#there's nothing like the rush of a gig starting in another city or country or continent

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH12

It’s ya boooooy! Malin is here!! Super huge shout out to @salty-french-fry for bringing him to life. I commissioned her to draw all of my OC hero babies, so you can see Malin in all of his anime boy glory here! We stan a trans bicon. And for those who are unaware, Malin is another name for fox in French, but like with the connotation of calling someone sly or tricky. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I tweaked it quite a bit from the original. ;)

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Chapter 12: WTF Do I Know

“I know our duty is to the city, but I can’t help these feelings stirring my heart. Every time I see her brilliant blue eyes shining in the moonlight, I am overcome with passion and admiration. She truly is Miraculous.” Eliott looked to Marinette sitting cross-legged on the floor for approval. “How was that?”

“Incredible! You really have Chat Noir down,” she said.

Eliott rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, but I still feel like I could do better. Opening night is only a week away, and I’m playing one of the leads. Everything has to be perfect.” He paced the length of the stage, adjusting his black mask.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You make a wonderfully convincing Chat Noir.” She assured him—and she should know.

“Wonderfully convincing isn’t perfect. This play is a tribute to Ladybug and Chat Noir’s triumph on Heroes’ Day. If I screw up then I’ll be dishonoring them.” He turned and gestured to the impressive backdrop of the Eiffel Tower.

“No, you won’t.” Marinette stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re an amazing actor, and I know you’re gonna kill it.”

“Places in five everyone!” The director swept through the stage.

Stagehands rushed around the set. Costume designers made last-minute alterations, and each prop was meticulously tested and placed for ease of access during scene changes. Marinette never realized how chaotic theater was behind the scenes.

Eliott let a deep breath past his lips, and Marinette offered him a smile. “I’ll be watching in the audience. You’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks, Marinette,” he said. “And thanks for coming to watch our dress rehearsal.”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Sorry I’m so crazy about everything, I just want to be the best.” He fiddled with his gloves. “I’ve been studying English since I was little because my dream is to perform on Broadway. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s what I’ve wanted ever since my grandma and I watched a play together when I was a kid.”

“You’ll get there, and I’ll be sitting in the front row with Macy, Martin, and Adrien.”

Eliott smiled at that, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I actually owe you, Marinette. You’ve helped me a lot as an actor since we met.”

“Me? How?”

“You taught me to take risks. Before I met you, I was just coasting through life, staying out of the way, playing it safe, but now I can stand up for other people and speak out,” he explained. “You helped me find the courage to step outside my comfort zone.”

Her cheeks burned, but she smiled at the sentiment. All of her new friends gave praise so easily—something Marinette wasn’t used to. Helping others wasn’t about getting rewarded, and in most cases, the attention just made her squirm. She helped her friends because she cared. Although, even if their compliments embarrassed her, it was nice to know she was appreciated.

“Watch where you’re going!” A nasally voice grabbed their attention.

“Sorry!” A tiny stagehand shrank under the icy glare of her aggressor.

Eliott sprang into action to diffuse the situation. “Margot, is there a problem?”

“She bumped into me! Can you imagine if I had fallen and broken my wrist a week before opening night? How can I play Ladybug with a broken wrist?” Margot shouted.

Eliott stepped between her and the stagehand, holding up defensive hands. “I’m sure it was just an accident. No one got hurt, so why don’t you go cool off? We’re almost ready to start.”

“Ugh, whatever. Just stay out of my way!”

As she stalked off, Eliott turned to the small girl. “Are you okay, Lisette?”

“You know my name?” Her eyes widened.

“Of course. You hand me my props before I go on stage,” he said. “Don’t let Margot get to you. She’s just nervous because the show is in a week, and it’s her first time playing a lead.”

“It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Lisette said.

Eliott tucked a strand of her blonde hair back into place, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We’re all a little high strung right now.”

“You’re not.”

Eliott flashed her a playful grin. “I’m a good actor.”

“I know,” she said, and when Eliott quirked a brow she fumbled to add, “I-I’ve kind of had to watch you for the past several months. You’re really good.”

“Wow, thanks, Lisette. I’m flattered that a pretty girl like you is a fan of mine,” Eliott said.

Her cheeks flushed, and she gave a small nod before scurrying off to her position at the director’s order.

Marinette couldn’t help the smile on her lips as Eliott found his mark and took a few deep breaths to center himself. He’d grown a lot since they met, and if someone had to play Chat Noir, she was glad it was him. She’d been uncertain at first, but Eliott really was worthy of being a hero, even if his costar was the worst. How could they cast such a brat to play Ladybug?

Taking her seat in the audience, Marinette thought back to her encounter with Gabrielle several nights prior. True to her word, Gabrielle hadn’t bothered them since, but what she was doing out on her own like that? And what was up with the apron in her bag? Something fishy was going on with her, but at least she was keeping her word. It was about time Marinette got some peace and quiet.

♪♫♪ I’m Not Calling You a Liar ♪♫♪

When the school bell rang, Alya remained seated, lips pursed. Her other classmates gathered their backpacks, eager to enjoy their weekend plans. Adrien paid her no mind as he slung his bag over his shoulder and followed everyone else out. They hadn’t spoken since their last encounter, and Alya still wasn’t sure what to think. He sounded so sure of himself. After being friends with Marinette, she knew far more about Adrien Agreste than she ever cared to, and truthfully, Alya didn’t think he was capable of being malicious.

Don’t believe everything Lila tells you. Be a journalist. Investigate.

But how? It’s not like Alya could just call up a bunch of celebrities and foreign princes to ask them to corroborate all of Lila’s stories, and even if she could, what would Lila think if they proved Adrien wrong? Or worse, what would Alya think if they proved him right? If they proved Marinette right…

It had been two weeks since she left. Two weeks since they… Alya had been hurt at first, and her heart still ached thinking about it now. In the grand scheme of things, she hadn’t known Marinette that long—only a few months—so it was possible that there were things Alya didn’t know about her. Dark secrets she kept hidden. But if that were possible for Marinette, couldn’t the same be true for Lila? And why was Alya so afraid to go looking?

“Alya? Did you hear me?”

She blinked out of her trance. “Sorry, what?”

“You’ve been awfully spacey lately,” Lila remarked. “I was just saying that I have an important meeting today with my youth ambassadors committee. Clara Nightingale has promised to sponsor our clean water initiative, and today’s the only day we can meet with her. Is there any way you can take care of that thing Mlle. Bustier needed for me?”

Don’t believe her.

“Actually, Lila, I have to go pick up my little sisters because Nora has practice this afternoon, and Mlle. Bustier did ask you to do it,” Alya said.

Lila’s eyebrows raised, but just as quickly, she puckered her lips into a pout. “Is there any way you could have Nino pick up your sisters? This meeting is really important.”

“Nino promised Juleka he’d help Kitty Section with their sound system today so they can practice before their gig this weekend.” Her heart pounded as Lila’s lip twitched.

“I mean, I guess I can put off my meeting. Those kids in India will just have to go a little while longer without clean drinking water…” Lila eyed her.

“Ya know, if you’re too busy to keep up with your class rep stuff, you can always tell Mlle. Bustier to let us elect someone else. I’m sure everyone would understand,” Alya said pointedly.

“And let Chloe become the class rep again? I couldn’t do that to you guys.” Lila shook her head.

“True, but I can’t cover for you all the time. I have my own stuff going on. Maybe I’m not saving third world countries, but sometimes I have a life to live too,” Alya said. “You were elected to do all of this, you know.”

“No, I understand,” Lila sighed. “I’ve been putting too much pressure on you to do my job. It’s just so hard to juggle going to school and saving the world. I’ll figure out a way to do it for all of you because you’re my friends, and my friends are just as important to me as any starving, third-world country.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that you’ll be putting in more effort.” Alya stood up. “Have a good weekend.”

“Oh, I’m sure my weekend will be better than those thirsty children in Iran.”

Alya stopped in the doorway. “Don’t you mean in India?”

“What?”

“Earlier you said the meeting was for children in India. Now you just said Iran,” Alya said.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I meant,” Lila said. “I have a different thing for Iran next week. It’s hard to keep everything straight when you’re so busy.”

“Right.” Alya’s eyes narrowed. “Well, good luck.”

“Give your sisters a hug for me!”

Alya’s hands shook as she headed up the hall. It was probably nothing, just a simple mix up like she said, but… Given the circumstances, it was a little suspicious. One thing was certain: Alya would be keeping an eye on her.

♪♫♪ Thnks fr th Mmrs ♪♫♪

“Your rehearsal was amazing,” Marinette said afterward over tea. “Well, except for Margot’s prop mishap. I thought she was going to have a meltdown.”

Eliott stirred his drink with a smirk. “She’s a great actress until something goes wrong,” he chuckled. “I just feel bad for Lisette. She looked like she wanted to kill her.”

“Speaking of Lisette…” Marinette gave him a knowing look. “I think she might have a crush on you.”

“Lisette? Nah.” Eliott averted his gaze, taking a sip of his tea. “I’m not anyone important. There’s no way she’d be into me.”

“That’s not true. You’re an amazing actor,” Marinette said. “I mean that, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, I guess the thought of someone liking me just makes me nervous.” He bit his lip.

“Come on. You flirt with everyone all the time,” Marinette said. “You flirted with me on my first day of school.”

“Flirting is different. Just because I flirt with people doesn’t mean they have to like me back,” he said, then biting his lip, added, “Do you really think she likes me?”

“As someone who struggles to get two coherent sentences out around the boy she likes, I think she likes you more than you know,” Marinette said.

“Speaking of… You and Adrien sure seem to get along.” He sipped his tea with a satisfied smirk as Marinette’s cheeks burned. He didn’t waste any time flipping the script, but it was her fault for opening that door.

“Oh, do we? I mean, of course we do. We’re just friends, I don’t have feelings for him at all,” she said with a nervous titter.

“I never said you did,” Eliott said.

“Oh, um, yeah, well then I- don’t tell Macy.” She hung her head in defeat.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” He shrugged. “But you don’t have to worry about Macy’s crush. It’s superficial. She fixates on some famous guy for a while, then moves on when something new catches her eye.”

Marinette relaxed. “Good. I’ve just liked Adrien for a long time, and ever since I left my old school, he’s been paying more attention to me, so…I don’t want it to come between us.”

“Nah, I’m sure if she knew she’d back off,” Eliott assured her. “She’s extremely loyal to her friends and would never try to take away something you wanted even if she wants it too. One time she and I argued for twenty minutes because she convinced herself I wanted the last cookie on the plate. We ended up breaking it in half.”

“That’s a relief.” Marinette let out a breath.

“Though I do have to wonder which sounds better, Marinette Agreste or Adrien Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette nearly choked on her tea. “Eliott!”

“I’m kinda partial to Adrien Dupain-Cheng myself.”

“Stop!” She covered her face, cheeks burning, and Eliott threw his head back with a laugh.

A herd of people stampeded up the sidewalk right before a loud crash sounded a few blocks over. Debris fell from the ceiling, and Eliott tackled Marinette to the ground, cradling her head.

“That sounded close, we should run.” He pulled her to her feet. “My yacht isn’t far from here, we can hide there.”

As much as she hated to do it, Marinette needed to get away. Gradually, she let herself slip from his grasp in the crowd. Eliott turned over his shoulder in an attempt to reach her again, but too many people stood between them.

“Marinette!”

“Go! I’ll catch up,” she called.

His eyebrows furrowed worriedly, but he pressed on without question.

Marinette ducked into a nearby alley and opened her purse. “Ready, Tikki? Transform me!”

Ladybug tossed her yoyo across the street, tugging the slack and launching herself into the rooftops. Racing down the row of buildings, she followed the civilian trail to the scene of the attack. Overturned cars and broken windows signaled that she was on the right track, and she arrived at the same time as Chat Noir.

“Well, well we meet again, m’lady.” His flirtatious lilt echoed between the buildings as he staff-coptered down to join her.

“I would hope so since saving the city is our job.” She flicked his bell. “I think it’s about time we clocked in, don’t you?”

“Ladies first.” Chat Noir bowed as Ladybug tossed her yoyo and shot into action. “Don’t mean to interrupt your tirade, but I’m gonna need to see some license and registration for that car,” he said as they landed. “What’s the matter? Rough break up?”

The akuma turned to them with a growl, tossing the car aside, and Ladybug spotted a small blonde girl cowering underneath.

“Civilian alert!”

“On it.” Chat Noir charged forward, brandishing his staff.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir! I am Showstopper, and I’m about to give Paris the performance of a lifetime after I get rid of her.”

The small girl on the ground cowered under Showstopper’s glare, her blonde buns oddly familiar…

Ladybug gasped. “That’s Lisette which means Showstopper must be Margot! She really was upset by that mistake.”

Lisette attempted to run, but Showstopper served a ball of light at her with the tennis racket—the lucky charm prop from the play and likely where the akuma was hiding. The attack froze Lisette in place, but before Showstopper could make her next move, she blocked a blow from Chat Noir’s staff. A few seconds passed, and the magic faded, sending Lisette toppling forward.

“So that’s it,” Ladybug said, then to Chat Noir called, “Don’t let her hit you, or she’ll freeze you for a few seconds!”

“Got it!” He dodged an orb.

Once Showstopper drove him back several paces, she dashed after Lisette, launching a bus to the end of the street to block the exit.

“Going somewhere?”

“No, but you are.” Ladybug hooked her yoyo around Showstopper’s ankle. Showstopper lobbed several orbs at her before she could pull the slack, and Ladybug backflipped out of the way, diving for cover with Chat Noir behind two flipped cars.

“We need a plan to get that girl out of here.” He peeked over the side. ��

Ladybug palmed her yoyo. “Lucky Charm!” Her eyebrows raised as a paper lantern landed in her hands.

“Oh great, you can light the way for her to wreck that girl,” Chat Noir said.

Ladybug pursed her lips contemplatively. “I need to go to Master Fu,” she said. “Can you handle things until I get back?”

“Just don’t keep me waiting too long.” Chat Noir nodded before they broke off.

Leaving in the middle of a battle was always risky, but this wasn’t a fight they could win alone. She just hoped that she could find an ally in time.

“Master Fu?” Marinette knocked, peeking her head inside.

“What is it, Marinette?” He glanced up from his book.

“I need to borrow a Miraculous to win this battle.”

Master Fu retrieved the Miracle Box from the phonograph and placed it on the mat in front of her. “Have you found someone you trust to wield it?”

Marinette contemplated her choices carefully, running strategies in her head. After she and Alya split up, she wasn’t sure she’d ever trust someone enough to replace Rena Rouge, but her new friends proved her wrong. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and reached for the fox. “I know exactly who to pick, and I won’t let you down this time.”

Master Fu offered her one of his proud, grandfatherly smiles. “You never have. I have always had faith in you, Marinette.”

Her chest swirled with pride as she stood up. “Transform me.”

Eliott’s yacht was empty when Ladybug touched down on the deck. He told Marinette to hide there, so she’d been certain it was where he’d be. Then again, Eliott wasn’t the same cowardly boy he’d been when they met, and he didn’t turn his back on a friend. She knew where to find him.

“Marinette?” His voice echoed between the buildings of the abandoned street, and he flinched when Ladybug landed behind him. “Ladybug! Thank goodness, have you seen my friend Marinette? We got separated, and I told her to meet at my yacht, but-”

“Don’t worry. She’s safe,” Ladybug said. “Actually, I need your help.”

“My help?” He arched a brow. “I mean, sure, I'll do anything.”

“Eliott Chasse, this is the Miraculous of the fox which grants the power of illusion. You will use it to fight for the greater good.” She extended the box to him.

“Whoa, you're giving me a Miraculous?” he gasped. “But wait, why me? What happened to Rena Rouge?”

“She's...not around.” Ladybug averted her gaze. “Will you help me?”

“I-I dunno. I think my friend Marinette would be way better at this than me.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Eliott…” Ladybug smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are the right person for this job. Have courage and believe in yourself. That's all you need to be a superhero.”

Eliott pressed his lips together, then accepted the box with a nod. Shielding his eyes from the bright light, he gaped in disbelief as Trixx materialized. “Whoa!”

“My name’s Trixx. I’m a kwami, and if you want to transform all you have to say is ‘Trixx, transform me!’” she explained as Eliott fastened the clasp of the necklace.

“Alright then. Trixx, transform me!” When the orange light faded, Eliott examined his orange and white suit with wide eyes. “Wait, is this really happening?”

“Do you know how your powers work?” Ladybug asked. There was no time to waste.

“Of course. I studied news footage in preparation for my role as Chat Noir in an upcoming play. I wanted to accurately portray the team's dynamic,” he said.

“Good, then follow me.”

Ladybug tossed her yoyo and shot off. Eliott hesitated only briefly, taking a few steps before leaping over the building after her. He touched down lightly beside her before they shot off again.

“I know it's a lot to take in, but we don't have a lot of time,” Ladybug said. She pulled up the news coverage of the akuma. Showstopper had taken the battle all the way to the Eiffel Tower. She skidded to a stop behind a chimney and closed her yoyo. “Hmm…Lucky Charm!”

“A bottle of soap? At least the villain will be squeaky clean?” Eliott shrugged.

Ladybug turned it over in her hands, a plan forming in her mind. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do.”

- - -

Showstopper held a frozen Lisette over the edge, and Chat Noir held up defensive hands as he attempted to negotiate.

“Hand over your Miraculous, or I'll drop her!”

“Maybe we can come to a compromise,” he reasoned, but Showstopper was in no mood.

“You have five seconds. One!”

“There has to be something else you want.”

“Two.”

“After all this is murder we're talking about.”

“Three!”

“I'm sure she didn't mean any harm.”

“Four!”

“Ladybug, hurry up!”

“Five!”

Before Chat could react, Showstopper released her grip, sending Lisette plunging toward her doom. Chat Noir attempted to dive after her, but Showstopper pitched another orb at him. To his relief, Ladybug swung in to deflect it just in time, but there was no time for gratitude.

“Ladybug! The girl!”

“Already taken care of,” she assured him.

- - -

Lisette unfroze midway down, eyes widening in fear as the ground grew closer. Just as a scream reached her throat, Eliott caught her, carrying her safely back to the Eiffel Tower. Her screams echoed across the bars as she clung to him for dear life, but they quieted the moment she looked into his eyes.

“Falling from heaven, angel?” He set her down gently. “Stay hidden. Showstopper can't see you if we want our plan to work.”

She blinked in shock, cheeks flushing. “Wait!” She caught his wrist as he turned to leave. “W-Who are you?”

“Uh… Call me Malin.” He winked, giving a two-finger salute before leaping up to the rafters.

Malin summoned his Mirage on the way up, cheeks still hot. Now wasn’t the time to worry about what Lisette thought of him. First, he needed to save her.

“You're too late!” Showstopper proclaimed, and Malin cleared his throat.

“Are we?” He clocked a brow.

Showstopper spun around where Malin held his fake damsel. “No!” she growled.

“New friend?” Chat Noir sized him up.

“I'll tell you later,” Ladybug said.

Malin set his illusion free with instructions to run, and as expected, Showstopper gave chase. Ladybug really was a wizard at coming up with plans. When Chat Noir moved to follow, Malin stepped in front of him with a wink.

“Who are you?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Name's Malin, and you are one foxy feline in person, Chat Noir.” He looked him up and down.

“Less flirting, more running. Phase two,” Ladybug ordered. “Kitty, follow me and get ready to use your Cataclysm. Malin, you know what to do.”

“On it.” Malin nodded, leaping back over the edge with a whoop.

Showstopper pursued the fake Lisette to the second-floor restaurants, falling right into their trap. She skidded against the soapy floor as Malin's illusion faded before her eyes. A broom perched between two chairs clotheslined her, sending her tennis racket flying from her grasp right into Chat Noir's waiting Cataclysm.

Malin helped Margot up as Ladybug captured the akuma and returned everything to normal. “Seriously, losing your cool over a prop malfunction is so lame.” He chided. “You're playing Ladybug, so my suggestion is: take a lesson from the real thing and let go of that bad energy.”

Lisette peeked up from the stairs timidly, pacing over to join them. “I'm sorry your yoyo string was tangled. I should have checked it,” she said.

“Yeah, whatever.” Margot rolled her eyes. “Sorry I tried to throw you off the Eiffel Tower.”

“Technically, you did throw her off the Eiffel Tower,” Chat Noir said pointedly.

“You were awesome, Malin.” Ladybug nudged him with her elbow.

“It was your plan, all I did was help.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Ladybug shook her head. “You saved this girl, and we couldn't have done it without you. Be proud. You're a true superhero.”

Malin bit back a smile, surveying his suit and squaring his shoulders with a new sense of purpose. Ladybug was right. He had his doubts when she asked him because he still had a long way to go before he would consider himself an actual hero. If anyone deserved the title without a Miraculous, it was Marinette, and he owed this opportunity to her. He never would have had the courage to accept Ladybug’s offer without her. It was a shame she’d never know how much she truly changed his life. Maybe one day he could tell her this secret, but for now, he’d wear his secret identity like an invisible badge of honor.

“Pound it!” The three heroes said in unison.

Malin turned to Lisette and bowed formally. “Perhaps I will save you again someday,” he said.

Lisette bit her lip before stretching up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Ladybug took his wrist and toted him off as a dopey grin spread across his lips. They retreated to a private corner at the base of the tower, and Malin returned the necklace to Ladybug. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Eliott shifted his gaze to his shoes with a sigh.

“What's wrong?” Ladybug asked.

“Nothing, just… Lisette kissed Malin, not Eliott.” He kicked at the ground.

“You really like her, don't you?” Ladybug asked.

Eliott flinched, rubbing the back of his neck. That morning the thought of falling in love with someone terrified him, but now… Maybe he hadn’t come down from his heroic high, but with Lisette’s kiss still burning on his cheek, he smiled.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

“Well, Malin is very charming, but I think she might need someone to walk her home. Think Eliott can handle that?” Ladybug pointed to where Lisette was stepping off the elevator.

Have courage and believe in yourself.

On any other day, the fear of rejection would have convinced him to walk away, and maybe tomorrow it would. But today, today he wasn’t afraid.

“Lisette! Wait up.”

[martellthemandalor]

Fight or Flight - Part 1

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: langauge, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of violence, no Tom becuase I hate him

Rating: T (teen)

Word Count: 4.5K+

A/N: After nearly a month of not writing (fuck you writers block), I’m finally here with this Frankie fic. It’s going to be a two parter and part two will hopefully be posted next week, but I’m off to uni this weekend so I’ll have to see if I have the time to finish and post it. As always, likes are appreciated, reblogs encouraged and feedback is adored. (Also my Spanish sucks, please correct me if you see any mistakes)

Masterlist

GIF credit: @conveniently-available

You thought you’d started seeing things when you’d caught the shadowed face of Santiago Garcia, an ex squadmate, staring at you across the market plaza. You weren’t sure whether to be glad you weren’t going insane, or pissed that he’d ignored your blatant choice to ignore him when he had slid into the booth opposite you. Cocking an eyebrow at your old friend, you took a long swig of your beer.

He responded with a familiar smile, one you hadn’t seen in years. He was still as infectious as he was all those years ago, a single smile all it took to break your nonchalant air. You rolled your eyes as a grin broke across your face, shaking your head at him.

“Long time no see Pope,” you started, sliding your bottle across the table to him. He accepted the drink, taking a sip of the cold liquid. It was something the two of you had started back in your squad days, often choosing to share a bottle of whatever alcohol you could get your hands on in celebration. Initially you shared because alcohol was as rare as a total eclipse while at base, but it had quickly evolved into your own tradition. You watched with careful eyes as he handed the bottle back to you. “And here I’d thought I had done a good job of disappearing.”

He laughed at that. The deep belly laugh that, as much as you didn’t want to admit, you had missed so much. You and Santiago had been close friends, practically family, back in the Delta Force. When you went through your early retirement you had told yourself that disappearing was the easier choice, that it would save you a lot of heartache, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t hurt like hell to leave him like that.

“You certainly made it fun to track you down, Athena,” He replied, eyes sparking when your own met his in shock of hearing your old call sign. “But it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I take it that means you didn’t get my text then?”

“Given that I ditched my old phone when I left, no,” You took another sip of your drink, before slowly setting it back on the table. “What do you want Santi?”

He leant forward, voice dropping to an enticing rumble.

“I’ve got us a job,” You rolled your eyes at him and opened your mouth to make a smart ass remark. Santi knew you to well and saw what was coming, quickly continuing before you have chance to speak. “Seventeen thousand up front for a weeklong recce, all paid for by the narcotics unit down there.  But if we go through with it there’s potential for major upside, I’ve cut a deal with the agency. We keep twenty five percent of whatever we seize.”

“That twenty five percent doesn’t mean shit if it’s some drug running nobody, Pope. Who are we going after?" You ask, reaching for your bottle.

He dropped back in his seat, arms crossing against his chest. His jaw ticked for a moment, stretching out the seconds before dropping his bombshell.

“Lorea.” He shrugged.

“No shit?” Your response was almost instant, disbelief lacing your tone as your hand froze, millimetres away from the frosted glass. “The guy’s a ghost Pope, even my people can’t trace him.”

“I got solid intel, my informant says he’s holed up in a safe house with all his cash, over seventy five million dollars.” He raised both his brows in emphasis, reaching forward to snatch the bottle in front of your hovering fingertips. You watched in stunned silence as he brought the bottle to his lips. Santi chuckled at your expression.

“Fuck me.” Was all you managed to say, gratefully accepting the drink Santiago passes back. You took a long swig, using the little time the action gave to gather your thoughts a little. “Look Pope, I imagine you’ve already got the boys lined up for thi-”

“Nope, I’ve come to you first. I need you on this hermana, your skills are invaluable.” His eyes were pleading with you, chocolate irises piercing into your own. Paired with his boyish smile it was almost enough to make you give in.

Almost.

“But you are getting the boys together, and if you’re getting all of them together… I just can’t Santiago,” you stressed, your tone dejected. Part of you hoped that he only needed you, maybe then could have justified going. “Look, I’ve got a good gig here. I can’t just up and leave for a week with the boyband, stalking around some god forsaken jungle.”

“Is that so?” He smirked at you, eyebrow quirking slightly.

“You know full well there isn’t a lot of good work I get with my ‘skill set’, private security was the best move. It’s really not the sort of job I can disappear from for any amount of time.”

“Oh is that what they call it now?”

It was true that ‘private security’ was a pretty lose term for your job. You were certainly a form of security, but the mansions you protected were occupied by brazen CEO’s whose companies had less than reputable backgrounds. ‘Private Army’ was probably a more accurate job description. Or ‘Gun for Hire’.

“Fuck off Pope, like your job is any better,” You sniped, throwing a dangerous look across the table. Santi threw an equally serious face back at you. Neither of you could keep it up for long though, your stern expressions melting away with a light hearted laugh.

“I missed you Santi,” The sentiment behind your words rang sincere and true.

“I’ve missed you to hermana, I’m sure the other boys have as well.”

