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#hoping to get on unemployment at least
aradiiaa · 11 months
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Guess who just lost their job in a mass layoff and is now once again unemployed 👁👄👁
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void-tiger · 1 year
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Unlike Marlin, I refuse to not have an inner life and hobbies even if my chronic illness and mental health dictates my life, too.
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murderballadeer · 1 year
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i seriously need to quit stressing myself out by looking at admission requirements for grad programs considering i won't even be applying until 2024
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yutadori · 1 year
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the universe @ me: well getting hit by a car wasnt enough since it wasnt even That bad . here is some more emotional turmoil to make up for that (:
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ana-hata · 4 months
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rosecoloredknight · 7 months
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Hey I’m so sorry things sound kinda sucky atm. It’s definitely really hard to find motivation and strength during the times like that but you are 100% doing a great job even if you are really struggling just by being you. Hope things get better soon 💪🏼
Anon, I don't know how else to respond to this ask but I really appreciate this ask 😊😊
Doing my best even though it just feels draining lately.
Thank you though, I appreciate this.
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queencolondarkwing · 9 months
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EDD is down for 4 DAYS
The employees at California Unemployment deserve to be shot in the street in self defense. Causing homelessness is violence. Causing death to poor people is violence. Denying people food is violence. Killing the poor and disabled is violence.  And we have no means to retaliate or defend ourselves.
The site has been down for FOUR DAYS. After denying many people benefits for two weeks. People who are on the site are saying they have wrong information and other people’s security questions. The employees on the phone will snark at and hang up on people.
This shit is bad. I’m a fucking teacher. I don’t get summer pay at all. I need the benefits or I WILL have the tough choice of more pay day loans or homelessness.  People on disability are also being denied pay. People unable to feed their children.  People unable to eat. EDD says “sorry for the inconvenience” as if survival is simply a convenience.
This is evilness. I hope every EDD employee grows a heart and is driven to suicide out of guilt.  Fuck them.
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epsilontauri · 10 months
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#don’t reblog just let me yell into the void#so yeah i‘m on sick leave for over a year and today was the last straw. something in me kind if shattered.#the system here is so righed that idk what else i can do#i fell through all the governmental institutions that were supposed to help me‚ not play hot potato with me#so we got the disabled insurance. rn they only can provide me work rehabilitation programs and they will only start looking into disability#pension when you have been sick/ on sick leave for 2 years. after one year on sick leave‚ the workplace can legally fire you which they did.#so‚ the work insurance is supposed to pay me (for 2years)‚ but they had a insurance psychologist declaring me healthy#not to mention that the whole appointment was a disaster and i had a meltdown right after but on his report#they decided i‘m not sick and not eligible for insurance money#so i‘m jobless‚ unemployed and sick. so i go to the unemployment office! and they didn’t pay me! bc i‘m only eligible for unemployment money#if i am «marketable» as a work force#which i‘m obviously not! i‘m on full time sick leave!#and now i have to go to the social welfare office and beg and hope they find me eligible for at least that#but i can’t get married or maybe even move in with my partner bc otherwise they would have to support me….#i‘m just….i feel played. i feel like i was being made fun of for being honest and trying and standing my ground.#and today my card got declined. i have absolutely no more money.#fuck shit bitch ass system#i HATE IT#I HATE IT HERE#i just want to be ok i want to be able to work again but you really push me in a fucking corner#how am i supposed to get better when you make my life worse and harder????#FUUUUUUCK
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bring-mimi-back · 1 year
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#xuup#well I feel.... anxious terrified sad dreadful.... not having a good time rn fr#next week the 3 months period for my thesis starts and i have basically nothing prepared?#i have a topic but no idea what I want to do with it. i have to go through all the literature too#i want to stop time for like 1 month and just sleep and sleep#i feel so anxious and pressured these past few weeks and i won't stop feeling this way until i have submitted my thesis#so this will be my life for the next 3 months. and the fact that i am writing my thesis eith a company really increases the pressure level#my manager and the team are so supportive and i don't want to mess it up#esp since I would like to work there after graduation so i need to leave a good impression#but i feel like I'm going to fail or do this really badly#and it makes no sense at all I should be ok right??? i passed all my exams on the first try with good grades#and that while working part time every semester except for one. so gaining experience... and this year I got the scholarship again too#i should be able to handle this well and yet i feel like throwing up every time i think about my thesis#one second i think 40 pages isn't that much and in another second I feel like I'll never be able to write that much#90 days is so much time and yet no time#i just want to be done with university I can't stand this constant pressure anymore#the good thing is that if i manage to submit my thesis by the end of January and even if I don't get a full time position at my workplace#between the time of thesis submission and defending it will probably be at least 8 weeks. meaning I can apply in the meantime#so probably no unemployment right after graduation?????? at least I hope so#i really really want to avoid that#i wish i could jump 1 year into the future#then the thesis and job hunt is done and i can just concentrate on working#i think typing this down helped#i hope all will be well in the end#i really hope so#🙏 please be gentle with me universe
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Beating Recession
Recession sucked, that much was clear to Logan even before he checked his email inbox. When he saw a few replies to his job applications from the last days, he sighed. He didn't need to open the mails to know that the news was bad, but he did so anyway.
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"We regret to inform you..." - Logan didn't even read on. He had lost his job as an apprentice electrician about half a year ago. The company was going under, and Logan, the youngest and least experienced worker, was the first to go. That's how it was in this business. Since then, he had applied to every single position that came up - but apparently, the current economic situation was so bad that nobody needed another worker.
Logan had hoped that his apprenticeship would get him a job, but the fact that he was only 20 and had not much practical experience hurt him. Slowly, money was becoming a pretty big problem. Whatever savings he had (for some real estate of his own! As if that was going to happen!) had melted away over the last months. His rent was due, and he had no income.
In fact, he was one month late with his rent already, and although his landlord had been cool about it, Logan did not see how he would be able to keep his apartment. He really, really wanted to avoid moving back in with his parents who had their own problems, too.
So, what was he going to do? There wasn't much more to do than keep looking for a job, even though his chances were slim.
He opened LinkedOut and looked for openings, just as he had done multiple times before this week. The sparse list of jobs had not changed, so Logan scrolled on.
He was about to give up again when a listing caught his eye.
"Escape unemployment today! Change™ job agency will find the perfect job, for the perfect you. Apply here!"
He had heard of such agencies before, and the results were not pretty. Usually, they just took the applicants' data and sold it on. They would claim to have found a job for you, but it usually wouldn't work out, and the applicant would have paid money for this useless service. Still, Logan was curious enough to click the link. If they wanted money, he would back out immediately - it was not like he had any to spare.
To Logan's big surprise, when he clicked the link, a new page opened, with a web-based chat interface. Before he could close the tab again, there was already a message in the window. It read:
"Kevin: Hey, and welcome to the Change™ job agency. My name is Kevin. How may I help you today?"
It was a nice surprise that they didn't try to sell him anything or even ask for his data before he had entered the website. Well, no harm done. He might as well give them a try. Hesitating slightly, Logan's fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed:
"Hi. I'm Logan and I'm looking for a new job."
The answer came quickly, but not so quickly that Logan would suspect the other person to be a chatbot. After some moments, Kevin's reply appeared on the screen:
"Great. What kind of job are you looking for? And what kind of salary are we talking?"
Logan considered the questions. This was probably the point where they would ask him for his data. He silently cursed his excessive caution. Of course, they had to ask these questions. How else should they offer him anything?
"Uhm. My last job was as an apprentice electrician, but at this point I would be pretty happy about just any job. The salary should be high enough to pay my rent."
Logan hesitated before hitting enter. He didn't want to come over as quite so desperate, but the truth was, he was.
"Okay, no problem. Do you have a preferred working sector?"
What a weird question. Why did it matter what industry he preferred?
"Uhm, not really. I guess anything is fine."
"Very well. Before I look up what's there in our database, I would need some basic information about you. Namely gender, age, ethnicity and sexual orientation."
"Wait. What does my sexual orientation have to do with a job? Besides, why do you need to know my ethnicity? Is this even legal?"
Logan had typed furiously and pressed enter before thinking about his reply.
"I understand your confusion. We here at the Change™ job agency strive to find not only a job, but the best job for the best you, so we need to know what we're working with. It wouldn't be very appropriate to apply a person as an actress who is really good at sports, now would it? Of course, you have to understand that your answers are confidential and will not be disclosed to any third parties, especially not your future employer."
That was fishy deluxe. Logan really didn't want to feed some unknown job agency all that highly personal information. On the other hand,... what did he have to lose?
"Well, I guess it can't hurt. Uhm. I'm a male, 20 years old, I would call myself white and I'm heterosexual."
"Wonderful. One last question: Are you comfortable with nudity and public sexual activities?"
"Wait, WHAT? I mean, uhm, sure, I guess? I mean, why should I need that?"
"This question is purely to determine if we should also have a look in the adult entertainment section of our job offerings. Alright Logan, please stand by while I enter your data into our search engine."
Logan leaned back. He felt a bit uneasy about all that. But it was not like his answers could lead them directly to his apartment, so he felt relatively safe.
A minute or so passed, and Logan started to think that he had been tricked after all, but just as he was about to close the tab, a new message appeared.
"Sorry for the delay, I had a few calls. We found two jobs that could be a fit. The first one is an office job in a big insurance company. To be honest, it's not that good of a fit and it doesn't pay very well either."
"That's fine." Logan wrote. He was incredibly on edge now. Could it really be so easy to find a new job? And he even had a choice?
"What's the other one?" he added to his previous message.
