#it is what it is but as i was describing to my friends how this happened again

[lxgentlefolkcomic]

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Start reading Episode 1

Dialogue transcripts:

Panel 1 Irene:  Mina, I have to ask you...how did you know? Mina:  Know, ah, know what?

Panel 2 Irene:  That Jonathan was alive. I thought you might simply be in denial, but now… Mina:  The truth is, I…since our ordeal with the vampire, when I was—was nearly turned myself…

Panel 3 Mina:  I was spared that fate in the end, thank God! But there have been…lingering effects.  Some more frightening than others.

Panel 4 Mina:  I can’t describe it.  I feel a connection to Jonathan—I suppose I always did, but this—  It’s as if our hearts truly beat as one. I can sense where he is, feel his heart, the blood rushing in him.

Panel 5 Mina:  I can feel a trace of it with others, but it’s strongest with him.  Sometimes, it…it frightens me, Irene.

Panel 6 Irene:  Such trials always leave their marks on us, but we are no less for it.  And here, it let you give hope where there was none.

Panel 7 Mina:  Thank you, Irene.  I’ve never told anyone but Jonathan… Irene:  Of course, my dear.  Come, we’d best get “decked out,” as our Texan friend put it.

[sun-flower-children]

Academic Rivals! Viktor x Reader

Academy Student!Viktor x gn!Reader

Here's my take on this idea that has been rumbling around my brain especially with all the new viktor fics ( yall are doing the lords work)

not proof read + a lot longer than I thought it would be, sorry lmao

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You were the Academy's top student known to be the top of the class with the highest scores always exceeding expectations.

Your creative thinking and problem solving is what normally got you the spotlight of attention within academia.

Naturally after spending your first two years of the Academy eating up the attention and receiving offers from multiple elite members of society, industry and government certainly made your resume/reputation an intimidating one.

Your peers knew you to be competitive and ambitious wanting to be the one to set the curve; extensive research projects, etc.

This did however make you a poor teammate with your passionate ideas that one of them could dream of keeping up with you. Plus you would steal the leadership role from them to implement the changes you'd want.

You had gotten used to pattern created for you with a bright future ahead.

Even if you were getting kind of bored of knowing that your worst idea would still allow you to keep your rank.

Then all the sudden a new student joins the Academy

It didn't bother you much until you started seeing a drop in your scores and ranking thus creating a rivalry with this mysterious student.

It was not until you and Viktor shared a class that you realized who your academic opponent was

Thus starting a new chapter of your academic career with renewed passion upon knowing there was finally someone that could equal you in skill.

Fighting for everything within the academic realm that was available

Now neither of you had ever officially been introduced or carried a proper conversation instead replacing regular communication with pointed looks of smugness or confidence.

You would have angry fits in private realizing the margin that you had lost to Viktor

Long days and nights spent gaining a potential advantage over your rival.

Your friends would point out how you would almost pop a vein just describing the way that he would "usurp the first place on an exam all because of a technicality"

Honestly when you would get really into it you were sure that you hated this guy: coming out of nowhere with no prior history and just takes over everything you have worked hard to establish.

Who does he think he is????

Now all your professors, namely Himerdinger paid close attention to this rivalry. It's entertaining watching your top 2 students hash it out and creating things they would not have without this push.

Himerdinger seeing how honed in your other skills were decided to create a project for the class specifically targeting you both.

A partnered project

One that could not change neither the topic, the partner or the day that it was to be presented; everything set in stone.

" Learning the skills needed in a lab is one thing but the most important and impactful discoveries have always been those created through teamwork." Himerdinger would share one fateful day as he put up the paper listing the groups.

It did not even cross your mind that you would have been paired with Viktor and after looking at the poster turned around a looked at him.

Viktor was still sitting in his front row seat in the lecture room patiently waiting for the crowd to dissipate before getting up to look at the paper.

He continued to wrap up whatever notes he had taken as you step up to him.

"We are assigned partners for this project." you say very matter a factly.

Viktor looks up to you with a small smile," Well then, we should set up times to work on the project together. What times work best for you?"

You were taken aback by his nonchalance.

Did he really not care that he was partnered with you? Did he not see you as significant enough to mention the obvious tension? Did he not even see you as a rival but a regular student below him???

After a short pause you share what time you are normally at the library.

As you share the details he finished packing up his stuff.

Looking back up to with another slightly bigger smile (what is his game???) " I'll see you then. Tomorrow at table four."

With that he leans on his cane and leaves you in the quiet empty classroom to deliberate your next moves.

That night you started working on the project creating multiple schemes, ideas, and conceptual ideas that could be used for the project put forth.

You went to bed hoping to finally force him to recognize you as the rival that you were as he seemed so dismissive before.

You showed up to the library at the arranged time to see Viktor sitting peacefully at a study table thumbing through multiple volumes seemingly looking for a specific piece of information.

"Good Morning." you started as you walked up to him.

Without even looking up he returns the same early day greeting and places yet another volume aside and opening a new one.

Raising an eyebrow that the attitude you place your things on the other side of the table.

"I was thinking last night about this project and had written down some ideas that I believe that we should pick from as our approach." you open the discussion with no changed behavior from your supposed teammate.

You continue, " I have already taken the liberty to research them, for your convenience, and have supplied preliminary data for each one. Honestly any of these would resolve the problem raised by our projects prompt with their main difference being how creative you wanted to get with it."

Viktor has created yet another pile of abandoned books that didn't meet his mysterious criteria all the while not regarding you properly.

Your felt your self becoming more warmer as you felt the irritation pool into the oil pit of anger you have created surrounding him.

"It's considered polite to respond or at the very least acknowledge when someone is talking to you. Or are you so focused on your book hunt you aren't ever looking at the person you are supposed to be completing this project with."

Viktor sighs putting the book currently in his possession down and looks up to you.

"It was not my intention to be rude I am just looking for a specific volume that has a unique perspective on the concept we learned a week ago but the title is slipping my mind."

Sighing you sit down and observe the collection of books created on the table.

"I'm going to go on a limb here and assume that you only really remember that the color of the book was dark blue?"

Viktor chuckled," Observant and yes I am."

"Well you aren't going to find it in the library considering there is only one copy of it. That author's take was considered almost heretic."

"Ah, so you are familiar with the book I am referencing?"

"It would be strange if I didn't considering that I brought it with me to our meeting. I checked it out a week ago because it piqued my interest and also happened to align with this assignment."

You hold it out over the table as Viktor sighs again running a hand through his hair.

The meeting ended up going on for longer than expected.

You were surprised to find that he has a similar perspective to yours and understood your vision from the multiple proposals that you had created.

Further analysis showed some minor flaws that would otherwise be overlooked by other people; but neither of you too were not going to settle for anything less than perfection.

The more that the two of you poured over ideas, equations, concepts, and plans until you came up with a path that pleased you both with only one variable that needing some testing.

Viktor offered to go his smaller private study that he had already set up a similar experiment (he was also trying ideas out the night before)

Walking side by side down the hallways was a strange feeling.

Not because you were walking slower that your default rushed walking pace but because this person that you had, honestly, really hated and rationalized that was cheating somehow....wasn't.

You hated to admit it as you continued to listen to his rambling on of the missing component that they needed to figure out.

(Shit...he is actually just naturally brilliant)

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part 1 | part 2 >

[p0orbaby]

Alessia Russo x Reader Request:

Alessia and few of her teammates from the lionesses, are taking a walk to a local coffee shop they been to before. Walking together, Alessia is on her phone, not looking where she is going and bumps into reader. Reader sent flying to the floor. Alessia immediately apologises, helping reader up but can’t help to notice how gorgeous and very attractive reader is. Reader gets up, brushes off and says it’s okay before walking in said coffee shop. Alessia and her friends walk into the shop after her. And her friends trying to get Alessia the courage to ask reader out.

-

It starts with a gentle shove to your back and ends with you sprawled on the pavement, spoils clutched to your chest, head spinning. Your first thought: How is it possible to fall in slow motion? Your second thought: Was that a car or a human being?

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry!” The voice is breathless, faintly northern, and mortified.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at the long legs and apologetic figure looming over you. The sunlight makes her look angelic, which is annoying because your knee hurts, and you think you’ve smushed your croissant.

“I wasn’t looking,” she adds quickly, her phone dangling uselessly in her hand. “Are you alright? Did I—are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you say, brushing yourself off. You pull your bag closer, assessing the damage. The croissant’s definitely a goner. A tragedy. You glance up. She’s staring at you, like you’ve personally short-circuited her brain.

Alessia Russo, you realise belatedly. The footballer. Tall, blonde, and looking genuinely horrified by her own clumsiness.

“It’s okay,” you say, trying to diffuse her panic. “Really. No harm done”

You step past her and walk into the coffee shop, leaving her standing there, the echo of “sorry” still hanging in the air.

Inside, the smell of espresso and fresh pastries wraps around you like a hug. You manage to order a replacement croissant, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks, aware that the woman—and her friends—are filing in behind you. The bell above the door jingles dramatically, like it’s announcing the arrival of royalty.

Alessia’s voice is lower now, hushed, but it’s impossible not to catch snippets.

“Oh my God, did you see her?”

“Yes, we all saw her. You almost flattened her,” someone mutters.

“She’s stunning”

“She’s still standing there”

“I can’t just—what am I supposed to do?”

“Apologise. Again. Offer to buy her coffee”

“She already has coffee!”

You turn slightly, catching sight of Alessia standing awkwardly by the counter, her phone clutched to her chest like a shield. Her teammates are huddled around her, throwing what you can only describe as animated pep talk hand gestures in her direction.

When you lock eyes, she freezes. Her mouth opens, then closes. It’s almost endearing.

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Something wrong?”

Her teammates scatter like startled pigeons, leaving Alessia stranded. She takes a hesitant step forward, looking like she’d rather face a penalty shootout than this conversation.

“I—uh—I wanted to say sorry. Again. Properly this time.” She pauses, then blurts, “And to ask if I can buy you another coffee. Or a croissant. Or… anything, really”

You glance at the bag in your hand. “Already replaced.”

“Oh,” she says, deflating slightly. “Right. Of course”

“But,” you add, watching her eyes brighten, “you could join me. If you want”

There’s a beat of silence before her teammates erupt into whispered cheers behind her. Alessia’s ears turn bright red.

“I’d like that,” she says, smiling shyly.

[marzipanandminutiae]

would you have any reading suggestions to learn more about the earrings are evil era??? I've never heard of that aspect of fashion history and I am curious

Oh man, it was wild

you saw the first stirrings of it in the 1890s, when you started to get (mostly white and middle-to-upper-class) proto-feminists arguing that ear piercing was barbaric- keep an eye on the racist undertones there; they will come up again-and forcing women to suffer for fashion. I cannot emphasize enough that, until that point, ear piercing had been pretty much normal for this race/class/gender group. For centuries. You see criticism of the practice here and there, but nothing that really stuck.

The objections slowly increased until roughly the mid-1920s, when everything reached a tipping point and pierced ears became largely taboo for most white Americans and Brits of northern/western European descent. If that sounds HIGHLY specific, it is- communities from southern and sometimes eastern Europe retained cultural practices of ear piercing, to the point where it was often used as a point against them by mainstream society. It was also associated with Latino people, Black people, and the Romani, which. Yeah. I don't need to tell you how that went down.

It also developed associations with sexual immorality and/or backwards thinking. One newspaper letter I read came from a teen girl in the 1940s, wondering why she shouldn't pierce her ears if her very respectable grandmother had piercings. The response was something like "well, they did all sorts of things in the Bad Old Days that we shouldn't do now." True in many ways, or course, but...piercing your ears? That's the hill culture decided to die on as far as antiquated behavior that we should leave behind? Apparently yes.

Earrings themselves never went out of style, which led to the birth of clip-ons and screwbacks. Ironic that the "don't surfer for fashion" crowd was so eager to embrace screwing tiny vices onto your ears, but there we are. My own mother (born 1953) remembers her mother (born 1926) always taking off her screwback earrings immediately after getting home from a party, literally in the foyer of their house the second the door shut. There had been adaptations for unpierced ears before- Little Women, published in 1868, describes Meg March hanging earrings from a flesh-colored silk ribbon tied around the base of her ear -but they'd never caught on like this before.

However, the pendulum was soon to swing back. After just 40 years of Piercing Panic, in the 1960s, girls began piercing their ears again in droves. As piercing moved from the slumber party or summer camp back to the professional jewelers whose families had been early professional piercers in the 19th century- and to befuddled doctors who had no idea what they were doing yet still received piercing requests -cultural commentators had no idea what to make of it. Some decried the new trend while most took an air of bemused neutrality. My personal favorite article expressed surprise that "Space Age misses" were adopting these "Victorian traditions."

(In 1965, my grandmother took Mom to the anesthesiologist down the street who was offering to pierce his young daughter's friends gratis, and got it done. My grandfather had strongly disapproved of the idea, but in the end it took him a week to notice the new earrings.)

As to sources...honestly, I've just gone to Google Books, specified a time frame, and typed in "ear piercing," "pierced ears," "pierce ears," etc. Tons of primary sources at your fingertips, though I'm not always great about documenting or saving what I find. There's not much written about it formally, I've found- no books or scholarly studies. It may just be too close in history to attract much academic attention, though I find it fascinating.

