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bajicantspell · 6 months ago

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Kodzuken in my DMs ❕

Summary: Kenma trying (and failing) to make a move → Warnings: cursing (Fluff) 🎧 This is part one, although both can be read as a one shot Part two right here

Despite his dislike for being recognized in public and the inevitable social interactions that fame entails, he couldn't deny that it came with its advantages. For starters, living in a big house in his early twenties wasn’t something he could complain about. Sure, it might have been just a rental and not in Roppongi Hills, but that wasn't due to any financial constraints; he simply chose not to. Kenma couldn't complain, he loved helping his loved ones. Whether it was sponsoring his friend's volleyball career or paying off his parents' debt, it felt nice to be useful.

Honestly he never expected himself to get this far this early in his life. It really felt like one day he was streaming in his old room for the ten people that happened to join and the next day he’s a ceo of a company.

However, one thing that Kenma anticipated to be much easier, but found it wasn't, was dealing with women. Its not like the requests weren’t piling up; it seemed like every hour there was a new girl in his requests offering him everything lewd imaginable.

Sure, meaningless sex could be nice once in a while, but lately he’s been feeling very lonely. Kuroo was always working, his parents lived far away, Hinata was in fucking Brazil. Aside from calls with them and the occasional visits, tedious work meetings, and interactions in his stream chat, he had no contact with anyone. Kenma also considered that it might be FOMO, but the fact that he had never had a girlfriend didn't help. In high school, he avoided women at all costs. In college, he went on a few dates, but nothing serious came of them—just one okay-ish hookup. Then he went viral, and dating became harder, because it seemed every conversation ended up being about him and his internet presence.

Kenma sighed while scrolling through another dating app. Everytime he matched with someone and the first message they’d sent was “OMFG ARE YOU KODZUKEN” he wanted to smash the phone screen just a little more. Giving up, he sank deeper into his gaming chair, taking a few deep breaths. He needed to be relaxed for the stream he was about to start.

If you could tell your awkward-ugly-duckling middle school self that you would one day have nearly ten thousand Instagram followers just for being pretty, she would have laughed in your face. Though you were extremely grateful, it wasn't as if your life was substantially different from anyone else's. You don’t get payed for posting, you’re still a regular university student, and aside from the occasional scammy sponsorship offer that you always turned down (and the creepy men asking you to start an OnlyFans), there wasn’t anything outstandingly different about your life.One thing you did brag about to your friends, however, was that the famous streamer Kodzuken had been following you for a couple of months now. Part of you was convinced it was accidental though, since he never watches any stories or interacts with any posts. Bummer, you thought he’s really cute.

“I’m gonna buy a fucking gun and shoot myself” Kenma complained to Kuroo during their weekly call.

“You say while wiping your tears with money”

“Oh fuck off, I’m serious! I tried everything. I swear I’ll resort to just fucking my hand for the rest of my life”

Kuroo snickered, then he started thinking of solutions for his lonely friend. “Okay, instead of being a drama queen in her fucking castle lets try to be reasonable. What have you tried so far?”

Kenma sighed, “Mostly dating apps to be honest. Ain’t working. Also checked my requests and they all sound like the plots to a bad porno.”

“Seriously? Like what?” Kenma could hear Kuroo’s smug smile through the phone.

“Dude there was one where she offered to lick my toes. Not gonna lie it was tempting.” Kenma joked, earning a loud laugh from Kuroo.

“Damn, living the dream. Anyway, have you tried making a move though? Cause what I’m getting from this is you expecting the woman of your dreams to fall from the sky.”

“How could i even do that? Can’t go outside without a crowd following me around. Can’t imagine a girl who feels comfortable getting hit on by a dude with an army behind him.” Kenma sighed.

“I didnt mean that dumbass, I know that. I mean like shooting your shot through social media or something. There must be at least one babe that cought your eye.” Kuroo reasoned.

Kenma paused and thought for a moment, his cheeks flushing the slightest shade of pink.

“Well there is one…”

“Oh yea? Who?” Kuroo smirked.

“She’s not like, famous or anything, which I like. It’s @(youruser). Found her a couple of months ago. Physically she’s exactly my type, like everything is exactly what i like in a girl; face, body, hair, style, the whole shtick. Followed her a couple of months ago, didnt have the courage to say anything though.” Kenma nervously explained.

“I say send her something, what’s the worst that can happen? Getting rejected? So what? Then you move on.”

“I don’t know…I think she’s really pretty, shooting my shot and then messing up means it’d be weird to still follow her. Don’t wanna make her uncomfy. She doesn’t post anything crazy, just selfies and outfit inspo, but she’s so fucking cute in every pic and video, drives me crazy.” Kenma sheepishly smiled.

“Even if she does turn you down if you’re nice about it I doubt she’ll be uncomfortable. I say do it.”

Kenma sighed, knowing Kuroo was right. He opened Instagram and searched for your profile, keeping the call with Kuroo active in case you replied quickly.

*ding*

You were in the middle of doing some coursework when your phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, you expected it to be a new follower. Your eyes went wide when you realized the notification said ‘@kodzuken wants to send you a message’.

No fucking way, you thought.

You anxiously unlocked your phone, your focus completely shifting from your studies.

What you didnt know is that an equally anxious Kenma was patiently waiting for at least a ‘seen’ with his best bud on the line.

You opened the message.

Kodzuken: Hey :)

Your finger hovered over the keyboard of your phone for just a second before replying.

You: Hiiiii

You cringed at your reply, it seemed to childish and dry at the same time.

Kenma didnt think so, he was too busy panicking over the fact that you replied. Maybe he never got over his social anxiety after all.

“Dude she replied.” He said, not fully believing himself.

“Damn, that was fast,’ Kuroo smirked, ‘I’ll leave you lovebirds alone, gotta catch up on some work stuff. Talk to you later!”

“Wait Kuro don’t-” before Kenma could finish his sentence the call was over.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance- “Asshole”, he mumbled.

He stared at the screen, unable to muster the courage to type anything. It was then that he realized this might be the first time he truly liked a girl, due to the anxious feeling that had left him since high school. With trembling fingers unable to type anything, he sighed and set his phone down, promising himself he would reply in an hour. However, that hour stretched into several, and then two days passed. He felt insanely pathetic.

Kenma was on call with Kuroo again, Kuroo couldn’t stop complaining about the shitty meeting he had the day before.

“He was such an asshole, fucking bastard rolled his eyes everytime my colleagues and I talked. Like shut the fuck up. If you hate your job this fucking much at least don’t bring misery into ours.”

Kenma could only hum in response, preoccupied with setting up for his stream while his mind was flooded with self-critical thoughts.

Kuroo noticed the uncharacteristic response from his best friend- If there was one thing Kenma loved, it was shit talk, and Kuroo knew that all too well from years and years of friendship with him, and the countless brutalities that Kenma would throw at him and others he was comfortable with. He would point out things in such a monotone way, you couldn’t even be mad. Kenma was a hater to his core, so not hearing even a snicker from the other side of the line was concerning.

“Hey man, are you okay?” He asked.

“Yea its whatever.”

Kuroo suspected what this might be about.

“So uh.. how did things with the girl go?”

“They didn’t fucking go.” Kenma let out a huff of laughter through his nose, tinged with self-pity.

“Hm? How come?”

“I panicked and left her on seen. And I highly doubt I can recover that now. Like what am I gonna say? Hi sorry I left you on seen even though I texted you first, I’m just too fucking high and mighty to reply.”

“Well definitely don’t say that.” Kuroo joked.

“I seriously fumbled. Fuck,” Kenma muttered just loud enough for Kuroo to hear, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay, man. These things happen,” Kuroo said empathetically, his voice gentle and reassuring. “Everyone fucks up sometimes. You just need to give yourself a break.”, though he didnt get a response from the overthinker.

“You’re gonna start a stream soon yea?” Kuroo changed the subject, he knew that the best way to make Kenma feel better was to distract him or piss him off a little. The second part was coming later.

“Yea, almost done setting up. Gonna start in five.”

“I might stay and watch a little today, I’m off work for the weekend.”

“Kay, I’m gonna hang up now. ‘Bout to start.”

You checked the chat a couple of times during those two days, though the bitter ‘seen’ never changed. You couldn’t lie, you were a little disappointed. You didnt know much about video games, but you enjoyed his streams once in a while. He was a bit of a celebrity crush for you.

It was the weekend, and with not much to do, you mindlessly scrolled through Instagram stories to kill time. You stumbled upon Kodzuken’s story, it was a picture of his monitor, with the text “streaming” and a link to his twitch. Although you were disappointed with the outcome of your “conversation”, you thought it couldn’t hurt watching for a bit.

You clicked the link, and as you entered the stream, the first thing you noticed was his not-so-happy expression. His chat was filled with messages asking if he was okay.

You watched for a little bit, nothing particularly special happening.

As you were about to click off, Kenma snapped at his chat. "Guys, I'm fine! Please stop asking." The irritation in his voice was evident. Despite his words, the tone of his voice betrayed him, revealing a hint of underlying frustration or perhaps even distress.

Another autogenerated voiced question popped on the screen, something that happens with every donation. “Okay man! Whatever it is, don’t worry, we won’t nag you.” The robotic tone of the voice did little to mask the genuine concern behind the words.

Kenma’s shoulders tensed for a moment before he forced a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks,” he muttered, the frustration in his voice easing slightly. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “I appreciate it, really. Let’s just focus on the game, okay?”

You decided to stay for just a little longer, puzzled at the unfamiliar demeanor of the famous streamer.

A few minutes go by, and another donation followed by the familiar robotic voice “@KUROROROTETSU : don’t mind him he fumbled the insta baddie”

Your cheeks flushed for just a second though you were quickly brought back to reality by the man on the screen in front of you.

“Fucking kill yourself. Like I’m not even kidding I need you dead on my doorstep.” Kenma cursed to distract you the audience from his embarrassment, his eyebrows furrowed and a huge shit eating grin plastered on his face.

The chat started blowing up with laughs and ‘Kodzu’s back guys’

Kenma added, “before anyone cancels me that was my best friend of twenty years, don’t take the clip out of context.” He laughed.

Your favorite comment was someone saying “guys kodzu gets not bitches he’s just like me fr”, it made you let out a small giggle.

You debated with yourself, engaging in a mental monologue. ‘If I send him a message and it turns out to be about me, that’s the best case scenario. The worst case is completely humiliating myself in front of someone really famous,’ you reasoned.

You decided that a little embarrassment was a risk worth taking this time.

Kenma continued playing as usual, engaging and laughing with his audience. He felt his phone buzz and saw the screen light up beside him.

@(youruser) : for the record, I don’t think you fumbled me <3

He glanced at the screen, reading the notification, and immediately turned beet red. His heart raced as he processed the message. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the camera, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment, as if he were looking directly at you through the screen.

“I uh.. hold on guys i need to reply to this for a second.” He said as he proceeded to pause metal gear solid.

Your screen was still open to your chat, and a surge of excitement ran through you when you saw the telltale indicator that he was typing.

Kodzuken : holy shit I’m so sry, didn’t know you were watching

(Youruser) : ahahah dw its fine

Kodzuken : can I text you after I’m done? Totally fine if u don’t wanna tho

Well it wasn’t totally fine, he really hoped you’d say yes.

(Youruser) : I’ll be waitiiiing :)

Needless to say, that was the longest a stream had ever felt. He could hardly wait to finish so he could talk to you; properly this time.

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤 ↓。

part two right here , also i found these banners on Pinterest, if anyone knows who made these pls lmk so i can give credit

#kenma smut #kenma x reader #hq kenma #kenma kuzome #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo testuro #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyu fluff #kenma drabble #kenma x y/n #kenma x you #haikyuu dumpster battle #kodzuken

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livin4woso · 3 months ago

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Lingering touches part 1-(alessia russo x reader)

Summary-your best friend alessia has always been touchy with you, but now they seem to be getting more frequent and are pushing along the boundary of whether or not you are just friends.

Growing up gay was a challenge for you as many people dont understand that there is a list of unspoken rules every gay must follow. One of the main rules is the line between are we just friends or are we more than that?. Its a line that ironically can be bent and you spend your time thinking where is it appropriate of where you can put your hands without giving the wrong idea.

This was something that you and alessia weren't very good at. The line is constantly being stepped on being pushed to its limits, but alessia is straight... right? It doesn't matter because she won't ever feel the way you do about her. The way that when her hand grazes your arm, it feels like it's on fire or when she compliments you, you can feel your cheeks heating up, leaving you flustered.

It was an obvious observation that to anyone around you that you were head of heels for the blonde, yet it was if she couldn't tell.

You and alessia had grown up together through the england youth academy teams. Your friendship blossomed over the years with one another. It was when you had reached the U19s when alessia had come back from america to play some international friendlies where you began to question if you just had plationic feelings for the blonde.

Alessia was a naturally cuddly person, or well, she has always been like that towards you her body was clung to yours in one way or another. Many joked that you were alessias personal pillow as even if there was a free seat, she would much rather be cuddled into your side or sat against your lap.

When alessia arrived back to the uk, you had already become a regular starter for the arsenal as a midfielder, and you had really been focusing on your football, so your feelings for alessia had naturally slipped your mind.

She had gone to play for Manchester United, where her other best friend ella was playing. However when yous had game against eachother you would be invited to stay round theres or they could stay at yours for the night to catch up with eachother and get the train back to london or Manchester in the morning.

This was a reoccurring routine, but one time ella couldn't stay in london, she had a media job the next day, so just alessia had decided to stay at your place. "Do you wanna pick the movie, and I'll call us a takeaway" you begin saying while opening your apartment door "also you can grab some clothes from my room rather than sitting in that disgusting gear" you say joking with her. "Yeah yeah whatever you love me, really.. no matter what shade of red im wearing, " she responded and playfully placed a kiss to your cheek, leaving you a melting pile in your kitchen.

The two of you had fell into a regular routine but without ella there alessia was abit more handsy than usual as the movie started she had curled into your side with her head on your chest and your legs entwined with eachother. Each time alessias hand would brush at the skin of where your hoodie had rode up was sending shivers down your spine, and you could hear your heartbeat racing at a million miles an hour.

By the time the movie had finished, alessia was quite content sleeping on top of you, yet you knew a night on the couch wouldn't do either of you any good. So you managed to untangle yourself and carry her to your bedroom, which normally this would be quite a simple task. However, sleeping alessia was like a dead weight. That night, you had realised how no matter how hard you try to push your feelings away for the blonde, they wouldn't go away, not when she was so perfect in your eyes.

But the imposed distance between you made your feelings much more bareable to deal with. Yet when the summer transfer window had opened, seeing the blonde wearing an arsenal kit was not what you had expected. Now you couldn't escape your feelings from the blonde, not when you had to see her every day.

The first day at preseason training was going to be hard for you as you cant ingore alessia but you also cant make it obvious to everyone under the sun that you would walk to the ends of the earth for the blonde if she asked you too.

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso blurbs #alessia russo #woso community #woso fanfics #alessia russo x reader

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autumnslance · 6 months ago

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The worst part too about the Paladin quests is it's Heavensward that's most egregious. It honestly feels like someone had no idea what was going on, or didn't care, or left, and their colleagues left holding the bag with this mess of a story had no idea what to do with it.

