Warmth

Host held the warm cup of hot chocolate in his hands. Both of them, just to feel the warmth of the cup seep into his hands. He enjoyed the warmth, letting it surround him, warm him up from the inside out, as he took a drink from his beverage. He enjoyed drinking hot chocolate, especially in the colder season. Hot milk and a chunk of good chocolate, and he had the perfect creamy drink he could wish for.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling the warmth in his hands. He felt warm all around, and he felt cozy in his coat even now. He hated being cold, which he did very easily, sadly. So it was nice to be warm, like this.

He listened to the fire crackle, adding to the warmth. It’s heat tremendous, devouring the wood like it was paper. Burning high and bright, radiating an intense heat, that warmed the Host nicely. He liked sitting here, listening to the sounds of cracking and popping fire, and a cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

He felt the hot licks of flames on his skin, burn his bandages and set his coat aflame. He let it burn him, the heat long since having passed the point of painful. Flesh getting burned off, the smell filling Host’s surroundings, until his nerves were so burned he didn’t feel anything anymore.

It was nice like this, and the Host was content burning in the flames, being devoured by it, dying a most painful way.

Markus was fifteen. His parents, the king and queen, had to go out and travel somewhere, and of course planned to take their youngest child with them. His older brother Arthur -who was nineteen- was out of the kingdom, having wanted to go to the next one. See how it was, how it worked. Explore, and write stories.
Markus had really wanted to go with them, but he had gotten sick that morning. Laying in bed with a fever, he slept most of the time, and felt terrible the rest of the time. His parents still had to leave though, so he was left alone.

He woke up to loud arguing. The voices faded, sounding blurry as Markus had just woken up, and felt sick to his stomach. After a while longer, someone entered his bedroom, looking sorry and sad and mournful.

He didn’t understand until he was told. His parents were dead. Murdered. The carriage they had been inside of having been set aflame; driven out by the the flames, they had been brutally killed.

Markus was shocked, and speechless. He was left alone, and then he cried. He sobbed, and screamed until his voice was sore. His parents were dead. He had been supposed to be on that carriage. He should be dead too.
He cried and sobbed, mourning the loss of his parents all on his own. Not even his brother was here.

Arthur arrived two days later. He ignored Markus completely, and the sick boy overheard him yelling a lot. He didn’t want to be king. He didn’t want to be trapped in this kingdom. He didn’t want to rule over this kingdom.
He left three days later, and had not once spoken to his younger brother.

Markus knew he was being talked about while he laid sick in bed. He needed to become king. The kingdom needed a ruler, and he was the last royal family left, now that Arthur had simply left with saying to never wanting to return here. He was too young though, he wasn’t even considered an adult yet. He hadn’t learned most anything of the things a king needed to know.

A week later, he was healthy again. A month later, and he was being crowned.
Announced the new king.

His life was a lot more busy, and a lot more stressful. Not knowing much of anything, he couldn’t rule on his own. He felt like everything he did were mistakes, that he was stupid and needed to know things even Arthur hadn’t at his age. He wasn’t allowed to be a child anymore, and had to very quickly grow up. He had to study every day, he had to sit and talk with -or rather listen to- adviser, had to travel the kingdom to meet the people and assure them he was ready, he would be as good as his parents.

No one ever bothered to let him properly mourn. He hid away from everyone when he couldn’t bear it any longer, when someone talked about his parents, compared him to them, anything. He broke down crying a lot, and depressive thoughts nestled into his head.

No one was ever bothered by how quickly he had to grow up. That this was far far too stressful for him, that there was too much for a young child like him to handle. He had barely any time at all for himself, and that time he usually spend having depressive episodes or having panic attacks.

Years passed, and Arthur never showed up, or let Markus know he was alive. Markus’ condition never got better, situation never having changed.

Hosty having some hot chocolate and wearing sweaters and cuddling with Dark?

Host was cold. He was always cold. He was underweight and had anemia, of course he was cold. So it was no wonder he always wore his coat, huddled in it as if he was freezing. Now that it was approaching winter, he was freezing. He knew everyone would look weird at him if he wore hats or something alike inside the house. So he didn’t, and continued to be cold.

