#♧murky

[shmowder]

Pathologic meme dump 8

[jesterfairy]

.♠︎.💜 𝐀 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 💚.♠︎.

Chapter 9: At His Mercy

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

Chapter Word Count: 5,834

Fic Summary: Alina Vale dreams of escaping her dead-end life as a diner waitress, finding solace in painting Gotham’s haunting shadows. But when a routine trip to the bank turns into a living nightmare, she finds herself face-to-face with the Joker—a man as captivating as he is terrifying.

As his twisted games unravel her defenses, Alina is forced to confront the pull he has over her, a collision of fear and desire she can’t control. Trapped in his world of chaos and power, survival means facing not only him but the darker parts of herself he’s brought to life.

A story of obsession, control, and the intoxicating allure of letting go.

Genres: Dark romance, Gothic romance, Stalker romance

Pairings: TDK Joker x Female OC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: non-con, extremely dubious consent, violence, psychological manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, slow-burn, toxic relationships, trauma bonding, childhood trauma, graphic sexual content, stockholm syndrome, dead dove do not eat

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

Chapter 9: At His Mercy

The Joker’s shoes echoed against the concrete floor as he gripped Alina's arm tightly, dragging her along the dimly lit hallway. The corridors of the abandoned warehouse stretched on in front of them, endless and foreboding.

Each step echoed through crumbling walls, the flickering fluorescent lights casting jagged shadows on graffiti-streaked surfaces.

Alina struggled to keep pace, her arms cradling the toiletries and clothes she’d compromised herself for like precious jewels.

The deeper they went, the more oppressive the space became, its damp, stale air tightening around her lungs. The walls groaned with age, every crack and shadow murmuring of long-forgotten things buried beneath layers of rot and decay.

The realization hit her like a chill in her bones—this horrifying place, with its endless, crumbling corridors and the stench of forgotten ruin, had surrounded her every moment she lay in her cell alone. She'd been buried alive in the belly of something forgotten and dying, its quiet menace pressing in on her from all sides.

This place wasn’t just her prison; it was a decaying tomb, swallowing her whole.

They passed rooms she couldn’t bring herself to look inside—gaping mouths of darkness, filled with nothing but shadows and silence. Each door was a reminder of how far she’d fallen from the life she once knew.

What would my parents think if they saw me now? The thought tightened her chest, making it harder to breathe.

The Joker said nothing, his silence more unnerving than his usual teasing banter. The rhythmic thud of their steps filled the void, each echo a reminder of how deeply she was buried in his world.

Finally, they reached their destination: a rusted door hanging slightly ajar, its edges flaked with decay. A faint flicker of light seeped through the crack, weak and sickly, like the heartbeat of something long forgotten.

The Joker paused, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his other gesturing toward the opening with an exaggerated flourish. “Your private oasis awaits,” he drawled, his voice heavy with mockery.

Alina hesitated, as her gaze drifted past him. The bathroom beyond was a relic of neglect—a grimy, claustrophobic space that reeked of mildew and rust. The tiles on the floor were cracked and the sink stood crooked, rust blooming along its edges like a disease. Above it, a mirror clung precariously to the wall, its surface clouded and warped. Alina caught a faint glimpse of herself in its murky depths, the image fragmented and distorted—a ghost staring back at her.

The room was no sanctuary; it was another extension of her cage.

“Go on,” the Joker coaxed. He stepped aside, leaning casually against the doorframe. His gaze followed her with a predatory amusement that made her skin crawl. “You don’t want to waste your big moment, do you?”

Slowly, cautiously, she stepped forward, the toiletries clutched in her trembling hands like a lifeline.

The moment she crossed the threshold, she glanced back, half-expecting him to follow. But he stayed where he was, eyes gleaming with the cruel satisfaction of a cat watching a trapped bird.

“Ten minutes,” the Joker said, his voice soft but unyielding. “Make them count.”

Alina’s pulse quickened. Ten minutes. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. The words slipped out before she could stop them.

“I need more,” she said, her voice trembling but firm.

He tilted his head, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. “More? My, my, aren’t we greedy?” He straightened and crossed his arms with languid ease, his fingers tapping once against his bicep before stopping, as though considering her request. “Alright, doll. Twenty minutes. But nothing comes free.”

The air seemed to thicken, her stomach twisting as she forced the question past her lips. “What do you want?”

A low sound escaped him, a thoughtful hum, cold and calculated. “After your shower, you let me hold you." He said, his gaze piercing, as though daring her to refuse. "No fighting, no pulling away. Ten minutes. You get your time I get mine. Fair trade, don’t you think?”

Alina swallowed, her voice catching in her throat. “Hold me... how?” The words escaped her before she could stop them, her nerves betraying her.

The Joker’s grin widened, his eyes flickering with something wicked. “Oh, I’ll let you decide,” he teased. “I could hold you on my lap…” He chuckled low, watching her squirm under the weight of his words. “Or maybe in your bed. Or…” His gaze flicked to the shower, lingering there for a beat too long. “Right in there. Nice and close."

Each option he laid out felt more unbearable than the last, but the way he dangled them in front of her, savoring her discomfort, made it so much worse.

Why is he doing this? The thought flared, sharp and desperate. He could do anything to her—she was completely under his control. So why make deals? Why toy with her like this?

Then it hit her, cold and sharp.

Of course. He wanted her to give him permission. To say yes. It wasn’t enough to shatter her—he wanted her to break herself. To make her complicit in her own destruction.

Her gaze dropped to the cracked tiles, her stomach twisting as she considered his offer. She wanted to refuse, to deny him the satisfaction, but the thought of walking away from ten extra minutes of warmth and cleanliness was unbearable. She needed this, and he knew it.

“Fine,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her chest burned with shame as the Joker’s grin twisted into something triumphant.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. He stepped back, arms spreading wide in a mock display of generosity. “Enjoy yourself, doll. And don’t forget…” His tone sharpened, an edge of menace slicing through the mockery. “You owe me.”

The door creaked shut behind her, the sound sealing her fate. She stood frozen, staring at the grime-coated tiles, the crooked mirror, the flickering bulb. Her hands tightened around the toiletries, the weight of her choice pressing down like a stone.

Even with the door closed, she could still feel his eyes on her.

---

The water sputtered from the grimy showerhead, lukewarm and weak, but to Alina, it was a relief she hadn’t felt in days. She let the thin stream cascade over her shoulders, washing away the grime caked on her skin. Yet no matter how hard she tried to relax, to enjoy this rare reprieve, she couldn’t escape the suffocating burden of what was waiting just outside the door—the Joker, ready to collect what she had promised.

Her fingers trembled as she worked the harsh, synthetic soap over her arms, its chemical scent biting at her nostrils.

Lather, scrub, rinse.

She tried to focus on the routine, to ground herself in the task, but her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to a place she had tried to bury.

Aunt Marlene’s bathroom came rushing in—small, stifling, its cracked linoleum floor curling at the edges.

“Don’t take all day in there, Alina! You’re wasting hot water we can’t afford!” Marlene’s voice rang sharp in her ears, even now.

Alina remembered scrubbing herself as fast as her small hands could manage, rushing to beat Marlene’s temper. Showers weren’t comfort—they were obligations. Punishments waiting to happen...

