The night was oh so quiet, gentle breaths and the scratch of paper on pen the only noise in the library, echoing in its huge chamber walls. Host could barely hear it, what with Edward’s soft, sleeping breaths close to his ear. With a flourish, Host finished his last sentence, and leaned back into Edward’s arms, shifting in his lap.
Groggy, Edward wiggled against him, pecking Host’s face with a few kisses, before pulling him in close and pressing one to his lips. Host couldn’t help but giggle into the kiss, holding Edward close to him, deepening it.
“Time for sleep, Hostie?”
Host smiled at Edward, voice still heavy with sleep, and kissed him again.
“Time for sleep, Prince.”
Host stood from Edward’s warm lap, helping Edward up and holding him steady as he stumbled, a bit thrown off from having his boyfriend in his lap for hours.
“I love you,”
“I love you too.”
Holding hands, they made their way to the room they called theirs, and Host slowly narrated as Edward took his clothes off, which earned him a pillow to the head. He shrugged it off and undressed himself, joining Edward in bed, pulling him close to him, where he belonged.
It didn’t take long for Edward to fall asleep, but Host was asleep before him, finally happy, finally content with his true love.
/ Now THIS I call a forest deity if I’ve ever seen one
/ Elvin is such a cute bean I swear to god he’s great
/ Also yes I was too lazy to attempt drawing the branches again so I didn’t :’)
/ But I love him, look at my adorable bean
/ So technically this is supposed to be Forest Deity Host
/ But it’s also somehow not looking like Host 100% so he’s also kind of a OC now / And I guess his name is Elvin
/ Anyways since his antlers are baren it’s winter I guess :’D
Host held the warm cup of hot chocolate in his hands. Both of them, just to feel the warmth of the cup seep into his hands. He enjoyed the warmth, letting it surround him, warm him up from the inside out, as he took a drink from his beverage. He enjoyed drinking hot chocolate, especially in the colder season. Hot milk and a chunk of good chocolate, and he had the perfect creamy drink he could wish for.
He leaned back in his chair, feeling the warmth in his hands. He felt warm all around, and he felt cozy in his coat even now. He hated being cold, which he did very easily, sadly. So it was nice to be warm, like this.
He listened to the fire crackle, adding to the warmth. It’s heat tremendous, devouring the wood like it was paper. Burning high and bright, radiating an intense heat, that warmed the Host nicely. He liked sitting here, listening to the sounds of cracking and popping fire, and a cup of hot chocolate in his hands.
He felt the hot licks of flames on his skin, burn his bandages and set his coat aflame. He let it burn him, the heat long since having passed the point of painful. Flesh getting burned off, the smell filling Host’s surroundings, until his nerves were so burned he didn’t feel anything anymore.
It was nice like this, and the Host was content burning in the flames, being devoured by it, dying a most painful way.
Usually, he wore gloves. Thick, leather gloves that hid the scars and ink stains on his hands that hadn’t faded, even after the Author had died, long ago. Ink that shaped lives, ended them. Ink that let him bend reality to his will. It was shameful of him to ever think he could properly control that kind of power. He barely took them off, sometimes, he left them on while he slept. Or when he wrote. None of the others had seen his hands, and he knew it.
Except for Edward. The doctor wasn’t repulsed by the scars, the ink, the callouses- every bit that Host was ashamed of. Kissed them, brushed his fingers over them, held them in his own soft, warm hands. He let Host play with his hair with them, braid lavander and peonies in his hair, which had grown so much since Host was the Author. Now it reached his shoulders, and Edward tied it back every day before work. Their mornings were filled with coffee and the search for a hairtie before breakfast.
In a way, his hair was not the only thing that had grown. Edward was stronger now, sturdier, but somehow kept that sweetness inside of him. He pushed, instead of giving in, less of a pushover. He was the one to stop Host from trying to scrub the ink out of his hands, the one to insist he changes his bandages, the one to watch out for him.
And Host, looking back on himself, had grown, too. Now he was quieter, more content, the constant nagging to be better, do better, to gain and gain and gain almost completely gone. There were no more early mornings for him, he never wanted any. Nothing, not even all the power in the world, could compare to him waking up with Edward’s hand in his.
This one had me in a bind. I gotcha covered, tho 😉
Title: Waiting
The Host had been standing by the window for hours; his head tilted toward the frosted window as if he could actually see through it.
Not that there was much to see. The view through the window was nothing but white, whipping snow.
But still he stood there, arms wrapped around himself, muttering under his breath.
There were multiple attempts to dissuade him.
“He’s not going to be coming back tonight, Host,” Dark commented as he passed by. “Not with the blizzard. Maybe your time would be best spent working instead of just standing around.”
