#dapperhost

[pxppet]

how about the host/jj?? i used to like that rarepair a lot haha

Seagull added in another ask: I FORGOT TO ADD A WORD ok how about "hold" or "see"

The voice is an underappreciated asset, Jameson believes. He can practically see the sounds dancing on the air on good days, watching the mouths of his loved ones make music. He knows them. Marvin’s voice is grating and jumpy, with a soft musical tone beneath. Jackie’s is loud and brilliant, full of pride and mirth even in defeat or sadness. Henrik’s is just as loud, but with a lilt of hymns, beauty untapped and a voice marred by a long life. 

He knows all of their voices like the back of his hands. And he speaks in BSL, so that is quite a recollection! Jameson has always been a bit of an agoraphobe since recuse from the Anti. Hardly leaving the safety of his cosy bedroom, hesitant to leave the comfort of blankets to hide under and a TV and books to entertain his mind. 

Henrik knocks on his door. Jameson knows it is his knock, even without looking. Pitter-patter and melodic rather than his other friend’s banging or sharp taps. Jameson whistles twice to let Henrik know he is decent. Henrik comes in with a hesitant smile, sitting on the bed and JJ sets aside his book to free his hands for conversation. 

“How are you?” Henrik signs softly. Jameson taps his chest. “Fine.” Casual and quite Pidgin for Henrik’s sake. 

“Jameson,” he speaks with an air of caution, his usual lilt gone, replaced with shaky confidence. “Marvin and me were talking. We think you need to leave this room more-” Jameson is already raising his hands to protest, but Henrik waggles his finger scoldingly. “Do not give that sass to me! Look, just... There is a party happening tonight, some friends of Jack’s are visiting from America. You should go.��� 

Jameson stares pointedly at his hands, unsure of how to respond. Henrik’s words dance around in his head. A party... A party with friends. JJ has never even been to a proper social gathering, let alone a party. He makes a movement with his hands, not a sign, more like a dismissal. Henrik huffs and crosses his arms. 

“It is my doctorly prescription that you go.” 

You haven’t been a doctor in three years, Jameson thinks, but does not sign, bitterly. “Okay, fine,” he does signs, nodding sharply. “I will go to a party, just tonight. If I can come home whenever I want?” 

Henrik nods in agreement, and after a few short words about how pale and sickly Jamie looks, some fussing and tussling, Jameson gets ready. A party. A house party, like real people. Like normal people. Jameson’s chest puffs proudly as he slips on a velvet green vest over his white dress shirt. He is a normal person now. Take that Antisepticeye. 

~~

It was a mistake. It was a mistake to come here. People crowd the living room of Jack’s apartment, and they are loud. Loud beyond even Jackie or Henrik’s voice. They yell and run around and he’s pretty sure one of them had a gun two seconds ago. Mark dumped his creations off like a flustered parent leaving their kid at daycare, then he and Jack retreated to a quieter room to catch up and chat business. Jameson is holding a styrofoam cup, swishing around the cream soda nervously. 

Brash, harsh notes of sound wave around his eyes, and he can barely flick them around enough to keep up. Someone in a blue shirt is chasing around the one with a mustache, someone who glows with darkness is chatting with Marvin, someone in a doctor’s coat is arguing with Henrik so loudly Jameson feels his eardrums will burst. 

In a moment of overstimulation, he drops his cup on the floor, reaching up to cover his ears, shaking his head back and forth. This was a mistake. It was all a mistake. It is too much, it’s all too much! He will never be a normal person, he- 

“-will always be the lonely puppet kid in a box, thinks the man.” Someone finishes his thought. Jameson starts so hard that he jumps off the ground and backs up a few steps, slamming against the corner of the wall. 

There is a stranger beside him now, standing casually and making no motion despite Jameson’s violent reaction. His eyes are covered with a bandage, clean and obscuring. He wears a thick coat despite the warm autumn night outside. He is smiling with unreadable intent.

“Hello, Jameson Jackson,” the man proposes, holding out his hand. There is dried blood on his coat. Jameson does not shake his hand. The Host puts his hand back down. He tilts his head at Jameson softly, humming. 

“When I first saw you across the room, I thought you were that puppet kid. Just a trapped little soul so regressed you barely function.” Jameson goes to protest, but is cut off. “You’re not though. That is not your real story, is it.” 

