Spent a good portion of Shabbat thinking about this for the first time since I was a kid, but…
You know what’s another way to interpret Hermione Granger - with frizzy brown hair, big teeth, not especially tall, dentist parents, a deep love and respect for books and learning, passionate social views, and belonging to a social class demeaned for having “dirty blood”, being liars and thieves with false power, discriminated against by both societal racism and government policies, serving as strawmen villains, and eventually outlawed, hunted down and murdered?
This whole thing, it was so stupid, and it made Annabeth feel stupid, and she wasn’t stupid, she was smart, gods damn it, so why couldn’t she do this? She should have been able to do this.
She only realised she was crying when a tear splashed on to the page of her textbook, blurring the black letters printed on the white page. That tear falling felt like conceding defeat, and soon enough she was crying in earnest, sobbing hard enough that the words became even less intelligible than they’d already been.
She put her head down on the book and let herself cry, feeling terribly stupid and sorry and frustrated. Her whole face felt hot, flushed with anger and annoyance - at this essay, at herself, at the fact that she was a daughter of the goddess of wisdom and she couldn’t seem to write a simple fucking essay.
When the door to her room opened she instinctively straightened, grabbing her dagger and spinning in her seat to face the intruder. When she saw who it was she immediately collapsed back onto the desk, face first, letting her dagger fall to the floor.
She heard Percy shut the door behind himself. There were a few soft footsteps, and then a gentle hand on her shaking shoulder and a quiet question. “Annabeth, hey, what’s up?”
Here’s a super brief (kind of rushed, kind of boring??) video on some Photoshop basics including tools, adjustment layers, and blending options. Nothing too in depth- so feel free to message me if you’re confused about a tool or want to know more. This is geared toward total beginners so it’s probably boring if you already have some knowledge of the photoshop tools!
Summary: “Ask any girl that thought Jeon Jungkook was
handsome or any boy that thought Jungkook was a god and they would say he
smelled like the purest form of any man with a harmonious smell of musk, cedar
wood, and oak; like fresh rain that soaked in the middle of a mossy forest,
spices, and black coffee – but they couldn’t have been more wrong.”
A/N:I have no idea what made me want to write this but it was fun and I’m most definitely thinking of making an au for all the boys.
“He had marked out a straight path through all that is most torturous in the world; his conscience was bound up in his usefulness and his religion in his duties; he was a spy as other cats are purr-riests. Woe to any who fell into his claws! He would have arrested his own father for escaping purr-rison and his own mother for breaking her purr-role. And he would have done it with the interior satisfaction that springs from virtue. His life was one of privations, self-denial, isolation, chastity–never any a-mew-sment…a pitiless detective, fiercely honest, a marble-hearted informer…..
He was free from vice, as we have said. When he was satisfied with himself he allowed himself a pinch of catnip. That proved he was still a cat.”
Classicat #30: Inspector Chatvert (Paw-vert in the English translation) from Les Meowserables by Victor Mewgo
Chatvert’s heart is made of wood, and you cannot soften a heart of wood…unless your name is Jean Meowljan, and even then it’ll take like twenty years and a failed revolution
Page: “The director of Free!,
Hiroko Utsumi, commented that, if you left Rin alone, he would be
isolated without anyone, so there needed to be a character — more like a
conversation partner — who would draw him out. The character who had
been born out of this need was Aiichiro. Aiichiro’s role was to draw out
Rin’s heart. Because Rin could understand parts of Aiichiro that were
like himself, he felt like talking to him.“
if you’re like me, maybe you have trouble staying focused on your essays or remembering what you’re writing about when you trail off mid paragraph,
or hate scrolling up and down the page to see things youve written previously/remember what you were talking about!
ive developed a strategy for countering this sort of thing in my own work, and figured hey maybe i should type it out because it might help some other people who struggle with similar things! so here goes!
also, uh .. I dunno if anyone cares about this but im using the Great Gatsby as an example, so if you care about being spoiled about stuff that happens in that book.. dont read the examples?
1. Rewrite/copy down your prompt.
If you have short term memory problems like I do, this can help you actually remember what it is that you’re supposed to be talking about; and if you have issues skimming and skipping words in a sentence, it forces you to read all of it and not miss a key part of your prompt.
Example prompt: Explore the thematic significance of symbols of wealth in The Great Gatsby, and what the author uses them to say about society in the text.
2. Make a messy bullet point list of what you know.
This doesn’t need to be organized. In fact, it shouldn’t be. At this point you’re just throwing your ideas out onto the word processor. Examples you can use, points you want to make, anything else that comes to mind.
Daisy as a symbol of money & american dream
(quote about her voice being full of money)
the valley of ashes
capitalism is bad bcuz it favors people with old money etc
the boat guy
3. Cut down & reorder your bullet points to make yourself a neat little list.
Your outline is starting to take shape now! If you can, it’s a good idea to try and think of transitions now; how you’re going to move from subject to subject in your essay. Now is a good time to elaborate on your points, too.
Daisy as a symbol of money & american dream
(quote about her voice being full of money)
the valley of ashes
(tie that in with the deaths of gatsby and wilson, all the people who “lost” in the book started poor, transition to:
capitalism is bad bcuz it favors people with old money etc, end with fancy ass profound quote if u think of one by then
4. Gather all your points and squish em into one introductory sentence.
Your thesis statement, if you rather. Your thesis statement is something of a “preview” of what’s to come later in the essay, so it’s better to write this after you’ve got your outline down! Make sure that your thesis statement answers/addresses the question posed in the prompt.
topics covered (daisy, valley of ashes, capitalism, people dead)
In his novel the Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald seems to be criticizing how the American system is stacked against the poor, making it difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to truly achieve the elusive “American Dream”.
