#and it immediately reminded me of Kitt

[knight-rider-fan-2000]

Something About "Autonomy" and all that

Summary: Kitt is programmed to follow Michael's every order. And on a calm day, Michael finally realizes this, and he can't put into words what it might mean.

4601 words

---

"Not this station again." Kitt lamented as Michael tweaked the radio dial.

"Oh, come on, pal, they're playing Cindy! You can't say no to Cindy."

"I certainly can." There was a smile in his voice as his modulator lights flashed- Michael knew him well enough to tell that.

The radio fizzed, and the bright vocals were replaced by the whine of violins. How Kitt even found this stuff was beyond Michael. 

"Geez. Turn the radio back, Kitt. Quit teasing-"

In an instant, the station changed back to the one Michael had selected. Kitt's voice modulator lights did not even flicker. He waited an extra second, five seconds, ten seconds for any sort of protest from the AI, but there was only silence. 

Well, not silence, but Michael couldn't hear the singer on the radio anymore. Not when he was listening for any other sort of sound in the cabin around him; the hum of fans, the activation of dashboard lights, the subtle moves and changes of the car. 

"Kitt?" He asked.

"Yes, Michael?"

"Why'd you change the radio back?"

"You told me to." 

"But you don't like my music."

"An astute observation, Michael."

"Then you didn't have to change it back."

"Of course I did. Don't be absurd."

Michael gripped the steering yoke tighter. "No, you didn't."

"Michael, really. Part of my annoyance with your music is merely comedic. Please don't be concerned about it. I can stop if you'd like."

"No!" Michael said louder. The word had slipped out, like a tire on an icy road. He took a breath and quieted his voice again. "No. I don't want you to do that."

"Then what would you like?" Kitt's tone was calm, but Michael knew it was an illusion- it was clinical, the kind of tone that he only used when speaking with authorities on the phone. 

"I don't want you changing yourself for me." 

Kitt's lights flickered, but he said nothing. 

"We clear?" Michael asked.

"Again, don't be absurd. I'm a learning computer. It's my purpose to modify myself to best support you."

"You don't serve me."

There was a garbled pitch preceding his next sentence- was that a laugh? "Of course I do." 

Michael couldn't speak.

"To further elaborate, both you and I have emphasized that ours is an equal partnership. In that way, you could argue that we are both serving each other- but do not get confused, Michael. I'm programmed to follow your orders."

"Turn the music off." Michael says, on instinct, only to have his breath catch in his throat as the song dies immediately. Instinct. Pure instinct. 

"Your heart rate is elevated. This is causing you distress." Kitt replies.

"You're my partner."

"I am also your car. Do cars not need drivers?"

"You don't."

"Actually, I do. Michael, it's not like you to doubt your importance to our mission. What is going on?"

He breathed, trying to calm his heart as well as the unnamed thing that felt like it was crawling around in his chest. It was something like dread. He didn't feel dread very often. Couldn't say he liked it very much. 

He started off slowly, giving time for his thoughts to solidify. It must have seemed like an eternity to the AI. "Kitt, every police officer knows what he's getting into when he signs up for the job."

"Understandably."

"You don't become a cop on accident. In fact, you don't do any sort of work as an accident."

"Surely people don't plan on working in drive throughs, do they?"

"They still have to fill out their application and hand over their resume." Michael snapped. "But people, people have got options."

"And?"

"Kitt. . . if you had the choice, would you be doing this line of work?"

"Of course!" Kitt raised his volume. "Michael, what has gotten into you? Of course I'd stay with you. This is what I was built for. I'd surely feel unfulfilled anywhere else. Could you imagine me trying to find other employment? Trying to be a taxi, or heaven forbid, a delivery driver? I shudder just thinking about it."

"But you don't have a choice."

"Why on Earth would I need one? I have you, Bonnie, Devon, the Foundation- I couldn't ask for a better set of circumstances."

"But you don't have a choice." Michael tried to inject even a fraction of the feeling within his chest into his voice, even if he knew Kitt couldn't figure it any more than he himself could. 

"I fail to see your-"

"What if I was a jerk to you, huh? I was a real jerk to you at first, don't you remember? What if I never got better? What if I left trash in your seats and never let you listen to your own music or-"

"Permission to interrupt?"

Michael's first instinct was to snap- he didn't like being interrupted. He'd already told Kitt that long ago. . . and Kitt had listened, hadn't he?

"Of course." He said.

"What you're proposing is irrelevant. That is purely a hypothetical scenario, not reflective of reality. A strawman argument." Kitt replied.

"Just consider it. If you had ended up with a sleazebag, how would you have gotten out of that?"

"I would have reported any behavioral infractions of this hypothetical version of yourself to Devon."

"And if he ignored them?"

"He wouldn't."

"But what if he did?"

"Michael," Kitt paused, something like a breath, "what you're arguing about is just semantics. Let's end this conversation, and let me take the wheel so that you can calm down."

"No. I want to keep driving."

It was in the silence that followed that Michael's grip on the steering yolk grew looser as he realized what he’d done. 

---

"Bonnie."

"Hmm?" The mechanic looked up from her book. 

"Kitt's programmed to follow my orders, right?"

"Of course. Has there been a problem?"

A problem, she asked. A problem with Kitt, as if it would somehow be his fault instead of-

"So he doesn't have a choice."

Bonnie closed her book. "Yes?"

Under her gaze, he struggled to organize the thoughts in his brain just the same as he struggled under Kitt's. "Is that right?"

"Michael, what's going on?"

"You and I both know that Kitt is more than just silicon and wires." That was a statement he could be confident of. "So is it right that he has no choice?"

"He needs to follow your orders. You're his driver." 

"Does he need a driver?"

"Are you arguing against your own employment?" Bonnie put her book on the end table and stood from her chair. "As much as I'd love to remove humans from the equation entirely, the technology isn't there yet. I can't give Kitt legs and hands yet, so I have to settle with you."

"I'm being serious!" Michael snapped.

"As was I!"

"Kitt's a person! People have rights, don't they?"

She looked him up and down. "Didn't take you for the philosophical type."

"I'm not being philosophical, I'm being a good person!" He spat. "If I'm holding Kitt here against his will-"

"Against his will? Michael, he likes you more than I do."

"Because he doesn't know that he could have other options. Because there's code in his head telling him to obey me even if he doesn't like it."

Bonnie opened her mouth, but didn't say anything. 

"So you're gonna remove that code." Michael continued.

"Hold on. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I know what I'm-"

"And we need to have this conversation with Kitt."

That much he could agree on. "He should be finished discussing data with Devon by now."

Bonnie grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. Michael led the way out of the drawing room of the mansion, tracing the fastest path back to the garage, a route so routine he could walk it blind. 

Kitt's glossy frame was parked in the same spot as always inside the garage- there was not even a tire mark out of place on the concrete. His scanner swooped back and forth at a pace equal to that of footsteps, before calming as he noticed Michael and Bonnie's entrance.

"Apologies. I wasn't expecting you."

"You done with Devon?" Michael asked.

"Yes. I just finished sending the last of my report."

"Good job." He replied instinctively. 

"Bonnie, you look upset. And Michael, I can't say you look much better. What is going on?" Kitt asked, sliding his scanner in their direction. 

"Michael got it up in his head that you don't want to be here." Bonnie said. "So we're going to-"

"I didn't say that!" Michael snapped.

"Oh. This again." Kitt lamented. 

"You've talked about this before?" Bonnie asked.

"He doesn't get it! None of you get it!" He gestured to them both. "Something's wrong."

"Alright," Bonnie crossed her arms, "tell us exactly what it is you have a problem with."

Michael paused. Yet again his brain was having trouble forming simple words. This was starting to get irritating- he'd thought faster under fire of actual bullets before, so what was tripping him up so badly?

Bonnie tapped her fingers against her arm. Kitt waited without a sound.

He went with something he'd brought up earlier. "Kitt doesn't have a choice."

"You're going to have to be more specific." Bonnie replied.

"I don't see how that fact is relevant." Kitt added.

"Kitt is forced to follow my orders-"

"By design." Bonnie replied.

"Bonnie, let him finish." Kitt said.

Michael gave a nod to him, breathed out whatever retort he had planned for her, and then started over. 

"Kitt is forced to follow my orders. . . and I'm not okay with that."

A small few pixels of Kitt's scanner lit up, but he paused, waiting for Bonnie. She, however, only stared at her arms. 

"Why are you not comfortable with our arrangement anymore?" Kitt asked.

"Because I didn't think about it when I really should have. You're my partner. My buddy. Pal, I consider you an equal." 

"I don't doubt that, Michael."

"Which means that you shouldn't be forced to follow my orders."

"It's not 'being forced'." Bonnie looked up. "It's how he's programmed."

"You stuck a rule in his head that he can't say no to me."

Kitt spoke. "Michael, that is a vast oversimplification and I still fail to see the issue. It's my purpose to follow your orders."

Michael looked Bonnie in the eye and gestured to Kitt's hood. "You don't see the problem here?"

She paused. "Michael, he's an AI-"

"Put him in a human body and he could walk and talk like the rest of us. Don't act like he couldn't."

"I strongly disagree." Kitt routed his voice through his interior speakers instead of his external ones, creating a sort of muffled effect not unlike that of a whisper.

The fact that Kitt had bothered to figure out a way to achieve that sort of effect at all was further evidence to prove Michael's point. 

Bonnie walked over and put her hand on Kitt's hood. "I see what you're getting at, but he's not a human. He needs his programming to function."

"I know that! It's not about that."

“Michael,” Kitt said, “do you know that I’m quite fond of our arrangement?”

“Because you don’t know any better. Because you can’t know any better, not with that rule in your head that says you can’t disagree with me.”

“I certainly can disagree with you! I’m doing so right now. Seriously, Michael, do you remember the countless times we’ve bickered or quarreled?”

“That’s not what I. . .”

“I do not simply agree with everything you say. Do you really think of me so lowly?”

“No. Of course not. But you’re still under the control of whatever I say, right? If I told you, right now, that I didn’t want you to like your music anymore, would you be forced to change your mind?”

“While that would be cruel and unusual punishment, I would do so.” Kitt replied, but before Michael could speak again, he continued, “because I trust your judgment.”

“I- thanks.” Michael said quietly. 

“And that’s the root of it. I give my suggestions, I disagree with your actions, yet at the end of the day, we all know that you have the ability to make decisions that I can’t even fathom that lead us to success. If I had a coin, as they say, for every time I failed to understand your reasoning, I’d have a significant sum of change. I can calculate the exact dollar value, if you’d like.”

“No need.” Bonnie covered her mouth to hide a giggle.

Michael wasn’t laughing. “I’m glad that you trust me that much. That still doesn’t change the fact that I have the power and you don’t.”

“Come here, Michael?”

Kitt opened his door. Michael walked over, ran his hand over the handle, before slipping into the driver’s seat. Before he could reach out and shut the door, Kitt did it for him. 

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Kitt’s lights flickered dimly. “I don’t want your ‘power’.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t make decisions like you. And frankly, I don’t want to. It sounds very stressful. I’m already managing a menagerie of functions. I do not intend to add decision-making to that list.”

“Of course you can follow my lead, pal. I’m not saying I don’t want you with me.”

“Then what are you implying?”

“Humans follow orders. But humans always have a choice to not follow an order they disagree with.”

“And that delay in decision time could cost you your life.” Kitt raised his volume.

“What do you mean?”

“Bonnie, could you explain something for me, please?”

Kitt opened his passenger door and Bonnie sat down.

“What’d I miss?” She asked.

“Can you explain what factors determine the length of my response time?”

“Sure. That’s easy, unless you really want me to dive into the specifics.”

“An overview would be more appropriate.”

“In any given scenario, Kitt has to consider all of the relevant data from his scanners. Where his body is in the world, what’s around him, and so on. Then he determines what’s needed of him, and how he can best operate to fulfill that need so long as it doesn’t defy his core programming to protect and uphold human life. 

“And if I’m not provided with a need to fulfill?” Kitt asked.

“Well, then you have to decide what to do, right?” Bonnie shrugged towards the dashboard. “And that is the tricky part. Most of the breakthroughs that we made with Kitt were towards his ability to figure out what to do in the absence of input. Think about it- there’s a million things that you or I could do at this given moment in time.”

“We have choices.”

“Exactly. But computers need to know what variables to calculate in order to function. Where Kitt is special is that he can determine his own instructions to operate by.”

“Okay, makes sense.”

“And it’s extremely intensive on his operating system to do. Driving is one thing- the rules of the road provide a good, defined set of decisions for him to choose from -but everything else is significantly more of a struggle. Right, Kitt?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Kitt said meekly.

“Frankly, when we first designed him, we never imagined that he’d do much more than be able to drive himself.”

“I resent that.” Kitt said, significantly louder.

“-Which means that he’s proven more successful than our wildest hopes.” Bonnie smiled and placed her hand on the dashboard.

“That’s interesting and all,” Michael said, “but what does this have to do with him following my orders?”

“Michael, if I had to stop and evaluate every alternative option to your commands whenever you gave them, my reaction time would be in minutes, not seconds.” Kitt replied. “Because I’m programmed to follow your orders, I don’t even have to think about it, and that saves me a significant amount of processing power and time that could be better used to keep you safe.”

Michael paused. 

“Therefore it’s to my benefit that I remain programmed the way that I am.” Kitt continued.

“I get it.” Michael said. “I really do. But that’s a lot of trust.”

“Is this new to you?”

“‘Course not.” Michael couldn’t help but laugh a little. “But it still doesn’t erase the fact that you’ve never had a choice otherwise.”

“I’ve tried to explain it to the best of my abilities. If you still don’t understand, perhaps you never will.” Kitt replied.

“No, I think you’re the one not understanding. You’ve been programmed this way since the day you came online, right?”

“Yeah, he has.” Bonnie replied.

“So not even for a day, not even for a second, you’ve never experienced otherwise.”

“I’m failing to understand what ‘otherwise’ might mean.” Kitt replied.

“Okay, how about this.” Michael sighed. “I want you to try having that programming removed for a little bit.”

“What? Michael, don’t be absurd. I refuse to go on a mission with you while my system is compromised-”

“Not on a mission. Just around here. Surely Devon can schedule us a day off to try this.”

“Still, it would be a significant modification, wouldn’t it?”

“Actually,” Bonnie said, “it wouldn’t be too difficult to disable.”

“It wouldn’t?” Kitt sounded aghast.

“From a technical standpoint. What I’m saying is that it is doable.”

“Kitt, I’m not trying to hurt you. But I want you to try this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important to me.”

There was only a second’s hesitation. “Alright. I trust you.”

—

It didn’t take Bonnie long to get Kitt plugged into her work station. Soon, the lines of code that made up Kitt, strands of everything that he was and maybe everything he ever would be scrolled up and down the screen according to Bonnie’s touch. Michael couldn’t read any of it, of course. The one book he’d tried to read on binary already didn’t make much sense and he knew that Kitt was vastly, vastly more complex than that.

Bonnie narrowed in on a specific line, typed in a command, and turned around. “That should be it.”

“What?” Michael asked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that?” Kitt asked simultaneously. 

“It should be. But we’d have to test it to confirm. Michael?”

“Kitt,” Micheal hesitated. “Open your door.”

Kitt opened his driver’s side door immediately.

“Hmm.” Bonnie turned back around.

“There’s no need, Bonnie.” Kitt said. “I’ve verified that the corresponding section of core programming has been nullified for the time being.”

“Then why did you open your door?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Michael stared into Kitt’s interior, stared at the flickering lights of his voice modulator. 

“Kitt, turn on my favorite radio station.”

“We’re out of range of that one, how about 98.6, Pop Central?”

“Turn it on.”

Kitt’s speakers activated and Madonna blared into the garage.

“Okay, stop, stop.” Michael waved. Kitt stopped as soon as the first hiss of an ‘s’ left his mouth. “Buddy, you’re supposed to try saying no to me.”

“But why would I?”

“Because you hate my music.”

“But it’s harmless.” Kitt retorted.

“But you didn’t have to turn it on.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Okay, this wasn’t working. Bonnie, who was now leaning up against her work station, only gave a shrug, before glancing towards the garage door.

Michael got an idea. “Kitt, back through the garage door, now.”

“Wha-” Kitt’s voice fizzled out. “Michael, that’s absurd.”

“Do it. Now.”

“That would cause property damage to the FLAG facility! There’s absolutely no source of danger anywhere near here, and therefore no justification-”

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Michael smiled. 

But instead of a witty comeback, or a snarky insult, or even a swoop of his scanner, Kitt grew deathly still. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Michael.” Kitt said quietly.

He walked closer. “What is it?”

“I don’t like this.” Kitt cracked his window and spoke from his interior speakers. Michael had to lean his ear close to the window to even hear it. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ever give me a false order again.”

“Huh?”

“Do not command me to do something that you do not intend me to do.” Kitt enunciated every consonant. 

“Kitt, that was just an-”

“I don’t like this. How much longer do you want Bonnie to disable the code?”

Michael put his hand on Kitt’s roof. “I was hoping to go out for a drive with you at least.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know you don’t, but I want you to feel what it’s-”

“No.”

