#no need to match length!!!

[uptownbird]

with: ( cap 5/5 ) capped!! though if you already have a draft do post it :))

at: 12twelve´s new years party

the moment thea steps into the club, a rush of emotions hits her like an overstrung train. she is not completely unfamiliar with 12twelve, but this is different. very different. tonight everyone is here; dancing, crying, singing... and the air buzzes, not only with ear-splitting music but with energy, with all kinds of emotions. thea feels both out-of-her-mind ecstatic and absolutely terrified. for just a tiny second the girl considers making a run for it, but her inner monologue stops her. you are a not a child okay? you are twenty-five years old thea, so act like it. remember: you are a party girl. the bluebird smiles with false confidence and makes her way to the bar as she repeats the mantra in her head. you are a party girl. you are a party girl.

after some minutes, a drink in hand, and a song she really likes playing, thea starts to relax. this will be fun. this is fun. with a now positive mindset, she takes a sip of her drink, and feels it burn down her throat. " god! " she almost chokes " this tastes like bitter ethanol. " maybe asking for the most popular cocktail without knowing more wasn´t the brightest idea. she drinks some more, trying to get used to the taste. if anything, it only gets worse. it is after her sixth try that thea notices someone is looking at her. so, in a panic she does the only thing that comes to her mind and downs the drink. without spitting it out, thank god.

[rubiesintherough]

open ( esp. to any medical based muses, but anyone’s welcome! ) --- mahia

Awareness returned like a gradual sunrise... slow glimmers of consciousness slipping through the dark, and bringing the distant sting of bruised and stitched skin with it. It was daylight. It hadn’t been when she was ambushed, she remembered that. The choked cry of startled fear still felt trapped in the back of her throat, it not even having time to escape before the first bullet struck her and she’d crumpled to the ground, a pile of feathers, and blood, and tattered fabric. 

She should be dead. That thought came slow, but it gripped firmly onto her mind. Why wasn’t she dead? This couldn’t be the realm of the Ancestors... there was still pain, still fear. A fear that fought its way to the surface, up from beneath the strange numbness which took her another long moment to identify: a powerful painkiller. Strong enough to haze her mind. Everything felt like a dream, moving slowly and too fast at once. 

Hands, that didn’t even feel like her own, fumbled beneath clothes --- not her jacket, not her worn shirt, something far softer...? --- and found a bandage, adhered in place over her wounds. Someone had found her, rescued her from what would have surely been certain death. And just as that realization struck did her periphery catch sight of a shadowed movement... and her fingers stretched out to grasp weakly onto passing sleeve, then collapsed, just enough to alert her savior that she was awake... 

[vortship]

@crownfly​

Another stretch of life, another half-brained mistake. Maybe if Hal had listened to that little part of her that said this was a bad idea, she wouldn’t have to go to the roof of all places just to escape constantly having so many humans around. If she saw another henchman, she was going to scream loud enough for the armada to hear her and this all to become useless in the first place.

Three weeks down, nearly a month of being the oddball daughter of the supervillain, Monarch and his girlfriend who Hal learned did in fact have an actual real name she could call her. Six more human years to go. What was that time in the grand scheme of things anyway? And if they could have heard the constant torment in her head, they probably wouldn’t have made this a thing to begin with. 

Sitting atop the cocoon at night was a nice solace. Legs crossed into a pretzel, arms splayed out behind her, as though the proximity to space itself made her feel that much more connected with the universe above; the nebula of star stuff she and everyone she knew came from and someday would return. Vortians believed in harmony with the Firmament, the grand scheme of the universe’s design, advanced tech was the closest thing to a dogma they’d ever have. 

Maybe they should have stopped building the super-weapons... for harmony, right? 

Somewhere in space, a planet was taking it’s last, gasping breath, not with a tiny fizzle, but with an organic sweep skimming it’s surface with burning lasers as two, looming figures looked on eagerly. Somewhere in space, a virus was spreading, it’s long arms reaching out and taking every planet in it’s path into the mighty maw of the empire.

And Hal? She was here. With simple little Earth and it’s simple, low-tech people who ate vegetables from the ground. She was here, in this strange place full of tall humans she barely knew, telling her what to do, that she needed to ask before going out, that there was a certain time in which people ate, that she couldn’t so much as breathe without someone appearing behind her telling her she wasn’t doing it right.

