Poison (for the word association thing)

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

His pupils are small, and his heart is beating out of his chest. Nothing makes sense anymore, and he feels like he can barely breath, every breath quick and shallow, trying to get more air but unable to. He feels sick, and he can’t stop the rise of bile in his throat. Doubling over, retching, and finally vomiting. His body trying to get rid of the poison it ingested, but unable to without help.

His head is throbbing, he’s drowsy, and wants nothing more than to collapse. He can’t feel the tips of his fingers, his tongue feels numb. His skin is clammy, his forehead is hot. He doesn’t know what to do, he his hands are shaking too much for him to be able to hold a pen even if he wanted to. He tried, but he dropped his pen, and he couldn’t see. Everything was blurry.

His throat felt like it was closing, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open even if he tried. He collapsed, gasping for breath. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t even hold a single thought. He felt like he was dying, and he probably was. He had no clue how he had been poisoned, but there he was. He just hoped someone would find him, because he couldn’t die just yet. He couldn’t. But he couldn’t even hold a pen anymore.

Memory ask: Storms

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

He had always loved storms. The rain coming down hard, splattering against the glass of the windows, a steady rhythm that filled the silence of the cabin. The crack of lightning, the growl of thunder.

He loved to make his characters run through storms. Some had met the end of their journey in them, electricity running through their bodies and leaving them with a stopped heart and beautiful burns across their bodies.

He himself would never go out in one. Not when he knew they were going to happen. He would rather sit next to a window, look outside. Usually, he wouldn’t be able to make anything out. There would be so much rain thundering against the glass, that it was the only thing he could see.
He’d close his eyes then, lean his head against the cool glass, and listen to the rain, until he eventually fell asleep.

flowers (for the word association thing :P)

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

He doesn’t come here a lot. Writing is his top priority after all, but sometimes, even he needs a break. When he can’t find the right words anymore, when he tries to write but everything just sounds wrong. It’s then that he leaves his cabin and walks through the forest.

There were never a lot of flowers there. He would always notice them, if they poked their heads out between the bushes, the grass. But there was one place he more than loved to go to.

It was a small clearing. The trees around dense, bushes high. It was always a trouble getting through them, and usually it left scratches on his bare skin. Not that he cared a lot about that, though.
The clearing was filled with flowers. Growing wildly, but in the most gorgeous colours, as if someone was looking after them. Besides him, no one ever came here, though.

He was always careful when he was here. Never wanting to destroy something so fragile like these flowers. He found little thin pathways through the flowers, small patches of grass. And he’d sit down there, or lay down, and just rest. Let the sun shine on his face, and let his mind wander.

~ Open starter ~ Fantasy AU ~

Magic flowed freely through the air, pulsing like a heartbeat in every living and every breathing being. It made the water shine and glisten, the grass green and paint shining. It settles deep within one at birth like a seed, to grow over time with love and patience. Blossoming into gorgeous flowers, growing into strong trees, or become small and dry, thorny vines or gnarly trees.

A being may unveil their magic, feel it glow in their fingertips, burn behind their eyes, springing in their step, move like water on the tongue. They may use it for good, to help show how beautiful magic could be. If one chose to break free their magic of dried up branches, they may use it for bad, destroy the image of beauty. They will be outcast, they may have their magic ripped from them from their roots, leaving them gasping for air like a fish out of the water. They will have to learn how to walk on land, or will dry up in the sun and die.

To show one’s magic growth is a normal act of children, an intimate share of lovers, and a harsh judging of one’s entire being. It is one’s soul laid baren, intentions unveiled, future and past mixing to show the growth of one’s internal self.

Many use magic, no matter how small their being, or how powerful their growth. Everyone doing so differently, no one having the same. It is the uniqueness of self, to excel at one thing that no other may be able to do. No matter how small or insignificant it may seem, it is one thing no other can do like one self can.

It is one young man’s growth, that lead to his small fame. Golden freckles of magic dotting his cheeks, eyes always closed, as he uses his magic to create. He creates life, creating friends and companions, in form of plush animals. Creating whatever a person might want to have with them, a soft plush filled with love and magic, their bodies stuffed with the most gorgeous blossoms of roses.

