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ghostheartfelt · 1 year ago

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*:･｡☆ warnings: heavy gore, torture, hurt/comfort, whump, s/a towards reader, men being gross, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, blood and violence, branding (torture method), waterboarding (torture method), reader (thaye) is a badass, first kiss, dismemberment of fingers, eye trauma, protective!ghost, implications of smut/sex, aftermaths of torture. (there is probably a lot i missed, but idc lol all the other shit should b enough warning!!) 〔☆〕 desc: you and the 141 are deployed to austria with the intel of a drug boss known as rolmuth who is harboring romanian soldiers to the east coast to smuggle illegal mercenary personnel into america. what happens when a rapid snowstorm picks up and you (callsign 'thaye') are separated from the others then further captured and interrogated alongside your lieutenant?

—✩ PHANTOM TOUCH ✩—

word count —15.6k

a/n: sorry for my inactivity! the entire time i was workin on this shit... let me tell you.. this is 51 pages on google docs LMAO so i hope the length and word count makes this fat fucking hurt/comfort one shot worth it.

VIENNA, AUSTRIA.

“Move, move, move!” Price yells.

Snow fell and blanketed the ground beneath you, you were dressed in white camouflage tactical gear.

Your movements were slower as you trudged yourself through the snow, you turned in every direction searching for your captain.

Your lieutenant.

Anybody.

Rapid snowy winds smacked you in the face, nearly forcing your eyes shut as you traveled through the gusts.

“Soap?!” You shout, planting your feet below into the patches of snow,

Your arms raise to cover your face.

“Fuck!”

“Thaye!” A voice echoed through the snow that encased you in a blanket of long silence.

Snow nestled into the ground below—everything around you seems to just slow down.

You traipse yourself heavily through the thickness around you as you snap a clip into your M4 carbine, swinging it behind you like it had been previously.

Thump.

Your head droops down and you feel your heart drop into your stomach seeing the body of one of the men you were deployed with face up.

His head four inches deep in the snow and his right eye completely destroyed, his chest marred with several bullet wounds.

The root of his nose is fractured to the point where it’s flattened into what’s left of his skull.

You swallow the knot in your throat that might have also been barf trying to make its way out of you, kneeling down to peel the soldier’s dog tags off of his corpse.

Hudson “Scooter” Wheeler.

It makes you smile slightly, your thumb dragging over the metal tag to wipe off the thickness of blood that had coated the carving of his name.

“I’m sorry, Wheeler.”

The loss of fallen soldiers leave footprints and engravings on one’s heart that never allows them to be the same, again.

You wished sometimes you could just be without the worry about who you have to lose and who you have to save.

Restless nights followed by mornings and afternoons full of nothing but unpromised resolutions. You nearly felt as if insanity would be a better route than going through the pain of losing the people you stood side by side with, enduring the effects of grief, bloodshed, and war.

Although there were moments of bonding and camaraderie that were forced to turn into utter gore and distrust due to the change of the objective that deemed those to turn against one another in hopes of survival and success.

Pride; a fickle sense that could drive an individual to the depths of madness and create a staked claim to prove more power then they own or deserve.

You didn’t understand it. Nor did you want to.

You were left in a society where the drabness of gray ruled the world and pain of loss clenched to the soldier’s hearts almost desperately.

And yet that perpetual colour of gray; a colour so dull but so compelling, it still lights the depths of hell you lived in by merely a petite dose.

Your mouth had begun to feel tacky with your muscles stiffening as the weather conditions intensify by every fleeting moment.

Inside your combat boots, you feel your feet begin to grow numb; similar to the feeling of stepping on fresh-cut grass and grazing dull needles.

Now, you wonder what hypothermia would feel like. You weren’t used to this sort of weather.

Even under your white half-face balaclava, you felt your lips and their absence of moisture.

Still, you trekked forward, squinting eyes searching for any sign of life around you.

Your face lights up at the sight of a shadow-like movement through the blistering storm and rapid winds once you wipe off the frost lingering on your goggles.

They moved closer—it seemed to be one person.

There’s a tree to your left—your legs manage to jerk themselves through the snow until you're beside it.

You cautiously lower your body into the snowpack below you, clutching your rifle in your grip while your eyes fixate on the moving figure ahead of you.

Your finger grazes over the trigger of your carbine rifle.

A leg comes before the torso, then the face.

The skull mask.

Ghost.

Relief washes over you immediately—raising to your knees.

“Lieutenant!” You call.

His head immediately snaps in your direction, and the time spent staring at each other seemed everlasting, though in reality it was just a few seconds before his large hand was squeezing your shoulder and he was right in front of you.

“Thought we lost’ya,” Ghost rasps.

“What’s the sitrep?”

“Enemy force has ordnance on standby—Price ordered all units to the West Safehouse,” he says.

You nod softly.

“Why’d you hang back?”

His eyes widen under his balaclava and you open your mouth to speak—Ghost tugs you by your vest, pulling you to the side.

“Gh—“

There’s a person behind him.

Sounds muffle around you, complete silence surrounding you as Ghost’s head is slammed with the butt of a rifle.

Your hands reach down to pull your handgun from off of your hip, pointing it towards his attacker, squeezing on the trigger and unhesitantly dropping him to the ground before he can double back and finish him off.

No words leave your mouth as you turn in one quick jerk, the barrel of a L1A1 being aimed between your eyes.

Not even seconds later was the thick handle of a bowie knife met with the back of your head.

Immediately, your body meets with the snow, and you feel the coldness of the snow over your mask.

You struggle to pick up your head, pain surging in the back of your head enough to blur your vision.

Keeping your eyes open was a challenge—they constantly blink shut as you watch the enemy force yell at each other, manhandling Ghost by ripping his weapon sling off of him and dragging him by his fur-lined parka.

His body was dragged up into a Humvee and roughly thrown in before you were picked up by your ankles and wrists and tossed right on top of him.

Your head slumps against Ghost’s bicep as you're washed up by incapacity, your mind fogging against your will. Enervation holds you captive and sweeps you off your feet.

You’re met with blackness, next, yet the only thing you could think of was your failure to protect your superior.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

You awoke to the sounds of struggling—something teetering on the floor.

It takes a moment for you to come to your senses and stir from unconsciousness, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings.

The ever-present smell of waste and deteriorated flesh smacks you with reminiscence, the overbearing cold, the taste of grime, blood, and bile in your mouth.

When you go to move your hands, they’re immobile; binded by thick ropes that with your state of exhaustion and physical weakness, would be impossible to escape from.

Your heavy head manages to shift for oneself to observe the room—your gear was purloined, leaving you in your cargos and a tank-top.

Below you, the ground was concrete and stained with blood that led to the large metal door that had a closed hatch.

Vaguely, you recall in short and brief flashes why you were there, your eyes shutting for a few moments before opening once again.

Ghost.

Where was Ghost?

“Lieutenant,” you cough. “Ghost, wh—“

“‘M here, kid.” Ghost wheezes. “To’yr left.”

Your head turns, stopping at the sight of his mask on the concrete, blood smeared across the maw of the skull, over the eye socket.

“Ghost, are you injured?”

“No.”

Slowly, your eyes trace up the ground beneath you until Ghost’s boots are in view.

His soles skid against the ground as he attempts to drag the dentist chair he’s strapped in. “Fuck!”

You shift in your wooden seat in an attempt to reach your hand down to pull up the velcro flaps of your cargos. You couldn’t reach.

Ghost’s boots stop skidding against the floor as the metal door’s rusted hinges creak, the door being flung open to welcome a man inside—three other men were behind him holding military grade rifles with drum magazines.

The man inside the room raises his hand, offering departure in the Hindi language, to which his men shut the door behind him.

His arms were wrapped behind his back, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off of the thick stone walls.

He walks around the room for a while, allowing you to raise your head to take in who he was.

A European man that’s approximately 184 centimeters with long pushed back shaggy dark hair; his eyebrows arched, a bushy beard.

On his cheek, a nasty deep laceration scar that reaches the end of his eyebrow. Under his left eye, another scar reaches the bridge of his nose.

The man is inches from your face, now, a tilt in his head.

“We see how long it takes to break you, Sergeant.” His eyes crinkled as his lips upturned in a depraved smile.

He lifts himself from his bent position, grips the crest rail of the chair, and pulls you farther from Ghost.

“Who is your commanding officer?” He asks, feet spread apart as he looks down at you to assert his dominance.

“Fuck you.” You bite back.

The man’s hand roughly takes hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards the dangling ceiling light.

“I eat boys like you for breakfast.”

Ghost chuckles beside you.

His eyes narrow as he releases a choked scoff, his head swinging back before bursting into laughter.

“My drug ring reigns across the entire country—my men swarm all city.”

His accent is thick, though his English isn’t terrible.

“It is either you tell me now and you and friend die quick, or you die slow of bleeding until we find on our own.”

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Ghost grunts.

You swallow thickly, groaning as the man pulls your head back by the scalp of your hair.

You purse your lips as you collect saliva from the walls of your mouth, spitting just above the man’s eyebrow and watching as the gob runs down over his eye.

He snarls, dragging an open hand down his face. Using that same hand, the male flexes his hand into a fist and socks you in the jaw.

“Hey!” Ghost shouts.

You hear it pop and you immediately outstretch your neck and slam your forehead into the bridge of his nose, arms jerking in an attempt to escape your restraints. “You motherfucker!”

He lets out a groan, his head flinging back as blood streams down his nostrils, his hand trembling over his nose.

“Bitch! Madarchod! Bevakooph veshya…” He hisses through clenched teeth. “Broke my nose!”

His palm smacks you across the face so hard, a pinkish red hue starts blossoming across your cheek. He repeats it again, then again, and again.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself as numbness circles inside the flesh of your cheek, a similar feeling to those static electricity globes that you’d get for your twelfth birthday and press all five of your fingertips against.

“Hey! This is between you an’ me, a’right?” Your lieutenant gives a sharp nod, trying to reason with the man.

He stares at Ghost for a few moments, squeezing his fingers in his fist before leaving the room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

You take the moment to actually look at Ghost, your eyes taking in his features entirely.

From his long and messy dirty blonde undercut, to his shade and stubble.

To his bruised and bloodied lips and the thick scar running from his top lip to the underside of his chin.

To his thick and beautiful eyebrows, the scar on the start of his left eyebrow, running down to the bridge of his nose.

To his deep and all familiar brown eyes—long and light eyelashes accompanying their shape.

To the scar that spread out from the right inner corner of his lip and across his cheek as if it was the engravings of a smile line.

There were several scars littered across the male’s face; each one of vast distinction from the other.

Once again, the door thrusts open and the man returns, cotton wads up his nostrils with another male by his side, pushing in a rolling mayo stand with different tools and items you assumed were torture devices.

“Hey! Hey! What’re y’doing?” Ghost jerks in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing as the man picks up a syringe, flicking the glass and squeezing out a droplet of the liquid inside. “What th’fuck is that?”

“You will have your answer soon enough,” he simply replies.

“Agarwal—blade.”

The second man grabs the rotary tool from off the tray, a saw blade in the other.

Your hands tug against their bindings enough to chafe your wrists, it feels as if your skin is being shredded with a cheese grater.

“Paip rinch, ab.” The taller man holds out his arm, to which the man who was now identified as Agarwal hands him a pipe wrench.

“English, asshole.” You grunt.

He slings it over his shoulder and slowly walks towards Ghost as he whistles.

Ghost’s eyes don’t avert from his gaze, even as the pipe wrench drops from off his shoulder to clatter on the floor, hanging from his wrist and dragging along the ground.

“Who…is…your…superior?” His voice is grim, each word coming out as he takes a step.

Using the hook jaw of the wrench, he lifts Ghost’s chin.

“Piss off,” the blonde huffs.

Not even seconds later does the man swing the wrench around and belt it into his stomach. Ghost lets out a wheeze, his body lurching over in reaction to the sudden pain coursing through him.

“No!” You yell.

“Who.” He asks again with spite in his tone—he was demanding, it no longer was a question in his favor.

“You’ll know who when he comes’a knockin’ ‘n blows lead thru th’lot of ya.” Ghost says with a slight raise in his head.

The wrench is swung back into his stomach, causing Ghost to hurl and expel vomit onto his boots.

“Leave him the fuck alone!” You kick yourself forward a bit using your boots. Agarwal’s hands grip the slat of the chair and pull you back towards the tray.

“No, no,” he nearly coos, yanking your head back by the thinner group of hairs on the nape of your neck.

You clench your jaw and subside, lifting yourself up with your hips to help avoid the pain.

His eye’s strain, beads of sweat rolling down the end strands of his hair regardless of how cold it was inside of the formidable room.

“Get me my player,” the bearded man says as he trails his 12” redwood handle knife across Ghost’s jawline.

Agarwal’s hand releases your hair to your relief and he leaves the room.

“Disgusting—“ the male snarls. “Making mess of my floor.”

Your eyes narrow as you watch a pool of blood start to form as he slashes Ghost’s cheek, a groan spilling from your lieutenant’s throat.

“Fuck you ‘n y’r floor,” Ghost coughs.

He drops the wrench to the floor, then uses a rag that was hanging out of his pocket to swipe off the blood from the knife’s blade.

Two men walk in, one pushing in a record player and the other holding a tactical vest and a book.

Your vest and your book.

His name patch reads “Gamble”, the one who throws your vest and the book onto the floor.

“Rolmuth, the woman—she has had access to our radio frequency and has been writing down our shipment codes and locations.”

Ghost’s head raises, his pupils shrunken as he takes in the sight of the morse code book.

The man holding the knife cracks his head in your direction before proceeding towards you.

“Thaye…” he susurrated.

You don’t flinch when his arms raise to swing the knife over towards your temple, a maniacal laugh escaping through the barriers of Rolmuth’s teeth.

The knife lowers to release one of your hands, though before you can reach for anything, he slams your arm backward against the back leg of the chair, the feeling of your bones snapping beneath your skin causes you to let out a sharp, excruciating cry as your now-broken arm falls limp to your side.

“Thaye!” Ghost shouts. “Fuckin’ bastard…”

“How?!” Rolmuth yelled through his teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl as he nearly foamed out of his mouth.

His fist meets with your cheek and your eyes squeeze together in grimace to the pain as he punches you again.

Ghost calls out your name and you can hear the metal of his chair scrape and grind against the ground.

You feel your cheek begin to swell, the tender flesh on your face blooming into purple and blue bruises.

He walks to the record player and takes a record out of its sleeve that was resting on the shelf of the small table the player was brought in on. It has wheels on it—similar to the mayo tray.

Rolmuth blows on the record, though the sleeve looks too clean to hold any dust, then places the record on the platter. After pressing play, he drops the tone arm down.

The record scratching sends chills up and down your spine before the music almost beautifully fills the room.

Why does the sun go on shining?

You watch Rolmuth pick up a pair of pliers.

Why does the sea rush to shore?

You wonder if he’s going to try to rip out your teeth.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,

He clasps them around one of your fingers on your broken arm.

Fuck.

The cold metal around your finger makes you nearly want to cry.

‘Cause you don’t love me anymore?

He was going to rip off your finger.

“Who is your captain?” His hand squeezes the pliers, applying pressure to your singular finger.

“Go…to hell—“

A scream rips itself from your throat as you feel your sinew and flesh tear, the pliers tearing your finger from off your bone.

“Tha’s enough!” Ghost jerks and flails in his seat, there’s a sip of panic in his voice. “Get th’fuck off of her!”

Why do the birds go on singing?

Rolmuth wriggled the rest of your finger off, your eyes daring to skim down to look at the bone sticking out from your knuckle.

Blood spews out of the gore, coating your entire hand and dripping from the crevices of your skin into your lap, staining your cargos, turning their white color into several distinct shades of red.

Rolmuth sets the finger—your finger down lightly on the standing metal tray besides you.

Why do the stars glow above?

A penetrating ringing fills your ears; one so loud it felt like it’d be the cause of your tears instead of the pain surging through the entire left side of your body.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

You’re in shock, unable to speak. Your jaw is locked, your teeth are clenched so hard it feels as if you might shatter your teeth.

It ended when I lost your love.

Ghost’s voice echoes in the back of your mind, when he calls out your name, you’re pulled out of your trance. You jerk your slumping head up.

You want to call out his name, but it seems like your throat is swallowing every little word that is being screamed inside of your head.

The room is spinning and you can’t feel your arm, you can’t feel the finger move that was just severed from your hand.

“Look at me, look at me, love…” your lieutenant simpers.

Your eyes search the room until they land on Ghost’s, he sounds far away. You feel your eyes widen as cold metal wraps around another finger once again.

Why does my heart go on beating?

Rolmuth’s lips close in near your ear as he tugs lightly at your middle finger.

“You don’ want to lose this finger, do you?” You feel the man’s hot breath run up the side of your face and brush past your ear.

“Who…is…your...captain?”

Why do these eyes of mine cry?

Every nerve in your body seized, your spine stiffening with every urge to kill the man standing beside you.

Ghost coughs up blood; internal bleeding.

“I’ll fu…cking…skin you…” you croak, your words finally becoming coherent.

He laughs. Rolmuth’s single arm raises in a humorous gesture of surrender.

Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?

Your eyes squeeze shut, though shoot open at the rush of heat, the pliers applying clutched pressure to your finger before Rolmuth started ripping off the second finger, wiggling it until it broke off skin and sinew.

It ended when you said “goodbye.”

“Look at me, Thaye.” Ghost’s voice sounds desperate, so you offer him a short glance as your jaw slacks and your body retracts.

Your strained eyes snapping to the bearded man as he places down your middle finger on top of your pointer finger.

A gag surfaces in your throat and your body twitches as you watch your finger fall and roll almost as if it’s the most natural thing.

Ghost yells your name again.

You finally focus on him, your eyes welling up, reddening and puffing against your will.

“Jus’ look at me, angel,” Ghost’s silked voice calms you, although in a manner you can’t hear him as well as you want to.

Every muscle and ligament inside of you feels tense and stuck.

Why does my heart go on beating?

You had three fingers on your left hand—three fingers.

Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring. Thumb, pinkie, ring.

“Y’ll kill her, she’s losin’ too much blood—she’s goddamn delirious!”

Gamble’s fist barrels into the side of Ghost’s head, you hear a feral groan leave his gullet.

At least I can still put a wedding ring on my left hand. You thought.

Those three fingers trembled and twitched, it was the only movement on the left side of your body besides for your left eye—is he going to take one of my eyes? Your head is swarming with thoughts.

“Ghost…” you slur, still locked onto the blonde’s eyes.

“I know, love,” he says as gently as he physically can. “So proud of’y…”

His speech comes out as a garble, but you’re still able to understand him.

“‘M gon’ get us outta here…alive, a’right?”

Your head slumps at the attempt of a nod.

“Save y’r energy, lovie.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Agarwal grips Ghost’s earlobe, pulling him closer. You’re not able to cognize his words, but you’re aware of the vexation in his countenance.

You flinch once Rolmuth drops the pliers on the metal tray. He removes his latex gloves that were blanketed in your gore and throws them onto your lap.

“Clean them up—she still is of use to me.” His voice grows more distant as he leaves the room.

Gamble injects Ghost with a syringe that was hanging off of his waist, casting him with drowsiness, his eyes struggling to keep open before he’s blacked out.

“What did you do—…what did y’do to him?” Your eyebrows stitch together. “What did you do?!”

They unstrap his arms from the chair, then his ankles.

“Answer me goddamnit...” You seethe, tears warping in your eyes.

“Shut the bitch up,” Gamble nudges Agarwal in the shoulder before he pushes Ghost further out of his restraints, his body still and unconscious allowing the scarred man to bind his wrists with zip ties.

Agarwal simply nods and paces toward you. The stock of his gun smashed into your jaw before you could react.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY TWO.

The woman in the doorway was bedraggled; tired eyes and shrunken tear-stained cheeks.

There’s a light illuminating from the pulled-back curtains—a light so bright it could dry the shining tears that spill out scarlet fluid over the eyes of the miserable.

You feel only patient while waiting for the morning sun to rise over the horizon line of the ocean side.

It’s deteriorating yet caliginous frame of murky grey stone and vast sorrow of an arched entrance sat in disposition from harrowing memories filled with bloodshed, grief, and war.

Your face relaxes at the distinctly ravishing but delicate overcasted ray of light shot down from the amidst along the ruins, the melancholy ambiance nearly sent chills down your spine.

Heavenly cries of forgotten mothers begging for forgiveness of their past sins, children's playful and beatific screams, although it was nothing unknown to you.

Screams were usually followed by split rib cages and bullet wounds—tears, blood, those screams and sweat, you went through it all just for it to lie unheard and forgotten.

You searched the odd and seemingly afterlife-like realm with your eyes, you could only wonder where you were, and why you were there.

Why the flowy white dress draped over your body oscillated with the wind in a gorgeous motion.

You're lifting your head out of the water now.

The taste of salt seems so thick, heavy. Like you could drown in it. Like you could get drunk off of it.

The waves crashing onto shore sound so loud atop the eerie silence, their white crests phasing through your body as if your presence was unknown to them.

You loved the ocean because as opposed to the ones who were supposed to; the ocean loved you and was never afraid to come too close, even at your worst.

As you move farther from shore, the water slowly travels up your body, submerging your frame.

You close your eyes as your head is the last thing the water consumes. You feel the water bubbles tickle your skin and elevate themselves up to the surface.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar burn inside your lungs and that familiar feeling of being gagged by the water to swarm your senses.

Your head jerks up and you let out a loud gasp as you fade into consciousness, slipping into colored imagery instead of just monochrome.

Waking up felt like hell; your mouth was dry and most of your limbs felt unresponsive.

Only when you see Ghost curled up on his side, laying on the floor in front of you, are you able to register where you are and what’s going on.

His knees bucked up into his abdomen with his hands zip tied behind his back and his face battered and bruised.

Specks of dried blood ran from his scalp down his face reaching his compression undershirt.

He was asleep.

There was a gentle rise and fall with his chest—you could still hear his labored breaths from where you were.

It felt colder.

Your eyes wander down to your left hand that was wrapped in bandages that were stained red, your two fingers missing and replaced with nubs that were uneven from each other.

If your arm wasn’t broken, you could use it to break the leg of the chair and wield it against the next person to walk through that large metal door that made you wonder if it was life or death upon you.

If your fingers weren’t missing, you could use them to untangle your restraints on your other hand.

You could barely move your wrist—the pain that swells your entire arm makes it nearly impossible.

Ghost stirs on the floor, his body curling into itself further before his legs straighten out.

“Lieutenant,” you mumble. “What did they do to you…?”

His eyes flicker to yours.

“‘M alive, aren’t I?” Ghost says.

His voice is so hoarse and weak—he sounds dehydrated.

“You are.”

Your eyes close a moment to allow yourself to breathe in the air around you.

The single door breaking up the dull room that held them hostage creaks open on rusted hinges allowing Rolmuth to enter.

Two different men from the day prior push in the same record player and the same rolling metal tray that was stained with your blood.

“Rise and shine,” one says, his boot meeting harshly with the lower section of Ghost’s back.

The blonde’s eyes stay intent on the movements of Rolmuth as he lifts up different record sleeves to read their names. He slides one out and places it on the platter.

That familiar sizzle fills the room before the gentle hum of the music begins.

A short gasp leaves your mouth as Rolmuth kicks down your chair by the back stile, your head immediately jerking forward before it slams down onto the cement floor.

He dismisses the two of his men.

Rolmuth’s hand levitates over the tray and he grasps an old tan hand towel, draping it over your face.

You can hear the buckle of Ghost’s pants tink lightly on the floor as he jerks himself. “Fuckin’ bastard!” He yells.

I don’t want to set the world on fire.

It was going to be okay, you told yourself. You trained for this. Truthfully, you were one of the best swimmers on the task force. You can hold your breath—but if that rag manages to cave in, you’ll most likely panic and lose focus.

I…just want to start a flame in your heart.

“Are you ready for talk, now?” Rolmuth arches over you.

In my heart, I have but one desire…

Your voice muffled, you call him something along the lines of an asshole and a prick, which is quickly silenced by the pressure of water that smacks you in the face.

And that one is you, no other will do…

Ghost watches the man pour a jerry can of water over your face. His breath hitching in his throat watching your body twist and turn trying to evade from the water.

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim

Your body arches up in protest, head jerking side to side as if it would make it any more easier on you.

I just want to be the one you love…

Focus on the music, you tell yourself. You can barely hear your own voice.

And with your admission…that you feel the same,

Rolmuth’s smile is ear to ear as he continues tipping the canister over your cloth-covered face.

I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of, believe me…

You violently thrust your body, panic surging through you as you feel water invade and swallow your lungs.

I don’t want to set the world on fire…

Involuntarily you gasp and choke in more water, you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head.

I…just want to start…a flame in your heart.

Your throat was burning like scolding lava, your heart throbbing inside your chest threatening to rupture. You don’t dare to make noise.

You’re gagging, gasping, sputtering. That you can’t handle. But you don’t let yourself cry. Not like this.

I don’t want to set the world on fire, honey,

The music is starting to garble.

Why is it starting to sound so distorted? You ask yourself.

I…—you too—uch.

“Stop, y’ll fuckin’ kill her! Bloody tosser!” Ghost grits his teeth before spitting out words.

Now that you have the chance to think about it, that song reminds you of someone.

I just want to start…

Your grandfather—you’d sit on that circular crocheted rug and listen to that song as him and your grandmother baked apple fritter.

A great big flame…

He loved that woman more than life itself; when she’d started to get sick with bone cancer, he helped her bathe, he helped her eat, get dressed.

Down in your heart.

Your mother told you about how he had asked her doctor to keep the fact that she only had three weeks left to live just between them.

You see, way down inside me,

She was still happy. So happy. He wanted to spend those last three weeks with her. He retired from his job and took her to all the places she’d talked about visiting.

Darling, I have only one desire.