“Hostie!” Yandereiplier squealed, popping around the corner some time after Dark left. “Can you make my crush love me back?”
His lack of response soon extended her short attention span, but as soon as the navy blue of her skirt disappeared Wilford and the Jims came barrelling around the corner.
But all it took was the Host growling “Wilford and the Jims are better off somewhere else” to send them scurrying away.
He was left alone to continue his vigil after that, and continue he did, at least until a pair of headlights- that is narrations told him were just barely visible through the swirling snowflakes- sent him for the door.
Dr. Iplier blew in along with a gust of snow and wind. He was jet-lagged, exhausted, freezing cold, and he went straight for the Host’s arms, tipping over his rolling suitcase to the floor with a thunk as he did.
“Missed me these past few weeks, have you?” Dr. Iplier laughed as the Host’s arms enveloped him, clutching him tight as if he’d disappear if he didn’t.
“The Host missed you,” the Host agreed, and leaned down to kiss him.
He still couldn’t do much on his own, still was mostly nonverbal, but the Author was doing better since his eyes had been carved out of his skull and he’d been dumped on the doctor’s doorstep.
Dr. Iplier couldn’t quite say the same about himself. He rarely slept, and when he did he did so poorly. Blood-filled, gory nightmares stalked his subconscious, jerking him awake in the dead of night screaming and reaching for the other side of the bed, where the Author should’ve been.
Dr. Iplier heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, brushing the unruly curls from his face. Then he pushed up from his desk. It was time to change the Author’s bandages.
“Author?” He tried to keep his voice low as he left his office, but the Author still flinched at the sudden noise, still jerked his head in the doctor’s direction.
“It’s okay. It’s just me.” Dr. Iplier was quick to reassure him, and he grimaced as blood began to blossom against the white of the Author’s bandages. Seems he’d torn the stitches again. “It’s Edward.”
He went over, placing a hand on the Author’s shoulder to let him know he was there before leaning down to brush sweaty strands of hair back from his forehead before pressing his lips to the overheated skin. “You still have a fever, but I think it’s gone down a bit since I checked a few hours ago. How’re you feeling?”
The Author seemed to relax a little bit under his touch, settling back into his chair. He tilted his head and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“I didn’t quite hear you.”
The Author tilted his head further, more blood beginning to flow down his cheeks. It was then that Dr. Iplier realized that he was indicating toward something behind him. “Dark.”
“Yes.” Dark appeared in the doorway, hands folded behind his back. He strolled in, eyes zeroing in on the Author as if he were some prize. A faint smirk pulled at his lips. “I’ve come to collect our dear friend here.”
“What- you can’t- absolutely not.” Dr. Iplier stammered, straightening and fixing Dark with a defiant glare. “The Author isn’t fit to leave the clinic.”
“Nonsense.” Dark gave a dismissive flick of his fingers. “He’s perfectly fine. And besides, I have some business with him.”
“What sort of business?” Dr. Iplier crossed his arms, continued to stare Dark down.
“None of your concern, my dear Doctor.” Dark brushed by him as if he wasn’t even there, leaned down to offer the Author his hand. “Shall we depart?”
“Author-” Dr. Iplier could only gape as the Author reached out and took it, allowing Dark to help him to his feet. As soon as he regained his composure, he moved to block their exit. “This is preposterous. Author isn’t going anywhere.”
“I’d say that was his choice, whether he stays or comes with me. Oh, and do inform our good doctor of what you’re calling yourself now,” Dark addressed this to the Author, who stood still and stiff as a statue beside him.
“The Host.” It was barely a whisper, but to Dr. Iplier it was as if he’d shouted. “His name is the Host.”
“Author-” Dr. Iplier reached out, but Dark was already steering the Author away, back the way he’d come, and the doctor’s fingertips just barely grazed the Author’s thin hospital gown as he passed.
“We have much to do, much to learn. Come along, Host.” Just before they disappeared from view, Dark twisted. “I will keep you updated on his progress, Doctor. I’m sure you will be most interested.”
With that, Dark and the newly-named Host left the clinic, and left Dr. Iplier alone.
The bar was scarcely populated to begin with, but any patrons who remained quickly paid off their tabs and left at the arrival of the man with the dirty bandages for eyes and his rather intimidating companion.
“The Host remarks on the convenience of an empty establishment and asks Google Blue his opinion on the matter.” The Host seemed almost skittish and it reflected in his speech and in his movements. He lacked his usual fluid grace and he would’ve collided with tables and chairs on multiple occasions had Blue not had a hand on his shoulder to steer him safely out of harm’s way.
emptynarration 