#the violence of the first panel is not coincidence by any means.

[werewolfcave]

A comic about Theseus, the Minotaur, and what's not binary being forced into the binary.

[Image ID: a two panel comic.

The first panel is dark reddish-brown and set inside the Labyrinth. It features the famous hero Theseus, a man with curly hair and a helmet that covers the top of his head, with a wide, long plume on the top; and Asterion, the Minotaur, a man with the head of a bull, the dark fur of his head reaches down to his chest and shoulders. Theseus is holding the Minotaur in place by gripping his horn and pressing a sword to his neck. Blood wells from where the blade is pressed. The Minotaur looks scared, Theseus looks determined. There are two boxes of text, together they read: "I'll free you" the hero proclaimed.

The second panel is light yellow and set outside. It features Theseus once again, this time he is no longer wearing a helmet and now that we can properly see his chest we can see he is well muscled and has top surgery scars. He is holding the hand of the newly transformed Asterion, a boy with a thin but slightly muscled frame, curly hair, and a red mark across his neck. Asterion is shed of what makes him neither man nor bull, and is instead only man. He is covering his eyes with his arm that is not held by Theseus, the sunlight too bright for his eyes. Theseus is smiling at him, Asterion is grimacing. Behind them there are trees, foliage, and a marble pillar. There are a total of six boxes of text on this panel, two on the left, two in the middle, and two on the right. Together the boxes read: "Isn't this better?" he asked, leading the new boy into the light of the sun. And what's left of Asterion reeled.

/End Image ID]

[deripmaver]

Griffith, Sex, and Power

Feat. a brief special guest: Laurent of Vere from Captive Prince (spoilers, and of course canon typical content warnings for both Berserk and Capri)!

Ok time for a complete 180 from all my Berserk meta posts so far hahahah. Probably this is one that’s been made before, but I wanted to take a crack at it possibly from a different angle than before. This’ll be just sort of a ramble, no panels ‘cause those panels make me sad and I don’t want to go looking for them.

In CS Pacat’s Captive Prince, Laurent of Vere was directly inspired by Griffith from Berserk. Part of what allows the audience to forgive him for the sexual violence he causes Damen is when we learn that said abuse is just being replicated from his own experiences. Laurent has learned by being abused as a teenager that sex and power are intrinsically linked (as he says to Damen, his perception of sex is that it occurs “as a man takes a boy”), and so when the man who killed his brother (and lead to his abuse in the first place by leaving him with his uncle) is put in front of him, the ways he dominates and reasserts power over him come from his own sexual trauma.

It’s not hard to see how this characterization draws from Griffith. As a young teenager, he is given the “choice” (which isn’t really a choice at all) to make money to sustain his dream by winning battles, and thereby sending his followers to their deaths, or by prostituting himself to Gennon. As far as we know with what’s given to us in canon, up until he sleeps with Princess Charlotte this is his only sexual experience - purely transactional, a show of power from those who have it forced upon those who do not have it. 

When Griffith has sex, in Princess Charlotte’s case, or... commits sexual assault, in Casca’s case (twice), it’s not a coincidence it happens at moments where he feels at his lowest and most powerless. It’s ALSO not a surprise that he replicates the dynamics he’s familiar with during these sexual encounters. With Charlotte, he goes to see her to regain a sense of control and authority after Guts leaves, and during that encounter she expresses uncertainty at the beginning, outright saying no before eventually just kind of submitting to it. This encounter I think falls into somewhat of a gray area of fictional consent, because we see ultimately Charlotte happy with it, and thinking only fondly of it in later chapters, but it’s undeniable it’s coercive and considering how the whole thing is framed vs the sex between Guts and Casca is framed, I think the discomfort is intentional. 

Then, of course, with Casca, these encounters are outright sexual assault and rape. Again, it’s not a coincidence that these happen when Griffith is feeling completely shattered, completely without power, at rock fucking bottom. It’s heavily implied that some of Griffith’s torture was sexual in nature, if not outright rape though considering how much rape of women there is in Berserk I’ll forever be pissed as hell that Miura didn’t bother to show any of that happening to an (adult) male character if that is what he intended. 

So now, as far as what’s been shown in canon, Griffith’s sexual experience is underage prostitution, coercive sex with Charlotte, and now possibly rape combined with torture. After this, he assaults Casca in the wagon (only stopping because he physically can’t go through with it due to his injuries) and when he’s able to move again as Femto, rapes her. Rape is fully about power, and to Griffith sex is about power in general, and the eclipse to me is a very clear show from Griffith that he’s the one with power, he’s the one whose will the world bends to, and he needs to reassert that power over everyone. 

As an aside, it’s very interesting to me that in those moments of powerlessness, the people he uses to reassert his own power aren’t the men who have taken from him, but women. I mean, during the eclipse he’s hurting Casca to get at Guts, but like... He doesn’t rape Guts LOL when he easily could. I’m sure most of that is just Miura not wanting to draw sex (even if it’s rape) between adult men, but taking a more meta view, it replicates power dynamics and hierarchies of misogyny and oppression in the real world in an interesting way.

Griffith, as a character, knows what it is to be powerless, and is desperately climbing for more and more power throughout the story of Berserk to never experience that again. However, in doing so, he becomes the same as the oppressive nobles who hurt him, and once you accept that hierarchy it chips away at any intrinsic sense of justice you may have. This hasn’t come up again since his rebirth, but it will be interesting to see what his reaction will be if something happens that does shake his absolute authority over humanity, and what he’ll do about it. I think that moment might be coming up sooner than we expect.

[musings-of-a-lit-student]

The Sheik: Part 2

Disclaimer: I don’t own Maus or any of Spiegelman’s work. I have attached the photos from the work itself, but do not claim to own the scanned version either. I highly recommend purchasing the book to support the original author. My thoughts do not represent the author's work and are merely my own interpretations.

Warning: MAUS is a graphic novel based on the author’s father’s experiences during the holocaust and includes anecdotes and scenes including violence, blood which may be considered triggering. 

Introduction: The work MAUS by Art Spiegelman is a novel that tells the story of Vladek Spiegelman and his experiences during the holocaust using an allegory and parallel storylines to depict the Vladek's past and Artie's present as he hears the story from his father. This work includes an autobiographical and biographical element due to the inclusion of two main characters - Vladek and Artie. Spiegelman makes the decision to introduce himself as a character in the work as a mouthpiece for himself.

Main Characters: Artie: The author Vladek: Artie's father Anja: Artie's mother Mala: Vladek's second wife Françoise: Artie's wife

Navigation ->The Sheik Masterlist-> Previous Part

MAUS by Art Spiegelman

Points of Interest:

Text Bubbles

The text bubble start to change from the beginning of the past and Spiegelman uses sharper boxes to imitate the scratchiness of voices over the telephones of that time. His methods of communicating different ideas change with the progression of the work and so does the shape of the speech bubbles, the fonts and the such change.

Representation of the present

While previously the present was depicted in panels, while retelling the past, Spiegelman makes the decision to inform the readers of the events in the present by depicting out of the panels. They as such interrupt the story and shift the focus back to real time and keep reminding the audience of the events of the present, and details of the future.

Change in narrator

The narration has been featured by using squares above panels begin to use first person, establishing that Vladek is speaking and taking the over the role of the narrator while the immersed in the past. This highlights his control over the narrative and the perspective in the past while Artie maintains his authority in the present.

Callback to the Index Card

The dance scene between Vladek and Lucia seems to mirror the Index Card and is evident and seems purposeful as he depicts an intimacy both the readers and him thought was reserved to Anja with Lucia. This hints to a sense of betrayal, by choosing a similar form of portrayal of closeness. Spiegelman could have done this on purpose, or it may simply be coincidence however he does seem to hint at his purpose by using silhouettes in both illustrations.

The Sheik

While previously discussed during the chapter title card, Spiegelman makes a reference and explains the name of the chapter. However the image he presents of Vladek, and the movie poster of the Sheik contrasts and clashes to make discordant picture. Vladek's unfit, and aged body does not match the stature and glory of Rudolph Valentino, the sex symbol of the 1920s. The stationary cycle suggests Vladek is stuck in the past despite going through the motions of displacement by pedalling.

To learn more about the sheik click here.

To learn more about Rudolph Valentino click here.

Stalkerish Tendencies

Lucia is seen to present many creepy characteristics when coupled with Vladek's attitude and it makes her appear as a stalker. However, the narration alone does not present her as such and this would appear normal under more reciprocated circumstances. This means Spiegelman had drawn in situations that may not be true as fillers to depict the past. The interest in visiting Vladek's house shows a closeness, but Vladek's narration makes him appear more reluctant like the drawings. This can be seen through the hands and the upward tilt of her face of the last panel of page 14. Spiegelman depicts her forwardness, and makes her appear more amorous as a result.

Non-Commital Monosyllabic Responses

Vladek's disinterest in pursuing a relationship with Lucia is shown through his distant body language and monosyllabic responses. He uses the least amount of words at each point of conversation making it more significant in the long run of their relationship. The indifference towards her flirtations is shown through his narration but Spiegelman counters this by deeply exaggerating how detached and distant he was throughout their relationship. He does this to tell the readers that while Vladek does display his complete devotion to Anja, his 4 year relationship with Lucia was not sustained on her affection alone.

Next Part

[oracleofmania]

Tomie’s True Horror

A needed disclaimer that while arguing for the sympathy for Tomie and the general avocation to see the events of Tomie as a mentally ill woman harmed, it does not mean that NPD is a naturally abusive personality like all personality disorders it is merely a severe mental illness stemming from trauma, genetics, or a combination of the two that requires general society to accept and not constantly vilify and demonize these responses.

“Murdered again and again, one girl always comes back for more…” Reads the back cover of Junji Ito’s Tomie, the breakout manga that earned him an honorable mention at the Umezu Awards and started his career. You most likely have seen Tomie without realizing it, Hot Topic has a manga panel of her on a shirt, going on Pinterest shows various tattoos of the girl making intense eye contact with the character. She is an icon of Junji Ito’s fandom and one can argue a small pop culture icon in weeb-dom. Yet it feels like no one understands the true terror of Tomie: the terrors of societies treatment of women who are traumatized and the demonification of the woman’s trauma response. 

To begin we must understand the vilified trauma we first must engage in armchair psychology. Because Tomie Kawakami is not a real human being she cannot go through rigorous psychiatric evaluations but with the complete collection of Tomie in hand, one can identify a few key symptoms that lead to a potential diagnosis of PTSD and/or Narcissistic Personality Disorder.  For the PTSD diagnosis we need to establish the initial stressor for PTSD symptoms to occur. One can consider the first iteration of Tomie starting in the first chapter aptly titled “Tomie” where she is a freshman in school and is brutally murdered by her classmates due to the teacher’s suggestion. The rest of the complete edition we see through her clones the life long symptoms that are associated with such an event occurring. She is hypervigilant, as demonstrated best in the “Photo” and “Mansion” Chapters where she is acutely aware and doggedly aggressive towards  Tsukiko Izumisawa, having a complete breakdown due to a photo of her being passed around school and is acutely aware of her perception with the men in her life and her effect on women. This bleeds to her aggression with all the chapters of the story involving her resorting to violence as a first and last option. With Tsukiko she sends her goons to murder her, in “Waterfall Basin” she attacks and eats the men that enter into the pool, and so on. Another symptom is the risky or destructive behavior, constantly and consistently she orders men to kill certain iterations of her so she won’t have to deal with them, to put it bluntly she is engaging in severe self-harm on an absurd horror level. It also seems evident that she experiences cues that coincide with trauma, such as her aversion to photographs of her being taken; her dysfunctional relationships with others and general society. This concoction leads to the simple conclusion she has PTSD and is expressing it in a manner that is unhealthy and harmful to everyone. Furthermore, These symptoms coinciding with her general self-centered attitude that is extremely grandiose also meets the criteria of Narcissistic Personality disorder. With this concoction of mental health issues the world around Tomie is ready and willing to villify and harm the beautiful femme-fatale.

Throughout the series we see her become the victim of men and even a few women  end up harming and killing her. Her existence drives men to madness due to her beauty and general existence. And readers are meant to be scared of her due to something she cannot control, she may use this to her advantage as demonstrated in “Gathering”, but she does not do it for anything sinister like replicate herself, she attacks herself often, she merely does it to… live a life of luxury. Nothing evil or vile, just something normal that a good portion of people want to do. The only difference between those people and her is the trauma and treatment for it. To reiterate, the first time readers are introduced to her is when she is murdered by her classmates for being promiscuous and having a relationship with her teacher, as a ninth grade teacher and a boy. While her cheating is not the best, she was in a naturally predatory relationship. It also needs to be stated that she does not get any real talks about her behavior and she is antagonized for her actions and is rewarded for her manipulation due to her horrifying ability to destroy men’s minds. 

So how can you make a monster out of someone that only committed her actions in response to the world around her? Do we blame the children and women who experience mental health issues that stem from childhood abuse and domestic violence in Japan? The answer is sadly yes. Depending on the trauma response, we as a society demonize those with these severe trauma responses. People with personality disorders are constantly cast as the villains, as people that choose to not change, that willingly act the way that they do for their own selfish gain. While NPD is not as studied BPD a sister personality disorder in the same cluster, has tons of reports showing that even those who are supposed to help end up treating them less. For anecdotal evidence go on Reddit’s r/raisedraisedbyborderlines. r/Narcissisticabuse also shows the general reaction to those with the personality disorder. So if the world is out to get you and already casts you as the abuser. Then is it not just easier to become Tomie and get what you want through what means necessary? 

Works used:

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK207191/box/part1_ch3.box16/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK556001/

Takeo Fujiwara, Makiko Okuyama, Mayuko Izumi, Yukiko Osada,The impact of childhood abuse history and domestic violence on the mental health of women in Japan,Child Abuse & Neglect,Volume 34, Issue 4,2010,Pages 267-274,ISSN 0145-2134,https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chiabu.2009.07.007.

(https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0145213410000487)

https://www.reddit.com/r/raisedbyborderlines/comments/4wqofo/unpopular_opinion_of_personality_disorders/ (Trigger Warning for this one)

https://www.mentalhealthtoday.co.uk/news/mental-health-diagnosis/bpd-stigma-is-most-common-crisis-trigger

https://www.reddit.com/r/NarcissisticAbuse/ (Trigger Warning)

https://stopthestigma.org/personality-disorders/

[aliwritesfic]

Our Black Hearts (F!Reader x Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels)

Summary: Jack Daniels had long given up on avenging his murdered wife, instead choosing to travel west through the ruins of the United States to a small town called Deepwell. It's a fresh start, where nobody knows him. The thought of vengeance was almost out of mind until he found out about the towns book club and the gossip trade that happened there. So he joins, and figures it can't hurt to keep an ear out for news of the man who killed his wife.

