#History of Anarchist Ideas

[stawwybeibi]

depressed changeling how can you say all that about. US international authoritarian crimes. um how can you not want it to die is my question. Because harm reduction?¿ …..please explain if you have the time thank you

It's finally dawning on me that a lot of hard leftists actually do think the US presidency is already a dictatorship.

Like they think that the reason the Biden administration didn't cancel college debt on the grand scale they pictured, is that he just didn't want to. They have no comprehension just how much Republicans were working against him to stop literally anything he could do to make things in this country less dogshit. (BTW, this is why we need to vote blue all the way down the ticket.)

And then they think they can elect some third party rando with no actual allies in the senate or congress or anywhere, and people will just have to do what they say, and won't try to sabotage them even harder because they're even further left. (The aforementioned efforts to sabotage Biden? It would be even worse for an actual leftist president.)

Like no, sorry, the US presidency is not actually a dictatorship.

[maaruin]

I have finished the first nine seasons of Mike Duncan's Revolutions Podcast. Only the Russian Revolution left. And then, unfortunately, no more.

Part of me would like to make a Podcast called "World Revolutions" that continues from there, focussing on various world wide movements that hugely influenced society. The seasons would being:

Self-Determination (Democratization and Independence in the wake of World War I)

Fascism

Decolonization

1968 (includes Civil Rights Movement in the lead-up)

End of Communism (starting with the later communist revolutions like the Khmer Rouge)

Islamism

The Culture Wars (and at the end I would arrive at the present, I don't think they Culture Wars will be over during the next decades)

But, well, not sure if that would be the right thing to invest my creative and political energy in...

[jayrockin]

while i was reading the updated lore i got the idea for an atypical clan structure. how would a clan of centaur asexuals work?

i would imagine it would be a gaggle of individuals who are either uninterested or turned off from the idea of matriarch/entourage drama, gender nonconfirming individuals, and others who have little interest in siring young. since so much of centaur culture is centered around reproductive exclusivity, an entire clan that just- *doesn’t* want to have kids would be weird. im sure to most centaurs it would seem like a clan that’s missing a matriarch and her spouses, just entirely made up of workers.

Could certainly happen. Would make a potentially stable anarchist clan, but would have to recruit enough members over time to make up for the eventual deaths of older members, or split/merge with other similar clans. The same is true of a lot of same-sex clans, who generally also don't want kids.

I could... see anarchist political celibacy ideas (avoiding sex because it's seen as the element of chaos that makes anarchist clans fail) mixing with innately asexual individuals in messy ways, as well. I don't think discussion of asexuality among centaurs is neatly divided between preference and ideology, it certainly isn't for homosexuality or transexuality. They don't have the same history of medicalization or individualist identity politics that human sex and gender does. Sexuality either serves and protects the traditional clan hierarchy, or it doesn't. This is why heterosexual behavior is more heavily policed by most centaur cultures, because it only serves the clan structure if it occurs between a matriarch and their mates.

I think many asexual centaurs would strongly identify with their position as workers (who in most cultures are discouraged or forbidden from sex) and fit well into most conventional clan structures, though may be considered kind of uptight about The Rules or holier-than-thou by workers who are sexually involved (whether or not they actually have this attitude.) Some worker males might find themselves in trouble if they are young and pretty and their matriarch wants to marry them to an entourage for the political benefits (and to get a prettyboy out of the worker pool were they may be too popular with worker females) (again, regardless of their actual interests). Worker females might find themselves in trouble if they are the current matriarch's favorite pick for next in line. This is where asexual behavior would clash with the enforcement of traditional clan structure and break the bounds of acceptability.

