#brought to you in general by a tired small business owner who is so frustrated by this all advertising is bad crowd

[unforth]

I just realized USAdians on this website treat anti-capitalism the same way they treat voting.

As in: "I hate how this country is run, and I think both parties suck, so I won't vote." and when it's pointed out to them that treating both parties as "the same" when they're clearly NOT tends to lead to Republican victories and much worse public policies, they shrug and go "not my problem, I didn't vote" when it's like. Literally people not voting for Democrats because they'd prefer a Perfect Dream Candidate Who Is Much More Left is part of why Republicans win as often as they do, especially on a national level.

As in: "I hate capitalism and being advertised to, so fuck no, I won't give Tumblr/Mozilla/this small business/this independent creator my money, they advertised to me!" with zero recognition that as much as we all hate capitalism, we're fucking stuck with it, and the platforms you love won't exist without support, and small and individually owned business will cease to exist without customers, whereas their anti-capitalism "just don't buy things that are advertised to them" thinking doesn't hurt the big places at all and therefore their attitudes actually tend to further the most harmful aspects of capitalism instead of preventing them.

As it turns out, doing nothing is pretty much the exact opposite of virtuous in cases like this! Who'd have thunk!

(don't even get me started on the forms of privilege that go into saying, "the outcomes of this actually matter to me so little that I think it's better to do absolutely nothing than to compromise and support something that isn't perfect/exactly what I want." And definitely don't get me started when the platforms disappear, the business close, the bad laws are passed, and people go, "but I didn't vote for the Leopards Eating My Face party OR the Leopards Not Eating My Face party and it's not MY fault the Leopards Eating My Face party won so WHY ARE LEOPARDS EATING MY FACE?")

[checkoutafrica]

Zimbabwe’s Afronomads and their journey to revolutionize African Travel

Travelling has always been one of those activities which brings the unexpected, unforgettable and intimate experiences. Dalai Lama once said that at least once in a year one should go someplace you have never been before. Personally travel is my unconventional massage for the soul. It has always been viewed as one of those undertakings that waters the garden of Eden in our lives, exposes us to new cultures and reveals the truths of the our own origins, rejuvenates a tired soul and so forth. Social media has brought a new wave of young travellers or travel influencers and travel content creators exposing the hidden gems around the World.

Having studied outside of Zimbabwe and being introduced to travel at a tender age by their parents makes the Mutyavaviri twins no strangers to the world of travel. The curiosity of knowing more about Zimbabwe dampened the seed for their love of travel. Starting their content creation journey with only a mobile phone, Afronomads have travelled to countries such as Tanzania, Kenya, Mozambique, Malawi, Botswana, Zambia, Swaziland, South Africa, India and United Arab Emirates (UAE). In Zimbabwe they have been to destinations such as Victoria Falls, Kariba, Chipinge, Chimanimani, Hwange, Honde Valley, Inyanga and Umfurudzi National Park. Tariro and Chiedza Mutyavaviri, the pair who make up Afronomads Zimbabwe are travel influencers, travel content creators and travel agency owners.

“The reason we started Afronomads was to showcase travel in Zimbabwe and basically other countries in Africa. Our aim was to showcase other places that are in Zimbabwe besides Victoria Falls. Another main thing that we wanted to highlight was that you can travel to a lot of places out there that are not only five star rated. There are so many options when travelling in Zimbabwe, so many accommodation options, so many things that one can do that are not really known by a lot of people; hence we really wanted to highlight that through our travel” conversed the duo on the inception of their enterprise.

The Afronomads. Image courtesy of Afronomads Zimbabwe

The Afronomads started off showcasing their travels in Zimbabwe and other African countries through content visuals on Youtube which consist of the content creation side of their entity. Through their content creation an opportunity arose to create a travel agency to service an audience which was influenced by their travels. “So many people were asking us how we travel and asking us to help them; we saw that as a business opportunity and also help people because already on our social media platforms we were giving out information so the agency handles from as little as an itinerary or help you plan your whole trip.” They reiterated that their intention is to inspire young Africans to travel and capture a community of young travellers who want to travel locally which will in turn give a purposeful contribution to the domestic tourism in Zimbabwe.

Group Experience. Image courtesy of Afronomads Zimbabwe

The duo has concocted exciting initiatives such as the Afronomads Travel Tribe which consists of a community of young African travellers interested in the work the content creators do. As an entity Afronomads Zimbabwe are also working on thought-provoking initiatives to bridge the gap brought about by the lack of travel information in Zimbabwe of other small tourism destinations. “Some of the initiatives that we want to do in the future are mostly travel related for example working with locals in small towns because we noticed that a lot of locals have more information on their hometowns. In Chimanimani we observed that there are more locals who know about the hidden gems like secret waterfalls; that is what we are currently working on, to work with more locals in Binga and Chimanimani, in the small towns mainly” unpacked the Afronomads on community empowerment interventions they intend to do.

The world of travel has evolved and the traditional cumbersome processes of travel have been ironed out making the world more accessible to the general public. Tourism has been revolutionized by entities such as Airbnb and Couchsurfing. Asked about what the duo thought of these sensations they added that, “From our point of view when you think of travel you think of a hotel and when people think hotel they also think expensive in the same line of thought. That doesn’t give room for flexible budgets. People are now looking for experiences rather than just booking at a hotel. So when someone wants to travel like a local; what is the next best thing? why can’t l stay at couch surf where l can get more information from the local? and interact with a local and that person will show me the different places that are in the area.”

Group Experience. Image courtesy of Afronomads Zimbabwe

The duo’s favourite travel experience so far was in Tanzania where they got an opportunity to sock in the culture with the Maasai women where they were introduced to the traditional bridal wear. Quizzed on their ultimate travel lesson the duo unpacked that, “Expect the unexpected; don’t expect too much because sometimes you get the unexpected. So have an open mind wherever you are going to travel to. It is always good to go somewhere with an open mind and bring your own sunshine. Just have fun with it wherever you go; expect the unexpected.” Domestic travel in Zimbabwe can be a bit costly but the travel influencers have found a way around accommodation options through camping and resorting for budget friendly accommodation. “For example in Inyanga, sometimes we would rather go and stay at Inyanga National Park and do more activities that are in Inyanga. Another thing that we do is camping. For us its more about the experience, there is time where we want to have nicer accommodation and want to relax and but we really feel that we are young and now is not the time for us to be travelling to 5 star hotels, for us it is really about the experience. So when we are calculating our budgets we are always thinking how much is accommodation; the goal is that it really needs to be the least of our expenses.”

They go on to say that the most rewarding and gratifying portion of their travel experiences and business has been the influence it has had on people to travel due to the information that they would have shared through their platforms. Adding on some of the challenges in the tourism in Zimbabwe the pair singled out the challenge of information on smaller tourism destinations. Hence their intention to work with locals in areas such as Chipinge and Chimanimani to cover the information gaps that exist and amplify domestic tourism in Zimbabwe. “Another challenge we face on the travel agency side of things is online paying platforms. Those are like really difficult to come by. We can receive payments from travellers but it difficult to get withdrawals; it is just so much hustle to get a simple transaction done which sometimes can be frustrating. However we have found way to navigate that obstacle. Also travel insurance is also hard to come by in Zimbabwe; some countries have varieties, whereas not many choices exist when it comes to Zimbabwe which is very important for anyone that is going to travel.” To address some of these challenges they think the Ministry of Tourism should give young independent travel influencers and content creators an audience to help them air new and fresh ideas they have to help accelerate and promote domestic tourism and integrate activities which promote Zimbabwean authentic cultural experiences.

With so much done in terms of their travel business and travel content creation, the Afronomads would like to visit more African countries, with Rwanda being on top of their list, they also intend to climb Mt Kilimanjaro, Mt Kenya, visit Egypt, Ethiopia, and in Zimbabwe to visit Gonarezhou National Park and Matopos. Having found their market niche in organizing group experiences for young African travellers the pair encourages potential travel influencers and travel agency owners to go for it and make use of whatever available resources to accomplish their dreams.

The post Zimbabwe���s Afronomads and their journey to revolutionize African Travel appeared first on CheckoutAfrica.

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[angelicspaceprince]

SFW Alphabet - Good Omens Aziraphale x Reader

A/N: Here they finally are! My SFW Aziraphale Alphabet headcanons! Now these have been completed, I’m moving on to the soulmate AUs!

Tagged: @justballoonfishthings, @aethersghoulette, @inspired-is-gone, @daddy-clancy666, @yingshz, @omg-the-sex-was-amazingggg, @my--names-blurryface, @disa, @lilcutekittykat, @shawtyhadthemapplebottomjeans, @broadwayavenger, @dreaming-in-photographs, @ineffable-snek-boi, @virtualmemmecollector, @sincerelyraine, @the-bi-trash-can, @tunnel-snakesss-rule, @nashnolastname, @lucia-michaelis, @lovelesslionblog, @xs1nister, @chicken-poncho, @nastya-platini, @trelaney, @stspookers, @ghuulbabe, @jellyfishlovesloki, @greatjaygatsby, @littlebitfluffy

Headcanons

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Aziraphale is very affectionate, especially in passing and physical affection. A kiss to the top of the head as you rest against him, a squeeze of your hand as he walks by, a quick hug as you try to finish cooking. He loves just being in your general vicinity and, if he can, touching you in innocent ways. You tend to walk next to each other with your arm placed in the crook of his, and on occasion where you walk hand in hand, his thumb rubs firm but comforting circles on the back of your palm.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Aziraphale is a caring friend who is the sort of person who calls to check up on you or see something and get it for you just because. He would be the first person to call when you have a concern as he listens and discusses solutions calmly whilst being an amazing emotional support. Most likely, the friendship starts when you happen upon his ‘store’ and, after noticing that the giant ass snake was, in fact, real and that the owner didn’t seem pleased to part with his beloved books, you put your desired purchase away and simply started chatting about his book collection. It starts slowly, but soon the two of you become incredibly close.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) He loves a cuddle. He loves spooning, actually, and he doesn’t mind which spoon he is. He just likes being pressed up against you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Just like Crowley, I don’t think there is an actual moment where the two of you sit down and decide to move in together – it just sort of happens. He may say that you spend more time at his than at your place and why don’t you just move in and you bring your stuff over but in the lead up, there is no official discussion.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) I feel that Aziraphale would really struggle to break up with their partner because he doesn’t want to cause them pain. He’d probably try and be gentle and practice with Crowley on what he was going to say. There are two ways it’ll work out – either you’d walk in on him practicing with Crowley, ask him outright, he’d start stuttering and Crowley would just be like ‘yep. He wants to break up.’ Alternatively, you’d go out for what you assume to be a date and towards the end he’d bring up how he doesn’t think it’s working out and perhaps you should return to being friends. It’d be awkward and painful to get it out of him because the entire time, you know he’s nervous about something and it’s being to irk you that you don’t know what is bothering him. What happens after either scenario is totally up to you.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Aziraphale is a creature of pure love, I think he’d very much would like to be married. I think the idea of marriage would be brought up within the first year of being in a relationship but being proposed too wouldn’t happen until after the 2-year mark. Ideally (in his eyes), you’d be married soon after that, but he’d go along with what you wanted. Don’t wanna get married? Guess you aren’t getting married. Want a long engagement? He’s ok with that too.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) He is a soft boi. I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt you, he’s just too kind and empathetic about it. He would be the sort of person who initially worries about hugging you too tight or bruising you if he accidentally knocks into you until he figures out what you are capable of handling. He knows when you need a tight hug or some more firm words, but everything he does radiates kindness and love and its very rare he will cease being gentle towards you. If anyone threatens you, however, look out.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Yessssss, he loves giving you hugs throughout the day as little reminders of how much he loves you or just to be close to you. They are always warm and inviting, and you constantly tease him about being secretly a battery as each time you hug, when he lets go you always feel reenergised.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) Aziraphale, being a creature of love, wouldn’t shy away from the l-word. Most definitely the first one to say it and probably a little too soon for your liking but he wouldn’t say it unless he felt love coming from you towards him. He just didn’t realise you weren’t ready to admit that yet.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) I think it wouldn’t take a lot for Aziraphale to become somewhat insecure, but it takes a lot for him to get jealous. Like Crowley, he trusts you not to cheat. But if someone is getting too handsy, he will simply walk up and hold your hand, maybe give you a light kiss and ask ‘who’s this, dear?’ in the hopes it will make the other person take a hint.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) It depends. Soft and gentle in public, just enough to make you feel what he feels. In public, he likes to go full blown make out sesh. It’s almost amusing that an angel – a creature of ‘purity’ and ‘innocence’ – can get as down and dirty as he often does. He loves kissing your lips, it always feels so intimate when you do. Its his favourite spot to be kissed as well – but in public or where he knows you will be uncomfortable, he will kiss the back of your hand lightly. Same effect, just more comfortable for you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Amazing with small children. He loves them and loves showing them his magic tricks, telling them stories and generally keeping them entertained. I think he’d be like the dorky dad with older kids because he’s not 100% sure on how to interact with them. I really think he’d love to be a dad and would want kids at some point in his life.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) Mornings with Aziraphale always start with a cuppa in bed as you slowly wake up to the day. Aziraphale rarely sleeps, so he’s always up and ready before your eyes have even began to flutter open. He may talk about the book he read overnight to you, or his plans for the day, ask you what you were doing and if you want to meet up for lunch. Its quiet, peaceful. A lovely way to slowly wake up before having to address the busy day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Your days always begin and end with a cup of tea and talking to Aziraphale. At night, its usually about your day, how he managed to get rid of pesky customers from buying his beloved collection, what he and Crowley got up to etc. If there is nothing to be said, you’d simply read together until you’re so tired your eyes begin to blur. Aziraphale will always spend at least the time it takes you to fall asleep with you, sometimes spooning, other times just laying next to you and, on occasion, if he wants to spend the night with you, you will lay your head on his chest as he reads to you until you doze off. He will always read you something whilst you sleep, apparently it makes you sleep better and you always appear to be calmer when you hear his voice as you sleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) The whole angel thing would probably have been accidentally discovered by you. An argument with Crowley that you walk into, causing you to find out what they are, and Aziraphale would be frightened that you’d run off in fear. Instead, you ask questions. ‘What’s Heaven like? Can I see your wings? Where you alive when x, y, z happened?’ It was a relief that you were curious and accepting rather than angry and frightened. Beyond that, I feel that Aziraphale has been and always will be an open book to his loved ones. Even if he doesn’t tell you what’s on his mind, he tells you in the means of his body language. Nothing is off limits and he prefers to tell you what’s on his mind rather than let it wallow inside his brain.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) It takes a lot for Aziraphale to get angry with you and even then, it’s not anger, its frustration. It’d probably have to do with if you aren’t able to take care of yourself or haven’t told him something that you find trivial, but he finds of the upmost importance, or if you accidentally mess up his very precise catalogue system for his books. Aziraphale doesn’t get angry, he gets ‘disappointed’, which somehow is always 10 times worse.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?) Aziraphale will always remember the small things, what your favourite food is, any allergies, favourite genre of books, who you like at work and who you struggle with. The one thing he does struggle with is dates, especially when he gets distracted with things such as a new book that’s appeared that he simply ‘must have for his collection’ or the apocalypse-that-nearly-was then time escapes him. Its not that he can’t remember the date that the two of you met or it wasn’t important, but after living for over 6000 years, time is irrelevant. If you say to him ‘next Tuesday, lets do this’ then its more likely he would remember regardless if he gets distracted or not.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) The moment Aziraphale knew that you loved him. He can feel love, as we all know, but you always seemed to radiate love when you were around him. It wasn’t until he realised the love didn’t start until he walked into your line of vision that he realised it was for him. He knew that you either didn’t know you felt this strong for him or you weren’t ready to confess it, but that was possibly the most defining moment in your relationship.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) He wouldn’t like you to be in the line of danger. He’d probably keep you out of danger by not informing you of anything he perceives as potentially harmful in order to keep you out of it. If you find out, then somehow, miraculously, something gets in the way and you simply cannot get involved in any way. It wouldn’t be in your face ‘you can’t go’, he’d rather do a work around so you simply are unavailable when he knows you could end up being in danger.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Aziraphale would never, ever take you somewhere or get you something without thinking that you’d love it. Everything he does for you, it has a meaning. Everything has a thought behind it. From little things like making sure you have a steaming cup of tea/coffee/hot chocolate/whatever to wake up to, to super romantic evenings that may not go to plan but always the thought is there, Aziraphale tries his hardest to make you feel happy, important and, most importantly, loved.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) The only thing that happens over and over again is sometimes, sometimes, Aziraphale gets so into his book that he forgets things. Again, he’s been alive for over 6000 years. Time has no meaning to him anymore and what he thinks has taken him just a night to read has actually taken him a week. You don’t get offended, you don’t interrupt even if its poor timing on either of your part. You do like to take photos as evidence, with the day’s newspaper and a clock conveniently located so you can gently tease him about it later on.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) It doesn’t happen often, but there have been a few times where he’s gotten obsessed with his looks as a result of comments from his heavenly family or strangers around you. One of two things happen, he either becomes obsessed with the idea that he isn’t good enough for you and starts dieting because he ‘has to do it the human way’, which makes him miserable until you assure him that you love him the way he is, and he is totally handsome and sexy the way he looks. Or, he’s convinced you will leave as a result (definitely something Gabriel has told him in the past) and starts pulling out all the stops to the point that its actively annoying. The best thing about Aziraphale is, however, that you can be totally open with him. You can discuss what’s bothering him and you can tell him how you feel on the matter. Normally it takes a while and things settle down and return to the way it was, but either way the course of this can take weeks to resolve properly.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Aziraphale would very much be the sort of person who believes in soulmates and would feel your absence. I think he wouldn’t ever tell you that you ‘completed’ him because he doesn’t want to put any strain on you to think that you have to be a certain way to make him happy, but he definitely thinks that you are the half that makes him whole.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) Definitely teaches you how to dance the Gavotte one rainy Sunday afternoon when you have nowhere to go. You, in turn, teach him your favourite dance. He’s not the best, but it’s definitely the most fun either of you have ever had.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) It goes without saying that if you hate books or if you hate stories being read to you that it’d be a no-go with him. If you couldn’t read and loved being read to then he’s all for it! I think he’d struggle however, and I don’t see it working out long term. Also, if you weren’t open to try new things. Humanity is always changing and that’s what Aziraphale loves about humanity, I don’t think he’d understand if you weren’t interested in exploring new things with him because everything that’s new is super exciting to this angel.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) He doesn’t sleep, but he does love it when you fall asleep in his arms or on his chest as he talks to you softly. He doesn’t always spend that time with you in his arms but he definitely makes sure to spend some time with you peacefully sleeping in his arms.

