#but the ear i reliably forget until i start rendering

[hinamie]

i need a tally keeping track of the amount of times i forget to hack off yuuji's ear

[amajikilvr]

there for you - tamaki amajiki

word count 965

reader type gender-neutral

contains anxiety , panic attacks , comfort

premise you’re quick to follow tamaki after he runs out during a presentation

“Um, as you can see, the rapidly growing, but often ignored, phenomenon... we know as quirk discrimination… is an equally devastating and, uh, dangerous by-product of our superhuman society…”

Tamaki’s usually powerful and reliable calf and quad muscles now have the strength of day-old jello that’s been left out in the scorching sun. He’s stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to hide the way his slender fingers are shaking. He knows it’s futile, every inch of his pale skin is trembling as a result of earthquake-level strength beats of his heart.

“... Oh, it’s detrimental that we abolish this, um, system for… I mean, to ensure the success of generations to follow…”

The glare of the classroom lights bouncing back into his face from the ugly vinyl flooring makes it nearly impossible for Tamaki to whisk his mind away to a much better place. His already blink-and-you’ll-miss-it confidence is completely shot, a battered and crumpled piece of nothing laying on the ground next to him like a dead animal.

“AsAHeroSchoolItsOurResponsibilityToUm…”

He practically had to pull those next few words straight out of his larynx. His tongue feels like it’s grown five sizes, he’s sweating through his uniform button-up, and his stomach has become some kind of sick and twisted magic potion, the organ gurgling and burbling. It’s becoming physically painful to continue speaking by this point.

For the first time during his presentation, Tamaki gazes out towards the many, far too many, faces of his classmates mirrored back at him. He becomes aware of how dangerously close he is to having tears dribble down his cheeks. Holding them back leaves his vision blurred and he’s finding it extremely difficult to spot your sweet face in the endless ugly sea of everyone else’s.

Maybe it’s for the better…

What would he do if he looked into your eyes and saw nothing but disappointment as you watched him pathetically flounder up here? It must be so embarrassing to be associated with him at a time like this. He can’t handle that thought.

“I need to-”

And he’s gone, consequences be damned. Tamaki races out of the classroom and to the nearest restroom which is empty and echoey, just the way he likes it. To be alone, with no one watching him is beautiful. Truly and honestly.

He’s still quaking when he presses his clammy forehead to the chilled wall, but he no longer fears he might be sick at any second. All he can do is continue to slowly take deep breaths that he long ago learned will eventually bring him back to Earth after being launched so far away.

“Tamaki? It’s me...”

A small hiccup that somewhat resembles your name is all Tamaki manages to get out. His back is turned, but he hears the click of your shoes approaching and he braces himself. He’s hating that you’re going to see him like this, sniveling and hiding away.

“I’m here.”

Tamaki gulps, tracing the wall with his fingernail. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey, none of that.” Your voice is stern, not going to budge anytime soon, yet as gentle as a butterfly’s wing. “There’s nothing to be apologizing for. Nothing. I mean it.”

“But…” His mouth is still insanely dry as he attempts to protest that notion. He gives up before you even have a chance to argue back.

The faucet turns on behind him. He listens to you hustling for a moment before you’re suddenly right there, close enough for him to smell the familiar, comforting, scent of you.

Tamaki still can’t bring himself to face you, to look you in the eyes.

“Can I touch you?”

It feels like every liter of his blood rushes straight up to the tips of his ears, but he nods. Although, he still doesn’t move.

He flinches and embarrassingly enough, squeaks when something icy and damp is suddenly placed underneath his eye. A balled-up wet paper towel is now in his peripheral vision.

“Sorry!” You apologize profusely and Tamaki can only imagine how cute your expression must be. That thought summons the smallest of smiles onto his face. “I know it’s cold. I should’ve waited for the water to warm up a bit.”

“It’s okay.”

For the next minutes, you lightly press on the areas that were once rendered red and puffy from the scene he made back in the classroom. He gets the chills, pleasant ones, every time your fingertips brush against his skin. Your other hand is resting snugly on his shoulder which is thankfully no longer shaking.

“You know what, Tamaki?” He’s momentarily disappointmented you’ve stopped your soft humming. It’s hard to pinpoint when you even started doing that, but he liked it.

“Hm?”

“When I see you, right here, right now, I see Suneater. I see you doing the most complicated, most impressive, maneuvers like it’s as simple as breathing. I see you saving lives with no hesitation. I see someone with more bravery and talent most people can’t even comprehend. I also see Tamaki Amajki. My sweet, sweet, Tamaki. The Tamaki who makes me laugh until my stomach hurts. The Tamaki I’m luckiest enough to kiss and hug. The Tamaki who lets me play with his ears sometimes even if it sounds weird…”

“I couldn’t care less about a stupid presentation and I can only hope you’ll be able to forget about it as quickly as I did. Besides, I read your speech and it was pretty damn great.”

Tamaki can’t find any words to respond to that monologue. He surprises you both by spinning around and launching into your chest, nearly sending the two of you down to the bathroom floor which wouldn’t be ideal.

He hugs you tight, brushing his nose against your face.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

[faierius]

Touch Starved (A Promnis fic)

Ignis did not know what to do. It was not a feeling he had often, and it was definitely not a feeling he enjoyed. It agitated him to no end and prevented him from focusing on other tasks. Today his lack of focus lead to lack of care, which then lead to a slice across the pad of his left thumb.  The minor injury brought on more agitation when the source of his problem bounded across the came to see what had happened.

