#guarantee if this test had been in the afternoon when I’d had time/energy to get out of bed and have a decent breakfast I would’ve aced it

[elprupneerg]

Some days you go in for an exam and start picturing how you’re gonna try and pay off as many of your student loans as possible before throwing yourself off the roof after you get your grade back so that your cosigner doesn’t get stuck with the bill

[rainebowkitty]

Listen to Me and You’ll Have Nothing to Fear

It’s finally here, oh my g o d. Yandere bald Riddle Rosehearts x Reader in honor of cult leader @tsuisute and inspired by the sacrifices works of @muraenxdae and @nonsensical-twistedriddles​ 

Also, trigger warning for blood, leech abuse, and overall harmful behavior near the end of this fiasco work of literature (though it starts off surprisingly normal and just slowly descends into madness) 

Riddle Rosehearts was a practical dorm leader, someone who had never been tangled by the distasteful chains of love. He knew he never would be, at least not until it made sense to him. Love would just untidy his schedule and ruin his day. If it wasn’t convenient for him, it didn’t need to exist. 

Other than the color red, he had no relation to the disgusting emotion anyway. Not even when you arrived with your pretty eyes and calming smile. You had just been bothersome, always requiring him to take time out of his busy day to help you knot your disastrous tie or to remind you to study. It became apparent that he was going to have to tutor you whenever you failed the first test of the school year. It was clear you weren’t taking his suggestions, so he’d have to make you listen.

The two of you resided in the Heartslabyul common room with books, papers, and clipboards laying across your laps. Magic wasn’t a hard subject, yet you seemed to struggle exceptionally with it. Perhaps it was because you didn’t have an ounce of arcane energy in your bloodstream, but understanding it wasn’t that hard, was it? Maybe Riddle was just too used to the intricacies of a spell, how empowering the burst of light spiraling from one’s hand felt. It wasn’t difficult, yet you made it so with your confused expression and tiny frown. 

However, as time passed you seemed to understand. Your study sessions with Riddle started coming to a close, each aced test giving you more reason to escape his lecturing clutches. Riddle gratefully let you go with a stern promise to resume your study sessions with him if he caught another of your grades dropping. You hastily nodded, not planning to let so many of his lessons go to waste. Riddle didn’t have to help you, he could’ve forced an unlucky freshman to do it, but instead he had become your personal tutor. While you were thankful, it would be nice to have more free time once again.

Riddle had thought the same thing. He wouldn’t have to dance between drinking afternoon tea to arriving at your dorm for study sessions anymore. Still, how close the two of you had become was something unexpected. Again, you two had began traversing between his dorm and yours, the common room and the rose maze on days you two agreed to bask in the remaining daylight.

Did he miss you? That was unlikely. He had never particularly missed anyone before, never nurtured someone as he taught them the ways of his world while you shared tidbits of yours. He remembered the way you described something once; a giant machine that can transport you places. You said it was similar to a horse, but shinier. He had been intrigued until you revealed it was a car. It’s not like cars didn’t exist in the twisted wonderland, they were just impractical, especially for college students living in a campus easily navigated by foot. 

With annoying descriptions about something as simple as a car, why did he want to make excuses to see you? Why was it your side he’d stick to whenever his short height made it impossible to find Trey and Cater in the cafeteria? But most importantly, why did blood rush to his face at the sight of your smile or the brush of your hand against his as you both reached for a pencil? 

Actually, scratch that. Why did he feel the ugly green seeds of jealousy blooming in his chest whenever he witnessed you studying with none other than the Leech twins? It made sense to have a disliking towards Floyd seeing as that weirdo consistently teased Riddle with the degrading nickname of goldfish, but what had Jade ever done to the piping redhead?  

Perhaps it was the slippery eel qualities he shared with Floyd mixed with his overly mild personality. His kindness was truly unmatched, especially to his brother who he let get by with anything. The thought made Riddle sick, just as Floyd did now whilst poking you, breaking your focus. You were trying to learn something you didn’t know, and even if you went to the Leech twins over him, Riddle wasn’t going to easily accept Floyd’s attempts to pester you as you studied. 

He fumed towards the three of you, his heeled shoes annoyingly unable to make their normal satisfying clomping sounds on the carpeted library floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed primarily at Floyd. Only when he noticed your clear alarm did he realize he sounded as if he was punishing you as well. He wanted to take back his harsh gaze, but something deep within told him just to press harder. Guaranteed results wouldn’t come from being merciful, even if that path might result in your gratified smile. 

“Helping,” Jade bowed his head a little as he responded, as if that made him any more innocent for dragging his disruptive brother along. 

“Maybe you are, but Floyd is just being a distraction,” Riddle huffed, foot tapping the carpet with an impatient, unsteady rhythm. “If he won’t leave, I’ll take over this study session myself.” 

“Very well,” Jade rose from his seat. “Come on, Floyd. The Heartslabyul dorm leader would rather us be elsewhere.”

“But I wanted to poke the goldfish,” Floyd pouted as Jade dragged him off. At least one of them had a brain enough not to bother a frustrated Riddle Rosehearts. 

“What was that about?” Riddle whispered harshly. “If you needed help, you know I’d assist you. Why did you go to them?” 

“I’m having trouble grasping the geology of this world,” you let the words helplessly tumble from your lips as your eyes pleaded for forgiveness. “Jade is the founder of the Mountain Loving Club. I thought he’d know better.” 

Your tango with words became too much for you, allowing you to slip up. You had said someone was better at something than Riddle. While you weren’t sure the boy was that narcissistic, his face definitely showed his offense at your claim. 

“I’ve studied any subject you can imagine for years,” he glared as his face grew red with rage. “Just because I’m not wasting my time in the Mountain Loving Club doesn’t mean I’m not well versed in my geology. How dare you assume otherwise.”

You had heard him yell, maybe even scream at disobeying first years before. Why did a shiver go down your spine whenever he whispered? He wasn’t even in your ear, but perhaps he was in your head. You almost felt helpless at the thought, but it’s not like he could read minds. You were safe, even as his tense form seemed so shaken with rage that the paper fibers of your textbooks thinned and paled under his pressing fingers. The remnants of a thank you danced on your lips as the tutoring session came to a close, but he had already turned on his heel and left by the time the first word left your mouth. 

He was furious, that much was certain. How much so would remain a mystery until you uncovered the truth.

~

Three days had passed since you last saw the boy, but he had certainly seen you. He watched the precise way you sipped your tea, the way he had taught you to do so. He noticed and kept track of every person you had spoken to. Each place you had been, so had he, only little red clumps of hair giving away that he was even present.

He was obsessed with you, but not so much the way you continued on as if he didn’t exist. On one hand he couldn’t understand the ongoing anger towards you, towards Floyd and Jade, towards the books you read and notes you took without him there. It was maddening, unexpected, and most importantly, inconvenient. So he began plotting ways to make it convenient, the red hairs on his head the worthy sacrifices made for a thorough plan of correction. 

It wasn’t more than two days later that a note was slipped under your dormitory door. You recognized the neat cursive as Riddle’s. It had only been marked time and time again on your schoolwork as he added notes and criticisms meant to improve you as a student. 

The letter looked more rushed than what was to be expected of Riddle. It also seemed to be written in red ink, something you didn’t know the boy to have. He preferred the regular black ink of the magic casting pen he kept secure in his uniform shirt pocket, so why the sudden change? Whatever it was, it only made the frantic looping of his handwriting seem more urgent. Preparing yourself for the worst, you rushed to his dorm room with purpose in your step. 

Upon arriving, you knocked knowing he wouldn’t appreciate you barging into his room. Even in crisis, you were smart enough to know Riddle appreciated his privacy. 

“Come in,” you heard him call, his tone much calmer from the last time you heard it five days ago. 

You opened the door slowly, your eyes drinking in the sight of the room as you searched for his short figure. He was nowhere to be found, nowhere at all even as the door slammed shut behind you with a swell of magic.

You swallowed down your panic, knowing it was just proper etiquette to close the door after a guest’s arrival. You then ventured to the center of the room, eyes scanning your surroundings as you notice an abnormally large red puddle leaking from behind the dorm leader’s bed. You cautiously investigate, uncovering the piled bodies of the Leech twins, blood pooling from their heads like the oceans they used to swim in. 

You wanted to scream, feeling the tense clumping of your vocal cords before a hand was clapped to your mouth, preventing you from making a sound at all. 

“You’re late,” Riddle’s voice creeped into the air, his breath raising the hairs on your neck as he remained close to you. 

“Didn’t you read what time you were supposed to be here in the letter?” His head tilted as he asked the question, his curiosity veiling all the rage in his system. “I wanted you to arrive before Jade, well, you saw what happened to him.” 

You indeed saw what happened to him as Riddle’s tight hold on you forced you to face the bodies. Your eyes squeezed shut, but Riddle had moved in front of you now. You were already breaking one of his rules by trying to block him out of your sight. 

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, his hands still harshly gripping your shoulders. 

One eye at a time, you made yourself gaze upon him. Only it didn’t look like him at all. Staring you in the face wasn’t the Riddle Rosehearts you’d come to know, but a stylish young man going bald minus two particular strands of royally red hair; the pieces sitting in the shape of a heart at the center of his forehead, only complete with his signature crown.

“Riddle,” you tried speaking but he put a finger to your lips. 

“You clearly don’t know what’s best for you if you enlist these eels as your tutors,” Riddle kicked Floyd’s unresponsive face with his heeled shoe. “So from now on you listen to me and only me. Got it?” 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Riddle had killed two people for you? He had broken the very real laws enforced by the proper authorities just to tell you you were wrong? But most importantly, had the stress of it all really gone to his gorgeous, crimson hair? 

