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: fanfiction
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.
you know what if I can’t get a happy author, gimme sad author. gimme my sad bean who’s emotions influence his world too, so it’s just dreary and raining all the time and he’s jsut. so close to giving up hope to get edward back. gimme my sad baby SINCE I APPARENTLY WONT GET A HAPPY ENDING FOR A WHILE
Sacrifice AU (I think this is the AU you were asking for?)
Prompts are open!
—
Diamonds glimmer in the sunrise, unbeaten from the constant rain that had been falling for hours and hours, despite the cloudless sky above. Raindrops spatter the sea and the diamonds, and the roof of the lonely house by the sea.
Dark walks steady, the tray in his hand balanced perfectly. The food steams, a little cloud trailing behind. In his other hand, his fingers fidget, a length of pink ribbon coiling between them. He couldn’t remember where he had found it, but as he reaches the dining hall, that thought hastily leaves his mind.
Author sits at the head of the table, staring out one of the windows all around him. The rainstorm streaks the glass, and chills the room frigid. Dark silently sets the tray of food in front of him, turning to leave before Author can see him.
“Wait,” Author rasps. Dark stops dead in his tracks, turning around slowly.
“Yes?” He wants to say more, but he knows it’s only wise to just say ‘yes’. The sound of falling rain fills the room with a haunting, echoing sound.
Author just stares. Dark sees eyes flicker to where he’s is holding the pink ribbon in his hands, and quickly hides it behind his back.
“How much do you remember?” Dark blinks, brows furrowing. What an odd question…
“Remember of what?”
Author slams his hands down on the table just as lighting strikes outside. Dark breathes, slowly, as the air becomes electrified.
“Of before all this! Or did I really, really take all of it? Do- ha, you probably don’t even know why you’re carrying that little ribbon, do you? Wilford?!”
Dark opens his mouth to answer, but Author stands. Hail beats violently on the windows.
“Do you remember Edward, Dark? The little doctor you pushed around so much? Always called him weak, unimportant- even just in your mind. His pretty copper eyes… remember him, Celine? Damien? Anyone in there?”
His heart thuds rapidly in his chest, but his feet refused to move as Author got closer, so close Dark could smell the faintest wisp of wine on his breath. That did nothing to assist his confusion- Edward? Celine? Damien? Wilford? He racks his memory, going through what few thoughts remin inside his head, trying to match the names to anything but shadows.
His mouth is oddly dry as he answers.
“No. I’m sorry, sir, I don’t.”
“Not even Edward? I can’t be the only one who mourns him…” Dark could see tears glimmering in Author’s eyes, “I don’t want to be alone! I don’t want to be alone! Not again, never again! Tell me you remember him, tell me you mourn him as I do!”
With a loud cry, Author throws the tray of food against the table, lightning striking in the ocean outside. Water on the glass begins to boil as the room heats up, and even though Dark can vaguely feel his suit lighting on fire, he doesn’t move a muscle.
Instead, he watches. Author bangs his fists against the glass walls, like a caged animal. Screaming for a second chance, like he does in most of the tantrums he had. The fire spreads up Dark’s legs and back, the pink ribbon igniting. Why did he collect pink things? The room turned red as a rose as the glass reflected the spreading fire of Author’s rage, heavy rain washing away the fires outside.
A huge crash ripped the room around them, and chunks of the ceiling begin to fall down around them. The open, cloudless sky still pours down rain, but the lightning flickers out. No thunder can be heard. As per usual, it stops as soon as it starts.
Author is curled in on himself, and even from where Dark stands, he can hear the desperate, creaking sobs Author lets out with every breath.
“Take the fucking tray away, Dark,” he chokes out. Without another question, Dark walks forward and takes the tray, letting the falling rain extinguish the last of the fire on his suit.
Without another word, he leaves Author alone in the rain, crying for redemption, crying about sacrifice, crying for Edward, like someone was listening.
In the hallway, Dark looks at the pink ribbon, as if it was something more than what it was.
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.
emptynarration 