#I’m getting rid of the high heel boots they’re ridiculous

[thoughtsroamguy]

Katrina in various poses with her sword and dagger.

[sadaboutniall]

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

Chapter Six. April. 

every time we kissed I knew I wanted more of it, so don't hide; never let it in, especially since we're getting rid of all lies; you know you've always been someone I've confided in on the cold nights. — redemption, dermot kennedy

April brings with it more rain than Luna has ever seen in her entire life. It doesn’t pour, not the way it does in New York in the summer—it’s a constant drizzle instead, a nonstop pitter patter against the roof, the windowsills, the ground. It leaves Luna feeling like she can never get quite fully dry, or fully warm. She finds herself clutching a mug of hot tea every time she has a moment to herself in the café, holding it close to her chest to let its heat emanate into her body. 

She finds herself thinking about Niall, too, every time she has a moment to herself. When he’s around it’s like she’s electric, her body humming with the feeling of having him nearby, her heart racing even when he’s just standing there. And when he’s gone she clings to it—the sound of his soft singing when he helps her wash the dishes, the smell of his shampoo when he brushes past her, the thought of how warm he’d be, curled up beside her in her big, cold, empty bed. She thinks about him all the time, and it’s the beginning of April when she realizes that she thinks about him, now, more than she thinks about missing home. 

Despite the cold and the ceaseless longing to have Niall in a new way, another feeling begins to dawn on Luna with the start of April: comfort. She realizes, as the days get longer around her, that she’s comfortable here on Inis Mór—that, without even realizing it, she’s settled into a routine and built herself a little life that works, no matter how different it is from the one she left behind. She knows who she is here. She knows what she wants, too. 

And what she wants is Niall. 

Which is how, on a cold, rainy day in early April, Luna finds herself standing on the sidelines of a soccer field, arms wrapped tightly around her body, scarf and hair whipping in the wind. On the pitch, a group of middle schoolers battle each other and the elements, and, on the other sideline, Niall shouts encouraging instructions, his cheeks ruddy from the weather and the exertion, his hair flat from the ceaseless rain. 

There’s only one middle school on the island, and today’s match is boys versus girls. The girls team is pummeling the boys team, but Luna would be lying if she said she was paying particularly close attention to anything other than Niall, standing across from her, putting his all into coaching. This is the first time she’s seen him in action like this, the first time he’s seen how much these kids look up to him, how perfectly he balances being supportive and kind and improving their game at the same time. His voice is swept away with the wind, but every so often Luna catches the sound of him, hears a “well done!” or a “you’re grand, Deidre, you’ve got this!” that warms her to the bone, despite the chill in the air. Around her, parents cheer their kids on as well, while younger siblings trip over themselves kicking a smaller ball around on the sidelines, all of them oblivious to the way the weight of Luna’s world is shifting, the way Niall is moving himself ever closer to the center. 

The match ends in a landslide for the girls’ team, and Luna tries in vain to calm her hyperactive heart as Niall congratulates them with hugs, ruffles up the boys’ hair as consolation. She knows it’s absolutely ridiculous, how quickly her feelings jumped here, but she can’t stop herself. She’s not sure if she even wants to stop herself. 

So, instead, she waits around while Niall says goodbye to everyone, chatting happily with parents and giving high fives to younger siblings and making sure all his kids have a safe ride home. By the time they’ve all dispersed Luna is freezing, hardly able to feel her toes in her boots, or her fingers in her pockets. Across the pitch from her, Niall smiles, and she feels her heart swoop and kick, again, in her chest. 

Crossing the field to him feels a little bit too much like walking down the aisle. 

“Can’t believe ya stayed for the whole match,” Niall says, once Luna is in earshot. He’s holding his coaching bag in one hand, running his other through his hair, wet and messy from the rain. 

“It was fun! Good game,” Luna tells him. She chiefly ignores the fact that she watched very little soccer, and instead kicks the ball that’s been left on the field. She aims it at Niall, who stops it with the corner of his heel and smiles even wider. 

“Not bad, Looney Tunes,” Niall gently kicks the ball back toward Luna, much more controlled than her initial shot.

“Would you draft me?” She asks him, lunging a little to stop the ball. It doesn’t come nearly as naturally to her as it does to him—the way he commands the ball and the pitch, hands in his pockets, no stress at all. She kicks it back to him, and it goes a little wide. 

“I dunno,” Niall shouts over his shoulder as he jogs to catch up with the ball. He stops it easily, rests his foot on top before kicking it back. “You saw that girls’ squad today. They’re pretty damn good.” 

“You don’t think I’m good enough?” Luna teases, this time stopping the ball easily when Niall kicks it back. “When are try-outs, coach?” 

“Roster’s full this season,” half of Niall’s mouth turns up in a smirk, and Luna does her best to ignore the flash of heat that rushes through her, shakes her head to will away the thoughts of kissing it off his stupid face. “Maybe I can train ya, though? One on one?” 

Luna does her best to hum thoughtfully without laughing, taking a few steps closer to Niall. “I’ll have to think about that,” she tells him, hands shoved into her pockets to keep from doing something stupid. “I’m a busy woman, running my own business and all. Not sure I’d have time for training.”

“You are,” Niall says. His voice drops lower, taking on a more serious tone as Luna steps a little bit closer. “A businesswoman, I mean. Should be proud of yourself for that.” 

Luna shrugs the compliment off, flexing her fingers in her pockets to make sure she can still feel them—to make sure this isn’t a dream. It wouldn’t be her first about getting this close to kissing Niall. “I’m not—”

“No,” Niall takes a step forward too, soccer ball forgotten behind him now. “You are.” 

It swells up inside Luna, the constant urge to deflect, the voice that tells her she’s not good enough, not successful enough, completely inadequate, entirely behind in life. It’s the companion she’s been living with for as long as she can remember now—the one that walked with her to her first day of work at UMG, the one that sabotaged her relationship with Ida, the one that told her to run away, leave it all behind, and live a life of solitude on a remote Irish island a million miles away from home. It’s always been by her side, and always made her decisions for her. 

This time, she pushes it down. 

“Thank you,” she tells Niall, taking one more step toward him. “That’s very nice of you to say.” 

“It’s the truth,” Niall takes another step forward. They’re close enough now that Luna could reach out and touch his face, could run her thumb over his stubble, his lips. “I don’t just say things to be nice, Looney.” 

“Right,” Luna nods, her throat suddenly dry, her heart suddenly hammering. She realizes, in a split second, that she doesn’t have enough willpower to stop what she’s going to say next. “Since we’re trading truths, can I tell you something too?” 

“Anything,” Niall’s tongue darts out between his lips quickly, his cheeks flushing a deeper red. Luna knows, without a doubt, that he knows, too. 

“I,” one more step, and Luna closes the gap between them. She’s never been this close to him before, face to face, never been able to count all the freckles across the bridge of his nose and down his neck with this much certainty. She’s never been this close to something she wanted so badly, and felt this confident. But Niall, somehow, brings that out in her. He’s been doing it since day one. “Niall,” she starts again, and he nods gently, encouragingly. “I really, really want to kiss you right now.” 

Niall says nothing. 

Instead, he cups her face with his freezing cold hand, and leans in for the kiss. 

At first, it’s cold, so fucking cold that Luna almost pulls away with a yelp. But they warm up together in an instant, Niall’s lips soft and wet against hers, his body heat bringing her temperature up to match his. He slides his free hand around Luna’s waist, pulling her even closer to him as he deepens the kiss, and when Luna gasps in surprise she can feel him smile against her lips. She giggles into his mouth, and he does the same. 

When Niall pulls back Luna reaches up to wind her arms around his neck, her fingers gently tangling in the curls of hair at the back of his head. They rest their foreheads against each other for just a moment, breathing into the space between them, before Niall grips her chin and leans back in, his lips crashing against hers. 

It’s more passionate this time, less timid, and when Niall’s grip on her waist tightens possessively Luna can’t help but whimper against his lips, press her body closer to his, tug lightly at his hair. Even though he hasn’t said a word since her confession, Luna can tell, just from his actions alone, that he wants the same things she does.

And that’s when she realises, with his lips moving from her mouth to her jaw, and down her neck, that kissing Niall is different from everything else Luna has ever done in her entire life in one poignant, identifiable way: Luna knows, without a doubt in her mind, that this is right. 

She has never known with such certainty, such confidence, that she was doing the right thing, taking the right path, choosing the right numbers. 

She never even knew she could feel this right—this safe—until now.

Until Niall. 

“Niall,” she reaches down for him, kissing across her neck and nosing at her scarf to get it out of the way, and gently tugs on his hair to get his attention. The sight of him looking up at her, bright blue eyes and lips swollen from kissing, takes her breath away. “Niall,” she tries again, voice cracking just a bit. “It’s raining.” 

Niall laughs, his breath clouding in front of him, and stands up straight again. “That’s what you have to say right now, Looney Tunes?” 

“You’re the one who never said anything!” She keeps her arms wrapped around his neck, so he knows she’s kidding. “And I’m freezing, and wet, and as nice as this is I think it would be even nicer inside by a fire, or something.” 

Niall laughs again, leaning in for a quick, sweet kiss. He cups Luna’s cheek again, his hand giant, his thumb rough from years of playing guitar to the point of blood. “In case it’s not obvious, I really wanted to kiss you, too, Lu.” 

“I kind of figured,” Luna smiles, butterflies in her stomach expanding forever outward. She really does want to go somewhere warm and dry, but she also doesn’t know if she’ll survive ever letting go of Niall. 

“Good,” he tells her, his voice soft, just between the two of them. He kisses her again, like he can’t get enough either, and gently bumps his nose against hers when he pulls away. “Let’s get you warmed up,” he tells her, still close enough that his lips brush hers when he speaks. “And then we can pick up where we left off.” 

####

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[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (40/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’ve written a lot of words - it’s actually a ridiculous amount - but some stories worm their way into your heart. This one definitely goes in the top five of that for me. I don’t know if it’s because this was the first story I managed to write after getting some pretty harsh words sent my way or if it was because this story was something I wrote throughout my pregnancy. Did you guys notice how much food was involved? That’s why. Haha. Nevertheless, this is a special one. Thanks for coming along for the ride ⚾️

Thanks to you @resident-of-storybrooke​ for all of her hard work with me on this one​! I’ve kept this epilogue a secret from you as your gift for being a spectacular human being, so I hope you enjoy it ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current 

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-/-

“What are you wearing today?” Ruby asks her over the speaker on her phone.

Emma hums in response as she thumbs through the clothes in her closet, passing by sweater after sweater that Killian has organized by color despite her consistently messing up his organizational system for their closet. Miraculously, it always gets fixed, heels going on the shelf and white sweater moving to its section instead of chilling with the red jackets on the other side of the room. She didn’t need a closet this big, not really, but if this is what came attached to the master bedroom in their brownstone, Emma is certainly going to fill it up with clothes and boots and far too many hats.

She’s simply not going to organize them the way that her husband wants her to.

“I’m not sure yet,” Emma tells Ruby while running her hand runs over a black turtleneck sweater that might look good with her plaid skirt and the thigh-high boots that she owns three pairs of now since she wears them so often. It’s not a problem no matter how much Killian says it is as he places them on the shelf. “It’s cold outside, but it’s going to be sunny. Maybe my plaid skirt with the black sweater. What are you wearing?”

“Jeans and a sweater, but it’s not my big day.”

“It’s not my big day either.”

Ruby sighs, and Emma can imagine the exasperated look on her face and the way that Graham is likely sitting on the bed behind her reminding her to be gentle or something similar. He should know better after so many years with Ruby – she’s not gentle when she’s in a teasing mood, and she’s definitely in a teasing mood.

“It is your big day,” Ruby corrects. “Your husband could be retiring from baseball today. That’s a huge fucking deal.”

Emotion lodges itself in Emma’s throat, and if she could swallow it down and get rid of it for the day, she would. Quickly, she turns around to look and make sure Killian isn’t standing in the closet or the bedroom. He’s not, at least that she knows. He could be hiding in that blind spot near the bathroom. He’s got weirdly quiet footsteps, and she can very rarely hear when he’s moving in this house.

“Killian wants to think about it as any other game. He’s told me approximately five hundred times that this isn’t a big deal.”

“And you believe him?”

“Hell no,” Emma scoffs as she unties her robe and hangs it on a hook before pulling the plaid skirt off of its hanger and slipping into it as most as she can without having someone tug the last little bit. It’s got this stupid hook that never does quite right. “He hasn’t slept in days. Like, actual days. I wake up in the middle of the night to find him reading or running his fingers over me or something. Killian doesn’t want to admit it, but baseball is in his bones. He’s never going to be able to fully leave it behind. He just…they’re down three games to none in the ALCS and even if they win tonight, they could lose tomorrow. I don’t – I want him to win tonight, but I think if that happens, he’ll just keep holding onto the hope that it’s not over yet.”

“It’s never over until it’s over.”

“You sound like Killian.”

“I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time with him in the past six years. It was bound to happen at some point.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who was supposed to start picking up his mannerisms, not you.”

“We’re sister wives, baby.”

“Um, no,” Emma laughs as she clasps her bra together behind her back, “we are not sister wives. I love you, but that’s not true.”

“Ah whatever.” Ruby scoffs. “Is the jersey going to go over that sweater well?”

“Yep.”

“The plaid may not mix with the stripes.”

Emma clicks her tongue, a protest on her lips, but then there’s a high-pitched squeal followed by small legs lacking pants running into the closet. It’s not like she can judge. She doesn’t have a shirt on.

“Mommy,” Jace squeals, still giggling and running toward her until he’s slamming right into her calves and wrapping his fingers around her legs while his dark mop of hair brushes up against her thigh. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” “What, Jace?” she questions with a small laugh before scooping him up and resting him on her hip. She swears that he gets bigger every single day, and it kind of freaks her out. Then again, most things about being a mom to a two-year-old kid are terrifying. But also weirdly rewarding. She’s been reassured by Mary Margaret, Elsa, Ariel, and Anna that it’s normal, but she’s not sure she believes that quite yet. “What’s got you running in here out of breath?”

“Daddy funny,” Jace giggles, and like he was summoned by the laugh (he probably was), Killian walks into the closet with a small smile on his face and the slightest shake of his head.

Handsome as ever.

“Daddy is funny,” Emma agrees, leaning down to press her lips against Jace’s forehead, “but we can’t tell him because his ego might get bigger and then you and I won’t have any room in the house.”

“Ems,” Ruby interjects, “I’m going to let you go so that you can continue to tell lies about Killian being funny.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. I’m wearing the plaid skirt.”

“It’s not going to go with the stripes,” Ruby says before the line goes dead.

“You’re hysterical, love,” Killian grumbles, walking toward her and placing his hands on her waist. They’re warm and rough, callouses that she’s grown used to scratching up against her skin, and he tugs her zipper up without her asking. He’s going to have to undo it when she puts her sweater on, but it’s sweet that he realized she needed a bit of help. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Where are our son’s pants?”

He arches a brow before waggling them both across his forehead, a smirk stretching across his lips. “Touché, darling. Touché. Jace seemed fit to not stop squirming around so that I could tug his jeans up.”

Jace smiles at her, a toothy grin, and it’s almost not fair how much he looks like Killian. Genetics are not supposed to work this way. There is supposed to be some of her in him. She didn’t carry him in her body for nine plus months for him to not at all be like her.

There’s supposed to be some kind of payback or reward or something.

(Unconditional love or whatever, probably.)

