#[thread] two birds blah blah blah

[lollipop-bribes]

There's some kind of scrutiny put on Gaius' class this moon, and that's the only reason he can think that he's been assigned on a one-on-one mission with a knight. Not just a knight - the Captain of the Knights, wide as a mountain with the scars to match. He shakes Gaius' hand, and Gaius has never felt smaller in his life.

All he needed was his bow, he was told, but he keeps his daggers in his boot just in case. They were just after…birds. Not bandits or monsters of the like. Birds.

Gaius scrounged around plenty for food as a child, but he can't say he ever hunted his food. He only picked up a bow when he became a Shepherd, and even then, it was so he got beaten up less on the front line. So he's still not sure what good he's doing here.He musters the courage to ask, quietly, while they're still winding their way down the cliffside. "Say, Pawpaw, I'm honored to come along and everything, but why'd I get picked out of everybody else? There's Deer way better with a bow than me."

@bladebrecher

two birds blah blah blah

Mission Board: Excavation - Gaius & Jeralt [Bow +1]

[amazing-spider-man-book-club]

The Amazing Spider-Man #2 (1963)

Published: May 1963

Containing: "Duel to The Death with The Vulture!", "The Uncanny Threat of The Terrible Tinkerer!"

Introducing: The Vulture (unnamed), Professor Cobbwell, The Terrible Tinkerer (unnamed)

Synopsis: Peter solves his and his aunt's financial issues by realizing he can take photos of crime sprees committed by The Vulture, but gets too close to the action and is forced into battle as Spider-Man. Peter suspects something is strange about an anonymous tech repair man and investigates only to stumble upon an alien conspiracy.

Read alongside us here:

@frankendykes-monster : Hoo boy, between now and up to #15 or so, it's going to be a nonstop parade of introductions of major Spider-Man villains. Ditko's design sensibilities were already assured with Spider-Man's costume alone, but we're now seeing about eight victory laps. The Vulture in some ways feels like a throwback to 1940's super villains with very simple motivations (gotta rob banks you know) and powers (flight!). But the green feathers and simple design of it literally just being a bird suit with only his head and hands exposed is glorious.

Peter takes a breather this issue as we now develop the ever-so-popular "Peter sells pictures of Spider-Man", or, just pictures of The Vulture in this issue. Jameson is such an unscrupulous hack that he's ready to buy photos after a single conversation with Peter, and at non-contract rate of "don't ask me how I take these photos and don't credit me." It's been long enough since our last post that I'm actually blanking if the Daily Bugle was brought up in #1, but Jameson is the publisher of NOW Magazine. Won't last long. Only three issues of Spider-Man in and we're developing some running tropes: Peter is a science student, Peter is mocked by Flash Thompson, Peter tells Aunt May don't worry about money, Peter is still learning the ropes on how to be Spider-Man, etc.

I'm delighted that Peter has his own little lair for his Spider-Man stuff in his bed room. One thing that's never addressed with the character is that he has a utility belt *underneath* his form fitting costume, and his wrist gauntlets have the web-shooting nozzle that peeks out from right behind his gloves. Ditko gives us some nice diagrams of how it all works so the audience is never out of the loop. What's fascinating about Peter's ongoing character arc is that we still aren't at a superhero "proper" stage. None of Spider-Man's actions are motivated by altruism, he's still just in the red enough to be concerned about the rent more than anything.

Slowly but surely the world gets accustomed to superheroes. Stuff like crowd shots of people reacting to one of The Vulture's robberies makes a comic like Marvels feel inevitable. Both The Vulture and Spider-Man have to account for how the other would react before they even meet each other. This is still an era of comics where "world-building" meant "introduce more characters" so the plausibility of people's actions makes it all the better.

Ditko is really flexing his artistic skills by this point. The splash page for "Duel" is jaw dropping in terms of its weight and perspective and The Vulture is so fully realized in close-up. This is our first issue with a Marvel Comics logo proper in the upper left corner on the cover, here just a profile of Spider-Man, a concept designed by Ditko to give more brand unity to the comics line. Spider-Man is still red-and-blue on covers but these early issues' internal coloring has settled on faint purple? As his secondary color? It won't last long, but it's a bit blah.

Another solid issue overall and...wait...oh yeah the second story. Hm, this one is strange. While #1 gave us two stories that threaded closely together, this is definitely the b-story, the backup. Spider-Man having to stop an alien invasion feels like something that Ditko would shoot down after it was proposed by Lee but this made it all the way to print in the way it did. The Terrible Tinkerer feels like the hardest villain introduced in this run to get a read on, mostly because the "less is more" approach concerning his motivations, origins, appearance, etc. are all left out. He won't be returning for well over 100 issues a decade from now, so this would be a good opportunity to say "well they can't all be winners" if the character hadn't made it into Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) in a minor role.

@duel1971 : More pieces of the mythos fall into place here – we’ve got the introduction of an iconic villain and Peter adopting his gimmick of taking photos as Spider-Man and selling them to J. Jonah Jameson. This story is mostly fun action without too much that I wanna dig into, but I do love that we get Jameson yelling “Get me pictures of the Vulture!” as the first version of his catchphrase.

Feels worth noting that Peter continues to shine as a scientist and inventor in this early story, creating a device that disables the Vulture’s wings.

“The Uncanny Threat of the Terrible Tinkerer”: God, I love this one. Instead of a new costumed supervillain we’re treated to a short alien invasion story featuring a mysterious old man called the Tinkerer. It’s such an atypical Spider-Man story in the grand scheme of things, but at the time of its writing, there was no such thing as a typical Spider-Man story. Putting aside the fact that Peter has and will continue to mostly fight gaudy criminals, this story meshes well with his character. The focus on Peter’s scientific ability opens up the door for a tale of weird science and aliens. The actual science fiction element of it isn’t given much development given its brevity, but it’s a great little story and glimpse of what could have been.

[hanibalistic]

#67509E | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff

word count | 1889

warning | appearances of vampire fangs, mention of blood sucking

tag | @fluffyskzclub​

note | i miss hyunjin.

hyunjin pouted like he was throwing a tantrum—well, to a certain degree, he was throwing a small tantrum.

he curled himself around the fluffy blanket that you two left on the couch from yesterday's spontaneous movie night as he pouted at you bitterly. he tried to fit his tall body within the blanket, but his long legs awkwardly jutted out of the end corner, unable to bend enough to curl himself into a tiny ball. his head poked out of the blanket he draped around his shoulder and over his head.

"must you open the curtains all the time?" he whined with furrowed brows, lightly kicking his feet against the couch. "i hate the sun, you know that!"

you rolled your eyes as you closed the curtains after being drowned in his mindless complaints about the last half an hour. you had opened them so the plants could soak in some sunlight. you even took into consideration that hyunjin would be asleep for longer like he always does, otherwise, you would have never let the sunlight into your shared apartment. but for some reason, he decided to leave his stupid coffin earlier today.

to listen to the birds' chirp perhaps. that's the kind of leisure activity a hundred-year-old would like, you bet.

the same thing happens every time you open the blinds, which is that hyunjin does not shut up about him disliking the sun and how it weakens his vampirism as opposed to it actually killing him. he would not stop until you close the curtains and turn on the lights, which often made you scoff. not only was he annoying, for a vampire who was supposed to burn under the sun, he sure does speak of it a lot.

"we will need sunlight somehow, hyunjin," you said as you turned around to glare at him. "the plants you stole, from outside, in the morning, will need sunlight."

you emphasized your words to make sure he knew of all the heinous frustrations he has caused you. the puppy pout on his face, as well as the pitying glint in his eyes, only deepened with each emphasis of your voice, his body flinching and shrinking when he could tell that you were upset with him.

watching him, there was a rush of conflict brewing like bubbles in you. you weren't sure if you felt more annoyed or endeared about the fact that hyunjin, a not quite literally ancient but old enough to feel ancient vampire, gained such comfortability from you that he was fine with throwing a childish tantrum in front of you.

he looks cute, surely! he always does. but sometimes, you genuinely could not stand another second of him whining.

"stop yelling at me! you know what the sun does to a vampire!" he retorted.

oh, god—blah, blah, blah.

"yeah, a vampire that doesn't have an accessory of the sigil," you said cleverly as you moved over to him. you yanked the blanket off his body, ignoring his protest, and you pointed at his neck. "like the necklace you never take off!"

"i only got this recently! the witch would have never sold me this if you hadn't come with me," he argued, pulling the blanket around him again. "i'm not used to the sun yet, just let me have a little more time."

you pursed your lips together, your neck turning sour at his poor mumble as you softened. he did only just get the necklace—by just, it was about two to three months ago. however, while that alone may seem like a long period, comparing that to almost a whole decade of no sunlight, perhaps he really just needed more time to adjust.

but! zooming past the streets, leaving normal people wondering where the sudden gust of wind came from, and hiding in the apartment that leaves no room for any traces of sunlight was not the way to go about it!