This little blip where something that's been normal for most of western history suddenly became taboo for a hot second.

Also my ear piercings just turned 20 five days ago, commemorating the date that I was taken with much ceremony to Piercing Pagoda (and that horrible gun; it's a wonder I didn't get keloids) to get me out from underfoot while the Thanksgiving feast was being made. Grandma got hers pierced on the same day, at age 78. Happy Birthday, Marzi's ear piercings!

[senseandaccountability]

"I'm me again"

Yes well this is me getting a little sappy - again - about the spirits/demon thing as a metaphor for the human experience, must be Friday. 

(Yes, this is about Solas.)

Last night my Ingellvar was tending to the graves with Emmrich and she said “demons” and immediately corrected herself, because of course she meant spirits but people outside Nevarra so easily call them demons and Emmrich, one of the kindest and most insightful people in the entire DA verse, would of course never do that. Because he sees them all as spirits. Some of them may be twisted, embittered, furious and cruel but to him they are still, at heart, the same being as their more positive virtues. You are always you, as Solas tells Cole. 

Which is also what Solas argues for all of DAI.

Which is also what Solas personal quest actively shows us in DAI.

His friend, broken and twisted by the mages' bindings, dies a spirit of Wisdom, thanking him and telling him not to be sad. “I’m me again.”

Which is also a very strong theme in Solas entire arc. 

But it’s really not just Solas, or the elves. The eternal struggle of spirits is a reflection of the human soul and what it means to be human. What parts of you does the world let you cultivate, what parts are hidden and twisted in the dark, what virtues would you be remembered for if you died tomorrow? What sort of person have you become? What person could you be? DA is crammed with these themes.

Since the spirit reveal/confirmation, I’ve seen a lot of very detailed and very cool discussions about the specifics of spirit virtues and demon characteristics and that’s some good shit right there, but you can also be lazy like me and very much just read it as various aspects of human nature interacting with each other. We’re all so many things over our lifetime, to different people, in different contexts. We all carry such endless capacity for goodness and gentleness and we’re all so very capable of hurting each other.

In the codex entries we see Solas try over and over and over again to appeal to the better nature of the Evanuris. He is described as brilliant and wise, he is pulled out of the Fade specifically for his wisdom and he tries to get them to reflect that, to listen to his concerns, to use their powers differently. Why don’t you make creatures that can protect the People, he asks Ghilan’nain. Why do you need to push your power further, he asks Elgar’nan, the people are already submitting to your rule, why must you shackle them? War may have twisted him up already but there’s nothing he says that isn’t extremely valid and wise about the Evanuris’ approach to ruling.

But as we learn from the Spirit of Command in Crestwood in DAI, wisdom is considered a soft virtue in a world of war and hierarchy and his reasoning falls flat or gets interpreted as fear or insubordination. Unheard and undervalued, his wisdom grows sour and prideful. He isn’t wrong, he knows he isn't, and he will show them. You are not gods, I will make you see that you are not gods. I will humble you until you understand that I am right. 

This is a profoundly human experience.

The ancient elven empire ultimately falls to its own greed and hierarchies and lack of boundaries - all of which Solas pointed out, all of which he and his rebels opposed. But the Evanuris didn’t listen, they were caught in a power scheme where only individual power matters and everyone else becomes pawns. How ironic then that their empire falls to its own foolish pride and boundless cruelty against the Titans, the first children of the earth. They hurt themselves by hurting them. They wound the fabric that binds them all together. 

Solas as a character is an open, ongoing conflict between "spirit" and "demon" aspects, between light and dark, between identifying as a solitary creature or part of the whole. It’s never more visible than during the final act of DAV where he is at once Solas, standing with the Shadow Dragons against the blight. And also Fen’Harel, scheming to get there in the first place, treating people in his way like dehumanized pawns to reach his final destination, a goal that can be argued to be entirely tainted with pride at this point, a way to soothe his conscience and need to be right more than it’s a way to save the world. And he’s the Dread Wolf, physically embodying the struggle against the corrupt powers since he, unlike the Evanuris, doesn’t believe in binding creatures to fight his battles. It’s significant that while he fights alone, he cannot do it without help from Rook. Elgar’nan directs all of the blight at the Dread Wolf and it takes a sacrifice from the team to free him from its grasp. It’s a battle orchestrated by a god. 

And Solas, powerful as he may be, is not a god. 

That is why it’s so lovely to me that the ending isn’t just a matter between Solas and his conscience or between Solas and Rook or Solas and Lavellan. Because we are not single entities. We are not islands. That’s why we need each other, because we respond to each other, we affect each other, we abuse and love each other and we cannot really understand in which ways until we connect. We use each other to remind us of who we are, or who we could be. Every Benevolence needs a Wisdom, every Command needs a Compassion, every one of us needs someone else in some way, shape or form. We are not meant to be solitary. We all share Solas' deepest fear of dying alone. We all share Solas’ ongoing conflict with the better and worse parts of our nature. We all reflect each other. The ending brings in the past, the present and the person that knows Solas not as a god but as a person.

We are shattered fragments of a greater whole and it was, as Morrigan points out, Solas’s love for and loyalty to his people that set him on this course long ago. And he broke the world. He broke his people. He couldn’t save them, all the horrible things that he has done and he still couldn’t save them. Ultimately and emotionally to him, this isn’t about wisdom or pride or good or evil or any such dichotomy, this is about grief and regret and broken humanity.

That is why it’s so powerful to me that a romanced or friendly Lavellan is so kind to him in DAV. They approach him carefully, they kneel down beside him to make a connection, they are understanding and compassionate and it may not be what he deserves on some grand justice scale of things, but it is without question what he needs. Pride and regret and grief need compassion, hope and benevolence much more than it needs to be proven wrong or challenged, kindness breaks the cycle.

They reach out to him not the way one would reach out to a god, but to a person. Because that’s what Solas needs to be reminded of - his humanity. That’s what their love and friendship has always reminded him of, that's what the Inquisition taught him - that the world is worth caring about because broken as it may be, it is also full of people. 

And people matter. They might not matter to the Dread Wolf, but they have always mattered to Solas.

That's what the good ending represents.

"I'm me again." 

[thehalftrollscholar]

I found this in my drafts and am kicking myself for never posting it.

Thx for the tag @cave-cryptid

Are you named after anyone? My first name is from my great uncle, who my Mom was really close too. My middle name(which people usually call me because it’s shorter) is my paternal grandmother’s step-father’s surname.

When was the last time you cried? Last week when I missed a college exam and was having an existential crisis. I’m better now.

Do you have kids? No, but it’s one of my main goals in life.

Do you do any sports? I’m on the school archery team, went to states last year.

Do you use sarcasm? Yes, it’s a family tradition. And I’m proud of it.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? Any identifying marks. Growing up the older brother of three sisters I was taught to always watch out for people who gave the wrong vibe. Dad always told me I should be able to describe anyone I saw with at least three detailed features.

What colour are your eyes? Hazel, tends to turn more green when I have strong emotions.

Scary movies or happy endings? Scary movies with a happy ending. The scarier the middle the happier and more deserved the ending feels!

Any talents? I’m a pretty decent writer, good at improv and character acting. Good at chess. I’m a good swimmer. I’ve been told I’m a good public speaker.

Where were you born? Under a lovely little bridge in Missouri. Next question!

What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, blacksmithing, wood burning, hiking, used to do competitive ballet/tap. DnD is a big hobby of mine. Forever DM. Violin is one of my favorites.

Do you have any pets? A red heeler mix(cattle dog if you don’t know breeds), an adorable black cat, 25 guinea fowl/chickens, and three little sisters.

How tall are you? Barely 5’5 with size 13 shoes. And two of my best friends are like 6’3. Of course we’re all dorks. Lot of hobbit jokes.

Favourite subjects in school? Literature, though world cultures are a close second.

Dream Job? I’d love to be an author and travel the world. I’d also really like to go into international law and business. That would help fund being able to travel and write.

Or a trophy husband.

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

@kaiarchives tagged me in this game that I haven't had the pleasure of seeing before, so that's exciting. The rules are: Answer the 15 questions and tag 15 of your mutuals.

1. Are you named after anyone?

No.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Last Sunday. I don't think it was for any particular reason, I just had a headache and was feeling down.

3. Do you have kids?

No.

4. What sports do you play/have played?

I played a bit of a football as a kid and a bit of volleyball for school. I also did range shooting in my tween years.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Quite a lot. I've been trying to cut back and be a bit more genuine, but my habit for being sarcastic and my generally low moods have given me a bit of Resting Bitch Voice, so people don't always pick up on it.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Facial shape I think. Before I learn someone's name I generally remember them by the shape of their jaw and cheeks.

7. What's your eye color?

Blue, but it's a kinda greyish blue.

8. Scary movies or Happy endings

I like scary movies with happy endings. Give me protagonists who face down with the worst of humanity or the nasties of the world and come out alive and swinging, if not a bit traumatized.

9. Any talents?

I'm told I have a way with words. In general I don't believe in talent in the "innate skill" way though.

10. Where were you born?

Oslo, Norway.

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing, reading, movies, video games (mostly strategy and roguelikes,) I used to sing in a choir and I kind of want to get back into that.

12. Do you have any pets?

No. Haven't really had the opportunity to, but I'd like to get a dog someday.

13. How tall are you?

178 cm, so... what, 5'10?

14. Favorite subject in school

Language and it's not close at all. Social Sciences as a second place I suppose.

15. Dream Job?

Author. Give me a way to live from writing and I'll churn out books at a brazen clip. It might drive me crazy, but it'll be worth it.

As for the tags: @frostedlemonwriter @shay-puppitty @longwuzhere @indigostudies @an-elegant-void @mjjune @marlenadutch @fire-but-ashes-too @meerawrites @sparrowrising @silverslipstream @floweryprosegarden @the-secondborn-of-seven @chishiio @a-had-matter

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How do I write mean insults that's in character for a character to say? I'm personally poor at coming up with insults that don't sound generic or would actually cut deep, being mean in general. I want to write a snarky character with a dry sense of humour when it calls for it but don't know how to go about it.

He's also recovering from a superiority and inferiority complex.

As the writer, you know your character best, and what insults would make sense for them to say (also considering the bigger context of the scene). So, I'll just provide you with a compilation of prompts and notes from different sources, and you can choose which ones are most appropriate to incorporate in your story.

Writing Notes: Insults & Dry Humor

A List of "Sophisticated" Insults

Craven - having or showing a complete lack of courage; very cowardly

Fatuous - silly or stupid; complacently or inanely foolish. From Latin infatuate, which once meant "to make foolish," but which now usually means "to inspire with foolish love or admiration."

Insipid - not interesting or exciting; dull or boring

Obstreperous - difficult to control and often noisy

Obtuse - stupid or unintelligent; not able to think clearly or to understand what is obvious or simple

Pusillanimous - weak and afraid of danger. It's been used by such notables as Ralph Waldo Emerson ("It is a pusillanimous desertion of our work to gaze after our neighbours"), and the disgraced Vice-President Spiro Agnew, who called journalists "pusillanimous pussyfooters."

Sanctimonious - pretending to be morally better than other people. It once meant "possessing sanctity; holy, sacred." The genuinely holy aspect faded, and William Shakespeare is credited with first using sanctimonious to mean "hypocritically pious or devout."

Twee - sweet or cute in a way that is silly or sentimental. Just as buddy is believed to be a baby talk alteration of "brother", twee is a baby talk alteration of "sweet". Although twee is still considered a chiefly British term, it's increasingly popular in American English.

Unctuous - revealing or marked by a smug, ingratiating, and false earnestness or spirituality. Unction can mean "anointment" or it can name something used to anoint, such as a soothing or lubricating oil. That idea of oiliness led to unctuous, which can describe the slickness of false sincerity.

Vacuous - having or showing a lack of intelligence or serious thought; lacking meaning, importance, or substance

The insult would also depend on which other character it is directed at. Here is a list of "funny" insults for adults from Reader's Digest:

My days of not taking you seriously have come to a middle.

You are the human equivalent of a participation trophy.

If you were a spice, you’d be flour.

You may have a sparsely attended funeral.

I smell something burning. Are you trying to think again?

You’re like a lighthouse in a desert: bright but not very useful.

Don’t worry—the first 30 years of childhood are always the hardest.

May your life be as pleasant as you are.

You’re as useless as the “ueue” in “queue.”

Your face is just fine. It’s your personality that’s the issue.

...and for your character's significant other:

I like you. People say I have no taste, but I like you.

You continue to meet my expectations.

I’ll never forget the first time we met. But I’ll keep trying.

If genius skips a generation, our kids will be brilliant.

We were happily married for a month. Too bad it’s our 10-year anniversary.

I admire the way you try so hard.

You’re entitled to your incorrect opinion.

Have you tried doing it the way I told you to the first time?

The best part of watching a show with you is when you fall asleep because then I can watch my show.

Don’t call me crazy—you’re the one who married me!

You can always alter these to better suit your character. You can read the full list here, which also includes some insults for kids, best friends, and family.

Tips for Better Humor Writing

Humor writing isn’t all about landing a good joke (except for when it is). In creative writing, the effect is usually a bit more nuanced. Here’s a few writing techniques to get you started:

Subvert expectations. Try to undermine the audience’s expectations or reform them with structural elements.

