#olin and the moon

[woodsfae]

[Image ID: koolwhp tweeted

HONEST ANSWERS ONLY: What were your five most-listened-to bands or artists in high school? (And don’t try to be cool and say some hardcore band from Manitoba that three people have heard of).]

mine would probs be: one direction, taylor swift, ed sheeran, the script and coldplay 

[kuipernebula]

instead of doing vocab or learning extra grammar to learn toki pona, i instead find myself attempting backwards-ass translations of things

anyway check in with me in like, 24 hours for a toki pona version of the chainsaw man opening

[phoenixyfriend]

Star Wars AU Masterlist: General AUs

Navigation Post

Fun fact, tumblr allows 250 links on the old editor and 100 in the new. So. Network of masterlists. This is one of sixteen masterposts I have for Star Wars. These are just the most ‘generic’ of the AUs.

(Also this post has been randomly deleted at least once so uhhhh great thanks to the wayback machine holy shit.)

RANDOM AUS IN CANONVERSE

Misconceptions AU

Fem!Obi-Wan - not the same AU, but related: hair and makeup

Magically attractive Obi-Wan

Obi-Wan is Immortal (and it’s not great for his self preservation)

Padme/Sabe timeline

Jedi who leave the Order as a way to save it

“AUs where Obi-Wan gets adopted by Mandalorians” but I made it pro-Jedi and also Obitine

I did not know that about Haiti, whoops

Omegaverse Jedi should be LESS intense about sexism, not more

Pre-TPM

Obi-Wan fakes his death on Melida/Daan

Dooku knows Jango before Galidraan AU

Slutty Xanatos

Sharad Hett finds baby Anakin in Mos Espa and has to Deal With That

Shake that (Stewjoni) Bagpipe - various instruments with various characters

Anakin & Obi-Wan age swap, ft. Anakin and Satine being saltmates

Mand’alor Satine

Rael finds and keeps Komari - Expanded

Force-Sensitive Satine Kryze

Xanatos-Obi age swap (Xanatos/Bo-Katan)

Aayla/Bo-Katan meet during The Year On The Run

Quinlan meets toddler Anakin pre-canon, and Obi-Wan has a contact on-planet (Shmi) when TPM comes around

Raised a Sith Anakin, except Dooku snaps up Anakin and his mom from Mustafar since he’s better at Childcare than Sidious (who is annoyed at this situation)

That time Qui-Gon turned into a tree (via @willowcrowned, with fic by @smilebackwards)

Pre-TCW

Anakin&Obi-Wan, Jedi Stuff

Anakin’s paternal DNA came from Palpatine via Sith Magic

Anakin Skywalker, Secret Son of a Disgraced King

* Kick Up Your Heels - The Summary

Drag Queen AU - Oh, That’s Just Ben

Obi-Wan Wins a Moon

Tiniest Assistant Teacher

Anakin Loses his Connection to the Force, Time For Career Guidance - Addendum

Amnesiac Qui-Gon

Taking out Obi-Wan Kenobi (MaulObi)

Murder Puppy Anakin

Anakin the Snake - This AU is in the Wider AUs masterlist

One of several reasons Qui-Gon may not have been the best teacher for Anakin

Anakin’s teenage rebellion

Through strange coincidence, Obi-Wan and Shmi are actually stepsiblings

The Jedi are Kyber

Best masters for Anakin when Obi-Wan and Mace aren’t available

Obikin Sleeping Beauty AU - TCW Anakin finds a hot guy in cryo, turns out it’s Qui-Gon’s missing padawan from like twelve years ago

Mandalorian and Clone Stuff

Bo-Katan Decides She’s Siding With Family

* Kamino Belongs to the Clones (ft. banana)

Secret Clones AU

Anakin finds the clones a year early

In which Bo-Katan, or possibly Jango, breaks the cycle of violence that raised them

The Darksaber Picks Satine

Sith&Other Stuff

Ventress vs. Absolute Primogeniture

Maul ‘acquires’ Ferus Olin

Dooku Acquires a YA Sith Maul, following up on Sidious’s notes: I can teach you the ways of the Dark Side. Dooku, following literal decades of habit: …I can domesticate him.

Dooku becomes Count of Serenno… and brings the Jedi with him

Dooku hasn’t Fallen yet, and adopts teen Ventress, who has

An Accountant in Theed

Parenting Focus

Obitine Raise Anakin, ft. Grampa Dooku

* Mand’Alor Korkie Kenobi

The secret accidental Obitine baby isn’t Korkie, it’s Bo-Katan - Bokkin addendum

Obitine’s Pregnancy Scare

Obi, Protect Them

She’s Little Sister Shaped

Power Limiter Robes

Quinlan’s Smear Campaign

Artoo and Threepio adopt Boba

* Congratulations, Master Jinn, It’s a Boy!

Anakin isn’t human and reproduces via Space Parthenogenesis (and possibly lays an egg)

A “Stewjoni are all capable of pregnancy” fic where Obi-Wan offers to have Bail and Breha’s heir for them

Calligraphy I prompted from @theshitpostcalligrapher

Bo-Katan is Korkie’s bio mom, but got him removed to finish gestation in a tube (like clones) as soon as she found out because she was sixteen and not at all ready

Transmasc Obi-Wan babytraps ‘escaped Naboo intact’ Maul, who is now having difficulty deciding what to do with himself - Why we love MaulObi

TCW

Main: Anakin

Anakin Assists the Jedi Council While On Medical Leave (with a Horrible Miscommunication Addendum by @willowcrowned) - Now with a longform (and really good) fic on AO3! Sith Lightning, Paperwork, and Other Extreme Sports by @deadstarsrisingsblog

Chip Reactivation AU

The Romance Movie Curse - Ficlet written by @chaoticevilbean

Deserters? What deserters?

Anakin accidentally used the Force to make people like him, and is now panicking in an attempt to undo All of it (especially Padme)

Mace gets de-aged, hooks up with Anakin (much to the distress of Obi-Wan and Depa)

* Ficlet: Because I Fell Too

In for a Penny (Anakin confesses to the Tuskens)

Truth Serum AU (Anakin confesses to the Tuskens) - It’s all fun and games until it isn’t

In Which Palpatine Leaves the Door Open (Anakin confesses to the Tuskens) - A conjugal visit

Voluntary servitude (slavery) as the highest form of penitence and reparation on Tatooine, Anakin’s apology to the Tuskens - A different response - The context of Anakin’s childhood

Anakin invents a twin brother

Undercover Anakin&Mace have to pretend to be father and son

Anakin becomes aware of the fourth wall and ‘solves’ his problems by leaking nudes and otherwise fucking up his life “The way to break free of a story’s gravity is to consider every possible option and then pick the one that makes the absolute least sense.”

Sith Heir Anakin arranged marriage to second daughter of Mandalore Bo-Katan

Everyone Anakin meets is obsessed with keeping him safe post-Mortis and he hates it (horror)

Main: Obi-Wan

Mandalorian Mamma Mia (AKA Korkie lies about his dad)

(Most Obi-Wan focused AUs are in other lists).

Main: Ahsoka

Ahsoka gets Winter-Soldiered (This already exists and is much better than I could have managed)

Artificially Evil Ahsoka (Mortis had some lasting effects)

Ahsoka accidentally becomes a Film Noir Private Detective after leaving the Jedi, and derails all of Palpatine’s plots

Ahsoka’s crush on Barriss is “notice me senpai”

Bosoka arranged marriage when?

Main: Disaster Trio

Ghost on the Wire AU

* Anakin’s DNA Wish

Even Ventress Sees You’re Dad - Anakin talks too much

Disaster Lineage on SpaceTube

SW Prequels “Watch Your Own Series” AU (chrono)

Anakin & Barriss

Obi-Wan joins Dooku in AotC as a ploy to gather information, fails upwards

Anakin Accuses Obi-Wan of being Blonde

Sudden Soulmarks

Ahsoka accidentally outs Palpatine as a Sith through the use of incomprehensible emoji jibberish

Main: Clones

In which Cody and Rex Accidentally God-Mode - Kix Fights Rex’s Blood

Furbie the Coruscant Guard

Clint and Matt

Ghost Kitten Clones

Keep the Jedi Out of It, now with art by @lemoneste

In Which Fox Arrests His Boss - On a Technicality

Bly’s Glitching Brain Chip

Commander Fox is the Organas’ sugar baby (non-sexual, mostly)

Rex/Ventress - stranded together

Sponsor a Battalion

Fox arrests some senators for littering

Cody and Fox become building safety inspectors post-war

Clones deserve to be frat boys. Also date Anakin.