"how about just a little bit, hmm?" you said then, suggesting a compromise casually while you walked toward the window. "take it little by little!"

hyunjin widened his eyes in disbelief as you moved farther away from him. he shook his legs in protest, his body moving animatedly on the cushiony couch as he protested loud and clear. "hey! you better not open the curtains, [name]!"

you grabbed the hem of the curtains, your mind occupied with calculating the correct amount you would flip open. it has to be a very small amount, to a point where the sunlight could only hit one leaf of the plant on the window rail, or just one square of your marble floor. it has to be the form of sunlight that could not hurt even a fly, so you could show him just how goddamn dramatic he was being.

"[name], i swear!"

"oh, bite me," you muttered under your breath.

there was a gust of wind—a familiar kind. it blew at the tip of your hair, making it waft around, and the hem of your thin shirt also danced at the breeze of hyunjin's vampiric speed.

blinking consciously, you loosened your grip on the curtains and turned around. immediately, upon feeling the heat of his face, you flinched back and closed your eyes to settle yourself.

"jesus–what the hell, hyunjin?" you muttered with a hand on your chest before you slowly opened your eyes.

hyunjin was glaring at you; no malice, just alluring intensity. his hair fell over his face prettily. the sunlight that he didn't seem to care much for now shone a soft haze over half of his face, making him glow and glitter naturally.

"those are some reckless words to say to a vampire," he said lowly, tilting his head to the side lightly as he arched a brow, "don't you think?"

your heart pounced.

the matter of blood, or just his general nature as a vampire, like his need to feed off of human beings, has only come up once.

he mentioned it to you when he was applying to be your roommate, having a foul plan to erase your memories in case the truth was not well-received by you. he told you that he has been a vampire for a while so he knew how to control his urges, therefore you would not be in any harm, and the matter was never spoken of again.

he held up his words. he has never discussed blood with you, he has never shown any blood-thirsty behavior at all. he acted like any other roommates you have had; being too loud at night, eating cereal in the living room and eyeing your bed-head with a judgemental gaze, knocking at your door and asking if you wanted to pick a takeout place.

if he used his powers less, you would have forgotten about his vampiric side.

why was your heart thumping then? was he too pretty for your own good? or was he standing too close for familiar comfort? or perhaps both?

you scoffed, making your thoughts vanish. "you won't bite me."

hyunjin softened in a way you couldn't catch. deep within the tender wash of his eyes was a sea of wildfires he hid behind closed doors.

you were right, he won't bite you, but he wants to, especially because the smell of your blood happened to be more enticing than others because he likes you.

the art of blood sharing (in a sense) is done between lovers; consider it like leaving a love mark, of a sort. it is an act of claiming and reassurance, and hyunjin has been wanting to sink his fangs into your flesh for a while so he could leave a bite mark.

but he could never do that. that was a desire trapped in his throat, urging to be let out and to be voiced, and hyunjin would not allow it. there were too many risks of unleashing the deep-seated yearning in his chest. it lingered in his head in withdrawal, cautiously threading through his mind to keep his urges contained.

he puts his want elsewhere. his want to taste your blood, to kiss your neck, has to grow somewhere, so he has to put it somewhere, and he puts in it his daydream which that manifests gently when he is with you, and ferociously when you were away.

"i won't," he muttered under his breath, to which you relaxed at. but then he grinned, and he opened his mouth to speak first, "doesn't mean i can't, though."

you widened your eyes when black veins draped beneath his eyes and his sharp fangs appeared. it was a terrifying sight, but you were only shocked to see it than scared. rationally, you reached your hands up and slapped your palms against his cheeks, startling him.

"hmmm... " you grumbled, sounding thoughtful as you surveyed his shocked expression.

the veins under his eyes retreated and the colors returned to his face. the innocence flooded back into him, bright and boyish, and he dared not move an inch under the pressure of your gaze—beneath your touch hyunjin is but a gentle boy hapless in love.

"ah...aah...wha–" he closed his eyes slightly and opened them with furrowed brows, confused and helpless with his head slightly tilted up. his words were muffled but jot too hard to understand. "[name]–why–uhh–"

you pushed at his upper lip with your thumb and looked at his fangs, wondering why they did not retreat with the dark haze of his eyes. then, ignoring hyunjin's muffled questions, you carefully poked at the tip of his teeth—razor-sharp, but very real.

he was whining again. his hands reached out to the hem of your shirt and desperately, as well as timidly, tugged at it. meanwhile, he put on a defeated face. as much as he would with your thumbs poking his fangs, that was.

"ahh, please stop–[name], stop touching my fangs–why," he feigned a sob, shaking his head as a blush reached his cheeks, "they're just teeth."

"teeth that puncture," you commented when you let go. the way your thumbs briefly smoothed over his top lip was not lost on him.

seeing his pout, you pursed your lips with faint guilt. rubbing the back of your neck, you shrugged. "sorry about that, i just got curious."

"it's okay," he waved you off quickly, "i was curious too when i first got them."

hyunjin looked at you when you giggled under your breath; soft, hearty giggles that tried to conceal themselves without the anticipation for his vampiric hearing. gentle, funny giggles that never once questioned his problematic past. lovely, adoring giggles that are here before and after he revealed who he is to you.

he came to your apartment begging for a home where he could be himself, and you allowed him safety with you.

"alright," you said with a curt smile, "i'm going to go change, need to get grocery."

"i–i'll come with!"

you seemed shocked for a moment, accessing him like a trick question. then you relaxed and nodded with nonchalance. "yeah, whatever."

he melted despite the lackluster reaction. it was the excitement that counted. smiling to himself, he twirled and twisted his body shyly as the sun shone from outside.

yeah. hyunjin truly is but a simple boy in love with you.

[loopy777]

I held a bit of hope the new FCBD issue would tie up those loose threads. They could kill two bird with a rock, round out the ladies run, and update the official break up fic. A Mai x Ty Lee comic would be cute n’ easy to weave in an update re: Mai’s love life. But the description seems to imply its about the Gaang. The writer for the Avatar half (I assume) wrote Origami which was rather blah/pointless. So, I’m not expecting anything of note.

Oh, is there more info out there about it? I've only seen the generic solicitation on the DH and FCBD sites.

My main complaint about Origami was that it was just Katara telling someone about an emotional conflict and resolution, rather than the story actually being about an emotional conflict and resolution. But the thing Katara was describing could have been a good story by itself, so maybe Kiku Hughes will cut out the middleman this time and give us the goods. Or maybe it will once again be a look at normal people living in the Avatar world, which isn't a bad thing, but doesn't personally light my fire.

I'm really worried about the "-and more than a few laughs along the way!" part of the solicitation, though. Has anyone ever laughed at an Avatar comic, despite the many attempts at humor? Feel free to reply in the comments. I know my sense of humor is weird, so it could just be that I'm a snob.

[dragonnan]

In-Progress Fics (Multifandom)

These are the stories I’m actively working on.  If there are WIPs not on this list it means they’re on long term hiatus.  I’ve included links (where applicable) and small teasers for each story.  This is a bot long so I’ve included a cut.  Fandoms include: Sherlock, Doctor Strange, Avengers, and Psych

Psych:

Painted Wings and Giant Rings (rape/noncon warning) Current chapter in development: epilogue Words in chapter so far: 309 Teaser: The dragonflies were reluctant to lift off from the sidewalk – even with three pairs of feet headed their way.  A lazy last second hover relocated one of the bright green insects to the bumper of a blue car – though not out of danger. Pudgy fingers reached to grasp it – only to be denied their prize as the child they came with was lifted high out of reach.  “Sorry, Phin, mom said no bugs today.” Squirming, face furious, the baby struggled to get back to the ground – a tiny hard shoe kicking wild and impacting a sensitive belly. “Hey -ow!  C'mon Son, don't be the Snuffleupagus that only Big Bird can see.”  Still wriggling, the toddler grabbed two fistfuls of his father's short beard instead – cackling at the wincing face his actions triggered.  “Snuff-up-gus!” he chortled. Behind them both, Juliet giggled – unable to hold her stern expression towards the wayward child. “Shawn, did you just say c'mon son... to your son?” Twisting out of the clutching fingers – surely leaving behind several pieces of beard – Shawn flipped the youngster upside-down – holding him tight by the waist.  “I am the father of irony, babe.” Further back, protecting his dollar cup of mini donuts, Gus snorted.  “Father of bullsh... uh... baloney, you mean.” “Boney!”  Phin chortled – waving his arms. Gently spinning the tiny terror right-side up, again, Shawn rubbed his beard against a petal soft cheek – nearly losing his hearing at the piercing shriek that followed. “Jesus, Spencer, do I need to write you up for disturbing the peace?” Shawn spun on his heels and pressed a broad hand against Phin's left ear; mashing the right one against his chest as he glared at the approaching detective and his family. “Dude, no bad language in front of the kinder!”

