#stan through gradual osmosis

[clonehub]

not a dooku stan but i believe in his stans' beliefs

[secretsocietyxmen]

New salt

Okay, while i did not watch the train wreck that is Miracle Queen (I actually haven’t watched a single episode since Chameleon), I HAD absorbed enough through Tumblr osmosis to have an idea of what when down. If I got any information wrong, please forgive me.

Final Spoiler Warnings

I’ll start with the few things I liked

That little bit of Julerose at the end

The powers Miracle Queen had, I was NOT expecting the crew to come up with the idea for the final battle

Luka gets a bit more character

The Powerups return, I almost forgot they existed

While I dislike everything around it, I like how Fu is finally out of the picture

The Peacock getting fixed

Now for the Salt

SHIPPING

Okay, I am NOT a fan of the ships that kept cropping up in these last few episodes. The only ships in this series that I like are Kagaminette (which was only glanced at in Loveater), Julerose, some side ships (Aurore and Mirielle ftw), and Chlonette (yeah, the show screwed us over in that regard).

So, since I don’t care for Lu//ka//ne//tte or Adr//imi, and LOATHE the Lo//ve Squ//are, I couldn’t STAND most of the two parter. 

THE MIRACLE BOX

Also, while I’m glad Fu is no longer the Guardian, I felt this was the worst place to put this. LITERALLY in the last episode Marinette had a breakdown about the sheer amount of responsabilites on her shoulders, and now she has THIS to deal with? This could have been done earlier in the season, or even early next season as a hook. But no, because That Guy wanted to add stakes to this episode (Which it already had, thank you very much).

And finally, the part you’ve all been waiting for:

CHLOE

People who have been following me for a while know I like Chloe. I’m not a stan that looks past her flaws and says that “she did nothing wrong, it’s the world that needs to change.” I am willing to accept her flaws, and hope she improves as a person, as I love her base personality.

So you can imagine my DISDAIN for this two parter. Any and all character development she had was thrown straight out of the window to make her a bland and rude antagonist, and a weak final Akuma for the gang to fight.

Whether you love her or hate her, you have to admit that a lot of her actions are DISTINCTLY out of character for her. Tell me, given only the basics of her character, would she have done this? Would Season 1 Chloe do this? Would a Chloe with 3 SEASONS of gradual character development suddenly completely ditch her ENTIRE CHARACTER just because she is mad at Ladybug?  The answer is no.

In season 1, while she still is an awful person, she still respects Ladybug, and still follows her even after Antibug, where she was angry with her. We even saw in Season 3 that she had potential to be a good hero (Startrain, Miracular, Ladybug, and bits an pieces here and there). SHE REJECTED AN AKUMA, SOMETHING NO OTHER CHARACTER HAD DONE. But no, she hadn’t changed at all since season one, and has no potential as a hero.

I would have LOVED it if all of Loveater was a scam to try and get Hawkmoth’s Miraculous. Then, you could have Ladybug not trust her, as her act was TOO convincing. Then you would have a better story than THIS.

I’ve said it before, and heard it a dozen times: if you have to change your characters to fit the story, change the story. Don’t ruin the character. 

FINAL THOUGHTS

Canon is dead to me. I may pop in every now and then, to see how badly they mess up, but I don’t care anymore. This show has SO MUCH potential, all squandered by a writing team that doesn’t care about it’s characters or any established continuity.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Spider-Man 1994 and Me

I have no idea how I first discovered Spider-Man the Animated Series. I know it wasn’t the first Spider-Man THING I ever encountered. That was some other Spidey show but I’ve checked them all and have no idea which one it was. But as a kid I didn’t know there was more than one show. I didn’t even know Spider-Man was more than a cartoon!

 So I conflated the then current 1994 cartoon with whatever show I’d seen and by extension with Spider-Man as a whole.

 To me back then Spider-Man WAS that show. The idea of comics, movies, video games and everything else never occurred to me and when I did discover them in my mind they weren’t the ‘real’ Spider-Man.

The ‘real’ Spider-Man was this show.

 Thing is I never knew when it was on. I just knew it was on Fox Kids the cable channel. And my family didn’t have cable. So I spent a long time hoping and praying every weekend that maybe my folks would take me to one of our family friends or relatives who did, and that they would have Fox Kids in their package and that Spider-Man would be on when I was there.

