My take is that Makarov strongly believes (and maybe rightfully so) that his ideas wouldnt die with him. His death in that particular circumstances would benefit him twice: his followers would get a political sacrificial victim, a moral right to be angry and fight, and his enemies would paint their hands with the blood of someone they murdered with no trial, they would rob all Makarovs victims of justice by letting him die go the easy way.
Or maybe its just a weak take on Dostoevsky Crime and Punishment morals, where Makarov believes that only "worthy and strong" individuals are capable of taking a life without an authorization.
ABSOLUTELY not uncalled for. i love this take so much.
i very much agree with both your takes on this interaction. markarov knows perceived martyrdom will only strengthen his image, and knows soap is a solid enough guy to be haunted by a lack of public/judicial consequences as a result of killing him during a questionably legal op that will be redacted to hell and back. i also don’t think activision has the literary mettle to do any actual follow-through with dostoevsky but probably wants the nerd points of the reference.
additionally: on one hand i think he’s a bit of a chaos gremlin. he knows he has a united front of loyalists who are loyal to his idea of russia, but if he dies they will to some extent splinter off and be harder to control. makarov is controlled and calculating chaos, but without his mind behind the operation the resulting violence and upheaval would be more decentralized (which western forces have been shown to struggle with see: literally any lengthy military op post WW2) and comparatively maybe worse for the 141 to deal with.
on the other hand i kind of think this is a bit of a flailing attempt by activision to harken back to the original makarov that was so popular with players back in the day. one of the really big criticisms i see of reboot makarov is he isn’t the same level of villain that original makarov was. original makarov was a genuine boogeyman, but reboot makarov doesn’t have the same buildup and his villain potential really leans on the player’s prior knowledge of the franchise. plus, original makarov doesn’t really work with the storytelling they’re trying to do with the reboots, (especially because they shot themselves in the foot by not including yuri until mw3) so they’re in this weird space of trying to build a new but the same character. i really hope they continue with this mildly unhinged but very calculating makarov but who knows.
i could also be rambling. i’m known to do that. and maybe this is a little too meta. but i have so many Thoughts about him.
Yet this expanse of sand, Phillip Graves hears God in the wind.
But He is not with him.
trigger warning, sensitive tags under the cut
tags: tags: hurt no comfort, angst, character study, religious imagery & symbolism, religious conflict, open/ambiguous ending
tags: graphic depictions of violence, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced murder
notes: different from my normal stuff. it's all i have the juice for.
The desert is a church.
There is no suffocating architecture, no pews lining the sandy ground. God watches from the never-ending sky, where every kill, every tear, every scream, floats up into its all-consuming brightness. The shriek of jets replaces the choir as buildings shake with wrath. He is everywhere, in the knife at his belt, the cross around his neck, the gun in his hand.
God hadn't brought him into this war. No, that had been man. It had been the man in the recruitment office, all too happy to have another tally in his books. It had been man who pressed the rifle into his hand. It had been man who lifted the plane off the ground, leaving him alone in the sea of sand. It was man that decried Al-Qatala's forces the new frontier of war, calmly declaring from the lectern that thousands must die.
It was man who walked into the office. It was man that signed the papers declaring him a soldier of the new crusade. It was man whose veins sung with adrenaline as his first body dropped.
It was him.
Yet in this expanse of sand, Phillip Graves hears God in the wind.
But He is not with him.
God is in the adhan that sweeps over the cities he was sent to raze. God is in the mothers whose final caress is the cold concrete his bullet sends them to, her children being declared "non-combatants" as boots step over her corpse. God is in the children who chase the APC through town, hands reaching up for food that will never come. God is in the men who, with nothing, give all they have. God is woven into the rugs that line ramshackle homes, cobbled together as a reclamation of destruction.
The blood that soaks him is a new baptism, an initiation to the Order of the Wretched. He was sent here to make new saints, not become one.
The sand in his boots grounds him, the painful grits against his blisters reminding him of his place. The chilling night air courses through his hair as he walks. His empty canteen clatters against his chest with each step, parched lips muttering prayers he won't remember. 5 klicks until the rendezvous point.
The bullet lodged in his side smarts again, drawing a gasp of dry air into his lungs. It's a painful reminder of his position, alone in the desert, praying the enemy won't follow the trail of blood coagulating in the sand. It wasn't supposed to be like this, roughing it through the desert like a stray dog. He was supposed to go in a blaze of glory, a well-placed grenade or the melee of close-range fire. Instead, his trail of footsteps is swept away with each caress of wind across the dunes.
He knows God sees him. There is nowhere to hide in the sea of sand, craggy cliffs looming in the distance. He wonders if there will be anything after. Maybe the streets will be lined with gold, pearl raindrops dancing off silver rooftops.
Or maybe there will be nothing.
He coughs, the taste of iron coating his teeth as his lungs heave. He knows it won't be long. Maybe if he can last, if he can just make it to the rendezvous point, he'll die with the sweet arms of morphine holding him. His lady of mercy.
He laughs, dry and mirthless. He's never been one for false hope.
So when he falls to his knees, looking up into the endless sky, there is no sadness, no fear, no pain.