OOMPA LOOMPA DO BA DE DIE - Virtual Season 9, Episode 5 (unpublished) Current chapter in development: 2 (of 4) Words in chapter so far: 7,496 Teaser:  “Alright, everyone!  Are you ready for the first stop?” Shawn gave the room a swift back and forth scan.  “I… thought this was the first stop?” Veronica grinned.  “Haha!  Not exactly, Mr…?” “Spencer, Shawn.  And this is my partner, Fannie May ‘Spanx’ Nicoletti.  I call him ‘Gummi Bear’ for short.” “Bouncin’ here and there and everywhere.”  Gus shared a fist bump with Shawn - toning down his typical come hither leer to a neutral grin.  He was, after all, a taken man. “Uh huh,” addressing the group as a whole, Veronica stepped towards a set of plain gray double doors.  “So then, if you would please follow me, it’s time to see some magic!” A press of the thumb against the green button next to the doors, and they began to swing apart.  Shawn and Gus pushed and wriggled their way to the front - Gus keeping just ahead of his friend with a wicked hip check that sent his buddy plowing into a set of cooling racks.  Metal clattering and a round of grousing followed as Shawn disentangled from the rolling racks - almost wobbling into a blue cabinet on the far wall before he got his bearings again.  “Dude, cheap shot!” Glares all around from the better mannered members of the tour - the small girl leveling a kick to Shawn’s ankle as he shuffled past her and her grandpop.  “Ow!  Hey!” Her tiny nose wrinkled at him - her elderly backup pushing up a sleeve in mild threat. “I’d avoid any geese that lay the golden eggs if I were you.”  He muttered before moving on to rejoin Gus near the front of the group.  But all dreams of technicolor vengeance vanished at the vista that opened before him. Color - like a thousand pixies had just waged battle with a thousand unicorns; their glorious war leaving their brilliant hues across every surface.  Bright blue walls, orange ceiling, green floor, blazing yellow packing crates… even the uniforms of the factory works were splashes of rich lavender vibrance. Veronica was nearby; expounding on the factory and the management of blah blah.  Shawn, however, was locked in on the source of all that was right with the world.  A glorious, gushing masterpiece of culinary and engineering mastery. “Gus!”  His hand latched to the right, gripping with fervor at the same moment that Gus snatched his arm right back.  A hard swallow, and they both spoke with the awed wonder of two supplicants meeting their Master. “The Cocoa Cascade!”

Sherlock:

The Tiger and the Shark (rape/noncon warning) Current chapter in development: 21 Words in chapter so far: 2,349 Teaser:  While Sherlock was settling, once more, John pressed the button on the control pad, next to Sherlock's bed, to alert the nursing staff.  With Sherlock awake they'd want to do a vitals check now rather than have to wake him later. “Any pain?”   Sherlock opened his mouth and John lifted his chin.  “Don't lie.” Grimacing, the detective pushed out his lower lip.  “Some.  Shoulder, mostly.” “How about the arm?” Sherlock rotated his right hand and jerked with a hard flinch.  “Tender.” “Yeah, I'll bet. Maybe try not to move it next time, ta.”  Another touch to Sherlock's brow; concern when Sherlock didn't so much as roll his eyes this time.  The numbers on the monitor hadn't changed in the last ten minutes and John rubbed his fingers across his lips. “Is it bad?” His eyes may be glazed over but Sherlock's perception was still sharp. John dropped his hand back to his lap where he rolled a loose thread from his jumper. “Well, it's not good.  Fever hasn't gone down, yet.  We can change out your ice packs, however, and your nurse should be...” The smart knock finished his sentence as a young man eased open the door and popped his head in. “Oh, hey, look who's awake, then.”  He smiled through his thick Welsh.  “Now then, Mr. Holmes, I understand you'll be needing a top off.” Clearly less than thrilled by the affable man, Sherlock pulled his right arm towards himself, in spite of the wince it caused.  “Go away.”  

Unpublished Molly-centric story fill set between TRF and TFP - eventual Sherlolly (domestic violence warning) Teaser:  “I just wanted to let you know that... well, Dennis is scheduled to be released this afternoon.  I didn't find out myself until twenty minutes ago.  I know he was meant to be in longer but... well we both know the justice system is a joke.  Listen... call me, alright?  Let me know... well, I'm here if you need me, yeah.  Christ.  Just, look after yourself, Molly.  I'll talk to you soon.” Molly hung over her sink long after Greg's message had ended.

MCU:

Avengers: New Beginnings (not Avengers Endgame compliant) Current chapter in development: 3 Words in chapter so far: 1,415 Teaser: His head was throbbing.  Anxiety wasn't new to him.  Since The Bite he'd felt various degrees of nervous energy plucking at the back of his skull.  Those first weeks, while trying to make sense of sticking to everything and breaking way too many glasses in a suddenly astounding grip, he'd also been trying to get a grip on the flood of adrenalin surging through his blood on a regular basis.  But this... since coming back from the Dusting, he couldn't stop the feeling like... like his senses were going crazy. Like, at first he'd just thought it was because he'd come back in time to see Mr. Stark collapse; arm charred and body starting to seize.  He'd thought Thanos had been terrifying but to stand there and helplessly watch Tony just... dying... But then Doctor Strange had opened one of his spin-y portals and Mr. Stark had been carried through and Peter had raced after them and then he was in a hospital and everything had gotten blurry in his memory but he remembered sitting next to Happy and eating Kettle chips until he'd suddenly had to throw up and then he couldn't stop throwing up and for some reason Happy had been holding his head and then Peter had been crying... But Mr. Stark had survived.  They'd had to cut off his arm but he'd survived.  And Peter had... well he'd smiled at him, when he'd started to wake up and was all groggy and Tony had made a joke and Peter had smiled.  But then... but then he'd... cried.  Just cried and rubbed his eyes and it wouldn't stop and Mr. Stark and grabbed his sleeve with one hand and pulled him across his chest... It had been nice.  Weird and sad and happy but... nice.

“What Did You Do?” Stephen Strange 2019 Bingo Prompt (unpublished) Teaser: “I groveled.  I groveled my ass off. And then I made sure that I followed through on every single promise that I made to her.”  Was the answer to the question that Stephen had never, actually, asked.  Was there something on his face that screamed “single guy in desperate need of dating advice”? “What?” Tony smirked.  “You have been ogling the pretty lady doctor for five minutes.  Either you are more of a creeper than I'd pegged you for or there's a history with you two that resulted in the lost puppy face you've been sporting.” Stephen crossed his arms.  “I'm not ogling Doctor Palmer.  I'm making sure she doesn't just pass me off to; shit...” Tony lifted an eyebrow as a slender young man, pushing at least seventeen, toyed with his Harry Potter rims before angling their way through the soup of damaged, disgruntled, and one seriously put out Doctor.

“Whump” Stephen Strange 2019 Bingo Prompt (unpublished) Teaser: The corded straps tightened over his wrists with every turn of the of the bar; corkscrewing the restraints until the joints in his wrists popped under the pressure.  Stephen grunted through his teeth and rocked his head back against the wooden headrest.  Muscles twitched in his cheek from the grinding movement of his molars.  Zings of pain lanced through his fingers in a steady heartbeat; sharp and electric.  The turning bar was locked into place; his hands purpling under the crushing pressure.  Too much longer and he'd start to experience tissue death.  He couldn't even appreciate the spreading numb as circulation was pinched off – the pain of crushed tissues firing a throbbing ache all the way to his elbows. “There, now.  Lovely, yes?  You have such beautiful hands, Doctor.  A shame about the scars.”  A touch traced across the back of his fingers; feather light across darkened scar tissue and Stephen locked his arms around the impulse to flinch. A backlog of remarks sat, wasted, on the back of his tongue – locked behind his teeth with a wad of blue silk.  The fabric carried the traces of expensive cologne and sweat; a nauseating blend of sour and bitter that caught in his sinuses.  His eyes, alone, remained free to observe; though what there was to see was limited in the darkened space.  A bedroom; that much was clear; a large bed layered in heavy quilts, several lamps; all dark save for the one with the shade tilted towards his face.  The floor, however, was bare wood; though it wasn't too dark to note the rust dark stains overlapping and soaked into the grain. A simple grocery run.  No other worldly battles, no inter-dimensional carnivorous slugs, no maniacal purple aliens, not so much as a flerken in a tree.  In fact, his purchases currently resided in a corner of the room – milk warm, by now, the deli meat likely a total loss.  No robes, no cloak, no Eye of Agamotto.  His sling ring was currently worn by his unwelcome companion – though it was a tight fit on his thick fingers.  The ring, along with the rest of his possessions, had been pocketed sometime after the heavy blow had stolen his consciousness.  His skull still throbbed and he could feel the tickle of blood on the back of his neck.  Unclear how long he'd been out but concussion was almost a certainty.   The larger figure circled the modified chair to which he was bound – much like a heavy-duty school desk with restraints bolted at every joint as well as his waist and throat.  He could curl his toes and roll his eyes but even his head was held face forward by a clamp surrounding his skull – preventing him from following the movement of his captor as he moved out of sight.  He could hear him, however; a gait marred by the drag of his disfigured right foot; an impediment that had certainly not hindered him in abducting the Master of the New York Sanctum.  Yes, the thought carried all of the sarcastic weight he'd been prevented from expressing. “I've watched you.  Oh, for years, now.”  The drag-step moved to his left side and this time Stephen did flinch as heavy fingers brushed across his cheekbone; mortified at the muffled grunt that pushed against the mouthful of smooth fabric.  The hand dropped away and then the man was before him, once again. “They never truly, appreciated you, did they; your peers.  All of those miracles... all of those lives saved... only to throw you away when they no longer thought they could use you.”  The touch returned to his scars and Stephen swallowed – hand jerking against his manacles.  “All because of an accident.”

