#I color coded them cos it looked far too messy and cos I need to know the severity of the scarring to decide how to color them

[imintobones]

Dropping my UT scar ref on this wonderful summer day. The ones on his arms, and above bust are based on his actual scars that we've seen so far, and the rest are purely hc.

[yourfangirlfriend]

Wiring Issues

Multi-chapter

Rating: E! After chapter three

Chapter One

You’re a mechanic, not a therapist. Or a priest. Or whomever their creed confides in.

Besides, you like to work in silence. Sometimes there are electrical pops or malfunctioning gears that would be otherwise drowned out by music or small talk.

People talk too much anyway. Not comfortable in their own heads. They’re not a slick as they think they are when they try to fill the air with talk talk talk to drown out their own anxiety. Noise, it what that is.

But now you’re trying to think back to the last time you even opened your mouth, and, truthfully, it may have been even before he hired you weeks ago. Everything was over messages- Kreed recommended you, looking for a mechanic, I can pay- before he touched down outside your dilapidated hut a week later to begin your employment. You don't even remember if you waved at him or not. Once you got on the ship it was like you walked into a monastery. He disappeared up into the cockpit and you set about working on the problem in the hull. That’s been every day practically.

Maybe he said something that first morning, but you're not sure. The first week was a blur, most of it spent untangling the mess of wiring in the hull he had made trying to fix it himself. By the end of those first few days, your fingers were singed so badly from these messy nest you finally just decided to cut your losses and replace half of them. Sometimes he would pass by you, hovering just for a moment, but never said anything. Other than that, the only social exchange between the two of you was taking turns making caf and leaving the pot half full for the other.

The only other notable encounter happened in the second week when the hammock you had strung up in a little, out of the way nook had fallen right on your tool kit in the middle of the night with you in it. Before you were even fully awake, there he was at your door (er, curtain), blaster in hand and flipping on the light, ready to shoot the intruder. But it was just you, groaning on the floor, rubbing the part of your spine where you had landed on a wrench. Did he mumble an apology before leaving you to privately writhe on the floor? Or the next morning, when you had been checking out the bruise in the fresher when he walked in to see you crouched on the sink, lifting your shirt and contorting your body around to see your lower back in the mirror. He had left pretty quickly after that, but he must have gotten a good look and the large, angry mark because there was bacta gel left on your newly re-strung hammock that morning. It helped.

So, the routine went like this: he piloted, he went out to hunt, and he polished his guns. You kept the systems working, the lights on, and made the caf in the mornings. Most days he took the drink back up into the cockpit with a little nod of thanks. Sometimes you’d join him, and the two of you would sit silently, sipping the oily, black tar together before a little bell went off in both your heads to get to work. He’d go out, you’d stay in. When he returned and dealt with the bounty, you’d nod at each other like spice dealers in a back alley.

You’re here.

I am.

Still alive.

So are you.

Then up he went again, into his little hiding place, leaving you in a mess of wires.

Three more weeks into the usual, though, and you were getting bored. There was always something to fix, but lately, your jobs had become more cosmetic, and what monotony was broken up by your silent companion were few and far between, as his jobs took him away for increasingly long stretches of time, leaving you to your little projects. Once you had gotten the door to stop making that awful noise every time it opened, you had begun buffing out the dents and scrapes on the wall. When that was done, you fixed the bum lightbulb in the fresher and the track lights that ran through the ship, up until you got to his quarters. Then, you went to the cockpit and, using some old paint you had found in the ship's storage, that you had nearly pulled a muscle stirring with water it was so old, you color-coded the buttons. Yeah, the fucking buttons. When you decided to join him in the cockpit the next morning, the two of you silently drinking caf together, he pointed to them. You shrugged. You try being on a ship with nothing to do for weeks.

Maybe it was because you were so starved for any kind of interaction, but you began to sit with him in the cockpit more. Morning caf quickly became a routine, the two of you sitting and staring out into space together as you tried to wake yourselves up. Then, when your projects were small enough, you'd haul them up and deposit yourself into the co-pilot's chair, tinkering mindlessly as the two of you cruised through the infinite. In turn, sometimes during the evening, he would sit with you at the table as you ate. He never ate with you, but you always made extra in case he wanted to. Most mornings you'd find an additional empty dish in the sink, and smile in spite of yourself.

Maybe it would have kept going like this, this socializing like house cats, content to just be doing things around each other, you finding odd jobs and him continuing to do his broody badass thing if you hadn’t brought the caf up to the cockpit this morning and saw him with his head – his actual head- in his hands.

To be fair, you were usually noisier when you clambered up the ladder. And, also to be fair, he didn’t act like it was a big deal. But you nearly dropped the cups. Six weeks working for the guy and you had just kind of assumed the helmet was a permanent thing. Like, maybe he was disfigured or scared underneath that visor, or a breathing apparatus. Hell, you kind of had a running bet with yourself that he might just be a droid. But…ah, nope.

So when he turned to you and you met those big brown eyes for the first time, you jumped, like he had just caught you watching him undress. Hot caf spilled on your fingers.

“Fuck!” You rush over to the chair and set the mugs down before pulling the injured finger to your mouth and sucking.

“So she can talk.”

You swivel around and shoot him a look. He’s sat up now, reaching for one of the cups.

“I thought you were mute,” he says before taking a sip.

“Me?” you talk around your finger before remembering it was even in your mouth. You pull the digit out and move to take the other cup before taking your seat. “I thought you didn’t have a face.”

He puts his drink down and gestures with his palm under his chin as if presenting himself. “I do,”

“Yeah, and I talk.” You say before taking a sip. The two of you fall into an easy silence again.

“You snore.” He says.

“So do you,” you counter. “Shake the damn walls.”

There a flash of a smile before he finishes his drink and places the mug down again. Before you know it he’s pulling the helmet back on and standing.

“I’ll be gone a few days,” he says. “I left some credits in the cooking area. Not much but enough to buy anything we may need from the market.” He strides past you and makes for the ladder. It feels strange, not acknowledging how your silent routine has just been unceremoniously upended. But you don’t want him to stop talking.

“Any requests?” you ask just as his shiny little head is about to disappear down the ladder. He pauses.

“…yeah.” He says. “There’s these…blue cookies.”

“Blue…cookies…” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says. “like little sandwiches.”

When you don’t immediately respond, he speaks up.

“Just if you see them,” he grunts. Then he drops down before you can open your mouth.

“Aye aye,” you call after him, but the bull door is already opening, and it’s still a much noisier operation that you’d like. You doubt he hears your before it shuts behind him.

Alone in the cockpit, you smile to yourself.

The big, scary Mandolorian likes cookies.

The market ends up having the cookies, which makes you a little happier than you thought it would. The market also has whiskey, which definitely makes you happy. It’s a little pricey, but you plan to tell him to take it out of your pay – which he hasn’t given you yet. So, really, it’s fair game. You keep to yourself as you wander down the stalls picking up the random things you can justify purchasing – soap for the laundry, more ground caf, some produce. You don’t realize until you’re nearly back to the ship how little you talked. It surprises you.

Thought you were a mute.

Why does that annoy you?

“Not a mute,” you say to yourself as you key in the door’s code. When you deposit your haul on the table, you hum to yourself, if only to remind yourself that you can.

"Mute. 'Oh I'm the big scary Mandalorian with my secret pretty face and I never thought to start a conversation with the woman who fixes my piece of shit ship'." You begin to put the goods away. "'I don't appreciate good button paint jobs, stock the kitchen with shit caf, and snore LOUDER THAN A BANTHA.'  " You huff as you close the cabinet before stomping over to the table and grabbing the whiskey by the neck. You're just about to put it away before the thought occurs to you.

You hold the bottle up and bite your lip.

Well, buckethead isn’t here to judge you, and a clean ship is a clean ship.

Fuck. Alright.

Fuck.

You didn’t mean to get this drunk.

You had taken maybe two shots before you began to scrub up the cooking area and for fifteen minutes you thought you had just bought some shitty juice – your Jawaese isn’t great, maybe you misread the label – but now.

Hoo boy.

“You’re good,” you tell yourself. You squeeze the sponge out in the sink and momentarily become amazed just by how much water it can hold. You do it again. And again. “You are sooooo good. You’re just a little drunk and you’re on a ship,” you fall into a sing song rhythm.

