Host’s visions overlap with reality. He doesn’t know what is real and what is not. He doesn’t want what he sees to become reality. So he instead chooses how his visions will become real.
Content Warnings: gore, blood, death
Words: 2794
I don’t even know man but I loved writing this anyways :’D I hope this was satisfying your needs of sad :’)
Google’s movements were always precise. He knew how much
pressure to apply to not cause pain, knew to brush his fingers just
barely against skin to cause a pleasant feeling, knew how to pull of
crusty bloody bandages without causing wounds to reopen and bleed,
knew how to clean the blood off without causing discomfort, and knew
how tightly to wrap bandages back up without being uncomfortable.
He knew perfectly well how to be human, even though he very
clearly was not. From the soft glow from his eyes, to the inhuman
strength, to the need to charge at least once every few days -but
more preferably every day.
He was nothing if not productive. He took charge of everything
electricity related in the egos’ environment. He handled the
security cameras placed around the building. He was busy every minute
of the day. Spending time with Host was, sadly, usually not
productive. That didn’t mean he didn’t do it anyways.
Host preferred it if Google changed his bandages. So it was in
Google’s schedule, every afternoon he took an hour of his time to
spend with Host.
He was gentle as he unwrapped the bandages from around the Host’s
head, the other man murmuring softly. The blood caked to his skin,
from his eyes and scratch-wounds kept the bandages stuck to the
Host’s face, but Google was gentle and careful as he peeled the
dirty things off. He threw them away once able to, hands gentle as he
cupped the Host’s cheeks.
“I have told you to stop scratching.”, Google said, voice
gentle as he took in the fresh wounds. Host tended to scratch at and
around his eyes whenever he was nervous or scared, or during
visions. “The Host is very aware of that.”, Host replied, and
he knew Google smiled fondly at him and shook his head lightly. It
was a habit the Host couldn’t shake, Google knew that.
He grabbed the washcloth he had prepared and gently started to
clean the Host’s face from the blood on it, careful of the
sensitive skin and wounds. He disinfected the wounds too, before
gently cupping his cheeks. Google looked into the two obsidian
eyes, and Host looked as normal as he could -with the scratched
wounds around his eyes, and nothing but black staring back at Google.
He gently pressed a kiss to the Host’s chapped lips, enjoying
the feeling every time. Google’s own lips were soft, synthetic skin
perfect. No matter how long or short the kiss, it shared their
feelings perfectly. Love and trust. Google gently wrapped fresh
bandages around the Host’s eyes, knowing very much so that the
other preferred it that way. He didn’t like getting blood all over
himself, and he didn’t like what he saw with his blackened eyes.
The Host’s movements were always precise. He knew how much
pressure to apply to leave a bruise, he knew to not wrap his fingers
around his thumb when making a fist or he’d break his finger, knew how
to peel skin off without disrupting what was underneath, knew how to
cause the most amount of pain, and knew how to get rid of a body no
one wanted to see anymore.
He knew perfectly well how to be a monster, even though he very
much was thought of harmless. From his bandaged eyes, to his hunched
over figure, to his soft and even voice.
He was nothing if not productive. He wrote scripts for his show,
weaving realities into an unbelievable story. He broadcasted it every
evening, recorded it and filed it away, taking notes of things he
disliked or liked about his broadcast, about how his listeners
reacted. He wasn’t busy every minute of the day. Spending time with
Google was, thankfully, a pleasant distraction. That didn’t mean it
happened a lot.
Sometimes, the Host spend the evening with Google. When the
android was about to settle for the night to charge. Host would sit
down next to him and curl into his side, holding onto the blue shirt
his loved one wore every day. Google wrapped an arm around the
Host, gentle fingers drawing patterns onto his back. His core
whirring softly, his body just a tad bit colder than a human’s.
“I love you.”, the Host said softly, voice merely a whisper.
Not wanting to disrupt the gentle silence enveloping them. He didn’t
speak in first person a lot, and Google was aware he was the only one
the Host ever allowed to hear it. “I love you too.”, he
replied softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the Host’s forehead. It
made Host smile against him, and Google didn’t even need to see it
to know.
