#cold email template

[guyrcook]

Mind Blowing Email Campaigns Made Simple

In this video, the creator shares strategies for building high-converting email campaigns. They highlight common mistakes, such as poor audience targeting, lack of mobile optimization, and failure to track results. The key to success lies in understanding the audience, using the right tools, and focusing on the customer journey. Personalization, storytelling, urgency, and social proof are also…

[janeemmanuel]

How to Apply for Fully Funded Scholarships Abroad (Step-by-Step for 2025/2026)

🎓 How to Win a Fully Funded Scholarship Abroad (Step-by-Step Guide for 2025/2026) Are you dreaming of studying in the USA, UK, Germany, France, or anywhere in Europe — without paying a single kobo on tuition or accommodation? Then don’t just dream. Start here. 👇 This guide walks you through everything you need to apply for a fully funded undergraduate, master’s, or Ph.D. scholarship in the…

[rizwan-akib1]

[inkskinned]

i have chronic pain. i am neurodivergent. i understand - deeply - the allure of a "quick fix" like AI. i also just grew up in a different time. we have been warned about this.

15 entire years ago i heard about this. in my forensics class in high school, we watched a documentary about how AI-based "crime solving" software was inevitably biased against people of color.

my teacher stressed that AI is like a book: when someone writes it, some part of the author will remain within the result. the internet existed but not as loudly at that point - we didn't know that AI would be able to teach itself off already-biased Reddit threads. i googled it: yes, this bias is still happening. yes, it's just as bad if not worse.

i can't actually stop you. if you wanna use ChatGPT to slide through your classes, that's on you. it's your money and it's your time. you will spend none of it thinking, you will learn nothing, and, in college, you will piss away hundreds of thousands of dollars. you will stand at the podium having done nothing, accomplished nothing. a cold and bitter pyrrhic victory.

i'm not even sure students actually read the essays or summaries or emails they have ChatGPT pump out. i think it just flows over them and they use the first answer they get. my brother teaches engineering - he recently got fifty-three copies of almost-the-exact-same lab reports. no one had even changed the wording.

and yes: AI itself (as a concept and practice) isn't always evil. there's AI that can help detect cancer, for example. and yet: when i ask my students if they'd be okay with a doctor that learned from AI, many of them balk. it is one thing if they don't read their engineering textbook or if they don't write the critical-thinking essay. it's another when it starts to affect them. they know it's wrong for AI to broad-spectrum deny insurance claims, but they swear their use of AI is different.

there's a strange desire to sort of divorce real-world AI malpractice over "personal use". for example, is it moral to use AI to write your cover letters? cover letters are essentially only templates, and besides: AI is going to be reading your job app, so isn't it kind of fair?

i recently found out that people use AI as a romantic or sexual partner. it seems like teenagers particularly enjoy this connection, and this is one of those "sticky" moments as a teacher. honestly - you can roast me for this - but if it was an actually-safe AI, i think teenagers exploring their sexuality with a fake partner is amazing. it prevents them from making permanent mistakes, it can teach them about their bodies and their desires, and it can help their confidence. but the problem is that it's not safe. there isn't a well-educated, sensitive AI specifically to help teens explore their hormones. it's just internet-fed cycle. who knows what they're learning. who knows what misinformation they're getting.

the most common pushback i get involves therapy. none of us have access to the therapist of our dreams - it's expensive, elusive, and involves an annoying amount of insurance claims. someone once asked me: are you going to be mad when AI saves someone's life?

therapists are not just trained on the book, they're trained on patient management and helping you see things you don't see yourself. part of it will involve discomfort. i don't know that AI is ever going to be able to analyze the words you feed it and answer with a mind towards the "whole person" writing those words. but also - if it keeps/kept you alive, i'm not a purist. i've done terrible things to myself when i was at rock bottom. in an emergency, we kind of forgive the seatbelt for leaving bruises. it's just that chat shouldn't be your only form of self-care and recovery.

and i worry that the influence chat has is expanding. more and more i see people use chat for the smallest, most easily-navigated situations. and i can't like, make you worry about that in your own life. i often think about how easy it was for social media to take over all my time - how i can't have a tiktok because i spend hours on it. i don't want that to happen with chat. i want to enjoy thinking. i want to enjoy writing. i want to be here. i've already really been struggling to put the phone down. this feels like another way to get you to pick the phone up.

the other day, i was frustrated by a book i was reading. it's far in the series and is about a character i resent. i googled if i had to read it, or if it was one of those "in between" books that don't actually affect the plot (you know, one of those ".5" books). someone said something that really stuck with me - theoretically you're reading this series for enjoyment, so while you don't actually have to read it, one would assume you want to read it.

i am watching a generation of people learn they don't have to read the thing in their hand. and it is kind of a strange sort of doom that comes over me: i read because it's genuinely fun. i learn because even though it's hard, it feels good. i try because it makes me happy to try. and i'm watching a generation of people all lay down and say: but i don't want to try.

[hameesstuff]

"One Step Closer"

As promised, here's the story :)

Pairing: Ceo! Jaehyun x Secretary! Reader

Summary: He was her cold, control-obsessed CEO; she was the chaos he never asked for but couldn’t ignore. What started as daily arguments and eye-rolls turned into rainy rooftop confessions and stolen kisses. Somewhere between the sarcasm and soft mornings, they fell—hard and unexpectedly.

CEO Jaehyun x Secretary Reader | Enemies to Lovers | Slow Burn | Angst | Humor | Fluff

Word count: ~11k

___________________________________________

PART 1: Everything He Isn’t

There was something violent about the way he walked. Calm, controlled violence.

Every morning at exactly 6:57 a.m., Jung Jaehyun swept into the building with the kind of purpose that made even the security guards sit up straighter. His suit was pressed, hair perfect, eyes sharp enough to slice through glass. He never missed a beat. And he never acknowledged you unless it was to point out a mistake.

“Miss ___,” he said today, not even glancing at you as you matched his pace. “You’re five minutes late.”

“I’m two minutes early.”

“Then you’re five minutes late to being five minutes early.”

You didn’t flinch. “Did you memorize that from one of your management books, or is that original?”

He stopped walking. You nearly collided into him. His eyes finally found yours—dark, unreadable, and unreadably beautiful.

“Do you want to be fired, or are you just hoping I’ll lose interest first?”

You smiled. Tight-lipped. “Neither. I just want to survive the day without being treated like a defective robot.”

His phone buzzed. He looked away.

That was the thing about Jung Jaehyun. You could set yourself on fire right in front of him, and he’d critique the flame temperature.

Working for him was like constantly drowning in invisible water.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t swear. He didn’t even speak loudly. But his silence was a weapon. The way his pen would pause mid-signature when you entered. The way he corrected your grammar via email but never face to face. The way he thanked everyone except you when a project succeeded.

And yet… you’d lasted eight months. Longer than the previous secretary, who left after five and a half weeks with what HR called “emotional exhaustion.”

Why? Because you were stubborn. And maybe, deep down, you wanted to understand why someone who looked like him—who moved like him—was so completely unreachable.

You met Johnny in the break room after a particularly awful morning.

“He said what?” he laughed, nearly spilling his coffee.

“‘Fix this before it fixes you,’” you quoted, mimicking Jaehyun’s clipped tone. “It was about a typo.”

Johnny leaned against the counter, still grinning. “You know what your problem is?”

“You mean besides voluntarily working for a sociopath?”

“You fight him back.” He raised a brow. “He doesn’t know what to do with people who don’t flinch.”

You stared into your coffee. “I don’t want to fight him. I just want him to stop treating me like… like I’m a placeholder.”

Johnny studied you. “You don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

But he just smiled into his mug. “Never mind.”

The Tipping Point

It happened on a Tuesday. Always a Tuesday, when you let your guard down.

The board meeting had gone sideways. An international partner pulled out last minute, and tension was coiled in every inch of Jaehyun’s posture when he returned to the office.

You were waiting at his door with an updated proposal. He didn’t look at you as he took it.

Thirty seconds later, his voice cracked through the glass.

“Why is this still formatted in the old layout?”

You blinked. “Because we haven’t received confirmation on the revised template—”

“I told you last week to anticipate the shift.”

“No, you implied we should prepare in case it was approved. It hasn’t been.”

He stood. Slowly. Like thunder building.

“This company doesn’t run on what’s implied, Miss ___. It runs on competence. If you can’t grasp the difference, maybe this position is too much for you.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Too much. You. Like you weren’t enough. Like you were the weak link in a chain he didn’t even believe you belonged in.

So you did something you never had before.

You turned and walked out.

Didn’t ask permission. Didn’t justify yourself. You left the report, the room, and him—standing in silence.

PART 2: Smoke & Spark

Johnny’s birthday party was the kind of event people talked about for weeks afterward.

Not because of the cake. Not even because of the expensive liquor or the live DJ in the middle of his penthouse balcony.

But because everyone showed up—and so did Jaehyun.

You weren’t planning on going. You’d ignored the group chat, ignored Johnny’s texts, and only considered it when he called you directly:

“If you don’t come, I’ll start spreading rumors that you’re in love with our CEO.”

“I’m already rumored to be his personal punching bag.”

“Perfect. Come as his emotional support pet.”

You almost laughed. And then you showed up.

The Scene

You walked in wearing a soft champagne slip dress with a low back and strappy heels that made your legs look dangerous. Not because you were trying to get attention. But because you needed to feel like something other than Jung Jaehyun’s personal piñata.

Johnny whistled the second he saw you. “Jesus. I almost regret setting you up for this.”

You blinked. “Setting me up?”

He grinned. “Jaehyun’s here.”

Your stomach flipped. Not in a cute way. In a don’t trip over your own feet way.

And then you saw him.

Black suit, no tie, collar undone just slightly—like he’d shown up straight from work and didn’t know how to relax. His hand held a half-empty tumbler of whiskey. His eyes found you instantly.

And they stayed on you.

You looked away first.

Later, on the balcony

The city glittered below you. You’d had half a drink and were starting to think maybe you could survive the night without punching someone.

That was when the balcony door slid open behind you.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You didn’t turn around. “I didn’t come for you.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

He stopped beside you, just far enough away to be polite. Just close enough to ruin your breathing.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You sipped your drink. “Or maybe I just like peace.”