Michael stopped. He felt a shudder pass through Kitt’s frame, and the hum of cooling fans leaked into the open air.

“I refuse.” Kitt said, quieter. “You have asked me to express my ability to refuse, and I’m doing so now. If an emergency were to occur when we were off FLAG premises, I want to operate at my full capacity.”

“But-” Michael stopped himself. “Okay.”

“. . . this is strange. I don’t like denying you like this.”

“I know you don’t.”

“You were worried that if I was given the choice, I would leave you.” Kitt continued.

“I’m not worried about that. Never was.” Michael lied. “I was more worried about forcing you to do things you didn’t want to do.”

“Sure,” said Kitt, “but since I sense that it’s important to you that I tell you this during this time: I want to continue being your partner. I want to serve you and follow your orders.”

Michael smiled. 

“And that while I don’t like your music, I will tolerate it because it makes you happy. While sometimes your decisions seem questionable, your judgment is sound, and you have yet to steer me wrong, both figuratively and literally.”

“Well!” Michael slapped Kitt’s roof. “That’s great to hear.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Kitt swooped his scanner once. “Imagine if I had ended up with a driver who didn’t care about my opinion. I certainly can’t.”

The reminder made Michael pause, but he recovered quickly enough. “Me neither, Kitt. Me neither.” 

“Now that this is settled, Bonnie, if you would?”

Bonnie turned back to her computer and began typing away. Kitt was silent until she turned around again and gave a thumbs up.

“There. That’s better.” Kitt said. “Michael, are you satisfied with our experiment?”

“Yeah.” Michael tapped his fingers against Kitt’s roof in whatever pattern he could think of, anything to distract him from the lingering traces. “I am. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Now get some rest!” Kitt opened the door and bumped Michael slightly. “You know it’s never long until our next mission.”

Michael walked to the exit to the garage, only turning around to give a salute to his trusty getaway car. “Yes sir!” 

—

He tried his damndest but he couldn’t follow Kitt’s orders. He sat up in his bed. The bed here at the Foundation mansion was more comfortable than most of the hotels he usually stayed in. Whether it was comfier than Kitt’s interior was up for debate. He rubbed his face with his hands.

On his nightstand was his commlink. Kitt felt comfortable enough here at the mansion to let him take it off at night. Yet its weight was missing from Michael’s wrist. Maybe he’d sleep better with it on, but he didn’t want to disturb Kitt from his own rest. Or. . . whatever it was that Kitt did at night while the world was asleep.

Michael sighed. He reached over and grabbed the commlink. Immediately the red light on it flashed. Kitt was awake and metaphorically looking his way, so he might as well let him get the full picture. He slipped the commlink on and tightened it against his wrist, ensuring that all the biological monitors were lined up how they were supposed to be.

The red light flickered, before growing solid. “Michael, what is it?”

“Hey Kitt. Can’t sleep.”

“It’s about me again, isn’t it?”

Right on the money, as always. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Here’s fine.” Michael gestured around his room. 

“I’ve done some reading on the subject to try and understand what is bothering you.” Kitt said. “So far I haven’t been able to understand much of it. I’m afraid I’m not the target audience.”

“Gosh, you aren’t reading the really old stuff, are you? That stuff’s all quacks.”

“You might not want to tell Devon that.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. “You haven’t told him about this, have you?”

“I have not.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“I. . . don’t think he’d understand.” 

“In all fairness, it appears I don’t either.” Kitt replied. “Do you want to try and explain it to me?”

“Trust me, pal, I’ve been trying to do that all day.” Michael laughed. “But I’ll try it again.”

“Take your time.” Kitt said gently. His light on the commlink gave a slow blink.

Michael closed his eyes. Rubbed his face again. Tried to think back to his days before he met Kitt. It was days like these that he felt out of touch with normal society- days where he was thinking about things that a normal person wouldn’t spend half a second on, things like “personhood” and “free will” and all that stuff. Bonnie was right. He wasn’t a philosopher. 

After a few minutes, he still couldn’t come up with anything that sounded reasonable. All he had was his own discomfort. Maybe that was it.

Michael tapped his commlink. “You still there?”

“Of course, Michael.”

“Maybe it’s like- maybe it’s that I would hate to be in your position.”

“You would?” Kitt was aghast.

“Now don’t take it the wrong way.” Michael wagged his finger as if Kitt could see him. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t imagine being forced to do whatever someone says, regardless of how much I trusted them. If someone had total control of my life, could override my movements, could even override how I think with just a few words. . . I’d be terrified, not going to lie to you.”

Kitt paused. “You would be.”

“I’d hate it.”

“It’s as you said: you could not imagine it.” Kitt stated. “Perhaps I’m beginning to understand your discomfort.”

“And the idea that I could be doing that to somebody else is. . .” Michael couldn’t think of a word.

“Equally terrifying?”

“Maybe.” 

“Michael, if it helps, I’m grateful you consider me to be your equal. But I’m not a human. You are. I think your idea of what is ‘terrifying’ might be very different from mine.” 

“But that’s the kicker- should it be?”

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be. Perhaps one day I’ll have a greater understanding of your fear. But until then, I will have to settle with making sure my opinion is heard.” Kitt injected some levity in his voice. 

“I’d appreciate that, pal.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you get some rest?”

“Unfortunately not. That’s between me and my dumb human body, I’m afraid.”

“There it is again!” Kitt exclaimed. “That difference between body and mind that seems to preoccupy a large portion of human philosophical thought on personhood.”

“Goodnight, Kitt.” Michael laughed.

“Goodnight, Michael.” Kitt lowered his volume again. 

Michael slid off the commlink and set it back on the nightstand. He pulled himself back under the covers and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t sleep, but the clenching feeling in his chest finally lifted.

[bellygunnr]

prompt: Bonnie treats Kitt3 right

Some discretion was taken with this. Mostly the ABS and such-- gotta assume that KITT and KI3T have the whole nightmare, even in the 80s. Bonnie isn't too flabbergasted by the tech because KITT is, as they say, the car of the future.

"KITT, turn your wheel all the way to the right, please."

KITT-- Three Thousand-- turns his wheel all the way to the right. Immediately, hands are all over his frame again, untangling the brake line from the wheel hub assembly. He uses a portion of his sophisticated sensory suite to watch Bonnie work, even as her face screws up in consternation, her most common expression since beginning maintenance.

And what maintenance it is! She's propped him up on jackstands and wooden blocks. It is a far cry from the gyroscopic, laser-equipped armory he's used to. It gives him time to reflect on what he considers normal. As it turns out, if a human is involved with his care, it is through a laptop.

But laptops do not exist here. And this time, his failure is... physical.

"You seem perturbed, Dr. Barstow," he says quietly.

Bonnie's face scrunches up. She fusses at the knot of sensors dangling from his front left wheel. With him unable to power down, it is a mess of data, all of it erroneous. But--

Not unwelcome.

"Not-- perturbed, KITT," she says, echoing him. "Just can't make heads or tails of what's going on here. Pretty sure it's not supposed to look like this, though. Is it?"

She brandishes some of the cables underneath his chassis. A curious location, but not useless. And it seems practiced, or at least embedded in muscle memory, as her shoulders drop several inches. Confusion is always so fascinating on humans. It's enough to soothe his irritation at his fouled eyes; the plastic sheathing has melted together.

"No, it is not. It appears I have melted the bulk of my wheel speed sensors on this side."

His fault. The 1974 Mustang II form he'd adopted had been, as Mike would say, slapped together. And consolidating all of his functions into such a tight package was, ah.

Not what he was designed to do.

Bonnie brushes her fingers across a piece of his subframe. It shouldn't feel like anything, but the nanoskin is more sensitive than usual like this. And it's a wholly novel experience. Humans do not touch him often.

It is... undeniably a positive impact.

Eventually, she pushes herself up to a standing position, silent.

KITT watches her raptly.

"Want me to see if any of, uh, KITT's parts will fit?" Bonnie asks finally. Once again, she seems 'put out', clearly trying to come up with a solution and finding none.

"I do not wish to impose. If my databanks are correct, replacement parts for my predecessor were... expensive. Nearly a quarter of the Foundation's budg--"

Her face goes gray. Wisely, he ceases speaking, because he likes her. If it'd been anyone else...

"Don't remind me. Jesus. Okay. Look, let me just see if they'll fit, okay?"

"Of course," KITT says. "I am not going anywhere."

Bonnie laughs and ducks out of the trailer. His analyzer reads it as 'slightly hysterical.' Perhaps the circumstances are painful for both of them.

[spyride]

“ let me see that. ”

RANDOM SENTENCE STARTERS ( NOT ACCEPTING. )

THE   BOND   BETWEEN   man   and   machine   was   the   phrase   that   so   often   confused   KITT   in   little   moments   like   these.   he   hadn't   given   his   condition   much   thought   once   back   at   headquarters   after   doing   a   self-diagnostic   and   making   sure   nothing   critical   was   damaged   after   taking   such   a   major   hit   during   a   chase   that   took   him   offline   for   a   few   hours.   however,   despite   looking   like   normal   car   in   park,   he   can   feel   the   FEATHER-LIGHT   touches   against   the   rather   unsightly   dent   on   his   front   fender.   a   bruise   to   his   ego,   no   doubt.   he   still   doesn't   acknowledge   the   touches,   a   moment   of   stubbornness   on   his   behalf   that   he'd   apologize   for   later.   when   the   fingertips   still   against   his   WOUND   so   to   speak,   he   inwardly   groans...because   he   knows   what   is   coming   next.   the   moment   bonnie's   soft   yet   concerned   mother-henning   voice   calls   out   to   actually   see   the   damage   done,   his   scanner   immediately   whirrs   to   life,   the   devil's   red   painting   the   dark   hangar   a   blood   red   before   his   headlights   lift   to   shine   bright   like   an   angel   glows.   ❝   i   am   quite   all   right,   bonnie.   it   looks   worse   than   it..FEELS.   ❞   he   says   heavily,   as   if   even   saying   such   a   thing   conflicts   him.   she   always   responded   to   his   physical   damages   as   if   he   was   a   human   injured   in   combat.   as   if   he   still   suffered   in   recovery   much   like   a   human.   usually,   he'd   REMIND   HER   ...   this   time,   he   INDULGES   HER.   just   this   once,   he   wouldn't   treat   her   humility   towards   him   like   he   was   programmed   to   do.   driver   side   door   opens,   a   quiet   invitation   for   her   to   stay   with   him   longer.   maybe   humans   should   explore   the   mystical   bond   between   WOMAN   AND   MACHINE.

[amplesalty]

Halloween 2024 - Day 2 - Dead 7 (2016)

The best supergroup since The Traveling Wilburys...

Apologies for the immediate tangent but for once this is a fresh addition to 'the list' so I can actually document how it came to be there. Just the other day Butterfly by Crazy Town came up on my playlist and I was reminded how their lead singer, Shifty Shellshock (…okay), passed away earlier this year. It was on his Wikipedia that I learned that he has a very brief filmography of this film, Willowbee and 1994's Clifford.

Which incidentally is potentially one of my favourite movie posters of all time based purely on Charles Grodin's expression. This movie by the way isn't about a big red dog, Grodin only makes dog movies about St. Bernards.

And it was on the entry for today's film that I proceeded to sit in shock and awe at the text that in front of me. A post-apocalyptic zombie horror western movie written and starring Nick Carter, yes that Nick Carter, and produced by The Asylum. That alone would have me interested but wait, there's more. Nick is joined by a veritable supergroup of 90's boy band alumni with entrants from Backstreet Boys, NSYNCH, 98 Degrees, O-Town and All-4-One…oh my! Given The Asylum's reputation of being a mockbuster studio, this film very much smacks of The Magnificent Seven mixed with The Walking Dead, though they're about 6 years late to the party on that Walking Dead part. Releasing within a week or so of the original with a near enough exact same name is more their style.

In the post apocalytic world, a witch doctor priestess type woman named Apocalypta threatens to raise a zombie army to overthrow what little of humanity remains so that she can take over the world (of course!). It's up to a rag tag crew of miscriants from Desert Springs to fight back and save humanity, which is where our Magnificent Seven comes up.

Jeff Timmons (98 Degrees) as Billy Sullivan, generic hero man

Carrie Keagan (not musically inclined) as Daisy Jane, generic hero man's girlfriend with the big knockers to keep male viewer's interested

Nick Carter (Backstreet Boys) as Jack Sullivan, Rick Grimes lite

Joey Fatone (NSYNC) as Whiskey Joe, the only actual decent character by way of him being the fun drunk

Howie Dorough (Backstreet Boys) as Vaquero, the Hispanic one who picked the sniper class and instantly regretted it since I don't think there is ever a need for a sniper at any point in this movie so all of his shots are from like 2 feet away as the shuffling zombie horde ambles toward him

Erik-Michael Estrada (O-Town) as Komodo, the one that picked the Samurai class and spends an inordinate amount of time slashing zombies because he wants to show off how he maxed out the sword skill

Lauren Kitt-Carter (also not muscially inclined or pictured) as Sirene, generic Native 'tracker' type who mains a Shotel for some reason and is also apparently a nepo hire given she's married to Nick Carter

Debra Wilson (not musically inclined but apparently shoot bald) as Apoclypta makes up for the fact that the character is very one note and essentially just thrust at you as the big bad without any explination or reason. She spends half the time just screaming and pulling over the top faces so I can appreciate that at least.

Her minion, Johnny Vermillion (AJ McLean of Backstreet Boys) is a more convincing villain than her and he actually manages to off various major and minor characters. Plus he gets to run around in clown makeup and a bowler hat whilst he does it so points for that.

A special shoutout has to go to Jon Secada (solo artist) as well purely for his magnificent sideburns.

I say the setting and story isn't explained, it may well have been in the little intro sequence but I was far too busy suffering from a major headache at the editing job they did on that. There's so many fast edits and weird effects and the thing constantly shifts between various harsh color filters that it pained me to actually watch. Possibly they were going for a graphic novel type thing to tie into the Walking Dead thing?

And don't get me start on the transitions between scenes. So many establishing sweeping shots of the goddamned mountains and valleys. Don't ever use this as a drinking game, your liver would be destroyed within minutes.

Going through the introductions of all these various characters is kind of fun, going through the whole 'getting the band together' motions. The ending as well has it's moments as it's building to a crescendo with various characters laying down their life for the greater good but the middle third of the movie feels a bit plodding as the group makes it's way towards Apocalypta.

Fatone, Wilson and McLean go a long way to saving this movie as they're the one ones that seem to be having some fun with it. Everyone else is taking it far too seriously which I don't feel they have any right to given the circumstances, a movie starring this many boy band stars has no serious artistic merits. To say he's given top billing, Carter is particuarlly bland and monotone throughout but he is still miles ahead of Chris Kirkpatrick (*NSYNC), though we're at least spared him for the majority of the movie given he only has about 3 scenes.

All things considered, I have to give this movie some praise for just about living up to my lofty expectations of it to fulfill the bollocks-o-meter. By no measure it is a good movie (what else were you expecting?) given the edits that drove me crazy at times, the mediocre acting, generic story and just general vibe that only comes with these kind of movies. But some of the characters are engaging, it has some satisfying gore and there's no denying it's an absolute curiosity piece to see the cast of a VH1 type 'Boy Bands Forever' show suddenly whisked away to film a feature length zombie movie. The theme song kinda slaps too.

[yakumtsaki]

We’re backoix but without Wyatt for the first time since 2017💔 Jojo is fucking devastated and goes on an autonomous home maintenance spree but keeps stopping to cry:

-OH WYATT, HE LOVED TO SLEEP IN THIS BED

-OH WYATT, HE LOVED TO SNOOZE ON THE LAWN

Ugh my poor Jojo, I know what will cheer you up, why don’t we go wait for the wolf? 

-OH WYATT, HE LOVED TO NAP IN THIS TENT

-Hey Shaj. -Hi grandma, how are you? -I’m sharing the mausoleum with Wyatt now, so not great. What’s going on here? -Literally nothing, even Cyneswith hasn’t had a new lover for like a week.

-Who needs lovers when I have my Dobrie?💗 

I can’t stress enough how ridic this relationship is, Dobronega hates absolutely everyone including her own kittens. The fuck, Cyn, are you using the voodoo doll on the pets now?

-Of course not, I’d never override an animals free will!🌸

Right, what are they, men who refuse to immediately fall in love with you? 

-Exactly!💗

Time for our mandatory ‘a new day starts’ ritual.

-Ok everyone, let’s knock this one out cause I have to get ready for work. Cyn how could you?? -Oh Donnie I’m so sorry!🌸 -𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙾𝙽𝙴, 𝙶𝚄𝚈𝚂, 𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙾𝚆.

The kitts grew up! This is Scorpion, under him is Ermac, on the right is Mileena, and under her Kitana, who is the chonkiest one and thus the automatic heir! I’m gonna send the other 3 to live with Angel and Wulf while Sophie is at work because she throws Komei-tier tantrums whenever a pet leaves.

So Sandy is a romance sim, which I keep forgetting, and is like 1 second away from aspiration failure, so it’s time for a blind date. I spend the max amount and we get GILBERT JACQUET?? LMAO. Do you guys feel like he’s open-minded enough to date a zomb? They have 3 bolts tho, his turn-ons are black hair/green eyes so I guess that was enough to overcome the rotting part?? 