“Baby, did you not let Daddy put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

“Would you let me put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at Killian who simply shrugs his shoulders. “Well, I guess you won’t wear any pants, and I won’t wear a shirt. Daddy will have to go without shoes.”

Killian shrugs. “All in all, I think I’ve gotten the good deal here.”

“You have,” she promises, pressing up on her toes to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s. He needs to leave soon to go to what may be his final practice (she swears that she’s not thinking about it too much), but they were all going to ride over to the stadium together. “I’ll get him dressed, okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Swan, no. You’ve still got to get ready. I’m perfectly capable of dressing him.”

“His lack of pants suggests otherwise.”

Killian opens his mouth to say something, but then his lips are pressing together and he’s reaching forward to run his fingers over Jace’s stomach while his other hand comes to rest on her ass, squeezing enough that she jumps.

“I’ll dress him,” he continues. “We’ve got to have a go at the jeans again. He might want the light wash instead of the dark. The kid is particular.”

“Just like you,” Emma sighs before handing Jace off to Killian. “I’ve only got to curl my hair and then finish getting dressed, okay? It shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes, and then we can go.”

“There’s no rush, my love. Take your time.”

Killian walks out of the closet talking to Jace, murmuring little nothings that Emma can’t make out but that she’s sure are sweet and funny and probably ridiculous. It makes her heart swell, which isn’t good for how emotional she is today. She told herself that she wouldn’t be sad, that she would believe Killian’s lies about today not being a big deal, but Killian is a liar. Anyone that says today isn’t a big deal is a liar.

She’s a liar.

And she’s standing in the middle of her closet holding her hand against the chain around her neck staring at shelf after shelf of Yankees t-shirts and sweatpants and uniforms. This sport and this team are so intertwined with their lives and nearly everything that they do, and Emma’s not sure how she’s going to function commentating on games where Killian isn’t playing. When she got the promotion, she knew this would happen eventually. It was at the back of her mind, and it was supposed to stay there.

This wasn’t supposed to come so soon.

Killian is only thirty-three, and Emma always thought that they’d have more time.

Dammit. Why is she letting herself spiral like this when she’s supposed to be curling her hair and putting this sweater on and not freaking out?

Taking a deep breath, Emma grabs the black sweater, a pair of socks, and her boots before tugging them all on, taking each task one at a time while she gets ready. It’s fine. It’s simply another day and another baseball game. There’s nothing happening today that’s any different. They’re going to go to the stadium, drop Jace off with Ariel, Killian will go to practice, and Emma will go up to the booth to review her notes and do the pre-game show. Then the game will begin.

It’s all normal and just what they’ve been doing for almost every home game since Jace’s birth.

(Except it’s not normal.)

(She’s going to act like it is.)

When they get to the stadium an hour later, Emma and Jace both fully dressed despite the complications, the hallways are full of people – publicists, players, family members, coaches, vendors. Anyone Emma can think of is flooding the walkways, most of them waving hello and giving Jace high fives that Emma knows Killian will sanitize later simply because he’s a germ freak now, and there’s a particular look in each of their eyes, a tightness in all of the smiles, that make it especially hard for Emma to pretend that today is a normal day.

“Jace Jones,” Ariel yells out when she comes into view. “What’s up, my man?”

“Ariel,” he screeches out, squirming in Killian’s arms until Killian puts him on the ground and he runs toward Ariel. He’s a blur of pinstripes and the number twenty-nine running in a miniature version of Killian’s jersey. Emma’s got her version hidden away in her purse.

“I was always jealous of other guys who got this.”

Emma twists from where she’s standing to look over at Killian as he softly smiles at Ariel and Jace, the crinkles around his eyes much more prominent than they’ve ever been. “What?”

He nods his head before turning to face her as well. Killian puts his hands on her hips, tugging her a little bit closer to him, and she lazily slings her arms around his neck so that she can smile up at him and his stupid blue eyes. Emma talks for a living. She should be able to find a better way to describe how much she loves Killian’s eyes, but that’s not really in the job card for baseball commentators.

Killian’s lips tick up to the right, the crinkles showing up some more, and he can’t seem to decide between looking at her or Jace. “That,” Killian repeats, nodding at Jace. “I used to be damn jealous of all of the guys who got to have their kids watch them play and got to wear their numbers on their backs. He’s not…fuck, Emma. He’s not going to remember that I did this, that I got to be this really cool guy who lived out my dreams and brought joy to a lot of people, and it’s so idiotic – ”

“Hey, hey, no,” she whispers as her hand keeps running through the hair at the nape of his neck and her own eyes fill with water, “don’t go there, twenty-nine. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Jace may not remember seeing you play professional baseball, but he’s going to know that you did. And he’s going to have a million other memories that are going to be so much cooler than this, yeah? Today isn’t an ending, babe. It’s a new beginning.”

Killian sniffles, his jaw still tense, but it softens a little bit when he dips his head down to hers and starts running his lips across Emma’s jaw and down her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that light her entire body on fire and make her cant her hips up into his until Killian has her pressed into a concrete wall. It’s not unusual for them to find a spot to make out in this stadium, not at all, but it’s unusual for them to be this open about it. Their relationship has been a public one without their permission, and they try to keep it as quiet as possible.

Right now, Emma doesn’t care.

Not at all.

Until there’s a whistle and Ariel speaking. “I know you guys are probably going to try for another one of these munchkins during the infamous baseball mating season, but here is really not the place to do it.”

Killian chuckles against Emma’s jaw, his scruff brushing into her skin while his smile is tattooed there, and of all of the things Emma is going to miss, she thinks this might be at the top of the list. She guesses that they’ll simply have to do it at home…or Killian can come visit her at work. They have their options.

“Daddy kisses Mommy a lot,” Jace explains to Ariel in his broken speech, which only makes Killian snicker into her skin even more before he pulls back.

“I bet I can kiss you more than I kiss Mommy,” Killian challenges as he swipes Jace out of Ariel’s arms and peppers kisses across his face and down his arms.

Emma’s heart is never going to function normally again, and their insurance is not going to cover this.

“You guys are ridiculously cute,” Ariel sighs before walking up to Emma and wrapping her up in a hug so that she can whisper in her ear. “It’s all clear for you to come down after the game. Will and Eric are under strict instructions to keep him in the dugout instead of letting him go back to get his PT and hide out away from the field.”

“Thank you, A. You’re the best.”

“Yo, Professor Jones,” Will calls out from down the corridor, and everyone’s eyes glance over toward him. “I know you’ve got that fancy college degree now and could actually be a professor, but you’ve still got to show up to practice.”

“I’m right outside the door to the clubhouse, Scarlet,” Killian yells back.

“Outside isn’t inside, man. I bet Jace knows that, and he’s only two.”

“Give me three minutes, and I’ll be there.”

“Al is going to have your head.”

“He can have it.”

“My boy,” Killian sighs as he brushes Jace’s hair off of his forehead, “will you be good for Ariel so that Mommy and Daddy can go to work?”

“Nope.”

That is undeniably the word of the day.

Sending Killian off to practice and the game is a little bit more difficult than usual. The words are lengthier, the hugs longer and tighter, and the final “good luck” and “I love you” weigh heavier on Emma’s mind as she walks away from the clubhouse and to the elevators so that she can go and do her job.

It’s a hard day, but it is simply a day.

And a ballgame.

-/-

Before Killian’s first pitch, he looks up to her in the commentator’s booth and taps his fist right over his heart.

She does the same thing back before holding her hand to the ring that still rests against her sternum.

“You’ve got this, twenty-nine,” she whispers, not caring that the microphones are going to pick it up.

-/-

The Yankees lose, 3-2, and the loss definitely stings. The season is over, but Killian’s career is also finished, the bookend closing on the mound and his time there.

A beginning, she told him. It’s an ending but also a beginning of him not spending half of the year with a crazy schedule. Her schedule is crazy too, but at least she won’t be traveling with the team anymore.

It’s a new beginning for her too.

Chants of Killian’s name ring out around the stadium, a melody that sends chills down Emma’s spine, and Killian walks around the bases waving. He looks like he both loves and hates it, and Emma chuckles as she waits in the dugout, hidden away from him until he steps back on the mound one final time.

The man she loves is so intertwined with this game and this field, but she knows he’s also so much more than any of this.

He’s everything.

“You ready to go support Daddy, kid?” Emma asks Jace as his little blue eyes look around at all of the noise. He’s not used to this.

“Yes,” he says, and Emma sighs in relief at finally getting that word out of him.

It’s not a long walk, not at all, but it feels that way as she passes by all of Killian’s teammates, past and present, to get to him. When he sees the two of them, he immediately moves toward them. His strides are long, almost quick enough to be a run, and Killian wraps his arms around them so tightly that Jace protests and tries to move. He can’t, though, especially when Killian slams his lips into hers and kisses her deeply enough that every thought that Emma had disappears into the continuing chant of the crowds.

Killian. Killian. Killian.

It’s overwhelming but in the best way, and every thought that Killian has about it is felt in the kiss that leaves her breathless and with barely working limbs.

Falling in love with Killian was like this, overwhelming, unexpected, terrifying, and thrilling all at once, and she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

“Easy tiger,” Emma laughs when Killian finally pulls back, “we’ve got company.”

“Are we talking the kid we just squashed or all of these people?”

“I’m talking Jeff and the camera that’s on our face. I’m supposed to interview you right now.”

The smile that breaks out on his face is beatific, and he kisses her again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Killian grabs onto Jace and pulls him into his arms. “You too, kid. You ready to watch Mommy work? She’s really good at this even if it isn’t her job anymore.”

“She play baseball?”

“Something like that, lad.”

Emma barely remembers the questions that she asks Killian. It’s a blur of laughter and funny questions and maybe one or two actual questions about baseball. It all gets interrupted by Jace’s talking, most of it tired babbling, and then Liam, Elsa, and the rest of Killian’s family coming out onto the field. The stands don’t empty out, the constant buzz of the stadium staying around, but Emma doesn’t bother looking around up there when she’s got so much going on down here.

It’s absolutely everything.

Even more so when Killian takes Jace’s hand and walks him around the bases, the two of them laughing together in the way that they always do whenever they’re together, and Emma is most definitely scouring the internet for those pictures tonight.

But far too soon, the moment is over, reality coming back to everyone, and Killian has to go inside to do his press conference just like so many of his teammates. There are still articles to be written and deadlines to be met, and the world doesn’t resolve around them.

Emma’s world revolves around the two guys wearing the number twenty-nine.

She gets Jace back from Killian when they go inside, and the two of them hide out in the corner of the back of the press room as Killian settles down behind the table and all of the journalists and photographers sit in their seats. It starts mostly with the game, Killian’s stats as well as his team’s. It’s standard, just like any other post-game press.

Until it isn’t.

“You threw a one-hundred-and-one mile per hour pitch out there eighty pitches in. And it was accurate. Why are you hanging up your glove when you have some good years left?”

Emma flinches at the question, but it’s one she knew he would get. It was pretty much inevitable.

Killian’s hand reaches up to rub over his eyes, the blue sparkling against the red rims from where he’s cried and tried to hide out. “Look,” Killian starts while staring down at the baseball cap in front of him, signatures from every single teammate marking it up, “I get that I’m only thirty-three. That’s not old in life, but on occasion, it’s old in sports. The fact that I’ve played this game professionally for twelve years for the same team is a wonderful honor, especially when you consider the issues I’ve had with my shoulder. I think…it feels damn good to be able to throw an accurate strike like that one you mentioned, but it feels better to be able to hold my son without pain. It feels better for me to be able to embrace my wife or keep my arm around her shoulder while we watch a movie. Those are things I might not be able to do if I keep playing and screw my arm up a little bit more.”

Emma adjusts Jace in her arms, careful not to rouse him since he’s probably about five minutes from sleep. The kid has no idea the declaration of love his dad just made for the two of them, all of the declarations he’s been making, and he has no idea just how lucky they are that the sweet man having to talk to strangers about a huge part of his life ending is also the dumbass who thought it would be a good idea to ask her out on television.

It’s a good thing that Killian has learned from his mistakes and that she knows how to forgive.

“So you’re retiring because of your family? Lots of guys play with families.”

Killian rolls his eyes. Emma does too.

“I’m retiring because it’s my time,” Killian corrects with a forced smile on his face. “I love this game and everything that it has given me. I’m never truly going to leave it. I think I’ll likely take a few years off, maybe spend a hell of a lot of time making another kid with my wife, and then I’ll come back somehow. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get into the commentator’s booth with Emma. I think we’d make a hell of a team, and there’s nothing I’d love more than working with her again. Maybe I’ll be a coach for an MLB team or for a college or for my kid’s little league team. I don’t know yet. I haven’t exactly gotten it figured out.”

“One more question,” Ariel calls out, and Emma swears that she’s not crying. Nope. It’s not a thing that’s happening.

Except that she’s definitely crying and far too emotional, and she doesn’t want Killian to be up there by himself for his last press conference question. So as there’s a loud chorus of questions with every reporter’s hand raised, Killian still trying to pick someone to ask a question, Emma moves around the side of the room until she’s stepping up on the stage, her heels clacking against the platform, until she’s gently sitting down on Killian’s lap.

He rolled back in his chair in anticipation of her walking this way.

And his hand is warm on her arm and around Jace’s back, and just the slight touch is enough to make her emotional all over again.

Killian deserved to go out winning the World Series again. He deserved for his Hall of Fame career to have a big bang for an ending instead of a quiet fizzle, but life doesn’t work out that way. If this is what he wants, this is what he wants, and it’ll be perfect for him.

“Lawrence,” Killian calls out, nodding to the reporter who took over Emma’s job at ESPN.

“In all of your career, what’s been your favorite moment? Do you have one?”

Killian snickers at the question before turning to the side and pressing a kiss against her forehead. “World Series 2019, game seven. That was the year that changed every aspect of my life, and that game was incredible. I don’t think I’d ever experienced such an adrenaline high before. I don’t know if I have since in terms of baseball. I just…that was a special win for me because I got to do it with my mates, a lot of whom have retired since then or been traded to other teams, but I also got to do it with Emma. I know that I…God, I know that I sound like a sap right now, and I – ”

Killian tilts his head to the side and buries his face in her hair while his arm tightens around she and Jace. She can feel his body shaking the slightest bit.

“It’s okay, Killian,” Emma promises, whispering in his ear while Jace twitches in her arms, waking up the slightest bit. “You’re doing great, twenty-nine.”

“I was a fucking liar when I said that today wasn’t a big deal.”

“I know.”

He chuckles, that same chuckle she’s heard almost every day for six years, and when Killian pulls back from the two of them, he’s got a smile on his face.

“That year was the first time I had a partner in my life outside of my brother that I knew was always going to be by my side, no matter what happened, and I think baseball wise, that moment is always going to be my favorite. I’ve loved almost every minute of this journey, even having to deal with all of you guys hounding me about every move that I make, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ve got a toddler who is fast asleep and needs to go home.”

Emma twists her head to look at Killian, and he throws her a wink before leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss while applause fills the room, an echo of the standing ovation Killian received while out on the field. He doesn’t stay to listen to this one, though. Instead, he encourages her to stand from the chair, and the two of them walk out of the room with his arm looped around her waist to the sound of people cheering for Killian.

He deserves every single clap.

They don’t stick around the stadium much longer. Killian runs into a few people who want to say goodbye, mostly those who won’t see him in their personal lives, but they’re able to leave pretty quickly. Their families have already gone home per Killian’s request of not making a big deal out of today. They’ll have some kind of celebration next week, one full of food and laughter and joy that isn’t so bittersweet like today.