“You okay, Iggy? Need a bandage?” Prompto asked, tilting his head and looking up at Ignis with concern-filled periwinkle eyes.

Dabbing away the blood oozing from the shallow, stinging cut, Ignis offered a smile which felt tight and forced. “Thank you, but no. I'm quite alright.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

The pinched expression on Ignis' face eased at the enthusiasm radiating from the younger man. “Please, do not concern yourself. Dinner is almost prepared, so please have a seat.”

Twisting his mouth to one side, Prompto leaned heavily on Ignis' prep table. “But I wanna help! You never let any of us help,” he complained, wrinkling his nose.

“Prompto, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but it is entirely unnecessary. My workstation is far too small to have two bodies using it.”

“Oh. Okay then. Well, let me know if you need anything!” The young man covered his thinly veiled hurt with a smile and went back to where Prince Noctis sat, playing with his phone.

A disturbing twinge of guilt squeezed Ignis' heart as he watched Prompto flop down in a chair. It had been...difficult to handle the man's particular brand of affection the last few days. He had the bad luck to overhear a private conversation between Prompto and Noctis five days prior and had been unable to focus on much else.

It was an unusual thing, to hear of another's attraction to you and pretend everything was as it always had been. It was more unusual yet to see a friend in a new light that had never even crossed his mind a week ago.

Swallowing hard, Ignis readjusted his glasses and began ladling tonight's soup into a serving dish. From here, he distributed it into four bowls and garnished each bowl with a sprinkling of shallots.

“Dinner is served!” he announced.

With a shuffle of cloth and a faint scraping of chair legs on stone, Gladio, Noctis, and Prompto came to get their meal. Ignis handed each man a bowl. Gladio grunted a thanks and Noctis made a noncommittal noise in his throat as he eyed the shallots with distaste. When he handed Prompto his serving, their fingers brushed and he looked up to see a hint of pink coloring his cheeks.

Ignis nearly dropped the bowl in his surprise. He apologized, taking his hand away before he accidentally dumped the man's dinner down his front.

“By the Astrals,” Ignis cursed under his breath, turning away. He had never seen Prompto blush before. Considering the amount of teasing the man suffered, it was odd he had never been embarrassed to the point of flushing.

Inhaling a calming breath, Ignis took his dinner and joined the others. The last remaining chair was across the fire from Prompto. Glancing across the flames, he saw the blond look away. Now that he knew how Prompto felt, it was so painfully obvious. How had he never seen it before? It was quite adorable, actually.

A thought struck Ignis and he hid his amusement by sipping broth from his spoon. Noctis had made the comparison often in regards to Prompto's hair, but the young man was more like a chocobo than he realized. Flighty until you hard its trust, then companionable and affectionate. Though the same could be said about most baby animals. One could compare Prompto quite easily to a cautious yet enthusiastic kitten, or to an eager puppy.

“You gotta be more careful, Prompto,” Gladio scolded, gesturing with his spoon. The big man leaned forward in his chair, the black wings tattooed on his massive shoulders stretching.

“Huh? But I was! Not my fault the baby garula came outta nowhere!”

“Those things aren't small, you should have felt it barreling toward you! Or heard it, at the very least.”

“You try firing a gun two feet from your head and then tell me how easy it is to hear anything!” Prompto grumbled, sticking his tongue out at Gladio. “It was one little attention starved baby. The poor thing was probably orphaned.”

“We killed the MTs anyway, so it wasn't a big deal,” Noctis said, keeping his eyes on his food.

“Maybe this time, but it might be if you keep getting distracted,” Gladio growled.

“Gladio, stop picking on him. He has just as much control over wild beasts as you or I,” Ignis told to the man, hooking one leg over the other.

Even in the deep shadows of the firelight, Ignis could see the blush deepen on Prompto's cheeks.

“You don't have to defend his mistakes, Iggy.”

“And you hardly need to be such a crab,” Ignis huffed.

Noctis, Prompt, and Gladio's jaws dropped as they looked at Ignis.

“Who shoved a stick up your ass?” Gladio grumbled, raising a brow.

“Gladio,” sighed Ignis, “what occurred this afternoon was hardly Prompto's fault. Did we blame you when a coeurl kitten befriended you, bringing her mother upon us? Did we blame Noctis when an oddly curious Tonberry youngling followed us around for an entire night? No, of course not. Just because a battle did not go as planned, does not necessarily mean it is anyone's fault.”

Pouting indignantly, Gladio slouched in his chair and scowled at his soup.

“Ha!” barked Noctis, smirking. “Good job, Specs. You rendered Gladio speechless!”

“Not my intent. I was merely pointing out why the sloppy battle this afternoon was blameless.” Dipping his spoon into his soup, Ignis fished out a large chunk of meat. His eyes found Prompto's across the fire and he smiled softly. The blond returned the expression.

“We do attract a lot of weird animal and daemon attention, don't we?” Prompto chuckled. “Can't forget the time that Gigantuar kept trying to hug you, Ig'!”

“I'm not entirely convinced it wasn't merely trying to impale me at close range.”

