#divided we fall. you canNOT give into the divide and conquer strategy - you will NEVER survive

[uncanny-tranny]

r u chill w non transitioning ppl?

Why wouldn't I be? At one point, every trans person who is transitioning was once someone who wasn't (whether or not that was a choice or their need is a separate discussion).

Hatred of any kind of trans person is not a Righteous or Good Thing - every single trans person has their place, their entitlement to safety, community, and respect of who they are

[baddieladdie]

Hello!! So I'm an RPer (gross) and I dabble with Joshua Graham. I do cross-canon occasionally and I have stumbled on weird romantic (maybe??) tension with him and RE5/blonde Jill Valentine based on the fact they both were manipulated by someone they respected and did horrible things (even if hers were against her will and he did them by choice) and it's become this heavy, weird tension full of lame, longing gazes and pretty decent fight scenes! Is it possible to get them together? 😬

Regardless, stumbled on your work and I love it!! 😍

I have not played Resident Evil, actually! I had to look up who Jill Valentine was, at first I thought she was Nick Valentine's daughter in some AU\

SO - How 'bout this? I will get us started with some opening context on Joshua Graham. Then you could take it from there? I have a feeling you are a bit more familiar with Jill than I am :)

Tag me if you add on to this - I'd love to give a read!

An idea for a structure could be:

Ch1 - Joshua Graham (see below the cut) Ch2 - Jill Valentine Ch3 - Combat/Meet-cute, Joshua and Jill meet in fire fight Ch4 - Connection/Tension/Romance

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Rating: Teen

Description: Mormon missionary turned co-founder of Caesar's Legion now roams Zion under the guise of folk legends as the Burned Man. He is haunted by his actions while part of the Legion, yet cannot so easily release his dependence on violence as he leads a vicious campaign to bring 'God's justice' to all those who would threaten the safety of the innocent.

Joshua drags his thumb across the bumpy ridges of his Bible. Absent-mindedly, he traces each letter stitched into the black leather. The book was worn down. It could hardly be recognized for what it was - the Holy word of God. The book, like Joshua the man, had been irritably changed in time by the unforgiving nature of this mortal life. Joshua flips through the book, pausing at a page crinkled by a dried blood stain.

18 For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors, 19 but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect. 1 Peter 1:18-19

“Divide et impera,”  Edward exclaimed, gesturing to his beloved novel ‘Commentarii de Bello Gallico’. “Divide and Conquer. Joshua, this is just like the Roman Empire of great! We conquer these tribes and we make them better. Stronger! Outfit them with weapons and battle strategies. From this tribal strife, we will raise a great and mighty empire!” Sallow laughed with cynical joy.

“It is brutal,” Joshua mumbled in thought. Edward had studied all his life with the Followers of the Apocalypse. His knowledge of societal development and anthropology were next to none. Perhaps Sallows knew something he didn’t. And the good Lord knows it’s good to have friends. He should trust Edward to the very end. Joshua nodded hesitantly,“What better way to unify these groups than under the threat of death. They would have a better chance of surviving if they worked together.” 

“Yes, yes!” Edward walked around the table to get closer to the hesitant missionary and man he called friend. “Leave the brutality to the soldiers. I-” He awkwardly cleared his throat and corrected himself, “We only need you to translate.” He gestured openly with a wide smile. “You’ll never have an opportunity like this again, my friend.”

So that is what Joshua Graham did. He translated for Edward as he spoke to the crowds of tribals he had gathered. But soon, translating became giving orders. Giving orders slowly became leading in battle. Leading in battle became training, punishing, terrorizing. A series of small mistakes before Joshua Graham's great fall.

In time, he would become Caesar’s second in command and most trusted advisor. Never had Graham held such power. Death came as he demanded it. Riches poured from the Earth as he wished it. It was as if the very thread of fate was his to design. 

Cursed is everyone who is hung on a pole. Galatians 3:13

Sweat beaded at the tip of Joshua’s nose as the Mojave sun beat down on him. Sand carried in the wind irritated his skin. He cursed, putting the hammer down for a moment to adjust the legionary mask snuggly around his nose and mouth.

“Please, I haven’t done anything wrong. Let me go!” The man cried in desperate agony, trying to pull his hand free from where it had been nailed to the cross. Blood spurted generously from the wound Joshua had inflicted. The naked man screamed from a place of consuming pain, but no living soul was around to hear. Their only witnesses were the bodies left in Joshua’s wake. And the man’s pleas meant nothing to the heart that had hardened inside him. Joshua had heard the dying screams of men, women, and children far to often to feel anything at all. He was as stoic as the corpses behind them. 

Graham leaned over the man screaming and punched him squarely in the jaw. The jaw swung open lazily, the man stared up at Joshua horrified that he could no longer speak. Joshua firmly grasped the man’s free hand and pinned it to the right arm of the wooden cross. The man under him squirmed in futile effort to free himself from his inevitable fate. The hammer came down swiftly, pushing the rusty nail through the delicate flesh of the man’s palm. Blood sprinkled Joshua’s legion uniform. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. No matter - his job here was done. The resistance group dead and their leader crucified. With a grunt of effort, Joshua stood the cross up. It was an eyesore against the flat desert landscape. However, it sufficiently served as a warning to any who would cross Caesar and his legion. 

Joshua dusted himself off and stowed his hammer away. He turned his back on the suffering man and walked slowly across the desert plain back home. Home to Caesar’s legion. 

John answered them all, “I baptize you with water. But one who is more powerful than I will come, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. Luke 3:16

The nervous raw recruits stumbled forward towards the center of the dam. The veteran's stood before the Malpais Legate (Joshua Graham), silently recalling their first battles as a raw recruit. Joshua felt no remorse. He had followed the Legion military doctrine excellently. They had the enemy on the run and he intended to leave no survivors. Dead men tell no tales.

THUNK

The legionary veteran collapsed next to Graham, a bullet wound oozing from the back of his head. Instinctively, he traced the bullet's trajectory to a platoon of sharpshooters. The First Recon of the New California Republic.

THUNK THUNK THUNK

Bodies of veteran soldiers fell around him at an alarming rate. "Fall back!" the Malpais Legate cried. The raw recruits panicked at the order, dropping their weapons and running for their lives. More experienced soldiers simply pivoted and ran for the ridge.

THUNK THUNK

Bodies of legionaries continued to mount as they made their escape towards the pass through the ridge. Joshua's eye was caught by a glint in the afternoon sunlight. More First Recon shoots and NCR rangers. It was a trap - this whole damn time! Joshua cursed himself, then Caesar for underestimating Chief Hanlon. Swallowing his rising panic, he shouted over the pop of rifles, "Be weary of crossfire! To Boulder City! For Caesar!"

The is when he lost the remainder of his good men. Boulder City wasn't just protected by rangers and sharpshoots. The whole damn city was rigged to explode. Mines and traps lined every square inch of the town. The opposition, having placed them, evaded the threats, only luring the legionaries in further. What was meant to be a great victory for the mighty Caesar had become a costly defeat.

-

veni , vidi, victus

-

"Mighty Caesar," Joshua approached his life-long friend's throne. "We have lost this battle, but not the war. I won't give up. We-"

"You will do no such thing," Edward barked at him. "Your failure has brought shame to the great legion of Caesar! Such a disgrace will not be tolerated, Malpais Legate." Sallow spat his words with such vile hate, Joshua could no longer recognize him. The personification of the roman emperor, Caesar Augustus, had finally consumed the former- follower of the apocalypse completely. No more was Joshua's friend present before him.

"And for your transgression against the might of Caesar, you shall be burned to death!" Caesar shouted til he was red in the face. "Legionaries! Cover the former-Malpais Legate in pitch, lit him on fire and cast him into the Grand Canyon!"

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and it to the full. John 10:10

“Life has not been good to us without your guidance, Joshua.” Follows-Chalk guided a stumbling Joshua Graham through the Dead Horse camp. “We tried to live in your ways but have been driven from our home. With your return, we can take back Zion from the White Legs.”

"I am sorry to hear what has come to pass. God willing, I can undo the harm that has been done here."

"What...happened to you, Joshua?" Follows-Chalk paused, noticing that Joshua had been lagging behind.

"I do not enjoy reflecting, but I pray to God that someone may learn from my mistakes. Was there something specific, Follows-Chalk?"

Follows-Chalk eyed the puss oozing from the bandages around Joshua's face. His bloodshot eyes and uneven gait all clearly showed the man was in undeniable pain.

"How did you survive, Joshua? Such a fall would have killed most men."

"I survived because the fire inside burned brighter than the fire around me. I feel down into that dark chasm, but the flame burned on and on. The next morning, I woke up and crawled out of the northern edge of the Grand Canyon, that cursed place. It took me three months to return."

Follows-Chalk hung to every word of Joshua's tragic downfall, guiding him to the healer's tent and away from the gaze of the merciless sun.

"The Dead Horses are happy you have returned to us. You are welcome to stay," Follows-Chalk spoke sympathetically. He opened the tent wide for Joshua. The man hissed at the pain as he crouched under the flap to enter the room. "You have been good to us, Joshua."

"You are kind to offer," Joshua groaned as he lowered himself onto a straw mat. A woman rushed over with a basin of clean water and bandages. "It never stops burning. My skin. Every day, I have to unwind the bandages and replace them with fresh ones." He nodded his thanks to the woman. She smiled politely and awkwardly shuffled out. "Exposing my body to the air is like living through it again. But it's better to be clean than comfortable."

Follows-Chalk nodded and turned away to give the Burned Man space to clean his wounds. "Have you met Daniel? He is a missionary like you."

"Who?"

"A Mormon, like you Joshua. He is helping the Sorrows not far from here."

"Take me to him," Joshua gasped in a pain as he removed a bandage that has wound had adhered too. Fresh blood trickled down his back. "In the morning. Tomorrow will be here soon enough. And there is much to do. God be with you, Follows-Chalk."

Like an enemy he has strung his bow; his right hand is ready…he has poured out his wrath like fire on the tent of Daughter Zion. Lamentations 2:4

"Ye have sown death and so shall ye reap it!" Joshua roared, lunging towards the remaining White Legs tribals. He greedily drove his knife into the back of tribal, revealing in the screams of man he had not heard in years.

The lost courier beside him fired lucky shots from a .45 pistol. The bodies of White Legs fell around them until only Salt-Upon-Wounds remained alive.

Joshua stood over Salt-Upon-Wounds. His jagged features highlighted in the dim firelight. It was akin to watching a skilled hunter taunt and play with its prey as it made feeble attempts to escape. "We warned you at Syracuse, and you persisted. You took advantage of us at New Canaan to drive us out, and like the dogs of Caesar you are, you followed us to Zion. And now you stand on holy ground, a temple to God's glory on Earth. But the only use for an animal in our temple is sacrifice!" He smiled grimly at the terror in Salt-Upon-Wounds as the tribal leader curled in terror under Joshua's gaze. "Kale watcha nei conserva oh! You understand me, don't you? Don't you?!"

