Raj only wanted three things in life: to do his job, to mind his business and to not get caught up in other people's shit. Unfortunately he's on the fast track to failing all three and in no way is it of his own doing. Why can't these people just leave him in peace?
Like a Lady Gaga Discography
Aldertree was decent enough looking guy.
For a pompous, pretentious, British dickwad.
Get some tea, Raj. Get Fairchild a change of clothes, Raj. Fetch the vampire, Raj. Make me a cucumber sandwich, Raj. Shine my cordovans, Raj.
The last one isn't actually true; Aldertree doesn't wear cordovans. Not that he does either but that's the difference between the upper echelon guys like Aldertree and the little minnows in the field like him. People underestimate how hard it is to get demon blood out of leather.
If Raj thought the Lightwoods were annoying when they were in charge, boy was he wrong. At least they didn't pretend to be pleasant; Maryse didn't anyway and Raj had to respect that, the way you'd respect a creature that was half protective mama bear fresh out of hibernation and other half blood-sucking, face chomping piranha.
Alec though was pretty enough and a pretty swell enough guy.
For a moody, party-pooping asshole.
That's more than he can say for Senorita Lightwood, lover of Seelies and defender of Downworlders. Shame that such a pretty face and such a hot body is wasted on such an annoying know-it-all. He isn't the grudge holding type. After all it takes way more effort to keep a grudge against someone then it is to amble on unconcerned and minding his own set of problems, but he hasn't forgotten or forgiven her for that utterly dishonourable ambush after the whole hoo-ha with the Seelie, Wayland and Fray ménage à troublemakers. The lot of them always causing a ruckus; he expects it from the redhead what with being raised by mundies in the wild for however long, but they were Shadowhunters and they really should know better. Plus it was a fucking blow to his ego, not like he'd ever admit it to anyone—Branwell didn't count. The only family Raj hated more than the Lightwoods were the Branwells. Sure they invented the portal or whatever yadda-yadda, but he thinks that a hundred or so years is more than overkill to keep harping on about something.
Plus who always ends up pulling the short stick in situations where someone inevitably gets fucked over?
Raj of course.
It's always fucking Raj. He doesn't recall where exactly on his file did it say 'Institute's go-to babysitter.'
Watch the Lightwoods, Raj. Watch the Frayed girl, Raj. Watch Branwell, Raj. Watch the Seelie, Raj. Watch the warlock, Raj.
But who's watching out for Raj?
No one. That's fucking who.
That's why Raj looked out for numero uno.
If that meant other people thought he was an asshole, then tough. He was there to kill some fucking demons and get a lot of sex. But not too many demons. Not more demons then sex though, wouldn't want the bosses to get ideas in their heads and heap on another responsibility on top of everything else he's already pretending to suck at. For now Raj is completely happy with batting in at mediocre and letting Wayland take all the glory—not in some misguided sense of self-sacrifice like Alec though; he wasn't the do-gooder martyr type and he didn't have a pathetic and completely undeserving crush on the blond dick like Alec. Seriously what is it with these Lightwoods and their bad taste in men? First the floppy haired egomaniac Wayland who's about as sharp as the blunt end of a Seraph blade, then the poufy haired, glitter lathered warlock.
Alec seriously needed sex and a lot of it then maybe he wouldn't be such a stick in the mud.
But then again, it might explain his obsession with the warlock.
Besides Magnus was decent enough looking fellow.
For a fucking warlock.
He probably likes the warlock more than Wayland at this point but that's no real surprise. He hates fucking Wayland and his carrot top girlfriend—or is she his sister now? He doesn't fucking know, not like he cares enough to keep up. They're demon killing hunter of shadows not some dysfunctional reality show like Sister Wives or some creepy shit like that. Either way they're both annoying and it makes his current predicament, which is staring at a drawer full of—well, drawers, a slightly more complicated situation. At least they were Fraychild's instead of Waylands'.
He could have closed his eyes and pointed to whatever and just been done with it, but just because he didn't go out of his way to stand out, it didn't mean that he didn't do the job he's assigned to pretty fucking well. And this is no exception. Besides they were Shadowhunters (even her) and they had a long honoured tradition to uphold.