Gladio smirked, sitting up again. “What about that day when we stopped for a break and a daggerquill perched on your shoulder?”

“It musta thought his hair was straw it could use for a nest,” Noctis teased, snorting as he dropped his spoon into his empty bowl.

“No need to be rude, Highness,” scoffed Ignis.

As they chatted, the men finished their meal. After dinner, Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio amused themselves with a round of King's Knight while Ignis cleaned up. He politely declined their invitation to join their game and set to storing away leftovers for lunch tomorrow. Halfway through washing up dishes, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

“Ignis, c'n I talk to you?”

Drying his hands, Ignis looked down at Prompto, who was deftly avoiding his gaze. “Of course.”

Hooking his thumbs into his belt and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Prompto peeked up at Ignis. “Thanks for sticking up for me. I appreciate it.”

“Think nothing of it. Gladio was out of line, and he enjoys picking on you. Try not to take his words to heart.”

“I-I know, but even Noct doesn't stick his neck out for me against Gladio.” Prompto flashed a quick, uneasy grin.

Ignis did not like the self-deprecating tones of that grin. “Prompto, don't let a few little words get in your head like this. You are strong. You are reliable. I trust you to have my back in a war zone just as much as I would Noctis or Gladio. We have all made mistakes, and we learn from them. You're fine as you are.”

Prompto's cheeks turned red as a Lucian tomato. His jaw dropped, but no words came out.

“Come, now. No need to blush.” Ignis smirked, tilting his head to try and hold Prompto's gaze. He knew he was teasing, and he felt awful doing so, yet he couldn't seem to help himself.

A tiny squeak escaped Prompto's throat. His hands shot up to cover his face as his blush spread to his ears and down his neck.

“Hey, Specs!”

Ignis glanced up over Prompto's spiky blond hair to where Noctis and Gladio stood on the other side of camp. “Yes?”

“There's a catfish I wanna catch at the lake. It only comes out at night, so I'm taking Gladio with me,” said Noctis, jerking his thumb at their friend.

“Do be careful,” Ignis replied, nodding. He watched the pair disappear into the dark before turning his attention back to Prompto. The young man had dropped his hands, but his face remained bright red. Ignis had to force himself not to reach out and ruffle his hair.

“So, uh, it's just you and me for a bit, hey?”

“Would you like to help me clean up the last of the dishes?”

Prompto's eyes brightened at the prospect. “Sure! Where do ya want me?”

Ever the adorable, eager puppy. “Here is fine,” Ignis replied, handing over a towel. “If you could dry while I wash, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Bouncing the three steps to Ignis' make-shift wash station, Prompto started drying the dishes which had already been cleaned. Ignis smirked down at his basin as they settled into a quiet routine. Dishes clinked together, water swished, and ambient wildlife sounds filled any voids. Occasionally their hands touched and Prompto would jerk back, mumbling an apology. It was cute, yet so unlike his boisterous, cheery self, it pained Ignis.

Ignis' brow twitched behind his glasses. He hadn't noticed yesterday how rapidly Prompto's mood could shift when something was on his mind. He hadn't noticed many things about the young man before now. It was painful to his pride as a strategist. He was supposed to observe people, his surroundings, to know exactly what needed to be said or done. How could he miss so many things about someone who was supposed to be a close friend and ally?

“Hey, Iggy?”

“Yes?”

“Um, Noct and Gladio won't be back for a while. Wanna take a look at the pictures I took today?”

“I'd very much enjoy that, Prompto.” Smiling, Ignis extended his hand, indicating for Prompto to precede him.

Grinning that sweet, sunshiny grin, the young man bounded off to get his camera. Dropping to his knees to scramble into the tent, Prompto kicked his feet behind him, whistling. Ignis caught himself watching Prompto wiggle his rear end from side to side as he reached for his camera. Adorable. Anyone would be lucky to have such a sweet young man love them. Cindy didn't know what she was giving up by turning him away.

An unpleasant twang stabbed Ignis' heart. What was this awful feeling? Ignis folded his arms across his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. A finger pressed between his furrowed brows a moment later and he opened his eyes to see Prompto grinning up at him.

“Keep frowning like that and you'll get wrinkles!” Prompto teased.

Ignis consciously eased his frown. “Shall we sit?”

“Sure.” Grabbing a chair, Prompto positioned it next to another and flopped heavily into the seat. He curled a leg beneath him and powered on his camera.

Sitting more gently in the other chair, Ignis watched Prompto find the beginning of the day's pictures. His green eyes traveled from the bright screen to Prompto's profile. The glow from the camera display was harsh, but even it didn't mar the young man's attractive features. His parted lips shone with moisture, the curve of his nose was soft, his eyes sparkled brightly with excitement, and his freckles popped against his pale skin.

Ignis realized tonight was the first time he actually looked at Prompto. The first time he studied his face, drank in each spot, each strand of hair, eyelash, everything. The idea of Prompto being attracted to him wasn't quite as odd a concept now. It was exciting, different, fun. Being with Prompto would be fun, and he definitely needed more of that in his rather dull existence.

“Noct looks so dorky here!” Prompto declared, laughing as he held out the camera.

“A rather unflattering image to be sure,” chuckled Ignis.

Prompto clicked to the next picture. This one was a fantastic shot of Ignis mid-flip. “You look so cool here.”

