I was scrolling through your blogs a few days ago,and I saw an anon ask If you've read dnyaneshwari/jnaneshwari,that one 15th century commentary of the Bhagvad Gita. So,I also read it,and thought I'd share this with you
Sanjaya is talking shipper language,lol
Bestie idk what to tell you except thank you for showing this jackpot of a commentary to me.
I felt like reading Plato's interpretation of Homeric Achilles x Patroklos reading this.
"He is strangely infatuated with Arjuna" We know. He's not at all subtle about it Sanjay. Im glad we're on the same page.
On the hunt for a dangerous criminal, henchmen of the infamous Imran Zakhaev, Vladimir Makarov. But not before you land yourself in an unfortunate complication... Thrown away in a Russian gulag, sharing a cell with the wanted man himself, it would seem you have no choice but to trust one another if you hope to survive.
Tw for violence and lots of swearing
This story takes place before the events of No Russian and is canon divergent. Makarov is just starting to make a criminal name for himself and this will be an enemies to lovers fic.
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"Do you have any idea who you're crossing?", Makarov presses his face between the prison bars, spitting venom at the guard.
The man, entirely unmoved, slams the butt of his rifle into Makarov's face and laughs as he recoils in pain.
Makarov sits in isolation, clutching the wound about his brow. Fuck... How did this happen?
Someone must have betrayed him. That must be it. The westerners aren't that crafty, not craftier then him. But who? Zakhaev? ...Yuri?
Fuck!
He supposes that right now it doesn't matter. Here he is, locked away within the bowls of this secret prison. He needs to find a way out.
Makarov pounds his fist against the stone wall, hissing in frustration. He wastes no time devising a plan, pacing back and forth and back again along the confines of his dark, musty cell.
Hours pass.
At last he ends up on the ratty, threadbare bed. His skin already itches, even through the fine suit he's wearing. For a moment, he turns his head to look at the floor. Ugh, maybe he'd be better off down there...
Suddenly, a noise causes him to freeze.
The heavy sound of boots echos down the hallway accompanied by the scuffling and caterwauling of defiance. Another unfortunate soul come to be tossed into this hell, no doubt.
His only surprise is when the trio stops at his cell door.
"Fuck you!"
The voice is female. British. At the insult, the guards do little more then laugh as the open the door and shove you in. They lock the gate and turn away, off to wherever they came from.
You scream in rage, shaking the iron bars violently as you call after them, "You russian bastards! We're on your side!"
Makarov watches your back intently, under the cover of darkness. You clearly don't know he's here. Although, the real question on his mind is why you're here. A British soldier in a Russian gulag?
Curious...
Quietly, he takes advantage of all the noise you're making to get up, stealthily padding his way towards you. But not stealthily enough it would seem. You whip around while there's still plenty of space between you.
"Don't get any fucking ideas, you-!"
Makarov straightens up at being caught, just well enough that you can see him in the dusty light. How could anyone miss that boney face and wild hair. And those eyes...
A renewed wave of rage over takes you, "You!", you scream and lung forward, connecting a solid punch to his jaw. This time he stands his ground at the hit, even as his face turns sharply to the side.
"You're the while reason I'm here!", you shove his chest, while he continues to stare back in silence. "These fuckers think I'm with you, damn it!"
Makarov smiles at that, streaks of blood staining his teeth as he lets out a breathy little laugh, "How unfortunate"
What else is there to do but laugh at the situation? He hadn't considered that the reason he's here could simply be dumb luck. The very same kind that pulled you in after him too.
He knows who you are immediately. Sargent Sanderson. "Roach", they call you. You're with Price, task force 141. Yes... He knows you and you're friends very well.
"What are you laughing at you bloody piece of shit?"
You grit your teeth and before he can respond, you smash your knuckles right across the bridge of his nose from the other direction.
Makarov grunts at that. His laughter goes silent, his eyes locked dangerously onto yours. He straightens up once more and you prepare another punch in response to his audacity.
But this time he's ready.
He catches your fist mid swing, crushing your knuckles in his rough hand, "I hope you aren't thinking I won't hit you back... Bitch"
True to his word, Makarov returns your initial punch in kind watching as it sends you to the floor. He shakes out his fist and watches as you wipe a thin line of blood from your cheek bone.
You lick it off your finger, staring directly into his eyes as you do so. Then, "Good to hear, cunt", you spring up immediately and grapple onto him. It catches him off guard, but only for a moment until he's ready to fight back.
The two of your trade blows and shoves and various holds as you continue to brawl. By the time the guards trudge their way back to your cell, they find you on his back, choking Makarov by his necktie.
They tear you off one another and give you both a solid beating for good measure. Once you're subdued to their liking, one hands the other a pair of shackles and secures each side to each wrist.
You're so dazed from the brutality of the guards, that you hardly even notice the binds until after they leave. The guard closes the cell door with finality and in a heavy accent he taunts, "Play nice", before laughing heartily as he walks away.
He hasn't been this entertained in months.
You stagger to sit up, trying to support your head with your hands only to find resistance from the one. As the clinking and chill of the metal finally catches up with you, you swear vehemently.
Makarov lays frighteningly still on the ground beside you, even as you jerk his shackled hand around with yours. Shit...
"Hey!", you shove him roughly, "Get up you piece of shit!"
No response.
You raise your voice a little louder, "Hey!"
Fuck, you'd really rather not be shackled to a corpse.
A note of panic creeps into your mind. Fuck fuck fuck! Who knows when anyone will be back? How long are you going to be stuck with this rotting body?
"Makarov, you fucking bastard! Answer me!", you roll him over and shake him by his chest, leaning over to yell in his face. Fuck fuck fuck...