 Everyone in my family and at school I was hungry to see that show, and so they got me a VHS collecting 3 episodes for my birthday. They also taped one and a half episodes from a Saturday morning show that aired the cartoon before I had to go to Greek school.

 As a result of what I can only describe as playing those tapes on loop I can practically quote ‘Night of the Lizard’, ‘The Sting of the Scorpion’, ‘The Menace of Mysterio’, ‘Make a Wish’ and ‘Attack of the Octobot’.

 Whilst the latter two episodes are not well regarded, and I sympathise as to why (they’re basically a subpar adaptation of ‘The Kid Who Collects Spider-Man’), when I was the target demographic they really spoke to me.

 And not in a ‘kids don’t know taste’ kinda way. The plot concerned Spider-Man visiting the bedroom of a kid who was a huge Spider-Man fan, hanging out with them, confiding his secrets to them, going on an adventure with them and ultimately that kid restoring both Spider-Man’s memory of himself and resolve to BE a hero.

 Can you spell ‘wish fulfilment’?

 During one fateful trip to a family friend’s house (who always had the best stuff) I caught the two episodes which are probably the lasting legacy of the whole show, ‘The Alien Costume’ Parts 1-2.

 For all young and impressionable viewers I think these episodes left an indelible mark on them, along with the follow up episode.

 Try if you will to imagine yourself NOT knowing Spider-Man wears any other kind of costume besides his red and blue one. Then imagine the idea of Spider-Man...as the bad guy. Not just the bad guy...but scary. Then imagine he’s made bad, and made scary because his clothes are literally making him that way and forcing themselves on him, even when he doesn’t want them to. Then imagine seeing an even badder, even scarier Spider-Man, but you don’t get a good look at him. you just know he’s ‘out there’.

 Now imagine you are like 6 years old seeing all that.

 For me and new Spider-Man fans like me, our experience with the black costume and Venom was about as close to what the original readers of the 1980s went through as possible.

 What helped make these episodes so impressionable was the fact that my mind was filling in the blanks for what the ‘evil Spider-Man’ might look like.

 Then a while later, by complete chance at an entirely different friend’s house, she showed me a video that had the fabled third part of the story and so, like every 90s kid, I became entranced by Venom!

 And you know what, he was everything my childhood imagination had dreamed up and more. This wasn’t just a scary looking guy, with a scary attitude; this was a guy who was literally stalking our hero. As a kid you might’ve felt a certain comfort from Spider-Man. He was older than you, he was the hero and he was powerful. You either wanted to be him, or wanted to befriend him. But in this episode, suddenly he was as scared and as vulnerable as you were.

 Following those three episodes I spent a lot of time alternating between fear and fascination for Venom and the black costume, and I longed to see those episodes again somehow, even when I eventually did get to see the show more regularly.

 That happened when my family had to move in with my grandparents for 2 years, although I also caught the debut of Black Cat before that. Since Felicia was in whatever Spidey cartoon I first saw waaaaaaaaaay back I sort of knew the character and liked her.

 Anyway, back to my grandparents, during that time they got cable and eventually Fox Kids. So finally one of my childhood dreams was fulfilled and one day I taped a marathon of Spider-Man episodes beginning with the last half of the second part of the epic Spidey/X-Men crossover and ending during the first half of the first half of the also epic Spidey/Daredevil crossover!

 Again, I rewatched this almost religiously and since I didn’t quite understand the magic of the remote, I wound up sitting through the ads too and thus I’m still compelled to invest in the Chelsea Building Society and the 1997 Christmas catalogue.

 Not long after I rented a VHS from Blockbuster (remember those?) containing the Alien Costume/Venom episodes and soon committed those to memory too.

 Finally in now being able to watch the show regularly almost everyday I wound up seeing every other episode too, and seeing them like 5 times or something.

 The first of these episodes I really remember was the incredibly dumb ‘Partners’ wherein I was happy to see Felicia and Scorpion again, and got introduced to the Vulture for the first time. Also I got introduced to Silvermane but he was less than dignified in the episode. If you’ve seen it you will know what I mean.

 Among the most impressionable were the Carnage centric episodes and Secret Wars stuff. But I still fondly remember one morning seeing Spider Wars part 1.

