#a side hustle should be extra not the second or third job people have to do to survive

[scretladyspider]

here is the text from the r/antiwork screenshot:

“My hustle culture friend just died of a heart attack at age 32.

Sorry for the wall of text, but I really need to get this off my chest.

I met this guy at uni, and since graduating he had be living the life. He got up at 5am to workout and do all life's admin, then worked 08:30-19:30 every day in finance for £150k/year, and then would spend his evenings working on his side hustle business. On weekends he'd do voluntary management work for a charity. He had financial independence, and he was going to retire early. The world was his oyster and he would travel around to every country with a laptop. I'd never left Europe and got very envious of this.

But the sad reality is, he's been a zombie for over a decade now. He never got more than 5 hours sleep.

He never ate healthy food. He didn't have a romantic relationship and never found time for friends.

And he was always cutting costs to save "for retirement", he'd have cheaper long flights with many changes and dump his bag at a hostel before getting to work on zero sleep. He never got to explore the places he was in, it was always just another office.

I'd only see him once every three months or so, even when he was living in his house 20 mins walk away from me.a And whenever I saw him, he'd be too exhausted to do any activities. We'd just go to the pub while he switched off after an hour. His biggest regret was taking up smoking, which he did to network with managers on smoke breaks at a previous job, and then found impossible to quit.

My last conversation with him was about work. I said that I get an extra five days annual leave because I've worked here five years now. He said it's not worth it, I'd be better off switching jobs to get a payrise and then take unpaid time off to return to my previous salary... I'm going to take those five days to spend with my family and think about any good times I had with my old friend.

I found out about his death when the hospital called me. He kept my phone number in his wallet as an emergency contact. I didn't know this until I got that call, I didn't realise I was the closest person he had in this world. To me, he felt like a distant friend who I only got to hang out with a few times a year.”

“If you have time to watch Netflix you have time for a side hustle” my side hustle is relaxing so that my body and brain can heal from by this nose-to-the-grindstone bullshit. I refuse to feel guilty for being a human with the need to relax sometimes. my side hustle is no.

[rene-hl-trashcan]

Initially, I don't think that this merited any posts but the Concerned Asian Mom™️ within me insists that it should be posted as some sort of cautionary post for young artists.

About half an hour ago, I received a DM asking for a commission. It doesn't look suspicious at first, but it doesn't take long for it to look suspicious.

So, this person asked me to draw their dog, which at first, I was like, cool. I rarely draw animals. Seem like a fun challenge and the pupper looks cute. They asked for 3 poses and with different background each. Since I'm no good in drawing backgrounds, I point it out just for the sake of transparency.

This is the first red flag for me.

I used to do commissions back in college and very rarely people who pay this kind of money would be so nonchalant with their request. Usually, they are a bit more demanding and particular.

Second red flag : They insist on paying upfront without sketches/drafts. Nobody does that.

Third red flag : They insist very persistently despite my concern and refusal.

Look, lady. I don't give a hoot if you're a "busy businesswoman" cuz honestly, I am a busy career woman too. This looks hella sus from the get-go.

Fourth red flag : Desperately trying to convince me to proceed with the payment.

It looks like a scam, so I don't care if by the sliver of chance this person is actually honest, I'm gonna treat the whole thing as a scam. I Googled "art commission scam" too and the Reddit topic below is literally the first link I saw :

It was such a common scam.

Look, art and writing are stress relief for me, and I have no intention of ever making it a side hustle. My IRL job pays my bills and gives me plenty extra for the nonsense I splurge on; so, I personally don't care much about losing a luxurious commission offer. I know the pressure to finish a gig would ruin the joy these two hobbies offer me.

However, I'm also aware that some people depend on art as a side hustle to survive the current world economy, especially young artists. I know college-age me some good years ago would be really torn in refusing this kind of offer because back then I was a broke college student without none of my current stable income.

Hence, please be careful while accepting commissions. These people will hound you aggressively once they proceed with their scam, and knowing that not all people would remain unyielding under pressure, it could be dangerous.

That's all for today's cautionary tale. Thank you for scrolling through my post.

P/S : Just to be super clear, I don't mind if someone asks nicely whether I'm willing to do something for them; be it draw, write or take screenshots. I did art trades before. I took screenshots for people for free because I think their MCs are pretty. If I like the subject you gave me, it's no different than when I do those with my MCs as the subject. It's still fun. I still benefit from your request. It's not a bother as long as you don't be overly demanding and ruin the fun for me.

[hotrod2007]

focal point

i wrote a buddie fic abt buck being reckless and eddie being stressed <3 i owe all my thanks and love to robin for encouraging me to write it she owns my heart mwah! (here is the link if u would like to read it on ao3 maybe n drop a kudos or a comment even 😳)

Bobby’s hand slaps against Eddie’s back as he hurries them towards the exit. He’s sure Bobby is yelling at him to move faster, hurry, but over the building collapsing behind them, Eddie can’t hear much else besides his own labored breathing. Hen and Chim are ducking their heads, barreling forward in front of him, and he trusts that Buck is following closely behind Bobby. They’re so close to the exit, he can see the flashing lights of trucks and engines from the other stations, and the closer they get, the more the smoke thins, and breathing gets a bit easier.

Bobby practically pushes him out of the small exit when they reach it, and he slams into Hen’s back, and they both fall through the opening with a shout and then take several deep breaths as they inhale fresh air as much and as quickly as they can. Eddie’s staring up at the sky, mask off, letting himself breathe before remembering he has to get up and move farther away from the building, but as he gets up he sees Bobby arguing with Buck at the threshold of the building. Before he can think he’s on his feet and walking towards them as fast as he can – he knows what Buck’s doing.

“I heard someone, Bobby!” Buck shouts, his voice is raspy from the bad air and it cracks. “I have to go back!”

“Buck, no! It’s too dangerous! The building is becoming less and less stable the longer we stand here. Come on!” Bobby points towards the line the police have marked off, Chim and Hen stand by it, watching them, trying to decipher what’s going on.

“Exactly! So I should go now!” Buck counters and Eddie wants to pick him up, throw him over his shoulder, and march back to the safety barrier.

“Buck do not–” Eddie steps towards him and reaches out, but Buck cuts him off.

“You know I have to do this, I’m sorry.” Buck gives them both a pained look before turning and running back into the haze of smoke and fire.

“Buck!” Eddie hears two other voices yell in unison with him, but he’s the only one Bobby is dragging away.

Hen and Chim are trying to push past the officers at the barrier, stressing that they need to get to Eddie and Bobby. Eddie distantly hears them arguing, but he’s too busy trying to break free from Bobby’s grip to pay attention to what exactly is being said. He’s yelling and twisting, but Bobby won’t let go of him, and he watches the rectangle Buck ran through getting smaller and smaller. In a last-ditch effort to get out, he stills and feels Bobby’s hands relax for a second, and in that second Eddie throws his full body weight forward and just barely slips through Bobby’s fingers.

He takes maybe three steps before he stops in his tracks, staring forward in horror.

The building gives a giant moan. Eddie freezes. The front collapses. Time stops. The sound of the flames gets louder. Time begins again.

In his peripheral, he sees Bobby grind to a halt next to him, he imagines a similar look of horror sits on his face. The only exit now sits in front of them, burning, and smoke billows out of the windows surrounding it.

Before he can process what’s happening, police officers are pushing him back, shoving at his shoulders causing him to gracelessly stumble backward. His eyes don’t leave the building. Buck is in there. Buck is in there. With no way out. The last thought makes him want to be sick.

He’s guided to the 118 engine where he meets Chim, Hen, and Bobby gathered around a radio, exchanging worried glances.

“Buck?” Hen says into the radio. “Buck?” She tries again.

“Anything?” Eddie bounds up to them, breathless, pushing down the sick feeling in his gut and trying to focus on what he can do at this moment.

Hen opens her mouth, presumably to say no, but the radio crackle interrupts her.

“-en? Hen?” Comes Buck’s voice through the tiny speaker. “Hen, I can hear you.” Buck’s voice sounds tired and worse than it did the less than two minutes ago Eddie had seen him.

Hen briefly rests her forehead against the radio and lets out a small sigh of relief. Bobby and Chim both look up and give short relieved breaths. Eddie stays focused on the radio, watching the red light blink. As long as that light is blinking, Buck is okay. That’s what he keeps telling himself. Red light means he’s alright. It becomes his new mantra that he chants in his head over and over again.

“Are you okay?” Hen asks, biting her lip with worry after letting the talk button go.

It takes a second, but Buck replies, “I’m okay. I was right, though. Tell Bobby I was right.” And Eddie can practically hear his shit-eating grin, which makes him relax a bit.

“You can tell me yourself when you get your ass out of the building,” Bobby replies, leaning forward a bit so he can be closer to the radio while Hen holds it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck replies. “Hey Eddie, I found a new best friend,” Buck jokes, but his voice is tighter than it is when he’s usually joking around. Eddie knows this tone, they all do, he’s trying to play it cool for whoever he’s with.

Eddie plays along. “Oh yeah?” He tries to sound light and happy when he says it, but his voice gives out at the end and he knows he’s doing a shit job of covering up his stress.

“Yeah. Her name’s Audrey, and she’s the coolest third grader I’ve ever met.” Eddie imagines Buck gently kneeling with her, letting her use his mask and air.

Bobby leans back in, so Hen presses down on the talk button again for him. “Hey, Buck,” he begins, “The exit collapsed.” There’s silence for a moment, and they all hold their breath. Then comes the crackle from the other end.

“Yeah.” Buck sighs, his voice closer to the radio and quieter than before. “I heard it.”

“What’s your exit plan?” Bobby responds.

“Uh, right now, I’m trying to get to the other side of the first floor and find a window, and get,” Buck pauses to take a few slow breaths, “Audrey out, and then I’ll follow her.”

Okay. He has a plan. He knows where he needs to go, and a general sense of direction. That’s comforting to know.

“Be safe, Buck,” Chim tells him and his voice is hard, and they all know it’s more of a command than a well-wish. Briefly, Eddie wonders if he’s told Maddie about what Buck did.

“You know me, caution is my middle name.” And that time Buck sounded like himself again. “I’m gonna start moving Audrey and me towards the other side of the building. Radio me if something changes.”

Eddie’s stomach sinks at the thought of not talking to Buck on his radio for several minutes, but instead pushes it down and takes Hen’s radio into his own hands and says, “That goes the same for you.”

“We’ll be extra careful for you, Eddie.” Buck radios back. He hears Audrey muffled in the background, and then Buck says, “Audrey made me promise her that we won’t get hurt, so now I’m going to be extra safe.”

Eddie hands the radio back to Hen and they all turn to face the building, the fire spreading despite having hoses from three different stations trained on it. All he has to do is get from one side to the other.

The captain from one of the other stations jogs up to Bobby and asks for his help on something, and Bobby gives him a clap on the shoulder and a head nod before he heads off with the captain. Chim peels away from him and Hen to go call Maddie and update her about what’s going on, and Eddie’s selfishly glad he won’t have to listen to Chim talk Maddie out of coming down here and storming in herself – he can’t handle the added stress.

“He’ll be okay, Eddie,” Hen says, giving him a soft look. “He’s done shit like this before, he’ll be okay.”

“I’m gonna kick his ass when I see him again,” Eddie says and he bites the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from crying. His eyes are stinging and his vision is blurring, and the last thing he needs right now is a meltdown.

Hen laughs a bit, and she looks down at the ground and kicks at some loose gravel. “You two are gonna be the death of me.”

They fall into an easy silence for a few moments, and Eddie opens his mouth to say something in response to that – to shrug it off, to point out her poor choice of words – when they hear shouting, and they both run out to stand in front of the trucks and engines to try and get an idea of what’s going on. He hears the creaking again, but before he can register what’s happening, Hen’s radio crackles to life.

Buck’s voice comes through, “Eddie–!” and just as soon as Eddie was flooded with relief, dread replaces it as Buck is cut off and the line goes silent.

They both hear a crash and their heads fly up from the radio, and they watch, panicked, as another section of the building collapses right in the direction Buck was heading. A truck turns its water on the newly collapsed part, and people are shouting directions around them. He and Hen both look down at the radio at the same time.

There’s no red blinking light.

Eddie feels the color drain from his face. Hen looks up at him, her eyes wide with fear and brows furrowed. Chim runs up to them and before he can say anything, Hen just lifts the radio towards him.

“Maddie’s driving down.” He sounds as if he’s realizing she might be driving to the scene of her brother’s death. “I couldn’t stop her.”

Bobby rounds the corner of a truck and his eyes catching on the radio Hen is limply holding in her hand. “I know you guys are worried about Buck, I’m worried about him too, but we’re still on the job and there’s still people to look after and care for.” He’s using his Captain Voice and Eddie knows his heart is as close to breaking as theirs if just one more thing goes wrong. The three of them look at Bobby, exhausted, but ready to listen. “Hen, Chim, go to the ambulances and help them attend to the people there.” He nods at them and they split off, hustling towards the few ambulances remaining to take care of those with minor scrapes and bruises. “Eddie,” he turns his head to Bobby at the mention of his name, “You need to be here, present, mentally. We aren’t any good to him just standing here, staring at the building, okay?” Eddie mutley nods at him. “Good. I need you with me. We’re going to talk to the other captains about what to do next.” Bobby turns and walks away from Eddie without looking back, and Eddie hurries after him.

There’s so much noise going on all around him – news choppers, reporters, police yelling at people to stay back, people shouting, the fire, the hoses – but all Eddie can focus on is the clear and heavy absence of Buck. He pulls his radio out of his jacket pocket and clips it to his shoulder, watching for that blinking red light.

The other captains are gathered around the back of one of the engines, slightly hidden from view of the building, but Eddie adjusts himself so he can still see it. He doesn’t know how long he stands in the circle with Bobby and the others, just staring at the fire, trying to will Buck to stumble out of it, but he rejoins the conversation when Bobby slightly shoves his shoulder with his own.

“We need more water. More engines, more trucks, just more.” The woman who’s saying this has a patch on her jacket that reads PARKER. “The whole building could come down soon and then we’re really at risk of it spreading.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Asks a man with the name HARRISON patched onto him.

“Radio other districts for help. We need to douse this thing.” Parker explains and Harrison and Bobby nod in agreement. “Then, we move everyone back and prepare for building collapse.”

Eddie frowns when he sees Harrison agreeing again, and shoots a look at Bobby. “But wait, we still have a man in there, Captain Parker.”

“Diaz is right. There’s a firefighter and a little girl still inside.” Bobby calmly explains and Eddie thanks whatever God there is that Bobby’s there to back him up.

“Any word from him?” Harrison asks after a brief silence.

“Not since the second collapse, but–”

“Where was he when it collapsed?” Harrison interrupts him.

Eddie falls silent, so Bobby speaks up, “He was in the general area of it.” Eddie catches the other captains shooting each other knowing looks.

“He’s not dead!” Eddie exclaims and they all turn to him.

“Look at the facts, Diaz. He was near the collapse, you haven’t heard from him in minutes, he was in the area, and he’s probably out of air by now.” Parker tells him matter-of-factly, though her eyes are sad. Her tone softens as she says, “I know this isn’t easy. But we can’t put two lives above everyone else’s.”

Eddie knows she has a point. He knows she’s right. But it’s not just any person, it’s Buck. “We can’t just��� we can’t leave him – them – to burn!” And Eddie feels his eyes stinging again. “He’s alive! He has to be.”

Parker turns to Bobby, softness almost gone and commands, “You need to get him in check. This isn’t an easy decision, but it’s what we have to do, and you know it.” She puts her helmet back on, and Harrison follows her lead. “I’m going to make a call to another district. Harrison, I want you to help the police back everyone up.” She gives Bobby one more serious look, and then she’s gone.

“Eddie, what did I tell you earlier.” Bobby turns to him once they’re alone.

“Bobby, I know, but it’s Buck,” Eddie says again like if he keeps saying the words, it’ll explain everything.

“Eddie, we all want –”

“No! No, because it’s different for me!” And Eddie grits his teeth as he feels tears run down his face. “It’s different for me.” He repeats, but softer, and his voice cracks. He’s staring hard at the ground as he leans against the engine.

Bobby pauses before responding. “Eddie, we have to start moving back.” He’s using his Dad Voice on him now and Eddie might laugh if the situation was anything but this. “We don’t have to move fast, we can lag behind. We can stay here as long as we can, but if Buck isn’t… but when the building comes down, we’re at risk.”

“He has to be alive, Bobby.” Eddie knows how he sounds – defeated, worn down, desperate. “Because if he isn’t… if this is the time that…” And he trails off, knowing Bobby understands where he was going with it.

Bobby doesn’t say anything else, but he leans against the engine with Eddie, watching police move the barricades and moving people back. They’ll have to drag Eddie kicking and screaming from where he’s standing.

Eventually, Parker makes her way back to them and fixes Eddie with an unimpressed look, and only addresses Bobby while she talks, “You have to move. We’re backing everything up now, and last to move is apparently this engine, a truck, and you two.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue with her, ready to lament about how he won’t move unless she can pick him up herself when he sees a shape moving in the smoke and haze. He doesn’t let himself get his hopes up, not yet, it could be someone that was doing a last-minute look at the building to assess it. But then he sees a smaller figure slide off the first figure, and then they’re both running towards the lights as fast as they can, and Eddie’s so relieved he wants to scream. So he does.

“Buck!” He shouts and Buck takes Audrey’s hand and leads her towards Eddie and Bobby.

Parker’s head twists around fast and before Eddie can be smug about being right, she’s yelling for someone from the ambulances to come get the girl. Hen and Chim are heard before Eddie can see them, he’s zeroed in on Buck.

His face is covered in ash and there’s a sizable gash across his left cheek and his chin, but he’s smiling and telling Audrey something as he runs over. It finally clicks into place that Buck’s coming towards him, the little girl in tow, and he starts walking towards Buck without a second thought. Bobby’s telling Parker that they’ll move back in a second and agrees to help her move the engine and truck to appease her, and she takes him around the engine.

Hen and Chim are getting closer and yelling out Buck’s name and some phrases a child probably shouldn’t hear, but Eddie gets it. He’d be yelling too if he wasn’t on the verge of sobbing.

When Hen and Chim get to him, they call him a dumbass before dropping to their knees and asking Audrey if they could pick her up to take her to the ambulances. She nods at them and when they pick her up, Eddie notices that her feet are cut up and she’s wearing a nightgown and feels a pang of sadness. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking until he looks at Buck who has also stopped walking and is just staring back at him. He flashes Eddie a smile, scratches the back of his head awkwardly, and that sets Eddie back in motion.

When he’s within arm’s reach of him, Buck throws his hands up and opens his mouth, “Look, Eddie–” But Eddie will never know the end of that sentence.

Because he walks right up to Buck, ignores him trying to talk, and kisses him. He’s gripping the front of Buck’s jacket in his hands and holding on tightly as if he’s worried the fire will pull back in. Buck makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat but quickly wraps his arms around Eddie, pulling him in closer. Buck tastes like the mint gum he was chewing earlier and ash, but Eddie doesn’t care.

Eddie screws his eyes shut as he presses in closer to Buck, and he can feel his face getting wet again from his tears, but it doesn’t matter because he has Buck. He has Buck in his arms and he’s kissing him. He feels Buck’s hand move up to his face and he smiles into their kiss, Buck’s hands cupping his face, and Eddie never thought he’d enjoy feeling small, but right now it’s the best feeling in the world.

Unfortunately, there’s still a burning building at risk of collapsing, so they break apart, Eddie wipes at his eyes and pretends he doesn’t see the fond look Buck is giving him. For a moment, it’s just them standing in silence before Bobby comes over and drags them both back to the new barricade.

“Nothing is ever easy with you two.” He grumbles, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He unceremoniously dumps them at the edge of the barricade before he walks off to talk to Athena.

Eddie keeps his eyes staring straight ahead because he can feel Buck smiling at him with his megawatt grin, and he’s trying to play it cool. He glances over at Buck and finds himself grinning back. Playing it cool is overrated anyway.

“So,” Buck says as Eddie turns to face him. Buck’s jacket lays haphazardly at his feet now, and he’s got his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes bright and smile wide. “Is that gonna happen every time I do something reckless now?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, dropping his jacket to the ground too. Feeling bold, he says, “It doesn’t just have to happen then, you know.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up as if he hadn’t considered that. “I’d like that.” Is all he says.

“Good. Me too.” Eddie feels his cheeks flush a bit.

“Are you blushing?” Buck exclaims. “I made Eddie Diaz blush?”

Eddie tries not to smile, trying to look upset. He fails. “Shut up.”

Buck’s expression schools itself one of confidence, and he drops his arms, taking a step towards Eddie. “Make me.”

If Eddie wasn’t red before, he sure as hell is now. Still, he leans in and whispers, “Okay, Buckley.” Before connecting their lips again.

[shotgun--rider]

Rumor

A Jensen x Reader oneshot

Y/N’s never considered how many suspiciously snuggly photos there are of her and her best friend. Then they all come out in a Buzzfeed article, published just in time for everyone to grill her during her solo panel. Now what?

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Really dumb fluff, everyone’s anxious, Jared and Briana are sick of everyone’s shit

A/N: This is dumb and fluffy and dangerously song-fic territory but it showed up and demanded to be written so here you go. I have no idea if this is actually any good. Enjoy?