[txttletale]

sorry if you have answered a question like this before, but what do you think of critiques from liberals/other leftists whether they be calling themselves socialist, communist, or anarchist, on the "disastrous/genocidal" effect of a "glorious revolution" on populations like children, the elderly, and the disabled? would any revolutionary action necessitate destruction of infrastructure? what kind of conversations are being had among communists about protecting these vulnerable populations? i see a lot of stuff about not wanting to watch kids die in hospitals just for a power vacuum that could go the wrong way and stuff like that and i agree with wanting to protect these populations especially, but something about the conversation in general seems off to me, since kids are already dying all over the world because of the lack of access to healthcare because of things like usimperialism or the insane costs even for people living in the us and the supply chain is already showing many cracks because of climate change and capitalism, with no global "violent revolution" to speak of. am i missing something crucial here? what can i say to my fellow disabled friends who have these concerns, partially born from dealing with ableism in leftist spaces? -- thank you, a baby communist

i mean first of all yes, it is disingenuous to pretend that the most vulnerable people are not dying constantly under capitalism. secondly, revolutions do not usually involve blowing up hospitals and care homes for no reason.

but most crucially of all this entire argument relies on a childish view of revolution inspired by the most tedious reactionary propaganda--an understanding gained from shen yun and anastasia. communist revolutions (like any revolution!) don't happen in times of unremarkable peace and prosperity--they necessarily happen in times of mass discontent and instability, because that's when large segments of the population become radicalised!

genuinely, the best antidote to all these silly liberal ideas about revolution is to read about the history of real revolutions, socialist or otherwise. actual historical knowledge trumps mind palace hystericizing every time. i recommend walter rodney's the russian revolution: a view from the third world.

[do-you-ship-this-comic-ship]

propaganda:

The chemistry. the banter. Being a hacker and bisexual are too coolest things in 1995. The way years later Tim created an entire vr suit/world for Lonnie when he was fully paralyzed so they could team up to defeat DC's darkweb the Ünternet.

(second propaganda is very long so it goes beneath a read more)

Lonnie is the first vigilante peer Tim interacted with and a major part of Tim's first solo detective case before becoming Robin - their histories are connected inside and outside of the comics, as Lonnie was the third Robin that never was and Tim is the third Robin that was. Tim maintains the myth of the Bat and Lonnie works to render the need for it obsolete (despite admiring Batman to a degree) which makes for interesting contrast. Tim's been at least somewhat interested in talking to and understanding Lonnie since their first interaction despite their couple of clashes, offering to discuss Anarchist politics with him, and Lonnie is someone often misunderstood by the wider vigilante community. Their banter is fun when they're up against each other, and Tim arrives at the conclusion that they'd make a good team the second time they meet. Tim makes a few comments here and there about how Lonnie's motivations are right and how his heart's in the right place, proving a sympathy with his cause even if it chafes against Batman's. Later on, Tim saves Lonnie's life when he's about to die after getting trapped attached to a blimp set to explode. Tim saves Lonnie's life again when Lonnie's kidnapped by Ulysses Armstrong at the end of his Robin solo, beforehand starting to correspond with Lonnie to try to track him down and rescue him and then actually rescuing him with Ulysses makes Tim choose between apprehending him and saving Lonnie. Tim in Red Robin shows signs of liking Lonnie, teaming up with him, being very concerned about his well being, even calling him his "best friend" a few times, even if sarcastically. Lonnie uses the fact that Tim understands him and how he operates to convince Tim to let him deal with the Unternet. Tim defends Lonnie's character. There's a lot of potential for the two of them any way you slice it (because there is some rivalry, annoyance, mistrust present), but I think they're people who are both similar enough to each other and different enough from each other in ways that would challenge each other to reflect on aspects of themselves, and there's nothing Tim loves more than someone who challenges him. Lonnie's painfully lonely and often needs others to drag him back down from the clouds when his well-intentioned schemes get out of hand as well as thoughts that he's the only one who can actually save the world, and Tim tends to connect or connect well with others, working well with a team. Lonnie is someone who has big, alternative ideas about society and how to deal with societal issues and has the drive to get things done, which I think would be good for Tim who is so averse to becoming like Batman, and they make nice conversation partners. There's more I could say but this is already getting so long. TL;DR timlonnie sweep forever.

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters as Teachers

As requested by @little-cute-pink-horrible-being :)

If Cosmere characters were teachers, what would they teach & what would it be like?

1. Jasnah: History teacher

Let's just say that she has, uh, high expectations of her students.

