I ENJOYED THIS ONE
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Prompt 20: “You don’t seem like yourself tonight.”
He found the Host perched in a chair by the window, face tilted toward the frosty glass as if he could actually watch the snowstorm outside. There was an open book in his lap, but his fingers were still over the pages. If Dr. Iplier didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed that the Host was asleep.
“Can I join you?” He asked, speaking quietly so he didn’t startle him.
But the Host didn’t respond, didn’t show any sign that he’d heard the doctor speak. Maybe he actually was asleep.
But then he made a small noise, lifted a hand, pressed it against his forehead as if it hurt.
“You don’t seem like yourself tonight, Host. Are you alright?” Dr. Iplier touched his shoulder, then immediately recoiled.
Heat came off the Host in waves. Heat that the doctor could feel even through the heavy trench coat. And upon further investigation he could see that the Host’s usually pale face was flushed and his lips were cracked and bleeding.
His suspicions were only confirmed when he bent to press his lips to the ego’s clammy forehead and found he was burning up: the Host had a fever. A hot one.
“Oh, Host.” Dr. Iplier hurried to take the book from him, to gently grasp his trembling hands and pull him from the chair. “Come on, you’re going to bed. A cool cloth and a bandage change will help you feel better.”
The Host stumbled a little bit, leaned heavily against him, began to whisper exhausted narrations.
“None of that.” Dr. Iplier scolded him. “Let me guide you for once.”
The Host fell silent, allowing Dr. Iplier to guide him away from his chair and his book and the snow, toward their bedroom, where cool, wet cloths and warm arms awaited.
Tag: dr iplier
Doctor’s Appointment
The Host drops by Dr. Iplier’s clinic for a bandage fix and to ask a favor.
—-
“Wilford Warfstache, would you please sit down for your check up? The faster you let me do what I need to, the faster you can get away from the clinic. I’ve known you too damn long for you to still being pulling this kind of stuff.” Doctor Iplier’s voice entails this is a dispute that’s been going on for a while, and Host has to bite back a laugh. Poor thing always has had a hard time with Wilford.
“Doctor, the Host believes he has come at an inopportune moment.” The Host’s voice seems to startle the doctor, who whips around to face the Host with wide eyes. When he finally focuses in on the other ego he lets out a nervous laugh, wringing his hands together as he often does when he’s anxious. When the Host still went by the name Author, the Doctor did far less hand wringing. Perhaps the Host is the one to make him so anxious? Curious. The Host tilts his head to one side and the doctor’s hands finally still.“Host! No- it’s- well, yes, it is a poor time.” The doctor admits, grimacing as Wilford knocks something over behind them. “I’m sorry, I know I said to just drop by whenever but–”
“This is a perfect time, Hosty my boy!” Wilford invites himself abruptly into the conversation, and while Doc could have sworn he had just been by the cabinets he’s suddenly right next to the Host. The Host does not flinch, instead gives Wilford a cold smile until the pink ego moves away a pace. “I was just leaving!”
“You were not!” Doctor Iplier tries to insist, but too late. Warfstache is gone. Poor, poor Doctor Iplier, Host tries not to look too amused as he thinks it. The doctor seems to know of his amusement anyway, judging by the look he casts to the other ego.
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” this is some dark/host stuff right here frend
Sorry about it being short ^^ once I got past the writer’s block it was quite fun
and heart-breakingto write.Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @demonnightmareangel @darkiplurrr
Prompt 42: “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” The words were barely audible, but the Host’s head jerked in his direction regardless.
“The Host doesn’t know what Dark is talking about,” he said stiffly, but the way he stood- rigid as stone underneath that trenchcoat he drowned in- and the blood that trickled down his cheeks told Dark volumes.
The entity nodded toward Dr. Iplier’s retreating back. “He will never understand you. He will never understand the power you wield and the world you live in.”
Not like I will. He left that unsaid, but he had a feeling that the Host heard it anyway.
“You love him.” He said instead.
The Host didn’t answer. His jaw clenched.
In that moment, he resembled the Author. Arrogance and hard words and blood-spattered aluminum.
“He will never love you.” The Host undoubtedly knew this. Just as he knew everything.
“Come along.” Dark stepped closer, placed a hand on the Host’s shoulder, steered him back, further into the library. “There are better things for us to be doing.”
The Host made no move to resist or protest. His shoulders slumped, the Author in him disappearing in an instant. He allowed Dark to guide him, despite him being perfectly capable of navigating the library himself.
If Dr. Iplier came back, hours later, tear-stained and sniffling and trying, trying, trying to ignore the guilt that clawed at his insides, he would find nobody. He would find nothing.
