Iplier One-Shots

- Falling into the past -

The Host | The Author

Warning: This chapter contains described violence.
You have been warned.

Host sat at his desk.

All by himself.

Day after day.

Just like he always did.

He was taking notes on where his story, he was planning to write, should be going. Should there be romance? Or action? Mystery? A plot twist mid-ways? Horror? Thriller?

"Horror or Thriller seems good, the Host thought to himself.", he narrated.

Several ideas for a great crime came flooding into his mind. Oh, how much he had in mind already. The mental and physical pain he would put the poor soul through. Torturing them into madness, to the verge of breaking down, shattering into thousands of pieces. He could taste the salty, hot, tears, streaming down in floods, their hoarse voice screaming at the top of their lungs, begging him for mercy, to stop this insanity of an inhuman act.

A shiver ran down Host's spine as he let those thoughts intrude him. A cold droplet of sweat ran down the side of his head. A feeling he thought he had lost long ago seethed up inside of him. He felt how the adrenaline in his system pumped through him, his heart rate picking up pace. His hands began twitching and his eye sockets began to leak more blood then usually. His breath hitched and Host now took more shallow and irregular breaths.

"The thought, the idea, of using an innocent person again as his living protagonist, his puppet, in his story made The Host shiver in excitement. Being able to narrate them into his story, his sick and twisted tale; into their horrible death. It was pure satisfaction to him. -", Host narrated.

Blood dripped down on his paper and an insane grin started to form on his face.

"- He imagined how he would lead his victim to a quiet part of LA, through the empty streets. Fear stroked, paranoid that their predator might get them, pull them into a dark ally and hurt them. The predator would clasp their hand over the victim's mouth and muffling their pathetic screams for help, holding a knife to their throat. Slicing their soft skin open ever so slightly, that a thin line of blood would drew. Then cutting small and deep cuts onto their face. The smell of the irony blood filling both their noses."

A shaky breath left Host's lips as the blonde strand in his hair faded in the slightest until it was fully brown again. His soft dark brown hair was getting more stiff and an even darker shade. The bloody bandage around his eyes loosened and he felt a stinging pain in his eye sockets. Host's breathing took up pace and his fingers dug into the table edge as he began to groan at the weird feeling inside his head.

Suddenly, someone knocked at his door and ripped him out of his mind-set. It felt as if his heart was going to burst right out of his chest and onto the floor.

"Host? Can I come in?", the person on the other side asked, not daring to open the door without permission.

"Not now, Trimmer.", Host growled at the other, the headache that began to form in his head getting worse.

"Host? Are you alright?", Bim asked concerned.

The showman had never heard Host speaking in first person. Ever.

"Go away! You're interrupting me!"

Host clenched his jaw and dug his fingernails even deeper into the wood, him breathing heavily. He let out an agonizing scream and he banged his head onto the table multiple times, in hopes that this feeling inside his head would fade.
After some time, Host finally stopped moving at all. Just resting his head on his desk.

He then sat up again, hands twitching from time to time.
He then blinked a few times.
He rose his hand and took off the blindfold.

"I'm finally back into business.", he breathed out and shed himself off the trench coat.

The man changed into a plain black shirt, black jeans, and chucks. At the end, he did his hair the way it used to look and smiled at his reflection.

"It's time to write some best sellers again.", he said.

He walked out of the room and was greeted with a scared and confused looking Bim.

They starred at each other for a moment until Bim spoke up.

"What- who are-", he stammered out and backed off.

Author chuckled and approached him, cornering the young show host.

"I am the one you will refer as The Author, boy.", he grinned, "Now, let me be your guide and let me show you the beauty of my mind."