“I deserved that.”

You scoffed. “You deserve worse.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at you.

“You’re good at what you do,” he said suddenly. “Better than most people I’ve hired.”

You blinked. “Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Are you drunk?”

He gave the smallest smile. “No.”

“Then why are you suddenly complimenting me like I’m about to get hit by a truck?”

There was silence between you. Heavy. Almost tender.

“Because I saw your face,” he said quietly, “after I said what I said that day. And it’s been… bothering me.”

You turned, really turned, to look at him now. “So what, this is guilt?”

“No. This is the closest thing I know to an apology.”

“And what does that make me? The closest thing you know to a person?”

That hit. You saw it.

“I didn’t realize you cared what I thought,” he said, voice low.

“I didn’t,” you snapped. “Until I did.”

His jaw clenched. His fingers wrapped tighter around the glass.

You stepped closer, feeling anger and something else rise in your throat.

“You treat me like I’m disposable. Replaceable. Like I’m always one mistake away from being nothing.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.”

Silence.

Then softly, quietly: “That’s not what you are to me.”

The city spun below, the bass from the party thudded through glass, and your heart was a war drum in your chest.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

But something had cracked. And you both felt it.

PART 3: Rain Between Us

You didn’t mean to stay so late.

But after hours of biting your tongue while Jaehyun barked orders like he was building an empire with your sanity, you needed air. Not office air. Not elevator air. Real air.

The sky was heavy when you climbed up to the rooftop—grey clouds low and angry. But you didn’t care.

The second the first raindrops hit your cheeks, you closed your eyes and laughed.

It wasn’t graceful.

It wasn’t poetic.

You kicked off your heels, spun in circles, held your arms out like a drunk ballerina. The hem of your skirt clung to your thighs. Your hair frizzed in the wet air. And you laughed—giddy and breathless—as the rain poured harder, like the universe had finally decided to cry with you.

You twirled, clumsily talking to the sky like an idiot.

“Bet you’re having a great time watching me drown in email threads and printer jams, huh?” you shouted up, voice cracking with laughter.

The wind howled back.

And then—

A voice.

Cold. Low. Disbelieving.

“…What the hell are you doing?”

You froze.

Turned.

And there he was.

Jaehyun. Standing in the open rooftop door, already soaked. His white shirt clung to him. Hair dripping. Jaw tight.

“You—” He stepped out, letting the door slam shut behind him. “Are you insane?”

“Probably!” you yelled over the rain. “But I’m happy. Can’t say the same for you.”

He stalked toward you, water pooling around his shoes.

“You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll finally get sick leave.”

He looked ready to scream.

“You think this is funny?” he snapped. “You’re acting like a child—”

“You’re acting like a dictator!”

That hit.

You breathed hard. Rain blurred everything.

“You know what your problem is, Jaehyun?” you hissed, stepping toward him. “You’re miserable, and you can’t stand when someone else isn’t.”

His eyes burned into yours. “You think Johnny makes you happy?”

Your heart skipped.

“That what this is about?”

“You laugh with him. You smile like he means something.”

“Because he treats me like I mean something!” you yelled.

Silence.

Rain poured. Thunder cracked far off.

“You shouldn’t care,” you said softer now, stepping back. “I’m just your secretary, right?”

He was in front of you in two long strides.

“Stop saying that like it’s true.”

You blinked up at him, rain running down your face like tears.

“Why do you care, Jaehyun?”

He didn’t answer.

He just stared at you like he hated how much he wanted you.

And then—

He kissed you.

Hard.

Like a dam finally snapping open.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was soaked, wild, angry. His hands gripped your waist. Your fingers fisted his shirt. The rain clung to your skin but none of it mattered because he was warm. He was real.

It was chaos. And it was everything.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

Both of you panting.

Both of you ruined.

“I don’t know what this means,” he whispered.

“But I can’t stop wanting you.”

You didn’t speak.

You just kissed him again.

Softer this time.

Because sometimes, the rain doesn’t wash things away—it brings them to the surface.

PART 4: Midnight Cake & Secret Kisses

You shouldn’t be here.

You knew that the moment you rang the bell to Jaehyun’s penthouse.

But here you were—hair a mess, shoes squeaking from the light drizzle outside, holding a badly taped cake box like it was a peace offering… or maybe a ticking time bomb.

The door swung open.

He stood there, barefoot in grey sweatpants and a loose black tee that made your heart thud far too loudly.

His hair was tousled. Sleepy. And when he saw you—

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Are you drunk?”

“Nope.”

“High?”

“Only on impulse and sugar.”

He stared.

You shoved the box at his chest.

“I brought cake.”

“You brought cake.”

“Yeah. You’ve been kind of… horrible. But you kissed me. So. I figured this was either an apology or a thank-you.”

Jaehyun opened the box slowly, expression unreadable.

“…It’s half-eaten.”

You grinned. “Well, I got hungry on the subway. Don’t judge me.”

A beat.

Then, to your utter shock, Jaehyun… laughed.

A real one.

Head thrown back, hand raking through his hair.

You stared.

“I—” he said between chuckles, “—you’re ridiculous.”

You pushed past him into the apartment. “I know. So let me be ridiculous in your kitchen.”

“Help yourself,” he muttered, shutting the door behind you.

His home was warm, sleek, intimidatingly tidy. You didn’t belong here—and yet, your mismatched socks were already padding toward the fridge like you owned it.

“Is this oat milk?” you called.

“Touch it and die.”

You snorted and set two forks on the counter.

He watched you fumble with the box, squint at the fridge light, poke the cake like it owed you answers.

“You’re the most confusing woman I’ve ever met,” he said eventually.

“I get that a lot.”

“You show up at my place past midnight…”

“Mm-hmm.”

“…with cake that you already ate…”

“Yup.”

“…and then raid my fridge like we’re married?”

You paused.

Tilted your head.

“…Do I get a ring if I finish the cake?”

His lips twitched.

You didn’t expect it, but he moved closer.

Crowded you against the counter, box squished between your hip and the marble.

You gulped.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered.

“Neither do I,” he murmured, brushing hair from your cheek. “But I like the sound of your laugh in my kitchen.”

You opened your mouth—probably to say something sarcastic.

But then he leaned down and kissed you.

Not like the rooftop. Not like he was trying to prove something.

This was slow. Gentle. A soft hum behind your ribcage.

His lips found yours again and again, like he was trying to memorize your laugh on his mouth.

You gasped when he gripped your waist, lifting you slightly onto the counter.

“Oh my god—Jaehyun—”

“Shh.” He kissed your neck. “You’ll wake the oat milk.”

You burst out laughing.

Squirmed in his arms, trying to shove him away.

He pulled you right back in, hands warm on your thighs as he buried his grin in your shoulder.

“You’re horrible,” you whispered between giggles.

“You’re the one who brought half a cake to a first date.”

You blinked.

Pulled back slightly.

“…This is a date?”

He looked at you, suddenly serious.

Then, softer than anything he’d said all week:

“It is now.”

You bit your lip.

And kissed him again.

Because somehow, this man who drove you mad at work had become the only place you felt like home.

Even if you were barefoot, laughing, and sticky with cake frosting.

PART 6 — “You Said It Like It Was Nothing”

Your eyes fluttered open to the sound of rain lightly brushing the windows.

A warm weight was pressed against you. Firm, steady.

And then you realized—

You were wrapped in Jaehyun’s arms. Again.

Not just lightly snuggled. Enclosed. Your back to his bare chest, his hand comfortably splayed over your stomach, your legs tangled like you were his.

Your heart jumped straight into your throat.

For one long second, you panicked.

Then: Okay. Breathe. Think. You hadn’t been drunk last night. You just... fell asleep after the movie. On his couch. And he joined. That’s all. Perfectly harmless.

Except—

“Stop panicking,” came a sleepy voice at your ear.

You froze. “I’m not.”

“You’re stiff as a board.”

“You’re spooning me like a koala.”

“You were cold.”

You twisted your head slightly. Jaehyun, still half-asleep, had one eye open and a drowsy smile playing on his lips.

“You’re also not wearing a shirt,” you muttered.

“You took mine.”

Your brain hiccupped. “I did not—”

He shifted slightly. You saw the cotton fabric on your body. His oversized shirt.

“Okay, maybe I did.”

He nuzzled against your hair like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Smells better on you anyway.”

You stopped breathing. “You can’t say things like that casually.”

“I’m not being casual.”

He was smiling now. Sleepy. Soft. Honest.

You didn’t know where to put your heart.

Trying to recover, you mumbled, “You drooled in your sleep.”

“You snored.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Like a kitten.”

You elbowed him gently, and he grunted, letting go so you could sit up. You rubbed your eyes, yawning as you stood, tugging his shirt down your thighs.

Jaehyun sat up too, ruffling his bedhead. “You want coffee?”

“Yes. And toast.”

“Demanding.”

“You love it.”

He smirked. “Unfortunately.”

You blinked.

Wait.

You turned slowly. “What did you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just walked past you toward the kitchen.

You followed. “No, seriously. What did you just say?”

“I said you’re demanding.”

“No, after that.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder. His smile was small. Gentle. Like he didn’t regret it at all.

“Unfortunately,” he repeated softly, “I love you.”

Silence stretched between you.

Your heart flipped upside down.

“You—you said that like it was nothing,” you breathed.

“It’s not nothing,” he said quietly, walking back toward you. “But it also doesn’t have to be some dramatic explosion either. It’s just… true.”

You stared up at him. Your mouth opened. Then closed.

Then—

“You idiot,” you whispered, surging forward and throwing your arms around him.

He laughed as you buried your face in his bare shoulder.

“I’m wearing your shirt,” you mumbled, muffled against him.

“I know.”

“I’m your secretary.”

“I know.”

“I love you too.”

You felt him smile into your hair.

Then he whispered, “We’re gonna be so weird at the office.”

You grinned. “Good. I’m still calling you boss though.”

“Even in bed?”

You shoved him, red-faced. “Oh my God, JUNG JAEHYUN—”

He chased you around the apartment, laughing.

And when you both left for work—he reached out and laced your fingers together in the elevator like it was the most natural thing in the world.

No panic. No second-guessing.

Just love—quiet and simple and absolutely, completely mutual.

