#winged!host

[thomothysdoodles]

@ambigiousgelpens this is silly but— Mal delightfully uses his wings and goes yoink on Dark >:D

[thomothysdoodles]

@ambigiousgelpens yup another one. His wings need grooming but first.. a quick snack

[thomothysdoodles]

:3c could u draw Mallory getting some help from Google, some time? Perhaps some help picking out clothes, or receiving a snack from him or whatever?

I’ve had this idea from quite a bit but uh I dunno I’m not 100% sure Google would be fascinated but I really liked the idea hope it’s fine..

[lostcybertronian]

6 Wings, Host

Sorry for the delay with these! I think I’m coming down with a cold and I have some really big assignments coming up in the next few days. The executive dysfunction is really kicking my ass rn.

Title: Can’t See

The Host’s wings were massive. They had to be, to contain the story scrawled over his curling, parchment feathers in handwriting almost too tiny to read, almost too blood-spattered to discern. Even tucked in, they were intimidating, and most egos were eager to stay in his good graces, or to avoid him completely.

Dr. Iplier was the only one to approach him without fear, without inhibitions. And now, sitting on their bed with the Host’s wings spread around them, tucking them into a cocoon, all he felt was warmth.

“They’re very beautiful,” he said, reaching up to touch the yellowed feathers, trailing his fingers across clumped lines of black ink, giving a slight shudder as the Host’s fingers threaded through his own wings, combing through the snow-white secondaries. “I wish you could see that.”

“The Host cannot see anything,” came the automatic reply, and the doctor’s hand stilled as he shot the Host an unimpressed glance.

“’The Host knows what I mean,’“ he mimicked, and the Host’s lips curled up in a smile.

“He does,” he said, and dipped his head to kiss him.

[lostcybertronian]

Egotober- Day 18

Prompt: Gold

Pairing: Dr. Iplierst/Dr. Ghost/WebMD

---

The Host’s library was wrecked; bookshelves were overturned, their contents scattered everywhere, in various states of ruin, pages torn out and spines ripped in half. Paper feathers crinkled and crunched under their feet as they ventured further in.

    They found the Host on the far wall, his wings spread wide, pinned to the drywall like a butterfly in a display case. The Host himself hung limply from them, his wrists tied together in front of him, his legs dangling, toes not quite touching the floor. The slow drip, drip, drip of ink from his torn feathers to the floor was the only thing to permeate the silence draped over the grisly scene. 

“Oh my god,” Blue muttered, as Dr. Iplier rushed forward, his mouth gaping into an “O” of horror for a long moment before his doctor’s instincts kicked in and he rushed forward. “Help me get him down, Blue!”

    Hands were instantly soaked in blood and ink as they worked to free the Host, prying from his feathers blades half-buried until, with a shudder, he fell hard into their arms, enormous wings thudding dully to the floor, the curled parchment appearing gold under the bright glow of Blue’s core and Dr. Iplier’s phone flashlight.

    They laid him down. Dr. Iplier immediately kneeled beside him while Blue freed the Host’s wrists. 

    “It’s alright, Host,” Dr. Iplier murmured, when the Host began to make small, choked noises, his fingers twitching, clenching, clutching at his bloodied trench-coat. He traced gentle fingers over the Host’s wings, examining puncture wounds that were ragged and raw and still oozing ink. “You’ll be- Blue. Look at this.”

    As he spoke he touched one of the wounds, one of the thousands of tiny words scrawled over the delicate paper, black-spattered and damning: Actor.

“You need to get Dark.” Dr. Iplier’s voice was low, kept carefully calm, but as he spoke his white feathers puffed, the edge of fear revealing itself through the hunch of his shoulders and the sudden shake of his hand. He twisted to look at Blue, barking, “now!”

Blue’s machinery hummed as he disappeared, back the way they’d come, driven by a single word, by the horrific reality of the situation.

    Dr. Iplier didn’t watch him go, instead doing what he knew he could, opening his medical kit and getting to work, continuing to murmur quietly to the Host even as he passed out, his head lolling against the splinter-coated floor.

[lostcybertronian]

helllooo~can we please get some rare ship of host/bing with 44?