ARR Gladiator quests are fine! They're along the lines of the other Class quests, intro you to the job and a complicated character dynamic, and it's a decent time.

The ARR Paladin quests...are just boring. They aren't actually even that bad, they're just...utterly predictable, bog-standard tropes and plot line where you can see everything coming malms away. But they have an internal logic to them that builds on the politics and scheming in Ul'dah. Jenlyns realizes he's an unwitting pawn of the Syndicate, and he was literally chosen for the job cuz he could be easily duped and controlled. He doesn't even get to have imposter syndrome, he's actually unfit for the job (and then strives to do better, leveraging support from Papashan and Mylla to shore up his own weaknesses, which is admirable!).

...Nevermind that traditional Paladins in general are a bad fit for Ul'dah. The heavily armored Sultansworn makes no sense in that desert environment, and looking at a world map we can even see that Southern Thanalan seems to be on the equator. Like it's not even a case of "it's cooler than it seems cuz they're further north." Because they're not. And I know the devs wanted to have Ishgard perhaps be a starter city but that was scrapped due to time and resources, fine but um.

Dragoons are still trained in Coerthas, by Coerthans. Why didn't they just...do that with Paladins? Keep Gladiator in Ul'dah, where it makes sense as presented. But then have to work with Temple Knights to get the Job. Especially since after Ul'dah's intro, the game just forgets the Sultansworn exist and they have no bearing on the MSQ the way the other factions in Ul'dah do. Not even in the finale of ARR's arc where it would make sense. Gladiators are a constant in other side quests and MSQ both.

Stormblood Paladin is also fine--because it goes back to those Gladiators, and we interact with Paladins and Knights across the realm, and deal with those complicated relationships between the Gladiator guild core members. It's internally logical in its drama about finally restoring Aldis's reputation and place in Ul'dah, against the backdrop of the tournament.

Heavensward Paladin straight up makes no sense. Solkzaygl's actions are entirely contradictory to his character and arc from ARR. There's no way for some of the actions to occur without him working with the outlaws in some way. Instead of teaching Constaint, he sends him on a merry chase across Coerthas to learn on his own, and it's only the WoL's aid that sees the boy live, let alone make progress. A random man dies, guilt-ridden, due to Solk's scheming and lies he confided to this poor guy.

And then Highlander-esque "there can be only one" nonsense. Even as a Highlander fangirl in my youth, it was insulting and awful. Papashan, Jenlyns, and Constaint all call out how nonsense, illogical, unlikely, and stupid this whole story is...all to make a sword shine.

Because there's no internal logic to events, let alone the reason for the string of happenstance that leads to the finale.

And we know it's possible; HW Blacksmith gives us a fantastic paladin story! One that fits Ishgard's storyline and HW's themes. HW Dark Knight is also a good paladin story, actually, as they are meant to be another angle on the concept of dedicated knight defenders. Samurai for the Eastern equivalent, and the concepts and tropes present in those quest chains.

But the job actually bearing the name "Paladin" is left in the dirt. As a fan of the concept across various games (video and TTRPGs both), it's quite frustrating how the devs had no idea what to do with this job, despite other members of the writing and scenario team presenting stories that would have fit perfectly well within the framework. Only some of it is misplacing where Paladins originate in the setting; the rest is not taking advantage of the themes and setting of the expansions, and just not caring enough about the characters and story to even try, compared to the rest. Or worse, they did try, and meant for more, but whatever intrigue and complex plot they wanted to create was too much for 5 quests and no guarantee the arc would continue in the future, even if it had landed perfectly.

#final fantasy xiv #Paladin #grumpy old lady hours #lore #speculation #These quests frustrate me so much #even considering other storylines I dislike for their structural issues HW PLD sits at 'worst' for me #meta analysis

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patscorner · 4 months ago

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So Much More

Summary: After a bad day, you seek comfort in your girlfriend.

wc: 2,032

Contains: slightly suggestive...?

______________________________

To say it'd be a bad day would be an understatement. For starters, you woke up alone, instead of intertwined with your girlfriend, like you usually would. Waking up next to KK was easily one of your favorite things to do, basking in the quiet mornings you have together.

But today, she had an early morning practice to go to, so you woke up relishing in the ghostlike scent that she'd left behind. Not only that, but you woke up with a headache right over your eyebrows, making it hard to do easy tasks such as keeping your eyes open. But you had three hours till you had to go to work, and you didn't want to hear your boss bitch about how you'd called in too late. You really didn't feel like being written up, so you dragged yourself out of bed and trudged to the kitchen.

You put a bagel in the toaster and decide to make some coffee. That's mistake number one because as you go to lift the mug, your knee gives out, and in an attempt to steady yourself, the hot coffee spills all over your KK’s shirt. Quickly, it starts to burn, so you swiftly put the mug down and take the wet shirt off. You curse as you pull the shirt off and use it to clean up some of the coffee that's spilled on the floor.

Wait…what's burning?

Your eyes widen as your head snaps to the toaster, watching as gray smoke wafts through the air. “Shit, shit, shit!” You pop the toaster and pull the bagels out, wincing as the charcoal bread stings your fingers. “Motherfucker!” You exclaim, frustratedly giving up. Guess no breakfast for you.

Definitely another mistake, but at that moment, you didn't care.

You stomp into your bedroom and begin searching for the outfit of the day. Normally, you enjoy this process, but when you notice that KK had forgotten to do the laundry before she left, your hope dwindled. Finally, though, you made your way out of the house and to your car. You sigh heavily as you notice a white ticket in your window. This isn't the first time you'd gotten an unnecessary ticket, but being a transfer, they hadn't put your name in the system yet, so you just had to deal with the growing stack of white papers in your glove compartment.

The day drags on as you feel yourself growing increasingly overwhelmed. As another disgruntled customer complains to your boss about how you refused to take their expired coupon, you grow even more eager for your lunch break. The routine was always the same, you'd take your break and call KK, who was usually doing homework or hanging out with Ice and Paige, and you'd rant about your shitty customers and boss. And KK would listen and add her own comments, never failing to lighten the mood. But a frown makes its way to your face as you call KK twice, and you get no answer. You notice she hasn't answered your messages since she sent the ‘good morning’ text.

You text her again before slamming your phone frustratedly down on the table. You ignore the stares you get as you fight the tears threatening to fall. You get up from your chair, the wood scraping on the tile floor of the café. Fuck it, you'll eat in your car.

Finally, finally, the day is over. Finally, you get your car and drive away from the job that doesn't pay you nearly enough for what you go through every day. Finally, you pull into the college dorm parking lot and sigh as you notice your neighbor parked in your spot again. Finally, you walk past that same neighbor’s door, having no energy to argue about it. Finally, you approach your door and groan as you hear Sexyy Red blasting on the other side. Finally, you open the door and you smile as you finally see your girlfriend.

Your smile falters as you look around the room and notice there are 4 more people in your home than what you want there to be. KK must've invited Paige, Ice, Azzi, and Aubrey over after practice. You feel frustration brewing inside of you as you see the mess they've made of your dorm. KK is on live, doing a talent show with Aubrey and Ice standing behind her, doing some dance. Paige and Azzi are sitting off-camera, Azzi's legs over Paige's, the blonde's hand rubbing Azzi’s leg lovingly.

Gross.

They don't notice you walk in, but they do notice when you put slam your bag down on the table.

“Oh, hey, baby.” KK says, barely sparing you a glance. It hurts, of course, and normally, you'd have said something. But with two thousand people watching, as well as four other unwanted guests, you hold your tongue. Instead of answering her, you walk over to her and wrap your arms around her waist, resting your head on her shoulder.

You and KK weren't a secret. You were just really private about how much of your relationship was on the internet. Knowing this, you didn't think it'd be that big of a deal if you were close, and even if it would send shockwaves through the internet, you were too tired to care. Apparently, KK hadn't noticed your gloomy mood, or if she did, it didn't stop her from shrugging you off and muttering something along the lines of ‘we're on live’. You back away immediately, unwrapping your arms from her completely.

“Are you fucking serious?” You say taking a couple steps away from her.

You watch her eyes widen as she glances between you and the live. You already know you're gonna regret doing this in front of everyone.

“You don't answer my texts all fucking day, and then when I come home, I find out that have you've been on your phone, you'd just rather fuck around with random people than spare your girlfriend a text.” At this point, Aubrey had ended the live, and she and Ice had migrated to the couch awkwardly.

“What the hell is your problem!? You can't curse on live!” She asked bitterly. You and KK rarely fight, and never in front of people, so this was so new for everyone around you. Usually, you'd talk this out later when you were both much calmer, but now, it's too much.

You scoff dryly. “Me cursing is seriously what you're worried about right now?!”

“Bab-”

“No, don't fucking ‘baby’ me. After the shit day I had, all I wanted to do was come to a clean and mostly empty house, and as much as I love to clean up after you and your friends, it wasn't necessarily on my agenda tonight.” Tears have started to fall at this point, all of your emotions from today finally boiling over.

You frustratedly wipe your tears away. “Fuck.” You whimper quietly. KK knows you, inside and out, and she knows when you're angry at her, or if your irritation is just misplaced. She quietly grabs your hand and leads you into your bedroom, hand on your waist, closing the door softly behind you.

“What's going on, baby? What happened?” She sat on the bed, against the headboard, and pulled you onto her so you were straddling her. Your cries haven't stopped, and your silent tears have turned into sobs as you lay your head on her chest. It's been a long day, and all you could do was cling to her shirt like your life depended on it. She wraps her arms around your back, gently rubbing circles under your shirt.

“Shh, I know, baby, I know, it's gonna be okay.” She whispered, kissing just above your ear, on the crown of your head. You cry for god knows how long, KK never stopping her words of comfort. She knows that in times like this, logic doesn't matter.

You sigh deeply into her chest, hiccuping as you feel yourself starting to relax. Your sobs turn into cries, which turn into soft sniffles. She feels your body relax into hers, almost as if you've melted. “Do you wanna talk about it?” She spoke softly into your ear.

You pull away, and her hands cup your face to wipe your tears. You smile at her gesture before nodding. “It's just been a long day. I didn't feel good when I woke up, and I got another ticket, and work was shitty, and you didn't answer when I called you on break, and that bitch parked in my spot again and-”

“Baby, baby, take a deep breath. You're gonna work yourself up again.” She's right, and you know it. You sigh as you plop your face back onto her chest.

She laughs lightly. “I'm sorry I didn't call you, baby, I completely lost track of time after practice. It won't happen again.” She kisses your head.

“It better not. Next time I'll just beat your ass.” you say playfully. She smiles, her hands dropping to your thighs. “I have no doubt- speaking of which, do you need me to beat up that lil’ girl downstairs? This is like the third time she's done that shit.” You laugh, placing your hands on her chest, leaning in to peck her lips.

“Mmm… I missed you.” She murmurs before leaning in to kiss you again. You grin as you ball her shirt up in your hands, pulling her closer, your lips just grazing hers. “I missed you, too.”

She groans as she smashes her lips against yours. The kiss turns heated quickly, and as much as you'd like to continue, you know there's people in your house. So reluctantly, you pull away, and ignore KK's protests as you stand up.

“C'monnn, man.” She whines, reaching for you as you grab a towel. “I'm gonna wash my day away. I'll be back.” You whisper, pecking her lips again, dodging her grabby hands. “You're so fucking lame.” She groans as you walk out of the room. You see the girls playing a game of uno, SZA playing low in the background. Paige lets out a sigh of relief when she sees you.

“Thank God. Time was almost up.” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion before Ice looks up and groans. Paige laughs as she digs into her pocket and pulls out a twenty dollar bill.

“You couldn't have waited-” She checks her phone. “-Two more minutes?” Ice deadpans. You raise your eyebrows and Ice cowers a little bit. “What the fuck are you talking about?” You ask.

“I told Ice that you two weren’t fucking, she said that if fifteen minutes went by, you definitely were.” Paige shrugged. “You saved my wallet.”

You gape at Azzi, who's shaking her head. “Do not look at me. I told them you'd beat their ass.”

“You're a fucking idiot.” You say looking at Paige.

“That's what I said.” Azzi mutters.

“How?! Ice did the exact same thing, yell at her, too.”

“Why the fuck are either of you betting on our relationship?” You raise your voice, but you're not being serious, and they know that.

“That's what I said.” Azzi repeats.

“Yo, who's side are you on?” Paige turns to her. Azzi raises her eyebrows. “You're an idiot, and I will always stand by that.”

The room erupts into laughter as you shake your head. “Yo, yo, wait, how scared was KK?” Aubrey asks through her laughter.

“I wasn't scared!” KK calls from the room.

“That face you made before you went in begs to differ.” Paige calls back.

“Girl boo, can you shut the fuck up?” KK shouts back.

You shake your head as you head to the bathroom, the laughter quieting as you walk further away from it.

Even though your day was shit, and even if you broke down, you know that no matter what, KK would be there for you.

And as you showered, you thought about how she had already been through so much with you, and you know that, without a doubt, she's willing to go through so much more.

______________________________

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 1 month ago

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Of Sauron [Hypothetical] Redemption

Is Sauron redeemable?

This question is particularly active in the Sauron x Galadriel fandom, for obvious reasons. But it can be of interest to any Tolkien fan, really. Brace yourselves, this is a long read and we are going deep into Tolkien legendarium, here.

To many, the idea that Sauron is redeemable is absurd in itself because of how Tolkien describes him as “the second visible incarnation of evil”; “reincarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power” (Letter 131); or “shadow of Morgoth” (The Silmarillion). All of this means that Sauron is absolute and pure evil, yes? And hence, he has no possibility of redemption, whatsoever?

Not quite.

For starters, there’s an idea that needs to be deconstructed here: Tolkien lore being “black and white”, or pure Evil vs. pure Good. It isn’t.

And this was actually, a grievance Tolkien himself had ever since his work first got published. The critics and the public, seemed determined to judge his books on an absolute dichotomy, without any nuance. Ironic, many are doing the same until this day (and probably the reason why Christopher Tolkien hated the Peter Jackson adaptations so much).

Some reviewers have called the whole thing simple-minded, just a plain fight between Good and Evil, with all the good just good, and the bad just bad. Pardonable, perhaps (though at least Boromir has been overlooked) in people in a hurry, and with only a fragment to read, and, of course, without the earlier written but unpublished Elvish histories. But the Elves are not wholly good or in the right. Not so much because they had flirted with Sauron; as because with or without his assistance they were 'embalmers'. They wanted to have their cake and eat it: to live in the mortal historical Middle-earth because they had become fond of it (and perhaps because they there had the advantages of a superior caste), and so tried to stop its change and history, stop its growth, keep it as a pleasaunce, even largely a desert, where they could be 'artists' – and they were overburdened with sadness and nostalgic regret. Tolkien Letter 154

Tolkien admits his lore doesn’t deal with “absolute evil” because he doesn’t believe in such a thing:

In my story I do not deal in Absolute Evil. I do not think there is such a thing, since that is Zero. I do not think that at any rate any 'rational being' is wholly evil. Satan fell. In my myth Morgoth fell beasts and monsters, and the Unknown. The defence of the realm may then indeed become symbolic of the human situation. Before Creation of the physical world. Tolkien Letter 183

Tolkien's Sauron

Did Tolkien created Sauron as a nuanced villain in his lore? What does he say about him?

