Sometimes we forget that Sara is just a regular human from Earth who came into the Danceverses thanks to her best friend, and because of that, she feels like a weak link for the Just Dancers, why was she chosen to stop Night Swan? How is she apart of the team?
this insecurity of where she belongs later possessed her to be biten by Vester down the line
In the middle of Melosia Realms, there lived a sorceress named Calliope.
Calliope was well-loved by everyone she met, but the ones who loved her the most were her three dolls she had owned since childhood. Anne, a porcelain doll her mother used to own; Inane, a clay doll she made herself; and Genevieve, a tin wind-up doll that was found in the window of a toy shop. As a child, these dolls were her very best friends. She treated them with care, took them on adventures, and told them all her secrets.
Though she grew older, she never grew out of her love for these dolls. In fact, the love only grew stronger each day. And it was because of this love that Anne, Inane and Genevieve grew up alongside her. They were never seen without each other, and they believed they would stay friends forever.
Unfortunately, this didn't last long.
Unknown to Calliope, another coach had been watching her and her dolls with cold envy. Her name was Verity, and she used to be friends with Calliope. She was never a good friend - refusing to compromise on anything and showering her with what she called "tough love".
When Calliope finally stopped being friends with her, Verity never took the opportunity to reflect own how she treated her. Instead, she grew bitter and resentful. How dare she leave her behind. How dare she care about her little dolls more than her. It just didn't make sense.
Day by day, the resentment turned to stone-cold hatred, until eventually, she acted.
She cast a spell to ensure that Calliope would be left alone for good. She banished the three dolls to three seperate corners of the Danceverses.
Anne was dragged down to the underworld of Eternyx, destined to entertain the demons who lived in the shadows. Inane was isolated in an abandoned, run-down house in the middle of Wasterra - never to meet another living coach without walking for days on end. Genevieve was trapped inside the biggest clock in Dancity, never to be seen or heard above the constant ticking.
Calliope was horrified at what Verity had done. Her three best friends, the ones she loved since childhood, had been cruelly ripped from her. But did she despair? No, she did not.
She honed her own magical powers, packed her bags, and began her long journey across the Danceverses to find the three dolls. Because they're her friends, and she would not rest until they were by her side once more.
Whumpril 2026 Day 14 (Altprompt): "I'm Not Made Of Glass" (Alaric)
Whumpril Masterlist
Alaric Masterlist
This is a continuation of Whumpril 2026 Day 11: Sedation. It's a bit long, so it's going under the cut.
The first clue that he had been sedated was the silence in his mind. Nothing short of a drug-induced sleep could get his thoughts to calm like this. The second indication that his colleagues had drugged him was the fact that his head was filled with cotton, his mouth was dry as dust, and his eyes refused to open.
When his eyelids did finally lift, the fluorescent lights above him forced them to squeeze shut once more to avoid their sting.
Alaric contemplated staying this way for a while longer; it was nice to finally get some sleep.
Then came Monica’s voice in his head.
“Get up, Doctor.”
A small groan escaped him and his head lolled to the side. At least the hallucinations were only auditory. His memories came back in foggy chunks. They mostly were of Monica, and then a phlebotomy set, but after that… things got very cloudy.
“He’s up.”
Stanley. The memory of the injection cut through the fog like a scalpel. Alaric was going to have words with him, make no mistake.
“Stan… you’re… insubordinate,” Alaric muttered.
He shifted in bed, moving to sit up. His arms would not unfold. His middle would not lift higher than an inch or so. The fog cleared, replaced by blind panic. Alaric’s eyes snapped open. Medical-grade restraints kept him strapped down in a reclined position. That he might almost have been able to stomach, were it not for the straitjacket. Any remaining anger withered away with each hasty, shallow breath.
“Stanley,” he said, looking around for the trauma nurse.
“Right here, Al,” Stanley said.
The blob that must have been Stanley approached him slowly. He slid Alaric’s glasses onto his face. The prescription lenses confirmed that it was indeed Stanley.
“Undo the straps,” Alaric said, “please.”
Trinity showed up by his bedside next, arms folded across her chest.
“You’re not well, Doc,” she said, “those are for your own good.”
“My own-!? I’m fine now, I promise!”
“Can you honestly tell us that you’re not seeing or hearing things since waking up?” Stanley prompted.
Alaric opened his mouth, when Monica materialized out of the corner of his eye. Something must have shown on his face, because Stanley and Trinity exchanged a look that did not equivalate to the straps being removed.
“You’re fine, Doctor,” Monica said, “tell them. You need to get back to work.”
“Not helping,” Alaric muttered.
“You’re seeing her, aren’t you?” Stanley asked.
“…Yes,” Alaric conceded, “But I know she isn’t real.”
“A few hours ago you seemed to think she was,” Trinity said, “you took so much blood, you’re lucky you didn’t need a transfusion.”
“Trinity, Stanley,” Alaric tried to slow his breathing, “please. Keep me here for observation, I don’t care. Just get the restraints off.”
“Any thoughts of hurting yourself or someone else?” Stanley asked.
Alaric fought the urge to laugh. Seriously? Well, he was considering bopping Stanley upside the head right about now, but other than that…
“No.” Alaric finally said.
Monica glared at Stanley, her hands on her hips. Her heartbeat started to thrum in Alaric’s ears.
“I’m not made of glass,” Alaric said, “it was a one-time episode. I’m okay. Let me out.”
The door to the room opened, and Courtney stepped inside. Patient 319 followed her; his sunken eyes bored into Alaric’s soul. Alaric flinched.
“It’s just me, Dr. Sylvan,” Courtney said slowly.
“I know, I know.” Alaric squeezed his eyes shut.