As though she needed to be reminded. 

[gwyndolence]

Part of Krovs' particular charm was its provenance, especially to a young fae hybrid with a... muddled opinion of the second war. Gwyn was deeply curious to see exactly what the vampires had done with the place since, expecting more of the same fancy, old-fashioned European aesthetic the undead seemed to favor. He was delighted to discover that the vampires had installed a strip club, of all things, instead. Diabolus Luxuriam had a decent crowd going for the late hour: wealthier townies playing tourist, a semi-circle of masters more intent on their conversation than the dancers, a few slaves who hadn't been bidden to get on stage nervously idling, either there as pretty set dressing or pathetically forgotten in favor of other distractions.

Gwyn bypassed ogling the gyrating under the spotlights; he'd go into Krovstown and do some real dancing if mood struck for that. No, the people-watching was the purpose of this exercise and Gwyn put himself in the best possible place for it -- right behind the bar. He'd learned centuries ago there were few places you couldn't access if you walked in with enough confidence. If any patrons had noticed their server was collarless, none had mentioned it yet. For their part, the staff seemed unable to decide if the young master's status forbade Gwyn the spot or gave them perfect excuse not to confront him about it. Either way, he'd been enjoying himself immensely tugging stories out of the chattier workers and sneaking any tips into the poor, confused barkeep's shirt pocket.

Gwyn had keen sense for anyone leaving an opening exposed for approach and he narrowed in on just a one now, leaning bodily over the bar top towards his target, the jumbled collection of necklaces around his neck glittering in the red and blue club lights.

"Someone looks thirsty. Want me to fix that for you?"

@krovscastlestarters

[vortship]

"Don't sound so surprised. I'm the best." Hal explained with a smile, no, she had no clue how far 'Iceland' was. All she remembered was seeing it on a map at school and making a note never to go somewhere so... icy.

"Besides, I was helping other weirdos with their... 'arching' before Monarch." that word was still so weird, as though this was some hobby, "But Cringe Club has all these rules I guess against what I was doing." she took a sip of her soda before hopping back up on the counter,

"If I'm Monarch's daughter- I'm not breaking any rules! I'm just... y'know, helping out my Dad or whatever." following rules to begin with was a hard sell, wholly incompatible with anything she was used too, "Man, I've hacked hotel chains, hero super computers, and sometimes those little marquees on the highway to say funny things, but I've never been someone's kid." not really, not in the conventional sense, anyway,

"Turns out there's a lot of rules for that too- like specific times when eating and sleeping is done, or anti-juicebox hoarding clauses."

Eyes narrow with her hesitance to answer and he only wonders further with the response she offers . " And The Monarch went all the way to Iceland to hire you ? " It didn't add up . Going through all that for a hire didn't sound like the monarch . The um is also very telling . His boys weren't very good at lying either and that's usually how they sounded .

" You'd be surprised but the lack of moral in so called heroes . " He'd seen his father and his friends do countless questionable things , and experienced them first hand as well .

[thearcherbrothersx]

Closed starter for @aftermiiidniiight / Muse: Declan Archer

He'd agreed to come by and pick her up this evening. He'd had a late meeting and she was out with friends not too far from his office, so naturally it made sense for his driver to swing by her venue on the way back to his place rather than have her make her way there later.

Declan left his driver with the car outside and made his way inside the club she'd told him she'd be at, his features maintaining the visual of ice; cool and calm. This despite the fact that his eyes visibly began searching the area for her as soon as he stepped inside. He looked entirely out of place, perfectly trimmed and kempt, dressed in a tailored Armani suit, a Rolex around his wrist. The sheer value of the man's attire probably surpassed the average occupant's yearly income. And yet he didn't seem bothered by the smell, the noise or fact that one person or other was intermittently bumping into him as he made his way through the crowds.

In fact, his expression didn't change until he finally spotted the gorgeous redhead on the dancefloor surrounded by several appropriately aged males, and at that point it was only for his lips to thin and brows to shift slightly higher on his forehead before his features settled back into that same indifferent mien. He watched her for a few seconds, considering the many different actions he could take, as well as the possible outcomes of those actions, before he turned around to leave.