"Okay, the other job is a bit more unconventional, but we have the feeling it could be a great match. It's an actor position in the porn industry, at the famous XXX Incorporated."
"Porn? What? Are you serious? I mean, I don't have anything against porn or nudity or whatever, but I'm not sure if this is the kind of job I want."
Logan felt mixed feelings. The prospect of being some office drone sounded pretty uninteresting and a low pay wasn't all that good either. But a porn actor? Logan had to admit, the thought felt somewhat interesting, but he doubted he had what it took for that? Weren't porn stars famously hung and well-built? That was certainly not Logan. Just as he pondered those thoughts, Kevin's answer appeared:
"I understand Sir. So, should we continue with the first job opening then?"
Logan bit his lip, but the curiosity got the better of him.
"Wait. What does the second job entail? I mean, I'm not exactly... equipped for the porn business."
"Well, as I have said: It's an actor position, so you would star in some new adult entertainment productions. While I understand your modesty, our records show that you are more than adequately gifted for this kind of job."
Logan felt confused. He absentmindedly scratched his crotch before he replied:
"Uhm, sorry, I don't think you understand. I don't really think my..." Logan paused. Was he really going to write that? It was embarrassing, but at least he could be reasonably sure he would never meet this Kevin in real life. So, he continued:
"... penis is big enough for such a position."
The answer came promptly.
"Really? Better have a look to be sure ;-)"
A winking smiley? That wasn't very professional. Actually, the whole sentence wasn't. Still, Logan couldn't stop himself from glancing at his crotch. What he saw made him take a double take. His soft cock was forming a visible and ample bulge in his jeans. Logan knew that he was slightly smaller than average, so that was ridiculous. It was almost a... a porn star-sized bulge!
He stared at his package, but it wasn't growing any smaller. With trembling hands, he opened his jeans. Immediately, a well-filled pair of boxers escaped the confinement of his jeans. The dick print of his soft member was clearly visible in his underwear, and it wasn't just much bigger than Logan remembered. It was among the biggest bulges he had ever seen in his life!
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His hands explored the impressive manhood through his underwear and felt every centimeter of the hardening dick. He had no idea what had caused this growth, but he wasn't complaining. Before he could interact more with it, however, he noticed another message on the screen.
"Are you still there, Sir?"
"Sorry, yes." Logan hurried to reply. What was he going to write? "I was below average just a few moments ago but now I have one of the biggest cocks in human history"?
Instead, Kevin answered.
"Good! I trust you had a chance to inspect your assets?"
"Uhm, yes."
"So, have you made up your mind, or should I look into the office position?"
Logan was torn. He wasn't sure what he had seen just a moment ago. Still, his enormous cock that was half-hard in his boxers was there, undeniably.
"Let's go with the porn star position." Logan finally typed, and his heart was racing.
"Very good! Now, as I mentioned, the position is in the adult entertainment sector. Do you know the company XXX Incorporated?"
Logan thought quickly about it before replying: "No, sorry, never heard of them."
"That is not at all surprising, since they specialize in the adult sector for homosexual men. According to your data, you identify as heterosexual. I hope that won't be a problem?"
Of course, there was a catch. Logan had heard about these gay for pay people and he hesitated yet again. They paid well, supposedly, but...
"Uhm. Would that mean I would need to be on the receiving end?" He wasn't too close-minded and could imagine kissing another man if he had to, perhaps even receiving a blow job from one. But having another person fuck him in the ass? No, that was way beyond his comfort zone.
"I believe the technical term you are looking for is 'to bottom'." Kevin replied, and added another message shortly after:
"But the company is, in fact, looking for a 'top' actor. They put it like this: 'We are looking for a well-built top for our new productions.'"
Logan was relieved. While he was a gold star gay man (why did he put 'heterosexual'? That was utter bullshit!), he was a strict top. This position sounded better and better. Still, one thing raised some new doubts.
"Hold on. I'm hung like a horse, but I wouldn't say I'm very muscular or even fit. I'm not much of a gym goer."
"Are you sure ;-)?"
Again, with the winking smiley! Kevin sounded so very professional most of the time, but then there were these messages. Logan scratched the back of his shoulder with some effort. Whenever he raised his arms so high the mountains of muscle on his upper arms danced and made it difficult to reach his back. Logan suddenly realized that something had changed - again! His shirt strained against his muscular chest, and as he lifted his shirt, he could see some cobblestone abs on an otherwise flat stomach. His calves had become thicker and strong. His jeans, which had felt slightly loose earlier, now seemed to be getting tighter.
Logan had never been very athletic. His body was lean, but not fit or muscular. That had certainly changed. When he looked at himself, he hardly recognized himself anymore. A huge dick, and a studly body.
Logan shook his head and let the shirt fall again. Whatever was going on, it was not a bad thing, was it?
"Alright, so I'm a buff top with a big cock. Is there anything else?" he smiled as he wrote that.
"Actually, there is one further requirement, but given your cooperation so far I don't believe it will be much of a problem either." Kevin replied, in his professional tone again.
"And what would that be?" Logan was intrigued.
"The company is especially looking for a, and I cite, 'huge, dominant Black top with large dick. Intellectual capabilities are not required'. Are you feeling up to that task? ;-)"
This time, Logan immediately raised his shirt to watch his body change. As soon as he read the words, his skin began darkening, first a golden bronze and then a rich black. It was a gradual change but happened very quickly. His muscles became even more defined, and his body hair thickened and grew even darker.
He didn't know what 'intellectual capabilities' meant, but as his body grew larger and thicker, he felt a strange fog entering his mind. It was a little unsettling at first, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. His usual thoughts quickly became overshadowed by his raising libido. As he grabbed his huge, Black throbbing cock, a dominant smirk crept on his mouth.
He turned his attention back to the computer and typed:
"Yeah, baby. I think I can make that happen. Just tell me who to fuck and I'll be there!"
He saw Kevin reply with a street address and a date and time, but Logan decided he would read that later. Now, his cock demanded his entire attention. He absentmindedly noticed his webcam turning on but paid it little attention. If Kevin wanted to watch him jerk his fat cock, he was very welcome to. After all, he just helped him find the job of his life!
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That's certainly a way to beat recession! Also check out this blog!
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drdemonprince · 4 days
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I’m kinda curious to hear your thoughts on the idea of doing something at your job to deliberately get yourself fired so at least you can apply for unemployment to get some time to recover from burnout. Kinda risky I’m sure but idk
go for it! just make sure you do not get fired for "gross misconduct" or anything illegal (such as, say, leaking a patient's medical records) because you cannot receive unemployment in such cases.
when filing for employment, you will have to explain the reasons for your firing, and the person investigating your case will cross-check these details against what your employer says, so make sure to perform this kind of gambit covertly and without obvious contempt. fake incompetence, move slowly, seem tired or sick or confused by many things, and get fired in such a way that your boss or HR representative almost feels bad for you. don't walk out in a blaze of glory or be a shithead no matter how much they deserve it. if you play it right, that will greatly improve the odds of your unemployment getting approved.
have fun out there! let me know how it goes. i have never been on unemployment before but i hope i get fired and can have a taste of it one day. many close friends of mine have had to navigate it recently for situations like this.
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alezangona · 2 months
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The Shadow of Khansar (Salaar Fic)
Part 7 - The Descent of Virabhadra
Part 6 | Part 8
“Stop. Who are you?” The guards stationed outside Mahit’s home don’t hesitate to point their guns in Deva’s direction and he maneuvers himself to stand in front of Chintu, pushing down the spark of irritation clawing its way out of his body. 
“Devaratha,” he just manages to hold back from snapping. A flicker of surprise passes through him when they flinch, dropping their guns immediately.
“We’re so sorry, sir. We didn’t recognize you.” They step back and gesture toward the stairs that lead up to the entrance. Deva nods quietly and pulls Chintu along, feeling the rush of adrenaline as he realizes just how close he is to seeing Varadha. He couldn't have been gone for long, maybe a day or two, but the separation is agonizing. It comes as a small shock to him that he wants more than to just see Varadha, but to feel him against his body, to be able to melt into him again, and never let go.
“No. No, no, no.” A commanding voice stops them in their tracks just as they take two steps into the grand foyer. In front of them stands a short woman, draped in a pink Sambalpuri sari. Despite her small demeanor, the strict set of her jaw as she glares at them in disdain is more than enough to have Deva freeze in place, his posture taking on that of a soldier awaiting orders. “They’ve just finished cleaning the entire house after hordes of men piled in hours ago. I will not have you two tracking any more blood on these floors. You there, go hose these two down in the back before helping them get settled in.” She orders the footman before turning back to look at Deva, her gaze gentler than before. “It must have been a long night. Once you freshen up, there’s some food I can serve you if you’re hungry.” 
All he can do is nod as they’re led back out. The stream of water from the hose isn’t as powerful as he expects, but the cool flow of it is pleasant against his skin in comparison to the humidity. Soon, he and Chintu are drenched from head to toe and are handed soft towels to dry off with. The footman leads them through the house, where Deva can hear distant conversation as they pass by what must be the dining room, and up the stairs. The footman opens the third door on the right and gestures for Chintu to make himself comfortable. Deva kneels down to sign, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face.
This is our friend’s house. Freshen up and we can go downstairs for dinner. All our friends are there.
At least, he hoped all of them were. Not something he’d say to the kid considering he finally looked a little less scared than before. That’s not to say that he won’t be plagued by nightmares later on in the night, but they’d deal with that once they get there. 
“Where’s my room again?” Deva asks, pushing himself off his knees and rising to full height.
“Just this way, sir.” The footman leads him down further in the hallway. 
