Drabbles for the Fans

With a long sigh, you leaned back on the couch staring at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, waiting for The Author to return. He wasn’t anywhere far, simply the other room. But inspiration had struck him right as you were about to cuddle and watch something sappy. Neither of you were big on those types of movies, but “tis the season” and all that. 

If he had only been gone ten, maybe twenty minutes you would have let it slide. But it had been nearly an hour, and no word other than the vague sound of frustrated scratches of a pen on paper along with quiet mutterings of ideas flowing from his brain. You decided to get up and have a peek at him in his most natural habitat, hunched over a desk and the pen moving frantically as he attempted to get each and every word that came to his mind onto the paper in front of him. 

He had often received suggestions to type out his stories, or record himself speak of them so he would have time to pause or wait, but he would merely grumble that it wasn’t the same before continuing his work. You leaned against the door frame, knowing that he would be disturbed if you made too much noise. A fond smile grew on your face, knowing that his never-ending passion was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. 

Glancing at the paper you saw that he had to at least gone through six or seven pages in just the hour he was absent. Though to him, it surely didn’t seem like long, possibly only a few minutes. He always managed to get wrapped into his work, though if he kept at it, you’d be long asleep by the time he finished. You were tired before suggesting a movie night, and fully intended to fall asleep in The Author’s arms during the movies you didn’t care much for. 

Knowing he was already aware of your presence by the way the words seemed less frantic as they spilled through his mouth, you decided it would be easier to wait until he was finished. You always seemed to have that effect on him, calming him in his frantic or even panicked states. Slowly sliding to the ground, you reclined yourself against the door frame as you mindlessly played games on your phone. 

Somewhere along the line you felt your eyes starting to close, but were abruptly awoken by the sound of The Author’s voice grew louder as he became increasingly more frustrated. 

“As the man trudged through the many layers of snow before him,…no no that’s terrible. As the hooded figure desperately clawed his way through the vast area cloaked in snow,…no, that doesn’t make as much sense he’s not even wearing a hood! As the man reached for his hood, long forgotten in his survival kit-LOOK BE HAPPY I GAVE YOU ONE AT ALL YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE-”

“…darling are you alright?” Normally you wouldn’t dare interrupt his writing process, but it looked almost as if every vein in his body was about to pop. Was writing really that stressful? 

At the sound of your voice, he spun around, turning his glare towards you, although you knew he didn’t intend to. 

“No…darling, I am not alright. This imbecile has no sense of gratitude! I give him a survival kit, and a warm coat to fend off the weather but he’s all ‘I just want to go home, I can’t even use this stuff-’ well tough shit! If he wants to go home so badly, he needs to use the tools given to him!” With an exasperated groan the writer threw his hands into the air, the pen he was holding flying off into a corner as papers were thrown off the desk. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to snap back at the man, knowing from experience that would only make it worse. He was not a man that liked his authority challenged, but if spoken to calmly he would figure it out on his own he was in the wrong. 

“Well, then if there’s nothing I can do to help you, then I suppose you won’t be needing me. Have fun with your writing, darling.” You stood up straight and walked from the room, aiming to go to the kitchen and make yourself some hot chocolate to calm you down. 

On the way out, you couldn’t help but hear the string of curses coming from the man you loved as he blamed…well someone for what had just transpired. You never really questioned him and his writing methods. If he was happy, which he usually was upon finishing a piece, then you didn’t really care. Besides, it’s not like he was hurting anyone for real. 

You took your time, making your hot chocolate to be perfect, plenty of sprinkles and marshmallows on top. Not only would it look good, it would taste delicious too. As you were about to leave the kitchen, however you hesitated. Normally you would make a second of whatever you were having to drink since if you just made one for yourself, your boyfriend would mumble or whine. You would get comments about “Where’s mine” or “Did you not get one for me?” In order to save yourself the time, you found it easier just to make two. 

You contemplated being petty and not giving him anything after all, he did snap at you. With a sigh you walked back the few steps to return to the kitchen and prepare a hot chocolate for your favorite writing-obsessed genius. You made his less…cutesy and simply settled for whatever would taste best, knowing exactly how he liked his drinks of choice by now. 

Returning to his study, you found him leaning back in his chair as far as it would go and whining into the air about “being a dick” as he put it. The declaration had you letting out a small laugh, which only grew as he fell out of his chair in surprise. 

