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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

#Sanders #Sanderssides #Sanders sides #Remy #Remysanders #Remy sanders #Remile #Emile #Emilepicani #Emile picani #History #Fanfiction

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

#Sanders #Sanderssides #Sanders sides #Remy #Remy sanders #Remysanders #Emile #Emilesanders #Emile sanders #Emile picani #Emilepicani #Remile #Fanfiction #History #Historical fiction

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

#sanders #sanderssides #Platonicremile #Emile #Emilesanders #Remy #Remysanders #Fanfiction #History #Historic fiction #Remy sanders #Emile sanders

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.