#Ozy and Milo

[saphronethaleph]

His Name Is Mudd. The rest of it, that's the question.

Milo rolled his shoulders, and lay back on the grass.

His shoulders.

His tail, half-curled up around one leg. His hair, long and itchy and now feeling so wrong in a way that-

...no.

Milo closed his eyes, for a long moment, and tried to put it into words.

It wasn’t that his hair now felt wrong. It was that… now he’d noticed. And it was still there, but changing that would be so…

“RRRRrrf,” the teenaged fox growled, before putting a paw around his muzzle.

The awful thing about a big personal change that was about you was that it wasn’t just that you had to change how you looked at everything. It was that the you that was doing the looking was changing, too.

After maybe a minute of just lying there on the hilltop, Milo’s ears twitched at the sound of rustling grass.

He turned his head, looking, and saw a familiar upside-down arctic fox approaching… though part of that was the direction involved.

“Hey there, Ozy,” he said, waving. “I hope you don’t mind if I just lie here and contemplate everything for a bit longer?”

“You know me better than to think I’d object,” Ozy replied, sitting down. “Are you thinking about everything by thinking about nothing, or thinking about nothing by thinking about everything?”

Milo made a face.

“Because of course it’s Zen, right?” he asked.

“Of course,” Ozy replied. “How long have you been my brother? And my friend before that?”

Milo swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat.

“...thanks,” he said, managing to get the word out.

Ozy nodded, not saying anything.

Leaving it up to Milo to start a conversation, or to… not start one.

That was just Ozy’s way, and Milo had known it since they’d met, but right now it was something that he…

...appreciated.

The wind ruffled his fur, and Milo closed his eyes again.

“I keep thinking about it, you know?” he said. “Or, not it. Them. But the one that keeps coming up is that time… you remember?”

“You may need to be more specific,” Ozy replied.

Milo snorted.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But, surprisingly, I’m not thinking about the time we tried to find out how the other side of the gender divide saw things.”

“Strictly speaking I’ve been doing that for a while,” Ozy commented.

Milo cracked an eyelid, twisting to look at his sibling.

“Huh?” he asked, then remembered. “Oh, yeah. You have a gender by not having a gender.”

“Naturally,” Ozy agreed.

“And now I am thinking about that time…” Milo said, then stopped. “You know, I don’t think you ever just came out and said it, before. Not in quite so many words. I just kind of… knew it, or worked it out, but… it was something we understood.”

Ozy inclined their head.

Milo rolled over, went all the way, and ended up on his back again, his hair in a more chaotic tangle.

“I was actually thinking about when… Stephen had that trouble, and he kept looking past me and asking if I knew any girls he could speak to for advice,” he said. “And I remember being… I don’t even know if that’s the right word! But I felt offended. I felt like I had to be a girl as hard as possible just to prove that I was.”

Milo chuckled. “Because, yeah. That’s something that an actual girl would feel the need to do.”

Ozy shrugged.

“And what do you think about it now?” they asked.

Milo began to speak, stopped, and frowned.

“I think… I think I wish I could tell myself, then, what I was missing,” he decided. “And that… that… I didn’t have to be a girl. I didn’t need to force it.”

“Because who you are is who you are,” Ozy contributed.

“Again with the Zen,” Milo said, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling. “But – yeah, that’s it. It was kind of… it felt like a performance I had to do, sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time. And it was just recently that I thought… what if I stop? Who am I, when I take off the makeup?”

Ozy made a contemplative noise.

“And do you have an answer?” they asked.

“...maybe not a complete one,” Milo admitted. “But I’ve got a name, at least. And… maybe a middle name, too, I wasn’t sure about that part.”

He twitched an ear. “One good thing about this is being able to pick! But I can’t decide, what do you think… Milo Mephistopheles Mudd-Llewellyn or Milo Mistoffelees Mudd-Llewellyn?”

“I think you’re unlikely to fall afoul of any truth in advertising laws, bro,” Ozy said. “They both sound like you.”

Milo blinked away a few tears, then dashed them away with the back of his wrist.

“That means a lot, Ozy,” he said. “Thanks.”

Then he frowned, picking at a lock of his hair.

“Do you think I should-”

“Yes,” Ozy interrupted.

“I keep wondering about it,” Milo said, only half hearing Ozy’s answer. “Because I can think of guys with long hair, and it doesn’t make them not guys.”

Ozy shrugged.

“If you want to keep it, keep it,” they said. “Don’t look for an excuse. But otherwise… just picture how it would be if it were shorter.”

Milo swallowed.

“...yeah,” he decided. “Yeah, I – I want to cut it off. Or shorter.”

Then he stifled a sudden hysterical giggle.

“Do you think I’ll actually get to do it?” he asked. “Or will the Llewellyn hair curse get me?”

Ozy stroked their chin.

“I think the answer is going to end up being whatever’s funnier,” they guessed.

“In that case I’m making a freaking production out of taking this off,” Milo decided, pulling in a leg before rising to his feet. “I’m pretty sure I know where the shaver is…”

[the-barefoot-hatter]

[ready-set-fish]

Who’s getting the aux

[bakertoons]

Milo and Dewey

Milo and Dewey meeting up! Giftart for Dana Simpson.

