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SHA’ARNEZ NATION ARE WE FUCKING ALIVE?!??

I JUST SCREAMED SO LOUD I WOKE EVERYONE IN MY HOUSE UP

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When writing toxic family dynamics

Toxic family stuff isn’t always screaming matches or broken plates. Sometimes it’s quiet control. The expectation to shrink, the pressure to be perfect, the guilt that rides shotgun. It’s complicated. And it’s deeply, deeply personal.

✧ Make the love real, but conditional.  One of the most damaging things about toxic family is the illusion of love. It’s not “I love you no matter what.” It’s “I love you when you obey.” Let your character notice that.

✧ Control shows up in micro ways... Who’s allowed to speak. Who’s allowed to feel. Who apologizes first, even when they’re not wrong. Control doesn’t need to be loud. Sometimes it’s a raised eyebrow or a guilt trip.

✧  Let them question reality. Toxic families are great at gaslighting. Your character might constantly wonder, Was it really that bad? Am I being dramatic? Let them doubt their own memories. That internal confusion is real.

✧ The guilt will be crushing. Leaving a toxic family doesn’t feel empowering at first. It feels selfish. It feels wrong. It feels like betrayal, even when it's survival. Show your character grieving the fantasy of the family they wish they had.

✧ Let them try to earn love. Your character might work their ass off trying to “be good,” hoping maybe this time they’ll be enough. Toxic families move the goalposts. Let that break them a little.

✧ Show emotional whiplash... One moment everything is warm and nostalgic. The next, it’s tense and full of landmines. That unpredictability is the dynamic. Use it.

✧ Don’t make the villain cartoonish. Even the abuser might think they’re doing what’s best. They might bake cookies and say “I’m just worried about you.” That’s what makes it so damaging. Write them like people, flawed, manipulative, real.

✧ Let your character unlearn in layers. Even after they leave, they still flinch. Still fold under pressure. Still crave approval. Recovery isn’t clean. But it’s worth it. And when they finally say no, even just once, let it be electric.

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Moral Dilemmas That Will Mess Up Your Character

» They witness a crime but helping the victim means exposing a secret that could ruin someone they love.

» They could save someone’s life… but only by hurting someone else.

» They’re offered everything they’ve ever wanted, by the worst person they know.

» They have to lie to protect someone, but the lie costs someone else dearly.

» They can bring justice, but only by breaking a promise.

» They’re given power, but to keep it, they have to become what they hate.

» They have the chance to take revenge, and it would be so easy. So satisfying.

» They’re the only one who knows the truth, but telling it would destroy someone’s faith.

» They could protect the many, by sacrificing the one. And the one matters to them.

» They promised not to get involved, but walking away would haunt them forever.

» They were wrong  and admitting it now will shatter their credibility.

» They’re asked to forgive, and they know the person doesn’t deserve it.

» They have to pick a side, but both sides are flawed. Both will cost them something.

» They want to help, but they’re not sure it’s their place.

» They said they’d never become their parent and now they’re staring in the mirror, wondering if they already have.

» They catch their friend doing something terrible, but they owe them everything.

» They can’t tell if they’re protecting someone, or controlling them.

» They get what they want, but someone else suffers for it.

» They promised to keep a secret, but now someone innocent is getting hurt.

» They fall in love and realize it compromises everything they believe in.

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ASTREA’S BROKEN HEART

this is a gift, it comes with a price who is the lamb and who is the knife?

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Emotional Walls Your Character Has Built (And What Might Finally Break Them)

(How your character defends their soft core and what could shatter it) Because protection becomes prison real fast.

✶ Sarcasm as armor. (Break it with someone who laughs gently, not mockingly.) ✶ Hyper-independence. (Break it with someone who shows up even when they’re told not to.) ✶ Stoicism. (Break it with a safe space to fall apart.) ✶ Flirting to avoid intimacy. (Break it with real vulnerability they didn’t see coming.) ✶ Ghosting everyone. (Break it with someone who won’t take silence as an answer.) ✶ Lying for convenience. (Break it with someone who sees through them but stays anyway.) ✶ Avoiding touch. (Break it with accidental, gentle contact that feels like home.) ✶ Oversharing meaningless things to hide real depth. (Break it with someone who asks the second question.) ✶ Overworking. (Break it with forced stillness and the terrifying sound of their own thoughts.) ✶ Pretending not to care. (Break it with a loss they can’t fake their way through.) ✶ Avoiding mirrors. (Break it with a quiet compliment that hits too hard.) ✶ Turning every conversation into a joke. (Break it with someone who doesn’t laugh.) ✶ Being everyone’s helper. (Break it when someone asks what they need, and waits for an answer.) ✶ Constantly saying “I’m fine.” (Break it when they finally scream that they’re not.) ✶ Running. Always running. (Break it with someone who doesn’t chase, but doesn’t leave, either.) ✶ Intellectualizing every feeling. (Break it with raw, messy emotion they can’t logic away.) ✶ Trying to be the strong one. (Break it when someone sees the weight they’re carrying, and offers to help.) ✶ Hiding behind success. (Break it when they succeed and still feel empty.) ✶ Avoiding conflict at all costs. (Break it when silence causes more pain than the truth.) ✶ Focusing on everyone else’s healing but their own. (Break it when they hit emotional burnout.)

