23 Darkhost?

lostcybertronian:

Thank you very much to the lovely lovely @bing-iplier for helping me kill you all brainstorm with this.

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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.

Egotober Day 10- Come Closer

lostcybertronian:

What’s Dark up to?

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The Host was late by one minute.

    Dark’s fingers drummed against the polished wood of his desk as he glanced from the clock to the door to his work then back again, his frown deepening and his aura seeping further into the room, sucking from it all the color and all the life.

    The Host knew damn well how important this assignment was, and he knew damn well he had to be in Dark’s office on time.

    Another minute- another eternity- passed before a faint knock came at the door.

Keep reading

Host and Wilford “Get out of my head”

reverseblackholeofwords:

Wilford fires a shot at the Host. “Get away from me! I want Damien and Celine, what have you done with them?”

“Wilford, you’re behaving irrationally! I don’t have Celine or Damien!” The Host reaches for his cane, but Wilford fires another shot and it hits the Host in his hand. He screams. “Wilford, please, listen to me!”

He aims the gun at the Host’s heart and demands once again, “Where. are. my. friends?”

The Host has no choice anymore, he has to break into Wilford’s mind and stop this. Without a touch, he can’t make this painless, but it’s too late to worry about that now. He dives into Wilford’s mind, to the source of this delusion, and starts pulling strings to unravel the knots of his thoughts.

“Wh-what?” Wilford staggers back into one of the bookshelves. “What is this?”

“A necessary evil,” the Host assures him as he tries to make Wilford see sense.

But the killer fights back, trying to force the Host from his mind. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

The Host is thrown back by the chaotic force, and he hits the ground. Just as he comes to his senses, Wilford steps over him and points the gun down at his head. “Why don’t we have a little fun?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.” -it sounds like author. good not good man. maybe with dorki?

lostcybertronian:

I don’t know if this turned out as well as I wanted it to, but here it is!

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Prompt 40: “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

    The woods were silent. No wind rattled the gnarled branches that reached out toward him, dragged at his suit as if in effort to seize him, to drag him into the depths and keep him there forever. No animals rustled about in the underbrush. The dead leaves and branches littering the thin, winding dirt path did not crunch under his feet.

    The woods were gloomy, shrouded in a black that shouldn’t have been present at one in the afternoon.

    Still, Dark had little issue navigating the dense forest, having known since the beginning that the Author’s woods mimicked his every mood and whim.

    The Author was hurting. The Author was furious.

    And, Dark noted with distaste as the thick stench of blood rolled over him like a wave, it seemed the Author was also throwing a petty tantrum.

    His suspicions were confirmed as he broke through the treeline, stepped into the clearing that housed the Author’s cabin, and saw the bodies.

    Dozens of them, sprawled over the grass and leaves, all of them pale, all of them unmoving. Many of their heads had been bashed in, but a few sported wounds in other places. Dark had to guess that those were the ones that had fought back.

    The Author stood in the center of his massacre, examining his work like an artist appraising a masterpiece. He wore nothing but a pair of ripped jeans, a t-shirt that might’ve been white had it not been completely soaked through with blood, and a twisted grin.

    “Do you like it, Dark?” He asked dreamily, “I did it for you.”

    “Quite a gift, Author,” Dark remarked, flicking his fingers dismissively at the carnage before folding his hands neatly behind his back. “But you and I both know a few corpses dropped at my feet won’t fix anything.”

    “It will if it’s the right corpse.” The Author tightened his grip on his bat, his grin morphing into an ugly snarl just before he lunged.

    But Dark was quick. Just before the bat- blood-covered aluminum, flecked with bits of gore- connected, his hand shot up and seized it.

    All he had to do was squeeze and the aluminum crumpled like paper. “Pathetic.”

    The Author roared and drew back a fist, but Dark blocked that too, stepping to the side and snatching his wrist, smiling when he heard delicate bones snap and the Author gasped in pain.

    Dark forced him to his knees. “What do you want, Author? Why are you wasting my time?”

    The Author pried at Dark’s hand, but his grip was like a vise. He wasn’t letting go.

    When he met Dark’s gaze, his black eyes glittered with pain and when he grimaced, his teeth were stained a glossy crimson.

    “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you!” He wailed, and Dark could almost hear the tears in his voice. Could almost hear the loss and the pain and the anguish.

But not quite.

He leaned in close- close enough to touch, close enough to kiss- and whispered, “but I was.”

Then he released him, nudged him aside like he was nothing. Because he was.

He spun on one meticulously polished heel and retreated into the woods.

The Author’s eyes burned into his back long after the cabin disappeared from view.

Docthor (Doc x Author) with number 6 and 10?

palpalbuddypal:

“You left me alone.”
“Why does everyone always leave me alone?”

I hope you enjoy this dude!!!

The grass they were sitting on was still wet from rain storm earlier, but Author insisted on having the picnic that day, regardless of the fact that the sun was lowering in the sky and the rain clouds had barely cleared. He said it was a rare occurrence to have a day where he wasn’t busy, and that it had to be today. Edward didn’t really mind. Any time he got to spend with Author was a blessing, especially time where it wasn’t cut short.

Author had packed their food in a wicker basket, and walked with him into the middle of some flowery meadow in the middle of nowhere. It was peaceful there and butterflies flew amongst the flowers, but the grass was wet.

They were drinking honeyed tea from a thermos Author had brought, relishing in the sweet taste and the silence around them. Author hadn’t said much, and Edward had kept silent. It was better than any words they could say, especially as Edward laid his head on Author’s shoulder. Author ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it just a little. Edward quietly chuckled, playfully nibbling Author’s neck before settling back down on his shoulder.

It was when they ran out of tea that Edward finally spoke.