Her breath hitched as the memory twisted in her gut. She sped up, instinctively, her movements frantic. Even now, without Marlene standing outside the door, she felt the same compulsion to hurry, the same fear of running out of time.

But the Joker wasn’t Marlene. And his voice, low and taunting, felt like something far worse.

She braced herself against the wall, the weak stream trickling over her face. For a fleeting moment, she imagined disappearing into the water, dissolving with the soap suds and grime. But the stream was too weak to wash everything away—not the dirt, not the memories, and certainly not the sensation of his eyes on her.

Her chest tightened as the reality of the deal hit her again. Ten minutes—in his arms. No fighting, no pulling away. What kind of person agrees to something like that?

Pathetic. She thought bitterly, scrubbing at her arms until her skin stung.

Soon, his arms would be around her, his breath on her skin, his grip tightening as he claimed what she’d promised.

The soap slipped from her fingers, clattering against the cracked tiles. She pressed her palms against the shower wall, letting the water cascade over her as tears stung her eyes.

“Good girl.” His mocking words crept in, unbidden. The way he said them, dark and dripping with triumph, made her stomach twist.

As she retrieved the soap, her mind shifted, latching onto a face that had always anchored her: Emma. The memory struck suddenly, making her breath hitch, her hand freezing mid-air. Emma, with her fierce eyes and biting tongue, had always pushed her to stand her ground—especially with Eddie.

“Don’t let him twist you around. You’re not a doormat,” Emma had insisted.

But now, in the cold confines of this nightmare, Alina felt like exactly that—a doormat, a pawn, crumbling beneath the Joker’s will. What would Emma think if she could see her now? What would she say about the deal, the humiliation, the way Alina had surrendered every shred of control? The thought dug deep, hollowing her out, leaving her feeling smaller, weaker, and even more ashamed.

She dropped to her knees in the shallow puddle collecting on the floor, grabbing at her discarded clothes. The cardigan, the shirt, her bra and panties—they were all filthy, stained with days of sweat and grime. She scrubbed at them furiously, the bar of soap slipping in her wet hands. If she couldn’t clean herself, maybe she could clean these. Maybe that would make her feel less like a walking pile of dirt.

But the fabric wouldn’t yield. The stains were too deep, the fibers too worn. She sat back on her heels, the wet clothes pooling around her as her hands trembled with frustration.

A sharp knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts.

“One minute, cupcake!” The Joker’s voice was bright and mocking, followed by a low chuckle.

Panic surged through her veins. She dropped the clothes, scrambling to rinse the shampoo from her hair. The water sputtered sluggishly, her trembling hands working faster than the weak stream could keep up.

The cold hit her as she clawed for the towel on a nearby rusted hook, the coarse fabric scrapping against her damp skin as she dried off in a frantic, clumsy blur.

Her eyes darted to the folded bundle of clean clothes sitting on the counter—the Joker’s offering, his twisted version of a favor. She grabbed it, her fingers fumbling as she unfurled the fabric. The moment her eyes registered what she was holding, her breath hitched.

It was her nightgown.

The same white cotton nightgown she’d left on the arm of her couch, the one that had disappeared without explanation.

She held it up, the material almost translucent against the dim yellow light. Her stomach churned as she traced the delicate neckline. She could feel the imprint of his hands on it, his twisted satisfaction.

Of course, the bastard. He’d planned this perfectly—stripping her of even the illusion of dignity.

Her gaze flicked to her wet clothes, a flicker of defiance sparking, only to be snuffed out by the unrelenting cold clinging to her skin.

With trembling hands, she tugged the nightgown over her head. The fabric clung to her damp body, hugging every curve, every hollow. It wasn’t just clothing—it was a message: I own you.

Another knock echoed, sharper this time.

“Time’s up, dollface,” the Joker called, his voice dripping with mock cheer. “Don’t make me come in there.”

Alina froze, her chest heaving. The cold bit at her skin, her nipples pressing uncomfortably against the thin fabric. She knew—just knew—that he would notice. Of course, he would. He’d designed it this way.

Before she could steel herself, the door creaked open, his shadow stretching long across the dim room like an ominous specter.

"Well, well..." His voice rolled out, low and edged with dangerous ease. He leaned against the doorway, his eyes dragging over her from head to toe. "Don’t you look cozy."

Her stomach churned, a deep flush creeping up her neck. The way his gaze lingered on her—piercing and possessive—made her want to sink into the floor.

She crossed her arms over her chest, the gesture futile. If anything, her attempt to shield herself only deepened his amusement.

“You know,” he drawled, tilting his head as though studying her like a piece of art, “I think white might be your color.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze—couldn’t bear the weight of it.

He shifted closer, every step deliberate, the thud of his footsteps sharpening the silence. The space between them seemed to collapse, her stomach knotting under his steady approach.

“But then again…” His voice dipped, silk laced with thorns. “I’ve had plenty of time to imagine it, haven’t I?” His tongue darted out, flicking across his scarred lips, the hungry glint in his eyes making her shudder. “So nice of you to leave me something so… intimate.”

He let the silence stretch, his eyes gleaming with calculated amusement before he murmured, “Now that I’ve got you, I thought it was only fair to return it.”

The room felt smaller, her breath catching as his words pressed against her like a vise. She couldn’t force out a single word.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the motion as casual as it was unsettling, his eyes never leaving hers. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” His voice was mockingly gentle, each syllable stretched with cruel delight. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe…” His gaze dipped briefly to the nightgown, lingering just long enough to make her skin crawl, “…you’re just overwhelmed. I’d understand. It’s not every day a girl gets to play dress-up for me.”

Her face burned, anger and humiliation rising in equal measure, but she bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to give him what he wanted.

That refusal only seemed to embolden him. His gaze dragged over her once more, lingering as though he could peel back every layer of her defenses.

“You don’t have to say a word,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. And I can promise you…” His words curled around her like a noose, tightening. “…it’s worse than that.”

Abruptly, he straightened, his laughter cutting through the tension like a jagged blade. His tone shifted in an instant, light and sing-song, dripping with mock cheer. “Let’s go, doll,” he said, waving her forward with exaggerated ease. “We’ve got ten minutes to make the most of.”

Her legs trembled as she moved past him, his gaze following her every step, crawling over her like a physical touch. The fabric swayed lightly against her thighs, damp and clinging, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.

Behind her, his laughter echoed softly, dark and low, following her like a shadow.

---

The Joker's grip remained firm around her arm as they made their way back, her damp nightgown clinging to her skin and the cold air biting at her. Each step felt heavier, the weight of what was coming pressing down on her like a stone.

Finally, they were there. The small room—barely more than a cage—greeted her with its oppressive, claustrophobic air. The Joker pushed open the door, then released her arm with a small, almost casual shove, as if reminding her that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Alina stepped inside, flinching as the door closed behind her with a sharp, final click. The Joker lingered in the doorway, his presence looming, his eyes gleaming with a shadowed amusement that made her stomach twist.

“Ten minutes,” he said, his voice smooth and edged with a dangerous sweetness. “You’ve had your time. Now it’s mine.”