His spells wither away like the roses inside his creations, slow but peaceful, never losing their initial charm. To create life, even in a small form such as he does, is something many people admire, and just as many despise. But all he creates are plush animals, companions and friends, for whoever might seek him out.

“Don’t underestimate me. I may be small, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak.” (how about a short story with Host saying this to someone?)

( I would’ve never imagined someone would request me for something written just like that, you made me ver ver hap. I hope this is gud )

Host had lived in these walls for as long as he could think. He had originated here, been practically born here. He was something akin to a house-spirit, the house was his home and his domain. He kept it safe from bad spirits, though even he got overwhelmed sometimes.

He was at a disadvantage to them, as he was blind. He didn’t know why, or how, though he had always been like that. He had found ways to get around his lack of sight, using his hearing and a bit of magic to help him.

He couldn’t help it when someone began living here. He watched them, as much as he could “watch”. Listening to the man go about his life. He wasn’t here a lot, seemed very stressed, and as far as he could tell, he was a doctor. He didn’t know the human’s name, though he referred to him as doctor if he thought about him.

The doctor wasn’t home, and it was night. Host was used to fixing little things around the house, making sure the doctor would have small surprises. Making sure there was just enough water in the coffee pot to brew coffee, finding the last teabag when the man thought there were none left. Sharpening pencils, making sure papers were sorted and tidy.

There were fruits rotting, Host could smell it. So he wanted to make sure they were going to be okay enough to eat for another day or two for the doctor, for him to hopefully throw them away or eat. He found the reason for them rotting hadn’t been time, though.

He stood in front of the bowl, and got cold chills. He could hear the quietest of whispers around him, the cold stared in his back. All around him. He backed into the bowl, knowing he couldn’t take care of multiple spirits. When one came close to him, he used a magic spark of light to shoo it away for a moment, though he knew that just agitated it.

He was afraid as he felt the spirits coming closer, when suddenly the light was turned on and the spirits dispersed in the bright light. He sighed in relief, before quickly hopping off the counter. He didn’t want to get caught by the human after all. He was afraid something would happen to him if he was found.

It was again the middle of the night, and Host was up and walking around. The doctor was home, but in bed. He had seemed very tired and exhausted, so Host wasn’t afraid of being found. Right now though, he sat on top of the kitchen table, eating some breadcrumbs he had found. He usually ate what he found laying around, nothing anyone would miss.

“Huh..?”. Host was startled when he heard the voice of the doctor. The man had apparently woken up and walked around with the lights off. No wonder Host hadn’t noticed him. But now it was too late to hide, or at least, not have been seen. It didn’t stop him from hurrying to jump off the table and go hide, even when the doctor made startled and confused noises.

The next time Host had been found by the doctor, was while Host was napping. He was laying behind books in the booshelves, somewhere the man usually never looked. But it just so happened that the doctor wanted a certain book, and behind it, he could see Host. Eyes wide, the man was afraid of making noises in case he woke the small little being up.

He left for a few minutes, before returning. Carefully laying down a little piece of paper and a buttered piece of bread. He left to read his book then, leaving the tiny person in peace.

When Host woke up, he more than less stumbled over the piece of paper. He was startled, knowing there hadn’t been anything there before. He did find the piece of bread too, which he took, tilting his head. Had.. the human found him? And not done anything? Well, he had given him a gift. He smiled, sitting behind some other books to eat.

“Don’t underestimate me. I may be small, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak.”. Host glared up at Edward, not very happy about the human’s words. Just because he was small, didn’t mean he could take care of himself! A lot of spirits were just dangerous for him.

“I didn’t mean you’re weak! It’s just that… you know?”, Edward tried to explain, though didn’t even find the words to explain at all. Host rolled his eyes, arms crossed.

“Compared to me you are?..”, Edward tried again, and he saw and heard Host sigh. He couldn’t really deny that fact. Host was just a few inches tall, of course he was weaker than Edward.

“Alright alright. Then you won’t mind me being carried by you either.”, Host huffed, jumping and climbing up onto Edward’s head. The man chuckled, rolling his eyes.
“I might, your majesty.”, Edward said and chuckled.