And there is Sauron. In the Silmarillion and Tales of the First Age Sauron was a being of Valinor perverted to the service of the Enemy and becoming his chief captain and servant. He repents in fear when the First Enemy is utterly defeated, but in the end does not do as was commanded, return to the judgement of the gods. He lingers in Middle-earth. Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, 'neglected by the gods', he becomes a reincarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves). All through the twilight of the Second Age the Shadow is growing in the East of Middle-earth, spreading its sway more and more over Men – who multiply as the Elves begin to fade. The three main themes are thus The Delaying Elves that lingered in Middle-earth; Sauron's growth to a new Dark Lord, master and god of Men; and Numenor-Atlantis. Tolkien Letter 131

Mairon, the Maia of Aulë, was not evil in the beginning (because nothing is, in Tolkien lore). He was corrupted by Morgoth. He repents of his crimes under Morgoth but doesn’t do penitance. During the Second Age, he begins his rise to power, being a cautionary tale of “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”.

In Season 1 of "Rings of Power", we saw "repentant Mairon" aka Halbrand:

In Season 2, Annatar was introduced, and he symbolizes "Sauron the reformer", who wants to rebuilt Middle-earth with good intentions:

Sauron was of course not 'evil' in origin. He was a 'spirit' corrupted by the Prime Dark Lord (the Prime sub-creative Rebel) Morgoth. He was given an opportunity of repentance, when Morgoth was overcome, but could not face the humiliation of recantation, and suing for pardon; and so his temporary turn to good and 'benevolence' ended in a greater relapse, until he became the main representative of Evil of later ages. But at the beginning of the Second Age he was still beautiful to look at, or could still assume a beautiful visible shape – and was not indeed wholly evil, not unless all 'reformers' who want to hurry up with 'reconstruction' and 'reorganization' are wholly evil, even before pride and the lust to exert their will eat them up. Tolkien Letter 153

During the Second Age, Sauron begins his rise to power, with good intentions, at first. However, his pride and lust for power becomes too great, and he aspires to become a “God of Men” (no longer a mere Maia).

And this is probably Sauron's greater crime (sin) in the legendarium, since Eru himself is called to intervene: Sauron was first defeated by a 'miracle': a direct action of God the Creator, changing the fashion of the world, when appealed to by Manwë [...] reduced to 'a spirit of hatred borne on a dark wind', I do not think one need boggle at this spirit carrying off the One Ring, upon which his power of dominating minds now largely depended (Letter 211).

Because of his admiration of Strength he [Sauron] had become a follower of Morgoth and fell with him down into the depths of evil, becoming his chief agent in Middle Earth. When Morgoth was defeated by the Valar finally he forsook his allegiance; but out of fear only; he did not present himself to the Valar or sue for pardon, and remained in Middle Earth. When he found how greatly his knowledge was admired by all other rational creatures and how easy it was to influence them, his pride became boundless. By the end of the Second Age he assumed the position of Morgoth's representative. By the end of the Third Age (though actually much weaker than before) he claimed to be Morgoth returned. Tolkien Letter 183 (note)

Let's dig in the "Sauron the supervillain":

The corrupted, as was Melkor/Morgoth and his followers (of whom Sauron was one of the chief) saw in them the ideal material for subjects and slaves, to whom they could become masters and 'gods', envying the Children, and secretly hating them, in proportion as they became rebels against the One (and Manwë his Lieutenant in Eä). Tolkien Letter 212

In my story Sauron represents as near an approach to the wholly evil will as is possible. He had gone the way of all tyrants: beginning well, at least on the level that while desiring to order all things according to his own wisdom he still at first considered the (economic) well-being of other inhabitants of the Earth. But he went further than human tyrants in pride and the lust for domination, being in origin an immortal (angelic) spirit. In The Lord of the Rings the conflict is not basically about 'freedom', though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honour. The Eldar and the Númenóreans believed in The One, the true God, and held worship of any other person an abomination. Sauron desired to be a God-King, and was held to be this by his servants; if he had been victorious he would have demanded divine honour from all rational creatures and absolute temporal power over the whole world. Tolkien Letter 183

What these quotes tell us, is this: while Sauron isn’t “absolute evil” (because Tolkien himself didn’t deal with this in his legendarium, nor did he believed such a thing exists), Sauron's will (desires; intentions; goals) came pretty close to “wholly evil”.

Sauron is unmistakable evil, obviously distinguishable from “good”: he’s not a grey character, nor an anti-hero in any way, shape or form. He’s a full-on villain, some might even say a "super-villain", really. However, he’s not pure irredeemably wicked evil in Tolkien lore.

Why?

Tolkien's Ideas of Redemption

This goes back to Tolkien’s religious beliefs (Christian-Catholic) and how they are present in his legendarium; in 1953, he wrote this about the Orcs:

the Diabolus Morgoth did, and started making things 'for himself, to be their Lord', these would then 'be', even if Morgoth broke the supreme ban against making other 'rational' creatures like Elves or Men. They would at least 'be' real physical realities in the physical world, however evil they might prove, even 'mocking' the Children of God. They would be Morgoth's greatest Sins, abuses of his highest privilege, and would be creatures begotten of Sin, and naturally bad. (I nearly wrote 'irredeemably bad'; but that would be going too far. Because by accepting or tolerating their making – necessary to their actual existence – even Orcs would become part of the World, which is God's and ultimately good.) I have represented at least the Orcs as pre-existing real beings on whom the Dark Lord has exerted the fullness of his power in remodeling and corrupting them, not making them. That God would 'tolerate' that, seems no worse theology than the toleration of the calculated dehumanizing of Men by tyrants that goes on today. Tolkien Letter 153

In 1965, W.H. Auden asked Tolkien if the notion of Orcs (an entire race that should be seen as irredeemably wicked) was not heretical:

With regard to The Lord of the Rings, I cannot claim to be a sufficient theologian to say whether my notion of Orcs is heretical or not. I don't feel under any obligation to make my story fit with formalized Christian theology, though I actually intended it to be consonant with Christian thought and belief, which is asserted somewhere, Book Five, page 190,1 where Frodo asserts that the orcs are not evil in origin. Tolkien Letter 169

And now you know the reason behind Orc families in "Rings of Power".

Tolkien himself went back and forward with this notion, or even if the Orcs had “souls”, to begin with, but in the end his faith probably got the best of him. We also see this with his thoughts on Gollum:

In which case (as I believe) salvation from ruin will depend on something apparently unconnected: the general sanctity (and humility and mercy) of the sacrificial person [...] Gollum had had his chance of repentance, and of returning generosity with love; and had fallen off the knife-edge. Tolkien Letter 191

On the importance of repentance, even among the Valar:

The Fall or corruption, therefore, of all things in it and all inhabitants of it, was a possibility if not inevitable. Trees may 'go bad' as in the Old Forest; Elves may turn into Orcs, and if this required the special perversive malice of Morgoth, still Elves themselves could do evil deeds. Even the 'good' Valar as inhabiting the World could at least err; as the Great Valar did in their dealings with the Elves; or as the lesser of their kind (as the Istari or wizards) could in various ways become self-seeking. Aulë, for instance, one of the Great, in a sense 'fell'; for he so desired to see the Children, that he became impatient and tried to anticipate the will of the Creator. Being the greatest of all craftsmen he tried to make children according to his imperfect knowledge of their kind. When he had made thirteen, God spoke to him in anger, but not without pity: for Aulë had done this thing not out of evil desire to have slaves and subjects of his own, but out of impatient love, desiring children to talk to and teach, sharing with them the praise of Ilúvatar and his great love of the materials of which the world is made. The One rebuked Aulë, saying that he had tried to usurp the Creator's power; but he could not give independent life to his makings. He had only one life, his own derived from the One, and could at most only distribute it. 'Behold' said the One: 'these creatures of thine have only thy will, and thy movement. Though you have devised a language for them, they can only report to thee thine own thought. This is a mockery of me.' Then Aulë in grief and repentance humbled himself and asked for pardon. And he said: 'I will destroy these images of my presumption, and wait upon thy will.' And he took a great hammer, raising it to smite the eldest of his images; but it flinched and cowered from him. And as he withheld his stroke, astonished, he heard the laughter of Ilúvatar. 'Do you wonder at this?' he said. 'Behold! thy creatures now live, free from thy will! For I have seen thy humility, and taken pity on your impatience. Thy making I have taken up into my design.' This is the Elvish legend of the making of the Dwarves; but the Elves report that Iluvatar said thus also: 'Nonetheless I will not suffer my design to be forestalled: thy children shall not awake before mine own.' And he commanded Aule to lay the fathers of the Dwarves severally in deep places, each with his mate, save Dúrin the eldest who had none. There they should sleep long, until Ilúvatar bade them awake. Nonetheless there has been for the most part little love between the Dwarves and the children of Iluvatar. And of the fate that Ilúvatar has set upon the children of Aulë beyond the Circles of the world Elves and men know nothing, and if Dwarves know they do not speak of it. Tolkien Letter 212

This is pure Christian doctrine.

Even though Tolkien legendarium is not a copy-paste from the Bible (and it has several other inspirations), it’s pretty clear that Eru Ilúvatar represents the Christian God. And even though God himself had different interpretations throughout History, I think we should see it as the God from Tolkien’s time (and our time, too): “God the Father” (which makes sense with what Tolkien created on his lore).

In Catholicism (Tolkien’s religion), God is just (God’s justice) but he’s also merciful, and he loves all of his children, even those who fallen into sin. No one is unredeemable in the eyes of God (no matter how deep one has fallen), if one truly repents and makes amends for his sins ("the virtue of penance"). God is always willing to give their faithful a second chance, if they accept him as their one true God, and make penitence in His service (whatever that might be).

In the lore, we know that the Children of Ilúvatar are Elves and Men. However, all the deities (Valar and Maiar) were also created by Eru. From a Christian perspective, the Valar are archangels, and the Maiar are angels. This is an on-going debate within Theology, because some agree that angels are “sons of God”, while others don’t. For the sake of the argument, I’ll just add this: Job 38:7 - when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God [angels] shouted for joy. But more on that later.

This means that Sauron is, indeed, redeemable. But he has to make that choice, himself. "Free will"; another major theme in Tolkien lore.

And, the true question, here, isn’t “is Sauron redeemable?” but “is Sauron capable of repentance”?

In Tolkien “canon”, meaning the events of “The Silmarillion”, “The Hobbit”, up until the end of “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy (First to the dawn of the Fourth Age) the answer is no.

After the One ring is destroyed by Frodo, Sauron’s spirit is left so diminished and weak, he can never rise to power, again, according to Gandalf:

If [the One Ring] is destroyed, then [Sauron] will fall; and his fall will be so low that none can foresee his arising ever again. For he will lose the best part of his strength that was native to him in his beginning, and all that made or begun with that power will crumble, and he will be maimed for ever, becoming a mere spirit of malice that gnaws itself in the shadows, but cannot again grow or take shape. And so a great evil of this world will be removed.

However, this is not as simple. Sauron/Mairon is an immortal spirit by definition. He can’t never truly die, since he’s one of the spiritual forces that first helped shaped the world in the Ainulindalë (the Music of the Ainur), and no soul can be annihilated or reduced to zero (non-existent) in Tolkien legendarium.

Sauron/Mairon’s whereabouts and fate after the dawn of Fourth Age are unaccounted for, because Tolkien didn’t get the chance to finish his story. We, truly, don’t know where he went, if we stayed on Middle-earth, or to the Undying Lands of Valinor (to finally face the judgement of the Valar for his crimes), because he could go whenever he wanted in Arda, really.

One theory is that Manwë, the King of the Valar, might have come to Mordor to capture Sauron after the One ring is destroyed, based on this description from “Return of the King”:

And as the Captain gazed south to the Land of Mordor, it seemed to them that, black against the pall of cloud, there rose a huge shape of shadow, impenetrable, lightning-crowned, filling all the sky. Enormous it reared above the world, and stretched out towards them a vast threatening hand, terrible but impotent [Sauron’s spirit]: for even as it leaned over them, a great wind took it, and it was all blown away, and passed, then a hush fell.”

Basically this scene but a “great wind” carries away that shadow

Manwë is the one with the power over air and winds, and when Sauron repented the first time (after Morgoth’s defeat), he went to Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, to beg forgiveness for his past crimes. His fellow Maia told him that he couldn't be the one to grant him pardon, because that’s above his station, and he needs to face trial before the Valar, namely from Manwë.

Since we know that Sauron’s pride prevented him from doing this, it would actually make sense for Manwë himself to capture Sauron after his defeat, bringing him to Valinor.

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgment of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence, in might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-Earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong. The Silmarillion

Many use Gandalf’s quote as “proof” that Sauron remained on Middle-earth like a shadow of malice, or a ghost. However, Tolkien made the distinction between himself and what his characters say, in Letter 153: “There is, to me, a wide gulf between the two statements, so wide that Treebeard's statement could (in my world) have possibly been true [...] Treebeard is a character in my story, not me; and though he has a great memory and some earthy wisdom, he is not one of the Wise, and there is quite a lot he does not know or understand.”

Gandalf is wise, indeed, but he’s not of the same rank as the Valar (he’s a servant to them), nor he, like Eönwë, has either the power or the permission to pass sentences on other Maiar’s fates. Which means, his quote is his own opinion on the subject, and not actual "canon" on what happened to Sauron after the One was destroyed.

For the sake of argument, let’s assume Manwë captured Sauron: was he sent to the Void like his former master, Morgoth?

Based on The Silmarillion it could appear that way:

Among those of his servants that have names the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron, or Gorthaur the Cruel. In his beginning he was of the Maia of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people. In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast workds and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself. But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void.

However, this, again, is not that simple, because The Silmarillion was not only published by Christopher Tolkien, and it contains elements outdated and reviewed by Tolkien himself, but it’s also a tale written by the Eldar, and it contains “opinions” and “facts” from which the Eldar themselves had little knowledge about (namely everything that’s connected to the Maiar and the Valar).

This means, not everything that’s in The Silmarillion is true or actually happened (canon): it’s like “Fire & Blood” by George R.R. Martin, a collection of facts, opinions, gossip, myths, etc. written by the Elves. The truth is in Tolkien’s essays and letters, really. And this is why “Rings of Power” can afford to play with the events of this book.

Tolkien did confirm, in his Letter 297, that Morgoth was overthrown and extruded from the World (the physical universe). But his crimes were far worse than Sauron's:

Morgoth is a Vala (God/archangel), and he did not only corrupted Elves into Orcs, but also Maiar (angels) into Balrogs and other servants of his (demons), including Mairon himself. Mairon, like all the other Maiar (including the fallen ones), was created by Eru, but got corrupted by Morgoth, which means, the way Eru sees him is key. Does he sees Mairon as "equal" to Morgoth, or as victim of Morgoth's corruption? Food for thought. Because if he's just a victim, the Void isn't his fate.

A lot of fans in the Tolkien fandom have the headcanon that the immortal servants of Morgoth were sent to the Void, alongside him, but Tolkien never wrote about this, and their fates are a mystery. I might be mistaken here, but I think only Ungoliant’s fate is mentioned in the legendarium, and very enigmatic, too: went to the forgotten south of the world before the (first) rising of the Sun, and there disappeared from history.