She passed away, and he spent every day doing all her favorite things. He watered her plants, he baked. He listened to her favorite songs.

And that one desire is you,

He adopted a puppy—a beautiful Australian Shepherd which he named after her. Your mom would say that your grandma’s being was reincarnated into that dog.

And I know nobody else ain’t going to do.

Would that happen to you too? Who would you want to belong to? What kind of dog would you be?

A deafening ringing fills your ears, you finally stop fighting. Breathing.

“She’s not movin—“ Ghost wheezes. “She’s not fuckin’ movin’!”

He was trained for this. He couldn’t break. He couldn’t.

“Enough!” The blonde yells again.

They could crack him, but they can’t break him. They wouldn’t kill her.

Rolmuth finally puts down the canister and removes the rag from off your face, his body bends over to lift your chair back up.

Your body twitching, struggling to release the water clogged in your gullet

“Wake up, bitch,” he snaps and his open palm cracks against your cheek. Your eyes shoot open.

Your mouth opens, your strained and bloodshot eyes widen with horror as you vomit out water, sputtering between your lips as you hack and gag.

The taste of bile is sickening to your empty stomach.

Ghost calls out your name, catching your attention as you stabilize from your state of stupor.

“So proud of’ya, Thaye,” he groans. “Y’r strong, ‘lright? We’ll kill these bastards, all of’em.”

You can hardly spare the man a small nod before your chin is grabbed by Rolmuth’s uncut nails—blood and dirt caked underneath them.

“You tell who you are work for, I consider sparing life.” Rolmuth runs a blade across your cheek, increasing the pressure slightly to slit your skin—a feeling similar to a paper cut. You moan in pain. “Your friend I can not speak for.”

Blood trickles down from the incise, slowly flaring through your cut and pushing from the barriers beneath your top layer of skin.

“F…uck…—“ your silenced by sudden metal on your tongue, scraping gently like a threat.

“I will carve out ur pretty little tongue, cut it in bits, and feed it to you.” Rolmuth coos. “Would you that, yes?”

“Y’sick fuck, get th’fuck away from ‘er!” Ghost attempts to jerk himself up, the bonding on his ankles not allowing him to, his bruised ribs protesting in pain as he lets out a sharp breath.

Your eyes burn into his, your neck flinching as he slowly pushes the blade farther down your throat, his hand prying your mouth open.

He chuckles lowly, small “ah’s” leaving him as he slowly opens your mouth farther to allow the tip of the knife farther down. You salivate, drool racing down your chin and over the creep’s knuckles.

Ghost’s eyes divert from your face to the man’s hands. Disgust laced in his features.

He swallowed thickly, he could feel his skin boiling. He wasn’t angry.

Pissed.

He was incensed.

More than that.

“G..host…” your slightly muffled voice trembles.

His gaze fixes back on yours, watching as your left eye twitches at each of Rolmuth’s motions.

“I know, love…J’s look at me, ‘lright? J’s look at me.”

It presses onto the skin of your tongue, it’s curved edge digging into the fragile skin and tissue causing the metallic taste of iron to taint your sense of taste.

You still bore into your lieutenant’s gaze.

Saliva and blood dribbles down your neck, the sight no doubtedly arousing the male in front of you—his tongue leapt out to slowly trace along his bottom lip.

You might drown in your own saliva at this rate.

Your lieutenant purses his dry and cracked lips, but he doesn’t look away.

He takes the blade out of your mouth, rubbing it against the cloth of his pants to clean it.

Rolmuth raises the knife and pierces your thigh, the feeling of cold metal hitting you first along with the shock, the sound of cloth tearing.

“I want names!” The man hollered, spit landing on your face just below your eyes.

Ghost watches your pupils shrink, his own eyes widening and slowly shifting to your thigh.

An intense tingling sensation swarms your entire leg, then a heat. A heat that felt unbearable.

Ghost searches for your eyes again, his mouth moving, though you can’t hear anything he says.

He broke through skin and sinew, twisting the knife inside of the laceration.

“Talk, bitch!” Rolmuth’s eyes darken.

It takes a few moments for the pain to surface, and when it does, it’s scorching. Your jaw slacks open as your eyebrows pinch together, a shrill whimper escaping you.

“Don’ look, don’t.” Ghost pleads with you. Even he was struggling not to look at your thigh.

It didn’t take eyes to tell there was blood bubbling from the wound and dripping down your pants and trembling leg.

A narrow vertical split across the midsection of the flesh of your thigh. Your eyes didn’t leave Ghost’s.

Was his hair bleached? It seemed like such an unnatural shade of blonde. Brunette underneath. He must bleach it himself.

Rolmuth gave it one more twist, releasing a thin, raw, scream from your throat.

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them get the satisfaction of that from you. Especially not you.

“They’ll b’ere soon, Thaye.” Your lieutenant says.

“You are weak,” Rolmuth spits. “You will break.”

He rolls his shoulders before gripping your pointer finger and holding a jab saw above it.

Your eyes flicker to Rolmuth’s and Ghost calls your name.

“I want a name!” Rolmuth’s scream makes your head spin.

“Fuck y—“ your voice is replaced with a high pitched cry followed by gasps and whimpers as Rolmuth’s new blade carved through sinew and bone. He lifts up your finger against the blade and with one swift movement, your finger falls onto the floor.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’bastard!” Ghost’s lips twitching in pain mixed in with a whole lot of anger.

Your body jumps up, an animalistic noise escaping your throat as you swing your head back and wince loudly, the pain in your thigh

“Name! Or I take another!” Rolmuth yells just inches from your face.

You couldn’t handle it—your vision is swarmed by black spots and your head is killing you. Your body is in so much pain you feel so much, but so little all at the same time.

When your eyes roll to the back of your head and lolls, you can faintly hear the man yell ‘shit’ before you’re unable to comprehend what is happening.

Everything fades into a subtle blackness, and the last thing you hear is Ghost yelling your name. Screaming your name.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 4

You wake up to the sound of loud groaning and thumping.

It takes you a few moments to register that you’re awake and you can actually move.

So you do—you upheave your head and take in the light spilling in the room from between the iron barred vent.

It stings your eyes, blotchiness surrounding your peripheral before you’re able to adjust to the light.

Ghost is on the floor taking blunt forces into his lower abdomen—the blonde sputters out a cough as his entire body jerks at the contact.

The man grips the neckline of Ghost’s shirt, lifting his head from off the ground as thick red paste runs down his split and swollen lips.

His legs lift themselves up in an attempt to propel his body up and out of the man’s grasp, but he falls flat as his neck is slammed back onto the cement.

Before Ghost can gasp for air the moment his neck is released, a closed fist slams into his cheekbone, knocking the wind out of him.

“Stop,” you rasp. “Let’im go…”

Ghost is twitching on the floor, blood spilling from his mouth. His entire face is caked in red flakes and black and blue blemishes—the entire left side of his face is fattened with knots.

“No…” you snarl.

The man whirls his head and glares at you, an amused expression of disbelief stamped onto his face.

“No?” He says cockily.

The man paces towards you and cuts off your bindings, bundles your hair in his fist and drags you over towards Ghost, you whine and raise your unbroken arm to try and pry his hands off, but he only tugs harder.

He pulls your hair up until you're positioned on your knees, chin raised up and neck tilted.

You hear a click, it wasn’t a gun.

He unsheathed a pocket knife. It was a fairly decent size. You were tired of seeing knives.

Ghost watches the man’s hand lower to your abdomen, fingers pirouetting across your delicate skin, it sends a shivering fear throughout your entire body like electricity.

“Please…” you meekly whisper, attempting to pull yourself away, your body is so weak from lack of use. Your voice came out as a croak.

His other hand holds a knife that teases the neckline of your shirt.

Ghost thrashes against the floor attempting to wrestle out of his bindings. “I’ll skin you,” Ghost’s voice is hoarse.

“How would you feel If I just…” His fingers trace along the scars on your stomach. “Touch her, ever so lightly…Right in front of you?” The man snickers.

You yelp as his knife cuts a thin line down your blood-stained neckline until your cleavage is exposed.

Tears surface the corners of your eyes.

No, no, no, no…

“Keep y’r eyes on me,” Ghost whispers weakly. “That’s it, love.”

You feel your shirt tear entirely down the middle and fall down your arms, pooling around your wrists.

Your vision blurs and your mouth starts to feel dry, teeth chattering in unison with your trembling lips.

When the knife rests over the center gore of your bra, your breath hitches in your throat and tears bead down your cheeks.

The blade slices through the cloth and immediately your hand rises to cover your nude chest.

Ghost’s eyes stay locked with yours, one half-closed from being beaten beyond his control.

You feel his facial hair scrub raw against your skin, sipping in your fear and vulnerability.

“Team Delta en route for seaside, Corbin, what’s your report?”

His radio.

The man pauses and takes his hand off the midline of your ribcage to grab his radio.

“Delta, this is Pooch on standby—hostages are stable, the woman is awake.”

You release a choked sob, causing the man to release the talk button and bash it against the side of your face, sending you straight onto the floor.

“Thaye…” Ghost croons.

You clutch your chest with your one hand as you feel the right side of your face swell.

“It’ll ‘b over soon,” you tremble, releasing a shaken breath. “They’ll find..us…”

“Shut the fuck up,” his voice is slicked with spite. “Both of you.”

“Pooch, this is Delta, rog that. Don’t kill our intel—0-7, signing off.” It crackles.

You lift your head and turn it slightly, blinking causes the pain on your cheekbone to burn like acid.

“Go to h—“ the radio is bashed into your face again causing your vision to swim and make your head stumble.

The sound of blood trickling and hitting the floor fills your ears, your left palm flattens against the cold floor. Missing fingers wrapped to keep you alive, not because they care.

He punches the radio into your right eye. You keep your head down in submission.

“You wanna act tough? Get treated like you're tough!” He yells.

His hand tugs your head back—you can see your own blood splattered against the communicator before you’re met with the same fate.

Ghost watches as the man beats the right side of your face in with the butt of the radio until it’s practically unrecognizable—caked and blistered. Bruising and swelling so tender on your skin.

He can’t do anything.

He can only watch.

You whimper and cry, hissing through your tears while your jaw clenched, the radio mercilessly landing on the same spot allowing more blood to cascade from the wound.

The last hit is the hardest, sending your numbing cheek staggering back down onto the ground, you wheeze.

If Ghost’s hands weren’t tied behind his back, the man standing above the two of you would be a mangled corpse. He knew that.

Your breaths are shallow and rasped. It feels like hell to breathe—to move your face. Crimson just pools beneath you as Pooch flicks off your gore from his communicator.

He grunts in disgust as specks splatter onto the ‘cleaner’ side of your face. Like water spots on a windowpane or glass shower door.

When you hear the door slam behind you, it makes you flinch.

Your body has broken into tremors now, maybe it’s not tremors—but your spasming.

And your hand is still covering your scar-ridden chest, but you feel like you might pass out again.

Ghost’s own breaths are ragged—you wonder if lunderneath all the blood on your face if you’d look just like him.

“Sleep,” he rasps. “I’ll watch ya.”

You relax as much as you possibly can, your single eye twitching shut in favor of your other one.

All you’ve had these past four days was sleep, yet it didn’t replenish. It didn’t make you feel any less tired or exhausted.

With your bones feeling brittle and sore, it was hard to shift yourself into the mindset of falling asleep, but you tried.

You felt Ghost scoot himself towards you, possibly just to shield your unclad chest and give you a taste of comfort.

Your eyelids feel heavy with pain and fatigue, your body stilling as you allow yourself to sleep.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

DAY 5

Your hands are tied above your head, a gag set between your teeth which you gnaw at in an attempt to drag it down to hang around your neck.

Ghost is a few feet away from you—both of you hanging on metal piping with rope around your wrists.

Ghost’s boots were on the floor, he was too tall to hang like you, where you could swing your feet. Did they take your shoes?

You watch the steel poker ignite in the industrial furnace; the end of it glowing all shades of red, yellow, and orange.

It was two different tools Rolmuth was holding, now. They had two different symbols on each one that you were unfamiliar with. He was choosing.

Rolmuth spun the branding irons with his thumbs and pointers, chuckling dryly to himself as he approached Ghost, setting one of them back inside the boiler.

His boots were so loud, they echoed off the walls of the room they were in—It looked like some sort of boiler room, but you weren’t too sure.

You two must’ve been in a warehouse of some sort.

Rolmuth has to look up to look your lieutenant in the eyes.

When they’d woken you up, they threw you a gray tank top, so you weren’t as exposed as you were before.

The Hindi man pulls down Ghost’s gag.

“460 degrees of heat on metal…” he says as he lifts the hem of Ghost’s shirt. “You talk, I spare you more scar.”

“Go fuck y’self, y’manky twat…” the blonde snapped.

An open mouthed yell left Ghost’s throat as the metal is lanced firmly over the middle of his stomach, tugging at his flesh and skin.

Ghost’s eyes squeeze shut as loud whimpers escape from him, ragged winces.

“Stop!” you cry.

God, you’d never heard him in so much pain. You never thought you’d ever hear him scream in agony, in physical pain.

You're forced to watch the smoke trailing up the rod, Ghost’s back arching in tormentation.

“You piece of shit!” You twist and turn your body causing the rope to shred through layers of your skin.

His muscles tense and his knuckles go white from how hard he’s gripping the pipelines holding him up.

Rolmuth removes the metal from Ghost’s skin—it could be described as a flesh eating parasite; the way that his skin sticks to the rod as if it’s desperate for that contact.

A hitched gasp manages to make its way past his lips as he feels a tinge of relief, his body twitching and pained moans and hisses filling your ears.

You jerk your body weight down, kicking your bare feet until you feel the metal start to dent.

Rolmuth sets the iron back onto the furnace over a rack, he’s bending over to adjust the heat, the fire is roaring.

You tug your arms down and you let out a strained whine at the feeling of your wrists starting to bleed.

When the metal gives in above you, it creaks and drops you down.

You slide down the metal and Rolmuth’s body swings up from fidgeting with furnace levers and knobs.

His arms are immediately reaching for his gun while you lift your legs up and kick the heels of your feet into his shoulder blades, hard.

Rolmuth’s head slams back into the brick base of the furnace, he lets out a groan, his form dragging down and slumping against the floor.

Your body lands harshly on the ground, an excruciating response coming from the back of your head.

Black spots cloud your vision as you slowly try to regain your composure. Your vision is blurring, everything sounds far away and echoed.

The gun slides across the floor.

Your jaw clenches as you pick up your heavy head, your eye searching for the gun regardless of the pounding that distracted you.

When you spot the muzzle, you lurch yourself forward and reach, finger grazing the trigger guard before your pulled back by your hair, earning a yelp to leave you.

Your lungs refuse to cooperate in your chest as your scalp is nearly torn from your head.

Rolmuth growls with clenched teeth, pulling you away from the gun and towards him as he kneels himself over you.

This was the first time you were able to get a decent look at his face—if it weren’t for your messed up eye—but you only can see the rage dispersed over his face as his hands gather around your throat.

He slams your neck down, adding onto the pain thrusting through the back of your head.

“Bitch!” Rolmuth snarls.

You suck in your gag, causing panic and adrenaline to rush through your entire body as your binded hands thrash and attempt to push him off of you.

You duck yourself, bend your leg and kick it against his ankle to heave yourself up with all your weight upwards.

He exclaims in his native tongue, some of which you can only recognize as insults and swears.

Ghost calls your name weakly.

Rolmuth’s hands slip from your throat allowing you to breathe and sit yourself on top of him, you tug your body and maneuver yourself until you're behind the man, pulling the knot of your bindings against his throat and crossing them over.

His neck lifts to try and give himself access to air, though you tug and hold his waist steady between your knees.

You yell with your clenched teeth, the fabric between your lips making the muscles in your jaw ache.

Him wheezing beneath you, fingernails clawing at your split and abused hands before he shifts.

“Thaye!” Your lieutenant hollers.

Rolmuth’s hands reach down to his vest to pull another gun, aiming it at your foot and pulling the trigger causing you to let out an agonizing scream, pain racking your entire body.

The bullet shoots clean through, you knew that for sure. It was too close.

Your grip on his neck loosens so you can slap the gun out of his grip.

In three quick motions, Rolmuth’s back atop you with his hands grasping your hair again, dragging you towards the furnace until your face is close enough to feel the heat radiate onto your face.

You feel the thickness of gore engulf your foot and drip down your toes onto the floor.

Your grunting, muffled, and loud breaths make your head pound as the man squeezes your jaw and forces your neck towards the mouth of the forge.

“No…” you snarl with bared lips, kicking your legs regardless of the pain, throwing yourself towards him to keep yourself as far from the flames as you could.

Rolmuth laughs dryly accompanying his guttural breaths, his body stretching yet keeping a firm hold on your mandible as he takes hold of one of the branding rods.

“No!” Your eye widens and your hands reach up to push his face away from you.

“Fuck!” He growls, shaking his face to keep your hands off as he pulls the iron out of the furnace.

He wastes no time pressing it into your side regardless of the thin tank covering your skin, and the cloth does absolutely nothing in regards to the sudden gut wrenching sensation that makes it feel like your entire body was drenched in gasoline and set on fire with a blowtorch.

Your cry is deafening to the ears and the smell of burning charred flesh is quick to fill your nostrils. You feel and you hear your skin bubble up, sizzle, then pop, then stick to the metal and entangle itself around the start of the handle taking the appearance of something similar to chewed bubblegum.

Even trembling and shaking, you manage to find a way to position your hands so you can plant your thumbs into his eyes and use some of the only fingers you have left to press them into his eyes, causing the man to yell.

Still, your screams aren’t matchable as your fingernails gouge into his sockets and claw at his eyelids, shredding through flesh easily as blood began to dribble down his face and over his lips like tears. You still manage to scream louder in anger than the man can in pain.

Your fingers shove deeper into the grooves of his eye sockets, the organs are pushed so far back that blood sprays across your face and he finally releases the rod.

It clangs to the floor, and he starts sobbing in his native tongue, convulsing hands reaching up towards his red-painted face as you pull your gag out.

“Go to hell,” You seethe wobbly as you lift yourself and steer yourself behind him, taking Rolmuth by the nape of his neck and forcing himself inside the mouth, against the grills inside the furnace.

He shrieks and cries, moving erratically as his face is engulfed by the fire. Slowly, yet quickly, his skin is shredded by the blazes and the bottom rows of his teeth are exposed.

It takes him a while to stop making noise before you pull his head out and throw his twitching body onto the ground, then you finally allow yourself to lean against a boiler tank and take pressure off your injured foot.

You propel yourself off the tank by your palms and drag yourself regardless of your ankle to the edge of the furnace, turning yourself around to scrape the rope against the brick.

A gasp releases from your throat at the sudden relief around your wrists, the rope falling to the ground.

“Ghost?” You lift your head.

“‘M here.” He replies.

“I don’t know if I can get up.”

“I know you can,” Ghost urges. “Find…” he sputters up blistering coughs.

“…Fin’a knife, ‘n get me outta these binds, yea?” He huffs. “‘N I’ll do the rest.”

Your eye blinks as you grip the ankle of Rolmuth’s corpse, pulling him toward you to start flipping up his vest and pant pockets.

He didn’t have a knife on him.

Got to be fucking kidding me.

A door is swung open, a singular set of footsteps stepping into the room.

Your eye searches for a weapon—anything that can deal enough damage.

A metal fire poker is hanging off the wall to your right, so you swing your elbows back and lift yourself up by the palms of your hands.

As quick as you can, you hoist yourself up by using the support of a metal deaerator, your arm sliding against it as you limp and throw yourself towards the wall creating a subtle thud.

“What the fuck…?” A man’s voice murmurs.

You silently curse to yourself under your breath as you grab the fire poker off the nails that were being used to hold it up.

Using the heel of your injured foot, you shuffle against some shelving, looking between the gaps for the man inside the room.

He’s holding a Fennec, nothing you haven't dealt with before.

He’s twenty seconds to your left, carefully skimming along the floor with his eyes down the sights of his gun.

You pinch a metal screw off of one of the shelves and toss it into the corner closest to you to lead him your way.

“Fuck,” the younger male jumps slightly. He looked young and lanky, at least from his physique.

When you hear his boots start to rub against the floor, you lift your head slightly to watch him turn towards your direction.

Your fingers and nubs flex on the thin metal, it’s hard to gain a clear grip.

The man comes around the corner of the shelves, the sounds of his tactical gear shuffling alerting you when he gets closer until his helmet is in sight.

You immediately thrust the fire poker into the gap below his collarbone and into his scapula, dampening the fabric of his undershirt in that area as it rips.

Out of panic and shock, his finger grips the trigger and you have to jerk him away before any of his bullets are able to hit you.

“Please!” The boy pleads, gun dropping to hang around his neck as he grips the caps of your shoulders. You only glare at him before plunging the fire poker further into that same spot until it tears and mauls through his back, sticking out on the other end.

He’s gasping out, but it’s almost like no air is exhaling, mouth held agape as his grip on your shoulders releases.

You shout and cry out at every thrust until the hole carved into his skin is able to suck in the hooked tip.

The male’s head falls and you allow his body to slump down and forward, the metal rod holding his stilled body up.

You heave dryly and press a palm on the wall to support yourself, your foot is killing you—literally.

The blown out flesh and puckered skin walls made you want to barf. You could stick a finger through your foot and feel your pulsating muscles just hug around your finger.

You lean down and unclip the knife holster from the gun belt, unsheathing it then hobbling around the shelving towards Ghost who was still hanging from the pipes.

“Okay, okay…” you breathe sharply, struggling to lift yourself up onto the brick platform of the furnace, nearly stumbling off before you catch your footing.

“Keep still,” you say, arching your hand to start cutting at his bondings until he’s dropped onto the floor.

Ghost lets out a loud groan, his arms clutching his ribs. They’d broken one of his ribs, maybe multiple. You both were in bad shape.

It takes him a moment to get himself off the floor as you seat yourself and scoot off of the hearth.

He grabs both of the hand guns that had been dropped onto the floor, holding one out to you.

You unclip the magazine, then snap it back into the chamber at the sight of one missing bullet.

It was the same one that Rolmuth used to shoot your foot.

Ghost’s hand rests on your cheek, gently. “Y’did good, ‘lright?” He spoke with a lilt.

“Can y’walk?”

“A little.” You nod. “Fuckers took my shoes…”

He lets his hand fall to check his magazine, then he nods. “‘Don’t know if I can carry ya with m’ribs.”

“It’s okay, just don’t wait for me.” You reply.

His eyebrows furrow. “Bloody hell, Thaye, I ain’t leavin ya.”

“I know but—“

“No.”

Ghost’s half-lidded eyes glare at you, giving you all the warning to stop.

“Stay behind me.”

He starts walking towards the door, slowly peeking it before leaving with you behind him.

Walking hurt—even while you only applied pressure to the heel on your injured foot, the muscles contracted and the pain was torturous.

One man entered the hallway holding a box from another room, which Ghost took care of by shooting a single bullet between his eyes.

The box had opened and dropped glass equipment, alerting four others who had been lingering in the room he came from.

They yell and communicate in their native tongue, one sticking his head out of the door threshold to aim his rifle.

Ghost fires his pistol and the man swings his head back into the room, still opening fire into the hallway.

“Fuck!” You hiss, dodging the bullets and moving quickly behind a filing cabinet, lowering yourself down.

Ghost’s back presses against a door to your right, pulling himself out of cover to fire at the man.

Two bullets miss and the third causes his head to fling back and smear blood as his body arches and falls down to the floor.

You lift your head and aim your pistol, gasping when your throat is suddenly hooked back from behind you.

When the combatant turns you around and attempts to make a slash at your throat, you manage to extract yourself by gripping his wrist and snapping his elbow out of place, the sounds of bones snapping as he yells.

His knife drops from his hand and you scramble to pick it up from the floor.

You groan as his boot digs into your bandaged hand before you're able to pick it up, then his hand grips your neck to lift you up.

He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, locking his wrists over each other at your back. You clench your teeth and jerk violently in his grasp.

Ghost is fighting four other men, locking them in the crook of his elbow and smashing their skulls between the doors.

The man holding you in position crushes you in his grasp even with his broken arm. He tries dragging you into another room.

“Let me the fuck go,” you gasp, causing the man to laugh.

“You will regret ever trying to leave your room,” he utters.

You breathe a moment, heart pounding through your chest as you swing your head into the side of his neck and sink your teeth into his skin with all the strength in your jaw.

Crimson liquid seeps into your mouth and down the front of your neck as you yank out the flesh of his throat. You spit out the skin and blood, wiping your mouth and tongue against the skin of your arm as the man’s grasp loosens

His shoulder blades and chest are glistening in red, gore spurting out of the torn spot in his throat as his body stumbles and he’s gargling on his own blood trying to speak.

“Fuck you…” You shutter weakly, eyes slowly skimming down to the knife lodged inside your waist.

Shit.

He must’ve stabbed you before lifting you up, your adrenaline pumping so fiercely you couldn’t feel it until now.

You stumble on your feet slightly, shaking hands lowering to wrap around the handle and pull it out of the slit.

The runnel of red paste turns into a thick stream down as it drenches your tank top.

You lift your head slowly and throw the knife overhead across the hallway, hitting a man who’s pointing a handgun at the back of Ghost’s head.

It’s blade spades into the back of his skull and makes his body wriggle down onto the floor.

“Ghost…!” You gasp and press your open palm over your soaking top and open laceration.

Ghost steps over both legs of a bloodied man before shooting him dead and advancing towards you.

“Shite…” He huffs, gently removing your hand and placing it back after gaining a clear inspection.

His hands grip the hem of his shirt and roughly tear at the fabric creating a long strip, then he moves your hand aside again to tightly secure it around your wound.

You hiss and groan, hand gripping his shoulder as he tugs and pulls at your body while tying the knot of the fabric.