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“Get a load of this guy” BITCH IM TRYINGGGGG

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Sha’arnez: Tiss is so annoying

Narialm: Like she’s actually unbearable most of the time

Sha’arnez: Whenever I want some peace and quiet she’s always just there

Ro’od Soldier: Yeah she’s worthless Esshai scum

Sha’arnez:

Narialm:

Sha’arnez: What the fuck did you just say?

Narialm: *growls*

Tai: lmfao you’re so dead

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I think Doomed Lovers is my new favourite trope 💔💔

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10 Soul-Level Secrets Your Character Is Carrying (And Hiding Like Their Life Depends on It)

These are the kind of secrets, that keep your character up at night. The kind that twist their decisions, poison their relationships, and build a wall between who they are and who they pretend to be.

» They think they ruined someone’s life, and no one knows.

It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t obvious. But maybe they said the wrong thing. Maybe they didn’t show up when it mattered. Maybe they walked away and something irreversible happened. No one connects the dots. But they do. Every day.

They smile like everything’s fine. They help people. But underneath? They’re trying to atone for something they never confessed.

» They don’t believe they’re capable of being truly loved.

They might flirt. They might date. They might even say “I love you” like it’s nothing. But they don’t believe it when it’s said back. They think people are just being kind. Or delusional. Or lying. It doesn’t matter how good they are—it never feels like enough. So they self-sabotage. Quietly. Strategically. Like clockwork.

» They’re living a life that’s not theirs.

Maybe they took someone’s spot, figuratively or literally. Maybe they’re fulfilling someone else’s dream, wearing someone else’s name, carrying someone else’s story. They were supposed to say no. Walk away. Be honest. But now it’s too late. Too deep. Too tangled. So they pretend this version of their life is real. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

» They’ve buried a part of their identity because it was safer.

Their queerness. Their culture. Their belief system. Their softness. Their rage. At some point, they decided—this part of me makes people leave. So they buried it. Cut it off. And now they move through life like a shadow of who they were supposed to be. They blend. They perform. But deep down, something sacred is starving.

» They still love the person they say they hate.

They’ll deny it. They’ll joke. They’ll talk sh*t with a smile. But the truth? They never really let go. And they never will. It’s in the way their voice shakes. The way they remember the smallest detail. The way they get weirdly quiet when that person’s name comes up. Love laced with bitterness is still love. That’s what makes it so hard.

» They’ve hurt someone on purpose—and never apologized.

It was calculated. Or maybe impulsive. But they knew what they were doing. And they did it anyway. Now they pretend it didn’t matter. They laugh it off. “We all make mistakes,” right? But in the quiet moments, it haunts them. They remember the look in that person’s eyes. They remember the moment they chose cruelty. And they hate themselves for it.

» They think they’re a bad person deep down.

They might be kind. Loyal. Brave. But they’re convinced it’s a performance. A mask. That underneath all the good, they’re something rotten. Unforgivable. Wrong. So they wait. For the slip-up. For the fallout. For someone to finally say it out loud: “I knew you were never really good.”

» They’re still shaped by something they pretend didn’t happen.

That thing? The trauma? The grief? The shame? They’ve never talked about it. Maybe they’ve blocked it out. Maybe they minimize it. But it’s everywhere—in the way they react to conflict, touch, silence, love. They don’t think it matters anymore. But it does. It always has.

» They dream of leaving. But never will.

Every day, they imagine packing a bag. Burning it all down. Starting over. But they stay. Because of guilt. Obligation. Fear. They smile while doing the right thing. But in the back of their mind, they’re screaming. They’ve built a prison out of choices that looked noble on paper.

» They’ve built a whole personality around keeping people from seeing who they really are.

The loud one. The chill one. The one who always makes the plans or always fixes the mess or always has a snarky comeback. It’s not fake. But it’s not all there is. They’ve decided that the real them? The soft, scared, selfish, angry, insecure them? Can’t be loved. So they keep the performance airtight. But some part of them still hopes someone will see through it anyway.

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Dark Romance Prompts #2

↠ The Daughter of His Enemy (Who He Shouldn’t Want). She’s the one person he should hate. The daughter of the man who ruined his life, the girl raised in privilege while he grew up in war. Taking her was supposed to be revenge. Keeping her was supposed to be cruelty. But now she’s unraveling everything he thought he knew about himself. And now, he doesn’t think he cares.

↠  The Bodyguard Who’s Not as Good as He Pretends to Be. She hired him to protect her, but if she knew the truth about him, she’d run. He’s not just there to guard her, he’s there to watch her, study her, learn everything about her until she trusts him enough to never see the knife coming. But the closer he gets, the harder it is to remember why he started this in the first place. Because she’s looking at him like he’s good. And maybe, for her, he could be.

↠  The Priest Who Wants Her (But Shouldn’t). She came to him looking for salvation. He’s the one person who should guide her away from sin, not into it. But some desires don’t fade, and when she confesses the things she really wants, his restraint snaps. Now, neither of them is innocent. And in the quiet, candlelit darkness of the church, he whispers the one thing that seals her fate: "God isn’t the one who’s listening right now.“

↠  The Serial Killer Who Leaves Clues Just for Her. She’s a profiler, trained to hunt monsters. He’s the ghost that no one can catch, except he’s been watching her. Leaving messages, signs, gifts wrapped in blood and obsession. At first, she thinks it’s a game. A way to taunt her. But the deeper she falls into his web, the more she starts to wonder if it’s something worse. Something sick. Something she doesn’t want to stop.