Yeah. You’re drunk.

“Yeah, you’re just a little drunk and you’re on a ship, bada bah bah,” you drum on the counter before sashaying over to your little nook to collect the dirty clothes from the shameful dark corner. With more pageantry than is necessary, you swing the door to the washer open and throw the pile in with a flashy swish of your wrist. “you’re doing laundry because you smell like shit, bah dah bah bum” you skip into the corridor and head to the fresher. There’s an extra basket in there that you know is filled with towels, and in this very heady musical moment you’ve decided that you are just the best housekeeper. Gods, he’s lucky to have such a considerate employee.

“You’re doing the launnnnndry,” you sing as you kick the door open. The lights come on and you shimmy over to the basket. “Cause you’re just so connnssiiiidddeeerrrATE! Bah dah bum!” you bap the top of the basket. You haul the whole thing from the fresher and skip to the washer, banging the bottom against the floor in time.

“Uh! Uh! Yeah!” you crouch in front of the washer and begin loading in the towels, trying not to think about which ones are from you and which are from him. You are not going to think of him naked. “They don’t quite smell, but they need a cllleeeeAAAANNNN!” You reach for one last towel.

This is not a towel.

Oh Maker, if this is his underclothes-

Well, you’d just have to leave then, wouldn’t you? It took six weeks to see his face and hear him speak, for fuck’s sake, if this is what you think you’re really rushing down the hill of intimacy.

Feeling brave, you pull the garment up from the pile and glance down.

Oh god it’s brown –

And….not underclothes.

It’s…a tiny robe?

Before you can even begin to worry if this means he has a secret doll collection presented proudly somewhere in his room –

“What happened to the singing?”

-you nearly shit yourself.

“What the fuck!” you kick back from the washer and land hard against the counter.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

It takes you a minute before you put two and two together. Your eyes flick up to the comm box on the wall.

“Are you- have you been – are you listening to me?”

“Are you spending credits on booze?”

You huff and pull yourself up to stand.

“This is a glaring invasion of privacy,” you say, crumpling the small article in your hand.

“Don’t worry. I just turned it on to tell you I’m coming back early. But seems like I caught you in the middle of the show.”

“Ha ha,” you say. “He’s got a face and he tells jokes.”

“I’ll be back after sunset. Don’t dent anything drumming” And with that you hear what you think is the click of the comm turn off.

“Hello?” you call. Nothing.

“Are you still there?” you try again. Silence. Well, now you’re angry. “You asshole. What if! What if I had been…” you reach for the bottle on the counter and begin to unscrew the lid. “…having a private conversation?” you pour a small amount into the glass.

“What if I had been actually singing? I’m a good singer when I try, you know.”

(you’re not).

The comm is quiet.

“I think this merits a serious discussion about boss and employee trust!” you screech up at the box.

Nothing.

Maybe that’s what makes you bold.

“What if,” You put the glass to your mouth. “I had been loudly masturbating, huh? Just really going to town, thinking of your stupid, surprisingly sexy face? ‘Uh! Uh! UH! YEAH! Keep the gloves on!’”

Smiling to yourself, and blushing just a little, you take a sip.

“Would you have drummed just as loud?”

You spit whiskey over the counter.

[doctortreklock]

As One Thing Is Beginning - October 2, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Two extras on a movie set are flirting and distracting everyone (x)

Fandom: Supernatural

Title: “Snowman” by Shel Silverstein

Words: 1707

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"Watermelon, watermelon, pineapple," Dean mumbled under his breath. "Pineapple, watermelon, anchovies."

The man sitting across from him gave him a look somewhere between appalled and murderous.

Dean ignored him. When the pair had been seated at the small round table on the sidewalk outside the fake Parisian cafe, Dean had thought it had been great luck. Of all the other extras on Sammy's movie, Dean had been partnered with the hottest. Seriously. Dean didn't consider himself a shallow person, but the guy had dark, messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed sex hair and the deepest, most intense pair of eyes Dean had ever seen (in a color he was starting to think of as "fuck me blue").

He was also, Dean was quickly discovering, the biggest dick on set. (Metaphorically. Dean was in no way qualified to judge such a literal competition, no matter what Lisa and Pamela in make-up kept gossiping about.)

"What are you doing," the man stated in a deep voice, speaking slow enough to separate each word into its own zip code of barely concealed frustration.

Dean shot a glance over at Sam, but they must be in between takes, because he and his co-star Jessica were talking to the short director with the sugar addiction.

"There's a word you can mouth that makes it look like actual speech," Dean explained defensively. "...I just don't remember what it is," he added.

"Oh my god," the man said, staring upward beseechingly. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Dean decisively. "No. Just have a normal conversation with me like an actual, real-live person."

"And ACTION!" the director yelled.

Dean forced himself not to glance over at Sam. "Fine," he mouthed. "What do you--"

"Aloud," the man insisted, sounding annoyed. "This isn't a stage play; this is a movie. The actors are being mic'd. You can actually talk."

Dean bristled. "Fine," he repeated. 'What do you want to talk about?" They were still on camera, so no matter how much Dean wanted to scowl and cross his arms, he tried to keep his expression friendly and his body language open.

The man almost looked uncomfortable at this point. "I'm rather certain that since you and--" He paused. "This conversation might be less awkward if I knew your name."

"Dean." He wasn't getting murderous vibes off the guy anymore, but that wasn't a good reason to relax his guard too much. He was at least pretending to want to make the scene work, so Dean unbent enough to add, "Sam's my brother."

"He's the lead isn't he?"

"Yeah," Dean said, the smile on his face no longer fake.

The other man cleared his throat gently. "I'm Castiel. Gabriel is my brother."

It sounded like Dean was supposed to recognize the name, so he shuffled through his mental rolodex of names attached to Sam's movie and came up with "The director?"

Dean didn't mean to wrinkle his nose at the name, but Castiel didn't seem to mind. He chuckled. "Yeah. He was short on extras so he coerced me into coming in to help."

Dean snorted. "Same, man. Sammy's got some wicked puppy dog eyes."

"CUT!" The voice cut through the milling din of the half-dozen tables outside the faux cafe. When Dean looked over at the table where Sam and Jess were sitting, he saw Jess with her head on the table, snickering loudly while Sam stretched and ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously.

Jiminy Christmas, Sam was obvious when he was head-over-heels. Dean scoffed. "He's got it bad."

Gabriel was already shouting something about continuity and method acting as he stalked across the floor toward the actors.

"Hmm?" Cas hummed, turning far enough in his chair that he could see the pair. "Ahh. If it's any consolation, I heard a rumor from Meg Masters that she likes him, too," Cas offered.

"Meg?" Dean asked, distracted.

"Jess," Cas clarified. "Meg told me that Jess likes Sam as well."

"Okay, cool," Dean said, relaxing back into his chair. "I'd just hate for him to go for it and miss, you know?"

Before Cas could answer, Gabriel cut back in with "ACTION!" Apparently whatever instruction he'd decided Sam and Jess needed had been dutifully delivered.

Dean fought the urge to straightened abruptly. Instead, he attempted to casually lean in, as if focusing on something Cas had said.

"So," Dean said into the silence between them. "We should probably actually attempt some acting, wouldn't you say?"

Cas rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "If you insist. As I was saying before, since we're supposedly at a Parisian cafe, we should be on a date."

"What?" Dean wasn't quite sure how that computed.

Cas actually looked a little uncomfortable as he tried to explain his reasoning. "I mean, this is a rather terrible spot for a business meeting. And you're not really dressed for it anyway."

Dean had to admit he had a small point. Instead of his comfortable flannels, the heathens in wardrobe had stuffed him into a dark button-up and worn jeans. Dean wasn't quite sure why he couldn't just wear his own jeans, but Becky had insisted.

"Okay," Dean agreed slowly. "A date then. First date?"

"Sure," Cas agreed.

"I'll go first then," Dean said, and slid on his flirtiest grin. "Hi there. My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius, and I like long walks on the beach and frisky partners, men or women."

Cas smiled in return and Dean was surprised at the extra half-step of his heartbeat when he saw it. Dammit. "My name is Castiel Novak. I don't know my zodiac sign. I do enjoy beaches somewhat, but I'd rather spend time with my bees." He paused. "I am utterly indifferent toward sexual orientation."