[sgpsketch]

Thankful for Trans Boys

just a couple of dudes hanging out (one recently having come out to Dana)

Standalone Milo:

[pupsmailbox]

Soda/orange/fanta/kidcore/drink/sweetvoice themed names?? Sorry if this is a weird suggestion, we've been looking for more names for me!! My current ones are in am attachment below :]]

Tommy︰ ali. alice. alvin. amy. ari. ava. benji. billy. bobby. chad. charlotte. dani. demi. ella. emma. emmie. emmy. ernie. ethan. frankie. henry. hollie. isabella. jack. jaime. james. jamie. joey. justin. krystal. leo. liam. lily. louie. lucas. malik. mason. mikaela. molly. noah. oliver. ollie. perry. poppy. raleigh. reggie. rocky. ronnie. shawn. sonny. tahan. taimo. taj. tama. tamma. tammy. tana. tanya. tatum. tawny. teddi. teenie. teman. temi. terry. thameena. thanh. theo. theodore. theone. thian. thomas. tiimu. tim. timea. tina. tiyenna. toby. tom. tomai. tomo. tomoya. tomoyo. tonia. tony. tuan. tunu. tyme. william.

Bill︰ abel. abiel. able. aidan. amelia. arthur. bahula. bail. bailey. bala. bayle. baylee. beale. beau. beil. beile. bel. bela. belah. belay. bell. bella. belle. bello. ben. benjamin. bernon. bernot. bertek. beulah. beyla. bilal. billie. billy. blu. blue. bly. boyle. brinleigh. brinley. bull. cain. caleb. cleveland. dahlia. daisy. ed. elesio. ethan. frank. georgie. glasgow. greene. greg. guss. henry. hillel. jack. jericko. killiean. kylar. lacrosse. liam. luke. marys. matthaeus. miami. miller. mills. mozes. narcisse. stella. summer. suse. will. william. wyatt. zoe.

Ollie︰ albie. alfie. ali. alia. allie. amelia. ari. arlo. armani. augie. avi. briar. cali. charlie. charlotte. corentin. darby. dorcas. eli. elis. ella. ellie. emmett. evoni. finley. finn. freddie. harleigh. harris. henry. hollis. holly. ike. jack. joey. kali. karlie. kinsleigh. kinzley. leen. leo. leone. liam. lon. louie. malia. maraca. marlee. marleigh. marley. mcpherson. mel. milo. mollie. molly. myrtis. neera. neeva. nicolina. noah. nonya. ohela. ola. olai. olalla. ole. oleh. oliver. olivia. olya. oscar. owen. owl. oyewole. ozie. ozzie. pixie. raleigh. ruby. sahari. sunya. theo. theodore. tylda. violet. westyn. + more + more

[gentledeathsblog]

Info:

Name is Milo or Ozy

I am

- 34

-Neurodivergent

- Ace and biromantic

- In a committed relationship.

I enjoy

-Horror

-Monsters

-Cryptids

-Spirituality and the occult

[the-melting-world]

i would like a crumb of odd affection for my man ozy please!

Of course!

By now everyone knows how much Ozy loves games and engaging in activities where he can strategize. He almost never lets his friends or partners beat him at anything. But he has been known to lose on purpose every once in a while. Just to enjoy watching his partner’s victory. Like I said, this doesn’t happen that often, so that’s how you know he’s in pretty deep.

[burhouse]

*cue sitcom theme*

Hello and welcome to The Burhouse!

There are many things to find here, but before you get to it, there are some important things you should know!

This blog is run by two people, Mod Windows & Mod Dial-up. We'll not be involved in the overarching story told here, but we are the ones creating the art, stories, and answering asks. There will be more about us under 'read more'. Posts that involve us speaking will be tagged with #windowsstartup and #dialingin respectively.

The Burhouse is a simple concept. All of Wilbur's bursonas have for one reason or another found themselves within the same world/universe as our own, and in Wilbur's home! There are 19 of them, including Wilbur 'the streamer'.

For our own sake, and fun story reasons, each of these 'burs have their own nicknames/code names as well as back stories, and things that set them apart from others. Differing ages, looks, backgrounds, and dozens and dozens of headcanons. The basics will be covered under the 'read more'.

On that note, there will be a few ships included. Yes that means this is a sootbur blog, though not entirely centric around the ships. Don't like it, move on! We're just having fun here.

There is also platonic relationships, rivalry, and found family. The whole lot. There will be allusions to things that may be nsfw, so please be mindful. Everything will be tagged appropriately.

There are several 'burs, and they will be tagged if they appear in a post. Stuff like 'ghostbur' 'raftbur' 'mccbur' etc, etc. Though again, they do all have names, so please use the read more as reference about the basics of each one!

This is an askblog! Feel free to send asks about the burs, what they do, etc. They will be answered in character (unless the asks are for the mods).

Submissions are also open.

Depending, we may even draw or write things more for it!

Sometimes we make content that doesn't fit the timeline of the blog, or we make aus of this au. For that?

We have an archive of our own!

It's right here.

Please pay attention to the tags we use on fics, as some could potentially be 18+.

If you're interested in non-burhouse bursona & sootbur content, check out our other blog!

Sootblur!

About the Mods

Mod Windows - he/him, mod tag: #windowsstartup

Mod Dial-Up - xe/xem/xyrs, they/them, he/him, mod tag: #dialingin

About the 'Burs.