You scoffed.

“I’m sure two out of three of them do.”

Pope gave you a pointed look, and then leaned in to rest his forearms on the table.

“Frankie has definitely missed you Athena,” He stated, his voice low as his eyes flickered across your face. He watched as anger sparked across your features, scattering across your face like embers spitting from a fire.

“Frankie has no right to miss me,” You all but spat it at him. Seeing him open his mouth to protest, you cut off his oncoming plea with a sharp “You know exactly why.”

Santi slumped back into the worn cushion of the booth, running a hand down his face. He had hoped the resentment you harboured for your ex had faded over the past few years, but the way your words are filled with venom as you spoke his name he knew that opposite was true. If that was the case, then convincing you to join the job was going to be twice as hard. He shook his head at you.

“I don’t, actually. No one but you and Frankie knows what actually happened that day. You know that the reports for ops like ours are never truthful, our mistakes and injuries always get omitted,” Your sudden laugh caused Pope to pause, a short and sarcastic bark that was quickly followed by a swig of beer. “Look. You know I really need you on this, but I also need Fish. This job requires a pilot and he’s the best one I know.”

“I don’t care Pope. I’m not going if he’s going to be there, simple as. Find someone else with my ‘skill set’, god knows I can give you the contacts.”

With that you hauled your bag over your shoulder and went to leave the booth, pushing the glass bottle over to Santi to finish.

You thought you’d been successful in storming off. He didn’t say a word to stop you, just watched with marksman intensity as you slid out the booth. As you strode past him however, his hand darted out to firmly grip your wrist. Twisting towards him, you found whatever expletives that were rising in your throat died on the tip of your tongue. Those damn eyes of his placated you in an instant. Big and brown and mirroring a look you know you’ve given him so many times in the past.

“Please hermana. I need people I can trust on this, and there’s no one I trust more than you. I know you’ve seen what Lorea does to the city, hell to the whole damn country, but it’s getting personal now. I need to stop him. I need you to help me stop him,” He pleads. It makes you hesitate. You know all the terrible things that have happened under Lorea’s reign, seen first-hand a few of them. It was all Santi needed, he sees the new chink in your armour and jumps to rush into the gap before it closes you from him again.

“Seventeen thousand guaranteed, more if we go through with it, probably enough that you’ll never have to pick up a gun again. A week of work. AND I’ll personally make sure Fish doesn’t talk to you, if that’s what you want. Okay?”

There’s a silence, a lengthy pause where he can see the cogs turn in your head. Your eyes search his face, you’re not entirely sure what it is you’re looking for, but whatever your gaze meets seems to harden your resolve. Dropping your head back you groan dramatically.

“Fine. Alright I’ll do it. You better make good on those promises though.”

“When have I ever not Athena?” Pope grins at you, grabbing his own bag and standing up to join you. He brings you in for a proper hug, both of you grinning and laughing in each other’s ears. When you break he wraps his arm around your shoulders, the two of you walking out the bar in perfect step. That was something else that hadn’t changed then, you and he having a freaky twin-like way of mirroring each other. Even after all this time.

“Remind me again why we had Will as point on all our missions? You are so much more persuasive, and easier to listen to.” You gave him a poke on his ribs, causing another laugh to rumble from his chest.

“I don’t know hermana,” He replied, giving your own ribs a poke. “Now where’s good to eat around here, I’m starving.”

-

Frankie looked at the text on his phone once again. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, the amount that Pope was promising and just for a consultation alone.

“Hey, Fish, you coming?” Benny slapped down the end of the white tape wrapped around his hand, securing it in place.

“Right behind you Benny,” He replied, slipping the device back into its designated pocket. There was only one thought running rings around his head since he’d received the illusive message.

Had you been recruited for this job too?

Fish knew that you and Santiago had been close friends throughout your army days, the pair of you having closer ties than the rest of squad, save for Will and Benny of course. A bond like that, it doesn’t go forgotten, he knows better than most that even when severed, it leaves a lingering ghost.

Maybe it had pulled Pope to call you in. Maybe it had even convinced you to say yes.

Benny slapped the lockers as the pair rounded the corner of the changing room, the abrasive metallic clanging drawing Frankie out of the black hole of his thoughts.

“Aw yeah where my corner men?” Benny chanted, beelining for Santiago.

Frankie didn’t want to look. Instead he walked swiftly up Will, greeting him with a solid embrace. Pulling away, Will gave him a look. It was one of encouragement and almost… sympathy? Frankie’s gaze dipped away from the blonde man, sending a glance towards his old friend.

A tap on his arm from Will gave him the courage he needed. He turned towards Santiago, head down, hoping that going in hat first would somehow protect him. He painted a smile on his face, swiping his hand to swat at Pope’s arm.

“Hey! todos los días que're más feo,” (“Everyday you’re uglier”) He joked, a genuine chuckle escaping his lips when Santi responded by grabbing the open ends of his jacket.

“Ah, pequeño pendejo,” (“You little shithead”) Santi laughed and pulled Frankie into a hug. He felt a little of his anxiety melt away, things seeming to be normal so far. No ghosts. “Me alegro de verte.” (“good to see you”)

Frankie settled onto one of the benches, watching his hands as they lay clasped, but still fidgeting, in his lap.

“Did you boys get my text?” The answering silence to Santiago’s question was deafening. Not that it put him off of course, if anything the hush just spurred Pope on more. “Yeah? Fish?”

Hearing Pope say his call sign felt almost foreign, even as it sent him hurtling back through time. Back into an apparition of the three of you laughing, joking, ribbing light-heartedly at the names bestowed upon you.

This time it was Santi who ripped him from his thoughts.

“I need a pilot, I can’t do this thing without you.”

“I don’t know man,” Frankie shook his head at his hands, “I got out of this for a reason.”

Lie. There was way more than a single reason. One of which he prayed wasn’t going to round those lockers, like he had mere minutes before.

“What… what does that mean?” Pope questioned in disbelief. “Did you read the text? This can change your life forever Frankie.”

Fish scoffed, rising from the bench. He knew exactly how much this could change his life. However, it didn’t mean it would be changed for the better.

It was easy for Pope to say, to propose it, this had been his life for years, long after the squad had gone their separate ways. The only way to fuel his need to make a difference was, in his eyes, to pick up a gun and do it himself. Frankie still remembered his justification for running back into violence.

“What happened to that bullshit about going back to your Mother’s homeland and empowering the people to police themselves?” Fish’s arms crossed as he fired Pope’s words back at him, a subtle stab that didn’t go unnoticed by the group. Pope chuckled softly in response, his expression hardening for a split second.

“Anyway,” Frankie continued. “I lost my licence. I can’t even fly right now.” His steady gaze dropped at that, the cold water of shame settling deep in his stomach at the admission.

Pope was unfazed, pressing on with double the determination.

“Well, I don’t need a pilot with a licence. I’m in with the army down there,” He took a step towards his capped friend, steadily pressing into the bubble Frankie had built around him. Pope ducked his head slightly, trying to catch his evading eyes. “I just need a pilot I can trust.”

“Yeah. I don’t think so.” Frankie shot back, not missing a beat.

He watched as Popes mouth pressed into a firm line, chucking out a soft “Okay,” before starting on a passionate ramble about Lorea. Fish purposely turned away, tuning out the determined voice of his friend in favour of watching Benny prep for his fight. He hoped that the obvious shun of Santiago’s efforts would make his stance clearer. If he could get any clearer than the obvious “No.” he had given seconds before.

“… There’s a winning lottery ticket stuck to the bottom of your cowboy boot.” The words were spoken close to his ear, swinging his attention back to his exasperated friend. Fuck it. Maybe if he bites at Santi’s line just a little, then his focus would turn to one of the other guys. “Every guy in that gym would jump at this-”

Pope’s voice stalled just slightly, his eyes darting momentarily behind Frankie’s head. Confusion flashed across Fish’s features, until he heard the voice.

That voice, so saccharine sweet and smooth, that haunts him more than any horror he’s seen. Your voice.

“You gonna win for me, Benny?”

-

Your grin was wide, arms folded casually as you leaned against the chilling metal of the lockers.

“Athena!” Benny all but roared, surging towards you and swiftly gathering you in his arms. Your own came around his neck as he swung you round. “I’m most certainly going to win now my good luck charm is here.” He said, setting you back down on your feet. You could feel Frankie’s stare burning into the back of you as you let your touch linger just a little longer than necessary, fingertips dancing gently across the bare expanse of Benny’s shoulders.

“Good luck charm, hmm? Does that mean you’ve been losing without me around?” You teased, palms resting on Benny’s firm chest.

“No ma’am, just means that winning will be twice as easy now.” He said, squeezing your hips, a move that didn’t go unnoticed. Then you moved to the other Miller brother.

“Hey Will, how you been?” You asked, arms wrapping round him in a much softer embrace. He chuckled against your ear.

“I’ve been fine, better for seeing you though, Ath,” Will pulled back, hands coming to rest in his pockets. “After you left we didn’t think we’d see you again, where’ve you been?”

“A few places, all over America really, went abroad a couple times. Paris was particularly nice I must say.” You replied nonchalantly.

“Paris, eh? Well you’ve certainly done the best out of all of us.” Will acknowledged, a hand coming out to squeeze your shoulder lightly. Your smile was wide and genuine, beaming at the bearded blonde. He responded with a smile of his own, quiet pride etched across his soft eyes.

“We always knew she would,” Pope spoke up, striding over to you. “Athena was destined for better things than us from the start, you boys knew that when you named her for a Greek goddess.” He cajoled, nudging your arm lightly.

“Santiago, you flatter me. C’mere, idiot.” You laughed lightly, pulling in your best friend for a solid hug.

Pope’s shoulders were squared when he finally let go. Your eyes immediately clocking the way he was winding himself tight. His brow ticked up in silent question.                                                                                                

A lull fell over the locker room. The electric energy radiating from Benny made the air thrum as you assessed the potential for disaster. The silence was deafening, if only momentary, as the boys tensely awaited your next move.

Pope’s words swirled in your mind.

“I’ll personally make sure Fish doesn’t talk to you”

You had your hard out.

This time though, you didn’t want to take it.

You turned to your ex-boyfriend, seeing his figure slightly hunched and arms firmly crossed.

“Hello, Frankie.”

The words detonated on everyone at the same time, the potential implications rippling across the boys. No one knowing this time what the true aftermath would look like.

He didn’t even meet your gaze.

“Hey Athena.” His tone was blunt, cold, unfeeling. It slammed right into your gut, worse than any blow you’d taken before.

The bastard.

Santi must have sensed the bonfire building in you, his frame coming to block your path to Fish. Before he had chance to say anything though, Benny’s adrenaline became your saving grace.

“C’mon focus guys, it’s fight night!” He chided, throwing a lifeline into the centre of oppressive atmosphere. Will was the quickest to grasp at it, snapping his focus onto his brother.

“Yeah, don’t worry about that bullshit.” he said calmly, throwing a gentle look over at Frankie.

“Sorry, Benny.” You conceded, scratching the back of your neck.

“You ready for this?” Will checked. You knew on these nights that he was often more anxious than his brother, though he would die before ever admitting that to his younger sibling.

“Hell yeah.” Benny confidently replied.

-

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he pretended not to watch the way you had linked arms with Benny, walking in perfect step with him out the room.

Santi hadn’t said a word about you coming. Not a single syllable. He wasn’t sure whether to be mad or relieved. Would it have been worse to know in advance? Worse to have longer to revisit the shimmering ghost of your relationship, to think about the way you used to smile and laugh with him, only to have those images marred by the utter disdain you regarded him with now.

Pope lingered for a moment, waiting for Fish to gather himself. A deep breath and a head shake later Frankie strode out to follow the gang, letting Santi walk a few paces ahead.

The corridor was painfully bright as Frankie emerged from the locker room, he always hated bright spaces. Especially when they were accompanied by white walls that did nothing but highlight the way you were parading Benny down the hall.

He tried to focus on something else, anything else, but the image of you talking, laughing, flirting with the tall fighter was steadily being burnt onto his retinas. You were acting as if Benny had been the one you’d dated, been the one you’d slept with.

Had you?

No. That was a rabbit hole he couldn’t let himself fall down. Not now.

Instead, he opted for turning his attention to Pope.

“I didn’t mean to call your shit bullshit,” He started, hovering just slightly behind his friend. Somehow being shoulder to shoulder for this conversation… well, he couldn’t deal with being that exposed right now. Pope chuckled softly.

“It’s all right.”

“I got busted. It’s not a big deal,” Fish paused, wandering for a moment whether he could let that lie stick. No, he couldn’t. “Actually it’s a big deal.”

“Coke?” Santi asked, almost too knowingly.

Frankie couldn’t say anything, just gave Pope a look of confirmation.

There. It was out now.

“Jesus, Frankie.” Santiago scoffed.

“Technically, it’s a suspension. I’m still under review.”

Pope’s face was unchanging, that same slightly sceptical look drawn across his features.

Frankie knew nothing he said would change that, but at least he’d got it out. Part of him hoped that if Santi knew then, well he’d stop him from doing anything to stupid in the face of his old spectres.

He turned his attention to the stoically quiet Will who was walking a few paces ahead.

“Well, what about you? What are you gonna do?” He asked.

“I said if Athena was in, I’m in,” Will said.

Fish watched as you threw your fist in the air.

“Hell yeah!” You chanted, not looking back at the group.

“Come on, stick with me guys.” Benny asserted.

Fish hated the way your arm tightened round his, holding yourself to him tighter.

“Oh, I’m with you, Benny. But are you with me?” Santiago asked. “Are you in?”

Fuck, how he wished he could un-see the way your eyes peered into the steady expression of his squad mate, forget how your face lit up when Benny responded.

“You know I am. I go where you go.”

“That’s what I thought! Benny stands tall!” Pope slapped Benny’s back, his words alive with excitement.

“Fuck yeah he does.” You affirmed.

The announcements from the main arena were getting louder as the group approached. Frankie nearly walked straight into Santi when the group stopped its pace. The jolting stop had been caused by you and Benny, his eyes immediately locking onto the harrowing scene playing out in front of him.

“C’mere Ben,” You said, reaching to tilt Benny’s cheek towards you and pressing a kiss to the warm skin there. “For luck, not that you’ll need it of course. Go knock em’ out, tiger.”

-

As much as you loved to watch Benny beat the shit out of another dumbass fighter, the climate of ring room had gotten overwhelming hot and oppressive, fast. You shouted to Pope about getting some air, and then slipped into the fresh, quiet open space at the backdoor of the gym.

Your head fell back against the cold concrete of the wall, taking steady gulps of crisp air as you tried to centre yourself a little. You hated loud noise.

Years of training to hone your hearing had made you acquire a preference for quiet places. It wasn’t that your ears were sensitive by any means, years of being near active warzones had made sure of that, but overwhelming noise meant you couldn’t pick up on small hints of danger. It was that which made your heart race and head pound.

The clicking of the heavy door next to you opening alerted you to another presence. You hoped it was Santi, the two of you still had a lot to catch up on after all, but that hope was squashed when the tan jacket of Frankie Morales emerged.

“What do you want, Catfish?” You asked, exasperation lacing your voice.

“What was that?” He asked in return.

“What was what.”

“You. Kissing Benny.”

You tilted your head to get a better look at him. His arms were folded across his chest, cap pulled low over his eyes. His gaze was furtive, eyes flicking between you and the uninteresting tarmac bellow.

“It’s called ‘moral support’.” You scoffed at him.

Frankie shifted his weight, hip jutting out as he rested his hands there. You tried to swallow the small lump in your throat that formed at seeing him do the pose you had loved for so many years.

In the past it had been accompanied by a playful look in his eye before he’d pounce on you, growling slightly as he pinned you to the nearest surface. Usually accompanied by a “You shouldn’t tease me like that, hermosa.”

Now though his eyes were hardened as he stared you down.

You pushed down your emotions. You couldn’t let yourself miss him. Not again. Not now.

“And the flirting?” he retorted

“Me and Ben have always flirted! I only stopped because-“

Because me and you started dating, because I fell head over heels for you faster and deeper than anyone before you, because there is no one who could ever compare to you.

You cleared your throat.

“Anyway, I’m allowed to flirt, Fish. It’s not like I’m seeing anyone right now.” You said sharply.

You heard his breath hitch. Saw his eyes widen slightly in shock, lips parted. For a moment he stared at you, before coming back to his senses.

“You… you’re not?” He stammered slightly.

You sighed. Dragging a single hand down your face, you let it rest on your shoulder before turning to face him fully.

“No,” You said firmly, “I’m not seeing anyone. Do you really think so low of me? That I would come in here and flirt with Benny to what? Make a point? All while I had some partner holed up somewhere waiting for me to come home.”

Frankie’s mouth goldfished at you a couple times. If you had been listening hard enough you may have heard the whirring and clunking of his proverbial cogs turning steadily in his brain. He was frantically trying to think of some way to back pedal on his verbal attack.

No, you categorically didn’t miss him anymore.

“Do us both a favour, yeah? Stay away from me tonight.” You snapped.

You swept past him, back into the bleak walls of the gym. If your strides had been slower, if you hadn’t have been so very desperate to flee, you might have heard his closing remark.

“I thought the world of you, mi petardo.” (“my firecracker”)

 -

Read part 2 here!

-

TAGLIST

@din-damn-djarin​

@phoenixhalliwell​

@legili-mens​

[the-everlasting-dream]

Cookies - The Perfect Cliche Part 3

A/N: Wow okay its been a YEAR since I’ve touched this but better late than never right? Idk who’s interested still so I’ll tag a few people. 

Tags: @ooo-barff-ooo​  @saivilo​  @burnsoslow​ @client-327​ @i-miss-trr​ @gkittylove99​  @tinkie1973 

‘Bitch you did what??’ 

‘I know I know,’ Elizabeth mumbled around the spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, dragging a hand down her face. ‘It just happened I just reacted and… I didn’t mean to hit him in the face.’ 

‘Yeah no one means to hit their insanely hot neighbour in the face,’ her best friend replied sarcastically. ‘What did he say? He must have been pissed!’ 

Elizabeth hesitated as she scooped another mouthful of raspberry ripple into her mouth, straight from the tub. ‘He actually let me use his shower after that.’ 

‘WHAT?!?’ Athena’s screech was loud enough to break the sound barrier and her eardrums. ‘You mean to tell me that you were naked in that man’s apartment while he was also in that same apartment? How did you not get laid?’ 

‘Are we forgetting how just moments ago I’d hit him in the face with a wooden spoon? And I feel so bad about that,’ Elizabeth rushed on before her friend could get a word in. ‘I made him cookies.’ 

‘Cookies?’ There was a snort over the line. ‘What are we twelve?’ 

 ‘What was I supposed to do? Offer him sex instead?’ She winced immediately, knowing she shouldn’t have given Athena the opening.   

‘You know I would have. At least if I was still single of course.’ 

‘What would you be doing if you were still single?’ A male voice could be heard in the background of the call followed by a string of giggles which Elizabeth could only assume was from his ticking his girlfriend. ‘Hey Liz.’ 

‘Hey Damien.’ 

‘Ready for the interview today?’ 

‘As I’ll ever be I guess.. I mean its just for the bar down the street.’ 

‘You’re gonna crush it babe,’ Athena chirped enthusiastically. ‘Go in there and give em Cece from New Girl vibes.’ 

‘Yeah we’ll come celebrate with you after,’ Damien promised. 

‘Thanks guys, I gotta go or I’ll be late,’ she replied, shrugging on her jacket as they chorused their goodbyes. Giving herself a once-over in the mirror, Elizabeth put on her most winning smile before grabbing the plate of cookies off the counter. Loudly knocking twice on the identical door from hers across the hall, she set them gently on the floor before rushing off to her interview. 

  - 

We have to talk. Tonight 8pm.

The single text message no doubt forecasting impending doom lit up Drake’s phone screen from where he’d left it that morning on the kitchen bench top. Cursing himself for forgetting it, he’d rushed back home to pick it up on his lunch hour, only to find a plate of cookies at his doorstep. Now it and the handwritten Sorry again! note from his neighbour Elizabeth — he could tell by the spider drawing — lay forgotten to the side as he ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. 

Kiara was mad. Again. He’d fucked up again. Somehow. No amount of wracking his brain would do him any good now. Just when things were starting to improve, or so he thought. All he seemed to be doing was making her mad lately. 

Absentmindedly, Drake shoved a cookie in his mouth before thinking better and grabbing the rest to eat on the long trek back to the office. - ‘You got the job!’ Athena wrapped her friend in a bear hug. 

 Elizabeth chuckled wryly, ‘Its just a bartending gig, Thee.' 

‘Still! Its your first big girl job you got by yourself. No longer a debutante of the north, we’ve got a working city gal over here!’ 

 ‘Complete with a shitty boss and everything. Did you know he asked me if this is the highest neckline I own?’ 

Athena wrinkled her nose as they continued down the street. ‘Ew are you sure you want to work there babe? You know I could get you  a job at my magazine place right? Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.’ 

Elizabeth was already shaking her head. ‘Thanks again but no thanks. Like you said this is my first real job that I’ve gotten myself. If I’m going to be independent, I’m gonna have to take my chances.’ 

‘Well you’re a trooper,’ her friend announced, linking her arm through hers. ‘Anyway, this calls for a treat. Lets go out tonight! But first can we stop by your place? I gotta pee so bad.' 

-

Getting dolled up together was something Elizabeth didn’t realise she’d missed. Athena had moved to the city years ago and she was starting to think she should have done the same. 

 ‘C’mon Liz! D and Nadia are already waiting,’ her best friend yelled from where she was scrolling through her phone on the couch. 

 ‘I’m coming!’ she yelled back, applying that final coat of lipstick before pressing her lips together to make that perfect pout. Just as she stepped out of the bedroom, there was a knock at her door. Athena gave her a quizzical look before leaping up to answer it as she reached back into the room to grab her other earring. 

 ‘Is Elizabeth here?’ 

She poked her head out to see Drake leaning against the doorframe, tie hanging loosely around his neck, offering her a half smile. 

 ‘Oh.. Hey Drake.’ Her voice was breathy as she crossed the living room, trying to ignore Athena who was furiously mouthing something probably inappropriate from behind the door where her neighbour couldn’t see. 

He handed her the plate. ‘Thanks for the cookies. Came in handy today.’ 

Elizabeth swallowed as their fingers touched for a moment. ‘You’re welcome. I’m glad they did. So… um you done with work?’ 

‘Yeah. Might head out for a bit later. You look like you’re on the way out yourself.’ 

‘Yeah,’ she chuckled. ‘I got a new job so my best friend is taking me out to dinner.’ Why was she telling him this? Why would he care? 

 Drake nodded. ‘Well I’ll leave you to it.’ 

‘Thanks. And again I’m so sorry about the…’ Elizabeth gestured awkwardly at the fading bruise on his face. 

 ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he called over his shoulder, retreating back into his apartment. 

 She’d barely closed the door, before Athena pounced on her. 

'That’s him?? Thats the guy?!?' 

'Thats him.' 

 'You hit him in the face.' 

 'I did.' 

'I can’t believe you hit him in the face.' 

'I know.’ 

Athena suddenly shoved her roughly. ‘You should have invited him out with us! He said he was going out a little later anyway. C’mon girl!’ 

‘I can’t! He has a girlfriend for starters!’ 

 ‘Who from the sounds of it is halfway out the door!’ Athena licked her lips. ‘Did you hear his accent? Soooo sexy. Must be some kind of European..’ 

‘Beats me,’ Elizabeth deflected. 

 ‘Imma beat your ass if you don’t snatch him up soon,’ her best friend threatened playfully as they grabbed their bags. ‘Now come on Nadia’s already sent me seven text messages.' 

-

‘Whatever it is Kiki, I’m sorry,’ Drake began even before he entered Kiara’s lavish penthouse. ‘Its not you, its me. I’ll do better I promise.’ 

The elegant diplomat gave him a pointed look before turning on her custom Jimmy Choo’s as she lead him further into the apartment. ‘That’s just it Drake, I don’t think you can do better.’ 

His brow furrowed, shoulders sagging. ‘What do you mean?’ 

‘You heard me,’ she replied almost nonchalantly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. ‘I just got a call from Sara Burton, Alexander McQueen’s creative director. She’s uninvited me from her fashion show next week. The same fashion show I was supposed to take Princess Marguerite of Monaco to as part of our efforts to broker a trade with her country. Do you want to know what reason Ms Burton gave me?’ 

She barely paused, steading herself against the mantlepiece before continuing on. ‘She told me that you were drunk at her show last week and told one of her aides that her entire collection looked better as fishing tackle than as clothes.’ 

Drake snorted without a hint of remorse. ‘I stand by what I said. No one on God’s good earth needs a fishnet jumpsuit. No one.’ 

 He instantly regretted the words as Kiara’s face flushed with anger. 

‘Mon Dieu! You don’t understand! You never did! This is not about the outfits, its about grace and finesse and being strategic in what you say and do. My parents warned me about you. They said you couldn’t handle the pressures of the nobility and sooner or later you’d only bring me down with you.’ 

He tossed aside the roses and chocolate, a belated peace offering. ‘Bring you down? Is that all I am to you Kiara? An accessory to your status? A means to an end?’ 

Her eyes narrowed in fury. ‘Don’t you do that! Don’t you dare twist my words like that when I’ve done nothing but make you comfortable with who I am for our entire relationship.’ She sucked in a ragged breath. ‘You think yourself above all the flattery and finery, living by your own rules but what your arrogant ass forgets that some of us make our livelihood to protect king and country this way.’ ‘

Don’t hit me what that holier-than-thou bullshit now,’ Drake interjected. ‘You know just as well as I do that shit is just a farce. Just ass-kissing and brown nosing your way to the top to get where you want to be.' 

‘If that’s what you think I do, then you never knew me at all,’ Kiara declared with finality, tears shining in her eyes before she turned away from him. ‘Let’s stop fucking pretending, shall we? We’re way too different for this to work. Everyone else can tell. We’ve only been fooling ourselves for the last three years.' 

‘Kiara…’ He came up behind her, so close but not touching. Was she really doing this? 'How did we get like this Kiki?’ He asked, barely daring to whisper. ‘Surely we can figure this out...' 

‘We can’t.’ When she spoke, her tone confirmed what he knew all along. ‘What we had died out a long time ago.' 

 ‘Kiara please..’ Drake could hear the desperation in his voice now. ‘Please don’t do this.’ 

 ‘It’s done, Drake. We’re done.’ 

 ‘Ki-‘ 

‘Please leave.’ 

She didn’t even turn around. Drake hesitated for a moment before obeying. In the elevator, frustration broke and he punched the walls hard enough to make the lights flicker. As soon as the bell dinged for the ground floor, he headed towards the nearest bar. 

- Elizabeth was still smiling when she unlocked the door to her apartment. She had needed the dinner with her friends more than she’d realised. Now for a goodnights sleep before her first shift at the bar tomorrow... 