“I’s ‘lright.” Ghost mollifies as he scoops his arm underneath your armpit.

It offers you some support as he guides you both out towards a staircase.

It wasn’t a warehouse—you and Ghost were just in a basement that was turned into a meth lab.

Boxes and boxes full of lab equipment scattered along the floors.

You’d never seen such a big basement, one with torture chambers and stonework rooms.

Hell, in the corner of the room with all the steel liquid tanks and chemical barrels.

A woman is in bright blue hazmat coveralls and a chemical mask standing on top of a metal stool.

Ghost raises his pistol and you lower it slightly with your palm, his eyes glaring at you with his head kept facing forward.

“You can’t miss, we don’t know what corrosives are in these tanks. Is it worth it?” You keep your voice low, personal between the two of you.

He doesn’t reply, instead he looks forward, then squeezes the trigger and picks the woman off by shooting her in the side of her neck.

You swallow thickly as her body spasms on the ground, the stool getting caught in her ankle as crimson fluid rises and bubbles inside of her mouth.

Ghost guides the two of you up the cobble stairs, one hand dragging up the wall and the other across your lieutenant’s wingspan.

Your eyes flash at the sudden two objects being thrown down the stairs, the sudden silence as they roll down step…after step…after step before Ghost is swinging you up into arms and yelling.

He’s breaching himself through the door, into open fire before the staircase you had come up from explodes into the emitting heat compressed air and blasts behind the two of you sending you both flying forward.

Smoke engulfs the room, giving both you and Ghost coverage to get behind cover.

You're pulled by the back of your shirt behind a deep freezer, bullets flying and hitting the metal.

“Fuckin’ pricks got us pinned!” His head lifts over to fire at three of the men who have ballistic shields covering those firing LMGs behind. “‘N I’ve got four left.”

You can’t see through the thick smoke—you can’t breathe while wheezing into the crook of your elbow. “Seven,” you inform him.

“Cover me,” Ghost grabs your arm for a moment, letting go and serving around the freezer.

You follow behind him with a raised pistol, shooting off at any glares you're able to see through the fumes.

Six…Five…

A man steps out from cover behind a wine cabinet, but before he can fire his rifle, you pop him in the eye.

Four…

Ghost quickly crouches down and shimmies the rifle out of the corpse’s grip, grabbing at a magazine and stuffing it into his vest he’d managed to keep.

You groan and push over a bookshelf behind Ghost once you’re both out of the smoke. He takes aim and opens fire at three men, blowing holes in their chests before he rams into the fourth with a loud yell and slams down the stock of his assault rifle into his face until his teeth and nose are finely pressed into the persian rug.

You finish off two more who try to walk through the threshold of the room, turning your head over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two…

You jerk yourself away before you get slugged by a riot shield, ascending yourself and shoving your firearm past the barriers of his lips from behind. You pull the trigger and his head flings as the bullet rings out and creates a sizable hole in the back of his head.

One…

Before his body hits the tile, you take hold of his riot shield and deflect the hail of gunfire from the individual who came emerging from the threshold corner.

You walk forward until his clip is empty to drive the shield into his vest-covered chest, stunning him so you can push it aside and fire your last shot into the underside of his jaw.

Zero.

Bullets continue spraying throughout the entirety of the house while you make sure you don’t pass out from the amount of blood you’ve lost.

You grab the TAQ-V from off the floor and click a new magazine into it, shoving a spare into your back pocket before pushing into the same room as Ghost.

He’s piling bodies on the floor, wrestling for dominance over a knife.

You fastdraw another handgun you’d grabbed off of one of the bodies and shoot the man in his knee cap to allow Ghost to gain the upper hand and pierce the man’s temple with the weapon.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly.

You nod softly, inhaling sharply as you feel wet blood pool around your uninjured foot.

They took your shoes for no reason, like they had a use for them.

Maybe it allows you to move around more quietly, but it still disturbed you that they took the time to even peel off your socks.

“What intel did y’know that we didn’t?” His chest is against yours, head craning down to keep the conversation between the two of you.

“Lieutenant, we don’t…” You pause a moment, your head spinning.

Hunger, thirst, the cold, the blood loss. There was so much holding you hostage and you weren’t even able to comprehend how you were still standing—limping.

“Well, Seargant?” His voice is low, still holding the same husky British drawl.

“We don’t have the time for this, for now—“ Ghost shoves you aside before you can finish, raising the muzzle of his rifle to open fire on the men entering the room.

“Fuckin’ riot shields!” He pulls you behind a flipped over tattered blue couch that had already gone through its fair share of bullets.

A bullet flies and hits the side of the couch a hair’s breadth from your face.

“Goddammit,” he curses while replacing the magazine in his gun.

The men brandishing shields push further.

When one reaches close enough, you run in front of the shield and grab the sides before he crashes into you.

You turn him until his body is vulnerable to Ghost, your teeth ground into each other.

“Ghost!” You yell to catch his attention, head snapping in your direction to fire a single round into the back of his head.

You throw the body off of yourself and yank the riot shield to cover yourself, ducking your head as you recoil your fist and punch one of the men baring LMGs hard twice in the jaw.

You thrust the shield into the next, throwing it into his abdomen as he topples, finishing him off by shooting him down in the chest.

One turns with his M4 raised, but you turn your gun around and bash the stock into the base of his chest, then again into his cheek, swiping your leg across the floor and knocking him down then picking his head up and slamming it down on a thick shard of glass sticking upwards to finish him off.

Ghost drops the last body, finishing off a magazine into his vest and throwing the weapon aside. You toss him another one, which he catches with ease.

“We’ll force upstairs, look f’r our shit, ‘n leave.” He says as he picks up a frag grenade from off a vest.

“There should be Skimobiles somewhere around here, the ones they were using in the FFO,” you nod.

“A’right,” he groans while rolling his shoulders. “On my mark.”

He trudges past bodies until he’s at the threshold of the staircase, stepping up slowly with the grenade in one hand and his gun in his other.

You follow behind leisurely, eye down the scope of your rifle.

He pulls the clip and tosses it up, arm stretching behind to press his hand against your shoulder blade.

“Oh shit—grenade!” A man yells from upstairs before detonation.

“Go!” Ghost immediately backs up off the wall and skips over two steps into the corridor, prefiring as he loops around a wall.

There’s already bodies and limbs splayed across the room from the combatants who were hit by the frag.

Your back rubs against the wall as you lean to shoot down the hallway, whirring bullets firing past you.

After a few back and forths between staying flat against the wall and leaning to fire off your gun, bodies drop and you’re able to progress down the hall.

Ghost is somewhere on the opposite side of the house, you still hear heavy gunfire.

You pause at the sight of another man at the end of the hallway and you recognize him immediately.

The look in his eyes and the scruffiness of his face made your lips stretch in almost the most feral look.

Corbin, that was his name. Callsign ‘Pooch’.

Anger burns in the depths of your lungs and stomach as you grip the wall for support, lunging yourself forward to lift your feet over each body that was littered across the hallway floors.

Sweat ran down the sides of your face and splotched down around the neck of your shirt with the blood.

You watch his face twist into a wolfish grin as he slings his gun over his shoulder and walks towards you.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He purrs.

White noise fills your ears.

All you can see through the glossy shine of your eyes is the man who humiliated you in front of your superior.

All you can see through the blinding red rage is the man who beat Ghost and cracked his ribs, forcing you to watch him retract and twitch at every fleeting fist.

Even the hail of gunfire is silent in your ears as you drag your injured foot. Everything sounds underwater, everything feels dull.

His fist intersects and meets with your cheekbone causing your head to shift to the left and your body to stumble where you stand.

You grip his wrist and divert his second punch by lifting your arm and thrusting your knee roughly into his thigh to tamper his movements.

He groans, with grim chuckles following after. “I’m going to enjoy every last second of this,” he coos.

Your body shivers in disgust as you slide your fingers down to your waist, priming the knife stuffed beneath the hem of your shirt. “Go fuck yourself…” you hiss.

His eyes flicker down to your hand and his boot immediately connects with the middle of your torso, sending you across the floor with a loud thud.

Pooch steps between your legs and lifts your upper body by the neckline of your shirt, his knuckles slamming down to beat on your already swollen face.

Drool and blood pour from your mouth, a strangled gasp leaving you at every punch before he releases you harshly back down onto the floor.

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, the pressure and swelling in your face and head being all too much for you.

A boot is savagely kicked into the lower pit of your abdomen, making you gag on air.

“Get the fuck up.” Pooch spits.

You clutch your stomach and turn, slowly feeling for the knife, then quickly lifting the edge trimming of your tank top and grasping the handle, pulling it out and sweeping your leg around and behind his ankles to knock him off to the side.

He yells out swears as you level yourself over him, his legs kicking out to make your chest rest on the soles of his boots.

Both of your hands grasp the handle of the knife making it easier on your lack of fingers. His hands grip your forearms as you cry out and try forcing the knife down on him.

He kicks his legs up and backwards, upending you over him and sending the knife flying.

You hiss and give yourself no time to recover, flipping on your stomach and army crawling with your forearms to grab the knife.

He topples atop your body, planting a piercing slap across your face before reaching for the knife and propelling it downwards into you.

Before you’re able to block, the knife breaks through the skin in your stomach, your hand managing to grab his wrist before he’s able to gut you open.

You seethe and let out a sharp whine followed by a croaked cry, your other hand circling his wrist in an attempt to push him away.

Quickly, you roll your body off to the side and let go of him, causing the knife to pierce into the wood flooring as you grip a console table to succor yourself up.

Corbin abandons the knife and flings himself upwards, swinging his gun into his arms.

“I’m done playing games.”

You advance on him, grabbing the rifle and pushing it into his chest before he can aim it at you.

One of your hands grip the upper hand guard while the other grips the bolt and holds the muzzle up.

You yank his body over towards the window behind you, turning your body then grabbing the man by the back of his hair and smashing his head through the glass.

It shatters from contact and leaves cuts and shards in his skin, a loud yell clawing its way from his throat.

His finger grips the trigger and bullets roll out into the floor as you pull his head back.

You pull the rifle sling from off his shoulder, tossing it aside and disarming him from the X12 tucked into the back of his pants.

He growls at every tug of his scalp as you shoot him in the back of the leg and force him onto his knees.

A loud wail echoes the hallway from the man below you.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” you snap.

“You don’t get to scream.”

“You don’t get to cry and whine like a little bitch.”

There’s no remorse in your voice, no sense of mercy for the man being held on his knees and whimpering.

You smack the magazine onto the base of his nose, blood dripping it’s way down his nostrils as a struggling noise spills from his lips.

“You…fucking….” he chokes on his own words.

His entire body violently trembles at the tortured scream he releases as you squeeze the trigger again, shooting Pooch in his shoulder then proceeding to stick your thumb into the ravage wound harshly.

“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” He strains and pants like a dehydrated dog trying to jerk away from you.

You replace your finger with your foot, lowering his back against the floor as you press your toe into the bullet hole.

Another scream tears out of him as you blow another hole into the other side—his chest convulses.

Blood seeps from his mouth, you hold the grip of the handgun with both hands and sob out loud as you empty the entire magazine into his head until his face is unrecognizable to the amount of bullet holes.

You keep pulling the trigger, even as the gun starts to click announcing its out of ammunition.

The entire floor below you is covered in gore; flesh, messings of brains, blood, skin.

So much.

Your body snaps around as a hand abruptly drapes over your shoulder, your arm raising the gun ready to bash it into the skull of the next man to try and touch you.

“Thaye, Thaye—y’got him! Thaye, he’s dead!”

Someone calls your name trying to snap you of out haze.

Ghost—your eyes soften with glistening tears as he calmly disarms you after deflecting the hit with his forearm, tossing the handgun aside so he can push you into his chest by the back of your neck.

“‘S over, sweet girl.” Ghost says with intonation. “Can’t hurt ya anymore.”

Your eyes are wide with terror, hands bundling your lieutenant’s shirt as you exhale a shaky mewl.

It’s him who releases you first, handing you your custom rifle and radio.

His balaclava is back on his face, along with the skull mask.

“Y’r vest ‘n boots are in the room I came from,” Ghost jerks his head.

You nod softly and shamble towards the doorway in the direction he’d pointed out.

You pause.

A little boy walks out of the threshold—he’s holding a gun far bigger than his head.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Did these men take you from your family?”

You turn your head over your shoulder to call for Ghost, the sound of a bullet whirring filling your ears.

Ghost wastes no time pulling out his handgun and shooting the little boy in the head before running towards you.

Your right shoulder is screaming at you as time seems to slow down to a crawl. You hear Ghost yell behind you and the gunshot ringing as the little boy falls back and you do too, hitting the ground hard.

The masked man is on his knees in front of you within seconds, lifting your head into his lap.

“Thaye! Thaye, don’t y’fuckin’ die, not now…” He growls, applying pressure down onto your shoulder with both of his gloved hands.

Your lips slant in a tired manner, eyelids feeling heavy. His bloody hand kneads your cheek, smearing gore along your already dirtied skin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he curses loudly. “Stay awake, love, please…”

God, he was hurting, it hurt to have your head against the burns on his stomach, but he wouldn’t let you die.

“Babygirl,” he says weakly.

All you can see is an uncleanable amount of red seep and cover your shirt.

Your lungs clutch together inside your chest, labored breaths escaping you with a strained noise.

“I know…I know—keep those gorgeous eyes on me, sweetheart.” He inhales a shaky breath, flipping up your blood-crusted hairs from sticking to your forehead.

You whisper an apology, catching his attention as you grip his waist. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You did this, you saved our lives, love.”

“‘M just finishin’ the job, ‘lright?” His split and bloody lips find a place on your temple, planting a raw and long kiss to your throbbing skin.

“…’least I got to see your face before—“

Ghost holds you, squeezing your hand as a slight warning. “Don’t talk like that.”

It was a demand.

“That an—“ you spur into a coughing fit, blood spraying onto the man’s vest. “…Order, Lieutenant?”

“Spare y’r energy,” he huffs.

“Simon—“ you slur.

“Stop.” He snarls.

Your ragged breaths start to stray, causing panic to surge through the man above you.

“No,” he growls, squeezing your smaller hand in his a bit tighter than before. “Don’t, Thaye,” he says through clenched teeth.

Your body falls limp in his lap, the grasp loosening on his shirt making his heart pound through his chest, a painful pounding that felt similar to acid reflux.

“No!” Ghost yells, desperately palming at your tangled hair in panic. “Fuckin’ massacre,” he exhales shallowly.

One arm scoops beneath the back of your knees, the other across your shoulder blades with his hand holding your arm.

A loud strained groan claws it’s way from his gullet at the sudden pain inside his ribs as he lifts himself up and off the floor.

His muscles tighten inside his body, a burning sensation in his abdomen as he clutches you close to his chest, feeling your blood seep into his shirt.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

The gentle rhythmic beeping and steady flow of air through your nostrils was something that felt unreal and forced.

You slowly flutter your eyes open to light slipping in between the beige curtains. Your eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close against your will as your bandage wrapped hands rests atop the metal railing on either side of you.

It smells of strong floor cleaner and hand sanitizer, a scent that is slightly uneasy on you as you slowly slip back into consciousness.

Your muscles feel tight in your body; pain racking your shoulder and neck as you crane it to take a look around the room.

The walls are spinning and the ceiling above you is spiraling making you sick to your stomach.

On the bedside table to your left—closest to the window—there’s flowers. They’re too withered to try and recognize what kinds, shredding to flakes in your fingers when you caress them between your pinky and thumb.

Your hand drags up to pull nasal tubes out of your nostrils. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe air, throat tightening and lips so still from lack of moisture.

There’s a penetrating migraine in the back of your skull as you carefully swing your legs over the side of the bed, the thin baby pink and spotted hospital gown flowing down your sides leaving you slightly exposed in your thigh region.

Bare and bandaged feet slide along the smooth cold tile, sending chills up your body as you grip the IV stand with your trembling hand, the other holding onto the bed railing for support.

You groan and strain as you struggle to lift yourself up, propelling upwards with your palm and grip on the stand until your knees straighten and your standing up somewhat decently.

Where was Ghost? Is Ghost alive?

So many thoughts coursed through your head along with the punishing feeling of dehydration.

You guide yourself using the wheels on the IV stand towards a counter, your hands gripping the handle of the sink and pulling it upward.

A choked moan manages to break from you as you scoop the water in your hands and swill the rich liquid.

Water dribbles down your chin, which you wipe away before lifting your head to look into the medicine cabinet mirror.

Your hand rests on the wall in front of you as you heave.

They cut your hair shorter, not too short but enough so that it was comfortable. Your entire right side of your face being bandaged, stains of blood being a faint copper color.

Bandages wrapped around your neck and reached down your shoulder you’d been shot in.

Your hair had been taken care of neatly while you were in a coma, that was obvious.

Ghost. Where?

You grip the IV stand and hobble towards the door, turning the knob and gripping the threshold with your other hand as you step out.

A nurse pauses in her tracks, rushing to your side in an instant. “How are you up? Your injuries are critical,” she gasps, palm flattening against the small of your back.

“My lieutenant—…my lieutenant…” you say in an undertone.

“You need bed rest, you’ve only just woken up.” Her voice is gentle yet commanding.

“No,” you bark, shuffling out of her hold. “Please take me to him.”

The woman bites her lip before nodding hesitantly, hand against your back again to guide you towards his room.

It was only a few doors down from you—when the nurse opened the door, allowing you into the room.

You see the back of Ghost’s head facing in your direction, his hair tousled from the bandages wrapping around his head.

“Ghost,” you call.

His head turns from facing the window to facing you, you hear him murmur your name in reply.

“Y’minx,” he breathes. “Hell y’doin’ out ya bed?”

You carefully walk yourself towards him, the nurse holding her hands atop her chest nervously. The sound of the plastic wheels of the stand makes his breath hitch in his throat, the sound of reassurance that you were alive.

“You okay, big man?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, but he’s able to that you perfectly.

“D’ya ever worry ‘bout y’self, love?” Ghost asks with a tinge of humor.

Heavy casting was on his right leg, bandages and patches on practically every inch of his body—similar to you.

“Sometimes,” you smile softly and push strands of his hair out of his face, your heart slightly shatters in your chest at the sight of him flinching at your touch.

Ghost scoots himself over slightly, wincing at the sudden movement.

You seat yourself beside him on the large gatch bed and his hand pushes you down to lay beside him.

“Wait, Mr. Riley—“ the nurse takes a small step forward.

“I’ll ‘b fine,” he grunts.

Her eyes blink slightly as she takes a few steps back, her lips separating to speak though no words come out. She simply turns on her ankles and closes the door behind her.

Ghost secures an arm around your waist, pushing your back flush against his bandaged chest.

Your eyes trace his tattoos and the muscles of his arms, every scar and blemish.

“Where’s the force?” You ask quietly.

“Left recently,” he mumbles back tiredly, pressing his nose into your hair. “Y’smell like pomegranate—got y’self a damn spa crew while y’were out?”

You laugh dryly, breaking into a light fit of wheezes.

“Not too hard, Seargant.” Ghost’s finger tucks a loose strand of hair from your bangs behind your ear.

Your wet bandages on your hands rub against his knuckle as you hold onto his hand, he seems to pay no mind.

You turn your body slightly so you can get a better look at his face. “Odd seeing you without your eye black.” You quip.

His closed eyes open to look down at you. “Mm, might as well see m’down in me knickers then, eh?” He chuckles huskily.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

You catch his small glances to your lips, his hand leaving your chest to run his thumb down your bottom lip until that same hand is cupping your cheek lovingly.

His eyes narrow, he’s sleepy, but you still catch yourself propping your body up with your elbow and closing the gap between the two of you.

Instantly, his head cranes and tilts to deepen the kiss, his fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to press his thumb into the underside of your jaw and drag his fingers along the nape of your neck.

Ghost breathes into your mouth, the taste of mint leaf and citrus enveloping your taste buds as his tongue laced over yours.

The kiss was passionate, you feel his eyebrows furrow showing his desperation as you both kissed softly at a gentle pace and motion.

Your eyes flutter open as you feel his warm lips leave yours with a quiet pop, both of you panting lightly with his forehead pressed against yours. Ghost’s eyes are unable to open for a few moments after you disconnect.

When they do open, your eyes bore into his brown orbs, the dark purple hue circling under his eyes showing his deprivation of sleep.

When he feels you buck gently back into his groin, he releases a small grunt, lips meeting yours again for a small chase kiss.

“Not like this,” he says quietly. “I’d take you on this bed right here, right now, but y’ve recently waken up ‘n we’re both still in r’covery.”

You hum in agreement, his hand finding it’s place on your chest once again with the knowledge of your lower abdomen injury.

“‘N to b’honest—‘can barely feel m’damned balls, feels like ‘ve got whiskey dick.” He grumbles, and you bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

“Simon!”

“Don’ you laugh at me, woman.” Ghost lowers his head into the crook of your neck, biting the skin gently

“My deepest condolences, Lieutenant,” you purr, catching his lips in another kiss when you jerk his head upward with your uninjured shoulder. He growls against your mouth in reaction.

There’s a long yet short line of silence as you turn towards his back again, your legs tangling with his as you hold your lips against his knuckles.

“Y’have no clue how strong you are.” He swallows the knot in his throat as he speaks. “God, Thaye, they…they told me there was a chance y’d never wake up.”

“Hey,” you hum. “Stop that, I’m here now.”

His eyes stare blankly at the wall ahead of you, maybe even the same wall you were staring at—if your eyes weren’t closed already.

“I just don’ know what I would’ve done if I made it outta there ‘n y’didn’t make it with me.” He says.

“Y’r the reason I made it out with you in the first place. If y’hadn’t pulled that barmy stunt—“ he pauses, and you feel the rise of his chest and the fall as he exhales deeply.

“Y’survived internal bleeding, trauma to the head ‘n eye, two broken ribs, second and third degree burns, asphyxiation, dismemberment, stab wounds and gunshot wounds..” Ghost squeezes his fist tighter against your chest.

“So did you, Si.” You coo softly.

“Christ…” he mutters.

His fingers interlock with yours best they can, regardless of the most of them being numbs on your knuckles, and it wasn't until your hand rested on his chest and rubbed over the raised scars, that he realized he hadn't been touched so gently in nearly eleven years. It wasn't a new feeling, but it was a feeling that he had craved desperately.

Never had fallen in love before, but he knew you had bad experiences with it—figuring out that your ex-fiancé had cheated on you while on deployment. Someone had to love you, and he was skeptical of it being him, but it was clear you loved him too and now he was scared you’d stop.

But hearing your gentle breathing as you slipped back into sleep hunched into his form led him somewhere he’d never been. You cleared his mind and cleared away his thoughts. For the first time, he doesn’t want to look away from what he has the ability to feel.

#simon ghost x reader #ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 hurt/comfort #ghost modern warfare #simon ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagine

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imaginespazzi · 9 months ago

Text

Part 3: Shades of Grey

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

That's the thing about illicit affairs (they lie and they lie and they lie)

(In which a masochistic writer makes things difficult for herself and makes things even messier than they were before)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, a little bit of Hurt/Comfort and Fluff as always

Words: 7.2K (nice and short as always)

TW: Explicit Sexual Content (MINORS DNI), Swearing, Cheating

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job of sticking to my deadlines, who woulda thunk it? Fun fact, I'm at ~ 50 google-doc pages with this fic and despite my constant "trying to write less" rants, I'm actually lowkey proud of that. Anyways, there's a pretty clear hint (I am not a subtle person) as to why what happens at the end happens and if you pick up on it, I promise it'll save you from losing your minds till I write part 4. Also a couple of logistical details about the Cayman Islands are probably off but it's what worked so it's what I did, just pretend lol. Per usual, I did edit, there's probably still typos any way, feel free to point them out. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading and have a wonderful rest of your week lovelies!

August 2021

The fight was inevitable but neither of them can tell you what really lit the flame. One second they had been fine (well as fine as two girls who knew tonight was their last night in a while could be), the next they were hurling bullets at each other. There’s a subconscious part of Azzi’s brain that tells her to grab Paige and duck for cover, to preserve whatever little bit of friendship they can. But her whole body vibrates with anger as Paige’s words crash around her like a tsunami, drowning out the good angel on her shoulder that’s pleading with her to stop.

“It’s a good thing really. You and your non-existent nerves would have never survived playing for UConn,” Paige sneers, and that mean smirk on her face just doesn’t quite fit right, “I don’t know what I was thinking with that honestly. You’re not built like that.”

Azzi flinches, eyes blazing, “some of us want to be more than just another good UConn player.”

“That’s what all the people not good enough to play for UConn say,” Paige retorts bitterly and Azzi doesn’t think she knows this girl standing in front of her, one whose words are aimed to make her cry instead of laugh.

“Not good enough and yet you still wanted me on your team.”

“Nah you know what, my bad, I didn’t realise you’d fucking stab me in the back like that, ” Paige hisses, “you’re a fake as fuck friend and you’d probably make a shit teammate.”

Azzi’s never had a heart attack. She doesn’t even fully think she knows what a heart attack really is. But she’s certain this pain in her chest can’t possibly be anything less than one. It starts at her heart and then spreads to her lungs and then floods through her body, until she can’t move, she can’t breathe.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispers.

Paige hesitates, as if suddenly aware of the fragility of the moment, her voice considerably softer when she speaks but she doesn’t take it back, “ real friends choose each other.”

“Oh my god,” Azzi laughs, it’s the worst thing she could do in the moment and Paige’s eyes flash with anger, “you’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“Watch your fucking mouth-”

“Don’t you even dare. You say all that shit to me and now you can’t hear some of it back? Contrary to what you might think Paige, my whole life doesn’t revolve around you. My decision for where to spend the next four fucking years, does not revolve around you,” Azzi’s voice rises with each word.