EPILOGUE — “Half of You, Half of Me”

It was raining the morning your daughter turned three.

Not the loud, chaotic kind of rain — but the quiet kind. Soft, like a memory. It streaked the windows in silver lines while the house filled with the quiet chaos of celebration: wrapping paper on the floor, the faint scent of vanilla frosting, and a trail of pink socks that led nowhere in particular.

She sat cross-legged on the living room rug, her little fingers tugging bows off gifts with exaggerated grunts, puffing her cheeks dramatically when the ribbon wouldn’t budge.

Jaehyun was beside her, crouched with his sleeves rolled, calm as ever — but you could see it in the corner of his smile: the reverence. The awe.

You leaned in the doorway with a coffee mug, watching them.

“She’s half of you,” he said suddenly, eyes still fixed on her.

You tilted your head. “Which half?”

“The stubborn part. The soft part. The part that makes a mess of everything and still gets away with it.”

“She gets that from you,” you murmured, walking over and nudging his side.

She looked up at both of you and grinned — and Jaehyun froze for a second like he always did when he saw her smile.

Like something in him still couldn’t believe she was real.

There was a knock at the door before the moment could stretch too long.

It flew open before either of you could move.

Johnny barged in with three helium balloons, a sparkly birthday crown, and what looked like a half-eaten cake box.

“I swear the bakery lady blinked and it was missing a corner,” he said, unbothered.

“Uncle Johnny!!” your daughter squealed, running into his legs.

“Happy Birthday, Chaos Goblin,” he said, hoisting her up into his arms like she weighed nothing.

“She’s gonna think this is normal,” you warned.

“She’s gonna be cooler because of it,” Johnny said smugly, placing the crown on her head like it was a coronation.

“She’s gonna be impossible to raise,” Jaehyun muttered, though he was smiling — that quiet kind of smile that only reached his eyes when he was watching you or her.

Later that night, the house was dim again. The sky had cleared. She’d fallen asleep curled on your chest this time, hair damp from a bath, breathing warm and even against your skin.

Jaehyun watched you from across the couch, elbow draped over the backrest, silent.

“What?” you whispered.

“I’m just…” he exhaled. “I still don’t know how I got this lucky.”

You glanced down at your daughter.

“Half of you, half of me,” you whispered.

He leaned forward, cupped the back of your head, and kissed you. Soft, grateful. Like a promise never broken.

Outside, the rain had stopped.

And inside, everything you’ve ever wanted was already here.

The End.

Feedback is welcome :)

___________________________________________

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Top Career Tips To Set Yourself Up For Success

Figure out where your skills and passions align. Then determine the lifestyle/work culture you thrive in and what sacrifices you're willing to make in your chosen career path (for some, it's always traveling/talking to people 24/7, working late hours, unpredictable/unconventional hours, potentially lower pay/less predictable income, etc.). It truly depends on your top values, your personality, and your goals/priorities in life.

First focus on getting incredibly talented at your craft. Find a mentor(s) who will push you with their feedback/suggestions. Take classes/skills courses/read books & articles to gain more applicable knowledge/hard skills. Join clubs, apply to internships, volunteer, and request informational interviews in your desired field.

Make your skills marketable. Create a professional resume and/or neat portfolio/collection of work samples. Discover and articulate your USP (that should essentially serve as the backbone of your elevator pitch). Frame your skills through a customer/business-centric lens. How does your experience/skillset solve their problems and help a company/client achieve their goals?

Build a network for yourself. Don't be shy to reach out to companies/individuals who inspire you. Speak with your secondary school teachers and professors for connections. Create peer-to-peer networks, too, so you can grow together. Be a fearless networker and connector. Help others, do favors, and make the person glad they met/hired you. Make it your objective to be memorable through your work ethic/providing high-quality work products and showing up with a motivated & overall positive attitude allows people to like and trust you with their time, clients, money, etc.

Master the art of a killer email/cold pitch. Especially in today's world, learning how to sell yourself through intriguing emails/LinkedIn messages is the key to unlocking potential success. One client or opportunity can create momentum that will be useful years down the line, too.

When in doubt, follow up – on an email, pitch, job opportunity, connection, etc.

Be ruthless and relentless with your research. For new contacts, connections, opportunities, and information to support your pitches/job interviews/networking conversations, new technologies, and trends within your field. Read everything credible you can get your hands on. Display working knowledge and practical applications of these concepts and how they can benefit the person in front of you/their business.

Create systems. For how you structure emails/pitches, conduct research, different types of workflows/ work template structures for different types of projects, time-blocking, client funnels, etc.

Get comfortable with rejection. Use it as a primer for self-reflection and refining your craft/processes or help you pivot your approach to help you achieve your goals. Never take business decisions on behalf of a company personally (and vice versa).

Give yourself breaks, but don't give up. Tapping out for good is the only surefire way to fail at an endeavor. Be flexible in your path, but zeroed in on your goal(s). Learn when to quit or pivot, and when it's time to coast or seek growth.

[empyrisan]

Meadofeiya Lung, a dragon breed I designed a few years ago for a personal project. I'm selling adoptables of them, going for $15-20 each. This is the first set of six I made with the "Young" template, a bunch of pastel palette babies! I accept Paypal as payment. DM or email me if you're interested! { Adopt Guideline + TOS } { Toyhou.se Folder }

#1) Meadofeiya Lung: Young / 1-10 / Pastel Series

1: Nairo ($15 / OPEN) A cheerful boy of early springtime afternoons. He enjoys he chirping of passerine birds and remembers the names of everyone he meets.

2: Bai ($20 / OPEN) A proud, zesty boy of brand new experiences. If there's a novel trivia to learn, he will covet the knowledge like treasure and gladly share it too.

3: Eppie ($20 / OPEN) A gentle girl of bittersweet memories and regrets. She knows what you left behind a few years ago and speaks well-wishes that you have grown since then.

4: Ines ($15 / OPEN) A quiet girl of a long-forgotten winter forest. She saw many travelers disappear into the trees and later found their names carved into the boles.

5: Cyprien ($15 / OPEN) A serene child of a peaceful and whispering river. Beneath the surface, they are slowly cultivating a garden sanctuary for all manner of aquatic life.

6: Ainsley ($15 / OPEN) A kind and silly child of the rolling, grassy hills. They love a good game of hide-and-seek, and their favorite hiding spots are becoming harder to find.

7: Calla ($15 / OPEN) A lively girl of beaches and summer cold treats. She loves chasing sea birds in the afternoon and collecting bottles that contain treasure maps.

8: Rhett (SOLD) A drowsy boy of warm breezes and daytime naps. He swears that he met some good friends in a dream a few years ago, and claims that you were one of them.

9: Gavi ($15 / OPEN) A calm and regal child of lonely, foggy nights. They guide lost travelers out of the mist and back onto the road, but will ask for a shiny coin in return.

10: Lyric ($20 / OPEN) An excitable child of an abandoned playground. If you find them pouncing about, be prepared to be told everything about an obscure songwriter.

[klapollo]

some basic tips for getting a job in this horrible market

hi all -- long story short, as many of you know, i just finished a three+ month job search after being laid off. here's what i learned:

Your resume should be your accomplishments, not your tasks. When I started searching, my bullet points in my resume were things like "used x software" or "wrote x content." Your resume should be you bragging. EX: "I used x software to turn around 100 deliverables a month," "I managed [x amount] sales associates and was named highest commission earner x months in a row." These don't have to be lifechanging things or massive projects -- any metric that demonstrates your capabilities well can do the job.

Make sure your resume is ATS optimized. Most jobs/companies use automated resume processing, and lots of great people get rejected this way. If you're getting rejection emails on Sunday morning or in the middle of the night, these are probably auto-rejections. ATS is the automatic system that sifts through resumes -- you can find free ATS-optimized templates online, I got min through resume.com. Do NOT use fancy graphics, headshots, any extraneous info. Use sites like jobscan to see if your resume is able to be parsed by an auto resume processor.

Use numbers. Make sure your resume has lots of numbers indicating your skills. "I helped my franchise achieve X% of revenue growth," "I drove x amount of deliveries daily." Any impressive numerical amounts are useful. If your company is tight-lipped about numbers, go to press releases. Ex: an app I did a considerable about of work for generated a lot of money that my company disclosed, so I put down that i contributed to that revenue via my work.

Have a template cover letter. Cover letters can give you an advantage, but they're tedious. Take note of what qualities are most sought-after in your field/ideal role, and write a generic cover letter that applies to most of them. When applying, do minor tweaks such as including the company name or any unique qualifications. Be careful about typos and leaving in old tweaks!

Use the free month of LinkedIn Premium if you're on there. I got some results from cold DMing recruiters for jobs I was interested in, and Premium lets you do that freely. Remember to cancel at the end of the month!

If you're looking for remote work, here are some boards I used: Remote.co, Otta, Remote Rocketship, Swooped, Best Writing (writing-focused)

[inkedwithcharm]

When the Quiet Breaks | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 6: The Things I Can’t Say

You hadn’t opened the curtains in your apartment

Not since the day you moved in—quietly, tearfully without telling anyone. It didn’t feel like home. Just a place to be away.

You sat at the small kitchen table, the surface bare except for your laptop, a cup of tea gone cold, and a wedding binder you couldn’t bring yourself to open.

You stared at it anyway.

Your hand trembled slightly as you opened your email instead. The inbox was flooded with wedding-related messages. Cake vendors, venue confirmations, RSVP templates, floral design references. You clicked on one from the planner:

Just a reminder that your second deposit for the reception venue is due next Monday. Let us know if you’d like to proceed or make changes.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Proceed or make changes.

You exhaled shakily, heart sinking.

You hit “Reply.”

Hi. We would like to postpone the second deposit. I’ll confirm new dates after discussing with my fiancé.

Fiancé.

Your throat tightened at the word.

You hit send anyway. You weren’t ready to fully cancel. Not because you were holding on to hope—no, not anymore—but because the alternative was telling the truth.

And you weren’t ready for that either.

Later that day

Your mom texted you around noon:

How’s wedding planning going? Did Jin fly safely?

You stared at the message for a long time before answering.

Things are busy but going well. Will visit you this weekend.

You lied with such quiet ease, it made your chest ache.

You stood in the bathroom, staring at your reflection.