Jasnah: Anyone can memorize facts and dates. Jasnah: You all will do that, of course, but you will also learn to draw conclusions from those facts, track historical trends, and maybe, if you work hard, you can come up with a theory of your very own. Bravest student: Uh, miss? We are seven. Jasnah: I do not tolerate excuses.

2. Hammond: Philosophy Professor

He has a hardcore group of students who are huge fans of his.

Student 1: Hey, you're in Professor Hammond's class? Student 2: Yeah. Student 1: Isn't he the guy who wrote that book So What if the Poor are Genetically Destined to be Poor? Revolution is Still the Answer? Student 2: That's him. Student 1: And that's why your an anarchist now, huh? Student 2: Listen, he's pretty persuasive.

3. Elend: Political Science Professor

Elend, a Political Science professor at a university, is the sort of teacher who assigns a LOT of reading.

Elend: Remember: politics is for people. Even when the people you serve suck. A lot. Student: You...sound like you're talking from experience? Elend: You have no idea.

4. Shallan: Art Professor

She mainly teaches drawing and painting classes.

Shallan: You all need to decide what your art means to you. Shallan: Whether it be capturing a moment or representing a person's essence or seeing into realms not normally discernable to human eyes--as long as it's art from your soul, it will be right. Student: What, uh, was that last part? Shallan: Art should be from your soul? Student: N-No, the part before that? Shallan: Anyway, everyone start drawing!

5. Painter: Also an Art Professor

I mean, it's literally his name.

Painter: The key to art is repetition. Painter: When a Nightmare is staring down at you, you don't want to be hesitating over what to draw! Student: Professor Nikaro, please, we've been drawing bamboo for a week! Painter: ...I'm not sure what the issue is?

6. Sigzil: Science teacher

Sigzil is one of those general science teachers you get in middle school.

Sigzil: Remember: the key to science is...? Students, as a chorus: Writing things down! Sigzil: That's right! Sigzil: Now let's see what's the heaviest thing we can stick to the wall using glue--last year we managed to stick me to the wall for a couple seconds! Students: [cheering] Sigzil: ...I'm better at this than I would have expected.

7. Wayne: Theater Teacher

Wayne teaches theatre at a high school.

Wayne: Acting is all about not acting. Wayne: You gotta just be the person. Wayne: Understand their past, embody their present... Student: ...wear their hat? Wayne: Exactly!

8. Kaladin: Also a Theatre Teacher

Look me in the eyes and tell me that Kaladin doesn't understand drama.

Kaladin: [talking to an school administrator off to the side while the class watches] And you can tell the school board that the next time they want to cut funding to the arts, I will be there. Kaladin: I will be there at every meeting where even a word of funding reduction is breathed. Kaladin: I will haunt those meetings, carrying pictures of my kids doing their plays and being happy. Kaladin: And I will make them look me in the eyes if they dare to vote to take that away! New student, hesitantly: Performance art? Student: Nah, he always talks that way.

9. Sarene: English teacher

If only because I don't think they have dedicated fencing professors at most places.

Sarene: English is not simply about reading books--it is about learning to think and interpret information. Sarene: You can take the skills you learn in this class and apply them very widely: to understand the news, to read between the lines of what a person says to you, to craft effective rhetoric to get your own way. Sarene: Read everything. Sarene: Remember: you cannot defeat an enemy unless you understand your enemy. Student: ...enemy? Sarene: Don't worry: you'll have enemies when you're older. Student: Yay?

10. Navani: Engineering

Navani would be an engineering professor at a college.

Navani: Your job, students, is to get this ball through that window high up on the wall. You can do it any way you want. Student: I'm immediately seeing: trebuchet. Navani [nodding sagely]: Go with your heart.

11. Pattern: Math teacher

...Listen, I'm not saying he's a good math teacher.

Student: [staring gloomily at their test] Friend: That bad, huh? Student: Mr. Pattern wrote "Mmmm delicious lies" all over it! Friend: So...you failed? Student: Yeah...

12. Raboniel: Chemistry Teacher

She may seem strict, but she actually quite likes kids.