“I said,” suddenly he had flipped you around, pushing you into the nearest wall beside the corpses of the Leech twins. “Got it?”

You reluctantly nodded as you tried to swallow your fear. It appeared this was it for you. Your life would consist of his rules and games with hell to pay if you failed to obey. 

“But don’t fret,” he caressed your cheek, a sudden gentleness overcoming him. “By my hand, you’ll be perfect in no time. Doesn’t that sound divine?” 

He noticed your lips tremble in fear as you hummed in response. “Mhm,” you had hesitantly agreed before his lips met yours. With that one consoling, ensuring kiss went the final sprigs of Riddle’s hair, cast into the drying pool of leech blood along with his remaining sanity. 

If you happened to enjoy this (somehow) then feel free to suggest more silly (or serious) twst content like this! If you want more bald yandere stories (who wouldn’t) then check out the people that inspired me and their Malleus, Vil, and Jamil versions of this theme! They’re seriously awesome!

@tsuisute​ (for Malleus) @muraenxdae​ (for Vil) and @nonsensical-twistedriddles​ (for Jamil) <3

Thanks and come again, folks! 

[mari-vargas]

Hello sudden burst of energy from the what feels like a miracle I received today. I have three stories I’d like to share today, let’s see how many I actually get to today. (Keywords so I’ll remember the other two: sinusitis and unlimited) Two are older stories and the third is of my week this week and said miracle.

(Continuing this the next day; as it turns out said burst of energy basically managed to get me home from work.)

So, “spoiler alert”, the miracle I mentioned is merely that I do not need to go in to work on my regular weekend days. The story however is about why that wound up feeling like a miracle.

I suppose the best place to start is that where I work is a 24/7/365 operation. It never stops, not whole cloth. I work in the quality lab (which handles both quality control and quality assurance simultaneously). Nothing can operate without passing through the lab which means that if the lab goes down so does everything else on site. There’s a couple different types of shifts on site for the needs of the particular areas, but in the lab we have 8hour shifts 5days a week. My shift is day shift, Thursday-Monday (my weekend is Tuesday/Wednesday).

If we need an extra person or someone calls off and needs to be covered etc, one of the other analysts will be assigned to work said extra shift as overtime (OT). For the most part we have this volunteer declaration where we the analysts can declare what days we are willing to work OT if needed. If there are not enough yes’s to cover what’s needed, then there’s the likelihood of forced OT which goes by lowest hours, and if there are two people tied for lowest hours then whoever has the lowest seniority. Many of the analysts try to take as much OT as they can because they appreciate the boost in their paycheck. As such, others who don’t want it generally don’t need to. I am one of the analysts who is no across the board, primarily because while I am in a much better place than high school when I had insomnia I still have issues with sleep and I live an hour away from where I work which in total means that for an “8 hour shift” I’m actually away from home for 11 hours. A 16 hour shift means that, if I get a hotel room (of which generally the closest to my work is about half an hour away) I can maybe just wrangle half of my typical amount of sleep.

Now, on occasion I will volunteer on my “Friday” because by volunteering I can get my hours averaged in so that I’m no longer on the bottom of the totem pole. I did so a couple months ago because I was getting forced OTs over and over and needed to be able to do certain things and know that yes I actually could guarantee my availability on a given day or time. And by volunteering on my “Friday” I then had my weekend to recover without having to do a turn around PLUS if I were to volunteer on one of my weekend days I’m pretty much guaranteed winding up with a double. So anyways I did so I’d be averaged in…only to have that only last about 2 weeks.

Before I go any further: why is there so much OT right now? Well let’s back it up to…I think January of this year. One of our grave shift analysts realized he was making far more in passive income from his real estate business than as working as an analyst and so he moved on. Before our bosses had even started getting any bites for that, another analyst (now from day shift) snagged a position at a different site in the company in a higher position than he was in with us. Ok so far not too bad really. Right around the same time another day shift analyst had to go out for a couple of months due to foot surgery—on both feet and obviously not at the same time. It’s not been almost 6 months and we still don’t know yet when she’ll be cleared to come back (secret aside from my brain—if she even does choose to come back). Okay, okay, well…we’ve still got this… After a bit our most senior analyst volunteered to temporarily switch to the open grave shift because that’s the roughest to try and cover with OT. She was on day shift (for those keeping count that is now 3 people short all from day shift but that’s our largest shift: 3 on grave, 4 on swing, 8 on day). Vacations hit and boy did they hit hard but in all honesty not as bad as November when we had one analyst test positive for covid on the rapid test performed by Occ Heath on site (he went to his doctor that same day for the more reliable test but that takes longer for results and it came back negative but damage done we were dealing with I think only 7 analysts then due to potential exposures—ps we’re pretty sure by now he’s essentially an anomaly for the rapid test because it almost happened again but he got retested after some bureaucratic fumbling and got two negatives after the once again false positive). But we were managing..sort of. Another day shift analyst went out a couple months ago for either medical or vacation reasons I’m not sure. And about a month ago we had a third analyst leave our employ, her being from swing shift and in a relationship with the guy who left for real estate. Her two weeks notice had come before any new hires had started with us, of which we had three because boy oh boy we’ve been drowning because of course with everything opening back up companies who are customers to us or who use what we produce and needing way more to get back up and running and everything is backed up—ling and short we’ve had extra work plus a lot of special samples that by now really each constitute a whole new bench not to mention a new segment of production being tested out and potentially going to be a new product to be sold… Anyways our bosses had managed to convince their higher ups to let them higher one more person than the number who had left (again, at the time, 2). So they had told the first two at the same time, got permission for the third, then before the next onboarding third analyst leaves, so the bosses tell the fourth and final applicant who made it to the interview level that hey you’re in too. They managed to get the first two into a special, sooner onboarding and three weeks later the third started her onboarding and now half a month to a monthish later we’re still waiting for the fourth and I personally don’t know when they’ll be going us.

But anyways we currently have 3 (eventually 4) new hires training and it takes about six months to train said new hires on each bench, two weeks with a senior analyst two weeks alone rinse and repeat until you’ve gone through all benches. So…it’s gotten easier with the first two already having one bench under their belt. But I’ve gotten fairly off track to explain the background of my story. I’ve actually not had too terribly many forced OTs since the first two new hires finished their first 2 weeks and could be on their own on their first bench. Even when they moved to new benches.

So imagine, if you will, I walk in on Thursday, I’ve just come off my weekend which I spent up in the mountains with my SO because said SO is starting a new job with a school district as an IT person so we will no longer have any sort of overlap of days off except holidays. The grave analyst working the bench right by the door greets me as he usually does regardless of what bench he’s on. He says good morning, I say it back, only he then follows it up with something along the lines of “are you ready for your back to back double on your next weekend?” Yeah. I was on the schedule for four forced OTs as a “double-double” instead of having my days off. Cue the existential dread settling in. I moved throughout the day with that hanging on me, coming to terms with it. At afternoon lineout I caught a small break in that the analyst I’d be covering for on swing piped up “hey there was an error in the system, I only asked for Tuesday off”. Okay cool that makes 3 forced OTs instead…somehow already felt lighter. The next morning I take over from the most senior analyst who’d been on my bench that night and she offers to take my Tuesday swing OT “if I didn’t want it” since she’d be working day shift that day and her weekend is Monday/Tuesday (confusing but basically means she could do a day/swing double because she wouldn’t be working grave into day double). Okay cool…that would leave me with just the two day shifts over my weekend. Then throughout Friday my post nasal drip I woke up with starts getting really annoying as a runny nose. Saturday and the runny nose is also pressure in my sinuses. Sunday and I’m sure it’s a sinus infection despite my efforts to stop it. (I have a history with them and to any concerned over covid I get a weekly test at work and I was negative during this.) I will say though, my efforts seem to have made it a faster turn around than usual. Come Monday and I’m driving to work filled with existential dread because I don’t want to call off when I have these OTs because I had to do that last time (basically woke up late, anxiety blew up into a full blown panic attack caused me to throw up and wound up putting me out of commission with migraines and nausea and more various degrees of panic attacks until Saturday of that week…well the panic attacks continued but eventually tapered off to usual manageable levels). So anyways the posted schedule still has me for the double on Tuesday and day on Wednesday. The analyst who had previously offered to take the Tuesday swing was working OT that day and came up to me in the middle of the swift to ask if I had talked with the boss that makes the schedule about her offering to volunteer for me. Regardless of my thoughts on that, what I told her was that I had not yet, and after she reiterated her song and dance about how she’d volunteer if I didn’t want it I went straight up to that boss’s door and let her know. Turns out she was speaking with another of the bosses about the schedule because one of the first two of the new hires had already gotten the hang of the new bench after only a week and that coupled with us finally getting caught up on the extra samples because that same said bench had something happen at one of the plants it covers which then went down which lightened the load for like three different benches and yeah long story short she no longer needed so many people working overtime.

So she says to me, essentially, “how attached are you to working those day shift OTs on your weekend?” tells me the new hire is fine on his own et cetera et cetera. And guys? Tears immediately rushed to my eyes so fast and hard that they immediately flow down my face. It feels like the sky has opened and the sun has sought me out just to shine a warm beam of light through my heart. A burble of laughter bursts up my throat and out of my hardly used mouth (as I hadn’t spoken much at all that day). For those who have seen Rise of the Guardians it looked like a happy flake had landed on my nose. She says “There’s your smile! You’ve been looking so tired today and I was wondering why, but then I saw this schedule and realized it was preemptive exhaustion from what you had looking ahead.” During afternoon lineout she very pointedly wished me a happy Friday.

