Final remile historical fanfic piece
Yet another gore warning for this part. To check out all of the previous pieces, they should be on my page. I might link them together later Or create a masterpost
“Left,” Remy grunted, shifting more of his weight onto the shorter
man. Emil obliged, turning the pair left onto a slightly cleaner
street. Cats hunted rats, peasants stood outside various homes, and
children chased each other with bright smiles. The street held shops
with colourful images meant to draw in customers, though not many
customers came in this early. Emil looked around at the shops, boots,
blankets, and-
“Ah, the blacksmith! We turn right here, correct?” Remy nodded as Emil
turned onto a small drive. The alleyway held many dead animals, and as
the shorter man hobbled through the street, he could feel the beady
eyes of tiny creatures on him. Door by door, the homes became smaller
and darker. When they reached the fifth door, Remy stopped them.
“Here,” Remy grumbled,
“Home sweet home.” He pushed open the small door, revealing a crowded
living space. The single room contained a bed, a desk, a bucket to the
side of the room, and a bookshelf partially filled with worn-down
manuscripts. The doctor took a wary step into the cramped home, not
used to such small living spaces, and swivelled his head around to
observe the space. Gently, he set the tall man down onto the creaky
bed, letting go of his slim waist.
“A lovely place you have here! Too bad I must be going, come again to
the hospital if you ever need my assistance.” He gave a final smile to
the sick man, walking to the door and closing it tight.
thats a wrap! Let me know if you would ever want me to continue this ancient thingy
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Another historical remile fanfictoon piece
Another potential gore and sickness warning.
“There! You should be good to go. May I show you out the door?” he
glanced at the door, soon realizing that, all too soon, the sun had
now set. The doctor frowned upon remembering the state of his late
patient, pondering on what he should do with the somewhat immobile
man,
“Well,” he chuckled, “it seems to have gotten dark fast. How would you
enjoy staying here for tonight? I would not want you stumbling home
through the dark.” Remy looked up from his blood-soaked arm, a wide
grin on his face.
“Really? oh thank goodness, I’ve got no clue how I would’ve gotten
back this late. Thank you, Emil, thank you!” He dove in to embrace
Emil, but he flinched away with an awkward smile,
“Now now, I do not want to get the plague either.” Remy gave a pout,
crawling backwards to lay his head on the pillows. Emil gently patted
his shoulder,
“If you need anything, I will be up those stairs,” he gestured to a
flight of stairs,
“Just give a holler if you need me, I will be sure to hear.” the
sickling hummed to confirm, closing his reddened eyes.
“Sleep well, Remy,” Emil whispered, blowing out the candlelight, “may
you have sweet dreams.”
Remy woke from a cold sweat, drenched in his perspiration. He took a
deep breath, which he would soon regret, as he spiralled into a
hacking cough. Blood trickled from his chapped lips, dark blotches
landing on the unfamiliar sheets underneath him.
That was new.
Last night came back to him, the horrible walk, the kind doctor and
the odd herbs he had given him, and the offer to stay. Ah, that’s why
he was here, the sickness. Remy’s gaze shifted to the window, early
morning light trickling from the windows, illuminating a figure in the
corner.
“Ah! You are awake!” A familiar voice spoke, gliding over to the bed.
Emil greeted the man with a warm smile,
“Did you sleep well?” Remy sighed, mumbling,
“No, not really, Lots of night terrors.” the priest clucked his tongue,
“Symptom of the sickness.” The doctor stated. Remy groaned, sitting up
in bed. He met Emil’s gaze, noticing a steaming cup in his hands. Emil
noticed the man’s gaze,
“Ah, this is for you. Thyme, mint, and horseradish tea.” He pressed
the warm liquid into the other’s hands. He hummed in thanks, taking
the tea to his blood-stained lips.
“I thought you may want to head home soon,” the priest stated, “before
the mid-afternoon rush.” Remy nodded, delicately placing the finished
cup onto the side table. He swung his legs to the edge of the bed,
attempting to lift himself to his feet, plopping back down due to the
pain in his legs.
