It starts with, of all things, a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt.
Logically, he knows it doesn’t make sense. She comes to work in form-fitted jackets that go tight about her waist. She’s been foregoing the baggy slacks in favor of skirts that stop just below the knees, with nylons clinging to the defined musculature of her calves; he’s pretty sure he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her wear shoes other than heels, excluding the clinical, white shoes she wears with her scrubs during autopsies.
He’s seen the looks she gets. Sometimes, it’s during an interview, when a witness’s gaze will linger just a little too long on her bustline, and her hand will go up and fiddle with her necklace, her arm blocking her chest in subtle defiance. Other times, it’s men on the streets of the city, shouting out obscenities to her, having the audacity to call her “baby,” and “sweetheart,” and he fights the urge to yell right back, brandishing his badge and his gun, wanting to scare the misogyny right out of the bones of anyone who thinks they’re entitled to her body, but he knows that she would find it condescending. “Thank you, but I can handle myself, Mulder,” she’d say, and it’s not that he thinks she can’t—he just doesn’t want her to have to.
And still other times, the looks come not from strangers on the sidewalk, or from people he can reduce to photos in a casefile, but from their peers. Educated, talented men who transform themselves into slobbery, teenage boys when sitting adjacent to her in meetings, eyeing her with an inappropriate hunger while she jots down notes in the margins of her agenda sheet. More than once, Mulder has found himself in the elevator with a man who will look down at Scully, and then catch Mulder’s eye over the top of her head, just so that he can wink, including him in some inside joke he has no interest being a part of.
He supposes that he empirically knows that Scully is attractive—it’s more or less objective fact—but he’s never allowed himself to notice. He’s trained himself to observe her through a filter. He considers her appearance through what he aptly names the Sexual Harassment Video Gaze. He quickly shuts down any thought that could be used as an example in a training tape on inappropriate office behavior.
I was wrapping my braids around my head idly and they each go all the way around my head. I have a crown made of hair, and it’s pinned up with two hair forks, and it is GLORIOUS!
Also, it’s coming down in about half an hour so I can sleep, but still. Crown. Made from my own hair growing from my head. Now it just needs flowers. All I have outside is daffodils right now, and I’m not sure I actually want them in my hair. Also, would probably bulk up my hair too much to do the crown thing so nicely.
Somewhere I have artificial vines and flowers. I should find them. Make a flower crown to go with my hair.
(I have not had my hair do this since I was a tiny Morgyn. It wasn’t quite long enough when I was a teenager/young adult to do this. Almost, but not quite.)
A/N: Special thanks to @fallencasifer for her
glorious help in brain-storming, motivation and technical beta-ing. Had a bit
of a struggle writing this due to being so busy and losing my writing mojo, but
here you go! As always, I love feedback.
You were already thriving, despite your serious lack of
caffeine in your system.
You had awoken around six, and had dressed and done your
makeup by 7. Panels didn’t really kick off ‘til after 8, so you opted for
coffee and breakfast. You quickly walked across the road and opened the door to
Starbucks, your nose flaring with the smell of coffee wafting throughout the
large cafe. You waited at the end of the small line, fidgeting with the hem of
your shirt and shuffling from foot to foot. You glanced around, eyeing the food
they had on display, licking your lips as you tried to decide on what you
wanted. You caught sight of a slice of apple pie and immediately had to cover
your mouth to stifle the moan, your mouth salivating at the thought of having
apple pie for breakfast.
*Soul running into Maka and oh shit he spilled coffee on her book—fucking shit she hit him with it and now he has warm coffee in his white hair and damnit this isn’t cool. But aye Maka’s momma side comes out and she is now wiping off the caramel colored liquid off of his face as he glares at her.
*Black Star secretly taking bubble baths that smell like fruit and the water is all colorful.
°Bonus if Tsubaki joins in and they talk about how their day went, Tsubaki gives him a quick quiz to make sure he studied, and last but not least: bubble fights.
*Maka is Black Star’s roommate and he is NOT pleased that there’s some badass cuddled up on the couch with her!! And eating HIS chips!
*Maka and Soul are two assassins that were legitimately told to kill eachother but she decides because his red eyes and hair are rare, along with his attitude, she can’t pass up the chance to make a novel character out of him.
*“You play piano?” “Who are you and why are you in my house?” “Maka, and I got hungry- holy shit this place is big- so I figured you’d guys would have expensive food. Though all you have is sushi- SUSHI!! I had to find the culprit and give them a firm talking to.”
*“Hi I’m Soul Eater, I’m drunk off my mind- or maybe that’s your eyes- and there’s a reason they call me soul EATER.”
*Black Star likes to flirt with Maka just a bit to watch her flush over(he’s like 7-12?) as the innocent kne she is but fucking hell baki really didn’t need to hit him that hsrd.
*Kid really likes to cuddle Liz at night because she’s warm and soft in all the right spots but he swears if she doesn’t quit kicking him-
*Patty and killik decide to experiment dating and its actually working pretty well bevause hey who knew he was such an understanding guy? And he buys her yellow roses and daisies and such because they remind her of giraffes.
