#I promised I would do it!

[positivelybeastly]

A Completely Unbiased and Totally Comprehensive Beast Reading List, Pt. 1

As a member of the first class of X-Men, the intelligently gifted Dr. Hank McCoy has been fighting for the peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans for most of his life, under the tutelage of Professor Xavier. Born with an enhanced physique, strength, and muscular structure, he has adopted the name Beast.

Well, hello there, friends! Welcome to a completely unbiased, totally comprehensive, not at all too long reading list that aims to show you the story of everyone's favourite Beast, from start to finish!

Origins

As one of the original X-Men, Beast features in almost every issue of the very first iteration of the team - but to put it bluntly, 60s X-Men sucks, and I want you to enjoy this character, so we're going to start with some aggressive curation.

X-Men Origins: Beast, by Mike Carey - a solo story that retells Hank's origins, including his pre-X-Men life, and an insight into his mindset, his relationship with humanity, and his first meeting with the X-Men. It also happens to have some rather lovely art, and a fantastic last page spread that expresses a lot of what makes Hank a brilliant character. X-Men: First Class, by Jeff Parker - a collection of mini-series that fill in the gaps between stories in the original run of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby's X-Men, this run is extremely readable, and does a very good job of forming a cohesive characterisation of both Hank, the X-Men, and, particularly, Professor Xavier. You do not need to have any former knowledge of anything X-Men to read this run. Issues of Particular Note: (2006) #8; the meeting of Hank and Gorilla Man, who have a cute dynamic, and if you like Gorilla Man, you should read Agents of Atlas by Parker as well. (2007) #4; the foundation of Hank's friendship with Bobby Drake, aka Iceman. These two were thick as thieves all the way up until the late 00s. Giant-Sized Special; a collection of short fun little stories with varying art styles, featuring Hank on small solo adventures or in duos with the other X-Men. Finals #2; Hank deciding to leave the X-Men, and become his own man.

X-Men: Season One by Dennis Hopeless is a standalone graphic novel that aims to retell the early days of the X-Men from the perspective of Jean Grey, and features Hank fairly prominently. If you want to be more up to code on early X-Men history without dealing with issues of the 60s run, this would be a good place to do it.

And of course, Uncanny X-Men vol. 1. While I would not advise reading this run in its entirety, dipping your toe in to get some appreciation for what 60s comics were like and how far we've come isn't an awful idea. Issues of Particular Note: #7 Hank is momentarily abducted by a beatnik foot cult. No notes, this is just a funny situation that Hank ends up in. #8; one of the first instances of anti-mutant hysteria in an X-Men book, the first time Hank left the X-Men, and also the origin of his short career as a professional wrestler. #47; Hank and Bobby go on a double date with their girlfriends and get interrupted by superhero shenanigans.

Grey

With Hank having now left the X-Men, he has a rendezvous with destiny, and while this is going to be a very short period on our reading list, it's a very formative one for young Hank.

Amazing Adventures #11-17, by Gerry Conway, Steve Englehart, and Arnold Drake. Honestly, just read this entire run - you basically get a very well contained story that delves into Hank at a very young age, and while this may be a series from the 1970s, it's actually surprisingly modern in its approach to Hank as a character. It's also interesting to see the introduction of a more horror/wolfman aspect to Hank's character, which is largely due to the contemporary popularity of Werewolf-by-Night. It all caps off with issue #17, which collects a number of back-up stories that originally came from Uncanny X-Men, that tell Hank's origin in its uncondensed form. If you started with Carey's Origins book, these story beats will be very familiar, but it's interesting to see what parts were cut and which were preserved.

A companion story that goes back and revisits this very interesting period of Hank's life can be found in X-Men Unlimited vol. 2 #10, as one of the two stories contained there. Sliding somewhere in between issues of Amazing Adventures, it provides a modern emotional context for Hank's transformation, and I feel obliged to warn you that this is a very heavy story. If stories about depression, radiation sickness, or familial death are triggering for you, approach with caution.

Avengers

As you may have noticed, Hank has now changed from grey to his more familiar blue! This is due to printing limitations of the time, where attempts to render black or grey often ended up producing a shade that looked closer to blue. But enough of that malarkey, let's talk about everyone's favourite Bouncing Baby Blue Beast!

