#TRULY the power of butch lap

[songsofsappho]

I present, for your viewing pleasure, the scene that made me black out and turn cherry red from Drive Away Dolls.

I very much recommend audio - the sound of Jamie patting her lap is an important part of it 😵

[nightingaelic]

POODLES IN THE WASTELAND

i jest I jest

But 👀

What about pets? Either ones companions would have or a very uncommon one that someone wouldn’t think was a good pet, BUT IS. Deathclaws you can ride like a pony, mole rats that want belly rubs, cazadore’s as cattier pigeons! What are your thoughts?

Or like, Danse or Piper or Fawkes with something hilarious Idek ignore me

Oooookay, here’s my comprehensive list of companions - ALL companions, across Fallouts 3, 4, New Vegas and 76 - and their (headcanon) choices in wasteland pets. I’ll give a little explanation for each - particularly as many of these companions are transients and don’t have the luxury of owning a home to keep pets at. Also, I feel like most of the companions, while they might not necessarily like pets, would be somewhat fond or at least respectful of the pets of the Lone Wanderer/Courier/Sole Survivor/Vault Dweller, like Dogmeat and Rex. 

Bighorners

Lily Bowen: Everyone’s favorite super mutant grandma is already an experienced shepherdess in Jacobstown, and she’s more than willing to tear some night stalkers apart to keep her herd safe. If that’s not love beyond the norm for wasteland livestock, I don’t know what is. She’s probably given all of her bighorners names after the characters in the television reruns she used to watch on holotape in Vault 17, like Grace and Audrey and Lucille. 

Brahmin

Raul Tejada: Actually spent a decent part of his pre-war life living on a ranch, so he knows that most brahmin don’t deserve being labeled “irritable” just because people don’t know how to read their body language. I think he’d follow wild brahmin herds around a bit on a whim and keep them from coming to any harm, especially the little ones. He gives them names like the cattle he grew up with, Corazon and Gordo and Blanca. 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Doesn’t truck with the wild herds, but she knows that part of the success of a caravan lies with how well they treat their pack animals. All of her caravan’s brahmin have names - Penny, Magic and Sprinkles - and she’s careful to pair them up with drivers who are patient and work well with their various personalities. 

Cats

Butch DeLoria: While Butch ultimately decided to leave Vault 101 behind, I don’t think he would ever truly lose his fear of radroaches after what they did to his mom. Having a little friend to warm his bunk in Rivet City and pounce on intruders would probably set his mind at ease, maybe a black tomcat with one ear named Pepper. He might even gift his mom a kitten when he next comes to visit. 

Star Paladin Cross: I don’t think Cross much sees the use of an animal that doesn’t contribute to the community it lives in, like most of the Brotherhood of Steel. Cats, however, are excellent at pest control, even if the rats are bigger nowadays. I think she’d give the resident cats at the Citadel some pets in passing, and she’d smile when she has to extract playful kittens from inside her power armor frame. She’s especially fond of the cat colony’s matriarch, a scarred old tabby named Gemma. 

Curie: Upon her transition into a synth body, Curie is overjoyed with most animals and their new willingness to approach her for attention. She especially loves cats because she can pick them up and better feel their fur and purring. Her favorite cat is an orange stray in Diamond City that she calls Claude. 

Piper Wright: A companion for Nat when she’s out adventuring, an unbiased friend to bounce the latest opinion piece off of before going to print, and a lap-warmer for when you’re typing up the latest article about the exploits of the Minutemen - what’s not to like? The Wright family cat is a slippery, elegant calico named Sugar Bomb. 

Preston Garvey: While the Minutemen forts and settlements definitely lean more toward keeping dogs around for security purposes, I think Preston likes his pets quieter and less likely to bowl you over in excitement. The one most likely to sleep with him in his bunk at Sanctuary is a grumpy gray gentleman named Anchovy. 

Deathclaws

Veronica Santangelo: If anyone is crazy enough to swipe a deathclaw egg from a nest and try to hatch, rear and train a personal killing machine named Izzy, it’s Veronica. This will probably just alienate her from her Brotherhood chapter even more, but I’m sure she would take special care to make sure that her usual Mojave Wasteland haunts take a peek through a scope to see if the approaching deathclaw has a human on its back before taking a shot. 

Dogs

Clover: I don’t think Clover gets out beyond Paradise Falls much, so the only animals she’s used to are the dogs the raiders bring around when passing through. She probably has favorites among the usual visitors and enjoys tossing them bits of meat when she’s allowed to get away from Eulogy and Crimson. If liberated, she’d probably get at least three of her own dogs to watch over her while she sleeps: One small dog to carry with her, a Pekingese or Pomeranian descendant named Coco, and two large dogs to follow through on intimidation and protection, a mastiff named Rock and a Doberman descendant named Roll. 

Jericho: Jericho doesn’t deserve a dog but he’d probably have one around anyway to sniff out caps caches and hidden loot after he’s shot everyone in the vicinity. Some slinky beagle mix named Dewey, probably. 

Fawkes: I don’t think Fawkes would be picky at all about what kind of dog he’d have. He strikes me as the type who would adopt any half-friendly mutt he ran across. I do think he would have a bit of a soft spot for friendlier mutant hounds, though, and maybe view their mutated circumstances as similar to his own. He’d also be absolutely amazing at playing fetch. Just imagine how far he could lob a stick or ball. All of his dogs would have literary names too, like Byron and Agatha and Edgar. 

Craig Boone: Though he’s a bit of a prodigy at sniping, Boone knows his limitations when it comes to spotting hidden enemies on the horizon. I can see him having a hound dog at his side to find the more elusive ones and help him get rid of them faster. Maybe a bloodhound mutt named Bravo. 

Cait: Doesn’t like people, but she adores dogs. Having had the life where she’s been abused, exploited and forced into slavery, she’s keenly aware that those like the ones who took advantage of her treat dogs much the same. She’s very protective of any dog she encounters and is very likely to punch you in the face if you so much as look at one wrong. She’d probably name any pup she adopted Lucky. 

Hancock: Honestly, he’s just a fan of any animal that is happy to hang out with you whether you’re drunk, high, fighting raiders or patrolling downtown Boston. The Goodneighbor strays know him as the guy who always has mirelurk jerky in his pockets. His favorite is a rough-and-tumble, black-and-white spotted cattle dog descendant that he cheekily calls King George. 

Robert MacCready: He’s not quick to trust dogs, but once he’s sure they’re not a threat, they’re one of the few critters around which he’ll relax completely. He’s still a little wary of them around Duncan, but any dog that’s a part of his family is more or less his son’s permanent babysitter. 

Nick Valentine: Dogmeat is also basically his dog. The two have a history of working cases together, with Dogmeat just turning up whenever a trail goes cold and leading Nick to the evidence he needs to reopen his investigation. Nick doesn’t know how or why Dogmeat does it, but he’s not about to ruin a good thing. 

Strong: I don’t think he would turn down a ferocious mutant hound as a friend. He’d probably feed it mole rats and call it something like Killer. 

Foxes

Beckett: This former raider has a love-hate relationship with a fox that keeps going through his trash. He affectionately calls him Lil’ Bastard. 

Sofia Daguerre: Having crashed back to an earth she doesn’t recognize, I think Sofia would be tickled that the foxes of Appalachia have basically stayed the same despite the bombs. I can see her leaving dinner scraps out on her porch for one that she sometimes spots in the foliage, and slowly coaxing the critter to come into the light. She names her Scarlett once she finally convinces her to eat out of her hand. 

Mega sloths

Settler forager: I would not be at all surprised if this man ran into a mega sloth in the Mire and decided to try befriending it. The creature, probably surprised at this old guy’s nerve, decided to accept the handful of leaves he offered and grew slowly more fond of the guy’s persistence. It doesn’t know its name is Fergus but it does know that if a human is wearing overalls, it’s probably not a threat. 

Mole rats

Deacon: Alright, hear me out. Deacon has a fondness for underdogs, and mole rats are about as underdog as they come. I think Deacon thinks these little guys are cute despite their wrinkles and buck teeth, and I think he sees the value in having a tunneling pet that likes to collect shiny things. One of his deep cover hideouts is in an old tunnel system in the northern Commonwealth, where he hangs out with a young mole rat named Henry. 

Owls

Raider punk: This radio operator got wind of an abandoned nest of owlets in Appalachia early on in his career and, being the nearest to the report, decided to rescue the little guys. Now he has three owls that occasionally drop in at his camp to hoot and accept handouts: Nona, Decima and Morta. While he’s still fond of them, he’s usually disappointed that they aren’t the Mothman coming to visit. 

Rad chickens

Yasmin Chowdhury: Ever the opportunistic cook, she picked up the practice of raising chickens from the settlers at Foundation and has four hens of her own: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. The “ladies,” as she refers to them, give her a constant stream of eggs for omelets. 

Ravens

Settler wanderer: This gal has an affinity with birds, who are always on the move like her. She admires their ability to be untethered and let the wind take them far and wide. Nevertheless, she likes to scatter corn when they come close to her on the road, and formed a sort of friendship with a particularly handsome specimen that she calls Tornado. 

Wolves

Old Longfellow: This guy is the epitome of the meme about dads not wanting pets and then instantly falling in love with whatever animal enters their life. He probably found an injured wolf pup in his travels around the island and took pity on it, nursing it back to health in his cabin. It’s still got a bit of a twisted paw, but follows him around and listens like any other dog and answers to the name Lamoine. 

Yao guai

Porter Gage: I bet this guy adopted an orphaned bear cub and raised it by hand. Now it’s so big that even if Gage thinks he’s an easy target for other raiders due to his age, he’s much less likely to get singled out than he thinks because he has a yao guai following him around like a puppy. The bear’s name is Fuzzy Wuzzy. It has no hair. 

No pets, thanks

Charon: Too likely to accidentally wind up in the line of fire. 

Sergeant RL-3: Too easily corrupted by Communist influences. 

Arcade Gannon: Too much time spent getting in your way. 

Codsworth: Too likely to make messes. 

Paladin Danse: Too many wasted resources. 

X6-88: Too much of a liability. 

Ada: Too easy to lose when on the move. 

Solomon Hardy: Too unsanitary. 

[rainbowwritesthings]

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

Hughie reached up and felt the edge of the knife that was lodged in his ribs and could almost feel where the tip of the knife exited from his back. Butcher grabbed the hand that was fumbling with the knife handle and brought Hughie’s knuckles to his lips, “don’t worry bought that now.”

Hughie dies for awhile. Butcher freaks out. AO3

Soldier Boy stared Hughie down, somehow managing to exude disinterest while still maintaining an energy that spoke of impending bloodshed.

Hughie forced himself not to look around for Butcher, who had slipped away to try and track down the very Supe measuring the young man up.

“Where are your friends?”

The sudden baritone had Hughie jolting slightly and his usual instinct regarding a very powerful Supe asking questions rang true.

“Who?”

Butcher had made fun of Hughie countless times because of his ‘play dumb’ strategy, and the gruff man would always end the jab by saying it only made people more suspicious.

MM and Frenchie had made similar, less pointed comments about his lies under pressure, even Kimiko had once given him a look when Hughie dumbly asked, “who’s Hughie Campbell?” When someone was trying to intimidate him.

The heavy sound of boots walking towards him had Hughie’s heart beat harder, and he wished he could at least pretend to be brave while facing the first superhero.

This was Soldier Boy’s first meeting with any of the group and Hughie could understand why this was so disappointing for the man.

Soldier Boy stood in front of him and raised his eyebrows, “you’re really a member of The Boys? The group that kills Superheroes.”

Hughie blinked and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted when the man continued on.

“Your leader is former SAS and CIA. His right-hand man was a combat medic, left hand man was a gun-runner and chemist expert. Oh, and the other member is a trained Super terrorist.”

Hughie noticed the lack of mention for Starlight and hoped it meant that her spot on the Seven meant she was safe.

The Supe got even closer until they were just inches apart, “you used to upsell bullshit equipment for a Radio Shack. Why the fuck are you here?”

God Hughie wished he had a good answer to that, or at least the spine to say something cool like he knew Butcher would have.