It sounded a bit like something one of Charlie's girlfriends had talked about. "Is that a fancy way of saying you're asexual?" Dean ventured.

"Demi," Cas corrected, looking surprised that Dean knew anything about it. "Biromantic demisexual, to be precise."

"Okay, cool," Dean said, bobbing his head and attempting to ignore the part of him that was filing that information away. "I'm just a plain, old-fashioned bisexual myself," he told Cas, figuring turnabout was fair play.

"'Bisexual' I believe," Cas told him contemplatively. "I'm going to shelve 'old-fashioned' for now, pending further inquiry. As for 'plain'..." He paused, then his mouth curled up in a wicked grin. "I'm pretty sure plain people don't try to add anchovies to their watermelon and pineapple."

For a split second, Dean thought about being offended. But Cas's good humor was so contagious that a sharp bark of laughter had escaped him before he could stop it. Cas's smile widened and softened at the sound, which made Dean grin and his stomach tie itself into all sorts of interesting knots, because biromantic demisexual did not mean uninterested, it meant take it slow, and his brain had apparently already internalized the difference.

"CUT!" Gabriel's shout startled Dean. He'd completely forgotten that he was technically supposed to be acting right now. "What the hell are you two doing over there?"

Dean looked over to see what Sam had done this time, but instead of berating the two leads, Gabriel was staring at him and Cas. Oh.

Dean knew he was probably doing a pretty good impression of a deer in headlights, but that didn't stop Gabriel from ranting, "We're supposed to be watching these two fall in love," he shouted, gesturing at Sam and Jess. "Not a couple of extras!"

Dean very carefully did not look at Cas. He could feel his ears burning, but chanced a glance at Sam. His little brother was slumped, half-turned in his chair with his face buried in his hands and his shoulders shaking with laughter. Jess patted him on the shoulder and raised one eyebrow in amusement when she caught Dean looking her way. His face flushed further and he looked away again.

He still didn't look at Cas.

"Get off my set," Gabriel said at last. "Both of you." Then he turned and ignored them completely, directing some of the other extras to move to fill the gap left by their absence.

Dean knew when he was dismissed. Ears still burning, he got up from the table and tried not to trip over his chair or any cords as he made his way off the set. He could hear Cas following behind him.

The mortification didn't completely set in until he saw the crew, though. Once he was out of the glare of the lights, he could see the cameramen and the sound guys and the assistant director and all the other people that just seemed to accumulate on the edges of sets. They were all, to a one, laughing at him. Some were outright giggling, others were just grinning, but Dean would have shut his eyes against the sight if he could have guaranteed that he wouldn't trip over a light and compound his complete and utter humiliation.

Dean took the first opportunity he had to slip out the doors of the sound stage into the bright afternoon sunlight, leaving the dark cavern with its fake Parisian cafe behind him. As he blinked in the sunlight, he could feel Cas walk up to stand next to him. Dean didn't know what to say.

"Well," Cas said finally. "That was awkward."

Dean snorted and just like that it was alright again. "Oh, man," he said, ruffling his hair and taking deep breaths, trying to will the flush off his face. "I don't think I've been that embarrassed since Rhonda Hurley spilled my deepest secrets at Prom."

He chanced a glance at Cas. The lighting was different off-set, but the ruffled sex hair was the same, and when he met Dean's eyes they were that same shade of fuck-me blue. But he was also surprisingly funny and he kept bees and when he smiled Dean felt like he'd swallowed a circus.

"Have coffee with me?" Dean blurted out before he could stop himself.

Cas looked surprised for a moment, then he smiled wide and said, "I'd love to."

Dean's cheeks hurt so much from grinning widely that he didn't even care when his stomach started doing the macarena. "Awesome."

[downn-in-flames]

9.9 Out of 10, Highly Recommend (chapter 1)

2 bets. 10 days. Endless shenanigans.

{A Brooklyn 99 meets How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days Jily fic}

Read it on: HPFT | AO3 | FFnet

THE BET

At 10 pm on a Tuesday night, James Potter and Lily Evans are both rather impressively drunk.

They don’t know this particular fact about one another though, because they’re at bars across town from one another, with totally different groups of coworkers.

Although if you asked Lily, she really wouldn’t be surprised to learn that James was drinking on a Tuesday - that’s not too far out of character for him, anyways. James, on the other hand, would be absolutely gobsmacked to learn that cookie-cutter rule-follower Lily Evans was getting smashed on a weekday, when they’ve got work tomorrow.

She has good reason for it though - she’s celebrating. She’s only found out earlier today that she’s getting promoted to sergeant in a new department, which is just one step closer to her dream of becoming captain of a whole precinct and then commissioner of the entire NYPD.

In other words, her entire 25-year plan is right on track.

“The precinct is going to be weird without you,” Mary says, taking a sip of her beer.

From anyone else, that would be a mild compliment at best, but from Mary, that’s practically the equivalent of an overly emotional hug, sobbing and all.

Mary may be one of Lily’s closest friends, but she’s always been an impressively impassive and private person, even with people she’s known for years.

“She’s right,” Marlene adds. “Who’s going to get onto Black every time he decides to do something ridiculous like fill the vending machines with rotting vegetables?”

“And then stop Lupin from punching him, because we all know how he feels about the office vending machine,” Mary quips.

It’s an odd thing to be passionate about, but Remus has an impressive level of dedication to the office vending machine, which is in all honestly probably older than all of them and can only be filled with candy bars because anything larger gets stuck.

Lily laughs - it’s louder than her normal laugh, a sure sign that she’s surpassed Three-Drink Lily. “You’ve got Kingsley and Dumbledore for that.”

Marlene rolls her eyes. “Please. Don’t get me wrong, they’re great at their jobs, but when have they ever been able to rein in Lupin and Black?”

“When have I ever been able to rein in Lupin and Black?” Lily replies, before frowning at her now-empty fourth drink.

“You’re able to rein in Potter, and Potter is able to rein in Lupin and Black.”

Lily scoffs at that, because, in her opinion, she doesn’t have much control over Potter either. And if she were more sober, she’d elegantly manoeuver right around that particular topic of conversation, because it’s a viewpoint she’s always differed with her co-workers on.

But she’s just crossed the threshold into Four-Drink Lily, and Four-Drink Lily has conversational grace equivalent to Peter doing ballet. That is to say, none whatsoever.

“I’ve got no more power over Potter than either of you.”

Marlene giggles at that. “You can tell yourself that all you like, but you know he has a thing for you.”

“Trust me,” Mary adds. “I have to watch him make heart eyes at you all day long. He definitely likes you.”

Mary’s desk does face James, so that claim is actually pretty plausible.

Lily still doesn’t buy it though. “Oh please, Potter doesn’t like me. He likes the idea of me.”

“Meaning?” Marlene prods.

“He’s created some idealised version of me in his head,” she says. “I’m the hot coworker who sits at the desk next to him - it’s practically a fantasy situation. And as such, he’s built me up in his head as this dream girl of his - and that’s the girl he has a crush on. Not me.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “Fuck, I’m going to need another drink if you’re going to psychoanalyze people this hard tonight.”

“Can you get all of us another round while you’re at it?” Marlene asks. “It’s your turn to buy anyways.”

“One beer, one whiskey Diet Coke, and one cosmo, coming right up.”

“You’re a doll, Mary,” Marlene replies, knowing full well that the term of endearment will annoy her coworker.

“Fuck off, McKinnon,” Mary retorts, before getting up and heading over to the bar.

Marlene almost immediately turns back to Lily. “Why are you so convinced he doesn’t actually like you? What proof do you have of that?”

“Potter’s the idealistic type, we all know that,” Lily replies reasonably. “He decided I’m his dream girl when I got assigned the desk next to him, and hasn’t paid attention to any evidence to the contrary ever since.”

The other girl eyes her skeptically. “And that evidence is?”

“We’re so different.” Lily has no idea how that’s not abundantly obvious to everyone.

Lily’s the type of person who has a 25-year life plan. James is the type of person who can’t think more than three days in advance - it’s why most of the precinct has taken to sending him calendar invites for every little thing. Lily color codes her sock drawer, and James has had the same empty Coke can sitting on his desk for the past four months and eight days.

