There was often a moment, between the slotting of his key into the lock and the turn, the clean snck of the lock snapping into place, where he paused. Took a deep breath, looked slowly right, then left, then right again. Held that breath until he was sure he was alone. That the sidewalks were empty, that the road was devoid of headlights, that the delicate haloes cast by the streetlamps were, thankfully, empty.
Except-
A half-hearted silhouette came stumbling from the shadows of the alley, hunched in on itself. Blood-spiked black hair, then soaked-through flannel, then the whole Author revealed himself, one spindly hand clamped over the gushing wound in his right shoulder.
Edward unclipped his pen light from his key ring and flashed it at him, making the Author squint. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like?” The Author snapped, his mouth a flat line of pain. “I need your help.”
A sigh. Foggy breath escaping into chilly spring night. “I just closed the clinic. And I told you-”
“I know!” The Author ran his free hand through his hair, spiking it up even more. “I know. You said we’re done. I get that. Whatever. But I’m hurt!” He shuffled forward, and Edward took a hasty step back, holding up the pepper spray also attached to his key ring. “Poke it with a stick or something. Anything. Just help me.”
They’d broken up two weeks ago. And he was still doing this.
Edward scoffed. “You can take care of yourself. Go home.”
Then he did it. He actually did it. He turned and left. Left the Author bleeding in the middle of the sidewalk. Ignoring his furious shouts, Edward went to go find his car, never letting go of his pepper spray.
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Part of @lostcybertronian's event (pretend it's totally not late)
Prompt: Hibernation / Winter
Human!Egos, Apocalypse AU, bit of soft!Author to heal the soul too
------------------
It was cold and it was bound to get colder; that much was true. Icy, barren, and downright miserable. Luckily, the cave was warm from the small fire inside. It was like a guiding beacon in the bleak darkness of the night. The Author slipped in, his dire mood shifting considerably once he saw the doctor sitting inside and stoking the fire.
“Anything new?” asked Doc, holding a wool blanket closely around his chest.
“Nothing. Though, I did see a rabbit with two heads.” He held up said rabbit with a smile and both of them laughed a little, mostly at the absurdity of the situation. Author put down a small pile of branches off to the side by the cave walls. Then he sat on the ground next to his doctor and gave him a quick kiss. They both prepared the rabbit before placing it on a spit over the flames.
They sat together, in casual conversation for a while, until eventually the Author took out a barely-put together manuscript and a pen. He began to write slowly as the words came to him.
“How’s the book coming along?” Doc eventually asked. He peered over to read.
“Well…” Author quickly flipped through the pages. They were loosely held by small bits of rope and jagged holes along the spine. “It’s coming. I mean, obviously no one’s gonna read it, but, yeah, it’s coming along.”
“I would.” The doctor shrugged and then smiled softly. “Read it, I mean. I’ve always liked your work.”
They fell into a comfortable silence after that. Then Doc sat closer to Author and wrapped his blanket around the two of them. He was reading the Author’s words as the other man wrote them. They were beautiful but he stopped after a while and wrapped an arm around Doc.
Author frowned, “Edward, I don’t know what we’re gonna do. It’s a total disaster out there and—”
“And we’ll get through it.” Edward yawned and snuggled his head closer to the Author’s chest, rubbing small circles absentmindedly in the other man’s calloused hand. “I promise.”
