#these two are out here speed running love while doing it backwards. icons.

[luxaofhesperides]

Surprise husbands + "How are you real?" ; requested by @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff!

They may not have planned to get married, or even wanted it all too much at the beginning, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to treat each other right. It was rough going, with both of them coming out of relationships and having secret identities, but time had softened the hurt feelings and allowed them to actually get to know each other.

And Danny, Duke has discovered, is a really good husband. 

Neither of them ever saw themselves as married at 20, but sometimes life throws horrible curses at you and the embodiment of balance and life and death swoops in to save your life. Via marriage. 

His life is weird, okay? Duke has made his peace with it.

The thing is, if they had met naturally and started off as friends, Duke could see himself falling for Danny and asking him to marry him in a far off future. Instead, they’re doing everything backwards: married, then going on dates to know each other, and finally feeling close enough to be friends. 

It helps that Danny does his best to communicate and that helps Duke find the words he needs as well. 

He’s sweet, too, so kind and doting and affectionate. Like a really lovable cat, honestly. Duke’s never been cuddled so much in his life and he’s loving every minute of it. 

He… might be falling in love with his husband. What a revelation.

“Duke?” 

He blinks, looking up from his half-empty plate, pulled out of his thoughts suddenly. Tim and Dick stare at him, concerned, and he realizes he’s missed the entire conversation because he was so preoccupied thinking about Danny. In his defense, it was their one year anniversary the night before and Danny had kissed him for the first time after a date night spent playing video games and talking shit about their respective rogues. 

Tim snaps a finger in front of his face, and Duke startles. He got distracted by his Danny Thoughts again.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You okay? You’ve been out of it all day,” Dick says, clearly concerned.

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s all good. Just… adjusting.”

“To what? Did something happen?”

Duke shrugs, scooping up another forkful of pasta to shove in his mouth. “Yeah, I… this is going to sound kind of stupid, but I think I’m in love with my husband.”

Tim, taking an ill-timed drink, chokes and spits out his Zesti. Dick springs back, trying to get out of the spray zone but doesn’t move far, shocked still by Duke’s words.

“Oh, yeah,” Duke realizes, “I didn’t tell you guys, did I?”

“You’re married?!” Tim shrieks as Dick clutches at his chest, eyes wide.

“You didn’t tell me?” Dick asks, offended.

“Seriously? That’s what you focus on?”

Duke smiles as they begin to bicker. They do it constantly, but this time it’s halfhearted, as if they’re just going through the motions of something familiar to distract themselves from the bomb he’s dropped on them.

In all fairness, Duke did forget that he didn’t tell them that he’s married to Danny. He’s also only mentioned Danny once or twice and heavily implied that Danny was just a classmate at GCU. And then forgot that he didn’t tell them, assuming that they’d figure it out eventually being Batman trained detectives, after all.

Well. 

Oops.

Clearly that is not the case. Duke hurries to finish his pasta before Tim and Dick finish their joint freak out and get their senses back together enough to interrogate him. He can’t escape it, but he refuses to have this discussion with an empty stomach. 

He just barely manages to scrape the last mouthful off the plate when his fork is being yanked out of his hands. Tim and Dick close in on him, standing to either side of him, trapping him in place, and look at him with knife-sharp smiles.

Here we go, Duke thinks tiredly, and resigns himself to clearing up this misunderstanding.

Somehow, he manages to explain the situation (I got cursed, he saved my life, we ended up married because magic is bullshit, he treats me so well) and Tim and Dick both agree to not hunt down Danny to show him the wrath of older brothers on one condition: Danny has to join them for a family dinner.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch everyone up on your… situation,” Dick says, pulling on his jacket to head out. Tim is already on his phone, no doubt telling someone already. 

“Great,” Duke says, unenthused. “You’ll also be answering all the questions because I’m not in the mood. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to figure out a day that works for all of us, and then I’m going to kick my husband’s ass in Mario Cart.”

He walks out the door, grinning as he hears them scramble after him, then twists the ring on his finger (not a wedding ring, but a magic portal making gift) and steps into the portal. It closes quietly behind him, leaving him in Danny’s lair, a comfortable, spacious house with high ceilings and little bits of his personality scattered about. There are soft rugs with geometric patterns on them, star maps on the wall, stained glass windows that throw colors across the floor, and a giant couch and pillow pit in the living room.

Danny’s asleep in it, curled up and looking completely at peace. Duke toes off his shoes and carefully makes his way over, footsteps silent so he doesn’t wake him up, all plans of Mario Cart fading away instantly.

Danny doesn’t get much sleep, with the stress of school and an internship and ghost fights to worry about. It’s why his lair is so quiet and comfortable; it’s what he needs, and he doesn’t let anyone else in without invitation, rare as it is.

Duke is allowed to waltz right in thanks to the ring Danny gave him. It never stops making him feel overwhelmed by how much trust Danny puts in him to allow him unlimited access to what is his only true sanctuary, letting his lair be a place of safety and respite for Duke as well. 

He crawls into the pillow pit, There’s no way to do this without waking Danny up since he can’t fly, so he isn’t surprised to see Danny blink his eyes open, still looking soft and content. He smiles when he sees Duke, reaching a hand out to him that Duke gladly takes, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss his palm.

Sitting up, Danny tilts his head up in a silent request. Duke happily obliges, still reeling over the fact that he’s allowed to do this! He can kiss his husband whenever he wants! 

Yeah, he’s going to be riding that high for a while.

“Hey,” Danny murmurs, sleepy and quietly pleased to see him.

“Hi honey,” Duke returns fondly, “Have a nice nap?”

Danny nods, leaning into Duke and closing his eyes again. “Mhm. How long are you staying? I wanna cuddle.”

“I got nothing going on today. I’m all yours, baby.”

“C’mon,” Danny tries to tug him down. Duke goes slowly, covering Danny’s body with his own, but holds himself with one hand before he blankets his husband completely.

“Wait. There’s something we need to talk about.”

Immediately, the sleepy haze is fading from Danny’s eyes, leaving him alert. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“Not really? You know how we agreed to keep our marriage a secret until we weren’t in danger anymore and all those cultists and sorcerers were taken care of?”

“...Yes?”

“Well.” Duke sucks in a breath and offers a bashful smile. “Guess who forgot to tell people we were married after that whole mess was dealt with?”

The nervousness clears from Danny’s gaze as he stares up at Duke with incredulous amusement. “No. No way.”

“Yeah. Kinda dropped a bomb on them and they started freaking out over me being married. Anyways, they want you to come to dinner?”

“When?”

Duke leans back, sitting on his heels. “Let me check.” He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to the group chat asking for a day they could have a family meal to meet his husband.

His phone is bombarded with texts and calls immediately until Barbara, bless her entire soul, forcibly mutes all of them and puts in a poll with a few dates, setting the poll to close in 24 hours.

“Okay, well, they’re deciding now, but probably soon.”

Danny nods. “Alright. I know these aren’t normal circumstances at all, but I’m so excited to meet the Bats.”

“You do not mean that after hearing all my stories about them.”

“No, I do!” Danny laughs, surging up to wrap his arms around Duke and pull him back down to lay among the giant pillows with him. “They sound nice!”

“The Bats sound nice?!” Duke repeats in horror. “Did you hit your head?”

“They do sound nice! You talk about them so fondly, and yeah they have problems and are dysfunctional, but they’re heroes. Of course they have problems. Even with all their baggage, they’re kind. And you clearly love them, so I do too.”

It’s hard to resist the urge to hug Danny tight enough to make him squeak while peppering his face with kisses, so Duke doesn’t. He just goes and does it, because he’s allowed to shower his husband (!) with affection (!!!) as much as he pleases.

“How are you real?” he says against the corner of Danny’s lips. “How are you so perfect! To me specifically! Honey, if we weren’t already married, I’d be going down on one knee right now.”

“I mean, you still can. We never got a proper wedding either. Think if we offer them a chance to help plan our wedding, they’ll forgive us for secretly being married for so long?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Duke says. He’s already giddy, just imagining what their wedding will look like, what song they’ll play for their first dance, where they’ll have the ceremony… He should create a Pinterest account to start putting ideas together. 

Later, though. He wants to woo Danny properly and take him on so many dates.

Dates which include dinner with the Waynes and Wayne-adjacents, apparently.

“You sure you’re okay with meeting them over dinner?” he asks, just to be sure. He knows how intense they can be, even when pretending to be normal civilians. It took him years to get used to them, himself, and he doesn’t want to push Danny into doing something he’s not ready to do.

Danny cups Duke’s face in his hands and gives him a quick, reassuring kiss. “I’m sure. If nothing else, it’ll be fun to see how long it takes for them to realize I’m not fully human.”

“I really am glad it’s you.”

“Yeah, me too. I’d choose you all over again if given the choice.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Duke laughs, wrapping an arm around Danny’s waist.

“Can we nap now? Now that you’re here and holding me, it’s taking everything I’ve got to stay awake.”

“Yeah, we can nap now.” Duke settles into the pillows, Danny cradled in his arms and closes his eyes to bask in the quiet easiness of it all. 

He really couldn’t ask for a better husband, unexpected as he was. The others will see that too, once they meet him. It’s impossible to not love Danny once you meet him; Duke knows this all too well.

He loves his husband.

And his husband loves him back.

Duke is fully prepared to keep making that choice for the rest of his life.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dp x dc fanfic #prompt fill #my writing #it was such a struggle to keep this one short but i WILL do it. it will stay below 3k words. i promised myself this #wasnt too sure what the surprise husbands trope was so i winged it lol. i hope you enjoy reading this anyways!! #its all about choosing love and choosing each other and taking care of each other in a bad situation #turning it into something good and soft and kind bc neither of u want to hurt each other and its nice to have someone always by ur side #its abt choosing each other every day!! #these two are out here speed running love while doing it backwards. icons. #thanks for the prompt!!

[cattypatties]

My Wish

“A unicorn that can grant wishes if you touch it? How original.”

——————

He remembered saying that a while ago, around 2 years ago actually. Of course, at the time he didn’t think much of it, I mean…why would he?

It was just a stupid comment about one of the many scripts that had been assigned to the rabbit for an episode of the “New Looney Tunes Show” not to be confused with “Looney Tunes Cartoons” or even “The Looney Tunes Show”, obviously.

And of course since they were all toons, that unicorn? Was real, much like any of them were. Not like humans per say with the actual physics, but it could theoretically exist outside of some computer software.

The magic included.

Now, typically these types of things never interested Daffy. I mean since 1937 the Duck had found himself just doing what he was required to do, even trying to go further beyond to prove his worth, which of course never worked out in his favor anyway. Still, the point being, Daffy never found a reason to be bothered with anything else.

All he really focused on was his job and this isn’t to say he never batted an eye at anything else in life on the ServerVerse, of course not! He had been on plenty of adventures in his life and had a plethora of companions.

It was just…a bit hard when everyone seemed to always overshadow you.

And they didn’t mean it, they only wanted the best for you.

But that's another story for another time, instead let’s backtrack.

“A unicorn that can grant wishes if you touch it? How original.”

And why in particular was this so special? Why on earth would Daffy care for this one off character in a show that ended a while ago?

Well…

Let’s just say it was because of what had happened a few months ago.

————————

But before we get into all of that, let’s focus on fundamentals.

…

That sounds awfully familiar right?

Well either way, in order to understand the story ahead, we need to understand the individual.

The hero.

Bugs Bunny, though he had many titles.

Leader, Star, Mascot, and many more, though we don’t have all the time in the world for that.

And he was well known by all means, practically the face of the company itself besides that big shield.

Humble, slightly cocky with a Brooklyn accent and an iconic catchphrase and wit to present itself against any foe and come out on top?

Yeah, no wonder everyone loved him.

He was perfect.

His eyes especially, a golden honey color that reminded you of an angel’s halo, with his soft grey and white fur that was absolutely radiant in the warm sunshine. His cute little red nose that twitched. Sometimes when he was curious he’d glance around like a child and let out his adorable laugh that sounded like a sweet symphony and ended with a smile that could light up the entire room.

Needless to say, when Daffy fell in love with him for the first time, he fell hard.

————

So..

Why the unicorn?

Well..the answer to that…is rather complicated, but I’ll tell you anyway.

———————

A choice.

That’s why he needed the unicorn.

Because it had been a choice that his damn rabbit made that ended the game.

A glitch.

Sometimes the Duck wished he had never spoken, but lo and behold, he had never realized what an impact his words had until that fateful day.

“In and out”

He hated it.

How simple the plan was anyway, and he supposed it should’ve been clear as day with the expressions Bugs was making, but foolish Daffy simply thought he had been worried for Lebron’s sake.

“Crossover, Stepback..”

He remembered how everyone immediately reacted, their breaths being caught in their throats, Lola running towards him to try and stop him.

“Shoot.”

What else was there to say?

When he glitched out, the game continued, and they won.

They won and then he glitched out and disappeared from Lola’s arms.

——————

So that led back to now.

Daffy walked around in the forest, his eyes watering, with each and every step he took a flash of Bugs doing the accursed step back glitch.

The sunshine peeked through the treetops above, as a gentle breeze brushed past the duck.

Daffy having been restless since Bugs..glitched out. So, he had been wandering.

All over TuneWorld in hopes of finding that unicorn, everyone already having accepted the rabbit to be long gone. Some tried to stop the duck because they knew it would only be more painful when he failed.

But even then, the duck shut them out completely, fully refusing to accept it.

Because it had left him restless.

The first night, Daffy thought it was just a bad dream.

Around the tenth night Daffy had not slept in a while by then.

And by now? The duck had decided to take action.

So yeah, he was hoping to find that unicorn, just one wish.

That’s all he wanted.

He just wanted one wish, one damn wish that made his heart flutter, that made his life better.

One wish that he took for granted in the past, but would never again.

Until suddenly it had turned night as Daffy’s heart sank.

How long had he been searching hopelessly for a miracle?

He glanced down to see his webbed feet covered in dirt and leaves as he sighed, before walking over to a nearby pond and seeing his reflection, his feathers all messy and his eyes clearly missing out on sleep. He frowned before seeing his hands also slightly bruised as he felt the tears from his eyes finally fall, down into the water below his reflection turning into that of ripples as he fell to his knees and cried softly, the duck moving to sit down normally as he pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head into them.

It was stupid.

So stupid how he thought, that he, Daffy Duck, could find that unicorn.

He felt absolutely idiotic, and he had been at this, for weeks.

But she wasn’t anywhere to be found.

And he wouldn’t get that wish.

No matter how badly he wanted it.

——————-

He didn’t know when he drifted off, he didn’t exactly care either.

When he had awoken, he noticed of course he was still near that pond, as he glanced around to see it was really dark out.

Daffy shifted as he slowly moved to stand, before glancing around the dark forest, small parts lit up by the moonlight, until suddenly he saw it.

An outline of which looked to be the unicorn. The duck’s eyes widening as adrenaline filled him and he immediately ran towards her.

His heart rate picked up, as he sprinted, lungs burning and legs aching, but he didn’t care.

Her figure started to dash off, as a surge of newfound determination coursed through him. Picking up his speed, he jumped over fallen trees, and ducked underneath branches, as he kept going, pushing himself to go even faster.

‘Come on’

He thought his vision started to blur from the tears forming in his eyes again, his chest tightening even more.

‘Please’

His mind begged, his voice caught in his throat.

The duck got closer and closer, until suddenly…

He tripped, just outside of the forest into a large field, the unicorn galloping away, until out of sight into the darkness.

Daffy hit the ground hard when it happened, bruising his bill as he quickly pushed himself up before seeing she was gone as he felt everything collapse onto him as he yelled out in anguish and clenched his hands into fists, pounding them onto the ground.

Again, again, and again.

Over and over.

Until he couldn’t feel his hands anymore as he broke into heavy sobs

He missed him

He missed his one chance at getting him back.

And there was nothing he could do.

The duck feeling his heart break into a million pieces all over, the small ounce of hope he felt shattered.

And he didn’t care anymore.

Not about anything.

He just wanted to see him one more time, and because of his stupid luck he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t ever see Bugs again.

And that broke him.

Eventually however, his sobs did die down. His breathing slowed and his throat was hoarse. The toon wiping his eyes as he sighed shakily.

Until suddenly as he leaned back he felt something against him as he turned to see the unicorn, and he stumbled backwards.

“B-but how- I thought- you just-“

He stammered looking between her and where he thought she went, his brain wracking for an answer until finally he fell back onto the grass groaning

“Ugh, of course the universe wants to pull this crap with me.”

He grumbled, as he huffed.

The unicorn smiled as she leaned down and nuzzled against his face and he smiled weakly petting her face, as he sighed.

“Alright, enough of this..emotional turmoil.”

He said quietly before he stood up and kept his hands on her face as he looked to her

“Ok..um, hi.. uh..”

He stumbled over his words now feeling a new anxiety rise in him

“Just..I-I wish..for..”

He closed his eyes taking a deep breath trying to steady himself, as he shook slightly, his heart racing as he felt his face flush.

“I wish..for Bugs Bunny to be alive.”

He said quietly squeezing his eyes shut and waiting

His nerves flying through the roof, until suddenly he opened his eyes and she was gone as he looked around desperately, to see nothing as he felt fear slowly taking him over

“No, no, no, no, please—“

He whispered, voice shaking, until suddenly…

“Eh, what’s up Duck?”

Daffy pausing his panic, as he felt his face warm up, and his eyes water and he turned to see the the rabbit right behind him, with the same smile, and the same relaxed expression and most of all the same beautiful eyes as Daffy felt himself grin as he lunged at him and the two fell the ground laughing as Daffy pulled him close Bugs patting him on the back as they embraced.

“You’re back!” He cried, tears streaming down his face as he continued laughing in utter joy and disbelief

“Y-you're really here!”

Bugs smiling more as his nose twitched

“Aw shucks Daff, if I had known you’d be this sappy, I wouldn’t have left.”

He teased slightly, as the duck’s face flushed more and he pulled back half glaring at him as he lightly punched the rabbit’s arm

“Oh shut up already, would you? This is your fault smartass!” He said chuckling

Bugs smiled gently at him as he rolled his eyes before moving to wipe away Daffy’s tears.

Daffy leaned into the touch, smiling stupidly as the rabbit smoothed down his feathers and got rid of most of the dirt on him.

Eventually the duo standing as Daffy sighed in relief

“God you have no idea how much I missed you, we got to go tell the others!” He said quickly perking up as he grabbed the rabbit’s hand as the two sped off.

——————

The reunion amongst the toons being that of the most sappy heartfelt thing ever as everyone practically tackled Bugs, much like Daffy had.

And as the group eventually got back into the swing of things, a month had passed and everything seemed to go back to normal. Although Daffy wasn’t exactly getting sleep still.

Nightmares having never stopped plaguing him, as the duck one day found himself sitting down on a stone wall, outlooking the same field where he had wished Bugs back.

He sat criss cross on top, resting his elbows in his lap as he had his head in his hands, and the sunlight shined upon the grass below, a soft breeze gently blowing the blades of grass.

A beautiful blue sky up above as the tired duck looked out upon it.

Until suddenly his eyes were covered by soft silky gloves as he smiled a bit, chuckling

“Oh gee, I wonder who this is?”

He asked sarcastically as he heard the sweet sound of Bugs' laugh escape the rabbit’s mouth.

“How’d you guess already?”

He asked, removing his hands as he sat down next to Daffy smiling like an idiot.

Daffy glancing over as he shrugged with a slight smirk

“Call me crazy, but..I’m thinking it’s because you’re the only one childish enough to do that.”