He would be too late. Dark would make sure of that.
106 Google?
Have some Dr. Ghost!
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Prompt 106: “You believe me, don’t you?”
His vision warped, flickered blue, then green, then red as bits of morse code fell from his lips, punctuated by bursts of static and fragments of words that made no sense.
He couldn’t delete the file. No matter how hard he tried it was still there, embedded into his processor.
Emotionx.exe. Clearly, a virus that had to be expunged from his systems. He was not human. He had no use for emotions.
Blue’s movements jerked and his joints clicked as he punched the nearest wall, not even bothering to pause to take note of the delicate cracks that spiderwebbed out from the point of contact.
“The Host wonders if that is a productive use of Blue’s time.”
“What do you want?” Static-laced words, snarled at the blind man who approached him now. Blue’s eyes shot to the gleaming band on the Host’s ring finger, tamped down on the surge of emotions- jealousy, this time- that threatened to overload his processor.
“Oh,” one side of the Host’s mouth quirked up, “the Host wants a great many things, but what the Host wants is not important at this point in time.”
“The Host is here because of what Blue wants,” he continued, reaching up to place a hand on the android’s shoulder, seeming not at all worried about the risk of losing that hand. He leaned over, lowering his voice, speaking as if they were sharing a closely guarded secret. “Has Blue attempted to talk to Dr. Iplier about how he feels?”
“I don’t feel.” Blue snapped, his form glitching, jerking under the Host’s grip. “I-I-IIII’m not huuUU-u-uman, like you. I don’t dee-AA-al-l with petty emo-o-otions. I do n-OO-oot posse-ess them for the do-OO-ctor.”
The Host tilted his head, patted the android’s shoulder in a way that suggested he’d been expecting Blue to say that. As if he’d seen it coming. “The Host advises Blue to calm himself, and tells him that jealousy will get him nowhere.”
“You believe me, don’t you?” It was suddenly imperative that the Host understand.
“The Host suggests that Blue escort him to the clinic.” The Host said, as if he hadn’t even heard Blue speak. Which was impossible given his nature. His grip tightened on Blue’s shoulder and he began to steer the android toward the door. “The Host requires a bandage change.”
—
“Good to see you, Host.” Dr. Iplier smiled when they entered and got up from his desk to retrieve a fresh roll of bandages from the cabinet. “I expect you need your bandages changed?”
“The doctor assumes correctly.” It was only around the doctor that the Host smiled as warmly as he did now.
Blue paused in the doorway, suddenly uncomfortable, and let the Host leave him behind. He was about to turn and leave, but the Host wasn’t about to let him.
“Blue was kind enough to escort the Host,” he said.
“Oh! Blue.” Dr. Iplier’s eyes flicked away and his cheeks reddened. Then a moment later he was glancing back at him and it was like a jolt of electricity was sent through his systems when he noticed that the way the doctor looked at him- with that soft, dreamy expression- was the exact same way that he looked at the Host. “I didn’t see you there.”
Blue couldn’t help himself: he smiled and stepped further into the clinic.
55 Docthor (With that good old Yandere Author)
This shall be a two parter! Also, this got long soooo fast so I’m putting it under a cut.
Also: sorry I haven’t been posting! I have been completely overloaded with work and homework.
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Prompt 55: “Just go away.”
He had to have probably half a dozen journals filled from cover to cover with descriptions of his doctor.
Scrawled pages detailing every last little part of him: the light that glinted off the crooked mirror strapped haphazardly to his forehead, the pristine, white lab coat that hugged his form in the best possible ways, the slight upturn of his lips and reddening of his cheeks every time he laid eyes on the Author.
It was because of that last part that he knew. He knew that soon, soon, soon, Edward would be his, his, his, and his alone.
i know u love writing painful stuff but could you pls write something short and fluffy and nice? my feelings are killing me
I hope you feel better!!!
—
The night was oh so quiet, gentle breaths and the scratch of paper on pen the only noise in the library, echoing in its huge chamber walls. Host could barely hear it, what with Edward’s soft, sleeping breaths close to his ear. With a flourish, Host finished his last sentence, and leaned back into Edward’s arms, shifting in his lap.
Groggy, Edward wiggled against him, pecking Host’s face with a few kisses, before pulling him in close and pressing one to his lips. Host couldn’t help but giggle into the kiss, holding Edward close to him, deepening it.
“Time for sleep, Hostie?”
Host smiled at Edward, voice still heavy with sleep, and kissed him again.
“Time for sleep, Prince.”