 Mind = blown.

 Aunt May is dead. Green Goblin and Hobgoblin are together. New York is wrecked. Everyone hates Spider-Man, even Robbie! And this is all because of...Spider-Man!?

Another Spider-Man!

Another Spider-Man combined...with Carnage!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It helped that, though I didn’t realize he was a different character, I’d recently gotten a toy featuring the Spider-Ben costume and so when Spider-Carnage in an incredibly similar costume showed up, suddenly what I’d regarded as a dumb alternate costume action figure became startlingly relevant.

And the hits kept coming.

There’re even MORE Spider-Mans?

Spider-Man with Doc Ock’s arms!

Man-Spider!

And who is this blonde Scarlet Spider dude?

Ben Reilly and this whole storyline wound up being more important to me than I realized as around this time the Clone Saga was being reprinted, thus I was picking up my first Spider-Man comics off the back of recognizing both the Scarlet Spider and Spider-Ben costumes.

The next night I saw the final episode.

Of course I didn’t know it was the end. I thought for sure there was more coming and if I obediently watched enough of the reruns someday I’d see the fabled (and totally imaginary) next episode where Spidey finally reunites with Mary Jane.

However else I felt about the episode at the time, the story bears the distinction of introducing me to Stan Lee himself as he made his greatest ever cameo in the episode.

At the time it was confusing and surreal. The idea of anyone actually CREATING Spider-Man, or fiction in general, was a foreign concept to me. It grew more surreal as via osmosis I gradually began seeing this ‘Stanley guy’ in other places...except he was REAL, not a cartoon!

After being frustrated by the lack of follow up, and being bored by having seen the show so many times over, I began to...not exactly grow out of the show but began to sour on it a bit.

And upon entering the comics, realizing the show was actually based on THEM and regarding every deviation from them as ‘wrong’, I began to actually hate the show.

For the next 10 years or so I longed for another Spider-Man show, a better and more accurate one.

I went back and forth between disliking and lightly enjoying the show until about 2012.

I might not have many kind things to say about the Marc Webb Spidey movies. But after several years of distancing myself from Spider-Man and pretty much comics in general, the hype for the movie got me back in the mood and slowly but surely I disappeared back into the rabbit hole and this time got in deeper than ever before. Part of that was rewatching the show in it’s entirety from start to finish.

Initially I noticed the flaws, but then that last episode hit me. And over time, I fell in love with the show and see the worth it had beyond it’s flaws.

Quite apart from introducing Spider-Man and his world to me, it ‘educated’ me on the character in ways that actively helped me navigate the comics when I eventually did start to read them.

And looking back, there’d never been a more spiritually faithful take on Spider-Man ever before that show. It wasn’t a cartoon show using a comic book character, it was a comic book cartoon show!

So on this day, I thank you Spider-Man 1994. I wouldn’t have loved this character without you!

[ifyoucouldholdme]

Brave Angel

Words: 2735

Read on AO3

Bill had a collection of journals. It began with a large lined composition notebook from his little brother, Georgie.  The cardboard cover, ornamented with a menagerie of sailboat stickers and blue stars drawn in crayon.

“It’s for you to keep track of all of those stories you tell me,” the boy had cheered when Bill tore away newspaper wrapping. Bill smiled softly in gratitude, but Georgie knew it was the perfect gift when he discovered that Bill had filled over half of the notebook over the following week.

That was the last present Georgie had given him before that summer. Before the sewers. Before It. While the pages were now yellowed and lovingly worn, the journal remained unfinished. Bill couldn’t bring himself to add to it, leaving it preserved in a time when that precious child still smiled, much as his parents had preserved his room in the years after.

So Bill bought more journals. Over the years, he amassed quite a collection of folios and notebooks. Leatherback, spiral-bound, handcrafted, and dollar store brand alike overflowed the shelves of his dorm in no particular order.