[flamesque]

₊❏❜ ⋮ i'll chase you to the ends of the earth. ⚬𓂂

@dolasach

He is used to it; however, that didn't mean he accepted it.

Rafayel sighed as he let his head rest against his palm, the same thing being drilled into his mind by the endless sea of words spewing the history of Lemuria and the world on the surface repeated like a broken record from the elders. He seemed to be falling asleep and was immediately scolded for not paying attention.

Evidently, something came up that had the elders leave the vicinity for the time being and this served as an opportunity for Rafayel to escape. He had attempted in doing so a few times, but he was sure that this time he would be able to be successful. 

A blue fish swam around him and held his hand out, allowing the fish to swim over his palm. 

"Shall we head to the surface? It's a little boring right now and I'm tired of hearing the elders saying the same thing over and over again." 

The fish continued swimming over his palm before seemingly directing him toward an opening to which he was able to squeeze through. It was then he realized that he was out of the city walls of Whalefall City and was able to swim to the surface.

He thanked the fish before it disappeared back through the city walls and Rafayel didn't have to think twice as he turned away from Whalefall City to swim up to the surface; however, before he allowed himself to fully come out, he swam slowly as the damn words from the elders rang in his head. 

"The world on the surface is dangerous, even if those people worship our Sea God, there is a chance that someone will try to capture him."

"As the previous Lemurians have..." 

"Rafayel, you must never venture out to the surface world. Your people are here, that is all that should concern you." 

And the annoying part of all. "The Sea God will one day meet the Goddess of the Forest, and when that day comes, should he fall in love with her, it will be the beginning of the downfall of Lemuria."

Rafayel always thought it to be those stories to be something a parent would tell to their child to make them listen. And besides, Rafayel had always been, not only a rebellious soul, but one of sheer curiosity. 

Once he peeked out from the water, he spotted a woman by the shore. And he had seen a few other humans before, but something about her was different and he couldn't help but to swim towards the shore, closer to her. Who could she be? For some reason... he needed to know and while he doesn't know why he needs to, he simply just has to try; in a way, it felt as though there were residual feelings, feelings that weren't from him and that in itself baffled him.

So without thinking, his mouth opened to speak.

"Who might you be? You don't seem... human to me, although you do appear to be." He tilted his head briefly before letting out a laugh. "Ah, apologies. This is bold of me, I will admit."

[jake-fieldsrp]

Who: Open (7/7) capped When: Early Evening Where: Outside Cobblestone Cafe

It'd been a week (a week and a half now?) since being back in town —time showing its cruelty when a week back in his parent's house felt like only an hour and an eternity depending on the day. It'd been a while since he'd felt like this, a truly blank canvas. Supposed to be a recoup of sorts but where a week that would normally be a vacation was permanent. By day three when cracking open a comic was filled with a bizarre tightness in his chest, anxious an understatement. Today though, he left the perimeters of his parent's house in the burbs. An old crushed-up stack of flyers for music lessons with the ends frayed with his contact information he used to staple around Brooklyn in hand, Jake in the midst of stapling to a post for the hell of it, turning to the passerby, "Hey! Hey yeah, you dropped this..." Bending over to pluck the imaginary object to hand over one of his tabs, "You call within a week, first three sessions are free. And I'll tack on a holiday discount for the month of December."

[beckdean]

She should never have come here.

It had been curiosity that led her to the event - the pamphlet she had received at first quickly crumpled and thrown in a trash can. But, she'd recalled the words on the page 'supernatural or friends of the supernatural only' - and... despite her better judgement, she wanted to learn more. To truly understand this city, what lay within it. So, she'd allowed her hair to hang loose for once, even slipped on a dress from her pre-werewolf days - an attempt to blend in at the nightclub, as she entered through its doors.

Yet... there was something wrong here. She could feel it deep within her bones. Every part of her was on edge - what with the mixing of so many bodies, the loud pounding of the music, even the scents of so many species... every werewolf instinct was on high alert, her heart thundering and breathing heavy as she made her way through the crowd. Seeing the... situation on the main stage had been enough to almost send the young wolf into a full blown frenzy, that beast within stirring beneath her skin, threatening to appear - but what was worse was the lack of reaction from so many in the crowd, the way everyone continued dancing. Was this normal here? In a panic, she'd tried to thread her way in what she hoped was the direction of the exit - managing a few steps before she sees one of The Bunny workers right in front of her.