↠  The Cursed Prince Who Can Only Be Saved by Her... At a Cost. The legends say the monster in the castle is doomed to die, cursed by his own sins. No one has ever survived meeting him. But when she’s dragged before him, something strange happens—he lets her live. Now, she’s trapped in his domain, and every time she tries to leave, the shadows close in. He doesn’t want her. Not really. But there’s something in his eyes when he looks at her. Something broken. And she has no idea if she’s here to heal him… or be destroyed by him.

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Spicy Dialogue Starters Pack

Slow Burn That’s About to Explode

"If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret."

"Say that again. Slower."

"You really like testing my patience, don’t you?"

"Back up. Closer. I want to see if you’ll actually do it."

"Do you realize how loud you were moaning my name last night?"

"You should probably stop touching me like that... unless you plan on finishing what you started."

"We’re not doing this here." – "Why not? Scared you’ll like it?"

"I dare you. No, seriously—I dare you."

"One bed. One night. You sure you can behave?"

"You think I won’t?" – "I know you will. That’s the problem."

Enemies to Lovers, but We’re Both Hot and Unhinged

"If I kiss you, it’s not because I like you. It’s because you won’t shut up."

"Do it. Touch me like you hate me."

"You’re infuriating." – "And you’re turned on."

"Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous."

"Admit it. You like it when we fight."

"You want me. You just don’t want to want me."

"If you’re going to stare, you might as well do something about it."

"Say it. Say you want me." – "Why? You’ll just use it against me."

"Keep talking like that and I’ll kiss you right here."

"Don’t tempt me." – "What if I want to?"

Post-Tension Intimacy (A.K.A. We Finally Snapped)

"You're shaking." – "So are you."

"This doesn’t mean anything." – "Then why are you holding me like that?"

"I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you."

"You're not getting any sleep tonight, just so you know."

"You're mine now. Say it."

"God, you feel so good." – "Yeah? Then shut up and keep going."

"You can hate me in the morning. Just… let me have this tonight."

"Is this what you wanted?" – "No. I wanted more."

"Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop."

"I’m going to ruin you. And you’re going to thank me for it."

Teasing Touch, Dangerous Proximity

"You’re blushing." – "Shut up."

"That shirt’s doing you no favors. Take it off."

"If you wanted me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so."

"I like the way you say my name. Say it again."

"You’re standing really close." – "Yeah? You gonna move?"

"I can feel your heartbeat. Is that for me?"

"Your hands are shaking... here, let me help you."

"Careful. Someone might think you actually want me."

"You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?"

"We’re not supposed to do this." – "Since when has that ever stopped us?"

Voice Low, Words Barely Whispers

"Keep your voice down. Or don’t. Let them hear."

"Every time you talk, all I can think about is your mouth on mine."

"Say the word, and I’ll have you against that wall in five seconds."

"What do you think happens if I kiss you right now?"

"You smell like trouble." – "You taste like it."

"Look me in the eyes when you lie like that."

"One more step and I won’t be able to hold back."

"If you keep teasing me like that, I’m going to ruin you."

"Tell me to stop." – silence – "Didn’t think so."

"We’re alone now. You still pretending this is just tension?"

Hot-Headed, Argument-Laced, About to Snap

"Why do you always have to push my buttons?" – "Because I love watching you lose control."

"You think you’re in control here? That’s cute."

"You're not walking away from me. Not this time."

"God, you're impossible." – "You didn’t seem to mind last night."

"Say it louder. Maybe if you scream my name again, I’ll believe you."

"Keep pretending you don’t want me. I’ll keep proving you wrong."

"You're dangerous." – "Only if you ask nicely."

"Is this still an argument or are we just flirting with knives now?"

"Admit it. You love it when I get like this."

"Don’t act like you don’t want this too."

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FUCK THE SHADOW BAN THIS WONT SHOW UP IN TAGS IF U SEE THIS IT WAS MEANT FOR YOU

yk what HELL YEAH WELCOME BACK Malbonte and Vicky’s son

I need Malvicky as parents in HS 3 SO BAD

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Write Believable Intelligent Characters

╰ Let their intelligence show in how they notice things

Smart people aren’t always the ones talking, they’re the ones observing the tiny detail that everyone else misses. They connect dots faster. They clock micro-expressions. They’re already ten moves ahead while everyone’s still arguing about step one.

╰ Don’t make them know everything

The smartest characters have gaps. A genius hacker who can’t do small talk. A professor who’s never seen Shrek. An expert in ancient languages who has zero street smarts. Give them blind spots, and suddenly they feel real—not robotic.

╰ Let their intelligence shape how they argue

A clever character doesn’t always win by yelling louder. Sometimes they cut deep with one sentence. Sometimes they bait someone into proving their point for them. Or smile while delivering verbal chess moves that leave everyone stunned two scenes later.

╰ Smart doesn’t mean wordy

Sometimes the smartest thing your character can say is nothing. Sometimes it’s “Huh.” Or one line that lands like a hammer. Intelligence isn’t just about complexity, it’s about clarity. Bonus points if they say the thing everyone else was dancing around.

╰ Show them solving problems, not just explaining them

Whether it’s picking a lock or defusing a political standoff, let them act. Watching them think on their feet, adapt, and surprise people is way more compelling than giving them long-winded monologues about the history of poison.

╰ Let them struggle with being misunderstood

A smart character might say something that’s totally logical but lands like a slap. Or they assume people see the obvious when they don’t. Intelligence can be isolating. That tension makes them human.