 “Damn Bill,” an already tipsy Richie whistled when he spotted the piles. “I know you’re a writer, but do we need to hold an intervention? Eds has been binge-watching Hoarders, so I’ve absorbed some stuff through osmosis.” Stan, gliding past the louder than usual Trashmouth, to the one and only actual chair in the room, threw him a “Beep, beep. This is Bill’s personal space, don’t be rude.” Bill shot him a grateful look. He absolutely adored Richie. Out of all the Losers, the lanky goofball understood him the best. He was even the first person that Bill spoke to after they lost Georgie. But it was nice to have Stan nearby, since he could maneuver Richie like no one else. Just a given glance and a soft spoken word was all that he needed to let Richie know when teasing was close to drifting into inadvertently cruel, and Bill admired about him. In fact, he admired more than Stan’s interpersonal skills.

The look had lasted long enough that Bill knew no one would believe him if he called it anything but a stare. Stan didn’t seem to mind though, smirking and sending an unexpected wink in reply.

           Bill’s breath caught in his chest. His fingers twisted knots into his bedspread. How could Stan not know the grip his existence alone had on the boy, much less such a gesture.

           “Have you thought that maybe he has so many journals because he wants to be an author?”

           “Well yeah,” Richie muttered, “but that’s a metric shit ton of books.” Bill chuckled softly at that. “I guess I do have quite a collection now. It’s mostly just fragments of stories and ideas.” That was only half true. Sure, some were just a place to dump the random assortment of thoughts and inspiration that he discovered throughout the day while others he reserved for more specific purposes.

           Stan gracefully swiveled around in the chair to face Bill, his gaze landing directly back into his own. “Have you ever thought about doing anything with them?” he inquired, absently toying a stray curl around his finger, on which Bill refused to fixate any further than he already had. As much as he tried to repress is growing infatuation with Stanley Uris, the author in him continued romanticize every little thing about him. He dreamt of those slender fingers intertwined with his. He yearned to wrap his arms around the boy and bury himself in that mop of autumn curls. An added touch, Stan had worn Bill’s favorite of his kippahs this day, sky blue to complement his somber eyes and embroidered with a small flock of turtle doves. Beautiful and swift, just like Stan.

           “Paging Big Bill! Hello?” Richie’s booming radio announcer voice, which had improved considerably since high school, blasted Bill back into the moment with an actually articulated, “Huh?”

           Richie, scrunching his brow a little in confusion said, “Stanny boy asked you something and you just stared at him.”

           Dammit Richie, shut up! Bill thought. Instead of shouting that and outing himself right then and there, he turned again to Stan. His gaze had not fallen, however Bill thought that there might have been a slightly rosier tint sprinkled across his normally pale cheeks. “Sorry St-Stan. What did you s-say?”

           “I asked if you planned to do anything with them. Like publish one or enter something in a contest. “Bill automatically reacted with a light scoff. “Nobody would want to publish those. I’m nowhere near good enough f-for that.”

           “Don’t do that, Bill.” Stan’s face wore a calculated blank expression, but he could see the dull frustration lingering just behind those glistening irises and the corner of his mouth. “You are more than you think.”

           He still disagrees, but he would do anything if it would make Stan happy, so he bites back any rebuttal.

           Richie, noticing the tension, jumps in to alleviate the energy hovering between the two. “ You ever show them to your professors? Maybe they could help you submit something to some creative writing shit or whatever.”

           Bill drops his head to stare now at his hands tracing invisible patterns in his bedspread.  “Except for G-Georgie, nobody ever cared enough to ask if they could read anything.” The silence that followed didn’t help the boulder he felt in his stomach.

           Richie didn’t even crack a joke, and he always had something to say regardless of the situation. Why didn’t Bill just agree and steer the conversation towards something less uncomfortable for the others? Maybe finding a party somewhere nearby or what all Richie had already drunk, or-

           “I’d like to read them.” Bill had never heard Stan’s voice so timid since they emerged from the sewers in their receding childhood. “I mean, if that’s ok,” Yes Stan, please, anything you want. “S-sure, Bill managed, “I g-guess so.” Richie leapt to the shelf with a “Hell yeah, man!” and grabbing the first few he saw, dropped onto the floor, fidgeting into the perfect reading position. Stan on the other hand, scanned through the books, tracing his fingers across every spine. The reddening light drifting in the only window outlined every contour of his face, even the pocked craters of scar tissue lining each side from temples to jawline. Normally he was acutely aware of these souvenirs left from that summer, actively avoiding his reflection and constantly rubbing the marks as if he tried hard enough then he could wipe them away like a splattering of mud. Today must have been one of his better days, because Bill had only caught him once briefly brush a small scar on his left cheek. Stan eventually settled on a small pocket journal, one filled with fragments of a fantasy novel Bill had attempted a year or two ago. The room hushed again, this time they welcomed the shared silence in amicable comfort.