[nekoabiwrites]

Of Princes and Potions - Chapter 1

So, here is that Royal AU I made that post about. 

Many thanks to @doces-e--tuga for the title and throwing around ideas with me for this, along with @not-so-innocent-bi-sander as well <3

This is mostly an introduction to all the characters and their roles, as well as some of the backstory. The true conflict/plot/pairing stuff will begin in the next one, and oh man, I am so excited for that.

If you haven’t seen the general post I made about the AU, you can check it out here

AU: Royal, Fantasy Pairing: None, in this chapter; Logince in later chapters. Words: 2857 Warnings: Mention of war and conflict and death, Talk of injury and scarring, Mention of someone being malnourished, Sympathetic Deceit. Anything else, please let me know!

The Kingdom of Phasta was a peaceful kingdom, ruled by a long-standing and well-loved royal family. Its scattered towns and villages housed its inhabitants, most living fairly mundane yet enriching lives as tradespeople or merchants. It had not always been this way, however.

Years prior, when the current king was merely a small child, a war between supporters of the royal family and a tribe that resided on the opposite side of the kingdom broke out.

The Yitra were frustrated from years of dehumanisation and prejudice. For as long as anyone could remember, the tribe was treated with caution. Whether it had to do with their reptile-like features or if it came from the folk tales surrounding evil tricksters coming and ruining lives, no one could truly tell. The last leader had come to reign over the tribe only three months before the war and was able to convince his people that the royals were the instigators of the hatred, even though the royals had always been kind and welcoming to them. The king at the time had even gone so far as to publicly support the Yitra and attempt to dispel the harsh rumours. That was seen as a performance, by the tribe leader, and so he took his people and began the war.

The Yitra tribe was massacred. Many of them perished in the fight as they were severely outnumbered and outmatched by the skill of the people they fought against. Some were taken as prisoner and still reside within the castle dungeon to the present day. The final day of the war is now celebrated as a holiday, a party and celebration that spreads across the whole kingdom.

Far across the land, the Yitra’s home was destroyed and left in ruin. Years passed, and the ruins were left alone by the kingdom, though some adventurers and curious travellers have stepped foot upon the dead ground. Some see the remains as a warning to those who think they can defy the royal family, though those close to the royals would be able to tell you otherwise. The ruins are left as a reminder of the tragedy, a reminder of what once was. Many parents tell ghost stories to their young about the war, about the ruins and about the Yitra. Even though it was only a short time ago, the tribe have almost become something of a legend.

In the castle that resided in the back of the capital city of Dawnwich, the current king was reflecting on these past events with a heavy heart. He knew his actions back then were the correct ones, even if his people would have said otherwise. King Patton was sitting on his window seat, a plush cushion held in his arms as he looked out the large window. He sighed, “Why can’t I sleep tonight?” The king spoke to himself, well aware that the room was devoid of any other humans.

He glanced over to the extremely comfortable bed that he should be asleep in, the question ringing in his ears. Patton was so distracted by it that he flinched when something came to sit with him on the large window seat.

Patton made a quiet noise of surprise before realising that the addition to his seat was his large, white, fluffy Great Pyrenees. The king quickly smiled and reached forward to pet the dog, who was watching him with questioning eyes, “Sorry to worry you, Marshmallow.”

The dog moved closer, resting his weight over Patton’s legs in order to briefly lick his owner’s cheek, which had the royal giggling. Upon seeing the smile, Marshmallow’s tail began to swing back and forth.

“Thank you, boy.” Patton pressed a kiss to the top of the dog’s head before getting him to hop off of the window seat. He followed suit and made his way across the room towards the bed, sliding under the incredibly soft sheets. Patton called Marshmallow up, the dog more than happy to obey. Both of them found the most comfortable positions and lay down to sleep, Patton’s mind having been quieted by his beloved companion’s concern.

All light within the castle windows was gone, except for one. The tallest tower’s window still held flickers of light, if one were to look close enough. Within it’s walls, the royal wizard was hard at work deciphering yet another spell from a large tome he’d acquired.

“Petriectum Noctindo…” Logan Pendry muttered to himself, before reading the description below. He meticulously noted down the translation of the incantation and its effects, casting requirements and all other information that was on the page. He only paused when a ruffle of wings sounded behind him.

Logan ended the sentence he was translating before placing the quill back in its holder. He turned with a fond gaze to the tawny owl that sat on the perch next to the open window, shaking his head softly as he noticed the small animal that was held in the beak of the bird. He held his hand open under her beak, which was the signal that had the animal being dropped into it. Logan stored it away in a jar, along with other animals that were in various states of decay.

“Thank you, Strix.” The wizard carefully pet the owl, who was watching him with interest. He let out a snort of laughter before reaching for another jar. He held out the small treat, which Strix almost immediately stole out of his fingers. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s all you want.” Logan thought aloud as he placed the treat jar back onto the shelf.

The owl made a soft noise before leaning into his hand, which was back to petting her, showing him that he wasn’t just a source of treats for her. It was times like this when Logan wondered if she was just an extremely smart animal or if there were more secrets to Strix, but he pushed that aside for now.

Logan stared out the window and watched the night sky for a moment, “It is late. I should probably put my work aside for the night.” Strix hoo’d lightly, showing him that she agreed with his statement while also giving him a look that made Logan feel like he was being scolded.

He left the parchment unrolled on his workbench but lay a piece of string between the pages of the tome before closing it for the night. After putting all the candles out, Logan climbed the spiral steps up to the higher floor of the tower where his bed sat, pristinely made from the morning. He didn’t immediately lay down under the sheets, however, He instead opened the trap door in the ceiling and crawled out to the roof. Logan stared up at the twinkling stars, almost filled with a child-like wonder as he thought about them all.

If Logan would have looked down, he may have been able to make out the figure of the animal handler sluggishly entering the building where his bed resided. The wizard would have been a little curious as to why the man was up as late as he was.

Demitri Candor was a very interesting man for most. He seemed to have no true origin, having just been brought to the castle at a very young age to be nursed back to health. He’d been found with his face gashed open and many scars littering his body, weak and malnourished as if he’d been abandoned. After taking a few weeks to recover, Demitri had never left the castle. He stayed as the animal handler after he showed a natural talent for working with the royal family’s horses.

But right now, the man was extremely tired. His day had been long and arduous, mostly due to which animals needed the most care today. Demitri was muttering under his breath to himself as he stripped out of his protective gear, “What a stupid Pegasus. So demanding? It’s his fault, he needs to teach it better.”

He crossed the room to the large tank that sat at the foot of his bed, up on top of the well-used set of drawers that housed most of his clothing. Demitri fondly smiled at the resting snake, his most precious pet. “You’re not like that picky feathered horse.” He spoke to the snake, despite the fact he was fully aware she was deep in sleep.

Demitri stood and admired his pet for a few moments longer before crawling under the plain sheets of his bed and laying down to rest. He nestled into the corner of the pillows he’d set up around the head of the bed, almost finding that it made him feel safe despite him not really being able to explain it. The animal handler yawned, “Goodnight, my little Pretzel.” He smiled softly to himself before falling asleep.

Finally, all was dark and calm in the castle. Barely a soul was moving, excluding the general toss and turn of someone in their sleep. The night passed uneventfully, and the morning sun rose, bringing with it the orders that the now-busy staff had to carry out. Kitchen staff woke with the sun and set about creating breakfast, while the rest of the castle began their usual routines.

In the high levels of the castle, down a heavily decorated hallway lay the rooms for the Sanders princes. Two members of the staff silently approached the opposing doors at the end of the hallway, knocking softly. When neither heard a response, they entered the rooms.

The left room was for the younger of the king’s two sons. The young lady who’d entered the room smiled softly at the small boy who was still sound asleep. She didn’t wish to wake the young prince, but it was her duty to make sure he woke and was ready for breakfast. With as much care as she could, the servant shook the young prince’s shoulder, “Your Highness… It’s time for you to get out of bed and get ready for breakfast. Your Highness?”

The lump under the blankets groaned and wriggled further under the covers, “Nooo, wanna sleep…” came the tired voice that made the servant stifle a gentle laugh.

“But Your Highness, you-” Before she could begin to try to convince the prince to get up, the sound of something running down the corridor reached her ears. She did attempt to walk to the door and open it in preparation, but the creature was just too fast and slammed the door against the wall as it bounded inside.

A large white blur crossed the room and jumped up onto the bed, immediately diving for the young prince who squealed happily once the creature began to lick his face. The boy laughed and squirmed about in an attempt to avoid the loving attack, “Marshy, stop!” Marshmallow did immediately stop his assault, panting happily as he lingered above the child, who was now definitely awake.

Marshmallow moved to the side when the prince started to climb out of the bed. Prince Thomas stretched before noticing the young woman standing in his room. He grinned and ran towards her, throwing his arms around her legs in a hug, “Good morning, Sara!”

The servant smiled softly and carefully returned the hug, “Good morning, Your Highness. You’re having breakfast with your father today.”

That got Thomas very excited. He bounded back and looked up at Sara with sparkling eyes, “Really?! Is Ro-Ro coming too?!” When she nodded, the young prince seemed extraordinarily pleased as he squealed. He ran over to the large closet, quickly rushing inside to get dressed. Marshmallow followed after a silent order from Sara asked him to.

Across the hallway, the other servant was accompanying the crown prince as he attempted to find the right outfit for the day. They stood just inside the double doors of the positively enormous walk-in wardrobe, watching as the prince held up items of clothing to himself and he appraised them in the mirror.

“No… that’s just not right…” The elder prince turned and clicked it back on the rail before picking up the next one, “Oh, this one…” Suddenly, he turned towards the servant, “What do you think?”

“It is perfect, Your Highness.” They responded with a gentle nod.

The prince pouted and seemed a little annoyed as he turned back to the mirror, appraising his outfit choice once more, “Oliver, how many times must I remind you? You’ve been here for long enough and woken me up every day, you are allowed to call me by my name.”

Oliver stiffened slightly and drew in a deep breath, ready to start his day off as usual, “Of course, Prince Roman. I forgot, once more, that you allowed me to do so.”

“Yes, you did…” Roman said, clearly distracted as he now moved to looking for the final parts of his outfit, “Be sure to remember, alright? It is tedious to keep telling you over and over.”

“As you tell me each day, Prince Roman.”

The slightly annoyed response had the prince laughing loudly. After throwing his signature red sash over his body and securing it in place, he walked towards the servant and clapped his shoulder firmly, “Oliver, you truly are unique.”

Both of the princes managed to leave their rooms at a similar time, meaning the two met as they headed down the corridor. Roman was just a few steps down the hall when the young voice of his brother called out to him.

“Ro-Ro!”

The elder prince spun on the spot and crouched down in preparation. Immediately, the small boy was in his arms and Roman picked the boy up, carrying him down the hallway over his shoulder, “Morning, Brother.”

“Put me down!” Thomas thrashed about, giggling all the while. It was only once they reached the end of the hallway that Roman did put the younger back on the ground, mostly because he heard the two servants exiting their rooms and he would likely get some kind of grief from his father if Sara even saw what he’d done.

After a short walk, the two brothers walked through the large doors of the dining room, taking their usual seats either side of the head of the table. It was a little strange that their father was not there before them, but it didn’t worry either of them too much; Thomas was still in the process of truly waking up and Roman was in conversation with some of the waiting servants that stood nearby. Recognisable voices began to approach the room and both of the princes looked towards the door in order to greet their father.

“Good morning, you two!” Patton grinned as he turned into the dining room. He was shortly followed by the captain of the guard, who had quickly stopped conversing with the king as his attention had been taken by the king’s two sons. “Thank you for letting me know, Sir Virgil. I’ll be sure to come and visit you in order to finish our conversation, but first – how about you join us for breakfast?” Patton offered, gesturing along the large table, “We have more than enough space.”

Virgil bowed slightly, “I appreciate the offer, Your Majesty, but I have morning drills to go through with the new recruits. I will have to take you up on it another time.” As he turned to leave, he gave Patton a wry smile, “Also, you know you don’t have to use that title, Your Majesty.”

“And you know the same.”

A moment of silence passed before Virgil snorted softly in amusement.

“Speak with you later, Patton.”

“Of course, Virgil! Don’t forget, you are always welcome to join us.” Patton grinned and patted the guard’s shoulder.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Virgil turned sharply and headed down the corridor towards the exit that led to the guards’ barracks. He breathed more easily now that he was away from the pressure of talking with the king. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the ruler of the kingdom; they were actually good friends that went back years, it was more that he was constantly wary of others as they’d walked the halls together. In front of fellow knights and servants, Virgil wanted to keep the professional and commanding nature he was known for as well as show respect for Patton.

He was still lingering on his thoughts and the trip through the castle as he entered the training paddock where the new knight recruits were standing around, waiting for him. Virgil immediately managed to drop the thoughts and go to his usual persona that could strike fear into the heart of even the bravest solider they had.

“Alright, recruits.” He called out in a simple monotone shout, causing all of them to stand straighter, “Let’s get to training.” Virgil walked to the side and picked up his helmet, slipping it over his face and beginning to lead the session. As he stood before one of the training dummies and raised his sword, Virgil had a feeling that this would be the easiest session yet.

Next Chapter

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

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[mind-writing0]

~Chapter 7~

Hello, dears!! If you’re new to this story and want to start at the beginning, click here to read the prologue!!

In the Singer house's tiny driveway, at exactly nine AM, was the sleekest black limousine anyone had ever seen.

The neighbors were gawking at it, at a respectable distance, but it still made Virgil feel awkward. He never liked being in the spotlight.

We get to ride in that?" Valerie asked the guard as he opened the door for them. The guard nodded and smiled politely, and Virgil giddily crawled into the car.

"Well, I guess we'll say goodbyes at the airport," Virgil's mom said, getting into the car as well. 

The interior was even bigger than the exterior, with large comfortable seats in a rectangle and refreshments in the middle. There was champagne in a bucket of ice, but Virgil was underage, so he didn't drink. He was sure no one would be rude to him about it if he did, but he was wary of the paparazzi. His mom did help herself, and Virgil tried not to cringe. Valerie was too busy staring out the window and excitedly waving at the neighbors. Virgil kept his head down and tried to pretend he was someone else, doing anything else. 

"Hey, Ali!" Valerie rolled down the window, waving frantically to Alister. "Where's Dan?"

"He said he didn't feel good today." Alister glanced over at his family's house, frowning a little. "He's been kinda weird lately. Oh, well. Goodbye! Hope you become royalty, Virgil!"

Virgil looked at him briefly and nodded, but Alister looked too much like his brother for his eyes to linger. The car drove off, leaving the general public behind.

When they got to the airport, there was an even bigger crowd. They all cheered when Virgil and his family got out of the car. Almost the whole town was gathered, and there was a platform put at the end of a long walkway, almost like a stage.

"This way, Sir Virgil. Your province would like to hear a word before you go." The guard who opened the door for him said.

"A—a word?" Virgil asked, and the word alone was followed by an almost audible gulp. If anyone in the Selection or the country was not ready for the publicity, it was Virgil. The Selection, unfortunately, was all about someone in the background getting suddenly judged by the public. He would just have to get used to that.

"Just something small, like how you intend to win for your province." The guard replied, smiling politely. For once, Virgil wished all of these smiles were real.

I don't intend to win, Virgil thought, but he nodded and stepped onto the platform. His sister and mother stayed on the ground, but Valerie seemed like she wanted to join him. Virgil immediately wished he could trade places with her. If she was a bit older, and Prince Roman was straight, this would be a perfect opportunity for her. Virgil, on the other hand, felt such a wrong rush of anxiety in his stomach, as if someone was going to tell him to step down. Someone would tell him that he couldn't possibly be one of the beloved Selected. And he would gladly let someone take his place, especially Alister.

"Hello, everyone." Virgil squeaked into the microphone. The crowd cheered, and it made him smile nervously. "I'm so excited to be picked for this Selection. I promise that I will try as hard as I can to win for this province!" The crowd cheered again, ad Virgil said a small "thank you" into the mic, grateful that was over so soon. He awkwardly placed the mic in its holder and waved at the excited crowd. Scanning over the familiar faces, his heart still skipped in a bittersweet way when he saw Dan. Dan with his arm wrapped around another guy who's name Virgil couldn't remember. The pair smiled at each other and talked as if they were on a date.

Virgil tried not to let the sight affect his expression, as he was sure he was being filmed, but he still felt a frown tugging at his lips. He felt a lump in his throat, and his eyes watered. He covered it all with a smile, so hopefully, it would be interpreted as happiness. He stepped off the stage and started in the direction of the airport doors. 

"Virgil!" A familiar voice, an endearing voice, now sounded pained. Dan was trying to get through the crowd to him.

Virgil felt a pang in his heart, and he stood for only a moment, glaring at Dan. "Come on guys." He muttered to his family. "Once we get inside, we can say goodbye in private." 

A guard opened the door for him, something he would have to get used to, and they went inside. Virgil stood by the boarding room alone, as he was the only one from his province leaving. 

"I know you don't want to do this," Valerie enveloped him in a hug, and Virgil rested his head on top of hers. "but please promise you'll try to win. This isn't just for me, but for you. Please try. I love you." 

"Okay," Virgil decided as a half-truth, "I'll try. I love you, too." He turned to his mom, who gave him an awkward hug. They didn't hug much. 

"Have fun, and, if he kicks you out, steal as much as you can." 

Virgil grinned at that completely awful advice. It would be the last time in a while that he heard the little anecdotes of idiocy, and he wondered for the last time what kind of things she went through in life to come up with such things. "Thanks, Mom. I... love you. Bye." 

Virgil held onto his one small bag and waved one last time as he boarded. He'd never been on a plane before, so this would probably be another terrifying new experience. He was told that the plane would make one stop, to pick up some passengers from three of the other provinces, and then they would be off to the palace. 

He sat in a plushy cream-colored seat, awkwardly finding out to recline. He was offered movies, which he hadn't seen often, but Virgil decided he'd rather enjoy the view. It was utterly incredible as they took off, all of the people and land became tiny. It all breezed by in a blur, and Virgil couldn't help but press his face against the window like a little kid. Before he knew it, he was dozing off.  

"Oh my god." Two voices woke him up. One sounded annoyed, on the edge of snobby, while one sounded amused. 

