#hostdark

Hostdark

Genders related to being a radio host of the Dark / a Dark-aligned radio host. These genders are connected to the Dark from The Magnus Archives, Dark aesthetics, radio host aesthetics, and general radio aesthetics. It can also be related to aharihood, but doesn't have to be!

“Stop moving!”

It was pouring. The sky was dark. It was a setting Author had placed many of his characters into, dark and dreary nights with pouring rain that battered down even the sharpest of wits and mightiest wills. Rain seemed to drain all hope; that’s why he had always used it. To show his characters there was nothing to hope for.

But those days were over. Long gone, just like his eyesight. Hell, the only way he knew that it was raining was because of the sound that he heard even inside his recording booth, making him stop in the middle of his newest story and comment to his listeners about the rain. He had stopped, listening to light pattering become the noise of fat droplets striking down upon the roof. Then, the story continued.

He knew it was dark because the man across to him only came at night. His schedule was too busy for anything else.

He knew from the sounds that Dark sat in a chair across from him, his aura a muted creaking groan that accompanied the rain. The usual ringing was thankfully absent. From his narrations, Host could see Dark was paler than usual, his aura a wave of red, blue and black. The aura cracked and whipped out in spikes like lightening bolts, but did nothing to harm the shelves of books around him. It was distracting. Host could almost see the silhouettes of two- three people?- tied, mushed together in the conglomerate that was flaring around Dark in violent screams, whipping around him-

“Stop moving,” Host finally said, breaking the comfortable almost-silence they had nearly perfected.

Dark tilted his head to the side. Host heard his neck crack. It sounded like lightning splitting wood.

“I’m not moving-“

“Your aura.” Host grimaced. He touched his bandages, which were thankfully still dry.

Dark must’ve done something, since soon his aura was much more… contained. Without another word, the man stood, and Host narrated every step as Dark flicked his wrist, a teapot materializing in his hand. Host smiled. It was always nice to have Dark around, to be able to freely use magic without having to worry about any consequences. The perks of having Dark as a friend.

Host pulled a teacup into existence, and narrated as Dark poured him a glass of sweet smelling tea before taking a seat. Then, back to silence. Host sipped the tea, bitter at first but too much sugar gave it a saccharine aftertaste. It was Darks preference, so he never bothered to ask him to change it.

Besides, the tea was like Dark. Bitter, gritty, overly sweet, but familiar. Warm. Like coming home.

At first, the visits were always to ask Host for something. Glimpses into the future, changes to reality, things that tested Host’s newfound powers. Every time, he would ask Dark to make his aura move less, and Dark would listen.

Then, he came to borrow books, then, for tea and magic late at night after long days. Familiarity, warmth. Two things that Host would never had associated Dark with, until he got to know him.

More silence as Dark moved his chair closer to Hosts, so now their knees bumped together. Host felt the coldness of Darks aura wrap around him as the entity leaned forward, wrapping Host up in a hug. Host didn’t ask, didn’t break the precious silence like the raindrops or the thunder, but instead pulled Dark close.

Neither of them moved. Host felt the tea in his cup grow cold, but stayed still, feeling cold all over from Darks touch. Their chests rose and fell with synchronized breaths. Host was the first to move, forcing the teacup out of existence and moving his hand to comb through the strands of Darks hair.

I really enjoyed this one. I do enjoy the Host/Dark

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @redraspberrycats @darkstache-iplier @tiny-yan-an @holyshitsnakesandspace @kawaiihetaliana

Prompt 16: “Stop telling me you’re okay”

“For the last time, Warfstache,” Dark’s voice held a sinister edge as he spoke from the opposite end of the table, yet his face betrayed nothing but cool indifference. “Those names are off-limits. Pick new ones.”

    “But they’re perfect for these characters!” Wilford protested, “Damien means ‘devil,’ and William-”

    “I said pick. New. Ones!” Dark stood, slamming his palms down on the table. Several Egos flinched as his shell cracked and the room flooded with monochromatic gray.

    The Host, however, kept on muttering narrations to himself, voice so low that not even Dr. Iplier, sitting next to him, could hear. He knew how this would end. “Bim tentatively begins to speak.”

    “Can we at least keep ‘Celine’?” He asked carefully, playing with the edges of his sleeves nervously. He looked anywhere but at Dark or Wilford.

    Dark slowly turned his head to focus the full force of his murderous wrath on Bim and the show host seemed to shrink into himself.

    “The silence was so thick that all Egos could’ve heard a pin drop.” The Host whispered.

    It lasted for several long, agonizing minutes. No one dared so much as breathe.