She’s kept count of it. It’s been on her nerves for four months and seven days.

“They say opposites attract, you know,” Marlene replies, smirking. “But really, I don’t think you and Potter are actually that different. Yeah, you’ve got different habits and whatnot, but at the same time, you’re both fuelled by the same things. I know you say he’s blinded by a version of you that he’s created in his head, but you’re blinded by an imaginary version of him too, babe.”

“Am not,” Lily answers stubbornly.

“Honestly, if you just gave him a chance, I think you’d find that you two are good for each other.”

Mary returns with their drinks at that moment, which gives Lily a little bit of time to think through Marlene’s comments.

Lily would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t find James good-looking. It’s kind of hard not to find the boy attractive, what with the dark, messy hair, the sharp jawline regularly dotted with stubble, and the cute little dimple on his right cheek that pops out when he smiles. Not to mention that he’s over 6 foot and decently built - a bit on the skinnier side, but Lily’s always kind of preferred that to the gym bro archetype - all of which puts him firmly in the realm of exactly her type.

He’s also actually pretty funny, and some of his overly dramatic antics serve to lighten the mood on particularly stressful days at the precinct. And he was the first person to congratulate her today when the news broke that she was getting promoted.

So yeah, she’s definitely attracted to him, at least a little bit. But she’ll never admit to that - it’d practically be social suicide amongst her co-workers - and they’d inevitably blow it way out of proportion. Thinking a guy is cute and funny doesn’t equate wanting to spend the rest of your life with them, no matter what Marlene may believe to the contrary.

“I’m telling you, I doubt he’s actually into me like that,” Lily finally says, taking the first sip of her fifth drink. “He wants one part of me, and that’s it. The rest is something he’s created in his own mind. He’d take me for a ride, realise he doesn’t actually like the real version of me, and drop me.”

“And I say you’re wrong,” Marlene replies, taking her cosmo off of Mary’s hands.

“I’m actually with Marlene on this one,” Mary says. “He’s into you, full stop.”

Lily hates being outnumbered. And she also hates being told that she’s wrong, which is probably what fuels what she says next.

“I guarantee you that, if Potter knew what I’m like in a relationship - what he’d be signing himself up for in going out with me - he’d realise he’s not actually into me,” she tells them both. “Fuck, I’d even put money on it.”

“And I’d put money on it that he’s half in love with you, and ‘knowing what you’re like in a relationship’ wouldn’t change that one fucking bit,” Mary replies.

“You’re wrong,” Lily replies, looking Mary dead in the eye.

It’s a dangerous decision, getting into a staring contest with Mary, who could probably kill a man with a glare alone, but Five-Drink Lily isn’t afraid of anything. Even if she is pretty sure Mary keeps at least one knife in her combat boots at all times.

“What’s the wager?” Marlene says, breaking Lily’s concentration.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the wager’?” Lily asks.

“Well, you two both just made a bet, and I’m just curious what’s actually on the table here.”

“That wasn’t an actual bet!” Lily defends immediately.

Mary scoffs. “Yeah, because you know you’ll lose.”

Lily whips around to look at Mary again. “I do not! But a real bet has to have a comprehensive set of rules associated with it, not just vague statements.”

“Let’s make that ‘comprehensive set of rules’ then,” Mary replies, and the use of air quotes has Lily feeling like her friend is most definitely mocking her. “You leave the office in ten days - that’s a built-in timeline right there. Starting tomorrow, you go after him. You take him out on a couple dates or two - no sex required, unless you just really want to, in which case, go for it I guess. You ‘show him your real self’ - but you’re not allowed to dramatically sabotage anything either. If he’s done with you by the time you leave the precinct, you win. If he’s still half in love with you at that point like I know he will be, I win.”

The speed with which Mary just came up with a fully-thought-out proposal almost shocks Lily, but then again, Mary’s only been drinking beer the entire night and has an alcohol tolerance equivalent to her and Marlene combined. So she shouldn’t be surprised, really.

“I can’t date a coworker,” Lily replies.

“Black and Lupin are fucking engaged,” Mary retorts. “You absolutely can date a coworker.”

Mary’s not wrong, per say. There isn’t anything in their HR manual about dating coworkers; it’s a rule Lily’s instituted for herself moreso than anything formalised by the NYPD. Future commissioners don’t get themselves involved in office romances.

“You can suspend your own rules for this,” Marlene adds, all but reading Lily’s mind. “You’re leaving in ten days - there’s no consequences to this like there would be if you still had to share a workspace afterwards.”

She… does have a point.

“Lily’s just making up excuses because she knows I’m right, and she knows she’s going to lose,” Mary says casually, taking another sip of her beer.

Sober Lily is already competitive as hell, and drunk Lily is that intensified tenfold.

“You’re on, McDonald,” Lily says, slamming her drink down on the table so aggressively that a little bit sloshes over the side. “Loser has to sit through one of Peter’s homemade cheese tasting demonstrations - and eat all of them.”

Betting money might’ve been the original proposal, but the comedic value of forcing Mary to sit through Peter’s impassioned explanations of all the possible cheese varieties is worth far more, from Lily’s perspective.

“And has to organise Black’s Drawer of Horrors,” Mary adds, grinning wickedly.

One of the drawers in Sirius’ desk has been filled with a whole host of terrifying objects over his tenure at the precinct - ranging from prank toys to food that’s probably sat there for years. Even Lily, who gets a thrill out of organising pretty much anything else, doesn’t want to get near that thing with a ten-foot pole.

But Lily won’t have to. Because she’s going to win. “You have yourself a deal,” she says, holding out a hand for Mary to shake.

Mary reaches out and shakes it, gripping just a tiny bit harder than necessary. Lily resists the urge to cringe at the force of it - that’s exactly the display of weakness Mary wants to see.

Marlene looks up from the message she’s been typing on her phone and claps her hands delightedly. “Oh, this is absolutely the kind of office excitement we’ve been needing!”

Lily arches an eyebrow at her. “We work at a police precinct. You really think that’s not exciting?”

Marlene shrugs. “Taking down crime rings and whatnot is cool and all, but the juicy gossip is what I’m really here for.”

Lily shouldn’t even be surprised by that, really. Honestly, Marlene could probably have a pretty decent career in reality TV if she ever decided to leave the precinct.

“There’s not going to be any juicy gossip,” Lily says. “James is going to go out with me twice, realise I’m not what he signed up for, and that’ll be the end of that. No juicy gossip involved.”

“Whatever you say, Lil,” Marlene laughs.

That’s really all there is to it, Lily tells herself. She’s going to win this bet, start her new job, and forget all about James Potter and his stupidly perfect jawline.

On the other side of town, James is on his fourth beer and absolutely thriving.

The four of them - Remus, Sirius, Peter, and him - are on a mission to taste-test every brewery in New York City. They’re nowhere close to accomplishing that goal yet, but they’ve made pretty decent headway and enjoyed acting like overblown beer snobs in the process.

“Ah yes,” Sirius comments, holding his drink out in front of him. “The hops in this brew are particularly pronounced.”

“There’s an earthy aftertaste to this one,” Remus adds, swirling his stout as if it’s a fancy glass of wine.

“And this one tastes like piss,” James replies, completely ruining the fake-classy theme Sirius and Remus had going with their commentary.

“Come on, guys!” Peter says earnestly. “Beer tastings are meant to be a serious affair!”

Sirius isn’t swayed at all. “They’re meant to get us drunk, Wormtail.”

James always wonders what other people must think of them when they hear the group of men calling each other by weird nicknames like Wormtail and Padfoot. In all honesty, James himself isn’t quite sure why the names have stuck as long as they have - they were originally inspired by the first major crimes each detective took down when they were all assigned to the newly-formed 73rd precinct, and they’ve lingered ever since.

Peter took down an organized crime ring from the inside - he was the rat, as the ringleader so eloquently called him in court. Hence, Wormtail.

“You sound like Fenwick,” James adds, before draining his glass.

“Nah,” Remus replies. “None of us are drinking pilsners. Ergo, couldn’t possible be Fenwick.”

