#and also i feel like everybody was very tired by the end loll

[monwillica]

Jet Lag s12e5 “is it more about his soul or his mortal form? what is the him we’re trying to find?”

all that rain and he still couldn’t find a frog???

Spoiler: Ben finally eats a real meal this episode, unsupervised!

in the spirit of including them here’s sam and adam doing the same thing i drew them doing last episode, looking despondent at a train station:

[killemwithkawaii]

Imagine Sal being used as a cum dumpster and being spitroast-fucked.

[cw: Big Horny Nasty so I put it under the cut fair warning sdlfskdf]

>Okay this was the ask that was sitting in my inbox for a long time because I kept U////w////U 👉👈ing too hard to answer it and kept putting it off for another night but THAT NIGHT IS TONIGHT, BITCHES *AIRHORNS*

>You know those porn vids where they interview the participants before and after the filming? I'd imagine Sal would be pretty cocky (lol) and sure of himself in the 'before' and then in the 'after' he's just sitting there all dazed and exhausted in a bathrobe with his pigtails all fucked up (they ask him how it was and he just gives a thumbs up in response) 😂😂😂

>On that note: those pigtails are being put to good use by everybody, baby 😎👌

>Okay so I know my face design for Sal isn't exactly canon-compliant but you have to admit that it adds some serious potential to this scenario (Having a window to see whats going on in his mouth? Him being unable to stop his tongue from lolling out? Him trying to swallow and having come and drool dribble out of his cheekhole?? The way he would look in a ring gag etc??? UMF YES 😩👌💦💦💦)

>He'd probably need a lot of encouragement, praise and reassurance throughout the whole scene. His anxiety and lack of confidence in his looks might make him question if he's desirable enough to be doing this kind of thing, wonder if everyone participating is still really into it once his prosthetic comes off, and he may feel some lingering worry about safety, etc. So, everybody has to be extra nice (even if things get a little physically rough in the heat of the moment), tell him how good hes being for them from start to finish, and check in often to make sure he's having a good time ✅💖

>GIVE EVERYONE SHARPIES FOR TALLYMARKS (Gotta keep track of how many loads have been dumped on/in him and where) AND BODYWRITING (but you're only allowed to write nice things so that he can remember how much fun you all had together afterwards uwu)

>Also, there should be plenty of lube and water bottles (and maybe a quick snack?) within reach- gotta make sure everyone's hydrated, fueled up and slippery for this kind of action!

>He's so smol, I bet he could easily be hoisted up, thrown/passed around and repositioned however the group sees fit (which is good, because I'd expect he'd just go limp at some point) 💪💦

>After everyone has had a turn with him, he lies there in the afterglow, looking bashful, proud and satisfied all at once while all that cum starts to slowly leak out of him 😌💞

>I think it would be really sweet to have a group aftercare session once the gangbang is over- everyone gathers around Sally (still feeling a little floaty, but very tired from putting in all that hard work, and with subdrop creeping in now that the endorphins are wearing off) and they all praise him for doing such a good job taking all of them, tell him how much they enjoyed playing with him, pet him and gently massage any sore spots, help him clean up with some warm towels, and get him dressed in something nice and cozy so he can get some well-deserved rest 💋🛌💤

>This ask made me start thinking of Sal and the Eldritch monster for Obvious Reasons. Them trying to make love would more than likely end up with the spitroast scenario, seeing as the monsters only goal is pleasure and it isn't at all hung up on societal taboos. (That's probably at least a 5th or 6th date thing, but it doesn't mind being a little patient if it makes Sal happy~ 😊)

[saanshaohana]

1.

On 10th of September, a Monday, Aelius Galanis sits on his desk fixed in a wall to do something.

To be himself, that which if he is not, he'll be nobody. And he realised that before he had realised that Virginia Woolf realised it before him, or how much he liked her, despite the initial jealousy that cropped up in the wake of her having claimed the thought that came out of himself, too, but sewn together in better words, with abundantly more recognition.  It was his last year of high school, and as much as someone would scoff at the sight of a young boy saying this, life was passing him by. He was letting it, and that was an act of folly anyone regardless of age could indulge in.

He opened up all his drawers to find something to do something with. He took a voice recorder in his hand, replaced with an old calendar, replaced with a box of mints, replaced with an old diary and a drawing pad, which he flipped through. 

And now he is sitting on his desk with a pencil in his hand and the look of a maniac on his face. He grabs a notepad and jots down ideas of fiction, of rebellious avant-garde, plots of cynical themes, satirical themes, eccentric themes, introspective themes, nonsensical-but-artistically themes, the same themes across different media-- film, writing, art, play, whatever he had seen, could remember, and was attracted to-- through characters, through worldviews, through inanimate perspectives, through eccentric situations, to find something, somewhere he'd find his place.

Soon he trails off to write about what he was doing and what he was feeling, then scribbles the names of tentative careers and ways he could make himself useful, with no more sincerity than he would doodle. 

His brother hated him, his mother had been a stranger among others after he turned three, who took his brother with her, who brought him back after a diagnosis of cancer, after all hope had left her, to leave her son of nine years to find family in his brother of eleven and their father, before their father was there every day, to date, for his sons of fifteen years and seventeen years, before their mother died five years ago, before she found love in their father again.

He blinks, and takes a deep breath, lets it go, and looks with a stoop in his posture at the things around him, at the corners of his room, at things that he had put there some time or another: some forgotten in their place and some acknowledged frequently. He looked at his many portraits of Alice--in Wonderland, in her house, in her mother's womb, in prison, one a gender-bender, one imitating Mona Lisa... He stops with a smirk. 

He takes out his phone and puts on Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy) as he hums together with a dead John Lennon and relaxes his shoulders back into his chair and the sunlight takes no time creeping up and down his face, to its edges, and curves, to mountains and away from valleys. It covers his eyes before they snap open. The sunlight comes into his room from the declining Sun.

"The beginning. Close your eyes." he clears his throat and positions himself to write on his notepad, a tilted head necessary as he starts scribbling.

Close your eyes. 

You're laid on grass, open. The colour your eyes see when they are   closed is bright from the sun shining down. It hasn't gone cold yet.

It's summer, but temperate. The birds’ pealing closes in. Echos of different birds mix before some diminish, although the trace of their sound remains long after they’ve travelled far. The an array of sounds from the local inhabitants of the bushes and trees claim the air again. Birds and insects and squirrels, the mute ants, the occasional trampling on fallen leaves by a dog before reuniting with its opponent in a stand-off of barking, before quietening down and running off, as the birds all fly up towards the sky from the uproar and form a net in front of your eyes in the sky as they leave to settle elsewhere for the day.  The strands of grass feel soft before your limbs and toes and fingers are one with them. Today there's a song to remind you of that day. The memory is laden  in emotion, but the day it was formed, it wasn't so heavy to carry.

It's warm, and the corners of your eyes are cooler from their wetness. The sun is opening up the muscles in your body with the touch of its light.

You can breathe. No hand outstretched to stifle. Home is near. It's nearer than ever before or ever again; and it hasn't been long after you woke up from your bed today to now, that you're lolling on the grass.

The time is free and it is yours. You are not  afraid to be alone. There's a train whistling away, but not far.

Open your eyes.  Just open your eyes 

To the trick of the light.

He lets his breath go, and takes it back again. Lets it go. Takes it back. And it means nothing for anyone else, but him, it's keeping alive.