This is going great?? Honestly wtf. Gilbert tell me the truth, does she remind you of your mother?

What’s up Sophito, how was school?

-What the hell is this?! 

I’m sure you already know what it is since you went out of your way to cockblock, but this is Sandy on a date. 

-Well stop it, I don’t like it! 

Ya despite what Sophie has told you, the world doesn’t revolve around Sophito Union’s wishes.

-My world does!

Guess who got fired on his second day!

-𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝚄𝙶𝙰𝚁; 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙴. -WAAAAAH 

-OH, WYATT, OH CRUEL FATE

-FUCK YOU AND YOUR ONE CHANCE AT HAPPINESS, SANDY

Ya ok I’ve had enough of this house-

-let’s gtfo, Cyn! It’s hoeing time. 

-When isn’t it!💗

Huhu!🌸

-Huhu!💗

Man this place is DEAD. Where tf is everyone?

-They’re on the terrace, dumbass.

Ok that’s a lot of lip from you, bandana-bowtie. To the terrace! 

OMG IT’S CORNROW DOWNTOWNIE. The top townies I wanna marry in genetics-wise is this guy and Hot Downtownie that Shaj brought from work the other day. I zoom out all happy to have Cyn go talk to him and what do I see??

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, JACK DO

-OVER MY DEAD BODY IS CYNESWITH CHEATING ON ME IN THIS RESTAURANT WHERE MY OPPRESSIVE MOTHER IS THE MAITRE D’!!!

OH FFS

We relocate to this weird hot tub club where thankfully none of our existing lovers are. 

-Oooh, Neon Vest Downtownie is hot!💗   -Fuck me, here comes the voodoo doll. 

-SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND, VESTIE!!!🌸

Hehehe, ok Cyn let’s knock this one out on location because we’ve really fallen behind!

-Ya so I’ve been increasingly concerned about nuclear weapons- 

-WILL YOU TWO GET A ROOM FOR YOUR POLITICAL DISCUSSION? WE’RE TRYING TO HAVE PUBLIC SEX HERE

Kaching!!! Man that was quick, thank you, Neon Vest Downtownie!

You don’t walk from the table when you’re on a roll, so we move on to this guy, who I thought was Komei’s old enemy Shea Johnston, but is actually a ginger version of him.  

-Didn’t you use to steal my grandpa’s garden gnome?💗 -Oh no, that was my evil twin brother! I’m the nice one!   -Aww, we have so much in common, I’m the nice one with an meanie sister too!🌸

-Now let me just channel the ancient evil of voodoo to manipulate your consciousness!💗

-Oh, Ginger Shea Johnston, let’s take this upstairs to the hot tub, it’s more public!🌸

Bro I love Cyn so fucking much, on her way upstairs to the hot tubs with GSJ she stops to flirt with the Count, LOL

-Hiiii, didn’t you use to sleep with my grandma?💗 -I sure did! -Seems like a good family tradition, huhu!🌸

-Oh Cyneswith, today is the best day of my life! -It better be, my daddy worked really hard for that voodoo doll!💗

Never stood a chance, against us, GSJ!

-Hey girl, if you ever get tired of these warm meatbags you know where to find me!🧛

Ya Count, we actually DON’T know where to find you, that was also our big problem when Victoria wanted to bang you.  

-Oh, I live in the animal sanctuary! Bat section.🧛 

You don’t have an ancestral castle on top of a misty hill? What kind of flop vampire even are you??

-You know what the rent for ancestral castles is these days??🧛

Good Lord, get out of here Count Bumula, you’re ruining our night. Time to return home, Cyn, great job! 

I was hoping Sophito would outgrow this Sandy bullshit on his own but clearly I have my work cut out for me.

-Look Sandy, another A+++! Much better than some stupid momma’s boy baker, right??

You of all people wanna talk about mommy issues, really? Go do your goddamn homework.

Valentina becomes an elder during her favorite activity: shitting on our flowers.

-You better put those dream date ones away, too tempting!

Val, let me just say, and I truly mean this, you are a literal monstrosity.  

Cyn rolls that ‘woohoo with a service sim’ want, so goodbye Kaylynn, it’s Remington time.

-So let me get this straight, you’re firing me because, and I quote, ‘You’re really sorry but you want a guy maid to raw you, huhu🌸’? -Exactly, huhu!💗 -You’ll be hearing from the labor department. 

-Oh hiii Lucy, welcome, now get out!🌸    

-OMG OMG HI I’M CYNESWITH💗 -Well hello, I’m Remington Harris and I’m a true professional as you can surely tell by my aggressive decolletage.  -Oh Remi, you’re a godsent, I’ve been so lonely in this house with only one available choice to cheat on my husband with!🌸 -Uh, what’s that now?

-Don’t worry about it!💗

Ah, the glory of love! Cyn do you think that having both iVan and Remington in the house everyday might not be like, a super good idea?

-Of course not, what could possibly happen, huhu?🌸

Well iVan already tried killing you once?

-Oh, he didn’t mean that, it was on oopsie!💗

Credit where it’s due, this is one aesthetic af affair-

-I MEAN!

-GODDAMMIT, MOTHER, DOES YOUR DEGENERACY KNOW NO END??

Sugar you little oedipal freak, did you seriously run out in the rain in your pjs just so you could do this? Even your father doesn’t give a fuck anymore! 

Finally, God decided to put an end to this house of sin.

-WHAT THE FUCK KID, STOP PUSHING ME INTO THE FIRE -SORRY, HOT DOWNTOWNIE, I WAS TRYING TO PUSH MY MOTHER

Finally the rain stops and it’s time for Cymi (Cyn + Remi, cute, right?) to defile Jojo’s wolfwatching tent. The very place where Wyatt napped??? Cyn, come on!

-It’s what daddy would have wanted, he was always supportive of my romantic endeavors!🌸

Ya I guess that’s true, ugh I miss Wyatt :(

Real talk, Jojo has been the saddest I’ve ever seen a sim be over a spouse’s death, like non-stop crying for days. I did get very emo just by seeing him sleep alone, but then he gets up and does something that freaked me out so much I straight up shut the game down..

..HE AUTONOMOUSLY GOES TO LOOK @ WYATT’S PORTRAIT. I swear I’m not making this shit up, at first I thought he was interacting with the urn, but then I check his action panel and it’s the ‘view’ thing @ the portrait!!! 

These aren’t ‘real’ portraits taken with the portrait mechanic (which I don’t know if even with those ones sims know whose portrait is whose), they’re screenshots I put into the custom painting folder which I then have the sims paint, so there’s no way game-wise that Jojo would know this is depicting Wyatt. I’m also 100% certain I’ve never had another sim in the family autonomously go view a death portrait, because I would have definitely taken a pic and included it in a post. Point is, bro I was already convinced Jojo was sentient and was equal parts freaked and moved..  

..and then he goes to Shajar’s portrait..

..AND DOES THIS. H E L P

[fleetwood-mac-andcheese]

My thoughts while watching Holes for the billionth time

It’s fucked up that the movie starts with all the supporting characters watching their friend attempt suicide

How long was Stanley’s trial and how short was Zero’s trial? Because we know that Zero got arrested the day after Stanley did, but he arrived at Camp Greenlake significantly earlier. Like, he knew Barfbag, he already had a nickname, people knew he liked to dig. How long was he there before Stanley showed up?

In the book when they sing the song, they howl on the word moon (it’s written “moo-oo-oon”) and I wish they did that in the movie

The Yelnatses screwed Stanley over by not getting him a lawyer. The little bits we see of his case prove they had no clue what they were doing. And when they eventually do get a lawyer, he’s let out almost immediately.

I love how Dr. Pendanski is written. He’s such a terrible person who has convinced himself and is trying to convince those around him that he is the nicest guy around. He fucking sucks and I love how he’s written and how Tim Blake Nelson plays him.

“Today’s menu: Chili, string beans, re-fried beans, garbanzo beans, green beans, and banana jello” — aren’t green beans and string beans the same thing?

The cinematic choices made in this movie are just *chef’s kiss*. The way they jump from timeline to timeline without ever losing pace is masterful

Eartha Kitt is flawless.

While Eartha Kitt is flawless, I want it noted that in the book, Madame Zeroni is described as a one legged Romani person (Sachar actually used the G slur) and Eartha Kitt is neither one-legged nor Romani.

Zero is the fastest digger in the camp, but they never really explain how big the camp is. Like, is he the fastest out of 25 people? 60 people, 140 people?

Just to revisit point 8, I fucking love Eartha Kitt

The yellow spotted lizards are such an excellent plot device

All the inmates are either A) mentally ill B) people of color or C) severely traumatized. But most of them are D) all of the above

When Squid throws out Stanley’s letter, catch Zero in the background with a pool cue ready to beat the shit out of that motherfucker

It’s weird that they show Sam as some kind of snake oil salesman when we know that his product actually works. The yellow spotted lizards won’t bite you if you’ve eaten his onions. Why claim they cure baldness or that Mary Lou is over 100 years old?

Zero back at it again ready to throw hands for Stanley, this time with a billiards ball

The fact that magnet got locked up for stealing a thousand dollar puppy

“You are here on account of one person. You know who that person is?” “Yeah, my no good, dirty rotten, pig-stealing, great great grandfather. That’s who it is”

Henry Winker provides such comedic levity

When Zero asks Stanley to teach him how to read and it’s such a nice moment of vulnerability, only to be shot down by Stanley. I just want to cry

What happens if someone actually dies at Camp Greenlake? Like, Zero and Stanley ran away and Barfbag got sent to the hospital, but they all survived. What would the protocol be if someone just dies while digging? Clearly there’s not a lot of oversight because Stanley can get away with Zero digging his hole, so what happens when one of those kids get overheated working all day in the Texas sun and just collapses in their hole one day and nobody thinks to check on them until the next day when the buzzards are all gathered around their corpse?

I’ve waited long enough to say this. Sigourney Weaver in this movie is one of the best performances I’ve ever seen. I fucking love her

Sam and Katherine. nuff said

“Well then I guess you’d be in a lot of trouble if your boat leaked.” *sobs*

Just casually reciting Edgar Allen Poe from memory as a way of professing my love to a woman I legally cannot be with due to racist laws forbidding interracial relationships.

I can’t help but remember that Scott Plank died during the post production of this movie. Respect to him and his ability to play such a good villain as Trout Walker

“No one ever says no to Trout Walker.” “I believe I just did.” SAY IT LOUDER, KATE!

Sam

I love that Kate’s MO came from a racist sheriff sexually harassing her

The sunflower seed thing reminds me of something that happened to me at RTC and it’s just a really nice moment for me

Stanley acting so casual by not doing the one thing he’s supposed to be doing

The look on Magnet’s face right before Stanley covers for him

I really want to know more about the Warden and Mr. Sir’s relationship

I also really want a bottle of that rattlesnake nail polish, but maybe that’s just me

I also really like that Sachar didn’t shy away from the racial implications of a white guy having a black guy do his labor for him. Then again, the whole story is an indictment of racism and the American prison system, so it makes sense he wouldn’t ignore that

The way Stanley gets so excited when Zero mentions that park. Like ‘oh, we have something in common. We used to go to the same park!’ and Zero just shuts it down with “I used to sleep in the tunnel next to the swing and bridge” Stanley may have been cursed, but he still had a home

Zero finally gets to throw hands on Stanley’s behalf. He’s been waiting to do that since point 14

Pendanski really is the shittiest

“No one cares about Hector Zeroni” “I do”

I love that Twitch was just instantly ready to help Stanley steal Mr. Sir’s car

What are the chances of Kate, Zero, and Stanley all finding Sam’s boat in the middle of the desert? And I know Kate probably spent years looking for it after the lake dried up and for Zero and Stanley it was destiny, but still

Zero, you gotta ration that sploosh

One more time for emphasis: I love Eartha Kitt

Kate dying and she hallucinates Sam, only to be snapped out of it by Trout Walker. Just Trout stopping them from being together one last time

“It hasn’t rained here since the day they killed Sam” and you think whatever deity made that happen is gonna let anyone in the Walker family end up with Kate Barlow’s fortune?

“I can’t leave without Hector.”

“Call my mom. Tell her I said I was sorry. Tell her Theodore said he was sorry” cue Small Steps

Justice reigns over the Walker family and rain falls over the Walker estate

I would love for someone to find out just how much that treasure chest was really worth. Can one of those theorist channels get on that, please?

Hector finding his mom is nothing short of heart-melting. I’m not crying, you’re crying

“Camp Greenlake was closed and the boys were released on time served and sent to real counselors” Wait, are you implying that forced labor is an unjust prison sentence? Someone better tell the prison industrial complex!

So what happened with Sweet Feet? Did they sit him down and explain the misunderstanding before or after signing him as the spokesperson for their product? He was the prosecution’s lead witness at Stanley’s trial, but nope! All is forgiven!

The soundtrack slaps

Point 53, however you have Shia Labeouf and Eartha Kitt in the same movie and you put which one of them on the soundtrack? Just wondering who made that call. Like, you layer ‘I Want To Be Evil’ or ‘Burned As A Witch’ over any of Kissing Kate Barlow’s scenes, it’d be perfect. But no, instead we get the dude from Even Stevens trying to rap.

[ana-benn]

Bestest of Friends

This is purely self indulgent fluff. Sue me.

----------------------------------------------------------

It was childish, but you didn't really care about that so much. Your boyfriend had three days home. Three. Before getting on a plane and heading off to Tampa... Or was it Carolina? During the hockey season you tended to lose track of where we was and when.

So one might think when he was home you'd get some quality time in, right? Nope. You'd woken up, thinking he'd still be sleeping, prepared to make a big breakfast and spend the day together. Unfortunately he'd already left to go to the gym. With Tyler. Then, hoping to go grab lunch together you get a text saying he and Tyler were going to grab lunch before practice. Fine whatever it is what it is.

Now though? Now he's upstairs getting ready because he wants to go have dinner at Tyler's, which you normally wouldn't mind, but you had so little time right now you just wanted to decompress with the man you loved! On the other hand he was only home for three days, and you didn't want to spend that time fighting either.

So, you'd settled for pouting while cleaning up the kitchen. You'd thrown on leggings and a nicer top, nothing too crazy, but Jamie needed to shower beforehand since he'd been working out. So while he was otherwise distracted you worked on cleaning your frustrations, so you wouldn't be a pill at dinner.

"You about ready?" Jamie asked walking into the kitchen freshly showered. He'd gone super casual as well.

"Yep," you replied, still not totally over your frustrations but wanting a decent night. Jamie quirked an eyebrow before leading the way to the garage. You stopped and grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack on your way out, your grandma's advice ringing in your ears.

"A good host never asks for anything, an even better guest always brings wine," she'd grin in her way and laugh.

You smiled at the memory, before sliding in beside Jamie.

The quick drive to Tyler's was mostly quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just you trying to put on your 'everything is fine' face. Meanwhile Jamie tried to figure out why you needed to pretend you were okay.

You had to grit your teeth when you walked in, and Tyler immediately whisked your boyfriend off to show him some new toy. You knelt down and scratched Cash's ears, and before you knew it you had labs surrounding you. You smiled genuinely as you lavished the boys in scratches and loves. It was almost impossible to be unhappy at the Seguin house with the dogs.

----------------------------------------------------------

It was possible to feel lonely though. You and Jamie were sitting together, while Tyler say across from you and you felt completely left out. It wasn't that you weren't welcome in the conversation, just that they wanted to talk strategy and upcoming games. You'd rather be at home laying out post season plans with Jamie. the two conversations didn't even talk to one another honestly.

Finally the conversation rolled around to the post season, "So you guys are going to come up to Toronto this summer right?" Tyler aksed.

"Sure why not," Jamie shrugged.

"It would kind of depend on when though, right babe?" You asked annoyed.

His confused brow served to deepen that annoyance, "We have my cousin's wedding, and out trip to St. Kitt's." You reminded him flatly, "Don't tell me you forgot."

"No, of course not," he covered.

You rolled your eyes and went back to sneaking the dogs food while Jamie and Tyler kept on going about different things they could do in Toronto. Maybe you'd spend that time on a girls trip. Anything would be better than this.

You'd wanted to cry when Jamie started making his goodbye's, "See you Thursday Segs!" He'd parted making your way to the car.

As soon as you got settled in the car Jamie annoyance showed itself, "What's your deal?"

"I'm sorry?" You asked.

"You know exactly what I mean. You were rude to Segs all night!" His anger rolled off him in waves.

"Hey you're the one who insisted we go, I was as nice as could be under the circumstances!"

"Circumstances? What circumstances?" Now his anger was fading, morphing back into the confusion that had surrounded him all night.

"Three days Jamie. Three. That's what I get before you leave for eight days," you replied, tears welled in your eyes as your voice cracked. "I just-" you swallowed back the tears. "I just wanted some time together. No hockey, no teammates, just you and I while we have the time."

"Well, why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want to spend our time fighting," you mumbled, slightly embarrassed. Causing Jamie to laugh.

"You thought we'd fight? I just didn't want to get in your way. You've got a routine I'm not a part of and I don't want to interrupt that," he said. This made you groan.