             By night fall, they were still deep in the mass of Bill’s literary work. Richie lay upside down on the floor skimming through his fifth selection, pausing intermittently to give his commentary. Stan had finally finished the first journal, now absorbing a collection of short horror stories. Over time he had gradually moved to a new perch on the foot of Bill’s bed, his posture still as straight as if he had still been in the desk chair. Bill curled himself against the headboard with his favorite sketchpad. Stanley’s rapt expression and relaxed half smile had inspired him too much to ignore, plus he had the perfect match to the blue of Stan’s kippah in his pastel set. He wished every moment could be like this. Special peace spent with his oldest friend and his…crush? Or whatever he could call the boy in his bed. The boy on his bed. That realization forced him to slump behind his sketchpad. He would be mortified if Stan discovered the furious blush radiating from his cheekbones. “What the hell, Billiam?” Richie suddenly erupted from underneath a somewhat forgotten collection of Bill’s attempts at poetry, startling the other two from their silent focus. “You told me you were finally over Bev!” At this point Stan would inevitably see Bill’s flushed face, for now he grew even redder in embarrassment.

           “Yeah,” he growled through a clenched jaw, “and I also told you that in confidence.” He tried to glance silently to see Stan’s reaction, but that infamous Uris poker face was back. “Seriously Bill, writing a whole poem about how beautiful she is and wanting to protect her and never leave her and shit doesn’t sound like being over her.” What love poem was he talking about? Although he had fallen for Beverly when they first met, he never really wrote anything about her.

           “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Stan interjected, “Beverly is definitely amazing.” His gaze held still, but there was a hint of something in his voice that Bill couldn’t quite comprehend. “You two would be good together.” His eyes stayed glued to the bed beneath them.

           “It’s much cheesier than I would’ve thought for a Denbrough original. Check it Stan, “ Richie continued then, putting on a voice he claimed as his Masterpiece Theater voice and read an excerpt.

 “My Brave Angel.

How can I show you what you mean

You hide your face

When all I want is to see your smile”

             Bill didn’t remember writing anything like this about her. He didn’t ever feel anything more than an adolescent infatuation with Bev or anyone. In fact, the only person he could say he ever truly loved was-

           “Here’s the part I don’t get,” Richie said in his own voice before jumping back into his recital,

 “When the doves rest in your hair

I wish that I could grow wings

Wrapped inside your autumn locks

I wish that I could live there.”

           Oh shit, THAT poem.

“But Bev doesn’t have curly hair, at the most it’s a little wavy, not like Stan’s frigging tumbleweed of a mop over there. That’s what curls look like Bill.” Richie jerks to a halt, the puzzle in his thoughts clicking together into the full image. For once, his words left him, his rant defaulting to a low, “uhhh…”

The boys tentatively look to Stan. “Oh please, let him not understand, “Bill futily prayed to God or the turtle or whomever was listening, “Please let him!”

Stan’s hand was timidly grazing the raised figures of the doves adorning his kippah, a dreadfully endearing braille.

“Shit, he understands.” Bill desperately wanted to deny everything, to say it was about a girl in his Bio lab, Ha ha Trashmouth, you’re too drunk to know what you’re talking about. Stan, isn’t he crazy? But his throat sealed shut and his tongue grew enormously heavy, just waiting for a laugh or sound or anything from Stan. He didn’t expect the trembling insecurity in their heartbreaking eyes or the wet trails slowly tracking down from them. Richie’s grown jumped to a buzzing hum upon seeing Stan’s tears. In a gangly mess of limbs, he leapt off the floor and with a frantic, “I need another drink,” bolted down the hall. Neither of the remaining two acknowledged the puzzled yells of “Shit, shit, shit, Eddie! I fucked up bad!”

