Tag: the author
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.
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.
“after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that i love you?” -dude it sounds like smth author would maybe say
Have some more yandere!author
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Prompt 70: “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”
It was impossible to be quiet when he was running for his life.
Every sound was magnified a hundred times: the snapping of dead twigs under the soles of his beat up sneakers, the rustling of leaves as branches whipped at his hair, his face, his clothes. The pounding of his heart in his ears.
Despite this, he could hear nothing from his pursuer. No footsteps. No shouts. That was bad.
Edward risked a glance over his shoulder. Nothing. That was even worse.
He whipped his head back and forth, searching, taking no mind of the branches that thwacked him in the face, taking no mind of the sweat that stung at his eyes and mingled with the blood dripping down his cheeks.
Was his pursuer there, waiting in the growing shadows that followed him? Or was he waiting just ahead, wearing a malicious grin and a blood-spattered t-shirt?
For all Edward knew, he could be just behind, reaching out, fingertips just brushing the back of his shirt-
His ankle caught on a fallen branch and he tumbled forward, crying out as he collided with cold, hard ground.
He quickly rolled over, clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting back, forth, back, forth, straining to pick up even a hint of silver against the multi-colored foliage.
He gave a soft sigh of relief when there was nothing.
That moment would prove to be fleeting.
A figure appeared above him and a second later a hand seized the front of his shirt, dragging him to his feet.
“I can’t believe you actually thought you could leave.” There was a hint of hurt to the Author’s tone, even as he laughed and wrapped an arm around Edward’s shoulders, steering him back in the direction of his cabin.
The same cabin he’d been keeping Edward hostage in for the past month.
“And, after everything we’ve been through, I can’t believe you still don’t think I love you,” the Author continued, shouldering his bat. “Like I’d ever treat you like another one of my characters. You’re so much more important than that.”
He continued to chatter as he hauled Edward along, but Edward had long stopped listening.
He wiped at the blood and sweat on his face. Blood from dozens of tiny cuts sustained from breaking the cabin’s window, from branches and thorns. Sweat from fleeing through the woods in the dead of night.
He pawed at the dark bruise around his eye. A bruise from when the Author hit him.
He realized with a jolt that he would never escape.
Then he began to cry silently.
“How are you feeling today?” -is such a doc iplier thing to say. ur fave pairing with him!
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Prompt 19: “How are you feeling today?”
He was doing better.
He still couldn’t do much on his own, still was mostly nonverbal, but the Author was doing better since his eyes had been carved out of his skull and he’d been dumped on the doctor’s doorstep.
Dr. Iplier couldn’t quite say the same about himself. He rarely slept, and when he did he did so poorly. Blood-filled, gory nightmares stalked his subconscious, jerking him awake in the dead of night screaming and reaching for the other side of the bed, where the Author should’ve been.
Dr. Iplier heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, brushing the unruly curls from his face. Then he pushed up from his desk. It was time to change the Author’s bandages.
“Author?” He tried to keep his voice low as he left his office, but the Author still flinched at the sudden noise, still jerked his head in the doctor’s direction.
“It’s okay. It’s just me.” Dr. Iplier was quick to reassure him, and he grimaced as blood began to blossom against the white of the Author’s bandages. Seems he’d torn the stitches again. “It’s Edward.”
He went over, placing a hand on the Author’s shoulder to let him know he was there before leaning down to brush sweaty strands of hair back from his forehead before pressing his lips to the overheated skin. “You still have a fever, but I think it’s gone down a bit since I checked a few hours ago. How’re you feeling?”
The Author seemed to relax a little bit under his touch, settling back into his chair. He tilted his head and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“I didn’t quite hear you.”
The Author tilted his head further, more blood beginning to flow down his cheeks. It was then that Dr. Iplier realized that he was indicating toward something behind him. “Dark.”
“Yes.” Dark appeared in the doorway, hands folded behind his back. He strolled in, eyes zeroing in on the Author as if he were some prize. A faint smirk pulled at his lips. “I’ve come to collect our dear friend here.”
“What- you can’t- absolutely not.” Dr. Iplier stammered, straightening and fixing Dark with a defiant glare. “The Author isn’t fit to leave the clinic.”
“Nonsense.” Dark gave a dismissive flick of his fingers. “He’s perfectly fine. And besides, I have some business with him.”
“What sort of business?” Dr. Iplier crossed his arms, continued to stare Dark down.
“None of your concern, my dear Doctor.” Dark brushed by him as if he wasn’t even there, leaned down to offer the Author his hand. “Shall we depart?”
“Author-” Dr. Iplier could only gape as the Author reached out and took it, allowing Dark to help him to his feet. As soon as he regained his composure, he moved to block their exit. “This is preposterous. Author isn’t going anywhere.”
“I’d say that was his choice, whether he stays or comes with me. Oh, and do inform our good doctor of what you’re calling yourself now,” Dark addressed this to the Author, who stood still and stiff as a statue beside him.
“The Host.” It was barely a whisper, but to Dr. Iplier it was as if he’d shouted. “His name is the Host.”
“Author-” Dr. Iplier reached out, but Dark was already steering the Author away, back the way he’d come, and the doctor’s fingertips just barely grazed the Author’s thin hospital gown as he passed.
“We have much to do, much to learn. Come along, Host.” Just before they disappeared from view, Dark twisted. “I will keep you updated on his progress, Doctor. I’m sure you will be most interested.”
With that, Dark and the newly-named Host left the clinic, and left Dr. Iplier alone.
A kiss of sad or hurt feelings with Host and Wilfy boy, in the librarbry!
I like the idea of this.
Title: Copper-Tasting
Sometimes Wilford looked at the Host and he remembered the Author.
Remembered bodies buried late at night and the drinks they’d gotten after. Remembered arrogant grins and passionate kisses shared during the heat of a high-speed police chase, red-blue sirens flashing at their backs.
Sometimes Wilford looked at the Host and wondered if he kissed the same.
So he followed the Host to his library, flashed him his brightest show host smile, pulled him close, and kissed him.
His lips were soft, tasting of copper. Just like the Author’s. And for one second, one blissful, eternal second, Wilford forgot that the Author was gone.
That second passed far too quickly and as Wilford pulled away he was left with a ragged feeling in his chest. A sad feeling.
“Wilford?” The Host’s pretty lips pulled into a frown. He reached out to touch him, but his fingers only found empty air.
Wilford had already left.
emptynarration 