Overall warnings: Death, violence, a lot of swearing, drinking, trauma, PTSD, angst

Warnings for this part: Drinking, mention of dead loved ones, smut, P in V sex, oral (F & M receiving), somewhat rough sex

Wordcount: 2.4k

Tags: Post-apocalypse AU, casual lovers, revenge

Part 2 (coming soonish)

The book club was a group of the only twelve people in the town who could read more than the few basic words that were usually taught. It wasn’t like an old-world book club, were people would gather to discuss the books they read – it was more of a book exchange, but the members preferred the word club. Of course, there were discussions, but they were seldom about books. They met once a week, usually on a Wednesday but sometimes on Fridays, and mostly talked about news they had heard from passing traders, letters given by couriers from family. This was how Jack got most of his information.

Jack Daniels was the newest member of this club. He was the newest resident of the Deepwell township, having come through one scorching hot Tuesday afternoon on the back of a trader’s caravan. He had taken one look at the dingy little town with its long-abandoned homes and decided that this was as far as he was willing to travel. Of course, he had to speak with the self-appointed Mayor, Lucy Jonas-Green, so she could assess his “suitability”. The interview had been a short one, consisting of only four questions, the grizzled old woman glaring at him through narrowed grey eyes.

“You good at shootin’?” Question one.

“Best I know.” It wasn’t a brag if it was true, Jack reasoned.

“Got any skills?” Question two.

“I’m good at buildin’ shit, I can stay awake for two days if I need to, I can read and write some stuff . . . I’m pretty good with a whip.”

“Why here?” Question three.

“Got sick of travelling.”

“What’s your name?” Question four.

“Jack.”

Lucy Jonas-Green had deliberated for exactly one minute, during which time Jack grew increasingly uncomfortable under her gaze. He felt like she could see directly into his soul, like she was deciding exactly how shit-stained it was. The only indication of her approval was a slight nod of the head. At that, a young boy, probably no older than thirteen, rushed over to greet him. The kid was chatty, but harmless.

It was through this kid that Jack first found out about the book club. He hadn’t been interested at first – just because he could read didn’t mean he liked to read. But at the mention of it being the towns main source of news from across the Fallen States, the chance of hearing something about the group that attacked Black Ridge was too good to pass up.

So now, he sat with the book club, a yellowed, mouldy copy of 1984 in his hands, ears pricked for any mention of a merc group led by a man with one eye and eleven fingers. A few months before he had finally settled in Deepwell, he had given up on his search and his quest for revenge. There had been no mention of him anywhere along the eastern townships, so Jack had headed west, deciding to leave the cruel memories of his wife behind. Now, he figured it couldn’t hurt to just listen.

But for weeks now, nothing. Whatever hope had rekindled itself in his chest was dying away, making room for cruel acceptance. Another meeting concluded, and Jack tucked the book carefully in his jacket. As much as he didn’t enjoy reading, he had a healthy respect for the leader of the book club and the threat of slitting his throat should something happen to the books she shared with the group.

The sun was low in the sky as he stepped outside, casting long shadows on the cracked pavement. People were beginning to move as the sunset, the harshest of its rays now dulled by the horizon. Electric streetlights slowly flickered on; the entire town was powered by recommissioned solar panels that someone much smarter than Jack had rigged up a decade ago. Jack considered his options for the night: either he could go back to the house he shared with a small family and scrounge up a meal of whatever was left in his room before a trader came through town tomorrow night, or he could go to the only bar in town, order several of whatever alcohol was in stock and a bowl of the ‘stew of the day’ which was usually just a root vegetable and some unidentified meat. Jack chose the bar.

The bar was the largest building in Deepwell, three stories tall and enough beds to sleep the entire population of the town twice over. The place smelt of stale booze and dust, a smell that seemed to be common over the entirety of the Fallen States. A jukebox in the corner played old world tunes on a loop.

“Evenin’, Jack.” The owner of the bar, Marcus, nodded his head in Jack’s direction. Jack nodded back and took off his hat – an old-world style that someone had once called ‘cowboy’. “Just the usual?”

“Yep, and keep the drinks coming,” Jack sat down at a small table close to the exit, his body always slightly angled to run at a moment’s notice, an old habit that he couldn’t seem to shake. A bowl of steaming stew was set down in front of him, along with a glass of murky amber liquid.

That’s when he noticed he was being watched. A woman sat in the corner, staring at him over a half empty glass of whiskey. Jack raised a brow and realised his recognised her. She was in the book club, too, but he didn’t remember her name. Everyone seemed to call her Chase. Jack was surprised she didn’t break her gaze when his eyes met hers, and against his better judgement, he put his hat back on, picked up his bowl and glass and walked over to her.

“This seat taken?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he set his food down on the table and sat.

~

Something about Jack Daniels intrigued you. Maybe it was the hat, or the facial hair he somehow managed to keep contained to a thick, neat moustache. Or maybe it was just the most annoyingly handsome person to ever come through Deepwell. Now he sat across from you, sipping on bathtub whiskey.

“Chase isn’t it?” he said after downing his glass.

“That’s what they call me,” you said. “What do they call you?”

Jack smirked. “Depends who you ask. Some like Dirty Bastard, others Motherfucker. For a while I was known as Whiskey. But you can call me whatever you like.” He finished with a wink.

“Jack it is,” you said with a roll of your eyes, but you would be lying to yourself if you weren’t a little charmed. “So, what brings you to book club, Jack?”

“Why, my love of old-world literature, of course.”

You leant back in your seat and tilted your head. He was lying, that much was obvious. But why? What was the point of lying? You looked into his eyes, a deep brown, and wondered if he was worth the trouble. He might be worth it for the night, you thought.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that I believe that,” you said, and Jack looked mildly surprised. “What’s taken you so long to come up and introduce yourself? You’ve been in town what now? Three months?”

“Two and a half,” Jack corrected, “and what gives you the impression I don’t care for literature?”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours,” you countered. Was this flirting? You hadn’t done it in so long, and the most practice you had was when you were working in the town garden, daydreaming about the heroes of the romance novels you kept in a safe in the corner of your room.

“Well, well, well,” Jack leant forward on his elbows, his gaze unreadable underneath his ridiculous hat. “I don’t have a reason for you, doll, but if it makes you feel better, I haven’t introduced myself to most people here.”

You settled for this explanation, knowing that Jack had been somewhat of a recluse around town since he had arrived. You decide to answer his question. “I know you don’t give a shit about books. It’s obvious you care more about the goss. Your ears practically twitch. What are you listening for?”

Jack deliberated for a moment; you could see on his face that he really was conflicted about telling you. He finished his mystery stew and finally speaks. “I’m looking for a man, have been for a few years now. He killed my wife, and I wanna kill him.”

“A simple revenge,” you said. “What makes you think you think news will turn up in Deepwell?”

“I didn’t,” Jack said, “I’d given up when I first came here. Figured it was best for my soul to do so – but then I heard about this club, and I guess it can’t hurt to keep an ear out for rumblin’s of a man with eleven fingers and one eye.”

“Eleven fingers?” Your stomach dropped, but you kept your face neutral.

“And one eye,” Jack nodded.

“Did you find out his name?” You asked. Maker don’t let it be Elijah. Don’t let him be alive. Jack shook his head.

“Naw, but eleven fingers and one eye, how many people could be runnin’ ‘round the Fallen States like that?” Jack shrugged, something akin to grief flittered briefly across his face, and you realised he was right. Having only one eye wasn’t unusual, a lot of people were missing some body part or another, but eleven fingers . . . you couldn’t deny the coincidence.

“Anyway,” Jack smirked at you, “you haven’t asked the most important question of all.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Are we takin’ this back to yours or mine, doll?”

~ Jack’s body is hard against yours, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips. His shirt is off, discarded on the floor of your small bedroom. He kisses hungrily down your neck, his tongue darting along your collarbone. A moan escapes your lips as he slides his calloused hands along the bare skin of your stomach, roughly tugging at the frayed waistband of your jeans. His fingers find your wetness, easily finding your sensitive clit with his thumb. You groaned, head lolling forward into his sweaty neck.

“You like that?” he whispered into your ear; goosebumps raced along your body. His thumb made careful, slow circles along your clit. “Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” you whined, bucking your hips in pleasure. A low groan escaped Jack’s throat at your words, spurring him on. He forces your pants off completely and discards them in the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He drops to his knees and pulls you closer, lips trailing delicately along your inner thighs. Then without warning, his tongue is lapping up the wetness of your clit, two fingers pumping your tight hole.

“Jack,” you whimper, the need for more sending you crazy. His dark eyes met yours over the top of your stomach, his tongue still working your clit. You’re hungry for him, the look of pure lust in his eyes spurring you to places you had never thought about. You sit up and place a hand on his shoulder, shuddering as another wave of pleasure rippled through your body. The look in your eyes must’ve told him what you want to do, because he stood and stepped back, allowing you room to get on your knees in front of him.

He undid his belt buckle with fingers still slick from your pussy and pulled his pants down. His cock sprang forward, making your mouth water with how fucking big it was. The head glistened with a bead of pre-cum. You leant forward and licked it off, before taking as much of his length in your mouth as you could. He groaned, his fingers tangling through your hair.

“Fuck, deeper,” his voice was husky with desire, and you happily obliged, taking him so you could feel him almost at the back of your throat. His fingers in your hair tightened, a pleasant pain on your skull. He groaned and pulled your head back, staring into your eyes. “I need you.”

You tugged him towards the mattress, pushing him on his back. You climb atop, feeling strangely dominant. His cock slid against the wetness of your hole, head entering before you pulled your hips away, a teasing smile on your lips. You go on like this, letting him enter a little further in you each time, enjoying the tortured look on his face, enjoying it even more when his eyes snapped open as you let him in completely. He moaned loudly, holding onto your hips tightly.

“Doll,” his word was muffled by his mouth on your tit, teeth latching onto your nipple. You rocked back and forth, clenching around his cock as an orgasm threatened to rip you from your body. Jack seemed to realise this, and flipped you both so you were on your back and he was standing, still inside you. He pulled you so your ass was off the mattress, your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Maker, you’re so fucking sexy,” he fucked you hard and rough, his dark gaze never leaving yours. His thumb was on your clit again, teasing you as an orgasm ripped through you. You moaned his name, your pussy clenching tightly around him. He grinned devilishly down at you, leaning forward to kiss you as he continued to thrust. He tasted of you, driving his tongue into your mouth. You met this eagerly, whimpering against his lips as yet another orgasm moved you.

“I can’t hold on,” Jack groaned, and before you could say a thing, he pulled out of you, hot cum spurting onto your stomach. He slumped next to you, obviously spent.

“Holy shit,” you muttered, scanning the room for something to wipe the cum up with.

“Holy shit is right, doll,” Jack said. Sweat beaded along his brow and he cracked open an eye to watch you wipe up with a shirt that was so full of holes it was unwearable. Silver moonlight filtered through the dirty window, casting shadows across his beautiful face. You laid down next to him, feeling a small shiver run through you as he curved his warm naked body against yours.

You would tell him, you decided. You would tell him you knew who he was looking for, and that you might know where to find him. But in the morning, so as not to mar the beautiful just fucked haze that enveloped your mind.

Tagging @sharkbait77 because she's lovely and I'm nervous about this one.

[shreddedparchment]

Stinky Stake Out

06/12/2019

for @zoayyy

Pairing: Bucky x Reader     Word Count: 2,936    

1K Celebration Masterpost    Warnings: Language, violence, farts

A/N: So this is another drabble submission from back when I did my 1K celebration. I am SO sorry that it is taking me so long to get these out. I am shit at doing requests which is why they are closed!! I have now hit 3K followers and all of you are so amazing and wonderful and I hope you enjoy this and I’m so sorry that I’m not a fun blog doing events and challenges and all that good stuff. I had fun writing this new, real, and cute side to Bucky and the reader. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Another mission. Another night with the idiot. Another string of hours in an enclosed space. A car.

Shiny where the paint isn’t peeling. Inconspicuous black. The floor littered with used coffee cups and burrito wrappers that crackle beneath your feet as you lift your right one up to rest on the seat.

Your knee is starting to ache after sitting for so many hours.

The air is stale in the old unmarked POS that Tony had found for you and your partner.

It wreaks of sharp new leather and sweat, with the faintest tang of ozone. It’s bitter but you’re used to it after two days spent sitting outside the supposed arms smuggler's dilapidated pawn shop. A front to throw the casual passerby off.

Your partner moves beside you, leaning towards you. He stares at you with steel blue eyes, the sparkle of amusement filling them with bright blue icicles.

It’s pretty…but you know that look and it doesn’t bode well.

He smirks at you, the dark curtain of his long roasted chestnut hair framed around his unshaven face.

“What?” You ask, suspicious and leaning back and away from him.

He smiles wider, exposing beautiful pearly whites.

Then it hits you. More ozone. Slightly bitter. Heady and penetrating.

“Awe, Bucky!” You reach over and shove him away hard then lift your foot and press it into his black t-shirt covered chest to push him flat against the rusted metal door.

He laughs, easy, chuckling as the smell permeates the small space. His laugh makes your chest warm, but you ignore that as best you can.

As you hold him away from you, you lower your window and gasp in the slightly marginally fresher air.

It’s sour with the stink of garbage from the nearby dumpster but for right now, it’s better than the smell of Bucky’s fart.

He’s still laughing, his metal hand wrapped around the top of your bare foot.

What?! Two days in a car getting all hot and sweaty with a huge super soldier who could really use a bath? You’re not going to wear your shoes the entire time.

Also, not as fun as it sounds.

“Oh, come on.” Bucky teases. “Your farts stink way more than mine do.”

“They do not!” You protest, leaning back into the car while you shut the window.

“They so do.” He chuckles.

“No, they don’t, Bucky!” You kick his chest and he laughs harder.

“It’s a proven fact. Women’s farts are much stinkier than men’s.” He throws out.

“Shut up. You just made that up.” You laugh, taking your leg back.

You’re highly aware of the way Bucky’s fingers linger against your skin as you pull your foot back and begin to pull your shoes back on, kicking cups and bags out of your way.

“I didn’t. It’s science.” Bucky fights.

He reaches over and pokes your side, lightly pinching the skin of your underarm playfully.

“Come on. Let one rip. We’ll do a smell test.” He urges.

You laugh again, louder and reach over to smack his stomach as he adjusts in his seat to sit facing forward while he continues to poke your side.

“Oh, my God, stop it. I’m not going to fart.” You struggle to keep the laughter buried and it bubbles up in half serious, half amused chuckles.

“What? Come on! Just give me one toot. Your farts are cute anyway.” He teases, laughing as he reaches out to poke your stomach again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky. No!” You laugh, throwing your head back as you chortle and smack his hand away.