Fighting is cathartic in a way. They’ve spent almost a year delicately tip-toeing around the subject, growing further and further apart and yet still holding on for dear life. And Azzi doesn’t want to let go, but everything feels burning hot, and her hands are starting to blister.

“Oh you’ve made that very clear,” Paige bites back, “you’ve made it very clear just how little I mean to you.”

“Because I chose a different school? That’s all it took Paige, seriously? That’s all it took for you to call our friendship fake?”

“No what it took Azzi was you being a fucking liar.”

“I didn’t lie about anything.”

Paige scoffs, her voice taking on a pitchy mocking tone, “ ‘I’d love to play with you Paige’, ‘being on the same team would be nice P’, all of that fucking bullshit when you didn’t mean any of it.”

“Oh we’re playing that game,” Azzi seethes, “how about ‘Az I’d support you no matter what’ huh? Where did all of that go?”

“Maybe if you didn’t make stupid decisions then.”

“No, actually choosing not to play with you might have been my smartest decision yet,” as soon as the words are out, there’s a part of Azzi that wishes she could wrench them back in.

“Right,” Paige’s voice is eerily quiet now, “well I hope that works out well for you then. Go to UCLA Azzi, have a great fucking life and stay the fuck away from mine.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Azzi takes a cautious step towards the blonde and almost immediately, Paige steps backwards, her expression suddenly blank. The change to indifference is somehow worse than the previous malice, “Paige-”

“Fuck this, I’m going home,” Paige says resolutely, her fingers fidgeting with themselves as she reaches for her phone and wallet.

“We need to talk this out, we need to try and fix this,” Azzi all but pleads, trying to position herself in front of the persistent older girl who’s trying to make her way to the door.

“I don’t know if I want to fucking fix this,” Paige yells, shaking away Azzi’s hand on her shoulder, “I don’t know if it’s worth it,” her voice breaks as she says the next words, “I don’t even think I wanna be friends.”

When Azzi’s 14, Paige Bueckers dribbles through a USA basketball camp court straight into her life and teaches her all about how one person can come into your life and carve out a permanent shelf. When Azzi’s 16, Paige’s casual smiles and not-so-insignificant touches teach her all about the complicated space in-between just friends and something more. When Azzi’s 18, Paige says those words, ones that sound a lot like giving up, and teaches Azzi that sometimes in life, even the people you thought would never make you feel this way, are the ones who'll break you the most. And that’s the day Azzi makes a promise to herself that she’ll never give someone that part of herself again, unaware that when she’s 20, Paige will teach her that some promises are meant to be broken.

***

July 2023

Azzi doesn’t know what god she pissed off to get herself into this position, stuck in a booth with Zoe on one side and Paige on the other. Her girlfriend’s left hand is placed firmly on her thigh and Azzi has to fight the vehement urge to shake it away because Zoe’s normally soft, sweet touch feels itchy and heavy. But the way Paige’s biceps are pressed against hers might be even worse. Every time the blonde moves a little, the sliding of her smooth skin against Azzi’s arms, sends a jolt of electricity through her veins. And Azzi doesn’t know when she became that girl, the girl who already has someone to hold her but is desperately craving somebody else’s touch.

When people’s girlfriends surprise them with an unexpected visit, the appropriate reaction is to be overwhelmed with happiness. Except since she’d met her, Azzi’s summers have always belonged to Paige. With them having lived in separate states most of their lives, it was the one time they got to be with each other for an extended period of time. It was an unspoken rule really, one that they had subconsciously still followed the year before when Azzi had shown up at Paige’s door, even if they’d only gotten the last couple of weeks of the season; summer was theirs. So, when Zoe had shown up that afternoon with a bright smile and shining eyes, all Azzi had been able to register was a sense of loss as Paige pulled her hand out of Azzi’s.

Introductions had been somewhat awkward. Her parents knew of Zoe, but hadn’t met her yet. They were nice of course, her dad pulling the shorter girl into one of his bear hugs and her mom giving her a warm smile. Jon and José were more awkward, nodding their greetings but making no move to actually welcome her. Paige had managed to muster up a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and shake the other girl’s outstretched hand. And then there was Drew, whose normally goofy smile seemed to have disappeared.

“Who are you?” the young boy had asked quizzically, his eyebrows crinkling together.

“Oh umm, I’m uh- Azzi’s girlfriend,” Zoe had replied, the last word causing Paige to involuntarily flinch.

Drew had looked over to Azzi then, his eyes wide and accusing, “you can’t be Azzi’s girlfriend.”

“Is that so?” Zoe hummed, clearly not taking him seriously.

“It is,” Drew had said petulantly, ignoring Paige’s warning squeeze, “she’s Paige’s.”

The silence after had been deafening, as Azzi tried to stop herself from choking on air. Eventually Paige had regained her senses first, apologising for her younger brother’s lack of filter (“he says stupid things all the time”) and then Azzi’s dad had swooped in before things could possibly get any more awkward, proposing that they all go out to dinner. And that’s how Azzi has ended up here, shuffled in a booth, opposite her parents, with Paige on one side and Zoe on the other. Life really and truly isn’t on her side these days.

“So girls, what are y’all pizza orders?” Tim asks jovially. Azzi’s brothers and Drew, desperate to go enjoy the sun (and avoid Zoe), had already told them their orders before zooming to the park right outside the restaurant.

“Oh uh- Az you wanna share a Margherita pizza?”

“Azzi and I’ll just have our usual.”

It’s as if the world wants Azzi to suffer as both Zoe and Paige immediately look at her expectantly. The girl in question keeps her eyes focused on the menu in front of her, unsure how to best handle this predicament by doing anything other than maybe just running out of the restaurant.

“What’s your usual?” Zoe asks, her voice all curiosity and no ill-intent.

“Grilled chicken and bacon with spinach and onions.”

“But Azzi doesn’t like onions, she says they make-”

“They make her breath smell I know,” there’s a hard edge to Paige’s voice, “but she-”

“She can’t pick them off. She can’t pick anything off of her pizza because it takes-”

“It takes the cheese off, I know that too. That’s not what I was going to say. She doesn’t eat them because she thinks they make her breath smell but she does like them. It’s just-,” Paige’s eyes flare with mischief, “she only eats them around people who are close to her. Guess you’re not quite there yet.”

Since Azzi had mustered up the courage to finally tell Paige about Zoe, right before summer break started, Paige had been nothing but respectful, supportive even. Until tonight apparently and Azzi doesn’t even know to react to the fact that her best friend has started a pissing contest over fucking onions.

“Right,” Zoe bites her lips, her ever-present smile slipping slightly as she slowly pries the menu out of Azzi’s hands and looks at her with hopefully eyes, “but we’ll get the Margherita tonight babe?”

“I-” and Azzi really should say yes, side with Zoe like the good girlfriend she is, except, well, all she can think about is that Paige hasn’t smiled since the California girl had arrived in D.C., “I think um- I’ll stick to my usual Zo, I’m sorry.”

She’s a terrible girlfriend, because immediately Zoe’s smile fades, and Azzi barely notices it, too busy watching Paige’s grin light up her face. Her baby blue eyes sparkle as if she’s won some important battle and it’s not even dark yet, but Azzi swears it feels like the stars have come out.

“Okay,” Tim says slowly, looking between the three younger girls, as he waives over the waitress, “if that’s decided then.”

The issue with Paige being pretty, is that nobody’s really immune to it, including the cheerful waitress that practically skips over to serve them. Her eyes glaze over a little bit as they roam across the blonde’s face and then to her arms before drifting down to her torso. Paige’s tank top doesn’t leave much to the imagination, exposing both her muscled biceps and toned torso and Azzi doesn’t need an x-ray to know the widely appropriate thoughts going through the waitress’s head. The feral roar of mine takes birth in her stomach and the quieting whisper of she’s not does little to subdue it.

“I’m Libby,” the waitress says, tongue darting across her lips, eyes solely focused on Paige, “and I’ll be your server today.”

Libby collects orders dutifully, polite and agreeable, but doesn’t once fully look away from the blonde, practically drooling once she finally gets to her, “and what can I get for you to drink babe?”

Azzi’s not sure whether it’s the sultry tone or the nickname that gets Paige’s attention, but all of a sudden her best friend is staring up at the waitress with her own flirty smile. She likes to think she’s not a particularly violent person, but Azzi thinks she might end up in jail for homicide tonight.

“Well babe,” Paige winks, Azzi wants to die, “what would you recommend?”

Libby smirks, clearly feeling triumphant as she leans on the table, one hand reaching out to brush Paige’s forearm, “sex on the beach.”

Several things happen at once. Tim chokes on a breadstick. Katie immediately thumps him on the back. Zoe lets out a laugh. Azzi’s nails break the skin of her palm, drawing blood as she fists both of hands. And then-

“She has a girlfriend,” it’s a blatantly untrue but all Azzi can think about is stopping this random girl from eye-fucking her Paige. It does the trick, Libby’s eyes go comically wide, as she steps back from the table, from Paige.

“She does?” Tim asks. Next to him, Katie, shoots her daughter a knowing look that veers on the edge of disappointment.

Azzi stutters under the heat of Paige’s glare, the blonde clearly unamused by her lie, “I uh- I mean um- it’s not official but um yeah,” she doesn’t even sound convincing to herself, “I’m uh- I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

She practically shoves Paige out of the booth so she can climb out of it herself, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her heart hammers in her chest and she tries to block out the sound of Paige’s being questioned by her dad, as she rushes into the restroom.

There’s no amount of water she could splash on her face to make this heat go away, but she tries anyway, unsure of when the tap water starts to blend in with the tears streaming down her face. The unsettling anger of how dare she flirt with another girl beating in her heart is replaced by the guilt of i’m not allowed to feel this way thrashing around her rib cage. It hurts all the same, as Azzi clutches her chest, trying to even out her breathing.

She doesn’t hear the door open or close until, “What the fuck was that?”

“Get out,” Azzi whispers, closing her eyes and leaning her head on the mirror, “just give me a second okay?”

“Oh no, no, no, you owe me a huge fucking explanation right now,” Paige hisses, “what the fuck was that bullshit? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“It was a joke-” before Azzi can even finish the sentence, there’s a hand on her biceps, forcing her to turn around. When she opens her eyes, Paige’s face is far too close to her own and when she tries to move back, she’s trapped with the cool edge of the sink. It’s too much, the proximity, the tension, the lingering touch of Paige’s fingers curled around her arm.

“Stop lying,” Paige bites out.

“It just slipped out babe,” and fuck, Azzi absolutely hadn’t meant to add that last part, hadn’t meant to make it so obvious what exactly had triggered her little outburst. Realisation flashes across Paige’s face, as she takes a step back, letting go of Azzi, and the distance should be freeing, but instead it just makes her feel lost.

“That’s what this is about?” the blonde asks in disbelief.

“Yes- no- I don’t know, okay,” Azzi’s voice is high-pitched, “I’m sorry okay. I’ll tell the waitress it was a joke,” she lets out a humourless laugh, “I didn’t mean to fucking cockblock you.”

“Cockblock me? Dude I wasn’t trying to fuck the waitress what the fuck?”

“Could’ve fooled me babe,” Azzi sneers.

Something menacing flashes in Paige’s eyes, “stop calling me that.”

“What? You don’t like me calling you babe. You didn’t seem to have a problem when it was her.”

“Oh my fucking god Azzi,” Paige throws her hands up, “you don’t get to do this. Not when your girlfriend is sitting right there.”

The reminder of Zoe is like being splashed with cold water and Azzi feels everything inside of her freeze. She grips the edge of the sink, trying to find some semblance of balance as Paige continues to glare at her.

“For the past few hours, I have had to hear your girlfriend call you every fucking nickname in the book. I have had to watch her kiss you and move your hair back and grip your fucking knee under the table,” with every sentence, Paige inches closer and closer, until she’s accentuating every word by pushing her index finger into Azzi’s chest, “and you can’t even fucking deal with me calling some other girl babe?”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers when Paige’s voice breaks on the last word. Their faces are so close, she can feel the other girl’s uneven breathing all over her skin. And it takes everything in her to not cave in and reach a hand out to caress away the tear that's threatening to fall from the blonde’s tearline.

“It’s been hell Azzi,” Paige spits out, “so you don’t get to be upset if I want to fuck someone-”

Something snaps and before Paige can complete the offending sentence, before she can imprint an image that will forever haunt Azzi’s mind, Azzi silences all the warning bells of why she really shouldn’t, and pulls her best friend into a searing kiss. Immediately, Paige’s hands come to rest against Azzi’s hips, pressing her firmly against the edge of the sink. It’s as if they’re trying to meld their bodies together, both of them gripping each other as close as possible. Outside, it’s a summer evening of clear blue skies, but here in this random restaurant restroom, lightning strikes.

Paige bites at Azzi’s bottom lip and then traces her tongue over the bruise she’s created, smirking when it elicits a gasp from the younger girl. Lips still firmly moving against Azzi’s, her hands work expertly on the buttons of Azzi’s tight shorts. The sensation of everything Paige is all-consuming and Azzi feels like she’s drunk on the taste of her best friend’s skin, as she moves away from Paige’s lips, to pepper kisses on her neck, before moving down to suck a mark into her collarbone. Mine, mine, mine.

“Fuck Az,” Paige moans when Azzi’s teeth grate against her skin and it’s the brunette’s turn to smirk. But her cockiness is short-lived when Paige’s fingers finally find their way into her now unbuttoned shorts. They press down on her clit through her underwear, making her whine.

A cry of “Paige,” escapes her lips when the blonde slides Azzi’s panties to the side, her middle and index finger beginning to rub circles around the younger girl’s clit in a tantalisingly slow rhythm.

“So wet, so fucking wet for me,” Paige’s voice is wrecked with want, as she brings her free hand to cup Azzi’s jaw, forcing her best friend to look her in the eyes. It scares Azzi, the sheer amount of emotion she can see swirling in the blonde’s eyes. There’s lust and then there’s something else, another l-word that she can’t bring herself to acknowledge, knowing it’ll ruin her, ruin them.

“Please,” Azzi whispers against Paige’s mouth, as the older girl’s fingers slip from her clit to tease against her soaking entrance, dipping into her folds but not giving her what she wants.

“If you want something baby,” Paige traces Azzi’s lips with her thumb, “you have to ask for it.”

Azzi's hands moved away from where they had been firmly gripping Paige’s waist, to wrap around her neck. She bites softly against Paige’s left earlobe, eliciting a low groan, before bringing her lips as close to the blonde’s ears as she can, “I want you to fuck me.”

It’s all it takes, Paige finally gives Azzi what her body’s so desperately craving, for far longer than she’s willing to admit, pumping two fingers into her pussy, while her thumb stimulates her clit. And fuck, Paige knows exactly what she’s doing, fingers curling in the exact right spots and Azzi feels like she’s floating or flying or falling, maybe all of the above.

“Please, please, please,” Azzi babbles incoherently, burying her face in the crevice of Paige’s neck, tears beginning to blur her vision. Because, it’s too much, the ecstasy, the fact that it’s Paige behind the ecstasy, the fact that this is better than her wildest fantasies.

“Doing so good for me baby,” Paige praises, fingers starting to move faster, “taking my fingers so fucking well Az, think you can handle one more?”

Azzi whines in response. Paige pushes in a third finger, both of them letting out identical sighs of pleasure. She’s slow for a second, giving Azzi time to adjust but-

“Fuck, Paige, faster, please,” the younger girls moans, grinding fervently, desperately, against Paige’s fingers, trying to create more fiction.

“Anything for you Az,” Paige whispers, and even in the high of the moment, Azzi knows those words are about more than sex, “whatever you want.”

As Paige’s fingers begin to move at a rapid pace, curling around her g-spot, over and over and over, Azzi can feel that familiar pressure building in her stomach. Her fingers claw at Paige’s neck in warning, too worked up for words. Paige nudge’s Azzi’s face out of her neck, free hand cupping the younger girl's jaw.

“Come apart for me baby,” she whispers before pressing their lips together.

Azzi’s hips stutter as her orgasm rolls all over her, pussy clenching around Paige’s fingers, as she moans into the older girl's mouth. Spent, her body goes limp, her best friend’s firm grip pressing her against the edge of the sink, the only thing anchoring her and keeping her uprights. Paige slowly pulls her fingers out of Azzi’s pants and the loss of contact feels wrong. It’s instinct really, as Azzi reaches for Paige’s hand and brings it up to her mouth, sucking each of the older girl’s fingers clean one by one, and it’s worth it for the way Paige looks wrecked.

“Az-” she begins softly, eyes filled with questions but before Azzi can even think about any answers-

“Azzi,” reality crashes and burns around the two girls as Zoe’s voice calls out for her girlfriend. The sound of footsteps gets closer and closer. Panic takes the place of pleasure as Paige and Azzi jump apart from each other and the realisation of their surroundings hits both of them at the same time. Sweat sheens against Paige’s collarbone and Azzi’s lips are bruised, her eyes still glazy. Their identical dishevelled demeanour gives away far too much. Just as the restroom door creaks open a little, Azzi dives into one of the stalls.

“Oh, hey Paige,” guilt pools in Azzi’s stomach at the sound of Zoe’s innocent voice, as she presses her ear against the stall door, “is Azzi in here? She’s been gone for like 20 minutes.”

“She- she was,” Paige stutters, and Azzi hates herself even more for putting her best friend in this position, “I-uh I think she um- she wanted some fresh air.”

“Ah okay, I’ll go try and find her,” Zoe pauses, “are you okay? You look a little flustered.”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Paige assures in a high-pitched voice, “just uh miss my girlfriend you know.”

Azzi flinches at the lie. She’d made such a fucking mess today. The lying, the cheating, all of it was so out of character and all of a sudden, she feels dirty. Tears brim in her eyes as she begins to process the gravity of what she’d done. And perhaps the worst part of it, is that she can’t find it in herself to fully regret it. If she could turn back time, she doesn’t know if she’d do anything different. Because when it comes to Paige, Azzi’s fine living in shades of grey.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Zoe says slowly.

There’s a pause and Azzi knows the words neither did I are floating in Paige's mind before she answers, “yeah, it’s uh- it’s new.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you,” the sincerity in Zoe’s words hit like stones, rupturing whatever built up image of i am a good person Azzi had ever had of herself

“Thank you,” Paige replies quietly.

“It just-,” Zoe draws in a breath, “Azzi she- she worries about you a lot you know. Even before- you know- when you guys weren’t- you know? Like I think she thinks about you a lot,” there’s an unmistakable wistfulness in Zoe’s voice, “ like- if you’re doing okay and all that. And I don’t- I don’t even know you but I know she wants you to be happy- and- and I want whatever Azzi wants- so- so if you’re happy- that’s good.”

“That’s- that’s really sweet of you,” Paige sounds as guilty as Azzi feels.

There’s quiet for a minute until, “do you think I make her happy? Does she- does she talk about me?”

Zoe’s voice is laced in insecurity and hopefulness and Azzi wishes she’d never brought this girl into her mess in the first place. The sun-kissed Californian had been a classmate who had accidentally stumbled upon Azzi mid-breakdown on a random Thursday. One second she was hesitant, the next she was spilling her woes to a stranger, tired of holding it in. And from then on Zoe had been on a mission to just be there. She’d never hidden her intention, always clear that she wanted more than friendship and Azzi, despite knowing that her heart didn’t really have space for anyone else, had let her loneliness be her guide and given in to the urge to just let someone hold her. But the truth is that while every other second spent with Zoe was filled with mentions of Paige’s name, every moment spent with Paige was never about anything else other than her.

“She- she does, she seems happy,” Paige can’t bring herself to say the with you. The blonde sounds defeated, as if the admission that Azzi could possibly be happy with someone else has taken everything out of her.

“Good, it means a lot,” Zoe’s voice is lighter now, like there’s a smile hidden in it, “especially from you. Thank you. I’ll uh- I’ll go see if I can find her.”

Azzi waits for the sound of footsteps shuffling and then the sound of the door clicking behind Zoe, before prying herself out of the stall. Paige is hunched over the sink, face buried in her hands. And the words my fault, my fault, my fault imprint themselves all over Azzi’s heart.

“Your girlfriend’s looking for you,” Paige says, not bothering to look up.

“Paige I-”

“Just go Azzi, we’ll just” Paige scoffs, “we’ll just play pretend again,” the walls are up again and Paige is unreachable in her castle built from the ashes of the purity in their friendship that they’d just sacrified for a fucking quickie in a barely-lit restroom. And maybe Azzi should say something, maybe she should stay and see if she can fight her way into Paige’s castle. But Azzi’s no knight in shining armour, not Paige’s, not Zoe’s, not anybody else’s because knights don’t cheat and they don’t lie and they don’t break people’s hearts. So she listens to what her best friend says, she walks out, and she pretends she doesn’t hear the sob that’s let out behind her.

***

November 2023

UCLA is up on UConn, it should be a pretty momentous occasion and it is. Azzi’s had one of the best games of her career to get her team mere seconds away from getting their first win over the powerhouse. For UConn, so has Paige, except there’s nothing but frustration gleaming in the blonde’s face. The game had been bad for UConn, the cracks created by injuries on full display. And the competitor in Azzi was more than happy to take advantage of that. But the part of her that was Paige’s best friend was stuck on how tired Paige looked. Someone fucking help her, Azzi had thought throughout the game, she literally just came back from injury.

The outcome of the game is clear and Azzi’s already on the bench getting rest, cheering for her own team of course, but keeping a subtle eye on what’s happening with Paige. Azzi’s eyes follow Paige as she’s finally subbed out. The older girl walks to the end of her own bench, hands coming to rest on her thighs as she hangs her head, face scrunched up in irritation. Paige does that thing where it's like she’s trying to bite of all the skin on her lips and Azzi has the familiar urge to march over and make her stop, preferably by kissing her, not that that’s a thought she’s allowed to have.

It’s ironic really, the 2,943 miles that had once been the reason they’d fallen apart, is the only thing holding them together. Being out of each other’s reach makes it easier to ignore what had happened over the summer, makes it easier to not give into that same vice all over again. And it makes sense, Azzi thinks, because since she’s met her, whenever Paige had just been a blurry goofy face on her screen, they’d been good at the just friends thing. The moment they could touch though, that’s when lines got blurry. As much as Azzi’s not sure how she survived a year without Paige, she’s even less sure about how she’d survived that one year where they’d practically lived in each other’s skins.

Things in the handshake line are somewhat icy with both teams being overprotective of their star players. Muhl’s eyes are full of disdain once she reaches Azzi and Arnold barely shakes her hand, only doing as much as she has to, to keep up appearance. Azzi’s teammates aren’t any better, Angelica smiles at everyone until she reaches Paige, and Kiki rolls her eyes at the point guard. But it doesn’t matter what anybody else does, not when Paige practically falls into Azzi’s arms, her tense body finally beginning to relax a little.

“You did good,” Azzi whispers into the blonde’s hair, tightening her hold on the other girl as she soothingly strokes her back.

Paige scoffs, burying her face further into Azzi’s neck, “you did good, I did what I had to.”

They break apart reluctantly, the shutter of cameras ruining the intimacy of the moment. Their hands hold on a touch longer but the minute they finally slip away from each other, the familiar feeling of i’m tired of missing you that seems to always be lingering within Azzi, prickles against her heart.

***

UConn and UCLA don’t have a rivalry but if you were sat at the hotel restaurant in the Cayman Islands on a lovely November evening, you wouldn’t know that. There’s multiple women’s basketball teams present at the restaurant and everyone’s mingling with each other but the Bruins and Huskies seem determined to avoid each other at all costs. At one point, Angelica and Muhl, of course it would be them, accidentally bump into each other and Azzi holds her breath at the icy glare shared between them. She’s not sure how she and Paige ended up with something akin to the women’s basketball version of the Montagues and the Capulets, but it seems fitting with the way her life’s been going, that it would eventually start to take the shape of a tragedy.

It’s around 10pm when Azzi notices Paige moving in the direction of the door, towards the beach. Azzi hesitates for a moment, knowing her need to go after the blonde isn't just one born out of a best friend’s concern, but it’s Paige. It doesn’t matter if there’s inevitable destruction on the other side, it’s Paige and when it’s Paige, Azzi will follow.

Paige’s silhouette on the beach, glowing underneath the moonlight, with waves crashing onto the shore beyond her, is straight out of a dream. Azzi’s not an artist by any means, but she thinks if she were, this moment would be her muse. The sea wind causes Paige’s hair to flutter with it. Her eyes are closed in concentration, knees pressed against her heaving chest as she takes in deep breaths of salty air. Azzi traipses across the sand, sandals in hand, before falling to the ground next to the other girl. A whisper of a smile is the only acknowledgement Paige offers her as they let a comfortable silence glide over them.

“It would be nice to live here,” Paige says after a moment, “it’s peaceful.”

“Except when it storms,” Azzi surmises.

“It’s not peaceful anywhere when it storms,” Paige counters matter-of-factly, “can you just let me have my moment?

“Right, right, continue.”

“Well now I don’t want to.”

Azzi laughs. Paige grins. It’s so easy. It’s so fucking scary.

“Why’d you leave the restaurant?” Azzi asks cautiously.

“Fresh air.”

“And?”

Paige sighs, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, “it’s gonna be a long season.”

“It always feels like that at the beginning.”

“I know- it’s just- after last year- I just thought it would be different. We’d show the world this time. Be like the other UConn teams of the past. Maybe I just wanted something easier.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi nudges Paige’s shoulder, “you’ve never wanted easy in your goddamn life Paige. If it’s not a challenge, then it’s not for you. Because you’re God’s strongest soldier, and He’ll give you his hardest battles, right?”

“Right, but sometimes I just don’t feel so strong.”

“Remember what I said in LA? It’s okay to feel that way P. It’s okay to feel however you feel. Let yourself breathe sometimes, it’s good for you. Fall down, let things go, just- remember to get back up and hold on again. It’ll get better, I promise.”