Static – Chapter 12 – HappyKonny – youtube – Fandom [Archive of Our Own]

/ So I finally wrote another chapter for this, which no one here probably knows
/ I haven’t updated that for a year
/ but now I wrote 3014 words for this new chapter, and I am so fcking happy that I did, because I miss writing so much

/ So yeah, if you want to give this a read, I’d be very happy to hear your feedback! 😀

Static – Chapter 12 – HappyKonny – youtube – Fandom [Archive of Our Own]

It’s ok! Could I possibly see a mini story of a baby host who wanders off, and is taken in by king of the squirrels and his squirrelly subjects?~🗡️

Host was in a big and scary place. He didn’t like big and scary places. So of course he wandered off immediately, walking through the halls of this big scary place to find the exit.

He heard people sometimes. He hid when he heard them, because strangers meant danger, and he didn’t like danger. Danger wasn’t nice. Usually, danger hurt. As did a lot of things, actually, so he was hoping he could get out and find a safe place.

A gunshot startled him, making him squeak and run. No no, this was a terrible place, it was big and dark and scary, and he wanted to go home. Even if home wasn’t much better either.

While running, he was spotted by someone who called out to him. But he didn’t care, here were bad people, so he continued to run. And he managed to get outside, where he continued to run until he couldn’t see the building anymore he had been trapped in.

Now he was in the forest, and he looked around as he walked. He liked forests. He liked trees. It was cool here, which made it good he had this weird long coat on. It was far too big, and he had almost thrown it away while running because he nearly tripped a couple of times. But since he hadn’t, he was glad he had the coat still. It did drag through the dirt though.

“Squiwwewl!”, he spotted a squirrel, following the fuzzy little creature. It was so cute! He loved squirrels! It didn’t take long and he walked into something -or something into him?- making him fall back and plop onto his butt.

“Oh!”, an adult was looking down at him. Was it an adult? The man looked young, and had peanut butter all over his face! He wore a crown too, and a pretty cape!
“Greetings, young one!”, the king greeted with a smile. Host just looked up at him in awe. “It appears you have found your way to my kingdom! And I welcome you! I am the king of the squirrels. Who are you?”.

“Uh- ‘m Hosht.”, Host replied, content sitting on the ground and looking up at King. He seemed surprised to hear that though, but after a moment smiled.
“It is nice to meet and see you Host! Let me help you out, hm?”, King helped Host back onto his feet, and rolled up his sleeves. He tried to get the coat a bit shorter too, advising Host to be careful.

Host listened with a smile, nodding along. King was really nice! And he was the king of the squirrels! He loved squirrels! And they were climbing all over King, which made him giggle, which in return made King smile! He was very happy here.

Write something fluffy for our fav boy Host!!

“I’m dead. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead.”, he mumbled quietly to himself, chewing on the pad of his thumb. His head was in a bad place, and he thought about the Author, and how he should be dead, but wasn’t. Which confused him, and he couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. Which he hated.

Wilford was the one who found the Host sitting alone there. He draped his arms over the other man’s shoulders, startling Host out of his thoughts.
“If you were dead, why do you feel things?”, he said, which stunned Host a little. He felt things, he thoughts things. He must be alive.

“Let’s go bake some cookies.”, Wilford said with a smile, nuzzling into Host’s hair, before stepping back and pulling the other to his feet. The Host smiled lightly and nodded, walking with Wilford to the kitchen, where the mad man had already set out the necessary ingredients and cookie cutters.

While Host wanted to try and weigh everything they needed, Wilford decided that was no fun. So he grabbed the bag of flour out of Host’s hands and made a puff of flour come forth from it doing so, which dusted Host’s face white and make him cough.

“The Host didn’t think about making a mess before. But it seems like Wilford has different plans.”, Host said, and of course he was right. Because Wilford was grinning widely and scooped out flour from the bag to throw it at Host with a laugh.

Host squeaked when he was hit, before giggling lightly and grabbing another bag of flour. War was about to happen, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

It was pretty funny though, as Host and Wilford threw flour at each other, sometimes trying to dodge the attacks. Most usually though they rubbed flour into each other, Wilford rubbing flour into Host’s hair, Host rubbing flour all over Wilford’s cheeks.