The worker was staring out at the crowd - eyes glassy and gaze numb, despite a drunken figure nearing them, leaning closer. One arm slung around the worker's waist, another hand running a line down their neck - no response from her, only unnerving apathy. Beck feels a flare of adrenaline as she storms over, grabbing hold of the guy's shoulder to try and pull him back. "Get your hands off her, before I remove them myself." She snarls with tense venom written all over her, trying to hold on to sanity as she feels her temper, and control, fleeting. But, the guy doesn't even respond - flashing only an intoxicated smile in Beck's direction, before he returns to his prey.

Which is enough to push Beck firmly over the edge. Not waiting another second, Beck grabs him with both arms and violently throws him in the opposite direction - accidentally tapping into her supernatural strength, as she sends him straight into the nearest fringe of the crowd. Beck stares down at her trembling hands with wide eyed horror, taking a shaking breath as she tries to find composure. Then, slowly, her gaze lifts upwards - recognising with dread the small area of carnage she has created, and the number of people now staring in her direction. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

[bordercollieholland]

Holland sat on the floor of the first common room, the heavy silence pressing in around him as he stared at the checkpoint. The voices of the other slaves chatting and playing games nearby served as a soft and steady background noise that did little to ease the turmoil in his mind. His thoughts drifted in and out of focus, a hazy collage of memories that tugged him between the past and the present.

He was back in the lab, the sterile smell of antiseptic sharp in his nostrils, the cold metal of the operating table biting into his skin. The pain from the surgeries, the long hours under harsh lights, the feeling of being reduced to nothing more than a test subject—all of it flooded his senses. But then, just as quickly, Holland’s thoughts drifted to the small, quaint apartment he had shared with Cécilia. It was a modest place, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, but it had been home. The tiny balcony was his favorite spot, just big enough for him to lounge and watch the world go by. He could almost feel the cool breeze on his face as he leaned over the railing, teasing the stray cats that wandered below. They’d hiss and arch their backs, and he’d bark back, amused by the simple, silly game.

That balcony had been his refuge, a place where he could relax and forget about the lab, the surgeries, and the pain. It was where he felt most at peace, with Cécilia nearby, her presence a constant comfort. Those moments felt so distant now, almost like they belonged to another life. She was gone now, and with her went any sense of safety he’d had.

The memory of the traders came next, the rough hands that had grabbed him, inspected him like he was no more than livestock. The humiliation burned in his chest as he recalled the way they’d forced him and the others into the truck. He could still hear the hushed conversation he had with the race horse shifter from Lyon, their shared fear masked by the familiarity of their native tongue. Where are they now? Did any of them end up here too? The question gnawed at him, but he shoved it aside, focusing instead on the discomfort in his hip. He shifted slightly, grimacing at the pain. The traders hadn’t been gentle, and his old injury flared up in protest.

Cécilia’s voice echoed in his mind, a reminder of the surgery she’d mentioned, something that might have helped if she’d had the time. But that was before… before everything had fallen apart and gone to merde. He gently touched his neck, instinctively feeling for his worn leather collar. Digits searching for the brass metal name plate and the worn vaccine tags. Instead, he found a different collar with no plate and no tags. He frowned, a pang of anxiety tightening in his gut.

A masculine voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. Holland’s heart raced as he stiffened, his eyes darting up to meet those of the newcomer. For a moment, he was disoriented, the transition from memory to reality jarring. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his mind, then mumbled an apology in French, his voice thick with the remnants of his reverie.

“Pardon… eh... d- do you want me to move?” His accent was heavy, the words coming out clumsily as he nervously licked his lips. His hand moved to his hair, fingers brushing against the messy strands as he fought to regain his composure. His ears, once twitching beneath his hair, vanished entirely as he shifted slightly, hiding the remnants of his other form. The memory of Cécilia’s comforting touch, the way she used to rub his ears, flashed through his mind, and a deep sense of loss welled up in his chest. He frowned, the grief threatening to pull him under once more, but he forced himself to focus on the present, on the person standing before him. His fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. He avoided eye contact, his voice barely above a mumble as he spoke, the words tinged with uncertainty. "Je ne connais pas les règles de cet endroit… ni même où je suis," he admitted in French, his accent thick with the weight of his confusion and unease. "I don't know the rules of this place… or even where I am."