"Outman!" Salt-Upon-Wounds hissed at the mentally distant courier. "Kuma-man mad! He has killed all White Legs. Please, you talk. You stop this!"

"Stand up and look at what's come for you!" Joshua pulled the tribal leader to his feet. Salt-Upon-Wounds raised trembling hands behind his head.

"Don't listen to this… thing!" Joshua spat. "His cries are those of a mad beast caught in a thicket! He gave no mercy to my family, and I will give none to his!"

The courier squinted their eyes at Joshua, "Is this coming from the missionary Joshua Graham or Malpais Legate? This is brutal and beyond reason. You know it is. Look Joshua, you've already won," The courier gestured to the bodies of the dead that surrounded them. "There's no need to kill him."

"He has a debt to pay for what he's done and I've come to collect," Joshua stammered, but the anger was already starting the leave him and along with it, his conviction. "And so he's chosen to cower in the water like a dumb animal."

The courier stepped over still bodies, moving closer to Joshua. "If what you believe is true," the courier stumbled slightly over an arm shrouded in the darkness. "he'll pay for it later." The courier balanced themselves next to him and whispered, "The Sorrows don't need to see you this. Let's go."

"Go," Joshua sighed in defeat. He released Salt-Upon-Wounds and continued, "Get out of here. Go back. Back to the Great Salt Lake."

Joshua watched Salt-Upon-Wounds scamper off and abruptly turned to the Courier. Angerly, he fumed, "I wanted to take from them what they took from me, from my family!" The courier watched him with mindful pity.

Joshua sighed, allowing his true sadness, underneath all the rage, to flow in. "In this life. I want them to suffer. I want all of them to die in fear and pain," He continued. "I want to have my revenge. Against him. Against Caesar. I want to call it my own, to make my anger God's anger. To justify the things I've done. Sometimes I tell myself that these wildfires never stop burning. But I'm the one who starts them. Not God. Not them. I can always see it in my mind. The warmth and the heat. It will always be a part of me," Joshua paused, looking down the path where Salt-Upon-Wounds had fled. "But not today."

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 5, Section 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 5: Fog of War

"Alright, that should do it! You'll probably be in pain for a while, but so long as you don't push yourself, you'll eventually be able to walk again." Ephraim said cheerfully and finished wrapping a bandage around the soldier's injured foot.

He was so skilled with his hands that you'd think he wasn't a prince at all. As the grueling battles continued on, he had mastered not only combat, but also basic first aid.

Now that he was finished tending to the man's wounds, Ephraim stepped away from the injured and walked over to Forde and a few other soldiers, who were all mending their weapons under the shade of a tree.

He sat down and let out a heavy sigh. His expression was so grim that he looked like a completely different person than the one who'd just been cheerful in front of the soldiers.

"Forde, how is our food and medicine stock doing?" He whispered.

Forde's voice was also low as he answered, "Bad. Really bad. We're really low on both. We've used up almost all of our weapons, too."

"I see…" The furrow in Ephraim's brow slowly creased more and more. 

Forde and Kyle, who was sitting next to him, both looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes.

"If we… collect… some money from the local villages, we could probably manage to get a hold of some food, but..."

He knew there was no way Ephraim could agree to what he was saying, but he tried it anyway. 

As expected, Ephraim shook his head and said with conviction, "We can't do that! We can't cause trouble for the common people just because we're in enemy territory. We need to think of another way."

"I knew you'd say that." Forde smiled.

It had already been several months since Ephaim’s army left the capital to protect the border from the Grado Army’s invasion. Ephraim’s army put up a flawless fight, but was overwhelmed by the difference in power.

The number of casualties grew by the day, and now so few soldiers were left that they could easily be counted by one person. And to make matters even worse, nearly all of those remaining were injured and could hardly move.

Any normal general would cast aside soldiers that could not move, but Ephraim would never do any such thing. He would boil plants to use as medicine for the soldiers all on his own, and even carry them around himself sometimes.

Their battlefield was currently taking place near Renvall Castle, a location that was strategically chosen to build upon because it was surrounded by a lake, and was famous for having never once fallen to an enemy. For the past few days, the Grado Army had been chasing them around the area, leaving them nowhere to run but the middle of a forest.

A sense that it was likely already only a matter of time before they surrendered had begun to permeate Ephraim’s army, but their leader had not given up hope, not even now. Forde and Kyle knew that was not just a bluff, but something he firmly believed in. It was for that reason that they admired Ephraim and had served him since they day they’d become knights.

“So then, what are we going to do now, Lord Ephraim? We’re at our limit. We can’t even run around anymore.” Forde said.

Kyle also interjected into the conversation, “From what we know, the Grado Army has already invaded very far into Renais. Rumor also has it that the capital has already fallen.”

Those words from the overserious Kyle sounded even darker than everything else they were facing. 

But Ephraim brushed aside their concern with confidence in his response, “Everything will be okay. My father is there, along with Seth and his unit. They will not lose so easily.”

“Even if you say that, still…”

“If you say that the capital is in danger, then that is all the more reason to start a skirmish here and draw the attention of the Grado Army. It will give Father and Eirika time to escape.”

“A skirmish, huh…?”

Was he serious? What could they possibly accomplish with such few troops left? 

Forde was dumbfounded, just as anyone else would be in this situation.

“I have returned with my report.” A tired voice said from above them.

Ephraim and the knights all looked up.

It was Orson, returning from gathering information. He was a calm and composed knight much older than them. He'd been a knight for many, many years now, and had risen to the highest position of his unit. 

“I confirmed the presence of Grado soldiers in many locations. A large unit has deployed from Renvall Castle. They are likely putting great effort into searching for us as we speak. It may be dangerous for us to stay here for long.”

“Mm-hmm…” Ephraim was deep in thought.

Forde argued, “We’re at our limit, right? It would be best for us to retreat to the capital and regroup.”

“...No.” Ephraim stood up. The words he uttered were a complete surprise. “We will continue to march, and conquer Renvall Castle.”

“What!?” Forde and Kyle said in unison. Even the calm Orson’s eyes widened in shock.

Forde stood up as well, and looked in the same direction that Ephraim was. The impenetrable Renvall Castle was white as snow, striking fear into the hearts of any who dared to try challenging it.

"A-Are you sane, Lord Ephraim? What are you thinking, suggesting such a foolish plan…?"

"Hey! Watch your mouth!" Kyle quickly stood up and jabbed Forde in the side. He was always strict about manners, no matter the situation.

Ephraim appeared to be unconcerned as he said, "That's what you think, right? The enemy will have the exact same idea. No sane person would ever think of attacking Renvall under these circumstances."

"Lord Ephraim…"

"It's not that I am desperate. Renvall is a stronghold for the Grado Army, so if it falls, then the enemy will panic. The forces marching towards the capital will probably have to divide and send some units here. If that happens, then at the very least, it should  help Father and Eirika."

"Yes, that might be true, but…"

Ephraim was being true to his ideals. However, if they thought about the problem realistically, then his plan was reckless. 

Forde and Kyle's expressions made Ephraim laugh. "I know it is a reckless strategy. That is why it will be a good one. The enemy won't possibly be thinking that we will attack. We will strike them while their guard is down."

"Well… no matter what path we may take, we can't run around forever. And then if we run out of supplies… Alright then, shall we try it?" Forde said. When he looked at Ephraim's face, he felt that he could see a glimmer of hope in his lord's expression, that they might just be able to succeed with this strategy that no one would think was possible.

Ephraim announced with confidence in his voice, "I do not pick fights that I cannot win. Trust me."

"Yes, Milord!" Forde and Kyle nodded.

'Jeez, what a strange person he is.' Forde could not help but think.

This war marked his first experience with real combat, yet somehow, Ephraim knew how to fight extremely well. He was astonishingly optimistic, but also not to be underestimated. There were aspects of battle that only Ephraim could see.

They had a chance to win this battle. No, they would win. Ephraim inspired that feeling within him.

Forde looked up at Renvall Castle, which he could see through the gaps in the trees, in a completely new light.

-

 Just as Ephraim had predicted, the defenses at Renvall Castle were light.

The enemy was focused solely on chasing them, and was not even thinking about protecting the castle. The gate only had a few soldiers surrounding it, and even they had their guards down.

These guards, so relaxed they did not even have their weapons in their hands, flew into a panic at the surprise attack. The way they scrambled to find their weapons was even comedic. Ephraim’s army broke down the gate with ease, and invaded the castle grounds.

“Are you alright, Orson?” He noticed how pale the knight was, and it concerned him. “Your wounds from our last battle haven’t healed yet, have they? Don’t push yourself.”

 “Understood…”

“Let’s go!” Ephraim readied his lance and rushed straight into the group of enemies. 

Forde and Kyle eagerly followed along after him. Orson sighed deeply and prepared to protect them from behind. 

With the soldiers having been taken advantage of with their guard down, Renvall Castle fell into complete chaos. There were even panicking soldiers who didn’t understand at all what was going on. 

Ephraim swung his lance as if he was a rampaging angry god, cutting down any enemy soldier who tried to stand in his way, which put immense pressure on the Grado Army, who should have been the superior side in this battle. Since they’d had no interest in trying to defend the castle, the result was clear. Those on Grado’s side gradually fell, and Ephraim’s army was unyielding in their assault. They didn’t let up for even a moment.

When Ephraim's army rushed into the throne room, with Ephraim leading the charge, all that was left of the Grado Army was the unit’s commanding officer and the handful of soldiers surrounding him. Every single one of their faces stared at them in disbelief. The commanding officer yelled “Come at me!” with a determined look on his face, however, his soldiers’ movements were stiff.

When he was defeated, Ephraim’s soldiers all shouted out a victory cry. 

However, Ephraim did not rejoice, rather, his expression stiffened. “There were more soldiers out elsewhere than there were inside the castle. When they return, we will not be able to defend it with these numbers. There is no reason for us to stay here for long, so we will march for the capital as we are now.”

“Yes, Milord!” Kyle nodded.

Just then, Forde ran up to him. The moment he’d seen that the castle had been seized, he'd left to watch over the perimeter.

“We’re in trouble, Lord Ephraim! The enemy has us surrounded!”

“What!?” Ephraim’s face paled. “Reinforcements? But it’s still too early…”

“What shall we do?”

Ephraim did not falter. He immediately began to stomp off. “We will escape! Dammit, so Grado was one step ahead of us after all…” He said, words dripping with regret as he exited the throne room.

-

Just as Forde had reported, Renvall Castle was surrounded by a large group of Grado soldiers. Their circular formation was several lines of soldiers strong. This unit was in a completely different league from the one that had been at the castle. And on top of it all, these troops were full of morale as well.

Even Ephraim could not hide his pained expression this time. Forde and Kyle were also pale, but gripped their weapons tightly, and readied themselves to protect Ephraim. They were already prepared to die in a situation like this. In their eyes was the determination to single handedly take as many enemies as they could down with them.