“You always say the right things,” Paige says quietly, and then even quieter, she whispers under her breath, “you make it so hard Az.”

Azzi’s not fully sure what that means. She’s not sure she wants to. Instead she tangles her and Paige’s fingers together, ignoring the way it feels a little too right, and lets them fall back into a peaceful quiet.

“So,” Paige begins again, after a couple of minutes, “Zoe didn’t make the trip here?”

I’m holding your hand and you’re thinking about my girlfriend. Maybe you’re a better person than me.

“She can’t just leave all her schoolwork and follow me wherever,” Azzi says, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. It’s true except the part where Zoe had asked if she wanted her there and Azzi hadn’t been able to give her the enthusiastic yes she wanted, starting an unspoken argument that quashed any chance of a nice romantic island getaway for the two of them.

“She did for the Elite 8 last-” Paige bites her tongue.

“How did you-,” Azzi’s brain feels dizzy with confusion, “how could you know that? You left- after the Sweet 16, you- how did you know Zoe was there?”

“I didn’t leave,” Paige keeps her eyes adamantly on the ocean, “the team wanted to stay longer,” that’s a lie, Azzi knows her too well, “and so I stayed and you know me, I love watching hoops so I uh- I watched your game.”

“You were there,” Azzi whispers more to herself than Paige at this point. She’d been so sure she was just hallucinating, her heart trying to trick itself into seeing what it wanted to see, “why didn’t you tell me you were there? Why didn’t you come see me after the game?”

“I did- fuck Azzi- I did-”

“Where? I would’ve seen- I didn’t see-”

“I saw you,” Paige cuts through Azzi’s frantic questioning, her voice heavy with unspoken emotions as she continues to refuse to look at the younger girl, “you and Zoe. Together.”

“Paige-”

“After the game, you were looking for someone in the stands and I- I thought maybe you were looking for your parents but then I saw you- with her- outside the locker room and- it hit me that- that you were looking for her,” Paige spits the last word out as it feels like lava on her tongue.

In the grand scheme of things, maybe Azzi should let Paige keep this misconception, maybe it would make things simpler if she let Paige believe in the idea that there was someone else Azzi sought out when she was struggling. But-

“I thought I saw you,” Azzi breathes out, “I should have been looking for Zoe but-” she has to draw in a breath when Paige whips around, piercing blue eyes that feel like they can see straight into Azzi’s soul, “Paige, I was looking for you-”

The last bit of sound is stolen away from Azzi as Paige’s lips crash onto hers. And it’s so different from summer and that wretched bathroom. Something softer, more gentle, but still desperate and passionate. Time slows down, as Azzi pulls Paige into her lap, hands caressing her waist, mouths still moving against each other with perfect rhythm. They only pull away when air becomes a necessity, resting their forehead against each other, as they breathe in sync.

“You’re so beautiful,” Azzi whispers, moving a strand of hair out the blonde’s face.

The way Paige blushes is everything, “stop.”

“You are,” Azzi insists, pressing a kiss against the corner against the edge of her lips, “you’re perfect P.”

If she goes blind tomorrow, in the next second even, Azzi thinks that would be okay. As long as this, Paige with her soft Azzi smile, looking at her with that sparkle in her eyes, face illuminated by the shine of the stars, is the last thing Azzi sees.

Slowly Paige climbs off of her, stretching out a hand to pull Azzi up.

“You don’t have a roommate right?,” she asks with a soft smirk that transforms into a shy grin when Azzi nods. And this isn’t a version of Paige that Azzi's ever met before, so different from her cocky loud best friend, but she’d like to learn her all the same.

The hotel staff probably think they’re a little drunk as they giggle their way to Azzi’s hotel room. Azzi barely manages to get the door open, before Paige’s lips are all over her again, drifting everywhere from her lips to her neck to her collarbone.

“Off, off, off,” Paige urges, hands pulling away Azzi’s shirt and she can’t help but giggle at the older girl’s impatience. She keeps her eyes firmly on Paige as she unhooks her bra, smirking as her best friend’s eyes glaze over. Paige moves to touch her, and Azzi moves back immediately.

“Nuh huh. I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Paige groans but does as she’s told, discarding her shirt and Azzi’s smirk widens. She moves towards Paige, slowly tracing her tongue down the older girl’s neck.

“Am I?” Azzi whispers, as she backs her best friend onto the bed. Paige’s eyes follow her every movement as Azzi slowly slides down Paige’s pants, and then her underwear. She runs a finger down Paige’s soaked folds, causing the other girl’s body to shiver, “so wet already, for someone so annoying?”

“Fuck y-” Paige cuts herself off with a groan, when Azzi’s fingers find her sensitive clit.

Settling herself in between the older girl's legs, Azzi grazes her teeth against Paige’s left thigh, satisfied when it makes the other girl’s breath hitch, “if I’m so annoying maybe I should go?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige warns breathlessly, head propped up against Azzi’s pillows.

“That’s what I thought,” Azzi smirks, as she peppers kisses up Paige’s thighs, her right thumb lazily flickering against Paige’s clit.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Paige lets out a frustrated whine, “just fuck me already.”

Azzi bites down hard against Paige’s thigh, wanting to leave a mark in the one place no one would ever see it, before looking up at Paige, “whatever you want.”

Paige’s entire body writhes as Azzi fucks her tongue into Paige’s pussy, building pace with every thrust. One hand fists around the sheets, as the other moves to grab at Azzi’s head, trying to guide her in deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck shit Azzi please,” Paige curses, eyes rolling into her skull, “just like that fuck.”

She’s so close, words becoming incoherent noises, thighs beginning to shake, when Azzi pulls her tongue off.

“What the fuck-” Paige almost yells but it turns into a groan when Azzi replaces her tongue with two fingers instead, “shit- FUCK.”

Azzi attaches her now-free lips to Paige’s clit and she can tell it’s too much. Paige’s back arches off the bed as her eyes go hazy. And then Azzi’s above her, fingers still rapidly pumping into Paige, as she places a delicate kiss against her lips.

“Let go baby, I’ve got you,” Azzi whispers into Paige’s ear as the blonde closes her eyes, letting her orgasm wash all over her, “I’ve got you.”

Paige is still for a second, as Azzi slips her fingers out, continuing to press lazy open-mouthed kisses against her best friend’s neck. She squeals when she feels herself being flipped over, back hitting the mattress.

“What was it you said?” Paige asks cheekily, as starts to unbutton Azzi’s jeans, “I showed you mine, now you have to show me yours.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, a laugh escaping her throat. Trust them to be dorks even in a moment like this. And then Paige attaches her lips to Azzi’s clit and the giggles turn into loud desperate moans. When she slips her fingers in, it’s clear Paige remembers exactly how to push Azzi over the edge.

“So fucking perfect,” Paige whispers from between her legs, eyes looking up at a blissed-out Azzi with awe, “you’re so fucking perfect.”

“That’s you,” Azzi manages to get out in between bated breaths, before her own orgasm hits her, and Paige’s name waterfalls out of her lips like a prayer.

There’s no more words after that, only shared looks and soft grins as they make their way into the en-suite bathroom, lazily washing each other between stolen kisses. They fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms with matching content smiles.

***

Azzi wakes up alone the next morning. There’s no scribbled note, or even a text. In fact there’s really no proof that Paige was ever there to begin with, except for the ghost of Paige’s touch written all over Azzi’s skin. For a second, Azzi sits in bed and stares out her window. There's a thunderstorm brewing outside (it's not peaceful anywhere when it storms). She watches the raindrops slide down one by one and decides that, that’s the only water that’ll fall today because she won’t shed a single tear and she won’t cry and she most definitely won’t sob.

She replies to Zoe’s i miss you text with a me too she doesn’t mean.

And then she gets up and goes on with her day.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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gaspshichat · 9 months ago

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pearl quotes !!

i write down a lot of pearl quotes and sometimes share them in her discord server. i've decided to put every single one i've gathered into one tumblr post. i will reblog the most recent addition every saturday with any new quotes that i have acquired. you can also send me quotes in my ask box or my dms on twitter [username is gaspshichat, like usual]. no guarantees that they'll be added though!

a lot of these quotes are sus and very out of context. that is part of the point! if pearl wants me to delete this, i absolutely will

[before it gets asked, karn is her bestie boyfriend]

~|•🌙•|~

pearl: before we do that let me restock my balls

pearl: ooh there's things happening on the ser- A BEACON ????

pearl: don't thank me because i didn't approve of it

pearl: i hope you guys understood what i said because i didn't

pearl: "you killed a frog?" yup! it was for science......let it be known that is a terrible excuse in real life

pearl: "do you take iron tablets?" i have them!

pearl to keralis: well you're a letdown but i don't talk about that

pearl: fix ai, make them breedable

pearl: i got the double p! please don't acronym that

pearl: "do you use slabs in terraforming?" *zooms in on a slab she used for terraforming* no

pearl: "don't sell yourself short" it's okay i'm tall

pearl: they don't bite! much..

pearl: doc owes me child support!

*long, stunned silence*

cleo: ....okay….

cleo: so keralis did the kidnapping, and you did kidnapping by proxy

pearl: ...no

pearl: it was a heart of mutton. it was creepy

cleo: it was a meat heart :D

cleo: i want to mail horrible things, like animals, to iskall

pearl: oh! that's horrid

pearl: "you charge your other mats rent?" yes

pearl: i don't know if this is lag or if my balls are just popping in really slowly

pearl: these balls ain't going away

pearl: let me move my balls aside for you

pearl: hello ♪

karn: is it me you're looking for ♪

pearl: no ♪

karn: oh :(

pearl: i don't need a big, strong man to kill me

pearl: turn down the thing you need to turn down...you know what it is

karn: i fractured the world from what i can tell

pearl: ..bruh

pearl: what does the button do?

karn: THE BUTTON SHUTS THE DOORS ON US AND SPAWNS A BUNCH OF MOBS

pearl: i pushed the button hehe

pearl: cleo made the child

false: ...the child?

pearl: yeah :D it's a bebe

pearl: "why are there beach umbrellas at the post office?" *long pause* maybe it's because of all the water?

pearl: you caught me mid construction

gem: i know >:3

pearl: he's letting his babies loose

gem: look at you up there. you're adorable *punches her*

pearl: aH-

pearl: i am greatly navigationally challenged right now

pearl: i got too comfortable with hermitcraft actually working

pearl: ah! moist!

pearl: anyway that's completely distracted me away from my really passionate rockies

pearl: we have pickles to do !!

karn: let's not sit on the balls

pearl: 🤨

karn: *holds up cat toys*

pearl: oh- *starts laughing and hides her very red face*

pearl: just shove it in

pearl: how do you know what brimstone tastes like

karn: i've lived quite the life

pearl: give it a suck

pearl: our feet are not equal

karn: why are you bringing our feet into this ??

pearl: i could give you the australian bestie word-

karn, oblivious: alright

pearl: -but it's not pg

karn, realizing: ahhh

karn: it's a mental thing, you see

pearl: oh

karn: yes, i'm mentally stuck here

pearl: i see

karn: yes, i'm in a position where i don't want to leave-

pearl: that's very intense for a friend

karn: it's just as sweet as you

pearl: don't butter me up

karn: too late!

pearl: i'm flee with extra flee

karn: you okay, my dear?

pearl: *sobbing*

pearl: did you pee in the ocean?

karn, instantly: yes

pearl: stop wasting your bullets!

karn: sorry ☹️

pearl: did you think his ass was his face ????

pearl: in what realm is a butthole a face ????

karn: *trying to explain*

pearl: babe :I

pearl: take that you stupid ass robot

karn: on the count of three. one-

pearl: *starts blasting*

pearl: stupid ass spider

pearl: a butt is clearly defined by two cheeks, a hole, and a tail!

pearl: [karn] is very special. in multiple ways

#pearlescentmoon #hc 10 #hermitcraft 10 #pearlescentmoon quotes #hermitcraft 10 quotes #hc 10 quotes #correct quotes #funny quotes #any quotes from tomorrow's video will be added onto next week's quote batch

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maximwtf · 1 year ago

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readder takes a bullet for izzy. need this fic asap. omfg. did u want finale yet???

Izzy x Reader

words: 1700

google docs pages: 3

warnings: ! S2E8 Spoilers (Kinda?) ! Gunshot wound, mentions of smoking and drinking, blood, death

opening: Ricky turns to fire his pistol and run, but you saw it coming and push Izzy out of the way.

AN// Reader can be any gender! I can’t even lie, my angst loving heart was highkey excited for this one XD Thank you for the request, I love writing stuff like this !! This shall also heal my soul after watching ep8, I’m still a mess from it waaa

“I’ll wait for you”

The long ferns dragged along the freshly stolen British navy coat as you made your way towards the shore with the rest of the crew. Your palm was around the handle of your sword, still convinced that this was a clear suicide mission. There seemed to be absolutely no chance for the whole crew to make it alive all the way to the ship and to make an escape. The Republic of Pirates was swarming with British soldiers, every corner being watched and checked actively. Though, you weren’t going to try and stay here either. You’d rather die as a pirate than get captured and be hung by the British.

Izzy marched a little ahead of you with Ricky. You weren’t sure why he had been put in charge of the man, but there was no use in asking for him to hand over the job to you. He was still the first mate, and as loyal as he was he continued on with his duties. You weren’t scared for his sake, he was most certainly a more skilled fighter and a sailor than you were. But there was always the what if, at the back of your mind. As far as you knew, the whole area was surrounded by British soldiers. Each and every time you’d peeked to take a fast look, at least three men stood near with their guns. So the odds of one of them spotting the group and shooting weren’t nonexistent.

Blackbeard and Izzy had a long history together, but so did you and him. From what you’d talked with Izzy, you’d joined the crew only a short time after him. The man wasn’t even the first mate just yet, which was one of the reasons why you’d dared to start chatting with him in the first place. By God, you wouldn’t have started hitting up someone in a much higher position in the crew just after joining. But there had started your decades long, complicated relationship. He’d always been a little snappish, and that had only amplified once he was given the position as first mate. But every time you’d been with him at the sidelines where he usually spent his time, he was just slightly different. He was the same man, but like there was less of a wall he had to keep up. So because he was seemingly comfortable with you around, you sometimes spent time with him. Share cigarettes, watched him carve figures out of small pieces of wood, whatever he was doing. Sometimes there were no words, just silent companionship. At times the air felt tense, and at some point that wasn’t just an itch you had sometimes. There was real tension, but neither of you addressed it. All the way up until you’d sat down to drink a bottle or two of rum with him. There were not many memories of said night, just one of the tension breaking kiss you’d shared with him. And of course the morning after, and the days that followed. The silence that suggested the both of you being at loss of what to do next.

Your eyes focused on the soldiers in front of you, listening to Ricky speak to them as he’d been told to before. So far the plan was going as intended, but that wouldn’t last for much longer. The prince swung around, alerted the soldiers that the group he was with were pirates and pulled out his pistol. Your eyes widened and without more than a second to think you pushed the man next to you. There wasn’t time to check if he'd landed okay, since that hadn’t been a part of your plan, only to get him out of the bullet’s way. You heard the thud as he fell over, and soon after followed one of the most agonizing pain you could have imagined. The bullet must have hit you instead. There was no time to properly locate where it had hit, but you didn’t have to just yet. As long as you could somewhat walk, that was enough, since after you’d made it to the ship you could take a look at the damage.

The rest of the unit had heard the gunshot and were hurrying to the scene. You reached out and offered a hand for Izzy, the other hand holding the spot you could see blood seeping through. He took a hold of your hand, noticing that something was clearly wrong. You could see his mouth open slightly, but before he was able to question you, you let go of his hand and pushed him forward by his back. “Fuck off, go!” You growled, eyes scanning the area for the easiest way out.

The walk to the shore was a blur. You could tell you were stumbling, even the smallest of rocks getting in your way. Izzy was walking in front of you, but you could tell he was stalling more than a person running for their life would. “Did I not tell you to go?” You snarled a little at the stinging pain, now more obvious that it was coming from somewhere deep near your side. You wished he would have just followed the others, gotten away faster. But this brand new version of him wouldn’t do that to you, to anyone from the crew for that matter. You’d been proud of him through his change, but this was not the time for him to care about you. “Come on, I’m not leaving you here.” He paused enough to get you closer to him, and hoisted you up a little by your arm. “Fuck you.” You cursed, trying to walk a little faster now that he was helping you.

The boat ride felt like forever, and as each of the waves hit the boat the stings of pain just felt worse and worse. You felt light headed and even without noticing you leaned on Izzy just a little more for support. He stiffened up, but kept you in place so you wouldn’t accidentally lean over the edge. You could have sworn you felt his thumb repetitively go over your forearm, as if to keep some sense in the moment .

Izzy got out of the boats first, and with the help of the others he got your form on the main deck. The first mate tore off his coat, laying it flat on the wooden deck before leaning your head over his lap. You could feel cold sweat creep onto your forehead and back, breaths shallow and quick. It was only now setting in what had happened, but you tried to bite back the feelings of panic. You felt Izzy tap your cheek, making your eyes land on his face. Some dirt had stuck to his face from the fall he’d taken because of you, you thought to yourself. “Come on, stay awake.” Izzy said, his voice a little shaken, but the same old commanding tone somewhere in there. “Oh, you’ll be fine, you carouser.” A groan left your throat, making you close your eyes for a moment. You didn’t feel like opening them after, but you did. You did when Izzy’s hand made contact with your cheek again.

Before this you’d thought of the crew members watching. You’d noticed they were around Izzy, some of them hurrying to get anything to help. Though, you knew this was the day you’d feed the fish. Izzy’s expression looked tight. Like he wanted to cry, but tried not to for your sake. He was hunched over your form as his eyes watered. “Aye, now. Don’t hang the jib. You’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him. He’d changed so much, gotten to see how much the crew actually cared about him. He’d be just fine even if you weren’t there with him to stand at the sidelines. Only if he could see that as well. “You don’t do this now, ye fucking hear me?” He said, brows furrowed. You looked at him, his eyes. He looked oddly blurry, your head was spinning from the lost blood. Though, you didn’t mention it to him. “I’m not going anywhere.” You grit your teeth, finding breathing a lot harder than it had been before. You wanted to go, if that meant the struggle would finally end. “But even if I did, I’d be leaving you with the…best possible people.”

Your gaze stayed on Izzy, trying to follow his lips in case you missed something he said. But he was silent, like he was holding back something. The first mate swallowed uncomfortably, leaning over carefully, just to hide his words from anyone else. “You need to tell me if you-” He started, but that was enough. A faint smile appeared on your face. “Of course I fucking love you.” You said, for his sake silently, but you didn’t find it in you to speak any louder anymore. Izzy froze for a moment, some tension leaving his shoulders as he nodded. It was subtle, but as long as you’d known him you’d learned to find even the most minimalistic emotions from his face. His jaw trembled, but his mouth opened and he silently replied; “I love you.” Which was enough for you, more than so. But at that moment, you hoped those words would have been said earlier. Then maybe, just maybe everything could have been different. “I’ll wait for you.” You said, the struggle starting to feel better, like it was coming to an end. Izzy’s face blurred into a soft darkness, which slowly became the only thing still holding you.

AN// Requests for Izzy are open, I love writing for him ahhh >:(

#izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #israel hands #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd x reader #our flag means death x reader #x reader #fanfic #izzy hands beloved #yar har I love pirates

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just-a-gamer-daydeamer-girl · 4 months ago

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Ok more about my PL vs PW rewrite fic (still thinking of a name) I definitely will have to play though the game before I start but I do have some ideas on what to put in (a whole doc full of plot points in order). I won’t tell everything as this is still a mystery and some of the main points will be rewritten. But I will put some bullet points out there of what may be in the story.

Laywright slow burn

Luke and Maya siblings friendship slow burn

It will mostly fallow the Professor and Luke in the beginning. Investagating this odd town.

More supernatural elements and threats besides witches in Labyrinthia.

Phoenix and Maya are a mystery and are going by new names. Nicolas and Mia.

New case 1 replacing the English turnabout in game. It will be similar to the great witch trial in case 2 in game but there will be new twists. I kinda think it was weird to have Phoenix relearn everything twice. Just have one tutorial case.

Zacharias having a proper character arc. Yes he is the case 1 ‘prosecutor’ I know breaking tradition here (sorta) but it kinda counts as he has no idea how to use logic and gets absolutely served. He then goes on a self improvement journey, learning from Phoenix to better judge witches. And we see his growth in later cases.

The storytellers tower is a place visited multiple times during the investigation.

Evidence and hints added sprinkled throughout leading to the grand finale

Tears, assumptions, betrayal, discord, words not being heard, murders and near death encounters.

But also comfort, redemption, healing, family, memories, love and understanding.

New characters

The Dance of Deduction!

New twists!

Magic spells of course!

Spirit chanleing

The professor’s ’is you!’ Dramatic finger point.

Side B staring Miles Edgworth, Larry Butz, and other Professor Layton characters (maybe Flora! I don’t know if she was adopted during this time however)

Puzzles, namely ones people can actually do themselves! Might be extra work but it seems to be fun!

Let me know some of your ideas.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #professor layton #hershel layton #my ideas #pl vs pw #plvspw #professor layton vs phoenix wright ace attorney #professor layton vs phoenix wright #laywright #maya fey #luke triton #pl vs pw rewrite

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hayatheauthor · 1 year ago

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A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline

I'll warn you, this is a long one. I kind of took 'comprehensive guide' a little too seriously.

You have a fantastic concept burning at the edges of your imagination, a collection of characters whispering their stories to you, and a world just waiting to be explored. But how do you weave all these elements into a story that grips readers and refuses to let go? The answer lies in effective plot planning.

A well-crafted plot isn't just a sequence of events; it's a carefully orchestrated symphony that takes readers on an unforgettable ride. Whether you're an experienced writer or someone trying to start their first book, here are my personal steps to crafting a compelling storyline with good plot planning.

Step 1: Idea Generation and Conceptualization

Every great story begins with a spark of inspiration. It's that moment when an idea ignites in your mind and beckons you to explore its potential. The journey from a fleeting thought to a fully-fledged concept is an exhilarating one, and it all starts with idea generation and conceptualization.

Techniques for Idea Generation

Mind Mapping

Grab a piece of paper or use a digital tool to create a mind map. Write your central idea in the middle and branch out with related concepts, characters, themes, and settings. Mind mapping can help you visualize the connections and possibilities within your idea.

Bullet journalling

Bullet journalling is my personal favourite way to generate ideas for your WIP. Get a piece of paper or open a Word/Docs document and create three different sections: world, characters, and plot. Now add facts to each of those sections that you've come up with so far.

You can even go a step ahead and create more detailed sections, for example, you could do this for your different characters or different places in your world. Usually, one bullet point leads to the next and once you have an idea of everything you've already established you'll naturally start adding more to it.

Blurting

Talk to someone about your WIP, or pretend that you're talking to someone and write down everything that comes to mind. You can even use AI tools like ChatGPT and ask it to hold a conversation with you about your WIP. Tell it to ask you questions along the way, this will get the wheels turning and even help fill plot holes.

Prompts and Challenges

Explore writing prompts or challenges to spark your creativity. Websites, books, or even random word generators can provide the nudge you need to generate fresh ideas.

Refining Your Concept

Once you have a collection of ideas, it's time to refine and shape them into a cohesive concept.

Identify Themes

What themes or messages do you want to convey through your story? Is it a tale of redemption, the power of friendship, or the consequences of ambition? Pinpointing your core themes will guide your storytelling and also give you a clear image of the end goal.

Find Your Angle

Consider what makes your idea unique. How can you approach a familiar concept from a fresh perspective? For example, if you're doing a classic murder mystery, what makes your book different from others? Take some time to look up titles similar to your WIP and find any repetitive themes/patterns.

Maybe most murder mysteries end with the partner being the killer, or maybe the fantasy books written in the same mythology as your WIP's all involve a war. Knowing what is currently a popular trend in the market can give you a clear idea of where you can be different from comparable titles. This is especially important for genres like horror and romance.

Develop a Premise

Your premise is the foundation of your story. It's the "what if?" question that drives your narrative. For instance, "What if an ordinary high school student discovers they have the ability to control time?" You need to have a solid premise before you even think about writing your story.

Step 2: Character Development and Motivation

Characters are the beating heart of your story, and crafting them with depth and authenticity is key to creating a narrative that truly captivates. Your characters often leave more of a lasting impact on your readers than the plot itself.

Think of it this way: a good plot will get you readers, but memorable characters will get you fans. Some of the largest communities in the book space all run on the readers' fondness for certain characters rather than the story itself. Yes, your story and the way you tell it is very important, but nobody wants to listen to the story of a boring person.

Bringing Characters to Life

Personal Histories

Delve into your characters' pasts. What experiences shaped them into who they are today? A traumatic childhood or a life-changing event can influence their motivations and behaviours. Maybe your antagonist has a soft spot for single parents because their mother was the only person who cared for them. Maybe the love interest seems like a sunshine character because they feel the need to always seem put-together and perfect.

Physical Traits

This might sound obvious enough, after all a character's appearance is the first thing people think of when visualising, however, many authors fail to have a clear image of their character's physical traits which can lead to inconsistent or boring descriptions. Sure, your protagonist can have bushy hair and brown eyes, but what else?

Think about their body type, height, fashion sense, the way they carry themselves, walk, and sound. Do they have a random mole at the back of their neck? Do they always smell like a certain perfume because their dead father gifted it to them? It's important for you to have a clear image of who you're writing.

Strengths and Flaws

Just like real people, characters have strengths and weaknesses. These traits affect their decisions and interactions. A courageous hero might also struggle with recklessness, adding complexity to their personality. It's easy to create 2D characters by using tropes or shallow descriptions 'an all-powerful villain' 'the chosen one who trained their whole life and is perfect', but 3D characters are what will actually catch your readers' attention.