*all ages roughly mirror cc!wilbur's (25) unless specified. same with heights (6'6")

Wilbur (Streamer/CC) - Wilbur, The Original - 25

Lmanbur (DSMP) - General - 24

Pogbur (DSMP) - Ozymandias/Ozy - 24

Ghostbur (DSMP)- Blue -24

Revivebur (DSMP) - Soot - 25

Skybur (Skyblock)- Milo - 24

Earthbur (SMPEarth) - Pilot - 30 - 5'8"

100bur (100 players) - God - Immortal

Lavabur (Challenges w/ Jschlatt) - Johnathan - 25

Simpbur (E-Girl Trilogy) - Jared - 25 - 5'3"

Phantombur (OSMP) - Casper - 25

Raftbur (Raft) - Ishmael - 45-50 - 6'7"

Argbur (Editor ARG) - Edgar - 25

Rustbur (Rust) - Becquerel/Bec - 17 - 6'0"

30bur (30daysSMP) - Aeronaut - 25

Mccbur (Minecraft Championship) - #224/Teufor - 25 - 5'6"

Amongbur (Among Us) - Agent Wilby - 30

Walter Cromdale - 31 - 6'2"

Tiptup - 25 - 5'2"

[validtrollnames]

Hey do you have any actual fankid first names? Not like joke suggestions?

The short answer is no.

The long answer is

Troy, Rose, Tony, Mary, Mike, Lisa, Nate, Jeff, Rick, Bill, Andy, Adam, Alex, Axel, Alec, Bert, Anna, Doug, Bret, Brad, Carl, Cass, Chad, Cleo, Cody, Cole, Cory, Cris, Curt, Dale, Dane, Dann, Dean, Dell, Dick, Doll, Drew, Eddy, Edna, Ella, Emil, Emma, Erik, Erin, Evan, Fate, Finn, Ford, Fred, Gabe, Zoey, Eric, Roxy, Will, Gail, Gale, Gary, Gene, Glen, Greg, Ruby, Sara, Skye, Guss, Hank, Hans, Huey, Hugh, Hugo, Ivan, Jack, Jean, Jess, Joan, Jody, Joel, Joey, Jose, Josh, Jude, Judy, June, Kent, Kirk, Kurt, Kyle, Lars, Lena, Star, Leon, Levi, Liam, Link, Linn, Lois, Lola, Love, Loyd, Luca, Lucy, Luis, Luka, Luke, Lyle, Lynn, Mack, Mark, Matt, Milo, Neil, Nick, Nico, Nile, Noah, Lida, Lila, Nora, Odie, Olaf, Olie, Opal, Otis, Tess, Thea, Otto, Owen, Ozie, Page, Paul, Pete, Phil, Remy, Rene, Rhys, Robb, Rolf, Rosa, Ross, Ruby, Rudy, Russ, Ruth, Ryan, Scot, Sean, Echo, Seth, Shad, Shay, Shea, Theo, Tina, Trey, Vera, Vick, Wade, Walt, Zack, Zayn, Zeke, Anne, Anya, Barb, Bess, Beth, Bree, Cher, Cloe, Cora, Dory, Dora, Elle, Elsa, Elza, Emmy, Irma, Esme, Evie, Fran,  Gina, Gwen, Hope, Inga, Iris, Jill,  Kate, Katy, Kaya, Keli, Kris, Lana, Lara, Leah, Leia, Lexi, Lily, Liza, Lola, Lori, Lulu, Luna, Lyra, Maya, Mell, Miah, Mimi, Mina, Mona, Myra, Nala, Nell, Niki, Nina, Nola, Nova, Olga, Paul, Remy, Rene, Rita, Roni, Rory, Suzy, Tara, Tena, Teri, Toby, Tori, Wren… 

Now we do. 

(Most of these I took from some baby names site, but I spared you having to go through most of them. Please don’t name your kids ‘Harm’, ‘Oral’, ‘Herb, ‘Wood’, ‘Elmo’ or ‘Hung’ and most definitely don’t name your child ‘Nyah’.)

[markspeedjnr]