Dread bubbled under her skin, but she stayed frozen, arms crossed tightly, her fingers clutching the thin fabric of her nightgown as though it might save her. She still couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.

The Joker tilted his head, watching her with a slow, deliberate grin. “Well?” He took a languid step closer, his shoes whispering against the floor. “Where do you want it?”

When she didn't answer, he chuckled softly, the sound dark and unhurried, as though savoring her silence.

“I’ll give you some choices,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “We could do this standing,” he continued, gesturing lazily toward the corner where she stood, pressed tight against the wall as though it might swallow her whole.

“Or…” He drifted toward the bed, trailing his fingers along the edge of the mattress with an almost tender care. His grin widened, sharp and knowing. “We could make this… a little more civilized. Comfortable, even.” He paused, letting the word hang in the air like a dare.

He turned back to her, tilting his head as if he could see straight through her. “Decisions, decisions,” he murmured. “But don’t keep me waiting.” His grin stretched wider, teeth gleaming. “You know how I get when I’m bored.”

Each option felt more unbearable than the last, yet the Joker’s tone left no doubt—there would be no good choice. He was enjoying the way she squirmed, the way her eyes darted from one place to the next, looking for an exit that wasn’t there.

Her voice barely escaped her lips. “Here,” she whispered, gesturing to the floor, her back pressed against the cold wall. It wasn’t much of a choice, but at least it didn't carry the intimacy of the mattress.

The Joker chuckled, his scars stretching with delight as he stepped forward. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and dangerous. “Right here it is.”

He shrugged off his coat with slow, deliberate movements, draping it over the old table in the corner. But the playfulness was gone, replaced by something darker—a quiet, dangerous calm that clung to him like a second skin. Without the heavy coat, his body was revealed in the thin fabric of his purple, button-up shirt and green vest, the lean, taut lines of muscle sharply defined.

The sight of him—so effortlessly confident, so controlled—sent a ripple of unease through Alina, her pulse quickening against her will.

He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a stopwatch, its metallic sheen glinting ominously in the dim light. With deliberate slowness, he set the timer, then slammed it down on the table with a foreboding thud that echoed through the room. Turning back toward her, his lips curled into a smile—sharp, unsettling, and full of dark promises.

“Time starts now,” he drawled, the smile never wavering.

Before Alina could fully process his words, he caught her wrist in his hand—his touch firm as he pulled her down to the floor. She landed in his lap with a sharp gasp, her back pressed against his chest. His legs bracketed

hers, the fabric of his trousers brushing her thighs with every slight shift he made.

She stiffened, her breath catching as his arms looped around her waist, pulling her close and locking her in place.

"You’re always so tense,” he whispered, his breath hot and maddeningly close against her neck, each word brushing her skin like an unwanted caress. “Relax, doll. Who knows? You might even enjoy this... if you let yourself.” His voice dripped with dark amusement, yet there was something else beneath it—a dangerous intimacy that burrowed under her skin like a splinter.

Her nails dug into her palms, desperate for the sharp sting to ground her as his fingers started tracing lazy paths along her waist, maddeningly light, each touch leaving her skin crawling with awareness.

The cold concrete beneath them seeped through her nightgown, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body against hers. His breath, slow and measured against her neck, sent shivers skittering down her spine. It wasn’t just warmth—it was a calculated pressure, an unspoken threat that somehow felt... tender.

And that was the worst part.

Against her will, her body began to betray her, softening, sinking into the sinister comfort he offered.

“That’s better,” he crooned, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “See? I’m not so bad, am I?”

Her breath faltered as his fingers dipped lower, skimming the thin, delicate fabric of her nightgown. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to pull away, to resist, but her muscles felt caught in quicksand, sinking deeper with every passing moment. She could feel his grin, wicked and triumphant, ghosting against her neck.

No, she thought fiercely, her mind clawing for control against the tide of sensations overwhelming her. Don’t let him win.

But the more she fought, the harder it became to resist. The tension in her spine gave way, her shoulders slumping as she unwillingly relaxed against him. The low hum of satisfaction in his chest told her he knew exactly how much he was unraveling her.

Gently, almost absentmindedly, one of his hands left her waist, his fingertips brushing lightly against her collarbone before circling slowly along the curve of it. The touch was maddeningly delicate, tracing lazy circles that mirrored the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back.

"You’re so soft, Alina," he murmured, his voice low and rich, carrying an unsettling warmth that felt almost reverent. The words slid over her like a dark caress, igniting an unwelcome bloom of heat beneath her skin.

His fingers slid down her arm, lingering at the delicate curve of her wrist, where her pulse fluttered against his gloved touch. His thumb brushed over the rapid beat, a cruel, knowing smile curling his lips. "Do you feel how perfectly you fit here, doll?" he murmured, his voice a velvet trap. He paused, exhaling softly, his warm breath spilling into the hollow of her neck, sending an undeniable shiver of goosebumps across her skin. "Like you were made for this... made for me."

Without warning, he shifted her more fully into his lap, his hand sliding to rest on her hip, fingers pressing firmly against the delicate curve of bone. The movement forced her closer, and that’s when she felt it—a solid, unyielding pressure beneath her.

For a moment, her mind refused to comprehend, but then, realization struck—sharp and undeniable.

He’s hard.

Her pulse stuttered, heat blooming low in her belly even as dread tangled in her chest. She froze, caught between instinct and the horrifying awareness of his desire.

Every nerve screamed at her to recoil, to shove him away, but the strength of his grip on her hip was unyielding and possessive—rooting her in place. The helplessness tightened her chest, her thoughts splintering as the realization sank deeper, darker.

She knew he could feel her reaction—her sudden awareness of just how dangerous this game had become. His breath against her neck grew heavier, more deliberate, and she could almost feel the wicked grin curving his lips in the silence.

His fingers flexed against her waist, digging in just enough to draw a shiver from her. Then he laughed—a low, gravelly sound that made her stomach twist.

“You feel that, don't you sweetheart?” he murmured, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. “That’s your fault.”

The jagged ridges of his scars grazed her neck as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You’ve been teasing me since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he continued. “Every little look, every little move…” He sighed, feigning exasperation, though his grin only widened. “You’re just lucky I’ve got a lot of self-control.”

Alina’s breath snagged, her pulse hammering so loudly it drowned out everything else. She wanted to speak, to shove him away, but her voice was trapped, suffocated by the unrelenting pressure of him and the horrific, undeniable truth: he wanted her.

"Does it scare you, Alina?" His voice dropped to a low rasp, teasing yet predatory. "Knowing what I could do... right here, right now... with no one to stop me?"

She tensed, every muscle locking in place as the weight of his words sank in.

Then, with terrifying ease, he pressed her tighter against his lap, the contact sending a wave of cold fear through her veins, laced with a dark, shameful thrill.

"No, no” he murmured, almost gently. “That’s not what terrifies you, is it?” His gloved hand slid up, curling around the base of her throat with a possessive ease. He didn’t squeeze, but the weight of his touch was enough to steal her breath. “What terrifies you…” His thumb brushed the line of her jaw, tipping her head back just enough to expose her neck. “…is how much you like this.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, hot tears pricking at the corners as his words carved through her. No, she thought fiercely, clawing at the edges of her resolve. Don’t give in.