╰ Don’t make them the author’s mouthpiece

If your “smart” character exists to deliver the moral of the story, they’ll feel like a soapbox in a trench coat. Let them be flawed, biased, wrong sometimes. Let them learn. Otherwise, they stop being a character and start being an essay in disguise.

╰ Make their intelligence emotional, too

Book smart is one thing. Emotional intelligence hits differently. Maybe they’re intuitive. Maybe they know how to read a room. Maybe they see through someone’s bravado in five seconds flat. Brains plus empathy? Lethal combo.

╰ Smart doesn’t mean nice

Intelligence can be cruel. Calculated. Detached. Don’t be afraid to let your clever character weaponize their smarts if that’s who they are. Sometimes the coldest characters are the ones who know exactly how to hurt you—and choose not to. Or do.

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📇 Answers from the chat with Anastasia — the scriptwriter of the visual novel "Garden of Eden"

🔴 The finale of "GoE" will be released in July.

🔴 A cinematic scene is planned for the final episode.

🔴 Anastasia is unsure about her next story. It’s unknown whether it will come out this year or next.

🔴 Donghyun and Madam Park will not appear in the character profiles.

🔴 Friendship level with characters will significantly affect the ending.

🔴 With Dooyeong, we’ll have “several” endings.

🔴 The emoji Anastasia used to describe the finale: 🔪

🔴 Castiel’s feelings for Luna haven’t disappeared, but if you don’t choose his route, he has accepted that they won’t be together.

🔴 When asked about the possible death of love interests in the finale, Anastasia responded with this emoji: 🚬

🔴 Emoji spoiler for the next update of "GoE": 😳🥴🪮🚧📑🤨🤨

🔴 Principles and Ambitions stats do not influence the ending with the love interest.

🔴 The only hidden stat is your relationship with Donghyun.

🔴 Advice Anastasia would give to Jiyoon if she were nearby as a writer: "I envy your courage and your pursuit of justice. But if you're alone,  it’s better not to get involved in all this."

🔴 Writing each character was challenging in its own way.

🔴 There’s no character in the story that is completely like Anastasia in personality.

🔴 When asked about a scene where fans find out about your relationship with the favorite, Anastasia replied :)))

🔴 There might be cutscenes with Donghyun and Madam Park.

🔴 Regarding intimacy with Donghyun, Anastasia is unsure and doesn’t recommend expecting it. There are several reasons (not only his asexuality, but also Jiyoon’s suspicions of his involvement in Seoyoon’s murder). However, there will be other important scenes with him. Not all feelings can be controlled.

🔴 In the finale, you won’t be able to change your love interest — not even to a previous one — if you chose Minhyuk.

🔴 Your relationship with your LI will affect the ending.

🔴 A question about a possible fling with Miyeon’s manager got this reaction: 😂😂😂 “Sorry, you’ll understand in May why I reacted that way…”

🔴 Minhyuk’s father will appear in the story.

🔴 Anastasia didn’t expect Donghyun to become so beloved: both by readers and by herself.

Source: Telegram

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«The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury.»

🎶 — Summary: Jaynie just wanted to enjoy the party, not play bartender in heels. Between dodging partygoers, exchanging jokes with Tristan, and dealing with James’ last-minute crisis management, the night takes a turn when Avery shows up, looking unfairly good. Jaynie's heart stutters, her breath hitches, and suddenly, serving drinks isn’t the most dangerous thing happening tonight.

📜— Word count: 5030.

Jaynie hadn’t thought she would resort back to needing her waitress skills so quickly. With the budget given to her by the school administration and the sum she’d saved up over the summer (thanks to the jobs she’d taken), she had hoped for a rest — a well deserved rest if she may so add! But here she stood now, balancing drinks on plates, sweat descending a trail on her face till it reached the edge of her chin, all while trying not to stumble across the barricades of tables in the living room. In a ballgown. Surrounded by drunk and sweaty college students. Could it get any more ridiculous?

When Logan had asked for her help, she didn’t think she’d be chained to work instead of hanging out with Lilian all night like they had organized. Not even in her designed fantasies could she get away from their mess! The guys had planned yet another party — the last one’s remains still lingered in a corner somewhere in the kitchen —and the theme was ‘ballroom ballads and artists’ — whatever that meant. She had spent the day sitting on Lilian’s bed, going through the latter’s closet to pick the perfect gown to adorn her body. With such short notice, she had started to panic — but that was the advantage of knowing her, Lilian had said! Jaynie had chuckled, watching her talk about what kind of colour palette looked the best on her and where to get sustainable materials for dresses (turns out, the fibres of pineapple leaves could be used to make piñatex! Lilian took her hand and pulled her straight down the rabbit hole of this topic), while also offering her a crash course in sewing. Where Tristan – at times – was duplicitous and cunning, Lilian’s movements spoke of her idolatry for fashion with her fountain-like love for life itself — unbounded and free flowing. If the older was the cloud, picking when and how to spawn, she was the sunlight that filtered through every gap. And where Jaynie held her cards tight to her chest, Lillian’s laid open for her to see; a museum of sorts. 