Sorry this took so long! Have some winged!Au

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @demonnightmareangel @darkiplurrr

Prompt 44: “I’ll always be there for you. Don’t you know that?”

    He banked right. Then left. Then right again, solely for the purpose of feeling the cool, night air rushing over his face and feathers, blowing back his hair and clothes.

    Pumping his wings sent him higher, sent him hurtling through the sky ever faster, and from behind him he heard a laugh.

    “Wait up, dude!” It was Bing; a solid, warm presence just behind him. “I’m not as fast as you!”

    The Host obliged, settling into smooth glide so that Bing could catch up. His mechanical wings hummed like a hummingbird’s.

    “You really like flying, huh?” He remarked.

    The Host didn’t respond, but he did smile. His wings were fragile; easily damaged by sunlight or rain, so he wasn’t able to fly nearly as often as he wanted to. Only at night, and never alone.

    “I like flying too,” Bing continued, “but my wings don’t hold charge very well. Not as well as Google’s …”

    He trailed off all of a sudden, and somewhere, deep inside his head, the Host heard a tiny beeping noise.

    Then, he shouted, “get down!”

—

    They landed in the field just as the clouds opened up and the rain came down, instantly soaking anything and everything.

    In a blind panic the Host stripped off his trenchcoat, draping it over himself as hard bullets of rain pelted him all over.

    It didn’t help; his coat was drenched in seconds and it chafed, only adding to the pain that made him double over. It felt like hot acid was being poured over him. Felt like his very skin was dissolving.

    He had to get to shelter.

    He began to stumble forward, but then a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him into a run, nearly dragging him right off his feet.

    “Cccc-ome-come o-OOn, Hos-s-s-st!” Bing’s voice was static-laced and distorted, but it still pierced through the torrential downpour. “Ther-there are tre-e-e-s up ahead!”

    They ran until the ground beneath their feet turned from twisted grass to twigs and dead undergrowth, until the sound of rain against bark and leaves nearly overwhelmed everything else.

    Bing pulled the Host close and for a moment he could hear nothing more than mechanical clicking and groaning. And then the rain wasn’t touching him anymore, and the pain ebbed to a dull throb.

    The Host’s hushed narrations told him that Bing had stretched his wings around his huddled form, shielding him from the rain. The drops hissed and sizzled and sparked when it came into contact with the sensitive metal, but despite this Bing was still protecting him.

    “It’s-s-s-s fine, bruh,” Bing replied through gritted teeth. “I-I-I can-can gee-EEt fixed.”

    “The Host still questions as to why Bing is risking his own safety.”

    “‘S no big deal.” Bing’s core stuttered and his body made a noise like that of a dying laptop. “I-I-I’ll always be th-er-er-ere for ya. Don’tcha kno-o-ow that?”

    Then, his eyes flickered out and he slumped over the Host.

—

    Hours later- hours past the time the Host and Bing were expected back- the Host staggered in, dripping wet and hauling an unconscious Bing along with him and taking everybody by surprise when he himself collapsed to the lobby floor.

[lostcybertronian]

"Please forgive me for all Ive done." - for DocHost???? Maybe??

Winged!AU. This is just. Pure fluff.

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @demonnightmareangel @darkiplurrr @moonysmayhem

Prompt: “Please forgive me for all I’ve done.”

    Carding his fingers through delicate paper feathers, he felt the Host shiver. Saw goosebumps rise along his shoulders and arms even as the Host bent to trail kisses across his jawline.

    This was the first time they’d been … intimate, since the Author’s death, and the first time the Host had let him touch his wings.

    There were new words scrawled over his feathers. New blood too, from who knew what. However, Dr. Iplier didn’t particularly care. He was more interested in the words that crowded every inch of his faded, yellow, parchment-paper wings. The Author’s wings had had much, much less, and their color had more closely resembled that of Dr. Iplier’s own wings: pristine white.

    “What do they say?” The words were tiny; barely readable. But he managed to pick out words like blood and flee and killing.

    The Host paused, stiffened almost imperceptibly. Then he pulled away.