He said, Bugs in response laughing again as he leaned his head on the duck’s shoulder looking up at him

“Actually doc, I tink I prefer to call you Daffy.”

Daffy, feeling his face flush from the contact as his heart raced and he groaned a bit, rolling his eyes.

“What a comedian you are.” He said softly

The duck then turned back to the field before he felt his hand being taken by the rabbits and intertwined with his. As he glanced back over face turning redder as he raised a brow.

“W-whatcha doing there pal?”

He asked nervously.

The grey bunny looked back at the duck, seemingly having been focused on the field too.

“Whatever do you mean?” He asked, with a slight shit eating grin on his face as Daffy felt his face burn even brighter

“Oh you smug son of a—“

Bugs only grinning more as he sat up now, and moved his free hand to place one finger on the duck’s bill effectively silencing him as he chuckled.

“Eh, sorry Mac, but I only let you get away with it the foirst time because it was after hours, we have to keep it PG for the kids.”

Daffy glaring silently at him before removing his hand with his free one and huffing

“Yeah yeah, I know bucktooth.”

He said before eventually looking down to see Bugs having also intertwined their other hands, now both sets intertwined together as Daffy went back to being a blushing mess.

“J-just what the heck do you think you’re doing?!” He harshly said, though his burning face gave him away as Bugs only smirked.

“Just having some fun duck, don’t mind me”

He said watching the shorter toon turn even redder as he snickered slightly.

Daffy feeling his heart dance and do backflips as he sighed enjoying the feeling of having Bugs hands in his own, as he smiled softly, his feathers puffing a bit, before remembering the golden eyes on him as he hastily let go and backed up face on fire.

All the while Bugs only watched him lovingly.

Eventually however, Daffy felt his chest tighten as he thought about the rabbit before him, how carefree he was..and while it was nice having him back…Daffy knew that while not likely, there was a small chance of Bugs disappearing on him again, as he slowly found the courage to look at him and moved closer.

“Uh..hey Bugsth?”

The rabbit’s ear flicking as he looked to him as his smile faded a bit

“Yeah?”

“Um.. I uh.. well..for the longest time I—“

“Daffy.”

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re trying to confess right?”

“W-what?! N-no!”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No I’m not!”

“Yeah.”

“No!”

“Yeah”

“NO!”

“No.”

“YEAH!”

“No.”

“YES I AM YOU SCREWY RABBIT! I HAVE BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU SINCE YOU FIRST KISSED ME ON THE FOREHEAD IN THAT ONE EPISODE WE DID AND- I-I-“

Daffy pausing now standing upright as his eyes widened and he looked to Bugs, who now went back to the same relaxed, smug expression on his face as the duck gawked at him

“Y-you- j-just-“

“Uh huh.”

“I-I-“

“Yep.”

Daffy glaring before his face burned a thousand times brighter and he put his face into his hands groaning loudly as Bugs only laughed

“YOU ARE SO- ARGH!”

He yelled out as he marched up to the rabbit pressing a finger into his chest as Bugs only smirked at him, raising a brow

“I’m so what? Handsome?”

He teased again as Daffy only yelled out louder at him as Bugs smiled before pulling him into a kiss as the duck paused and felt his legs wobble beneath him before melting into the kiss blushing brighter as the two stayed like that before eventually pulling back as Bugs gently pet Daffy’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“You’re despicable.”

He growled but with a slight lightheartedness to it, Bugs only shrugging as he said

“Eh, it ‘‘twas your wish doc.”

#baffy #bugs x daffy #bugs bunny #daffy duck #looney tunes #bugs and daffy #my fic #space jam new legacy

[visenyavires]

Bleed Not For Death, But For Love

Chapter 3: Devotion, You Shall Have

Warning: Blood and sorta NSFW scene ahead!!!

I stare at myself in my vanity (like I had the time to) trying to figure out what to wear, how to do my hair, and honestly, how to compose myself. She called me “My Darling” in the letter she just left for me, rather than by my name. Maybe it was a new pet name? I honestly couldn’t tell, but I am freaking out on the inside about it. Did she pick up on my subtle hint of admiration I gave her in the Hall of Ablution? My mind is absolutely racing as I snap out of my dissociation trance and put on a plain, black, full-length dress, and pull my hair half up. I throw on some black heels that I bought in Italy as well and check to make sure I look presentable in the mirror. I pull a few wisps of hair down to frame my face elegantly and leave my chambers. It's about a 3-minute walk from my room to hers, but 2 if I speed walk. I walk quickly but also try to avoid being out of breath by the time I reach her chambers. “Draga Mea…,” her voice echoes in my mind as well as the image of her bathing in the thick, ruby liquid. I can’t stop thinking about it, I’m actually beginning to obsess over it.

I reach her chamber door and the smell of ambrosia and hand-rolled cigarettes reaches my nose. I take a deep breath in and savor the atmosphere it creates before I raise my hand to knock.

“Come in, dear,” I hear her coax from behind the door embossed with a large, golden house sigil. I open the door to see her standing at the balcony, a wine glass in one hand and a freshly lit cigarette in the other. She’s wearing a long, black gown very similar to the one she normally wears with red roses for her brooch that matches her scarlet lips. She is still wearing her iconic sun hat with the wide brim and her pearl necklace with her house sigil as the pendant. She takes a long drag from her cigarette and exhales slowly before turning and walking to the left to reveal a glass of red wine sitting on a small table, untouched as well as two chairs, one larger than the other.

“Have a seat,” she commands, but not harshly. I do as I’m told and she hands me the glass of wine. I make eye contact with her as she sits in the larger chair opposite me and she takes another drag from her cigarette before speaking.

“Do you know why I summoned you here tonight, Y/N?” She asked with that slight commanding tongue. She lets her hand with her cigarette hang loosely. I stifle a shudder, hoping I didn’t mess anything up.

“No, my Lady, I’m afraid I don’t,” I say as I look down at the wine glass I’m holding in my lap.

“As the Grand Chambermaid, there are some things you need to know,” she begins.

“First, you need to know that I have extremely high expectations, which is why no one here chose to step up to the position you have claimed. Second, you need to understand that these expectations are strict. There is very little room to change the order and manner I desire them to be done. Given that you had no time to prepare for today, yet you still exceeded those expectations, I want to reward you with some of my finest red blend.” She said, her tone softening only a little bit.

“I also wanted to make you aware that as my Grand Chambermaid, your orders come straight from me and no one else.” Her tone had a hint of darkness in it and made me wonder what happened at her meeting today.

“Even Mother Miranda?” I ask, hoping I didn’t step out of line. She takes a second to pause, clearly trying to make up her mind on if this is something she really wants to go through with.

“You are an outsider of the village, you do not need to take orders from her. I am the one paying your salary, so you are mine and mine alone,” she declares possessively.

“Yes my Lady, I shall only take orders from you,” I nod, keeping eye contact.

“That’s a good girl,” she purrs and leans back in her seat and crosses her legs, relaxing. I exhale silently, but heavily. She’s playing with me, I can feel it. I was so sure I was in trouble for a moment. I bring the wine glass to my nose and sniff the aged liquid before I take a sip. It’s possibly the best wine I’ve ever tasted. Her eyes are glued to me as I lower my glass and smile.

“This is divine, my Lady. I’ve never had anything quite like it.” I say, trying not to be too ecstatic about it.

“That’s because it’s my own blend,” she says, her chin tilting up and her eyes staying locked on me. She’s proud, and I’m impressed.

“There’s no blood in that specific blend. That is the kind I sell to mortals. My personal favorite is my Sanguis Virginis. It’s not for human consumption,” she states with a serious tone. I take another sip and sit back in my own chair, trying to mimic her body language.

“I didn’t know you ran a wine business, my Lady,” I say, indicating that I would like to hear more. She has kept her eyes on me the entire time, watching my every move. She ignores my invitation to talk more about it, she seems to have other plans.

“The other reason I summoned you here tonight is that I have a long-standing tradition with my willing Grand Chambermaids,” she says huskily. My breath catches as she draws one last drag from her cigarette before she leans forward to put it out. She takes a sip of her “wine” and relaxes in her seat again.

“You spoke earlier about devotion and loyalty. I want to know how far you’re willing to go,” she states with a hint of challenge in her tone. Now she’s testing me. She’s making it very obvious that she knows what I desire. I could only come up with one answer, and for once, my anxiety didn’t stop me from speaking.

“How far do you want me to go?” I asked, rather bravely. To this, she grins somewhat wickedly. Her golden eyes turn glassy and I suddenly realize… she’s hungry.

I stand and set my glass of wine down, my heart racing. I know she can sense it. She uncrosses her legs, sits at the edge of her chair, and reaches her gloved hand out for me to take. I slip her glove off to reveal an elegant hand with sharp, scarlet red nails. She turns her palm upward to grab my hand and pulls me between her legs up to the edge of the seat, her skirt is the only thing that separates me from her skin. I stand only a few inches taller than her seated form and her mouth is perfectly aligned with the middle of my neck. My heart pounds, her eyes fixate on my pulse point. Our faces are mere inches apart and she looks up slowly to meet my infatuated stare. I see thick desire meshed with hunger in her eyes, and I know she sees how much I want this.

She rests her gloved hand on the small of my back and watches herself caress my neck with her nails before returning her gaze up to mine. I get chills all over my body.

“Devotion, you shall have,” I say huskily. She grins and lets out a vocal sigh of pleasure, almost a laugh. I close my eyes as she takes a sharp nail and slices into my neck ever so slightly. I manage to suppress a wince as the sting takes over my skin. I gasp with pleasure as I feel her tongue lick up the pooling blood from the fresh cut. I hear a soft moan come from her throat as she presses her lips to my neck and she pulls me closer by the small of my back so that I’m leaning slightly backward. Her free hand slides over my shoulder blades and grabs the base of my neck to keep me still and close. She separates her lips from my skin only for a moment to speak in a deep, raspy tone.

“Devotion, I shall take, Draga Mea,” she says seductively and sinks her teeth into the open cut she created. I gasp at the sensation, which excites her and she pulls me closer so that I am now flush against her body. She’s leaning forward into me while pulling me close, her strong arms hold me effortlessly in a position where I am slightly reclined and practically sitting on her thigh. My body curves perfectly around her breasts and I can feel her throat pulsing against my chest as she drinks. She lets out a deep moan of pure pleasure like she hasn’t experienced this sensation in a long time. She holds me impossibly close and I feel a rush of euphoria, enough that I feel one hand run through her raven curls, the other hand slide to the back of her neck, and my leg that's furthest from the chair lifts to wrap around her waist. This only excites her more and she tightens her grip and sinks her teeth deeper. I let out an involuntary moan combined with a sigh and tilt my head back, in my own world of bliss. I realize this was all I’ve ever truly wanted, and I finally have it.

……….

A few moments later, my head begins to feel light and as if she could sense it, she slows down and reluctantly separates her lips from my neck as if it pains her. She lets out a gasp like she forgot to breathe the entire time and I know she’s dying to go back in for more. But instead, she looks down at me and tilts her head to the side ever so slightly, and gives me a divine, scarlet grin.

“My, my, Draga Mea, you are the best I’ve tasted in ages. You are pure încântare,” she purrs with a touch of adoration as she sits me up to blot her mouth with her handkerchief. I meet her gaze and smile lightly, happy that I was able to please her. She notices I’m light-headed and effortlessly lifts me with one arm under my knees and the other around my back. With her long strides, it’s a matter of seconds before we reach her bed, the biggest one I’ve ever seen. She sets me down gently and lights a candle beside me. She closes the doors and heavy curtains to the balcony to block out the sun that’s about to rise and removes her hat and jewelry. She then lays next to me with a handkerchief and blots the open wound on my neck dry as she hums an unfamiliar tune. I close my eyes and succumb to sleep, that tune fading more and more with each passing second.

……….

I wake up a few hours later tucked into my own bed, my hair taken down and brushed, my shoes neatly placed by my bed, but I’m still in my gown from the night prior. I know I have several hours left to sleep before I have to be up for work but I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I touch my neck to feel the marks she left behind and I smile widely. It wasn’t a dream.

Tomorrow, I am to meet her at dusk once more to help with her daily soak. Her daughters also requested my presence at midnight, what exactly for remains unknown. The last time I saw them was when I first arrived, so I wonder what scheme they’ve spent the whole night cooking up. But I won’t lie to myself, the impending conversation I’m to have with Lady Dimitrescu in a few hours is one I’m extremely nervous but excited to have. If I wasn’t infatuated before, I certainly am now, and now I can show it a little more openly.

I roll over in bed and see something sitting on the table in front of the fireplace. I have come to adore the mysteriously delivered items she leaves for me. I sit up but immediately get dizzy. There is a fresh glass of water sitting on my nightstand. Alcina Dimitrescu… I would’ve never taken her for the type to care for you after intimacy. I drink almost the whole glass and then try to stand. I’m able to walk to the table to reach the bottle of wine she had opened just for me. Beside it was yet another note written in perfect cursive.

“Draga Mea,

Here’s some wine to fill that glass you love so much. It pained me that you didn’t get to finish your treat. Rest while you can, I’ll see you at dusk in the Hall of Ablution.

Întotdeauna a ta,

- Alcina”

“Always yours” signed with just “Alcina.” Her signature was informal. She’s beginning to get comfortable with me. I’m shocked and extremely flattered. I know that Grand Chambermaids are supposed to be close with their Ladies, but she had no hesitation or fear. She simply was and I adore her for that. I wonder what she has planned in the Hall of Ablution and what all will be said.

I uncork the wine and inhale deeply, all the memories flooding back to me. I smile with pure contentment, close the bottle, and walk back to bed. The only reason I’m able to fall back to sleep is because I know it will help the time pass faster before I can see her again in a few hours. I play the tune she hummed to me over in my head until I drift into a dreamless sleep, only to be startled awake by distant, mischievous giggling, and it seems to be getting closer…

To be continued...

***** STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER 4, THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS ONLY BEGINNING >:) COMMENT BELOW IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAG LIST*****

Next: Chapter 4: Dangerous Game

Previous: Chapter 2: My First Day

#alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x maiden #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #re8 fanfiction #re8 fanfic #alcina dimitrescu x reader #re8 village

[emachinescat]

The Rich Girl Next Girl (Just Tried to Kill Me)

A Psych Fan-Fiction

By @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 7 - poisoning 

Summary: Shawn will never complain about being ‘barely poisoned’ again after he’s ‘fully poisoned’ by a woman he’s investigating - via her poisoned lipstick and an non-consensual kiss.

Characters | Pairings: Shawn, Juliet, Henry, Gus, Lassie | Shawn/Juliet

Words: 3,199

TW: non-consensual kiss

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging! :)

It was the beautiful ones you had to watch out for.  

She was tall and dark haired, with green eyes that twinkled like twin emeralds, and high cheekbones and plump lips colored with the most devastating red Shawn Spencer had ever laid eyes on.  She had squeezed into a tiny black dress with an open back and plunging neckline, with legs that seemed like they would go on forever.  She wore closed-toe, diamond-studded, four-inch heels that perfectly matched the color of her lips.  

Somehow Shawn had managed to charm her into asking him to be her date to a charity gala at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, and he was very well aware of the many eyes on him as he moved through the crowd with her on his arm.

Well.  It would be more accurate to say that he was on her arm, because she was most definitely in charge, had been from the moment she’d picked him up her limo and she’d already had another, better tux waiting and pressed for him - and had refused to let him in the car until he’d made the switch.

She wasn’t only a total knockout, though - she was also a local celebrity, a socialite, born into enormous wealth but not the heir to the bulk of her late parents’ fortune.  That honor went to her older sister, who had, just a week ago, gotten into a terrible accident on her yacht.  Part of her had been recovered on the deck after the explosion.  The Coast Guard were still looking for the other part in the ocean.  They weren’t optimistic.

So now Aria Thorton, the twenty-seven-year-old millionaire goddess, was Shawn’s date to a high-end charity event, and they were the center of attention.  

Shawn should have been in heaven.

There were three things that dampened the occasion, though - for one, she thought he was a billionaire from two counties over named Chaz Hemsworth (no relation to Chris or Liam, but his rugged good looks and fabulous hair had made many people think he was).  

Then there was the fact that she was the SPBD’s number one suspect in her sister’s supposed-accident-but-Shawn-had-revealed-that-it-was-murder-yet-again case.  Hence, why she thought he was Chaz - he was undercover with the help of the police department, much to the chagrin of Lassie and Jules, because he was the best person for the job.  (Well, he had barged into the case and presented himself as Chaz Hemsworth, and she had been interested, and now he was the best chance they had since he was already on the inside and it was a time-sensitive case - just like he’d planned it).  

Oh, and the third thing was definitely the worst of them all: His actual girlfriend, the aforementioned Jules, was here too, acting as Lassiter’s date and ready to provide backup.  And she was pissed.  

Shawn forced himself to focus on the case, though.  Technically, he’d already solved it, put all the final puzzle pieces together, just half an hour before the gala.  But by that time, she was already at the luxury hotel the SBPD had reluctantly put him in as part of his cover (“Any snacks or room service ordered will be paid for by you, Mr. Spencer, not this department,” Chief Vick had warned with that iconic raised eyebrow of hers.  And no, she wasn’t going to sink funds into a ticket for Mr. Guster - Shawn had thrown himself into this investigation alone, so Gus would just have to sit this one out.  Needless to say, Gus had not been pleased.).  

Now, there were just a few more loose ends to tie, a few more t’s to cross and i’s to dot and little squiggly fancy things to add to capital S’s - namely, he needed to do the reveal.  And since Lassie and Jules would be at the gala anyway, it would be the perfect time to do the reveal (and he’d get to live it up as a male socialite for a few more hours).

He waited until he’d tested all the hors dourves (Why the hell had no one told him caviar was fish eggs and not really fancy boba, and that it did not taste good in even the fanciest of cocktails?), but as soon as the moment was perfect, he called everyone’s attention to him by accidentally-on-purpose smashing his cocktail glass with a knife a la the Princess Diaries, jumped onto the nearest table, and presented his case.

As he revealed the truth of the tragic death of Selena Thornton, and how her sister had taken freaking Skill Share lessons on yacht safety procedures so that she could backwards engineer them to arrange an accident for her sister and swoop up her portion of the inheritance, he noticed something odd - Aria didn’t try to get up, she didn’t argue or yell something like, “That’s ridiculous!” or “You have no proof!” or even “I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you muddling, hunky psychic!”  Instead, she opened her shimmering handbag, calmly applied some sort of thick balm to her lips.  Then she pulled out her lipstick and reapplied it.  Maybe if Shawn hadn’t been so focused on his wrap-up, he would have noticed that the lipstick was the same shade, but that it came from a different tube than when she’d reapplied earlier.  Later, in his hospital bed, he would kick himself for missing that tiny, crucial detail.

He finished by announcing, “And remember, folks - this murder reveal was brought to you by Skill Share.”

And then he was getting off the table, and Jules was preparing the cuffs while Lassie held Aria, and the rest of the rich guests were sitting in stunned silence or otherwise whispering among themselves, already spreading the gossip for the next Tabloid, he was sure.  Then, out of nowhere, the formerly docile homicidal heiress lashed out, slamming the pointed heel of her left shoe - it looked like the heel had been shoved into a pencil sharpener - into the top of Lassie’s foot, buried the elbow of her perfectly tanned right arm into Juliet’s stomach, and broke away from the detectives.

Shawn thought she would turn tail and run, try to escape, but to his shock (and confusion), she lunged straight for him, zooming forward in those ridiculous heels with a speed and grace Shawn couldn’t even achieve with sneakers.  He braced himself for an attack, got ready to defend himself, even as Lassie and Jules recovered and dove for the sabotaging socialite.