"I wanted you to disrupt my schedule. I wanted time together, I'm alone when you're gone. I like the reminder that I have you when you're here," Jamie pulled into the driveway.

"Well, we've got two days, you wanted time now you're not getting rid of me," Jamie grinned. "We're staying in bed all day tomorrow." He swatted your ass as he led you into the house before wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you sweetly.

"You don't want to see your bestest friend?"

"Baby, you are my bestest friend."

Tags: @beauvibaby

[pollylynn]

Title: A Trembling Of  WC: 1800

“How’s that for love?”  — Tildy Maguire, For Better or Worse (6 x 23) 

He loves her and he fears her. These are the anchoring points of their relationship—the anchoring points of his whole world, these days, and three words from a city employee should not be able to pry them up and set the two of them adrift. Proof of divorce? Nothing in this or any other universe should be able to pry them up and set the two of them adrift, and yet here they are. He loves her no less—he could never love her any less—but right now, he fears for her, and that is a rip in the very fabric of reality. But how can he do otherwise? 

Here she is, silent in the back of the cab.  She has not said—will not say—one word as they lurch their way through the horrors of late afternoon traffic in Manhattan, and he’d like to think it’s the inadequate privacy offered by the plexiglass barrier that has sealed her lips. He’d like to believe that she’s so enchanted by the memory of the days when Paul Sorvino or Joe Torre or Eartha Kitt reminded New York taxi passengers to buckle up, take their belongings, get a receipt before exiting the back seat, she has nothing to say about the present. He’d like to believe that three words from a city employee have not fundamentally altered her lovable, fear-inspiring self, and yet . . . 

Here she is, finally home, and yet there is nothing like relief here. There is nothing like relief anywhere in sight. Here she is with her head in her hands, and they’re telling his mother, they’re telling his daughter, because they kind of have to tell them. They very probably are kind of going to have to tell everyone, but this tiny test balloon at him is so awful. 

His mother—she of the child-producing one-night stand with a probable sociopath is volubly incredulous: Who is Rogan O’Leary? His daughter—she of the lease with the bee-counting, continent-hopping, passport-losing peace disturbing Pi is volubly appalled: And you married him? He of an untold number of colossal mistakes in the personal and professional realms, in the public eye and in private, is damnably smug: And here I thought you were a one and done kind of girl.

He regrets it the instant it’s out of his mouth. He bounces around the tattered remnants of reality. He goes back in time and regrets it, except there is a moment, there is an instant, there is the merest spark of absolute fury behind her eyes, and he feels the world come right. He feels reality knitting itself back up again. He feels himself quaking in his bespoke boots, secure in the knowledge that she will make him pay, and he is fine with that. He is absolutely fine.  

He loves her and he fears her, these are the anchors of his entire world, gloriously restored, and that is just as it should be. 

*****************************

He loves her and he fears her and he loves her just that little bit more when everything fearsome about her is directed at someone else. Oh, how he loves being able to watch the fireworks from minimum safe distance, so he’s excited when she sets off for Willow Creek. He’s racked with guilt and uncertainty, too, because she’s going alone and he worries that it’s self-flagellation—that it’s an occasion to be afraid for her—but ultimately, he’s excited. 

She is determined when she leaves. She has her keys clutched in her fist and she won’t take an overnight bag. 

“Not even a toothbrush?” He turns up the innocence. It’s a calculated risk. It’s more fuel for the fire that burning in her, fierce and bright now, and it works.

“Not. Even. A toothbrush.” She enunciates each and every letter. She grabs the front of his shirt with her free hand and reels him in until they’re sharing air molecules. “Won’t need it.”

And then she’s gone, but not gone. 

She is on the other end of the phone as soon as she has hunted down her soon-but-not-soon-enough-to-be ex. She is fierce, roaring as she rails against the stupidity of the quest he’s sent her on. 

“Like he’s the damned Wizard of Oz,” she snarls.

“More like the Wizard of Id,” he quips. He’s thinking about being eighteen and all primitive instinct. He’s thinking about drunken nights on the strip and impulse weddings. He’s not really thinking, and it’s fuel for the fire. He swears she’s scorched his ear, she’s scorched the whole side of his brain closest to the phone, so maybe that’s a little too much fuel. 

Except he thinks that might be what sustains her through the abduction of Rogan, through the indifference and grudging pity of the local constabulary. He tells himself on his own frantic drive up to Willow Creek that he’s managed to make her spitting mad enough that she’s not sitting there, alone, with her head in her hands. 

It’s true. It’s mostly true that she’s down to embers when he gets there, but there’s more than enough Logan-related fury to go around. There’s coma wife and the sheer madness of digging through his pornographic electronic mash notes. There are bikers and strippers and a murderous mob boss. There is an entire Logan-based mad, mad, mad, mad world and she is definitely mad about it. 

She is quick thinking and—other than a few slightly moist moments about the dress—she is laser focused on getting this done. She is mean to Logan, and after the whole Man Parts contretemps, that is a delight and a turn on and the world turning beautifully on its axis precisely as it should turn. 

She is a warrior goddess, hell bent on marrying him—him—and he is blown away by that honor and privilege.

He loves her. He fears her. He’s going to marry her. 

*********************

He loves her. He just loves her. It’s hard for them to part ways in stupid Willow Creek, but there’s really nothing for it. She has her car, and he has his. He has to get to the city. He has to start the paperwork on its warp speed journey through the system, and she has to get to the Hamptons to figure out what she’s going to wear. 

“I’m all for nothing at—“ 

She cuts that off with a twist of his ear that takes him right back to the beginning—right back to when she was Our Lady of Smug, patron saint of the One and Done Girl—and that makes it really hard to part ways, because he would love to get in some last-minute fear and trembling in one back seat or the other before she makes an honest man of him. He really would but there’s just no time. He has to settle for backing her up hard against the driver’s side door of her car and kissing the life out of her. He has to settle for the same as she backs him up hard against the passenger side door of his car where it’s pulled up alongside hers. They have to settle for peeling their bodies apart, breathless, eager, and reluctant, all at once. 

“Be safe,” she breathes, her forehead pressed against his. “Hurry, but be safe.” 

“You, too.” He steals one last kiss, then hurries around the hood to slide behind the wheel, to get on with it. 

He’s not three miles down the road when his phone rings through the car’s bluetooth. He feels an eager grin spread across his face as he thumbs the button. “Miss me already?” 

“No,” she retorts immediately, adamantly. “Yes,” she admits slowly, reluctantly. “Shut up,” she orders, shooting an arrow of fear right through his heart, though it softens—it downright melts—when she adds, “Keep me company.” 

He does. He keeps her company, though there’s not a lot of heavy lifting involved. She wants to talk—a positivity rarity for her—and other than her, there’s little he loves more in this stitched-up, much-mended reality than to listen when the mood strikes her. So he listens as she wanders far and wide, as she roams through the month or so of Rogan, and when the time is right, he is going to have so many follow-up questions about where Eddie Vedder’s jean jacket wound up and exactly how far she can chuck a hoagie while running down the strip full tilt. 

It’s not all fun and games, though. How could it be? But it’s okay. He loves her. He loves her, and when it comes to the place where this was always leading, he’s there. He’s on the other end of the phone. He’s listening. 

“I was married then. When my mom died.” Her voice is even. It’s controlled, though he can hear her heaving a shaky sigh. “I told her the whole saga.” Another shaky sigh.”Almost the whole saga with Rogan. We laughed about it.” There’s a silence long enough that he’s worried the call has dropped, but her voice fills up the speakers again. “I feel like I have to . . . confess to her or something. Give her a chance to say I told you so. I feel like I owe her that.” 

It’s a heartsore place for things to land. He doesn’t have a joke or anything gallant locked and loaded, but that doesn’t feel right anyway. He’d tear another hole in the fabric of reality if he could. He’d give her closure. He will give her closure if he can—a trip to her mom’s grave with her hand in his, a letter written and burned, its ashes scattered on the wind, whatever she wants, he’ll do. 

“I’m okay, Castle,” she says quietly, she says knowing he was wondering. “Really.” 

“I know you are,” he says, and it’s true. “I’m glad you are.” 

That’s true, too, in the most comprehensive sense. He is glad she’s okay. He is glad of whoever, whatever, however she is in any given moment.  

He hears the road beneath his own tires, the road beneath hers. She stays on the line, though she is quiet now and a little sad. She wants things he can’t give her—he hasn’t yet devised a way to give her—and that’s a little maddening. But she is more than okay, and he is more than okay with that. She is fierce and fear-inducing and lonely for her mom and a little bit raw right now.

He loves her and he fears her. He has the twin anchors for his whole world on the other end of the line. That’s as it should be.

A/N: A group of finches is called a trembling. That is a thing. This is not a thing. It is an uneven atrocity, not a thing. 

images via homeofthenutty

[aros001]

Going in blind: Watching season 2 for the first time. Random thoughts.

Huh. Only 7 episodes. Not complaining necessarily. For series with an ongoing plot I've definitely become more in favor with their seasons only having as many episodes as they need rather than them having to stretch themselves out to full up a certain number of episodes, which can lead to padding and just bad character moments.

Episode 1: Jeez. Catra visiting Shadow Weaver's cell just to rub her success in her face and verbally abuse her back for once. It's like a twisted version of Zuko and Ozai from ATLA. Catra's upbringing under her was abusive but this is far from a healthy way for her to deal with it. She's basically deliberately swimming in her resentment.

Episode 2: It's not that I'm rooting for her but by-golly was it fun to watch Catra act like just the absolute worst she could while she was Glimmer and Bow's captive.

I touched on this in season 1 but part of the drama of the heroes feeling guilt over leaving Entrapta behind is kind of lost on me a bit simply because it was her own fault it happened. She deliberately went back into the purge room because of her machine obsession, which then closed on her and erupted in flames. It was more than reasonable to assume she was dead and no one but her was to blame, so I'm not really able to be invested in their guilt over it.

That said, weirdly enough I do like that her "abandonment" doesn't seem to be even a blip on the radar for Entrapta herself. She hasn't joined the horde because she resents the heroes or felt left behind, she simply is so obsessed with machines and experimentation that she'll be on the side of whoever lets her do the most of that. Like, it's selfish and irresponsible but it's very in-character and I'd far rather have a traitor motivation be based in that over something stupid like a misunderstanding.

Episode 3: I love the mental image of Shadow Weaver thinking up princess-themed ghost stories to tell Adora as a child.

So, if the previous She-Ra Mara separated Eternia from the other realms/planets/whatever she did and that's what cut off the She-Ra line for 1000 years, I'm guessing Hordak may be from the time before that happened, thus his drive to create portals and calling Eternia a backwards world. Either he's naturally long-lived or his technology is extending his life.

Episode 4: You know, you could maybe argue it was vague enough that it could be taken other ways but I'm definitely getting some vibes here that Scorpia is crushing on Catra. She literally refers to the two of them as soulmates at one point. I know she says she's trying to be friends but this feels a level beyond that.

Fun little reference to the original She-Ra cartoon thrown in there (and maybe Cowboy Bebop...? James Bond...? What was Glimmer's art style supposed to be?). I like how it is more like just playful ribbing than anything outright dumping on the original. Again, I've never seen original She-Ra but whenever remakes/adaptations go out of their way to trash to the original I always kind of wonder why they bothered doing an adaptation if the original is just that bad? Also, I was having trouble sleeping so it was about 2am when I watched this episode and the very Eartha Kitt Catwoman Catra made it very difficult for me not to lose my **** and stay quiet. With how much of a contrast that version is from the one in this series, that was hilarious. Bonus note, it's a nice touch that Frosta's version of Catra is a pretty crasher in that sweet suit, since that's the only impression of Catra she's ever had.

Adora being a chosen one is definitely elevated up simply by how much the pressure of what she's supposed to be is getting to her. I'm likely going to keep making Avatar The Last Airbender comparisons throughout the series but that's partly because I went into this series figuring it'd be at least structured similar to ATLA (season 1 being more episodic and a little more kid-friendly as it builds up the world before getting more serious later). Adora and Aang are interesting to compare here. Aang's worries early on were less apparent because he was more in-denial/choosing not to think about his problems that much, which fit with his character as a free-spirited Air Nomad. While Adora is much more military-minded. She can't keep herself from thinking about her problems and trying to prepare for the worst-case scenario. And jeez, that idea of who/how Catra is in her mind. Not only beating her but making her watch as she takes everything she cares about away. Not Shadow Weaver, not Lord Hordak, but Catra. That whole Lion King Mufasa/Scar moment between them in episode 11 and their fight in the S1 finale really did a number on her mental image of her old friend. Not reasonably so.

Minor note: I'm sure I'm the only one who got this impression but by the look of it, the way the robot's eye moved, and the music, after getting the soda spilled on it that little spybot gained sentience for half a second and then immediately died. It was so darkly comedic I had to laugh.

Episode 5: So that red disc is basically She-Ra's Red Kryptonite, having an effect on the mind rather than the body. The drunk Adora joke doesn't really do it for me but it did get some nice interactions going between Scorpia and Sea Hawk, two characters I certainly wasn't expecting to bond. I did really like Catra's panic when berserker She-Ra nearly beheads her. The implication is that is Adora really wanted to kill her Catra would already probably be dead. It's a thing I like about powerhouse characters like Superman or Aang, who could just demolish everything around them and don't simply because they're a good person...which in turn makes them the scariest person on the planet when they're well and truly ticked off. I'm not going to lie, I do kind of want to see a She-Ra version of Aang when Appa was stolen or when Superman fought The Elite.

Also, Catra's line of "I have control over Adora. I'm not giving that up for anything.". There's a lot to read into there.

Episode 6: I guess my prediction was sort of right. Shadow Weaver became basically a magic parasite and while it did increase the power she's capable of the implication seems to be that she needs a constant fix of magic to keep herself going, thus her attachment to the Black Garnet.

Have we seen Micah before? Given how long ago the flashback seems set, the fact that Shadow Weaver didn't kill him and thus he probably becomes someone important later in life, I'm guessing he's Glimmer's dad and the queen's late husband, since I think he's the only important male character whose face we haven't seen yet. Also, he's voice by Ezra from Star Wars Rebels and that cracks me up for some reason. It's the exact same voice and a relatively similar character.

I compared Catra and Shadow Weaver with a kind of twisted version of Zuko and Ozai and that definitely still fits here. Both Catra and Zuko confront their parent and call them out for the inexcusable abuse they put them through but while that moment was the start of Zuko's upwards journey this and SW's betrayal seems like it's going to cause Catra to spiral even further. Makes sense why Adora leaving affected her so much. She's probably the only one Catra's ever had that she could consistently trust and rely on, even if she did somewhat resent her.

Not surprised Hordak is getting along with Entrapta. She's not socially aware enough to be scared or intimidated by him, so she'll speak frankly, and since all she wants to talk about is the machines, experiments, and how they could get them to work Hordak probably doesn't take much issue with that. She's producing results, which is what he cares about, thus also why Shadow Weaver and Catra started losing favor with him. I wonder if Catra is going through imposter syndrome? Shadow Weaver had that line that Entrapta earned her place next to Hordak and, if you think about it, Catra hasn't really "earned" anything. We saw that she didn't really take her training or studies that seriously, showing up late to combat practice and even getting partial credit for what Adora beat. She wasn't promoted to Force Captain because of her own abilities but because Adora had defected when she was supposed to get that title. She's come close to a few victories but never really had any except for Glimmer and Bow's kidnapping...whom she then basically let escape when she returned Adora's sword to her. She doesn't have the slightest clue how the horde's bureaucracy works when trying to get things done, like simply getting troops armor. Given how much better than her Adora always was and how little she herself has to her name, I wonder is subconsciously Catra believes she doesn't deserve her current position and thus why she's fretting so much over trying to prove herself.

Episode 7: Am I mistaken or did Bow's parents say that he's the youngest of TWELVE siblings? I was going to ask whether Bow was adopted or if his dad's used a surrogate or if maybe there's even just simply magic in She-Ra's world that allows two people of the same sex to have a child together but now I'm just focused on the 12 kids thing. I get nervous just imagining myself having more than one. You should see me when I'm with two cats. I have to pet both of them because I'd feel like I'd be making one feel left out and like the other is the favorite. I'm a mess with kids.

The dad with dreadlocks (Lance?), his design looked familiar to me and I finally realized it reminded me a of a fanart design for a human Grim from The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. Very different voices between those two characters though.

I wonder if there's any significance to the robot protecting the crystal having the same design as those in the artic in episode 5? Obviously both have the connection to the First Ones but the robot in the forest who was also protecting First Ones' tech had a more insect-like design over these more worm/Graboid ones.

I'm kind of curious what Hordak would have done if Catra had told the truth. Given his interactions with her and Shadow Weaver he doesn't seem like the time to tolerate failure but I suppose the implication here is that he at least would respect those who own up to their failures. Or I suppose more simply he was just testing to see if she would lie to him and since she did there's little merit in keeping her in a position of authority anymore where she could lie about important things again.

Season 2 verdict: Still enjoying it. Another person on this reddit recommended I view seasons 2 and 3 as one since they are basically just one season split in two. I was going to do that but this ended up longer than I thought I would, so I'll just do 2 and 3 separate to keep them semi-organized and easier to read.