He shrinks away from you, skillfully avoiding your hit.

“I’ll just ask Bruce to prove it once we get back to the compound.”

“You are not going to talk to Bruce about my farts. I’ll kill you.” You warn.

“Empty threat.” He brags. “You’ll see. I just gotta go get you some more of these burritos.”

He picks up an empty bag from the floor and holds it up. The movement draws your eye upwards and are distracted by the sturdy form of a man in a not so subtle red bomber, hands shoved into deep gray track pants and what looks like bright yellow running shoes.

“What the hell? I think we’ve got our first hit, Buck.” You shift forward, reaching onto the dash to the small hidden glass panel and press your finger to the display. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. pull up the profiles on known associates of the Green Murder.”

“There are twenty-seven high profile criminals associated with the Green Murder criminal organization.” The accented voice says.

The come up as small cards on the display and you begin to quickly cycle through them, looking for the man currently walking down the sidewalk towards your car and the launderette.

Beside you, Bucky has also shifted forward, his eyes narrowed as he stares at the stranger.

“No one’s been down this way in almost two days. This isn’t a coincidence.” Bucky whispers.

“He can’t hear us, Buck. Soundproof, remember?” You hit the glass of the windshield and it thuds at you dully as the sound is absorbed.

“Anything?” Bucky asks, looking around the launderette and its surrounding buildings. Old restaurants and apartment buildings, falling apart from neglect.

“No.” You sigh. “Maybe he’s just a-wait, here. Nolan Burke. Goes by Boomer. Irish immigrant. First generation. Seems he popped up when the arms game started up in this part of the city again. That’s a weird nickname.”

“Burke?” Bucky repeats, furrowed brow. “Doesn’t ring a bell. How high up on the totem pole is he?”

“Woah, that’s the Crow King’s lieutenant. We get him, we get our foot in the door.” You look over at Bucky who’s watching as Nolan Burke moves to the launderette and knocks four times, slightly patterned in a quick tap-tap, tap, tap.

Your gaze follows his and you both watch as he disappears into the arms den.

“What now? We could wait it out. Catch him when he gets out but then we’d have nothing to hold him on.”

“We need to catch him. They’re pulling a Toomes and we can’t let this go on much longer. Those weapons are starting to hit close to home.” Bucky nods, the clear indication of an idea forming in his head.

“Well?” You probe.

“I’m just gonna go knock on the door. Get inside. I’ll figure it out from there.” He explains. The revelation of his brilliant plan falls flat, and he looks over to meet your unimpressed gaze.

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever fucking heard…” You continue to stare at him as his lips curve upwards into a small, knowing smile. “…do it.”

He huffs a laugh and shoves his door open. You hurry out too, moving around the car to stop beside him.

Both of you stretch, twisting your back and cracking knuckles and necks, grateful to be out of the car. He’s already pulling on his tac vest and sheathing a knife on his hip.

“I’ll head on around the back and meet you inside.” You twist your neck one final time then reach out to grab hold of the front shoulder straps of his armor. “Don’t do anything stupid, Bucky.”

“You mean more than usual?” He smirks at you, insulting himself for you.

You grin, give him a shake, then let him go before moving to the trunk. “Yeah, more than usual.”

He begins to back away from you as you pop the trunk and attach the extra holsters you’d brought before transferring your guns into their spots. He holds his arms out, gesturing at his large rock-like body.

“Can’t make any promises.” He whisper-shouts at you.

You shut the trunk and then duck as you watch him knock on the wooden door, hand shoved in between the rusting black security bars.

Pulling your gun, you cock it, then hold it ready should the need to fire come immediately.

“Yeah?” Says a gruff voice, which you pick up through Bucky’s earpiece in your own.

“Boomer’s expecting me.” Bucky says with steel confidence that even you believe him.

There’s a sound of shifting wood and Bucky turns towards you to give you a stupid goofy grin before he straightens his face, just in time as the security door is opened for him and he walks in out of sight.

Your heart gives a painful lurch. Worry takes over for one terrifying second as you imagine that Bucky might never walk out that door again.

The intensity of the grievance startles you. You reach up with your left hand to massage the spot at the center of your chest and once you hear the security door groan closed you shove that fear aside and make your way into the alley beside the building.

“Bucky, what do you see?” You whisper, moving along the grimy mud brown brick of the alley.

No response.

“Bucky?” You repeat, that same weight of worry falling on you again.

“Bucky can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

“Fuck.” You sigh and sidle up to the heavy white door.

It takes you only a few seconds to pick the lock and you slide in, soundless. The back rooms are empty, dark, and rank with the smell of mold.

This place must have actually been a laundromat at some point because it smells like one, if it had been left to rot.

You allow your feet to carry you through quickly, shifting between old shelving and from one door through to another and another until you see the faint outline of a lit-up doorway.

The light is white-blue, fluorescent and sharp, reflecting up from a dingy white, green, and blue tiled floor.

The closer you get to this swinging doorway through which light is seeping through, the more you can hear a faint grunting and shuffling as if someone were struggling.

With your gun held ready, hands gripped tight and secure, trained in accurate rapid-fire, you peek through the dirty circular window in the old heavy plastic swinging door.

You’re not sure what you’re seeing at first but then as he turns towards you, hand shoved down the front of his pants, you can clearly see Bucky frantically pulling and tugging. His grunting and groaning makes your mind reel and though you know he can’t possibly be doing what it looks like he’s doing, it’s still what your mind shoots to.

You shove the door open and move to stop it as it swings back towards you. Bucky stops jumping around but stares at you with wide eyes.

“Is right now really the best time to be touching yourself?!” You gasp, astounded but there must be more to what is happening than what you’re seeing.

“I know why they call him Boomer.” Bucky explains, loud, not worried about being silent as he fiddles with his pants some more.

“What the hell are you doing?” You demand, moving towards him.

“No!” He shouts at you and shifts away from you. “Stay away from me. The bastard tied a grenade to front of my pants, on the inside. It’s stuck against my zipper and I can’t get it out.”

“Is the pin still in?” You ask, moving towards him again.

“Yes, stay back! If I accidentally pull it, I don’t want you anywhere near me.” He orders.

“Will you stop shouting?” You gasp, looking around frantically for a threat.

“They’re gone. They left me with their parting gift and took off out the front. You don’t have to worry about being overheard.” He’s so focused on his pants that he doesn’t notice how much closer you’ve gotten.

Watching him struggle is exasperating. If they really already got away, then there’s no sense in sticking around.

“Hurry up, Buck.” You sigh.

“I’m trying.” He argues, giving you a pleading look. “It’s stuck.”

“Ugh, move.” You grunt and pull his hand out of his pants then plunge your own in.

“Woah, uh…” He clears his throat and walks back until he hits an old broken washer. His hands grip the edge and he tries to lean away from you as you delve in the front of his pants.

You try not to think about what you feel. He’s wearing underwear so that’s good, but underwear can only do so much. You feel soft bits, hot through the cloth of his briefs, a small twitch.

You smirk, maybe it’s time for some payback for all that fart teasing?

“Is that a grenade in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” You ask him, and he laughs but you also feel him stiffen and force yourself to concentrate on anything but what’s in his pants. “Ooh, okay. I feel it.”

“What?!” He asks, voice cracking as it rises in pitch.

“The grenade, soldier. Calm down.” You chuckle.

“Can you get it out?” He asks.

“How the hell did he tie this on your zipper?” You ask, confused by the idea.

You give him an apologetic smile before holstering your gun and plunging your other hand in. “Sorry, Buck. I need both hands.”

He gasps and nearly pulls away from you but then stops, probably thinking about the grenade exploding if you accidentally pull the pin.

You look down into his pants, trying hard to get a look at the zipper and what you feel is the grenade pin itself. The attempt makes you shove the top of your head against the hard muscles of Bucky’s stomach. He curls around you, trying to make room for you to see.

“Would you stop blocking the light?” You demand.

“I’m sorry, this is a weird angle to be in.” He argues.

“This isn’t working. Take your pants off.”

“I am not taking my pants off.” Bucky fights.

“Bucky, I’ve seen you in your underwear before. Just take them off. I can’t get the pin loose with you wearing them.” You stand up straight, hands still buried in the front of his pants, and beg him with your eyes to be reasonable.

“Have you looked around?” He demands. “I could get tetanus in here.”

“You’re a Super Soldier, dumbass! Your system won’t let you get sick like that.”

“No.” He frowns.

“Ugh, fine but the only other option is to pull the grenade away from the pin.” You explain.

“You can’t do that. What’ll you do with it once you pull it off?” He worries.

“Throw it.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, Bucky but we can’t leave it here, in your pants. If we don’t do this soon, it increases the chances of you accidentally pulling it.�� You sigh.

“No.” He says, with stern finality, which only eggs you on harder.

“Fine.” You growl then pull it anyway.

“No!” Bucky shouts, but it’s already out of his pants.

You race towards the swinging doorway and push it open and fling the grenade into the back rooms.

You hear the heavy thud as it falls and rolls along the tiled floor. You turn, meaning to run and tackle Bucky to the ground as the rolling sound moves closer and closer back towards the swinging door but bump hard into Bucky’s chest.

You wrap your arms around him, protecting him your only priority as you ready for the blast.

Strong arms, cold and hot, embrace you and he falls back immediately as the explosion on the other side of the door shakes the building. Dust falls around you, the tile floor cracks beneath you.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, pushing you up so that you sit back onto the cracked tile floor.

“Yeah.” You reply, shouting because your ears are slightly ringing from the boom. You reach up to press your palms to your ears, mouth opened wide as you attempt to make them pop. “You?”

“I’m fine.” He says, voice thick, as if spoken through a wall even though he too is shouting.

“See? It’s always best if you just do what I ask.” Smiling, you look up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, yeah. You got anymore bright ideas, sugar? Or can we get back to the compound and get Bruce started on that farting research?”

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline of almost having blown off Bucky’s dick, or nearly collapsing a building around you, or maybe it’s just time, but you use the momentum of the conversation and let it out.

“Every time you speak I either wanna kiss you or throttle you.” Your hands are numb.

It feels like you’ve missed a step on a staircase and your stomach has suddenly bottomed out. Your heart is pounding and as Bucky continues to stare at you, saying nothing, those big blue eyes unblinking, you feel the adrenaline falter and your confidence wane.

Shit. Why had you gone and said it? Maybe you can still take it back?

“I mean…that’s not what I meant.” You’re still shouting, your ears thick, like fog. You can’t hear. “I mean-I…You drive me nuts. I just meant that-”

He scoots closer, then reaches up to hook his metal hand behind your neck and pull you towards him until his lips are on yours.

It’s a slow, smooth motion, as his lips open around yours and the soft gentle tip of his tongue searches for purchase.

You give him what he wants because it’s what you want too, and you let him in. He leads your head to tilt, moving his in the opposite direction, and you let him deepen the kiss. Eyes shut and ears plugged, you kiss Bucky for the first time in a crumbling laundromat, as the dust from his crotch grenade settles.

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[swampgh0stt]

Ace-related SBS questions for my personal reference

D: Greetings, Odacchi sensei. Good afternoon(?). This is a question, but the marks on the hat Portgas D. Ace was wearing; do they mean:

☹: Was it okay for me to be born into this world?

☺: Meeting Pops, Luffy, and loving me so much, I'm glad I was born. Thanks.

...or something like that to indicate Ace's question and the "Answer" he found? No, it's gotta be that! When Ace said his quotes before dying, his expressions were the same as his hat. P.N. Nara's K(Kuuki) Y(Yomeru) (Can read atmosphere)

O: Hmm, I see. I've received quite a number of postcards on this one. Those "marks" and "the last expressions", hm. They are the same. I, also, was shocked when I had this pointed out at first. (Haha) What's funny is that much to coincidence, that happened to become true. Back then, when Ace made his first introduction, there was sort of an idea of what this dude's destiny would be inside me, but those marks were just plain old accessories, and so I never thought of a deep meaning. And the expressions of Ace when he was dying, well I just thought that would be relevant and drew those two panels next to each other. Realistically, the face of pain, burning, hurting, feeling bad, and not wanting to die. Still, the feeling of having no regrets. He probably tries to tell that is how he truly feels to Luffy. And that's what his smile is. When a person cradles a crying baby, he/she always smiles, right? Same as that. Because he wants the person to smile, he dies with a peaceful smile in the end, and I think that shows us his kindness. Thinking that, I drew those panels. Ah- the explanation got kinda long-. Well anyhow- it's amazing, how you all notice this stuff.

D: Right before Ace died, he couldn't speak very loudly, so he asked for his final words to be told to everyone, afterwards. Did Luffy ever end up passing on the message "Thank you for loving me" to everyone? P.N. Otohimememe

O: I see. He really did promise that, yeah. But as events unfolded, it doesn't seem like Luffy was able to meet with the Whitebeard Pirates' crew members. But, that's alright. Those crew members loved Ace and went to war as a result of that love, so not a single one of them would resent not directly receiving any words of thanks. At that time, Ace had a different wish. The thing that he made Luffy promise to "tell everyone afterwards" was what, exactly? To survive. So I think that those last few words that he managed to utter reached more people at that time than we could have ever imagined.

D: Good afternoon Odacchi-♪ In chapter 589, Luffy's clothes in the 4th box of page 4 says "Sobauchi", the 5th box of page 8 says "Asagao", the 3rd box of page 11 is "Kankyuki", and 4th box of the 12th page says "Tapioca", am I correct? My sister found it. P.N.springrain soup

O: Hm. One of them is wrong. About Luffy and Ace's tanktops, I received lots of point-outs, so let's just check the answers right here. First, Ace's tanktops. Then Luffy's. (Chap. 585~589.) *(Luffy's tanktops have puns in them that only Japanese people will understand, so there will just be the meanings listed.)

"爆撃" Bakugeki; Explosion

"無罪" Muzai; Innocent

"暴力" Bouryoku; Violence

"勝訴" Shouso; Winning

"独立" Dokuritsu; Live Alone

"略奪" Ryakudatsu; Steal

"辻斬" Tsujigiri; Cutting Passerby People

"荒野" Kouya; Abandoned Field

"光線" Kousen; Ray of Light

"本能" Honnou; Instinct

"仁義" Jingi; Respect

Luffy:

Seaton (Seton)

Tamago Jiken (Egg Disaster)

F1

Shishi Kaba Buu (Shish kebab)

Newton

Lazania (Lasagna)

Sobauchi (Noodle Making)

Asagao (Morning Glory)

Eskimo

Kanki Uki (Dry season and rainy season)

Tapioca

Champion

Well, something along those lines. One thing that I hate is that in Chapter 589, pg 10, box 3, I also can't read those words (haha) It says "?NO" but what animal was "?".. can't remember. Oh well. Anyway, the explanation is that I wanted to say that they do indeed change clothes, and so I twisted my brain a little right there. Well, SBS ends here! From pg 186, we have Voice Actor SBS!! 