“It’s a long story.”

This answer gained him a grunt and Soldier Boy stepped back, with no warning his fist shot out and Hughie fell to the ground. The Supe lowered down to straddle the man and Hughie tried desperately to get out from under him.

When two hands linked around his throat, Hughie froze and stared up.

“I could snap your neck and there’d be nothing you could do to stop me.”

Hughie was already well aware of this fact, and somehow being in such a powerless position eased the panic welling inside of him. As Soldier Boy’s grip around his throat tightened, Hughie grabbed his knife.

The first knife that Butcher had gifted him in the guise of safety, the one Hughie kept with him at all times since receiving it. He used it to stab the Supe in the arm, and Soldier Boy didn’t so much as flinch as he shifted to hold Hughie down with one hand.

The other hand reached up to yank out the knife, he examined the knife and looked down at Hughie.

“Maybe you aren’t as balless as I thought.”

Hughie sucked in air and heard heavy footfalls closing into to him. Butcher finally arrived with stomping feet and a shout, “Oi, cunt!” As Butcher shot at the Supe, Soldier Boy only looked up at him as a courtesy.

“Finally, a true member of the team.”

With a cold smile the Supe maintained eye contact with Butcher and rammed the knife through Hughie’s chest. Hughie couldn’t help but scream when the knife ripped through his lung, cartilage, and bones, and after it was in he weakly grasped at his chest.

When Hughie grasped about the area he could only feel the tip of the handle sticking out, the rest of the blade and handle was buried firmly in his lung and ribcage.

Butcher let out a roar and the rest of clip was unloaded into the Supe, Soldier Boy merely stood up casually over Hughie and wipe his bloody hand on his pants uniform.

Burcher was still holding an empty gun to the Supers face, seething with unbridled rage.

“I’ll kill every fuckin’ one of ya’!” For once an emotion other than boredom crossed Soldier Boy’s face, but Hughie’s vision was too blurry to make out what expression it was exactly, but it looked almost like surprise.

Black filled the whole of his vision and peace was momentarily granted, until strong hands were firmly shaking his shoulders and a voice was ringing in his ears.

Butcher came into a blurry world view that slowly cleared until all Hughie could see was Billy, cradling him in his arms with a desperate expression.

“Hold on now Hughie. Others are on their way, gonna get you all patched up.”

That was the most blatant lie Butcher had ever told him, even if MM rolled in right now with a squad of trained medics it wouldn’t matter.

Hughie could almost feel where the tip of the knife exited from his back and reached up to the area once again.

Butcher grabbed the hand that was fumbling around the knife handle and brought Hughie’s knuckles to his lips, “don’t worry bought’ that now.”

Hughie tried to focus on the man, truly he did, but he was also trying to gather air into his lungs. He was drowning in himself, there was no other way to describe it.

Butcher seemed to pick up on his gasping for air and with a gentle warning, lifted Hughie so he was braced on his lap.

Slightly more upright Hughie coughed up a spray of blood, coating both Butcher and Hughie. It was still hard to breathe, he could feel the blood pulling in his chest and congealing in his throat.

“Breathe darlin’, just breathe.”

At the command Hughie drew in a wet breath and immediately coughed harder, “Butch-“

“Shh, save your breath luv.”

A calloused hand ran through his hair before cupping his cheek, “you’ll be fine, made of strong stuff you are. This ain’t nothin’ compared to what you been through.”

Hughie’s vision cleared enough to see Butcher, more distraught than he had ever seen him before which lead to a new resolve.

“Listen-please listen to me.”

It was odd how exhausting that simple sentence was and the dawning comprehension that he was dying finally beginning to hit him. This understanding must have shown on his face because Butcher placed more pressure on the wound with a feral look in his eyes.

“You’re gonna be fine, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to ya.”

Holy shit, Billy Butcher was in complete denial about what was happening.

“Billy. I love you. Please don’t-“

More burning pain had Hughie wheezing past the blood, clutching Butcher’s hand in a vice grip. When the burn ebbed, he blinked past the black spots.

“Don’t give up.”

While the man knew he was in no way comparable to Becca, his death wouldn’t leave a gaping wound in Butchers heart like hers had, he also admitted that he was important to Butcher in a different way.

Hopefully someone else would fill his place as both a member, as well as someone to stand beside Butcher. Someone who could shine a light in the dark but was still resilient enough to stand against the Supes without fear.

He must have blacked out again because when he was blinking through the tunnel around his eyes he could hear Butcher whispering, it almost sounded like a prayer.

“You can’t give me a light in the fuckin’ cave just to take it away, not like this. Not him, please, anyone other than him.”

Hughie could hear a harsh wheezing and it took a moment to realize it was coming from him, distantly he could feel the pressure Butcher was keeping on the wound and the feel of Butchers face buried in Hughie’s hair.

He tried to swallow the thick metallic in his throat but ended up painfully coughing instead of forcing it down. Somehow coughing around the thick paste painting his insides hurt so much worse that the actual stab wound did.

Though now that he thought about it, he could still feel the knife stuck between his ribs, moving around and tearing something else up every time he tried to breathe to deeply.

God, there was so much more Hughie wanted to say to Butcher. He wanted to comfort the man who had already been through so much and let him know that whatever he found so special in Hughie could be found in someone else at least ten fold.

Hughie could hear the rest of the Boys arrive, not able to determine who was who when they filtered in but with sudden resolve he forced himself to focus.

“I-I can’t do anything about this man.”

He could hear MM distantly, as if his ears were packed full of wool, but despite how far away the voice was he could hear the pain laced in every word. Hughie felt cold in a way he hadn’t felt before, this wasn’t like a sudden cold snap that struck before you before the space heater was ready, instead it went deeper and curved around his bones, his very soul even.

He was also thirsty, despite how thick the blood coated his throat he still wanted something, anything, to quench his thirst. He could hear another voice, muffled as it was, and was able to determine it was Frenchie.

The only thing keeping him from floating away growled and Hughie forcibly peeled back the weights holding his eyelids closed. Everything was tilted on it’s side and he could barely see past the tunnel around his vision.

Billy’s face slowly came into focus and when he saw Hughie looking up at him, he gave a terrible smile. Not the one that promised impending bloodshed or illegal activities, but a new one entirely.

It took a while but Hughie was able to focus on MM next, the man looked as if he had been the one stabbed and gave the younger man a reassuring smile that contrasted with every other body signal he was giving Hughie.

Frenchie was rubbing the back of his head and pacing, but when he saw Hughie’s eyes on him he stopped and stooped down.

“Petit Hughie.”

He gave the dying man a shaky smile, and Hughie gave him a weak smile back. At this Frenchie looked around and sniffled slightly before getting up to pace around more.

Hughie looked at Kimiko and was shocked to see tears gathered around her eyes, her gaze was locked into his chest and the barest hint of the hilt that was visible sticking out of his chest. She was breathing deeply and Hughie knew she was visualizing taking the knife that killed him and slitting Soldier Boys throat with it.

Which led to Hughie imagining what the group would do next.

Butcher would go on a complete warpath, maybe even worse than it had been before. Homelander would always be the first mark, but now Soldier Boy would be directly under that name.

God Hughie hoped that Frenchie and mainly MM could keep Butcher, and maybe Kimiko, from trying to fight Soldier Boy without a plan.

There was no reason for all of them to crumble under one Supes hand over him, though honestly Hughie reasoned that none of them were that foolhardy to try and rush towards revenge before he had started to decompose.

Well if anything else, Annie could always get them to at least consider reason if their vision became clouded. He could hear Butcher above him and forced himself to focus.

“Please luv, you can't leave me. I love you Hughie, fuckin’ hell I love you.”

Hughie wanted to say that he loved him just as much, that Butcher was never what he expected from a partner but he didn’t regret the decision to join him even if this was the result.

“B-billy, thank you.”

For everything, all the terrible gory bits and the sweet moments that made life feel worth living. An ironic sentiment considering how close death was breathing down his neck right now.

Hughie hoped that when they broke the news to his father, they would lie and say it was instant. That there was no pain, no Hughie wheezing around his own blood.

Fuck he was really going to die, wasn’t he?

Hughie vomited up more burning blood as Butcher tried to sooth him and try as he might the numbness filled him completely. Swallowing Hughie whole in a dark embrace, free of pain and worry.

-- 

Hughie felt the world come into view in pieces. First there was a searing burn surrounding his very existence, threatening to burn him alive. Then the burn centered on his chest, and the only instinct Hughie had was to try and expel it.

He felt hands shifting him around, pulling him in different ways so that he could vomit the substance easier. Every time Hughie felt like he could take a breath a new wave of fire would hit.

Several objects that were suspiciously hard found their way trapped in his throat; he wasn’t sure who dug around his mouth to fish them out but Hughie owed his life to whoever did so.

Finally, when all the congealed blood and bits of bone had been expelled Hughie could take in full breaths instead of the chocked gasps he had been using before.

He vowed to never take his lungs and the beautiful feeling of filling them with air for granted. With uncoordinated blinks the world started to slide in place around him.

MM was smiling down at him and that answered the question of who was keeping him upright, “holy fuck man.”

Frenchie lunged forward to kiss both of his cheeks, speaking quickly in his own language. He got the sense that Frenchie was putting to words the pure relief that shone through his face.

Kimiko was practically beaming at him; she was signing to him and Hughie knew that he should recognize what she was saying but couldn’t focus long enough to create a translation. However he didn’t need to know exactly what she was saying, the meaning was clear when she was smiling so openly at him.

Past her Butcher was staring at him, completely still except for the way his chest was heaving. His expression was of blatant horror mixed with large dose of disgust, he wasn’t looking at Hughie’s face and if his jaw clenched any harder his teeth may be in danger.

That was what splashed Hughie in a new wave of panic.

“I died.”

Saying the words out loud sparked Hughie into moving, jerking around and clawing at his chest.

“I fucking died! What the fuck?!”

MM was trying to calm him down, gently holding his wrist when Hughie began to scratch at his throat.

“Oh god, oh my god. I was- I!”

His eyes darted around to the others, trying to get them to understand.

Kimiko had a look of understanding that he hadn’t seen from her before and Frenchie was leaving to grab something from the front of the van.

Throughout all of this Butcher hadn’t moved, though his face hardened as he watched Hughie thrash weakly in MM’s hold.

Butcher, who hated Supes of any kind, who still didn’t trust Kimiko or want anything to do with her despite her status as a firm member of the group. He tolerated her because she was useful, a good fighter as well as a good shot.

Hughie wasn’t either of those things, and as such wasn’t needed like she was.

“You’re going to kill me.”

Hughie’s voice shook with the statement, there was little doubt in his mind what Butcher was really thinking when he eyed to closed chest wound. Frenchie moved in front of him, brandishing a needle.

“Petit Hughie, this is going to help you to relax. Do not worry mon amie, it will be alright.”

Hughie thrashed about and the man knew he was babbling, begging the others for so many things but he couldn’t hear his own words.

Would he go in a cage until they decided what to do?

Small but strong hands held his legs down and Hughie felt the prick of the needle going in. His vision blurred almost immediately after, and finally he felt someone push his hair from his face.

[bre-meister]

Baby gates

Some cute fluff to start the new year off right ( Domestic Greens featuring Robin/Mike)

The Believes were very close with the Jojos (all three sets of them). Playdates between their children most often turned into the children playing in one room while whichever parents were present talked in another room.

Which, was how Robin and Mike Believe found themselves sitting in Buttercup and Butch Jojo’s kitchen sharing drinks as their boys played video games in the adjacent living room.

The conversation between them was pleasant and flowed easily. Occasionally a scream or enthused battle cry floated in from where the boys had situated themselves in front of the television - Buttercup always said that’s how they knew things were going well. With any child, especially Bruce Jojo, rambunctious noise was always welcome but silence never boded well.

Eventually, Buttercup’s attention was caught by a little figure making her way towards the oven, probably enticed by the sweet smell they were giving off.

“Butch!” she directed her husband’s attention towards their toddler.