They all laugh at that - Benjy Fenwick’s obsession with pilsners has definitely become a running joke throughout the office, despite the fact that the guy doesn’t even work there.

“You’re also nowhere near as much of a dick as Fenwick was,” James tacks on.

Sirius looks up from his phone. “Fenwick wasn’t actually that much of a dick. You just didn’t like him because he was fucking the love of your life.”

James crinkles his brows in disgust. “Fenwick is definitely not the love of my life.”

Admittedly, yeah, Fenwick isn’t ugly - he actually kind of resembles a guy James had gone on a couple dates with in college - but he has the all the personality of a loaf of white bread.

Ergo, very much not James’ type.

“You massively misinterpreted the usage of the word ‘fucking’ in that sentence,” Sirius corrects. “The love of your life is the person he was fucking.”

“Evans isn’t the love of my life either,” James replies defensively.

Well, not yet, at least. James could definitely see her becoming the love of his life though. He almost spilt his coffee all over himself the very first day she showed up at the precinct (he managed to contain the spill to one sleeve, in the end) because fuck, the detective he was supposed to be sharing a desk with shouldn’t have been that beautiful.

And then she opened her mouth and James started falling for her even more.

So yeah, at this point, he’s pretty hopelessly smitten.

And because he’s utter shit at hiding his feelings, all of his friends know it, most of the precinct knows it, and hell, Lily probably knows it too. Trying to argue to the contrary is a bit of a hopeless endeavour.

Remus looks at him skeptically. “Maybe not love of your life, but pretty damn close.”

James shrugs, picking up another one of the IPAs they’ve got on the table. “Doesn’t matter much though - she’s leaving the precinct in 10 days and I won’t have much reason to see her after that.”

When he first heard the news of her promotion, he’d secretly been kind of sad that he wouldn’t have an excuse to see Lily everyday anymore. But he also knows how important getting a promotion and moving up in the police department is to Lily, so he’d given her a bright smile and congratulated her anyways.

“Or, you could actually make a move sometime in those 10 days so that she actually wants to hang around with your dumb ass even after she leaves.”

James glares at Sirius.

“But you don’t have the guts for that, do you?” his best friend challenges.

“Pads...” Remus warns.

Padfoot, like the dog. Inspired by the major drug operation Sirius had sniffed out.

Sirius waves off his fiancé. “Prongs, you’re my brother, so I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you’re absolutely shit with people you’ve got a crush on, and Evans is no exception. You just make doe eyes at her from afar and that’s not going to get you anywhere.”

He’s obviously trying to get a rise out of James - giving him shit for all sorts of things that he knows James can’t stand being called out on - and maybe a more sober James would recognise that, and let Sirius have his fun without rising to the bait.

But that’s not the state that James is in right now.

“I am not shit with people I’ve got a crush on,” he argues. “I just happen to respect Evans’s boundaries because I don’t think it’s very professional to openly flirt with a coworker in the workplace.”

It’s not like the NYPD is known for its sexual harassment policies, so honestly, James probably wouldn’t get in any sort of trouble if he did decide to repeatedly ask her out on dates until she relented, but he’d never want to make her uncomfortable like that.

Hence, his (slightly pathetic) pining from afar.

“I’m not asking you to get a harassment complaint filed against yourself,” Sirius replies immediately. “In fact, I rather like Evans, so if you do manage to do something that warrants a harassment complaint or makes her uncomfortable, I’m formally obligated to kick your ass. But I’m just saying, this is your chance to shoot your shot before she’s no longer one desk away from you.”

Peter laughs. “Please. Prongs could never get Evans to fall for him in that period of time.”

Prongs could refer to the antlers on a stag - and James does love rocking a good pair of reindeer antlers from time to time - but the true derivation of that name was from James escaping and diffusing a hostage situation using nothing but an unloaded gun and a fork.

But damn. Hearing that insult from Peter stings - after all, the guy has had an even longer dry spell than James has. Really, he’s got no right to go around critiquing James’ wooing skills.

“Could too,” James replies childishly, only barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at his friend.

“Care to make an official bet on that?” Sirius asks, smirking. “I’ll take you up on that one - loser has to sit through one of Wormy’s cheese demonstrations.”

“Oh yes!” Peter claps his hands together delightedly, completely missing the point that this is a form of punishment for losing. “I’ve been needing more people to practice on!”

“I’m not making a bet on Evans,” James replies obstinately. “She’s a person, not a prize to be won.”

“Technically, you’re not betting on Evans,” Remus replies, serving as the voice of logic at the table. “You’re betting on your own abilities. If you win, you’ve managed to actually nail the partner of your dreams; if you lose, no one is any worse off than when you started. This is an entirely non-objectifying situation on all accounts.”

When Remus puts it like that, James has to admit that he’s got a pretty good point. And there’s no possible outcome to this that hurts anyone. Well, other than James himself if he fails, but honestly no more hurt than if he’d never even taken a chance with Lily to begin with.

He just has to… actually manage to charm the woman that’s shown absolutely no romantic interest in him up until this point.

Should be easy enough, he thinks to himself, and almost laughs aloud at his own internal sarcasm.

But he’ll also never turn down a bet - especially not when all his friends have been giving him so much shit all night. James Potter is a lot of things, but a coward is most definitely not one of them.

So he turns to Sirius, grinning wickedly. “You’re on. But two rules: you three can’t interfere at all, and no one tells Evans about it until it’s over.”

Sirius looks vaguely surprised. “You’re actually taking me up on this?”

“Come on, Pads, you know full well that I don’t back down from a challenge.”

James isn’t lying on that one. It’s gotten him into a fair share of sticky situations - most frequently with a particularly problematic cop in the Major Crimes Unit, who has basically made it his life’s goal to antagonise their whole precinct (but mostly James) on a regular basis.

“Plus,” James muses. “You’re right. I’ve got ten days until I’ll never see her again - if there’s ever a time to take a risk, it’s now.”

“You do realise she’s still going to be friends with all of us, and she’s only moving - ”

“Moony, hush,” Sirius waves a hand in front of Remus’ face, stopping him from finishing that sentence.

The way Remus earned that nickname - and the way he stopped a major car chase in progress - is still a story that none of the boys can get through without laughing.

“So we’ve got ourselves a bet, Prongs?” he continues, extending a hand out to James. “If Lily falls in love with you by the time she leaves the precinct, you win; if she wants nothing to do with you, I win.”

It feels like there’s a significant gap between ‘falling in love with him’ and ‘wanting nothing to do with him,’ but James doesn’t give that technicality too much thought. This is his dignity (and a cheese tasting with Peter) on the line.

So he takes Sirius’ hand, giving it a firm shake. “Let’s do this.”

Ten days from now, he’ll have made Lily fall for him, proving his romantic competence once and for all. His friends will inevitable find something else to give him shit for, but James will thoroughly enjoy his bragging rights.

Or alternatively, he’ll be sampling Peter’s homemade gouda, but James isn’t letting himself entertain that outcome right now.

[jaredthegreek]

Review - Star Wars Comics 11/17

NOVEMBER:

Darth Vader #7: While not as bad as the previous issue this was still not an enjoyable read.  The issue focuses on Vader training the Inquisitors harshly.  This is played against Jocasta Nu taking steps toward saving what remains of the Jedi order.  The dialogue is still weak, but at least there is enough exposition to justify the actions made by the characters.  You can tell there is potential with this arc, but the writing is too incompetent to make it flow in an entertaining manner.  The art is a step up from the previous issue as well, but the Emperor still looks messy and movement is janky at best.  This is a weak series and its sad to see that this volume is a pathetic shadow of the first volume.  Stick with the 2015 original series because this series will disappoint unless you have sewer level expectations.

Darth Vader #8: This issue was perhaps one of the best of this series, but that’s not saying much.  In this issue we see Jocatsa Nu put her plan into action as she goes to recover valuable data from the Jedi Temple.  Meanwhile, Imperial Security and Vader begin a search for her.  The writing is above average with a few stand out parts like the Emperor telling Vader to not kill so many people and Vader’s interaction with the ISB Agent.  The art is better than last issue and the coloring doesn’t look as rushed.  While this series does have some major flaws it also has some strong issues that help build up lore.  This issue even showed off the helmet from the Lando mini-series as a background item, a clever subtle touch that makes things feel connected. If you are a fan of Vader and curious about the early Empire then you should read this, just be warned as my issue #7 review covers there are some bad issues in this run.