---------* ---------

You were the epitome of normal, growing up. You had decent grades, run-of-the-mill hobbies, and an average high school cashier job. You could hop on your bike (and later, borrow your parents’ car) and take yourself to the coffee shop, or to a friend’s, and the only people that  would look twice at you were drivers checking to make sure the kid on the bike didn’t steer into traffic. 

You didn’t win any “most likely to” awards in the yearbook, your college major was undecided for an embarrassing length of time, and your 300-odd Instagram followers were comprised of friends and some polite acquaintances from welcome week. And you didn’t mind. You were perfectly happy to go through your day-to-day without turning heads and making waves. 

That was all before you’d answered an open casting call on a whim, strapped for cash and mostly there because a sparkly website proclaiming “50 Easy Side Hustles!” had suggested spending your weekends as an extra if you lived in a big filming city. Before your three-episode contract in a show you’d never bothered to watch turned into a series regular.

Now, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have your face splashed across the internet every time you stick a toe off the end of your L.A. property line. Even if the paparazzi aren’t there to get you in Page Six with some wildly exaggerated nonsense, a fan somewhere will snap a blurry photo and upload it somewhere for people to shout about you in the comments section. You’ve never gotten used to being tagged in edits of your own face, or watching your follower count creep steadily upwards. You’re just… you. You’ve always been just the normal, average girl from a nothing-special hometown.  

Even after your third year running on Supernatural, you still forget. You still make it all the way to the end of the block before you remember that the person shouting your name is the bodyguard you accidentally abandoned two errands ago. You still get confused when the restaurant wait staff stares at you, still get annoyed calls from your publicist begging you to at least try to appear in fewer coffee shop paparazzi pictures looking like a disgruntled zombie who’s never seen a hairbrush. (Sue you, you can’t be expected to be functional before a cup of coffee.)

You’re a brilliant actress, an unexpected fan-favorite, relatable to everyone in your autograph line...and you’re kind of a terrible celebrity. Unlike certain child models turned actors straight at 18 you may know, this isn’t a world you were trained in. Which is probably why it doesn’t even occur to you that being caught frequently in the company of your best friend might look like something until you’re staring at your own name in a headline on your phone screen, in line at Starbucks before your first panel of the con weekend. 

Y/N L/N’s Secret Relationship With Co-Star Jensen Ackles, howls the bold-printed headline, and you blink stupidly at the letters, uncomprehending, until you realize that someone’s trying to get your attention. “Sorry, what?”

The barista looks impatient, suppressing an eyeroll and starting her spiel before cutting off halfway with a squeak. “Oh, my god, you’re her! I’m sorry, I’m just… you’re literally my favorite!” She’s blushing and stuttering and has a near-death grip on the empty coffee cup she was preparing to write your name on. 

“Oh,” you reply, forcing the fog of confusion from your brain and slapping on a smile. “Hi, you caught me.”

“Can I...um…” the girl reaches into her back pocket and sheepishly produces her cell phone, complete with a flaming pentagram case. “Um, selfie?”

You smile indulgently, leaning over the counter. The fans are one of the best parts, really, and it’s never a hardship to make someone smile. (That is, when they’re not selling rumors and lies to the tabloids, you think grumpily.)

The barista girl pulls back with a wide smile and a full-face blush, and keeps glancing shyly up at you while she punches in your usual order, plus the second coffee Jensen texted you this morning to beg for. “So I guess Jensen’s around here too, then, right?” she asks perkily, taking your card. 

“Uh...sorry, what?”

She shrugs like it’s obvious. “Since you flew in together,”

You blink rapidly, feeling stupid. You’re obviously missing the punchline somewhere. “We, uh...didn’t. I mean...I flew out of L.A.,” you say cautiously. Your home city is already public knowledge, as is the fact that Jensen lives in Austin, and you can’t imagine she doesn’t know this. 

Her eyes pop wide with curiosity. “Wait, so you’re not staying with him?”

This conversation is too much for your poor, jetlagged, coffeeless brain. “No?” you try weakly, so far past confused at this point that you might actually be getting a headache. “Why would I…” 

Not that Jensen’s Austin house isn’t lovely, and not that you’d object to staying there, and not that you haven’t stayed there plenty of times before, but you’re pretty sure you’re still missing the point. 

The barista lunges forward over the counter, leaning in to ask in a hushed voice, “Did you guys break up?”

An emphatic “No!” leaves your mouth so loudly that the old man in line behind you starts grumbling. “No, you don’t--” 

“Get a move on,” Old Man grouches in the background. “I don’t care who you are,”

“Oh, good,” the girl cuts you off with a relieved grin. “You guys are so cute, you know? I mean, I kinda figured you had to have something going on, but actually seeing it--it’s going to be so much cuter if Dean and Sierra ever kiss now, oh my god--”

She devolves into a squeal, and the we’re not actually dating dies on your tongue. You have better things to do this morning than correct the misinformation of one teenage barista, so you end up just shaking your head and taking the two cups of coffee wearily. “Right, well, I’ve gotta go, so--” you duck around the old man and beeline for the door before anyone can say anything else. Oh, god, your publicist is so going to kill you. 

***

Jared and Jensen are both in the green room when you make it back to the convention hotel, and you groan softly as you walk into the room. Once Jared hears about your so-called relationship, you’re never going to hear the end of it. Then again, better he hear it from you than find it in the tabloids. May as well bite the bullet now before it comes up in a Q&A. 

“Hey,” you slide up to Jensen’s elbow, holding out the requested coffee cup as a preemptive truce. “So, we’re apparently dating now,” 

Jensen snorts, shaking his head and swapping the coffee cup into his other hand so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders in greeting. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“I think I may have given a barista the impression we’ve had a tumultuous breakup,” you say ruefully, tilting your head up to look at him in apology. “Sorry,”

Jensen’s green eyes are dancing, though, and he throws back his head and laughs, still keeping you tucked close enough that you can feel his whole body shake. “Of course you did, sweetheart,”

It’s pretty much the reaction you expected from Jensen, who’s so used to your antics at this point that he just gives you a fond smile and moves on to damage control. Jared, on the other hand, is...not commenting, and suspicion cuts short your quiet enjoyment of being hugged against Jensen. It took the boys a while to feel comfortable messing with you when you first got on set, but after they figured out you gave as good as you got, they’d never yet missed an opportunity to tease and prank you. 

You squint at Jared warily. “Why aren’t you reacting?”

Jared’s lips immediately start twitching, but he makes a valiant attempt at a mock-concerned face. “Oh shit, sorry. Here, tell me again and I’ll pretend like I’m surprised this time,”

Unwilling to bother unwinding yourself from under Jensen’s arm, you extend a childish foot in the direction of Jared’s shins, scowling at him. He dodges easily, laughing, and tosses out, “Someone should really tell Buzzfeed they’re reporting really old news,”

“Shut up and drink your damn coffee, Padalecki,” you shoot back without any real venom.

“Oh, you mean my hotel coffee? The coffee I got stuck with because you only buy Starbucks for Jensen?”

Jensen straightens up proudly, no doubt making a face at Jared over the top of your head. “Y/N just likes me better. That’s why she’s my best friend.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under Jensen’s arm and a few steps away. “You both suck,” you deadpan, resisting an internal wince at the friendzone. “Now shut up and let me drink my coffee, I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes,” 

And God, but your head is way too scrambled for a panel right now. Fifteen minutes is nowhere close to enough time to get your shit together, and you’re going to have to somehow walk out there and not let everyone know. 

You take a seat halfway across the room, watching Jared and Jensen still standing there, heads bowed together, arguing quietly about something. Jensen’s starting to wear an annoyed expression and he still manages to look beautiful and goddamnit this is how you got in trouble in the first place. 

You scroll listlessly through your phone, a headache beginning behind your eyes, and freeze when you realize that you left the damn article open. The headline photo is a picture of you and Jensen on a sidewalk in L.A., caught mid-conversation with Jensen’s hand on your back and a stupid, dopey look on your face while you stare up at him like he hung the moon. Fuck, you’re an idiot. 

A hasty scroll through the rest of the article reveals more of the same, and you could kick yourself for making your dumb crush so obvious. The photo captions are practically mocking you, labelled with things like “an intimate evening for Ackles and L/N” and, under a picture of the two of you at a beach, “We might be a little mad that the two most attractive people are together”. 

Well, at least now you know what every single question at your panel is going to be about. And somehow you have to figure out how to play this off like it’s nothing. Of course I don’t have a crush the size of a mid-sized whale on Jensen, hahaha, that’s such a hilarious idea! 

Your only saving grace is that clearly, Jensen doesn’t think anything of it. It’s nothing more than a brief joke to him and Jared, and as much as that should bring you relief, it still stings to know that he’s obviously never bothered to think of you that way. And why would he? For all Buzzfeed’s nonsense about you making an attractive couple, Jensen Ackles miles above your league. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Misha sitting down next to you, an easy smile on his face as he nudges your shoulder with his own. “So, welcome to the club,”

Typically, you and Misha are pretty close friends, but your patience is too short this morning for any of his shit. “What club?” you shoot back grumpily. 

“People who the internet have declared in love with Jensen Ackles,” Misha returns, grinning like it’s obvious. 

“Ha, ha. See, except when that happens to you, people think it’s funny,”

“It is funny,”

“Not for me!” you explode, belatedly wincing at your harsh tone. “You and Jensen fuck around on stage and that works for you. If I don’t get my shit together in the next five minutes, I’m getting my name dragged through stupid tabloids and laughed straight off the show because I couldn’t keep my goddamn stupid pathetic crush under control!”

“Hey,” Misha waits until you meet his blue eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Okay? It’s not,”

“Misha--”

“Y/N,” Misha returns firmly. “It’s going to be okay. Jensen would never let anything happen to you. And you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

You sigh softly, nodding. Rationally, you know he’s right. But mostly, as much as you’re worked up about the panel, your fear is that Jensen is going to be the one laughing at you, and you don’t know how to explain that. “Yeah,” you say dully, just as a convention worker comes forward to collect you. 

“If it’s really going to shit, I’ll come distract everyone,”

“Somehow, I think that would be worse,” you shoot back over your shoulder as you start walking to the stage. Breathe, Y/N. You’re fine. 

You wait for the introductions to finish and take your place on the stage, a slightly breathy laugh escaping into the mic as you look out at the crowd. That is a lot of eyes watching your every move. And they’re on your side, you remind yourself. It’s the fans who’ve been tireless supporters of you and your character, this whole time. 

“Hey, guys,” you clear your throat. “What’s up?”

You chatter for a while about whatever you can think of, telling an edited version of the grumpy Starbucks man this morning and rambling a little about Jared’s latest on-set antics. All too quickly, though, you run out of things to say, leaving you with no choice but to ask for questions. 

At first, to your great relief, they’re pretty tame. You spend a solid few minutes breaking down Sierra’s latest character arc, and the time she’s spending hunting on her own. You do get a few questions about whether she and Dean could get together when she gets back with the brothers, but as long as it stays firmly in the realm of your characters, you’re not worried. 

“And what’s your name?” You ask gently, trying to reassure the nervous young woman at the microphone. 

“Uh, Y/N…”

“I love that name!” you wink at her, rearranging yourself in the chair to be more comfortable. “What do you want to know, Y/N?”

“Uh,” she stutters, her face blushing pink. “You’re my favorite actress, and, I, um,”

“That’s very sweet,” you interject, nodding to encourage her. 

“I just, uh, really want good things for you, and I just wanted to ask if, um, areyoureallydatingJensen?” she spits out all in one breath. “Cause you deserve him,”

You blink, shifting in your seat. You’d arrived at the elephant in the room. Damn. 

“Uh,” escapes your mouth as you frantically try to construct a diplomatic sentence. “No, actually, no, we’re not.” I wish. “The, um, the article was a surprise to us too!” You added a little shrug in as punctuation, trying to play it off. 

“But you guys look so cute together!” Other Y/N exclaims. “He looks at you like--” she cuts off, biting her lip so hard you can see the white from the stage. “Nevermind. Sorry.” 

“No worries,” you assure her casually, like you’re not dying to know what she was going to say. “Next question?”

The next one up is another young woman, this time much bolder in her question. “But if you were given the opportunity, would you date Jensen Ackles?” 

God, Chuck, literally anyone please kill me. “I don’t know how to answer this without getting in trouble,” you finally laugh nervously. “This is a dangerous question,”

The audience all laughs loudly, some of them throwing out comments and suggestions. “In the interests of not getting killed in my bed tonight,” you say lightly when they’ve quieted. “I’m going to skip that question,”

There’s really no saving you, though. After that first question, it’s like a dam has broken and everyone wants to know about your relationship with Jensen. What do you think of his house in Austin and does he cook for you and what do you do between takes and where’s your favorite place to go together. Someone even asks if you’re hooking up even if you’re not dating, which you’re positive turns your face completely purple before you get through redirecting that fan. 

An hour later, you stagger off the stage mentally exhausted and thoroughly grumpy. 

“Ouch,” Briana sympathizes, sliding up beside you as you grab a water bottle in the green room. 

“Can’t wait for my dumb red face to trend on Tumblr,” you mutter, wondering darkly if you could just jump out one of the windows. 

Briana laughs like she knows something you don’t, and rubs a hand over your back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you out of your head before your photos,”

The two of you end up on a walk a few blocks from the convention hotel, fresh coffees in hand and Briana chattering away while you nod along. It’s not that you’re tuning her out, exactly, you’re just...overwhelmed. You do, however, notice when she stops talking. 

“Are you listening to me?” she looks at you sharply.

“Sorry, B,” you mumble. “Got distracted. What?”

Briana shakes her head with loving exasperation. “I asked what you’re wearing to karaoke tonight,”

“I’m probably not going to--” you start.

“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t leave me there alone,” Briana interrupts, folding her arms across her chest. 

“What do you mean, alone? Kim and Rich and literally everyone will be there,”

“You are not allowed to skip karaoke.” Briana says firmly, and you suddenly know how her daughter must feel when she’s misbehaved. “Besides, Jensen’s singing with Louden Swain beforehand. Don’t you want to see it?”

“Fine. But I’m wearing this,” you gesture to your plain black top and jeans. To be honest, you’re not sure if you actually do want to see Jensen perform, or bother with the rest of karaoke night. Mostly you just want to crawl into bed and put the covers over your head and pretend that you haven’t been making a fool of yourself all morning, but Briana is a force of nature when she wants something. 

She smiles excitedly at your acquiescence, pulling out her phone for a moment to type something before you start heading back. 

You nudge her teasingly with your elbow. “Your phone more exciting than me?”

Briana just slides it away hastily before you can read more than Jared’s name over her shoulder. “Just taking care of something.”

There’s something she’s not telling you, but you don’t feel like digging right now. You’re just focusing on getting to the end of this convention without spilling all your secrets and looking like an idiot. 

By the time you’re sitting down in the seats for Louden Swain’s set, your face is indeed all over Tumblr. (You always deny having the stupid app, but sometimes a girl’s gotta know what people are saying about her and her hot costars.) There’s comments full of stupid speculation that you’re hiding your relationship, including a whole thread about how you’re clearly hiding your secret threesome with Jensen and Misha. Great. 

“Uh, okay,” a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Jensen’s on stage in front of the microphone, holding his guitar. “This was not part of my original plan, so...if this goes badly, it’s all Jared and Briana’s fault.”

The crowd laughs good-naturedly as your gaze snaps immediately to Briana. Infuriatingly, your friend just shrugs. 

“This is a cover of a song neither of us wrote,” Jensen continues, gesturing between himself and Louden Swain behind him. “But I thought it could be fitting,”

He’s nervous, you realize, watching the way he’s fiddling with his guitar strap while he talks. But you have no idea what he’s doing. And you have no idea why he didn’t tell you. The two of you always know what stupid thing the other person is planning, especially stunts in front of the fans. But clearly not this time. With a sinking sense of dread, you wonder if maybe he does hate you a little bit after today, and that article. Maybe that’s why he’s not talking to you. You swallow hard against the sting in your throat, and Jensen starts playing. 

The opening chords are definitely from a country song you vaguely recognize from the radio, and you wonder why this is Jensen’s choice over one of his own songs. 

“Girl, you know I've known you forever / How many nights we hung out together,”

Across the room, Briana has an enormous smile on her face.

“My boys are laughing and tap me on the shoulder / Making a motion like, ‘Could y'all get any closer?’” He punctuates the words with a little scowl in Jared’s direction. 

“There's a rumor going 'round about me and you / Stirring up our little town the last week or two / So tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling / I feel it, don't you feel it too? / There's a rumor going 'round, and 'round, and 'round / What d'you say we make it true?”

There are a lot of people suddenly making noise around you as they come to the same realization that you are, but you’re frozen in your seat. The rumor is you. He’s talking about you. Jensen’s singing for you. And you should be elated but your mind is stuck on a loop of what the fuck there’s no way this is real. 

You don’t even realize that the song is over until everyone is clapping and you’re still stuck staring with embarrassingly wide eyes, Jensen up on stage with an embarrassed dusting of red across his face and a slowly deflating expression. 

“Hey,” Jared’s elbow digs hard into your ribs suddenly. “Please do something. I can’t take any more of him like this,”

“What--oh--shit!” spills out of your mouth as you stand hastily, your phone tumbling off your lap. “I’m just gonna--”

By some miracle, you make it through the crush of people and around to the backstage area, your heart racing unevenly in your chest. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say, or if Jensen will be there, or if you’re even interpreting this right. Maybe it’s all just wishful thinking. No, Jared wouldn’t have encouraged you if that were true. Would he?

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you end up plowing straight into Jensen’s chest, his arm sliding automatically around your waist as you wobble off balance. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

He steadies you, green eyes searching your face with a flicker of vulnerability. “Hey,”

“Hey,” you whisper back. You have no idea what happens now.

With his free hand, Jensen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, if that was too much--”

“No!” you shake your head quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just...processing. I...it was really sweet, Jen,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I just… me? Are you sure?”

“Why not you?” Jensen’s face wrinkles in confusion. He moves both hands to your waist, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin shirt as he tugs you closer. “Y/N,” 

There’s something in you screaming that you might not get to do this again, that he’s going to come to his senses, that the whole thing is a dream, and before you can second guess yourself you launch yourself up onto your tiptoes and kiss him. 

Your arms go around his neck while Jensen wraps you up tighter against his chest and it’s not fireworks, or earth shattering, or anything so dramatic. His mouth moving against yours just feels like home and love and of course. Of course you were going to get here, of course it was going to be like this. 

Jensen lifts you off your feet for a moment before breaking the kiss, and he looks just breathless and flushed enough that you’re equal parts proud and turned on. 

“Of course it’s you,” he murmurs, one hand under your chin to tilt your head up to him. “Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”

------

Something ate my taglist! If you want to be tagged, please message me!

[lifeat20s]

Life at 23

Life at 23 is hard to understand. In this age, we tend to be vulnerable or lost, we really don’t know what we want. We are in the stage of our life that we decide something we really don’t know if it’s good for us or not, but we have to do it as life goes on. Later we realized that we should have done this stuff instead of this but it’s too late.

               At 23, we always feel jealous of others’ success. I admit that sometimes I get jealous, why I don’t have the things that others at my age have. Some already have their houses or cars or already got married, have stable jobs, other got promoted at work, then there’s me, without any of those things.

               It is so hard to have this feeling. I always feel that I was left behind and no achievement at all. I always dreamed of a beautiful life for my family and my future, but I realized that it is not easy to achieve.

               I’m 23 and I got my first job as an Internal Auditor in a hospital. My job was okay, but it doesn’t pay well. But I take this job as a stepping stone for my future career. It wasn’t easy as I thought it would be and sometimes it gets boring sitting in your office all day and pretend to work just to finish that day.

               I’m 23, a degree holder but I haven’t taken the Board Exam for CPAs yet. This whole Board Exam-taking thing is really a nightmare for me. I mean, I’ve graduated at 21 and then Pandemic came and changed and delayed everything. I already forgot some concepts in Accounting and just thinking of me having to go back from the top and re-learn everything is exhausting. I really don’t know what to do, if will I ever pursue the CPA title with this kind of thinking?

               I have a lot of things going on in my head right now. First, I want to build a small business with my best friend like a clothing line to get an extra income from it. Second, I am looking for a side hustle like online tutor that pays $3-$20 dollars per question to have an extra income also. And third, this is one of my Dreams - to go abroad, work there or even migrate there. I was thinking Canada or somewhere in America. I always dreamed of leaving the Philippines not because I don’t like here, but I want to learn other cultures and explore life outside the Philippines. If I can work abroad, there a big possibility that I can make my family’s life better and comfortable, well, I know it’s not guaranteed. I know it wouldn’t be as easy as I’m thinking, but I want to make it happen someday.

               Life at 23 is not easy or fun, it’s scary because this is the age where you were introduced to the real world, but somehow, some part of it will give you a roller coaster vibe, - the ups and downs, the struggles that life might throw at you will make you stronger and wiser. Right now, I am not sure if I am on the right track, but one thing is for sure, I trust God and His plans for me. I know He is only teaching me things I need to know and learn in this life.

               23 is still young if you think of it. Many Successful People start to figure out their life at 50 or older. There’s so much more to learn in this world.