“Who was the woman we were talking to earlier?” Deva finds himself asking in an effort to seem more talkative. Low standards, but Bilal would be proud. Or would pick on him relentlessly. 
“Rudramma. She was initially hired as a cook, but within the next couple months, she was running the household. I don’t think the General would be able to function without her to keep his scattered brain in check.” The footman blanches visibly. “Please don’t tell him I said that. I don’t even mean it in a bad way! He’s great at his job, but the second he’s home, he’s kind of just everywhere. The attention span of a hummingbird, but a good man. Which, well you know. You’re one of his friends.” He begins to ramble, clearly flustered as he ponders the possibility of unemployment in his future. Deva finds himself genuinely amused by the interaction.
“Don’t worry, I’ve only met him a couple of days ago. He won't hear anything from me.” They share conspiratorial grins, finally coming to a stop in front of one of the rooms. 
“Well, this is it sir. Your room. The kitchen is located downstairs to the right of the stairs. My name is Anand should you need anything else.” 
Deva makes his way into the room after the exchange, closing the door and slumping against it as he processes the day. Save for one moment of utter panic, he feels like he handled everything as well as he could’ve. First and foremost, he discovered that his people aren’t extinct and are very much alive. If not slightly overcome by the need for revenge against the crown, but in their defense, who doesn’t want Raja Mannar dead. For now though, he just needs a quick shower so he can make his way downstairs and see–
“Deva? Rey, Deva?” At the sound of his voice, Deva’s body flips into autopilot. He rips open the door, taking a step into the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes find Varadha instantly and before he knows it, he’s tackled into a hug with so much unrestrained force that he’s pushed back into his room. This time however, Varadha is in his arms.
They don’t say anything for a few moments, their harsh breath echoing through the room. Deva holds onto Varadha for dear life, pressing his cheek into Varadha’s soft hair as wetness forms in his eyes. Varadha doesn’t seem to be in any better shape as he grasps on just as tightly, a tremor shaking his frame. 
“We were going to find you,” Varadha whispers, so low that his words couldn’t be distinguished from a quick hiss of air. “I was preparing to head out when we found a lead, but that’s when Rudra attacked. I had no choice but to stay back and help, Deva. I’m sorry.” Deva laughs lightly, moving his hand up to brush through Varadha’s hair. 
“Pichaa? We both know that I can handle myself just fine. They needed you more in the moment than I did.” 
“Where were you anyway? Kampu koduthunavu ra.” 
“Rey,” Deva starts to pull away. “Yevado ethukelipothe nannu em chayamanthavu? Give me a second to shower and I’ll-”
“No. Don’t go yet.” Varadha pulls him close once again. “Who was it that got you?” 
“Bhaarava.” At the sound of his name, Varadha rears back to look at Deva sharply, fury glowing within pools of obsidian. 
“What did Radha Rama put him up to?” His eyes begin roaming down Deva’s body on high alert as he looks for signs of malice. 
“It wasn’t her. Not this time.” Deva sighs, stepping back slightly. “I’ll get into all of that, but I think I need a shower first.” Varadha drops his arms to his side, hands fisting as a flicker of uncertainty passes over his features. His eyes dart between the door and Deva before he nods.
“Yes, of course. Then I’ll just-” Deva swoops in before he can finish, palm resting against Varadha’s cheek and pressing their lips together in a gentle, yet firm, kiss. 
“Wait for me? Right here?” He requests, pressing his forehead against Varadha’s. 
“Yeah, okay.” Varadha smiles shyly at him. The gesture is enough to set off fireworks in Deva’s heart. 
~*~ 
“I had Anand bring your meal up here.” Varadha says the moment Deva steps out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel.  
“And Chintu?”
“Baba’s with him right now. He’ll be able to hold up till tomorrow, at least.” 
Now that Deva has time to really look at him, he notices the casual way Varadha is dressed. The fabrics wrapped around him are rather thin, working to fight against the humidity of the day and keep him cool. His jewelry is stacked on the dresser in a heaping pile and his face is void of the usual khol and tilakam that he wears during the day. Varadha looks so normal to Deva, all his defenses lowered as he sets aside a glass filled with bourbon. 
He reaches out an arm, gazing fondly at Deva. Within seconds, the towel is thrown across the back of a chair and Deva is planted on Varadha’s lap, pulling him in for a searing kiss. Varadha laughs, a tinge of surprise and joy, and gives back as eagerly as he gets.
“I know you’re hungry, but there’s also food that you can dig into, you know?” 
“For the life of me, I can’t imagine that anything can taste better than this.” Deva emphasizes with small pecks, lips meeting with teeth at some point when Varadha’s smile turns into a full blown grin. 
“You’re such an idiot.” Varadha grasps his chin, pulling him in for a deeper kiss once more. “But come on, you need food and Rudramma’s shouldn’t be missed at any cost.” 
“She really has you wrapped around her fingers doesn’t she? First the coffee, now the food. If this doesn’t meet the hype, I’m going to start questioning your taste.” Deva pulls himself reluctantly off of Varadha and grabs the plate. He knows instantly when the smell hits him that he’s in for a treat. 
“I told her you liked your food on the spicier side, I guess she accommodated?” Varadha teases as Deva digs in, refusing to leave a grain behind. 
“Oh god, I think we have to steal her from Mahit. Satti oka level aithe, eema unko level, anthe!” Deva sighs happily as he finishes eating and goes to wash his hands, leaving the plate on the desk before coming back to join Varadha on the bed. 
“Sare kani, ippudu chepara.” Varadha takes Deva’s hand from across the bed. “What happened, Deva?”
“Bhaarava is a Shouryanaga.” Varadha’s hand tightens painfully around his own and it’s a reaction he expects. “He’s not the only one that survived. Their parents saved them that night and they’ve been laying low for years as they grew their network.” 
“Deva, this is great!” His posture animates visibly, as if the burden of his father’s actions have lifted off his shoulders, like he could finally forgive himself just a little. The optimism evident on Varadha’s face makes it difficult for Deva to continue. He almost doesn’t want to because maybe, just maybe, he could handle this problem on his own. 
Varadha had spent so much of his life feeling accountable for the actions of his father and atoned for the sins in his own way by living a life less than he deserved. He faced humiliations for years and years, never uttering a word on his behalf, and taking the insults with the unyielding strength of a mountain. There was no reason to add more to Varadha’s plate than was necessary. Not when he was already responsible for the lives of his family and soldiers. If there is anything he can do for Varadha, it is to protect him from his instinctual ability to save and shield. 
The enemy of the Shouryanga’s was Raja Mannar, not Varadha. There wasn’t any palpable threat at the moment that he had to warn him about. Right?
“Yeah, yeah it is!” he swallows with difficulty and plasters on a smile that he hopes is reassuring. “He just wanted to make sure I knew and with how tense the atmosphere in the city is, he thought this was the only way to get to me without risking their cover.” 
“So, what does this mean? What do they want with you?”
“I have no idea if I’m being honest.” Liar. Liar. Liar. “I don’t even know how to process this. I think I just need some time?” At that, Varadha lifts their intertwined fingers and presses a kiss into the inside of Deva’s wrist. 
“Would talking about this at a later time be better for you?” He whispers, concerned.
“Yes, please.” Deva’s shoulders slump at that, making evident to him just how much tension he was carrying. “What happened while I was gone? Are you all okay?” Varadha looks away for a split second, trying to come to a decision.
“Promise not to panic, okay?” Which is the wrong thing to say because Deva is immediately on edge, but he waits patiently as Varadha pulls his arm away. A sharp hiss leaves his lips when he lifts his arms above his head, limbs moving in crisp motions to shrug out of his kurta. Deva’s gaze narrows in on the bandage wrapped around Varadha’s left shoulder, his teeth grinding against each other as red clouds his vision. 
“Is that–”
“My first ever gunshot wound,” Varadha rolls his eyes, picking up his glass of bourbon again to take a large gulp. “I’m currently high on painkillers and alcohol, which might be counter productive in the long run, but feels quite effective right now.” He grins broadly at that, the look in eyes probing for Deva to find this all as amusing as he does.
Deva, however, can feel rage overtake his body, physically manifesting in the tremor of his fingers. Thunder roars in his ears as he considers just how close the bullet was from touching his heart. A couple inches lower and Varadha wouldn’t be sitting in front of him right now, glowing gold among the dim lights, full of life. 
“Stop it,” Varadha’s lips turn down in disapproval as he takes in Deva’s stormy look. “I’m okay and everyone else is too. Baachi, Baba, Bilal, and Rhinda at least.  Some of our men didn’t make it, but mostly everyone has and Mahit is letting us keep our heads low here until it’s safe enough to move to the bunker.” He sighs, moving Deva’s arms up as he settles his head into his lap. “We can worry about everything later, but it’s been such a long night Deva. Just stay with me?” 
Deva works to control his fury, swallowing down the dryness in his mouth as he nods. He runs his fingers through Varadha’s hair and places a kiss on his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
~*~
“Anna! Anna!” Varadha startles awake at the sound of Baachi’s voice, grimacing at the sharp pain that shoots from his shoulder. 
“What?” He grumbles, voice rough with sleep as he rises to his feet and makes his way towards Baachi when he sees the wide-eyed, urgent expression. 
“Nee Salaar em chesado choodu!” Varadha’s head whips to the bed then, stomach dropping when he notices Deva’s absence. He takes off instinctively, pushing past his younger brother as he races through the mansion. The sound of celebratory cheers reach his ear immediately and he makes his way into Mahit’s garden only to catch sight of a large crowd standing in a circular formation, blocking his view. His legs start to slow down as he waits at the edge of the circle, a vision of Deva chopping off Naarang’s head flashing before his eyes for a split second before his attention comes back to the sight in front of him.