Rex/Barriss, in which Barriss is Fucked Up (but trying to do better)

Echo takes Dogma under his wing

Main: Other

Sidious and the Worst Kidnapping Ever

Who Gave Ventress the Keys? - Additions by others

Yoda commits a murder, blames the dementia

Shrink ‘em

Necromancied Qui-Gon kidnaps Ventress (she’s a Free Grad Student) - Addendum

Ventress Gets Married to Fuck Up Sidious’s Day

Dookasta interviews/negotiations, TCW as the galaxy’s ugliest divorce

Korkie picks up the Darksaber, and sees Dead Mand’alore

Satine manages to piss off both sides of the war by taking in defecting clones

Parenting Focus

Ahsoka Steals a Baby

Rattatak Death Swap

Baby 501st Legion

Oh, So THAT’S What People Think

Fairy Jango Fett

* Big Sis ‘Soka

Anakin volunteers to be a surrogate (the timing is… not optimal)

Trans Anakin explains that he is NOT the father

* Implications of a Miracle Pregnancy

If Obi-Wan gets pregnant, Anakin’s going to be the one getting invested in the future nibling

Grieving with Newborns (Padme still dies, and Anakin goes to Obi-Wan for help) - Addendum - Addendum 2

Ventress gets pregnant as a get-out-of-jail card

Anakin and Obi-Wan babytalk the twins differently

Post-O66

* Eldritch Ahsoka (1k plus notes)

- Speaker of Mortis

The Mortis Song

Emperor Bail - Addendum

Pirate Mace (Mace survives O66, joins Hondo) - Tax Evasion

Yularen’s Radio Show

Yularen undercover on the Death Star (feeding info to the Rebellion)

* When Vader Fails (in the Wrong Direction) (quick note)

* Owen Needs a Favor

Korkie gets dragged along on Bo-Katan’s insurgency plots

What’s Korkie Up To?

Barriss breaks out of prison and incidentally joins up with Rex

Barriss breaks out of prison and finds Ahsoka because she needs an external moral compass

Quinlan finds, frees, and press-gangs Bly into helping him fuck up the Empire, in Aayla’s memory/honor

Ventress Bothers Darth Vader

Bo-Katan bothers Ben Kenobi

Vader hallucinates so intensely that he destroys the Empire because he talked to a ghost who was disappointed in him.

Vader gets turned into an anime waifu and everyone hates that

A trad Mando of Din’s type finds Merrin, and decides to return her to her people. The only one still alive that they know of is Ventress.

Padme’s Handmaidens: Let’s Scam The Empire Into Thinking Amidala Is Still Alive

Original Trilogy and Beyond

Han’s Anti-Force Force-Sensitivity

Bumbling Vampire Han Solo

The ghosts of all those murdered Jedi Kids are haunting Vader but he’s just… too pathetic for them to try that hard

Mace’s ghost mentors Luke - Jocasta’s ghost mentors Leia

ANH Obi-Wan pretends to be senile, lost, and politely befuddled on the Death Star when noticed by Stormtroopers

Rex and Wolffe, dying Cody

Boba Accidentally Acquires The Darksaber, And Now He Can’t Get Rid Of It

Vader skypes his kids from jail

Mpreg Vader - This AU is in the Wider AUs Masterlist

Trans Vaderkin pregnancy, prenatal addiction to the Dark Side - Followup

Darth Vader gets turned into a cute teen girl and makes it everyone’s problem

Luke finds Decrepit Old Hermit Dooku hiding out on some mountain and recruits him to the new Jedi School before anyone can tell him why that’s a bad idea

The Mandalorian:

Ahsoka’s got Beef (The Mandalorian)

Boba’s Older Brothers

No, REALLY Old

Whacking sticks

Maul’s Back - Now with art by @its-not-a-pen

What I would want out of The Mandalorian            

Bo-Katan knows Luke is Vader’s kid, keeps her mouth shut

Bo-Katan fucking with Obi-Wan’s Ghost

Get some actual Mando’a in here, Disney, you cowards

BobaDin but Fennec’s making fun of Boba the whole time

Satine is one of the darksaber ghosts - Addendum

Tradition as Din’s Covert vs. Tradition as Death Watch

Middle-Aged Foppish Duke in Distress Korkie is very enamored by Mand’alor Din regularly rescuing him

[talonabraxas]

“Tonatiuh, the Verb of San Juan, the Logos or creator of the universe, with its triangular tongue of fire, is the golden child of sexual alchemy, the spiritual sun at midnight, the eagle that rises and soars, the resplendent dragon of wisdom, and it is represented by the star that gives us life, light and heat. Decorated by the Nahualts, it appears in glory at the very center of the Stone of the Sun”. -Samael Aun Weor – The Secret Doctrine of Anahuac.

Tonatiuh, God of the Sun Talon Abraxas

In each and every corner of the world, mankind has strived to give tangible representations to personify the great realities of the spirit. It should not amaze us that the Incas, Mayas, Aztecs, Egyptians, etc. resembled the sun with the universal spirit of life in an attempt to relate its physical and spiritual characteristics. In this way, they taught others about the greatness of that which is intangible. Undoubtedly the sun has been, is, and will be the means to allow the world to understand what truly is the Spirit of the Being within each one of us. Just like the physical sun imparts life, light and warmth, our Being gives us spiritual life, wisdom and wishes to learn that which is mystical.

Among the Aztecs, the God of the Sun was called Tonatiuh (Tona = the maker of the sun and heat, tiuth = to go). In universal Gnosticism, is it the Being or the Spirit the one who imparts life, and at the same time, the sun is the symbol each aspirant should manifest within: to create the sun is to integrate oneself with the Being.

The God of the Sun, Tonatiuh, is represented in the microcosm by the Intimate, the most spiritual element within each man and woman. In the macrocosm he is the Solar Logos or the Divinity. Either one will trigger our impulse towards the self-realization of our Being, using as its means awakening that is both mystical and spiritual.

In Nahuan culture, as in others, the Sun was the symbol of the Father, the eternal Masculine Principle; the Moon, the mother or the eternal Divine Feminine Principle, and Venus, the symbol of the Celestial Child. Tonatiuh, the God of the Sun, is the incarnation and expression of the fire that comes from the heavens. Tonatiuh is the representation of the divine aspects and itself explains the creation of all that exists.

The wise Aztecs of Anahuac gave the creator both: masculine and feminine form. The creator in its masculine aspect was called Ometecuhtli (ome = two, tecuhtli = Lord), and the divine feminine principle Omecihuatl (ome = two, cihuatl = Lady). They are the Lord and the Lady, God and Goddess of Duality. On this aspect, VM

Samael Aun Weor states:

“The face of Tonatiuh in the Aztec calendar is the face of Ometecuhtli-Omecihatl, Lord and Lady of duality, God of life, of love and generation.”

“Enclosed by two concentric circles, around which are four squares within two other concentric circles (the unmanifested absolute: Ipalnemohuani), encompass it all: the feline claws of Quetzalcoatl ripping human hearts, the Sun of Wind or 4 Ehecatl, the Sun of Fire or 4 Quiahuitl, the Sun of Water or 4 Atl, the Sun of Jaguar or 4 Ocelot and the Sun of Movement or 4 Olin, the East and the West, the North and the South, the twenty days of the month, etc.”

“This explains why the Nahuans venerated the Sun and the dual significance the numbers had for them.”

Samael Aun Weor – Aztec Christic Magic, Monogram No. 8

Tonatuih’s crown or Xiuhitzolli represents the Ancient of Days, the Kaballistic Kether, the three aspects of divinity: the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, the Logoic triangle of the Hebrews.

Each man has its own particular ray, resplendent in all its glory and might in the world of the ineffable Gods; the golden ray, the Being of our Being, the internal Christ of each man. It is the Sephirotic crown of the cabbalists, the Crown of Life. “Be faithful till thy death (says the Holy One), and I shall give thee the Crown of Life”. (Revelations 2:10).

We will find all the attributes of divinity wisely expressed in their artistic forms by the wise of Anahuac, as we can tell from the date of Two Canes in its crown. The number 2 (both circles) represent the feminine and masculine aspects of divinity.