How to build bridges

"Wait two secs, Dad; I haven't got my wallet." Despite lengthy preparations to ensure a smooth departure, it just wouldn't be the same if we were away on the first attempt. Although I can't see him as I make my way back inside, I know Dad is  shaking his head and frowning; he's going to tell me once again that I should keep my wallet in my pocket. Minutes later, after locating my wallet somewhere, I'm dancing spasmodically into his Fairlane Ghia, the quintessential Australian Executive's car, slapping my chest and pant-pockets as one final check I have all I need. Dad knows I like to drive his car.  It's not often that I get to drive a car built in the 1990's,  so he lets me drive it at any opportunity. Perhaps he thinks it will motivate me to get a real job, one that will enable me to afford a real car. As I have two hours of driving ahead of me, I adjust the seat, steering wheel and mirrors and press play on the CD player. Finally, we're on our way. * * * You wouldn't suspect by my face and accent that I have a name that's close to unpronounceable. Go on, try it; “Olszewski". Phonetically; "Ol-shev-skee", not "Ol-zoo- skee" or “Ol-ze-wez-skee" or any other derivative you pull out of that Anglicised linguistic lucky-dip. Just in case you were wondering; it's Polish. Sometime during Primary School, I started using the nickname “Ozi"; covertly stolen from my cousin, John. I idolised John because he was a footballer, a drummer and an Olszewski. All his mates called him "Oz" so, from then on, all my mates called me  “Oz".  As I was only nine or ten at the time, the theft of my cousin's moniker was puncalculated. But retrospectively, it was an attempt to hide my otherness. First names didn't exist  in Primary School and my surname just didn't cut it. I was true blue. I had blonde hair, blue eyes and olive skin. At lunchtimes, I played footy with kids who had names like Christie, Linley, Sutcliffe and Wilson. Somewhere else in the schoolyard, boys with names like Moratis, Georgio, Karifilowski and Ligavic played soccer. They were wogs. They had brown eyes, dark hair, weird lunches and surnames like mine. I wasn't a wog; do I look like a wog? But because of my name, not including the time I had the shit kicked out of me  by five Greeks, I was never a skip, either. * * * "Come on, come on Sardoola! Come on! Please." It is September the 1st 1939. Irena, a girl less than a month shy of eleven years old finds herself, at her father's request, dragging the family cow up an unsealed road towards a paddock recently inherited by her family. Her Grandfather, her Dziadek, is Mayor of Krasna. Krasna is the Polish word for beauty, but it is also a minuscule village that lay on hilly plains in the county of Kielce, around 250 kilometres south of Warsaw. The Mayor was perhaps alarmed at the rate at which his son's family was growing. In the eleven years since his son's marriage, the boy had already fathered six girls and, what's more, there was another baby on the way! "Well, if you chop wood, chips fly." the Mayor would tell his son and daughter-in-law, but it was of no use - he generously passed on a small plot of land. Only trouble is, the paddock is  miles from the farm,  and  poor Irena is struggling with the crowa, begging, dragging, grunting and  coaxing  it with clumps of grass to the  point of exhaustion.  It is because Irena is the  eldest of the children that she has  been given the difficult task of convincing Sardoola that she is not being dragged to slaughter but to a high hill of lush grass. It is the start of autumn, but the day feels like summer; nothing but heat, cloudless sky and the sound of insects in the light but constant breeze. The girl stops to rest. Peering across the plains, enveloped by green, she sees in the distance the Church tower of Krasna, the bridge over the River Tilica, the Swietrzyskie mountain range and  the train line leading to places she's never been. *  * * I was in Europe last year. I lived in London and from there I managed trips to Edinburgh, Dublin, Paris, Amsterdam and Munich. Sadly, I didn't have the time or money for Warsaw or Kielce or Krasna.  In my dreams,  I would have dropped in on distant relatives for a lunch of pierogi and kapoosta on my way from Scandinavia to the east. It wasn't to be.  Poland remains a figment of my imagination. *  * * "You know,  you really should keep your wallet in your pocket, Son." "Yeah,  I know Dad, but occasionally I might change the pants I'm wearing. Unfortunately, I have a habit of losing my wallet in that small yet scary fragment of space and time between pants." Dad  doesn't reply.  He's said it before.  He'll say it again.  I'll lose my wallet  again. We 're on our way to Ballarat. More impressive (or is that oppressive?) freeways aside, I must have sat through the subtle delights of Victoria's Western Highway between Melbourne and Ballarat hundreds of times.  The majority ofthese trips were taken during my childhood; Mum and Dad up-front of an orange Volvo Station Wagon, my three sisters bickering across the backseat over which music should be played, me in the back on the  floor or bench-seat dreaming of drums, football and Babka's big green tin of Milo (Mum only let us drink Ovaltine or Akta-Vite; "Milo is junk  food!"). After battling through the inner city, we saunter through Footscray towards Sunshine. 'I feel like I could do this drive with my eyes closed," I say to Dad just as a car in front of me slams on the anchors. I follow suit and come close to clipping its backend. "Looks like you already are." he responds. *  * * Irena closes her eyes and points her face towards the sun.  All she sees is red, but she listens. The insects appear to be growing louder. Or is that something else? She is shocked from her solitude with the realisation that the bug sounds have been replaced by the less restful drone of low flying planes. The planes are actually far away, an unthreatening distance, possibly ten kilometres, yet Irena is scared, for planes were not a common sight at Krasna. It is only when the bombs start to drop that she becomes thoroughly terrified. She makes for home, convinced her father will understand. Sardoola is only slightly more co-operative on the return, but Irena dares not leave her behind. So she struggles on as the planes only grow louder. She cannot help but cry. *  * * I know jack about Poland. Babka and Dziadek did not speak English very well  and I was neither interested nor   patient enough to sit through stories of home. I was much closer to Babka than to Dziadek, but she died when I was ten. Such questions don't occur to children. Dziadek died when I was nineteen. We hardly spoke in the years between. Why is it only now I notice the gap in my identity their passing has left me? My regret for not asking them more is so tangible, I have no choice but to make amends. *  * * I'm not sure why they call it Sunshine, as I've always thought it was one of the dullest parts of Melbourne. Dad, who lived here when he first came to the city, informs me it was named after The Sunshine Harvester Works. The Sunshine Harvester was one of Australia's most famous inventions; almost up there with the Victa mower. It was manufactured here and exported to the world. So great was the global demand for them that, early last century, the works periodically carried the title of "World's Largest Production Line." Then the Americans bought it and turned it into a suburb. Dad worked in Footscray and played footy in Maidstone, so Sunshine was easy and cheap. After the credit squeeze of the early 1960's, there was little if any work in Ballarat for young men, so the move to Melbourne was  more of dire necessity than any country-boy-escapes-to-the-big-smoke-to-make-it-big type of idealism. Soon, we are on the open road just outside Deer Park (Were there once deer grazing here?), and we pass the zebra-stripes ofthe sadly disused but once famous Melbourne Lion Safari Park. When I was small, I would always look out the window in fruitless hope of spotting a pride frolicking beside the highway. Today there's just signs advertising suburbs yet to be built. I reckon they should call one of them Safari.  