Two hours later, and many, many outfit changes later, she’d been ready for the storm (aka — the party, as Lillian jokingly called it because of its quick unnoticed arrival). As they walked over to the Rosewood House, the light of the moon was entrapped, rotated and mirrored by the jewels on her neck. She felt powerful. Her vanilla-like ballgown perfectly matched the light yellow diamonds, drawing attention to her chest, where a sweetheart neckline revealed just enough to draw the matches of desire. In short, she looked beautiful, titillating, and she loved it. She made a quick mental note to thank Lillian again after the party, as they would probably lose sight of each other in the sea of people. When they entered, they were immediately met with the fog, courtesy of the machine bought by Jasper. Logan had once again been tasked with the role of bodyguard, and so he stood there, smiling as usual. He had complimented both of the girls’ gowns, admiring the trail of flowers on Jaynie’s gown and the way Lillian’s sparkled when she twirled. Jaynie had thanked him and taken Lillian’s hands so as to not lose each other, and with a laugh, Lillian had called her ‘captain’. She’d rolled her eyes, smiling as she pushed through bodies of people. Seriously, how could so many come with such short notice? If she didn’t live here, she probably wouldn’t have heard about it till it was too late to start panicking about the dress code. Having mastered the art of dancing around drunk custom people (she silently thanked her experience as a waitress, never thinking her old off-putting workplace could ever be breathed in the same air as a compliment — she would have to tell Ray later about this miracle) her and Lillian had reserved a place in the corner for themselves. After they’d finished talking about their days, groaning about how they’d both underestimated biology class, Jaynie had gotten a few texts from Logan.

Logan: Jaynie!!!

Logan: Are you still here??

Jaynie: Yes.

Jaynie: Why?

Logan: Oh thank God!! I need your help

Jaynie: ?

Logan: Kaeo is sick and we are a few hands short…

Logan: I need to stay here to watch who enters, and Grant is still sick from the flu

Logan: James is stressed out, saying this will ruin his reputation and Jasper….you know how he is

Jaynie: Too high to care?

Logan: Yup

Logan: Tristan is already on duty :(

She had sighed, only then noticing that Kaeo, the new girl that was hired, wasn’t there. Her eyes had scanned their way through the crowd till they met the tall — unmistakable even in his tuxedo — figure of Logan typing nervously on his phone. Another ping later, followed by praying emojis, and she had accepted to help him. She could never say no to Logan, and perhaps that was a problem of its own she had to untangle later. 

Now though, she was balancing seven drinks on two plated, all while walking through the crowd. In heels. If this wasn’t a cassandran sign telling her this had been a bad idea, then she didn’t know what it was. But alas, trojan spirit must have resided in her, for she simply ignored the discomfort hatching on her ankles and kept walking, complaining all the while to Tristan, who too was upset that his plans had been changed so abruptly. When asked, though, he glanced away for a second, as if fearing his face might give away the answer. Mh, interesting, she thought with a smirk. She didn’t know whether it was the reflections of the party light, but she could’ve sworn sweet dahlias had bloomed on his face, pink contrasting the pale skin. He quickly remarked, ‘I was upstairs, with Grant. His flu has gotten worse, he’s already thrown up twice, and I was watching over him’, and then rolled his eyes, ‘that was until James came knocking on his door, telling me to help him out. He almost woke up Grant’. She let out a theatrical gasp, ‘James? Our James? Asking for help? What a scandal!’. Tristan laughed, icy eyes melting into snowflakes as he shook his head, ‘You should’ve seen him. You’d think the president would’ve been at our doorstep by how angry he was’. Jaynie laughed, offering another drink to a student; Eliya, who was part of her biology class. ‘If the president were to enter that door right now, would you help me throw these drinks at him?’, she asked, while handing him a plate, and he nodded solemnly, as if vowing at an altar. ‘If the president were anywhere near me, would you?’, he threw the question back, to which Jaynie mirrored his face, causing a laughter to be evicted from his lips, ‘I do not look like that!’, ‘yes — yes you do and yes I would’.

Before he could reply, she felt warm hands covering her eyes, and a deep voice behind her, ‘Guess who?’. Long fingers moved across her eyes, tickling her eyelashes and in between chuckles she declared, ‘oh, it’s obviously my favourite golf player; Jack Nicklaus’. She could hear him scoff behind her, and soon she regained her eyesight. ‘You know, I can’t even be mad; Nicklaus is a badass, so I’ll take it as a compliment.’ She laughed as Avery’s figure finally was revealed to her and …Oh. His curls were tussled, as if the wind itself had decided to come down and stroke it, giving him that boyish look she rarely saw. A tight, beige coloured vest fit onto his body like it was made for him, and the trail of flowers that started from the hem trailing up his chest till it reached the collar gave a sneak peek of the body beneath it, and her breath hitched. God, that body. She knew he was athletic, a trophy from his professional golf days, but she would be committing perjury in the trial of her own mind if she said she hadn’t spent nights imagining what laid beneath it, what could lay beneath her. Tristan noticed her look, flushed cheeks matching the pink of her lips, and smirked, taking enjoyment in the knowing look Jaynie shot him. ‘Tristan, are you alright?’, she asked, suddenly grabbing his arm, ‘You look kinda pale…perhaps Grant has infected you!’. At that, Avery took a step back, holding up his hands, as if excusing himself from Tristan’s presence. Tristan looked at her for a second and then nodded, ‘Yes. I’m feeling sick. But the party and James…’. Avery watched the two conversing, and then said, ‘If this is about the catering situation, I can step in. I need to move anyway.’ Not needing more information, Tristan turned around, facing only Jaynie, who smiled at him, ‘Go take care of….yourself. I know you want to’. With a nod and grateful smile, Tristan walked past her, till he disappeared behind the crowd, as if the darkness had swallowed him. Huh, that was interesting, she would have to interrogate Grant when he felt better, she thought with a smile as she looked back at Avery, who now stood closer to her.