[iol247]

South Africa beware: Ace Magashule’s RET faction will fight to the bitter end

By Joel Netshitenzhe• 22 March 2021

South Africans, including the mass of ANC members, cannot allow the advances since 2017 to be squandered, and for the constitutional order to be subverted. The campaign against this assault on our democracy should be intensified, involving all sectors of society.

When pronouncements by the secretary-general of the African National Congress on Gagasi FM that the Democratic Alliance was “the enemy of the National Democratic Revolution” and that voting with the party in favour of an inquiry into Busisiwe Mkhwebane’s fitness to hold office, was “sleeping with the enemy” came to public attention beyond the radio’s listenership, the first question that came to mind among many ANC members was, do we still have an organisation?

There are many conceptual issues that reflect the kind of confusion that should not be associated with a secretary-general, such as his reference to the Democratic Alliance as “the enemy of the National Democratic Revolution”. A cadre deserving of such a senior position would be aware of debates that have taken place within the movement since 1994 about characterisation of the opposition in a democratic society. In this context, the ANC in 2007 resolved in the Strategy and Tactics document that: 

“…unlike before, when antagonists across the apartheid divide were locked in mortal combat, engagement around issues of transformation in a democracy forms part of legitimate discourse and electoral politics. Those who continue to resist change within the constitutional framework are opponents in a democratic order. Their political and other organisations are legitimate expressions of a school of thought that should be challenged, but at the same time accepted as part of democratic engagement.”

While in 2017 the ANC argued that electoral outcomes could place “into positions of authority, forces that can stealthily and deceitfully chip away at the progressive realisation of a National Democratic Society”, it also recognised that the ANC itself could wreak untold damage on the cause of social transformation. The 2017 Strategy and Tactics document acknowledges that “it cannot altogether be ruled out that the liberation movement itself can be so corrupted — in terms of its objectives, policies, value systems as well as composition and conduct of its leadership — that it becomes a bed of counter-revolutionary infestation”.

The conceptual confusion aside, what irked many ANC members is that the secretary-general sought to distance himself from the guidance that the officials (so-called Top Six) recently gave to the ANC caucus in Parliament. This was on whether or not to institute a formal parliamentary inquiry into the fitness of the Public Protector to hold office, given the report of the panel set up by the Speaker of the National Assembly, which had found prima facie evidence of incompetence and misconduct. 

The National Chairperson of the ANC communicated the Top Six’s decision to the parliamentary caucus. Yet, according to the secretary-general, this could be defied, as “officials of the ANC are not a structure in terms of our constitution”. “What repercussions,” he retorted when asked whether there would be consequences for those who wilfully went against the leadership’s guidance, “when they have done the right thing?” The ANC caucus has since clarified that the MPs who were absent had valid explanations — further deepening the confusion sown by the secretary-general. 

There are moments when any leader can miss a point or misspeak. What is concerning is that this has become the hallmark of the secretary-general’s public pronouncements on difficult matters facing the movement. For instance, on the issue of members stepping aside when formally charged, the National Executive Committee (NEC) in February adopted the guidelines, a decision that was publicly communicated by the president at the end of the meeting. However, the secretary-general has argued ever since that no such decision was taken, as the matter, according to him, still had to go to the branches. The treasurer-general who led the team that prepared the guidelines has had to countermand this publicly, reiterating the president’s closing remarks.

And so, a trend is emerging where the secretary-general of the ANC is starting to stick out like a sore thumb among his peers and across the movement. This seems to form part of a wider campaign to undermine the structures of the ANC.

Do these developments reflect “the counter-revolutionary infestation” that the 2017 conference warned about? Let us be generous and characterise it merely as the consolidation of a faction within the ANC. 

The so-called Radical Economic Transformation (RET) faction has announced that it is holding meetings; and one of its leaders, incidentally, working in the secretary-general’s office, has released a “basic document” that calls for “a return of the ANC to its socialist ideological orientation”, whatever this means, under current global and domestic conditions. 

On land expropriation, the RET document argues that food security and other conditions cannot be a factor. Yet the 2017 ANC conference resolved to ensure that any expropriation should “not undermine future investment in the economy, or damage agricultural production and food security” and it “must not cause harm to other sectors of the economy”.

On state ownership, the RET document calls for wholesale nationalisation, in contrast with the 1992 ANC Ready to Govern document and numerous conference resolutions thereafter which argue for the weighing of the “balance of evidence”.

It is not the first time that the ANC has experienced the emergence of an organisation within the organisation. As with the PAC in 1958 and the Group of 8 in the 1970s, this ultimately led to rupture. The elephant does take long to turn — or to use a different metaphor — the fruit was allowed to ripen and drop at the slightest shake of the tree.

But the situation may be more serious than this generous interpretation, and so, debate on content issues may be pointless, as policy is but a ruse to hide something else. Veterans of the ANC and other respected individuals and organisations in the Defend our Democracy campaign identify the threat to include defiance of the Constitutional Court, and they argue that it “goes beyond that posed by an individual [and] illustrates how that individual embodies a political culture fundamentally antithetical to democracy: the cult of personality, rule by factional dictate, nepotism, and totalitarianism in a securitised state”. 

According to the Defend our Democracy campaigners, this threat is characterised by the looting which has weakened the state and undermined the economy. Proceeds of corruption are being used both for personal enrichment and to “enable a well-organised cartel” to stall prosecution of beneficiaries of corruption and state capture. Further, a private militia and a wider network have been mobilised to amplify unlawful defiance of the courts by the former president.

Conspiracy theories abound, with reports of units trained in sabotage and assassination, and strange coincidences such as the attempt to incite violence against foreigners in KwaZulu-Natal by elements of the very same private militia, and the fire in Parliament after the vote on the Public Protector. Some of these theories may be without basis. 

But it cannot be ruled out that South Africa’s own Savimbis and Dhlakamas — who destabilised Angola and Mozambique with the support of the erstwhile SA Defence Force and its Military Intelligence — are crawling out of the woodwork and showing their true colours.

South Africans, including the mass of ANC members, cannot allow the advances since 2017 to be squandered, and for the constitutional order to be subverted. The campaign against this assault on our democracy should be intensified, involving all sectors of society.

In these efforts, the battles must be deftly chosen, and the timing of each fight must be appropriate. Care must be taken not to allow the saboteurs to dictate the “what, when and how” of engagement. The fish should not be allowed to twist, turn and muddy the waters so as to slip out of the grip of the justice system.   

Lest we forget: the beneficiaries of corruption and state capture will not give up without a fight. South Africa cannot afford to be complacent! DM

Joel Netshitenzhe is the executive director of the Mapungubwe Institute and a member of the ANC National Executive Committee (NEC). He writes in his personal capacity.

Submitted by TT

[nautical-language]

Nevy, Wrathia, Ava: The Meta

YO SO LET’S JUST JUMP RIGHT THE FUCK IN

(Ava’s Demon page 1978)

Look familiar? That’s because you’ve seen it before...

This parallel was definitely intentional. The painting is a fresco of Adam (left/Ava) and God (right/Nevy) by Michelangelo called ‘The Creation of Adam’ and is about the relationship between creator and creation; man and God. Makes sense, too; there’s been a LOT of Biblical allusions in the comic, especially recently, and especially involving Wrathia.

Wrathia has said before that people called her their ‘savior’ and that her followers ‘worshiped the ground she walked on’, and when Nevy recognized the presence of Wrathia’s energy she called it ‘holy’. If we think back to the most recent scene in Ava’s mindscape, Biblical themes are present there as well with Wrathia appearing to Ava as a serpent in a garden. (Ring any bells?)

But ‘The Creation of Adam’ also contains ALL KINDS of reproductive symbolism — and so did that scene in Ava’s mindscape. Yeah, remember those panels with the poppies? As in, remember that field of poppies springing from betwixt Ava’s “loins”?

(Ava’s Demon, page 1884)

I’ve always felt this was symbolic of menstruation, ergo Ava’s fertility. But poppies? My dudes, poppies are a symbol for death...

(Do you see where I’m going with this?)

Then there’s the fact that the hand sign Nevy uses in the drawing she’s pointing to so prolifically might mean ‘baby’ — something which only gets increasingly upsetting when we take a look at Nevy, despondent and isolating herself, on the facing page in Wrathia’s book.

(Ava’s Demon, page 353)

What I infer from this is that probably Nevy's baby died or was never born. The way she treats Gil (like the child she lost her son) reinforces that conclusion for me.

Meanwhile, we all seem pretty much in agreement that by the end of this update Nevy has regained all, or most, of her memories. But the look on Nevy’s face in the final panel as she says Wrathia’s name is…well, ominous...

(Ava’s Demon, page 1980)

Not to mention that it seems right up Michelle’s alley to use Ava’s question to Nevy (”Were you and Wrathia good friends?”) to set us up for some pretty damn dramatic irony. My point is that Ava’s curse and Nevy’s realization happening at the same time cannot be a coincidence from a storytelling perspective.

I think the curse Wrathia placed on Ava made her infertile. And I think Wrathia did the same thing to Nevy.

Probably because something something Pedri something something love triangle something something Wrathia has already proven that she finds acts of homicide and violence romantic (*cough* Pedri’s mask is the skull of Wrathia’s first husband *cough*.)

[theresia-fanblog]

The significance of the setup in Dear Emile

There was something about Dear Emile that had been bothering me all these years. The setup, to me, felt inconsistent with Leanne’s belief. After replaying the game several times, carefully digging through rubble and mess, I’ve finally dug up a conclusion. Never accept Leanne’s belief as the absolute truth, because she hasn’t realized what the true purpose of the setup was. It’s up to the players to find out, and here’s my theory. (Minor Dear Martel spoilers warning!)

Think back on how you navigate through the building from start to finish.

Someone left Leanne tools and red hints to solve puzzles. Elixirs to keep her alive and 2x4s to check suspicious areas. Journal pieces were set up in a certain order that leads to certain key locations. Finding the plastic bombs and how the building systematically crumbles down after solving certain puzzles were not coincidental. It was a setup that wasn’t meant to keep Leanne from escaping.

The entire setup was Emile’s elaborate plan on guiding Leanne to recover her memories and find the tools to escape, while simultaneously destroy the facility to remove evidence so the mercenaries will no longer pursue them.

The original plan was to escape together with Leanne, but first, she has to make sure to cover their tracks. By destroying the facility, they’ll have enough time to run and hide somewhere else. The abundance of unidentifiable corpses will distract the army if they mount a search for evidence of their deaths.

But in case Emile couldn’t survive her battle with the oncoming mercenaries? Leanne has to go on without her, so she devised a strategy.

Leanne will wake up without her memories and surely wander around looking for a way to escape. Hence, she set up a pathway, and left a map, journal pieces and clues to guide her through the building. In addition to getting Leanne to recover her memories, she also made her set the building for destruction.

Perhaps if Emile survived her battle and reunite with Leanne when she reached 1F, Emile would be the one to carry out the destruction plan.

What about Leanne’s belief, then?

She was right about how Emile would rather kill her than let her go, because that was her intention at first. She wanted to keep Leanne by her side forever. Yet, in the end, the setup conflicts with her desire. Why?

Remember the dream at the start of the game?

At one point, Emile contemplated and attempted to kill Leanne, but she hesitated. So, she told her to never leave her room and left her to continue with her trap setup. It’s unclear how long has she been gone, or what and how exactly did the events transpire during the 1 year and 5 months time gap.

Why would she worry about Leanne leaving her one day when the girl was so obsessed with her? Because she realized that Leanne was infected with Epicari. Add that with the risk of them getting killed by mercenaries.

It’s futile to hide in the underground facility forever because the mercenaries will keep coming back to finish their jobs: exterminate the traitor and demolish the facility. Emile knew that she won’t be able to fight them off any longer. Rather than let anyone else kill Leanne, she’d rather take her life herself before she dies. However, she couldn’t do it.

Eventually, Emile changed her mind. Rather than ending up like the mother and the child she killed long ago, she decided to ensure Leanne’s survival and help her recover from her amnesia, at least.

When she returned and saw Leanne vaccinated and asleep on Nov 03, xx52, perhaps that strengthened her resolve. Because Leanne took the vaccine made from her DNA, Emile will always be with her, even if she dies, in a sense. Thus, she took Leanne’s diary and left her a clue, “theresia”, to find her lost memories.

Facility Destruction Strategy

The moment Leanne took the pipe organ’s gear that was stuck in a device panel in B3F Confessional room, she initiated the destruction plan. The first step was to flood B3F Waterway to submerge the mysterious device near the warm walls. Perhaps it’s connected to the culture pool tank in B1F and the generator in 1F, thus submerging the device will cause them to malfunction, preparing them for the following destruction.

Emile left the Main Conference room key on a soldier she killed in the Culture Pool room. Then, she poisoned the pool and turned off the ventilation. She left Leanne warnings in the Pool Control room to obey the 3 laws:

[There is poisonous gas coming from the pool. Make sure to lower this lever to ventilate.]

[Do not use firearms near the pool]

[Always wear a gas mask]

The gas leaking out of the ventilation pipe was intentional. That’s why Emile stresses out the warning by engraving it on the desk where she left the key to the Culture Pool room.

She set Leanne’s final diary page near a plastic explosive in 6F Chimney and left her a note of the location of the rest of the bombs to retrieve them. The plastic explosives, which belonged to a demolition unit before they were killed, are intended for Leanne to destroy the entrance door of the cathedral, which was boarded up by either Emile to keep intruders out, or by the mercenaries to trap her and Leanne in. By this point, she expected Leanne has recovered most if not all of her memories.

The pipe organ was modified to detonate the generators by playing a song from the Mother and Child paper. As for why did Emile hide the paper under her, it’s because she was trying to embrace her daughter in her final reminiscence. She was writing down her memory of the day she found Leanne while on the verge of death. The confessional message was intended for her daughter.

Expression of Love

Emile expressing her love through violence doesn’t necessarily mean she’s taking a sadistic pleasure on tormenting Leanne. What it means is the way she knew how, by teaching Leanne to survive by putting her through a dangerous ordeal. She had set it in a way that also protects Leanne from the mercenaries, and provided the means to survive and even her guidance, albeit indirectly.

The traps were more than giving Leanne scars and pain to make sure she’ll never forget her mother; they were meant to teach her to be more vigilant of her surroundings.

Perhaps the electric door trap in Private Room was a test for Leanne, considering a similar door trap in the Archives was one of the first puzzles she encountered when she was careless. Maybe it was also to keep an enemy survivor out, as one managed to retreat to the other room. He died later from his injury after writing a report that they succeeded in exterminating Emile.

Also, not all areas are rigged with traps, especially the rooms where Sacha and the Priest sleeps.