“What’s the occasion? I mean, what makes today so special besides the fact you don’t have your ‘work’? Am I forgetting something?”

Author smiled, and Edward felt his heart skip. He hadn’t seen that smile in so, so long. Soft, without showing teeth, a real, perfect smile.

“I take my lovely boyfriend out on a picnic, and he’s asking me what makes it so special? There doesn’t have to be a reason,” he spoke with a kiss to Edward’s head.

Possessively, Edward wrapped his arm around Author’s waist. He was smiling, they were both smiling.

“I didn’t think you cared about me,” Edward admitted, “You left me every morning, all alone in bed-“

“-which I’ll never do again. I promise you that. Dear prince.”

Edward sat up, brows furrowing. Something was wrong, it had to be. Author smile fell away. He sighed, and it carried the weight of a million words.

“I heard you talk to me when you thought I was asleep. You said, you asked me: ‘why does everyone always leave me’? That’s what you said. I’ve learned what that feels like. Having someone-“ Author wiped his eyes “-something leave you. At least now I do.” Author wiped his eyes again. It was the first time that Edward had ever seen him cry.

Whatever cool, suave confidence Author had had been replaced by something else. Something warm. Like the sunset, now flaming in front of them in a tapestry of colors.

“We should probably go home-“ Edward started, Author silencing him with a heated kiss. Something had definitely changed.

“We should, shouldn’t we?” Author whispered, pulling Edward into his lap and making him squeak with surprise. Soon enough, they were a heap in the grass and flowers, laughing, touching, and loving.

The next morning, Edward opened his eyes as the sun climbed over the blossom of a purple wildflower. He squinted at the light- no, that wasn’t the sun, that was a lighter. A lighter, held in Author’s hand under his black-bound journal.

He didn’t move as he watched the journal ignite, Author studying it as charred paper began to flake away, fire crawling and consuming the entirety of the journal. Stories, words, ink, paper. All eaten and destroyed. Then, all that was left in his hands was still-warm ash. He rubbed it on his face, his shirt, into his hair.

After all the ash was rubbed away, he turned back to Edward. The doctor shut his eyes as quickly as he could, every muscle in his body tense with worry until Author joined him again. Curling up right by him, his head tucked into his chest and ash covered hands resting on his back.

Something had changed within him, but Edward didn’t mind as long as it meant they could spend every morning like this.

Owly Hosty is a small bab. A smol. his boyfriends smother him in love. they carry him around. hosty flusters his feathers to feel bigger if he’s in a pouty mood. he loves being tall and being on high things. loves to be on shoulders. smol owl bab

snarkyowl:

No one is sure how Host ended up as a child. It baffles everyone, but they decide to just make do until a solution presents itself. 
The small boy with fluffy, downy wings, is undeniably adorable, Edward decides as he picks Host up to carry him down to the kitchen for lunch. 

Host coos and chirps at him, wings flapping in excitement as Edward mentions chicken nuggets for lunch. Edward laughs softly, shutting one eye as one wing flaps upward and smacks the side of his face. 
“Host, try and control those wings of yours for me?” He requests, smiling as the child blushes and tucks his wings back to his sides.
“Sorry Eddie.” The child huffs, and Edward places a gentle kiss on his head.

“It’s alright, Host. You didn’t mean to.” Host bounces back, then, feathers smoothing from where they had puffed up while the child pouted. He grins blindly up at Edward, begin to wriggle excitedly again when they reach the kitchen and he can smell the nuggets.
Bim giggles at the sight of the small owl boy in Doc’s arms, watching the doctor settle Host down at the table.

“Who’s ready for some chicken nuggies?” Bim coos, carrying the plate over and dramatically placing it down in front of Host. Host lets out a thrilled screech which is less cute but definitely in tune with the bird of which his wings originate. 

The child settles in to eat, and Edward heads off to continue his work covering how to get Host back to normal. 

“Stay with me” – something to do with the Host? c:

lostcybertronian:

This was fun c: Not sure how good it is, though. The ending could’ve been better…

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Prompt: “Stay with me.”

    “I’m not here to hear you cry.” Dark’s voice was harsh. And loud.

    Too loud. Too loud. Too loud. It hurt his head. Sent pain skittering through his skull like he was being electrocuted. Sent more blood spilling through the fingers he clamped over his eye sockets.

    “Stop crying! You’re better than this! I didn’t save you for you to become weak!” Icy hands seized his shoulders- his touch wasn’t gentle, not patient any longer- and threw him back against the floor.

    The Host made no sound as his head cracked against the hard, unforgiving wood. He made no move to get up, no move to resist. How could he?

    Dark loomed above him. “I didn’t save a weakling, Author,” he sneered, “I didn’t save you for you to break down again and again like an old car.”

    The Host didn’t have enough strength to put together a response. Couldn’t force the words past the blood bubbling at his lips. He could only gasp in pain as Dark grabbed the red-soaked fabric of his trenchcoat, lifted him with unnatural strength to his feet.

    Dark leaned in close, lips hovering mere centimeters from the Host’s feverish skin.

    A week ago- a day ago, even- he would’ve kissed him. Would’ve brushed away the bloody tears and taken him to shower the crimson from his skin.

    Now, he only bared his teeth and hissed, “you have power. Act like it.”

    Then Dark released him, turned to leave as the Host crumpled to his knees.

    “Please- stay with me-” the words tore from his throat, desperate, pleading.

    Dark paused in his departure and cast him an arbitrary glance.

    For a moment the Host allowed himself to hope. Allowed himself to believe that perhaps Dark still held some flicker of love for him. That maybe the pain in his head and his eyes and his heart would ebb.

    But then his hopes died as quickly as they’d formed.

    “Why would I?” The words were thrown at him like an unwanted toy.

    Dark was gone, then, and his unwanted toy was left behind.