“Come on Anna,” Baachi grabs his hand, pushing through the crowd. Many of the men start to complain till they catch a glimpse of Varadha and step back enough to give him room. The gradual parting of the group allows for them to get to the front of the circle sooner than later, and Varadha’s breath catches at the image in front of him, yet he isn’t shocked. 
Deva is situated at the center of the circle, drenched in blood. He is stark-still, a regal aura to him as he keeps his gaze to the ground, allowing for two henchmen to pour buckets of water over his head. The powerful flow follows the sculpted build of his body, taking the blood with it in a path from the roots of his midnight hair, to the broad curves of his shoulders, and down the span of his long legs before pooling on the ground, forming thin streams of liquid that reach out like veins toward the beginnings of the inner circle. 
“I’ve heard the tales of his feats from many of my friends,” Varadha hears Rudramma speak from next to him. “I didn’t think there was any credibility to them initially. Just stories exaggerated during wartime when people need something to believe in. Even when he came in last night, he looked so innocent that I couldn’t fathom that this was the man who was shaking up Khansar by name alone. Now though– he doesn’t look like a human to me. Nor to anyone here, I presume. It’s as if Virabhadra himself has descended to this land.” 
Varadha couldn’t respond, fixated on the form in front of him. 
“The guards told us he left the mansion in the early hours of morning,” Baachi starts, voice rising to be heard above the squall. “Then he came back like this a couple of minutes ago. They’re saying he killed Rudra and Om, after taking on fifty of their men single handedly. I can’t believe I ever doubted your Salaar, Anna. I should’ve trusted your judgment. It’s not a mistake I’ll ever make again.” 
As if sensing his presence, Deva’s gaze snaps up to him, observing through long lashes and void of any expression. Varadha’s heart tugs uneasily. A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his thoughts.
“I’m not sure what triggered him enough to launch an attack without informing us.” Mahit mutters, standing close with a grim expression, no part of him reflecting the excitement of the group. “We’re lucky he’s on our side, but now we have to fight to keep him here because if for any reason he chooses to go against us, we’ll lose everything we’ve dreamed of. He’s a weapon Varadha, a powerful one that we can’t afford to let slip from your grasp.” 
Deva’s eyes flicker to the hand resting on Varadha’s shoulder for a singular moment before dropping back to the floor. The water crashes over him forcefully, like a tide pounding against rocky shores. Though the dark red washes away, the stain of it tinges Deva’s dusky skin like a blemish. 
Varadha can only watch.
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shadyruinskryptonite · 5 months
Text
Insecurities
Warning: Disordered eating, insecurities, depression, anxiety, self-loathing, references to s*x but no descriptions and not smut, unemployment, language, super negative self-talk (reader calls herself a bitch and fat), pet names (babe, baby, love), not proofread
Genre: hurt/comfort, established relationship, Modern AU!Eren x fem reader
A/n: Italics mean it’s the reader’s thoughts. Sorry that this is very dark and sad. As with any of my writing, it’s very self-serving. I promise that I’m alright, just feeling a bit insecure (I’m on the bigger side) and this will be comforting for me and therapeutic. Take care of yourselves <3
WC: 2390
y/n, texting: Hey Ren! You think we could hang out after work?
Ren: Sorry, I’ve gotta go to the gym and have some errands to run so I don’t think I can tonight 😢I should be able to tomorrow though if you’d like!
I sigh, feeling the familiar pressure settling on my chest as my stomach growls.
y/n: Oh, yeah. That’s fine. Tomorrow works! Love ya!
Ren: Love you too, babe.
I toss my phone to the side, heaving another sigh as I flop my head back. 
I can’t expect him to realize something is wrong if I don’t tell him. How can you be both so good at hiding how you feel AND expect Eren to see through it? Dumb bitch, this is why you are disappointed so often, people can never live up to your unrealistic expectations. 
Tears prick my eyes and I decide that the growling of my stomach is too obnoxious to ignore, so I walk to the fridge knowing I won’t find anything satisfactory. Settling on some cheese sticks, I fill the gaps with a bit of sparkling water.
If you want to like how you look in pictures, this better be the only thing you eat today. 
Nodding to myself, I go back to my bed to finish my snack before sliding under the covers. Having not had more than one meal each day for longer than I can remember, I’m definitely exhausted. I’ve been searching and applying to jobs so often that I’m mentally just shot.
You should’ve never left your job. Sure they treated you like shit, but at least you had a paycheck. You’re so stupid for thinking you’d get a job quickly. And any place you work is going to be the exact same since you’re so fucking lazy.
I squeeze my eyes together before I turn on my white noise in the background hoping to drown out my own thoughts. Slowly, I drift off to a nap.
---
When I’m snapped out of my sleep, the room is dark. I rub my eyes, extremely disoriented because something that wasn’t my alarm is what pulled me awake. I glance at the time and realize I had been asleep for at least three hours. There’s a knock at the door, and it dawns on me that this is what must have pulled me out of my sleep.
Wearing just Eren’s hoodie, I stretch before calling out, “One minute!”
You’re not really going to answer the door like that are you? Even though the hoodie covers your ass your fat thighs with their stretch marks are out. You can’t have someone seeing that!
I groan before stepping into my closet briefly. I pull on a pair of leggings but quickly realize they’re tighter than the last time I wore them. 
Ugh! You’re better off having your fat out. Just look at how these show the shadow under your gut! It’s disgusting.
For what feels like the hundredth time today I fight off tears not wanting to open the door looking like a crying mess on top of how shitty I already feel. I pull off the leggings in a huff and go to the door, too tired to care anymore.
When I glance through the peephole, I’m surprised to see Eren standing outside my door. I fling it open, confusion evident on my face. It’s only as he’s looking me over that I realize how messed up my hair must be so I quickly pull out the hair tie that was realistically only hanging on by a thread anyway. 
His warm smile that crinkles his eyes and his musky scent envelope me, momentarily lifting the cloud off of me. But just as quickly as I felt better, the doom and gloom returned along with guilt.
Look at how handsome he is, it’s so unfair of him to be stuck with you. You were too obvious about how you felt and now you’ve forced him to come over here instead of doing the things he was planning on doing. Always a burden.
Fighting off the thoughts, I smile up at my boyfriend, trying to convey that I really am happy he’s here. A little worried about his response, I ask “what happened, I thought you were going to the gym and had errands to run?”
There’s an almost imperceptible furrow to his brow and I can tell he knows something is wrong.
Fuck! Don’t make him worry about you!
“I got off a little early so I’ve already gone to the gym and I decided that my errands could wait. You seemed off over text so I wanted to come check on you, and…I think I’m glad I did. What’s wrong baby?”
I pull him into my apartment and say, “nothing Ren, what makes you think something is wrong?”
I don’t want to worry him but, god, there’s nothing I need more than him right now.
As the door closes, the room is once again enveloped in darkness. “Well,” he says as he flips the light on, “for starters I can tell you just woke up from a nap.”
“I nap all of the time Ren, that’s nothing special” I say with a giggle, and to an untrained ear it sounds so very genuine. Not to Eren though. Wanting desperately to change the subject I ask, “Have you had anything to eat? If you went to the gym you must be hungry.”
As I go to walk towards the kitchen, he gently grabs my arm. “I had a smoothie, so I’m fine.” He’s still holding my arm when he looks behind me and sees clothes discarded on the floor of my closet, only he’s almost certain that they aren’t dirty. When he looks back to me, I can tell the expression on his face has bloomed into full-on worry. 
“Talk to me, y/n,” he almost whispers. 
I can’t hold his eyes so I look away, his thumb now rubbing loving circles on my arm. I steel myself so I can try to keep up the already fragile wall and look back at him with a softer smile this time. “I’m okay love, I promise. I appreciate you making sure I’m okay, though,” I say before getting on my toes to peck him on the lips. His eyes narrow slightly but he doesn’t press the matter.
Moving to the couch, Eren lays down with his head resting on the arm of the chair and invites me into him. I happily oblige. He has some random show on in the background, but as soon as I settle onto his chest and into his arms, my lip starts to quiver. My face is hidden in his chest, and I can tell he’s looking at the TV and not me, which is good because this time I couldn’t hold back the tears that had been brewing the entire day and, honestly, for the last nearly month. 
I lay there, crying quietly as some stupid sitcom plays. Only there came a point where my crying wasn’t so easily hidden anymore. I move my hand to my mouth in hopes to cover any noise but there was no hiding the sob that racked my body. This got his attention.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Hey, hey, look at me baby, just look at me,” Eren says with increased urgency as he shifts so I can comfortably look up and make eye contact. When I fight looking at him, he changes strategy. Holding me impossibly close with one hand on the back of my head and the other on my back, he rubs comforting circles anywhere he can. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay baby. I’m right here. It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.
My sobbing gets harder before it starts to calm down, and if I could’ve seen his face I would’ve known how each new cry broke his heart all over again. When my crying had mostly subsided, I tried to choke out an apology which only made me begin to cry harder.
Now, Eren insisted on me looking at him. As he held my chin he asked, “Why the hell are you sorry? I don’t even know what you’re upset about yet.”
Through shuddering breaths, I manage to say, “I-I’m sorry for c-c-crying and I’m s-sorry for making you w-worry and f-f-for being a burden and, and, and… just for everything!” I try to bury my face in his chest again but he stops me.
“Baby! You never have to be sorry for crying. Where the fuck did you get the idea that you’re a BURDEN?” As he speaks, he looks almost hurt that I would say such a thing.
“I-I took you away f-f-from your plans,” I whine out.