“It's nothing special,” Ignis assured him.

“So modest!” The next picture was Ignis as well, snapped just as he released his daggers. Two more battle shots of the man followed.

“I seem to have caught your eye today,” Ignis observed, raising an eyebrow and sliding his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“You do every day!”

Ignis blinked at Prompto.

When his words sunk in, Prompto's face lit up and his jaw hit the ground. He sputtered, brows drawn, periwinkle eyes wide. After a moment of incoherent babbling, he gave up, slouching in his chair.

“I'm flattered, Prompto. Though this is the perfect time for me to get something off my chest.”

The blushing blond barely cast him a sidelong glance.

“Last week when we made a stop in Old Lestallum, I overheard a conversation between you and Noct. I had no intention of listening in, and I do feel dreadful about it, but I heard you tell Noctis you harbor certain feelings for me.”

The color drained from Prompto's face. “Oh no.”

“It's alright, Prompto.”

“I'm sorry, Iggy. I know it's weird, and I'm really sorry you found out. I don't wanna bother you or anything, and I won't act any different. It just sorta came out of the blue and I, like, respect you a ton, and you're so cool and handsome all the time, and—”

“Prompto.” Ignis' voice was stern, enough to cut off the young man's babbling. “Listen to what I was saying without interruption, please.”

Eyes wide, the blond nodded.

“It's alright. At first, I admit it was an odd prospect. On the rare occasion growing up when I was informed an individual had a crush on me, I was always baffled. I would think to myself they probably wouldn't fancy me were they to actually know me. But you know me as a person, not the aloof bookworm everyone always took me for. This is why I'm a little shocked, honestly. Out of everyone, why me? You and Noctis are so close, so similar, you're a much better match. Gladio, though pushy, would even be a more suitable partner than myself. Not to mention all the women out there who would absolutely love to be with you.”

Prompto stared at Ignis, slack-jawed. “What? No! Iggy, you're amazing. You're so good at everything you do, you're confident, brave, have a big heart, and you don't put up with our crap. You're a great guy, Ignis.” His words started off strong, defensive, but melted into a mumble when he remembered he was pouring his heart out to the object of his desires.

Sighing, Ignis sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

“I know I'm not as important as you, or as skilled as you or anything, but I think you're awesome. None of this would be the same if you weren't here. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable now or something.”

Ignis wasn't sure why, but he felt a burn of tears in his eyes. Not a sensation he had experienced in many years. Reaching under his glasses, Ignis rubbed at the corners of his eyes. “Nothing you could do would make me uncomfortable, Prompto. Your earnest, frank nature is breathtakingly refreshing in this world of liars and schemers.”

Prompto's brow twitched into a frown as he leaned forward to investigate the odd hitch in Ignis' voice. The orange glow of the fire made the moisture on the man's cheeks glitter. Shooting from his chair, Prompto fell to his knees in front of Ignis, putting his hands on the man's arms as he peered up into misty green eyes.

“What's wrong? Are you okay?” Prompto's voice was fearful yet demanding as his eyes searched Ignis'.

Chuckling, Ignis smiled down at Prompto while wiping his eyes. “Thank you for your concern, love, but I'm quite alright.”

“L-l-l-love?” croaked Prompto, eyes wide.

Had he said that? It must have slipped out by accident, along with the tears. It was so rare he was painted in such a positive light with such honesty...he almost forgot what appreciation felt like when it wasn't in the form of grunts and groans from Noctis or shouted compliments from Gladio on the battlefield.

In a display of emotion befitting his twenty-three years, Ignis slid out of his chair and wrapped himself around Prompto. He hugged the blond with the ferocity of a touch starved young man, holding him like he might disappear should he let go. Ignis never knew he felt this way, never realized how much comfort he could get just through a simple hug. It was frightening.

“Whoa, Iggy!” Prompto tried to lean back to look into Ignis' eyes, but the man held him too tightly. He put his own arms around Ignis' back and his forehead to the crook of his neck. Prompto let himself be held and held Ignis in return. It was so warm and comfortable, Prompto felt his eyelids droop as he sat there, wrapped in Ignis' embrace.

Five minutes passed and Ignis sat back, clearing his throat. “I apologize. That was unbecoming of me.”

Prompto fell back on his butt and grabbed Ignis' hand. “When was the last time you hugged someone?” he asked, voice low.

Adjusting his glasses with his free hand, Ignis frowned. “I...I'm not entirely certain.”

Prompto's chest hurt. “Iggy...”

Sighing heavily, he stared into Prompto's eyes and squeezed his hand. “Will you allow me to indulge myself?”

Jaw dropping, Prompto stuttered for a moment.

“I am interested in returning your affections, Prompto. Please, I would very much like to hold you more.”

“W-what? Seriously?”

Ignis' brow twitched. “Perhaps I was mistaken? Do you not enjoy physical interaction? I thought with the way—”

“Iggy!” Prompto grinned. “You think too much. I just never ever expected to hear this from you. It's just surprising to hear when the person you've been crushing on for months tells you they like you back. I'm just...kinda freaking out a little.”

“So...you'll allow me to hold you as much as I desire?”

“Of course! I'll never let you go hungry,” he said with a wink.

“I'm sorry?”

“Skin hungry. Touch starved, y'know? People need contact.”