He swooped in managing to pick her up right before her hand closed around the handle. Not for the first time, Buttercup found herself sighing in relief while wishing that their oven was a bit higher up like the one in her childhood home.

Robin also let out a breath she hadn’t been holding. It took her a moment to realize what had happened - her eyesight and general reflexes not being as fast as those of her superpowered friends. However, as soon as she saw Butch holding little Butterfly while standing near the stove well, it didn’t take the intellect of Blossom or Brick to put two and two together.

“What do you think you’re doing, baby girl?” Butch asked his daughter while playfully bouncing her on his hip.

Buttercup recognized it as a gimmick he used to easily direct their daughter’s attention away from something and on to him. She had to admit it came in handy too often with their curious girl.

Butterfly giggled, reaching out to pull on her dad’s hair.

“Dada” she giggled.

Butch blew a raspberry on her cheek as he carried her out of the kitchen, Butterfly’s cute baby squeals continuing to pervade the air as they went.

“That was close.” Mike interrupted the silence.

“Have you guys tried putting up some baby gates? They helped me and Mikey a lot with Noah when he started to get more mobile. And I know you said that Butterfly is a lot more adventurous than her brother was.”

Buttercup took a moment to consider how to respond to her friend’s suggestion. It was good advice, just not necessarily for a baby with superpowers.

“Well we used to have a few around the house - by the top of the stairs, the kitchen, ya know typical places babies shouldn’t be. Then Bruce broke two of them with his super strength. So the professor made us some super proof gates out of some special alloy or whatever that Bruce shouldn’t have been able to break.” Buttercup explained although her attention was mainly on trying to separate the sounds of Butch and her daughter than from those of Noah and Bruce.

“Shouldn’t have? Did he break them again?” Robin’s brow arched in confusion as she asked her question.

“No. He really couldn’t. And trust me, the boy tried. Unfortunately, he discovered he could just fly over them.” Butch said, returning from depositing Butterfly back on her play mat with some of her toys.

“Oh.” Mike’s tone reflected that of a normie who’d just realized that superpowers negated most of the effects of baby proofing.

Well, Buttercup had to admit that even as supers, she and her Chemical X powered family members had also been there at one point or another.

“Yeah. Little Bruce saw Butch float over one and decided that he wanted to be just like Daddy. So we kinda just gave up on them.” Buttercup’s tone was dripping with sarcasm and Butch didn’t miss the hard look that was sent his way.

“So,” she continued, still glaring at the man next to her, “we gave them to Bloss and Brick who have had a considerable more amount of success than we had with them. Maybe because Brick has a brain.” the last part was said quiet enough that only Butch would have been able to hear.

“Hey, I’ve apologized a hundred times! How was I supposed to know he would try to copy me?”

“I don’t know, maybe because he follows you around like a shadow?” Buttercup emphasized, “Especially at that point in time.”

All Butch could do was raise his hands in surrender and he pitifully offered,

“...I’m sorry?”

The apology was only met with silence.

“One hundred and one and still no success,” Butch mumbled under his breath.

“Try ice cream and chocolates, that’s what I do with Rob.” Mike leaned over closer to Buth as if he were sharing the secret to world peace.

“I did, that’s what lead to apology twenty five through thirty.”

“Oof, that bad huh?” He patted his green-eyed friend’s shoulder in support.

“Keep going Mike and you’ll have something to apologize for soon,” Robin interjected, arms coming up to fold across her chest. She was not amused.

“How about we stop by that’s Ice cream parlor you like downtown on our way home?”

“Hmm,” her tone said she wasn’t impressed but her body language conveyed the opposite.

Mike was in the clear...for now.

“Anyway, I still fail to see why we needed baby gates in the first place. Our kids are literally bulletproof! A tumble down the stairs isn’t gonna hurt ‘em! Hell, Boomer fell down a flight of stairs at least once a week when we were kids.” Butch steered the conversation back to him trying to defend himself.

“You want our kids to be like Boomer?” Buttercup deadpanned, turning in her chair to face her husband dead on.

Butch’s face screwed up in thought as he thought it over. After a few moments, he visibly deflated before admitting that Buttercup had a point.

“Touché” he ground out.

“I’m genuinely surprised you know what that means.” Mike teased. 

Buttercup and Robin chimed in with their agreement. Butch simply shrugged, seemingly over his earlier point being deflected. He carried on, ignoring his friend’s usual teasing.

“Hang around Brick long enough and you pick some things up.” was his simple response.

“Sure. Although, I suppose you do make a good point - I did get into a fair amount of...scuffles at a young age.”

The aptly names toughest fighter, sat back as she thought over several of her more brutal battles when she was merely the age of five. Bruises, cuts, and burns didn’t mean that much when the ‘X in her veins had them healed within minutes. Although, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to keep her kids away from the pain that was still associated with those types of things.

“ And you certainly turned out well,” Butch reached out until he could touch Buttercup. 

Wrapping his hand around her wrist he pulled until she, a little reluctantly moved. Now that she was sitting in his lap as he wanted, he continued,

“The most beautiful ray of sunshine in the whole world and I’m lucky enough to call her mine.”

“Aww.” Robin’s reaction to the green’s antics was much sweeter than her husband’s barely constrained,

“Yuck.”

“Was that apology one o two?” Buttercup asked, trying and failing to contain her smile.

“Did it work?” Butch’s face was hopeful as he awaited his verdict.

“Hmm...I suppose you’re forgiven. Now, get your slimy, snail self off me ya big lug, we still have company,” Buttercup tried to get up but was held down in Butch’s grip for a bit longer.

“I haven’t gotten my ��you’ve been forgiven but don’t do it again’ kiss yet.” 

Butch stuck his face up, comically nuzzling her cheek with his nose and making juvenile kissy noises. Buttercup laughed but still indulged her husband. Their lips met in a cute, chaste kiss that Butch would be the first to admit he’d wished lasted just a bit longer. But, he supposed that wasn’t something he wanted to start considering he was in no position to finish it - kids and company and all that.

“How many times has this kind of stuff happened that you have a name for it?” Mike inquired, a little confused.

“...too many” Buttercup supplied flatly, no longer trying to wiggle out of her husband’s arms and instead, settling in with her back to his chest.

Their friends didn’t seem to mind as they laughed. Eventually, Buttercup joined in. To anyone on the outside, Butch would have seemed annoyed as he mumbled incoherently as the three continued to laugh at his expense but those that truly knew him would have noticed the small smile as it inched up his face. A clear indication that he was enjoying himself, here amongst his friends even if he was the but of the joke. And for ruining a baby gate of all things!

Meh, he thought, they were annoying anyway. This is much more fun.

[thewritingstar]

Like Fallen Snow

ahhh im super excited because I was @empress-of-mischief secret Santa for the Powerpuff secret Santa! I hope that this fic fills you will joy my dear. I rarely write for the blues and wanted to give it my best. I hope you had a wonderful xmas too. 

Pairing: Boomubbles

Fandom: PPG

---

Christmas was an exciting time of the year. Even Boomer who would rather be alone in his room blasting rock music in his headphones could be found sitting in the living room with his brothers early in the morning. It would start with them racing out of their bedrooms at an ungodly hour and putting on a pot of coffee for their monkey of a father before summoning their demon dad for gifts.

Having super villains for dads had some perks like giant lasers, rocket ships and enough weapons to destroy entire cities as if they forgot that the boys themselves were better than any military grade weapon. So when it came time to open gifts, even Boomer could give enough to smile as he unwrapped a taser gun that he automatically shot at Butch and blue fuzzy socks that matched the red and green ones.

Making sure the superpowered boys were happy on the holiday was something that Mojo and Him had decided was the best, not to keep them entertained but also to keep the running feud of who the best father was. Even though Boomer was happy to accept anything wrapped up with a bow, he had always felt something missing. He had to give Him and Mojo credit because as they got older, the gifts actually became personal.

They were now in their junior year of high school. The boys ‘bad-boy’ vibe wasn’t really cutting it with them and giant machinery wasn’t going to be the hot ticket for the year. Instead Brick ended up with a ton of books and gourment coffee, Butch calling him a big ass nerd of course, which was to prove his point that he was smarter than all of them and may or may not have been to either aggravate or impress a certain puff. For Butch his collection of vinyl recorders, skateboard parts and sport equipment was enough to keep him satisfied and have enough to spark envy with Buttercup. Boomer appreciated the brand new wall of guitars that he had been begging for, drums and a flute that he didn’t remember knowing how to play but hey, how hard could it be?

“Boomer, my dear boy, you keep looking at your phone. Is there somewhere else you’d rather be?” Him asked as he narrowed his eyes in a way that made Boomer snap his phone off.

Embarrassment crawled through him as all eyes were on him and even Mojo who was in the kitchen making pancakes but more or less listening in.

“Oh um, it was just I had a present for a couple friends and was wondering if I could give it to them before it gets dark.” Boomer responded.

“It's eight in the morning, dumbass. It's not close to being dark yet.” Butch said as he threw a football at the blondes head and let out a scream when the rubber turned to dust from the blue laser beams.

“You can say Bubbles.” Brick snorted and Boomer shot him a glare. That was a secret!

“Oh? She is quite the cutie.” Him smirked and Butch barked out a laugh as he smacked Boomers side with a wag of the eyebrows.

“Forget it, you all are weird. I’ll see you for breakfast, I’ll be quick.” Boomer huffed and went up to his room to change before flying out the window.

“Tell your little girlfriend hi for us!” He heard Butch shout and he knew damn well the whole neighbor hood could probably hear him.

“Not my girlfriend.” He mumbled to himself as he found his way to the park.

--

Since the beginning of his life it had always been the ruffs vs the puffs. Destined by his fathers orders and demands, Boomer always followed in that direction no matter what. He didn’t waver from the line drawn in the sand. Even though his brothers began to tip toe around it when they got older, stupid hormones, and yet he never strayed.

He could maybe understand their reasoning. It would make sense to be drawn to the enemy in a way he rarely understood, but still his blood flowed with destruction and determination to rule the world and some girl with pigtails wasn’t going to change that. Or so he thought.

He would consider himself an introvert to his counterpart’s over the top bubbly personality, her name truly suited her. Unlike their siblings, they seemed to rival the most in the sharing of traits.

And yet they had become friends first. It was a bonding experience over milkshakes and a painstaking talk about how they don’t live up to their siblings' powers, how they felt like they were the weak ones. He thought about how Brick and Butch had more muscle power but to hear Bubbles have her own doubts made his stomach turn and for some reason, their friendship bloomed.

Boomer could say that she was his best friend. Not too many people had gained the title of being his friend compared to her, who had most of the school fawning over her charm even if she didn’t notice. But that's what he liked about her. She was like him and while he was confined to her and shared his fears, she could do the same because at the end of the day, they were counterparts. One half of the same coin that would understand the other without any words.

So maybe that's why he was extremely nervous right now. They had been besties, as she called it, for a while and even though gift giving wasn’t out of the ordinary, he wondered what it would be like to be more.

Tell your little girlfriend hi for us!

Much more.

His thoughts were interrupted when the blue puff landed at the foot of the gazebo and sat on the bench next to him.

“Hey Boomie.” She smiled brightly and at first the nickname bothered him but now it was stuck like honey. It was weird when she didn’t say it.

“Hey Bubs.” He returned the smile. “How was your morning?”

“The usual. Blossom with her books and magazines, Buttercup and her weights and well I now have a new spring wardrobe. How about you?”

“Exactly that but I got a new guitar to tune.”

“Oooo you’ll have to play for me sometime.” She gushed and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. It was the cold's fault, not the pretty blonde, he swears! “Now it's time for the present!” She clapped and put a tin that smelled that vanilla and cinnamon on his lap.

He already knew what they were as he had been bugging her to make her signature holiday cookies for months. Worth the wait.

“So I made you all some cookies, without my sister's help of course and then this is for you.” She handed him a box. The box was black with a navy blue bow. It was so perfect that it was almost comical. Opening the box, he removed the sparkly blue tissue paper.

“Oh wow, guitar picks.” He smiled as he took one out. It was wooden and had a small B with a heart engraved on it. “It's almost like you knew.”