               To people at my age, just hang in there, we will figure things out. Life is not a competition, let’s not worry about the future and just live in the present. We’re still young and strong, we can do anything.

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee- Ch. 1: The Chance Encounter

Chapter 1: The Chance Encounter Series Masterlist

Cate tied her yellow apron around her waist as she prepared for her first day at the mobile coffee cart. The Empty Mug was a small, family-owned coffee shop located in the midst of a busy Quantico, Virginia. They had decided a new way to increase business would be to take it to the streets, with a coffee cart. The shop was starting to hit its busiest hour of the morning, the pre-work rush. 

“Oh, thank God!” gasped Marta, daughter of the owner of the shop. “You’re just in time!” Marta quickly handed a customer their change and hustled to the backroom where Cate was fixing her name badge on her chest. 

“Couldn’t miss my first day manning the new cart.” Cate smiled at her favorite coworker. The two girls hauled the cart out of the storage closet, which proved to be a feat in itself as it came with a lofty umbrella, the same yellow as their aprons. As they neared the storefront door, a customer on their way in held the door. “Thanks.” Cate pushed out, she couldn’t wait to get the cart outside where she could just wheel it.

Once on the sidewalk, Marta wished Cate goodluck and hurried back into her parent’s coffee shop, to tend to the rest of the customers. Cate shoved the large umbrella into a socket on the top of the cart, and began to set up her station along the busy road.

Despite being surrounded by enormous buildings and skyscrapers, the streets and sidewalks were still quite sunny. Cate wished she hadn’t forgotten her sunglasses in her car. She felt like she was squinting at each customer as they gave her their orders. The umbrella did little to help with the sun, but Cate still had it up anyway, she found that the big yellow parasol attracted more customers. 

Cate saw a variety of people along her street. Many people in suits briskly walked by, some stopping for their morning coffee, it was more convenient to stop at the cart than actually inside for some. Most of these people in suits would be simultaneously talking to their bluetooth ear pieces or their cell phones while they ordered from Cate. 

The only people who hadn’t been on the phone while placing their order were young interns grabbing their office’s coffees for the morning. Her most common intern was Brooke, who was punctual with an order of four drinks: a latte, a hot black, an espresso, and a decaf. Upon her arrival at exactly 8:45, Cate had her orders ready in a tray. Brooke smiled a thanks.

“I’d stay and chat, but there’s a new project we’re working on and our graphic design team really needs this.” She gave a company card to pay and plopped a five in Cate’s tip jar. “Catch ya on my break!” And with that, Brooke just about jogged off, taking care not to spill any of the coffees on her way to her building. 

One of Cate’s favorite things to do was memorize her usual customers’ orders. She took pride that she could have a customer’s coffee prepared as she saw them in line. Cate estimated that she knew about twenty different customer’s orders since she started a few months back. Working in The Empty Mug was something that Cate not only enjoyed, but also made great tips from, especially if she put up with some flirting from businessmen. That in itself is partially the reason she memorized orders; to rush the flirtatious businessmen along and keep their interactions short and sweet. 

Cate watched as a short, stout blonde walked up to the cart with her thick, red rimmed, cat-eye glasses. She had a cell phone in hand but was starting to read a large order to Cate. 

“Okay, hi, I have a lot of orders so I hope you’re ready for it!” the blonde started. She took in a big breath, “I need a cappuccino, and macchiato, a latte with dairy free milk, a large hot with extra extra extra sugar, a medium hot regular, an espresso, and a medium hot black.” She exhaled. 

“Coming right up,” Cate smiled. “Do you need those labeled?” Cate grabbed a marker, just in case.

“Oh, yes please,” She smiled graciously. “The cappuccino needs to be PG, the macchiato EP, the latte JJ, the large extra is SR, the regular is AH, the espresso is CT and the black is DR. Thank you very much!” Cate pushed buttons on her register.

“Your total comes to 14.68.” Cate was handed a twenty and the blonde insisted on putting the change into her tip jar. “Thank you, I like your glasses.” Cate smiled.

“Thanks! Bought them on the web.” Cate handed the blonde customer two drink trays and watched as the blonde carried one on top of the other. 

“If you spill those on your way, just come see me and I can make you new ones.” Cate said nervously. She wasn’t supposed to do that, but it was a lot to carry for one person. 

“Noted,” the blonde smiled, and bustled off to whatever job she was off to.

Penelope just about flew out of the elevator and into the bullpen. Emily helped set the top tray of coffees down onto the desk next to the copying machine. 

“They’re all labeled with your initials!” Penelope exclaimed. “From the new coffee cart station, part of The Empty Mug.” Emily was twisting the cups, looking for her initials. 

“CT?” Emily questioned.

“Chocolate Thunder.” Penelope huskily replied, passing it to Derek, who had walked up to retrieve his order. Spencer quickly approached the desk, and plucked the biggest cup from the tray, knowing he had the largest order of the bunch. 

“This coffee might just be the best I’ve had.” Emily said after she took a sip of her macchiato. “We should try to order from here more often.” 

J.J. was walking in and grabbed hers before beelining to Hotchner’s office. Hotch called a meeting to discuss the next case, and just like that the unit sat around the round table drinking their coffees from their new favorite shop. 

It was just about 1:30, a half hour before Cate was meant to close her cart and head back to the shop to finish her shift. She tied her hair up into a ponytail at the back of her head, instead of half up like before. The sun was making it hot standing on the busy street. She moved around to the front of her cart to put away the chalkboard menu sign. She twisted a lid back onto her tip jar and knelt to check her stock of creamers, and sugars and flavors on a shelf. Cate would have to make a note to restock her sugar jar. Between all the typical sugar in a coffee and that large coffee which might as well have been a cup of straight sugar, her typical supply had been depleted.  

“You know the cart was very convenient.” Brooke mentioned to Cate, scaring her in the process. “The line was a lot shorter than going into the shop.” Brooke smiled, leaning her elbows onto the cart. Cate stood up, adjusting her apron and pushing her hair out of her face.

“Well I’m glad to hear that.” Cate was still fussing with the different coffee pots on her cart shelves. 

“Need help bringing this bad boy back to the shop?” Brooke was already grabbing one side of the cart.

“Yes, please!” Cate exhaled. 

Cate came home with almost one hundred dollars in tips, her half of the split tips between her and Marta. She just about ripped her shoes off at the door, letting them thud to the ground as she greeted her small, light orange cat. Changing out of her uniform, and into some leggings and her college sweatshirt, Cate could take a quick nap before cleaning her apartment. 

As soon as Cate had laid down on her couch, her phone chimed, alerting her of a text message. 

Marta: tell me you don’t have plans friday night

Cate sighed before typing her response, I should finish up my lesson plan project, but I have a feeling you want to go out.

Marta: it’s like you can read my mind… let’s go down to the pub and celebrate the new cart :)

Cate’s phone beeped again.

Marta: Pleeeeeeeease??

Cate laughed to herself before typing back, You’re lucky I love you.

Cate stretched as she woke up for another early day working The Empty Mug’s coffee cart. Her little orange cat, Shrimp, stood by her side, watching her intently with his green eyes.

“Let me guess,” Cate pet Shrimp’s head, “Your bowl is empty.” Shrimp mewed up at her, and jumped off the bed and scurried to his food in the kitchen. Cate followed her little cat to the kitchen. “What would I do without my personal, fuzzy alarm?” Shrimp impatiently rubbed his head against Cate’s ankles. Cate grabbed his cat food from her cabinet, and put three scoops into his bowl. 

Cate let Shrimp crunch away as she walked back to her bedroom. She pulled out her usual uniform, which consisted of a white button up, her choice of black or tan pants, and the signature yellow apron. Taking this pile of clothes into the bathroom, Cate ran the hot water to the shower and brushed her teeth. 

After a refreshing shower and changing into her uniform, Cate grabbed her purse and put her shoes on in the makeshift mudroom bench in the hallway of her apartment. Making a quick run to her kitchen to grab an apple from her fruit bowl, she snatched her keys from the counter and was out the door. 

Typically, Cate would take the stairs from her third floor apartment, but decided to take the elevator today. There was something in the air today that made Cate feel unusually on edge. The walk to The Empty Mug went by faster than normal, most likely due to Cate’s quick pace. Upon her entry to the shop, Marta gave Cate her usual smile. 

“Ready for your second day?” Marta said cheerily. No customers had entered the store yet, so Cate and Marta could take their time bringing the cart from the back of the shop. 

“I’ve had a weird feeling this morning.” Cate confessed. “I can’t shake it.” She pushed the cart through the door. 

“Oh,” Marta furrowed her brows. “Want to switch? I’ll take the cart and you can have the shop?” 

“No, no. That’s okay.” Cate sighed. “I got it.” She forced a smile. Suddenly, she remembered, “Shit, I need to refill the sugar before I go out!” Cate ran behind the counter and grabbed an unopened canister to refill the jar once at the location. 

“Alright, well, text me if you need me.” Marta shrugged. The girls successfully got the cart and umbrella out of the front door before any customers managed to come by. 

“Yes, captain!” Cate laughed and made her way down the street to the spot designated for the cart. She set up the umbrella, positioned her chalk menu- not before jotting a coffee pun on it- and knelt to refill her sugar behind the cart.

People jostled by and before she knew it, Cate was in the middle of the morning rush just as she was the day before. As she was behind the countertop of the cart, she heard a man’s voice.

“Are you open yet?” he sounded in a rush. When Cate peeked up from behind the cart, the man was looking at his phone, fingers typing away on some text or email, she guessed. 

“Yes sir,” Cate brushed her hands on the sides of her apron. “What can I get for you?” She smiled, even though the man hadn’t bothered to look up from his phone.

“A large regular, and a danish” he spoke, nose still in his phone. 

“You got it!” Cate said in the most unnaturally cheery voice. She prepped his coffee, and pulled his danish from under a glass cover. “Comes up to 4.18” Cate pushed buttons on her register. The man shoved a five at her and walked away without his change. Cate put it into her tip jar, hoping the rest of her day would be filled with better customers.

Today’s shift was getting better and better. Brooke stopped by earlier with the same promise of stopping by later on her break. Customers had overall been tipping well, Cate’s jar was getting fuller and fuller. The line of customers would deplete as Cate took their orders, but as soon as it dwindled, more people lined up. On the lower end of a swell of customers, Cate had a few new faces. Next up, was a kid in his late teens. His fingers jittered along the counter top as he rested his hands on the cart.

“I’ll have a medium cold brew with an almond swirl. Can I also get a slice of banana bread?” Cate smiled and nodded. When Cate turned her back to make the coffee, the teen made a grab for the tip jar and began running off.

“He’s got your tip jar!” the next woman in line yelled. Cate didn’t know what to do, this had never happened before. Her hands began to shake and she felt tears of frustration build in her eyes. You’ve got to be kidding me, she thought.

There was another man behind the woman who leapt into action and started chasing the thief. Cate watched as they ran through the opposite direction of the current of people on the street. The man in pursuit shouted.

“FBI, stop running!” The thief’s gait faltered. This gave the agent just enough of a stride to grab the thief by the collar of his jacket. “Drop the jar, and I’ll pretend I never saw anything.” the agent ordered. The thief shoved the jar into the agent’s hand and took off running.

Cate swiped her teary eyes with the back of her hand before the agent could approach her cart. She was shaken up and didn’t know what to do or say. 

“I believe this is yours.” the agent handed Cate her glass jar filled with money. He was tall, with long hair. Cate gently took the jar and placed it behind her counter. No amount of money was worth risking that again. 

“Uh, thanks” Cate said shakily. “You really saved my ass, there.” Cate tried to joke. The agent pursed his lips together and went back to his spot in line. The woman before him thankfully had a short and sweet order, allowing Cate to relax her racing heart and thoughts. The agent stepped up next in line. “What can I get for you? It’s on the house.” Cate smiled at him.  “Can I, uh, get a medium hot black but can you put it in a large sized cup so I can put my own sugar in it?” He looked nervous for requesting such an odd order.  “Of course, not a problem” Cate got to work filling a large hot cup about three quarters full. She handed the agent his coffee and also the sugar dispenser. In the same exchange, he passed her a ten dollar bill. “For the wasted order, and a tip.” He smiled nervously at her. Cate placed the ten in her register, and watched as he poured about half of the sugar into his coffee.  “I remember your order.” Cate spoke before she realized she thought out loud. “Pardon?” he looked quizzically at Cate.“Sorry, yesterday someone came by and ordered a large hot with an insane amount of sugar, I just refilled today and you’ve already gone through half of it. You might as well just order a cup of sugar with a side of coffee.” Cate rambled with a smile. “Um,” he paused, lost for words. “Sorry.” he came up with.“It’s fine. It’s meant to be used, right?” Cate felt herself blush. So that’s S.R. she thought to herself.  

[financenfreelance]

6 Tough Lessons Learned From Freelancing For 6 Years 💸💜

Here is a list of 6 tough lessons learned from freelancing for 6 years. These are some of the lessons that I had to learn the hard way.  Don’t be dumb like I was! Learn from my freelancing mistakes.

💜 6 Lessons Learned from Freelancing

So… I have to let you in on a little secret.

This is probably a shock to no one, but I didn’t exactly hit the ground running when I first started freelancing.  When I first started, I had to take several L’s in my beginning stages, and it was tough. Unfortunately, I had to learn it the hard way – through trial by fire.

I sucked at freelancing for a WHILE. There were so many mistakes made that I’m surprised that I stuck with it.. or made any money at all.  I got serious about freelancing when I was too broke to move out from a toxic relationship… (story on how I went from broke to $1000 a week here) but for a good while, my freelance side hustle was a flop at BEST.

If you’re a beginner, learn from my mistakes.

Learn from my lessons learned from freelancing. Don’t be stupid like I was! You don’t have to learn the hard way to become a success. Here are 6 tough lessons I’ve learned from 6 years of freelancing.

“A smart man makes a mistake, learns from it, and never makes that mistake again. But a wise man finds a smart man and learns from him how to avoid the mistake altogether.”

Roy H. Williams

Related Article: Advice For Freelance Beginners

💜Lesson #1 – As a freelancer, you are now your own business, NOT an employee

And don’t let anyone treat you as such.

The first lessons learned from freelancing is this. Hear me loud and clear: You’re the boss who is running things now.

Of course, you will have clients to please, and you should go above and beyond on your services for them.

Also, make sure you are open-minded about the categories that require collaboration. Sometimes clients will have specific restrictions, times, and other requests or suggestions.   But this my dear, is a business transaction first and foremost.

Be Your Own Boss

You are the one who dictates your schedule, your pay, and your limitations (more on that later.) The on who decides your working conditions is YOU. They are not hiring you as an employee and you are not at their beg and call.

“At the end of the day, I’m the biggest boss. I’m self-made.”

– Rick Ross

Last but not least, as a business, make sure you set yourself up for success. Be sure to check out: How to Set Goals for Your Freelancing Business as well.

💜Freelance Lesson #2 – Some work isn’t worth the money

The next tough lesson learned from freelancing is this:

Do not work with problematic people.

The word “NO” will become your biggest ally when your freelance career gets going.  Trust me, some work is not worth the money.

Sometimes, this will take some trial and error before you get the hang of it, but I realized that the clients that I REFUSED define me just as much as the clients I took on.

Freelance Client Red Flags

If you see any of these red flags, consider turning down this client:

Client is nit-picking constantly and unreasonably

Your client is trying to lower your rate

They are unprofessional, dismissive

Client goes long periods of time without responding to you or paying you

The client is overly critical, hot headed, or just plain mean

Client and you just don’t mesh well

They withhold payment from you or they are a hassle to collect payment from

You feel uncomfortable IN ANY WAY talking to this client.

Avoid Stressful Clients Like the Plague

If you feel like this client is going to be trouble in any way… DON’T DO IT.

I have gained so much peace of of mind by firing and rejecting problematic customers. Time is money, so don’t spend valuable time on stress.

Choose to work with people who you have a good rapport, who are polite, and who has mutual respect with you. Having “no client” is actually 100 times better than having a bad one.

“When two people talk with mutual respect and listen with a real interest in understanding another point of view, when they try to put themselves in the place of another, to get inside their skin, they change the world, even if it is only by a minute amount, because they are establishing equality between two human beings.”

– Theodore Zeldin

💜Lesson #3 -SERIOUSLY- The ability to say no is a BLESSING

Another serious lesson learned from freelancing was this: I am not going to be able to be everything to everybody.

This is why you have a unique specialty and skillset. Both you and your client will have a better experience if you are able to set boundaries from the beginning.

Back Away From The Money!

I know it sounds crazy to turn down the money, but like I’ve said before, some money just isn’t worth it.  Some jobs will cost you more in the long run than they are worth.  Let me give you an example.

When I first was starting out as a graphic designer, even though I had narrowed a specialty, people asked me for all kinds of things.  These requests ranged from 3D modeling, video editing, and logo designs, even though I was more of a print designer.

One of my biggest mistakes

One of my biggest mistakes was taking on a video editing project. I had very little experience with video, but I had built a relationship with a client and I didn’t want to turn down an opportunity when I desperately needed the money. My lack of experience should have been my first clue not to take it. The second clue should have been that this was a rush project, and I would be burning myself out to get this thing done. I needed a miracle, but all I had was elbow grease and a stubborn will.

I sleeplessly worked on the project for 12 hours, and it looked like crap.  Stupid decisions were made- I was an idiot because had only billed the client for 4 hours. I ended up wasting time, money, and effort on a project that was not meant for me.  Not to mention… with such a terrible video, I never heard from that client again—not even for graphic work.

Make sure you draw lines in the sand when possible. If a project isn’t right for you, send your client elsewhere.  Manage your client’s expectations as well as your own. Don’t take on any work that you are not qualified for. Trust me.

💜 Freelance Lesson #4 – “That’ll cost you extra.”

I highly recommend that you become acquainted with “That’ll cost you extra.”

From the creators of “No”.

This phrase should be within an arm’s reach for when your client requests anything “beyond”.

Anything that is an emergency will cost you extra.  Rush? That’ll cost you extra. Can we just add another… EXTRA.  Make sure you have the proper upcharges in mind for any additions that may happen. Don’t be afraid to speak up for yourself and your business.

If you have a client that respects your time and you as a business, they will have no problems paying a fee if it is truly necessary.  If not.. not to be rude, but it’s not your problem.

Tough Lesson Learned From Freelancing: Don’t Let It Slide

Trust me, do not think you are being nice by letting something slide once or twice for free.  You will be hurting yourself in the long run, because that client will take advantage of your kindness.  This will add extra stress to your job and could cause you to resent your clients.

I would also recommend that newbies check out this article for more tips: Freelancing Tips For Beginners: What I Learned My First Year

💜Lesson #5 – A good third of your time will be spent outside of your craft

Like we’ve discussed earlier, as a freelancer you are now the holder of your very own business.

This leads us to the next lesson learned from freelancing.

You will need to make sure that you stay on top of your day to day tasks. These tasks will include keeping track of your income and expenses, planning out your taxes, dealing with your client’s Human Resources Department or Payroll company, and countless other things.

Client communication will also take quite a bit of your time.  You will need to make sure you are landing clients, communicating on project status, and keeping up work quotes and invoices.  You will also have to stay on top of who has paid you and who hasn’t.

Lesson Learned From Freelancing: Bill for Admin Work

Make sure that you pad this business minutia into your pricing structure, so that you are still getting paid for this time.

Although this sounds stressful, it’s still worth it.  The financial freedom that freelancing has allowed me has been invaluable.  In addition, getting to make money doing a job that I love really overruled the minutia of business.

Adulting will sneak in through the cracks in all forms, so just make sure to stay on top of it.

💜Freelance Lesson #6 – Be Honest and Own Up to Problems

The final lesson is an important one, and it ties into some things that we’ve already discussed.  Make sure you are honest with yourself and your clients.

This goes along with setting boundaries, being able to say no, refusing work that are outside of your scope, and knowing your worth.  Be truthful, upfront, and forthcoming, and you will be successful at freelancing.

Not only will you manage realistic expectations for you clients, but you are prioritizing your own wellbeing.  Never, ever over-promise and under-deliver.

When Problems Arise

Sometimes, the issue is a miscommunication, or sometimes it’s more serious. Bring things to your client’s attention as soon as it’s a roadblock for you.

The worst time to tell them is when a project is due tomorrow.  Work together on these issues to make sure both you and your client is happy.  Hey, customers are human too who f up just like the rest of us.

The good ones tend to be understanding as long as you are reasonable!

“I’m not perfect; I make mistakes all the time. All I can do is to try my best to learn from my mistakes, take responsibility for them, and do a better job tomorrow.”

– Lana

💜What It All Boils Down To:

When I first started freelancing, I was kind of a pushover.  I let things slide, let people try to control me, and let them walk all over me.

Not anymore.

Throughout my career, I’ve learned to create boundaries and draw lines in the sand like I never have before in my life.

I learned how to speak up for myself and be an advocate for myself and my business, all while gaining respect from my clients and looking stunning in the process.

That is what being a boss is all about.

“Really, every day is the perfect day to boss up. Every day that you wake up is a perfect day to boss up. It’s all about continuing to put one foot in front of the next. That’s what it’s about. Whatever you think you’re going through, just put one foot in front of the next.”