I think overall Catra is my favorite character since she has the most interesting backstory, interactions, and just general path through the story out of everyone. She's like Pearl from Steven Universe or, well, Zuko. There's just so much baggage there that she's trying and kind of failing to deal with. I'm always invested in whatever's happening when she's onscreen. Hordak so far is a good big boss villain for Adora to face but Catra is a good archenemy for her.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/PrincessesOfPower/comments/o027y3/going_in_blind_watching_season_2_for_the_first/

[allthings-chaos]

Found

Knight Rider 2008 X Reader

Description: Reader steals a car with Artificial Intelligence that is much like KITT.

~

It was about four in the afternoon when you received a call from an unknown number, which you decided to answer. Normally it was a telemarketer and you would try to annoy them to the point where they’d simply hang up.

Not this time, though. You didn’t recognize the voice, but it seemed to be someone of importance, at least, so you decided to not hang up, figuring it was probably the best decision.

“Is this (Y/N) (L/N)?” The voice asked after you had answered the phone, before you could even say hello.

You raised a brow, wondering how someone had gotten your number, and also knew your name. “It might be. Who is this?”

This person didn’t even bother to answer your question. “Ms. (L/N), it appears that you have either unintentionally or intentionally stolen an asset from Knight industries. We request that it is returned immediately.”

“First of all, you didn’t answer my question, and second, what did I steal? I’m not exactly the smartest crayon in the box.”

“I am aware of the fact,” The man probably would have laughed if it weren’t a serious matter. “I have an agent en route to retrieve the asset that was stolen.”

“How do you know that I’m stupid?” You were enjoying talking to this person, even though you knew that you definitely were not stupid, and that you had in fact stolen some “asset” on purpose. You wouldn’t make yourself the enemy, yet. “Who’re you sending? They’d better be hot.”

“This is a serious matter, Ms. (L/N).” You were reminded once more, “But to answer your question, it does not take much to find out you were a high school dropout with a 2.0 GPA.”

“So are you stalking me or something? Because it really seems like it. I also prefer to be called (Y/N), not by my last name. Thank you.”

The man sighed, “The agent I am sending will be there within a few hours, do not try and run. We will find you.”

When the line dropped, you laughed to yourself, petting the steering wheel of a sweet white mustang that you had in fact stolen just an hour ago. Did you plan on giving it back? Possibly, but what was the point in hiding it when you could have some fun with it?

Even though you’d been told not to run, you did. Well- not exactly. You drove out of your small garage, and drove down the street just under the speed limit. You’d miss the car after it would be taken back, but that was okay. You’d just sneak in and steal it right back. For some reason the car was labeled “KATT” whatever the hell that meant.

While you waited for the “agent” to pick up the car, you parked at a grocery store and went inside, grabbing a case of hard lemonades while you were there. Walking out into the parking lot, however, you realized the car was missing. “Already? Sheesh.. They must have teleported.”

“Ms. (L/N), please get in.” The car rolled up, a door swinging open as it stopped in front of you.

“Did I already drink today?” You raised a brow, as you looked at the time on your phone, before shrugging and hopping in. “So, are you the cat thing then?”

“No, I am the Knight Automated Tactical Technology.”

“What now? That’s a mouthful.”

“Or K.A.T.T for easy reference, KATT if you prefer.” The car told you.

“I’m on drugs, aren’t I?” You weren’t even driving, as the car drove by itself.

“You do not appear to be.” A hologram screen appeared, which seemed to display all of your vitals.

“I feel like that’s a violation of my privacy, but okay. How’d you do that?”

“I scanned you,” The car stated, which just confused you more.

“I thought I just stole a car..” You huffed, “I’m definitely going to jail for this.”

“As long as you do not attempt to prevent me from returning, you will not face any charges. Mr. Torres is under the impression that you were unaware that you stole his technology.”

“So I can for sure accidentally steal you again.” You laughed once again, already planning to when the next chance arose.

“I’m afraid they would realize that you were not truly stealing me by accident if that were to happen.”

“Well that sucks.”

Later on that day, you were sitting in a lawn chair, while you sipped on a lemonade that you had bought earlier, when someone in a black mustang pulled into your little driveway. The guy that was driving got out of his car, before he made his way over to you, while you.. Tipped your sunglasses down and checked him out. “Your fly is down.”

“What?” He was fooled, as you simply went back to reading your magazine. “It was not-”

“So what’s your name?” You asked, while not taking your eyes off of the new magazine.

“Michael Knight.”

“Ah.” You had a thing for annoying people, apparently.

“I need the keys to the car.” Mike told you, to which you shrugged.

“I never had any keys,” You finally looked up at him, setting the magazine down. “So is she that one’s girlfriend then?”

Mike actually laughed at that, “It seems like it sometimes. How’d you get a hold of her?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

“She did not ‘get a hold’ of me. I came here.” KATT had her own story, though she was likely covering for her new friend, so that she would not be in any sort of trouble.

“Then I suppose if that’s true, we’ll be leaving.” Mike shrugged, “KATT, follow behind us.”

“I can use a tow hook if necessary.” KITT finally spoke up, just offering help.

“That will not be necessary.” KATT quickly told them, “I can follow.”

You just watched them, not really seeming to care all that much. Though, the interaction was interesting. You certainly were going to get your hands on that car again, maybe not soon, but at some point.

After Mike and the two cars had left, you simply went back inside your house to plan for another day, where you would take the car once again- only next time, you would not be giving it back.

Author Note: I hope you enjoyed this small story! I plan to do more as I come up with more ideas- and I am also open to requests. Just to add a little information, KATT is a character that I made up years ago and wrote some fanfictions with. She is basically a copy of KITT, with just a few differences(including her having a female voice). To name a few, her job is to search and rescue, as well as provide comfort to victims of a crime. She is housed in a white mustang, and her light bar in the front is blue as well. That is all! Once again, requests are open. I mostly write about the 2008 version of Knight Rider but I can for sure do some for the 1982 version!

[andromeda1023]

Pic:

On the left, what Rubin expected to see: stars orbiting the outskirts of a galaxy moving slower than those near the center. On the right, what was observed: the stars on the outside moving at the same speed as the center.

Dark matter holds our universe together. No one knows what it is.

If you go outside on a dark night, in the darkest places on Earth, you can see as many as 9,000 stars. They appear as tiny points of light, but they are massive infernos. And while these stars seem astonishingly numerous to our eyes, they represent just the tiniest fraction of all the stars in our galaxy, let alone the universe.

The beautiful challenge of stargazing is keeping this all in mind: Every small thing we see in the night sky is immense, but what’s even more immense is the unseen, the unknown.

I’ve been thinking about this feeling — the awesome, terrifying feeling of smallness, of the extreme contrast of the big and small — while reporting on one of the greatest mysteries in science for Unexplainable, a new Vox podcast pilot you can listen to below.

It turns out all the stars in all the galaxies, in all the universe, barely even begin to account for all the stuff of the universe. Most of the matter in the universe is actually unseeable, untouchable, and, to this day, undiscovered.

Scientists call this unexplained stuff “dark matter,” and they believe there’s five times more of it in the universe than normal matter — the stuff that makes up you and me, stars, planets, black holes, and everything we can see in the night sky or touch here on Earth. It’s strange even calling all that “normal” matter, because in the grand scheme of the cosmos, normal matter is the rare stuff. But to this day, no one knows what dark matter actually is.

“I think it gives you intellectual and kind of epistemic humility — that we are simultaneously, super insignificant, a tiny, tiny speck of the universe,” Priya Natarajan, a Yale physicist and dark matter expert, said on a recent phone call. “But on the other hand, we have brains in our skulls that are like these tiny, gelatinous cantaloupes, and we have figured all of this out.”

The story of dark matter is a reminder that whatever we know, whatever truth about the universe we have acquired as individuals or as a society, is insignificant compared to what we have not yet explained.

It’s also a reminder that, often, in order to discover something true, the first thing we need to do is account for what we don’t know.

This accounting of the unknown is not often a thing that’s celebrated in science. It doesn’t win Nobel Prizes. But, at least, we can know the size of our ignorance. And that’s a start.

But how does it end? Though physicists have been trying for decades to figure out what dark matter is, the detectors they built to find it have gone silent year after year. It makes some wonder: Have they been chasing a ghost? Dark matter might not be real. Instead, there could be something more deeply flawed in physicists’ understanding of gravity that would explain it away. Still, the search, fueled by faith in scientific observations, continues, despite the possibility that dark matter may never be found.  

To learn about dark matter is to grapple with, and embrace, the unknown.

Scientists are, to this day, searching for dark matter because they believe it is there to find. And they believe so largely because of Vera Rubin, an astronomer who died in 2016 at age 88.

Flash-forward to the late 1960s, and she’s at the Kitt Peak National Observatory near Tucson, Arizona, doing exactly what she did in that childhood bedroom: tracking the motion of stars.

This time, though, she has a cutting-edge telescope and is looking at stars in motion at the edge of the Andromeda Galaxy. Just 40 years prior, Edwin Hubble had determined, for the first time, that Andromeda was a galaxy outside of our own, and that galaxies outside our own even existed. With one observation, Hubble doubled the size of the known universe.

By 1960, scientists were still asking basic questions in the wake of this discovery. Like: How do galaxies move?

Rubin and her colleague Kent Ford were at the observatory doing this basic science, charting how stars are moving at the edge of Andromeda. “I guess I wanted to confirm Newton’s laws,” Rubin said in an archival interview with science historian David DeVorkin.

Per Newton’s equations, the stars in the galaxy ought to move like the planets in our solar system do. Mercury, the closest planet to the sun, orbits very quickly, propelled by the sun’s gravity to a speed of around 106,000 mph. Neptune, far from the sun, and less influenced by its gravity, moves much slower, at around 12,000 mph.

The same thing ought to happen in galaxies too: Stars near the dense, gravity-rich centers of galaxies ought to move faster than the stars along the edges.

But that wasn’t what Rubin and Ford observed. Instead, they saw that the stars along the edge of Andromeda were going the same speed as the stars in the interior. “I think it was kind of like a ‘what the fuck’ moment,” Yeager says. “It was just so different than what everyone had expected.”

The data pointed to an enormous problem: The stars couldn’t just be moving that fast on their own. At those speeds, the galaxy should be ripping itself apart like an accelerating merry-go-round with the brake turned off. To explain why this wasn’t happening, these stars needed some kind of extra gravity out there acting like an engine. There had to be a source of mass for all that extra gravity. (For a refresher: Physicists consider gravity to be a consequence of mass. The more mass in an area, the stronger the gravitational pull.)

The data suggested that there was a staggering amount of mass in the galaxy that astronomers simply couldn’t see. “As they’re looking out there, they just can’t seem to find any kind of evidence that it’s some normal type of matter,” Yeager says. It wasn’t black holes; it wasn’t dead stars. It was something else generating the gravity needed to both hold the galaxy together and propel those outer stars to such fast speeds.

“I mean, when you first see it, I think you’re afraid of being … you’re afraid of making a dumb mistake, you know, that there’s just some simple explanation,” Rubin later recounted. Other scientists might have immediately announced a dramatic conclusion based on this limited data. But not Rubin. She and her collaborators dug in and decided to do a systematic review of the star speeds in galaxies.

Rubin and Ford weren’t the first group to make an observation of stars moving fast at the edge of a galaxy. But what Rubin and her collaborators are famous for is verifying the finding across the universe. “She [studied] 20 galaxies, and then 40 and then 60, and they all show this bizarre behavior of stars out far in the galaxy, moving way, way too fast,” Yeager explains.

This is why people say Rubin ought to have won a Nobel Prize (the prizes are only awarded to living recipients, so she will never win one). She didn’t “discover” dark matter. But the data she collected over her career made it so the astronomy community had to reckon with the idea that most of the mass in the universe is unknown.

By 1985, Rubin was confident enough in her observations to declare something of an anti-eureka: announcing not a discovery, but a huge absence in our collective knowledge. “Nature has played a trick on astronomers,” she’s paraphrased as saying at an International Astronomical Union conference in 1985, “who thought we were studying the universe. We now know that we were studying only a small fraction of it.”

To this day, no one has “discovered” dark matter. But Rubin did something incredibly important: She told the scientific world about what they were missing.

In the decades since this anti-eureka, other scientists have been trying to fill in the void Rubin pointed to. Their work isn’t complete. But what they’ve been learning about dark matter is that it’s incredibly important to the very structure of our universe, and that it’s deeply, deeply weird.

Since Rubin’s WTF moment in the Arizona desert, more and more evidence has accumulated that dark matter is real, and weird, and accounts for most of the mass in the universe.

“Even though we can’t see it, we can still infer that dark matter is there,” Kathryn Zurek, a Caltech astrophysicist, explains. “Even if we couldn’t see the moon with our eyes, we would still know that it was there because it pulls the oceans in different directions — and it’s really very similar with dark matter.”

Scientists can’t see dark matter directly. But they can see its influence on the space and light around it. The biggest piece of indirect evidence: Dark matter, like all matter that accumulates in large quantities, has the ability to warp the very fabric of space.

“You can visualize dark matter as these lumps of matter that create little potholes in space-time,” Natarajan says. “All the matter in the universe is pockmarked with dark matter.”

When light falls into one of these potholes, it bends like light does in a lens. In this way, we can’t “see” dark matter, but we can “see” the distortions it produces in astronomers’ views of the cosmos. From this, we know dark matter forms a spherical cocoon around galaxies, lending them more mass, which allows their stars to move faster than what Newton’s laws would otherwise suggest.

Continue reading, pictures: https://www.vox.com/science-and-health/21537034/dark-matter-unexplainable-podcast

[knight-rider-fan-2000]

ABCs of Knight Rider: F- Face

Summary: Micheal gets reminded of some old memories. Kitt tries his best to understand. 868 words

Micheal had gotten back into the car. The woman he left on the sidewalk had the look on her face that Kitt believed was called “doe-eyed”, and it was the same look that most young women bore after they got a kiss from Micheal. 

To be pedantic, she hadn’t “gotten” a kiss. It was more like she had shoved her lips onto his during a lull in their conversation. Kitt had seen the signs- this woman had fallen for his driver immediately and had been wanting to do that for a while now. 

Micheal, meanwhile, did not have the same dreamy expression that the woman had. His pulse was a flat normal and his expression was neutrally pleasant. He started the engine, shifting into reverse, and pulled out of the parking spot. Soon they were driving down the road. Now that the woman was no longer in sight, Micheal’s expression fell into one of displeasure. 

“Take over, Kitt.” He said, more of a passing request than an order. 

Kitt said nothing and switched to auto. Half of his processing power left the cabin to pilot the car down the road, but the other half stayed, ready and attentive. Clearly something deeper was going on. 

Micheal frowned for a moment, before doing something peculiar- he grabbed the rearview mirror and shifted it downwards until all that was visible in it was his reflection. Slowly, he brought a hand up to his cheek. He gave it a soft prod, then sighed.

“You know, Kitt? Sometimes I miss my old face.”

Kitt didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t have any images in his databanks of Micheal’s old face, so he decided to analyze his voice for clues instead. Micheal sounded. . . wistful. Yes, wistful, in the full sense of the word. Other than that, however, Kitt could make no useful deductions.

Eventually his processor circled back around the first point. “I’m sorry, Micheal. I’m afraid I don't know what your old face looked like.”

“It was average. Perfectly average.” Micheal replied, his hand trailing around his jawline.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t being average a negative trait?”

“Not always, pal. Being attractive is nice and all, but it means I get a lot of attention.”

Kitt made the connection. “Like that young woman.”

“Yeah, now you’re getting it.” He nodded. He looked away from the mirror. “I was never ugly. Just normal. I was liked well enough. The ladies told me I had a great smile.”

“You still have a great smile, Micheal.” Kitt added to try and lighten the mood. It was true, after all- Micheal’s dental had not changed from his days as Micheal Long.

Sure enough, the comment did cause Micheal to grin, exposing a glimpse of his teeth, but only for a moment, before it was gone again. “Thanks, pal.”

A beat of silence passed. 

“I still miss it though.” He said, quieter. 

“Can you elaborate?” Kitt asked.

Micheal was lost in thought for a moment. “Well, what if you. . . say, had to get some racing stripes up your hood? And say they made you look nicer, sure, and you got lots of compliments on them, but it still wasn’t your normal look.”

Kitt couldn’t help but shudder internally at the thought of racing stripes. The first thing he latched on to from that statement was to call Micheal out on the idea that stripes would ever make a car look better. Stripes never improved a look except in the most dire of circumstances.

But that wasn’t important right now. Micheal was trying to make a different point, something much more abstract. It was a comparison, a metaphor. Kitt replayed the statement a few times in his processor.

However, Micheal’s sincerity did not quite match up with his metaphorical use. Kitt didn’t have a whole lot of attachment to his hood. Other than containing his scanner and covering his engine, his hood didn’t do a whole lot. It wasn’t what identified him. It wasn’t what other people looked at in order to gauge a first impression, and it certainly wasn’t where his voice emanated from.