Desperately you wait for a response, and then...
Makarov puckers his lips and mocks a kiss, "How about some recitation, nurse?", a hoarse, strangled wheeze escapes him, a pitiful attempt at a taunting laugh.
You spit in his face, which does nothing to stop his choking wheeze, and make up your mind to punch him again. Instead you aim one into the cement beside his head instead. As much as you'd love to, you don't want to actually kill the bastard. Not yet.
With a frustrated growl you roll over and lay down, your shackled hands between you, "I'm in hell", with your free hand you rub at your growing headache.
Makarov spits out a clot of blood and takes a ragged breath, "We all are", he smiles.
He must think he's clever, spouting his dime store bullshit like that.
"Why don't you shut up and tell me how to get out of here, freak"
Makarov clicks his tongue as he rests his head on the cool floor, "Miss Sanderson... Is that anyway to speak to someone you just met?"
"Shut. Up!", you bolt upright, hovering above him once more, "You're lucky I don't kill you now!"
Makarov sneers, baring his teeth. He jolts as if he means to sit up and bite you, "Then do it! That's what you want so bad, huh? To fuck me over! Just do it, you're no better then me or anyone else you pathetic Westerners claim to hate"
"You need to tell us everything you know about Zahkaev, then you can face justice. There's a difference", you retort.
The glob of your spit has made it's way down from his eye to the corner of his cheek. He licks away the spit and the traces of blood in one slow swipe, "Whatever helps you sleep at night"
You sneer in disguise and decide you lay back down. It's been a long day as it is... "Fucking creep", you mutter.
Makarov nearly huffs a laugh as you roughly turn over. Your arm is wrenched back as you move. It's still shackled, of course. You grit your teeth and hiss in frustration as you readjust to a somewhat more comfortable position.
To something of your surprise, Makarov let's you. He stays still and quiet as you drag his arm around a bit in an attempt to get comfortable.
For now, he has better things to devote his energy to then antagonizing you. He spares a glance over at you. This certainly changes things, but no matter. There's no problem he can't solve, he just needs time to think...
If he can just get out of here, he can kill you later, dispose of your body, and get back somewhere safe. The only issue is whether or not he can trust you to cooperate. Then again, if you're smart, you'll understand that you have no other choice.
These places are all the same. If he can just find a sewer drain, or steal a helicopter, or perhaps find an opening somewhere in this undoubtedly crumbling infrastructure, he'll be free.
"I can feel your eyes on me, fucking two eyed freak"
Hm? He hadn't realized, he'd been so deep in thought. But you're right, "Watch your mouth bitch and go to sleep", he growls.
He props his head up on his free arm and looks towards the ceiling. For your sake, you'd better not make things more difficult for him. Makarov screws his eyes and lets out a slow breath. He needs to rest...
If only he could get some.
Not long after he finally manages to fall asleep, he's soon awoken by a violent trembling form his arm. His arm, which is attached to your arm. Which is attached to your curled up, shivering body.
The air is chilly down here. The freezing, dark metal and stone all around doesn't help either.
Makarov sighs forcefully and watches his breath turn to steam before him. He turns to look at you, as though staring you down will win your obedience. You continue to shake.
For quite some time he lets you. This is no concern of his, he needs to save his strength for the escape. But the fact that you simply will not stop disrupting him with your shivers is the only matter.
At last he can't take it anymore. The rattling and trembling beside his body and ear is maddening. With a growl he yanks your shackled arm with his, "Will you stop! Soft fucking Westerners, it's just a chill!"
You're awake, but that does little to change your situation. Your teeth clatter uncontrollably as you continue you shake. To the untrained eye, one might almost mistake it for a seizure.
"F-ff-f-fuck... y-y-you-u", you barely manage.
Makarov sneers and jumps up as much as your bond will allow him. Before you can ask what he's doing, he snatches off the thin, threadbare blanket from the single bed and tossed it onto you. He settles back down angrily, "There, now with you fucking be still?"
Now you're angry. This thing is about as useful a tissue. You toss it aside defiantly and say about as much.
Were it not for how exhausted he is, he may have found the energy to slap you. But now, all he wants is some peace.
Makarov narrows his eyes and says nothing to your comment. Instead, he pointedly works off his suit jacket, undoing all the buttons and transferring it from his free arm and back up along your shackled arm and over your shoulder.
He tugs it securely over your shoulder and glares at you with finality. He doesn't even have it in him to make threats or insults, he just wants to sleep...
Without a word, he throws himself down and gets into the same sleeping position as before. That jacket is specially made just for him and his winter climate needs, not to mention worth more then your pathetic military wages earns you in a year.
If that doesn't keep you from waking him with your constant shaking, then he may just have to kill you now.
Even just with this, your shivering begins to lessen. It hasn't quite stopped, but it's sufficient enough to Makarov's liking.
You're not entirely sure this isn't some sort of trick...
You lay down slowly and adjust the jacket as you do so. The material is thick and soft. You can tell just by feeling it as you lay it across your chest. The collar comes up to your chin and does a trick to stop your jaw from clattering.
Makarov continues to lay still, even after you've finally gotten comfortable.
You take a steadying breath and catch a whiff of him off his coat. The cologne might smell nice if it weren't so heavily applied. You cough quietly, trying not to aggravate your cell mate further, and sigh.
You'll get use to the smell. For now, you're... Thankful, you suppose. Laying more then an arms length apart, you give a final glance at Makarov, then turn back to look at the ceiling.
You nuzzle into the collar of the suit jacket, the last of your shivers finally dispersing.