Dr. Iplier immediately regretted what he’d said. “Don’t go. You don’t have to tell me.”

    There was a pause during which the Host tilted his head. Leaned in to kiss him. Gently.

“They tell the Host’s story.” He whispered against the doctor’s lips, and slowly, slowly, he spread his wings to their full length, curling them around them, enveloping them in a warm cocoon.

Now it was Dr. Iplier’s turn to pull away, to marvel, to lift a hand to touch them. “They’re beautiful.”

The Host frowned. Shook his head. “Edward is foolish to believe so.”

“Why?”

“The Host’s story is ugly. He has done many horrible things.” The Host’s voice lowered. “Edward would not want to be here if he read the words written there.”

“Then you’re the one who’s foolish.”

“Edward-”

“Doesn’t care. I don’t care,” Dr. Iplier insisted, wings fluttering. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care who you killed or who the Author killed or what Dark has made you do. I don’t care.”

“Forgive the Host, then.” The Host pulled his hand away from his feathers, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “Forgive him for all he’s done. So he knows he’s perhaps not completely irredeemable.”

He sat there, waiting for an answer, but all Dr. Iplier did was cup his face and pull him in for a kiss.

He never did answer, but then again, he didn’t have to.

[lostcybertronian]

Can we see Eric having a flashback to his time with Derek than one of the other egos comforting him afterwards?

I took this as a winged!AU prompt. Hope you don’t mind :)

Title: Scissors

He was pathetic. Just like his dad said he was. One look at a pair of scissors and he’d simply broken down. Fled the room, much to the confusion of the Jim Twins.

Now he shuffled down the- thankfully- abandoned hallway, his eyes red and puffy from crying, his handkerchief twisted nearly to ripping in his grip.

His wings were tucked in tightly enough to be uncomfortable; an effort to hide from the overwhelming memories of scissors and his dad’s angry, gleaming eyes as he hack-hack-hacked away at Eric’s primaries and secondaries, declaring triumphantly once he was done that Eric wouldn’t ever fly.

The thought of being grounded- now that he’d truly had a taste of being in the air, of feeling the air rushing through his feathers and hair- brought fresh tears and fresh panic. It consumed him nearly to the point that he almost didn’t notice the figure approaching from the opposite direction.

“Eric? Is that you? Is something wrong?” It was Dr. Iplier! He couldn’t let the doctor see him like this. Couldn’t make him comfort him like he’d done time and time again.

Thinking quickly, Eric spun and darted for the door he’d passed a few feet back, yanking it open and disappearing inside before Dr. Iplier could call out again.

He squeaked when he found himself in near-absolute darkness and surrounded by the tall, shadowy shapes of bookshelves.

The Host’s library. The Host scared him. He had no eyes!

Eric sucked in one breath. Then another. But he couldn’t go back out there. Dr. Iplier was out there.

Maybe he won’t notice me. He tip-toed further in, eyes shooting left, right, forward, searching for any sign of the Host.

But, of course, he wouldn’t get any. Not even when the Host approached him from behind.

“The Host finds a young man wandering about where he doesn’t belong.” The words made him jump. He whirled, eyes widening at the rather gruesome sight of the Host’s pale, blood-streaked face and the dingy bandages he had in place of eyes. Behind him, his wings- were they made of paper?- seemed to loom.

“I-I-I’m sorry-” he stammered. “I-I-I-”

The Host merely smiled. It looked to Eric like a wolf’s smile. “The Host is not angry. He understands the need for privacy.”

“Bu-”

“Eric is not as pathetic as he seems to think. He has good reason to fear a pair of scissors.” From one pocket of his trench-coat the Host produced a clean tissue, which he offered to Eric. “Does Eric wish to remain here for a while?”

Eric stared at the tissue as if it might bite. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and took it. “Uh. I, um, I thi-think I’d like that.”

The Host smiled again, and nodded to Dr. Iplier, who had just come in. “The Host enjoys having company every once and a while. Shall he read you both a story?”

Eric nodded warily, side-eyeing the doctor. “Su-sure.”

“He has some good ones.” Dr. Iplier winked and placed a comforting hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

Eric managed a small smile as together they headed further into the library.