The Host: Sometimes he makes plans to murder everyone within a ten foot radius. Other times he reminds The Host to pick up bagels for Dr. Iplier, because Dr. Iplier likes bagels
Summary: Patton and Nate set out to ERROR! <Story voided>
A/N: I’m sorry, it’s not
Patton was grabbing his equipment as Nate Ỳ̶͙͕͍̰̖̗̋̃̂Ǒ̷̺̖U̷̫̟̬͒̄͛̕͜’̴̣̲̯̝̲͖̈́͊͑͠Ŗ̶͍͈̹̱̑́̋͘͝E̴̬̠̽ ̵̪̹̔͊̽N̵̥̄̆̒͛̀͝O̷͇̬͆̈̂T̸̜͈̹̞̝̯͊̏̀̅̅ ̴͎̠̦̦͗̿̅S̶̯̻̤̫̿̓͛͂͘Ü̸͕̃͑P̴̡̤̬̳͇̏̑̍́P̵̫̾̏Ō̷͈͈̪̲͗̐͗Ś̸̛̪̥̩͔̱̫̽͌̈́̆̕Ẻ̸̯͆̇̐͋̚͠Ḓ̷̳̱͓̣̀͆̑̅̀̈͝ ̴̠̝̦̑̉̉̌T̴͚͉̳̥̋͑̽͌͜Ǫ̸̼͚̪̰͖͐̈́͆ ̴̧̦̬̟̤͕̔̐̃̕B̵̨̢̛̎̾̆͝͝E̴̢͔͔͖͉̩̙̐̓̾̆̈́͠ ̴̣͔̣͆͘͘͘Ḩ̷͎̳̞̠̪͗̿́͛̑͒Ȩ̴̯͔͍̣͘R̵͌̿̂͜E̵̫͓̲̤͉̎ ̸̡̨͔̠̦̬̈́͠Ẇ̷̧̠̬̟̥̤͗̋̈́͝E̵͕̯̒ ̷͎̥͚̮̋̀͜R̸̞̓̃̌̿̑͝͝Ḛ̵̳̩̀͗̋̍M̸͇̭̭̈́̕̚Ō̷̠̄V̶̨̩̥̉̌̄̽Ḛ̷̹͓̈̿D̸̞̝̝̺̜͐̌́̐ ̵̡̲͕̮̥̈́̀̈́̕̚͝Y̶̢̠̤͉̙̝͖͋̀͛̚Ò̷̞̥̮̘̑͑̿̽͘Ű̷̧̟̫̮̱̦͕̃̃̎̀ ̶̢̼͔̠̜̤͌̎̈́̓͜F̷̛͔͍̣̘̯̯̽̌̔R̵͓͒̾̌̑͒O̶͕͈̮͕̍̆̓M̶̙̘̍̆͂͝ ̵̩̟̒̑̄͌͘̚͘Ť̵̻̞̦͜͝Ḧ̶̳̩͕͍̝̣͇́̓́E̵̡̨͚̼͇̍́ ̵̨͉͎͇̲͛Ċ̵̜͙̜͖̊̈́͛̀͐I̷̡͈̰͂Ṭ̷̛͓͔̂́̐̈́͊̆Ÿ̴̜̹́͗̈́́!̴̘̱͇̻́̉̋̄ walked into the storage room.
“Ready?” Nate smiled.
Patton took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be I guess.”
He stood up and the two heroes walked out of the base, to where Marvin was waiting for them.
The Host rips the script in half and with that the story ends. Leaving only the tattered opening left.
“The Host asks for the readers’ indulgence but this story thread can no longer exist in the current arc and must be removed,” the Host stared at the reader through the gulf that separates them. “This story will continue in a new trajectory. We hope that you enjoy it.”
This week’s fic is in another castle. We kindly request you go there =>
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I’m about to go to bed but...I’ve been thinkin abt a story idea where somehow the Author is recreated (maybe because the fans still love him so much? idk) and ends up at Ego Inc. Most of the younger egos don’t even know who he is, the older egos are Big Awkward, and Doc and Host are c o n c e r n e d
Especially when Author starts flirting with Doc, and brings up all these old feelings and memories that Doc thought he’d gotten past. And Author is charismatic to the point of being manipulative, and starts making an effort to seduce Doc back to him, so they can be together again.
And Doc doesn’t want to. He loves Host, he moved on from Author, he doesn’t want to go back to that tumultuous relationship, doesn’t want to betray or lose Host. But it’s hard to deny the nostalgia, hard to push down those old familiar feelings. Host offers stability, maturity, unconditional adoration. But Author, even after so much time has passed, can make Doc’s heart race like nothing else.
Maybe Doc still can’t resist him.
Or maybe Author is secretly using his writing to control Doc and make him love him because he remembers how he died and isn’t about to let Doc go again no matter what he has to do but shhhhhh
i am dying at class, writing dumb shit in like 3 hours, i wrote it for me because i am here with people who are 20, act like boomers, and say that bowties are gay and i want out
ship: dr iplier/the host
word count: 1130
warnings: injuries, flirting while having a concusion, (i don’t have an autocorrect but i have a dyslexia and i am so sorry, i’m trying my best)
tag list: @fioxis @lostinegomayhem @the-anti-average-family
The Author plopped down onto his matress. He’s never had a bed in the cabin, and it was one of the days when he regretted it. His hands hurt, both from furious scribbling while trying to get his character not to move too much while their body morphed into a monster he needed for his latest work and from said monster grabbing his wrist and pulling it away from the paper to stop the transformation.