“Ometecuhtli-Omecihuatl, Lord and Lady of duality. “Ome”: two; “Tecuhtli”: Lord. “Ome”: two; “Cihuatl”: Lady. From this divine dual principle, masculine and feminine, emanated the Universe. This God-Goddess had four sons, the four Tezcatlipocas: Xipotec, the red one; Tezcatlipoca, the black one; Quetzalcoatl, the white one; Hizilopochtli, the blue one.”

“From this divine and indivisible binary were born the four colors of the four races that populate the Earth. Ometecuhtli has the presence of the Cosmis Christ. The Nahuas represented him with a beautifully adorned tunic and a stone phallus, symbol of light. Omecihuatl has all the presence of the Cosmic Virgin.”

“The Nahuas represented her with a beautiful blue mantle…”

“He is Huehueteotl, the Ancient God, father of the gods and father of men. She is Tonantzín, our beloved Mother.”

Samael Aun Weor – Aztec Christic Magic, Monograph No. 10

The three eagle feathers of the symbol of the cane, or Acatl, together with the pearl, represent the Greek TETRAGRAMMATON, the holy FOUR, symbol of the Trinity plus that which is unmanifested.

In ancient times the hair was directly related to the creative energies, similar to what we have seen in the myth of Sampson and Delilah on the Hebrew kabala.

The wrinkles around his eyes allegorize the wisdom we should reach by awakening our consciousness in our daily living. Among the Aztecs, the maximum authority was represented by a council of elders, who had dedicated their lives to the elimination of their egocentric interests.

The eyes of the God of the Sun are the eyes of the Internal Father, who sees all, who is always vigilant to that which we think, do and feel.

In the nose or Yacaxihuitl we find a wise combination between the breath that imparts life and the work with the masculine and feminine forces, as we see three eagle feathers on each side. The number 6 (3 feathers on each side) represents the crossing of these forces.

The Borgia Codex mentions the ritual of the perforation of the nose. This ritual is intimately related to the science of sexual transmutation through breaths, breathing and respiration.

The Solar Logos emanates all its creative might to this world and then collects it transmuted, to impart himself life. In a similar manner, the human being should imitate this process.

The tongue in shape of a blade or Tecpatl, is the verb, the word, the Logos, the power the verb has manifested in all that has been created. Curiously, we find in the tongue an eye, symbol of psychological self-observation, showing the necessity of being attentive to what we say, as the verb carries extensive responsibility. In addition, we find a claw that shows the power of the word. With the word we can bless or damn, aid or cause suffering. This shows us the sacrifice the initiate must undergo to ensure the right use of the word. The word has the power to create, which is why it is necessary to develop self-observation as well as a sense of responsibility in its use. We need to learn when to speak and when to be silent.

“In the beginning it was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. This was in the beginning with God. All things by Him were created, and without Him none of what is would be. In Him was life, and life was the Light of men.”

St. John, 1:1-4, Bible of Casiodoro de Reyna, 1569.

In the Chalchihuitl (precious stones) we see six jades forming Tonatiuh’s collar. These symbolize the virtues of the soul: tenacity, patience, willpower, altruism, philanthropy, love… all acquired through the destruction of the undesirable psychological aggregates we carry within.

In his ears or Xiuhnacochtli we see that from the shape of the circle emanates an adornment of three eagle feathers. The circle is a symbol of eternity, the unknown absolute, that which the Greek referred to as Agnostos Theos (the unknowable God which cannot be defined). In Sanscrit it is known as Sat (That). From that which has no name emanates the trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, and as a result, the Holy Four: the Tetragrammaton.

The ears show by themselves the need to listen to that which is spiritual, to closing our ears to blasphemy, damnation, prejudices and all unsubstantial words of the ego, but to place our attention in the Voice of the Silence, the Wisdom of our Father.

“Ears with large pendants show the need to learn to listen, to place our attention to wisdom.”

Samael Aun Weor – Mayan Mysteries

[blackkatmagic]

Just binged all of when the dead tree flowers and I loved everything about it but especially how readily Grants is ready to lie. Like all the time. And sometimes not even subtle lies he just says things with his whole chest and he’s good at it I love him

(Tbh I love protagonists/antagonists who just. fucking lie to everyone's faces. It's an underrated character trope, imo.)

“Do you know yet what Jedi the general is meeting?” Kix asks quietly. He scans the tunnel warily when Rex leads them around a sharp bend, tense, but—he doesn’t like small spaces much. Rex wouldn’t have picked him for this, except Coric isn't good enough with a blaster. Rex would have had to add in another trooper, and this is supposed to be a small, fast mission where they get in and get out as quickly as possible.

For all the headaches Domino has caused, and will definitely cause in the future, Rex is looking forward to having an ARC squad attached to Torrent again. The last one was his own, before the commander of the company had died and Siri had tapped Rex to take his place. It’s going to be especially nice to have an ARC medic around, though there were plenty of other reasons for Rex to recommend Domino for the course.

Keeping them somewhere secure until the mess with the Kaminoans and Granta can be worked out is just one among many, but—a pressing one.

“Not yet,” Rex says. “All she got was the extraction request. Blackout’s got her, though. They’ll be fine.”

“Maybe it’s General Olin,” Jesse says, pointed, and Kix instantly huffs, embarrassed.

“Commander Fox would like that,” he says with dignity, like he hasn’t been mooning over Siri's former padawan since Ferus swept in to rescue them with Bacara and all of his Marines like a gift from the Force itself.

“Commander Fox is going to have to fistfight Commander Bacara for him,” Denal says, amused. “If you want to get between them, Kix—”

“I wouldn’t get between them,” Kix says. “I’d sneak around the side and grab the target while they were distracted.”

Rex laughs before he can help it. Kix looks sweet and easygoing, but it’s good to remember that he’s one of the longest-surviving members of Torrent for a reason. “General Olin could probably use a month tied to a bed,” he says without mercy, and Kix's splutter is delightful. “So if you’re willing to try that, General Tachi would probably even help you—”

“Captain,” Kix protests, and Rex snorts.

“You're one to talk, Captain,” Jesse says. “Wasn’t Commander Cody just telling us about how you picked up that one assassin and threw him over your shoulder as you carried him to safety—”

“We,” Rex says, maybe a little too loudly, and he can feel that his ears are going red again, “aren’t taking anything Cody says as the truth. He’s a liar.”

There's perfect, judgmental silence from the three troopers behind him, but Rex ignores it for all he’s worth.

[snowwhite-andtheknight]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2023 Master Post

After six weeks, Obiyuki Au Bingo has CLOSED! Although all our challenges at the comm are not competitive, we like to have a few fun stats to close out the end of bingo:

Highest Scorer (each square 1pt, bingo 5pts, blackout 25pts): @onedivinemisfit (14 points, 1 bingo & 9 squares)

Runner Up: @writing-my-mind-ink​ (13 points, 1 bingo & 8 squares)

Most Spaces Filled (outside blackouts): @onedivinemisfit​ (9 squares)

Number of Players with Bingos: 8 out of a possible 14

Total Number of Works: 55

Total Fics Written: 31

Art Pieces Completed: 20

Playlists Made: 5

Total Words Written: 81,789 words

[Works By Creator, under the cut]

@batgirlsay​

Falling Through Time Mockingjay and the Miner

@claudeng80​

Caught Changeling, Chapter 7 How the cookie crumbles Sands Through the Hourglass, Chapter 1 Sands Through the Hourglass, Chapter 2 Sands Through the Hourglass, Chapter 3 Sands Through the Hourglass, Chapter 4

@h0rizn​

Anything Can Happen Out There The Best Blaze Burns the Brightest drift compatible Some Elbow Room, Please Someone’s Got to Be the Genre Savvy One Around Here

@kpslp​

2nd (Usually) Sucks After All is Said and Done Anthithesis If Only I Could Invincible

@leewritingrecs​

Luck Be a Lady Mystery at Laxdo Olin Maris

@onedivinemisfit​

Confession of a foolish bruxa got a doctorate in giving himself problems he just wants them to get their vaccinations Here at Camp Grenada never running from a real fight Our little one~ Reminiscing… Speak. Speak and Let Me Save You would you look at me like I’m not looking 

@ruleofexception

Desperate Measures, Chapter 2 I’m Not Here to Hurt You A Moment Apart No good deed A thorn in the sky, Chapter 5 (excerpt)

@sabraeal

All That Remains, Chapter 11: The Prince and the Princess [Part 1] Brewed With Intent Get Up Eight, Chapter 10 Greatest Little Show on Earth Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 8 The Strong Pack Thrives, Part 1

@social-mockingbird

in the name of the moon…something something…whatever So This Dame Walked In Stop Throwing Tomatoes sunlight eyes Won’t you come down from your tower?