“I had a feeling. You had been talking non stop about wanting one and whether I’d admit it or not, Him makes sure his dear baby boy gets a good present.” She giggled as she poked his cheek.

He rubbed his thumb over it, examining it and thinking about how nice it's going to feel while strumming. “These are really nice quality.”

“I made one from each adventure we went on. That’s made from a pine tree from our first camping trip with our friends. And this one is from the beach last summer.” She held up a slightly white one and at a closer look he realized that it was probably made from sea glass.

“You made these?” He asked in disbelief. “Is this made of bamboo?” He gasped. “When we raced to China?”

“Yep! I know it’s kinda lame but those places meant a lot for us, as friends.” She stumbled over the last part.

“I don’t think it’s lame at all. Pretty cool.” And he meant it. It was probably the most thoughtful gift he had ever received because it took him back to those happy days they had spent together.

“Cooler than a rocket?” She giggled.

“Even cooler than a rocket. Thank you.” He said and fished out her present from his pocket. “Mines not homemade but, ya know.” He scratched the back of his neck and handed her the small poorly wrapped box. “Don’t even comment on the wrapping.”

She held in a laugh. “I’m not.” Liar.

Carefully she tore off the paper and opened the box. “Boomer.”

“I hope it's the right one.”

She stared at the silver chain that had a silver pendant of the moon. When they walked through the mall, it had caught her eye and she spent the next hour talking about astrology and the phases of the moon. The minute that she went into another store, he ran back to purchase it. In the middle of August mind you.

“It's beautiful.” He could hear the sincerity in her voice as she turned her back to him and he helped her with the clasp. “Thank you, I love it so much.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a couple minutes, taking a few bites of the cookies. The peaceful morning in the park with no one around was perfect, he wasn’t a fan of crowds and maybe that's why she chose this spot because she knew they would be the only ones here.

“Oh look, it's snowing.” Bubbles gasped as she held out her hand to catch the small flakes coming in. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked and when he said yes, his eyes hadn’t come off of her.

She stood and walked a few feet out to twirl in the new snow and he shoved his hands in his pocket to keep them warm as he watched her with a smile. If she would have asked him to join her a couple years ago, he would have probably said no and told her to shove off, and now, he would have gone anywhere if she just asked.

Staring at her made him realize that he wanted something more with her. There had been a few occasions where the air around them shifted and for a single second, it was like she thought the same thing, but they would get interrupted and that moment would die and he would sit there and remember that he is her best friend, nothing more, nothing less. But what if he was?

He got to his fit and joined her, kicking around some snow with his shoe as his mind kept racing about every single possibility. Does he just tell her? Just ask? What if he read the signs wrong? What if he messes everything up?

“Isn’t it romantic?” His thoughts were ripped away as he turned towards her. She was looking up at the sky. “Like a Christmas movie. The first snow of the season is said to bring promise to a new love, funny huh?”

Boomers eyes widened suddenly. Was...was she wanting this to turn romantic? This entire time had he been pining from a far when she was ready to take the leap? No. they had talked about relationships before, well hers at least. She was probably just saying it because she was a hopeless romantic.

But then again, Bubbles had always been the bold type. Always telling him that she had been dropping hints for some guy and now come to think of it...had she been talking about him?

“Yeah, romantic.” He decided to finally respond.

He watched as her smile turned down slightly as she looked at him with a gaze he didn't recognize. “Well, I should probably be heading back home now.” She said somewhat sadly.

“Oh yeah, before the snow sets. Thank you by the way.” He held up the boxes and she gave him a better smile.

“Of course. And thank you for this.” She tugged on her necklace. “I’ll see you soon.” She said as she turned around and began to walk.

Something within him was yelling. An eternal battle now raging in his mind. What if he? No, he shouldn’t. But, imagine the positives.

He was hoping for a Christmas miracle.

Boomer ran up behind her, matching her speed as he grabbed her hand and turned her towards him before dropping it and rubbing his arm.

“Hey Bubbles?” Boomer asked nervously. His cheeks had decided to betray him and turn a pretty pink shade as Bubbles tilted her head.

“Yes?”

He sent his boxes down as her eyes remained on him. His hand shook nervously at his sides while her baby blue eyes looked at him. Butterflies were doing cartwheels in his stomach now but he was already here so...

“I have one last present but-” He gulped. “Y-you have to close your eyes.” He said as he took a step forward.

“Close my eyes?” She said with a small smile as he came even closer to her. His hands took hers softly as his thumb rubbed a slight circle on her hand.

“Yeah but if you don’t like it, you can return it.”

“Is that so?” She giggled as she stared into his eyes almost knowingly. “Well, I shouldn’t keep waiting then.” She said as her eyes closed and he felt like the world had disappeared around them, leaving them in the snowy park.

Boomer calmed his breathing as he stared at her. The soft pink of her cheeks from the bitter cold and how the smallest bit of snow landed on her lashes. Never before had his heart pounded as heavily as it did now as he closed the gap and kissed her with the gentleness of the first fallen snow.

He felt the sudden push against his lips. It was a beautiful sensation that he never thought would happen as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him further. It was an answer to a question he had been asking for months, hell, maybe even years. Wondering if he could step over this line in the sand and it would be okay. That their friendship, trust and loyalty wouldn’t be corrupted but instead, stronger. It was clear that the line had been stepped over, no, completely erased without a second thought.

Their lips pulled apart and he couldn’t tell if the redness up her neck was from the cold nipping at their skin or the intense blushing from what just happened. All he knew was that she was smiling at him, just like she always had before.

“Boomer?” Her voice was just loud enough for his ears.

“Yeah?” He said almost out of breath.

“I don’t need a gift receipt.”

That fluttering in his chest began again as his face broke out into the brightest smile she had ever seen.

“That's great news.” Boomer smirked as he spun her around and dipped her by the waist like he saw in all those cheesy romance movies. “Because the return date had just expired.” He said just as he kissed her again.

---

His hand was warm from the take out cup of hot chocolate while his other hand was laced with hers and it felt more natural than breathing. She took her own cup to her lips, tasting the sweet chocolate as it helped to heat up the rest of her body and he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not because he was still in disbelief that he was here with her.

Bubbles caught him staring and instead of a playful scold, she inched closer to him and placed a quick peck on his cheek.

“Merry Christmas Bubbles.”

“Merry Christmas.”

---

I hope you liked it <3 

[maruzzewrites]

bring me,,,,, your fem!la squadra headcanons,,,, please

hell yeah! fem!la squadra is top tier!!

First of all, we know that la Squadra is oddly attached to each other, but I think we can’t see the extent of it because they’re men. I know Italian men, they’re a weird bunch who care too much about being all manly and stuff, especially in the south. But! Fem!la Squadra take that concept of assassins who care for each other and take it up a notch. They’re more affectionate, have no problems showing it openly, and they have no qualms with sharing living spaces during missions.

They tend to work in couples more often, because they want the backup just in case. You rarely see them working completely alone, at the very least Illuso will be close behind and keeping an eye on them with various pocket mirrors to be able to give notice to Risotto if something goes wrong.

Risotto is a very motherly boss. She loves show her subordinates affection by patting them on their shoulders when they complete a job, complimenting them all the while. She is still prone to bouts of anger, but she deals with it with separating from them so they won’t have to see it or be subject to it. She’s good to vent to for the most part, because she keeps silent while listening even if she prompted you to speak because she can just see the change in mood on your face by observing.

Prosciutto is also motherly, but in a more mean way. She doesn’t beat you up like her male counterpart does, but she will talk very sternly to you until she thinks you got what she was saying. A bit nagging, she will throw her slippers at you if you walk with your dirty shoes on the floor she just mopped. However, she’s the best at giving encouragements and she will build you up easily because she only underlines your actual good qualities. For some reason, I see her as hyper aware of sexism and reprimanding the others about their behaviors not because it makes her embarrassed, but because she wants them to feel the best (i.e. she won’t nag Pesci for drinking milk, but if she doesn’t want to wear short skirts because she’s too fat, she will explode).

Formaggio is still lazy and jokey, and insecure. Her insecurity is less about her Stand being useless and all that, but more about her being too masculine and big for a woman. She did absorb some notions of how women should be, but if you make her think she will easily fight them off for the moment. Unlike her male counterpart, she gets more upset with jokes that press her buttons and actually tells her teammates it, so they tend to rib at her with less malice. She’s the woman who will scare away men who are too persistent, beefy butch queen she is.

Pesci is more deadly than her male version. That’s because her mentor was less about humiliating him into being an assassin and more about building her up, so she ended up still shy and cowardly but with more ability to kill if it is needed and she gets cornered. She is also less prone to taunts because she is just too scared of that, she’s a tiny lady in a world of crime with little confidence in her abilities. Funnily enough, everyone is overly protective of her and she is more sheltered by the others.

Illuso is still a smug snake, she likes gossip and mock others, but feels more remorse if she catches them getting truly upset. She also uses her powers to check on the others, writing on the mirrors to leave messages for them. She likes to pull pranks by appearing in the mirrors while they’re getting ready and commenting on how pretty their reflection is, referring to herself obviously. She’s also the woman who will scare away weird men if you call her, because she’s very tall  - if lanky - for a woman and can appear easily to the rescue, even if she didn’t come with you.

Melone is still polite, still cheery, and still lacking in empathy. However, knowing she isn’t the best at understanding emotions and relating to others, she will warn the others when she understands someone needs emotional support so they can help. She is also less public with her lecherous behaviors because it doesn’t fly with the others, but she’s as much of a pervert as male!Melone. She’s also a pretty, fashion forward woman with blonde (or purple, if you want) hair in STEM. She had her fair share of men being annoying for this, so she’s more in the “men ain’t shit” field.

Ghiaccio still blows up when something pisses her off, she is still very angry, but she tends to scream more than breaking stuff. She is also an angry crier, but she hates being seen like that so she walks off when she starts to feel it coming to that point. She’s still extremely cocky, but doesn’t really express it in words because it’s too easy to let something slip otherwise. 

Gelato & Sorbet are still murderous and sadistic, but with the added “benefit” of telling the others much more about their missions. Usually they don’t care if they disgust the others, and will go on and on about the bloody details. They’re even less subtle about their PDA and will get very pissed off if someone sees them as simply friends who are very affectionate. They will pull up in their car with money on their laps and tell to the first teammate they see that “Get in, bitch, we’re going shopping” but instead of shopping it’s murdering.

[seeds-and-sins]

F**kin’ Diabolical (Chapter 4)

Master List

Pairing: Homelander / Original Female Character, Billy Butcher / Original Female Character

Rating: M (Strong language, sexual themes)

Decription: Carly Danvers is a reporter/radio show host/annoying little piece of- For reasons unknown to Vought, she decided to start a one man investigation on Vought’s operation. Her efforts had been quite successful so far, so much so that Stillwell would have done anything to see the young girl dead. Turns out Stillwell didn’t have to do anything at all, while one piece of evidence against Vought causes Danvers to fly too close to the sun. And Homelander flies after her.

Chapter Summary; Homelander didn’t realize that getting Carly to the Vought tower was only half the battle.

Her apartment complex was small, but in a cozy kind of way. She got lucky with the expanse of square footage the landlord had offered her, considering that she had seen other apartments and hers was the biggest in the building. At first, it was all concrete floors, scratchy wall paper, and a broken sliding glass door onto the balcony, but once she started making more money, renovations came into play. With Carly’s creative expertise, the place was a fun house in not time.

   The floors now were sandalwood and the walls painted a darker beige, where the longest wall was left a solid white, covered in doodles and painted pictures that she had spent hours on. She opened up the room to expand the windows out, now they spanned around a corner of the living room. The living room opened up at the entrance, where an L-shaped sectional with brown leather graced her guests as they entered. Off to their left would be a wall with an entertainment center and a flat screen tv, to their right the crimson granite counter tops that stood with bar stools, on the other side a kitchen of that counter. Aside from the hallway that led to her room, her apartment was fairly open, lots of seating areas because she liked variety. There were bean bags and stools for her bar, which had an array of liquors that she had saved up over the years. Her kitchen was closed in by the counter, an island in the center, with a dual sided refrigerator that she also had worked her ass off to get. 