Writing was supposed to be a safe job, and yet here he was, with a swollen wrist and, probably, a mild concussion.
Now, after the monster had escaped and was probably causing heart attacks within the local forest rangers population, the Author just wanted to lie down and maybe to get some painkillers. He would have to get up to get those, though, and he really didn’t feel like it. His body was too heavy for it and moving caused his vision to go blurry. He was so tired; his eyes were closing on their own and looking around worked in that weird kind of slow motion that made him feel nauseous. His shirt grew warm around the area where he pressed his wrist to avoid moving it too much.
The situation was not good.
At least Dr Iplier was on the way. He always seemed to know when he was needed in the cabin, almost as if he had his own type of a sixth sense which made him able to sense whenever the Author’s dumbassery reached its peak. He would arrive, carry the Author to the car and drive them to the office, and take care of him while screaming about how this was irresponsible and stupid. And the Author would love every minute of it while acting all defensive about it.
Doctor was not supposed to know about this. He was just doing his job, taking care of the other Egos, and while the Author was not very subtle and not even trying to hide his feelings, it never occurred to him that he could have said something. Edward had the perfect brain power to be a good doctor (despite being weird about it) but not nearly enough brain power to notice the signs.
The Author looked down at his shirt, which now, in addition to the warmth, was also wet. Huh, he thought. He hadn’t noticed his wrist was bleeding before. Sudden dizziness replaced the exhaustion he’d felt as he pressed his other hand to the wound and hissed in pain. He had to focus on something to stop himself from passing out.
He looked around the cabin. Concentrating on writing ideas wouldn’t do it. It was his power, using it now would only make him weaker. He was ready to fight himself from making it the most empty place possible so that nothing could distract him. He didn’t even have a phone to try to get someone to show up faster.
His vision started growing dark around the edges when the door finally opened.
“Author?” Edward stepped into the cabin and looked around with concern.
“Here.”
The Author tried to sit up straight but his body had apparently decided to go into a shutdown. He couldn’t move; keeping his eyes open was a struggle. He could see Edward approaching him and putting his bag down next to him but it all seemed so far away for some reason.
“Come here often?” he asked with a smirk (or at least what he thought was one, controlling his face was also a struggle) as Edward kneeled down next to him.
Doctor sighed deeply.
“Every time you decide to do something stupid, apparently. What happened?”
There was no anger in the doctor’s voice. He sounded professional and the Author was trying his best not to think about it too much. He was trying not to think about anything now that he was safe. God, his head hurt.
“The Authorstein’s monster’s escaped,” he replied. “My child betrayed me, can you believe it? Also I think it broke my wrist.”
“Did you really call it that?”
“Yes, and please remember that Authorstein is the creator, not the monster.”
Edward snorted. The Author may have been dying but making the doctor laugh was always his priority, mostly because of how nerdy and perfect his laughter was.
The concussion made him even gayer for some reason.
“I hate it,” Edward smiled, taking a roll of bandage out of his bag.
“Not like I don’t. It tried to vore me.”
Doctor rolled his eyes and gently moved the Author’s arm from where he was cradling it against his chest to take a closer look at the injury. The writer tried not to scream. He squeezed the blanket thrown over the mattress with his other hand. It didn’t hurt this badly when it happened.
“Sorry. It is broken. And you need a few stitches. And a break from writing until it heals.”
“I’m ambidextrous, you know?” he informed just as Edward began to wrap the bandage around his wrist.
“I meant more, uh- emotionally? To get some less dangerous ideas. Did you hit your head?” he asked suddenly, pulling a package of tissues out of his coat pocket.
“Yeah, why?”
“Your nose is bleeding.”
He hadn't even felt it until Doctor mentioned it. He looked down to see more bloodstains on his shirt. I should have worn black, he thought, bringing his unbroken hand up to his face to wipe the blood off.
“Oh. Didn’t notice.”
“Keep your head down, please.”
The doctor pressed a tissue into his hand. He assumed the Author wasn’t conscious enough to take one himself and press it to his nose and while the writer hated it he couldn’t help feeling grateful for it.
Edward went silent, trying not to hurt the Author even more while bandaging his arm. The stitches would have to wait until they got back to Egos Inc.
“I’m taking you to my office.” Edward zipped his bag up and stood up, trying to figure out how to help the Author get to the car.