Then, we have the fact that Satan/Lucifer is Melkor/Morgoth because he’s the one who corrupts God’s creation and he’s the symbolic archangel (like Lucifer was). Him being dragged in chains and imprisoned until the end of time, also parallels a biblical event.

Sauron is a satanist, a follower of Satan/Morgoth. Tolkien also makes this distinction in his letters: Satanic rebellion and evil of Morgoth and his satellite Sauron; in which Evil is largely incarnate, and in which physical resistance to it is a major act of loyalty to God (Letter 156). Tolkien also calls Sauron "a reincarnation of Evil"; that "evil" being Morgoth (diabolus).

Sauron’s crimes

His biggest crimes in Tolkien legendarium aren’t the forging of the One ring, nor the whole “rings of power” project to enslave the Free people’s of Middle-earth, nor even the Fall of Númenor. Because, as Tolkien, told us: “in The Lord of the Rings the conflict is not basically about 'freedom', though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honour” (Letter 183).

Sauron’s biggest sins in Tolkien lore are:

Pride

Idolatry (worship of false gods): Thou shall have no other Gods before me. Mairon turned his back on Eru (God) to serve Morgoth (Devil), and this act of treason is a crime against Eru himself;

Rebellion: against Eru’s authority, by siding with Morgoth;

Heresy: he forsake his worship of Eru (his creator) for Morgoth; and also converted many Númenoreans to his Morgoth cult, in the hopes of angering the Valar enough to destroy Númenor;

Blasphemy: he cut down Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor, a symbol of the Faithful, and in its place raised a great Temple devoted to Morgoth in which human sacrifices were performed to asks for immortality, and persecuted the Faithful;

Usurpation of God’s authority: self-proclaim God. That’s why he’s called “shadow of Morgoth”; because Sauron is a mere Maia, a servant to a God, not an actual God.

Would any of these sins sent Sauron into the Void with his former master? Again, it would depend on how Eru judges him, really.

The Void is quite a mysterious place in the legendarium; it’s located outside Time and Space, it’s the absence of the Secret Fire of Eru (“the Flame Imperishable”), his power of Creation. We only know that Morgoth was imprisoned there, and set free at the end of time.

Eru already punished Sauron once, by removing his ability to take on physical form after the Fall of Númenor; and after the One ring was destroyed, Sauron himself is little more than a shadow of his former self, his spirit severely diminished, powerless, and unable to cause any damage, at all. That’s his punishment, already.

But in order to get any redemption, that choice would have to come from Mairon. He would have to truly and honestly repent for all of sins (confession), starting by forsaken Morgoth and recognizing Eru as his one true God, and, then, fulfill a fitting penitence for his crimes. We are talking about an immortal spirit here, this process can take thousands of years or even millenniums.

#tolkien lore #tolkien legendarium #tolkien world #sauron #mairon #sauron rop #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #sauron rings of power #rings of power #the rings of power #saurondriel

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mphoenix-7 · 6 months ago

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Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 4: The Cabin: Day 1 (pt.1)

Summary: You and Soap leave for your week alone together. Your first day together goes about as well as you’d expect.

Word Count: 5,960

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, slightly suggestive language, Scottish language usage, lots of arguing, strong language

A/N: See the end of the chapter for the inspo pics of the cabin!

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Bitter Allies • Part 4

The next morning when your alarm went off at 0330. You wished more than anything you could go back to sleep, but Price said the plane was leaving at 0400, and you didn't want to be late. You feared your tarty arrival would make him add another week on to your sentence. Dealing with Soap for one week was going to be challenging enough, you weren't looking to add on more time.

Luckily you were used to waking up at odd hours and getting up super early. The military work you did didn't allow for any semblance of a good sleep schedule. If anything, by now, you'd become accustomed to being able to sleep and wake whenever.

Despite that, you were still super tired as you pull yourself out of bed and turn off your alarm. You didn't have too much time despite being up thirty minutes before departure. All you could really do was clean your face, get dressed, and do your hair before you needed to go. You planned on eating on the plane.

Once you were dressed and had freshened up, you had about fifteen minutes left, which was plenty of time. You pull out your pre-packed duffle bag, sleeping roll/pillow, and backpack. It might have seemed excessive, but you didn't know what you needed. Price didn't give you any indication of what would be provided and what you needed to bring. It was fairly safe to assume nothing though.

So your duffle bag had all of your clothes for the week, a towel, hygiene products, and some things to shower with. Your backpack held the more basic survival items. Flashlight, water purifier, MREs, cooking supplies, a knife, a fire starter, first aid kit, and then some books to help you pass the time. You wanted to bring a pistol as well, but you had a feeling Price wasn't going to let you take a gun with you.

Looking down at your packed things, you sigh to yourself. Maybe Price would change his mind when you got there. Maybe it was punishment enough to think he was going to make you do this, and then you'd have to spend all day unpacking and then doing the real punishment he had for you.

You could hope.

Collecting your things, you head out for the hell that awaits you.

***

Ghost was walking through the hallways back to his room. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, which was sadly a bit normal for him at this point. He woke up around 0200 and couldn't get back to sleep. So he decided to go to his office to get some paperwork done. He worked two solid hours before he ran out of work to do and opted to go back to his room.

His room was right next to Johnny's. He could have had an officer's bedroom, one with its own shower, but he sort of liked being closer to his team. Everyone was here aside from States, who stayed in the female barracks. The barracks they had currently weren't too bad either. They were cleaner, more modern. Much nicer than some of the others. He couldn't really complain.

As he got to his door, moving to unlock it, he hear what he believed to be snoring coming from Johnny's room. He paused for a long moment, listening carefully. He was supposed to be up already and heading off with States for their week in paradise, not sleeping.

Moving to his door, he knocked, figuring it wasn't going to hurt to check either way. If Soap wasn't there, none would be the wiser, if he was, then Ghost was doing him a huge favor.

"Johnny? You in there?" He calls out, but gets no reply. The snoring seems to continue though. Ghost tests the handle, finding it does turn. Of course Soap didn't lock his doors. He peaks insides, finding a lump still under the covers. Soap hadn't gotten up yet, and it was well past 0400 now.

"Johnny!" He shouts, pushing the door open more and finally making the other man startle awake. "What the fuck are you doing? You're supposed to be boarding like five minutes ago!"

Soap sits up fast, staring at Ghost with startled and sleep filled eyes. It takes the Scot about three seconds to fully process what Ghost had said before he looked over to his tiny alarm clock, blinking the time at him in red: 0407.

"Aye, for fuck's sake! Whit the fuck! Ma bloody alarm didnae go aff!" He shouts, his Scottish tongue thick as he throws his covers off and bolts around the room. He was only in his boxers, yanking his dresser open to grab some pants and a shirt. "Did they send you to come get me?" He asks hurriedly as he throws his shirt over his head and struggles to get his socks on.

Ghost watches him, eyes tracking his every movement. "No, I just happened to hear your loud ass snoring."

"Oh, thank God." Soap seems to relax a little bit at that, though he still keeps his quick pace as he gets ready. At least they hadn't sent anyone looking for him. He was sure they would soon though. Hopefully Price wasn't going to be too mad either. The last thing he wanted was to have to suffer another week with States all because his alarm didn't go off. He’d never hear the end of it from her if that happened.

"Fucking hell. You think Price is going to kill me?" He asks Ghosts as he gets his duffle bag and sleeping roll and throws them by the door. He gets to work on yanking his boots onto his feet and hurriedly doing the laces up.

"States will probably kill you first." Ghost answers truthfully, moving out of the way as Soap throws his stuff.

"Steaming Jesus, don't even bring her up. I don't want to even think about that lass right now." He groans, pulling his laces tight and doing up the remaining laces in a bow knot.

"You asked." Ghost shrugs as Soap springs to his feet.

"I asked what Price would do, you stoter." He grumbles, grabbing his bags from the ground and giving Ghost a pat on the chest as he passes. "Thanks for waking me up, I owe you one!"

***

You'd been waiting roughly fifteen minutes now by the plane, bags at your feet, and watching Price pace angrily. He hadn't been happy the second it hit 0400 with the Scot still nowhere in sight. You worried what he was going to do. You desperately didn't want him to extend your stay. You were here, why should you be punished when you were on time? Then again, if bootcamp taught you one thing, it was that if one member of your squad messed up, you all messed up.

"Aye! I'm here!" You hear in the distance. When you look, you can see Soap sprinting across the asphalt, duffle bag in one hand, sleeping roll under his armpit, and his free hand waving. "I'm so sorry I'm late. My bloody alarm didn't go off."

Price is glaring at him. Despite being one of the nicer military captains you've ever met in your life, Price was still a leader and didn't put up with people not listening to him. "You are fifteen minutes late, Soap. You've made me waste fifteen minutes of my time waiting on your ass." His tone was deep and rough.

"Sorry, Captain." He apologizes, but it doesn't seem to be enough for Price. You watch as he turns and walks to the plane, pulling out a large suitcase and throwing it onto the ground in front of you. You and Soap both stare at it for a long moment before looking up to Price.

"Listen up. Both of you. You are going to start working as a team. One of you messes up, you both do. And you don't blame each other, you'll blame your lack of teamwork and work to make it better. I want you both to repack your things into this suit case. What doesn't fit doesn't get to go. Your sleeping rolls don't count. You've got ten minutes to work it out."

“Captain, you can’t seriously-” Soap starts before Price cuts him off.

“I’d shut your mouth, Soap! You’re already on thin ice.” He growls. “Now, start packing.”

"Price," you quickly start, getting an annoyed look from him. He lets you continue regardless. Probably because you’d been on time.

“What?” He asks.

"Can you tell us what's already going to be there at the cabin? Like is there food already there?"

"I left some supplies for you on the plane. Figure it out." He says, looking to his watch. "And go."

You and Soap share a look before immediately ripping into your own duffle bags open. Clothes made sense to by the first thing to go in. Anything else could just be thrown on top. Quickly though, you are realizing just how much space they'd take up.

"Steaming Jesus, States! Take some of your clothes out!" Soap is already grabbing at your things and tossing them out. You grab his wrist to stop him.

"Don't throw my clothes on the ground! Throw some of your shit out!"

"I packed four sets of clothes! You have fucking seven!"

"Cause I packed enough for a week. I am not going to wear dirty clothes."

"Well you're gonna have to cause there's not enough room!" He yells, pushing your hand away. He tries to pull more out, but you stop him again.

"Fine! Fine, just let me do it! I'm taking seven pairs of underwear though." You start to take some of your clothes, stuffing them back into your duffle bag and trying to count out four pairs of pants and shirts. When you get to putting your underwear into the suitcase, you try to do so quickly so Soap doesn't see. However, you must not have been fast enough, because Soap seems to stutter in his movements.

"You have fucking red lacy panties?" He asks, making you blush furiously. To be fair, they were all different colors and designs. He'd only managed to catch a glimpse of the red ones.

"Shut up!" You growl, getting a grin from him. He thought this was funny.

"Who the hell you trying to dress up for?" He teases, but it's anything but playful. He's just being a dick.

"I said shut up! It's none of your damn business! These were in my bag, you shouldn't have ever seen them."

"Seven minutes!" Price calls out, reminding you to hurry. You still needed to finish packing your basics and needed to check the supplies you had on the plane to see what you might be missing. Time seemed to be going down way too fast.

Soap quickly moves on, throwing in his towel and a few others things while you try to put in your shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap in. Soap quickly tries to take them out though.

"Oh no," He starts, picking them up and handing them back to you. "We are using my stuff. We are already short on space, we don't need these taking up room."

"I am not using that horrible shit you use." You counter. Before you can argue it, Price is stepping in yet again.

"Come on, guys! You're down to six minutes! Work it out faster."

"You can pack that," you motion to his body wash. "But I get my shampoo. I will forget the conditioner, but I get real shampoo."

Feeling the time pressure, Soap all but growls. "Fine! Just move your ass!" He takes the shampoo from your hands and packs it away roughly before shoveling other hygiene things in. You're glad to see he's bringing deodorant among those things.

One of the last items you throw in are some tampons, which had Soap making a face.

"Oh, gross." He groans. "Don't tell me you're gonna menstruate."

You glare at him. "I might. I want them just in case. What, would you rather me bleed all over the place?"

"That's so fucking gross."

"What the hell you mean gross? You are around blood at the time!"

"That's different." He claims, making you stare at him in utter shock.

"How is it- you know what, forget it. Never, ever, get a girlfriend, MacTavish." He rolls his eyes but offers no argument back. Or maybe he would have, but Price cuts in.

"Five minutes, move! Lets go!" Price yells at you, making you grab your backpack.

"Go check the plan, see what we have, I'll throw in whatever we don't." You tell Soap as you start to put things in just in case Price calls time and you don't have them packed.

"No, cause you're going to mess with my stuff." He accuses, getting a glare from you.

"Can you just fucking trust me!? I'm not going to do that! I need to survive too!" You shout back, which gets him, reluctantly, moving. He runs over and hops inside the plan, pulling out the crates that had your supplies.

"We've got food! And a few MRE's. Probably enough for a week." He informs you. You still add a few of the MRE's you had just in case. "Looks like we also have a pot and utensils, water tablets, ..." He went silent a moment as he continued his digging.

“Come on! What else?!” You yell to him, growing frustrated that he seems to just be taking his sweet time.

"I’m working on it! Don’t get your red panties in a knot.” He yells back, making you huff. “Uhh.. a med-kit, flares, toilet paper, and a flashlight. I think that's it."

With that knowledge, you pack a few fire starters and then your pocket knife. The suit case was bulging at this point, but you hoped it would zip shut. Soap comes back out of the plane and looks over the things you've added.

"You two have one minute. Close it and get it in the plane." Price tells you. You try to shut it, but Soap quickly stops you.

"Wait, I've got one more thing." He quickly starts to dig through his bag and pulled out two, somewhat thick, black journals and some pencils. He throws them on top, and you shake your head.

"Really? Do you really need that?" The suitcase was already bulging. You were worried it wasn't going to close without the two books on top.

"Yes. I need those." He growls defensively, trying to move them to a different spot so they'd fit.

“So I can’t have conditioner, but you can have two fucking thick books?”

Soap glares at you. “I saw you pack a book. I get these.” He flips the top of the suitcase down. "Just sit your ass on it, I'll zip."

You would have fought him more about the books, but you are very aware you are running out of time. You didn't put it past Price to not let you have the suit case if you couldn't get it to the plane in time.

So you do what Soap says, putting all your weight on the bag while he tries to force the zipper alone the track. At first, you are worried it's going to break at any second the way he’s pulling on it, but he manages to get it shut.

"Thirty seconds!" Price calls.

Once Price calls out that time, you are scrambling to get off it while Soap is lifting it up. He grunts as he does, and you have to pause and watch him a moment. The muscles in his arms are flexing beautifully as he lifts the suitcase up. It's-

Oh God. You could vomit. Did you really just describe any part of Soap as beautiful? To be fair, he was a very good looking man. A very in shape one at that. But he could be pretty to look at while also being a train wreck on the inside. Still, you made a vow to never think about him in that way ever again.

"States, get your ass over here!" Soap shouts at you from inside the plane. He's already lifted the case inside while you're still on the ground by your stuff. Price is counting from ten seconds, and you scramble to your feet, running to board before Price says zero. Lord knows if he was going to punish you more if you aren't on the plane in time.

