#my own writing experience!!

[anatomical-puppet]

my source is that i am autistic about horror

[nothingbutnowhere]

I'm just imagining getting Simon to take better care of himself. Which includes using actual cleanser instead of scrubbing his face with dish soap to get the eyeblack off, using proper moisturizer so his face doesn't get so itchy under the mask, and treating his acne. Salicylic acid proves to be not enough, so you show him how to use benzoyl peroxide. ("A little goes a long way, so I better not see this half empty tomorrow.")

And it's working! His skin is looking better and he even seems pleased about it!

Eventually he's called for a mission and you send him off with his skin care, making him promise to use it, and to get home safe.

24 hours later your phone pings in Simon's special ringtone. You hurry to check the message. And burst out laughing at the picture of his mask laying on the bed, face print bleached orange from the benzoyl peroxide.

Another message pings, this time from Johnny, a picture of Simon looking confused with his bleached mask on.

"were callin him lt pumpkin now"

...

More Simon: masterlist

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

[daisywords]

writing is so silly because you have to maintain the understanding that you're not more specialer than anyone else and your work needs improvement and you have more to learn. but also you have to fully believe that your stuff is amazing. mindblowing. masterpiece the likes of which no one has ever seen before. you really have to hold these contradictory beliefs next to each other and force them to play nice. it's like shoving your shoulder angel and devil into a "get-along shirt." It doesn't make any sense. But if you don't, you're not going to get anywhere

You have to pursue what your writing Could Be with dogged determination while unflinchingly perceiving what it Actually Is. You have to accept that you're not more deserving or likely to succeed than any other writer, but you also have to love and honor and cling to your own specific mad genius because no one else is going to do it for you. Writing is really hard and it's also really worth it.

[amazinglyashy]

Rafayel is for the ones who want to heal

Rafayel is for the ones who grew up so fast- an adult at age ten, a parent to sisters and brothers even younger, and a seasoned therapist your parents turned to for situations you shouldn't even learn until high school.

Rafayel is for the ones who want to heal their inner child, pushing and shoving each other over who gets to play next at the arcade, who gets to be stronger in a playfight, who ends up the least covered in paint after a tussle- tongues out and incomprehensible sounds coming from each others mouths to insult the other wordlessly, hands making inappropriate gestures before lunging to slather another color across skin.

Rafayel is for the ones who think they need a miracle to protect them- a God willing to step in and protect them from whatever might be harming them. Because a God should be able to fight any demon, right? Any terror that's threatening you? And he's safety in the pain, because what is the rage of a God compared to the quiet terror you've been experiencing forever at the hands of what harms you?

Rafayel is for the ones who want the love they never got to have, who want the man who waited centuries for you only to wait even longer. The man who chose you through every horror, every single bad thing you ever did and will do, and will continue to choose you over his people, his home, even fate itself.

Rafayel is for the unorthodox healing, for smacking his hand for cheating at kitty cards when you would never dare to anyone else. For raising your voice at him when you didn't even have a quiet one before. For dancing to yourself in the street because you see him swaying side to side and you want to join him, despite the people around you. For the ones whose younger selves would look on in shock at who the stranger was before them, doing every quietly courageous thing they may have dreamed of once before.

Rafayel is for the ones who want to heal.

[miitopia-cake]

I wish some aces would stop excluding other aces with complex sexual experiences. like I get why but you have to realize that being ace does not mean they don't enjoy sexual experiences and it's weird when you complain about allo people and boil it down to "people who have sexual experiences" and also shame people for their sex life and kinks as if your own community doesnt INCLUDE those people. because there are other aces out there who still masturbate, who feel sexually attracted to their own body, who barely experiences sexual attraction but still enjoys sex, who like consuming sexual media, who like sfw kink. being ace is so so much more complex than just "disliking sex". and also aromantic exclusionism in the same genre of posts is something i see a lot. especially aro allos. I hate hate hate seeing a community that SHOULD be inclusive boil down sexuality and exclude people.

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[goosewizard]

do you ever think tommy lashed out after exile in the hopes that he would get hurt again? that he bit the hand that fed him and kept fucking biting just so he’d get hit? that the quiet and the gentleness and being treated like a baby bird with a broken wing was the worse option? at least when he got hit it was over fast. at least the pain was quick and sharp and couldn’t stay forever. gentleness only brings sharper, crueler things down the line, so tommy would prefer the bloody nose or black eye or broken arm thank you very much. so he bites and bites and gnaws and chews up his relationships and waits for the pain that won’t come. because at least this meant it was his choice to be alone. no one could take away what he had willingly given up.