‘So, who got you?’, he asked, walking with her down the room, stopping occasionally to smile at people. She hadn’t noticed how popular he was, although, could one really count polite smiles as fully fleshed bonds? Perhaps not, or perhaps she told that to herself because of the small green creature growing in her chest when he saw him stop to talk to some cheerleaders. ‘Who roped me into this cult? It was Logan’, she answered, smiling as she watched Lillian and Chloe (in a costume, as usual) in a corner. Ever since she’d accidentally introduced them, they’d been hitting it off. It was Avery’s chuckle that brought back her attention onto him, and he’d been studying her expression. ‘And here I thought the first step of the cult was entering this house. Turns out it’s working’. She smirked at him, replying with ‘Working being propaganda for cults? Now this is finally getting interesting!’. 

They were so engrossed in their banter that she hadn’t noticed a guy coming closer, till his elbow hit her stomach and Kentucky bourbon decided to have a vacation on her bodice. ‘Hey! Look at where you’re going’, Avery said, stepping in front of Jaynie, staring down at the guy, who now looked afraid — or well, as afraid a drunk man could look. He slurred some words, talking about how the sun was vanishing from the world and he couldn’t see anything. Ah, strike two — the man was high too. Jaynie sighed, shaking her head at Avery, resentment filling her lungs as she imagined how pricey his drunk mistake was. She’d borrowed this from Lillian, who in return had stitched this together with her stylist, so she felt guilty. Avery, on the other hand, didn’t let it go, and stopped the guy from walking off. The not so sane part of her mind, the one not preoccupied with the dress, took the chance to glance at his broad shoulders, the fuzzy hair at his nape and the way that vest only showed off his back muscles, as if she wasn’t being tortured enough tonight. ‘Thomas, was it? You owe the lady an apology’; the sentence in itself was calm and if one hadn’t seen the way his eyes squinted and how he crossed his arms, standing unwavering, perhaps even too polite. Thomas shook the drink in his hand, raised it up and declared loudly, ‘To Lady Jaynie! I herebbby apologiizzze to youuuu’. His words were slurred and dragged, but that would be the best they’d get from him tonight. Thankfully, the noise of the party was enough to suppress his sudden burst and Avery glanced back at Jaynie, who smiled at him and nodded. His shoulders relaxed, and he told the man to go away, which he gladly did. Thomas’s back bid them farewell and then, it was just them again.

‘You didn’t need to interrogate him’, she said, a smirk growing on her face as she watched the annoyance dissipate from his eyes, being replaced by something else, something she couldn’t name, something that made her pulse quicken. He leaned in closer, ‘I know. I know you’re capable of standing up for yourself. I was there when you first entered this house, after all. That doesn’t mean I won’t allow some intoxicated tippler to just trip all over you and think he can blame it away on his inebriation. I despise such people.’ She nodded, watching how his face relaxed now that she stood closer to him, as if the mere presence grew lavender on the knots of his chest. Wishful thinking, she reprimanded herself. He noticed the stain on her bodice, and she felt her cheeks flush at the gaze. It wasn’t sexual, nor was it imposing, he simply assessed the ‘damage’ left behind. She could almost see the neurons in his mind running to find a solution. She liked that about Avery; he was solution oriented, even if the solution was ethically questionable. Perhaps that’s what had attracted her to him in the first place. Spymasters’ webs bound them together. ‘Come on, I know how to remove stains’, he laid down the plates on a near-by table, took out his phone and sent a quick few texts. ‘But James and the party–’, she argued before he interrupted her, ‘Yes. That’s why I asked someone else to come here’. She smirked, putting down the drinks and the plates, relief slipping from her lips as her shoulders finally felt lighter. ‘You really do think of everything, don’t you?’, she teased, watching him look over the crowd, probably searching for his back-up plan. ‘Mh’, he hummed, and then he looked back at her, ‘Let’s go?’, he asked, to which she nodded. Together, they made their way through to the kitchen, judging the dresses worn by others, and once the brown walls of the scullery greeted them, he took a bar of soap and a bottle of Dawn Soap. ‘So…We could do this two different ways; we can try the normal traditional route’, he pointed at the dish soap, ‘or we can try a bar of Fels Naptha. I’ve read somewhere online that it goes well for erasing stains’. Jaynie pondered for a second, admiring how his hands held both things, imagining how it would feel to be touched by him, to have the tip of his fingers explore the valleys of her body. He’d surely take his time and …. She noticed his curious look and snapped herself out of these thoughts. Seriously, what was up with her? He was just a man. A really, really infuriatingly good-looking one. She pointed at the dish soap, ‘We don’t have the luxury of risking’. A fleeting smirk appeared on Avery’s face and he nodded. A part of him was feeling a déjà vu, transported back to the conversation they’d had weeks ago about not fitting into the precious, luxurious society of this college. He swept the thoughts away, took a bowl and filled it with water. He pointed to the door and soon, they were back into the living room.