– Rick Ross

Are you a newbie at freelancing? Check out The Ultimate Freelance Guide for Beginners

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found -Chapter 21

Warnings: nothing really. Mentions of blood and gun violence I guess

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007

She arrives in Dhaka shortly before ten in the morning and takes a taxi to the hustle and bustle of the downtown market area. Her escape from the Mahajan home had gone much easier than she'd anticipated; the challenging part having to somehow slip from underneath the weight of Tyler's arm in an effort to sneak out of the bed. When he did manage to rest, he was a notoriously light sleeper; awakening at the slightest of noises or the smallest hint of trouble. That morning he'd been resting heavier than normal. On his stomach with his arm draped over her, snoring louder than she'd ever heard him. And her heart had nearly leapt clear out of his chest when he stirred, mumbling incoherently but never awakening.

 From there on out, things had been simple. Catching the overnight guards on a joint coffee break out by the pool; laughing and chatting and paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around them. She'd been able to pinch the keys to the rental off the kitchen counter where her husband had left them the night before, along with an extra loaded Glock revolver he kept store in a lock box on a shelf in the master bedroom closet; freshly cleaned and holding a full magazine. 

 She once again considered telling him; shaking him awake and announcing that she was heading to Dhaka. That if he wanted to come along so be it, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. His resistance would have been legendary, especially now that they knew she was indeed pregnant. And she knew his already overwhelming need to protect her would become even more so.  He saw it in the same way as he did the job; she and Amelia were his priorities and responsibility and failure was simply not  an option.

 So she let him sleep.

 The market is just as she remembers; sights, smells, sounds. The dirty streets and derelict  buildings,  the scent of diesel gas and strong coffee hanging in the air, the chatter and laughter of pedestrians and the blaring of horns and humming of engines. She stands across the street from the hotel that they had stayed at a year ago; run down and in disarray, faded paint and cracked mortar, crumbling balconies with missing railings. She can see the patio that had belonged to them; on the third floor, a heavy wool rung over over the wrought iron balcony railing and two simple plastic patio chairs tipped on their sides. Every morning they'd sit out there. Sipping strong coffee and filling their bellies with whatever Tyler had been able to grab that morning. Sometimes they'd simply people watch and make commentary on what was happening on the street below. Other mornings they'd be painstakingly surveying the crowds and sharing notes on anything and anyone that seemed even remotely suspicious. 

 Most of the time however, they would just engage in small talk. Those little yet entirely eye opening conversations that take place between couples when they're just in the 'getting to know you' stage.  Sure, they had quickly come realize what they both liked and enjoyed in bed, but they still very much needed to see if they clicked outside of a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets.

 Her feelings are mixed.  It is both enlightening and disheartening to be back in Dhaka, where she'd fallen in love with the man she now called her husband.  Where she'd been made to feel alive again; deserving of love and adoration,  respect and worship.  She had long ago forgotten what it had felt like to be in love; the butterflies in your stomach,  the way your heart began to race when they so as much smiled at you, those jolts of electricity that passed between the two of you every time you touched or kissed.

  She had thought she'd never experience those  again;  she had a failed marriage, an abusive narcissistic ex under her belt, a job that she enjoyed and could not see herself walking away from.  She had no more trust left. No faith. 

 And then she'd walked into that shack in the Australian outback.

 It is bittersweet. The good memories and the horribly bad co-mingling. And she forces herself to walk away, not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She needed to keep her head on straight. She needed clear thinking and her instincts to steer her through those busy and often violent streets. And she needed to hold onto that overwhelming need to revenge.  To see things through  to the end of the line.  Nik hadn't been able to finish things off a year ago. But she was determined to.

 She grabs a herbal tea in hopes of soothing her queasy stomach; nerves and anticipation not mixing well with ferocious morning sickness. She'd had to take three Dramamine tablets just to make it through the short flight.  She promises herself that when this is all over, she'll go back to the things that helped her get through the first pregnancy: proper diet and sleep, a psychologically healthy way of coping with stress. If she could get through the first one despite all of the angst surrounding her, she could get through anything.

 She wanders the market to kill time. Talking to the vendors and browsing their wares, attempting to drive away any suspicion as to why someone like her would be in a place like that. Especially alone.  She hides her eyes under the brim of a baseball cap but they are always watching.  Casually observing the people around her. Some of the locals watch her intently; perhaps recognizing her face yet unable to place where and how they actually know it. And she gets friendly smiles and pleasant hellos, readily welcomed into the area.

 It is so easy. It always has been. Blending in in order to to garner valuable information had been her specialty when she was still on the job. Able to gain peoples' trust, casually asking all the right questions without seeming overly interested. The people in the market had taken to her. Taken to them. A young, attractive newlywed couple who'd forgone a traditional honeymoon in favour of outreach work. The premise had seemed wild and far fetched when Nik had pitched it. But it had worked.

 A little too well.

 Her cell phone vibrates in the front pocket of her shorts. Another frantic and downright furious text message sent on Tyler's behalf. He's been calling and texting non stop since he'd woken up and found out that not only she was missing, but also the keys to the rental and one of his weapons.  He's worried. Pissed off. The texts a and voicemails a mixture of of him worrying about if she's okay and demanding to know where she is, and angry please for her to just call him back.  She feels guilty as she stands there, staring down at the last message he'd sent.  Knowing the rage that he must be in; anger and worry are powerful combination. And her fingers linger on the screen, attempting to come up with a suitable reply. She should at least tell him that she's okay. That she'll be home by night fall and he doesn't need to worry. But when the phone rings in her and his cell number pops up on the screen, she hesitates. Thumb over the green talk icon.

 She opts to send it to voicemail instead.

 ***

 He knew something was wrong the moment he awoke. Torn from an unusually deep and peaceful sleep by the baby's shrill, incessant crying and one of the maids pounding on the door and  asking if everything was okay.  He hadn't had a sound sleep like that in years; his senses and instincts always running on high.

 Esme would never leave the baby to cry; believing that you could never spoil a child, especially an infant, with too much attention and cuddles. So when he'd bolted up in bed and saw that her place beside him was empty, he lost it. A combination of rage and worry driving him through the roof. Attempting to stay calm for his daughter that so desperately needed him and failing miserably; relinquishing all care to the now visibly frazzled nanny. 

 His brain immediately switches to auto pilot; propelling him through the room, searching  for clues as to where she's wandered off to. Her purse is missing. The pyjamas she'd worn to bed discarded in the hamper in the en-suite bathroom. And then he sees it: the closet door ajar.  He knows. He just knows. Storming across the room and throwing the door open and grabbing the lock box on the shelf.

 It's empty. The lock picked.

 His first reaction is absolute rage. At her, at the guards for completely fucking up and being so oblivious to what was going around them that they didn't even her sneak out. How does someone get away that fast? Stealing both a gun and a car without anyone noticing? And he's pissed that she won't return any of his calls or texts. Rage and frustration growing with each passing second.

 Worry comes next. That maybe the first anniversary of his near death experience has pushed her over the edge. And it's then that he begins to slowly piece if all together: the freak out that she'd had back home when she'd seen Farhad's picture. Her incessant, almost obsessive need for revenge. How she'd talked about wanting to go back to the bridge. The one place she felt as if she could finally let go of the past and move on.

 He calls the one person he knows can help.

 “Where the fuck is my wife, Nik?” he doesn't even give her a chance to say hello of give her trademark 'talk to me'.

 “Your wife? What are you talking about? What...?”

 “I woke up  and she was gone. You were worried that I'd be the one taking off? My wife is missing, Nik. She's gone. And she stole my gun and my car and I have no fucking clue where she is.”

 Silence from the other end.

 “Don't even try and bullshit me, Nik. I know that you know. There's no way she thought of this all on her own and the only other person she trusts other than me, is you. Where is she?”

 “I honestly never thought it would come to this,” she admits. “I thought she'd just move on. Let it go.”

 “What are you talking about? What...?”

 “She wanted me to find the kid that shot you. Farhad. She wanted me to track him down and arrange a meeting with him. At first I went along with it...”

 “What the fuck, Nik...” he closes his eyes and releasing a long, shaky sigh.  “Why? Why the hell would you agree to that?”

 “I changed my mind. I started dragging my heels. Making excuses. Hoping she'd just let it go.”

 “Well obviously she hasn't.  And she's obviously got someone else helping her.”

 “I think it's Jason. He asked for some personal time. I became suspicious and had Yaz track his cell . It says he's somewhere in Bangladesh. We have no idea of his exact location.”

 There's the rage again. Accompanied by so much more. Worry. Frustration. The burn of bile in his throat.

 “Tyler?”

 “I need to you to get me a flight to Dhaka. Right now.”

 “Tyler, I don't think...”

 “I don't give a shit what you think. I don't care what strings you have to pull or how many asses you have to kiss. Get me a flight.”

 “I need a little time. I...”

 'Now Nik,” he orders, and disconnects the call.

 ****

 “Hey, I remember you!” a cheerful voice calls from across the street. “The wife!”

 Esme is surprised to see him after all this time, still tucked away on a small side street away from the hustle and bustle of the main market.  The vendor that that sold Tyler the bracelet that she'd wandered away to admire. A simple piece of jewellery becoming the catalyst for so much more.

 “I'm surprised you even remember me,” she says. “What with wearing a hat and all.”

 “I never forget a pretty face. Or such a sweet smile. It's been a long time, friend.”

 “A whole year,” she confirms, returning the hug that he offers.  “You've been well?”

 “I have. Things have been busy, busy. You still have the bracelet?”  he nods down at her left wrist,  a prideful smile spreading from ear to ear. “Looks as good as new!”

 “The clasp broke  and my husband fixed it for me.”

 “Ahhh...the husband...nice guy..very tall...very strong...where is he? He here?”

 “Off doing his own thing,” she lies, and immediately feels guilty for it. “We have a baby now. A little girl. Amelia,” she produces her cell phone from the pocket on her shorts, once again ignoring the dozens of text messages that she's received in the past ten minutes alone. Instead, she brings up a photo on the phone and holds it out to out to him. Their first ever family picture; Amelia a mere ten days old, in her father's arm in a white eyelet sundress,  the three of them sitting in the sand.  Barefoot. Tanned. Smiling.

  It seems like a lifetime ago.

 “She's beautiful!” he gushes. “Like her mother. But definitely looks like her father. How have you been? Good? Everyone is fine? You just disappeared last year. Out of thin air. I just stopped seeing you one day. We had some trouble here. Right after you left. Between those drug people that we talked about last time you were here. And some white fellow.  There was a big shoot out out on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Did you hear about it?”

 “I heard a few things,” she says. Not feeling the need to tell him that she'd been right in the damn middle of it. “Do you still have your ear to the ground? Is there anything new going on?”

 “Trouble,” he throws up his hands in exasperation. “Always trouble.”

 She browses his various items as she speaks. “What kind?”

 “Some white fellow is in town. Not your white fellow, though. He's been asking a lot of questions. Wanting to know about one of the street kids.”

 Jason.

 “I thought maybe he was here to cause trouble. Or take the kid away. But they already seemed to know each other. Like they weren't strangers when they met.  They were on a first name basis.”

 She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don't think this white guy was just playing nice to get something he wanted?”

 “Perhaps. But it didn't seem that way. I'm very good at reading people. And I could read him well. They knew each other. No doubt in my mind. Very casual when they spoke. Not angry. Or in a hurry. Just like old friends.”

 Her stomach clenches. And she has to  force the vomit down.

 “Why you ask?”

 She manages a smile. “Just curious. Is there anything else? Did you see anything? Hear what they were talking about?”

 “Just that they left together. Yesterday. From the hotel up the street. The one you stayed at last year. I never saw them again. You know them?”

 “The white fellow is a colleague of mine. Or at least I thought he was.”

 She selects a child's size bracelet for the baby and produces her wallet from her bag; removing  two twenties and holding them out in offering. Too much money for the jewellery, yet not enough for the information he'd given her.

  That was invaluable. 

 “Thank you,” she says, as she drops the wallet and bracelet into her bag. “I honestly can't thank you enough. I have to go. There's some things I need to do.”

 “It was nice seeing you!” he calls after her. “Tell your husband to stop by. Nice guy he is!”

 Esme gives a small wave in farewell, then disappears into the crowd.

 ****

 The hotel manager gives her an extra key with little more than twenty bucks and a brief description of who she is looking for.  And she waits outside of the door, straining her ears for any kind of life inside.  The creak of footsteps on the rickety, bowed floor,  the sound of the shower running through this ancient pipes.

 Silence.

 She lets herself into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. In case a quick getaway is needed and there's no fumbling with knobs and hinges. The room is tiny; much smaller than the one that she and Tyler had shared a year ago in this very building. Sunlight streams through the window, highlighting the particles of dust that hang and float in the air. Like the rest of the hotel's rooms and the building itself, it is a complete dive:  the hardwood floors scuffed and decaying, various stains marring the walls, water marks on the once white stucco ceiling; crude patches of plaster covering where work had been done to fix a leak. 

 Like the room she'd stayed in, the linens on the bed are fresh and new. A crisp white that makes the damage and filth around it even more noticeable.

 She snoops. Going through cupboards in the tiny kitchenette. Rummaging through silverware drawers, cupboards full of chipped mugs and plates. Not knowing exactly what is she's looking for, but letting her logic and instincts guide her; the old aspects of the job quickly returning and filling her with much needed confidence and courage.  There's a coffee cup in the sink; water and soon to dissolved dish soap filling it to the brim, a sponge floating in the midst.  

 He's been gone a while.

 She moves into the combined bedroom and living area next. Leafing through pamphlets, two days worth of newspapers, and discarded sheets of writing paper. Still nothing.  Placing her hands on her hips she takes a step back to get a look at the room. It is surprisingly tidy considering the actual state of the building. The patio door has been left open a crack; allowing the dirt and debris from the busy street below to trickle into the room.  The air is hot and heavy. Suffocating. And the sweat has already begun to gather at her hairline and across her brow.

 The bed is made, sheets pulled tight, and she moves towards it. Pausing long enough to pull open the drawers on the nightstand. Empty.  Frowning, she moves along. Running her hand along the top of the sheet in hopes of feeling something hidden underneath them. Then drops to her knees and slides her hand in between the mattress and the box spring; blindly feeling her way along the smooth surface until her fingers come in contact with something smooth.

 It's a file folder. Brand new. The colour still fresh and vibrant, the corners unbent and still sharp.  And she perches herself on the edge of the bed, preparing herself for what she may find inside. It could be nothing; just some paperwork that included sensitive information and names that preying eyes weren't privy too. 

 Photographs.  Some black in white.  Others in colour.  The bile rises in her throat once again and the nausea kicks into high gear.  Her heart pounds within her chest; hands shaking, the sweat trickling down now. 

 Tyler. Her. Their baby. Dating as far back to his release from the hospital, when Esme was still pregnant and they'd been struggling to keep things together but were optimistic about the future.  One of the moment they were leaving the medical facility with their three day old infant. There's more. So many more.  Outside of their apartment, on the street, at the beach. Snapshots of private and personal moments. Where they're smiling and laughing and completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching them.

 Her cell phone rings and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.

 Nik.

 She would have just let it go to voicemail. Ignoring it and the text messages that would start pouring in. But she needs to tell someone. Anyone.

 “Where the hell are you?” Nik hisses, before Esme even has a chance to offer a greeting.

 “I'm in Dhaka.”

 “What is wrong with you? All hell is breaking loose.  Why would you do this? I told you to just drop it. To let it go.”

 “You said you would help me.  Where are you, Nik? Why didn't you follow through? You promised you'd help.”

 “I was hoping you'd change your mind. This is insane. You're insane. What...?”

 “I'm in Jason's room,” she announces.

 “Excuse me? What? What the hell are you doing in there? Are you...?”

 “No. I'm not having an affair. It's not what you think.  I sent Jason to Dhaka. To find out more about that kid Fahrad. Only he already knows him. He's in on it, Nik. All the bullshit that's been happening to Ovi. All the threats, all the letters, all the dead animals. He's involved in it. Somehow.”

 “You're crazy. I'm sending Yaz to come and get you and Tyler.”

 “Tyler? What...?”

 “He left for Dhaka four hours ago. He's freaking out, Esme. He's pissed and he's worried and he's on his way to you. I had to tell him. I had to.  He's your husband. The father of your child. He loves you. And he has a right to know what the hell is going on and if you're okay.”

 “There's pictures,” she says. “A whole folder of them. Of Tyler and I. And of the baby. Taken back in Australia.  As far back as when he was still in the hospital.”

 “What are you talking about? Esme...did you break into his hotel room? What the hell are you doing? You need to get out of there. Before he comes back. Just get the hell out of there and don't look back.”

 “I've gotta go, Nik.”

 “Esme, listen to me. Just get out of there and go somewhere safe. In public. Tell Tyler where you are and he'll find you.  Don't make this any worse than it has to be.”

 “I've got to,” she insists, and disconnecting the call, drops both her cell and the folder into her bag. 

 ****

 She returns the key and gives the manager another ten for his troubles. He's grateful; business has been slow and the owner is two weeks late with his pay.

 “Did you find everything you were looking for?” he curiously inquires, and she smiles and slips her sunglasses onto her face.

 “More than I expected to.”

 Her stomach churns. The sweat comes in rivers. Yet she violently shivers as she steps out onto the busy street. Head down to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. Keeping a casual pace, wanting to avoid drawing any suspicious towards her.

 She's half a block from the main part of the market when it happens. A hand roughly snatching her by the top of the arm and yanking her into the alley. A second hand coming down over her mouth to stifle the startled yelp.  Someone big and strong using their power to pin her up against the brick wall.

 “Don't fucking bite me.”

 The voice is low. Savage almost.  Accompanied by furious blue eyes. And instead of sinking her teeth into the flesh of his palm, she shakes her head vigorously to get him to release his grip.

 “Tyler, what the hell?! You scared the shit out me!”

 “I scared the shit out of you? That's fucking rich. What the hell are you doing here? I wake up and you're gone and I find out you're here? In Dhaka? What the fuck?”

 “I told you I needed to come back here,” she feebly attempts an explanation. He's too livid; nothing will get through to him when he's in this kind of state.  “I told you and you refused to listen.”

 “Because I thought it was fucking insane. But if you'd just asked me to come with you, I would have. You know that. What the fuck, Esme? Why were you in the hotel?”

 “You've been following me?”

 “Since the market. Since you talked to that vendor from last year. He's the one who told me you were looking for some colleague of yours.”

 “I broke into Jason's room,” she admits.

 “What the...”

 “He isn't who he says he is, Tyler. He isn't who anyone thinks he is. He even fooled Nik.”

 He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 “He's one of them. One of Asif's people. And I know this sounds insane and I would probably think so too if I just hadn't gone through quite possibly the most messed up year in my entire life.”

 “Considering the shit I've seen and done, nothing is crazy any more.”

 “The vendor told me that he saw Jason and that Fahrad kid together. Which would make sense at first because I'm the one who told him to come here and track him down. But he said they acted as if they knew each other. And that they left together. So I decided to go to the hotel and...”

 “Commit break and enter,” he finishes for her.

 “Well technically it wasn't B and E because I had a key. But  I found these...” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the file folder.  “Pictures. Of us. Of Millie. Going back to when you were still in the hospital. This is fucked, Tyler. He's fucked.”

 He takes the folder from her and flips through it. She sees the way his jaw clenches and the way the vein in his throat begins to throb, making that thick, jagged scar even more noticeable. Those blue eyes growing darker with each photo.

 “What are we going to do?” she asks.

 “We're going to the bridge,” he tucks the folder back into her bag. “We're going to give him what he wants.”

 “Tyler...no...we can't...you can't.”

 “Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.”

 She nods. “With my life.”

 He takes hold of her hand, pulling her out onto the sidewalk. “Let's go.”

 ****

 “I've done all that I can,” Nik announces.  “Pulled every string and called in every favour I could. I can have the bridge closed for twenty minutes. That's it.”

 “I won't need that long,” Tyler informs her, cell phone pressed to his ear as he and Esme sit in a stolen car on the west side of the bridge. It's all coming together now: alarmingly vivid recollections of the last time he'd been there.

  The sights and the sounds; boots crunching against pavement as he stepped over the sea of bodies that Saju had already collected on his own.  The rapid pops of gunfire further down the bridge, terrified bystanders fleeing from the area, the moans of those that lay dying in the roadway.  He'd already been injured; shrapnel from bullets, shards of glass embedded in his skin, combining with the wounds that he'd suffered the day before.  Shoulder in agony; every movement causing pain like a white hot poker to shoot from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. He'd been vaguely aware of the fact he was bleeding; remembering the way it softly trickled down the left side of his face and both arms.  He was weary; panting and out of breath.

 But he kept going.  With each bullet he fired and each life he took, he counted down the steps...the seconds...until freedom.  Until he'd see her again. Thinking of the plans they'd made while tangled up in bed, naked and sweaty bodies pressed up against one another. His fingers tangled in her hair and her head resting on his chest, their voices sleepy as they talked about all the things they would do as they got to know each other in all the ways that didn't involve. Not that the sex wasn't going. It was incredible. But there'd been so much more to discover about one another and he'd been looking forward to it. They'd travel; that was their final decision. Taking some of the money they'd be paid and taking nothing more than their passports and a few change of clothes and just seeing where they'd end up.  Colorado was first on the list.  He wanted to see the mountains.  Where she lived. Maybe even meet her family. 