Star Wars #38: The first issue written by Kieron Gillen takes us back to the Rogue One planet of Jedha. The main team meets up with some of the remaining rebel fighters on Jedha to bring them into the fold. Meanwhile, the Empire is moving in to mine the remaining Kyber crystals from Jedha.  This was a good start to an new arc, but the dialogue is a little rough in the beginning.  The art is well done and faces look good, but still have that hyper-realistic stylization that can bother some people.  Overall, this wasn’t the best start for Kieron Gillen, but it was a mostly good issue and the fact that the writer of Darth Vader V1 and Doctor Aphra is in charge of this series fills me with confidence for the future of Star Wars.

Star Wars #39: The Jedha arc continues with our heroes teaming up with the remaining rebels on Jedha. This is a dialogue heavy issue with Leia trying to reason with the radical cell, Luke learning more about the Force and the Jedha point of view on Rogue One, and Han taking a backseat, but getting a couple one-liners.  There is a violent action scene near the end of the issue that pushes this book into darker places than it has gone in the past.  The writing was heavy and that made this one of the most enjoyable issues this series has had in a long time.  The art was great with character expressions looking real, Jedha being detailed yet ruined, and the action having a good amount of drama.  I’m really liking this creative shift and I hope it goes on for more than this arc.  This series was in desperate need of a boost and I think we are finally getting it if the last few issues are any indication.

Doctor Aphra #14: This issue brings in Si Spurrier as a co-writer for this new arc that starts up by catching up with Captain Tolvan.  Tolvan’s demotion gets worse as Aphra and an assault team come down to steal from the Imperial base.  The ending has a nice twist that will likely lead this arc down a very dark path.  The writing is a little mixed.  Aphra seems a little out of character, but on the other hand there are some great moments with Tolvan dealing with her situation. There is also a cute scene between Aphra and Tolvan that will get the shippers riled up.  The best part of this book was the art.  The character look good, the fighting has some energy, and the facial emotions are moving.  There are some issues with weak backgrounds.  Overall, this was a good issue, but isn’t quite as good as some of the previous issues.  Despite that this is still a really good series worth reading.

Poe Dameron #21: Far be it for me to give Chuck a complement, but this was one of those few issues that he did right.  The story follows Leia as she returns to her rebellion role as a spy/operative and work an angle to get closer to Lor San Tekka.  Meanwhile, Poe and the team are having some nice character moments while waiting for the ‘go’ code.  While this is mostly set up it is done well and it has gotten me hyped up to see how it all pans out.  While my expectations are not high, I would like this comic to end on a good note. The writing was a little flat, but by Chuck’s standards this was well done.  The art was fine and I thought Leia’s overly fancy dress was a nice touch. It’s sad to think that this series is starting to get some footing just as it is rolling toward it’s end.

Mace Windu #4: This issue evokes many mixed feelings.  On the one hand there are some interesting continuity nods and on the other hand it is handled in an amateur way.  The story picks up with Dibs and Windu dueling over their dogma.  This is intercut with flashbacks of young Windu as he battles a heretic that took over a Jedi temple.  The ending brings the team back to their mission as they bust into the enemy base for the final issue.  The art has improved over the previous issues, but still has major flaws. Some expressions look silly when they should be serious and the battles still lack any real sense of movement. This issue does have some great nods to continuity such as Mace being arrogant and a little aggressive as a padawan which was brought up in the Clone Wars series.  His character is very much intact as well since he almost kills someone over their violation of his beliefs, this ‘my justice trumps all’ attitude also ties in nicely with his portrayal in most media.  This was the first good issue of this series and yet I still had to set this book down for a spell before I finished it.  This series is pretty bad and hopefully when they do another Clone Wars era mini-series they can learn from their mistakes and get a more skilled team to tell the story.

[flowersnfaes]

stuttering (malec highschool au)