So yeah…it shouldn’t really be a miracle, but wow does it feel like one.

[arawynn]

Eleven Questions

Rules:

⭐ Answer the questions given to you by the tagger

⭐ Write eleven questions of your own

⭐Tag eleven people

I was tagged by @just-a-kj-blog

1. If you could be anywhere, in a fictional world or here in this world, right this second, where would that be?

Either the Marvel Universe, Hogwarts or Middle-earth. Or the world of Eragon.

2. Who is your favorite mythical god/goddess?

Poseidon. (Percy Jackson infected me^^)

3. Who has influenced you the most?

My mother.

4. On the first day of ruling the world, what would you do?

Health care for everybody, including cheap/free meds for chronical illnesses (like insulin)

Making sure that even unemployed people get enough money to survive without them being forced to skip meals/buying only junkfood

Gun Control - everybody has to pass a psychological test on a regular basis, no automatic/semi-automatic weapons for civilians etc

access to clean water, food, education and medical care become basic human rights

Massive wage-raises for people on minimum wage, teacher (and no more paying necessarities out of their pockets), nurses

Generally paid maternity leave with a guarantee to return to their jobs

Free and proper school lunches

Less pressure on pupils/students, more subjects like health care lessons, things people need in life (how to apply for jobs, do taxes, cook, wash clothes etc.)

All nuclear weapons get destroyed and forbitten, atomic power plants will be shut down and replaced by clean energy ressources as soon as possible

any kind of military will be abolished; soldiers have the option to become trained police men; the money used for the military will go into education, art, culture and science

starting programs to get rid of racism, sexism etc.

making sure people are held accountable for their crimes, no matter their profession, name or wealth 

5. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done on a date?

I'm drawing blank on this since I’ve never been on a date.

6. What has been your best moment this year (so far)?

I’d say January 1st because that’s the day my employment agreement was converted from temporary to unlimited

7. What do you hope to achieve by 50?

I hope to have had a safe and stable life without experiencing existental worries

8. If you could change your first name what would it be?

I actually like my first name, even though it’s very popular. But if I had to change it, I’d go for either Lily or Mia.

9. What’s the saddest song you’ve ever heard? How about the sweetest song?

The saddest song I heard was actually a children’s song about a dragon that was best friends with a human boy. The boy died at the end of the song and left the dragon behind, sad and alonge. I don’t remember the name, but I hated that song! ‘Dear Child’ from Dumbo and the one from The Fox and the Hound where the Fox is cast ashore come pretty close as well...

The sweetest song is actually more difficult. I have no idea right now.

10. What’s the best way to comfort you when you’re having a really terrible day?

Give me food I like (ideal: warm chocolate pudding), my laptop and leave me alone.

11.What is the most important memory you have and why?

I actually don’t have one memory I consider the most important. Because there were several - the death of my grandma that showed me how quick people can die. The firs really serious injury I had - I lerned how fast something like that can happen. My practical drivers exam. The fact that I was offered a job when every single application I’ve written had been refused. And so many more.

My Questions:

1) Are you most productive/active/awake in the morning, afternoon or evening?

2) Favourite and least favourite animal?

3) Where do you want to travel for a vacation?

4) Your top 3 books (series)?

5) What’s your favourite food?

6) Your favourite childhood movie?

7) Is there anything you collect?

8) What’s your favourite sleeping position?

9) Which song never fails to lift your mood?

10) What’s your time zone? Which time have you right now?

11) What’s your favourite flower?

Tagging: @thatnormalcrazygirl @ellishortforelinor @scionofthestars @ursulaismymiddlename @secondsandstars @the-sphera @pegasusdragontiger @love-buckybarnes @bucky-plums-barnes @asirenscalling

[earpdearp]

just another tuesday

It’s shaping up to be another uneventful, forgotten birthday for Waverly Earp. Purgatory is nothing if not consistent in that regard. Because why hope for anything more after 22 years? Except someone did remember this time. And she went out of her way to make it special for her favorite Earp. Also on AO3. Approximately 3,357 words.

Waverly Earp angrily scrubbed the counter of Shorty’s bar, desperate to work away the pinpricks of heat lurking in her eyes. It was so frustrating. She was fine a minute ago. Just another day at work, the same lunch rush, the same familiar faces… It was fine.

Same old, same old.

She scrubbed harder, thinking of her stupid sister Wynonna and stupid Deputy Marshall Dolls off in the woods doing God Knows What with some stupid Revenants (without Waverly). They’d been gone since yesterday with barely more than a “don’t wait up” and a spin of Peacemaker. 

Just another Tuesday in Purgatory.

Except it wasn’t another stupid Tuesday in stupid Purgatory.

It was just another disappointing Tuesday in Purgatory. Because why wouldn’t it be?

No one had remembered. Again.

Her birthday. Her Goddamn birthday was today and no one had remembered.

Story of Waverly’s life.

She’d tried a few different tactics over the years. Junior high was spent befriending Chrissy Nedley and Stephanie Jones and dropping unsubtle hints. At least then she’d get a trip to the city or a pizza party out of it when they forgot. 

High school had been full of unaffected nonchalance. She was too busy and popular to make a big deal out of her birthday. That had backfired because then everyone almost had permission to forget.

Three years of dating Champ Hardy after that had been an exercise in futility. He at least had the decency to pretend to be sorry when he forgot, and her rage on the matter guaranteed a nice dinner and new shoes.

But now? At the ripe old age of 22? Waverly was just single and tired. Tired of trying. Sure, it made her perpetually upset the entire day. Especially since she was setting herself for a test that everyone around her had perfected failing with years of practice. The small, petty glee from confirming her worst fears quickly gave way to hollow, aching disappointment.

Waverly very much hated—hated—being proven right all the time.

She was past the point of tantrums at Champ or sad looks at a very tired Gus. And she couldn’t even get mad at Wynonna who was off trying to save the world. There was no outlet for her anger or sadness so it just sat in her gut, festering quietly.

A low, familiar voice off to Waverly’s right made her jump. “I think you’re gonna start a fire on that counter from rubbing so hard.”

Officer Nicole Haught stood sheepishly at the entrance, white hat in one hand. She held up another hand in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Waverly smiled and tossed the towel into the laundry hamper below the bar. “It’s fine. And at least then I’d get the rest of the day off.”

The other woman nodded, her face half-scrunched in consideration. “True, but only cuz you’d be in lock-up. Something something arson something insurance fraud.”

A light, slightly bitter laugh from Waverly. “Right.” She made a mock-scowl before shaking a theatric fist. “You damn cops are always one step ahead of me.”

Nicole’s answering breath of a laugh accompanied a wide, dimpled smile. She slid into the barstool closest to Waverly, Stetson placed on the counter. A crumpled $5 appeared from a breast pocket. “Still serving coffee? 

Waving off the cash, Waverly nodded and bounced over to the coffee pot. She scrutinized the small collection of mugs until she found one that met her very high standards for this particular customer before pouring.

The distraction was welcome. Waverly had briefly forgotten that hollow feeling in her chest and found herself smiling.

Waverly checked the dangling watch on her wrist before passing over the steaming mug along with a few packets of sugar (the bowl of one-hit creamers following close behind). “Isn’t it kind of early for coffee? Or kind of late?”

“Late,” Nicole gruffly confirmed as she assembled a pair of sugars and creamers into her mug. There were deep circles under the woman’s eyes and her normally tight French braid was loose in places at the back. “Just got off night shift. Running on fumes. You’re my last hope of making it home instead of sleeping in my cruiser.” She nodded her thanks and inched the crumpled fiver closer to Waverly again.

“Anything exciting happen?” Waverly asked, still ignoring the payment.

The woman took a long, deep sip of the (now medium-brown) coffee. Nicole made a satisfied sighing noise before opening her eyes and smiling back at Waverly. “Caught a punk this morning, red-handed. Vandalizing cars. So very, very high school.”

“Thank you for keeping our streets safe from these monsters,” Waverly replied solemnly with a wink.

Nicole stiffened, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know they showed no remorse. The world is a safer place now.”

“I believe it.” It was meant to be sarcastic, but Waverly found she meant it genuinely.

The Officer noticed and smiled back. “How are you on this beautiful afternoon in Purgatory?”

Waverly had to suppress a scowl. How quickly that all came back. “Fine. Just another Tuesday.” She went back to wiping down the stack of glasses fresh from the dishwasher. 

A moment of silence passed before the clink of the coffee mug on the counter. “Is it?” Nicole asked seriously. 

“Is it what?”

“Just another Tuesday?”

The patient, serious way Nicole phrased that question… it made Waverly’s chest ache. She was so very tired of holding it all in all the time. Here was someone actually asking for once.

Waverly spun on her heel and started to open her mouth, but hesitated. Nicole just sat on her barstool, mug in hand, peering back at her with focus. It was… nice.

Instead, Waverly closed her mouth with a sigh. She didn’t want to ruin it. She didn’t want to explode all over this nice friend who was just being nice. She didn’t want Nicole’s pity. She didn’t want Nicole to see her cry. She didn’t want to look like the child she felt she was in front of Nicole. She wanted Nicole to think she was— 

What?

Waverly bit her lip to cut off that train of thought and went back to the glasses. She managed to lie with only a small strain in her voice. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Waverly returned automatically, her mask of politeness slipping into place. Part of her hated putting up that particular wall around Nicole, who was obviously trying to be nice. But Waverly just didn’t have the energy to get into it right now.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Nicole sat in companionable silence with Waverly, her coffee only taking a few minutes to consume. Waverly was worried she’d be irritated, but the woman’s presence was surprisingly calming. Nicole didn’t try to fill the void with chitchat. She just tapped at her phone and allowed Waverly the space to continue her busywork.