Virgil looked up to see a guy with striking blue eyes and brown skin. Lance, he remembered. He could really only remember a few names picked before his own, as afterward, he was in an emotional daze.

"Hey," he smiled, "I'm Lance McClain. You're Virgil, right? I didn't mean to wake you up, you did look funny cause you were drooling. But you looked cute too." He looked startled for a second. "No homo. Wait. No, I mean yes homo. I'm gonna have to get used to that." He laughed nervously. "What did you mark on the form for the sexuality part? I said bi, but I'm not sure if that's gonna look good. I mean, I did get picked, but—" Lance looked as though he came upon a sudden realization, and he ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry, I'm a talker."

"Yeah, you are." The voice from earlier replied, still frustrated. The pair up front turned towards the direction in which it came from to see a blonde boy in shades reclining his seat back. "Do you mind? I need to get some sleep, so I don't look as worn down as a Five."

Virgil recognized him as Bill... something. He was a Two who seemed incredibly snobby, and he looked back at Lance with a look that said -can you believe this guy? Lance laughed, "I know. I really hope this whole competition thing isn't too rough. I mean, I like the prince and I want to win, but I don't want to, like, put hair remover in people's shampoo, you know?" 

Virgil nodded, " I don't wanna fight either. I think I'm just gonna eat all I can until I get kicked out. Then I'll fill a bag with breadsticks as I'm leaving." 

Lance chuckled again, "Oh my gosh, that does sound like a good plan. But you know who I think is gonna prank us? Mr. Beauty Sleep over there." 

Virgil nodded and gazed wearily at the sleeping young man. He definitely seemed like someone to be cautious of. Virgil held out his hand. "Truce? You know, so we don't have to worry about competing against each other?"

Lance high-fived him as if that made a binding contract. They talked about home. Lance was a Four—Fours being the shop owners and factory workers—and he worked at his family's restaurant. Apparently, the restaurant was one of the last ones that made traditional Cuban food. After America had steadily become the kingdom of Ailea, Cuba had followed soon after. Virgil told Lance all of the strange tales of singing for rich people, and Lance almost interacted some of the strange customers he'd seen. Virgil had never really had a friend before, but he guessed that this is what it would be like. 

They ate plane food for dinner, and even though he had heard that plane food was awful, Virgil thought it was amazing. He was right in choosing food for his motivation. 

Soon after they finally arrived in Angeles. Guards and airport staff alike helped them in the process of getting scanned through every process. Apparently, people with firearms were a big problem near the palace. 

Another limousine met them to drive them to the palace. Lance and Virgil still chatted, some of Virgil's awkwardness seeping into the conversation. Bill had brought along one of those tiny odd music boxes the Twos and Threes carried. one with a split white wire that went into his ears. He listened to it while looking out the window. 

They finally pulled up to the palace twenty minutes later. Its white walls almost glittered in the moonlight, and the air around it suggested something magical. Virgil shook his head. He couldn't let the palace entrance and change him into something he's not.

The rest of the evening was a blur. There were several other young men they saw on the way, but everyone was so tired no one took anything in. They all had rooms in one hall, like a hotel, but the rooms were huge. Each room came with three maids to help their contestants in any way they could.

Virgil's maids were all polite, pretty women. They tried to help him get ready for bed, but Virgil felt uncomfortable with the help in such meager tasks. He awkwardly thanked them and dismissed them, getting ready for bed on his own. One of the maids, a girl about his age with short brown hair, said that she had to keep watch outside for rebels.

Rebels, Virgil thought, and it made his stomach plummet. It seemed just as he thought, a perfect paradise with dark secrets around every corner. Of course, the people of this place would ignore them. 

Virgil could ask in the morning. He could interrogate and take all the food, then leave without a trace. Yes, Virgil thought, an empty kind of happiness in his heart. Then he could leave and come back to... what? A disappointed family, a country that rejected him, and an ex-boyfriend who was already with someone else. 

Virgil rolled over, trying to sleep on the giant cloud-like bed. His fatigue and intense anxiety eventually faded into a half-sleep. 

Half an hour later, his eyes shot open and he ripped the covers off of himself.

He had to get out of here.

Next Masterlist Previous

[bts-is-my-life-as-always]

A small walk on the beach. Pt3

Pairing: jungkook X reader

Genre: angst and fluff

Warning: just in general again cause I can’t be assed to name these.

Parts:  pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8  

(Also forgot to give Credits to gif owners in like other posts so I’ll do that here: Credits to all gif owners)

Everyone said they understood, like hell they do, even his hyungs felt like a bunch of strangers just simply sympathising with him to get his mind off of you just for a second, but each time they tried, jungkook screamed at them to stop treating you like you were dead, it was your death anniversary today and he refused to do anything, he didn’t want to eat, talk, or even breathe, he just wanted to be with you, some nights he’d scream at you, he’d scream and cry and whine at you in his dreams, or nightmares what should I call this now? the more I make him dream of you the more he’s going to suffer so I guess it is a nightmare, but some nights he just hugged you and apologised endlessly, thinking your death was a cruel nightmare but really his nightmares were hugging you.

It took you 2 years, 2 years to wake up from the deep sleep that you went under, when you woke up, you could hardly open your eyes, completely immobile from lying for so long, the first person you saw was a man, a man that looked more happy to see you open your eyes than you were happy to open your eyes, it would be cruel of me to put you and jungkook through more trials, but I wouldn’t be me without that, so here I am wiping your memories clean of any traces of jungkook, any love that you used to feel, completely gone.

It took you 2 months to rehabilitate and learn how to walk, learn how to use the toilet by yourself, or simply just move your hands from one side to another, the man that had been smiling at you told you that he was your boyfriend, it was okay if you didn’t remember anything so he told you his name, kim changmin, it didn’t ring a single bell in your mind, but you trusted him, because really if he was a complete stranger then why was he so happy to see you, right?

It felt like it was the first time that you felt happiness, the first time you felt free, you were genuinely smiling, sure not at jungkook but at yourself, after another month you completely believed that changmin was your boyfriend, he told you stories of your first date, and how you wanted a big family with him, he never actually told you how you ended up in a 2 year coma, but then again you never tried to get it out of him, thinking it was because it hurt him so much to talk about, each time you brought it up he said he couldn’t repeat what happened to you, and that you not having that part of your memory was for your best interest.

If by love they mean someone you can trust, someone you can confide in, someone who just wants to help you through this cruel world then it would be changmin and your relationship, when he first bought you to a home where you apparently lived with him, you didn’t question him because it smelt all too familiar, your clothes were hanging and photos of people you used to be close with hanging and a photo of you and changmin together smiling, your mind never ever doubted him, not even once.

After 6 months of just being home and visiting the hospital for frequent checkups you were now allowed to work again, changmin opposed of the idea saying

“I don’t want to see you hurt again” or

“You don’t have to work, we’re doing just fine”

But when you kept pestering him, he said fine and told you to just do something that didn’t require you fainting, so you told him you wanted to become a makeup artist for a kpop group, he thought about it but nothing about it seemed harmful so you were free to go to the interview, fortunately enough you passed the interviews and the longest process of being hired, they had this stupid rule where you couldn’t work there if you weren’t married or engaged, says “it keeps scandals from rising” you thought inwardly isn’t dating someone else enough, and who says married women can’t get a divorce? like Your not that type of person, but you guessed other women were, you were so nervous for your first day of work, maybe it would be safe to say you were slightly shitting yourself, you kept rehearsing how you would or should introduce yourself,

“Hello my name is y/n starting from today I will be joining you?” No you thought too scripted,

“Hi I’m y/n I’m here to do everyones makeup?” No you thought sounds too silly, you shook your head and your whole body wanting to rid of the feeling of nervousness, your constant talking woke your boyfriend up, today was his day off, he walked over towards you and pressed a light kiss on the back of your neck,

“Good morning? Is it your first day today?” You chuckled lightly and nodded, he sighed a little, “can’t you stay with me? Just today? I’m going to be all alone” you turned around to face him and whispered, “You know I can’t do that, I’m afraid today your going to have to spend time alone” you said while caressing his face, this small interaction also felt way too familiar, but the feeling and structure of his face didn’t, but you brushed it off, maybe because you were gone for so long? He smiled and spinned you back around placing a small necklace with a ring around it, you gasped at its beauty and turned around to face him again,

“Omg, you didn’t have to do that for me, you’ve already given me everything”. “I know, but I just wanted everyone there to know that your mine and your taken” you smiled and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, and almost jumped out your skin,

“I’m sorry I have to go now or I’m going to be late on my first day, have fun, oh and I left food in the fridge don’t starve yourself because I’m not here, bye I love you” you said without second thought, it just seemed so natural.

Arriving at the front of the building of where the concert would start soon, you took your staff pass out and walked in through the back way, you first visited the makeup and clothing holding station, where each group had a small station to keep their extra things out the way of their dressing rooms, you found a booth that was labelled as bts, and walked towards it and towards your superior, he assigned you to a member called jungkook, he was still young so he didn’t need much just his eye makeup and bits and bobs that went well with his stage outfits, “So were sort of really busy right now, so your going to have to introduce yourself later, but for now just say your a new makeup artist assigned to him and he’ll be fine with it” you nodded and walked towards their changing room, as soon as you opened the door and peeked through, the once loud and noisy room became still and quiet, as everyone looked at you like they saw a ghost and looking around to the corner where jungkook was sitting.

His hair had just been styled you could tell, he looked so exhausted and tired, his ears were covered by his earphones, he didn’t care who it was that Just entered, it didn’t matter to him anymore, while all the others kept staring, you thought maybe because you didn’t introduce yourself, but as soon as one of the backstage workers came in and said 2 hours until live, everyone just went back to what they were doing you could tell eyes were still on you, but you chose to ignore it, you slowly walked over to the boy that sat in the corner by himself, you tapped on his shoulder and he just sat up slightly as if to say Just do whatever you have to and leave me alone, you sat on one of the stools close by, he was too slouched for you to be able to work standing, at least not stably and that would be a nightmare to get off, by the time you put on his eyeliner you were really close to him without knowing, still he hadn’t opened his eyes, you couldn’t see what his make up truly looked like on him, so the frustrated and annoyed you pulled his earphones out and asked him nicely,

“Can you please open your eyes, I can’t see if the make up suits you or not” he sighed a little too loud, you would’ve beat him to death if you weren’t younger than him and not only that you had to be professional, but as soon as his eyes opened it widened to a size that you thought would’ve been impossible, the same look that everyone was giving you still thinking it was because you were new you decided to break the thick ice that was in the air, “Everyone’s been looking at me like you today, like do I look dead to you? Or is it because I’m new and no one here knows how to introduce themselves without being rude” you were half talking to yourself but also trying to hint at jungkook to stop looking at you like that, as you went to fix the shape of his brows a tiny bit, he held onto your hands, making you jump a little and stare at him, as he informed you biting back his tears and fears,

“Because you were y/n, what are you talking about? I’m so confused, you died, we held your funeral and now your here, I told everyone that you weren’t dead and no one believed and now they see you here, that’s why their looking at you like that” He looked down at the ground and just started to let everything out while still holding onto your hands, lightly.

Fuck this shit............why am I so cruel, I could’ve just ended it with a simple you woke up and looked for his ass and lived happily ever after with him, but again, that’s not me, hope you enjoyed this part of a small walk on the beach and look forward to the next part, thanks for reading and my requests are open, I just won’t be writing ones that I don’t truly get pulled towards to write so hope you don’t mind.

Love you all and 바이~~~~

[icybeanheadcanons]

What would generic headcanons be for the Grillby of each AU? He's usually a close second for side character that gets asked about a lot, so this will hopefully help you feel out each one 💖 (I'll probably send one in tomorrow or something about the Gasters as well ^~^ Figured this would give you a thing to work on in spare time if your inbox empties again) ~

So for the skellies I had worked on them from undertale and down the list okay… Well for the Grillbys… I worked from Horrortale up to Undertale. It just worked and it was a wild experience honestly. These are long so I’m putting them under the cut so the post doesn’t look fucking ridiculous.

Undertale

Solemnby

-he’s pretty professional at work

-runs a bar still. Took a while to open BUT DAMN IT HE DID IT.

-he’s a decent height in human standards. He’s 5’11. It’s weird having people taller than him, even if he’s not the tallest around it’s still surreal.

-god damn it Classy Bean. The only reason he likes puns is because of this skeleton.

-a great listener.

-gives some pretty solid advice.

-bit of a smartass. “Man I’m tired.” “Maybe you shouldn’t stay up all night then.” “stop talking shit carl.”

-Classy Bean calls him carl time to time to annoy him. It works.

-his bar is relatively chill. Not a lot of people, and it doesn’t attract a whole lot of shady characters. Weirdos seem to be common though.

-He actually loves the liveliness of his bar. It’s perfect and he’s a proud smol business owner.

-He hires someone to do the dishes because that’s a thing he needs done. Besides that he runs it mostly himself.

-a hard worker, gets a little irritate with people who slack off but he isn’t one to snap at you for it. He just doesn’t get not giving your all.

-sarcasm. “I’m going to flip a table!” “Yes because that’ll solve all your problems.”

-He isn’t as quiet as you think and often will give a snarky comment like i’ve mentioned above.

-classical music is nice, and he often listens to it in his free time.

-mom friend who will talk sense into you.

-He says a lot of weird shit when he’s tired though like he suddenly becomes a shitpost generator.

-he’s got an average control of his heat he releases. It tends to heat up when he’s angry and flustered, and it takes a lot of discipline to control.

-don’t worry he’s not gonna burn you but if he starts heating up your skin is gonna turn pretty red.

-a pretty organized dude. Everything has a place. He doesn’t care about a mess, but he generally doesn’t make a whole lot of one before he’s cleaning again.

 Underfell

Jerkby

-kind of a dick god.

-big ego. Undeserved. There is no reason for him to be this god dam cocky what the hell.

-His friendship with Red Boy is weird. It’s that one where you insult each other without meaning it. “Stop fucking drinking all the fucking mustard you freak.” “Not till you stop getting freaky with everyone that comes into this bar Jerkby.” at the end of the day they’re there for each other.

-he does sleep around a lot. Mostly one-night stands. He’d date but he hasn’t found anyone he’s really interested in that way. He’s a jerk but he’s not going to fake being interested in someone romantically god.

-Oh goodness me toll. 8 feet tall. Big fire man. Depending on how sensitive you are about your height he’s going to tease you. Are you an adorable mad or do you look like you have rabies mad?

-can he do anything besides smirk? Pssh no. Genuine smiles are rare and fleeting.

-He gives 0 fucks. He does what he wants. Within reason of course he’s not an animal.

-never killed anyone. Beat the fuck out of people? Hell yes. Nobody fucked with him. He was ruthless and no monster was ever brave enough to try and take him down. Or strong enough.

-How the fuck is fire ripped. Seriously why is he buff? Magic? PSSSSSHHH. Fine. Okay whatever.

-But seriously he’s startling strong.

-his main coat he wears looks like a pimp coat what the fuck. Are you a pimp? Don’t ask him this he’ll punch you in the face.

-whoa, amazing control of his heat. Like whoaaaaaaaaa. Witchcraft… shut up i know he’s made of magic. YOU GET THE POINT.

-a small fondness for animals. He feeds the cats in the alleyway.

-Speaking of alleyways. He’s not an entirely edgy jerk. When he was closing up he found a few homeless people digging in the dumpster behind his bar. He yelled at them and stopped them from running. He brought them inside grumbling and gave them a proper meal. He does this time to time after closing.

-Lets stray animals sleep in the bar after hours during the winter. He spends extra time cleaning because of this.

-his bar is practically a sauna alright it’s always super warm and it’s mostly because of him. He generally counteracts it with air conditioning.

-if people get rowdy in his bar and don’t listen he threatens to turn off the air conditioner. He has done this before. It gets people to suffer fairly quickly.

-not a whole lot gets to him but if you manage to push his buttons he’s quick to anger.

-PAY YOUR FUCKING TAB. He’ll hunt you down he swears to g o d.

 Underswap

Sweetby

-sweet silly laugh. But laughs at inappropriate times or at inappropriate things

-He forgets heat control. Humans start sweating around him and he wonders why they all look all uncomfortable. Oh right! Silly him!

-Runs a cafe, and serves the sweetest cakes and pies in existence.

-his favorite thing to enjoy is apple cider. He can’t drink it because ow, but he enjoys the smell. Has occasionally tried to drink it because he can’t help himself he’s curious.

-Shortie. 4’8. He’s the perfect size no matter what you say.

-if you insult him he just frowns and stares at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. You’re suddenly apologizing and his demeanor shifts to a more cheerful one.

-if you’re mean you’re getting kicked out of his cafe. None of that. Nope. He’s the only menace in his cafe and that’s just because he’s trying to spoop people!

-Will use the cutest words. He adores them they make him giggle.

-Is very happy and cheerful, and loves the little lava monsters that live with him. They help run the cafe and often attract customers.

-The more the merrier in his cafe! He gets money to help his family (the lava monsters) and he gets colorful characters that he likes to chat with.

-Sweetby is a nickname that was given to him from Honey Bear. He loves it because it sounds like Sweet pea (it’s a pun actually which makes him giggle) and calling someone sweet pea is just precious and adorable.

-Adores pastels, and because of this he has the cutest cafe in the entire town.

-Sweetby has a no tolerance policy for a lot of things. Racist? Get the fuck out. Sexist? Get the fuck out. Hate gay people? O u t. He’s having none of that nasty business in his shop.

-would love to shake your hand but he doesn’t want to burn you so he’ll give you an enthusiastic wave. He’s also the type to want to kiss the back of your hand after shaking it, but with his issues with heat control, he simply blows you a kiss and gives a small wink.

-he’s very charming. Despite his odd remarks that are honestly kind of terrifying if you don’t know him very well, he’s lovely company.

-lolita fashion is adorable. He wouldn’t wear it himself, but anyone he does he completely gushes over their outfit.

-a small passion for clothes.

-has this really charming coy smile, and a lot of his regulars seem to have a small crush on him at the very least. He takes advantage of this to get them coming back again and again. He doesn’t lead them on and flirt back but he’s always very polite and kind.

Swapfell

Gruffby

-doesn’t talk much. Only for business.

-Was an arms dealer. When he did sell them to a monster he generally just ended up killing them, gathering the weapons back up and pick the rest of the cash out of the monster’s dust.