But his grip tightened, the pressure sending a shameful exhilaration through her that she couldn’t control. “There it is,” he purred, his tone thick with triumph. “That little spark I saw back at the bank. You felt it then, didn’t you? That pull… that electricity.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his grin wicked and unrelenting.

Her pulse quickened as the memory resurfaced, but she couldn’t outrun the truth tangled in his words. She had felt it—a magnetic pull that cut through the fear and chaos, something raw and undeniable.

It terrified her how deeply she'd felt it.

"You can’t lie to me, doll," he whispered, as his fingers brushed down the curve of her throat, lingering just above the frantic beat of her pulse. His arousal pressed harder against her, a dark reminder of his control. "I saw it in your eyes. You wanted me to devour you, just like you want me to now."

The words slid into her mind, and before she could summon the strength to deny him, he pressed on.

"I can feel it," he purred. "Every beat of that pretty little heart, every shiver under my touch." His scarred grin widened, curving wickedly against her skin.

"You like being at my mercy."

Her pulse pounded violently in her chest, a frantic rhythm of fear and confusion. She stayed silent, her lips pressed tightly together, refusing to give him the reaction he craved. But his words, slow and hypnotic, continued to cut through her defenses, feeding the storm of shame and terror churning within her.

The Joker’s grip on her waist tightened, his voice dropping into a low, velvety murmur. “Silence won’t save you, sweetheart. It only makes me want to push you harder.” His fingers slid down, tracing an agonizingly slow path over the curve of her hip before descending to her thigh. He paused there, teasing the hem of her nightgown, pressing just enough to make her breath hitch. "You can pretend all you want, but your body… it’s far more honest than those pretty lips of yours

Alina squeezed her eyes shut. She hated him—hated everything he stood for. But now, trapped in his lap, his warmth seeping into her—she couldn’t deny the terrible truth in his words.

“You belong to me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but impossibly heavy, a truth he pressed into her skin with every lingering touch. “And deep down… you know it too

The words hit her like a physical blow, cutting deep, slicing through the storm of confusion and self-loathing that swirled inside her.

No. She screamed internally.

This was wrong. All of it.

Maybe she couldn’t control the way her body betrayed her—clouded by fear, exhaustion, and the crushing absence of human touch. But her mind, that was still hers.

No matter what he did, she had to hold on to that. She had to remember who she was.

Her fists clenched in her lap, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to breathe.

Stay strong, she told herself. Don’t let him break you.

With a sudden surge of defiance, she pushed against him violently, the words bursting from her lips with a force that startled even her.

“Stop!” she demanded, her voice sharp and raw as she dug her nails into his unyielding forearms. She felt the sting of her own grip, certain she’d drawn blood, but his arms didn’t falter. They remained locked around her, a cruel reminder of his control.

The Joker stilled, the tension in his embrace like a coiled spring. His laughter—low and guttural—broke the silence, vibrating through her back and sending a shiver of fear down her spine. “Oh, sweetheart...,” he purred “you’ve got claws.”

His lips hovered against the curve of her neck, brushing her skin with a deliberate, unnerving softness that lingered just a beat too long.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, his voice a low, dark drawl, rich with menace. “Scratch me up all you want.” A faint chuckle slipped from his lips, hot against her skin. “I don’t mind a little pain.”

Alina’s heart pounded with a mix of fury and fear. She wrenched her head to the side, her nails digging deeper into his flesh.

“You don’t own me.” she spat, her voice sharp and defiant.

The Joker’s grin widened—she could feel it in the way his breath hitched for just a moment. “Don’t I?” he said softly, dangerously. His voice dropped lower, a whisper steeped in menace. “Because here you are, in my arms. My doll. And I didn't have to force you, did I?”

His grip on her waist tightened, his lips barely grazing her ear. “You don’t want me to stop, Alina,” he whispered. “You want me to show you just how much you belong to me.”

Her body froze, caught in the tension between her anger and the dark pull of his words. She hated him—she hated this. Yet the slow, insidious heat unfurling between her thighs betrayed her, each pulse of arousal more damning than the last, terrifying her far more than his words ever could.

It sickened her how he could stir anger, fear, and arousal within her all at once.

And then, just as quickly as he had tightened his grip, he loosened it, letting his hands rest lightly on her waist. His sudden ease was unnerving, like a predator toying with prey.

“Or…” he drawled, his tone playful again, “we could pretend you’re still in charge. That’s fun too.”

The piercing jolt of the stopwatch shattered the silence, its sharp sound cutting through the moment like a blade. Alina flinched, her breath hitching as the sudden intrusion snapped the tension taut between them.

The Joker tilted his head, his grin widening as he glanced at the ticking device. “Looks like our little sessions up,” he said, his voice dripping with mock cheer, "Lucky you.” His grip on her waist gave the faintest squeeze before he pulled back and released her, standing up as if the moment they shared meant nothing to him.

Alina felt the cold rush back instantly, her skin prickling as the warmth of his body left hers. She stayed on the floor, knees drawn and curled in the nightgown, feeling an emptiness creep in where he’d just been.

She should have been relieved—should have celebrated the fact that his hands were no longer on her—but the relief wouldn’t come. Instead, a slow, insidious dread coiled up her spine, tightening its grip with every second that passed.

Soon, he would leave her alone, with nothing but the cold walls and the oppressive silence that pressed in from every side.

That unbearable, suffocating silence.

The thought coiled around her, sending her mind spiraling, her heart pounding in her chest. God, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

She needed something—anything—to anchor her, to keep her from slipping into the dark void of her confinement.

Maybe… just maybe, he would bring her something to read? The idea felt fragile, dangerous, as though it might shatter if she dared to say it aloud, but the need clawed at her relentlessly, refusing to be ignored.

The Joker moved to the table, retrieving his watch and coat with casual indifference, the weight of his presence somehow heavier as he prepared to leave. He slipped the watch into his pocket, adjusting his coat with practiced ease, and turned toward the door.

Before the words could dissolve in her throat, Alina spoke, her voice hesitant and small, a sharp contrast to her earlier outburst. “Can you... bring me some books next time?” The question hung in the air, fragile and exposed, as though it might shatter under the weight of his gaze.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he chuckled softly, the sound low and indulgent, sliding under her skin like a creeping chill. “Books, huh?” he murmured, his tone laced with casual amusement. He plucked an imaginary speck of lint from his jacket, flicking it away with a lazy, dismissive gesture, as though brushing off her plea. “I’ll think about it, doll.”

Then, he turned on his heel, his steps measured and unhurried, as though her world wasn’t unraveling with every inch he moved away.

Pausing in the doorway, he glanced back over his shoulder, his grin dark and mocking. “Enjoy your time alone, doll,” he drawled, the words dripping with cruel cheer. “Try not to miss me too much.”

And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing faintly in the corridor, leaving her with nothing but the silence—and the cold weight of his absence.

She hated it. Hated herself for the pang of loss that crept in the moment he left.

She crawled back to the dingy mattress and sat down, the springs creaking gratingly in the silence. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to will the lingering warmth of his touch away. But her hands moved of their own accord, tracing the curve of her waist, following the path his gloved fingers had taken just moments before.

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms, as if the sting might pull her back to reality.