“That doesn’t make you a burden love,” he says as he strokes my cheek. Shifting again to get us more on eye level, he continues, “this is not what’s making you cry this hard though. Please talk to me, y/n. I just, I feel so helpless if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” By now he’s holding my face, so I can only glance down to escape his eyes.
I know what I’m about to say will make him mad, so I keep looking down as I whisper, “why do you even care?” I feel his hands get tighter on my face. Not so tight that it hurts, but tighter nonetheless so I know he IS mad just like I was worried about.
What I wasn’t expecting was to be met with silence. When I look up, his eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open. Wanting to escape the situation, I say, “close your mouth, you’re going to catch flies like that,” but as I reach up to his face to gently shut his jaw, he grabs my hand hard.
“Why do I even care? I really can’t believe you just asked me that.” Mistaking his incredulity for annoyance, I frantically begin to apologize again as fresh tears spill over.
“Please stop apologizing, y/n. You don’t have anything to apologize for.” This shuts me up and for a moment we just sit in silence before it’s his turn to look away and he asks, “Have I not been doing enough to make you feel like I care? I’ll do anything you need, I-”
“What?! No! That’s not what I mean at all, you’re an incredible boyfriend and you make me feel so loved every day, it’s…it’s just that…” I pause to sigh. The last thing I wanted was for HIM to feel guilty. But how do I even begin to articulate what the problem is?
Eren waits patiently as I battle internally. Finally, I look down and continue, “It’s just that I don’t understand why you care about ME. I’m…I’m…I’m repulsive! I mean, just look at me!” I gesture to myself, still not making eye contact. Now I’m getting really worked up as I say, “We have no good pictures together because I ruin them all! I haven’t been able to contribute to a date in months because I have no money and on top of that you’ve had to bail me out financially more than once! I’m just…I’m useless! Fat, and lazy, and useless, and-”
I’m suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. Tangling one hand into Eren’s hair, I cry into the crook of his neck. For the first time in a while, I’m able to feel some of the weight lifting off of me. We stay like this for a moment and as my crying begins to subside, I can hear Eren speak through gritted teeth. Anger radiates off of him as he forces out, “did someone say something like this to you? Because if this is someone’s fault I’ll ki-”
“No one said this to me, Ren.” I lean back and realize he’s got tears glistening on his cheeks. I feel so bad for making him cry, but his silence implies he wants further explanation. I cup his face in my hands to wipe away his tears before I kind of chuckle and say, “No, no one said something to me. It’s just, I mean, I have eyes.”
“Well maybe you should get them checked then!” he bursts. I’m taken aback but it doesn’t stop him from continuing, “Because we must be seeing different things! Because when I look at you I just see happiness and love and sunshine.”
I chuckle again before I say, “Thank you Ren, but, to be fair, you’re my boyfriend. You’re supposed to say that kind of shit.”
Without an ounce of humor, he interjects “Well if I’m supposed to say it, then I must not be saying it enough. There are so many things about you that I love, like how smart you are and your humor and your kindness, but I never would have even wanted to get to know those things if I didn’t find you jaw-droppingly attractive. Your hair that looks soft and shiny no matter if you leave it natural or style it, your eyes that I find myself getting lost in every time we make eye contact, your smile that can genuinely turn my day around. And you’re every man’s dream because I don’t have to choose between tits and ass,” he squeezes both as his says that, making me genuinely laugh which reflects in his own smile before he continues, “and while I know you don’t like your stretch marks, I love them both because I think they’re like pretty tattoos but also because the skin is more sensitive so it gives me another way to drive you crazy any time we have sex.”
Before I can respond, he finishes off by saying, “You asked why I even care, but the answer is simple, and it’s because I love you. You are the greatest person I’ve ever met, and I will spend the rest of my life proving this to you if that’s what it takes.” He then kisses me softly yet passionately, conveying exactly how deeply he means everything he just said.
“It’s not something I’m just immediately going to believe about myself, but thank you. That really helped, Ren.” I kiss him one more time before saying, “I love you so much baby.”
“I love you too y/n.”
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appalachiananarchist · 7 months
Text
When I see posts romanticizing the “traditional SAHM gender role” home structure, I think about the women in my life still trapped by it. This structure is still the expectation where I live, so I have seen it play out in all (yes, all – my ongoing status as single and employed has earned me the moniker of “odd”) my female relatives and friends. From extensive experience I have learned that when you give someone power within a relationship (such as, financial power) it will eventually get abused. I think about the men in my family who have used their financial power over their wives to force her to stay in an unsafe relationship. I think about the women who put up with abuse, sometimes unspeakably horrific abuse, or infidelity because they are considered unemployable without any professional skills/work history and have no personal savings.
Grown adults are free to make the choices they wish, but I worry that cutesy videos of bread-baking and meal prepping “for the hubby” obscure the very real risks of this lifestyle. You will be placing your access to healthcare, food, and shelter in the hands of another person, and if things go wrong, that will be used against you. It has been used against thousands and thousands of other “you’s” who never thought it would be, that he was different, that the relationship was solid. I just want women to know the risks and be prepared. Maintain your own separate savings (and if he balks at the idea, run). Consider some part time or from-home work, even if it is just intermittent, to minimize your employment gap and keep up some professional skills (and if he balks at the idea, run). Make sure you have at least 1-2 close relationships outside the home who could help you in an emergency (and if he tries to interfere with those relationships, run). You are placing your entire life in the hands of a person who is not taking equivalent risks or making equivalent sacrifices in the relationship. If this is the path you choose, know if is not risk-free. Be smart and be prepared.
I hope this does not come across as overly forward. This is a subject that has colored every part of my life, so it tends to hit some nerves. You all have no idea the stuff I have been through or the stuff that I have seen. No idea.
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Text
to show you the stars (and win your heart) {Wilbur Soot}
Request: This is really simple and no where near as interesting as your writing. But, what if the reader has a rooftop spot they go to a lot to think or draw or whatever. And one day they get the news that they've lost their job so they go there but a really lanky guy with curly brown hair is already there. Idk, not my best but it's somethin
Summary: Five moments after you move to Brighton, and the one where it finally feels like home. // (Five moments online after Wilbur Soot meets his new neighbour on the roof, and the one where he finally introduces them to his audience.)
Need to Know: They/Them. Some discussions of unemployment, a bit of possible second hand embarrassment. Reader has no idea about Wilbur's online activities. Fluff.
A/N: 5075 words. I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!! My life has been kind of falling apart lately but Ive been working on this on and off for a week or so. So I kind of tweaked the prompt, I hope you don't mind, so instead of the reader having just lost their job, it's the aftermath of having lost their job and having to relocate to a new city (because that's literally what happened to me), and adapting to the new city and meeting Wilbur while settling into the city, you know?? I hope you like it, it brought me great comfort. Written on my phone and unedited.
The air smells different here. On top of the building? Brighton? On the other side of your life going absolutely tits up? Where is here, really; it's such a relative concept. But the air smells different. Different to your old home. Different to your old town. Different to your old life. Not good necessarily, just different -
The door to the roof creaks something dreadful as it opens. You're focus is caught, naturally, and your pensive expression turns upon a surprised stranger.
"Sorry," tall, brunette, pale but not freckled enough for them to be visible to you at this short distance. He hovers in the doorway but ultimately joins you on the roof. When he lets go of the door, there's that noise again, that awful, attention grabbing noise.
"No, it's fine," you're not sure why he apologised, or why you're accepting it. Maybe the noise of the door. It's like the two of you are locked in a stalemate; he clearly wasn't expecting anyone to be up here.
"Am I in your spot?" You ask, already getting up.
"No! No, uh, no," he shakes his head, and he apologises again, this time gesturing to the city beyond the edge of the roof. Maybe he feels guilty for drawing your attention in the first place, is urging you that it's safe to go back to whatever you were doing.
Giving an awkward nod, you turn back to the city, to breathing this new air and new life. Behind you the sound of his sneakers against the pavement gets marginally fainter as he finds a spot for himself a good distance away from you.
"It's a good roof," you're not sure what possess you to say it, voice rising above the faint wind to make sure you're heard by this stranger sharing your silence.
"What?"
"It's a good roof," you repeat yourself without a hint of hesitation. You feel like an utter fool, at least until his reply comes.
"'spose it is."
You head back inside. The door's creak, as always, begs for attention, and gets it; glancing over your shoulder you meet the stranger's gaze. He nods at you with the faintest smile, but then his attention his back on the horizon. He doesn't watch you leave.
New air. New city. New neighbours.
----
(There is nothing about Wilbur Soot's next stream that would differentiate it from any other in any significant way.
It doesn't matter, you don't know who Wilbur Soot is.)
----
Music flows from the flat above yours, and you find out in the best possibly way. It's not that it's loud at all hours, soaking through the floor to wake you up, there's nothing to complain about, instead, with the window open for the sweet, Spring breeze, the faintest guitar notes carry on the wind, as if from an adjacent open window. It's not enough to pick out a proper melody, it's not even enough that you can still hear it if you move away from your window.
It doesn't even sound particularly rehearsed, it almost sounds like it's being rehearsed. Alone; an in-progress melody.
Encore, you want to cheer when the music grows quiet and the window slides shut, but the musician wouldn't hear you. Every part of this building begs for the attention it's occupants don't seem to want. Closing doors, closing windows, louder always than a hello in the hall.
Still, you keep your window open.
And sometimes the music comes back.
At least this new building sounds better than your old one.