Your laughing came to cease when you received a harsh glare from The Author, but it wasn’t as scary as it could have been with a light embarrassed blush on his cheeks. He quickly stood up and began to organize the papers he had scattered previously, not looking at you anymore. He was very clearly avoiding your gaze, likely in fear that you had returned to lecture him or scold him for being rude to you. 

You couldn’t keep the fond smile from your lips as you set down both cups of hot chocolate on his desk and began picking up his papers with him. You saw him glance at you curiously before jerking his head in another direction when you nearly made eye contact. He may be childish sometimes, but it was almost endearing. 

“So…why are you still here? I thought you were gonna leave.” He picked up the last of the papers and looked down at you, still trying to retrieve his many pages of writings. 

“I did leave. To the kitchen to make us hot chocolate.” You glanced up at him with a small smile, before standing up and handing him the pages you had recovered. 

He eyed you suspiciously, almost not trusting that you had done anything for him after he was aggressive towards you. “Then…why make me something. You didn’t spit in it did you? Or drug it or something?”

“Just drink your damn chocolate before I take it back.” 

He glared briefly, before taking a hesitant sip of the warm beverage. His eyes lit up a fraction at realizing you had made it exactly how he liked it, before looking down at it guiltily. 

“You don’t…have to be nice to me you know. Especially not when I’m being mean to you too.” He swirled the drink a bit, avoiding your gaze once again. 

You laughed, “not to be rude, but if I was going to be scared off by you being overly sassy or rude, then I wouldn’t have moved in with you in the first place.” You walked over and put his cup down no the desk, wrapping your arms around his neck, not hesitating when he didn’t wrap his around you in return. “I knew exactly what I was getting into when I chose to be with you. I know you get frustrated when things aren’t working out, so I’m aiming to make things go a little smoother.” You unwrapped your arms to cradle his face in your hands, rubbing his cheeks with your thumbs. 

He would never admit to it, but seeing you smile at him with such adoration in your eyes as you gently caressed him was his greatest weakness. He sighed and wrapped his arms around your back. 

“Baby, I really don’t know what I did to deserve you. Are you sure you’re not some demon tricking me into a false sense of security?” He raised an eyebrow at you, beginning to poke and prod your face and sides as he named possible ‘secret identities’ that you may be carrying. “A monster? Ferocious beast? One of my brothers trying to get one over on me?” 

You rolled your eyes and his gaze softened, “I know I’m not the best you could do. But I certainly am the most talented.” He wiggled his eyebrows, his smile growing wider as you gave him one of your own. 

“Author, have you seen yourself? You’re the best there is, not just the ‘best I could do.’” His heartwarming smile shaped into a smirk at your words. 

“…did you just insult yourself so I would jump to the rescue and stroke your ego?”

As his smirk of confirmation widened you pulled away from him with a false look of betrayal, “That’s cheating! Manipulation!” With ease he pulled you back to him, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to calm your faux anger. 

“Whatever are you going to do about it?” He leaned close, allowing your foreheads to touch as he took in every detail of your expression. He really was enjoying this far too much. 

“I…will never make you hot chocolate again. I’ll take this one away too so you can’t have any more!” With a gasp, he released you, quickly picking up his drink and chugging the contents before you could process what he was doing. 

“You can’t take away something that isn’t there to take!” With a triumphant smirk he glanced at your hot chocolate and grabbed it, dashing out of the room. 

Seems these two really know how to cut a rug! They are hittin’ it outta the park! Kink and Author are really jumpin’ and jivin’, man!! Alright, I’m done with the corny sayings…. Guess I’ll lay off of ‘em. Just don’t flip your lid, you ol’ fuddy-duddy. 

@greaserink @doctordiscord123 Alright y’all. It be time. UwU

Since he came first, I’m gonna start with Author:

He didn’t start out as a wicked man. In fact, before his stories began to “come to life” he was just your typical struggling writer. 

He has a few self-published books that he is proud of but that weren’t too well received.

That lack of good reception or reviews makes him focused on producing something that would actually do well.

I headcanon his actual name as Morgan Cross, because it sounds cool.

The Author isn’t socially inept, but he does often get caught up in his writing.

He never takes criticism of his work very well. 

Conversation feels like a waste of time most of the time. He would rather be writing.

He isn’t particularly charming, but he is earnest and fun. 

Dating would be conversations over dinner and drinks where he awkwardly asks all the usual questions that you’re supposed to ask on a date.