I'd live there. * * * "Irena, come quickly!" It is Jozef, Irena's father. Her hope for comfort in her father's arms is lost; in all her life, she has never seen him so scared. "Get inside the house! Give me Sardoola!" Irena runs to the house without looking back. All she wants is to cry and hide from the world, be safe by her mother's  side. "Mama, what is happening?!" Karolina too is frozen with fear, and prays aloud for the strength she wants to give her daughter. "I don't know, baby; just go hide with your sisters under the bed. Now! Go! I will be there soon." Irena does not find solace until she is under the big bed, where she finds Helena and Fredrica comforting Daniella and baby Zofia. The four sisters huddle together crying and watching their mother's frantic feet. Karolina is packing for an  escape. * * * Did you know that in the 16th century, in a union of Duchies with neighbouring Lithuania, Poland was a leading power in Europe? No? Neither did I. The union stretched from the Baltic Sea in the west to the Black Sea in the east.  Unlike other barbaric international activity of the period, this union was achieved by diplomacy not war. Together, they controlled the gateway between Europe, Scandinavia, Asia and the Middle East. Poles refer to this period as the "Golden Age", striking cultural, political and social resemblances with Italy's renaissance period. It was also at this time that Poland first gained its reputation as a champion of democracy and liberalism in Europe, introducing an elected monarchy as early as  1572. Parliamentary procedures established in the Sejm, the people's house, required  a unanimous vote. This meant minorities were better recognised and represented than anywhere else in Europe or the East; that buzz-word of the late twentieth century, multiculturalism? These guys had it down pat centuries ago. Nearly every diaspora was represented - more salad bowl than melting pot. So reads The History of Poland, by Mieczyslaw Kasprzyk: "Poles in the wars and centre, Lithuanians, Latvians and Estonians in the north, Lutheran Germans is Prussia and the western frontier, Orthodox Ukrainians and Belorussians in the east, Moslem Tartars in the east (these are the oldest Moslem communities in the Christian world) alongside the Karaites (a mixture of Khazar and Kiptchatska-Polovetska peoples practising a unique mixture ofJudaism and Islam), and Jews scattered throughout." Not that I've ever heard of Karaites or the Khazar or the Kiptchatska-Polovetska peoples, but there you go. While all this worked in the alliance's favour, it also earned Poland and Lithuania disdain from some parts of the world, labelling the union as a "Paradise for Heretics".  It wasn't long before somebody picked a fight. * * * Cruising out of the suburban sprawl, the little boxes give way to tides of green circled by distant mountains. I imagine County Kielce looked something like this, if not for the neon service-centre-dotted six-lane highway that cuts these plains in half. Dad turns the music off and tunes to the ABC. We just passed Melton, built in the 1960' s as "Australia's first satellite city", which translates to me as "Australia's first unhinged suburb"; it only pre- empted the sprawl. We then continue past Bacchus Marsh, and in-dad's-expensive-car cautiously through Anthony's Cutting, a man-made gash in the  landscape. Before the freeway, single-lane Old Ballarat Road passed through all these towns.  The  drive took longer, but there was more time to take in the sights. Usually it was just a pub, a general store, some sheep, a hay bail, a barn.  But then something would break the monotony - just outside the tiny town of Wallace, two plastic dinosaurs in the middle of a forest. No wonder I loved the trips to Ballarat so much as a child. Maybe there were no lions, but there was always the hope of them. And then there were dinosaurs. And castles, too. Just  you wait and  see ... * * * The planes grow louder. Jozef and Karolina eventually join the girls under the bed of the farmhouse's only bedroom.  Here the Olszewski family stays until the whine of the bombers subsides. Although the planes were close, it appears Krasna has been spared from this blitzkreig. The subdued sound of Autumn returns, as if a bomb had never fallen, but Jozef insists the family stays under the bed while he checks outside. Outside, he finds his neighbour, Mr Kalitzski, looking towards a horizon obscured by smoke and fire. "It won't be long before those German pigs are here, Olszewski. We should take our families and leave. Immediately." Jozef had anticipated his old friend's concern, and Karolina has already packed what food and supplies she could, throwing some bread and sausage, a few utensils, cups and plates into a large milk-pail. But Jozef was not sure how long his family would have to be in hiding. After quickily gathering and calming the children, he asks Karolina to make sure the girls have warm clothes, their shoes and jackets. "Make your way to through the forest behind the house to the next clearing. Wait there for me. I will not be far behind you." "But, where are you going?" "The crowa's coming too." * * * Somewhere between hearing the eleventh and one hundredth replay of Cathy Freeman winning her Olympic Gold Medal, Dad and I talk about Poland. Holding the steering wheel with my right hand, I reach behind the passenger seat,  ("Mark," Dad says the way only a parent can, 'What are you doing!?"), I show him a book I've been reading by Polish writer Ryszard Kapuscinski. I am not sure who was more surprised; me on hearing Dad had  never read let alone heard of Kapuscinski, or Dad on hearing that I had. I promise to lend it to him one day,  proud of myself that I could introduce him to a piece of Polish literature. As long as I can remember, my Dad would always have a book at arms-length; if it wasn't about sport it was usually a history book - a book about Poland, or a book about war, or a book about war in Poland. Dad never lived in Poland. He'd read the books studiously,  like he was trying to catch up; much like I read them now. * * * I dream up this scenario where Ryszard Kapuscinski is commissioned to write a travel journal in Australia. He visits Melbourne, Ballarat and the dinosaurs near Wallace. But in this particular scene, he finds himself in an outback Aussie pub, exchanging vodka-fuelled ramblings with an indigenous Australian. "Mate, we've been here 40,000 years living peacefully, and the white man rocks up two hundred years ago, takes our land, takes our wives, takes our children, gives me his diseases, gives me his drugs and totally destroys my culture in the process." Kapuscinski is half-drunk, his English a little stunted, but a surly Pole will always go one better. "My friend, five years after those Englishman invaded your land, my land was taken from  my people too. This despite them being welcome to join us in peace centuries before. Back then, Poland would have anyone and everyone. But in the interim, all these men - Turks, Mongols, Cossacks; you name it - invade from every direction. Finally, white men from the north, south and east chop up our land and divide it like pie between them; Austria, this bit, Germany that bit and that other bit for Russia. Borders everywhere, all on or own soil! Poles are slaughtered, raped, assimilated. No Polish books or language, no Polish songs!  We even ended up fighting the world's wars against each other - all for these invaders! - then twenty per cent of our already decimated population is taken to die in Siberia or gassed or shot in the back and bulldozed by the SS, only to leave the few survivors oppressed by a corrupt and undemocratic communist regime. God, we really only got our identity back ten years ago.  