*“Lookin’ for Albarn?” “Hi. Nice to meet you.” “Wait wait wait YOU teach a martial arts class? What abou-” *cue Blackstar looking over Soul with narrowed eyes because who is he while soul desperately explains his brother wants to take the class with him*
Have that “I’m half asleep I’m sorry pls forgive me” handful of.prompts
Maka is a witch and happens to place little luck charms on the guy next door every time he orders.chinese bevause she knows that that’s his “fuck exams are coming up and I’m not ready” food.
These two are super flippity-skippity so it figures that Mesi is a boomerang babe and Arthur gets a cut-throat razor no references to the Great Dictator here no move along. Also Jet is really light and is often sourced from the UK, while Tiger’s Eye is hella solid and often comes from South Africa, so that works out too!
(Amethyst I am not sure that is helping but don’t let that stop you)
The cold air bit at your face as it whipped past you, hair swirling in the chilled wind, momentarily blocking your vision, and you cursed yourself for forgetting to tie it back before the match began.
“And Randolph scores! Another ten points to Ravenclaw!” came the announcers voice booming through the winter air. You let out a cheer for your team as your eyes continued to scan the air for a hint of gold, not even paying attention to the score of the game. It didn’t matter to you, anyway. All you needed was the smallest reflection.
A flash of maroon passed mere feet away from you as the blonde Gryffindor seeker sped past. Without hesitation, you were behind her, peeking ahead to see if she was really after the snitch. After mere moments you could tell she was not and whilst hot on her tail, a glint of gold caught the corner of your left eye, and in an instant you were after it.
“It seems (Y/L/N) has caught sight of the snitch… And Potter scores! Ten Points to Gryffindor!”
Despite the announcement, you kept your eyes trained on the little ball of gold. You knew if your eyes lost contact for a split second, you would completely lose track of the winged devil. And yet in the back of your mind, you knew that Potter would be celebrating his score. The image of him pumping his fists in the air, searching for his friends in the crowd and showing off for them, distracted you despite your militaristic concentration. And in that moment, you lost the snitch. You scanned the air around you, desperate to relocate the golden ball, but it was nowhere to be seen.
“Bloody hell,” you cursed under your breath. Only a few moments later the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium once again.
“McKinnon has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!”
A wave of disappointment washed over your body as you saw the Gryffindor team swoop down to the ground to celebrate together, a messy, dark haired boy amongst them.
It had been a few days since the match. While no one blamed you for the loss, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for losing sight of the snitch. It had always been one of your biggest difficulties, beating yourself up over the smallest error. Whenever you saw one of your fellow Ravenclaw teammates after a loss, your stomache seemed to sink… at least for a week or so. You found yourself outside in the courtyard, avoiding what you were sure was the accusing glare of your fellow Ravenclaws.
A book was balanced on your leg, held in place by one hand, while the other absentmindedly twirled a piece of hair. You found yourself lost in the pages of the book and barely noticed when four boisterous voices joined you in the courtyard.
“Oi, look out!” One voice yelled from across the courtyard, breaking your concentration from the book. Your eyes glanced up, and saw a glint of gold headlining for you.
Without hesitation, your hand immediately jumped into the air, tightly and swiftly closing around the little golden, winged ball, plucking it from the air, the rest of your body unmoved and in the same position.
A boy with messy, black hair came screeching to a halt in front of you. You stood up to face him.
“You looking for this?” you asked, holding it between your thumb and forefinger mere inches from your face.
“Y–you caught that?” he asked, dumbfounded, eyes jumping between meeting yours and the snitch, while pushing his glasses back up the bridge.
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” you snapped back, thinking he might’ve been making a dig at you from the match a few days ago.
“No! No, I was just… impressed,” he explained warily. A small smile spread on your lips as you realized his words were not ill-intentioned.
“I’m James,” he offered.
You chuckled at him in response, “I’m aware. We’ve been in classes together for five years now.”
“Oh, blimey, I’m–I’m sorry,” he replied, embarrassed.
“It’s alright,” you said, closing the book in front of you. It was clear you weren’t going back to it.
“So… you play Quidditch, too, then?”
“Yeah. Believe it or not, there’re more seekers at this school than just the one on your team,” you said, tossing the snitch back to him, which he easily caught. “Maybe if you pried your eyes away from Evans for a split second, you’d notice that.”
A slight, crooked smile appeared on his face. “Yeah. Yeah maybe.”
His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and you began to feel a change in your pulse. You cleared your throat, trying to hide the blush that was creeping up to your cheeks. “Well, see you ‘round, then,” you said as you began to turn away back to the school.
“Wait,” he said. “What’s your name?”
You turned back to him to find his eyes still trained on yours. “(Y/N),” you replied.
“Huh,” he replied. “Well, I’ll make sure to look more carefully next time.”
“You’d better,” you quipped back with a smile before carelessly tossing your hair over your shoulder and heading back up to the castle.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think here!