Save the best for last. Humor is often a release of tension, so the sentence builds that tension, and the pay-off—the punchline—happens most naturally at the end. This is also sometimes referred to as the “rule of three,” where two thoughts act as a build-up to the final humorous closer.

Use contrast. Are your characters in a terrifying situation? Add something light, like a man obsessing about his briefcase instead of the T-Rex looming behind him.

Use good wordplay. Sometimes words themselves are funny, and just as often, their placement in a sentence can make a difference. Some words are just funnier than others, so make a list of those that amuse you the most.

Take advantage of cliché. While clichés are something most writers try to avoid, it’s important to recognize them,so you can use them to your advantage. Humor relies in part on twisting a cliché—transforming or undermining it. You do this by setting up an expectation based on the cliché and then providing a surprise outcome. In humor writing, this process is called reforming.

Use humor as a counterbalance. If you just pile on one terrible thing after another, it starts to become ridiculous, and people won’t buy it. Using humor is a great way to achieve the proper balance between fantasy and real life. Remember, if a roller coaster only did twists and turns the whole time, it wouldn’t be as fun to ride.

Level of Intensity

There are people who shrug off an insult (“That’s just the way she is”) and people who commit murder over an insult (“I’m avenging my honor!”). Plus, of course, everything in between. Which is your character?

To be believable, consider the following:

Personality. How hard does your character take events in general? Does s/he get really excited over good fortune and really depressed over setbacks? Then we’ll find it believable that s/he gets really angry and reacts accordingly.

The second cause of an intense reaction is the nature of the specific fight that you’re creating on the page. Lily Owens lets most of her father’s insults go by (“the art of survival”). But when he starts in about her mother, the topic is too important to Lily to gloss over. Lily’s reaction is intense. She runs away. Another type of character might merely have seethed silently. Still another might have fought T. Ray more intensively, setting fire to the house with him inside.

Finally, the strength of fights is culturally determined. Where public or even private scenes are disapproved of (upper-class London, old-money Boston, “well-behaved” families), arguments may be muted, even when the subject matters a great deal. In other cultures, volatility is not frowned on, and people may feel free to scream at each other in public. In extreme cases, murder may even be considered a duty, as in avenging a sister’s sexual assault.

Where is your story taking place? Are your arguers in tune with local or family culture? Maybe not. You can create interesting effects by portraying the rebels against the local mores: the meek child born into a battling family, the furious feminist in polite 19th-century English society.

On Dry Humor

Dry humor - is all about the subtle irony of the facts being stated plainly; it is the contrast between sentiment and reality that makes the situation funny.

The technique is known for its simple, often matter-of-fact declarations that will make the audience laugh or be perplexed (humor is subjective, after all).

With dry humor, delivery and intention create a sort of comedic cognitive dissonance or contrast. Sometimes it is as simple as using a bit of sarcasm, but it can also be more than that.

Dry humor lives and dies on the back of doing less.

Less facial expressions, less props, less setup—less is often more when it comes to landing the joke. You aren’t using a big, dramatic setup or a grandiose vocabulary to make your point.

Essentially, these jokes are derived from saying the opposite of what is meant or delivering them in a way that purposefully counteracts the supposed meaning of what is being said.

Dry Humor in Writing

The function of dry humor has often been to highlight the absurd.

It is effectively executed in moments where satirization of the circumstances at play require little more than noting the facts aloud.

When writing this sort of humor, quick, cutting accuracy is key to making the jokes land.

Simplicity is king, and an honest statement of the facts will always lead the way to finding the funny.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Humour ⚜ Laughter & Humour

Hope this helps with your writing!

[portalhan]

⠀ꔫ˚　༝　◌ ⌒⌒ three strikes !

↳ jeongin swears on his life that he's seen something odd between you and felix... exactly three times, in fact, but he needs more concrete proof...

PAIRING: felix lee x gn!reader

FORMAT: one shot

GENRE: college au, friends to lovers, fluff, jeongin third wheeling...

WARNINGS: brief mentions of food and being sick (just the flu bug nothing huge)

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

FAE'S NOTES: this is just a little bit half-assed... idk if i have much faith in this and i believe i can do better than this but i'm gonna post it anyway for you guys! please let me know if you have any feedback, my writing muscles have basically atrophied and i need to find my rhythm again TT

jeongin doesn't usually second-guess his closest friends like this, but something has changed. he knows you and felix well enough to know at least that.

you have always been hard to read. you're an independent, reliable sort of person, not outwardly emotional nor needlessly arrogant either—you tend to show your love for your friends through small, quiet gestures. felix, on the other hand, is someone who wears his heart on his sleeve—almost to a fault. always baking extra brownies to gift people, always going the extra mile, always looking on the bright side, even in the darkest of situations. he is as fragile as he is affectionate.

yes, affectionate. that's the word he's been looking for to describe the changes in your friendship with felix. you've been more affectionate. jeongin has always chalked it up to felix's own proclivities rubbing off on you given the sheer amount of time you spend together, but now... he's not so sure it's that simple. there have been three strikes jeongin has kept score of so far.

STRIKE #1

jeongin remembers it was a tuesday, because that's the only day of the week where all three of you shared classes. you would always sit in a row near the back of the class. he has made it a point to memorise both yours and felix's timetables this semester—as do the both of you with him—so he knows you don't usually have prior arrangements before coming to campus. you've always had a tradition of meeting in the lobby before walking to class together as a result.

so, when his phone pings with a message from you saying 'sorry innie, we're gonna be a bit late! pls go to class first, just save us seats', he is immediately struck with confusion. what did you mean, "we"? felix, uncharacteristically, hasn't said a word and it's already 5 minutes shy from when class starts. he always arrives at least 10 minutes before. how strange, jeongin thinks to himself as he trudges up the stairs to class, incredibly unfamiliar with the circumstance of having to do so on his own for the first time. he just brushes the nagging suspicion off, telling himself it was probably because of some public transport situation that's delayed you both—not something entirely uncommon.

it's about 15 minutes into the class before he sees you. the second he spots felix and you stumbling through the doors, profusely apologising to the professor for your tardiness, though, is when the same sensation of suspicion comes back. as you and felix shuffle to make their way to the seats jeongin saved for you, he can't help but notice your attire. you're wearing an oversized black shirt with some graphic of an anime printed on. jeongin's eyes squint as he stares at it, assuming it must have been a new purchase of yours. but he swears he's seen it before.

when you and felix take your seats and the professors picks up where she left off, felix turns to jeongin and apologises for being late. "we're really sorry jeongin, we owe you one," he quips, before he fishes his laptop out of his bag. the younger boy just shrugs it off as no big deal. plus, he had something else on his mind to worry about than harp on the two of you being late to class.

the dots quickly connect a few moments later in jeongin's head. felix has a shirt just like the one you're wearing. he swears he's seen him wearing it before, just last week when the three of you had gone out for dinner. it's been a shirt of his for years now, so worn down by so many uses that it has bleach stains on the sleeves, despite how much care felix puts into his clothing.

jeongin leans back in his chair and slowly, subtly pushes it back. he steals a glance at your side profile, thankfully without either you or felix noticing. there they were: bleach stains on the sleeves. upon further inspection, the shirt you were wearing looks way too worn out to be a new shirt—he concludes it must be felix's. but why would you wear felix's dank shirt to begin with? it would be weird to ask if that's his shirt you were wearing, so he decides to keep his silence for now.

STRIKE #2

this time, it was jeongin's turn to be late. the three of you had planned a picnic to celebrate the end of the gruelling semester—an idea felix suggested. he wanted it to be a potluck, so the each of you planned to bring something of your own making along.

jeongin wanted to go all out with his: he wanted to bake cupcakes, something felix had recently taught him how to. he wanted to show you his latest endeavours, baked fresh, but he didn't expect it to go sideways so last minute. he ended up showing up almost half an hour late, hair sticking to his forehead from all the sweat and cupcake frosting smeared all over the tupperware he placed them in out of haste.

when he finally spots the two of you amid the grass field at the park, he notices something... odd. he stops in his tracks to catch his breath and squints his eyes to get a better look. if he didn't know any better, he'd have thought you two were... holding hands? the sun was glaring directly in his face, obscuring his vision, so jeongin couldn't be 100% sure. but what he does know is that your figures were so close to each other they were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. this isn't exactly beyond felix, who is notorious for his habits of physical affection. but it is most certainly out of character for you, as someone who prefers to keep most people at an arm's length.

jeongin shrugs it off. he guesses felix nor he would be considered "most people". perhaps it was a trick of the light. he also doesn't have good enough reason to find it entirely strange—perhaps felix had gotten through to you in that regard. he had bigger things to worry about: your dinner getting cold.

STRIKE #3

the legitimacy of the third time is still up for debate, jeongin surmises. this time it wasn't your behaviour around each other, instead more so about how felix in particular reacted.

this happened over summer break. he remembers the sun being more unrelenting than ever—40 degrees celsius to be exact, he saw on the news—so you three had just decided to hang out in your bedroom, where the air conditioning is the coolest and crispiest (according to you). jeongin vividly recalls you lying on your stomach atop your bed, while the two boys were sprawled on the floor. that is, the carpet that laid over the spot where they would usually sprawl on the floor.

it was one of those 'parallel play' days, as you liked to call them. not necessarily doing things together, but doing separate things in the presence of each other, you said one time. felix was busy on his switch playing some pokemon game, you were scrolling on your phone and jeongin was just seconds away from drifting off to sleep on felix's lap.

it's been silent for, what, almost two hours now? but you end up breaking it first. "woah," you suddenly exclaimed, brows furrowing as you read something on your screen. "do you guys remember seungmin? from calculus?"

jeongin does not move an inch aside from nodding his head, and felix just lets out a little "yeah?" though his eyes were never once peeled from the console screen.

"i think he just asked me out," you tell them, bewildered.

this, of course, elicits reactions of surprise from jeongin and felix. the former lifts himself and sits up to ask details, while the other just turns the switch off—did he even save his progress on the game?—and sits there in silence as he silently watches you and jeongin discuss your classmate's... proposition. jeongin makes a playful jab at how you could have given him the wrong idea by flirting with him, which you immediately shut down. "i've never done anything suggestive to him, i swear!" you exclaimed in full defense.

seungmin has only ever made conversation with you once or twice in class, jeongin recalls. you also never really put in the effort to get to know your other classmates if jeongin and felix were in the same classes. jeongin makes a passing comment about how seungmin could pass as your type (if you squint hard enough), but it falls on deaf ears when you and felix meet each other's gazes.

"you're gonna tell him no, right?" felix suddenly chimes in after moments of prolonged silence, raspy voice cracking just a little. jeongin snaps his head to turn and look at his friend, head tilted and brow lifted. you give felix a look jeongin cannot quite describe, and chuckle with a soft smile as you nod. "of course i'm gonna say no," you assure him. he lets out a very heavy sigh of relief, but none of this goes unnoticed by jeongin.

this is very weird, jeongin remembers thinking. you have always been receptive to potential love interests, even if they weren't necessarily people you'd normally be into. so why are you so sure now that you'd reject seungmin without even giving him a chance?

on that note, what's it to felix who asks you out? why does he have a say? plus, he could've sworn he detected some semblance of... jealousy in his question. but he supposes that could be normal considering all three of you are so used to spending time with each other. jeongin does admit to himself that he'd feel lonely if you were to be whisked away by some stranger out of nowhere. it wouldn't be the same.

jeongin has theories, maybe even concepts of a theory, but no concrete enough proof for confrontation—so far. it looks like he has to wait till he does before he can address the massive elephant in the room.

FINAL STRIKE

it finally happens when he decides to stop by your apartment with take-out. you had told your friends about falling sick the night before—alas, you have caught the flu bug. they were just textbook symptoms like a low-grade fever, sore throat and a runny nose, nothing to worry about in particular, you told them. but jeongin just so happens to pass by your neighbourhood on his usual route home from work, so he decides to drop in with some chicken soup for you as a small surprise. you had already been texting the group chat the entire day about how exhausted you were to make yourself a half-decent dinner, so jeongin thought this would be a nice way to take care of his friend.

he knocks on your door multiple times to no response. maybe you're sleeping? he looks around the potted plants sitting outside your door and lifts the snake plant up, grabbing the rusted spare key tucked away from prying eyes just underneath. he quickly and quietly unlocks the front door and lets himself in. i'll just go in, check on y/n and put this soup on the table, he tells himself as he enters. maybe text you to let you know he got you dinner.

that is, until a warm aroma of what he believes to be fresh bolognese wafts to where he is at the front door. he hears the distant clanging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, and—strangest of all—he hears... conversation? he can definitely hear you talking and even giggling, but he can't quite make out who the other person was. he's about 99% sure there was someone else in here, but could it be just a phone call? he sneaks down the hallway to the kitchen, the noises getting clearer as he inches closer. when he sticks his head out from a blind corner to peek into the kitchen, he sees it: felix plating a fresh bowl of spaghetti while you're sitting on the dining table engaged in idle chatter. a lump catches in his throat—what is felix doing here? and most importantly, why didn't he know of this? he felt momentarily betrayed.

jeongin just stands there in silence, unsure of how to confront you, while you and felix continue chatting. it's only when felix sets down two plates of pasta and goes in to plant a peck on your cheek does jeongin yelp in shock, which frightens all three of you.

felix squints his eyes, which widen in utter disbelief when he recognises the familiar facade lurking by the corridor. "jeong...in?" he asks, voice trembling a little from disbelief. when he says jeongin's name, you shoot him a similar look, but this one is more panicked and afraid. jeongin awkwardly steps out within view, but he puts a hand up to cover his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. he raises the other arm to point an accusatory finger at the both of you. you swear you just heard felix gulp next to you.