  It was fairly lit, but sometimes she liked to dim the lights and turn on a flashlight to read her books with, as she cuddled into a giant bean bag. In her bedroom was a king sized bed, with tons of pillows, that was her favorite part of the apartment. She often drew pictures and played on her guitar in there, that was her safe space, where no one could bother her. 

    Across from her lived a rough looking, older man by the name of Billy Butcher. He was rowdy, single, and he had the cutest dog she had ever seen. They didn't spend time together or anything, but they certainly talked more with each other than they did with the other residents. Down the hall was a fresh frat boy/jock, and across from him was a single mother and her two kids. Billy and Carly felt more alike, more drawn to each other, so whenever they just so happened to cross paths they would share a few words. 

"Ey, I listened to your show today, definitely sticking one up to those cunts."

"Right?! They deserve it." They both shared laughs, cracked jokes, were extremely profane, and even a little too open with each other at times. Carly and Butch were similar in that they didn't have a sensor, so God forbid the two of them were ever together for a few minutes in passing. That poor mother had to shield her childrens’ ears in the elevator more than a few times. 

"Can you bloody believe that they even stretch that far?"

"I don't even want to imagine that happening to anyone, not even me."

"Well, its a bloody process I am sure..." Naturally, as they crossed paths, the two of them spoke that night before she went to the lab. She was grabbing a few things, Allen and the Doctor waiting outside in the car. As she shut her door, jiggling the key with a twist, jacket slung over her shoulder, he was also exiting his apartment. 

"Oh, well, what do you know? My favorite celebrity." He teased, she faced him with a grin and an eye roll. 

"Oh look, my favorite asshat." She mocked in the worst cockney accent she could muster.

"You shut your pretty mouth there, those are fighting words." They started towards the elevator with laughter bubbling up from them, cheeks rosy, God it would be a sickening sight to anyone. The two of them were like peas in a pod, munchkins, cuddle buddies or some shit like that. "So, where are ya' off to tonight?" He pressed the button to the elevator for her.

"Some stupid shit with Vought, you know me."

"I like stupid shit. Does it have anything to do with your show this evening?" The doors slid open with a ding. 

"Sure does, between you and me..." She came in closer to whisper into his ear, exhaling a giddy giggle behind a cupped hand. "I am breaking into a Vought Lab." He smirked, shaking his head, but never in disapproval as much as it was at the ridiculous stunts she'd pull. The door slid shut, the both of them now completely alone in an elevator. Nothing much different than the hundreds of times before.

"You think you'd have any time for drinks afterwards?" She blushed at the question, just drinks, right? No, she felt like the question was more than that and the way he awkwardly leaned on the elevator wall, said so much. As if he was nervous she would say no, or something worse. 

"I'd love to, but I don't know when I will be back." He nodded his head, fiddling with his thumbs out in front of him. "But hey, how bout tomorrow for sure?" His face lit up with that shit-eating grin of his. 

"Yeah, I'd like that." The elevator doors dinged open, but Billy didn't make a move when Carly stepped from the elevator. She faced him with her own grin and smiled, he waved at her. "You be careful there, sweetheart, some of us like seeing your ugly face every day." As the doors slowly began to close she stuck her middle finger up at him, and he stuck his tongue out. Children at best, that's always what it seemed like when they were together. When he was gone and they were apart, always after seeing each other, Carly felt empty almost, like she was missing out. She always shoved that away.

"Ms. Danvers! Are you going to answer me?!" An aggravated Madelyn shot out from across the desk, Carly blinked her eyes, coming to from her daze. She met Stillwell's steely gaze, Homelander pacing around the desk, eyes targeted on Carly in some threatening fashion. 

"W-What-What did you ask again?" Madelyn groaned, straightening herself and plastering a fake smile onto her lips, she crossed her fingers over the desk. 

"Did anybody else know you were going to the lab last night?" She stated more firmly, pronouncing each word with venomous emphasis, as if she was talking to a three year old child.

"No." Carly responded instantly, perhaps too soon, as Homelander's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. He was surprised. Carly had always been fairly good at lying to him, better than most, but she was in an emotional vulnerable state, not on her A game truly. Madelyn rolled her eyes and then sat back in her seat, arms crossed.

"You do know the position, you've put me in, right?" Carly sighed, shakily holding her hands on her lap, she gulped. 

"Look, I just want to get back to normal." 

"Back to normal?" Madelyn chuckled at the thought, she stood up and waltzed around the desk over to the window that spanned the wall of her office. Homelander stopped pacing at the other side of the room, still watching Carly like a hawk. "You are as powerful as Homelander now, Danvers, there is no normal for you ever again." She twisted in her seat to consider Madelyn with sorrow filled eyes, and Homelander couldn't hide his deep huff of amusement. Carly tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill, she had never felt so weak or insignificant in front of anybody before. Heck, she'd stand up to Homelander any day before this shit happened. Now she wanted to hide in a cave and wallow in her own self pity.

"Maybe there is a way, right? The doctor told me its genetic modification, all we have to do is convert my DNA back to what it was officially."

"But you would die." Homelander said with sardonic glimmer in his tone, he shuffled around the coffee table and plopped down onto the couch. His arm rose up, spanning the length of the back rest. He held his other gloved hand up, crushing his fist into a ball. "It blows my mind that you would want to be normal again, Carly. You have all the power in the world-"

"And I don't want it." She shot out, frustration taking residence over the desperation and she stood. She held her palms out and shook her head. "This isn't who I am. I am a simple girl, made of flesh and bone, nothing more." Homelander opened his mouth to reply, but Stillwell beat him to it. 

"You are right, you are absolutely right. And I might just have some options for you, Danvers." Madelyn paraded back over to her desk, perhaps she was having more fun with this than she expected she would. When Homelander told her about Carly’s situation, Stillwell was pissed beyond explanation. Here she was wanting the girl dead, and now the only person that could truly make that decision themselves was Homelander. Madelyn knew Homelander wouldn’t kill Carly, at least not without riding this high first.

"I have two options for you..."

"I don't have time for games. This isn't a joke." Stillwell laughed, leaning onto her desk with one hand, the other propped on her hip. 

"I'm not so excited about this either, but this might just be good for us."

"Whatever you have to say, it better not be what I think it is."

"It better be what I think." Homelander stood, soon coming to stand alongside Carly with that grin. 

"Option one," She placed a hand on her chest, "My preference..." She added slyly, and then, "We pretend you died from the fire, get you a nice place in Alaska and you live the rest of your days in solitude." Stillwell patiently waited, as if there wasn't a second option, and if there was she definitely didn't want Carly to have the ability to choose.

"What's the second option?" Homelander's voice was all too solid, glaring at Stillwell, forcing her to procure that second option like her life depended on it. It probably did. 

"Alright," Stillwell sighed, "We make you a hero. You denounce your previous claims against Vought and in return you live more famous than you've ever imagined." Since Carly woke up that morning, there was a stray thought that constantly teased to slip past her lips. The knowledge that she had against Vought, she could fight them, and now, more powerful than ever, she could fight them hard. Compound V was real, she was proof of that, all the heroes were. The compound injected into babies as if they were lab rats, the thought made her sick. She was reminded of why she was here, how she ended up in that lab. Now being offered a chance to be one of them, knowing all the cruel things they've done, if anything it made her heart race. 

   Homelander must have felt it too. The feeling made her want to do something but she didn't even know what. Impulses working through her mind, the need to just jump out that window, the realization that nothing can kill her now. Perhaps Homelander, but still. The options before her, and she had always been one to make an option three, to force it. Now there was no choice, one or the other, they say. Homelander’s hand landed on her shoulder and he laughed, harshly patting her on the back, a pat that would have anybody else coughing up their broken bones. 

"She'll do it, option two. She'll be wonderful!"

"I would like her to say it." Stillwell didn't like the feeling of not having control. Although for so long Homelander had been loose, the reins were gone, this was still different. She hated knowing that Homelander wanted Carly around and that she couldn't do anything about it. 

"Okay." Carly found herself choking out, despite her better judgment. She didn't know what logic came with the response, but she knew that it felt sound. Like something was in her path, something big, like it was worth it, like the universe was talking to her. 

"Perfect." Homelander said with such joy in his voice, now both hands on her shoulders, massaging at her neck. She closed her eyes and allowed him to shake her forward and backward for a moment. 

"I will work with my marketing team. Until then, Homelander can keep an eye on you." Stillwell hated that too, but the girl had zero to no control over her powers. Carly could destroy this whole building and without Homelander around, there would be no one to stop her.

"I've been waiting for this moment. So exciting..." Both women glared at each other, both for different reasons. "And I have already picked a name." Stillwell crossed her arms, cocking her head at Homelander, trying to hide the agitation surging through her. The level of absolute excitement he was feeling struck a nerve in Stillwell, the hero was crossing a big line.

"Oh, you have, have you?"

"Lady Liberty." He held his hands up like the name was gospel, like it was the most obvious name, the most fantastic name. Carly admitted to herself the fact that he even thought of a name was extremely unsettling, like this had been his plan all along. "Come on guys, get with the program." He waltzed over to the office door, now fixed after yesterday's door slamming incident. He waited, gesturing to Carly as he motioned out the door. "Let's go. Come on, the more we wait, the less time you have to learn those new powers of yours." Carly didn't think she'd ever beg in her life, but as she left Stillwell's office, that last glance to Stillwell was full of silent, raw begging. The last person she'd thought she'd ever beg for help, beg for a plan, beg for safety from him. But both of them knew, Homelander was not letting Carly go anytime soon. Carly made her choice, the moment she entered that lab.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Binary

This started out as a whole thing about Brie Larson. She’s started a YouTube channel and i figured I'd follow it just for kicks. I’m not a huge fan of massive Hollywood stars invading more accessible spaces but, technically, they’re the “You” in YouTube, too. I can’t be too mad at that. Of course Google is going to cater more to their brand, mostly because they bring in the duckets and understand PR so they know ho not to cause an ADpocolypse, but it’s still mad sh*tty. Larson’s first post was just her being goofy, trying to figure out how to even be a YouTuber. You kind of see a side of her that i figured was there, but never really was able to confirm. Brie Larson is the poster child for Millennial geekdom and i find that adorable as f*ck. Which is why i don’t understand the MASSIVE waves of hate she’s getting from the community. Cats are reveling in her perceived failure, it’s actually insane.

Now, before we go any further, i just want to be clear; I am a fan of Brie Larson. I think she is excellent at her craft. Ma is from my hometown and it’s always great to see someone make it out of this cowtown. I believe she has every right to her opinions and the fact that she voices them from such a visible platform, makes her one of the most endearing and real celebrities in an industry maligned by the phony. Brie ain’t quite Russell Brand but she is very vocal about the unjust sh*t she sees and will totally let you know it. That, i think, is why she garners such vitriol. Look, I'm a black dude living in the US. If she gets on TV and says f*ck white dudes, I'm inclined to agree. But she didn’t say that. What she said was there needs to be more voices making film, different perspectives in the arts. White dudes dominate the industry and she’s tired of seeing that movie. I don’t understand how that’s a controversial statement. It’s true. We need more dynamic, more diverse, storytellers making films out in the wild. The thing is, that one statement earned her the ire of every entitled white boy with time and and the internet. These motherf*cker decided to take that personally and we were off to the races.

When Brie Larson was announced as Captain Marvel, i was okay with it. I thought Charlize Theron or Katee Sackhoff would have been a better look but i get it. Larson is young and can portray the character for years to come. Kind of how Florence Pugh is going to take over Black Widow duties from Scarlett Johansson. Pugh can be that character for close to a decade, as can Larson. Once again, however, the interwebs were set asunder with rage and malcontent over the Cap Marvel announcement. It was f*cking ridiculous to me. Sure, she didn’t look the part going into this but neither did Gal Gadot, the latter turned out to be the best thing going in that trainwreck DCEU. Larson grew into the part, put in the work to look the part, and is committed to the role. She did her research, consuming massive amounts of the comics, trying to find Carol’s head space, which was a goddamn feat. Captain Marvel is as controversial as Brie Larson, herself. And it’s just as stupid.