You make it up with about four seconds to spare. You and Soap are both out of breath a little bit, and Price is giving you a slow clap as he walks over.

"Didn't think you'd be able to pull it off if I'm being honest." He admits. "Since you exceeded my expectations, I'll let you go grab your sleeping rolls." He says, nodding behind him to the identical rolls still laying by your things. You and Soap both let out a groan, and Soap instantly lays into you.

"You kidding me, States? I do all that work lifting this overpacked luggage bag, and you can't even grab our sleeping gear?"

You're embarrassed to admit that the likely reason you didn't grab them was because you'd been distracted by Soap's muscles and then the horror of realizing you'd been staring. Of course you aren’t going to tell him that though.

"Well you could've reminded me to grab them." You try to cover, choosing to just respond to him the way you always did "That's what a team would do after all."

"Oh don't get all high and mighty, kiss ass."

"Soap go grab them," Price orders sternly. "Before I change my mind and tell the pilot to take off without them."

Soap peels himself from his seat with that order, grumbling as he goes. You stay where you are, watching him pluck both off the ground. Price stops him a moment while he's on his way back. They talk for a moment, and you think Soap takes something from him, but you aren't sure. You don't see anything though as Soap boards again and tosses your roll at you. You hadn't been expecting it, and it hits you in the face a bit. You managed to get your arms up just in time to block most of the impact.

"Hey!" You grumble as it hits you. You send Soap a glare and then grab your roll, moving it under the bench next to a backpack. "Don't throw my stuff around."

"Need to work on those reflexes." Soap mutters to you as he places his own roll on the other side of the backpack. You roll your eyes.

"Alright," Price says. "One week. You kids have fun. Don't fucking kill each other, got it? I don’t want to have to do all that paper work."

"Aye sir." Soap agrees, while you answer with a "yes sir."

***

The plane ride over was filled with a long silence. You didn't look at Soap, and he didn't look at you. It went on like this for hours. Price hadn't exactly told you where you were going, and at this rate, you didn't even know if you were going north or south. The only thing you really did know was that there was miles of trees below you.

Finally the pilot spoke to you over your headsets. "Touching down in five. Need to touch down in a clearing, so it's going to be about a two mile hike."

"Of course it is." Soap gripes over the headset. It's the first thing he's said since you took off. You sigh deeply, already preparing yourself for all the whining he's going to do while you make your way to the cabin.

The plane lands in the clearing, and you get up to gather your supplies. For only two people, there was a lot you needed to move. The container your food came in was a wooden box, so it was heavy. The suitcase was also super heavy, and on top of that, you also had your sleeping rolls and the backpack of supplies.

"How in the hell are we suppose to carry all this?" You mutter to yourself as you look down at all the stuff. The pilot had left the cockpit and was in the cabin with you, glancing over all your things.

"There's a wagon you can take. Might be a pain to get up hills or over rocks, but it might help to lighten the load a bit." He offers. "I'll go get it for you." He gives you a pat on the shoulder, and you offer him a smile.

"Really? That'd be great. Thanks." You hum, watching him leave. He must not have gotten the memo you and Soap were being punished. Still, you weren't going to say no to a wagon.

"Sure thing." He nods. "Anything for a pretty girl like you."

You are blushing furiously now, not expecting the pilot to say something like that to you. The compliment was appreciated, of course, though with Soap being around to hear it, you're more embarrassed than anything.

Soap was rolling his eyes and huffing as he watched the scene unfold. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest. Once the pilot is gone, you are glaring at him. "What?" You ask sternly. What could he possibly be all huffy about?

"You always flirt your way into getting the easiest route possible?" He grumbles, a venom to his tone. You stare at him in disbelief, mouth hanging open just slightly.

"I.. are you joking? I was not flirting with him. He's the one who offered to help. All I said was thanks." You don't know why you feel the need to defend yourself. Soap was just being an ass.

Soap rolls his eyes like he doesn't believe you. "If you show him your red lacy panties maybe we can get him to help us carry some this shite." He adds further, rather loudly, making your cheeks turn just about as red as your underwear. You throw an MRE at him, hitting him in the arm and making him jump slightly.

"Shut up!" You growl. "I do not need the whole world knowing something like that."

"Oh just me then, aye?"

You throw another MRE at him, but he's more prepared for it this time. He tries to catch, but misses. It just hits his hand and falls to the ground alongside the first one you threw.

"Stop throwing those! That's our food!" He growls, and you prepare to throw another one, but then the pilot comes returns.

"Here we go! Think this will work?" He asks, unfolding a decently sized wagon. It was going to work really well and definitely save you some strain. You look over to Soap, who's raising a brow at you, giving you a suggestive look. God, he was a child.

"Yep. That's great. Thanks." You say hurriedly, your tone coming off a lot less grateful than that poor pilot deserved. You take the handle from him and rush to pack up your stuff. "Soap get your ass over here and help me pack."

"You got it, lass." He says way too cheekily. He's just trying to get on your nerves. The faster you pack up and get to the cabin, the sooner you could get away from him.

He comes up right behind you, his breath on your ear. "What would you like me to do, boss." You flinch away from him, rubbing your ear of your shoulder. He's like a mosquito you can't get to leave you alone.

"Can you back up!? I don't want your stank breath on me. Just-just go make sure you have all your shit and make sure the backpack has everything we need." You snap, making Soap defensively raise his hands in surrender and back off. But you had a feeling he was perfectly fine with getting out of helping pack the wagon.

"Fine. Anything you want, princess."

You hated it when he called you that, but you just ignored him. It was too early in the day to be this mad at him.

Luckily with him gone, it made it much easier to pack. You were still feeling stressed though. The suitcase is the first thing you put in, followed by just one of the crates of food. Already the wagon was pretty much full. You ended up dumping the other crate, just piling in food wherever it will fit. Hopefully the wagon would be just a little lighter without the extra crate.

The rest of the supplies was, hopefully, in the backpack. Given the fact Soap needed those things to survive too, you had high hopes he actually did a good job packing. When you regrouped, you forced Soap to pull the wagon, so he gave you the backpack to carry. You didn't argue that seeing as it was only fair.

The backpack was heavier than you thought it'd be, but not awful. As you walked down the ramp, you couldn't help but feel like you were forgetting something. With how rushed Price had you this morning, you hoped it wasn't something you left in your luggage back on base.

***

The hike to the cabin was worse than you thought it'd be. There was no cleared path that led to the cabin. It was all just woods. While the wagon seemed like a good idea, it got stuck on every rock, branch, and plant you passed by. You had to help Soap push it up the hills and get it unstuck so many times. It more than doubled the time it'd normally take for you to walk two miles. Every muscle ached by the time you reach the cabin, and tensions between you and Soap were running high.

When the cabin finally came into view, you were so excited. It looked so nice from the outside. It sat in the middle of a clearing, a big lake behind it, and sun beaming down on it. You swore it had a halo as angelic as it was.

That was until you stepped inside. The cabin you were staying in was tiny. It only had two rooms. Upon immediately walking in, you found yourself in the kitchen. It had an old wood fire stove for cooking in one corner, one cabinet for food, a few shelves, and a tiny table in the other corner. There was also a door which led outside to a small deck, and the lake was a good 15-20 meters away. There was also an old fire pit that sat between the deck and the water.

Off to the right was the bedroom. A wall with a door separated the bedroom from the kitchen. Inside was two cots, a dresser, and another wood stove between the cots. It was a really small room. The two cots took up a majority of the space.

"Where's the bathroom?" You frown, watching Soap from the kitchen as he stood in the middle of the bedroom. You hoped you'd just missed it somehow or it was hidden away.

"There isn't one." Soap grumbles, still cranky from the hike over. You were both pretty tired and hungry. It was around lunchtime.

"What do you mean? There has to be one. Where are we supposed to shower and-"

"Your eyesight's as sharp as a rubber knife, you know that?"

You were losing it. You'd just spend the last hour and a half walking two miles. You were sweaty, tired, and hungry. "Can you just stop being a dick and tell me?"

"There's an outhouse a few meters away from the cabin outside. You can shit in there. As for showering, you probably have to bathe in the lake." He answers finally.

You could die. Price was really pissed with you this time.

"Bathing outside. Just great." You mumble, looking out of the window to the lake. The water was probably freezing. Plus the thought of Soap seeing you naked made your skin crawl more than the thought of bathing with a fish.

While you'd been lost in thought looking out of the window, Soap came out of the bedroom to grab the backpack and the suitcase from the wagon. He wordlessly moves it into the bedroom, probably to start unpacking his things. Not wishing to be in the same room as him, you get to work on putting food away. You lift the crate of food from the wagon and set it on the ground then start to sort through the remaining food in the wagon.

A second later you hear a loud squeak. It sounded like the springs of the cot. Curiously, you looked into the bedroom to find Soap had sat on one. He shook his head and got up, moving to the other one.

"Hell no. Not dealing with that all night." He grumbles, sitting on the other cot, which was silent in comparison. You glare at him.

"Are you fucking serious? You're going to stick me with the bed that squeaks?" You stay in the doorway, watching as he unzips the backpack and pulls his sleeping roll from it.

"Yep. Snooze you lose." He says, unrolling his sleeping roll and laying it on the bed with his pillow.

You scowl are him from the doorway and storm over to grab the backpack from him to retrieve your own roll. Of course he was going to do this to you. "I fucking hate you, MacTavish. You're such an absolute child." You seethe, digging through the bag and not finding your sleeping roll in there. "Where's my sleeping roll?"

"Hell if I know." Soap answers, sitting on his cot and lying back while he watches you dig.

"What the fuck did you do with my sleeping roll, MacTavish?!" You shout this time, rage filling you. You needed that otherwise you were going to freeze every night.

"Christ's sake! I didn't touch your stuff! I don't know what the fuck you did with it!" He shouts back, matching your volume.

"You didn't pack my sleeping roll when you packed yours?!"

"Hell no! Why would I? I thought you'd have packed it in the wagon!"

"Why would I-?!" You take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. "So you're telling me my sleeping roll was right next to yours on the plane, but you packed yours, and left mine?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you."

"Why would you do that!" You growl at him as he sits up.

"Well for one there wasn't enough room in that bag for both with all the other shite that is in there. And I figured you'd grab your own bloody shite!" He growls right back, gripping the metal railing of the cot until his knuckles turned white.

"I was packing something else. I was distracted. You could have, I don't know, brought it over to me!"

"I thought you would have grabbed it yourself! You told me to worry about my own stuff, so I did!"

You groan aloud, running your fingers through your hair and pacing slightly. "Can you contact Price somehow and tell him to bring me my sleeping roll?"

"No." Soap answers, making you glare at him. "Don't you fucking glare at me! I don't have anyway of contacting him! Maybe you should have brought a radio if you were going to lose your stuff!"

"I didn't lose my stuff! My fucking teammate fucked me over and left it! You probably did it on purpose too!"

"Don't you dare fucking blame this on me, States!" Soap stands up suddenly, and he's right in your face. You find yourself taking a step back, but he just follows you. "I didn't do anything on purpose, so don't even go there! You did this to yourself! Fucking hell lass! Learn to take responsibility for your own actions, just like you should have at the debrief!" He shouts. "If you'd done that, then maybe we wouldn't be here! And you wouldn't be sleeping without your roll!"

You were shocked for a moment at his outburst, but quickly turn your gaze into a glare. The irony wasn't lost on you. He was demanding you take responsibility for your actions, but he wouldn't do that himself. Instead he just blamed everything on you.

"I should take responsibility? I should take responsibility!? You are always against me! Half the stuff I do is because I'm also being forced to work against you!"

"You're not being forced to do anything! You make your own damn choices and then blame me when it doesn't go the way you want it to!"

"You blame stuff on me all the time!!"

"Cause it always your fault! I tell you to do something and then you ignore me and treat me like I'm the enemy!"

"Maybe if you acted more like my teammate, I'd be less willing to treat you like the enemy!"

Soap's jaw clenched at your words. You stare at each other in silence. There's an intensity as you look at each other. You feel like at any moment, with a snap of your fingers, the tension is going to break. When it breaks, you're not sure what's going to happen. Before it can though, Soap finally breaks eyes contact with you.

"Fuck this and fuck you!" He snaps, stepping around you to leave the bedroom. His shoulder slams against yours as he does, and a few seconds later, you hear the cabin door slam shut.

Once he was gone, you feel your lip trembling. Already, one day in, and things were going terribly. You had to do this for six more days, and you weren't even halfway through the current one. You didn't know if you could do this.

Moving to your cot, you sink down and sob into your hands, the cot making a horrible creaking sound as you sit. The stress was getting to you and finally boiling over. This morning not being able to bring all your things, having no bathroom or shower, the long walk over, the hunger, the fighting with Soap... it was all too much.

After sitting for a while, and Soap not coming back inside, you wipe your eyes and get to work on unpacking. You unpack your stuff, hoping to find your sleeping roll hidden somewhere among all the clothes. You didn't find it.

You then moved on to placing the cooking supplies and food onto the shelves and into the cabinet. Price had left you with some good food. A whole box eggs, bread (which was crushed a bit), cans of soup, beans, and corn, a bunch of MREs, and salt. You also had a small pan, two bowls, two plates, and two sets of silverware.

Once everything was packed away, all that was left to do was to sit around and wait for Soap to inevitably come back. You'd take a nap, but that was unappealing without your sleeping roll. You wanted to eat, but you didn't need Soap blowing up again cause you were wasting the rations or excluding him.

He didn't come back though. Hours passed. You got hungry eventually and went outside to start collecting wood to cook with. You looked for him as you did, but you didn't find any trace of him. You made one of the cans of soup, ate it slowly, and watched the door, thinking he’d come through any second.

As the sun began to set, and it started to get dark, you were really, really beginning to worry.

***

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minkdelovely · 8 months ago

Text

love and power

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chapter six

“the more that you give away the more that you have.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: diet codependency (doesn’t quench the thirst), mentions: blood play; biting, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 3.2k

author’s note: don’t get too excited over the tags lol but we’re kicking things into gear cherished ones. i’m unsure how many chapters are left but i’d like to aim for ten (total; i’m low-key flying by the seat of my pants) but fire is starting to catch as we close in on our journey. thank you for sticking with me on this, i hope it’s been as fun for you as it has been for me and that my gratitude is properly conveyed in this chapter ❤️‍🔥

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

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Watching Alastor leave the hotel without you felt… strange. When he passed through the door you half expected to feel that invisible tugging at your neck, beckoning you to follow, but it never came. Leaving you unsure how to deal with the level of disappointment you felt at its absence. All you hoped was that he couldn’t see it in your eyes when he turned to give you a final smile before walking down the entrance stairs.

It had turned out to be quite the morning, just not in the way you had expected. Alastor told you about how your afternoons were to be spent over his breakfast, not the least bit apologetic for springing it on you at the last minute in spite of knowing since yesterday. A couple things clicked into place with this knowledge, like your conversation at the cafe. Just as you had suspected, what you had ended up talking about had nothing to do with the important things he had sat you down for.

That’s what he meant when he said he had a busy morning, you thought as you watched him pick at his food, looking less and less like the wraith you had seen the night before. You had used the phrase duality of man as a joke in your mortal life, but Alastor set quite a bar for it. Despite the short amount of time you’ve spent with him, you really had managed to learn a lot about him. A goal of yours that seemed to be… shifting.