They were too late.

What happened next was the literal opposite of what Shawn had anticipated.  She crushed her body into his, grabbed his face the way they do in every rom com ever, and pressed her lips against his in a kind of tender but still somehow aggressive kiss.

For a moment, he stood in shock, trying to process what the hell was happening.  Was she glad he’d caught her?  Did she look forward to being stripped of her wealth and going to prison for life?

Then he realized that as pleasant as her soft lips were against his, he had not authorized this transaction, and even though she was a rich, drop-dead gorgeous socialite, she was also a sister-killer, and his girlfriend whom he loved very much was watching, and he pulled back.  She held on, forcing her lips on his even as he tried to squirm away from her touch.  Her expertly manicured fingernails dug into his skin, and left scratches on the side of his neck when Lassie and Jules dragged her off of him.

Shawn stumbled back, neck stinging where she’d scratched him, lips tingling where she’d kissed him.  He could taste her lipstick - it didn’t taste like cherries like he’d thought.  It didn’t taste good at all.  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and spun on Aria Thorton, who was now being wrestled into cuffs and passed off to waiting police officers.  “Hey, I know I’m irresistible,” he said, trying to fight off his growing discomfort at the kiss - any other time, he’d probably be thrilled to have a beautiful woman throw herself at him and surprise him with an attack-kiss, “but I’ve got a girlfriend.  And she’s way more hot and bad-ass than a homi-sister like you.”

Jules turned to him and there was a little smile on her face that told him maybe he wasn't as deep in the doghouse as he'd thought.  “Homi-sister?”  

“Yeah,” said Shawn, rubbing absently at his chest.  He needed to change out of this tux.  It was too hot, and it was too tight.  “Sister-murderer.  Like homicide, but for sisters.”

“Sororicide,” Lassiter corrected.  

“I’m sorry, Lassie, when did you take on the role of Scooby Doo?  I can only keep up with one fictional dog at a time, man.”  Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead.  A muscle twitched in his upper arm.

“It’s the actual term for killing one’s sister,” Lassie sneered derisively.

Shawn opened his mouth to retort, but he coughed instead.   And suddenly he couldn't stop coughing, and his chest was being squeezed, and the muscle in his arm jumped again, this time painfully, and he promptly deposited a disgusting mixture of fourteen varieties of hors dourves on Lassiter’s shoes.  A strong hand grabbed his upper arm and kept him semi-upright even as Lassiter groaned, “These are $400 loafers, and they’re rentals!”

“Shawn!”  Juliet’s face had gone white, Shawn noticed through tears and haze as she surged forward and gently lifted his chin with her delicate hand.  

He struggled to answer her, but his chest was so tight, and his left calf muscle contracted then, and all that came out was a strangled cry of pain.

“Call an ambulance - now!”  Lassiter’s voice was far away, though Shawn could have sworn that the head detective was standing right by his side, keeping him from face-planting in his own caviar and cocktail sludge.

Vaguely, over the sound of screams and murmurs and cries of alarm, he heard Juliet’s voice, scarier than he’d ever heard it before - he’d never been so convinced she was about to murder someone before - growl, “What did you do to him?”

He never got the chance to hear if Aria Thornton gave up her dark little secret.  His eyes rolled up into his head, and, muscles twitching and lungs scrambling for air, he passed out.

***

He woke up to pain.

It was a slow process, getting his eyelids to cooperate, but he could feel a soft hand in his, and he would know it anywhere, and someone was crying.

When his vision had cleared enough for him to make out more than just blobs of color, he saw Juliet sitting slumped in a hard plastic chair by his bedside.  Sure enough, it was her hand in his.  But she was fast asleep, her neck crooked back at an awkward angle and small, adorable snores wafting out of her slightly parted lips.  So it wasn’t her who was crying.

His gaze dragged languidly to the right, and everything made sense.  Gus was in the chair next to her, quietly sobbing into his hands.  Poor bastard.  

Shawn spoke, his voice raw and trembling and the effort seemed to squeeze every bit of air out of his already starved lungs.  “G-Gus?”

Gus’s head snapped up, he leaped out of his chair, and in a loud voice reminiscent to an all-black hallelujah choir, he exclaimed, “Shawn!”

Juliet startled awake, her hand instinctively squeezing his, and he saw the worry in her stormy blue eyes as soon as they landed on him.  She smoothed his sweaty hair from his forehead.  “Thank God you’re awake.  How are you feeling?”

Shawn didn’t answer immediately, but let his eyes wander around the room, confirming what he already knew.  He was in a hospital - a private room - and there was a heart monitor beeping above him and an IV lead ran from his hand to a pole, where two different bags were feeding his veins with who knew what.  He took a moment to remember what had happened and shuddered internally when he thought of the kiss of death.  

It took everything he had in him to speak again, but he had to know where he stood, “S-so, more than b-barely poisoned this time?”

Juliet laughed, a short, manic sound of mingled relief and exasperation.  “Yeah, a lot more than barely,” she agreed.

Shawn didn’t get to enjoy his moment of validation, because his left pectoral muscle spasmed, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending bolts of agony through his chest.  It was like the muscle was twisting itself into the most complex pretzel known to man.  An agonized guuuh burst from his mouth and he grasped at his chest, as if trying to tear the pain away.

Gus was panicking now, tears still streaming down his face, and Jules looked stricken.  Shawn was certain he was actively dying now and tried to call for help.  The door to his room burst open and distantly, beneath the mound of pain that had erupted in his muscle, he heard his father’s voice.

“Jules - it looks like it’s his chest.  Massage it.  Remember, small, gentle circles.  Gus, pull it together, you’re just making him panic.”  And then he could feel Jules gently massaging the screaming muscle, and Gus hiccuped into relative silence, and his father was there, seated in a chair on the other side of the bed.  He grabbed Shawn’s hand - the one with the IV - and for a wild moment, Shawn was convinced his father was going to rip it out like he had the last time his son had been poisoned.

But instead, he held on firmly to Shawn’s hand and said, “Squeeze as hard as you need to, pal.  Ride it out.  It’ll be over soon.”

The heart monitor was screeching now, and a nurse ran in just as the spasm was beginning to ebb, leaving the entire muscle feeling weak and squishy like play-doh.  She injected something into one of Shawn’s IV bags and checked his temperature and fed him ice chips and told him to try to rest and be patient, that it wouldn’t be long until the spasms would stop.  She might have told him her name at some point, but he didn’t hear.

Whatever she’d given him made him sleepy, and he felt his twitching, tense muscles relax the tiniest of fractions, and the last thing he saw before falling asleep was his father’s face leaning over him.  He must have been hallucinating, because he could have sworn that his father’s eyes were red and puffy and that there were tear-tracks down his face.

***

The next time Shawn woke up, he was still sore, and his muscles still gave the occasional, defiant twitch, but he wasn’t in blood-curdling agony anymore, so it was a definite improvement.  This time when he woke, no one was crying, and his dad had washed his face, but his eyes were still rimmed with red.

“What happened to me?” Shawn asked, his voice weaker than he could ever remember.  “What the hell was in that lipstick?”

His dad chuckled humorlessly, not because anything was funny but because it wasn’t crying.  “You figured out it was the lipstick, then?”

“I’m psychic, dad, remember?”  Shawn had put the pieces together the first time he’d woken up, but he’d been too out of it to realize he’d made the connection.

Henry didn’t dignify that with a response.

“I can’t believe you went to a millionaire’s gala and almost died, Shawn!” Gus chided irritably.  “If I had been there -”

“You would have hyperventilated and passed out on your plate of hor dourves,” Henry finished dryly, and Shawn couldn’t help but grin.

Juliet was the one who brought the conversation back around to his question.  “She refused to talk, so we took her purse and had her fingernail polish, lip balm, and lipstick tested for toxins,” she informed him.  “We thought that she might have done it when she scratched you, but it was the lipstick that was poisoned.  The lip balm was actually a protective buffer between her lips and the lipstick so that the poison wouldn’t reach her skin.”  With a heavy sigh, Juliet revealed, “It was VX poison.”

“What’s that?” Shawn asked.  “It sounds like something from a spy thriller.”

“It’s a nerve agent,” Gus supplied.  “It can be made into gas, but it’s base form is about the consistency of gasoline.  It’s super fast-acting, especially when inhaled or ingested, even in small amounts like with you, and it causes muscle spasms, respiratory issues, nausea, headaches, fever, and a whole lot of other nasty symptoms.”

“But there’s a cure?”

“Atropine and pralidoxime,” Gus answered promptly, and Shawn resisted the very strong urge to tell his best friend to, for the love of every 80s movie they’d ever loved, get a hobby.  “Both were administered the second the results came back.  It was a close call, but thankfully they were administered on time - though it was touch and go for a bit.  The nurse gave you another dose of a muscle relaxer the first time you woke up.  The other drip is saline.”

“I guess the real question is how the psychotic rich girl next door got ahold of poison like that in the first place,” Shawn muttered, head swimming and eyes burning and body feeling like it had been run over by a monster truck.

Juliet answered promptly: “Lassiter was finally able to crack her.  Turns out she’s also got some contacts in the black market.  She had that tube of lipstick custom-made and infused with VX two years ago in case any of her many boyfriends cheated on her.  Surprisingly, she hadn’t used it until you came along, but when you exposed the truth, it was her way of getting revenge.   She knew there was no way she was going to be able to escape, so she decided to take you down with her.”

“Damn,” said Shawn, faintly.  He was drifting off again, but he was so happy to be alive, to see his friends - even his dad, imagine that! 

“Go back to sleep, Shawn,” Henry ordered.  “It’s going to take a while for you to heal, and you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Not knowing what had come over him, blaming the poison and trauma for the words that spilled unbidden from his lips, he found himself asking, “And you guys will be here?  Next time I wake up?”  

Gus grinned and leaned over to give Shawn a one-sided fist bump, and Juliet kissed him delicately on the forehead.  His dad ruffled his hair in a manner that could almost be construed as affectionate if he wasn’t careful.

“You bet your ass we will.”

Overall, Shawn reflected as he allowed sleep to claim him, being fully poisoned fully sucked, but it was kind of nice getting a glimpse of just how much his friends and family cared. 

They could find other opportunities to show their love in the future though. Shawn had had enough of poison, barely, fully, or otherwise, for a lifetime. 

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday7 #shules #psych usa #psych #psychfic #fanfiction #shawn spencer #juliet o'hara #burton guster #henry spencer #carlton lassiter #mystery #case reveal #whump fic #whump #shawn whump #hurt/comfort #noncon kiss #tw noncon kiss #poisoning #febuwhump 2021 #post season 5

[minyoongleschimjoongles]

Preordained: Introductions VII

When Zara met Jimin

Pairing(s):Poly!BTSxOC, Sub!BTSxOC,

Warnings: Implied sexual situations, Mentions of sexual situations, implications of Dom/sub relationships, heavy dose of angst in this one

Intro: Taehyung, Jungkook, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok

Notes: Guys! This is my absolute favorite introduction! I actually thought it was going to be the most difficult because it was the last one, but as soon as I sat down to write, it went by so quick. I really hope you guys enjoy as much as I do!

Park Jimin was desperately and hopelessly in love with his roommate’s Soulmate, and he hated himself for it every second of every day.

The first time he’d met Zara was only two days after Taehyung came home singing praises about finally, finally finding his Soulmate. His roommate had brought Zara home with him to introduce her to the second most important person in his life. Jimin had been struck dumb by the pretty green eyed girl with the grey and purple hair, who smiled at him brightly as soon as she saw him.

“Jiminie!” Tae slid up to his roommate, his boxy grin on full display. “Jiminie, this is Zara Underhill, she’s my Soulmate.”

Jimin swallowed thickly, glancing back and forth between Zara’s smile and Tae’s. When Zara held her hand out for a shake, Jimin bit his lip, shaking his head and twisting the bottom of his t-shirt in his hands.

Zara’s own eyes cut to Taehyung, whose eyes were crinkling in concern, and she nodded, smiling at Jimin knowingly.

“Weren’t we going to watch a movie, Baby Boy?” Zara asked, turning to Taehyung, who quirked an eyebrow but didn’t mention the mildly strange interaction between his best friend and his Soulmate.

“We were going to watch that weird old shark movie. The American one.”

There was a moment of silence where Zara contemplated mentioning just how many shark movies Hollywood had pumped out, but knowing Tae, there was only one movie he really could have meant.

“Oh, Jaws!” Zara hopped in excitement. Jimin felt his heart speed up, his lips turned up into a grin, though it dropped quickly when he was hit with a wave of guilt.

This was Tae’s Soulmate. He shouldn’t let his emotions run away like they were.

Tae couldn’t seem to pull the grin off his face, his eyes going from Zara, to Jimin and back again. “Jimin picked it. He figured since you were American you’d want to watch an American movie.”

“That’s a stereotype,” Zara said, pointing both fingers straight up into the air, then bringing them down to give Jimin finger guns. “I’m okay with it.”

They ended up watching the movie on the big screen in the building’s common room. Tae sat between Zara and Jimin on the couch, tucking his Soulmate under his arm. Every once in a while, Jimin would reach out and squeeze Tae’s arm. Zara, observant as she was, clocked the nervous action immediately, and endeavored to ease Jimin’s tensions by cracking jokes about the movie, iconic as it was. It worked; soon Jimin was laughing too hard to remember to be nervous.

They’d spent ten minutes laughing about the ending of the movie, before Zara let out a huge yawn, and Tae sat up straight.

“Ah, it’s time to walk you home, Zara.”

“Fine, fine,” Zara stood up, stretching her arms high above her head, revealing a strip of her stomach to the boys. Instantly, Jimin smacked Tae in the arm and covered his face with his hand. More nervous habits. Taehyung chuckled and stood, wrapping his arms around Zara’s middle.

“Noona, it’s not nice to tease Jiminie like that.”

“Oh,” Zara gave Jimin a smirk, “But he’s so cute, it’s hard not to tease him.”

Jimin’s face was hidden even more, peeking with only one eye.

Zara gave him a smile, crouching as close to him as she could get without touching him.

“It was really nice to meet you, Jimin. Hope to see you again sometime soon. The look on Zara’s face was so soft, Jimin dropped his hand into his lap and nodded dumbly.

“I...hope so too.”

Zara’s smile widened, and she stood up straight, walking out of the common room, hand-in-hand with Tae.

xXx

The next time Jimin met Zara, it was when he was in the school’s dance studio after all his classes had ended. He felt like he was slacking, and he just wanted to get a little extra practice in. He was so lost in the choreography that he didn’t notice she was there until he was standing in the middle of the mirrored room, panting. The sound of her clapping is what alerted him to her presence.

“Zara!”

“Hi, Jiminie!”

He stepped closer, rubbing his arm with a sheepish smile.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah,” Zara’s nose scrunched a little, as she spoke, and Jimin’s eyes zeroed in on the motion. “I just got done tutoring Tae’s friend Jungkook and Tae pretty much demanded I wait for you to finish practicing so you could walk me home. Usually Jungkook does it but he had something to do right after our session...”

“I can walk you home, sure.” Jimin walked backwards towards his stuff so he could keep his eyes on Zara. In doing so, he tripped over his bag and crashed to the floor.

Zara gasped and covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, before starting forward to help him out. She had just started to reach out to him when he held up his hands. “Nope, nope, I’m okay! I got it!” He was on his feet before Zara even had her hands back at her sides.

“Wow,” Zara breathed, “You really don’t want me to touch you, huh?”

Jimin let his eyes fall shut, and he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I get it.” Zara lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m Taehyung’s Soulmate.”

His eyes shot open, his jaw dropping in surprise. He didn’t think she’d pick up on that. “Yes!”

Zara murmured something in English under her breath, “You’re cute but you sure are stupid.”

“What?”

She laughed, scrunching her nose again. “Nothing. You gonna walk me home, or what?”

The walk to the dorm was filled with comfortable silence, their bodies so close Jimin could feel the heat coming off of Zara, though she was careful not to touch him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious about it. She walked like a queen, with her shoulders back, her back straight, and her head held high. Jimin envied her elegance.

They arrived at her door at exactly 11 P.M., and Jimin shifted from one foot to the other as he looked down at her. What was the appropriate way to say goodbye to your best friend’s Soulmate whom you were very quickly developing a crush on?

Zara made up the decision for him, leaning up towards his face. Jimin’s body went still, but Zara didn’t touch him. Still, he felt her breath against his ear as she spoke, “You know, one day we’re going to touch, Jimin. We’re just playing the waiting game.”

“No way,” Jimin cursed inwardly as his breath came out shaky, “Not going to happen.”

“Hm,” Zara leaned back against her door and smirked, “We’ll see. I’m very patient. I’ll see you soon, Jimin.”

xXx

His comforter smelled like coconuts.

He knew, without having to be told, that Taehyung had, had Zara and her Soulmates over, because his comforter smelled like coconuts. Initially he would have thought the smell had come from Tae using his blanket, but Tae preferred stress relieving scents like Lavender and Chamomile. After the tenth time Zara had visited Jimin to watch him dance late at night, he’d learned Zara preferred tropical scents. She always went back to coconut.

Currently, he sat on the floor next to Tae, wrapped in his comforter, playing Mario Kart on their Nintendos. He was listening intently to Tae as his friend vented about his inability to stop arguing with Zara’s three other Soulmates.

“Do you not like them?” Jimin asked, passing Peach on Rainbow Road.

“Oh, I like them plenty,” Tae corrected, “I mean, Kookie is pretty shy still, and Suga-hyung doesn’t really talk much. It’s the Soulmate Bond that makes us argue most of the time.”

Jimin frowned, “I don’t get it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin saw Tae crinkle his nose just a little bit, a habit he hadn’t had before he’d started dating Zara.

“Zara tried to do research, but since multiple Soulmates is so rare there wasn’t anything to go by. It’s just a guess, but we think that as the Bond gets stronger, the more connected we are, the more in tune with our emotions we are. Namjoon says it’ll get better once all Seven are found, but until then, we just have to try our best to leave frustration out of the equation when we’re together.”

Jimin’s heartbeat increased like it always did whenever Tae mentioned the amount of Soulmates Zara actually had. Every time, the thought popped unbidden into his head, Could I be one?

But no, Jimin didn’t think he was fit to be anyone’s Soulmate, let alone Zara’s, and despite how many Soulmates she had, Zara was still Tae’s and Jimin didn’t want to mess with his best friend’s happiness.

“That sounds pretty rough, buddy,” Jimin said quietly, watching his car fly off the road and straight into last place. Tae gave a cheer, soaring through the finish line in first place.

“Jiminie, you’re so bad at this game sometimes.”

Jimin didn’t care.

His comforter smelled like coconuts.

xXx

“Jimin-ssi!”

Jimin lifted his head as he danced, grinning as he saw Taehyung and Jungkook waving at him at the front of the crowd. It was Jungkook who had called him, his bunny grin shining in the lights of the quad. His heart soared. Where Tae and Jungkook were, Zara usually followed. He loved it when Zara watched him dance, because it made him feel like they were the only two people in the universe. He always performed better when she was watching.

But Zara didn’t appear in the crowd until halfway through the contemporary performance, and when she did, she seemed distracted, her eyes drifting over to the hip hop dancing section.

Involuntarily, Jimin’s bottom lip pouted. He closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the music and the dancing, trusting his body not to misstep. And then he felt the familiar prickling that was Zara’s eyes on him. He couldn’t help but open his eyes to smile at her. She smiled back.

Zara’s presence at Jimin’s competition secured his win, and he wore the medal around his chest with pride. 

