Work Text:
The other Egos never ask where the Host goes on the weekends.
Why it’s got to be like this. Is this living free?
He disappears to a cabin in the woods, smelling of ink and blood.
I don’t want to be the one, be the one who has the sun’s blood on my hands.
His latest ‘character’ was easily enough manipulated: a young girl, too naive for her own good. Lately, there had been too many questions, and not enough cooperation.
I’ll tell the moon, take this weapon forged in darkness.
The metal of the bat was cold in his hands. Familiar, too familiar.
Some see a pen, I see a harpoon.
The predictability of ink and paper was, honestly, preferable, but sometimes…
I’ll stay awake, because the dark’s not taking prisoners tonight.
Sometimes, the thunk of metal against bone and the splatter of blood was more satisfying.
Why am I not scared in the morning?
“Please, please, I’ll do anything–”
I don’t hear those voices calling.
The bat was heavier, caked with blood and the occasional hair. The cabin was, finally, silent.
I must have kicked them out, I must have kicked them out,
When the Host goes back to the office, no one comments on the new blood spatters on his clothes, the rust-red covering his face and hands.
I swear I heard demons yelling.
Well, except Dark.
Those crazy words they were spelling.
Dark storms into the library the moment he hears that the Host is back, aura rabid, snapping around him, ready to berate him on the dangers of leaving the safety of the office.
They told me I was gone, they told me I was gone.
The Host, still smiling, teeth still stained with blood, rides the high of violence as long as he can. He always clings to it, he rarely gets out of the house these days. Dark ruins it all.
But I’ll tell them.
“The Host wishes that Darkiplier would leave him alone.”
Why won’t you let me go?
“Author, this isn’t like you, to endanger us all. Do tell me,” Dark says, smiling, gripping his wrists in a painful vice, “that you won’t do it again?”
Do I threaten all your plans?
The Host remembers his bat, still bloody, just out of reach.
I’m insignificant.
“The Host said,” jerking out of Dark’s grasp, “to leave. Him. Alone.”
Please tell them you have no plans for me.
It’s as if Dark’s been burned, and he staggers back, perfect suit now splattered with blood that isn’t his own.
I will set my soul on fire, what have I become?
The Host grins as Dark stalks out of the room, the bloodlust filling him again. This, the smell of ink and blood against his hands, is enough to keep his heart pounding.
I’ll tell them.
He always wants more.