@starlightsmoon

The Mark Makes the Man

@writing-my-mind-ink

Always by Your Side, Chapter 1 Cutting Edge I swim pretty boy Love on the Silver Screen Never Gone My Way Renovate my Heart Say My Name Sweet as Belladonna, Chapter 1

[jimhair]

This month @bluemooncamera has the customer show up all over St. Johns and it reminded me of how many talented customers I met, and in some cases was lucky to photograph. Padraic and Olin at Blue Moon Camera, St. Johns, April 2018 🇺🇦💔🌎💔🌏💔🌍💔🇺🇦 @padraicomeara #earth #america #human #family #photographer #tbt #documentary #portrait #photography #schwarzweiss #blancoynegro #blancinegre #bnw @ilfordphoto #ilford #mediumformat #film #blancetnoir #白黒 #Hēiyǔbái #siyahbeyaz #shirokuro #blackandwhite #pdx #portland #northwest #oregon #photojournalism #hasselblad @hasselblad @hasselbladfilmgallery 18043611 Ilford FP4 Hasselblad 500cm 120 Makro-Planar https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl7B0SCyi5J/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[homestuck-human-generator]

Name: Sai Olin Voronin Color: Mantis #74c365 Symbol: Pacman Strife Specibus: hairdrierkind Handle: gullibleAuthoritarian Animal: pheasant Pronouns: xe/xem/xyr/xyrs/xemself and she/her and it/its Age: 25 Birthday: April 9, which was a friday. Sexuality: ??? Interests: table tennis and dog walking Dream Moon: derse Classpect: Witch of Life Land: Land of Restraint and Fire, an agreeable place, with silly Tokay Gecko consorts. It is a place full of balloons and hills. Atlas can't wait to meet the player. Instrument: carillon

[artificeacademy-krp]

the following face claims have been reserved for the next 72 hours / april 19th 11:59pm EST (5):

bts's jeon jungkook

lesserafim's kim chaewon

soloist jo yuri

wayv’s chittaphon leechaiyapornkul / ten

wayv’s wong kunhang / hendery 

the following applications have been accepted (38):

bae suzy: seong raina | spellcasters | witch

cha eunwoo: park hangyul | elves and others | vampire

cho miyeon: yi areum | fae and spirits | familiar

choi beomgyu: devante choi | elves and others | soothsayer

choi soobin: eia han yujeon | elves and others | soothsayer

choi yeonjun: cha minji | fae and spirits | nymph

chou tzuyu: binx wei | spellcasters | magician

christian yu/ian: olin ho | elves and others | cambion

do kyungsoo: sim jaehwi | elves and others | conduit

han seungwoo: jang haein | elves and others | elf

hwang hyunjin: ahn haru | elves and others | vampire

jeon somi: sienna im | spellcasters | witch

jeon somin: phoebe hwang | elves and others | vampire

jeong yuno/jaehyun: choi dohan | fae and spirits | nymph

kang seulgi: yoo hyorin | fae and spirits | pixie

kim chungha: yu jaein | spellcasters | witch

kim doyoung: oh hyun | fae and spirits | familiar

kim hyungseo/bibi: moon hyera | spellcasters | witch

kim jennie: song taerin | fae and spirits | nymph

kim jongin / kai: julian jung | spellcasters | magician

kim mingyu: kang soobin | fae and spirits | familiar

kim minjeong / winter: seong yumi | fae and spirits | familiar

kim taehyung / v: lee nouel | elves and others | cambion

koo junhoe: lee yofi | elves and others | nephilim

lee chaerin / cl: choi hayoon | fae and spirits | sprites

liu yangyang: zhao yichen | elves and others | nephilim

minatozaki sana: eiko arihara| fae and spirits | fairy

minicha yontararak / minnie: narisa “nari” viraphol | fae and spirits | siren

myoui mina: ita kimiko | fae and spirits | nymph

oh sehun: jiahn yi | elves and others | elf

park chaeyoung / rose: dal insu | elves and others | nephilim

park jihyo: jung hyerim | fae and spirits | fairy

park wonbin: ambrose na | fae and spirits | spirit

song mingi: finnegan lim | spellcasters | magician

uchinaga aeri/giselle: tsukumo kokomi | fae and spirits | siren

woodz: kim "koi" kinan | fae and spirits | fairy

yang jungwon: kim jiho | elves and others | vampire

yu jimin / karina: oh chaemi | elves and others | conduit

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 11-12

CHAPTER XI

WHEN I was a kid, one time I had an old-maid teacher that used to tell me, "Buzz, you're the thickest-headed dunce in school." But I noticed that she told me this a whole lot oftener than she used to tell the other kids how smart they were, and I came to be the most talked-about scholar in the whole township. The United States Senate isn't so different, and I want to thank a lot of stuffed shirts for their remarks about Yours Truly.

Zero Hour, Berzelius Windrip.

BUT there were certain of the Heathen who did not heed those heralds Prang and Windrip and Haik and Dr. Macgoblin.

Walt Trowbridge conducted his campaign as placidly as though he were certain to win. He did not spare himself, but he did not moan over the Forgotten Men (he'd been one himself, as a youngster, and didn't think it was so bad!) nor become hysterical at a private bar in a scarlet-and-silver special tram. Quietly, steadfastly, speaking on the radio and in a few great halls, he explained that he did advocate an enormously improved distribution of wealth, but that it must be achieved by steady digging and not by dynamite that would destroy more than it excavated. He wasn't particularly thrilling. Economics rarely are, except when they have been dramatized by a Bishop, staged and lighted by a Sarason, and passionately played by a Buzz Windrip with rapier and blue satin tights.

For the campaign the Communists had brightly brought out their sacrificial candidates—in fact, all seven of the current Communist parties had. Since, if they all stuck together, they might entice 900,000 votes, they had avoided such bourgeois grossness by enthusiastic schisms, and their creeds now included: The Party, the Majority Party, the Leftist Party, the Trotzky Party, the Christian Communist Party, the Workers' Party, and, less baldly named, something called the American Nationalist Patriotic Cooperative Fabian Post-Marxian Communist Party—it sounded like the names of royalty but was otherwise dissimilar.

But these radical excursions were not very significant compared with the new Jeffersonian Party, suddenly fathered by Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Forty-eight hours after the nomination of Windrip at Cleveland, President Roosevelt had issued his defiance.

Senator Windrip, he asserted, had been chosen "not by the brains and hearts of genuine Democrats but by their temporarily crazed emotions." He would no more support Windrip because he claimed to be a Democrat than he would support Jimmy Walker.

Yet, he said, he could not vote for the Republican Party, the "party of intrenched special privilege," however much, in the past three years, he had appreciated the loyalty, the honesty, the intelligence of Senator Walt Trowbridge.

Roosevelt made it clear that his Jeffersonian or True Democratic faction was not a "third party" in the sense that it was to be permanent. It was to vanish as soon as honest and coolly thinking men got control again of the old organization. Buzz Windrip aroused mirth by dubbing it the "Bull Mouse Party," but President Roosevelt was joined by almost all the liberal members of Congress, Democratic or Republican, who had not followed Walt Trowbridge; by Norman Thomas and the Socialists who had not turned Communist; by Governors Floyd Olson and Olin Johnston; and by Mayor La Guardia.

The conspicuous fault of the Jeffersonian Party, like the personal fault of Senator Trowbridge, was that it represented integrity and reason, in a year when the electorate hungered for frisky emotions, for the peppery sensations associated, usually, not with monetary systems and taxation rates but with baptism by immersion in the creek, young love under the elms, straight whisky, angelic orchestras heard soaring down from the full moon, fear of death when an automobile teeters above a canyon, thirst in a desert and quenching it with spring water—all the primitive sensations which they thought they found in the screaming of Buzz Windrip.

Far from the hot-lighted ballrooms where all these crimson-tuniced bandmasters shrillsquabbled as to which should lead for the moment the tremendous spiritual jazz, far off in the cool hills a little man named Doremus Jessup, who wasn't even a bass drummer but only a citizen editor, wondered in confusion what he should do to be saved.