It was getting harder and harder for Waverly to stay silent. Her resolve was weakening with each clean glass she tucked back into the cabinet. Just as Waverly was approaching her breaking point, she heard the scraping of a barstool. 

Sweeping her Stetson onto her head, Nicole pushed the coffee mug back towards Waverly. An obvious coaster of a $5 bill was tucked underneath it. She waved her phone at Waverly. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll send you some Snapchats of the trick I taught Calamity Jane, yea?”

“CJ wearing your hat is not a trick, Nicole…” Waverly trailed off in mock-warning but she nodded. She found she loved trading pictures with Nicole. Even about the stupidest shit. It was nice.

“It is when you know how long it takes her to sit still with the damn thing on, Waves.” Nicole smiled warmly as she tucked the phone into a back pocket. She tilted her hat at Waverly in salute. “Have a wonderful Tuesday, Waverly Earp.” There was a pause and it looked like Nicole wanted to say something more.

But at Waverly’s curious head-tilt, the moment passed and Nicole only turned on her heel.

And just like every time Nicole Haught left Shorty’s, Waverly found herself sighing. She didn’t know why she did that, like Waverly had to let out all the air in her lungs. It didn’t make sense.

And despite Nicole’s brief visit… Waverly found she felt a little better. The work of getting Shorty’s flipped for the evening went by surprisingly quickly. Why, Waverly even managed to not remember her birthday every other minute.

Just every other other minute. 

Around sundown, Aunt Gus patted Waverly’s shoulder. “Knock off, girl. It’s not gonna be busy and you should go enjoy yourself.” 

“But—" 

“No ‘buts.’ I can take care of things here. Get going.” Another pat as Gus pulled the apron off Waverly’s waist. Gus pressed a kiss to her niece’s temple and whispered a soft “Happy birthday.”

That almost did Waverly in. Gus had been withdrawn since Uncle Curtis had died. And growing up, she’d never been very sentimental about things like birthdays. It was… nice. It made a good heat come to Waverly’s eyes, but she held it together with a “thank you.”

As Waverly spun her keys on her finger and headed for the brightly lit alley, something stopped her. Something was different.

Her red Jeep, parked behind Gus’s truck, seemed darker somehow. Like there was someone inside it. Moving. As Waverly maneuvered around the black truck, a laugh strangled out of her throat. She had to cover her mouth as a few tears escaped down her cheeks.

The familiar Jeep was covered in white soapy polish. A big “22” on the hood, a “BIRTHDAY GIRL” over the passenger side windshield plus the sides and back had “HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAVERLY” all over in bubble letters. Whoever this was had the foresight not to cover the driver’s side windshield or side window for safety.

Inside the Jeep itself were those dark shadows from earlier. Though when Waverly approached, she could see those shadows were balloons. Her car was filled to the brim with multicolored balloons, mostly purples, reds and oranges (her favorite colors). When she opened the door, a fair number of them squeaked loudly before escaping into the bright sky.                                

Sticking her hand in, her arm was buried to the elbow in latex balloons (though a few silvery mylar balloons were sprinkled in with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and “22”). Her entire car smelled of fresh latex, a very bitter scent. But Waverly didn’t care. It was… more than nice…

A giddy feeling struck Waverly’s chest, replacing the hollow one almost in a rush. It was… all she’d ever wanted. Just for someone to notice…

Who did this?

It took some effort (and a few lost balloons) for Waverly to work her way into the car and still be able to see the road. Sacrifices had to be made, but more than a few balloons survived and bounced into each other in the back seat. Inside the passenger seat was a large piñata of a red dragon along with a small envelope and a large brown envelope. The small envelope had “open me first” in a neat script.

Hmmm… That writing is… familiar…

A cheesy birthday card with a cat in a party hat read “Happy Birthday! You’re Purr-fect!” It was just as terrible as Waverly had ever hoped for. She thumbed open the card to find a short, handwritten note:

“Dear Waverly,

If you’re reading this, it means I managed to keep a straight face (but had to lie through my teeth). Sorry about that.

I didn’t know what to get you (without being super obvious) so I stuck with a few things I think you’ll like. The big envelope is from Gus, the piñata is from me. I would have left you a baseball bat too, but something tells me you’re a girl who has a big stick for hitting things with on her own.

I hope you have a good one, Waverly Earp. You’re amazing and the best part of Purgatory to me.

 Celebrating you,

- Nicole”

The envelope was from Gus?

Hefting the flat package, Waverly felt a stiff, small weight. She ripped off the pull tab and slid out a large picture frame. A normal letter envelope with a sticky note fluttered out along with the picture frame.

The black and white framed photograph showed Shorty’s, probably taken a few years ago. Featured were Shorty, Curtis and Gus along with Waverly smiling out front. Around the edges were signatures of regular patrons. Sloppy and rough “happy birthdays” lined the image margin.

But… none of them said anything. They just ate their lunches and left. Did they know?

A sticky note, again in Nicole’s neat script, said “I had to sic Nedley on the Shorty’s lunch crowd to get them to sign this after they left the bar. They were also sworn to secrecy. Apparently, he also shook them down for extra tips, too. I neither condone nor deny this behavior.”

Poking a finger into the white letter envelope, Waverly was shocked to find a neat stack of cash (mostly $5s and $1s, but a few $10s and at least one $20). 

She couldn’t take it anymore. Waverly opened up Snapchat to send Nicole a message, though she briefly hesitated about waking the woman up after she’d been up all night.

She did this on purpose.

Smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, Waverly tapped out: [“You did all this?”]

There was a short wait before a response. [“I have no idea what you are referring to. I am at home. With my cat.”]

Shortly after, a picture of a ginger cat wearing Nicole’s white Stetson while socked feet could be seen at the bottom of the frame. Waverly chuckled. 

It took a few seconds of thinking before something clicked about their earlier conversation.

Chewing her cheek, Waverly’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she typed. [“Or… wait, was this the car vandal you were talking about?”] She pulled back to send a photo of her Jeep.

[“Oh yea, that punk was out of control. You should be glad she’s off the streets.”]

[“She, huh?”]

[“Yes”]

A series of Snapchats suddenly streamed into Waverly’s phone, all selfies of a certain Purgatory Sheriff’s Deputy.

The first was Nicole standing in front of Waverly’s Jeep with a cup of coffee in hand. Her Stetson along with a several bags of balloons, a couple of grocery bags, the dragon piñata, and a small cylinder of helium rested on the car hood.

The next showed Nicole holding Waverly’s car keys with the caption [“Don’t be mad, Gus let me have them. I promise I won’t hurt your baby!”] Her brown eyes were wide with guilt as she bit her lower lip.

Another showed Nicole blowing up balloons and cramming them into the Jeep. Then one of her sitting in the Jeep making a silly, horrified face while surrounded by balloons. The last was of Nicole holding the dragon piñata like a baby in Waverly’s passenger seat.

[“See? She was a criminal mastermind. She had to be detained.”]

Waverly replied with a small giggle. [“Truly a mad genius”]

[“Did you crack the piñata yet?”]

[“I was gonna do that when I got home.”] Though the thought of the long drive back to the Homestead made Waverly impatient... Almost irrationally impatient, like if she didn’t know what this surprise was she might burst.

[“Good. Drive safe. You’ll have to tell me what you think.”]

[“You gonna be up?”]

[“I’ll wait”]

Waverly hurried home, her foot heavy on the gas. She couldn’t stop smiling, and her face around her cheeks and eyes were starting to ache from the effort. Occasionally there were tears, too. It was better than nice.

The Homestead was empty and quiet, her big sister still on a mission. An earlier text from Wynonna just read “Happy birthday, babygirl. Left you some of that shit pizza you like in the fridge. When I get back, we are going to the city. I missed your big 2-1 pub crawl and we have lost time to make up.”

Finding the pizza, Waverly tucked a piece into her mouth while carrying the piñata, the picture and some of the balloons that said “22” (for her scrapbook) upstairs. Inside her room, Waverly grabbed her metal softball bat. She picked up the piñata to shake it. There was something large inside, but also the shuffling of a bunch of small things. What could it be?

It took about 4 solid whacks (very satisfying) to break open the dragon. A font of candy and paper spilled out, as did a large roll of something soft.

The spread of candy included little Caramilks, a couple of smooshed Coffee Crisps, and a few Cadbury chocolates (all her favorites). The unfamiliar candies in with the rest included individually wrapped cherry cordials and a sour candy she’d never heard of. She wondered if they were Nicole’s favorites. She wondered how Nicole knew her favorites.

Larger than the candy, there were also unopened packs of her favorite post-it notes she used for research. And sprinkled among the small candies were clippings of her name in the Purgatory Gazette: cheerleading successes, academic honors mentions, her Nicest Person in Purgatory photo at the Chamber of Commerce…

The large item curled in a soft roll was a t-shirt that said “Class of 2015” from the online college she’d been studying language and history. Waverly hadn’t had an official graduation, just a certificate she’d printed herself. But this felt… real. Like she hadn’t just been playing at going to college, but that she had something to really show for it.

It was just… so nice.

She hugged the t-shirt to her chest, though she spied a few water droplets darkening the fabric. Tears had started to stream down Waverly’s cheeks. From her sitting position on the floor, Waverly extracted her phone to send Nicole a Snapchat of the murdered piñata.

Almost an immediate response from Nicole. [“You killed it! Hope it felt good”]

[“It was all amazing… thank you so much”]

[“Sorry if some of that came off creepy. I just didn’t know if anyone had ever put your report card on the fridge, so to speak, to make a big deal of all the awesome stuff you’ve done and how hard you work.”]