When they get home, Jace is completely out, the car ride having knocked any remaining wakefulness out of him, and instead of waking him, Emma tells Killian to go take a shower while she changes Jace into his pajamas. He protests, like he always does, but eventually he relents and walks out of the room and down the hall to their bathroom so that he can shower. Emma figures that he likely needs a little time alone anyway.

It’s a weird day.

Once Jace is asleep, his arms wrapped around Will, the stuffed lobster toy that Jace named after Will Scarlet, Emma quietly turns on the baby monitor and closes the door behind her before making her way to the bedroom. The water in the shower is running, a constant hum of a stream, and Emma really does intend to let Killian be and let him have his moment alone where no one will bother him while the warm water beats against his skin. But Killian left the door to the bathroom open, pretty much inviting her inside, and she doesn’t think that he’ll mind even if her plan is simply to stand underneath the water with him and have her makeup fall down her face until she’s left looking like a terrifying clown.

Slowly, she steps into the room, the tile cool against her feet, and strips out of her clothes, picking them up off the floor and throwing them into the hamper. Killian hasn’t noticed her yet, the water pressure too high for him to hear her, and he’s got his back turned to her so that she has a view of strong legs and a firm ass that looks a million times better like this than in baseball pants.

She’s lucky for a lot of reasons. The muscles that stretch up Killian’s back and his arms tick off some of the more superficial ones.

Steam escapes the shower door when she opens it, a little bit of water too, but then she’s quickly pulling the clear glass door closed and stepping onto white tile so that she can wrap her arms around Killian’s waist, her finger threading into the patch of hair over his stomach, and her cheek nuzzling between his shoulder blades. Heat curls between her thighs at the feel of him, at knowing just how much she loves him, but instead of acting on any of it, she presses her lips to his back, laying soft kisses wherever she can while Killian’s hand comes to rest over hers.

“I thought you had banished me in here so that I could be alone,” he finally says as the water continues to pound down on them.

“Do you want to be alone?”

“I want to be with you.”

Emma hums and moves her arms from his stomach, sliding them up his body until her hands come to rest on his arms. Killian grunts something unintelligible, a mixture of pleasure and relief, and she’s barely even begun to work out the knots in his shoulder. He didn’t get his post-match massage, none of his usual recovery happening, so his shoulders are particularly tense. She knows exactly what to do, which muscles to apply pressure to and which to knead. It’s a rhythm and a practice that they’re been doing for years now to make sure Killian’s shoulder doesn’t get too stiff in the middle of the night.

Running her hands from his shoulders to his neck, she kneads the straining cords there while Killian reaches forward to press both of his hands against the tiled wall. His head drops, chin practically touching his chest, and his groan is almost more than Emma can handle.

“Fuck, love. I don’t...this feels so damn good, but if I don’t get to touch you soon, I’m going to lose my bloody mind.”

The heat she feels at his words, spoken in a deep and gravely tone, is almost dizzying, and Emma is ready to let him touch her, to let him bring her to life in the way that he always does. But today is Killian’s day, whether he wants to accept that or not, and instead of letting Killian turn around and kiss her, Emma wraps her arms around his waist again, dipping lower and lower until she can feel him straining warmly against his stomach.

She wants to tease him, to draw this out and make him go crazy with want now that they have actual alone time together, but Emma’s never been very good at being patient, especially not when it comes to this man wanting her. Killian’s the patient one, the one who is willing to wait until things are right, but his shallowed breathing and stuttered words make her think that he’s not very interested in being patient right now.

“Emma,” he breathes out, a mixture between a plea and a promise.

“You do this thing,” Emma begins as her finger traces underneath him, tracing a line in the vein in his length that Killian loves for her to do, “with your arms that make your veins more prominent. It’s just, like, all of the time, and your forearms are ridiculous. I get distracted staring at them. You’re a very distracting man.”

She wraps her fingers around his cock now, slow and steady as Killian’s knuckles practically go as white as the tile, and moves it in long strokes. Killian is very obviously trying to keep from thrusting his hips, the tenseness in his body back in full force, and all Emma can do is continue to stroke him and let him find more pleasure than pain as the water falls down around them and causes the hair on Killian to mat together and for the hair on her head to tangle.

“Sometimes I worry that I don’t let you know how much I love you,” she continues while Killian’s feet move and his hips begin to pump, aiding her hand in its work. “You’re so good with words and affection, with letting me know how much I mean to you, and I wish I could do the same with you. You deserve that.”

Killian’s step falters once more, and Emma thinks that he’s on the precipice of coming until he turns around, her hand falling from him as Killian’s hands come up to grip her face, kissing her with something approaching desperation. His tongue is sinful, hot and wet mixing in with hers, and Emma can feel his all the way down to her toes. There have been times over the years when they’ve gone through rough patches, when things weren’t always great between the two of them simply because of busy schedules or disagreements, but they’ve always worked back from those and come back to this.

Come back to this and everything else that makes up the two of them: baseball games, late-night baking sessions that never go right, attending far too many weddings and baby showers, having their own wedding at a courthouse on a random Wednesday, racing each other through Central Park as they run, laughing at the other as they trip over a pair of socks, sharing the depths of their hearts while under the covers, the lights of the city surrounding them.

Sobbing at a false positive on a pregnancy test. Sobbing at the accurate positive.

It’s a whirlwind, their life, and none of that can encapsulate it all.

Emma’s eyes are shut tightly as Killian continues to kiss her, his mouth insistent, and there’s no stopping the curl of heat now. Absolutely none. Especially when Killian moves his left hand and turns the water off, the stream immediately stopping so that chilled air hits the heat of her skin, gooseflesh rising. It’s cold, that’s undeniable, but Emma doesn’t care as her desire roars and Killian slowly backs them out of the shower with water dripping down both of their bodies.

“I swear if you let me trip, Jones,” Emma mumbles out as her feet hit against the cloth of the mat in the bathroom.

“You’ll what, Jones?” He enunciates the last word with a flick of his tongue against hers before he’s pulling back so that her nipples are no longer brushing against the thick patch of hair on his chest. Emma whines, her thighs too slick with wanting him to even care how desperate she sounds, and all Killian does is grab a towel from the shelf to wrap around her body, the soft cotton nothing compared to Killian’s touch. Even if he’s being an asshole right now. “I know you’re capable of a myriad of things darling, but I think you’re too desperate for me to do any of them.”

“You’re pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?”

The towel tugs tighter around her waist, pulling her back into Killian so that his straining length brushes the inside of her thigh, and his lips are so close to her ear, breath heavy, that she’s not sure if she can handle any more of this. “Extremely. You usually like that about me.”

“You’ve had a lot of people complimenting you today. I wouldn’t want it to get into your head.”

“Of course. You’re here to keep me humble.”

“Exactly. I’m very good at my job.”

“Mhm,” Killian hums as the towel drops around them and Killian’s hands find the globes of her ass, kneading both of them while he continues to back them up into the bedroom. His lips are on her neck, her shoulder, back to her lips. “I love you, you know? It’s ridiculous how much.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Good.”

Once Emma falls against the mattress, they come together quickly, easily, like they have thousands of times before. Killian knows each inch of her skin intimately, knows just where to kiss and to touch and how to thrust, and it takes absolutely no time for her to begin to feel that desperation of needing him seep into her bones and settle there like it’s going to make a permanent stay. He’s fully seated in her, a heavy and thick drag that is like nothing else, and she can feel all of him hovering over her, heat and strength surrounding her he takes his time with his thrusts.

They’re slow, languid, and so damn breathtaking that Emma can’t even speak. She’s not sure that she wants to. Sometimes sex is just sex, a simple release of desire and passion to physically feel good. Other times it’s words of affection written with each kiss and feelings of love enunciated with each thrust and swirl of a thumb over a bundle of nerves.

Right now is the second one, and every word that Killian spoke to her earlier – in the hallways, on the field, in the press room – is echoed back to her as he moves within her and over her, his lips writing his love while Emma holds on and attempts to write the same words back.

Her heartbeat is thundering, a sound so loud that it blocks out nearly every other noise, and then she’s there, falling apart with a plea and a whisper, pleasure shaking over her body faster than she thought it would.

Holy fuck.

“Fuck,” Killian repeats back, almost as if he heard her thoughts. “Fuck, love. You’re exquisite.”

“So are you. You planning on finishing anytime soon?”

“I’m an old man. I’ve got to catch my breath.”

Emma barks out a laugh that Killian captures with a resounding kiss while his hips snap into hers, a perfect fit that is like nothing else in the world, and as his fingers intertwine with hers and he pulls them up above both of their heads, Killian joins her in her bliss, his body tensing up as his words become breathless, a mess that gets carried away with the thrum of the ceiling fan.

They collapse against the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and wet hair, and when Killian pulls the comforter up over them, Emma turns on her side until she’s snuggled against Killian’s chest with her cheek resting against his heart and his hands in her tangled hair.

“We’re going to have to take another shower.”

Emma laughs with unbridled joy before pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Tell me the truth. Did I have mascara running down my cheeks this entire time?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Totally worth it.”

“Tell that to sheets that have little black marks.”

“I think we can wash them.”

“Possibly,” Killian sighs. His hand moves down her back until it’s resting on her ass once more. “But your mascara is damn stubborn. Ruined one of my favorite shirts that way.”

“It did not.”

“No, no, it did. I swear.”

Emma huffs and reaches around to pinch Killian’s side. He doesn’t even flinch. “Would it be so terrible for the two of us to go downstairs and make some brownies and then eat all of them so that we don’t have to share with Jace?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.” Killian winks, trademark smirk curling on his lips. “Besides asking me out. That was a pretty bold move on your part, Swan. You had no idea that I had feelings for you. It’s not as if I’d given you any inclination.”

Emma laughs again, uncurling herself from her husband and sitting up in bed with a sated, goofy grin. “I had a pretty good idea, my love.”

-/-

-/-

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[evietheninja]

It’s on site, Bitch.

Side story to a fan fic my friends and I are writing. They wanted a fight, they got one lmao. 

New Message!

Pikachu 2.0: Yo, what do you guys think of this?

Evie glances down at her phone, reading the message out loud to the guys accompanying her in the living room. Attached to the message is a poster for an event happening tonight. "2000s night huh?" Kiri asks sitting on the couch. "Sounds MANLY!" He practically yells, excitement in his voice. "When was the last time we all went out anyway?" He asks, looking over at Bakugo and Evie who are sitting on the floor. "It's been some time, that's for sure." Evie says, closing the picture and typing out a reply.

Glowstick: Sounds like fun!

PoisonIvyWHO?: CAN WE GET READY TOGETHER LIKE WE USED TO??

BigTittieGothGF: YESSS

Evie laughs as she looks over to the boys who are staring down at their screens as the messages come through. "What the fuck babe, you kicking us out?" Bakugo asks, a smirk across his face. "No, dumbass. I may be getting ready at someone elses place." She says looking back down at her phone.

PoisonIvyWHO?: Evie's?

BigTittieGothGF: YEah! Evie, you okay with that?

BakuBITCH: Really? We JUST got this fucking place and you're already kicking us out?

DaddyShark: That's not very manly of you guys.

Glowstick: Kiri.. We're not men..

Kiri laughs. "Why the fuck are you texting me that I'M RIGHT HERE." Evie and Bakugo laugh. "You fucking texted us instead of SAYING IT." She says, leaning on Bakugo as she laughed.

PoisonIvyWho: I'll be there in 20.

BigTittieGothGF: Too bad, Bakugo. We're already going. Get whatever ur wearing and GO TO DENKI'S

Pikachu2.0: Yeah... Cal already told me you guys were getting kicked. Sorry lmaoo

Bakugo rolls his eyes. "Well FUCK Kiri, I guess we're getting kicked out of our own place." He says, standing up. "Let's go pick what we're gonna wear and get out of here before the girls get here. I'm not trying to fight with Cal when she gets here, and lord knows Nina will tell me some shit and they're gonna piss me the hell off before the night even starts." Bakugo finishes, holding out a hand to help Evie up. She laughs, making a loud HUMPH as she gets up. "Babe, seriously suck it up stop being such a baby." She says, laughing.

"Shut the hell up, dumbass. I'll fight your ass too." He says, pulling her in for a kiss. "UGH GET A ROOOOOMMMMM" Kiri says, tossing a ketchup packet at them. "Oh my GOD Suki when did we adopt a CHILD?" Evie laughed pulling away from Bakugo. She picks the ketchup packet up and throws it back, casuing Kiri to swat at it. It hits the wall, splattering. "BRO WHAT THE FUCK" Bakugo yells, walking over to Kiri and grabbing him. "BRO SHE FUCKIN THREW AT ME WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?" Kiri yelled back, attempting to put Bakugo in a headlock.

Evie takes her phone and snaps a picture, sending it to the group chat.

Glowstick: Alright, who had two weeks?

PoisonIvyWho?: ME BEECH RUN ME MY MONEEEEYYY

Glowstick: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

BigTittieGothGF: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

Pikachu2.0: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

BigTittieGothGF: Here's Shota's piece.

BigTittieGothGF: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

PoisongIvyWHO: HELL YEAH IM GETTIN FUUUCKED TONIGHT!!

Pikachu2.0: You bet your ass you are. ;)

Glowstick: BROOOO

Evie laughed, watching the boys continue to wrestle. "Damn a little less clothing and I'd be questioning if I was just a cover up." She says, walking over to the hall towards her and Bakugo's room. Eventually, she heard the boys stop and she assumed one of them looked at their phone, because next thing she knew the boys were at the doorway, glaring at her.

"What?" Evie said, looking between the boys. "You fucking bet on us?" Bakugo says, his hands sparking lightly. "Hey, calm down. I wasn’t the ONLY one who bet. Even fucking Aizawa was in on it! You can't put that on me alone." She says, keeping her distance. "What were the lengths of time?" Kiri asks, genuinely curious. "Uh, Cal said 2 weeks, Ni said a week, Aizawa said an hour, Denki said 3 days." She says. "And YOU?" Bakugo asks. "Me? I gave you guys the benefit of the doubt and said a month. But nooooo." She says laughing. "ANYWAY. You two need to get the hell out.” She says, pushing the boys out of the room. “Wait, dumbass! I kind of need clothes to wear.” Bakugo says, pushing past her to get into the closet inside their room. Kiri laughs and walks over to his room to get some clothes to change into. 

Bakugo packed a WHOLE ASS BAG of clothes, a few shirts and a couple pairs of jeans because he wanted to make sure he looked really good. Kiri did just about the same, a whole backpack with clothes inside. What the fuck? Are they spending the night? Why the fuck. Evie laughed lightly as they made their way to the door. They may be men, but god DAMN they take forever to get ready. 

“Alright, we’ll be at Denki’s. Text me if you need anything.” Bakugo says, planting  quick peck on Evie’s lips before leaving. “:Yeah yeah, have fun I’ll let you know when we leave.” She says as she opens the door. “Wha- why the fuck are you guys taking backpacks? I thought you guys were going just to change not spend the week there.” Nina’s voice echos through the hall after seeing the boys. “FUUUCK I thought we’d be gone by the time you guys got here.” Bakugo complains, nodding at Cal and Nina as they enter the apartment. “Shut the hell up, boom boom boy.” Cal says walking past him. He tugs at her sprout on her head, causing her to yelp. “Stop it, asshole! i’ll get Frank on your ass.” She warns, rubbing her sprout as he lets go. 