[crestapex]

Yall seen those posts about dating german men and how complicated while simultaneously so caring they can be? Or that tiktoker that does the German guy falling in love with you posts?? Okay, that, but with König

Much like many other German men, he is fairly straightforward, and it may come off as berating if you’re not used to it. But he also means it out of love for you “You have not eaten yet today? Is something wrong with you? That is bad for you… Then I will feed you” or “You are walking too slow. What do you mean my legs or too long? *simutaneously slows down* Do I need to carry you?” he jokingly says

He’s not trying to insult or harshly criticize you, he just cares about you and your guys’ relationship and wants you to be your best you 🖤

[thresholdbb]

I'm a Kai Winn apologist but not because I think she's a good person. She's a compelling tragic character

[inkskinned]

you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.

you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.

instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.

you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.

your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.

because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.

so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.

all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.

[boimgfrog]

it's always "autism acceptance" until the autistic person is weird, or fat, or a man, or has poor hygiene, or a POC, or makes unfunny jokes, or isn't a cute feminine gay, or is actually bad at communicating, or needs to have things explained to them, or is too loud, or too quiet, or needs to be told something multiple times to understand it, or has mannerisms that make people stare at them, or, or, or, etc. if you would show patience to the cute autistic girl who collects plushies and stims by flapping her hands then you MUST show equal patience to the large autistic boy who stims by humming or hitting his head and worms underwater welding into every conversation. I am no longer asking. your acceptance cannot begin and end with people you deem palatable.

[manicpixiefelix]

just a few modern!Saltburn social media headcanons from the oxford era

venetia is obviously trying her hand at being an influencer

she has more followers than felix and brags about it constantly but refuses to unblock him

oliver's only on linkedin at first because his high school guidance councillor told him he should be on it.

felix's oxford friends group chat is wild but nowhere near as bad as their snapchat group

their snapchat group is Feral and half the things they send while shitfaced would get them cancelled

current group chat name is SOCIALIST SLUTS INCORPERATED

felix's current name in the chat is Sir Oral Fixation 👅💦 

half the group blocked ollie when he tried to add them because only got proper social media after getting to oxford. he has a generic user name and no profile picture at first and they thought he was a bot.

farleigh gave Oliver the nickname 'WDE' in the chat but admitted that it stands for Weird Dick Energy. Felix changed Oliver's nickname to just Ollie and no-one's changed it since.

there is a second gc that felix and oliver don't know about :(

half of Oxford University Confessions on facebook are about Felix

annabel and india both follow a felix catton fan account on instagram but will say they got hacked if anyone points it out

farleigh runs the felix catton fan account and finds it hilarious that anyone follows it because he dedicates the entire thing to posting the most unflattering, blurry, up close, bizarre photos of felix he can manage to capture.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt 58 Part 7

The long dining room that held the ornate old dining table that seated way too many people already held  most of the family. Bruce was missing and Damian informed them he was at work, the only other person missing was Jason but it was typical for him to skip out as he didn’t live there and didn’t have the best track record with the rest of the family. That left Damian, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Dick seated.

Damian sat next to the chair that Bruce normally sat in at the head of the table. Tim sat across from Damian followed by Dick, Duke, and Cass. Danny sat next to Damian and Jazz sat next to Danny. 

“So, how was school?” Dick asked his elbows on the table with his head on his hands and a smile. He was the only adult in their life besides Bruce that actually cared about their schooling. 

Danny had actually forgotten that all of this had happened in just one day. The thought was a little jarring if Danny was being honest with himself. He wasn’t sure what to tell Dick, on one hand he was just asking about school on the other… no he wasn’t going to think about what happened right now. Just the thought caused phantom volts to go through his body like he was reliving the accident. He felt a nudge to his foot from the right and looked up to see Damian giving him a quizzical look. He cleared his throat and looked back over to Dick who was giving him the same kind of look. 

“I-I’m, uh… school was fine, didn’t learn much since school just started,” He eventually decided to say after stumbling on his words a little. 

“Dash isn’t picking on you again this year is he?” Dick asked with a concerned look on his face. 

Danny wished it was just Dash, the pain he felt from the portal was a thousand times worse than anything the bullying blond could pull. If it was just Dash, Danny could have just laughed it off and forgotten it probably, but it wasn’t just Dash and Danny couldn’t help but take a deep breath trying to gather his thoughts and calm himself.

He startled as he felt a hand on his knee, he looked to his left to see Jazz giving him a look of sympathy as she rubs her thumb comfortingly on his knee. She then spoke, “Danny you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Okay?”

Danny gave her a small nod, a small smile on his face. 

