I really really reallyreallyreally wanted to try some Google/Author (Ghosthor?) SO HERE YOU ARE
Title: The Cat
“This can’t be the zombie apocalypse can it? I’m not caught up on my favorite shows.”
Google regarded the Author with disdain. “Do you ever shut up?”
“I like my characters to know I’m coming,” the Author informed him, his flashlight beam sweeping over crates, over abandoned cow stalls, over mysterious objects- Google estimated them to be old, rusty farm equipment- covered in dusty tarps. “Besides, it’s too fucking quiet in here.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to fill it with your-” Google started, but suddenly the Author whirled on him, holding a finger to his lips.
“Shh!” He said, then motioned with his flashlight to a pile of overturned crates, out from behind which poked a suspicious-looking shadow.
Google nodded, and they split up, the Author creeping around to the right of the crates, Google to the left.
He could hear something shuffling, something that sounded distinctly non-human, but he didn’t have time to point this out to the Author because the Author was already springing into action with a shout of “Aha! Caught you-”
His triumphant exclamation quickly morphed into a high-pitched scream as the Author came barrelling back out from behind the crates, stumbling blindly into Google and sending them both down in a pile of limbs and dust and dirt.
“Author!” Google spluttered, just as a cat ran by his head. He struggled to get up, but the Author was on top of him, pinning him down. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I thought- I thought it was-” The Author stammered, “a monster!”
Google fixed him with a glare. “Try a cat.”
“Ah- I knew that from the beginning. I was just trying to scare you.” the Author began to backpedal, to try and talk himself out of his corner but it was too late; he had thoroughly humiliated himself.
Google smirked, satisfied, even though they hadn’t caught up with their quarry, But in his smugness he failed to notice that the Author had stopped talking and was now staring down at him with an odd expression on his face.
Google returned his gaze, puzzled. “What-”
Then the Author kissed him, slow and gentle and everything he normally wasn’t and Google was sure his systems had malfunctioned because it actually felt good to be kissing the Author and then-
The Author pulled away, rolled himself off Google and got up. He brushed himself off before extending a hand.
Google took it, and when he was on his feet once more he leaned in again.
This time, it was longer before they broke apart, the Author breathless and Google’s core whirring a little too loud for comfort.
“Dark doesn’t have to know about this,” Google said after a long moment.
The Author ran a hand through his hair, making it spike up with dirt and sweat. Then he nodded and grinned. “Deal.”
The Host heard him come in, heard the steady whir of his core and heard footsteps grow closer until they came to a stop just behind his chair.
He didn’t offer any indication that he knew Blue was there. He had work to do. Important work that was far beyond even an android’s understanding.
“Host.” A hand on his shoulder, firm and insistent.
Still, he didn’t respond.
“Host, it is time to stop. You require nourishment and hydration.” Blue continued, and the Host found himself being pulled back, away from his work.
Blue spun the Host’s chair around. “It has been seventy-two hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty-six seconds since you last ate.”
“The Host is fine.” The Host’s voice was thin and papery, worn out from hours and hours of constant use.
Blue gave a heavy sigh and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the Host’s bandages. “It is time to stop now.”
“Blue won’t leave, will he?”
The android shook his head. “No.”
“Fine. The Host surrenders.” Blue stepped back so the Host could heave himself from his chair, reaching out to steady him when he stumbled and almost fell, blood trickling out from under his bandages as pain danced just behind where his eyes should be.
Maybe he should rest and eat, the Host considered, as Blue lead him from the library. Maybe he could work later.
The room was dark, lit only by a dim, flickering glow. The air hung heavy with the stench of oil and grease.
Above the static fizz of sparking circuitry came the clang of metal hitting metal.
Another clang, and this time there was a harsh snap and a high-pitched trill, sounding similar to that of a child’s giggle.
“Oh,” the Host lowered his bat, a cruel smirk pulling at his lips. He leaned down so he was eye to “eye” with the figure he had tied to a chair. “Is someone ticklish?”
“Yo-OO-our swing is off.” Blue’s voice was high-pitched and wavering. His mouth curled into a sneer as the Host reached up to gently trace the synthetic skin of his jaw where the bat had struck. He watched as his lips moved as he narrated to himself the cracks that spider-webbed down Blue’s throat, the blue drops of lubricant that stained his synthetic skin.
Blue didn’t cringe away when the Host dipped his head to press a feather-light kiss there.
“Is it?” The Host’s voice was barely even a whisper.