5. Stick all that together
Now you’ve got the backbone of your essay! - your thesis statement, and the “topic” of each bit of the rest of your essay. Put this all together, and you’re ready to start padding it out.
(theeeeesiiiiiiiiiisssss) In his novel the Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald seems to be criticizing how the American system is stacked against the poor, making it difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to truly achieve the elusive “American Dream”.
Daisy as a symbol of money/the american dream (quote about her voice being full of money)
The valley of ashes (poor people in a bad situation in the wasteland of the city)
capitalism sucks bcuz it favors old money, profound quote, bam done we’re gona rock it
6. Start padding out your essay!
See, what I like about writing an essay like this is that you don’t have to scroll around your page in order to know what you’re supposed to be writing about in the section you’re working on. Using your bullet points as a guide, write your paragraph under each one.
Daisy as a symbol of money/the american dream (quote about her voice being full of money)
A powerful symbol Fitzgerald uses to represent the American Dream is the character Daisy Buchanan. She is explicitly said to have a voice “full of money” and is pursued by many. However, when Gatsby finally achieves his dream of having her in his reach, she seems less magical, less perfect than he remembers; much like the American Dream seems from “close up”. Interestingly, the only one in the end who gets to have “the Dream” is Tom, someone born into money. Gatsby’s attempts to keep her are arguably in vain due to the fact that he used to be poor.
The valley of ashes (poor people in a bad situation in the wasteland of the city)
Further commentary on wealth is evident in the area aptly named as the “Valley of Ashes”; the shadow of glamorous, frivolous New York, it is where the poor are left fighting for scraps and cleaning up what the rich left behind. (god, im not gonna finish this, im not getting a grade for this, you get the idea right? write the essay inside your outline. use it like a spine. like a tree trunk, and write the leaves around it.)
7. Write out an intro and conclusion to fit your middle paragraphs.
Your introduction needs to “fade in” and bring the readers to your “point”; your conclusion needs to “fade out” and show the bigger picture and how your essay applies to other areas. (These aren’t rules that are set in stone per se, just good guidelines to follow when you dont have any other ideas.)
Your thesis statement is ideally the end of your introduction, leading into the rest of your essay. Generally, the thesis is “restated” in different words in the conclusion, as if in summary.
8. Delete your outline bullet points and clean it up a little.
This is like erasing your construction lines after you finish a drawing, and then make sure it flows smoothly together. Reading it outloud to yourself is a good idea, it will help you catch any glaring errors.
9. Congrats you wrote that dam essay!!
good job dude!!!!! give yourself a pat on the back and maybe a treat bcuz you deserve it!
summary:Bucky x reader College AU. You and Bucky have been dating for a while, but things aren’t going so great. You love Bucky and want to make the relationship work, but does he?
warnings: light angst, fluff
a/n: This is my entry for @jurassicbarnes writing challenge! Happy Blog-Birthday💕 Based on the song Now or Never by Halsey. Btw this is my first fic ever! Also english isn’t my mother tongue, sorry for (m)any typos! Also, why am I doing this to myself?
“I love you.”, you say, exhaling softly and closing your eyes. You wait to hear if he says it back. He doesn’t.
Long after you have fallen asleep Bucky wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close. “I love you, too.”, he whispers. But you can’t hear him.
Two days later:
You’re in your apartment, which you share with your best friend Natasha, working on your assignment. Or that’s what you should be doing. But really you are just waiting for Bucky to call you back. Which he hasn’t so far. You are used to it though. An hour truly isn’t much. For his standards that is.
It’s been two days since you have last seen Bucky and you made plans two have dinner tonight.
After another hour it happens. Your phone finally rings. As you hear the beginning tunes of ‘Viva la Vida’ your head immediatly perks up and a smile makes it’s way onto your lips. Nat sighs and shoots you a pityful glance.
But when you look down at your cell, it’s not Bucky calling. It’s Steve, his best friend.
You already know what is coming. Bucky has done this a thousand times, using Steve to cancel his plans with you. You really don’t know why Steve still puts up with this. But then again, so do you.
“Heey Steve.” You pick up the phone, your mood audible in your voice. On the other end you hear Steve sigh.
“I am sorry, Y/N. I really am.”, he says.
“You don’t need to be.” You swallow hard. You meant it. It’s not Steve’s fault.
“It’s just-”, Steve starts to explain, but you cut him off. “No need to make up excuses. I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.” You laugh. Now it is your fault, or what?
“Look, today is not a good day for Bucky.”
“And he can’t tell me that himself?”, you snap.
“Like I said, not a good day.”, Steve explains.
“I GET IT.”, you yell. You immediatly feel sorry for screaming at Steve like that. He definitely did not deserve it.
“Sorry.” You take a deep breath. “Just…, tell Bucky…” You swallow. “Tell him it’s fine. And-” Hesitantly you finish. “Tell him I am here if he needs me.”
“Bucky, you need to stop avoiding Y/N. She doesn’t deserve it.”, Steve says, his eyes piercing through Bucky.
“I am not avoiding her.”, Bucky growels, his stare just as intense as Steve’s.