Jameson signs a simple, “What?” hoping the gesture will be understood. It is. The Host smiles and sips cider from his cup. 

“You are not Dapper Jack, but you are, if you understand me. You are that same character, but from another story. You write it as you walk, as you talk, as you breathe. The words control you and pull you further from Dapper Jack the longer you remain away from that hell hole.” Jameson shuffles his feet, feeling exposed suddenly despite being against a corner. This man can see... everything. He feels stripped down to his bones, chewed up and spit back out. Yet something about it is... comforting. The Host finishes his drink, crumpling the cup. 

“After all, what fun would a character be if he never changes?” Before Jameson can respond, Host turns to him with a wide, wide grin. “You are bones and skin, words and blood.” The Host flicks caked blood off of his coat, then takes Jameson’s hand softly, tracing the lines with almost loving movement. “These are the only words you were gifted with. But in retaliation your mind makes such beautiful music.” The Host brushes Jameson’s curls out of his face, causing the smaller man to blush brilliant pink all the way to his ears and jerk backward in surprise.

“Jameson Jackson is someone very, very interesting, however not too cooperative with your author,” Host chuckles. His voice is warm, musical, like he could never dream of hurting any soul. But Jameson hears behind it, the subtle corruption of cruelty. Yet he doesn’t mind it. There’s such an allure to this stranger, he can’t explain it. His blinfolded eyes peer straight to JJ’s soul and rip him out of himself like pages of a book.

He pulls his hands from Host’s and curls them at his chest for a moment, glad that Host appears to be blind to his blushing. 

“Jameson is blushing.” 

Dammit.

The Host laughs. Melodical insanity. “You’re rather cute, Dapper Jack. What do you say, am I a sufficient distraction from the party, friend?” Host stresses ‘friend’, seeming to know, to see, more in the words than JJ could ever hope to. Host’s voice floats around him like lazy otters despite his breaking JJ down to his bare character traits and feelings. 

“Why do I feel like you are looking through me...” Jameson signs to himself, not expecting an answer from the seemingly blind man. 

“Because you all are open books to me, a series of stories and words correlating to action for the sake of a creator’s entertainment.” Jameson blanches softly, looking at Host with wide eyes. “Yes, I know you are signing.” 

“Are you... a god? Magician? See all?” Jameson asks bluntly. Melodic insanity rings through the air once again.  

“No, no. I simply see the moment, the story as it is being told. I have no control over your life, if that is what you mean.” Jameson blinks, his eyes fluttering. He has no fucking clue what that means, if he’s honest with himself. He lets it go, standing awkwardly in the corner with Host, who is not looking at him, seeming to stare off into the room full of noise and chaos. They sit in their little corner together, silent, listening to the house music, to the arguments and friendly quarrels, to the shadowy being scolding his companions, to Henrik and the other doctor screaming songs drunkenly. 

Host sighs suddenly, breaking the silence. “You are so interesting.” He suddenly turns and puts his hand on JJ’s cheek, grinning at him. He runs a hand down his jaw, humming, causing Jameson to go wide-eyed and blush once again, but he doesn’t pull away from him. Blindfolded, bandages eyes bore holes into him, and Jameson trembles, feeling seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. Just as it is starting to overwhelm him, Host laughs softly, and lets go of him. “Until next time.” Jameson falls back against the wall corner, his eyes fluttering rapidly, his breathing uneven. 

He looks with majesty upon The Host, and for a moment can swear that he is blushing as well. But then he is gone into the chaos of the room, as though Jameson blinked him out of existence. Jameson places a hand on his chest, a bit shocked. Melodic insanity floats around him one more time, and in a daze Jameson finds Marvin, tugging their sleeve and asking with shaking hands to go home. 

“Ghost,” his hands whisper, pink fading from his cheeks. Marvin fusses, checking him for a fever delirium or overexcitement. 

They do go home, slowly and softly walking through Brighton’s streets back to their flat. Jameson’s hands whisper of ghosts and blind eyes peering through him all the walk home, all the night to follow, and all the next morning. The man in the trenchcoat’s laugh seems to sound around him, a hymnal of ghostly words sliding around in his head. 

Henrik tells him to forget it. How can he, though? How can you forget what it means to be seen, down to your very soul? 