Across the bridge over the lake, a wyvern unit was there waiting for them. The man riding the largest, most majestic of the wyverns noticed Ephraim and his soldiers and flew down to them.

He was an eerie man with a terrifyingly coldhearted cackle. Though his face was pale, his body was well-toned. Ephraim assumed him to be the unit’s leader and faced him.

“I’m impressed! Your army is smaller than I thought. You attacked and seized the castle with these numbers? The rumors of your military prowess are true, Prince Ephraim.”

Ephraim glared at the man.

“I am Valter, the Moonstone, a general of Grado’s Imperial Army. It took a lot of effort to track you down. You just don’t know when to give up… Although I could never hate fresh prey.” Valter mocked him. His laugh was grating and sarcastic.

"But playtime is over. The palace has fallen and the king is dead. Now, you will surrender here."

"What…? Father is…?" Ephraim started shaking, but balled his hands into tight fists. He couldn't believe a word a man like him said. Surely Valter was just bluffing to crush their spirits. 

Rather than press him for more information about his father, Ephraim asked Valter another question. "How were you able to surround the castle so quickly? It's as if you were able to somehow read our movements."

"I wonder. You'll figure it out eventually. It is of no concern to someone in your position. Throw down your weapons. Get on your knees, and beg for your life."

"Lord Ephraim, we'll back you up!!" Kyle quickly shouted out. He was always so calm that he was stiff and formal, and scolded Forde often for getting carried away too easily, but this time, it was him who was worked up.

However, Ephraim did not drop his weapon, instead glaring at Valter.

Valter laughed at the panicking Kyle. "Yes, writhe, you worms, writhe! Nothing is more enjoyable for me than seeing you dare to fight a hopeless battle!"

However, Ephraim did not move. Valter raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

"I see, so you don’t really have the will to fight. Then surrender! Bleat like sheep, and beg for your lives!”

"I refuse." Ephraim answered coldly.

"What?"

"Valter, was it? I don't have time to play with the likes of you. We will rout your army and leave this castle.”

"Really?" Valter narrowed his eyes, however, the sarcastic smile vanished from his face.

"Are you telling me you're going to break through our formation? Do you seriously think you will escape from our wyvern knights? I did not think you were such a fool, Prince Ephraim."

"Say whatever you want. I do not pick battles that I cannot win." Ephraim's gaze did not move away from Valter as he asked the two knights behind him, "Kyle. Forde. You ready?"

The two answered without even a moment's hesitation.

"I have been prepared to give my life for my country since the moment I became a knight."

"It's because of moments like these that I could never quit my position as your retainer."

Kyle was stiff and Forde was lighthearted, but the two were resolute in their responses.

Valter's face twisted in displeasure. "Of course you would have two fools beyond saving following you. Then come face me, and I will teach you the difference in our power!"

"Let's go!" Ephraim called out to his soldiers, then grabbed his lance and started running.

[that-gal-kay]

Waiting In the Wings (For You)

Chapter Three is here! Brought to you by @accidentally-a-writer and myself! Enjoy!

Read it on AO3 and leave us a comment if you like it? :3

***

Chapter Three: what i wish i’d known

Laurens doesn’t want to risk the general’s foul mood, and someone has to tell Hamilton what's happened. So he makes his way down the hall, suddenly aware of just how exhausted he is. He pauses only for a moment when he reaches the door.

"Alexander will want to know," he'd told the general. 

A moment of silence lapsed before Washington breathed out, “Leave me." He didn't rise from his seat, so Laurens stepped out. 

He opens the door quietly, but Hamilton is awake, lying in the middle of the bed. A few pieces of parchment lay scattered nearby on the floor. There’s an odd glaze to his eyes, some medication or other from the doctor lingering in his system.

Whatever thoughts consume Hamilton must shift when he sees Laurens, as his expression lightens a bit. Laurens wishes his could. 

"John," he rasps. His voice sounds worse than it did a day ago. Hamilton seems to know he can't manage any more words so he reaches for one of the remaining scraps of parchment. 

Did the General send you to keep an eye on me while he waits for news?

Laurens presses his lips into a grim line and slowly sits in the general's abandoned chair. Hamilton's brow furrows; his shoulders go tense. "W'happened?"

“The… the group of men sent to capture Davies,” he begins, watching as Hamilton’s face begins to collapse, “they were expected, ambushed by dozens of redcoats… Davies’ men.” 

Hamilton feels his heart beat against his broken chest, thundering for freedom and pounding inside his ears. 

How many dead?

Laurens hesitates, he swallows. “All thirty of them, Alexander,” he finally whispers. “No survivors.”

No. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening- Davies he- dear God no. All those men, their wives, their children… They were gone. And, and it’s because of him. Davies knew that Washington would be emotional, not thinking straight, and, and he used him. All those men… It was because of him, him, HIM. No, no, no, no. 

“Hamilton-” Laurens’ voice filters through his anguish, steadily coaxing him back to awareness. His friend has clasped his shoulder and arm, not wanting to risk giving his injured self a shake. “Alexander, you need to breathe. Breathe - if you choke or gag you’ll tear your throat again - that’s it, in and out, in and out, come back from wherever you went. That’s it, just breathe.” 

Oh Laurens, if only you knew how hard that was right now. 

But he eventually gets there, his lungs take in air and his heart stops pounding into his ears like the roar of war drums. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, he realizes belatedly. In another moment he might blame the coughing, but Laurens says nothing about it, so neither does he.

“W’shingt’n,” he chokes. “I wan’ W’shingt’n.” 

“Alexander the general is-”

“I nee’ him.” 

“I know, just- here, have a sip of water, that’s it. He’s trying to deal with this right now too.” Laurens leans back into the chair, a place in the back of his mind glad that Hamilton’s throat had healed to the point where he could take liquids with no pain. “You can talk with him later.”

Not later. Now. 

John sighs and runs both hands over his face, his own grief threatening to overtake him. “Please Hamilton,” he breathes, “can we just- let’s sit for a moment. I need to write to my father eventually, as well, I suppose.” 

Hamilton’s eyes go wide, his quill frantically scribbling on the page. 

Washington should not bear the blame alone. He didn’t mean to. Davies tricked him. 

Laurens’ brow furrows before realization strikes his eyes. “I won’t condemn Washington’s actions, considering I rather understand them. My father, Congress, they need to know what happened but I assure you, Washington shall not fall under bad light by my hand.” 

That does not mean the Continental Congress will agree. 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t, but there’s nothing to be done for that now.” 

Hamilton closes his eyes, leans back against his pillows. He just wants this nightmare to be over. He understands Davies’ every action, but God he wishes he didn’t. Distract the general, cause dysfunction, sow doubt and anger, classic strategy; divide and conquer. 

Swoop in for the kill when they’re all distracted.

“Davies wan’s,” he’s cut off by another round of coughing. Laurens ushers the water into his grip once more, hands hovering as he sips like he’s not sure he can handle it. 

“I think the best thing to do for the very moment is rest,” Laurens sighs, closing his eyes like he wants to do nothing but sleep. He probably does. “And I shall send a messenger to Congress- my father, oh they’re one and the same, aren't they?” 

Hamilton tries to grin at him but it falls flat. The news weighs too heavily on his soul. And Laurens and he had discussed Laurens’ father in length in the past, he is not the most forgiving of men. 

“An-”

“Yes, and I shall tell General Washington you wish him to see you.” 

Hamilton can’t resist a small grin at that, how Laurens seems to grin indulgently himself. He tips his head as his friend departs, barely catching the sadness in Laurens’ countenance as he returns the gesture. 

The smile fades. 

…

A sense of foreboding washes over Laurens right before he pushes Washington’s office door open. Something is not right, and he can feel it. 

Ever persistent, he forges on, hoping he’d not meet the general’s famous temper. What he sees instead is so much worse. 

Washington isn’t even looking at him, he’s looking towards him, but he’s so very clearly not seeing or comprehending his surroundings. He’s exactly where Laurens left him, almost looking slumped against his desk, and were it not for the decanter now decorating his desk John might’ve thought he hadn’t moved at all in this hour or so. 

The decanter, which had been full upon his last exit, is now nearly empty.

The worst sight of them all however, is the general himself. Washington’s drawn and pale, his eyes sporting a haunted glaze and shoulders sagging under the weight of their burden. While his features seem expressionless Laurens knows this is the picture of guilt; he imagines Hamilton would see even further into it than he could. 

“Sir?” He makes his presence known, taking a few steps further into the doorway. 

Washington sees him then, and he is so far into his sorrow he cannot even mask his resignation. 

“What have you told your father?” His voice has no hope left, it stops Laurens in his tracks. 

The general, like Hamilton had, expects him to write his father with all the condemnation and blame in his heart poured towards Washington. The general, who he would follow into the most hopeless of battles, and kill for without a moment’s hesitation. 

“I haven’t sent the letter yet, but I told him I’d have taken the same actions, were I in your place,” he murmurs, approaching more bravely now and lifting the alcohol’s lid back into its position. “Alexander asked for you.”

“Tell him I’m otherwise occupied, I cannot see him now.” 

“I did not hide the truth from him, he will need you.” Laurens makes to take the whisky back to its place in Washington’s liquor cabinet, but releases the crystal when a sharp grip snatches at his wrist and Washington shoots him a dark glare. Taking a shaking breath he backs off, continuing his thought. “You’ve not been absent from his side for weeks, he will not believe-”

“Then he’ll surely believe I am otherwise occupied.”

Laurens stares at him in silence for a moment, startled by disbelief that the general is asking him to lie to Hamilton on his behalf.

He’s never lied to Hamilton in the entire expanse of their friendship. 

“Sir?”

“Why didn’t I listen to him, John?” Oh. Oh dear, Laurens does not want to have this conversation. 

“I can understand why, Sir, he- Alexander was in so much pain, and it was because of him.”

“I am the Commander-in-Chief to this army, I have been leading men for over twenty years, I should have been able to look past my own emotions, I should have seen it.” 

“Your Excellency, Hamilton has been dealing with sadistic men since he was a child; he knows the way they think because it was the only way for him to survive. You cannot fault yourself for not having the same instincts.”

Washington barks a sardonic laugh, “Can’t I?” He pours himself another glass, mockingly cheersing Laurens. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been responsible for a massacre, you know.” 

All the sadness of the world hangs like an aura around Washington’s figure, he’s guilty, and lost, and devastated, and more than a little drunk. It’s horrible. Laurens hasn’t even met Davies and he hates him all the more for it.

“Alexander needs you,” he tries again. “He’s angry and scared, and-”

“I will attend him in my own time,” Washington finally snaps. “Do you think he’d take kindly to me or my state right now? No, tell him I am busy.”

“Sir, surely-” Washington slams his fist against the table, cutting off Laurens’ sentence. The aide jumps backwards, putting space between himself and Washington. 