alec lightwood trembled with anxiety no matter what he was doing, with the exceptions being being curled up with a book on his favorite bench that was attached to a tree and only a foot off the ground. it was in the center of his mother's garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers and pathways that lead around the garden and back to his family's extravagant home. the only other time where he felt safe was with his family. his sister, isabelle, was always by his side. she was far more confident than he ever could be, and he looked up to her, even though she is a couple years younger than him. despite how close the two are, they were two completely different people. alec was more reserved and shy and would spend his weekends reading and scrolling through aesthetics on tumblr, while izzy was confident and extroverted and would spend almost every weekend hosting parties, which alec would escape once everyone arrived to read at his favorite bench. alec walked downstairs one morning, ready for school. despite the slightly warm weather, he was sporting a pale green sweater that went halfway down his hands, black skinny jeans, and black combat boot. his hair was messy, yet well kept at the same time, and his leather backpack hung over his right shoulder. in his left hand held his copy of roar, a book he had recently decided to invest his time in. isabelle was sat at the breakfasts bar, her long hair cascading down her back with slight curls here and there. she was wearing black, leather pants that stuck to her skin, a black mesh t-shirt with a black tank too underneath so she wouldn't get dress-coded, and boots with a four inch heel. she must have heard alec come downstairs, as she turned to face him with a smile. "hey big bro," she greeted before she took another spoonful of her fruit parfait. he walked over to her and set his book down on the marble counter top. "did you sleep okay?" alec asked his sister, always concerned about isabelle. she knew it was for the best. "i slept just fine, but i should be asking you the same question," the dark haired girl retorted, licking her spoon clean of greek yogurt and honey. "i got enough hours to be well rested," alec replied, following his sister with his eyes as she rinsed her bowl and spoon and stuck them in the silver dishwasher, which was currently empty. "i hope you did. i left my backpack down here last night which had unfinished homework in it, and i walked past your room at around midnight and the light was still on," she asserted as she walked back toward alec, picking up her maroon colored backpack from underneath the chair she was sitting on. alec looked down at his book and picked it up, and he was well over halfway through it. "i guess i can get a little bit carried away." "hm," isabelle muttered in disbelief. "a little bit? how many books have you read this week?" "three, this being my fourth." isabelle shook her head. "not a surprise coming from you, alec." the pair walked past the luxurious living room and to the front door, which lacked the presence of their parents who would sit there every morning when the siblings came down for breakfast. marsye would be on her computer and robert would be on the phone, usually on a business call. "good thing mom and dad are off on another business trip," isabelle commented. "how come?" alec questioned stupidly, knowing the answer he would get right after he asked. "i'm throwing a party this weekend, as per usual. maybe you will want to come this time," isabelle explained as he held the front door for her, and they exited the house for alec to lock the front door. "and why is that?" the tall and lean boy wondered, knowing her answer would not make him want to attend anyway. "im inviting magnus." alec stopped dead in his tracks on his way toward isabelle's car. alec had a crush on magnus bane since the two were freshmen, and it made alec more jittery and anxious than normal. seeing him in the hallway made his breathing patterns change rapidly and watching him enter a room made his heart skip multiple beats. he tried not to stare, but it's hard not to when the most beautiful man that he had ever seen was in this presence. his outfits and makeup always brought out his features that made him look even more gorgeous, and he really took alec's breath away. but he knew he never had a chance with him. magnus was like izzy: extroverted, filled with confidence, and knows exactly what to say all the time. alec knew that he would say the wrong thing or do something ridiculous that would push magnus away. so he kept his opinions to himself. the only person who knew was isabelle, who he felt comfortable telling a year and a half after he first saw magnus. "m-magnus?" alec stuttered. "yes magnus. now come on, you don't want to be late for school, now do you?" alec shook his head and walked quickly to his sister's white car. he climbed in the passenger's seat and took his backpack off to set it at his feet. izzy did the same, but tossed her bag into the back. alec rubbed his thumbs over the cover of his book, anxious to see magnus today. if magnus knows izzy, he must know alec. what does he think of him? he probably thinks he's a weird outcast. alec hopes that this thought is wrong. he wants to cuddle with magnus in the early hours of the morning while they talk about everything and anything. he wishes they could go on dates in his mother's garden and sit on alec's favorite bench under the stars. he hopes that magnus would run his fingers up and down alec's inner arm when he is having an anxiety attack. nothing could calm him down more then his touch. he just knew it. the rest of the ride to school was silent, and alec continued to nervously tap on his book. when they arrived at their large highschool, alec grabbed his backpack and climbed out of the car, waiting for his sister to grab her bag. they met in front of her car and walked into school, side by side. many people greeted and waved to izzy, and she greeted and waved back at them, with a large grin on her face. alec sometimes wishes that she was taller than him so he could hide behind her. alec didn't have to stop to his locker, since he had everything that he needed for the day with him in his backpack. so today he followed izzy to her locker. hopefully she wouldn't mind him wanting to stick around. he would rather stay by her side then have to roam the halls alone. he stood next to her as she opened her locker and pulled out two textbooks, one for algebra and one for chemistry. she put them into her bag and closed her locker, only to find a very glittery individual standing next to the pair. alec didn't see him at first, but when he did, he could feel a heat brushed upon his cheeks. his heartbeats quickened, and he had to think to catch his breath. next to isabelle stood magnus. he was wearing black trousers, sleek, black platform boots with a one inch raise, and a blazer that was covered in silver sequins. he had a glittery, smokey eye look done precisely on his eyelids, and alec could tell that magnus had on a bit of purple highlighter on his cheekbones, nose, and above his eyebrows, which were done as well. alec must have been staring a bit too intently, as he felt izzy's finger push up on his chin to close his mouth. alec felt his face go from a rosy pink to a beet red. "isabelle, so good to see you. is the party at your house still at eight tonight?" magnus confirmed with izzy. she nodded. "mhm-hm! and it ends whenever the guests want it to." magnus grinned at alec's sister, and she beamed in return. alec looked down at his boots, wiggling his toes a little bit. "great! will you be there?" he heard magnus ask. "obviously! it's my party, magnus," izzy exclaimed. "i know you are going to be there, isabelle. i meant your brother. will he be there?" alec looked up. magnus was looking at alec with those chocolate brown eyes that were covered in glitter that shared the color of the moon. alec didn't know what to do. should he say something? should he nod? should he confess his undying love to this man? (he didn't, of course.) alec stood there, completely in awe of magnus, and shaky because he didn't know what to do. izzy placed a hand on his shoulder. "he will definitely be there, right alec?" she replied in favor of alec gently. alec quickly nodded and magnus smiled. "can't wait to see you two there tonight!" he exclaimed just before we walked off to reunite with his other friends, who alec believed had the names of ragnor and catarina. alec looked at his sister, who looked just as normal as ever. "hey, you alright?" izzy asked her brother with concern in her voice. alec nodded, still lost for words and quickly shaking and trying to catch his breathe. he held his book to his chest and tapped his foot on the ground, trying to cope with what he was experiencing. this wasn't the worst it has been, however. "want me to walk you to class?" isabelle asked him. without hesitation, he nodded, and the pair walked toward alec's creative writing class. ---------- alec was sat at the breakfast bar, reading quietly when the doorbell rang. he jumped ever so slightly at the sudden noise and knew that those were the first quests at isabelle's party. he cringed as he heard their unpleasant voices from outside their estate. isabelle had just finished putting the last of the snacks on the bar when she walked over to the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood flooring. she had changed her outfit, and now she was wearing a tight, velvet red dress that had ruffled sleeves on the arm rather than on the shoulder. she shoes were black stilettos with a four inch heel, similar to the ones she was wearing earlier. she opened the door and guests cane flooding in. alec quickly retreated to the stairs with his book, gripping onto it tightly. he sat with his back against a wall where not many people would be able to spot him. he nervously tapped his foot before sighing heavily and continuing his book. as time passed and more pages were read, the noise coming from downstairs increased more and more. alec knew he couldn't stay here much longer. he needed to get to his bench. alec could either go up to his room and attempt to climb out of a window to avoid being seen, or he could quickly make his way past people and run outside in only a few seconds. he decided against the option that might kill him and breathed heavily before he held his book to his chest and made his way down the stairs. the entire first floor was filled with people. people dancing, people talking, people making out. it was already way too much for alec. alec took a deep breath and walked down the last step, immediately almost running into someone. all alec needed to do was to get to the kitchen side door that lead to marsye's garden. he slid past people with drinks and food in their hands. he apologized when he bumped into people, and he tried to avoid eye contact with those he didn't know. "hey lightwood! join us," alec heard a rough voice say to his left. he turned to see the boy that just spoke to him along with four other boys and five girls. they sat in a circle around and on the counter, and there was an empty glass bottle laying on it's side in the middle of the circle. alec shook his head and left the situation quickly. alec had reached the door, and gripped onto the knob with happiness and relief. he turned it and pushed open the door, taking in the sweet smell of evening air. before he closed the door behind him, he swore he heard his sister calling out his name from inside. it couldn't have been important. alec walked on the gravel paths of his mother's garden until he reached his bench swing. he smiled to himself as he turned the gas lamps on and sat down under the stars, book it hand. about thirty seconds later, he heard the distant sound of the kitchen side door open and close. someone had followed him out here. hopefully they won't convince me to do anything stupid, thought alec, as he flipped the page of his book. "alexander!" he heard someone call out. he looked up to see magnus, waving at him. alec blushed and returned with a small wave. nobody has ever called him alexander except for his family, and it made butterflies flip in his stomach as he said it. magnus started making his way over to alec. "mind if i sit?" magnus asked. alec shook his head and magnus smiled, sitting next to the boy. magnus had changed as well, as now he was wearing a gold jacket that covered a black button up, and black pants with gold linings, and the same shoes. his makeup had much more glitter than before, and his beauty blew alec away. "is everything alright? i saw you run out of the party. you seemed in a hurry," magnus implied. "um, i, uh, just-" "it's alright, alexander. you don't have to answer," magnus replied soothingly, rubbing his hand on alec's left shoulder. alec tensed up at the unfamiliar touch, but melted soon after, realizing how soft and comforting magnus's touch felt. alec didn't know what to do, until he sub-consciously burst into tears. magnus broke, and put his arms around alec's slim figure. "talk to me, alexander." and he did. he told magnus about his anxiety and how much it caused him to be scared and to fear so many things and how it made him wish someone was there for him all the time. magnus let go of alec, who just had tears rolling down his face now. no whimpering or sobbing; just a silent cascade of tears. magnus brought alec's face in his hands, and wiped away a few tears. magnus was about to close the gap between them, but alec beat him to it. he had a chance, and for someone who is afraid of so much, he took it when he never thought he would have the chance to. they kissed under the night sky and the gas lamps that helped them see each other. the varieties of light brought out the best features in both of them, and they never wanted to leave the warmth of each other, ever. ---------- should i make a part 2? let me know!!!

[lilmissmousey]

Stirrings (Denial (AKA: this is sooooo not a date prologue)

Bzzt.

Vegeta’s fingers stilled over his laptop keys, eyes sliding to his now illuminated phone screen.

It was her, “Hey hot stuff. What you doin’? ;)”

He grunted, rubbing the tired eyelids under his glasses. Vulgar woman. Had she no shame? He’d only been working at Capsule Corp for less than six months and she was already way to friendly. Didn’t she know he had better things to do? Like, hm, save their asses from a lawsuit recently filed by a rival company? Vegeta knew he should just ignore her, go back to typing and try to not think about aqua-colored eyes and slender legs, but Bulma Briefs was persistent.

The phone buzzed again: “I have sandwiches.”

“Why do I keep doing this to myself?” Vegeta wondered as he hit the elevator button to the lab. He shouldn’t give into her. He had way more productive shit to do than entertain a spoiled heiress. The song playing over the loud speaker was some kind of grating pop music, and it did not help in quelling his agitation. Huffing, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and leaned against the elevator wall. At least the dress code at Capsule Corp was lax. Suits were itchy.

The numbers flashing the descent of the elevator into the lower levels of Capsule Corp mocked him. Bulma’s private lab was in the basement, far away from the prying eyes of the other scientists employed here. While the “regular” people worked on mundane everyday things, Bulma’s work was top secret and hidden behind numerous keypads and doors. Every time he made the trip to the lab under her request he’d feel the increasing amount of nausea and primal surge to run as far away as he possibly could. Feelings were horrible, unnecessary things that only got in the way-

The elevator doors slid open, and there she stood, sub sandwiches in hand and beaming at him.