Avengers vol. 1, by . . . so many writers, but the most significant include Jim Shooter, Gerry Conway, Steve Englehart, David Michelinie, Bill Mantlo, etc. As the first X-Man to cross teams, Hank made history, and he quickly settled in nicely to the bitchy, high octane, absolutely bonkers world of 70s Marvel. Among other things, this is where he forms lifelong friendships with Carol Danvers, Steve Rogers, and, perhaps most importantly, Simon Williams. Honestly, this entire run has its ups and downs, but I'd recommend reading it from start to finish, just because it's fun, and Hank is so much fun in it. If you're more used to buzzkill Beast from the modern era, you'll be shocked at just how much of a kind-hearted goof he is here. Although, maybe skip the Korvac Saga. Issues of Particular Note: #137, which features Hank's initial tryout for the Avengers, with some story beats that will have particular resonance if you read Amazing Adventures or X-Men Unlimited, recommended above. #141, which sees the beginning of the origins of Patsy Walker, who you might know better as Hellcat, and who will become an important part of our story later. #148, which sees Hank embrace his disguise gimmick - while pretty much abandoned from this point on, it was arguably never going to get better than the trick he pulls here. Avengers Annual #6, which sees the origins of Hank and Simon's wonder-ful relationship. Whether you read them as friends or more, it really is a ton of fun to see just how quickly they glom onto each other as partners. #160 digs a little deeper into Hank's dynamic on the Avengers, and, if you aren't doing a full readthrough, this provides an interesting perspective on what Hank brings to the team, which is paid off in #163 and #164. Can you guess what it is? Yep . . . sex symbol. This is the origin of Hank McCoy, original mutant fuck machine, baybeeee. #171 sees Hank speaking Latin, being kind of a shit to Ms. Marvel, and being called a slut by Thor, which is kind of amazing, tbh. But Hank then proceeds to disappear for a bit, dodging the really rather awful Korvac Saga, so if you want to read more about our boy, you can jump right ahead to #178, where they make up for his brief absence by psychologically torturing him! Yeah! Love it! Next big issue of note is #188, where the Avengers get political, Hank gets to hold Ms. Marvel's laser gatling gun backpack, and press his nose against a plane window like a small child (it's better than I'm making it sound)! #194 has Hank at his best, to be quite honest, and is an all around nice little slice of life, quiet issue for the Avengers, for those of you who miss such things in comics. #206 features Hank speaking every language he knows for an entire issue, on . . . well, honestly, not even a dare, he just does it. #209, meanwhile is . . . heavy. Trigger warnings for the Shoah, the Holocaust, concentration camps, and a lot of dark subject matter, but it does showcase Hank at arguably his most heroic and his most tender. And then, finally, we reach the end of Hank's tenure with the Avengers, at #211, where . . . well, honestly? He leaves because his boyfriend is leaving. There's no other way to interpret it, that's just the text. He'll of course join the Avengers again, and is always active as a reservist, but for now, he's to move on to greener, more defensive pastures. In between these appearances, it's also worth checking out the absolutely iconic Dark Phoenix Saga. If you think you know this story from the adaptations in X-Men 3 or Dark Phoenix, trust me, you don't - this is the real story, as it should always have been. Hank only joins in on the story in the last third, but if you ever doubted his commitment to the X-Men, his friends, or the ideals of justice, look no further. And guess what, it's just a damned good story, starting at Uncanny X-Men #129 and going on to #138.

Hank also makes guest appearances in Uncanny X-Men #111 to #114, where he first properly meets the second generation of X-Men, though as you'll see, it's far from the most orderly or normal of introductions. For those of you who don't know about Chris Claremont and his predilections, you will learn - great writer, absolutely fundamental to the X-Men, but . . . hoo boy.

That's what I've got for you for the moment! I will be adding the next sections as separate posts, so that this doesn't get too long - feel free to check back here, or just keep your eyes peeled in the Hank McCoy tag, so that you don't miss the next section, as we move into the 80s proper! Also, I may be adding new issues here and there, as I remember things, so check back if you want to hear more about Beast's early years!

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[kelddaa]

I was plagued by a vision

[inkskinned]

having good & true friends will literally save and protect you in a million unfathomable ways. like okay we have written so many times about lovers. but the way a platonic friend laughs and cries with you. the way they hold your hand at 14 years old and at 34. the way they keep a little silver tie to you, touching base over and over and over. how you can go years without talking, only to re-meet and discover: oh shit! you're still cool!

there are people who have been in my life for more than half of it, and i have loved every version of them. do you know how fucking beautiful that is. yeah love will save the world. but the way friends love you is gonna save the you.