“I was not asking, Laurens; tell Hamilton I’m busy. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes sir,” he breathes hastily. But he doesn’t move to leave, not yet. Washington’s behaviour scares him a bit, and not in a threatening way, in a worrying way. “Your Excellency-”

Washington explodes. He shoves himself away from the desk with another bang and advances on his startled aide. “Christ’s sake Laurens,” he thunders, snatching the aide’s arm and dragging him towards the door. “When I give you an order, follow it!” Laurens feels himself be all but thrown from the office, having to stumble a bit to regain his balance. 

The office door slams a moment later. 

…

It’s a struggle to stay awake, but Hamilton refuses to allow his resolve to waver- he will remain awake until he can speak to the general. He’s given himself half of the doctor’s recommended dosage of laudanum- the pain creeping along his side is too much to bear without it, but he doesn’t want to lose so much time in that haze where he recalls almost nothing. 

When the door opens this time he is almost surprised- because it’s not Laurens he’s expecting again. He moves carefully, pushes himself up on one elbow. 

“Where is he?” Hamilton asks; his voice is barely there. 

“He’s,” Laurens pauses before closing the door. He sighs, and turns slowly back to Hamilton, “He’s busy right now, Alexander.”

An instant rush of heat floods through him, “Busy?” He restrains the push of anger, coughs once and quickly writes on a fresh piece of parchment. He tries not to think about how strange his writing looks.

He was too busy to see me for a moment?

Laurens nods. There’s something about his expression- it’s strained and unfamiliar and Hamilton hates that he’s unable to fully understand it with the laudanum making his head fog. 

“He needs a few hours to rest,” Laurens says at last.

Disbelief strikes Hamilton in the chest and he shakes his head, “Need t’see ‘im.”

“Alexander,” Laurens looks stiff and uncomfortable, but Hamilton fixes his attention on him anyway. “He can’t.”

A few seconds of silence pass and Hamilton shifts closer to Laurens. His side twinges with a sharp pain despite the medicine, so rather than sit up, he reaches forward and grasps at Laurens’ coat. “Try again.”

Laurens doesn’t move. “No.”

“S’he hiding from me?” Hamilton doesn’t release his grip on Laurens’ coat. There are reasons this could be- the most looming being that Hamilton tried to warn what would happen. Could it be possible that Washington is afraid to face him?

“No, that’s not it. He needs-”

“What?”

“A reprieve, Alexander,” Laurens says a little too quickly. “He had to make a difficult decision in a stressful situation. He’s not left your side in over a week and every man needs a bit of time, especially with conditions as they are.”

Hamilton gawks at him, hisses like he’s been stung. “My fault?”

“No, not at all,” Laurens’ eyes go wide at the accusation. “I’m only saying he’s had no time to himself to-”

“What?”

“Recover himself,” Laurens stares at him. “Surely you don’t think he’s making a show of avoiding you now because of what’s happened.”

Hamilton narrows his eyes, and for a beat he’s not certain what to think. The general must feel the loss of these men as much as any of them do, moreso, but he also cannot be seen to blame himself for it. He shakes his head and vaguely realizes there are tears trailing down his cheeks. He tries hard to blink them away, but the ability seems out of his control for the second time this evening.

“I need him. Now. He has to- tell him-”

“I’m not playing messenger any more today,” Laurens huffs out. He steps back just enough that Hamilton loses the weak grip on his coat. 

“Note, then,” Hamilton glowers, and begins to write quickly on a fresh scrap of parchment. 

“No, Alexander,” Laurens cuts him off with an almost startling finality and lifts his hand from the page, like the general did earlier. “You need rest. The general needs rest. If you could stop being so stubborn about this for one minute about how this affects you, you might realize a world exists outside your influence.”

Hamilton feels his heart stutter. Whether Laurens means it or not the words strike hard, and for a moment he can’t find the words for speech or writing.

“Hamilton,” Laurens breaks the uneasy silence, “I’m…”

“Get out,” Hamilton rasps , settling back against the bed. He can’t roll away from Laurens, onto his injured side, but he turns his head away. 

“C’mon, Alex, I-”

“Go.”

...

It’s not until he reaches the workroom again that Laurens realizes how worn out he is, having passed back and forth through the house almost all night.  A quick glance down the hall tells him that the general is still shut in his office- hardly a surprise. He knows better than to set foot there again tonight.

He glances at a stack of bound letters ready to leave with the next courier, all orders for this or that commander that have somehow come together despite the recent chaos. The other aides have put in just as much work as he has, struggling to keep orders, supply requests, and other communications flowing smoothly. Laurens can add one more to that stack. With a tired sigh he settles into his usual seat. He lights a pair of candles nearby and begins to write. 

As he promised Hamilton, Laurens writes his father and defends Washington- not that he needs to be told to defend his general. He understands- he truly does, and had it been his decision he would have ridden out with those men to capture Davies. It’s almost a point of embarrassment that he was forbidden to accompany them. 

Be vigilant, this man Davies seems clever and dangerous and I fear if he was able to worm his way here and sow such confusion, he may be in a position to do the same anywhere.

Laurens pauses and lifts his quill. It’s dangerous to explicitly warn Congress of a threat that may not even be real, and he hesitates. When he lifts the quill again, it’s just to add one more line before he signs his name.

The men of the Continental Congress would do well to exercise caution until this situation is resolved.

He seals the letter just as the front door opens and a messenger steps inside, a near empty bag slung over his shoulder. The timing is perfect, enough so that Laurens almost allows himself to be amused at the fact that something, at least, has gone right tonight. He rises from his seat and hands the courier the stack of letters, slipping his just completed one on top. 

The messenger cocks his head. “Seems a bit light on the letters lately,” He comments, thumbing through the letters to count them before he slips them into his bag. 

“General Washington has been,” Laurens pauses. An enlisted man does not need to hear the entirety of what’s taken place inside these walls over the last week or more. Letting out any news of weakness is dangerous to their cause from threats both inside and out, and Laurens is not a fool. “He’s been occupied.”

“What about Colonel Hamilton?”

Of course- all of the couriers in and out of headquarters know Hamilton. He’s typically awake at any hour, day or night, to hand off or recieve missives. 

“He’s been ill,” Laurens replies, and it’s a little more strained. 

A flicker of disappointment appears in the courier’s eyes when Laurens fails to provide more detail. He adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, careful to avoid his braid. “Well then,” He says, offering Laurens a tired salute before he moves back to the door. “I hope whatever trials they’re facing pass quickly and with ease. Give my best to the general, and to Colonel Hamilton.”

He exits quickly and Laurens hears a horse race away. 

There’s nothing left for him to do right now. He will not disturb Washington again, and Hamilton needs to rest and calm himself before they attempt another conversation. Laurens heads up the stairs to the room most of the aides share, and as he goes, he realizes he forgot to ask the courier his name. He can’t pass on a greeting without knowing who the man was. 

He pauses for a moment on the top step and glances back down. But the man must be too far off to catch by now, so Laurens will have to ask the next time they meet.

...

It’s late when Hamilton hears his door open again; not so late that it’s vaguely threatening, but late enough that it’s odd anyone would make a social call. Almost no one had been in his rooms this late, except-

“Sir?” 

Washington’s features come into focus, flickering in the candlelight. There’s something about him that Hamilton had never seen before, something that’s just wrong. 

“Sir?” He asks again, barely masked worry tinging his tone. “Is something-”

“Alexander,” Washington finally cuts through him, “we need to talk, I need to apologize for a great many things.” 

He takes a few more steps into the doorways, illuminates the entirety of his self in the light and sighs. 

“Laurens said you’d not be coming,” Hamilton replies, just a hint of accusation in his too scratchy voice, “that you needed time-”

“I took the time I needed, rest assured.” 

A few more steps and that’s when it hits Hamiton, what’s so wrong with the general. 

“Were you drinking?” It is a breathless whisper that is filled with unconcealed accusation and perhaps even betrayal. It suddenly makes a great deal of sense as to why Laurens insisted that Washington could not see him.

He doesn’t need an answer, he already has one; he can smell it on Washington - it is just as strong and pungent as he remembers the drunkards being on Nevis. 

Washington doesn’t drink. In the time Hamilton had been in his service he’d never once seen the general inebriated. He supposes that is still true, since it’s obvious that Washington is not drunk but rather had been drunk, but that only solidifies the fact that when Hamilton had asked for him he’d been with his spirits instead. 

Washington looks ashamed but for now Hamilton cannot care. He’s angry; he shouldn’t blame the general, he knows. In fact, in a few hours’ time he’s sure that he will be quite worried about this uncharacteristic indulgence of Washington’s, but for now all he can manage is anger. 

“Alexander,” Washington tries, looking crestfallen. 

“I’m tired,” Hamilton blurts, unable to hide the annoyance and betrayal in his eyes. He shifts, not intentionally, away from the general. “I want to sleep now.” 

“It’ll just be a few minutes, my boy…” 

“No.” Hamilton feels the beginnings of guilt fill his stomach, but then the anger resurges with a vengeance and replaces it. “No, we can talk in the morning. Perhaps then you will not smell of a tavern.” 

The general crumples even further, but he nods. “I’ll be here in the morning then,” he mutters weakly. “Sleep well Alexander.” 

The door closes behind him with a definitive thud, and Hamilton is left utterly alone again. It’s no better than it was before. 

Once more he curses the damned wound in his side, for he cannot even shift himself to grab a pillow and scream his frustration into it. 

…

Hamilton wakes to pitch blackness and a stifling discomfort. Through a sleepy fog he realizes there’s a hand clamped over his mouth. The startled sound he tries to let out is muffled completely. Fingers squeeze tight against his cheeks, and even when he raises both hands to try to pry away the one covering his mouth there is no give.

His breaths come in harsh, erratic little gasps from his nose, as the grip is so tight he’s unable to even breathe through his mouth. He’s certain his captor can feel them but it is the least of his worries at the moment. He paws madly at the vice before the man’s other hand reaches and catches his wrists in an equally unrelenting grasp. 

His eyes focus, and he finally sees his captor’s face. That it is Davies is not as shocking as it should be - there is only one man who’d do this - as it is appallingly frightening. 

How did he get in here? After everything that’s happened how could he possibly get this close to him again? What was he going to do to him now? 

“Calm down, pet,” the older man hushes, leaning so close that Hamilton can feel his breath against his face. “Just relax and behave for me. We both know that screaming will hurt you far more than it inconveniences me. Washington’s gone to clear his head - I imagine it’s quite necessary, seeing the amount of alcohol he consumed - so I’m going to take my hand away, but I assure you, if you scream I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The hand tears away from Hamilton’s mouth and he takes shuddering gulps of air, hardly daring to look up at Davies. This is the final act, he realizes, Davies is going to end it now. 

It is perhaps too optimistic to hope that his only plan is to kill him; it would be horrifying for the general to find, but Hamilton knows there are worse things - Davies does too, he suspects.

“I’ve got something for you,” Davies says, releasing his wrists when Hamilton doesn’t immediately try and fight him. 