“Goodnight, Google.”, Host said softly. Knowing Google didn’t
dream, didn’t truly sleep. He would turn off like a computer not
needed at the moment. “Goodnight.”. The whirring of
Google’s core quieted down, and Host’s smile slipped from his
features. He gently moved away from the other, laying his arm back
onto Google’s lap.
The Host stood up, and gentle fingers brushed over Google’s
features, the synthetic skin still warm from just having turned off.
His fingers glided to Google’s neck, where a few wires were
attached to him. To charge, and to stay connected to the network.
He’d be turned on if the systems or security cameras were alarmed
by something.
Very gentle and careful, Host pulled the charging cable out of
Google’s neck. Then came the other cables. Leaving Google powered
off with no way to wake, unless someone turned him on, or morning
came, the time he was programmed to wake again.
Quiet murmurs of narration filled the silence of the room as the
Host walked over to Google’s computers, and things Host never
bothered to know exactly what they were. With a few careful words,
the systems fizzled with an overload of electricity. A bit of smoke
and the smell of burnt metal and plastic filled the Host’s nose,
and he knew he’d destroyed everything Google had worked on.
Everything that kept the egos safe.
Host took a deep breath and pulled his bandages off, already
stained with blood. He let them fall to the ground as he left the
room, knowing a certain metal bat waited for him in his room, too
heavy to be picked up by anyone but the Host -using his reality
bending powers- or Google.
When Google woke in the morning, he immediately knew something was
wrong. His battery wasn’t fully charged as it should be, and he
wasn’t connected to the network any longer. A quick look told him
someone had pulled his cables out, and had known how to without
causing him to wake up -a feature to ensure Google wouldn’t be
destroyed while powered off.
He stood up and was quick to notice his equipment was broken. He
went for the door, just to step on the bandages laying on the ground.
Confused, he picked them up, knowing they were Host’s. They had to
be. Questions filled his mind, and he needed answers. He couldn’t
just not know something. It wasn’t productive to not know
something.
Stepping out into the hallway, he was assaulted by the smell of
blood. If Google wouldn’t know any better, he would say it was too
much to be able to be produced by the amount of egos living here. But
he knew there were a lot of them, most of them not known very well,
or even remembered. Half-faded, ideas that clung to some people’s
minds until even they forgot about their existence. Some of these
egos popped in and out of existence, as they were forgotten and
remembered again.
The ground was covered in blood. Google’s steps were audible, wet
and sticky. He didn’t much care, though, as he saw no reason to. He
saw no reason to worry either, though there was one lingering thought
he couldn’t get rid off, as he gripped the bandages in his hand
tightly. Where was Host?
The first body he found, he
wouldn’t have been able to tell who it was, were it not for the
clothes. A suit, covered in blood. It had to be Bim, judging from the
bit of normal skin colour Google could make out. The ego’s head was
smashed to a bloody pulp, pieces of bone scattered around. Blood
coloured everything red, though. Google found Bim’s broken glasses a
few feet away.
Google continued his search,
then. He didn’t feel anything for the loss of the egos. His only
worry was the one ego he did care about, and if he was alright. He
knew Host could handle himself, but so should every other ego. The
further he went along, looked into rooms, the worse the corpses got.
As if Bim had been the first just to try it out, find a way to kill
him, before it got more “creative”.
He found the Jims in the studio.
Google assumed it were the Jims, at the very least. Their limbs were
bent at awkward angles, the bones inside shattered to a million
pieces. One of them had his chest beaten in until it was nothing but
a dent in him, every rib broken, some peeking out from the blood and
broken and bruised skin. The other twin had his stomach ripped open,
his guts pulled out of him. Both of them had their skulls crushed in.
Who he hadn’t expected to find
was Wilford. It was bad, but he had clearly put up a fight, judging
by the gun and knife laying around, and the amount of bullet holes.
Wilford’s head had a large dent on its side, skull probably
shattered. His throat was ripped open, blood still dripping out of
the corners of his mouth. His eyes were nothing but bloody pools. His
chest was ripped open, and his heart was a bloody pulp next to his
corpse. It looked like he had been turned inside out, his intestines
covering the ground around him, various organs scattered about.