“Jimin-ssi!” Jungkook swept him up in a hug, and Jimin found his feet no longer touching the ground. Without letting him go, he said, “Noona told me to give you a big hug!”

“Well, thank Noona for that,” Jimin grinned as Jungkook let him go. Tae swooped in next, lifting him before he’d even properly regained his balance. Jimin laughed so hard it came out as quiet squeaks, “What’s your excuse, Tae?”

“I just wanted to hug you, Jiminie.”

Jimin’s ears flushed, and when Tae set him down, he covered his face with his hand.

“Ah, Tae...”

Tae gave him a boxxy grin.

Namjoon, Suga and Jin approached, all smiles, to congratulate him as well. Jimin’s eyes sought out the fading purple hair of their Soulmate, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Zara?”

“Here!” Zara’s voice called, and she pushed her way into the group between Jungkook and Tae. She was blushing, something unusual for her. She crinkled her nose when she looked at Jimin, “I’m right here. Hi, Sweetheart! Congratulations!”

Jimin ducked his head, grinning. “Thanks, Zara.”

“So...” Junkook looked around, playing with his hair, “Where are we going next?”

“My dorm’s closest, we can head there and I’ll cook dinner,” Jin said. Tae gave a cheer.

“Hyung makes the best food!”

xXx

Stupid, stupid Jimin, he thought for the thousandth time, curled in his comforter that smelled of coconuts.

Tae had tried to get him to say what was wrong, but Jimin had refused, remaining unusually melancholy since the fight he’d had with Zara a week before.

“Jiminie,” Taehyung moaned, “I can’t handle you and Noona both being so gloomy. What happened?”

Jimin’s ears perked at this. Zara was upset too? Perfect, he’d upset the girl he really liked because he couldn’t handle his jealousy. Stupid.

Taehyung opened his mouth to complain again, when shuffling outside the door sounded, and then Jimin’s bedroom door slammed open to reveal Zara, with a grinning Jung Hoseok standing behind her.

“Noona?” Tae asked, brow furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“Get out, Tae.” She had her eyes trained on the lump of blankets that was Jimin.

“What?”

“Go, Baby Boy. I need to talk to Jimin alone.”

Tae’s head swung between Zara and Jimin a few times, before he slowly made his way out of the room. Before the door shut behind him, Jimin heard Hoseok introducing himself to Tae.

When it was just them, they stared at each other for a few moments, before Zara was making her way towards him.

“I’ve tried patience,” she said, “and I’ve finally run out.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, and he backed himself into the corner of his bed until he hit a wall shaking his head. “No, Zara-”

“Jiminie, shut up!” she practically jumped on him, the blankets forming a barrier between them. His mouth snapped shut, looking up at Zara. She waited, searching his eyes. After a few moments, she said, “I’m going to touch you, Sweetheart.”

Jimin’s eyes slammed shut, seconds before Zara’s hands cupped his cheeks. The Bond formed instantly, and Jimin let out a shaky breath, hating the tears that immediately welled up beneath his eyelids. The gentle kisses that Zara rained down upon his face didn’t help, and soon he found quiet sobs leaving his lips.

“Jiminie,” her nose traced his, “why are you crying?”

He shook his head. Truth be told, he had no idea if he was crying because he was relieved that he had a Soulmate, or if he was worried he wasn’t going to be a good enough Soulmate. All he managed to get out was a choked, “Zara!”

She pulled him into her, his head landing on her chest and his arms wrapping tightly around her. Her fingers combed gently through his hair, slowly soothing him until his sobs turned into quiet sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” he pulled back, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I’m not going to be as good as Taehyung, or Jungkook or Hoseok or all the rest. I’m not good enough for you.”

Zara’s hands found his face again, she stroked Jimin’s cheeks lovingly.

“You’re right,” she said, and Jimin felt his heart thud painfully. “You’re not good. You’re perfect.” His eyes searched hers for the lie, but he found none. Zara’s nose crinkled, and he mimicked the action habitually. “You’re the only one who loved me before you knew you were my Soulmate. You love me, Jiminie, and that’s all that matters to me. That’s all I need.”

“But-”

She cut him off with a kiss, soft and closed lipped, that had him melting beneath her.

When she pulled away, she brushed a thumb over his bottom lip, shivering when his tongue darted out on reflex.

“You complete me, Park Jimin. And for that, you are perfect.”

Zara pulled him into another kiss, and Jimin let all his fears wash away.

@babyboytae1 @snowythellama @bewitch3dforivar @peachy---bangtan

#bts #bts imagines #bts taehyung #poly bts #sub!bts #ot7 imagine #kpop imagines #kpop #sub!taehyung #bangtan #bangtan imagines #kim taehyung #kim taehyung imagines #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jhope #jhope imagines #namjoon #namjoon imagine #seokjin #seokjin imagine #yoongi #yoongi imagine #jimin #jimin imagine

[lifeoftheparty74]

Suprise visit

A/N: So here it is! My first ever posted Shawn Mendes imagine. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing(s): ShawnxReader

Word count: 1403

Warnings: None

In our entire relationship, we spent more time apart than we did together.

We've been together for almost two years, and when one of you is a celebrity that has tours, interviews and award shows all over the world, you don't really see each other a lot.

We first met a couple of years ago, when he was on tour and performed in my city. I went to the meet&greet, and by some miracle I ran into him later that evening.

Literally.

I wasn't looking where I was going, and bumped into his chest and he spilled his Starbucks drink all over me.

We hung out the rest of the night.

As we parted ways a couple of hours later, he asked my number.

A month later, he asked me out.

We've been together for two years now, and though it's been great, I can't pretend it doesn't get incredibly hard.

When you're in a long-distance relationship, and one of you travels a lot, of course you're bound to miss some important days together.

While Shawn is traveling a lot, it's not like I am very busy. In fact, I have enough time to visit him wherever he is. The issue there, is that I'm afraid of flying.

Cars I am okay with, and boats and trains are no big deal. But planes are. Because when I was almost ten, my dad was in a plane that crashed. No survivors.

Since then, I've had something against airplanes.

I myself have never again been on one again, but Shawn obviously has. Whenever he has to fly somewhere, I get stressed and the days leading up to the flight usually consist of nightmares of losing him.

So far, I am just glad nothing happened yet. And I continue hoping nothing will ever happen to him.

Right now, it has been seven months since I hugged my boyfriend. Obviously we've FaceTimed, and we text everyday.

But tomorrow is our second anniversary, and we're about to spend it apart. Because I had to work until this morning, and it would take hours for me to drive there, there is no possible way of us seeing each other in real life today.

He has a show in Paris, the city of love. How iconic.

Over the past years with him traveling so much, my fear of planes has gotten worse and worse. Which is why you might find it a little odd that right now I'm standing at the airport, waiting for the plane to France to be called.

***

The plane ride was terrible.  I was on my own, no one I knew could go with me.

Getting on the plane wasn't a big deal. I focused on other things like the clothes I would wear later or how I would surprise him at his show.

While he was performing?

Or after he got off stage?

I'm not sure yet.

Anyways, I was fine, until the plane started taking off.  The speed it went with was terrifying and I had trouble breathing. Once the plane started going up however and we could see the buildings on the ground shrinking, was when I lost it.

I had been so lucky there was a psychiatrist on board that knew what to do and managed to calm me down. I was so happy when the plane finally landed and I could get off.

At the airport,  I was greeted by Andrew. He knew how afraid I was of planes, and knew that I'd be more comfortable driving with him than a chauffeur.

"Are you okay?" He asked as soon as he saw me, walking up to me and embracing me in a hug.

"Yeah, I am now. Thank you." I nod, as we walk to get my suitcase.

We arrived at Shawn's show an hour before he had to go up stage, so I hid in the tour bus. After a full hour of keeping myself entertained on my phone, Andrew finally came to get me, telling me it was safe to go backstage now.

As I stood there, I admired the man I was so lucky to call mine. I saw all the passion and work he threw into every performance.

He'd gone live on Instagram, positioning his phone backstage, so everyone could follow it. I had it opened too, but I was obviously more focused on the real thing right in front of me.

When Shawn had sung his last song for the night, There's Nothing Holdin' Me Back, he surprised both his fans and me when he stayed on stage and started a speech.

About me.

God, I love this man.

"Even though she can't be here tonight, I want to say this to her.

"Y/n, baby, I love you. I still remember that night a little over two years ago, when I first met you. My first thought when you walked into that meet and greet was how insanely adorable you were. You wore that light pink shirt you loved so much, and your hair was in a beautiful side braid. You smiled so wide.

"But the first thing I noticed about you, were your eyes. That beautiful deep shade I got lost in.

"To this day, I still love your eyes a lot.

"But the best thing about you must be your personality.

"Not only your happiness and sarcasm, but also how supportive you are. Without you, I would not be standing here today.

"I also love how clingy you can sometimes be.

"How you hold on to me for hours and won't let go, how you steal all my hoodies and sweatpants, and can cuddle with me for hours.

"I love you, baby. Happy anniversary."

By the end of his speech, I was swooning. Most girls in the audience were too.

Suddenly I get an idea, and before Shawn leaves the stage, I call his phone from mine. Andrew sees what I'm doing, and runs up the stage, phone in hand.

"Shawn, it's Y/n."

He immediately answers, mouth still close to the mic.

"Hi sweetie."

"Hey" I giggle back softly, covering the underside of my phone, hoping he can't hear the screaming fans through it.

"Are you watching right now?"

"No, I'm not." I know he knows I'm rolling my eyes. "Of course I am, you dweeb. I love you."

"I love you too, babe. And I miss you. So much."

"I missed you too." I respond, grinning as I hang up the phone.

"MissED? What do you mean? Y/n -" He gets shut up by the screaming fans as I walk on stage.

He looks around him confused, and as he finally spots me, I see that smile.

That smile he only gives me.

As I am finally in his arms again and can breathe in his scent, I'm not finally with my boyfriend again.

I'm finally home again.

***

"How did you even get here? You had work yesterday and it takes hours to drive here."

I blush confidently. "I flew."

He spins around, dropping his phone to the floor. "You what?"

"I flew."

His mouth gaped open, wide eyes staring at me.

"But babe, you're-"

"Afraid of planes. Yeah."

He turned around more, laying one hand on my right shoulder and the other tilting up my chin, staring into my eyes.

"You got on a plane. For me."

I smiled at him. "No, I came here so I can finally fuck Connor again."

He groaned, already done with my sarcasm after fifteen minutes of being reunited.

He leaned his head on my shoulder, hands around my waist as he pulled me backwards on the bed.

"I missed you."

"So much." I replied, cuddling further into his side.

"I can't believe you actually got on a plane and I wasn't there."

"I was fine. It was scary at first, but I became kind of used to it and Andrew came to pick me up. I think I'll visit you more often while you're touring from now on."

"Really?" He asked, perking up a little.

"Really." I smiled.

"I love you." He mumbled against the skin of my neck, his lips kissing me every few seconds.

"So much." I replied, running my hand through his curls, massaging his scalp.

After two minutes, I called his name. "Shawn?"

When he didn't reply, I realized he'd fallen asleep, and with that, I closed my eyes too.

#shawnmendes #shawn #mendes #imagines #blurbs #cute #fluff #touring #performing #firstimagine #shawnmendesfanfic #shawnmendesblurb #shawnmendesimagine

[cinemasnob412]

Them There Songs Used In Movies Creating That There Perfect Moment

Music and film have had a symbiotic relationship for as long as celluloid carried sound. Often times lesser films are elevated simply by the use of the perfect song (Kenny Loggin’s “Meet Me Halfway” made the almost run of the mill OVER THE TOP memorable for more than Sylvester Stallone adjusting his hat backwards) or a somewhat forgotten tune is resurrected thanks to it’s inclusion in a hit film (think “Bohemian Rhapsody” in WAYNE’S WORLD). There are those songs that have been with us for what seems like forever, but the moment they appeared in a classic scene, their association with their moving picture counterpart shines a light on them in a completely different way then we’ve ever thought of them (”Stuck In The Middle With You” in RESERVOIR DOGS). This is the beauty of the pairing of cinema and sound. 

There’s an old tale about when John Carpenter first screened his 1978 film HALLOWEEN for some executives. Without a score present one of the female audience members attending claimed it was the least scary film she ever witnessed. That same audience, complete with that same woman was shown the same exact film a short time later, this time with Carpenter’s now iconic score attached and that same woman was astounded by how frightening the film was. She was certain changes were made in the editing process, but the truth of the matter was it was only the music that was added. Proof that music can make or break a film.

Everyone now seems to know how important a film’s score can be. Try thinking of an INDIANA JONES film without whistling or humming John Williams’ “Raiders March” theme. Nearly impossible. The same holds true for pop music when used properly in a movie. Ever heard Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” on the radio and not immediately thought of John Cusack holding that boombox above his head? Bet you at least once thought of rockin’ the Ray Bans, white socks and a button down shirt and little else when you heard Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock N Roll”. Those of us familiar with those scenes seem to forever associate those tunes with those images.

Whether a film or scene needs a boost of adrenaline (Kenny Loggin’s “Danger Zone” in TOP GUN), a rousing anthem (Survivor’s “Eye Of The Tiger” in ROCKY III), a somber dramatic gut punch (Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” from TITANIC) or a crowd pleasing showstopper (Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes’ “The Time Of My Life” in DIRTY DANCING), music, pop music specifically in film is as important a piece to a movie’s success as the actors the director or the script itself are.

What are the greatest uses of pop music in film? Here’s my definitive top 10 list of the greatest songs to appear in a film and the scene they’ll forever be linked to. Note: I’ve excluded songs that were written specifically for a particular film, so although memorable and great, tunes like Kenny Loggin’s “Footloose” or Ray Parker Jr.’s “Ghostbusters” are not addressed.

10 - Harry Belafonte - “Banana Boat Song (Day O)” - BEETLEJUICE (1988)

Director Tim Burton’s use of Belafonte’s “Banana Boat Song (Day O)” covers two attributes I spoke of earlier. It’s a song that is almost completely juxtaposed against the occurrences on screen as well as a nearly forgotten song that found new life once it appeared in the film.

9 - Dire Straits - “Romeo And Juliet - CAN’T HARDLY WAIT (1998)

Right about the time gross out comedy was about to hit big with the likes of AMERICAN PIE (1999), a throwback to the teen angst filled rom-coms of the decade prior found itself a little audience. That film, CAN’T HARDLY WAIT had an onscreen couple you couldn’t help but root for in Ethan Embry and Jennifer Love Hewitt. Throughout the film, like many in a long line before it, our love struck protagonist Preston (Embry) tries to drum up the nerve and courage to ask his longtime highschool crush (Hewitt) out, in this case before their final graduation senior party comes to an end. One of the film’s more tender moments is when Preston, contemplating his next move before time runs out, does so while the Dire Straits ‘’Romeo And Juliet” sets the scene. It’s heartwarming and perfectly timed.

8 - George Thorogood And The Destroyers - “Bad To The Bone” - CHRISTINE (1983)

Used in films quite often, George Thorogood And The Destroyers’ “Bad To The Bone” is often played for laughs (TERMINATOR 2: JUDGEMENT DAY (1991)), but for my money it’s appearance in the opening scene of John Carpenter’s CHRISTINE is it’s best use. If ever a demonic, possessed inanimate object could ever speak of it’s evils and the perils to come, this would be the song that voices those warnings of the threats ahead.

7 - Chuck Berry - “You Never Can Tell” - PULP FICTION (1994)

It’s a tricky endeavor to place an almost three minute dance scene in the middle of a hard nosed crime film. Do it wrong and you’ll almost certainly lose your audience. Do it right and you create one of the most iconic scenes in motion picture history. Quentin Tarantino’s gangster picture is full of memorable dialog and occurrences, but arguably none that encompass exactly the absurdity and attention to detail Tarantino has become known for like the Jack Rabbit Slims dance scene. For the film buffs you have John Travolta cutting a rug once again onscreen, long after his SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER (1977) days and better yet doing so to such an iconic Chuck Berry song. Classic.

6 - Whitney Houston - “I Will Always Love You” - THE BODYGUARD (1992)

It’s a common misconception that Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” was written specifically for THE BODYGUARD. The truth of the matter is it was written by Dolly Parton way back in 1972, and released in 1974 as the second single from her album “Jolene”. It’s not even the first time the song appeared on film as Parton’s version was featured in 1974′s ALICE DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE, in 1982′s BEST LITTLE WHOREHOUSE IN TEXAS and in 1996′s IT’S MY PARTY. It’s the inclusion of the song in the 1992 Houston, Kevin Costner film that launched the song into cinematic history. Houston’s powerful vocals carry the tune farther than Parton herself was ever able to. Placed perfectly within the film itself, “I Will Always Love You” sparked the right emotions the film was striving for and became one of the most popular singles of all time.

5 - Righteous Brothers - Unchained Melody” - GHOST (1990)

Who would have thought that one of the men responsible for films such as AIRPLANE! (1980) and THE NAKED GUN: FROM THE FILES OF POLICE SQUAD! (1988) would also give the world one of the most romantic films of the 1990′s? Jerry Zucker’s GHOST captured the hearts of nearly everyone when it hit theater screens in the summer of 1990. It’s “potter scene” featuring the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody” not only launched a litany of copycat humorous (some not so funny) spoofs, but it also catapulted the duo’s song to number 13 on the Billboard charts, almost three decades after it was first released and charted for the first time back in 1965. 

4 - Sam Cooke - “Twistin’ The Night Away” - INNERSPACE (1987)

***SPOILER*** There’s something sweet when two movie characters share “their song” in a film. Often times it’s done in such a manner that it purposefully tugs at the heartstrings. Joe Dante’s INNERSPACE takes a different route. With his lead protagonist Tuck Pendleton (Dennis Quaid) trapped inside unassuming store clerk Jack Putter’s (Martin Short) body, Pendleton, with the use of the music he often shares with his lost love interest (Meg Ryan) simultaneously loosens up the hypochondriac, nervous wreck Putter and wins back his girl, all thanks to Sam Cooke and a few remade tunes by Rod Stewart. The songs still play and offer realization to the characters, but it’s Dante’s approach that sets this film apart. The “Twistin’ The Night Away” dance scene is the cherry on top. Martin doing his best, vintage Martin to a fabulous Cooke tune. You can’t help but feel good after such a scene.

3 - Eric Clapton - “Layla” - GOODFELLAS (1990)

***SPOILER*** Now the meat and potatoes of this list. These final three embody everything I love about film. Talk about juxtaposition. Martin Scorsese’s usage of the outro from Eric Clapton’s “Layla” is the perfect example of this exercise in film and music marriage. As the deadly finale to the Lufthansa Heist rears it’s ugly head, the opening piano notes play over the camera rising above the hood of a parked pink Cadillac. Inside the bodies of two of the “expendable” participants in the heist. The montage then goes on to show the discovery of the other principal cast members who met the same fate. It’s a chilling scene that reminds the viewer that all the glitz and glam of the gangster life that came before usually ends in this manner. Chilling and perfectly orchestrated filmmaking.