    Finally, Dark straightened and adjusted his suit, a dangerous glint to his eye. “Do whatever you wish. It matters not.”

    A grin spread itself across Wilford’s face and he opened his mouth to speak but the entity was already gone: disappearing in a swirl of black.

    No one else dared speak, except for the Host. “The Host rises from his seat with intentions to follow. Dr. Iplier grabs his hand-”

    “In my professional opinion as a doctor, Host, don’t follow him. You might get hurt.” Dr. Iplier sounded worried, but he didn’t try to stop the blind Ego as he withdrew his hand.

    The others merely watched him go. No one tried to stop him. Even Wilford, normally the first to follow Dark when needed, was too wrapped up in his own self-satisfaction to notice that anything was amiss.

    He allowed his narrations to guide him down the hallways, allowed them to lead him to Dark.

    “He finds Dark in his office, where he knew he would be, where he always goes when he needs to wallow.” The Host’s voice was bitter as he opened the door and slipped inside. “The Host knows his presence is unwanted.”

    “Go away, Host.” Though the entity’s voice was firm, it lacked conviction. The Host’s narrations told him Dark sat on the floor, back pressed up against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. His tie was undone. His hair, previously neat and well-groomed, was ruffled and hung in his face.

    As the Host’s soft descriptions lead him further into the room, he picked up on the fact that the stack of papers on the desk had been swept off, the chair overturned. Books had been thrown from the shelves to lie in various states of dishevelment on the floor.

    He stepped over to one, picked it up, carefully smoothed the crinkled pages. Then he closed it and set it back in its designated place on the shelf. He crossed his arms and stood there, back to Dark, silent.

    “What do you want, Host?” Dark’s held an edge now. “Do you take pleasure in seeing me weak?”

    “Does Dark enjoy being weak?” It took all of his control to keep his open, exposed back to the entity as he said those words. But he knew that Dark wouldn’t dare hurt him. “Does he enjoy wallowing in the past?”

    “I am not weak.” came the snarled response. There was the rustling of fabric, footsteps, an icy presence that indicated Dark was standing right behind him. “And I don’t wallow.”

    Still, the Host didn’t turn around.

    “Host!” A hand clamped down on his shoulder- and even though the Host was entirely aware of Dark’s presence he still jumped- and spun him around. “I am not weak.”

    “Stop telling me that.” The Host brushed Dark’s hand away. “Stop telling me you’re okay.”

    His voice rose. “Every mention of names, every small memory. It breaks you down.”

    “I. Am. Not. Weak!” Dark’s shell cracked and the Host’s mind was flooded with hate, with rage, with unimaginable loss. “Say it!”

    The Host drew himself up until he was nose-to-nose with the entity. “No.”

    There was a pause. A moment where both of them were quiet. When both of them were raw.

    Then Dark was kissing him, shoving their lips together fiercely, pushing the Host back against the bookshelf, hands clutching fistfuls of the blind man’s jacket.

    But the Host forced him back, away. Slapped him. Wiped one hand across his mouth.

    Dark didn’t react as the ego pushed past him, but hushed narrations revealed that the entity was clenching his jaw, rubbing at his cheek.

    The Host paused at the door, mid-reach for the doorknob. “Dark has to decide. He has to decide whether he wants to be Darkiplier, or whether he wants to be Damien.”

    When the entity didn’t respond, he continued, “Dark will come find the Host when he chooses to be Darkiplier.”

“I can’t tell if you’re sleeping or just very content,” Dark admitted, noticing that Host hadn’t moved in a bit. 

“The Host is very comfortable.” Host answered, curling up more against Dark, his head resting on the other man’s shoulder, the oversized and weighted blanket causing a strong warmth to form under it as the flames from the campfire kept everything that was still exposed to be heated as well. 

“I feel like we’re in a sauna.” Dark chuckled his complaint and not making any movement to change it. 

“Host questions if Dark is actually upset or is just trying to find something to say since this is the first time in a long time he has been left alone with his boyfriend.” Host lightly teased. 

“I have never been afraid of silence,” Dark stated. 

“Host never said that Dark fears silence, he was merely saying that he can tell Dark is afraid of boring him.” Host could feel Dark stiffen a little and he let out his own little chuckle. “Dark should never have to fear, it takes a lot of bore Host considering who he is.” 

“Dark questions if Host needs to be all smart about things.” Dark laughed when Host used his head to bump his shoulder, showing his disapproval.

“Host thinks that Dark has been around Wilford and Anti too much.” Host grumbled.

“Is someone jealous?” Dark asked in a sing-songy tone. 

“Host tells Dark to shut up.”