“Ah. Please, feed me then.” The corner of Ignis' mouth quirked up in a smirk.

Prompto blushed but returned the smile. “Only if you do the same.”

Reaching out, Ignis pulled Prompto against his chest and squeezed him tight. He brushed his lips against the soft hair at his temple. It was unusual how this felt like the most natural thing in existence now. An hour ago he couldn't have pictured this if he tried.

“I suspect Noct and Gladio will be some time yet. Shall we ready for bed? I'm curious to see what it will feel like to sleep with someone in my arms.”

“In this weather? Prob'ly hot and uncomfortable. But I'm willing to try if that's what you want,” Prompto told him, giving him a shy glance.

“I would like nothing more, dear Prompto.” Getting to his feet, he helped Prompto up and admired the deep flush in his cheeks. He brushed his calloused thumb across his freckled skin.

“Is...is your cut okay?” Prompto mumbled, taking Ignis' free hand in both of his. He examined the thin red scab before bringing it to his lips and kissing the pad of his thumb.

“Much better, thank you.” Dropping his hand, he straightened his spine and looked down at the young man. “Alright now, enough dillydallying. Off to bed.” Smirking, he pinched the blond's backside.

Prompto squeaked, jumping. “Ignis!”

“It'll be a flat hand if you don't hurry along,” he teased.

“You're not, like, a sadist are you? Cause I'm totally not into that,” Prompto said, crossing the camp to the tent.

Pushing his glasses up, Ignis crossed his arms. “Hardly. You smack Noctis' backside often, so I thought I'd return the favor. Think of it as...light encouragement.”

Prompto kicked his boots off and crawled into the tent. “Dude, I get to cuddle with the most attractive man on all of Eos. I don't need encouragement.”

Following Prompto into the tent, Ignis chuckled. He didn't know how else to respond. Being held in such high regard was a new experience for him. Prompto was adorable and honest and painfully sweet. It was too much, yet not nearly enough.

Silently the men changed into their sleep clothes and settled down on Ignis' bedroll. Lying on his side, Ignis pulled Prompto against his chest. He propped his chin on top of gel-prickly blond hair and wrapped his arms around his back. Closing his eyes, he sighed softly.

“I must admit, this was hardly how I believed my evening would go,” Ignis whispered, tracing lazy circles in the center of Prompto's back.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw a wrench in the works,” mumbled Prompto, his voice muffled by Ignis' chest.

“Nonsense. It was unexpected, not bad. You hardly need to apologize for being a sweet, caring person.” Ignis didn't need to see Prompto to know he was blushing this time, he could feel the heat radiating from his face. “Now shush and go to sleep.”

“...Night, Ignis.”

“Goodnight, Prompto.”

~oOo~

“Better luck next time, Highness,” laughed Gladio, smacking the much smaller man on the back and nearly knocking him over.

“Eh, my heart wasn't in it anyway. Too concerned about leaving Prom alone with Specs.”

“Right. Actually forgot that's why we left in the first place. How do you think Sunshine made out?”

“It's hard to say with Specs. Could go either way.”

“I never really could picture him dating anyone, y'know?”

“Ignis? Yeah, I know what you mean. But Prompto's been fawning over him for months. I figured I'd give him a little push. Either it'll work out, or Specs'll tell him why it won't.” Noctis shrugged as they climbed back up to the haven.

“Either they killed each other, or they went to bed because no one's here,” replied Gladio, raising an eyebrow at the dying fire.

Noctis strode past Gladio, heading straight for the tent. Poking his head inside, he put his hand to his mouth to stifle a snort. Joining Gladio again, he stared at the fire.

“Well?”

“Looks like they figured it out.”

Gladio slung his arm around Noct's shoulders. “Does that mean we can stop hiding?”

“And have Iggy fussing about my health more than he does? No way.”

“You sayin' he might be worried I'd split you in half?” teased Gladio, grinning from ear to ear.

Noctis punched the big guy in the chest.

“Ow!” Gladio laughed, rubbing his pec. “Okay, I'll keep a lid on it until you decide.” Leaning down to cover the vast height difference, Gladio kissed his prince.

“Wanna sleep under the stars tonight?” Noctis asked when they parted.

“I'll get our stuff.”

“Good, cause I'm not going back in that tent tonight.”

A low chuckle rumbled Gladio's chest and he hugged Noctis close. “Wuss.”

[jesusvasser]

First Drive: 2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performente Spyder

CALISTOGA, California — When Editor Mike Floyd sent me to review Lambo’s latest, I vowed that I would cover it like the jaded, sober professional I imagine myself to be—but that all went out the window the moment I opened the taps on the 2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performante Spyder’s 630-horse V-10. Bombing through the back roads of Northern California in a brand-new supercar on behalf of an A-list car mag is something I’ve dreamed of doing for years, and if you’re going to live the dream, there is no better ride than this.

What is the Huracán Performante Spyder? It’s insane, that’s what it is. It is a road-going elephant gun that transforms mere mortals into driving deities. It’s the ride that earns you looks of smoldering jealousy from drivers of high-end Porsche 911s. It’s the car that Aston Martin owners can’t quite afford. It is the passport to a lifestyle that 99% of us—especially those of us who chose to write about cars for a living rather than do something more lucrative, like working at a 7-11—can only dream about.

