“Please wake up Author you need to wake up now Author wake up-”
The cabin door flew inward and smacked against the wall when Edward shoved it open, allowing him to drag in the Author along with a gust of frigid wind and a thick, swirling pile of snow.
But he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He had to get the Author inside. Out of the snow and the cold he’d found him in.
“Author, please.” Edward gritted his teeth, managed to heave his boyfriend up onto the threadbare couch.
The Author didn’t reply. His head merely lolled against the arm of the couch. His lips were blue and his skin was deathly pale and freezing cold. A thin line of blood trickled lazily from his nose and more blood caked the half-frozen wound on the back of his head.
“Author-” Edward tore off his mittens, fumbled for a pulse, but tears blurred his vision and his hands shook too violently for him to be able to detect it, if it was even there anymore. “Author, please be alive.”
He’d found him mostly buried in a snowbank on his way in to the cabin, unresponsive and slowly dying due to extreme cold.
Edward had somehow, despite the Author’s greater weight and the blizzard that raged around him, managed to get him back to the cabin.
But what if it was all futile? What if the Author was dead?
Suddenly he felt a tremor run through the Author’s body, heard him give a small groan and saw his eyelids flutter.
“Oh my god.” Edward leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, choked back a sob of relief. “Author.”
He was alive. Half-frozen and wounded, but alive.
But he wouldn’t stay that way for long if Edward didn’t do something.
So, instead of burying his head in the Author’s frosty, sodden shirt and crying like he desperately wanted to, he got to work.
It was nearing midnight. The Author sat at his desk, working on his latest novel, while Dark perched on the couch- about as close to the crackling fireplace as he could without getting scorched- lazily going through the Author’s old manuscripts.
“What’s this?” Dark asked again, pulling a battered postcard from amidst the stack. He held it up to the firelight, squinting to read the chicken-scratch handwriting.
“Oh, that?” The Author glanced up, made a show of brushing it off. “A character who grew oddly attached. Unimportant.”
“Ah, I see,” Dark looked skeptical, “because you merely gift unimportant subjects with your precious manuscripts?”
“Uh-” the Author scrambled to find a suitable response, but Dark was already crumpling the postcard.
“Don’t lie to me, Author!” He snapped. “You sent him one of your final manuscripts.”
He got up from the couch, every movement jerking, rage darkening his eyes, his face, the cabin itself. “Edward Iplier isn’t some character to you.”
He advanced, every step sucking a little more color from the air, a little more warmth until there was nothing but gray and cold and Dark as he came to loom over the Author.
The Author tried to move, tried to lean back, stand, anything that could allow him to defend himself or put distance between them. But he was rooted in place. Frozen.
He leaned in close. “But you will only ever be a character to him.”
Then he straightened, a cruel smirk pulling at his lips. “You’ll only ever have me.”
With that, Dark turned and tossed the postcard into the fire.
The bar was crowded and loud, but the Author knew exactly what he wanted.
If he craned his neck he could see him: shoulders hunched, jacket drawn tight around him, black curls disheveled and sticking out wildly all over his head.
But he preferred to go by smell, picking out his clean, sweet scent over dozens of other grimy-smelling, alcohol-soaked bar patrons.
He didn’t belong here, among the riff-raff. They were disgusting. The Author’s nose wrinkled at the very thought of tasting their blood.
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.
(tw blood, tw eye gore. i’ll put in the actual tags after this is posted) Send me fluffy prompts! (Although this one turned angsty)
“You have to hold on!” Dr. Edward Iplier told him, eyes focused as he tried to stop the bleeding. “Anthony please, hold on, okay? Just hold on!”
“I’m not dying,” The Author laughed, almost hysterically. “I swear to you that. I’m not dying. This had to happen. This always has to happen.”
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand, Anthony. Please, let me get you to my clinic, let me help you!” Dr. Iplier tried to hoist the man up to his feet, but the Author wouldn’t budge. He stayed laying on the floor of his cabin.
“Don’t wait your energy, Ed. Come on, just… just stay with me.” Blood poured from his eye sockets, down his face and staining his clothes. “Hey, hey hey hey. This is probably a bad time, but, uh, marry me?” He asked with a grin.
Dr. Iplier stared at the man, stared at the blood, and noticed a gold streak starting to stain a lock of his hair. He swallowed and nodded, before realizing the Author could no longer see him. “Of… of course, Anthony. You stay alive, and I’ll marry you.”
The Author’s smile turned warm, and he soon passed out, the blood loss getting to him. Dr. Iplier, with a heavy heart, lifted him up and got him to his clinic. He tended to the wounds, which never seemed to stop bleeding but did slow, and wrapped them in bandages.
It was months before Anthony and Edward were back to where they were before. Edward adjusted to the new Anthony, the one that wasn’t so rash, so bold. He was quiet, more reserved, the trauma having robbed him of his sight but given him a gift of narration. They were sitting together in the living room one day, sipping tea and coffee as they took in the rain pattering against the windows.
“I… I meant what I said.” Anthony said softly, sipping his tea.
“Mm?” Edward asked.
