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egossideblog · 4 years

Text

this is just a prologue

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.”

“... Oh.”

#dr iplier #the author #docthor #void's writing

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