Raboniel: ...And that, students, is how you build a very effective chemical bomb. Students: ... Raboniel: Any questions? Bravest student: Uh, miss? We are seven. Raboniel: So...basically adults, right? Wait, how fast do humans age again? Teacher's aide: [whispering frantically] Raboniel: ...I may have made an error.

[dolokhoded]

with greece legalizing gay marriage and everything i'm so tired of people diminishing queerness in greece to "oh your ancient greek ancestors would be proud ! alexander the great would be proud ! achilles would be proud sappho would be proud plato would be proud" etcetc.

queer rights progressing in greece wouldn't make our "ancient greek ancestors" proud because they had an entirely different concept of marriage than us, viewed women as objects to be sold and traded and only accepted homosexuality between men, or even more likely, a man and a literal underage boy.

gay rights in greece aren't benefiting some people who died a few thousand years ago or are Literally Fictional. greek queerness isn't just some ancient dionysian fantasy of feeding each other grapes and reciting poetry to each other by the sea. actual greek people who do benefit from this still exist. it doesn't honor some ancient guy who condoned slavery. it honors greek queer people who were out there protesting at the controversy this law raised with the church and actually made the effort to win this fight.

ancient greece isn't the epitome of queerness, not even close. absolutely in no way when it concerned exclusively just gay men. the epitome of queerness is the trans kid from my hometown who insisted on cutting their hair and dressing masculine even within their transphobic high school environment and strict orthodox family, or the woman who taught me programming who was married with children and realized she was aromantic fifteen years into marriage, or the gay punks who kept cops out of the university's anarchist hotspot.

greek queer people aren't history or mythology, and ancient greece isn't the queer utopia you make it out to be. we're still here, and we're fighting against the exact ideas our ancient culture perpetuated.

[apas-95]

I’m an anarchocommunist that thinks a lot of other anarchists are stupid. For example, I don’t think that most people will just make insulin or do garbage collection/processing out of the kindness of their heart, and I also don’t think if it was genuinely done out of the kindness of their hearts that it’d work great. My idea is that for the “getting people to do the shitty jobs” question, the people that do those jobs should be compensated better in some way. Maybe a larger/nicer house, I’m not sure on the details. But other anarchists will say “all labor is equal”, and while I’d like to agree in the “work is hard” sense, I think things for the obvious common good, like teacher or garbage man or doctor deserve some sort of reward over other jobs. And for the efficiency of the labor, I think *specifically for labor* there needs to be some sort of organization, and we can use what’s worked before. We don’t need to have bathtub insulin if there’s a factory right there, and if there’s no connection from the insulin factory to doctors/pharmacists and truck drivers then it won’t work either. Really, my main problem with Marxism/Leninism or Stalinism or Maoism or any combination of those is that there are specific people with far too much power over others. I’m ok with light power in the way of “man you gotta drive the firetruck to the burning building even though you hate the dude that lives there”, but I’m not ok with the idea of a supreme leader or representatives in a political sense due to as I’ve amounts of power obviously corrupting people.

Really I’m sending this to you to get your criticism of my ideas- I think you’re pretty smart, and even if I disagree with you on some issues, I think I agree with you on others. I also want to say that not all anarchists are… like that.

So, years ago, before I started reading any Marxist theory, this is about where I was at politically. If you think about any of the practicalities, you come up to points where, very clearly, the maxim of 'no authority at all' conflicts with being able to do anything. If you're seriously considering how society could be better organised, if this is something you actually intend on bringing about, then you make some amount of concession to reality - as you did with the firetruck example!

Now, myself, I went on like this for a good while, coming up with methods of truly democratic organisation that wouldn't be susceptible to the types of totalitarianism I'd heard about, ending up very similar to your position. I was interested, however, in how these 'failed experiments' that I'd learned devolved into bureaucracy started out, and I started reading up on the history, and realised, with some discontent, that what I'd developed, once I'd made all the concessions for reality that would be necessary if this system were to be the actual one real human beings lives depended on, was essentially identical to the Soviet system.