The day passes with his breathing.

He used to cry to song lyrics,

Spirit of my silence, I can hear you, but I'm afraid to be near you, And I don't know where to begin, And I don't know where to begin.

Somewhere in the desert there's a forest, and an acre before us, But I don't know where to begin, But I don't know where to begin. Again I lost my strength completely, oh be near me, tired old mare With the wind in your hair.

Amethyst and flowers on the table, is it real or a fable? Well I suppose a friend is a friend, And we all know how this will end.

Chimney swift that finds me be my keeper, silhouette of the cedar, What is that song you sing for the dead, What is that song you sing for the dead? I see the signal searchlight strike me in the window of my room. Well I got nothing to prove, Well I got nothing to prove.

I forgive you, mother, I can hear you, and I long to be near you But every road leads to an end, Yes every road leads to an end. Your apparition passes through me in the willows, and five red hens. You'll never see us again. You'll never see us again.

784 words, that repeated,  and repeated to make his soul shudder and be brought to its knees.

He also liked to make up words. He liked to use his own expressions, to own his metaphors. Aelius Galanis was a boy who had found a few boys like him, all of which lived very, very far.

Tonight, he lays in his bed glancing sideward to the moon and its light is different from the Sun's.

Yet they're both there for him. For everybody. For nobody. Only his breath.

(Note: the song I have used is called Death With Dignity, written and performed by Sufjan Stevens, and I did not write it, nor do I own it.

Everything besides the song is original, is created by me, of course, aside from the references to Alice In Wonderland, and John Lennon's Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy), which, with no regards for my wishes, are not my creations either :) They’re beautiful songs. I recommend you check them out.)

[thekingofsadness]

Examining DW9′s Liu Shan

This is for dear ol’ @punishedkrauss for being just plain awesome and for @daolunofshiji for being Zhong Hui + beard but with Liu Shan cutscenes. I’m grateful for both of you guys.

OK now into the meat of this. A big obvious SPOILER ALERT is in place because this is Dynasty Warriors 9′s Liu Shan and let me tell you, he’s NOT the same as DW7/8 Liu Shan. I’ll be covering Liu Shan’s story (chapters 10-13 in DW9) INCLUDING his ending cutscene as well as what’s up with his personality. This will all be in great detail so yeah, if you don’t want to get spoiled, don’t read this.

TLDR it’s EVERYTHING I ever wanted from Liu Shan, and more. I love it, and I’m sure you will too.

A lot of characters in DW9 have gotten more character and personality when before they did not. Zhu Ran’s not all about fire attacks anymore, Jiang Wei is just plain bats**t insane (in a good way), and Dong Zhuo now is a genuine, menacing threat. It’s all good and brings out new, interesting facets to characters that were before just one-note and downright boring.

That’s not what happened to Liu Shan. What they did to Liu Shan in DW9 was change the focus of his personality. But to explain what happened to his personality, I gotta explain his story.

Now, Liu Shan’s story is much more based on his historical counterparts actions. He’s a young emperor eager to fill in the shoes of his father and because of a lack of experience, he initially leaves everything to Zhuge Liang—not before, of course, listening to what must be done. He’s ultimately a very passive ruler but that does not mean he is not trying. He makes sure to listen to everybody’s plan because giving his permission and he makes sure to help in the pre-battle preparations whenever he can. Of course, things go great, the Nanman are pacified, and soon the Northern Campaigns against Wei start.

A thing I never even considered but shows up brilliantly is Liu Shan’s concern about rest for people. If you play Liu Bei’s final chapter (chapter 9), it is the death of his sworn brothers that sends Liu Bei to a rage, and he is merciless and tireless until his brothers are avenged but it comes at the cost of rapidly declining health, resulting in Liu Bei’s death. Liu Shan knows this, he is worried about this happening again, and every single time before a major battle, WITHOUT FAIL, he beseeches Zhuge Liang (and later Jiang Wei) to make sure to rest.

He’s basically the group mom, always worrying about everybody’s health because of his unresolved fears about his own father’s death. Unfortunately, his worries are very much valid because Zhuge Liang dies in the Wuzhang plains precisely BECAUSE he worked himself to the bone. Just like Liu Bei before him.

With Jiang Wei now at the helm instead of Zhuge Liang, he plans to carry on his predecessor’s legacies and makes more campaigns against Wei, all of them ending in failure. Jiang Wei motivates the new generation into a frenzy, getting them all riled up for war but slowly Liu Shan understands just how detrimental it all is. Jiang Wei is bringing up everybody’s hope for a battle that cannot be won, bringing more chaos and destruction. Liu Shan tries to reason with Jiang Wei and everybody else but they’re all too caught up in the madness and their own personal agenda with Wei. So they don’t listen to him, and admonish him despite being the only voice of reason. The only person who listens in the end is Xingcai. (Video link here)

With Jiang Wei’s failures, he starts butting heads with everybody’s LOVE-TO-HATE GUY, Huang Hao. Whatever Huang Hao’s intentions are (bad, very very bad), he is trying to be the voice of reason in Liu Shan’s stead, trying to dissuade Jiang Wei from more pointless battles. There are now two factions within Shu and unfortunately, most of the playable cast happen to be in Jiang Wei’s camp. This builds up to Jiang Wei’s final campaign where he’s called back to the capital, Chengdu, because Huang Hao used Liu Shan’s name to bring them back. 

Then the conquest of Shu occurs. Everybody is scattered and Liu Shan is trying to minimise casualties but he feels he is lost. Unlike everybody else, he doesn’t have a role model to guide him, and he feels he is lost, without a purpose. He needs to make a decision once and for all and he needs to make it fast. He defeats the first assault but Jin’s main army is fast approaching. He decides to end the madness by surrendering Shu, basically making sure everybody is spared. Jiang Wei approaches Liu Shan after the surrender, finally understanding his lord’s intentions but ultimately rejecting them.

In Liu Shan’s ending, he is to enter a carriage to go to Jin’s capital of Luoyang, leaving Chengdu behind forever with Xingcai. He tries to give a comforting speech about enjoying life but the peasants, Jiang Wei’s propaganda still fresh in their mind, call him a coward and throw rocks at the carriage as it drives away but Liu Shan only smiles. It’s only in the carriage that he laments his mistakes, feeling guilty for surrendering Shu. Xingcai tries to comfort him but he pushes her away because he is going against everybody’s wishes to keep them safe. Xingcai also feels upset but he comforts her, insisting that it is his fault alone that Shu is gone, a final “please” to tell her that he is responsible and that she should not feel guilty too. (Video link 2 here)

AND THEN THEY KISSSSSSS!!! AW, COME ON, KOEI, WHY DIDN’T THEY KISS?! IT’S MUCH MORE BLATANT THAT THEY’RE TOGETHER SO WHY CAN’T THEY GET THEIR MOVE ON?! I bet they were gonna kiss, I BET YOU CUT IT AAAA—

A-ahem, sorry. Anyway, it’s time to get into the differences in personality between DW9 Liu Shan versus DW7/8 Liu Shan.

The first and most important difference is that Liu Shan is NOT a fool. No one calls him a fool (except the ending, but for different reasons) and he makes no pretense of hiding his intellect. He’s the voice of reason for Shu, he sees the big picture, but everyone except Xingcai are too ignorant to see it. He is passive initially out of lack of experience and remains passive only because he knows he can’t get through to people.