Untitled Irondad and Spiderson fic (unethical medical experimentation and torture warning) (unpublished) Teaser: Tony had, by now, moved from the roof to the sidewalk and it was, pun regretfully employed, child's play to enter – alarms disabled with a flick of his AI.  His last visit, an hour earlier, had been a more restrained affair due to the warehouse being in operation.  In fact, he hadn't even entered – keeping his surveillance covert (in spite of Nat's assertions otherwise, yes, he could do subtle).  The first red flag had arisen upon noting the level of security wrapping the building like a Christmas present.  On paper, the place was a manufacturing plant for the military.  Nothing weaponizable; more along the lines of meal trays, pop up buildings, carabiners, and the like.  The second red flag was location.  Why would the military have a contract with a small manufacturing warehouse in the middle of the suburbs?     “Interior scan.” The recording had continued to play as he walked; mostly the sound of idle chatting as Peter explored the warehouse.   “... I mean it isn't like she can't grow things; she raised me, right?  Maybe we just need better fertaliz... what was that?” “I am not detecting anything.” “No – no there was... it wasn't a sound it...” A piercing throb blasted through the speakers; though not as ear-splitting as his first time hearing it.   “...en?  Karen!  Shit!  What was...  Oh crap, oh crap!  Karen!  Karen – Mr. Stark!  I, ow!  Mr. Stark I don't... I don't know if you're still getting this but... but...  No!” A flurry of sounds – clangs and what sounded like an electrical hum followed by Peter giving a sharp cry and, most disturbing, a damp CRACK and a scream.  There were several seconds of silence.  Then...           “It's coded to the suit!  Mr. Stark, it's code-” And that was it.

“Sed Diabolus” (unpublished - massive multi-chaptered story conceived with the brilliant assistance of @kitcat992) There is very little actual story text at this point - the current development stage is outlining this beast.  However, I can share a smidgen of what this fic will entail.  This is yet another “fix-it” for endgame.  Without giving too much away it involves a a villain from Stephen Strange’s past along with a terrifying and malevolent being from the comics.  There will be crossing between universe’s, threats of world domination, death and destruction, fire, explosions...

I have just a small little teaser below but I promise more once the story goes into full production!

Stephen gaped as the floor peeled away from the massive form; pointed ears and red skin; cliché devil it may be the utter horror it projected swallowed any quip he may have conjured.  Searing heat baked from its flesh and reddened through his own ghostly form in a way that should have been impossible!  

“Sorcerer...”  The voice rattled from its throat like a plague of locusts and it grinned with bladed teeth.  Without further comment it thrust a clawed hand through Stephen's form... and he screamed as he was engulfed in fire.

[cassatine]

About saying Star Wars is Buddhist or Taoist -- I don't believe SW has been created by practicing Buddhists, and the appropriation has absolutely been problematic (there can be white and non-Asian Buddhists because it *is* a proselytized religion, but I don't know of many on the creative team). However, a twitter thread I saw about the subject was written by a South Asian Buddhist who *wanted* more recognition of Buddhist themes. I've also seen Buddhist websites write about TLJ.

Also, lj-writes insisting that SW is about moral dualism while being one of the strongest condemners of TLJ for rejecting moral dualism, doesn’t really add up. IDK their faith but their post ends with “Christianity is good enough!”. TLJ has surface symbols of Buddhism and Taoism AND themes of anti-classism, non-dualism, action returning to the actor, the Middle Way, skillful means, etc. And they see it as a deeply wrong entry in the saga. So it feels like this is lowkey “keep SW Christian”?

Long, long, disgressive answer under cut

About saying Star Wars is Buddhist or Taoist – I don’t believe SW has been created by practicing Buddhists, and the appropriation has absolutely been problematic (there can be white and non-Asian Buddhists because it *is* a proselytized religion, but I don’t know of many on the creative team).

As you said Buddhism is open to all as a religion – and I think it’s also important to note that someone can be interested in the ideas and philosophy without active religious practice, and that’s there nothing wrong with that. I’d actually say it’s good to be interested in other cultures and religions, that it helps to confront the fact that one’s values are not universal (and not ~better or ~superior)

But I also think there is a difference to be drawn between Buddhism, the real thing, and the watered down (for Westerners) new age version of Buddhism

With this established – Star Wars wasn’t created by Buddhists, though among the creatives involved some had a certain appreciation for it: I don’t know about current members of LF and its creatives, but Irvin Kershner studied Zen Buddhism and had an appreciation for the philosophy; Gary Kurtz, who was more involved than most in helping Lucas with the firsts SW drafts, was interested in comparative religion, and Buddhism especially – I think he actually converted. According to himself, Gary Kurtz helped Lucas defining the Force (among other things); but they had a, hum, falling out and it seems Lucas dropped much of what Kurtz had been pushing for afterward (for example, according to Kurtz, he convinced Lucas to drop the Chosen One element in the ANH drafts, but as we know it would be reintroduced).

But then there’s Lucas himself, and we’re gonna enter actually problematic territory. First, Lucas does call himself a Buddhist – well, he calls himself a ~Buddhist Methodist (Methodism being the religion he was brought up in), with such justifications as "that’s what my daughter said when the school asked" (paraphrased) and “I was raised Methodist. Now let’s say I’m spiritual. It’s Marin County. We’re all Buddhists up here” (quoted verbatim). Honestly the Marin County thing I find… The Bay Area and Marin County being a place where so-called “alternative religions” flourish and where new age spiritualism established itself strongly starting in the 60s really doesn’t make everyone there “Buddhist”, thank you very much, and pretending so at the very least betrays a lack of understanding of what Buddhism actually is.

Still, I must note being flippant about the reasons behind one’s religious beliefs is nothing bad in itself! Lucas is under no obligation to disclose these reasons if he doesn’t want to, no more than anyone else. 

But looking at Lucas’ understanding of Buddhism, or lack thereof – well, to do that we need to look at Lucas’ views on religions in general, views deeply influenced by Campbell, who was a shitty scholar of comparative religion, and pretty explicit about both having an agenda (the salvation of a modern, Western man alienated by his own modernity), and the fact that he was an adept of the “pick and choose what fits my ideas and ignore the rest”. In fact, as early as his first book, he was anticipating and deflecting methodological criticism in the introduction: 

“Perhaps it will be objected that in bringing out the correspondences I have overlooked the differences between the various Oriental and Occidental, modem, ancient, and primitive traditions. The same objection might be brought, however, against any textbook or chart of anatomy, where the physiological variations of race are disregarded in the interest of a basic general understanding of the human physique. There are of course differences between the numerous mythologies and religions of mankind, but this is a book about the similarities; and once these are understood the differences will be found to be much less great than is popularly (and politically) supposed. (Introduction to The Hero With a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell)

There’d be a lot to say about this passage – it’s not how you answer criticism or justify your methodology. Campbell shows here he’s perfectly aware that his focus on “correspondences” is in itself grounds for criticism. The thing is, in itself focusing on similarities is not “wrong, don’t do that ever” – but in conjunction with the overlooking of differences, it’s a choice that should be explained and justified as an approach for the concerned study. Campbell’s preference for exploring similarities is not inherently bad; it’s the fact (and this is the Cliff notes version) that it’s done in conjunction with a complete disregard for differences, as well as by relying on an ethnocentric framework of interpretation, among other things. Like not justifying his approach – “Once these [similarities] are understood the differences will be found to be much less great blah blah blah” is not a justification, it’s a polite way of saying everyone who doesn’t agree just doesn’t get it.

(And I disgress but like. This book was published in 1949. So when he’s comparing his lack of focus on differences to the lack of focus on “physiological variations of race” in anatomy texts, there is no fucking way he didn’t know what he was referencing, ie the terribad, rooted-in-prejudice physical anthropology of the 19th and early 20th century, and he wrote that after fucking WWII. “There’s no scientific racism in textbooks” is the way he defends giving the flying bird to methodology. I don’t even know what to do with that. Did Campbell thought textbooks should get into “physiological variations of race”? He’s not exactly framing that absence as a good thing, and he’s decontextualizing it, making it sound like an oversight rather than “we tried to take the racism out of the textbooks.” Is he, along with the “it’s political” hint subtly accusing his anticipated detractors of racism, equating the rooted-in-prejudice focus on “physiological variations of race” that was already considered non-scientific when he was writing, to saying differences in myths should be taken into account? In any case it’s a false equivalency. A stunningly bad one.)