2 - Night Ranger - “Sister Christian” / Rick Springfield - “Jessie’s Girl” - BOOGIE NIGHTS (1997)

***SPOILER*** 1997′s BOOGIE NIGHTS already boasts one of the greatest scenes in cinematic history, the opening three minute tracking shot that rivals the one found in 1990′s GOODFELLAS, but it also features one of the most tense scenes ever to grace film stock. With life unraveling at lightning speed, Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg), coerced by his rag tag crew, agrees to try and sell baking soda in place of cocaine to local eccentric and unsuspecting dealer Rahad Jackson (Alfred Molina). As the scene unfolds, the tension and anxiety build for not only the characters, but the audience as well as Jackson, high as a kite on his product, along side a firecracker throwing Asian boy toy, insists Diggler’s gang listens to his mix tape of assorted 80′s gems. Remember, this film takes place in the Regan era, so the character’s excitement over being able to experience and share his vision on a single audio cassette makes perfect sense. As Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian” builds to a crescendo, Diggler’s discomfort with the entire ordeal becomes evident. As the song gives way to the more subtle “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield, Dirk’s right hand man Todd (Thomas Jane) grows impatient and turns the once shady deal into a full on armed robbery. Needless to say things don’t end well for nearly all involved, with Diggler barely escaping with his life intact. It’s a masterful achievement in filmmaking and one of the greatest scenes in 1990′s cinema.

1 - Grateful Dead - “Ripple” - MASK (1985)

***SPOILER*** I’ve championed this film and it’s ending on multiple occasions. For me, it’s the most emotional scene in any film I’ve ever seen. As Rusty Dennis (Cher) starts her day, California sun in full effect, she becomes unnervingly aware that her physically handicapped son Rocky (Eric Stoltz) has not gotten up and made it off to school. She cautiously enters his bedroom, knowing exactly what she’ll face, but does so with a brashness and sense of denial that sort of makes the day seem as any other. Her son is dead. We know it. She knows it. As her denial gives way to sorrow, then to frustration we overhear The Grateful Dead’s “Ripple” softly playing on the radio. Rusty completely breaks down, smashing things with reckless abandon. The song still plays. As the scene concludes her anger and denial rests into a soft acceptance. The song still plays. She reapplies her son’s pins from his dream travel map that he removed the night before, knowing it was to be his last night on earth. The song still plays. It’s gut wrenching. If you’re human with even the slightest bit of compassion for your fellow man this scene will wreck you.

HONORABLE MENTION - Stealers Wheel - “Stuck In The Middle With You” - RESERVOIR DOGS (1992)

***SPOILER*** Quentin Tarantino films could populate a list like this all on their own. Being as I went and chose his usage of Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell” from 1994′s PULP FICTION for the list, I decided it would only be fair to go to the Tarantino well once. Leaving off his “Mr. Blonde torture scene” would make a list like this invalid, therefore I’ve included it as the honorable mention. No need to dig into the gruesome details of the scene, if you haven’t ever seen it for yourself you should. If you have, you know what I’m talking about. An upbeat song played over torture and murder. It doesn’t get more diverse in content than that!

[thelastspeecher]

Yesterday during my random stream, I asked for suggestions about what to write next for the Angiewolf AU, and was told to write up the Iconic scene of Ford discovering the reason Angie didn’t transform during the last full moon and announcing it to everyone.  So here’s that scene, plus another.

              Angie’s knee bounced nervously.  She chewed at her lip and glanced at the clock, trying to decide what to do.

              Maybe I should just hop down to the drug store and pick up a test.  Then I can get a yes or no answer fer sure.  Certain of what she would do now, Angie stood.  Stan looked up from his magazine.

              “Whatchya doing?” Stan asked.

              “Oh, nothin’,” Angie said evasively.  “Just goin’ to run an errand.”  Stan put down his magazine.

              “I’ll drive.”

              “No need!” Angie blurted out, panicking at the thought of Stan coming with. “I’ll walk.”

              “Babe, Ford said we need to keep an eye on you, just in case you suddenly transform.”

              “It’s three in the afternoon.  I highly doubt that would happen.”

              “Yeah, I know.  But Sixer knows what he’s talkin’ about, so…”  Stan got up.  “I’ll get the car started.”

              “Great,” Angie mumbled.  The front door burst open with a slam that reverberated throughout the house.  A framed picture of Nikola Tesla fell off the wall.

              “Angie’s pregnant!” Ford shouted.  Stan stared at Angie.

              “What?” he choked out.  Angie held up her hands placatingly.

              “Look, darlin’, I’m sure Stanford’s just-”  Ford rushed into the living room, out of breath but clearly pleased with himself.

              “I figured it out!” Ford said excitedly.  He held up a thick book embossed with the title “Lycanthropy, Vampirism, and Other Supernatural Human Ailments”.  “In here, it explains that if a female werewolf were to become pregnant, she would stop transforming into wolf form during a full moon.  It’s for the safety of the pups.  Apparently in utero, shifting from one species to another would be harmful.”  Footsteps echoed down the stairs.  Fiddleford poked his head into the living room.

              “Stanford, what did I hear ya say ‘bout my baby sister?”

              “She’s pregnant,” Ford said.  Fiddleford scowled.

              “That’s what I thought I heard.  Look, that ain’t possible.  There’s no way Angie and Stan are bein’ intimate in that manner.”  Fiddleford looked at Angie for confirmation.  She immediately took a vested interest in her fingernails. “…Oh.”  Fiddleford let out a long sigh.  “Great.  I was so much happier livin’ blissfully ignorant, thinkin’ that Angie never saw a man naked.”  He glowered at Stan.

              “Moving on from the existence of Stan and Angie’s sex life,” Ford said. Angie groaned.  Ford patted the book he was carrying.  “A pregnancy is the only logical conclusion to this mystery of your inability to transform, Angie.”

              “There’s nothing else that could be causing it?” Stan asked.  “Like, maybe she’s got a cold or-”

              “No, nothing else,” Ford said.  “Even a broken bone won’t prevent transformation.  Transformation actually can speed the healing process of broken bones, given how they shift and when changing forms.”  Stan sat down heavily on the chair he had vacated minutes ago. He put his head in his hands.

              “Fuck,” Stan whispered.  Ford beamed at Angie.  Angie eyed him, unnerved.

              “Yer awful chipper ‘bout this,” she said slowly.

              “The data I could collect from studying werewolf pups would be a wonderful addition to what I’ve already collected from examining you,” Ford said.

              “Pups,” Stan echoed blankly.  He let out a loud groan.  “Pups.”

              “Okay, I’m- I’m just goin’ to go ahead and schedule a doctor’s appointment,” Angie said.  “Get this resolved by a professional.”

              “Prob’ly a good idea,” Fiddleford said, switching from glaring at Stan to glaring at Ford.

              “Yeah.  And, uh, I’m gonna go take a walk,” Angie added.  “Fer a few hours.  Or days. However long it takes to forget this conversation happened.”  She walked towards the front door.  As she prepared to leave, she overheard Ford speak.

              “You know, I’d bet money on the pregnancy being a multiple birth.  I mean, it makes logistical sense.  Wolves have litters.  The chances of her having at least two pups are high.”

              “Litters,” Stan said faintly.  “Pups.”

              “Great,” Fiddleford said.  “Ya broke yer own brother.”  Angie stifled a groan and stepped outside.

----- 

              “All right, doc, give us the good news,” Stan said briskly.  “We having a Stan Junior or not?”  Angie sighed.

              “Sorry ‘bout him.  Once he got over the shock, Stan swung pretty far in the other direction.”  The obstetrician, Dr. Rivers, chuckled.

              “It’s fine.  There are worse reactions to upcoming children than being overeager.”  Stan and Angie were at the doctor’s office for the first ultrasound, after Angie’s hastily scheduled appointment had shown Ford was correct.

              “I mean it, Angie, we’re gonna have a boy,” Stan said.  “I’ve got this gut feeling.”  Angie rolled her eyes.  “So, it’s a boy, right, doc?”

              “It’s too early in the pregnancy to determine the sex,” Dr. Rivers said, running the sensor over Angie’s stomach.  She squinted at the screen.  “At this point in time, we’re checking for fetal abnormalities or visible defects.”

              “Yer takin’ pictures, right?” Angie asked.  “We haven’t told my folks yet.  Decided to wait until we had cute pictures to show ‘em.”

              “Gotta smooth over the whole ‘unmarried pregnancy’ thing,” Stan said. Dr. Rivers smiled.

              “Yes, I’m taking plenty of pictures for your family.”

              “Good.”

              “And so far, everything looks…”  Dr. Rivers trailed off, frowning at the screen.  Angie’s breath hitched.

              “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

              “Nothing.  Quick question, do multiple births run in your family?”

              “Not at all.”

              “Well, looks like you can’t say that anymore.”  Dr. Rivers pointed at the screen.  “There’s one baby.”  She moved her finger over slightly.  “And there’s another one.”

              “Oh, wow,” Angie whispered.  Stan leaned over Angie to get a better look at the screen.

              “At least I’m carrying on the Pines twin tradition,” he said idly.  He grinned down at Angie.  “Two kids to spoil rotten and teach to pickpocket.”

              “Not exactly,” Dr. Rivers interrupted.  Stan and Angie looked at her.  Dr. Rivers pointed at another white blob on the screen.  “There’s three fetuses.”

              “Th- three?” Angie stammered.  She paled.  “Triplets?”

              “Yep.  Congratulations.”

              “Son of a- what the fuck?” Stan said, stumbling backwards.  “Holy Moses, I- I- three kids?  At once?  That’s- that shouldn’t be allowed.”  Dr. Rivers raised an eyebrow in amusement.

              “I assure you, Mr. Pines, it is allowed.  It’s not very common, but triplets do happen on occasion.  I can refer you to a specialist, should you opt to continue with this pregnancy without selective reduction.”

              “Why would we need to go to a specialist?” Stan asked.

              “Multiple births are prone to complications.  It would be wisest to consult someone who has experience in handling those kind of complications and issues, should they pop up.”

              “Um, yeah, that- that’d be great,” Angie stammered.  She ran a hand through her hair.  “We’re goin’ to need to talk a bit together, but we’ll let ya know what we decide on.”

              Fifteen minutes later, Stan and Angie exited the clinic and got into Stan’s car.  They sat in silence for a while.

              “Triplets,” Angie said finally.  Stan groaned and slammed his head against the wheel.  “Lord, we’re screwed.”

              “Didn’t Ford say that werewolfism gets passed down by the mom?” Stan asked. Angie nodded.  “Ang, you realize that this means we’ll have three babies at once, and all three of those babies are gonna be werewolves.”  Angie stroked her stomach slightly.

              “To top it all off, these three children are our children.  And neither of us were easy when we were kidlets.”

              “God fuck, we are boned,” Stan said, exasperated.  He rubbed his face.  “At least we got plenty of pictures for your parents.”  He groaned again.  “But those pictures aren’t gonna stop ‘em from kicking my ass.  Not now that it’s triplets.”

              “This won’t be easy,” Angie said quietly.  “I mean, first off, I’ll be carryin’ these three fer months, and then after they’re born, it’ll be one trial after another.”  She kneaded her forehead.  “But…I’m- I still want ‘em.”  Angie looked at Stan.  “Do- do you?” After a moment, Stan nodded.

              “Yeah.  It’s gonna be hell for both of us, but seeing them on that screen…”  A small smile eked its way onto his face.  “I’m not gonna let anything happen to ‘em.”

              “Me neither.”

              “Good,” Stan said.  “You’re the tougher one of the two of us.”  Angie let out a bark of laughter.  “God, I love your weird laugh.”  Angie grinned at him.  “My wolf woman,” Stan said lasciviously.  Angie’s grin turned flirtatious.

              “I love yer laugh, my human man.”

              “Doesn’t sound as good,” Stan remarked, starting the car.

              “Mm, yer right, it don’t.”  Angie leaned back in her seat.  “I’ll have to think of somethin’ else then.”  They had just exited the parking lot when Angie let out a loud gasp.

              “What?  Did you forget your purse or something?” Stan asked.  Angie groaned.

              “No.  I just realized.  Ford was right about it bein’ more ‘n one kid.”

              “God, he’s gonna be insufferable.”

#Stangie ropes Ford into babysitting their three pups #Ford actually volunteers. he wants to ''study'' them. #but within five minutes he's too exhausted to actually study them like he planned #also they chewed on his writing utensils and notebooks #Angiewolf AU #Stangie #Angie McGucket #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #my writing #ficlet #speecher speaks

[kaleidographia]

[Analysis] The "Weird" One: Where The Last Jedi Fits

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I have a confession to make.

This may be a weird way to start what is essentially the first post of a new media critique blog, but I consider it to be essential knowledge. Every reviewer and analyst brings their own unique perspective to their writing, and I am no different; sooner or later, this truth will make itself known. To know this fact about me is to gain a new understanding of what makes me tick as a consumer of art, and it is one that it best to get out of the way as soon as possible, for it is better for a reader to lose interest now than to string along until the awkwardness of hiding such a secret reveals itself.

Here it is:

I LOVE the Star Wars prequels.

Oh, not only do I love them, completely and unironically, I actually do not care much for the original trilogy. It’s all right. But it doesn’t make my heart sing.

Attack of the Clones does.

Okay, okay, I can already hear the groans of disgust and the clicks of mice leaving my blog to the wilds of the web, but I promise this is going somewhere. I am not unaware of the many flaws the Prequel trilogy has, and I can’t in good conscience call them cinematic masterpieces, but I think this opinion derives itself not from poor taste, but the relative lack of blockbuster quality movies that tap into very particular themes and structural quirks that I appreciate. I may dive into those specifics at a later time, but the reason why I am bringing this up now is because it inextricably ties into my feelings about the most recent film in the franchise’s main series, which would be impossible for me to discuss without addressing this aspect of my formative film influences.

The Last Jedi has already received tons of coverage, controversy, and counter-controversy, so if you’re interested in picking apart the finer aspects of the plot and characters, feel free to look those up — I am sure there is a brilliant video essay on Youtube tailor-made just for you. I am more interested in the meta-narrative surrounding its position in terms of fanservice to what is an enourmous empire of not only fans of the original trilogy, but fans of its many derivations, spin-offs, and cultural foundations.

Star Wars is no longer just a film about a space farmer who learns he’s a space wizard and goes on a perfect beat-by-beat hero’s journey. It encompasses more than that: two sequels, an expanded universe of books upon books, comics, videogames, pinball machines — a holiday special (and no, I have not watched it) — toys, cartoons, parodies, reiterations, iconic images, phrases, cinematic touchstones, and, of course, the Prequels.

When the new Sequel trilogy was announced, the filmmakers had a real challenge to contend with: How can one follow up on not only a legacy of films, but also a legacy of expectations of what such a sequel would be like? I am not just referring to the fact that Disney, post acquisition of Lucasfilm, decided to just toss out the previous expanded universe, label it “Legends”, and start afresh with a new canon. I am also referring to the literal millions of fans who were already thoroughly familiar with not only the films but also their cultural impact. How could one possibly please them, especially when the Prequel trilogy was so universally mocked?

It was clear that Disney needed to win the crowd over, and to do so they leaned heavily into a safe bet: the Original trilogy. The Force Awakens released with a sort of wink-and-nudge, reflected in its story beats, characterization, and practical effects, that said “hey, we hear you. We know you’re scared because you don’t trust us to do this material justice and we know you love the original films, so we’re gonna give you exactly what you’re looking for”. It’s hard not to see the fanservice and whether or not it was successful has already been discussed to death, so I won’t get into it here, but the point is — and I am sure this wasn’t really intentional — to someone like me, who actually liked the prequels and a lot of the expanded universe, this approach felt incredibly alienating. Everyone was having fun with the new film, but to me it felt like it was saying, “all those things you love about Star Wars are not the reasons why anyone else loves Star Wars,” and I’m not gonna lie, I was pretty hurt, but at the very least The Force Awakens gave me a cast to fall in love with.

This is why when The Last Jedi was in production, I was intrigued to hear that this film was going to be “weird” and “unlike any other Star Wars film”. My expectations were tempered by the fact that ultimately this was going to be a Disney movie anyway, so it was probably not going to reach my standard of Weird (my dad showed me Koyaanisqatsi when I was 7, to give you an idea). Nevertheless, after the very safe rehash of Episode 4 that was The Force Awakens, I was just hoping for anything that might show me the franchise still had room for creativity.

I was in fact happy with the result, although it doesn’t surprise me at all that it attracted controversy. Some of my close friends, whose opinions I highly respect, hated the film for various reasons and I can even agree with them on some points. Others, like me, loved it. Overall, however, what I like most isn’t necessarily anything about the film itself, but its position as a nod to fans who wanted their corners of the Star Wars universe acknowledged. To put it bluntly, as a Prequels fan, I felt represented.

Going even beyond the Prequels, The Last Jedi contains themes from my favourite piece of Star Wars media, the Bioware-produced videogame Knights of the Old Republic and its Obsidian-produced sequel, which layer critique of what it means to be a Force user and what the role of Jedi and Sith are in the grand scheme of things. “Jedi” does not necessarily mean “good”, a fact Luke highlights in his role as reluctant mentor to Rey, and while there are some things I would change about his portrayal here, this perspective is absolutely one I wanted to see more of in the main series. Even as a kid, good-vs-evil stories bored me; it’s one reason why the Original trilogy failed to speak to me, because even though I wouldn’t have been able to articulate why at the time, the setup was just too easy. It didn’t challenge me to think that there’s a side that’s inherently good and a side that’s inherently evil, but when Knights of the Old Republic put decisions about when and how to use the Force in front of me, that was a much more interesting proposition, and the idea that doctrine about the nature of the Force could be wrong or even damaging was outright enticing. I honestly can’t remember whether playing the games or watching the Prequels came first, but I get the feeling it was the games, because that malleable view of what the Force means and who the Jedi and Sith are has carried through for me ever since.

The Last Jedi does kind of play it safe in some ways, ultimately being a Disney property that has to sell lots of merchandise and bring people to theme parks, but it also boldly rejects just about every expectation one might have of a “Star Wars Film”, characters make mistakes, they fail, things go wrong at the worst possible times, some act selfishly or foolishly, and by the time the credits roll there’s actually very little to be excited about, as the heroes are in a much worse position than they were when the film started, which was already very bleak. But in a way, that was the most exciting part to me, as someone who grew tired of the popular culture perception of Star Wars and who felt shut out of the Sequel trilogy by its first film; The Last Jedi may have been agonizing, but it was agonizing in a way that promised more, giving hope to those of us who were looking for a less straightforward narrative at a time when powerful politicians can be comically villainous in public and yet people would bend over backwards to excuse their actions as if an “evil empire” didn’t already exist. Over the last couple of years I have seen people post a gif of Padmé Amidala’s iconic line, “So this is how liberty dies… with thunderous applause”, saying this was the only part of the Prequel trilogy that aged well, and yet to me the truth was already glaringly obvious back when the film was released, contributing strongly to my own critical interpretation of it. The Last Jedi is a film that picks up on the thought that people can make foolish and terrible decisions and runs with it, but it is by no means the first in the series to approach this theme.

(I should note that as a Brazilian, whose country was freshly out of a dictatorship when I was born and which is now hurtling towards another at full speed, my views on what counts as an Evil Empire and how and why a democracy dies may be somewhat sharper than the average American’s. This is by no means the only reason why I’m into this kind of storytelling, nor is it exclusive to me, but it is a big one, and it would be short-sighted to ignore it.)

Ultimately I understand why The Last Jedi is so polarizing; it doesn’t pull punches and some of the punches it throws are even a bit misaimed, thus the description of it as “weird” and “unprecedented” makes sense. It just isn’t quite as weird or unprecedented when compared to previous attempts at broadening the scope of the Star Wars narrative both within the main film series and the expanded universe (at least pre-Disney; I haven’t engaged with any post-Legends canon aside from the Rebels cartoon, so I can’t say for sure). It also serves as a complete 180° turn from the Sequel trilogy establishing itself as a safe haven for Original trilogy fans and a middle chapter leading into a final film we still know nothing about, so whether its narrative leaps will pay off are still a mystery. In any case, The Last Jedi rejects superficial concerns in favour of theme, leading to a certain degree of dissatisfaction from fans who really wanted to know Rey’s parentage and what exactly was up with Snoke, but I think this is a good thing, because they gave new meanings to previously established Star Wars tropes and drove the whole thing into uncharted territory. I for one am glad the franchise has freed itself of these particular burdens; it simply remains to be seen whether the conclusion will maintain this momentum.