He’s a monster. This is wrong. The thoughts pounded in her skull, but his voice slithered through, stronger—You like being at my mercy, don’t you?—taunting her, twisting the knife deeper.

Tears welled up in her eyes, hot and unwanted, but she blinked them away. Crying wouldn’t fix this. Nothing would.

How much longer can I hold on? The question clawed at her. How much more of myself will I lose before there’s nothing left?

A single tear slipped free as she lay down, pulling the thin blanket tightly around her trembling frame. She closed her eyes, willing herself to block out the silence, the cold, the phantom touch of his hands.

God, what’s wrong with me? The thought echoed in her mind, but no answer came.

There was no comfort left to be found in this room.

Not anymore.

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

Wow, I spent an absurd amount of time editing this chapter, but I think I’m finally happy with it! At this point, I’ve pretty much lost all objectivity, so if you’re up for it, please leave a comment and let me know what you think—I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Only one more chapter to go before things take a darker, more sexual turn 😅.

Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter! They mean the world to me. I started writing this story for myself, but knowing that there are real people out there enjoying it is such an incredible motivator to keep going. 💜

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

Taglist: 💚 (please let me know if you'd like to be added)

@furisodespirit

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[honey-milk-depresso]

aah hello!! i'm here about the requests? if you'd like to write it, perhaps some rook and vil comfort post-overblot? as in, helping vil through the recovery process.

it can be platonic or romantic, whatever you're more comfortable writing.

(i apologize if this is worded bad i'm very nervous hh--)

Hey! This felt more like a drabble so sorry if it's a bit too short :'))

⋙l o a d i n g…

loading completed!✓ …━━━━━☆

┏ ⋙"Wounds Will Heal" (Vil x Rook)┛

TW: Angst to fluff, comfort, implied romance

♧…━━━━━☆

He only dared to ever cry at night, but even so Vil always felt the watchful eyes of somebody else, not that he could care while being consumed with grief and regret.

The feeling of being overblotted drove him mad as a hatter, one would say, but deep in the murkiness and darkness of magic ink lies Vil's broken, fragile heart, with years of hate, confusion and misery.

Was it a bit uncharacteristic of him to feel so down, well, yes, but it felt more like an understatement.

Now, however, he wasn't shielded or protected with the silver grace of the shining moon. Instead, a tear fell in broad daylight without him noticing, and Rook immediately fret.

"Roi du Poison?"

It was a simple question, and it sounded almost as if this was the first time Rook saw his dorm leader cried because of his overblot. A rather false front Vil was given, but somewhere in him knew;

Rook knew from the very beginning.

At least he didn't have to say anything. What was he to say now to the vice dorm leader.

"Ah... I didn't mean to just..." Vil wanted to avoid this as much as he could, feigning away Rook's concern and resume back to the day. He didn't know what dawn on him to cry this early, but he felt ashamed.

He shouldn't cry, he should just fight his battles on his own, right?

Right...?

Rook could only sigh. "Roi du Poison, you haven't changed, have you?" Rook could tell. No way would he let Vil just slide under the rug. He was going to pull it out and confront him once and for all about this.

"There is no point hiding it, just tell me why you still feel the way you do now?" Well, he just slipped that he was indeed watching Vil from the very beginning.

"I... it's none of your concern, Rook," Vil lashed in a soft and hush tone, although rather cold and harsh with his words. He didn't mean it but... he just wanted him to leave.

Rook just remained unwavering.

"Roi du Poison..."

"I swear, I'll be fine tomorrow."

"But... you wo-"

"I will, Rook."

"Vil."

The Pomefiore dorm leader halted. Did Rook just...?

The hunter sighed once more. "I've always admired your determination and sheer will to remain strong in the face of challenges and adversities. But you have to know sometimes the people around you are also here for you," Rook gingerly placed a hand on Vil, "and will always care for you."

Vil just stared at Rook, stunned.

A gentle tear streamed down his fair cheek, he sighed as he quivered a soft smile.

"You always know what to say to me... do you, Rook?"

[shmowder]

[shmowder]

He's taking his new big brother responsibilities very seriously

[shmowder]

some traits don't need genetics in order to pass down

[shmowder]

...

What a fearsome and adorable witch, you even brought your familiar with you!

There now youngling go and curse many people today, merry hallow!

[shmowder]

Oyun and Isidor made sure to get little Artemy used to bulls so he doesn't grow up afraid of them.

How sweet is the parallel of Murky and Sticky growing alongside wonderbull, the one he bought from Roy. Never fearing them, but seeing them as beautiful and beloved creatures.

[shmowder]

okay yeah can NOT stop thinking about the termites + Clara being a friendgroup and going on silly adventures like kids are supposed to, instead of living the horrors of the plague yk?

Sure, Clara is snarky and mean at times, sarcastic at others, but you know she longs to be loved, genuinely loved by a family, and have friends who care about her.

She just spawned into existence without a single soul to watch out for her. She yearns for the Saburovs affection so much that she runs away from home just to protect them from her growing bad reputation.

Imagine the sheer mind-blowing happiness she'd feel from having a group of friends who care about her and want to hang out? They don't ask miracles of her neither claim she is the bringer of doom, they just want to play with her, they share their toys and split their candy in half to give to her, they push her on the swings and teach her how to play tag.

Grace who's usually quiet finding someone adventurous and outgoing like Clara to balance her out. Someone who thinks her "weird" traits are the coolest thing ever! Grace is the Watson to Clara's Sherlock and I will die on that hill. She enables Clara and loves exploring the unkown and spooky territories with her, while Clara can't believe someone like Grace looks at her in awe with such stary eyes. Just for being herself, not for her powers or for her mischiefs, but just for... existing.

Sticky finally joining the friendgroup after isolating himself from kids his age for so long and desperately trying to fit in with the adults. The only reason he joins despite rejecting Khan and Notkin's proposals before is because his little sister wants friends to play with but is clearly terrfied to her core of interacting with others despite the strong mask she wears of pretending not to care. Murky's smile means the world to Sticky and he'd take her hand and guide her towards the other kids gently, because no one better than him understand what it's like being a fish out of water.

Because things are different now, he has a little sister to look out for and be responsible with! His urge to set a good example for her outweighs his introverted side and he gives in and starts making friends just to encourage her to do the same.

In a way, she indirectly teaches him that it's okay to act childish and be a kid. That it's okay to want friends and trust them.

Capella, who's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and watching her childhood slip by, like sand grains trickling down an hourglass the more her mistress powers manifest.

She is the oldest of the group and in a way feels responsible for every one of them, she desperately wants to look out for them before the responsibility of her mother's power start to manifest, not to mention the family business since young Vlad mentions wanting to leave the town and let Capella take over because "she is a smart kid" These kids may very well be the last friends she'd ever have before her whole life becomes a web of politics and business, the last flutter of innocence in a butterfly's wing before it's plucked off forever, to never regrow.

Khan living in the shadow of his family, always second place to his sister who's overtaking the role of her mother as the family head. So he does what he knows best and runs away to the next building over, starts a world of make believe and fairytales to reside at for eternity, refusing to come back home. Establishing an empire of kids who love and look up to him as a leader so he may never feel second place to Maria ever again. Ignoring how each time he looks in the mirror, day by day the face of his father stares back at him more and more.

