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spideyfan42 · 1 year

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Why X-Men Apocalypse and I Are Just Acquaintances - Or More Accurately, Why Beast in the Movies Was Just Ok

(I'm sorry Nicholas Hoult, you're an incredible actor)

Now despite my URL being very pro-Spider-Man (That's a lot of hyphens), I got to say I love the X-Men. This is most likely due to them not only paving the way for superhero movies and also back in the olden days of 92' and 97 respectively, animation. I also found a kinship with these groovy dudes who were persecuted for being different. While no robots have tried to kill me for being autistic, i do get feeling like an outsider.

As a big comic fan since 2012, I've been picking up the odd X-Men here and there, but religiously watching the movies, so much so that old St Nick, The Kristopher of Kringle himself got me the Rouge Cut version of DoFP, my first real "directors cut" (?) of a film. Given how that reset the timeline I was so excited to see what would happen next. However, one little weird issue I had was Beast. Now for those in the know Henry "Hank" McCoy was a founding member of the merry mutant band, one of the OG 5 students, and in the films, he is also one of the original team members as well. Also mirroring his comic counterpart, he decides to perform some Oingo Boingo style Weird Science on himself, turning him from a guy whose power was :

"Man I have big hand and feet!"

To a man whose power was:

"Damn now I'm a blue fuzzy dude."

It's a change that whilst initially beginning as more lycanthropic in nature, eventually settled as permanent, supplanted by not one, but two future mutations to enhance his already furry physique.

Now why am I dropping 60ish years of Beast lore on you when I'm supposed to be describing my quote-on-quote "dislike" of X-Men Vs Poe Dameron/Moon Knight? It all stems from one thing.

Beast isn't blue. Or even grey.

Hell, he's barely fuzzy. One of the main joys of the X-Men is that in a school such as Xavier's School for Gifted Children is that everyone is welcome. Guy made of rocks? Come on in. Literal fairy lady? There are at least two. Guy whose mutant power is LIKE JUST HAVING MORE EYES? WHY HE'S STUDENT PRESIDENT, PROBABLY. These mutants, regardless of their mutation are welcomed and treated fairly by the staff, with some of the staff even in the same boat as them.

Now there are two reasons for said "De-Beast-ening"

Mr Hoult didn't want to be caked in prosthetic make-up, just to look like a superhero Cat in the Hat. Whilst I can empathise, you signed onto play Beast. The one guy who is just blue. ALL THE TIME.

In DoFP, Beast makes a mutant suppressive drug. For Charles, it turns off his telepathy and I guess also miraculously heals a spinal injury (Even though I suppose a drug that amplified his telekinesis at the cost of his telepathy would make more sense but I guess magic serums can do anything), but for Dr Bones here it means he turns blue when he's a wee bit agitated. That's just the Hulk. Smart guy turns into a monster when stressed? Hulk. Plus it's a stand-in for drug abuse in DoFP after the students get drafted and Charles can hear their pain through his use of Cerebro, so his continued use well into the 90s seems...questionable.

The main issue that Beast as a character is one who consistently is a mentor to students with outward mutations they can't control. It's a story of embracing consequence and change that the films stepped on to just have more actor screen time. And whilst I know films and comics are different mediums that can tackle different stories, the lackluster use of a role model for positive body images does show that the Fox Films missed that its the human part of superhuman we all prefer. Even just one scene where Kurt "Nightcrawler" Wagner could say Beast inspires him, being so open with is mutation.

Here's hoping the House of (M)ouse doesn't make the same mistakes!

#x men days of future past #x men apocalypse #x men beast #x men movies #marvel #hot take #sorry for the rant #off my chest #nicholas hoult

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magickhajiit · 10 months

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Lost in the Snow - Chapter 2

all chapters here

The storm didn’t brew darkly in the distant horizon, looming at a comfortable enough distance for the X-men to outrun its fury. Instead, it bursts to life amidst the battlefield, engulfing mutants and Hydra agents alike within a matter of seconds. From the way the edges of the grey clouds are smooth and curved inwards the storm is manmade, constructed by some kind of high-tech weather machine Hank guesses, uncertified by the CSA clearly. With snow blinding them and bullets ricocheting in all directions they’re forced to retreat back onto the blackbird. When Jean arrives, shedding globs of snow from her amber hair as she moves, Bobby and Hank are already strapped in, the latter currently powering up the jet, green lights illuminating them.