Pieces of flesh had been ripped from Wilford’s arms and thighs,
clothes ripped and torn. Pieces of his scalp with hair had been
ripped off, and his mustache hadn’t been spared either.
Whoever had murdered everyone had
clearly had had a grudge against Wilford in the very least. So Google
continued on. Less blood and less viscera decorated the hallways, as
more and more egos were dead. Google had barely been able to identify
the King of the squirrels when he found him. Ripped to pieces,
completely covered in blood, every bone in his body smashed to
pieces.
Google wanted to see if Dark had
made it through this. Walking towards his office, only Google’s
bloody footprints were a sign of all of the gore inside of the
building. The door to the office was closed, but Google couldn’t hear
the signature ringing of the man. The fizzling feeling that made
Google buzz and want to leave.
When he pushed open the door, the
smell of blood overwhelmed him almost. The office was covered in it.
But that wasn’t what bothered Google. What did, was the sound of
flesh ripping and being torn, a pool of almost black blood slowly
growing bigger still. And it all was accompanied by a soft gravely
voice, muttering and growling.
It stopped for a moment, and
Google knew the person with him knew he was there. Standing up
from behind the desk that had hidden him before, was the Host.
Covered in blood, which most certainly wasn’t his own. At least not
entirely. His face was covered in blood, dripping from his eyes,
running down his cheeks until falling from his chin. His coat was
soaked in blood, and the golden streak in his hair looked red.
“The Host had hoped he would
have more time before Google rose and find him.”, he said and
sighed, running a bloody hand through his hair. Google wouldn’t be
surprised if there was no gel in it to keep it slicked back. The Host
walked out from around the desk, dropping some piece of flesh he had
apparently just ripped out from Dark’s body. Now Google could see the
ripped parts of Host’s clothes, from knives and guns both. He could
even spot wounds through the bloody clothes sticking to the Host, but
the man didn’t seem bothered by them. Wilford must have hit Host with
a bullet or two as well.
The Host coughed, blood spilling
from his lips and covering his already red hand. He didn’t pay
attention to it, even though his breathing was harsh and labored.
“The Host hadn’t wanted Google to see the mess he made. He
hadn’t planned on his love to awaken again at all, if he were to tell
the truth. He had only put off going back to Google last.”, Host
said, walking up to Google. They both knew Host could use his words
to overpower the droid. They both knew Host was hurt too, though, and
must have used his powers quite a lot already. The chances of Google
overpowering Host were rather high like this.
“Why did you do this?”,
Google asked, and he didn’t stop Host when he leaned against him, and
held onto his shirt. Staining him with blood, turning his blue shirt
a darker colour. “The Host has seen this.”, Host replied,
voice quiet. “He saw hallways covered in blood and viscera. He saw
the egos mangled and broken. He could smell the iron, taste it even.
He didn’t know what was the cause of it up until now. The Host’s
visions started to lay over reality too much, too often. They hurt.”.
Host was clinging to Google, the android realized. He was trembling.
Speaking must be hard, he realized. He wrapped his arms around the
Host, holding him gently against himself.
“The Host saw Google, eyes
shimmering red and covered in blood. Last time he changed the Host’s
bandages. He could feel the android’s hands around his neck. He could
feel his skin bruise, and break, and bleed. He could feel his vision
turning dark, tunneling in. And he saw Google smile, and he head the
sickening crunch of his neck snapping beneath the android’s
hands.”. The Host’s words were getting quieter. His grip on
Google’s shirt loosened. He was dying, Google was aware of it. Host
was badly wounded, he had exhausted himself too much using his
powers.
“It broke the Host. He needed
these visions gone. He knew the only way to do so was to make the
vision a reality in another way than what he had seen before.”,
Host looked up to Google, black obsidian eyes staring right at
Google’s brown ones. And Google could swear that he saw the pain in
Host’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Host.”, Google said softly. He
gently laid a hand onto the Host’s head, leaning it against his
chest. Host always calmed hearing Google’s core. His eyes fluttered
closed, and he let out a deep breath.
