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Realistic or Modern shadows and sparks | star & candy
- Thread starter candygore
- Start date
Jaylaani is so over this already.
“But why do we need to have them over?” He whines petulantly, his whole body drooping with the spread of all ten of his fingers. He knows he must look entirely comical standing there with his knees bent inwards, like a cat with its tail between its legs.
His mother twists her head towards him where he stands under the ingress of the kitchen. She stares at him in tense silence, eyes slowly narrowing at his audacity. Holding the hot oven door with one gloved hand, she abruptly snaps her metal tongs at him with the other. “Mijo,” she chides in Spanish. “What are you standing there for? Why are you not dressed yet?” Her tone is full of finality, not inviting any further discussion.
Jay makes a show of gritting his teeth, and groaning, ridiculously standing with his forehead mushed against the door jamb. Pushing with his entire weight into the wooden surface gives him a headache, and the burn in his temples is enough to mask the other tension aching inside his skull—the one that keeps reminding him of how unbearable the rest of the night is about to be with the Prince family coming over. He does not have an issue with them per se; he just has a very long, and personal history with one of the Prince family members, and no, it does not have to do with how his cat, Tiger, likes that person more. Just the thought of her cosying up to Claire Helena Prince—ugh, even the name leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth—or winding around her legs, begging to be petted by her perfect hands makes his chest heat up with jealousy.
Okay, maybe it does have a little bit to do with that.
Jay protectively scoops Tiger up into his arms, and envelops her in an overwhelming affectionate embrace that has her meowing in protest, unsheathing her claws to crabbily fight against his iron hold. He lets her go when it starts to seem like her paws might be making their way swiftly towards his beautiful face, and she hops gracefully to the ground, continuing to bend her tail through her legs. What a confusing cat.
“Jaylaani!” Comes a warming shout. “Are you still standing there? Our guests will be here any minute! Go. Change!”
“Okay, okay!” He defensively raises his hands in the air even though she can not see the gesture through the wall.
Jay ambles to his room to do as he has been ordered. His mother is always charmed by that witch, Claire, so he tries his best to charm her parents as well every time either of their families invites the other for dinner.
And charming, he thinks, ruffling through the plastic hangers in his unruly closet, begins with dressing. He chooses a pair of sleek white slacks, and a loose white shirt with a geometric, aztec imprint lining it vertical. Due to the nature of indentations holed through the sheer cloth, it makes the shirt entirely see-through, but Jay overcomes this obstacle by simply slinging on a tight sleeveless tank top underneath, the colour matching the cream-white of his outfit.
Standing in front of the dresser, he contemplates whether to leave his hair down for the evening, since his signature hairstyle is to always have them tied up. He is still mid-decision, clasping a multi-layered, white-beaded necklace around his neck when the doorbell suddenly chimes.
Jay curses under his breath, right as he hears his mother yell for him, “Jaylaani! Get the door please!”
With a great inhale that strains the full capacity of his lungs, he takes the first step, then the next, and the next, until he is standing right in front of the dark-chocolate door. Years ago, when they first moved in, his mother had painted it to match the earthy tones the inside of their apartment was decorated in.
Swooping another lungful of air, because he feels as though he might need it, he braces his palm over the doorknob. His cheeks lift automatically, and he pulls the door with one quick sweep. “Mr and Mrs Prince!” He greets enthusiastically, bright white teeth all on display. Jay makes a faux-bow, and kisses the back of the woman’s hand, delighting in the gentle flush that spreads through her cheeks, and takes Mr Prince in a manly embrace; they firmly pat each other’s back, detaching with a nod.
With an outstretched arm, Jay invites them inside, having nearly forgotten why he was dreading this evening so much in the first place, but the shock of blond hair following inside behind the couple does not allow him to forget for much longer.
“But why do we need to have them over?” He whines petulantly, his whole body drooping with the spread of all ten of his fingers. He knows he must look entirely comical standing there with his knees bent inwards, like a cat with its tail between its legs.