A loud banging on her apartment door woke her up hours later, shaking her out of a deep sleep. Her bleary eyes found the clock reading 1.51am. More banging followed by someone yelling. 

 This is how I die. Alone in avocado pjs, strangled to death in my own bed by a lunatic who’s probably the Zodiac killer reincarnated. 

Whoever it was didn’t seem to plan on stopping. She debated with herself for a moment longer before hastily reaching for her robe, turning on each light in the apartment as she passed it, grabbing a wooden spoon for good measure as she passed the kitchen. The sounds were clearer now, it almost sounded like someone was moaning in pain. As she inched closer Elizabeth was able to hear a word, a name. 

 'Kiara..' 

Why did that name sound so familiar? 

 Just then her door handle started jiggling and she brandished her weapon more fiercely ready to strike. Before she had time to react, it burst open to reveal... her neighbour Drake. 

Clearly drunk off his face, he stumbling into her living room, swearing as his shoulder caught against the doorframe. The impact sent him teetering precariously but somehow he still managed to keep his balance, moaning out Kiara’s name as he peeled off the henley he was wearing. Wrestling to take it for a second, is knees buckled and he sprawled face first onto her couch. 

 Elizabeth remained frozen and to anyone passing by must have looked quite comical, standing shock still in her pyjamas, hair in a messy bun and eyes bleary from sleep with wooden spoon raised in the air above her head. It wasn’t until Drake let out a snorting breath that she was shocked out of her stupor. 

Ohmigodohmigodohmigod. What the hell just happened? 

Her very attractive neighbour was on her couch, shirtless and blackout drunk at 2am. 

What the hell New York?? 

Elizabeth did the first thing she could think of. She dialled Athena then immediately hung up. 

 Its freaking 2am woman. Get a grip. 

 Taking a deep breath, she shook her head coming to her senses that there was nothing she could do about it now. Placing a glass of water and an aspirin on the table beside Drake, she turned off all the lights and crept back to her bedroom, shutting the door for good measure. - He must have forgotten to close the damn blinds again because it felt like the sun itself was shining on the other side of his eyelids. His head was already throbbing and when he swallowed, his throat felt like sandpaper. Blinking grains of dust out of his eyes, Drake gradually came to his senses and his vision cleared to reveal the words of a graphic tee with an avocado on it, reading Hardcore. 

  Wait… This wasn’t his apartment! 

He shot up to a sitting position, the action making him nauseous as the pounding in his head only intensified. 

 ‘Rough night?’ 

A woman’s voice took him by surprise and with effort he turned to see the owner of the avocado shirt, his neighbour Elizabeth sitting on the armchair across from him...

[samuelandthewilburbots]

One Year in Music: Week 26

This week’s song is called Take Me. It’s about getting whisked away on a summer late night adventure. Do you wanna follow along on an adventure or would you rather lead the way? I like the concept of jumping in, not knowing the depth or temp, ready for anything. Sometimes life throws you curve balls that might seem like a massive inconvenience or burden, but it ends up taking you down a road you would’ve never taken otherwise, sometimes metaphorically, and sometimes a literal road. One of the most exciting feelings in thew world is the excitement of the unknown, going to a new city, or country, not knowing whats around the next turn, or what the next turn even is.  One of the biggest benefits of being a teacher is having the summer off. There is a big misconception about teacher’s summers. First of all, we get 8 weeks, not 3 months. Every time I see someone in the summer, they always ask, what do you do in the summer for work? Are you getting a job this summer? Hell no! Many summers I have gotten side gigs painting houses, or teaching summer school, but it’s just not the same. This year I said hell no to work, and hell yes to anything life threw at me. My motto in the summer is, say yes. I get a random text to see if I want to go to happy hour: yes, someone invites you to the cabin for the weekend: yes! My buddy called me this summer, it was 10pm, I was already in bed, and he said, hey you wanna go to Faye Webster at First Avenue tonight? I was all ready to have a quite night and go to bed, but I switched gears, went to the concert, it was an absolute banger, then I took a Lime scooter for a joy ride along the Mississippi River home at midnight. I would’ve missed out on this opportunity if I followed my initial instinct which was to politely decline and go to bed. I would 100% never remembered that night for any reason. But now I fondly look back on that night as one of the best nights of the summer. Something about the spontaneity of it gave me a literal rush. I had to abruptly jump out of bed and change and get a Lyft. I went from bed to First Avenue in 20 minutes. Going out on a random Tuesday is like playing with the houses money. You can’t lose! There are expectations on a Friday or Saturday night, but on a Tuesday, every ounce of fun is profit. And as I was riding an electric scooter home under the moonlight, I felt this great presence in the air of endless possibilities.  “Dream away, dream away, dream away, It's not too far Sign away, sign away, sign away, Sign away your heart” Dream big, sign away your heart, and submit all your expectations to the universe. Every adventure might not be perfect, or mystical, or maybe your night sucks, the universe is unpredictable and nothing makes sense, but AN adventure no matter how grand, is certainly better than no adventure at all... 

Lyrics: You were sitting there on the side of the street in the city you were sitting there in your car on the side of the road You were sitting there on the side of the street looking pretty You were sitting there on the wrong side of the road Dream away of what you are Sign away sign away your heart You don't wanna drive me okay I guess I get it You don't wanna drive me okay I can take a hint Take Me, Take me Let's go for a drive Take me, Take me I'll meet you outside I'll meet you outside Don't you like You gotta make things right I don't wanna start another fight another fight I can't win Take the knife, return it to my back tonight Well it's better off to believe your wrong when your not right

Dream away, it's not too far Sign away, sign away your heart You don't wanna drive me okay I guess I get it You don't wanna drive me okay I can take a hint Take Me, Take me Let's go for a drive Take me, Take me I'll meet you outside I'll meet you outside I'm gonna die alone I'm gonna die alone I'm gonna wait I'm gonna write home I"m gonna write home either way You don't wanna drive me okay I guess I get it You don't wanna drive me okay I can take a hint Take Me, Take me Let's go for a drive Take me, Take me I'll meet you outside I'll meet you outside I'm telling you We gotta restart Stop telling the truth If we both fall apart  I'm telling you We gotta begin No ones yelling at you If your not gonna win

[lethesomething]

A note on fictional jobs

There's a joke that all fanfic characters are either baristas, teachers, lawyers or some denizen of the tattoo/florist au set. This isn't really fully true (there's also witches and vampire hunters!) but for anyone going for a realistic setting, let me at least, as someone who has worked a number of jobs in media, software development and catering, give some pointers on how that stuff works, because dear lord does Hollywood get it wrong.

This post is 2k words, so under the cut it goes.

Journalism/Photography/Media

General tips

This sector seems to be pretty popular in old school comics, and for good reason. Clark Kent gets to go out into the city and be near events. It's a job women are historically allowed to do (and be sassy in) and even Peter Parker gets to just traipse around the city getting into adventures.

It must also be noted that all these characters were developed in the first half of the 20th century, and media has changed a lot since then.

If your character is a journalist, they will work long hours and not be paid *that* much. Carrie Bradshaw is the most unrealistic journalist character in the history of everything. Especially after, oh, 2010 or so, when the traditional press sales really started declining. No journalist is that well paid for that little. And none will have that much free time.

Journalists generally have a beat, and what they do and know heavily depends on that. Your character can get into the gritty streets of downtown chasing drug dealers, or they can go to theatre premieres. They won't do both. The Vast Majority of modern media have beats. A person can be a sports caster and then he will go to sports events to report them. They can be a jetset reporter or restaurant reviewer and go to swanky places. They can be a cultural reporter and be invited to premieres and shows. They can be a dedicated business journalist, reporting on IT, or cardboard logistics, or whatever, and go to conferences around the world. But they will rarely be all these things at once.

How wide this beat is, depends heavily on the 'range' of the medium. Big news rooms, like NYTimes, have a lot of journalists, and some very, Very specialised ones. This is deep dive, spend weeks trailing every leak out of the White House stuff. In contrast, a small regional tv station can have their reporter (with or without a camera man and sound tech) drive around the countryside reporting on pumpkin carving festivals one day, and grisly murder the next.

A lot also depends on the medium. If the character works for a newspaper, they will have a noon to eight shift as a writer, and a two to ten shift, most likely, as an editor, because papers need to get printed overnight. If it's a weekly or a monthly print mag, there will be a few days with relative freedom to do interviews and such, and then a few days of crunch time. If they work for a news website they will have a desk job and most likely work in shifts. TV and radio news people are the ones doing most of the running around to get quotes, but they are also on the tightest of schedules.

Speaking of schedules. Unless the character is a blogger, they won't finish an article and immediately rush it to the printer/publish it. Reputable news sources have, at the very least, a copy editor to check for mistakes and typos. Bigger newspapers and magazines and sites have a dedicated fact checker.

Very VERY few papers in the world have full time photographers on the payroll. If your character is a photographer, they will most likely be a freelancer and do corporate events or weddings on the side (sorry Peter Parker). What happens is, a medium will decide in advance which article or interview will require a picture, and book a photographer for that piece.

Any other pictures tend to come from news agencies. Think Reuters or Associated Press. These sort of agencies do use full time photographers, as well as freelancers who happen to visit an event. They'll take like two hundred picture and sell them to the agency, who distributes them to media all over the world.

Few media have the money for correspondents, so they'll pick only a handful. This means a foreign correspondent has a large area to cover. European news media tend to have one correspondent in the US, covering the Entire US, for instance. American media tend to have more moneys, but if your character is a respondent in, say India, expect them to trek along India a lot, because they're prob the only one in that vast country.

Having said that, coverage, especially war coverage, is super expensive. If they're sending a journo to a war zone, it will absolutely not be a rookie. They will have proven themselves capable, preferably speak the language and they'll be Very Prepared. Think local guides, vast networks of informants etc. A startling amount of war reporters and investigative journalists are also freelance. If they are trekking through a jungle and come across anything exciting, you bet they'll try to sell that story in several angles/versions to different media.

Have you considered:

Bread and Butter Freelancers: It's a gig economy my friends. Freelance writey people don't have a boss and usually work from home or from some coffee shop. If they are to be successful (enough to make a living), they'll still have a beat, and will actually have to be fairly good at this subject. Since these characters make their own shifts, they do have the ability to go out in the middle of the day to do superheroing or witchery or to investigate the disappearance of their best friend. Upsides: Freedom. Downsides: Usually very little money. Unstable hours, like one day nothing and then a week of 14 hour days. The crushing stress of looming deadlines ànd job insecurity.

Copywriters: The people that write the text on corporate websites, that fill mail order catalogues with entries for every picture, compose newsletters for various organisations, turn technical instructions into actually mildly readable user manuals. Upside: money. If they're good at it, they will have a fairly stable income. They have the same freedom as freelancers to go flirt with flower shop assistants. Downside: the crushing knowledge that with every piece you write, your soul sinks deeper into the void. Anyone who's ever read clientsfromhell will know what to expect of their clientele.

Lay-outers: The creative side of making media. The bros making the graphs, putting the text to paper,  photoshoping the head of Putin onto the body of a baby, whatever. Upside: artist character. This is a slightly more realistic character than the 'painter'. They're creative, but they have yet to sell their soul to the corporate machine (depending on the medium you put them in, of course). Downside: this is basically a desk job with stable hours.

Cameraman, sound technician: the people that hang out with the news reporter and trot all over the region with him/her. Upside: see the world! Without being instantly recognizable. Downside: they're probably stuck in their mission and they rarely have the power to go 'hey, let's investigate over there'.

 Software development

General tips

There's actually a few different environments for software engineers to work.

Start-ups: the hip one. Think Silicon Valley, the upstarts in sneakers and Star Wars t-shirts living on pizza and red bull and basically coding 20 hours a day. Depending on where they are in the growth of their start-up, these people will be nearly alone, or have a team of coworkers. Traditionally, start-ups start with like a founder (or four) and an idea, and some coding. As the company grows they'll hire a sales person to sell this stuff, a marketing manager to brand it, a support person to troubleshoot it, an HR person, etc.

A very Very VERY large part of start-up business is pitching, aka selling your premise to a bunch of venture capitalists and investors. It's Dragon's Den. Literally. Your super shy, autism spectrum character who hates public speaking and who can't even look at another person without blushing would make a super crappy start-up founder by themselves. They will definitely need their bubbly, motivational speaker best friend. On the other hand: this is an amazing environment for that suave, smooth talking character who could sell sand in the desert.

Second environment: corporate. The vast majority of software engineers out there just work for some big company. These are the people building and deploying management system software for banks, installing security in factories, that sort of thing. A lot of the time they're consultants. They wear a suit. They use something called the Waterfall method, which sucks out your soul, or the Agile method, which also sucks out your soul. There's a lot of managing and meeting and progress reports. If they're good enough, they're allowed to leave the tie at home.

Software needs to be tested. You don't just write the code last minute and put it live.

The coders are absolutely not the only people in a software development team. There's the project managers, the designers, the copywriters, the testers, the lawyers, oh god, the lawyers, etc.

Software Needs to be tested. It takes ages. I cannot stress this enough. It usually happens in India or some other Asian country where the wages are lower.

Will a lot of environments, even corporate, allow their creatives to come to work in like… jeans and a t-shirt, the only people realistically allowed to actually act like teenagers, in any environment (corporate, start-up, small business), are the ones with skills that are very hard to find. In essence: security experts and specifically white hat hackers. Yes, you're allowed to have a hacker character that acts dumb and comes to work in his pyjamas and it will be realistic that he does not get fired. Your clerk character that's super rude and deals in hurtful quips? Not so much.

SOFTWARE NEEDS TO BE TESTED

 Have you considered:

Researchers: you know those people that made a song that can give Alexa commands without the owner knowing? Those are university researchers. A lot of really cool stuff is being developed not by office workers, but at universities. This includes software. Upside: probably a looser environment, with a lot of young people. Downside: you're basically writing a college AU.

Venture capitalists: in a Silicon Valley environment, this is basically the 'wealthy businessman' stereotype of old. The dragons in the dragon's den, the people that traipse around the city talking to people and assessing the potential of their pitch, before throwing money at them (or not). There's a bunch of paperwork, but they probably have a small army of accountants to handle this.

Evangelists: the cool people that hold TED talks. They usually work for a big tech company, as a specialist, and part of their job is to be a spokesperson.  A good example of this is the tech researcher, who has a day job finding nasty hackers or viruses, and who also blogs about that and holds talks and presentations about securing your business. A character like this has the advantage of being a deep tech nerd hacker type. They're rarely the CEO, so they can go deep into the coding, while also travelling places and meeting crowds of press or business people.

Project managers: these don't tend to do the actual coding, but they do, well, the managing. Characters like this will be more social and creative, they're the ones making the reports and presenting their progress to the CEO, and they're the ones troubleshooting when stuff goes wrong. In general, there's a lot of planning involved.

 Bakeries/Catering

General tips

Mass production of food is gruelling. You think you're writing about your sexy pastry chef and how they're carefully, tip of their tongue peeking through their lips, putting a cherry on top of that little moeilleux, but in reality, there's two hundred more to finish on this rack alone and they need to be done in under an hour.

Say it with me, people: baking is a night job. Industrial baking, mom-and-pop rural French bakery, bagel shop, donuts. Someone is going to be making all that stuff before the first customer arrives and that someone is slaving in front of a hot oven at four in the morning.

Any type of catering is a time management business. You know this. You've all watched Great British Bake-off (or, like, Chopped or whatever). If your professional cake maker is only working on one project/wedding at a time, they're not going to be in business for long. Your line chef will be plating up several dishes per minute. Your short order cook is baking six pancakes and scrambling eggs at the exact same time.

Unless it's a very large kitchen, the people that cook are the same ones that clean. And since it's food prep, there is a lot of cleaning.

Have you considered:

Recipe writer: ok so we're kinda back to media but big tv chefs don't make all those recipes themselves. Someone, usually a freelancer, writes them and tests them. Imagine someone getting the request to develop a seasonal cronut recipe that involves peaches and charcoal, because it's hip, and then baking several batches until they find something edible. This is a somewhat realistic environment for your super creative baker to live in a small house and make some money while also working on a book on the side, and falling in love with the quirky … goat… herd… brewer, florist, whatever.

[whifferdills]

"Steering a Passage, Finding a Line" Twelve/Clara, punk AU, ~3k words, Teen-ish.

[also on the Ao3]

Clara is broke. Flat broke. Owing-money-for-not-having-any-money-in-her-bank-account broke. A flurry of job applications are landing in the inbox of the hiring managers for places she'd like to work and places she could work and places she might be able to fake her way into at least one pay-cheque, and places she doesn’t want to work at but needs must. No money coming in before bills are due, though, even in case of a miracle.

So, she takes the acoustic guitar she bought on a whim two years ago and all ten popular songs she'd bothered to learn, and her winning smile and determination. And she takes a deep breath, and she leaves her flat, purse pulled tight around her shoulders. Into town.

She picks a spot on a street corner in one of the more touristy areas, across from a man painted silver very slowly giving the world a thumbs-up. She sets her guitar case down on the ground, pulls the slightly out of tune thing out, leans against the wall, and starts playing "In My Life." And then "Wonderwall". And then "In My Life" again, because those are the only two crowd-pleasing songs she knows how to play. Foot traffic is moving fast enough, no one seems to notice the limited repertoire. Some coins in her guitar case, a few people stopping and listening before drifting away again.

"You know the Beatles killed rock and roll, yeah?" says Someone.

She stops. Everyone in this crowd is done with "In My Life", anyway. The mid-day sun is bright, an uncharacteristically clear day, and all she can see is a silhouette. Tall, narrow, big hair. Scottish and male by the sound of it, and the latter makes her tense up.

"Bad alt-rock killed rock and roll. Don't drag pop music into this." She's holding her guitar like maybe she could use it as a weapon.

The silhouette laughs, and steps into the shadow of the awning. Man-shaped, sure; older and dusty and ragged around the edges.

He smiles, kind of disarmingly, kind of terrifyingly, before bending down and placing a pound coin carefully in her guitar case, left open on the pavement.

"D'you take requests?"

She narrows her eyes, cradles the guitar protectively. "The only other songs I know how to play are, uh. I can do "Too Drunk to Fuck" and "Train in Vain". Some other stuff. And my own songs, which are never a crowd-pleaser."

He laughs, a raspy kind of awkward thing, like he doesn't laugh a lot, or make any noises at all much. "How much for "Too Drunk to Fuck"?"

Staring him down, she stands more solidly on the ground, strumming the first chord out lightly. "Five pounds," she says.

Laughing again, like he's enjoying the opportunity. "Didn't need to eat today, anyway," he says. He digs in his pockets, which seem to go in deeper than his coat will allow, and comes up with a fistful of change. Counts five pounds off.

She plays the song. And she watches him. He's not - like not how people are sometimes, thinking they own you, have a right to you, can do whatever to you because they have wealth and power and you're broke begging on a corner. It's not weird. It just is. He applauds when she finishes. No one else in the mid-day flow of strangers notices or stops.

"So," he says. "Haven't seen you around here. I am new-ish to the area, though."

"Haven't done this in a while. Thought it might be nice to get out, play some music. Beautiful day for it."

He's staring her down. She's not flinching.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

Oh, wait, maybe this is weird. "I'm not - going on a date with you. Or whatever. Like I'm not gonna - "

"No, no, no - " He's waving his hands around, a mortified look on his face. "No, I mean, I've got some protein bars, and I know a place where we can get a hot meal, if you need - "

"I'm not homeless," she insists. Not yet, not quite.

"Maybe. But aside from students, no one does this when they aren't worried about the basics of survival." No stranger has the right to look this kind, this genuine.

And maybe she considers it. But she won't, she can't, for a wide variety of reasons. "Thanks, but I'm good."

He shoves his hands in his pockets, steps back out into the sun. "If you do just like to play music. I'm doing a - not a gig, exactly, but there's a thing at a place - free punch and pie, by the way - and it's open to anyone willing to stand in front of a microphone." He extricates his hands, now holding a pen and scrap of paper, and he scribbles something down. Half-hesitates, like he's second-guessing himself, and then shoves it towards her.

She takes it. He nods, she nods. She starts playing "Train in Vain" as he walks away.

It's a whole other town, where this is happening. She leaves her flat like she doesn't especially need to come back to it, with a duffel bag and her purse and guitar, and she takes a train.

Like shucking everything off, watching the world rush past outside the window. The debt and history and all of it suddenly just things she could leave behind. Why not ignore your responsibilities? What's the worst that could happen?

She steps out of the train car and breathes in air that is almost, almost different enough to feel right in her lungs.

In addition to the ten popular songs she can play, she has maybe twenty songs she wrote herself. Up on Bandcamp, a handful of people have even paid money for them. They're not all the things she wanted them to be, but she does have them. Some of them are not bad. She takes those twenty songs and her guitar and mace into a slightly sketchy neighborhood. Nothing she’s not used to, but enough she’s bracing for a fight, or to run.

Address, date, smiley face. Sincerely, John Smith. Another smiley face. The note is sitting crumpled in her purse.

Been a while since she did a show. She stares up at the building. Community center, square and bland. Music coming from inside. Kids drifting around outside. Doesn't seem quite her scene, but she barges in anyway.

A lot of the young people, here. All sorts, tending towards the scrappy and the colored-hair patched-jacket thing, and she's come this far, but she does feel out of place, in her nice if well-worn sundress. Fuck it, she's Clara Oswald. She presses through the cluster of people by the door.

On the sort-of stage, there he is. Her ticket into this. John Smith, or whatever, and in this flat lighting she's seeing him now in a non-mysterious and unflattering way. Still, all told, not bad: she's always had a thing for middle-aged men with dramatic noses.

(Not that it's important, really, but she's been single for a while and while she's okay being single, she does freely enjoy people who are enjoyable. John Smith is enjoyable, in his way.)

He's fiddling with a fire-hazard looking synthesizer, or at least she assumes it's a synth, this cobbled-together assemblage of wires and knobs and handwritten labels. Plugged in, amp turned up, an unearthly drone coming out of the speakers, his hands deftly adjusting the dials until the noise settles where he wants it. Cheap Yamaha guitar slung around his hips. He's shoving around pedals, setting up samplers - got a hell of a lot of kit, for a maybe-hobo. More fiddling, and harrumphing, and that drone throughout, the crowd (such as it is) getting antsy.

And then. Then he starts playing the shit out of his guitar. Hunched over, sunglasses on, left hand precise on the fret. Math-y, sort of, but not precious. An aching, haunted tone, minor key. He's been recording - a quick jab to the sampler and the last ten notes are repeating, filling this shitty cheap room, filling her head, and she kinda...zones out. In a good way.

She comes up to him once he's done. He’s somehow much smaller than he was while playing, just a string bean of a normal human being.

Doesn't wait to catch his eye. "That was. Different."

"Is that code for 'bad'?" He's shoving his bits and bobs into a rucksack that doesn't quite look up to the task.

"If I want to say something, I say it. Did I say it was bad?"

He looks like maybe he wants to smile. He doesn't smile. He turns his head away as she clutches her guitar to her chest and walks past him to the stage.

She's got funny songs, sad songs, songs about the city and the country and the stars at night. Songs about being self-sufficient and songs about being lonely because you're so self-sufficient and songs about the wind in her hair in a beaten-down car doing 70 on an empty highway. Songs about love and loss and freedom. She plays some of them. She catches John’s eye, on a line about a one-night-stand in a communal house, the painting of an alien landscape tacked up on the wall that she'd stared at. It's a good line. He blushes, a little.

Songs about cheap whiskey and trains and the stars at night. Short songs - she's never been good at commitment - and mostly fast songs and some sing-a-long parts, because people like those. There's a kid in the corner who somehow knows all the words already, but for the rest, it doesn't take much, just a repeated line and a gesture. Sing with me.

Small gigs like this she makes a point to connect to everyone in the audience. This is a conversation, a connection between individuals. Between all of them as a community. But her gaze keeps going back to John. Huddled awkwardly on an upturned milkcrate, staring up at her with wide eyes. Rapt. He's into it, and she's into the fact that he's into it, and after a few minutes of furtive glances and blushing she's forced to admit that she's more-than-abstractly into him.

She finishes her set with a song about leaving home. To be fair, most of her songs are about leaving home. This is the one she always pours her whole heart into, lets her voice crack and her foot stomp, the pace and energy building, playing harder and faster and louder. Eyes shut, her guitar a part of her, the conversation forgotten because this is just her, now, and this stranger.

And then there's silence, and enthusiastic if sparse applause (only so much noise forty people can make, after all), and she's absently, mechanically putting her guitar back in its case, pulling out her merch onto the provided table,  cassette tapes and CD-R demos, silkscreened patches. She sells some things, more than she usually does, not enough to fix her motorcycle but, hey, enough to eat tonight. She's about to close the bag back up when a shadow falls over her. John, and she's not surprised.

He's not looking at her anymore, looking at the ground instead, a point just to the left of her face, the sparse crowd milling about. "How much for the tape? And the CD. And, uh, the dragon patch."

She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Five pounds, three pounds, one pound fifty. Respectively. Nine-fifty altogether."

He smiles tightly and fishes a crumpled tenner from his trouser pocket. "Okay."

"Okay," she repeats. She takes the money and gives him the tape, the CD, the patch, 50p change. They don't quite make physical contact.

Normally after a money-for-goods transaction the person buying the goods leaves. John does not leave. John hovers, furrowing and unfurrowing his brow. She smiles blandly up at him, well aware that something’s about to happen. This is gonna be one of those hinge points, she can feel it.

"I'm going to Manchester," he says finally, worrying at his hoodie's drawstring. “Driving up there tonight.”

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go to Manchester?"

She doesn't particularly want to go to Manchester. But it's somewhere else, at least. "Why not," she says. "You only live once."

The show in Manchester is a bit of a mis-booking, for them both.

The room pretty much empties during both of their sets, the sad sound of a single person clapping out of pity. They don't hang around, no sense setting up at the merch table, no sense staying in this town at all. They get back in the car and he says, with a slightly manic look,

I'm going to Liverpool next.

and she thinks about her flat and her life and the two Beatles song she knows how to play and all her everything and then she forcibly jettisons those things from her mind and says,

Mind if I come along?

John's car is a welded-together mess of several different automobile bodies holding a mostly-functional engine. Decent paint job, though that doesn't stop them from breaking down twice along the way.

They grab coffee at the first available Costa, spare change dug out from the seat cushions. She takes advantage of the free wifi and emails local promoters while he fills his cup with sugar, and then more sugar, and then she realizes she's just staring at his hands as they rip the packets open.

She realizes he knows she's staring. She stares anyway. She looks up, and his eyes are boring into her, wide and wild. Eyebrow cocked. He rips open another packet of sugar. She puts her phone down.

"So," she says, as he's saying I've been thinking about robbing a bank. There's an awkward pause. Another sugar. Then she's standing up and leaning over the table, and she's grabbing his face in her hands, and she's kissing him.