You looked the same. But you didn’t feel like you belonged in your own skin. There were dark circles under your eyes and a dullness to your expression. You brushed your hair back, trying to fix it, but nothing felt right.

The ring was gone too.

That moment in your office still haunted you: the way he looked at you, wide-eyed, broken, as if realizing too late that he never expected you to truly walk away.

And still… you did.

Because you had to.

Day Five – Afternoon

You tried canceling the dress fitting.

“Is there a reason, ma’am?” the consultant asked kindly over the phone.

You hesitated, then said, “Scheduling conflict. Can I… just put it on hold for now?”

“Of course. We’ll pause your appointments until further notice.”

Until further notice.

Another goodbye dressed as a delay.

You curled up on the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket, the TV flickering with some random drama you weren’t watching. Your phone buzzed quietly beside you.

Jin.

1 new message.

I miss you so much it hurts

You didn’t open it.

You didn’t respond.

You wished you could just let go of the pain, erase it like a number off your screen—but it was still there, carved beneath your ribs.

Because this wasn’t just about the canceled wedding. It was the reality that somehow, even after years of love and laughter and shared dreams, you had ended up in a place where you couldn’t tell if he really wanted to build a life with you. And the worst part?

You had to be the one to walk away first.

You opened your calendar and saw it circled: Final guest list deadline.

You closed the laptop.

The silence was deafening. But at least in the silence, there was no pretending.

The smell of soy-braised ribs and garlic steamed rice filled the kitchen like warmth you didn’t deserve.

Your mother had been humming quietly to herself while plating banchan, her voice soft with the kind of joy that came from having her daughter home. Your father poured drinks into small glasses, cheerful, wearing the same smile he always wore for family dinners. Your younger cousin had come over too, eagerly talking about the suit he was planning to wear to your wedding.

You sat there, mechanically helping set the table. Nodding. Smiling.

Lying.

Your ring finger was bare. But no one noticed. Or maybe they did and chose not to say anything.

“He’ll be back soon, right?” your mom asked, handing you the tongs. “Jin?”

You nearly dropped them.

You forced a smile, throat closing around a truth you couldn’t afford to speak. “Yeah. He’s arriving in two days.”

“Wedding planning must be exhausting.” Your aunt chimed in, reaching for a serving spoon. “No wonder you look so tired, dear. Is it the guest list or the dress that’s giving you headaches?”

You shook your head, lips tight in a smile too rehearsed. “Just… everything all at once.”

They all laughed lightly in sympathy, unaware how your heart was breaking more with each sentence you buried behind.

Dinner dragged on, your laughter hollow, your words careful.

The conversation spun in circles—florist options, the venue, whether or not you’d do a first dance. They kept saying how lucky you were. How Jin was so kind. How he would make a great father someday.

You nearly choked on your water at that.

He did say he wasn’t ready. He did say he hoped you weren’t pregnant. He did look you in the eye when you returned the ring and said he understood why you had nothing left to give.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, the sound of utensils clinking and happy chatter fading behind the door.

The moment you locked it, your knees buckled.

You sat on the edge of the tub, burying your face in your hands. Your shoulders trembled. Not from grief alone—but from how hard you had to work to keep it hidden.

You had lied to everyone tonight.

Your family believed the wedding was still happening. They thought Jin would walk in the door this weekend, wrap you in his arms, and talk about honeymoon dates and house renovations.

They didn’t know you hadn’t talked to him since he left.

They didn’t know the last time you saw him, he looked at you like you were already gone.

When you returned to the table, your mother looked at you with soft concern.

“Sweetheart,” she said quietly, reaching for your hand, “are you really okay?”

You nodded.

Too fast.

Too practiced.

“I’m just tired,” you whispered. “I think I’ll turn in early.”

She nodded, brushing your hair behind your ear like she did when you were a child. “Don’t push yourself too hard, hmm? The big day’s coming soon. It’ll all be worth it.”

You smiled as if you believed that. As if any of it were still real.

That night

You lay in bed, your phone on the nightstand, screen dark and silent.

No messages.

No calls.

Jin had stopped trying.

And maybe, in some quiet corner of your soul, you wanted him to. Because if he stopped… you wouldn’t have to keep choosing between forgiving him and protecting yourself.

But still.

A tiny, broken part of you wished his name would light up the screen. That he would beg to talk. That he’d say he made a mistake.

You turned to face the wall, eyes wet and heavy.

And whispered into the dark,

“How did we get here…”

Jin – Two Nights Before Return to Seoul

Los Angeles, 11:47PM

The bottle was cold in his palm, condensation dripping onto his jeans as he leaned back in the dim light of the hotel balcony.

Namjoon sat across from him, quiet as ever, nursing his own drink with that unreadable look in his eyes. The kind of silence that always made Jin feel like Namjoon already knew everything, even if Jin hadn’t said a word.

They’d wrapped up the last shoot that evening. The MV shoot had drained the life out of him. The travel, the pressure, the forced smiles. Every time someone asked if he was excited to get married, he gave the same tired, hollow nod.

“I think…” Jin finally said, voice low, throat tight, “the wedding might not happen.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. Didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stared out at the LA skyline and let the words sink into the night.

“…You okay?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Jin said, forcing out a bitter chuckle. “Not really.”

He tilted his head back, resting it against the wall behind him. The stars here weren’t as clear as in Seoul. Just a blur behind the city smog. A little like his thoughts—blurry, suffocating, too fast.

“It all happened so fast,” Jin murmured. “One second we were cake tasting, talking about the future. Then she was packing her things and saying she didn’t know what we were anymore.”

Namjoon didn’t interrupt. He just listened. Like he always did.

“I messed up,” Jin continued. “I didn’t say the right things. I didn’t see her. I kept brushing her off like her excitement was too much for me, like I had all the time in the world to fix it later.”

He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly feeling every bit of the years behind him. “But there’s no later anymore.”

“She told you it’s over?”

“She returned the ring. She told me she can’t be with someone who might be pretending. That she doesn’t know what I want anymore.”

Namjoon let out a breath, long and quiet.

Jin downed the rest of his beer. “Emails keep coming in. Postponed floral arrangements. Venue on hold. I got one today that she delayed the tux fitting again. It’s like she’s slowly… shutting everything off. Like watching someone walk out a door you can’t reach.”

Namjoon finally spoke, eyes meeting his.

“You texted her?”

Jin shook his head, jaw tight. “Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts every time she doesn’t respond.” He paused. “And maybe she’s right. Maybe I don’t deserve to keep asking her to love me when I couldn’t even tell her I wanted the same life she dreamed of.”

“She deserves honesty.”

“I know.” Jin exhaled. “But when I go back, I’m supposed to walk into her parents’ house like nothing’s changed. I’m supposed to act like I didn’t lose the only person who looked at me like I was her whole world.”

Namjoon’s voice was soft this time. “So tell her family the truth.”

Jin’s eyes were tired, red-rimmed, raw. “She asked me not to. Said we’ll explain together after I return. I said okay.”

Silence again. This one heavier.

“She used to wait up for me,” Jin whispered. “Even if I came home at 2AM, she’d have a light on. These days… it’s dark.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t know how to face her. But I know that pretending we’re okay… is breaking both of us.”

Namjoon set his bottle down. “Then stop pretending.”

The wind picked up, brushing past them like a sigh.

Jin stared at his phone one more time. No new messages. No missed calls.

He didn’t expect any.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

He stood, brushing off his jeans. “I’ll see you in Seoul.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“No,” Jin answered honestly. “But I’ll go home anyway.”

You stared at the message on your phone for a long time before you replied.

Jin: I just landed. When are we talking to your parents?

Your thumb hovered. Part of you wanted to say “Not yet,” the other part knew dragging it out any longer would only make it harder.

You: Scheduled dinner tomorrow. Both families.

You didn’t wait for his reply. You couldn’t.

Because tomorrow meant no more silence. No more pretending.

Tomorrow meant finally saying the words out loud:

The wedding is canceled.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

The Next Day – 7:11PM

Outside your parents’ home, you stood on the quiet front step, nerves twisting inside you like wire. You hadn’t even rung the bell yet. Jin’s car pulled up just a few minutes later.

You hadn’t seen him in a week.

And when he stepped out—hair tousled from the wind, coat slung over his shoulders, exhaustion carved into his features—it still hurt. The way he looked at you like you were both strangers and something sacred all at once.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Hey.”

A long silence stretched between you.

You were dressed too nicely for the occasion. He looked too perfect for the weight of what you were about to say. It almost felt like you were still going through the motions of being engaged.

Except you weren’t. Not really.

“We need to talk before we go in,” you said, voice low.

Jin nodded, stepping closer but not touching you. “How do you want to do it?”

You inhaled deeply. “I think… you should talk first.”

Jin looked down at the steps, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. “And if I can’t say it?”

You glanced at him. “Then I will.”

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but your mom’s voice called from inside.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

She opened the door before you could respond, face lighting up when she saw both of you.

“Come in, come in! Everyone’s waiting!”

Your heart dropped.

Jin glanced at you. You looked at him.

You both walked in.

The table was beautifully set. Your dad and Jin’s parents were already chatting like nothing had ever gone wrong. Your mom took your hand and guided you to your seat beside Jin.

“I’m so glad you’re both here,” she beamed. “This dinner was long overdue.”

You forced a smile, fingers tightening around your napkin.

Jin sat stiffly beside you, his hand brushing yours once by accident. He didn’t move it again.

Your father greeted Jin with a cheerful pat on the back. “Good to see you, son. How was L.A.?”

“Busy,” Jin answered with a polite smile. “But good.”

You sat down beside your mother, Jin beside you. He didn’t touch you. You didn’t expect him to.

The table was full of food—your mom always went overboard when both families were over. But your appetite had long since left you.

And then Jin’s father cleared his throat with a smile, glancing at his wife, who beamed like she was about to drop fireworks.

“We’ve been planning something for the both of you,” she said, clasping her hands together. “A little surprise before the big day.”

You felt Jin tense beside you.

“We talked to your manager,” she said, turning to her son. “We knew your schedule was packed, so we had him clear out a week after your return from L.A.—don’t be mad. We had to be sneaky.”

Jin blinked, stunned. “You… what?”