His mother twists her head towards him where he stands under the ingress of the kitchen. She stares at him in tense silence, eyes slowly narrowing at his audacity. Holding the hot oven door with one gloved hand, she abruptly snaps her metal tongs at him with the other. “Mijo,” she chides in Spanish. “What are you standing there for? Why are you not dressed yet?” Her tone is full of finality, not inviting any further discussion.
Jay makes a show of gritting his teeth, and groaning, ridiculously standing with his forehead mushed against the door jamb. Pushing with his entire weight into the wooden surface gives him a headache, and the burn in his temples is enough to mask the other tension aching inside his skull—the one that keeps reminding him of how unbearable the rest of the night is about to be with the Prince family coming over. He does not have an issue with them per se; he just has a very long, and personal history with one of the Prince family members, and no, it does not have to do with how his cat, Tiger, likes that person more. Just the thought of her cosying up to Claire Helena Prince—ugh, even the name leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth—or winding around her legs, begging to be petted by her perfect hands makes his chest heat up with jealousy.
Okay, maybe it does have a little bit to do with that.
Jay protectively scoops Tiger up into his arms, and envelops her in an overwhelming affectionate embrace that has her meowing in protest, unsheathing her claws to crabbily fight against his iron hold. He lets her go when it starts to seem like her paws might be making their way swiftly towards his beautiful face, and she hops gracefully to the ground, continuing to bend her tail through her legs. What a confusing cat.
“Jaylaani!” Comes a warming shout. “Are you still standing there? Our guests will be here any minute! Go. Change!”
“Okay, okay!” He defensively raises his hands in the air even though she can not see the gesture through the wall.
Jay ambles to his room to do as he has been ordered. His mother is always charmed by that witch, Claire, so he tries his best to charm her parents as well every time either of their families invites the other for dinner.
And charming, he thinks, ruffling through the plastic hangers in his unruly closet, begins with dressing. He chooses a pair of sleek white slacks, and a loose white shirt with a geometric, aztec imprint lining it vertical. Due to the nature of indentations holed through the sheer cloth, it makes the shirt entirely see-through, but Jay overcomes this obstacle by simply slinging on a tight sleeveless tank top underneath, the colour matching the cream-white of his outfit.
Standing in front of the dresser, he contemplates whether to leave his hair down for the evening, since his signature hairstyle is to always have them tied up. He is still mid-decision, clasping a multi-layered, white-beaded necklace around his neck when the doorbell suddenly chimes.
Jay curses under his breath, right as he hears his mother yell for him, “Jaylaani! Get the door please!”
With a great inhale that strains the full capacity of his lungs, he takes the first step, then the next, and the next, until he is standing right in front of the dark-chocolate door. Years ago, when they first moved in, his mother had painted it to match the earthy tones the inside of their apartment was decorated in.
Swooping another lungful of air, because he feels as though he might need it, he braces his palm over the doorknob. His cheeks lift automatically, and he pulls the door with one quick sweep. “Mr and Mrs Prince!” He greets enthusiastically, bright white teeth all on display. Jay makes a faux-bow, and kisses the back of the woman’s hand, delighting in the gentle flush that spreads through her cheeks, and takes Mr Prince in a manly embrace; they firmly pat each other’s back, detaching with a nod.
With an outstretched arm, Jay invites them inside, having nearly forgotten why he was dreading this evening so much in the first place, but the shock of blond hair following inside behind the couple does not allow him to forget for much longer.
Last edited:
starlight.
*✦.⠀⤹_⠀❛ galaxy!
Upon her arrival home from school, Claire is bombarded by her mother at the door. “We’re going to the Hussein’s for dinner,” before she can continue, Claire’s face pales. “I know you don’t like going there, but they’re our neighbors. And your father and I still enjoy spending time with Ms. Hussein.” Claire exhales sharply but nods, knowing that there is no use in arguing. She had tried many times before, but both her parents are as stubborn as she is.
“Fine. But I can’t promise I’ll say much. There’s really nothing I have to talk about with… Jay,” she concedes, hesitating before speaking his name. She hates the way it still sounds familiar when it rolls off her tongue. Without waiting for a response for her mother, she goes up to her room, her german shepherd Rosie bounding behind her as she shuts the door.