 And that..along with seeing Ovi's safe return home...had been what had kept him going. Despite the blood and the pain and the mounting injuries. The thought that someone was waiting for him on the other side of that bridge.

 “Don't kill him,” Nik implores.

 “I will if I have to.”  He is expecting to have to make the decision. Whether to take the younger man's life or just beating him within inches of his demise and then letting him live. 

 “If you can find cover afterwards, I'll send Yaz to get you. An hour. Two at the most.”

 “We'll manage,” he says.

 “Be careful, Tyler. I know you're angry. I know you want revenge.”

 He's not sure if she means against Jason or the kid who'd nearly taken his life.  He choose the former.  “He put my wife in danger, Nik. Who knows what he was going to do to her once he got a hold of her. It wouldn't have been good. You and I both know that.”

 “You don't know how many other people are involved in this. He can't be working alone.  It's too much work for just one person. Don't let your guard down. Make sure you come back in one piece. Both of you.”

 He disconnects the call and slips his phone into the pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. Reaching for Esme's bag that sits at her feet, he takes out the Glock; removing the magazine and one in the chamber.

 “Are you sure this is going to work?” she nervously inquires.

 “It'll work,” he assures her, and drops the gun back into the satchel before placing it in her lap.

 “I wasn't going to kill him, you know. That kid. Scare him. But not kill him.”

 He wants to believe her. But he knows the power of revenge. How loving something and someone so much can cloud your judgment. There was a time where he wanted what she did:  Farhad lying cold and dead in the street. But with the physical healing came some mental repair as well.  Revenge only dragged you down. Hardened you. Made you just as bad as the person who caused your harm.  You'd never be able to fully go on with your life and enjoy your future with that kind of baggage weighing you down.

 “I'm sorry,”  she's staring out the window as she talks; voice low, eyes glassy. No doubt filled with her own memories of the last time they'd been there. “I know you're pissed.”

He snorts. “You think just a little bit?”

 “I know this isn't where you want to be.  In Dhaka. Back on this bridge.”

 “You really think that that's what I'm upset about? That I had to come back here?” he shakes his head incredulously, and placing his elbow on the window ledge, places the side of his head in his palm and closes his eyes. His head feels as if will explode. So many emotions. All of them too powerful and all consuming. And the memories...come back with the force of a tsunami. “How can you know so well one minute and then know fuck all the next?”

 She shifts uncomfortably beside him, knee brushing up against his,  her hands nervously twisting at the strap on her bag.

 He cracks open an eye and casts a sidelong glance at her. This woman that he was wildly and crazily head over heels for. Who had walked into his life and filled the enormous hole inside of him in the way no amount of drugs, pills, and self loathing could ever do.  Who had so willingly and unselfishly given up her life in order to improve his.  Who'd give him a child. Two now, if you considered the one currently growing inside of her.  He lays a hand on her thigh; stilling the anxious twitches. Then closes his eyes once more.

 “That's not why I'm pissed,” he says. “I'm not pissed I had to come here. I'm pissed that you did what you did. You were the one that was worried about me sneaking off. I never thought you'd be the one doing it. All you had to do was tell me. I would have given you a hard time about it, but I would have come here with you. But you didn't give me that chance, did you.”

 “I thought it would easier just to do it on my own,” she confesses. “I didn't want to put this on you.”

 “You're not putting anything on me. The second we put rings on each other's fingers, we said we'd bear the weight of each other's burdens.  That we wouldn't have to deal with things alone. And the fact you just went ahead and left...”

 “I'm sorry,”  he can hear the tears in her voice. Can see the image in his head: those dark eyes filling to the brim, the way her lower lip always trembles. Even when she's crying she's beautiful.

 “And you just didn't leave me. You left the baby.  My  baby. And she needs her mother. What if you'd never come home? She'd spent the rest of her life wondering about you and I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make sure she never forgets you. And what about the other baby? The one that's inside of right now.  Did you even stop to think about them? What could have happened? Not just to you but that baby too? You didn't make these kids on your own. They're mine too. You're not the only one that loves them and would die for them.”

 “I know...” her voice cracks, and he can feel her hand as it settles on top of his.  And he laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly.  “I know you hate right now.”

 “I could never hate you. Ever. There's times where you piss me off and I don't like you very much. But I could never hate you. I love you too much. With everything I am. With everything I have.”

 She raises their hands to her lips and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you. I don't think you'll ever realize how much. And I am sorry. I didn't do this to hurt you. Or make you mad. I did it so that I could finally move on. Because it's been so hard...so fucking hard.”

 She cries in earnest now, and he opens his eyes and reaches across the car; a hand on the back of her head as he pulls her into him. Her face tucking into the hallow of his throat. His face in her hair as he takes in the scent in that lingers on those dark tresses.

 “It's time to go,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple.

 “Tell me it's going to be okay.”

 “It's going to be okay,” he promises, and places a kiss to her forehead.  “Trust me.”

 “I do,” she assures him and then gives her bravest smile as she pushes his hair off his forehead. “I'd sort of miss you if you weren't around.”

 “I'd sort of miss you too. Even if you do  do stupid shit sometimes.”

 She kisses him. Her lips soft and warm against his.  Then pulls away and opening the car door, slings her bag over her shoulder and steps out.

 All he can do is sit there and watch her walk away.

[taylor-on-fire]

Cigarettes and Alcohol (one)

She was told to never get involved with three things; Cigarettes, Alcohol and Rock Stars.

Obviously, something fate never intended for her to live by.

Pairing: ? x Reader

Series Rating: Mature

Chapter Rating: Teen

Chapter Warnings: Swearing

~/-*•|•*-\~

The remainder of the summer had disappeared within the blink of an eye. If unpacking the rest of my belongings and furnishing the flat hadn't consumed the vast majority of my free time, my newly accumulated job had.

I had walked into Regency Cafe on my third day in London, resume in hand and extraordinarily low expectations. It was stationed five streets away from my flat, and a hub that I had scoped out soon after arriving. Because of this, I assumed that it was too good to be true, and being as popular as it was, would have copious amounts of workers and applicants alike. But, I had seemingly hit the jackpot that day. As soon as I walked into the cafe and spotted the only waitress behind the counter - a gray-haired, flustered woman in her late fifties - and mentioned the ‘Help Wanted’ sign stuck on the glass window.

‘You here for the job, Honey?’ I nodded, and she immediately thew an apron my way and hustled back to the till.

“Rose.” The woman nodded to me and slid over a tray. “That’s for table 7.”

“Y/N. Great to meet you, Rose.” I threw a tea towel over my shoulder, smiled, and picked up the tray to serve.

-

Ever since then, I had been working ten hour shifts at the Cafe. The crowds only  ever thinned out at around the three ‘o’clock mark, when it was too late to be considered lunch, and too early to be considered tea. But, even then, there was never a moment to take a breather, let alone have a smoke. I wouldn't complain though - It kept my days occupied and helped me save extra money for when the next semester started. And Rose was lovely. 

After we had locked up the cafe that first night - a pretty successful day as per usual - We had gotten talking about everything and anything over a cup of Coffee. Rose’s other two waitresses had called in sick, and with no available family to help, she was forced to fight the rush head on. Obviously that's where I came in. 

Coffee after lock-up had become some sort of ritual after I was hired, and after the hour or so chatting with the grandmother I never had over pastries, I would walk to my flat and go straight to bed. I rarely went back out once I got home, and thus hadn't scoped the area as much as I usually would. I mean, I knew of a few pubs and student clubs nearer to the university campus, and a few clothing stores, but London was huge. It would take longer than a night to discover all there was to see.

Undoubtedly, now I’d have less time to dedicate to finding the hot-spots of the city. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was awake again - Pulling on jeans and a plaid jacket haphazardly. Apparently snoozing an alarm clock six or so times eventually added up to an hour. So, now I was 65 minutes behind schedule, and would be inevitably late to the first lecture of my first semester at Uni. 

Way to make an impression, Y/N.

I checked the clock again, simultaneously buckling my sandals, and true to the time, I had 40 minutes to complete a half an hour bus ride and trek to the other side of the campus. 

Luckily, Imperial was by far the closest Uni in the area. God forbid i had applied to another college instead - I would hands down, never make it to the campus on time. Being rejected fro the course for numerous lates wouldn't come as a shock to say the least.

I made my way outside and lit up a smoke, securing my bag on my shoulder and making my way towards the near-empty bus stop. It was fairly cold outside, despite it not being too early. It was the middle of September although, and despite the summer feeling very recent, it was slowly fading out into a chilly autumn.

However, I wasn't exposed to the British temperatures for too long, as in a few minutes, I was seated at the back of the bus, willing it to go quicker to ensure that I wouldn't be late to class.

-

I had constructed a whole plan on how my mornings would go from now on, and sorted a precise routine to avoid this one situation. I didn't imagine it being disregarded so early into the school year. Yet, I was notorious for being late back home, despite my best efforts. It was evidently not a good trait.

As I hurried across the campus, barely navigating the way from memory and already five minutes late, I hoped that this wasn't an omen for what my life would be like here. 

The corridors were quiet, a few groups of people scattered around - obviously early and awaiting their first lecture - and all of their faces blending into one. I paid no heed due to the sheer rush I was attempting to downplay in the presence of other students.

The lecture hall seemed abnormally distant. But, as this thought flashed through my brain, a large notice on the wall displayed the word I was desperately searching for in black, block letters. I heaved a sigh of relief and searched for the class number. 

EB1.1...EB1.3...EB1.7...EB1.15

Seeing that I had arrived at my designated room, I paused momentarily, glancing down to check my wrist watch. Fifteen minutes late. Fifteen used to be my lucky number, but after this, I'm not too sure. I turned to walk towards the door, not looking up, and immediately came into contact with something solid.

Before I could comprehend what was happening and steady myself, I was falling backwards, the notes in my hand and bag falling everywhere. 

“Im sorry! Im so, sorry. I completely missed you there! I was just late and...” A boys flustered voice cut me from my internal monologue of how great the day was turning out to be. He immediately dropped to his knees to collect up the newly created mess, whilst simultaneously glancing back towards me. Presumably to see if I was fatally injured.

“Its fine. Im sorry. It was probably my fault.” I laughed, moving to my knees and picking up a pile of notes scattered to the left of me. “I have a terrible habit of being late to everything.”

“I should have seen you though. Are you okay? Not hurt are you?”

“I’m completely fine. despite my pride, obviously. Are you okay? I completely barrelled into you.”

We both continued to pick up the notes scattered around the corridor together, and finished rearranging ourselves in seconds flat. The man quickly stood up, holding out his free hand to me, which I grasped firmly. I let go, and he clutched his notes, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, a red blush overtaking his features.

“I’m completely okay. I must apologise again.” he spoke, still anxiously rubbing his neck. A small smile was playing on his red features.

I paused for a second and adjusted the strap on my bag.

“You said you were late to class. Whats your major?” I questioned, not much left to lose considering over a third of the first lecture was over. I looked towards the class door, knowing that I was obviously more than a quarter hour late now. This couldn't be good.

“Engineering. Electrical, more specifically. But Engineering is apparently just one big degree here.”

“Im majoring in that too. But, I prefer the Aerospace branch.”

The man smiled at that, before adjusting his shirt collar and swinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder..

“I have a friend that would love that. An Astrophysics Major.” He turned and pointed to the room EB1.15. “I guess we're headed to the same place, then?”

I nodded, smiling back.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” I raised my right hand out to the boy.

“John Deacon. Lovely to meet you.” He grasped my hand, and we shook, before splitting and turning to enter the classroom. John took the lead, entering the class before me, and holding the door open for me to enter too.

I guess chivalry isn't dead.

We both stood there momentarily, well aware of thirty or so sets of eyes turning in our direction. Under any other positive circumstances, I wouldn't be fazed, but knowing that I was in the wrong and destined to be given fails for the next academic year - and in front of so many strangers - I was uncharacteristically nervous.

From the looks of it, John also wasn't one for being thrusted under the limelight. He shot me a short, wide-eyed look, before hesitantly making his way to the lecturers desk at the front centre of the hall. I trailed behind him, probably appearing like a lost puppy, but in reality, unsure what the protocol was for such a situation.

Do i just sit down and ignore the fact that I missed half of the lecture? Or apologise profusely? At this point I’m ready to just leave campus, drop the course and move back home. Although, nothing worse than moving home immediately comes to mind.

However, John quickly spoke, explaining the issues he faced with his travel this morning etcetera, etcetera, and luckily, he included me within this tale. Apparently, we had gotten scheduled 8:15 AM bus, and due to a road-traffic accident, we were diverted for over three quarters of an hour. Credit to him for elaborating so. I was almost convinced myself that I hadn't overslept this morning.

As he concluded his tale, John took a step backwards, next to me, and awaited a response. The lecturer nodded, a blank expression on his face. He waited a second before responding.

“Ive already assigned the Initial Assignment. I want a 2,000 word essay on your reasons behind choosing Engineering as your major, the branch you major in, and the gateways this degree opens for you. Any other details are on the board.” The man held his stoic expression, and we nodded back at him, awaiting a sign to take our seats. “Michael Ford.”

I muttered my name in response, as did John, as we turned to take the only two free seats at the back of the lecture hall. We were stopped abruptly.

“Next time, don't let your romantic life come in the way of your studies.”

I froze, unsure of what to reply, other than a quick nod. I went to hurry off once again, but glanced at John who was beet red -  even redder than before in the corridor -  a wide-eyed expression on his face. It took all I had in me to not burst out laughing. 

[beblebumm]

lesbian mom

My sister told me I dress like a lesbian mom. With no offense meant towards lesbian mothers because as Chloe put it- if I was a lesbian mom, my style would be closer to cool. But because up to this point in life I have been straight and childless, I’m just an appropriator. Which I definitely don’t want to be by the way, but I'm an American and blind appropriation is the American way. Working on it. I’m in the kitchen in Cedar Falls finding all my last sporadic, traveled with items to shove in my XL backpack* by the time Chloe brings her new opinion up to her roommates, my family. “Cathy, don’t you think Maddie looks like a lesbian mom?” “a what? A lesbian? I didn’t hear you” ...and dad’s reaction: “oh.. did you get a surrogate then?” * (United and Frontier front like they will be strict about charging you based on the sizes of your luggage, but they won't be. Apparently my size of backpack does not count as a personal item (free) but instead a carry-on (not free). It's a glutinous excuse for a backpack. However, they don’t say shit to you when you show up on the day of your flight. In the words of my friend Grace: If it's on your back and not on wheels, you're fine. I have had to repack a backpack once, throwing on a sweatshirt and carrying socks in my hand to make it through. But you know what that was? Free.And Fyi- U.S. airlines alone made 5.1 billion bucks in extra baggage fees in 2018. Don't contribute to that mess.) * But anyways, to come to the defense of lesbian moms, I think I dress with the best intention. I don’t think I have bad taste, but I can have bad execution. It's not entirely my fault though, as I feel bigger boobs make a lot of outfits merge towards mother. Tops are always an issue because you have the possibility of looking tenty, and opposite that- the issue of looking too tucked in. It can make the attempted effortlessness come off as starchy. I also straddle this line of wannabe skater and NOT wannabe school teacher, meaning I would love to come across as someone who deserves to wear Vans and less like someone who is reading to your child over snack time. That one is harder to explain, but has a lot to do with stripes. I don't bother running all of this past her, but I told Chloe that if I was flat-chested she wouldn’t be saying this. She didn’t argue but offered to help pay for my reduction. My dad and I get in the car after I make an everything bagel with some onion flavored cream cheese. A Thomas brand bagel, of course. Because it’s the cushiest and you can find them everywhere. We love a processed carb. He drives me to the airport in his new-but-used Toyota Highlander, which doesn’t reek of cigs like his previous whip. He only likes this new car because it has a cassette player, but the low mileage is a plus. I just want to say that the Cedar Rapids airport is low entertainment. It’s a trade-off because you are through security in seconds, but you have to do things like chase after people to hand them their ID’s they left on the counter to help the employees out because we’re Iowa nice and when in the homeland you have to act right. And people wear really ugly printed leggings and foul footwear. Lots of camo and lots of Hawkeye logos, which I do not identify with despite it being my alma mater. I was caught in a very vulnerable spot with my thick and tall Doc Marten's, (not a good airport shoe but a good everyday shoe so what can you do) hunched over the ‘Get Your Shit Back Together Very Quickly Bench’ that comes after security, when I see this rushed looking, young nerd man in a long black trench coat. He LOUDLY and SO abruptly asks this similarly aged gal he was coming up behind whether her hair was red or blonde. She had long red hair with dyed blonde ends. She said “red?” and he says nothing but “HUMPH” without breaking speed at all. Why did he need to know that and also why could he not see that her hair was both colors? And if he cared so much to know, then why did he not respond? Did he think this was considered to be hitting on her?? Because practically yelling at her to inquire about her appearance is not cutting it. I wish for his sake I could at least call him a boomer but he didn't meet the age requirement. Whatever. She looked around for confirmation that what had just happened to her was so weird, which of course I gave to her by saying: “That was so weird.” The sole restaurant by the gates has Blue Moon so that’s redeeming. But it’s in a tin can which is not so good. I used to prefer a draft pour with an orange slice but I am partial to a cold bottle now, plain- no orange. It’s more consistent this way, as some places don’t clean their draft lines regularly and it shows. I met an icon on my flight today. I, of course, was assigned my usual middle seat as I am certain I paid the littlest amount of airfare out of everyone on the plane. Deals only. But as I step up to my row and make that apologetic eye contact with the dude who is about to have to move and let me assume my usual middle spot, the guy asks me if I want to switch spots with his son- WHO HAS AN AISLE SEAT. YEAH SIR, I DO. And this is how I was seated next to the only stranger I’ve had an extended conversation with on an airplane, ever. At least to the point where I was sure I wanted to be buddies with her. She was not stoked on the middle seat, but it’s the one she had in our row. The icon is named Erin and she said: “I’ve been ignoring people on planes for 20 years but you seem like an absolute riot.” I realized I also tend to spend a lot of time ignoring people on airplanes. I actually spend more time trying not to bother the people around me, aka holding urine in until I am nearly bursting because the awkward fumbling out of my usual middle seat is too much. I did, however, have slight banter with a guy sitting next to me on the way into Iowa from Denver on this same trip. All he wanted to say to me was that he had just been skiing in Vail or something. People love being able to say sentences like this, by the way. "Skiing in Vail". It's supposed to impress whoever they tell. Ok. But later on, he and I would exchange terrified eyes as we watched this awful moment unfold after an older fellow in the row across from us ignored all social rules and played his voicemails on full blast, speaker volume, for about 10 minutes. A young gentleman near us let him know that “We can all hear that!” which I would have never said but was also thinking. Obviously. The Voicemail Blarer says “Oh sorry” calmly but is very caught off guard. I thought- wow. That went well. But the Voicemail Blarer takes all of 30 seconds to stew before erupting. He belly yells that he is a “WAR VETERAN AND THAT IS WHY I CANNOT HEAR OUT OF THIS EAR WHICH IS WHY MY PHONE IS ON SPEAKER AND BY THE WAY IM ON THIS FLIGHT BECAUSE MY MOM JUST DIED AND I AM FLYING BACK TO IOWA FOR THE FUNERAL. PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE AHHHHHHHHH KDFKSJDFLKJDFLJSDF”... I feel like the percentage of people flying to Iowa for funerals is probably a decent chunk. Either you're visiting your family or someone died. Just speculating. ANyways. The Mourning Vet Voicemail Blarer said some pretty harsh remarks towards the Complainer that I can’t remember because I was so nervous as a witness to this that my adrenaline was working overtime to suppress. I remember being proud of The Complainer as he kept very level and only said a couple words to defend himself followed by: “I’m sorry you’re going through that man but we don’t all need to hear your voicemails.” I see both sides of this interaction. On the younger Complainer dude’s side, it’s not socially courteous for the vet to be playing his voicemails out loud. Especially for ten minutes. I mean Larry David would have lost it. On the other hand, no one was insulting his status as a vet or poking fun at his late mother, but he has obviously been through more life and more challenges than I and plus he’s grieving. I don’t know. I didn’t mind the voicemails THAT much. Back to today- Erin is the second stranger I’ve met who inspired me this month. Technically this year, and technically this decade, too. Happy 2020. From what I saw, she’s a kick-ass, take no shit, lay it all on the table kind of individual. She had a natural openness about her and radiated warmness but is the type to probably gaurd herself just enough. The kind of person who you would hate to see sad. Born in cedar rapids, went to Iowa for Journalism, got her masters at Syracuse. Has lived all over- New York, London, LA (I think she said). Will not donate to her old sorority, Chi O, because she can’t affiliate with that anymore because it’s lame. But she’s loyal enough to one of her sorority besties to fly to Denver and sit with her while she undergoes a chemo treatment. She asks me about work and I say I have enough side hustles to equate to having a real job. She tells me I need a podcast and says I must have been told this before. I haven’t. But If I had one, I would have her guest star immedieately. She oozes content. Apparently, there’s such a thing as coaching people on how to talk on camera because this is her job. It can be split up into different categories based on the size of the screen. Phone, computer, TV, etc. She kept saying things about “inches”. I thought this was wildly specific, exactly the sort of job you wouldn’t think about until you thought about it. Niche. Hopefully future me is doing something niche right now. But only if I'm enjoying it. She also mentioned some clients she has that I should speak to so I can learn how to travel the world for free. I could have clung to her and never let go after she said this, as that would make my life and her encouragement inspired me. Before this though, we agree I need a credit card that rewards with airline miles instead of cashback. It’s third up on my “to-do now” list- which is different than my “to-do” list becasue that one is for things like making dentist appointments. For the things that should not be put off but can and will be. Until they can't. She asks what my sign is, which is Sagittarius. She said of course. She’s a Virgo. I have no clue what this means. People ask me this sort of thing a lot now though so I need to read up. This guy I met recently who works at Wax Trax Records told me not only extensively about my sign but about my rising moon and one other part of it that I can’t remember. Or is it your rising sign and moon sign as separates? Idk. He told me that every girl he knows has an ex-boyfriend who is a Pisces. True. Erin also told me she’s on some board in Iowa City that is currently discussing the ped mall. I had a lot to say about THAT, as I feel the ped mall has turned into wasted space other than maybe one and a half shops. She agrees. It’s not being utilized like it should be, we think. Too many frat bars. Apparently, her family owns the Bluebird cafes or used to, and I said "ooooooooh!" but that I could never get a seat in the Iowa City location because every hungover kid within a ten mile radius is trying to eat there every Saturday and Sunday morning. I also thought of the time they burned my friend Madison Wood’s toast and she sent it back. I didn’t tell her this though. I like Bluebird. And I hate when people at my table complain about the food. She tells me I'm too good to write for random freelances, which I have dipped my toes into doing. Pays like shit. I agree and listen to her tell me about someone she met when she was just one year sober (she is now ten years along) who pushed her to take charge of her own point of view. It sounded to me like she was inspired to trust and invest in herself. I liked that. As if I needed another excuse to stay out of corporate America. Right before she fell into meditation and soon to be sleep, Erin comments on my middle part and my “nice natural eyebrows” which is funny because I helped the brows out right before going through security. (By helped out, I mean makeup-ed. In the airport bathroom, too far away from the mirror, two different pencils- one chubby for careless shading and one skinnier to help the endpoints of my brow that is otherwise dead.) On the topic of my appearance, I tell her that my sister had just told me that I dress like a lesbian mother. She said she loves my sister.