No, Jameson will not forget. His ears and eyes will search forevermore for the soft melody of an all-knowing magician who saw him. Until next time, they whisper, promising and gentle. 

Until next time. 

[theprinceofflies]

Day Seventeen Stories

“The host is aware of Jameson Jackson watching him.” 

Jameson jumped and stepped out from behind a bookcase. He stared at the floor, a guilty expression on his face. He shifted his feet expecting The Host to be upset. 

“He was not,” the host said, turning in his spinny chair. It was a wonderful story how he got that. Jameson titled his head as The Host slowly started to realize that his usual narrations were louder than usual. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, trying not to blush when Jameson shook his head. The mute man had always admired The Host's stories. And now The Host was actually blushing. 

‘I’m sorry I just heard you writing and I was curious.’ Jameson signed, stepping forward nervously. 

The Host nods and curses his curse. He does not like that sentence and would like to revise it. ‘Jinx?’ Jameson signs. 

The Host has never had someone offer their thoughts and is flattered. He invites Jameson over to his desk to see what he was working on. Jameson accepts the offer with a nod, still smiling softly at The Host. The Host wishes he had eyes again just to see the smile without narrating. Now he wishes he could see the bright red blush that now covered Jameson's face. 

Jameson looked away and the blush slowly faded, leaving the tips of his ears bright red. Jameson turned back to the papers in front of The Host. The typewriter, its keys worn from use, held a piece of paper that was half-written on. ‘Mystery?’ Jameson signed. 

The Host nodded. It was a story of how the detective's own daughter was the murderer. After being abused by the father she vowed to save others. It’s a story that betrays the reader's point of view. Jamesons eyes shone as he read. ‘This is wonderful.’

The Host smiles and thanks Jameson for the feedback. Jameson pauses at a part and frowns. ‘You mention specific pills which seem off character.’

The Host nods, pleasantly surprised at the feedback. “What would Jameson Jackson suggest?”

‘I hate to say this but if he called them crazy people, it would make sense. Or if you are trying to lead the reader into thinking he is a good man, pills to make her tolerable.’

The Host nodded. “Jameson Jackson suggests a wonderful idea.” The Host says growing more confident. “Would Jameson Jackson like to go on a date with The Host?”

Jameson nodded and smiled when The Host took his hand. “That is wonderful Jameson Jackson.”

[iamvegorott]

What have you seen for jj n the host?? :0 blz im curious - jimjim

I haven’t seen much and I can’t exactly remember where/who’s blog I read it from.

I remember reading about them having their own form of communication. Like JJ lightly tapping Host’s shoulder to let him know that he was there, little nudges when Host’s being cheeky, spelling out words on Host’s skin, cute stuff like that

I’ve also seen a few nsfw things

[pxppet]

hi! for your rarepair commission, maybe anti/schneep (if you're comfortable with it) with the word 'memory'? ;--; (i'm in love with your dapperhost fic btw, so hauntingly beautiful)

cw// hypnotism, amnesia, manipulation, intensity, panic attack

He is lost, he is afraid, the world rages like hellfire around him. 

The doctor doesn‘t know who he is, where he is, his mind swirling with memories he barely can grasp. He is panting, barely able to breathe, his eyes large and wild. He bangs his fist on the wall, cries out, rips at his hair. Who am I, who am I, who am I? screams through his brain. He is in this damp, cold basement bedroom all alone, curled up on a dirty mattress. He screams again, banging his head against the wall behind him. 

Only moments later, the door at the top of the stairs bangs open sharply, causing the doctor to slam back against the wall and give a choked gasp. Henrik scrabbles at the thin blue shirt he wears, gripping to it to try and ground himself. He feels like a drowning soul in a deep, dark ocean.  

A wolf is standing by the bed. Eyes ready for the hunt, feral and beast-like. The doctor grasps onto the first word that has made any sense today. 

“Anti-” he cries, sobbing. He reaches his hands out like a baby, crying shamefully like a child. “Anti, bitte, bitte...” He trails off, crying too hard to fix it, crying to hard to do anything but whine and beg. 

The wolf is a man in an instant. Soft, dark green hair falls around his cheeks, his eyes downy blue and shining with cruel light that does not match the picture-perfect concern on his face. 