“I’m sorry too, Google.”,
Host said quietly. Google could tell now, that those deaths had been
desperate. A desperate attempt to escape reality, a desperate attempt
to stay sane. He knew Host was in pain, he knew Host’s visions hurt
him. He knew Host lost grip on reality a lot. He had expected
something like this to happen. For Host to snap and do something
irrational.
He felt Host’s strength leave
him. His grip growing even looser, his weight heavy against Google.
Google carefully lowered them both to the ground, letting Host curl
up against his chest. There was nothing Google could do, he knew. “I
love you.”, Google said softly, and he meant it. He loved the Host,
no matter what happened. He would’ve loved Host even if he lost his
mind, even if he didn’t remember which reality he lived in. He would
always love the Host, because he was the only one that made him feel
productive even when he wasn’t actually. “I love you too.”,
Host replied, voice barely audible. He was dying, and he was aware of
it. He knew he’d be dead soon. And he was glad, so so glad, that he
was dying in Google’s arms, and that Google still loved him.
“Goodnight, Host.”, Google
said softly. Knowing Host wouldn’t be sleeping, wouldn’t dream. He
would die, like the fragile human he truly was. “Goodnight.”. The
slow rise and fall of Host’s chest stopped, and his features relaxed.
Google’s grip on the Host tightened, holding him close to himself. He
buried his face in the other’s bloody hair, and willed himself to
turn off again. He saw no point in continuing.
Batch one of my 25 scribblings I did during the time I had to stay up through the night at the airport
Featuring Dark, many eyes face, Host with a sewn shut third eye, more Host, some bad fullbody scribblings
“Get out!” The door flew open, and the Author was thrown out, stumbling a few steps before falling to his knees. In the doorway just behind him stood a mass of whipping black that just barely resembled Dark.
“Don’t dare show your face again without results.” Dark hissed. Then he shifted, levelling Blue with a scathing glare. “Remove yourselves from my sight.”
Blue gave a stiff nod and stooped to pull the Author to his feet as Dark retreated and the door to his office slammed closed.
“You- you could’ve warned me-” the Author gave a shrill gasp when he was forcibly yanked to his feet and clamped a hand over his side. Blood dripped from a cut his forehead and from several deep gashes in his chest. “You could’ve fucking warned me that he was in a bad mood.”
“It would not have made much of a difference.” Blue said, allowing the Author to lean on him as they made their way down the hallway. “It certainly would not have affected the outcome.”
The Author grunted. “I’m surprised he’s still making you help me.”
“You mean tasking me with putting you back together every time one of your idiotic plans fall apart?” Blue arched an eyebrow. “Dark believes you to be useful. Therefore, you haven’t lost me.”
“Good to know.” Another grunt and the Author was pitching forward, only avoiding another fall because Blue had an arm around his waist.
“You are losing blood. Let’s return to the cabin so I can patch your wounds.” Blue helped the Author straighten before pulling him more insistently toward the exit.
—
“The next time I see you, you better have results.” Dark was calm as he said it, but the expression on his face indicated he was anything but as he gave the Host a harsh shove, thrusting him from his office into the hallway.
The Host tripped over his own feet but managed to reach out and find the wall. Blood oozed steadily down his face from his sodden bandages and a badly broken nose, staining his teeth and his lips crimson.
Regaining his balance- but still swaying on his feet, dizzy and disoriented due to blood loss- he turned to reply, but Dark had already shut the door.
“You appear to be bleeding, Host.” A familiar voice, a familiar presence. Familiar hands, helping him straighten and reorient himself.
A dry smile pulled at the Host’s lips. “The Host informs Google Blue that he was well aware of that.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, then.” A hint of humor, a hand in his, pulling him gently but insistently down the hallway, away from Dark’s office and the swirling black that dwelled inside. “I will take you to see Dr. Iplier.”
“The Host is surprised Google Blue has not grown tired of escorting him to the clinic yet.”
“You underestimate me, Host.” Blue replied. “You have not lost me yet.”
From an android’s perspective, the Host was to be admired.
He was always calm, always composed. He never let his emotions get in the way of what had to be done.
Until now.
Blue had never seen him act like this. Had never heard him speak above a mutter.
Until now, as he threw open the library door to find shelves tipped over and books scattered all over the floor.
And Dark, backing up, clutching one arm to his side, his nose bleeding.
