♛Some might describe my default disposition as “immature,” when it’s really more that I’m just easily amused. “Immature.” What a little word. So limiting. Considering the avalanche of shit I’ve hacked my way through, I hardly think “immature” describes me.

[X] My sense of humor? It’s detailed in my first book. Anything can set me off. All still true. Something I didn’t have then: short internet videos, Vines, these things are amazing and the coven all send me links to the best.

Who’s easily amused? Daniel, David, Marius, Jesse. In that order. Jesse and I have inside jokes that are facial expressions only. 

I put the “fun” in “funeral,” and the “laughter” in “slaughter,” but I make every attempt to stifle it when it’s truly inappropriate. It can sometimes improve a situation. Intimate moments where I’m trying my best to be sensual and attentive, something about the language of seduction, verbal or physical, might strike me as overly serious and I can’t help but giggle at the pretentiousness of it all. I’ll get playful criticism from the object of my affection, and then we may give up on the seriousness of it all, opting instead to come up with taunting terms of endearment for each other, and having less control entirely.

My favorite of all types of humor? Nobody makes me laugh like I do. My own sense of humor is my favorite. What’s my sense of humor? Something pointed and sharp at times, soft and generous at other times. Everything in between. Children’s jokes can slay me. 

Armand makes me laugh harder than anyone else. Even when he’s being cruel to me. Probably the same principle as mentioned already, that in his seriousness, he almost seems to be playing a role, and I can’t help but see it as a caricature. If it were real emotion, real care, it could fracture something inside me, something buried deep.