All this to say, I like the Last Jedi because it likes the things I like about Star Wars, and now I know I’m not the only one.

#Analysis #film #Star Wars #The Last Jedi

[believerindaydreams]

though I would like to write a story called “dreaming of oranges”

Upon quiet, thoughtful reflection, a whole “AU rewrite with Sheridan and Sinclair switched around” would require a rewatch of everything up to “Into the Fire” and at least twenty thousand words to do properly. And a lot more guff about Minbar than I can probably handle convincingly. And writing Sinclair, who strikes me as being one of those sneaky bastards who are great on the small screen but hell to write dialogue for. 

(cut for spoilers. Lots of spoilers)

Counterpoints: the fascination of dealing with this Minbari paradox, with the Grey Council struggling to grasp how their greatest icon could possibly also be Starkiller. How long it takes them to tell Sheridan why they asked him to be ambassador; around the end of Season Two or so, I think. In this version, Sheridan thinks he’s been posted to Minbar because new Clark wants him off-stage for some reason. In this version, he’s right; Clark’s heard just enough rumblings about a White Star fleet in the making to want a war hero on the spot to keep an eye on developments (Clark can always blame any unfortunate developments on Minbari War Syndrome, if necessary). Sheridan would, I think, have some genuine Earthforce concerns about helping Minbar build an entire flippin’ warfleet of White Stars, and want some very solid evidence about this whole Shadow War...so enter the Rangers, and Sheridan spends a year thinking they just wanted him to be Entil'zha. 

Probably some reluctant mutual admiration with Neroon, and Sheridan finding he gets on better with the warrior caste, ironically enough; there’s some common ground there and they agree that the religious caste’s five hour dinners are ridiculous. And Marcus shows up! With a lot of terrible jokes resulting, no doubt. 

Back on the station, everybody’s getting used to Sheridan’s replacement, the restrained and thoughtful Sinclair (and his on-and-off girlfriend Catherine). Garibaldi’s glad to have his old friend back; Susan takes somewhat longer warming up to him. Londo and G’Kar run into each other at the post office, one carrying a bag of oranges and the other parcelling up a set of Narn heating stones, and find themselves actually agreeing on something- namely, that landing up stuck on Minbar must be one of the worst possible fates for any hot-blooded sentient in the entire known galaxy. 

(Cut to: Lennier, holding a letter and pointedly not looking annoyed.)

So Sheridan starts deciphering the Shadow War, based partly on data gathered by the Rangers. Though some he’d be getting straight from Babylon 5, because Ivanova bullied the Epsilon III crew into providing them a reliable and secure communication system (you know she would). Gotta keep Sheridan in touch with the main crew somehow, especially if he’s going to fall in love with Delenn long distance...

who is aware that falling in love with Valen is an exceptionally terrible idea, but finds herself doing it anyway. Not that she intends to mention this to him; she’s already keeping far too many secrets from him, so what’s one more...until the end of Season Two (or thereabouts, anyway). When Sheridan calls her to say, well, this year on Minbar’s been fun, but now he’s going to pull every string he has in Earthforce to get back the Babylon 5 posting. Or anything that’s not planet-side, really...

so now she has to explain to him that he’s Valen, and destined to stay on Minbar. Sheridan’s reaction would be amazing to write- contradictory, frustrated energy, partly fascinated by the odd culture that he’s spent a year aiding, and partly completely exasperated by that culture and wanting out already. Anger with the very notion of being forced to do anything because of fate, and a very worried realisation that if he was to accept the truth of this duty, it’s not in him to say no. Not when the fate of billions might depend on it. 

But then, he argues with Delenn, if he’s going to be Valen then his destiny is to fight Shadows, and it might just be that he needs this experience to help save Minbar’s past. They settle on a temporary compromise; Sheridan’s given the first White Star to captain for as long as the war continues, on a top-secret basis. No longer. 

(Sheridan sleeps very hard, his first night back in space; and she spends it watching him.)

As for what’s been happening back on the station....Nightwatch is starting to make things nasty, Sinclair’s girlfriend has vanished under mysterious circumstances, and he’s starting to question why everybody leaves him out of the loop on things. Garibaldi notes that after all the hard work Sheridan went through on Babylon 5, a lot of people are gonna be cool on any replacement- and also that anybody taking lessons from Vorlons is going to sound a little touched after a while. 

As a way of asserting his authority, and also because he shares Delenn’s philosophy that all lives are precious, Sinclair forbids Lyta Alexander to search for a possible spy who can only be uncovered via murder. Talia gets to live; Lyta makes a break for it to Vorlon space. Susan decides that her instinct to keep some of the particulars of the anti-Clark, pro-Hague campaign away from Sinclair were probably wise, if he’s going to be such an idealistic with weird delusions of godhood and mutterings about Z’ha’dum- concerns that Garibaldi makes light of. Even after Sinclair falls out of a tube and gets saved by an angel in front of half the station. 

Season Three, Sheridan’s on the White Star and Sinclair’s on Babylon 5, with Delenn splitting her time between both (Lennier is concerned that Delenn is plunging through Minbar relationship rituals with accuracy but unseemly speed.) Sheridan offers Vir a few tips about life on Minbar. Sinclair concentrates on maintaining Babylon 5′s diplomatic status, trying to walk the line between keeping the station’s ideals and keeping in with Clark’s administration. All’s going well until some idiot blows up a ship at Ganymede, whereupon martial law is declared and everything goes haywire. Sinclair reluctantly declares that Babylon will secede, but emphasizes the unarmed, neutral nature of the station (he previously forbade the GROPOS crew from using the place as a base for combat operations, which is helpful in terms of propaganda and unhelpful in that the station still doesn’t have a decent defence grid).

“Is he seriously expecting God to reach out of the heavens to save us?“ Susan asks Garibaldi, in complete exasperation. 

“...when a guy like Jeff asks, it might just happen.“

Severed Dreams happens, with everything much the same as before except that Sheridan comes riding in with Delenn to save the day. ISN declares Sheridan a Minbari-tainted traitor, and the White Star attracts a good deal of fascination. Nobody cares about Sinclair, still. Franklin asks if they arranged it this way on purpose, with one dramatic hooligan drawing attention away from that station’s real work. Sinclair smiles and says nothing.

Some time later, Garibaldi spends an annoying day stuck in Grey Sector, and shoots a monster with some old-fashioned bullets. Nothing else happens that days. 

The campaign to fight the Shadows is progressing, slowly but surely, and the scope of Sinclair’s behind-the-scenes work is becoming slowly evident; he’s been quietly soothing small conflicts from breaking into worse conflicts, garnering favour with alien governments, and there’s a sturdy compact of ships to join up with the White Star fleet. All seems well, until Catherine comes back to Babylon 5 for the first time in months- and asks Sinclair to come with her to Z’ha’dum. 

Kosh says that this is not the time. Sinclair ignores the Vorlon and asks Sheridan for a White Star; Sheridan reluctantly agrees. 

Time passes. Sinclair doesn’t come back. But Shadow ships start coming out, attacking everywhere- many, many Shadow ships, far more than anyone had expected, or even thought possible. Despite a huge smoldering crater in their planet.) 

The Babylon 5 crew take council in the War Room, how to proceed next; and Sheridan gives a rousing speech to the Non-Aligned Worlds about honouring Sinclair’s memory, by putting up the best resistance they can. The appeal to martyrdom works; the anti-Shadow alliance vows that they will fight on whatever the cost. 

“You have forgotten something,” Kosh says to Sheridan. 

And Sheridan looks at the Vorlon, out at the planet below, and knows he can’t delay any longer, that the full fury of the Shadow forces must be lessened a thousand years earlier. Epsilon III is waiting for him. 

Delenn goes with him. So does Ivanova, who won’t let her old captain go without one last mission, so does Marcus, following the One. They ride the station backwards in time; Sheridan’s previous encounter with the rift causes him to age- but very strangely. Zathras clucks and tells him that he’ll probably only have twenty years more to live, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. 

Station prepared, there’s nothing left to be done but take leave of each other. Marcus offers to go back instead, and Sheridan sharply tells him not to play tempter; Susan salutes her old captain, and thanks him for giving them all a chance. Delenn stands before him, waiting, and can only say she has no ritual for this. 

All Sheridan can say, through his own tears, is that if his sacrifice shapes a world that’ll nurture her one day, it’ll be worth it- 

and Sinclair walks through the door, serene as none of them have ever seen him before. 

“When did you get here?“ Susan asks. 

“Before,” Sinclair says, in obliquely Vorlon fashion; and provides little more explanation when he’s pressed. Franklin was right, he explains; Catherine was a Shadow of her former self, quite literally, the Army of Light needs its martyr more than a figurehead, the universe needs him no longer- not here, that is. But it could use him elsewhere. A thousand years in the past...

“But who are you, to think yourself Valen?“ Delenn asks him, uncertain, unwilling to take hope too easily. 

“One who came back from Z’ha’dum alive.” Sinclair takes the triluminary, and it glows blue at his touch...

(Back on Babyon 5, Sheridan and Delenn talk the matter to pieces. How the triluminary must have reacted to shared ancestors in either direction, human or Minbari. Whether it requires Vorlon-inspired madness, to carry through the attempt at godhood. If she would have risked paradox, to follow him back; if he would have shirked duty, to stay.)

But that’s all for the future. 

For now?

Nothing more or less than a miracle. 

#spoilers #babylon 5 #fic #if wishes were horses

[junker-town]

8 players I’m watching this NFL season

You owe it to yourself to pay attention to these guys.

By this point you’ve probably locked your Week 1 rosters for fantasy football, and that’s a good thing. Truth be told, I’m really pretty terrible at fantasy football. It’s a world that demands a very different mind to that of just appreciating NFL games. It’s like watching someone good play Madden, someone really good, who has an innate understanding of what breaks the A.I. and will always pick up a big gain on offense.

Instead I want to talk about the players I just can’t stop thinking about. The guys who I know will do something incredible every week, and who I cannot wait to see back on the field.

Justin Jefferson

God, I’m such a sucker for LSU wide receivers. I have no idea what’s in that Baton Rouge water but the Tigers need to bottle it and give it to every pass catcher around the nation. It feels like it’s been such a long time since we’ve truly seen a receiver so good he makes up for his quarterback, but that’s exactly what Jefferson did for the Vikings in his rookie season.

I’m not here to litigate the skills of Kirk Cousins, because Kirk Cousins is too boring to even warrant time on the court docket. Instead we should focus on a dude who caught 88 passes for 1,400 yards in his friggin’ rookie season. Know the last time that’s happened in the modern era? How about never.

Anquan Boldin: 1,377 yards

Odell Beckham Jr.: 1,305 yards

The GOAT himself, Randy-freaking-Moss: 1,313 yards

I want nothing more in this world that to see Jefferson dominate again, because frankly it’s been too damn long since the league had a must-watch receiver. Hell, it’s probably been since OBJ was making stupid one-handed catches and flexing on the entire league, and go figure, he was from LSU too.

I’m a sucker for feeling like I’m a part of history, and the possibility of seeing the emergence of one of the greatest receivers of all time is enough of an allure that I’ll actually subject myself to watching Kirk Cousins play football.

Derrick Henry

I’ve been trying to limit my red meat consumption under the assumption that reducing my carbon footprint will help the world, so Derrick Henry is my giant weekly helping of beef.

Everything about football is time and place. Go back a decade and Henry would be in the mix with a lot of stellar, league-defining running backs. Now, he’s an iconoclast in a league that keeps pushing more and more towards passing, and ignoring the sweet science of mashing a dude into the turf with a stiff arm and a steely grin.

The season, perhaps more than any other, I cannot wait to see what Henry does in Tennessee. With Julio Jones in the mix it’s going to be a fascinating weekly drama of “who’s defending who?” with Henry more than likely getting a chance to do his own thing and obliterate people, because that’s favorable to giving up 20+ in the air.

Derrick Henry's tired of the helmet on a stick...he needs live bodies to stiff arm pic.twitter.com/A5QcDKIhny

— Buck Reising (@BuckReising) September 6, 2021

If Derrick Henry turns his own teammates into sacrificial lambs, then what the hell is he going to do to his opponents?

Every single poor sap on the Texans

Okay look, I know this breaks my conventions a little because “58 players I’m watching this NFL season” doesn’t have the SEO-friendly ring to it, but I’m lumping the entire Texans team into this scenario as one sorry player.

I truly did not believe things could get worse for Houston than last season, but by gawd they found a way, didn’t they? You know David Johnson? The running back they traded DeAndre Hopkins for? He’s their backup running back to a 31-year-old Mark Ingram now.

I honestly feel slightly bad for the individual players on the Texans, because there are a ton of genuinely delightful individuals on this team. Collectively their depth chart looks like Santa’s workshop if all the elves decided to run off and become dentists, so dolls were pieces together by unskilled labor.

The elves really should have unionized.

Daniel Jones

Let it be known that above all else I am a petty, petty bitch — and while Daniel Jones is, by all accounts, a nice gentleman, he does represent something I love to hate on with the fury of 1,000 suns: Dave Gettleman.

I watched firsthand while Gettleman systematically destroyed my beloved Carolina Panthers are turned away team legends like Steve Smith with a bedside manner best described as “imagine if Jason Vorhees was your orthopedic surgeon.”

Jones represents his biggest roll of the dice. The guy Gettleman took and told the world to “trust him.” He passed on Josh Allen, gave Jones the rope to let Justin Herbert fly by a year later, now he’s getting one more year to prove he’s the guy, following a draft where New York could have selected Justin Fields.

I know Giants fans have reached the same point Panthers fans did with Gettleman. He made us all chuckle with his old man phraseology to start his tenure, then it became abundantly apparent he was still looking at football as if it was being played during the Reagan administration with no appreciation for what was happening in the modern game.

I don’t think this story is going to end well, and while I’m sorry for Giants fans, I promise it’ll be worth it to get rid of Gettleman.

Justin Herbert

Hey, it’s the guy I just talked about the Giants passing on. Cool.

Anyway, I love watching Justin Herbert play ... a lot. He looks like a 12-year-old and plays like a 40-year-old veteran. In fact, I’m not 100 percent sure Herbert really is entering his second year, and he’s not some wily veteran like Peyton Manning aging backwards like Benjamin Button.

I’d really like Herbert to succeed because dammit, I want the Chargers to succeed. I don’t know if there’s a more historically likable team than this one, but who never, ever seems to catch a break. Philip Rivers was a really nice guy, LaDanian Tomlinson was also a delightful fellow — I want Herbert to succeed where they didn’t and finally, FINALLY pull the Chargers out of the doldrums.

Also, it would be fun as hell if we get another elite quarterback in the AFC West for the next decade next to Patrick Mahomes.

Brian Burns

Here’s a guy who nobody outside of the Carolinas really talks about, but totally should. Sure, Burns doesn’t have a double-digit sack season to his name ... yet, but I think it’s about to happen.

The reason I just want to see him play is baked entirely within that sentence: I just want to see Brian Burns play. Last season he registered 9.0 sacks, but these weren’t effort, fight his way into the pocket type sacks. Burns flies off the line with unnatural speed and even without a tremendous array of pass rushing moves, he’s able to overwhelm defenses with his first step.

Burns ranked Top 10 in the NFL in total QB pressures last season, and I think that will jump ahead again. This could be a breakout season, and it’s just fun to see how this guy plays football.

Trevor Lawrence

I’ve just gotta know. I have to know if all these years of watching, and waiting for the best college QB since Andrew Luck actually materializes in Jacksonville and FINALLY gets that team over the hump.

The Jaguars got so monumentally lucky to have this situation fall in their laps and get to take Lawrence, and this was a franchise in dire need of luck. Oh god, that’s three mentions of “luck” in two paragraphs, my editor is going to hate me (sorry Ricky). Shit, now it’s four. Better quit while I’m ahead.

I just want Jaguars fans to be happy in a way that doesn’t require copious amounts of pre-game liquor and vandalism. Is that so much to ask?

Kyle Pitts

In a similar vein to Lawrence I’m just fascinated by seeing what Kyle Pitts does this season. The rookie tight end is being asked to fill some tremendously large cleats with Julio Jones being traded away, but thankfully he is a large man who I presume has feet to match.

Before I get too carried away with feet references and y’all start rumors about me on the internet, let me just say that I think Pitts can be one of those iconic, league-defining players that makes us totally re-think the tight end position. I believe he’s that damn good.

Now, I know there’s also a learning curve here and that transitioning to tight end in the NFL is damn, damn difficult (I mean hell, no rookie TE has broken 1,000 yards since Mike Ditka), but there’s just something transcendent about how Pitts plays football. I need to watch him play and develop this season to satiate my own curiosity.

[rtvside]

 a peek into band management :  𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍 .

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 :

NAME: caroline diana champion 

AGE: twenty - four 

GENDER: cis woman 

PRONOUNS: she / her / hers 

HOMETOWN: london , england 

OCCUPATION: fortune 500 company heir , band manager for some saints .