He wonders if he will be remembered as a martyr, a crusader for the good old American cause. More than likely, he'll be a footnote in a redacted file.
so i have been notably silent in recent months, mostly due to school and medical stuff, but i find it important i at least sit down and say this.
i am pro-liberation of all oppressed people across the globe, and that includes the palestinian, sudanian, and congoloese people and all others experiencing oppression under (often u.s. backed) regimes. i acknowledge this is cosmically ironic considering the fandom and characters i write for. a lot of my break i have been considering how i want to write and frame my narratives in a more conscious and radical ways, instead of just "hehe sexy blond man with accent" y'know?
i've been working towards it in a rework of how i'm approaching certain aus, as i realize they aren't quite what i would have liked to convey at the time of writing them. i fear i am one of those people that will revise until i am in my grave.
i also acknowledge the privilege i have as an american citizen to have this take, i am not immune to propaganda and the war machine is a bitch to live under. but i digress. i feel my online persona has always been detached from my irl persona (for good reason) and my more radical irl leanings don't translate very well into horny.
re: this post: i wish i was a consistent blog but i always feel like i need nuance and shit and that takes so much time and i have like. so much going on so i just decided to shut up instead and rework things.
so i have been notably silent in recent months, mostly due to school and medical stuff, but i find it important i at least sit down and say this.
i am pro-liberation of all oppressed people across the globe, and that includes the palestinian, sudanian, and congoloese people and all others experiencing oppression under (often u.s. backed) regimes. i acknowledge this is cosmically ironic considering the fandom and characters i write for. a lot of my break i have been considering how i want to write and frame my narratives in a more conscious and radical ways, instead of just "hehe sexy blond man with accent" y'know?
i've been working towards it in a rework of how i'm approaching certain aus, as i realize they aren't quite what i would have liked to convey at the time of writing them. i fear i am one of those people that will revise until i am in my grave.
i also acknowledge the privilege i have as an american citizen to have this take, i am not immune to propaganda and the war machine is a bitch to live under. but i digress. i feel my online persona has always been detached from my irl persona (for good reason) and my more radical irl leanings don't translate very well into horny.
i need like 4 pages for a paper but instead have 8 pages of blasphemy in the name of some southern twink like none of this is applicable. what use do my professors have for a gratuitous confessional blowjob scene. this is sick.
i need like 4 pages for a paper but instead have 8 pages of blasphemy in the name of some southern twink like none of this is applicable. what use do my professors have for a gratuitous confessional blowjob scene. this is sick.
currently reworking undone bc i want it to be more of an ethel cain style character study than just abundant horny (which is currently is) bc babygirl is sooo sexy but i want to dissect his Brain bc i am So Very Absolutely Normal about him.
i want to write price but i can't do him as anything but loving and worshipping and that takes pacing and buildup and an actual good word count and will make me Yearn as i write so it's really a conundrum
i want to write price but i can't do him as anything but loving and worshipping and that takes pacing and buildup and an actual good word count and will make me Yearn as i write so it's really a conundrum
i want to write price but i can't do him as anything but loving and worshipping and that takes pacing and buildup and an actual good word count and will make me Yearn as i write so it's really a conundrum
I’m blaming you for my current obsession with big man tits (I adore your writing)
Like Slasher Graves with his phat fucking pecs just squeezing tight against his shirt???? On a hot Texan day??? Sweat? Oiled up???
I’d fold tbh
FLUFFY DADBOD SLASHER GRAVES IS CANON
Imagine him working on his ranch, cutting wood, moving haybales or working with his animals and it's just so so hot y'know? He takes off his sweat soaked flanel and just goes bare chested, glistening and his blonde chest and tummy hair darkened with sweat :((
He may not have the muscles of a 20 something year old anymore but he's strong like an ox, the extra layer of fat only adding to his appearance, making him look more mature and masculine :((
Imagine swinging by his ranch because dear Mr Graves was so so nice the other day and helped you gather peaches from the orchard, you wanted to thank him!! So being the sweet girl you are, you baked him a nice peach cobbler as a thank you token and decided to bring it him yourself.
Imagine walking around the huge ranch home and finding Graves chopping wood, his thick chest moving along with his broad shoulders and tree-trunk like arms, his tummy flexing as he brought down the axe and cleaved the piece of wood right down the middle with a...scarily accurate precision. But as you watched in wonder, Philip noticed you standing there and smirked like a wolf, licking his lips and fangs and not only because of the fresh cake.
Oh you sweet girl, you brought him a cake? For his troubles you say? Oh please darlin' there is nothing to thank for! He helped you with pleasure!! Imagine him inviting you for dessert of course not taking a 'no' for an answer. You both obviously worked hard today, it's time for a little leisure time!
He'd invite you inside to sit in his huge, modern country style kitchen, away from the swealtering temperature and pour you some nice ice cold sweet tea but... the thing is he still has his shirt off :(( He sees it how you sometimes sneak a peak at him and Philip almost growls and smirks when he purposefully flexes his tummy and biceps to fluster you further, all he wants to do is to bring you all nice and close and squeeze you close to him, get all his musk and smell on you so everyone would know you're spoken for (even if YOU don't know it yet) :(((
dededos
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
areudirty
andulkaphoto