What had been born from a place of survival was now skirting the lines of fascination. A discomfort settled in you as you realized this, knowing that you were drifting into dangerous territory. Developing a fascination — you couldn’t admit to another word yet — with Alastor wasn’t smart for a lot of reasons. He owned you, for starters. Not that you’d have ever been on even ground with someone of his status, but knowing you were literally at his beck and call… It was hard grappling with that.

Your grandmother had been such a terror, the expectations she had of you impossible to obtain. Whether she blamed you for your mother’s death or if she would have treated you the way she did regardless was something you’d never know. But you thought you were done being pushed around and forced into boxes you didn’t fit when you went through with your plan to murder her. Turned a new leaf, as they say.

Yet here you were, with not even a little bit of resentment towards your keeper. He annoyed you with his antics, sure, but you found yourself to be more fond of him than you had expected to be. Hell, you even took extra care making his bed every day despite knowing he didn’t sleep in it — it would’ve done no good to have him catching on that you knew he was just messing up the sheets. You were surprisingly reluctant to put his bed back in order this morning, wanting to preserve its state for as long as you could, burning the image of it to your memory. Even though they were still relatively neat, the slept-in sheets were a peek behind the curtain; another facet of him for you to collect.

The seemingly ever-present lump in your throat creeped up again, sending a tingling jolt through your body at this thought. Fondness, fascination. It had been a very long time since you had attached words like these to someone, and even then it wasn’t something you felt very often applied to anything past friendship. What little friends you had, anyway, preferring a small circle over a plethora.

You had experienced some romance in your life, but nothing longstanding. Flings might be a better word, comprised mostly of the usual dinner and a movie followed by some backseat fumbling. Living with your grandmother didn’t exactly present the option of bringing someone back to your room. And it was fun while it lasted but the payoff had never felt worth it in the end. You were more grateful for the distraction it provided from home than anything else. A lot of the time it just felt like another personality to juggle that you simply hadn’t the energy for.

But was this really something you were beginning to feel towards the Radio Demon? Or were you merely clinging to the twisted sense of stability he represented? Wanting to struggle against him to maintain as much autonomy as you could, or surrender?

The memory of how Alastor had held your face in his hand surfaced then. How his eyes had been heavy with a desire you couldn’t pinpoint, the way your skin burned under the pad of his thumb. How, somewhere under the fear and exhaustion, you had been thrilled watching him taste the blood off your face. Your chest was tight again, breath shallow as your fingertips ghosted over that spot on your cheek.

Fuck.

You wanted to rip your hair out, the desire to run after him growing stronger with every step you saw him taking towards the city battling against your own self-worth. You wouldn’t go after him of course, not only because it would be pathetic but you knew he would be disappointed and quite possibly repulsed if you did. Neither were things you wished to be associated with in his opinion of you or yourself. Though in this moment, all you could feel in regard to yourself was disgrace.

If someone had told you any of this a week ago, you would’ve balked at the idea. Actually wanting to please and follow Alastor around like a well-trained dog? Until quite recently you had looked forward to any time you could finally spend alone, but here you were, apparently counting the seconds until he returned home.

Get a fucking grip, you scolded yourself, inhaling deeply through your nose as you forced yourself to make your way back upstairs to change clothes.

Group activities would be starting in an hour, and it wouldn’t do any good to be fretting over whatever Alastor was up to. Above your pay grade, remember? Remembering what a snide bitch he could be soothed you, the irritation you felt towards his words from earlier reassuring. Though your meaning couldn’t be more different from his, you wanted to believe that you weren’t totally hopeless. The erratic heartbeat under your ribcage begged to differ.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor never imagined that he’d be sick of heading to Cannibal Town, but there was a first time for everything. It was a novelty he might have actually appreciated under different circumstances. Valentino aside, his days were beginning to feel a bit too repetitive for his liking. Perhaps this meeting could end up being a blessing in disguise, a way for him to defuse some of the restlessness he was feeling.

He had to admit, your absence was… noticeable. Not that you could ever take its place, but having the option to take your arm had been a nice substitute for his microphone when his hand was feeling empty. As if to taunt him, his fist clenched with a nervous twitch, reminding him there was nothing to do with it other than keep it behind his back. Irksome.

The way you lingered around him before his departure hadn’t gone unnoticed, either, something he was unsure you wanted him to know or not. Though there was nothing you could really hide from him, not anymore. Alastor was now very in tune with the way your scent changed based on how you were feeling. It had been particularly strong and floral today, to the point where it still burned his nostrils with a pleasant ache. A keepsake, of sorts. How generous.

Even without that, it was obvious you had wanted to join him on this excursion. There was a sincerity in your ever-pouty face that was actually quite endearing. Still not a fan of frowns, Alastor was beginning to understand that it was your mask, intentional or otherwise, just as the smile was his. His original goal to strip it from you would probably never come to fruition with this revelation and he sighed, though not from disappointment. It was nice to be kept on one’s toes, after all, and he had already made the decision to find new ways to provoke you.

That’s not to say that he didn’t still wish to see what was hiding underneath that gray cloud you took shelter under. The few breakthroughs he’d glimpsed so far had been delightful. Getting you to murder someone wouldn’t work… though that wasn’t off the table. He’d just prefer you to want it; force wasn’t a measure he was willing to take in that regard, there was no satisfaction to be found in it that way. And so by extension, was getting you to indulge in a new eating habit. He hadn’t given up on that, either; he wasn’t lying when he said he thought you’d enjoy it under the right circumstance.

Something came to mind and passed as quickly as it appeared, shocking him despite coming from some recess of his own imagination. The taste of blood was on his tongue from where he bit the inside of his own lip, and he relished the coppery tang, delight coating him thick as honey as he tentatively explored the thought. His ears twitched low as his horns grew just the smallest bit and he cleared his throat to calm down. Alastor wasn’t one to just lose his composure on the sidewalk.

Perhaps, he thought to himself, though with some hesitance. Alastor was always taken by surprise whenever his mind conjured up anything he considered to be salacious. But this sudden inspiration fell under same qualifications as his previous idea, if not under an even stricter sense. That was something you definitively needed to want, being it was something he very, very rarely desired to give.

And what was it about you that made him want to? Clearly, some small part of him did. Had it just been too long and you happened to be an option now that this feeling was rearing its ugly head again? No. Alastor was too… picky to just choose someone out of convenience. He was unashamed to admit he had standards when it came to this. In fact, he felt the real issue at hand was that too many sinners didn’t, fucking anything that breathed with abandon.

His pulse jumped at the word: fucking. Was that even what he wanted? It would be enough just to have you taste him, bite into the flesh of his wrist and lap away at the blood that eagerly pooled to the surface. If you earned it, of course. As mentioned, his body wasn’t something he offered up on a whim to just anyone. But the thought of you enjoying it, unraveling at the feeling he hoped to inspire in you, your sullen face relaxed in the throes of pleasure in the taboo. His mind was racing now, running away with the fantasy as it so often did in these uncommon moments.

What sounds could he illicit from you? He nearly bit through his tongue, thinking on the satisfaction it would bring to hear your voice, normally tinged with some level of sass, pleading and heady in his ears. How would you taste in his mouth — clean and tart, rich and sweet? What would you smell like, blooming under the touch of his mouth and hands?

It wasn’t prudent of him to get swept up in this daydream, knowing the caveat to any of it being your willingness to partake. And he’d sooner face Adam’s axe again than ask, at least not without the inclination of acquiescence, which at this point was unknown to him. Uncharted waters.

Alastor hadn’t noticed that there was a sizable diameter of empty space between him and any other demon who happened to be walking by; rightfully threatened by the hungry look in his eyes, the tautness of his fanged smile, and the static that was crackling in the air around him as he approached the dry cleaners.

Thankfully he still had a bit of time to kill before Valentino arrived, needing every second he could get to center himself before their meeting. Were it not for his gloves, his clawed fingers would’ve easily punctured the soft skin of his palms, he was so wound up. But it was invigorating, this little idea of his, already feeling the ache ebb away as he shelved it for safe keeping. Only time would tell when he could dust it off.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The afternoon had actually been… fun.

It had been a long time since you had experienced that, feeling a little ridiculous now as you lounged on your bed, thinking back on how nervous you had been to be roped into the daily activity with everyone. Charlie had obviously lead the charge, but the whole group had made you feel very welcome. Niffty had even sat next to you the entire time, her approval something you were unaware you were even wanting but now grateful to have. She was actually really charming.

Since it was your first time, it was mostly story-telling and introductions for your sake. It was clear they were a tight-knit bunch, and you found yourself hoping to find a place in their little circle. That seemed to be your theme for the day; seeing where you stand, fitting in. But it felt nice to open up, divulging bits and pieces of yourself to your housemates. You hadn’t realized how much you missed being part of a group, gossiping and sharing anecdotes.

You told them about the accounting job you had, well-paying but boring all the same, which you didn’t think you minded at the time. Looking back, it really was just for a paycheck. There was no passion in your heart for it, and it was downright mayhem during tax season. Vaggie joked that she would be keeping this in mind when the need arose for bookkeeping, with you quipping back about cruel and unusual punishment.

A knock at the door interrupted your reverie, and you got up to answer it, opening your door to Alastor’s smiling face. The brief moment of butterflies you felt faded when you noticed the tired look in his eyes. You weren’t sure what mood you were expecting him to come back in, but you knew he had something on his mind. Beyond fetching you to perform chores — which he rarely did anyway, preferring that you came to him — what else would he stop by your room for than to deliver some kind of news?

He swept over you, no doubt picking your outfit apart all the way down to your bare feet. You were well aware that the cardigan and slip dress didn’t exactly fit into his definition of put together. Frankly, you were surprised Alastor didn’t force you to wear a corset under your uniform, a complaint you wisely kept to yourself for fear of giving him ideas. But for this, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, relishing the sparse opportunities you had to be in your own comfortable clothes; the v-shaped neckline of the dress allowing your poor décolletage to get some much-needed air. Besides, what could he really say? You were technically off the clock.

“May I come in?” he asked with a jarring sobriety, the absence of his radio filter giving you a chill. This wouldn’t be like the tête-à-tête you had this morning on the balcony.

You simply moved out of the way, giving him the space to enter your room before closing the door behind you, keeping your attention on him as he stood with his back to you. Alastor’s shoulders moved as he took a breath, his expression concealed as his head fell back, looking to the ceiling as he exhaled.

He maintained this position as he spoke. “I’m afraid I must ask something of you, Sylvie. It won’t be dangerous, but it won’t be pleasant, either.”

There it was again, the illusion of choice. Why did he keep presenting things to you this way when he didn’t need to? Not that it upset you, it was a polite gesture after all, but well… He beckoned, you came running. Was it smart to be so willing to do his bidding? No. But after Angel talked a little about the way Valentino treats him — which he seemed to handle with a bravery you could only hope to have a portion of — you knew there was a level of safety that came with belonging to Alastor. Certain lines he simply wouldn’t cross out of duty to himself, resulting in a strange benevolence for you.

“What is it?” You were surprised at the calm in your voice.

Alastor seemed to be too, his ear flicking at the sound before finally turning to look at you. The soft expression on his face sent blood rushing to your cheeks. You could almost mistake it for pride. Toward you. A burden you weren’t prepared to handle, apparently. A small sigh escaped him as he closed the gap between you and he absently picked at the shoulder of your cardigan, pinching the soft fabric in his fingers as he worked through what he was going to say next. For your part, you just tried to keep your breathing even and your hands to yourself.

He released you, smirking without his usual venom but still with that strained look in his eye. The fraction of instinct you had that still worked told you that this wasn’t good, but you had a hard time letting that sink in the way it should, too distracted by the charge in the air between you.

“I met with Valentino today,” he said quietly, giving you a small, knowing smile as your brows knit together in concern. “He wants to meet you, in two days. As of right now that’s all it is but he’s reserved the right to make a final decision on what he wants once he speaks with you,” he practically choked on the words, anger nipping at the edge of his voice as he continued, “And there were certain… concessions that had to be made, given the circumstances. Proud as I am at what you did, I can also appreciate certain aspects of Valentino wanting reparation.”

You felt like a toddler being scolded for acting up in front of company, unable to stop yourself from looking away from him, embarrassment blending into your fear. He wasn’t wrong though, and you always had a feeling you would need to make up for what you did to Donny somehow. Meeting with Valentino was the least you could do, guilt already eating away at you for the position you had put Alastor in. No wonder he had been so upset last night…

“Will you be with me, at least?”

The question was out before you could stop it, the blush on your cheeks threatening to melt your face it was so hot with shame. Alastor huffed a laugh, the mischief returning to his eyes in a way that made you feel dizzy.

“I’m afraid I don’t elaborate on stupid questions.”

Maybe it was the low timbre of his voice, or the familiarity of his smug grin when he knew he had denied you something. But the irritation you typically felt when he spoke to you this way was nowhere to be found, your brain practically empty with the exception of one thing.

I’m so… fucked.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #slow burn #alastor slow burn #song fic #if i can't have love i want power #love and power #x reader #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel slow burn #alastor x reader slow burn

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radfem-raccoon · 20 days ago

Note

You people actually sit here and believe that the whole point of gender is "man oppresses woman" and apply that to conversations about trans men. As if we exist as trans men just to oppress women because... apparently that's why gender exists. Great heavens.

I think you hate the idea that trans men are actually not oppressors, and are in fact oppressed, because its challenges their view of gender when all they know is "men exist as a class to oppress women" (which is... such stupid logic. And probably why all you "trans inclusive" radfems hate trans men)

So, for starters, I'm not trans inclusive, alright? I'm tolerant. There's a massive difference. I don't like TIMs, but I deal with them because I don't have any other choice. I tend to avoid them. TIFs are women and I care about all women, even those who don't want to be. That's it.

You are not oppressed because you're a man², you're oppressed because you're a woman with female anatomy. That's what gender/sex based oppression is. You're oppressed due to that connection to womanhood. You don't just get to escape that oppression because you cut your breasts off and make a fake dick out of skin. That's not how it works.

Now, let's go through this, step by step, yeah? I don't want you to come away without knowing what I actually think.

You people actually sit here and believe that the whole point of gender is "man oppresses woman"

Gender itself is a collection of behaviors we adopt due to our sex. That's what gender is. It is, essentially, stereotypes. It isn't "man oppresses woman", but that does play a role in the behaviors we end up adopting.

Men do oppress women. That is a real phenomena. Patriarchy exists and you, and other TIFs, cannot escape it by pretending you're something you're not. I wish to the high heavens you could, because then patriarchy wouldn't exist. Women would just become men and that'd be it. Men, though, they know who to rape and murder. I'll give you a hint: it's because they know what a woman is, regardless of what she might call herself or dress as.

apply that to conversations about trans men

We view you as the ultimate victims of the patriarchy. That's it. That's what we believe. You have no power to oppress us because you're not a man. Or that's what I believe, other radfems might think differently.

As if we exist as trans men just to oppress women

You don't exist to oppress women. You are a woman attempting to escape oppression and the suffocating roles placed upon you. That's what most TIFs tend to be.

I think you hate the idea that trans men are actually not oppressors, and are in fact oppressed

Because you're a woman. You're oppressed because you are female.

because its challenges their view of gender when all they know is "men exist as a class to oppress women.