Host stood from Edward’s warm lap, helping Edward up and holding him steady as he stumbled, a bit thrown off from having his boyfriend in his lap for hours.
“I love you,”
“I love you too.”
Holding hands, they made their way to the room they called theirs, and Host slowly narrated as Edward took his clothes off, which earned him a pillow to the head. He shrugged it off and undressed himself, joining Edward in bed, pulling him close to him, where he belonged.
It didn’t take long for Edward to fall asleep, but Host was asleep before him, finally happy, finally content with his true love.
Here’s a challenge: write author and Edward being happy
Oh wow anon I feel like I’m being called out here but-
Enjoy!!
—
Edward kneeled on the ground, digging in rich, black dirt, the sunhat he wore casting a shadow in front of him. The sun was scorching, but the hat protected him. Feeling about with his hands, he decided the hole was big enough, and reached behind him to grab a strawberry plant. He plucked it from its plastic container, loosened the root bundle, and placed it in the little hole he had dug. Smiling, he wiped his forehead and stood, ignoring the cracks in his knees.
That was the last of the strawberries he needed to plant in his little garden. Another thing checked off his errands list for the day. Smiling, he gazed out over his pretty garden, taking in the fenced walls (to keep rabbits out), the high vines of tomatoes, peonies, roses, carrots, onions, and now strawberries. Author had given him all of the huge backyard they had behind their cabin in the woods for his garden, and after five years of care and kindness, it had grown into something beautiful.
Five years. Edward couldn’t help but smile, pulling off his gardening gloves to gaze at the simple, gold ring Author had placed on his finger five years ago. They had a small wedding in the spring, and Author wore a pure white suit, read poems to him and that night, spoke in only poems. Love poems. To him.
Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around him and Edward yelped before realizing that it was just his beloved, playing another joke on him.
“The garden looks as gorgeous as you do, my dear,”
“Oh, you flatter me!”
Edward giggled as Author turned him around, giving him a little kiss on the forehead. His hair was getting grey in places, but Edward didn’t mind. It looked quite handsome.
“Let’s get you out of the sun, Prince, we don’t want you burning to a crisp,”
Edward laughed and held onto his hat as Author picked him up, carrying him bridal style into the cabin they shared, leaving kisses on his face the entire time he was carried. They walked through their kitchen (which still smelled of toast and eggs), their living room (a loveseat and a chair for guests) and laid him down on the bed.
There were his lips all over him, kissing and taking off his clothes, strong, clean hands taking off his sunhat and playing with his long hair, taking it out of the ribbon he had tied it in, kissing him, loving him, adoring him. Author stopped, just for a moment, pressing his forhead to Edward’s.
“I love you, my prince.”
—
Edward woke up alone. It took him a moment to collect himself, to separate the fantastical dream he just had from the reality around him. The sun hadn’t risen yet. Through the window, he saw snow fall and kiss every surface it could, holding it in cold arms. The bed was still warm, and Edward cursed himself. Dammit, he had woken up too late.
He sat up, feeling a sharp pain in his back and legs, and looked around the room again. There was no sunhat, no poetry, no garden out back.
But there was a note on the table.
Brows furrowing, he picked up the note and opened it, flicking on the light. On it were five words, five words that made Edward’s heart soar and brought a smile to his face.
I’ll be back soon
-Author
He laid back down, staring at the ceiling and clutching the note to his chest. He could wait for Author to come back, stay awake until then. He could wait for as long as he wanted, with the dreams of marriage and a cabin and poems keeping him awake.
For now, at least the bed was still warm.
23 Darkhost?
Thank you very much to the lovely lovely @bing-iplier for helping me
kill you allbrainstorm with this.Tags: @caffeine-eater @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @blue-greenstylinson @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @demonnightmareangel @darkiplurrr
Prompt 23: “They didn’t deserve you.”
He wasn’t expecting it. Never in a million years.
He wasn’t expecting to smell blood as soon as he stepped into his clearing. He wasn’t expecting to see it splattering the windows even from fifty yards away.
He wasn’t expecting to have to sprint to the cabin, bound up the steps and across the sagging porch.
He wasn’t expecting what he knew he would see as soon as he threw open the rotting, wooden door.
“Edward!” The body on the floor barely resembled him. There was so much blood and no life to the blank, brown eyes that stared upward without actually seeing anything.
But it was undeniably, unmistakably him.
The Author’s bat slipped from his fingers, fell to the floor with a heavy thunk. He didn’t hear it. It was drowned out by the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears as he scrambled to Edward, dropped to his knees beside him.
It was then that he froze. It was then that he noticed that he wasn’t alone.