"i..." jeongin sputters. "i knew it! i knew something was going on between you two idiots!"

the verbalisation of his revelation is what completely opens the floodgates, causing the entire place to erupt in complete and utter chaos. jeongin paces back and forth with the chicken soup still dangling from his fingers as he rants about how he's caught you doing "weird stuff" a couple of times but couldn't have known, about how he's been feeling a little left out recently, how you have been looking at felix funny sometimes. meanwhile, felix just begins to talk over him with near-equal (if not more) amounts of sheer panic and distress, reaching out to him to get him to calm down while explaining that this wasn't how they had intended for him to find out.

you, crippled by the shock from jeongin's unexpected appearance, just sit there, unable to do much of anything what with your flu, just silently watching felix and jeongin form a panic attack circle jerk in your own house.

"enough!" jeongin raises his voice, which immediately shuts felix up. jeong has never raised his voice. you shoot felix a nervous look.

"i thought we were best friends," jeongin utters, the slightest hint of melancholy lacing his voice. he looks offended. you've never seen him look this offended, not even when he was accused of academic misconduct that one time. "i'm happy for you, ecstatic even! i swear i am, but really? why would you keep this for me for so long?"

you decide you should talk to him—felix is very clearly out of his depth when it comes to handling intense situations like this and he's only making jeongin feel worse with all the jabbering. you stand up from your seat on the table and walk over to him, taking your hands in his.

"i'm sorry, jeongin. we... we weren't entirely sure of how we were gonna do this," you tell him, almost in a whisper.

felix scratches the back of his neck, avoiding any and all eye contact with either of you. "we wanted to keep it quiet," he admits. "at first, at least."

you nod in agreement, and turn back to look at jeongin. "you were going to be the first person we would break the news to. not even our own parents, i swear," you divulge, while you spot felix in the corner of your eye making a silent crossed hearts gesture to double down on his sincerity. jeongin's once-tense features start to ease up a bit, but not entirely. "you are our best friend. we never want you to feel like this. we're sorry," you assure him, before pulling him into a bear hug. you feel felix join from behind you to make it a group hug.

"i don't care what you guys have going on, but don't keep any more secrets from me. got it?" your friend huffs after you all pull back, feigning some sort of authority. felix chuckles at how ridiculous he sounds—being the youngest of the three, the tone just sounds alien when it comes from him. "we would never," felix tells him, reaching out to give jeongin a firm pat on the back. "i think y/n might like you more than me anyway, they're always going, 'we should call jeongin! we should send him a photo! we should—"

your palm slaps against the lower half of your boyfriend's face in protest. "we might be dating but you're on thin ice," you glare at him, before he raises both hands to surrender.

jeongin jovially chimes in to break the tension: "can i just say, i've always felt like you'd get along. aren't you glad i introduced you to each other? you wouldn't be a thing if it weren't for me, ya know." felix and you just huff in response—he can have this.

[respectthepetty]

Spare Me Your Mercy Thoughts

I have waited almost four years for this show since MDL made a placeholder for Euthanasia in early-2021, and now that it is here, I'm going to gush about all the ways I love it!

Just like a few of Dr. Sammon's other shows airing around the holidays (Manner of Death, Dead Friend Forever, and Petrichor), I'm thankful I got the first episode of Spare Me Your Mercy on Thanksgiving and the last will come on Christmas because this is the exact show I need for the holiday season since it began the entire series with Tew, the cop, having to perform euthanasia on an animal.

I grew up and still live in a rural area where cattle far outnumber the actual folks, so I fully understand euthanasia is a good death as the word implies, so I will not be struggling through the premise of this show, and I have faith the show won't either because when Tew fired the gun, the scene was peaceful.

And the show is making some pointed remarks about how things operate outside of bigger cities since Kan specifically mentioned he has about 2,500 patients. When the other officer asked the nurses if Kan had a long queue, they didn't even respond. Kan also clarified that his specialty is palliative care, so he has to monitor a wide range of long-term illnesses, so even though Tew might actually be from this place, he is now the outsider and out of his depth before he even started.

Sidenote: I cannot be mad at a nurse, even if one of them turns out bad because the way they all protect Kan from the police is the teamwork I love to see.

The red light to notify the office the doctor is seeing a patient coming on right after Kan responded to the nurse that it wasn't a murder case yet was perfection.

I already knew Kan was going to be my favorite character, but Tor is doing amazing showing the layers Kan has, as expected. Kan tells Tor he can cry and shows him kindness, but when pushed, Kan makes small digs about how people should spend the last moments of someone's life cherishing them when rudely questioned by Tew regarding the unexpected deaths knowing Tew did not get to see his mother before she died. He also made a subtle display of knowing where things were located in the house because he is in control.

The way he slid his LINE information into the conversation AFTER indirectly telling Tew he was being emotional due to his grief is why I'm excited to see another version of Manner of Death's Tan. Kan probably does like Tew but he stays focused and calculated.

He is terrifying without there being any concrete detail to pinpoint on why he is scary. Som, while describing people being possessed by evil murderous spirits, was terrified of Kan, and the transition from Som telling his story to Kan appearing at the exact moment Som was going to state what human form the evil spirits take was brilliant.

But what's even more terrifying is the treatment of the terminally ill. They are viewed as a burden, locked away, and isolated.

And Tew witnessed it. He got a glimpse of what Kan sees daily, so the show is already building up a case in defense of Kan's actions. If he is performing euthanasia, Tew could understand. He heard the goat's bell. He knew it was still alive, but he decided to end its suffering, cleanly and swiftly, which is what euthanasia is. He saw that man left behind by his family and even moved to go get him. And he was bothered when the man's daughter stated her reasoning for leaving him out there alone.

He also stopped Kan from continuing to question Som. Therefore, the true conflict has been set. Tew, whose job is to discover the truth, doesn't need it if it causes pain, but Kan's entire job is making pain manageable.

And I always want to trust a woman, but as suspicious as the director is being about everything, babygirl would be the perfect person to attempt euthanasia since the dead would end up on her table where she could claim the death was the result of the illness.

Because euthanasia is a good death.

And this ain't it.

He understands that.

But someone doesn't.

[noxiatoxia]

I don't know if this is common knowledge, but Komaeda's talent in Japanese is not "Ultimate Lucky Student". It is "Ultimate Good Fortune" (or good luck).

I know the word "lucky" has connotations with being good luck, but "luck" itself seems neutral to me at least.

I think the fact Komaeda is praised for, and has his talent be centered on, his good fortune is a very important nuance. People only see the good that happens to him. People keep telling him what happens to him is "good luck". His parents dying and getting kidnapped end up being called "good luck" in the end. I think this reinforces his pattern of thought more than people just saying he has extraordinary luck (good and bad). It's a minor difference, but it adds a lot. I have been thinking about this for a little bit now.

Because of the fact it is good luck specifically, I wanted to find parts where Komaeda specifically talks about bad luck. Lines such as "my awful luck/dreadful luck..." doesn't make much sense in the context of his Japanese talent. It made me wonder if those English lines even existed or if it was a "Luke, I am your father" situation. I don't have either the English or Japanese script memorized.

I checked the Freetime Events because of this, and found an interesting thing. There's a number of mistranslations, or simply translation choices I don't really agree with.

The freetime events heavily misrepresent how often Komaeda uses the word "luck". He uses both 不幸 and 不運 an equal amount I'd say. Maybe the former more. The former means "misery" "sorrow" or "misfortune". The latter means "bad luck" or "ill-fortune".

Likewise, 幸運 means good luck, but it also means good fortune. It's the word used in his talent as I described above.

Now, that's not to say I think Komaeda's "talent" should not be referred to as luck, nor am I saying he should never use the word luck. I think good and bad luck is a perfectly apt English word to describe his experiences. I just think the English translation overuses it. It wouldn't have killed them to make him say "isn't that just awful" or "what a tragedy, right?" instead of "isn't that such bad luck?" every conceivable moment. Maybe I'm just nit picky.

Now, onto the free time events. I want to talk about them.

I'll be talking about them in order as they appear. Also, I am only going to talk about the 3rd event onward, after Komaeda's chapter 1 reveal.

Freetime event 3

A minor nitpick, but "friends" is not the word I'd use here. It's true you can translate it that way, but considering everything else about Komaeda, at this point in the game, he wouldn't readily call Hinata his friend. Especially considering the connotations that holds for him.

That's precisely likely why he, in fact, doesn't say "friend" in the Japanese text. He uses 仲間 which like I said, while can and does translate as friend when used in that way, it just means people of a common thread. Like, a group, I guess.

My TL:

Because we both share the common goal of seeking out hope!

Freetime event 4

This is a really bad translation IMO. Hope is never said once in the original dialogue. I don't know why they put it there.

My TL:

Hinata: It's pretty ironic that you got wrapped up in this shitshow considering your "Ultimate Good Luck". Komaeda: It's not ironic at all! This is no doubt just the beginning of the good things to come my way! Komaeda: Um, let's just say the "good luck" I was born with is a little less straightforward [than the name would suggest]... Komaeda: once this is all over, I'll be rewarded with good fortune of the highest caliber.

And though this next one isn't much of a "mistranslation", I want to offer an alternative translation that highlights my criticism of "overusing the words good/bad luck".

My TL:

Komaeda: The greater the misfortune I experience before hand...the greater the good that comes my way afterwards! It completely cancels out everything before it!

Freetime event 5

I sadly cannot find in-game pictures of this since it's one of the wrong dialogue choices, so here's the script file text for it instead (sorry)

I remembered this line in English specifically because I always thought it sounded weird for Komaeda to say - "It's rare to hear you give such a half-assed answer".

While not a mistranslation totally, I think the tone is a bit off.

I would write it more as, "Ah ha ha! That's quite the answer, Hinata-kun!"

It literally translates as "for Hinata-kun, that is a very suitable answer!" but it's clearly supposed to be teasing/sarcastic. So he means to say "oh, wow, Hinata-kun, you're answering with that?" but in a lighthearted tone.

Freetime event 6

Almost didn't include this because it's the mistranslation we all know and hate, but it's worth mentioning in case people don't know.

My TL:

Please, just one last thing...don't ever forget...that from the bottom of my heart, I love y...I love your hope that sleep dormant inside you.

Though he does just say "please, don't forget", he uses どうか which is a pretty polite turn of phrase for Komaeda. It also is a way to emphasize a request, as in please do this to the benefit of me.

He backtracks pretty heavily. The verb comes at the end in Japanese sentences, so giving an exact one-to-one would be hard, but I'll try to explain it.

ボクはキミを... キミの中に眠る希望を心から愛していると。

Boku wa Kimi wo... Kimi no naka ni nemuru kibou wo koko kara aishiteiru to.

の/no = possessive. Such as, "Lucy's cat" "David's car".

を/wo = verb particle. There's no real English equivalent but you use it to signify some verb is being done onto something. Such as, "I kicked the ball" ("ball wo kick") or "I pet the cat" ("cat wo pet").

は/wa = topic particle. Commonly translates as "is/am" but that is NOT what it means. It just signifies everything that comes after it relates back to what comes before it. It's most accurate to think it as "as for the topic of..." Such as, "my damaged car wa had to go into the repair shop." After wa, "had to go into the repair shop", you ask, "what had to go into the repair shop?" you can find the answer in the topic, which is before wa: my damaged car. (or... me no damaged car.)

So, with this knowledge, let's break down the sentence.

Boku = I/me.

Kimi = you.

So this would make Boku wa Kimi wo in it's most literal form: as for the topic of me (aka, speaking for me), I, onto you...

Then he trails off. wo becomes no.

I, onto your hope sleeping inside of you...

and then we return to wo:

from the bottom of (one's) heart, love [the hope sleeping inside of you].

One could easily see it as Komaeda quickly changing the wo to no to add extra steps to not make the confession so head-on. Because if we remove everything after no and just continue where the wo leaves off, we get:

Boku wa Kimi wo koko kara aishiteiru to.

As for me, I, from the bottom of my heart, love you.

Now...one could also read it as him not backtracking, but adding. Saying I love you and the hope that lies dormant within you. Both are equally plausible. Listening to the audio it can go either way, but the way he quickly and softly drops off when he gets to the first wo makes me feel like it's a backtrack. Or maybe the background music is just too loud haha.

Well, that's all I got for now.

[earlycuntsets]

“I CONSIDERED MYSELF TO BE MORE OF A GIRL”

A CONVERSATION WITH GERARD WAY from theboyzine.com 1/18/2015

"Gerard way is the renaissance-type singer songwriter // Goth prince frontman // comic book artist // proud father best known for both his solo music and his band My Chemical Romance. We got a chance to ask him a few questions in early January. Enjoy!