“I… I want to marry you, Edward. I love you. I know I’ve changed, and that I’m… I’m weird now… but…” He sighed. “I love you so much…”
Edward brought his coffee cup down from his lips slowly. “I… I love you too, Anthony.” He replied. “I think… Yeah, I think I want to marry you too.”
A bright smile adorned Anthony’s face. “Let’s set a date.”
Edward returned the smile with ease. “I’ll get my calendar.”
“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.
Edward was the last to leave the clinic, per usual. And just as he was locking up, he spotted a lumpy silhouette stumbling its way toward him.
As it passed under a streetlight, it wasn’t a single person at all but two.
One of them was suspiciously familiar. And he carried a bat, using the tip to occasionally give the second silhouette a harsh shove.
“Edward!” The Author called out, and Edward sighed internally. He didn’t want to deal with the Author now. Not after a twelve-hour clinical rotation. He just wanted to sleep.
Still, he forced himself to answer. “Hey, Author. What’re you doing here so late? I was just about to head home-”
“I love you, please don’t go.”
“Don’t walk out that door.”
“I thought things were going great.”
“Don’t you love me?”
Mercy me this is really late so I apologize but I hope you like it!!!
—
For the first time in months, Edward awoke to the sound of Author muttering in his sleep. Even as the sun crested over fluffy clouds, he didn’t stir. He sat up, leaning over just a little to get a glimpse of Author’s face. Light poured through the windows, dancing across the sharp angles of Author’s face. The gauze bandage covering his cheek didn’t take away from his beauty- no, it added to it. It made him look softer. Younger.
Edward traced his fingers over Author’s face, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb, keeping all his touches as gentle and soft as he could. It was nice to see Author at peace. Unfamiliar, but nice. Edward smiled as Author’s mumbling quieted down a little. Brushed a thumb over his chapped lower lip.
“You should stay with me,” Edward listened to unlistening ears, “you should sleep the day away with me. Don’t leave the bed. Don’t walk out that door. Stay with me. Please?”
Author shifted, Edwards hand limply hitting the sheets. He laid back down, facing Author, never once closing his eyes. He savored the moment like it was a chocolate in his mouth, and slammed his eyes shut when he felt Author begin to stir.
“Prince. I know you’re awake.” Author purred. Edward opened his eyes, studying the way the light played on his bare chest.
“Good morning, Author,” he groggily responded. Author smiled. Got out of bed. Edward reached for him, even though couldn’t help but admire Author as he picked his clothes off of the floor.
“Do you have to go?” Edward asked. Author froze, huffing.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why? Why do you always leave?”
“Because I have things I have to do. They’re important.”
Edward bit his lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. Silently, he watched him dress. Grab his bat, and go to the door. Edward felt something churn in him, and wrapped a blanket around his waist, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Author.
“Don’t go. I’ll miss you so, so much.”
He sighed. “I come back every night.”
“But I don’t want you only in the night. I want you in the morning, the afternoon. I want to cuddle and watch movies and- and do normal couple things. We’ve been dating for almost a year, it’s… it’s all I’m asking of you.”
“Don’t you love me?”
Edward took a step back.
“What? Of course I do-“
“Then let me do what I need to do. I’ll be back at 9.”
He quickly gave Edward a chaste kiss, then the door slammed shut. Edward kicked the door, then cursed and clutched his foot in pain. He wound up back in bed, blankets in a messy pile, holding his own hand.
—
The bandages were heavy with blood as Edward unraveled them from around Host’s head, then swiftly replacing them with new ones. Without the bandage, he could see his soft cheeks, the heavy scarring- so unlike Author that he wondered if they were actually the same person. They were, though. The way that Host kissed was too familiar for him to be someone else.
“The Host thought things were going great,” he spoke, oddly plain, “he thought his eyes were actually getting better.”
Edward smiled. Author was always impatient. Not all had changed.
“It’ll take some time to heal. You really did a number on yourself, pumpkin.”
Host’s face reddened with a blush, an open, pretty thing that didn’t seem like it belonged in their room, their bed. It had been only a month since Author- Host- had gauged out his own eyes, but already he was back in his bed again. Not that Edward minded. Now, he was held in the night, woken by soft snores come morning.
They were in bed, about to sleep right now, but the blood dripping down his face… postponed things.
“The Host feels like he should be better now. He’s still talking in third person.”
“You need to give yourself time.”
Host slumped. Edward stood, bloody bandages still in hand, but suddenly a hand grabbed his wrist.
“Doctor- Edward. Prince. The Host- I- I love you. Please don’t go.”
“I’m not leaving. Not ever. Just throwing something away.” The grip on his wrist loosened, and Edward felt something warm and pretty bubble up in his chest. Being wanted was nice. He tossed the bandages in the trash, and practically lept back into bed with Host.
Arms were around him almost instantly, chapped, familiar kisses pressing all over his face. Edward giggled and tried to return them, face now as red as Host’s.
Eventually, they tired themselves out, and Edward shut his eyes, knowing that when it’s morning, he’ll be in the arms of the man he’s always loved.
emptynarration 