That gave Waverly pause.

No. Not really. Especially not when Daddy was alive or Momma was there. Gus and Curtis were always so tired and unsentimental. Wonderful people, just not the type to dwell on the past.

Waverly tapped out a few winking emojis. [“Just a little creepy. But I guess it’s public record and all. Cop domain. …just stay off my Facebook and Instagram.”]

[“Yes, ma’am”]

Waverly found herself looking at the pictures of Nicole messing with her car again, that big smile returning. A nagging thought crept in.

[“When did your shift really end?”]

A very long pause.

[“……10AM.”]

Lines of motherly concern crossed Waverly’s face. [“Nicole! You worked a 12 hour shift then stuck around to do all this?! For me?”] Her eyes darted up to her own phone clock. 8PM. Almost a full 24 hours awake for Nicole.

[“That’s why we have coffee, Waves. Push ourselves to the max.”]

Waverly chewed her lower lip.

Nicole quickly tapped out a followup. [“So what’s the verdict: surprises good or surprises bad? I know how much you like to plan things.”]

[“Surprises good”] She surprised herself at how quickly she responded. Especially since she usually hated surprises. Champ’s were terrible, Gus had no patience for them, and Wynonna was one never-ending surprise that Waverly couldn’t plan a second around.

A long pause found Waverly’s thumbs hovering over the keypad. She would start to write something then immediately regret it and delete.

Nicole chimed in. [“I’m gonna go to sleep. Keep dozing off with my phone on my face. But next year, Waverly: we’ll do something you pick. Sound good?”]

[“That sounds amazing”]

[“Good night, Waverly Earp. Happy 22nd birthday. I hope it wasn’t just another Tuesday.”]

Indeed.

[dreamykrimi]

Sweater Weather

Part I of a TodoDeku series of connected domestic oneshots. I needed more soft boys in my life. 

Tea at Midnight

It’s strange, when they first move into the dorms, seeing all of his classmates in casual clothing doing domestic things. It’s… homey in a way that his life with Endeavor is not. He expects himself to feel awkward, but he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than relieved.

It’s… fun. He gets roped into group activities like movie nights, study sessions, and the occasional class outing. His favorite moments are those he shares with his individual classmates, though. An unhurried morning with Iida, both sipping their respective hot drinks in companionable silence. Listening to Jirou teach Yaoyorozu how to cook and getting dragged into it to taste test some egg and pancake creation. He slips into a mild routine, interacting with the people around him and edging his way closer to the family feeling that class 1-A gives him.

He’s settling in fairly well, he thinks, save for one glaring exception.

Shouto has always been restless at night, and he quickly realizes that he’s not the only one when he goes to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and finds someone already there.

Sitting in the dark, legs pulled up to his chest at the kitchen table is Midoriya. But what jars him the most about the scene before him is the utter vulnerability on his face. He looks tired, and the shadows under his eyes leaves the impression of a night haunted by dreams. And then there’s the huge swath of clothing pulled loosely around the boy, a warm gray hoodie, with the hood pulled up around his face and slipping forward over his forehead.

The image he makes, sitting curled the way he is, makes something in his stomach lurch. Maybe that’s why he calls out to him instead of backing slowly from the room before he can notice.

“Midoriya.”

His head tilts under the hood, and he has to push it back to see clearly when he says “Oh, Todoroki-kun. I didn’t see you come in. You can’t sleep either?”

Shouto hums in agreement and goes through the motions of making his tea in relative silence. He could probably boil water in a cup just sticking his finger into it, but going through the familiar steps soothes him. Once he has his own steaming cup, he sits at the table adjacent to Midoriya. He expects companionable silence, like Iida in the mornings, but he should know better. This is Midoriya after all, so he strikes up a meandering conversation while Shouto tries to make the appropriate noises in the right places to show he’s listening.

He’s surprised to find that this is soothing too. Different from Iida, and a far cry from the nights he’s spent down here sipping his tea in solitary silence. It’s… nice, actually. The lights are dim and cast cool shadows across the tiled floor. Midoriya talks softly and expects nothing from his end, and before he knows it he’s leaning forward in his seat with his arm propping his head up.

“Todoroki-kun?”

“Mm?”

“You’re smiling,” Midoriya says shyly.

He can’t really find the energy to care, but shrugs all the same, mouth twitching up a bit more. Midoriya settles deeper inside his cloth cocoon and Shouto does his best not to stare at the way the loose neck of the hoodie slips down to his collarbone. Shouto knows from from training together, fighting next to each other,  that Midoriya is not fragile, but the hoodie engulfing him makes him look so small that he can’t help but think that the freckled skin of his neck looks vulnerable.

He remembers then how the boy looked when he first came in, and takes stock for a moment. Midoriya is still curled into his chair, but his posture is more relaxed, his face still drawn with the tightness of a late night but no longer haunted looking. The color seems to be returning to his cheeks and he fidgets with the soft sleeves of his hoodie.

“Midoriya. Why did you come down here tonight?”

Green eyes snap up to meet his, then quickly away. “Ahaa. I uhm. I couldn’t sleep. Sorry. Am I bothering you?” He twists his hands nervously.

“No,” Shouto responds simply. He’s not sure why he adds on “I like listening to you talk.”

Midoriya face gradually pinkens and Shouto watches with interest as he brings his hands up to his face. His hands… He can see the crooked and scarred fingers of his right hand peeking out barely from under the over long sleeves as he drags the material in a sweet susurrus over his freckled cheeks.

Cute, he thinks, unbidden, and then nearly bites his tongue off when his chin slips off his hand. What?

After that, he finds that he can’t sleep far more often. It becomes part of his routine, Midoriya becomes part of his routine, Midoriya in his soft hoodie, with his soft voice. They meet in the kitchen, sip their tea, and Shouto listens to Midoriya talk about everything and nothing until they can’t keep their eyes open any longer. It’s the only part of his routine that doesn’t sit comfortably in his mind, he gets strangely jittery thinking about seeing Midoriya in the dim light of the kitchen, watching him through the fine steam of their mugs as he waves his hands and his sleeves flop over, bunch at his elbows, rub at his eyes.

It’s not every night, of course. They do need some sleep, and there’s no real guarantee that Midoriya will be there on any given night. Until one night, sitting together, Midoriya suggests exchanging numbers.

“Midoriya… I already have your number. You texted me in Hosu.” Shouto does his best to keep any expression from his face as Midoriya scrambles.

“I know! I mean, I remember. I just, I meant that… we could text? When you can’t sleep. I know that there are nights I’m not up and you are and, well. If you ever want company, you can- I mean, if you want!”

Shouto is… having heart palpitations. Something in his chest squeezes tight. If I have a heart attack, Midoriya will probably keep my head from hitting the tile and cracking open, he thinks as he ignores his erratic heart beat.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you awake,” he keeps his voice as flat as he can so as not to let on the stuttering in his chest.

“It’s fine! I don’t mind, really, and I sleep better after this, anyway. And maybe,” his voice is quiet in the darkness, like a confession. “Maybe I could text you, too? If I can’t sleep?”

Shouto bites the inside of his cheek, hard.

“I’d like that.”

The moment passes and they both seem to lapse back into silence until-

“Thank you, by the way,” Midoriya is struggling to meet his eyes in the dim lighting, fidgeting under his gaze. When Shouto’s brows furrow, he continues.

“You came to help me in Hosu. I don’t think I ever really said thank you for that. You… I really appreciate that you came. I don’t like to think about what could have happened, had you not showed up when you did. I was… really scared,” he huffs out a breath and pushes a hand through his green curls. “But then you were there, and it was just a little bit easier to breathe.”

“I was scared too,” Shouto blurts out in hushed tones before he decides to. “When I can’t sleep, sometimes…. It’s because I can’t stop imagining that I got there too late.” And he’s never said it aloud before, but it’s true, and the words feel raw on his throat. He dreams about being too late, about finding Iida with a sword in his chest, about Midoriya, green curls matted with blood-

He does his best to shove those thoughts away. He can’t imagine living in the dorms and missing Iida’s boisterous voice as he tells the class to settle down, or missing Midoriya’s mumbling when they’re paired together in exercises.

Midoriya is looking at him, eyes wide and mouth parted. 

They feel closer after that. Their midnight meetings seem more private, and sometimes when Shouto receives a text it’s nothing more than a steaming mug emoji. Most of the time when they meet late at night it’s the same meaningless chatter that eases them, but now, once in a blue moon, they listen to each other talk about what keeps them up.

Closer, indeed.

Shared nightmares do that.

Only now, Shouto notices those are lessening, replaced instead with blurry images of green hair and a soft gray hoodie. He pretends not to notice that his heart palpitations seem directly related to seeing his friend in said hoodie.

-----

It’s purely coincidental that Kirishima notices Shouto’s feelings.

“Dude, you like him.”

Shouto is not an idiot, and catches the upward inflection with an irritated look at Kirishima. It doesn’t stop him trying to deny it though.

Kirishima is vibrant and bull headed and so well intentioned that it’s almost painful. It reminds him uncomfortably of Midoriya, but where Kirishima is boisterous laughter and rough housing, the other boy is capable of a softer, quieter kindness that appeals to him. But the similarities do stack the deck against him, and sooner than he’d like he’s talking to Kirishima about everything he thought he could bury soundly.

“It’s his hoodie….” he mutters mulishly one afternoon after classes.

“Hoodie? Oh, the gray one? Yeah, it’s pretty cute. He’s like a little kitten!”