He was yelling, his teeth bared, but his voice was drowned out by the rise and fall of the Host’s.
“Dark is going to kill them all. He is going to-” the Host’s voice ebbed and flowed, rose so high in pitch it made Blue’s head buzz and his vision waver. Still, he jolted into action, lunging for the Host.
“The Host senses- turns-” the Host swung around just as Blue reached him, the flow of his narrations wobbling as he raised the bat he had clutched in his clammy, white-knuckled grip. “He swings it and strikes-”
Blue held up his arms, bracing himself and closing his eyes, just as the bat arced down. But there was no heavy thunk of aluminum hitting metal. No sudden pain.
When he opened his eyes, the bat was less than an inch away from connecting. It trembled in the Host’s grip.
“Google Blue,” the Host croaked. Dark red blood carved heavy, jagged tracks down his face, criss-crossing over the thin, blue veins that stood out starkly from his almost translucent skin.
“Host.” Blue lowered his arms, then reached for the bat. It slid easily from the Host’s grip, and the Host made no movement to resist or protest when the android threw it aside.
He did, however, flinch when it clattered against the wood of some fallen shelf across the library.
“Google Blue,” he repeated, and Blue saw him sway unsteadily on his feet, knew he would fall before he did.
He was there to catch him as he crumpled into his arms and together they sank to the floor.
“You require medical treatment,” Blue glanced up, over the Host’s shoulder, at Dark. “You need to go see Dr. Iplier.”
Dark’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched and for a second Blue thought he’d lash out, but after a moment he stiffened and nodded and disappeared in a swirl of black.
When he was gone, Blue moved to get the Host to his feet but the Host gave a small whine of protest, tightening his fingers around the fabric of Blue’s shirt.
“Blue stays.” It was barely audible, barely there after so much strenuous use. “The Host doesn’t want to lose him too.”
“Host-” Blue had no clue as to what he was talking about, but nonetheless he wrapped his arms around the Host, let him cling and mutter and bleed red all over the bright blue of his shirt.
He knew she would come. Still, he feigned surprise when the bathroom door creaked open and light footsteps wandered over the tile floor, when the shower curtain rattled aside and an elegant figure slipped in.
“The Host expected Celine to be with Damien and Wilford,” he told the hands that reached up to cup his face, the lips that met his a moment later.
“Nonsense,” she said, and there was a hint of amusement to her tone. “You knew I would come.”
“The Host knew you would come,” he admitted.
She laughed and kissed him again, slow and sweet and soaked with the scalding spray of water.
The Host wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her closer, relished the feel of her touch.
“What else do you know?” She murmured, her fingers wandering up, tracing with utmost care the bruised, scarred skin just around his eye sockets.
The Host smiled against her lips and in one, smooth motion scooped her up into his arms. “The Host knows where they are going next.”
—
They collapsed into bed together, dripping wet and all hands, kisses, warmth.
It was some time before either of them spoke again, and it wasn’t till Celine was curled in his arms, head cushioned on his shoulder, did she ask, “what’s your real name?”
For a moment, he allowed himself to be tempted, to lose himself in the delightful sensation of her fingers trailing idly across the bare skin of his chest. But then he remembered who and what she was, and that moment vanished just as quickly as it had come.
“The Host’s name is the Host,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her delicate fingers.
She raised her head, and he could picture her pretty lips slipping into a frown as she pulled her hand away. “Your name cannot really be ‘the Host.’ No one can possibly be named that.”
He shrugged. “The Host is the Host.”
A light huff. Then she was laying her head back down, and there was a hint of amusement to her tone as she said, “you never know. Maybe I’ll get it out of you someday.”
Dark’s face flashed at the front of his mind, but still he chuckled, humoring her. “One never knows.”
“I have never seen such gorgeous eyes.” Dark said softly and held his boyfriend close to him. The Host was taken aback, and pulls away, still laying on the bed but moving to be more on his own half.
“I…? I have such gorgeous eyes?” He asked softly. “I don’t have…”
Dark nuzzled their noses lightly against each other, sighing softly. “I think your eyes are gorgeous. I do… You have your own kind of eyes… and it’s amazing and beautiful.”