But besides Host, there was someone else who was cold. Dark. Not having a heartbeat, nor any other working organs, his body temperature was much colder. It was why he was never hot in his suits, even in hot weather. He wasn’t as affected by the cold weather, but it was getting pretty cold even for him.

It was late in the evening, as everyone was already getting to bed. Dark strolled to Host’s broadcasting room, wearing a thick fluffy sweater, and carrying another. He smiled lightly at Host when he entered, being silent as he listened to the end of the other man’s show. Once he was done, Dark spoke up before Host could.

“I got a warm sweater for you. Come on.”, he said, giving the sweater to Host. He helped him out of his coat, and then into the sweater. He gently took Host’s hand, knowing the other was touch-starved anyways. He always was, so he tried to provide comfort.

He brought Host to his office, having a cuddly place by a large window. He had prepared lots of blankets and pillows, and hot chocolate.
Host smiled softly as he murmured his narrations, letting Dark pull him into the little nest he had built. Dark let Host cuddle into his chest, wrapping a blanket around the two of them. He gave the Host a mug of hot chocolate, and grabbed his own, drinking in silence. It was comfortable like this, though.

Could you maybe write a touchstarved host getting cuddles?

Host was always cooped up in his room. He sometimes left for food, of course, but otherwise he didn’t interact with the other egos. The only one he talked to a lot was Google, since he helped him with his broadcasting equipment and such, but it was just work.

He could feel the loneliness heavy on his shoulders. Craving another person’s touch. Whenever somehow someone managed to brush their hands against his, shivers rolled down his spine. He craved touches, any human contact. But he wasn’t exactly friends with anyone, and he didn’t like to go to anyone either. He didn’t even let Edward help him out with his bandages, other than getting fresh ones.

It got too much for him, sometime. Sometime meaning in the middle of the night, after his broadcast was over, and he was drowning in the loneliness of not having anyone. So he got up and left, to wander through the halls. There was no one he could go to at this time of night, there was no one he could go to any time of the day.

It was Dark who was in the kitchen, making coffee. Unable to sleep, like many nights. He looked somewhat surprised seeing Host, though not really.
“Darkiplier watched the Host shuffle into the kitchen, not knowing what to expect. The Host rarely slept well, Darkiplier was aware, though he hadn’t expected to see him here.”, Host was mumbling his narrations as always.
“The Host is incredibly touch-starved, and is in search of someone… anyone to help him out. He is aware he has no friends to speak of, and he has no idea what he had hoped to find wandering the halls either. As Host talks, he doesn’t notice Darkiplier approaching him, only when his arms wrap around him does he-”, Host stopped talking as he felt Dark hug him.

Host was smaller than Dark, noticeably so. Slowly, he leaned against the cold man, starting to tremble. He hadn’t been touched since he became the Host, he was pretty sure. Being hugged felt incredible, and he clung to Dark like a helpless child, taking shaking breaths.
Dark gently rubbed Host’s back, leaning his cheek against Host’s hair. Silently holding him, comforting him and giving him what he so desperately craved.

What about a slightly flustered host trying to give flowers to someone he likes? (Maybe dark or dr. Iplier?)

Host had picked the flowers carefully. He knew their meanings, he knew they were his crush’s favorites, he knew perfectly well that everything would go over well if he just went to him and gave him the flowers.

But he was worrying, which caused him to focus on all the millions to billions of possibilities of what could happen, so many different realities that may just be a choice away, or may be lifetimes away. It caused his eyes to bleed more, the blood getting soaked into the bandages.

He was pacing, walking in circles, clutching the flowers to his chest. He was mumbling frantically, trying to calm down, though being unable to. He was just far too worried about all the things that could go wrong, ignoring the endless possibilities of things going right, going smooth, going well. Going just how he planned them to, or wanted them to.

Eventually, he exhausted himself. He couldn’t bring himself to take another step, or think about yet another scenario. There was just too much, and his eyes and head hurt. He still held the flowers close to himself, now decorated with a few drops of blood he hadn’t noticed dripping onto them.