Look, i adore Captain Marvel. She’s my fifth favorite Marvel character after Spider-Man, Doctor Doom, Laura Kinney, and Illyana Rasputin. In that order. Captain Marvel grew on me during the whole Mighty Avengers and Disassembled story lines from years ago. I have no love-loss for Bendis but that cat did wonders for building up more obscure characters, Carol being one of them. I also like what he did for Luke Cage, too, but that’s not what this essay is about. I’ve been a fan of this character since the early 00s and have rode this Carol train for years. I jumped on bored when she was rocking her leotard, which i miss terribly, took my time to dig up the back issues where she was in the original red and blue digs and moonlighted as Warbird for a bit. Then, Marvel Now happened and f*cked it all up. Carol went from this attractive, uber-powered, mess of a woman to a cold, manly, aggressively stupid caricature of herself. The Carol Danvers i had grown to love, with all of her faults and trauma, became some sort of butch nightmare and the poster child for why Woke Marvel was failing. I don’t think that’s fair.

Comic Carol was on her way to becoming a real force in the Marvel universe. She had learned there was worth in her strength, one she had to drag out through deep introspection and an understanding of who she really is. No longer was she just a gender-swapped, copyright placeholder that no one knew what to do with. Now she had agency. Now she was a force. Now she was relevant. Now tore all of that away. After Marvel Now, all of that growth and nuance was thrown out of the window. She became the idealized version of what the SJWs thought a “Strong Woman” should be. Marvel gave her a massive push in an effort to  cater to this burgeoning Tumblr dynamic and it failed miserably. Marvel wanted that Steven Universe crowd and they tried real hard to get it but that sh*t did not work. The changes to the universe weren’t extreme or feminist or PC enough. Courting a fanbase that had no longevity, Carol was sabotaged and thrown to the wolves. That’s the environment we were saturated in when Disney announced Larson as Carol for the MCU. It was a perfect storm of Nerdrage, one that has not died down in any capacity all these years later for either Brie or Carol.

I don’t think the feminist slant given to the Captain Marvel movie was actually such a big deal. I think the vitriol that flick faces stems from the combined maliciousness both the new version of Carol in the comics and Brie Larson, herself, garnered. It’s kind of crazy the massive tantrum everyone decided to throw over this movie. Cats were looking for this thing to fail as some sort of petulant schadenfreude ignoring the fact that this movie wasn’t made for them. As frustrated as i was with the ludicrous discourse, i knew this movie wasn't for me. his wasn’t my Carol and i was good with that. Unlike Marvel who pandered to the trend of PC nonsense, the MCU had a clear vision in mind for the audience they wanted; Young girls. They wanted a character who was strong enough to hang with Thor, stand equally with Iron Man, and have the respect of Captain America. Captain Marvel was the best option. She would be the tentpole hero of the MCU going forward and i accepted that. I went into the film with that understanding and, on my way out, i saw, firsthand, what this movie meant to the target audience. There was a little girl, about nine or so, gushing abut how cool Captain Marvel was. She as ecstatic to see a girl like her, kicking so much butt. In the face of that, every entitled argument you have against the character falls apart in my eyes. Captain Marvel is to young girls and woman, as Black Panther was to us black folk. It’s the same energy.

Do i think the film could have been better? F*ck yea, i do. I think the script should have had one more revision and the directors definitely felt out of place. They’re good at their jobs, they mostly make A24-esque fare, but a massive, multi-million dollar, space epic connected to the most popular film franchise in history? Nah, these cats were way out of their depth. I think Feige dropped the ball on this one, a rare miss. I think Kathryn Bigelow, Patty Jenkins, Lynne Ramsay, Claire Dennis, or  Lorene Scafaria would have constructed a much better film, both visually and narrative wise. I think if the movie was better as a whole, a lot of the controversy and vitriol would have been neutered. Carol is written quite wooden and a little pretentious. The interactions between the supporting cast feels forced. The overall narrative is fine but definitely could have been embellished at parts. Captain Marvel is boring and i don’t know how that happened. You have one of the strongest characters in comics, with a distinct, visually appealing powerset, and you make her movie boring? Really? More than anything, though, is the absolute mistreatment of Sam Jackson and Nick Fury.

The writing reduces Nick Fury, the mind behind the entirety of the Avengers Initiative, to lap boy sidekick in an effort to up Carol’s own stature. That sh*t is poor writing and it’s mad frustrating to see. I hate narratives that have to job established characters, in an effort to push new additions. I just wrote a whole goddamn thing about that with Punchline, Joker’s new “partner”. It’s bogus, cheapening the character and opens up an avenue for bad-faith complaints. Rey Palpatine is another great example. Her entire character is built on the slow, methodical, violent, destruction of the Skywalker legacy. Interestingly enough, that character was launched in the same environment as New Carol so i understand why the movie is the way that it is. I don’t agree with it, but i know why. It was an incredibly poor choice to introduce Captain Marvel in this way, however, and she’s never recovered. Brie has never recovered. You want a 90s buddy-cop space opera? Lethal Weapon with Skrulls and starships? You need your Murtaugh and Riggs to stand on equal footing. That was not the case with this flick. Having Nick Fury job to Carol Danvers for two hours was the wrong way to go about all of this and i think a different creative team could have made something truly excellent.

It’s nuts to me that this is even a thing though. Brie’s personal controversy is so f*cking stupid, i choke every time i think about it. How are you mad she stand up for herself, her gender, and everyone else in a position of persecution? Don’t you want though with a platform speaking up about the inequities of our country? I feel like the same people who hate Brie for her vocal advocacy, are the same people who stan “All Lives Matter” when ever someone says Black Lives Matter. That sh*t feels like the same energy to me. I feel like the criticisms launched at comic Carol have real validity, even if most of them are just whiny man-children who miss the leotard. I miss the leotard, too, but come on? We’re passed that now. I do think, when written well, Carol can be a force in the books. Her run as part of the new Ultimates was pretty chill I think she needs that in order to be her true self, until we establish a true self for the character. It’s weird to say but Captain Marvel, Ms. Marvel previously, has been around for fifty years, and no one has any idea who she is as a character. I think Captain Marvel in the MCU, both the character and film, are hated for the wrong reasons. The fact that no one has any idea who this character is, makes for a lousy cinematic experience. The team put together in an effort to flesh this character out, didn’t have the creative capacity to do so and we were left with little more than PC tropes and Feminist agenda. The MCU let both Brie and Carol down in that regard.

Brie Larson isn’t a terrible person and she deserves more respect put on her name. She an accomplished actress with a bevy of awards and accolades to her name. She’s been in great films like Room and Scott Pilgrim, never once garnering a controversy. The fact that she speaks her truth, a truth the establishment doesn’t want to hear, should not disqualify her talent or the fact that she seems like a really chill person. Carol Danvers is a dope ass character with an amazing amount of potential. When she’s written well and not traded upon for trends, she can have real staying power. Her abilities open up a plethora of interesting, creatively fertile narratives yet to be written. Disregarding her just because Marvel decided to gamble on the pretentious third-wave feminism wave is shortsighted and makes you look like a childish brat. You’re entitled to feel however you want but let’s be clear; Brie Larson and Carol Danvers deserve so much better.

[flatfootmonster]

Fangirling Over Fanfic: My Homage to Unhitched

It was the way his breath faltered that stirred me. 

My left eyelid cracks open, just enough for the red heat of dying embers to singe my brain. In response to him, the air rushes out of me as if I'd been holding it in since the world went black—when I passed out. Then my inhale stutters and I swallow, the noise is overwhelming in this prehistoric quiet that drowns the room.

Butch shifts, I can feel the way the space thins between our bodies. It thins and thickens at the same time, and something awakens, predating the dawn and outliving the fire in the hearth. It feels like grey and it tastes like hope and despair. Something grey is coaxed inside me, and I try in vain to ignore. There’s no ignoring him. 

It was just one finger, probably his index although it doesn't matter which. It lands on my skin, just where my shirt has lifted while I slept; a slither of my back is exposed to him and he can’t resist flesh. That finger rests on the crest of a vertebrae before it carefully traces into the dip... until it finds itself cresting the next.

My brain has cut through the fog and it's working as fast as my body is to respond. Does he know I'm awake? Of course he fucking does, it's Butch; he knows everything—seemingly. Is he just curious whether I have the correct number of discs in my spine? Or is he making a map, like a butcher, of where to make his cuts? And yet here I am: responding.

That same finger curves into the waistband of my jeans, running lazily between my flesh and denim as though he is cutting through a lump of butter. He’s separating me from my decency before he'll toss the bit he desires on to the heat, watch it bubble and melt and run hot. But I'm already running shamefully hot where he’s scored my skin.

I want to turn around and yell at him to fucking quit, that I need to damn well rest. I hurt almost everywhere. And yet his touch feels... it feels like a balm, and now I think I might be crazy—it was only a matter of time, really. This creature, the actual incarnation of every terrifying thing that’s haunted me up until my cold eggs, soothes my self inflicted trauma...  

...soothes it, coaxes it, teases it...  

... and so I stay where I am, my attention focused solely on that point of contact that now teases, unquenchable in it’s need, between the flimsy material of my underwear and my hip bone.

My mouth opens but words don't form on my tongue. The only thing that trickles out is a noise that sounds desperate and it is accurate. I'm a despairing, hopeful mess, and whatever tangle of tales lie in the body behind me don’t matter anymore, because he pulls my mess together. 

A needle has been puncturing my skin since I met him—over and over—and it's only now that I can see the bloody sinew that's looped through those holes. And when he pulls tight on that thread my seams join, making a jagged line in the map of me. It's not perfect and it hurts like hell but the pieces are joined.

Sliced and pulled and darned, all by the same damn precise hands. 

One of those hands is fanning itself out on my abdomen now, his fingers are spread wide. Perhaps he's trying to figure me out like a puzzle box; finding the right configuration, or a secret button, to make my lid spring wide open. Maybe he’s seeking out the soft spot he can touch to completely immerse himself in my body, blur into me; a beast of several shades of black. But then I realise that the sinew that now holds me together was pulled from his own joints. 

He is already me, and I him.

I don't know what his intentions—I never fucking know what Butch’s intentions are, or if he even has any. What I do know is that his palm pours heat into me. My heart is pounding like poison is in my blood all because his damn hand has pushed under my shirt. I'm pubescent again, with no voice in the decisions my body make. And he fucking loves my responses...

Would I stop it if I could? Probably not. 

Even if I can't be honest with myself, Butch reads those lies like they're an old and battered tabloid front page that I’m clutching in front of my bareness to hide my motives. And if I’m truly honest with myself, I know that's the reason I seethe—when he looks at me with an almost blank expression that is deafeningly loud in its accusations.

When I drift, sometimes the cab seats change in my mind, or the bed, or the floor. Then I'm sitting across from him in a tall, cold, and lofty room where his eyes claw at my soul. He could have a book open in his lap for the mental notes I can see him making: describing my pathology, sketching my anatomy, drawing fucking love hearts with my name centered in them. Books surround us, filled with notes on other people, but the ones that rest in his lap are irresistible to him. And I hate it but I can't stop presenting myself, like he can find answers in me that I don't know the question which precedes it. It's addictive and then I've forgotten I hate it. I can't remember what life was like before this and I need it. 

I need him. And he... he needs me. That thought leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

I almost laugh at the notion, but my mouth is not in communication with my brain right now, and so a needy moan spews from my throat instead. Needy and moaning—that about sums me up. Butch’s drifting hand has stopped in its track and I know what he's waiting for. He wants to feel me move; meet him in the perverse goddamn middle.

What I usually do is hesitate, dwell, and question, but the darkness has seeped into me tonight. I feel entirely dissolved and yet part of something bigger. For once I don't fight against the direction my muscles want to pull, the thing I feel is a want that only Butch can sate.

So, I turn to him. His palm dances over the surface of my skin as I move —the arm hovering over a record as it spins. A static charge is picked up as his flesh passes over mine. It must be static because I jolt when he pushes the heel of his hand into the small of my back, moving me to him, closing the distance between us. 