It’s also a little cramped, very noisy, and has the world’s silliest turn signal switch—nuisances that the Beautiful People never tell you about.

Let’s break the car down: The Huracán is the smaller of Lambo’s supercars, and the Performante version sheds weight and adds power. Its naturally aspirated 5.2-liter V-10 delivers 630 hp and 442 lb-ft of torque, increases of 28 hp and 29 lb-ft over the regular Huracán. All-wheel-drive is standard, as is a dual-clutch seven-speed automatic transmission.

The Performante gets Lambo’s active aerodynamic system (Aerodinamica Lamborghini Attiva, a.k.a. ALA). A movable flap on the front splitter either increases front downforce or reduces drag depending on driving conditions, while flaps at the base of the rear wing supports route air through the wing structure and out of vents on the underside, achieving the same effect out back. And if that’s not enough, the back end uses separate left and right channels to shift downforce to the inner rear wheel when cornering at high speeds. Seriously, how cool is that?

New for 2018 and the subject of my diatribe is the convertible version, the Spyder. Like the regular Huracán Spyder, the Performante Spyder required no additional chassis stiffening above and beyond the coupe; the raked-back windshield delivers the required rigidity, while pop-up roll bars behind the passengers provide rollover protection. The roof is a cloth affair that raises and lowers in 17 seconds at speeds up to 50 km/h (that’s 31 mph to us ‘Muricans), and the vestigial rear window serves as a wind blocker.

The Performante Spyder weighs 77 pounds less than the regular AWD Spyder, but it’s a hefty 276 pounds heavier than the Performante Coupe. Even so, Lambo says the performance figures are close enough for jazz: 0-100 km/h (62 mph) in 3.1 seconds, 0.2 sec off the pace of the tin-top Performante, and the same 202-mph top speed.

Slithering in behind the Huracán’s wheel—as that Crosby, Stills and Nash song goes, it gets harder as you get older—transforms you to a place outside of the regular automotive universe. Whatever surfaces aren’t covered in Alcantara suede are molded from forged composite, a lightweight form of carbon fiber used extensively in the Performante’s underlying structure. Switches are lined up like rigidly disciplined soldiers on a flowing center console. There’s no center screen; the Audi-sourced navigation system displays on the video-screen dash next to the digitally-rendered tachometer. One could argue that the nav display is too small, but one could also argue that one who would pick such nits has no business driving a Lamborghini. Such a person might also point out the incongruity of the cheap plastic on the steering wheel hub, so it’s probably best to kill them before they start talking.

Anyone lucky enough to drive the Huracán Performante Spyder must experience launch mode. Set the drive mode switch to Corsa, disable ESC, then floor the brake and mat the accelerator. The engine howls at five grand and the transmission holds in neutral. Release the brake and off you go. It is difficult to describe the experience of rocketing to 60 mph in three seconds, but it’s not as dramatic as you might expect: No wrenching of the stomach, no flattening of the face—one instant you’re standing still; the next, you’re at a mile-a-minute and gaining speed quickly.

Flinging this car around the curves, however—that is as dramatic as you might expect. Acceleration is as quick as a motorcycle. Grip feels limitless, and it may as well be; assuming you’re not driving like a complete imbecile, you need to push very hard on very sharp curves to get the Pirelli P Zero Corsas to give up their hold on the pavement. And you will want to push hard, because the steering is pretty darn near perfect—quick but not darty, hefty but not heavy, delivering feedback without kick-back.

The ride is hard but not uncomfortable, at least until you hit really choppy pavement, where it becomes clear that when push comes to shove the Huracán prioritizes grip over comfort. Carbon-fiber brakes powerful enough to stop time allow you to rapidly scrub speed when you suspect cops might be lurking ahead.

And the noise—oh, the noise! The Huracán has three drive modes, called Strada (street), Sport (you can guess), and Corsa (race). They change all the usual parameters—dampers, shift pattern, throttle response, dashboard display—but the one you’ll notice most is the soundtrack. Strada is quieter than the other modes, in the sense that a Metallica concert is quieter than a Megadeath concert. It mutes the exhaust somewhat, but like Luciano Pavarotti, when the Huracán sings, everyone is going to hear it. Sport opens up the exhaust and allows a fusillade of backfires every time you lift off the accelerator, while Corsa turns up the sliders on the equalizer.

It is right and proper that we talk about sound, because that may be the best reason to get your Huracán Performante as a Spyder: With the top down, you can appreciate the big V-10 in all its glory, at least until your ears start bleeding. And appreciate it we should: A big naturally aspirated engine—especially one with ten cylinders—is an aural treat, a mellifluous soundtrack that is rapidly disappearing thanks to ever-increasing fuel economy and emissions standards. Turbochargers may be great for power, but they are also natural mufflers, which makes them instruments of the Devil.

Aside from rain—which I am told by reliable sources does not occur in California (but it pours—man, it pours)—is there any good reason to drive this car with the roof in place? The Huracán offers one of the best top-down experiences on the road. The windshield is set far forward, so even short people like me (5’6”), who often find themselves unwillingly sheltered by a swept-back windshield, can experience the sky above them. Buffeting is minimal, visibility is good, and as for wind noise, the engine is so damn deafening that it’s impossible to hear.