-Also ran a shooting range. Monsters were allowed to come let out frustrations. Sometimes he just had targets other times he had weaker monsters as the targets. He didn’t kill these customers since they kept on coming back.

-Nobody fucks with him. Nobody. Gruffby is hardcore and does crazy ass shit.

-bit of a temper. He flares up, scoffing. That’s about it. Not unless you provoke him.

-Provoking him is the worst thing you could do you will die a slow and painful death. What? That’s illegal? He’s angry about this now.

-there are tiny lava fire monsters living in his pockets. He’s a softy for them.

-runs a hunting for game store. (ya know like deer and elk.) He’s happy he can still sell guns, and he is very serious about his business.

-Reserves the right not to sell guns to people. If someone looks sketchy to him then you’re not getting a fucking gun dude. No. You’re yelling like a maniac at him only proves his point. Get the fuck out of his store.

-Do you got a license for that? Buddy ol pal if you don’t…. The cops are on your ass, he’s taking your shit you don’t have a license this is literally him doing the community a service. Yeah he’s a monster who’s killed but that’s not legal on the surface.

-Ends up learning about all sorts of horned animals and birds. He’s gotta know exactly what his guns are being used for to shoot.

-The tiny lava monsters like to get into a pack of bullets and melt them down. Hey you lil fucks what did he say about touching the merchandise? He’s putting them in a time out. You heard him go to the corner.

-The lava monsters crackle at him. He crackles back. It seems like they’re hissing each other.

-At home he falls asleep with the tiny monsters laying all around him.

-he has a really silly sounding giggle laugh.

-DON’T YOU LOOK AT HIM WITH THOSE PUNS. DON’T YOU DARE. he loves puns but hates his laugh.

-he can’t control his eccentric laugh so if you crack a joke he thinks is funny he’s losing his cool.

-friends with Scaryberry. He’d gotten lost in Hotland when visiting Alphys. He could see the fear as he was trying to maintain his bratty and “intimidating” behavior. He didn’t know what got a hold of him but he found himself serving him some tea.

-Loves tea. He doesn’t really get to enjoy it like he wants to but he at least enjoys the aroma of it.

-Scaryberry got him to quit smoking.

-pretty tol. He’s 6’4. If you’re short he’s going to tease you relentlessly but honestly he thinks it’s cute. Part of what he loves about Scaryberry.

-he likes sweet scents. They’re intoxicating and he adores them.

-He has about a billion candles okay, he really likes different smells.

-He’s actually secretly a huge dork that he hides with his edginess.

 Horrortale

Smores

-Chillingly silent. He doesn’t like to talk a whole lot so he’s selectively mute. When he does speak it’s but a few words.

-His voice is raspy, almost like a whisper and you can hear that familiar sound of a campfire.

-For a fire he’s rather cold, literally, as a fire monster it’s alarming how much heat he lacks.

-Knows sign language and will sign rather than speak. Even if he does speak he’s signing at the same time.

-He’s fragile… He isn’t a healthy fire but one that seems to be at the brink of going out at any time. It affects his voice and his body temperature.

-spent his time in the underground hiding away after everything went to hell and his bar shut down. By the time they got out he was on the brink of death before Axe found him.

-Is still recovering mentally and physically from the underground. It took a great toll on him.

-He’s used to food being taken from him, and is a bit of a pushover. He doesn’t have the physical strength to fight back, and he doesn’t have the voice to scare anyone off. He has to suffer in silence since most monsters don’t know sign language.

-he’s angry when people take things from him. All he can do is glare at least that’s what he believes. If he’d done more in the underground at his state he would’ve been killed.

-he spaces out often and frequently. He often becomes out of touch with reality and needs constant reminds as to where he is.

-he’s smol for a monster from his au. With his decrease in strength he shrank and is a 5 foot tall bab.

-He still has bit of a bite when you talk to him, sarcastic and a bit of a smart ass at times.

-He talks in a rather cryptic way like he knows something bad is going to happen. He’s just trying to spook you. He doesn’t know shit. But it sure gives him a giggle seeing that disturb look in your eyes.

-Visits the hospital often. He’s willing to admit he needs help. He’s kind of dying so he’s constantly getting health scares and check ups.

-he enjoys Axe’s sense of humor. Axe visits him from time to time still when he has to stay overnight at the hospital. It reminds him of when the days were good.

-Since he can’t do a lot of things he’s started taken an interest in music. He has an odd selection of music, Melanie Martinez being one of many that appeals to him. His music is rather dark and unsettling, and there are a lot of strange and kind of out there songs he collects. This kind of brings him a bit of peace.

-It takes a while for paper to burn around him now. It scares him. He avoids paper at all costs unless he gets morbidly curious about how bad his health is doing. The longer it takes to burn the worse he is. He doesn’t need a reminder.

-Some days he finds he can’t get out of bed. It’s frustrating and he cries hot tears. He feels so broken and useless on these days. He’s hoping to be able to recover but some days he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to.

-because of his disabilities he’s fallen into depression. He’s still adjusting to everything and suddenly being unable to do things has taken a toll on his mental state which is already pretty damaged.

-He’s fascinated with violins. Their shape is gorgeous, their strings seem like they’re delicate to him but they sound loud and beautiful. He wants to learn to play but if he does recover he will never be able to play again since he’d set the instrument on fire. So he admires from a distance.

-loves alice in wonderland of every shape and form. He relates more to the darker versions though.

-he’s slowly losing memories from the underground. The more they slip away the more it scares him. He isn’t sure this is how he wanted to heal. When he realizes he loses another memory he recounts what he can. Those are… Pretty fuzzy memories…

[cavalier-life]

Day 4 - Surprising/Hidden Talent

The prompts are located here! I had to laugh, because I just came across someone talking about the idea I’d had for this while I was writing it. Hopefully my take on it does justice to it.

Sinking deeper into the steaming water, Selirah closed her eyes, trying to shut out everything about today for a while so she could relax. Nothing had gone right today from the first meeting of the day. Everyone was out of sorts, and snapping at each other over the smallest perceived slight. Teams that had been working well together were so dysfunctional suddenly that several missions had not only failed, but done so in a nearly catastrophic way. By the time she'd gotten back to her room, she felt so sick of every single person in the base that she just wanted to hide in the bathroom for the rest of the night.

She'd drawn a bath, a luxury that she rarely allowed herself -or- had time to enjoy properly, and closed the door to the room. Turning the lights low, she'd immersed herself, letting the water wash away the stresses of the day and humming idly to listen to the sound bounce off the walls. If tomorrow wasn't a -lot- better, she'd have to find a new, more drastic way of unwinding.

“Seli.. are you busy?”

Cracking open one violet eye, Selirah tried not to sigh audibly or in any other way let the owner of the rumbling baritone outside the door realize that she was less than thrilled to have -anyone- interrupt her alone time, even him. “That depends. Is this about the Alliance, or just you looking for me?” she said finally, pitching her voice at a volume to be heard through the door.

“It can wait. I know it's been a trying day.”

Guilt curled through her at the faint note of patient resignation she could hear in his voice, the tips of her lekku twitching in embarrassment at her ungracious words, and she relented before he could take more than a step away from the door. “Come in, keella. I was only teasing. I would love your company.”

Arcann opened the door, hooking a nearby stool with one booted foot and sliding it over by the bathtub. He sank down on it, leaning his right arm on the lip of the basin, pale blue eyes taking a leisurely look over her crimson body through the water. A faint, half-smile touched the unscarred side of his mouth, and Selirah rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, tucking one hand behind her neck. “I really can wait until later, if you would prefer to be alone,” he told her, and she flicked water at him with the end of her tchun in response.

“Stop.” Nearly up to her lower lip in the water at present, Selirah regarded him sternly, or what she greatly hoped was coming across to him as sternly. It was not an easy thing generally to strike the right authoritative note when one was naked in the bathtub, and from the amused look in Arcann's eyes, she had missed the mark substantially. “I wouldn't have asked you to join me if that was the case.”

“I heard you singing before I spoke to you. Feeling better about today?” She made a face, and he picked up the cloth hanging over the side of the tub, wetting it in the water and wringing out the excess before applying her favorite soap to the soft, well-worn square. Selirah watched these preparations silently, and then leaned forward without needing to be asked, both lekku sliding past the curve of her upper arms to lie in front of her shoulders. “It was a difficult day, Seli, but it was no one's fault. Everyone is tired, and it's affecting them all. And I can feel how exhausted you've been.”

Arcann laid the cloth on her shoulder, and as he began washing her back, she laid her arms across her knees and rested her chin on her forearms, closing her eyes. The sensation was vastly soothing, and for the first time since he'd spoken to her from outside the door, Selirah was glad that he was here, with no reservations. “It's frustrating. I want things to run smoothly, but it seems like we never can quite get there. It's always something.”

“You take too much on yourself. From what others have told me, you always have.” Arcann's voice was low and quiet, and she felt her shoulders and back relaxing under his ministrations, the cloth gliding smoothly over the sharp, geometric lines of her black tattoos as they tangled down her back. More than once, Selirah felt his fingers tracing the marks; in one case, resting with a light touch over the circular scar that he had given her on Asylum. She could feel the deep shame that always engulfed him when he was faced with the evidence of the harm he'd caused touch his thoughts as his fingers lingered on the lightsaber scar, and she turned to glance back at him.

“So do you. It's just a scar, and we both have them. It's the past, keella, and it's not who you are anymore.” She reached out to him, taking his hand in hers, and brought his fingers to her lips, pressing a kiss across his knuckles. The prince's eyes lifted to meet hers, and after a moment, he reluctantly nodded.

“It's a difficult weight to put aside. I know I'll never truly be able to make amends for all of my transgressions. There are people in the Alliance that will never forgive me for the things I did, and I cannot even say that they are wrong to feel the way they do.”

Rather than address his point, knowing there was nothing that she could say to remove the sting of the reality that faced him, Selirah laid her cheek against the back of his hand, letting him sense the affection and trust that she felt for him. “Let's try to put aside everything that is troubling us for a little while, then. Both of us. Why don't you join me?”

The gamble paid off in another brief, small smile from him, and he gave his answer by removing his boots, and undressing with deliberate and gratifying haste. Selirah slid forward, making room for him behind her, and the water sloshed around them both as he stepped into the tub, slipping down into the warmth and pulling her back against his chest, his left arm resting on the lip of the bath. Selirah leaned her head back against his right shoulder, closing her eyes. “What were you humming earlier? I heard you when I got to the door,” he asked curiously.

“Just a little tune that I remember from childhood.. I don't recall all of the words, so I couldn't sing it for you, I'm afraid.” She relaxed, Arcann's hand resting on her stomach, fingers lazily stroking her wet skin. “Your mother has a beautiful singing voice,” she added.

His fingers stopped, and she could hear the wariness in his voice when he answered. “Yes, she always did. She sang to us, when we were children. What made you think about that?”

It dawned upon her that perhaps this wasn't the ideal time to have brought up his mother, given their mutual nakedness. It was, upon further reflection, definitely a mood killer of a remark. But the nexu was firmly out of the bag now, so she forged ahead anyway. “Do you sing, too? I've never heard you so much as hum even one of the disturbingly hard to forget dirty songs that Gault likes to sing after he's fooled a table full of people out of their credits. I didn't think it was possible to avoid getting those songs stuck in your head. Believe me, I've tried.”

The attempt at levity worked, at least; Arcann was startled into laughing, and she could feel him relax again behind her, his hand stroking over the flat plane of her stomach. “They do get caught in my head, too,” he admitted with good humor, the unscarred side of his cheek resting against the side of her head. “And.. yes, I suppose I can. I don't. At least, not often. I'm not sure I can remember the last time I felt like singing.”

Selirah waited, but he didn't say any more. She could nearly feel him thinking about it, trying to recall the song, the occasion, anything about that previous, long-forgotten moment. For a time, it seemed as if he wouldn't speak of it again, and she wasn't sure that it would be wise to push on something that seemed like another painful emotional wound. Then he said quietly, “I could sing a song that I remember her singing to us. For you.” There was no way to mistake the offer for anything other than an enormous act of trust for him; and in lieu of speaking, Selirah turned her head and kissed him when he looked at her.

All of the aggravations and stresses of the day melted away like smoke moments later, when Arcann started with a melancholy song about Scyva, his voice full and true. She could feel the baritone rumble of each note, and without glancing back at him, or giving him a reason to feel self-conscious, the Twi'lek simply closed her eyes again, and let herself enjoy the glimpse of hidden talent that she'd been offered as a gift.

[anotheraldin]

Find yourself waiting at one of the many vibrant railway terminals scattered across the Indian landscape for a few hours and you learn a lot about the country. Yes, gazing into the depths of your gracefully aging cell-phone, the greatest repository of information ever manufactured, might afford you some valuable insight into the political realities shaping your world, but as the battery starts to fade, and you come to grips with the reality that there are no charging pods in railway stations probably built through the hard labor of your forefathers under the occupation of the British (stations they would later suggest was a vital service provided by their colonialism, something the inferior races should be greatly appreciative of), you reluctantly submit to the unyielding badgering of your mind telling you to put your phone away lest you need it later only to find it as dead as your general awareness when on the tiny device. 

And as you shove your phone into your pocket, the deep crevice of an otherwise delicate kurta, forced to stare out into the abyss of an underdeveloped world – you slowly start awakening to the reality of your circumstance. At this very moment, you’re witnessing the breath of this land as it breaths, its heart as it beats, its soul as it clamors. You awaken to the realization that – in that very pensive ambiance – you’re experiencing the social realities that shape those very political ones of which you were attempting to gain insight as you creased, in frustration, the edges of your eyebrows peering into your phone.

Wait for an hour and you find yourself confronted by an Indian Bruno Mars. Rather, the vocals of Bruno Mars were it to bellow its melodious tunes to an upbeat Bhojpuri funk with similar spirit and angst. As you see him carrying a bucket and mop, going bogey to bogey on a momentarily abandoned passenger train, finally making his way over to your bench and courteously asking you to lift your feet so that the mop could clean the filth that lay underneath - you can’t help but wonder the circumstances which brought him in front of you.

Images flash before your mind of a singer, the likes of many that reside practicing their vocals within the passing alleyways leading to your small room in a pitiable part of the inner city. Guys sitting beside you during lunchtime in small shacks as they eat a few pieces of bread with lentil soup, the one meal on which they must persevere the entire day in pursuit of their dreams. You see them joking and belittling each other (as young men often do), completely unperturbed with the knowledge of the inevitable end to their dreams. If lucky enough, they’d join a street band performing at the countless daily marriages which take place across this nation, wearing bright attire from a different generation, and making just enough to feed themselves and their children the same two pieces of bread and soup once or twice a day. And if they weren’t lucky enough, then they – much like our Bruno – would have to grab a mop as their instrument of choice and strive to make ends meet the best they could. Yet despite all that, they would still sing atop their chords with the same fervor of those celebrities living lavishly, swimming in the adoration of an ocean of fans. A childish perseverance that refuses pity.

Wait for another hour and pity catches up with you in the form of an elderly man as he rolls his paraplegic body on a cart towards you in shame, extending his hands in hope of some sustenance. With the cheekbones of John Wayne, and arms sun-burnt with what resembles decades of hard labor – you again begin to wonder at what led him to submit his dignity in front of you. 

You see flashes of a hardworking man. One that would lift bricks – a crown of honor on the turban above his head – as he carried them from one end of the construction site to another. You see how, after working in this life for decades supporting his family and loved ones the best he could, he was crushed under a misplaced foundation as it fell upon his tired knees – the fault of contractors and owners as they forced their laborers in haste, those that would laugh at the notion of safety as one would laugh at the punchline to a bad joke. And yet, as those contractors fell soundly asleep that very same night – next to their unconcerned wives and children – this man wept at the cards he was just dealt. As he stared into the eyes of his aging wife weeping next to him in the hospital bed, and at the tears of his young children that could no longer be afforded an education – he lost, in that moment, the honor with which every man is sent – a right bestowed at birth by his Lord. 

And yet, as he accepted his fate, he did the only thing he knew possible. In order that he may keep feeding his children, he bought a small cart on which to support his body and started begging strangers for their mercy. Strangers that, in turn, would mock him or claim that he was running a business and reminisce about the affinity of the poverty stricken towards scamming the truly poor hardworking middle and upper class citizens who earn their wealth. Projections of their own miserable insecurities, hearts that would make even stones weep in envy. And yet this man persevered, losing a bit of himself every time as he extended his hand forth – knowing very well he would most likely receive nothing but arrogance and judgement – the image of his children hungry at home flashed before his eyes, motivating him as he continued from person to person seeking the only potential for help afforded to him in an otherwise unforgiving society.

Wait for a third hour and you see a couple, husband and wife, walking behind what seems to be a bright young woman – their daughter no doubt – leading them towards a train that had just arrived moments prior and parked in the terminal next to yours. Your curiosity grows for a moment, wondering why they’re holding on to her as they make their way towards the platform, only for it to quickly dissipate once you see the whites of their eyes fogging what lies beneath. You see these three making their way back and forth, clearly struggling to find the right bogey – but as they climb each and every single wrong one, you see this woman grabbing a hold of her parents and gently helping them up and down, clearly sweating herself but not letting the struggle reflect in her voice. A voice which only answered in the affirmative to any request of her ailing parents. You see them as they finally sit down for a moment in the bench next to yours. Clearly tired from the search, she walks over to the nearby counter serving snacks and, unrolling the crevices of her frayed sari, she reveals a meager twenty rupee note with which she purchases a bottle of rail neer (water). Walking back to her parents, she gently opens the bottle and lifts it up to their lips, slowly quenching their thirst with her own bare hands. After a few more minutes, she finally gets up once again – leaving them in search of the right bogey on her own – and, upon finding the proper one, returns quickly to take them to their assigned seats. And as they pass from view, you find your attention start to divert once again. 

You remember your own past, the time you worked at a nursing home. You remember the elderly woman that would make her way out to the front gates of the residence daily in wait for her son, only to return in disappointment every time. You remember conversing with another elderly abandoned mother, “son, do you know why I’m here?” “Why, ma’am?” you hesitate to respond. “Because I wasn’t wanted elsewhere,” she replies in a somber tone that reflects both a deep sadness, and a profound acceptance of her miserable fate. As you see the train start to depart half an hour later, their bogey passes by you and you catch one final glimpse of them sitting together – a picturesque memory of the perseverance required to be a family in India.