[ninaahelvar]

The Stakeout (1/5)

Summary: In order to get all the information they can, the detective duo, Bakugou and Uraraka, must go on a stakeout. But close proximity may force some underlying feelings to come to the surface. Also known as “Bakugou had a really bad date and it gives him perspective” 

AO3

A/N: Yo - big shoutout to my beta and cowriter DoesItSaySassOnMyUniform for putting up with me and my stupid ass, she also came up with this idea so big props to her. I'm currently working on this fic, so chapter schedule is all over the place - but please enjoy! xx

The building stood, disguised amongst the others, blending into the landscape as much as a federal detective agency can. The sun was creeping past the clouds, eager to alert the day….and Bakugou rolled his eyes. He hitched up his backpack on his shoulder, walking to the security gate. “Good morning Sir,” the agent on duty greeted, opening the gate and stepping aside for Bakugou. He always did that - opened the gate for him. Bakugou hated it. What? He was too high and mighty to open a fucking gate for himself?

“Tch, whatever,” he spat out, begrudgingly giving the man a nod anyway. He kept on walking, coffee in hand. It was still early, so if he was lucky, none of those shitty extras would have arrived yet. Finally, some fucking peace and quiet.

“Hey, Bakugou!” A voice called. Fucking kidding - Really?

He kept his eyes forward, not even flinching at the obnoxious volume this early in the morning. Walking past the front doors, pushing through the few people that all stood around, he could see his escape - just a little more.

“Dude! Bakugou!”

The elevator was so close now, he just had a couple more meters.

“Move,” he growled at the people blocking the doors and slid in as swiftly as possible. He pressed the close button, deliberately staring at the floor. He wasn’t running dammit. He was just… strategically retreating.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the night before, and just how horrifically awkward it had been.

He’d even liked that shirt and the restaurant that he was now conveniently banned from.

The elevator door was taking too long to close, and he glared at the lobby. He could just make out the pointy red tips of his friend’s shitty hair as it maneuvered through the hustle and bustle of the headquarters entrance. He pressed the button again, more frantic this time, and dared anyone else in the elevator to say something. They didn’t, all pointedly looking away from him. Finally, with a ding, the doors began to close, his shoulders slumping in relief.

Thud.

A rock hard arm shoved itself through the small gap, and the elevator doors whined before releasing. “Bakugou! Almost missed you,” Kirishima said, pushing his way into the space. “It’s so loud in here -” It wasn’t - “So I completely get how you didn’t hear me calling you.”

Bakugou huffed, taking a sip of his coffee to buy himself a little time. He knew what the shitty haired agent was going to rattle on about. And for the love of all things good, Bakugou really didn’t want to fucking answer.

Tinny music met his ears as the doors finally closed - fucking traitors - and he tried not to seem too bothered. It felt like a slow crawl up the four stories, but right now, he wanted to blow the roof off and blast his way there to avoid Kirishima’s nagging questions. The hardening quirk of his had worn off, but he still clicked his tongue, the edge of his shirt sleeve torn. Then, he looked over to Bakugou and he felt himself wanting to leave his fucking body.

“You okay man?”

“Fine,” Bakugou grumbled, sipping at his coffee. The third floor already. Maybe Bakugou was having a lucky day after all.

“So, how was -”

“Can these doors hurry the fuck up?” Bakugou groaned just as the elevator chimed and the doors slowly crawled open. Bakugou, wishing for death more than life, pushed through the steel as quickly as he could and started to walk towards his desk.

“Hey! Bakugou! Dude!” he heard behind him, but Bakugou kept walking. If Kaminari caught up with Kirishima, Bakugou wouldn’t have to to have this conversation, and nothing made him more excited than that dumb haired bastard.

On the approach to his desk, he caught a glimpse of her, hair falling around her face as she looked over a file. Shit. Uraraka. She was fucking early - normally he had at least half an hour to himself before she showed up. Nope. He did not need this. He could see her pulling that stupid ass grin on her lips, mocking him for the night before. If she even mentioned it, he’d blow up the fucking building.

It was definitely not his lucky fucking day.

Then, as she moved around to Bakugou’s desk, he wanted to rush up and stop her, only to see her handling their equipment. Uraraka had wanted to get a grasp of fixing their items instead of taking them to Mei every fucking week. She’d managed to maintain her earpieces on her own, but she also wanted to get her shitty hands on Bakugou’s wrist guards. They broke more than any other item. He’d told that stupid mechanic to make them bigger to be able to withstand his quirk, but no - some shit about stealth or whatever, Bakugou didn’t care. He wasn’t paying for it when it broke.

At that moment, though, he wished Uraraka was just on her side of the desk and was taking care of her own shitty equipment that he knew was broken too - the klutz. Then, she looked up at him - the fucking grin pulled onto her face in a second flat - and she fixed up her bomber jacket, tongue touching the edge of her lip as she held in a laugh. Bakugou bound his hand into his backpack strap and began taking it off as he moved to his desk.

“Did you get home okay? No further incidents,” she asked, and as Bakugou threw his bag down, he stepped into her, hovering and glaring at her the best he could. If she said anything, he might actually kill her.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he threatened and she giggled to herself before raising her chin at him. She stood her ground and shrugged.

“I’m sure your date said the exact same thing,” she smiled before turning on her heels and going to sit at her desk.

“Come here, round face and say it to my face,” he challenged, turning around to continue to fight with her when Kirishima was basically in Bakugou’s face. Bakugou almost jumped back, but instead, he grimaced at the sight of his friend so close.

“What is she talking about?”

“Yeah, Bak, what am I talking about?” Uraraka said, chin resting in her palm as she leaned on her desk. She was getting on his last nerve. He really hated that smile.

“Go float yourself,” he snapped and Uraraka stuck her tongue out at him. Fucking child. He wanted to fire off a blast at her, but the captain had been threatened Bakugou’s job if he did it one more time. “She’s talking about….the date.” Bakugou grit his teeth, seething as he rolled his eyes and watched Kirishima light up.

Shitty hair bastard.

“How did it go?!”

“Shitty!” Bakugou spat and Kirishima backed up. He glanced to Uraraka who was fiddling with her ankle braces, but her eyes were completely focused on him - containing a laugh, clear by the reddish hue her face was turning. Bakugou rolled his eyes and combed his hands through his hair.

“What happened dude?”

Bakugou glanced to Uraraka, her laugh caught in her hand as she started to sink into her desk. Clicking his tongue, he pat Kirishima’s shoulder. “It just didn’t go well, can we drop the shitty subject?” he asked, and Kirishima shrugged, playing a beat into Bakugou’s arm as he bounded towards his desk.

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou went and sat at his desk, slumping into his chair as he groaned. Why was his life surrounded by absolute rejects? He didn’t have time for them to be stupid and weird all the time. He had a fucking job to do. “Our little secret, huh?” Uraraka whispered, leaning over to his side of the desk. Underneath the table, he kicked at her shin, and she buckled down into her seat.

“I’ll gladly kill you and cover up your murder,” he said, eyeing her down, even as he remained in his chair. Uraraka smiled as she brought her leg up onto her seat, rubbing at the place where he kicked.

“You might one day. But I think you like my company too much,” she shrugged, those big cheeks with the ridiculous pink in them made him want to punch into his desk and kill whoever made him go on that date in the first place.

Kirishima.

Bakugou glanced over his shoulder, seeing the red hair bounce as he excited prepped for his next case.

He would be dead by the end of the day.

“You’re fucking lying to yourself, Round face,” he muttered, hands running over his face. He heard Uraraka giggle before her chair slid across the tiles.

“Sure,” she said, clicking her tongue. Her hand met his shoulder and he looked up at her. There was something odd about her that day...he didn’t know how to describe it, but he could see there was something up with her face. He couldn’t make it out. “Precinct meeting in ten, save you a seat,” she said, already moving off to the kitchen.

“Stop bringing doughnuts to the -” he started but saw the skip in her step as she went. “You’re not fucking listening to me,” he mumbled to himself, watching as Uraraka moved to the kitchen area, already gazing at the fresh box of doughnuts, fingers dancing over the lid as though she were contemplating which one to get. Why she bothered pretending was beyond him - she always grabbed the strawberry one.

Bakugou shook his head and leaned back into his chair, head hanging back as he tried to think of how his life ended up like this.

How he got roped into being her partner?

*

The world was unprepared for quirks, not sure where to place all the people that acquired the impossible. There were times when Bakugou was young when he thought there should be heroes running around and saving the world - but that wasn’t life, and he knew he had to be the hero the world wasn’t providing. When he heard that there was a complete detective agency that specialised in fighting crime with quirks to help kick ass. He studied, he improved his quirk - he became what he needed to be in order to be the best.

He aced the written and physical exams but was surprised when he read the name of his intended partner. A random selection - a bullshit excuse for laziness. He got paired with a loser reject - Uraraka Ochako. Scrunching up the paper, he started towards his desk, finding a girl standing there, nervously glancing around and fiddling with her fingers.

Probably her - a complete waste of his time. If her quirk was useless, he was dropping her the moment he could. He stood beside her, her attention lost to space, still playing with her thumbs, glancing around and biting her lip. Bakugou huffed and put his hands into his pockets.

“Hey round face,” he said, standing close to her side. She jumped when she heard his voice, but her brow furrowed as she took in his words.

“...Are you calling me fat?”

Bakugou stared back, scrunching up his face as he shook his head. “What? No? If I was calling you fat, I’d have called you fat face.”

“...Thanks. I guess,” she shrugged, playing with the long strands of hair beside her face.

“Anyway, what’s your damn quirk?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” she asked back curiously.

“Of course it fucking does. I gotta know what you can do in the field, don’t I?”

She turned to him, looking him over as though he were something to show off. He scrunched up his face and stared her down. He wanted an answer goddammit, why was she taking so fucking long? “I can make things float by taking away their gravity.” Bakugou thought on it for a moment - not bad...not simple either, some cool tricks could come from a combo of their quirks.

“... That’s… not shitty,” he mumbled, then, her hand reached out and punched at his shoulder. Not a heavy blow by any feat, but enough to knock him off centre and off his concentration.

“Come on hot shot, what’s yours?” she asked, suddenly standing her ground to him, hands on her hips and a smile pinned to her face.

“I can explode things with my sweat.”

Her nose scrunched up. “Gross.”

“Huh? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well I don’t know, you were looking awfully sweaty before. I guess now I know why.” She shrugged and put her hands behind her back.

“It’s only the sweat on my hands,” he explained sharply.

“Oh? So your face has no excuse?” she replied with a smile and Bakugou felt his hands start to crackle, hands ready to fire.

“You wanna come closer and say that again?” he challenged and she scoffed.

“No thanks, I already took a shower today, I need another one just by standing next to you,” she said, trying to step past him. Bakugou took the step alongside her, getting closer to Uraraka than before.

“Yeah well you’re gonna have to get used to it now that we’re partners.” He smirked, waiting for her to react. She scoffed.

“Buy more deodorant. We’re gonna need it.” Uraraka pat his shoulder before moving on. Clicking his tongue, he turned and watched her walk away, a skip in her step as the nerves suddenly seemed like a distance memory.

He might actually enjoy this.

*

He fucking hated this.

These precinct meetings were ridiculous and boring. Sure, Bakugou wanted to figure out all these quirk crimes, but he wasn’t exactly fulfilled to hear from the useless detectives on his so-called ‘team’. The cases were all the same - some psycho with a quirk gets a god complex and decides to wreak havoc on the city, and they found the guy and arrest him. He never understood the meetings for it. But, he sat through them, paying attention, and making notes in case there were overlaps in any ongoing investigations the partners had.

“Kirishima, Kaminari, let us know about your case,” Aizawa groaned, sitting in his seat again. The bags under his eyes were dark, the lack of sleep so clear, and his exhaustion evident with how he was dressed. Sure, he wore a suit to work, but he really didn’t put any effort into it - tie so loose it was barely tied on, stains all over his suit shirt and the blazer was fraying at the edges. Kirishima and Kaminari bumped their fists together, before standing and moving to the front of the room.

To his side, Uraraka was face down on the desk, her cheek pressed into the counter and her eyes shut, steadily breathing in her sleep. Rolling his eyes, Bakugou kicked at the leg of her chair, which jolted her away. “Round face, pay attention,” he snapped under his breath and Uraraka licked at her lips, trying to seem more awake than she was.

“Sorry, long night,” she yawned, looking over at him with a face growing increasingly more red, “sorry,” she whimpered as she suppressed her laugh.  

“Asshole,” he mumbled, sinking into his chair, listening to whatever the pair were going on about. They really lost the point of their investigation when they disagreed about the colour of the perp’s hair.

The derailing led to Aizawa getting up and urging the pair back to their seats.

“Bakugou, Uraraka, let’s hear your case,” Aizawa groaned, and the pair stood, Uraraka heading to the front with a few different notes in hand. She was always more excited to boast than Bakugou was - when he had a lead, he was front and centre, but with a case that had been cold for nearly five months, Bakugou wasn’t exactly excited to get talking about it.

Standing behind Uraraka, hands in his pockets and leaning against the back wall, he watched as she straightened her shoulders - a roll in them before she found her confidence. He had watched it a number of times, the calm she needed before she took off for a flying start.

“We’ve been tracking down a drug known as Trigger, known for boosting a person’s quirk. This isn’t something new, but it’s becoming deadly, enhancing quirks to dangerous levels. A lot of individuals within gangs or criminal organisations have used this and have killed multiple people. It’s becoming an almost normal drug for these people, and we are running out of options before criminals get a hold of this drug for permanent usage,” she explained. It was the fourth time they had presented the same details of the case - the case that never wanted to get solved apparently.

“Do you have something or will this be your fifth month on a cold case?” Aizawa commented and Bakugou’s fists clenched inside his pockets.

Uraraka suddenly beamed, nodding along to Aizawa’s question. Well, this was fucking news to Bakugou. “I heard from Izuku that there might be someone we can chec -”

“No.” It came out before Bakugou could stop it.

“Why? Do you have something?” Aizawa perked. Bakugou’s jaw shut tightly, trying to think of anything else but working with the nerd.

“No. I just….don’t need to work with that reject,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re getting this closed, Bakugou. Cops are not any less effective than our agency,” Aizawa sighed, relaxing back into his seat and waving the pair off. They went back to their desk, Bakugou slouching into his chair once more and

“I’m sure that’s it,” Uraraka held her lips shut.

“I can punch you in the teeth right now,”

“Dare you,” she whispered. Instead, she giggled, and Bakugou’s hands clenched, head falling hard into the desk in front of him. The room turned to him, but the meeting continued.

God, this was fucking embarrassing.

“That reject still calls you Kacchan too…” Uraraka whispered quickly to him, and Bakugou shot up, leaning in close so no one else could hear.

“So!? Why do I care?” he seethed.

“Kaminari called you Bakugou once and you told him he was being too casual.” Uraraka stared back, eyebrow raised. Bakugou clicked his tongue, huffing as he sat back into his seat again.

“...Listen I don’t care what that nerd calls me but... it’d be weird,” he said.

Uraraka leaned in suddenly, far too close than usual. Bakugou swallowed as he turned to her. “Why?” Uraraka asked, eyes wide and smile so big, it was almost frightening. Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“You know damn well why, shut your fucking mouth.” Uraraka chuckled as she sat back into her seat and waited for the meeting to end.

This was going to be a long day.

*

Bakugou sat in the driver’s seat, fixing up the wrist guards around his arms. The fucking things weren’t fitting properly and it was driving him nuts. They were sat outside the police precinct, waiting for the nerd to walk out and meet them - but Bakugou didn’t know what kinda fight might erupt at any moment. Uraraka was holding a finger in her ear as she adjusted her earpiece. It had been a long time since Uraraka had been sick from using her quirk, but she still liked the ear pieces above all else - they never threw her off her game and made sure she could still be the best detective in the agency. Well...apart from Bakugou.

“Why do you even hang out with this reject anyway? You dating him?” Why did he ask? He didn’t care. But there was something irritating about the thought of them together.

“What?” Uraraka scoffed, laughing and trying to play off the moment, but her face was going red like a damn cherry. “Izuku? Oh no! Oh no no no! We’re just - we’re not, I’m not -”

“Please shut up. You’re like a broken record right now,” Bakugou groaned, looking back at the police station. “You’re not dating him, but you like him right? That’s why you’re so obsessed with him, following him around.”

“You’re only mad cause we were together when he got the call to the restaurant,” she reminded and the night before flashed before his eyes. No. No. NO!

“Shut up,” he spat back quickly, and Uraraka shook her head, “but you like him?” he repeated.

Why the fuck was he still asking? It didn’t make any sense to him - he wasn’t interested in any personal matters. She could fuck whoever she liked. Just not him. Apparently.

“Why does it matter? We’re just friends, but you’re acting like its something huge,” she grumbled, shifting back into her seat. She wasn’t paying attention to him anymore - spite grilled into her features. She definitely didn’t like the conversation topic. Maybe there was something else behind it.

“You’re the one sticking to his fucking heel, not me,” Bakugou replied.

When they were paired together, Bakugou thought it may have been for nothing that they were partners - that they couldn’t work how he wanted them to. But Uraraka proved him wrong every time they met, rising to his standards and staying there. He realised it years ago that she may have been pressured by him, but she knew she wanted to be as great as he was.

Soon, out of the station doors stood the green-haired bastard from Bakugou’s childhood. He had definitely beefed out since they were kids, but he was quirkless and unable to do much else. He wanted to protect people - and so he became a cop. Pathetic. Not useless, but it was sad in a way. “Izuku is here,” Uraraka said, unbuckling her seatbelt and going for the door, “stay in the car or I’ll kill you,” she said, and Bakugou scoffed.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I have needles hidden in the car, fucking try me,” she threatened, slamming the door behind her.

“Fine,” he huffed, settling into his chair. The thought nagged as he watched Uraraka walk to the nerd, “does she actually...” he whispered to himself, looking up at Uraraka to see her hands edging towards each other - her own way of threatening Bakugou. He stared back stunned.

Wow.

She was getting better at the intimidation thing, he’d give her that.

Getting back into the car, Uraraka was frantic compared to her departure. She gave Bakugou an address and he was off, already moving to where he knew it to be. No questions. No hesitation. If Uraraka was out of breath and urging him to move - he fucking bolted. Uraraka reached over to Bakugou and made sure to activate the wrist guards on his left. His right was still in need of turning on - but he would deal with it.

“Make sure to -”

“Got it,” she replied without a beat. Reaching into the glove compartment, she got the handcuffs out, shoving them into the jacket pocket. He gave her a quick glance over - she was wearing the khaki coloured bomber jacket, the grey singlet, black jeans and boots could pass her off as a civilian. The badge on her hip, less so, but her jacket could cover it. Bakugou was used to getting away with civilian attire - leather jacket, button down shirt and jeans that had a little give in them, it was lazy, but paired with a tie he could get away with looking professional.