"Not a big fan of the," he says, when she pulls back. He waves his hand at her, as if to say romantic activity with women or romantic activity in general and, oh, she's fucked this up.

"I am so, so sorry." She bites her lip. Regroup, Oswald.

"In public, I mean." He smiles, a strange scrunched-up thing, then reaches over to pat her hand gingerly.

Her thought process grinds to a halt. He's drinking his brown sugar-water nonchalantly. She's doing mental calculations, trying to figure out if they could both fit comfortably in the back of the car.

(Turns out they can't, not with all his crap jammed in, but she manages a half-decent blowjob and he very nearly gets his hand down her trousers before she's poked in the eye by a music stand and the moment is lost. How much again for a hotel room? And what's your position on outdoors-but-secluded sex?)

They find a gig and someone involved with a spare bedroom, and she says, to the Someone With A Room,

My name is Clara and this is my...man, friend, and we've been on the road for a while so we'd be interested in trading some chores for room and board, if you're interested.

It's a house in the middle of exurb nowhere. She's washing the dishes, he's watching her. Thanks for nothing.

Sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug with a broken-off handle, he says: "Man friend."

"Boyfriend didn't feel right. Sorry. Not yet, I'm just - "

"Not that part, I mean, whatever we are, we are, I'm more than happy, doesn't matter. Just."

"Yeah?"

"The whole. 'Man' thing. Never been incredibly comfortable with that. If we're gonna be, right, doing this thing-" John gestures between the two of them. "You should know that."

"Joanne, then?"

John laughs, not dismissive but a ‘you don’t know the half of it’ thing, stands up and meanders towards the sink, starting to dry off the dishes. "John's fine. Just - dunno."

"Not a 'he' so much," she says.

"Maybe." Drying very thoroughly a beige Ikea bowl.

She leans over, takes the bowl and towel from his - their hands, and kisses them. He - they - taste like the spaghetti from earlier, and presumably so does she, and the two of them make out with their tomato-sauce breath against the kitchen counter top in a stranger’s house in a town not nearly far away enough from home.

Time enough has passed that maybe they're actually doing this. Not a weekend jaunt, just leaving for real. She hasn't paid any bills in two months. She sleeps with her...whatever-friend in the backseat of their shit car, and sometimes on the couches of friendly strangers, and they play Black Flag covers on street corners for spare change.

John's too old for this. Hell, she's too old for this, and she's only 28. This isn't the sort of life that allows aging gracefully. The friends that she'd had, they'd all settled down. She assumes, at least, considering where she'd left them. She knows for sure of a few. The rest, especially all the friends like her, everyone she met on the road, she could check Facebook, or those websites people set up, the memorials. The lists of the dead or the missing. But she doesn't. She can't. Schrodinger's emotional consequences: what she refuses to confront can't hurt her.

The car breaks down outside Inverness and maybe she should call it here, just stay and get a job, be a waitress or a cashier or whatever, but John gets that wild look again and the next thing she knows, she's throwing a blanket over a barbed-wire fence and helping them over.

The two of them wait, huddled behind bushes, as the train rolls in. John knows which car to get, and they help her up, a hand outstretched and beckoning.

[racetrackthehiggins]

Johnny and the Delinquents: A Murphamy Rock Band AU

warnings: brief unspecific references to child abuse, alcoholism that was mostly in the past, lots of swearing, men who suck at talking, my aggressive inability to write lyrics, and John Murphy singing a cover Can't Help Falling in Love BECAUSE FUCKING EVERYONE ELSE IS RIGHT NOW.

apologies: on how long this took, and also the sheer number of JTHM references in here. I spent the early 2000's writing JTHM fics and it turns out the name Johnny is FOREVER linked with that so there's that. Also I know nothing about music besides singing so I'm sure I got a lot of that wrong and also I apologize for the stage names...I thought it was funny

and last but not least, a note: I'm pretty sure this is gonna be my last work in the 100 fandom, at least at the moment. thank you all for sticking with me, and who knows, maybe I'll return to the 100 in the days to come!

below or on ao3

Murphy answered the phone, because it was Jaha. As much as he hated his new manager, he had also learned better than to blow him off. “Y’ello,” he said, because he knew how much it irritated Jaha.

He was exhausted and had earned his uninterrupted sleep. He and Emori had a show that went until two the night before and then they had gone out for drinks. The City of Light had been months in the making, but their fifth major gig had gone splendidly, and he blamed the combination of sleepy, hungover and deeply satisfied on why he completely missed what Jaha said.

“It would be a really good opportunity for you,” Jaha said. “Everyone else has agreed,” Jaha said. “The publicity would really help The City of Light, and you know how much I want to see you all become a success,” Jaha said.

Murphy could tell there was something Jaha wasn’t saying, but didn’t know what it was. Jaha could be infuriatingly cryptic. Everything had been better before he had done a summer at Burning Man and come back frustratingly zen. “Okay,” Murphy replied. “What is this great opportunity?”

Jaha’s long pause was telling enough and Murphy really wanted to hang up, but resisted because Emori would be irritable if she knew he was blowing off their manager. “A reunion of Johnny and the Delinquents. Don’t hang up.”

Murphy took his finger off of the end-call button reluctantly. “No. I’m not doing it.”

Jaha continued like Murphy didn’t say anything, which he always, always did. “Album and tour, a couple of photos of you all hugging, and you’re done.”

“I believe I already said no.” Murphy felt anger already bubbling up from within him like a volcano of rage, but so far he’d kept his voice quiet enough that Emori was still passed out and he hadn’t threatened anyone or even cursed.

His anger management counselor would have been so proud.

Jaha took another long pause to find his words. “You’re contractually obligated. They expect you in New York in a week.”

Murphy could feel his blood pressure rise. “Excuse me?” he said, and it all went downhill from there.

The second he hung up with Jaha he called Raven. “What the actually fuck is going on, Raven?”

“I dunno,” she said, and he could tell she had a wrench in her mouth because he had known her long enough to know what that sounded like. “Just the sound engineer.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. He might be across the country, but he was not in a different reality. “I know you know, so spit it out.”

“Apparently your split from The Delinquents wasn’t ever made official—now that Kane’s in charge of the label, he wants the publicity from a reunion tour. Plus technically you’ve been in breach of contract for five years.” She paused. He tried not to fidget. “But that’s just what I’ve heard. I’m only a lowly engineer.”

Murphy took a deep breath and counted to ten. There’s background noise on the phone, something that sounded like voices.

Raven came back sounding too chipper. “Octavia wants to know if you still have your combat boots or if she should order you another pair.”

He hung up. Emori was still passed out in bed. He didn’t want to wake her. He looked at the clock. It was 9:23 on a Saturday, so he left the room, still dressed in his gig clothes, which he realized he hadn’t taken off, in search of somewhere serving brunch. He’s pretty sure getting mimosa drunk at brunch was acceptable.

He stormed back into the hotel two hours later, and five mimosas tipsier.

Emori was sitting up in bed, repainting her nails, black on black, which he, drunkenly, thought must be a metaphor for something. She looked up at him expectantly.

He stared her down. “I am contractually obligated to do a reunion-thing. I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

Emori nodded. “Okay. When you are going?”

He sighed and slumped into the bed across from hers. “Friday. But I’d prefer never.”

She shrugged. “It’s almost the summer. You know I go every summer to teach some humility to those little rock camp shits. This summer wasn’t going to be any different.”

Murphy nodded. “I know, I just felt like we were finally getting somewhere, you know?”

She nodded again. She was very understanding when she wasn’t being destructive or angry. He liked that about her because he hated that about himself. “The City of Light could wait. Go finish out your contract, and if we’re still feeling it, we’ll keep going. And if not, we’ve had a good run.”

He wanted to hug her, but Emori hated hugs. “You’re the best guitarist I’ve ever worked with,” he said instead.

She laughed, and it was clearly at him. “Nonsense. You’ve worked with Bellamy Blake.”

And that right there was the problem.

He spent the rest of the week in a much nicer hotel that he bullied Jaha into paying for, and occupied his time looking through the lyrics he wrote for that last album that never happened and trying to get back into the headspace of Johnny.

It was harder than he expected. Johnny had been all about righteous anger. He was a violent character, vicious and hurting and eager to watch the world burn, and the music he had created had been the area of pop-rock that flirted with metal and punk. Murphy’s more recent work had been a solo album, that was embarrassingly depressed and almost entirely about heartbreak and acoustic, and his work with Emori, which was a neo-folk duo.

He didn’t want to be Johnny again. Johnny was an idiot, and Murphy liked to think he had learned something since then. He thought about seeing them all again, and it made his chest ache. Murphy probably hadn’t learned shit.

The week ended too quickly and then he was flying into JFK which was not his favorite, but at least wasn’t Newark, and wishing maybe a little more than he should that the plane would crash and his untimely death would cancel the contract for him.

“Who’s picking me up?” he texted Raven as he took the escalator down. It has taken forever to get off the plane and he was irritable and exhausted.

She texted back immediately, “why should i know im just the sound engineer,” followed second later by, “the blakes.”

Murphy looked up from his phone and saw Bellamy standing at the bottom of the escalator in his usual public disguise of a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“No,” he said, pushing past Bellamy and heading for the baggage carousel.

“John,” Bellamy said, and it almost sounded like he was pleading.

He managed to snag Murphy’s arm in his hand, but Murphy shrugged it off. “I’m taking a cab.”

Bellamy sighed. “We’re going to have to work together.”

Murphy sneered at him, but his heart was beating a mile a minute. “We’re not working right now, are we?” He turned around and stormed off to get his bag. Octavia was sitting on it, sipping something from a Starbucks cup.

“Do I at least get a hug?” she said, and he was so mad he wanted to say no, but he never had a problem with her.

She hugged him tightly, and she was still using the same shampoo that smelled like coconuts and he spent so much of his youth in the Blake’s basement so even the smell of her hair sort of felt like a home-coming, but then he remembered Bellamy and he wanted to cry.

“I saw your interview. About Skycrew. You guys sound good,” Murphy said, pulling away.

Octavia grinned at him, easily, like they hadn’t been out of touch for half a decade. “Thank you. We’re unfortunately on hold at the moment. Lincoln’s in rehab.”

Murphy managed a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to hear that.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s good. He’s getting help. Besides, I’ve been waiting for this reunion for ages.” She handed him another Starbucks cup that she must have had squirreled away somewhere. “I heard your new EP with Emori. It was really, really good Johnny.”

Murphy nearly choked on his hazelnut mocha (and was a little pleased to see that she had remembered his favorite drink). “No, no, no, no, no and no. Same rules apply as before, you use my stage name, I use yours, and I have no compunction calling you Babydoll in public.”

Octavia scowled. “Fine, Murphy. You win this round. Now, c’mon, if we hurry we’ll miss the worst part of rush hour.”

She grabbed his bag and started wheeling back in the direction of Bellamy, who he realized hadn’t followed them.

“Octavia, wait,” he said resolutely. “I should take a cab.” He was strong of body and mind, and his will could not be broken. Or something.

Octavia rolled her eyes, but the look was softened by the smile she offered him. “You should sit in the back with me and eat the cupcakes I got for you from Melissa’s.”

Murphy was the weakest of willed. “The mini cupcakes?”

Octavia laughed. “Come on!”

So he did. The car ride would have been awkward, in no small part because Bellamy kept shooting him these furtive looks in the rearview mirror, but Octavia was talkative and kept him from focusing too much on the back of Bellamy’s head.

“So what about Clarke?” Murphy asked, halfway to Manhattan.

“She and Lexa just finished a tour as Wanheda, so they were planning on a break anyway. She’ll be flying in tomorrow, and they asked if anyone would mind if Lexa hung around, and considering they’re the hottest couple of the season, we all said no problemo.” Octavia stole a cupcake from him, but he still had twenty left, so he chose not to complain.

Bellamy from the front said, “We would have asked you, too, but none of us had your number.”

Murphy very obviously turned to smile at Octavia. “It’ll be nice to see Clarke again in person. I caught Wanheda in Chicago, they’re very…” He tried to think a word that wouldn’t sound backhanded.

“They’re a lot,” Octavia said with a smile, and he smiled back. “Finn’s not coming back, but considering he didn’t do the last two albums with us, I’m not sure anyone will notice. Wells won’t be available for the tour, so he’s a no go. We’d love to get Mbege back, but he’s not responding to any of our calls since…”

Murphy nodded. “I’ll call him.” Mbege would come back for him. They’ve toured together twice since the split, and they were still as close as they’d ever been. He pulled out his phone and texted him, because calling was for losers.

Mbege texted back, “when and where?” so Murphy mentally patted himself on the back. He would be going into this experience with at least Mbege and Octavia on his side, maybe even Clarke. Things could have been a lot worse.

Things could not have been a lot worse.

“I’ll stay in a hotel,” he said to Octavia, because he was not making eye contact with Bellamy.

Octavia sighed. “We don’t know how long it’s going to take to record the album, there’s no need to throw away money on a hotel room when Bell has a perfectly good spare room.”

Murphy’s palms were getting sweaty. “What about your spare room?”

“Clarke and Lexa called it,” she said, and sounded so honestly apologetic that Murphy almost felt bad for how angry he was getting.

“I’ll get a really cheap hotel,” he bargained.

Bellamy spoke up for the first time during this exchange. “And you’ll have to also pay for transportation. I’m two blocks from the studio. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want, but you know the writing will go faster if we’re in the same place.”

Historically, Murphy wrote the lyrics, maybe half a melody, and Bellamy filled in the rest. Murphy didn’t give a fuck about history.

“Fine,” he spat, and he wasn’t yelling or swearing or punching anyone, so he figured he was doing okay. He dragged his bag into the spare room and slammed the door.

The bed was comfortable, and lying on it, he felt more out of place than he’d felt in years. He called Emori.

“How’re The Delinquents?” she asked without a greeting, because that’s who she was. He usually found it charming. Currently, he found it beyond irritating.

“I want to go home,” he said, because if she could speak in non-sequiturs, so could he.

“Give him a chance,” she said back.

He hung up and barely felt guilty. He spent so many nights of his youth in the guest room at Octavia and Bellamy’s house, desperate to get away from his mother and her shouting, and he had been so angry, Johnny had come naturally.

He was tired now. He was tired of the music and the attention and tired of acting and of Bellamy and of the person he felt himself becoming.

He fell asleep in his clothes and woke up to the sound of someone knocking quietly on his door. When he dragged himself out of bed there was no one there, but there was a tray with a cup of coffee and a real New York bagel.

It was nice, as far as peace offerings go, but nowhere near enough to make Murphy forgive him.

Bellamy was scarce all morning, and Octavia arrived at noon to take him to lunch. They got burgers and shakes and she sat across from him and waited for him to stop chewing.

“So do you know where this album is going?”

He chewed more slowly to give himself some time. While the band had always done edits, the actual meat of the stories had always been his. The first four albums were the evolution of Johnny, and everyone was waiting for the fifth, the last of the Johnny story, to end it somehow satisfactorily. He had been writing those songs right before the split. He had maybe half an album in notes. They were all concept albums, all a linked story. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t lost the concept.

“Maybe,” he said after a long pause, swallowing.

Octavia took a thoughtful sip of her milkshake. “The last album,” she reminded him, unnecessarily, like he hadn’t been listening to it non-stop, “ended with Johnny in his darkest place. Since the split happened so quickly after, a lot of the fans thought that it was sign. That Johnny died.”

Murphy nodded. He’d been skimming through forums for days. “I was thinking I could maybe go with that. Johnny in the afterlife. Johnny in heaven, Johnny in hell. Maybe being reborn.”

Octavia’s face turned thoughtful. “Huh. Not really dead, but changing into something different. I like it.”

“I don’t want to keep doing Johnny after this,” he blurted, and was embarrassed. He used to be so much more sarcastic, caustic, even. He missed that part of himself, maybe a little.

Octavia put her hand on his, which was more comforting than he wanted it to be. “I don’t want you to run away after this. There’s definitely room for you in Skycrew, or we could all start something new. Just don’t leave.”

Murphy absolutely was not crying in a Schnippers. “I can’t face Bellamy, O. I just can’t.”

“Think about it,” she said, and lead him out into Manhattan. She sent him away in an Uber; he couldn’t really blame her, plus he had work to do.

With Octavia’s support, the lyrics began to flow more readily. He sat on Bellamy’s inexcusably comfortable sofa and accessed his anger, which was easier than he would have liked. The comfortable couch only served as another reminder that Bellamy had built something successful—and comfortable—without him, while he had spent the past five years wallowing in his crappy one bedroom in fucking Wisconsin of all places.

By the time Octavia burst into Bellamy’s apartment with Clarke, Lexa, Raven and Jasper in tow, he had solid melodies and words for a few songs. Bellamy followed behind the group, looking around angrily, but Murphy ignored him, because he would much rather hug Clarke.

“Murphy!” she exclaimed, and gave him a very rewarding embrace. “So good to see you!”

“Clarke,” he said, because he was good at not being mushy. “I saw Wanheda in Chicago. You were great.”

Lexa smiled at him, and he shook her hand firmly once Clarke had released him. “We appreciate it, thank you.” Lexa was strikingly beautiful in a could-easily-kill-you kind of way, which tended to be the sort of women Clarke went for.

Raven slung an arm over his shoulder and gave him the most heartfelt side hug he’d ever experienced, which was nice, but unnecessary, because the two of them had kept in contact.

He and Jasper fist bumped. They had never been close—Jasper wasn’t even really part of the band—but they had hung out enough that a greeting was expected.

“Anyone want a beer?” Octavia called as she skipped into the kitchen, returning with an armful of bottles and corn chips, placing them all on the low table in the living room and ushering them onto the couch. She turned to Murphy and said, “I called Mbege, he can’t come tonight, but we have the studio tomorrow to start a rehearsal-slash-jam-sesh tomorrow assuming you write at the speed you usually do. That okay?”

Murphy nodded and threw his notebook to Bellamy, who was sitting in a separate chair as close to Murphy as he could get while not being on the same couch, and who promptly fumbled it.

“Nice one, Bell!” Jasper called, extended his bottle for a toast. Murphy reluctantly clinked with him.

“Shut your face, Jasper,” Bellamy replied, settling the notebook on his lap and flipping through it.

Bellamy had seen his writing since the age of seven, so the rush of anxiety that made his chest ache was completely uncalled for. Bellamy had read his first ever poem, which had gone, “I like my friends/I like the sun/I miss them both/When the day’s done,” and it didn’t get much worse than that. He sat still to keep from hyperventilating.

Bellamy scanned the lyrics and scraps of music he’d written around it and looked skeptical. “We’re doing Johnny as Jesus?”

Murphy’s face flushed hot with anger and embarrassment. “No, Johnny’s not that forgiving,” and turned away from him to face Clarke, who had her concern hidden badly under her curiosity and immediately engaged him in the backstory for the new album.

“I’m thinking more Dante than Jesus, yeah?” she asked him, and his breathing came more easily.

He’d always sort of loved Clarke. She was so unattainable in high school, popular and beautiful and honor roll smart, until one day she had walked up to him and said, “Bellamy said you’re starting a band, and I want to join, if that’s okay. My name’s Clarke Griffin,” and had shaken his hand so professionally. She was like a sister, but better because she didn’t have the baggage of growing up with him to affect her love for him.

“I like it,” Clarke declared after nearly an hour of intense plotting, and turned to Bellamy. “What would you change?”

“Oh,” Bellamy said. He looked like a deer in the headlights, like he thought he wouldn’t at some point have to weigh in on the situation. “I guess it’s pretty good.” He held up a page covered in Murphy’s scribbles. “How do you feel about this one in a minor key? Maybe acoustic?”

Octavia scoffed at him. “We don’t do acoustic.”

Clarke frowned. “Why not? Everyone’s expecting us to have grown as artists. They want the music to be familiar, but innovative. Bellamy’s not suggesting doing an acoustic album, just a song. I think it could be the kind of twist that people will like.”

Murphy nodded because words were too hard. He wanted nothing more than to leave. He looked up and met Bellamy’s eyes and it was like he’s twelve again, or fifteen, or eighteen, or twenty, because now he was almost twenty-five and the only thing that had changed was that his dream had gone from fantasy to impossibility.

He looked away. “I’m gonna turn in, if that’s okay.”

The others tried to stop him, and he could hear them, but he didn’t listen. He closed the door softly, resisting the urge to slide down it and cry like he wanted to. He lay in bed and looked at the ceiling. He missed it the night before, but there were stick-on stars, like there used to be in his guest room in the Blake house. He stared at the stars and felt homesick for a place that was never his home.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but woke up several hours later when there was a tentative knock on his door. The clock by his bed said it was 4:30 am. It had to be Bellamy, it couldn’t be anyone else. Murphy wanted to scream.

Instead, he counted to ten. His therapist would have been so proud.

Bellamy was standing there when he opened the door, eyes cast downward. “Could we talk?”

“I wasn’t aware we had anything to talk about.” Murphy’s hands were clenched into fists. “So if that’s all—”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Bellamy said desperately. He’s backlit, barely, by a light in the kitchen, but Murphy could see the bags under his eyes, the deep sadness in his face that never used to be there. Serves him right, Murphy thought, and tried to feel vindictive but he couldn’t muster it. “You were my best friend and I didn’t…”

It’s the “were” that made Murphy regret agreeing to come. He should have tried to weasel his way out of the contract. He should have gotten a hotel room. He should have—

“I’ve regretted losing you every single day.”

“You ran! You left! I left you 80 voicemails, trying to fix this, trying to make sure you were okay and somehow, I’m the bad guy! You didn’t lose me, because you never had me, and as soon as I’ve completed my contract, I’m gone and you will never see me again.” Murphy hands were shaking and his chest felt tight and his face was burning and he was so angry he might start crying and he hated that.

“John.” Bellamy sounded choked up, hurt almost, and it hurt Murphy more than he thought it would.

“Get the fuck out of my room.” He looked at Bellamy, whose face echoed the exhaustion and pain he felt. He sighed, and offered, “please.”

Bellamy retreated slowly with a look that said he’d really rather stay. But that was okay. Murphy had gotten used to not getting what he wanted, Bellamy Blake could afford a taste, too.

The next day went better, thankfully. The label had rented out a studio around the clock for three weeks, like they were the Beatles or something. After their first couple of albums, Murphy thought they would have killed for studio time like this. Currently, three weeks felt like centuries.

Despite how much he would have given to avoid the situation altogether, he and Bellamy worked like they’d been practicing for the past five years instead of avoiding each other like the plague.

Performing together again would be like riding a bike, Murphy thought, showing up last despite the fact that he and Bellamy lived closest to the studio; it would hurt like hell when he fell, but he’d have to just keep trying, anyway.

Everyone was tuning when Bellamy called him over to the upright piano he had set on the left side of the studio. He threw his shoulder bag on the floor and didn’t bother greeting his bandmates; hardly a minute had gone by that he hadn’t seen them and so the need for greetings had quickly evaporated. He sat down next to Bellamy without being asked, and Bellamy tried not to smile at him.

Bellamy’s stupid half-smile made a full body tingle rush through him, and he was resentful of his stupid body’s stupid feelings.

“I still can’t read your chicken-scratch,” he said, and pointed to a corner of the page where Murphy wrote what might have been lyrics, but also could have been a chord progression. Or a phone number.

“Lyrics,” Murphy clarified. “The rhyme is off though, and I can’t seem to fix it.”

“Hmm,” Bellamy said, looking over the page thoughtfully. He always used to help Murphy; it’s nothing new, but it makes Murphy’s head ache. “What if we,” he started, and Murphy got caught up in the “we” for so long he didn’t realize how animated they’d gotten until Octavia started laughing.

The candid picture that Clarke took of the two of them sharing a piano bench, huddled round a notebook like they were still the best of friends, became the bane of Murphy’s existence. She uploaded it to twitter with caption, “guess what’s coming?”

Not an hour later, someone unearthed a picture of them doing the same thing years before, with Murphy perched on Bellamy’s lap, and put the pictures side by side. Murphy wasn’t sure if praying for death would actually be appropriate.

“It’s not so bad,” Octavia said, scrolling through her favorite Delinquents tumblrs during their lunch break. “Ooh, this fanart’s pretty accurate, even though I’m not sure either of you gets off on choking.” The long considering look she gave him made him regret all parts of their friendship. “Do you think you’d be more of a bottom or a top with my brother?”

He thought about Bellamy, his long, strong, fast as fuck fingers which earned him his stage name, Twitch.

That thought had brought up a whole slew of feelings that Murphy had actually thought he had buried, as a semi-adult well into his twenties should have. Bellamy’s dexterity had been most of his fantasy life during his teen years, considering he didn’t have a reliable internet connection and who needed porn when he had a best friend like Bellamy?

Despite being a plain fact of his youth—the sky was blue, the grass was green, the thought of Bellamy’s fingers gave him a woody—it was also something he hadn’t actively thought about. His first few post-Delinquents years had been spent getting drunken blowjobs behind various concert venues, and the past few had been spent sharing hotel rooms with Emori who gave him judge-y looks when he had hookups, but judged him more when he masturbated in their room, assuming, wrongly, that she was asleep.

So it wasn’t as though he never thought of Bellamy, or his long slim fingers, or the afternoons spent in his basement watching Futurama and eating cheetohs, and being so far gone on him that the his fingers were even sexy covered in cheetoh dust, but instead that he hadn’t gripped his dick and actively imagined Bellamy’s long quick fingers there instead.

He had been in a funk for the rest of day. Half a song had been written and recorded, but not nearly enough if they were planning to finish in three weeks.

And now he just felt guilty. He stared at the door separating him from Bellamy and Bellamy’s loud 11:30pm moping. It wasn’t like Bellamy would come in without knocking, or like Bellamy could possibly know what he was up to. Fuck it, he decided. Fuck you, he then clarified to himself.

Murphy threw himself onto the bed and unzipped his pants. He closed his eyes and he could almost imagine Bellamy leaning over him, unzipping his pants instead, staring at him longingly, which wasn’t really a hard expression to conjure. He’d wrap his palm around the head of Murphy’s cock and—

The teakettle whistled shrilly.

Murphy groaned in frustration, hand falling apathetically onto his stomach and dick still bobbing obliviously. This was a mistake. He sighed again. He couldn’t keep that image of Bellamy in his mind, anyway. Instead it was replaced with the look of sheer panic that Bellamy had worn right before the split, his elegant fingers clenched into tight white fists, and he felt nauseous. His cock softened obligingly, and with one last look at the door he decided he would just go to sleep.

The fact the he could hear Bellamy in the kitchen humming the first ballad they had ever written together didn’t help at all.

When TwitchxJohnny was trending the next day, Murphy was reluctantly glad that at least they were sticking to their stage names, and couldn’t help but think that in a karmic way, he had brought this on himself.

They meshed much the same way they always did. Clarke had only become a stronger guitarist, Bellamy one-upping her and tooling away on the piano if the song called for it, Octavia doing her thing on bass and Mbege kicking ass on the drums.