“Who the fuck is Frank:?” He asks, Kirishima laughing next to him. “None of your business,  leave! You take any longer and we’ll be fucking late.” Nina says, closing the door as they walk in. “I thought we’d never get rid of them.” They joke as they smile and hug Evie. Cal jumps onto them, laughing and giggling as they regain themselves. 

The next hour and a half consists of the trio getting dressed, comparing outfits and making sure they looked really good for the night ahead. Cal is wearing a green lace bralette, with gloves to match. Shes got a tight black skirt, with thigh high stockings with guarders with heels. Her hair is down and tame, the black skirt and green top complimenting her every feature. Nina is wearing a black and white cheetah print tube top, with leather shorts, thigh high platform boots with her chains rearranged in a choker fashion, with a loop in the middle for an attachable leash, her mullet slick back. Evie is wearing a green long sleeve crop top that ties around her stomach, with a deep v cut, ripped skinny jeans and thigh high heel boots. Her hair is half up, the other half tamed beautifully to compliment the outfit. She puts on her favorite black choker with a silver heart in the middle. She only wears it when she wants Bakugo to replace it with his hand, which she was sure he would do later. 

The group looks at each others outfits, gushing on how ridiculously good they looked. After a very long photo shoot, the group locks up the apartment and heads out. They meet up at the club, excited to get the night started. They are (not surprisingly) the first  ones to make it. They stand around, waiting to hear from their significant other’s and Kirishima. Denki, Bakugo and Kirishima show up next, Denki walking up dressed from head to toe in black, a silver chain on his belt loops and black and silver jewelry complimenting his outfit. Kirishima has on red cargo shorts, a white t shirt on with a windbreaker jacket that says “Riot” in red letters on the back. Bakugo is in black jeans with an orange tee shirt, with orange converse to match and a black blazer. He, for once, slicked his hair back and hot DAMN he looked good to Evie. Cal and Evie couldn’t help but gawk over their men as Aizawa finally made his way to the group. Aizawa is dressed in a grey v neck t-shirt, skinny jeans, a loose fitting leather jacket with his scarf covering his neck as it always does. His hair is half up in a bun on the back of his head. He probably looks the most comfortable than every one in the group. 

They gather in their group, Denki pulling Cal closer as he looks her up and down. Bakugo smirks as he watches Evie approach him, eyeing her figure. “You... you are SO lucky we didn’t get ready at the same place.” He growls as he throws an arm over her. “We would’ve never made it to this damn club.” He finishes, hearing Denki and Kirishima laugh in agreement. “I wouldn’t have heard the end of it.” Kiri says under his breath. They laugh and enter the club.

After a few drinks, dedicating drinks to their accomplishments ranging from graduating college and getting their own places, to them just being happy they were all finally getting to hang out. Feeling the light buzz, Evie urges Bakugo to go out and dance with her. He complains, although in actuality, she knew he loved to dance with her, able to show the girl he was with. 

Cal and Denki were laughing and talking amongst themselves for a bit before finally heading out to the dance floor. Lets be honest, they were only a few drinks away from starting their dance battles, and everyone for once was ready for it. 

Aizawa and Nina stood close together, Nina dancing to the music while Aizawa watched, almost entranced by her movements. God, the way he looked at her, the way he undressed her with his eyes. Anyone who’d watched them grew jealous of the love they had for each other. Every so often, he would pull them in and says something that would physically cause Nina to shudder. It always entertained Evie. She’d always laugh watching the way just words would make Nina squirm. 

Evie looked up at Bakugo, urging him again. He laughed and nodded over to Kiri, inviting him to dance with them. Many people questioned the relationship they shared, were they all in some kind of relationship? Was it just as simple as Bakugo and Evie were just comfortable with Kiri? Pretty much. Nither Evie nor Bakugo saw Kiri in that way, and Kiri just really loved to dance. 

The trio makes their way to the dance floor as the music bumped through the speakers. Evie let the music take over, feeling Bakugo behind her, molding to her body with ease. Kiri does the same, only in front. Nina had stopped dancing for a sec to watch her friends dance, and smirked at the three. They knew Bakugo wouldn’t hold his composure long, and would claim Evie in about a song or two. 

The song Goodies bumped through the speakers, with it being Evie’s favorite song, she danced harder feeling the boys match her tempo. Every so often, because Bakugo couldn’t make his mind up about how comfortable he was with Evie facing either towards or away from him, he would turn her. She laughed, feeling the drinks work their way into her system, giving her a good feeling. 

The song Me&U begins to bump through the speakers. Evie starts to sing the lyrics, the front of her body facing Kiri. Kiri begins to sing as well, looking Evie in the eyes while doing so. Bakugo takes notice, and whips her around, glaring at Kiri from over Evie. She laughs, noticing Kiri pick up his hands in apology and decides that’s the time for him to go find another dance partner. Evie grabs Bakugo by his cheeks, forcing him to look at her as they grind. For a while, it feels like they’re the only two in the room. 

Sweat drips, their bodies bumping to the sound of the base. Evie smiles up at Bakugo and kisses him. Then, she jumps, feeling a cold, wet feeling run down her back. She whips around, seeing Ururaka looking her up and down smirking. “Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” She says smugly in a monotone voice over the music. Ururaka then turns her attention to Bakugo, her smile turning sweet. “Hey, Kachan, how are you?” She says, taking a step closer to him almost pushing Evie out of the way. Evie looks to her left, seeing Nina already making their way to her with Cal close behind, a worried Denki behind them and Aizawa looking from the distance. “Don’t fucking call me that, one. And two we’re in the middle of something, so if you could, you know, fuck off that’d be great.” Bakugo says, bumping her shoulder and returning to Evie. 

“Oh, you’d rather be with that? HA, okay.” Ururaka says, scoffing as she looks at the couple. “Listen here you broke ass bit-” Cal starts, ready to lunge at her. Nina stops her for a second, looking Ururaka up and down before speaking. “Is there a problem?” they ask. “Oh, can’t fight your own fights?” Ururaka says, turning her attention back to Evie. “Oh, I can fucking fight alright.” Evie says, rolling up her sleeves and removing her earrings. “Hold these baby please.” She says, handing them to Bakugo who takes them and places them in his pocket, taking a step back to watch Evie do what she did best. “Oh you got the wrong bitch” Nina says, cracking their knuckles. 

Ururaka pushes Evie. She stumbles lightly, and recovers quickly. Ururaka looks at her in confusion. She’s...not floating. Evie looks over to a golden eyed, floating haired Aizawa, who’d activated his quirk, disabling Ururaka’s. Evie smirked, returning her attention to Ururaka who was already on the floor due to Nina using her chains to restrain her, and Cal straight out kicking her on the ground. She laughed, bending down as Cal got in another kick. No one around noticed, nor cared about what was happening to Ururaka. 

“Oh honey, you should’ve known better.” Evie says in the sweetest way possible as she stands and gets her kick in. Nina unrestrains her and they step over her, turning to return to Aizawa when Ururaka gets up, grabs Nina by the shoulder and throws a punch. Before the punch even makes contact, Cal jumps on her, throwing punches as Ururaka turns her attention to her. Somehow, she manages to get a hold of Cal’s sprout on her head, making her even more mad. Evie grabs Ururaka by the hair, pulling her off of Cal and punching her a couple times before Bakugo steps in. He grabs Evie, stopping her from injuring her anymore. “It’s not worth it, babe.” He says, attempting to calm her down. 

“She isnt worth it!” Ururaka screams, getting up because this girl STILL hadn't had enough. Nina uses her chains to grab Ururaka, throwing her to the ground and planting a platformed boot on her chest. They lean in real close, speaking loud enough for her to hear. “Listen here, bitch. YOU, are a piece of shit, and if we EVER see you trying it again, it’s on site.” They say before getting up. Cal walks up, kicking her down as she tries to sit up. “Oh, the 99 cent store called, they want their dress back.” Cal says, spitting on her before leaving as well. Evie calms herself enough for Bakugo to let her go, and they turn back once more before laughing and walking off. 

Before any kind of authorities are called, the group leaves the club, making their way to their favorite after club place, a 24/7 boba tea place just down the street from the club, They order drinks, and all make another toast to a great night. “I’ve really been wanting to do that shit since the situation.” Cal says, beaming. “Same” Nina says, clinking cups and laughing. Bakugo walks over to the table, with drinks in one hand and his phone in the other. The fact they’d forgotten Kiri was fucking hilarious to him. Kiri slams through the door, asking about what’d happened. He was SO upset he’d missed it. 

[moranice-solvej]

Aesthetic Game

@incognitajones, thanks for tagging. I didn’t realize how much I needed to spend some time combing through the pictures and just simply relax. :) In all honesty, I kind of cheated and decided to comb through an old and extensive folder of images I had saved up on my hard drive and try to best express something about me on this moodboard. And then I went down the rabbit hole of sharing why I chose those images under the cut, which isn’t a part of the game, but it’s something I wanted to do anyway. :)

Original rules are as follows:

Look up (your name) + core + aesthetic on Pinterest

Pick 9 images and arrange them into your own name moodboard

Tag others you wanna see!

Tagging @mitdemadlerimherzen​ cause yeah, sometimes we all need an excuse to look through pretty pictures.

Plaid shirts are my problem. I think I own 6 different ones now cause I tend to buy new ones every two years and don’t get rid of old ones if they’re still presentable. If weather allows and mood strikes, I can go through an entire work week wearing my favorite pair of shorts or jeans and simply change plaid shirts.  I have a soft spot for architecture, especially old one, and the best kind of vacation for me is to travel to some old city and stare at wonders created a long, long time ago. Casual leather boots are my love. I own three different pairs that I wear interchangeably in different cool weathers. Heels are not my jam at all. I have a pair of nice summer high-heeled shoes that I for some reason fell in love from first sight with about seven years ago, and I still haven’t wore them once. When it’s warm I almost always wear sneakers, even with summer dresses, cause hey - they’re nice, they’re comfortable, and I don’t end up with blisters on my feet that literally any pair of sandals gifts me with for the last couple of years. I never leave the house without my set of six silver rings, unless it’s for a beach during vacations. I always had a soft spot for rings and silver rings in particular, so when I was fifteen my mom took me to a jewelry shop (like her mom did when she was a teenager too) and I was allowed to select quite a few. They’re all a cheap, simple kind, cause I like silver and not shiny precious stones. I wear four of them on my left hand (two rings are designed to be worn together on a single finger as they’re complimentary to each other) and two on my right. I love them so much and am so attached to them that I’ve never thought putting them aside and buying newer ones. One of my brightest childhood memories is my grandma taking me to the factory where she was once a lead economist at and having a chance to spend a few hours with an old typewriter that apparently was still in use there. (For reference, that was probably 1997 or 1998 in a post-Soviet country.) I still remember the sound it made when typed something, the feeling of the button beneath my fingertips, and that ink stamped to a yellowish paper. Little did I know then at four of five years old that one of my favorite things to do in life would be to write. And, yeah, I still wish I had a typewriter at home for purely aesthetical purposes. I don’t paint my nails for the last year or so as much as I did in the decade before that (and when I do I usually go for a transparent polish, not a colorful one), but I still own a crazy amount of nail polishes in different shades of blue. And I’m a big tea person, so it’s easier to see me either holding or having a mug of tea close to me than see me without it in close proximity. I’ll wear a leather jacket pretty much anywhere if weather allows it. I own two now - one I wore for seven years now which you can totally tell, but I still love the way it looks and you can’t pry it out of my hands, and a newer one that I mostly wear these days. If I’ll ever get married, at this point I’m sure I’m signing the marriage certificate while wearing a leather jacket because that is who I am, all pretty wedding dresses be damned. I grew up in a house full of books, there was a small library located in the first floor of my apartment building where I’ve spent a lot of time in the summer, allowed to run free and read pretty much whatever I wanted cause my grandma was friends with both lady librarians who worked there, and it shows. That photo is pretty much the mood of how my bedroom would look like if I was allowed complete freedom of choosing and furnishing the apartment. My dream relationship goal is to have someone with whom I could just spend a ridiculous amount of time casually walking through a city like that and talk for hours.

[texastheband]

Sharleen blows her cool

By Nick Duerden Taken from Heat Magazine - 11-17 November 1999 

She's our most succesfull pop star and she gets to cavort on beds with male models. So why is Sharleen Spiteri in a bad mood? "Fucking flu" she tells Nick Duerden.

It is a cold, crisp day in the north, and Sharleen Spiteri is suffering from a lack of sufficient sleep. Last night's hotel had an air conditioning system that didn't know its hot from its cold. So the Texas singer tossed and turned throughout the night, one moment sweating, the next freezing. "I thought I had the fucking flu or something," she says.

Nevertheless, she looks delightfully rumpled today in the kind of manner only ever truly achieved by the rich and famous. She strides into a Manchester eatery under an artfully created birds' nest of black hair, and is wearing worn Jeans that are decadently fashionable and, doubtless, very expensive. She is the liveliest of company, picking delicately at a plate of hummus, but insisting on a plate of sausage and mash for heat as a hangover cure. Mash, it seems, is good for soaking up alcohol in the stomach. "You're bringing out my maternal side," she says. Later, she will reveal a fondness for Robbie, and refer to his one time bandmate Gary Barlow as "fuckface". Apparently, on an Italian pop show recently, he accidentally cracked her head open with his guitar, then blamed his attendant security. "If it wasn't for them," says the woman who stands at 5ft 5", "1 would have had him." Texas are here in Manchester halfway through a sold-out UK tour to further promote a very succesfull album. Following the four-million-selling, career-saving White On Blonde, The Hush has already shifted over three million copies in just six months. They are one of Britain's biggest bands, about to set their sights on America which they confidently believe they will crack. This is all a very different story from just three years ago. Back then, Texas were on the brink of ruin. Their record company were threatening to drop them, and they themselves were considering splitting. Since the top ten success of their 1989 debut single, I Don't Want A Lover, and the album Southside, Texas had been on a gradual downward slide. Their second album, Mothers Heaven, performed disappointingly, and very few people even noticed when they released a third, Ricks Road. With the exception of France, who still considered them splendid, Texas were uniformly regarded as a band dull enough to render even Del Amitri as rock gods. But then a very peculiar thing happened. Texas became hip, seemingly overnight. Purportedly steered by her journalist boyfriend, Ashley Heath (then editor of fashion magazine Arena Homme Plus), Sharleen became a sex siren, the band's sole focal point, and someone most adept at pouting provocatively before the camera lens. While the often exotic photo shoots looked like she was selling perfume, she was in fact selling the band. It worked wonders, too: suddenly, Texas were everywhere. And now look at them. Huge. Sharleen Spiteri, svengali boyfriend loitering somewhere in the shadows, has mounted the most successful make over in recent pop history.

