Septiceye/Iplier/Sides One-Shots

Not Like You Pt.1 (Host/Author)

The Host was sitting hunched over a desk, blood dripping from his face onto the paper he was writing on.

The ink he was writing with swirled with the blood, smudging the paper with blotches of dark red liquid.

Host cursed under his breath, crumpling up the paper and throwing it across the room. He pulled out another piece of paper, but just before he began to write, a deep laugh filled the room causing him to freeze.

The laugh stopped after a moment. A clacking of footsteps crept closer to him. And then, the walking stopped. Host could feel the presence of somebody behind him.

He heard a loud bang, and the sound of wood splintering and ripping apart. Cautiously, he moved his hand to the side of his desk, feeling half of the wood now gone.

There was another cracking break as he felt his desk break down the middle, wood chips falling in his lap and on the ground.

Surprisingly, he looked like he was remaining calm. As blood soaked his bandages, however, it seemed as if he was not as calm as his outer appearance seemed.

Suddenly, the bandages were ripped from his face, causing him to quickly turn his head downward so nobody could see the bloody sockets of where his eyes had been a long, long time ago.

He felt a hand on his chin, forcing his head in the direction of this person's face, most likely.

The deep laugh returned, followed by a voice, "Pitiful."

The Host shoved the hand of the man off of his face. The man growled quietly, "That's no way to treat yourself, is it?"

The Host raised up his own hand, running his fingers through his black hair, brushing over the streak of blonde hair, "The Host didn't care who this mysterious man was. The Host could inform him that he had no idea what he was speaking about and that-"

The man cut off Host by slapping him across the face. Host stayed quiet, putting a hand to his cheek, feeling his own dried blood there, followed by the stinging of the hit.

The man spoke a second later, "Don't use third person. That would be even more pitiful. And you know who I am."

The Host stayed silent as he cupped his cheek in his hands. The man sighed, "So you're not going to ask me who I am?"

The Host spoke up quietly, "Host does not need to. He... I... Know who you are."

The sound of the man tapping his foot impatiently was the only sound as Host stopped speaking.

Eventually, the man spat onto the ground, "Oh yeah? Who am I then?"

Host looked up at him, picturing the similar features, and the bat the man probably held. The Host finally whispered, "The Author."

The man laughed, and Host felt like stealing the bat and crashing it down on Author's head.

Host could picture the smile forming on Author's face as he said his next words, "Ah. You do remember me. That's good. Have you missed me? Of course you haven't, hah! I'm you, after all."

Host shook his head, muttering, "You're not."

Author put his bat over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, "Oh? I'm not? Then it wouldn't matter if I broke your skull open, would it."

Host stayed quiet. He heard Author walk around the room, and the sound of paper being picked up, unfolded, and smoothed out.

Host stood up, trying to get to Author before he started reading it. However, Host was too late as Author shoved him onto the ground, knocking the air from his chest.

The Author smirked, "Oh. Well this is interesting."

Host stayed quiet on the ground as Author spoke, "An apology letter? To..."

Author trailed off, walking to Host and swinging his bat at the narrator. Host cried out in pain, bending over and holding his chest where he'd been hit.

Author hissed at Host, "You think an apology letter is going to fix what we did?!"

Host nodded, finally able to breathe as he mumbled, "I can agree what we did was wrong... But I'm not the bad person, here. I'm not like you"

Author grinned, "Oh, you are. You're me. And we both kill for sport, don't we..."

"Host?"

The voice startled the both of them. Author shrank into the shadows as another man came into the room. Host could recognize the voice as Dark's, as the room became colder.

Host cleared his throat, Dark kneeling in front of him, "Host, what happened in here?"

Host stumbled through his words, "I-I.... Host... He..."

Dark placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Host flinching at the action. He was suddenly helped to his feet, Dark speaking, "Let's get you to Dr. Iplier..."

Host nodded, allowing himself to be pushed away from his past.

Author grinned as the two walked out of the room, leaving him in darkness as the lights blinked off and the door slammed shut.

A/N-

This was bad.

It's so cringe.

Ew. I know you've already (probs) read the One-Shot, but I want to gag myself at all this cringey stuff I write.

Okay, imma go do that, byeeee~