What is your favorite animal?

I would have to say an ape; for a long time I didn’t take the time to know the difference between primates, but my wife and I have been really into animals—apes are just very gentle creatures.

As an emotional professional, how do you feel when people tell you to man up?

You know, growing up as a boy you are always told not to show your emotions, that it is a sign of weakness. I have been lucky enough to lead a life where I can celebrate how I really feel—but there is still negative attention towards it and it is still considered weakness.

Is there a point, then, where one does need to (for lack of a better word) man up?

You know I really don’t like that phrase. “man up”, because it implies that emotional strength in rough times is a masculine trait, when in reality some of the strongest people I know are women. But yes, there are a lot of times when you should control your emotions–  times of crisis and need where you really can’t let them get involved. I have learned to pull my emotions out of a lot of big decisions.

You often make it a point to spread the message of gender equality in your shows. Could you describe that a little bit?

It is something I have been lucky enough to be educated about. I generally try to pay attention to it, make sure I get my facts from the best sources and whatnot, and I really relate to it. I never really subscribed to the archetype masculinity growing up, I had no interest in sports or anything like that. There was a time where I was called a girl so often that when I discovered the idea of transgenderism I considered myself to be more of a girl. So I identify with trans people and women a lot because I was a girl to a lot of people growing up. When I was doing MCR I think I finally got to display my femininity through the glam theatrical aspects of the band. It made me feel more hopeful, that I was allowed to be flamboyant. I want to make sure women and men and everyone in between feel safe and empowered.

Was there a person or thing that first sparked your interest in feminism?

When I was around 16 I became friends with these really cool girls, and that’s how I got exposed to Bikini Kill, Helium, Bratmobile—that was the real punk. All the other hardcore scenes at the time were a little bit hypermasculine and violent, which was totally unappealing to me. But here are these bands—Bikini Kill, et cetera that were actually talking about important things. That was real punk. Great bands.

What sort of advice can you offer to all of us boyz reading?

You have to surround yourself with ‘the others’. Whether they’re the creatives that you know or whatever it is. Because you guys will feed each other, that’s the nature of people. Find companions who will push you in the field you are in.

Do you hang onto traces of boyishness? Comics and digging up worms?

Well first off I don’t consider those things boyish. I am really happy that things like comics have become less marketed specifically toward boys—did you know that 50 percent of comic book readers are girls now? There is a really great picture I saw one time of a little girl with all the spiderman toys in a toy store clearly angry that they were in the ‘boys’ section. We need to let kids have more freedom of choice in who they want to be.

But answering your question, I have always been super into comic books. I didn’t really ever like sports, so I played dungeons and dragons a lot. That was a really important creative outlet for me. Of course I still love Star wars, and biking.

How do you find ways to stay positive?

Society is so interconnected these days, there is so much noise. It is really important I think to turn the noise down, to find ways to do so. Whether you’re in a creative field or not, you need to find a way to follow what is in your gut because that noise that is so obstructive is   creeping. Think about the art you make, the people you love.

My routine is really simple but important to me. I wake up every morning and my wife and I get our daughter ready for school and I drive her there. And that’s when work begins for me. I am lucky that one day I can be recording a new song and the next I am putting all of my energy into a comic.

Do you consider your marriage to be a partnership?

I am very glad you asked. I consider my whole family dynamic a three way partnership actually. My wife and I have been partners since day one, and now our daughter is the newest addition to the mix. Of course we have different duties to each other—my wife and my job is to educate my daughter  and make her feel great and teach her how to work hard, to let her choose what she loves. That’s very important to us. It is great coming home from the road because Lindsay (my wife) and I get to work together more.

Thank you so much for doing this interview, is there anything we haven’t touched that you want to say?

Don’t chase your dreams, let your dreams chase you

[amastarxoxo]

ㅤ        ㅤ             ⠀✣ ⠀۪⠀ ´ beloved ⠘ ✫

yandere jinx x love deprived! fem! reader ft. vi and caitlyn

very self indulgent , regular-ish jinx ( she would be a perfect yandere ) , topside! reader , model! reader , nsfw + sfw-ish , mentions of killing / bombing people , overprotective! stalker! jinx , mini series , self aware-ish! reader , mentions of stolen belongings , reader described to be obsessed with pastels ( pink & blue ) , reader being friends w vi + caitlyn , jealous!/possessive! jinx , pervert! jinx , mentions of manipulation , kidnapping , wlw ( duh )

i — ii

s.masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა masterlist

Another day, another item missing; your iconic poster of yourself. now the wall it was previous on was now empty and just a void of pink and blue stripes.

“caitlyn, i really don’t know.” your shoulders slump, already exhausted from these missing items; it started off small like from your lip glosses or nail polish to your panties and bra from your laundry basket then to your portraits and photos of yourself you hang up. “do you have security cameras?” vi asked her hand gripping her chin while looking around. “well i mean yes but they’re inactive right now.” caitlyn raised her eyebrow at you. “what do you mean, ‘inactive’?”

“i mean like i haven’t really put them up.” the pinkette and bluette girls stare at you in disbelief. “are you serious right now?” vi threw her arms up in the air. “honestly, we should just leave you to get more of your stuff stolen.” vi said, caitlyn sighed and pinches the bridge of her nose, “let’s put the cameras up.” you got out of bed, wrapping the sleeping robe around yourself, “finally someone isn’t judging me and is TRYING to help!” you glance over at vi as she rolled her eyes.

“another photo of my wife.” the girl muttered to herself, pulling the photo out of the stolen polaroid camera, a photo snapped of your back of your room, the way robe shaped your whole figure got her hypnotized, enchanted even. she shouldn’t even be here, not during the day at least. it’s too risky to be getting caught on the roof of a famous model and being a wanted criminal, but you have this invisible leash on her and she willingly follow you wherever. the only issue is them.

her sister and her sister’s girlfriend. vi and caitlyn, attached to you by the hip. it’s irritating. why do they get to be so close to you but she has to keep her distance? that’s not fair. you watches as the three of you living your bedroom. she thought about what if she just…sneak into your room and stay hidden like underneath your bed? it’s sure is big enough and the blankets spills over the bed and covers the sides so it wouldn’t be hard and you aren’t the most observant type of person.

“cameras in living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, closet, laundry room, and entrance.” caitlyn swaps on the tablet through the cameras as you make some breakfast, “anywhere else?” you shake your head no. “breakfast done.” you slide the rest of the food onto a plate for yourself and brings it to the kitchen island.

as vi and caitlyn chatted, you stayed in thought. you noticed how every time your stuff goes missing, the culprit always leaves sometime of note in messy handwriting. you haven’t shown your two friends, you don’t know why; maybe because she was swooned by the little love letters. just from the letters you can tell it’s a girl, even better.

“earth to y/n? hello???” vi snaps her fingers in your face, quite literally snapping you out of your thoughts, you blinked barely moving, looking over to the side with just your eyes. “yea? what’s up?” you picked up the warm bacon and egg together with your fork and puts the food in your mouth. “are you alright?” caitlyn asks, looking worried. you nodded. “don’t worry, we’ll find the person soon, they won’t get away with this.” you gave caitlyn a small smile, thanking her. “when’s your next model runaway?” you ate another place of food of your plate, “next…month?” vi looks at the time. “yea, thanks for breakfast y/n, me and caitlyn has to go now.”

caitlyn gets up and starts heading for the door with vi, “remember to give us VIP tickets, okay?” caitlyn joked. you let out a breathy laugh, “sure—later guys.” you watched as vi opens the door and locks back as they both exited and close the now locked door behind them. a faint sound of a breeze blowing inside made you turn around, your view landed on your bedroom.

you cautiously followed the sound and looks inside of the room, your window is open. odd. very odd. you always keep your windows closed, especially on lounge days. you quickly turn back and grabbed the tablet and looks through the cameras.

watching the footage from 30 minutes back, while walking to the shut the window. you were really debating on alerting vi and caitlyn, in the corner of your eye, on the tablet you noticed a slip of hot pink flash. you thought maybe it’s just the way your room illuminate light but you never have your big light on and living in dim lighting; so where did the pink come from?

now you’re really conflicted. you watch the pink light slip into your room but never out. so the whatever it is, is still in here. looking for it and calling the enforcers would be a rational move but you gotten curious and decided to just play along.

in all honesty, it’s way better than getting the enforcers, and the press involved with your personal life. so you’ll just stick around with this ‘game’ until you can uncover the truth yourself.

©︎ A M A T E R A S U. all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

lwk i ended earlier than i wanted but i need content for the next episodes so you’ll see soon dw

[satinestales]

❝between truth and desire❞ | armand x fem!reader

pairing: armand x fem!reader, 4k+ words

summary: As you and Armand recount your shared history to your old friend Daniel Molloy, your words falter, and your memories blur under the weight of time and emotion. Later, Armand ensures you remember exactly how it truly happened—or at least, how he wants you to.

warnings: armand's manipulative gremlin ass, sexual tension, mind control?, unrealistic version of top armand, blood play, blood-sucking as a form of oral sex, not proofread, mention of claudia's death, english is not my native english

For the past three hours, you’ve been reminiscing about your life in 1940s Paris with your old friend, now a successful journalist. It’s been surprisingly easy, sharing those memories of joy and excitement, especially with Armand by your side. Daniel’s sarcastic comments make you laugh, keeping the mood light even when the stories dip into something more bittersweet.

Armand’s hand rests on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles. That small, familiar touch pulls you back into the past, and for a fleeting moment, it almost feels like you’re there again—back in Paris, on your very first date.

You shared stories about the Théâtre des Vampires, describing its grandeur and eerie charm in vivid detail. Armand never interrupted, just sat quietly beside you, listening. Every so often, he’d chime in, adding little details you’d forgotten, his voice soft and steady. It felt natural, the two of you piecing the memories together like a story only you could tell.

Every eye in the room was on you, the silence in the mansion broken only by your voice. It was steady, serious, as you recounted those final days in the coven—when the air grew colder and the others fell quiet. You remembered how Louis had sensed it first, even before Claudia or Madeleine. And you remembered it too, that creeping tension, the way it lingered unspoken.

But here and now, you spoke of it clearly, without a single stutter.

"It was a cold night when I woke up," you began, your voice calm despite the weight of the memory. "Louis was already gone, and I couldn’t find any trace of Claudia." Armand’s hand rested gently on your thigh, comforting you, while Daniel’s sharp gaze seemed to pierce straight through you. "I assumed they’d gone out together," you continued, glancing down for a moment, "since I’d spent the last few days with my love."

You felt Armand shift beside you, his lips curling into a faint smile as he tilted his head, studying you with that quiet intensity. Even after all these years, that look still had the power to make you blush.

"About four hours later, there was a knock at our door," you said, your voice wavering between fear and sarcasm. "I hadn’t invited anyone, so I figured it was Armand dropping by for one of his unannounced visits. But when I opened the door..." You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly at the memory.

"Santiago was standing there," you continued, "and behind him were Celeste and Estelle, both wearing those ridiculous judges' wigs." The words spilled out, edged with a dry, bitter humor that couldn’t quite mask the unease curling in your chest.

You couldn’t help but hear Daniel’s chuckle at the mention of the wigs, but it didn’t faze you. You pressed on, even though you felt Armand’s gaze shift, no longer warm or affectionate. It had become something colder, sharper, something you couldn’t quite place.

“I woke up in the theater, on the stage,” you continued, your voice steadier now, the weight of the memory pressing down. “Claudia, Louis, and Madeleine were next to me. Our Achilles’ heels torn, so we couldn’t run.”

You felt the silence stretch, thick with tension. Even Daniel’s amusement seemed to fade as your words lingered in the air, heavy with the truth of what had come next.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “I assume they put you on trial? For what, exactly? Killing Lestat, I presume?”

You could only nod, the memories flooding back in a rush. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to push them back, but they lingered like a shadow, heavy and impossible to ignore.

“And where was your love, Armand?” Daniel asked, now turning his gaze to Armand, who hadn’t shifted an inch. He was eerily still, his eyes fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

The silence that followed was thick, like a fog that refused to lift. Armand’s presence filled the room, and you could feel the weight of his attention pressing against you, more suffocating than comforting.

"I have to jump in here," Armand’s voice broke the silence, smooth and almost mocking. "I think my love's memory is a little foggy."

You were forced to look at him, his words pulling your gaze like a magnet. His lips curled into a crooked smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes—dull, black, devoid of warmth—stared at you with an unsettling calm, as if he were carefully rearranging the pieces of a puzzle you didn’t fully understand.

"I know how the trial happened," you said, forcing a smile at him, trying to reclaim some control. "You don’t have to speak for me."

Armand’s hand, which had been lightly resting on your thigh, stilled. The tension between you thickened, but he didn’t back down.

"I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important," he replied, his voice smooth, though the undertone of something darker lingered. "But if we want the people to know the truth, we should give it to them. Don’t you think so?"

He tilted his head again, studying you with a gaze that felt both tender and unsettling. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your ear. His touch, so gentle, pulled a reaction from you before you could stop it. You leaned into it, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin, despite the coldness in his eyes. It was a comforting, familiar warmth, but it made your heart skip nonetheless.

"So what exactly happened?" Daniel asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for an answer, his eyes flicking between you and Armand.