“Erm, a little help here?” The weak man rasped, holding his pale hand
up. Emil grasped his fingers, hoisting him up and resting his arm
around his shoulders. He let him lean up against his side, awkwardly
supporting the tall man’s weight. The duo hobbled out the door into
the cold morning air, resting for a minute before Emil asked,
“So, where are we heading? I do not know where you live.” Remy
grunted, tilting his head towards a filth covered street,
“Down that street, turn left at the baker’s, right at the
blacksmith’s, five doors down you’ve got my house.” Emil nodded,
steering them towards the cobbled road. Unlike the mainly stone
hospital, the houses on this street were small, consisting of a timber
frame, mud and twig lattice within the gaps. As they walked through
the neighbourhood, Emil picked up on things he would have never
noticed before, rats everywhere, frail peasants on every corner, and
the amount of human waste. His leather shoes squashed into the
rubbish, ruining the polished sides. The unpleasant smells lingered in
the doctor’s nose, foul and putrid. Much to his delight, hey were soon
engulfed in the sweet smell of pastries and bread, signalling they had
reached the bakery.
next part will be short
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Part 2 of the old remile fanfiction
Huge gore and sickness trigger warning on this one! Read with cautio.
Once done
collecting items, Emil turned to face Remy. The man had been silently
waiting for the priest to speak, trailing the doctor's actions with
glassy eyes. Emil gestured to the dark fluid,
“Drink up, it may not taste great. Just to warn you.” Remy picked up
the bottle, swirling the contents before uncorking it and bringing it
to his dry lips. He took a long sip, grimacing at the horrid taste,
“Eugh, what is this? Tastes like death!” the doctor chuckled,
entertained by the sick man’s complaints.
“Vinegar, I warned you that it would taste bad, but you did not
listen.” Emil drew out the last word in a singsong voice. Remy
grumbled under his breath, taking another gulp of the foul liquid,
staring grumpily at Emil. The priest took the garlic from the cot,
slicing the bulb in two with a dull knife. He fiddled with half of the
root, dropping the other side onto the counter as he asked,
“Could you pull your shirt down? I noticed some boils on your throat
that need tending.” Remy scratched at the lumps, lightly pulling his
tunic to expose a cluster of dark welts. Emil leaned forward,
examining the enlarged pustrils before poking at one.
“Ow, geez! Warn a guy!” The man yelped, jumping away from him.
“Goodness, sorry! I was trying to see if I could pop it? That one
looks quite swollen. sorry.” Emil apologized profusely, looking down
at the boils. Remy grumbled, tilting his head to the side to expose
his bump covered nape to the doctor.
“Right,” Remy grunted, “just try to make it a little less painful, Less poking.”
“Alright then,” Emil nodded, silently taking the garlic half to Remy’s
skin, holding it just above the welts before adding,
“This will hurt quite a bit, so be aware.” Emil proceeded to press the
plant onto one of the clusters, earning a hiss of pain from Remy. He
slowly rubbed the half over his neck, occasionally uttering words
under his breath.
“So, Uhm, how’s the life?” Remy asked. Emil glanced up at the
questioning man’s eyes before looking back at the corrupted skin of
his neck,
“Oh, it is alright. Same thing every day, just an endless cycle of
treating people,” as Emil spoke, his voice grew distant,
“I have seen too many people die, some even family members. It can be
hard to go on knowing you couldn't save them.” Remy chuckled,
“God does that to you sometimes, tossing you about. I don't even know
what I did to get this sickness.” Emil smiled at him with pity, gaze
resting on Remy’s lidded eyes.
“I am not sure, but as a follower of the lord, it is my duty to help
you fix what your sins have done.” Remy nodded, ending the
conversation.
Minutes pass of Emil smoothing the onion over various welts,
occasionally asking Remy to move his cloak or to shift in the small
bed. With one last welt, he finally put down the bulb, picking up a
menacing blade
“Are you quite alright, Remy?” Emil quizzed, “you seem to have gone
pale.” Remy became white as a sheet upon seeing the blade, eyes blown
wide. He gulped, lightly nodding his head. The priest sat down on the
cot, bringing a cloth and a bowl to his lap. He tugged at Remy’s arm
enough to expose his boney wrist, laden with sweat and lumps from the
disease. Slowly, Emil brought the blade to his alabaster skin, digging
the sharp edge into the vain to produce a small trickle of blood.
Digging deeper, the blood started to flow like a ribbon into the bowl,
little streams coming from the crimson wound. Remy winced with each
movement of the knife, gritting his teeth to stop him from screaming
in pain. Emil frowned,
“Would you like me to stop? I am almost done.” The panicked man nodded,
“Yeah, that would be great!” He forced through clenched teeth, cheeks
ablaze from the effort put into the task of not making noise. Emil
took the knife out of his shaking arm, tying a rag around his forearm
to stop the bleeding.