“I want nothing from you,” Hamilton replies, doing his God-forsaken best to push himself away from Davies and across the bed. It’s agony but he makes a bit of progress. 

Davies grabs his legs and pulls him back, till Alexander is half on his bed and half off, upper body laying flat against the sheets and screaming with pain. He presses close and clutches Hamilton’s jaw. His thumb brushes over the boy’s lips, pressing at them teasingly. 

Hamilton’s eyes widen and his breath stills, his panicked mind racing back to the same man doing much the same thing as he bled on the forest floor. 

“I wasn’t asking,” he finally hisses, suddenly forcing Hamilton’s head back and his mouth open, shoving a vial of something into his mouth. 

He either chokes on or he swallows the bitter liquid, and Hamilton’s wretched body chooses the latter. As soon as he’s swallowed it Davies retreats, a victorious smirk stretching his jaw. 

“Go on then,” he grins, mockingly indicating the door, “run.” 

Never has Hamilton been so aware of his heart pounding in his chest. Whatever it is that Davies forced down his throat will surely take hold soon. He doesn’t have much time. If he can just get up, warn someone that Davies is here before it catches up to him, that will be enough.

He can’t allow himself to die doing nothing.

Davies seems to vanish into the darkness as Hamilton struggles to make his legs work. He rolls to the side and pushes himself up as quickly as his injury will allow. Even once he’s on his feet, he sways and almost falls back to the bed.

Somewhere nearby there’s a chuckle. “Go on. I suspect you have a minute, maybe two, before it really takes effect.”

He can’t see the door in the darkness, but Hamilton knows these rooms by heart. He knows exactly how far away it is, and how unlikely it is he can reach it in his state.

Still, he steels himself, and takes a step forward, then another. The room tilts under his bare feet. His heart beats like a drum in his ears.

There’s movement behind him, and then a faint light. Davies has lit a candle so he can observe the struggle. 

Hamilton pushes down panic, tries to block out the likely image of the general finding him dead on the floor come morning. He takes a step, and then another.

The room spins.

He knows there’s nothing nearby to steady him, but his hands grope out nonetheless, desperate to find something to balance on. The pain in his side is searing, and the faint light behind him plays with the shadows along the floor. Each step is deliberate effort, taking concentration he doesn’t have.

A few more steps and he’ll be at the door. Hamilton steadies himself, takes a wobbly step forward.

His knees give out. He collapses.

“You’re so close,” Davies’ voice floats through his ears. Footsteps, movement behind him.

No, no, no, he cannot give up here. Hamilton pushes up on his elbows and nearly blacks out at the movement, only clinging to awareness out of his own sheer stubbornness. Pain pulses in his side. He moves an arm forward, drags his body behind it. He does it again, and again.

So close.

But then his arms stop cooperating too, and all Hamilton can manage is to dig his nails into the floor. This is the end, it must be. He tries with his remaining strength to lift his arm just to try to reach the door, but the limb refuses to move. In fact, his sluggish mind points out a moment later, he cannot move at all.

Only his heart continues to beat, and that doesn’t slow, doesn't stop. Not poison then- it takes Hamilton a moment to realize he isn’t dead.

He is, however, frozen in a pathetic half curled pose, his head resting against one arm and drooling onto the floor. The ache in his side lingers, ever persistent.

The footsteps move closer, and he’s rolled onto his back by a strong hand. Davies grins down at him, his features sharp and shadowed by the candlelight. He crouches low, reaches out, and wipes the drool from his chin. 

“There we are,” he says in a voice too gentle for the current situation. “It’s an interesting concoction, isn’t it? The body frozen, but the mind fully aware. I imagine it feels disconcerting to say the least.”

Hamilton cannot respond- any words he might possess are buried somewhere deep inside. Davies reaches forward and cups his chin, turns his head so their eyes are forced to meet. 

Panic sparks in his soul, though outwardly Hamilton appears utterly calm.

Davies toys with his grip, rolls Hamilton’s head this way and that, and grins.

“God, you’re a pretty sight like this; frightened and in pain, forced into submission - it’s absolutely exquisite. I knew when I first laid eyes on you that I had to have you like this.” Hamilton’s heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings, and yet all he can do is stare. Davies teases him with the candle, tipping it back and forth casually, knowing Hamilton’s eyes are following it with trepidation. 

He tips it a bit more, just enough, and the hot wax splashes against Alexander’s face, painfully close to the sensitive skin near his eyes. 

His whole body screams with the need to escape - he wants to jolt away and cry out and at least goddamn move - but he does nothing, remains infuriatingly still and outwardly calm. 

Davies knows better though, Hamilton can tell by his smarmy grin he knows Hamilton’s in pain, enjoys the minuscule responses to it that the boy can manage. 

“Look at you, a perfect little doll.” Hamilton feels his stomach flip, and revulsion pools there knowingly. “My perfect little pet.” 

Just like that he releases his grip and moves out of Hamilton’s line of sight. The paralyzed boy listens as his steps stop near the bed, and a few seconds later the room brightens and roars.

He didn’t…

Davies reappears and is not at all gentle when he scoops Hamilton into his arms. Hamilton can’t turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye he sees the flames growing, overtaking the blankets left on the bed. It doesn’t take much thought to realize he’s dropped the candle to let the bed, the room, their headquarters burn.

Hamilton can’t warn anyone- Washington, Laurens, any of the others surely fast asleep in their rooms throughout the house right now. 

“I do hope the general survives this,” Davies says as he opens the door and steps into the hall, Hamilton limp in his arms. “I’ve additional plans that require him alive. Then again, if he doesn’t, there’s nobody to get in our way.”

Hamilton feels his heart stutter at that, and an instant later Davies is looking down into his face again. 

“You can’t be terribly surprised. Did you think I was out to kill General Washington?” Davies’ grip is impossibly secure as he walks down the hall. Hamilton sees flames behind them, starting to lick at the floorboards in the hall. This whole thing had never been about destroying Washington…In his next breath Davies confirms it. “Oh no, pet. Leaving your general shattered and broken is an excellent bonus, but you’re the one I really want.”

[nemesis-nexus]

Winter Solstice/Yule 2019

HAIL THE ANCIENT FAMILY! Great Dragons we call out to you on this Yule night! This year has been quite a ride and there have been many challenges but with you by our side we were able to overcome EVERYTHING that was thrown in our Path! We know no matter what happens that we will always emerge triumphant because while we walk our Paths as INDIVIDUALS, we also walk TOGETHER as a FAMILY!

Tonight is the Winter Solstice, the Longest Night ot the Year, and the beginning of the Yuletide! These last few days leading up to the Solstice have certainly been some of the most trying I have ever had to endure...

I know that a few of us have lost loved ones and for those of you who like myself have experienced a significant loss especially in recent days, know that you are not alone and that my door is always open if you need to talk or vent. It is for everyone generally speaking of course but the focus is on those of us who may be enduring slightly more difficult and arduous time than others this particular year...

For my personal situation I will vent here to venerate my beloved one and give him the respect and send-off he deserves:

HIS NAME IS MARRRRRRREDUUUUUUUUUUK!!!!!!!!!!!!

My BELOVED, TRUSTED, HANDSOME and FIERCE WARRIOR was someone who took in this lifetime the form of a big gray Maine Coon cat that waltzed up our front walkway, into our door, made himself at home and stayed with us for the last 5 years, until such time as Father called him to the Rainbow Bridge and I had to let him go so he could move on, to go be with the Ancient and Eternal Family...

HAIL MARDUK!

YOU WERE THERE WHEN I NEEDED STRENGTH!

HAIL MARDUK!

YOU LISTENED AND NEVER PULLED AWAY!

HAIL MARDUK!

MY ARMS FEEL EMPTY WITHOUT YOU IN THEM!

HAIL MARDUK!

MY HEART ACHES WITHOUT YOU HERE BUT BEATS WILD WITH YOUR SPIRITS FREEDOM!!!

This Solstice please be grateful for any family you have that loves you unconditionally because this is such a rare thing that those of us who hear about it can only assume it's a myth..

This Solstice comes at a time that is very painful for me personally; I lost not only one of my best friends, but one of my most trusted confidants and sources of psychic and emotional strength... My world has been rocked inside out and upside down... I am angrier than I have ever been, not just because of this but this and a whole host of other things, and I don't know what to do about it... but I don't want to make this about that, I just want people to understand that if they are stressed out or depressed or otherwise despondent that they are not alone! Again my door is always open if anyone needs to talk or vent!

This time of year can be very difficult for a lot of people, in fact there is a clinical diagnosis called SAD or Seasonal Depression. It is a kind of mental malaise if you will that descends upon people during the holiday season because either they don't have anyone to celebrate with or those that they do have are so judgemental or otherwise toxic that they are more destructive than constructive or even superficially festive to spend the holidays with so it becomes a psychic struggle of extreme proportions to determine whether or not it's worth it just to sacrifice yet another part of your sanity for the sake of maintaining an image or whether you should simply let go and do your own thing by yourself as you've become accustomed to doing anyway...

We learned through trials and tribulations who our real friends and Family are and as a result we maintained some relationships while we unfortunately had to let others go! We know that weeding the Garden is never easy, especially when what must be uprooted were those who we thought were perennials but through decay turned out to be weeds hell bent on poisoning the whole landscape!

While we may be human we often share traits with with our animal brethren whether we know it or not, after all we are all connected in this great circle or web of existence! For example the Alphas of many prides and packs do not place themselves above the rest of the Family because they know that despite their position their job is to PROTECT the Family not use it as a means of self-glorification!

This is how I run the Temple of the Eternal Dragon, keeping EVERYONE in full view and on an even keel so I know who's being messed with or who may be a sheep in wolf's clothing so to speak.

It is not necessary for me to be in full view of everyone all the time, in other words I don’t need to and have no desire to lord myself over anyone as everyone is perfectly capable of handling themselves. However, if I do need to make my presence known I will and if I do need to make a tough call I will do that as well.

Leading by example is understanding that without the rest of the pack THERE IS NO PACK, that it's NOT about YOU! The reason why many people fail as leaders is because they put themselves first and expect everyone else to just fall in line! Many so-called leaders think that they can show no respect whatsoever to the rest of those who make up their pack and still expect them to jump when they are ordered to do so!

This does not work because when one is only concerned with where THEY are going and what THEY are doing they literally lose sight of the rest of the pack and why they are there to begin with! This leads to a breakdown in the pack and often to the loss of the pack itself!

It is not uncommon if a wolf decides that they have had enough of the shit of the Alpha to challenge them in a fight to the death for control of the pack! This occurs in the human world as well though not always on a physical level because we know that death is NOT just a PHYSICAL thing!

In the human world the worst thing that can happen is when one loses all credibility and is no longer able to be taken seriously. This can happen when people are in positions of leadership but abuse that authority and treat those who supported them as though they were obligated to do so and should be grateful for the chance!