Thing is, whether comparative should emphasize similarities or differences is something about which there’s been discourse for years. Nowadays we lean more towards particularism, ie. emphasizing differences. Of course, both approaches have their own pitfalls – the same main pitfall, in truth, which is that focusing exclusively on similarities or on differences erases the true complexity of a phenomenon. But it should be said the current leaning towards particularism has much to do with the uncomfortable admission that much of the thinking behind the emphasizing of similarities was rooted in prejudice:

The problem of the same and the different has become a crucial issue within the field of comparative mythology and for the self-definitions of postmodernism. […] we must acknowledge that the emphasis on likeness, often epitomized by its critics in the same metaphor that James Tate uses to defend it (the metaphor of not seeing in the dark), has done great harm in the history of the study of other peoples’ cultures. Occasionally the metaphor is used to make a positive statement about sameness; thus Francis Bacon, in his essay “The Unity of Religions,” argued positively for the mutual resemblance of religions: “All colors agree in the dark.” Almost always, however, it is pejorative. […] Even without the metaphor of cats or cows in the dark, the assumption that all members of a class are alike has been used in many cultures to demean the sexual or racial Other. (I capitalize Other in the anthropological rather than theological sense, designating people regarded as nonhuman because of their ethnic difference, rather than the deity that is other because of its metaphysical difference.) After all, the essence of prejudice has been defined as the assumption that an unknown individual has all the characteristics of the group to which he or she belongs. “People like you,” or “They’re all alike” is always an offensive phrase. Racism and sexism are alike in their practice of clouding the judgment so that the Other is beneath contempt, or at least beneath recognition; they dehumanize, deindividualize, the racially and sexually Other. […] We speak of racial discrimination, but the myths teach us that the real problem is racial indiscrimination—the unwillingness to discriminate between two different members of another race, the tendency to regard them all as doubles of one another. […] It is this perverse use of the doctrine of sameness, applied to both texts and people, that the comparatist must overcome in order to argue for the very different humanistic uses of the same doctrine. (The Implied Spider, Wendy Doniger)

I may sound harsh on Campbell, but the methodology issue does matter, especially because it comes with an agenda, and because of Campbell’s own influences (and personal politics, however much he liked to pretend being apolitical):

For there is no doubt that the three mythologists [Jung, Eliade, and Campbell] here under consideration have intellectual roots in the same spiritual climate as that in which early fascism and sometimes antiSemitism flourished: Nietzsche, Sorel, Ortega y Gasset, Spengler, Frobenius, Heidegger, the lesser Romanian nationalists and German “volkish” writers and, before his courageous rejection of Nazism and exile, Thomas Mann. Most of these just named were not fullblown partisans of their respective national fascist parties; some, such as Nietzsche, would have condemned political fascism as utterly contrary to the heroic individualism for which they stood. So also, by their own later testimony, did the three mythologists. Yet there is in that climate and the three mythologists an unmistakable common intellectual tone: antimodernism and antirationalism tinged with romanticism and existentialism. This subset of modern thought is deeply suspicious of the larger modern world, as that world was created fundamentally by the Enlightenment (despite, as we shall see, their embracing of some themes, like nationalism and the purifying revolution idea, carried over from the Age of Reason’s turbulent finale). Above all, the romantic antimoderns decried modernity’s exaltation of reason, “materialistic” science, “decadent” democracy dependent on the rootless “mass man” its leveling fosters.

In contrast, they lauded traditional “rooted” peasant culture, including its articulation in myths that came not from writers but from “the people,” and they no less praised the charismatic heroes ancient and modern who allegedly personified that culture’s supreme values. Above all, one felt in these writers a distinctive mood of worldweariness, a sense that all has gone gray—and, just beneath the surface, surging, impatient eagerness for change: for some tremendous spasm, emotional far more than intellectual, based far more on existential choice than on reason, that would recharge the world with color and the blood with vitality. Perhaps a new elite, or a new leader capable of making “great decisions” in the heroic mold of old, would be at the helm. (Ellwood))

(It’s no surprise Campbell loved Star Wars when he finally got to watch it – hero’s journey or not, the resonance with his own ideas is much deeper: the yearning for a lost golden age (the remembered pseudo-democratic Republic) full of culture heroes (the Jedi) now replaced by technological oppression (the Empire); even the ~primitive had their role to play in overcoming that oppressive system, if literally rather than through myths, etc, etc.)

I’ve said before the influence of Campbell’s Hero Journey on SW, especially ANH, has been much overblown, and it has – in part because early on, the early history of SW(/ANH) was itself heavily mythologized as a way to legitimize it as a product of an intellectual approach, a product of high culture rather than low (popular, see Bourdieu) culture. It didn’t come from Lucas at first, but rather from critics trying to explain the success of a movie so deeply steeped in popular tropes and themes – hence the idea that the resonance of the movies, their popular appeal, have been carefully engineered, mapping a pseudo-universal narrative pattern. 

So why do Campbell’s views even matter? Because Campbell is a major influence: Lucas rarely mentions anyone that’s not Campbell when he’s talking about his views of religion or mythology. I’ve found Jung here and there (and of course much “[X social science] says…”), and it’s very possible I missed names – there’s a lot of interviews and talks and what-have-you out there. Nonetheless, Campbell is clearly Lucas’ main reference; more than that, he’s a mentor figure. Lucas’ Yoda, as he himself says, and in a sense the man who initiated him. He’s also a ‘precursor’ – the mythicized forefather, the man of erudition whose invocation automatically lends legitimacy to Lucas’ own words on mythology and religion. 

For Lucas, all religions relay the same moral values, the same understanding of good and evil. If they don’t seem to (and really they don’t; “good” and “evil” are not universal concepts. They don’t have a one-size-fits-all definition. Different cultures conceptualize and define those terms differently, and not only do those concepts and definitions change with time, but “a culture” is not a monolithic entity in which all members agree on everything either. For terms as loaded as “good” and “evil” -or “bad”, because arguably, not all cultures have a concept of “evil”-, there are a lot of competing definitions with more or less in common), it’s because the observers stop at surface details, missing the underlying truth – meaning anyone who disagrees on this view of religion just doesn’t get it, which is the kind of mindset that leads you to explain to people they don’t understand their own religion. But you, the educated, liberal Westerner (I mean Lucas, who has a high opinion of himself as being, well, an educated liberal dude frequently misunderstood by people less intelligent and less talented than him, and absolutely presents himself an authority on religion, myth, and anthropology, which he is not), you do. It’s a somewhat circular reasoning:

I believe in (x) god/values and that this belief is universal (people may say differently but really, they believe the same things I do, how could they not? They’re good things. The best things!)

Studying other beliefs (by focusing only on similarities and presuming it’s all about my beliefs under the surface) reveals, amazingly enough, that my beliefs are universal. What a surprise amirite. 

I have the beliefs I have because they are universal, and since they are universal, they cannot be questioned.

To go back to the specific Buddhism issue, that’s how Lucas approaches it. He doesn’t give a whit about what Buddhism actually is, its values and its philosophy. He doesn’t need to: he already knows that, like every other religion, those values, that philosophy, correspond to his own beliefs. Opinions not needed, because that verisimilarity is only seen by the enlightened. 

(Which comes down to erasing people’s actual beliefs across time and space to defend the notion that, conveniently enough, everyone the world over shares Lucas’ christian moral values (or is getting there because it’s the natural end of the processus – which would deserve a few paragraphs in itself because that’s related to the concept of linear cultural progress, another thing rooted in prejudice and shitty, outdated anthropological notions.))

All that to say that Lucas is just about as Buddhist as me (I am not), and that fuck yes we’re in problematic territory, way more problematic than is usually acknowledged. I probably didn’t need to write so much about it (well there’d be more to say, in fact, but that’s quite a bit already); it’s not quite what you asked for but there it is nonetheless. 

However, a twitter thread I saw about the subject was written by a South Asian Buddhist who *wanted* more recognition of Buddhist themes. I’ve also seen Buddhist websites write about TLJ.

I think the discussion over Buddhist/Taoist themes in the OT and PT is a different one than the one about these same themes in the ST, simply because it’s not a Lucas product. I absolutely understand wanting more recognition of these themes when they are present, and I think Buddhist themes introduced in the current trilogy can bring about a new interpretation of the… spiritual elements in the story and the universe (arguably already happened), changing how we receive the full saga (I’d even argue that it’s part of what makes SW a modern myth: myths do not care for their author; they spread and grow and change through both social and individual forces. Myths change through their tellers and their audience; it’s how they endure and remain relevant and meaningful. A myth is never just one story – it’s literal and symbolic and full of shadowy spaces that leave room for new, unprecedented readings.)