That said, I don’t see how anyone taller than me can really enjoy this car. Six-footers may well find themselves staring right into the top of the windshield frame, their heads exposed to the slip-stream. (My co-driver tried raising his adjustable seat and instantly lost his baseball cap to the wind.) Despite my ridiculously short 29” inseam, I had to adjust the form-fitting buckets pretty far back.

And while the Huracán Spyder is lovely with the top down, top up is another story. Closing the low-slung roof feels rather like being swallowed by a large fish. If you were hoping that putting the roof up would give you some respite from the Huracán’s turned-up-to-11 soundtrack, forget it: Top-up, the Spyder is an echo chamber, adding the din of road noise to the roar of the engine.

Since I’m already complaining like an ingrate, I’ll mention the cramped footwells and the ridiculous turn signal switch, a toggle on the steering wheel that must be pressed straight in to turn off after a lane change (because nothing is more embarrassing than driving a high-end Lamborghini with a forgotten left turn signal blinking away). Switching the transmission from manual to automatic mode is a fiddly operation requiring a hard-to-reach button. And why does the Corsa mode not allow automatic shifting? Trying to impress the locals with the exhaust at full bellow and then running into the rev limiter makes one look like a dolt.

Forgive me for complaining, but it’s the only way I can detach myself from the Huracán Performante Spyder without acknowledging that I will probably never be able to afford the $309,000 asking price, let alone the $42,820 worth of options on my test car. (I’m not even sure I could swing Lamborghini’s $3,695 destination fee.) Still, a person can dream, and even live that dream, if only for a few hours. The 2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performante Spyder is the car of which dreams are made, but we all have to wake up sometime.

2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performante Spyder Specifications

ON SALE Summer 2018 PRICE $312,554 ENGINE 5.2 liter DOHC 40-valve turbocharged V-10/630 hp @ 8,000 rpm, 442 lb-ft @ 6,500 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed dual-clutch automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, mid-engine, AWD convertible EPA MILEAGE 13/19 MPG (city/highway) L x W x H 177.4 x 88.0 x 45.9 in WHEELBASE 103.2 in WEIGHT 3,322 lb 0-60 MPH 3.1 sec (est) TOP SPEED 202 mph

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[jonathanbelloblog]

First Drive: 2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performente Spyder

CALISTOGA, California — When Editor Mike Floyd sent me to review Lambo’s latest, I vowed that I would cover it like the jaded, sober professional I imagine myself to be—but that all went out the window the moment I opened the taps on the 2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performante Spyder’s 630-horse V-10. Bombing through the back roads of Northern California in a brand-new supercar on behalf of an A-list car mag is something I’ve dreamed of doing for years, and if you’re going to live the dream, there is no better ride than this.

What is the Huracán Performante Spyder? It’s insane, that’s what it is. It is a road-going elephant gun that transforms mere mortals into driving deities. It’s the ride that earns you looks of smoldering jealousy from drivers of high-end Porsche 911s. It’s the car that Aston Martin owners can’t quite afford. It is the passport to a lifestyle that 99% of us—especially those of us who chose to write about cars for a living rather than do something more lucrative, like working at a 7-11—can only dream about.

It’s also a little cramped, very noisy, and has the world’s silliest turn signal switch—nuisances that the Beautiful People never tell you about.

Let’s break the car down: The Huracán is the smaller of Lambo’s supercars, and the Performante version sheds weight and adds power. Its naturally aspirated 5.2-liter V-10 delivers 630 hp and 442 lb-ft of torque, increases of 28 hp and 29 lb-ft over the regular Huracán. All-wheel-drive is standard, as is a dual-clutch seven-speed automatic transmission.

The Performante gets Lambo’s active aerodynamic system (Aerodinamica Lamborghini Attiva, a.k.a. ALA). A movable flap on the front splitter either increases front downforce or reduces drag depending on driving conditions, while flaps at the base of the rear wing supports route air through the wing structure and out of vents on the underside, achieving the same effect out back. And if that’s not enough, the back end uses separate left and right channels to shift downforce to the inner rear wheel when cornering at high speeds. Seriously, how cool is that?

New for 2018 and the subject of my diatribe is the convertible version, the Spyder. Like the regular Huracán Spyder, the Performante Spyder required no additional chassis stiffening above and beyond the coupe; the raked-back windshield delivers the required rigidity, while pop-up roll bars behind the passengers provide rollover protection. The roof is a cloth affair that raises and lowers in 17 seconds at speeds up to 50 km/h (that’s 31 mph to us ‘Muricans), and the vestigial rear window serves as a wind blocker.

The Performante Spyder weighs 77 pounds less than the regular AWD Spyder, but it’s a hefty 276 pounds heavier than the Performante Coupe. Even so, Lambo says the performance figures are close enough for jazz: 0-100 km/h (62 mph) in 3.1 seconds, 0.2 sec off the pace of the tin-top Performante, and the same 202-mph top speed.

Slithering in behind the Huracán’s wheel—as that Crosby, Stills and Nash song goes, it gets harder as you get older—transforms you to a place outside of the regular automotive universe. Whatever surfaces aren’t covered in Alcantara suede are molded from forged composite, a lightweight form of carbon fiber used extensively in the Performante’s underlying structure. Switches are lined up like rigidly disciplined soldiers on a flowing center console. There’s no center screen; the Audi-sourced navigation system displays on the video-screen dash next to the digitally-rendered tachometer. One could argue that the nav display is too small, but one could also argue that one who would pick such nits has no business driving a Lamborghini. Such a person might also point out the incongruity of the cheap plastic on the steering wheel hub, so it’s probably best to kill them before they start talking.