He wanted to follow Roosevelt and the Jeffersonian Party—partly for admiration of the man; partly for the pleasure of shocking the ingrown Republicanism of Vermont. But he could not believe that the Jeffersonians would have a chance; he did believe that, for all the mothball odor of many of his associates, Walt Trowbridge was a valiant and competent man; and night and day Doremus bounced up and down Beulah Valley campaigning for Trowbridge.

Out of his very confusion there came into his writing a desperate sureness which surprised accustomed readers of the Informer. For once he was not amused and tolerant. Though he never said anything worse of the Jeffersonian Party than that it was ahead of its times, in both editorials and news stories he went after Buzz Windrip and his gang with whips, turpentine, and scandal.

In person, he was into and out of shops and houses all morning long, arguing with voters, getting miniature interviews.

He had expected that traditionally Republican Vermont would give him too drearily easy a task in preaching Trowbridge. What he found was a dismaying preference for the theoretically Democratic Buzz Windrip. And that preference, Doremus perceived, wasn't even a pathetic trust in Windrip's promises of Utopian bliss for everyone in general. It was a trust in increased cash for the voter himself, and for his family, very much in particular.

Most of them had, among all the factors in the campaign, noticed only what they regarded as Windrip's humor, and three planks in his platform: Five, which promised to increase taxes on the rich; Ten, which condemned the Negroes—since nothing so elevates a dispossessed farmer or a factory worker on relief as to have some race, any race, on which he can look down; and, especially, Eleven, which announced, or seemed to announce, that the average toiler would immediately receive $5000 a year. (And ever-so-many railway-station debaters explained that it would really be $10,000. Why, they were going to have every cent offered by Dr. Townsend, plus everything planned by the late Huey Long, Upton Sinclair, and the Utopians, all put together!)

So beatifically did hundreds of old people in Beulah Valley believe this that they smilingly trotted into Raymond Pridewell's hardware store, to order new kitchen stoves and aluminum sauce pans and complete bathroom furnishings, to be paid for on the day after inauguration. Mr. Pridewell, a cobwebbed old Henry Cabot Lodge Republican, lost half his trade by chasing out these happy heirs to fabulous estates, but they went on dreaming, and Doremus, nagging at them, discovered that mere figures are defenseless against a dream... even a dream of new Plymouths and unlimited cans of sausages and motion-picture cameras and the prospect of never having to arise till 7:30 A.M.

Thus answered Alfred Tizra, "Snake" Tizra, friend to Doremus's handyman, Shad Ledue. Snake was a steel-tough truck-driver and taxi-owner who had served sentences for assault and for transporting bootleg liquor. He had once made a living catching rattlesnakes and copperheads in southern New England. Under President Windrip, Snake jeeringly assured Doremus, he would have enough money to start a chain of roadhouses in all the dry communities in Vermont.

Ed Howland, one of the lesser Fort Beulah grocers, and Charley Betts, furniture and undertaking, while they were dead against anyone getting groceries, furniture, or even undertaking on Windrip credit, were all for the population's having credit on other wares.

Aras Dilley, a squatter dairy farmer living with a toothless wife and seven slattern children in a tilted and unscrubbed cabin way up on Mount Terror, snarled at Doremus—who had often taken food baskets and boxes of shotgun shells and masses of cigarettes to Aras—"Well, want to tell you, when Mr. Windrip gets in, we farmers are going to fix our own prices on our crops, and not you smart city fellows!"

Doremus could not blame him. While Buck Titus, at fifty, looked thirty-odd, Aras, at thirty-four, looked fifty.

Lorinda Pike's singularly unpleasant partner in the Beulah Valley Tavern, one Mr. Nipper, whom she hoped soon to lose, combined boasting how rich he was with gloating how much more he was going to get under Windrip. "Professor" Staubmeyer quoted nice things Windrip had said about higher pay for teachers. Louis Rotenstern, to prove that his heart, at least, was not Jewish, became more lyric than any of them. And even Frank Tasbrough of the quarries, Medary Cole of the grist mill and real-estate holdings, R. C. Crowley of the bank, who presumably were not tickled by projects of higher income taxes, smiled pussy-cattishly and hinted that Windrip was a "lot sounder fellow" than people knew.

But no one in Fort Beulah was a more active crusader for Buzz Windrip than Shad Ledue.

Doremus had known that Shad possessed talent for argument and for display; that he had once persuaded old Mr. Pridewell to trust him for a .22 rifle, value twenty-three dollars; that, removed from the sphere of coal bins and grass-stained overalls, he had once sung "Rollicky Bill the Sailor" at a smoker of the Ancient and Independent Order of Rams; and that he had enough memory to be able to quote, as his own profound opinions, the editorials in the Hearst newspapers. Yet even knowing all this equipment for a political career, an equipment not much short of Buzz Windrip's, Doremus was surprised to find Shad soap-boxing for Windrip among the quarry-workers, then actually as chairman of a rally in Oddfellows' Hall. Shad spoke little, but with brutal taunting of the believers in Trowbridge and Roosevelt.

At meetings where he did not speak, Shad was an incomparable bouncer, and in that valued capacity he was summoned to Windrip rallies as far away as Burlington. It was he who, in a militia uniform, handsomely riding a large white plow-horse, led the final Windrip parade in Rutland... and substantial men of affairs, even dry-goods jobbers, fondly called him "Shad."

Doremus was amazed, felt a little apologetic over his failure to have appreciated this new-found paragon, as he sat in American Legion Hall and heard Shad bellowing: "I don't pretend to be anything but a plain working-stiff, but there's forty million workers like me, and we know that Senator Windrip is the first statesman in years that thinks of what guys like us need before he thinks one doggone thing about politics. Come on, you bozos! The swell folks tell you to not be selfish! Walt Trowbridge tells you to not be selfish! Well, be selfish, and vote for the one man that's willing to give you something—give you something!—and not just grab off every cent and every hour of work that he can get!"

Doremus groaned inwardly, "Oh, my Shad! And you're doing most of this on my time!"

Sissy Jessup sat on the running board of her coupe (hers by squatter's right), with Julian Falck, up from Amherst for the week-end, and Malcolm Tasbrough wedged in on either side of her.

"Oh nuts, let's quit talking politics. Windrip's going to be elected, so why waste time yodeling when we could drive down to the river and have a swim," complained Malcolm.

"He's not going to win without our putting up a tough scrap against him. I'm going to talk to the high-school alumni this evening— about how they got to tell their parents to vote for either Trowbridge or Roosevelt," snapped Julian Falck.

"Haa, haa, haa! And of course the parents will be tickled to death to do whatever you tell 'em, Yulian! You college men certainly are the goods! Besides—Want to be serious about this fool business?" Malcolm had the insolent self-assurance of beef, slick black hair, and a large car of his own; he was the perfect leader of Black Shirts, and he looked contemptuously on Julian who, though a year older, was pale and thinnish. "Matter of fact, it'll be a good thing to have Buzz. He'll put a damn quick stop to all this radicalism—all this free speech and libel of our most fundamental institutions—"

"Boston American; last Tuesday; page eight," murmured Sissy.

"—and no wonder you're scared of him, Yulian! He sure will drag some of your favorite Amherst anarchist profs off to the hoosegow, and maybe you too, Comrade!"

The two young men looked at each other with slow fury. Sissy quieted them by raging, "Freavensake! Will you two heels quit scrapping?... Oh, my dears, this beastly election! Beastly! Seems as if it's breaking up every town, every home.... My poor Dad! Doremus is just about all in!"

CHAPTER XII

I SHALL not be content till this country can produce every single thing we need, even coffee, cocoa, and rubber, and so keep all our dollars at home. If we can do this and at the same time work up tourist traffic so that foreigners will come from every part of the world to see such remarkable wonders as the Grand Canyon, Glacier and Yellowstone etc. parks, the fine hotels of Chicago, & etc., thus leaving their money here, we shall have such a balance of trade as will go far to carry out my often-criticized yet completely sound idea of from $3000 to $5000 per year for every single family—that is, I mean every real American family. Such an aspiring Vision is what we want, and not all this nonsense of wasting our time at Geneva and talky-talk at Lugano, wherever that is.

Zero Hour, Berzelius Windrip.