Wait for a fourth hour and you feel a slight tug at the hem of your cloth. A young girl, no older than six or seven, with shadows of dust marking the edges of her browning hair and a tattered frock speaking to her struggle and endurance in the ocean of apathy she must swim in daily. She stares deeply into your eyes, a piercing glance reflecting all the passion and determination of a girl on a quest to save the world. In reality, she seeks only to do her part in providing for her family. 

When she realizes she’s caught your attention, she lifts a handful of pens and with nothing but the absolute surety of a completed sale she asks, “How many would you like?” “None,” you reply. Bothered by an already prolonged delay, the only thing crossing your mind is the forethought of the soothing sleep only a gently rocking train can afford to provide. What need do you have for a pen? She doesn’t budge. Shooting a frustrated glance across your way, she repeats, “How many would you like?” “Leave me alone,” you beg. “No,” she replies, “Buy a pen.” “I don’t have money,” you lie. “Buy a pen,” she retorts, clearly seeing through your slowly weakening defenses. “I don’t need it,” you try to utter only to be stopped, “Just buy it.” “Here, just take some money and leave. I’ll lose the pens anyways –” you plead. “No, I don’t beg for money,” she cuts you off defiantly, almost offended at even hearing such a preposterous notion. “Okay,” you finally succumb to the barrier of resolve relentlessly tugging at your knees. As her stern glare finally breaks, and a smile blossoms from the edges of her arched dimples, she reaches down and hands you your pens quickly grabbing the cash extending from your hands. And when she gleefully skips away, glad to have made the sale of five pens (a number whose mystery you have yet to solve), you glance down to see that you’ve wholly overpaid five rupees from the total cost of those pens. Too tired to grow angry, you instead choose to reflect on what these five rupees may mean to her. 

Maybe she wakes at the break of dawn, in a hut made of straw and mud much like the other houses in the area, and grabbing a frayed bucket she heads out to the nearby public well to gather some water for her family as her mother starts trying to scrape together whatever pieces of bread and soup may have been left over from the previous night’s meager provisions in order to make her children breakfast. As this young girl and her siblings finish their meals, just barely enough to keep their backs from arching, she grabs her stash of pens – given to her by her father who’s left for the week towards the coal mines in the locality just to provide pennies for his family – and heads out to do her part. How many streets must she have crossed that morning – seeing other pretty young girls her age with hair glistening in the sunlight, spreading the crisp scent of coconut from the oil their mothers must have applied on them before sending them on their way? How many clean frocks and white socks must she have encountered heading to school while she turned towards the station? How many backpacks must she have seen being carried, containing anything from notebooks and erasers to sharpeners and even pens? Pens much like the ones she held in her quivering hands as she made her way to the train station? Pens which helped feed and sustain her, the same pens – at that very moment – being irreverently discarded by those other children in the carefree pursuit of their education? 

Despite your original efforts not to, you begin to grow in anger. Anger not at the fact that she took those extra five rupees from you, but that you didn’t accidentally slip her some more. Anger that you’ve lived your whole life in a haze of ingratitude and anger that you’ll probably return to this state of ingratitude once the memory of this poor girl starts to fade. This girl woke up today much like how she woke up yesterday and will do so again tomorrow, her life depending on the unwavering perseverance for which she must resolve her being lest she perish as a mere statistic, one which politicians will abuse for power, and the masses will continue to ignore for something more entertaining and distracting from their own miserable, empty lives.

Wait for a fifth hour and your face finally lights up. As you see your train slowly approaching the terminal – all those people around you start to become distant memories. You quickly bounce up, and upon finding the correct bogey, you make your way to your bed in anticipation of the long, relaxing journey that lies ahead. But after you’ve laid down the sheets, shown the conductor your ticket, called your loved ones to let them know you’re still alive, and curled up next to the pillow on which you’ll soon fall asleep – all those individuals simultaneously start returning in the form of overwhelming sensations that envelope your entire being. You think about where you are and what really defines this place. And as you start reflecting on the events of the evening, you happen upon a compelling reflection.

You realize that what defines life for many in India, and maybe even for those all across the developing world, is that very same perseverance you've been witnessing repeatedly these past few hours. You realize how much you’ve taken for granted your entire life, whether it be the material – in pens or money – or the abstract – in education and wealth. You realize that living in the developing world means having to strive and persevere on a daily basis in order to be afforded what you otherwise considered an afterthought. You realize that having a family isn’t a right, but a blessing for which people strive their whole lives to sustain. You realize that being able to fall asleep every night with a full stomach isn’t a right, but a treasure striven for and earned through the sacrifice of blood and sweat. You realize that having a good education isn’t a right, but a privilege from which people far more deserving remain bereft.

And you realize that, ultimately, living here – or indeed anywhere in the developing world – means persevering against all odds to survive, waging a war in the pursuit of contentment against a tide that seeks to drown all but those that remain swimming until they’re blessed to strike shore.

-Muzammil Ahmad.

[vam9ire]

Lessons In Cooperation

Nygmobblepot Week 2017 Fics - Day 1 - Murder Husbands

Summary: Oswald and Edward confront a club owner who has been refusing to pay the fees of running a club under their protection, and things momentarily take a turn for the worse. 

Rating: T ( canon typical violence )

Words: 3,932

A/N: Happy nygmobblepot week! I was kind of stuck with this prompt for awhile, but I’m pretty happy with how this turned out, though it is kind of light on the nygmobblepot. 

“I assume you already know why we’re here. Is that a correct assumption, Mr. Stix?” Oswald asked in a tone that falsely portrayed pleasantness, paired appropriately with a forced grin across his features. While he spoke, he leaned forwards over Mr. Stix’ desk, propping his cane against the edge before proceeding to firmly plant both of his hands atop its polished surface. As he waited for the other man to reply, he shifted on his feet slightly and began to purposefully drum his fingers against the desk, just hard enough that it could be heard.

The deliberate tapping noise, and that Oswald was even touching his desk in the first place, clearly annoyed Mr. Stix and the man glared down at his hands, his jaw firmly set and features harsh, in order to avoid looking the mayor in the eyes. Before the silence could grow too long between them, the club owner finally tore his eyes away from Oswald’s hands to instead move up to his face. His lips slowly pulled into a smile that wasn’t very convincingly masking his displeased mood as he came up with a reply. “I don’t know, why don’t you jog my memory?”

The man was dodging the question, though that wasn’t at all very surprising to Oswald. He looked over his shoulder and to where Edward was standing just a few feet behind him, and it was clear that the chief of staff was just as unimpressed. The two had arrived at the nightclub just a few minutes earlier with the intention of shaking down the owner for a fairly large sum of money that he owed Oswald after refusing to pay him now that he had raised the taxes. He’d tried to be cooperative, having previously given Mr. Stix a generous payment extension date, but after that was missed without any word from the owner Oswald had decided, with Edward’s input, that it was time to take a more assertive approach. 

Now, the two men were standing in the large, and very gaudily decorated, office of the club’s owner. The only other person they had brought with them was one of Gabe’s gunmen, and though he was trusted, he seemed fairly inexperienced. With Butch gone and proven a traitor by Edward, and with Gabe busy with other tasks, they had decided to take their chances with only one backup man and to hope that Mr. Stix would be cooperative. After a few more seconds of silence, and Edward giving him a knowing look, Oswald turned his focus back to the club owner.

“Well,” Oswald began to answer, his fingers halting any movement and his voice momentarily louder than it needed to be, making the club owner wince slightly, “As I’m sure you’re aware, I raised the tax for all of the clubs in business along this street a month ago, and it seems like some people haven’t been paying that price.” His tone continued to read as benevolent as he explained, though there was a definite edge behind each word. He had left the statement open for the other man to then fill in the missing details, but when Mr. Stix didn’t say anything after a few moments, Oswald continued in a more tense tone. “You are one of these people. Now, I thought I’d be considerate and give you some time, but I’m sorry to say, that time has run out.”

“Uh-huh… And, how much money is it you’re expecting me to give you?” Mr. Stix leaned forwards slightly as he spoke up, moving his arms up onto his desk so he could intertwine his fingers and rest his chin casually atop them. His tone portrayed a feigned interest in the situation, though his attitude continued to express that he wasn’t taking any of this as seriously as he should be, and it was beginning to try at Oswald’s nerves.

Oswald exhaled a sigh through his nose and his forced expression of happiness fell noticeably as he made eye contact with the club owner again, making it clear that he was beginning to grow tired of the act the other man was attempting to execute. After a moment, Oswald removed his hands from atop Mr. Stix’ desk completely and grabbed his cane before he took a few steps back, gesturing Edward forwards with his free hand as he replied, his tone continuing to remain considerably pleasant for the moment. “Of course. Ed, would you mind giving him the numbers?”

“Not at all.” Edward answered immediately, his own voice also carrying a reasonably benevolent tone as he walked forwards from where he had been patiently standing throughout the conversation. He easily slipped past Oswald and approached club owner, lifting the briefcase that they had brought with them up and onto the polished desk so that the meeting could continue. It only took Edward a second to input the four-digit combination required to unlock the briefcase and then pull it open. In the briefcase there was only a stack of papers resting atop the protective foam lining it’s inside, which Edward removed and placed down on the desk in front of himself so he could quickly review the information printed upon each page.

“Alrighty, Mr. Stix, these papers pretty clearly lay out each benefit of the protections and support that you receive from Mayor Cobblepot, as well as all of the expenses required in order to continue receiving those benefits. Now, if you cannot—or do not wish to—continue paying for these services, we can arrange for that, though there will be a small fee because you didn’t give us any notice before the month began.” Edward flipped a few pages as he spoke, his tone genuinely casual as he skimmed over the details and agreements on each page, before he paused and cast a glance upwards towards the club owner in order to make sure he was still listening. Mr. Stix looked both bored and possibly annoyed with the conversation, but he was staring right at him, so Edward decided to trust that he had his attention. “Additionally, even if you do discontinue the protection services, you will still be expected to continue paying the base tax of running your club on this street, which you’ve failed to pay since the last raise.”

As he finished speaking, Edward took one last moment to flip through the papers and double check that he had gone over everything necessary, before he turned them around and, with a smile, he used one hand to slide the stack across the smooth surface of the desk until they were directly in front of Mr. Stix. He retracted his hand before he took a long step back, to stand directly beside Oswald. The two men watched Mr. Stix hesitate for a moment, directing his stare up to them, before he looked down to begin reading the papers. As he unclasped his hands so that he could look through every page, it was apparent he wasn’t taking the time to read everything, but he was still skimming fairly thoroughly over all of the numbers, and hopefully getting most of the important parts.

While waiting for Mr. Stix to finish reading over everything, Oswald shifted on his feet and turned his head slightly so he could look up at Edward. His chief of staff was currently fiddling with the position of his glasses upon the bridge of his nose with his left hand, while his right hand remained loose at his side. His eyes traveled over the room, seemingly studying everything within it. After another few seconds, Edward eventually caught Oswald staring at him, and he turned his attention onto the mayor, a small grin gracing his features as he let his hand fall down to mirror the other at his side. Oswald smiled back politely, and he considered whispering something to the other, before their attention was pulled back to the task at hand as Mr. Stix made an unhappy sound.

“Hmph. So, you think you can just waltz in here, in your pressed suit with some papers, and I’ll hand over everything you ask for?” Mr. Stix asked in an annoyed tone of voice as he audibly slapped his hand down over the papers, before he glared at Oswald and Edward. The club owner’s gaze remained steadily on the two of them as he fluidly moved his hand forwards, pushing the papers away from himself with enough force that they flew off of his desk and scattered all over the floor at their feet. “The only way you’re getting any of my money is if you take it from my cold dead hands, Penguin.”

Oswald’s grin fell from his face almost immediately as the club owner spoke, his expression morphing into one of obvious frustration. He inhaled deeply, the action causing his chest to puff up slightly as he shifted on his feet and gripped the head of his cane more tightly. The show of clear disrespect succeeded at digging under his skin and the only thing that kept him from completely losing his cool was the presence of Edward standing right beside him, mildly calming Oswald just by being near him. He shifted his jaw as he held his tongue from saying any of the hostile words that had immediately come to mind, and instead he turned to look at Edward again, taking in the similarly annoyed expression on his face. They briefly held eye contact with one another until Oswald turned back to Mr. Stix with his brows tightly pulled together and a smirk replacing his frown. “Oh, believe me, Mr. Stix, that can definitely be arranged.”

“Oh, it can, can it? And how do you plan on accomplishing that? I don’t feel like I’m gonna keel over anytime soon, if I’m being completely honest with you.” Mr. Stix’ response was delivered in a tone of voice that very clearly came across as arrogant and sarcastic. As he spoke, he leaned back in his chair more comfortably and he smirked right back at Oswald, doing nothing to help improve his quickly souring mood.

“Very well. You had your chance to be cooperative.” As Oswald spoke he gently tilted his head to one side and shifted slightly in place again, before he raised his free hand up and snapped his fingers sharply. Almost immediately, the gunman they had brought with them brought his gun up to aim it directly at the club owner in a threatening manner. Mr. Stix, however, only grinned back at them for a long moment of silence, before he broke out into laughter, causing Oswald’s smirk to fall from his face.

“You and glasses think that bringing one man in to wave a gun around is gonna scare me? You guys couldn’t take me down if I was blindfolded. When you took over for Fish, I knew it wouldn’t work out, but I thought I might as well give you a chance. At least play along with things until you got replaced. Now it seems like I have to do the honors.” Mr. Stix’ grin widened as he spoke, his mirth still carried through his tone with each syllable of every word. As he finished speaking, his hand slid across his desk until he briefly pressed the intercom button on his desk.

Before Oswald could even think to say anything else, the door behind them burst open, causing everyone’s attention to immediately move towards it. As the door banged back against the inside wall of the room, three of the club owner’s bouncers entered, each armed with guns. The first man who entered the office began to aim his gun and put his focus entirely on Oswald’s gunman, but their man’s trigger finger was luckily quicker, and the bouncer yelled as he fell back against the wall, where clumsily slumped to the floor, leaving a trail of blood running down the wall behind him. The bouncer coughed pitifully where he sat on the floor and he groaned as he fumbled with his gun in a sad attempt to aim it again. Oswald’s gunman took notice and quickly put another bullet right through the critically injured bouncer’s skull, though he was too distracted to even aim towards the other two bouncers who were now pointing their guns towards them.

“Oswald—“ Edward shouted his name suddenly and very loudly, the first one to speak since the situation had taken an unfortunate turn, and it successfully caught Oswald’s attention, but before Oswald could physically react, Edward’s hands were on him and he was tackled to the ground. Oswald had instinctively shut his eyes as he fell to the floor, and when he opened them he was looking right up into Edward’s own. Not any more than a second later, more gunfire broke out above them and their attention shifted away from one another and instead towards their gunman, who hadn’t taken cover.

The man stumbled aimlessly for a moment and it was immediately clear to both Edward and Oswald that he had been hit as he fell to the ground with a loud thud. From where they were on the floor, with Edward practically lying on top of Oswald and only holding himself up with his arms planted on either side of Oswald’s head, they were blocked from direct view of the bouncers by a large, ugly, leather couch. Additionally, it seemed as though the club owner was hiding under his own desk to avoid any stray bullets, so they had at least a few seconds to plan out their next move.

“Are you okay?” Edward quickly asked in a hushed tone as he looked back down at Oswald again, his glasses slightly askew from all of the sudden movement. As he spoke, Edward shifted on top of Oswald, and after a moment he had managed to successfully climb off of him. He positioned himself so that he was crouched low against the couch, and while he was carefully listening for any signs of the bouncers moving towards them, he kept his eyes on Oswald, who had flipped over onto his stomach so that he could push himself up into a sitting position. 

“I’m fine, Ed. Thank you.” Oswald replied in a rushed, equally quiet whisper, his tone also made unsteady as he tried to calm himself down. He couldn’t say that he had been expecting things to turn out this way, though at this point in his careers, both as the king of Gotham’s criminal underworld and as the city’s mayor, he supposed that a day gone by without having his life threatened could be considered boring. Regardless, he was just grateful that Edward was with him through most of it, seeing as he’d saved his life multiple times now. When he looked back at Edward, he nodded his head in a silent reply to Oswald as he moved his hand up to push his glasses all the way back up onto his nose, before dropping it back down to his thigh so he could carefully pull out his pistol.

Edward began to inch closer to the side of the couch with his gun held at the ready, and Oswald crept slowly towards the other end, after taking out his own gun. Neither had to verbally address their plan as they executed it; if they left cover at the same time they would have a better chance of catching the bouncers off guard, and hopefully buying themselves enough time to take them down. Once they were both in position and ready to go, Oswald was the one to give the signalling nod to Edward, and the two men sprung up from the floor, immediately shooting blindly in the general area that they assumed the bouncers would be. Over the noise of gunfire, there was unintelligible shouting as the bouncers tried to aim at them while simultaneously trying to avoid being shot.

Oswald’s eyes quickly focused on the guard closest to him, standing just a few feet away from the couch, and he jerked his gun towards him as he continued to fire. The man had been aiming for the couch, waiting for them to emerge from cover, but it was clear he hadn’t been ready and he was far too slow as he tried in vain to correct his aim. One bullet grazed the man’s shoulder, causing him to lose his grip on his gun, sending it clattering to the ground, and stumble back a step before two more bullets pierced his upper chest. Oswald’s aim was just a few inches from the man’s heart, but he had definitely punctured a lung, and it was more than enough damage to send the bouncer tumbling onto the floor in a slowly growing puddle of his own blood.

Once it was clear that the man wasn’t going to be getting up again, Oswald turned his head just in time to watch as the second bouncer similarly dropped to the ground after being shot several times in the chest, without even having much of a chance to react in any way other than screaming in surprise and pain. When Oswald then turned his attention to Edward, the other man was already looking at him, a confident grin on his face. Oswald returned the smile immediately and the two couldn’t help laughing with each other for a moment, adrenaline and excitement rushing through them after having seamlessly disposed of both bouncers.

“Now, I think we were in the middle of something,” Edward turned around, his gun held up and pointing at the ceiling, as he began to speak in a tone loud enough for the club owner to hear from where he was still hiding under his desk, “Weren’t we, Mr. Stix? Why don’t you come out so we can get this little business meeting all wrapped up?” Oswald followed Edward’s lead and the two walked right over to the desk, stopping just in front of it as they waited for some sort of response. After a few long moments of silence, Oswald made his impatience for the situation clear by aggressively kicking the front of the desk in order to elicit a reaction.