Shouto doesn’t feel possessive of Midoriya, not really, but he’s glad anyway that Kirishima is so openly affectionate about everyone with no true designs on Midoriya. And besides that, he gets the feeling that…

“Kirishima. Would I be correct in assuming that your feelings so Bakugou are of a similar nature?”

Kirishima has the decency to look a little pink around the ears when he says “Well, that’s kind of how I noticed your feelings for Deku, actually. I mean, it takes one to know one? Isn’t that the saying?”

“We’re both fools. But you especially, Kirishima,” Shouto says without venom. “Bakugou is going to crush you.”

“Ah, well, I hope so?”

Shouto does him the courtesy of pretending not to hear that.  

Their unlikely friendship comes with many benefits. Kirishima turns out to be an excellent sparring partner, and they make it a biweekly event to set up in a secluded grassy field off the side of the track on campus early in the morning. In between rounds, they discuss their shared misery and the indecencies of pining. Shouto learns more than he ever wanted to know about Kirishima and Bakugou both, but Kirishima seems to respect his boundaries when he isn’t ready to talk about his...condition.

He regrets some of the things he does share, though, when one evening Midoriya comes into the lounge wearing his (ridiculous, too big) hoodie and tries to talk to Shouto as if he’s not about to faint. He’s used to seeing him in his hoodie in the kitchen at night, but they always keep the lights low and he’s always just a little groggy but now, in the bright lights of the common area, he can fully appreciate the way the zipper is half undone, one half slipping down his shoulder, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows revealing strong forearms, and god, he can hear Kirishima snickering behind his hand.

“Not a word,” Shouto hisses through his teeth after Midoriya has gone to bed.

“Dude,” Kirishima says anyway, “You’ve got it so bad. I thought you were going to go up in flames when you adjusted his hood like that!”

He covers his face with one steaming hand and tries not to think of the sweet embrace of death. Midoriya’s hood was… it was inside out, and he couldn’t help it he just reached out and…

“It was so soft…” he says finally with heavy angst.

[ficdirectory]

The Fosters 4B: Take Two (Diamond in the Rough)

Plateauing

 It doesn’t matter how many times Mama runs flashcards with him.  

It doesn’t get easier.

 He still feels small.  Embarrassed.  Worthless.

 She holds up  a picture of a car.

 He sighs, and then manages, “Car.”

 “Good,” she says.

 (Her praise doesn’t feel like praise.  The only thing it does is reassure him that the right word actually came out of his mouth.)

 Next is a…

 “L-l-lamp,” Jesus stutters.  He’s so damn tired.  And when he’s tired, it’s that much harder to say stuff.  To find words.  To pretty much function.  

 (He needs to get off these damn pills.)

 “Nice,” Mama affirms.

 This time, there’s just a letter on the card.

 He blinks.  Squints.  The letter blurs and moves around.  As usual.

 “Where’s the - the picture?” he asks.

 “This one doesn’t have a picture.  Just a letter.  Which letter?”

 “Um…  It’s the- the…” Jesus tries, but it’s no use.  Even if the E stops moving there is no guarantee he’ll be able to say he knows what it is.  Single letters (capital letters) are okay, as long as they’re printed big.  But as long as he’s tired like this, he’s not gonna get any work done.

 He sighs.  “I--I have a headache, Mama.”

 (He always has a headache.  They make concentrating even harder.)

 “I know, love.  I can get you more Tylenol in a bit, okay?”

 “Yeah.” he nods.

 “Do you recognize the letter?” she asks, her tone soft.

 He nods.

 “Can you say it?”

 He shrugs.  “Don’t...know…”

 “Okay.  Can you repeat it?  We know it’s an E, right?”

 Another nod.  He’s so spent.  So humiliated.  He doesn’t want to do this.

 He lays his head down on the table.  

 “Okay.  Let’s rest.” she says, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

 --

 Mama pulls into the driveway and turns off the car.  She turns to Jesus in her seat.  “I wanted to check with you, before we went inside…”

 “About what?” he asks.

 “How much do you want to tell your brothers and sisters?  About the doctor?”

 “Nothing,” Jesus says.  “Why?  Do I h-have to?”

 “Nope.  You absolutely do not have to.  So, if they ask, you or I can just say it went fine?  How does that sound?”

 “Fine,” Jesus echoes, his voice flat.  He’s still so tired.  Still couldn’t find the words to ask about his pills.  So he has to keep taking them.

 He pulls the energy out from somewhere to walk in the house.  Just like Mama guessed, Brandon’s asking about the appointment the minute they get in the kitchen:

 “How’d it go?”

 It feels like he goes to the doctor all the time now.  All this time going and nothing’s changing.  He can’t talk and stand at the same time, because he’s beyond exhausted, but Mama says just what she promised:

 “Fine.”

 “Are your glasses gonna start working soon?” Mariana asks.

 Jesus shrugs.  He and Mama haven’t come up with an answer for that yet.  But Mama takes his cues:

 “Jesus will keep us updated on whatever he wants us to know.  Right?” Mama asks.

 He nods.

 Brandon snickers to himself.  “I love your glasses.  You look like a minion.”

 Jesus’s stomach drops.  He reaches up to take them off.

 Mama helps him to the table.  Encourages him to sit.  Then she turns to Brandon.  

 “Not at all.”

 “Not at all, what?” he asks.

 “Apologize to Jesus,” Mama insists, arms crossed.

 “For what?  Brothers make fun of each other.  It’s kinda the main way we relate,” Brandon defends himself.  “Besides, I meant it in a nice way.  Minions are cute!”

 “Does Jesus’s face look like what you said made him feel good?” Mama challenges.

 Jesus can’t look at any of them.  His headache is major.  His self-esteem which was at about one percent has plummeted back into the negative numbers.

 “I guess not…”

 “It doesn’t matter if you were joking.  Or if you meant it in a nice way.  Jesus needs those glasses.  He has to wear them.  He doesn’t need to worry about his brother making comments about how he looks in them.  What if Jude made fun of your hand brace?  Or your cast?”  

 Jesus sneaks a look at Brandon’s face.  Can see her words about his hand are hitting a raw nerve.

 “I’m sorry, Jesus.  I shouldn’t have said that.  I’m an ass.”

 “Yeah.  You are.  I have-- a headache.  Can I--go?” he asks.

 Mama sends him up to rest.  Jesus makes it to the living room couch.  He can hear them talking in the kitchen.  

 Mama says, “No more jokes about adaptive equipment.”

 “I get it.  I know.  Bad form,” Brandon says.

 Jesus fakes sleep as Brandon walks through the living room.  

 To be honest, he still can barely look at his brother.  First with Emma.  Now with him making asshole comments about his glasses.  

 It’s like all Jesus’s worst fears are coming true.

 Drawing

 It’s later that afternoon when Mariana finds Jesus upstairs in bed.  A sketchpad in his lap.  The tremor in his hand is mostly gone.  And the glasses are actually starting to work.  

 Lines don’t move.

 He tested it out earlier and he can still sketch.  So he started working on something.  It’s not the same stuff he used to draw.  It’s different.  More architectural.  Less emotional.  Unless you know where to look.  Because Jesus’s feelings are the whole point of why he’s drawing this.

 Mariana comes in his room.  “I think you look cute in your glasses.  Like Clark Kent.”

 “Don’t...try so hard.”

 She goes quiet, nodding to herself.  Then:

 “Hey.  Are you drawing again?  Can I see?”

 He flips the book against his body.  “No…” he draws the word out and looks away from her.

 “I wouldn’t say anything mean.  I love your drawings.”

 “Maybe...before...not...now…”

 “Yes now.  Please?  I won’t tell anyone about it if you don’t want me to.  It can just be between us.”

 He glances at the intercom.

 Mariana goes over and speaks into it.  “Whoever’s listening, we’re muting this for privacy.”

 She hits a button.  “As long as I’m with you, I think it’s okay to mute for a few minutes.  I’ll turn it back on before I go.”  She raises her eyebrows.  Waits.

 Slowly, he flips the sketchpad toward her.

 Mariana’s reaction is immediate, and genuine:  “Oh, this is so cool!  Do you remember those Magic Treehouse books?  About the treehouse that could travel back in time?”

 He laughs softly. “Yeah.  Those were the -- the first chapter books I ever read.”

 “You used to say I was just like the sister.  ‘Cause she was always getting her brother into some crazy adventure.”

 They both laugh.

 Mariana keeps talking and it’s like she’s reading his mind:

 “We used to always want a magic treehouse of our own.”

 “Yeah, I wish that we had one.  Then I--I’d go back in time before any of this happened.”

 Mariana hands him his sketchbook back.  She sits beside him on the bed.  “What if we built one?”

 “See?  Just like the sister,” he grins.  The smile falls from his face.  “Moms w-won’t let me touch the screwdrivers...ever again.  You--can’t build.  So how would we?”

 “Well, let me think about it.  Because I think...this could be our senior project.”

 “For real?  You’d wanna do--this?  You hate building.”

 “But I love being in charge.  I could be, like, the foreperson.  And you could be the architect, who, like, draws the blueprints or whatever.  The brains.”

 “No.”

 “On this, you could be.  It’s your design, Jesus.  We’d just need someone who’s good with tools.  And a budget.  And supplies.”

 “Gabe?” he asks.  

 “You read my mind,” she grins, reaching across him to flip the intercom back on.  “Let’s go talk to Moms.”

 Imagination

 It’s been awhile since Jesus has had something to get really excited about.  But even this has Jesus feeling overwhelmed with all the ways it might not happen.  

 It probably won’t work out.

 Still, he goes downstairs with her, and on the way they decide that she’ll do the talking.  She is the best negotiator, after all.  If they want a chance at doing this, they need to lean into their strengths.