[lale-txt]

i knew Soft Launch reached the right audience when the comments about the wlw dating being deeply relatable piled up lmao

[balteren]

Oisin had only just finished dressing himself when he heard the snake’s rattle coming from the Queen’s chambers. An amused smile crossed his lips as he heard her frustrations carry through their castle, followed by the swift exit of her lady-in-waiting, a young woman clearly on the verge of tears. He pasted on a sympathetic smile for the girl, before returning to his bemused smirk as he stood in the doorway. “No news. I’m only here to ensure you don’t kill your lady’s maid. It’d be far too much of a hassle to ship a new one in from Spain, at this point.” Oisin crossed the room, stopping behind the Queen and picking up the laces of her corset. “Allow me.” He mumbled, getting to work on slowly, gently, tightening it. One of his favorites at a brothel in Dublin taught him the trick to painlessly and easily tightening a corset, claiming it would make women melt under his palms. So far, she had been correct. 

There was a moment as he tightened, where he felt a bit more resistance than was expected for a well-fitting corset. A thought crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly. He’d consider that… possibility… later. He finished lacing the corset, but allowed his hands to rest on her hips for just a moment. “Beautiful. You’ll have the Ortiz queen scrambling home to hide in Barcelona.” 

𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 — oisin ( @balteren )

location : the northern spanish quarters

time : the grand breakfast

her fingers twiddled as she felt her tongue run along the her upper gum line . a quiet grunt as she felt the corset being tightened around her ribcage . the quiet apology from her lady - in - waiting , reassuring her that they'd be done in a moment's time . " work FASTER . " the queen hissed , as if the split tongue of a serpent had replaced her human one . a huff & a roll of her eyes , blanca threw up her hands . " forget it , TAKE IT OFF . i'll just wear it without a corset . just . . . JUST GO ! " she ordered them to leave , hands against her forehead . sad , how an ill fitting can ruin one's entire morning . she heard the ascending foot steps of another . a deep breath , her eyes meeting those belonging to oisin . " good news or i'm throwing this hand mirror at your forehead . "

[hollowfaith]

「✦」 When Aurelius next awakes, it is dark, and he is warm.

Blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings, the angel tries to stir—and finds himself floating in some sort of enclosed space, just wide enough for him to stretch and touch the walls. A moment of confusion ensues—had his angels moved him indoors?—before a messy jumble of memories hits him straight on.

Sky. Swords. Blood. Klaus—

Of all the people he had trusted, Klaus had—

He doesn't finish that thought before an involuntary shudder wracks his body. Feverishly, he inspects his body in the dim lighting, checking to see that all his limbs are intact, then touches frantically at the walls, looking for a way out.

Seconds later, the giant, golden-leafed tree ejects him from its trunk, and Aurelius falls on all fours at its base. It's late afternoon and bitterly cold; he wonders if this is why he's shaking as he climbs to his feet, fingers trembling beneath his gaze.

"....."

He looks at the tree, then at the familiar house beside it. It's a place he knows, but now utterly foreign to him. For some reason, there's a sweater and scarf around the trunk of the tree as well, along with a completely unnecessary jacket—as if a plant could use those things to keep warm. He doesn't recognize them as gifts for himself while his mind plays catch-up with the present.

I need to leave.

Certainly, it wasn't safe here anymore. Klaus had chosen his side in their last fight, and condemned him to confinement in a world where death was meaningless. As long as a world with humans existed, there would be no room for him to stand by his side.

It was a truth he'd guessed from the start, but been too stubborn to accept until his partner—his soulmate—had stood against him, and very nearly killed him.

The thought turns him woozy; Aurelius pauses to catch his breath before pushing off from the tree to walk forwards. Could he fly? Or would that make him too easy to spot from the skies? Perhaps going deeper into the woods was an option until he figured out where to head next. His legs feel like jelly—how long had he been asleep? A root from the tree catches him unawares, and he trips, sprawling on the dirt like some uncoordinated fawn.