From there, I read up on Marxist theory, still basically wary that this had all, at some point, been taken over by an evil dictator, but able to see that the earliest stages, at least, had been exactly what I was imagining, but put into practice. Reading the theory, reading how their experience experimenting with different forms of organisation, and the failures of some types, had led them to discover what did and didn't work, and adjust accordingly, made me suddenly appreciate why certain things were done certain ways. The harsh experiences of civil war had revealed certain dynamics and mechanics in the way society and production worked, which translates into political theories that bore out results I wouldn't have expected (and neither had the communists who had discovered them through practice!).

Eventually, with some chagrin and a significant deal of excitement, I realised that much of what I'd passively absorbed about socialism, many of the common-sense maxims that I'd been taught by capitalist society about the nature of power and so on, were very much artifacts of a decades-long war against these communists and the system they'd built, carried out by exactly the corporations and empires I had thought myself opposed to.

I won't critique any individual point of yours, but I will enjoin you to try out some Marxist theory - Dialectical and Historical Materialism, or Socialism, Utopian and Scientific, or Principles of Communism, or even the Communist Manifesto, and to read between the lines of whatever capitalist source you read on socialism, to notice every [citation needed] and wonder what actually happened such that someone felt the need to make something up.

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

Navigation

Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

[assaultmystic]

you can find more than a handful of anti-family, anti-psych, anti-carceral adherents of "actually existing socialism" on here who believe they owe no debt to anarchic theoretical traditions, quietly integrating anarchist and left communist ideas, ignoring the history of at best ambivalence to and often active suppression of these currents in the states they champion, whilst constantly belittling and insulting (more than occasionally, tacitly threatening) the anarchists theyre in conversation with, to clear the ideological ground for staking a claim to critical thought in these domains altogether. and i suppose i cant be too mad, can i? it /does/ make for robust and efficacious politics. the aggression is structural, is useful.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

LOTR Newsletter - September 27

Who is Tom Bombadil?

Frodo asks this question twice, first to Goldberry and then to Tom himself and it – or the related question of, what is Tom Bombadil? – remains a topic of discussion in the fandom.

Looking at the answers Frodo recieves, the idea that I’ve been playing with is: Tom Bombadil is an anarchist. Or, perhaps, the anarchist. In both Golberry’s response and Tom’s, the emphasis is this: that Tom is a being who is not controlled or ruled by anyone, and fears no one and nothing and neither controls or rules anyone (though he will ocasionally call out his neighbours if they’re being unkind to travellers). His power over himself is absolute – is in danger from nothing and, as he see with the Ring, is influenced by no external force, however powerful – without becoming power over others.

When Frodo first asks who Tom is, the first thing Goldberry says is simply, “He is.” While the Biblical connection of this to the Name of God has led some to speculate that Tom is some kind of avatar of Eru, what’s occurring to me now is the relationship of this to the name of Tolkien’s universe: Eä, The World That Is. Tom’s way of life is simply to be, and to be as he is, and rejoice in being, not to achieve or to gain.

And when Tom tells stories and histories to the hobbits, he is showing them the world the way he sees it – where every living thing, even the ones hostile to them like Old Man Willow, is a protagonist in its own story, not a tool or side character in someone else’s, where everything’s being has worth in and of itself.

Tom Bombadil is a vision of an ideal world – perhaps Tolkien’s ideal world – where Power has no sway; hence he is carefree and joyous and odd and funny and the concept of dignity has no place with him. Gandalf’s role in the Third Age ultimately is (as he later says) the Enemy of Sauron; but Tom Bombadil is the antithesis of Sauron.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Shadowhunters

Enthrallment by smilebackwards

It does look a little bad, Parmela thinks, looking at it from outside. As more specialists had been called in for consultation, they’d decamped to one of the larger conference rooms—eschewing attendance at A, B, AB, & O: The Impact of Blood Type on Non Subject Specific Blood Magic, because this was vastly more interesting and potentially important—and there are a round dozen high-level warlocks clustered around Alec, poking at him with magic.

Or: Alec attends the Magical Inventions and Advances convention in hopes of recruiting warlocks for another Downworld Cabinet. The warlocks, however, are more interested—and concerned—by the blue magical aura following Alec around.

DC

temporal fraternity by envysparkler

Damian clears his throat. “I require your assistance.”