There's a reason why people often love the grey characters, the anti-heroes or anti-villains. Those who have complex personalities that make them seem human. This makes us empathise with the characters, and as a writer, it also helps you think of your characters as real people with flaws and problems.

Motivations: The Why Behind the What

Goals and Desires

What do your characters want? Their goals drive the plot forward. A detective's desire to solve a mystery or a scientist's quest for a groundbreaking discovery sets the narrative in motion. Why is your protagonist doing what they are doing?

You could simply give yourself a generic answer like 'they want to save the people' or 'they're a good person' but this can lead to confusion in the long run. If as the writer you yourself can't understand your character's goals it will get very hard to showcase them to your readers. Try to pick apart each character and genuinely consider why they are the way they are.

Inner Conflicts

Characters often grapple with inner turmoil – the clash between their desires, values, and fears. This inner conflict adds layers of intrigue and reliability. Maybe your protagonist realises the antagonist's qualms with the government are actually valid and suffers from moral conflicts as they contemplate whether or not they are the 'good guy'. Inner conflict adds dimension to your characters which in turn makes it easier for your readers to empathise with them.

Step 3: Outlining the Key Plot Points

Now that you have a clear idea of what you want to write and who you want to write it with, it's time to consider the how. You have a story, but how do you want to tell it? Break down the key plot points that shape your narrative, creating a roadmap that guides your characters through their trials and triumphs.

The Building Blocks of Plot

The Inciting Incident

The spark that ignites your story. It's the moment when your protagonist's world is disrupted, setting them on a path of change. For example, in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen's sister being chosen for the Games is the inciting incident that propels her into the arena.

This can be a little harder to recognise in genres outside of SFF and horror. For a thriller novel, this moment could be the moment your protagonist uncovers a sketchy detail in their relative's death. In romance, it could be the moment your protagonist is introduced to the love interest.

Turning Points

These are pivotal moments that shift the course of your narrative. They introduce new challenges, reveal secrets, or force characters to make crucial decisions. Think of them as the gears that keep your story machine turning. It's important to have some sort of turning point in your story to keep things interesting.

Maybe the character your protagonist was suspecting throughout the first half of the book ends up having a solid alibi, or a seemingly innocent character suddenly seems sketchy.

The Climax

The peak of tension and conflict. It's the moment your characters face their biggest challenge and must make their ultimate choice. In "The Lord of the Rings," the climactic battle at Mount Doom decides the fate of Middle-earth. In a murder mystery, this can be the moment the real killer is unveiled, or in a rom-com, it could be when the love interest moves to a new city to follow the protagonist.

Falling Action and Resolution

As your story winds down, the falling action ties up loose ends and provides closure. Readers witness the aftermath of the climax, and the characters' arcs find resolution. This is the bit where you make sure you aren't leaving any plot holes behind. Remember that random character your protagonist suspected at the start of the book? What's their alibi, why did they suddenly get out of the picture?

Structuring Plot Points

Introduction of Stakes

Introduce what your characters stand to gain or lose early on. This creates a sense of urgency that propels them forward. What if your protagonist fails to complete their missions? What if the detective never unveils the killer's identity? What if your protagonist doesn't win over the love interest? Show your readers the worst possible outcome early on so they know why they should be rooting for your protagonist.

This doesn't necessarily have to be something big or scary. In Harry Potter, many of us wanted Harry to stay at Hogwarts because his life with the Dursleys was cruel and he deserved happiness. That was a small yet significant stake that made the readers empathetic and silently root for Harry.

Foreshadowing and Setup

Plant seeds of future events throughout your story. Foreshadowing builds anticipation and adds depth, making later plot developments more satisfying. I have written a lot of blogs that either cover or briefly mention foreshadowing so I'm going to keep this point a little short.

Foreshadowing helps your readers slowly piece everything together and have that 'I knew it!' or 'how did I not see this coming?' moment. It might also encourage them to turn back and reread your work to focus on the little hints you left throughout the book. Foreshadowing is especially important in murder mysteries.

Step 4: Subplots and Secondary Storylines

Subplots and secondary storylines are the secret ingredients that transform a good story into an unforgettable masterpiece. They add layers of intrigue, provide character development opportunities, and keep readers eagerly turning pages. If you're confused about what is a subplot and how to create one you can visit my previous blog that focuses on this topic.

The Role of Subplots

Enriching Character Arcs

Subplots allow secondary characters to shine. They can showcase different facets of your characters' personalities, revealing their strengths, weaknesses, growth, and relationships.

Theme Reinforcement

Subplots can explore and reinforce your story's themes from various angles. For instance, a romantic subplot can underscore the theme of love and sacrifice, in turn making your protagonist’s heroic death at the end of the novel seem more impactful. We all know Pepper’s reaction to Tony’s death in End Game made the moment more emotional.

While creating subplots and considering which one might be relevant to your book you should think of how this subplot would impact your end goal and whether it would help emotionally connect with your readers.

Parallel Journeys

Subplots can create parallel journeys that mirror or contrast with the main plot. This dynamic adds depth and resonance to your storytelling. Maybe the antagonist’s assistant has a similar backstory to your protagonist but while the protagonist was rescued by the government they were taken in by the antagonist. As the two geniuses face each other your protagonist can’t help but consider whether they would still be fighting for the ‘good’ side had their roles been switched.

Balancing The Main Plot and Subplots

Interconnectedness

Subplots shouldn't feel disconnected from the main plot. Instead, they should interact and influence each other, creating a harmonious narrative flow. Your subplot could help bring a satisfactory end to a certain arc of your story, or it could sow the roots for the important climactic moment of your book.

Pacing and Tension

Strategically introduce subplots to maintain pacing and tension. They can provide moments of relief or heightened drama, enhancing the overall reading experience.

Character Integration

Ensure that characters involved in subplots maintain relevance to the main plot. Their actions and decisions should contribute to the overarching story, even as they pursue their own paths. You should also think about whether or not your character is overshadowing the protagonist. In Harry Potter there were several characters such as Ginny, Luna and Neville with subplots and backstories of their own, however, they never overshadowed Harry’s tale.

Step 5: Crafting Scenes and Sequences

Welcome to the realm where the magic truly comes to life – crafting scenes that resonate, captivate, and propel your story forward. Scenes are the building blocks of your narrative, each one a window into your characters' world and emotions. They help infuse your story with tension, emotion, and unforgettable moments.

Again, this is a topic I’ve covered separately in another blog so I won’t go into too much detail here.

Scene Structure and Elements

Objective and Conflict

Every scene should have a purpose – a clear objective that drives the characters. Introduce conflict that challenges their goals and motivations, creating tension that keeps readers engaged.

Emotion and Stakes

Characters' emotions are the heartbeats of scenes. Amplify emotions by highlighting what's at stake for the characters. Whether it's a heated argument or a tender moment, emotions draw readers in.

Sequences: Crafting a Flow

Cause and Effect

Scenes connect through cause and effect. Each scene's outcome sets the stage for the next, creating a seamless flow that propels the narrative. A character's choice in one scene can reverberate and shape subsequent events.

Rising Action

Craft sequences with escalating tension. The stakes should intensify, drawing characters deeper into challenges and dilemmas. This creates a sense of anticipation that keeps readers eagerly turning pages.

Step 6: Mapping the Journey: Creating a Visual Plot Outline

Visualising your plot, characters, and world can be very hard sometimes. Let's be honest, words can only do so much and if you don't have a clear idea of what you want to show your readers you can end up going down a path of 'telling' them everything. This can take away from the point of your story and end up boring your readers. If you find it hard to visualise where you're going with your book, here are some tips that can help.

Visual Tools for Plot Planning

Timelines and Flowcharts

Create a timeline that outlines the sequence of major events, from inciting incidents to resolution. Flowcharts visually depict the interconnectedness of plot points, making it easy to track the evolution of your story. You can also cut out or add bits depending on how far along you are. This will also help you keep track of what scene/development should be introduced when and why.

Index Cards or Post-Its

Write down key scenes, plot developments, and character arcs on individual index cards or sticky notes. Arrange and rearrange them on a board or wall to visualize the narrative's flow. You can also do this if you're confused about the climax of your novel by adding different ideas to the post-its and putting them alongside the rest of the book's plot to see what things would look like from a reader's perspective.

Infusing Creativity

Playlists

Curate a playlist that captures the mood and emotions of your story. Music has the power to transport you to the heart of your narrative, helping you channel the right atmosphere while plotting. You can listen to this playlist every time you sit down to write WIP. With time, this will also help you overcome writer’s block since you can put on this playlist every time you struggle to get into the right writing mindset.

Moodboards/Pinterest Boards

Create a visual feast by collecting images, aesthetics, and visuals that embody your story's essence. Platforms like Pinterest allow you to craft moodboards that serve as visual touchstones. I would recommend creating a separate pinboard for every character so you can get a clear idea of their vibe and appearance. You can even refer to these every time you're writing about or from the perspective of a new character.

Step 7: Flexibility and Adaptability

As you embark on your writing journey, remember that stories have a life of their own. Embracing flexibility and adaptability is your compass through uncharted territories.

Allow characters to surprise you, let plots pivot, and themes emerge. Balancing structure with spontaneity ensures a dynamic narrative that resonates deeply. Listen to your characters, explore ethical complexities, and evolve alongside your story.

By staying open to the unexpected, you infuse your writing with authenticity and richness. Your plot outline is a guide, but your characters and themes have the power to shape the course. Embrace the unpredictable, and watch your story flourish beyond your imagination.

I hope this blog on A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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bronx-bomber87 · 11 months ago

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Happy Wednesday Fandom :) More of that pining/slow burn in this one. I saw a post that said ‘The greatest things take the longest time.’ That is Chenford in a nutshell. The buildup and reward are so good. This one is fantastic for so many reasons. Also we get rid of the dead weight that is Ashley in this one. The symbolism in this one is very poignant. So let’s get going.

5x05 The Fugitive

A foot chase starts our ship off in this one. Tim takes down one of the suspects with an impressive takedown. Sexy af until he injures himself. Lucy pulls up and is on it immediately for him. Tim is clearly in pain and Lucy is instantly worried. Asking if he’s ok? Tim being Tim brushes it off. Saying it was just the take down. He tweaked his back is all. Then grimaces some more. Activating worried wifey mode to the max. You no longer have a choice in this now Timothy. She has decided you are going to the hospital and that is that sir. This is not up for debate. At all. Weird place or not you are her person and she will make sure you are taken care of. That’s instinctual.

This next scene is the epitome of stubborn husband and exasperated wife. Tim comes gimping into the hospital. Lucy is hot on his trail worry pouring out of her. Nolan starts to update Tim on the fugitive loose in the hospital. Lucy cuts John off and says he’s not there as a supervisor. Damn girl you just take the lead for your man.

Idk what’s more telling to those around them. That Lucy is in wifey mode taking over for Tim. Or That Tim starts to fight her then gives in. Either way acting married af right now. Or as I saw in some tags we could call this scene ‘Where wives don’t believe their husbands.’ LOL From the minute he started hurting worried wife was activated.

She is not giving up till you are seen Tim. She is so exasperated with him when he says ‘Ok I’m not fine.’ Like yeah it’s what I’ve been telling you this entire time you stubborn ox of a man haha She's so gentle in helping him sit in that second gif though. Mad he won't listen but soft when he needs her. Mixture of extremely worried and infuriated with him.

Lucy is doing her search for the fugitive when she runs into Tim’s room. Awkward central. She wasn’t expecting Ashley. haha Tells them she's just looking for bad guys...Tim doesn’t let her leave yet asking how the search is going? Asking If Nolan is leaving a cop on every floor? Lucy’s incredulous look and sass reply are the best. ‘Yes we’ve been cops for more than ten seconds.’ Lucy stays long enough to be present for the doctor. He explains it's an old injury flaring up.

It's from when he was shot few years back. Ashley's reaction to a bullet makes me roll my eyes. He’s a cop those tend to be apart of the deal….The doctor telling him the injury from a few years ago is a problem now. There was a fragment that was too complicated to move at the time. So they left it there. Tim tries to relax Ashley and say he was ‘Just shot’ not a big deal. Trying to downplay it. Lucy bragging she saved his life on day one. It was a big deal heh I mean it really was... His hot shot in action saved his life.

Tim ignores her comment and let's the doctor finish. He says the fragment has traveled and is now closer to his spinal column. It’s pressing on a nerve now. So they need to do surgery to remove it. Tim says 'Ok…when?' Wifey jumps in not Ashley and asks ‘Hold on, what are the risks?’ The doctor must’ve thought Ashley was Tim’s sister and Lucy was the spouse at this point. He has to. The way Lucy is acting is that of a worried wife. Asking questions and not just sitting there as the doctor speaks.

The doctor answers Lucy’s question by saying ‘They’re talking about the spine so it’s risky..’ The silent communication above oh my word. He doesn’t look to Ashley for comfort when the doc says this. No no. He looks to his person for it. The way he flits his eyes over to her. The writing was on the wall for Ashley in this one in so many ways. Let’s not forget his GF is standing right next to him as he does this.

Literally right there as they have this mini silent convo with his soulmate. How this woman wasn’t consistently threatened by Lucy I’ll never understand. When his panic and worry start to pile up who does he look to? His girl. Such a short moment with so much meaning attached to it. They’ve been each other’s safe place and harbor for a long time.

So naturally he would look to Lucy not his GF in this moment. Ashley is so far past her expiration date at this point she's starting to smell. Gah their chemistry is out of the world good. This moment above a reflection of that. Also Lucy’s reaction to the doctor saying it’s risky. *heart clutch*

Tim opts to do the surgery even though it’s risky. It’s better than doing nothing. He says it could be laparoscopic and he’ll be home by dinner. Look at Lucy’s panic in that first gif. She was not done with grilling that doctor. Nor was she done talking to Tim about this. But sadly she's not his SO and can't have more input. If she was his wife that doctor would’ve spent little longer in that room. You can tell how antsy and worried she is.

Looking at Tim with that same amount of worry. Lucy touches her tattoo. Her go to when she’s super stressed and overwhelmed. Her heart is hurting she can’t be the one comforting him. Can't be the one grilling the doctor some more and having a say in this. It’s killing her. Since she can’t do anything more she opts to leave. Also Ashley comforting Tim is not something she wants to see anyway. It’s hurting her to watch tbh.

So Lucy gets awkward and says she’s gonna get back to the search. Being in the room isn't something she can stand at this point. So she takes off back where she came from. Where do Tim’s eyes go? Not to Ashley. To Lucy who just left the room. We all know he’s not with Ashley because he loves her.

It’s just comfortable and safe because he can’t be with Lucy. Breaks my damn heart. All his feelings were showing in this scene. 100% of them towards Lucy in this moment. Look at that man above. His heart just walked out of the room and it shows. He wanted her to stay but there wasn’t a reason for her to. You’re so in love with her Timothy. It's painfully obvious at this point.

Lucy comes to see Grey after he collapsed in front of her. He got food poisoning from breakfast place they went to. Ashley did him a solid by having him not eat bread I guess...Lucy is so cute when she comes in saying it’s like a sleepover LOL Never change Lucy Chen never change. This makes me laugh so very much. First I wanna say I love Grey trusting her enough to run the station. That’s amazing.

Second it's hilarious because they both need her to get a move on. With Smitty in charge god only knows what’s happening without them. When she arrives he’s already given a friend day off….Lucy asks what he’s doing? Tells her 'When you’re in charge you let your friends go home early.' OMG lol Lucy is panicked and says but we’re short today…Reminding him they’re understaffed due to the units on the hospital. Smh. This is why they sent her back...

We return to Ashley back in his room. Talking about how Tim could retire if he wanted. Be on disability/pension if this surgery keeps him from working. Move out of LA. It’s insane to me she would even suggest this. But not surprising. The thing I didn’t like about Ashley was her constantly molding Tim into her version. Once again vapid is the perfect description for Ashley.

Not having him strive to be a better person like Lucy does. Because she is blah and doesn’t challenge him. Just wanted her version of him. Where Lucy challenges him and makes him want to be better. Loves him for who he is. Ashley just keeps trying to shove Tim into a box. Her box of who she thinks he should be like. Not loving him for who he is.

Lucy loves every part of this man. Warts and all and vice versa. Trying to take away being a cop to be a beach bum? Outside of LA? She doesn’t know the man lying next to her at all. Why you ask? Oh you know just those glaring communication issues they've had since day one. This goes all the way back to 4x10 with Kojo. It's not gotten any better.

Because of this lack of communication she’s only gotten surface level Tim. The Tim that doesn’t want to rock the boat. So he is just going with it. Better than making waves. D brought up an excellent point in 4x21 in her comments. About him not fighting her because of his PTSD with Isabel. Her saying he was too rigid. Tim is over correcting now where he’s not even himself at this point. Possibly agreeing to this ‘Life plan’ of hers. Just going through the motions because he has to.

He doesn’t want to be alone and he can’t be with Lucy. It’s insanely heartbreaking when you break it down like this. Tim is losing who he is in this relationship. Just to please a person he doesn’t even love. To quell anxieties his ex-wife thrust upon him. We see him hesitate because it’s a life he doesn’t really want. Makes me mad as I write this. Tim deserves so much better.

Tim goes to stretch his legs while he still can. He sees the fugitive and tries to stop him. Oh my Timothy why would you do this being so hurt? Because he's a lawman first and foremost that's why. Not that Ashley get’s that....I wanna cry with how much pain he’s in. Gah Eric killing me softly. We see his bravado disappear in an instant. Tim then thinks of the two most important women in his life. His sister and his girl. No no not bloody Ashley. Lucy. Sends Ashley to call his sister.

When Grey makes it over he tells him not to tell Lucy. Knowing she would drop EVERYTHING to be by his side. Tim putting her first even when he's in danger himself. Does he not see what a husband move this is? I’m sure Wade does. Minute Ashley is gone he tells him not to tell Lucy. Fierce protector reporting for duty even when he’s hurting. If Lucy saw him grimacing like he is she would lose her damn mind. He knows this and decides to keep her out of the loop because of it.

Lucy sees a bunch of cops leaving and is panicking. They say Smitty is letting them leave early. Harper comes up and Lucy asks for her help. Nyla knowing Lucy is a BAMF saying all she has to do is say different. I adore the way Harper builds her up in this moment. Filling in those gaps still when Tim can’t. It’s amazing. Letting her know she has their respect.

With everything she’s been through and done for others. No way these cops wouldn’t have her back if she asked for it. Lucy tells them what’s going on. How spread thin they are and she needs them. Jan nods and says ‘You got it Chen.’ Love this for her. Smitty comes up and ask if she’s in charge? She says yeah I guess. He looks so relieved and hands the reins over HA

Here comes the scene where I wanna drop kick Ashley into a volcano. I think I’ve been much harsher on Chris than I have her so far. But this is where that changes. Tim is just getting out of surgery. JUST. What does she do? Project her crap onto Tim. Then break up with him for it. Girl, you knew he was a cop from the damn jump. For MONTHS. You knew this. Wasn’t a secret he kept from you. Yet you decide to condemn him for it cause of an injury he had years ago. This has to be one of the most incredibly selfish things I’ve ever seen. That line from 5x08 ‘You deserve someone who’s worth the effort.’ Clearly to Ashley, Tim wasn’t worth the effort.

Breaks my heart for Tim. Leaving him alone post surgery. I hate her for this. I really do. When Lucy would’ve lost her damn mind even knowing about this. The only way she would change her mind is if he retired. Cool so you didn’t get what you wanted so you bail on him? Awesome. Real classy of you. This was just all their crappy communication, incompatibility and just being so wrong for each other coming to a head. At the absolute worst time for Tim. The way he says 'I just got out of surgery...' Breaks my heart. Let me at her Tim. I'm Italian we're scrappy.

I also just wanna hug him so very much. What a shitty thing to do. It’s a rough ride to 5x08. This one just hurts to watch. But good riddance to bad rubbish as they say. Tim was only in that relationship cause it was safe. To fill the hole in his heart Lucy left. And she didn’t even do that good of a job... She did him a favor really. The insane amount of symbolism between Lucy and Ashley in this ep is glaring. When it’s the right person this stuff doesn’t matter. She asks him if she can get him anything? No. Get the hell out. You aren’t fit to breathe the same air as him let alone be in his presence anymore. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out. You won’t be missed.

We return to Lucy at Grey’s desk looking exhausted as hell. He comes in to relieve her. He asks how did it go? She lies and says it was great…. Wade laughs and says ‘It was great?’ He tells her he spoke with the communication supervisor. That she did a masterful job of managing calls with half the normal staff. Lucy thanks him but says she is more than ready to hand it back to him.

She asks about Tim’s laparoscopic? Grey sighs and tells her the news. It’s the way he softly delivers it. Knowing how sick with worry she’s going to be. The man knew. We see the absolute panic on her face. She goes from tired to extremely alert and worried af. That man is the important person in her life. She doesn’t have to blink before she’s at the hospital for him.

Let’s talk about this panicked absolutely panicked walk to his room. How she’s desperately searching for him once she arrives. The way she rubs her tattoo when she reaches it. Gah it’s so good. I love Melissa doing that small touch with her tattoo anytime she is worried/stressed. It’s like she can’t breathe until her eyes are on him. That she won't relax until she can see that he’s safe and ok.

The shaky way she approaches his bed. Bracing herself for the worst since she knows NOTHING about his surgery. Asking him so softly if he’s ok? Getting angry asking 'Why no one told her in the first place?' Tim is smiling because he’s just so damn happy she cares about him. That’s she’s here. He tells her everything went ok. He'll make a full recovery. That he told everyone to keep her in the dark. She goes from worried wifey to scolding LOL

Tim’s answer is so damn revealing. Lucy is picking up on the feelings he’s just laying out for her. Telling her he didn’t want her to worry. Lucy putting the pieces together in her reply. Tim couldn’t be more obvious in his affection for her in this moment. Truly think Lucy was catching onto his feelings right here. It’s the soft way she repeats it back with a very affectionate smile on her face. She loves this man so much. It's written all over her face.

They’re both so sweet and loud in their feelings in this moment. This is such married behavior it’s unreal. He could’ve used Lucy in this whole situation. But once again puts her above his own needs. Because Tim Bradford. Literally screaming his feelings at her in this moment. Tim is realizing this as she parrots back what he did. Goes back on the defensive saying to slow her roll LOL

That he misspoke he was really talking about the station. Uh huh. Sure babe that’s what you’re talking about…Continuing on to say he didn’t want to distract her with worrying about him. So she could properly take over from Smitty. Lucy’s BS detector is out and it’s going off like crazy. He knows she would’ve let the station burn to be with him. To have someone by his side. Instead of calling him out on it further she just does a knowing ‘Mmm-hmm.’

He then goes into proud hubby mode. Look at this man. Like I said in 5x03 he looks at her like she’s hung the moon and stars. Does that by saying he heard she saved the day. Lucy decides to banter back at him. Instead of just taking his praise. Being sassy af in her reply instead of just thanking him. I love this because it shows the comfortability that is still there.

Telling him it wasn't that hard. Pretending she wasn't phased at all by this daunting task. Tacking on she doesn't know why he's always complaining LOL He just complimented her and she knows he means it. So instead of shying away from it she engages in flirty banter with her person. Tim catching onto her game joins in saying 'Really? Just smooth sailing?' They easily fall back into their natural banter here.

Lucy then cracks with a big smile for him. Saying ‘No…it was awful!’ Haha The comfortable solace of their banter coming to life in this moment. It makes my heart so happy after the last few eps. Lucy feels their flow returning. So she decides to rant about her day. Saying to him 'How can so many things go wrong in one day?' ha

Tim returning fire with a sassy reply of his own. Shooting back it wasn’t even a particularly bad day. The flirty body language from Lucy my god. Be more telling my goodness. Does my heart good them bantering and bickering. It's so nice to see after the heaviness they've been carrying around. They both had horrid days. Lucy with the shift from hell. Tim with almost being paralyzed and having emergency surgery.

You wouldn’t know that from watching them banter in this scene. They haven’t had this kind of back and forth in forever. We haven’t seen them this light in weeks. Haven’t see them be themselves at all since 5x01. Look at these two. They’re practically glowing from this sassy banter exchange. Just the pick me up they both needed.

Lucy asks where’s Ashley? Tim stutters around and says he sent her home. She was ‘exhausted.’ Ugh my heart. He’s too hurt to tell her what happened. She’s worried enough about him as is. He won’t add to it. His default gear putting her first. Lucy says ‘Ok.’ believing his lie. She goes to sit down because if she isn’t going to be here Lucy sure as hell is. We talked about symbolism for this ep at the very beginning. This is that in a nutshell.

Lucy filling the seat next to his bed that Ashley has vacated. Not that she is aware of that at this point but Tim is. Lucy makes the choice to stay with him. It means more to Tim in this moment than she’ll ever know. Her automatic reaction is to stay so he doesn’t have to be alone post surgery. Knowing he would like the company even if he doesn’t ask for to. She just knows him that well. This moment means so much to Tim.

He is very gun shy from Ashley legit just abandoning him. He questions why she’s sitting down. The shock is all over his face when she originally takes that seat. Lucy’s answer is wonderful and obvious to her. 'I’m keeping you company.' Thinking what else would I be doing after rushing to come see you? I also think she just wants to keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s really ok.

She is putting him first in this moment. Just like she always has. Always will. Tim tells her she doesn’t have to. Then Lucy does a terrible job of hiding her own feelings. Giving him heart eyes galore replying ‘I know.’ Basically saying ‘I know but I love you.’ No where else she’d rather be. It’s why his smile Is so damn soft for her. She doesn’t have to stay. She WANTS to be with him. Keep him company while he recovers from something so awful.