Biting his lip harshly, he decided to just lay the flowers down in front of his crush’s door, before hurrying off, to clean himself up and sleep. And for once, blissfully unaware that when his crush found the flowers, he’d smile picking them up, chuckling softly holding them close, knowing they were from Host if only because he knew only Host would know his favorites, and accidentally drip blood onto them.

:D!!! Fairy host meeting Mer/Siren Host, pretty please?

A soft melody carried through the trees, weaving a melody together in an alluring, but peaceful way. Birds trilled their songs to the melody, and the spirits of the trees smiled in content, leaves bristling quietly, a gentle rhythm to a melodic voice.

The little fairy was intrigued when he heard it. The melody drew him to the voice’s owner, though caused no alarm. He was cautious leaving his flower field behind, flying through the forest to find the source of the melody. He hummed softly along, finding it easy and nice to do. It reminded him of plants, and their happy tunes when he took care of them.

He ended up at a lake, where he could see a merperson leaning on the shore, arms crossed laying in the soft grass. Markus couldn’t make out a lot of details, unable to see a lot besides the magic keeping the other creature alive. He just watched him quietly for a while, listening to his humming, before he finally flew close and landed on the grass nearby.

“Excuse me?”, he spoke up softly, and the other stopped his humming, to instead look up. His eyes were closed, that much Markus could tell, though he didn’t know why.
“Oh. Hello there.”, the merperson said, smiling lightly. He seemed friendly, which Markus was really glad about. He didn’t fancy meeting someone evil, though he could tell the other wasn’t a siren at the very least.

“Hello!”, Markus chirped, smiling. “Your humming is very pretty.”, he said, golden eyes twinkling with delight.
“Thank you.”, the other replied and chuckled softly. “Your voice is also very lovely.”.

Neither could see the similarities of the other. How both their hair was a dark brown colour, and both had golden strands woven into their locks. How both of their skin was tanned by the sun. How their eyes were the same golden colour, if either could see the other’s eyes in the first place.

They merely talked, finding it funny how they both chose “Markus” as the name to be called. They liked the name, so why not let themselves be called that? They had fun calling each other by their name, just because they could. Because they both were one, but not the same.

Write me smth sad for host and googs

“Goodnight”

Host’s visions overlap with reality. He doesn’t know what is real and what is not. He doesn’t want what he sees to become reality.
So he instead chooses how his visions will become real.

Content Warnings: gore, blood, death

Words: 2794

I don’t even know man but I loved writing this anyways :’D
I hope this was satisfying your needs of sad :’)

(ao3 link)

Google’s movements were always precise. He knew how much
pressure to apply to not cause pain, knew to brush his fingers just
barely against skin to cause a pleasant feeling, knew how to pull of
crusty bloody bandages without causing wounds to reopen and bleed,
knew how to clean the blood off without causing discomfort, and knew
how tightly to wrap bandages back up without being uncomfortable.

He knew perfectly well how to be human, even though he very
clearly was not. From the soft glow from his eyes, to the inhuman
strength, to the need to charge at least once every few days -but
more preferably every day.

He was nothing if not productive. He took charge of everything
electricity related in the egos’ environment. He handled the
security cameras placed around the building. He was busy every minute
of the day. Spending time with Host was, sadly, usually not
productive. That didn’t mean he didn’t do it anyways.

Host preferred it if Google changed his bandages. So it was in
Google’s schedule, every afternoon he took an hour of his time to
spend with Host.

He was gentle as he unwrapped the bandages from around the Host’s
head, the other man murmuring softly. The blood caked to his skin,
from his eyes and scratch-wounds kept the bandages stuck to the
Host’s face, but Google was gentle and careful as he peeled the
dirty things off. He threw them away once able to, hands gentle as he
cupped the Host’s cheeks.

“I have told you to stop scratching.”, Google said, voice
gentle as he took in the fresh wounds. Host tended to scratch at and
around his eyes whenever he was nervous or scared, or during
visions.
“The Host is very aware of that.”, Host replied, and
he knew Google smiled fondly at him and shook his head lightly. It
was a habit the Host couldn’t shake, Google knew that.