The words come out easier with the benefit of practice and the knowledge that no one will remember them tomorrow. Today. Tomorrow-today.

The Umbrella Academy

cut me open and i still bleed red by aletterinthenameofsanity

Part 1 of the odds were never in our favor

Ben knows his fellow mentors pretty well, for how long he's spent here, behind the screens of the Games, watching as his tributes die.

Allison, from District One, has a way with the sponsors. Just a word placed here or there, stealthily dropped into conversation, and she can get her tributes the shit they need.

In his time as a Mentor, Klaus has developed a habit of drinking to get through the Games, and through the rest of his life, really- anything to avoid the truth of what's happening, the ghosts of the children he and Ben have sent to their deaths.

Very few people remember what Five’s name was before the Games. Caesar Flickerman and the Gamemakers nicknamed him that when he took out the entire Career Pack on his second day in the Arena.

Vanya’s the newest Mentor, the victor of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games.

Diego’s one of Ben’s oldest not-quite friends. A Victor from District Ten, he’d gone into the Games knowing how to kill an animal.

All the other Mentors Ben knows try never to get attached. Luther, on the other hand, doesn't forget a single name.

(A story of seven victors of the Hunger Games and the lives they live as Mentors.)

Danny Phantom

The Promised Land by redrobin1989

Danny Fenton has been running for years, from his abusive parents, from Vlad's experiments, from his freakish powers. He expected to be running his whole life until he found his way to a small town that felt like the home he'd never had.

M!ik

Study Dates Are Not Real Dates by StormySteady

A very important exam is coming up, and Asmodeus is trying his hardest to get Iruma and Clara to study for it. But his soulmates have other ideas.

Star Wars

Starlight, In All Its Forms by Soap_And_Lye

When Luke was eight, he was taken from his home on Tatooine and delivered into the hands of the emperor and his right hand.

When Luke was sixteen, he overheard the emperor's plans to steal a tiny Force sensitive child and saves him first, before being caught and dragged back to his masters' keeping.

When Luke was eighteen, he finds that same child on Gideon's cruiser, and spares both him and his family, including a silver clad Mandalorian.

And when Luke was twenty-four, he is captured by the Rebellion (captured or did he just let it happen? Really up for debate) and secretly sent as a prisoner to Mandalore, where Mand'alor Din Djarin rebuilds his planet and raises his son.

And the rest was history. Or the beginning.

Clone Wars

will you be an anarchist with me? by a_alene

Once the Kenobi floodgates are opened, they cannot be closed. Cody has apparently been keeping an itemized list of disagreements, and he is determined to tell Rex each and every one of them.

Kenobi refuses to listen to Cody’s input. Kenobi throws himself into battle with no regard for previously established battle plans. Kenobi uses the Force so recklessly and obviously that every undercover assignment is blown within the first few minutes. Kenobi is a hypocrite who berates Cody for sidestepping protocol, but flouts it himself at every opportunity.

CT-7567: bet you wish you had skywalker now

CC-2224: I wish for nothing but the cold embrace of space

Right. And he says Kenobi’s dramatic.

(Marshal Commander Cody and High General Obi-Wan Kenobi of the 212th cannot stand each other. Rex doesn't know why this is his problem.)

poetry is what you find (in the dirt in the corner) by fivecenturiesverse

(In which Cody becomes an anonymous poet after the war and his brothers find out.)

Rex launches forwards immediately and so does Bly, because he can admit to himself that he likes gifts. He likes gifts a whole lot more than Cody and Wolffe, anyway, who both act like martyrs who don’t need any material love. “Poetry, vod?” Bly asks, incredulous. “Cody’s right, you are going soft.”

“It’s by a clone,” Fox says, defensively, “it’s quite good, actually. For poetry. It made Sergeant Hound cry at the service.

[ms-demeanor]

Not to talk about week-old discourse on a years-old reblog but I really just do not buy the idea that a reasonably politically aware person in 2003 could not find a leftist (or even just slightly left-of-the-USAian-center) position against the Iraq war that didn't rely on a bunch of icky anarchists chanting "No Blood For Oil."