So don't even get me started." The Indigenous Australian is a little surprised, perhaps humbled. Kapuscinski has impressed even himself and, satisfied he's had the last word, moves to turn in for the evening. But the Aussie has one up his sleave. "At least the Germans and Russians had the balls to say sorry. Not like our bloody government." A sucker for a heated political conversation, Kapuscinski defeatedly orders another Vodka. *  * * Kryall Castle lies at the base of the wooded Mount Warranheap on Ballarat's eastern outskirts. As a child, I imagined a great King lived behind the blue stone walls. He ruled Ballarat and protected my family. The fantasy ended when, after years of begging my parents, I discovered the blue-stone did not conceal a secret order of Knights, but a mediocre theme park. Yet the walls of Kryall have marked my arrival in Ballarat for as long as I can remember. The extended left sideward glance at its replica towers is an essential part of the journey. Even if just for a second, it takes you to another place. * *  * Irena and the girls are happy to see Sardoola trailing behind their father as he emerges   from the Alder trees. Now the whole family is here. Together, they move deeper into the forest, where they find nearly all the families of Krasna taking refuge. Materialising from a crowd of anxious faces, the Mayor displays a mixture of astonishment and admiration on realising his son's family has a cow in tow. Irena does not remember the last time she saw her father and Dziadek embrace. As the afternoon relents to dusk, the residents of Krasna pull together, pooling food, lighting fires and building shelters while consoling each other with mutual lies. Irena, Fredrica, and Daniella rest that night on moss, peering over a shared blanket at Jozef and Karolina cradling Zofia in the firelight. They fall asleep in a world transformed. On the other side of the forest he had hunted rabbits in as a boy; now, sitting lonely against the trunk of the tree that gave him his name, Wladyslaw Olszewski, Mayor of Krasna, curses through teeth clutched to a smoking pipe. "Another bloody war!  Did you not hear my prayers this morning?!" It is only eighteen years since Wladyslaw got his country back; eighteen short beautiful years in which to work a land blood-stained by the world; eighteen happy and rewarding years to raise a family and community, to celebrate a culture of diversity that, with and without God, had withstood three centuries of occupation and attempted obliteration, only to start again. Like it's starting here. Now.  Not more than five kilometres away, German tanks are rolling through Krasna. *  * * Possibly as some sort of boredom suspension tactic, my parents would often encourage us to give names to the sights we came across on our road trips. Just as you come  down the  last hill to enter Greater Ballarat, there is a rusting, unassuming rail bridge on the right hand side. If you blink, you'll miss it. We called it Babka's Bridge and it has as much if not more significance to me than that coathanger next to the Opera House. So too with Dziadek' s Bridge, on the other side of town. His is the grand white archway that opens Ballarat's Avenue of Honour. Another extended sideways glance. Once again, these naming games were simply a case of kids being kids. We didn't know Babka had caught military trains alone across Germany and Poland at the height of World War II.  We didn't know about all the soldiers that Babka and Dziadek helped during and after. the war. We just named them because they were there, and as far as us kids were concerned, Ballarat was Babka and Dziadek's town. We didn't go to Ballarat to go toSovereign Hill or Euxeka Stockade, we went there to see Babka, Dziadek, our Aunts, Uncles ,cousins and eat Polish food, which we rarely ate at home.  In a way, we were going to our own little Poland, just a few hours drive from home. But there was never any war there. Even on the Avenue of Honour, war was the last thing on our  minds. * * * Kasprzyk has an abridged, though no less arresting version of what happened to Poland in World War II: "Over half a million fighting men and women, and 6 million civilians (or 22% of the total population) died. About 50% of these were Polish Christians and 50% were Polish Jews. Approximately 5,384,000 or 89.9% of Polish war losses (Jews and Gentiles)  were the victims of prisons, death camps, raids, executions, annihilation of ghettos, epidemics, sanitation, excessive work and ill treatment. So many Poles were sent to concentration camps that virtually every family had someone close  to them who had been tortured or murdered there." None of my family died. They don't know anyone who was murdered or tortured in a concentration camp, even the Jewish family that lived in Krasna. I don't know how they did it. * * * At the end of the war, a German munitions train was destroyed on the bridge at Krasna.  One of my distant cousins found a hunk of train in the forest. It must have been a hell of a blast to throw debris that far. Needless to say, the bridge was destroyed. *  * * We arrive at my Uncle John's to a feast of salami and tomato sandwiches. Dad tries some kippers from a can.  I try some of Auntie Danka's pickled mushrooms.  They're ... not bad! We're running late for Auntie Irene's and eating in a fashion that suggests we haven't had  a meal in days. Dad hasn't caught up with his brother in a while and it occurs to me how many of these bonding sessions must have taken place involving sandwiches like this. I've been involved in quite a few of them myself. For some reason, Dad appears younger when he is around John. On a slow drive around Lake Wendouree, we talk about their life in the 50's when they first came to Ballarat, about doing it tough as ''New Australians", about fights and football, about fishing and rabbit shooting, about slingshots, about hiding from the police in the backblocks, about getting away with it. It's all that teenage stuff your Dad did that you wish you had as ammunition when you were a teenager. But it was also about getting through it all and coming out on top. The Olszewski's war didn't end in 1945. Soon we will be at Auntie Irene's. There I will meet Auntie Daniella (Danka) and Auntie Zofia.  There are already a thousand stories racing through my  head, now I will get to hear theirs. * * * In my childhood journeys, Auntie Irene’s would always be the last stop on the itinerary. Her house was like a magnet. Somehow, all the relatives we had visited during the day would regroup in her kitchen and dining room by late Sunday afternoon.  The men would  sit in the dining room and talk in Polish,  smoking cigarettes,  downing shots ofvodka,  and, I can only assume, comparing notes on the gentle art smoking eels, a life-long obsession of Irene's husband, Frank.  The women,  also  smoking, congregated around the kitchen table.mPerhaps for their brother's wives' sakes, they would predominantly speak in English. The conversation would normally revolve around which Olszewski is to be married, or which Olszewski is expecting. This was at a time when I knew everyone of my cousins. We would all play together at family gatherings, enough of us for a backyard cricket match that would last hours. But as the family grew and multiplied, as cousins had second cousins, and second cousins got married and had third cousins, it became increasingly hard to keep up.  Now, I have cousins I have never met.   Olszewskis are very good at chopping wood; at making chips fly. * * * I'm sitting at Irene's kitchen table, drinking beer and stealing full strength Marlboro's from John.  Irene floats around the kitchen preparing yet more sandwiches. The smoke is thick and my Dad complains, eventually giving in and having a cigarette himself. Irene takes a seat commenting on how thin I look.  Again. For the next four hours, I am taken back to Krasna. I feel the sun on my face. I see the  hilly plains and the church tower. I see a young girl leading a cow. I hear the insects and then the planes. I see the falling bombs and the frightened citizens. I hear my family's cries.  I escape with them to the forest. * * * I only tell this story because my family survived. How they did it would fill hundreds of pages; another story to be told. This story is about my journey, a journey to the self. It's also about a lesson learnt - never tear a bridge down unless you know how to rebuild  it. Just one more thing;  don't call me "Oz" anymore. My name is Olszewski.