[chloesimaginationthings]

I can’t wait to see mangle in the FNAF 2 movie,,

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[mandalora]

A stab at an Arcane-style Ahsoka to pair with this Maul

[hinamie]

sry i have chronic only draws megumi disorder the doctor said it's terminal :/

[pakchoys]

snapshots of a stolen childhood

[shouyuus]

18+, pitfighter!vi brainrot, bc its girl-dinner time tw: sorta smut, sorta obsessive!vi, codependent relationship, not quite yandere but the vibes r kinda there, but still fluffy bc im me duh

pitfighter!vi who fucks you like she's trying to leave a part of herself inside you, who holds you so hard that the next morning, you wake up to the blue-tinted ghosts of her fingers along your hips and thighs, the dull blossoming bruises littering your neck and shoulders, rings in the shape of her teeth like strange, demented flowers (or perhaps like footprints) the way they trail along your skin, inked there for all to see.

pitfighter!vi who fights like she's trying to break everyone else in the same way she wishes she were broken herself, all fevered, focused rage, and none of the restraint. no patience, only the blunted sting of a punch well-aimed, an elbow to the ribs, a knee to the groin, spit trailing out the edge of her mouth, a grin crooked and bloody hinged between her lips bc she knows when she looks up and scans the crowd, she'll inevitably find you there, watching her with your wide, alluring eyes.

pitfighter!vi who thinks she knows the depths and widths of hunger, has seen and felt it all, growing up in the lanes, and there are so many different kinds, aren't there? the kind that aches dull and deep in the stomach, the kind that claws and roars open in her chest, the kind that tingles like spider-poison all along the length of her spine. still, she's never quite felt a hunger like this -- the kind that threatens to consume her from the inside out the first time she sees you, and at first, it might've been a wholly vindictive thing -- perhaps its because there'd been something in the shadow of your smile that reminds her of -- well, it doesn't matter.

but the first time she kisses you (in the crush of bodies on a crowded dance floor, the music too loud, the bottom of her boots tacky with spilled drinks and blood and whatever else), you'd run your thumb along the line of her jaw so gently, traced the lines of her face with a touch so soft it ran a fissure through her car-alarm heart, and when she'd pulled away, you'd smiled as if she'd given you something other than just the jagged, broken bits of herself.

later, you'd told her that you still appreciated it then. bc it looked like that was all she could afford to give; and she gave it to you anyway.

pitfighter!vi who does not think she will ever get enough of you, and still, the more she gets, the more you give, the deeper the hunger grows. it yawns open inside her, huge and dark and cavernous, carving into her the more that it's fed, and by the gods do you feed it -- the way your head tilts back to allow her access to the smooth expanses of your throat, the darling, moon-lit landscape of your bare chest and shoulders, the way you're so pliant beneath her, your trust pouring from you like drink. and she drinks. and drinks. and drinks.

drinks till she's head-dizzy and heart-full. drinks till her vision blurs but for the sight of you, the shape of you so familiar to her waking moments it does not shock her in the least the first time she wakes up in the morning to the after-images of you in her dreams.

pitfighter!vi who, for the first time in her life thought she had lost all direction, but now -- she feels like at least there's still someone worth protecting, worth fighting for. and she knows, she knows it's not entirely healthy, how much and how hard she falls for you, knows that perhaps it is not the best thing for a woman like her to make someone like you the still-point of her turning universe, you, who manages to shine despite the grime that collects in the city around you. you, who is softness made into an act of defiance, who, one night, curled against her side, told her that there's a certain vindication to smiling in the face of a world who would love nothing more than to rip the joy, bleeding and raw from your throat.

"it's not always easy... actually," you laugh, the sound sweet as spring water as it trickles over her skin, "it's really fucking hard but... why not do it anyway?"

"what, be happy?" her own voice is low and cracked from the fight earlier that night. but you'd kissed a line down her throat and told her that you loved it when she moaned.