She is choosing him in this moment and he knows it. It’s written all over his handsome face. He is so grateful to her in this moment. Her presence being a salve to his emotional and physical wounds. Gah I love this episode so very much. Just another ep showing how Lucy is very much his person and Ashley was never close to that. Not in million years. Such a good one after low content drought. Sure it was intentional by the writers to starve us a bit then deliver this gem of ep ❤️

~~~

Side notes- non chenford

Love learning about Angela’s brother’s. Also that final scene with her mom makes me cry every time. It’s my own issues but I’m jealous. Angela deserves that apology. Yeah she’s a bad ass but even a bad ass still needs their mom. The way her mom owns up to it and apologizes. My heart. It makes me sad cause I’ll never get that so it gets me right in the feels. But so glad she got it.

Whew we're 5 eps down already unreal. Thank you to everyone who likes, comments and reblogs. You are the reason I do this :) see you in 5x06

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cr-pisacs-evil-brother · 1 year ago

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Pathologic Bachelor ARG Megapost

This post is a culmination of months of (mostly my own) research into the Bachelor ARG. For far too many days and far too many hours, I’ve been doing my best to solve this, with the help of a few other people. I looked very deep into most Fyodor Vitin posts, played through The Marble Nest several times, looked extensively through the Pathologic wiki, and read/analyzed countless outside sources for this post, and I will link as many of them as I can. (If there are links that you think would help the ARG that you’d like included in here with credit please let me know.) For any people that are credited, an “@” before their name implies that it’s a Tumblr username, while a “u/” proceeding their name implies it’s a Reddit username. I have discovered and analyzed dozens of leads, some of which are more likely to be important or intentional on the part of IPL than others. The primary purpose of this post is to give all of you Pathologic fans new leads and theories to analyze in pursuit of solving the mystery behind this ARG, so many of the things within this post should be looked into further! With this post, I will lay out my findings in a series of sections, all of them having several connections to each other. This post is more than 10,000 words and is not meant to be read all at once, so feel free to read sections, take breaks, re-read sections, or skip around if you'd like. “Observations, Research, Analysis” is a vast majority of this post and consists of observations made about the ARG material, as well as any research I did into those findings that bore fruit, and analysis/connections to other things. The additional notes section consists of some of the conclusions I’ve reached after putting all of my evidence together, as well as some connections I didn't really make in the previous section, but keep in mind they’re still just theories so they could obviously be wrong. I would like to emphasize that I am not a native Russian speaker, but I did have many native Russian speakers helping me along the way, and in particular, I’d like to thank @kurury-chan for her massive help with this. She transcribed the newspaper for me, provided tons of consulting, translated many other Russian sources, and actually went out of the way to go on an irl tour of a certain ARG-related location to see if my theories about it could hold any ground! Because I'm not a native Russian speaker, the sections where I'm required to analyze Russian text (notably the newspaper section) will probably be the least interesting and I'll probably end up making a lot of points that aren't valid. Additionally, I’d like to thank @cryingsyren (who also happens to be my bf) and @ded-not-ded for their help. As for formatting, since Tumblr doesn't have tiered lists for some fucking reason, all main points will be written as bullet points, and any sub-points within that bullet will then have numbered points afterward. For example like this:

The first main point about a topic

Sub-point of the first point

Second sub-point

The second main point about a topic

I'll either do that or I'll do it like this:

First main point

First sub-point First sub-sub-point

Second sub-point

Second main point

Edit 1: I've had to revert much of the Chat text (the font I used for the sub-points above) to regular text because of a formatting glitch that irreversibly changed most of the Chat text to bold, which was very confusing.

Depending on which looks better in the context of the points. Because that formatting is so awkward and clunky I'll try to minimize the use of tiered lists as I convert this from the Google Docs format to the Tumblr Format. Most of the time that I use tiered lists here it's to deal with the character limit Tumblr has on single blocks of text within a post. With that out of the way, let's just get into the post.

Observations, Research, Analysis:

"The Accident" Fyodor Vitin post

The first thing I noticed about the newspaper when I took a good look at it was the use of bolding with certain letters. If you look at the Newspaper you’ll also see ink splattered on the page in several areas, which could be a clue toward noticing the bolded letters, or it could be something else I’ve yet to discover. I knew I wouldn’t be able to transcribe the entire newspaper by myself, not being a Russian speaker (although I’ve just started learning!) so I enlisted the help of @kurury-chan, a native Russian speaker, and she transcribed the entire newspaper for me in Cyrillic. After getting this transcription I went through and spent a couple of days looking for which letters were bolded, writing them down, and coming up with possible translations/meanings. I’ve come up with lots of possible meanings for these, but for many of them I couldn’t figure anything out, and I’d love help if anyone has any idea what they could mean! To me many of them seem like word fragments that are simply missing one or two letters, and so in the document where I list all of the bolded letters I put some words/phrases that are very close to the seemingly fragmented words. Once again keep in mind that, while I’m trying to learn Russian, my understanding of the language is still rather weak, so I may have mistranslated some of these. Another small detail to mention is that there’s a prominent crease on the left side of the paper that runs through a decent portion of the bolded words. First, I’ll start with the bolded letters on the left side of the page. I may have missed a couple, and I may have written some of them down as bolded when maybe they aren’t supposed to be seen as such.

Here is a link to a list of all the letters I think are bolded on the left side, which lines they’re on, and possible meanings, many of which I’ll be discussing here. I will not go individually through what I believe all the bolded letters mean, but I will go through and explain the ones I think are most meaningful and important, as well as some connections I’ve made with them. And here is a link to the original Russian transcription and my best attempt at an English translation.

It’s possible that the crease that runs through the left side of the paper and notably runs through many bolded words somehow denotes that those particular bolded words are special, or perhaps that they should be seen as separate from the other bolded words.

Line 15 has a rather interesting bolded phrase, because it actually appears to make a somewhat coherent 3-word phrase, but one of the words seems to be a surname, “Pepe.” Additionally, the crease on the left side of the page starts right above the word “ПЕПЕЛИЩЕ” in the title, and splits it so that “ПЕПЕ” is separate from the rest of the word. (ПЕПЕ is Pepe in Cyrillic.) If you want to know what the non-Pepe words say, skip to the next bullet point, because the rest of this one is my analysis of the ПЕПЕ part. So, of course, I looked into the name a bit, looking through all notable historical figures with the last name, and found one that I think is of special interest: Guglielmo Pepe. Born in the small ancient town of Squillace, Pepe entered the army at a very young age, and was an Italian commander during the early 1800s, but his military career was fraught with trouble, as he also had rather revolutionary politics, which angered both the government he was serving and many of his peers, and he was exiled on several occasions. Upon Pepe’s return to Italy at the age of 30, he was given the rank of general. After this, the most notable events in his life would largely consist of his attempts at going rogue in revolutionary attempts to change the existing power structure, for which he was usually punished. (It’s also perhaps worth mentioning that his brother was part of the attempted French invasion of Russia.) All of this is to say, Pepe obviously shares some striking similarities to General Block, perhaps the most striking of which is his status as a 30-year-old general, which is an aspect of Block’s character that is highlighted several times. So, of course, I looked into Block’s character a bit more, and discovered that in the Russian version of the game he is called “General Ash” instead of “General Ashes.” “Strange,” I thought, until I saw that in Russian, Ash is “Пепел” which is pronounced as “Pepel” for anyone that isn’t familiar with Cyrillic. If we look into it, we do see that the letter after the Пепе is л, but it is notably not bold. This is, if you're counting, two separate times in this paper where the plural for ash, пепелище, is split up so that only the пепе is emphasized. As for other connections between Pepe and Block, we could look at them both harboring some revolutionary tendencies and being punished for it, both by The Powers That Be and his peers. General Block also tells Artemy that he was born in a town not too dissimilar to the Town on Gorkhon; this is interesting because there are some connections to be drawn between Squillace and Gorkhon, primarily that both of them preserve the beauties of ancient times that have all but been lost to most people. Related to this, it should also be noted that I believe the plot of The Marble Nest was heavily based on the plot of The Seventh Seal, which is the same movie that inspired the character Alexander Block.

The rest of line 15 is also interesting, but I’m not sure exactly what it’s supposed to mean yet. It translates to “Heaven on Pepe” basically. I consider the “Pepe” part to probably be the most important, since there’s a large crease that runs through it, which I think probably denotes a level of importance? The line’s meaning might be related to the fact that “heaven” is sort of a synonym for “utopia,” or the character that Block is based on is the protagonist of a movie that revolves around the ideas of heaven and Christianity, which is something we saw very briefly with Block in Pathologic 1. If you have any ideas please post about them and tag me, or simply comment/reblog this with your ideas!

Line 1 and line 18’s bolded letters both start out with “ов”, and for my English speakers out there it is pronounced sorta like “ove.” ов is interesting because if you translate it as о-в it actually is the shortened form of “island” in Russian. Line 1’s bolded letters read as “ов попо”, and for people not familiar with Cyrillic попо is basically “popo.” There are, apparently, many Popo islands in the world, and I couldn’t find one that I think directly connects to the ARG or Pathologic, but maybe someone else out there will, or perhaps that line has a different meaning to it. As for line 18, it says “ов испустивших” and according to Russian wiktionary, the second word is one letter off from the word “Emitted.” I looked a bit deeper, though, because that didn’t satisfy me (why would they use the incorrect spelling of a word after all?) and I didn’t see much, but I did find two things that used the exact word “испустивших” that interested me: A Saudi Arabian newspaper that has been translated into Russian, as well as a Russian poem from 1777 celebrating the birth of Grand Duke Alexander Pavlovich, also known as Alexander I of Russia. The latter is more interesting to me for numerous reasons, the first one being that it might serve my theory about the connection between line 1 and 15, as line 1’s bolded letters end with попо and line 15’s end with пепе. The connection is weak, too weak for me to make it a separate bullet point, but strong enough for me to want to explain. So, as we know, there is a connection between line 1 and 18, it’s what this whole bullet point is about, and this theory (using the term “theory” loosely) relies on us seeing them as very closely connected. Basically, Alexander I was the ruler of Russia during the French invasion, which is interesting because, if you’ll remember, Guglielmo Pepe’s brother, Florestano Pepe, took part in the French invasion. This, to me, is an interesting connection, but I do admit it’s definitely a reach.

That’s where I’ll stop talking about the bolded letters on the left side of the paper. If you’d like to see what other bolded letters there are, what they could possibly mean, and try to decipher the meaning for yourself please go to my linked Google Doc(s).

As for the right side of the Newspaper, there are some bolded letters, but I can't seem to make much sense out of them, and by this point in my research I was starting to pursue more promising ARG leads, so this section is rather incomplete. Just as a reminder, the right side of the newspaper is an advertisement for a lantern/kerosene shop. I personally think the right side is more interesting than the left for a couple reasons, but most of them are either self-evident or will be discussed later.

The lantern on the right side of the paper is the same model that’s used throughout the Haruspex’s route, but most notably it’s used a ton during The Marble Nest as set dressing. And when I say "a ton" I really mean it.

I also remembered vaguely an unused lantern item found in the game files of Pathologic 2, so I went to the Pathologic wiki to look for it, and surely enough the exact lantern used by Artemy, the one that appears so many times in The Marble Nest, is also an unused item present in the game files. When using console commands to give yourself the item, you’re able to click on it and select the “touch” option, upon which you’ll see the number 6192355001378070 where the name of the item should be, and 6192355001378072 where the touch text should be. I’m not sure exactly what these numbers are supposed to mean; my first thought was that they seemed long enough to be coordinates, so I put them into google maps and it does lead to a location in Russia! Nonetheless, the numbers are a little bit too long to make sense as cohesive coordinates. Still, it might be something worth investigating. You'll see later in this post just how significant numbers and number patterns are in this ARG.

The word used to describe one of the victims of this inferno, “academician,” has sorta interesting connotations in countries that were once part of or heavily influenced by the USSR. This person is referred to as “Mr. F.L.” in the article. This guy is also said to be a historian and a “бытооописателя,” which as you can probably tell by the fact that I’m not using the translated English version is a weird word. Perhaps the strangest thing about this word is the fact that it clearly has 3 o’s where there should only be one. The actual meaning of this word is odd, as it’s very rarely used, and according to all sources I could find (including native Russian speaker and linguistics enthusiast @kurury-chan) it is either an archaic term for a historian or a term meaning “writer of everyday life.” I’m honestly not sure what that means, and at first, I thought it meant something like a blogger. The most complete and coherent definition I could find describes it as “author of works describing everyday life.” A different translation I found seems to say it means something like "chronicler," which I suppose makes some sense.

In the bottom right part of the paper, you will notice what at first appears to be a signature. Admittedly I had almost no hand in this part of the investigation, except for the isolation and upscaling of the text. Most of the work here was done by @cryingsyren with some help from @kurury-chan and @ded-not-ded. Here is the image that I got for them of the text, and here is our current interpretation of it: It at first seemed to be Russian cursive (and it probably is supposed to be), which complicates things quite a bit, and @cryingsyren spent a couple days trying to figure out exactly what it says, (with some help from @kurury-chan) and as far as we can tell it’s four letters, which are separated into either two or three sections. I think we have a decent grasp on what they’re supposed to be in Cyrillic, but the interesting thing is that they do look a lot like both Russian and Latin cursive. I’ll describe them now using what Latin character they look like in quotes followed by what Cyrillic character they look like in parenthesis. The first section is an “M” (М) and a “K” (К), which are very clearly connected. The next section is either an “H” (Н) or an “H” and an “n/u”. We’re not exactly sure whether the H and the n/u are supposed to be connected, but the n/u being lowercase seems to imply it is. The interesting thing about the n/u is that, while it looks like it could be a Latin n or u, it also looks like it could be a Cyrillic и, which is the italicized version of the Russian letter и. It seems all too coincidental that all of the letters they used have almost exact visual counterparts in the Latin alphabet. At the moment our working theory is that it could be initials, and this is where I come in, because for days I knew I recognized the "MK" part of the signature, but I couldn't remember exactly where from until today. For anyone that has played too much Pathologic Classic HD like me, you may recognize the "MK" signature from the center of the loading screen in that game, scrawled in a way that most people wouldn't pay attention to it, and certainly that most people wouldn't have it committed to memory like me. During the roughly 170 hours I've spent playing the game I've probably looked at that MK more than I've looked at my youngest brother. This presents the question, who is MK? Well at first I thought it could be Mr. Katzman, as referenced in the "Mask" post, but that didn't seem right to me. This is when the fact that so much of my brain is Pathologic lore facts came to help again, when I remembered state inquisitor Mark Karminsky, who you may remember as being one of the men people thought would come to the town before Aglaya Lilich showed up. As for the rest of the writing, I'll leave that up to you guys to figure out.

Something to note for later on: We know there to be 19 inquisitors when Pathologic takes place, and in this ARG the number 19 becomes very important with later clues.

"Mask" Fyodor Vitin post

Arguably this is the Fyodor Vitin post I’ve done the most research into, and it eventually led me to develop a very deep and passionate interest in the Buryat peoples that has so far caused me to read several books and around a dozen academic papers about them. I haven’t only done research into the Buryats for this post, though, because although the Buryats are the primary inspiration for The Kin, they’re not the only inspiration. Despite all of this research work, this section will be rather short because I’ve already been through and exhausted most possible leads I’ve found, and this is what remains. Since the post is in English, and I think everyone that follows me presumably knows English (если вы не говорите по-английски, я хвалю вас за то, что вы зашли так далеко) I won’t summarize it, so I’d recommend reading the Vitin post and then coming back.

We see in the post the mask of “Muu Shubuun,” which we’ll immediately notice is almost the exact same mask as is used by the Executors in the game. Actually, in the Marble Nest, you can acquire the Executor mask, and its touch text reads, “The mask of Muu Shubuun, ‘the wicked bird.’ Part of the Reaper costume from the local theatre.” I have found several different sources that lead me to believe this is based on actual Buryat folklore, however, I’ve heard several conflicting accounts on whether Muu Shubuun is an evil spirit that tricks people by taking the shape of a beautiful woman, or if it’s closer to what we see in the game/ARG, but both seem to be documented as existing within sources on the Buryats. I think this confusion between the two likely means the stories and connotations associated with Muu Shubuun vary based on different groups of Buryats. An alternate spelling I’ve seen used is “Mu Shuvuu.” Possibly related to this is the character “Shar Shuvuu” (which means “eagle owl”), who appears in The Marble Nest during the “marriage” scene in the steppe camp behind the cathedral. In fact, a surprisingly high number of NPC characters in this DLC are named after birds.

The phrase used in the post to describe a seasonal festival, “dosoo ba beshē tēēhēē” is where I’ve devoted much of my research, with most of that research being from about a month ago. Only the third word in this phrase, beshē, appears as a kin word in the games as far as I know. However, we can use a method here that people in the Pathologic community have been using for years to figure out the meaning of kin words: Most of the steppe language in the game is based on one of many languages: Buryat mostly, Mongolian sometimes, Tibetan sometimes, and some parts of it also take inspiration from other languages of similar origin to these. A majority of the language seems to be based on Buryat, and many Kin words come straight from the language. A few words in the game seem to be made up entirely by Ice-Pick Lodge, and many are based on words from the aforementioned real languages but tweaked slightly, as if to indicate that the steppe language spawned from those languages but has some distinctive elements. To determine what this phrase means, I tried my best to dig into the languages and find parallels:

“Dosö” in Buryat means “inside”

In Mongolian “dooshoo” means “down”

In Mongolian “ba” means either “and,” “we,” or “sorcery”

In Tibetan, “ba” means “cow”

“Beshē” in the game’s steppe language means either “not” or “other”

The prefix “të-” in Buryat means “to transport”

In Mongolian the prefix “te'e-” also means “to transport”

As for the “-hee” part of the word, I have not found a single source that could tell me what it means. I’ve found several Buryat words that end in “he,” but I can’t seem to find a connection between them strong enough to suggest what it denotes.

Upon first seeing this festival mentioned, I believe I commented somewhere on the Pathologic subreddit that it might be the same one we see in the Kin’s camp behind the cathedral in The Marble Nest. While I’m not 100% convinced still, I also don’t doubt it that much. One interesting thing to note for any people that might wanna investigate this in the future is that I’m pretty sure what we see in the Marble Nest is the same thing that Nara and the Haruspex perform in the abattoir, as they both seem to happen on day 10, and if you look close you can see that Nara is the one that is cut open in The Marble Nest. Seemingly with the Haruspex gone, there is no one that knows the lines and so the ritual doesn’t go as smoothly as it could.

“Messages” Fyodor Vitin Post:

This particular Fyodor Vitin post is the third one, which if you know Ice-Pick Lodge certainly has some importance to it. The post is a series of letters and images, one depicting an Executor and one depicting Voronika Kroy, who's a minor character in Pathologic 2 and the main character in the Pathologic Feverish Feelings ARG. The letters detail how the recipient’s reports about Voronika Kroy have been seen and have started an investigation by the Federal Bureau. What’s most interesting to me are two things: the jumble of (Latin alphabet) letters in the bottom left, and the number used within the letters (the post-card letters in this case).

The number in question is “196-17-1” which is apparently the case number used for the Voronika Kroy investigation. This number will be more important later in relation to other clues. One interesting thing I've found is that the RGB value for 196-17-1 is a deep red.

The jumble of letters at the bottom of the picture is “eiamrucdvrturxoevecid”. It is 21 letters and can be divided up into chunks of 3 or 7 letters. 3 and 7 of course being Ice-Pick Lodge’s favorite numbers. Up until this point, it has been assumed that this is an anagram, and I have no reason to doubt that. It has already been pointed out in the Pathologic subreddit that the words “Executor” and “Corvid” can be found in the anagram, as well as the Latin words “Cura”, “Curare”, “Curari”, “Medici”, and “Vivam.” Credit for finding the Latin words goes to u/apostforisaac who is apparently studying Latin at university! Additionally, u/Own_Sympathy_9814 deduced a possible meaning by unscrambling the anagram and finding “MAVRUD + VERIDIC + EXECUTOR”, which they believe hints toward the answers lying in the Marble Nest (I wrote the entire Marble Nest section of this post before finding their post about that, so I do feel pretty validated by it). Many people have been approaching this anagram, like many other parts of the ARG, as if they have one right answer, and frankly, I just don’t think that’s in the style of Ice-Pick Lodge. I’ll quickly list out some words/phrases I found in the anagram and what they mean/how they could relate. I will also include words that have already been discussed, and they’ll be marked with a “*” so you don’t think I found them. Most of the ones marked with a * I won’t be discussing, as most have already been discussed extensively. I also won’t be discussing the ones that I think probably don’t have much meaning, but I’m including them because it still could be something later on down the road.

I am You don’t actually even have to unscramble the letters to get this one, as the second, third, and fourth letters of the jumble simply spell it out. What's interesting is that the 7 "I am" discourses are a crucial part of the Christian Gospel according to John. The Gospel according to John was an important clue during the Feverish Feelings ARG, which revolved around Voronika Kroy and her Inquisitor father, Peter Kroy. If we're speaking of the four canonical gospels, we must also address the Gospel according to Mark, which coincidentally is the name of an inquisitor that has popped up elsewhere in this ARG. Following this theme, there is actually a non-canonical Gospel According to Peter, which seems too cool to be a coincidence.

Eve This is one you don’t have to unscramble also. Interestingly, Daniil is often compared to a snake, even being called a snake-man in Marble Nest by Shaazgai, a man belonging to the Kin. In the biblical story of Adam and Eve, it is a snake, often thought to be the devil, that convinces Eve to eat the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Retroviridae The scientific name for a retrovirus. If I was more knowledgeable about biology I would say more, but this seems important.

Rex Iudaeorum Translating in Latin to “King of the Jews,” this was the inscription that allegedly was put on the cross that held Jesus of Nazareth, as detailed by 19:19 in the book of John. Very interesting as Daniil does compare himself to Jesus at least once in the Haruspex route, on the night before Aglaya comes. The Gospels, as discussed before, all detail the life and crucifixion of Jesus Christ. The "19" connection is also interesting because of the inquisitor detail, and I'll talk about more of the connections to 19 later in the post.

Cardio Commonly used medically as a prefix for heart conditions, “cardio” is a Latinized version of the Greek “kardia,” which simply means heart. Heart imagery is very common and significant to the Bachelor.

Eva This is similar to the Russian version of Eve.

Corvid*

Cura*

Curare*

Curari*

Medici*

Vivam*

Mavrud*

Veridic*

Executor*

Order Could relate to the committee in The Marble Nest and the fact that after they’re replaced by tragedians the absurd order begins getting sent out to the orderlies.

Carex ericetorum This is a plant that would almost definitely be present in/around the Town on GorkhonThis is a plant that would almost definitely be present in/around the Town on Gorkhon

Creature

Marble Nest:

The Marble Nest, as we know, is very concise, only really lasting half a day in-game. Because of this, the dialogue does tend to feel a lot more intentional, as though the named characters are not necessarily speaking only to The Bachelor but also trying to convey a message to the player. This, of course, is because The Marble Nest takes place inside Dankovsky’s head. If this ARG will be revolving partly around The Bachelor, as it seems to be, then there’s no better place to start than digging into his head, which is why I’ve played so much of the Marble Nest for this.

There are several specific stories/myths/historical figures that are mentioned through Marble Nest. First, we’ll go through some of these.

There is a very interesting conversation that The Bachelor has with Georgiy Kain, where he is trying to justify his decision to lift the quarantine restrictions to The Bachelor, who is rather upset obviously. I’ll cut down and paraphrase most of the dialogue, since if I didn’t this would be much longer, but basically the conversation goes as:

[Georgiy introduces himself, and says he decided to let The Bachelor sleep so that he would have the strength to face the upcoming trial] [Daniil asks if Georgiy lifted the restrictions and let the plague into The Stone Yard] Georgiy: “Quite so. It's plain to me that you are on the verge of shredding me into pieces. But still your wrath. As a great Athenian once said, ‘Strike, if you will, but hear.’” Daniil: “Themistocles, I know. He met a rather gruesome end, by the way. Died of plague.” Georgiy: “No, it was Pericles. You are a learned man, but history is not your strong suit. Which is why you should listen to me. Perhaps it will help you see something that you missed in your previous studies.” [Georgiy then goes on to explain a bunch of other stuff about the plague, which as far as I’m concerned isn’t all that useful to the task at hand.]

I find this so interesting because The Bachelor, in his own head, poses a question to himself, gets it wrong, and then has another separate figment of his imagination correct him, and then proceeds to tell The Bachelor that he’s not great at history and should listen to Georgiy more. What’s even more interesting is that, as far as I can tell, Georgiy and Daniil are both wrong, it was actually Themistocles that said “Strike, if you will, but hear,” and it was Pericles that died of plague. I found this interesting enough to look into who Themistocles and Pericles were, and here’s what I found:

Themistocles was a politician and general that broke the mold by being non-aristocratic and populist, which gave him the support of the people but put him at odds with the nobles and some of his peers. He turned 30 in 494 BC, which qualified him to run for the position of Archon, which he did, and won the position the following year. He had a prominent rivalry with another politician named Aristides. Whereas Themistocles was populist, Aristides primarily fought for the upper class. Themistocles eventually 20the rivalry after Aristides was exiled. Years later, though, Themistocles himself was exiled, and while he was gone his enemies took the opportunity to charge him with treasonous activities, knowing he could not defend himself. Because of this, Themistocles could never return to Athens, and so found employment and a home among the people that he once fought against while serving Athens. Given military command once more, he was actually Themistocles who said “Strike, if you will, but hear,” and it was Pericles who died of plague. I found this interesting enough to look into who Themistocles and Pericles were, and here’s what I found: Pericles, to me, has less interesting things about him in relation to Pathologic, with the main two being that he rehabilitated the image of Themistocles and he died of a plague. What could be interesting is the fact that General Block and Captain Longin are in both Pathologic 1 and 2 often compared to Achilles and Patroclus, two Greek soldiers from ancient folktales, primarily known for being two of the most important characters in The Iliad. To me, drawing a connection between Achilles and Block, as well as Pericles and Longin, isn’t that absurd. What could also be interesting to note is that Pericles was the main character in a play written in part by William Shakespeare. While Themistocles' life almost exactly fits the character arc of General Block, down to the weird connection between him dying of the plague in The Marble Nest and Themistocles drinking bull blood (as well as Dankovsky thinking Themistocles died of the plague), I think how Pericles fits in could lie in the Shakespearean play, as we all know how important theater is to Pathologic. You see by now at least partially what I think this alludes to, but I’ll talk more about it in the additional notes section.