The garden in 1F is especially interesting. There were no signs of traps, battle or disrepair. Emile had entered there to put the Flowers organ paper and one of the Large Office keys in the box Leanne buried along with her flower seeds when she was a child. She kept the garden from damage as if hoping that Leanne will see it just as it was in her memories and find the essential items.

Emile undoubtedly sacrificed her “paradise” and her own life to protect Leanne, a child from the enemy nation who she adopted out of curiosity. She went out of her way to prepare the setup and make sure that Leanne will remember everything. That’s why I believe she truly loved her daughter, despite her twisted and violent ways.

But, that depends on how you perceive it.

After all, beautiful things are ugly, and ugly things are beautiful.

The abandoned baby and Emile’s silhouette materializing during the camera zoom before it drops to the side in the ending

The baby was most likely just a coincidence. Leanne ran some distance away from the burning church before she found it. Maybe it was left there because someone died or abandoned it when the mercenaries passed through a nearby village.

The silhouette was caused by Theresia’s side effects. Her encounter with the baby in the middle of a field of red flowers and how she was covered in blood strongly remind her of the time Emile found her that it caused her to hallucinate briefly.

The camera dropping to the side followed by a “thud” sound was a curious thing, but I believe it was just Leanne passing out from exhaustion. The epilogue after the end of Dear Martel stated that “they begin to wander again“, implying that the woman was Leanne, who lived on while suffering the side effects, which caused her to constantly remember Emile, forever.

I hope this theory explains at least some of the inconsistencies in Dear Emile. I don’t believe Emile was imprisoning Leanne this whole time. If she really intended to kill her, there will be instant death traps like in Dear Martel. The only ways you can die instantly in this scenario are not heeding Emile’s warnings in the Pool Control room, and be silly enough to detonate the plastic explosives at close range and travel to the mysterious device during the flooding in B3F.

The twist for this escape scenario was that it wasn’t about Leanne escaping from her captor. It was supposed to be about Emile and Leanne escaping together from the army that was hunting them down. The torturer mother had planned everything in advance, including an escape route for her daughter in case she didn’t survive protecting her from the oncoming soldiers. Alas, in the end, only Leanne managed to escape the crumbling facility.

Finally, consider this symbolic moment when the church is engulfed in flames. Leanne was hesitating to leave Emile behind. What made her decide to escape was Emile’s Theresia beads that were also inside of her.

Think about it. Throughout the game, these red beads had always beckoned Leanne, as if telling her to keep going.

[kirstymcneill]

We’re in a movement moment but we need public service values more than ever

This piece is based on a talk I delivered to the Blavatnik School of Government’s Executive Public Leaders Programme and first appeared on their website on the 17th of July 2019. 

It’s not even the end of July but we already have the most iconic photographs of the summer, possibly the year. In the first Megan Rapinoe stands with her arms outstretched, dominating not just the pitch on which she has displayed such extraordinary talent but the global media conversation about activism and equality. In the second, the embrace of Oscar Martinez and his daughter who drowned trying to reach the USA is a shaming confirmation of policy failure. Between these two images lies the reality of our era’s ‘movement moment’ – a time where governments and other public institutions are under unrelenting pressure from movements but have lost the confidence that their public service values are worth defending as a necessary complement to the energy of the street.

Movement-building, of course, is not new, but it is both more ubiquitous and more effective than ever before. We know, for example, from the global coverage of both Rapinoe and Martinez that publics around the world are paying ever more attention to what activists and influencers are saying. Vice-President Pence might argue migrants are receiving ‘excellent care’ but the picture of a drowned child and the unbearable testimony from other children in migrant detention tell a different story. President Trump is picking a fight with an athlete but new polling suggests her affiliation to campaigns for equal pay, against police brutality and for LGBT liberation has given her a platform that is more than a match for his bully pulpit.

We only need to look at the global #MeToo or School Strike for Climate campaigns or more localised uprisings from Hong Kong to Sudan to know that the increased confidence of social movements is coinciding with a crisis of legitimacy and trust in many of our established institutions. The anger on the populist right is even more visible, with deep currents of Islamophobia, ‘men’s rights’ activism, xenophobia, antisemitism and authoritarianism finding expression both online and in increasingly sophisticated pan-European and transatlantic networks.

While the worldviews of these different movements may be mutually antagonistic, the impact on established institutions is the same. Policymakers face questions about their motives and their efficacy from both sides and their instinct is to rebut by pointing to the instrumental benefits of good government. It shouldn’t be.

They should focus instead on reasserting three core intrinsic benefits of public institutions:

While there are some examples (notably from early AIDS activism) of civil society building a significant evidence base none of us currently on the outside can compete with the scale and sustainability of a public body committed to generating and evaluating evidence. It is precisely because denigrating expertise as ‘elitist’ is part of the populist playbook that research and evidence-based institutions should be confident they provide a bulwark against authoritarianism. Universities have a role here but so too does an independent judiciary and an impartial civil service. The expertise of these bodies doesn’t just create better outcomes, it builds better societies. We should say so, loudly and repeatedly.

The same scale that allows public bodies to generate evidence also makes them effective mechanisms for values-replication. Social movements on both the right and left (think both the Gilet Jaunes and Occupy) describe themselves as not leaderless but leader-ful, meaning leadership is not conferred but identified through action – I unpack that a little more here. While that is an excellent way to deal with coordination issues between people with diffuse but adjacent agendas, it doesn’t readily allow movements to determine and then replicate cultural norms at scale. It is precisely because movements exist to disrupt the status quo that they can’t lean on either hierarchy or tradition in as powerful a way as, for example, the Australian army could tell those engaged in sexual harassment that “there is no place for you amongst this band of brothers and sisters”. There are, of course, plenty of examples of institutions in which abuses of power have taken place but in many ways that is the point: it is precisely because institutions have the power to do both great good and great harm we need to be both confident in and vigilant about our role as culture-makers. This new collection analysing power and inclusion has more on that.

Perhaps the most important institutional role of all is to enable the trade-offs on which both effective policy and our collective life depend. Polling day is an incredible assertion of our common humanity – a day in which we take the fate of strangers in our hands and place our own in theirs. It is only possible because enough of us believe that our institutions, albeit imperfect, retain enough legitimacy to reconcile competing interests without violence. Public bodies, therefore, are part of the cultivation of the democratic habit of mind: we depend for our continued faith in one another on our faith in the institutions which embody our shared story. Increasingly, however, politics is more of a driver of division than the theatre for reconciliation. New research from PRRI shows that an America growing relaxed with inter-faith marriage is increasingly agitated about bipartisan love. At the same time, the rise of bespoke consumer capitalism, where everything from Spotify to Netflix to Amazon is tailored to our unique preferences, is pulling all of us further away from a common life of shared experiences. The public service ethos is part of the answer – we need politicians and officials to be much more assertive in the defence of plural, liberal democracies in which debate and negotiation are the first order values and individual policy ideas are relegated to second order preferences.

Last year I spoke on a panel alongside Julia Unwin, chair of the Civil Society Futures Enquiry. She referred to big NGOs like Save the Children as ‘the charity FTSE’ – organisations which might have started with an ethos of voluntarism but are now a qualitatively different thing. In many ways she’s right and any of us in large established institutions need to be conscious of the length of our shadows. That is even more true now we are in a movement-moment and the old ways of doing things are giving way to a more horizontal, leaderful, creative approach. But as we acclimatise to the benefits of the new – particularly given we face the same tactics and techniques being used by authoritarian and hate-filled movements as by those who want a freer, greener, safer and more equal future – we must not be silent about the strengths of the old. Rejuvenation of confidence in the public service ethos – in expertise, in culture-creation and in dialogue – is what this movement moment demands of public servants now.

[schoolcalidity]

Origins of the Gog and Magog In Ezekiel and the Old Testament

The names are mentioned together in Ezekiel chapter 38, where Gog is an individual and Magog is his land.[1] The meaning of the name Gog remains uncertain, and in any case the author of the Ezekiel prophecy seems to attach no particular importance to it.[1] Efforts have been made to identify him with various individuals, notably Gyges, a king of Lydia in the early 7th century BCE, but many scholars do not believe he is related to any historical person.[1]

In Genesis 10 Magog is a person, son of Japheth son of Noah, but no Gog is mentioned. The name Magog is equally obscure, but may come from the Assyrian mat-Gugu, "Land of Gyges", i.e., Lydia.[6] Alternatively, Gog may be derived from Magog rather than the other way round, and "Magog" may be code for Babylon.[a][7][8]

The form "Gog and Magog" may have emerged as shorthand for "Gog and/of the land of Magog", based on their usage in the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible.[9] An example of this combined form in Hebrew (Gog u-Magog) has been found, but its context is unclear, being preserved only in a fragment of the Dead Sea Scrolls.[b][10] In Revelation, Gog and Magog together are the hostile nations of the world.[11][3] Gog or Goug the Reubenite[c] occurs in 1 Chronicles 5:4, but he appears to have no connection with the Gog of Ezekiel or Magog of Genesis.[13]

The Biblical "Gog and Magog" possibly gave derivation of the name Gogmagog, a legendary British giant.[d][14] A later corrupted folk rendition in print altered the tradition around Gogmagog and Corineus with two giants Gog and Magog, with whom the Guildhall statues came to be identified.[15]

Ezekiel's Vision of the Sign "Tau" from Ezekiel IX:2–7. —Mosan champlevé panel, mid-12th century. The Book of Ezekiel records a series of visions received by the prophet Ezekiel, a priest of Solomon's Temple, who was among the captive during the Babylonian exile. The exile, he tells his fellow captives, is God's punishment on Israel for turning away, but God will restore his people to Jerusalem when they return to him.[16] After this message of reassurance, chapters 38–39, the Gog oracle, tell how Gog of Magog and his hordes will threaten the restored Israel but will be destroyed, after which God will establish a new Temple and dwell with his people for a period of lasting peace (chapters 40–48).[17] "Son of man, direct your face against Gog, of the land of Magog, the prince, leader of Meshech and Tubal, and prophesy concerning him. Say: Thus said the Lord: Behold, I am against you, Gog, the prince, leader of Meshech and Tubal ... Persia, Cush and Put will be with you ... also Gomer with all its troops, and Beth Togarmah from the far north with all its troops—the many nations with you."[18] Internal evidence indicates that the Gog oracle was composed substantially later than the chapters around it.[e][19]Of Gog's allies, Meshech and Tubal were 7th-century kingdoms in central Anatolia north of Israel, Persia towards east, Cush (Ethiopia) and Put (Libya) to the south; Gomer is the Cimmerians, a nomadic people north of the Black Sea, and Beth Togarmah was on the border of Tubal.[20] The confederation thus represents a multinational alliance surrounding Israel.[21] "Why the prophet's gaze should have focused on these particular nations is unclear," comments Biblical scholar Daniel I. Block, but their remoteness and reputation for violence and mystery possibly "made Gog and his confederates perfect symbols of the archetypal enemy, rising against God and his people".[22] One explanation is that the Gog alliance, a blend of the "Table of Nations" in Genesis 10 and Tyre's trading partners in Ezekiel 27, with Persia added, was cast in the role of end-time enemies of Israel by means of Isaiah 66:19, which is another text of eschatological foretelling.[23] Although the prophecy refers to Gog as an enemy in some future, it is not clear if the confrontation is meant to occur in a final "end of days" since the Hebrew term aḥarit ha-yamim (Hebrew: אחרית הימים) may merely mean "latter days", and is open to interpretation. Twentieth-century scholars have used the term to denote the eschaton in a malleable sense, not necessarily meaning final days, or tied to the Apocalypse.[f][24] Still, the Utopia of chapters 40–48 can be spoken of in the parlance of "true eschatological character, given that it is a product of "cosmic conflict" described in the immediately preceding Gog chapters.[25]

Jewish knew very well who those where and indeed they came from The North: Midrashic writings[edit]The anti-Roman Bar Kokhba revolt in the 2nd century AD looked to a human leader as the promised messiah, but after its failure Jews began to conceive of the messianic age in supernatural terms: first would come a forerunner, the Messiah ben Joseph, who would defeat Israel's enemies, identified as Gog and Magog, to prepare the way for the Messiah ben David;[g]then the dead would rise, divine judgement would be handed out, and the righteous would be rewarded.[36][37]The aggadah, homiletic and non-legalistic exegetical texts in the classical rabbinic literature of Judaism, treat Gog and Magog as two names for the same nation who will come against Israel in the final war.[38] The rabbis associated no specific nation or territory with them beyond a location to the north of Israel,[39] but the great Jewish scholar Rashi identified the Christians as their allies and said God would thwart their plan to kill all Israel.[40]

Josephus: The 1st-century Jewish historian Josephus identified the Gog and Magog people as Scythians, horse-riding barbarians from around the Don and the Sea of Azov. Josephus recounts the tradition that Gog and Magog were locked up by Alexander the Great behind iron gates in the "Caspian Mountains", generally identified with the Caucasus Mountains. This legend must have been current in contemporary Jewish circles by this period, coinciding with the beginning of the Christian Era.[h][44] Several centuries later, this material was vastly elaborated in the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius and Alexander romance.[45]

Land of "Gog i Magog", its king mounted on a horse, followed by a procession (lower half); Alexander's Gate, showing Alexander, Antichrist, and mechanical trumpeters (upper left).[41][42][43]—Catalan Atlas (1375), Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale.

Abraham Cresque - Bibliothèque nationale de France

(Detail) Catlan Atlas (1375) Showing land labeled "Gog i Magog", with a procession headed by its king mounted on horse, followed by his people. Above these are shown Alexander the Great and the Antichrist (upside down), and the mechanical trumpeters whose sounds were powered by wind.[1]

[dragonkeeper19600]

Fruits Basket Observations

I reread Fruits Basket this month. One of my favorite things about this manga full of favorite things of mine is that every time I read it, I realize something new about the story and its characters. Apparently, this was one of the goals that Natsuki Takaya had in regards to Fruits Basket, that it would get better the more you “bite into” it (she actually compares the series to a cuttlefish in that regard), and I think she pulled it off due to all the amazing Fridge Brilliance moments that come from rereading it. 

With that in mind, here is my list of random thematic and character-based elements I’ve never noticed before, as well as little moments that slipped under my radar the first time I read the series:

A lot of traits about Akito’s character, including her real gender and her primary motivation, are foreshadowed early on in more minor forms. For example, the main character is a girl named Tohru, but in Japan “Tohru” is a boy’s name. “Akito” is also a masculine name. Tohru and Akito sharing masculine names not only emphasizes their status as foils, it also sort of foreshadows Akito’s gender in a way, since there’s one other example of a gender-blender name in the story.