Anyone lucky enough to drive the Huracán Performante Spyder must experience launch mode. Set the drive mode switch to Corsa, disable ESC, then floor the brake and mat the accelerator. The engine howls at five grand and the transmission holds in neutral. Release the brake and off you go. It is difficult to describe the experience of rocketing to 60 mph in three seconds, but it’s not as dramatic as you might expect: No wrenching of the stomach, no flattening of the face—one instant you’re standing still; the next, you’re at a mile-a-minute and gaining speed quickly.

Flinging this car around the curves, however—that is as dramatic as you might expect. Acceleration is as quick as a motorcycle. Grip feels limitless, and it may as well be; assuming you’re not driving like a complete imbecile, you need to push very hard on very sharp curves to get the Pirelli P Zero Corsas to give up their hold on the pavement. And you will want to push hard, because the steering is pretty darn near perfect—quick but not darty, hefty but not heavy, delivering feedback without kick-back.

The ride is hard but not uncomfortable, at least until you hit really choppy pavement, where it becomes clear that when push comes to shove the Huracán prioritizes grip over comfort. Carbon-fiber brakes powerful enough to stop time allow you to rapidly scrub speed when you suspect cops might be lurking ahead.

And the noise—oh, the noise! The Huracán has three drive modes, called Strada (street), Sport (you can guess), and Corsa (race). They change all the usual parameters—dampers, shift pattern, throttle response, dashboard display—but the one you’ll notice most is the soundtrack. Strada is quieter than the other modes, in the sense that a Metallica concert is quieter than a Megadeath concert. It mutes the exhaust somewhat, but like Luciano Pavarotti, when the Huracán sings, everyone is going to hear it. Sport opens up the exhaust and allows a fusillade of backfires every time you lift off the accelerator, while Corsa turns up the sliders on the equalizer.

It is right and proper that we talk about sound, because that may be the best reason to get your Huracán Performante as a Spyder: With the top down, you can appreciate the big V-10 in all its glory, at least until your ears start bleeding. And appreciate it we should: A big naturally aspirated engine—especially one with ten cylinders—is an aural treat, a mellifluous soundtrack that is rapidly disappearing thanks to ever-increasing fuel economy and emissions standards. Turbochargers may be great for power, but they are also natural mufflers, which makes them instruments of the Devil.

Aside from rain—which I am told by reliable sources does not occur in California (but it pours—man, it pours)—is there any good reason to drive this car with the roof in place? The Huracán offers one of the best top-down experiences on the road. The windshield is set far forward, so even short people like me (5’6”), who often find themselves unwillingly sheltered by a swept-back windshield, can experience the sky above them. Buffeting is minimal, visibility is good, and as for wind noise, the engine is so damn deafening that it’s impossible to hear.

That said, I don’t see how anyone taller than me can really enjoy this car. Six-footers may well find themselves staring right into the top of the windshield frame, their heads exposed to the slip-stream. (My co-driver tried raising his adjustable seat and instantly lost his baseball cap to the wind.) Despite my ridiculously short 29” inseam, I had to adjust the form-fitting buckets pretty far back.

And while the Huracán Spyder is lovely with the top down, top up is another story. Closing the low-slung roof feels rather like being swallowed by a large fish. If you were hoping that putting the roof up would give you some respite from the Huracán’s turned-up-to-11 soundtrack, forget it: Top-up, the Spyder is an echo chamber, adding the din of road noise to the roar of the engine.

Since I’m already complaining like an ingrate, I’ll mention the cramped footwells and the ridiculous turn signal switch, a toggle on the steering wheel that must be pressed straight in to turn off after a lane change (because nothing is more embarrassing than driving a high-end Lamborghini with a forgotten left turn signal blinking away). Switching the transmission from manual to automatic mode is a fiddly operation requiring a hard-to-reach button. And why does the Corsa mode not allow automatic shifting? Trying to impress the locals with the exhaust at full bellow and then running into the rev limiter makes one look like a dolt.

Forgive me for complaining, but it’s the only way I can detach myself from the Huracán Performante Spyder without acknowledging that I will probably never be able to afford the $309,000 asking price, let alone the $42,820 worth of options on my test car. (I’m not even sure I could swing Lamborghini’s $3,695 destination fee.) Still, a person can dream, and even live that dream, if only for a few hours. The 2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performante Spyder is the car of which dreams are made, but we all have to wake up sometime.

2018 Lamborghini Huracán Performante Spyder Specifications

ON SALE Summer 2018 PRICE $312,554 ENGINE 5.2 liter DOHC 40-valve turbocharged V-10/630 hp @ 8,000 rpm, 442 lb-ft @ 6,500 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed dual-clutch automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, mid-engine, AWD convertible EPA MILEAGE 13/19 MPG (city/highway) L x W x H 177.4 x 88.0 x 45.9 in WHEELBASE 103.2 in WEIGHT 3,322 lb 0-60 MPH 3.1 sec (est) TOP SPEED 202 mph

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