Notking, Taya and Murky too oh my god. These kids deserve absolute heaven. They deserve to fight over sticker books and arguing about which superhero is the coolest. Imagine them planning their Halloween customs all excited! Khan refusing to participate thinking it's embarrassing for his age but then Capella and Notkin show up in customs and he feels left out so he scrambles for a last minute costume.

Sticky may or may not have used real blood in his zombie costume... you know left overs he "borrowed" from his father's cabinet. Murky wanting something pretty and princess like for her costume but being shy to ask Lara for help so Sticky does it for her instead.

Oh my god, Taya in a little bull costume with the horns and everything, saying hers is clearly superior, and she automatically wins the costume competition.

Clara thinking it's the most hilarious think in the world to dress up as Frankenstein's monster. She wanted zombie too but Sticky did it before her so she had to improvise. Grace is the mad scientist. Peter helping Grace and "Grace's friend" in making their costumes, having his weird little spin on them because he is just such an artist and could never settle for something mundane.

Capella dressing up as a detective! Or maybe something steampunk? Maybe her secret dnd character that she never told anyone about but definitely uses to play with her brother once a month in their running campaign.

Notkin picking the best Halloween costume possible ever! A vampire, duh! Nothing beats the classics, or so he claims. He is not just a vampire but the LORD OF VAMPIRES. A vampire king if you may. Jester has a cute bat costume, a cat in a bat costume. How innovative? Of course, you may only see it IF Jester feels like it.

Khan dressing at the little prince from the storybook? Or a classic werewolf to match Notkin's classice vampire look, or a vampire hunter just to fuck with him.

[shmowder]

CAN I CHOOSE TWO?? CAN I CHOOSE BIGGER DOLLHOUSE AND NEW FRIEND.....????? THEY MUST. THEY MUST HAVE BIGGER HOUSE.

Woah look at the size of that house! With a neat bunkbed too! Taya Tycheese might just get lost in it, but do not fret! She won't because she has a friend with her :)

Murky Hamsterakh! She might not show it but she is over the moon that she gets to live in such a pretty house with her best friend. She can't wait to decorate the walls with her drawings, the crayons are a little too heavy for her to carry in this state but she is clever! breaks them into tiny pieces and makes mini crayons to colour with.

[shmowder]

I can say that the found family trope is one of my favorites! so I really love that you write about Murky and Sticky's relationship with Artemy!��

Thank you for noticing! I see Sticky and Murky as an inseparable part of his story; to remove them is very much like Artemy cutting of a limb.

I try not to use them as mere decorations either–yk the trope of the adorable kids that never cause trouble and are just blank sheets for the character to have an excuse and show their paternal side.

For example, Murky trusting Sticky more than the rest-even her own father at times.

Or, like Sticky being the more attached and emotional one, he needs Artemy's reassurance and presence because he experienced being abandoned by Isidor before.

He's intelligent, but at the cost of being kinda of sensitive and stubborn, aka why he never joins the other kids in playing despite them actively reaching out for him. It just shows how comfortable he grew around Artemy to be able to handle playful digs and smartmouth him.

...or it could also show how desperate he is for a father figure after the passing of Isidor that he endures your joke insult despite them deeply affecting him.

While Murky has always been on her own, she never liked Isidor much to begin with.

She even got into a fight with Sticky in canon because she shattered his stained glass image of Isidor and argued that Sticky shouldn't put him on a pedestal.

Yet she loved Artemy since the moment she saw him, which let me remind you was with him covered in blood, having murdered three guys at the train station. She looked at that and saw safety & warmth, a father figure.

One she is terrified of disappointing and hurting, running away from his lair the second she suspects he is angry after her secret friends turn out to be the evil changeling.

She's more isolated and independent. Even when she finally comes nearby, she needs explicit invitation and coaxing to actually join the activity or get inside the room. She always feels like an outsider, denying how much she loves her current life and enjoys having a father and a brother.

[shmowder]

Whoa, you did amazing on your first run of P2! I made it through but like half the town died so I definitely enjoyed getting all the dialogue I missed the first time around. And just being able to spend a little more time appreciating the environment was nice, too.

You definitely make the first game sound interesting! And I would finally find out what everyone sees in Daniil 🤔

I also wanted to ask, do you have a favorite kid character? Sticky is mine.

Daniil, in the first game is... absolutely something. I love him, but god, I'm just in the first day of his route, and I can't stand his dialogue choices. He just keeps talking! he never stops. He has so much to say about everything and everyone at all times. He will fluff up the sentences with filler words and pleasantries.

Interacting with him as Artemy was fun because he was that silly dramatic guy from the Capital and you're only subjected to his theatrics once every two to four business days, plus the occasional letter he loves sending at the stroke of midnight, making you wonder if this is the time he inevitably went mad and is sharing the news with you as you open it.

BUT BEING DANIIL DANKOVSKY IS AN INSUFFERABLE EXPERIENCE.

I keep mansplaining everything to anyone who shows the slightest interest in me. Eva is flirting with me, and all I can do is abruptly change the conversation topic to be about death, very smooth Danill, I'm sure imagining her invetiable demise reeled her in.

...Am I describing myself? Is this what I'm doing right now?

Anyway, my favourite kid! My favourite child! this is gonna be a very long essay because I adore all the little rascals in Pathologic.

We're starting with Sticky <3

When I was playing P2, it was definitely Sticky. You mentioned him being your favourite!

With sticky, he is the first kid to actually give you a chance as Artemy. Sometimes, it feels like he adopted himself into your life and not the other way around. He just shows up and is immediately ride or die with you for life.

He steals for us! Breaks the law just to help us because he knows we are short on money! He doesn't have any medical knowledge but he tries his best to learn from watching you and the occasional questions.

He is endlessly curious and thirsty for knowledge. You can witness it each time you mention a medical term he doesn't know like serum or panacea, and he tries his best to understand what you're saying. Even if it doesn't make sense, he takes your words with blind trust. He wants to be just like you and it's so endearing.

I also adore how they gave him a personality that isn't just a docile student who agrees with everything you say.

No, Sticky will argue with you at times, insult you at others even. Especially his idle spoken dialogue where he keeps saying "How can people protect themselves from the infection? You're a doctor, you should know!"

It's the "You should know!" part that always gets me. He is upset that you don't know something! That's how much he secretly looks up to you and puts you on a pedestal. That when faced with the reality that you're not all-knowing and struggling to invent a cure, he's hurt and angry. Like you betrayed him by not being his superhero.

STICKY I'M SORRY MY SON I WILL DO BETTER I WILL GET 1000 COLLEGE DEGREES THAT WILL PUT THE BACHELOR TO SHAME PLEASE COME BACK!

His other idle spoken dialogue lines are also priceless. They tell a complete story on their own.

"I'll learn how to cure this plague myself. I'm a master of many skills!"

"I know the Lines, too. How else could I find my way around all the attics, and the cellars, and those twisty yards?"

He's trying to copy Artemy, to copy you the player and your effort to cure the plague. He's so small in this big world and can only effect so little in the grand scheme of the universe but he refuses to acknowledge that! He refuses that fate of being a helpless kid for you to save, he wants to be more and goddammit he will be more.