 Mom makes that pretty clear the minute Mariana says the words Gabe and build in the same sentence, Mom is shutting it down.

 “Absolutely not.”

 “I told you,” Jesus whispers.  “I knew she wouldn’t...let us.”

 “Jesus wouldn’t have to do any of the actual building.  He could be, like, the architect.”

 “All right,” Mom allows.  “And exactly how do you intend to pay for all these materials?  We certainly can’t afford all this.”

 “We could.  If it was our senior project,” Jesus puts in.  He can see just the mention of senior projects has Mama interested.

 “There have been juniors who have been allowed to start their senior projects early,” Mariana points out.  “And if we build the treehouse in a park or playground, we could apply for some of ABCC’s community outreach budget.  And we could fundraise through the school.”

 “Well, I don’t think it’s a bad idea.  It would be good for you two to work together on something.  And good for you both to help each other.  And, Jesus, the design is pretty cool.”

 “Thanks,” he says, feeling stunned and happy at the compliment.  That it’s not “pretty cool for someone with a TBI.” It’s just “pretty cool.”

 “But you would still need to get faculty approval,” Mama cautions.

 “Perfect.  Vice Principal.  Approved.  Done.”  Mariana’s so happy right now.  But Jesus senses a ‘but’ coming.

 “Not approval from me.  Drew needs to sign off on it.”

 Jesus and Mariana both frown.  “Well, can you at least put in a good word for us?” Mariana asks.

 “I will do what I can.” Mama promises.  And it sounds like there might be hope after all.

 Meeting

 Mariana sets up the meeting with Drew ASAP.

 They do it over Skype because that cuts out needing to walk a bunch and get tired out before the meeting even starts.  His glasses still make him self-conscious.  He’s glad his cane and helmet can’t be seen at least.

 When Mariana comes downstairs, she’s wearing her glasses, too.

 “Why are you wearing those?” he asks, annoyed.

 “I just felt like it,” she says.

 Jesus is glad she just leaves it there.  It does make him a little more at ease.  They are twins, after all.  And while his glasses aren’t the same as hers, Drew wouldn’t really know the difference.

 “You ready to do this?” she asks as they sign into Skype.

 “Mm-hmm,” he nods, holding onto his sketchbook.

 “You’re gonna be great,” she says, in the second before Drew’s face is there on the screen.

 “Mariana, it’s good to see you again.  And you must be Jesus,” Drew says, making eye contact.

 Jesus nods.

 “Thank you for doing this on a Saturday.” Mariana says.

 “No worries,” Drew responds.  “Well, let’s hear it.”

 Jesus swallows.  He’s never been good at school stuff.  And now it’s that much harder.  

 Mariana holds up the sketch Jesus made so that Drew can see it.  Mariana nods to Jesus behind the paper.

 “This...is a treehouse.  I want...to build it.”  

 He’d been afraid no words would come out, but so far, so good.  Drew just sits and listens.  Same as he did with Mariana.  It’s still stressful, but it helps a little bit.

 “This is a great sketch.  And I love the idea. Tell me how building a treehouse is personal for both of you?” Drew says after Mariana moves the drawing.  

 “I sent you an..email…” Jesus says.

 Before any of this, he and Mariana had talked to Callie about the kinds of questions she had to answer before getting her project approved.  ABCC wanted their projects to be personal.  So they could reflect on who they were as people.

 From there, Mariana drafted an email via Jesus’s email account, asking Jesus questions along the way, about what he wanted to say.  He answered her questions and she turned his single words and short sentences into a full on explanation from his POV.  Mariana read him the finished product, and Jesus approved it.

 This way, he could offer his perspective without his speech being a barrier.

 “You did.  So I’m seeing, Jesus, that you want to build this treehouse because it’s always been an area of interest for you?”

 “Yes.”

 “And you’ve had some carpentry training by a family friend...who it looks like...may be available to help with the building?”

 “Yes,” he answers again.

 “I see.  And Mariana, for you?”

 “It’s personal because a treehouse has always symbolized escape for us.  In our childhood...we’ve needed that.  Just a chance to be kids.  I want to work on this with Jesus because it’s kinda always been our dream.  And I don’t have Jesus’s drawing or carpentry skills, but I’m great at being in charge.  I know how to work under a deadline and manage my time.  And I can address the details that might fall through the cracks.”

 “Good.  And how do you plan to fund this?”

 “We were hoping to pick up an application from you for ABCC’s Community Outreach fund.”

 “Do you have a location picked out?”

 Jesus shakes his head.  “Not yet.”

 “Here’s what I’m going to suggest.  It’s a solid idea.  I want you both to talk to your carpenter friend.  Get him on board, and give him the paperwork so he can sign off on this, too.  When you’ve done that, and when you’ve picked a location together, let me know, and we’ll talk again.”

 Mariana’s jotting down notes.  “Timeframe?” she asks.

 “Well, you’re still juniors, so technically there isn’t a rush.”

 “We’ll say a week…” Mariana says, checking with Jesus before she marks it down.  “In a week, we’ll meet again, and go from there.”

 “Sounds good.  Thanks you, too.  Jesus, it was nice to meet you.”

 He nods.  “You...too…”

Climbing

 It finally feels like Jesus might be making some real progress toward climbing out of his depression pit.  Not that it’s that easy.  It’s not.  But it’s helping to have this project with Mariana.  To have had the meeting with Drew go okay.  To have only a couple things to worry about before he approves this and they can move forward with it.

 To make this treehouse dream a reality.

 Mariana comes in.

 “Any luck reaching Gabe?”

 Jesus shakes his head.  “I texted him...but he hasn’t said anything…”

 “Huh,” she says, thinking.

 “Should we...locate...or wait for him?”

 “I think we need to wait for him before we pick a location.  If he’s gonna be doing most of the actual building, we want him to be able to pick a spot that works best for him.”

 “Right.  Yeah.  Should I...keep texting?”

 “I can try to call him, too.” Mariana offers, and tries right then.  She makes a face at her phone.  “It says his number’s been disconnected…”

 “No.  We need him.”

 “I know.  I’ll go by his place tomorrow and see if I can figure out what’s up.  Until then...I found us some inspiration…”  She takes a book out from behind her.

 “What’s that?”

 She gives it to him, explaining:  “It’s the Magic Treehouse.  The one where they go to the Ice Age.  I found it in the attic.”

 Jesus reaches for his glasses.  Puts them on and flips to the first page, willing the letters to organize themselves in a way that makes sense.  But so far, no luck.  They aren’t moving, but they still don’t mean what they’re supposed to mean.

 “Umm…” he hedges, as Mariana stands close, just waiting.  He scoots over.  “Do you wanna...read it...to me?”

 Mariana takes the book and smiles, getting on the bed with him.  They each hold onto a side of the book without even thinking about it, and Mariana starts to read.

 For a minute, everything feels okay.  Then another.  Then another.  Mariana reads the whole book in no time.

 But it’s just as good as Jesus remembers.

 He really wants to build that treehouse.

[massthetics-blog]

New Post has been published on MASSthetics

New Post has been published on http://massthetics.net/final-latte/

How I Slung My Final Latte, Built An Online Business, And Travelled The World

How I Slung My Final Latte, Built An Online Business, And Travelled The World

You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be able to hit publish on an article to this effect.

  Exactly 368 days I ago, I took a massive leap of faith, slung my final, perfectly poured latte at Starbucks, held a ceremony for my green apron, and dove into the world of building a self-sustaining business that would grant me the freedom to do whatever the fuck I want, when I want.

Because in my world, freedom is the value that drives me to do what I do.

368 days removed from serving that final, perfect latte, I’ve been quite literally making everything up as I go. Somehow, things are rolling along smoothly (for the most part), and my business has been consistently growing across every key metric month after month.

It may be a slow climb, but it’s a steady, upward climb nonetheless. I can’t ask for much more than that.

Without dragging this post into an essay of big wins from the past year, I’ve put together this gorgeous, chronological infographic to summarize the key events, and biggest wins.

Not included in the above are smaller, but equally as satisfying trips to LA, Austin (twice), and New York City.

To say it’s been quite the year would be a massive understatement. If I was the type to take a moment to sit back and revel in what’s been built thus far, there’s a lot to celebrate. For better or for worse though, that ain’t me. While I’m proud of all that I’ve accomplished over the past year, constantly looking forward is what got me here, so continuing to look forward is exactly what I’m doing.

With a few hefty investments made into growing MASSthetics over the past few weeks, I cannot wait to see what the coming months bring.

With that being said, I want to draw your attention to the weeks and months that passed in silence between each exciting moment. It’s during those down times were I’d sit at my computer for hours on end, turning down invitations, and questioning whether or not what I was pouring my heart and soul into was ever going to pay off.

Those are the chunks of time that will make you want to say “fuck it,” and throw in the towel.

As cliche as it is, I find it amusing to have fought tooth and nail to be able to quit a job where I worked 40 hours per week, and trade in a stable paycheque to work for what was easily at least 70 hours per week, with no guarantee of any reward.

Such is the life of working towards something big, bold, and beautiful.

