(tw blood, tw eye gore. i’ll put in the actual tags after this is posted) Send me fluffy prompts! (Although this one turned angsty)
“You have to hold on!” Dr. Edward Iplier told him, eyes focused as he tried to stop the bleeding. “Anthony please, hold on, okay? Just hold on!”
“I’m not dying,” The Author laughed, almost hysterically. “I swear to you that. I’m not dying. This had to happen. This always has to happen.”
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand, Anthony. Please, let me get you to my clinic, let me help you!” Dr. Iplier tried to hoist the man up to his feet, but the Author wouldn’t budge. He stayed laying on the floor of his cabin.
“Don’t wait your energy, Ed. Come on, just… just stay with me.” Blood poured from his eye sockets, down his face and staining his clothes. “Hey, hey hey hey. This is probably a bad time, but, uh, marry me?” He asked with a grin.
Dr. Iplier stared at the man, stared at the blood, and noticed a gold streak starting to stain a lock of his hair. He swallowed and nodded, before realizing the Author could no longer see him. “Of… of course, Anthony. You stay alive, and I’ll marry you.”
The Author’s smile turned warm, and he soon passed out, the blood loss getting to him. Dr. Iplier, with a heavy heart, lifted him up and got him to his clinic. He tended to the wounds, which never seemed to stop bleeding but did slow, and wrapped them in bandages.
It was months before Anthony and Edward were back to where they were before. Edward adjusted to the new Anthony, the one that wasn’t so rash, so bold. He was quiet, more reserved, the trauma having robbed him of his sight but given him a gift of narration. They were sitting together in the living room one day, sipping tea and coffee as they took in the rain pattering against the windows.
“I… I meant what I said.” Anthony said softly, sipping his tea.
“Mm?” Edward asked.
“I… I want to marry you, Edward. I love you. I know I’ve changed, and that I’m… I’m weird now… but…” He sighed. “I love you so much…”
Edward brought his coffee cup down from his lips slowly. “I… I love you too, Anthony.” He replied. “I think… Yeah, I think I want to marry you too.”
A bright smile adorned Anthony’s face. “Let’s set a date.”
Edward returned the smile with ease. “I’ll get my calendar.”
(I mean yes. You know me, a sucker for some Host lovin’. I think I’ll go withtthtththth Dark. For funsies!) Send me a cute prompt!
“A fairy tale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face.” Dark smiled as he gazed across the table at the Host. Both men were still in their suits, Dark’s tie undone and hanging around his neck. His aura glowed and flickered, not in a harsh way. Just lightly, just a reminder that it’s still there.
The Host blushed, smiled and looked away. “Yeah… Me too…” He whispered. “Do you think it was mean, not inviting the other egos?”
“No.” Dark shook his head. He got up and walked around the table, holding his new husband from behind. He kissed his cheek. “I wanted this moment to be us. Just us. No one else.”
“The Host is flattered. He gets up and turns to face his newly wedded husband, taking him in his arms and beginning to lead him in a slow, sweet dance. Something he doubts the evilest of us egos are used to.”
Dark laughed and kissed the Host’s nose. “I’d be offended if I didn’t know you were kidding.” He smiled.
The Host grinned and kept dancing. “I’m glad you know I’m kidding. If you didn’t get my sense of humor, I don’t know how long this marriage would last.” He nuzzled into the crook of Dark’s neck and said no more.
Dark closed his eyes. The other egos slept peacefully, no idea of what had passed in the night. No idea of the sweet bliss that had come to pass, of the joy that the night had brought for two of the egos.
AU WHERE THE GOOFY EGOS ARE HUMANS AND THE SERIOUS EGOS ARE THEIR GUARDIAN ANGELS!!!!
:00000!!!!!!
Dark is Wilford’s long suffering Angel who basically is the only reason Wilford hasn’t gotten caught or severely hurt.
Bim trained under Dark and has just been assigned as Silver’s Angel and sees a lot of similarities between his tutor and his guardee……and may be a little bit smitten with him
Jims are not assigned to anyone but they are mostly means of communiication between Angels
King is assigned to Chase and masquerades as a human to watch over him….and also play with the squirrels
Bing. Right. Bing, is such a klutz that he’s watched over by four Angels. Oliver usually watches him, Red has an eye out, as does Green, but Google is more of a delegater.