“We cleared your calendar,” Jin’s father chimed in. “With help, of course. “

“And…” his mother pulled out a small folder from her bag, eyes gleaming with pride, “we booked a week-long trip. Jeju Island. Both families. A pre-wedding celebration.”

You froze.

Jin’s fingers curled tightly against his knee under the table. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“We booked it the week after you proposed,” she continued, smiling brightly. “We wanted it to be special. Just us. Just family.”

You tried to keep your face from crumbling.

Your parents lit up with surprise. “You did?” your mom gasped. “That’s incredible! Oh, Y/N—you must be so excited!”

You forced the most painful smile of your life. “Yeah… surprised.”

They all laughed.

Jin’s father reached across the table, pouring wine for the parents as your mom went to grab dessert. Everyone was toasting to the “perfect timing” and how you two “must’ve needed a break from all the planning.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Your eyes met Jin’s for a split second, and you saw it in his gaze—the disbelief, the panic. The ache.

The dinner you thought would be for goodbyes had turned into a celebration of something that was already broken.

“We just wanted something for all of us. Memories before the big day!” His mom said. “I’ve been dying to tell you, but I wanted to wait until things settled down with the shoot.”

She looked between you and Jin.

“You two deserve something special before you begin your forever.”

Jin turned slowly to look at you.

And you just stared, completely silent, frozen in a perfect moment that had nothing to do with reality anymore.

A trip. A celebration.

How were you supposed to tell them now?

How could you look at the joy on their faces and say, The wedding is off. We broke up.

How do you shatter a table full of love?

The air thickened. The room buzzed with laughter and cheer. But to you, it was like drowning in syrup, stuck in a moment you couldn’t run from.

Jin reached under the table and gently touched your knee.

You looked at him. And for a second, his eyes were saying everything you were thinking.

What do we do now?

Chapter 7

[csuitebitches]

I have been lurking on your blog for quite some time now - I absolutely love it! I wondered the following: Do you have any tips, or perhaps a template you follow on how to network with recruiters, professionals, or even CEOs on LinkedIn. For example, I have received almost 100 LI invitations on LinkedIn from above-mentioned individuals, but I am so bad at crafting a message (after accepting the invitation), that could be considered a good conversation starter, or even, a way to "get in the company". Worse part; these individuals are from top companies I would love to work for, and usually I am not bad at crafting emails (because I do that every single day at work), but for some reason... I get stuck with how to network properly... Would love to hear your opinion or feedback!

Let’s open this for all the LinkedIn girlies - I don’t use LinkedIn to meet new connections. What I do is, I attend lots of conferences, seminars - both local and abroad, I interact a lot with our clients, so I’m generally meeting new people all the time. For me LinkedIn is more of a “following up” thing after I meet someone (I connect with them and then shoot a message to thank them).

Cold messaging has never worked for me so I don’t bother.

Anyone else who’d love to help this anon out?

[otaku553]

I recall you mentioning once that you worked in a lab, do u have any advice for getting to that point? I want (read: NEED) to work or intern at a lab but I don’t rlly know what to ask the ppl running them lol

If I can help I'd be glad to!! Full disclaimer though, I am an undergrad junior and I go to school at a pretty reputable research institution so I may not be that much help because I've been pretty lucky and privileged to have direct access to many opportunities. If you're not a high schooler or undergrad student, my advice might not even apply to you at all. This got quite long, so I'll put this under a read more. If you have any more questions, feel free to dm me!

I don't know what your research interests are or what level of schooling you're at so I'll try my best to be broad. You're right that it's best to directly ask the person running the lab, the principal investigator (PI). Even if there's an official application process for fellowships or summer research grants or programs, usually already having reached out to a mentor is either a requirement or strongly encouraged. This applies for both university labs and I think rseearch agency labs like NIH, though I will say, a lot more of my advice will apply to labs at universities.

Understandably, though, it's really difficult to write that email, and quite disheartening that usually you'll need to write multiple emails to different PIs before even getting a reply back. One way to deal with this is to find a template online to copy, because word for word these emails usually go

"Hello [so and so], My name is [so and so] and I'm [brief introduction]. I'm interested in [what research this lab does] and was wondering if you have any positions available in your lab for [period you want to do internship during]. If you need them, my resume and transcript are attached. Thank you for your time."

You can delve into more specifcs in the body but it doesn't need to be long-- I think PIs tend to be quite busy, so being concise and direct is good, as long as you're genuine about what you're interested in. It doesn't need to be an essay or multiple paragraphs or anything! I find that usually 3-4 sentences suffices. If they want to know more, they'll usually ask to meet to talk about what you're interested in.

(On a side note, my roommate has an excellent strategy for dealing with anxiety when sending an email where you recite "fuck it we ball fuck it we ball fuck it we ball" while clicking send lmao)

Now, more specifically, if you're already attending a college that has labs, and professors who are PIs of those labs, it can be useful to take a class that the PI teaches and email either while taking the class or after the class and say "this class was very interesting and i was hoping to explore [so and so] further. Do you have any openings in your lab etc." If you don't have the time to do this, just cold-emailing the lab is usually fine too, but it's good to cite a connection I think? Also keep an eye out for any presentations or seminars that might be given by grad students or professors, since going to those can be a good way to express interest.

If you're a high schooler, you won't have the immediate connection, but I think most researchers would be impressed with the initiative to reach out and have no reason to refuse help. You might have a harder time finding a paid internship as a high schooler, but even with volunteering you can definitely get a foot into the door with research experience. I think a good way to start for high schoolers is looking into local university labs and expressing an interest in their work? Or reaching out to alumni of your school to ask for general advice and or opportunities.

If you don't receive an email back, you can send a follow up in two or three days. Sometimes emails can get pushed to the bottom of the inbox before they're seen, and it's no harm to just bump it again, with a little "hello! I wasn't sure if you'd seen this email. I'd like to follow up on this." (historically, I have been very bad at this, ahha). If you receive a negative response (which is pretty unlikely I think?) you can still thank them for their time and ask for advice regarding getting into research for their field of specialty.

I hope this helps! If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask or dm me. I will try my best to be helpful :)

[savelockwoodandco]

Has it really been a week since Thanksgiving already? It's the last day of November, which means it's time for another Thursday post!

Here’s our weekly reminder to send an email to convince YouTubers to watch and react to Lockwood and Co! More details down below!

See instructions and template:

YouTuber Outreach Email Template

Copy and paste the template into your email and edit as needed

Include the subject line—Video Request: Watch and React to Lockwood and Co

As a reminder, we'll be posting about this every Thursday!

We hope you all are having a great week! There's a cold going around where us Mods are (and in other parts of the world, we're sure), so everyone make sure to take care of themselves this cold/flu season!

[talktechai]

Build in Minutes, Not Months: How AI Is Rewriting the Rules of Business Launches

Launching a business used to be a marathon.

Endless planning. Weeks to build a landing page. Months to develop an MVP. Thousands spent on copywriters, designers, and marketing support—just to get off the ground.

But in 2025, that model is broken. Entrepreneurs aren’t waiting months anymore. They’re building in days—sometimes hours.

Thanks to AI-powered tools, creators and founders are now launching smarter, faster, and leaner than ever before.

And platforms like Everyday AI Utility are leading this revolution, giving entrepreneurs plug-and-play access to tools for building MVPs, writing content, creating decks, and marketing ideas—without needing a team.

🚀 The New Startup Speed: Idea → Execution in 24 Hours

What once took months of coordination, tech setup, and creative direction can now be accomplished with a few AI-powered workflows.

Let’s walk through what a real-world business launch looks like in the AI era.

1️⃣ Validate the Idea with AI-Driven Research

Before you build anything, you need clarity:

Who is this for?

What problem are you solving?

What language resonates?

Instead of long surveys or endless Googling, founders now use AI to:

Generate user personas based on target audiences

Draft positioning statements with product benefits

Write market-fit summaries for quick idea testing

The Idea & Market Fit Generator on Everyday AI Utility helps founders get these core components in minutes—ensuring a clear, focused direction before investing time or money.

2️⃣ Build the MVP or Landing Page Content

Even no-code tools need content. And for solo founders or small teams, writing all of it can be overwhelming.

With AI, it’s now simple to:

Write landing page copy tailored to your value prop

Generate feature lists, taglines, and CTAs

Create about us sections, testimonials, and benefit breakdowns

Using the Landing Page Writer, Feature Generator, and CTA Creator on Everyday AI Utility, entrepreneurs can go from blank screen to publish-ready copy in under an hour.

“I used AI to write my entire landing page—headline to footer—in 35 minutes.” — Founder, EdTech Startup, Pune

3️⃣ Pitch Smarter with AI-Generated Decks & Emails

Securing attention from investors, partners, or collaborators requires a clear, compelling pitch.

But many great ideas stall at the pitch deck phase.

Now, AI can:

Draft investor-friendly pitch deck outlines

Suggest slide content and visuals

Write cold outreach emails that sound human and persuasive

Summarize your business model into a one-paragraph elevator pitch

With tools like the Pitch Deck Generator, Cold Email Writer, and One-Liner Creator, founders can tell their story confidently—without hiring consultants or designers.

4️⃣ Launch Your Marketing in Hours (Not Weeks)

Marketing is no longer a long runway. With AI tools, you can:

Generate SEO-friendly blog intros and content

Write social media captions in batches

Draft email sequences for product launches

Create product descriptions for ecommerce platforms

The Everyday AI Utility toolkit includes:

Blog Idea & Intro Generator

Social Caption Writer

Email Drip Sequence Tool

Ad Copy Generator

SEO Optimizer

A solo founder used Everyday AI Utility to generate: ✅ A full launch email campaign ✅ A 5-post social media plan ✅ 3 blog posts for organic traffic ✅ Product description content for their store All in one weekend.

🧠 Why It Works: AI Removes Friction From Building

Launching a business isn’t just about having a great idea. It’s about overcoming:

Writer’s block

Over-analysis

Budget constraints

Lack of tech or design skills

Fear of not sounding “professional”

AI neutralizes those obstacles by offering: ✅ Templates ✅ Prompts ✅ Instant drafts ✅ Creative support ✅ Strategic suggestions

It’s like having a branding expert, copywriter, and strategist—working with you around the clock.