Which is to look sexy as shit at all times.
It isn't enough that she had to traipse across half of New York looking like a drowned redheaded chipmunk, then she has to go track no doubt polluted water all across the polished floors. Judging by his luck or lack thereof so far, three guesses as to who was going to be the lucky sod who was going to have to mop the fucking floor by the end of the day. Only that it's a trick guess and you had three choices between just one person and no lifelines.
Yes. It's definitely going to be him.
Sometimes Raj wonders if he was the only competent Shadowhunter in the institute or if he was the only one who got any sort of notable screen time. They needed to get like a janitor or something. Maybe Frayedchild's dorky vampire third wheel. He was always good for a laugh.
Speaking of laugh, it was something Raj was definitely not doing right now.
Do women get asked the age old question, boxers or briefs? But instead of boxers the choice was between briefs and thongs or something? Cause he's pretty sure he used to ask that question to himself and Raj from approximately five minutes ago would have been more than happy to have an up-close and personal demonstration. That is up until the moment the pulled upon the dresser and his mind mentally projected Wayland's face onto every undergarment in the drawer and two on the bra cups with little flags of Switzerland fluttering around like little white and red cherubs, mocking him.
Wayland is as much Switzerland as Valentine is about flowers and overpriced boxes of chocolates.
Fact is, the only person in the institute who is actually Switzerland is Raj because unlike Valentine and the Clave, Raj hated everyone equally.
Except Wayland. He abhors the git—now that's a word he picked up from Aldertree and really the only notable thing he's actually contributed since he goose stepped into the institute. That and prat. He thinks it's high time for Wayland to get a new nickname, that way he can insult him to his face incognito. Maybe Spencer Prat, or Chris Prat. Nah, he didn't deserve Chris Prat. Spencer it is.
Freudchild has way too many clothes for someone who's just been at the institute for—what, two weeks? How many different versions of the same black jeans did a girl really need?
Eventually he settles for the ripped black ones because it showed a little skin and girls always looked cute in those, with an off-white muscle tee. But then with the muscle tee he needed to get a little tank top or something because there were occasions that called for side-boobs, and there were occasions that didn't. This was the latter occasion, what with Alec like dying or something down the hall.
It wasn't that he wasn't sympathetic; he was pretty much the only person Raj genuinely liked (on occasion and to an extent) but Alec is an adult and he's just got to deal with the repercussions of his own decisions like the rest of them. And really Alec had no one but himself to blame. He really should know better than to use magic stones obtained under suspicious circumstances from less than reputable sources. Sure Fairchild Senior was supposedly once a great Shadowhunter, but one might argue that she's been making one terrible choice after another since then.
He grabs a nice simple choker on the way out. After all, it was Venus Williams that said 'accessorize, accessorize, accessorize.'
He squeezes a slice of lemon into the tea too before he leaves the kitchen.
Freudenbergchild really owes him a giant thank you after this.
He's mopping the mess on the floor when the perpetually disgruntled redhead stomps by from the direction of Aldertree's office. Lots of shady shit seems to take place behind those closed doors and everyone always seems to be stomping out angrily which Raj thinks says a lot about Aldertree's default personality, i.e. the aforementioned pompous, pretentious British dickwad-ness. But in a way maybe the guy is actually growing on him a little. Not that he'd admit to anyone.
But one thing is definitely for sure; Clary looked great.
Alec is still expiring. Spencer Prat is still a wanted fugitive and an inconsequential entity in any medium, especially in Raj's own shit list. Valentine is still at large, orchestrating the uprising no doubt from some overly dramatic location like fucking Chernobyl or some national monument like under the Titanic Memorial or something melodramatic like that.
He can still smell the musky whiff of sandalwood in the air from when Magnus came angry sashaying through the institute doors earlier. The angel help the poor soul who stumbles into his iridescent path today.
But Raj did what Aldertree asked him to do and it did it pretty fucking well thank you very much. He gives himself a proverbial pat on the back because no one else was going to.
All in all, Raj thinks his day is off to a pretty good start.
Raj from approximately two hours later thinks that he want that phrase forever engraved on his headstone.
The end.
Really no logical explanation for the title outside the song, Fashion. That's pretty much how my brain works.