Matoko’s character also foreshadows Akito’s internalized misogyny. In Volume 7, Matoko fumes that she hates all women, including the other girls in the Prince Yuki fan club because they’re all “her enemies” (in that they’re potential rivals for her love for Yuki) but then admits to herself that the flaws she sees in others are only reflections of the flaws she sees in herself. 

Finally, in a really interesting example, the anime’s opening theme, “For Fruits Basket,” finishes with the line, “Let’s stay together, always.” “Staying together always” is revealed to be the true nature of the curse, since it forces people to be together forever regardless if they want to or not. Because of this, the song and opening sequence become unexpectedly sinister when viewed by someone who’s finished the manga.

What’s even more bizarre is that in the anime, Akito is doomed to die young, and Tohru is able to get through to him by noticing his loneliness and fear, which no one else ever acknowledged. This was exactly how Ren got Akira to fall in love with her in the manga. This is especially odd because Natsuki Takaya had nothing to do with Akito’s characterization in the anime, meaning that this is either the mother of all coincidences or she actually got the idea from the anime. Considering Ren is a villainous character, this may even have been a deliberate potshot at the anime, which Natsuki Takaya reportedly hated, though this is just wild guesswork at this point.

A lot of characters who share some kind of connection or matching qualities have similar names. This is actually pointed out by Kyo when he notices his name sounds pretty close to “Kyoko,” but it’s far from the only example. Matoko Minagawa and Makoto Takei have similar names and are both high schools one year above Yuki who are obsessively in love with him. Ren and Isuzu not only look alike, but Isuzu’s nickname, “Rin,” sounds pretty close to Ren’s name. There’s also Mitsuru and Ritsu, whose similarity becomes even more pronounced when Mitsuru’s name is shortened to “Mitsu,” as it often is. And, finally, Kyoko’s maiden name, “Katsunuma,” is pretty close to the name of her husband, “Katsuya.” 

On that note, Ren mentions at one point that she’s always hated Rin “instinctively.” While some have pinned this on Ren’s simple dislike of children in general, the fact that Rin looks like Ren hints at another explanation. Shigure mentions in Volume 20 that if Akito expressed her true gender, she’d look just like Ren. Because Rin also looks like Ren, perhaps when Ren saw a little girl who resembled her, it reminded her of her own hated daughter. In other words, Ren and Akito both hated Rin for the same reason (because she looked like someone they hated.)

Shigure and Akito totally banged in Chapter 101. They start kissing, with Shigure pulling on Akito’s tie, then it fades into a flashback, and when we cut back, Akito is in bed, topless, and Shigure is pulling a blanket over her. They totally went at it doggy-style, yo. This may have been obvious to other people, but I was pretty innocent-minded as a teenager (shockingly), so this flew completely over my head.

In that same chapter, it’s implied that Shigure actually sleeps around a lot, since when Akito prodded him for sleeping with “that woman,” he honestly didn’t know who she meant until she clarified she meant Ren.

Hang on, does this mean he banged Mayuko? I... Shit, I think it does.

When Kureno rescues Rin from the cat’s room, she’s wearing Akito’s clothes. Looks like Akito (or maybe one the maids) has been dressing Rin in Akito’s robes. 

Rin probably has some kind of crush on Tohru, and I’m not just saying that because of her stated desire to “run crying into her lap.” In Volume 23, when Kyo sees Tohru comforting Rin, he murmurs that he has “guys and girls as competition,” and later in the same volume, when Haru and Momiji are speculating on how happy Tohru and Kyo will be together, Rin sullenly comments that Tohru should break up with him. If this is true that means that both Rin and Haru are bi and attracted to people other than their partner (since Haru confesses in Volume 3 that Yuki was his first love and also comments that he “likes Kyo, too.”)

The birth of his little sister Hinata is what motivates Hiro to tell Kisa and Haru the secrets he’s been keeping from both of them, since he desired to “be someone who can really protect her.” Hinata innocence created a sense of urgency for him to mature, and he felt that properly communicating crucial information about his and other people’s feelings was an important step towards that.

When we see Hanajima immediately after Tohru’s accident (in Chapter 124), her normally neat braid is really loose, with huge strands of hair coming out of it. Considering how deep her love for Tohru is, her getting injured must have hurt her pretty hard. 

In the last panel of the same chapter, a large rabbit plushie is visible in Tohru’s hospital bed. Since Momiji had already skipped school to visit Tohru early that day, it can be inferred that he gave it to her. Takaya is pretty consistent about drawing it afterwards, too, since Hanajima is shown carrying it when Tohru checks out of the hospital next volume.

Even though Ayame seems to be the loud, transparent type who proclaims to the heavens every thought that crosses his head, he actually manages to keep three major secrets during the course of the manga: Akito’s true gender, that he’s dating Mine, and that Mine knows about the curse. Ayame might be more cunning than we give him credit for. 

In Volume 15, Yuki recalls when he first met Kyo, Kyo angrily shouted that “someone as rotten as you ought to do us all a favor and just disappear!” Much later, in Chapter 126 (Volume 22), during his meeting with his father, Kyo recalls that his father actually shouted that at both him and his mother. Thus, Kyo as a kid was just repeating to Yuki what he heard his father say at home.

Hatori was dreading having to dance with Ayame at the next New Year’s banquet in Chapter 95. Well, it looks like Hatori lucked out because that dreaded dance never happened (as that was the last New Year’s before the curse was broken completely).

The story has a bit of a bookend structure with several events from the first few chapters repeating in the climax. For example, a landslide buries Tohru’s tent in the first volume and causes Tohru to fall from a great height in Volume 21. In both cases, the landslide is a presence that is catastrophic but also signals a beginning. In the Volume 1, the landslide is what indirectly causes Tohru to live in Shigure’s house, whereas in Volume 21, Tohru’s fall causes Kyo to return to her and begin to realize the depth of his mistake in turning her away. 

In a similar way, Akito’s confrontation with Tohru outside Shigure’s house actually mirrors the famous scene where Tohru runs into the woods after Kyo’s true form. In both cases, Tohru is trying to comfort and talk down another character who is reacting to her violently, slashing her with claws in Kyo’s case and with a knife in Akito’s. In both cases, the violence is a way to mask pain and distress, however, the situation is ramped up in intensity in Akito’s case because while Kyo actually loved Tohru and wanted to drive her away because he thought her respect for him was gone, Akito was murderous in this scene and actually meant Tohru harm. The scenes also contrast in that Kyo is a monstrous presence, with a huge, misshapen form and terrible smell, while Akito is more divine, appearing in human form and literally being possessed by God. Both represent monstrous dangers mixed with human pain, but Akito actually becomes the more terrifying monster because of the blame and spite she hurls at Tohru.

Kyo at no point actually told Tohru he loved her before she fell off the cliff. No wonder she thought he dumped her. 

In the fable of God and the Zodiac at the end of Volume 22, God has identical facial features to Akito. Also, while God is consistently referred to in gender neutral terms (always being referred to as “God” or “that person” by the narration), the cat is referred to with male pronouns, meaning the spirit of the cat is itself male. Considering the cat before Kyo was also a man, this may mean that every person possessed by the cat is male, though this is again speculation.

The breaking of the curse seems to be random, with characters abruptly being freed without any kind of prior warning or clear trigger, but a comment from Shigure in Chapter 108 about “small chances and changes that have accumulated” leads me to think that the members of the zodiac forming relationships outside of the zodiac, or even outside of the family, increases the chance that it will be broken. Though the weakening of the curse over time made this possible, it was outside influence, and the zodiac members’ increasing willingness to defy Akito, that caused it to weaken more rapidly. The curse begins to break rapidly once Tohru realizes she is in love with Kyo, going from no one having their curse broken in years to Momiji and Hiro being freed one after another.

So, what was the “change” that caused Kureno’s curse to break? Considering how old Kureno, and Akito, were at the time, and considering that Kyo’s mother died “when he was three or four,” according to him, my guess is that Kureno’s curse broke either as a result of Shishou taking in Kyo, or, my preferred possibility, when Kyo met Kyoko, since Kyo mentions that her comment of, “That sounds pretty lonely,” once she learned Kyo’s situation felt to Kyo like “forgiveness.” If that’s the case, then Kyoko’s friendship with Kyo formed the first major fracture, and Tohru unwittingly (at first) continued her work by growing close to the rest of the Sohma family and giving them the courage to defy their oppressive environments.

Finally: reused character designs. Shigure is the spitting image of Colonel Hil, the main antagonist from Natsuki Takaya’s previous work, Tsubasa: Those With Wings, and Kisa’s mother also bears more than a passing resemblance to Kotobuki, the series’s protagonist. Finally, as Takaya herself points out, Ritsu’s mother’s character is wholly recycled from a bit character from the same manga.

[itsfinancethings]

The world found out about Rutger Bregman in 2019 when, on a panel organized by TIME at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, the Dutch historian lambasted businesspeople in the audience for trying to fix the world economy without talking about taxation. “It feels like I’m at a firefighters’ conference and no one is allowed to speak about water,” he said.

Now, he has a new book out, titled Humankind, in which the unconventional historian tries to unravel even more of the conventional wisdom that, he says, actually stands on empirically shaky ground. Bregman spoke to TIME in March, while the coronavirus pandemic was spreading rapidly around the world.

In your new book, Humankind, you make the argument that, humans are not as intrinsically selfish as much literature would have us believe. Since you wrote it, the coronavirus pandemic has changed everything. Do you stand by your argument?

Obviously I think I’m right! The old fashioned “realist” position has been to assume that civilization is only a thin veneer, and that the moment there’s a crisis we reveal our true selves, and it turns out that we’re all selfish animals. What I’m trying to do in this book is to turn this narrative around, to show that actually, over thousands of years, people have actually evolved to be friendly.

There’s always selfish behavior. There are lots of examples of people hoarding. But we’ve seen in this pandemic that the vast majority of behavior from normal citizens is actually pro-social in nature. People are willing to help their neighbors. That is the bigger picture that we’re seeing right now.

Is this moment a fertile time for that idea?

I hope that the message of my book is extra relevant right now. Because it’s not only the virus that is contagious, but our behavior as well. If we assume that most people are fundamentally selfish, and if we design our response to this virus with that view of human nature, then then we’re going to bring that out in people. Whereas, if we assume that most people are cooperative and want to help, then we can actually inspire other people. This may sound a bit cheesy, but there’s actually a lot of psychological research that shows that acts of kindness are really contagious. They really spread throughout a social network, even influencing people who you don’t know, who you haven’t seen.

The other thing this crisis shows very clearly is how dependent we are on certain professions. Around the globe, there are governments coming up with lists of so-called vital professions. If you look at those lists, you won’t find the hedge fund managers or the marketeers or whatever. But you’ll find the garbage collectors and the teachers and the nurses, people who we often don’t pay very well, but turn out to be people we can’t live without. So just imagine what the influence of that could be for the longer term. Because there’s now a whole generation growing up that will be impacted by this pandemic. We’ll all remember 2020 as an historic year. And for decades, people will be able to say, remember 2020. Remember when things were really tough. Who did we rely on? I think that could impact a whole generation.

Why do our assumptions about human nature matter? What’s at stake in the debate?

I think everything starts with your view of human nature, because what you assume about other people is often what you get out of them. So if we assume that most people deep down are selfish and cannot be trusted, then you’ll start designing your institutions around that idea. And you’ll create exactly the kind of people that your view of human nature presupposes.

People who think other people tend to be selfish have come to be called realists, whereas people who are more trusting are sometimes called idealists. Do you think those labels are fair?

I’m trying to redefine what the realist position is. I go over all this empirical evidence in my book, and I show that actually, what you see most in times of crisis is an explosion of altruism. We’ve got more than 500 case studies of natural disasters from around the globe. And every single time sociologists and anthropologists find that it’s almost as if you push a reset button in people’s heads and they go back to their better selves. They will start helping each other. And this is the opposite of what we’ve been told for decades, for centuries even in Western culture, and what the news tells us every day.

Connected to the idea that humans are intrinsically selfish is the idea that the free market is the most efficient way to run an economy. Do you think the two ideas are connected?

Yes, but I’m not part of the generation of the Cold War when the debate was all about capitalism versus communism or market versus state, right? I don’t live in that binary world. Sometimes markets work best, sometimes the state has the best solution. During the Enlightenment, there were brilliant thinkers who realized that, if you assume most people are naturally selfish and you construct the market around that, sometimes it can actually work for the common good. I just think that in many cases, it went too far. What many economists forget is that this view of humanity, the so-called “homo economicus,” can become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

What kind of world do you hope to see if people change their minds, maybe from reading your book? What kind of world could be possible?

You could do pretty much everything in a different way. In maybe one of the most radical examples in my book, I look at how the prison system works in Norway. They basically give prisoners the freedom to do whatever they want, right? Often, they even have the key to their own cells. And you’ve got prisons there with cinemas and libraries where they can just relax around on a friendly basis with the guards. Now, if you look at that, from an American perspective, you’re like, these people are totally crazy. But then if you look at it from a scientific perspective, you look at the recidivism rate, right? The odds that someone who has committed a crime commits another one once he gets out of prison. Well, the recidivism rate is very high in the U.S. – it’s one of the highest rates in the world. But it’s the lowest in Norway. So actually the “realist” prison here is the Norwegian prison, where inmates are treated like humans and as adults, whereas many American prisons where inmates are often treated as animals, as beasts. At the moment those are taxpayer funded institutions to educate people for more criminal behavior. That’s basically what they are.

How do you explain the power of nationalism as an ideology? The process of building an idea of a nation requires excluding out-groups. And by extension, denying them certain benefits. Often violence is involved in this as well. How does that fit with the idea of human nature as inherently decent?

Well, this is the big question hanging over my whole book. We do terrible things that are not done by any animal in the animal kingdom. There’s never been a penguin that says, let’s lock up a group of other penguins and exterminate them. These are singularly human crimes. We can get the beginning of an answer if we look at this theory from biology that people have evolved to be friendly, what they call the self-domestication theory. And the idea here from some biologists is that there’s a dark side to that as well. Because, friendliness, wanting to fit into a group can sometimes stand in the way of justice and truth. We find it very hard not to be included in our own social groups, to go against the grain. You even find it with babies, studies show as young as three to six months old that they already seem to know the difference between good and evil, and they prefer the good — but they also have xenophobic tendencies. Babies do not like unfamiliar sounds, unfamiliar faces. So this is a tribal button that can be pushed in our brain.

But if you watch a lot of Hollywood and Netflix series, you might get the impression that people find it really easy to commit violence against each other. Well, we actually know from psychological studies and from the history of warfare, that people find it really, really hard. For example, during the Second World War, it’s estimated that only around 15 to 20% of soldiers actually managed to fire their gun. When they had to look the enemy in the eye and pull the trigger, most of them couldn’t do it, but that doesn’t doesn’t mean that you can’t condition people to do it, you can’t make them push a button of an artillery device or something so that they can kill people from the distance. So there are all kinds of technological and psychological means to get people to commit violence, but it is not deep in our nature. For most people, it’s actually really hard to do.