Steve snorts. “You’re not? Then why did I just call your girlfriend to tell her that you don’t have time for her?”
Sighing Bucky breaks his stare. “You know it’s not like that.”
Steve gets up from to couch to grab another beer from the fridge. “I know that, but does she?” He opens the fridge door, to realize that there is no beer left. Using slightly too much force he shuts the door and turns around to face Bucky again, leaning against the fridge. “You cannot keep pulling shit like this and expect her to stay.”
Bucky inhales deeply. “I am not sure I want her to stay.”
“You should break up with him.”, Nat says, as soon as you end the call.
“What?!” You just stare at her. She can’t honestly mean that. She knows how you feel about Bucky and how much he means to you.
“I know you love him, but you need to brace yourself for the possibility that he doesn’t feel the same way about you anymore.” She carefully meets your gaze.
But you are not ready for this. So you go back to working on your assignment that you couldn’t care about less.
What Natasha said doesn’t leave your thoughts the rest of the day. Even now, lying in your bed that’s awfully empty without Bucky there.
For a while you just stare at the white ceiling.
Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way about you anymore. You close your eyes, but you can’t stop the tears from falling. A sob escapes from your lips. You quickly cover your mouth with one hand, not wanting Nat to hear you cry.
You really don’t want her to be right, but can’t stop yourself from think ‘what if she is?’.
Were two years all you would get with Bucky?
There was a time where you actually thought he was the one. And you still do.
But being with someone does not fully commit to you, hell, who does not even make time to see you, is not the way to live.
How foolish of you to think that you could have it all. An apartment close to your dream college with your best friend, the perfect guy and a great relationship with him.
And Bucky was the perfect guy.
Handsome with gorgeos blue eyes that you could stare at for hours, if he would actually spend time with you. The right amount smart and funny, you could joke with him just as well as you could have a serious conversation. If he would actually talk to you. He was just… a little damaged. Which was probably why he was ignoring you right now.
It wouldn’t be fair for you to leave him now, just because he was going through a hard time. After all he had been there for you. And that’s what you want. You want to be there for him. But he doesn’t let you.
All of a sudden you are pulled out of sleep, your face and pillow drenched in water.
Confused you look around for the reason you awoke and find Nat standing next to your bed with an empty glass in her hand. She freaking poured cold water on you.
Nat smiles apologetically and shrugs.
“Get your ass out of bed. Now. We’re late.”
And with that she leaves.
Groaning you hoist yourself out of bed.
You roll your head to stretch your neck and lightly massage your shoulders.
You hadn’t slept well and now your whole body ached. ‘Good.’, you think. At least now your body matches your soul.
You don’t want to go to class today. You don’t feel well. ‘Not a good day.’, you think and laugh at yourself. But opposed to Bucky you really want to talk to him or just be close to him.
A light sob comes out. You take a deep breath. No time to cry.
After a quick shower and a cup of coffee you already feel a little better. Well enough to tackle a day of college.
You still needed to speak to Professor Coulson about that assignment. Since you hadn’t gotten anything done yesterday, you doubt it would be finished by tomorrow. But maybe you could convince him to give you more time.
When you arrive you and Nat part ways and head to your lectures. You round the corner and find yourself face to face with non other than Bucky Barnes.
Though you had been wanting to see him for the past few days, now that you are standing in front of him you don’t know what to say.
You immediatly start to blush and turn around. You shouldn’t be embarassed. But you are. So you start walking back only to realize that you are late and you have to get to class. Even if that means having to face Bucky.
Apruptly you halt your steps. Inhaling deeply you gather the courage to turn around.
He is still there. Just standing there, staring at you. Why doesn’t he say something.
He just looks at you with those blue eyes, the pain and sorrow visible in his gaze.
He does not look well. His skin pale as ever, dark blue bags under his truly beautiful eyes. Neither one of you moves. You want to. You want to run away. Turn around and never look back. You want to run into his arms. Wrap your arms around him and never let go.
“Aghm.” A cough pulls you out of your mind.
You both break your stare to find Steve, who just emmerged from the men’s bathroom, leaning awkwardly against the door, looking like wants to be anywhere but here.
“Sorry to interrupt your staring contest, but we are all late to Professor Coulson’s class.”
The short walk to the lecture hall was… uncomfortable, to say the least. Neither of you says a word. You wouldn’t know what to say or talk about anyway.
Now you are sitting in the second row, gaze fixed on Bucky’s brown hair in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if it is still as soft as always. You find yourself reaching out to touch it and quickly pull back your hand.
First you are late and now you cannot concentrate on what the Professor is saying. Great way to show Coulson you deserve more time.
“Now remember that essay we talked about is due ‘til tomorrow.” With that Professor Coulson dismisses the class.
You throw your notebook and pen into your bag, straighten out your skirt and make your way to the front.
“Y/N.” You hadn’t heard his voice in too long.
But you continue walking until you reach Professor Coulson’s desk.
“I wanted to- ahm- ask if- ahm- it would be possible to… maybe possibly hand in the essay the day after tomorrow?”, you stuttered, hands sweaty. Great, you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.
“Are alright, Y/N?” Brows furrowed your professor watches you intently.
“It’s fine.” You brush a stray hair strand out of your face, twirling it as you do so. “I mean I am fine.” You swallow, masking up a smile that is so obviously fake you don’t even know why you tried. Dropping the smile, you knead your hands together, slightly cracking your knuckles.