How does it feel to have sold upwards of seven million albums in less than three years? How does it feel? It feels very secure. [Laughs] But I also feel incredibly grateful for it, because we were lucky enough to get a second chance. That doesn't happen much these days. I still find it hard to believe that we broke big on our fourth album. Nobody from the record company will admit to it now, but even when we delivered Say What You Want (White On Blonde's first single), no one was particularly impressed. We loved it, but I think they were simply no longer interested in us. It was like they were waiting for the record to fail so they could get rid of us. Instead, however, we sold an obscene amount of albums and suddenly they love us. I tell you, becoming very successful gives you an awful lot of power. Why was the album such a success, given Texas' then somewhat dull image? Simple: because it was a great record. We'd made the best music of our lives, and people were responding to it. The image reinvention certainly helped though, didn't it? I find it funny the way people are so obsessed about my supposed "reinvention". We've been around for ten years, so of course we're going to reinvent ourselves. It's called progression. True, but the suddenly glamorous image seemed very calculated towards making you quickly famous. Everyone is convinced that the record sold because I draped myself all over the press to plug it. In actual fact, I didn't start appearing on magazine covers until the second single, Halo, was already in the charts. We were becoming successful, so there was a demand for interviews, and I gave them. Were the rest of the band happy to take a step back? Absolutely. It took all the pressure off them. Let's face it, an attractive woman in a band is a pretty effective focal point. We were convinced we'd made a great record - the best of our career - and we wanted people to hear it. And the way to do that is to promote it. So I did. Is it true that your boyfriend had a guiding hand in the makeover? Not really. Obviously, having a boyfriend that works in journalism helps to give you an insight into how the whole business works, but I used to be a hairdresser, so I know a fair bit about image myself. We did talk about how to present ourselves because we knew that initially people wouldn't be interested in Texas and we wanted to change their minds. The whole music business Is a game in that respect, and we played it. Wouldn't you have done the same? Wouldn't anyone? Had you always wanted to be famous? No, never had. Still don't, in fact. I've never been bothered with it, to be honest. It doesn't interest me at all. Anyone can be famous. You can be famous for wearing high-heeled shoes, or blowing off presidents. I want people to say I'm a great singer, a great songwriter, that's all. If I simply wanted to become famous, then I would have got my tits out long ago. And I never have. Never will, either. Did it ever feel slightly foolish to be rolling around on exotic beaches like a supermodel merely to sell a band that used to wear woolly jerseys and hobnail boots? No, I had a great time, and they're great photographs. I'll keep them forever and show them to my children so that they can be proud of their mother. Everyone likes to look good in pictures, and those pictures make me look fantastic. Ten years ago I was very selfconscious about the way I looked, but I'm almost 32 now, and I've accepted that I've got a giant nose and other blemishes. But am I going to get major surgery? Nah, fuck it. I'll just ask photographers not to accentuate it and to light me in a flattering manner, that's all. Subsequent collaborations with Rae & Christian and Wu-Tang Clan also seemed like a very determined effort to suddenly become chic. Were they? I met Rae & Christian ages ago through my boyfriend, and I spent years namechecking the Wu-Tang Clan because I was a fan. Both came to work with us because they knew we were good at what we did musically. I've never been interested in being chic or trendy or cool. I just want two things: to make good music and work with people I admire. Did any members of the WuTang Clan come on to you? [Aghast] Absolutely not! But I know what you mean. If you put any man or woman in a room together there's bound to be something, some kind of spark. When they were first told that we'd love to work with them, they were like [adopts cheeky American drawl], "Hey, is that the chick with the funky red dress from that video [BlackEyed Boy]? I like her! ", but they were very respectful towards me. I was in awe of them. They're all huge guys, and they kept calling me "girlie". But then they heard me sing, and they were convinced I was black! [Fondly] Method Man is a lovely guy, you know. Do you feel sexy? Not first thing in the morning, I don't. I can look very rough indeed. But I don't want to be obviously sexy. I try to think what I find sexy in women - and it's not Pamela Anderson - and then work on that. I think the sexiest word in the English language is "no". It makes perfect sense, because everyone wants what they can't have. If you actually look at all the supposedly steamy photographs I've done, I'm actually revealing very little flesh indeed. In the video for Summer Son, you effectively dry-hump a handsome man in bed. Did he leave you, um, tongue-tied? Very funny. I'll tell you why I did that video. It was to suggest that it is possible to be unbelievably sexy and keep all your clothes on. That video was all about the power of suggestion, but ironically it wasn't allowed to be shown on television before seven o'clock because it was too raunchy. What hypocritical bullshit. All I ever see on MTV are women in ridiculous push-up bras, cleavage everywhere, and touching themselves. I wanted to make an alternative, but keep it just as sexy. It is also, presumably, fairly good fun cavorting with a male model of your choice? Well, I have to admit, it's a pretty good way to spend a day. [Abruptly changing subject] Incidentally, did you know that Summer Son has just broken us in Germany? Which is good news because Germany is the third biggest market in the world. We're massive there now. Not bigger than David Hasselhoff, surely? Germany, after all, is his stronghold. Do you know what? I think we're even bigger than him. How about that? Congratulations. Thank you, very kind. You exude confidence the way a teenager does testosterone. Does it ever spill over into arrogance? When I was a hairdresser, people thought I was really arrogant. Now, because of the band, I'm almost allowed to have an ego, but most people tend to think of me as level headed. Well, that's what they tell me to my face, anyway. Put it this way, I've not changed at all. I'm very ambitious, always have been. There are still a lot of people out there who don't like us and probably hate me, but I don't care about them. We're a band who sell a lot of records. That brings peace of mind and, yes, a certain arrogance. But, y'know, we've worked hard to get into this position. I'm not about to apologise for it. One more thing. What, if anything, turns you off in a man? Beards. When they get as big as that bloke's in The Royle Family, bits of food get stuck in thein. Disgusting! My father [a seaman] used to go off to sea for months at a time and come back home with a bloody great bush of a beard. Me and my sister would go after him with the scissors, screaming like banshees.

[midnightstarr8]

I was tagged a second time by @littleshechan :) Thanks girl!!

Rules: 1. Answer 11 questions set by the person who tagged you. 2. Add 11 questions of your own. 3. Tag 11 people.

So hereeeee we go!

1. If you could switch places with a famous person for a day, who would it be and why? -At this point in my life I think the answer would be Taylor Swift, or maybe Emilia Clarke! They have so much influence and have done so many wonderful things, of which I’m sure they’re planning to do more. I think it would be awesome to be filled with so much potential! Not to mention Swifty’s gown collection is something I would kill to have. Plus singing for a profession would be my dream come true. I think I would get up early, act in a GOT episode in some kick-ass scenes, then have my hair and makeup done by too-famous stylists and wear too-famous high heels and a too-glittery dress and then perform to a sold out stadium. <----All before I go home for the night with some hunk-ass celebrity, probably Jared Padalecki, because I’m friggen Taylor or Emilia and I can have anyone I want

2. What would the name of your autobiography be, and would you write it yourself or have it written by an author of your choice? -Omg, this question is amazing. @littleshechan if you came up with this you’re brilliant. I would have to write it myself... How honest is an autobiography if you let someone else put words in your mouth and thoughts in your head? Thoughts are messy and all over the place and that’s the way an autobiography should be. I would call mine ‘The Greatest Story Ever Told,’ because, I think if you could hear the play-by-play of anyone’s life it would be nothing short of phenomenal. I’m sure mine is no exception. 

3. What’s your favorite food that counts as ‘local food’? -POUTINEEEEEEEEE

4. Extrovert, introvert or ambivert? -Fuck I dunno. All three.

5. Care to tell us who your tumblr crush is? If not tell your celebrity crush instead! -I don’t know many guys here on tumblr so I can’t say I have a crush. I have some aesthetic crushes but I don’t think that’s the same thing. So Jared Padalecki!! Bam Margera!! Toby Hemingway!! 

6. Money, fame or wisdom? And why? -Money. I think fame and wisdom, they have the greatest ability to totally change a person. With fame you get cocky, and with wisdom you start to think little of others and there’s less to learn so like, at least with money I’m a son of a bitch but then I’m just a son of a bitch in a Mercedes do you know what I mean?

7. If you could switch places with a fictional character who would it be? -I think I would become a Digidestined... Or maybe Kagome! Imagine getting to live one life, but then you can go to this other place with magnificent other friends and still come home at the end of the day after having this fantastic adventure. It would be so cool. So, Tai gets the boot. So that way I can seduce Matt. And if I kick Kagome out I get Inuyasha so that’s pretty awesome. And mad archery skills.

8. What country would you like to live in, assuming there was world peace? -I’m fucking Canadian. We’re boring, and we have our own problems because nowhere is perfect. But I’m Canadian dude. I got the power of the mountains and the power of the sea and the power of free healthcare. Why the hell would I leave.

9. If you could make a significant change in today’s politics, what would it be? -Lol I think if I answered this question too honestly I’ll get a couple hundred hate emails in my inbox. So just get rid of Trump I guess.  

10. What do you do for a living right now? -Right now I am a Registered Nurse. :) Still debating med school... But fuck. Another 8 years of university. .....Can you imagine. 

11. What’s your least favorite thing about the fandom you’re most active in? -How fucking two-faced everyone is haha. If I’ve done something wrong or pissed you off, tell me about it. Don’t unfollow me or make stupid snide posts. If it’s not a big deal than move on, get over it. The Beyblade fandom can be a bit toxic at times; people look to see who reblogged something and won’t even bother with a post because of the user. It’s just craziness. I don’t expect all of us to get along because frankly there are people I don’t like: it’s human nature, but if you ask me if I have a problem with you you’re going to get an honest answer. It’s also really steered toward hetero hate, and I’m pretty sure I got a lot of anons calling me ‘cis trash’ and stuff like that. I can only assume it’s because I don’t reblog a lot of the character portrayals that I consider OOC and don’t ship ‘yubo’? Like, come on. You know hate is hate. Whether it’s coming from a gay person or a straight person. And hating someone and sending anon bullshit over SHIPS? That’s ridiculous. But on the upside, most of the fandom is pretty kickass. Which is why I’m here. I keep walking away but I keep a’comin’ back.

MY QUESTIONS :) Second batch!

1. What’s your opinion on lipstick? 2. Favorite Beyblade team. 3. How many relationships have you been in that you’d call serious? 4. Are you close with your parents? Why or why not? 5. Favorite movie right now. 6. Something that’s pissing you off right now! 7. Are you listening to music? Name the song. No changing it. 8. Which classic serial killer do you like the most? Ghostface, Jason, Freddy, Michael or Leatherface?  9. How sparkly is too sparkly? 10. Your idea of a perfect friday night. Like if today was Friday and with the resources/funds/people you have around you, what would you do to have a great night? 11. Do you do anything to care for your skin?

I’ll tag just a couple others this time: @werechasingmavericks, @slutforchocorobos, @bey-hunter and @scyisdead! I don’t think I can come up with another 11 people in total haha.

[jesusvasser]

One Week With: 2018 Subaru BRZ tS

Frank Markus, one of my two Motor Trend colleagues here in the Detroit bureau, colored my opinion of the 2018 Subaru BRZ tS before I got behind the wheel. His ’18 Subaru WRX STI Type RA was going back to the local press fleet the day my sports car press loaner arrived. He was happy to get rid of it.

Too, too harsh. No fun to drive on Southeastern Michigan’s roads, and with that ridiculous, adjustable rear wing, looked like something he had to borrow from a son or nephew while his car is in the shop. And Frank is a good five years younger than me.

I wasn’t crazy about the huge, adjustable wing on my BRZ tS, and I’ve driven plenty of cars that are fun on a smooth racetrack or even on a well-kept canyon road, but beat the hell out of you on underfunded roads and highways. I agree that even the “base” WRX STI is unnecessarily harsh, from what I remember last driving one two or three years ago.

After a week of this folderol, I’m happy to report that the BRZ tS is no WRX STI Type RA in the harshness department. It’s stiff—very stiff, with STI-tuned front- and rear Sachs dampers and coil springs an STI flexible V-brace in the engine compartment, new draw stiffeners added to the chassis and sub-frame for better steering response, and the BRZ’s first-ever 18-inch wheels and tires. STI underspoilers, front, side and rear are designed to help control airflow for improved traction and stability. There is nearly zero compliance over pie crust roads. There’s barely any yaw in the turns.

There’s the difference. The STI, including the Type RA I briefly drove while Frank had it at the office, feels like a go kart without the chassis flex, willing to take out any bump or pothole out on your vertebra rather than into the driver’s bucket. The BRZ tS gives just enough to keep the car from skating over Michigan’s randomly patterned sets of bumps. The STI-tuned Sachs dampers and springs never try to steer for you. It’s steering is direct and quick, with good feel and feedback—just right for this agile car.

Combine that with a perfectly adequate 205-hp 2.0-liter boxer engine, a six-speed gearbox that rivals Mazda and Honda for nice, precise short throws combined with pedals perfectly spaced for heel-and-toeing, and a purposeful simplicity to the overall package, devoid of multi-setting chassis and throttle controls, and tS doesn’t diminish my high opinion of the BRZ. The standard BRZ is one of the few cars out there today, along with its Toyota 86 twin, Miata/Fiata, and Honda Civic Type-R that I would buy with my own credit.

But I’d leave the TS version for younger buyers. Subaru made 500 BRZ tSes available for the 2018 model year, and they’re better suited for enthusiasts who live in places with decent roads and/or who will take it to the local race circuit for some track time, or to autocross. As of mid-October, there are a “handful” of these model year ’18 tSes left. There will be no ’19 BRZ TS.

For a good $7,700 over the price of a base BRZ, or $3,700 more than a ’19 BRZ Limited with the optional Performance Package, tS buyers get a handsomely upgraded interior, as well as the defiantly pink-branded STI bits. In the case of this model, STI pink is limited to the “S” in the subtle tS badging on the rear deck and front fascia (Subaru calls it “Cherry Blossom Red”), subtle accent stripes along the front and rear fascias, and an STI start-up logo that appears briefly on the dash as you trigger the start button.

The tS is a fully equipped BRZ with no options, offered in blue pearl, crystal black silica, and crystal white pearl.

Most of the exterior and interior accents are red, including stitching around the Alcantara door inserts and dashboard steering wheel cowl. The red-and-black seats have Alcantara inserts, too, and the front seats are deep, firm, and comfortable buckets designed to hold you in nicely around fast corners. They work.

The interior is nice and straightforward, with real gauges on the dash, and no electronically operated dynamic controls. Even the big rear wing appears to be adjustable only if you get out of the car and grab a wrench. There is a track mode button and a button to turn off traction and stability control nannies. Hold the latter button until you see two yellow LED symbols light up on the instrument panel.

With just one week to drive the tS on public roads, I didn’t feel any difference with nannies on, or off. In fact, I only took the time to turn off the nannies rather than turn on the track mode, which likely accomplishes much of the same thing. Attack, say, a 90-degree right-turn with a quick stab of the brakes and then get back on to the throttle as you exit and the tail will come out just enough. The couple of chances I had to try that in track mode, oversteer was equally catchable.

Rain soaked the local roads the morning I got out to the Exit 69/Big Beaver Road cloverleaf, so I played it safe and kept the nannies on. I never got to a speed on the on/off ramps that would get the chassis loose. There was just the slightest bit of lean, and the bumps at either end of the ramps didn’t upset the BRZ tS’s direction. The 215/40 R18 Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires, responsible for much of that lack of drama on fast turns, remained connected to the road at all four corners, all the time.

My only major complaint is with the radio, one of these digital touch-screen Wi-Fi affairs (though accompanied by a couple of control knobs) that usually took a good 15 to 30 seconds to boot up. I miss basic transistor car radios, which by the 1950s replaced tube radios, which usually took about 30 seconds to warm up before you’d get sound.

Perhaps I am too old for this car, after all.

2018 Subaru BRZ tS Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $34,355* ENGINE 2.0L DOHC 16-valve H-4, 205 hp @ 7,000 rpm/156 lb-ft. @ 6,400-6,800 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT 2-door, 2+2 passenger, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/27 mpg city/hwy L X W X H 168.0 x 69.6 x 52.0 in WHEELBASE 101.2 in WEIGHT 2,842 lb 0-60 MPH 6.4 sec TOP SPEED 144 mph (est)

*Add $150 for higher destination charge in Alaska.