I can't see the embers now, and they were greying before I rolled over, but I'm not sure if it's too dark to see or if I've closed my eyes. Knowing me I have my eyes closed, feigning my fucking ignorance. My fingertips are mapping him, recklessly searching his features until the pads of my thumbs run along his cheekbones, sharp and cutting like his tongue. Instead of the caution that is a necessity to survive at proximity to this beast, I charge forward.

Dancing with Death. 

I can taste him before I feel anything. Past the obligatory smoke, Butch tastes like the unknown. I have no idea what the fuck that is: hints of this thing and that thing without any firm definition. That pretty much sums up the man whose mouth I'm invading. My tongue is sliding along his and there's something different—something new in the pause he gave before his fingers dig into me and his teeth graze my tongue. He expected more fight, he’s hesitant and that's new. 

So I take advantage of it. I relish in the fact that he can't predict me, and usually he faces that reality with a cool facade; eager to watch what plays out. But now he's getting what he wants, and I am giving it without presenting my terms. The fact that we might be on the same page—without my usual denial—has thrown him. 

I decide I like throwing Butch.

Pushing against his chest, he lets me roll him onto his back and I delve into his mouth, feeling the soft, and the hard, and sharp alike. How many souls have passed through his mouth? And here I am, gambling my own, to play on this graveyard. 

I need to find his pulse so my lips land on his neck with desperation but no finesse. I leave marks on him as I find his jugular, I tease the skin that I hold in my mouth with my teeth. I’m determined to mark him the way he's marked me. Then I realise I already have; scars are left where he took the sinew to bridge my chasms.

My fingers are crawling down his chest, they fall into the ridges of his muscles— the weak parts in the armor of his body. He doesn't flinch that I'm there, my touch just makes soft sounds carry on his exhale, and they grow harsher the more I search him. He’s beginning to sound like the beast that he is. The beast that we are. 

I like making those sounds come from Butch. 

For this moment at least, I'm in control of the uncontrollable—the chaotic. It's a frenzy I stir within him, and it's utterly fascinating in it’s devastating nature. I’m in the eye of the storm and I command where it goes and which landscape it smites.

I can't feel my injuries anymore. I'm sure the pain will come crashing down on me sooner or later. All I can think of is that this power I feel right now, on top of Butch with my lips dragging down his chest, is exactly the same as when I take a life. To say it feels good is an understatement; it's a rush and I'm chasing the calamitous high.

So, a year and a half ago I wrote this homage to @joanielspeak and her work: the incredible Unhitched, if you haven’t read it then you really should. If you didn’t know you needed a 70′s Trucker Hannibal AU in your life, you’ve now been informed. 

I adored the characters, I loved being in Hoppers head, and I love getting fucked up by Butch. Read. Enjoy. 

[smokeybrand]

Binary

This started out as a whole thing about Brie Larson. She’s started a YouTube channel and i figured I'd follow it just for kicks. I’m not a huge fan of massive Hollywood stars invading more accessible spaces but, technically, they’re the “You” in YouTube, too. I can’t be too mad at that. Of course Google is going to cater more to their brand, mostly because they bring in the duckets and understand PR so they know ho not to cause an ADpocolypse, but it’s still mad sh*tty. Larson’s first post was just her being goofy, trying to figure out how to even be a YouTuber. You kind of see a side of her that i figured was there, but never really was able to confirm. Brie Larson is the poster child for Millennial geekdom and i find that adorable as f*ck. Which is why i don’t understand the MASSIVE waves of hate she’s getting from the community. Cats are reveling in her perceived failure, it’s actually insane.

Now, before we go any further, i just want to be clear; I am a fan of Brie Larson. I think she is excellent at her craft. Ma is from my hometown and it’s always great to see someone make it out of this cowtown. I believe she has every right to her opinions and the fact that she voices them from such a visible platform, makes her one of the most endearing and real celebrities in an industry maligned by the phony. Brie ain’t quite Russell Brand but she is very vocal about the unjust sh*t she sees and will totally let you know it. That, i think, is why she garners such vitriol. Look, I'm a black dude living in the US. If she gets on TV and says f*ck white dudes, I'm inclined to agree. But she didn’t say that. What she said was there needs to be more voices making film, different perspectives in the arts. White dudes dominate the industry and she’s tired of seeing that movie. I don’t understand how that’s a controversial statement. It’s true. We need more dynamic, more diverse, storytellers making films out in the wild. The thing is, that one statement earned her the ire of every entitled white boy with time and and the internet. These motherf*cker decided to take that personally and we were off to the races.

When Brie Larson was announced as Captain Marvel, i was okay with it. I thought Charlize Theron or Katee Sackhoff would have been a better look but i get it. Larson is young and can portray the character for years to come. Kind of how Florence Pugh is going to take over Black Widow duties from Scarlett Johansson. Pugh can be that character for close to a decade, as can Larson. Once again, however, the interwebs were set asunder with rage and malcontent over the Cap Marvel announcement. It was f*cking ridiculous to me. Sure, she didn’t look the part going into this but neither did Gal Gadot, the latter turned out to be the best thing going in that trainwreck DCEU. Larson grew into the part, put in the work to look the part, and is committed to the role. She did her research, consuming massive amounts of the comics, trying to find Carol’s head space, which was a goddamn feat. Captain Marvel is as controversial as Brie Larson, herself. And it’s just as stupid.

Look, i adore Captain Marvel. She’s my fifth favorite Marvel character after Spider-Man, Doctor Doom, Laura Kinney, and Illyana Rasputin. In that order. Captain Marvel grew on me during the whole Mighty Avengers and Disassembled story lines from years ago. I have no love-loss for Bendis but that cat did wonders for building up more obscure characters, Carol being one of them. I also like what he did for Luke Cage, too, but that’s not what this essay is about. I’ve been a fan of this character since the early 00s and have rode this Carol train for years. I jumped on bored when she was rocking her leotard, which i miss terribly, took my time to dig up the back issues where she was in the original red and blue digs and moonlighted as Warbird for a bit. Then, Marvel Now happened and f*cked it all up. Carol went from this attractive, uber-powered, mess of a woman to a cold, manly, aggressively stupid caricature of herself. The Carol Danvers i had grown to love, with all of her faults and trauma, became some sort of butch nightmare and the poster child for why Woke Marvel was failing. I don’t think that’s fair.

Comic Carol was on her way to becoming a real force in the Marvel universe. She had learned there was worth in her strength, one she had to drag out through deep introspection and an understanding of who she really is. No longer was she just a gender-swapped, copyright placeholder that no one knew what to do with. Now she had agency. Now she was a force. Now she was relevant. Now tore all of that away. After Marvel Now, all of that growth and nuance was thrown out of the window. She became the idealized version of what the SJWs thought a “Strong Woman” should be. Marvel gave her a massive push in an effort to  cater to this burgeoning Tumblr dynamic and it failed miserably. Marvel wanted that Steven Universe crowd and they tried real hard to get it but that sh*t did not work. The changes to the universe weren’t extreme or feminist or PC enough. Courting a fanbase that had no longevity, Carol was sabotaged and thrown to the wolves. That’s the environment we were saturated in when Disney announced Larson as Carol for the MCU. It was a perfect storm of Nerdrage, one that has not died down in any capacity all these years later for either Brie or Carol.

I don’t think the feminist slant given to the Captain Marvel movie was actually such a big deal. I think the vitriol that flick faces stems from the combined maliciousness both the new version of Carol in the comics and Brie Larson, herself, garnered. It’s kind of crazy the massive tantrum everyone decided to throw over this movie. Cats were looking for this thing to fail as some sort of petulant schadenfreude ignoring the fact that this movie wasn’t made for them. As frustrated as i was with the ludicrous discourse, i knew this movie wasn't for me. his wasn’t my Carol and i was good with that. Unlike Marvel who pandered to the trend of PC nonsense, the MCU had a clear vision in mind for the audience they wanted; Young girls. They wanted a character who was strong enough to hang with Thor, stand equally with Iron Man, and have the respect of Captain America. Captain Marvel was the best option. She would be the tentpole hero of the MCU going forward and i accepted that. I went into the film with that understanding and, on my way out, i saw, firsthand, what this movie meant to the target audience. There was a little girl, about nine or so, gushing abut how cool Captain Marvel was. She as ecstatic to see a girl like her, kicking so much butt. In the face of that, every entitled argument you have against the character falls apart in my eyes. Captain Marvel is to young girls and woman, as Black Panther was to us black folk. It’s the same energy.

Do i think the film could have been better? F*ck yea, i do. I think the script should have had one more revision and the directors definitely felt out of place. They’re good at their jobs, they mostly make A24-esque fare, but a massive, multi-million dollar, space epic connected to the most popular film franchise in history? Nah, these cats were way out of their depth. I think Feige dropped the ball on this one, a rare miss. I think Kathryn Bigelow, Patty Jenkins, Lynne Ramsay, Claire Dennis, or  Lorene Scafaria would have constructed a much better film, both visually and narrative wise. I think if the movie was better as a whole, a lot of the controversy and vitriol would have been neutered. Carol is written quite wooden and a little pretentious. The interactions between the supporting cast feels forced. The overall narrative is fine but definitely could have been embellished at parts. Captain Marvel is boring and i don’t know how that happened. You have one of the strongest characters in comics, with a distinct, visually appealing powerset, and you make her movie boring? Really? More than anything, though, is the absolute mistreatment of Sam Jackson and Nick Fury.

The writing reduces Nick Fury, the mind behind the entirety of the Avengers Initiative, to lap boy sidekick in an effort to up Carol’s own stature. That sh*t is poor writing and it’s mad frustrating to see. I hate narratives that have to job established characters, in an effort to push new additions. I just wrote a whole goddamn thing about that with Punchline, Joker’s new “partner”. It’s bogus, cheapening the character and opens up an avenue for bad-faith complaints. Rey Palpatine is another great example. Her entire character is built on the slow, methodical, violent, destruction of the Skywalker legacy. Interestingly enough, that character was launched in the same environment as New Carol so i understand why the movie is the way that it is. I don’t agree with it, but i know why. It was an incredibly poor choice to introduce Captain Marvel in this way, however, and she’s never recovered. Brie has never recovered. You want a 90s buddy-cop space opera? Lethal Weapon with Skrulls and starships? You need your Murtaugh and Riggs to stand on equal footing. That was not the case with this flick. Having Nick Fury job to Carol Danvers for two hours was the wrong way to go about all of this and i think a different creative team could have made something truly excellent.

It’s nuts to me that this is even a thing though. Brie’s personal controversy is so f*cking stupid, i choke every time i think about it. How are you mad she stand up for herself, her gender, and everyone else in a position of persecution? Don’t you want though with a platform speaking up about the inequities of our country? I feel like the same people who hate Brie for her vocal advocacy, are the same people who stan “All Lives Matter” when ever someone says Black Lives Matter. That sh*t feels like the same energy to me. I feel like the criticisms launched at comic Carol have real validity, even if most of them are just whiny man-children who miss the leotard. I miss the leotard, too, but come on? We’re passed that now. I do think, when written well, Carol can be a force in the books. Her run as part of the new Ultimates was pretty chill I think she needs that in order to be her true self, until we establish a true self for the character. It’s weird to say but Captain Marvel, Ms. Marvel previously, has been around for fifty years, and no one has any idea who she is as a character. I think Captain Marvel in the MCU, both the character and film, are hated for the wrong reasons. The fact that no one has any idea who this character is, makes for a lousy cinematic experience. The team put together in an effort to flesh this character out, didn’t have the creative capacity to do so and we were left with little more than PC tropes and Feminist agenda. The MCU let both Brie and Carol down in that regard.

Brie Larson isn’t a terrible person and she deserves more respect put on her name. She an accomplished actress with a bevy of awards and accolades to her name. She’s been in great films like Room and Scott Pilgrim, never once garnering a controversy. The fact that she speaks her truth, a truth the establishment doesn’t want to hear, should not disqualify her talent or the fact that she seems like a really chill person. Carol Danvers is a dope ass character with an amazing amount of potential. When she’s written well and not traded upon for trends, she can have real staying power. Her abilities open up a plethora of interesting, creatively fertile narratives yet to be written. Disregarding her just because Marvel decided to gamble on the pretentious third-wave feminism wave is shortsighted and makes you look like a childish brat. You’re entitled to feel however you want but let’s be clear; Brie Larson and Carol Danvers deserve so much better.