“Dealer is Hotta Ichiro. His secondary is Kugizaki Soga, that’s who we’re getting to,” Uraraka said, her hand on the back of his neck as she fiddled with his collar, snatching the tie off. Thank god. Bakugou reached up and unbuttoned his shirt.

“Quirk?” he asked.

“Spike. Can create spikes from his body, mainly in his hands and feet. No idea if he’s on Trigger and what he’d be like if he was on it,” she explained and he nodded.

“Got it,” he replied, turning to her briefly, “you in first?”

“Wanna gamble for it?” she laughed but Bakugou shook his head, smirking to himself.

“Nah, trust you. Just get in and be quick, no -”

“No sudden hesitation, no distractions. Get in and out. I got it,” she repeated. Uraraka wasn’t irritated - more so, she was focused, concentrating on the moment. She used to freak out if she was going undercover for anything. But she was so much better now - she was going to get this guy.

They knew the alley that he was going to be in. They split up - Uraraka on one side, Bakugou blocking the guy’s exit in case he ran. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he watched the guy stand against a wall, leg bouncing as he kept glancing around. Bakugou pulled out his phone, pretending to talk and avoid suspicion. Most criminals bought it. This dipshit seemed to as well.

Then, he saw Uraraka. She looked skittish, in the best way, faking a drug withdrawal and making her way to the dealer. She looked over her shoulder, hands in her pockets and got close to the dealer.

“Are you Kugizaki? Hotta said you’d be the guy to go to,” she asked, hugging herself closer, her arms jittery as she waited for him to hand her something. He watched her for a moment before he nodded.

“Yeah. You got the money?” he asked, and Uraraka reached into her pocket.

“Oh yeah,” she said, coughing lightly as she searched her person. It was Bakugou’s moment to strike.

“Kugizaki Soga,” Bakugou called out, raising his arm up and showing off the badge on his hip. Kugizaki turned, his brow furrowed as he stared at Bakugou before his eyes went wide and he staggered backwards, “just the guy I’ve been meaning to see,” Bakugou smirked, racing forward. The guy turned, only to be faced with the perky round face of Bakugou’s partner.

“Hi,” she smiled, touching the guy’s arm and activating her quirk. The guy began to float in the air, and Uraraka nudged his feet, knocking him upside down in the air, his pockets emptying in a few seconds. The guy looked at her with confusion until Uraraka moved her jacket to the side to reveal the same badge Bakugou had. Bending down, Uraraka picked up a few small vials of a clear serum. “Oh, and look at this, exactly what we wanted to find.”

“Trigger, most likely,” Bakugou commented, as Uraraka pulled out the handcuffs, “you’re coming with us, asshole,” he smirked, and Uraraka released her quirk, making Kugizaki drop to the ground and getting the cuffs to go around his wrists.

“Shit, watch it,” Uraraka hissed, shaking her hand as Bakugou caught the sight of blood. Looking down at Kugizaki, he saw the spikes protruding from his hands, small drops of blood on the edge of a couple. Bakugou’s hands clenched tight as he bent to the perp.

“Don’t piss her off. You’re gonna make both of us mad, and we’re the worst fucking team to piss off,” Bakugou warned as he picked Kugizaki up and pushed him to the car. “You gonna be fine or will we need to take the hand?” he asked, opening the car door and pushing the guy inside the backseat.

“His or mine?” she asked with a smirk. He shook his head as he closed the backdoor to the car. Uraraka clutched onto her opposite hand, the shake a little more clear to him now than it was before. She was covering up some pain.

“Yours,” he corrected her. She shrugged.

“I’ll be fine.” She smiled before moving around to the passenger side door, sliding in as Bakugou followed after.

Back at their precinct, they had placed Kugizaki in an interrogation room as the partners and their captain stood behind the glass. Kugizaki was chained to the desk, trying to use his quirk to snap off the handcuffs to no effect. Aizawa activated his quirk, the spikes in Kugizaki’s skin retreating quickly. The dealer looked around baffled, but stayed in his seat patiently.

“You have a plan?” Aizawa asked, turning to the pair as his hair fell down around his shoulders.

“Good cop bad cop?” Bakugou asked.

Aizawa sighed before nodding. “Try and avoid actually hurting the guy this time. Too many reports,” he said, as Bakugou smiled to himself and left the room with Uraraka on his heels. Aizawa wandered off to his office, already hounded by other detectives who nagged him. The pair shook their head before readying themselves for the interrogation. Turning the corner, they both entered, watching the knock-off version of Kirishima try to spew off some insults. He lived up to the spike quirk - hair and teeth spiked and sharpened to match his personality.

Uraraka moved around the desk, sitting in her chair and smiling brightly to the dealer in front of her. She was fun to watch in action. Bakugou stood next to her, hands pressed into the desk as Uraraka placed the few vials of drugs in front of herself.

“There’s a drug on the street - a quirk enhancing drug. You were found with a prototype on you, we know that you have a supplier. Tell us everything you know about Trigger,” Bakugou questioned, hands steaming against the metal slab. Both Uraraka and Kugizaki noticed, his hands lifting from the table as he watched Bakugou’s rage a little harder.

“I don’t know anything man,” Kugizaki swallowed, relaxing back into his chair. Licking at his lips, Bakugou moved around to the dealer’s side, hand pressed firmly into the man’s shoulder.

“I’m getting really tired of this game, nerd. Tell me what you know.”

“Barking up the wrong tree,” Kugizaki laughed, shoulder falling slowly as Bakugou’s grip tightened.

“Don’t make me ask again, what do you know about Trigger?” Bakugou barked, his voice ragged as he stared down the man.  

“Bite me,” Kugizaki said in a laugh. Bakugou’s hand fell from his shoulder and he looked towards Uraraka, nodding. Kugizaki caught the look, laughing a little harder as Bakugou went and sat beside his partner. “So what? Are you going to play good cop bad cop here? You gonna act all nice to me, lady?” he asked, directly laughing at the pair. Bakugou folded his arms, reclined into his chair and scoffed.

“Actually, she’s the bad cop.”

“He’s just an asshole.”

He glanced over to Uraraka, watching the smirk glide onto her lips delicately. She reached into her jacket pocket, taking out a container and emptying the contents from it. Across the table spilled a large quality of thumbtacks and needles. “What’s with the thumbtacks and needles?” Kugizaki asked, his eyes darting between them and Uraraka.

“Nothing,” she lied, activating her quirk and the needles rocketed into the air straight above Kugizaki’s head.

“Wow! Wait, you can’t do this!” he yelled, frantically pulling at his restraints.

“Do what?” she asked, voice high and mocking the man’s fear.

“This is police brutality,” he said back, voice feeble compared to hers. Uraraka leaned in, hunched over on the desk. She was a wonder to watch work - Bakugou could really sit back and watch this all go down.

“I’m not a cop, I’m better,” she said, and Bakugou nodded, “and it’s not brutality, it’s psychological warfare. Very different things,” she shrugged, reclining back into her seat.

“You can’t do this,” he tried but Uraraka shrugged once more.

“I’m not doing anything. Answer and things will remain the same. No injuries, no wounds. And guess what? You’ll get a nice little plea deal for cooperating with us, isn’t that nice?” she explained, her hands edging closer and closer together as she teased.

“It’s only fair,” Bakugou said, “you better answer quick, she’s got touchy fucking hands, and she loves playing this trick on people.”

“I’ll talk, just drop the sharp objects,” Kugizaki yelped, sinking into his chair.

“Sorry, gotta wait for you to leave for that,” Uraraka said.

“Are you serious?” he exclaimed.

“I can easily just drop them on your head if you’d like,” she replied, edging her fingertips together.

“But you -”

“She means it, fuckhead. Start talking,” Bakugou demanded, and the fucker jumped, sinking into his seat and shook as he recounted everything he knew. The pair smiled as they noted everything they needed to and they had all their information they could give Aizawa.

They had Kugizaki escorted off, talking with their lawyers about a potential plea deal - that was something they had promised, and it was the least they could fucking do after they basically mentally tormented him. Admittedly, it was a trick they had tried before and had worked, but the threats were wearing thin as a tactic. They needed a better plan than just...outwardly threatening their suspect.

In Aizawa’s office, the two sat down and waited for Aizawa to say anything. But he remained silent, staring at them as though he was analysing everything that could have gone wrong. Bakugou looked to Uraraka - she seemed nervous. A little twitch here and there, her teeth nipping at her bottom lip and hands clenching and loosening over and over again. He wanted to reached over and stop them. But Bakugou remained in his seat, waiting.

“Did you hurt him?” Aizawa asked after a long time.

“Is mentally scarring him counted?” Uraraka asked.

“Yes.”

“Then possibly,” she chuckled. Aizawa rubbed at the bridge of his nose, the irritation of it

“You seriously need to stop that. We’re gonna get a lawsuit coming at us any day now,” Aizawa groaned, hands still on his face.

“We’ve got a lead, finally, though,” Uraraka chimed in quickly. Aizawa stared them down before sighing and gesturing from them both to hurry up,

“Give me the rundown,” Aizawa urged, leaning forward in his seat as Bakugou smirked. Uraraka looked to him and nodded, letting him explain the main parts of the case. He rattled off all the information he could - making sure to include the arrest and how they planned to proceed. Uraraka took over when Aizawa questioned their next move for the case itself.

“So, within the next week, we’ll see some activity. The only problem is Kugizaki can’t tell us a date or time, because everything happens spur of the moment. In order to do that, we’ll need to scope out the location as much as possible,” she explained and Aizawa gave over a slow nod, leaning back into his chair as he contemplated everything they had told him.

Then, he leaned forward, grabbing at his phone and typing things into his computer as he started to organise everything in a few moments. They watched him act in a split second, barely even acknowledging that they were there. Then, he looked up at them. “I’m going to authorise a stakeout of the building, you two will lead the investigation. I’ll have everything set up and you two will be my main team in charge,” he said with a nod, leaving Bakugou stunned.

Bakugou’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Yes, sir!” Uraraka almost cheered as she got up. Bakugou couldn’t move. Tugging on his arm, Uraraka wrenched him from his seat and pulled him out of the room. As they closed the door, Uraraka started to jump up and down, clearly excited about the prospect of it all...but...

“I hate stakeouts,” Bakugou groaned.

“But look on the bright side, you get to be with me for several days with no other interactions,” Uraraka smiled, tongue in between her teeth as she beamed. She began tugging on his arm again. He snatched it away and swore to himself.

“Can someone hit me with a fucking truck?”

Uraraka giggled loudly as she punched his arm. “Come on! I’m fun!” she said, heading to their desk, dancing about as she high-fived anyone that would give her the time of day. He watched her skip and dance, the most ridiculous and frantic actions as she let pure joy take over her.

Bakugou stood, hands in his pockets, trying his hardest not to smile as she did. Sure, he liked the fact that this stupid fucking case might be solved...but he didn’t want to do a stakeout. Stakeouts were draining - alert every second, stuck in a small space with another person for such a long time. They had the tendency of making you go stir crazy, and if it was anything like their last one, it was going to get weird.  And Bakugou doesn’t want to feel like he did last time.

*

Uraraka grinned, face flushed and breath heavy as she leaned into him, the alcohol rushing to her head. Her weight pushed into his side, too hot through their clothes and when she swayed it made him stumble. He reached to stabilize her on instinct, her hands landing on his chest as she looked up at him. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, filled with something he couldn’t bring himself to understand, catching him off guard…

[a-woman-apart]

Old Obsessions

In the spirit of trying to write at least one post a month- and out of a genuine desire to get a few things off my chest- here I am, writing a post.

I will begin with the life update portion of the post. My health has been somewhat imperiled. I won’t go into details on here (yet), but I’m getting some tests done because I’ve been dealing with some pain. I already have trouble getting out of the house because of depression and anxiety, and these problems are being exacerbated by issues of pain and fatigue. Whatever it is, I��m hoping for a diagnosis that A) shows that it’s an actual thing and I’m not just crazy, and B) is an actual thing that is easily treatable. In the coming weeks to one month I should find out what I need to know.

The second thing of note is that at the end of the month I will be returning to the community college where I graduated from to take some CORE classes. Since most of my courses were in music, and I only took a few COREs, I have two semesters worth of classes to take. I am doing this to save money, and to ensure that when I go on to the university in the fall of next year, I will be jumping immediately into undergraduate-level courses. I am in fact taking so many COREs that by the time I am done I will have an Associate of the Arts degree in addition to my Associate in music- all before I even make it to the university. I do have to take physical education to make that happen- a course that wasn’t required by the university- but that is just one extra thing.  

I have “mixed feelings” about returning to school this fall. It is true that I got the whole summer off, for the first time in years, but it still feels so soon to be returning. The thought of being piled on with classwork all over again has brought out feelings of depression and sadness in me. I know that I am following the path that I have set out for myself. My goal is to be college-ready in the fall, but it all feels so overwhelming. I feel excited about the thought of getting another degree in the process of taking all these COREs, but I’ve been in school for 4 years already and I really feel it.

Another discouraging aspect about going to school again is the fact that I probably won’t have the time or energy to get a second job to help pay for my living expenses, unless it’s a side hustle that I can do from home. When I got on SSDI, it meant losing my Medicaid, so I now have $134 taken out of my monthly check to go towards Medicare. In addition to that, I am required to pay $38 a month as a copay for the insurance I get for my mental health visits. That doesn’t sound like a lot of money, but my total income from my job and SSDI is not very much (S/N: I will probably talk to my clinic and see if I still need their insurance now that my Medicare part B has kicked in). Adding almost $200 to my monthly expenses is no joke.

I want to be able to take care of myself. I have always known that I needed to find more hours or better employment. In a way, going to classes again (full-time) is in fact a help to me, because I usually get a Pell Grant refund after my books and classes are paid for. That extra money helps me to put a little in savings and to pay pressing expenses. I’ve always known, though, that I can’t go on depending on those refunds forever. Before I got SSDI, I had SSI, and I was caught between a rock and a hard place where I worked too much to get any meaningful help from them, but too little for the help they did give to cover my expenses. That was the summer that I had to get a second- and for a while a third job- and literally almost killed myself in the process. Later SSI too gave me a huge refund (probably because they had withheld too much from my check) and I used that money for all sorts of things, like paying off my credit card, paying a big portion towards my car note, saving for emergencies and travel, and even giving a bit to charity.

Like I said, though, I want to be able to take care of myself. Whether it’s depending on the Pell Grant or my SSDI, I am still dependent on the government in a huge way. I know the way that my mental health deteriorated when I had my summer jobs was a sign that maybe I’ve been declared disabled for a reason, but I still sometimes feel like I am “not disabled enough” to deserve to still receive services. Without government help, though, I wouldn’t even have insurance for things like my medicine, therapy, and doctor visits, let alone just having enough money to keep my car and stay in my apartment.

When it was just a choice between working and not working, 35-40 hours a week was not a big deal. I worked that plenty of times when I worked in the food industry. I would put in the hours and SSI would give me my check- that had been reduced by around 75%- and together with that and sometimes having food stamps I had a comfortable life. Now that I am a student- and have even more expenses- I just can’t do that anymore. During the summer last year I worked 15 extra hours on the weekend in addition to my 20-hr-a-week library job. I was taking very condensed summer classes as well that took up a huge chunk of my time. My dad was also starting to get sicker that summer and later in the fall someone did a hit-and-run on my vehicle. It is true that today the circumstances would be different. I’ll be doing full-time, but it’s a regular semester. Maybe I could work weekends if I really needed to and if I really tried. The truth is though, that I don’t know if my mental health can withstand that.

Maybe some people can say, “Well, you don’t have to be a student” and that is very true. What is also true is that I may never be able to rise above the poverty line and become self-sufficient if I don’t go to school. Just like working, going to school is an effort to improve my well-being and my contribution to society. The government investing in me now will definitely pay off for them in the future. Even though I now believe that capitalism is bonkers, there is some part of me that takes satisfaction in being able to say that I help feed the economy. Until we have something better and everyone living below the poverty line- not just disabled people like me- gets a basic income from the government, this is the best that we have.

Now I am going to make a total 180 and talk about something that had been the main purpose of this blog when this first started- my religious journey. I think the last time that I wrote a post about where I was with my religion was a couple months ago, when I visited a couple of Universalist Unitarian churches. I haven’t been back since my initial visits, for various reasons, but maybe one is that I am starting to agree with my boyfriend- what I am looking for probably can’t be found inside a church organization.

When my dad passed away in January, I wasn’t angry at God. I had already decided that if there was a Higher Power, it was very possible that said Power didn’t have complete authority to intervene in earthly matters. What it demonstrated to me instead was the failure of the Christian Word of Faith movement and how it sometimes hurts and disappoints its adherents. It didn’t prove to me that miracles never happened, just that they were far less commonplace than evangelists led us to believe and probably explainable using natural terms. It also demonstrated something that is obvious to me but not to many, that people who try to “sell” miracles are misguided at best, or are all liars and charlatans at worst.

I guess that the main reason that I haven’t been writing about it as much is that I’ve just stopped caring. In one post, I mentioned the quote that states that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but apathy. When you hate, you are still giving energy to a person, object, or idea. When you are apathetic, that energy simply isn’t there. This is destructive in its own unique way. Somehow, the ideas of Christianity have lost their place in my life. My family members are all still Christians, but we don’t talk about it. I’ll hear about Girl Defined and shake my head ruefully, but I haven’t put a lot of energy into dismantling their ideas. I’ll skim through my recommendations from Patheos, but no articles jump out at me that I really want to read. I can hear a sermon or see a person preaching on a street corner and feel nothing. I used to want to be able to answer every argument, and I would take aggressive or passionate people stating their beliefs as a personal attack. Now it’s all so blasé to me. “What’s new?” or “Who cares?” are all that I can manage to ask myself in those moments.

In a way, getting here is a personal victory for me. I know that when topics of religion come up, I will always have a point of view to contribute. Crafting that point of view, however, isn’t central to my life anymore. Right now, I am concerned with getting to the next stage in my life. I am about to go to a big university for the first time, and I’m scared. My boyfriend and I have gotten really serious; we want to move in together and share our lives, but we are more than 2000 miles apart and we barely have any money. My youngest brother is preparing to go to college, and my other younger brother is a supervisor at his job. My older brother and my sister-in-law want to build a house on my mom’s property. My little sisters are learning to drive and they want to start working. My mom wants to travel but needs to find some way to get the farm taken care of. We’re all growing older.

Maybe, in saying that, I’m proving the point that it’s important to start thinking about things like “eternity.” To me, it proves the opposite. It takes so much energy just to be focused on the here and now, why waste time planning for an eternity that might not exist? I do know that my dad held on to the hope of eternity until the very end. He burdened himself by worrying that his loved ones might not be able to share it with him. I could never give him the assurance that he needed, but I think he believed that God would make everything right in the end, and I’m happy for him for that. Sometimes it saddens me to think of his way of life dying with him, but ultimately that way of life was not the one that was best for me.

I am turning 28 at the end of next month. Maybe getting older is finally starting to afford me some perspective about the things that really matter. Maybe I will have that zero-fucks-left-to-give attitude that everyone says that you get when you hit 30. All I know is that right now things are looking much clearer to me now. I still feel inadequate as hell, but maybe that never goes away. All I can do is keep moving forward.

[anthonymanly]

The best way to become your own boss is to start a side hustle while you still have the safety and security of your day job.

Starting a side hustle not only pads your income, but it also creates career-changing opportunities you wouldn’t have normally stumbled upon at your full-time job. Many side hustles have led to new jobs and lifelong friends.

However, building a side hustle to profitability with a limited amount of time outside of your day job is never easy.

It takes prioritization, a psychological shift in how you view what’s most important in your life, and the willingness to get very creative on a daily basis.

If you want to be an entrepreneur, there are many reasons you should start small with building your side hustle customer-by-customer from the ground up. For one, the prospect of making more money on top of your regular pay is a powerful incentive, especially in a volatile economy.

A long-time hobby can also motivate you to grow a business around things you love.

Aspiring entrepreneurs with a strong drive can look to a side hustle as a stepping stone toward financial freedom. Your side hustle can also allow you to focus on what you’re most passionate about if you don’t get that satisfaction from your full-time work.

If you’re planning to start a side hustle, here are 7 steps that’ll help you get more traction.

1. Prepare for the Long Haul

Before you start a side hustle ask yourself how badly you want to succeed. If you’re just toying with a business idea and entertaining the notion of striking it rich, don’t expect success to happen overnight or that you’ll make it past the finish line.

Remember, your side hustle will begin taking many hours each week away from precious moments you’d otherwise be spending with friends, family and elsewhere. A side hustle also requires a massive amount of effort to succeed, given that the majority of your time each day goes to your full-time job.

2. Identify Your Skills

To experience quick results, you need to back your side hustle with relevant skills, experience or industry knowledge.

Business success happens only when the right skills meet the right interest areas.

3. Validate With One Paying Customer

Your side hustle idea may seem incredibly awesome and disruptive to you, but that’s not necessarily how your potential customers will see it.

The reason you need to validate your side hustle idea with a paying customer before getting too far into the business is to make sure you’re not creating a solution to a problem that doesn’t really exist.

The “lack of market need” is the top cause of startup failures.

So be warned, there’s a good chance you’re nurturing an idea that not enough people will find value in. And if nobody wants your product or service, the resources (time, energy, effort) you invest in building it will just go down the drain.