He grabbed the washcloth he had prepared and gently started to
clean the Host’s face from the blood on it, careful of the
sensitive skin and wounds. He disinfected the wounds too, before
gently cupping his cheeks.
Google looked into the two obsidian
eyes, and Host looked as normal as he could -with the scratched
wounds around his eyes, and nothing but black staring back at Google.

He gently pressed a kiss to the Host’s chapped lips, enjoying
the feeling every time. Google’s own lips were soft, synthetic skin
perfect. No matter how long or short the kiss, it shared their
feelings perfectly. Love and trust.
Google gently wrapped fresh
bandages around the Host’s eyes, knowing very much so that the
other preferred it that way. He didn’t like getting blood all over
himself, and he didn’t like what he saw with his blackened eyes.

The Host’s movements were always precise. He knew how much
pressure to apply to leave a bruise, he knew to not wrap his fingers
around his thumb when making a fist or he’d break his finger, knew how
to peel skin off without disrupting what was underneath, knew how to
cause the most amount of pain, and knew how to get rid of a body no
one wanted to see anymore.

He knew perfectly well how to be a monster, even though he very
much was thought of harmless. From his bandaged eyes, to his hunched
over figure, to his soft and even voice.

He was nothing if not productive. He wrote scripts for his show,
weaving realities into an unbelievable story. He broadcasted it every
evening, recorded it and filed it away, taking notes of things he
disliked or liked about his broadcast, about how his listeners
reacted. He wasn’t busy every minute of the day. Spending time with
Google was, thankfully, a pleasant distraction. That didn’t mean it
happened a lot.

Sometimes, the Host spend the evening with Google. When the
android was about to settle for the night to charge. Host would sit
down next to him and curl into his side, holding onto the blue shirt
his loved one wore every day.
Google wrapped an arm around the
Host, gentle fingers drawing patterns onto his back. His core
whirring softly, his body just a tad bit colder than a human’s.

“I love you.”, the Host said softly, voice merely a whisper.
Not wanting to disrupt the gentle silence enveloping them. He didn’t
speak in first person a lot, and Google was aware he was the only one
the Host ever allowed to hear it.
“I love you too.”, he
replied softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the Host’s forehead. It
made Host smile against him, and Google didn’t even need to see it
to know.

“Goodnight, Google.”, Host said softly. Knowing Google didn’t
dream, didn’t truly sleep. He would turn off like a computer not
needed at the moment. “Goodnight.”.
The whirring of
Google’s core quieted down, and Host’s smile slipped from his
features. He gently moved away from the other, laying his arm back
onto Google’s lap.

The Host stood up, and gentle fingers brushed over Google’s
features, the synthetic skin still warm from just having turned off.
His fingers glided to Google’s neck, where a few wires were
attached to him. To charge, and to stay connected to the network.
He’d be turned on if the systems or security cameras were alarmed
by something.

Very gentle and careful, Host pulled the charging cable out of
Google’s neck. Then came the other cables. Leaving Google powered
off with no way to wake, unless someone turned him on, or morning
came, the time he was programmed to wake again.

Quiet murmurs of narration filled the silence of the room as the
Host walked over to Google’s computers, and things Host never
bothered to know exactly what they were. With a few careful words,
the systems fizzled with an overload of electricity. A bit of smoke
and the smell of burnt metal and plastic filled the Host’s nose,
and he knew he’d destroyed everything Google had worked on.
Everything that kept the egos safe.

Host took a deep breath and pulled his bandages off, already
stained with blood. He let them fall to the ground as he left the
room, knowing a certain metal bat waited for him in his room, too
heavy to be picked up by anyone but the Host -using his reality
bending powers- or Google.

When Google woke in the morning, he immediately knew something was
wrong. His battery wasn’t fully charged as it should be, and he
wasn’t connected to the network any longer. A quick look told him
someone had pulled his cables out, and had known how to without
causing him to wake up -a feature to ensure Google wouldn’t be
destroyed while powered off.