“Addd-djJ-ust by three point ttt-TThrree percent.” Was it his overheated frame, or did a shiver run through him at the Host’s almost-tender touch?
The Host nodded, straightened, adjusted his grip on his bat. Blue tracked his every move with an indecipherable expression. Was it his malfunctioning optic units, or was the way the Host’s body curved under his trenchcoat sharper, more defined?
Was it his glitching systems or did he detect an elevation in the Host’s heart rate as he raised his bat?
“Gee-EEt on with it,” he snarled, his eyes flickering from blue to red and back again.
The Host smiled- and in the feeble white light of Blue’s stuttering core he looked truly wicked- and brought the bat down.
AU WHERE THE GOOFY EGOS ARE HUMANS AND THE SERIOUS EGOS ARE THEIR GUARDIAN ANGELS!!!!
:00000!!!!!!
Dark is Wilford’s long suffering Angel who basically is the only reason Wilford hasn’t gotten caught or severely hurt.
Bim trained under Dark and has just been assigned as Silver’s Angel and sees a lot of similarities between his tutor and his guardee……and may be a little bit smitten with him
Jims are not assigned to anyone but they are mostly means of communiication between Angels
King is assigned to Chase and masquerades as a human to watch over him….and also play with the squirrels
Bing. Right. Bing, is such a klutz that he’s watched over by four Angels. Oliver usually watches him, Red has an eye out, as does Green, but Google is more of a delegater.
MARE IS MAD’S ANGEL AND YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. he’s more like the little devil saying “Do it.”
those are all I can think of right now
*inhale* this iS AMAZING HOLY F U C K
Some people don’t have an Angel. They have a devil. They’re like a Guardian Devil but they’re more likely to break the rules to protect them. And maybe a little less hung up on ‘being nice’
Dr Iplier’s devil is the Host
Marvin’s devil is Anti
Colonel William’s devil is JJ
Phantom’s devil is the shadow man
I LOVE THIS
Mark had one. Nobody knows if she was an Angel or a Devil. They just know she lost her life.
They smol
(I didn’t know how else to show them to you)
Sharing this over here because more people need to see this wonderful, brilliant, fantastic fanart that Squishy did based!!!
the host never exactly /wore/ these types of things to the office. especially since it was dark who was kept like this. ready to be used and taken in any way as any of the other egos pleased. groaning as the plug was pushed in deeper as he tried to type on his braille typewriter. grinding in his seat.
god, did he wish he could be in dark’s place sometime. on his back as the other stuffed him full of their cocks. his mouth being fucked mercilessly as he cried for air. one ego pulling his hair as they spat insults to his face, making him harder and harder.
“you’re a sorry ask excuse of an ego,” the voice snarls, “only good for sucking cock and begging to be fucked like some bitch in heat. you’re a dirty fucking whore – you know what? you’re not even allowed to cum on us.”
host’s fantasy growing dirtier as he’s slapped around. clawed at, having another cock forced into his hole like dark has had.
whimpering as he gets caught up. not hearing his office door open and not hearing google sneak up behind him.
the robot wasnt dumb. he knew exactly what the host was doing. the tented front of his coat painfully obvious as he swiveled host around.
“wh…what?! who’s there–”
“mr. host. you are awfully disgusting doing /this/” he grabs at host’s hard on, “at work.”
“mmmph–” he moans – he…he can’t help himself, so needy. needing a rougher touch. the usual egos he fucked were too gentle. too sweet.
he needed pain.
“fuck me–” is all host can get out as google grabs him and pushed all his desk items off to make room. crashing host’s body against the desk, whimpering as google rips his clothes away, leaving him in only his coat. crying out as google only bites and scratches at his tender skin. biting his lip as google only lubes up his own dick – too far gone. too pained. too turned on.
he bucks as google stretches him open, crying out more as google thrusts in deep. hard. downright screaming. google grabbing his chin, making host kiss him, host moaning and yelling even more.
“stay still, whore. you’re gonna take what i fuckin’ give you.”
host is bloodied and bitten and bruised. pained and so utterly blissed out.
Prompt 26/15: “I’m dying”/ “Don’t die on me- please.”
The distance between them was filled with static and the heavy stench of blood.
“Host.” The name came with the acrid taste of gunpowder, souring his mouth as he scrambled to the fallen man. “Host!”
He could barely feel the sharp pebbles digging into his knees as he slid to a crouch, could barely hear the rip of fabric as he wrenched away the Host’s shirt with an almost brutal strength so he could get to the bullet wound.
emptynarration 