He slowly, slowly, slowly glanced up. Met the eyes of the man with no shadow.
“Author,” Dark purred, leaning down and extending a hand. “Allow me to help you up.”
“You killed him!” The Author cried, batting Dark’s hand aside, blinking back tears.
Dark scowled and withdrew his hand. “Of course I did. He didn’t deserve you.”
“What-”
“You can be so much more, Author.” Dark brushed past him, stepping over Edward’s body like it was nothing. “You have so much power. So much potential.”
“But your doctor,” Dark continued, wrinkling his nose, “was in your way. He was dragging you down.”
The Author finally tore his eyes from Edward and glanced at Dark. “He- I-”
“Loved him?” Dark sneered. “Don’t play that card. You’re just like me, Author. You don’t feel love. You use. You use, and you move on.
“Which is what you need to do now.” He offered the Author his hand again. “Move on.”
The Author looked back down at Edward. His boyfriend. His love.
He looked back up at Dark. Waiting expectantly. Offering promises. Promises of power. Of potential.
He only hesitated a moment before reaching out and taking his hand.
that painful fic still needs a happy ending friend I am so not okay still it is very hurting ;3;
There was nothing but life for miles.
Flowers and grasses swayed with the sweet smelling wind. A pack of buffalo were wandering along, occasionally bending their great heads down to eat the tall grass, the pack quickly moving on once they had had their fill.
Author watches it from a flowery hill, a hill he made from the flat lands that stretch for miles, a valley that once was just farmland. It took only moments to change that. He stretches his will out, a thistle bush began to grow nearby. Plucking off a thistle with calloused, ink stained hands, he caresses the little spines, the hooks, made to stick to animal fur. With just a little coaxing, it’s a bird in his hands. Then a rock. Then it’s a puddle of water, flowing quickly through his fingers.
He lets it go, lets it saturate the ground.
—
“Did you like the valley I made for you, my love?”
The man at the top of the mountain sighs with a gust of cold wind. His form shifts suddenly, and soon enough he is closer to Authors size, standing next to him at the foot of the mountain. Now, a copper skinned man with flowers in his hair stood next to Author. His hair, raven black, flows down to the earth. Author gasps when he looks at his face- so much like Edward, but there was no softness. His jaw hangs loosely, flowers growing from the ruined mouth in a lively bouquet. A tooth falls from his overgrown mouth, onto the ground.
“What- What happened to you?”
The jaw contrts itself into a smile, a smile that is almost recognizable in places. But only places.
“I have changed. I’m different. This is the closest form I can have to being human, Author,” the man locks eyes with him, and Author can see they’re a constantly shifting color, filled with life and mystery.
“…but what about-“
“Edward?” The Being laughs, and it sounds like birdsong. Author feels his heart melt. Oh, he is there, of course, little one. He is me. I am him. Changed. I am life itself.”
Heat flashes across Author’s vision.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I am fond of you, life-bringer. You have made me so much, brought me so many gifts with what you’ve been given. There is a part of me that still calls for you, I can feel it inside of me, even though I might not be your love, even if I never was, even if I never will be.”
Author stares blankly at him, vision blurring for a second before a tear ran down his face. Edward. His face burns, his skin igniting. The Being rushes forward, wrapping the burning Author in his great, strong arms, the fire choking under the greens and flowers, and for a moment he could feel Edward. For a moment it was morning in bed with him, Edward clinging to him before he got out of bed.
“I will make more, I will do more, I will be more,” Author whispers, “I will, my love, I will.”
—
It’s the art of undoing. The art of taking everything one had worked for, and tearing it apart it’s his bare hands. Barren fields into rainforest, buildings overgrowing and splitting themselves with flowers and trees.
Now it has a purpose. It wasn’t just because of the pain, or the fire. It was undoing for Edward- the Being, his love. It was the two of them as one- destruction and life as one. In a way, he was still with him.
It was all for Edward, even if he wasn’t truly there anymore.
It was all for love.
oh hey i remembered a writing idea i had. so author is like, wanting to be all powerful, right? but he’s also, like, in love with edward. how about we make him choose? become “god” and loose edward, or never achieve his highest want of being so powerful but have edward. and better yet: author chooses being “god” and looses edward, but later realizes he would rather not be so alone but have edward. but the only way to even have a chance to be with him is to take all his powers (or rather be host)
The hotel room was cheap, small, thin walls and a scratchy blanket on the bed Author was sitting on. Outside the moon was obscured by clouds, and Author was thankful for the darkness. All the light was giving him a headache. He stood from the bed, and turned out the lights to his room. Suddenly, a burst of light struck him, and he slammed his eyes shut with a scream. Someone was pounding on the walls. Something was pounding in his head.