They just sat on the bed, each unable to look the other in the eyes. Bill’s pulse drowned every other sound in his ears. He hates me now. He’s going to leave me behind and never speak to me again. Why do I have to write down every fucking feeling? “S-Stan. P-p-please say s-something” he managed despite his mouth repressing his words. He flinched as Stan met his gaze. Those beautiful eyes held even more of that undescriptive thing, forcing such an anxiety upon him as he hadn’t felt since the poor child disappeared into the mass of sewer pipes they’ve tried to repress.

“Is it true Bill?” Stan asked, his lips tight, but a barely noticeable tremor breaking through his voice. “Did you write this about me?”

Say no Bill. Say no and let him forget it. Dear God, I can’t lose him. Instead all of the fear and embarrassment and shame rushed up and vomited out in a frenzy of stutters and sobs. “I’m s-so sorry S-Stan. N-n-nobody ever r-reads my journals. S-so I thought it’d b-b-be s-safe. P-please d-don’t hate m-me.  I just l-like you s-so much, p-please d-d-d-don’t, “Spit it out Bill, spit it out before he runs away, “p-please don’t l-l-l-“ Then his panic overcame him and the only noises he cried out were violent sobs as he lost any dignity he had left. “Oh God, he’s never going to speak to me again.

In the throes of his shaking, he vaguely noticed arms embracing his crumbling frame and supporting his head. The warmth pressed against him soothed his manic hyperventilation, and Stan’s voice, although breaking in tears itself, brought him back down to relative stability.

“You’re ok, Bill, you’re ok. Please don’t cry. Just breathe with me, ok?” Bill obeyed, inhaling the scent of peppermint embedded in his crush’s dress shirt. After what felt like days, he finally whispered, “P-please don’t l-leave me…” The warmth and the mint receded much to Bill’s dismay, but Stan’s arms stayed. He leaned into the hand wandering through his hair, against his own better judgment.

“Bill, look at me.” Unwillingly, he did. Stan’s face looked just as disheveled as his must surely be. The boy looked hurt, striking pain through Bill’s shuddering chest.

“Why would I ever leave you?”

“B-b-because I’m g-g-g-“ he sputtered beginning to work himself up again when Stan pulled them flush against each other again. Bill let himself sink into that pressure and scent, shamefully enjoying the fingers gently stroking short trails across his shoulder blades and the crown of his scalp. Stan’s heart played a rapid pattern against his own ribs. His breath pressed against Bill’s beet red ear as he whispered so softly it may have been only a thought. “Me too, Bill.”

Everything stopped. The world froze and fell away leaving only the warmth and the mint and the rhythm. Bill lifted his head just far enough to connect their eyes, finally comprehending that mystery in Stan’s gaze. It was that same secret desire that tormented him.

“Did you mean it? Do you really want to see my smile?” The question dripped with such a self-deprecation it crushed Bill to think that Stan loathed himself to this degree. Throwing his own self-pity aside, he boldly put his hands on either side of Stan’s cheeks, thumbs tenderly sweeping over the dreadful marks laid there. With a strength and calm he forgot he knew, he said, “Scars or no, your smile is precious to me, and it kills me to see you try to hide it.”

This broke the calculated façade and Stan disintegrated in Bill’s hands. He cried at length, almost screaming as he finally let himself feel all those years of fear and abuse and longing. He sobbed until his voice gave out and only fell as rasping heaving sighs.

When the deluge ended, the two just lay on Bill’s comforter, drinking in each other’s embrace. Wrapped in the tangle of their arms, they tried to comprehend all that had happened over the past few hours. “Bill,” Stan was the first to disturb their quiet, “After…after I got there, I always thought that no one would ever be able to love me. Like even my own reflection is a constant reminder that I’m… I don’t know, broken”

Bill leaned closer into his…whatever Stan is to him now. “Stan,” he whispered, “You are even more beautiful now. You f-faced It alone, and you’re still here. And you still hit It with a f-fucking pipe.” He chuckled lovingly at the imagery. “You are the bravest of all of us. How could anyone see you as less than perfect?”

Stan hummed a still disbelieving yet pleased hum, snuggling against Bill. “You know, “he barely said, quietly giving himself over to exhausted sleep, “You’re reading the rest of that poem to me later.” Bill smiled the brightest smile he has since Georgie was alive.

“Of c-course I will, Stanley.” He quickly buried his face in the mass of curls like he always dreamed. “Of course I will.”