“You have until Wednesday.”, Professor Coulon says, a small smile on his lips. “I hope you get better.” Leaning forward slightly he whispers: “I think James is waiting for you.”
You look over your shoulder and see Bucky, James, leaning casually against the front row table, hands in the pockets of his jeans, gaze focused on the floor as if he was looking for for something. Right in that moment he looks up and his gaze meets yours. His lips curve up just the tiniest bit.
“Thank you, Professor.”, you say, before turning fully.
You start to walk towards Bucky, aware of every single stept you make. It feels like you have forgotten how to walk properly.
Bucky’s gaze never leaves you and that is part of the problem. The 5m from Coulson’s desk to the front row feel like 5km.
Too soon you reach Bucky and look up at him, now standing in his full height, hands leaving his pockets to hang awkwardly at his side.
His right hand slowly begins to lift and you lift yours to meet his in a very odd handshake.
“I was going for a hug, but I guess this is fine as well.”, he mumbles, gaze dropping to the floor again.
A nervous giggle escapes your lips. You let go of his hand, which you hadn’t noticed you were still holding, and wrap your arms around his waist, before you can think twice about it.
It feels so familiar. And good. It feels so good.
You rest your head on Bucky’s chest. You can hear his heart beating. Fast and hard.
He puts one hand on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back and pulls you impossibly closer.
“I missed you.”, he whispers, mouth grazing your ear.
Don’t you dare say something. Don’t you dare ruin this moment. But then you have never been the type to keep your mouth shut.
“You don’t have to.” You say quietly, head still pressed against his chest. “I am here. And will always be.”
Carefully you look up at his face, not sure if you whether you want to see his reaction.
His teeth are clenched together, lips pressed into a fine line, jawline more visible than usual.
When he sees that you are looking at him, his lips form into a tight lipped smile. “I know baby, I know.” He presses his lips to your forehead in a soft kiss.
You move your hands from his waist to the sides of his face and raise to the tips of your toes to place a kiss on Bucky’s lips.
All of a sudden you hear the door shut.
“Oh, you are still here.”, Coulson says, scratching his head. “Sorry to interrupt, but the next class starts in 5 minutes.” He walks over to his desk and sets his bag and a fresh, still steaming cup of coffee on it. “You might want to go somewhere… more private.”
Startled the two of you break apart. Keeping your head down you rush out of the room, mumbling “Sorry.” as you do. Bucky is right behind you, following your every step.
“Soo…” You come to a stop in front of a bank on campus. You sit down and pat the spot next to you, motioning Bucky to sit down, too. “Are we gonna talk about what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
You laugh. “Oh come on!” You stare at him, probably not looking as scary or threatening as you think.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been avoiding me for the past two days!” Your voice comes out louder than intended. You cover your face with your hands, elbows resting on your knees. “I know you are going through a hard time, but… you could have at least texted.” The last part sounds more like a sob than anything else. At this point you are trying very hard to hold back the tears.
Bucky tears your hands away from your face. He grips your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “I- I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets go of your face and looks down at his shoes.
Not being able to stop yourself, you brush his hair away from his face and behind his ear.
“It’s fine.” You try to reassure him. And maybe yourself. “Really, it’s fine. I am used to it.” At that you just have to laugh. You are actually used to your boyfriend ignoring you.
Said boyfriend’s head snaps in your direction. Wiggling closer, he puts his hand your thigh.
“You shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t-” He looks down at his hand that’s now drawing small circles. “I shouldn’t treat you like this.” His gaze wanders before settling down on yours.
“I am finally in my right mind. I love you, Y/N, and I need you. I have to stop pushing you away.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was just so afraid. Still kinda am. It’s been so long since I- since I felt this way for someone.” He smiles. Not a small or tight lipped smile, but a genuine one.
A tear falls from your left eye. And that’s enough to break the damm. All the tears you had been holding back stream down your face and soon you’re leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrolably.
“Why are you crying?”, he asks, rubbing your shoulder soothingly. “I just told you I love you.” You can basically hear the giant smile on his face.
As Steve opens the front door to his and Bucky’s apartment he can already hear you giggling. Smiling he steps inside.
You are lying on the couch, head in Bucky’s lap, his hands gently stroking your hair.
“What are you watching?”, Steve asks as he examines the TV.
“Captain America.”, Bucky says, not looking up.
Giggling you point at the TV. “He looks so much like you, Steve!”
a/n: Can u tell I never learned where to put commas. All any of my english teachers ever said was: u don’t have to put as many commas as in German ‘cause there are literally like 10000 comma rules in German. Also I hope someone actually reads this hahaha if you read this pls let me know what you think kay?
When Dazai first approaches Chuuya with another mission at the end of a long day of work, Chuuya is less than thrilled, but when the duo find themselves infiltrating a dance hall to track down a potential threat to the Port Mafia, Chuuya finds he enjoys himself more than he expected.
Notes: so this soukoku fic is a valentine’s day present for my beloved comrade @amarashii-am we talked about something like this back in like december I think, and I finally got around to writing it! I hope you enjoy it!
*****************************************************************************************************Chuuya stared up at the ceiling fan, watching light glint off its twirling blades as it spun back and forth in an unending loop, succeeding in doing nothing more than shoving stale air from one end of the room to another. After an exhausting, seemingly endless day of mafia business, Chuuya could relate to the ceaseless spinning of the ceiling fan more than he cared to admit. “It’s been a long day,” he said aloud to no one, leaning against the doorway as he watched the fan turn round and round. “But at least I’m home now.”