A relationship with him would result in a lot of comfortable silence while sitting next to each other [reading, usually].

On days when he wants to take his partner out, his choice of date is a trip to the cinema.

He likes to complain about plot holes as he and his partner walk back to the car, hand in hand.

His partner would have to remind him to eat food since he gets so wrapped up in his work that he forgets at times that he needs to take care of himself.

He doesn’t remember when his writing started to take form in the real world.

He wasn’t entirely sure if what he was writing was becoming real, or if he was nuts. Some writers claimed to have whole conversations with characters so he assumed maybe that’s what was happening. 

Once he figured out that he wasn’t crazy and that he had more control over things he started becoming obsessive.

His ability made him believe he could be the next H. P. Lovecraft and started him on the obsessive path that would later be the cause of his abduction of Daniel and Ryan.

Now, let us talk about The Host:

After Danger In Fiction, and after his whole ordeal that was a small window of time where The Author lost his mind and that was the transition period to becoming The Host.

He wanted to put out more than just his eyes. His senses, combined with the stories in his head were overwhelming. After digging out his eyes the pain was a bit too much, and he realized that he would need his senses.

His people skills declined until he learned to control the volume and the frequency of the stories in his head.

The stories he narrates are just people’s lives, which he can read. He misses writing, and still tries to influence and change some stories.

His bending of reality and changing of stories is what attracted Dark to him.

The two have an uneasy agreement to help each other out. The Host undermines Mark’s writing and as a result, creates a story that will bring him success.

That is clearly much easier said than done.

He slipped back into his old personality once he gained bater control, but he is hardly the same Morgan Cross.

He likes having a Radio Show. He basically just narrates his old books and his favorite stories. 

Once in a while, he tells a new story, with characters no one recognizes. People with similar names and similar descriptions turn up missing, dead, or half-mad. No one has made a connection to the Host. They never will.

He isn’t thinking about romance these days, but on the off chance someone is interested in him, he isn’t inclined to pursue them. He has an important job and an ability that puts him above others.

If for some reason he did manage to fall for someone, he finds ways to incorporate them into his story. Creating situations where meeting with them seems accidental. 

He’s gotten better at conversation, being able to read people and know what they’re thinking. When he finds the person he wants to pursue all he does is absorb who they are.

He will break rules and change their story to keep them safe.

However, he is possessive and if this person spurns him, it never turns out good. [Think Phantom of the Opera, except the Phantom doesn’t die and does blow up the Opera Populare]

He’s pretty violent (in general) after becoming the host. He still has the bat he intended to brutalize Ryan with.

The other egos call him Negan to get on his nerves.

He has taken a swing at Bim, the Jims, and Bing.

Prefers to be alone in his studio.

Owns a massive record collection and really enjoys Rock and Roll music. [He has had these records since he was The Author.]

He dances to his music and is pretty good at it.

He used to be tone-deaf but has learned to sing very well since he’s been hosting a radio show.

He does clean and change his bandages.

Author:

- Author always makes sure to always carry a switchblade on him; in case of emergencies, y'know?

- He mutters to himself out loud, even can be caught having conversations with himself too! It helps him with his written works now and again.

- The guy owns waaaay too much pomade. Oh, and don't try to touch his hair too, it took him a while to do it.

- His love language is quality time; if you stay with him and just read together in the same room, not even needing to talk to one another, he finds that to be a lot more intimate than a floozy night out to a bar.... although he won't turn down the offer.

- Author is pretty down to Earth, not much of a guy to talk and not hold his word. So, he is on the more serious side than goofy. And jokes can sometimes go over his head because of it.

- That won't stop him from cracking a few lame jokes at you! But like I said, they're pretty lame. He is his own audience and laughs enough for the both of you.

Host:

- The man has been through a lot, his sense of humor has warped and is pretty cynical.

- Host, if sitting next to his s/o, will search out for their hand so he may hold it as he reads out loud to himself. However, if he can't find it, he just simply rests his hand on your thigh.

- He does this sort of simple affection just to keep him grounded and understand that you're still there; tell him if you are going somewhere like the bathroom so he doesn't have to narrate your thoughts and intentions.

- He will though, use his narration sometimes to listen into your thoughts and intentions, but he only does it when he feels it is vital, you're the only one who deserves that right to privacy.

- Soft guy really though, just socially inept. And he kind of likes it that way, it keeps the people he doesn't think are worth his time at bay.

Cheek to Cheek playing from another room