Before a new topic could be discussed Alfred arrived with their food and began serving them. Danny loved the food the old butler cooked especially since he was able to do so in a kitchen that wasn’t contaminated. Alfred did his best to make sure everyone was served food to their liking, as long as it was a balanced meal at the end of the day the elderly butler would serve just about anything you’d request.

Danny picked up his fork to begin on his salad, however when he tried to push the fork into the lettuce his hand felt a cooling sensation with pins and needles and his fork went through his hand. He stared at his hand for a moment wondering what just happened. He then picked up his fork to try again and was able to get a mouth full, but when he went for a second bite it happened again, his fork clanging against the bowl again.

“Something wrong Danny? You're staring at your hand weird,” Danny heard Dick speaking and looked up to see Dick staring at him giving him an odd look. 

Danny couldn’t help but rub his neck nervously with his other hand, he hoped to get ahold of whatever this was so no one noticed. Though knowing his luck everyone probably did notice, over the years he and Jazz both noticed that the Wayne family was much more observant than their media persona’s showed. 

Dinner continued and Danny struggled to eat anything as anything he tried to hold fell through his hand frustratingly and Danny couldn’t help but get agitated. 

Eventually his glass he was holding slipped through his hand and tumbled onto the floor shattering into a thousand pieces. Danny let out a frustrated sigh as he stared at the mess he made. 

Before he could stand to clean up Alfred appeared by his side with a dustpan and broom and began cleaning it up, “are you still feeling unwell Master Daniel? Perhaps you should retire for the evening, I will attend to this mess.” Danny begrudgingly nodded his head and made his way out of the room.

He wasn’t alone for long as Damian and Jazz tailed him out of the room. 

“What was that? It looked like your spoon was going through your hand,” Jazz asked after they were a ways from the dinning room.

“Jazz, honestly I don’t know, it felt cold and then anything I tried holding fell through my hand.” Danny brushed his bangs away from his forehead and they dropped back into his face as he dropped his hands back down to his side.

The walk went silent after that, although it didn’t stay for long as Danny felt the cooling sensation again but this time through his whole body, he let out a yelp as he felt his body sink into the floor.

Damian and Jazz looked at him with panic but as they grabbed at his arms or his hands to pull him back up they went through him just as the spoon and apparently the ground now. 

He let out a panicked yell as the floor swallowed him whole, so now he was sinking further down further into the earth. What was going to happen to him? Would he ever find his way back up?

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long as the cooling sensation left and as gravity took hold of him again he fell. Apparently there was a cave under the manor and he was able to turn back into solid as he felt air again. There was no way he was surviving this, even with new weird powers now was when he’d get impaled by spikes right?

The cave was too dark to make out much but Danny thought he might have seen a computer with several monitors. That didn’t matter now as he finally landed, and he grunted as he landed on a person who also grunted as having a teen land on you couldn’t be the most comfortable.

He knew he was in big trouble when he realized who he landed on, “Batman??”

[manchasama]

You know, historically I did most of my writing as random ficlets. Maybe that is why these are a bit easier? Either way, feeling out characterizations, these are fun to do!

--

"What are you doing?"

Ingo didn't move from where he was looking down at the brown…circles in front of him. "Baking," he said. He didn't have to look to sense Emmet's stare. "…Theoretically," he conceded with a sigh.

Emmet poked one of the circles. It dented under his finger, but bounced back into shape instantly. "It doesn't look bad," he said. He poked the circle again, fascinated at its texture.

"While that means a lot coming from you, unfortunately the taste leaves much to be desired." Ingo's frown pulled deeper. "They taste bad. I don't understand how the same ingredients can come out so wrong!"

Emmet leaned over so he could look Ingo in the face. His smile had a hint of teasing humor in it. "It looks like you tried to bake donuts?"

Ingo wasn't listening. "I have looked at dozens of recipes! I measured everything exactly so." He gestured ferociously toward the pile of used dishes soaking in the sink. "Baking is supposed to be easy." He threw his hands up, exasperation written in every line of his body. "You merely need to follow the directions, with the exact measurements. I thought I could do this!"

"Hmmmmm," Emmet drawled, looking entirely unsympathetic. "Why did you bake them? Aren't donuts fried?"

Ingo grimaced, half turned away as if that would save him from his brother's attention. "…I merely wanted it to be a bit…healthier."

"Uh huh," Emmet said. "And how may donuts have you snuck behind my back this week?"

"That is NOT why I did it!" Ingo protested loudly.

Emmet cackled, covering his ears dramatically from the sudden volume. "That is a confession if ever I heard one!"

All Ingo could do was splutter protests that fell on deaf ears. Emmet was far too delighted in catching Ingo out on his sweet tooth. Why were younger brothers so infuriating?