Courtney started taking his vitals. Since the restraints prevented the use of more traditional devices, she produced a Doppler probe rather than a cuff. After a minute or so, she announced his blood pressure and heartrate.
“Heartrate is elevated,” Trinity said, “you gotta calm down, Alaric.”
“You try being calm when you’re trussed up like a turkey,” Alaric snapped.
“Better to be tied down than in the morgue,” Patient 319 croaked.
Alaric took a few deep breaths, the air shuddering in and out of his lungs. Everything was wrong. There were too many voices, the lights were bright, and he couldn’t move a muscle. To make matters worse, his nose started itching.
“How many people are in here right now?” Trinity prompted.
“Five- no, three!”
Everyone, dead patients and living nurses, stared at him with concern etched into their faces.
“Ahem, four if you include myself,” Alaric finished.
Trinity approached with two different pill capsules and a paper cup of water.
“Open up, Al,” she said.
Alaric scowled but let his mouth fall open. Trinity set the pills on his tongue and held the water to his lips. He swallowed, draining the cup.
“I’d appreciate another drink if that’s permissible, nurses,” he said.
“That we can do,” Stanley said.
Courtney opened a water bottle and helped him guzzle it down. At least his mouth didn’t feel so bone-dry anymore.
“Give the meds some time to kick in,” Trinity went on.
“What did you give me?” Alaric asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“Antipsychotics and a mild sedative,” Trinity said.
Of course.
“If you’re sedating me, then the restraints aren’t necessary.”
“We’ll talk about it in a little while,” Trinity promised.
The nurses’ radios crackled at their waists. Stanley picked his up and went to answer. Alaric only picked up every other word.
“Got it, on my way,” Stanley said.
Alaric blinked slowly. That pill was unusually fast-acting. He saw Stanley, Trinity, and Courtney go to leave. Monica and Patient 319 stayed put.
“W-wait-” Alaric called.
His voice came out just above a whisper. By some miracle, his team heard it.
“What’s up, Al?” Stanley asked.
“D-don’t go,” Alaric managed, “stay.”
They exchanged a look. Stanley said something else into his radio and approached the bed. He pulled up a chair and sat in it backwards, his arms resting on the backrest. Courtney dimmed the lights while Trinity sat on the end of the bed. Alaric was going to be very out of it for some time, but darn it if his team was going to let him go through it alone. As Trinity removed his glasses, Monica and Patient 319 were nowhere to be found.
word count: 553
tw/cw: period-typical homophobia, romance, mentions of war
context: James was drafted during WWII. He came home earlier than he was supposed to. Side note do not look at the timelines in this too hard, they all go to shit around december 1941 and then up to august 1945. My timeline is lovely except for those five years. regrettably this is when many events happen. :( This was written in a notebook at 2am it's my allotted "writing romance" for the next six months.
--
One night in the spring of 1945, Leo’s telephone rings.
“Leo?” It’s James. He’s supposed to be in Europe. He sounds like he’s crying.
“James? Are you okay? Whats—”
“I’m coming home. I—I’ll call you when I get off the train again, but I—I wanted to tell you, I’m not hurt, I promise, um—” he sounds broken, in a way Leo has never heard him. Scared. “I’m sorry.”
“James. Jamie. Don’t—it’s alright. I love you. See you soon?”
James doesn’t respond. Just the sounds of crying, and then the click of the receiver on the other end.
~
It’s almost a week before Leo hears from James again. He’s calling from a payphone in Chicago’s Union Station. Almost 10pm, there, but a quarter-til 8 for Leo.
“James!” Leo doesn’t mask the relief in his voice.
“Leo.” He sounds better than before. “I’m sorry I hung up, I couldn’t—”
Leo shakes his head, even though James can’t see. “Don’t be. Are you alright?”
A prolonged period of silence, with the hustle and the bustle of the crowd in the station’s grand hall all he can hear. “I’m not hurt. I—I got discharged. They found one of our letters.”
“Oh, baby…” Leo’s heart nearly breaks.
“Yeah I. Um.” James changes his mind. “I have a ticket for the next train. I should be home friday? Maybe thursday? I don’t know.”
“Okay,” says Leo softly. “Call me when you get in?”
“Mmhm.” Another pause. “Did you tell my mother?”
“No, why? I assumed you had.”
“Please—please don’t. Not yet.”
When Leo hangs up, he’s more worried than he has been in a long time.
~
James doesn’t even need to call. There was only one train from Chicago a day, and he had to be on one of them.
When James finds him, Leo is sitting on one of the platform benches with his legs crossed, cane propped up beside him, doing the crossword in last Sunday’s edition of the Daily. He drops it, stands up, and hugs James tightly.
It takes a moment for James to react. Initially, he’s stiff as a board. Then he brings his arms up and, after a second, hugs back.
“I missed you,” said Leo.
“Me too.” Then James steps out of the hug. Not away, just back. Leo takes a closer look at him. James looks… scared, and he looks like he’s about to cry. His hair is shorter than Leo has ever seen it.
Neither of them know what to say. They stare at each other, remembering what the other one looks like.
“Your hair’s short,” says Leo.
“They made me cut it."
Leo nods. James picks up the duffel bag that he had dropped when Leo hugged him, and Leo picks up his cane and tucks the crossword under one arm. They walk down the platform, and towards the
exit.After they leave the station, Leo remembers what he had wanted to say. “Do your parents know, yet?” he asks.
“Not yet,” says James softly. “They will want to know why, and the neighbors will want to know why, and I don’t know what to tell them.”
James stares at the cobblestones, and kicks a rock with his foot.
Neither of them say anything, and they walk the rest of the way in silence.