And when you use a centralized platform like Everyday AI Utility, you’re not hopping between tools. Everything’s organized by task—so you can move quickly and stay in flow.

🧰 The Launch Stack: AI Tools That Replace Entire Departments

Here’s how small teams are launching faster using AI: DepartmentTraditional MethodAI-Powered AlternativeBrandingHire a copywriterAI tagline & brand story writerMarketingHire an agencyAI ad copy, captions, blogsTech/ProductHire developersNo-code tools + AI contentSalesManual outreachCold email + proposal generatorsDesignHire freelancerImage & layout prompt toolsOpsSOP docs/manualsAI process writer tools

The result? Speed + clarity + cost savings. And the confidence to launch boldly—even as a team of one.

💡 Final Thought: Don’t Wait to Start. Start Smart.

In 2025, launching isn’t about having the biggest budget. It’s about having the right tools—and using them well.

AI isn’t here to replace founders. It’s here to empower them:

To validate ideas faster

To launch with confidence

To create consistently

To build momentum from day one

Whether you’re starting a coaching brand, a product startup, or a content platform—you don’t need to wait months. You can build in hours.

And with tools from Everyday AI Utility, you’re never starting from scratch.

🚀 Ready to turn your idea into a live business—fast? Start with the tools that help you build smarter at Everyday AI Utility

[ryuzakemo128]

Behold A Pale Horse Part 2

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Female Reader/ you

Content Warnings: Kyle Garrick is a rich wealthy man, female reader is poor, Kyle calls female reader: “Love”, “Darling”, “dearest”, and “sweetheart” in a casual and affectionate way, female reader's mental illnesses, mention of past trauma, Kyle's protectiveness, fluffy romance, emotional support, slow burn, angst, drama, action, military themes, emotional turmoil. Mention of blackjack and poker.

Words: 5429

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Credit for Template of Dividers: @cafekitsune

Summary: “I have a fucken feelin she's gonna crawl back like a fucken leech.” you were talking about your mother. “If you think my father was bad. She is just as bad.”

You knew he would die sometime, you just thought he would be alive for a long time and the age of seventy felt too soon. Even though he lived a long time, that he lived for quite a while. Ghost looked at you as you paced around the room as you heard the news.

Your heart felt heavy as you remembered the times you had together, the jokes, the missions, the fear. You had felt safe with him, despite his flaws and his rough edges. He had been a beacon of light in your otherwise chaotic world.

“I have a fucken feelin she's gonna crawl back like a fucken leech.” you were talking about your mother. “If you think my father was bad. She is just as bad.”

Ghost was there when you broke your hand punching a wall when you were on the phone with your mother. He heard the words “Stupid bitch.” followed by a loud smack and your pained scream.

He came running and found you cradling your hand, tears in your eyes. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.” you murmured into the phone before hanging up and collapsing onto the floor.

John Price must have heard you punch the wall, the concrete wall, the same wall he didn't think he needed to tell you not to punch because he thought you being a Colonel would know better. You could almost feel his disappointment in you as he walked into the room.

“Don't say it. I'm a fucken idiot. I know.” you muttered with your eyes firmly shut sitting on the floor.

John Price's footsteps were heavy as he approached you, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. “It's alright, Colonel,” he said in a firm but gentle tone, crouching beside you. “But maybe next time, we can find a better outlet for your anger.”

“Trust me. I don't plan on fightin' more walls.” you snorted.

Ghost remained silent, his eyes full of understanding, and he knew exactly what you needed in moments like this.

He didn't ask questions or try to give you false comforts; instead, he sat beside you, his hand landing gently on your back.

The warmth of his touch radiated through your uniform, offering a small semblance of solace in the coldness of your grief.

“You did a bang-up job on that hand.” Price remarked looking at your hand.

You laughed humourlessly. “Thanks. I'll be sure to bill you for the hospital visit.”

Price sighed, his expression softening. “Look, I know this isn't the time, but we have a mission briefing in an hour. You should get that looked at and try to pull yourself together for it, yeah?”

“I am well aware of that briefing. I'll be fine by then. I have at least five different emails reminding me of it from five different people.”

Price nodded, looking at the both of you before he stood. “Take all the time you need. I'll get the medical team to check it out for you, Colonel.”

“Finger crossed its either sprained or bruised.” you replied.

Ghost nodded, his thumb rubbing circles on your back. You felt his gaze on you, knowing he was assessing how much of this was an act and how much was real.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him, your eyes a little red from unshed tears. “I need to get going. We can deal with this after the briefing, okay?”

The nurses rushed around like a bunch of hens with their heads cut off. Normally you would be one of them. But you punched the wall, cried and now you felt fine somehow?

You let out a sigh and stood up, flexing your hand. It hurt, but you weren't going to let that stop you.

You had a mission to focus on. You looked over at Ghost, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a mix of worry and something else.

You couldn't quite place it, but you knew it was there.

“Thanks, Ghost,” you said, your voice a bit shakier than you would have liked. “I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Anything for you, darlin,” he said, his British accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket.

You headed to the medical bay, Ghost following closely behind. The medics took one look at your hand and winced. “Looks like you've had quite the run-in with the wall,” one of them quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah. Picked a fight with the wall and lost at the same time.” you snorted.

The medic took your hand gently in his and began examining it, his brow furrowing with concentration. “Well, it's definitely not broken, but it's a bad sprain. We'll need to get you into a cast for a few weeks. It'll heal quicker that way.”

“So, I did good job hittin it?” you guessed.

Ghost chuckled lightly, his eyes still full of concern. “Could say that, Colonel.”

“Well. What I recommend you doing is, plenty of rest, no more punching walls, mirrors, or people for that matter.” the medic said, wrapping your hand in a cast.

“Damn. There goes my bare-knuckle boxing match this afternoon.” you remarked dryly.

Ghost's smile grew a bit wider at that. “Maybe stick to paperwork for a bit, yeah?”

“I don’t think I would be able to fight someone with only one hand just yet. I think it would the safest bet for now.” You forced a chuckle, trying to ease the tension in the room. The medic finished wrapping your hand in the cast, his hands deft and sure.

As he stepped back, you studied the stark white cast with a sigh. It was a stark reminder of your outburst, of your loss, of the tumultuous relationship you had with your mother. But you had a mission to focus on, a team that needed you.

“Alright, Colonel, let's get you to the briefing. We're already pushin' it close to time.” Ghost's voice brought you back to the present, his hand landing on your shoulder in a firm but comforting grip.

“Joys of a tight schedule. It's feckin tighter than a nun's puckered arsehole.” you muttered as you walked to the mission briefing.

Ghost couldn't help but laugh at that. “Never knew nuns had tight arseholes, Colonel.”

“Considering they've given themselves to God. I would like to assume they would. Otherwise, I might be wrong. Though I don't like to think of them in that way either.” you replied.

Ghost chuckled, shaking his head. “You always know how to lighten the mood, don't you?”

“As someone who has parents that were baptized catholic and should have been raised catholic. My sense of humour is still intact.” you answered.

The rest of the mission didn’t have another hitch. The factors of a head start of your leave were dosed in the promise of going to a military function.

You assured them you would attend repeatedly. As they would usually do. As you always manage to sound sarcastic even when you try to be genuine in tone.

You weren’t sure why they always managed to think of that first than to take you seriously. They weren’t used to your kind of humour.

Though you can’t say the same thing when it comes to Ghost. He picked it up fine.

But you never asked why that was. It wasn’t something you didn’t want to intrude on. As you thought, ‘Must be personal. I won’t go there.’

Ghost looked at you when you never asked personal questions, and for a moment, his gaze flickered with something unreadable. Then it was gone, replaced with the usual mischievous twinkle. “You're one of a kind, Colonel,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Talk when you want to. I won't force something. I know the effects of forcing someone to do something you don't want to do. So, if you need to talk about that let me know and you'll be free to do so.” you added as you both walked into the briefing room, the weight of the cast on your hand a constant reminder of the fragility of your mental state. “Just don't pick fights with walls.”

A mission later, a military function later and now in the front of the mirror inside your mirror in your hotel room. You were now going to attend a funeral for your father.

The cast still on your hand and the bruises slowly fading. The cast now taken off when your doctor took a look at your sprained hand. Muttering a few things under his breath, but mostly about how lucky you were and how much more it could've been.

The bruises had faded into a light purple, but you knew they'd be there still.

You told your doctor that you were on the phone with your mother when it happened during your deployment. Adding in that it was when you found out your father had died on the phone, and she had a few colourful words for you.

He nodded solemnly, understanding your pain. “Take as much time as you need to heal,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of experience with soldiers like you.

As soon as you left the doctor’s appointment, Kyle decided to take you to lunch, “Are you sure you're fine with eating there?”

You nodded, “I've been craving that burger for weeks. Let's go for it.”

The diner was a local favourite, filled with the comforting aroma of grease and the buzz of chatter. You picked at your food, the weight of the impending funeral heavy on your mind.

Kyle noticed your distraction, his gaze lingering on you with concern. He reached across the table, his thumb brushing the back of your hand gently. “You okay, darling?”

“I am dreading it. I don't think I could speak to her without another this incident occurring.” you answered holding up your hand still bruised and lightly wrapped with a bandage.

Kyle nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving yours, “I'll be there with you every step of the way. If she tries anything, I'll handle it.”

“Fingers crossed she won't. She's already blaming me for his death, never mind the fact that his health was never that great to start with by the time I was in the picture.” you mumble into your food.

“I do have a feeling they'll have it in the early morning starting at an obnoxious starting time too. Think 5am start kind of thing. Horrendous stuff. Early morning birds the lot of them.”

Kyle was an early riser, so the mention of a 5 AM funeral didn't faze him. Though you were not. You preferred a 7am start at the earliest. He found out when he stayed over once, waking up to a grumbling mess because of his 5 AM wake-up call. But, for you, he’d be there at 4 AM if that's what it took. Something you loved more than any expensive meal he ever bought you.

The first time this happened, you were so happy you cried, he reacted so fast you didn't have a chance to even get a word in before he had you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear to calm you down. But now, it was just routine. You felt the tension in the air thicken as you both got ready for the funeral.

The white button up dress shirt, the black asymmetrical four pocketed vest and black slacks. Combined with the crimson red tie. Your face completely covered with a high-tech space grey coloured shaped skull mask.