TRAITS: + purposeful , erudite , composed - reserved , despondent , reluctant 

HOGWARTS HOUSE: ravenclaw 

MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful good

HEIGHT: 5′9

ORIENTATION: pansexual

𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐁𝐈𝐎 :

caro was born in london into a musical family . her dad was the founder and ceo of famed record label champ records , and her mother was a retired singer akin to the likes of celine dion who now worked as a consultant

being mixed race in the uk was tough for caro , who was never quite enough for either identity . she grew up the youngest of 3 , but always got the sense that she was alone despite being surrounded by people . her family was well known and even better off , so she felt guilty with the sense that she was missing something , but kept her sentiments to herself

she escaped into the realm of books , mowing through her family library voraciously . she skips a year almost as soon as she starts school , an unquenchable thirst to learn and improve making her even more notable than the famous champion surname she totes .

her parents are kind but oblivious to their daughter’s sense of isolation due to their own busy schedules , so caro takes it upon herself to make something of herself . she’s writing almost as early as she can remember , just a few lines here and there , but eventually penning whole songs over bare boned melodies she hums at the family grand piano . though she’d never picture herself sharing these with anyone , her music and her writings give her an outlet to pour herself into

she grows into a stunning young woman who benefits greatly from a double dose of a wealthy upbringing and pretty privilege , though a stern father who forged his own path ensures she stays humble despite the hordes of people bending over backwards to please her . she struggles in her teen years to form true friendships , fearing that the friends she makes are only after her celebrity recognition or trying to get to her father through her . this distrust only forces her further into herself , focusing on her studies and believing people will come second

she dates someone casually as she’s ready to apply to universities , a musician who is the first person she shows her compositions to , truly feeling herself open up until they ask to come to her father’s workplace to meet the man themself . caroline , feeling a repeat of being taken advantage of , cuts them off and erases all thought of her own musical career , feeling she will never be able to properly achieve her dream without the constant reminder that half her life was already handed to her .

instead , she heads to the US for business school and graduates with honors from an ivy league university , deciding to stay in the family business but beginning with quite the project , some saint and their revolving door of management teams . knowing a challenge is the only thing she can properly put her mind to , she takes the boys on and directs her way into their best sales within months of their new direction . it’s difficult work , but with their talent and her brain for strategy , she runs a tight ship on her end and is managing to ensure they get the recognition they deserve and then some ( though their publicist hates them all , manager included )

she’s not sure what will come next , but she does know she wants to keep making a platform to help others succeed while she remains behind the scenes . she starts the champion foundation , a non-profit that teaches young girls different business skills in order to encourage them to pursue their own positions of power . it’s one of her proudest accomplishments and she diverts lots of her free time to events for it

𝟎𝟎𝟑. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

caroline is forever putting the needs of others before herself . though she’s not a pushover by any means ( and can actually be rather frigid and aloof ) she’s constantly working herself to her brink without taking any time to herself 

very much a know it all and due to being quite large brained , she tends to be right . she moves at lightning speed and hates feeling unproductive . she reads at every meal and has replaced listening to music with usually listening to audiobooks . caro prides herself in being the most well - educated person in the room , as her appearance can lend to her not being taken seriously , and being the know - all , end - all can usually silence skeptics as soon as she opens her mouth

she’s incredibly composed and carries herself almost like a politician . never a hair out of place , never a crease in her outfit , never a smudge in her glasses . caro is obsessed with accomplishing exactly what her high expectations are set to and will stop at very little to ensure she gets there . she will often work herself into sleepless nights and insist a quick power nap and a green eye will be enough to prepare her for the next meeting she has 

people have joked that if she were american she should run for president and she doesnt disagree !

despite a persona of complete control , caro still struggles to let herself enjoy things due to her fear of failure and being seen only for her lineage . she never partied growing up and actually wouldn’t mind doing so , but fears that she never has a moment to let herself enjoy things because good things never last and she’ll only waste her own time

control freak who doesnt like distractions and is SO self - critical of herself , truly has never given herself credit in her LIFE just keeps wanting to work until she drops 

she’s scary but a hot , ‘ im the captain now ’ kind of scary sksks . she has a p high tolerance for people she has to impress but if she’s in charge ? she’ll hand ur ass to u w that lil accent and not a SINGLE hesitation and then turn around and smile so cutely for the cameras 

caro is INTENSE about her passions but feels herself readily closing off the moment things go wrong . she can’t handle attachment and figures it’s best to keep things at a safe distance rather than to risk the dangers of ruining things . 

inspired by the EVER iconic hermione granger ( who is one of her heroes ,) meredith grey , and maybe a bit of spencer hastings ?? prob also michaela from htgawm ! her vibe ( and music and accent ) are based off jorja smith so if u need to picture caro , put on an interview w miss smith , close ur eyes , and it’s caro luv :)

𝟎𝟎𝟒. 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐒 :

secret exes bc i DEF know she wouldnt be out letting her personal life become public ! this would have been TOUGH to get into caro’s inner circle so maybe this was a friendship first or someone she shouldnt have  been attracted to but she just was bc they balanced her out ? anyways PLEASE i beg that they ended and there’s angst

PUBLIC exes because i feel she would 100% be like ‘this would be mutually beneficial and my team agrees we dont even have to touch in public’ askskks i love a fake dating plot !

inner circle of one or two friends , just the few people she trusts and lowkey opens up to on tour ?

booty call — i would LAUGH if this is someone she is SO not supposed to be in bed with and she covers their mouth every time they meet and is like ‘please don’t fucking speak you’re so annoying’ but the chem is just too fire !

fashion buddies ! caro does a ton of modeling on the side to build her brand and i’d love if she knew ur muse from one of these campaigns and they were friendly !

ex friends , they used to be close until maybe your muse did something that freaked caro out and made her cut ur muse off for barely any reason ?

skinny love , i would LOVEEE if someone opened caro up and made her feel comfortable being herself for once , maybe takes her to parties or has sleepovers with her and they’re just soft and sweet but the slow burn HURTS bc theyre both in love with each other and unwilling to admit it ! extra points if they have drama behind why they cant actually date !

good influence — caro is 100% a fuckin’ mom friend but a SCARY mom so besides the band boys it would be funny to me if she was like ‘not u too’ when she has to pull up at 3 am to come get ur muse from a club bc theyre too faded to see straight and she lectures ur muse the whole way home before tucking them in and snuggling next to them to make sure they sleep ok

someone she hates but they keep donating to her foundation so she has to play nice 

[themadnessthatis]

So, Tomb Raider: Angel of Darkness...

Warning, this is going to be a long-ass post, mostly me rambling about how TR6 was a game with good concepts but shitty execution. Expect a bit of non-linear ranting.

I have some serious Opinions™ on this game, now having finished it (which was a quasi-Herculean feat in of itself from fighting against the game the whole time, but more on that in a bit).

When I first got this game, eyes full of wonder and amazement, I was like “aw yeah, a new Tomb Raider for a new generation of consoles!”. Having only played it for a bit my opinion quickly soured, and the game was never played after having fallen down a hole and dying in the Parisian sewers. All I said to myself at the time was “wow, this game is shit,never playing this again :| .”

Which I didn’t, until recently.

Fast forward a bit, and a friend of mine lends me her PC copies of Tomb Raider 2-through-6 (sadly no copy of TR1  :’[ ), which I sat down and played, all while eyeing up the box containing AoD with animosity. Boy did I regret saying I wouldn’t mind if she lent me that one as well.

But after going through the other games with various degrees of ease, from the “wow it’s over already?” of Chronicles to the “Will it never end?” of TR3 (which I personally rate as the worst of the “old school” Tomb Raiders. Just....fuck that game, the best part of it is the credits, but I digress.), we were left with just one more game; Angel of Darkness, sitting there, almost expectantly.

“Well, it’s been a while, maybe I was just bad at the game, and it’s actually alright?” I said as I set about installing it, ready to give the game the benefit of the doubt.

Well the fact that controller setup was a pain in the arse should’ve been a dead giveaway that something was up. Though is was nowhere near as infuriating as Chronicles, which required a fucking JoyToKey configuration to get it to work smoothly, otherwise jumps would result in Lara just careening off to the side every.fucking.time.)

Actually, when you first play AoD, the controls are really the first thing you’ll pick up on. I.E: they’re the worst. Really they’re the biggest flaw of this whole game, and if they weren’t as clunky and gods-awful as they are, AoD might’ve been a much better experience. Lara controls like a fucking Mark IV from 1917; turns, speed, everything. It’s such a jarring shift from the previous installments that it really takes some time getting used to, and could be a reall deal-breaker. Also Lara no longer runs like she used to, more like a slow jog, only gaining the ability to sprint later in the game (you know, the thing she could do at the very beginning of TR3, 4 and 5? Like she has to learn how to use her legs, after all of her previous escapades?!). Jumping also seems to have undergone some hideous transformation; from somewhat fluid sequences to an absolutely jerky mess of a mechanic, not helped by Lara needing some space to build up momentum (from walk to jog). Like the only time she handles almost smoothly is when she’s swimming (which thank fuck no longer has her getting stuck on the walls and floor like she did in previous games.).

When you’re not busy fighting against the controls and some of the early Capcom-esque fixed camera angles, you might be able to notice some of the changes to the TR formula, for better or for worse.

Perhaps the most noticeable is Lara’s equipment; gone are her iconic (not Ubisoft iconic, mind you) pistols with unlimited ammo. In their place Lara can collect a plethora of new pistols, including a very nice taser. Though this is moot when Lara eventually loses all of her acquired weapons, as she is wont to do if TR1, 2 and 3 are anything to go by. You also get the classic shotgun and two SMGs. Though tbh, and this might just be me, but don’t all of the weapons in this game feel like the do the same amount of damage?

One thing that was a nice touch was the inventory revamp. The ring-like setup from previous TRs is gone, and now each type of item (health, weapons and puzzle clues) have their own inventory sections, making it less of an eyesore than the cluttered messes of the previous game’s inventories. Speaking of health, the repertoire of healing items has been increased, with various items granting various degrees of health restoration, which is nice, no more wasting medikits (though i do not understand how a chocolate bar could heal a person, but whatever, video game logic, i guess.). The puzzle clues section does get kinda cluttered though, as Lara doesn’t seem to want to get rid of anything she picks up, even if she no longer needs it, so her pockets are basically just full of security cards and bits of paper until the end of the game like JESUS CHRIST ON A STICK JUST DUMP THAT SHIT IN A BIN, LARA!”.

On the subject of puzzles, it’s great that that is an element that has carried over to AoD nicely, unlike some of the more modern titles (looking at you, Tomb Raider 2013). The Hall of Seasons was a great example of this, and is very reminiscent of the St Francis’ Folly from the original games, what with its God-themed rooms. Granted that there were other “puzzles” that were a little too obvious, like “push table to find mixture to kill giant plant”. But overall,  the puzzle side of Tomb Raider is definitely there. Although, there are no secrets to find (but after TR3 and 4′s “And your reward is FLARES” bullshit, I’m okay with that).

So, what about the story? To be perfectly honest, it’s as about as normal as a Tomb Raider story line can be: Secret sect looking for paintings so they can resurrect an ancient race of human/angel hybrids that was destroyed back in biblical times except not all of them, and Lara gets involved b/c they killed Von Croy and she was framed for it... Look, it’s certainly not as far-fetched as “Italian mafia dude looking for magic Chinese knife that turns people into dragons instead of corpses when stabbed with it.” (Love you, TR2, but what even...), or whatever the hell was going on in TR3 with its magical ancient Polynesian artifacts and “rapid evolution”, but it’s out there.

Mechanics wise, there have been some changes that are quite nice in concept, but are failed by poor execution (a running theme for this game). The grip meter is a new thing, and is influenced by Lara’s upper body strength (like how her jumping/sprinting and door-kicking are affected by her lower body strength), like a sort of RPG attribute. These body strength factors are a nice tough and could’ve been a plus in a good game, but here the attributes are given out at arbitrary moments throughout the game and feel forced, like at one moment Lara must gain an upper body strength upgrade by just shunting a pile of boxes around for no real reason. When you couple this with the sluggish momentum-based “running”, it’s almost like the developers were trying to go for a more “realistic” feel but didn’t really know how to go about it.

There’s also a certain Bioware-esque dialogue tree that pops up from time to time in the game. While it’s a nice touch, the fact that there’s no real change to the outcome (bar 3 exceptions) kind of makes the interactions pointless.

Going past the mechanics, the game itself (at least on PC), is a glitchy, buggy mess that would crash for no reason. Textures are missing, walls vanish in some of Kurtis’ (a boring, bland secondary character we get to play as, and I’ll get to him in a second.) levels for no reason, not to mention that one level can be skipped entirely thanks to a bug where Lara just has to roll into a fucking wall. Also, not certain if it’s more an exploit than it is a bug, but it’s kinda of an anticlimax that the last two bosses can be cheesed by just commando-crawling under their projectiles. The greatest menaces to humanity, outdone by toddler maneuvers .

Now, onto Kurtis...Kurtis is a member of an organisation dedicated to stomping out evil, particularly sorcery and alchemy (thus pitting him against the big baddie, Eckhardt, who looks like he just got done trying to audition for the part of Auron from Final Fantasy). He’s supposed to come across as some sort of bad boy with magical powers, but honestly he’s a boring, ugly, fucking Broody McGravelvoice with no personality. You get to play as him for all of 3 (or was it 4?) levels, and boy oh boy, you will hat him throughout all of them. Somehow, and I didn’t know it was possible, somehow he controls WORSE than Lara. He moves like he’s got a broom up his arse and jumps like he’s on the fucking moon. His levels feel like they were  some De-mastered edition of Until Dawn, full of enemies that serve no purpose other than to drain you of resources, and are capped off with the worst boss fight ever, thanks to twitchy auto-aim and Kurtis’ shoddy controls. Like fucking Mark Williard at  the end of TR3 was more feasible than this cavalcade of bullshit. Also the first time he meets Lara in the Louvre, the cut-scene is just so unsettling and creepy, she should’ve just beat his arse into the tiled floor there and then. I seriously hope he’s dead.

And the ending... What a bloody disappointment; Lara wanders off into a dark passage after killing the bigger bad, and then...nothing. No credits, no “the end” screen, the game just shits you back onto the “Press Start” screen.

But in the end, after all was said and done, I think my opinion of AoD has shifted somewhat. I don’t hate it like I thought I did, I’m just, I dunno, disappointed...This game had so many good ideas that were handled so poorly, and it certainly wasn’t helped that, at least on the PC version, it was a glitch-fest and the controls were piss-poor. And as a final insult? Jiggle physics. I’m not fucking kidding like Core Design  couldn’t iron out the bugs and do something about the arse-backwards controls, but they gotta make sure dem jiggly titties are in there? -_-’ Fucking hell what a dumpster fire of a game. Like I want to like it but the fuck-headedness of it all just, just no. 

#rant #video games #gaming #tomb raider #tomb raider angel of darkness #tr6 #tr: aod #lara croft #idk i just #feel very conflicted about this game #opinions

[bestautochicago]

Microcar Mania at the Lane Motor Museum

It’s not hyperbole to call the Lane Motor Museum the world’s greatest collection of eccentric and oddball automobiles. Located in a warehouse district of southeastern Nashville inside what was once a Sunbeam Bread bakery, the Lane is delightfully free of glossy floors and garish automobilia. It’s a place where Tatras, Alpines, DKWs, and a cornucopia of other cars you’ve probably never heard of can shine.

We’ve come to this glorious celebration of automotive obscura to sample the museum’s extensive collection of microcars. As part of its annual media drive, the Lane graciously allowed us behind the wheel of some of its strangest, rarest, and most interesting pint-sized wonders. To be clear, we’re not talking about the contemporary Mini Cooper, Fiat 500, or Smart Fortwo here. These cars will redefine your idea of small.

Too Big to Fail: The LARC is very much operational. Jeff Lane will sometimes crank the four diesel engines over and crush a few derelict cars for visitors.

Despite the categorical implication of the term microcar, the segment is nebulous and hardly definitive. Although the vast majority of these tiny terrors are motivated by engines less than 1.0 liter in size, the Lane considers any small car with an engine checking in at 0.4 liters or so to be part of the microcar family.

Wee stature and microscopic engine displacement aren’t their only unconventional aspects. Some microcars even sport fewer than four wheels, thanks to some clever legislation. In Great Britain, three-wheelers aren’t considered cars at all; you need only a motorcycle license to operate them. In several European countries, vehicles that fall under the legal microcar definition—no heavier than 937 pounds, a 50cc engine with no more than roughly 5.4 horsepower, a top speed not exceeding 28 mph—do not require a license to operate, earning a reputation for attracting the elderly, the young, and in some cases, the serial drunken drivers with revoked licenses. These so-called voitures sans permis (cars without permit) are particularly popular in France, where an entire industry supplies these machines to city dwellers, penny pinchers, and barflies.

After almost dislocating a joint or two climbing inside, the P50 proved as gleeful to drive as it is to look at.

Not only were classic microcars cheap to buy, they were inherently thrifty to operate. Fuel, brake, and tire consumption were minimal, and the engines were usually two-stroke, one-cylinder thumpers ripped out of scooters or motorcycles. To manage what little power there is, you’ll find a potpourri of transmissions in microcars, including manual, sequential, continuously variable, and automatic.

My tiny-car tour began on the Lane museum’s grounds, where I snacked on a selection of cars too fragile, temperamental, or short-legged for the open road. These vehicular hors d’oeuvres began with a pair of bright red Peels, a brand that’s recently become the face of rising microcar popularity.

If The Guinness Book of World Records is to be believed, production cars don’t get smaller than the Peel P50. Born in 1962 on the Isle of Man, the Peel P50 sought to mobilize locals and get them out of the inclement weather on the cheap, offering motorized transport for just 199 British pounds sterling, the equivalent of $2,500 in today’s rates. This was not a lot of money for not a lot of car, but Peel claimed the goofy P50 offered enough interior space for “one adult and one shopping bag.” If you had to drag along a passenger, you upgraded to the bubble-topped Trident, offering a mildly (some might say wildly) uncomfortable space for two adults.

1980 Subaru Fastrack II

After almost dislocating a joint or two climbing inside, the P50 proved as gleeful to drive as it is to look at. As I buzzed around the complex, the brat-brat-brat-brat of the one-cylinder engine echoed off the brick walls, gassing the local urban Nashville wildlife with an azure plume of exhaust smoke. The Trident was next, entered by lifting its clamshell, bubble-top canopy. Aside from the scooter-esque racket, the Peel Trident was the most retrofuturistic experience I’ve ever had behind the wheel. Its plexiglass dome turns you into a rolling exhibition, allowing interaction with the local human population without having to leave the (relative) comfort of your bubble car.

Comfort is indeed relative when it comes to microcars, as I was reminded time and again throughout the day. Although I drove the Trident early in the morning while temperatures hovered around the 70-degree mark, within minutes I was a hard-breathing lump of sweat, overheated thanks to its glaring lack of ventilation and shade. After a failed U-turn, I found myself face to face with the museum’s gargantuan 1959 LARC-LX amphibious vehicle. Like the P50, the Trident has no reverse gear, necessitating a push from a friendly staff member of the museum. Had I been in the smaller P50, I could have climbed out and picked the car up by the rear end.

1956 Heinkel Kabine

Due in part to starring in an episode of “Top Gear” in 2007, the P50 and Trident have enjoyed increasing attention on the auction circuit. Collectors are snapping up original and recreation Peels for frightening sums, searching for a novelty vehicle to park in between their blue-chip classics. Given that only 27 of the original 50 still exist, real P50s are claiming more than six figures at auction. In 2016, RM Sotheby’s sold a P50 for a whopping $176,000.

Of the other microcars the Lane offered me to test drive, the 1959 Berkeley SE328 wore familiar sports-car proportions, albeit on a shrunken scale. As much as I loved its light, quick steering and eager handling, my 5-foot-11-inch frame was folded to full constriction, requiring Pilates to actuate anything in the pedal box.

Ligier JS4: It might have a Formula 1 pedigree, but the Ligier is about as fast as your average gas-powered golf cart.

I climbed into the 1978 SEAB Flipper for my next tiny wheel time. This unwieldy, upright sans permis was Societe d’Exploitation et d’Application des Brevet’s attempt at innovation, incorporating a rotating engine and drive assembly in place of a reverse gear. If you need to scooch backward, just keep turning the steering wheel until the wheels and engine have rotated 180 degrees. Reverse, unwind the wheel, and repeat as necessary. Just be careful you don’t turn the driveline too far, lest you shear the sleeve loaded with critical wires and tubes.

After sampling a few more not-quite-roadworthy vehicular oddballs, our photographer and I piled into a red 1956 Heinkel Kabine for a short caravan to the second drive location. At first glance, this appears as an elongated, off-brand BMW Isetta, especially given its hinged front portal. Jeff Lane, the owner, founder, and namesake of the museum, says the Heinkel is an upscale, comfortable alternative to the Isetta. He should know: Ten years ago, he drove one 1,200 miles on a round trip between Belgium and Italy.

1958 Vespa 400: With light steering, a dogleg three-speed transmission, and a scooter engine in the rear, the Vespa 400 was one of our favorites.

Aside from a tricky column-mounted shifter that wasn’t keen on third gear, the Heinkel is the first microcar that almost makes sense. Power is adequate for low-speed romps around town, and there’s plenty of storage space behind the front seat. We weren’t exactly comfortable, but my passenger wasn’t unduly broken after a 15-minute ride to Fairgrounds Speedway, the second-oldest continually operating oval track in the States. There awaited a larger group of slightly bigger, faster, and ostensibly better-built microcars, ready for exercise on the venue’s banked oval course.

I chose the Messerschmitt KR200, one of the most iconic and enduring microcars next to the Peel, for my first trip around the track. Built by the same engineers who designed and developed Messerschmitt aircraft, this two-seat fuselage packed a more potent Honda motorcycle engine, replacing its original 10-odd horsepower two-stroke, giving the Messerschmitt a worrying amount of straightline speed. The KR200’s front track width being greater than the rear makes canting the deliciously aeronautical two-prong steering “wheel” an exercise in bravery.

You’ll see all manner of automotive obscura at the Lane, including this 1945 Erickson Streamliner. Built in the garage of a local metalworker, it’s the only one in existence.

Back in the staging area, a drag race was being held between the Teilhol Simply and the Ligier JS4, two delightful little cubes that truly embrace the term “box on wheels.” Despite a more aerodynamic profile and featherweight plastic body, the Teilhol was left for dead by the rackety Ligier. The JS4 likely found extra motivation from the Ligier Formula 1 racing team signatures adorning its roof—one from each member of the team that used this particular box for runs down pit lane.

The banana yellow 1980 Subaru 360 FasTrack II was the best drive of the event, despite being critically impractical to the point of uselessness. The FasTrack was Subaru importer and auto industry megamind Malcom Bricklin’s way of ridding himself of excess Subaru 360 inventory, inviting interested parties to drive these fiberglass roadsters to destruction on a custom race circuit for $1. The FasTrack might ride on the bones of a humble 360, but a turbocharged engine, traditional manual transmission, and extremely lightweight body returned the most smiles of the day.

In reality, I had a smile on my face all day long. Despite their challenges, I found the Lane’s microcars to be a tiny slice of automotive history that proved to be big fun.

See for Yourself

If you want to get up close and personal with these cars, make sure to head to the Lane Motor Museum before May 21, when Microcar Mania will pack up. If you can’t make the deadline, there are still more than 150 cars to check out, including one of the largest collections of Tatras outside of the Czech Republic. Don’t forget to explore the side garage where the Lane stuffs its ambulances, industrial trucks, and oversized vehicles. Most importantly, don’t forget your camera.

Source: http://chicagoautohaus.com/microcar-mania-at-the-lane-motor-museum/

from Chicago Today https://chicagocarspot.wordpress.com/2017/12/20/microcar-mania-at-the-lane-motor-museum/

[jonathanbelloblog]

Microcar Mania at the Lane Motor Museum

It’s not hyperbole to call the Lane Motor Museum the world’s greatest collection of eccentric and oddball automobiles. Located in a warehouse district of southeastern Nashville inside what was once a Sunbeam Bread bakery, the Lane is delightfully free of glossy floors and garish automobilia. It’s a place where Tatras, Alpines, DKWs, and a cornucopia of other cars you’ve probably never heard of can shine.

We’ve come to this glorious celebration of automotive obscura to sample the museum’s extensive collection of microcars. As part of its annual media drive, the Lane graciously allowed us behind the wheel of some of its strangest, rarest, and most interesting pint-sized wonders. To be clear, we’re not talking about the contemporary Mini Cooper, Fiat 500, or Smart Fortwo here. These cars will redefine your idea of small.

Too Big to Fail: The LARC is very much operational. Jeff Lane will sometimes crank the four diesel engines over and crush a few derelict cars for visitors.

Despite the categorical implication of the term microcar, the segment is nebulous and hardly definitive. Although the vast majority of these tiny terrors are motivated by engines less than 1.0 liter in size, the Lane considers any small car with an engine checking in at 0.4 liters or so to be part of the microcar family.

Wee stature and microscopic engine displacement aren’t their only unconventional aspects. Some microcars even sport fewer than four wheels, thanks to some clever legislation. In Great Britain, three-wheelers aren’t considered cars at all; you need only a motorcycle license to operate them. In several European countries, vehicles that fall under the legal microcar definition—no heavier than 937 pounds, a 50cc engine with no more than roughly 5.4 horsepower, a top speed not exceeding 28 mph—do not require a license to operate, earning a reputation for attracting the elderly, the young, and in some cases, the serial drunken drivers with revoked licenses. These so-called voitures sans permis (cars without permit) are particularly popular in France, where an entire industry supplies these machines to city dwellers, penny pinchers, and barflies.

After almost dislocating a joint or two climbing inside, the P50 proved as gleeful to drive as it is to look at.

Not only were classic microcars cheap to buy, they were inherently thrifty to operate. Fuel, brake, and tire consumption were minimal, and the engines were usually two-stroke, one-cylinder thumpers ripped out of scooters or motorcycles. To manage what little power there is, you’ll find a potpourri of transmissions in microcars, including manual, sequential, continuously variable, and automatic.

My tiny-car tour began on the Lane museum’s grounds, where I snacked on a selection of cars too fragile, temperamental, or short-legged for the open road. These vehicular hors d’oeuvres began with a pair of bright red Peels, a brand that’s recently become the face of rising microcar popularity.

If The Guinness Book of World Records is to be believed, production cars don’t get smaller than the Peel P50. Born in 1962 on the Isle of Man, the Peel P50 sought to mobilize locals and get them out of the inclement weather on the cheap, offering motorized transport for just 199 British pounds sterling, the equivalent of $2,500 in today’s rates. This was not a lot of money for not a lot of car, but Peel claimed the goofy P50 offered enough interior space for “one adult and one shopping bag.” If you had to drag along a passenger, you upgraded to the bubble-topped Trident, offering a mildly (some might say wildly) uncomfortable space for two adults.

1980 Subaru Fastrack II

After almost dislocating a joint or two climbing inside, the P50 proved as gleeful to drive as it is to look at. As I buzzed around the complex, the brat-brat-brat-brat of the one-cylinder engine echoed off the brick walls, gassing the local urban Nashville wildlife with an azure plume of exhaust smoke. The Trident was next, entered by lifting its clamshell, bubble-top canopy. Aside from the scooter-esque racket, the Peel Trident was the most retrofuturistic experience I’ve ever had behind the wheel. Its plexiglass dome turns you into a rolling exhibition, allowing interaction with the local human population without having to leave the (relative) comfort of your bubble car.

Comfort is indeed relative when it comes to microcars, as I was reminded time and again throughout the day. Although I drove the Trident early in the morning while temperatures hovered around the 70-degree mark, within minutes I was a hard-breathing lump of sweat, overheated thanks to its glaring lack of ventilation and shade. After a failed U-turn, I found myself face to face with the museum’s gargantuan 1959 LARC-LX amphibious vehicle. Like the P50, the Trident has no reverse gear, necessitating a push from a friendly staff member of the museum. Had I been in the smaller P50, I could have climbed out and picked the car up by the rear end.

1956 Heinkel Kabine

Due in part to starring in an episode of “Top Gear” in 2007, the P50 and Trident have enjoyed increasing attention on the auction circuit. Collectors are snapping up original and recreation Peels for frightening sums, searching for a novelty vehicle to park in between their blue-chip classics. Given that only 27 of the original 50 still exist, real P50s are claiming more than six figures at auction. In 2016, RM Sotheby’s sold a P50 for a whopping $176,000.

Of the other microcars the Lane offered me to test drive, the 1959 Berkeley SE328 wore familiar sports-car proportions, albeit on a shrunken scale. As much as I loved its light, quick steering and eager handling, my 5-foot-11-inch frame was folded to full constriction, requiring Pilates to actuate anything in the pedal box.

Ligier JS4: It might have a Formula 1 pedigree, but the Ligier is about as fast as your average gas-powered golf cart.

I climbed into the 1978 SEAB Flipper for my next tiny wheel time. This unwieldy, upright sans permis was Societe d’Exploitation et d’Application des Brevet’s attempt at innovation, incorporating a rotating engine and drive assembly in place of a reverse gear. If you need to scooch backward, just keep turning the steering wheel until the wheels and engine have rotated 180 degrees. Reverse, unwind the wheel, and repeat as necessary. Just be careful you don’t turn the driveline too far, lest you shear the sleeve loaded with critical wires and tubes.

After sampling a few more not-quite-roadworthy vehicular oddballs, our photographer and I piled into a red 1956 Heinkel Kabine for a short caravan to the second drive location. At first glance, this appears as an elongated, off-brand BMW Isetta, especially given its hinged front portal. Jeff Lane, the owner, founder, and namesake of the museum, says the Heinkel is an upscale, comfortable alternative to the Isetta. He should know: Ten years ago, he drove one 1,200 miles on a round trip between Belgium and Italy.

1958 Vespa 400: With light steering, a dogleg three-speed transmission, and a scooter engine in the rear, the Vespa 400 was one of our favorites.

Aside from a tricky column-mounted shifter that wasn’t keen on third gear, the Heinkel is the first microcar that almost makes sense. Power is adequate for low-speed romps around town, and there’s plenty of storage space behind the front seat. We weren’t exactly comfortable, but my passenger wasn’t unduly broken after a 15-minute ride to Fairgrounds Speedway, the second-oldest continually operating oval track in the States. There awaited a larger group of slightly bigger, faster, and ostensibly better-built microcars, ready for exercise on the venue’s banked oval course.

I chose the Messerschmitt KR200, one of the most iconic and enduring microcars next to the Peel, for my first trip around the track. Built by the same engineers who designed and developed Messerschmitt aircraft, this two-seat fuselage packed a more potent Honda motorcycle engine, replacing its original 10-odd horsepower two-stroke, giving the Messerschmitt a worrying amount of straightline speed. The KR200’s front track width being greater than the rear makes canting the deliciously aeronautical two-prong steering “wheel” an exercise in bravery.

You’ll see all manner of automotive obscura at the Lane, including this 1945 Erickson Streamliner. Built in the garage of a local metalworker, it’s the only one in existence.

Back in the staging area, a drag race was being held between the Teilhol Simply and the Ligier JS4, two delightful little cubes that truly embrace the term “box on wheels.” Despite a more aerodynamic profile and featherweight plastic body, the Teilhol was left for dead by the rackety Ligier. The JS4 likely found extra motivation from the Ligier Formula 1 racing team signatures adorning its roof—one from each member of the team that used this particular box for runs down pit lane.

The banana yellow 1980 Subaru 360 FasTrack II was the best drive of the event, despite being critically impractical to the point of uselessness. The FasTrack was Subaru importer and auto industry megamind Malcom Bricklin’s way of ridding himself of excess Subaru 360 inventory, inviting interested parties to drive these fiberglass roadsters to destruction on a custom race circuit for $1. The FasTrack might ride on the bones of a humble 360, but a turbocharged engine, traditional manual transmission, and extremely lightweight body returned the most smiles of the day.

In reality, I had a smile on my face all day long. Despite their challenges, I found the Lane’s microcars to be a tiny slice of automotive history that proved to be big fun.

See for Yourself

If you want to get up close and personal with these cars, make sure to head to the Lane Motor Museum before May 21, when Microcar Mania will pack up. If you can’t make the deadline, there are still more than 150 cars to check out, including one of the largest collections of Tatras outside of the Czech Republic. Don’t forget to explore the side garage where the Lane stuffs its ambulances, industrial trucks, and oversized vehicles. Most importantly, don’t forget your camera.

IFTTT

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[eddiejpoplar]

Microcar Mania at the Lane Motor Museum

It’s not hyperbole to call the Lane Motor Museum the world’s greatest collection of eccentric and oddball automobiles. Located in a warehouse district of southeastern Nashville inside what was once a Sunbeam Bread bakery, the Lane is delightfully free of glossy floors and garish automobilia. It’s a place where Tatras, Alpines, DKWs, and a cornucopia of other cars you’ve probably never heard of can shine.

We’ve come to this glorious celebration of automotive obscura to sample the museum’s extensive collection of microcars. As part of its annual media drive, the Lane graciously allowed us behind the wheel of some of its strangest, rarest, and most interesting pint-sized wonders. To be clear, we’re not talking about the contemporary Mini Cooper, Fiat 500, or Smart Fortwo here. These cars will redefine your idea of small.

Too Big to Fail: The LARC is very much operational. Jeff Lane will sometimes crank the four diesel engines over and crush a few derelict cars for visitors.

Despite the categorical implication of the term microcar, the segment is nebulous and hardly definitive. Although the vast majority of these tiny terrors are motivated by engines less than 1.0 liter in size, the Lane considers any small car with an engine checking in at 0.4 liters or so to be part of the microcar family.

Wee stature and microscopic engine displacement aren’t their only unconventional aspects. Some microcars even sport fewer than four wheels, thanks to some clever legislation. In Great Britain, three-wheelers aren’t considered cars at all; you need only a motorcycle license to operate them. In several European countries, vehicles that fall under the legal microcar definition—no heavier than 937 pounds, a 50cc engine with no more than roughly 5.4 horsepower, a top speed not exceeding 28 mph—do not require a license to operate, earning a reputation for attracting the elderly, the young, and in some cases, the serial drunken drivers with revoked licenses. These so-called voitures sans permis (cars without permit) are particularly popular in France, where an entire industry supplies these machines to city dwellers, penny pinchers, and barflies.

After almost dislocating a joint or two climbing inside, the P50 proved as gleeful to drive as it is to look at.

Not only were classic microcars cheap to buy, they were inherently thrifty to operate. Fuel, brake, and tire consumption were minimal, and the engines were usually two-stroke, one-cylinder thumpers ripped out of scooters or motorcycles. To manage what little power there is, you’ll find a potpourri of transmissions in microcars, including manual, sequential, continuously variable, and automatic.

My tiny-car tour began on the Lane museum’s grounds, where I snacked on a selection of cars too fragile, temperamental, or short-legged for the open road. These vehicular hors d’oeuvres began with a pair of bright red Peels, a brand that’s recently become the face of rising microcar popularity.

If The Guinness Book of World Records is to be believed, production cars don’t get smaller than the Peel P50. Born in 1962 on the Isle of Man, the Peel P50 sought to mobilize locals and get them out of the inclement weather on the cheap, offering motorized transport for just 199 British pounds sterling, the equivalent of $2,500 in today’s rates. This was not a lot of money for not a lot of car, but Peel claimed the goofy P50 offered enough interior space for “one adult and one shopping bag.” If you had to drag along a passenger, you upgraded to the bubble-topped Trident, offering a mildly (some might say wildly) uncomfortable space for two adults.

1980 Subaru Fastrack II

After almost dislocating a joint or two climbing inside, the P50 proved as gleeful to drive as it is to look at. As I buzzed around the complex, the brat-brat-brat-brat of the one-cylinder engine echoed off the brick walls, gassing the local urban Nashville wildlife with an azure plume of exhaust smoke. The Trident was next, entered by lifting its clamshell, bubble-top canopy. Aside from the scooter-esque racket, the Peel Trident was the most retrofuturistic experience I’ve ever had behind the wheel. Its plexiglass dome turns you into a rolling exhibition, allowing interaction with the local human population without having to leave the (relative) comfort of your bubble car.

Comfort is indeed relative when it comes to microcars, as I was reminded time and again throughout the day. Although I drove the Trident early in the morning while temperatures hovered around the 70-degree mark, within minutes I was a hard-breathing lump of sweat, overheated thanks to its glaring lack of ventilation and shade. After a failed U-turn, I found myself face to face with the museum’s gargantuan 1959 LARC-LX amphibious vehicle. Like the P50, the Trident has no reverse gear, necessitating a push from a friendly staff member of the museum. Had I been in the smaller P50, I could have climbed out and picked the car up by the rear end.

1956 Heinkel Kabine

Due in part to starring in an episode of “Top Gear” in 2007, the P50 and Trident have enjoyed increasing attention on the auction circuit. Collectors are snapping up original and recreation Peels for frightening sums, searching for a novelty vehicle to park in between their blue-chip classics. Given that only 27 of the original 50 still exist, real P50s are claiming more than six figures at auction. In 2016, RM Sotheby’s sold a P50 for a whopping $176,000.

Of the other microcars the Lane offered me to test drive, the 1959 Berkeley SE328 wore familiar sports-car proportions, albeit on a shrunken scale. As much as I loved its light, quick steering and eager handling, my 5-foot-11-inch frame was folded to full constriction, requiring Pilates to actuate anything in the pedal box.

Ligier JS4: It might have a Formula 1 pedigree, but the Ligier is about as fast as your average gas-powered golf cart.

I climbed into the 1978 SEAB Flipper for my next tiny wheel time. This unwieldy, upright sans permis was Societe d’Exploitation et d’Application des Brevet’s attempt at innovation, incorporating a rotating engine and drive assembly in place of a reverse gear. If you need to scooch backward, just keep turning the steering wheel until the wheels and engine have rotated 180 degrees. Reverse, unwind the wheel, and repeat as necessary. Just be careful you don’t turn the driveline too far, lest you shear the sleeve loaded with critical wires and tubes.

After sampling a few more not-quite-roadworthy vehicular oddballs, our photographer and I piled into a red 1956 Heinkel Kabine for a short caravan to the second drive location. At first glance, this appears as an elongated, off-brand BMW Isetta, especially given its hinged front portal. Jeff Lane, the owner, founder, and namesake of the museum, says the Heinkel is an upscale, comfortable alternative to the Isetta. He should know: Ten years ago, he drove one 1,200 miles on a round trip between Belgium and Italy.

1958 Vespa 400: With light steering, a dogleg three-speed transmission, and a scooter engine in the rear, the Vespa 400 was one of our favorites.

Aside from a tricky column-mounted shifter that wasn’t keen on third gear, the Heinkel is the first microcar that almost makes sense. Power is adequate for low-speed romps around town, and there’s plenty of storage space behind the front seat. We weren’t exactly comfortable, but my passenger wasn’t unduly broken after a 15-minute ride to Fairgrounds Speedway, the second-oldest continually operating oval track in the States. There awaited a larger group of slightly bigger, faster, and ostensibly better-built microcars, ready for exercise on the venue’s banked oval course.

I chose the Messerschmitt KR200, one of the most iconic and enduring microcars next to the Peel, for my first trip around the track. Built by the same engineers who designed and developed Messerschmitt aircraft, this two-seat fuselage packed a more potent Honda motorcycle engine, replacing its original 10-odd horsepower two-stroke, giving the Messerschmitt a worrying amount of straightline speed. The KR200’s front track width being greater than the rear makes canting the deliciously aeronautical two-prong steering “wheel” an exercise in bravery.

You’ll see all manner of automotive obscura at the Lane, including this 1945 Erickson Streamliner. Built in the garage of a local metalworker, it’s the only one in existence.

Back in the staging area, a drag race was being held between the Teilhol Simply and the Ligier JS4, two delightful little cubes that truly embrace the term “box on wheels.” Despite a more aerodynamic profile and featherweight plastic body, the Teilhol was left for dead by the rackety Ligier. The JS4 likely found extra motivation from the Ligier Formula 1 racing team signatures adorning its roof—one from each member of the team that used this particular box for runs down pit lane.

The banana yellow 1980 Subaru 360 FasTrack II was the best drive of the event, despite being critically impractical to the point of uselessness. The FasTrack was Subaru importer and auto industry megamind Malcom Bricklin’s way of ridding himself of excess Subaru 360 inventory, inviting interested parties to drive these fiberglass roadsters to destruction on a custom race circuit for $1. The FasTrack might ride on the bones of a humble 360, but a turbocharged engine, traditional manual transmission, and extremely lightweight body returned the most smiles of the day.

In reality, I had a smile on my face all day long. Despite their challenges, I found the Lane’s microcars to be a tiny slice of automotive history that proved to be big fun.

See for Yourself

If you want to get up close and personal with these cars, make sure to head to the Lane Motor Museum before May 21, when Microcar Mania will pack up. If you can’t make the deadline, there are still more than 150 cars to check out, including one of the largest collections of Tatras outside of the Czech Republic. Don’t forget to explore the side garage where the Lane stuffs its ambulances, industrial trucks, and oversized vehicles. Most importantly, don’t forget your camera.

IFTTT

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