[djgblogger-blog]

Is free speech alive and well? 5 essential reads

http://bit.ly/2x18iBf

A crowd gathers before a speech by Ben Shapiro at University of California Berkeley. AP Photo/Josh Edelson

Editor’s Note: On Friday, Sept. 29, “Third Rail with OZY” will discuss freedom of speech in the United States.

These stories from The Conversation archive explore what speech is protected, what isn’t – and the gray areas in between.

1. On the field

President Donald Trump recently tweeted that athletes who “take a knee” during the national anthem to protest police brutality should be fired. In response, some sports team owners have knelt alongside their players in solidarity. Others have criticized the president with statements like “Our country needs unifying leadership right now, not more divisiveness.”

Elizabeth Tippett, law professor at the University of Oregon, writes that the idea that corporate political speech should be protected under the First Amendment is what underpins the decision to allow corporations to fund political ads in Citizens United – a Supreme Court decision that has been vehemently opposed by liberals.

She writes, “The kind of statements we’ve heard from NFL and NBA team owners offers a counterpoint to the kind of corporate speech most feared by commentators following Citizens United – that of faceless corporations pouring money into elections in service of their ‘greedy ends.’”

2. On campus

What about speech on university campuses?

After a speech by Milo Yiannopolis was canceled by UC Berkeley earlier this year, UC Irvine professors Erwin Chemerinsky and Howard Gillman argued that administrators must do everything to protect free speech, until it becomes an unmanageable threat to public safety – and that the event at Berkeley met that standard.

They write: “If there is blame to be assigned, it should focus on the small number of outsiders who were intent on using violent and unlawful means to disrupt the event.”

3. & 4. Online

In 2003, the Supreme Court ruled that there was no First Amendment protection for cross burning, which is meant only to intimidate or threaten violence. “But what constitutes a burning cross in the digital era?” asks Jessie Daniels, a digital sociologist at City University of New York.

She has examined the spread of websites dedicated to white supremacy, including one called Stormfront. She writes, “Since 2009, there have been nearly 100 homicides attributable to registered members of the site, prompting the Southern Poverty Law Center to call it ‘the murder capital of the internet.’” Preventing violence that arises from abuse of free speech will require us to think more critically about the dangers of online speech, she argues.

On the other hand, the dangers of censorship can also have serious implications. Consider the way President Trump has blocked some Twitter followers on his personal @realDonaldTrump account. A lawsuit has been filed arguing that because it is the president’s account it constitutes a public forum and is protected by the First Amendment, explains Clay Calvert, a mass communications scholar at the University of Florida.

Calvert writes: “When people complain to Trump on his Twitter account about his policies, they not only are engaging in free speech, but also are petitioning the government.” How the case turns out could be a major breakthrough for how we apply the First Amendment in the digital age.

5. On the page

Libraries across the country celebrate Banned Book Week, dedicated to raising awareness about the dangers of censoring printed works. In 2012, one librarian decided to raise awareness by actually banning a book and seeing how the community would react. While there was significant outcry on social media, librarian Scott DiMarco of Mansfield University of Pennsylvania writes, few took concrete actions to remove the ban – a reminder to be vigilant and ask ourselves if we’re willing to do what it takes to defend our First Amendment rights.

[ready-set-fish]

[id-pack-archive]

Image ID

A screenshot of a message, the background is black with the text in white. The first text starts with a cup with a straw in it emoji and reads “Name: Tommy Coolatta/Zipper/Bill/Squish/Fanta/Crush/Straw/Ollie” The second text starts with the orange emoji and reads “Prns: he/she/teal/ey/sip/bubble/pop/fizz/siz/buzz + any neos you wanna use!! I’m all ears!!”