----
(It's been a few months since Wilbur's played Soft Boy for anyone online, whether that be his own stream or for his friends. It's March now, well into Spring, and Tommy's stream is as good a place as any. Wilbur himself isn't live, he's just on a headset at home, desk by his open window where the street below is for once mercifully quiet. Still, it's not ready for proper release, he has other priorities, maybe he wants to workshop it a little more before getting it properly produced. But the fans and his friends enjoy it.
You, of course, are ignorant to all this context; still you don't know who Wilbur Soot is.)
----
The stranger visits the roof at night as often as you do. Rugged up at night despite the days growing ever warmer, you grant yourself a reprieve from job hunting if only to take peace in the stars. At night the horizon sometimes becomes difficult to discern, stars dancing dangerously close to the night light of the city.
It's different again at night, a new kind of night that you're still getting used to. But the creak of the door is familiar. The stranger's apology is familiar. The way he sits a bit closer to you each time, or you to him if he's there first, that's all becoming familiar too.
"I'm Will," he offers the second time the two of you meet. He's still a fair distance away; it will be weeks before the two of you are side by side. You introduce yourself and he nods, "you moved in not long ago, right?" Something about the lights of the city make him glow.
You nod. He smiles.
"It's a good view," he looks back out to the city, and you take a long moment before you look away from him. You like the way he smiles; you like these moments on the roof, the ones that have passed and the ones yet to come. You're not quite sure why you prefer the moments with him in them rather than the moments alone on the roof without.
"'spose it is," and though you're looking out to the city, you don't really see it.
----
(Recently, Wilbur has been streaming earlier in the day, at least for him. Not every stream, of course, maybe once a week. He seems disappointed when it gets too late after he loses track of time.
"Alright, Cinderella," Quackity scoffs after Wilbur comments that he has to go, that it's later than he realised, "abandoned me," he plays up being hurt, "what is it? What's more important than me, Wilbur?"
"Don't be like that, Q," Wilbur responds dotingly, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"How?"
"I'll DM you how," Wilbur's voice goes low and exaggeratedly flirty, giving an over the top wink to his camera, "you can't see it but I'm winking suggestively at the camera," he adds for Quackity's sake, who at seems placated by the exchange. Then, Wilbur finally explains; "I've got a friend who keeps a strange schedule, I'm- I'm just trying to work around them right now." And Quackity finally gives his blessing, which makes Wilbur laugh.
You don't see the quiet sigh of relief he breathes when he gets to the roof and sees you there. Even if you did, you wouldn't even begin to know why. Well known internet celebrity Wilbur Soot has started scheduling his work is in the hopes that he'll see you more often... Not that you know who Wilbur Soot is.)
----
The stranger Will has an office and you don't even have a job. Still. All this you learn while going for a job in the same building as his office, apparently. Except that it's late in the afternoon and you're just leaving your interview and he's just arriving and he seems just as confused as you.
"Do you work here?"
"Hopefully," you answer, and something about his look of genuine interest has something stirring in your chest, "I just had an interview," you elaborated, not wanting to admit to yourself that this single moment, in which Will tells you he's also hoping for the best for you, has you more flustered than the interview itself.
When you ask if he works here too, he candidly admits he does, but is cagey about the details. He's not part of company you'd just interviewed with, his office is his own.
"Will I see you on the roof tonight?" He asks, catching you completely off guard.
"What time?" Thankfully at least your mouth works faster than your brain, "I'm headed home now." Then, as he's checking the time on his phone you blurt out - "have you- will you have eaten before then?" And he looks at you with confusion, "I could make some food, if you're working. I could make dinner for when we hang out on the roof."
Will absolutely beams.
Something about his smile has your heartbeat stuttering in your chest. It hits you in this moment that Will genuinely enjoys your company on the roof just as much as you do his.
He asks you how late is too late, and when you let him know, he nods and suggests and hour before then. How does his smile seem to get wider? There's a look in his eyes that's all warm and fond; did that always happen when he smiled? How had you not noticed it before?
"That's very kind of you, I can see about getting some kind of dessert for us on my way back," he offers, and you try to waive off the suggestion but he laughs softly, "I never said it'd be gourmet, I was thinking more along the lines of something from a petrol station, I'm not sure what else would be open; any preferences?"
"For petrol station sweets?" And even though you're grinning, you're clearly endeared.
"For petrol station sweets," Will confirms with a nod. It takes you a moment to think it over before giving a few suggestions as options, and he takes a long moment to focus on remembering them, repeating them back to you to confirm.
Then he tells you he's looking forward to it, and he sounds so sincere, and the feeling in your chest is frighteningly hopeful. This is a new feeling in your not so new town that you weren't anticipating.
You grin back.
"Me too."
----
(Close to the end of April, there is a day in which several members of the DreamSMP go live together for a lighthearted, mostly lore-free stream. These creators included, among a few others, Wilbur Soot who happened to be in notably high spirits.
"Am I not allowed to be in a good mood, Tommy?" Wilbur jokingly demanded when Tommy pointed it out.
"No, it's freaking me out," Tommy didn't even hesitate to play along with the bit, "do I have to bully you? Do we have to bully you?"
"I think... we should," Ranboo agrees after a moment of deliberation, holding back his laughter.
"Tommy, I love you man but you need to come up with new go-to solutions," Wilbur responds blithely, "and I'm pretty sure you couldn't actually bully me in any way that mattered," he turns his nose up, wearing a wide grin, "I've got dinner on the roof to look forward to, nothing can ruin today."
"Can I try?" Tommy deadpans without missing a beat, and Wilbur breaks into surprised laughter almost immediately.
"Tommy," Philza just sounds faintly exasperated, and Wilbur can't stop laughing.
His friends and his content are his entire life, and he's acutely aware of how lucky he is to be a content creator, the opportunities he's been afforded, so he keeps it to himself that the best part of that night wasn't the filming, it was coming back to seeing you smiling on the roof of the flat.
Because it didn't take him long to figure out that you had no idea who Wilbur Soot was; every time he remembers this, he lets himself enjoy it quietly, letting himself get close to someone who, for the first time in a long time, has no preconceived notions of him. You like him for him, and one day he hopes he can tell you how much that means to him.)
----
You're surprised at how long it's taken you to ask what floor he lives on, and even more surprised to learn that he's on the floor above you.
It's been a very long day, instinctively looking forward to heading to the roof at sunset after finishing a trial shift that you're not completely confident went well.
"Are you the one with the tiny, little pot plants on your windowsill?" He asks, which surprises you.
"Uh, yeah I am, they were gifts from when I moved into my last place," part of you wants to ask how he knew, but somehow it makes sense. Of course he's seen the pot plants, of course he knew they'd be yours.
There's a pleasant lull in the conversation before you think to ask -
"Are the walls thin?"
You don't even for a second consider that there may be some suggestive implications until Will squints at you in confusion. There's a parcel of fish and chips open between you both, and he had been picking through the chips trying to find the most crisp.
"Not as far as I've noticed," he pauses, before adding pointedly, "floor seems pretty soundproof too." He's too invested in figuring out what you're implying to go back to food, at least not immediately.
"No, no!" Realising your mistake your smacked your hand to your mouth out of embarrassment. Wide eyed, you find yourself waving with one hand trying to chew and swallow your own food faster to clarify, "no, sorry, nothing weird, I swear," you laugh awkwardly, finally finding your voice, "I just wondered if you knew who lived in the flat directly above mine, they play guitar, I thought that you might have heard- that it might help identify -" but Will's expression has turned unreadable, and again find yourself realising your misstep only after the fact yet again. Immediately you begin apologising.
"Sorry, I- I must seem so creepy I'm so sorry, I should just go up and knock on their door instead of eavesdropping and asking you, I'm sorry Will -"
"Is it good?"
Your mouth snaps closed, and when you look to Will you're surprised to see him looking genuinely curious. He picks up a chip and gestures like he's prompting you to answer.
"What?"
"Do you think they play good music?" He asks again, tone free of any kind of judgement. It takes you a moment to process the shift in the mood.
"I don't recognise any of it," you murmur, trying to properly order your thoughts, "I don't hear it a lot, only very occasionally, when I'm sitting next to my window if it's open, which is why I think it's the person above me..."
Will blinks at you, eyebrows raised, still waiting for a proper answer.
"I like it," you nod, ducking your face to hide your embarrassed smile, "I keep wanting to call out 'encore'," you chuckle a little self consciously at the admission, "but that feels like crossing a line."
"You are very sweet," you hear Will mumble, his tone endeared, "and you have no idea who it is?"
"Every time I think about going up and knocking on their door I feel like a creep," you sighed, "which, I mean, given the situation I definitely am, and it gets worse literally every day. It's not like telling them at this point would do any good."
"It might," he offers.
"I admire your optimism but I'll keep my dignity while I still can."
"I think it'll go better than you'd think," he muses, doing a bad job of fighting back a smile.
"Oh yeah," you roll your eyes, "just knock and admit," perhaps your patience is wearing thin after a long day as you put on a mockingly saccharine voice, "you play such lovely music! How do I know this? Well I've been listening in for months like a stalker, just downstairs, sometimes I'll even make a cup of tea and pretend like it's my own private concert!" You let go of the act as you pitch yourself back to lay on the roof, scowling at the sky, "I'd rather die," you huffed.
"Months," he murmurs, almost awed and barely audible, before asking, "your own private concert? That's kind of adorable, honestly," he tells you, sounding frankly delighted.
"Oh shut it, Will," you sulked, crossing your arms over your chest.
"You're very sweet," he reiterates in that same soft tone as before.
"You're biased," you roll your eyes.
"Of course, that goes without saying," Will answers blithely, and you can hear his shit eating grin in his voice, "considering I'm the musician who lives above you."
You know he's watching you, he's waiting for your reaction.