The other fascinating thing unique to humans is that we blush. How could this ever have been an evolutionary advantage that we involuntarily give away our deepest feelings? This shows that we evolved to cooperate. The thing is, this works really well on a small scale. Now, when we settled down, 10,000 years ago, and we first started living in villages and cities and doing agriculture, we also lost sight of each other, literally. And some of the things that we evolved for didn’t work anymore. And I think it’s no coincidence that this is also the time in world history where you see the first wars breaking out. The reason is that the distance between people has increased.

And so obviously the simple solution that you come to if you want to do something against racism or prejudice or all these tribal instincts in our nature, the ultimate solution is obviously contact. People gotta meet each other.

I suppose, to use a British example, the constituencies that voted most heavily for Brexit (and by extension against immigration) were generally the ones with the lowest immigration rates.

Yeah, that’s obviously the classic example. And in very diverse neighborhoods, most people wanted to stay within the E.U. And the same is actually the case during the Trump election in 2016. Neighborhoods with very little diversity voted for Trump. It is something that you should always keep in mind when you design your institutions, like schools. It matters so much that from a very early age we encounter different kinds of different people, because that’s what real life should be about as well.

You were on a panel organized by TIME at Davos last year when you called on billionaires to stop talking about philanthropy and pay their taxes. The video went viral. It’s a bit more than a year on, now. Have you noticed any improvement on that?

I’m optimistic actually. I think to be honest, that we’re living through extraordinary times. The Zeitgeist is really shifting before our eyes. You have to remember that even Joe Biden’s climate plan is more ambitious than Bernie Sanders’ climate plan was in 2016. Even Biden wants to have higher taxes on the rich. This has become the new normal right now. So I really think that, what they call the Overton window, you see it moving. And you really see it with taxes as well. So the worst period was 10 to 15 years ago, when we weren’t even talking about it.

Now of course, the coronavirus is changing everything. Maybe this can become a bigger movement that you could call some sort of a “neo-realistic” movement, right, with a new updated view of human nature. Maybe this will be the end of neoliberalism, the incredibly powerful idea that basically conquered the West since the 1970s. The ideology was that most people are selfish. Now, maybe we can move into a different era, because this whole idea that most people are selfish is simply unworkable during a pandemic. I’m not predicting this will happen. It’s just a hopeful scenario, that may be accelerated by this pandemic.

Hanging over the pandemic is another threat to humanity: climate change. One thing that we keep hearing is that in order to avert the crisis, even with systemic change, we are going to need to make severe behavioral changes, we’re going to need to give up our luxuries for the good of the human race. And yet, that kind humanity-wide decency, if we’re putting it in those terms, is very hard to achieve. How do you square that with your argument that humans are inherently good?

Well, actually, my book is all about the power of human beings collectively, right? So individually, we can’t achieve much. We’re not very smart and we’re not very strong. The strength of human beings only really comes out on a big scale. So the same is true for climate change. We’re never gonna solve anything about climate change if we keep making it into this individualistic discussion. I’m not saying that doesn’t have a role. I mean, the personal is political. But I think the message of scientists right now is that as a society, we need to go through this huge transformation. And we need to do something that’s never been done before in peacetime. Move to half emissions in 2030 and zero emissions in 2050. That means that radical is the new reality. Greta Thunberg is totally right about this. We’re now going to a world that will be three degrees warmer. And that’s the average prediction. It could be worse. Now, I’m living in the Netherlands, where big parts of the country are meters below sea level. So I’ve been interviewing experts who say, it’s not certain that our grandchildren can still live here in the 22nd century. It’s not certain that we can save this country. And so the stakes are incredibly high. But then again, it’s technically feasible. And we’ve done similar things in the past. So it’s not impossible. But this shift in the Zeitgeist needs to speed up quite a bit more.

[weecoins]

One Armed Bandit

I'm a scumbag.  Hell, I’m lots of different things.  Nobody’s just one thing, you know?  But one thing usually stands out over the rest, and that’s what you’re judged by.  So I'm a scumbag- nice to meet you.  Is there more to a scumbag than meet’s the eye? If you care enough to find out, keep reading.

I think the most amazing thing to come out of this whole mess is that I've become kind of an idiot savant.  I can tell you the sum of any number multiplied by 3.455.  13 times 3.455 is 44.915.  197 times 3.455 is 680.635.  Great, huh? What’s the significance of 3.455, you ask?  That's the average weight, in grams, of a U. S. quarter.  It’s amazing what a human mind, even one as feeble as my own, can accomplish when it’s driven by terror.  But more about the quarters later.  

So where was I?  Oh yeah, the scumbag thing.  Its not all my fault, you know.

Hey- maybe I sound like a pussy, whining about how unfair the world is.  That’s fine.  I'm just saying that it’s a lot easier to preach morality during good times. I've never had good times.  Some of that is my fault, but a lot of shitty things happen in this world, and they have to happen to somebody.  I'm just saying that I've been “somebody” for most of my life.

It started with the gambling.  I suck at it. Even guys who don't suck lose more often than not (there are no bookies in bankruptcy court).  I owed a lot of money to somebody.  Not the mob- even they wouldn’t lend money to a scab like me. I had to go to an independent. A real creep.  His name's Aviza, not that you can tell what a fucked up freak he is just by his name. Anyway, I owed him a lot of money. More money than I could make as a one-armed janitor. (Yes, I have only one arm.  Makes the title of the story seem a little bit cleverer, doesn't it?)   So I decided to steal it.  What a revelation, huh?  

The owner of the money was a crazy old bastard.  A mister Russel Sorin.  An old man with a Big house, secluded.  A perfect set up.  I knew a guy that did some maintenance work for him. He told me that the house had an elevator that went down to a private office, which was under the goddamn house. The original owner had had the room built as a bomb shelter, but the elevator was Mr. Sorin’s addition.  He was half cripple with arthritis or something.   My buddy took a ride with him down this elevator once.  He said the room down there was mostly filled with mementos and shit- useless to the world except to help some numb old fart remember who the fuck he was.  

There was one interesting thing down there however - a safe. He said the old man couldn't wait to tell him all about his precious safe.  He said it was full quarters. Perhaps the largest private collection of quarters in the free world he said, as if some damn fool in China was hoarding an even bigger stash with the help of the communist party.  Sorin made my buddy try to guess how many quarters were in the safe.  (Of course my buddy would've had trouble guessing how many nuts there were floating around in his own grimy ball sack, but Sorin didn’t know that.)  After a few uninspiring attempts at estimating, my buddy gave up.  

There are almost 400,000 quarters in there, my dear boy.”  Sorin told him proudly, as if my buddy gave a shit. “More than $100,000 dollars worth.  Quite a little fortune, if you could carry it out of here, of course!”

This thought made Sorin burst out in laughter, my buddy said.  His actual quote was:  “The old bastard almost lost his falsies. I didn't see what was so funny, so I just started working.  I had to buff a couple a stains off of the floor.  The guy never stopped talking about the dammed quarters, even though I was running the buffer at full power and could hardly hear a god-dammed word.”

My buddy shook his head, laughing softly at the memory.  I laughed softly too, amazed that he had any memories at all, after smoking my dope for the last ten years.  But it was good that the old man was a feeb.  It would make my job easier.  I would go out there on a Saturday, after his household help was gone, with a delivery uniform or something as cover.  Drive a van up, wheel out a hand jack to put the safe on, and ring the bell.  Then I'd pull out my gun, and have the coot escort me to his elevator for a peek at his world famous quarter collection.  A quick bop on the head for him, and $100,000 worth in quarters for me. I couldn't wait to see the look on Aviza’s face when I unloaded the safe at his door.  The quarters wouldn't bother him- he knew people that would take them.  Besides, it was more than three times what I owed him, so what the fuck.  He'd probably laugh his ass off.  As long as I got them there on time.

Aviza was a stickler on punctuality, you see. Unlike that old business maxim, a bad delivery (like a safe of quarters) would soon be forgotten. It was the late delivery that he never forgot.  Or accepted. I had until Monday at 5:00 PM.  And that definitely did NOT mean 5:01.  So I didn't have time to screw around.  No problem. I'm not the screw around type.

I showed up at the house around 9 in the morning in my buddy's van.  It was fairly new, with a good paint job, and is passable as some second rate delivery company's wheels.  I even had an old Federal Express uniform with the Logo torn off to complete the effect. (I never said I was a world-class thief, you know?)  Anyway, the getup only had to fool him long enough to get him to open the door

Anyway, as it turns out, I could have shown up naked with a sign around my neck that had “I'm here to fuck your ass raw” written you on it. The guy still would have opened the door.  My buddy was right.  The coot was a couple innings short of a ballgame.  

He opened the door and just stared at me without any expression before saying, “whatever it is you have, leave it in the hall.”

Then he turned and started to walk away.  In the movies, that would have been my cue to grab him by the shoulder, ram the gun under his ear and say, listen, old man.  Take me to the money, and don't try anything stupid or I'll blow your fucking head off.  (If it was one of these new bullshit violence movies, I would have blown his head off anyway.)

In reality, I said, “Hey you come back here ,” fumbling with the gun, trying to get it out off my belt as I chased after the guy.  He walked pretty fast for an old fart. When I reached him I had to poke him with the gun a couple times just to get his attention.  He was pretty deaf, it seemed.  I couldn't grab him AND hold the gun with my one arm, so I just poked him and waited for him to turn around.  Finally, he did.  I was about to tell him to take me downstairs, but he cut me off.  It seems it finally dawned on him what was going on, and he seemed amused.

“Take whatever you want, you pathetic bastard”, he said as he looked at me blankly.  “I don't carry money in the house, and I'm sick of looking at all the shit in here anyway. Just don't expect any help carrying it out- and try to do it quietly.  I'm about to take a nap.”  

He started to walk away again. "Hey, "  I said, jumping forward and jabbing him with the gun again, "take me downstairs, asshole.  I want the quarters!"

When the senile putz finally understood what I was saying, he got pissed, quick. My buddy was right.  The guy didn't even blink when he realized I was robbin' him, but he flipped his lid when I mentioned his precious coin collection. Anyway, he wasn't pissed enough to argue with the barrel of a gun, but he had that look in his eye that let me know I should keep it pointed at him.  Which I did. We walked through a huge room, the kind that rich people call a "sitting" room.  We did not sit.  In the middle of the far wall were the shiny metal doors of the elevator. I hit the call button, the doors opened, and we got in.  I hit the down button, but nothing happened.  "What the fuck?" I said. "Forget to pay the power bill, buddy?"

The old guy looked at me with disgust.  A look I am quite familiar with. "It's locked,” he said dryly.

"Well unlock it, asshole." I replied.

So he punched a few numbers into the small keypad under the call button.  I pressed it again.  This time it lit up.  

"3-3-0-0-3-2?” I asked, repeating the numbers he had punched. He nodded, again not hiding his disgust with me .  

The doors shut, and he stood in front of the small control panel, still looking at me with the “old guy's death stare”.

"Going down?” he asked, dryly.  

"Come on, let's go!” I said, a little more forcefully than necessary. He was getting on my nerves.  

He hit the down button, and we slid silently into the basement.

When the elevator stopped, the doors didn't open.

"What the fuck?” I snapped.

"I have to enter the 'open' password." He said, still staring at me. He punched in the numbers.  I should have watched him closer........

 INTERMISSION:

We hope you’ve been enjoying  “The One Armed Bandit” so far.

Ok, that’s a lie, or at least an exaggeration.  I kinda don’t care what people think since I’m just finishing this to keep myself sane, and I think that’s maybe a lost cause.  So stick around if you want, or don’t. 

PLEASE NOTE: This story can’t be finished in the first person. I don’t want to talk in his voice anymore. He’s going crazy and I don’t want to be in there when he does; it hits too close to home.  

So this story will be finished by a dispassionate, sane narrator.  Here’s what you missed: Once they got in the room, the bandit saw that the safe was 2 ft x 2 ft, and about 4 ft high. There was a round little door on the top with a key hole.  He made the old man give him the key & help him wheel the safe into the elevator.  Then the old coot grabbed his chest and slid heavily to the floor.  A heart attack. Not surprising considering his age, the stress of being robbed, and his life-long aversion to physical activity, but a convenient coincidence for this story nonetheless.  

  One Armed Bandit, cont’d.

The one armed bandit processed the old man’s heart attack pretty quickly and moved on. He had other, more pressing problems of his own than to worry about some old quarter-collecting freak’s coronary problems. Like what would happen to him if he didn’t get these damn quarters to Aviza on time.  

He entered 3-3-0-0-3-2 into the keypad and the doors slid shut. He pressed the UP button.  Nothing happened.  He pressed it again.  He stabbed it rapidly, again and again.  Exasperated, he hit the ‘Open Door’ button.  Nothing happened.  “What the fuck!”, he growled.

He glanced up at the status screen.  The words MAXIMUM WEIGHT CAPACITY EXCEEDED by 4000 lb. glowed in a pale green lcd.

He stared at the screen intently as his mind tried to understand the scope of this statement.  The elevator would not go up.  The door would not open.  No one knew where he was, and……….

He cut off that last thought just in time to compose himself.  He was spooked that was all.  Christ, with the past two days he'd had, who wouldn't be?  And the old man- what a fuck up that had been. Everything had gotten out of hand real fast.

No problem, he just had to think.  He had to get these doors to open, so he could roll the safe out. Then he'd take the money out of the safe, and carry it up in bags.  No problem. Except that the doors weren't open. And he had no fucking idea how to open them.  He hadn't asked the old bastard for the security code for the bottom door- he didn't think he'd need it.  He tried the code for the upstairs door again. No good.  He tried the number backwards.  No good.  He tried adding 1 to the number, then subtracting 1, then he punched the wall below the screen which blinked “invalid code” in snide, italicized letters.

Relax,  he hissed through clenched teeth.  He looked at the keypad.  The security code had room for up to 10 digits.  That meant 100,000,000 possible combos.  All thoughts of relaxing slid out of him unnoticed.

Maybe I can force them open, I he thought, looking for something to stick between the doors to pry them with.  At last, luck was with him.  He still had the bar he used to lift the end o the safe.  He stuck the end of it between the small space between the doors, and pushed it with all of his adrenaline-induced might.  Nothing.  He tried the other way, pulling the bar toward him, straining and groaning with the effort.  He felt something start to give, but it was his back.  He wasn't in very good shape.  He pulled the bar out of the doors and smashed it against the crack in frustration. He sat down on the cold floor to think. He got another idea.  