But he can't. He won't. At the end of the day, he is just a kid not matter how many tantrums he throws. He wants you to take him seriously and treat him with the same familiarity as other adults which is why insults you and jokes with you.

He wants Artemy to joke insult him too like he does with Stakh, he wants Artemy to confide in him and share theories like he does with Daniil.

HE WANTS HIS DAD TO BE PROUD OF HIM MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT.

"You don't look so happy. Musta come from the hospital"

He notices your mood, he studied your reaction and knows your routine by heart. He can tell the difference between Artemy's upset face and his normal resting scary ripper face.

Sticky tries to sympathise. But he has never seen a hospital before in his life, all he knew about them was what he read in picture books as a toddler while learning the alphabet and someone put Hospital under the letter H.

The makeshift Theatre-turned-hosptial could never compare to a real one. I've spent time in hospital and my doctor brother told me about the absolute horrors of the emergency care and surgery sections. The many peoples of which will die in front of your own eyes and there is nothing you can do to save them.

All of his world view is extremely limited. Artemy is the lense in which he views the world with, in an attempt to decipher and understand it. You've became his teacher since the moment the first ever question slipped from his mouth and you answered it with sincerity.

"My path was called In Defiance. I almost tracked down that weird creature, but then I found a better goal. I'm going to become a real doctor. "

In the marble nest, when Artemy's dead, Sticky attempts to still follow his fate and seeks the Bachelor. He confesses his dream of still wanting to be a doctor but Daniil is dismissive and only directs him towards the academic path.

It's clearly not the same, it clearly eats up at Sticky to have his old mentor die in order, a second time, to invent a cure and now he can't mourn because he has to convince the only other doctor in town to take him under his wing.

Artemy allowed him a chance, took him seriously, looked past his lack of education and taught him the same way his own father used to teach him. Because Artemy genuinely relates and understands Sticky's situation, he grew up in this town.

Daniil who lives in the capital where every child is handed a bright future and guaranteed education could never relate to the kids of the town who grew up without a single school. He feels bad for them yes but he can't see Sticky as capable of anything besides staying out of trouble and letting the real doctors do their job.

Daniil lives in his concept of a utopia where children are always protected and never put in dangerous situations while capable adults handle everything. A world where he closes a grocery to not spread infection because that's what's right and necessary, without caring about how the families will feed themselves now.

Artemy lives in the grim reality of orphans trading bullets and razors just to get enough food to stay alive, of them risking getting infected just to acquire plague maps for him to purchase, in the world where he helped a kid steal from a store for his own sake because he knew he couldn't afford saying no in these dire circumstances.

Sticky does a lot of work behind the curtains. He keeps the lair clean and takes care of Murky. It's a shame we don't get to see him doing these things in-game, besides his model changing spots depending on the time of day.

This interaction happens on the third (or second?) day! The kid barely knows us, and he is already looking for our approval and doing chores around the house. I mentioned before how the Haruspex's lair floors are constantly wet-looking in a different post, and that detail is probably due to Sticky constantly moping the floors and keeping things tidy.

I wish Artemy was more gentle with him, I wish he spoke softer to him like he does with Murky. I know he treats her like that because she is younger and more gaurded but god Sticky deserves to be told good job too!

Sticky absolutely adores Murky. He makes her candy with melted sugar and tries to cheer her up. But he also tends to idolise Isidor a little too much. They end up in fights a lot because he always defends Isidor and his actions no matter what anyone says.

In p1, Sticky absolutely did not get along with any of the kids. Notkin invited him to join his gang, and Sticky refused, Khan wanted him to do a favour too, and Sticky declined. He doesn't play with other kids, he doesn't engage with them, and he is mostly alone.

It doesn't seem like that changed much in P2, sure the others don't mention him by name but also you don't ever see him wandering to the hubs the other kids are so fond of.

So for him to be kind and befriend Murky despite all the alienation he has suffered all his life from other kids, it really must have been a challenging step for him to take. He immediately accepts her as his sister and doesn't ask any questions.

In his free time, before becoming a student, he used to uncover mysteries and perform experiments detective conan style. Camping at the steppe at night to witness one of those clay vampire creatures despite no one believing him, attempting to get to the bottom of remours.

He's clearly very fascinated by the kin folktales and mystical creatures beyond just fantasy. What others dismissed as childish beliefs, he looked at with rationality and attempted to make sense of. The same burning curiosity reared its head when Artemy shared stories about the kin with him.

Even his idle dialogue shows his lingering fascination with the supernatural world, with the miracles of the kin. He doesn't fear them, he wants to witness them despite the consequences.

"The murderer is a steppe demon! A shabnak-adyg! I just know it!"

"A long neck and a fat body. And hooves for feet—so it's an Albino. And people say it wasn't the earth that made it!"

"Have you seen a pale, glimmering man walking around at night?"

Just imagine Artemy passing down all of the kin tales to Sticky, the ones his father used to tell him, the ones he learned from the herb brides, the ones Oyun used to whisper to him, the ones Aspity shared during their brief interactions.

Isidor's death greatly affected him. He never speaks about him or shows it, but the fear of abandonment has already taken root. It's apparent in the endgame dialogue when he's refusing any idea of you leaving, even ten years from now, when he is a full 20-something adult.

Just the mention of leaving has him terrfied and panicking, he doesn't want to experience the loss of another father so soon. He clings to you like gum throughout all of the game and doesn't leave your lair out of fear you won't be there when he comes back.

He sits in that broken chair and watches over Artemy as he sleeps, that kid needs a hug and reassurance so badly.

Suddenly, he has a sister to take care of, a father who loves him and is willing to teach him, a house with his own room, a future ahead as a Menkhu doctor. He has his dream coming true, and he won't survive having it taken from him.

The devs leave a lot of room for you to influence Artemy's choices and reactions throughout the game, even when it's just flavour plot texts and I love that. In my version of events, Artemy rejected all the proposals and job offers from Young Vlad, General Block, Yulia and the rest to be their assistants or travel with them.

Instead he remains home to be a Menkhu, watching over his town and helping whatever remains of the kin to survive. He accepts Lara's offer to help him take care of Sticky and Murky as co-parenting and friends. He raises both of them to be wonderful amazing adults who listen to their hearts and follow their own dreams.

Maybe add Aglaya survives and they have a long distance romance and the kids are intrigued by her terrifying aura-

ANYWAY.

Honourable mentions, Murky, Taya and Notkin.

Murky because of EVERYTHING SHE IS. I will surrender my own life to see her happy.

THIS MOMENT MADE ME CRY. ACTUALLY FUCKING FULL ON WEEP IRL.

Do you remember her words to us? to Artemy?

"What is there about you to love? Nothing. So I don't."

"I don't need you. Nuh-uh. Things were great without you. Great."

"Why did you come here? I don't need you. Nobody here needs you. We're not friends with her anymore, anyway."

"Why should I love you? I don't need to love you at all. I can stop loving you whenever I want."

She keeps repeating how she doesn't love us, how there is nothing to love, how she doesn't need you, she doesn't need anyone....She can stop loving us whenever she wants, she can stop if she wants to she is so sure of it...

And she knows she is lying the whole time.