“Arzt, what’s wrong? Oh my, my doktor, what’s the matter?” Anti falls onto the mattress beside him, his ghostly arms sweeping the doctor into his arms. Ah, there is another word that makes sense. Arzt. It’s a name. Whose name? The wolf’s? No, no. Is it his? It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t fit in his puzzle-piece brain. 

“Hey, look at me. Hey, come on now, dok, my Arzt, look at me and it’ll get better.” No, no this is the monster! Henrik reels back, panting, his eyes squeezed shut. This is the reason he was afraid! He shakes his head, spittle flying from his frantic mouth. Henrik peels his tearful eyes open, meeting the swirling black pits of the wolf. And oh, oh. 

Oh it does make it all better. His eyes are joy, his eyes are the sweetest ambrosia, his eyes are all the sense the world needs. “Just calm down now, Arzt, just relax, it’s okay. Your poor little head got all scrambled again, didn’t it? You’ve always been harder to control than my Carver...” Henrik nods, nods frantically to anything the monster says. His hands scrabble at Anti’s green hoodie, clinging on to the only memory that feels real. 

“Yes, yes, yes I am bad, I am horrible, punish me, make it make sense, bitte klarstellen!” Henrik cries so hard he cannot keep his eyes open any more. Names and faces and pictures of a warm, soft home flow through his mind. He had someone to get home to right? Someone warm and soft with the same face as this man before him. Someone who was like sunshine, his voice was a giggling melody, he loved hats, he loved... In moments the memories are gone again, slipping far, far gone from him as he stares into the swirling pits of Anti’s eyes. Arzt looks up at Anti, tear-stained and small. Anti stares back at him, his eyes spiraling galaxies, calm and deep. Arzt sniffles and curls up against the monster’s chest, trembling. 

“Don’t worry, doktor. Don’t you worry. It’ll all be better soon. Just let me hold you, and it will all make sense. I’ll fix those shitty little neurons right up.” Anti runs fingers through his hair. They burn at his scalp, but it feels right. It feels like he was supposed to be here all along. Him and the monster’s swirling, magical, peaceful eyes. Nothing else matters. Henrik nods softly, as slowly warm friends with silly hats and funny German names cease to make sense, cease to matter at all. All that matters is that Anti is here, and Anti is holding him. Memories are useless anyhow, Anti says, he doesn’t need them, and Henrik agrees. 

In the doorway, as the wolf cradles the sheep to sleep in his arms, Jameson stares through a crack in the door. He rubs his aching wrists from the ropes he had been in today, sighing as he feels Henrik’s frenzy dying down. He plants his back against the wall by the stairs, closing his eyes and sinking to the floor. He feels all the light leave the house as Anti walks back up the stairs, leaving the dying remnants of what was once Henrik von Schneeplestein asleep on his bed. 

[theprinceofflies]

Phlietober

1. Violin (dapperstache)

2. Avenge (Dapperdantistache (villain au))

3. Jackie/chase/Marvin glint 

4. Camouflage (Virusstage(thiefsnake))

5. Pumpkin carving (dapperanti)

6. Pumpkins (Henrik/JJ)

7. Ghosts (madmare)

8. Ghost hunting (Jackie/Chase)

9. Haunted house (dapperanti) 

10. Sunshine (Jackie/Henrik(monster caretaker au))

11. Tired (Bingaveradge (vampire au))

12. Fear (dark/anti/mad/mare)

13. Soul (Virusstage) 

14. Shapeshifting (dapperanti) 

15. Shiny (danti (imp au))

16. Prom Queen (Danti)

17. Storys (DapperHost)

18. Time out orb (anti)

19. Cooking (Bing/Chase/Google (Siren au))

20. Resurrection (Dapperstache)

21. Frankenstein (dark/Mad)

22. Witches brew (Google/Chase/Bing (Siren au))

23. Cobwebs (Mad/Blank)

24. Shriek (Chase/Henrik/JJ)

25. Haunted double date (google/Chase/Bing and Marvin/Jackie (teenage au))

26. Ghostly (Danti)

27. Possession (Virusstage) 

28. Puppet (DarkHost)

29. Drive-In movie (Henrik/Edward (Hitman au))

30. Glass (Anti/Henrik/JJ/Chase)

31. Costume Party (Dapperstache, Danti, Bingleaveradge, madmare, schneeplier, ect (also known as my usual ships))

[theprinceofflies]

Storys with DapperHost

Day seventeen!! thank you