ELECTION day would fall on Tuesday, November third, and on Sunday evening of the first, Senator Windrip played the finale of his campaign at a mass meeting in Madison Square Garden, in New York. The Garden would hold, with seats and standing room, about 19,000, and a week before the meeting every ticket had been sold—at from fifty cents to five dollars, and then by speculators resold and resold, at from one dollar to twenty.

Doremus had been able to get one single ticket from an acquaintance on one of the Hearst dailies—which, alone among the New York papers, were supporting Windrip—and on the afternoon of November first he traveled the three hundred miles to New York for his first visit in three years.

It had been cold in Vermont, with early snow, but the white drifts lay to the earth so quietly, in unstained air, that the world seemed a silver-painted carnival, left to silence. Even on a moonless night, a pale radiance came from the snow, from the earth itself, and the stars were drops of quicksilver.

But, following the redcap carrying his shabby Gladstone bag, Doremus came out of the Grand Central, at six o'clock, into a gray trickle of cold dishwater from heaven's kitchen sink. The renowned towers which he expected to see on Forty-second Street were dead in their mummy cloths of ragged fog. And as to the mob that, with cruel disinterest, galloped past him, a new and heedless smear of faces every second, the man from Fort Beulah could think only that New York must be holding its county fair in this clammy drizzle, or else that there was a big fire somewhere.

He had sensibly planned to save money by using the subway—the substantial village burgher is so poor in the city of the Babylonian gardens!—and he even remembered that there were still to be found in Manhattan five-cent trolley cars, in which a rustic might divert himself by looking at sailors and poets and shawled women from the steppes of Kazakstan. To the redcap he had piped with what he conceived to be traveled urbanity, "Guess 'll take a trolley—jus' few blocks." But deafened and dizzied and elbow-jabbed by the crowd, soaked and depressed, he took refuge in a taxi, then wished he hadn't, as he saw the slippery rubber-colored pavement, and as his taxi got wedged among other cars stinking of carbon-monoxide and frenziedly tooting for release from the jam—a huddle of robot sheep bleating their terror with mechanical lungs of a hundred horsepower.

He painfully hesitated before going out again from his small hotel in the West Forties, and when he did, when he muddily crept among the shrill shopgirls, the weary chorus girls, the hard cigar-clamping gamblers, and the pretty young men on Broadway, he felt himself, with the rubbers and umbrella which Emma had forced upon him, a very Caspar Milquetoast.

He most noticed a number of stray imitation soldiers, without side-arms or rifles, but in a uniform like that of an American cavalryman in 1870: slant-topped blue forage caps, dark blue tunics, light blue trousers, with yellow stripes at the seam, tucked into leggings of black rubberoid for what appeared to be the privates, and boots of sleek black leather for officers. Each of them had on the right side of his collar the letters "M.M." and on the left, a five-pointed star. There were so many of them; they swaggered so brazenly, shouldering civilians out of the way; and upon insignificances like Doremus they looked with frigid insolence.

He suddenly understood.

These young condottieri were the "Minute Men": the private troops of Berzelius Windrip, about which Doremus had been publishing uneasy news reports. He was thrilled and a little dismayed to see them now—the printed words made brutal flesh.

Three weeks ago Windrip had announced that Colonel Dewey Haik had founded, just for the campaign, a nationwide league of Windrip marching-clubs, to be called the Minute Men. It was probable that they had been in formation for months, since already they had three or four hundred thousand members. Doremus was afraid the M.M.'s might become a permanent organization, more menacing than the Kuklux Klan.

Their uniform suggested the pioneer America of Cold Harbor and of the Indian fighters under Miles and Custer. Their emblem, their swastika (here Doremus saw the cunning and mysticism of Lee Sarason), was a five-pointed star, because the star on the American flag was five-pointed, whereas the stars of both the Soviet banner and the Jews—the seal of Solomon—were six-pointed.

The fact that the Soviet star, actually, was also five-pointed, no one noticed, during these excited days of regeneration. Anyway, it was a nice idea to have this star simultaneously challenge the Jews and the Bolsheviks—the M.M.'s had good intentions, even if their symbolism did slip a little.

Yet the craftiest thing about the M.M.'s was that they wore no colored shirts, but only plain white when on parade, and light khaki when on outpost duty, so that Buzz Windrip could thunder, and frequently, "Black shirts? Brown shirts? Red shirts? Yes, and maybe cow-brindle shirts! All these degenerate European uniforms of tyranny! No sir! The Minute Men are not Fascist or Communist or anything at all but plain Democratic—the knight-champions of the rights of the Forgotten Men—the shock troops of Freedom!"

Doremus dined on Chinese food, his invariable self-indulgence when he was in a large city without Emma, who stated that chow mein was nothing but fried excelsior with flour-paste gravy. He forgot the leering M.M. troopers a little; he was happy in glancing at the gilded wood-carvings, at the octagonal lanterns painted with doll-like Chinese peasants crossing arched bridges, at a quartette of guests, two male and two female, who looked like Public Enemies and who all through dinner quarreled with restrained viciousness.

When he headed toward Madison Square Garden and the culminating Windrip rally, he was plunged into a maelstrom. A whole nation seemed querulously to be headed the same way. He could not get a taxicab, and walking through the dreary storm some fourteen blocks to Madison Square Garden he was aware of the murderous temper of the crowd.

Eighth Avenue, lined with cheapjack shops, was packed with drab, discouraged people who yet, tonight, were tipsy with the hashish of hope. They filled the sidewalks, nearly filled the pavement, while irritable motors squeezed tediously through them, and angry policemen were pushed and whirled about and, if they tried to be haughty, got jeered at by lively shopgirls.

Through the welter, before Doremus's eyes, jabbed a flying wedge of Minute Men, led by what he was later to recognize as a cornet of M.M.'s. They were not on duty, and they were not belligerent; they were cheering, and singing "Berzelius Windrip went to Wash.," reminding Doremus of a slightly drunken knot of students from an inferior college after a football victory. He was to remember them so afterward, months afterward, when the enemies of the M.M.'s all through the country derisively called them "Mickey Mouses" and "Minnies."

An old man, shabbily neat, stood blocking them and yelled, "To hell with Buzz! Three cheers for F.D.R.!"

The M.M.'s burst into hoodlum wrath. The cornet in command, a bruiser uglier even than Shad Ledue, hit the old man on the jaw, and he sloped down, sickeningly. Then, from nowhere, facing the cornet, there was a chief petty officer of the navy, big, smiling, reckless. The C.P.O. bellowed, in a voice tuned to hurricanes, "Swell bunch o' tin soldiers! Nine o' yuh to one grandpappy! Just about even—"

The cornet socked him; he laid out the cornet with one foul to the belly; instantly the other eight M.M.'s were on the C.P.O., like sparrows after a hawk, and he crashed, his face, suddenly veal-white, laced with rivulets of blood. The eight kicked him in the head with their thick marching-shoes. They were still kicking him when Doremus wriggled away, very sick, altogether helpless.

He had not turned away quickly enough to avoid seeing an M.M. trooper, girlish-faced, crimson-lipped, fawn-eyed, throw himself on the fallen cornet and, whimpering, stroke that roustabout's roast-beef cheeks with shy gardenia-petal fingers.

There were many arguments, a few private fist fights, and one more battle, before Doremus reached the auditorium.

A block from it some thirty M.M.'s, headed by a battalion-leader— something between a captain and a major—started raiding a street meeting of Communists. A Jewish girl in khaki, her bare head soaked with rain, was beseeching from the elevation of a wheelbarrow, "Fellow travelers! Don't just chew the rag and 'sympathize'! Join us! Now! It's life and death!" Twenty feet from the Communists, a middle-aged man who looked like a social worker was explaining the Jeffersonian Party, recalling the record of President Roosevelt, and reviling the Communists next door as word-drunk un-American cranks. Half his audience were people who might be competent voters; half of them—like half of any group on this evening of tragic fiesta—were cigarette-sniping boys in hand-me-downs.

The thirty M.M.'s cheerfully smashed into the Communists. The battalion leader reached up, slapped the girl speaker, dragged her down from the wheelbarrow. His followers casually waded in with fists and blackjacks. Doremus, more nauseated, feeling more helpless than ever, heard the smack of a blackjack on the temple of a scrawny Jewish intellectual.