The Host said nothing, He cuddled, a soft blush on his cheeks as he did. This… this was the nicest thing anyone had said to him.
bOI DO I *pulls out a scroll half a mile long* these are headcanmons of Victorian vampy mkkay
• Our Hostie boy is one scaryass vampire. You’d think Dark would be king of the night, but everyone knows who you really have to fear are the quiet ones
• While Dark toys with his food (he likes to play mind games, lets you make choices until he wins), Host on the other hand, loves a good hunt. Especially when you know you’re being hunted.
• He knows you’re going to make rash decisions, he knows you’re scared out of your mind, and he can feel it. He craves the fear.
• Host as much as you would think with his blood shoot eyes, actually doesn’t drink a lot of blood.
• He kills for sport but never drinks unless he needs to.
• Host is dramatic AF
• Long cape? SWOOSH.
• Standing upside down? YES.
• this boi also writes so much, when you enter his lair it’s full of pages upon pages of stories
•He writes in cursive like damn son
• He smells like like metallic ink. I think you know why
• Doesn’t go out during daylight, prefers night time
• Dark worries a tad on his appearance, Host does not (mainly because they can’t see themselves in mirrors)
• His fashion sense is different.
• ALL THE CRAVATS OKAY HE HAS SO MANY
• wears soft velvet and satin suits
• RINGS GALORE he wears at least three a day
• hella nice shoes. Definitely killed a man for them
• doesn’t really feel the need to have servants, but he would only keep a trusted one if needed.
• his fingernails are long, but keep neatly.
• favorite scare technique is to run his nails against the walls as he’s stalking you, he is making his presence known
• he has the mind control power, but doesn’t use it for hunting. Instead he uses it to illustrate his stories into life
• if you find yourself sore and awoken in a different place where you don’t remember going to, then it’s the Host who used you as a puppet
• doesn’t eat human food, but he is very open minded
• Everyone knows the story of the Host
• probs has an underground lair, like some Phantom of the Opera lair, where he has to ride a boat through a canal and it’s just this big open space choke full of papers, ink, and random candles.
• doesn’t sleep in a coffin. Sleeps hanging upside down
• ohhh my gooood. He has so much gothic and Victorian aesthetic I’m crying
• imagine Host, stormy night, thunder rolls like fire behind him. His features are dimly lit candle and the occasional flash of lightning. Nothing can be heard but the scratching of pen on paper, and thick clean strokes of ink transitioning to bursts of short paced ones. He writes and writes until he suddenly stops. He thinks. For a moment, it is a short lived break for he continues again with another clap of thunder. He grows hungry now, so he stops. He stands. Donned in a cape of velvet, it flutters when he leaves. And you somewhere can feel a shift in the night, and are soon meet with a gentle touch and pierced fangs into your bare neck. Lightning captures your sillhouttes against the rain and windows. Then all goes black.
And that is all my dear anon, as much as I have tho
“I wasn’t planning on asking you, but it appeared to me that life is short. Will you marry me?” Dr. Iplier’s voice is haggard, worn with watching, for what felt like the hundredth time in life, someone die because medicine couldn’t save them. Another death. He felt… He felt so helpless. He couldn’t save. He could only destroy.
The Host, being the Host, knew all of this. He took Edward’s cheek into his hand and pulled him down for a soft, lingering kiss. “My darling dear,” He whispered. “Of course I will marry you. Of course I will spend my life with you, enjoying the moments of happiness you bring to me. I could never refuse such an offer, not from you.”
Edward smiled and wrapped his arms around Anthony’s waist. He nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He whispered.
Anthony wrapped his arms around his neck. “But… that doesn’t mean what happened today won’t happen again. Sometimes people just die, Edward. You can’t save them. Don’t beat yourself up thinking you could have.”
Edward squeezed his eyes shut. He held on tighter to Anthony, knowing he was right. But he couldn’t stop being a doctor. He did save some people. He had to be there for those people.
Anthony rubbed his back. “Let’s go to our room. We can cuddle together, and think. Maybe even watch a movie.” He smiled softly.
Edward nodded, and let his new fiance lead the way.
(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.”
emptynarration 