Which brings me to the second difference. DW9 Liu Shan is not as silver tongued as his previous counterparts. In fact, DW9 Liu Shan clearly has a lot of things going on in his head, so many ideas and opinions that he wants to tell the world but the problem is that he doesn’t know how to convince people to his side. He doesn’t know how to express his true feelings in a way that people will understand. It’s the complete opposite of DW7/8 Liu Shan who used people’s perception of him to manipulate their understanding. While DW7/8 Liu Shan is deceptive and manipulative with the best intentions living in the cover of the fool, DW9 Liu Shan is honest but incapable of expressing his feelings, leading others to assume he’s idiotic. He doesn’t know what to say so he’s quiet, and it is this inaction that leads to the spiraling chaos in Shu.

The third difference, is that Liu Shan is not at all lazy in this incarnation. Sure, he gets tired easily, and he definitely does prefer keeping his strength rather than exerting himself, but when hard work is needed Liu Shan will help and with little to no complaints. In fact, he’d be very much happy to help others but thinks his ability to help is limited or that he will get in the way of the more capable, which is why he’s usually sitting around all the time.

I guess the best way to sum it up is that while DW7/8 Liu Shan works with people’s expectations and plays the fool because he thinks it’s easier that way, DW9 Liu Shan actively tries and fails to defy people’s expectations and his efforts to try and help others go nowhere because no one listens to him.

Well, actually there’s only one person who listens to him. And that’s Xingcai. And I gotta talk about this because I am way too obvious about how much I ship those two together. LIU SHAN X XINGCAI IS CANON, BABY! WHOO!

In DW9, Liu Shan’s and Xingcai’s relationship is even less ambiguous than before. She’s his loyal bodyguard and retainer and most importantly, Liu Shan’s only confidant. She’s the only one who listens to her lord and he tells her effortlessly what’s on his mind and it’s hinted at not-so-subtly that there’s definitely something more between the two. She’s not swept away in the chaos of war and listens to Liu Shan, who is probably the only voice of reason left in late Shu. If you’ve seen the first video, she crouches down and puts her hands over his, a pose that is almost identical to the one Zhenji makes in her ending to her husband (video here)

Then there’s Liu Shan’s ending, where she tries to comfort him once again but he gently refuses her help, saying he must carry the guilt. And she’s shaking, equally tormented as he is because she also feels guilty. She may be able to support her lord but she is a soldier first and foremost. She follows orders, not makes them, and she knows she can’t be Liu Shan’s voice when he is silent because she too is bad at expressing her feelings. In fact in the two cutscenes, she doesn’t express her emotions in words but in action. Crouched down and hands over her lord’s hand in comfort, the shake of her body as she takes a shuddery breath to stop herself from crying, the slow loll of her head when she realises she can’t help Liu Shan. That’s how Xingcai expresses herself. And that’s why she too feels guilty in his ending.

A thing that was mentioned briefly towards the end of Liu Shan’s campaign is his remorse for not having someone like Zhuge Liang by his side. In the end, Liu Shan does not have a rolemodel to guide his actions. He only really has himself to motivate him. Xingcai supports him, there is no question about it, but she doesn’t stimulate him or give him ideas about how to go on because she too is equally clueless. And if you think about it carefully, he’s the only ruler without a clearly defined rolemodel and supporter. Liu Bei had Zhuge Liang, Fa Zheng and his sworn brothers; Cao Cao had Xiahou Dun, Xiahou Yuan, and almost all of the strategists; Cao Pi looked up to his father but also has Sima Yi for support and in turn when Sima Yi takes over he also looks to Cao Pi’s rule as inspiration with his wife and sons to help him. All of the Sun rulers have family, by blood or by bond, and that guides them. Even Zhang Jiao has his brothers, Dong Zhuo and his granddaughter Dong Bai, Lu Bu and Zhang Liao, every ruler, EVERY RULER, had someone to look up to. Not Liu Shan.

Liu Shan does not idolise his father. In the game they have few interactions. Liu Bei’s story ends before Liu Shan’s begins and in the end, Liu Bei’s only legacy in Liu Shan is heightening Liu Shan’s fear of people wasting away by overexerting themselves. Zhuge Liang is not a role model. He controls Liu Shan and there’s no real relationship outside of strategist and ruler, and Zhuge Liang dies in the same way Liu Bei did. Jiang Wei is not a rolemodel, in fact if Liu Shan doesn’t dislike Jiang Wei he certainly holds the strategist in some contempt because he’s clearly not at all fine with his bull by the end of the story. And like I said, Xingcai is emotional support only. A steady rock. But rocks can’t give him advice or tell him what’s right and what’s wrong.

That’s why Liu Shan’s final command to surrender is so powerful. Because HE made the decision. Not Jiang Wei, not Xingcai, nobody forced him into this decision, he alone made it. In sparing many lives he ended an era, a kingdom, and he has to take responsibility for that decision. He chose to make that decision even if he knew it would earn him the ire of his people, even if he knew people would brand him a coward and a fool and curse his name until his death. It’s probably the most difficult decision anyone in the game has to make—whether to fight a futile war or surrender and be villified—and he had to make it himself and that is probably Liu Shan’s shining, greatest moment. He’ll carry the guilt and he’ll carry the blame because that, he believes, is what an emperor does and he will carry it until the end of his days.

All in all, Liu Shan is a tragic figure in DW9. He has a fine ability to see reason in a world of madness but no one can see the world through his eyes. He’s not as talented as everybody else but he is still smart and he is still strong and capable but with everybody taking responsibility, he’s forced to keep to the sidelines and watch Shu crumble beneath his feet. It’s not the obfuscating stupidity he had before. He never truly lies, he just keeps to himself because when he tries to open his mouth he’s almost immediately shut down. Even if he did take control, stood up for his beliefs and forced people to listen, there was no way Shu would have survived for long. Perhaps it’s a sin of inaction but ultimately the fate of Shu was out of his grasp from the get go.

I really do love this interpretation of Liu Shan. I liked the sneakiness of DW7/8, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not easy to see the truth behind the mask he wore. In DW9 he is far more sympathetic and far easier to understand his motivations. He’s flawed in that he did not act when he should have, a far more understandable flaw than pretending to be an idiot to manipulate others from the background, regardless of intentions. And I love Liu Shan’s ending. It’s everything I hoped for: Liu Shan x Xingcai moments, bittersweet ending, NO ‘le bu si shu’ scene, it’s perfect! I feel like they tailored that ending to me, like KT was for some reason looking at my opinions and then altered the ending to suit my criteria.

Liu Shan is great in DW9. I love him as a flawed character and I really do think you guys will enjoy it too. It’s a slightly different but refreshing take on his character, more defined by his historical actions than his villainous romanticised version, and his story is heart wrenching. I’m sure that if you didn’t like his character before, you will feel for his struggle and maybe, just maybe, feel a little bit more sympathetic for his plight.

[latetothegreysparty]

Bedtime Part 2

This is the follow-up to Bedtime. Thanks to the anon who gave me the prompt for this one. I hope you enjoy it, anon! If anybody hasn’t read Bedtime and would like to, it can be found here. I will warn y’all that if you haven’t read Bedtime, this might be a bit confusing, probably more so than if you read either of my other follow-up fics without reading the originals. It’ll probably still mostly make sense, but there might be a few confusing parts.

Bedtime Part 2

Amelia and Owen stepped back into the dining room and were surprised to find only Meredith and Maggie remained in the room, and both women were busy clearing plates and silverware off the table. “Wow,” Amelia said, stepping into the room and leaning on one of the chairs, “we must really be the life of the party! We leave for a few minutes and then everybody gets so bored that they have no choice but to go home.”

Meredith rolled her eyes as she carried a stack of dessert plates back into the kitchen. “It’s more like you guys were gone so long that they had to head back home to send their kids off to college,” she called over her shoulder. “Now that you guys are finally back, can you at least make yourselves useful and help us clean up?”

Owen obediently headed into the kitchen to start on the dishes, but Amelia felt the need to defend herself. “What do you mean, ‘make ourselves useful?’ We just put all three of your kids to bed, including the one who doesn’t like her new bed yet and refuses to go to sleep in it without a fight! We deserve a medal of honor! At the very least some chocolate or something.”

Meredith placed a sponge into Amelia’s hand. “Here’s your prize. You can use this to scrub down the table.” Amelia was tempted to throw the sponge back at Meredith, but she couldn’t work up the energy.

Meanwhile, Owen had just begun to rinse dishes off in the left side of the sink and stack them in the right side so that he could later load them into the dishwasher. “Do you want me to start loading those into the dishwasher?” Maggie asked as she stepped up beside him and pointed at the dishes in the right side of the sink.

“That would be great, thanks,” Owen replied.

Maggie smiled and began to carry the plates over to the dishwasher. “So, what was going on upstairs? Why did it take Amelia so long to get the kids down? Was Bailey having a bedtime meltdown again?”

Owen smiled widely. “Actually, Amelia was the one causing the hold up. She had a bit of trouble getting Ellis settled down in bed because of the new bed.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Maggie chimed in. “It took almost an hour to get her to bed last night.”

“So, Amelia thought it might help calm Ellis down if she cuddled in bed with her for a few minutes until she settled down. She certainly got Ellis settled down, but she managed to fall asleep in the process. I walked into the room and found Amelia asleep in the bed with Ellis sleeping on her chest.”

“Oh my gosh, that must have been adorable!” Maggie squealed. “Did you take a picture?”

“Are you kidding?” Owen laughed. “I think she would’ve come after me with a scalpel if I tried to take a picture of her sleeping.”

Maggie giggled. “I guess you’re right. That sounds really, cute though. Did you manage to get all of them to sleep eventually?”

“Yeah,” Owen said as he finished rinsing the dishes and turned off the sink. “Once we were finished with Ellis, Amelia went to put Zola to bed and I put Bailey to bed. It was really nice to get to do that. He’s such a sweet kid.”

Maggie stepped away from the dishwasher and put a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “You should come around more often, Owen. Bailey adores you. Well, they all do, but Bailey especially. Every time you come over we get to hear about every single thing Uncle Owen said and did for the next few days. Seriously, Bailey can’t get enough of you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Owen said, unable to keep the smile off his face. After grabbing a towel and wiping down the counter, he glanced around the kitchen and determined that all of the clean-up in the kitchen had been finished. As Maggie headed out to living room to make sure no stray dishes had been left out there, Owen returned to the dining room to see why it was taking Amelia so long to wipe down the table.

As he crossed the threshold, he laughed out loud. Amelia was sitting in a chair midway along the table, sponge in her hand, head lolled to the side, sound asleep. Owen walked around the table, gently grabbed the sponge from her hand, and set it on the table. Amelia began to open her eyes at the feeling of the sponge being pulled from her grip. “It seems like we can’t leave you alone anywhere tonight without you falling asleep,” Owen lightly teased.

Amelia tried to form some sort of witty comeback, but she was too tired, so she ended up merely tilting her head to the side. Owen grasped the back of the chair, slid it out from under the table, grasped her hands, and pulled her from her chair. “Alright, up you go,” he said. “We need to get you to bed.”

Amelia nodded and began walking toward the stairs. She was surprised to hear footsteps behind her. “Where are you going, Owen?” she asked.

“Upstairs,” he responded slowly.

“What do you need upstairs?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m going to put you to bed.”

Amelia giggled. “I’m not a child, Owen. I don’t need to be tucked into bed.”

Owen tilted his head to the right and widened his eyes. “I don’t know, Amelia. Every time we’ve left you alone in any room tonight, you’ve fallen asleep. I don’t know if we can trust you to put yourself to bed without falling asleep halfway through the process.”

Amelia rolled her eyes and stomped her foot dramatically. “Fine, but only because I’m too tired to argue with you right now.”

Owen said nothing, electing to simply follow her up the stairs. The pair stopped at the top of the stairs. “Okay,” Owen began, “why don’t you go head into the bathroom and brush your teeth and I’ll get some pajamas out for you.”

Amelia barely managed to stifle a laugh. Apparently, Owen had been dead serious. He was actually putting her to bed, just like he had with Bailey. She knew she should be offended that she was a grown woman who was being babied, but she couldn’t get past how hilariously sweet it was that Owen wanted to do this. She decided not to respond, and turned down the hall to go into the bathroom and follow Owen’s directions.

After brushing her teeth and removing her makeup, Amelia returned to her bedroom and couldn’t help but smile at the sight she found there. Owen had picked up her lab coat from where it had been sitting on top of her bed and hung it up in her closet. He had also placed her favorite flannel pajama pants and that one Harvard t shirt that she swore was softer than any other shirt in the world on her bed. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Owen’s voice. “I got some pajamas out for you. I knew these were your favorite. I’ll step out now so you can get changed.”

Amelia scoffed. “Don’t worry about that, Owen. I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before.”

Owen blushed. “I needed to use the bathroom anyway, so I think I’ll just step out and do that while you change.” Amelia decided not to argue anymore and embarrass Owen further when he was being so adorably sweet and thoughtful. She waited for him to exit the room and shut the door before she began changing into the clothes he had laid out for her.

Owen returned from the bathroom and knocked on Amelia’s bedroom door. “Come in,” she called. When he entered the room, she had just finished turning off the overhead light and turning on the lamp on the night stand.

“Alright,” said Owen as he stepped into the room, “let’s get you into bed.” Amelia actually did giggle this time. He was really going all out with this whole “putting her to bed” thing. Nevertheless, she waited as he pulled the covers back, and then climbed into bed. She snuggled down into the pillows as he pulled the blankets up over her. As he smoothed the blankets out, Amelia decided it was time to have a bit of fun with this. She stuck her bottom lip out, looked up at him, and put on her infamous puppy eyes. Owen stopped messing with the sheets and looked down at her “Is something wrong, Amelia?” Owen asked with an amused smile on his face.

“This big bed is scary,” Amelia pouted, furrowing her eyebrows for maximum effect.

Owen looked confused for a second, but Amelia could tell the moment he recognized what she was doing. “Aw, did Ellis rub off on you a little bit?” he asked with a laugh. She merely nodded. “Do you need someone to cuddle you to help you settle in?” Another nod. “Alright, but only until you get comfortable,” he said, sighing in mock exasperation. Amelia smiled gleefully as Owen walked to the other side of the bed and pulled back the sheets.

“Wait!” Amelia exclaimed just as Owen was about to climb in. He halted his movements immediately. “You can’t get into bed in dress slacks! Go put on some sweatpants.”

“Where would I find sweatpants that would fit me in a house full of women and children?” Owen asked.

“Your gray ones are in the bottom drawer of the dresser,” Amelia replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Owen nodded slowly. “And why are my gray sweatpants in the bottom drawer of your dresser?”

“I was going through my clothes and found them. I just haven’t remembered to bring them to work and give them back yet.” She turned away as she said it so that he wouldn’t see the guilty look on her face.

“Well, I shouldn’t need to put on sweatpants, anyway. I’m just going to be in here for a few minutes, so it shouldn’t really matter what I’m wearing,” Owen reasoned. Amelia said nothing in response. Instead, she merely brought back the puppy eyes and pouty lip in full force. Owen looked at her for only a few seconds before rolling his eyes. He never had managed to figure out how to say no to her when she pulled that face. He heaved a sigh as we walked over to the dresser, grabbed the sweatpants, and quickly changed from his slacks to the sweats.

Amelia smiled sweetly as Owen returned to his side of the bed. “Wow, it looks like someone’s no longer mopey and sad. I guess I don’t have to snuggle with you after all,” he teased. Just like every child who has ever been caught faking tears, Amelia abruptly dropped the smile and returned to pouting. “Fine, fine, I’m getting in,” Owen chuckled as he pulled back the covers again and climbed into bed. “You really are the youngest child, aren’t you?”

“Hey!” Amelia whined, crossing her arms over her chest.

Owen put on his best stern face. “Alright, enough of that. You really must be tired with all this whining and pouting you’re doing.” He opened his arms wide. “Come over here and snuggle in so we can get you the sleep you so sorely need.”

Amelia immediately rolled into his arms and laid her head down on his chest, breathing in the comforting scent that was uniquely Owen. She smiled contently as she shifted against him, finding a comfortable position in his arms. Owen waited for her to get cozy and then began running his hand gently down her spine. If there was one thing guaranteed to make Amelia fall asleep, it was a back rub. Sure enough, her breathing evened out in a matter of minutes.

When he noticed that she was asleep, Owen realized that he should probably climb out of bed and head downstairs so he could go back home. “I’ll wait just a few minutes until she falls into a deeper sleep so that I don’t wake her up when I leave,” Owen thought to himself as he closed his eyes. Within five minutes, his hand had stilled on her back as his own breathing evened out and his muscles went slack.

[foxpaws10]

Just a little Andreil Drabble ! X

**********

Neil’s head lolled against Andrew’s knee, bone knocking bone hard enough he felt his eyeballs rattle in their sockets. For somebody who had considered himself an excellent liar, it had become increasingly difficult to make up excuses to avoid Dan’s mandatory team-bonding movie nights. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy spending time with the team; over the past year he had grown closer and more intertwined with their lives to the point he ached when separated from them for too long. It wasn’t a hummingbird beat of anxiety, or the burn of grief, more of an acute tightness in his stomach. They were his family and he would do anything for any one of them… with the occasional exception of Aaron. But movie nights were when he truly regretted that closeness. For a high-strung runner and a paranoid renegade with a short attention span, sitting for hours watching films was not Neil’s idea of a good time. His legs itched with restless energy, his butt was numb from sitting for so long, and he was becoming increasingly irritable at the foxes stolen glances.

One of Andrew’s hands absently ran through Neil’s hair, tugging out stubborn knots and twirling lazy auburn curls which had recently began to develop sun streaks - much to the other foxes delight. The first time Allison noticed the lighter strands she had squealed so loud Neil had thought his stomach was going to drop right out of his ass. It was just another thing the foxes were adding to a bemusing list of his traits. The sun had also brought out a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, interrupted only by scar tissue. The foxes had been slightly obsessed, to the point where Neil had to snap at them when Nicky tried to trace the dots. He had found more than one of the team with a stray piece of paper covered in his doodles, but chose not to confront them. He would never admit it out loud, but it felt..nice to have so many people intent on learning little bits of Neil, and keeping the stray castaway moments. He was beginning to feel like a real person; he felt known.

“Refreshments?” Matt queried as the end credits rolled onto the TV screen.

“I think we’ll need to go to the store,” Dan answered, standing stiffly and stretching her arms above her head, laughing and jerking away as Matt slid cold hands up the back of her shirt.

“I’ll come with, you guys never get the right popcorn.” Allison said, pulling Renee up with her and grabbing her purse from the table beside the door.

“What film do you guys want on next?” Nicky asked, throwing pretzels at a dozing Kevin. “We have some back in our dorm.” he offered.

Neil let his cheek rest against the inside of Andrew’s knee, one hand curled around Andrew’s ankle, thumb smoothing circles on the inside cuff of his sweatpants. The entire exchange went in one ear and out the other, eyes drooping at the soothing feeling of Andrew’s hand on his scalp. It was worth a numb bum from sitting on the floor between Andrew’s legs, and the only thing stopping him from drifting into sleep was the sudden slam of the dorm door as everybody emptied out leaving just Andrew, Neil and a sleeping Kevin Day.

“If you fall asleep before they get back I’ll skin you.” Andrew threatened, tugging sharply on Neil’s hair.

“M’sleepy,” Neil mumbled back, turning to curl against one of Andrew’s legs.

“I let you drag me here, I’m not watching this shit while you get out of it.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Neil smirked, nuzzling his face into the crook of Andrew’s knee. A moment later he was face down on the carpet, a dull throb between his shoulderblades from where Andrew had kneed him away.

“You’re such a child,” Neil grunted, rolling onto his back and bracing himself on his elbows to meet Andrew’s bored gaze. The other man stretched his arms out on the back of the couch, an almost imperceptible twitch of his eyebrow the only evidence of his thoughts on that statement. “Would you rather be playing Exy? Because I could wake Kevin up and we can do down to the court.” Neil said, suddenly a bit more awake.

“I’d rather snort golf balls.” Andrew retorted after a moment’s silence.

“Nice visual threat,” Neil smirked, pushing himself up onto his knees. “I could make it worth your time.” he coaxed, resting his hands on the edge of the couch either side Andrew’s knees and leaning forward with a challenge in his eyes.

Andrew’s fingers itched for a cigarette, his eyes were tired and his contacts were becoming uncomfortable, his muscles were tight and he needed to walk out a bad case of pins and needles… but seeing Neil between his knees with heat in those damn blue eyes pushed all those concerns to the back of his mind. He still wasn’t sure how this runaway with a duffel bag of secrets and a body mapped with hard ridges of scars had gotten under his skin. He was the sharp blade of a knife, lethal enough to slice through armour and slip almost unnoticed under flesh. Some days Neil was an open wound; left untreated it could be fatal. Other times he was the needle and thread sewing Andrew back together. He was a skydive without a parachute, the more time he was around the higher the plane was going and the more deadly the fall was becoming.

“I’ll get you a family pack of Oreos, ten Reese’s and a tub of Double Chocolate Fudge… and marshmallows?” Neil offered, and Andrew regretted not leaping when they were only a few feet off the ground.

“Two tubs, and I want Lucky Charms as well.” Andrew agreed, pushing Neil’s face away as that stupid shit-eating grin split his face.

Neil caught Andrew’s hand as he went to bat at him again, linking their fingers together and leaning forward between his thighs. “Kevin will kill me if he finds out.” he murmured.

“He can try, but you’re noticeably difficult to murder.”

“Maybe I’m a cat - nine lives and all that?”

“You used up all nine about five lives ago.” Andrew said, watching as Neil turned their hands over and brushed his lips along Andrew’s healing knuckles.

“Come up here,” he said, tugging Neil up from the ground and nodding at Neil’s unspoken question. Neil clambered up into Andrew’s lap, knees on either side of the other man’s hips and hands resting on the back of the couch.

“Where can I-?”

“Head and shoulders,” Andrew cut in.

“Knees and toes?”

“Get out,”

“Couldn’t resist,” Neil admitted with a self-deprecating smirk, hands moving to cup Andrew’s jaw as their lips met. The kiss was slow and languid, wet and increasing in deepness as Neil’s thumbs slid along the arch of Andrew’s cheekbones and he fought against the urge to grind in Andrew’s lap. It was only when Andrew’s hands moved to cup the back of his thighs that he allowed his hips a startled snap.

“‘Drew, yes or no?” Neil panted, pulling back to press sloppy kisses along the underside of Andrew’s jaw, one hand bunching the soft fabric stretched taut across Andrew’s shoulders, the other tracing the strong line of Andrew’s jaw.

“Yes,” Andrew answered, hands gripping Neil’s thighs tight enough to leave bruises as he pulled the other man closer.

“No! No, no, no!” Kevin’s voice exclaimed, startling the two men. Neil was unceremoniously dumped on the floor, disorientated and panting, grasping for leverage. “For fuck’s sake!” Kevin stood, stumbling a bit under the influence of a half bottle of vodka. “You couldn’t have done that somewhere else?!”

“Kevin,” Andrew warned, watching as the larger man gestured wildly.

“Did you just forget I was in the fucking room?”

“You looked dead, we thought we’d celebrate your life rather than mourn.” Neil said as he finally managed to regain his balance and climb to his feet. In all the time he had spent with Kevin, sharing a dorm and long bus rides, it was possible he had never seen the other man wake up and become so alert in such a little amount of time. He would be trying to get video footage as evidence if the current exchange wasn’t happening.

“By fucking next me?!”

“If you think that was fucking, I feel bad for Thea.” Andrew said, watching as Kevin made an unintelligible noise and stormed from the room, shaking his head and muttering, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to notice the dorm door swinging open. He hit it with a satisfying thud, followed by a dictionary of swears and Nicky’s surprised shouting.

Neil grinned as he heard Andrew exhale through his nose in what could have very easily been a laugh.

“Shut up,”

“Make me.” Neil countered, a noise slipping from him that he didn’t think he had ever made before as Andrew made a grab for him. It was possible there was going to have to be another tub of ice cream added to that list.

[eddiejpoplar]

First Drive: 2019 Aston Martin V8 Vantage

PORTIMAO, Portugal — The shade of lime green splashed across the Algarve International Circuit’s paddock is not what Aston Martin apologists, or average blokes for that matter, would call beautiful. The hue is a peculiar mix of highlighter-yellow and acid green, a visual shock clearly intended to provoke—not unlike the sharply creased silhouette of the new V8 Vantage that represents Aston’s second salvo at modern reinvention.

For a company that’s only seen two years of profitability in its 105-year history, the time is nigh for the seasoned marque to find a new voice. Though the DB11, introduced in 2016, was kissed with a touch of contemporary design language in the form of aerodynamic curlicues and a subtly pointed tail, it also kept a foot planted in the grand touring vernacular intended to satisfy the tweedy old world set. So far the efforts have paid off for Aston, with the DB11 fueling a meteoric turnaround in revenue last year. But now is a critical time to expand the repertoire and engage a younger, more daring demographic. Now is the time for the V8 Vantage.

Playing the role of the DB11’s mischievous little brother who just might have been sired by the randy milkman, the V8 Vantage is out to crash the Porsche/Bentley/Mercedes-AMG rager and hopefully not end up in the corner wearing a lampshade hat. It’s a car Aston aims squarely at the mighty Porsche 911—one of the most enduring, incalculably honed sports car stalwarts in automotive history. No big deal, right?

Externally, the Vantage’s form is guided by function, not pretense. There are no lavish overhangs or gratuitous French curves. Rather, sheetmetal seems to hug, stretch, and bulge over its underpinnings and wheel edges with purposefulness: think Frank Gehry, not Frank Lloyd Wright. Up front, Aston’s traditional “hill-climb” aperture has been traded for a more minimal maw. “Shock, horror, it doesn’t have an Aston Martin grille,” taunts head designer Marek Reichman. “Why would we put 15 or 20 kilos of weight on the furthest point forward in a sports car? The mouth is about servicing and breathing the engine, and cooling the brakes.”

Fair enough. There are other points of aesthetic contention as well, among them the tiny LED headlamps dotting the sloping nose—which, for what it’s worth, would not look out of place on a vehicle that hails from the Far East. “This is about function,” Reichman insists. “It’s got incredibly small lights because there’s an incredibly small package space. The dynamic turning envelope of the [20-inch] wheel and tire leaves you with very little space.” Moving along to the middle section, extractors—provocatively accented in a contrasting color and texture—draw high-pressure airflow away from the wheel wells and engine compartment. At the rear, a massive diffuser creates 169 pounds of downforce at the claimed vMax of 195 mph. Why not a nice round double century? “Everybody would love a 200 mph car,” says Aston senior vehicle engineering manager Craig Jamieson, “but this is a sports car with a short final drive, not a supercar.” The rear axle ratio of 2.93, versus the DB11’s statelier 2.7, works with the same ZF sourced 8-speed automatic transmission to dispatch a 0 to 60 mph time of 3.5 seconds. Not bad, Aston, not bad.

Though the Vantage shares suspension architecture like the front double wishbone/rear multilink setup with the DB11, the new car is tuned with a considerably more aggressive setup. Similarly, the Mercedes-AMG sourced 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 produces the same 503 horsepower output as the DB11 V8, though its intake, exhaust, and mapping yields a punchier 505 lb-ft of torque (versus 498) delivered with a sharper ramp up, plateauing between 2,000 and 5,000 rpm. Its extruded aluminum chassis, also derived from the DB11, claims 70 percent new parts.

The rain is slow and steady at Portimão’s Algarve International Circuit, and it’s finally time to slide behind the wheel and spread the pretty beads of moisture across the Vantage’s Lime Essence paint. The cabin, for those already steeped in Aston Martin convention, departs from protocol by utilizing a decidedly less precious, more masculine design. Rather than a waterfall dashboard delicately adorned in veneer, the center stack features an unapologetic array of a fixed 8-inch LCD screen, HVAC controls, and a cluster of buttons. The individual PRND transmission buttons are now in a chevron, not a row. A small, stitched leather patch occupies an area where a future manual transmission will reside, much to the presumable delight of Luddite diehards.

The first laps in the wet are run with the drivetrain in Sport (the least aggressive throttle/exhaust setting), and stability control in default mode. Discretion being the better part of valor, the conservative configuration almost immediately provides more intervention than it’s worth, with the torquey engine easily breaking the rear tires loose and the stability control violently yanking them back. Trying Sport+ and Track mode during the next session yields a considerably smoother, more intuitive dynamic. Moderation is still the order of the day, especially with decent amounts of water accumulating on this 2.9 miles of rising and falling tarmac. But the Vantage now plays far more nicely with the itchy right foot, allowing decent amounts of yaw angle before it overloads on sliding and the car’s axis is tugged back on track.

The watery conditions are unfortunate on any track, but particularly so with the Vantage because its tuning seems focused on handling, with a strong side order of torque. Regardless, my kinesthetic feedback loop corroborates the Aston’s measured 50/50 weight distribution; barring dumb moves like excessive turn-in during relatively slow corners (been there, plowed that), the Vantage turns in easily and tracks responsively mid-corner, conveying a sense of willingness to rotate when provided appropriately thoughtful inputs. Part of this comes from the relatively low polar moment of inertia thanks to the engine being shoved against the firewall. Lift the bonnet, and it seems there could be enough space to house a keg in there, if not for the big ol’ airboxes.

Speaking of airboxes, the optional quad exhaust system sampled at the track extracts some pleasingly sonorous sounds from the V-8. The tuning here is a tad raspier and focused on mid-frequency notes than in the AMG application, which is bit more guttural and, well, German sounding. The turbocharged setup differs greatly though from the naturally aspirated song of the old Vantage’s 4.7-liter V-8, which came alive with an incomparable level of musicality (second only, of course, to the now-defunct naturally aspirated V-12). Regardless, the new mill’s optional pipes make solid use of the venerable V-8 configuration, offering a pleasantly raw edge that complements the Vantage’s aggressive visual style.

The 8-speed auto performs consistently well with the powerful engine, delivering appropriately aggressive shifts and downshifts when summoned via the large, stationary polished aluminum paddles. Track composure is also aided by Aston’s first use of an electronic differential, which can apply up to 2,500 newton meters (1,843 lb-ft) of clamping force to help stabilize the car. The feature is a welcome addition when approaching the end of Portimão’s lengthy straight, where I repeatedly saw an indicated 150 mph before slamming the carbon ceramic stoppers, whisking away speed just in time for the hard right-hander. Though there’s still some lightness and a bit of tail wiggle when summoning these immense slowdowns, the proceedings still feel commendably in control considering the levels of deceleration and the slick surfaces beneath. Stopping power sometimes seemed to wane when scrubbing off nearly 100 mph of speed, only to be salvaged by what felt like a brake booster effect that sank the pedal deeper into its travel. Only slight fade was perceptible after several hard laps around the circuit.

You can only glean so much subjective data on a car’s track capabilities when you’re stuck in the wet, but thankfully Aston arranged a second day of street driving which shed more light on the Vantage’s terrestrial qualities. On the pastoral B-roads of the surrounding region, the Vantage feels remarkably more modern and extreme than it does on the circuit’s concrete superstructures. The seats are appropriately supportive and sporty, positioned about a quarter inch lower so you sit closer to earth, amplifying the sensation of speed. With relatively high doorsills, you feel you’re within, not on, the car’s interior, further differentiating the Vantage from its more grand touring-focused stablemate. The automatic transmission earns praise for smoothness when lolling about public roads. Shifts can be appropriately imperceptible when you’re not driving in anger, and the variability feels particularly impressive compared to its crisp behavior on the track. A day spent meandering through backroads conveys an overall impression biased toward purposefulness, not plushness, though the three-mode Bilstein dampers offer a noticeably more forgiving ride in their softer settings.

So where does the V8 Vantage fit in the galaxy of outstandingly capable competitors? Well, at least in the context of its Porsche 911 archenemy, it’s easy to argue that while the rear-engine German delivers on its tried-and-true mission of finely tuned driving dynamics, the Brit brings a singular sense of style to the table. Yes, the P-car’s even-keeled Teutonic-ness tickles our fancy, but there’s also some fun to be had in the Aston’s fanciful details like leather brogue edging and tailored suit stitching. And while we’ll require a head-to-head battle on dry pavement to pass final judgment on the finer points of their driving dynamics, impressions from two days of wet weather slinging suggest the Aston team has done a mighty fine job of imbuing the Vantage with a sense of athleticism and personality.

If the grand touring-oriented DB11 was the company’s initial attempt at redefinition, the V8 Vantage serves as one hell of a launch for Aston Martin’s driver-focused second act. There are still miles to go before Team Aston can sleep, with a steady cadence of upcoming models promising a full-circle rebuilding of the marque. But when Reichman leans in and not-so-subtlety hints at future product by asking, “What would you think of this car with 80 more horsepower and 150 fewer pounds?” these enterprising British underdogs have a way of making the skies ahead seem especially blue.

2019 Aston Martin V8 Vantage Specifications

ON SALE Summer 2018 PRICE $152,820 (base) (est) ENGINE 4.0L twin-turbo DOHC 32-valve V-8/503 hp @ 6,000 rpm, 505 lb-ft @ 2,000-5,000 rpm TRANSMISSION 8-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 18/22 city/hwy (est) L x W x H 175.8 x 84.8 x 50.1 in WHEELBASE 106.5 in WEIGHT 3,373 lb (est) 0-60 MPH 3.5 sec TOP SPEED 195 mph

IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

First Drive: 2019 Aston Martin V8 Vantage

PORTIMAO, Portugal — The shade of lime green splashed across the Algarve International Circuit’s paddock is not what Aston Martin apologists, or average blokes for that matter, would call beautiful. The hue is a peculiar mix of highlighter-yellow and acid green, a visual shock clearly intended to provoke—not unlike the sharply creased silhouette of the new V8 Vantage that represents Aston’s second salvo at modern reinvention.

For a company that’s only seen two years of profitability in its 105-year history, the time is nigh for the seasoned marque to find a new voice. Though the DB11, introduced in 2016, was kissed with a touch of contemporary design language in the form of aerodynamic curlicues and a subtly pointed tail, it also kept a foot planted in the grand touring vernacular intended to satisfy the tweedy old world set. So far the efforts have paid off for Aston, with the DB11 fueling a meteoric turnaround in revenue last year. But now is a critical time to expand the repertoire and engage a younger, more daring demographic. Now is the time for the V8 Vantage.

Playing the role of the DB11’s mischievous little brother who just might have been sired by the randy milkman, the V8 Vantage is out to crash the Porsche/Bentley/Mercedes-AMG rager and hopefully not end up in the corner wearing a lampshade hat. It’s a car Aston aims squarely at the mighty Porsche 911—one of the most enduring, incalculably honed sports car stalwarts in automotive history. No big deal, right?

Externally, the Vantage’s form is guided by function, not pretense. There are no lavish overhangs or gratuitous French curves. Rather, sheetmetal seems to hug, stretch, and bulge over its underpinnings and wheel edges with purposefulness: think Frank Gehry, not Frank Lloyd Wright. Up front, Aston’s traditional “hill-climb” aperture has been traded for a more minimal maw. “Shock, horror, it doesn’t have an Aston Martin grille,” taunts head designer Marek Reichman. “Why would we put 15 or 20 kilos of weight on the furthest point forward in a sports car? The mouth is about servicing and breathing the engine, and cooling the brakes.”

Fair enough. There are other points of aesthetic contention as well, among them the tiny LED headlamps dotting the sloping nose—which, for what it’s worth, would not look out of place on a vehicle that hails from the Far East. “This is about function,” Reichman insists. “It’s got incredibly small lights because there’s an incredibly small package space. The dynamic turning envelope of the [20-inch] wheel and tire leaves you with very little space.” Moving along to the middle section, extractors—provocatively accented in a contrasting color and texture—draw high-pressure airflow away from the wheel wells and engine compartment. At the rear, a massive diffuser creates 169 pounds of downforce at the claimed vMax of 195 mph. Why not a nice round double century? “Everybody would love a 200 mph car,” says Aston senior vehicle engineering manager Craig Jamieson, “but this is a sports car with a short final drive, not a supercar.” The rear axle ratio of 2.93, versus the DB11’s statelier 2.7, works with the same ZF sourced 8-speed automatic transmission to dispatch a 0 to 60 mph time of 3.5 seconds. Not bad, Aston, not bad.

Though the Vantage shares suspension architecture like the front double wishbone/rear multilink setup with the DB11, the new car is tuned with a considerably more aggressive setup. Similarly, the Mercedes-AMG sourced 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 produces the same 503 horsepower output as the DB11 V8, though its intake, exhaust, and mapping yields a punchier 505 lb-ft of torque (versus 498) delivered with a sharper ramp up, plateauing between 2,000 and 5,000 rpm. Its extruded aluminum chassis, also derived from the DB11, claims 70 percent new parts.

The rain is slow and steady at Portimão’s Algarve International Circuit, and it’s finally time to slide behind the wheel and spread the pretty beads of moisture across the Vantage’s Lime Essence paint. The cabin, for those already steeped in Aston Martin convention, departs from protocol by utilizing a decidedly less precious, more masculine design. Rather than a waterfall dashboard delicately adorned in veneer, the center stack features an unapologetic array of a fixed 8-inch LCD screen, HVAC controls, and a cluster of buttons. The individual PRND transmission buttons are now in a chevron, not a row. A small, stitched leather patch occupies an area where a future manual transmission will reside, much to the presumable delight of Luddite diehards.

The first laps in the wet are run with the drivetrain in Sport (the least aggressive throttle/exhaust setting), and stability control in default mode. Discretion being the better part of valor, the conservative configuration almost immediately provides more intervention than it’s worth, with the torquey engine easily breaking the rear tires loose and the stability control violently yanking them back. Trying Sport+ and Track mode during the next session yields a considerably smoother, more intuitive dynamic. Moderation is still the order of the day, especially with decent amounts of water accumulating on this 2.9 miles of rising and falling tarmac. But the Vantage now plays far more nicely with the itchy right foot, allowing decent amounts of yaw angle before it overloads on sliding and the car’s axis is tugged back on track.

The watery conditions are unfortunate on any track, but particularly so with the Vantage because its tuning seems focused on handling, with a strong side order of torque. Regardless, my kinesthetic feedback loop corroborates the Aston’s measured 50/50 weight distribution; barring dumb moves like excessive turn-in during relatively slow corners (been there, plowed that), the Vantage turns in easily and tracks responsively mid-corner, conveying a sense of willingness to rotate when provided appropriately thoughtful inputs. Part of this comes from the relatively low polar moment of inertia thanks to the engine being shoved against the firewall. Lift the bonnet, and it seems there could be enough space to house a keg in there, if not for the big ol’ airboxes.

Speaking of airboxes, the optional quad exhaust system sampled at the track extracts some pleasingly sonorous sounds from the V-8. The tuning here is a tad raspier and focused on mid-frequency notes than in the AMG application, which is bit more guttural and, well, German sounding. The turbocharged setup differs greatly though from the naturally aspirated song of the old Vantage’s 4.7-liter V-8, which came alive with an incomparable level of musicality (second only, of course, to the now-defunct naturally aspirated V-12). Regardless, the new mill’s optional pipes make solid use of the venerable V-8 configuration, offering a pleasantly raw edge that complements the Vantage’s aggressive visual style.

The 8-speed auto performs consistently well with the powerful engine, delivering appropriately aggressive shifts and downshifts when summoned via the large, stationary polished aluminum paddles. Track composure is also aided by Aston’s first use of an electronic differential, which can apply up to 2,500 newton meters (1,843 lb-ft) of clamping force to help stabilize the car. The feature is a welcome addition when approaching the end of Portimão’s lengthy straight, where I repeatedly saw an indicated 150 mph before slamming the carbon ceramic stoppers, whisking away speed just in time for the hard right-hander. Though there’s still some lightness and a bit of tail wiggle when summoning these immense slowdowns, the proceedings still feel commendably in control considering the levels of deceleration and the slick surfaces beneath. Stopping power sometimes seemed to wane when scrubbing off nearly 100 mph of speed, only to be salvaged by what felt like a brake booster effect that sank the pedal deeper into its travel. Only slight fade was perceptible after several hard laps around the circuit.

You can only glean so much subjective data on a car’s track capabilities when you’re stuck in the wet, but thankfully Aston arranged a second day of street driving which shed more light on the Vantage’s terrestrial qualities. On the pastoral B-roads of the surrounding region, the Vantage feels remarkably more modern and extreme than it does on the circuit’s concrete superstructures. The seats are appropriately supportive and sporty, positioned about a quarter inch lower so you sit closer to earth, amplifying the sensation of speed. With relatively high doorsills, you feel you’re within, not on, the car’s interior, further differentiating the Vantage from its more grand touring-focused stablemate. The automatic transmission earns praise for smoothness when lolling about public roads. Shifts can be appropriately imperceptible when you’re not driving in anger, and the variability feels particularly impressive compared to its crisp behavior on the track. A day spent meandering through backroads conveys an overall impression biased toward purposefulness, not plushness, though the three-mode Bilstein dampers offer a noticeably more forgiving ride in their softer settings.

So where does the V8 Vantage fit in the galaxy of outstandingly capable competitors? Well, at least in the context of its Porsche 911 archenemy, it’s easy to argue that while the rear-engine German delivers on its tried-and-true mission of finely tuned driving dynamics, the Brit brings a singular sense of style to the table. Yes, the P-car’s even-keeled Teutonic-ness tickles our fancy, but there’s also some fun to be had in the Aston’s fanciful details like leather brogue edging and tailored suit stitching. And while we’ll require a head-to-head battle on dry pavement to pass final judgment on the finer points of their driving dynamics, impressions from two days of wet weather slinging suggest the Aston team has done a mighty fine job of imbuing the Vantage with a sense of athleticism and personality.

If the grand touring-oriented DB11 was the company’s initial attempt at redefinition, the V8 Vantage serves as one hell of a launch for Aston Martin’s driver-focused second act. There are still miles to go before Team Aston can sleep, with a steady cadence of upcoming models promising a full-circle rebuilding of the marque. But when Reichman leans in and not-so-subtlety hints at future product by asking, “What would you think of this car with 80 more horsepower and 150 fewer pounds?” these enterprising British underdogs have a way of making the skies ahead seem especially blue.

2019 Aston Martin V8 Vantage Specifications

ON SALE Summer 2018 PRICE $152,820 (base) (est) ENGINE 4.0L twin-turbo DOHC 32-valve V-8/503 hp @ 6,000 rpm, 505 lb-ft @ 2,000-5,000 rpm TRANSMISSION 8-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 18/22 city/hwy (est) L x W x H 175.8 x 84.8 x 50.1 in WHEELBASE 106.5 in WEIGHT 3,373 lb (est) 0-60 MPH 3.5 sec TOP SPEED 195 mph

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