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Mr. Stix’s muffled voice proclaimed, before he slowly began to crawl out from beneath his desk. As he stood up, he carefully raised his hands into the air signalling his willingness to cooperate, his expression no longer smug or confident and instead fearful. He stuttered slightly as he spoke up again, pleading, “I swear, I’ll pay you whatever you want, Mr. Cobblepot. This was just a mistake, y’know? ”

“Oh, you’re right about this being a mistake. Go on and take a seat, sir.” Oswald continued to grin maliciously as he ordered the club owner around, and his widened eyes closely followed the now meek man as he hesitantly obeyed. Mr. Stix seemed as though he wanted to say something in response, but he thought better of it and instead silently looked between the two of them as he waited for Oswald to continue. “I hope that your little stunt was worth it while it lasted, because I’m not so positive I’d like to continue doing business with you. I’m sure you can understand.”

As he finished speaking, he quickly raised his gun upwards from where he had been holding it down by his hip, and he aimed it right at Mr. Stix’ head. The club owner immediately shrieked and jumped in his seat as he tried to protect himself by raising his arms up to cover his face, just as Oswald pulled the trigger twice. Instead of gunshots, however, the only sound produced were two metallic clicks as he attempted to fire from the empty clip. Oswald cursed under his breath as he continued to pull the trigger a few more times, just to make sure that it was truly empty, and his grin turned into a tight frown before he finally just tossed the gun to the floor. As it clattered against the ground, Mr. Stix flinched and warily let his arms fall from his face.

“Alright, excuse me. Change of plans.” Oswald, looked around for a second, before his eyes landed on Edward and his grin returned to his face. Edward extended his hand towards him and offered his own pistol, but he looked momentarily confused as Oswald’s hand wrapped around his own, instead of just taking the gun. Oswald gently guided his hand, and the gun, forwards until it was aimed right at Mr. Stix, Edward caught on to what he was doing and he smiled as he turned his gaze away from Oswald and back onto the club owner instead. As Mr. Stix began to beg for his life, Oswald ignored him and talked right over his pleas for mercy, “It’s too bad things couldn’t work out between us, but I think this is for the best anyways. Goodbye, Mr. Stix.”

Oswald punctuated his statement by squeezing Edward’s hand in his own, and Edward took it as a sign to shoot, so he pulled the trigger, just once. Mr. Stix was cut-off mid sentence by the bullet as it penetrated his forehead and went right through his skull, causing the former club owner to suddenly fall back against his chair, his arms falling limply to his sides. In the silence that followed the loud gunshot, the two men stood completely still for another minute, with Oswald’s hand still firmly holding Edward’s, and they stared at Mr. Stix’ body until Edward eventually cleared his throat.

“Oh, excuse me, Ed.” Oswald quickly let go of Edward’s hand, attempting to keep his tone even, though there was a slight edge of embarrassment. He had forgotten that he was still holding the other man’s hand, and could feel his cheeks warm slightly as he took a step away from Edward, trying not to make the other man uncomfortable. As Edward turned to face him, he smiled reassuringly as he replied. 

“No worries, Oswald. It’s just unfortunate that Mr. Stix was so uncooperative, his club usually brought in a lot of money.” Edward casually put his gun away again as he spoke, gesturing with his free hand towards the corpse of the club owner when he was mentioned. Even despite the danger they had just been through, Edward was still thinking about the specific purpose of the meeting, and it made Oswald’s grin grow wider in endearment for his best friend.

“It couldn’t be helped. I’m sure that I can arrange for a new, and more loyal, owner for the club before the month ends.” Oswald confidently assured Edward, who seemed to be satisfied with the response as he nodded curtly. the mayor took a second to readjust his suit, finally having a moment to make sure that he didn’t look too disheveled, before he got an idea and he voiced his suggestion as he ran a hand through his hair. “Now, Ed, why don’t we go get something for lunch?”

“That sounds like a perfect idea, Oswald.” Edward smiled sincerely as he answered, and he also took a second to flatten his own clothing. Other than this meeting, they hadn’t had any other things planned for the day that couldn’t be taken care of later on, and Edward was very willing to grab something to eat with Oswald after all of the excitement they had recently experienced. He gestured enthusiastically towards the door, before he continued jovially. “There’s a very nice Italian place just a few blocks away, if you’re in the mood.”

[vicbartons]

73 and 2. 😘

excuse me; stay here tonight

“Never seen those, to be honest.Is there nothing else on?” Aaron asked, looking up at Robert over the car magazine that his nose had been buried in for the past half an hour. 

Robert, who had been hunched over the kitchen table, shot up at Aaron´s admission, eyes wide. ”Excuse me?“ He huffed, sounding genuinely offended.

Aaron only raised an eyebrow upon hearing the tone of his voice, fearing that he was in for yet another one of Robert´s lectures concerning his lack of knowledge of popular culture. (Or culture in general, if you asked Robert.)

“Never seen those,” Aaron repeated stolidly, his glare daring Robert to go off on one of his tangents.

It was an early friday afternoonand they were in the back of the pub. Aaron spread out on the sofa, bone-tired after a week´s work at the scrapyard, and Robert at the kitchen table with his eyes focused on his phone.

Up until a moment ago, he´d been scrolling through the listing forthe cinema in Hotten. He´d heard that they were doing some kind of throwbackevent and showing nothing but 80´s movies all week, which obviouslyhad Robert interested, giant nerd that he was. 

So he´d brought upthe idea of an impromptu date night.

Work had been busy for both of themthe past week, which had lead to them not seeing nearly enough ofeach other for their tastes. 

That, and they were still trying tonavigate this new phase of their relationship - the one in which theyweren´t reduced to stolen kisses in dark corners and secret meetingsin barns that smelled of hay and farm animals any longer. 

Dating, according to Robert, had toinclude proper nights out for just the two of them, wining and diningmore than a stone´s throw away from either of their bedrooms. (If hewas feeling extra confident, he´d even go as far as to try and getAaron into something other than a black hoodie for the occasion.) 

It´s not that Aaron disagreed per se, he just didn´t see anything wrong with makinguse of the pub right next to his living room and the free pints thatcame with being the owner´s son. 

But no matter how much he loved to tease Robert over his posh ways, if he was being honest, part ofhim enjoyed the nights out of town where it was just them spending time together, away from the eyes of all the gossip-lovingvillagers and the death glares of the Whites. 

It made this thingbetween them feel more real. And given how long Aaron had playedsecond fiddle to Chrissie - never in his wildest dreams allowinghimself to believe he would ever actually have Robert all to himself- just being out and about together in front of strangers, withRobert´s hand reassuringly pressed against the small of his back,was something that Aaron valued more than he could put into words.

Still, he wasn´t going to spendtwo hours of his life watching a sequel to a film he´d never seen.

Normally, he wouldn´t be toobothered by it. If it was up to Aaron, they would pick seats in thelast row of the cinema and he could spent his night leisurely letting hisfingers run up and down Robert´s thigh and maybe snog him senselessduring the boring bits. That way, they´d be too distracted to reallypay attention to whatever was happening on the big screen in front ofthem anyway.

He´d never have thought that thatwas an idea he would have to convince Robert of all people of.

Not when the man had spent most oftheir affair unable to keep his hands off of Aaron even atthe most inappropriate of times. (Aaron´s cheeks still went brightred when he as much as thought of that afternoon up at Home Farm, whenRobert´s hand had shamelessly found its way to his crotch under thetable during a business meeting with Lawrence.)

But as it turned out,now that they were getting used to the luxury of being able to touch whenever andwherever they wanted to, Robert had no qualms about shoving him offand shushing him in favour of some geeky film that Aaron had usually never even heard of, which was more often than not down to the fact that it had come out years or sometimes decades before he was born. Instead, Robert was perfectly happy just to intertwine theirfingers and lean into Aaron´s side, while letting himself beengrossed by spaceships, cowboys or superheros for an hour and a half. He was still Robert Sugden though, which meant that just to put Aaron more on edge than he already was, ever so often Robert would whisper teasing promises into Aaron´s ear that made himthankful for the darkness of the cinema. (Otherwise,the colour of his cheeks would surely have given away to the peoplearound them exactly what Robert´s evening plans for them were.)

So if he was going to spend twohours in the dark, actually having to pay attention to the filminstead of making out with his gorgeous better half, it would have tobe something he´d at least be able to enjoy.

“How?” Robert started, still in an obvious state of shock, “How can you never have seen Star Wars?”

Aaron couldn´t help but smirk upon seeing the look on Robert´s face. “Mate, it´s just a film. Noreason to go all-” he started, rolling his eyes in annoyance, but Robertcut in before he could finish his sentence.

“Just a film?” he mocked, ”Are you kidding meright now?” His voice almost jumped up an octave at that, while hishands were gesticulating in the air wildly, “ ´The Empire StrikesBack´ isn´t just a film! It´s a flipping classic, Aaron. It´s one ofthe greatest films of all time. How did you have the time to make your way through Michael Bay´s entire atrocity of an IMDB page, but skip over Star Wars?”

Aaron pushed himself up off the sofa then, scuffling over to the kitchen table. “Will you just get over it?” he sighed, leaning against Robert´s chair from behind. 

Secretly, Aaron loved seeing Robert get all animated when discussing these things he loved that Aaron himself knew nothing about. 

Whether it were comics, movies or books or even articles from one of the endless number of scientific magazines Robert had subscriptions to. Whenever Robert got talking about these things, his eyes lit up with childlike wonder and Aaron couldn´t stop himself from falling a little bit more in love with him at the sight. 

That was, unless Robert´s usual excitement turned into more of a geeky wreath that he chose to focus directly on Aaron. 

“None of them? Really?“ Robertinquired again, turning around slightly so he could look up at Aaron and wondering if perhaps, unbeknownst to him, Aaron had in fact spent all of his life living under a rock. “Noteven the prequels?“

“The what now?“ Aaron asked, letting his head fall to the side, frustration clear on his face now. 

“I feel like I need to reevaluatethis whole relationship now,“ Robert muttered under his breath, but there was a small grin tugging at the corners of his face. Aaron took it as a sign and -  since he was already well over this nonsensical tiff they were apparently heaving - leaned down and pressed a kiss against Rober´s lips.

“You can be a right drama queensometimes, you know that?“ he said, only pulling away an inch.

“Shut it, you,“ Robert countered, a bit of fire still left in his eyes, but his mouth already pliant under Aaron´s touch, “My boyfriendhas never seen Star Wars! This is a perfectly fitting reaction tothat kind of information.“

Boyfriend. It had beenalmost 6 weeks now, but Aaron hadn´t gotten used to the word yet and it would take him a while still. Though that didn´t change thesmall tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever Robert usedthe term. In fact, he had noticed that Robert used it quite often and the smile on his face when he didso told him that he wasn´t the only one who savoured the term andeverything that came with it. Not that there hadn´t been acertain thrill to their affair, but this, this hadthe potential to be so much better. Thrilling in a wholenew way, because it was real. Because Robert wasn´t going to run offback to Chrissie after a quick screw anymore. Because this timethey were doing things properly, getting to know each other in awhole new way, quirks and all.

“I know about the ´Luke, Iam your father´ twist,” Aaron teased, couldn´t help himself really, ”There can´t be much more to it than that.”

“That´s not even the quote,Aaron,” his tone was harsh, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Course it is.” Aaron kissed him again.

“How would you know? You´venever even seen it,” Robert´s hand curled around the back of Aaron´s neck, pulling him closer. “Makes me question what other red flagsyou´ve been hiding from me,“ he pondered as their noses rubbed against each other.

“Guess you´ll have to stickaround and find out,” Aaron muttered, pressing a kiss in the space right below Robert´s ear, leaving a small mark there with his teeth.

“Though it´s good to know you´re finewith the criminal record, but draw the line at 80´s sci-fi movies,weirdo,” he whispered, feeling Robert´s laugh against his lips, rather than seeing it.

“Nothing wrong with having yourpriorities in order.” 

Aaron pulled back then to look at Robert, a playful, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Let´s stay heretonight.“ 

Robert wasn´t the only one in this relationship whohad his priorites in order.

“You sure?” he questioned, one eyebrow raised, ”We could always-” Aaron shut him up by bending down, there lips once again meeting.

“Mhm,” he hummed, letting his tongue slide over Robert´s bottom lip, “I´m sure.” He let his hands, that had been playing with the hairs at the back of Robert´s neck for a while now, move down along the collar of his white dress shirt until he was tugging on his boyfriends maroon tie. Pulling it lose in one swift motion.

Robert was grinning against him, determined to have the last word eventhough he had clearly already given into Aaron´s plans for their night. “I´m going to have to take Finnto see ´Rogue One´, won´t I?” he whispered against Aaron´s skin in a mock sullen tone, peppering kisses down his boyfriend´s neck, “The guy is such a-” 

Suddenly, he was stopped by a palm pressed flat against his mouth, a mischievous look on Aaron´s face. “If I were you, nerd,” Aaron growled lowly, one eyebrow raised high, “I´d shutup now.”

And Robert did. Mouth too busy with activities far more entertaining than banter anyway.

(Obviously, Robert still made Aaron sit through all seven films a few weeks later. Both of them spending almost the entirety of a long weekend tugged under a blanket on the sofa at Victoria´s together, cuddling close and living off of nothing but pizza and thai food. Aaron didn´t actually end up hating them. Well, the prequels were a bit shite, but according to Robert, watching and hating them was a right of passage. Still, Aaron spent most of those hours watching Robert out of the corner of his eye rather than the telly, enjoying that fluttering feeling that found its way into the pit of his stomach whenever Robert´s face lit up and his cheeks grew pink in excitement.)

[theseviolentdelightss]

Counting Paths

Series Summary: After a lifetime on the run from the Empire, Reader makes a move that could have drastic impacts for both friend and foe. A Reader insert/fanfic. Gifs belong to their respective owners.

Word Count:3779

Author's Note: First fic I've posted in a long while and first shot at doing a reader insert so bear with me.

The room was silent as the grave as the Captain made his way past the normally bustling rows of monitors and desks that now sat unoccupied. Ninety nine percent of the time the control room was filled to the brim with activity. Officers dashing past each other, pilots debriefing, the typical goings on of a day in the rebellion. Today; however, was an exception. Cassian knew it from the moment he woke up. Gasping for breath as he shot up in his bed. Dark hair clinging to his forehead with cold sweat. It wasn't often that the rebel spy slept, but without fail he always managed to dream. The same terrible memory playing over and over again. Trying again to steady his breath the Captain rounded the last of the illuminated dividers and stepped into the pale green light. Yes, today would be anything but typical.

“You may take a seat Captain.” Mon Mothma spoke softly as she directed him towards the center of the large round table. The dim light did little to hide the tired in the Captain's eyes as he found himself slowly pulling the chair back before allowing himself to fall into it. General Draven had noticed his ragged appearance no doubt as he cast Cassian a side eyed glance but the rebel spy was far beyond caring. All he wanted was to answer his superiors questions then put as much distance as he could between himself and any one else for as long as it took for the numb to return. You had long since chased it away; yet, in your absence he was desperate for the familiar sensation. Anything was better than the pain. Always demanding to be felt. It never let up.

“We'll keep this as brief as possible.” The woman in white continued, her eyes never straying from the Captain's trembling hands as he attempted to open up his mission folder. It was far thicker than most, its edges worn from being constantly opened and closed. He had never meant to write so much, in all truth his intentions had been to keep his report as routine as possible. Perhaps it would hurt less that way; yet, each day he found himself reaching for it. Jotting down some tiny instance or fact he had suddenly remembered until his report became something more of an attempt to hold on to every little detail he could. In some sad way he had hoped that by doing so it would make things easier but it had failed to do so. Instead only reminding him of what he had lost. “Perhaps it would be best if we began with your earliest recollections of Y/N.”

Just the mention of your name sent a dozen cold shivers down his spine. For all his talents as a high ranking intelligence officer Cassian felt incapable of hiding his emotions when it came to this subject. A reality that hadn't gone unnoticed by his superiors as they stood around the large table. Eyes downcast in an attempt at respect. Each of them had know the Captain for years and each knew undoubtedly that this was far beyond the realm of anything he had faced before. A certain amount of discretion was to be expected. Taking a deep breath Cassian searched his mind for the proper way to begin but it seemed as if he were trying to capture a feeling for an audience that he would much rather keep to himself.

“It had been three days since my capture when I first encountered Y/N” Cassian began, his voice shaking ever so slightly at the end of his sentence. The more he thought about that night, the cool air of the desert planet, the smell of fuel still clinging to his jacket from days before, all of it came flooding back. A memory playing like a film in his mind, and like all films, regardless of how desperately he wished he could change it, the ending would always be the same.

You were desperate. There was no way of getting around it. When it came to ideas you were simply down to one. As much as you hated to admit it, taking on a job such as this would help in the long run. Even so, the idea of getting tangled up with the Alliance was pretty high up on the list of things you rather not do. Like swallowing another person's vomit or shoving shards of glass under your finger nails. It was far from appealing to say the least; none the less, it was like your father always said...

“Sometimes you have to do something bad to keep yourself from doing something worse.”

Peering through your scope you kept the thin line of individuals on the horizon in your sights. Sure you could finish off either or both troopers from this distance with two quick clicks of the trigger but that would most likely send their prisoners scattering in the wind and that was the last thing you needed. Somewhere along the line of worn faces was a very important rebel spy. You were almost certain that if you brought him back to his people in relatively one piece they would have no choice but to help, or hear you out at least. Double checking your blaster you watched as the slow moving line staggered closer and closer. Both moons were out tonight and would offer you little cover which meant that you had no choice but to face your enemies head on. When it came to such a scenario the best bet you had was to always make sure that they would underestimated you.

Which they always did.

Though your some twenty odd years of life had been far from easy, putting on a happy and youthful face always seemed to lead people to the wrong conclusions. After managing to quietly descend the rocky terrain you dusted yourself off and stepped out into the pale night light. You were meters ahead of them, holding a small solar lantern to provide a clear view as you approached them. You were perfectly visible and perfectly vulnerable. As good a cover as any.

“Halt right there!” The first trooper demanded, his voice nearly identical to every other trooper you had ever came into contact with. A copy of a copy.  

“I'm sorry, I'm just lost.” You began, slowly stepping closer to the now immobile group of strangers while pulling down your hood to reveal your thick curls and braids. If it were up to you the only up keep you would be concerned with when it came to your hair was merely washing it but over the years you had found that something about it always appeared to take people off guard. Most likely due to is coloring, such a pale blonde it looked almost white at times. You weren't sure why but coupled with your false shyness, it for whatever reason gave off a sense of innocence that was entirely misplaced. “My ship went down over this ridge.” You spoke, your voice tired but kind. “My navigation system completely malfunctioned, I'm just trying to find my way into town.”