He crawls back upright—faster this time—and keeps stumbling forward. At the house he pauses, holding onto its walls as he scans the forest for his best way of escape. East or southeast, perhaps. Using the setting sun to gauge his position, Aurelius picks out a suitable opening in the trees and dives right in.

@anghexescu ໒꒱ hurry klaus ur not-BF is going awol

[fisheito]

this is what i was cookin up while on nu:vacation [avoiding event spoilers] my dream.....my hopes....... EVERYONE PUT ON THE PRINCESS GOWN🗡

[voraciouslyindulgent]

@viciousbite asked: -insert the meme icon to finding him next to a dead body here- //from Darkfang

Send ⚠ to find my muse next to a dead body

Beauty lived most vibrantly in the dying shrieks of a spark. The terror, the rage, the wordless pleas - none begged more desperately for life than on the precipice of oblivion. Tendrils of pure energy lashed and fought in whips of blinding light, screams unheard by all but the one plucking the strings. His own spark trembled with anticipation, pushing against the confines of its chamber. It felt too full, too hot, a smoldering burn nearly painful. Tarn wondered, a stray thought, if it would leap from his frame had he submitted to its desires and bared himself to its feast.

"Like the sun, how pristine it shines upon his light." He orated in a soft, gentle murmur, the libretto of a grand opera much adored. "Most sincere he was, yet betrayal he has committed to his most devout."

The mech below him, a dissenter who'd dared to threaten the peace of a triumphant Empire, let out an agonized cry, the jarring noise laced with static. Broken digits grasped for his mask, for his throat, but the grip was weak as energon bled a hefty pool across the ground. Upon the moon of a distant planet, hidden in the alleyway of a transport hub, Tarn sang the last notes of his hunt, and allowed his spark to gorge for the first time in years.

"Torn he was from his most beloved, from this world, by his own sword." The mech's life sputtered and flickered beneath him, stolen by force as his spark, its light barely visible through the seams of his armor, claimed consumption and ate its fill. "Truer oaths than his have never been sworn. None was purer." He sighed, shivering. "More loved...was no other."

The mech's hands fell limply, splattering in the puddle of energon faintly glowing. His plating dulled, mouth agape but lax, as Tarn completed his recitation. The last ribbon of energy seeped through his chassis, slipping between crevices to be taken by the insatiable hunger within him. With audible clicks, his armor closed snugly, and sealed his spark.

Overwhelmed still by the encounter, Tarn sat atop the corpse, kneeling on the wet, muddy ground. Intoxicated, his ventilation hummed a constant stream of heat, fuel pump a steady, thudding beat inside him. Stowed away in the dark, he didn't suspect anyone would discover him, or that an onlooker might be present. Oblivious, he waited for the rush to abate, optics dim and gaze unseeing.

[eclvpses]

for: anyone! @bluestarters location: aurora

For a Tuesday night, Aurora was jam packed - which was saying something. Leo was used to a crowd at the club, but he felt especially sardined as they made their way to the front of the line, as desperate for a drink as everyone surrounding them. A thin layer of sweat coated their forehead and smudged the coal that’d been smudged under his eyes by a girl in the washrooms an hour ago, the two of them bonding over a mutual hookup and a line of whatever she’d offered to him. Already impatient as they were, Leo just felt himself grow more annoyed - if anything, their next move was meant to be helpful. One less person for the bartenders to worry about as he helped himself, stretching forward and splaying himself across the bartop until he could clutch onto the first bottle in his range. “Oh, word.” Leo nodded appreciatively, Casamigos label flashing at him - bucket of ice water dumped over his head and ruining the moment when he heard one of the bartenders shout; Hey, what the fuck! A beat passed as Leo made eye contact with them before they were darting off, letting out an adrenaline-fueled shriek of delight as they pushed their way through the crowd, only skidding to a pause when they noticed someone they recognised. “Yo!” He hollered, grabbing his new-found companion and, to their detriment, accomplice, Leo huddling in close to them and concealing the tequila bottle between them just as a security guard huffed past. The man looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Ha! Asshole! Helen Keller can see better than you!” Pausing so that he could properly celebrate their victory, Leo uncorked the bottle with his teeth, spitting it onto the ground and holding the tequila towards the other, saccharine grin all but taking over his face, cheeks already aching. “You first. I’m feeling generous.”