She sinks down into her bed and Rosie jumps up with her. The shepherd rests her head on Claire’s lap, and she scratches the back of her dog’s ears. She can feel her brunette hair standing up as she pulls her ponytail out of its elastic. She doesn’t usually wear her hair down, but when she’s dressing up for something more formal, she has grown used to it being a necessity.
“If only you could go in my place. You tolerate him a lot better than I do,” she mutters as she gazes at her closet. She gets up, blue eyes scanning her options as she steps toward it. A balance between looking nice but not trying too hard. That’s what she’s going for, since she doesn’t want it to seem like she is too enthusiastic to be there. She ends up slipping into a silky purple skirt and floral white shirt, topped with her black leather jacket. (this for inspo minus the jacket) Not the fanciest piece of clothing, but it provides her with a sense of comfort that can’t be matched with anything else. Then she runs a brush through her hair as thoroughly as she can, attempting to smooth down as much of the static as she can. It does this frequently when she’s upset, and she takes a breath to calm herself. It’s just a dinner. As soon as it’s done, I can leave, she reassures herself.
Claire waits until the last second before she heads downstairs, each step slow in her flats. Her parents acknowledge her warmly, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes as she trails behind them. She fiddles with her amethyst necklace when the front door creaks open and the person she had spent so long avoiding appears before her. She avoids meeting the gaze of his dark eyes that she once considered mysterious and enchanting. She doesn’t make an effort to step in until after both her parents do, and she cringes at the display Jay puts on for them.
She tries to distract herself by focusing on the smell of his mother’s cooking. It was at an entirely different level from her parent’s, and she often found herself envious of it because its smell was strong enough to reach her house. As she enters his house, she passes Jay and says the only thing she can think of, “It’s been a while.” Her voice is barely audible as she speaks, and she goes over to his mother without waiting for his reply. She gives his mother a hug in greeting, then starts to sit at the Hussein’s table when she realizes the only open seat is next to Jay. She stops in her tracks. This had to have been set up, but there’s nothing she can do about it. She’ll be seen as rude as she doesn’t take the seat.
Sucking in a breath, she sits down, wishing at that moment she could turn invisible instead of her ability to manipulate electricity. She doesn’t take her black gloves off, as wearing them at all times is a necessity to keep her powers under control. She finds herself glancing at Jay, at a loss for words. Once, they had been so close they could talk for hours. But now, she’s tongue-tied.
As their parents begin chatting up a storm, the two of them are surrounded by a heavy silence. Claire isn’t sure how much longer she can take this. She should say something— anything to make the moment less awkward. She still suspects that this was planned, and the last thing she wants to do is disappoint her parents. “Your mom’s cooking smells amazing. You’re lucky you get to have a taste of it every day— I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to have something she’s made.” She smiles softly, but the motion is a struggle, not fully meeting her blue eyes.
“Fine. But I can’t promise I’ll say much. There’s really nothing I have to talk about with… Jay,” she concedes, hesitating before speaking his name. She hates the way it still sounds familiar when it rolls off her tongue. Without waiting for a response for her mother, she goes up to her room, her german shepherd Rosie bounding behind her as she shuts the door.
She sinks down into her bed and Rosie jumps up with her. The shepherd rests her head on Claire’s lap, and she scratches the back of her dog’s ears. She can feel her brunette hair standing up as she pulls her ponytail out of its elastic. She doesn’t usually wear her hair down, but when she’s dressing up for something more formal, she has grown used to it being a necessity.
“If only you could go in my place. You tolerate him a lot better than I do,” she mutters as she gazes at her closet. She gets up, blue eyes scanning her options as she steps toward it. A balance between looking nice but not trying too hard. That’s what she’s going for, since she doesn’t want it to seem like she is too enthusiastic to be there. She ends up slipping into a silky purple skirt and floral white shirt, topped with her black leather jacket. (this for inspo minus the jacket) Not the fanciest piece of clothing, but it provides her with a sense of comfort that can’t be matched with anything else. Then she runs a brush through her hair as thoroughly as she can, attempting to smooth down as much of the static as she can. It does this frequently when she’s upset, and she takes a breath to calm herself. It’s just a dinner. As soon as it’s done, I can leave, she reassures herself.