To prevent this from happening, be sure to validate whether your product or service will gain traction in the real world. You can do that with objective feedback from potential customers and asking them to join a waiting list, pre-purchase your solution or hire you as a service provider. Quickly abandon ideas that aren’t getting a positive response and consider more feasible opportunities.

4. Differentiate Yourself From Competitors

Competition is an inevitable part of doing business. In just about any niche, competitors will try to outperform your product or service, take as many of your customers as they can and look for opportunities to innovate past you.

To prevent this from happening, all you need to do is secure your value propositions with a serious competitive advantage.

Your competitive edge can be anything that differentiates your business from that of your competitors.

This can range from

smart (or low) pricing,

aggressive sales tactics,

higher profit margins,

unmatched customer service,

best-in-class features,

strategic relationships,

intellectual-property

and other specific factors that clearly differentiate your brand from the competition.

Your competitive advantage is what makes customers choose you, and continue coming back for more.

5. Define Clear Goals

In order to make your larger goals happen, you need to start with very small, incremental goals. After bringing on one satisfied customer, it’s time to get your second. Then your third, fourth, fifth and so on.

If you begin by aiming for 1,000 customers instead of just one, you’ll get too overwhelmed with everything that needs to be in place before handling that many customers. In my experience, having practical goals that are attainable on a daily, weekly and monthly basis helps you develop positive habits and train yourself for success.

6. Set Milestones That’ll Force You to Launch

A good, viable side hustle idea should be launched, monetized and iterated. Don’t obsess over trying to build the perfect solution when you don’t yet know what exactly your customers will resonate with most.

Otherwise, you’ll just waste precious time, trapped in a dream state.  To help you draw up a simple action plan that lays out key milestones and deadlines that’ll guide you from start all the way to launch date stick to your deadlines, tell friends and family about them, hold yourself accountable and don’t allow yourself to make excuses.

Then perform the actions needed to move from one milestone to the next.  Never aim for perfection because it will bog you down and prevent you from ever launching anything.

7. Delegate Work Outside of Your Expertise

You can’t be good at everything all the time. The reality of starting a side hustle is that you’re going to have weaknesses. That means some (or even many) of the skills necessary to efficiently running your side hustle must be found elsewhere in order to free up your time to continue doing only what you’re best at within your business.

Outsourcing your weaknesses is a more effective alternative. It’s also more affordable in the long run as the value of your time increases significantly.

P.S. Whenever you’re ready… here are 4 ways I can help you and your coaching business right now:

Join our FREE Facebook™ group, the Scalable Business Dojo, and connect with coaches who are growing too – it’s our Facebook™ community where the sharpest business coaches on the planet learn to get more money, deliver more impact, and get more freedom, CLICK HERE and join now!

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[delicatefury]

So

I’m back in my city, at the LCS, enjoying a coffee on a miserable day. The bar exam is over and I have two days before I go back to work. I still need to do one last thing for my bar application (the state’s a UBE state so I have to do an “educatonal component” on the differences in the state law from the common law. It’ll probably take me a morning or an evening and it’s an open book test that you can keep taking until you pass), but other than that, my time is completely my own for the first time since frickin’ September.

So here’s the plan of what’s going to change going forward:

Back to writing! Good news everyone, I can finally write and plot and all that good stuff without immediately being distracted by the guilt of “you should be studying”. I’ve got some asks to answer, some plots to lay down, and some editing to do but I hope to have a new TDPL snippet at the very least ready to go by Friday. Still no clue when chapter 5 will be ready though. I need to rearrange some plot stuff first.

Also, I plan to have a second or third draft in my one completed original story done by my 30th birthday in seven months, so depending on inspiration, so expect some general writing rants about that too. (I’m going to flood my two best friends with drafts of that once I’m ready. One because she is a nit picker who loves reading more than I do so will easily find every plothole, grammar mistake, and OOC moment for me, the other because she’s been heavily invested in my writing since we were fifteen and I still have some old, old drafts covered in her notes and questions and excited squeeing.)

Reading! My goal is 8 hours a month (at least) which means about two hours a week. I’ve got Terry Pratchett’s Night Watch sitting on the table right now, and I found a copy of The Hero of Many Faces at the used bookstore (warehouse, actually. That place is friggin’ huge), so that’s probably next. I want to finish a book or two a month, so once I reach those goals, I’ll be working on some of my massive tomes from college (Socrates, Plato, some political books and collected writings, some stuff on game theory... etc.)

Drawing! My paper collection habits have left me with a lot of sketchbooks and drawing pads, so if I want to keep indulging, I have to start using them up. Plus, I love having a visual reference for the characters I’m writing. Also, my skills are super rusty. So, I’m gonna try to do a reference picture a day (from Senshistock on deviantart and a couple drawing apps since I can’t do posemaniacs. No computer so the pics don’t load. Which is a shame. Those thirty second gesture drawing exercises are awesome.) I’m also gonna use some time on the weekend to learn/refine a skill. This week? Skin tones. ‘Cause I suck at them. Always have.

Painting! One evening a week (or every other week) just having fun with a canvas and trying new things. I’m tired of bare walls so I’m going to fill them up with my own work and learn as I go. I’ve got so many ideas too, pages of sketchbooks filled with basic designs and rough sketches that I’ve been dying to put to canvas. Also, motivation to get my office clean.

KNITTING! I’m finishing my nephew’s blanket before Easter now that I have the time to devote to learning the new skill needed to complete it. Then finish my brother’s scarf, work on my sister’s afghan, and make myself that pretty summer shawl I want before going back and working on socks for Christmas next year.

Law stuff!

Being Social! Again, no more guilt of “I should be studying” so next time my sister or coworkers say “let’s get a drink” I can say “OK!” Instead of “I really want to but...”

Cleaning! My office and room are nightmares right now. I was doing ok most of the last few months, but the entirety of February... yeah. But it’s spring and I need to pack up my winter clothes (in a new box that I know for a fact my cat can’t get into and which will be at the bottom of a stack of boxes just in case) and take stuff to the dry cleaners and air out the house before we switch from the HV to the AC. So might as well do a whole cleaning/purge, right?

Exercise! I signed up for cardio boxing at the very end of January but have yet to go (you know the drill of why that is), so I’m gonna go get my membership card and try to go at least twice this week.

Job search. My cousin’s wife’s workplace back home (and in the state where I just took the bar exam) is looking to hire people with J.D.’s, and she’s asked for my resume to show to their HR people, so I’ll be cleaning that up and sending it on. I also need to work on a writing sample. My current one is several years old, and, as I’ve been advised, I should probably start doing my own research to submit for publishing (since this is kinda what I want to be doing anyway). Also, my linkedin is embarrassingly out of date and bare, so, yeah. I’ll be working on all that in the evenings too.

Video games. I’ve finally started my Pokémon Sun game (hey, do any of you play it? I’d love to actually know the people I add to my friends’ list for once) and I’ve got a whole friggin’ backlog to get through. I’m gonna save up for a New3DS since the left-trigger of my current one is broke (a mild annoyance for most games, but for some of the ones I really want to play, it completely breaks the game i.e. I can’t aim in any Zelda game and I’m not good enough to play without targeting) as well as a switch.

Work on a side-hustle. Be it producing original stuff here for a Ko-Fi account, finally creating that etsy store for my cute little paintings (remind me to post the fox painting I made for my nephew), or selling my coffee cozies at the LCS, I’ve got plenty of ways to make extra money that I haven’t taken advantage of. No more! If I want to enjoy my daily coffee while still saving up, I gotta start earning extra money.

COOKING! And BAKING! I’ve got so many recipes better suited to spring than winter and so many cookies I’ve been neglecting (macarons and snickerdoodles and fancy iced sugar cookies...) because they take more time than chocolate chip. But now I have time and SUNLIGHT (which makes it easier for me to be productive in the evening. Once the sun goes down my mind says “day’s over” and goes into pre-bed mode. But we’re almost to SPRING so that’s not an issue anymore) so more messing around in the kitchen for me.

Now, is this too much to conceivably fit in a week when I’m still working full time? Probably, yeah. But I’ve always done my best and been happiest when I’m slightly overwhelmed (slightly being the operative word. Last month I was just completely overwhelmed because of that background chorus of “study study study study” going in my head at all times), so Imma try to do it all. Or at least attempt. And if I turn my “indulgences” of reading and video games into important self-care with goals and everything, I think I’ll be more able to healthily fit them into my life and schedule.

And I’m just... so excited to finally move forward. And if I end up failing the bar and have to retake in July? I’ve got nearly two months before I know if that’s an issue and nearly five months before that test anyway so I’m going to enjoy myself until then.

[talabib]

How To Bring In A Little Extra Cash On The Side.

“Take the leap! Quit your day job and be your own boss!” Following this type of entrepreneurial advice comes with a fair share of risk. And let’s face it: not everyone who tries self-employment thrives as their own boss. So what if you have an inner-entrepreneur who wants to venture forth, but you also want to keep the benefits of your current job? There’s a lot to be said for health insurance, regular feedback and steady deadlines.

In this post, you’ll find out precisely what it means to have a business in addition to your day job, as well as learning the dos and don’ts of having a successful side hustle. From finding the perfect idea for your part-time business to optimizing your income from it, you’ll learn how to grow your side hustle in no time.

A side hustle provides a form of job freedom that absolutely anyone can attain.

One day, a British construction manager decided to start writing reviews of fish tanks. The reviews included hyperlinks to Amazon product listings, and he knew he’d get a small commission if readers clicked through and purchased them. But the reviews were posted on an obscure website and, busy with his other day-job work, he half-forgot he’d ever written them. So he was pleasantly surprised when, several weeks later, he received a check for $350. Even now, years down the road, he’s still getting $700 a month for the same reviews. In short, he has the perfect side hustle.

A side hustle can be defined as a profitable business venture that operates as an adjunct to other paid work or employment. No more than the bare minimum amount of time, money and effort should be invested. It shouldn't be a big deal.

You can even think of it as a kind of job security. The days of a "job for life" are over, and a side hustle ensures several incomes from different sources. You simply won’t be held to the whims of a single employer whose loyalty to you can’t be counted on.

Everybody needs a side hustle. It can make transitioning from your day job easier, too, if you decide to quit or are fired. Leaving may seem exhilarating in the abstract, but the reality can be difficult: you’ll lose a reliable income source and health insurance. A side hustle gives you a taste of entrepreneurship, but without all the risks of going it alone.

There’s also no reason to feel daunted when beginning a side hustle. For starters, you don’t need to spend a lot of time doing it. No more than an hour a day maximum. Any more is probably a waste of time. Secondly, there’s no need to have a business degree to get going. Remember, it's your business you’re running, not someone else’s – you're the one setting the entry requirements!

Strong ideas for strong hustles arise from careful questioning and a bit of math.

The adage has it wrong; money can grow on trees. But growing a money-bearing seedling requires planting the right seed under the right conditions.

All it takes is a little thought, however, and you’ll find those fecund and productive ideas that are bound to blossom. To get going, it’s important to recognize that hustle-worthy ideas share three qualities. They need to be feasible, profitable and persuasive.

If you can answer yes to the following three questions, then the idea is feasible. Does your idea motivate you? Will it earn you money? Can it be accomplished in a short period of time?

How do you know if your idea is profitable? Well, try explaining the merits of your proposal to potential customers in two sentences. No luck? Then your potential customers won’t become paying customers any time soon.

An idea is persuasive if your customers can’t say no. Consider Julia. As a caricaturist, she was earning $100 an hour as a side hustle. But when she started sketching with digital drawing technology, she found she could charge $250 an hour. This was possible because few customers had seen the technology before. The novelty gave her a persuasive edge over the competition, and that wow factor was irresistible

So once you’ve got some feasible, profitable and persuasive ideas, you’ve got to do some basic math. You should calculate the projected profit of each hustle with this equation: “anticipated income minus anticipated expenses.”

Put this way, making a profit is easily understood. You should spend less money on your hustle than you bring in. You should also calculate the answer twice. One should be a conservative projection, the other an optimistic one, depending on the predicted strength of possible outcomes.

Transform your side hustle idea into an offer with a price, a pitch and a promise.

You might think it’d be difficult to make a lot of money from giving guitar lessons as a side hustle. After all, there are already plenty of guitar teachers doing the rounds. But Jake earns $6,000 a month doing exactly that. He can make this much because his offer trumps the rest.

Once you’ve got your idea, you can turn it into an offer. Every offer includes three elements: a promise, a pitch and a price.

The promise is a bold statement that tells customers how they’ll immediately profit – that is, how you'll change their life. Jake promised "The most awesome guitar lessons in the universe."

A pitch tells customers all they need to know, with no irrelevant details. Jake's pitch was "The typical goal is to have fun (always first and foremost), as well as learn the instrument, all while maximizing efficiency so we meet your goals."

Your price communicates the cost, and should also include a "call to action." A tag like "phone this number" or "click this button” should do the trick. It needs to be easy and obvious.

The best offers also create a sense of urgency. Your potential customers need to think they want your hustle immediately.

A good way to do this is to ensure you respond to queries from customers quickly and efficiently. A study by the Harvard Business Review found that companies who responded to a customer's request for information within an hour were seven times more likely to get business.

Another technique for communicating urgency is to use the color red. Highlighting words like "now" or "today" works wonders. Finally, if you’re selling online, you’ll find that a countdown on the checkout screen is great for hurrying customers along.

Okay, we’ve covered the things that constitute an offer, so now let’s think about the kind of tools you’ll need to get up and running.

Your side hustle needs resources. Make a shopping list and prioritize what’s required.

One particular Valentine’s Day, Sarah spotted a gap in the market. No one was selling custom-printed candy hearts. So she got down to it herself and within days had multiple orders. When her supplier wasn’t able to keep up with demand, Sarah found her own printing machine to ensure the business kept chugging along.

If you, like Sarah, want to be resourceful and have the right attitude for rapidly growing your hustle, you need to have the basics covered. You need a resource-shopping list which will include the following.

First, a website. This is your online home, and a content-management system such as Wordpress can make setting it up easy.

A social media profile. You needn’t be operating on every single platform – just one or two should be fine. However, do register your side hustle’s name with the most popular platforms, such as Facebook or Twitter, irrespective of your current reach.

A scheduling tool. A side hustle is a time-based commitment and time management is critical. A scheduling tool means you’ll spend less time organizing meetings with colleagues and customers and more time working, as online scheduling applications are designed to display mutually available slots.

A payment system. Be sure to have an invoicing system, PayPal account or shopping cart on your website before you launch.

Once you have these four elements sorted out, you should prioritize providing more value and generating more money. Value is best improved by responding to customers' unspoken needs. For instance, say you’ve been walking a man’s dog while he’s on vacation. Maybe that same man needs regular dog care when he’s back in town? Ask him.

Money can be generated through regularly scheduled price increases. Don’t be afraid of doing this – customers will understand. After all, once your business has proven its reliability, you need to charge a fair price.

Sell your side hustle effectively by understanding its benefits and involving the right people.

Each spring, Girl Scouts can be seen selling boxes of cookies at malls and outside supermarkets all over the United States. Their pitch is simple: “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" They sell them by the truckload – 200 million boxes every year, to be precise. So what can a side hustler learn from the Girl Scouts? Well, they sell so many cookies not just because the cookies are scrumptious but because people know that they are.

When you’re selling a product or service, you’ve really got to emphasize its merits. Lead with the benefits. You might tell customers that your product will make them happier or their lives simpler and better. Ideally, you should connect with people’s emotions.

Consider a dog sitter. She might not explicitly try to assuage an owner’s guilt about leaving his dog at home alone, but she can imply it. A carefully crafted pitch might go “Leave your dog with me and he’ll feel loved and cared for.” Be subtle.

Once you’re able to distill your side hustle’s benefits, you should reach out to four types of people who can help you along the way. There’s no need to do your solo side project alone.

First, find supporters. Most likely this means your family and friends – people who can contribute in different ways and support your efforts. Second, seek out mentors. These are guides or experts who can give you feedback and advice. Third, identify influencers. These are trendsetters who'll spread the news about your product. Trusted authorities, like reviewers or bloggers, are generally best for this. Fourth, locate some ideal customers. These people are perfectly placed to evaluate products and respond to questions you might have with honest and detailed answers.

Identify what’s working best in your side hustle. Then do more of it.

Often, when business owners are asked how their businesses are going, they’ll just respond with a perfunctory, "Oh, it’s fine." That’s not the right answer! A business is never in stasis. It’s either on an upward trajectory – or it’s sinking.

It’s important, in the early stages of your hustle, to know exactly what sort of trajectory your business is on.

Once you’re up and running, ask yourself a simple question: is your venture making money? There are three possible answers.

First, you might find you’re far exceeding initial expectations. Fine, that’s great. You’ve obviously got to keep going. Second, you might think your original idea was good, but people haven’t latched onto it. It’s difficult to admit it, but that’s the time to cut your losses and move on. The most common response in the early stages is the third. You’ve found your idea hasn’t completely gained traction, but as it’s making a bit of money it doesn’t make sense to pull the plug.

If this last option sounds familiar, but you’re still not certain how to finesse the problem areas in your hustle, then have a look at your metrics. Metrics are measured in three areas. Profit – that’s income minus expenses. Growth – ask yourself how many new customers or what new prospects you have. And time – how long do you spend on your hustle each week?

Once you’ve identified areas of concern, you can improve on them by applying two basic rules. In the first case, do more of what’s working. In the second, abandon what’s not. It’s universally tempting to try to solve a problem. But don’t. Really. The most successful people just drop them and concentrate more on those aspects that function best.

Well, that’s it! You have all the tools you need to start your side hustle. From here, the only way is up.

Absolutely anyone can create and launch a successful part-time business. It doesn’t require much time, money or effort to start one, and it doesn’t mean quitting your day job. A side hustle is a great idea. It gives you an extra paycheck, but without the terrifying risks of being a self-employed entrepreneur.

[frogsandfries]

I got woken by the phone at seven. My sister doesn't know when she's coming in, but now it sounds like Thursday, which is really not a good day, because I was going to ask for Friday last Friday but we didn't make it in to work last Friday. So at the earliest opportunity at which I remembered, I wrote down the request. Which now might be irrelevant anyway because she might be coming in earlier than that.

Then I got woken again at eight, when my dad went to take a shower.

This morning when we came in, my brother was dead asleep sprawled across the path of access to my stuff. I'm not even sorry I woke him up with my big mouth, and as a consequence, I woke people who pass the time by sleeping instead of having a fucking hobby.

Well of course this person had their revenge by telling me I don't get to sleep all day.

I hadn't gotten to sleep till almost two in the morning, as usual for second shift. So thanks. The only reason I slept all last week is that I barely slept the previous week. So thaaaaaannnnnnnkksss.

I need this move. But I'm so anxious, because even if everything is fine, the side-gig works out, and I get a decent-paying job, I have no idea what the industry is like out that way, I have zero water skills. I'm just really nervous.

It would be great to take advantage of this side-hustle to really open my own shop for charms and pins, but I may not have money to play with. What's really going to throw me is figuring out the trivialities to re-file for PAYE..... but I still want to over-pay, insofar as I can afford. Once the van is in Oregon with me, I want to save my extra money for investing and then emergencies, just to get through.

I need this move so bad.

I'm also nervous because while I used to hear from my friend all the time, now he hardly texts me. I'm just really insecure right now. Yeah, pretty much just insecure, anxious.

I could, as usual, hardly care any less about this current job the agency has me at, but I have to pretend that I care, if only a little bit. I fucking hate factory work with a bitter passion. Luckily it looks like that's not even an option out that way. I'm too nervous to even talk to anyone at work about the coming weeks. I need this move so bad, I will use my whole check and see what's left of my refund rather than push the trip back or pay more later. After all, I have another check coming in a week.

I should really call the agencies where I'm going to be and see what kind of work they'll have available toward the end of this month or the beginning of next and see if there's not a way I could dibs an assignment. It would be reassuring to me to have any alternative, regular, guaranteed cashflow. I want to hit the ground running and show my friend's friend that I'm good on my word, that I'm focused on getting the van done.

On that though, I'm definitely getting discouraged. I can't drive. It's been nearly a year, my permit is going to expire, and all will be wasted having to try all over again from the very beginning.

I'm not getting anything done if my dad is up by seven and out the door. For me, biphasic sleep isn't going to work for second shift. I developed the habit to survive third shift. So he leaves, and I'm just getting up when he returns. When do I get to work on the van? He bitches if we don't go pretty much straight back. I have never liked trying to do my errands straight after work, not to mention, there's no lights where my van is. When do I get to work on the van?

He suggested dropping me off Sunday. Are you fucking kidding me? Waste all that gas getting me there, going back, then returning, collecting me and going back again. I don't care if the weather is supposed to be really, really mild that day. That's not the point. I don't have bathroom facilities yet. If I have to go to the bathroom, the whole thing is over. I can only get so much done at once anyway, since I need weights to get a good bond. If I'm going to do anything for the van, I might as well keep working on furniture. Which is all going to be weirdy-weird anyway with the walls doing what they do.

I'm thinking about putting the whole thing off till I move the van west with myself, waste some money on a storage bin out there, maybe take some time off here and there just to focus on the van. I still don't see myself finishing it before winter. Again. It's discouraging.....