Your white shirt rolled up to your elbows and wearing black leather gloves. The gold tree leaf collar pin on the shirt's neckline, which is a symbol of your rank of colonel. Your hair tied into a mermaid's braid.

Your dad's funeral was coming up, you had to be there, much to your own dismay and hope you would skip the funeral to go there after your family left the century.

You took a deep breath as you picked up your lucky belt, the one your dad had beaten you with and somehow kept you alive. Ironic how it was used on your flesh, but it saved your life multiple times.

This was the reality of it now, your father is dead, long dead, this was supposed to be a small funeral. But what quantified as ‘small’ didn’t exactly seem that with how many children your parents brought into the world.

Along with most of your nieces and nephews in tow with your older brothers. One time you were happy with being the only girl in the entirety of eight children they decided to have.

Now you had to become the ‘strong one’ inside of a capitalistic scummy world that valued money over moral ethics.

The lives moving the company engine along over the work life balance you deserved it was non-existent.

You were good at punching your problems away in the past. Yet it never reflected it now.

If your mother decided to show up after abandoning you and your siblings, you would be sure to leave long before she made the age-old excuse of ‘late-night work.’

When her affair took precedence over their livelihoods. You still remember telling her she was disowned and disbarred from everything your life entailed.

The thought of seeing her at the funeral sent a shiver down your spine. The same spine that your father had broken. But that’s the thing about family, they come with baggage.

The amount of baggage often changed with how much money they had. And your family had enough to start their own airline. The only flight they cared about was the one taking them away from their problems.

You felt the weight of the mask on your face, a stark reminder of the double life you led. The one where you were a daughter, sister, and now, a colonel in a world that didn’t care about your past.

It was the same world that had crushed your spirit into dust, only to build you back up into this unshakable force. The mask wasn’t just for the mission; it was for the facade you had to wear at the funeral.

The tense atmosphere inside of the funeral home, let alone the old cottage inside the isles of Yorkshire.

The company skyscraper in London, the cotton and wool farm in Yorkshire, the vacation home inside of Alaska, along with other various things your father never told you about.

Not that it mattered now.

The old man was indeed dead now.

Deceased.

Entering Rigor Mortis.

Sleeping forever.

Dead.

A bonfire, a pyre, a wooden stake, and everything they would burn a witch during the era of the witch trials. What better way to give a funeral for your father?

The flames crackling and popping in the dark of the night. The heat licking at your skin as you stood in front of everyone you had to pretend to care about.

Your heart was racing but not because of fear or nerves, it was because of the rage that burned inside of you like the very fire in front of you.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward, the flames reflecting off your mask, turning your eyes into a fiery amber.

You were getting ready for your solo date with yourself after the funeral. You weren’t going to do much. Honestly. People assumed you were kinkier than you felt like you were.

What do you mean wearing a garter panty makes you kinky? You saw them on sale, and you bought them because you felt pretty.

Why do you think like that? It is just a spiked collar with a bell. I got it years ago.

Why do you like wearing fishnet stockings to the office? Because they're comfortable, that's why.

What do you mean you’re single? Aren’t you like thirty now? Yeah. But no one wants to date me. So? Who cares?

How are you going to find someone if you wear that shit? Well, that sounds like a you problem not a me problem to have. Good luck unpacking that bullshit.

When are you going to give me grandchildren? When you show up for your children and start being an actual mother.

Why do you always have to wear black? It's my favourite colour. Besides, it matches everything.

But it’s for the funeral. You're supposed to wear something more... respectful.

You would be more respectful. My father is better man dead than he was ever alive thank you very much.

Why haven’t you forgiven your mother? Well, she’s to blame for a lot of things happening to me and I will never forgive her for it.

It wasn’t your mother’s fault your father decided to take it out on you for her leaving you and your siblings with him. Why can’t you see how you’re hurting her? She made a choice to make more than one affair with her lovers. She knew what would happen. I don’t care what she wants anymore.

Why do you have so many piercings and tattoos? Because it’s my body, and I can do what I want with it.

Why are you so defensive? Because my entire life I’ve had to fight to be seen and heard. To prove that I’m more than just the daughter of a man who didn’t deserve the title of father.

Why can’t you concentrate? I have a condition that makes focusing on one thing at a time an endless struggle.

But you seem so together. How can you have a mental illness? Because mental illness doesn’t have a face, darling. It’s not something you can spot from a mile away. It’s the hidden battles we fight daily, behind the smiles and the nods.

ADHD is not a thing, my son isn’t like this. Why are you lying? Because it’s a part of who I am, and I’m not going to hide it anymore, Mom. You should have listened when your husband beat me into ‘listening’ to him.

If you didn't say anything about it your father would have loved you more, been around you more and wouldn’t have hurt you. If you behaved like we wanted. None of this would have happened. Are you sure that is the rabbit hole you want to walk down?

You’ve had enough. You turn around and walk out of the room, not bothering to hear the rest of her guilt trips.

You don't need to be around that kind of negativity today, not when you’re trying to breathe without feeling like you’re choking on your own tears.

The door slams shut behind you, echoing through the quiet house. It’s a relief to be alone, even if it’s just for a moment. You lean against the wall, taking deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart.

You've heard it all before, but somehow, it still stings. You’ve spent years building up a tough exterior, but the words of your mother still manage to find their way in, digging at the tender spots you've tried so hard to protect.

But today is not the day to let her win. You have a date with yourself, and you're going to enjoy it. You straighten up, smoothing down your black dress.

It’s not what everyone else expects you to wear, but it’s what you feel like wearing, and that’s all that matters. You look at the time, realizing you're already running late. The theatre won't wait for you, even if you wish the world would.

“It was stupid to think she would admit it was also partially her fault.” You muttered to your co-worker at the bar.

You had just told him about your mother’s accusations and his eyes widened, his hand froze mid-air with a bottle of whiskey. “Your father’s funeral, right? That’s why you called in sick for work?”

“Yeah. I don’t know whether it was the right thing now. I should have worked today instead of attending.” You answered.

“Your mother is a complete and total bitch. You know that, right?” He said, his voice gruff but concerned. He had seen you at your worst, and he knew the history between you two.

“Yeah. Oddly enough she only got worse after he died.” you were sipping your white Russian cocktail.

He nodded, placing the bottle back on the shelf. “Well, she can't ruin your day anymore. What's your plan now, love?”

“See a movie, have dinner and take frozen yoghurt home to devour completely.” you answered.

“A perfect plan, if I say so myself.” he winked and slid the drink to you.

“Good food is something I will always look forward to.” you chuckle with excitement. Looking forward to having a good meal for dinner tonight.

You didn’t know what it would be from the enormous amount of choices around you. But you knew. You knew there is going to be something you will enjoy.

Kyle walked into the theatre once you were in the seat you paid for. Along with nachos with extra cheese, two large diet cokes, and a box of chocolates.

He looked at the feast you bought for yourself to have with the movie. “It's not a date if you don't eat your weight in junk food.” You said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled and set the snacks down, sliding into the seat next to you. “How was it?” He asked, his voice gentle, and eyes concerned.

“Worse than a horror movie somehow. My mother is somehow far worse than a dead man now.” you answered.

Kyle’s expression tightened. He had heard enough about your mother to understand her cruel nature, but that didn’t mean he liked hearing you in pain.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You know you don’t have to take that shit, right? You’re more than what she says you are.” His voice was firm and comforting.

“I went to the bar hours before. I told Larry, Lawrence, this, he agrees that she's a stone-cold bitch. This is also the same man who dates older women by the way.” you replied.

Kyle’s smile was small but knowing. “And yet he’s the voice of reason today?”

“Yeah. After a White Russian cocktail and two 'holy water' cocktails. He gave me a shot of cinnamon whiskey which he mixed with vodka and said it’s for the soul. I guess that’s one way to get over the shit of a family I have.” You said, a small laugh escaping your lips. It was a sad laugh, but it was something.

Kyle nodded, his grip around you tightening for a brief moment. “You’ve got me. That’s all that matters right now. Let’s enjoy the movie, okay?”

“The 'hole water' cocktails were quite nice by the way.” you replied.

He kissed the top of your head. “Good to know. I’ll have to try one next time I’m there.”

You were more than a little content with him there. Even if you never did things together, all the time, it was enough to know he was by your side. Your eating habits were weird to be sure, but you warned him many times before hand, and he never made you feel bad for it.

You were more than a little content with him there. Even if you never did things together, all the time, it was enough to know he was by your side. Your eating habits were weird to be sure, but you warned him many times before hand, and he never made you feel bad for it.

Your mac and cheese was the perfect temperature, just a hint of crunch on the top from the oven, and the nachos were heavenly with the warm, gooey cheese. You didn’t even realize how hungry you were until the food hit the table. You dug in with enthusiasm, the salty, cheesy flavours mingling with the sweetness of your chocolates. The comfort of the familiar tastes washed over you like a warm blanket, a stark contrast to the coldness of your mother’s words earlier.

The movie began, and you tried to lose yourself in the action-packed scenes, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation with your mother. You could feel Kyle’s eyes on you, his concern palpable. He reached over and took your hand, giving it a squeeze. It was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to you. It reminded you that you weren’t alone, that there was someone who cared about you, who saw you for more than the sum of your past.

The film was a blockbuster hit, full of explosions and car chases that had your heart racing. You couldn’t help but think how surreal it was to be here with Kyle, a man who lived a life so different from your own. A man who, despite his wealth and status, saw the real you and didn’t flinch at your imperfections. It was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever.

As the movie progressed, you found yourself leaning into Kyle’s side, your shoulders brushing against his firm, muscular frame. His thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, the touch grounding and soothing. You watched the screen, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in the warmth and comfort of his presence.

As you slept in the hotel room with your earbuds in to block out the background noises of the city, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the ticking of the analog clock in the hotel room. You were asleep faster than you would have been after drinking a warm glass of milk doused in melatonin.

You would be back inside your cottage inside of Yorkshire soon. It may take a while. It will come to you soon. You think to yourself. A small temporary mantra to ease yourself into a heavy slumber. Easing yourself into a comfortable routine you know more about than London and its streets.