None of us view gender that way and most of us do more to challenge gender itself through being GNC. Sorry.

And probably why all you "trans inclusive" radfems hate trans men

We don't hate TIFs. No radfem hates TIFs. We're annoyed with y'all because you're so close to getting it yet you somehow miss the point every single damn time.

#radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact #gender critical #asks

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arceus-insanity · 29 days ago

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Why Did Teen & Tween Girls Love Creepypastas so Much?

The creepypasta fandom was my first fandom, it introduced me to fandom when I was 13 and every once in a blue moon, I check in on it. But why was it so popular amongst young girls? Part of it is that the line between ‘canon’ and fandom was made of tissue paper with a ton of holes. It allowed a feeling of engagement and belonging as anyone could add to the lore, and there was a possibility of your story or character taking off.

But after seeing the endless anti-writing advice of WhY dOeS eVeRy ViLlIaN nEeD tO bE cOmPlEx! No Tragic villains! We only want evil for the sake of being evil! I’ve been thinking about how all the creepypastas have sympathetic backstories, more of the creepypasta characters have tragic backstories than murderers.

Now I’m all for evil characters who are just asshats like Jack Horner (Dreamworks Puss in Boots 2), or the classic Disney villains, but so many spout this ‘advice’ without getting into why evil for the sake of being evil villains are good, or the pitfalls of tragic or complex villains, hence why I’m calling it anti-writing advice.

So why did tragic creepypasta characters work so well?

For starters and addressing one of the most dissed aspects, is the story quality, while with anyone writing or adding to the fandom quality varied to extreme degrees, most of them including one of the most well-known (Jeff the Killer 2011) was shit. These stories weren’t popular because they were well written, they were popular because they were engaging. They are like campfire stories, their value wasn’t based on quality but on the ideas they had.

Now Teen girls and tweens are shamed for everything (See all the criticism Turning Red got for being ‘cringey’), they are dealing with the lack of respect a child gets and the expectations of an adult (to simplify). It’s also a common age for us to be discovering the darker elements of the world, assuming we haven’t experienced them ourselves yet. Many are dealing with bullies, or dealing with being catcalled or worse (a lot of the girl creepypasta’s were sexually assaulted, or betrayed by their partners). But I think a huge part of it is these characters let us live out our rage through them (to an extreme) (I recommend watching this short video on what I’m talking about, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2Ea8fwetA8). One of the criticisms I’ve seen for Encanto is how peacefully the movie has Mirabel treat Alma after everything. Part of that was to allow viewers to live out the idyllic ending that many people who relate to Mirabel in her mistreatment by her family and community where their (for lack of a better word) abusers realize they were wrong and change. The group levelling this criticism or writing and/ or reading many of the fics on ao3 want to enjoy the other confronting your abuser fantasy, the revenge route, whether that be violent or not.

Jeff the Killer; Woods (2011) Vs Hodek (2008)

Now him and Slenderman being the most famous creepypasta’s out there, Jeff’s story is known for how shit it is. The famous 2011 Woods version isn’t going to win any rewards for its writing, but it’s not the original, so why is it the famous one, especially as I heard the OG was better, or at least more realistic? Well, I read the original, watched the video, the wiki and the official DeviantArt summary for it, and wondered how the Hell is this better written or more realistic, maybe by a molecule. It was harder to follow along how Jeff Hodek became a killer. But more than that, he was boring and what could have made him a ‘relatable’ (read understandable or even interesting) character was only in the summary and didn’t have any focus on it.

Meanwhile Woods, in the main confrontations in his story, didn’t start them. First, it was some violent kids going after him and his brother and not being prepared for someone who could and would fight back, albeit very violently. This is followed by the adults (his parents and the police) only listening to one side of the story and refusing to do any further investigation, which Liu purposely takes the blame for getting taken to juvie. His mom forces him to attend some random little kid's birthday party so she can fit in even after the prior events, where those bullies then show up to attack him again. Jeff wins again but arrives at the hospital with his signature white skin. And when he gets home and ends up killing his parents, it's after his mom says “get the gun”, after finding him mutilating himself in the bathroom, not call the doctor, or authorities, kill him that's the call. The only time he starts an incident is at the end of the story, and the start which takes place after so he’s on the run in this, and how far the violence goes isn't shown in those instances. Is this some badly written power fantasy bullshit, yes, but it’s interesting, it’s engaging, and Jeff can be used as a way to vent rage with a needed amount of distance

Eyeless Jack: Everyone Gets Backstories

Eyeless Jack is a perfect example of how every popular creepypasta character had a tragic past because he did not come with one. In his original story, he’s just a scary monster who breaks into someone’s home, steals an organ and the next night kills someone in that house. There are some interesting aspects, such as his surgical knowledge and the evidence that Eyeless Jack eats people, but most he seems to be a cross between a slasher and a monster. Then someone else gave him a backstory. It had him as a medical student that a cult sacrificed to some god turning him into Eyeless Jack. And for the most part everyone accepted that as Jack’s backstory, to the point his wiki had to include it

Carrying This over to The League of Villains (My Hero Academia)

Now years after the fact and a couple of fandoms later, I finally give in and read My Hero Academia. Now the fan content that pushed me into the series were major Midoriya fans and of Class 1A. And the Fics I first sought out reflected this, but it did not stay that way. I ended up becoming a massive fan of the League of Villains, and my opinion of Deku, 1A, the Heroes, and their supporters soured more and more over time. I found that the LoV weren’t the system failing but working exactly as intended, as not only were we shown the humanity (& backstories) of the League, but the ‘heroes’ constantly making disturbing decisions and doubling down.

A huge part of why I got into the series was because the early arcs seemed to present themselves as not just being a hero story but a story that challenged the toxic elements of not just its society but others as well. But as it went on not only did the protagonists fail to live up to that, but so much of the later arcs reframe the beginning arcs for the worse. The League however delivered on what drew me to this series, there were other elements, like the smaller cast allowed there to be some actual focus & development on the characters in the short moments we got with them.

While we were constantly with the heroes, we were constantly being introduced to new characters, and focusing on the supposed ‘greatness’ of an abusive monster, and spoiled abusive brat. The solutions the hero side showed were painfully superficial, avoided dealing with any of the root issues caused by their ‘wonderful’ hero society, doubling down to hell & back and more often than not just plain stupid & ignorant.

Why I Can��t Like the ‘Good’ Victims

Part of what inspired this post was another post (It’s been months since I saw it so this isn’t an exact quote) saying that Dabi (Touya Todoroki and one of the main members of the League) was the rage of eldest daughter syndrome. Not Fuyumi, his younger sister by less than a year, and very blatantly parentified, Dabi.

Why? For starters, while Fuyumi’s intro page says she resents her abusive father, her actions paint a very different story. In practice, she’s the most eager to be a loving daughter, and constantly supports him, even against her younger brother Natsuo who doesn’t want to forgive him.

Rei is even worse for this, telling Fuyumi and Natsuo that she forgives the man who abused her to the point of a mental breakdown the first time we meet her, because he sent her a flower. And is seen at the end pushing his wheelchair around, so his caretaker.

Did I forget to mention that Touya was believed dead, at age 13, as the result of that thing’s ‘parenting’, read abuse and grooming

I want to like them, there are so many characters in this series that I want to like but I just can’t force myself to after reading this series. Because as a blatant of an example(s) the Todoroki family is, they aren’t unique.

This whole series demands that everyone be good victims, and shows that a good victim must not only be silent on their mistreatment, never act out in even the slightest way, but should support their abuser, the reward of which is going back to the same circumstances that enabled this to begin with.

#bnha #bnha critical #mha #bnha meta #mha critical #mha meta #my hero academia #anti endeavor #boku no hero academia #anti enji todoroki #creepypasta #creepypasta character #jeff the killer #creepypasta fandom #eyeless jack #meta #fandom #fandom culture

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meazalykov · 2 months ago

Text

redirection XII

esmee brugts x reader

last chapter - next chapter - more redirection chapters

summary: this moment brings up some insecurities

you sit in your shared hotel room with esmee in lisbon, the night before one of the biggest matches of the season.

the champions league group stage has all led to this—the final match against benfica, where every pass, every tackle, every chance could mean the difference between staying at the top of the table or not.

jona announced the lineup earlier after the last training session, and you were named a starter.

it’s an honor, but the weight of it all has been pressing down on your shoulders since you heard your name called.

you’re trying to relax, but your thoughts are racing a mile a minute, and your fingers fidget constantly—tugging on the hem of your shirt, tracing the stitching on the comforter, twisting the bracelet on your wrist that esmee gave you a few weeks back.

you’ve been in plenty of big matches before, but the nerves tonight feel different. heavier.

this is your first season at barcelona, and you don’t want to disappoint your teammates. its confirmed that jona will be going off to your old club back in the nwsl after this season, but you want the next coach to be reassured that you are a reliable player.

the door opens, and esmee walks in the shared room, holding two smoothies from the café just across the street. she’s wearing a smile, but it dims slightly when she sees you curled up on the edge of the bed, your shoulders tense, eyes staring blankly ahead.

“hey,” she says softly, crossing the room to you. “strawberry for you, mango for me.”

she hands you the smoothie, and you take it with a small smile, but you don’t sip it right away. you know esmee’s watching you closely, the way she always does when she can sense something’s up.

you avoid meeting her eyes, knowing they’ll be full of questions, and instead stare down at the bright pink drink in your hands.

she plops down beside you, sitting so close that her knee brushes against yours, and the warmth of her presence is comforting, grounding. “okay,” she says slowly, drawing out the word.

“what’s going on?”

you shake your head quickly, forcing a laugh that sounds more like a huff. “nothing. just... thinking about tomorrow. it’s no big deal.”

but it is a big deal. and you know esmee sees right through you. she sets her own smoothie down on the nightstand and turns her whole body to face you, one knee bent on the bed, so she’s fully in your line of sight.

“y/n,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “talk to me. what’s really going on? you’ve been quiet ever since the lineup got posted.”

you bite your lip, staring down at your fingers as you fiddle with the straw of your smoothie.

“it’s... i just don’t want to mess up, okay?” you finally admit, your voice small.

“starting in this game... it feels huge, more different than the past ones. i know i’ve started before, but this is different. everything matters now. and i don’t want to be the reason we don’t win.”

she’s silent for a moment, and then you feel her hand slide over yours, squeezing tightly.

“you’re an amazing player, y/n. you’ve proven that time and time again, and tomorrow’s just another chance to do it. jona wouldn’t have put you in the starting lineup if he didn’t trust you.” esmee says, her voice full of conviction.

you glance up at her, your nerves softening slightly at her words. “what if i... what if i’m not enough?” you ask, the doubt in your voice barely hidden.

“i know i’m good, but sometimes i feel like... like maybe i’m not good enough for a match like this.” you say.

esmee’s eyes soften, and she reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb brushing against your cheek.

“you’re one of the hardest workers on this team. you’ve got heart. we have got ten other players out there with you, don’t worry.”

you close your eyes for a moment, letting her words wash over you, and then you lean into her, resting your head against her shoulder. “thanks, es,” you murmur.

“always,” she replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. “and you know, when i come on, i’m gonna be there to pick up any slack if you need it.” she pauses, and then adds with a playful grin, “but i won’t need to.”

you laugh softly, the sound coming more naturally this time, and finally take a sip of your smoothie. the sweetness of the strawberry fills your mouth, and you let out a sigh, feeling a little bit of the tension melt away.

“okay. tomorrow, we win. no fear.”

“that’s my girl,” esmee says, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a warm, comforting hug as you both settle in bed together.

the next day, you can’t help but feel the nerves bubbling up again as you lace up your boots in the locker room, the chatter of your teammates surrounding you. the tension is palpable—this is the final champions league group stage match, and every single player knows what’s at stake. but you’re ready, even if your stomach feels like a knot.

you look around at your teammates, exchanging nods, high-fives, and encouragement. aitana, caroline, alexia—they’re all calm, focused. it helps you find a sliver of calm too.

when you step out onto the pitch, the crowd’s energy is electric. you can hear the roar of the away barça fans in the stands, and it’s like a wave, crashing into you and filling you with adrenaline.

as you take your position on the left wing, you glance back over your shoulder, catching esmee’s eye on the sideline. she gives you a small nod and a smile.

you nod back, and then the whistle blows.

the first half is a blur of intensity. both teams are battling hard for control, and every time the ball comes your way, you push yourself to be faster, sharper. you weave through defenders, play quick passes to mariona and caroline, and make runs into the box, always looking for that opening.

you’re playing well, but it’s tight—benfica’s defense is strong, and it’s hard to find space to work in.

early in the second half, its 2-1. in the 50th minute, caroline gets the ball just outside the box, dancing around benfica’s defenders with that incredible close control she has.

you see the space open up on the left, and you make your run, calling for the ball. she sees you, and it all happens in an instant—a perfect through pass, cutting between two defenders. you take one touch to settle it, and with a quick glance up, you spot caroline making a darting run into the box.

you whip a low, driven cross, right into her path, and she meets it cleanly, sending the ball flying into the net.

“yes!” you shout, running over to her as the stadium erupts.

caroline grabs you in a tight hug, and you can feel her joy radiating through her light laughter.

the team surrounds you both, high-fives and cheers all around, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in the feeling.

there’s still a lot of game left to play, and as you take your position again, you know you have to stay focused. you’ve got to give it everything.

five minutes later, you’re battling in midfield, trying to push barça forward on a counterattack. one of benfica’s defenders is on you, and it’s a dribbling duel—her trying to get the ball, you keeping it just out of reach.

you shift your body left, then right, trying to shake her off, but she’s quick. and then, just as you’re about to make a break for it, another benfica players’ foot comes in hard, swiping underneath you and catching your ankle.

the pain is immediate and sharp. it shoots through your leg like fire, and you’re down before you even realize it, clutching your ankle as you grit your teeth against the sting.

you turn your head to see that kika, someone you know about, was the one who swiped your ankle. now laying outside of the midfield on benfica’s side, your clenching your teeth trying to ease the pain.

“y/n!” aitana’s voice is there first, and suddenly she’s at your side, her hands on your back as she leans over you, eyes wide with concern.

“where does it hurt?” she asks, urgency lacing her tone.

“ankle,” you hiss out, your fingers digging into the grass as you try to breathe through the pain.

“shit,” aitana mutters, looking up quickly to wave over the medics.

on the sideline, you can hear jona barking instructions to warm up a sub, and you know it’s esmee being told to get ready. you hate this—you hate the idea of having to come off, of leaving your team when they need you.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to,” kika says, suddenly kneeling beside you, her face pale with worry.

“i wasn’t trying to hurt you, y/n.”