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch | Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood

By Don Hall

NEWSFLASH: There is a substantial difference between masculinity and toxic masculinity. If you refuse to acknowledge that difference, you are a misandrist.

Last week, in the casino I manage, I was talking to a guy who is roughly my age. We talked a bit about moving — he just moved back to Las Vegas after fifteen years in Utah, I just moved here after thirty years in Chicago. He finds out that this is my first time working in a casino.

“Good for you. A lot of people come out here and can’t get any kind of job that pays more than $10 an hour. Especially if they look like us.”

“What? Old white guys?”

“Yeah. It’s just discrimination is what it is.”

“True, but I figure I was on the top of the food chain when I was a twenty-five year old white guy and I’m positive there were some more qualified people who were passed over when I was coming up who were not white guys. I guess I chalk it up to the playing field getting evened up. Is it harder for guys like us to get by? Yeah, but maybe it’s our turn to get the shit end of the stick, right?”

I think about the difference between what I consider admirable masculine qualities versus those on showcase so often in the news of the Weinstein nature. Hell, I’ve written about it countless times. It is the defining quest of my post-middle age, to find those balances without merely cowering in fear of reprisal from those looking to simply get even for the injustices of men.

In that pursuit, I find examples of men who are tough but not belligerent, charming but not smarmy, unquestioningly loyal but not lap dogs in movie characters. Avatars of masculinity without machismo to model our behavior. Gentlemen with that Gene Autry sense of duty to women, children, and those not in the power position in the American pursuit of happiness. The guys who can beat the crap out of a Nazi but use that aggression wisely rather than lord it over the weak.

Tarantino has given us a number of these characters onscreen — flawed, violent, but ultimately non-toxic men. Yes, Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) in Pulp Fiction is a killer but by the end of that film he demonstrates that he is trying to find his place in the world apart from all that. Butch (Bruce Willis) is tough as nails but is gentle and caring to his girlfriend and finds an ally in an enemy once a common threat is exposed. Max Cherry (Robert Forrester) in Jackie Brown is a man’s man and is nothing less than that old school example of a solid, dutiful, compassionate yet masculine dude. 

With Cliff Booth in Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood, he and Brad Pitt have given us a complex and wonderful example of an über-cool, kind to women, loyal to his friend, incredibly capable white man to emulate while also offering the non-toxic opposite in Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) to balance Booth’s cool demeanor with obvious self-doubt, emotional struggle, and the desperate need for positive affirmation.

Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood has been called a “Requiem for White Men” in the New York Times. Maureen Dowd tells us that the movie is entirely built upon a nostalgia for a kind of man that no longer exists. I disagree. Men like Booth and Dalton do exist despite the societal screed that all men are indelibly creeps, power grabbing monsters, and wannabe rapists.

If anything, other than a brilliant, funny, captivating piece of cinematic revision of history, Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood is less nostalgia and more celebration of those kind of men. At a time when painting the past as the Pillage of the Patriarchy, perhaps this film is a reminder that not all men are Weinstein and Cosby. In fact, most are not.

Yes, it is suggested that Booth murdered his wife and got away with it ,which means he’s a sociopath but there is equal weight to the possibility that his wife was killed in an accident and he was wrongfully accused and has spent a part of his life living with this conjured accusation without acrimony or bitterness. His behavior toward the hippie chick Pussy Cat (Margaret Qualley) indicates he is both chivalrous and cautious. His violence is only unleashed when provoked and is then decisive. No posturing, no displays of macho.

Perhaps the film is nostalgic but the interesting part of nostalgia is that we pick out the things we want to remember about our past. The most common nostalgia is to see our past as pleasant and warm. The Woke want us to see the past through the lens of all the ugly rest of it and, by virtue of being a darker kind of nostalgia, is no different in its disregard for anything else. 

The world Tarantino sees and presents is both complex and yet incredibly hopeful: the hit man reflecting on his legacy, the freed slave burning down a plantation, the assassin hellbent upon revenge finding her child, a band of Nazi-killers and the daughter of Jews murdered putting an end to Hitler, the preening has-been TV star and his stoic stunt double unknowingly preventing a horrifying tragedy.

I understand and accept this shift in societal paradigm where we old white guys are getting it in the teeth for the privilege we wielded so haphazardly in the previous century. It’s high time the balance was mended and injustices of the past atoned for. I won’t, however, dismiss the qualities of chivalry, toughness, loyalty, and the radar to truly see what is worth fighting for rather than what might feel good to overpower.

I read so much about angry young white men using that masculinity to buy assault rifles and tiki torches to reclaim their sense of place and time but I’d like to tell them that that is not the sign of a man. Instead of embracing those emotions of angry children, perhaps it is a better choice to bear the brunt of what you perceive as unfair with a bit more grace and stoicism. Life is unfair and has never been otherwise. The white guy talk is to suck it up, deal with it with a set of strong shoulders and a set jaw, and quit bellyaching about it’s unfairness.

“I don’t want to live in a world without Cliff Booth,” says my wife after I read some of this to her.

I want to live in a world where I am Cliff Booth and I thank Tarantino and Pitt for giving him to me.

[songsofsappho]

Finally got to see Drive Away Dolls with some friends last night! It was pretty good.

Though the scene where Margaret Qualley pats her lap to encourage Geraldine Viswanathan to come sit may have made me blush 😳

Truly... The power of butch lap...

[robertkstone]

Porsche Mission E Cross Turismo Prototype Review: Mission Accomplished

I’m liquidly gliding through the winding corners in the hills above Malibu. To my right is Stefan Weckbach, Porsche’s EV mastermind behind the Mission E Cross Turismo I’m driving—which happens to be the exact same development mule that made its debut on the show stand in Geneva. We’re doing about 45 mph, sandwiched by an escort of light-bar cop cars to shield us from the churning 5 p.m. Friday traffic. Our windows are down because the Mission E’s huge glass canopy has no UV protection—and, well, there’s no AC, either. But at the moment, I’m oblivious because Weckbach is explaining something about the all-electric Mission E that absolutely fascinates me.

He’s talking about its sound. No, not the noise this car is making right now—which is the usual thin soar of high-pitched tones when my right ankle extends and the car surges toward that black-and-white’s back bumper in front of me. Rather, it’s something that’ll be entirely original once the Mission E reaches production.

But first, let’s climb down one branch of this car’s family tree and get a clearer perspective on the Mission E’s brief lineage (it’s a placeholder name, by the way). We originally encountered its reptilian menace at the 2015 Frankfurt show. That one was a squat four-door coupe with impractical suicide doors and whopping rear haunches; its raised, rounded-rectangle headlight nacelles were composed of a quartet of slitlike beams at its corners, these framed by vertically stretched bracket symbols that drop below the bumper to define twin cooling intakes. Adequate cooling is a big deal for Weckbach. When we lapped Laguna Seca in that electric sedan from Brand T, it depowered before the checkered flag in fear of rising drivetrain temps. The Mission E’s cooling is being scaled to allow a full-power Nürburgring Nordschliefe lap. When I asked Weckbach to describe it, he just replied, “It’s very complicated,” and smiled.

The new J1 chassis holds a few particles of Panamera DNA but is genetically engineered to carry a 90-kW-hr battery in a Tesla-like slab under the floor. At either end of it are front and rear motors that combine for about 600 hp capable of spitting the car to 100 kph in under 3.5 seconds (I’m guessing 3.2 to 60 mph, as Porsche’s performance stats are crazy conservative). Weckbach assures me that the rear motor will have the louder voice in the relationship, lending it a decidedly rear-drive personality.

In reality, though, this particular Cross Turismo is actually a sort of mechanical and electrical approximation. The combined power here is less than 600 hp, its battery pack isn’t correct, the whole car’s a couple hundred pounds overweight, and the frunk for carrying cargo up front is temporarily filled with prototype electronics. The car we’re in is a four-seater, but the production model should also see five-seat variants. The first time I shut the door, a Porsche handler winced and asked that I please close it more gently (a power door closure sucks it in the final few millimeters). This is a brittle test mule. Nonetheless, it’s packed with promising clues. Its lateral torque vectoring, Model S­–like center of gravity, and 911-ish four-wheel steering give it a responsiveness to steering inputs that’s more like a giant shifter kart than a chunky-tire all-terrainer; despite the extra pounds and missing horsepower, my moments of acceleration are smile-stretching previews of coming rail-gun attractions.

The Cross Turismo has been brought here to Malibu—rather than us to Zuffenhausen (a lot easier logistics)—to act as a giant thermometer: take the temperature of consumers (and the press) in the land of Teslas valeted at every steakhouse and sushi place. Should they greenlight this mild crossover?

Ah, what’s there to debate? The Mission E’s platform was expected to spawn multiple EV variants, and what’s a more obvious one than a sort of sporty/lifestyle crossover?

At the moment, there’s an open garage door for this car in the premium EV neighborhood. (It’s expected to be priced in Panamera territory.) It’s shorter, about 6 inches longer, and 30 percent more powerful than the Jaguar I-Pace. The Model X may be Tesla’s crossover, but the Cross Turismo is really more like a half-foot-shorter, butched-up, dual-motor Model S with husky all-terrain tires to slightly elevate its stance; there’s off-roady black eyelids over the wheel arches and a (presumably) optional roof rack and bike carrier on the back. Compared to the four-door coupe, the Cross Turismo’s extended roofline—à la the Panamera Turismo—expands interior space a bit. And a sweet idea that you don’t see often enough in lower-stance EVs is a battery cutout for rear foot room—what Weckbach calls the “foot garage.” It sacrifices a few kW-hrs but lowers the rear passengers’ knee height while raising their happiness, plenty.

One of Tesla’s strongest cards has always been its Supercharger system; for several years, it has been the world’s only credible mass-scale, truly fast-charging network. By the end of next year, though, Porsche thinks it’ll have a trump card: a constellation of more than 650 U.S. sites, some with up to 150-kW rates, all courtesy of Electrify America—and really Volkswagen, who reluctantly financed this almost public-works-scale project as part of their Dieselgate settlement. More threatening to Tesla, more than 300 of these will be intercity stations capable of supporting—get this—“Turbo Charging” (take that, mere Superchargers). Many of these, prepared for 800 volts and 350 kW, will be intense enough to replenish 250 miles of the Mission E’s 300-plus miles of range in 15 minutes. (Superchargers are now 120 kW.) Finishing off its check-every-box approach to charging, Porsche intends to let you individualize your home charging rate between 11 and 22 kW and eventually offer non-contact induction charging for, well, I guess, lazy people, too. Oddly enough, the word “Turbo” is being considered to also specify its alpha version of the Mission E (trading on its implication of peak performance trim, not the pinwheel thing that makes more horsepower).

But—oh—I forgot about my conversation with Weckbach about the Mission E’s sound.

I compliment him on how deftly the Mission E’s dash teleports the early 911’s iconic wraparound, five-gauge instrument cluster into a hi-res-screen-everywhere-you-look tomorrow. But how can a Porsche be exciting and nearly silent at the same time?

Weckbach answers that there’ll be a button. Press it, and microphones on the drivetrain will modify and amplify the actual drivetrain sound. I tell him of an early interaction I had with Tesla about the Model S’ absence of a noise-masking combustion engine. On a fanciful whim, I emailed their PR person, “In its place, how about a mild, artificial soundtrack that subtly calms or focuses your mood?” I got back a reply: “Elon doesn’t like your idea. He says Teslas should be completely silent.” Henry Ford didn’t like my suggestion of blue Model Ts, either. Weckbach laughs.

Then he stresses that this won’t be a prerecord sound or the digital rumble of a fake gas engine. Instead, it’ll be an enhanced sound, more authentic than the pops and snarls sometimes electronically overlaid on an ICE.

Sounds good to me.

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