By standing on the safe, he could reach the latch on the ceiling escape hatch. The panel slid across, and stuck his head through the hole.  He looked straight up the shaft and saw the light coming in through the open second floor door.  It was only about 15 feet up, but it may as well have been 1500 for all the good it did him.  The only way to reach it would be to shimmy up the elevator cable, and though he may have been able to climb it with two arms, (he wouldn't have bet on it) there was no way he would make it with one.

He climbed down from the safe and stood staring at the door.  Only 2 ways out, and I cannot use either of them, he thought.  My boy, you might be fucked here. You just might be fucked.

He pressed the up button again, absently, and watched the Maximum weight exceeded message flash on, shine briefly, then disappear. In his mind, he was trying to estimate the weight of a single quarter.  If his guess was good, those quarters might just help unfuck him.  He dug his hand deep into the hole in the top of the safe, and pulled out a shimmering mass of coins.  He spilled them onto the safe top, and took one from the pile.  He stood in front of the doors still pried open a crack from his crowbar, and pushed the quarter through the slot.  He listened intently, hearing the coin clink solidly on the floor of the empty room beyond his unlikely prison.  He liked that sound.  It reminded him of the way coins clinked out of the machines in Foxwoods after a big hit. With any luck, he might be there in person by tomorrow night.  A little luck and a lot of hard work, that is.  He slid the safe over to the doors, to the right of the thin crack between them. This allowed him easy accesses to both coins and the slot.  He picked up another quarter, turned it sideways between his thumb and forefinger, and slid it deliberately through the slot.  Heard it clink and roll on the floor.  Picked up another coin, slid it through.  Clink, roll.  Another coin, slide, clink.

Seven hours later, he felt his hand twinge, then cramp violently.  The pain dragged him out of the hypnotic daze he had been in as he fed the crack a seemingly endless stream of quarters.  Not really endless, though.  He had pushed 5000 quarters through the slot.  By his guess, it would take another 32,000 before he could leave. He had done some calculating during the one ten minute break that he had allowed himself during the last five hours. His hand-held coke scale told him that a quarter weighted about .2 ounces.  5 quarters per ounce.  80 quarters per pound.  That meant he would have to get rid of XXXXXX quarters to lower the weight in the elevator by the 4000 lbs needed to get it moving.  Using his watch, he found he was averaging about 50 quarters per minute, meaning about 3000 per hour.  That meant a mere 25 hours of menial work, stuffing coins in the slot as fast as he could. Boring work, sure, but he had done worse, and for less money.  Christ he was making $750 an hour when you got right down to it.  25 hours.  Just a couple of 12-hour shifts wrapped around 6 or 7 hours sleep and he would be free.   Exhausted, brain-dead, thirsty as hell and smelling like an onion pizza, but free.

There was really only one problem.  Aviza.  If he was like a factory worker, Aviza was the production supervisor.  He had a deadline, and if he didn't meet it, Aviza would shit-can him.  Permanently. And the only unemployment benefit he could look forward to would be a quick death, and he couldn't really even count on that.  

It was 12:12 am Sunday morning.  Aviza would be looking  for him at 5:00 Monday night, and all the quarters in the world wouldn't save him then.  Aviza wasn't a collector, he was a killer.  5:00 PM Monday.  Nice to see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.

So he only had 29 hours to dump out 32000 more quarters, get the fuck out of the elevator, load the coins and get to Aviza’s. As he was calculating the drive time, his racing mind suddenly flew out of control and smashed right into the guardrail, exploding in flames of horror.  Bile seared his throat noxiously.

“The quarters...”  He whispered.  “How the fuck am I going to get the quarters?!”

He had been so intent on getting the elevator to go up that he never stopped to think that he was putting his money away in an impenetrable safe, effectively sealing his fate.  A good writer would take your hand and walk you down the dark hallway of his horror and eventual madness, but that’s not me.  I’m just a scumbag.    

[esprit-de-corps-magazine]

Canada and Kazakhstan: A Comparison of Military Reformations

By: Scott Taylor

Back on 7 June, the Liberal government unveiled their long awaited defence policy review which they entitled “Strong, Secure, Engaged.” The gist of the plan will see defence spending increase steadily over the next decade from the current $18.9 billion to approximately $32.7 billion by fiscal year 2026-27. The policy review contained a list of future equipment acquisitions, but for keen eyed observers of Canada’s military, the majority of these hardware items were already on the military’s requirement lists. There were modest increases announced to the manning levels of both Regular and Reserve forces, but there was certainly no drastic change in course for the Canadian military.

The increase in Canadian military spending was tweeted out by U.S. President Trump as “proof” that NATO countries were getting his message about spending a minimum 2% of GDP on national defence. While of course Trudeau liberals denied they were appeasing Trump there was virtually no reformation to defence policy despite months of cross-country consultations prior to them drafting “Strong, Secure, Engaged.”

The same month that Canada announced this future defence blueprint I was to attend the Eurasian Media Forum conference in Kazakhstan. By fortuitous coincidence I received a letter-to-the-editor just prior to my departure from reader Jim Ruddy. His final cryptic advice was for me to watch the video “Happy in Astana” as, according to Ruddy “back in 1917, Kabul [Afghanistan] was the same as Astana or Almaty [Kazakhstan] – 75 years of Russian rule achieved something Western rule did not.”

Being all too familiar with the chaos, violence and insecurity of Kabul – I made a total of 6 unembedded reporting trips into Afghanistan between 2007 and 2013 – I was naturally intrigued to put Ruddy’s comparative observation to the test when I visited both Astana and Almaty.

Immediately upon arrival in Kazakhstan it becomes apparent that while Afghanistan is geographically in the same Central Asian region, these two countries are worlds apart in terms of security, economy and development.

Astana was declared the new capital in 1997 and in just 20 short years, what was formerly a small market town in the rolling Steppes has become an almost futuristic, custom designed showcase with a population of nearly 1,000,000.

Equally impressive were the tree-lined boulevards of former capital Almaty, which are more reminiscent of Eastern Europe than the filthy traffic jammed third world streets of Afghanistan.

In terms of economy Kazakhstan is a dynamic success story. Although blessed with abundant natural resources including vast oil and gas deposits, at the time of the Soviet Union’s dissolution, Kazakhstan ranked 13th out of the 15 newly independent states within that former Soviet bloc. Today the Kazakh economy ranks second among that group, with only Russia itself posting a stronger GDP.

Admittedly Kazakhstan is not a western style democracy and it has been firmly ruled over by President Nursultan Nazarbayev since it became independent in 1992. The strength of the Kazakh economy and relative security should serve to remind us that democracy is but one form of government, which, given the catastrophic results of the West’s attempts to impose democracy in Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya – is clearly not successful in all cultures.

Nominally Kazakhstan is a Muslim country with the Kazakh ethnic majority indentifying with that religion. While there have been a number of sizeable, landmark mosques built since 1992 by President Nazarbayez, both the historical nomadic nature of the Kazakh people and the decades long Soviet suppression of religion has secularized the population.

Like Canada, Kazakhstan is officially bilingual with Kazakh being the primary language and Russian being the Lingua Franca enabling communication between the ethnic Russian and other minority groups in Kazakhstan.

Geo-strategically Kazakhstan finds itself lodged between two superpowers: China to the east, Russia to the west. Below their southern border lies Uzbekistan, Kyrgryzstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and of course Afghanistan.

Canada by comparison has only one land border and that being with the U.S., means we have limited independent latitude in determining our Defence and Foreign policies. For the Kazakhs, they have two giants to appeaser, not to mention a potential vipers nest of insecurity to their south.

While the primary focus of my trip to Kazakhstan was the Eurasian Media Forum conference – which included a panel on the Syrian Peace Talks that are currently taking place in Astana – I was also curious to get a perspective on the Kazakh Defence Policy and the reformation of their military in the post-Soviet era.

To accommodate my request the Kazakh Foreign Ministry arranged an interview with Rear-Admiral Kairgeldy Eseneyev at the world class War Museum in Astana. Eseneyev had been an officer in the Soviet Navy at the time of that empire’s collapse, so he had a very personal perspective of how a new Kazakh Army, Navy, and Air force were born out of the ashes of the Soviet Union.

“Over the past twenty-six years a tremendous amount of work has gone into creating combat capable Armed Forces and the main stages of that reform have been passed,” explained Eseneyev “However the process of rebuilding is not complete. Further development of the Armed forces will focus on both national security and the capability to contribute to regional and global security.”

One of the most important first steps that Kazakhstan took upon achieving independence was to officially renounce nuclear weapons. A large portion of the Soviet nuclear missile arsenal had been situated in Kazakhstan prior to 1992. Renouncing these weapons was “an important step in the manifestation of goodwill and readiness to join the process of peaceful construction of an international society” said Eseneyev.

In terms of conventional weaponry however, the Kazakhs were able to inherit the equipment, vehicles and aircraft of the former Soviet Armed Forces Turkestan Military District.

However, simply having tanks and planes does not create a new structure or doctrine which would reflect Kazakhstan’s new stature as an independent country – rather than a satellite within the Soviet Union. “The most difficult challenge in this process was the transition of a mass army in corps and divisions being reduced to a small but well equipped, combat capable Armed Forces,” said Egeneev.

As President, Nursultan Nazarbayev is also Head of State, and the Supreme Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. Under Nazarbayev’s direction, in 1993 the first independent Kazakh Defence Policy resolved that the military would have a strictly defensive role.

The Kazakh Armed Forces total approximately 37,000 personnel of which 20,000 are in the army, 12,000 in the Air force, 3,000 in the Navy and another 4000 considered headquarters staff.

While the country still has a policy of conscripted service, roughly 70% of the enlisted personnel are professional volunteers and 82% of the officer corps are regular force career soldiers. There are few exemptions from this obligatory service, should your name be selected, however the policy is not unpopular in Kazakhstan.

“Given the high prestige of military service, there are no problems with conscription” said Eseneev “The number of those wishing to serve far exceeds the number of available positions.”

In terms of defence spending Kazakhstan would be a shirker according to Donald Trump’s 2% of GDP formula, as they only spend roughly $2 billion Canadian annually. This amounts to about 1.1% of Kazakhstan’s GDP, which is roughly the same percentage that Canada currently spends.

That said, it is amazing what the Kazakhs can field in terms of equipment on that tiny budget. For example, the Kazakhs have a fleet of 300 T-72 main battle tanks and an additional 1,000 armoured personnel carriers and patrol vehicles (Canada’s Army currently has just 40 main battle tanks). In terms of artillery they possess over 1,000 frontline guns and mortars ranging from 120mm mortars to 152mm howitzers.

The air force possesses 76 combat fighter aircraft (Canada currently has just 77 CF-18 Hornets) and 64 combat helicopters including 18 of the mi-24 Hind attack gunships. The tiny navy has only an assortment of fast patrol boats, but Kazakhstan’s maritime responsibility is only a small coastline on the landlocked Caspian Sea.

Training and education is a cornerstone of the Kazakh Armed Forces and this is something into which they invest heavily. The Cadet Corps is essentially a non-commissioned officer school, that has to date produced over 2,700 professional senior NCO’s, on a par with any top military organization.

There is also the military Institute of the land force through which more than 70% of the officer corps has graduated – including 67 current serving General Officers. Specialized training is conducted at the Military Engineering’s Institute of Radio Electronics and Communication and for Air Force personnel there is the Military Institute of the Air Defence Forces.

A unique initiative undertaken by Supreme Commander Nazarbayev was the National Defence University, which has since been named in his honour. The level of instruction offered at this institute is accepted at the Oxford community and the Eurasian Association of Universities.

In addition to foreign military officers attending the Nazarbayev Military University, Kazakhstan annually sends around 400 officers on exchange to international universities in Russia, China and the U.S.A.

As a people, the Kazakhs have a military lineage dating back to the Mongol hordes of Ghengis Khan. However, as beautifully illustrated by the images and artifacts at the Astana War Museum, their modern history was that of a vassal state to Tsarist Russia or as a component of the Soviet Union.

One large mural in the World War 2 section proudly depicts a Kazakh soldier planting the Soviet flag atop the Reichstag following the surrender of Berlin in May 1945. Their participation in the Soviet Union’s Great Patriotic War against Hitler’s Nazis is a source of great national pride.

It was not until 2013 that independent Kazakhstan staged its first ever full-scale military parade. During that ceremony on 7 May to commemorate the first Defender of the Fatherland national holiday, Kazakhstan also named its first-ever female general.

Last year Kazakhstan garnered international media coverage when they took the unusual recruiting strategy of staging an online beauty pageant. They took photos of the most attractive Kazakh female soldiers, posted them on an official website and encouraged viewers to vote for the most attractive.

The premise was that if young Kazakh girls could see how attractive and professional the female soldiers are, they too would wish to enlist. No one could comment on whether or not the initiative was successful.

In terms of their equipment, the Kazakhstan Armed Forces still field an arsenal that was largely either inherited from the Soviets or is imported from Russia. However in recent years they have begun purchasing weaponry and vehicles from NATO members such as the U.S., Turkey, Czech Republic, Greece, France, Spain, Italy, UK, Netherlands and Germany, as well as non-aligned foreign countries like Israel and South Africa.

Kazakhstan also has an extensive home grown defence industry, which is largely a legacy of World War 2 Soviet emergency relocations.

As The Germans advanced into the Soviet Union in 1941, one of the most strategic successes was the Soviet ability to uproot their factories and relocate them out of Nazi range beyond the Ural Mountains.

As such, Kazakhstan ­­– a landlocked nation became the major supplier of naval weaponry for the Soviet Union. Following the war, the machinery remained in Kazakhstan and to this day they continue to produce state of the art exports to the Russian Navy.

Canada and Kazakhstan may be halfway around the world from each other, but in many ways we are far closer than one may first think. We share large landmasses with relatively small populations, we are both rich in oil, gas and minerals.

Geographically and climatically, Kazakhstan is akin to the western prairies up to and including the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. We both have super-powers for neighbours, and we are both bilingual nations, albeit none of the four primary languages overlap.

There are numerous opportunities for increased trade and cooperation between Canada and Kazakhstan. One unique connection is that Canadian cattle from Saskatchewan and Alberta have proven to be adaptable to the Kazakh steppes whereas European cattle breeds have succumbed to the extreme winter cold.

We also now have a shared battlefield and a common loss with the Kazakh military as both our nations have sent soldiers into Afghanistan. In the city centre of Almaty there is a sombre monument dedicated to the more than 500 Kazakh soldiers who died there while fighting for the Soviet Union. The National War Memorial in Ottawa now pays tribute to the 158 Canadian soldiers who made the ultimate sacrifice in Afghanistan.

Kazakhstan is not so distant after all.

The author wishes to thank the Kazakhstan Foreign Ministry and Rear-Admiral Kairgeldy Eseneyev for their hospitality and assistance during the visit to Kazakhstan.