"yeah. if the whole world wants us sad and angry... what bigger fuck you is there than to be... happy?"

pitfighter!vi who lets you draw the dark lines down her cheeks, but they're neater than she'd done them herself, who kisses your fingertips when they're stained with the black of her hair-dye, who laughs fully for the first time in... she doesn't even remember how long, when you lean forward and trace a tiny mustache with the leftover ink on your fingers right over her mouth. who sinks into the sound of your laughter like a warm bath, letting it soak into her sore muscles, unspool the tension coiled in her shoulders, the rictus threatening to settle in the set of her knuckles.

she lets you sooth over the harms and hurts that had followed behind her, nipping at her heels like disobedient dogs her whole life, lets you kiss her brows and pull her behind you as you point at the new graffiti art that wasn't there the week before.

pitfighter!vi who has always had a fierce love for zaun because it's her home, but has never stopped to consider just how beautiful of a place it is until she meets you -- and it is beautiful, an angry, pulsing, rebellious beauty, raw and dripping with shimmer-soaked ichor. a beauty carved of disparate limbs and desperate parts, one that is hard-earned and well-fought, the same beauty found in the darkest hours of night, right before the morning dawns, the same beauty she finds reflected back at her when she sees her blurred reflection in a pool of spilt blood on the fighting pit's arena floor.

zaun hums to the tune of debauchery, and for the first time, she's with someone who allows her to be greedy, allows her the breadth and width of wanting so freely. and she thinks it might be spiraling into a full-blown obsession, the way she can't go three seconds without thinking about you, wondering where you are, what you're doing, what you're up to. and you always tell her, tell her about the flowers you saw growing from a crack in the sidewalk, the shaft of sunlight hitting a shard of broken glass in just the right way, how sometimes if you close your eyes and listen, the ticking and clicking noises that run like a baseline thrum through the entire city almost sounds like birdsong.

pitfighter!vi who can't say she's ever fallen properly in love (she thinks that perhaps, once, she got real close), but wonders if this is what it feels like, to feel the void of your physical absence like the itch of a phantom limb, so she does everything she can to keep you close, glares at people if their eyes linger too long on you as the pair of you walk down the street, doubles down on her training regime so that she can fend of anyone who even breathes wrong in your direction.

who can't help pouting every time you pull away to do anything -- to grab another bag of snacks, to ask the bartender for another drink, to listen to something loris is saying -- she has to tamp down the urge to pull you back, to meld you to her side and never let go.

pitfighter!vi who starts to get more strategic with her fights, who saves up money now bc she wants to take you out to dinner, or just buy you nice things once in a while. who spends way too many hexes and cogs on a bouquet of fresh flowers, ones that aren't tainted or bred with the faint, sickly shine of shimmer, and she thinks its all worth it to watch the smile break across your face like dawn over a brand new day -- brilliant, blinding.

she blinks, watching with a fond smile as you fuss over the flowers in your tiny apartment, the space small but cozy, everything neat and in its place. you put the flowers into a tall, slightly chipped glass mug and set them by the window, admiring them from this angle, then that.

"y'like them, angel?"

you nod, grinning as you throw your arms around her, "i love them, vi! i love them so much!"

"good. i'm glad you like 'em. just..." her voice trails off; you cock your head.

"just, what?"

she shrugs, "ah -- just, i always thought it was sad getting flowers cause... they'll wilt someday, right?"

but when she looks back at you, still caught up in her arms, you're still smiling. and there's a fox-fire glint in your eyes that makes something in her stomach twist hot.

"well, there's one kind of flower that won't wilt that i wouldn't mind having here all the time..."

vi blinks, a dry heat creeping up the back of her throat, her heart a wild, fluttering thing caught beneath her cage of ribs.

"yeah?" her voice is hoarse as she swallows around the hope pooling on her tongue like blood. "and what kinda flower is that?"

you lean in, your breath a whisper along her parted lips.

"violets."

pitfighter!vi who moves in three days later, with nothing but some old clothes and her punching bag, which you'd already made room for (somehow) hung up from one of the high rafters in the kitchen, next to the tiny dining table tucked into the corner. who spends the next three days fucking you on every available surface (and some unavailable ones, like against the fridge for instance), telling you that it's only right to christen things now that you're officially living together.

who doesn't bother to wonder if things are moving too fast, and dives in head first because that's the only ways she's ever known to how to do things. who thinks, blithely to herself one night, the warm shape of you curled next to her, sleeping so soundly it almost breaks her heart, that you're probably the first good thing she's ever gotten stuck on -- and she's gotten stuck on a lot of things (fighting, boxing, the guilt, the shame, the anger, the world-ending sorrow of losing it all). its one of the things vander had always warned her about.