He stood up and was quick to notice his equipment was broken. He
went for the door, just to step on the bandages laying on the ground.
Confused, he picked them up, knowing they were Host’s. They had to
be.
Questions filled his mind, and he needed answers. He couldn’t
just not know something. It wasn’t productive to not know
something.

Stepping out into the hallway, he was assaulted by the smell of
blood. If Google wouldn’t know any better, he would say it was too
much to be able to be produced by the amount of egos living here. But
he knew there were a lot of them, most of them not known very well,
or even remembered. Half-faded, ideas that clung to some people’s
minds until even they forgot about their existence. Some of these
egos popped in and out of existence, as they were forgotten and
remembered again.

The ground was covered in blood. Google’s steps were audible, wet
and sticky. He didn’t much care, though, as he saw no reason to. He
saw no reason to worry either, though there was one lingering thought
he couldn’t get rid off, as he gripped the bandages in his hand
tightly. Where was Host?

The first body he found, he
wouldn’t have been able to tell who it was, were it not for the
clothes. A suit, covered in blood. It had to be Bim, judging from the
bit of normal skin colour Google could make out. The ego’s head was
smashed to a bloody pulp, pieces of bone scattered around. Blood
coloured everything red, though. Google found Bim’s broken glasses a
few feet away.

Google continued his search,
then. He didn’t feel anything for the loss of the egos. His only
worry was the one ego he did care about, and if he was alright. He
knew Host could handle himself, but so should every other ego.
The
further he went along, looked into rooms, the worse the corpses got.
As if Bim had been the first just to try it out, find a way to kill
him, before it got more “creative”.

He found the Jims in the studio.
Google assumed it were the Jims, at the very least. Their limbs were
bent at awkward angles, the bones inside shattered to a million
pieces. One of them had his chest beaten in until it was nothing but
a dent in him, every rib broken, some peeking out from the blood and
broken and bruised skin. The other twin had his stomach ripped open,
his guts pulled out of him. Both of them had their skulls crushed in.

Who he hadn’t expected to find
was Wilford. It was bad, but he had clearly put up a fight, judging
by the gun and knife laying around, and the amount of bullet holes.
Wilford’s head had a large dent on its side, skull probably
shattered. His throat was ripped open, blood still dripping out of
the corners of his mouth. His eyes were nothing but bloody pools. His
chest was ripped open, and his heart was a bloody pulp next to his
corpse. It looked like he had been turned inside out, his intestines
covering the ground around him, various organs scattered about.
Pieces of flesh had been ripped from Wilford’s arms and thighs,
clothes ripped and torn. Pieces of his scalp with hair had been
ripped off, and his mustache hadn’t been spared either.

Whoever had murdered everyone had
clearly had had a grudge against Wilford in the very least. So Google
continued on. Less blood and less viscera decorated the hallways, as
more and more egos were dead. Google had barely been able to identify
the King of the squirrels when he found him. Ripped to pieces,
completely covered in blood, every bone in his body smashed to
pieces.

Google wanted to see if Dark had
made it through this. Walking towards his office, only Google’s
bloody footprints were a sign of all of the gore inside of the
building. The door to the office was closed, but Google couldn’t hear
the signature ringing of the man. The fizzling feeling that made
Google buzz and want to leave.

When he pushed open the door, the
smell of blood overwhelmed him almost. The office was covered in it.
But that wasn’t what bothered Google. What did, was the sound of
flesh ripping and being torn, a pool of almost black blood slowly
growing bigger still. And it all was accompanied by a soft gravely
voice, muttering and growling.

It stopped for a moment, and
Google knew the person with him knew he was there.
Standing up
from behind the desk that had hidden him before, was the Host.
Covered in blood, which most certainly wasn’t his own. At least not
entirely. His face was covered in blood, dripping from his eyes,
running down his cheeks until falling from his chin. His coat was
soaked in blood, and the golden streak in his hair looked red.

“The Host had hoped he would
have more time before Google rose and find him.”, he said and
sighed, running a bloody hand through his hair. Google wouldn’t be
surprised if there was no gel in it to keep it slicked back. The Host
walked out from around the desk, dropping some piece of flesh he had
apparently just ripped out from Dark’s body. Now Google could see the
ripped parts of Host’s clothes, from knives and guns both. He could
even spot wounds through the bloody clothes sticking to the Host, but
the man didn’t seem bothered by them. Wilford must have hit Host with
a bullet or two as well.