Claire waits until the last second before she heads downstairs, each step slow in her flats. Her parents acknowledge her warmly, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes as she trails behind them. She fiddles with her amethyst necklace when the front door creaks open and the person she had spent so long avoiding appears before her. She avoids meeting the gaze of his dark eyes that she once considered mysterious and enchanting. She doesn’t make an effort to step in until after both her parents do, and she cringes at the display Jay puts on for them.
She tries to distract herself by focusing on the smell of his mother’s cooking. It was at an entirely different level from her parent’s, and she often found herself envious of it because its smell was strong enough to reach her house. As she enters his house, she passes Jay and says the only thing she can think of, “It’s been a while.” Her voice is barely audible as she speaks, and she goes over to his mother without waiting for his reply. She gives his mother a hug in greeting, then starts to sit at the Hussein’s table when she realizes the only open seat is next to Jay. She stops in her tracks. This had to have been set up, but there’s nothing she can do about it. She’ll be seen as rude as she doesn’t take the seat.
Sucking in a breath, she sits down, wishing at that moment she could turn invisible instead of her ability to manipulate electricity. She doesn’t take her black gloves off, as wearing them at all times is a necessity to keep her powers under control. She finds herself glancing at Jay, at a loss for words. Once, they had been so close they could talk for hours. But now, she’s tongue-tied.
As their parents begin chatting up a storm, the two of them are surrounded by a heavy silence. Claire isn’t sure how much longer she can take this. She should say something— anything to make the moment less awkward. She still suspects that this was planned, and the last thing she wants to do is disappoint her parents. “Your mom’s cooking smells amazing. You’re lucky you get to have a taste of it every day— I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to have something she’s made.” She smiles softly, but the motion is a struggle, not fully meeting her blue eyes.
She is talking to him.
No way is Claire Helena Prince willingly making pleasant small talk with him on the dinner table. Jay can not remember the last time they exchanged any kind of affable conversation with her. They are not even in the same homeroom class—and thank God for that, he sends a silent prayer up to heaven—and sit on opposite sides of the room in the occasional class they do share, so there is not much space for anything but the silent, scornful scoffs exchanged when they see each other approaching their adjacent lockers at the same time.
They have even made it a mutual point to outright ignore the other in debate when the designated club time is up, and their club advisory teacher has both opposing teams shake the other team members’ hands.
Under the table, his mother delivers a sharp kick to his shin with the pointy edge of her heel, and across from it, she merely smiles at him before returning to the conversation she is engaged in with the Princes.
He knew this was planned! She made him sit next to Claire on purpose!
On one hand, the thought is… slightly heartwarming. His mother remembers when he and Claire were as close as thieves—near inseparable. Jay remembers too: middle school was objectively not that long ago, even if it might seem so. She has brought this topic up a few times, asking him to make up with her, but the idea is rose-coloured in her mind because he never told her what really happened between them, and how futile any attempts he might make would be.
Not that he wants to make any in the first place; it was not even his fault.
So, Jay adorns a tight smile, mimicking the one Claire is wearing, and pivots his head towards her. “Thank you,” he says succinctly. His mother’s cooking truly is the best. “I can ask her to send you guys the recipes. I’m sure she won’t mind.” On the contrary, she would be flattered to know that Claire enjoyed the food enough to request. He can already see her typing away on her old, blocky laptop, wearing her thick, black glasses, to update her blog.
The morning-softened imagery has something notching inside his chest, and Jay thinks, I can do this. To make his mother happy. For one evening, I can do this.
So, he keeps his sights trained on her. It is not too difficult to do, since Claire is… She is not bad to look at, and she certainly knows how to dress for her physique. “Purple…,” Jay swallows thickly, and the viscous globule of spit seems to lodge itself into his throat.
All he wants to say is, Purple suits you. Why is giving girls compliments so hard? Why is giving Claire a compliment so hard? It almost feels like he is giving her the upperhand, or letting her win some mental dominance battle.
“So, Claire!” His mother intervenes, and Jay breathes out the weight of a thunderstorm breaking on the side of a rocky cliff, his body visibly sagging in relief. “A little birdy told me you’re running for student council president this year?” Her eyes sparkle with wine-washed mischief, “How exciting. Jay told me he’s running, too. Planning on putting him in his place again, are you?”