IFTTT

[eddiejpoplar]

One Week With: 2018 Subaru BRZ tS

Frank Markus, one of my two Motor Trend colleagues here in the Detroit bureau, colored my opinion of the 2018 Subaru BRZ tS before I got behind the wheel. His ’18 Subaru WRX STI Type RA was going back to the local press fleet the day my sports car press loaner arrived. He was happy to get rid of it.

Too, too harsh. No fun to drive on Southeastern Michigan’s roads, and with that ridiculous, adjustable rear wing, looked like something he had to borrow from a son or nephew while his car is in the shop. And Frank is a good five years younger than me.

I wasn’t crazy about the huge, adjustable wing on my BRZ tS, and I’ve driven plenty of cars that are fun on a smooth racetrack or even on a well-kept canyon road, but beat the hell out of you on underfunded roads and highways. I agree that even the “base” WRX STI is unnecessarily harsh, from what I remember last driving one two or three years ago.

After a week of this folderol, I’m happy to report that the BRZ tS is no WRX STI Type RA in the harshness department. It’s stiff—very stiff, with STI-tuned front- and rear Sachs dampers and coil springs an STI flexible V-brace in the engine compartment, new draw stiffeners added to the chassis and sub-frame for better steering response, and the BRZ’s first-ever 18-inch wheels and tires. STI underspoilers, front, side and rear are designed to help control airflow for improved traction and stability. There is nearly zero compliance over pie crust roads. There’s barely any yaw in the turns.

There’s the difference. The STI, including the Type RA I briefly drove while Frank had it at the office, feels like a go kart without the chassis flex, willing to take out any bump or pothole out on your vertebra rather than into the driver’s bucket. The BRZ tS gives just enough to keep the car from skating over Michigan’s randomly patterned sets of bumps. The STI-tuned Sachs dampers and springs never try to steer for you. It’s steering is direct and quick, with good feel and feedback—just right for this agile car.

Combine that with a perfectly adequate 205-hp 2.0-liter boxer engine, a six-speed gearbox that rivals Mazda and Honda for nice, precise short throws combined with pedals perfectly spaced for heel-and-toeing, and a purposeful simplicity to the overall package, devoid of multi-setting chassis and throttle controls, and tS doesn’t diminish my high opinion of the BRZ. The standard BRZ is one of the few cars out there today, along with its Toyota 86 twin, Miata/Fiata, and Honda Civic Type-R that I would buy with my own credit.

But I’d leave the TS version for younger buyers. Subaru made 500 BRZ tSes available for the 2018 model year, and they’re better suited for enthusiasts who live in places with decent roads and/or who will take it to the local race circuit for some track time, or to autocross. As of mid-October, there are a “handful” of these model year ’18 tSes left. There will be no ’19 BRZ TS.

For a good $7,700 over the price of a base BRZ, or $3,700 more than a ’19 BRZ Limited with the optional Performance Package, tS buyers get a handsomely upgraded interior, as well as the defiantly pink-branded STI bits. In the case of this model, STI pink is limited to the “S” in the subtle tS badging on the rear deck and front fascia (Subaru calls it “Cherry Blossom Red”), subtle accent stripes along the front and rear fascias, and an STI start-up logo that appears briefly on the dash as you trigger the start button.

The tS is a fully equipped BRZ with no options, offered in blue pearl, crystal black silica, and crystal white pearl.

Most of the exterior and interior accents are red, including stitching around the Alcantara door inserts and dashboard steering wheel cowl. The red-and-black seats have Alcantara inserts, too, and the front seats are deep, firm, and comfortable buckets designed to hold you in nicely around fast corners. They work.

The interior is nice and straightforward, with real gauges on the dash, and no electronically operated dynamic controls. Even the big rear wing appears to be adjustable only if you get out of the car and grab a wrench. There is a track mode button and a button to turn off traction and stability control nannies. Hold the latter button until you see two yellow LED symbols light up on the instrument panel.

With just one week to drive the tS on public roads, I didn’t feel any difference with nannies on, or off. In fact, I only took the time to turn off the nannies rather than turn on the track mode, which likely accomplishes much of the same thing. Attack, say, a 90-degree right-turn with a quick stab of the brakes and then get back on to the throttle as you exit and the tail will come out just enough. The couple of chances I had to try that in track mode, oversteer was equally catchable.

Rain soaked the local roads the morning I got out to the Exit 69/Big Beaver Road cloverleaf, so I played it safe and kept the nannies on. I never got to a speed on the on/off ramps that would get the chassis loose. There was just the slightest bit of lean, and the bumps at either end of the ramps didn’t upset the BRZ tS’s direction. The 215/40 R18 Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires, responsible for much of that lack of drama on fast turns, remained connected to the road at all four corners, all the time.

My only major complaint is with the radio, one of these digital touch-screen Wi-Fi affairs (though accompanied by a couple of control knobs) that usually took a good 15 to 30 seconds to boot up. I miss basic transistor car radios, which by the 1950s replaced tube radios, which usually took about 30 seconds to warm up before you’d get sound.

Perhaps I am too old for this car, after all.

2018 Subaru BRZ tS Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $34,355* ENGINE 2.0L DOHC 16-valve H-4, 205 hp @ 7,000 rpm/156 lb-ft. @ 6,400-6,800 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT 2-door, 2+2 passenger, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/27 mpg city/hwy L X W X H 168.0 x 69.6 x 52.0 in WHEELBASE 101.2 in WEIGHT 2,842 lb 0-60 MPH 6.4 sec TOP SPEED 144 mph (est)

*Add $150 for higher destination charge in Alaska.

IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

One Week With: 2018 Subaru BRZ tS

Frank Markus, one of my two Motor Trend colleagues here in the Detroit bureau, colored my opinion of the 2018 Subaru BRZ tS before I got behind the wheel. His ’18 Subaru WRX STI Type RA was going back to the local press fleet the day my sports car press loaner arrived. He was happy to get rid of it.

Too, too harsh. No fun to drive on Southeastern Michigan’s roads, and with that ridiculous, adjustable rear wing, looked like something he had to borrow from a son or nephew while his car is in the shop. And Frank is a good five years younger than me.

I wasn’t crazy about the huge, adjustable wing on my BRZ tS, and I’ve driven plenty of cars that are fun on a smooth racetrack or even on a well-kept canyon road, but beat the hell out of you on underfunded roads and highways. I agree that even the “base” WRX STI is unnecessarily harsh, from what I remember last driving one two or three years ago.

After a week of this folderol, I’m happy to report that the BRZ tS is no WRX STI Type RA in the harshness department. It’s stiff—very stiff, with STI-tuned front- and rear Sachs dampers and coil springs an STI flexible V-brace in the engine compartment, new draw stiffeners added to the chassis and sub-frame for better steering response, and the BRZ’s first-ever 18-inch wheels and tires. STI underspoilers, front, side and rear are designed to help control airflow for improved traction and stability. There is nearly zero compliance over pie crust roads. There’s barely any yaw in the turns.

There’s the difference. The STI, including the Type RA I briefly drove while Frank had it at the office, feels like a go kart without the chassis flex, willing to take out any bump or pothole out on your vertebra rather than into the driver’s bucket. The BRZ tS gives just enough to keep the car from skating over Michigan’s randomly patterned sets of bumps. The STI-tuned Sachs dampers and springs never try to steer for you. It’s steering is direct and quick, with good feel and feedback—just right for this agile car.

Combine that with a perfectly adequate 205-hp 2.0-liter boxer engine, a six-speed gearbox that rivals Mazda and Honda for nice, precise short throws combined with pedals perfectly spaced for heel-and-toeing, and a purposeful simplicity to the overall package, devoid of multi-setting chassis and throttle controls, and tS doesn’t diminish my high opinion of the BRZ. The standard BRZ is one of the few cars out there today, along with its Toyota 86 twin, Miata/Fiata, and Honda Civic Type-R that I would buy with my own credit.

But I’d leave the TS version for younger buyers. Subaru made 500 BRZ tSes available for the 2018 model year, and they’re better suited for enthusiasts who live in places with decent roads and/or who will take it to the local race circuit for some track time, or to autocross. As of mid-October, there are a “handful” of these model year ’18 tSes left. There will be no ’19 BRZ TS.

For a good $7,700 over the price of a base BRZ, or $3,700 more than a ’19 BRZ Limited with the optional Performance Package, tS buyers get a handsomely upgraded interior, as well as the defiantly pink-branded STI bits. In the case of this model, STI pink is limited to the “S” in the subtle tS badging on the rear deck and front fascia (Subaru calls it “Cherry Blossom Red”), subtle accent stripes along the front and rear fascias, and an STI start-up logo that appears briefly on the dash as you trigger the start button.

The tS is a fully equipped BRZ with no options, offered in blue pearl, crystal black silica, and crystal white pearl.

Most of the exterior and interior accents are red, including stitching around the Alcantara door inserts and dashboard steering wheel cowl. The red-and-black seats have Alcantara inserts, too, and the front seats are deep, firm, and comfortable buckets designed to hold you in nicely around fast corners. They work.

The interior is nice and straightforward, with real gauges on the dash, and no electronically operated dynamic controls. Even the big rear wing appears to be adjustable only if you get out of the car and grab a wrench. There is a track mode button and a button to turn off traction and stability control nannies. Hold the latter button until you see two yellow LED symbols light up on the instrument panel.

With just one week to drive the tS on public roads, I didn’t feel any difference with nannies on, or off. In fact, I only took the time to turn off the nannies rather than turn on the track mode, which likely accomplishes much of the same thing. Attack, say, a 90-degree right-turn with a quick stab of the brakes and then get back on to the throttle as you exit and the tail will come out just enough. The couple of chances I had to try that in track mode, oversteer was equally catchable.

Rain soaked the local roads the morning I got out to the Exit 69/Big Beaver Road cloverleaf, so I played it safe and kept the nannies on. I never got to a speed on the on/off ramps that would get the chassis loose. There was just the slightest bit of lean, and the bumps at either end of the ramps didn’t upset the BRZ tS’s direction. The 215/40 R18 Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires, responsible for much of that lack of drama on fast turns, remained connected to the road at all four corners, all the time.

My only major complaint is with the radio, one of these digital touch-screen Wi-Fi affairs (though accompanied by a couple of control knobs) that usually took a good 15 to 30 seconds to boot up. I miss basic transistor car radios, which by the 1950s replaced tube radios, which usually took about 30 seconds to warm up before you’d get sound.

Perhaps I am too old for this car, after all.

2018 Subaru BRZ tS Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $34,355* ENGINE 2.0L DOHC 16-valve H-4, 205 hp @ 7,000 rpm/156 lb-ft. @ 6,400-6,800 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT 2-door, 2+2 passenger, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/27 mpg city/hwy L X W X H 168.0 x 69.6 x 52.0 in WHEELBASE 101.2 in WEIGHT 2,842 lb 0-60 MPH 6.4 sec TOP SPEED 144 mph (est)

*Add $150 for higher destination charge in Alaska.

IFTTT

[prettyboy-parker]

good boys, bad boys

masterlist

chapter 3: football

words: 2.5k

warnings: none

author’s note: OKAY I JUST REMEMBERED FOOTBALL ISNT IN THE SPRING/SUMMER TIME IM AN IDIOT BUT JUST GO ALONG WITH IT

For Peter, this week has been incredibly boring. The entire school seems to have the itch for summer, you can almost feel it. His teachers are running out of planned material, but they still aren’t allowed to goof off.

At least it’s Friday.

“Are you coming to the football game tonight, Peter?” Steve asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Before Peter has a chance to respond, Sam cuts in.

“You better be, Parker. This is the semi-final.”

Sam Wilson is a junior like them, one of Steve’s best friends and teammate.

He sighs and picks at his mixed fruit cup.

“I wouldn’t miss it. You know that.” He responds, catching a glimpse of Steve’s baby blue eyes.

“Damn straight.” Sam huffs, taking a bite of his almost-soggy pizza.

The boy with fiery red hair and posture like a dancer turns to him.

“We appreciate you attending, Peter. Even if some people,” He shoots a glare at Sam, “Don’t make that clear.”

“Thanks Vis. But really, I love watching you guys play. It’s fun. And I wouldn’t miss the semi-finals for the world.”

Peter doesn’t know much about the senior, only that he plays football and Vis is certainly not an actual name.

Vis gives him a small smile before turning back to his lunch.

“Does anyone want me to take their trash?” Peter offers, standing up off of the plastic bench.

A couple of hands place wrappers onto his tray. He turns and heads to the trash can. On his way there, he sees that Stark and his guys are eating at the table next to it. Taking a deep breath, he pretends to look at the other tables as he approaches the trash can. He successfully gets rid of his trash and tray without interruption. As he walks back to his own table, he can’t help but glance back at their table, meeting the blue-grey eyes on a familiar face.

***

“Why do we even have to pay to get in? At least we show up.” Stephen complains as they stand in line, waiting to pay their admission.

“Come on, it’s only $2. And we’re supporting the school.” Peter tells him, poking him in the bicep.

“Oh, the school. How could I forget.” Stephen scoffs, taking out his wallet a grabbing 2 dollar bills. Peter takes his own crumpled money and tries flattening it out.

“Hello, boys.” Their teacher, Mrs. Harriman, says as they approach the ticket booth.

“Hi, Mrs. Harriman.” They say in unison, holding out their wrinkled bills.

She takes them and stamps their hands with a custom stamp of their school logo.

The atom design is smudged and unclear from the ink, but Peter doesn’t mind.

They walk inside the gates, noticing how the bleachers are already packed.

“Peter!”

Peter’s heart rate increases when he notices Bucky calling and waving to him, surrounded by Stark and his friends.

“Why the fuck is he calling for you?” Stephen hisses, grabbing Peter by the arm and forcing him to make eye contact.

“Um, I-I don’t know.” Peter stammers.

Stephen’s eyes narrow.

“Just, go find Wong and Anne, okay? I’ll find you later.” He says quickly and Stephen drops his arm.

“Fine.” He grumbles, turning to find his friends.

Peter turns back around to face Bucky, only to find him watching intently.

He plasters a smile onto his face and jogs over to where they’re standing against the side of the bleachers.

“Hey, Bucky! Fancy seeing you here.” He chirps, stopping before he runs into the boy. It feels so natural for him to just lean up and kiss him-

Wait, what?

“Have to show some spirit somehow, darlin’,” Bucky says, taking a quick puff of his cigarette.

Peter flushes at the nickname, rocking on his heels nervously.

“You the spirited type, Peter?”

Peter turns slowly to face Tony. For a second, he quiets and analyzes the older boy. Far away, his unwavering smirk gives the impression of constant mischief, but up close you can see the dark circles under his eyes that no high schooler should have.

“What, no introduction?” Peter quips, crossing his arms.

Tony grins.

“I think you know who I am.”

“Sure do.”

“Now are you going to answer the question?”

Peter lets out a giggle.

“I guess you could say I am.” He tells Tony, looking down at his ratty Midtown t-shirt. He’s not wearing much, the shirt paired with running shorts. He seems to always be wearing running shorts, probably because it’s all Aunt May can afford he likes them so much.

Tony makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a hum. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, then stretches out his arm to Peter, raising his eyebrow.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke all that much.” He tells him sheepishly and Tony shrugs as if to say ‘okay, whatever.’

The conversation behind Tony ceases.

“Who’s this?”

A kid with long, greasy black hair steps forward. He has an old, worn jean jacket that’s littered with patches thrown over a plain black t-shirt.

“This is Peter,” Bucky tells him, throwing his arm around Peter’s shoulders.

He feels like he’s going to die.

“Loki.” The kid responds, standing awkwardly.

“He’s the baby of the group,” Pietro says from behind Loki, squeezing the younger’s sides. Loki squirms and swats Pietro’s hands away, the bleach blonde’s shrill laugh heard over the commotion of the game.

Bucky leans down, lips brushing against Peter’s ear to whisper, “He’s a sophomore.”

Peter would be shocked to learn that a sophomore is in Stark’s crew, but he’s too focused on the bubbly feeling that spreads throughout his body at the close contact from Bucky. Jeez, he could even feel the small amount of stubble brushing against his jaw.

“O-oh.” Peter stutters, taking a few steps back. Bucky stops him from walking too far.

“Okay team, let’s go find a place to sit,” Tony says, starting to head to the bleachers. Peter ends up shimmying out of Bucky’s grasp, almost running to keep up with the rest of the group. His short legs can’t carry him that far. They push past throngs of people, finally eyeing an empty spot at the top of one of the bleachers. The group heads up the bleachers, combat boots and Doc Martens loud on the metal. They all sit down, Peter ending up squished between Tony and Bucky.

They both smell like cigarettes and cologne.

The marching band is playing their school Fight Song before the players come onto the field. The cheerleaders are yelling something from the sidelines. Tony notices him watching them and nudges him with his elbow.

“See the chick with the red hair? Heavy eyeliner?” He asks, pointing to the cheerleaders. There’s a girl with long, wavy, red hair in the team’s uniform.

“Yeah,” Peter responds, turning to look at Tony.

“That’s Maximoff’s sister. Slept with her once. Can’t remember it.”

Peter looks away, uncomfortable.

Saving him from anymore conversation, the speakers amplify the voice of the announcer. He goes through the players on the other team, the Oak Ridge Bears. This is met from many boos from the Midtown kids, the students from Oak Ridge’s cheers drowned out. When it’s time to introduce the Midtown players, the crowd loses their shit.

Peter makes sure to cheer extra loud for Steve.

The game is one of the more exciting ones, the team with the lead constantly switching. It’s dark, and while it is summer, there’s a chill in the air. Peter curses himself for leaving Steve’s letterman jacket at his house. He rubs his arms rapidly, seeking some short-lived warmth.

“Sweetheart, do you want my jacket?”

Peter looks at Tony, startled.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to. I’m okay.” He manages to say.

“Please take it. I’m warm.” Tony insists, already starting to shrug off his leather jacket. Before Peter can protest some more, Tony drapes the jacket over his shoulders.

It’s heavy, warm, and smells like smoke and expensive cologne.

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter says, slipping his arms into the sleeves.

“Anytime.” Tony grins, then turns his attention back to the game. Peter notices how good his arms look in the tight AC/DC shirt. His muscles are definitely from some sort of manual labor and Peter shudders at the thought of him bending over the hood of a car. His tan skin is covered in thick arm hair and Peter immediately thinks,

Italian. He must be Italian.

Peter forces himself to tear his eyes away from Tony, focusing on the game again.

The rest of the game goes quickly, Midtown eventually gaining the lead in the last 2 minutes. Their team ends up winning, guaranteeing them a spot at finals. They follow the crowd to head to the parking lot.

“Don’t want to lose you!” Tony calls out from ahead of him, reaching backward and grabbing Peter’s hand. Peter can feel his face turn red.

Tony squeezes his hand and Peter squeezes back.

Tony leads him to the parking lot, Peter ending up beside him, swinging their arms gently.

“Um, Tony? I have to go find my ride.” Peter tells him sheepishly as the group approaches their motorcycles.

“Why don’t you come to get milkshakes with us, doll?” Bucky says from behind them.

Peter turns around in surprise, dropping Tony’s hand.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.” He says, toying with the end of his sleeves.

“You never intrude. I’ll take you home afterward.”

Bucky smiles and he looks so gentle, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Sure.” Peter finally agrees.

Tony taps him lightly on the shoulder. Peter turns around to see him with a helmet in his hands.

“Don’t want that pretty little head of yours getting hurt.”

Reluctantly, Peter takes the helmet.

“What about you?” He asks while securing it on his head.

“Don’t worry about me,” Tony tells him with a smirk, swinging his leg around his bike.

“Hop on, Pete. All you have to do is hold on to me.”

Peter nervously gets on the bike, wrapping his lanky arms around Tony’s torso.

“Bye, Maximoff. Barton.” Tony waves at the two other guys, starting the bike. Peter jumps at the sudden jerk of motion, squeezing Tony a bit tighter.

“Nothin’ to worry about!” He laughs over the engine and Peter rests his head on his shoulder.

They start driving, the air turning cool. Peter can predict how ridiculous his hair will look. He’s more than nervous to be on a motorcycle.

If Aunt May ever found out about this, she would surely kill him.

They eventually reach Tip Top, a close to run down neighborhood diner. Aunt May says it’s been around since she was little. Tony parks the bike, Bucky right next to him.

“God, I love this jacket on you.” Tony murmurs as he unclips the strap on the helmet. His calloused fingers brush Peter’s smooth cheeks and he almost faints.

“It’s yours, silly.” Peter giggles, playfully swatting Tony on the arm.

“How about we head inside?” Bucky says sharply, stopping Tony from responding. This does little to dampen Tony’s spirits because he grins.

“Drinks on me! Race ya.”

All three of them make a mad dash to the front door, making patrons near them upset. Bucky reaches the door first, most likely due to his long legs, and they all stumble into the restaurant.

“MJ!” Peter squeaks upon seeing who’s the hostess. He totally forgot MJ just landed a job at the diner, taking the closing shifts.

The brunette looks at him, utterly surprised.

“Peter! What are you doing here?” She asks, but her expression reads ‘what are you doing with them?’

“Oh! Tony and Bucky offered to go get milkshakes. We were at the football game.” He tells her, looking up at Tony and biting his lip. He gives him a small smile, throwing his arm around Peter’s waist.

“Could you get us a table for 3?” He asks MJ.

She blinks in surprise, remembering that she’s working. She hastily shuffles through a stack of menus and grabs three.

“Follow me.” She says quickly, guiding them through the almost vacant restaurant. She sits them at a light blue booth, more than a few holes in the plastic seating.

“Thanks, MJ,” Peter tells her once he’s seated next to Tony.

All she does is give him a glare before walking away.

When their waitress comes, an elderly woman named Ruth, Tony orders large vanilla milkshakes for them. When they arrive at the table, Peter immediately eats the cherry off of its stem. Peter notices Bucky watching him intently.

“Can you tie a knot with your mouth, doll?”

Peter immediately flushes, but pretends to act like the comment didn’t phase him.

“I’ve never learned. That doesn’t mean my mouth isn’t good for other things, though.” Peter tells him with a wink, then proceeding to take a sip of his shake.

“Like what?” Tony asks.

Peter pretends to mull over the question.

“Talking. Mostly.”

They sit and drink their milkshakes for about 30 minutes, all of them flirting back and forth. Once their glasses are empty, Tony bids his farewells to Bucky and Peter, including letting Peter wear his jacket home.

“Can I walk you up?” Bucky asks when they reach Peter’s apartment complex, helping Peter off of his bike.

“I, uh, I don’t know. My aunt..” Peter trails off, looking down at his worn Converse.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, taking his hand and tilting Peter’s head upwards.

“I get it. Parents don’t like me.” He says sadly, pain in his dusty blue eyes.

“But you’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. I wish my everyone would see that.” Peter sighs, resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Peter.”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Peter nods with parted lips. He stands on his tippy toes and leans in to meet Bucky. His breath is knocked out of him when their lips touch. Peter’s own lips are smooth and soft, while Bucky’s are a bit dry.

He makes a mental note to buy him some Chapstick.

Bucky pulls him in closer by his waist, Peter desperately leaning into the kiss. Bucky’s tongue darts out across Peter’s bottom lip, a silent request of entry. Unsurely, Peter parts his lips a little bit.

He’s not experienced.

Peter’s only kissed two people in his life. First was Janine in 5th grade at the winter dance, which was also the day he decided he definitely didn't like girls.

The second was some kid named Wade in 9th grade, who proceeded to tell him how shit of a kisser he is afterward.

In conclusion, Peter doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

His brain goes fuzzy as Bucky’s tongue slips into his mouth, giving him a taste of tobacco. He’s never really been one to smoke, but tasting it on another guy?

That’s a different story.

Peter groans and grabs Bucky by the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him closer. Bucky’s free hand makes its way up to Peter’s hair, tugging gently.

They eventually run out of air, pulling away ever so slightly. Peter’s lips are swollen and slick, as well as Bucky’s. The older looks down at Peter, eyes blown with lust.

“Goodnight, darlin.”

“Night, Bucky.”

tag list (ask if you want to be added):

@starker-flame @lurafita @sam-christo @337-years-old @thebadthingshappen @twink-peter @the-dark-obsidian-princess @spideravocados @gayfandomsaremything

[eddiejpoplar]

One Week With: 2018 Subaru BRZ tS

Frank Markus, one of my two Motor Trend colleagues here in the Detroit bureau, colored my opinion of the 2018 Subaru BRZ tS before I got behind the wheel. His ’18 Subaru WRX STI Type RA was going back to the local press fleet the day my sports car press loaner arrived. He was happy to get rid of it.

Too, too harsh. No fun to drive on Southeastern Michigan’s roads, and with that ridiculous, adjustable rear wing, looked like something he had to borrow from a son or nephew while his car is in the shop. And Frank is a good five years younger than me.

I wasn’t crazy about the huge, adjustable wing on my BRZ tS, and I’ve driven plenty of cars that are fun on a smooth racetrack or even on a well-kept canyon road, but beat the hell out of you on underfunded roads and highways. I agree that even the “base” WRX STI is unnecessarily harsh, from what I remember last driving one two or three years ago.

After a week of this folderol, I’m happy to report that the BRZ tS is no WRX STI Type RA in the harshness department. It’s stiff—very stiff, with STI-tuned front- and rear Sachs dampers and coil springs an STI flexible V-brace in the engine compartment, new draw stiffeners added to the chassis and sub-frame for better steering response, and the BRZ’s first-ever 18-inch wheels and tires. STI underspoilers, front, side and rear are designed to help control airflow for improved traction and stability. There is nearly zero compliance over pie crust roads. There’s barely any yaw in the turns.

There’s the difference. The STI, including the Type RA I briefly drove while Frank had it at the office, feels like a go kart without the chassis flex, willing to take out any bump or pothole out on your vertebra rather than into the driver’s bucket. The BRZ tS gives just enough to keep the car from skating over Michigan’s randomly patterned sets of bumps. The STI-tuned Sachs dampers and springs never try to steer for you. It’s steering is direct and quick, with good feel and feedback—just right for this agile car.

Combine that with a perfectly adequate 205-hp 2.0-liter boxer engine, a six-speed gearbox that rivals Mazda and Honda for nice, precise short throws combined with pedals perfectly spaced for heel-and-toeing, and a purposeful simplicity to the overall package, devoid of multi-setting chassis and throttle controls, and tS doesn’t diminish my high opinion of the BRZ. The standard BRZ is one of the few cars out there today, along with its Toyota 86 twin, Miata/Fiata, and Honda Civic Type-R that I would buy with my own credit.

But I’d leave the TS version for younger buyers. Subaru made 500 BRZ tSes available for the 2018 model year, and they’re better suited for enthusiasts who live in places with decent roads and/or who will take it to the local race circuit for some track time, or to autocross. As of mid-October, there are a “handful” of these model year ’18 tSes left. There will be no ’19 BRZ TS.

For a good $7,700 over the price of a base BRZ, or $3,700 more than a ’19 BRZ Limited with the optional Performance Package, tS buyers get a handsomely upgraded interior, as well as the defiantly pink-branded STI bits. In the case of this model, STI pink is limited to the “S” in the subtle tS badging on the rear deck and front fascia (Subaru calls it “Cherry Blossom Red”), subtle accent stripes along the front and rear fascias, and an STI start-up logo that appears briefly on the dash as you trigger the start button.

The tS is a fully equipped BRZ with no options, offered in blue pearl, crystal black silica, and crystal white pearl.

Most of the exterior and interior accents are red, including stitching around the Alcantara door inserts and dashboard steering wheel cowl. The red-and-black seats have Alcantara inserts, too, and the front seats are deep, firm, and comfortable buckets designed to hold you in nicely around fast corners. They work.

The interior is nice and straightforward, with real gauges on the dash, and no electronically operated dynamic controls. Even the big rear wing appears to be adjustable only if you get out of the car and grab a wrench. There is a track mode button and a button to turn off traction and stability control nannies. Hold the latter button until you see two yellow LED symbols light up on the instrument panel.

With just one week to drive the tS on public roads, I didn’t feel any difference with nannies on, or off. In fact, I only took the time to turn off the nannies rather than turn on the track mode, which likely accomplishes much of the same thing. Attack, say, a 90-degree right-turn with a quick stab of the brakes and then get back on to the throttle as you exit and the tail will come out just enough. The couple of chances I had to try that in track mode, oversteer was equally catchable.

Rain soaked the local roads the morning I got out to the Exit 69/Big Beaver Road cloverleaf, so I played it safe and kept the nannies on. I never got to a speed on the on/off ramps that would get the chassis loose. There was just the slightest bit of lean, and the bumps at either end of the ramps didn’t upset the BRZ tS’s direction. The 215/40 R18 Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires, responsible for much of that lack of drama on fast turns, remained connected to the road at all four corners, all the time.

My only major complaint is with the radio, one of these digital touch-screen Wi-Fi affairs (though accompanied by a couple of control knobs) that usually took a good 15 to 30 seconds to boot up. I miss basic transistor car radios, which by the 1950s replaced tube radios, which usually took about 30 seconds to warm up before you’d get sound.

Perhaps I am too old for this car, after all.

2018 Subaru BRZ tS Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $34,355* ENGINE 2.0L DOHC 16-valve H-4, 205 hp @ 7,000 rpm/156 lb-ft. @ 6,400-6,800 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT 2-door, 2+2 passenger, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/27 mpg city/hwy L X W X H 168.0 x 69.6 x 52.0 in WHEELBASE 101.2 in WEIGHT 2,842 lb 0-60 MPH 6.4 sec TOP SPEED 144 mph (est)

*Add $150 for higher destination charge in Alaska.

IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

One Week With: 2018 Subaru BRZ tS

Frank Markus, one of my two Motor Trend colleagues here in the Detroit bureau, colored my opinion of the 2018 Subaru BRZ tS before I got behind the wheel. His ’18 Subaru WRX STI Type RA was going back to the local press fleet the day my sports car press loaner arrived. He was happy to get rid of it.

Too, too harsh. No fun to drive on Southeastern Michigan’s roads, and with that ridiculous, adjustable rear wing, looked like something he had to borrow from a son or nephew while his car is in the shop. And Frank is a good five years younger than me.

I wasn’t crazy about the huge, adjustable wing on my BRZ tS, and I’ve driven plenty of cars that are fun on a smooth racetrack or even on a well-kept canyon road, but beat the hell out of you on underfunded roads and highways. I agree that even the “base” WRX STI is unnecessarily harsh, from what I remember last driving one two or three years ago.