Amazingly, then, the voice of the rival Jeffersonian leader spiraled up into a scream: "Come on, you! Going to let those hellhounds attack our Communist friends—friends now, by God!" With which the mild bookworm leaped into the air, came down squarely upon a fat Mickey Mouse, capsized him, seized his blackjack, took time to kick another M.M.'s shins before arising from the wreck, sprang up, and waded into the raiders as, Doremus guessed, he would have waded into a table of statistics on the proportion of butter fat in loose milk in 97.7 per cent of shops on Avenue B.

Till then, only half-a-dozen Communist Party members had been facing the M.M.'s, their backs to a garage wall. Fifty of their own, fifty Jeffersonians besides, now joined them, and with bricks and umbrellas and deadly volumes of sociology they drove off the enraged M.M.'s—partisans of Bela Kun side by side with the partisans of Professor John Dewey—until a riot squad of policemen battered their way in to protect the M.M.'s by arresting the girl Communist speaker and the Jeffersonian.

Doremus had often "headed up" sports stories about "Madison Square Garden Prize Fights," but he did know that the place had nothing to do with Madison Square, from which it was a day's journey by bus, that it was decidedly not a garden, that the fighters there did not fight for "prizes" but for fixed partnership shares in the business, and that a good many of them did not fight at all.

The mammoth building, as in exhaustion Doremus crawled up to it, was entirely ringed with M.M.'s, elbow to elbow, all carrying heavy canes, and at every entrance, along every aisle, the M.M.'s were rigidly in line, with their officers galloping about, whispering orders, and bearing uneasy rumors like scared calves in a dipping-pen.

These past weeks hungry miners, dispossessed farmers, Carolina mill hands had greeted Senator Windrip with a flutter of worn hands beneath gasoline torches. Now he was to face, not the unemployed, for they could not afford fifty-cent tickets, but the small, scared side-street traders of New York, who considered themselves altogether superior to clodhoppers and mine-creepers, yet were as desperate as they. The swelling mass that Doremus saw, proud in seats or standing chin-to-nape in the aisles, in a reek of dampened clothes, was not romantic; they were people concerned with the tailor's goose, the tray of potato salad, the card of hooks-and-eyes, the leech-like mortgage on the owner-driven taxi, with, at home, the baby's diapers, the dull safety-razor blade, the awful rise in the cost of rump steak and kosher chicken. And a few, and very proud, civil-service clerks and letter carriers and superintendents of small apartment houses, curiously fashionable in seventeen-dollar ready-made suits and feebly stitched foulard ties, who boasted, "I don't know why all these bums go on relief. I may not be such a wiz, but let me tell you, even since 1929, I've never made less than two thousand dollars a year!"

Manhattan peasants. Kind people, industrious people, generous to their aged, eager to find any desperate cure for the sickness of worry over losing the job.

Most facile material for any rabble-rouser.

The historic rally opened with extreme dullness. A regimental band played the Tales from Hoffman barcarole with no apparent significance and not much more liveliness. The Reverend Dr. Hendrik Van Lollop of St. Apologue's Lutheran Church offered prayer, but one felt that probably it had not been accepted. Senator Porkwood provided a dissertation on Senator Windrip which was composed in equal parts of apostolic adoration of Buzz and of the uh-uh-uh's with which Hon. Porkwood always interspersed his words.

And Windrip wasn't yet even in sight.

Colonel Dewey Haik, nominator of Buzz at the Cleveland convention, was considerably better. He told three jokes, and an anecdote about a faithful carrier pigeon in the Great War which had seemed to understand, really better than many of the human soldiers, just why it was that the Americans were over there fighting for France against Germany. The connection of this ornithological hero with the virtues of Senator Windrip did not seem evident, but, after having sat under Senator Porkwood, the audience enjoyed the note of military gallantry.

Doremus felt that Colonel Haik was not merely rambling but pounding on toward something definite. His voice became more insistent. He began to talk about Windrip: "my friend—the one man who dares beard the monetary lion—the man who in his great and simple heart cherishes the woe of every common man as once did the brooding tenderness of Abraham Lincoln." Then, wildly waving toward a side entrance, he shrieked, "And here he comes! My friends—Buzz Windrip!"

The band hammered out "The Campbells Are Coming." A squadron of Minute Men, smart as Horse Guards, carrying long lances with starred pennants, clicked into the gigantic bowl of the auditorium, and after them, shabby in an old blue-serge suit, nervously twisting a sweat-stained slouch hat, stooped and tired, limped Berzelius Windrip. The audience leaped up, thrusting one another aside to have a look at the deliverer, cheering like artillery at dawn.

Windrip started prosaically enough. You felt rather sorry for him, so awkwardly did he lumber up the steps to the platform, across to the center of the stage. He stopped; stared owlishly. Then he quacked monotonously:

"The first time I ever came to New York I was a greenhorn—no, don't laugh, mebbe I still am! But I had already been elected a United States Senator, and back home, the way they'd serenaded me, I thought I was some punkins. I thought my name was just about as familiar to everybody as Al Capone's or Camel Cigarettes or Castoria—Babies Cry For It. But I come to New York on my way to Washington, and say, I sat in my hotel lobby here for three days, and the only fellow ever spoke to me was the hotel detective! And when he did come up and address me, I was tickled to death—I thought he was going to tell me the whole burg was pleased by my condescending to visit 'em. But all he wanted to know was, was I a guest of the hotel and did I have any right to be holding down a lobby chair permanently that way! And tonight, friends, I'm pretty near as scared of Old Gotham as I was then!"

The laughter, the hand-clapping, were fair enough, but the proud electors were disappointed by his drawl, his weary humility.

Doremus quivered hopefully, "Maybe he isn't going to get elected!"

Windrip outlined his too-familiar platform—Doremus was interested only in observing that Windrip misquoted his own figures regarding the limitation of fortunes, in Point Five.

He slid into a rhapsody of general ideas—a mishmash of polite regards to Justice, Freedom, Equality, Order, Prosperity, Patriotism, and any number of other noble but slippery abstractions.

Doremus thought he was being bored, until he discovered that, at some moment which he had not noticed, he had become absorbed and excited.

Something in the intensity with which Windrip looked at his audience, looked at all of them, his glance slowly taking them in from the highest-perched seat to the nearest, convinced them that he was talking to each individual, directly and solely; that he wanted to take each of them into his heart; that he was telling them the truths, the imperious and dangerous facts, that had been hidden from them.

"They say I want money—power! Say, I've turned down offers from law firms right here in New York of three times the money I'll get as President! And power—why, the President is the servant of every citizen in the country, and not just of the considerate folks, but also of every crank that comes pestering him by telegram and phone and letter. And yet, it's true, it's absolutely true I do want power, great, big, imperial power—but not for myself—no— for you!—the power of your permission to smash the Jew financiers who've enslaved you, who're working you to death to pay the interest on their bonds; the grasping bankers—and not all of 'em Jews by a darn sight!—the crooked labor-leaders just as much as the crooked bosses, and, most of all, the sneaking spies of Moscow that want you to lick the boots of their self-appointed tyrants that rule not by love and loyalty, like I want to, but by the horrible power of the whip, the dark cell, the automatic pistol!"

He pictured, then, a Paradise of democracy in which, with the old political machines destroyed, every humblest worker would be king and ruler, dominating representatives elected from among his own kind of people, and these representatives not growing indifferent, as hitherto they had done, once they were far off in Washington, but kept alert to the public interest by the supervision of a strengthened Executive.

It sounded almost reasonable, for a while.

The supreme actor, Buzz Windrip, was passionate yet never grotesquely wild. He did not gesture too extravagantly; only, like Gene Debs of old, he reached out a bony forefinger which seemed to jab into each of them and hook out each heart. It was his mad eyes, big staring tragic eyes, that startled them, and his voice, now thundering, now humbly pleading, that soothed them.

He was so obviously an honest and merciful leader; a man of sorrows and acquaint with woe.

Doremus marveled, "I'll be hanged! Why, he's a darn good sort when you come to meet him! And warm-hearted. He makes me feel as if I'd been having a good evening with Buck and Steve Perefixe. What if Buzz is right? What if—in spite of all the demagogic pap that, I suppose, he has got to feed out to the boobs—he's right in claiming that it's only he, and not Trowbridge or Roosevelt, that can break the hold of the absentee owners? And these Minute Men, his followers—oh, they were pretty nasty, what I saw out on the street, but still, most of 'em are mighty nice, clean-cut young fellows. Seeing Buzz and then listening to what he actually says does kind of surprise you—kind of make you think!"