She could’ve sworn that more people had joined since they’d first left. Walking through the crowd turned out to be a challenge, and soon, she was pushed straight into Avery’s chest, as he had turned around to check on her. Oh. They were close, too close. She shivered, instantly responding to the newfound proximity of his body’s warmth. From here, Avery could watch every eyelash on her eyes – how they rose quickly, and laid to rest softly; the way a petal would open itself for spring. His perfume was intoxicating, cologne wrapping itself around her as he wrapped his hand around her. ‘Come on, it’s easier this way’, he argued, stepping closer to her ear so she could hear him better. He was closer, so much closer. She could feel his breath on her neck, and when he looked at her, awaiting an answer, he was almost at eye level with her chest. His breath, on her neck, her chest; his hands around her own, his eyes searching something in her own. This was a bad idea, a really, really bad idea. But she nodded, bereft of words. She held his hand as he led her through the crowd, fingers fitting into the gaps of her own perfectly, and then up the stairs, till they arrived in the hallway. He hesitated for a moment, and she pointed at her own room, teasing him with a smirk, ‘Do I need to invite you in, vampire dearest?’, which stole a laugh from him. She felt the waves of it hit her, warming her chest; what an aliferous feeling a simple sound could give her. ‘How did you know?’, he asked as she opened the door, leading him in. 

He took in her room, carefully observing the walls, the decorations, taking a closer look at the posters on the wall and the photos printed out in a collage, depicting her, Tristan’s sister and Simon hanging around; sometimes on the floor, some in the kitchen. ‘Me, Simon and Lillian made those! We scrapped and glued everything together’, Jaynie exclaimed, smiling softly at the memory. Avery almost thought the memory somehow turned into a needle and injected happiness straight into her body by the way she was smiling; so warmly, so freely, in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. Something tugged at his chest, something rising, faster and faster. He wondered how she’d felt that day, what had led her to seek Simon of all brothers. Where had he been? Why had she not texted him? But he bit back the words and sat on the bed, patting the space next to him. The scene was quite funny to Jaynie, it reminded her of when Ray had bought a new mattress and grunted like a father and patted it to test it out. ‘Is there anything else you need?’, she asked, to which he replied that he needed a clean towel. She nodded, walking over to the bathroom. In there, she took a quick glance at herself, asserting how she looked. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her hair had gotten frizzy, but she still looked beautiful. If there was one thing she was confident in, it was her beauty. Jaynie was a fountain of allure, her every line a masterstroke only comparable to the beauty depicted by artists. So she reapplied her makeup, bubblegum pink replacing the fading stains, and she told herself to stop worrying. Or perhaps worrying was the wrong word; it was like standing in a pool of water but not being allowed to drink it. That was how being so close to Avery felt. 

It wasn’t easier for him either. The man left behind let out a sigh as he wondered just how the hell he had gotten himself in this situation. He was in her room, on her bed, surrounded by her things, her smell, her pillow dented still remembering her figure and her black glasses on a stack of books on the drawer. If he closed his eyes, squinted enough, he could almost sense her, watch her life progress in front of his eyes; from the trails of night to the waves of the morning. The wind escaped from the garden into the room, and wrapped its cold around his, and for a second it felt like her. He shouldn’t be here, he really shouldn’t. But there were so many things he should and shouldn’t be doing; couldn’t he be Eve for one night? Before he could let his inner monologue erode his mind, she stepped out of the bathroom, cloth in hand. Her lips shone brighter, he noticed. She sat next to him, handing it to him. He nodded, dropping some of the soap into the water, and then onto the towel. He raised the cloth till he realized what he was supposed to do next. 

Dab at the stain. 

Dab at Jaynie. 

Dab at Jaynie’s bodice. 

Dab at her chest. 

Oh.

Oh.

He saw the realization bloom in Jaynie’s eyes too, cheeks flushed and eyes darting back and forth on his own face, as if seeking an answer. Almost daringly, she sat upright, and asked, ‘So? Have you forgotten what to do, Marks?’. He looked at her, analysing her face, as if the flutter of her eyelashes and the way her lips parted could somehow make him unscramble his brain and finds words. What to do… Yes. Avery remembered. Of course, he did. Dab the dress, take different corners, do it again. Yes, it was easy. This should be easy. ‘I’ve never failed a chemistry class before, nor have I never lost against a stain before. I know what to do, Monroe.’, he remarked, watching as her smirk grew wider, like the fire in his own chest. Dull it, erase it, he told himself. But what was he meant to do when she stood so close, so dangerously close? So he raised the cloth, and hesitantly, reached for her dress. He started with the lower stains, and cursed himself. He could’ve just asked her to take the dress off, and then explained what to do. He could’ve left, could’ve gone down and forgotten this. Pretended nothing had been ignited in his chest, pretended that the words locked inside the vault of his mouth hand’t been dangerously close to being spoken. What could have possibly warranted this? His own selfish desires — of course he knew that. Before he could mess up, he started explaining the chemistry behind it to her, ‘Dawn contains surfactants that help break down oils and grease, making it pretty effective for stain removal. Surfactants work by reducing the surface tension of water, allowing it to more effectively dissolve and lift substances like oils or dirt.’ He expected her to be weirded out, to ask him what the hell he meant, but she simply nodded, looking down at him. ‘That makes sense’, at which he nodded. His hands graced the dress over her abdominal area, and she shivered, the contact being too much, not enough. She unconsciously pressed against him, the friction not enough. God, this was so wrong. So, so wrong. She was supposed to be down, lost in a crowd, till Lillian found her and got drunk with her. Not whatever this was. But just the thought of it pulled at the strings of her mind, cursing her. So she watched him continue, hands shaking as the cloth trailed up the flowers, inching closer and closer.