MARE IS MAD’S ANGEL AND YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. he’s more like the little devil saying “Do it.”
those are all I can think of right now
*inhale* this iS AMAZING HOLY F U C K
Some people don’t have an Angel. They have a devil. They’re like a Guardian Devil but they’re more likely to break the rules to protect them. And maybe a little less hung up on ‘being nice’
Dr Iplier’s devil is the Host
Marvin’s devil is Anti
Colonel William’s devil is JJ
Phantom’s devil is the shadow man
I LOVE THIS
Mark had one. Nobody knows if she was an Angel or a Devil. They just know she lost her life.
They smol
(I didn’t know how else to show them to you)
Sharing this over here because more people need to see this wonderful, brilliant, fantastic fanart that Squishy did based!!!
No one is sure how Host ended up as a child. It baffles everyone, but they decide to just make do until a solution presents itself. The small boy with fluffy, downy wings, is undeniably adorable, Edward decides as he picks Host up to carry him down to the kitchen for lunch.
Host coos and chirps at him, wings flapping in excitement as Edward mentions chicken nuggets for lunch. Edward laughs softly, shutting one eye as one wing flaps upward and smacks the side of his face. “Host, try and control those wings of yours for me?” He requests, smiling as the child blushes and tucks his wings back to his sides. “Sorry Eddie.” The child huffs, and Edward places a gentle kiss on his head.
“It’s alright, Host. You didn’t mean to.” Host bounces back, then, feathers smoothing from where they had puffed up while the child pouted. He grins blindly up at Edward, begin to wriggle excitedly again when they reach the kitchen and he can smell the nuggets. Bim giggles at the sight of the small owl boy in Doc’s arms, watching the doctor settle Host down at the table.
“Who’s ready for some chicken nuggies?” Bim coos, carrying the plate over and dramatically placing it down in front of Host. Host lets out a thrilled screech which is less cute but definitely in tune with the bird of which his wings originate.
The child settles in to eat, and Edward heads off to continue his work covering how to get Host back to normal.
The Host loved thunderstorms. He would sit for hours- unmoving, unspeaking, like a statue- just listening to the hard drumming of the rain against the roof, the deep rumbling of thunder in the air, all the while tuning everyone and everything else out.
The Host loved walking in them, loved the cool rain on his feverishly hot skin, soaking through his clothing. Loved the sharp crackle of energy that meant lightning. He could never quite remember what it looked like- the Author never bothered with trivial things such as watching lightning- but he took comfort in imagining it all the same.
Tonight was different.
The rain wasn’t welcoming; it was shockingly cold as it struck his skin. And he winced as the rolling of thunder threatened to burst his eardrums. Sticky globs of mud and frigid water splattered his pants and shoes with every step he took.
He could feel the eyes that tracked his every move, burning into his back, belonging to monsters from a realm that wasn’t his to rule any longer. That hadn’t been for years.
But he didn’t turn back. Not when a wet branch smacked him in the face. Not when lightning struck a tree not ten feet from him. Not when the person following him- that had been following him since he left the facility- finally spoke.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Dr. Iplier’s voice was muffled by the thunder, twisted by the tears that ran in rivers down his face.
The Host stopped, but didn’t turn. “Go home, doctor.”
“Whatever’s waiting for you, will you survive it?” Footsteps, coming closer. A tentative hand on his shoulder. “Will you come back?”
The Host hesitated. All the futures in which he returned to the Author’s cabin were riddled with uncertainty. He couldn’t see to the end. Couldn’t even see past the moment he was in.
Finally, he sighed. It was sucked into the wind. “The Host doesn’t know.”
“Don’t go.” Dr. Iplier stepped around to stand in front of him. He took his hand, squeezed it tight, held it up to cup his face. “Why are you even doing this?”
The Host could see him in his mind’s eye, through the soft descriptions that left him of their own volition: the doctor’s hair, soaked and plastered to his forehead, his mouth, those pretty lips pulled into a grimace, his eyes, squeezed shut as he clutched the Host’s hand like it was a lifeline.
But then he saw the Author. He saw the twisted grin on his face as he wrote to life creatures of unimaginable horror, as he warped the other egos into the shapes he wanted, bending them until they snapped.
Thunder boomed again and the rain picked up, battering them.
The Host didn’t bother to answer Dr. Iplier’s question, merely leaned down to kiss him, gently pulling his hand from the doctor’s grip. “Go home, doctor.”
Dr. Iplier sighed. “I love you,” he murmured, “but I shouldn’t have married you.”
His presence was gone, then, his footsteps fading away. The Host shuddered at the cold space that was left in front of him.
emptynarration 