But what Mr. Windrip actually had said, Doremus could not remember an hour later, when he had come out of the trance.

He was so convinced then that Windrip would win that, on Tuesday evening, he did not remain at the Informer office until the returns were all in. But if he did not stay for the evidences of the election, they came to him.

Past his house, after midnight, through muddy snow tramped a triumphant and reasonably drunken parade, carrying torches and bellowing to the air of "Yankee Doodle" new words revealed just that week by Mrs. Adelaide Tarr Gimmitch:

"The snakes disloyal to our Buzz We're riding on a rail, They'll wish to God they never was, When we get them in jail!

Chorus:

"Buzz and buzz and keep it up To victory he's floated. You were a most ungrateful pup, Unless for Buzz you voted.

"Every M.M. gets a whip To use upon some traitor, And every Antibuzz we skip Today, we'll tend to later."

"Antibuzz," a word credited to Mrs. Gimmitch but more probably invented by Dr. Hector Macgoblin, was to be extensively used by lady patriots as a term expressing such vicious disloyalty to the State as might call for the firing squad. Yet, like Mrs. Gimmitch's splendid synthesis "Unkies," for soldiers of the A.E.F., it never really caught on.

Among the winter-coated paraders Doremus and Sissy thought they could make out Shad Ledue, Aras Dilley, that philoprogenitive squatter from Mount Terror, Charley Betts, the furniture dealer, and Tony Mogliani, the fruit-seller, most ardent expounder of Italian Fascism in central Vermont.

And, though he could not be sure of it in the dimness behind the torches, Doremus rather thought that the lone large motorcar following the procession was that of his neighbor, Francis Tasbrough.

Next morning, at the Informer office, Doremus did not learn of so very much damage wrought by the triumphant Nordics—they had merely upset a couple of privies, torn down and burned the tailor-shop sign of Louis Rotenstern, and somewhat badly beaten Clifford Little, the jeweler, a slight, curly-headed young man whom Shad Ledue despised because he organized theatricals and played the organ in Mr. Falck's church.

That night Doremus found, on his front porch, a notice in red chalk upon butcher's paper:

You will get yrs Dorey sweethart unles you get rite down on yr belly and crawl in front of the MM and the League and the Chief and I

A friend

It was the first time that Doremus had heard of "the Chief," a sound American variant of "the Leader" or "the Head of the Government," as a popular title for Mr. Windrip. It was soon to be made official.

Doremus burned the red warning without telling his family. But he often woke to remember it, not very laughingly.

[ao3feed-obikin]

Moon Bloom

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/52295458 by lashirel Qui-Gon tried to speak again. “Promise me..” “Shut up, Master. I'm trying to concentrate. You're not dying on me today!” Placing her palm over his stab wound, she closed her eyes and focused. She focused on them both, their joined Master-Padawan bond. Soon it was going to be severed and she would feel a whole new kind of loneliness. Or: Obi-Wan navigates her way through life amidst love, war and what it means to be a Jedi Knight, while men just won't leave her alone. Words: 6734, Chapters: 4/?, Language: English Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn, Padmé Amidala, Quinlan Vos, Bail Organa, Mace Windu, Yoda, Jango Fett, Boba Fett, CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex, Ahsoka Tano, Dexter Jettster, Dooku | Darth Tyranus, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Bant Eerin, Siri Tachi, Ferus Olin, Vokara Che Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa Additional Tags: Female Obi-Wan, Genderbent Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Lives, various povs, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Trains Anakin, Fade to Black, A little bit of Anidala on the side, But Obikin is endgame, even some Obidala if you squint really hard, older man younger woman, Older woman younger man, we like variety in this house, additional tags as the story progresses, no explicit content, Respectful of both Jedi and Sith culture, also we love Padmé in this house read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/52295458

[herisms]

"there must be a celebration happening that i wasn't aware of." olin eyes the bottle in the enchanter's hand pointedly. his familiarity with alcohol beyond avvarian ale and mead is limited, making it difficult for him to tell what exactly vito is holding, especially in the low candlelight of his office. still, he can't help the grin that tugs at the corner of his lips, betraying his own pleased surprise at the other man's unannounced visit so late in the evening.

the moon hangs in the night sky just outside, a pool of its glow gathering at the foot of the large window where olin stands. his oldest and most trusted falcon, sylvi, has begun to nod off on her perch beside him, her head tucked under her wing, his hand gliding gently across her feathered back. he regards vito with a demeanor that's remarkably less professional than normal, though still collected, a glint of daring in his blue-eyed gaze. his brow lifts inquisitively.

"so, what is the occasion, enchanter?"

@cimetier

[olors64]

toki pona e suno e mun mute

suno mi Sun

mun kiwen:

mun tawa pi tenpo lili Mercury

mun olin Venus

ma Earth

mun ma Moon

mun loje ma Mars

mun lili kiwen:

mun suli Ceres

mun suli:

mun suli Jupiter

mun sike lipu Saturn

mun laso e poka sewi e poka anpa Uranus

mun laso pi tele Neptune

mun lili lete:

mun sitelen olin Pluto

[norahtheweirdo]

Wearing rn: long black skirt, black tank top, lavender sweater, moon earrings, moon necklace, lavender bracelet, combat boots with flowers on it, and a green purse 💗💗

What I wish I was wearing: happiness aka a real smile

Where I am: I’m my room terrified my sister is gonna yell at me again and try to physically fight me again

Fave style: kidcore, cottagecore, hippie vibes, grunge and what I can only describe as feminist vibes

OMG THX SO MUCH @is-it-funny-because-its-true LITERALLY TAG ME ANYTIME I LOVE UR POST PLEASE DONT FEAR TO “bother” ME OMGGGFG I NEED OLINE FRIENDS!!!!

@olllllllie my bestie (pls don’t die)

I’m bored let’s make a reblog chain

what are u wearing rn:

what you wish you’d be wearing (does not matter how expensive or outlandish id be):

what situation/place are you at rn:

favorite clothing style(s) all around:

I’ll begin:

wearing rn: dark green cargo pants, trekking shoes, light blue shirt and dark blue jacket

what I wish I’d be wearing: dark green cargo pants, dark green jacket with more pockets, combat boots

situation rn: traveling

fav style: mix of street ware/millitary esque (comfy and efficient don’t judge me) or dark academia + cottage core

Tagging some ppl to get this started: +OPEN TAGS (if ur tagged feel free to not do it no pressure)

@im-a-sentient-magic-carpet @daggerhobbit

@thecrazyalchemist @enochianghost @just--a--random--human--being @hadoom @uwathebestgirl @pennyroyald @hyperfixationbullshit

@wolffuwu @rp-rs @styxwaow @asters-tempo

[blackkatmagic]

Your numerous wonderful fics have infected me with so many obscure Star Wars blorbos. You roll up with 40k on whoever Ferus Olin is and I have to go to the Wookiepedia mines bc now I’ve Read it and I Love him. This has happened 5 times now. One of them has ended up terminal. I keep writing upsetting Jon Antilles daemon AU ficlits to torture my sibling with.

The fics of yours that I’m currently insane about, to the point of reading multiple times in the past 2 months are: Cor Cordium, soundtracked by Love Grows (Where my Rosemary Goes) by Edison Lighthouse. Indestructible, which has incredibly chewy political implications as well as me constantly yelling “General Antilles! Discretion!” When he does shit like come out of a shadowy corner that he disappeared into with his padawan holding a bloody knife. I have lived with shades so long which is an almost aspirational amount of crushing Feemor loneliness. Feemor: The sensation of walking into a room and forgetting why you even went in there, but like, as a person. And that Ferus fic I alluded to, heartlines. I’ve also been really enjoying how when the dead tree flowers has been going. Granta is such an interesting kind of brittle there.

While I am here, you have also made me care about Moon Knight, who I think my only introduction to was as Moonwing from the Amalgam Comics? Starting from scratch there is what I’m saying. Saw in the Authors Notes you don’t like the show, are there comics you’d recommend?

I honestly love the old MK comics the most, starting with his original run and working up to the Declan Shalvey series (which is my absolute favorite tbh). Some of the newer runs are kind of sketchy (the Sun King stuff and what follows it is. uh. kind of yikes), but the Avengers: Age of Khonshu series was also very fun. I haven't read most of the more recent stuff, since the site I use to read MK has a six-month lag in uploads, but it seems pretty solid so far.

[screamingtrashbird]