If absolutely nothing else, it was fucking impossible to ignore the fact that France (as well as Germany, Belgium, Mexico, Canada, and a whole bunch of other countries but France is the one that got proto-meme'd) had a perfectly reasonable critique of condoning a US war of aggression against Iraq, namely that the UN investigation into claims of WMDs was not complete, they thought there were better ways to convince Saddam Hussein to comply with the investigation than an outright war, and the US/British evidence suggesting that Iraq was building a nuclear arsenal was pretty garbage.

Saying "well, the only people protesting the war were targeting obvious strawmen and history shows that the US wasn't *actually* gunning for oil" completely overlooks the fact that Republicans in congress were so fucking offended by UN member states criticizing their warmongering that they renamed french fries and plunged us into an inescapable vortex of patriotic cringe. If you were mocking Freedom Fries at the time, you were doing so with the knowledge that France did not support the US war in Iraq and if you put even the tiniest bit of thought into that stance you either realized that the issue was much more nuanced than a bunch of white suburban kids in black hoodies yelling about Dick Cheney, or you were an idiot.

[tastethebloodofmeatthawsmoth]

Osugi Sakae, one of Japan's leading anarchist figures in the Taisho era. In addition to the early Japanese anarchist Kotoku Shushui, Osugi was influenced by Kropotkin and Bakunin; he admired the latter immensely, saying he would "have been a rebel even in an anarchist society." Stirner, Nietzsche, Bergson, and Sorel were also important influences.

Osugi was not a systematic thinker, and many of his articles were written simply to fill space in one of his many periodicals or to make some quick cash. However, his principal theoretical statement appeared in a series of three articles published around 1913. In the first, “The Reality of Conquest,” Osugi explored the origin of what is now called “society” in conquest. Osugi’s theory is now dated, but still interesting and shares some similarities to modern anti-civilization anarchist thought. According to Osugi, pre-societal humanity lived in peaceful, nomadic groups, until overcrowding led to friction and, through an accident of military superiority, one group conquered the other, which is kept subjugated through more and more subtle mechanisms of social control: “Government! Laws! Religion! Education! Morality! Armies! Police! Courts! Parliament! Science! Philosophy! Literature! All other social systems!” According to Osugi, no one could understand anything about social matters without understanding the reality of this system of subjugation.

This first article was shortly followed by “The Expansion of Life.” Having established subjugation as an unnatural condition resulting from civilization, Osugi established life and the expansion of life as subjugation’s opposite. “Life and the expansion of life are, it goes without saying, the keynotes of modern thought.” I think that Osugi’s expansion of life can be considered as synonymous with the Stirnerian egoist’s self-enjoyment. The life of the individual overflows the limits of the self: “The joy of living begins to overflow…. The perfection of my life is at the same time the extension of my life. And at the same time, the extension of the life of mankind.” Osugi acknowledged that competition, of self-expansion at the expense of others, hindered others’ development. The conquered, unable to develop themselves, became degraded and corrupted as a result. However, “if there was a slavish depravity among the slaves, there was a masterly depravity among the masters.” (Here, the debt to Nietzsche is clear.) This degradation continued until the morals of both the slaves and the masters became so corrupt that a middle class revolted and established itself as the new ruling class. This cycle, argued Osugi, had continued throughout the course of civilization. The new task of the oppressed, Osugi said, was to end the repetition of history and lay the ax to the reality of conquest itself:

“Seeing the supreme beauty of life in the expansion of life, I see the supreme beauty of life today only in this rebellion and destruction. Today, when the reality of conquest is developed to its utmost, harmony is not beauty. Beauty exists only in discord. Harmony is a lie. Truth exists only in discord.

Now the expansion of life can only be gained through rebellion. Only through rebellion is there creation of new life, creation of a new society.”