Murphy, as usual, felt a little like the Davy Jones of their group, casually waiting for someone to hand him a tambourine or maracas. Despite his feelings, he had grown as a writer, and it was obvious that the group felt the same, deferring to him instead of Bellamy, which was both incredibly reassuring and deeply saddening.

By the third day, they’re on to their fifth track. Murphy missed this, even when he and Emori had finally hit their stride, there was always something between them that made their rehearsal times seem to drag.

The Delinquents’ music was buoyant, vibrant and adrenaline fast, and Murphy missed the quiet swell of The City of Light a little bit more than he thought he would, but this music was like being on a rollercoaster and he’s surprised at how much he missed the thrill.

Mbege got it. He had ended up in several indie bands, but was clearly thriving banging away with The Delinquents. The fact that he spent all his spare time glaring at Bellamy didn’t hurt either. He took Murphy out and around the town after that first week, supposedly to re-introduce him to New York, but really so Murphy didn’t have to be in that tiny apartment with Bellamy.

Mbege was really too good for Murphy.

“I’m so sorry, J2, you know I’d let you crash if I had any room,” he told Murphy several times when they were drunk off their asses and Murphy’s anger had turned to sadness.

“Don’t worry about it, J1, you’re still my fave.” And it’s true. Mbege’s friendship mostly relied on Murphy spending time with him when he had it. They wouldn’t talk for months, and then when did, it was like nothing changed.

Getting to work with him again was in many ways the balm to living with Bellamy. They avoided each other at the apartment, worked in each other’s pockets at the studio, and then tried to spend the evenings as far apart as they geographically could while staying in the same city and apartment.

“Do you think you two will ever get over it?” Mbege asked him, dropping another beer in front of Murphy. No seemed like too simple an answer.

It got harder during the second week. Murphy’s voice was embarrassingly unused to the amount of screaming and abuse he used to regularly subject it to. He left the studio every day with his voice shot, coughing, and after almost a week of this, Bellamy burst into his room one night holding a cup of Murphy’s favorite chai blend with a large quantity of honey.

“Thank you,” Murphy whispered and waited for Bellamy to leave. He didn’t. “You could sit,” he said after a long moment, because he knew Bellamy would just hover awkwardly indefinitely if he didn’t offer.

“Thanks.” Bellamy sat at the edge of the bed and stared out Murphy’s window. “This is kinda like—”

“—Midnight snack sesh,” Murphy said, because he was thinking it, too.

Bellamy smiled wistfully and it made Murphy’s chest ache. He was seriously considering going to see a cardiologist. “Remember? Every night after recording, we’d go out for a snack.”

“We were so fucking young then.” It had mostly been fast food, eaten quickly in Bellamy’s third hand Ford before they passed out from sheer exhaustion. He can’t remember a single one of those nights individually, but the summation of them was like a warm weight in his chest, a burning orange glow. “Clarke thought we were going to get fat.” Murphy smiled reluctantly.

There was a moment when their eyes met, and Murphy was unsure how he ever gave this up. How he didn’t fight harder. How could he have not fought harder?

Bellamy broke eye contact first. “Worse things have happened,” he said as he stood. He hesitated at the door, back to Murphy. “Good night, Murphy.”

“Goodnight, Bell.”

He drank the rest of his tea by himself and set the cup down, like an adult should do, instead of smashing it, like he wanted to.

Bellamy came back the next night, and the next, and it was almost okay. They didn’t always speak, but there was something between them, closer to what Murphy remembered.

It was the second to last day when Bellamy called a band meeting in the middle of recording. They had seventeen tracks which was excellent because there were always a few that were better in their heads than in their ears. Octavia shot him a warning look and crossed her arms over her chest, so Murphy knew this was something that the Blakes have discussed at least.

Which could be either really good or terrifically bad.

“I don’t like the way we’re ending the album,” Bellamy said, and made sure he met all of their gazes.

Mbege rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Bell, and you wait until now to say anything?”

Clarke shook her head, determined, as always to be the most levelheaded. “Let’s hear him out.” She reached very subtly and squeezed Murphy’s hand, which he appreciated, because he hated this.

Bellamy took a deep breath and tried to gather his words.

“Any fucking day now?” Murphy muttered and tried to avoid Bellamy’s gaze at all costs.

“The last song is still too angry.”

Murphy scoffed. “Yeah. Johnny’s angry. Johnny’s always been angry. That’s sort of his defining characteristic.”

Bellamy scowled, turning his whole attention on Murphy. “Yeah, but we all agreed, years ago to a five album sequence. Do you think it should end on an angry note? You and Octavia keep talking about growing and changing, and the entire album feels like a growth until the end.”

Murphy wanted to bite back, wanted Bellamy to look away and never look back. “End on a familiar note, is there a problem with that?”

He could see Clarke making panicked eyes at Octavia, but neither one cut in. “Don’t you think Johnny deserves more than that? Don’t we all? It’s our story, too.” Bellamy had always been a master of mixed signals, but the anger and, Murphy thought, hope in his face was beyond confusing and Murphy couldn’t believe it actually took him this long to realize they’re having two different conversations.

“How would you end it?” he asked, and pretended like he didn’t sound hoarse.

Bellamy’s eyes were boring into him. “I don’t know. Contentment doesn’t suit him maybe, but, I dunno, I…”

Octavia spoke up, but didn’t look any happier. “Optimism.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Might be nice.”

He was furious. He didn’t get to have optimism, so why should Johnny? He wanted to yell and scream and throw stuff, because Bellamy didn’t seem to have a problem throwing this back in his face. “Fine, I’ll see what I can fucking do,” Murphy said, because he was a professional, before storming off and bunkering down in a conference room.

He was a good writer, had become so with sweat and effort. An anthem, he thought, because if he couldn’t be angry he’d be emblematic. It still was angry, when he finished an hour later. It was angry and it was an anthem and it was hopeful, and he felt 1/3 of those things, but maybe he’d earned some hope.

He brought it back to the room, and tried to ignore how broadly Bellamy smiled when he saw the words.

And then the album was done. It felt like they had just started, but then he and Bellamy were ushered into a meeting with Marcus Kane, who Murphy only hated slightly less than Jaha.

Kane smiled and gestured for them to take the two seats in front of him. Maya stood off to one side, and Murphy had only met her once, but he liked her. She was way nicer than Jasper deserved, but he couldn’t help but feel that her presence at this meeting was a bad omen.

It might have been her very uncomfortable smile.

“Gentlemen!” Kane greeted exuberantly, and looked at them both expectantly.

Bellamy nodded a weak a hello and Murphy managed an, “Uh, hi,” by utilizing all of his personhood skills.

Kane was still smiling, but his smiles didn’t reach his eyes as a rule and Murphy wasn’t convinced he wasn’t a robot or a pod person. “I heard the album, and it’s great, just great. I wanted to talk to you both about the tour. We’re pushing the timeline a little, so the album’s going to be in stores in five weeks, and then the tour will start one week after that, which gives you six weeks to get prepared, figure out choreo and costumes and whatever else.” He gestured to Maya and she gave a tentative wave. “Maya will be on the tour to do hair and makeup.”

He turned his full attention on Murphy. “The dreads were very popular, would you consider—”

“Nooooo,” Murphy interrupted. “No, the days of white-boy dreads are long gone.” Bellamy laughed, and Murphy pointedly didn’t look at him and pretended like he wasn’t blushing.

Kane frown said he was going to insist, but Maya, who he had clearly underestimated, came to the rescue. “What if did pulled back twists? Like in the promo pictures for the second album?” she asked and he nodded quickly. Anything was better than the dreads.

Kane nodded, smiling tightly. “Alright, twists it is. Maya, could you give us a moment please.” Maya left quietly and Kane gave them the exceedingly tight smile again.

It could only be a bad sign.

“I know this is…uncomfortable to talk about, but part of the appeal of Johnny and the Delinquents has always been the chemistry between the two of you. I don’t know the details of what happened, and I don’t want to. I don’t care what happens in your personal life, but on the stage, I need you two to behave how you always have.”

Bellamy choked, then croaked out a weak, “yessir,” and Murphy contemplated shoving a paperweight down Kane’s throat.

“Yeah, fine,” he said finally. “What-the-fuck-ever.”

Kane nodded decisively. “Excellent. Glad we’re all clear on that. Now then, John.” Murphy bristled. “I need you to have a more active online presence. Soon as you can. Periscope would help, twitter, the works. We’ll also be getting you on some late night programs, so play nice.”

He promised he would try but he meant it about as much as Kane meant his whole, let-me-be-your-father routine.

As soon as the CD’s were pressed they released a single, and then Johnny and the Delinquents job was hyping the hell out of it.

Kane got him on a late night show starring a white man in a suit, which was better than Murphy was expecting. He didn’t think his name carried any sway anymore. He sat on the comfortable chair in his Johnny clothes and smirked at the host and the audience and all the folks who had tuned in to see him flash his canines.

“So I’m sure you get asked this all the time,” the host asked him. “But what happened? Five years ago, Johnny and the Delinquents were truly on top, and then suddenly, nothing. Nothing for five years. So what happened?”

Murphy thought about what he could say, what Kane would want him to say. He finally settled on, “I decided y’all could use a little anticipation, so I took a long drunken sabbatical.”

He laughed. “And based on your pre-sales, you were not wrong. Where It’s Going, out this week!”

After Kane explained how very disappointed he was in Murphy, they both agreed he should try and stick to social media. Periscope, he stressed again.

Periscope helped with nothing. He used it, though, streamed rehearsals and coffee breaks. He wandered through the chaos of set-up for their first concert with his phone out and ready.

“This is Raven,” he whispered, showing the internet Raven as she yelled at a stubborn microphone cable. “She’s the best.” He walked a little further, stumbling upon Jasper, Monty and Miller. “This is Jasper, I guess he does lights, I dunno, say hi Jasper.”

Jasper smiled into the phone and said, “Hi, Jasper,” because Jasper was the worst.

Murphy tilted the phone away from him. “This is Monty and Miller. Monty does something…and Miller sleeps with him? I’m unclear.”

He was already walking away but in the corner of his screen Monty yelled, exasperated, “Craft services! We fucking feed you!” and Murphy couldn’t help but laugh.

He harassed Maya as she braided Octavia’s hair, and they were laughing so hard Murphy was barely holding up the phone when Bellamy appeared, right in front of him and said, “Hey, could we talk?” like they haven’t been living in the same tiny apartment for months and now was the perfect time to speak.

The broadcast cut off so suddenly that twitter was filled with gossip. Clips of the last three seconds of that video were looped all over twitter and tumblr and vine and Murphy couldn’t escape from his own awkward fumbling on his iphone and the pained expression on Bellamy’s face.

“What?” Murphy asked, gripping his phone in his shaking hands.

Bellamy glanced from Maya to Octavia to Murphy and grimaced. “Privately?”

Octavia scowled at Bellamy, glaring. “We’re not listening, are we, Maya?”

Maya smiled serenely at Octavia. “We are not, Octavia.”

“So please,” Octavia continued savagely. “Feel free to speak openly here.”

Murphy thought he could be in love with her in that moment (if, in reality, he wasn’t so horribly gone on her brother). “Well?” he said, and Bellamy frowned.

“I just wanted to—I wanted to talk to you before we—look, can we do this in private? Please?” Bellamy’s jaw was clenched tight and Murphy almost felt bad but he also felt vicious and self-righteous and living in Johnny’s pocket had made his anger so much easier to access.

“This is private,” Octavia insisted, still glaring.

“Very private,” Maya agreed, sealing one of Octavia’s braids with a load of hairspray.

Bellamy’s face fell, realizing he was losing and preparing to wallow. Murphy sighed. “I don’t have anything else to say, Bell. I don’t.”

Bellamy nodded slowly and backed up, turning around and running off with his symbolic tail between his very nicely muscled legs.

Octavia cackled, and Maya chuckled along and Murphy felt like he was maybe drowning.

He didn’t want to talk to Bellamy. Not at all. He didn’t think there was anything that hadn’t been said, and the tentative truce that they had formed couldn’t hold under the weight of real friendship. He wasn’t ready for that again.

Besides, he figured, storming off into his dressing room. He had a show to prepare for, figurative pounds of eyeliner to apply to his face, and twenty minutes of vocal warm ups.

The next day, sitting in Kane’s office, he wished he had maybe tried to talk to Bellamy a little bit harder than not.

Kane’s Disappointed Dad face was out in full form, and Bellamy was staring fixedly at his knees. Murphy couldn’t take his eyes off the computer on Kane’s desk, where a video of their last concert was playing. He had been aware, at the time, that he didn’t want to look at or dance on Bellamy, but he hadn’t thought that it had shown.

Watching the video, the tension between them was palpable. They barely made eye contact, and Murphy had kept far away from Bellamy’s part of the stage. It was painful to watch, like two strangers instead of people who had been best friends.

Kane cleared his throat and waited for them to look at him. “This, as I am sure you know, is unacceptable. I don’t care how you two feel about each other, really, I don’t. You have a job to do.”

Bellamy sucked his teeth and Kane glared at him. “Maybe—just throwing out some ideas here—maybe fake gay undertones shouldn’t be part of our job?”

And why did that make Murphy’s heart ache? There was almost nothing between them now, but hearing Bellamy be so cavalier about his feelings, the ones he had had since middle school, made Murphy want to drink. Heavily.

Kane scowled and folded his hands neatly on the desk. He stared at Bellamy for a long time before turning to Murphy and studying him as well. “I don’t know what went down five years ago. I don’t care. I do know that your fans are showing up for you, in droves, to try and capture the magic you had before. And you’re disappointing them. Your fans want the childhood friends who decided to start a band together, not the jaded folk artist and playboy rock star. Get your shit together, get your act together, and for fuck’s sake, try and remember that your fans are paying good money and all you have to do is remember what you liked about each other.”

Murphy glanced at Bellamy, who was staring at him, and so their eyes met, and Murphy couldn’t look away.

“Good,” Kane said. “Glad we’re agreed.” He excused them together and they walked silently out of the room.

“We should probably talk,” Murphy suggested once they hit the hall. It was surprisingly deserted.

Bellamy looked at him in surprise before fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Later? I gotta meet O in Brooklyn in 20 minutes. Wish me luck?”

They were currently in the Upper East Side. Murphy grinned. “There’s not enough luck in the world.”

Bellamy’s face shifted into a confused smile and he started backing up towards the elevator, eyes fixed on Murphy. “Later, yeah?”

Murphy nodded. “Yeah.” Later, they would talk, and they would work some of this shit out.

Clarke found him first. “Listen,” she said to him, grabbing his upper arm and herding him into a break room. Murphy glanced around anxiously, but Clarke had always been good at sensing what rooms were empty. “We’ve tried to be supportive without being overbearing, we’ve kept our distance, and we haven’t asked any questions, but this is getting out of hand, John. What happened with you and Bellamy?”

She led him to chair and looked at him expectantly until he sat down. She kept standing, and moved off to make him a cup of tea.

It occurred to him that Octavia was probably grilling Bellamy in Brooklyn, probably with less tact and more public yelling and he had never been more grateful for Clarke’s friendship in his life. That could have been him. “We fought, I quit, end of story.”

She walked over to him with a mug full of tea and honey and stood in front of him in full disapproving glory. She handed him the cup and crossed her arms, every inch the intimidating front woman she had grown into in Wanheda. “I don’t know what I did to make you think I was an idiot, but I’d appreciate it if you at least came up with a better story.”

“Clarke,” he started, sighing, but she interrupted him.

“Murphy, five years ago my family was ripped apart and no one will tell me why. Do you think this was easy on me? On Octavia? Do you think we liked having no idea what was happening with you, if you were okay? With Bellamy moping and crying and drinking and sleeping his way through everyone who looked his way?” She wiped an angry tear out of her eye and glared. “I’ve been accommodating and I’ve been kind but I am exhausted and sad and I need to know if this is something that can be fixed or if I’ve lost my family for good.”

Murphy was embarrassed his find his eyes were teary, too. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” And he told her. “It was the after the last show we did for Goblins, the one in LA? Bellamy came up to me after the show.”

They had been sweaty, still covered in stage makeup and hours worth of musical grime, tired and delirious and bright and happy. Raven was packing up the van (or rather gleefully directing her underlings to) and Murphy was in the green room chugging plastic water bottles and trying to decide if he had it in him to go outside and greet the roadies or if he would just retreat to his hotel room and wait for morning.

Bellamy stuck his head in the door. When his eyes fell on Murphy he smiled lazily, and Murphy felt a flood of warmth like the stage lights hitting him all over again. “Hey, Murphy.”

He would have blushed if his face hadn’t already been red from exertion. “Hey, yourself.”

Bellamy had invited himself in, then, like he always did. They had been sharing a space for so long that they frequently forgot about personal space. He smiled, and then Murphy’s phone buzzed. He frowned instead. “Who is that?”

Murphy looked at his phone and then blushed even harder. “That guy. From the show in Philly?” Bellamy’s face still clearly asked for clarification so Murphy made with the clarifying. “We’ve been talking a lot. He’s in town. Wants to see me, I think.”

Bellamy was still frowning. “Are you going to see him?”

Murphy sighed, standing up and stretching. “I guess so.” He smiled at Bellamy, but it was a weak smile. “Can’t keep chasing my dreams forever.”

Bellamy scoffed and gesturing grandly around the green room. “That’s literally all we do.”

“Yeah but—” Murphy sighed again, tried to align his brain with his mouth. “It’s different now, isn’t it?” It was different. Wells was gone, Finn was leaving. Raven had gotten into MIT and Clarke was talking about college, plus Monty and Octavia were talking about settling down with their respective boyfriends, like they weren’t too young for that shit and Murphy—Murphy was chasing after Bellamy’s shadow, just like he had done his whole life.

When he looked up, Bellamy was close to him, so close to him Murphy could hear his breaths, could practically taste his sweat. “It doesn’t have to be different,” he said vehemently. “We can stay the same.”

Murphy shook his head. “I can’t stay the same. I need to stop chasing.” He smiled, melancholic. “Don’t I deserve some happiness, too?”

“Yeah.” Bellamy was so close he could feel the whisper of his words and then Bellamy was kissing him and Murphy was so caught up in the sensations he could barely process what was happening until Bellamy pulled away.

“Bell,” he said, and tried to close the distance between them, but Bellamy shoved him backwards and he hit the makeup table—not hard enough to hurt, but enough so that his things went flying.

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy said, and then he was out the door.

By the time Murphy was up and into the hall, Bellamy had disappeared into the throng.

When Murphy got to the hotel, Bellamy’s stuff was gone, and no one—not even Octavia, who would have absolutely lied for him but had no poker face whatsoever—knew where he was.

So he texted him. And he called him. Left message after message and email upon email and finally after five days he got a call from their manager politely demanding that they fix their shit, or Murphy, the volatile lead singer, was going to get the axe.

And Murphy was angry, the deep, hot, seething sort of anger that he had only felt before for his mother, that he channeled on the stage but never really let himself soak in anymore because he had been so depressed in middle school and high school and he had excised that anger through music and friendship and now he was adrift, and the figure that he had chased after for so many years was nowhere to be seen.

He thought, what would I have said in high school? And so, calmly, politely, he phoned up their manager and said, “fuck you, I quit.”

And then, he told Clarke, sitting in the recording studio, in the breakroom, “I drank for a week, and I thought about moving to Australia, and then I put out an album of me crying for seventy minutes. And now here we are.”

Clarke reached out and gripped his hand tightly in hers. “I love you, you know that?”

He was teary eyed again, and his voice was shaky with it. “Yeah, I do.”

Clarke nodded decisively. “And Bellamy is an idiot. But he loves you, too.”

“Clarke—“

She shook her head. “No. I know he fucked up and he hurt you, I get that. I do. But he loves you and he’s been trying.”

Murphy could feel himself getting angry but he swallowed it. His first thought was, fuck Bellamy. Fuck Bellamy and fuck the fact that he got to have Murphy’s family and Murphy’s job and Murphy’s life while Murphy had to settle with trying-hard-and-not-quite-making-it. “And I haven’t been.”

Clarke smiled at him. “You’ve been trying. A little. But he’s been trying a lot. Meet him half way?”

Murphy nodded, and stood up, figuring Clarke was done with him. She squeezed his hand and stood gingerly. “Good,” she said. “Now let’s go find Lexa, she has a proposition for you—before you have that interview to get to.”

He couldn’t remember anything about an interview but he hadn’t really been paying attention, had he? He hadn’t been trying. They found Lexa in the lobby, scaring off paparazzi with a glare. She smiled at them as they approached, which was much more friendly than he expected from her. She absolutely terrified him and he really liked that about her.

She laid out her proposition and Murphy immediately accepted, before being ushered into a company car by Clarke, presumably taking him to the aforementioned interview.

He texted Raven on the way. “Where exactly am I going?” he asked her.

“not ur calendar & am in fact doing important sound stuff,” she replied, followed almost immediately by, “casual fan interview, should mostly be a puff piece, but wat do i no im just the sound engineer.”

He got out of the car in a small cupcake café on the lower east side, which he wasn’t expecting, but considering Murphy remembered literally nothing about the interview, he supposed that wasn’t shocking. He walked in and looked around anxiously at the pastel covered café, glad he was in his civvies instead of his Johnny regalia.

“Mr. Murphy?” He turned and was face to face with a girl who was definitely younger than him, wearing a very professional outfit that did nothing to age her up. The French braids didn’t help, either. “Hi, I’m here to interview you! My name’s Charlotte. I’m a music blogger. I started SoundSiren?”

“Hi,” he replied, and reached out to shake her hand. It then occurred to him that he had heard of her blog before. “Oh! Hi, yeah I know you. Can I ask a stupid question before you start recording stuff?”

She laughed, a real sounding and very charming laugh. “Of course!”

“Why are we in a cupcake den?” He had been avoiding looking at the glass case because Murphy was weak and the cupcakes smelled like exactly what he deserved after the past few hellish days.

Charlotte grinned mischievously. “I heard they were your drug of choice.”

He smiled back but was instantly filled with guilt. He was pretty sure his drugs of choice were, in order of most destructive to least, Bellamy Blake, tequila, Bellamy’s twitter account, vodka, Bellamy’s old anonymous livejournal account, rum, and then cupcakes.

“You heard right,” he said, and let her lead him to a table, already covered in cupcakes.

“I wasn’t sure which kind you like,” she said apologetically, gesturing to the smorgasbord of cupcakes.

He laughed, and felt more prepared for this interview than he’d felt for anything in months. “Oh, you are definitely on my good side.”

She smiled and slid into her seat, Murphy following. She pulled out her phone. “Do you mind if I…?”

He hated having audio recordings of himself wandering through the internet, but despite himself he trusted her. Murphy nodded and bit into a red velvet cupcake. The girl had good taste.

“So,” she asked picking a caramel cupcake, “how does it feel to be back in New York?”

“Like a kick in the balls,” he said, and she laughed.

“Just like old times, then? Speaking of, how’s the band meshing after years apart?”

Murphy paused, chewing. She scribbled something onto her phone with a stylus. He hoped it said something like, “he chewed contemplatively,” instead of “he stared stupidly into the distance and messily devoured a cupcake.” He had seen her blog before and she could be ruthless when she wanted to.

“We’re coming together,” he said finally. “There were some road-bumps, but we’re family, you know? Even when we hate each other, we still love each other. And I think that comes across in the new album.”

Charlotte’s face turned a little guilty even as she said, innocently, “was last night’s concert one of those bumps in the road?”

Murphy choked on a piece of cupcake. “Yeah,” he wheezed and tried to remember how to swallow like an adult. “Definitely. But we’re working on it, and it’s only going to get better.”

“Good,” Charlotte said, and beamed. “I saw the show last night and it was…”

“A work in progress?” Murphy offered.

Charlotte laughed. “That’s a good word for it. Do you mind if I ask—what went wrong?”

Murphy paused and used the opportunity to cut into another cupcake. “I think there were some miscommunications. Some bad blood that we needed to excise.”

“Metaphorical or literally?”

He thought about how badly he had wanted to punch Bellamy’s face in the night before. “Metaphorical blood letting,” he clarified, “literal talking.”

Charlotte laughed again, and very kindly changed the subject. “So I asked my readers what they were most interested in me finding out, and surprise surprise, they want to know who is the inspiration for “Brainfreeze” and “Kill the Moment”?”

Murphy polished off the cupcake and moved onto a chocolate one covered in glitter. “Who says they’re about anyone? Let alone the same person?”

Charlotte pounced. “Well, general fan theory is that before your character, Johnny, died at the end of Goblins, he was developing feelings for someone. The imagery in “Brainfreeze” and “Kill the Moment” are very similar; wanting to stay in the moment that’s occurring right now, but wanting to see what happens next. All this rising to the high note of “Finger Guns,” before the album ends abruptly, presumably in Johnny’s death.” At his incredulous look, Charlotte blushed. “I’ve been a fan since I was in middle school,” she admitted.

Murphy laughed and wiped the chocolate off his mouth. She made another scribble on her screen. “There was someone in Johnny’s life—we intended to give him an accomplice. But his life didn’t turn out that way.”

“And your life?”

Murphy could feel the self-deprecating smile unfurl across his face. “My life didn’t turn out that way either.”

Charlotte gave him a very sympathetic look before visibly changing gears. “I was very excited to hear a studio version of “ ’07,” which has gotten consistent concert play, but has never been recorded until now. What made you decide to change that?”

Murphy sighed. He loved almost every song he had ever written—and he loved ’07. That said, if no one asked him about it for the rest of his life he would die happy. “People have been asking for you it, you know? I wrote it for our first album, We Who Are About to Die, but it was cut for space reasons, and so we could end on “Salute,” which clinched the reference, you know?”

Charlotte nodded avidly.

Encouraged, he continued, “So we’ve been trying to squeeze it onto somewhere, and Octavia—er, Babydoll suggested it be the bonus track, and we all agreed.”

Charlotte nodded. “Well, it sounds great! Definitely well worth the wait. And I believe you wrote it for your mother, correct?”

Murphy’s heart started pounding loudly in his ears. “No,” he heard himself say. “I wrote it about my mom, but I wrote for me. My mother was terrible—honestly if it wasn’t for Mrs. Blake I doubt I would have survived high school. When I turned seventeen, she disappeared and I haven’t heard from her since. So “’07” was for me to excise those feelings. She made my life hard enough when she was in it, she has no right to make it harder now that she’s out of it.”

She looked at him, impressed, or maybe even proud, and he reached for another cupcake because he’d earned it.

He got back to the apartment before Bellamy that night, and, exhausted, fell asleep before he heard Bellamy return. He figured, as he drifted, that they would talk in the morning, when Bellamy didn’t feel so angry from fighting with Octavia, and he didn’t feel so exhausted from spilling his guts out to small bloggers.

The article was up the next day, and Murphy was glad that Charlotte had made him seem engaging and funny and had left out that he had eaten a total of seven cupcakes.