This is NOT acceptable, this is NOT leadership, this IS a DICTATORSHIP! If the Agents of Abraham taught us anything it's that dictators do not last and they will not be remembered favorably by the rest of the world and for good reason! Causing the ire of those who never did a thing to you is one of the most despicable practices one can engage in and eventually it will catch up to them and like the wolf who challenges the Alpha so too shall the dictator fall and fall hard!

True leaders demonstrate the same level of respect to everyone in their pack that they would want for themselves! Doing this shows the rest of the pack that they are valued not only as a pack but as individuals as well and more often than not will result in that leaders election, reelection or exaltation beyond because they know that the one leading the pack has everyone else's best interest at heart not just their own!

Respect like that CANNOT be demanded, it can only be EARNED and none of these so-called leaders will ever understand this because they are too wrapped up in the notion that if they are the one in charge then they can do whatever they want to and no one can or should ever question them!

What they fail to realize is that when one makes everything all about them all the time eventually they're going to find themselves by themselves, or at the end of a 'long pointy stick' - I know my fellow Heathens caught that reference! Nobody wants to be a member of a pack where their leader doesn't give a damn about them to the point where they have no problem announcing it to the world how much they don't give a damn about them then abandoning and ultimately dissolving one pack to defect to another!

No pack can survive that kind of shoddy guidance, because if everyone in the pack behaved like it was everyone for themselves then every member would be a target! Divide and conquer is a popular battle strategy because when one's ego gets incensed to the point where they will disregard everyone else then the rest of the pack is as good as dead! The same as in the human world if you have a platoon of soldiers going into a combat zone and then each soldier trying to be a war hero decides to go off in their own direction and nobody is listening to the platoon commander, that platoon is already dead even if they haven't been killed yet!

This is why RESPECT and TRUST are two EXTREMELY important things, without either one of them there is no pack and without a pack there is no leader! The sooner some people come to terms what this concept the better off they will be and so will the rest of their group!

Battle hardened and all wise Father and Mother, we are grateful for all that you have done for us and all that you have provided us with! Now in this time of transition, when the Dark Moon hangs on high and the Sun is reborn we know that those who have tried their worst will be fully exposed regarding the hostile animus they have presented against your Children and they will receive their just rewards in kind! HAIL THE ANCIENT FAMILY!

On this Blessed Yule let us remember what is most important;

The old Friends who stayed by our sides through everything,

The new Friends who weathered the storms,

Our Family - both Blood and Spiritual - who even when they are scattered the world over are always ever present in our hearts and minds!

This Yule let us take the time to not only appreciate and celebrate the spirit of the holiday but to also acknowledge all those who are unable to be with their families because they are deployed all over the world, willingly putting themselves in harms way so that we can celebrate the holiday without having to be concerned about being attacked by International aggressors!

Let us embrace our loved ones and be grateful for the fact that we have people to be with, there's so many out there that have no one! Let us be grateful for the things that we have understanding that there's so many others that have nothing!

With the rebirth of the Sun signaling the onset of Winter and Spring, the season of rebirth soon to come, we are facing some very dark times, however, like the Phoenix we will rise from the ashes! The clouds may kick up, they may block out the Sun, they may make it rain sometimes harder than others but for all of their noise and drama the Sun still exists and will come out after the storm passes!

This Yule take the time to brighten somebody else's day, don't assume that just because somebody might be in a foul mood or otherwise not overly jubilant that they are just that way because they're cantankerous. The fact is the holidays can be a very depressing time for some and we never know what someone's personal situation is. Sometimes all it takes is a friendly gesture and some kind words to uplift someone else's Spirit!

For all my Family - both Blood and Spiritual - and for all my Friends;

I wish you glad tidings,

An abundance of Prosperity,

Your cup to overflow,

Your plate to never be bare,

Peace of Mind in all that you do,

Strength of Spirit to push on through no matter how difficult times may get,

and above all…

I hope that you realize just how important you are to me; more valuable than any gem, more priceless than all the art in the Louvre, rarer than an honest politician, it is YOU who makes life worth living and I thank you for not only being part of my life, but for not abandoning ship during rough tides!

This Yule take the time to look around and truly appreciate everything and everyone you have because you never know what tomorrow brings and when you won't be able to let them know just what they mean to you!

Be careful never to part company on bad terms keeping in mind that the last thing you say to someone could be THE LAST THING you say to someone!

If you have a Family to take care of, Friends who would do anything for you, a strong Spiritual connection and Faith in yourself, you are the richest person in the world! Money is nice but it can't buy everything: Respect, Honor, Loyalty, Love, Strength, Commitment, Valor, Pride, Courage and Stalwartness are just a few of the things that cannot be purchased no matter how much money you throw down but they are the most valuable things that one can possess!

A Blessed Winter Solstice and Yuletide to you and yours!

"Ancestral Pride

In the bonefire bright and round,

The Flames crackle a joyful sound!

In the Darkness mystery is created,

In the Light wisdom is elated!

Throughout the year we are exposed to much,

Some things are seen while others are touched!

Whether it's senseless violence or vicious betrayal,

We will push on through we will prevail!

There is nothing that we can not overcome,

No matter the task until the job is done!

When the bells have tolled and the lines are drawn,

When the people feel that they can't carry on,

When the sky grows dark and the winds blow cold,

The people will gather the strong and the bold,

When the masses arise fully awakened,

The power will return to the ones from whom it was taken!

When the thunder cracks loud and the lightning blazes across the sky,

The people will stand proud willing to fight or die!

When the spears are rattling in the most serious of ways,

The people will herald the end of Abraham's days!

When Logic, Humanity And Reason are restored to the land,

The enemy will burn to the ground as united we stand!

Through the ashes of the past and the pain that was plenty,

All future Generations will remember

WE ARE ONE EVEN THOUGH WE ARE MANY!”

HPS Meg "Nemesis Nexus" Prentiss"

ZI ANA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA!

MAY THE DEAD RISE AND SMELL THE INCENSE!

AVÉ IGGIGI!

AVÉ ANUNNA!

AVÉ DRACONIS!

HAIL THE GREAT SERPENT!

HAIL THE ANCIENT FAMILY!

🐍🌎🌬💖🌿🦌🐺🐲💧🔥🐉

HPS Meg "Nemesis Nexus" Prentiss

[newssplashy]

Why the North will still vote for Buhari in 2019 –Matthew Kukah

The Catholic Bishop of Sokoto Diocese, Bishop Matthew Kukah, speaks to TOBI AWORINDE on the socio-economic situation in the North, President Muhammadu Buhari’s performance and the forthcoming 2019 elections

You were one of those who vehemently opposed Muhammadu Buhari’s presidency from the outset. How would you describe the quality of leadership in Nigeria in the immediate past era?

Vehemently opposed to Buhari? Where did you get this from? I think you were sold this dummy in the heydays of ecstasy, frenzy and euphoria of the Buhariphilia, who jumped out of every corner of Nigeria believing that their redemption was at hand. Sadly, today, a good chunk has since apostacised. I never doubted the sincerity of the President’s intention to fight corruption. However, no matter how much you hate leprosy, you cannot cure leprosy by just giving Panadol to the victim.

My fears were threefold and based on experience. First, no matter the goodness, holiness or devotion of any human being, wait until he or she has power entrusted to them and see what they become. So, even in the most optimistic of situations, set goals and expectations and let the person prove himself or herself. Secondly, what Buhari kept saying about corruption did not seem to be the result of some deep reflections. His claims and strategies had never been interrogated. And finally, I insisted that national cohesion was far more urgent a task than just saying ‘we are here to fight corruption’. That informed what you may have referred to as vehement opposition. I was simply warning against too much blind trust and now we are where we are today.

What worries you most about this administration?

I am worried over the lack of fresh ideas, focus, vision and a seeming insensitivity to public feelings; a kind of contempt for how people feel and the impact of policy choices, on the part of this government. This is a season of anomie and alienation. The (Buhari) government seems closed to ideas that challenge their assumptions and apparently does not care what Nigerians think and what they feel. Else, there is no way that you can have a government make the mistakes that this government has made; refuse to engage citizens and simply refuse to give a damn. It is disturbing and, clearly, the government is listening to other drummers. Technically, no one suggests that their views should be taken, but this government has given Nigerians a feeling that they were sold a dummy. This is sad; very sad indeed.

Buhari and the military under his government have continuously claimed that Boko Haram has been defeated. Do you believe them?

Well, this is part of the problem and I think we should let the evidence — not the sloganeering and propaganda — do the talking. The government has refused to listen to the views of Nigerians about the rather incestuous and non-plural ways it has dealt with security and the appointments of their heads. Perhaps the government has a reason for allowing members of only one faith to monopolise the security apparatus, perhaps because it thinks Boko Haram is a problem within Islam and only Muslims can address the issues. Either way, our country is haemorrhaging in a way that ending the Boko Haram conflict will only open a new chapter in a country of people suffering the collective trauma, fear, self-doubt and a feeling of being totally disconnected from the state that has no empathy. With the government seeing this purely as a military operation, we can spend all the money in the world, but we will be nowhere near having a united nation or people. This battle has become a military operation with all its consequences on the economy and the dynamics of the engagement.

What was your reaction upon hearing the news of the Dapchi girls’ abduction?

My reaction was that of shock, sorrow; a tragic sense of déjà vu, and some level of near despair.

Do you agree with Buhari that his response time to the Dapchi girls’ abduction was better than that of the previous administration to the abduction of Chibok girls?

This comparison does not arise. One tragedy is bad enough; a repeat is a disaster. It is like asking whether dying by injection is better than drowning.

Do you think Buhari owes Nigerians an apology, considering his commitment to rescuing the Chibok girls and defeating Boko Haram within the first few months of his presidency?

Why should he apologise? I believe this government has done its best and this is about all it can offer. So, they should be judged not on speculation but on the reality. The issue of an apology does not arise because what we are seeing is the best that is on the table and this is the best team for the job in their view.

Buhari’s health was a major talking point last year with the President spending several weeks on two medical trips. Do you think Buhari owes Nigeria an explanation about what he was treated for?

You mean he should apologise that he was sick? I think we should respect everyone’s privacy. You don’t lose that by being a public servant. I was not happy the way we handled the issue of the President’s health. Others behave differently and I think we should learn not to play politics with everything in Nigeria.

Does his physical fitness worry you, given the possibility of his running for a second term?

There is a Hausa proverb which says, ‘You cannot borrow someone else’s mouth to eat onions’. No one has the right to decide on anyone’s health and as to whether they are capable of a particular function. It is left for the insiders of a party to decide whom they will field as a candidate even if the person is on a stretcher. Today’s weightlifter could fall sick tomorrow. Let the party decide who their best candidate is.

Three of the major promises of this administration are to fight corruption, boost the economy and conquer Boko Haram. Would you say the government has made any significant stride in these areas?

I have said repeatedly that personal opinion does not matter in the long run. Look at the reports from the Federal Bureau of Statistics, the United Nations Development Programme, Amnesty International or Transparency International. What does the evidence suggest? You cannot pick and choose what you want to believe. Or look at the entire Nigerian landscape littered with corpses, destroyed businesses and buildings, all the ravages of war. This is very painful.

What achievements do you think the Buhari government has made?

There is a Minister for Information; he has that duty, not me. They said they have technically defeated Boko Haram, reflated the economy, and brought back some Chibok girls and the Dapchi girls, bar Leah. We now have 7,000 megawatts of electricity and so on. They are also telling us about new multi-billion-naira projects which they are embarking on with no idea when they will be completed. The faces of Nigerians tell a different story and, sadly, we are not communicating with one another.

How do you feel about the recent revelation that senators receive N13.5 million monthly as running costs and that House of Representatives members receive N12m monthly?

Senator (Shehu) Sani has done his job. It is left for Nigerians to decide what to make of it. It is a pity that we are in such a state of stupor that nothing can rouse us from our apathy and this country will continue to sink. Will the President, Vice President, governors and ministers ever come clean or does it require reverting to the Freedom of Information Act? In the mafia, they call this destructive secrecy ‘omerta’, an oath of silence under pain of death. This is why Senator Sani deserves our respect for taking the decision he took. We hear that the Revenue Mobilisation Allocation and Fiscal Commission (RMAFC) is claiming ignorance as to these sums. But, as I have always said, governance in Nigeria is a criminal enterprise which functions above the law.

What are your thoughts on governors’ transition to senators when their eight-year tenure is completed?

Well, what else is there for some of these people to do? Can they go anywhere to deliver a lecture or write books on their experiences? This country stands or falls depending on what the governors do.

What is your grouse with Governor Nasir el-Rufai?

What do you mean by grouse?

You recently criticised el-Rufai on his handling of the Southern Kaduna massacre. Do you think there is room for reparations?

Did you read my sermon in its entirety and why do you single out Governor el-Rufai? It was a funeral and there was the need to set the records straight. I simply articulated an evidence-based side of a story that I had played a role in. If that is what you mean by criticism, then fine. We are all entitled to our opinions but we are not entitled to our facts because facts are sacred. I presented my side of the story based on my personal experience with the claims he made.

What can the governor do to make amends?

Amends with, or to, whom? That is within the realm of governance which requires consultation and consensus building.

You have been vocal about the role of the northern elite in the poverty and underdevelopment plaguing the North. Can you elaborate on this?

My field of doctoral research was on Religion and Power Politics in Northern Nigeria and the result was my book, ‘Religion, Politics and Power in Northern Nigeria’. It opened up new frontiers and it was a pioneering research on how religion has been used to mobilise and retain power by the northern Muslim elite. I had over 100 recorded interviews with a cross section of northern politicians across the divide.

This has given me an appreciation of the issues. It does not make me an expert. However, it is because of this that those who do not want to follow the arguments keep falling back and accusing me of being anti-northern or anti-Muslim. This is the easy line for those who benefit from this manipulation but do not want to face the consequences.

There is a noble obligation that all elite owe to those they represent; those on whose shoulders they may have stood; those who voted for them or those who helped them get an education. In the rest of Nigeria, this elite have met these obligations by building schools, hospitals, clinics, and so on for their people. They have bridged the gap between government’s absence and the welfare of their people. This is the story of almost all of southern Nigeria and parts of the Middle Belt.

In the North, the evidence of this dereliction of duty litters the entire landscape, millions of out-of-school children, federal and state government projects such as irrigation and power-generating dams that now lie abandoned in remote communities, structures, such as the Almajiri schools, all in decay in many communities, and so on.

Look at the World Bank, UNDP and other reports on development in Nigeria and look at northern Nigeria. The sad thing is that for the elite, these lives of destitution, illiteracy and squalor are reservoirs of investment from where they draw their oxygen of political relevance. The grinding poverty leaves the people permanently below zero and all they do is continue to look at the stupendous wealth of the elite with awe. In exchange, they (the elite) pretend to offer them (the poor) dubious religiosity through the manipulation of pilgrimages and construction of mosques.

Could that be the reason for the emergence of Boko Haram?

In my view, it is the long historical experience of this distortion of the religion of Islam with its exclusionist tendencies that Boko Haram has exploited. Boko Haram exploited the fact that this elite proclaimed Sharia in 1999 and 2000, while in reality, they did not believe in the religion itself. So, Boko Haram simply has asked them to step aside.

Indeed, the Buhari project presents us with an interesting view. The average northerner has become far more impoverished under Buhari than he was under (former President Goodluck) Jonathan. But they will still vote for Buhari because they see him as the only one who can help bring their derelict elite to order. It is a strange appeal but that is it. They believe their corrupt elite are above the law. They were seduced with Sharia because they believed it was going to help them punish their own elite, who they see as being above the law of Nigeria. These are the issues.

Did the northern elite act against the interest of their people intentionally?

If they were mistaken, 50 years would have been enough to correct the mistake, but as I said, this culture of ignorance, poverty and squalor is an investment. Aminu Kano spent his life trying to open the eyes of his people, the Talakawa. The late Bala Usman, a phenomenal intellectual, made massive contributions in this regard by subjecting this charade to critical social analysis. The result was a ‘saner’ environment for the generation of fresh ideas among Christian and Muslim scholars. Ideology replaced the divisive tendencies of religion among the elite. Fighting the Kaduna mafia and other mafias was an ideological project. Today, Alhaji Balarabe Musa and some of the remnants of NEPU (Northern Elements Progressive Union) politics remain the last of the best wine.

What are the interests for the northern elite?

They want to permanently hold on to power. Inherently (there is) nothing wrong with that if it can be used for the good of the people, but after all these years of monopoly of power under the military and civilians, we northerners are still the weakest, the most sickly, the poorest, the most illiterate, and the most vulnerable. We have the highest number of childhood stunting, which is a danger to the future. The elite have brought shame on us and made us too weak to fight.

Do you believe in restructuring?

Does it matter what I or anyone believes? Even if it determines the outcome of the elections, did the All Progressives Congress not promise us restructuring? Promises have never been a problem. The saddest part of it all is that even the politicians do not expect to be believed, but somehow, we stupidly do. The Kenyan scholar, Patrick Lumumba, once said the tragedy with Africa is that those with ideas are not in power, while those in power have no ideas. The sad thing, he said, is that when the people have a chance, they still vote for those with no ideas.

What do you think the North has to gain or lose in restructuring?

They may perhaps gain the chains of poverty and the fear of those who hold the chains over the majority of our people.

What do you make of the APC committee on restructuring led by el-Rufai?

I have not seen it.

Many have described the APC panel on restructuring as an afterthought by Buhari to score political points. Do you agree?

No idea. Nothing is ever late. It is when honesty appears that matters.

What are your thoughts on the Catholic Church in Nigeria rejoining the Christian Association of Nigeria?

How can we rejoin what we started?

Do you still maintain a relationship with former President Goodluck Jonathan?

I don’t know what you mean by ‘a relationship’. The last time I saw him was when the Peace Committee had a consultative audience with him after the swearing-in of the new administration.

Do you have any expectations concerning the outcome of the 2019 elections?

Let us pray to be alive first. 2019 is a long way away. But I tell you that I have never felt this sense of foreboding. Things could change, but we have to plan how to cross this wide river that lies ahead of us.

Copyright PUNCH. All rights reserved. This material, and other digital content on this website, may not be reproduced, published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed in whole or in part without prior express written permission from PUNCH.

Contact: theeditor@punchng.com

  source https://www.newssplashy.com/2018/04/why-north-will-still-vote-for-buhari-in.html

[clubofinfo]