The Host coughed, blood spilling
from his lips and covering his already red hand. He didn’t pay
attention to it, even though his breathing was harsh and labored.

“The Host hadn’t wanted Google to see the mess he made. He
hadn’t planned on his love to awaken again at all, if he were to tell
the truth. He had only put off going back to Google last.”, Host
said, walking up to Google. They both knew Host could use his words
to overpower the droid. They both knew Host was hurt too, though, and
must have used his powers quite a lot already. The chances of Google
overpowering Host were rather high like this.

“Why did you do this?”,
Google asked, and he didn’t stop Host when he leaned against him, and
held onto his shirt. Staining him with blood, turning his blue shirt
a darker colour.
“The Host has seen this.”, Host replied,
voice quiet. “He saw hallways covered in blood and viscera. He saw
the egos mangled and broken. He could smell the iron, taste it even.
He didn’t know what was the cause of it up until now. The Host’s
visions started to lay over reality too much, too often. They hurt.”.
Host was clinging to Google, the android realized. He was trembling.
Speaking must be hard, he realized. He wrapped his arms around the
Host, holding him gently against himself.

“The Host saw Google, eyes
shimmering red and covered in blood. Last time he changed the Host’s
bandages. He could feel the android’s hands around his neck. He could
feel his skin bruise, and break, and bleed. He could feel his vision
turning dark, tunneling in. And he saw Google smile, and he head the
sickening crunch of his neck snapping beneath the android’s
hands.”.
The Host’s words were getting quieter. His grip on
Google’s shirt loosened. He was dying, Google was aware of it. Host
was badly wounded, he had exhausted himself too much using his
powers.

“It broke the Host. He needed
these visions gone. He knew the only way to do so was to make the
vision a reality in another way than what he had seen before.”,
Host looked up to Google, black obsidian eyes staring right at
Google’s brown ones. And Google could swear that he saw the pain in
Host’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Host.”, Google said softly. He
gently laid a hand onto the Host’s head, leaning it against his
chest. Host always calmed hearing Google’s core. His eyes fluttered
closed, and he let out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry too, Google.”,
Host said quietly. Google could tell now, that those deaths had been
desperate. A desperate attempt to escape reality, a desperate attempt
to stay sane. He knew Host was in pain, he knew Host’s visions hurt
him. He knew Host lost grip on reality a lot. He had expected
something like this to happen. For Host to snap and do something
irrational.

He felt Host’s strength leave
him. His grip growing even looser, his weight heavy against Google.
Google carefully lowered them both to the ground, letting Host curl
up against his chest. There was nothing Google could do, he knew.
“I
love you.”, Google said softly, and he meant it. He loved the Host,
no matter what happened. He would’ve loved Host even if he lost his
mind, even if he didn’t remember which reality he lived in. He would
always love the Host, because he was the only one that made him feel
productive even when he wasn’t actually.
“I love you too.”,
Host replied, voice barely audible. He was dying, and he was aware of
it. He knew he’d be dead soon. And he was glad, so so glad, that he
was dying in Google’s arms, and that Google still loved him.

“Goodnight, Host.”, Google
said softly. Knowing Host wouldn’t be sleeping, wouldn’t dream. He
would die, like the fragile human he truly was. “Goodnight.”.
The
slow rise and fall of Host’s chest stopped, and his features relaxed.
Google’s grip on the Host tightened, holding him close to himself. He
buried his face in the other’s bloody hair, and willed himself to
turn off again.
He saw no point in continuing.

I wish you would write a fic where host has a happy ending, even if he doesn’t have a partner ^-^

Content Warnings: death, mainly

He was finally free.

No more narrations filled his head. It was finally silent. Nothing shouting at him anymore, no ten thousand voices overlapping and talking, hundreds of different voices, billions of different scenarios. No more what-ifs, no more right or wrong.
He was finally free of it all. He had finally silence.