Before you could respond, Armand’s voice sliced through the air, gentle but commanding, as though he had already decided the direction this conversation would go.

You wanted to speak, to reclaim the words, but your mouth wouldn’t move. It was as if your mind had sealed your mouth shut, leaving you unable to break the silence Armnd had claimed. You sat frozen, a quiet tension building, unable to shake the feeling that the answer would come from him and not you.

"I want to apologize for the false answer you were given," Armand said, his voice smooth and reassuring, though there was an underlying edge to it. "Nobody can blame her. It’s been a few decades, after all."

His thumb began to trace gentle circles on your thigh, an attempt to soothe the growing tightness in your chest, but his words felt like a weight on your heart.

"I was aware of the coven's plan," he continued, his gaze never leaving you, "and went to warn my dear American friends. But when I arrived, I could find only mon cœur."

He turned to you then, a soft smile curling at the corners of his lips. The warmth of it washed over you, but there was something distant in his eyes, as though he were pulling you into a memory you couldn’t quite grasp.

You didn’t remember the way he described it, not at all. But as he spoke, you couldn’t help but wonder—maybe, after all these years, it was easy to forget.

It took another three hours before Daniel finally asked for a break, suggesting that the conversation continue the next day. You didn’t object; in fact, you welcomed the pause. Armand, as always, was by your side, leading you toward your bedroom.

As he walked behind you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, the tension in the air was palpable, thick enough that you could almost cut it with scissors. You’d made a mistake today, one that almost painted Armand in a bad light. You couldn’t say you were scared—not exactly—but you weren’t thrilled either.

The quiet weight of his presence behind you was enough to send a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure what to expect once the door closed behind you, but you knew it wasn’t going to be an easy night.

You expected Armand to speak once the door was closed and locked, but he remained silent, allowing the quiet to settle between you. The stillness wrapped around both of you as you went about getting ready for bed, the only sound was the soft rustling of fabric and the distant hum of the house.

But as you changed into your bedrobe, you felt it—his gaze, heavy and unwavering, burning into your back. His eyes followed the curves of your body, lingering on every movement, never once leaving you. It was unnerving, that constant watchfulness, like he was cataloging each detail of you, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to look back.

It wasn’t until you lay back on the bed, stealing glances from where you sat, that you watched Armand get comfortable in the robe you’d bought him. He didn’t rush, moving with a natural ease that always seemed deliberate, as though every gesture was meant to be noticed.

He was beautiful in a way that never stopped catching you off guard. Like when his hair fell in loose waves, brushing just over his eyes, and even the slight crook of his nose added to his charm, making him seem more real, more human—if only just. You couldn’t help but admire him, even after all this time.

He knew it. Of course, he did. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. He didn’t need to meet your gaze to know you were watching. He always knew when your attention was on him—and he soaked it in like sunlight.

"The conversation almost got out of control today," Armand said, his voice breaking the silence. He turned to face you, his head tilted in that way he always did, his eyes slowly scanning you from head to toe.

"I'm sorry," you said with a soft chuckle, your gaze warm as you looked up at him. As he stepped closer, his presence seemed to fill the room, his figure towering over you in that quiet, commanding way of his.

"Guess I got the facts wrong," you continued, your tone light but unsure. "Even though... I can’t quite recall the version you described to Daniel."

He stayed quiet for a moment, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you shiver. It felt like he was trying to see right through you, to penetrate your thoughts and mind with nothing more than a look.

You knew he could. He was an ancient vampire, after all, with gifts far more powerful than most could comprehend. But even as the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it away. Armand would never take advantage of that, not with you.

You loved him too much to doubt him, even for a second. And perhaps, deep down, you knew that was exactly what he wanted—to be loved without question.

"My dear," he said softly, a small smile playing on his lips as he slowly bent his knees, kneeling in front of you. His hands rested lightly on your ankles, grounding you as you propped yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze.

"It’s been decades," he continued, his tone gentle, almost comforting. "It’s only natural to forget or mix things up. After all, I was there to correct you. Nothing bad happened." His lips curved into a smirk, the words flowing sweetly, meant to soothe.

But as his gaze lingered on you, you couldn’t help but catch it—the faint spark of coldness in his eyes. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, sharp as a blade hidden behind silk.

"I’m always going to be there," he added, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moved slowly, trailing up from your ankle to your knee, the touch light but unyielding.

He never broke eye contact, his gaze locking you in place. There was something possessive in the way he looked at you, something that sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but the weight of his promise, the intensity of his presence, was enough to make you quiver.

"Good," you said with a nod, doing your best to ignore the warmth swirling in your stomach. Even after seventy years, he still had that effect on you. You chuckled, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Because I’ll hunt you down if you ever dare to leave."

Your tone was light, but the weight behind your words was anything but. You meant it. Armand had his secrets, just as you had yours, but one thing you shared was an obsession—an all-consuming need for each other.

You couldn’t imagine your life without him; in truth, you could barely remember the life you had before him. as though the years before he arrived had been erased. Every memory you held close revolved around him, around the two of you together.

And you were determined to keep it that way. Forever.

"I would never," he said softly, a small smile gracing his lips before he leaned in and pressed them to yours. The kiss was brief but filled with warmth, meant to reassure you, to steady the swirling emotions inside.

As he pulled back, his face lingered close to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, "I didn’t tell Mr. Molloy the whole truth. When I went to warn you... I left out some things."

Your brow furrowed in confusion, your heart pounding as you hung on to his every word. "What’s that?" you asked, your voice soft, as you reached up to gently place your hand on his cheek.

He looked almost unreal, like a sculpture of a devil—sinful, beautiful. The candlelight bathed him in a warm glow, casting shadows that only deepened the beauty of him. His dark skin seemed to drink in the light as if he were made of something otherworldly.

You had seen angels before, in your long life, but none could compare to the beauty of the devil kneeling between your legs. The one who had always held you in his thrall. The one you could never, ever escape.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his presence fill the space between you, his body slowly overpowering yours. With a gentle but firm push, he guided you onto your back, the weight of him settling above you, dominating yet tender. His lips found the crook of your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your skin, while his hands drifted down to your waist, pulling you closer.

A quiet moan escaped your lips as his lips traveled to your collarbone, each kiss sending shivers of electricity down your spine. His touch was slow, deliberate, and as his fingers slid to the top of your robe, you could feel the tension in the air tighten around you.

"After you opened the door and I came to warn you about the coven’s plans..." His voice was low, almost a whisper, as his hand lingered at the top of your robe, barely brushing your skin. He moved his lips over your neck, your jaw, finally finding yours in a deep, searching kiss. "I couldn't prevent it."

His kiss grew more intense, and you wanted to ask him why—why didn’t he stop? Why hadn’t you left? But before you could, his lips silenced you, pressing against yours as his other hand slipped beneath your waist, pulling your body flush against his. The warmth between you overwhelmed everything else, leaving you breathless and speechless, caught in the weight of the moment.

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. You needed him in that moment, more than anything else in the world. Everything else—the journalist in your house, the unfinished conversation, the looming threats and dangers—disappeared. None of it mattered.

The only thing that existed was him—his touch, his lips, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. Your mind raced with thoughts of him, drowning out every other sound, every other thought. Nothing else mattered. Just him. The feeling of him. The weight of his presence. That was all there was.

You felt his hand pull away from your chest, and a soft, frustrated sound escaped your lips in protest. But before you could voice more, he guided his wrist to your mouth. His eyes never left yours, dark and full of unspoken intentions.

You knew exactly what he wanted—what both of you craved. His pulse throbbed beneath your lips, and without hesitation, you sank your fangs into his wrist, the familiar, cinnamon taste of his blood filling your senses. It was intoxicating, overwhelming. The warm droplets fell from your chin, tracing down your neck and chest, as you drank deeply, savoring every drop. His blood was always sweeter than you remembered, more potent, more familiar than anything else.

It felt like home.

You couldn't stop. Every drop of his blood filled you with a rush of heat, the world around you starting to blur as your senses sharpened. Your eyes closed instinctively, your head tilting back as pleasure coursed through you. His blood was intoxicating, and you were lost in it, unable to think of anything else.

The soft moans and whimpers escaping from Armand only pushed you further, each sound making you crave him more. You heard his voice, faint and distant, but it barely registered as you kept drinking, the taste of him flooding your senses. His hands gripped you, but you hardly noticed, lost in the sensation of him.

You wanted more. Needed more. His blood, his presence, it was all that mattered. And for a moment, everything else faded away.

You didn’t know how long it had been—minutes, hours, maybe just seconds—lost in the feeling of his blood coursing through you. All you knew was the way his face shifted when he gently pulled his wrist from your mouth, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. His blood still lingered on your tongue, warm and intoxicating, slowly dripping down your chest as you let go of him, your body humming with the aftermath.

He loomed above you, but now his head rested against your chest, seeking solace in the warmth of your skin as his breath steadied. You stroked his hair, fingers threading through his dark curls, trying to ground him as much as yourself.

Your fingers traced the mess on your chest, and without thinking, you brought them to your lips, savoring the last lingering taste of him. The warmth, the sweetness, it felt like the only thing that mattered, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

As Armand rested on you, his breath warm against your chest, the fog in your mind began to clear, just a little. Flashes of the past few hours started to resurface—his visit, the warning about the coven, the tension in the air. It all felt distant, like you were trying to grasp a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto, but there it was. A few more pieces of the puzzle fitting together, the edges blurring into something you could finally begin to understand.

You couldn't remember how many times he'd done this—how many times he'd stepped in to help, to keep you from slipping into that haze, to save you from the things you couldn’t hold onto. Each time, he was there, gently piecing you back together, never asking for much in return. A small knot of guilt twisted in your stomach. Maybe you hadn’t realized how often he’d carried this weight for both of you.

But then you felt his hand tighten around your waist, his presence anchoring you, and that guilt faded away, swallowed by something deeper. It wasn't just about him fixing your memories. It was how, despite everything, he made you feel like you were never truly lost. Like you were still whole, still his.

"Je t’aime chaque jour davantage, Arun," you whispered, the words flowing from your lips like a secret you'd been holding onto for eternity.

Armand lifted his head to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. He was so consumed by you, so focused on every word, every look you gave him, that even the smallest detail, the evidence of your connection, went unnoticed. And for some reason, that made you smile.

"Je t’aime moi aussi, mon cœur," Armand murmured, his voice soft, reverent, as he rested his chin against your chest. His eyes, those dark pools of mystery, were half-lidded, and for a moment, you could see the rawness of his desire in the way his flushed cheeks caught the candlelight, his waves of dark hair falling over his forehead like a veil. The world outside of him and you ceased to exist.

You ran your fingers through his hair, losing yourself in the softness of it, in the way he seemed to melt against you. He was so beautiful, every inch of him a reminder of the eternity you'd spent together. He was warmth and darkness, light and shadow all at once—an enigma you couldn’t unravel, no matter how many lifetimes you lived.

Eternity would never be enough, not when it came to him. You needed him, needed to consume him. To become one with him in every sense of the word. Your lips ached to kiss him, not just his mouth, but his very skin, every inch of him, to touch the bones of him.

And he wanted the same.

You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his body pressed against yours, as if his very soul was entwined with yours. What you two shared wasn’t just love. It wasn’t just desire. It was an all-consuming need—an obsession that humans could never truly understand. It was a bond that reached beyond anything they could comprehend, an unspoken language of the heart and mind. You didn’t need to say it; you both knew.

There was no end to it. Only the now. Only him.

"I'm starting to remember," you murmured after a few quiet moments, feeling Armand settle closer beside you. His fingers lazily traced the fabric of your robe, a soft touch that made you feel safe, anchored. "When you came to warn me. It's still a little foggy, but it’s there. I’m sorry I doubted you."

You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his gaze on you, calm and steady. The fragments were falling into place, his words reassuring you, reminding you of things you hadn't been able to fully grasp. His version of the events felt so right, so natural, and you couldn't help but let the memories shape themselves around what he had shared. You trusted him completely. And yet, beneath it all, a quiet whisper in the back of your mind wondered how easily you’d forgotten things before. But that thought was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it came, leaving you only with the certainty of what Armand had guided you to remember.

"I'm glad you're remembering now," he whispered against your neck, his fangs grazing the delicate skin. "But if you ever forget something, I’ll always be here to help restore your memories."

A smile tugged at your lips as his hand slid beneath your robe, his fangs sinking into your neck, tasting your blood. The sensation was beyond anything you had ever imagined, a pleasure that consumed you completely. You leaned into his touch, surrendering to the feeling of his fangs, the weight of his presence, and the rhythm of his hunger.

With each kiss, each bite, your memories grew clearer. You could recall every detail of that night. Yes. He had come to warn you, just as he had said. Santiago was responsible for Claudia's death, and Lestat had helped orchestrate it. The truth was finally clear to you. You could only trust Armand. Everyone else had betrayed you, deceived you. In his arms, you found safety. On his tongue, you found clarity.

You would never let him go. He was yours, and you were his.

For all eternity.