They were covered in flour, as was the kitchen, but both of them were laughing and dropping their empty bags of flour.

Hurt/comfort with anyone honestly would be wonderful ^-^ maybe dark comforting host? If you wanna?

It was so loud. Screaming at him, demanding his attention, and it was so loud, and it hurt, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the noise in his head.

Host was clutching his hair, curled up on his bed. It was so loud, it hurt. Futures unraveling in his mind’s eye, too many options that could happen, would happen, may happen. Simple options like a yes or no, and a whole new reality came forth from it.

Seeing the possibilities of egos dying, killing each other, protecting each other, threatening each other, so many things that could happen. And it was loud, it wanted out of his head, and he was talking, but he wasn’t fast enough to get everything in his head out.

He violently flinched back when Dark touched him, raised his head by his chin. So many possibilities of what could happen -Dark could kiss him, could hit him, could talk, could stay silent, could- “Silence.”.

Host shut up, knowing, though unable to grasp the thought about it, that he was talking. Dark pulled off Host’s bandage, soaked with blood. He was saying what he was doing, and what he was going to do. And it calmed Host’s head, because if he knew what would happen, and not what could happen, he didn’t need to narrate it all.

So Dark cleaned Host’s face, and his hands, and re-wrapped his eyes. Talking all the while what he was going to do, before doing it.

In the end Dark was sitting with Host, holding the blind man close to his chest. Carding his fingers through Host’s hair, not commenting on it’s ungelled state, showing its curly nature. Telling him what there would be for dinner later, and what they’d do after.
And Host’s head quieted down, until it was a pleasant background noise.

Dark noticed when Host had fallen asleep, sighing softly. The man slept too little anyways, and he was glad to have been able to help at least.

You are the light of my world

“You are the light of my world”.
He giggled after saying it, because of course he would. Because it was funny to him, and Dark only rolled his eyes at the words.

Wilford thought them funny. “Because you’re Dark! But you’re my light.”, he had explained, the first time he had said it. And even then, Dark had just rolled his eyes.

It had quickly become Wilford’s way of telling Dark he loved him. Because of course he did, and of course he’d tell Dark every day. And Dark didn’t mind, because how could he mind with Wilford being more lost in his head than not? If Wilford could have one clear thought, it was his love for Dark.

It became more frequent. Wilford telling Dark those words. Every day, and sometimes more than once during.

He came into Dark’s office, just to tell him. He told him after meetings. He told him whenever he saw him randomly in the hallways.
And Dark never replied to it, never said anything back. What his feelings towards Wilford were, was a secret to everyone but himself.

Wilford draped his arms over Dark’s shoulders, laying his chin on top of the other man’s head.
“Hey Dark.”, he’d say, and he’d have a goofy smile of his face. And Dark would make a questioning hum, as he kept his focus on the work in front of him, on his desk.
“You are the light of my world.”, Wilford would say, and he’d giggle. Dark would merely sigh softly, keeping quiet, working.
And Wilford would leave, quietly, maybe thinking Dark didn’t feel the same way. Maybe thinking Dark couldn’t -or didn’t know how to- express his feelings. Maybe thinking Dark just didn’t take hm serious.

And it’d happen again and again.

Wilford nudging Dark as the latter got ready to leave after a meeting.
“Did you know?”, Wilford would start. “You are the light of my world.”. And he’d giggle, and he’d wander off, because he knew Dark would stay silent, just continue to gather his things, before leaving.

But eventually it’d stop. Because everything stopped one day. Dark knew Wilford would either move on to say something else, or he’d forget. Or he’d just give up.

It didn’t come how Dark had thought it would, though.

“You are the light of my world..”, he whispered, as tears dropped from his chin. Falling onto the limp body clutched to his chest, unmoving, cold. Pink strands of hair hanging in the peaceful face, hiding it partly. As curly and messy as always.
And Dark would miss them.
Dark would miss the sweet candy scent of him.
Dark would miss the little affections every day.

He just had been too slow to tell him. To reply, even once.
And now Wilford was gone, never having known that he was Dark’s light.