There was always that cliche moment in films where time stood still, the handsome protagonist locking eyes with a beautiful woman from across the room. The both of them knowing instinctively that this person would change their world forever. For Vegeta, this had happened the first time he’d ever met her.

And it only got worse every time she’d cross his path.

The air around elevator was heavy; Bulma was covered in grease, long blue hair piled on top of her head and held in place with a pen. Her lab coat was stained and open revealing a black tank top and blue denim shorts. She was a vision, the perfect woman…

Which is why Vegeta scowled and snatched the sandwich out of her hand, brushing past her shoulder and not giving her a second glance as he powered towards the lab door.

He heard her huff in agitation, her footsteps echoing in the hall behind him as she struggled to keep up with his longer strides, “UM, you’re welcome!”

“I didn’t ask you to buy me lunch.” He grumbled, still walking forward and already ripping into the wax paper keeping him from the sandwich.

A low whistle came from her direction. Vegeta paused, turning around with an annoyed stare.

Bulma was surprisingly close to him, within arms reach and she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, “I hate it when you go, but I love watching you leave. You should wear jeans more often.”

“Wha-damnit woman I’m going to sue you for sexual harassment!” Vegeta felt his cheeks flame red, “why do you insist on being so pervy? Have you no shame?”

Bulma laughed, “Not when it comes to you!” She reached up and gently pulled the glasses from his face, putting them on instead, “I didn’t know you wore glasses!”

Left eye twitching, he took back the eyewear and tucked them into his breast pocket, “Not that it’s any of your business, but my eyes get tired cleaning up all the messes around here.”

“Pffft,” Bulma rolled her eyes, walking past Vegeta and tapping her code into the keypad, “What I was going to say is that they make you look smart.”

“Well, of course they-Hey!”

Bulma giggled, waving him inside the lab, “Hurry up grumpy. I’m starving.”

-

He devoured the first sandwich within moments of settling himself on the swivel chair near Bulma’s desk, she already handing him a second one. She knew well enough by now that despite Vegeta’s shorter stature that he could eat anyone under the table. He’d had Ju Jitsu practice the night before and his hunger was especially fierce today.

Bulma’s own sandwich lay unattended beside her, still primly wrapped as she pulled a pencil out of her coat pocket and carefully followed the lines of the ruler she had placed against a large blueprint nearly engulfing her whole workspace. Vegeta chewed thoughtfully, eyes narrowed as he watched her work, “What’s that?” He asked around the mouthful.

“Hm? Oh, I made the modulator in the space pod too small. It wont accept the amount of wires needed to actually propel the dumb thing. I’m just adjusting the pod accordingly.” She continued to measure, her firm bare calves teasing him as she shifted footing.

“Hmpf, some genius.” He teased.

“Hey bucko,” Bulma wagged the pencil at him, still not looking in his direction, “it’s beautiful, stunning, amazing genius to you. And don’t you forget it.” she went back to the blueprint, getting absorbed into her work.

Vegeta was only slightly irritated. If she wasn’t going to engage with him, then why was he even here? She could have easily dropped the sandwiches off at his office, but no. Instead he was sitting in near silence watching the prodigy of Capsule Corp doodle. He had at least three pending lawsuits against this crazy company he had to deal with, and being treated like a personal assistant was definitely not in his job description. The anger within him was building, threatening to end his patience then and there until…

…She smiled at him.

He hadn’t caught her staring, didn’t even realize that she had stopped working to watch him.

Bulma tilted her head, a free tendril of aqua hair escaping her messy bun and brushing down her slender neck, “What?” She asked. Heart thundering, and before he could stop himself, Vegeta reached out and tucked that wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Bulma blinked, cheeks flushing an obscenely pretty shade of pink.

Clearing his throat, Vegeta crossed his arms across his broad expanse of chest and glared at the floor, “It was pissing me off,” he grumbled, “the hair, I mean. I’m going to buy you some proper hair clips so that way you don’t look like a damn mess. It’s a health hazard around here anyways.”

“O-oh,” Bulma smiled, “don’t worry about it. I’ve uh, got plenty of them at home. Thanks though. Nice to know you care.”

“I don’t!” Vegeta barked, surprising himself with his own level of volume, “It just, its-”

The damn woman snickered, shaking her head. That same tendril of hair came loose, almost taunting him to touch it again, “Whatever you say hot stuff.” She smiled at him again, and she went back to her blueprint, once again getting lost in her own mind.

How did he not piss her off? How did she even stand to be in his presence? There was a reason Vegeta was alone; and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t his fault most of the time. Now there was this beautiful woman (incredibly out of his league) who not only put up with his permanently aloof attitude, but had gotten him this job. He’d owned his own law firm, but it was really just a small studio in a shitty area of town. Business usually consisted of petty crimes and at least attempting to get reduced sentences for the scum of society. It really didn’t matter to Vegeta who he was representing as long as it paid the bills. He’d been called in for a gang deposition for the Icejin gang and somehow Bulma had heard about him from there. He was called into her fancy office wearing a second hand suit and had wanted to melt into the floor. From the way her father and other members had looked at him he was sure he’d be kicked out. Vegeta didn’t mince words, and had told the fifteen people sitting at that long interview table exactly how he felt about their methods of defending themselves.

Shitty. It was all shitty. How could they look themselves in the mirror when all they did was pay people out for lawsuits that were unjustified? How had they not gone bankrupt? Why was a company so willing to fail wanting to hire him? What was the point? A mouse fart could have been heard after his rant, the faces of all the old men at the table sallow and horrified.

He knew he’d done it then; had ruined his chances of ever having a good client.

Fuck.

Vegeta had turned to leave when he saw the blue haired woman standing in the doorway looking amused, “And where do you think you’re going tiger? You’re starting right now.”

“B-Bulma!” Dr. Briefs had stammered, “This young man had made it quite clear that he doesn’t wish to associate with us-”

Bulma’s blue eyes narrowed, and she peered around Vegeta’s shoulder to grin at her father, “Daddy, he is JUST who we need.”

“B-but princess-”

“Nice to meet you,” the woman had held her hand out to Vegeta, “I’m Bulma Briefs, co founder of Capsule Corp and head scientist. It’s a pleasure to have you as the newest employee. You’re office is down the hall, it’s the door right next to mine. You start immediately.”

Stunned, Vegeta shook her hand and she winked coyly, “Nice to have someone who will get things done. And you’re cute to boot.”

And that was how this whole crazy thing started. Because this certifiably insane, stunningly beautiful genius and business mogul had had given him a chance when all his life he’d been told no. They’re upbringings couldn’t have been more different, and yet here he was. Watching her work was like watching a painter, completely in their element. He had a thought that disturbed him and caused him pause, but was still not enough to stop him.

Vegeta pulled out his smart phone, pretending to check emails when in reality he was opening his camera app.

This was wrong. He could get in so much trouble. But if one day she got sick of him and kicked him out on the street and he never saw her again, he wanted to always remember her like this: Leaned over her desk, blue eyes fixated on her own genius taking shape and stunningly gorgeous despite not even trying. Vegeta hit the button and captured a single silenced photo before quickly tucking his phone back into his pocket.

Bulma kept working, blissfully unaware of what had just transpired. Vegeta pretended to glance around the room, then noticed the still unopened sandwich beside her. He knew she wouldn’t eat unless forced to at this point. Sighing, he stood and went to her side. Bulma glanced at him questioningly as he plucked the pencil from her hand, instead thrusting the sandwich into it, “Eat.” He said firmly. Blue eyes blinked, but Bulma obliged, finally sitting and unwrapping her lunch. Vegeta nodded, before turning and walking out of the lab doors.

He’d stare at that photo for minutes at a time in his office behind closed doors for the rest of the work day and even months after. It reminded him of her kindness, and it caused stirrings in his belly he didn’t know possible. There was no chance with her, Vegeta knew. So, this picture and dreams were all he had. He was okay with that. This single snapshot of a moment in time was his little secret. She’d never even know.

Besides, what harm could one little photograph do?

—

Here is is my friends; the prologue to Denial! Thank you all for the encouragement and kindness you have shown my stories. This is for all of you ❤️