"Will you know if this is true that I'm never going to recover from the embarrassment, right?" You manage, as level as you're able, your body stiff as an absolute board with tension.
"Nothing to be embarrassed about," he assured you, though in this moment it wasn't exactly effective.
"You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"
"Would you like me to prove it to you?" He offers easily. When you finally sit back up, clearly apprehensive, there's nothing but that familiar, warm kind of fondness you find in his smile. He gives you time to process, he doesn't push you, doesn't grow impatient or irate as you scrutinise him. Finally, you sit back, as if done with your analysis of him and were still unsure of what to make of all this information.
"Come on," he says gently, getting to his feet and offering you his hand, "let me play you something I've been working on, I need a second opinion." Warily, quietly, you take his hand.
The shock wears off. He makes you tea. You peer out his window to see your little row of pot plants just below. Then, just as he promised, he plays you something that you're already familiar with despite it never having been released.
Front row seats to your own private concert.
He turns faintly pink when you do in fact ask for an encore, but he can't stop smiling.
----
(Lovejoy, the band which Wilbur Soot fronts, releases their first EP 'Are You Alright?' on May 8, and it almost immediately begins to trend across various charts, including internationally. It's unequivocally a success, and is being plugged online by fans and friends alike.
Wilbur, however, is blindsided by the text he receives from you in the week that follows the release. If you were ever going to find out what he did for a living, it would have been this week, instead:
[interview went well, I've got my fingers crossed, thank u for the luck xx and omg literally in such a good mood I mistook a song on the radio as one of yours THAT WOULD BE SO COOL TOO HEAR THO!!]
[hey actually if you're up for it do you wanna call? I'm all high on adrenaline and there's some stuff I wanna talk about when I feel like I'm on top of the world 😅💖]
And Wilbur, who was due to start streaming in only a few minutes, pushed back from his desk and pressed Call. On the other end of the line you're bright, brimming with excitement and enthusiasm and confidence and -
"I've been wanting to ask you for ages, actually even before I found out you were the talented musician living above me, that was just a bonus, and might be the reason I'm calling, because that song I heard was so familiar -" you're rambling, something Wilbur rarely heard you do. When he asks if you're okay, you grow quiet, "I'm nervous."
"About what?"
"Misreading things. Fucking with our friendship."
Oh.
"I have it on pretty good authority that you have nothing to be nervous about," Wilbur assures, a warmth flourishing in his chest as he hears your breathy, relieved chuckle.
"I'd like to get a drink with you some time," you tell him with a newfound confidence, "or see a movie, or a band, or anything. A date. Away from our building." There's so much excitement in your voice it's infectious, Wilbur finds himself grinning.
"I'd like that very much," then, after a long moment, he clears his throat, "do you remember what the band was called?"
"What do you mean?"
"On the radio, you said you thought you heard my song; what band was it?"
"Oh," you pause, considering, "not quite sure. Love-something?"
"Ah."
"Ah, what? Wilbur I don't like that tone, ah what?"
"Ah, I might have to tell you something."
"Christ, what now?"
"I'm at work; if you want I can pick up take out after and we can have dinner together."
"Are you going to tell me what you do for a living yet?"
"Do you trust me?" He asks softly, and there's a long pause, in which you sigh.
"Of course I do, Will," you answer honestly, "always, you know that."
"I know," he agrees fondly, "and that means a lot to me. I promise I'll explain it all tonight, I promise." Softer now, he smiles, "I hope you know how glad I am to have you in my life," he hesitates for the barest moment before quickly adding, "and I'm very proud of you for getting the job."
"Thanks, Will," he can hear you smiling, "I can't wait to see you tonight."
Five minutes later, Wilbur Soot begins his geoguesser stream. There's something different, the vibe has changed, but no-one can put their finger on why.
There's no outward difference, but there's electricity in the air. When you finally find out the truth about Wilbur Soot, when you see the VOD for the stream, see how big he smiles right as he signs off, you will call him a sap.
----
Your tiny, little pot plants sit nicely on Wilbur's windowsill. It takes a while, but slowly your things begin to migrate from your apartment upstairs to his. Before coming to Brighton, you'd paired down your things, and so it's nice to find space for yourself in his apartment, in his life. It doesn't feel empty here, it doesn't feel sparse and new.
And Wilbur? It seemed like things with him just kept getting better. You took every chance you got to hype him up, endlessly proud of him and all he was doing with his online and musical careers.
When you meet his band, they all greet you with a warm familiarity, and Wilbur spends the first half hour bright red as they jump at the chance to tell you that they feel like they already know you. However this makes you turn all sappy and endeared, and it takes all of your energy to stay even semi professional and not act as enamoured with your boyfriend as you felt.
While you end up meeting and getting along with his family, the thing that gets you properly nervous is when he asks if you want to get lunch with his friends Phil and Kristen. You know the family-dynamic bit by now, so of course you say yes; you need them to like you so much.
Both Phil and Kristen hug you when they first meet you. It's like they can tell you're nervous, their words, their tone, everything about them is gentle. At one point, Wilbur and Phil get caught up talking about some upcoming streams they're planning, and while you're excited to watch, their discussion goes over your head for the time being. Almost as if by instinct, you look to Kristen, as if to gauge how you should be reacting, but she's looking back at you, expression endeared.
"This is still new to me," you admit, shuffling your chair a bit closer to her as to not interrupt the other two. She laughs softly, but the sound is kind and understanding.
"It gets more coherent in time," she assured, to which you ducked your head to hide your faintly embarrassed expression.
"I understand all of the words individually, but this streaming stuff is so far out of my usual realm," carefully, you look up to watch how animated Wilbur is getting as he talks over his plans for the DSMP stream for the following night, running it past Phil, "tell me I'm not weird for watching old VODs in my spare time to try and figure out how it all works, and what's happening in that Minecraft thing. I know he's doing cool shit, I'm just trying to figure out how to properly appreciate it."
"You're not weird, that's adorable," Kristen is grinning from ear to ear, which served to brighten your own smile, "you'll get it in no time."
Wilbur looks over for a moment, practically glowing with enthusiasm, hands raised mid-expressive gesture, and catches your eye. His expression softens as he seems to briefly forget what he was saying; Kristen looks between the two of you and fondly shakes her head.
It's easier to hug them goodbye than it was to say hello, no nerves as you tell them honestly it was good to meet them, that you look forward to seeing them again soon. Something eases in your chest when they both return the sentiment in kind, genuine in their affection.
"Home?" Wilbur asks as he unlocks the car, and you pause as you turn the word over in your mind. He's said it before a million times, but somehow this time is different, this time feels real. Home.
"Yeah," you say softly, sounding a little dazed as you climb into the passenger seat.
"You okay there?" Tone light, he's smiling as he asks, and you turn, unable to stop the grin as it makes its way across your face.
"I love you," you tell him like you can't quite believe it yourself, though maybe it's more the fact that- "I can't believe I've never said that before."
"What do you mean you can't believe you've never said it before?" He's grinning now, endeared.
"I love you, Will, I've loved you for ages, we practically live together," you laugh, "but I've never actually said it, I hate that! I hate that I've never said it! I love you, Will!"
"I love you too," he tells you sincerely, leaning across the centre console to kiss you, which you enthusiastically meet him in the middle for. You've kissed him more times than you can rightly remember, but it never feels to give you butterflies.
At home, he's quiet, smiling to himself while lost in thought throughout the afternoon. When you ask about it, he hesitates.
"You never had to say it," he admits with a shrug, "I knew." When your brow furrows with confusion, his expression turns vaguely guilty and self deprecating, "you have to admit, I was acting pretty sketchy about a lot of my life -"
"- with good reason," you countered, but all he could do was smile fondly, shaking his head.
"In hindsight," he points out, "now you know why I was being evasive about a lot of things it makes sense, but at the time I didn't really know, or, well that's not true," he flushed, "I didn't exactly believe why you would still trust me after all that," he looks to you once more, "but you did."
"Of course," you answer automatically, before it hits you what he's saying, "because I had a crush on you; because I love you." Then, as he's nodding in agreement, your eyes go wide with realisation, crowing with glee; "because you had a thing for me too!"
He doesn't disagree. He wraps you up in his arms and kisses you, and this moment feels like home.
----
(Wilbur's stream entitled 'SPECIAL SPOOKY GUEST CHATTING AND LOWKEY Q&A BE ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOUR!!' happens on Halloween. Its the first video to ever even explicitly name Y/N, let alone feature them.
"I'm so nervous I'm going to be sick," is the first thing the internet hears of you, while Wilbur's sitting in frame, watching you off frame.
"You don't have to do this," he assured. He's wearing something shimmery on his skin, and plastic vampire teeth that are giving him a faint lisp. He's wearing eyeliner.
"No, I know we're live, I want to do this, I do, I do!" You insisted, before making a noise of anxiety, "but I might pass out. I need to study more." At that, Wilbur gives you a fond look, before looking to his camera.
"They call watching my VODs 'studying'," he explains. You make another anxious noise, before taking a deep breath and quickly sitting yourself into the chair beside him, looking at him and not the camera.
"I'm going to get a good grade in streaming, which is both normal to want, and possible to achieve," you mumbled; you too sparkle with some sort of shimmer, but are holding your plastic fangs in your hand, fidgeting with it.
Even without explaining who you are, everything about the way Wilbur looks at you says that he's in love with you. After a moment, your anxious expression softens as you find yourself fascinated by how he's sparkling, and you reach out to faintly touch his cheek. While you may have forgotten the audience, Wilbur has not, yet he still allows the moment to go on as you grow more comfortable in front of the camera, beside him.