[tavolgisvist]

That evening in the dressing-room of the cinema at York two girls came in and asked to interview them. They said they wanted the interview so they could make a tape of it for a third girl who was ill in hospital. John sat in a corner away from the group. ‘It’s probably just an excuse to get into our dressing-room,’ he says. ‘Anyway women should be obscene and not heard.’ ‘Switch it on now,’ says Paul conducting the interview for the bewildered girls. ‘What’s your name?’ he asks Ringo. ‘John’, says Ringo. He then asks the girls their names. ‘How did you like Germany when you were there?’ asks the girl whose name is Eileen. ‘We liked it fine,’ says Paul. ‘It was hard work,’ says Ringo. ‘Yeah’, says George. All during the interview they sign autograph books that had been sent to their dressing-room, and when they aren’t actually answering a question they read letters from fans. The girls walk over to John. ‘How do you write the songs ?’ says the girl whose name is Daphne. John doesn’t answer. Paul shouts across the room in a voice you use to an errant child, ‘Tell us about the songs, John, tell us about the songs.’ ‘Sometimes we write them together’, says John. ‘Sometimes not. Some of them take four hours; some twenty minutes. Others have been known to take as long as three weeks.’ ‘What’s your favourite song that you’ve written?’ ‘I think “Glad All Over”,’ says Paul, opening his eyes even wider. ‘No, I’m kidding. I think at the moment it’s our new record “I want to hold your hand”. Is that all right ?’ ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ says Eileen. ‘Thank you very much indeed.’ ‘Oh dear,’ says Daphne. ‘It doesn’t seem to have been recording. Sorry about that.’ <…> Inside, the compere is asking: ‘Do you want to see John?’ (Screams.) ‘George?’ (Screams.) ‘Paul?’ (Screams.) ‘Ringo?’ (Pandemonium.) They appear, and all during their act a man in a dinner jacket stands in front of the stage looking bewildered. The girls wave, hold up pictures, and scream. <…> Paul runs off stage shouting, ‘Oh my God, my ulcer. Nell, do you have a ciggy?’ Aspinall alternately hands him a cigarette and leads him toward the stage door where their car is waiting to take them to the hotel. <…>

The Beatles are in their hotel bedrooms finishing their dinners. George feels tired and goes to sleep. John, wearing a T-shirt and an old pair of trousers, wanders down the hallway past the guard, into the room shared by Paul and Ringo. The table filled with the empty dinner dishes is at the foot of Ringo’s bed. Ringo, dressed in pyjamas, is sitting up in bed. Paul, also in pyjamas, is talking about a film, The Trial, which he has just seen in London. He is describing a scene in which there is a misunderstanding about a word, when the telephone rings. ‘Hello, helloho,’ says Paul in a falsetto and then, realizing it is a friend, says Hello seriously. <…> ‘What I liked best in The Trial’, he says, ‘was when they walked quietly through the concentration camp. It was so dead quiet, just like another world and Elsa Martinelli in the background just necking like mad.’ <…> ‘Uh, I need another drink, baby,’ says John. Paul goes to the phone. ‘Hello? Yeah, send us six single Scotches - No, make it doubles, yeah, doubles.’ <…> They started discussing the feelings of adults towards pop music. ‘We’re definitely fighting a prejudice,’ says John. ‘That’s why I’m interested in John getting his book out,’ says Paul. ‘I mean, I haven’t got a cut or anything. It’s just that one of us would be doing something to make people notice. I mean, it’s the same as if one of us wrote a musical. People would get rid of their prejudice and stop thinking that pop people can only sing or go into a dance routine.’ <…> ‘You remember after that big spate of publicity we got in the national papers,’ says John, ‘which was uncalled for by our office. We were news at the time, and it only just happened we clicked in fourteen editors’ minds at the same time. One day Paul was ill and I believe one of the papers wanted a picture of him. Nell told them they couldn’t have it, and the photographer said: “You mean, after all the publicity we gave them – we made them.” I’d like to meet this fella who said it.’ Paul explained that they never talk to the teenage magazines. ‘They just make it up. I think they prefer it that way…’

(Love Me Do. The Beatles Progress by Michael Braun, 1963/1995)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI), (VII), (VIII)

(+ about Paul's flue)

[daisymbin]

45. "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

y/n drunkenly confesses to Chan after a night out with their friends

!!! thank you for requesting 🫶

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // chan's m.list

fluff prompt #45: "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

you’re tipsy, wobbling slightly as chan steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. the others had scattered after your group night out, and somehow, the task of walking you home fell to him. not that he minded.

“you don’t have to do this,” you say, words slightly slurred but still sweet. “i can walk home myself.”

“you could barely walk down the stairs without holding onto me,” he teases, a grin tugging at his lips. “what kind of friend would i be if i just left you?”

“a bad one,” you reply immediately, leaning into him like you already trust him more than anything.

the quiet buzz of the city fills the space between you two, and chan keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. your cheeks are flushed, whether from the alcohol or the cool night air, and you’re humming a little tune he doesn’t recognize.

“what are you humming?” he asks, mostly just to keep you talking.

“something you’d like,” you reply cryptically, then giggle like you’ve said something funny.

chan shakes his head, amused but also hyper-aware of how close you are to him, how your warmth is seeping into his side. he’s spent plenty of nights like this with you, but something feels different. maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, all soft and unguarded.

“you’re quiet tonight,” you say suddenly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at him.

“am i?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

you nod. “you usually talk more. always making me laugh. i like that about you, you know.”

chan feels his heart do a little flip at your words. he brushes it off with a laugh, trying to keep things light. “guess i’m just tired from carrying everyone’s drinks tonight.”

you narrow your eyes at him like you don’t quite believe him but let it go, resuming your unsteady steps.

“can i tell you a secret?” you ask after a moment, your voice quieter now.

chan glances at you, his brows furrowing. “a secret? is this something i’ll have to take to the grave?”

“maybe,” you say, and there’s a teasing edge to your tone, but your expression is serious.

“go for it,” he says, his curiosity piqued.

you stop walking again and turn to face him, your gaze locked on his like you’re trying to decide something. chan feels his chest tighten under the intensity of it.

“i like you, chan,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “like… really like you. a lot.”

chan blinks, completely frozen as he processes your words. you’re still looking at him, vulnerable and unsure, and it hits him all at once—this isn’t a joke, and it’s definitely not just the alcohol talking.

“you… really trust me with your secrets, huh?” he says finally, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

you nod, looking down at your feet. “you’re the only one i’d want to tell.”

chan doesn’t know what to say. his heart is pounding, and his head is spinning, but not in the way he’d expect. because somehow, despite the shock, it feels… right.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer to you. you look up, your eyes wide and a little glassy.

“if this is some kind of drunken mistake—”

“it’s not,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “i’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but i was too scared. it just… it feels easier now. maybe its the drinks.”

chan feels his lips curve into a smile, his heart swelling with something he can only describe as pure happiness.

“you really like me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nod again, your cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red.

chan doesn’t think—he just reacts, pulling you into a gentle hug. you tense for a moment before melting against him, your arms wrapping around his waist.

you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his face like you’re trying to make sure he’s serious.

“is it okay if i continue to like you?”

“only if-,” he pauses, laughing softly, “only if its okay for me to continue liking you too.”

you smile then, and it’s the kind of smile that makes him think he’d do anything to see it again.

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Part IIII

AN: I was going to wait to post but a lot of people actually like the fic so I want to keep things going :). Please let me know what you think when you’re done reading!

TW: Suggestive language (that’s all I think)

Word count: 4k

The late afternoon sunlight poured in through the window, filling Azzi’s room with a warm, golden glow. Paige and Azzi sat side by side on the floor, textbooks open, quietly working through assignments and occasionally sharing a laugh over something silly in the film they had started watching earlier. For the first time in what felt like ages, they were just two people sharing space in a comfortable, relaxed way—no pressure, no tension.

It was a small but peaceful moment, the calm before the storm.

Then Paige’s phone buzzed, interrupting the quiet. She glanced at the screen, her eyes lingering on the name that flashed across—Jess. Her heart skipped a beat. They hadn’t spoken since Jess left, and though they’d agreed to return with clarity, the silence between them had only grown heavier. Now, the weight of unresolved emotions sat uncomfortably on her chest.

Azzi, ever perceptive, caught the subtle shift in Paige’s demeanor. Her sharp eyes flicked to the phone, then back to Paige. She didn’t say anything immediately, but the slight tilt of her head spoke volumes. She was watching, calculating, waiting.

“Are you going to answer it?” Azzi asked finally, her tone casual, though her curiosity was evident. She leaned back slightly, her hands resting on the floor behind her, exuding a quiet confidence.

Paige hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I guess… yeah. I should. It's been a while.”

Azzi nodded, her gaze lingering. “Take your time,” she said smoothly, her voice low and even. It was an invitation, a reassurance. But her eyes never left Paige, as if gauging every reaction.

Paige swiped to answer the FaceTime, pasting on a polite smile when Jess’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hey! How’s it going?” Jess’s voice was warm, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—uncertainty. “How’s everything?”

Paige forced a casual tone. “Everything’s good. Same old stuff, you know.”

The conversation stumbled awkwardly forward, Jess filling the gaps with updates about her family. Paige listened, nodding occasionally, but her responses were clipped. Her mind was elsewhere. Azzi’s presence beside her was a constant pull, a reminder of the complicated feelings she hadn’t fully sorted through.

Jess’s voice perked up suddenly. “You’re not in your room? Where are you?”

Paige’s stomach tightened. She glanced at Azzi, who raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Paige’s discomfort. Paige tried to deflect, her voice light. “Oh, just out and about. Needed a change of scenery.”

Jess wasn’t convinced. “Out? Are you with someone?”

Paige hesitated for a fraction too long, and Jess’s tone shifted, more probing now. “Paige?”

With a quiet sigh, Paige decided there was no point in dancing around it. “I’m at Azzi’s,” she said, her voice steady but guarded.

“Oh.” Jess’s response was immediate, the change in her tone unmistakable. “So you’re with her now, huh? That’s... great.”

Azzi’s smirk deepened, and she stretched lazily, her movements deliberate. Her leg brushed lightly against Paige’s, a casual touch that seemed anything but accidental. Leaning in slightly, she whispered, her breath warm against Paige’s ear, “You know, you’re cute when you’re all serious like this. Too bad I can’t distract you more.”

Paige stiffened, a spark of heat shooting up her spine. She fought to keep her expression neutral, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the slightest twitch of a smile.

“Yeah, Jess,” Paige said, her voice carefully neutral. “I’ve been spending time with her. She’s my best friend and teammate.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered with amusement hearing the terms used to describe her. She shifted closer, her presence unmistakable. Her fingers brushed lightly against Paige’s shoulder, a fleeting touch that lingered just long enough to test the waters. Paige didn’t pull away, and Azzi took that as a silent green light.

Jess’s voice crackled through the phone, tinged with frustration. “I don’t know why you’re so defensive about her, Paige. Is there something special about her? Is this what it’s like now? You’re always with her, and I’m... just supposed to accept it?”

Azzi leaned in again, her lips hovering close to Paige’s ear. “She’s fishing for something,” she murmured softly, her tone dripping with playful malice. “But we both know where your head really is.”

Paige swallowed hard, her gaze darting between the phone and Azzi. She wasn’t sure how to navigate this minefield, especially with Azzi so deliberately blurring the lines.

Jess’s voice, now sharper, broke through the tension. “I don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend, Paige, but this… doesn’t feel right. I’m out here trying to fix things, and you’re—”

“Jess,” Paige interrupted, her voice firmer than before. “I’m not trying to make this harder than it has to be. I’m just... trying to figure things out, okay?”

Azzi watched, her eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. She leaned back against the bed, letting her hand rest lightly on Paige’s lower back, tracing small, deliberate circles. Her touch was steady, grounding, but it carried a weight of suggestion that Paige couldn’t ignore.

Jess’s sigh crackled through the phone. “You don’t even sound like you care. Every time we talk, it’s like you’re somewhere else.”

Paige’s grip on the phone tightened. “That’s not fair. I do care,” she says absentmindedly.

“Do you?” Jess challenged, her voice rising slightly. “Because it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Azzi’s smirk widened. She leaned forward again, her lips brushing just below Paige’s ear, her voice low and teasing. “You’ve got more important things to focus on right now,” she murmured, her tone dripping with intent. “Don’t let her guilt you.”

Paige closed her eyes briefly, the combination of Azzi’s touch and Jess’s words pulling her in two directions. When she opened them, her resolve had hardened. “Jess, I think we need to stop pretending like this isn’t hard for both of us. I can’t give you answers right now and I told you that before you left.”

Jess went quiet for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, tinged with frustration and hurt. “Fine. Maybe I’ll call you later, when you’re not... busy.”

The line went dead before Paige could respond.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background. Paige lowered her phone, staring at the screen as the weight of the conversation settled over her.

Azzi broke the silence, her voice light but pointed. “She didn’t take that well.”

Paige exhaled slowly, setting the phone down beside her. “No. She didn’t.”

Azzi shifted closer, her arm brushing against Paige’s as she leaned in. “You okay?”

Paige gave a small, rueful smile. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then reached out, gently tilting Paige’s chin so their eyes met. “Hey, don’t let her get in your head. You’ve got enough going on without carrying all that too.”

Paige chuckled softly, but her smile quickly faded. She glanced down at her hands, her voice quieter now. “Why can’t I just break up with her?” she muttered, almost to herself. “Before she comes back, before this gets worse.”