Home. Chuuya snorted at his own sentimentality. It was such a meaningless little word, and certainly not one that applied to this empty apartment that wasn’t even high enough to escape the miasmal stench of the port below.
Chuuya tore his gaze from the ceiling fan long enough to shrug off his overcoat and hang it by the door. He turned suddenly, giving the doorknob a quick twist to make sure it was locked. Assured, Chuuya crossed the room and threw open the French doors that led to the balcony. He had hoped the stifling heat of the summer day might have abated after sunset, but, much to his disappointment, the night air was no cooler than the inside of his apartment. With a sigh, Chuuya shut the doors again. He stared out at the city he had known all his life with lifeless eyes, one gloved hand pressed against the warm glass.
Chuuya whipped around, eyes narrowed. He was certain he had locked the door…
Dazai stood in the doorway, cradling a large, white dry-cleaning bag in his arms. “Oh, so you are home,” he said, meeting Chuuya’s eyes with a radiant smile that instantly put him on guard. “You didn’t leave headquarters very long ago- I wasn’t sure if you’d make it here before I did.”
“If you came here to make polite conversation, get the hell out,” Chuuya snapped. “If not, cut to the chase. I’m too tired to put up with your shit right now.”
Dazai glanced at his watch. “It’s barely a quarter to eight.” A teasing smile crossed his face. “But I guess small children like you get cranky when they miss naptime.”
“You’ll be taking a nap in the fuckin’ ground if you don’t shut the hell up.”
Dazai’s eyes widened. “Do you really mean it? Oh, Chuuya-” Dazai pretended to wipe away tears. “- I can’t believe you’d do something like this for me.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be doing it for your sake, idiot. Especially because it’s your fault I’m so tired in the first place!”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Oh, yes the fuck it is!” Chuuya cried. “You’re the one who kept me up until four in the morning going over names for strategies. I tried to leave, like, five times, but you were all, ‘oh, but should we call this one ‘fake flowers deceit’ or ‘this whole thing is stupid, who names their strategies anyway when we could just number them and be done with this shit in five minutes’?”
Dazai chuckled. “I don’t recall that particular strategy.”
“Do you recall me telling you to say whatever you came here to say and get the fuck out of my house?” Chuuya retorted, crossing his arms. “Because every second you waste my time is another second closer to me kicking you in the nuts.”
“Oh, please,” Dazai scoffed. “You wouldn’t-” Dazai’s words melted away when he saw the fire in Chuuya’s eyes. He took a step back. “We have a mission.”
“Oh, fuck me.” Chuuya rubbed his temples and sighed. “What’s the mission, then?”
“We’ve gotten intel that a certain member of an enemy organization is going to be frequenting a local dance hall tonight,” Dazai said, his face clicking into the cold, serious expression he always wore when discussing missions. “We have to shadow him for the evening, see if he conducts any business at the dance hall.”
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all? Just a basic shadowing? Can’t you just send one of your subordinates to take care of it? What about the scrawny one with the jacket? Agukatawa, right? Or is it Aku… Akuguwa?”
“Akutagawa,” Dazai corrected. “And no, I can’t pawn this job off onto one of my subordinates. This mission was a direct order from Mori; he was very explicit that it should be the two of us and no one else.”
Chuuya sighed. “Fine.” He strode across the room and slung his coat over his shoulders. “Let’s go, then.”
It took all Chuuya’s restraint to keep from slapping the smile off Dazai’s face. “What?”
Dazai handed Chuuya the white bag. “Put this on first.”
Chuuya shot Dazai a quick scowl, then opened the bag to find a deep red silk dress. “Oh, hell no!” he cried, wadding up the dress and throwing it at Dazai. “Why don’t you put it on?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dazai scoffed, carefully straightening out the dress and folding it in half so its hem didn’t touch the ground. “It’s not my size.”
“I’m being ridiculous?” Chuuya crossed his arms. “I thought this was a stealth mission, Dazai. Why the fuck would I wear something like that if we’re shadowing someone?”
Dazai shrugged. “I’m just following Mori-san’s orders.”
“Oh, come on!” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “If you think I beleive for a second that Mori handed you that dress-”
“Well, I still had to go out and buy the dress,” Dazai admitted. “Mori-san doesn’t know your measurements as well as I do.”
“You know damn well what I mean!” Chuuya snapped. “What, did Mori-san say ‘you and Chuuya have a stealth mission today, so make sure to put him in a dress’?”
Dazai dug his cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Chuuya with a smirk. “If you’d like to give Mori-san a call and question his orders, be my guest.”
Chuuya grit his teeth. Dazai was probably bluffing, but even if he was, Mori wouldn’t appreciate receiving a call over something so trivial. “Never mind,” he snarled, thrusting the phone back at Dazai and snatching the dress out of his arms. “I’ll go shave my legs.”
“Chuuya…” Dazai’s voice was soft, barely audible over the sultry strains of tango music that permeated the dance hall. “Smile.”
Chuuya bared his teeth. “Why?” Even when he didn’t understand Dazai’s orders, Chuuya reluctantly followed them; that bandaged bastard was many things, but a poor strategist wasn’t one of them.