Talking about his mother had, in some ways, put things into perspective for him. He was actively hating Bellamy because he had committed himself to it, even though it made him miserable. If happiness was his end goal, then he should try to make that happen, instead. Which probably meant reconnecting with Bellamy, even just to see if he could.

He walked out into the main apartment area, still skimming through the article, and looked up, when Bellamy made a soft, surprised sound.

“Good morning,” Murphy offered, before grabbing a piece of toast off of Bellamy’s plate and stuffing it into his mouth.

Bellamy gaped at him, open mouthed and floundering. “Um. Hi.” Even fishlike and baffled, Bellamy still managed to seem aloof and available and charming, and in the morning light as a new and improved Murphy, he realized he was just as head over heels as he’d ever been.

“You sleep well?” he asked, and tried to play it off like they had this kind of conversation on the daily, like two grown ass men.

“To be honest, I’m not sure I’m awake,” Bellamy said and then winced. “Sorry, that was—sorry.”

Murphy shrugged. He almost certainly deserved that. “You ready for tonight?”

Tonight was the real start of their tour, their biggest show ever and at Madison Square Garden (the Madison Square Garden, was this even the real life), before their stateside tour began.

“Honestly?” Bellamy asked, rolling his shoulders. “I feel like I’m about to vibrate out of my skin.”

“Yeah,” Murphy agreed. “It’s great, right?” Murphy held his gaze for a long moment, and his body hummed. He felt energized, centered and a little horny.

Bellamy swallowed hard and turned away, which was good, because it meant he missed how much Murphy stared at his throat. “What are your plans for the day?”

Murphy would give the amount that Bellamy’s voice didn’t waver an E for Effort. “Not a whole lot. You?”

“Nothing.”

Murphy tried to smile openly. He wasn’t really an open kind of guy, but he didn’t want Bellamy to think this was a trick. “Wanna order pad thai and watch Pulp Fiction?” which really shouldn’t have been a tradition but absolutely was.

Bellamy looked stunned, open and vulnerable, and the shitty vindictive part of Murphy wanted to laugh in his face, but the rest of him wanted to cuddle down on the couch with Bellamy Blake, thai food, John Travolta, and Samuel L. Jackson.

“Yeah,” Bellamy said. “Yeah, okay.”

Pulp Fiction had lead to Kill Bill which had lead, inexplicably, to Charlie’s Angels, and when they left, together, for MSG, Murphy more at peace than he had felt in years.

Because they were all big name stars now, they each had their own dressing room, not just a green room. Maya had emailed them all very specific schedules of when she expected them to be sitting in their rooms waiting for her, and Murphy was cutting it close as he spotted his name on the door. Or well, Johnny, but he’d take it.

He had just reached for the handle when Bellamy said, “Wait.”

Murphy turned around, conscious that every ticking second brought him closer to Maya’s subdued and quiet (but still probably dangerous) wrath.

Bellamy fidgeted, which made Murphy nervous too, before pulling something from his pocket. “I know, I—we—there isn’t really—here,” he said, and passed Murphy a tarnished silver nut on a chain. “I’m not sure if we do this anymore, but it was from before, so. Have a good concert. It’s from that night, but I—I should go,” he said, and ran.

Murphy squeezed it tightly in his hand and walked into his dressing room.

Bellamy had, at some point, created a tradition for them, whereby he stole a piece of the venue they did the last show of a tour in, and gave it to Murphy at the start of the subsequent tour. It was a silly tradition that resulted in stupid pieces of memorabilia like the dumb necklace in his hand.

He put it on over his head and sat down to wait for Maya. He looked in the mirror. He was stupidly in love with Bellamy Blake, but maybe, just maybe, Bellamy Blake was stupidly in love with him, too. He began applying the first of many layers of eyeliner and smiled.

Maya came by to do his hair and rolled her eyes at the way he couldn’t stop smiling. Raven came by afterwards and was even less amused.

“This is a microphone,” she said, holding the microphone in front of his face. “Microphones are for singing into, they are not for dropping, me entiendes?”

“Mhmmm,” he said dreamily.

Raven took a deep breath, and then whacked him with the mic.

“Hey!” Murphy yelled indignantly. “You’re the one hitting people with them!”

Raven nodded. “Right. Because they are my mics. And I know what they can take, like a light smack against the empty head of a dumbass. And I also know what they can’t take, which is being flung into the ceiling by the same empty headed dumbass.”

“It was funny though, right?” he asked, smirking.

Raven rolled her eyes but he knew he had won.

Tonight was going to be amazing.

And it sort of was. Unlike the night before, it had gone down without a hitch. Murphy had remembered how to properly stalk and run and throw himself around the stage including not one, not two, but four backflips (take that Brendan and Josh), and had engaged in some really questionable grinding on two microphone stands and also Bellamy, to the loud approval of the audience. He was surprised to find he felt like Johnny again.

They reached the first encore way too soon, in Murphy’s opinion.

He sneered into the mic while his bandmates tuned and hydrated. “What’s good?” he asked the crowd, and they screeched. “I’m Johnny,” he said, and paused for the cheers. “And these are my Delinquents. On my right,” he pointed to Octavia, “the beautiful Babydoll on the bass. Next to her, the incomparable Sandman on guitar,” he pointed at Clarke, who gave him and obliging sting on her guitar. “My pal Thanatos on the drums, and of course, Twitch, who doesn’t even need an instrument to play you.”

He blew Bellamy an exaggerated kiss and the crowd shrieked again. Bellamy rolled his eyes, but it felt so much more like their normal patter. Murphy grinned again. “Thank you, New York, you’ve been great!” he said, and then sauntered off stage. The others followed, and they huddled off stage while the audience chanted, “Johnny, Johnny,” over and over.

“Hey,” Murphy said to Bellamy, pulling him aside physically.

“What’s up?” Bellamy’s eyes were glued to the spot where Murphy’s hand was attached to his arm.

Their stage manager was already prepping them to go back out, but Murphy refused to be rushed.

“Hey,” Murphy said again, and then cupped Bellamy’s face and pulled him into a kiss. He could hear Clarke’s gasp and Octavia’s cackle and Mbege’s obnoxiously loud wolf whistle, but he ignored them. This was his moment. “I love you,” he said, and then ran back on stage.

The crowd roared again, and Murphy had never been in front of so many people in his entire life. “We got a surprise for you tonight,” he said, as Lexa marched on stage, looking like she could kill. “Lexa from Wanheda is here to play for you lucky delinquents, so make some fucking noise!”

The crowd did, as crowds are known to, and they began their first encore. Lexa was an incredible bassist, and Murphy was definitely going to tap her for their next group project.

Their first two encore songs went better than he expected, and as he desperately chugged water before their last two songs, he turned to see Bellamy actually smoldering at him.

He hadn’t wanted to play “’07” in public but Octavia had insisted. In part, he assumed, because it was one of only three songs where she got to sing back up. It was still one of his best, but also personal and way too relevant. It may have been written about his mother, but he could have written the same song about Bellamy.

He sang the entire song without checking on Bellamy again, which he counted as a personal achievement. “’07” ended in a false cheery tone that he loved and he waited for the cheers to die down.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Clarke motioning for the other’s to put their instruments away, and he was as, always, extremely grateful for Clarke. Lexa switched out her electric bass for an acoustic one and her eyes twinkled as theirs met.

“We got another surprise for you lucky criminals!” The crowd exploded with cheers.

Lexa began playing the melody on her bass, which was way more affective than he thought it would be and he gripped the mic and began to sing. “Wise men say, only fools rush in,” and the audience cheered its approval.

His hands were shaking, Jesus, more than they had ever shook in his life. He wanted to turn around and look at Bellamy but he didn’t let himself. Bellamy had to know, he was smart and he knew Murphy, and wasn’t that the problem, anyway? Murphy had let himself be hurt and he knew he was setting himself up for the same exact fall. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me a hundred times and shame on love.

“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Lexa nodded at him, and he managed to take a real breath before he kept singing. The final time through, as he sang, “Take my hand, take my whole life, too,” he tilted his microphone out to the audience, who obligingly sang along.

He felt the hands on his shoulder spinning him before he could register it. His hand was still outstretched, the mic aimed at the crowd when Bellamy swooped down and kissed him again and he dropped the mic and Raven was absolutely going to murder him, but he could hardly care because Bellamy Blake was playing tonsil hockey with him in front of the biggest crowd they’d ever played for and he was pretty sure he wasn’t dreaming.

The crowd was deafening or Murphy’s heart was just pounding so loudly in his ears that when Bellamy pulled away, his equilibrium had gone to shit—and it had to be the noise because there was no way he just got weak in the knees.

“Don’t run away this time,” Murphy said against his mouth.

“Never again,” Bellamy said, and Murphy reluctantly detached himself.

Lexa had just finished playing and was smiling at him smugly, which both meant that Murphy had impeccable timing and that he and Bellamy had made out for possibly an embarrassingly long time.

“Good fucking night New York,” he hollered, and ran offstage, dragging Bellamy behind him.

“We should talk,” Murphy started, but Bellamy interrupted him.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you and I’m in love with you and I’ve spent the past five years hating myself for chasing you away.”

“Oh,” Murphy replied, and prided himself on his sharp wit. “Well in the case—” and let Bellamy pull him into a kiss again.

Behind him, he could hear Octavia say, probably to Clarke, “I’m beginning to think we made a huge mistake.

“I don’t know,” Lexa replied, managing to sound introspective and domineering all at once. “I think they’re cute.”

Epilogue

“So,” Charlotte asked, and smiled charmingly at the webcam. “What can you tell us about your new project?” Her set-up had improved in the last year, and instead of a cell phone and some cupcakes, she had a full a video portion of her website and a studio to match, although her hair was still in two little braids.

“Well,” Murphy said. “It’s massive. It’s a coalition between Skycrew, Wanheda, City of Light, The Delinquents and Lexa’s old band, Tree People. It’s me, the Blakes, Lexa and Clarke and their old bandmates Anya and Gustus. We have Mbege—Emori and Finn are going to be on selected tracks—and we have Lincoln, who is finally fighting fit and the kind of badass a band of this size really needs. We strings and a trumpet, more drummers than I personally know what to do with and so many guitarists that I literally can’t make a g-string joke without risk to my life. Oh—and we’re calling ourselves Polis.”

Charlotte’s excitement was very poorly hidden, but he liked that. It was nice that she had asked to interview him first, nice that he could finally do a press interview in his civvies. “I can’t wait to hear your new stuff! When does the album drop?”

Murphy grinned back. “It’s called Power to the People, and it’ll be out mid-march. But actually, we wanted to surprise you and your viewers with our first single.”

Charlotte’s disbelief was so genuine he almost laughed. It was replaced by excitement almost instantly. “I—thank you—this is such an I honor—I—”

“It’s called “Arcadia,” why don’t we take a listen?” he said, and nodded to Bellamy off camera, who had taken over her sound equipment, and let it play.

Afterwards Charlotte whispered to him, “I’m going to cut the part where I’m all googly-eyed and cry in the middle of your new single okay?” and Murphy nodded, because he was nothing if not accommodating.

She gathered herself and looked him in the eye. “Mr. Murphy, I know I shouldn’t, but I have to ask. How are things with you and Mr. Blake?”

He glanced at Bellamy off screen, who was smiling a reluctant, dopey smile, the way he always did when Murphy did interviews. “Things,” he said, still looking directly at Bellamy and feeling possibly contentment. “Things have never been better.”

[kelsiestelting]

Saddle Up for Some Cowboy Romance Novels

Reading a cowboy romance novel has all the appeal of the country life, without the dirt and flies. Growing up on a ranch, I experienced it all first hand—working cattle, waking up before the sun, and getting my hands (and clothes) dirtier than I care to admit. Now that I live in the city and have a job as a writer, I still love to relive the nostalgia of country living.

Here are some of the things I miss the most about the country, and everything I love to revisit in a cowboy romance:

The fresh morning air punctuated with birdsong

Crickets and bullfrogs singing at night time

The privacy that only miles of wide open spaces can bring you

Driving through the pasture with your hand out the window, catching the wind

The smell of silage in the morning

 A cowboy romance brings all of this rushing back, along with some of the best fantasies about dating a cowboy. You get:

The doors opened for you

The hat tipped your way

The strong, rough hands

The capable confidence

The strong muscles you can only get on a farm

So when I’m picking up a book with a hero from the country, I have some pretty high standards! These romance novels with cowboys as the heroes are sure to hit the mark! 

Dare You to Resist the Bull Rider

A Sweet Country Romance by Lacy Anderson

Lacy Anderson has an adorable series of high school romances that are sure to hit anyone in the feels, but I am over the moon about her bull rider romance! I remember going to the rodeo every summer and my boy crazy teenage hormones going wild over the bull riders, hoping one would look my way! Here’s a little about the story:

A little dare never hurt anybody...

My sophomore year at Rock Valley High was a total downer. Joining the wrong crowd and nearly getting drowned aren’t exactly things I want to write about on my college admission essays.

But my best friend, Hunter, is moving back home from spending a year on his grandpa’s ranch. With his help, I’m going to win the Junior Rodeo Queen contest and reclaim this summer as the best one ever.

Except...Hunter is different.

In a tight-fitting-jeans, cowboy hat, muscles, and sexy grin kind of way that leaves my knees wobbly.

And did I mention he picked up a talent for bull riding during the year he’s been gone?

So hot.

Falling for my best friend is against the rules we made years ago. Hunter knows it. I know it. But my heart seems to have forgotten, because every time he looks at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes, I want to sink into him.

Maybe we can’t go back to the way things were...

...but just maybe, we might find something even better—despite the rules.

City Girl vs Country Boy

A High School Love Story by Jordan Ford

One of my favorite dynamics in a cowboy romance is the city girl/country boy aspect. That means we get to see everything that’s wonderful (and cringeworthy) through the eyes of someone new. It’s like watching your favorite move for the first time all over again! Jordan Ford is also an amazing writer in general, so this book definitely won’t disappoint!

Here’s a little about the story:

A kind boy. A grief-stricken girl. A chance for love neither expected…

I’ve just lost everything. My grand plan for college with my best friends has gone up in smoke. I have to look after my siblings now. I’m all they’ve got left. My parents stated in their will that they want Beck to look after us on his farm.

But why? We haven’t seen him in years. Now two orphaned families are supposed to squish into his crusty old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere?

Five grieving teenagers. This isn’t going to work. But I’ll go. Just for a couple of weeks. That’s what Mum and Dad would want me to do.

What I don’t expect is for Tane to still be living on the farm.

He’s grown up now. He’s gorgeous.

I don’t have room in my life for this kind of attraction, this pull of desire. But his kind eyes and big heart are going to make it impossible for me to resist him.

He told me this land can heal my pain… if only I’ll stay.

Spencer and the Younger Girl

A Standalone Romance by Michelle MacQueen

Okay, I might be the first to admit that cowboys can be a little prickly. They work hard and have dedicated their lives to doing what they do. Nothing can tick off a rancher like some city slicker who has no respect for ranching. Especially when said city slicker has had everything handed to them on a silver platter. (Have I mentioned early mornings and hard work are part of the gig?

Here’s a little about the story:

Rule #1 of falling for the younger girl: Don’t let her know. 

Even though Hadley Gibson seems to know everything. 

Returning home after years away isn’t supposed to be easy, but Spencer Lee never imagined it would hurt so much. When he left, he didn’t expect to come back, but one email from his little brother has him running to the family ranch where hard work is an expectation but conversations are not. 

Conversations about why he left, why he came back. 

Why he can’t stay. 

When a senior prank involving the family’s goats at the high school goes hilariously wrong, the prankster herself is sentenced to a spring break of work on the ranch. 

Hadley is everything Spencer detests. Rich. Spoiled. Too darn happy. 

And also in high school. 

Her smile should send Spencer running from Gulf City just like three years before. The constant laughter should remind him how different they are. 

Falling for a ranch hand is against the family’s rules. 

But if there’s one thing Spencer has never been good at its following the rules.

More Than A Kiss

An Adorable Small-town Romance by Sally Henson

Lane Cary is a country boy through and through. He grew up outside of town, works hard for what he has, and loves to cool off in the creek from time to time. Not only is he handsome and totally swoon worthy, he also has a heart of gold and embraces the values many people in rural areas grow up with. From jumping off cliffs at the quarry to driving down old dirt roads, Lane is sure to make your heart beat just a little faster.

Here’s a little bit about the story:

One kiss and I’m hooked.

Hooked on Lane’s warm lips pressed against mine.

I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never been on a date. Never kissed a boy until the day Lane pressed his lips against mine. 

But he shouldn’t have.

He’s my best friend. And that goes against the rules. The ones I helped create. Not to mention what my strict father will do when he finds out tomorrow.

No matter how much I love him, Lane will go back to being just another college boy, and me? I’ll just be the high school girl he left behind...

Lane

I’ve never wanted anything more than Regan’s lips on mine. And now, we are the way we should be. Almost... 

I can’t wait to get us in the open—out of the dark. Tomorrow is the day we tell the world.

I can handle our friends’ reactions. I can handle the distance that will be between us when I leave for university. I can handle her dad.

What I can’t handle?

Losing her. 

Curvy Girls Can’t Date Cowboys

A Young Adult Contemporary Romance by Kelsie Stelting

Having grown up where I did, I had to include a cowboy in my series, The Curvy Girl Club. In this book, Ginger is a complete city girl, overly sheltered by her parents. Ray is a strong cowboy with a heart of gold but hidden behind walls of stone. He’s gone through some hard situations in his life, but his steadfast personality and protective heart might be exactly what Ginger needs.

 Here’s a little bit about the story:

The one thing my parents can’t shelter me from is my heart.

I nearly died the summer of my eighth grade year, and ever since then, my parents have done everything they could to keep me healthy. Now I’m a senior, and instead of feeling safe, I’m suffocating.

When my parents take my twin sisters out of town for an audition, I have my chance to show them that I’m responsible. That I can go to college on my own and start a life outside of their organic food store and Emerson Academy.

All I have to do is turn in all my assignments and have a few quiet nights at home. No problem.

That is, until my video project partner decides to be a total flake. Ray may be hot and fill out a pair of Wrangler jeans like nobody’s business, but he is not ruining my chance at freedom.

I go to his family’s ranch to get his help, but instead discover something else. Could everything my parents taught me be wrong?

Unless I act fast, my quiet weekend will ruin my chance at freedom and wreck my heart faster than the flash of my camera.

Choosing Your Next Great Read

What are some western romances featuring swoony cowboys that you love to read? I can’t wait to hear from you and discover more cowboy romance for the young at heart! If you’re looking for other stories to read, I have some great posts available! Check these out today!

Enemies to Lovers Romance!

Curvy Girl Romance!

Christmas Romance!

Pen Pal Romance!

Football Romance!

[itsfinancethings]

For years, Jennell Lévêque has been getting up early and swiping through her phone in the hope that Amazon Flex would drop some shifts for delivery drivers and that she’d be quick enough to nab one. But since the COVID-19 pandemic, even with six apps open for various delivery platforms, Lévêque has gotten barely any jobs delivering packages, meals, or groceries. The Facebook group she runs for Instacart workers, meanwhile, is deluged with requests from new shoppers who want to join.

Before the pandemic, there were millions of people like Lévêque who could make a living, or at least earn decent pocket money, off gig work: driving people from the airport to distant homes, delivering dinners, designing logos for strangers half a world away. But as the U.S. unemployment rate approaches 15% and as the International Monetary Fund predicts a 3% contraction in the global economy, people who have relied on gig work for income are seeing their earnings plummet as more people compete for jobs.

“Each week is getting worse and worse with every platform,” says Lévêque, who is in her forties and whose lament is borne out by company numbers. Upwork says it has seen a 50% increase in freelancer sign-ups since the pandemic began. Talkdesk, a customer service provider that has launched a gig economy platform, got 10,000 new applications for gig work in 10 days. Instacart hired 300,000 additional workers in a month and said in late April it planned to add 250,000 more.

Though more people are having food delivered, receiving packages from Amazon and searching online for their graphic design and customer service needs, the surge of new workers has upended the law of supply and demand in the gig economy. Put simply, with at least 36 million newly jobless people in America alone as of mid-May, there are now too many would-be workers to make the gig economy viable for many of them, and this may be irreversible as companies adapt to the reality of a global recession. By keeping head counts low, they’ll drive more desperate people into the gig economy, expanding the potential labor pool for jobs and driving down the prices that workers can command.

“The rates on DoorDash and Uber Eats are the lowest I’ve ever seen, but they’re all bad right now,” says Lévêque, who’s watched the trend unfold in recent weeks. Apps like Amazon Flex, whose drivers use their personal vehicles to make deliveries for the company, “drop” or release jobs at a certain time, and Lévêque and other drivers say that these jobs are snapped up within seconds. Some Amazon Flex drivers have taken to sitting in parking lots near Amazon warehouses in hopes this will help them beat the competition.

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Apps like Instacart send “offers,” which let workers see how many groceries a customer has ordered, how much they’ll get paid, and what the tip will be. On some apps, these offers are lower than ever, Lévêque says. (Instacart says its shoppers are earning 60% more per batch of orders they complete in part because tips have nearly doubled, and that while they may not see the same volume of orders as they did before, the average number of batches has stayed essentially the same.) As we talked, Lévêque turned down a food delivery offer for $3 because it wasn’t worth the gas she’d have to use. Another driver named Kevin, 43, who didn’t want his last name used because he doesn’t want his full-time job to know that he drives on the side, says Amazon Flex shifts now pay around $18-20 an hour, down from $28-$32 an hour before the pandemic.

As more workers rush to apps, there’s also a rise in people trying to take advantage of their desperation. Hustlers are launching bots that use algorithms to grab jobs before humans can and then charge potential workers to use these bots, says Matthew Telles, a longtime Instacart shopper who has been outspoken about the platform’s flaws. The so-called “grabber bots” take a bunch of jobs as soon as they come out, which means only people who have the bots installed can find work. Instacart shoppers pay a fee to use the bots, which are also a problem on services like Amazon Flex. Instacart in particular “has become a target for these exploitative apps that force laborers to pay just to get them access,” Telles says. (Instacart says that using unauthorized third parties in an effort to secure more batches is not permitted and that anyone found to be doing so will be deactivated.)

Delivery drivers like Lévêque have one advantage—they are only competing for jobs with people from their own geographic area. On sites like Fiverr and Upwork, where people can sell services as diverse as logo design, digital marketing and voice acting, workers are competing with others from around the world. Anyone with an internet connection can vie for these gigs, and the worse the global economy gets in the wake of COVID-19, the more people will stream on these sites looking for work. The World Bank estimates that COVID-19 will cause the first increase in global poverty since 1998.

Bill O’Leary—The Washington Post/Getty ImagesA crowd of delivery drivers waits to pick up orders from &Pizza on March 19, 2020 in Washington D.C.

“It’s a race to the bottom, honestly,” says Melanie Nichols, a 40-year-old marketer who has been freelancing for tech startups in Los Angeles for seven years. With business slowing in the wake of the pandemic, Nichols created an Upwork account from England, where she was staying with family, and tried to earn some extra money. Before the pandemic, she could charge between $100 to $150 an hour to clients, whom she’d meet in person or through referrals. On Upwork, she says, clients advertise jobs that require the same amount of work but pay $50 an hour, or less. Getting those jobs is nearly impossible—Nichols says she’s applied for 20 since March and heard back from four. One led to an actual paying gig, which ended up being more work than she was pitched, and so Nichols did 25 hours of work for 10 hours of pay. “Upwork seems to be such a good idea,” she says, “but I’d be curious to find people who are actually making money from it.”

Steven Lee Notar, 24, is in the same situation. He worked as a graphic designer at a media agency in Germany until the company first reduced his hours and then laid him off. He started advertising on Fiverr for services like designing online ads, posters and business cards, but says he has to set his prices low to get any orders. “A lot of people in my field have turned to the website,” Notar says. “It is a lot of supply but not a lot of demand.”

Sites like Upwork and Fiverr say the demand is still there. Adam Ozimek, the chief economist at Upwork, says that a third of Fortune 500 companies now use the platform, and that client spending has been stable since the pandemic hit. Upwork has not tracked whether freelancer pay rates have gone down, but Ozimek argues that Upwork’s borderless business model is good for gig workers because it gives them the freedom to find employers anywhere, not just in their city or country. “This is where the U.S. has the advantage,” he says. “The U.S. leads the world in skilled services, and our freelancers do find work all over the world.”

What worries some workers is that this scramble of competing with more people for lower-paying gigs is going to become the new normal as businesses try to stay lean by spending as little as possible. Twitter said Tuesday that going forward, employees could work from home forever if they so desired. But once people are working from home, what’s the incentive to keep them on as salaried employees? Arguably, companies could save money and balance their budgets by hiring overseas marketers or coders willing to work for less money and no benefits. Nearly half of the world is now connected to the Internet, up from just 15% in 2007.

Giant marketing companies like WPP and Omnicom have already talked about significant headcount reductions going forward and restructuring—they could turn to online freelancers once business starts up again. One survey found that as early as 2017, average hourly earnings on some platforms like Clickworker and Amazon’s Mechanical Turk were as low as $2 to $6.5 an hour.

There are signs this transition is already happening. Companies that are trying to grow online are hiring many gig workers on Fiverr, and Fiverr has seen an increase in demand for these workers, the company said on its earnings call in May. Fiverr hit all-time daily revenue records four times in April, CEO Micha Kaufman said. Nichols, the marketer, says she has seen big advertising agencies that have laid off hundreds of people hiring gig workers for marketing jobs on Upwork. Upwork said on its May earnings call that a multinational cybersecurity company used Upwork to find designers and developers, and a sports marketing agency hired software developers and animators on the site for projects. Aside from a moral obligation to treat workers well and pay them a living wage, there’s nothing to prevent more companies from jettisoning full-time employees and shifting to lower-paid gig workers.

They’d just be following what has been happening for decades in other fields. Just as manufacturing shifted overseas for cheaper labor and as gig economy apps drove down wages for taxi and delivery drivers, the pandemic has hastened the gig-ification of white-collar jobs. The gig economy might have been a crowded space before COVID-19, but the booming economy masked its workers’ struggles because many of them could find other jobs to supplement their income. Now, that extra work has dried up, and their desperation is more evident than ever. When gig work is the only pie that’s available to millions of people, sharing it means that some don’t even get crumbs.

[noiseartists]

Thai Shoegaze, Dream & Noise Pop, a quick guide, Vol.1

INTRODUCTION

by Punnawich Limparungpattanakij, creator of ‘The year Shoegaze broke’

"The year shoegaze broke is a group of people who love genre of Shoegaze, Dream pop and Noise pop. We came together to organize our own gig, concerts and tours. In order to make Shoegaze music more popular in Thai society."