"you get into things too hard, kiddo -- gotta learn to pace yourself."

but she doesn't care, because hard's what she was raised on, and it's how she plans on loving you, god, if it's the last thing she does, right or wrong, so be it.

pitfighter!vi who still has her bad nights, still drinks a bit too much sometimes, but at least you're always there to keep her from going too far. and you're the only one who can pull her back, the only one she'll listen to when you tug the drink away from her hands and slide it down the bar towards loris, who'll eye it for a second before downing it and settling up the tab, nodding towards you even as you sling an arm around vi's middle to lead her out of the bar.

who still wakes up screaming some nights, her eyes wide and unseeing, scrabbling at you, tugging you into her if only to bury her face in your shoulder, her whole body wracked with dry-heaving sobs.

"my sister used to think there were monsters under the bed, and make me check down there every night before going to bed," she murmurs, her face inches from yours, her words soft and ever so slightly slurred.

you brush your fingers against her cheek, a comforting, repetative motion -- back and forth, back and forth, till her lashes flutter shut.

"guess she was right... but the monsters never wanna stay under the bed, do they? it's like they always... wanna come out and play..."

you let out a breathy laugh, "or maybe," you offer, your voice low and soothing, "they're just as scared as you are. and they're just looking for someone to scare their own monsters away."

pitfighter!vi who is still not good at slow, but sometimes, when she kisses you, she wishes that had the power to hit pause on time, just so she could stretch out the moment and kiss you forever. she thinks that she'll never be good at patience, but sometimes, when you tell her just gimme a sec! when she's waiting for you to get ready before going out to dinner at jericho's or just for a round of drinks at the bar round the corner, her leaning against the doorway watching as you put the finishing touches of your makeup on yourself in the kitchen mirror -- she thinks she'd give you every last second of the rest of her life if you ever asked her to.

pitfighter!vi who, recently, has really, really started hoping that someday soon, you'll actually ask her to.

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[theribbajack]

"Now, the vow will be honoured, and my Lord brother's soul will return."

Radahn stans keep winning, but I personally am in Miyazaki's walls rn

[mohntilyet]

still i think the one of the more fun differences drawn between illario and lucanis that was lost would be illario's ability to endear himself to others but serious lack of empathy, vs. lucanis' (self perceived) inability to be charming but how much he cares. it's interesting that the game has gone with the "lucanis' ability vs illario's lack thereof" because i think illario being the dellamorte 'best in show dog' vs. lucanis' attack dog would have made me so unwell.

lucanis is... awkward. he's not unlikable, because he is usually very polite, but he doesn't speak much and only seems to care about the other dellamortes. he once sent viago de riva a knife with no note (who knows what he could have meant by this). he does what caterina asks of him, and by his own admission, cannot say no to her. he is a dramatic and prolific killer, and that makes how untouchable he is even worse.

and the crows like illario, sure, AND he's a good assassin! he's even a good crow! he's so good that he can make lucanis smile, and so he is the charming, sociable one. he's the one that stays in treviso and can be relied upon to care, illario's even the one people prefer over caterina and lucanis!

but illario is decoration. he's the prize poodle, and even if poodles were bred to be working dogs, nobody will ever pick him to protect the house over the german shepherd that regularly mauls intruders. anyways the analogy is getting away from me. the point i'm trying to make is that i want illario to have a different kind of jealousy/hatred that's not just over 'being bad at killing' but also an arrogant loathing for everyone around him that is getting harder to hide, because they've forgotten he can bite and is just itching to rip someone's jugular out. illario is very good at hiding his family resemblance to caterina, while lucanis suffers under his grandmother's, and his own, reputation.

[umblrspectrum]

friendly pal buddy copy of mine told me uzi would legally need a booster seat so i imagine the bus is like this

[ofswordsandpens]

thinking about a world in which RR actually committed to the path he set Percy on in hoo (wherein Percy has become jaded, angry, and resentful at the gods for breaking their sworn promises, is frequently sympathizing with Luke, is getting more and more powerful, and frequently losing himself to wrath) and instead of the subsequent Percy Jackson books being about getting recommendation letters, we could have gotten a trilogy exploring a fallen hero arc for Percy (that would ultimately have a positive resolution to it.)

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF ruin ending in a nutshell

(Based off @/fallenchungus post)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A procession of confessions.

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