“Actually, Micheal,” Kitt said cautiously, “that’s not an apt comparison.” 

Micheal raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Kitt took this as a sign to continue. “It would be more similar to if my inner dashboard was rearranged. I myself don’t see it very often, but when people get into my cabin, my dash is what visually represents my microprocessor. If it were rearranged, you wouldn’t interact with it the same way.”

“I’d have to learn where all the buttons were again. But that doesn’t mean I’d treat you any different.” Micheal replied, frowning.

“Precisely. You would have to touch different places and make different motions, but the end result would be the same.”

Micheal paused, again lost in thought. “I guess so. I mean, I still got two eyes, two ears, and a nose, don’t I?”

“And a smile.” Kitt added.

“And a smile.” Micheal chuckled. His whole expression lightened. 

Micheal tilted the rearview mirror back into position, fiddling back and forth with it a bit until he was satisfied. Then, without a word, he pressed the manual button, taking back control of the car. 

[aleapoffaithfiction]

XVI.

"You will manage to keep a woman in love with you, only for as long as  you can keep her in love with the person she becomes when she is with  you." C. JoyBell

Rockin' around the Christmas tree, let the Christmas spirit ring. Later we'll have some pumpkin pie, and we'll do some caroling…

Naturally, my own vocals lightly meshed in with those of Brenda Lee while my head bopped back and forth to the infectious Christmas tune as it blared from the Beats Pill, I gifted to my mother a couple of months ago. To take advantage of the majority of my weight being pressed against the kitchen island, I slowly flexed my toes and extended my aches in an effort to minimize the throbbing in my feet. Short hisses turned into a deep sigh of bliss but unfortunately it was short lived once I grasped a knife in my hand again.

“Pass me two stalks of celery out of that bag, please.” My precise instructions were pointless. With her eyes intently focused on the phone in front of her, Celeste aloofly tossed the plastic bag in my direction as if I were a nuisance interrupting the ridiculous number of hours she spends interacting on Facebook. If anything, I avoid it, because once you reach a certain age, Facebook is nothing more than a scroll fest filled with engagement and pregnancy announcements, weddings and post-birth pictures, garbage hot takes from people about the most trivial of topics, and finally older relatives who have nothing better to do other than to be in everyone’s business, including yours.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” If she’s not going to be in the kitchen either helping me or doing something of her own, then the better choice would be for her to exit. She hasn’t been much company because we’re barely spoken since she arrived and I’d rather not be distracted by her sitting there in a trance with a phone in her hand like a mindless teen.

“Not really. You always do Christmas Eve, I do Christmas breakfast, and mommy does Christmas dinner. Don’t act brand new now.”

“I’m not acting brand new. I just see no point in you being in here.” Celeste does Christmas breakfast because it’s the easiest task to handle and I don’t have much of a problem pushing her dry ass pancakes around on a plate in anticipation for dinner later on the evening.

“For someone who claims to be so demure in the manner that you carry yourself, I’m super confused about why you have streams of diamonds glistening and circling around your neck.”

“What?” Thoughtlessly, I stretched my unoccupied hand up to the exposed skin and lightly brushed my fingers over nearly sixty carats of brilliant round cut diamonds that do not belong to me.

The manner in which O layers his many necklaces always grabs my attention and it’s something about the showiness in the midst of the simplicity of them that I continue to compliment whenever I see him donning them. This morning, for whatever reason, he randomly placed two of them around my neck as I stood in the mirror attempting to figure out just how festive my attire would be for today. Once I’d gotten past three unwarranted outfit changes, I found myself admiring the jewelry as it glimmered in the natural lighting cascading into his master bedroom beyond the curtains. I’d forgotten to remove them.

“They’re not real. It’s just costume jewelry.”

“They look pretty damn real to me.”

“Well, they’re not. There’s this new spot that opened up over on West 47th Street. I grabbed them in there. I just thought they looked cute and they reminded me of something Lil’ Kim wore one time. You know Kimberly Denise Jones is one of my spirit animals. They’re not something you wear everyday but it’s the holidays and I’m on vacation until after the New Year, so why not? I’m glad they look real though. That just means they were well made.”

“You seem to have a million alter egos. One minute you’re Florence Joyner, the next minute you’re Lil’ Kim, on another day you’re Angela Bassett, and then you’re Michelle Obama. We can’t forget you being the Oprah of sports journalism, oh and there’s Rihanna and Beyonce, who else?”

“Phylicia Rashard, Eartha Kitt, Regina King, Janet Jackson, Cari Champion, Lisa Salters, Pam Oliver, Jemele Hill. And I’ve never considered any of those women to be my alter egos. They’re women that I admire due to their drive, success, and character. I’ve taken bits and pieces from all of their careers and used them as lessons for my own. What you’ve mistaken is me saying that Lil Kim, Rihanna, and Tracee Ellis Ross are my style icons. Oh, and Mary J. Blige is my boot icon.” I think all women have a mood board of aspirations and inspirations. It doesn’t always have to be specific people. A portion of mine just so happens to contains who I believe are some of the greatest black women of the past and current generation. They’re not alter egos who I attempt to mimic but rather stories of triumph that keep me driven.

“What’s up with you and Kyle? Why are you interested?” I nearly cut into the flesh of my finger while dicing the stalks of celery. Briefly, I paused to gather myself, and immediately moved on to the three cloves of garlic.

“Nothing at all. I’m not interested so please stop pressing me about that. I’m not going to date your husband’s brother. I don’t do that all in the family stuff.”

“He’s really into you.”

“Or maybe you’re just exaggerating things. We’re just cool. We always have great conversations whenever we’re around one another and that’s good enough for me. I’ve already spoken to you multiple times about my disdain for your matchmaking bullshit. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a fan of it?”

“You continue to hold Shamel against me. Things didn’t work out. Okay. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean that every guy that I attempt to introduce you to won’t be compatible with you.”

“Compatibility? It’s deeper than that.” Parsley and cilantro were next for the wrath of the knife in my hand. I’m going to have to med onions next. I should have just bought all of this stuff chopped already.

“What’s deeper?”

“Celeste, you don’t know shit about what I went through with Shamel. You know the shortened version of years’ worth of bullshit. You think we just had a couple of typical couple disagreements to the point of us coming to terms with the reality that we could no longer be together? I wish it were that fucking simple, so don’t sit in here on your high horse with that matchmaker shit. Focus on your man and your marriage. I’m fine.”

I internalized so much of what I went through with the man. I was never the one to take my household troubles and spread all of it in places that it didn’t need to be. Anyone with the vision could see the tension between the two of us whenever we were out and about together and if you couldn’t see it, then it was thick enough to be felt. As my career began to take off, I chose to move as a single woman, often leaving him behind whenever I was out and about at industry events whether they were sports related or not. Shamel had a tendency to spend way too much time at the open bar, tossing back shots of tequila while slyly entertaining any woman that fawned over his deep mocha presence. He’d then cause a scene if he caught any men paying even the slightest attention to mine.

Beyond the decision to mask our toxicity as best as I could, I yearned to make my mother proud by being the quintessential woman; brains, beauty, a reputable career, and a good man standing alongside me. The pride she wore on her face at Celeste’s wedding stood out beyond any and everything that went on that summer night in Brooklyn. Since my father’s death, that wedding and all of the events leading up to it sparked a liveliness in her that I hadn’t experienced in quite some time although it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I’m not sure if she was vicariously living through my sister or she was simply just thrilled to see her began her own family, but in observing her response to it all, I wanted to give that to her.

After a short lived around of sex that left tears of mental exhaustion pouring down the sides of my face as I lie under him, he whispered in my ear that he intended to make me his wife. I’ll never forget the wave of nausea that rushed over my body and sent me dashing into the bathroom to empty out of the contents within my stomach. I thought of marriage as something beautiful until then. Just the thought of spending the rest of my life in misery with him left my mind in an emotional frenzy as I attempt to figure out when and how I’d end our relationship. Less than three weeks later, I finally mustered up the courage to get it done.

“You want to be alone forever?”

“Whether I do or I don’t, it’s my decision. You may be older, but we’re not kids anymore. We’re no longer in Brooklyn, under mommy’s roof, trying to figure out what we’re going to do with ourselves. You have your life and I have mine. I have time to figure that relationship shit out. I’m not stressed about it. Being single doesn’t bother me at all. For whatever reason, it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me that you’re single. I just think you deserve happiness.”

“And you think that I don’t have it without a man? You give them way too much credit.”

And she always has. Celeste has been a serial monogamist for as long as I can remember her dating history. As soon as one relationship of hers would end, she’d be in another one within a week or two. I can recall a couple of overlaps, but that’s none of my business.

“Don’t put the whole bonnet pepper in there.”

“I know that. I’m only doing half.” The last thing I want is to give our mother heartburn on Christmas Eve.

In the midst of me pouring olive oil into the deep red pot I already had on the stove, I reached into my back pocket for my vibrating phone.

Mrs. Claus, I’m missing you. When are you coming home?

Home? To mask my budding smile, I slowly pulled my lip in-between my teeth.

Home?

This man knows how to put a smile on my face by saying the simplest things.

Anywhere I lay my head is just as much yours as it is mine.

I should have known that when he gave me keys and the security codes last night. I’m still in disbelief about that.

I should be finished here really soon and I’ll be right back at the North Pole to keep your lap warm, Santa.

It’ll be the first time I’m spending Christmas Eve anywhere other than here and to say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Usually around this time of the year, O would be in the midst of the season so his family would make the effort to come to New Jersey to be with him. Even though he’s currently not playing, they still decided to come up and enjoy the chilled weather. For the past couple of days, he’s convinced me to rid myself of my reluctance and to be with him and a few people I’ve yet to meet like his grandmother Mille, his uncle Mike, his aunt Pat, and his step-father Derek.

Naked right?

And don’t even get me started on the lie that I had to tell everyone in this house so that I’d be able to get out of our Christmas Eve tradition of my cooking and us sitting around watching our favorite Christmas classics while bundled up under quilts that we’ve had since Celeste and I were toddlers. That lie involved Taylor, who’s actually in Atlanta right now, and Scott who actually did invite me to his Christmas Eve game night over at his place.

I can make that happen. Not while the elves are awake though. That’s a bit inappropriate, Santa.

My snicker wasn’t soundless. It was loud enough to alert Celeste and her eyes slowly panned in my direction and raised in curiosity at what tickled me.

“It’s Taylor.” I said it before she could ask.

Baby, don’t be mad at me but I already cut the red velvet cake. It was just sitting there and I couldn’t help myself.

I knew he’d do it. The fume enticed him by itself, so his response to the finished product was of no surprise. I didn’t even make him promise me that he wouldn’t touch it because I knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself just as he said. It’s why I made two of them.

I knew you would. Enjoy it.  That’s why I made it.

I spent the morning baking as a part of his Christmas request. Renee’s handling everything else, but all of the sweets are my task. When I return, I’m going to make my mini eggnog cheesecakes and cookies.

Try and make it back before the snow starts. I don’t want you driving in that.

It’s not supposed to be enough snow to keep the east coast hiding inside of their homes, but it will be enough to leave traffic dragging and the roads hazardous. I’ve never been much of a fan of driving in the snow, so I do want to be out of here before those flurries began to fall.

Will do. I’ll see you in a bit love.

“I can’t believe you’re about to go and spend Christmas Eve hanging out with your co-workers. Don’t you get enough of seeing them at work?” This is her second time making commentary about this since I’ve been here and I’m not even sure why. Celeste and I barely say much of anything to one another whenever I’m around, unless she’s scolding me about some area of my life that she assumes that I need to improve. It’ll be no different tonight as they’re all curled up in the living room watching classic holiday films while enjoying the dinner that I’m preparing and a shit ton of junk food we bought at Walmart the other day. Besides, her husband is here and when he’s with her, nearly all of her attention is on him.

“What’s the big deal? We’re not kids waiting around on Santa anymore. There are no babies here in the house that we need to be extra festive for. I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast and then we’ll all open up the presents together like we usually do. You won’t even notice that I’m gone.” Maybe my mother will, but she certainly won’t. Whenever her husband’s around, her attention remains solely focused on him. She parades herself on being a so-called traditionalist as a wife; whatever that means. Either way, her head is up his ass and luckily for her, his is just as far up hers.

“What time are you getting here in the morning? I figure I’ll at least be considerate enough to start making breakfast around them so by the time you’re here, you won’t have to eat cold food.”

“Most likely around nine or a half hour after it. It won’t be much later than that.”

“That’s if you’re not hungover, huh?”

“I won’t be. I have no plans to drink, unless it’s like a half glass of some spiked egg nog. Can’t go to a Christmas function and not have some egg nog. I’m driving, so it won’t be much.” I’m not irresponsible with my life and in addition to that, if O smells the alcohol on my breath, he’ll be scolding me all night long for having the audacity to drink and drive.

“Okay.” I never thought she’d leave the kitchen. She’s been in here since my arrival and comfortably settled at a spot in front of the island, while watching my every move. Initially, I thought she was doing it simply to be a critic of whatever I intended to prepare in the kitchen, but now I know she sat there as a mean to try and find her way into my business as she always seems to do. I’ve never been interested in what she has going on with Preston since she met the man. Even when we all went out to dinner a few years back and she first introduced him to both my mother and I, I didn’t have much of anything to say. All I could make of their connection was that she was obsessed with everything about him and luckily for her, he was smitten enough to feel the same way about her. She needed a man who could and world be a bit of a pushover for her and he is exactly that.

My father’s beloved stewed chicken or as he called it, poulet creole, was a breeze to prepare because I’m the only one in our home who learned every single aspect of that recipe directly from him. On a random summer day, while my mom and Celeste were out at the hair salon getting curls put into their hair for Sunday service, he interrupted me from watching ESPN, and called me into the kitchen for yet another one of his many lessons. The manner in which he taught me wasn’t by me looking on at his every task but instead me doing all of the work while he closely directed so I’d my hands would familiarize themselves with the process as he claimed. It was the same method that his grandmother taught him to cook with.

I preferred learning to cook under his guidance far more than my mother’s because she’s like a drill sergeant in the kitchen; barking down on her subject for any mistake or mishap with her directions. He and I laughed, danced to whatever he chose to play in the radio, and compared and contrasted our opinions on any topic we could think of. I will always hold him in the highest regard for allowing my self-expression to flourish. As a West Indian father of two girls, he could have easily chosen the overprotective and absurdly sexist route in raising us, but he didn’t. Rather than doing his best attempt to blind me from life beyond the doors of our home, he chose to listen to my perspective and then teach me about what life has to offer whether good or bad; easy, moderate, or difficult.

I miss him. Actually, that’s an understatement. During the holiday season, that pain that lies dormant within my soul flares up into an intensity that I have to stoically mask for the sake of getting through. As much as he emphasized the need to prepare both Celeste and I for the day that he was no longer with us, none of us ever expected it to be as soon as it was. I want to be the strong and independent woman that he raised me to be, but in some ways, I still need him. My mother needs him because she hasn’t been quite right ever since. Celeste needs him just as much, because there’s a part of her that has always sought him out in the men that she chose to allow into her life since his death.

“Celeste, I’m heading out.”

“Nice coat and hat.”

The caramel wool cashmere single-breasted silhouette was an unexpected gift from Kobe before we went on break for the holiday. Everything about the hand-embroidered embellishments and the manner in which it loosely accentuated my frame instantly made me fall in love with it with the Burberry piece. He encouraged me to open it up while we were standing there in my dressing room so I’d be able to see if I liked it, but I voiced that it wouldn’t be right to open it before Christmas. My curiosity nipped at me all morning long until I fed into its urge by opening it up and like a kid whenever they’re given anything new, I had to wear it immediately. The matching beanie hat is the cherry on top. Before I’m off to bed tonight, I intend to thank him again.

“Thanks. It’s my Christmas gift from Bean.”

“Who?”

“Kobe.”

“So, you’re going to be here around nine, right? You better not be late because I’m not defending you when mommy snaps.”

“Yes. I’ll be here. When she gets in from church, tell her to call me if she needs me.” I still can’t believe she went to Christmas Eve service. Actually, I’m quite surprised that she didn’t pressure Celeste and I into attending.

“Will do. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas Eve.” Unexpectedly for her, I leaned in and planted a soft peck on her cheek. We’ve never been the type of sisters who shower one another with a lot of love whether it be physical or verbal, but on there are those random occasions when I do show or tell her how much I love her. I’d like to think in all the ways I help her or come running when she needs me, it’s a reflection of what I feel just as much.

“Merry Christmas Eve. Have fun.”

“Will do. You too. Since mom isn’t here, maybe you and Preston can get a little practice in on that baby that you want.” With a slight scoff, her eyebrows raised.

“Since when are you on the wild side?”

“I’m reserved, not virginal. See you in the morning.”