Since the first period of 2000’s when the internet brought back to life of classic Shoegaze bands and with the rise of Post-Rock bands led by Sigur Ros or Explosion in the Sky, Thai alternative music scene got heavily inspired by those genres. Bands such as Goose, Desktop Error, Assajan Jakgawan (อัศจรรย์ จักรวาล), Swirling Light were the influential figures for those Shoegaze/ Post-Rock/ Experimental Thai bands that came after. Even if some of them have split up, still play the important role for Thai alternative music scene. Some are the founders of record companies which provide the sound that reminds us of those time in 00s, the glory days of Shoegaze/Post-Rock. . These days, with the popularity of band such as DIIV, Thai bands develop their style of Shoegaze which are heavily charged with dreamy sounds and obscure lyrics. Band like ‘Death of Heather’ or ‘Mind Wanders’ are good examples. At the same time, the Post-Grunge style of Nothing, Whirr created Thai band like ‘Telever', which is more of a 'wall-of-sound/Noise type'. I also created the collective 'The Year Shoegaze Broke' (with member of the band ‘Low Fly’, ‘Reverse’) that hosted few events that gathering unknown Shoegaze bands to play together. We also hosted the event: 'Shoegazer Night' that pays tribute to those Shoegaze legendary bands: MBV, Slowdive, RIDE, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Nothing, Whirr by Thai bands ‘Follows’, ‘Telever’, ‘Blue Yogurt’, ‘Frizzy Hair’ and founders of 'The Year Shoegaze Broke' band, to play the copycat of holocaust section in 'You Made Me Realise'. Its goal is to gain more attention for Thai music listeners who are familiar to those classic Shoegaze bands but still have no idea about what was going on the Shoegaze scene of their own country.

Even through the first-tier names for Thai Shoegaze band these days belongs to ‘Follows’, ‘Hariguem Zaboy’ (which change their direction to the more Post-Punk sound in their upcoming album), Thai Shoegaze community keeps growing, with the decline of Post-Rock and growth of Dream Pop/Post-Punk, Thai Shoegazers, who share listeners with these genres, have hopefully a bright future.

The year shoegaze broke is a group of people who love genre of Shoegaze, Dream pop and Noise pop. We came together to organize our own gig, concerts and tours. In order to make Shoegaze music more popular in Thai society.

DESKTOP ERROR

Desktop Error, is a Thai Alternative Indie Rock band, formed by a group of friends that have been hanging together since secondary school and university. Their love for similar type of music and lifestyle, eventually inspired them to form a band. They are:

Lek Kongphaibun (Guitar, lead Vocal)

Adisak Poung (Guitar, Keyboard, Vocal)

Wuttipong Leetrakul (Guitar, Keyboard, Vocal)

Chanarong Jamkow (Bass)

Phatharhaphon Thongsuka (Drums)

We collaborated with Desktop Error in 2017 to present the band and their music. They are by far the most famous and followed Indie band in Thailand. They are a world-class act, but unfortunately are not well known outside of Thailand. From the outside, the recipe for Desktop Error could be:

Shake some Ride and Radiohead together for the guitars and their capacity to complement each other very well, their flair for mixing melodies and using sound effect without abuse,

Add a bass player that understands how to blend support and melodies, without being too linear, much like Colin Greenwood, Radiohead’s bass player,

Supplement with a drummer that keeps everything together well and have a rich repertoire of rhythms and sounds,

Sprinkle a pinch of traditional Thai music and some flair for melodies.

Their music work to date:

2006: Instinct, EP

2009: Ticket to home, Album

2014: Looking at the window, Album

Surprisingly enough it is quite difficult to get their music (no Bandcamp, Soundcloud, limited presence on Spotify or Apple Store)

Some of the songs we love:

INSPIRATIVE - อินสไปเรทีฟ

Inspirative is a post-rock band from Bangkok, Thailand formed in 2006. The band initially started as a solo project of Noppanan Panicharoen. They work the Reverb like nobody and brush on genres like Shoegaze and Ambient.

Listening to Inspirative is like walking into the shop of a master sound crafter. All you discover has been studied, thought completely through, melodies, sound, texture, and colors. They are all masterpieces made by a band that has not only worked hard but also thought hard about their music and are clever about their choices. You can feel that the evolution is not just been let to itself: it has been planned, designed.

If you want to know more you can read our collaboration their music, the band or their interview.

All members joined in 2008 and turned into a full band consist of:

Noppanan Panicharoen: Guitar

Amornthep Masawang: Bass

Wuttipong Huangpetch: Piano, Vocals

Nattanai Janjarassri: Guitars

Ginn: Drums

Their musical work to date is:

2008: Floating Down Through The Clouds, EP

2009: The Sleeping Tracks, EP

2010: Memories Come Rushing Up To Meet Me Now, Album

2012: When We Talk EP

2015: Mysteriously Awake, Album

2017: Mainland, EP

2018: Inertia, Pt.1, Album; พื้นที่ว่าง, single

Some of the songs we love:

HARIGUEM ZABOY - ฮาริกึ่ม ซาโบ้ย

Hariguem Zaboy are a Shoegaze band from Bangkok. They are signed on the record label Panda Records

We're a long time friends. We had met at the Triamudomsuksa Pattanakarn School in Bangkok. When we were in the high school, we started this band, Hariguem Zaboy, just to perform in the school's auditorium. We were so happy at that time to be part of band and teenagers, so we decided to write our own songs and make our own music.

The band members are:

Napan Pichaikool: guitar

Rungsimun Suwiruttanapast: vox, guitar, tambourine

Garntanop Tanjaroen: drums

Songkhun Sanguankulthong: bass

The music work to date is:

2014: Thick Mink, album

2017: Kart, album

2019: (She Loves Her) Expensive Hairstyle, single

Some of the songs we love:

SOLITUDE IS BLISS - โซลิจูด อีส บลิส

Recommended by Desktop Error in their April 2017 interview with Noise Artists, as one of the best of the new generation of indie Thai bands, Solitude Is Bliss has a very nice mix of indie and Thai pop influences, tinted of reverb.

We are Solitude Is Bliss of Chiang Mai, Thailand. Join us on our journey, we promise to delight!

The band members are:

Thanaphol Chumkhammool (Fender) : Vocals/Guitar

Sedthakit Sitthi (Beer) : Guitar

Jomyoot Wongto (Dong) : Bass

Songpon Kaewwongwarn (Pound) : Keyboards

Saran Dolpipatpong (Frank) : Drums

Their music work to date is:

2015: Her social anxiety, album

2017: Montage, EP; Lost in Jane, single

2019: Please Verify That You Are Not a Robot, Album

Some of the songs we love:

MONOMANIA - โม��นแมเนีย

Monomania are an Alternative/Indie/Rock band from Thailand, united in their passion for ambient and electronic noise driven by hypnotic grooves. Together they create a unique atmosphere, from chilled psychedelia to jarring rhythms brimming with energy. This provides the bedrock for their songs that whilst tinged with melancholy are always hopeful, striving to break free.

Sometimes, we do love to play the music in the way of crazy, break of our mind but we also try to do it in the way of creativity. We do not like to limit ourselves so this can always make us so excited and fun especially on our music

The band met while studying at the same College of Music, in Mahidolin University. They quickly became close friends and have been playing music together ever since, becoming the band Monomania when their project and sound took more shape.

The line-up is:

Napat Prucksachattawon - Lead Vocal, Acoustic Guitar

Katawut Chandaeng - Guitar

Nattapak Kaweethammawong - Guitar

Kanes Ongarjwuttiwong - Bass

Thanachai Sae-Chin - Drums

Their music work to date is:

2014: Another side of human, album

2017: Before the dawn, album

Some of the songs we love:

TELEVER - เทเลเวอร์

Telever is a band formed in 2018 in the city of Nakhonsawan, Thailand. Telever sings both in English and Thai. They mix Noise Rock and Shoegaze like Whirr or Nothing. Telever currently belong to the independent label ’Brand New Me Records’.

We grew up in shoegaze and hardcore music taste and small town. that’s the reason we do this music

The new album they prepare is quicker and heavier, with a more Post-Hardcore feeling than their popular, more Shoegazey, 2018 EP.

We has toned the reverb and distortion too, with an emphasis on scream vocal and lyrics. This new album, with its songs about depression and the broken hearts, is meant to be sang along to.

The line-up is:

Tae tae kittitad: Guitars, Vocals

Jame thanadol: Lead Guitar, Vocals

Thawedate Narkchittakarn : Bass

Teamy janson: Drums

The music work to date is:

2018: Chem, single

2019: Have a Good Health, long EP

2020: New album in preparation

Some of the songs we love:

LOW FLY - โลว์ฟลาย

Low Fly are a Shoegaze band from Bangkok. They are a newcomer but the first EP released in 2019 is full of great music.

The current line up is:

Nattacha Veeravanich: Guitar & vocals

Wisun Swathasut: Drum

Sutthipong Phumidamrong: Bass

Music work to date is:

2019: Low Fly, long EP

Some of the songs we love:

SWIRLING LIGHT - สเวอร์ลิ่ง ไลท์

Swirling Light is Shoegaze Alternative Band from Bangkok, Thailand. The project started when Manasya Sachorfah (Bas) met Chonlatas Chansiri in University. She asked him to teach her the guitar and soon they discovered that their music tastes were very similar. When Chonlatas decided to start a band he asked Bas to join him. In turn 3 other members joined the band.

The released one EP and one Album with the same name (World is full of Noise), the title being an homage to their favorite band, My Bloody Valentine.

They toured in Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia before even being known in Thailand. After they left University, they stopped playing together as life commitments took over.

They are still well remembered, and one of the seminal Thai shoegaze bands.

The lineup was:

Manasya: guitar, voice

Chonlatas: guitar

Ae: guitar

Tippy: bass

Bass: drums

Music work:

2009: World is full of Noise, EP and LP

Some songs we love:

Thanks

First a big thank you to Punnawich for his work (superb introduction) and his kindness. He is a treasure of information and contacts on the Thai scene + do a superb work in getting the Shoegaze genre better known. Make sure to follow his The year shoegaze broke if you are in Thailand.

Thanks to Manasya B Sachorfah (Bas) for her time in providing information on Swirling Light. Thanks to all the Telever, Monomania, Solitude is Bliss that reviewed the information above + to Desktop Error and Inspirative for all their kindness and patience when we worked together in the past.

And last thanks to the Facebook group Shoegaze Japan that always support Asian and Thai music.

Stay tuned for the volume 2 with many more exceptional bands.

[cynthiadshaw]

What’s the Most Important Lesson You’ve Learned Along Your Journey?

Every twist in our story, challenge we face, and obstacle we overcome is an important part of our story.  These difficulties make us stronger and wiser and prepare us for what’s ahead.  As we grow and succeed we may imagine that soon the challenges will fade away, but in our conversations with business owners, artists, creatives, academics, and others we have learned that the most common experience is that challenges never go away – instead they get more complex as we grow and succeed.  Our ability to to thrive therefore depends heavily on our ability to learn from our experiences and so we are asking some of the city’s best and brightest: What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned along your journey?

Stephen Lohoefer | Pastor, The Grove Church

The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey thus far has also been the most difficult to learn. That lesson is patience— patience that storms will pass; patience that good things will come. Over and over again, God has shown me that most of the time, the thing I want the most will come in time. I just have to learn to trust the process.

Grove.org @grovechurchdallas @stephenlohoefer @GroveChurchDallas

Dennis Johnson | Insurance specialist and Forex investor

Never avoid being uncomfortable. To deny uncomfortably is to deny growth.

@Gabe.Jade

Emily Le | Makeup Artist & Beauty Influencer

@arialised

The most important lesson I’ve learned is self-love. Building yourself up, and embracing all that you are and accepting it. You learn new things about yourself as you reach deeper into your mind. Sometimes negative things are rooted deeply in us and we do not realize it, such as insecurities about our selves. Self-love has many benefits, & happiness is one of them.

etreecosmo.com @etreecosmo

Diego Merel | Traveler and Sales Rep

I’ve learned to find happiness within myself rather than finding happiness in other people. I started making healthier choices regarding my personal health and everything around me started to snowball from there.

@lobo_chicco

Angie McComb | aka #Solargirltx with her SolarBulldog, Lola Lu

I have learned that staying authentic matters, that being your true self in any situation pays out tenfold and I’ve learned that everyone has a story. I have clients in multi-million dollar homes and I have clients with disconnect notices worrying about how to pay the electricity bill, but the relationships and the human element are the same. I have chosen a career path that’s designed to help people and that’s my reward at the end of every day.

@SolarGirlTX @SolarGirlTX

  Garrick Thomas | Singer | Actor | Model

The most important lesson I have learned on this journey is to never lose yourself and keep fighting because your time is near. We want to give up when things aren’t going our way and that’s when you have to push yourself harder to strive for your ultimate goal.

@gstylez817 @gstylez817 @gstylez817 Soundcloud: @gstyelz817 Snapchat: @gmangsent

Tricia Ann Garcia | Interior Stylist & Home Stager

If you give 100 percent of your attention, energy, and time to a thing, you will get exactly that back.

@triciagarciainteriors

King.Kidd | Artist & Entrepreneur

Loco Conroe

Slow and steady wins the race! Making sure to trust the process, never rush it.

@QueenLashes45

Von Harris | Photographer & Cinematographer

The most important lesson I’ve learned on my journey was realizing that sometimes failure can be necessary and the best thing that can happen. Getting knocked down is sometimes necessary to make you get up and be the Stronger, Smarter & Better person you’re supposed to be! Always keep working on my craft and myself because if I can consistently make myself better then everything else I do will evolve as well!

VonHarrisProductions.com @VonHarrisProductions

Damian Roberts | Management of 2 Lit- Live Hungry Die Fat Clothing | Entrepreneur, and Physical Therapy

Keeping God first, Pay yourself first, Invest in other people, mindset is everything, dream big, having amazing mentors in your life, being willing to unlearn and reinvent yourself in moving forward towards your journey of success. When you are intentionally focused on your goals, you will be amazed on what you can accomplish. Every success book, entrepreneur, and major business owner out there will tell you the one principle that got them to their level of success. The principle is they chose themselves. You are in control of your life so take action in moving forward in your journey of success. I am honored to have an excellent team of entrepreneur brothers who are all liked minded individuals with work ethics that are unmatched. We are a team so this article is just as important for them. Never give up, follow your dreams, and do what the other 99% won’t.

livehungrydiefat.com @livehungrydiefat @reez2lit @drob2lit @diddy2lit @theboy2lit @tana2lit @mattmayne2lit @gotti2lit @chaptheconnect

Flavio Venancio | tattoo artist

The most important lesson I’ve learned is that, first of all, you have to do what you love otherwise it’s a waste of life. Second, no matter how good you are in your field, there is always something new to learn and improve. Learning is really a never-ending process and you have to keep that in mind to succeed. Tattooing is my passion, is what I love to do, but I don’t take it for granted. For me, I want and I need to evolve every day and I do it with pleasure. I’ve been tattooing for over 15 years and I’ve worked in different countries like Indonesia, Japan, Australia, Brazil. I love being around different cultures, different art and learning new techniques. The more I learn, more I realize how much is there to learn. The better you are in your art, the more people expect from you, it’s a challenge and I love it.

@flavio_tattoo

Joy Smallwood | Resin Artist

Jadon Smallwood

I am a perfectionist and my own worst critic. I’ve had to learn that art isn’t about perfection, it’s about creating something to share with others. I have been shocked by the enthusiasm around some of my pieces which I was not particularly fond of myself. I’ve learned that everybody has different tastes, you just need to find the right audience to share it with. Lastly, I’ve learned not to focus on making sales, instead I focus on building relationships with people!

@joysmallwood_art @joysmallwood_art spreesy.com/Joysmallwoodart

Ian “KWAME” Asibey | Musician | Drummer

Michael Barrera

The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey so far is patience and preparation . I’ve been playing drums for over 13 years now and joining Artemis funk (a 7 piece band from Arlington, TX) was has been a great learning experience. I’ve become a better listener and someone who is a lot more organized in terms of planning. Scheduling rehearsals and gigs with 6 other people be complicated; working with personal and work schedules, etc. I realized like everything that’s with having its patience and understanding that helps things move forward. When I first saw the band together they already had a drummer, but I knew these were the people I wanted to work with. The opportunity came for me to fill in for the drummer, and I was prepared for it; practicing and going to jam sessions as much as I could. Long story short a month later I was asked to be the permanent drummer. Playing with them ever since has been fantastic, but patience and preparation is a must. With 7 different opinions on almost everything we discuss, we have to be able to listen to one another and have enough patience and empathy to understand where the person is coming from. No matter what it is if we’re patience and prepared to tackle the situation, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish.

@ian.asibey  @kingkwame95 @artemisfunk @iangoinskiin

Autumn Taylor | Product Developer and Owner of BERE Lingerie

During journey thus far , my most important lesson is to take everything day by day. I always had the tendency to rush into things I wanted most and ended up failing due to my impatience , but now as I go day by day I can now say I am where I need to be at the right time and will get to where I need exactly when I am supposed to. I no longer rush things that are set to come later or stress things out of my control.

@Aavum  @berecolingerie

Tasha Olorunnisomo | Love coach and Motivational Speaker

The most important lesson I have learned so far in my journey is never let fear stop you from accomplishing your goals in life. Life will have many challenges but you will overcome all of them if you do not quit. Do not allow anyone to stop you from accomplishing your lifelong dream, you are worth it.

@livelovelifecoachtasha

  Brooks Wallace | Student | Athlete | Entrepreneur

@visionbymitch

Comparison can kill a calling. Comparing yourself to another person does nothing but delay your own growth. If your time is spent focused on what someone else is doing, you’re wasting time that is be better spent prioritizing what you could be doing. What you focus on most is what you’ll bring to fruition. There is a distinct difference between learning from other’s experiences and comparing your success to other’s. You cannot compare your process season to someone else’s winning season. Don’t cripple your creativity with comparison.

@thebrookswallace music.apple.com/us/album/artboy-sznn/1479115275

Annaly Mawire | Worship Leader

The secret to a victorious life is praise. Life brings hardships and battles. We bring our own defeat when we focus on our circumstances. Praise and worship does the opposite. It keeps you focused on God. Who He is. What He has done and what He will do. It is the language of faith. Praise speaks life to a lifeless situation. It speaks power to a powerless, beat down attitude. Praise takes the supernatural victory and materializes it. This lifestyle of praise in the middle of storms is the secret to our victory. Proclaiming the power and faithfulness of God, that He is working on our behalf through His Word, becoming so convinced of it, brings peace through the chaos and hardships. It is the greatest weapon we have against the trials of life. God moves where His Spirit dwells. His Spirit dwells where He is praised.

@annalymawire  @annaly.mawire

Kate Lyubarsky | Entrepreneur and Owner of The Dapper Dog Shop

The most important lesson I’ve learned so far is that you have to hustle. To start a business you need to be passionate and ready to put in the time. It can be long days and late nights, but if you love it then it’s totally worth it. The more effort you put into it, the more you will learn and grow, and the more rewarding it will be when you succeed. Work hard, be patient and tell yourself you can do this.

Thedapperdogshop.com  @Thedapperdogshop

  John Clark | Serial Entrepreneur

Over the past 15 years as an entrepreneur, the most important lesson I have learned is you can’t get anywhere far without great people. A great team working together as a collective to achieve a common goal will allow a company to grow faster, offer better products, yield better returns, and more importantly ensure the best customer experience.

prosrent.com @Prosrent @Prosrent Linked.In: Prosrent

DJ Ward | Fashion & Fitness Influencer

I’ve learned a lot about my journey so far. An important lesson I’ll always keep with me is someone is always watching, so the content, vibes and advice you put out are very meaningful. Whether it is a younger kid looking to follow my footsteps or a peer seeking inspiration for his or hers next outfit or workout. So always be a positive contribution!

@dj_ward9

Julian Palafox | Barber | Owner of Revolt Barbershop

I think the most important lesson I’ve learned along this journey is to run towards every challenge that scares me. If everything I wanted came easy I wouldn’t appreciate it. Also, to always remain true to myself and ALWAYS give the glory to God for the things I do accomplish. I’d also like to thank my loyal clientele for always supporting me, and most of all my staff because without them I wouldn’t be here.

revoltbarbershop.com @revoltbarbershop @julianthebarber

  Kambri Whitney | Owner of Bring Me Bronze- Mobile Spray Tans and Teeth Whitening

Mindset is everything- when you are intentionally focused on the things you want, it’s amazing what you can accomplish. You are able to achieve more than you could imagine, all by adjusting your mindset and focusing. Choosing to be happy and choosing to be successful comes down to active persuit in every decision. On the flip side, if you choose to be angry and offended, you are focusing on the negative and will just draw more of that energy and regress further from your goals and wishes. Your reality is truly shaped by your mind and the energy that you put towards your thoughts each day. I find this very empowering to know I can control my future by refocusing my mindset and thoughts. It really is that easy, test it out!

@kambrilynae  @bringmebronze

Phoebe O’Connor | Leasing Agent and Sports Psych Graduate Student

The most important thing I have learned thus far is to put your absolute heart into everything and have 0 regrets about it. Too many times we bombard ourself with “what if’s” and doubt ourselves and our decisions because of what everyone else is doing. I try to fully embody myself as a go getter without any limits. Love hard, work hard, and pray hard, you will see results and don’t worry about the outcome.

@feebs513 @feebs513

Jessica Navarrete | fashion blogger and life enthusiast

If I’ve learned anything throughout my journey, it’s that it’s truly not about the destination, it’s about the ride. Sometimes we’re so focused on getting to our goals and racing to the finish line, we forget to just enjoy where we are now. It’s so important to enjoy where you are now.

sundayinyellow.com @jessnavarrete

Crystal Salvador | Balayage & Color Correction Specialist

Growing up I was always passionate about the beauty industry, giving credit to my mother who was also a cosmetologist and beauty guru in my eyes, but I must also say my fire started when I was a teenager battling with low self-esteem. Pampering myself through my hairstyles gave me confidence and felt it was a calling to do the same for others feeling the same way. I still remember picking up my first pair of shears at the age of 12 and giving a layered haircut to someone, it just came so naturally, of course, I loved it! Regis was where I was able to get my feet wet, starting as a front desk receptionist, while I attended evening classes for cosmetology, as a front desk this meant many responsibilities which included washing towels, cleaning, inventory, and helping stylists with much more. I was determined to learn and I carried a small notepad with me everywhere because I was hungry for knowledge, I absorbed everything my sponge feeling brain would allow! Not caring what it took but knowing I would get there some day. After graduation I was able to move on to the floor as a stylist, lucky to say the salon manager mentored me and took me under her wing, allowing me to grow more with my skills. A couple months later I was offered an opportunity I did not want to pass up although I had been already on the floor as a stylist but I wanted to learn more so I began assisting in uptown. I spoke with the salon owner there which also became my mentor and I told her how I wanted to try and see if I could become a commission-based stylist, she gave me encouraging words and told me that I was an amazing stylist to go for it. I then gathered my small clientele and moved closer to home Garland at the time. Now this is where I learned that you have to grow thick skin, how to build and keep a good clientele and how important good communication skills is. It was a true struggle having to balance being a mother and trying to grow as an entrepreneur, but glad to say it was all worth it. Now I have my own suite and my journey like many others has not been easy but rewarding to say the least. In this process I have learned from every single person I have met, and had the privilege to serve, allowing me to also help empower women. No appointment goes without moments of tears and great laughs. I love that my clients find trust in me for support, encouragement or just someone to vent with, which led to me also aiming for my Family counseling degree. I have felt every laugh and tear my clients share, giving me the greatest lesson of all through this voyage. Sometimes I can’t help but to feel tired and a willingness to give up but then remember why I started this. I’ve had the privilege to serve clients with final wishes by getting their hair done by me and those that I have taught me that I have purpose in this industry and there is a reason why this fire was planted in me. One of the main reasons I became a stylist is to help others find their inner beauty as I have with myself. I love learning to evolve with the many change’s the hair industry brings, it allows me to learn new techniques and to always satisfy my clients needs. All that I have learned has taken me to where I stand now and passionately loving what I do.

@xocrystalhairstylistxo @xocrystalhairstylistxo

CJ Cannon | Iconic Snow

Business won’t boom with a minimum wage work ethic.

@xxiconicSnow   ccannon4.myportfolio.com/urban

Stacy Hall | Fashion & Lifestyle Blogger

I hate the saying “be yourself because everyone else is taken” because I feel that it’s so overdone but it’s also incredibly true. The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey so far is to be yourself. In life, and especially in the Instagram world, it’s ridiculously easy to compare yourself to others. It’s very easy to think “I’ll never be as pretty as her, as skinny as her, have as amazing photos as her..” and the list goes on and on. I’ve learned from my own personal experience that you can’t do anything but be yourself and embrace it. Maybe you want to share a picture that isn’t absolutely perfect – do it!! Get real on your stories and say what you feel or think (within reason). I don’t think you’ll ever regret being true to yourself!

astoldbystacy.com @astoldbystacy

Heather Rose | Airbrush Artist

The most important lesson I’ve learned so far is to never forget how it feels to be on the other side of the airbrush gun. In 3 years I’ve done around 4K tans, it’s easy to get into my mode and just get it done! Remembering how vulnerable you feel getting undressed in front of a stranger and how whether a client is tanning for a wedding, trip or event, the result will either make or break the experience. I often tell my employees during training that every tan is a wedding tan, meaning every airbrush deserves the detail and attention of an important event, no matter what the client is tanning for.

@airbrushisanart  youresopale.com

Roofing Ranger | Your Roofer on Call

It’s to be grateful to all the people you meet in your life. Good or Bad, they all teach you important lessons in your life. The more you meet the more experience you get!

roofingranger.com @roofingranger

DJ MarkCutz | Professional On-Air DJ

The most important lesson I’ve learned so far during my 10 year journey as a DJ, is to always stay true to who YOU are. You are unique and carry a style that no one has; once you learn that, nothing can stop you.

@djmarkcutz @djmarkcutz @djmarkcutz mixcloud.com/djmarkcutz

The post What’s the Most Important Lesson You’ve Learned Along Your Journey? appeared first on Voyage Dallas Magazine | Dallas City Guide.

source http://voyagedallas.com/2019/09/11/whats-important-lesson-youve-learned-along-journey-2/

[djlifeparttwo]

A very good year.

Yikes. It’s actually been a year since I last wrote in this “journal” of ours.

It has indeed been a very good 12 months since I was last recovering from pneumonia in Nepal. After that break / adventure we were back in the states for another couple of months with great travels doing On Stage Alaska. It truly is a wonderful gig. You never know what you might discover. We had the best Korean beef bulgogi in a dive bar In Oklahoma (keep in mind we had just been in Korea so we know good bulgogi) We had a motel room in San Diego that served its complementary breakfast outside in the parking lot. We hiked around Garden of the Gods in Colorado and met many fabulous people along the way. And... still can’t believe it. We had a week in Oregon and Dee put together the greatest surprise. She knew that playing golf at Bandon Dunes was a bucket list trip for me. Unbeknownst to me, she not only booked a tee time but flew in my best friend and golf buddy Scott to play. It was magical. Dee, Scott, I cant thank you enough. And good lord what a place. It far surpassed everything I’d hoped.