Each of the two faceless men shared a glance beneath their imperial masks. Though their uniforms hid every sort of emotion it didn't rid them of obvious body language. From their stance it was clear you had yet to prove you weren't a threat.  Beneath the thin fabric of your gray tunic you could feel your heartbeat quicken; even so, you maintained your calm. Storm troopers may be a dime a dozen but that doesn't mean they are dumb by any means. They had all been trained well by the Empire to look for signs of dishonesty in even the most unsuspecting of individuals. A category you fell in, which meant that fidgeting with your hands, shifting your weight, or simply looking down too often while speaking was a sure fire way to get caught.

“What's your business here?” The one on the left now spoke, his voice identical to his partners. “Show us your papers.”

Well shit...

It would be a lie do say you didn't see this coming but normally you were able to get a few more words in before it all went to hell. Tonight; however, was different. You weren't entirely sure as to why these two particular troopers were both so on edge but it couldn't be anything good. Perhaps due to the increasing tension building within the outer rim territories. The Empire was doing everything in its power to further its grasp on the galaxy; yet, there was still fighting constantly in the streets. Though most people were willing to keep their heads down and live under the Empire's thumb there were still those who refused to be held captive. You just hoped that one of those particular individuals was among the group of ragged prisoners that stood some five meters behind their captures.

“I told you my ship went down.” You continued, trying your best not to let your frustration come through in your voice. A prospect much easier said than done. Quickly glancing between the two it was impossible not to feel the tension radiating off of each of them. It filled the surrounding air, pushing down hard, threatening to smother you. None the less, if there was one thing you were sure of it was that you would not meet your end at the hands of two such dimwits as the pair in front of you.

“Show us your papers.” The one of the right practically growled, raising his rifle until its barrel lined up perfectly between your eyes. All it would take is one quick click and you were a goner. The idea should have frightened you but it did little to deter you from the real situation at hand. You hadn't came here to parlay with two idiot storm troopers. You were here to save a life and if everything went according to plan; which it rarely did, than maybe there was even a chance for you to make a real difference. Not likely, but one can hope.

“Pardon me, have you simply gotten carried away or are you pointing that blaster at me with lethal intent?” You asked, not so much as a question but as a somewhat sarcastic reassurance. You knew damn well they intended to put you down, that knowledge in of itself provided you with just enough time to formulate a plan. Though neither the troopers nor their prisoners had seemed to take notice you were very well armed, blaster tucked safely underneath your faded olive jacket. Safety always off. Better to take the chance of accidentally shooting yourself in the foot than run the risk of quick drawling your weapon only to hear that deadly 'click click'.

“Last chance,” The trooper began, now flicking off his rifle's safety, sights still set firmly on you. “Show us your papers.”

Sighing you chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment, debating rather or not you had any alternative options. Sadly nothing came to mind. Turning around now was only going to get you shot in the back. At least this way you stood a fairly high chance of coming out the victor. Oh well, here goes nothing. 

“Very well.” You spoke, the shy politeness having entirely dissipated from your voice. In the blink of an eye you had thrown your coat open, retrieved your blaster, and fired off four shots in such quick succession that neither trooper had managed to get off so much as a single round. The first went directly through the bright white helmet of the trooper on your right. Piercing through his armor and causing a burst of red to blanket his face before he fell to the ground with a thud. The trooper still standing fumbled with his weapon but before he could manage to get his grip you had shot it out of his hands. The last two shots each found their way into his knees. With a loud howl he fell into the sand, staining it a deep shade of crimson. Behind him the group of prisoners shuffled back, as if they expected you to shoot them as well. Though the idea of leaving no witness behind was rather tempting you needed to make a good first impression. Whoever this rebel spy was, you doubted rather he would be willing to accept your help or offer his own after watching you mercilessly slaughter a group of unarmed prisoners. That was the Empires MO, not yours.

“You bitch!” The trooper on the ground yelled, reaching for his rifle. Moving forward quickly you snatched it off the hard sand and held the weapon out of his reach. His face may be hidden but you were certain that beneath that mask was an expression of pure hatred directed towards you.  “You killed 7-14!”

“Oh hush it.” You demanded rather nonchalantly. “I only shot your partner after he threatened to kill me. Now if you could please keep your caterwauling to a minimum I have some business to attend to.”

Stepping closer to the group of prisoners you realized just how bad of a shape they were all in. Each looked as if they had taken a handful of beatings along with little to no food since their capture. The Empire was to busy reeking havoc to be concerned with the well being of its captives. As long they could be made to talk they were given just enough to keep them alive. It was a sort of torture. A way of breaking a person down to their most basic survival instincts.

“Don't worry.” The kindness returned to your voice with each step. “I mean you no harm, I am simply looking for someone.”

Behind you the trooper on the ground continued to scream. Wailing loudly as he clutched at his injuries with the only hand he had left. When you had shot the rifle out of his grasp the force of it had taken the appendage with it. Not what you were planning for but it certainly didn't hurt matters. His yelling continued, growing steadily louder and louder.  Even though you were easily a few thousand meters from the nearest town, screams like that had a way of drawing in predators and getting thoroughly under your skin. Turning on your heel you raised your foot and brought the full force of your boot down onto the troopers masked face.

“This is me asking nicely.” The tone in your voice left no room for doubt. Rather it was the kick to the face or the threat of further injury the trooper quickly fell quiet. Only small moans of pain escaping his lips. Turning your attention back to the group you hoped you hadn't been too openly violent. If they feared you they weren't likely to answer any of your questions. “Now back to where I was, whom among you is affiliated with the Rebel Alliance?”

Not so much as a peep in return. Damn it, you had been to brash. Time to back pedal, gain their trust. Stepping up to the man in front of the line you pushed the troopers rifle into the strangers cuffed hands. The look of shock on his face was genuine and as each of them began to share looks you began to hope that they would be willing to talk.

“See.” You implored them. “I'm not going to hurt any of you.”

Again they all shared worried glances among themselves. From the looks of it they were all in bad shape yet there was one man who still managed to stand out from the rest. Not that he looked any less weary but his tired eyes held a gleam of resistance within them. A sort of iron will that shone through even as he stood shackled. Moving forward you held up your lantern to each of their faces, grateful it hadn't broken when you dropped it to earlier. Slowly you made your way down the line yet you couldn't help but feel yourself being pulled back to the man who had caught your attention before. Coming to a stop next to him you held your lantern a bit closer than you had the others. He looked like hell. His high cheek bones were bruised, his thin bottom lip busted, blood splattered across his jacket; yet somehow, incredibly he didn't appear defeated. If there was a rebel among the bunch you were betting on him.

“Fulcrum.” You spoke in almost a whisper but it was enough. At the mention of well known rebellion alias his eyes shot up, now returning your gaze. “That name mean anything to you?”

The silence hung heavy between the two of you and for a moment you thought perhaps this whole ordeal had been for not. Sighing you were nearly about to walk away from him when he finally spoke.

“Yes.” Was all he said, three simple letters, one tiny word but it was enough. You could feel your eyes light up as a smirk pulled at the corner of your lips. You had been waiting for months, hell even years for an opportunity like this and you finally had it. Looking him deeply in those dark brown eyes you allowed yourself the tiniest of hope.

“Then you're just the man I'm looking for.” Turning back you made your way towards the now nearly silent storm trooper. He was bleeding out but you had little pity for the likes of him. “Keys.” You demanded, holding out your hand to him. “Give em.”

“Fuck you!” He hissed.

“No thanks, your not my type.” You replied sarcastically. Your voice no longer blanketed with the false politeness you could flip on and off like a light switch. Stepping forward you pushed the heal of your boot atop one of his shattered knees and pressed down hard. The wailing returned but it wouldn't last long. “Now give me the damn keys or I'll pull them out through your eye socket.”

Sheesh, that was graphic even for you but it did the trick. With his one good hand he dug inside his uniform and retrieved a small set of keys. They were smeared with blood but it was never something that bothered you. Blood had been apart of your life for as long as you could remember. Like breathing, you dealt with it on a daily basis. After dozens of injuries and having to constantly patch yourself up you had become desensitized to the sticky red stuff. Reaching down you merely wiped it off on your trousers before making your way back to the group. Stopping only when you had reached the dark eyed man who was your one chance at hope.

“Now if I take these cuffs off, can you promise you wont kill me?” You asked in a rather matter of fact tone. Too tired to tip toe around the point. Once again he returned your gaze, this time with far more emotion than before. You were sure he had considered it but killing one's savior was a bit much, even for a rebel.

“I swear.” He replied, his accent was heavy and you couldn't help but be surprised that you hadn't noticed it before. Granted, its hard to pick up much from a single word yet you had a sneaking suspicion that it would stick with you. Having been on the run the majority of your life you had came into contact with almost every sort of language, ethnicity, and life form yet not once had you ever heard a voice quite like his. Searching your mind you tried to place its origins but came up with nothing. At least it would give you some sort of talking point on the long flight back to his base. Assuming he trusted you enough to lead you there.

Without a second thought you reached down and unlocked his cuffs, allowing them to fall to the ground with a clank. The cold hard metal had rubbed his wrist raw and before you could stop yourself you found yourself reaching out and gently taking a hold of his hands. Beneath his tan skin and the days worth of dry blood you could almost see bone and for some reason it caused something within you to snap. Without a moments hesitation you turned on your heal, grabbed the rifle from the prisoner in front, and turned it on its former owner. Letting a final shot ring out through the cold night. It was an impulsive move but you had made it none the less. Sighing you allowed the rifle to fall to the ground beside the now dead trooper. Normally killing bothered you but when it came to cutting down the Empire's numbers it never seemed to trouble you much. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

“Here.” You spoke softly as you handed the man in front the set of keys. “Uncuff yourselves, forget this ever happened and get as far away from this forsaken planet as you can.” Moving forward you reached out to take a hold of the dark haired rebel's arm but he instinctively pulled away.  “Come on.” You huffed in mild frustration. “How many troopers do I have to kill before you believe that I'm on your side?”

Though he appeared mildly surprised he did a very good job of hiding it. Still, rather he wanted to admit it or not you had just undoubtedly saved his life. He knew it and you damn well knew it too. Even though his instincts told him not to, when you reached out again he let you tentatively take hold of his arm and lead him from the group. The two of you hadn't taken a handful of steps before you realized just how badly injured he was. He could hardly stand without your support and as you carefully pulled his arm over your shoulder you wondered how he had managed to seem so untouched by it all until now.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked in a tired, raspy voice. Stumbling along next to you, occasionally hissing in pain. Tightening your grip you turned to him with the smallest of smiles. Happy to find him looking back at you rather than simply staring ahead.

“Home.” You answered softly. “I'm taking you home.”

[topicprinter]

I had been at my cushy corporate job for almost 12 years. During that time, I've pretty much been in the same role. Sure, I've had various title changes, and pay increases here and there, but for the most part, the day-to-day has been the same since the beginning.I wanted to move up the ladder, believe me, I tried, but for one reason or another, it just never seemed to work out. There was always an insurmountable obstacle in my way. The biggest one was the company itself, it was just too damn small, and there was nowhere to go unless the company grew. But, despite constantly maintaining the same headcount, give or take a few here and there, the company never grew as anyone had hoped.It's not that I hated my job, I was actually quite good at what I did. But I started having that feeling a few years ago that I could be doing so much more with my time and effort. I hated having to ask if it was OK to take my kids to the doctor, having to feel bad, feel like I am not being a "team player", or feel like someone is disappointed in me because I decided to take a vacation. I didn't like not having a voice. Despite working for my current company for over 12 years, I still feel like I had no voice. There are a few people that make the decisions, and that's that. Obviously, it is their right to do so, but I feel like I should have had some input after 12 years. My boss and I are separated by almost 30 years in age, so that may have something to do with it. But still, I was sick and tired of the company making dumb decisions without my knowledge or input.So, I did what most people would do. I buffed up my resume & Linkedin profile and started looking for something else, hopefully, something better. I had several interviews, but nothing panned out. I had only been interviewing for a couple of months, but I felt as though it was going really well, considering how picky I was being (benefit of not "needing" a job). But then my boss offered me a very generous raise (I had been due for a raise for almost 3 years) so I eased up on the job search and temporarily went back to being content.I felt great for a couple of weeks, then the feeling of dread returned. It wasn't going away. The extra money was nice, but it didn't fix the problem. At some point it hit me, it was kinda strange, it was like a switch being flipped. I realized that I was completely unfulfilled with what I was doing. No satisfaction, just boring, joyless work. I was doing good work, I was really good at my job, and the job was easy to boot (easy to me anyway). But there was this massive void, something that I couldn't quite describe. I'll admit it, I was completely lost. I didn't know what to do. If I left this job for something else, I will likely work in the same type of environment, doing something similar for someone else that I may or may not like. I had some decent business ideas, but I didn't think I had the courage, nor the capital to start a business, so I kinda wrote that idea off.Miserable, and completely broken, I persisted, because I had to (family to support). I guess I'll just put myself into that statistic of Americans that hate going to work every day. I never thought my day-to-day job could make me so miserable, unfortunately, I brought some of it home with me as well. I was just always pissed off and short-tempered. Not at all who I wanted to be. Something had to give.In desperation mode, I started contacting career coaches. They were all expensive, and I was worried the investment wasn't going to be worth it. My resume and LinkedIn weren't the problems (they offered to "fix" them for me), it was my career that was broken. I needed a new career. But, how does one just go out and get a new career?"Why don't I strap on my job helmet and squeeze down into a job cannon and fire off into job land, where jobs grow on jobbies?That's the kinda frustration I felt. Then, something completely unexpected happened. I was contacted by an "alternative career coach". He charged no direct fees for his services, but he was offering perspectives that I never thought about. So I figured it was worth a shot. I am naturally a very skeptical person, so I figured there had to be a catch. Nobody does anything for free. So we meet, and we get to talking about my goals and situation, and he thinks that he can probably help. So he asks me to complete a DISC personality test to determine my skills, abilities, and personality type. So I do, and I fit the profile for what he is looking for, and his services fit for what I never knew I was looking for.Turns out, this guy is an alternative career coach/franchise business broker (they get a percentage of your franchise fee if you buy the franchise). They find folks like me and help us find a franchise that might be of interest. I know that many people scoff at the notion of buying into a franchise, I was one of them. "It's basically buying yourself a job/career" I have seen many times. Franchise ownership was never even a remote possibility when I started this process. I didn't want to own a Subway, or a Wendys (for some reason fast food is always the first thing that comes to mind when I think franchise). I want to have my own idea, and build my business from the ground up, blah blah blah. The entrepreneur's dream. The word franchise felt dirty (to my stupid uninformed mind) and offputting, I had zero hope of this actually meaning anything. But I shrugged off that feeling and decided to give it a real chance before I jumped to any conclusions. Again, it's not costing me anything, so it's worth a shot.He sets me up with calls from multiple franchisors that fit my interests. They all go well, but one really resonates with me. It checks off all of my boxes. Great income potential, expandability, low (ish) start-up capital requirements, no B&M overhead, great territory, flexible schedule/work from home, and an industry that I am familiar with and believe in. The icing on the cake was the franchisor. The people are fantastic, their support system is world-class, and they invest a lot of time, money, and effort into getting the business running smoothly and profitable. They aren't in it for the initial franchise fees, they want to make a successful product that earns them royalties and intern makes me money, makes sense. Their people are truly the ones that sealed the deal, I believe in them and they believe in me.Together, the franchisor and I went through a mutual vetting process. We needed to make sure we are right for each other. Just because you want a franchise, doesn't mean you get it. It has to be "awarded", there are a lot of boxes that needed to be checked off before you can be awarded a franchise. You need to fit their profile, you need access to capital, and some have net worth requirements. After talking with numerous franchisees, I decided that it was time to move forward. Luckily, I met all their requirements, so I drove out to their HQ and we both decided to move forward. We decided on a training date (December) and sealed the deal shortly thereafter.It also took a lot of convincing of my wife to let me leave my cushy, predictable, steady paying corporate job to pursue this opportunity. Luckily she believes in me and is willing to make the necessary sacrifices to make the most out of this opportunity. There will certainly be an adjustment period for both of us.Several things attracted me to buying a franchise as my first foray into the world of business ownership. When compared to starting my own business from the ground up, there is a lot less risk in buying a proven franchise system, especially one with such great people behind it. A lot of the heavy lifting has already been done for you. I don't need to come up with my own processes and hope something works. I don't need to make a bunch of mistakes trying to market a new brand/product in my local area. I don't need to figure out a good CRM that does everything I need it to. I don't need to build a new website from the ground up. Yes, I will need to learn about all these things in great detail, and determine how to best use them, but I don't need to waste any of my startup capital figuring these things out either. In a few years. if all goes well with this endeavor, I figure that's when I can build something of my own.Funding a business was a very lengthy and complicated ordeal, if you don't already have the startup capital, get ready to do A TON of work to get funding. Buying a proven franchise and using a broker helps, but it is still a whole bunch of work. I'd compare it to getting 2 or 3 new mortgages, there is so much paperwork and so many documents to sign. It's all-consuming, but such a relief when it is over. Let me know if you want to know more.Ever since I signed my franchise agreement, it's been hard to focus on anything else. I've been in hardcore learning mode for the past few months. But it hasn't seemed like work yet, it's been really fun. Also during this time, I've had to work for my current job. Which is kinda like every day being the last day at school, you can't wait till it's over, but you gotta keep going back. It's excruciating having to switch focus on a daily basis.One of the best days I've had in a long time is when I handed in my resignation. I was nervous, but I had fantasized about that day for years. It went very well, and my boss (company owner) understood. He was happy I was taking the leap. He shook my hand and wished me well.I leave for training right after Thanksgiving (3 straight weeks, on top of everything I've already done), and I couldn't be more excited. I finally feel like I am in a good place with good people, and in the right place at the right time. I am finally in the driver's seat, and in full control of my future. I think it's going to be the ultimate test, it's all on me to make this work. I envision that the next few years are going to be pretty rough. Long hours, lots of mistakes, and fluctuating pay. But I also think that it's going to be incredibly rewarding to watch my business grow and reap the rewards of my hard work. Luckily I have an incredible support system to fall back on if things start to get shaky. But I'll never have to say "what if" ever again. Cause I'm doing it.