“We’re just two young lovers at a dance hall, remember?” Dazai intertwined his fingers with Chuuya’s, giving his hand a slight squeeze of admonishment as he reminded him of the cover they had assumed for their mission. “If you don’t look like you’re having a good time, you’ll end up calling attention to yourself.”
Chuuya flicked the red rose that was tucked behind his ear. “Yeah, I sure wouldn’t want to do anything that would call attention to myself.”
“Chuuya…” Dazai fell silent for a moment, staring at Chuuya with an inscrutable expression. “Is it really that hard for you to pretend to enjoy being around me?”
A snarky comeback was waiting on the tip of Chuuya’s tongue, but he was caught off-guard by the genuine tone of Dazai’s voice. “What do mean, waste of bandages?” he asked slowly. “Since when have you ever cared about whether or not I liked being around you?”
Dazai straightened his tie and avoided meeting Chuuya’s eyes. Rather than his usual dark suit, he was wearing a black vest over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows and matching slacks, the tie around his neck the same dark red as Chuuya’s dress. As much as Chuuya hated to admit it, Dazai did look nice in white; it brightened up his face and even made his sinister, dark eyes appear a little less conniving, as if he did occasionally have thoughts that weren’t directly related to making his partner suffer.
Dazai gave his tie one final pull, then grabbed Chuuya’s hand. “Never mind what I just said.” His words poured out in a rush. “Just smile.” Still holding Chuuya’s hand, Dazai led him out of the semi-darkness of the coat room and into the almost blinding brightness of the main hall.
Once Chuuya’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw men and women in fancy clothing seated at small, ornate wire tables clustered around a raised platform, similar to a stage, closed off by heavy velvet curtains. A cursory glance at some of the women was enough for Chuuya to grudgingly confirm that the dress Dazai had chosen for him fit right in. Of course, he wasn’t going to admit that.
Chuuya flashed a radiant smile at Dazai. “Is this convincing enough? The last thing I’d want to was to do anything to make myself look conspicuous. Like, for example, if I was wearing a bright red dress-” Chuuya shot Dazai a pointed look. “-that would be pretty stupid.”
Dazai rolled his eyes. “Your dress isn’t bright red; that would’ve clashed with your hair. I made sure to get you something in a very tasteful shade of deep currant.”
Chuuya snorted. “Deep currant, my ass. I look like a stoplight.”
“Come on.” Dazai pulled Chuuya to the side for a moment as a waiter with a silver tray dashed by. Once the waiter passed, Dazai stepped forward, practically dragging Chuuya along behind him. “You look fine.”
Chuuya yanked his hand out of Dazai’s grasp, massaging his wrist where Dazai’s bony fingers had held onto him. “After all the trouble I went through to cram myself into this thing? I better look a lot more than fine, pal.”
The dance floor was elevated slightly, connected to the rest of the room by a short staircase consisting of three small, wooden stairs. Dazai placed one hand on the small of Chuuya’s back as they ascended the staircase side-by-side, pushing the curtain aside and holding it up so Chuuya could enter. On the other side of the curtain, the lights were softer, reminiscent of candelight, bathing the dancing couples in a delicate glow. An ensemble played on a small stage off to the side, and a woman with a voice like smoke crooned in another language. The almost subdued quality of the light, the swell of music, and the gentle pressure of Dazai’s hand on his back, made Chuuya feel as if he was walking into a dream. He could have stood there for hours, basking in the subtle glow of the moment, but Dazai had to open his mouth and drag Chuuya back down to reality.
“I got the dress in your size, so there shouldn’t have been much cramming involved,” Dazai murmured, his eyes scanning Chuuya’s body. “But, I guess it does look a little tight on you.” Dazai squeezed Chuuya’s ass. “Especially right here.” Chuuya gave an involuntary yelp, making Dazai laugh. “My, Chuuya, so noisy.” He leaned in close, his lips practically brushing against Chuuya’s ear. “We’re on a stealth mission, remember?”
“Then keep your hands off my ass, bastard!” Chuuya hissed, slapping Dazai’s hands away. “Besides, you’ve told me we’re on a stealth mission about a hundred fucking times, but you haven’t told me anything else, like, oh, I don’t know, the target’s name? Who we’re even supposed to be looking for?”
Daza’s eyes darted to the left, indicating an older gentleman in a tuxedo. “That’s him, the leader of Echo.”
Chuuya’s brow furrowed. “Echo? I’ve never heard of them.”
“Well, they haven’t really made any trouble for the Port Mafia yet,” Dazai murmured, letting his eyes linger on the target for a moment before casually shifting his gaze to a couple dancing nearby. “Echo is a foreign gifted organization that’s been making inroads in a few other cities in Japan. Mori-san suspects Yokohama may be their next target.” Dazai smiled down at Chuuya and straightened the rose in his hair. “That’s where we come in. Mori-san thought the Port Mafia should put its best foot forward, so to speak. If we catch him conducting any, ah, unsavory business, at this fine establishment-”
Chuuya cracked his knuckled, grinning. “Now we’re talking. Maybe this’ll be worth shaving my legs for after all.”
Dazai smirked. “The sacrifices we make for the Port Mafia.”
Chuuya’s eyes widened, darting back and forth as he tried to decide if anyone had overheard. Once he realized that the other patrons of the dance hall were too far away to have heard Dazai over the music, Chuuya turned on his partner with a snarl. “A little louder with that mafia talk next time- there might be some people here who didn’t catch that,” he hissed, poking Dazai’s chest.“You wanna give out our names and addresses while you’re at it? How about we strip naked, staple our wanted posters to our asses, and dance a fucking hula?”
Dazai tucked a lock of Chuuya’s hair behind his ear with an amused smile. “You’re so tense,” he whispered, his words warm and soft in Chuuya’s ear. “It wouldn’t kill you to calm down, you know.”
“Would it kill you to take our mission seriously?” Chuuya retorted. “Our target is within spitting distance, and you-”
Dazai looked mildly impressed. “You can spit that far?”
Chuuya snapped his fingers. “Focus! We need to keep our eyes on the targe-” His eyes slid to where the target had stood only to be met with empty space. “Wait, where did he-”
“By the stage,” Dazai breathed, carressing Chuuya’s cheek as an excuse to turn his face in the proper direction.
“Let’s go.” Chuuya took a step toward the target, but Dazai grabbed his wrist.
“Hold on,” Dazai whispered. “You can’t just go storming off like that. We need to blend in.”
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have in mind?”
Dazai gave Chuuya a dazzling smile and offered his hand. “Chuuya, may I have this dance?”
Chuuya blushed, mentally berating himself for blushing. “It’s just for the mission, you idiot,” he told himself. “It’s not like he really wants to dance with you.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Dazai, taking notice of Chuuya’s hesitation. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Don’t you know how to tango?”
Chuuya snarled and took Dazai’s hand, placing his other hand on Dazai’s waist. “Of course I know how to tango, you limp anus.”
The ensemble struck up a new piece at a faster tempo as the target began moving to the other side of the dance floor. Dazai gave Chuuya a smile that sent shivers down his spine. “We’ll see about that.” Dazai jerked Chuuya forward, but Chuuya trailed his hand down Dazai’s arm, grasping his fingertips as he spun outward and yanking suddenly, forcing Dazai to spill into Chuuya’s arms.
“What was that?” Chuuya murmured, fluttering his eyelashes. “I’m afraid I can’t hear you over the music, darling.” Chuuya could feel a smile threaten to crack his expertly applied lipstick; Dazai might be the big-shot executive able to call the shots when it came strategy, but if that graceless, linguine-limbed son-of-a-bitch thought he could out-dance Chuuya, he was sorely mistaken. Chuuya was in his element now, and he would savor every moment of it.
Chuuya trailed his fingertips along Dazai’s bandaged forearms so delicately that his partner shuddered before entwining his fingers with Dazai’s one at a time. Grinning, Chuuya placed his free hand on Dazai’s shoulder, gripping perhaps a bit tighter than strictly necessary, and led him forward, moving with fluid, graceful strides as Dazai scrambled to follow along. Dazai’s usual smug composure nowhere to be found. His eyes were wide, almost fearful, as Chuuya twirled, his fingertips barely touching Dazai’s, before lunging forward so their chests were pressed together, arching his neck up so he could savor the look on Dazai’s face.
“Where-” Although he had done little more than stand still and be yanked around, Dazai still sounded out of breath. “Where did you learn this?”
“Can’t I have a few secrets?” Chuuya purred. His hands traced the air near the sides of Dazai’s chest before alighting on his waist, using Dazai for stability as he lifted himself off the ground, stepping down so gently his high heels didn’t even click on the wooden floor. “Besides,” Chuuya added, plucking the rose out of his hair and putting it in Dazai’s mouth, which was hanging slightly open. “I think I like knowing something you don’t.” Chuuya crossed one leg in front of the other slowly, then swept his leg outward, kicking his foot into the air when it reached the end of its arc and seizing Dazai’s hand once more. “Just try not to slow me down too much.”
They danced for hours, always keeping the target within their line of sight, but as the night grew older, Chuuya found himself less and less preoccupied with the target and more and more focused on Dazai, on the placement of his hands, on the increasing elegance of his footwork, on the sharp gleam that came into his eyes when he was contemplated with a skill he had not yet mastered.
“He’s just using me for the mission,” Chuuya told himself as he leaned back into Dazai’s arms after a particularly dizzying twirl. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t use him for some pleasure of my own.”
For a few moments- the time Dazai attempted to spin and only avoided slapping the hat off an old woman’s head because Chuuya pulled him into a dip came to mind- Chuuya had so much fun that he could almost convince himself he and Dazai really were nothing more than a pair of young lovers in a dance hall, enjoying one another’s company without any thoughts of international gifted organizations or questions about who was using who.
Eventually, it got to a point where Chuuya suddenly realized he had neglected to look for the target for several minutes and, when he did look around, the man was nowhere to be found.
“Dazai!” Chuuya whispered, tugging Dazai’s sleeve. “The target, where is he?”
Dazai shrugged. “Who knows?” he said with a lazy smile.
“Who knows?!” Chuuya had to wring his hands to keep from wringing Dazai’s neck. “Damn it, Dazai, this is important! Trailing that man was our entire mission, and we have no idea where he went! He could be up to something right now, and we just let him slip through our fingers! If we can’t find him, our whole mission would be-” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing?”
“Laughing?” Dazai tried and failed to suppress a smile. “Of course not.”
“I should hope the fuck not!” Chuuya exclaimed, stomping his foot. Then, remembering that the target could possibly have allies nearby, he lowered his voice again. “There’s nothing funny about failing a mission.”
“No, no, there is nothing funny about failing a mission,” Dazai agreed, lips twitching. He covered his mouth with his hand but couldn’t camouflage a burst of laughter. “But this- this is hysterical!” Dazai laughed so hard tears began streaming down his face and he had to hold onto Chuuya’s shoulder for balance.
“Do I have to remind you that we just lost our target?” Chuuya snapped, shoving Dazai’s hand aside. “Whatever you’re thinking about can’t be funny enough to make up for the fact that we’re in danger of failing our mission!”
“Oh, Chuuya.” Chuuya couldn’t recall ever seeing Dazai look so amused. “There was never any mission.”
Chuuya was sure he had to have heard wrong. “Never any- what do you- you can’t be seriou-”
Dazai took Chuuya’s hand and gently raised it to his lips, planting a kiss on his knuckles. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Chuuya,” he whispered, a soft smile on his face and fragments of tears lingering in his eyes. “I hope we can do this again sometime.” With that, Dazai turned and exited through the curtain.
Chuuya could hear Dazai’s footsteps as he descended the stairs. “Bu-but I-” When the footsteps faded, Chuuya found his voice. “Hold the fuck on!” he cried, hiking up his dress so he could run faster. “What in the fresh hell do you mean, ‘there was never any mission’!? I shaved my fucking legs for this, you asshole!”
A/N: This is the first fic I’ve ever written! Hope y’all like it :) (also, if you have any constructive criticism please feel free to tell me)
“Hey, kid, how you feelin’?” Derek peeked into Spencer’s room, smiling a bit when he saw Spence all wrapped up under a mountain of blankets. His head poked out when he heard Derek, and his brown curls bounced from the movement.
Spencer groaned, and in a raspy voice said “Not good. I wish I could just stay in this bed forever.” The morning light was floating in through the windows, illuminating the floor strewn with books and clothes. Spencer grunted as he pulled yet another book out from under his head and tossed it onto the floor.
“I wish you could too, but you know we’re probably gonna have to go to work tomorrow.” Derek started walking towards the bed.
“No!” Spencer coughed. “Stay back! Studies have shown that respiratory droplets can travel up to six feet. I don’t want to get you sick.”
“It’s okay, don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ve got a great immune system, remember? And…” Derek disappeared behind the door for a second before returning. “I brought you soup!”
Spencer paused. “Okay, bring me the soup, please.”
Derek chuckled. “Come on, sit up, I’ll feed it to you.”
Morgan and Reid had been hanging out a lot lately, and although they hadn’t put any labels on anything, they were basically dating. The entire team knew it, too. They exchanged knowing glances every time Derek left the room exactly 75 seconds after Spencer did, and tried to stifle their laughter every time the two came back wearing each others shirts. Somehow, neither of them had noticed what the team thought. Derek didn’t even notice when Emily took a not-so-sneaky pic of Spencer asleep on his shoulder during a jet ride home.
Derek knelt down by the bed and placed the bowl on Spencer’s lap. He spooned soup into his mouth with one hand and put his other behind Spencer’s heard for support (and so that he could run his hand through his perfectly messy brown locks).
“Did you know,” Spencer began as Derek brought the spoon up to his mouth. Derek sighed and put the spoon back in the bowl. “There was a Roman philosopher named Pliny who thought that kissing a mouse would cure your cold.”
“Hm, I didn’t know that. Would you like me to find a mouse for you?” Derek said sarcastically.
“No, I was just saying.” Spencer giggled and took another sip of soup.
“Speaking of cures, I brought a tangerine for you.” Derek pulled one out of his pocket and set it on Spencer’s nightable. “Get that vitamin C.”
“You kept a tangerine in your pocket? How long has it been in there?” Spencer laughed.
Derek chucked the tangerine at him. “Just eat it, it’s still good!” Derek couldn’t contain his smile as Spencer rolled the tangerine over in his hands, struggling to peel it.
“My nails are too short.” Spencer pouted. He held the tangerine back out to Derek with a hopeful smile.
“Come on, you can’t even peel a tangerine?” Derek shook his head and chuckled.
“I’m sick.” Spencer laid back against his pillows and shut his eyes.
Derek took the tangerine from him and, once peeled, set it on top of Reid’s forehead and put the almost empty bowl of soup down on the nightable.
“Thank you.” Spencer mumbled before taking the tangerine and eating a slice.
Derek couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content. Spencer was just the purest person he had ever met and every moment spent around him felt like a trip to a world where he didn’t have a single worry. And even though he’d pretend to be annoyed by Spencer’s facts, he really did like them. He liked that he learned something new every time he saw him, and he definitely loved seeing Spencer so excited about such random things.
“Alright, I’ve gotta get going now.” Derek kissed him on the forehead and stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”
“Thanks for helping me today, Morgan.” Spencer looked up at him. “Love you.” He whispered.
Word Count: 783 | Warnings: Is damn considered a bad word?
Summary: Are there really any strangers at coffee shops?
A/N: This was my solution for boredom and just a fluffy little drabble hope ya like! Honestly i put more sugar in my coffee than the actual coffee so uhh, yeah. ALSO we are working on some more multiparts it’s just slow (and a little cringy) but coming!
The shop was quiet except for a couple people talking amongst themselves, all of which couldn’t be heard above the music borderline blasting through your ears. Taking a sip of your latte, you leaned back into the cushy booth and sighed, you were never going to get this essay right. The wording was awful and the proof were awful at best. God it’d be a miracle if you were smoother with your words.