She loved Artemy since the first moment she saw him.

Which was when he murdered those three people after getting off of the train. She saw a murderer, a ripper, and loved him as daughter loves her father.

Covered in blood in our worst, Murky looked at us and saw a gentle heart and a nurturing soul.

Sticky is scared of being abandoned again so he clings to us, Murky is scared of loving us so she clings to a lie. She wants a dad, she wants a brother, she only has her doll and a broken train car to call her own.

The only thing left from her parents, her lonely doll. And it was your father whom caused their death and orphaned her, what cruel fate to make her love you as a father.

The son of her parents killer.

Not a gradual love that we work for, No. She loved is since the single moment she saw us. How terrifying is that for a kid who has known no love or warmth in this life.

-

For Notkin, he always seemed like the most willing out of the bound kids to be your friend, not counting your own two adopted kids. By the end of the game, he asks to join the kin and says you're already one of his guys, you have a half soul too and it's massive and so cool.

He blatantly states how much he likes you, how much you've grown on him and stood by his gang's side through the game. He shares with you his dream of opening a warehouse in the future, describing something very similar to what Grief currently has minus the crime.

How poetic it is! Grief and Artemy being childhood friends only for Notkin aka mini-Grief version to end up liking grown Artemy too and wanting to be his friend.

Murky does remind of Lara now that we mention it. In one of the items descriptions, Artemy mentions how Lara knitted him the blue sweater that he's wearing ingame under the surgical grab and when he asked her why blue, she said because it's the colour of idiots and never knitted him anything again.

Murky and her are absolutely kind and selfless to a fault, both treating Artemy with apparent hostility and sharp words when in reality they care for him more than anything.

Notkin and Grief putting an air of being dangerous so Artemy wouldn't get any ideas, but eventually warming up to him and entrusting him with their sincere emotions in rare moments of vulnerability. Both are trying to be good leaders for people under their care, both appreciate his help in dire situations and give him back when they can. Grief is the first to hand you items to get you started ingame, and in Notkins warehouse, a kid gives you bread and milk, later they give you the first plague map for free.

In a way, it feels like Sticky adores Artemy in the same way Rubin must have idolised Isidor.

Jfwifjwkd Artemy straight up adopted the kids equivalent of his childhood friends that is so peotic.

-

Finally, there is Taya!

For her, I feel more of a personal connection rather than any bond she may have with Artemy. She reminds me of myself as a kid in a way. She looks spoiled but in reality she is very isolated and only have interacted with adults all her life who keep reminding her of her responsibility.

She wants to be a kid so desperately but she is forced to play the mother superior role. And despite all her lack of emotional development at that age, she does her best to sincerely play that role. To be wise and study the responsibility handed to her.

In P1, she mentions nonchalantly how her father, the previous leader of the kin, was killed by the kin in her place, he died to protect her from being killed. She mentions that if you choose to sacrifice big vlad in place of young vlad.

Saying how the father should always pay for the sins of his children.

Isidor died so Artemy may live

Her father died so she may be spared

Big Vlad died in place of his son getting killed.

Taya is very childish at times in a way that I wish she was allowed to express more. Just look at these scenes.

SHE JUST WANTS CHOCOLATE AND SWEETS, BUT HAS TO PLAY THE ROLE OF A HOLY LEADER TO A WHOLE COMMUNITY OF PEOPLE WITH CULTURE OLDER THAN THAN THE WORLD. SHE IS TRYING HER BEST OKAY.

God it's like she's holding the weight of the world on her shoulders but laughing and smiling despite of it as she dreams of strawberries.

STRAWBERRIES! THAT'S LITERALLY HER BIGGEST DREAM.

Ugh she is so tiny too! LOOK AT HER. You can put her in you pocket but she might get lost between the loose change!!

SHE IS 4 GRASS BLADES TALL!!! FOUR! SHE IS PROBABLY 5 APPLES TALL LIKE HELLO KITTY! SHE IS JUST A LITTLE GIRL AAAAAAAAA

LET ME ADOPT HER GAME!! LET ME HAVE HER LIVE IN ARTEMY'S HOUSE WITH STICKY AND MURKY AS HER OLDER SIBLINGS! PLEASE I NEED IT! BRING NOTKIN TOO!

The remaining kids, Capella, Khan, Grace and even Taya herself, don't seem that fond or attached to Artemy. Their fates cross a lot and some of them clearly saw Isidor as a father figure but it's never the same with Artemy.

Taya only cares for him as Menkhu, she is mother superior and he is one of her "children" like any other person from the kin.

Capella sees him as a business partner in a way, she asks for favours and promises to repay tenfolds when she becomes a mistress. Her goals and Artemy's allign so they are partners in planning.

Sometimes, I wonder if Artemy was supposed to be born much later. Because Capella describes a future where he is included with these kids when it comes to rebuilding the town. The fact his own mother died during childbirth makes me consider that theory a bit more, maybe his parents rushed into having a second kid when his older brother passed away which caused health problems to his mother.

So Artemy was supposed to be born much later alongside these kids and play his role in rebuilding the town. But it's just a theory.

A GAME THEOR-

-

Thank you so much for the praise about finishing the game! I want to lie and say it was effortless. But.It.Was.Not. 500 reloads. But I loved every minute, I would hate going to sleep because it meant I had to stop play and would open the game first thing after waking up. It was literally and addiction and I couldn't remember my own name and life event but I for sure had the list of items best to trade to which town npcs memorised.

I want to replay it after finishing it P1. It is fun but it can be boring at times which is why I'm moving at a slugs pace in Daniil's route. Part of me is also dreading finishing it since I will only have Clara's route to play by then....and its over like that.

Maybe by stalling, I'm hoping that P2 Bachelor's route will come out sooner.

I definitely enjoyed this conversation <3 I love talking and talking loves me, I have a million opinions on everything and so much to say about pathologic. If you ever get curious about a certain subject, character or concept, shoot me an ask since I will have so much fun writing out the essay.

I hope you had fun reading this! I try to sprinkle in jokes so it's not just a big dump of information but eh, I love mansplaining guilty as charged.

Take care anon! I hope your day is wonderful. Also wanna be called Sticky anon if you're going to be a frequent quest on here?

[shmowder]

that bit about khan annihilating your steamdeck cracked me up actually. khan ily but you are NOT touching my switch

And you know his family won't pay for a replacement or even to fix it. They're the type to "let their kids pave their own paths and handle their own responsibilities" which is code for never doing any parenting EVER and letting their kids do whatever they want to other people's stuff with zero consequences or compensation!

He'd literally lose a fraction of an hp point and immediately throw both the game and your device into the floor while you're sitting there like

At least Sticky and Murky would be more careful and considerate with your stuff–I mean sure they'll leave behind mystery sticky residue from nasty unwashed hands, chips dust and melted chocolate but hey it's better for you to clean it then to leave them to do it, because they will full-heartedly run your device under tap water and scrub it with dawn dish soap.

[shmowder]

Stakh has him blocked

[shmowder]

Pathologic meme dump... 6?? I think

[shmowder]

Throwing yourself out of the window isn't an option

Poll below

you're bald + baking soda + horse legs + an aquarius + Aglaya doesn't like trains