But that doesn’t change how much Buddhism did or didn’t influence Lucas when he was making his own movies, conceptualizing the universe and its spiritual tenets. 

I’d also argue (and that’s something I feel strongly about) that it’s very much possible to apply a Buddhist lens to the text in any case, because doing so doesn’t require for the text to intentionally feature those themes. The author is after all, mostly dead. But I do think there is a difference between “this text can be read through a Buddhist lens, and here’s how” and “this text is Buddhist”. 

Also, lj-writes insisting that SW is about moral dualism while being one of the strongest condemners of TLJ for rejecting moral dualism, doesn’t really add up. IDK their faith but their post ends with “Christianity is good enough!”. TLJ has surface symbols of Buddhism and Taoism AND themes of anti-classism, non-dualism, action returning to the actor, the Middle Way, skillful means, etc. And they see it as a deeply wrong entry in the saga. So it feels like this is lowkey “keep SW Christian”?

I found the post I reblogged while doing research for a meta/essay (which I will probably never post) and I only gave a cursory look to the blog, so I don’t quite know OP’s position on TLJ – nor can I speak for them on the way they articulate it all. I understand that you wouldn’t want to ask them directly, but I can’t talk for them either

The way I personally read “Christianity is good enough” (which, for the record, has nothing to do with my own religious beliefs because I’m hardcore atheist) was more of a “there’s no need to pretend SW is stepped in Buddhist/Taoist thought rather than Christian – because there’s really nothing wrong with that in itself”. And really there isn’t. A Christian inspired mythos is just as fine.

(The thing is that often enough, the idea that SW is better for being steeped in Buddhist or Taoist rather than Christian values is not fully unrelated to what I’d call the “Magical Oriental Religion” trope, and I find any attempt to hierarchize religious beliefs deeply dubious and reductive, and also, you know, kind of offensive.)

To conclude – SW is about moral dualism, and it’s not like Lucas never literally said so, have an example: 

“The Force evolved out of various developments of character and plot. I wanted a concept of religion based on the premise that there is a God and there is good and evil. I began to distill the essence of all religions into what I thought was a basic idea common to all religions and common to primitive thinking. I wanted to develop something that was nondenominational but still had a kind of religious reality. I believe in God and I believe in right and wrong.” (Lucas, quoted in The Phantom Menace Scrapbook, Ryder Windham, emphasis mine.)

But! We don’t have to read SW as dualist, and most importantly it doesn’t have to keep being written this way (see: TLJ), but that’s not gonna change that it *is* how Lucas conceived it, and that it can hardly be retconned without rejecting Lucas’ definition of the ever-famous balance:

The core of the Force–I mean, you got the dark side, the light side, one is selfless, one is selfish, and you wanna keep them in balance. What happens when you go to the dark side is it goes out of balance and you get really selfish and you forget about everybody…(Clone Wars Writers’ Meeting, 2010, transcription from here (x), emphasis mine)

(This is way too long already, but send me another ask and I’ll get into early ANH drafts and Force Jesus and his apostles, selflessness as sacrifice and the recompense thereof in the afterlife, the rejection of bodily things and pleasure and a bunch of things that make it hard to not see SW (or I guess Lucas’ SW) as deeply steeped in Christian thought)

[moonmothmama]

And Bartleby Flies Off Into The Night

so it’s been a long ass time since the last DND game with 2/3 sibs, and since my brother was around, we videochatted with our sister at my kitchen table. it’d been such a long time since we played that he couldn’t find his sheet on the Turtle Wizard that accompanied my dwarf cleric and my sister’s halfling rogue (and Bartleby*, the baby owlbear cub that hatched and imprinted on said halfling) to the town we ended up in, so it turned out that Turt Wiz got ‘called away’ and had to leave. my brother decided to pick up Bartleby and wow, did shit get crazy.

*named for the baby rat creature Smiley Bone adopted

so anyway we fast forward two weeks, and we’ve been in this town, training this baby owlbear not to kill everything it sees, raising it, yadda yadda. and this is a little one horse town; the kind of place where adventurers pass through, not hang around two weeks with what they’re calling a Weird Bird, Nothing To See Here, Move Along, Sorry He Ate Your Cat

and one day we’re called up by the local magistrate, a haggard looking but obviously noble man who lives in a grand mansion, starkly different from the village’s Rustic Aesthetic. my dwarf recognizes the magistrate’s mansion as elvish stonework; it’s been there for a long time, and the town has pretty clearly been built around it.

so we walk in there, my sorta stoic red-bearded dwarf cleric, and an obviously hungover hobbit with an ungainly adolescent Abomination on a handmade leather leash, which upon entering the hall emits a weird cry “somewhere between a wolf’s howl and a horror movie,” that echoes horribly in this big vaulted room, and every fucking guard turns around and is shitting themselves, except the one guy who went to fetch us, who signals everybody not to shoot it.

and so we’re led in and the magistrate, who was in a meeting, hurries everyone out of the room to talk to us. and he’s spellbound by this terrifying creature, who is standing on his table eating a dead rat that my sister’s hobbit has tossed him, like a milk-bone tossed to a dog to bribe it to behave.

and he’s like. listen: i know exactly what this creature is, and it sure as shit isn’t a ‘Weird Bird.’ he proceeds to say he needs an Extermination done, and dumps half of a hefty bag of platinum and jewels on the table. he says that’s the down payment, and we get to keep it if we prove we killed even one of the things he wants dead.

turns out the veil is thin in this whole area, and every once in a while a great white stag will wander through, and it’s great for tourism, all the hunters come around, blah blah blah. but in his mansion, every night around midnight, these nasty little oily goblin-type dudes pop out of the shadows and make him miserable. no wonder he looks like shit all the time.

so we say yep, we’re on the job, and after a supply run for nets and traps, we come back and set up in the magistrate’s chambers.

my dwarf is hiding on the four poster bed with Bartleby, and the hobbit is hiding in the wardrobe, and right around midnight, we hear a whole fucking commotion. we set the traps in the doorways of the upper floor, and with his sharp little ears, the halfling hears that every single one of them has been set off.

there are three of these gross little oily dudes (that i forgot the name of now) in the room; a bigger one in the trap whose leg is Fuckt, and two smaller ones. the bigger one starts muttering something and we’re engulfed in an enchanted shadow that our darkvision (dwarf and bartleby already see in the dark, and hobbit has a magic sword from the tomb of sextus varius that grants the ability) cannot penetrate.

but since we’ve been training this owlbear, we give it the Kill command (which my sister decided is “go snackies!”) and it flies up out of the pocket of darkness and swoops down toward the little greasy things. Boggles!! they’re called boggles. i had to look it up.

right. so.

Bartleby misses at first, and there’s a little fumbling brawl, but the hobbit managed to get an arrow off before the darkness fell, and one of them is half dead. we suffer minor injuries, but then Bartleby swoops again, and this time he doesn’t miss. we hear a disgusting flesh ripping noise and some screams, and suddenly the shadow has lifted.

the big guy in the trap has been eviscerated and is hanging onto life with but a slender thread. he leaps onto another one and fucks him up too. Bartleby is covered in inky blood and gore, and he turns to my sister’s hobbit like, “look momma! Bartleby do good?” so she throws him another rat treat because he did indeed Do Good and he sets upon this feast of nastiness as we run off to check the other traps.

we get to the hallway and the traps, which we know have already been tripped, have been set again and are sitting in the doorways. i Do Not Like This. as i’m saying this to my halfling friend, two hands come out of the two opposing doorways and deposit two little lit bombs on the floor. we fail a dexterity check and take some damage from the bombs, then fail a perception check as we’re running from the explosion and run right into our own traps, which have been moved to the threshold of the next doorway.

by now i’m down to 9 hp and my sister is down to like four, so while her halfling uses his turn prying the trap off his leg, my dwarf decides to just leave it there and use his turn to heal the halfling, who goes back up to 9hp himself. we are standing in this silent, empty room, and since we don’t know where they’ve gone, we set Bartleby on them again (“Bartleby! Go snackies!”) and follow where he leads us. down the stairs to the ground floor. two of these nasty guys are waiting at the bottom of the stair, and two pop out from the doorway behind us. we fail another check and get stuck to the stairs by some nasty sticky goop and have a really ridiculous fight where everyone misses each other pretty much every time. halfing rogue drops his magic sword which is then picked up by one of these mucky dudes. him and another two fuck off, leaving us to fight off the last one while stuck to the floor.

we manage to kill him, though by now we’re worse for the wear. we go down the stairs to the long hall where we came in; it’s empty.

we give Bartleby the kill command one more time, and he flies off, crashing through a stained glass window to the grounds outside.

then the halfling hears the Magistrate screaming. he’s been dragged through a doorway by these goopy lil bastards, who at this point we have seen can materialize in any space that has a frame resembling a door with four sides.