He wasn’t anyone’s puppet anymore. He wasn’t controlled by anyone, he had no one he needed to obey without a choice. He had no leader, he had no commander, he had no puppeteer.
He was finally free of it all. He finally had free will.

He was warm, and cold. His coat was getting soaked, though he didn’t mind. He was enjoying this. He was smiling. He was finally free from it all, how could he not enjoy this moment?

His eyes didn’t hurt. Even though his bandages were soaked in blood, and there was still blood dripping from the sockets. It was just overwhelming. Everything and nothing was anymore. No more headaches, no more violent visions.
He was finally free of it all. He finally had no pain.

He let out a deep breath. It was quiet. He was getting cold. He didn’t mind. He was happy, he was free. He didn’t have to worry about anything anymore, no more responsibilities, no more worries. Everything was alright now.
He was finally free of it all. He finally didn’t need to think anymore.

He was drifting off, slowly. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He was content, and he grew even more tired the longer he stayed here like this. Which was fine, though.

He heard someone scream. The sound was so far away though, that he wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or not.
He didn’t feel when he was pulled into someone’s lap.
He didn’t hear the screaming of his name.
He didn’t feel the tears that dripped onto his pale features.
As the blood soaked further into his clothes, as his breathing slowly stopped, and his entire body grew limp. Clutched in the arms of the one he had loved.

As a last resort

As a last resort, he plunged the spoon into his eye, screaming in pain. He couldn’t kill himself with this, but he needed his sight gone, he needed these monsters gone that he saw, wherever he was, wherever he looked. He was surrounded by them, chased, and he feared he would be swallowed whole.

Whimpering from pain, tears gathered in his eyes, he shoved the spoon around his eyeball, gasping and choking on his breath. The pain was excruciating, and his vision was already flickering. Blurry from tears, and blood was streaming down the right side of his face.

With a cry of pain, he wiggled the spoon as far back as possible, and pushed the spoon down, screaming as he pushed his eyeball out of his skull, gasping and choking on sobs as blood and tears streamed down his face, dripping from his face. He had to do this, he had to do this.

The spoon clattered to the ground, getting covered in blood. His hands were shaking badly, as his hands searched for the scissors he had laid down. Finding them, he whimpered, raising them and setting them on the nerve. He weakly began cutting, gasping and sobbing as he worked on cutting it through.

Finally, finally he was able to cut his eye off, and it dropped to the ground. He set the scissors down, fingers getting bloody as he grabbed the spoon again.
One more to go. One more, and he’d be free.

He took shaking breaths, and he almost decided against this. He almost threw the spoon away from him.
But he didn’t.
He shoved the spoon into his socket, into the side of his eye, and cried out in pain. Like before, he pushed and pulled the spoon, sobbing from the pain, as more and more blood poured over his face, sticky and warm.
He shoveled the eye out of its socket with a scream, and he nearly collapsed.

Finally.

Finally there was darkness.

No more monsters, no more terrifying visions of shadows and creatures he didn’t know were real or not.
Finally he was safe.

Author hummed as he read over the last sentence he had written. It was good, and he liked it. He thought about putting more spacing in it, for a bigger impact, but he felt that only having the last bits like it were the most important. Though maybe he’d re-write it later, make it better. More painful.

He stood up, stretching. He could barely keep himself awake, though his nightmares had been getting worse. As did his headache. Pretty much everything had gotten worse, making writing a lot harder. But he had had a surge of inspiration, and had managed to write something pretty good. At least, not terrible.

He left the study to walk to his bedroom, deciding sleeping for once would be good. It was already dark out after all, as he walked through the dark halls.

His eyes snapped to movement. He looked for a moment, but then shook his head. Just his imagination, or maybe something flew past a window.
Or something.

He continued to his bedroom, stripping of his shirt and his jeans, grabbing some shirt and pulling it on, he let himself fall into bed, sighing in content. Pulling the blankets over himself, he fell asleep after a good while, though his sleep wasn’t easy.

He was troubled by nightmares, shadow monsters chasing him through the forest, hands grabbing at him and pulling, falling endlessly, being eaten alive.
He woke up with a gasp, cold sweat covering him and making his shirt stick to him. He groaned, laying an arm over his eyes.