“it’s okay,” you manage to get out, though your voice shakes from the pain. “really, it’s okay.” you give her a weak wave, trying to show there are no hard feelings.

patri’s not having it. “what were you thinking?” she snaps at kika, her voice rising in anger. “that was reckless—”

“patri, chill,” aitana interrupts firmly, shooting her a look. “it’s football. let the medics do their job.”

the medics help you to your feet, and every step sends another wave of pain through your ankle. they support you as you limp off the pitch, the sound of the crowd’s applause ringing in your ears.

you try to look back at esmee one last time before she goes on, and the look in her eyes is fierce. she’s worried about you, you can see it, but she’s determined too, more focused on the game. you’re okay with that.

in the medic room, your ankle is tightly wrapped and propped up on a chair, ice pressed against the swollen joint. outside, you can hear the roar of the crowd, the muffled sounds of the match still going on without you.

it’s agonizing, not being out there. the medics have told you to rest, but all you can do is stare at the screen in the corner of the room, watching as your team battles on. and then you see it—the final whistle, and the scoreline flashing on the screen: 4-4.

it’s a tie, and you can’t help but feel the sting of disappointment. you start replaying everything in your head—the moment you went down, the way you couldn’t keep fighting for those final 35 minutes.

you feel like maybe you could’ve been the difference. maybe you could’ve found that extra pass, that one moment to break through benfica’s defense and get the win.

the door creaks open, and you don’t even look up until you hear esmee’s voice. “hey,” she says softly, coming over to you, followed closely by ingrid and alexia.

“how’re you feeling?”

“like i let everyone down,” you admit, staring down at your wrapped ankle.

“we tied. maybe if i’d stayed on, we could’ve... i don’t know.”

“y/n, don’t,” alexia says firmly, stepping closer. “you were amazing out there. you gave us an assist. you played hard, and none of this is on you. the tie isn’t your fault.”

ingrid nods, her expression sympathetic as she stands beside esmee and in front of alexia.

“ale is right. you did everything you could. and you’ll be back out there soon enough, stronger than ever.”

you sigh, the weight of their words sitting heavy on your chest.

“i need to go to the doctor back in barcelona to figure out how long i’ll be out,” you say quietly, hating how small your voice sounds. “and now i need crutches to even walk until then.”

“we’ll figure it out,” esmee says, her voice gentle but steady. “and hey—whatever you need, i’m right here.”

she helps you stand up carefully, and ingrid grabs your crutches, handing them to you with a reassuring smile. the three of them hover around you like protective walls as you make your way out of the room, and alexia leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head before you step out into the hallway.

“you did great, y/n,” she whispers. “never forget that.”

unfortunately, you forgot.

you’ve never really talked about your underlying problem with anyone when it comes to injuries—not even esmee. the summer before this moment, the moment that took some of your confidence away.

back then, you’d been waiting for that world cup roster announcement for weeks, hoping, praying that your name would be there. when the roster was posted, your heart sank. you weren’t on it. no explanation. no reason. just... nothing.

it felt like the ground was pulled out from under you. all you could do was sit there, staring at the roster, wondering what you’d done wrong.

now, sitting in the hotel room in lisbon, with your ankle wrapped and elevated on the bed after the match against benfica, it feels like those old insecurities are creeping back up again.

you’re silent, lost in thought, until esmee speaks up from beside you, her voice soft but curious.

“you’ve been quiet for a while. what’s going on?” she asks, leaning over, her elbow resting on the pillow as she looks at you with concern in her eyes.

you hesitate for a second, not sure how to even begin to explain what’s been weighing on your mind. but you know she’ll keep pressing until you tell her. she always knows when something’s wrong.

“it’s just... you ever wonder if you’re not good enough?” you finally mutter, your fingers picking at the edge of the blanket, fidgeting the way they always do when you’re anxious.

esmee raises her eyebrow slightly, her head tilting as she tries to understand where this is coming from. “not good enough? for what? barça?”

you shake your head slowly, feeling the words catch in your throat before they finally come out.

“the world cup... last year, when i wasn’t selected. i thought i was ready, you know? i’d been cleared for months—eight months. i felt strong, i was finally back after my acl injury. but... they didn’t pick me. and i always wonder what i did wrong.”

esmee sits back, her eyes scanning your face, trying to piece together what you’re saying.

“you think they didn’t pick you because of your injury?”

“i don’t know,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “i mean, maybe? but i was cleared way before the tournament. i thought i was good enough to be back in the mix, but... clearly, they didn’t think so.”

there’s a beat of silence before esmee speaks again, her voice gentle, but there’s a sharp edge of determination in it.

“y/n, you had just come back. maybe it wasn’t about you not being good enough. maybe it was about them thinking you needed more time, more recovery.”

you shake your head again, the insecurity still gnawing at your chest.

“i don’t know, es. eight months should’ve been enough. i’d been playing again. it wasn’t my injury holding me back—it was just me. maybe i wasn’t good enough after i came back. i’m scared that this ankle injury is going to bring back those familiar moments”

the words hang in the air between you, heavy and raw. you’ve never admitted that out loud, not even to yourself. but it’s always been there, lingering in the back of your mind.

that nagging voice telling you that maybe you’re not cut out for this. maybe your acl injury– and now this ankle injury–changed you in ways you can’t fix.

esmee shifts closer, her hand reaching for yours, fingers lacing through yours with a firm, grounding grip.

“y/n, stop. you’re more than good enough. and you’re not just good—you’re incredible. everyone on this team sees it.”

“right now it doesn’t feel like it,” you confess, your voice barely steady. “that’s why i push myself so hard. i don’t want to let anyone down. i’m scared that if i don’t push myself to my absolute limit, i won’t be good enough for barça. like... maybe they’ll see the same thing the national team did.”

“that’s not true,” esmee says firmly, her hand squeezing yours tightly. “you’re a vital part of this team. you make everyone around you better.”

you look down at your lap, feeling the familiar sting of doubt, but esmee’s voice pulls you back up.

“you know what alexia said the other day about you?” esmee asks, her tone softening as she leans in a little closer. “she said you’re one of the hardest-working players she’s ever seen. she said your work rate and your mindset—those things are what make you so valuable. not just your talent.”

you blink, surprised by that, but esmee’s not done.

“and aitana? she said you’re one of the best wingers she’s ever played with. she told jona that when you’re on the left, she feels more confident in her positioning because she trusts you to always be where you need to be.”

you swallow hard, your chest tightening as the weight of esmee’s words sinks in.

you never knew aitana thought that. you’ve always looked up to her, admired the way she brings intelligence on the pitch, but hearing that she trusts you so deeply... it’s overwhelming.

“and ingrid,” esmee continues, her voice a little lighter now, like she’s trying to ease the tension building inside you.

“she said that you’ve got the best vision on the team. said you see plays before they happen, like you’re always one step ahead.”

you can’t help but feel a small smile tug at your lips at that. ingrid’s always been one of the sweetest players you’ve known, so hearing her say something like that about you... it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, even if just a little.

“see y/n,” esmee says, her voice soft but steady.

you close your eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in, feeling the warmth of her presence beside you. when you open them again, you meet her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a little lighter.

“thanks, es,” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“anytime,” she replies, a smile tugging at her lips as she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “and remember, you’re not doing this injury thing alone anymore. i’ve got your back. always.”

as she pulls you into a hug, you bury your face in her shoulder, letting yourself breathe for a moment.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

next chapter: redirection XIII

#esmee brugts #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #ingrid engen #aitana bonmati

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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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Since the start of the Israel-Hamas war, the Biden administration has tried to toe a delicate line: backing Israel’s war against the group in Gaza, while pushing Israel to ease the humanitarian toll of its operations and take the Palestinians’ legitimate political grievances seriously. By all accounts, toeing this line has been a frustrating and thankless endeavor—and, increasingly, a lonely one. Today, even the United States’ closest allies are calling for an “immediate ceasefire” that would put an end to Israel’s operations in Gaza. At home, the White House is facing increasing pressure from Democrats in the U.S. Congress and parts of the Democratic base to change its current tactics in dealing with Israel.

And yet, what the Biden administration understands—and what Israel’s many critics miss—is that the international community cannot dictate a solution to Israel-Hamas war by fiat. If the international community wants Israel to change strategies in Gaza, then it should offer a viable alternative strategy to Israel’s announced goal of destroying Hamas in the strip. And right now, that alternate strategy simply does not exist.

There is a brutal logic to Israel’s actions in Gaza. By its own estimates, Israel has destroyed three-quarters of Hamas’ battalions and killed two of five brigade commanders, 19 of 24 battalion commanders, more than 50 platoon leaders, and 12,000 of Hamas’ 30,000 foot soldiers. American intelligence estimates are lower, but not by much: Between 20 to 30 percent of Hamas’ fighters and 20 to 40 percent of its tunnels are estimated to have been destroyed as of mid-January. It’s also worth remembering that Hamas is structured more like a conventional military than a pure terrorist group. As a rule of thumb, conventional forces are considered combat ineffective once they lose more than 30 percent of their strength and destroyed once they lose 50 percent.

Even if Israel does not stamp out Hamas entirely but merely succeeds in driving it out of power and underground, from Israel’s view, that is still a win—even if stops well short of its goal of destroying the group, for doing so would likely prove sufficient to prevent Hamas from launching another 3,000-man complex assault like the one Israel saw on Oct. 7. Finally, it’s worth remembering that it took the United States several years to defeat the Islamic State. Israel is just over five months into what its leaders promised will be a very long war.

To be sure, there are serious drawbacks to the Israeli approach. This war will encourage long-term radicalization of the Palestinian population, damage Israel’s relationship with its Arab neighbors, and tarnish Israel’s global reputation in a pretty serious way. Yet all of these problems are long term. Too often, states and politics live in the here and now.

At the same time, Israel’s critics have failed—and continue to fail—to offer a coherent alternative way forward. Instead, more often than not, there are vague references for the need for some ill-defined “political solution” to the conflict. To the extent that there is a coherence to this alternate strategy, it revolves around using the threat of diplomatic isolation alongside economic threats that might force Israel to agree to an “immediate ceasefire.” That ceasefire, in turn, would pave the way for a longer-term political settlement, likely around a two-state solution. Problem solved. Or not.

For starters, international pressure and sanctions will not likely compel Israel to compromise. Israelis from the leadership on down are keenly aware that their country was born out of the ashes of Holocaust as a safe-haven for Jews after millennia of persecution. Israel then spent its first quarter-century fighting for its very existence. The idea that the world is aligned against Israel is deeply embedded in the nation’s collective DNA, and chants of “from the river to the sea,” coupled with surging global antisemitism, only ensure that those fears remain very much alive today.

Economic pressure—such as sanctioning settlers or restricting military aid—is unlikely to work, either. In general, sanctions have a poor track record of compelling states to abandon core national security interests. And given the Oct. 7 attacks, this war is nothing if not a core national security interest for Israel. Even if pressure did work initially, for a political solution to be sustainable, Israelis must voluntarily agree, not be pressured into it.

But let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that Israel caved to outside pressure and agreed to an immediate ceasefire. What would the day after look like? Hamas—as Israel and Hamas both acknowledge—would be left with a considerable military force, numbering in the thousands. Israel would then need to engage in another very lopsided deal to free the remaining hostages. In early February, Hamas wanted 1,500 prisoners freed from Israeli jails, including at least 500 serving life sentences for murder and other crimes, in exchange for the hostages.

So, at minimum, the group’s ranks would soon swell. And invariably, some of those released would be quite dangerous. After all, Yahya Sinwar—the head of Hamas in Gaza and alleged mastermind of the Oct. 7 attacks—was freed from an Israeli prison, where he was serving a life sentence for murder, in the 2011 trade of 1,027 prisoners for one captured Israeli soldier, Gilad Shalit. None of this recent history bodes particularly well for long-term peace.

In all likelihood, Israel would respond to a ceasefire by tightening its blockade of Gaza, citing Hamas’ continued existence as one reason for doing so. In particular, Israel would likely put severe limits on the quantities and types of building materials allowed into the Strip. After all, Hamas diverted an estimated 1,800 tons of steel and 6,000 tons of concrete to build its tunnel networks, and Israel would not want to see them rebuilt. The net consequence would be that desperately needed reconstruction would be severely delayed or even brought to standstill.

The fighting would not stop, either. Fearing that Hamas will make good on its promise to repeat the Oct. 7 attack “again and again,” Israel would step up its preemptive strikes on Gaza and the West Bank, particularly whenever it got the first whiff that Hamas might be planning an attack. At the same time, Hamas would continue to attack Israel, if only to reinforce its legitimacy and divert attention away from the likely dismal conditions in Gaza (thanks, in no small part, to the stymied reconstruction effort). In all likelihood, the situation would be right back where it started.

Ah, but wait: Won’t a two-state solution solve this? Probably not. Even before Oct. 7, the majority of Israelis didn’t believe in a two-state solution, or that peace was even possible. There are likely even fewer who believe that now, especially if a Palestinian state were to include Hamas in some form. Consider how unfathomable it would have been for most Americans to support the creation of a state with al Qaeda at its helm just five months after 9/11. There is no reason to believe that the Israeli public should be any different. Given considerable support for Hamas among the Palestinian population, it would be politically impossible to exclude Hamas from a new, democratic Palestinian government. And even if the new state’s government is less than democratic, it would have trouble excluding Hamas entirely—even if it wanted to—if the group still has thousands of men under arms.

But even assuming that overwhelming international pressure forced Israel to agree to a two-state solution, it’s not going to guarantee peace in the short or medium term. There are still a host of thorny issues—including borders, water rights, air rights, the demilitarization of the Palestinian state, and the partition of Jerusalem—that would need to be resolved before a second state could come into being. Then there is the problem that only one-third of Palestinians favor a two-state solution themselves, and nine in 10 don’t trust the Palestinian Authority. For its part, Hamas has made it abundantly clear that it wants one state without Jews under an Islamist banner. None of this means that the international community shouldn’t push for a political settlement, but this is at best a long-term solution, not a near-term fix.

If a two-state solution did come about, it may not bring an end to hostilities. Two states did not solve hostilities between India and Pakistan, or North and South Korea, or North and South Vietnam. Israel would be under no obligation to grant Palestinians—now citizens of a separate country—workers’ permits, which would likely tank the nascent state’s economy, just as it wouldn’t have to provide electricity and other services to Gaza, as it did before the war. At the same time, Palestinians would rightly wonder why their state should be demilitarized and not entitled to the sovereign privileges of a “normal state.” There would perhaps still be Jewish settlers living on the territory of the new Palestine, creating all sorts of problems. Absent genuine buy-in from both sides, a two-state solution would simply turn a local conflict into an international one.

There is a lot to hate about Israel’s war in Gaza. It is a bloody, destructive war that has killed far too many innocents and upended far too many civilian lives. It is by any measure a human tragedy that will reverberate across the region for years to come. But if the international community is not simply grandstanding and actually hopes to solve the tragedy playing out in Gaza, then it needs to begin by offering feasible solutions that address both Palestinian grievances and Israeli security concerns.

To its credit, the Biden administration is at least trying to move in this direction. It is pushing Israel to curtail civilian casualties, set up safe zones, increase humanitarian aid, and move to a longer-term political solution—all while still backing (or at least not outwardly opposing) Israel’s ongoing operations to root out Hamas. Some might call such a balanced approach overly tactical and unable to quickly end the war, but a good strategy is built on sound tactics.

Unfortunately, the Biden administration’s nuance is the exception both internationally and in the domestic debate over U.S. policy. Just as the political right needs to be continuously reminded that the Palestinian population is not going anywhere and Israel cannot kill its way to victory, the political left needs to be reminded that Israelis are also not going anywhere and their equities must also be taken seriously.

Ultimately, if Biden’s critics on the political left want a different war, then they need to offer an alternative strategy and subject that strategy to the same sort of analytical rigor that it trains on Israel’s current military effort. If not, the brutal logic of the current war will remain, and the ongoing tragedy will continue.

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