The writing of this marks the realization of a dream I’ve had since I was a freshly minted 19 year old. # That dream? # To travel. To experience new cultures. To dive into new environments. To taste new foods (of course). All while still earning an income and doing that which brings myself, and others value. # It hasn’t been an easy road getting here. Months of my life were spent working at Starbucks – a job that didn’t mesh with my values or goals in the slightest – and trying to figure out what the hell I was chasing. # I’ve lost friendships and turned down opportunities for new ones. And on the flip side, I've forged incredible new relationships with people dotted around the globe. # The relationship I was in for over 2 years was stretched, pushed, and tested one too many times. Because, to quote one of my favourite writers, Mark Manson: # "Love isn’t always enough." # And that's okay. Because, it was an incredible experience, and I was able to learn a thing or two about a thing or two. # Building MASSthetics has been a labour of love, a mentally exhausting passion project, and the focus of all my goddamn life-force rolled into one. # I’ve reached a point where I’m ready to take the plunge. To see if I can live up to the dream I've pictured so clearly, for so long. # I sold, passed on or parted ways with 90% of my belongings, my flights are booked and I’m en-route to stop number one. New York City. Which, seems like the most fitting city in the world in which to begin this journey. # The coming months are sure to be an adventure. I still have a business to build and take to new heights. I still have Nationals next July to improve for. I still have items to check off the list. # To those who have supported me, helped me grow, and allowed me the opportunity to chase what I’ve dreamt of, I cannot thank you enough. # You know who you are. # I cannot thank any of you enough for the support, encouragement and guidance. # If there's one if there's one thing I'd love for you to take away from this. It's that you you truly are capable of whatever you envision.

A post shared by MASSthetics l Alex Mullan (@alexmullan13) on Oct 6, 2016 at 11:41am PDT

The six actions responsible for the past year (and how you can replicate them)

I may only have a year of experience with this whole business thing under my belt and while MASSthetics is relatively small, the concept has been proven, and I’ve learned countless things (from people much smarter than I) about building a successful business that I want to share with you.

What you do with these bits of advice is up to you, but I’ve harvested the majority of my fruits off the back of doing what follows. It stands to reason that you can to, if you’ve got the balls to saddle up and go for it.

Here goes.

1. You must differentiate yourself from the rest of your market.

The online fitness industry is one hell of a crowded market.

Every overworked personal trainer and their slowly dying cactus (no? was that just me?) wants to capture the vision of trading in 5am starts, dead afternoons, and 9pm finishes six days a week for being able to help people change their life, and transform their body from the relative comfort of their laptop.

Turns out cacti don’t thrive off of being watered with coffee, or fed creatine and cinnamon.

While it’s much, much easier said than done, the tantalizing possibility of doing so has spawned exponential growth of the online industry, and trainer after trainer to throw up a website and offer online coaching.

Knowing that, as well as understanding the basic principle of needing to have a USP (unique selling point) to build a successful business, I poured a ton of time and energy into finding *my* own angle.

Which I’ve certainly found within the halls of MASSthetics, and by speaking to people who want to get jacked, shredded, tanned, and are fed to the gills with spending hours in the gym, only to see no results.

If you don’t inject your personality into everything you put out into the world, speak to a specific sect of people, or stand by your guns, your business will go down in flames.

Precisely as Alex Mullan Fitness Systems did after a lacklustre 7 months of imperceptible existence (a tale for another day).

2. Talk to your clan (or whatever you want to call your following) every single day.

If there’s one lesson in particular that I wish to impart after one year of being entirely self-sustained by the internet, it’s that the growth of your business and the impact you have on others is a by-product of the relationships you build.

Whether those relationships are with your paying clients, new email subscribers, or peers in your industry, it rings true for all.

Making a concentrated effort to bond and connect with your potential customers is a surefire way to bring people into your circle, build trust, make sales, and grow a business.

I love writing, and that makes email marketing not only powerful tool for me, but one that I genuinely enjoy using. It allows me to talk to people who like what I have to say every single day, and build a deeper bond with each passing email.

Now, imagine what would happen if you applied that same principle to other areas of your life…

3. You must be a consistent, stubborn motherfucker.

People won’t come into your world if you don’t do anything to attract them.

When I first thew MASSthetics out into the depths of the internet, I made a commitment to myself that I would publish two new pieces of content every single week for the first year, no matter what.

I knew from day one that this was an ambitious target, and that I’d reap the rewards if I could pull it off. The first three months of this commitment were by far the hardest, as I was still working at Starbucks 40 hours per week (usually getting up at 330am to open the place), and decided to throw contest prep on top of it all.

Nearly every night I’d be up until 11pm, putting the final touches on articles so that they’d be ready for my content release days of Tuesday and Thursday. Yes, I bought into the narrative of sacrificing sleep over all else, and I did pay a price for it.

4. “Content is the vehicle that will drive your business forward.”

Poignant quote courtesy of friend, wordsmith, and biz wizard, John Romaniello.

Way back in the way back when I threw Alex Mullan Fitness Systems out into the wild world of the internet, I was foolishly operating under the impression that if I had a website and offered coaching, the clients would come. I had no traffic, no email list, no clients, and no strategy to fix any of the above.

This time around, the story couldn’t be more the opposite.

Having your content published on popular websites where you know your ideal clients hang out is a powerful way to establish yourself as an expert, drive traffic back to your site, and capture emails from which you can build a relationship with people.

For me, choosing the sites I wanted to be published on was easy. Knowing that I wanted to work with guys and girls who enjoy training, and the thought of building an impressive physique, I set my sights on the all the sites I read when I was first falling in love with bodybuilding.

T-Nation, Roman Fitness Systems, JMax Fitness, Bodybuilding.com, EliteFTS, and soon to be the membership site of my bodybuilding coach, The Muscle Bank (quite proud of this one).

One by one, I did whatever needed doing to ensure I had multiple posts published on each site.

Guess what?

It worked.

My email list grew organically, my traffic rose each month, credibility soared, and life rolled onward.

5. Put your business on a pedestal.

Knowing what you want to accomplish, baring your teeth, and not letting anything stand in your way is something you’re going to have to come to turns with.

I sacrificed date night with my then-girlfriend (imagine that), I rarely watched movies or TV, I turned down invitations to be a normal human and socialize, I stopped buying new clothes or things I knew I didn’t need, and re-invested every spare coin back into MASSthetics. All I kept for myself was enough for food, a couple supplements, rent, zero calorie vitamin water, and a little weed.

I fucking hate this quote, but it speaketh the truth.

“You have to do what others won’t, so you can live like others can’t.”

Nonetheless, having a clear, defined mission, and putting that sucker on a pedestal is one of the most powerful things you can do. No matter what you’re trying to achieve. Because being clear and confident on what you’re working towards will help guide every decision you make, and keep you focused when you’d rather throw your laptop into traffic.

5.5. Until you’re genuinely comfortable with the health of your business and your income, you need to keep investing back into your business (if you want it to keep progressing).

Some people set personal rewards for when they make a sale, land a big win, or hit a new income threshold.

Much of what I’ve achieved over the past year has come from not rewarding myself when there was an influx of cash, but from rewarding MASSthetics. By that I mean that whenever I had cash that I didn’t need for the essentials above, I would find a course, mentor, coach, or product related to an area of the business I wanted to improve, and do just that.

Courses on Facebook advertising, copywriting, determining and launching offers, books, consults with entrepreneurs several leagues above me, and most recently a coach to improve my writing as a whole (in celebration of being free from Starbucks for one year), and fine-tune my systems. Those have been the rewards for pushing this thing forward, not fancy shit (that’ll come in a few years 😉 )

6. Get every single client you work with the results they came for.

You can’t build a service-based business on the back of shitty and/or no results.

Meaning that every single client I worked with got my full attention (rightfully so), and I did everything in my power to support them, and ensure they get the results they came looking for.

Fast forward a year, and carrying that mentality into every coaching relationship that begins with someone new has had a profound impact on my top line, and the life of those who come through the MASSthetics Coaching Program.

The three most powerful business lessons learned in the past 12 months

If I had a gun to my head and was told to boil everything I’ve learned and experienced over the past year down to three thoughts that you can carry forward, the following would be it.

#1. Show up every single day, and stick to your word.

If you say you’re going to publish one new article each week, post on social media each day, and talk to your list daily, you better be prepared to do it, no matter what life throws at you.

Not for a couple weeks, not for a month, but day in and day out until such a time where that strategy makes less sense.

#2. People need to want what you’re offering.

The fact that you think something is a great idea, product, or service doesn’t mean that others will. You are not your market, and your market has the final say on what they want, what they buy, and at the end of the day, the livelihood of your business.

#3. Know what you’re trying to achieve, and make sure that all your actions align with that vision

To get a little woo-woo on you, you need to have clarity on your vision. If you don’t know what you’re trying to build or achieve, your actions will be all over the place, and your piss-poor results will reflect that.

This is one of my favourite spots in my hometown. Coming here in the mornings with a cup of coffee to listen to the waves, think, and enjoy the scenery, is something I deeply enjoy. # Alas, this morning was the last time I'll be coming here for a long while. Let it be told that I will not return here–no matter what–until I've doubled MASSthetics, and brought a coach into the ring with me. # Because goals, intentions, world domination, and all that crap. #thethickening #roadtonationals #thewanderingmeathead

A post shared by MASSthetics l Alex Mullan (@alexmullan13) on Apr 2, 2017 at 9:47am PDT

The final reps

At the end of the day, this piece isn’t meant to impress you.

It’s meant to show you that if building a business is something you’ve been entertaining:

1. Doing so has the potential to completely transform your life.

2. You better be damn well prepared to put in more work than you ever have.

3. By the sweat-soaked gym Gods presiding over us all, it’s damn well worth it.

And so it is.

  PS. 4 out of 5 lifters will let their rationalization hamster run wild. Convincing themselves they’re making progress…yet you build no muscle, and burn no fat. The 5th lifter joined the MASSthetics Clan and put the information within the (free) Hypertrophy Handbook to good use. He no longer has to rationalize his progress. He simply is. Click here to become the 5th lifter, and let me know where to send the prestigious Hypertrophy Handbook.