Part 3 out soon
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Historically inaccurate platonic Remile fanfiction
Hello! Thought I might post this, since it’s pretty old.
Times were hard. Emil was constantly working, blessing souls that were
far gone and praying for those who barely had any hope of survival. As
a priest, it was his job to cure the abundance of sick townspeople,
and today was no exception. Today, similar to the days before, Emil
was to sit in the warm hospital and watch as the ill lumbered in from
the cold outside, each with the same problem and the same needs, all
wanting something different. He would always put on a warm smile and
help them the way he knew how, feed them a brew of strong herbs, ask
his lord to have mercy on their poor soul, and when it came to it, he
would have to do his least favourite part of his job, let out their
impure blood with a blade. The same routine went on for hours,
uttering words to the lord until his throat was sore, burning his
fingers making tea, comforting dreary peasants, and grimacing as he
had to dig at their skin and watch as the blood drained into a pewter
bowl.
When the sun started its colourful decline, Emil decided it was time
to sort and pack up his supplies. As he packed, the sky turned a devil
red and the sun slunk down to the hills, ending another tiring day.
Before Emil had finished, a tall man in a cobble grey cloak hobbled
in, head down, smelling of sickness and mould. His dark hair was
slicked to his sweaty forehead, breathing ragged. As the figure limped
up to him, he could hear a deep rasping voice.
“You, are you the doctor?” The man spoke, lifting his blank stare to
meet Emil’s concerned eyes. The priest hesitated. He was supposed to
pack up at this time, but the young man looked so helpless, shaking
with every uneven breath he took.
“Well?” He rasped,
“I didn't walk all the way over here for nothing, did I? Wheres the
doctor?” Emil stared up at the man, then spoke in a soft voice,
“I am a doctor, Do you need my assistance?”
“What does it look like! Do you think I wobbled in here just to say
hi? Help me!” the man plopped himself onto one of the spare beds,
resting his sweat-drenched head on a feather filled pillow. Emil
looked down upon the man with an uncomfortable gaze, a small frown
tugging at his lips.
“I was about to pack up,” He replied,
“Maybe you could come back tomorrow when we are open. I would be happy
to treat you then.” The man scoffed,
“Do I look like I could last another day? C’mon, you’ve got to help
me, my head feels like it's bashed in, and all my limbs are on fire.
Help me. Please.” His voice lowered to a pleading whisper, salty tears
forming in the corners of his bloodshot eyes. Emil gave way to the
dramatic man with a sigh, taking a few bottles and jars from the
cupboards. As he took out the various herbs and books, he went through
the usual questions.
“What name do you use?”
“Remy, its… its a family name.” He gulped as Emil placed down the last
of his supplies, a red-stained bloodletting knife.
“Well, Remy, how long have you been feeling ‘like your head has been
bashed in’?” The man in question pondered for a moment, clicking his
tongue in thought.
“‘ ’Bout a week? Maybe more. To be honest, I've started to lose track
of time, being cooped up inside day and night.” Emil let out a
surprised sound, turning to look at Remy’s tired face.
“How did you get here? You should barely be able to speak, let alone
walk all the way out here!” remy scoffed, smile playing on his chapped
mouth,
“Well im not the doctor here, you'd be the best person to answer
that.” He didnt wait for the doctor to answer,
“I walked, It took ages. Nobody wanted to help a sick peasant, one
look at me and they're sprinting to the other side of the path.” Emil
started piling up the necessary components, grimacing as he held the
various dead animals, some parts missing from their limp bodies. He
grabbed a bottle of brown liquid, gently tossing it onto the cot Remy
occupied, along with an onion and a few mystery plants.
going to post part 2 soon.
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I tried... I don’t have anyone to tag :|
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Sharks boi
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Some old drawings
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First time using paints and geez this is bad
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I tried
If one of y'all doesn't draw Logan in this is2g
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@icypathos Ok I saw the skirt and I 100% adore the idea of Logan wearing it. Might colour later.
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Roman
this is a bit old but its roman from ts
art by me
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first time posting on here, geez. this is virgil from sanders sides, so i do not own this character. art is by me using clip studio.
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