This is not the place to show attitude! Jay reminds himself, screaming internally. A forced, hoarse chuckle scratches inside his throat.
He and Claire have this academic history of running for the same positions in the student council every year. It is never pre-planned, so he does not understand how they have managed a four-year streak. Last year, they ran for vice president, and she won by the number of votes Jay can count on one hand. The year before that, they ran for the student body secretary, and Jay one; mostly because he had a favour on the Academic Decathlon team from when he substituted for a member of theirs who came down sick a week before their national competition.
So far, he and Clare are one-for-one. Freshman year does not count; he was voted class representative, and did not bother surveilling Claire’s activities, because he is not a toxic friend who keeps obsessive tabs on his ex-bff (yes, he is.)
This year will break their tie, and decide who comes out on top.
No way is Claire Helena Prince willingly making pleasant small talk with him on the dinner table. Jay can not remember the last time they exchanged any kind of affable conversation with her. They are not even in the same homeroom class—and thank God for that, he sends a silent prayer up to heaven—and sit on opposite sides of the room in the occasional class they do share, so there is not much space for anything but the silent, scornful scoffs exchanged when they see each other approaching their adjacent lockers at the same time.
They have even made it a mutual point to outright ignore the other in debate when the designated club time is up, and their club advisory teacher has both opposing teams shake the other team members’ hands.
Under the table, his mother delivers a sharp kick to his shin with the pointy edge of her heel, and across from it, she merely smiles at him before returning to the conversation she is engaged in with the Princes.
He knew this was planned! She made him sit next to Claire on purpose!
On one hand, the thought is… slightly heartwarming. His mother remembers when he and Claire were as close as thieves—near inseparable. Jay remembers too: middle school was objectively not that long ago, even if it might seem so. She has brought this topic up a few times, asking him to make up with her, but the idea is rose-coloured in her mind because he never told her what really happened between them, and how futile any attempts he might make would be.
Not that he wants to make any in the first place; it was not even his fault.
So, Jay adorns a tight smile, mimicking the one Claire is wearing, and pivots his head towards her. “Thank you,” he says succinctly. His mother’s cooking truly is the best. “I can ask her to send you guys the recipes. I’m sure she won’t mind.” On the contrary, she would be flattered to know that Claire enjoyed the food enough to request. He can already see her typing away on her old, blocky laptop, wearing her thick, black glasses, to update her blog.
The morning-softened imagery has something notching inside his chest, and Jay thinks, I can do this. To make his mother happy. For one evening, I can do this.
So, he keeps his sights trained on her. It is not too difficult to do, since Claire is… She is not bad to look at, and she certainly knows how to dress for her physique. “Purple…,” Jay swallows thickly, and the viscous globule of spit seems to lodge itself into his throat.
All he wants to say is, Purple suits you. Why is giving girls compliments so hard? Why is giving Claire a compliment so hard? It almost feels like he is giving her the upperhand, or letting her win some mental dominance battle.
“So, Claire!” His mother intervenes, and Jay breathes out the weight of a thunderstorm breaking on the side of a rocky cliff, his body visibly sagging in relief. “A little birdy told me you’re running for student council president this year?” Her eyes sparkle with wine-washed mischief, “How exciting. Jay told me he’s running, too. Planning on putting him in his place again, are you?”
This is not the place to show attitude! Jay reminds himself, screaming internally. A forced, hoarse chuckle scratches inside his throat.
He and Claire have this academic history of running for the same positions in the student council every year. It is never pre-planned, so he does not understand how they have managed a four-year streak. Last year, they ran for vice president, and she won by the number of votes Jay can count on one hand. The year before that, they ran for the student body secretary, and Jay one; mostly because he had a favour on the Academic Decathlon team from when he substituted for a member of theirs who came down sick a week before their national competition.
So far, he and Clare are one-for-one. Freshman year does not count; he was voted class representative, and did not bother surveilling Claire’s activities, because he is not a toxic friend who keeps obsessive tabs on his ex-bff (yes, he is.)
This year will break their tie, and decide who comes out on top.
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