Expert: Kim Jong-un is not mad. Quite the contrary. He has pulled off a wholly rational feat. By producing nuclear weapons and ballistic missiles capable of delivering them to U.S. territory, Pyongyang has obtained near-assurance that the U.S. will not attack it, in (yet another) attempt at regime change. Wait, you’ll say. He already had that insurance. Every talking head on cable news says a U.S. strike would inevitably mean an attack on Seoul, which would kill tens of thousands immediately. South Koreans would blame the invasion on the U.S.  So it’s just not tenable. Even if limited to conventional forces, the threat of invasion already constituted adequate deterrence. There’s no way the U.S. would trigger an attack on a city of 10 million people who are supposed to view the U.S. as their benevolent protector. So the North Koreans didn’t need to upset the world by acquiring nukes. But think about it from Jong-un’s point of view. Born in 1984, Jong-un was 7 when the U.S. first bombed Iraq, supposedly to force its troops out of Kuwait (although Saddam Hussein had already agreed to withdraw). Then the U.S. imposed sanctions on the country that killed half a million children. He was 11 when the U.S. intervened in Yugoslavia, bombing Serbs to create the dysfunctional client state of Bosnia-Herzegovina. He was 15 (probably in school in Switzerland) when the U.S. bombed Serbia and created the dysfunctional client state of Kosovo. He was 17 when the U.S. bombed and brought regime change to Afghanistan. Seventeen years later, Afghanistan remains in a state of civil war, still hosting U.S. troops to quell opposition. He was 19 when the U.S. brought down Saddam and destroyed Iraq, producing all the subsequent misery and chaos. He was 27 when the U.S. brought down Gaddafi, destroyed Libya, forced the Yemeni president from power causing chaos, and began supporting armed opposition forces in Syria. He was 30 when the U.S. State Department spent $5 billion to topple the Ukrainian government through a violent coup. He knows his country’s history, and how the U.S. invasion from September 1950 leveled it and killed one-third of its people, while Douglas MacArthur considered using nuclear weapons on the peninsula. He knows how U.S. puppet Synghman Rhee, president of the U.S.-proclaimed “Republic of Korea,” having repeatedly threatened to invade the North, executed 100,000 South Koreans after the outbreak of war on the grounds that they were communist sympathizers who would aid the enemy. He loves Elizabeth Taylor movies but hates U.S. imperialism. There’s nothing crazy about that. Jong-un was 10 years old when the U.S. and North Korea signed the Agreed Framework, by which Pyongyang agreed to freeze its nuclear power plants, replacing them with (more nuclear proliferation resistant) light water reactors financed by the U.S. and South Korea, and the gradual normalization of U.S.-Pyongyang relations. He was 16 when U.S. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright visited Pyongyang and met with his father Kim Jong Il. (In that same year, South Korean President Kim Dae-jung met with Kim Jong-il in Pyongyang during the period of “Sunshine Diplomacy” eventually sabotaged by the Bush/Cheney administration.) He was 20 when the agreement broke down (undermined by Dick Cheney and his neocons in 2004). He was 17 when his older half-brother Jong-nam was busted at Narita Airport, for stupidly trying to enter Japan with his family on forged Dominican passports, to visit Tokyo’s Disneyland. That stunt ruled Jong-nam (murdered as you know in Malaysia in February 2017) out for the succession, whereas the next son, Jong-chul, was deemed “effeminate.” (At a Clapton concert in Singapore in 2006 he was seen with pierced ears.)  Jong-un probably didn’t expect to be the next monarch until he was in his mid-20s. He was 24 when the New York Philharmonic Orchestra visited Pyongyang to a warm welcome. (Washington refused a North Korean offer for a reciprocal visit.) Selected as successor, he became the new absolute leader of North Korea at age 27, a young, vigorous, well-educated man (Physics degree from Kim Il-song University) groomed for the post and with a strong sense of dynastic responsibility. That means returning the DPRK to the relative economic prosperity of the 1970s and 80s, when average per capita energy consumption in the north exceeded that of the south. Analysts suggest that Kim has make economic development primary, and the long-standing “military first” (Songun) policy is giving way to a policy more empowering civilian Korean Workers Party leaders. The DPRK economy, according to The Economist, “is probably growing at between 1% and 5% a year” A new class of traders and businessmen (donju) has emerged. The complex social status system (Songbun) that divides society into 51 sub-categories of “loyal,” “wavering,” and “hostile” (and distributing privileges accordingly) has been falling apart with the rise of market forces. Fourteen months into his tenure, Jong-un invited Dennis Rodman, a member of the U.S. Basketball Hall of Fame, to Pyongyang for the first of what have now been five visits. He is a huge basketball fan, an aficionado of U.S. popular culture, a child of rock ‘n roll. He is also rationally aware of the threat the U.S. poses to his country (among many countries). So his strategy has been to sprint towards nukes while he can. Perhaps he thought that since the Trump administration was (and is) in such disarray, no violent response (such as an attack on the Yongbyon nuclear complex) was likely. But it was risky; the U.S. president is, after all, unstable and ignorant. He has asked his advisors repeatedly, why can’t we use nukes since we have them? The fact is, Mattis, Tillerson and McMaster have been presented with a nuclear fait accompli to which they must respond, in a period of diminishing U.S. influence and relative economic decline.  They cannot do it by dropping a MOAB bomb (like they did in Afghanistan in April) or  a missile strike on a base (like they did in Iraq the same month, to display their manhood). Jong-un has insured that. If Jong-un plays his cards right, he will get international recognition for the DPRK as a nuclear power—the same degree of recognition afforded other non-NPT signatories like India, Pakistan and Israel. The U.S. will have to defer to Chinese and Russian sobriety and abandon hollow threatening rhetoric. It will have to back down, as it did in the Korean War, when it realized it could not conquer the North and reunify Korea on Washington’s terms and had to accept the continued existence of the DPRK. In return for tension-reducing measures by the U.S. and the South, and the establishment of diplomatic and trade ties, Pyongyang will suspend its nuclear weapons program, content with and proud of what it has accomplished. It is the only way. The other way is suggested by John McCain, crazy warmonger to the end. The Senate Armed Services chairman told CNN’s “State of the Union” that if the North Korean leader “acts in an aggressive fashion”—whatever that means to McCain who will never realize that his bombing of Vietnam constituted aggression—“the price will be extinction.” Shades of Gen. Curtis LeMay and his casual comments about killing every man, woman and child in Tokyo during the terror bombing of that city in 1945. Sen. Lindsey Graham, McCain’s good buddy, has said that Trump told him: “If there’s going to be a war to stop [Kim Jong-un], it will be over there. If thousands die, they’re going to die over there. They’re not going to die here… And that may be provocative, but not really. When you’re president of the United States, where does your allegiance lie? To the people of the United States.” Just knowing that the enemy is capable of contemplating one’s people’s extinction surely motivates some leaders to seek the ultimate weapon. The dear young Marshall pulled it off. He replicated what Mao did in China between 1964 and 1967. He got the bomb, which had been introduced to the world over Hiroshima on August. 6, 1945, and used again three days later over Nagasaki.  And never used anywhere since in the years since, in which the U.S. has been joined by the USSR, UK, France, China, Israel, India, and Pakistan as members of the nuclear club. He has no reason to use it, unless the U.S. gives him one. Negotiations on the basis of mutual respect and historical consciousness are the only solution. http://clubof.info/

[viglianogis4680-blog]

Blog post 5

Proto-fascism: It takes a lot of power in me not to vomit reading this particular section. I also do not have any particular questions, considering the vocabulary and structure of the article is easily understandable while the opinion is also horrifically clear. The Inequality of Human Races, as well as the addressed to the German Nation are both clear examples of ethnonationalism and convoluted views of human nature at it’s core. The address to the German Nation in particular, makes a point about how a group of people who share a common language are somehow, in their human nature, more connected to each other… Literally no critical thinking is necessary to understand that the development of language is a social construct (not FOXP2) but the actual process of speaking a set of words defined as a “language”…and how easily that sentence can be deconstructed and proven incorrect. With that said, I do understand that there was an agenda behind these pieces, so while it may seem twisted to me, it was (arguably still is) somehow a widely accepted and officiated belief.

 German Fascism/Hitler/Dexler/Goebbels: My previous sarcastic statement about stopping myself from vomiting has now become literal. Hitlers first letter on the Jewry was disgusting to read but nonetheless not surprising because it’s…Hitler. The pseudo-science used to justify the alienation of the Jewish population is something I have heard of before, but now actually reading it in Hitler’s own words is completely different. I wonder how people were able to believe these supposed “scientific” accusations without any legitimate scientific evidence? Or is my understanding of scientific evidence non-applicable here in this situation due to the time period? I doubt it.  Something interesting I noticed in point 3 of the Program of the German Workers party: “We demand land and territory (colonies) to feed our people and to settle our surplus population”…. Did the UN like model their deal from this point for German Jews being sent to Palestine after the Holocaust? I’m not sure but I just find it kind of ironic that Hitler said this, and then the UN who supposedly disagreed with him, then took the Jews and did what Hitler wanted for Germans just in an already established state…hypocritical much?

 Italian Fascism/Mussolini: Something that always fascinated me was how Mussolini went from being a socialist to a fascist. Something that stuck out to me in “What is Fascism” is a part where he describes “The Fascist State organizes the nation, but leaves a sufficient margin of liberty to the individual”…. This is either a camera obscura, a belief of agency over structure, or possibly just a bold face lie. I think it could be all three, giving people the belief that they actually have agency, when in fact their ‘decisions’ are only created within the structure they are within, it’s a camera obscura in the sense that the state is perpetuating ideas of freedom and liberty but is literally engaging in ethnic cleansing.

 Karl Polanyi’s The Great Transformation: I find it interesting in the introduction where it states, “Neoliberals have insisted that the new technologies of communications and transportation make it both inevitable and desirable that the world economy be tightly integrated through expanded trade and capital flows and the acceptance of the Anglo-American model of free market capitalism”. This whole sentence is funny to me because I am aware at end of the day that liberalism does not address the underlying issues of capitalism, and tries to perceive itself as progressive in a sense but only within very minimal parameters. Even though I was aware of this, reading that sentence just really stuck out to me as liberals/neoliberals being the pushing force for 20th century colonialism, and I had just never thought of it in those terms before.

 Gramsci on Fascism: Gramsci’s pieces are very attractive to me, not only because I can clearly understand the language used, but because his ideas are so revolutionary and appropriate for the current political climate we have here in the US.  In “Neither Fascism nor Liberalism: Sovietism!” Gramsci argues that to combat fascism, we must not rely on Liberals or the Liberal party, because they were the ones who opened the doors for the fascists in the first place. It very much reminds me of Hillary and Trump. In “Democracy and Fascism”, Gramsci lays out a critical argument which I whole-heartedly stand behind. He says essentially that democracy, specifically in Italy, has created a camera obscura for the working class. He also states that fascism destroyed whatever minimal amounts of democracy they had left in Italy, which is another interesting aspect to think about relating to today.

 The Gramsci Reader: Our Marx really puts general leftist thought into perspective. Who really is a Marxist? An important question I ask myself TOO MUCH. I think this section does a good job of not deifying Marx, it in fact brings him down a bit, too a much more human level. The Conquest of the State is an important section because it outlines how crucial it is for combining and bringing together the working class. The state has conquered through divide and conquer strategies since its inception; like the section states, “The principle of combination can and must be seen as the central feature of the proletarian revolution”. This is something that needs to be clearly stated today.

 Essays by Pound: In A Few Don’t’s, Pound talks about, “some may consider open to debate”, but is he referring to his previous sentence, or the one following? Rhythm and Rhyme is surprisingly really informing to me personally. I’ve taken a poetry class, and I took it pretty seriously, so I learned a lot. But reading through this section I am also learning quiet a bit and I find it very interesting how Pound connects poets to behaving as musicians. I wonder if the first rapper was inspired by Ezra Pound (sarcasm but not really)? The Primary Pigment and the Turbine are perfect examples of pieces of art that I just cannot understand from simply just reading once. I like how all of the pieces flow into each other, and how some words are in all caps.

 Cantos: XLV is very interesting. My understanding of Italian almost helps a bit with grasping this piece, especially with the words in Latin. It keeps repeating with interest, with interest, with interest. It keeps reminding the reader, in my opinion, that no matter what happens, living under this system, when you take out money you build interest, when you make something you build interest, when you buy something you build interest. Again, there are words in all caps. XLVIII also has a very interesting part that I cannot overlook, “Bismarck blamed American civil war on the jews, particularly on the Rothschild one of whom remarked to Disraeli that nations were fools to pay rent for their credit”. Wow. “That nations were fools to pay rent for their credit”…. Could he possibly mean the UN sending the German Jews over to Palestine to live there (pay rent) to absolve themselves of the ‘payment’ they owe the Jews (their credit)?

 Marinetti Essay: I literally can’t even get 3 stanza’s into this essay without already disagreeing with something. “We futurists, on the other hand, affirm the continuous perfection and endless progress of humankind, both psychological and intellectual, as absolute principles of Futurism”… Not to sound like an Anarchist, but does he really believe in the Modernization Theory? Doesn’t the idea of human beings becoming more “advanced” and “civilized” prevent people from seeing the truth of regression? Almost like having an African-American president perpetuate an idea of post-racial America while masking the truth of the continuation of systemic racism?

 Cultural Criticism & Society: This essay is very intellectually stimulating. There’s a part I don’t understand, but I really wish I did. “The position of the cultural critic, by virtue of its difference from the prevailing disorder, enables him to go beyond it theoretically, although often he merely falls behind”. Is he saying cultural critics are able to somehow transcend theoretical ideals of the culture they’re studying, but ends up falling back on simply theories?

 The Beach Beneath the Street: The Everyday Life and Glorious Times of the Situationist: There’s an interesting comment made in Chapter 2, it says, “Bataille’s view of the city took as its starting point the sacred architecture at this center, which he made the site from which to dethrone God”. The last part about dethroning God, what exactly is implied there? In chapter 4, the top of page 47 says, “In Bill’s aesthetic, beauty both derives from function and is a function”. This is interesting to think about not simply through the lens of the cliché, “beauty is a lot more than what’s on the outside”, it makes me think more about the symbolism behind this art during the time period, and what the art actually ‘functions’ in doing.