Next, I’ll discuss a mythical story brought up in the Marble Nest: The Tower of Babel. This is brought up by the clerks sitting directly outside Georgiy Kain’s house. I think most people would talk to these guys right before talking to Georgiy, but I have more to say about it so it’s written second. When talking to one of the clerks during their argument about the plague, one man mentions that he thinks The Polyhedron is at fault, and no matter how Dankovsky replies (he has 3 options), the man then says “History already knows an example of people trying to erect an impossible tower. It ended in tragedy.” I could go on explaining why I believe this guy is talking specifically about the Tower of Babel, this post is already long enough so just trust my reasoning here, please. Notable to the point I’m trying to make, one of the other clerks brings up that he thinks the plague was started because of the irreconcilable differences between The Kin and the town, and the fact that the Kin have been forcibly mashed into the town. When Dankovsky asks the man if something is holding the Kin in the town, preventing them from leaving and returning to the earth, the man says “Someone is… our rulers. They have embedded the steppe people into this town, carved them into its warm flesh. This isn't a town, it's an honest-to-God minotaur. A chimera. And chimeras have remarkably short lifespans and bad health. Can you breed a snake and a crane? You can, yes. But the progeny won't live long.” This dialogue is interesting for a few reasons, one related to the tower of Babel and two related to other possible ARG clues. The first interesting thing is that what he’s describing, drawing a connection between the Tower of Babel and the Polyhedron, actually makes a lot of sense. To him, the Polyhedron is not only an affront to God, but its accentuation of human hubris coincides with a beating down of nature and the earth, represented in part by most of the Polyhedron’s mass being concentrated far above the earth while also piercing the earth’s heart. The story of the mythical tower, to oversimplify it, is essentially a tale of people from many different walks of life all coming together to construct a giant, seemingly impossibly tall tower in order to avoid the possibility of a second biblical flood destroying most of humanity. God sees this attempt as an affront to both him and the natural order, and so before the men are able to finish the tower he divides them all by making them speak different languages, making it impossible for them to understand each other. So, in this second clerk’s interpretation, the plague is a result of the town both rebelling against/abusing nature and also taking the Kin into itself. Unlike the first man, who believes the tower itself is at fault, this second one believes it’s all because of the town making itself into a “chimera,” which he believes cannot live long. What’s clear to me, though, is that although these men believe they disagree, their explanations complement each other very well, which brings us to our third man, who has a rather simple but somewhat confusing explanation. This clerk believes that this plague occurred in the town because men should not be “remodeled or altered,” and when asked what that has to do with the epidemic he replies “I don’t know… It wasn't we who designed the world like this. I believe in men, Doctor; in superhumans, I do not. This earthly life wouldn't fit them. Immortals have no place in the world of the living. This is just how it works. Take from it what you will.” This man seems to be implying that Simon Kain, the immortal man, is the reason why this plague appeared in the town. This is when it all started to come together for me: these men's stories do really all complement each other, because here they are posing the Polyhedron, chimera, and Simon as all the same. This will further be explained in the additional notes section. Three parts of one whole if you will.

Now, the mention of the Tower of Babel is interesting for two other reasons, one of which will be discussed in the additional notes section and one of which I’ll discuss here. In the Fyodor Vitin “One can work here” post there are numerous items displayed in the room pictured, but perhaps most interesting to me is the golden bull statue that sits at the front and center of the photo. My first thought when seeing that image was “Oh! This reminds me of the biblical story of the golden calf statue, which I bet is what they’re referencing.” For those who aren’t familiar, I’ll be oversimplifying another biblical story now. While trekking from Egypt to the holy land, Moses leaves his people behind to climb to the top of a mountain and commune with God. Moses is gone for forty days, upon which the people are fearful that he will not return, and so they molded a calf statue out of gold to worship. God, upon seeing this, sends Moses down to the base of the mountain to punish his people for their sins. Moses burns the golden calf in a fire, ground it to powder and water, and forced his people to drink it. He then killed all of them basically. My thought process was related to the fact that The Bachelor is punished severely by The Powers That Be for his own affront to God, the pursuit of immortality. Now, after that previous discussion about the Tower of Babel, I am noticing some very interesting things in this picture, and primarily that there are two other related statues. Now that we have the previous context about The Tower of Babel and the clerks in our mind, we can see new meaning in these statues: a black statue of a centaur, and a white bust of a man. The interesting thing about the centaur should be obvious, it is another chimera. The bust of the man, which seems to be made of marble, reminded me somewhat of ancient Greek statues that are chiseled to glorify certain leaders and make them seem somewhat perfect while also immortalizing them in stone. You can probably see the connection I’m making here, and so I will leave the rest of the explanation for the additional notes section.

Another thing that's interesting to note is the aforementioned three men, unlike most characters in Pathologic 2 and the Marble Nest, do not stop moving when you pause the game; their animations continue to play even after you bring up the pause menu. If you’re unaware, there is actually a small detail in Pathologic 2 where pretty much everything nature-based or that is a natural force of the world, as well as everything that’s supposed to be seen in a meta-narrative sense, does not stop moving when you pause the game. This includes rain, leaves falling, the particle effects that come off the clocks, fire, executors (not orderlies), plague particles, etc. Once I noticed this (while trying to get a screenshot of some things to analyze) I tested out some other NPCs in The Marble Nest, and all of the other people I tested seemed to freeze when the game was paused. However, this is not to say that no other characters in the Marble Nest move when the game is paused. I only tested about 4 guys besides the primary trio we're discussing, mostly just to make sure it's not a thing that all Marble Nest characters do. If one of you people reading this would like to go through and see which characters in The Marble Nest also possess this trait, it could prove fascinating.

Finally, I’ll talk about two somewhat modern (at least modern compared to the previous two) stories that are brought up in The Marble Nest, although not directly: The Time Machine by H.G. Wells and The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe. Admittedly, I have not read either of these stories (it’s possible I read the EAP story 5-6 years ago and just don’t remember it), but I do actually know quite a bit about the stories and their themes from a couple of literary studies on specific genres I’ve done over the years. Additionally, for this section, I have done some more research on the plots and themes of these stories which yielded fascinating results.

The Time Machine is brought up when The Bachelor visits The Cathedral and speaks to a Tragedian standing within. The Tragedian talks about how the building is not a temple, but a machine. Daniil asks what kind of machine, and The Tragedian responds “This is a time machine. Time works differently on the inside and on the outside. It's frozen now. I think something's broken.” To which Dankovsky can say “A time machine? Are you saying it can transport me to the past or to the future? Like in that Englishman's book, what's his name…” For this, I did some research into what book he could be referring to, and almost instantly Time Machine stood out to me for a number of reasons. I think there might be something interesting to be said about how this relates to the ARG, but I’m not going to be the one to say it, because I’m honestly not sure how or if it does. I will describe how it connects to Pathologic though, in case that sparks anyones mind. The work is apparently seen as popularizing the idea of time travel and the time machine, which relates to what IPL has said about The Bachelor’s route I suppose. As for the plot, it’s about a Victorian man using a time machine to travel to the year of A.D. 802,701. He meets two races of people, one descended from the oppressed working class and one descended from the pampered owning class. Over hundreds of thousands of years of this lifestyle, the two races have started to diverge, with the owning class becoming child-like and basically useless, while the working class has been forced into a life of toil and hardship which has shaped them into a race of underground-dwelling animalistic race of people. Essentially the novel is a depiction of class struggle and the class contradictions inherent within capitalism, but with a bit of a metaphorical twist. The toiling of the working class underground is what allows the upper class to live in abundance without the need for work. There is very interesting commentary here to be made on the worms/odonghs in the game, as well as the eternal youth that is present in some elements of the stone yard, but this isn’t a Pathologic essay, it’s a Pathologic ARG essay.

The Masque of the Red Death is alluded to by The Bachelor in a dialogue with a wandering citizen, who opens up the conversation by saying “A masquerade ball will be held in the main square this evening. People want to celebrate our victory over the sand pest. You don't mind…?” To which The Bachelor has 3 possible replies, one of them being “I seem to vaguely remember a rather famous story about a masquerade held to celebrate a victory over a plague. Remember how it ended?” To summarize, The Masque of the Red Death is about a group of noblemen taking refuge in an abbey to hide from a plague (the plague is known as the Red Death). The plague’s symptoms are gruesome, and all people who contract it apparently die within a half hour. The main character, Prince Prospero, and his fellow noblemen believe themselves to be entirely safe, though, as they have welded shut all the doors and isolated themselves in the abbey. To entertain the guests, the prince holds a masquerade ball that takes place in seven of the rooms of his abbey, each colored differently. The first six rooms are blue, purple, green, orange, white, and violet, with the last being black and illuminated by a red window. No guests venture into the seventh room, as they are all scared to enter it. Every hour a clock in that room chimes, upon which the guests freeze and go silent momentarily, before resuming normal activity once the chiming stops, only to do the same thing after an hour. Once midnight comes, a person appears in robes covered in blood and resembling a funeral shroud, wearing a mask that depicts a person clearly infected with the Red Death. This figure walks through six of the chambers before the prince starts chasing them with a dagger. Confronting them in the seventh room, the prince immediately falls dead upon seeing this person’s face. The other party-goers all charge the figure, stripping them of their clothes and mask, only to find that there is no one underneath. The conclusion of the story states that the figure was not a person, but rather an embodiment of the Red Death. The Red Death also appears as a reference in the novel The Phantom of the Opera, as well as several film and musical adaptations. The titular phantom dresses up as The Red Death, and in many adaptations wears a skull mask as part of the costume.

I believe Hamlet is also brought up at some point in The Marble Nest, but I can’t seem to find the dialogue so I’m unsure if that’s true.

Next, I'll talk about another random Marble Nest clue

The Bachelor’s hover text for the beetle item says “I used to collect these as a kid. Left the collection with my father.” @pseudoquiddity found that a paper on the top of “The Beginning” Fyodor Vitin post spells out Mechnikov, which is almost definitely referencing Ilya Ilyich Mechnikov, who was a Russian zoologist and immunologist who achieved incredible scientific discovery during his life, and notably for us he was largely focused on the issue of aging and extending human life. Mechnikov was actually brought up in an IPL teletype post as one of the Bachelor’s main influences scientifically, alongside Albert Einstein and Max Planck. The relevant thing about Mechnikov here is that, as a zoologist, he did many notable studies on insects throughout his career to see how their bodies reacted to things compared to how ours did. One thing that’s interesting to me is that the type of beetles we see in the game, I believe, are based on Trypocopris Vernalis, commonly known as the spring dumbledor or spring dor beetle, which is not known to inhibit the region that the Town on Gorkhon would reside in. Another thing I find interesting is the touch text from the Alpha version of the game, which reads “Some fifteen years ago, the Soul-and-a-Halves, the gang of children who are defined by sharing special bonds with their pets, actually considered to allow flower chafers as their "Halves" due to the beetles ‘looking as though they knew something’. The idea was quickly abandoned as ridiculous.” Maybe I’m just 8.6 thousand words into this post and have finally gone insane, but I think the beetles “looking as though they know something”, combined with their close connection to Dankovsky, it seems too intentional.

In the “Feverish Feelings” ARG, the Beatles (the band) were brought up indirectly and used by the players as a clue to get more information. This also related to the clue relating to the Gospel according to John. Additionally, speaking of Mechnikov, u/Fantastic_Advice5593 theorized that the numbers on Daniil’s train ticket from one of the original ARG notes could be hinting toward the date May 15th, or 5/15 (15/5 if you use the non-American dating system I believe), which is Mechnikov Day, and is commonly recognized as Mechnikov’s date of birth. Proving this connection further, the “Messages” Fyodor Vitin post was posted on May 15th. Another interesting thing is that if we convert the time that the “Messages” image was posted to the time scheme used in Pathologic (that is, a 24-hour clock), it comes out to 19:35 (Using GMT+3 time zone, as that’s where Moscow is located.) This is interesting because “Messages” was also posted 19 days after the previous post, and I know for a fact that 19 is an important number in this ARG: The newspaper from the “The Accident” post was labeled as issue number 19, the bible passage that we saw referenced in the anagram from the “Messages” post is John 19:19, the jumble of letters that we found in the touch text for the unused lantern item includes “19,” and so does the 196-17-1 number from Messages. In a way, the number 19 is sort of a self-checking method to substantiate some of the clues we’ve found thus far.

Griffins’ Tower

Many of the details in this section wouldn’t be possible without @kurury-chan who, upon my inquiry about the tower and its accompanying pharmacy, actually visited it, got tons of cool pictures, and translated a ton of the history for me! I literally cannot thank her enough for her help with many elements of this post, but especially in this section. In the original Pathologic ARG, “Feverish Feelings,” the Griffins’ Tower is brought up a couple of times throughout, and was part of an intensive fandom discussion because many elements of it paralleled many themes and plot points of Pathologic. The following connections/possibly related facts are a combination of fandom discussion from the time and my own research:

The tower is connected to a pharmacy that has existed since the 18th century. Both were once owned by the Poehl family, who were a rather eccentric yet somewhat mysterious rich family. Rumors from the time (The 18th/19th century) speculate that members of the family engaged in “…alchemy and witchcraft, and in the basements of the house he turned mercury into gold and bred griffins. Since ancient times, it was believed that griffins, mythical creatures with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle, were the guardians to secret sacred knowledge and treasures.”

In 1994, the artist Alexey Kostroma, together with the society "Here and There" (Tut i tam), organized a demonstration/art-piece to advocate for the preservation of the tower and the revitalization of the city, which they believed was falling apart before their very eyes. During this demonstration, they hoisted a large egg (approximately 1.5 meters) onto the top of the tower, and they painted (I’m not sure what was used to put the numbers on the tower, but I assume it was paint) numbers on almost every brick of the tower. While the purposes for the those two additions rarely get brought up in conversations surrounding it, the egg and the numbers are now some of the most well-known parts of the tower, despite the fact that neither of the two are there anymore. The Polyhedron, as we know, is a tower that at the top houses children and is made from its own complex blueprints. Additionally, in the Marble Nest, but also throughout Pathologic as a whole, there is a common piece of imagery that connects eggs and the Utopians. In the opening of The Marble Nest, the item that’s used on the loading screen is an egg. If you look at the egg sprite in P2, you’ll see a crack in it that heavily resembles the Polyhedron. Daniil Dankovsky commonly uses the Latin phrase “ab ovo,” which means “from the beginning” but when literally translated means “from the egg,” and his touch text for the egg in Marble Nest reads “To understand anything, start ab ovo — ‘from the egg.’”

While playing through The Marble Nest several times for this ARG, I noticed something that gave me more confidence in The Griffins’ Tower playing a role in it. If you guys have played Pathologic as much as I have you’ll know there’s a tower in between the Stone Yard and the steppe that you can’t enter and is barely ever really explained. If I’m picking apart my brain correctly for Pathologic 1 knowledge, I believe it is implied to be a Focus of some sort. If you’ve only played Pathologic 2, or you haven’t played through The Bachelor’s route in P1 enough, or you haven’t read through the Pathologic “Corpus” entries, you probably have an incomplete idea of what a “focus” is and all that it entails. I won’t go too deep into it now, but it’s said in one of the Corpus entries that, on top of the Polyhedron, Cathedral, Stillwater, Crucible, etc., there were a number of experimental Focuses that were built for Simon Kain to test the limits of what buildings could capture the human soul and memories. It’s a building you can’t ever enter, but it does have a visible door, which is very similar to the way that Simon’s focus is described by Victor Kain. I’d like to draw your attention to the visual similarities between that tower and the Griffin Tower. I’d also like to draw your attention to the fact that, in the original design concepts of Pathologic 1 every character is associated with a specific animal, and Simon Kain’s is a griffin. What is a griffin? Well, it’s a fusion between two drastically different creatures, a lion and an eagle; a griffin is a chimera.

Interestingly, in 2005 (the year Pathologic came out) the pharmacy connected to The Griffins Tower was closed for a while because it became flooded with water while trying to extinguish a fire.

There is a photo in the pharmacy connected to the tower (which has now been converted into a museum about the history of the place and pharmacies in general) that depicts, during the early 1900s, the pharmacy sitting next to a theater called “Simpatiya” (Sympathy).

While @kurury-chan was on a tour of the pharmacy/museum she found an interesting marmite that was on display. It was created by Samuel Clarke and it’s called “Pyramid,” and the marmite has an accompanying poem: Когда ночи темные, подумайте о Кларке, который попал точно в цель. Его ночные огни создают светлые ночи, в которых вы прекрасно видите. (When the nights are dark, think of Clark hitting the mark. His night lights create bright nights in which you can see perfectly) This is interesting largely because the poem reminds me somewhat of the body text for the lantern ad found in the newspaper post.

In the original email mentioning the Griffin’s Tower, Voronika Kroy appends the message by saying “P.S. I feel like I’ll need this memory later.”

Seventh Seal

I watched this movie after discovering all of the allusions to General Block we’ve seen thus far, but being unsure what to do with any of them. For those that don’t know, the movie The Seventh Seal’s protagonist Octavius Block has been listed as one of the main inspirations for Alexander Block, and since IPL seems intent on leading us to analyze certain works of literature/film/theater for this, I decided to look into it. What I found is incredibly interesting I think, because it seems that one of the main inspirations for The Marble Nest is The Seventh Seal.

The title is based on a bible verse (from the Book of Revelations) that reads “And when the Lamb had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.” This verse appears both at the very beginning of the movie and then again toward the end. This thirty minutes/half-an-hour element appears prominently in both this story and The Masque of the Red Death. One other place it appears is on the pocket watch in the first Fyodor Vitin post, where the time on it is 2:30. I am very confident that it also appears in The Marble Nest once or twice, but despite looking I was unable to find it. If anyone else knows where it might be, either comment on this post or message me, and I will put it in this section and credit you.

The movie's plot revolves around Antonius Block, a disillusioned medieval knight returning from the Crusades. Block is struggling throughout the movie with his inability to believe in God and his realization that his whole life has been wasted. He wishes more than anything to do one last deed before his death to give his life meaning. The movie is set during the Black Death, with prominent elements of the story revolving around the plague. The movie largely focuses on how Block takes in several poor and out-of-luck folks fleeing the plague, inviting them to stay at his castle and escorting them along the way.

Toward the beginning of the movie, Death comes to take Block, but he convinces Death to play him in a game of chess for his life. This game of chess continues throughout the movie, with Death allowing Block to take several breaks in order to find clarity about his life and death. Toward the end of the movie, he allows Death to take his queen, effectively ensuring he would lose the game in the next turn, so that his companions could get away without Death noticing. After returning to his castle, everyone has a nice meal before Death arrives and takes everyone, excluding the people that Block helped get away by tricking Death.

Many things from Pathologic seem to take inspiration from this movie; most notable being the storyline of The Marble Nest (Dankovsky’s “People” screen categorizes people as chess pieces, essentially implying that his struggle against death is a sort of chess match), but there are also some smaller things. For example, there is a scene where the characters encounter someone afflicted with the plague who cries out for help, and one of the women tries to get closer to give the man water, but another person stops her, as giving water to a plague victim is futile and dangerous; almost immediately after this, a personification of Death appears. This heavily reminds me of the intro/tutorial of Pathologic 2, where a similar scene occurs.

While watching the movie, it’s very easy to see how Block was directly inspired by the main character, but it’s hard to convey exactly how without describing many scenes in detail, so I will simply describe one of them. After leaving a church confessional where he admits to his faith faltering and wanting to perform one meaningful deed before he dies, Block encounters a young woman who’s about to be burned at the stake for allegedly having ties to the devil. He takes pity on this woman, seeing something special in her, and believes she can tell him about life after death. This, to me, seems very reminiscent of Block’s storyline with the Changeling in P1.

Another small lead before this part of the post is finished: This lead, I will admit, I stumbled across completely at random, and will not talk about much because there’s not much I can say about it that isn’t obvious. It might be worth looking into the Russian philosopher Nikolai Fyodorovich Fyodorov, and perhaps thinking about if Fyodor Vitin was based partially on him, since we know Vitin works closely with Daniil.

Additional Notes/Comments:

In the newspaper clipping, it is said that a man with the initials “F.L.” had been one of the apparent two victims of the fire that burned down several buildings. This man (who I’ll simply refer to as “F” from now on) is an academician, historian, and writer of everyday life, which obviously fits well with the man that we know as Fyodor Vitin, and it has been assumed up until this point that he was the victim of this fire. I think there are three possibilities here: Fyodor Vitin was not the victim of this fire somehow, Fyodor Vitin is not his real name, or the newspaper is lying to us. In connection to the light/lantern emphasis in the newspaper, it might be worth it to note that the word “vitin” in Faroese means something like “the lighthouse”/“the beacon”, while in old Swedish it means something like “to know.” What’s more interesting is that Vitin in old Swedish is a second-person plural present indicative, and for people that got a useful education, that means it’s a verb that’s used to factually describe the current actions of the people that the speaker is saying it to. If Vitin isn’t his real surname, his username could mean “Fyodor beacon”, or “Fyodor (that you all) know”.

As discussed extensively in the section on the Tower of Babel, there is a direct connection drawn between the Polyhedron, Simon, and chimeras. We elaborated a bit on this connection in the section on the Griffins’ Tower. What’s especially interesting then is the fact that, in The Marble Nest, the Polyhedron is labeled as “focus,” implying that Simon’s essence is infused in the Polyhedron, as is what happens in the first game. This, I believe, confirms our theory about the connection even further. What then makes this even more related to the ARG is the fact that in the “One can work here” post by Fyodor Vitin, we see the three statues depicting the golden bull, the centaur, and the marble bust of a man. It is then worth noting that this bust of a man made of marble could be a reference to The Marble Nest, perhaps trying to get us to look there for clues. I believe, if the golden bull is meant to represent the Polyhedron (or at least the Polyhedron argument in The Marble Nest), and the centaur is meant to represent the chimera, then the marble bust of the man is meant to represent Simon (or, once again, represent the Simon/immortal man argument from the Marble Nest). This is supported by my point about the marble busts both immortalizing men and also making them more into concepts than men (as the statue can only depict a small part of a man’s life, usually depicting him in battle, leading a governmental position, etc). In the original game, and as can slightly be seen in hints of the second game, Simon is sometimes seen as more of a concept than a man; he is the ideology of the utopians incarnate, the perfect man that represents everything humanity could be. As a chimera is vital to Burakh’s quest, so too is it vital for Dankovsky’s (and it’s interesting to note that Burakh has the chimera revelation while in conversation with Dankovsky.) If the Marble Nest is used to represent the stone yard, or the “town” in its purest form, then Simon Kain is the marble man. It then becomes important to figure out where the “One can work here” picture is supposed to be depicting. I believe, if the statues there are supposed to represent all that we’ve said so far, the location should be representative of Dankovsky’s fight against death, and therefore I say it probably has to be Thanatica.

Now, as for all the connections with General Block, there are obviously many of them, from the Guglielmo Pepe hypothesis to the mention of Aristides/Pericles to The Seventh Seal to the whole “ash” thing, it seems far too much to be a series of coincidences. I don’t think it’s too crazy to connect the prominent appearance of the number 30 in the Block/Pepe/Aristides context to the prominent appearance of the number 30 (as in half an hour) in The Seventh Seal, which makes the appearance of the number 30 in that first Fyodor Vitin post even more interesting. It’s long been theorized that, from what we see in the Haruspex’s route and what we’ve seen in Pathologic 1, the Bachelor’s new route will probably feature General Block much more prominently. Perhaps, as the first ARG was so focused on the inquisitors, we’ll also get to learn more about the army in this one. Maybe General Ashes even had something to do with the building that was reduced to ashes?

The topic of religion, and specifically Christianity, comes up a lot in The Marble Nest. I think all the connections I’ve made in this post to Christianity have convinced you that it’s seemingly an important part of this ARG. In the first ARG, there were certain biblical passages that acted as clues, specifically from the Gospel according to John, which we talked about in the section on the “Messages” post. As is also mentioned in that section, the connection to Inquisitors Peter Kroy and Mark Karminsky seems to be driving us toward looking into The Gospel according to Peter and The Gospel according to Mark. It’s also talked about in that section how these both relate to Daniil. Mark Karminsky specifically also seems to have had something to do with the "Accident" mentioned in the newspaper, and so perhaps combining numbers from the newspaper within the Gospel of Mark could lead to some clues.

Still, as much as I’ve said in this post, there is more I wish to analyze but have not yet. This post has been in the works for a while, though, and I don’t want people to be waiting any longer, so I’ll have to save that other stuff for another day.

If anyone can somehow get into the game files of the Marble Nest and retrieve the texture/model for any of the letters or books (like the two linked images), that will end up being very helpful.

Other screenshots from Pathologic 2/The Marble Nest that could be of interest:

Grigory Gorky (Pathologic 2) Grigory Gorky (The Marble Nest) Mikhail Goba (The Marble Nest) Daniil Death Certificate (The Marble Nest) Rug (The Marble Nest) Book (The Marble Nest) Familiar Bloody Handprint (The Marble Nest) Tipped Over Lantern (The Marble Nest) Staff Sergeant Plover (The Marble Nest) Avrely Gubar (The Marble Nest) Odd use of Roman Numerals (The Marble Nest) Cathedral Letter (The Marble Nest) Plant that I found several times in the Cathedral (The Marble Nest)

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #pathologic arg #daniil dankovsky #мор утопия #Bachelor ARG

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