The routine was and remains to be quite boring to those who knew or didn’t know you. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered until you had at least eight to nine hours of sleep inside you. A golden rule you always had to maintain some assemblance of peace inside your soul. Not that you were ever religious about the ‘soul’ or ever argued what made a ‘soul’ a ‘soul.’

The satin eye mask you wore didn't just shield your eyes from light, it served as a symbolic barrier between you and the tumultuous world outside. The silk pillow cover over the body pillow you kept to your chest to help you sleep alone at night. A small comfort among the many you kept to yourself.

The satin pajamas you wore to bed were handmade by your late grandmother, a soft and warm embrace that brought a semblance of comfort to the cold, sterile hotel room. The warmth of the outdoor socks you used a bed socks to keep warm. Your mind began to drift as the darkness of the room wrapped around you like a cocoon.

As you slept deep inside the cocoon of heavy blankets.

Back deep inside the penthouse of London’s most expensive, luxurious buildings owned by Kyle's father. A building so high, it seemed like it could kiss the stars, if only it tried hard enough. Though if his father was in fact allowed to have it kiss the stars. It would be done with no questions asked, and no doubt with the finest gold-plated cranes money could buy.

Soap hadn't been introduced to you just yet, but his reputation preceded him. Kyle had mentioned him in passing, a fellow SAS operative with a sharp wit and a penchant for trouble. You'd seen his face in a few photos around Kyle's flat, a grinning man with piercing blue eyes and a mop of hair styled in a mohawk. Not too outrageous as the ones you had seen growing up.

“My older brother has one still. Though his has width of a small bird. Dyed it pink and it hasn't been any other colour since.” you told him.

Kyle chuckled at your words, his eyes not leaving yours. He leaned closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “I bet he pulls it off better than anyone else.”

“Considering he pulls off a cocktail dress. I doubt there is something he couldn't.” You quipped back with a smirk, feeling his breath on your face. The conversation had been light, a welcome reprieve from the shadowy world Kyle was entangled in.

Now, as you were in the hotel room, Kyle talking to Soap in person, “Soap, I don’t know if Ghost has told you this. But I don’t think she needs a lesson in anything MacTavish.”

Soap’s smirk didn’t waver, didn’t budge, didn’t move from his face. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about her. But I’d like to see her skills for myself, Gaz. It’s not every day you get to spar with someone who’s seen more action than a Hollywood blockbuster.”

“Or you could settle for Blackjack and watch her take his money instead?” Ghost said his voice over the phone.

“Cheeky bugger,” Soap said, his smile evident in his voice. “But, I’m more interested in the action than the gambling. Besides, I can handle myself around a poker table.”

“Poker and Blackjack are different.” Ghost reminded him. “Blackjack is all about maths, and you know how good she is with numbers.”

The phone line crackled with Soap’s laughter. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave the gambling to her and the brains. But I’m still looking forward to seeing her in action, Gaz. It’ll be like watching a ballet of bullets and brawn.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know you’re eager to watch her dance with danger, Soap. Just remember she’s not just any operative.”

“Understood, Gaz. I’ll play nice.” Soap’s tone was teasing, but there was a hint of respect beneath it.

You were known to play like a loan shark when it came to blackjack. Ruthless, precise, and cold. It was your way of coping with the world. The numbers never lied to you, never hurt you, and never disappointed you. It was a game that made sense to you in a world that rarely did. The thought of playing poker with Kyle's friend made your stomach twirl, but in a way that was more excitement than dread.

“You better. Otherwise, any poker game you play with her? You'll end up paying for it.” Ghost quipped, his voice a mix of humour and caution.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Ghost. Besides, I enjoy a challenge.” Soap's reply was filled with the kind of confidence that could only come from experience.

Kyle chuckled. “Keep that in mind when you finally meet her. She's not just a pretty face, she's got brains and brawn. You might learn a thing or two.”

The line went silent for a beat before Soap spoke up again. “Looking forward to it, Gaz. How's she holding up?”

Kyle’s eyes softened at the question. “As well as can be expected. She’s a tough one, that’s for sure. But she’s got a lot on her plate.”

“Family issues?” Ghost guessed.

Kyle nodded solemnly. “Something like that. She’s got a past she’s trying to outrun, and it’s catching up with her.”

“Yeesh. Price told her it would come knocking when she least expects it to.” Ghost’s voice was filled with a mix of sympathy and the bluntness you were used to. “Just keep her safe, Gaz. That’s all we can do for now.”

“And tell her to come to Glasgow for once. She’ll be more at ‘peace’ here than in London.” Soap remarked with a laugh.

“She’s from Yorkshire, Soap. She’s not exactly keen on Glasgow weather, unless you’ve got a sunbed with her name on it,” Kyle said, his eyes not leaving yours as he spoke into the phone, a gentle teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yorkshire’s weather is nice during summer. Absolutely freezing in Winter.” Ghost reminded Soap. As if he wanted to drill in the fact, you were happy living in Yorkshire and preferred to visit other places.

“Summer in Glasgow isn’t exactly a tropical paradise, but it’s still worth a visit. Besides, I’m sure we can manage to warm things up for her.” Soap’s voice grew slightly darker, a mischievous twinkle in his tone that made Kyle smirk.

“And I am certain you will most likely find yourself broke and upset long before the entire week would end.” Ghost and Kyle told him in unison reminding him you would take what he for what he is worth from his hide during either a match of blackjack or poker.

[pratanumindpowerdevelopment]

25 innovative ways to earn money without investment as a web content writer

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Join programs like Amazon Associates, Hostinger, Canva, or Grammarly.

Write SEO-optimized content and embed links.

 18. Offer Language Translation + Content

Combine writing with translation if you know regional languages.

Create bilingual website content.

 19. Write Sample Lessons for EdTech Platforms

Contact online tuition or learning platforms.

Offer demo lessons, notes, or practice tests in English.

 20. Partner with Local Shops for Google Reviews

Write polished business descriptions or Google Map listings.

Charge ₹200–₹500 per listing.

 21. Join Facebook or Telegram Freelance Groups

Post your skills daily, share samples, and network directly.

 22. Offer Tagline and Slogan Writing Services

Brands always need punchy copy for ads or banners.

Create a portfolio on Behance or Google Drive.

 23. Write Scripts for YouTubers and Reels Creators

Many small creators need writing help for intros, narration, or subtitles.

 24. Write Press Releases

Offer low-cost PR services to startups and artists.

Submit to free PR sites or offer syndication.

 25. Conduct Writing Challenges or Classes

Run 5-day writing challenges on WhatsApp or Instagram.

Offer a certificate + upsell a full writing course later.

[xpressluna]

I Hate Seeing Writers Not Making MoneySo Here Are 8 Ways to Make More as a Writer

Here’s the truth: great writing alone doesn’t guarantee great income.

I’ve seen too many talented writers underpaid, undervalued, or stuck in passion projects that don’t pay the bills. And it frustrates me — because writing is a skill that’s in demand everywhere. You just need to know how to position it, sell it, and scale it.

If you're ready to stop writing for exposure and start earning what you're worth, here are 8 practical, proven ways to make more money as a writer.

Freelance for High-Paying Clients (Not Content Mills)

You don’t need to accept \$20 blog posts when there are companies and entrepreneurs willing to pay \$300–\$1,000+ per article. The secret is targeting niches that need content to drive business, like:

SaaS and tech

Personal finance

Healthcare

B2B services

Pitch directly, build a niche portfolio, and learn how to charge by value, not word count.

✅ Pro Tip: Start by rewriting your services to focus on outcomes — like “I help SaaS brands attract customers with SEO content” vs. “I write blog posts.”

Offer Ghostwriting Services

Ghostwriting is one of the highest-paying forms of writing — and most clients don’t care about you getting credit; they care about results. You can ghostwrite:

LinkedIn thought leadership

Executive blogs

Nonfiction books

Email newsletters

It’s creative, lucrative, and repeatable.

✅ Rates: Ghostwritten LinkedIn posts can earn \$200–\$500/post. Books? Thousands.

Sell Digital Products

Turn your knowledge into scalable income with digital products like:

Ebooks

Notion templates

Writing guides

Pitching scripts

Once created, they can sell indefinitely with no ongoing labor. Perfect for writers with an audience or niche expertise.

✅ Tools: Use Gumroad, Payhip, or Podia to start selling fast.

Start a Paid Newsletter

If you love writing essays, storytelling, or niche commentary, why not monetize it with a paid newsletter? Services like Substack or Beehiiv let you build free + paid tiers.

You don’t need 10,000 subscribers — just 100 people paying \$5/month = \$6,000/year in recurring income.

✅ Best Niches: Personal finance, creator economy, niche analysis, industry trends.

Teach What You Know (Courses & Workshops)

Writers often forget — the way you write, think, and communicate is a teachable skill.

Package it into:

Online courses (e.g., “How to Write Better Cold Emails”)

Cohort-based workshops

Private coaching for new writers or business owners

✅ Platforms: Teachable, Circle, Maven, or even Zoom + Stripe to start.

Monetize with Affiliate Writing

If you write product-based content or reviews, affiliate marketing is a great passive income stream. You write once, and earn commissions every time someone buys through your link.

Best niches: Software, writing tools, education products, lifestyle gear.

✅ Pro Tip: Focus on high-ticket or recurring commissions (like SaaS tools).

License Your Writing

You can earn money by licensing your existing content to brands, newsletters, or websites. If you’ve written a high-performing article, offer a non-exclusive license to republish it for a fee.

Also consider:

Licensing quotes or content to marketers

Offering a “writing bundle” to creators or agencies

✅ This works well for evergreen, data-driven, or inspirational content.

Write for Yourself — Then Monetize It

Blogging, storytelling, or journaling can become income if you build a brand around it. Writers like Morgan Housel and Anne-Laure Le Cunff built huge audiences through consistent, personal writing — then monetized with books, speaking, courses, and sponsorships.

✅ Just start: Build your platform. Even 1,000 loyal readers can turn into six figures over time.

Final Thoughts

Writing is not a dead-end job. It's a high-leverage skill that can create freedom, income, and impact — if you treat it like a business.

If you’re a talented writer struggling to make money, it’s not a lack of skill. It’s usually a lack of strategy.

Pick one or two methods from this list. Go deep. Get paid.

And never again write “just for exposure.”