Plain Text

here and here! perhaps I'll make a soda/drink related list in the future! also for fun heres some similars lists!

Similar to Tommy: ali. alice. alvin. amy. ari. ava. benji. billy. bobby. chad. charlotte. dani. demi. ella. emma. emmie. emmy. ernie. ethan. frankie. henry. hollie. isabella. jack. jaime. james. jamie. joey. justin. krystal. leo. liam. lily. louie. lucas. malik. mason. mikaela. molly. noah. oliver. ollie. perry. poppy. raleigh. reggie. rocky. ronnie. shawn. sonny. tahan. taimo. taj. tama. tamma. tammy. tana. tanya. tatum. tawny. teddi. teenie. teman. temi. terry. thameena. thanh. theo. theodore. theone. thian. thomas. tiimu. tim. timea. tina. tiyenna. toby. tom. tomai. tomo. tomoya. tomoyo. tonia. tony. tuan. tunu. tyme. william. + more

Similar to Bill: abel. abiel. able. aidan. amelia. arthur. bahula. bail. bailey. bala. bayle. baylee. beale. beau. beil. beile. bel. bela. belah. belay. bell. bella. belle. bello. ben. benjamin. bernon. bernot. bertek. beulah. beyla. bilal. billie. billy. blu. blue. bly. boyle. brinleigh. brinley. bull. cain. caleb. cleveland. dahlia. daisy. ed. elesio. ethan. frank. georgie. glasgow. greene. greg. guss. henry. hillel. jack. jericko. killiean. kylar. lacrosse. liam. luke. marys. matthaeus. miami. miller. mills. mozes. narcisse. stella. summer. suse. will. william. wyatt. zoe. + more

Similar to Ollie: albie. alfie. ali. alia. allie. amelia. ari. arlo. armani. augie. avi. briar. cali. charlie. charlotte. corentin. darby. dorcas. eli. elis. ella. ellie. emmett. evoni. finley. finn. freddie. harleigh. harris. henry. hollis. holly. ike. jack. joey. kali. karlie. kinsleigh. kinzley. leen. leo. leone. liam. lon. louie. malia. maraca. marlee. marleigh. marley. mcpherson. mel. milo. mollie. molly. myrtis. neera. neeva. nicolina. noah. nonya. ohela. ola. olai. olalla. ole. oleh. oliver. olivia. olya. oscar. owen. owl. oyewole. ozie. ozzie. pixie. raleigh. ruby. sahari. sunya. theo. theodore. tylda. violet. westyn. + more

Soda/orange/fanta/kidcore/drink/sweetvoice themed names?? Sorry if this is a weird suggestion, we've been looking for more names for me!! My current ones are in am attachment below :]]

here and here !! perhaps I'll make a soda/drink related list in the future !! also for fun heres some similars lists !!

Similar to Tommy:  ali. alice. alvin. amy. ari. ava. benji. billy. bobby. chad. charlotte. dani. demi. ella. emma. emmie. emmy. ernie. ethan. frankie. henry. hollie. isabella. jack. jaime. james. jamie. joey. justin. krystal. leo. liam. lily. louie. lucas. malik. mason. mikaela. molly. noah. oliver. ollie. perry. poppy. raleigh. reggie. rocky. ronnie. shawn. sonny. tahan. taimo. taj. tama. tamma. tammy. tana. tanya. tatum. tawny. teddi. teenie. teman. temi. terry. thameena. thanh. theo. theodore. theone. thian. thomas. tiimu. tim. timea. tina. tiyenna. toby. tom. tomai. tomo. tomoya. tomoyo. tonia. tony. tuan. tunu. tyme. william. + more

Similar to Bill:  abel. abiel. able. aidan. amelia. arthur. bahula. bail. bailey. bala. bayle. baylee. beale. beau. beil. beile. bel. bela. belah. belay. bell. bella. belle. bello. ben. benjamin. bernon. bernot. bertek. beulah. beyla. bilal. billie. billy. blu. blue. bly. boyle. brinleigh. brinley. bull. cain. caleb. cleveland. dahlia. daisy. ed. elesio. ethan. frank. georgie. glasgow. greene. greg. guss. henry. hillel. jack. jericko. killiean. kylar. lacrosse. liam. luke. marys. matthaeus. miami. miller. mills. mozes. narcisse. stella. summer. suse. will. william. wyatt. zoe. + more

Similar to Ollie:  albie. alfie. ali. alia. allie. amelia. ari. arlo. armani. augie. avi. briar. cali. charlie. charlotte. corentin. darby. dorcas. eli. elis. ella. ellie. emmett. evoni. finley. finn. freddie. harleigh. harris. henry. hollis. holly. ike. jack. joey. kali. karlie. kinsleigh. kinzley. leen. leo. leone. liam. lon. louie. malia. maraca. marlee. marleigh. marley. mcpherson. mel. milo. mollie. molly. myrtis. neera. neeva. nicolina. noah. nonya. ohela. ola. olai. olalla. ole. oleh. oliver. olivia. olya. oscar. owen. owl. oyewole. ozie. ozzie. pixie. raleigh. ruby. sahari. sunya. theo. theodore. tylda. violet. westyn. + more

[ready-set-fish]

You haven’t truly wasted your life until you’ve given full names to EVERY Ozy and Milo character.

[ready-set-fish]

I really wish we’d gotten to see more of the minor characters in Ozy And Milo, like Stevie or Emily.