we find two of the lil boggle bastards who fucked off, as well as the bloody, beaten magistrate. one is holding the halfling’s pilfered magic sword to his throat.

since he’s a rogue, he uses his bonus action to zip across the floor to the one threatening the magistrate, and kills his ass with a regular unmagical sword. eat shit, you sticky little fucker. halfling has regained his magic sword. 

then, my dwarf limp-runs toward the magistrate, still with this fucking trap on his leg, and kills the second one.

so. the entire mansion is littered with gross little corpses. we’ve earned ourselves a shit ton of money, a life debt from the most powerful person in this town, and cemented our reputation as a pair of crazy motherfuckers.

we look out the smashed window to see that Bartleby has swooped down on the last one, and is making a meal of it. by now he’s a terrifying, bloody mess. he looks like Death Incarnate, dripping with the coal-black viscera of several slain boggles. he gives a long, low howl-

and flies off into the night.

we each level up.

so that’s where we left off. a baby owl-bear cub, who for the first two weeks of it’s life we painstakingly trained not to kill everything, we set on a bunch of otherwordly goop creatures. kill this one! kill that one! kill anything you damn well please! Bartleby has had the best night of his wee little life. he’s flown off into the wilderness. we joke around about an eighties film style montage of him swooping down on a rabbit, then a sheep, then a cow, then some fucking dude riding down the road in a cart, and it fades to black just before he lands on him, and Don’t You Forget About Me by Simple Minds plays over the credits

after not playing for months, none of us could ask for a more epic return to our weekly game. holy fucking shit

[blackkudos]

Bobby McFerrin

Robert Keith McFerrin Jr. (born March 11, 1950) is an American jazz vocalist and conductor. He is a ten-time Grammy Award winner, who is known for his unique vocal techniques, such as singing fluidly but with quick and considerable jumps in pitch—for example, sustaining a melody while also rapidly alternating with arpeggios and harmonies—as well as scat singing, polyphonic overtone singing, and improvisational vocal percussion. He is widely known for performing and recording regularly as an unaccompanied solo vocal artist. He has frequently collaborated with other artists from both the jazz and classical scenes.

McFerrin's song "Don't Worry, Be Happy" was a No. 1 U.S. pop hit in 1988 and won Song of the Year and Record of the Year honors at the 1989 Grammy Awards. McFerrin has also worked in collaboration with instrumentalists, including pianists Chick Corea, Herbie Hancock, and Joe Zawinul, drummer Tony Williams, and cellist Yo-Yo Ma.

Vocal technique

As a vocalist, McFerrin often switches rapidly between modal and falsetto registers to create polyphonic effects, performing both the main melody and the accompanying parts of songs. He makes use of percussive effects created both with his mouth and by tapping on his chest. McFerrin is also capable of multiphonic singing.

A document of McFerrin's approach to singing is his 1984 album The Voice, the first solo vocal jazz album recorded with no accompaniment or overdubbing.

Career

McFerrin's first recorded work, the self-titled album Bobby McFerrin, was not produced until 1982, when McFerrin was already 32 years old. Before that, he had spent six years developing his musical style, the first two years of which he attempted not to listen to other singers at all, in order to avoid sounding like them. He was influenced by Keith Jarrett, who had achieved great success with a series of improvised piano concerts including The Köln Concert of 1975, and wanted to attempt something similar vocally.

In 1984 McFerrin performed onstage at the Playboy Jazz Festival in Los Angeles as a sixth member of Herbie Hancock's VSOP II sharing horn trio parts with the Marsalis Brothers.

In 1986, McFerrin was the voice of Santa Bear in Santa Bear's First Christmas, and in 1987 he was the voice of Santa Bear/Bully Bear in the sequel Santa Bear's High Flying Adventure. That same year, he performed the theme song for the opening credits of Season 4 of The Cosby Show.

In 1988, McFerrin recorded the song "Don't Worry, Be Happy", which became a hit and brought him widespread recognition across the world. The song's success "ended McFerrin's musical life as he had known it," and he began to pursue other musical possibilities on stage and in recording studios. The song was used in George H. W. Bush's 1988 U.S. presidential election as Bush's 1988 official presidential campaign song, without Bobby McFerrin's permission or endorsement. In reaction, Bobby McFerrin publicly protested that particular use of his song, including stating that he was going to vote against Bush, and completely dropped the song from his own performance repertoire, to make the point even clearer.

At that time, he performed on the PBS TV special Sing Out America! with Judy Collins. McFerrin sang a Wizard of Oz medley during that television special.

In 1989, he composed and performed the music for the Pixar short film Knick Knack. The rough cut to which McFerrin recorded his vocals had the words "blah blah blah" in place of the end credits (meant to indicate that he should improvise). McFerrin spontaneously decided to sing "blah blah blah" as lyrics, and the final version of the short film includes these lyrics during the end credits. Also in 1989, he formed a ten-person "Voicestra" which he featured on both his 1990 album Medicine Music and in the score to the 1989 Oscar-winning documentary Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt. The song "Common Threads" has frequently reappeared in some public service advertisements about AIDS. McFerrin also performed with the Vocal Summit. A modified version of the song Thinkin' About Your Body (as Thinkin' About Your Chocolate) from the album Spontaneous Inventions was used in a series of UK Cadbury's chocolate adverts in 1989/1990.

As early as 1992, widespread rumors circulated that falsely claimed McFerrin committed suicide. The rumors intentionally made fun of the distinctly positive nature of his popular song "Don't Worry, Be Happy" by claiming McFerrin ironically took his own life.

In 1993, McFerrin sang Henry Mancini's "Pink Panther" theme for the movie Son of the Pink Panther.

In addition to his vocal performing career, in 1994, Mr. McFerrin was appointed as creative chair of the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra. He makes regular tours as a guest conductor for symphony orchestras throughout the United States and Canada, including the San Francisco Symphony (on his 40th birthday), the New York Philharmonic, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the Cleveland Orchestra, the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, the Philadelphia Orchestra, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the London Philharmonic, the Vienna Philharmonic and many others. In McFerrin's concert appearances, he combines serious conducting of classical pieces with his own unique vocal improvisations, often with participation from the audience and the orchestra. For example, the concerts often end with McFerrin conducting the orchestra in an a cappella rendition of the "William Tell Overture," in which the orchestra members sing their musical parts in McFerrin's vocal style instead of playing their parts on their instruments.

For a few years in the late 1990s, he toured a concert version of Porgy and Bess, partly in honor of his father, who sang the role for Sidney Poitier in the 1959 film version, and partly "to preserve the score's jazziness" in the face of "largely white orchestras" who tend not "to play around the bar lines, to stretch and bend". McFerrin says that because of his father's work in the movie, "This music has been in my body for 40 years, probably longer than any other music."

McFerrin also participates in various music education programs and makes volunteer appearances as a guest music teacher and lecturer at public schools throughout the U.S. McFerrin has collaborated with his son, Taylor, on various musical ventures. Taylor has recently been singing, rapping, and playing minimal keyboard accompaniment with Vernon Reid (leader-guitarist of Living Colour) in the eclectic metal-fusion-funk group Yohimbe Brothers.

In 2009, McFerrin and musician-scientist (Psychologist) Daniel Levitin served as co-hosts of The Music Instinct, a two-hour award-winning documentary produced by PBS and based on Levitin's best-selling book This Is Your Brain on Music. Later that year, the two appeared together on a panel at the World Science Festival, where McFerrin demonstrated audience participation with the ubiquitous nature of human understanding of the pentatonic scale by singing and dancing, and having the audience sing while following his movements.

Personal life

McFerrin was born in Manhattan, New York City, the son of operatic baritone Robert McFerrin and singer Sara Copper. He attended Cathedral High School (Los Angeles) and the California State University, Sacramento.

McFerrin married Debbie Green in 1975. They have three children, Taylor, Jevon, and Madison.