A gust a wind slithered through the open space as soon as I opened the door to step outside and very faint sprinkles of snow filled the air as they lightly cascaded down to meet my frame. I thought I would have been out of here before it all started but the beauty of it ceased any complaints that I usually would have if it weren’t Christmas Eve. If anything, the snow makes the spirit of tonight even more fulfilling. I don’t have to dream of a white Christmas because it seems like the city is being gifted with one this year. “Happy Holidays stranger.” I didn’t see his car parked across the street nor had I noticed him jogging across the street after locking the doors behind himself and yet here he is, stepping up onto the sidewalk and inching closer to the steps of my mother’s porch to trigger a slight downward spiral of my mood with his presence alone. I don’t know what it is with Quinton and his purposeful choice to remain all in the family despite my resistance towards whatever he and my mother thought they had planned for my love life. Initially, I believed he genuinely viewed us as an extension of his own family and supporters in the neighborhood who he knew he could count on, but now, I’m not sure what the fuck this is or where he’s going with it. “Happy Holidays.” “How have you been?” “Well. You?” I was better just a minute ago. “I’m well enough.” “What brings you around? The holiday? You seem to always show up around here whenever there’s one.” In his hand, he held a gift bag that I’m going to assume is for my mother. It’s not that I mind that he buys her gifts, because deep down, I don’t. I’m mostly concerned with what they mean. “I don’t just show up here on holidays. I come over and check on your mom from time to time. You know I love Mrs. Nazaire.” My scoff was loud and clear. Any time we speak now, he sounds like nothing more than a fame hungry politician, who uses manipulation tactics to garner allies and supporters. I’m sure his antics are no different with my mother. It’s why she holds him in such high regard no matter how much I don’t give a fuck. “Yeah? It’s starting to feel like you’re screwing my mother. I’m not looking for any step-dads within our age range. Sniff around women your own age Quinton.” The sarcasm flowed from my mouth and into his ears; leaving a flustered expression on his face that quickly transitioned into one of annoyance. “I’m not. I’ve only been to bed with one Nazaire woman.” “I’m glad you used the past tense. I barely remember that one and done situation; but I’m glad that you do. She’s not here, but Celeste and her husband are. You’re more than welcome to wait for her and I’m sure that you will.” “I don’t know what it is that Shamel did to you, but you’re so bitter now. Not all men are hood gym owners who fucked you over repeatedly while dipping into women who bought memberships to be trained in doggystyle position rather than on treadmills. All I wanted to do was be a good man to you, but you’re coming at my head as if I’m your enemy.” He said all of that and yet I’m the bitter one? If anyone asked me anything about this man’s personal life, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything aside from what I know from the days when we’d actually hangout with one another. I haven’t kept up with much about his life story since then and I’d prefer not to know now. That’s the difference between he and I; he remains invested in what doesn’t concern him while I can’t seem to find a reason or the time to concern myself with what he wishes I would concern myself with. “I’m growing a bit confused about who has the pussy between the two of us. Only bored and lonely women concern themselves with what was or wasn’t going on in another woman’s relationship. Damn, you were more invested in what Shamel was doing with his time than I was. I’m bitter because I don’t want to play your political trophy wife or are you bitter because despite my firm no, you’re still sniffing around here and chasing me? Find your dignity Quinton. Don’t go out like a wack bitch, aight?” “I hope you don’t go out like one either. Make sure you keep it classy by not fucking with all of those athletes that you’re constantly around. How many have you been with thus far?” “All of them.” I’m usually not the type to laugh at my own jokes but I couldn’t help but to chuckle at his facial expression. I’ve been slut shammed more times than I can count. It happens every day when random people hiding behind social media accounts on apps decide to accuse me of using my body in order to keep my job, so Quinton doing it isn’t offending me any more than it does when strangers are doing it. Initially, I used to be extremely irritated by it but I’ve come to terms with the reality that people are going to say and assume whatever they want no matter what I do or feel about it. No matter who I do or don’t have in my bed, my bills are paid. “Excuse me. I have some place to be.”

Stepping around him wasn’t the problem; it was the oddness of him standing there and watching me slip into my car. Like a lost puppy, he trudged up the stairs to the house door and continued to burn a hole into my foggy windows with a scowl on his face that I couldn’t see but I’m sure is there. Maybe one day he’ll get it or maybe he won’t, either way, I’m not responsible for what he feels. I’ve been clear with all intentions and lack their off.

No matter how much snowfall happens in the northeast year after year, as soon as flakes of any size begins to fall out of the sky, the snail-paced traffic is an immediate effect and it drives me insane. It’s one of the primary reasons why I was in no rush to get a new car and am currently wishing I had a driver taking me to my destination. Not even the holiday tunes that I love so much are distracting me from wanting to roll my window down and shout at the drivers in front of me who are missing green lights and evoking slight amounts of fear within me with their skidding. What would usually be a forty-five-minute commute turned into nearly an hour and a half.

The relief that washed over me at the sight of the double entry driveway was well received as I slowly inched my way in and focused in on the three bodies standing in the driveway. I reached out to him just a few minutes ago to notify him that I’d need help getting bags out of the backseat of the car, so we wouldn’t have to make multiple trips in the brisk weather. Unlike the other males standing alongside him, the handsome one who belongs to me was hilariously covered in an oversized Santa coat with a black hood covering his blonde mane.

“The traffic was so stupid as I was on my way to the Lincoln Tunnel. I will never understand how people who have been living on the East Coast since forever still fear the damn snow. It’s not even snowing that hard.” My right hand latched onto his and he carefully pulled me out of the driver’s seat and into his awaiting arms. My complaint went into one ear and right out of the other as he endearingly snuggled my frame as close to his as possible while nuzzling his chilled face into the nape of my neck. Admittedly, I needed to feel him in this exact manner for the restoration of the joy that this night is supposed to be and bring.

“And don’t even get me started on this ass wipe in this big ass Navigator who kept slightly skidding. I was caught in between being worried for my damn life and wanting to kick his ass for driving so stupidly. Oh and…” His peck was sweet; subtle and yet enough to leave me yearning for so much more.

“Give me your keys.” To oblige his request, I dropped them into his hand and turned to both Kordell and Derek who were looking on and most likely extremely bored with my rant.

“Hi guys.”

“You finally made it. This guy was about five minutes away from hopping into his Rolls Royce and driving all the way to Brooklyn for you.” I’ve only met his step-father Derek once and in my quick assessment of him I understood that he was more of a reserve man who somehow had a humorous side to him that couldn’t be ignored. He can crack a joke and it usually comes at the right time.

“I told him I was coming. I would have been here if it weren’t for the traffic.”

“And he wanted me to get in the car and go with his lame ass.” After a shared hug with Derek, I threw my arms around Kordell and pecked his forehead despite his maneuvers to avoid it. He’s not exactly the most physically affectionate person so I purposefully shower him with some of my own to worsen whatever annoyance his oldest brother sent his way.

“You weren’t going to come looking for me with your brother? I thought you and I are good friends now?”

“We’re family or whatever, but you and bro are old. I have a lot more life to live. I wasn’t about to catch hypothermia messing with the two of you.”

“It’s not even that bad out here. You haven’t seen a real blizzard yet Louisiana boy.” His dramatics earned a light mush to his head. I’d love to see how he reacts to a couple of feet of snow covering the ground and maybe even a power outage to go with it. Now that’s hell.

“Sarai, what is all of this?” The bewildered expression on his face and him using my first name evoked me to widen my eyes in a confusion about what I could possibly be in trouble about. I don’t believe there’s anything incriminating in my trunk and if there is, I didn’t place it there.

“Gifts.”

“All of this?” Like a nagging elderly man who borders between obnoxiously cheap and being frugal with his money, he extended his arm towards the overflowing trunk and placed his idly hand on his hip to await an explanation that he’s not going to receive.

“What? I told you that I was coming with gifts. Don’t be ridiculous. Just grab them. Oh, and don’t forget the ones in the backseat. I’m going inside. It’s cold.”

“This is crazy. You went overboard.”

“I know you’re not talking about overboard. There’s a Rolls Royce parked right over there. I can start there and keep on going for hours. You really want to do this right now?” If there’s anything I’m ever ready for; it’s to prove somebody wrong. Debating is an essential part of my profession as an analyst and I haven’t lost a debate yet if you let me tell it, so I can and will give him an extensive five minutes of dialog about his spending habits and how he is by far one of the biggest spenders that I know. This man doesn’t even use his washer and dryer. He dry cleans every damn thing and never wears the same underwear, socks, or t-shirts twice.

“Nah, baby, you got it.” Without any further questions or concerns, he extended his arms into the trunk and began to retrieve a few of the many bags that they all needed to bring inside.

“Wow. You know how things go in arguments. Good job, man.”

While on my way to the warmth, my laughter at Derek’s commentary was loud enough for me to hear it but low enough so that the man of my affection couldn’t make it out. Sometimes it’s just best to keep quiet about the reality that your man is willing to put himself aside to please you and, in this case, it was his mouth.

“Sarai!”

Sometimes I’m stunned by my sincere acceptance into his family dynamic. We’re anything but traditional and we’re navigating in a manner that I’m sure they don’t understand because we certainly don’t. Aside from my overwhelming emotional affection towards the man who belongs to them more than he does to me, they’ve been unknowingly responsible for making me feel like I deserve the joy that I feel when I’m with him and around them. In my transition from hugs with Heather, Jazzy, and those who I’ve been led around the first level of the house to meet, I haven’t been able to ease away the smile gracing my face.

“Your outfit and pajamas are upstairs in the room.” I know pasta when I smell it. The fumes coming from the kitchen appealed to my senses quickly and left my stomach turning in knots for nourishment.

“Outfit?”

“Wait until you see what your guy bought for you.” Her amusement was my fear. I tend to like to make him the butt of a couple of my jokes, but I don’t want to be the one on the other end of his tonight.

“Is it a onesie?”

“No.” Suddenly I wish this glass of egg nog were spiked.

“I’m going to head up and see it. If it’s a disaster I’m pulling the feminist card and blaming the both of you because we’re supposed to be united against these men.” I waggled my finger back and forth to point out the mother and daughter duo who found my apprehension to be amusing and began slowly inch my way up the spiraling staircase that leads to the upper level of the house. Though I could hear his voice loud and clear from the foyer, O hadn’t brought my personal belongings upstairs and I’m already up here so that’s out. With that in mind, it seems even more logical to take him up on his offer of my own closet space so that I no longer need to keep trekking overnight backs to and from here.

A blend of the Italian bergamot and clay sage from his beloved cologne meshed in blissfully with the gingerbread scent that I know he purposefully misted into the room just for me. Since December came in, he frequently made note of how my home smelled like cookies whenever he came over and accused me of trying to toy with his already slightly ridiculous appetite for junk food, especially candy. Despite my love for Bath and Body Works and Yankee Candle’s holiday scents, he deemed them to be exceedingly sweet and overdone. Now look at him.

Flutters filled my core at the sight of his master suite’s fireplace being utilized for the first time ever. Unlike my obsession with them, it’s a feature within the house that he hasn’t concerned himself with since moving in. There’s something about the way the flames are curling and oscillating, flickering like gleaming lights, and cascading hues of scarlet onto the wall that naturally warms the space.

“Your stuff is on the bed.” I knew he was in the doorway. The chills trickling onto the back of my neck spoke before he did.

“You put the fireplace on.”

“I figured you’d like it. Thank God it’s electric. I’m no fireplace expert.” As his feet trudged against the wooden flooring, he dropped my monogram Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière duffle bag near the entry way of his closet.

“It’s beautiful.” If it were just us, I’d curl up on the floor in front of it with a good playlist going.

As soon as my Ugg boots were kicked aside, I inched closer to the bed and alongside three bags, was a Snoopy and Woodstock perfectly wrapped present that I certainly wasn’t expecting to see. My curiously instantly peaked but in a swift second, I checked myself for discarding the waiting rule I’ve grown up with. Celeste and I weren’t even able to open one gift at midnight on Christmas Eve.

“You forgot to put that under the tree?” Instead, I reached for the crimson red gift bag and snickered as soon as my hand silky velvet material that is identical to the kind covering his frame. My Mrs. Claus coat was that of something I’d be waiting for Santa in the bedroom in rather than keeping an eye on the elves. It’s lace-up front called for a good cleavage while the pure white faux fur trimming and flared skirted bottom were more along the lines of tradition until anyone notices the split open front. What exactly is supposed to go under this?

“No, that’s for you to open now. You probably thought I was playing when I mentioned it before but I really am impatient on Christmas Eve. I like to open presents the night before and just sleep on Christmas morning. Since it’s our first one together, I figured I’d be fair to your traditions and my own. So, we can open some tonight and then open the first in the morning. Fair?” Like an eager child hoping to get his way, his narrowed eyes slightly widened with hopes that I’d agree to what he calls fair. I don’t see what the big deal is. It all has to be opened either way.

“Fair.”

“So open that.”

Lazily, my body flopped down onto the plushness of the bed and I grabbed the box with a bit of shaking to increase his growing anticipation. The contents inside only slighting moved, throwing off just about all of my potential guesses for what it may be. My first donned a smirk as I commenced with tearing through the wrapping paper to uncover the infamous Christian Louboutin box under it. Shoes? Infinite brownie points already. Much like himself, I adore footwear. I stand by the law that a shoe can make or break a look more than any other article of clothing.

“You didn’t.” Instantaneously, thoughts of a random conversation I was having with Taylor came to mind. Christian Louboutin collaborated with Indian Couture Designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee on an extremely limited-edition collection featuring hand-embroidered sari fabrics and jaw dropping embellishments that left me in awe upon the sight of it online. Every piece of material used to craft the shoes were taken from Sabyasachi’s private archive, leaving only a few pairs of each design to be created.

“Didn’t what?” His confusion was intentional. The grin called his bluff. The lid to the box went flying behind me in an instant and in dramatic fashion, I dropped back onto the bed in astonishment and bliss at the sight of the exquisite thigh high boots that I fell in love with. Their golden delicate leather straps were specially designed harness and highlight the leg. On top of it, they’re made to measure.

“Is this real life?”

“I feel pretty alive, what about you?”

“How the hell did you get these? I called everywhere. No, literally. I e-mailed fucking Hong Kong for them. Supposedly only like six pairs were made.” “Those have been in my closet since October.” The nonchalance in his tone evoked a moisture lightly seep into the seat of the lace under my jeans. I don’t know whether to jump on the bed in joy or discard everything covering my frame allow him to twist and flip me into any position of his liking. Maybe both? Both can certainly be done.

“Come and give me a hug please.” With the box now resting alongside me, I opened my arms and awaited his presence. Like a weighted blanket, a wave of tranquility washed over me at the mass of his body now being closely hard-pressed against mine. My fingers found their way into the platinum blonde curls and few loose dreads dangling from his scalp and our lips met for a kiss that I’d been yearning for since I opened my eyes this morning. The sweetness of his supple lips intoxicated me far more than anything alcoholic ever could and the way his length fingers dug into the skin of my hips nearly blurred the actuality that we’re not home alone.

“I love them so much. Thank you, handsome.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Get up so that I can get one of yours from downstairs.”

“I can wait until after you’re dressed.”

“No, I insist. Let me get it.”

“Another kiss first?”

Without hesitation, I once again pressed my lips into his own for a deep peck and moved in a fluidity with his body as we eased off of the bed. I made it downstairs and back up, with a promise that I’d hurry up and change so the festivities could really begin. I need a quick shower first before I do anything else.

“I hope that you like it. I saw it and you instantly came to mind.”

“Can I just warn you that I didn’t wrap all of your gifts. The only reason why your boots were wrapped is because the boutique did it for me.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care about all of that.” The last thing I expected him to do is be frustrating himself with wrapping paper. His patience would never be able to handle it. For some odd reason, I enjoy doing it. I’ve been the designated gift wrapper in my family for years.

Though it may seem childish to some, I wrapped everything I bought him in Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” wrapping paper that I randomly spotted and happily picked up from a Hallmark store in Rutherford, New Jersey. Since he deemed it to be his favorite holiday classic, I imagined it would be festive to bring an element of it into the fun.

With my phone in hand, I snapped a photo of him as he tore through it to reveal the Louis Vuitton box, I knew it to be. Within seconds, its lid was on the floor and he drew away the protective paper to reveal the tan cowhide and calf leather “Christopher Backpack” backpack I bought for him. Unlike his ridiculously vibrant Supreme bags, I fell in love with the timeless style of the backpack and the classic solidness of its color. It’s a perfect choice for those game days when he’s more dressed up than down and needs something that’s subtle while still somehow being a statement piece.

“Damn, this is clean. This is perfect for when we’re traveling because they usually want us a little more dressed up.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I love this baby. I don’t know about waiting until next season to wear it though. I’ll have this on within a couple of days. Watch.”

Knowing him, he will. If it’s new, he’s in it shortly after receiving it. I don’t know him to be that person who saves things for later. Why should he when he’s constantly either buying or receiving things?

“I’m going to take a short shower. It’ll be quick.”

“You already smell good. What you need a shower for?”

“I was cooking. I can smell it on me. It’ll be quick. Ten minutes.”

“Your showers are never ten minutes.”

“This one will be. I assure you.”

The fib didn’t go without being grumbled about when that ten-minute duration I assured him up turned into an additional ten simply because of the feel of the warm water cascading over my skin left me in damn near a state of slumber as I stood there. My lotion lathering came with assistance and so did pulling up the opaque plaid patterned tights over my thighs. By the way of their fit, they were clearly sewn together to cater to an extremely slender woman’s shape but by the grace of God and my man’s hands they were up and over my ass without a snag or hole in sight.

