company. But I can't help but wonder…what if they weren't? What if they were all thrown in there to keep other secrets under the rug, like poor Becca?"

You look at each of them with a frown. "Do we know? After Becca and Ryan escaped, do we know what happened to them? I mean especially since Homelander found out! Did Vought just let them go, abandoned that hellsite? Or did Homelander massacre them all for playing along, for hiding his son?"

You turn to MM with a shrug. "Has anybody even bothered to ask? Or do we only care about the casualties when we know them personally?"

Each of them sit up straight, as if you had jabbed them. Before they can say anything you say quietly, "I'm not judging. I know we can't save everybody. What I'm trying to say is…Vought shouldn't have that much power. They shouldn't be able to fuck with so many lives on that kind of scale. It's wrong. And we…I need to do something. I mean I can't drive a tank, or dodge bullets, or sway crooked politicians. But what you guys are doing, as crazy and suicidal as it is, feels like a pretty good place to start."

After a beat, and their eyes on you making you feel self-conscious, you snort, "Besides, somebody's gotta keep Hughie outta trouble!"

A soft smile appears on Frenchie's face as he stands to approach. "Really? You think you can keep petite Hughie out of trouble? With Monsieur Charcuterie around?" He gives you a playful pat on the shoulder. "Now that's some bullshit."

"Grade-A bullshit," MM snickers. He gives you a smile as well before it morphs back to a hint of curiosity, "Wait…Butcher talks to you about Ryan?"

"Umm…Occasionally?"

He only gives another slow nod in response. Then proceeds to wipe his hands clean before standing, the chair creaking in relief. "Alright. That's enough of the interview. You should get out while you can. But that's on you. Now…how about we start prepping for that damn party?"

^^^

You ride a slow seesaw of relief and nervousness when you finally step out of the flatiron to head home that night. It felt good to be back in the loop with the crew, a plan fleshing out for the upcoming mission. You'd poured over the schematics of the gala venue, a more modern setting with a maze of backrooms, elevators, stairways and hallways tangled around the main ballroom area. Part of you was glad that you would be up front instead of navigating that mess, aside from an exit strategy that is.

The gala would be on the top floor, fifteen stories above the street, in the biggest open floor plan the building had to offer. MM and Frenchie had made it a point to have you locate and memorize every possible exit, as well as the general areas they would be infiltrating with Kimiko. It was still being decided who would take which floors, however, the idea was simple; the three of them would start at the top floor and work down to the basement and loading areas under the building in search of Walsh's operations.

As already assigned, you'd work the ballroom and its adjoining balcony. Essentially, you'd be a watchdog for Walsh's activity and any of his potential associates and clients. If you picked up on any clues, you'd pass them on to the trio. Hughie and Butcher would be surveillance in the van at street level, within the general vicinity of the gala, ready to relay whatever you couldn't see on the floors below you.

The exact equipment was still to be determined, but you'd be wired with audio and video feed for Butcher and Hughie. Which meant you needed to get your evening attire sorted out straight away, an endeavor that Hughie seemed to have sensed not long after you and the trio had finally delved into Neuman's newest casework. You reread the coded text he had sent that afternoon as you continued home.

Annie is up for that girl’s night out the evening after next! She's pretty slammed with her job after that, so make it count. Come by my apartment at 4pm to get the pregame going.

Troubleshooting the dress code for self-defense was still not something you were looking forward to. Hopefully Hughie was right in that Annie would know how to pick a dress you could wear while performing murder yoga on potential assailants. Despite Butcher's insistent mistrust of her, you didn't mind the opportunity to spend time with her.

Here the emotional seesaw tilted away from relief. Still minding your steps and your surroundings as you entered your building, you backed out of Hughie's message and scrolled to find your conversations with Butcher. The message you had sent him safely out of MM's line of sight that afternoon had remained the same - unanswered. Not even left on read.

You let out a sigh between pursed lips as you ride the elevator to your floor. As the numbers light up in ascension, you do your best to ease your unsettled nerves. You know MM is right. Butcher had gone radio silent for days on a few occasions in the time you've known him, this was nothing new. In due time, he would swagger through the door with little to no event. And he was one of the most capable among you, the most to adapt and overcome in shitty situations. But you weren't wholly deflecting when you had mentioned his ability to find trouble.

The doors to the elevator open and you approach your apartment door thumbing through your keys. In moments you're home safe and sound. Door shut and secured behind you, you shuffle in, heel-toeing out of your shoes as you still try to ease your nerves.

He's probably just following that lead still. Hitting the pavement, doing what he does. He's fine.

Are you more worried about what mess he'll dive head first into?, the little voice chitters. Or are you more worried that he may have changed his mind? That he just might be avoiding you?

That makes you sluggish in hanging up your coat. You hadn't wanted to admit it aal day, even to yourself. But it was true. Yes, you were worried if Butcher was OK. But you couldn't help but wonder in the back of your mind if he was avoiding you again, wonder if he would rescind that moment of tenderness he'd given. And you'd go tumbling back into the awful, awkward sphere of wondering where you stood in Butcher's complicated world. Or where he stood in yours for that matter.

I hope it's standing next to him. And him with me.

You can't help a bitter chuckle at the thought, breezing into your bedroom. "You sap," you mutter to yourself under your breath. Pausing at the foot of your bed with a stretch, you contemplate how to spend the rest of the night before sleep. As tired as you are, practice drills sound nothing but exhausting. The idea of takeout and a hot shower before succumbing to the siren call of your mattress sounds pure genius at this point.

In a matter of moments, you place an order for pizza on your phone, the lure of hot water on aching muscles too tempting to hold off beforehand. A confirmation text pings on your screen as you slip open your bathroom door. Satisfied you look up-

And choke back a scream with an airy curse. Your phone clatters on the floor as you stare wide-eyed at Butcher leaning over your sink. His head snaps up at your sound of shock. He blinks at you, a furrow in his brow forming as he seems to take a slow second to register that it's you in the doorway.

"Evening, love. You…weren't s'pose be home yet."

Perhaps the low drawl wrapped around his words would have been charming on any other night. But not tonight. Not now. Not with blood dripping thick along one side of his face, down one arm. Painting the porcelain basin red.

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys fanfic

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