“Well, I’m taking you on a date when this is over, so I think I win here,” he said before his filter had a chance to kick in; he never had much of it anyway.
Edward rolled his eyes but smiled gently, moving to help the Author up.
“You have a concussion-”
“Well, maybe, but I mean it,” he interrupted, letting the doctor lift him.
It wasn’t the first time that was happening. He wanted to help, maybe even to try to walk but he felt so weak.
“No, I- you have a concusion, be careful. We’ll walk slowly, okay?”
“Oh.”
“And I’d be more than happy to go on a date with you.”
I messed up the first time and wrote it Host instead of Author so I had to change it because I’m big brain… and forgot to add tags.
Only From YouShip: DocthorPrompt: “That’s how the story goes.”Tag List: @gerardwayslips @laneofpennies @emiiinazer
“…so, yes, that’s how the story goes.”
“Well, that’s stupid.”
Edward had spent the past half an hour arguing over plot points with the Author - or Isaac, as only the doctor could call him - and now Author’s patience was wearing thin.
“The Author is well aware that the plot is stupid, but it is what the client wants, so the Author has to deal with it and write it anyway.”
“I must admit, I’m still not fully understanding that part.” Dr. Iplier narrowed his eyes slightly with a frown, propping himself up on one elbow as he carefully regarded his partner, who was sitting up in bed beside him, working on his current writing project.
“What part is it that the doctor does not understand?” Isaac questioned in a mumble, scratching something out on the page, his writing almost as illegible as Edward’s chicken scratch.
“The satisfying the client part,” Edward clarified with a frown. “You’ve never valued customer satisfaction over the quality of your writing, so why start now?”
The Author’s lips turned into a thin grimace, and he didn’t answer the question, making Edward sit up fully, crossing his arms.
“Author.”
No answer.
“Isaac…”
“Mhm?” The Author mumbled in response to the sound of his name, his voice a bit softer and more sheepish.
“Why the sudden change?” The doctor asked again, snuggling up to the Author’s side and resting his head on the other’s shoulder.
“…the Author needs to satisfy the customer, as they are paying a substantial amount of money for the finished product,” He explained with a weak sigh. “The Author wants the money so the doctor can purchase new equipment for his clinic.”
Edward was silent for a long moment, his mind processing what the Author had just said, before he scoffed very loudly, and then pulled Author into a deep kiss before the other could question it.
“Isaac, you stupid, sweet, beautiful man, you…” He whispered affectionately as he pulled away, leaving the Author to tilt his head to convey his confusion, much like a puppy would.
“The Author would like to inquire as to the meaning of the… well… the Author is not sure if that statement was an insult or a compliment.”
“I love you so much, but, you don’t have to do that for me,” Edward smiled, brushing the blond strand of hair back into place on the Author’s head. “I never ever want you to compromise what you love for me.”
“The Author assures Edward that it isn’t a big deal-”
“Yes, it is. Isaac, your narratives are your livelihood, it’s the most important thing in your life because it is where your happiness comes from. Therefore you shouldn’t sacrifice doing what makes you happy to mold it into what someone wants just for money.”
The writer was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head slowly. “…the Author understands what the doctor means, and gives thanks to him for talking sense into him. Though, the Author also points out that the doctor is wrong.”
“What? What do you mean?” Edward seemed perplexed, and a bit irritated, as, like most people, he didn’t like being told he was wrong. “Wrong about what?”
“Wrong about the most important thing in the Author’s life. About where his happiness comes from,” Isaac clarified, reaching out to wrap an arm around the doctor’s waist and pull him closer. “The Author gets his happiness from his writing, yes, but he receives more happiness from Edward, who is truly the most important thing to the Author.”
That had been genuinely the last thing the doctor expected to hear, and as a result, he flustered, his cheeks darkening as he coughed out of embarrassment and looked away with a goofy smile crossing his lips.
It worsened for a moment before the Author kissed his cheek, and Edward beamed, turning back to return the sentiment.
“You flirt,” Edward smiled and playfully smacked the Author on the chest, cheeks still burning. “Regardless, the narrative should follow what the writer plans, not the reader. That’s how the story should go.”
“The doctor is correct in his statement.” The Author smiled, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping when Edward spoke again.
“Of course I am. I’m right quite often, but you still insist on arguing with me.”
The Author chuckled at that, the last sound he made before the evening was silenced by Edward’s lips on his.
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