That took us to our next break and it was time to get exotic. Kuala Lumpur then Langkawi and a stay at the phenomenal Andaman resort. Which was highlighted by hearing about how some monkeys got into a Russian guests room, drank all the vodka and passed out. 2 in the bathroom and one on the bed. How it was explained to us - “ the monkeys drink all the booze and go flat”.

We wandered Penang with all its fabulous street art then boarded a Seabourn cruise from Singapore to Dubai. Wow. Seabourn will spoil you. The ships beautiful. The restaurants are great and the staff is amazing. But... gotta admit, we’re just not wired to be on a ship for that long. It was 19 days. A lot of cool ports of call but also 9 days at sea. We were being completely pampered but found ourselves at many a meal time looking at each other and saying “we should have done a Camino “. Seabourn was amazing, perhaps just not our kind of amazing. Though we did meet two gents that were / are just jewels. These two gents have been friends since school days. Both married their school sweethearts, started and ran a hugely successful business and the 4 of them traveled the world. Places you can’t really go to these days. Afghanistan, Syria etc. they had such great stories. But the most interesting part was that sadly both of their wives passed a few years back so - they just became a couple and have kept on going. Hand in hand. Beautiful. Though I was dying to ask what the tipping point was. Do you look at each other and say “well, it’s just us now. Whaddya want to do?”

Then it was back to Alaska for another season. We love it up there. Truly do. The place, the people and the “work”. There’s not a day goes by where we don’t look at each other and express gratitude. It’s not always easy but it’s always wonderful.

Then back to On Stage and some new cities. We’ve had so many surprises- didn’t know Milwaukee was so cool. How bout Grand Rapids? Fargo??

And - we met Dr. Afordable. I’d been dealing with some strange awful seemingly incurable skin disease on my arms for 10 months. Anyone who’s spent time on the mats gets something. It just comes with it. But jeezus this sh#t wouldn’t go away. 5 different doctors in 4 different countries and nothing. It kinda stopped spreading but it wasn’t giving up. I’d had more pills and creams thrown at this thing but to no avail. 10 months! So, we’re in Florida in October and it’s still Hot like it’s July. The arm thing loves the heat and gets real active. So I find myself more miserable with it than I’d been in a while. Dee starts calling dermatologist’s but no one can see us until January. I’m frustrated but Dee never gives up. She finds Dr Afordable. No lie. That’s on his shingle. It’s in back of a black woman’s beauty parlor. We walk through said beauty parlor and see a guy sitting behind a desk through an open door. “You the doc?” We ask. He says “come in, sit down”. Nice guy. Friendly. We sit and he asks what’s up. We go through the whole spiel (at this point somethings now going on wth my eyes. Swollen and itching like hell). He looks me over asks some questions and writes some scripts. Tells us if they don’t work we should go overseas to get a full blood work up. Overseas because it’d be way cheaper.

The bill for this office visit - with a true medical doctor - who didn’t rush us - talked to us - asked in depth questions and then wrote 6 prescriptions (3 for the eye stuff & 2 for the arm thing). $43. Yup. Under $45 and Zero paper work. I filled out No forms. I generally spend more time on the forms than I do with the doctor.

Oh, and it all worked. After all those docs and all their medications - Dr Affordable.

- he actually has a large practice in Tampa but he and a couple other docs volunteer time at this small clinic in Zepherhills. Thank you Doc,

Lets go to Japan.

[itsfinancethings]

For years, Jennell Lévêque has been getting up early and swiping through her phone in the hope that Amazon Flex would drop some shifts for delivery drivers and that she’d be quick enough to nab one. But since the COVID-19 pandemic, even with six apps open for various delivery platforms, Lévêque has gotten barely any jobs delivering packages, meals, or groceries. The Facebook group she runs for Instacart workers, meanwhile, is deluged with requests from new shoppers who want to join.

Before the pandemic, there were millions of people like Lévêque who could make a living, or at least earn decent pocket money, off gig work: driving people from the airport to distant homes, delivering dinners, designing logos for strangers half a world away. But as the U.S. unemployment rate approaches 15% and as the International Monetary Fund predicts a 3% contraction in the global economy, people who have relied on gig work for income are seeing their earnings plummet as more people compete for jobs.

“Each week is getting worse and worse with every platform,” says Lévêque, who is in her forties and whose lament is borne out by company numbers. Upwork says it has seen a 50% increase in freelancer sign-ups since the pandemic began. Talkdesk, a customer service provider that has launched a gig economy platform, got 10,000 new applications for gig work in 10 days. Instacart hired 300,000 additional workers in a month and said in late April it planned to add 250,000 more.

Though more people are having food delivered, receiving packages from Amazon and searching online for their graphic design and customer service needs, the surge of new workers has upended the law of supply and demand in the gig economy. Put simply, with at least 36 million newly jobless people in America alone as of mid-May, there are now too many would-be workers to make the gig economy viable for many of them, and this may be irreversible as companies adapt to the reality of a global recession. By keeping head counts low, they’ll drive more desperate people into the gig economy, expanding the potential labor pool for jobs and driving down the prices that workers can command.

“The rates on DoorDash and Uber Eats are the lowest I’ve ever seen, but they’re all bad right now,” says Lévêque, who’s watched the trend unfold in recent weeks. Apps like Amazon Flex, whose drivers use their personal vehicles to make deliveries for the company, “drop” or release jobs at a certain time, and Lévêque and other drivers say that these jobs are snapped up within seconds. Some Amazon Flex drivers have taken to sitting in parking lots near Amazon warehouses in hopes this will help them beat the competition.

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Apps like Instacart send “offers,” which let workers see how many groceries a customer has ordered, how much they’ll get paid, and what the tip will be. On some apps, these offers are lower than ever, Lévêque says. (Instacart says its shoppers are earning 60% more per batch of orders they complete in part because tips have nearly doubled, and that while they may not see the same volume of orders as they did before, the average number of batches has stayed essentially the same.) As we talked, Lévêque turned down a food delivery offer for $3 because it wasn’t worth the gas she’d have to use. Another driver named Kevin, 43, who didn’t want his last name used because he doesn’t want his full-time job to know that he drives on the side, says Amazon Flex shifts now pay around $18-20 an hour, down from $28-$32 an hour before the pandemic.

As more workers rush to apps, there’s also a rise in people trying to take advantage of their desperation. Hustlers are launching bots that use algorithms to grab jobs before humans can and then charge potential workers to use these bots, says Matthew Telles, a longtime Instacart shopper who has been outspoken about the platform’s flaws. The so-called “grabber bots” take a bunch of jobs as soon as they come out, which means only people who have the bots installed can find work. Instacart shoppers pay a fee to use the bots, which are also a problem on services like Amazon Flex. Instacart in particular “has become a target for these exploitative apps that force laborers to pay just to get them access,” Telles says. (Instacart says that using unauthorized third parties in an effort to secure more batches is not permitted and that anyone found to be doing so will be deactivated.)

Delivery drivers like Lévêque have one advantage—they are only competing for jobs with people from their own geographic area. On sites like Fiverr and Upwork, where people can sell services as diverse as logo design, digital marketing and voice acting, workers are competing with others from around the world. Anyone with an internet connection can vie for these gigs, and the worse the global economy gets in the wake of COVID-19, the more people will stream on these sites looking for work. The World Bank estimates that COVID-19 will cause the first increase in global poverty since 1998.

Bill O’Leary—The Washington Post/Getty ImagesA crowd of delivery drivers waits to pick up orders from &Pizza on March 19, 2020 in Washington D.C.

“It’s a race to the bottom, honestly,” says Melanie Nichols, a 40-year-old marketer who has been freelancing for tech startups in Los Angeles for seven years. With business slowing in the wake of the pandemic, Nichols created an Upwork account from England, where she was staying with family, and tried to earn some extra money. Before the pandemic, she could charge between $100 to $150 an hour to clients, whom she’d meet in person or through referrals. On Upwork, she says, clients advertise jobs that require the same amount of work but pay $50 an hour, or less. Getting those jobs is nearly impossible—Nichols says she’s applied for 20 since March and heard back from four. One led to an actual paying gig, which ended up being more work than she was pitched, and so Nichols did 25 hours of work for 10 hours of pay. “Upwork seems to be such a good idea,” she says, “but I’d be curious to find people who are actually making money from it.”

Steven Lee Notar, 24, is in the same situation. He worked as a graphic designer at a media agency in Germany until the company first reduced his hours and then laid him off. He started advertising on Fiverr for services like designing online ads, posters and business cards, but says he has to set his prices low to get any orders. “A lot of people in my field have turned to the website,” Notar says. “It is a lot of supply but not a lot of demand.”

Sites like Upwork and Fiverr say the demand is still there. Adam Ozimek, the chief economist at Upwork, says that a third of Fortune 500 companies now use the platform, and that client spending has been stable since the pandemic hit. Upwork has not tracked whether freelancer pay rates have gone down, but Ozimek argues that Upwork’s borderless business model is good for gig workers because it gives them the freedom to find employers anywhere, not just in their city or country. “This is where the U.S. has the advantage,” he says. “The U.S. leads the world in skilled services, and our freelancers do find work all over the world.”

What worries some workers is that this scramble of competing with more people for lower-paying gigs is going to become the new normal as businesses try to stay lean by spending as little as possible. Twitter said Tuesday that going forward, employees could work from home forever if they so desired. But once people are working from home, what’s the incentive to keep them on as salaried employees? Arguably, companies could save money and balance their budgets by hiring overseas marketers or coders willing to work for less money and no benefits. Nearly half of the world is now connected to the Internet, up from just 15% in 2007.

Giant marketing companies like WPP and Omnicom have already talked about significant headcount reductions going forward and restructuring—they could turn to online freelancers once business starts up again. One survey found that as early as 2017, average hourly earnings on some platforms like Clickworker and Amazon’s Mechanical Turk were as low as $2 to $6.5 an hour.

There are signs this transition is already happening. Companies that are trying to grow online are hiring many gig workers on Fiverr, and Fiverr has seen an increase in demand for these workers, the company said on its earnings call in May. Fiverr hit all-time daily revenue records four times in April, CEO Micha Kaufman said. Nichols, the marketer, says she has seen big advertising agencies that have laid off hundreds of people hiring gig workers for marketing jobs on Upwork. Upwork said on its May earnings call that a multinational cybersecurity company used Upwork to find designers and developers, and a sports marketing agency hired software developers and animators on the site for projects. Aside from a moral obligation to treat workers well and pay them a living wage, there’s nothing to prevent more companies from jettisoning full-time employees and shifting to lower-paid gig workers.

They’d just be following what has been happening for decades in other fields. Just as manufacturing shifted overseas for cheaper labor and as gig economy apps drove down wages for taxi and delivery drivers, the pandemic has hastened the gig-ification of white-collar jobs. The gig economy might have been a crowded space before COVID-19, but the booming economy masked its workers’ struggles because many of them could find other jobs to supplement their income. Now, that extra work has dried up, and their desperation is more evident than ever. When gig work is the only pie that’s available to millions of people, sharing it means that some don’t even get crumbs.

[cynthiadshaw]

What’s the Most Important Lesson You’ve Learned Along Your Journey?

Every twist in our story, challenge we face, and obstacle we overcome is an important part of our story.  These difficulties make us stronger and wiser and prepare us for what’s ahead.  As we grow and succeed we may imagine that soon the challenges will fade away, but in our conversations with business owners, artists, creatives, academics, and others we have learned that the most common experience is that challenges never go away – instead they get more complex as we grow and succeed.  Our ability to to thrive therefore depends heavily on our ability to learn from our experiences and so we are asking some of the city’s best and brightest: What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned along your journey?

Stephen Lohoefer | Pastor, The Grove Church

The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey thus far has also been the most difficult to learn. That lesson is patience— patience that storms will pass; patience that good things will come. Over and over again, God has shown me that most of the time, the thing I want the most will come in time. I just have to learn to trust the process.

Grove.org @grovechurchdallas @stephenlohoefer @GroveChurchDallas

Dennis Johnson | Insurance specialist and Forex investor

Never avoid being uncomfortable. To deny uncomfortably is to deny growth.

@Gabe.Jade

Emily Le | Makeup Artist & Beauty Influencer

@arialised

The most important lesson I’ve learned is self-love. Building yourself up, and embracing all that you are and accepting it. You learn new things about yourself as you reach deeper into your mind. Sometimes negative things are rooted deeply in us and we do not realize it, such as insecurities about our selves. Self-love has many benefits, & happiness is one of them.

etreecosmo.com @etreecosmo

Diego Merel | Traveler and Sales Rep

I’ve learned to find happiness within myself rather than finding happiness in other people. I started making healthier choices regarding my personal health and everything around me started to snowball from there.

@lobo_chicco

Angie McComb | aka #Solargirltx with her SolarBulldog, Lola Lu

I have learned that staying authentic matters, that being your true self in any situation pays out tenfold and I’ve learned that everyone has a story. I have clients in multi-million dollar homes and I have clients with disconnect notices worrying about how to pay the electricity bill, but the relationships and the human element are the same. I have chosen a career path that’s designed to help people and that’s my reward at the end of every day.

@SolarGirlTX @SolarGirlTX

  Garrick Thomas | Singer | Actor | Model

The most important lesson I have learned on this journey is to never lose yourself and keep fighting because your time is near. We want to give up when things aren’t going our way and that’s when you have to push yourself harder to strive for your ultimate goal.

@gstylez817 @gstylez817 @gstylez817 Soundcloud: @gstyelz817 Snapchat: @gmangsent

Tricia Ann Garcia | Interior Stylist & Home Stager

If you give 100 percent of your attention, energy, and time to a thing, you will get exactly that back.

@triciagarciainteriors

King.Kidd | Artist & Entrepreneur

Loco Conroe

Slow and steady wins the race! Making sure to trust the process, never rush it.

@QueenLashes45

Von Harris | Photographer & Cinematographer

The most important lesson I’ve learned on my journey was realizing that sometimes failure can be necessary and the best thing that can happen. Getting knocked down is sometimes necessary to make you get up and be the Stronger, Smarter & Better person you’re supposed to be! Always keep working on my craft and myself because if I can consistently make myself better then everything else I do will evolve as well!

VonHarrisProductions.com @VonHarrisProductions

Damian Roberts | Management of 2 Lit- Live Hungry Die Fat Clothing | Entrepreneur, and Physical Therapy

Keeping God first, Pay yourself first, Invest in other people, mindset is everything, dream big, having amazing mentors in your life, being willing to unlearn and reinvent yourself in moving forward towards your journey of success. When you are intentionally focused on your goals, you will be amazed on what you can accomplish. Every success book, entrepreneur, and major business owner out there will tell you the one principle that got them to their level of success. The principle is they chose themselves. You are in control of your life so take action in moving forward in your journey of success. I am honored to have an excellent team of entrepreneur brothers who are all liked minded individuals with work ethics that are unmatched. We are a team so this article is just as important for them. Never give up, follow your dreams, and do what the other 99% won’t.

livehungrydiefat.com @livehungrydiefat @reez2lit @drob2lit @diddy2lit @theboy2lit @tana2lit @mattmayne2lit @gotti2lit @chaptheconnect

Flavio Venancio | tattoo artist

The most important lesson I’ve learned is that, first of all, you have to do what you love otherwise it’s a waste of life. Second, no matter how good you are in your field, there is always something new to learn and improve. Learning is really a never-ending process and you have to keep that in mind to succeed. Tattooing is my passion, is what I love to do, but I don’t take it for granted. For me, I want and I need to evolve every day and I do it with pleasure. I’ve been tattooing for over 15 years and I’ve worked in different countries like Indonesia, Japan, Australia, Brazil. I love being around different cultures, different art and learning new techniques. The more I learn, more I realize how much is there to learn. The better you are in your art, the more people expect from you, it’s a challenge and I love it.

@flavio_tattoo

Joy Smallwood | Resin Artist

Jadon Smallwood

I am a perfectionist and my own worst critic. I’ve had to learn that art isn’t about perfection, it’s about creating something to share with others. I have been shocked by the enthusiasm around some of my pieces which I was not particularly fond of myself. I’ve learned that everybody has different tastes, you just need to find the right audience to share it with. Lastly, I’ve learned not to focus on making sales, instead I focus on building relationships with people!

@joysmallwood_art @joysmallwood_art spreesy.com/Joysmallwoodart

Ian “KWAME” Asibey | Musician | Drummer

Michael Barrera

The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey so far is patience and preparation . I’ve been playing drums for over 13 years now and joining Artemis funk (a 7 piece band from Arlington, TX) was has been a great learning experience. I’ve become a better listener and someone who is a lot more organized in terms of planning. Scheduling rehearsals and gigs with 6 other people be complicated; working with personal and work schedules, etc. I realized like everything that’s with having its patience and understanding that helps things move forward. When I first saw the band together they already had a drummer, but I knew these were the people I wanted to work with. The opportunity came for me to fill in for the drummer, and I was prepared for it; practicing and going to jam sessions as much as I could. Long story short a month later I was asked to be the permanent drummer. Playing with them ever since has been fantastic, but patience and preparation is a must. With 7 different opinions on almost everything we discuss, we have to be able to listen to one another and have enough patience and empathy to understand where the person is coming from. No matter what it is if we’re patience and prepared to tackle the situation, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish.

@ian.asibey  @kingkwame95 @artemisfunk @iangoinskiin

Autumn Taylor | Product Developer and Owner of BERE Lingerie

During journey thus far , my most important lesson is to take everything day by day. I always had the tendency to rush into things I wanted most and ended up failing due to my impatience , but now as I go day by day I can now say I am where I need to be at the right time and will get to where I need exactly when I am supposed to. I no longer rush things that are set to come later or stress things out of my control.

@Aavum  @berecolingerie

Tasha Olorunnisomo | Love coach and Motivational Speaker

The most important lesson I have learned so far in my journey is never let fear stop you from accomplishing your goals in life. Life will have many challenges but you will overcome all of them if you do not quit. Do not allow anyone to stop you from accomplishing your lifelong dream, you are worth it.

@livelovelifecoachtasha

  Brooks Wallace | Student | Athlete | Entrepreneur

@visionbymitch

Comparison can kill a calling. Comparing yourself to another person does nothing but delay your own growth. If your time is spent focused on what someone else is doing, you’re wasting time that is be better spent prioritizing what you could be doing. What you focus on most is what you’ll bring to fruition. There is a distinct difference between learning from other’s experiences and comparing your success to other’s. You cannot compare your process season to someone else’s winning season. Don’t cripple your creativity with comparison.

@thebrookswallace music.apple.com/us/album/artboy-sznn/1479115275

Annaly Mawire | Worship Leader

The secret to a victorious life is praise. Life brings hardships and battles. We bring our own defeat when we focus on our circumstances. Praise and worship does the opposite. It keeps you focused on God. Who He is. What He has done and what He will do. It is the language of faith. Praise speaks life to a lifeless situation. It speaks power to a powerless, beat down attitude. Praise takes the supernatural victory and materializes it. This lifestyle of praise in the middle of storms is the secret to our victory. Proclaiming the power and faithfulness of God, that He is working on our behalf through His Word, becoming so convinced of it, brings peace through the chaos and hardships. It is the greatest weapon we have against the trials of life. God moves where His Spirit dwells. His Spirit dwells where He is praised.

@annalymawire  @annaly.mawire

Kate Lyubarsky | Entrepreneur and Owner of The Dapper Dog Shop

The most important lesson I’ve learned so far is that you have to hustle. To start a business you need to be passionate and ready to put in the time. It can be long days and late nights, but if you love it then it’s totally worth it. The more effort you put into it, the more you will learn and grow, and the more rewarding it will be when you succeed. Work hard, be patient and tell yourself you can do this.

Thedapperdogshop.com  @Thedapperdogshop

  John Clark | Serial Entrepreneur

Over the past 15 years as an entrepreneur, the most important lesson I have learned is you can’t get anywhere far without great people. A great team working together as a collective to achieve a common goal will allow a company to grow faster, offer better products, yield better returns, and more importantly ensure the best customer experience.

prosrent.com @Prosrent @Prosrent Linked.In: Prosrent

DJ Ward | Fashion & Fitness Influencer

I’ve learned a lot about my journey so far. An important lesson I’ll always keep with me is someone is always watching, so the content, vibes and advice you put out are very meaningful. Whether it is a younger kid looking to follow my footsteps or a peer seeking inspiration for his or hers next outfit or workout. So always be a positive contribution!

@dj_ward9

Julian Palafox | Barber | Owner of Revolt Barbershop

I think the most important lesson I’ve learned along this journey is to run towards every challenge that scares me. If everything I wanted came easy I wouldn’t appreciate it. Also, to always remain true to myself and ALWAYS give the glory to God for the things I do accomplish. I’d also like to thank my loyal clientele for always supporting me, and most of all my staff because without them I wouldn’t be here.

revoltbarbershop.com @revoltbarbershop @julianthebarber

  Kambri Whitney | Owner of Bring Me Bronze- Mobile Spray Tans and Teeth Whitening

Mindset is everything- when you are intentionally focused on the things you want, it’s amazing what you can accomplish. You are able to achieve more than you could imagine, all by adjusting your mindset and focusing. Choosing to be happy and choosing to be successful comes down to active persuit in every decision. On the flip side, if you choose to be angry and offended, you are focusing on the negative and will just draw more of that energy and regress further from your goals and wishes. Your reality is truly shaped by your mind and the energy that you put towards your thoughts each day. I find this very empowering to know I can control my future by refocusing my mindset and thoughts. It really is that easy, test it out!

@kambrilynae  @bringmebronze

Phoebe O’Connor | Leasing Agent and Sports Psych Graduate Student

The most important thing I have learned thus far is to put your absolute heart into everything and have 0 regrets about it. Too many times we bombard ourself with “what if’s” and doubt ourselves and our decisions because of what everyone else is doing. I try to fully embody myself as a go getter without any limits. Love hard, work hard, and pray hard, you will see results and don’t worry about the outcome.

@feebs513 @feebs513

Jessica Navarrete | fashion blogger and life enthusiast

If I’ve learned anything throughout my journey, it’s that it’s truly not about the destination, it’s about the ride. Sometimes we’re so focused on getting to our goals and racing to the finish line, we forget to just enjoy where we are now. It’s so important to enjoy where you are now.

sundayinyellow.com @jessnavarrete

Crystal Salvador | Balayage & Color Correction Specialist

Growing up I was always passionate about the beauty industry, giving credit to my mother who was also a cosmetologist and beauty guru in my eyes, but I must also say my fire started when I was a teenager battling with low self-esteem. Pampering myself through my hairstyles gave me confidence and felt it was a calling to do the same for others feeling the same way. I still remember picking up my first pair of shears at the age of 12 and giving a layered haircut to someone, it just came so naturally, of course, I loved it! Regis was where I was able to get my feet wet, starting as a front desk receptionist, while I attended evening classes for cosmetology, as a front desk this meant many responsibilities which included washing towels, cleaning, inventory, and helping stylists with much more. I was determined to learn and I carried a small notepad with me everywhere because I was hungry for knowledge, I absorbed everything my sponge feeling brain would allow! Not caring what it took but knowing I would get there some day. After graduation I was able to move on to the floor as a stylist, lucky to say the salon manager mentored me and took me under her wing, allowing me to grow more with my skills. A couple months later I was offered an opportunity I did not want to pass up although I had been already on the floor as a stylist but I wanted to learn more so I began assisting in uptown. I spoke with the salon owner there which also became my mentor and I told her how I wanted to try and see if I could become a commission-based stylist, she gave me encouraging words and told me that I was an amazing stylist to go for it. I then gathered my small clientele and moved closer to home Garland at the time. Now this is where I learned that you have to grow thick skin, how to build and keep a good clientele and how important good communication skills is. It was a true struggle having to balance being a mother and trying to grow as an entrepreneur, but glad to say it was all worth it. Now I have my own suite and my journey like many others has not been easy but rewarding to say the least. In this process I have learned from every single person I have met, and had the privilege to serve, allowing me to also help empower women. No appointment goes without moments of tears and great laughs. I love that my clients find trust in me for support, encouragement or just someone to vent with, which led to me also aiming for my Family counseling degree. I have felt every laugh and tear my clients share, giving me the greatest lesson of all through this voyage. Sometimes I can’t help but to feel tired and a willingness to give up but then remember why I started this. I’ve had the privilege to serve clients with final wishes by getting their hair done by me and those that I have taught me that I have purpose in this industry and there is a reason why this fire was planted in me. One of the main reasons I became a stylist is to help others find their inner beauty as I have with myself. I love learning to evolve with the many change’s the hair industry brings, it allows me to learn new techniques and to always satisfy my clients needs. All that I have learned has taken me to where I stand now and passionately loving what I do.

@xocrystalhairstylistxo @xocrystalhairstylistxo

CJ Cannon | Iconic Snow

Business won’t boom with a minimum wage work ethic.

@xxiconicSnow   ccannon4.myportfolio.com/urban

Stacy Hall | Fashion & Lifestyle Blogger

I hate the saying “be yourself because everyone else is taken” because I feel that it’s so overdone but it’s also incredibly true. The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey so far is to be yourself. In life, and especially in the Instagram world, it’s ridiculously easy to compare yourself to others. It’s very easy to think “I’ll never be as pretty as her, as skinny as her, have as amazing photos as her..” and the list goes on and on. I’ve learned from my own personal experience that you can’t do anything but be yourself and embrace it. Maybe you want to share a picture that isn’t absolutely perfect – do it!! Get real on your stories and say what you feel or think (within reason). I don’t think you’ll ever regret being true to yourself!

astoldbystacy.com @astoldbystacy

Heather Rose | Airbrush Artist

The most important lesson I’ve learned so far is to never forget how it feels to be on the other side of the airbrush gun. In 3 years I’ve done around 4K tans, it’s easy to get into my mode and just get it done! Remembering how vulnerable you feel getting undressed in front of a stranger and how whether a client is tanning for a wedding, trip or event, the result will either make or break the experience. I often tell my employees during training that every tan is a wedding tan, meaning every airbrush deserves the detail and attention of an important event, no matter what the client is tanning for.

@airbrushisanart  youresopale.com

Roofing Ranger | Your Roofer on Call

It’s to be grateful to all the people you meet in your life. Good or Bad, they all teach you important lessons in your life. The more you meet the more experience you get!

roofingranger.com @roofingranger

DJ MarkCutz | Professional On-Air DJ

The most important lesson I’ve learned so far during my 10 year journey as a DJ, is to always stay true to who YOU are. You are unique and carry a style that no one has; once you learn that, nothing can stop you.

@djmarkcutz @djmarkcutz @djmarkcutz mixcloud.com/djmarkcutz

The post What’s the Most Important Lesson You’ve Learned Along Your Journey? appeared first on Voyage Dallas Magazine | Dallas City Guide.

source http://voyagedallas.com/2019/09/11/whats-important-lesson-youve-learned-along-journey-2/