"Love?"
"Yeah, I know," you mumbled, finally coming back to reality. Looking away from him and to the screen in front of you both, "Q and A," you murmur, reading the stream title. Thankfully you don't seem as daunted as moments before, "the first question seems to be 'who am I'." You take a deep breath and look to Wilbur, who grins back.
"Welcome to your first stream, you wanna say hi?"
"What if I just didn't? We go the whole stream without explaining who I am," you couldn't help yourself, snorting a laugh, which makes Wilbur cackle at the idea.
"You do whatever you want, I'll support you, that's hilarious."
"But cruel," you conceeded, despite how amused you were by the idea. Looking back to chat, you could see half having a meltdown at the idea. But you are not cruel; you'd both talked about it for far too long to chicken out now.
It's time for the world will know who you are.
"I'm Y/N, nice to meet you all!"
"And," Wilbur adds with a proud smile, "if you hadn't guessed, they're my partner.")
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thepixelelf · 2 years
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and the universe said,
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02 "fuck you and your interview"
genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery chapter warnings: language, mentions of a non-fatal car collision. reader is shirtless for most of a scene. if you wear bras and would like to, you can imagine reader in one. relationship(s): ot13 x reader
When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren't -- and that's before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.
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It’s 300.15 Kelvin outside and you’re wearing a turtleneck and you want to die because the person on the other side of your soulmate phenomenon has never heard of shutting the fuck up.
“They liked you!” Heejun insists.
“Yeah, sure,” you groan, slumped over your kitchen table with your head resting atop your shut laptop. “Until someone started singing and my mark went all the way up to my freaking chin!”
“Okay but they didn’t dislike your mark—”
“No, they thought it was fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, that once they saw it, they forgot all about my dissertation!” You sit up, beyond frustrated, and tug off your turtleneck, throwing it onto the floor like it personally wronged you. The AC in your apartment just has to be broken, but it doesn’t matter anyway. The mark has returned to its home on the back of your hand.
Heejun doesn’t bother turning away or covering his eyes, having seen you in less.
“All they cared about was my stupid mark,” you whine, crossing your arms in front of you and making a sour face. “‘Oh, wow, I’ve never seen a mark like that before.’ ‘Are those music notes? Is your soulmate a singer?’ ‘Have you met them?’” Even though the words come out mockingly, you slump more and more as you repeat the questions you got berated with in your Zoom interview. “Fuck, I’m never getting a job.”
“Don’t say that. They might call you back.”
You sigh. “Please don’t get my hopes up.”
It’s been about two months since the soulmate phenomenon rocked the world, and that many days minus one since you found out your mark, which is already a proven miracle amongst the general population, is also special amongst other victims of the phenomenon.
“Oh, god.” Eyeing your arms, you groan. “Songbird’s at it again.”
Not only does your mark move whenever your supposed soulmate sings — it extends.
The bars, accompanied by notes and pianissimos and double fortes and symbols you’ve yet to bother googling, spread past the original mark and curl around your wrist, slithering up your arm like a snake through the grass. With your turtleneck strewn and abandoned somewhere on your floor, you and Heejun watch as the music climbs up to your shoulder and slips around your neck, circling twice before moving to your other arm. It’s like you’ve got two full sleeves of tattoos without the teeth-gritting pain that comes with actually getting it done in a parlour.
No, just a whole different kind of pain.
In the ass.
You can’t walk down the street without people gawking at you like you’re an alien — which, honestly, you can’t even blame them for. What the fuck kind of human has tattoos that snake along their arms as if they’re alive? Even Heejun can’t take his eyes off your mark, which has looped back up your left arm and started to wrap around your chest.
“Heejun!” You snap your fingers in his face, jolting him back into pay attention to me land. “I’m lamenting my current and probably eternal unemployment right now; at least pretend you hate this shit as much as I do.”
Shaking his head and frowning, Heejun tries again to console you. “C’mon, there’s no way they’d let the fact that you have a soulmate mark affect whether they hire you or not.”
“Tell that to my other two interviews.”
The staff branches off in some places, and you follow Heejun’s eyes as they trace the music reaching all the way up to your cheek. It does that a lot — the splitting up thing. You’re too sick of the mark overall to care to think about why.
“We should just find them,” Heejun posits.
You blink. “What?”
“I mean, the only way to get them to stop singing is to ask, right?”
Straightening up in your seat, you realize you never really thought about meeting the person on the other side of your mark. You’d been too caught up in the whole, what the fuck is happening why is there a random tattoo on me holy shit why is it moving what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck of it all. And besides, every case you’ve happened to hear from the news has ended up the same way — the soulmates met because their marks led them to each other.
You sort of just expected it to… happen. You never thought about going out to find the person inadvertently ruining your life yourself.
Heejun asks, sincerely, “You want to meet them, don’t you?”
“I… guess.” You shrug.
Do you?
The idea of asking them to stop singing — at least while you’re in a serious interview for a real-life, adulting job — is appealing, that’s for sure. The fact that they’re supposed to be the love of your life is also a factor, though.
You don’t know why, but that’s somehow less appealing to you.
And the weirdness that is the feeling of not wanting to meet the love of your life just yet (because who wouldn’t?) gives you pause.
Your soulmate stops singing, and the staff slinks back until it’s just five empty lines on the back of your hand. It’s a chilling feeling, when the notes disappear, and you shiver with your whole body every time. Another reason you’ve come to dislike your mark. Despite the annoyance the music sets off every time it spreads across your skin, you feel a dreadful sense of… emptiness when it leaves.
To feel that constant start and stop, start and stop—
It’s exhausting.
“Have you tried reading the music?”
“Are you kidding?” You scoff at Heejun. “I played percussion in junior high marching band, dude. I can’t even sightread; I’m hardly a music prodigy.” Scrutinizing your now-plain mark, you say, “Besides, how would that help?”
Heejun rolls his eyes. “You’re seriously dense sometimes. They’re always singing. Either it’s their job, or they’re trying to get your attention.”
“If they wanted to get my attention by annoying me, then they’re doing a bang-up job.”
“If they’re a singer,” Heejun continues, ignoring you. “—it’ll be even easier to find them. They’ll probably be singing all their own songs.”
You shake your head, doubtful. “I don’t think singers spend all day just singing their own stuff.”
“Idols practice all the time—”
“My soulmate is not an idol.”
“Why not?”
The look on Heejun’s face is serious, and you almost squirm under his gaze. Instead, you scrunch up your face and shake your head. “They’re just… not, okay? Idols aren’t my type.”
“Not your type?” Heejun regards you in such disbelief, you want to be annoyed again. “Bub, ‘idol’ isn’t a type of person, it’s a job description.”
“Yeah, and venture capitalists aren’t my type either.”
Heejun groans, but you can tell he won’t argue with that — he dated a business major in university. It didn’t go well.
Not that all business majors are bad, of course. That one just so happened to be a real bitch.
“Fine,” he relents. “Let’s assume they’re just trying to get your attention by singing nonstop— like now.”
Heejun points at your arm, and you look down to find your mark extending again to your infinite dismay. You let out a sigh.
“If they’re not a singer, maybe they’re singing songs with hints in them,” he suggests.
“That’s awfully elaborate, isn’t it?”
Shrugging, Heejun takes hold of your hand from across the table and studies the notes as they dance over your skin. “Your mark is elaborate. You don’t have it easy like all the others.”
“That girl almost hit her soulmate with her car.”
“Yeah, because the universe literally dragged them together,” he reasons. Then, “It’s weird…”
You pull your hand out of his just as the mark recedes, a shiver pulsing through you. “What’s weird?” 
“Nothing.” He nods at your phone, which is sitting face up on the table, lit with a notification, “You got an email.”
Not wanting to pry into whatever is going on in Heejun’s head, you grab your phone. You expect some random email from a newsletter you never subscribed to in the first place, but when you read the subject line, your eyes widen.
“Second round of interviews?!”
Heejun smiles wide. “See? I told you they liked you!”
“Oh my god. Dude. It’s tomorrow. Oh my god.”
“Yeah, yeah, stress head. Let’s go over the practice questions again.”
“I love you.”
He snorts. “No shit.”
Sitting in small coffee shop near where your interview — second round! — will take place in twenty-five minutes, you mutter the answers you practised with Heejun late into last night under your breath. You scroll through your phone, reading up on the company for the third time.
You can almost hear Heejun nagging you in your head.
Relax.
Letting out a long breath, you put your phone away and take a sip of your drink, eyes drifting out the window.
It’s a nice day, unfortunately. If it weren’t for the white turtleneck you’re wearing, you might be happy about the warm weather. You pray to whatever is out there that your antiperspirant is doing its job, because this is the nicest turtleneck you own, and you seriously don’t trust your soulmate not to break into song during your interview. You can only hope they don’t sing a full song today— your shirt will cover partial tunes, but who knows if your soulmate is actually cast in a musical, or something. 
Earlier, you set an alarm on your phone so you’ll know when you’ve got to get moving to be exactly seven minutes early, with three minutes of leeway in case you get lost inside the building. With that alarm in mind, you let yourself sink into the art of people-watching, zoned out and half-listening to the music playing in the shop. A song you know comes on, and you hum along. 
Ice cold something splashes across your back.
You flinch so hard, your own drink goes flying, and on instinct, you stand up. Whipping around, you turn to see the masked face of a man with an empty plastic cup in his hold, the lid squeezed tight in the opposite hand.
His eyes are as wide as dinner plates, which is wild because you’re the one drenched in iced coffee.
You have nothing to say except, “What the fuck!”
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updates for and the universe said, are not on a schedule. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!
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