[robertkstone]

Business and Pleasure for Our Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2

GRAND RAPIDS, Michigan — It wasn’t quite the way I expected to take delivery of the Automobile Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2. As Road Test Editor Eric Wiener noted in the last update, the German two-door made the trip to me from Gingerman Raceway via BMW roadside assistance and a flatbed. All’s well that ends well, though, and the Long Beach Blue Metallic coupe is now happily running on a fresh Michelin Pilot Super Sport rear tire. Well, that rubber isn’t exactly fresh now, as I’ve been having far too much fun with BMW’s cheapest M car.

Not that cheapest should remotely be considering a negative. The M2 continues to be my favorite current M model. It’s also an Automobile Magazine 2017 All Star. I’ve spent significant time behind the wheel of a manual M2, but this is my first stint with the dual-clutch (DCT) version. Being a hardcore fan of three pedals, I assumed I wouldn’t jive with the high-tech setup. Well, you know what they say about assumptions.

The DCT works brilliantly with the torque-rich engine, swapping ratios quickly and adding even more pace to the evocative package. I love that BMW gives you the choice to shift via paddles or the gearbox selector in the center console. I’d still buy the six-speed manual because that’s who I am, but I honestly feel the M2 is a better car with the seven-speed DCT. The M2’s inline 6 makes gobs of power but it’s not the most exciting engine around. It’s more of a tool to get the job done than an emotional, visceral powerplant—focused on the destination rather than the journey. Luckily, the destination is impressive performance.

Speaking of journeys, I pressed the M2 into family adventure duties and it worked surprisingly well. You’d think a smallish coupe wouldn’t be practical but that’s certainly not the case. The seats are mega-comfortable with plenty of adjustment, only let down by a flawed, crooked driving position. My 10- and 12-year old children had plenty of room in back and the trunk fit all our stuff. Access to those rear seats is quick and easy, helped by handy auxiliary power seat switches on the top of the front seats. And the back seats fold, helping with Saturday errands to Home Depot and Bed, Bath & Beyond for flooring and the like. Blue, you’re my boy!

Ride quality is quite good considering the short wheelbase and overall performance on offer, and body control is exemplary. Yes, the M2 is stiff at low speeds, a substantial amount of road noise from the wide tires permeates into the cabin, and the suspension gets crashy on Michigan’s horrible roads, but it’s by no means horrible. The BMW is far more compliant and refined than my old Ford Focus RS.

The iDrive infotainment system adds to the M2’s trusty-companion status on road trips. Efficient arrival at your destination is sorted by the clear, concise satellite navigation and excellent 4G cellular-based traffic data—free for four years. The large dash-mounted screen advises on the amount of time any traffic snarls will delay your journey and then makes recommendations to either stay on the current road or change your route. Very slick.

Additionally, there’s wireless smartphone app integration for music options such as Pandora and Amazon Music. Our early-build 2017 M2 isn’t compatible with BMW’s impressive wireless Apple CarPlay integration, but cars built from August 2017 can be factory equipped (or upgraded by owners over-the-air).

I do wish the M2 carried a larger fuel tank as 13.7 gallons simply isn’t enough. An 80-mph highway cruise results in around a 26-mpg average, allowing you to travel around 325 miles before stopping, but it’s around town where the thirst of the powerful turbocharged engine finds you visiting the fuel station far too often. This isn’t helped by the fact that the M2 is so much fun to thrash.

But any adolescent thrashing must wait until you get your head around the confusing drive modes. BMW’s M3/M4 carry dedicated buttons for adjusting the steering, throttle, DCT shift speed, etc. You’re then able to easily store your preferred setup in one of two preset buttons on the steering wheel. Not so with the M2. Its setup is adapted from the 230i/M240i and is not as intuitive.

If you turn off stability control (DSC), you’re forced into an ultra-aggressive DCT shift setup and, far worse, the electric power steering switches to an artificially heavy configuration. It’s a similar situation with the more laidback—but not nearly relaxed enough—MDM (M Dynamic Mode) setting for the DSC. Come on, BMW. You’ve given us one of your best M cars in years yet we can’t properly configure the settings to enjoy the car to the full potential.

The lack of configurability was particularly frustrating when I visited Grattan Raceway. My focus for the day was to test and work on the chassis setup for two dedicated race cars and an M4 GTS, but I had to at least try the M2 around the 2.0-mile track. Wouldn’t you? The BMW was great fun, but the overly-nanny MDM continued to frustrate and I quickly fully disengaged the DSC. Unfortunately, that brought along the diluted, hefty steering.

At least the general balance of the M2 was impressive and it’s huge fun to smoke the rear tires. You just must mind the way the twin-scroll turbo hits in the low-speed corners as throttle modulation while trying to maximize lap times—versus drifting fun—isn’t particularly easy. Again, the engine is more about making power than being a crescendoing sweetheart. The weight of the M2 also reared its ugly head Grattan. A car this small simply shouldn’t weigh over 3,500 pounds.

My drive home from the track reminded me why the M2 is still a hugely entertaining car. Once you get past the niggling details and understand that the entry-level M is all about hooligan fun, you fully appreciate it once again. It’s wicked fast, comfortable, decent on fuel when respected, and surprisingly practical. The rear-drive coupe is something of a nearly half price Porsche 911. It can play the role of a selfish, fun toy but also easily serves as both a trusty day-to-day companion and a 2nd family vehicle. And the BMW trumps the rear-engined 2+2 by having more room for bigger kids—and even adults—in the back seat.

The next stop for our Four Seasons M2 is California, where it will live out its days until BMW steals it back. I picture the west coast crew of Automobile Magazine kicking and screaming as the keys are pried from their hands at the end of the one-year stay. I’m sure sad to see the M2 leave Michigan.

Our 2017 BMW M2

MILES TO DATE TK PRICE $57,545 ENGINE 3.0L DOHC turbocharged 24-valve I-6/365 hp @ 6,500 rpm, 343 lb-ft @ 1,400-5,560 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed dual-clutch automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 4-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/26 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 176.2 x 73.0 x 55.5 in WHEELBASE 106.0 in WEIGHT 3,505 lb 0-60 MPH 4.2 sec TOP SPEED 155 mph

The post Business and Pleasure for Our Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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Business and Pleasure for Our Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2

GRAND RAPIDS, Michigan — It wasn’t quite the way I expected to take delivery of the Automobile Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2. As Road Test Editor Eric Wiener noted in the last update, the German two-door made the trip to me from Gingerman Raceway via BMW roadside assistance and a flatbed. All’s well that ends well, though, and the Long Beach Blue Metallic coupe is now happily running on a fresh Michelin Pilot Super Sport rear tire. Well, that rubber isn’t exactly fresh now, as I’ve been having far too much fun with BMW’s cheapest M car.

Not that cheapest should remotely be considering a negative. The M2 continues to be my favorite current M model. It’s also an Automobile Magazine 2017 All Star. I’ve spent significant time behind the wheel of a manual M2, but this is my first stint with the dual-clutch (DCT) version. Being a hardcore fan of three pedals, I assumed I wouldn’t jive with the high-tech setup. Well, you know what they say about assumptions.

The DCT works brilliantly with the torque-rich engine, swapping ratios quickly and adding even more pace to the evocative package. I love that BMW gives you the choice to shift via paddles or the gearbox selector in the center console. I’d still buy the six-speed manual because that’s who I am, but I honestly feel the M2 is a better car with the seven-speed DCT. The M2’s inline 6 makes gobs of power but it’s not the most exciting engine around. It’s more of a tool to get the job done than an emotional, visceral powerplant—focused on the destination rather than the journey. Luckily, the destination is impressive performance.

Speaking of journeys, I pressed the M2 into family adventure duties and it worked surprisingly well. You’d think a smallish coupe wouldn’t be practical but that’s certainly not the case. The seats are mega-comfortable with plenty of adjustment, only let down by a flawed, crooked driving position. My 10- and 12-year old children had plenty of room in back and the trunk fit all our stuff. Access to those rear seats is quick and easy, helped by handy auxiliary power seat switches on the top of the front seats. And the back seats fold, helping with Saturday errands to Home Depot and Bed, Bath & Beyond for flooring and the like. Blue, you’re my boy!

Ride quality is quite good considering the short wheelbase and overall performance on offer, and body control is exemplary. Yes, the M2 is stiff at low speeds, a substantial amount of road noise from the wide tires permeates into the cabin, and the suspension gets crashy on Michigan’s horrible roads, but it’s by no means horrible. The BMW is far more compliant and refined than my old Ford Focus RS.

The iDrive infotainment system adds to the M2’s trusty-companion status on road trips. Efficient arrival at your destination is sorted by the clear, concise satellite navigation and excellent 4G cellular-based traffic data—free for four years. The large dash-mounted screen advises on the amount of time any traffic snarls will delay your journey and then makes recommendations to either stay on the current road or change your route. Very slick.

Additionally, there’s wireless smartphone app integration for music options such as Pandora and Amazon Music. Our early-build 2017 M2 isn’t compatible with BMW’s impressive wireless Apple CarPlay integration, but cars built from August 2017 can be factory equipped (or upgraded by owners over-the-air).

I do wish the M2 carried a larger fuel tank as 13.7 gallons simply isn’t enough. An 80-mph highway cruise results in around a 26-mpg average, allowing you to travel around 325 miles before stopping, but it’s around town where the thirst of the powerful turbocharged engine finds you visiting the fuel station far too often. This isn’t helped by the fact that the M2 is so much fun to thrash.

But any adolescent thrashing must wait until you get your head around the confusing drive modes. BMW’s M3/M4 carry dedicated buttons for adjusting the steering, throttle, DCT shift speed, etc. You’re then able to easily store your preferred setup in one of two preset buttons on the steering wheel. Not so with the M2. Its setup is adapted from the 230i/M240i and is not as intuitive.

If you turn off stability control (DSC), you’re forced into an ultra-aggressive DCT shift setup and, far worse, the electric power steering switches to an artificially heavy configuration. It’s a similar situation with the more laidback—but not nearly relaxed enough—MDM (M Dynamic Mode) setting for the DSC. Come on, BMW. You’ve given us one of your best M cars in years yet we can’t properly configure the settings to enjoy the car to the full potential.

The lack of configurability was particularly frustrating when I visited Grattan Raceway. My focus for the day was to test and work on the chassis setup for two dedicated race cars and an M4 GTS, but I had to at least try the M2 around the 2.0-mile track. Wouldn’t you? The BMW was great fun, but the overly-nanny MDM continued to frustrate and I quickly fully disengaged the DSC. Unfortunately, that brought along the diluted, hefty steering.

At least the general balance of the M2 was impressive and it’s huge fun to smoke the rear tires. You just must mind the way the twin-scroll turbo hits in the low-speed corners as throttle modulation while trying to maximize lap times—versus drifting fun—isn’t particularly easy. Again, the engine is more about making power than being a crescendoing sweetheart. The weight of the M2 also reared its ugly head Grattan. A car this small simply shouldn’t weigh over 3,500 pounds.

My drive home from the track reminded me why the M2 is still a hugely entertaining car. Once you get past the niggling details and understand that the entry-level M is all about hooligan fun, you fully appreciate it once again. It’s wicked fast, comfortable, decent on fuel when respected, and surprisingly practical. The rear-drive coupe is something of a nearly half price Porsche 911. It can play the role of a selfish, fun toy but also easily serves as both a trusty day-to-day companion and a 2nd family vehicle. And the BMW trumps the rear-engined 2+2 by having more room for bigger kids—and even adults—in the back seat.

The next stop for our Four Seasons M2 is California, where it will live out its days until BMW steals it back. I picture the west coast crew of Automobile Magazine kicking and screaming as the keys are pried from their hands at the end of the one-year stay. I’m sure sad to see the M2 leave Michigan.

Our 2017 BMW M2

MILES TO DATE TK PRICE $57,545 ENGINE 3.0L DOHC turbocharged 24-valve I-6/365 hp @ 6,500 rpm, 343 lb-ft @ 1,400-5,560 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed dual-clutch automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 4-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/26 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 176.2 x 73.0 x 55.5 in WHEELBASE 106.0 in WEIGHT 3,505 lb 0-60 MPH 4.2 sec TOP SPEED 155 mph

The post Business and Pleasure for Our Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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Business and Pleasure for Our Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2

GRAND RAPIDS, Michigan — It wasn’t quite the way I expected to take delivery of the Automobile Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2. As Road Test Editor Eric Wiener noted in the last update, the German two-door made the trip to me from Gingerman Raceway via BMW roadside assistance and a flatbed. All’s well that ends well, though, and the Long Beach Blue Metallic coupe is now happily running on a fresh Michelin Pilot Super Sport rear tire. Well, that rubber isn’t exactly fresh now, as I’ve been having far too much fun with BMW’s cheapest M car.

Not that cheapest should remotely be considering a negative. The M2 continues to be my favorite current M model. It’s also an Automobile Magazine 2017 All Star. I’ve spent significant time behind the wheel of a manual M2, but this is my first stint with the dual-clutch (DCT) version. Being a hardcore fan of three pedals, I assumed I wouldn’t jive with the high-tech setup. Well, you know what they say about assumptions.

The DCT works brilliantly with the torque-rich engine, swapping ratios quickly and adding even more pace to the evocative package. I love that BMW gives you the choice to shift via paddles or the gearbox selector in the center console. I’d still buy the six-speed manual because that’s who I am, but I honestly feel the M2 is a better car with the seven-speed DCT. The M2’s inline 6 makes gobs of power but it’s not the most exciting engine around. It’s more of a tool to get the job done than an emotional, visceral powerplant—focused on the destination rather than the journey. Luckily, the destination is impressive performance.

Speaking of journeys, I pressed the M2 into family adventure duties and it worked surprisingly well. You’d think a smallish coupe wouldn’t be practical but that’s certainly not the case. The seats are mega-comfortable with plenty of adjustment, only let down by a flawed, crooked driving position. My 10- and 12-year old children had plenty of room in back and the trunk fit all our stuff. Access to those rear seats is quick and easy, helped by handy auxiliary power seat switches on the top of the front seats. And the back seats fold, helping with Saturday errands to Home Depot and Bed, Bath & Beyond for flooring and the like. Blue, you’re my boy!

Ride quality is quite good considering the short wheelbase and overall performance on offer, and body control is exemplary. Yes, the M2 is stiff at low speeds, a substantial amount of road noise from the wide tires permeates into the cabin, and the suspension gets crashy on Michigan’s horrible roads, but it’s by no means horrible. The BMW is far more compliant and refined than my old Ford Focus RS.

The iDrive infotainment system adds to the M2’s trusty-companion status on road trips. Efficient arrival at your destination is sorted by the clear, concise satellite navigation and excellent 4G cellular-based traffic data—free for four years. The large dash-mounted screen advises on the amount of time any traffic snarls will delay your journey and then makes recommendations to either stay on the current road or change your route. Very slick.

Additionally, there’s wireless smartphone app integration for music options such as Pandora and Amazon Music. Our early-build 2017 M2 isn’t compatible with BMW’s impressive wireless Apple CarPlay integration, but cars built from August 2017 can be factory equipped (or upgraded by owners over-the-air).

I do wish the M2 carried a larger fuel tank as 13.7 gallons simply isn’t enough. An 80-mph highway cruise results in around a 26-mpg average, allowing you to travel around 325 miles before stopping, but it’s around town where the thirst of the powerful turbocharged engine finds you visiting the fuel station far too often. This isn’t helped by the fact that the M2 is so much fun to thrash.

But any adolescent thrashing must wait until you get your head around the confusing drive modes. BMW’s M3/M4 carry dedicated buttons for adjusting the steering, throttle, DCT shift speed, etc. You’re then able to easily store your preferred setup in one of two preset buttons on the steering wheel. Not so with the M2. Its setup is adapted from the 230i/M240i and is not as intuitive.

If you turn off stability control (DSC), you’re forced into an ultra-aggressive DCT shift setup and, far worse, the electric power steering switches to an artificially heavy configuration. It’s a similar situation with the more laidback—but not nearly relaxed enough—MDM (M Dynamic Mode) setting for the DSC. Come on, BMW. You’ve given us one of your best M cars in years yet we can’t properly configure the settings to enjoy the car to the full potential.

The lack of configurability was particularly frustrating when I visited Grattan Raceway. My focus for the day was to test and work on the chassis setup for two dedicated race cars and an M4 GTS, but I had to at least try the M2 around the 2.0-mile track. Wouldn’t you? The BMW was great fun, but the overly-nanny MDM continued to frustrate and I quickly fully disengaged the DSC. Unfortunately, that brought along the diluted, hefty steering.

At least the general balance of the M2 was impressive and it’s huge fun to smoke the rear tires. You just must mind the way the twin-scroll turbo hits in the low-speed corners as throttle modulation while trying to maximize lap times—versus drifting fun—isn’t particularly easy. Again, the engine is more about making power than being a crescendoing sweetheart. The weight of the M2 also reared its ugly head Grattan. A car this small simply shouldn’t weigh over 3,500 pounds.

My drive home from the track reminded me why the M2 is still a hugely entertaining car. Once you get past the niggling details and understand that the entry-level M is all about hooligan fun, you fully appreciate it once again. It’s wicked fast, comfortable, decent on fuel when respected, and surprisingly practical. The rear-drive coupe is something of a nearly half price Porsche 911. It can play the role of a selfish, fun toy but also easily serves as both a trusty day-to-day companion and a 2nd family vehicle. And the BMW trumps the rear-engined 2+2 by having more room for bigger kids—and even adults—in the back seat.

The next stop for our Four Seasons M2 is California, where it will live out its days until BMW steals it back. I picture the west coast crew of Automobile Magazine kicking and screaming as the keys are pried from their hands at the end of the one-year stay. I’m sure sad to see the M2 leave Michigan.

Our 2017 BMW M2

MILES TO DATETKPRICE$57,545ENGINE3.0L DOHC turbocharged 24-valve I-6/365 hp @ 6,500 rpm, 343 lb-ft @ 1,400-5,560 rpmTRANSMISSION7-speed dual-clutch automaticLAYOUT2-door, 4-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupeEPA MILEAGE20/26 mpg (city/hwy)L x W x H176.2 x 73.0 x 55.5 inWHEELBASE106.0 inWEIGHT3,505 lb0-60 MPH4.2 secTOP SPEED155 mph

The post Business and Pleasure for Our Four Seasons 2017 BMW M2 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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