After a week of this folderol, I’m happy to report that the BRZ tS is no WRX STI Type RA in the harshness department. It’s stiff—very stiff, with STI-tuned front- and rear Sachs dampers and coil springs an STI flexible V-brace in the engine compartment, new draw stiffeners added to the chassis and sub-frame for better steering response, and the BRZ’s first-ever 18-inch wheels and tires. STI underspoilers, front, side and rear are designed to help control airflow for improved traction and stability. There is nearly zero compliance over pie crust roads. There’s barely any yaw in the turns.

There’s the difference. The STI, including the Type RA I briefly drove while Frank had it at the office, feels like a go kart without the chassis flex, willing to take out any bump or pothole out on your vertebra rather than into the driver’s bucket. The BRZ tS gives just enough to keep the car from skating over Michigan’s randomly patterned sets of bumps. The STI-tuned Sachs dampers and springs never try to steer for you. It’s steering is direct and quick, with good feel and feedback—just right for this agile car.

Combine that with a perfectly adequate 205-hp 2.0-liter boxer engine, a six-speed gearbox that rivals Mazda and Honda for nice, precise short throws combined with pedals perfectly spaced for heel-and-toeing, and a purposeful simplicity to the overall package, devoid of multi-setting chassis and throttle controls, and tS doesn’t diminish my high opinion of the BRZ. The standard BRZ is one of the few cars out there today, along with its Toyota 86 twin, Miata/Fiata, and Honda Civic Type-R that I would buy with my own credit.

But I’d leave the TS version for younger buyers. Subaru made 500 BRZ tSes available for the 2018 model year, and they’re better suited for enthusiasts who live in places with decent roads and/or who will take it to the local race circuit for some track time, or to autocross. As of mid-October, there are a “handful” of these model year ’18 tSes left. There will be no ’19 BRZ TS.

For a good $7,700 over the price of a base BRZ, or $3,700 more than a ’19 BRZ Limited with the optional Performance Package, tS buyers get a handsomely upgraded interior, as well as the defiantly pink-branded STI bits. In the case of this model, STI pink is limited to the “S” in the subtle tS badging on the rear deck and front fascia (Subaru calls it “Cherry Blossom Red”), subtle accent stripes along the front and rear fascias, and an STI start-up logo that appears briefly on the dash as you trigger the start button.

The tS is a fully equipped BRZ with no options, offered in blue pearl, crystal black silica, and crystal white pearl.

Most of the exterior and interior accents are red, including stitching around the Alcantara door inserts and dashboard steering wheel cowl. The red-and-black seats have Alcantara inserts, too, and the front seats are deep, firm, and comfortable buckets designed to hold you in nicely around fast corners. They work.

The interior is nice and straightforward, with real gauges on the dash, and no electronically operated dynamic controls. Even the big rear wing appears to be adjustable only if you get out of the car and grab a wrench. There is a track mode button and a button to turn off traction and stability control nannies. Hold the latter button until you see two yellow LED symbols light up on the instrument panel.

With just one week to drive the tS on public roads, I didn’t feel any difference with nannies on, or off. In fact, I only took the time to turn off the nannies rather than turn on the track mode, which likely accomplishes much of the same thing. Attack, say, a 90-degree right-turn with a quick stab of the brakes and then get back on to the throttle as you exit and the tail will come out just enough. The couple of chances I had to try that in track mode, oversteer was equally catchable.

Rain soaked the local roads the morning I got out to the Exit 69/Big Beaver Road cloverleaf, so I played it safe and kept the nannies on. I never got to a speed on the on/off ramps that would get the chassis loose. There was just the slightest bit of lean, and the bumps at either end of the ramps didn’t upset the BRZ tS’s direction. The 215/40 R18 Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires, responsible for much of that lack of drama on fast turns, remained connected to the road at all four corners, all the time.

My only major complaint is with the radio, one of these digital touch-screen Wi-Fi affairs (though accompanied by a couple of control knobs) that usually took a good 15 to 30 seconds to boot up. I miss basic transistor car radios, which by the 1950s replaced tube radios, which usually took about 30 seconds to warm up before you’d get sound.

Perhaps I am too old for this car, after all.

2018 Subaru BRZ tS Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $34,355* ENGINE 2.0L DOHC 16-valve H-4, 205 hp @ 7,000 rpm/156 lb-ft. @ 6,400-6,800 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT 2-door, 2+2 passenger, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/27 mpg city/hwy L X W X H 168.0 x 69.6 x 52.0 in WHEELBASE 101.2 in WEIGHT 2,842 lb 0-60 MPH 6.4 sec TOP SPEED 144 mph (est)

*Add $150 for higher destination charge in Alaska.

IFTTT

[eddiejpoplar]

One Week With: 2018 Subaru BRZ tS

Frank Markus, one of my two Motor Trend colleagues here in the Detroit bureau, colored my opinion of the 2018 Subaru BRZ tS before I got behind the wheel. His ’18 Subaru WRX STI Type RA was going back to the local press fleet the day my sports car press loaner arrived. He was happy to get rid of it.

Too, too harsh. No fun to drive on Southeastern Michigan’s roads, and with that ridiculous, adjustable rear wing, looked like something he had to borrow from a son or nephew while his car is in the shop. And Frank is a good five years younger than me.

I wasn’t crazy about the huge, adjustable wing on my BRZ tS, and I’ve driven plenty of cars that are fun on a smooth racetrack or even on a well-kept canyon road, but beat the hell out of you on underfunded roads and highways. I agree that even the “base” WRX STI is unnecessarily harsh, from what I remember last driving one two or three years ago.

After a week of this folderol, I’m happy to report that the BRZ tS is no WRX STI Type RA in the harshness department. It’s stiff—very stiff, with STI-tuned front- and rear Sachs dampers and coil springs an STI flexible V-brace in the engine compartment, new draw stiffeners added to the chassis and sub-frame for better steering response, and the BRZ’s first-ever 18-inch wheels and tires. STI underspoilers, front, side and rear are designed to help control airflow for improved traction and stability. There is nearly zero compliance over pie crust roads. There’s barely any yaw in the turns.

There’s the difference. The STI, including the Type RA I briefly drove while Frank had it at the office, feels like a go kart without the chassis flex, willing to take out any bump or pothole out on your vertebra rather than into the driver’s bucket. The BRZ tS gives just enough to keep the car from skating over Michigan’s randomly patterned sets of bumps. The STI-tuned Sachs dampers and springs never try to steer for you. It’s steering is direct and quick, with good feel and feedback—just right for this agile car.

Combine that with a perfectly adequate 205-hp 2.0-liter boxer engine, a six-speed gearbox that rivals Mazda and Honda for nice, precise short throws combined with pedals perfectly spaced for heel-and-toeing, and a purposeful simplicity to the overall package, devoid of multi-setting chassis and throttle controls, and tS doesn’t diminish my high opinion of the BRZ. The standard BRZ is one of the few cars out there today, along with its Toyota 86 twin, Miata/Fiata, and Honda Civic Type-R that I would buy with my own credit.

But I’d leave the TS version for younger buyers. Subaru made 500 BRZ tSes available for the 2018 model year, and they’re better suited for enthusiasts who live in places with decent roads and/or who will take it to the local race circuit for some track time, or to autocross. As of mid-October, there are a “handful” of these model year ’18 tSes left. There will be no ’19 BRZ TS.

For a good $7,700 over the price of a base BRZ, or $3,700 more than a ’19 BRZ Limited with the optional Performance Package, tS buyers get a handsomely upgraded interior, as well as the defiantly pink-branded STI bits. In the case of this model, STI pink is limited to the “S” in the subtle tS badging on the rear deck and front fascia (Subaru calls it “Cherry Blossom Red”), subtle accent stripes along the front and rear fascias, and an STI start-up logo that appears briefly on the dash as you trigger the start button.

The tS is a fully equipped BRZ with no options, offered in blue pearl, crystal black silica, and crystal white pearl.

Most of the exterior and interior accents are red, including stitching around the Alcantara door inserts and dashboard steering wheel cowl. The red-and-black seats have Alcantara inserts, too, and the front seats are deep, firm, and comfortable buckets designed to hold you in nicely around fast corners. They work.

The interior is nice and straightforward, with real gauges on the dash, and no electronically operated dynamic controls. Even the big rear wing appears to be adjustable only if you get out of the car and grab a wrench. There is a track mode button and a button to turn off traction and stability control nannies. Hold the latter button until you see two yellow LED symbols light up on the instrument panel.

With just one week to drive the tS on public roads, I didn’t feel any difference with nannies on, or off. In fact, I only took the time to turn off the nannies rather than turn on the track mode, which likely accomplishes much of the same thing. Attack, say, a 90-degree right-turn with a quick stab of the brakes and then get back on to the throttle as you exit and the tail will come out just enough. The couple of chances I had to try that in track mode, oversteer was equally catchable.

Rain soaked the local roads the morning I got out to the Exit 69/Big Beaver Road cloverleaf, so I played it safe and kept the nannies on. I never got to a speed on the on/off ramps that would get the chassis loose. There was just the slightest bit of lean, and the bumps at either end of the ramps didn’t upset the BRZ tS’s direction. The 215/40 R18 Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires, responsible for much of that lack of drama on fast turns, remained connected to the road at all four corners, all the time.

My only major complaint is with the radio, one of these digital touch-screen Wi-Fi affairs (though accompanied by a couple of control knobs) that usually took a good 15 to 30 seconds to boot up. I miss basic transistor car radios, which by the 1950s replaced tube radios, which usually took about 30 seconds to warm up before you’d get sound.

Perhaps I am too old for this car, after all.

2018 Subaru BRZ tS Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $34,355* ENGINE 2.0L DOHC 16-valve H-4, 205 hp @ 7,000 rpm/156 lb-ft. @ 6,400-6,800 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT 2-door, 2+2 passenger, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/27 mpg city/hwy L X W X H 168.0 x 69.6 x 52.0 in WHEELBASE 101.2 in WEIGHT 2,842 lb 0-60 MPH 6.4 sec TOP SPEED 144 mph (est)

*Add $150 for higher destination charge in Alaska.

IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

One Week With: 2018 Subaru BRZ tS

Frank Markus, one of my two Motor Trend colleagues here in the Detroit bureau, colored my opinion of the 2018 Subaru BRZ tS before I got behind the wheel. His ’18 Subaru WRX STI Type RA was going back to the local press fleet the day my sports car press loaner arrived. He was happy to get rid of it.

Too, too harsh. No fun to drive on Southeastern Michigan’s roads, and with that ridiculous, adjustable rear wing, looked like something he had to borrow from a son or nephew while his car is in the shop. And Frank is a good five years younger than me.

I wasn’t crazy about the huge, adjustable wing on my BRZ tS, and I’ve driven plenty of cars that are fun on a smooth racetrack or even on a well-kept canyon road, but beat the hell out of you on underfunded roads and highways. I agree that even the “base” WRX STI is unnecessarily harsh, from what I remember last driving one two or three years ago.

After a week of this folderol, I’m happy to report that the BRZ tS is no WRX STI Type RA in the harshness department. It’s stiff—very stiff, with STI-tuned front- and rear Sachs dampers and coil springs an STI flexible V-brace in the engine compartment, new draw stiffeners added to the chassis and sub-frame for better steering response, and the BRZ’s first-ever 18-inch wheels and tires. STI underspoilers, front, side and rear are designed to help control airflow for improved traction and stability. There is nearly zero compliance over pie crust roads. There’s barely any yaw in the turns.

There’s the difference. The STI, including the Type RA I briefly drove while Frank had it at the office, feels like a go kart without the chassis flex, willing to take out any bump or pothole out on your vertebra rather than into the driver’s bucket. The BRZ tS gives just enough to keep the car from skating over Michigan’s randomly patterned sets of bumps. The STI-tuned Sachs dampers and springs never try to steer for you. It’s steering is direct and quick, with good feel and feedback—just right for this agile car.

Combine that with a perfectly adequate 205-hp 2.0-liter boxer engine, a six-speed gearbox that rivals Mazda and Honda for nice, precise short throws combined with pedals perfectly spaced for heel-and-toeing, and a purposeful simplicity to the overall package, devoid of multi-setting chassis and throttle controls, and tS doesn’t diminish my high opinion of the BRZ. The standard BRZ is one of the few cars out there today, along with its Toyota 86 twin, Miata/Fiata, and Honda Civic Type-R that I would buy with my own credit.

But I’d leave the TS version for younger buyers. Subaru made 500 BRZ tSes available for the 2018 model year, and they’re better suited for enthusiasts who live in places with decent roads and/or who will take it to the local race circuit for some track time, or to autocross. As of mid-October, there are a “handful” of these model year ’18 tSes left. There will be no ’19 BRZ TS.

For a good $7,700 over the price of a base BRZ, or $3,700 more than a ’19 BRZ Limited with the optional Performance Package, tS buyers get a handsomely upgraded interior, as well as the defiantly pink-branded STI bits. In the case of this model, STI pink is limited to the “S” in the subtle tS badging on the rear deck and front fascia (Subaru calls it “Cherry Blossom Red”), subtle accent stripes along the front and rear fascias, and an STI start-up logo that appears briefly on the dash as you trigger the start button.

The tS is a fully equipped BRZ with no options, offered in blue pearl, crystal black silica, and crystal white pearl.

Most of the exterior and interior accents are red, including stitching around the Alcantara door inserts and dashboard steering wheel cowl. The red-and-black seats have Alcantara inserts, too, and the front seats are deep, firm, and comfortable buckets designed to hold you in nicely around fast corners. They work.

The interior is nice and straightforward, with real gauges on the dash, and no electronically operated dynamic controls. Even the big rear wing appears to be adjustable only if you get out of the car and grab a wrench. There is a track mode button and a button to turn off traction and stability control nannies. Hold the latter button until you see two yellow LED symbols light up on the instrument panel.

With just one week to drive the tS on public roads, I didn’t feel any difference with nannies on, or off. In fact, I only took the time to turn off the nannies rather than turn on the track mode, which likely accomplishes much of the same thing. Attack, say, a 90-degree right-turn with a quick stab of the brakes and then get back on to the throttle as you exit and the tail will come out just enough. The couple of chances I had to try that in track mode, oversteer was equally catchable.

Rain soaked the local roads the morning I got out to the Exit 69/Big Beaver Road cloverleaf, so I played it safe and kept the nannies on. I never got to a speed on the on/off ramps that would get the chassis loose. There was just the slightest bit of lean, and the bumps at either end of the ramps didn’t upset the BRZ tS’s direction. The 215/40 R18 Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires, responsible for much of that lack of drama on fast turns, remained connected to the road at all four corners, all the time.

My only major complaint is with the radio, one of these digital touch-screen Wi-Fi affairs (though accompanied by a couple of control knobs) that usually took a good 15 to 30 seconds to boot up. I miss basic transistor car radios, which by the 1950s replaced tube radios, which usually took about 30 seconds to warm up before you’d get sound.

Perhaps I am too old for this car, after all.

2018 Subaru BRZ tS Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $34,355* ENGINE 2.0L DOHC 16-valve H-4, 205 hp @ 7,000 rpm/156 lb-ft. @ 6,400-6,800 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT 2-door, 2+2 passenger, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/27 mpg city/hwy L X W X H 168.0 x 69.6 x 52.0 in WHEELBASE 101.2 in WEIGHT 2,842 lb 0-60 MPH 6.4 sec TOP SPEED 144 mph (est)

*Add $150 for higher destination charge in Alaska.

IFTTT