Creaking.
Why did he hear creaking? He knew the floorboards in his cabin tended to creak sometimes. He knew the whole damn cabin tended to creak sometimes, whenever there was strong winds, or storms. But it was quiet outside. There was no rain, no wind.
But there was creaking, and it sounded like it was getting closer to his room.

And then it fell silent. Author must have imagined it, from being so tired. Or because of his nightmares. Surely.
But then, there was scratching on his door.

Not like from a cat. A cat’s scratching was quick and short, low on the door.
No, this was different.
The scratching was slow, and long, A claw dug into the wood of his door, dragging it down slowly, along the entire length.

Again.
And again.
And again.
Until it stopped.

The door handle rattled. Author’s eyes were fixed on the door, trying to see something in the darkness he couldn’t make out. Just waiting for the handle to be pushed down, for the door to open.

His head snapped to the window when there was a dull thump against it, and he could see something moving. It was weird, it didn’t look like an animal, it didn’t look like a human. It looked like some sort of abomination, and it was righting itself, it was getting taller, casting a dark shadow into the room thanks to the moonlight.

And then he heard breathing. Heavy, dragging breaths. Right beneath his bed.
Author’s heart was beating rapidly, thundering against his chest, and he tried to quiet his quickened breathing. He was scared, he couldn’t deny it. Something was happening, and he was sure he was awake.
He could move, he didn’t suffer from sleep paralysis. But he never had hallucinated anything before either, and he shouldn’t be from lack of sleep either.

He cried out when he was suddenly grabbed, ice cold hands holding his arms, his legs, pulling him in every direction, and he struggled. He struggled, pulling against the hands holding him, grunting and gasping.
He was terrified.

They let go as Author heard a door slam shut. There shouldn’t be a door slamming shut. He didn’t know what was happening, everything was happening at once and then vanishing.

And it didn’t stop.

Even once the sun finally rose, Author still heard them. He still heard things, breathing just behind him, scratching on doors. He saw the shadows move, and obscure figures twist outside the windows.

He didn’t know what to do. Sometimes, when he didn’t move for too long, he could feel those hands again. Feel them pulling at him, tugging on him. And he always saved himself, somehow, managed to break free from their grasps.

He needed to save himself from this, he needed to find a way to stop them. But nothing he did helped. It all just got so much worse.

There were voices. Voices he didn’t know, voices that were familiar. They all sounded vaguely like his own, but also not. He heard them talking about things he didn’t know, things he didn’t understand.
They started to overlap.
Author didn’t know what was real and what not anymore, it was too much. Especially once he saw himself.

Images of himself, around the whole cabin. They started out standing still, frozen in time. But then they started moving. Doing things. Things he remembered doing, and things he hadn’t done.

It scared him more than the monsters he could see, the monsters haunting his every step.

He didn’t know how to stop all of this, it all was so much. All these voices, all these visions. He needed them to stop, he couldn’t bear seeing them any longer. He was constantly in fear, paranoid in his own home. He didn’t leave the cabin anymore.

He broke one night. He couldn’t bear it anymore, another nightmare after barely managing to fall asleep.
Stumbling into the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers, breathing harsh and frantic. Too many sounds, too many visions, too many monsters.

Spoon and scissors in hand, he dropped to his knees. His hand balled in a fist around the spoon, the scissors on the ground in front of him somewhere.

As a last resort, he plunged the spoon into his eyesocket, screaming in pain. He couldn’t die just yet, his work wasn’t done. But he needed his sight gone, he needed these monsters gone, these visions. Wherever he was, wherever he looked, they were there. He couldn’t take it anymore.

Dog for the memory thing?

Send me a word and my muse will reveal a memory that has to do with it.

He yelped when he was tackled to the ground by a newfoundland dog, getting his face slobbered over. He couldn’t help but laugh though, having a big heart for animals. He loved them, and they loved him.

Once the dog finally released him, he wiped his face clean as best as he could, grinning. It was amazing to have animals that loved him like this, and he was very happy as he pet the dog, which borfed at him. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, smiling.