A great figure stood in front of him. Indescribable, shifting, a mass of color and confusion crammed into the tiny room. Author sighed in relief.
“I’m finally ready to complete our… bargain, Author. In three days time, I will give you my power. All of it.” It’s voice was booming, and Author was surprised when there was no pounding from the other rooms close by.
“…it can’t be that easy. What do you want for it?”
“Something precious. Something that is yours.”
—
There was a house on the side of a cliff. A small, humble house that stood like a gargoyle by the side of the cliff. Author took it in his grasp, willed it to change. The once wooden walls were now grafted from marble and gold, the house- more like a palace- spiraling up to the air. Diamonds dripped like water down the cliff side, and ocean nearby turned lush and full of life. It was gorgeous, it was glorious, it was the loneliest hell hole in the entire universe.
It gave the Author great satisfaction to bend, twist, warp every bit of the world he once knew. He didn’t even need his journal anymore. Just his will. He made mountains climb into the sky, filled barren valleys with flowers and thorns, regrew forests and plains and coral reefs in a testiment of all the life one could find on the earth.
—
“Precious as in-“
“Something you feel you cannot live without. Your vision, perhaps, or something else.”
“I don’t want to give up my vision!” Author hurriedly said. There was too much he hadn’t seen.
“Then your touch? Your hearing? You must give me something in return. That is how these deals work.”
“I-“
“Do you want the power I hold, or not?
“I do.” There was only a moments silence after he said that; a permenant vow. I do.
“Then what are you willing to sacrifice?”
—
Dark brought him meals on a silver platter, meals that Author could only bring himself to pick at and poke. All the while, he’d stare instead of eating. Stare out the windows, or at the paintings that lined the walls, stare at Dark’s vacant eyes and stitched lips, keeping the amalgamation forever silent. It was a mercy. It took only the wave of a hand to undo what some people might spend lifetimes trying to do, and in Dark’s case, Author had silenced the thing that had been trying to find a voice for far, far too long.
He’d call the entity, Celine, Damien, whatever it was- he’d call it over and give it his plate, and send it off to mope about and idly collect pink things. There was no sympathy, no regret to be felt by Author. Only pain. Only pain. After meals he didn’t eat, he’d toy with the world, create new ones. He’d make moons of gold, stars of copper, ones that shown copper like his eyes-
No. Can’t think of him. Mustn’t think of him. Not of copper, or gold, or softness, the warmth of blankets, screaming in the morning, in the bed, at night, bandages, blood, power, sacrifice, Edward-
He clenched his fist, and the room around him exploded, the air superheated and screaming with Author. He felt his skin burn off again and again, replacing itself rapidly as the fire raged. Then it faded. His tears extinguished the remaining flames under his face. Only a few moments later, Dark returned and began picking up the mess. Author willed for his heart to explode in his chest, as he had so, so many times before when his thoughts traveled back to him. A sharp pain shook him, but no death came with it.
Author laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. His heart melded itself back together again.
—
“Choose, or I will choose for you.”
“Alright. I give up… I give up- I give up Edward.”
“Oh?”
“He’ll be happier with you than with me. You can give him the world, you can protect him.”
“Then it is a deal.”
—
The man on the mountain top wasn’t a man. He was a hulking mass of copper and grey. A horrible mass of indescribable horrors. Something he should’ve been scared of. But Author couldn’t keep himself away from him, even if they didn’t know one another anymore.
“Ah. You,” his voice was all encompassing, a wash of the ocean waves, pure life. Author sighed with relief.
“My love, my Edward.”
The Being turned and gave him a tired look.
“I do not understand why you call me that. I’ve been taken, changed. I’m no longer him, and sometimes? I don’t even know if I ever was him. All there is is the world.”
Author fell to his knees, staring up at him. His eyes filled with desperate tears.
“Do not cry, little human. You have done a good thing to the world. Grow flowers. Grow trees. Make the world again.”
“I don’t want that!”
“Then what do you want? Little one?”
The Being leaned closer to him, and blossoms sprung out from where he touched the ground.
“I want you back!”
The Being stared at him with its shifting eyes, and for the first time in his life, Author was scared as he stared upon his Edward, now taken and changed into something that he didn’t recognize anymore, something that didn’t remeber him, something that didn’t love him.
“You never had me.”
—
He made life. He grew plants, forests. Animals. He changed the world, changed himself.
And he did it all for Edward.
Because even if it meant he had to undo everything he had fought for, he would get him back.
emptynarration 