Discography

As leader

Bobby McFerrin (1982)

The Voice (1984)

Spontaneous Inventions (1986)

Elephant's Child (1987)

Simple Pleasures (1988)

Bobby's Thing (1988)

How the Rhino Got His Skin / How the Camel Got His Hump (1990)

Medicine Music (1990)

Play, with Chick Corea (1992)

Hush, with Yo-Yo Ma (1992)

Many Faces of Bird (1991)

"The Siamese Cat Song" on Simply Mad About the Mouse (1991)

Somewhere over the Rainbow (1993)

Sorrow Is Not Forever (1994)

Paper Music (1995, with the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra)

Bang! Zoom (1995)

The Mozart Sessions, with Chick Corea (1996)

Circlesongs (1997)

Beyond Words (2002) – featuring Chick Corea, Cyro Baptista, Richard Bona and Omar Hakim

Konzert für Europa -The Schönbrunn Concert (2004)

Live in Montreal (DVD, 2005)

VOCAbuLarieS (EmArcy, 2010)

Spirit you all (2013)

Compilations

Don't Worry, Be Happy (1988)

The Best of Bobby McFerrin (The Blue Note Years) (1996)

Mouth Music (2001)

As sideman

Pharoah Sanders, Journey to the One (Theresa, 1980)

Grover Washington Jr., The Best Is Yet to Come, 1982

Various Artists, The Young Lions, 1983

Charles Lloyd Quartet, A Night in Copenhagen (Blue Note, 1984)

Various Artists, A Tribute to Thelonius Monk, 1984

Chico Freeman, Tangents, 1984

Michael Hedges, Watching My Life Go By, 1985

The Manhattan Transfer, Vocalese, 1985

Weather Report, Sportin' Life, 1985

Joe Zawinul, Di•a•lects, 1986

Herbie Hancock, Round Midnight, 1986

W.A. Mathieu, Available Light, 1987

Al Jarreau, Heart's Horizon, 1988

Quincy Jones, Back on the Block, 1989

Laurie Anderson, Strange Angels, 1989

Gal Costa, The Laziest Gal in Town, 1991

Dizzy Gillespie, Bird Songs: The Final Recordings (Telarc, 1992), To Bird with Love (Telarc, 1992)

Modern Jazz Quartet, MJQ & Friends: A 40th Anniversary Celebration (Atlantic, 1994)

Jack DeJohnette, Extra Special Edition (Blue Note, 1994)

Yellowjackets, Dreamland, 1995

George Martin, In My Life, 1998 – on "Come Together" with Robin Williams

En Vogue, Masterpiece Theatre, 2000

Béla Fleck and the Flecktones, Little Worlds, 2003

Chick Corea, Rendezvous in New York, 2003

Wynton Marsalis, The Magic Hour, 2004

Grammys

McFerrin has won ten Grammy Awards, ranging from the 28th ceremony for releases from 1985, and the 35th ceremony for releases from 1993, and has won a record total of four awards for Best Jazz Vocal Performance, Male, surpassing Harry Connick Jr., who has since won this accolade twice.

1985, Best Jazz Vocal Performance, Male for "Another Night in Tunisia" with Jon Hendricks from the album Vocalese

1985, Best Vocal Arrangement for Two or More Voices, "Another Night in Tunisia" with Cheryl Bentyne

1986, Best Jazz Vocal Performance, Male, "Round Midnight" in the soundtrack album Round Midnight

1987, Best Jazz Vocal Performance, Male, "What Is This Thing Called Love" in the album The Other Side of Round Midnight with Herbie Hancock

1987, Best Recording for Children, "The Elephant's Child" with Jack Nicholson

1988, Song of the Year, "Don't Worry, Be Happy" in the album Simple Pleasures

1988, Record of the Year, "Don't Worry, Be Happy" in the album Simple Pleasures

1988, Best Pop Vocal Performance, Male, "Don't Worry, Be Happy" in the album Simple Pleasures

1988, Best Jazz Vocal Album, "Brothers" in the album Duets by Rob Wasserman

1992, Best Jazz Vocal Performance, "Round Midnight" from the album Play

Wikipedia

[lollipop-bribes]

Semi-Hiatus/Housekeeping

Hiya! Taking a short break from TOA to touch grass, and sweeping out the cobwebs. Please let me know if I'm missing any threads, or if you would like one dropped.

break in to bake out - ashe (my turn)

fortunes must be wrought - dorothea (my turn)

something about a baby and candy or whatever - linhardt (partner's turn)

something about candy and babies - cynthia (my turn)

the way to a person’s heart… - leif (partner's turn)

cake has never lied to me - samuel (partner's turn)

lost souls - rhys (partner's turn)

two birds blah blah blah - jeralt (my turn)

the search - karla (partner's turn)

Long time no see - stahl (my turn)

Blue skies behind the rain - chrom (my turn)

[bladebrecher]

Oh, thank goodness he has a knife.

He looks like the type to have one stashed away, but the older man wasn’t certain until now. The only weapon Jeralt has on him is the wooden bow and arrow he was given by the guys managing the mission board, and it would look a lot more crude and violent if he were to use an arrow to shank its throat.

By the time the Knight swatted off a fallen feather out of his face, his hunting buddy had already slain the bird in the blink of an eye.

Jeralt pauses for a beat after the young man takes hold of the freshly killed turkeese. Then, they head on further into the forest without a hitch to find their next kill. For someone with good hunting skills, he doesn’t seem all too comfortable with the turkeese’s corpse.

They’ve been quite efficient at this whole job so far. Maybe it’s time to make a bit of conversation. “You’re pretty adept with that dagger. Is it your weapon of choice?”

two birds blah blah blah

Mission Board: Excavation - Gaius & Jeralt [Bow +1]

[lollipop-bribes]

Oh. Enough to bring back. It certainly figures that one wouldn't cut it. Gaius should've figured this had been too easy.

The Captain handles the bird, and the blood-soaked arrow, with simultaeous skill and detachment. Gaius is no stranger to viscera, to corpses, and yet...something odd lingers in the air. The bird's eyes are still open. Gaius pulls his glance away.

And...there's a snap above them, and a fat, squawking turkeese flapping around on Pawpaw's face. It should be kinda funny, and admittedly Gaius does laugh, but he's also pulling out his hidden little knife before Pawpaw even mentions it.

(Huh. How did he know? Must be the wisdom of age.)

It should feel like a serendipity, like fortune falling in their laps, and yet...Gaius slits the bird's throat, the poor, potentially delicious thing who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it feels like a victory, it makes his stomach turn sickly as he hauls the bleeding, croaking thing in his arms.

(Years ago, when the streets ran dry of half-honest work, some of Gaius' targets were people. He feels it in the flick of his wrist, how fresh the memory is, the horror.)

"Two down," says Gaius, pulling himself together by the seams.

two birds blah blah blah

Mission Board: Excavation - Gaius & Jeralt [Bow +1]

[bladebrecher]

Shortly after the rustling noises die down, Jeralt gets up from the bushes and heads past the field, picking up the dead bird, plucking the arrow out of its bleeding neck and holding it upside down by its legs. “What comes next, you say?” He passes a glance at Gaius, handing him back his arrow before continuing further into the woods. “We keep hunting until we have enough to take back. A few more should be good.”

Their first kill went pretty smoothly, albeit not as exciting as the Knight expected it to be. They walk a bit, footsteps softly crunching at the snow and dried leaves. He chuckles to himself. “‘Pawpaw’... That’s a new one.”

A couple of steps further, and he hears the sound of a branch snapping. It’s coming from the canopy. The noise pauses for what feels like a split second before–

THUD!

GAWK! GAWK!

“Ah- Hey!” A turkeese clumsily drops right above Jeralt’s head, flapping its wings in front of his face and wriggling its legs in a panic. The Knight waves his arm to get the gobbling thing off, hand tentatively grabbing the bird by one of its wings so that it doesn't escape. “Help this ‘pawpaw’ out, won’t you? You got a knife with you, right?”

two birds blah blah blah

Mission Board: Excavation - Gaius & Jeralt [Bow +1]

[lollipop-bribes]

This is a test, right? Gaius is not good at tests. Not even the ones where he doesn't have to write anything.

He crouches down as directed, spotting the bird that the Captain's looking at. It's got a funny gait, almost like a strut, and Gaius can't help but suppress a wobbly smile.

"Honestly, I'm a sweets guy," Gaius murmurs, "but meat's good. 'Specially if you get it yourself." He knows he's already talked too much; silently, he aims his bow, aligning the trajectory with the bird's eye.

He inhales, holds, releases. The arrow ends up in the turkeese's neck, but it's just as well; it drops immediately, and there's a fluttering commotion in the nearby trees.

"Huh," Gaius says, a little dumbfounded. "I did it. Thanks, Pawpaw." A little sheepish, he slings his bow into place on his back. "You'll have to, uh...walk me through what comes next though."

two birds blah blah blah

Mission Board: Excavation - Gaius & Jeralt [Bow +1]

[bladebrecher]

“Who knows. Maybe they’re trying to make you learn something new.” He shrugs without much urgency in the way he walks. The boy may not be the most confident with a bow, but Jeralt knows that he has the aim to boot. If he can toss daggers at targets in the knight’s hall, then he is certainly capable of hunting at a distance.

The snow feels crisp underneath their feet as they descend into more forested land. The Knight lowers himself behind the bushes onto one knee, speaking in a quieter, more subdued tone while he surveys the area where the supposed birds roam. “If we manage to catch one, we can also treat ourselves to some nice, roasted turkeese. A good reward, wouldn’t you say?”

Jeralt gestures for Gaius to get down next to him, and to keep the rustling to a minimum. On the other side of the clearing is one wandering turkeese. “You know how it goes. Keep the hands steady, and focus.” He whispers, slowly parting just enough of the bush for the boy to aim his bow and arrow.

two birds blah blah blah

Mission Board: Excavation - Gaius & Jeralt [Bow +1]