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The Effects of Stan Lee

Steve was the first to rise with the sun. His morning run was never put off by anything, even by the overwhelming sense of gloom that was this morning. 

When Bucky left his room to find Steve immobile on the couch, there was a definite sense of wrongness. 

And there was nothing else to describe it. 

Tony and Bruce (being since they were up all night) were the next to the common area, where Steve and Bucky were both mourning on the couch, with no ambition to do anything, no sense of nationality to fulfill. And instead of working to keep their minds busy and away from the awful stench of wrong, the two scientists fell morose. 

There was something wrong this morning, but no one was sure quite what. 

When Wanda and Vision came stumbling into the kitchen, both trudging with no apparent reason, it was clear that whatever it was that was affecting people, was affecting everyone. Not just a few. 

It was quiet, which was always strange in the tower. Natasha and Clint weren’t bickering, they had lost the will to do so. 

Peter wasn’t animated. His voice was low, he had no desire to ask questions or to save the city, but no one appeared to want to jeopardize the city, either. 

The Sanctum was still, Dr. Strange still huddled in bed, the depression of the cosmos lingering in his mind. He had the slightest sense of what was going on, but not even he could be sure. 

In Africa, T’Challa spent his morning traveling to see M’Baku, but not to speak, rather only to sit in silence.

Shuri was slumped in a chair in her lab, the Dora Milaje spread out across the border, regardless of the lack of a threat. 

Even far, far beyond the cosmos of the sorcerers, where beings lived without care, the ever moving and constant ship was still. It was not restricted to humans. Raccoons and trees alike were grasping for something that resembled their life, some sort of hope. 

There was none.

Up in the palace of Asgard, even two seldom brothers could relax for one day. One day where no one in the entire realm spoke or paid attention to the dark clouds that were rolling through the realm, no doubt a side effect of Thor’s solemn mood. 

Cassie gave her father enough space when she first got to his house, able to tell immediately that something wasn’t right. Not even Hope could help. 

It was a collective silence that had enveloped the whole world. It was an entire day of silence dedicated the one man no one thought could ever die. There was an unspoken rule about disrespect that was followed by everyone. Criminal or not. 

And in the collective moment of silence, there was a knock of realization. 

What does one do, when the person who created you…is gone? When the father of all things passes onto to create things we may never see?

Without Stan Lee, this would have been the world. Cold, emotionless, a mass of regret and silence. 

You brought laughter and light into this world, Mr. Lee. Thank you, and Excelsior. 

Kids with bad parents are more likely to be shaped by cartoons characters they idolized growing up than their bad parents, pass it on 

Thank you @anime-lover1717 for commissioning me!

Commission info

Wear your mask

from their crew to yours

Timoclea (4th century BCE): the Woman Who Threw Her Rapist in a Well

This was not the post that was scheduled. But it was one that spoke to the moment. If you’re in the US, please vote. 

Full post, with footnotes and whatnot, here. Books here. Patreon here. Art notes after the cut.

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