Azzi’s smirk softened, her expression calculating yet understanding. “I’ve already told you. She’s dealing with enough back home. Doing it over text or a phone call would only make it worse. I want you to do it in the best way possible because honestly she’s not going to handle it well at all. Maybe it’ll soften the blow if it’s in person”

Paige sighed, her head leaning back against the wall. “Yeah, I know. But…” She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at Azzi. “What we’re doing right now isn’t exactly the best option either.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered with amusement, her lips curving into a teasing grin. “True. But here we are,” she said softly, her voice filled with playful certainty. “And we both know we couldn’t stop even if we wanted to.”

Paige chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re really not holding back today, are you?”

Azzi’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Why should I? Life’s too short to play it safe.” Her thumb lightly grazed Paige’s jawline, her touch both comforting and electrifying. “Besides, you don’t seem to mind.”

Paige felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned slightly into Azzi’s touch, her smile softening. “You’re impossible, you know that?” The familiar phrase slipped off of Paige’s lips.

Azzi grinned. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment longer before Paige finally sighed, breaking the spell. “We should get back to the homework. Distractions aren’t going to help me pass this class.”

Azzi leaned back, still smirking. “Fine. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head as she flipped open her textbook. “Of course not.”

As they settled back into their work, the tension from the call began to fade, replaced by the familiar rhythm of their banter and the steady comfort of each other’s presence

…

The soft hum of the movie playing in the background was the only sound in the room as Paige and Azzi sprawled out on the floor, phones in hand, lazily scrolling through social media. The comfort between them was easy, familiar—there was no rush to say anything, no pressure. Just the quiet shared space that had become their routine.

Then, Paige’s phone buzzed with a notification, drawing her attention. She swiped across the screen and paused, her eyes narrowing.

Azzi, still sprawled beside her, glanced over casually. “What’s up?” she asked, her voice light but laced with curiosity.

Paige didn’t answer at first, too distracted by what she was seeing on her screen. A TikTok edit, this one of them—a fan-made video of Paige and Azzi, the tension between the two of them in the video evident. The caption flashed up in bold letters: “They need to get a room.”

Paige’s mouth curled into a half-smile, and she let out a soft, amused laugh.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” she asked, scooting a little closer to Paige.

Paige hesitated, but then shrugged with a teasing grin. “Just some ridiculous TikTok edits… People shipping us.”

Azzi’s lips twitched in amusement. “Oh really? What are they saying about us?” Her voice was playfully sly now, a mix of interest and mischief.

Paige laughed, rolling her eyes as she scrolled to another video. “It’s the usual stuff—saying we’re ‘meant to be,’ blah blah.”

Azzi leaned in a little more, her voice dropping low, teasing. “Meant to be, huh?” she repeated, the words lingering in the air as she glanced at Paige. “Guess that’s what they think. You agree with them?”

Paige turned to look at Azzi, her face a little more serious now. The flirtation in the air was palpable, hanging between them like an unspoken promise. She shrugged again, but her smile held a playful edge. “I mean… I’m not exactly opposed to the idea.”

Azzi’s expression flickered with something unreadable, a subtle challenge. “Is that so? Because you know… people are always saying how hard it is to resist a person like me.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. She met Azzi’s eyes, the teasing now pulling her in. “I don’t know,” she replied slowly, a bit bolder now. “You make it hard to focus. But I guess that’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

Azzi’s lips curled into a smirk. “It’s definitely one of my talents,” she said, leaning in just slightly, her tone low and deliberate. “But I’m curious… what else are you good at?”

The flirtation was unmistakable now, charging the air between them with an intensity that neither of them was willing to acknowledge, but neither could deny. Paige’s mind raced, and before she knew it, her body was moving closer, a magnet pulling her in.

“I could think of a few things,” Paige said, her voice softer now, almost teasingly coy. She let her gaze drop to Azzi’s lips, her breath quickening, but she wasn’t pulling back. Instead, she let her hand brush against Azzi’s stomach, her fingers lightly grazing the other girl’s skin.

Azzi’s eyes darkened, just a little, but her smirk only deepened. “Careful,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “You’re getting dangerously close to what we’ve been avoiding.”

Paige’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t tell if she was testing Azzi or if she was being tested herself. All she knew was the heat building between them. She moved even closer, her breath just a little uneven. Her knee brushed against Azzi’s, and her face hovered above her best friend’s, the closeness unmistakable.

“Maybe I want to cross that line,” Paige said, her voice low, challenging. Her hand rested lightly on Azzi’s chest now, as though to hold her there.

Azzi’s breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The tension was thick enough to cut through, both of them teetering on the edge. Azzi’s fingers twitched, as though she was fighting the urge to pull Paige closer, but the moment was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Knock. Knock.

Azzi and Paige both froze.

KK’s voice floated through the door, breaking the stillness. “The rest of the team will be heading to Morgan’s soon.” she called, her tone casual, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

Paige exhaled sharply, blinking as she pulled back. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to steady her breath. “Yeah, okay we’re just finishing up studying.”

Azzi grinned, clearly more at ease now, but her eyes still sparkled with amusement. She leaned back slightly, her voice low and teasing as she glanced at Paige. “Guess you’ll have to save that ‘line crossing’ for later.”

Paige could only shake her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, her heart still racing. “Guess so.”

KK knocked again, louder this time, her voice more insistent. “You guys still alive in there or what?”

Paige and Azzi exchanged one last look before they both burst into quiet laughter, the moment slipping away, but the heat of it still lingering in the air.

“Coming!” Paige called, shaking her head as she sat up fully, her mind still spinning with what just almost happened.

Azzi sat up beside her, her eyes lingering on Paige with an almost knowing look. “Next time,” she said quietly, as if daring Paige to take the plunge.

Paige’s heart still thudded in her chest. She didn’t answer, but her smile said it all.

…

The energy in the suite was chaotic, the noise from the party nearly deafening. Laughter and music filled every corner, the sounds of beer pong balls bouncing off cups and the occasional shout echoing through the space. The team had gathered for Morgan’s birthday, the freshman was too young to drink at Ted’s, so they’d moved the party back to their suite, where no one had to worry about rules.

Paige was caught in the whirlwind, but her focus wasn’t on the games or the people around her. Her eyes kept drifting toward Azzi, who had ditched her oversized sweatshirt for a tight crop top that showed off her toned stomach. Every time Azzi moved, the silver belly piercing she wore glinted in the light, and Paige couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. The more she looked, the harder it became to ignore the tension building in her chest.

Azzi, for her part, had noticed Paige watching her all night—lingering glances that never seemed to end, a slow burn to the way Paige’s eyes tracked her every movement. She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the party, but the pull between them felt almost magnetic. Every time Paige whispered something in her ear, Azzi felt a shiver race down her spine.

At first, Paige’s words had been innocent enough—light-hearted and playful, barely more than teasing.

“Think you can sink that shot?” Paige whispered, referring to the bear pong game, leaning in so close her breath ghosted over Azzi’s ear. “Maybe I could teach you a few tricks if you want.”

Azzi suppressed a smile, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable. There was something in the way Paige said it, something that made it feel like more than just a passing comment.

Later, as they all gathered near the kitchen, Paige slid next to Azzi, her body brushing lightly against hers. The music thumped loudly, but Paige’s voice was soft, just above a whisper, as she leaned in, her breath warm against Azzi’s ear. "You look so focused," she murmured, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Maybe I can help you put that energy towards something else."

Azzi’s breath caught, and her heart thudded harder. She bit back a smirk, trying to keep her composure, but the teasing was getting under her skin. Paige was playing with fire, and Azzi wasn’t sure how much longer she could avoid the flames.

But it wasn’t until much later that Paige’s whispers grew bolder. As the night wore on, the drinks began to hit harder, and Paige’s restraint started to slip. Azzi was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen when Paige found her, standing a little too close, her hand brushing against Azzi’s backside.

“You look sexy tonight,” Paige whispered, her voice low and velvety. “Really sexy.” Her lips almost brushed Azzi’s ear as she spoke, sending a ripple of heat through her body. The words felt too intimate, too loaded for the setting they were in.

Azzi's body reacted before her mind could, a jolt of desire rushing through her veins. She leaned back slightly pushing herself against Paige, her pulse quickening, but she couldn’t pull away. Not yet.

Paige, emboldened by the alcohol and the closeness between them, took a step closer, her breath warm against Azzi’s neck. “You know,” she said, her voice dropping even lower, “If I get too close, you’re not going to want me to stop.”

Azzi’s heart raced as the words hit her like a wave. She was dangerously close to losing control, to crossing the line neither of them had dared to cross. But it was hard to stop when every part of her wanted to close that gap between them.

Finally, unable to stay away, Azzi slipped out of the suite and into the hallway, hoping to find some space, some air to clear her head. But Paige was right behind her, not letting her escape so easily.

“Where are you going?” Paige’s voice was low and insistent, as if she already knew the answer. The quiet intensity in her tone made Azzi’s breath catch.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder, offering a brief smile, but the hunger in Paige’s eyes stopped her cold. “Just need a break,” Azzi said, trying to sound nonchalant, but her pulse was racing. “I’ll be back soon, don't worry.”

Paige wasn’t having it. She followed Azzi down the hall, staying close, her steps firm and purposeful. “I’ll come with you.”

It wasn’t a question.

The tension crackled between them as they reached Paige’s room. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted, thick with the unspoken words that had been building all night. They were so close now, every breath shared, every movement charged with heat.

Paige stood inches from Azzi, her chest rising and falling slightly faster as she slowly took a step closer. The room felt small, too small for the desire curling in her stomach, too small for the way Azzi was looking at her.

She whispered, her lips grazing Azzi’s ear. “I think you’re testing me.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. “Maybe I am” she murmured, her voice thick with the same longing. But she could feel herself slipping, the alcohol making it harder to think straight, harder to stop herself from giving in. “Paige… we shouldn’t” she says although it’s hard to tell which one of them she’s trying to convince.

But Paige’s eyes were dark, the distance between them closing with every word, every breath. Her hand reached up, brushing against Azzi’s jaw, fingertips grazing the smooth skin. “What if we just stopped pretending we don’t want this?” she whispered, her lips so close Azzi could feel the heat radiating off them.

Without thinking, Paige’s other hand slid up to Azzi’s neck, lightly gripping the soft skin just below her jaw. The pressure was gentle, but it was enough to send a spark of desire coursing through Azzi’s body. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a flush of heat spread across her chest, her breath hitching as her body responded instinctively.

Azzi gasped, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation overwhelmed her. Her fingers curled into the front of Paige's shirt, yanking her closer, pulling their bodies flush against each other. The warmth of Paige’s body against hers sent waves of electricity through her, and her breath became shallow, shaky with need.

"Paige," Azzi whispered, her voice thick with desire, her lips dangerously close to the blonde’s. The scent of her skin, intoxicating and warm, drove Azzi wild. She slid her hands down to Paige’s back, pulling her even closer. “God, I want you. I need you.”

Paige’s chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, her hand tightening slightly around Azzi’s neck. The closeness, the urgency between them, made her skin burn, craving more.

With a surge of raw desire, Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige’s waist, guiding her backward toward the couch. The movement was swift, uncoordinated, their lips still grazing each other as they stumbled in the direction of the cushions. In one swift motion, they tumbled onto the couch, Azzi landing on top, their bodies a tangled mess of heat and hunger. Paige’s breath hitched, her body pressed against Azzi’s as they both struggled to steady themselves, the air between them electric, charged with longing.

However, as she suddenly realized just how far the two were going, Azzi slowly eased herself back, pushing gently on Paige’s chest. “No,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’re not doing this like this. Not now.”

Paige froze, her breath coming fast, eyes searching Azzi’s face for any sign of what she was thinking. Frustration bubbled inside her, wanting so badly to give in, but she understood. "Right," she muttered, her voice strained, as she leaned back, still close enough that their bodies almost touched.

Azzi’s hands slid away from Paige, reluctantly breaking the contact, leaving a lingering emptiness between them. "I want us to happen," she said quietly, her words heavy with sincerity. "But not like this. Not when we’re... like this. Not when you’re still not fully mine."

Paige swallowed hard, the desire still burning in her veins, but she nodded, trying to steady herself. "Yeah. You’re right. We... we’ll do it the right way."

Azzi took a deep breath, stepping back toward the door, but before she could go any further, Paige reached out and grabbed her wrist, her grip firm but gentle. Azzi turned back to her, and Paige’s eyes were filled with something deeper—admiration, trust, longing. She stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper but full of conviction. "I do belong to you," she said, her gaze unwavering. "Only you."

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat at the words, the sincerity of them settling over her like a warm embrace. Without thinking, she cupped Paige’s cheek with one hand, leaning in just enough to place a soft, tender kiss on her cheek—a promise, a silent understanding.

Pulling away, Azzi smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Paige’s face. "Come on," she said, her voice steady now. "Let’s get back out there."

Paige stood there for a moment, her heart racing, feeling the weight of the moment, before finally following Azzi out of her room. As they stepped into the hallway, their eyes locked for a fleeting second, a shared understanding passing between them. Just like always they both knew that things were far from over, but for now, they had to hold back.