Angel is the last to arrive, stumbling on moments after Jean, one wing bunched up to his side. Feathers have been ripped out, leaving a shallow gash visible in their wake. As blood fell to the jet’s pseudo plastic, never metal, decking, from Angel’s mouth words fall faster. So fast Jean is forced to pluck the thoughts from his head to understand. Diving through his mind is difficult, like swimming in a tsunami, panic suffocating her like water would. Then without warning an image is thrust at her, the intensity of it making her wince, Scott facing down a line of Hydra soldiers. The imagery is from a bird’s eye view, Angel must have been hovering above in the moment, close enough to see through the thick snow. Scott is weaving in and around them with grace before they’re gone, left crumbled in the snow by a silver streak. Stomach sinking Jean watches the streak return in the form of a human, his features achingly familiar although she can’t pin down why, before he runs at Scott, the X-man's glasses flying off.

Pain interrupts the memory, as images filter past Jean’s eyes, land and sky as she relives Warren’s unexpected descent, the agony she feels from a bullet skimming a phantom wing that’s never belonged to her is consuming, her teeth grind together as she pulls herself out of Warren’s head.

When she returns to the room, horror adorns each of their faces, Warren having repeated himself whilst she was lost in his head. Their leader not here Jean takes charge, ‘’Warren, Hank will attend to your wing whilst I go get Scott.’’

Any disputes are cut off by the jet tilting violently, sending Warren crashing to the floor whilst Jean’s skull is smacked off the back of her seat. White spots dance in her vision she looks up to the window, tendrils of crimson are creeping into view, wrapping the plane in its embrace. The storm is weaker now, the downpour of snow has thinned enough to see the figure standing before them. A young woman, eyes and hands glowing scarlet, fingers moving and her mouth muttering silent words.

‘'We need to move. Now.’’ Without waiting for affirmation Hank’s hands are gripping the wheel, his knuckles white, the engine’s loud in their ears as it powers up.

‘'Scott’s still out there.’’

''Jean, she is going to tear up this jet if we don’t go right now.’’ The jet groaning cuts off her reply, screws and bolts loosening and panels starting to cave in. The jet has begun to hover, the woman now out of view. Pulling the accelerator Hank winces as the jet swings north, its tail high whilst its nose sinks to the floor.

‘’Hasn’t Scott ever taught you how to fly this thing?’’ Bobby asks.

‘’The right thruster is damaged. We don’t have enough power to get in the air with her holding us down. And the left thruster is sending us tail spinning. Jean, I need you to use your powers to get us out of her reach.‘’

Reaching out with her telekinesis, Jean quickly meets resistance, her grasp on the ship dissipating as soon as it touches. The young woman’s power was telekinetic in nature, similar to Jean’s but somehow darker, her gift more primal and cunning. The red tendrils, twisting and turning violently, the body of red contorting like a dying animal, eat away at Jean’s power as soon as they come face to face, their owner's grip increasing by the second. The jet still screaming, web-like cracks begin to spiral across the window, threatening to crave in on the group.

Straining harder, sweat trickling down her brow, Jean focuses and lets a brief memory of a danger room session flitter past her mind. She recalls Scott leaning down to her ear, already towering over her even as young teenagers, one hand on her shoulder, reminding her when brunt force didn’t work, good strategy never fails. There’s no need to smash a jar when you can just unscrew the lid.

The battle between them was a fight of fire against fire, their jet burning in the flames. Pulling back Jean lets the jet rattle, as the boys swear in panic, she lets the girl think she’s the one in control. The stranger distracted by her sudden free reign to pull the jet apart like cotton candy, doesn’t notice Jean sharpening her telekinesis into hooks, not until it’s embedded in the crimson tendrils yanking them out one by one till the yet is free. Without restraint it soars into the clouds.

---------------

Now miles from where Scott has slipped into the world of unconscious, the blackbird glides through the grey clouds, its black hull gleaming in the moonlight. Undeterred by the labyrinth of roads and grassland below they would have reached the school hours prior, had the plane not been implementing defensive maneuvers devised by the one teammate not there. Scott had spent many nights in the library, bathed in the flickering light of an old lamp, mapping out a journey in case they needed to shake off any unwanted pursuers after their mission. The map he had spent hours leant over, rests upon Jean’s knees, her thumb tracing over the controlled scrawl of directions.

At the back of the plane, Angel is sitting, his eyes closed and his head tilted back. Jean’s not sure if he’s awake or not. Usually, a small nudge of her telepathy would let her know if her teammate was in the land of consciousness but the gift remains cut off from her, it’s like trying to see in a thick fog, frustrating and useless. A neat row of stitches snakes along the edge of his wing, the skin around is a painful pink, Jean was uncomfortably reminded of an uncooked turkey wing.

Bobby sits beside her, still in his ice form, tendrils of cold reach out raising goosebumps on her arm. ‘'Do you think he’ll be ok? With Hydra and Magneto there.’’ A collective shudder rolls through the group at the name. Though they’d been pursuing The Brotherhood, intel they obtained had put the Master of Magnetism miles away, deep in the belly of Madripoor. They had been unaware he was in The Brotherhood’s jet until wasn’t, until he was midair ripping the roof off the Hydra base with a flick of his wrist, causing soldiers to swarm out like an army of ants.

