chelsea cait

The way his lip quivers at the beginning, emotional, like he’s about to cry because he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then a tight smile restrained for the camera, but an expression of pride that he could still be wanted, a look of relief that someone still cares. Because the line about him being the nation’s Father tripped something in him, something that Firecracker brought out in him, something he hated. His human nature, even if he thinks himself a god. He realized how hollow it feels when you have nobody to challenge you. It’s lonely up at the top.

The eyebrows show surprise, the resultant pull on his eyelids brings the look to one of desperation, if only for a second. He’s desperate, more than anything for someone who won’t leave him. His “father” (Stan) did, the woman he loved (Stormfront) did, the woman who devotedly adored him (Firecracker) did, the woman who could read him like a book (Sage) did, his “friends” (The Seven) did, his Father (SB) did, even his son did.

But Butcher? William Butcher? Butcher wouldn’t. Butcher couldn’t. Butcher would chase after Homelander if it’s the last thing on earth he was ever allowed to do. He’s a hunting dog with a nose for only one scent, and so long as he’s got his target, he will fight heaven and hell if it means he gets to walk through that door and face him.

You came?