#pathologic fanfic

A terrible, incurable disease: love. Daniil Dankovsky is sick.

🔞 Different Sense on AO3 (please mind the tags)

Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Daniil Dankovsky & Taya Tycheek, Daniil Dankovsky & Other(s) Characters: Daniil Dankovsky, Isidor Burakh, Simon Kain, Taya Tycheek, Artemy Burakh, Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, written pre-Pathologic 3 Summary:

Daniil Dankovsky is running out of luck - and out of time. When a letter from Isidor Burakh arrives informing him of an immortal man living out on the steppe, Daniil cannot get on the train fast enough.

And so, Daniil arrives in the town one day early.

⟡ Andrey Stamatin x gn!reader ⟡ Another long evening as the plague spread, a few drinks to forget. But this evening will be better than an usual one. ⟡ Reblogs ⇄ & Likes ♡ are heavily appreciated ! ⟡ Word count: 1154

It is not the first time that you enter the Broken Heart and you hope the last is far from now. You've almost become a regular, trying to drink away the growing concern occupying your mind. This new illness, the Sand Plague. In town, words are spreading quickly, and you do not know how to decipher the truths from the rumors and opinions. You really need a drink, something to change your mind and forget, at least for a second.

The heat of the pub mixed with the smell of the twyrine envelop your body. It is relaxing, perhaps a bit too much, but that doesn't matter to you in the moment. You make a way between the already drunks regulars and the few newcomers trying whatever drug has been shown to them. The regular percussions and cords fills your ears, you've started to be used to this sounds filling the background as glasses cling together and words blur together. A bar seat frees itself as the man moved to observe the Herb brides' dances and you quickly take it.

A quick smile to the bartender, a first glass nestled between your hands, some looks at the dancers, eavesdropping on conversations to stay up to date with the latest discoveries. Your newly found routine was disturbed by a loud laugher which turned heads. Anyone in the pub would recognize the voice kilometers away, it was the owner and Grand Architect, none other than Andrey Stamatin. You knew him through constructions like the Polyhedron and the multiple Stairways to Heaven covering the abandoned terrains. But you have never cared enough to gain his attention with words, or perhaps it was a belief that you were not worthy of this attention. Yet, the architect had noticed you. A few days back, seated alone drowning in a sea of empty glasses, he had seen you when you thought you were invisible to the world crumbling outside.

And he had his eyes locked on you again, you were in his sight.

Slowly, yet with ease, he advanced through the crowd until he stood behind you. His voice made you jump of surprise as he spoke. "Who have we gotten here? Drinking alone is quite a sad pastime." Before any answer, he sat on the stool beside yours ignoring the creaks of the well used wood and two more glasses slid your way. He downed shots quicker than you believed humanly possible. For your three glasses, he had the double already empty, and before you noticed, you laughed at his dumb jokes.

A hand slid onto your shoulder as he spoke. "Tell me about the pretty face that caught my eyes," Andrey asked, his voice was like honey to your ears, perhaps it was his charms, or the drinks. Nonetheless, you talked, slowly and carefully, sharing with a warm smile and rosy cheeks as the alcohol worked its way into your brain. He reciprocated the gesture, listening to each word as if you were preaching a new scripture even if his state was worst than yours by now, implementing a few "Is that so?" here and there. You could feel his stare. But you let him, enjoying some positive attention.

He hummed as you ran out of subtile and interesting informations to share. You bit you lower lip before daring to question what were his latest projects. "Enjoying the music and the drinks. Perhaps, some of the ladies. But right now, you've got all of my great mind working ways to keep you beside me," he had said, making you giggle stupidly but you quickly caught your reaction, exaggerating a sigh to pretend being unimpressed by the comment. "Honey, you don't have to pretend here," Andrey let his hand wander down to your waist, pulling you closer with a quick move that made you gasp. "I know I've got quite the charm," he noted, confidence bleeding through his eyes.

Despite your tries to stay calm, the heat grew on your cheeks and you let out a chuckle. You loved his arrogance, some part of you wanted to believe the words had deeper meanings than a meaningless flirt to get you into his bed. But you knew he was a player, everyone knew, yet in that moment you didn't care about feelings and just let your head rest against his shoulder. "You're somewhat funny," you uttered as if surprised of this fact, eyes closed to soak yourself with this moment. As if to prove that affirmation, Andrey tried a joke. A terrible one that still pulled a giggle out of your throat. "See. I am funny. I am a man of many qualities," he emptied one more glass. With a roll of the eyes and shake of your head, you claimed the alcohol in your blood as excuse and he scoffed.

His hand rubbed up and down your arm as he spoke, alone, you were getting too tired to answer. You had always been a sleepy drunk. And somewhere also, you didn't want to stop hearing his gentle tone as he explained an architectural concept you didn't quite grasp. "Darling, I believe you're falling into slumber's arms," he said, gently yet with a smirk on his tone. You hummed, slightly opening your eyes and looking up at Stamatin through your lashes. "I claim one of your qualities is a comfortable pillow," a bad attempt to revive a conversation, however vain as he saw the tiredness.

Andrey saw your eyelids drop, your lips part. He felt the slow and regular rise of your chest. With a shake of his head, he helped you up, "Come on dear, let's get you to a bed." A hand gently guided your right arm over his shoulders before wrapping around your back. The second settled around the back of your knees. With a quick move and a small grunt, the architect was now carrying you. Ignoring the whispers, he walked around the Broken Heart, which had now slightly emptied if you put aside the blackout drunks. His voice was gentle as he reassured you it was all fine and you were no bother. He made a joke about how people he brought in his bed were usually more awake, and despite the sleepiness, you laughed.

The walk upstairs was quicker than you felt it, and slowly you were put down on a mattress. Andrey smiled, he gently moved the hair off your face. "You sure are quite cute with those sleepy eyes," he whispered as he put a soft kiss on your forehead. The mattress dipped as he laid beside you, held you close his face nestled in your neck. And, perhaps it was the warmth of another body so close to yours, or the idea of a loving cuddle but you had the greatest and safest night you've ever felt like you had since the Sand Plage had started, simple thank to an architect.

I hope this was a nice read because it was a nice request to write (and to keep my head off the stress of uni). I'm bad at staying in character, especially with pathologic as every character is extremely complex :,)

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Please note: I’m currently playing Pathologic Classic for the first time and I’m not familiar with all the characters.

2k words yulieva explicit

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Мор. Утопия | Pathologic Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Artemy Burakh/Daniil Dankovsky, Artemy Burakh & Daniil Dankovsky Characters: Artemy Burakh, Daniil Dankovsky Additional Tags: Injury, Wound Care, Broken Bones, Can be set during either the bachelor or haruspex's routes, Canon-Typical Racism, Written Like a Play, The Haruspex's alembic mechanics mentioned, includes some meta fuckery, and a touch of hand-based homoeroticism Summary: