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doctorbitchcrxft · 11 months ago

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What Is and What Never Should Be | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: Dean's an alcoholic dick, coping with trauma from a sexual assault, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of suicide but like not really cause it’s in a dream, canon violence, canon gore (take care of yourselves, as always. Love you guys.)

Word Count: 5281

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About two weeks had passed since you’d left Deacon’s prison. You were convinced it was the hardest two weeks of your life. You couldn’t quite decide if you wanted Dean hugging you all the time, or if you never wanted anyone to touch you again. It felt like every time you looked in the mirror, you were in that disheveled prison guard outfit again, tears streaming down your face with fresh scrapes trailing down your arm. You felt like you were never going to leave the prison’s parking lot.

It definitely didn’t help that you were also having to deal with being fugitives simultaneously. Sam and Dean were waiting for you back at the motel. You put the two of them on a strict lockdown given their mugshots would be everywhere, and the feds hadn’t seemed to find a clear enough image of you to post yours. You drove the Impala around the area of your newest hunt searching for a potential location the victims could have been brought to while the boys researched back in their motel room.

You knew Dean could tell you were pulling away from him, and you knew it was hurting him. You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t let him in right now. You didn’t want to burden him with your problems given Sam was supposed to be the main concern right now and evading federal agents was a huge priority. You needed to deal with your issues in silence in order to keep yourself from completely breaking down in front of the boys and pulling focus away from what you believed were more pressing issues.

Your phone rang and broke you out of your thoughts. It was Sam’s number. “Hello?” you said into the phone.

“Hey. Got you on speaker,” he replied. “There’s a cop car outside.”

“You think it’s for us?” you questioned.

“I don't know.”

“I don't see how,” Dean jumped in, his voice a little distant. “I mean we ditched the plates, the credit cards.”

Sam breathed out suddenly. “They're leaving. False alarm.”

“Well, see. Nothing to worry about,” Dean jested.

“Yeah, being fugitives? Friggin’ dance party,” Sam deadpanned.

“Hey, man, chicks dig the danger vibe,” Dean commented.

You scoffed. “Got anything yet?” you asked the boys.

“Just one thing. I'm pretty sure of it now. We're hunting a Djinn,” Sam answered.

“Really? How do you know?” you questioned.

“A freaking genie?” Dean asked simultaneously. “What? You think these suckers can really grant wishes?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I guess they're powerful enough. But not exactly like Barbara Eden in harem pants. I mean, Djinn have been feeding off people for centuries. They're all over the Quran.”

“And where do these guys shack up?” you asked.

“Ruins usually. Uh, bigger the better; more places to hide,” Sam replied.

Something struck you. “Y’know, I think I saw a place a couple miles back. I'm gonna go check it out.”

“Hell no, (Y/N),” Dean stated, voice suddenly much closer to the phone. “You’re not goin’ without us.”

“Dean, I’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. I just wanna take a look around,” you argued.

“I’ll call you guys when I’m headed back.” Despite the voices of the Winchesters protesting, you hung up the phone and turned the Impala around.

Minutes later, you came upon a decaying factory. Doors squeaked on their hinges as you pushed through them and decades-old papers crunched beneath your feet like fallen leaves. Everything seemed very empty and very abandoned, but you weren’t quite convinced. You headed deeper into the factory past several offices with smashed windows on their doors and blinds hanging crookedly.

Suddenly, something grabbed you and pinned you to the wall behind you. You dropped the flashlight you were holding as the Djinn pinned your hand above your head. You got a clear look at the monster in front of you; a bald man with curling blue tattoos detailing his face and body. You struggled against him, trying to get your knife through his chest with your free hand, but he pinned that one as well. The eyes before you began to glow an electric blue, and your entire body went numb.

*** The next time you woke up, you were alone in a comfortable bed. You jerked up, turned on the lamp next to you, and took in the room around you. There were scrubs tossed on the back of a rocking chair in the corner of the room and a picture of you and Dean hung on the far wall.

‘What the fu—’ you thought.

Suddenly, a shirtless Dean entered the room wearing sweatpants hanging low on his hips. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dean!” you exclaimed. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

He eyed you strangely and snorted. “Wha— What do you mean?”

“Where are we?” you asked.

Dean paused, still standing in the doorway and taken aback. “Uh, our house?”

“What?” you questioned.

“Babe, are you feeling okay?” he questioned, sitting on the bed next to you. “I knew your shift at the hospital was bad, but—”

“Wait, what? I don’t work in a hospital, I was hunting a Djinn—”

Dean cut you off. “You were probably just having a bad dream, sweetheart. Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

You weren’t quite sure what Dean was talking about or if this was even Dean. Maybe he’d been possessed, maybe you’d been— ‘Wait,’ you thought. ‘The Djinn. Maybe he did this to me.’

Dean climbed into bed next to you, and you noticed he wasn’t wearing the amulet he quite literally never took off. You were apparently eyeing him strangely, because he chuckled, “What?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, “Just, uh— where’s your necklace?”

Dean laughed, almost sounding relieved. “Oh, I took it off to shower.” He put a silver chain with dog tags hanging from it around his neck. He opened his arm for you to settle into.

Hesitantly, you laid down on Dean’s chest. You didn’t get much sleep the remainder of that night, though; incredibly uneasy about what was going on around you.

Around three in the morning, you slipped out of Dean’s arms and began to explore the house around you. You peeked through the bedroom window to see a neighborhood outside that screamed Middle America. You crept down the hallway to the living room and kitchen area.

Along the walls of the den, there were photos hanging of what looked like you as a teenager and a child, but you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t think photos of you existed of that time in your life. And if they did exist, they definitely were not of you at your third birthday with a pink frilly party hat stuffing cake in your face or of you in a cap and gown graduating high school and college. The next thing that caught your eye was a picture of you hugging Steven tightly. Your hand flew to your mouth at the sight. However, it wasn’t your Steven. This one was older and a lot happier than the Steven you once knew.

Then, there were pictures of you and your mother. Your father was nowhere to be seen, much to your surprise. You nearly wept at the sight of your mom. Then, there were pictures of a young Sam and Dean. One was Dean hugging his mother. He looked much older than four which was the age you knew his mother died at.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out.

You took out your phone and checked the time. You considered for a moment, but decided to call Sam figuring he would likely be up soon anyway.

“Sam?” you asked when the call was answered.

“(Y/N)?” His voice sounded raspy and tired.

“Hey, yeah, what the hell’s goin’ on, man?” you demanded.

“(Y/N), what are you—”

“Oh, god, not you, too.” You hung up the phone and ran a hand through your hair. No one but you seemed to understand that this wasn’t right. You noticed something laying on the coffee table at your feet. An envelope addressed to you with Lawrence, Kansas written on one of the address lines.

“Lawrence? Why the fuck am I in Lawrence?” you breathed out.

You noticed a computer sitting a distance away and immediately hurried to it. You typed in your password; no luck. You tried Sam’s password for his and Dean’s shared laptop; no luck either. Frustrated, you sat back in the desk chair. You weren’t sure where the idea came from, but you suddenly had the thought to type in Steven’s name and birthday. Somehow, it worked. You remembered how that was your original idea for a computer password when you first bought yourself a laptop in your real life, but the reminder of Steven was too painful to do so.

You then set to work researching the Djinn. You learned that they’re not so much genies as they are wielders of godlike power. They could alter reality to their whims however they want in the past, present, and future.

Then, the thought hit you. ‘What if this is just my life now? What if I never see my Dean again? Am I even a hunter wherever this is?’ Your breath hitched as you realized something else. ‘Was I ever raped? Are my parents alive? Where’s Stevie?’

You typed “whitepages” into the search bar and put in your father’s full name; no results. You tried your mother’s and actually got a hit. She lived in Lawrence, too.

‘What the fuck?’

You then tried Steven’s. Surprisingly, his name generated results, too. He also lived in Lawrence.

You hurriedly wrote their addresses down on a sticky note beside you on the desk. When you returned to your room, it was around five in the morning. Creeping around the room, you discovered the clothes in your closet were nothing like you wore in the real world: flowing skirts, cardigans, and lots of different colored scrubs. You almost smiled at the sight of the clothes hanging in your closet.

‘In another life, I definitely would’ve worn all this,’ you thought. You’d always wanted Carrie Bradshaw’s closet; Sex and the City was one of your guilty pleasure shows in the real world.

Your outfit of choice consisted of a pair of low-rise jeans, a halter top with a plunging neckline, and… ‘Oh.’ The only shoes this version of you had in her closet were heels. Admittedly, you’d never been great at wearing them, but always wanted to try. And so, you did.

Dean still slept peacefully, and you carefully clacked your heels back down the hallway. You headed outside to find the Impala in the driveway, and for that, you were grateful.

“Hey, sweet girl,” you grinned. You remembered seeing car keys on a hook next to the door of the house and quickly grabbed them. You popped open the trunk of the Impala secretly hoping to find something useful in it. However, old playboy magazines and paper cups were all you found.

‘Ew, Dean, clean out your car.’

You moved around to the driver’s side of the car. Before you could sit down in it, though, something caught your eye. A girl with a gaunt face and billowing white clothing was standing across the street on one of the neighbor’s lawns. A car blew past, and she was suddenly gone.

***

You rolled to a stop in front of the first address you had written down: your mother’s. You tried to keep your composure as you walked up to her front door. Hesitantly, you rapped your knuckles against it.

The door opened to reveal your beautiful mother who you’d missed so much. She looked a little older than she did the last time you saw her, and it was all you could do to keep yourself from throwing your arms around her.

“Mom?” you breathed out.

“What is it, hon?” she asked. “C’mon, come inside.”

The sound of her voice made tears spring to your eyes. You followed her into the living room where pictures of you and Steven lined the walls between crucifixes.

“Hey, Mom?” you started. “What song did you sing to me before you used to put me to bed?”

She looked confused, but humored you anyway. “The, uh, ‘The Long to Be’ song by the Carpenters.”

You smiled, partially in relief that this seemed to really be her and not just a figment of your imagination and partially at the fact that she knew. You rushed to her and hugged her tightly. Your mother seemed taken aback once more, but didn’t say anything to let on that she was.

“You okay? Everything alright with Dean?” your mother asked you.

“Oh, yeah, everything’s— everything’s great. Just, uh, it was a rough day at the hospital, ‘s all,” you said.

“How’s the garage?”

You tilted your head. “The garage?”

She seemed confused, too. “Dean’s? How’s work going for him?”

“Oh, oh. The garage, of course,” you laughed awkwardly. ‘Smooth, (Y/N),’ you mentally berated yourself. “Yeah, it’s fine, it’s great.”

“Really? Last time we talked, he was too busy drinking to focus on fixing a car,” she said.

You felt stunned. The Dean you knew was bordering on becoming an alcoholic, sure, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way of his job.

“Baby, I’m glad to see you, but why are you here at six in the morning?” your mom questioned.

“I just— I just couldn’t sleep. Needed to see my mom,” you replied. It was a half-truthful response.

Your mother offered a small, thoughtful smile. “Oh,” she suddenly said. “What time are you and Dean going to dinner tonight?”

You tilted your head. “Uh—”

“For Mary’s birthday?” she prompted.

“Oh, oh,” you said. “Right.”

“Did he not tell you?” she asked. “(Y/N), I’ve been telling you that boy isn’t right for you for a while now.”

“Mom—” you protested.

“No, (Y/N). You’re a fantastic nurse. You’re dating a drunkard mechanic. Why couldn’t you have dated Sam?”

“Ew, mom, no. Sam’s my best friend,” you said.

She seemed stunned. “What? That’s new. Last we talked, you hadn’t heard from Sam in months. Neither had Dean.”

It was your turn for your eyes to widen. “Right, right, yeah. Sorry. I’m just—”

“Have you been drinking? Dean’s rubbing off on you, (Y/N). You should have listened to me when I warned you about him,” your mother sighed.

“Jesus, Mom—”

“Don’t take his name in vain!” she scolded.

You scoffed. “I forgot that you’re like this.” You crossed your arms and turned away from her.

“Like what?” your mother pressed, voice rising.

“So incredibly judgmental of me. I’ve never been good enough for you or Dad, Mom!”

“How dare you bring up your father!” your mother cut you off.

“What?!”

“Wow, you really are drunk, (Y/N),” she replied. “He’s been dead almost your whole life. You barely even knew him. How could you say that about him?”

You felt like you’d been punched in the chest. ‘So that means he never hit us.’ “Mom, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Just leave, (Y/N). Please. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she sighed.

You turned and slammed the door behind you. You sat in the Impala with your head on the steering wheel just trying to process everything that was going on. Even in this fantasy land or new reality or wherever this place was, your mother was harshly critical of you. Granted, you’d rather her harshly criticize you and be alive than dead, but this version of your mother perfectly mirrored the true version of her. It truly freaked you out.

‘Well, scratch that off the list, I guess,’ you thought.

***

You hesitantly knocked on the door of your little brother’s home.

“(Y/N)?” he asked upon opening the door.

Tears sprang to your eyes. “Steve?” you breathed out.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asked.

You smiled as a tear slipped down your cheek. “Uh, just a hard day at work ‘s all,” you replied. You threw yourself into his arms; a hug he responded to immediately.

“Hey, seriously, what happened?” he asked when you pulled away. “Was it Dean again? The hospital never gets to you like that.”

“Wait, what? No,” you shook your head. “Why does everybody keep saying he treats me poorly?”

Steven looked at you as if it was obvious. “Uh, ‘cause he does. He’s an alcoholic playboy asshole that you’re way too good for.”

“What?!” you questioned. “No, he isn’t.”

He sighed. “Listen, (Y/N), I don’t wanna keep having this fight with you.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you replied. You stopped for a moment. “Stevie, I’m really happy to see you.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m glad to see you, too.”

A small voice piped up from behind your brother. “Daddy?”

Steven stepped back to reveal a staggering toddler in pigtails. He picked her up and grinned down at her. “What’s up, kiddo?”

‘He’s a dad?’ Your shock only increased, and you smiled at the sight of them interacting. Another tear slipped down your cheek.

“Why’s Minnie crying?” the toddler asked her father.

You grinned. “She calls me ‘Minnie’?”

Steven nodded. “Yeah, just like I used to.”

You laughed. “Can I hold her?”

“Duh,” he replied, handing his daughter to you.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you grinned down at her. She tugged on the ends of your hair, babbling happily and singing to herself.

“Look, Minnie, I braid.” The toddler held up a now twisted, knotted mess of your hair.

You smiled at her. “Awesome job, angel.”

You sat on the floor playing with your niece and Steven for hours until your phone rang.

“Hey, (Y/N), where ya been?” Dean’s voice came from the other line.

“Steven’s,” you replied. “Why, what’s up?”

“We gotta be at my mom’s in an hour. Meet me there?” he asked.

*** You met Dean on the steps of his mother’s house.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he grinned, pecking your lips.

Suddenly, a voice came from behind you. “Seriously, Dean?”

“Sam!” you exclaimed, turning around to give him an enthusiastic hug. He hesitated to return it, and the woman next to him cleared her throat. You released him to come face to face with Jessica, a woman you’d only seen in pictures.

“Hey, Jess,” you said, the name feeling strange on your tongue. You hugged her as well, and she awkwardly laughed.

“Hi, (Y/N),” she said.

You then noticed the awkward distance between the two brothers and the bags Sam was lugging out of the trunk of the taxi in front of you.

“Where'd you guys come from?” you asked.

“We just flew in from... Califor—”

“California! Stanford and everything. Right, sorry,” you laughed. “I’m really not with it today.”

Sam nodded somewhat disapprovingly. “I can see that.” He motioned to the beer in Dean’s hand. “I see you started off Mom's birthday with a bang, as usual.”

“Sam—” Dean warned.

Your heart was breaking at the awkward tension between two brothers who were otherwise incredibly close friends. You couldn’t believe there was a universe where Sam and Dean weren’t, well, Sam and Dean.

***

The restaurant you sat in next to Dean was stuffy. Sam and Jessica were dressed equally as stuffy. Nothing felt right at this moment. You were suddenly reminded of the reason why you were here, and that you needed to figure out how to help yourself get out of here.

“Wow, that... looks awesome,” Dean said, referring to the plate of steak and asparagus that had been placed in front of him.

Sam raised his glass. “All right. To Mom. Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” you, Dean, and Jessica said in unison.

“Thank you,” Mary replied, clinking her glass against yours.

You watched Sam and Jessica peck each other on the lips and you smiled fondly.

“I was really worried about you last night,” Dean told you.

“Oh, I'm… I'm good. I'm really good,” you nodded.

“For some reason, I don’t believe you,” he smirked. “I know a few ways I can make that a reality, though.”

You recoiled at that comment, slightly dumbfounded by how correct Steven had been about Dean’s behavior in this realm.

“Jess and I actually have another surprise for Mom's birthday. Ah,” Sam turned to Jessica, “you wanna tell 'em?”

“They're your family,” she laughed.

“What? Tell me what?” Mary asked excitedly.

Sam held up Jessica’s left hand to reveal an engagement ring. You laughed happily in surprise. “Holy shit! That’s amazing!” You got up and hugged Sam happily before hugging Jessica. “Congratulations!” you told them.

“I just wish your dad was here,” Mary told Sam.

You suddenly realized John was missing. You searched Sam’s face, whose disappointment mirrored his mother’s.

Dean and Sam awkwardly shook hands which hurt your heart a little to see. Just behind them, though, you noticed the girl from earlier. Her white, flowing clothing was much filthier and torn this time. You brushed past Sam and headed toward the girl, pushing past people mingling in between you and the haunting figure. As you pushed past the final woman, the girl was gone.

Confused, you turned back around to see the equally weirded-out faces of the Winchester family.

Sheepishly, you grinned and walked back over to them.

*** “You got somethin’ we need to talk about?” Dean asked you. He’d been completely silent since dinner up until this moment. He downed a beer in the kitchen before turning to you.

“What?” you asked.

“Back there with Sam. What’s going on with you two?” Dean asked. “In fact, you’ve been acting really weird the past two days. There somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

You scoffed. “Dean, I’m not fucking your brother. Look, I’m not feeling like myself right now. ‘S all.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Dean responded mockingly.

“Dude, why are you being such a dick?” you questioned.

“Oh, so we just call each other ‘dude’ now?” he argued.

“Listen, I’m really not enjoying this attitude, okay?” you responded.

Dean cut you off. “I’m not enjoying yours, either. What happened to the sweet little nurse I married?”

“Jesus, we’re married?” you questioned before you could help yourself.

“(Y/N), what the hell?” Dean replied, his confusion seeming to grow by the minute.

“I think I’m just… overly tired. I’m gonna… sleep out here tonight,” you said.

Dean scoffed. “Since when are you the childish one?”

“I’m not being childish, Dean, I just wanna sleep on the couch tonight, okay?” you hissed.

“Fine.” He left the room and returned to the bedroom the two of you apparently shared. You heard the door slam a moment later, and you flinched. You settled to the couch and pulled a blanket over yourself. You clicked on the television and began clicking through the channels. Something on the news caught your attention.

“And today marks the anniversary of the crash of United Britannia Flight 424,” the reporter began.

“What the—” you breathed out.

“Indianapolis residents held a candlelight vigil in memory of the hundred and eight people who lost their lives—”

Your throat clenched. “No, no. We stopped that crash.”

Panicked, you moved to your computer. Every hunt you checked had apparently never happened. “Nine Children Comatose” was the headline describing a “mystery illness” that had swept Dane County Hospital. Then, the brutal homicides from the clown killer after John died. And Taylor from the closing-down-Hoodoo-hotel case had drowned in the hotel pool. As you looked out the front window, you saw the same woman you’d seen twice already flash by the window. You turned around to see several female corpses hanging around you, and you nearly screamed out in surprise. Then, that same woman again flickering in front of you.

This twisted world was completely shocking even you, an experienced hunter. Your mind raced, but you knew what you had to do. A picture of your dad holding you as a baby on the wall of your house caught your attention.

“I’m sorry you’re not here, Dad,” you murmured. “And I know what I need to do. I’m gonna hunt this son of a bitch, but… I don’t know. Stevie’s happy. Mom’s… Mom. And I just— Why do we always have to be the ones to sacrifice something? A part of me is happy to do it, and this is proof that I could never have this. But it’s just… I don’t know. I know you’re tellin’ me to stop whinin’ and just get it done. I’ll make you proud. I promise.”

And with that, you grabbed a silver knife from your china cabinet and headed out to the Impala. You managed to steal lamb’s blood from a butcher’s shop and headed to the factory you’d last seen the Djinn at.

***

Hours later, you arrived at the factory in Illinois. Running on pure adrenaline, you headed inside. You moved your flashlight around to illuminate different parts of the factory, and you ignored your phone as it began to ring in your back pocket. The ringing silenced, and then rang again. Without thinking, you lifted your phone over your head and slammed it into the ground, shattering and silencing it completely.

Then, you came across a big store room with the same bodies you’d seen hanging in your living room strung up around it. Next, you noticed the woman you’d been seeing all along. She seemed close to death; her cheeks sallow, face pale, and body hanging limply.

“It’s her,” you breathed out.

Suddenly, you saw the Djinn coming around the corner. You ducked into the shadows as the woman began to cry. “Where's my dad? I won't tell—” she suddenly cut herself off. “Don't. Where's my dad?”

“Sleep,” you heard a soothing male voice say. “Sleep.”

You then saw the woman’s body completely relax, and the Djinn began to drink from the blood bag next to where she was hanging.

‘So that’s what it does,’ you realized. ‘It doesn’t grant you a wish, it just makes you think it has.’ As the Djinn disappeared, you continued to think. ‘What if I'm like her? What if I'm tied up in here some place? What if all this is in my head?’ You walked up to the woman. “I mean it could, you know, maybe it gives us some kind of supernatural acid, and then just feeds on us slow.’ You nearly scoffed audibly. ‘So, she’s not a spirit, she’s a flash of reality. I’m catatonic. Fucking great.’

Then, you remembered an old wives’ tale. “Listen to me, motherfucker!” you called into the darkness. “I’m gonna slit my fucking throat! I die in a dream, I wake up, right! Come and get me, I dare you!”

“Wait!” Dean’s voice suddenly called. He walked into the room.

“Why'd you have to keep digging?” Sam asked.“Why couldn't you have left well enough alone? You were happy.”

Your mother walked up to you and put a hand to your cheek. “Put the knife down, honey.”

“You're not real,” you said, tears forming in your eyes. “None of it is.”

“It doesn't matter. It's still better than anything you had,” Steven replied, holding his daughter.

“What?” you breathed.

“It's everything you want. C’mon, let’s go home,” Dean pleaded.

“I'll die,” you argued, voice breaking. “The Djinn 'll drain the life out of me in a couple of days.”

“But in here, with us, it'll feel like years. Like a lifetime,” your mother said. “I promise.” She put her hand to your cheek and stroked it with her thumb. “No more pain. Or fear. Just love and comfort. And safety. (Y/N), stay with us. Get some rest.”

“You and Dean don't have to worry about Sam anymore,” Jessica said. “You get to watch him live a full life.”

Dean walked up to you and kissed you fiercely. “We can have a future together. Have our own family. I love you, sweetheart. Please.”

“Why is it our job to save everyone? Haven't we done enough?” Sam tried. “I'm begging you. Give me the knife.”

You looked over to Steven, your lip quivering as you sobbed. “I’m sorry.” You slashed your throat with the knife, and the world went white once more.

***

“(Y/N)!” you heard someone yelling. “Sweetheart, wake up. (Y/N)!”

‘Dean.’

“Oh, God. Come on,” you heard Sam murmuring. “Hey. Wake up. Wake up, damn it!”

You began to roll your head a little, and your eyes could finally open. “Hey, guys.”

“Jesus, (Y/N),” Dean sighed. “I thought I lost you for a second.”

One of the two boys yanked out the IV in your arm.

“You almost did,” you joked half-heartedly.

“Oh, god,” Dean muttered, giving you a once-over. “Let's get you down.”

You winced as the boys helped you down, but you suddenly saw a pair of blue eyes glowing behind the boys. “Boys!”

Sam wheeled around, going at the Djinn with the knife. Dean immediately tried to get you away from the scene and set you down a distance away from the scene. “Stay here!” he ordered.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I,” you groaned as Dean turned to help his brother. Several yelps and groans later, the two boys staggered over to you after having killed the Djinn. You pushed yourself off the floor, wincing, and immediately moved over to the girl you’d been seeing in your sleep. “She's still alive!” you called to the boys upon feeling a pulse in her neck.

The two Winchesters helped you cut her down and get her out of the factory to a hospital.

***

Upon your return to the motel, you found out from the hospital that she was alive and stable. There was a solid chance the girl would pull through.

“How 'bout you? You all right?” Sam asked you.

“Yeah, I’m fine, guys,” you said. “I’m great, actually. I’m just— I’m just glad to be back here again.”

“What was it like?” Dean asked.

“Oh, you were a complete dick,” you replied.

Dean chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

“And Sam— Sam you were such a freak,” you said. “All stuffy and Stanford-y.” You paused for a moment. “But, uh, you guys were really breakin’ my heart, honestly. You couldn’t get along to save your life.”

“I thought it was supposed to be this perfect fantasy,” Sam said.

“Trust me, it wasn’t,” you replied. “I know we’ve lost a lot, but, uh, I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. Even seeing Stevie again, I— it just wasn’t right. I felt like more of a freak there than I do here. I, uh, I wished what happened to me at the prison never had, but the truth is, that’s always gonna be with me. I can’t just… get rid of it. Nothing can. And that’s not okay, but I’ll learn to live with it.”

You left the boys to sit with your words and moved to the bathroom. When you looked up at the mirror, an image of you with your mussed-up hair and guard uniform on flashed before you. You ignored the fresh-looking scrapes on your arm and blood streaking down them and shut your eyes. When you opened them once more, you were back to looking at your sunken face and tired eyes.

Dealing with this was hell. Every day felt like a struggle since what happened to you. But deep down, if you were honest with yourself, you would take dealing with all this with your two boys over your white-picket-fence, Djinn-dream-life any day.

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verysium · 11 months ago

Text

『02』出発: departure

ft. rin itoshi, sae itoshi

summary: a star's life is its counteraction against death, an endless deadlock against the brute force of gravity. in the constant struggle between space and time, rin cannot tell if he is being held up or held down. perhaps he has already dictated the terms of his own demise. cw: epistolary montage, mentions of blood in film, rin violently crying and throwing up, highly implied hallucinations, swearing, suicidal ideation, disillusionment and lots of hard angst. word count: 4.9k

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Two weeks after Sae took off from Haneda Airport, his words still lingered inside Rin's mind. His brother had left with a fiery flick of a grin—a gaping, white-hot maw right where his mouth should have been. It blazed then sputtered cold in his gums by the time he turned back around, but Rin still knew what he saw. The smoke never lied.

A triple tap of tongue against hard palate, the message moving fast as light. Something had flickered between Sae’s teeth. Something about split knuckles and brotherly love. Something about calling him back.

But Rin couldn’t hear over the boarding announcements, the roar of engines propelling out of the runway, the heat waves of people out in front. At half past noon, his brother had already departed from Tokyo, ten thousand miles westbound in a floating aluminum dream, reeling contrails through the sky.

And Rin still stood on Earth, waiting. Like some dumb thing left behind.

It wasn’t until his mother laid a gentle hand on his shoulder that he finally tumbled back to reality, an empty gate at his feet, no arrival or departure calling. The afternoon sunlight had grown dim, splintering against the glass windows and whirring the blood through his ears. His chest felt strangely suspended.

It was in the backseat where it all began. Three floors down in the parking garage. Fumbling through his pockets, his coat had snagged between the door and car frame, ten digits on a crumpled paper sent fluttering to the ground. Looking back on it now, he should’ve thrown that damn thing away. But he was stupid then, drunk on a heat stroke and the beginnings of terminal grief. Right on the exit of the Shuto Expressway, he made his parents turn the car back around and drive ten miles down to the nearest World Mobile, a wretched inhale of hope stuck squirming in his chest.

It took him several weeks before he finally decided to punch in those numbers, and then another several weeks to call after that. His body shuddered, sweat-faced and suffocating, as he trailed sticky fingers down the waiting screen. The phone rang once then twice. Then rang on forever.

Nobody ever bothered to pick up.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

2013 年 6月 17日 Nii-chan,

It still feels like you never left. And I say this with a miserable lack of sincerity because you did in fact leave just two weeks ago. Kaa-san still makes your bed. Square corners and all. Your duvet goes in the pile with the rest of my laundry.

Just the other day, I think I saw your shadow. I was sunbathing on the roof when I felt something brush against my back. Does Spain have big shadows too? I hope so. A country with so much sun must leave those poor shades short and stunted. Maybe they’re just a little shy. Be nice to them, will you Nii-chan? Not everyone can shine as bright as you do.

I hope you’ll make friends soon. Write to me often. I want to know everything.

2013 年 7月 7日 Nii-chan,

How are you? I didn’t receive anything in my inbox, and I checked with Kaa-san twice. She said you didn’t text me, but there is no way such a thing could have happened. Perhaps old age has finally gotten to her, or maybe something’s just wrong with this phone. Either way, I should’ve asked her to buy me a newer model.

On second thought, if you don’t text me, I will be very upset. But it will be a childish sort of anger. You wouldn’t be very proud. You will be pleased to know, however, that I have grown a total of ten centimeters this summer, and my bones are looking very strong and wide. My shots have improved too, and I scored three goals today.

Otou-san took us out to dinner for Tanabata this weekend. He told me it is about time I became a man. I smiled and said I didn’t want to disappoint. But then he said ten and three quarters is no longer a youthful sort of age, and I suddenly felt a little mad about it. I don’t want to grow up without you.

The festival was crowded as usual. I ate every selection of wagashi then chased it down with some of the sake Otou-san lent me from his cup. Pretty sure that was illegal, so I threw it all up on the way home. But then we all went and saw the tanzaku, so I guess something went right. I wrote down a wish, but I won’t tell you. Otherwise it won’t come true. I hung it up on the highest branch though, so that someday it might reach you.

Tell me what you think. Text back soon.

2013 年 8月 31日 Nii-chan,

I did not receive your reply from last time. I think this phone must still be broken. Perhaps you should check on your end. Even if it’s just a greeting, I will be content. Anything from you is fine, really.

I visited the beach again. It was peaceful until the wind blew hair in my face, and I went blind for almost fifteen minutes. I tried cutting it, but Kaa-san got mad at me. After your disaster five years ago, she said she’d never let her sons hold a pair of scissors ever again. Don’t tell her, but I laughed. Inside, you know?

Sometimes I still see the waves in my sleep. The ones at Koshigoe Beach. They cradle me, and suddenly it feels like my head is floating even though my body isn’t. You’d probably think I’m crazy. But lately dreams are the only way I can reach you.

I do watch the news though. And I train hard. Very hard. I can pass like you now, though not nearly as good as your highlights on TV. Coach says I still need to learn. You always said the same thing. But I am nearly as tall as Otou-san now and twice as strong. That must count for something, right? I hope the guys overseas will like this new me. When I finally come over there, that is.

Make sure you aren’t training too hard. I don’t want you to overstrain yourself. And if you don’t like it there, promise me you won’t force yourself to stay. You’ll pack your bags and come home early.

Promise me. Please.

That you’ll come home to me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

For the second time in his life, Rin finds himself on his knees, heaving up everything that has ever made him whole. The bathroom mourns with every dry retch of his throat, and suddenly he’s laughing into the porcelain, clutching at the sides in a mad form of desperation. His ribs shudder—tough in their hurt—yet nothing of substance ever lies between them. He’d smiled out his guts a long time ago.

Is empty space still a space or just the photonegative of presence?

Sometimes Rin feels like his body can never truly filled, but it can never be completely emptied either. No matter how much he regurgitates, there will always be more to come. The space inside him widens until it hangs on a threadlike line of limbo: so much to give yet so much to keep. It tugs at him—a crude form of baptism—pulling him up for air and then crashing his head beneath the waves again.

Another harsh hurl reverberates across the bathroom tiles, this time accompanied by the loud smack of spit. He’s emptied out so much his bowels might just prolapse at any second, the boy inside him turned into some sort of liquid slop, sloshing back and forth in his ribcage. It’s all over the front of his shirt now, the stomach contents soaked for hours in bodily brine, the grief his body tries to hold. No amount of bleach is going to erase the stench.

Some days Rin just wants someone to cradle him like a child does a bird, gentle and afraid to hurt. He had a dream about this once, many moons ago. After wringing himself out to dry, he had gone to work, looping the washing line around his feet until it resembled some sort of upside down noose. Once the wind picked up, he let go of the string like a pendulum, watching his body sway in third person: up and down and up and down. In this reality, he was a creature of feathers and clothespins, his body molting in the breeze. So long as he swung back and forth in this state of suspension, he would remain in the middle, not tethered down enough to live but not free enough to die either.

He’d simply exist.

Some nights Rin still can’t sleep. His eyes lay limp in their sockets, two dead weights sinking into bone. He tried to pry them out with his fingers, but they only pressed deeper into his face, rigid and wax-cool to the touch. No matter what he does, Rin knows he will be too late. He can never reverse this decay—the post-mortem withering of his own heart.

Just this afternoon, he died once again, his body slumped with the hollow weight of disappointment, his spirit sinking like a fault line into earth. He had been drying his hair in the locker room after practice, the friction of the towel’s loops causing small pinpricks of static to echo along his nape. The static had carried over hushed whispers, trailing along his scalp down to his ears. God, he hadn’t meant to overhear.

“Damn it, we’re really done for this season, huh? I’m telling you it’s the striker. We could’ve won this match if it weren’t for him.”

“I mean, if Itoshi were here, he would’ve destroyed their whole team by himself.”

“You mean the older one?”

“Of course I do. Who else did you think I was referring to? The younger one’s just been blessed up until now.”

“Without his brother, he’s just an ordinary guy.”

“Oi, Haruto, shut up! What if he hears?”

“Hear what? It’s not like it isn’t the truth!”

Rin still remembers how his surname burned on their lips, the tip of the tongue caught raw between teeth, the vowels seared into flesh. Itoshi was a burden coming apart at the seams, a title for something he could never possess. They were right and it left him smarting, reeling. He hadn’t laughed a day since Sae’s departure, but in that moment he wanted to shove his whole fist up his mouth and choke for the first time in five resentful months. The laugh had been a silent one, with tears on his waterline and a smile bruised onto his face.

Ha.....ha.....hah.....

There comes a point in every boy’s life when he simply exists. Still young but no longer impressionable. Salt in the eyes. Salt in the mouth. Take it like a man. When he hawks back the knife, it must come out breathing and clean. Living but not dead.

His teammates had every right to blame him.

He can’t score goals like he used to. Can’t run and bleed. Can’t love like before. There’s nothing but shame waiting for him when the realization finally breaches the bathroom air and his teammates scramble off the benches, cleats stained with guilt. They saw his reflection in the mirror, weeping right above the communal sinks.

“R-rin! W-we didn’t know you were here.”

“Y-yeah! You didn’t hear much, did you?”

Rin had never hated his name more in that moment. They uttered it like a euphemism, hand over his stupid bullet-riddled heart, the blood too runny to salvage. It only hurt him more. So he did what he knew best. He clenched his fist, the nails fisted into the meat of his palm, eyes caught on a hardened edge. It didn’t matter if Haruto was his senior. He’d beat him within an inch of his life.

“So you call me Rin now? Wasn’t I just younger Itoshi to you earlier?”

“I didn’t....We didn’t mean...”

“Then what did you mean?”

Only the scurry of shoes answered—two scuff marks against the dirty floor, Haruto’s yelp in the distance. Rin was left all alone again, his thin shadow blown wide across the whitewashed walls of the locker room.

“Damn coward,” he wanted to yell after him. “Run! Run and tell them how it’s not your fault!”

But he was just talking to himself.

Is empty space still a space or just a pseudonym for absence?

He hadn't been thinking at the time. Within the liminal space of the abandoned shower stalls, he lent himself a moment of weakness. He let himself cry. The shower head was cold and dirtied, and he stood there for forty-five minutes, waiting to be filled with a warmth that never came. In the end, he let his tears mix with the brackish water, staring at the evidence of his failure before it swirled down the drain.

He realized he must have been a mistake. There was no other explanation. The real Rin Itoshi was swapped at birth and replaced with someone else. Inside the four-walled confines of the shower stall, his imposter reared its head through the mist, long baby hair drowned down to the ears. He didn’t belong. Not in this body bathed in condensation. Not in this namesake crowned in tempered glass. But by the time the water trickled down to his nose, Rin was already knee-deep in self-doubt, wading his way into misery. What more did they want from him? No one could ever replace Sae Itoshi. Not even his younger brother.

Not even him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Six hours post-death in the locker rooms, Rin went home and passed out with his head on the toilet seat, two slick fingers shoved up his throat and his luminous guts buried somewhere down the pipe drain. Six hours later, his lids peel back scarlet, gelatinous with haze—a ringing in his ears. Some fucker is calling him again.

He doesn’t answer. Twice. But the telemarketer is either underpaid or rudely insistent, so Rin finally picks up just to curse him out on the line. He doesn’t need any scripted intimacy. Doesn’t need other people counting his own losses. He just needs to be left alone.

At midnight, he staggers out of the bathroom, fingers absentmindedly flicking off the lightswitch before collapsing into bed. The sheets aren’t even his own. He doesn’t notice until he sniffs the pillow and stiffens. It smells god-awful. Like tiger balm and soothing menthol. Like somebody he used to know. And much to his chagrin, the images come stumbling back: knee-deep in the salted sea, shirasu swimming around his toes. What color were his eyes again? Blue ice between teeth. Sour like a bad star. Oh, what can he remember? Disappointment peeled into spirals. Happiness running down the back of his hand. The blood of an orange, sweet and dripping. He’s forever staring at someone’s back. Always a few steps behind.

Fuck you, Sae.

There’s haunting laughter coming out from the window panes, and he can hear the waves crash on shore in the distance. Two children run across sand. Muted footsteps. One soft thump then another. The vision is so close he can practically taste it. Salt in the wind, in the eyes, in his mouth. The seagulls pluck at his eyes, but he takes it like a man, breathing and clean. Living but not dead.

One of the children stands with his arms behind his back, face hidden by the shadows of the horizon. The ocean spray nips at his burgundy fringe, the hunger of a whole world engulfed in his gaze. In the distance, a younger boy shouts his name, dark hair framed by a cowlick, turquoise eyes smoothed over by water. He runs as fast as his little legs can carry him, his arms filled with bone-white shells.

“Nii-chan, wait for me!”

Sae’s face blurs before he can turn around, and Rin is left staring at the wooden slats above his childhood bed, resenting something he can no longer remember. Why did people have to go and change? Three years later and his brother had gone straight from stealing seashells to swindling stars clean out of the sky. Three years and he still had nothing to show for himself.

He imagines the look on Sae’s face when he tells him this. Conversations over Sunday dinner. The family gathered round the kotatsu, piss-yellow light slicing every dish into halves. He spoons pickled radish and chokes Sae’s teacup till it breaks. Would it be disappointment he sees on his face? His brother’s features crumpled mid-smile, blue-green eyes wounded into a porcelain state. Why? Why haven’t you done anything with your life while I was gone?

Or perhaps it was anger. Smoke on the lips, bruised fists, and the heat of his mother’s blazing scream. Her son bares teeth and scrapes every syllable of their surname clean. Wrestles her other son’s shoulders down to the ground and shakes until the boy—the real Rin—gurgles and sloshes up inside. Do something, Rin. Do something! Or else you’ll never make it this lifetime.

Both, he could live with. But not this. The silence that burrows into his mind while he sleeps. The constant calling and the phone that just rings and rings and rings. It’s a circle, some sick sort of cycle. Every night he dreams of war—of sights and slights and stars. Things that end then don’t end then never end. He dreams until he wakes up screaming, on his hands and knees begging. Say something, will you? Anything. Fuck, why won’t you just say something?

Three years later and his brother still can't love him in a way he understands.

But what did he expect? Sae was like that: pale and blistering, beautiful even when burning. Last dream cycle, his brother fell down three stories and erupted into flames, limbs compacted into fine dust. Should’ve screamed but didn’t. By the time Rin got down to him, Sae was already on his feet, sputtering soot from his lungs then flaring back up like nothing had ever happened. As if his hurt was merely bursts of light gathering and bunching, violence in free fall.

And he was beautiful, Rin thinks. A boy of the blaze, man in the making, hair aorta-red, staring right back at him. By the time Sae opened his mouth, Rin’s arms were already open, ready to embrace the glittering shards. He crumpled before him as a building does a god, set alight on his brother’s palm. Strike me. He begged, blood around his mouth. Strike me anywhere and set me free.

But that’s not what happens when you die. Not when his brother said it best.

I think I’d die and become a star.

So he holds onto this life. Bunches it between fingers and twines it around his fist until he knows the person he’s dying for. Until he’s blacked out and dreaming in that damnable backseat again. Experiencing everything in the third person—the news, the screen, the slow-motion reels of an astral body wound up in constant replay. He can only watch as his brother slowly becomes a stranger in his own life again, and it guts him every time.

Sae Itoshi Dominates at Junior Championships, Secures Victory with Hat-Trick. Future Star? Sae Itoshi’s Sensational Performance Stuns Fans and Scouts Alike.

Who the hell is Sae Itoshi? Man, celebrity, celestial body? Not even his brother knows. But what Rin has learned over these past few years is that all stars are really just dead people, housed in a mausoleum of glittery beginnings and explosive endings. It’s binary—circling, really. A blinking eye in the sky, ticking time bomb, crying corpse, then everything wailing before its implosion. Sae could never comprehend this. The smoke-sputtering reality beyond tangible substance. This form of dying.

But dying isn’t even the worst part of it all. It’s people like him who suffer. Unlucky stars are cursed with another, forced to revolve around each other. If one collapses, the companion gets ejected out the deep end of space and time—stumbling, groping, searching.

Three years later and he’s still searching.

Hey Google: Can stars still be seen from Madrid?

The results for light pollution pop up. In a city of light, even light cannot be seen. How ironic, he thinks, that Sae is now a shining thing, flaring tendrils a million light years away. Post-nebula and he still loses himself in people who look exactly like him.

But that past has already come and gone, leaving nothing but the future behind. In the next dream cycle, Rin too will die, sputtering and choking, like a firework lit from within—violence in free fall. And when the time comes, he will leap off the fire escape, the city blocks spinning and spinning, every second a little death. The faster he falls, the more alive he’ll feel. He’ll drop all the way down until the only way he can go is up. And then he’ll ascend, floating past the skyscrapers, the streets, the sprawling metropolis. His toes curled, caught on the hook of night, the burnt flesh peeling back on bone. Floating until he disappears, his body nothing but white light.

Someday his brother will drown himself in his own artificial brightness. And Rin will follow, screaming, rearing, and set ablaze.

If you die Nii-chan, I think I’ll die along with you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

There are rare moments when seasons die a sunless death, quiet and wilting into the earth. Rin’s final birthday without Sae falls on one such month—a red September during which nature bleeds, the autumn leaves rusting around Engakuji Temple. He’s taken up long walks during that time, pacing for hours around the park nearby. Something about taking his mind off things. Something about counting his own losses.

By late afternoon, his hands are shoved fist-deep into his coat pockets, on track to finish his ninth lap around the perimeter. The daylight has long pooled down his back, tiny dollops of brightness slow-dripping and honeyed, settling into the hollow divots of his spine. The mise-en-scène frames him in a languorous ochre—the kind of lighting reserved solely for an aged romance. And the wind plays his lover, its post-meridian breath tender as it brushes against his cheek. It’s all a range of motions from there. He takes another step, adjusts a stray earbud, then tugs his scarf all the way up to his nose. Ten laps now, and he still walks. The only time he ever stops is when he stalls mid-way to check his phone.

Zero messages received. Message not delivered.

His thumb hovers briefly over the send button. The cursor at the end blinks with an almost human hesitancy before it opens its mouth, swallowing everything back up. The screen clears itself again, reduced to nothing but absence: a small square of light where silence reigns. Rin sighs before trudging home, a thousand words lodged into the back of his throat.

Nii-chan, I miss you.

The kitchen is empty by the time he slides open the shoji, removing his shoes with practiced ease before padding across the soft tatami. His mother’s gone on an errand for groceries, her hastily scrawled note tucked under his door with a bowl of persimmons. The house is empty, the joss sticks still smoking in the living room, tips warm and powder-soft. He grows heady on their incense, locking himself away in his bedroom and drawing the curtains. His old Fujitsu laptop whirrs to life, propped up against two pillows and an oversized owl plush. This time he puts on a splatter film, splayed on his stomach as he reels through the opening credits.

He can watch without the subtitles now, even converse with tourists at the station in Enoden. He recalls his teammates’ faces last Saturday—breaths held tender, jaws slackened with faux horror—when he gave out directions in perfect English. Sae would’ve been proud, if only he knew how much it meant. But lately, there hasn’t been a single interruption to Rin’s nights alone, despite how desperately he longs for one. The most his English is good for nowadays is translating the kooky foreign films he puts on rotation, ninety minutes of runtime for thirty-one evenings.

He must have gone through a dozen franchises by now: Halloween specials, 90’s vintage, slashers, the paranormal. The American flicks still remain his favorite, mostly because of the chainsaws. Something about the suspense of disembodiment scratches an itch inside his brain. Like the adrenaline before a final goal, moments before he implodes—naked body slathered in pools of primary color.

In the darkness, the films weave together: a tidal wave of light that washes down his bedroom walls. The victim shrieks before she is bathed in an eerie swathe of red, pierced at the helm of a bloodshot lens. Something about her death is both alien and terrifying, and Rin feels himself come alive again.

At climax, the light from his laptop is nothing short of searing, carving-knife intensity digging slowly into thin, rousing bodies. He can only watch as the killer sharpens his blade, each stroke a day-bright epiphany, cutting little wounds into the night. His figure is lit up from behind, illuminated in such a way that Rin can see his organs and count every one of his ribs. The scene peels back like water, reflecting montage after montage on the glass display case next to his closet. The trophies electrify themselves in the shadows, each silhouette splayed neatly on the shelf and serrated round the rim. The metal handles distort the characters’ faces in two-frame slashes, decapitating nose from ear, eye from mouth. Another scream rips through the background as Rin digs graves into his palm. This time the murderer chases a mother down the stairs, gleeful when her child fails to keep up.

He’s seen this scene play out before—three years and eleven months ago, when he first got himself killed. It’s the final match against Tokyo Metropolitan Youth, and he’s running on fumes, ten minutes into additional time. There’s only a few more meters to the goal area, the footsteps fast approaching from his left. He has to make an escape. The opponent closes in behind him, knife in hand, and all he can do is run, body barreling straight toward the camera.

The impact hits him right before the shot, his leg flaring out in some desperate attempt at a goal. The ball soars as he stumbles forward—violence in free fall, the boy inside him lit from within. In the final moments before he combusts, time stretches itself thin over his bones, smoking and exorcized from the fire. The shadow of his killer looms behind him, arm raised with the promise of metal and memory, the blade gleaming in sparse light.

Got you.

The child on screen turns around, facial features contorted in dramatic horror. Rin can hear her scream before the lips even part. He can already predict this ending. He can predict the next one after this too. Plight of the final girl: last to die but forever immortalized in her own grief and helplessness.

In six months, he will be named the most valuable player for Kamakura United Youth. In another six, he will be hollowed from the inside out, cursed to feel only the loss inside every win. This motion picture has rewound itself one too many times, the credits rolling and taking him along with them. End scene and he’s standing there in a pool of his own triumph—the grass strewn with painted carcasses—a thousand boys dead at his feet. His knees make hard contact with the earth, nothing but penitence in his eyes. This is all he knows: love and its smoking aftermath, the weight of it iron-hot on his tongue. Victory has never tasted so bitter.

But it always ends the same. For the final girl, the film star, everyone crucified by the crowd. All good auteurs come from a long line of men who have already run out of time, color pooling past their waists, crashing in over their heads. They don’t want to die, so they preserve their souls into billboards, spool strands of silence into substance. They only shoot what is in their blood: the sensational guts, glory, and gore. Because what better way to keep your memory alive than burn it onto the emulsion side of thirty-five millimeter filmstrip?

The red lights have begun to feel suffocating—the last of his breath now a belt around his neck—as the cameras pan down to a mutilated body. Rin secretly envies the child’s soaked shirtsleeves, the ground beneath her perfused in violent color. If only he could be filled with something that beautiful. But instead he was given the body of a pale child filled with longing, constantly waiting for a change and constantly wishing for something to flow out of him.

Eventually the clock strikes twelve and Rin closes his laptop, the backs of his eyelids whited out, brain overstimulated from the psychedelic screams. His brother’s portrait blurs in his peripheral vision, overexposed from the red glow, staring up at him from the cluttered nightstand. And in the moment, he briefly wonders if Sae left Japan in search of a new image. Perhaps Spain was just ninety minutes of solid technicolor screen where people could scream without horror, where the protagonist could freely bleed. And in the end, there was no death. The audience remains seated in theaters, their memories replaying over and over, bodies forever housed in cinema.

At the director’s cut, Rin’s consciousness falls under, hand still clutching the frame. End scene and Sae’s blown-out face smiles just a little into the darkness.

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warningsine · 2 months ago

Note

what is the best way to get safer/more anonymous online

Ok, security and anonymity are not the same thing, but when you combine them you can enhance your online privacy.

My question is: how tech literate are you and what is your aim? As in do you live in a country where your government would benefit from monitoring private (political) conversations or do you just want to degoogle? Because the latter is much easier for the average user.

Some general advice:

Leave Windows and Mac operating systems and switch to Linux distributions like Fedora and Ubuntu (both very user friendly). Switch from Microsoft Office or Pages/Numbers/Keynote (Mac) to LibreOffice.

You want to go more hardcore with a very privacy-focused operating system? There are Whonix and Tails (portable operating system).

Try to replace all your closed source apps with open source ones.

Now, when it comes to browsers, leave Chrome behind. Switch to Firefox (or Firefox Focus if you're on mobile). Want to go a step further? Use LibreWolf (a modified version of Firefox that increases protection against tracking), Brave (good for beginners but it has its controversies), DuckDuckGo or Bromite. You like ecofriendly alternatives? Check Ecosia out.

Are you, like, a journalist or political activist? Then you probably know Tor and other anonymous networks like i2p, freenet, Lokinet, Retroshare, IPFS and GNUnet.

For whistleblowers there are tools like SecureDrop (requires Tor), GlobaLeaks (alternative to SecureDrop), Haven (Android) and OnionShare.

Search engines?

There are Startpage (obtains Google's results but with more privacy), MetaGer (open source), DuckDuckGo (partially open source), Searx (open source). You can see the comparisons here.

Check libRedirect out. It redirects requests from popular socmed websites to privacy friendly frontends.

Alternatives to YouTube that value your privacy? Odysee, PeerTube and DTube.

Decentralized apps and social media? Mastodon (Twitter alternative), Friendica (Facebook alternative), diaspora* (Google+ RIP), PixelFed (Insta alternative), Aether (Reddit alternative).

Messaging?

I know we all use shit like Viber, Messenger, Telegram, Whatsup, Discord etc. but there are:

Signal (feels like Whatsup but it's secure and has end-to-end encryption)

Session (doesn't even require a phone or e-mail address to sign up)

Status (no phone or e-mail address again)

Threema (for mobile)

Delta Chat (you can chat with people if you know their e-mail without them having to use the app)

Team chatting?

Open source options:

Element (an alternative to Discord)

Rocket.chat (good for companies)

Revolt.chat (good for gamers and a good alternative to Discord)

Video/voice messaging?

Brave Talk (the one who creates the talk needs to use the browser but the others can join from any browser)

Jami

Linphone

Jitsi (no account required, video conferencing)

Then for Tor there are various options like Briar (good for activists), Speek! and Cwtch (user friendly).

Georestrictions? You don't want your Internet Provider to see what exactly what you're doing online?

As long as it's legal in your country, then you need to hide your IP with a VPN (authoritarian regimes tend to make them illegal for a reason), preferably one that has a no log policy, RAM servers, does not operate in one of the 14 eyes, supports OpenVPN (protocol), accepts cash payment and uses a strong encryption.

NordVPN (based in Panama)

ProtonVPN (Switzerland)

Cyberghost

Mullvad (Sweden)

Surfshark (Netherlands)

Private e-mails?

ProtonMail

StartMail

Tutamail

Mailbox (ecofriendly option)

Want to hide your real e-mail address to avoid spam etc.? SimpleLogin (open source)

E-mail clients?

Thunderbird

Canary Mail (for Android and iOS)

K-9 Mail (Android)

Too many complex passwords that you can't remember?

NordPass

BitWarden

LessPass

KeePassXC

Two Factor Authenticators?

2FAS

ente Authenticator

Aegis Authenticator

andOTP

Tofu (for iOS)

Want to encrypt your files? VeraCrypt (for your disk), GNU Privacy Guard (for your e-mail), Hat.sh (encryption in your browser), Picocrypt (Desktop encryption).

Want to encrypt your Dropbox, Google Drive etc.? Cryptomator.

Encrypted cloud storage?

NordLocker

MEGA

Proton Drive

Nextcloud

Filen

Encrypted photography storage?

ente

Cryptee

Piwigo

Want to remove metadata from your images and videos? ExifCleaner. For Android? ExifEraser. For iOS? Metapho.

Cloak your images to counter facial recognition? Fawkes.

Encrypted file sharing? Send.

Do you menstruate? Do you want an app that tracks your menstrual cycle but doesn't collect your data? drip.

What about your sexual health? Euki.

Want a fitness tracker without a closed source app and the need to transmit your personal data to the company's servers? Gadgetbridge.

#anon

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paint-the-walls-white · 1 year ago

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Classic Slasher

Pairing: Ghostface (Danny Johnson) x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to get away from the stress of life, you visit your families cabin. Even when there aren't any people around for miles, you can't shake the feeling of being watched.

Warnings: KnifePlay! MaskStaysOn! Chase! NonCon to Con! Degradation! Praise! From the Back! Bondage! Anal!

As you dropped your luggage by the door, you sighed, excited to finally have a relaxing vacation. Work had been extra stressful and your parents had given you the okay to stay at their lodge in the mountains. It was a nice cool October day, just a few hours before dusk, so you decided to start your vacation with a nice soak in the hot tub on the back deck.

After putting away your clothes in the bedroom, you changed into your bikini and slid into the nice hot water, sighing as it soaked into your skin. The chilled air offered a nice contrast to the boiling water. After a few minutes, you checked your phone and notified your parents you had just gotten to the lodge, but the message wouldn't be delivered. No mobile service.

'I'll just tell her later..'

Just as you placed the cell phone back on the edge of the hot tub, the landline inside started to ring. You decided it was time to get out of the jacuzzi and went to answer the phone but it stopped ringing before you could pick it up. An eerie feeling began to develop in your stomach but you shook it off and went to change.

A few hours later, the sun had just set for the evening and you had made dinner, settling on the couch in some pajamas to watch a movie; the phone started to ring again.

"Hello?"

'Hello? Who is this?'

"I think you have the wrong number sir,"

You listened closely on the line, hearing the soft sound of breathing. That eerie feeling came back.

"Hello? Sir?"

The repetitive beep from the speaker clued you in that the person on the other line must have hung up the phone. Unsettled, you put the phone back on the stand and walked over to the couch, plopping down with a bowl of popcorn in your lap.

"Guess it was the wrong number.."

Scrolling through the options on Max, you settled on The Nun II as you hadn't seen it yet. You were intently watching the movie when you suddenly got that eerie feeling of being watched. Pausing the movie, you walked up to the sliding glass door, locking it and closing the blinds. Then you made your way around the house, locking the rest of the windows and doors until you felt a bit better and sat back down to finish the movie.

You jumped at the sound of the phone ringing next to you. It was the same number from before. Swallowing that anxious lump in your throat, you answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi," It sounded like the same man from before, which caused a chill to run down your spine.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Just wanted to talk to someone. You're the only person I've been able to contact out here."

That made you uneasy but you relented, "Ok.. Why are you calling? What's your name..?"

He chuckled, "Why don't you tell me your name first beautiful."

You couldn't help but blush at his blatant flirting, pausing the movie to turn your attention to him, "Why do you wanna know my name?"

"I wanna know who I'm looking at."

Your heart sank into your stomach,

"What did you say?" Your heart rate picks up and your breathing becomes shallow. Time seemed to stop. He said something but you asked him to repeat himself again,

"I said I wanna know who I'm talking to,"

"Oh.. I thought you said.. Never mind.. Sorry I'm a little skittish, I've been watching too many scary movies I guess.."

Your heart rate calmed down a little bit, but you could feel your skin pricking up with goosebumps. You rubbed at your thigh to calm down, causing the bumps to fade. Biting at your nails, your eyes flicked around the room anxiously.

"Oh yea? Do you like scary movies?"

"Mhm.. My family watches them religiously for Halloween, we have a whole spreadsheet of what to watch every year."

You calmed down a bit and began talking to the man more calmly. After talking for a few minutes, raving about scary movies and which are your favorites, the man speaks up again,

"You know you never told me your name.."

"Why? I kind of like the mystery,"

He chuckled lightly again, "Well, then do you have a boyfriend?"

"No.. Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?"

"Maybe.. Or maybe I just wanted to know if you’re really up here all by yourself."

That feeling crept into your stomach again. Dread makes its way into your bones as time seems to stop. You never told him where you were.

"How did you.. How do you know I'm here alone..?"

"You told me, remember?"

"No, I did not. Are you watching me?"

You frantically got up to peek out the windows, searching for anyone who could be lurking around the house, but all you could see was the impossibly dark woods.

"No point in looking for me Doll, you're not even gonna see me coming."

"This isn't funny, Psycho! I'm hanging up!"

You threw the phone back on the stand and ran up stairs to grab your dads shotgun. That's when the landline in that room rang again. You saw it was his number again. You picked up, preparing to scream at him.

"If you hang up on me again, I'll gut you like a fucking fish!"

Your breathing picked up as you held the phone to your ear. This wasn’t happening. You warily made your way down stairs, peeking around every corner until you made it to the living room again.

"What do you want?"

"I wanna play a little game. You answer three little questions about horror, and I'll let you live, get one wrong and I'll rearrange your guts."

You swallowed, tears flooding in your eyes as you sat on the couch, gun in hand and the phone pressed to your ear.

"Ok.."

"Very good. Question one, this one is easy. What is the name of the killer that haunts peoples dreams?"

You flicked your eyes around the room, "Freddy Krueger,"

"Very good. See? Isn't this fun? Question two: Who is the killer in Friday the 13th?"

Really? This was so easy, "Mrs. Vorhees. Jason didn't appear until the later movies."

He chuckled through the phone, "Very good, Now for the third question,"

You sucked in a breath. If it was anything like the first two, this would be easy.

"What room am I in right now?"

Your heart dropped. No, He couldn't have gotten inside. You had locked everything up earlier-

"Tick tock. What room am I in, Doll?"

"Please.. Please just leave me alone!"

"That wasn't the fucking question. If you don't answer in the next ten seconds I'm gonna fucking kill you. Ten. Nine. Eight..."

"I-I don't know- The Basement!"

"Four.. Hah... Good guess."

You breathed a sigh of relief, until the power went out.

"But that's the wrong answer."

Your stomach sunk as the phone line went dead. So much for a vacation. You were going to be killed and no one would know for far too long. No. You weren't going to sit back and be killed. You were going to go down kicking and screaming.

You shucked a bullet into the chamber, eyes adjusting to the darkness, ear listening closely. The air was eerily still and it was impossibly dark. Standing, you walked down the hall to the basement door. He said he wasn't in there, and he seemed like the kind of person that wouldn't lie about that.

As you crept down the stairs, you were careful to avoid any creaky spots, your wooly socks insulated the sound of your footsteps. When you reached the bottom of the stairs, that's when you heard it. The heavy sound of a shoe pressing down on wood.

He was right above you.

You thankfully had grabbed your phone and stuffed it in your pocket before moving, if you could get out through the basement door then you could make a run for it and call for help.

And right when hope was just in your grasp you heard the phone in your pocket start to ring. You hadn’t had service this whole fucking time and now it decides to start working? Seriously? You fumbled to decline the call, dropping the gun to the floor. If he didn't know where you were before, he definitely did now.

You ran, making a break from the door across the basement as you heard his hurried steps down the stairs. You tried to unlock it with shaky hands, getting to the very last lock before you couldn't hear his footsteps anymore.

You turned, completely horrified as a man stood at a hulking 6'4", broad shoulders concealed by a black cloak and a ghost mask with no emotion behind it. He brandished an eight inch hunting knife in one hand and in the other a phone in his hand. He dialed a number and your cell phone started to ring. You answered the phone and pressed it to your ear:

"Boo"

You quickly undid the lock and swung the door open but he slammed the door closed, caging you against it with a knife pressed to your throat.

"Don't fucking move or I'll slice your throat."

"O-Ok.." Your back was pressed firmly against his broad chest. Despite the fact he literally had a knife to your throat, your body flushed at the contact. A heat pooled in your stomach because of the warmth he emitted against you.

"That's a good girl.. Aww you were so close huh? Ain't that too bad.. You're one of the smarter ones I've had.. I love that final girl mentality.."

You let out a shaky breath as he pressed harder against you, your chest now flushed against the door. The cold wood caused your nipples to harden and you whimpered underneath him under the guise of fear.

"Please.. I'll do anything, just please don't kill me.."

He chuckled against the side of your face, his warm breath creeping from the black mesh of his mask.

"How cliche.. I thought you were better than that sweet heart. But fine. Humor me, beg for your life.."

He eased up his knife, gently grazing it against your skin. Chills followed the cool steel of the blade as he ran it over you. The leather of his glove squeaked as he moved to tightly grip your face.

"Please.. Please don't, Please.."

"Ghostface." He barked out the title. You whimpered at the harsh tone in his voice.

"Please Ghostface.. Please don't kill me.."

As much as it was embarrassing, this was extremely arousing. Something about the way he had your life in his grasp, demanding you beg, it was just so degrading; but really fucking hot.

You whined as arousal started drooling from your cunt, soaking your underwear. He traced the knife over your shoulder, running it under the strap of your tank-top before pulling it taunt.

"How would you feel if I just fucking shredded your clothes.. Hmm? Not like you could do anything to fight it anyways.. You know what? On the couch. Now."

Ghostface gestured at the couch in the center of the basement. He eased off of you, allowing you room to walk. As much as you wanted to run, some twisted part of your mind wanted to see where this was going.

"Thats a good girl.. Sit."

Sitting on the couch, you pressed your legs tightly together in an attempt to ease the building ache in your abdomen. He crouched to meet your eye level, gently placing the tip of his knife on your chin to raise your face, forcing you to meet the gaze of his mask.

He tutted at her shamefully, "What am I going to do to you..? This is gonna be real fun.." It was completely dark in the house, but the moonlight shone just enough through the basement window that you were sure he could see the flushed expression across your face. He stood, flipping his knife in his hand.

"Don't fucking move."

Ghostface got to work, quickly shredding your shirt down the middle. You gasped as he nicked your skin, flinching at the contact. He was quick to slice again, growling, "I said not to fucking move. Do you want me to slit your throat?"

You quickly shook your head. You were so light headed and flustered. He groaned at the sight of your bare breasts.

"Fuck.. Aren't you a beauty.." You blushed under his eyes and moved to cover your chest with you arms,

"Don't say that.. It's embarrassing." He barked out a laugh, ripping your arms away from your chest and pinning them on the back of the couch with one hand, his knife at your throat once again. His warm breath brushed across your face as you looked into the black mess of his mask. There were no features visible behind it, but that made it all the more exciting.

"I will do and say whatever the fuck I want. I thought I told you not to fucking move?"

The fear in your eyes quickly faded as he released your arms to shrug off his cloak, shucking off his belt to bind your hands. You eyed his crotch for a split second before meeting his gaze once again.

"You're such a fuckin' whore you know that? Letting me do this to you. Let's get these fucking things off."

He flipped you over so your chest pressed against the back of the couch and your knees dug into the leather seat. He sliced at your shorts, nicking your ass and thigh before tossing them aside. You were left completely bare for him, bowing your head in shame as slick dripped down your leg.

"Fuck.. I knew this pussy would be so fucking beautiful.." His gloved hand prodded at your folds, halting almost as soon as he made contact.

"And... Wet..? Wait, are you getting off on this?"

You buried your face into the couch, mumbling a yes into your arm as you clenched around nothing. Your face flushed a bright red, creeping down your neck and to your ears.

"Fuck..." He pulled away from you, running his hand over his mask in frustration. You peaked over your shoulder, completely embarrassed.

"Are.. Are you disappointed..?"

"A little! I didn't think you'd be this fucking easy. You really are a whore aren't you?"

You hid your face again, yelping when he smacked your ass firmly, pulling your head back by your hair to look at him.

"I asked you a fucking question. Answer it."

"Y-Yes.." He released your scalp, quick to return his gloved fingers to your sloppy folds. You whined as he quickly sunk two fingers in. He slowly pressed in and out, groaning at the sight of your slick coating his glove.

"Look at you.. You're so fucking ready for me, aren't you? No fucking resistance.."

Your eyes widened as you heard the sound of his pants unzipping, whining at the loss of stimulation until he snickered, slapping your pussy. You let out a yelp as he smacked your clit, your slick sliding down your legs.

Ghostface pressed the head of his cock against your sloppy folds, groaning at the feeling of your wet cunt. He slid in between them, gliding the length of his thick cock through your labia at a painfully slow place. He pulled your hips to meet his as he towered over you.

"Beg for it like you begged for your fucking life. Say it, say you want this fat fucking cock inside you."

You whimpered as he glided along your clit, 'Please... Please Ghostface.. Please fuck me.." Your cheeks were burning a bright red at this point, far too aroused to care that this man had broken in and threatened your life after stalking you for who knows how long.

"Good fucking girl...Fuck you're so wet for me.."

Your eyes widened as he started stuffing himself in your pushing, a breathy moan escaping your lungs as he pressed against your cervix with ease.

He groaned at the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him, pulsing along his length. You whined at the stretch, pushing your hips back to meet his. He slid his hands up your scalp and pulled your head back to look down at you.

"You're gonna take this fucking cock like the good whore you are.. And then maybe.. Just maybe, I'll let you live.."

Eyes clouded with desire, trembling with need, you nodded. He groaned, pulling out until just the tip was left before thrusting into the hilt, forcing you to press harder into the couch. You moaned loudly at the contact as he continued to pound you sloppy cunt.

"That's a good fuckin girl.. Taking this cock.. So fucking well... Oh fu-uck.."

"Please.. No more.. S' too much.." You whimpered as the knife was pressed to your throat again. Tears picked your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

"I'll stop when I'm fucking done Bitch." He groaned, drilling into you at a punishing pace, grinning maniacally behind the mask as he began carving his initials into the flesh of your ass. You hissed at the pain but just rested your head on the couch to look back at him.

All you could do was whimper as your slick collected between your thighs, His cock collecting a ring of your arousal at the base. Your moans became desperate as you started to tighten around him. You threw your head back, arching into him as you came around his cock.

"Fuck.. Are you fucking cumming right now? Look at you.. Fuck.. You're so fucking tight.."

As you came on his cock, he continued his brutal pace, overstimulating your sensitive walls.

"Please.. Too much..." He groaned, pulling fully out of you. You whined at the loss but then gasped as he prodded at the tight ring of muscles just above where he was. "N-No-!"

Ghostface sliced at your back, "You don't get to fucking tell me No. You'll take it... Don't worry Doll.. I'm not a monster, I'll prep you first.."

You gasped at the feel of cool metal prodding at your slopping folds, sinking the handle of his knife into your cunt. You squeaked as he pressed a finger into your ass, whining at the feeling of being full.

He pulled the handle of his knife from your cunt and pressed it against your ass, replacing his finger with the slick shaft. You moaned loudly at the intrusion, surprisingly sensitive.

"That's a good girl.. Fuck.."

Ghostface pulled the knife from your ass and lined up his heavy cock, slipping in the head, slowly pressing in until you took his whole length. He quickly started a brutal pace, fucking your ass with a punishing force.

"You fucking like this, don't you? You like when I fill your fucking holes like this?" He stuffed a finger in your pussy, quickly working his way up to three.

You could only mumble incoherent phrases as he fucked you stupid, a different coil winding tight in you abdomen.. It almost felt as if you were about to pee.. But there was no way.. That'd be so embarrassing-!

"No- No- I'm gonna- Please..." He groaned as warm liquid flooded from your cunt.

"Fuck.. did you just fucking squirt from this..? That's so fuckin hot.. Fuck I'm gonna cum.. Take it.. Take it!"

He pressed his cock as deep as he could into your ass, spilling his seed into your tight cavern. The wet sound of him pulling out made you blush as you slumped against the couch, completely spent.

He gently unwrapped the belt from around your wrists and stuffed his cock back into his pants.

"Clean yourself up. I'll be back tomorrow Doll."

You slowly slid off the couch, nodding slowly as you walked on shaky legs to the bathroom. You could feel his presence was gone by the time you turned on the water. You screamed as you looked at what he did to your ass.

D.J.

#ghostface #danny johnson #smut #ghostface x reader

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obstinaterixatrix · 10 months ago

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I drove home so I could muster up the energy to call Amazon and my bank about charges that I did not make (make sure to regularly check your bank account credit card whatevers) so first I called Amazon to be like I didn’t make these charges and Amazon was like this is a mistaken charge, we’re not gonna call it fraud until you call your bank and set them on us (I don’t have an Amazon account, I’ve never use this card on an Amazon account). Then I called the number on my card foolishly thinking that that was what I was supposed to do and I went through the automated menu and ended up had an automated message saying the bank was not open (even though I specifically use the menu for disputing a charge). So then I looked up online how to dispute a charge and the official bank website said that I could do it from the app by going to the transaction and hitting report a problem. The option did not exist on the app. But it did exist on the mobile site and when I clicked report a problem, it popped up a window that was a different phone number. And I called that number and a representative answered. Puzzle ass system

#my ramblings

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seoksgrl · 1 year ago

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rather be dead than cool, 2. : jjk nerd!jungkook x popular!reader college au, dislike to love genderbent she's all that au

tws: rich antics, irene and mina being mean girls, name-calling

m.list prev | next

The address you texted to Jeongguk, after obtaining his mobile number, is in the centre of Gangnam, a street lined with row upon row of stores fit for those who have cash to burn. If you��re going to get Jeon towards your end of the popularity spectrum, it’s imperative that you get him out of whatever baggy, dark outfit he plans to turn up in today. Once the clothes are dealt with, you can work on that shaggy mop of hair before figuring out how to introduce him to your scene.

That will likely be the easier part - once Jeon is seen with you, campus interest will soar.

“How are things going?” Irene coos down the phone, an edge to her tone that often came when the two of you would play these kinds of games. Finding ways to one up the other, whether it be over boys or over money. While Irene is the friend you have known the longest, you can’t say she’s the one you trust. Though, your competitive streaks have always run alongside each other, the perfect match.

You check your appearance in the store window, the first place you’re expecting to visit with Jeongguk. There’s a party this weekend at an old friend’s cabin, and if you’re going to bring Jeongguk, he needs to wear something that will enhance the foundations you managed to spot upon your first meeting. Brushing your hair over your shoulder, you reapply lip balm, using the window as your mirror, “Things are going according to plan. Jeon isn’t anything I can’t handle,”

Irene hums on the other end of the phone, though it’s anything but encouraging, “As long as you don’t plan on throwing in the towel before we’ve even started,”

“Not at all,” You grin at your own reflection, “He’ll be walking into the spring formal with all eyes on him when I’m finished. And I’ll take a ride in the Porsche as a reward,”

You can see it now, Irene’s eyes flashing with annoyance at your confidence. You often wonder if pissing off your best friend should bring you this much joy, but before you can ponder any longer, a familiar dark frame comes into sight down the street, skulking through the people on the sidewalk, and you end the call with Irene as your eyes land on Jeongguk.

He’s dressed in what appears to be his favourite colour, black, paint-stained jeans and an oversized t-shirt. All that covers him from the unpredictable spring weather is a thin, denim jacket - also paint-stained. You wonder if it’s intentional.

He stops in front of you, large frame so imposing you have to take a small step back, your Gucci boots hardly a match for Jeongguk’s height. Your head tilts, eyes meeting his own weary gaze before you flash him your winning smile.

“I’m glad you got here in one piece,” You hadn’t asked if Jeongguk drives, but you assume he must, having walked from the direction of the parking lot behind the row of designer stores, “I hope it was easy for you to find,”

He frowns at that, shuffling from foot to foot and adjusting his backpack a couple times. The wind has already managed to wriggle some fly-away hairs loose from whatever excuse for a ponytail he has, the strands falling around his face and brushing his chin. You cannot wait to get a few inches chopped - the length doesn’t bother you, but you can spot the split ends from here, for goodness sake.

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, and so you press on, still wearing the bright, chirpy grin you save for meeting new people. You always like to make a good first impression, and you remember it being one of the few things your parents instilled in you as a child. Your other habits were picked up from movies, being that you rarely had time to do anything else as a youngster. Father was never home and when mother wasn’t shopping, she was organising charity events for your father and his work colleagues.

You shake away the oddly sombre memory and continue with the task at hand, leading Jeongguk into the first store - Gucci itself.

“We’ll start here,” You say, maintaining control as you lead Jeongguk further into the store, towards where the men’s shirts and slacks are kept, “I have an appointment booked for your hair,”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jeongguk reach up and tug at the strands by his chin, brushing them behind his reddened ear. You continue to talk him through the itinerary for the day, though his pleading eyes continue to drill into the side of your head, and you have no choice but to turn, brow quirked, “What’s wrong?”

“I, ah -” He clears his throat, “I can’t afford anything here,”

You wave away Jeongguk’s worries, exhaling a short laugh, “I can take care of it. I have more than enough money, and plenty of good friendships with the staff. You can use my black card,”

“Black card?” He asks, dark brows furrowing, creating a tiny wrinkle between them, “Is that like store credit?”

You exhale again, but this time you’re not laughing. You realise not everyone pays for their tuition into Yonsei, and you’re just now realising perhaps Jeongguk is there on a scholarship. That would mean he’s very talented, something that intrigues you, though you don’t have time to be intrigued by your science experiment.

“It’s a luxury credit card, Jeon,” You blink, “My family is very wealthy, and like I said,” You flip your hair over your shoulder, “I want to help,”

Not completely the truth, but Jeongguk doesn’t need to know that.

His lips part for a couple moments, before falling shut, and you continue walking with him towards the Oxford shirts. The sales assistant, eager and a little annoying, strolls over, their brows raising a fraction when they spot the tall, out-of-place guy beside you. Their lips part, their welcoming disposition betrayed by the obvious judgement in their gaze before their eyes slide back to you.

“Miss Y/N, so lovely to have you back,” The young girl says, hands clasp in front of her, bright pink nails start against the black of her uniform as her eyes once more stray to Jeongguk, confusion marring her strictly sunny expression, “How can we help you today?”

You step forward, gesturing at Jeongguk with one hand and sliding a thumb across your phone screen with another. You had spent last night brainstorming the optimum stylistic direction to take with Jeongguk, wanting to enhance what good features he has in order to make his transformation believable. He still has to win Spring King, after all, and to do that, he needs to look and act the part. Turning up in head-to-toe designer the day after wearing his paint stained baggy jeans isn’t gonna work.

“My friend is looking for a few staple capsule pieces to add to his wardrobe,” You say, walking further into the store, followed closely by the assistant, and then Jeongguk who lags behind, looking entirely like a fish out of water, “Nothing too flashy, just several timeless pieces to get him started. He’s new to designer,”

The shop assistant makes a noise as if to say yeah, I can tell and you raise your brows expectantly, watching as she stumbles over her words, rushing towards the back of the store where the men’s shirts are displayed neatly, “O-of course, miss. Absolutely,”

When you turn, Jeongguk is watching the whole exchange with curiosity and a little disbelief, his brows are drawn together, eyes impossibly brown and impossibly wide. You pause in your step, raising a manicured eyebrow in response, “Do you have something to say?”

“Does everyone always do as you tell them to?”

You smile, “Yes, now come on,” clicking your fingers, you turn and walk to where the assistant is waiting for you, not bothering to turn to check if Jeongguk is following.

He is.

Irene smacks her lips as she reapplies her lipgloss, using the mirrored wall in the new sushi restaurant, Stix, to see her reflection. You watch her fluff up her hair, wiping at the corner of her mouth, and you decide to check over your own appearance.

As expected, it’s flawless. You always apply a lip tint if you know you’re going to be eating, saving you the time of reapplying. Your mother always told you that was rude, and so the habit has stuck. The urge to make a dig at Irene raises it’s ugly head, but you successfully shut it down. After all, you’d hate to make a fuss, and to embarrass your friend.

“Have you played with your little lab rat yet?” Irene asks, grinning as she turns away from the mirror, putting her lip gloss back in her purse and pulling out her compact. Her makeup is flawless, but you don’t say anything as she begins to touch up her already perfect skin.

“I took him shopping a couple days ago,” Mina snickers, and you shrug, continuing, “I didn’t have a lot to work with, new clothes were imperative if I want to recreate his image,”

Irene giggles, “Sounds like you had fun dressing up your little pet project,”

“It was a means to an end. The shirts were basic, Jeongguk didn’t want to branch out,” In fact, he didn’t take any of your fashion advice beyond pointing out what he would need from around the store. He picked up a few white t-shirts, white button-ups and some black slacks. You had to practically force him to get the shoes you suggested, if only to prevent him from wearing Gucci dress pants with his sneakers.

You can safely say you’ve never met someone so stubborn.

“Are you gonna bring him to Jimin’s party on Saturday?” Mina asks, wiggling her brows as if the mere idea is mischievous, “He could be your date,”

Irene let out a yelp of laughter, and Mina joins in, the pair of them cackling like two evil witches. You watch them with a vague sense of annoyance, a familiar flare of stubbornness coming to life in your chest as you remain stone-faced, waiting for their laughter to die down. When it does, it peters out, their eyes shifting between you and each other as the silence grows.

“Y/N, did you hear Mina’s joke?”

“I did,” You smile, cat-like and confident, “I didn’t get the joke. I mean, Jeongguk’s reputation is about to be improved tenfold. Why not let people think he’s my date?”

Mina gasps and Irene’s plucked brows raise in a look of abject horror, she actually puts a hand on her chest as if she has been scandalised by your question. You can hardly see the problem with it - after all, it was your understanding that in order to ensure you winning the bet, the whole thing would end with you and Jeongguk attending the Spring formal together anyway. It makes sense in your head.

“Y/N, you can’t be serious,” Irene says, snorting, “bringing that loser to Jimin’s party? You two just broke up, Jimin will think you have gone insane,”

You frown, taking a sip of water, “I’m not sure about that. Nobody knows who Jeongguk is, and once I’ve got him styled appropriately, people will just assume he’s a random hot guy I’ve picked up. If Jimin can be a cliche and score a cheerleader, why not be a little mysterious?”

Irene mutters, "I don't know about 'hot',"

You smile, brittle and a little annoyed, "He will be when I'm finished with him. Have some faith, Irene,"

When you glance at Mina, she seems to be grasping where you’re coming from, but as per usual, Irene doesn’t see your side of things, and she rolls her eyes, returning to her useless endeavour to fix problems that don’t exist with her makeup. You smile blandly at Mina, sipping at your water and scrolling through your socials.

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moodycowplant · 14 days ago

Text

146. Clarissa. Just friends.

Meanwhile, at the Snow Residence...

Clarissa woke up to a quiet house—and the loud sound of water dripping.

Her stomach dropped when she reached the bathroom and stepped into a puddle.

Water was leaking fast, spreading across the tiles.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I think Dad once showed me the main water shut-off… somewhere. God, why didn’t I pay attention when I had the chance?”

She scrambled for her phone with her fingers fumbling as she called Valerio.

“Come on, Valerio. Pick up, pick up, where the hell are you—pick up!” she mumbled under her breath.

No answer.

She checked his room – empty.

“Maybe Rex? Or Mr. Payton?” she thought aloud, already dialing Rex’s number.

Nothing. Straight to voicemail.

“Damn it,” she hissed as the water kept rising.

She scrolled desperately through her contacts. “Moises? No. That asshole’s been ghosting me for weeks.”

Her finger hovered over another name. “Ben,” she whispered. “Maybe Ben can help.”

She dialed.

He picked up.

“Oh thank God—Ben! It’s an emergency, I really need your help. Please come over, right now, like—hurry!” she all but shouted into the phone.

“Clarry? Is that you? What time is it? What’s going on? Are you okay?” His voice jumped into a panicked string of questions.

“I don’t know what to do, Ben, just come. Please,” she begged, then hung up without waiting for a reply.

She had no idea how long it had been.

At some point, she found the main valve and tried to close it, but the thing was stiff, and she could only manage to turn it halfway. She spent the rest of the time mopping like her life depended on it, trying to keep the water from seeping under the door and into the hallway.

“God, my parents are going to kill me. I’m a walking, talking corpse. At least I know how to swim—maybe I won’t drown in here,” she muttered under her breath, wringing out the mop for the tenth time.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Thank God! People!” she blurted and bolted downstairs.

Outside, Ben was peering through the window full of concern.

“Is she okay?” he kept asking himself, looking for any sign of life.

The door flew open, and Clarissa launched herself at him, hugging him so hard she nearly knocked the wind out of his lungs.

“Ben!” she gasped.

“Clar—are you okay? You sounded like you were having a meltdown on the phone,” he said, gently grabbing her by the shoulders to get a good look at her. That’s when he saw it—she was drenched from head to toe, hair sticking to her face, T-shirt soaked. “Whoa. Did you go for a swim fully dressed?” he tried to joke, but she was not in the mood.

“Not funny. The bathroom pipes exploded or something, and I’ve been mopping for what feels like forever. Please—just come upstairs,” she said, already running.

“Pipes? Jesus…” he muttered and followed her, shutting the door behind him.

Upstairs, the bathroom looked like a crime scene. Water was still leaking in several places, puddles scattered everywhere.

“Did a bomb go off in here?” Ben laughed sarcastically.

“I don’t know what happened,” Clarissa said, on the verge of a breakdown. “I woke up to everything just… broken. I tried the main valve, but I think I broke that too. I grabbed some of Dad’s tools from the garage. I have no clue what’s useful, but maybe you can stop it so I don’t have to keep mopping.”

Ben crouched beside the toolbox. “I’m not a plumber, Clary, but I’ll do my best.”

Sometime later, after several trials and errors —and a few swear words—he managed to stop one of the main leaks.

“That’s one down,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead and grabbing another wrench. “Let’s hope we can fix the second one.”

Clarissa checked the time on her phone. “Ugh. It’s already 1 PM. No wonder I feel like I’m going to drop dead from hunger.”

She turned to him. “This one looks like it’s leaking slower. Will you be okay here for a bit? I’ll make us some food.”

“Not saying no to that,” Ben replied, already fiddling with the second pipe. “Go ahead, I’ve got it under control.”

Clarissa raced downstairs, opened the fridge, and started pulling out ingredients for some quick sandwiches while the kettle boiled.

She was about to check on Ben when she saw him coming downstairs, his hoodie and jeans soaked in spots. Even with the mess, he had a big grin on his face.

“All done,” he announced, following her toward the kitchen table. “Though you guys still need to call a real plumber. I don’t think it’ll hold for long.”

“Thank you for your help, Ben. Honestly, I would've died mopping in there from hunger if not for you,” Clarissa said, sinking into a chair across from him. “Sorry for the basic breakfast,” she added with a small giggle. “I’m not exactly a five-star chef.”

“That’s more than enough, Clary. Thank you,” he said, grabbing a sandwich.

But then he smirked with his eyes locking on hers.

“Though... it might not be enough to pay off your debt.”

Her brows pinched together. “Debt?”

“Yeah,” he said, still grinning. “I came over early on a Sunday, spent hours fixing a disaster, soaking wet… I think that’s worth more than a sandwich. Maybe even a date?”

Clarissa scoffed. “Yeah, you wish. Eat your sandwich and be grateful I didn’t poison it.”

Just then, a familiar silhouette appeared in her peripheral vision.

“Ben? What are you doing here?” Valerio asked, pulling a chair out and sitting down.

“Oh, Valerio! There you are, finally,” Clarissa replied in an overly casual tone. “You know, I called Ben in the middle of the night to have sex with me. It was just so lonely and boring in this big house since you ditched me.”

Valerio’s expression morphed from confusion to horror in seconds. Ben nearly choked on his sandwich with his eyes darting between the siblings like a deer caught in headlights.

“Wha—wait, what?!” Ben coughed, trying to swallow his bite faster than was safe. “Yo, Val, no—I mean—I came here to fix the pipes! Clary called and asked for help.”

But the explanation came out twisted, like a bad pickup line.

Clarissa burst into a loud, irritated laugh, clearly enjoying the show.

Valerio’s glare was intense enough to set the kitchen on fire.

“Geez. No. What I meant is that your pipes were leaking and Clarissa was alone,” Ben said quickly. “Apparently, I was the only one who answered their phone so early. I managed to stop the water, but yeah—you need a professional to fix it for real.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Clarissa muttered, shooting Ben a sharp look. “Yes, I woke up to a damn waterfall in our bathroom and you were gone. And not answering your phone,” she snapped, then paused, narrowing her eyes. “By the way… where were you?”

“I was out. Lost track of time.” Valerio replied quickly, turning to Ben. “Thanks for helping. Really. I’ll take it from here.”

Clarissa wasn’t having it.

“Next time, I’m letting the house flood, Valerio! I had no clue what to do. And you—what were you doing, huh? While I was dealing with an indoor tsunami?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

“And you know what? I’m starting now. Ben and I are going out.”

Ben blinked. “We are?”

“Yes, we are!” she snapped, already on her feet. “Wait here. I’m going to change.” And with that, she bolted upstairs.

Ben sat frozen, still holding half a sandwich, completely baffled.

Valerio let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair, looking between the kitchen doorway and Ben.

“So,” he said with a dry voice, “a date with my sister?”

“Uh… mm… I guess?” Ben laughed nervously. “I have no idea, honestly. One minute I’m fighting with a pipe, next thing I know—I’m apparently going out with Clary.”

Valerio smirked. “Yeah, welcome to the club. With Clary, it’s never a dull day.”

He stood and gave Ben a nod. “Thanks again—for the plumbing stuff, and for looking after her. Keep an eye on her, yeah? You guys have fun.”

He paused at the doorway. “Feel free to put something on the TV or play a few games while you wait.”

Ben played a few rounds of a game while he waited, his nerves were growing with each passing minute.

It took Clary some time to get ready.

She took his breath away, as usual, when she came downstairs all glammed up.

------------------------------------˚ʚ♡ɞ˚-------------------------------------

Since it was Sunday, there weren’t many places open, so they settled on the arcade with roller skating, which also had a few food options available.

“Do you know how to roller skate?” Clary asked him, putting on her skates.

“In theory,” he replied with a giggle. “Do you?”

“Well, I haven’t been roller skating in ages, but I hope my muscle memory still remembers how,” she said, dragging Ben to the rink.

The place was half-empty, with just a few other people skating.

Some old pop tracks were playing overhead, and bright circular lights danced across the skating floor.

Ben did his best to keep his balance, though he fell a couple of times. Clary wasn’t fully confident either, but she was doing a bit better than him.

“Just make sure you keep one leg off the floor for a couple of seconds like this—it’ll make it easier to…” she began, trying to demonstrate the move—before immediately losing her balance.

Ben tried to catch her in time, but they both fell to the floor, laughing.

“I think I pulled a muscle,” Clary gasped as she tried to get up.

“Ah, let me help you,” Ben said, taking off his skates to make sure he could stand properly and help her up.

He guided her to the nearest couch while she unbuckled her boots.

“Ouch,” she winced as she tried to move her ankle.

“Should we ask for some ice?” Ben asked, worried, already scanning the room for help. “Sorry, Clary. I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he apologized, standing up.

“No need. All good. I think I’ll live,” she giggled, tugging him down to the seat beside her by the hand.

“See? Leg’s moving.” She wiggled her ankle to show that no major damage was done.

“So… I guess no more roller skating for you,” Ben said, glancing at her foot.

“Yeah, I guess not,” she laughed. “I didn’t know you were so bad with coordination.”

“I didn’t know either,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Hungry? I saw they have fries and Coke here. Want some?”

“Honestly? That would be great,” she replied with a smile.

“Alright. Wait here,” he said and went off to arrange some food for them.

When he returned, Clary was already sitting at a table, shoes back on.

“Did you get lost? I’ve already emptied my glass,” she teased, laughing.

“Wow, want me to grab another for you? Or you can have mine,” he offered, immediately pushing his glass toward her.

“Nah, it’s all good. Just relax and sit already, or I’ll die here… from boredom.”

“No dying on me,” he joked. “I still have to bring you back alive to your brother, or he’ll eat me alive. Or burn me with holy fire.”

The rest of the evening, they chatted about their interests, hobbies, and funny childhood memories.

Clary asked him about Windenburg.

He told her that’s where he was born and raised. Said he never knew his father, and his mother passed away a few years ago. He’d been living with his sister and their uncle for a while, but the uncle was such an unbearable snob that they eventually moved to Willow Creek with her boyfriend.

They also touched on Clary’s story. She gave a quick recap of the situation with Alycia—how they hadn’t spoken for a few weeks, how Alycia was pissed about Moises and some other stuff.

The mention of Moises clearly upset Ben. He tried, carefully, to get information out of her—did she like Moises?—but Clary, being her usual self, just deflected with a smart-ass joke.

------------------------------------˚ʚ♡ɞ˚-------------------------------------

Later, Ben walked her home, of course.

“You should’ve seen your face this morning when I told Valerio you came over for sex,” she laughed, poking his cheek. “You looked so adorable and completely lost.”

“It wasn’t funny, Clary. He looked like he was ready to bury me under the floorboards,” Ben replied, with mock seriousness.

“Yeah, Valerio’s always like that—he’s on constant worry mode. Always so adult,” she said, smirking. “I love him for that. And I love teasing him for it, too.”

“He is your older brother. It’s his job—especially with you running wild, breaking rules, and never sitting still,” he said, nudging her playfully.

“Ah, shut up,” she grinned.

------------------------------------˚ʚ♡ɞ˚-------------------------------------

As they reached Clary’s house, Ben couldn’t stop staring at her, thinking about how deeply attracted he was.

She was rambling about school and Alycia—clearly frustrated—but his mind kept drifting to her lips. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he hesitated, unsure if it was the right moment.

“Ben? Are you even listening to me?” she asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“Mhm,” he muttered, then reached out, gently pulling her hand and trying to kiss her.

But she suddenly turned her head away, placing her hands on his chest to stop him.

“Whoa, Ben—what are you…?” she said, surprised.

“Uh… I’m sorry. I thought… we…” he mumbled, awkward and clearly embarrassed.

“No, Ben. I mean, you’re great, and I had fun, but…” She trailed off, searching for softer words.

“It’s okay, Clar. You don’t need to explain. All good. Uh… thank you for the evening. I had fun. I’ll see myself out,” he said, turning away with frustration.

“Ben, I…” she started, trying to say something to his back.

“It’s alright. Good night, Clary,” he muttered before she could speak again, and quickly walked off.

“Great, Clary. Just great,” she muttered under her breath as she stepped inside.

Valerio, who seemed rested and in a good mood, was flipping through TV channels, searching for something to watch when Clary plopped down beside him on the couch with a loud sigh.

“I thought you were going to punish me by not coming home tonight,” he joked without looking at her.

“Ha-ha,” she replied sarcastically, showing that his joke hadn’t hit.

“You okay, sis? You look like you just came back from a war zone, not a date,” he chuckled, though concern flickered in his eyes.

“It wasn’t a date. Just time out with a friend,” she muttered.

“A friend, uh-huh… does Ben know that?” Valerio grinned.

“Well… seems like now he does,” she said, standing up.

“I’m going to crash. I’m tired—from the day and that morning tsunami. Night, bro,” she mumbled, heading upstairs.

------------------------------------˚ʚ♡ɞ˚-------------------------------------

After a shower, she stepped into her room just as her phone buzzed.

5 new messages.

Moises and Ben.

“Ah, how wonderful! Did I get myself into a love triangle now? One’s too busy with his father’s crap to reply for a week, and the other’s trying to kiss me when I didn’t ask for that. Great,” she thought, locking her phone and tossing it aside. “I don’t need to think about this now. All I need is sleep.”

And with that, she turned over and drifted off within minutes.

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frnexit · 28 days ago

Text

The Assistant: Part 1

Dua Lipa x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

The loud noise of your alarm awoke you quickly for your first day at your new job as an assistant. You groaned and sat up as you turned off your alarm clock, sitting up while doing so. You looked out the window of the apartment you were currently living in, where over time it had gotten messier and messier as you didn't feel the need to pick up after yourself since it was going to get dirty anyway. Forcing your way out of bed, you mindlessly found your way to the bathroom, turning on the shower as you grabbed your toothbrush and toothpaste to brush your teeth. When you were finished, you quickly peeled off your sleep shirt and bottoms and jumped into the semi-warm water.

You washed away what felt like weeks of gunk but was only a day. The warm water flooded your senses as it dropped through your hair and down your back. You got out of the shower, dried off, and did your routine as normal till a text popped up on the screen of your phone. It was from an unknown number so you lifted the phone to your face, unlocking it to view the message. It read "On your way to work today, please pick up the 4 coffees I ordered from the coffee shop off of 46th Street." You squinted as you read the message, assuming it was from your new boss, Dua Lipa. You got hired with the help of your friend who happened to work on the same floor as Dua so he heard firsthand that Dua needed a new assistant and who better than you? You have never met Dua but you already knew who she was since she was the Ceo of the biggest perfume company in the country. You finished getting ready, pulling on brown suit pants, a white button-up shirt that was freshly ironed along with black heels and gold jewelry to accessorize.

You finally left at around 7:25 since you had to pick up the coffee and get to work by 8:00 while also beating the city traffic. Eventually, you found the coffee shop Dua was referring to and you pulled into the driveway. You told the worker you had a mobile order for Dua Lipa and he quickly gave you the carrier full of the four coffees as if this was a regular basis thing, but it most likely was since Dua had many assistants before you. You thanked him before driving away towards your work. You felt the nerves kick in as you pulled into the massive parking lot for your new job. You looked around for a parking spot and you got a glimpse of a black slick Mercedes that was in the parking spot marked "reserved for CEO". You chuckled and shook your head as you drove past, having to settle for a spot in the back.

You found your way inside the building, carrying the coffee in one hand and your badge in the other as you frantically looked around for a map of the building to find the floor you were supposed to be on. You must've looked obviously lost as a woman with short brown hair approached you.

"You must be Dua's new assistant, we've been expecting you y/n." She said as she took the coffee out of your hand.

"Oh, I am... How did you know my name?" You tilt your head slightly as you let her guide you into the nearest elevator, assumingly bringing you to your destination.

"Oh, we all here know who the new assistant is before the assistant knows who they are." She says so nonchalantly as if it were normal.

"Does Mrs. Dua have a lot of assistants?"

"Had." She corrected. "It's kind of her thing to hire and fire assistants so quickly... We all placed our bets on how long you'll last." She says with a little laugh but it was quickly interrupted by the elevator doors opening with a ding, leading you guys to the floor that you were supposed to be on.

"Here's your spot. Dua is expecting you in her office, every morning you have to check in with her before you start your day, you got that?"

She says as she shoves the coffee back in your hands. Without you even responding she pushes you out of the elevator and the doors close behind you, leaving you in your thoughts. You noticed the sign at the end of the hallway that marked "Ceo" so you shuffled over to the door and knocked ever so gently with your free hand.

"Come In." You hear a deep but elegant voice say. You took a deep breath before nudging the door open. Upon walking in you saw Dua with her head down, writing something. She didn't bother looking up as she motioned for you to set the coffees on her desk with one hand. You nodded as if she could see you and placed it where she wanted before backing away from her desk. As you back away you accidentally hit your heel against a chair causing her to finally look up at you.

"Good morning Y/n, I'm glad you got my text. I'm nothing without my morning coffee." She says in an almost sweet voice as she reaches over and grabs a cup, sipping it before setting it back down.

"Oh, yes ma'am of course." You say timidly as you watch her slender fingers and perfectly manicured red nails play with the lid of her coffee. A smirk pulls at the side of her mouth as she notices your uneasiness.

"Aw, you're not going to be a shy one are you now? I hope not because normally the shy ones can't handle it when I get upset. You'll be able to handle it right Y/n?" She asks tauntingly.

"Yes ma'am," You say as you clear your throat. "I'll be fine."

"Great." She says dismissively. "I put a list of all the things I expect from you every day on your desk that James will show you. I heard you're familiar with him so that is why I'm having him guide you."

"Ok thank you," You say in response before James, almost on cue, comes in the room looking at you expectantly. You look at him before looking back at Dua.

"Is there anything else you need before I leave ma'am?" You ask as you wring your hands together.

"No, you can go." She says as she waves her hand dismissively and James immediately links arms with you pulling you out of her office, shutting the door gently behind you two.

"James, I didn't know you worked here!" You say shocked as she smiles widely, pulling you to where your new desk will be situated.

"Of course I do, I swear I've told you before."

"If I had known, I would've applied sooner," You say laughing a little before approaching the area where all the cubicles are. You glance over at the people around you as James leads you to your desk but James quickly pulls you out of your thoughts with his booming voice.

"Ta daaaaa!!!" He says excitedly as he draws my attention to your desk decked out in decor.

"Oh, James.. you didn't have to," You say shaking your head with a smile.

"Oh Y/n.. I can't take credit for this." He says as he puts his hands up in the air. You tilt your head in confusion.

"You didn't do this?"

"Oh no, but I'm flattered you thought I would. I don't know who did it but you should probably tell them thank you when you figure it out... Anyway, I've got to get back to work but keep me posted, and good luck on your first day!" He says as he turns to leave. You turn back to my desk and see the paper that Dua left for you, it's the list she was referring to. You pick it up and glance over all of the rules she wants you to follow and then the daily tasks to do, like reading through her emails, answering phone calls, and scheduling appointments. You then noticed a sticky note attached to the bottom of the paper and It was in her writing.

I hope you enjoy the decorations I picked out, I thought they were cute.

-Dua Lipa

You tucked the note in your pocket and sat down at your desk, suppressing a smile as you began to log onto your computer that was already hooked up. You did as the list told you to do, 8-12 you were answering her emails and calls until you got a text from James, asking if you wanted to join him for lunch. You replied of course and told him you would be right there and you just needed to answer one last email. Once you finished, you gathered everything you needed for lunch, and just as you were about to head to the elevator, someone stopped you.

"Oh, Y/n can I talk to you for a moment?" You hear the familiar voice of your boss call out and you turn around to see her holding a few items as she exits and locks her office. You assume she's going out to lunch too. You nod in response and walk back to her.

"Did you like my surprise?" She says with a sweet smile on her face that makes you question her intentions.

"Yes ma'am, it was very thoughtful.. You didn't have to." You respond with a soft smile.

"Nonsense, It was the least I could do, especially since I think I am going to like you as my assistant." You think she picks up the confusion on your face at her words and she must know what her employees must say about her thing with assistants.

"Why do you say that?"

"I just have a hunch." She nudges you a little and you awkwardly laugh.

"I know I'm your boss Y/n, but loosen up a little... I'm not gonna bite you" She jokes and you push the hair out of your face instinctively.

"Sorry.. I don't mean to.."

"That's quite alright... say, if you want to make it up to me, would you mind joining me for lunch? I could use a little company." She says genuinely.

"Uh- yea of course! I would love to join you."

"Great, let us go then." She says as she starts to trail off to the elevator with you behind, trying to keep up. It's only then do you remember you told James you would eat with him but he should understand.

"I know a place that makes really good Chinese food." She smiles as she waits for you to enter the elevator before pressing the button to the lobby.

part 2

#dua lipa #dua lipa x reader #wlw #fanfic

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cels-not-so-secret-love-affair · 9 months ago

Text

falling to the music pt. 2 (jily)

a/n: part 2 to my band au jily noodles arrives! featuring coffee, more of mary and a slight misunderstanding…

previous | next

Lily goes four whole days with no new messages. Okay, fine, her friends text her, and she gets some emails from university about upcoming assignments, and her Waterstones app cheerily supplies to her the hottest novels of the month in a push notification, but she doesn’t get a text from James, which means none of that counts. And Lily is not bothered about this in the slightest. She’s fine about it, dandy even. Her friends have not complained about the new habit she’s developed of checking her iMessages every spare moment she has. Only, maybe they have. Once. Or twice. Or thrice. It’s just she thought it had gone so well. She had flirted, hadn’t she? And he had been interested, or so she’d thought. He’d gone to get her a pen, for fuck’s sake. She’d written her number on his skin. She’d basically temporary tattooed him, it was a Sharpie and everything. But she hears not a peep from him, so apparently he’s just a typical guy-in-an-indie-rock-band who flirts with girls and never follows up. Which is fine, honestly - that’s his prerogative. All it means now is she’s got to learn to quell the incessant and unrelenting desire to see him again. Easier said than done, though.

It’s a Saturday when she decides to ring Mary up and meet her for a coffee. This is what I need, she thinks. I just need to let it all out in one sitting and then move the fuck on. I only bloody met him once. So she dresses up. She picks out that nice skirt she got in a charity shop in York and her pair of sixties style boots and douses herself in perfume, and goes marching out to enjoy a good old rant and a latte. She’s determined to have a nice morning, and to have everything go her way for once. And she almost gets that. Almost.

The coffee shop, to its credit, is exactly as she wanted it to be. An independent joint on a pretty street corner, it’s perfect for people watching, and decorated quite pleasantly with all sorts of vintage knickknacks. She likes it. It’s unknown enough that it doesn’t get too busy, and not so awfully pretentious that it doesn’t have any proper seating. Seriously, why does no one seem to want to let you sit down anymore? Settling herself comfortably in a gorgeous green armchair by the window, Lily sets her phone face down firmly on the table. She vows silently and fervently to herself that she will not check it until she has left the building. Then, she pulls out her novel, Emma - which is in every aspect the perfect comfort book - and contents herself to caring solely about what’s going on in Highbury. So far, so good.

Mary turns up about ten or so minutes late, despite her optimistic suggestion over the phone earlier that this time it might only be five. This is not an issue though because Lily knows her best friend like the back of her hand, and thus knows better than to believe that she might arrive on time. Things are still as they ought to be.

‘Right then, Lils,’ Mary says after having brought over their drinks. ‘I have it on good authority that we’re pissed off today, is that correct?’

‘However did you guess?’ Lily deadpans.

‘Oh, I think the scowling at your mobile whilst I was in the queue may have tipped me off. It’s about that guitarist of yours, isn’t it?’

‘Obviously, yeah. Him, and the fact that men are the root of all evil.’ At this, Mary throws her hands up as if in worship, closing her eyes and humming appreciatively.

‘Too damn right, babe. Although I will say, dating girls can still be tricky.’

‘Yeah, but I reckon I’d probably feel like less of a fool if I was this hung up on a pretty girl. Instead I’m here whining about not getting the attention of a good-for-nothing, piece of shit, stupid fucking man. Christ.’ She reaches forward to take a sip of her coffee, looking somewhat defeated.

‘He still hasn’t texted you I take it?’

‘Not once. I don’t know what I did wrong, Mary. I thought he liked me. You saw him, you saw how Sirius introduced me. Didn’t he like me?’

‘I mean yeah, it looked like it. I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t go blaming yourself for it. Guys fall at their feet for you. Maybe he does want to text you, but can’t. Maybe there was an emergency so he’s been too busy to think about dating, or maybe he’s a flustered coward who can’t work up the courage to ask you out, or maybe he’s driven off to the Welsh countryside on a lads trip to fuck about with his mates and didn’t realise he wouldn’t have any service. Or maybe it’s none of those things, and he isn’t interested at all. Whatever it is, you can’t start losing all your marbles ‘cause you’re waiting for a text.’ Mary puts both her hands down on the table palms up, and waits for Lily to take them. When their hands are slotted properly together, she gives a gentle squeeze and continues.

‘You, Lils, are a wonderful woman. And you have a wonderful woman’s life full of all sorts of wonderful things. Don’t waste it fretting over some bloke in a band.’ Lily takes a deep breath.

‘You’re right,’ she sighs. ‘You always are.’

‘I know,’ Mary answers with a smile.

‘Thanks. For putting up with all this, I mean. I promise I’ll be back to my usual self now. Nice, normal, non-boy-obsessed Lily.’

The phone that had been set face down on the table about twenty minutes ago chooses this moment as the perfect opportunity to buzz. The vibration sends it inching closer to the boundary between the safe, charted territory of antique mahogany wood, and the sheer drop down to the floor as if it, too, aches for the sweet release of death. Fuck me.

‘Fancy checking that?’ Mary asks sweetly.

‘Nope. No. No can do. Not going to check it.’

‘You can if you want to. We’ve all been there, I won’t judge.’

‘I have more resolve than that. I just said I’m back to normal. I don’t care if it’s him or not, I’m not going to look.’ Mary just stares at her. It’s not in any way critical, nor condemnatory. If anything, it just looks like she’s waiting it out. Lily counts about ten seconds of pained eye contact before-

‘I’m so sorry, I have to look.’ She snatches her phone from where it’s ended up suicidally near the edge of the table, taps it to light it up and of fucking course. There it is.

iMessages: Unknown Number

hii :) it’s james. is this lily?

‘Is it him?’ Mary has one eyebrow raised.

‘Fucking- yeah, it’s him.’

Lily wants so desperately to ignore the message. Here is a man who’s made her feel so incredibly pathetic, so incredibly angry, and he’s just waltzed on into her notifications without a care in the world. She shouldn’t dignify him with a response. And yet.

Lily: Lily Evans speaking.

James: oh, yay! okay perfect. well, hopefully you know who i am then. i’m the guitarist from the gig, like four days ago? you wrote your number on my arm.

Lily: Mhmm.

James: listen, i’m really sorry i didn’t get in contact sooner

James: you remember how when we were chatting that night i told you i was a dunce?

Lily: I do recall.

James: that is the truest thing i have ever said in my whole life. i am a dunce. i am stupid to the point of being unsalvageable. i am, you might say, a total buffoon.

Lily: And all this to say, what?

James: i dropped my phone :((

Lily: That’s why you haven’t texted me for four days? You dropped your sodding phone?

James: down an entire flight of stairs!

James: completely killed it

James: basically shot it dead and then broke both its legs for good measure

Lily: Right.

James: so then i was going to text you on sirius’ phone, but sirius is awful for pranks, and i didn’t want him to do something dickish or pretend that i died or something just to mess with you

James: he’s my best mate and i love him half to death, but he’s a bit of a knob sometimes

James: you don’t deserve that

James: and then remus is a fossil who still carries around a fucking nokia brick looking thing that i don’t even know how to use like he’s someone’s grandpa

James: no luck there

James: and peter was away with his girlfriend for their anniversary

James: so i had to wait till i got a new phone sorted to be able to message you

James: i’m really sorry :(

Mary takes a sip of her hot chocolate and looks somewhat disdainfully at Lily’s phone.

‘Chatty, isn’t he?’ Lily pulls an apologetic face.

‘I promise I won’t text him forever, I’m just… processing. Give me two minutes and I’m with you.’

Lily: I’m out with a friend right now so I can’t chat. But fine, I accept your apology. I’ll call you later and we can talk properly.

James: okay! absolutely no worries. talk to you soon?

Lily: Yes. Talk to you soon. But I’m still angry at you, so you’d better be on your best behaviour.

James: yes ma’am.

Lily clicks her phone shut, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

‘What did he say?’

‘He couldn’t text me because he chucked his phone down the stairs.’

‘Oh?’

‘And I hate to say it but… I buy it. It’s something he’d do.’ Mary humphs, unimpressed.

‘You still want to see him, then?’

‘I- yeah, yeah I do. He’s really… he’s really nice.’

‘Well then. Let’s see how Mr Nice keeps up.’

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sigynpenniman · 1 year ago

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In all seriousness as someone who flies like once a month and is delighted by airports in general, here’s my advice for flying as easily as possible. These are America specific:

1. FOLLOW THE SIGNAGE. Airports *tend* to be well marked/signed and the signs are *generally* correct. Look to them first.

2. ASK FOR HELP. Airport staff are knowledgeable and pretty helpful. If you are lost and can’t find something, find someone.

3. GET PRECHECK. If you are able to get TSA Precheck, do so. It costs $85 and lasts 5 years. You sign up online and then go to a sign up location, often a location of an office supply store (for real). It’s not available to everyone depending on your life experiences, but if it’s accessible to you, it makes a huge huge difference.

4. GET YOUR DUCKS IN A ROW. Everything you can do online, do online. If you are American and flying domestically, but you have a passport, bring it. You can fly with a driver’s license as ID within the US and pretty much everyone’s licenses have been upgraded to the kind you can fly with. However, airport success is down to preparedness. Check in online as soon as you are able. If you have bags to check, add them to your reservation online. Some airlines have a strange, narrow window where you can add & pay for checked baggage online, like 18 hours before your flight but not less than 4 hours before. This is a right pain but if you can remember it, it makes a big difference.

5. WALK DOWN. If there are multiple available lines/clerks for something - check in kiosks, precheck, etc etc, never get in the first line you can see when you enter an area. Walk down to the last few rows. People tend to enter the first line they see. Further lines are often short or even empty because people get in the first line without checking.

6. ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS make a frequent flier account. Even if you’ll never fly this airline again. The purpose is not to collect miles, but to attach your ticket to an account you sign into (as opposed to manually locating it by confirmation number & email. Trust me on this.

7. USE THE ELECTRONIC CHECK IN KIOSK NO MATTER WHAT. Here are the steps for checking in on a flight the easiest, most reliable and foolproof way:

1. Check online before your flight. Usually available 24 hours before departure time.

2. Download the airline’s app, sign in with the account made (right?) and locate your flight. Add your boarding pass to your mobile wallet.

3. When you arrive at the airport, locate the electronic check in kiosk machines. Almost all airports have them. Locate the correct one for your airline. Scan the boarding pass already added on your phone at the kiosk. If you have bags to check, select “check bags” or “print tags.” Whether you have bags to check or not, select “print boarding pass.” If you are checking bags, apply the bag labels around the handles of your luggage. The instructions are on the labels. DO NOT THROW AWAY THE BIT YOU PEEL OFF THE STICKY SIDE it’s your claim tag if they loose your bag. Take your paper boarding pass.

4. If you are checking bags, go to the “bag drop for already checked bags” counter. If you are NOT checking bags, YOU ARE DONE. If you’re not checking bags, talking to the actual person at the check in desk is *not needed.* proceed to security.

8. Adjacent: PRINT AND USE A PAPER BOARDING PASS. I don’t care if it’s on your phone. Phones glitch. Things happen. get a paper one and use it.

9. CHECK THE AIRPORT BOARD. Sometimes flight gates will change or flights will delay and the apps will not update. The only *real* source of truth at the airport is the Board. Use your app, yes, but check the board to confirm.

10. TAKE A PRACTICE FLIGHT. If you are going on a long, major flight as your first ever flight, do a practice flight beforehand. Flights on the 3 biggest budget carriers - Frontier, Spirit, and Allegiant - to leave and return the same day or one day later can often be had for as low as $40-$70. This is worth the cost of admission to literally just fly somewhere to have the experience and fly back without ever leaving the airport. Flying with a cheap ticket just for fun will remove the element of panic, and allow you to practice and learn your local airport and then process so you’re experienced and confident when the chips are down.

11. For the love of god if you are flying through Atlanta - and if you fly Delta once ever you will - make sure you have at least 2 hours of layover time. It takes over an hour to walk from one end of the Atlanta airport to the other. You do not want to deal with this shit.

12. IN GENERAL, give yourself a TON of time. Get to the airport at least 2 hours early for domestic travel and aim for 3-4 for international. Does it take that much time? No, it doesn’t, but like everything else, the objective is to build in safety nets from problems and unexpected occurrences.

13. LOOK UP YOUR FLIGHT BEFOREHAND. Flights are run with the same numbers daily or weekly, often on the same planes. This is publicly available info. You can look up your flight on flight aware, flight radar, plane finder, etc etc. and see what sort of plane it’s on, if it’s usually on time, and every other bit of info you could imagine. Boeing 737s and Airbus a320s, which are the most common planes for domestic short hauls, have very narrow isles and can be hard to wheel carry-ons in. If you’re flying on one of these planes, choose a carry on with this in mind.

This is NOT EXHAUSTIVE. However!!! These are the things I have learned over the years to make the calmest, most enjoyable, problem-free airport experience. I have a number of steps, like paper passes and checking boards, that are theoretically not needed in the year of our lord 2024 and are regarded as Weird and a waste of time. However, the whole point of this list is to reduce points of failure and provide safeguards for common problems: missed flights, boarding passes not working, lost baggage, dead phones, and any other catastrophe you can think of. The key to a peaceful airport experience is preparedness and safety nets.

Happy flying 💗✈️

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kitty-is-writing · 1 year ago

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📝 Short story time 📝

This is an older one called Battery Low, inspired by a car crash I had several years ago. It's a short I'm especially proud of, unrelated to any of my other work.

- Battery Low -

The car finally rolled to a stop. Alice switched off the engine, as she’d been taught to do in an accident, and pushed the door open. It was difficult, as the side of the car had buckled somehow as it had flipped over. She eventually got it open though, and staggered across the grass blindly in the dark.

“Why did I agree to go and collect him at this time of night?” she said frantically to herself. “And in this weather too. I’d better phone him and tell him I’ve wrecked the car.” She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and found her dad’s number. Before she could dial, the phone bleeped at her, with a message saying ‘Battery low.’ Thinking she would have enough to last for a quick phone call, she pressed dial.

“Alice? What’s up?” her dad said when he picked up the phone.

Alice took a deep breath. “I’m not going to be able to pick you up, dad. I’ve had an accident in the car, I think I’ve rolled or flipped it. I’m in the field somewhere,” she said, feeling her way around in the dark.

“Are you alright?” her dad asked straight away. “I’ll get in the work’s van and come to find you.”

Alice checked herself quickly. “I think I’m alright, I’m walking and nothing feels broken or anything. I’ll try and get to the road, I seem to be in the middle of a field,” she tried to find her way back to where the road was, or had been. “I’m in some trees, and I’ve just found a barbed wire fence, I can’t find where I went through it. I’ll climb through, hang on, I’m putting the phone in my pocket so I can climb through easier,” she slid her mobile into her coat pocket and clambered awkwardly through the fence, ripping her jeans. She stumbled over a little more grass before realising she was getting further from the road. She headed back through the fence.

“Alice? Alice are you there?” her dad’s voice came from her pocket. She took her phone back out. “I’m heading down the road now, I’ve just hit the crossroads… ah. You skidded on some ice, didn’t you? I’ve just hit some myself.”

“Yeah, I just lost control. I’m heading back to the car, I was going the wrong way before. I’ll try the other way, I think the car’s facing backwards.” Reaching the car, she tripped over a big lump of something on the ground, and flung a hand out to steady herself against the back of the car. Her hand went straight through an empty space where the back window had been. “The back window’s gone, I’ve just put my hand through it. And there’s a big spring thing here, I think it’s from the car,” she told her dad, picking up the thing she had tripped on.

Her dad kept talking, reassuring her. “Don’t worry about the car, the insurance will sort that out. Just worry about you. If you can’t find the road, stay by the car, I’ll find you. Where exactly are you?” he asked.

“You know the corner, just after where the speed limit changes, I’m just past there from home. So just before there from your direction,” she said. “I’ve got to the road, it’s really icy.”

“Okay, I’m almost with you. I’m going slow because of the ice, I should be there in about five minutes. I’ve just gone past the level crossing,” he replied. “I’ll put the orange lights on so you can see me coming.”

A few minutes passed, and Alice saw some flashing orange lights coming over the slight hill. The van from her dad’s garage followed shortly after, and stopped a few feet away. “Christ, you did lose it,” her dad said over the phone. “I can see the car, whereabouts are you? I can’t see you anywhere.”

“I’m standing a few feet away from the front of the van, dad,” Alice told him. “You should be able to see me, I can see you fine,” she said, as her dad got out of the van and slipped across to the car.

“Whatever road you’re on, Alice, it’s not this one. If you’re standing in front of the van you must be invisible,” he said. “I’m going to head to the car, if you head back the way you went we should meet by the car. Don’t worry, I’ll stay on the line.”

Alice watched her dad walk across to the car, and followed him. She thought he might be playing one of his silly jokes, to relax her a little. It was the sort of thing he did sometimes. She stood behind him, and said down the phone, “Turn around, I’m behind you.”

He turned. “No you’re not.”

“Dad, you’re staring right at me. This isn’t funny, stop messing about.” She stared into her dad’s eyes, and he seemed to look right through her. “Dad!” Alice tried to touch his shoulder, to get some kind of reaction. Her hand went straight through.

He turned back to the car, and seemed to look at something in the driver’s seat. “Alice?” he said softly.

“Dad, I’m scared. I’m right next to you and you can’t see me,” she said, almost crying.

“Oh Christ, Alice, you can’t be talking to me. If you’re there, you should come and look at this,” he said, moving away from the driver’s window.

Alice moved forwards, and looked through the window. She saw herself reflected back, except it wasn’t quite right. Her head was at the wrong angle, and there was something running down her face. The car door was closed, and she was sure she’d left it open when she got out. The Alice in the car window was very still, and didn’t blink at all. “Dad,” she whispered down the phone line.

“Alice,” he started to say. There was a beeping noise in Alice’s ear. She looked down at her phone, to see the message ‘Battery dead.’ The screen went black, and Alice heard no more.

#my work #short story #writing #writblr #writeblr

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crazyenthusiastkryptonite · 1 year ago

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Pay Once You Go Phones Enjoy Communication Round Time

youtube

Let's face it, paying bills is one of these things existence we can't dodge. It's really no fun, and that takes lots of time, but got end up being done steer clear of future stress. Even though we can't not pay bills doesn't mean it ought to be dreaded.

Late payment fees are costly - Typical late payment fees on credit cards can now top $39. If would you your unsecured debt late, it's like throwing $39 out the window.

Internet has developed into a part and parcel one's lives. We cannot even think of a day without the use of internet. Online connections are readily obtainable these days. Lots of mobile broadband companies have some easy deal.

Export Information - With online banking it makes tracking your money even more straight forward. With the mouse click your bookkeeper can now download transactions right in to the financial software.

You need to publish a monthly newsletter to keep in contact with prospects but to lower the number the time. Let your Administrative Consultant know what you want and may prepare the newsletter for you, enroll in your contacts and deliver it via online. Right next!

Once you're registered can certainly view your account statements online, make bill pay online payments, transfer funds or pay many online. All the things and more with extra convenience to be able to conduct this at any time on the bill pay online day, each day of all four.

Where do i find coverage at a particular price? You could always flip through the yellow pages and spend hours at a time calling on the different businesses that are offering coverage for vehicles. However, this can take a considerable time. The best strategy for finding coverage at a good price would be by checking out the Large web.

So how long will it take someone? We answer this question to claim that you could possibly all the info added with a Trackbooks system in 6 weeks by dividing the tasks into six groups. A person are spend time each weekend gathering almost all of your information and saving into your new tracking machine.

#bill organization #pay day loans #pay bills #online cash advance #Youtube

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stevishabitat · 10 months ago

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I do tech support for ebooks and other digital resources and I have a few things to add...

Check with students who have previously taken the course to find out which books/materials are actually used to avoid buying unnecessary materials.

If you need print materials, give it at least two weeks to ship. School bookstores are not Amazon and they may have fewer shipping options and expedited shipping may be expensive. Some materials are custom-printed by the school for your course and can't be picked up from Amazon or textbooks.com.

Do buy your digital materials prior to your course start date. But don't activate/access it any earlier than a week before the course start date.

Some materials won't be accessible until your instructor activates a link in your LMS (canvas, blackboard, brightspace, d2l, moodle, etc).

Some materials are only active for a certain number of days and accessing too early could mean losing access before the end of the course.

Some materials have a very short return window. Some materials can only be returned if not accessed/activated, and some digital materials are straight up not returnable/refundable. Please take a look at the policies - whether you're buying from your school bookstore or directly from the publisher.

If you end up dropping a course, start asking about a return ASAP. If you used a book allowance/student account/financial aid, you may be on the hook for materials you purchased for dropped courses.

Don't wait until the night your first assignment is due to try activating/accessing your ebook or other resources. If something goes wrong, you don't want to be emailing your instructor at 11:50pm begging for an extension. Some instructors use that first assignment to weed out students who aren't prepared and weight it heavily.

If you have trouble accessing your ebook or digital resources, here's a few troubleshooting tips to try...

1. Try both typing and copy/paste of codes, try capslock or all lowercase. Try with and without hyphens or spaces

2. Make sure pop-ups and cookies are allowed on your browser. Some links rely on them to work properly.

3. Clear cache & cookies in your browser to make sure there's no old info causing the problem

4. Make sure your browser is up to date. I've seen browsers have issues particularly with textboxes, drop-downs, and redirects when a browser needs an update

5. Try a different browser and/or device - especially if you're on a phone or tablet, get to a laptop/desktop just for the initial redemption, mobile browsers act differently than desktop/laptop browsers

If these things don't work, the next step will be to contact your school's help desk. They can check to see if the link on your course page has any issues (such as it's still directing to last semester's material, or the instructor hasn't activated it properly).

Next, you may need to contact the publisher to verify that your code is correct and hasn't accidentally been used by someone else (some codes are ridiculously similar and a student making just one typo could have accidentally activated someone else's code, also not all returned codes get properly deactivated, so that can cause problems as well).

If you purchased the code from your school's bookstore, you may be referred back to them to return a defective code or do additional troubleshooting.

(see why you should really not be doing this at 11:00 the day your assignment is due at 12?)

Save all links, usernames, and passwords for your course materials in the same place you keep your class notes - whether that's in a paper notebook or a digital document or an email to yourself.

Some materials may only be accessed occasionally, and you don't want to forget where to go to access it or what email/password combination you used. And if you end up using the same platform/provider for a future course, it helps to be able to go back in your notes to remember how to get into it.

Actual good first-time college student advice:

Wear jeans/pants that “breathe” and bring a sweater, even if it’s scorching hot out, until you know which building blasts the AC to 60 degrees F and which feels like a sauna

Backpacks with thick straps are your friend! Messenger bags are cool and all but if you’re commuting with a lot of stuff, symmetrically styled backpacks are better for your back

You are your own person and you can walk out whenever you need to or want to, so long as you’re not disrupting the class. Meaning you can go to the bathroom without permission, take a breather if you’re anxious, answer an important phone call, etc.

If you don’t like the class on the first day, if you can- DROP THAT CLASS AND TAKE ANOTHER ONE! It’ll only get worse from there!

If you can, take a class outside your major; it’s a good break from your expected studies.

You are in charge of your schedule. Your adviser and guidance counselor is there to ‘advise and guide’ but if you don’t like certain classes and you can substitute for others, that’s your choice.

Consequently, if you are changing anything drastic in your plan, talk with your adviser and instructors.

Pay attention to your credit hours and grades. Never leave this to the last week of school, you will be sorry and stressed beyond belief!

Unless it’s a lab book or otherwise specified, go to the class for a week or so before buying an expensive textbook. Some classes, while having it on their required list, do not actually use the textbook a whole lot and you might find some of it scanned online. Rent if you can or buy used online (schools actually don’t give discounts). Use your best judgement on what you think you need.

Tell the people who go up to you selling or advertising things you are not interested in that you are in a rush to class and don’t have time to listen to them. It’s less rude and they’ll leave you alone.

The smaller the class, the better it is to have some sort of acquaintanceship with a couple classmates. They might save your ass if you are absent one day or need to study. And talking with them makes the time go by faster without it being so insufferable.

You don’t need to join a club or sport, but internships are cool and useful!

If you can afford it, take a day off once or twice each semester if you’re too exhausted. Just be aware of what you missed and if it was worth missing!

Your health is the most important, this goes for mental health too!! Note: College-age/upper teens is when mental disorders like depression and anxiety are most commonly diagnosed. Most schools have therapy services, especially during exam time. Look into it if you need to!

Communicate with your professor if you are having trouble with something. Anything.

Eat and stay hydrated. Bring a water bottle and snack to class.

All-nighters will happen but never go over 36 hours without sleep.

It’s going to be hard and there will be times you might think about giving up. This WILL happen. You just have to make sure what you’re doing isn’t making you absolutely miserable and/or there is something rewarding and positive to look forward to at the end!

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