Sep 3, 2020
Feeling nostalgic
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Feeling nostalgic
Merry crisis ya nerds.
((Featuring @stupid-sexy-warfstache and @ash-likes-to-draaaw. Original ))
A soft knock is heard. See, he can learn! Seth pokes his head in. "What relaxes you most? Do you like relaxing with company? I'm sorry if I'm bothering you!" The head retreats and the door closes, though the shadow of a pair of feet is very visible underneath it.
The Author let out a small sigh from behind his desk. Quietly, he rose and went to the door. He had been sitting down to his own little "Thanksgiving feast" - which sat on his desk, in the form of empty cheesecake boxes and dirty tins, dimmly lit by a paused run of Thankskilling from his laptop. He usually spent his Thanksgiving as such; on his own, and he enjoyed it that way. But, if he had to have company, at least it could be Seth.
The Author opened the door for Seth, and casually pushed his hands in his pockets.
"Come on, you don't have to stand outside the door like some poodle. I was actually just having Thanksgiving dinner," He shrugged a bit, "If you wanted any."
A small grin cracked at the corner of his lips, and stepped back to let him in. It was well known that The Author wasn't exactly an extrovert, like Seth certainly was, but he wasn't going to speak to him through a damn door.
"I guess...going out and people-watching is pretty relaxing. And just sitting down and watching the weird, shitty cable horror movies that play late at night." The Author slowed his pace a bit, steadying his gaze away towards a, uh...stray filing cabinet.
"I'm not really huge on relaxing with company, time to myself is a pretty big deal for me, even for holidays. But I don't mind relaxing with company, as long as they have good taste in movies."
Hey, Auth. Do you have any favorite cryptid documentary movies or TV shows? I know Top 10 Secrets and Mysteries is a fun one. Love your work by the way! It truly is inspiring.
The Author was quick to let out a snicker, thinking back on all the "documentaries" he used to fill his sleepless nights with. They were weird, disjointed memories that he only really remembered brief flashes of, but he would always remember one particular documentary.
He quickly opened his laptop, the old thing (he refused to replace it. Ever.), and pulled up a video, a huge, crooked grin on his face.
"Try this one. It's super educational. Really learned a whole lot about mermaids."
Hey Author, what's your sexuality? You kind of strike me as someone on the ace spectrum.
The writer's lip twitches, the smallest beginning of a smile. For once, his brow doesn't crease in anger or concentration. The Author leans back - honestly, it really was kind of weird to see him in this good of a mood.
"That's very observant of you, muse. Sexuality is a strange, sometimes very fluid thing - but I'd definitely say I'm demisexual. Not entirely ace, but on the spectrum, like you said. Though as for who I'm attracted to, I know both men and women have caught my eye."
He gives a small snort of snide laughter, apparently at something he just thought of. "Though honestly, I say gay a lot as a sort of umbrella term. It's way easier than explaining things to people, you know? And I'll admit I'm a little lazy too."
Just stopping by to tell you that you're beautiful when you're immersed in your writing.~
The Author is hunched over his desk, in that dark little office. Pen scratching against paper. The weak lightbulb in the lamp beside him buzzing, so faintly.
It isn't an uncommon scene, to see the man so immersed in his own world of ink and monsters, that he looses track of all reality around him. When, in that faint yellow light of a table lamp, he writes until his fingers cramp and then keep going. His brow creased and lips set in a thin line. And in those coal black eyes, there is a glint - the heart-pounding excitement that he would only feel from that one moment, where all the words would snap together, just right.
And suddenly, the writer nearly jumps from his seat, the old thing quickly creaking in protest. Shit, when had Seth gotten into his office? How the fuck had he unlocked the damn door?!
Surprise turned to his usual anger in half a second, and the Author clenched his fist around his pen, ready to yell for him to get out - but, the words clumped in his own throat. Seth. He had kept visiting recently, and complimenting him - not on his writing, or skill, or terror. But things like his grin, or, how he looked when he was writing.
It was really, really fucking weird. It made his throat close in an utter frustration.
"Fuck, Seth you gave me a goddamn heart attack! At least knock, jesus..."
@aim-toplease