‘’He’ll have found a place to lay low, Bobby.’’ Jean murmurs, the writing on the map has smudged, her fingertips turned grey.

‘’But you heard Angel. He didn’t even have his glasses.’’

‘’It’s Scott.’' The words come out sharper than they were meant to, they’re short verbal daggers that she spits at him, for pulling her own worries out of her head like he’s the telepath instead. Without the reproachful look from Henry or seeing Bobby’s muted flinch she knew she’d gone too far. ‘'Sorry. It’s Scott. He’ll have found a way to stay safe.’’ One of her hands finds his shoulder, ignoring the icy chill it squeezes reassuringly. ‘'I promise.’’

‘’We shouldn’t have got off the jet,’’ says Bobby. Stepping off the jet had been ill-advised, they had been little more than bloody meat floating in shark-infested water, their plans crumpling like paper.

Red lights above their heads, blinking on and off, shows the radio is still down like the buzzing static filling the air doesn’t already let them know. Still, Hank feels the need to point out, ‘’The radio is still down.’' One hairy hand taps it like it’s not the only thing Jean has been watching this flight. ‘’Have you any telepathic contact yet, Jean?’’

‘'I’ve been trying to reach Professor Xavier, but it's like there's some kind of interference. I can't get through to him.’’ There’s a slight thumping pulsing in her head, a prior warning for the headache threatening to hit her full force if she didn’t put the telepathic phone to Xavier down.

‘’It sounds like there’s a telepathic dampener blocking you. If he can’t get through to you it’s likely that he doesn’t know Scott isn’t with us.‘’

‘’Maybe we don’t need the Professor to know where Scott is.’’

‘'What do you mean, Bobby?’’ Jean asks.

Gesturing to the left wall, Bobby says, ‘’Look at that.’’ There’s a mesh of devices hooked onto the wall panel, a few of them skimming the ground after the earlier telekinetic battle, wires trailing after them. Just below the roof, there’s a row of screens, linked to the exterior’s camera. Whilst most of them, show dark sky and grey clouds, the occasional bird breezing past, the furthest one looks half broken, a white blur eating away at half the feed.

Squinting Jean realises it’s not broken, the camera is embedded in a bed of snow, leaving only a sliver of the outside world visible. The mountainous hills in the background lets them know where they lost it, the Alaskan Hydra base. ‘’Hank, can you zoom in further?’' Complying he hits a button, the feed freezes for a moment before the image focuses in, blurring before it clarifies, revealing Scott Summers, bruised and blind but alive.

‘’We need to turn around.’’

‘'Jean, we can’t do that. I don’t even know if we have enough fuel.’’

‘’Hank, he’s right there. And night’s falling, he could freeze to death. He’s alone we can’t just leave him.’'

‘’He’s not alone.’’

‘’What.’' Jeans turns back around at the sound of Bobby’s voice, not acknowledging the subtle shift in his emotions she’d been unable to detect until now. The feed had been quietly projecting the sound of howling winds from the scene, the noise drowning out everything else. Now a crunching is relayed into their jet, slowly getting louder until sturdy purple boots enter the frame, the rustling sound of a cape accompanying them.

Jean’s throat goes dry like she’s spent the day in the desert rather than frozen mountains. She watches as the figure, the man she’s fought tooth and nail with many times, lower himself down to Scott’s level, one hand shifting to his face. Minor movements signal Scott’s finally awake. After a few seconds, harrowing moments where Jean envisions a metal fragment being wedged into his chest, Magneto rises, Scott held in his arms, red glasses now on.

Then without warning a verbal hurricane erupts in her skull. Crying out, Jean jerks forward, hands clutching her head as voices ring in her ears, the thoughts of the X-men barging down her telepathic walls. Their worries and confusion infiltrating her mind, their words drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Quietly, barely in the background, she can hear a symphony of thoughts from the small town miles below the jet, she hears the child calling out their dog’s name and the father looking for his car keys.

Seconds later, a familiar presence peeks into her mind, the barrier once holding him back now gone, the professor quietens the voices and injects calm with a single nudge of his power. His presence is firm but gentle as he routes through her mind, catching up on the events of the day. Finally, she feels him, poking at her occipital lobe, till he can see the screen before her. The silence stretches long enough that Jean worries he’s been barred from her mind again until he says the name none of them had dared to utter, ’Magneto.’

Hi hope you don't mind I've tagged a few people that liked chapter 1. Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters. @rbookgirl23 @stormxpadme @morallyambigousgreyon @sunriseseance

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