‘Do you know what these are?’, he asked, words coming out strained, almost breathless. Jaynie nodded, ‘Well, you clearly recognize the red roses, and these,’ she said, while pointing somewhere in the middle of her abdomen, ‘these are red baby breath, and those…higher are pink peonies’. He nodded, carefully looking at each of the flowers, as if missing even a simple petal could ruin something. The way he was studying her, like a treasure unveiled by sand, only made her want this to stop, want him to do more. He folded the towel over, using a fresh corner, and raised it again. It was a constant pull and push that they were playing, the arsonist and the douse, the king making his steps and the queen with the power to change the course of the game. When his hand reached the bodice’s upper hem, fingers slightly grazing the area near her chest, she let out a soft moan, unconsciously. It wasn’t until she noticed the look in his eyes that she’d realized she hadn’t been quiet enough. Her face felt on fire, gasoline poured on her eyes and swimming in her lips, unable to move. He parted his lips, ready to speak, but before he could say anything, she leaned in closer, till the only thing separating them was his arm, still resting on her bodice. ‘Jaynie… what are we doing here?’, he whispered, breathlessly, eyes dropping from her own to her lips, and lower. ‘God, I have no idea’, she breathed softly, so close he could feel it on his lips. Brown eyes, dripping honey, golden rays; the trap was laid.

One.

Two.

Three.

And the dam broke.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, and his hand, god his hand, squeezed her closer, inching higher and higher, till it found its desired objective. He squeezed her breast, soliciting a sweet moan out of her, and with the other hand he pulled her closer and closer, till she now saw on top of him, legs at each side of his waist. Still straddling him, she kissed him back, stronger, harder, as if this was the last kiss she was allowed to have on this earth, as if she could never taste heaven again until her death. She’d gladly kill for this taste. It wasn’t her first kiss, but it was the first to ever make her feel so much. He was an artist, and her body his canvas. He kissed her as if he knew the blueprints of her desire, as if he had studied for months, a mastermind of her life. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation of him. His toned body fit perfectly against her softer one, and she cursed herself for not doing this earlier. God, it felt so good. He brought his hand up to touch the hair at the nape of her neck, caressing it, just to then drop it again, lower, and slower, like a snake discovering the body of its prey. He was reading her lines, the moles on her cheek, the secrets behind her neck, the salvation on her lips. The altar of her body, he had discovered, was a religion he could stand behind. There was divinity in her taste, enough to undo him.

He held her tighter, as if she could disappear if he didn’t, as if this was a mirage of water and he, a parched soul. His fingers dipped into her waist, thumbs moving up and down, rotating in treacherous temptation. His mouth caressed her collarbone, leaving fleeting kisses causing her to giggle, interrupted when he bit her neck. God, her moans, he thought, how could one hear them and don’t want them as morning alarm? His hands travelled lower down her spine, cupping her into him, and she dragged her fingers across his neck, his collarbone, watching him shiver beneath him. Checkmate, she thought with a smirk, as her lips dropped lower, already feeling the absence of his, kissing his neck. He moaned softly, leaning further back, allowing her easier access. Pink petals stained his neck, and she whispered, ‘Now you have a necklace of your own’. He laughed, grabbing her again by the waist, hands still exploring her body.

Her soft legs against his drove him insane, her hips moving against his, as if daring, bidding. She pushed him on his back onto the bed, one hand on the back of his head, as if her mattress could somehow hurt her. He let out a breathless chuckle, eyes widened slightly in surprise, admiring how she stood over him, how her lips were smeared, an artifact of his kisses. Gathering himself on his elbows he watched her come closer, and closer, her lips finding his again, the stain on the dress long forgotten, the cloth abandoned on the floor. He played with them of her skirt, barely holding back as his fingers circled her nipples, squeezing ever so slightly, watching her arch in pleasure, coming even closer, as if wanting to melt their bodies together. There, he thought with a smile as another sigh left her lips. He loved watching how she reacted to him, finding the map of her body and discovering her likes and dislikes, finding the tassels that made her slump into him. His hand found its way behind her neck again, pulling her in for another kiss. He couldn’t have enough of her taste. Fuck, how could he ever have her now and never again? ‘God’, he moaned as she tormented his neck with more kisses, sucking till she couldn’t tell if the pink marks were hickeys blooming or stains of her lips. ‘Are you praying to me, Avery?’, she teased, and he simply nodded, unable to think properly. How cute, she thought, before leaning back to look at him. His hair was tousled, locks falling freely onto his front head, the way pleas fell from his lips. Once the flames of desire had been stoked, she didn’t know how she could ever stop them. She remembered the theme of the party — ballroom ballads and artists, and the way he looked now, lips apart, hands digging into her waist, glitter from her lip gloss on his chest, a necklace of pink and purple petals on his neck, she thought she had truly nailed it. He was her canvas, just as much as she was his. 

She leaned in again, but a loud noise stopped them, freezing them in their tracks. Avery took the opportunity to study her face, her gaze, her smile. She looked gorgeous; even with her hair messily standing on her shoulders, half of her lipstick gone, and the dress too wrinkled by their actions, she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Had he been a sculptor, he’d have made her immortal. 

Somewhere outside, in the alleyway, Jaynie could hear James’ voice, loud as usual, demanding Tristan to tell him where they’d gone. Jaynie looked down at Avery and chuckled, falling softly against his chest. He held her closer, smiling to himself. ‘Capitalism wants its workers back’, she whispered against his chest, stealing another kiss from him. He ran his hands through her hair, fingers playing with her locks, and he nodded. ‘We don’t have the luxury of risking’, he muttered against her shoulder, leaving one last kiss.

Perhaps risking wasn’t so bad after all.

[0shewrites0]

Mikael 💋

Source: pinterest

[0shewrites0]