The last article in this series, “The Creativity of Life,” was published in January of 1915. In it, Osugi highlighted the differences between his anarcho-syndicalist views and electoral socialism. Osgui believed that mainstream socialism was overly fixated on economic issues; throughout his career he always stressed that the workers’ movement was a “human movement for the self-mastery of the individual,” not just a movement for a full belly. Osugi also had his own very strong interpretation of the syndicalist idea of building the new world within the shell of the old. Osugi’s anarchism stressed a fundamental unity between action and goals, with the struggle for a free society aiming to prepare the workers mentally, physically, spiritually, and psychologically for a free society. “When the workers have completed these preparations themselves, that is to say, when they are able to administer their own society, then for the first time will come the social revolution. Thus the workers’ spiritual education is the essential thing. You must teach the workers what they themselves will, you must discipline them by action, you must reveal to them their own abilities. This is the entire mystery of socialist education.” 

[mesetacadre]

i think ur really really cool for ragging on anarchists, but in ur years of reading anarchist texts, were there some texts that actually caught ur attention in an "oh I didn't consider that" kinda way? i fear that the amount of criticism most communists (rightfully) lob at anarchists might lead to us discarding ideas that might actually give us cool things to ponder about

"anarchist ideas" in general aren't very interesting because they're substantiated on liberal ideas. The anarchist ideas about nature, for example, are fundamentally also liberal ideas, and there is a direct intellectual link between enlightenment philosophers, the fathers of liberalism, and Bakunin:

This is not exactly what you're asking but it's in the anarchist library so good enough for me

I'm sure there's some ideas out there that make you stop and think like you described, but I haven't come across them

[drdemonprince]

Any recommended reading for a newbie to anarchism?

David Graeber truly is the best entry point into the pipeline i feel. Reading his work doesn't feel like "reading theory", it feels like learning more about a specific aspect of the world from an engaging, open-minded author who makes history and anthropology accessible, and then simply realizing somewhere along the line that you've become a lot more radical than you realized you'd always been.

Bullshit Jobs is his easiest and most approachable read -- start with this if you're not a big reader of dense books, or if my book Laziness Does Not Exist particularly spoke to you. It's about how the majority of reasonably well-paying jobs today are completely meaningless, and why important, fulfilling jobs that are actually necessary to run society are so often thankless and poorly paid.

If you have student loan or credit card debt out the ass or you grew up hearing the myth that the earliest human societies relied on trading and bartering, pick up Debt: The First 5000 Years. This one is a bit of a tougher read than Bullshit Jobs, but still approachable, talking about the history of human commerce, debt forgiveness, enslavement, and where that history has left us today. You'll learn a lot about history but Graeber will also always lead you back to the present.

If you were a follower of the Occupy Wallstreet movement and wonder why it failed (or whether it failed), pick up The Democracy Project. This is a slimmer, faster read! And it focuses a lot more on the practical tactics and bylaws of Occupy organizing. In it, Graeber illustrates how human groups can be run without hierarchy and just how well that can work! It's perhaps the most explicitly anarchist book of his in that sense at least, yet it's also very conversational and easy to follow, with lots of lessons learned and specific examples from real-life organizing meetings.

If you hate rules and bureaucracy, pick up Utopia of Rules. What Debt is for bursting basic, widespread myths about economics, Utopia of Rules is for challenging mainstream knowledge about the role of the state. This one is actually an essay collection, and that makes it a quicker, easier read than many of the others -- in each chapter, Graeber tackles one specific aspect of irritating modern-day bureaucracy, and its full of relatable gripes about going to the DMV or applying for unemployment, but then it zooms out to make a larger point about how societies now function (and fail to function).

If you're interested in Indigenous cultures and how various human societies have approached governance, start with Dawn of Everything, which he co-wrote with David Wengrow. Now this is a MUCH denser book that I recommend taking chapter by chapter, pausing to savor all the new information and paradigm-busting that they've just showered you with. A chapter before bed each night and then some time laying down and simply reflecting about the diversity of human social potential is a great way to slowly work your way through it.

If you read any of these, you'll be left with a lot of ideas as to where to look next -- Graeber was widely read in a great many fields himself, so he'll leave you a trail of breadcrumbs to follow.

The Anarchist Library online is also a great place to find shorter, more explicitly anarchist theory work, once you're ready to delve in. The r/debateanarchism subreddit is also something you should subscribe to and thumb through every once in a while!