"If you are quite finished," Ingo said stiffly, "I have to clean up this mess." Emmet's smile still reached from ear to ear, his face rosy from his laughter. He reached out to poke one of the donuts again, and Ingo swatted at his hand. "Stop that! I need to wrap them properly, and I don't need your fingerprints all over them."

"Wrap them?" Emmet asked, eyeing Ingo as he picked up the plate of pastries. "Ingo, you are not planning on eating those?"

"Of course I am," Ingo sighed. "Just because they aren't ideal, doesn't mean I should waste food."

"Oh no you don't." Emmet swiped the plate of 'donuts' from Ingo's hand. "This is now a treat for Garbador!"

"But���" Ingo tried to protest.

"Nope!" Emmet popped the word in his mouth. "You can learn from your mistake. You do not need to force yourself to suffer because of it."

"Emmet…" Ingo would deny to his dying day the whine in his voice. "All I have learned is that donuts should not be baked!"

Emmet gave a satisfied nod. "And that is a valuable lesson."

They stared at each other silently. Then Ingo lunged, and Emmet turned and fled out the kitchen before Ingo could catch him.

"Emmet!" Ingo bellowed, charging recklessly after his brother.

"Garbador! I have a treat! Quick!" Emmet hollered, thumping against the walls as he took corners at speed. The real miracle of the day was the fact that he kept all of the donuts on the plate. At least until Ingo tackled him and the whole thing went tumbling across the floor.

Garbador did indeed enjoy her treat.

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

[cohldhands]

sebastian x new farmer!reader | sfw | seb and reader meet for the first time | alcohol mention (reader orders a beer), smoking (seb has a cig), gender neutral, no other warnings unless you consider this was written on my phone as one | i miss my edgelord husband and this demanded to be written asap so here we are. i will likely expand on this bc im thinking about seb and ****** **** and i gotta get from point a to b somehow (aka the warnings will come later)

when you moved to pelican town, you anticipated the dirt and dust. the absence of city noise, the waves crashing along the shoreline in the distance, the clean air despite the one corporation in town, even the eerie moans that echo in the forest. the ache in your muscles after working the land became expected, almost satisfying; you even started to enjoy fishing.

what you didn’t expect, though, was to meet a man like sebastian.

at first, you weren’t sure he even existed. robin and demetrius mentioned having a son, though you’d only met maru, and lewis was adamant you hadn’t met everyone. the ever-elusive sebastian became a whisper on the wind, a folktale the harder you looked.

until one evening you decide to visit the saloon. you’ve been here long enough, and gus invites you to stop by every time he sees you. what harm could it be? a drink at the local saloon would be a nice way to settle more into the community.

by the time you get there, it’s packed. pam is at the bar, her eyes heavy and cheeks flushed like grenadine. shane is in one corner, willy in another. clint watches emily dance on her own to the music coming from the juke box; robin and demetrius attempt to work as one, and it’s almost endearing to watch them stumble over each other.

gus greets you like any other customer, an excited glint in his eyes at the fact you’ve finally decided to come in. you order, and once you have the cold glass in your hands, you continue to take in the bar.

it’s cozy and small-town, with rustic decor and natural accents. there’s a short hallway leading to another room on the far end of the space, and the glow of lights catches your attention. as you walk through the hallway, you realize the light is coming from arcade games, and this area is a game room. a pool table, soda machine, a small tv, and a couple chairs and tables litter the space.

looming over the pool table is someone you haven’t seen before. raven hair, almost a deep purple in the lighting, hangs over an angular face. black on black, from head to toe; slender hands donning multiple rings guide a pool stick, nonchalant focus in his dark eyes. the blinking arcade lights reflect off of black metal jewelry in his ears and on his nose, and a cigarette is pressed between his lips. he makes his shot with a swift motion of his arms and straightens up, pulling a hit off of his cigarette, smoke swirling around him and along his mouth.

as he straightens up, his eyes don’t fall on the pool table. he doesn’t watch the path of his turn, or how the ball glides along the felt material into the intended pocket. they find you instead, trailing up from your thighs to your hips to your chest and finally, your eyes.

he maintains contact as he pulls at the near-dead cigarette. his gaze is hard to read, but it’s intentional, observant, with flickers of turbulence, chaos. oceans at midnight working to learn you without a word.

“hey farmer!” sam hops up from one of the dated armchairs, a bright grin on his face and pool stick in hand. “didn’t expect to see you here. you’ve met sebastian, right?”

“no,” you shake your head and smile, a small but warm notion. you work hard to ignore the flutters in your stomach from nerves, or the heat prickling your cheeks. “I don’t believe we have.”