“I really can’t believe you bought all of this.” We look like we work in the middle of a mall. Instead of having crying babies sitting up on his lap for photographs, he’d have lusty women beating one another to a bloody pulp for daring to cut the line to ruin their chances of sitting upon his lap and asking for his genitalia while I’d be called Santa’s Slore.

“Let’s go outside.”

Intricate patterns of the weightless ice floated downward from the darkened sky. Each flake whirled and twirled as a faint wind blustered them in our direction. Much like the silly man alongside myself randomly dancing for his personal media guy’s camera, I joyfully tracked footsteps into the barely there bed of snow covering the grounds of his driveway and took satisfaction in the sound of it squishing under my boots. I’m no longer camera shy, but being on one with him has awoken what used to be a part of me. I already knew that George would be documenting all of this just as he does for a lot of milestones and random moments of his life, but what happens if I’m no longer what he wants and he randomly comes across this Christmas video and the pictures to go with it one day? How awkward would that be?

“Hey, look.”

“Huh?” Though he only spoke two words, the thick cloud of breath still lingered as I faced him. In following his eyes as they slowly panned up, mine met the mistletoe idly hanging on the door with the red bows that were already there.

“That was not there when I got here.” I saw the bows, but the mistletoe? No. Laughter spilled from our lips at what I knew to be true. I’m slightly fatigued, but I can remember what I did and did not see.

“It was.”

“It was not.”

“Come and kiss me so that we can go inside, open up more stuff, and play cards with grandma.”

“That tone. I like it.” I’m alright with a man taking charge every now and then.

“Come here.”

The frost of the winter air was of no match to the warmth radiating from our bodies and serving as a shield around our affection. I’d often fantasize about moments like this; having a companion to comfortably, and most of all safely, bare my all to without any guards or painful baggage weighing me down. I believed the advice of allowing it to come to me was standard and cliché, but I undoubtedly understand it now. It’s when you least expect it that the unexpected happens in the best way possible. I ruled him out of my life as soon as we had that initial conversation and yet the universe continued to cross our paths, naturally coercing me to allow him in. In the midst of all of my fears from the past and present, I want only him.

“Okay, let’s go. I want to see everything that you got me.”

“You can’t open everything tonight. That’s breaking our deal.”

“Huh?” I trailed behind him as he dashed back into the house and towards the living room.

“You heard me!”

I chose the kitchen counter top as my designated seat for what turned into the most chaotic gift giving presentation. Like a hood Santa Claus, all I could pay attention to was my man and his slightly sagging plaid pants zipping through his home pulling out gifts from seemingly everywhere. They jokingly talked about how much of a grinch he was last Christmas but he’s certainly redeeming himself this year.

I can’t remember the last time I thoughtlessly splurged on luxury designer goods but I don’t need to do so any time soon because he covered that and then some. Being overwhelmed was an understatement. Chanel, Versace, Bottega Veneta, Balenciaga, Saint Laurent, Fendi. I lost track of the rest and the process of just how I’m going to be able to organize all of it in my closet.

In watching him, it’s so easy to understand human purpose. In the midst of being here to seek fulfillment within our own purpose, we’re just as much here to look after our loved ones and even those who aren’t. Fortunately, he’s been blessed to have more and because of it, he spreads not only his love but also the benefits of his wealth among them. There’s a pride within it that has been radiating from him for over an hour now. I too, can relate. I’ve been given just as many hugs and kisses of thanks that he’s been given and I expect that it’ll continue when I am with my own family in the morning.

“Draw 4, blondie.” What he thought was going to be a swift Uno out moment turned into him having fifteen cards in his hand and a scowl on his face that is hysterical. He’d beaten me to the point of embarrassment at Spades because I’ve never been that great at it despite the many times my dad taught me how to play, so I had to somehow coerce him into playing something that I could play by pretending that I didn’t know how to.

“You know what, I’m going downstairs to whoop Kordell in some hoops because you’re cheating.” A snicker slipped past my lips at the playfully aggravated scowl on his face as he used his body’s strength to push his chair away from the round table. In a manner to taunt him, I held out my hands before me and wiggled my fingers to signify my lack of cards and the reality that I’d just won yet another game of UNO. My man being a sore loser isn’t something that he’s modest about. I and many others have known that about him for quite some time.

“Don’t be mad.”

“You’re cheating. You keep making up imaginary rules that don’t exist.”

“Seriously? The directions are in the box. Look at them or look them up on Google. It’s not my fault that you don’t know them all. You just suck.”

“I suck?” The amused expression on Mille’s face tickled all of us as she glanced back and forth, to take in every shit talking word as they left the both of our mouths. She’d been quietly observing the two of us since we joined both she and Jasmyne at the table for a round of card games.

Initially, I thought I’d been intruding on her time with her grandchildren, but the sly smirks and eventual huge smiles gracing her angelic face swarmed me with a warmness that I needed to further soothe me into a comfort zone around those who I do not know well just yet. Every couple of minutes or so, she’d give me either a gracious caress to the hand as a sign of her welcoming or a pat of encouragement to continue beating her oldest grandchild at Uno. I’m going to accredit that to the feminism within her.

“If the shoe fits, babe.”

“I’m going to remember that baby. The mental note is made.” He used his index finger to tap his forehead as I wordlessly ogled over his exterior.

If anyone looked at his attire, it wouldn’t be deemed as anything impressive; a black Supreme sweatshirt and a pair of black loose shorts to keep him much cooler than all of that velvet he had on. Simple. Why my eyes are continuing to embarrassingly bulge out of their sockets every time they land on him is beyond my comprehension. I’ve never seen anyone’s facial structure be as chiseled to perfection as his is. The silhouette of his jawbone is completely shielded by the blackness of his thick beard and yet just the hint of it sends unwavering shivers down my spine.

The glimmer in his faintly slanted and ever so narrowed eyes illuminates any room when that priceless smile arises on his face and every aspect of myself begins to figuratively melt into liquid form; between my thighs is the worst of it. In the midst of his sleep, I love to plant soft pecks down the finely lined bridge of his nose until my lips are gently pressed into the suppleness of his own. I’m addicted. I lose all sense of who I am whenever his warm tongue meets mine.

Handsome is an understatement; it isn’t enough to compare. He is beauty personified. I don’t believe there is another man in sports entertainment who has left me gasping for just a slight breath of air upon my every sight of him. It never gets old. I don’t believe it ever will.

Sometimes I have to wonder if he’s truly mine or if the universe is playing some type of sick joke on me.

“I don’t mind you remembering that.” Whatever payback he has for that may come with pleasure that I am more than willing to accept.

“Alright.” The sly smirk tugging on his lips was enough to leave me on the borderline of tickled and embarrassed as soon as he leaned over to plant a knowing and warning kiss on my lips. Despite the presence of his younger siblings and the elders within his family, he didn’t harbor not even an ounce of regard or bashfulness when it came to his need to have his hands touching some part of my body or any other display of affection, he bestowed upon me at random moments. His actions remained consistent with all that he does when we’re alone; barely any discretion involved.

“I’m not sure if my stomach is churning because of you two or because I want some cake, but I’m going to get some cake anyway. Y’all want anything?”

“You just mad.” And just like that, her brother’s large palms were lightly meshing into the side of her head for a playful mush and she instantly pushed him out of her way.

“I’m just fine with my egg nog.” Mille opted to keep hers virgin along with the other underage beings around. The rest of us had just a teaser of rum to give it a subtle kick.

“Me too. I’m fine.” I stepped on the scale a couple of days ago and I’ve gained five pounds. Between the man in my life constantly feeding me and the holidays, I’ve been overindulging on just about everything that’s offered to me. I need to get my life together.

With yet another shove to her brother’s side, Jasmyne darted away from the table with him hot on her trail with jokes about the size of her head which is no different from his own, but I’ll leave him be. They left the matriarch of their family and I at the table with decks of cards and a “Snow Place Like Home” five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle that she’s beginning to open so that we can attempt to put it all together before we’re off to bed. The peacefulness on her face evoked a solace within me that I’ve been seeking since this day began. My internal mourning subsided for the meantime as I observed her joy in being surrounded by family and most of all, because they’re all doing quite well in all aspects.

“My daughter went from telling me that you have my grandson’s nose wide open to telling me that he’s completely lost into your world and I couldn’t believe it. Odell would always laugh me off when I asked him about girls or women and he’d tell me that myself, Heather, and Jasmyne are the only ladies of value and importance in his life. From the way he’s been floating around here since your arrival and the way he looks at you, there’s officially a fourth.” My mouth moved to speak but the words remained stuck in the pit of my throat as her ash white eyebrows arose in a satisfaction at the believed accuracy of her all too knowing spirit.

“You don’t have to be modest. He’s not sitting next to you anymore.” Immediately, giggles spilled from her rosy lips prompting my shoulders to sink in a relief that I’m not sure why I needed.

“I’m not being modest. I just don’t know what to say. It feels like a lot of this is unfamiliar territory for me but at the same time, it evokes the shy and bashful side of me.” She’s been making little comments since we were introduced. I guess they were all leading up to this moment.

“That’s a good thing dear; a great thing. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since his momma showed me a video of him working out with his physical therapists and trainers. You’ve built him back up. She gives you most of the credit for that.”

“I wouldn’t give myself any credit. His determination did it. You can’t keep someone with his determination down and he certainly wasn’t going to do it to himself.”

“Determination goes a long way, but often time, there has to be something or someone to ignite the fire behind that determination and that has been you. You cared for him, physically and most of all mentally, during what he calls one of the most disappointing and darkest times of his life thus far. So, don’t sell yourself cheaply because he talks about you like you’re priceless.”

“I believe in everyone having a person; that person that they can go to for laughter and good times or to lean on for a cry session. Whether it’s a close relative or a friend, you just need that person. I wanted to be that person for him because I know what it’s like to not have that person. He didn’t need pity. He needed encouragement that the injury is just a small part of his journey and most of all, he just needed someone to simply be there. That’s what you do for someone you lo-“

My tongue pressed against the backs of my top front teeth as I halted an admission that I’ve been withholding for a short while and coming to grips with on my own. I’ve been overly analyzing what that means for myself and how to navigate it going forward because it’s never felt quite like this before. As with all that I’ve been sharing with him, it’s new and I’ve jumped off of a cliff and into a pit of fear that I’m doing my best not to drown in.

Acceptance needed to come first and now that it has, I’ve been in a wonderment of whether or not those feelings are reciprocated on his end and how I’m going to handle my ever-going emotions if they are not. I cannot berate him for what he may not feel nor can I resent him for not sparing my feelings with lies if he does admit that I am in this alone.

I want to do nothing more than protect him. It’s almost odd because I’ve felt compelled to do that prior to even knowing him. Every attack and biased commentary that came his way felt like a personal attack on the character of a man who the world refused to understand. Now that I’ve experienced him in ways that are far beyond what were in my imagination at that time, I stand firm in what I knew all along. He’s not perfect and yet his imperfections are too what I love about him. He’s the embodiment of a security in his personhood and masculinity that I am irrevocably attached to.

“You could have finished that. Words are powerful but so are body language and actions. Yours have said it all. You know, I used to call you the young lady on TV that he likes so much, but now I call you the young lady on TV that he loves so much.”

Faint tingling nipped at the nape of my neck and the lined crevice of my back as certain aspects of her statement entered my ear like a vibrating echo; hypothetically repeating themselves for an emphasis to my thoughts. The last man I remember genuinely loving me laid down with my mom to create me. Shamel did not love me; I was something to do.

He rarely ever used the word and when he did, it was to emphasize something that he loved for me to do for him. In poor judgement and a lack of character, I accepted that because I was too emotionally exhausted to be combative with him or myself about it. Eventually, I didn’t even want him to love me. There didn’t need to be anything that kept us attached beyond an ignorant familiarity that I clung to for far too long.

“You really think so?”

“I know so dear.”

In an effort to help her, I reached my arms out and used my hands to spread out the many pieces all over the table so that we could begin a strategy to get it done. It’s been quite some time since I’ve done one of these and I’m not even sure my tired body can concentrate enough but I’m willing to try.

“Merry Christmas.” Yet again, the scent of his Sean Jean cologne slithered up my nose as the heat radiating from his body left me leaning back against my seat, relishing in it. His long arms extended over and he placed a navy-blue box down on the table directly in front of me. Upon my eyes landing on it, the all too famous Harry Winston initials were engraved in a bold gold on its surface.

“What’s this?” Along with him, Mille, and myself being in the room, there was also George who was continuing to document every aspect of this holiday celebration.

“Just a little something for my Brooklyn girl to rock with her Timbs.”

“Shut up!” Our regional teasing never ends. He tends edge me out with the Brooklyn jokes because I don’t know how many other ways, I can talk about how country he is. Technically speaking, he’s not even as country as some of the other athletes that I’ve spoken with over the last couple of years. Even his accent, that nearly melted me out of my heels the night we first conversed with one another, isn’t heavily ingrained with that Louisiana flare.

“Open it.” Without any bickering or hesitation, I slowly pulled up the lid on the box to reveal a pair of hoop earrings that instantly left me in a state of breathlessness. The emerald and round cut stones circled their platinum setting with a glimmer that one could not ignore. Every aspect of their make oozed a meticulousness to his taste and Mr. Winston’s talent. Any figure of price that came to mind could not match up with what sat before me and I know better than to ask him for specifics. I can admit to being a gold hoop wearing girl while I was back in high school, but I never imagined myself having a pair quite like this.

“Oh my God.” Circling my fingers over their surfaces solidified the reality of them now being within my possession and his supple lips pressing against my forehead widened the smile I was already donning.

“You like them? They seemed like they were very you when I saw them. Hoops for when you rock those buns in your hair.” Whether it’s a well done or sloppy bun, he always compliments how “cute” it is on me and he takes it a step further by enjoying the open access to my neck while my hair is out of the way.

“I love them. Thank you, babe. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.” Just as I’ve done with every gift he’s given me thus far, I leapt out of the chair and threw my arms around his body in a physical showering of the love that I have for him. It’s beyond the gifts but rather the reality of him thinking of me and being so intuitive with what I desire and need that has taken his endless gift giving over the edge tonight.

“George did you get that? Now that’s a picture-perfect moment.” Mille’s face glowed in pleasure at the sight of us. I wonder if we’re reminiscent of those old black and white films that I secretly love so much. I hope so, but just in color. Everything about us is vibrant.

“I have it all Mama Millz.”

“I’ll be back.” I couldn’t take another moment of being in that unbearably warm coat or the tights.

I did change. The crimson red fair isle long john was a perfect touch for tonight. Much like earlier, the fireplace distracted me and I found myself sliding down onto the floor to marvel in its heat and beauty. If there were a pillow down here with me, I’d be asleep within minutes. Though he moved into this house not that long ago, for some reason it feels more lived in than my own. Maybe it’s because it’s filled with family right now or it may be the dogs, but I enjoy the way I feel here. There’s an eerie loneliness in my home that can be difficult to ignore sometimes.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the fireplace.”

“Why are you acting like you don’t have one?” Once inside, he closed the door enough just to leave a crack in it.

“I don’t have one in my bedroom.”

“We can fix that.” Yet again, the nonchalance tone and now shrug awoken parts of me that I’ve been mentally taming since my arrival. He talks like he’s more than willing to give me the world in a silver platter if I were to request it.

“I have something for you.”

“I want something for you too.”

“Me first.” Rather than hanging it to him, I nudged the velvet gift bag towards his feet and he flopped down onto the floor to meet it. He dropped his gift for me, Cartier from what I observed, into his lap.

“Patek Philippe? Oh wow.” With no response, I allowed him to have the moment to himself as he pulled the chocolate toned leather box out of the bag. Our eye contact was brief as he pulled open the lid and his silence intrigued me instead of rattling my already racing nerves. Just as I’d done to the hoop earrings, his fingers ran over its surface while his lips parted to leave his mouth agape. It may not be on his arm now, but I��ve envisioned just how incredible it’s going to look on him over and over again.

“The blue isn’t only representative of the team but it also takes me back to the night we both spoke for the first time. You were wearing blue and black. In New Orleans, when we made things official, you were wearing blue. Blue makes me think of you. I know most associate that color with sorrow, but you give it life and joy. You give it character.”  

Only the sound of the fire crackling against the wood served as a tune dancing in the air of stillness between the two of us. His reaction to so many of the other things I gifted to him were boisterous and comedic, but this stole his words and left him to wallow in speechlessness.

“Sarai, I love you.”

The wholeness of his words filled voids that I neglected and accepted as everlasting destruction. His patience has sealed my gaping wounds and rid me of the leftover scarring. The acceptor of my deficiencies and the protector of my delicate soul, in his eyes, for the first time in such a long time, I recognize myself. The duality of being able to love myself and him is as synchronized as my breathing.

“I love you too, Odell.”

Undoubtedly. Irrevocably.

[diabolik-lovers-box]

Imagine: S/O Losing a Professional Dancing Competition [Ayato Sakamaki, Kou Mukami]

Based off of this ask:

Ayato Sakamaki

Ayato had been eagerly awaiting your return from your competition. It had been a full night without you and he was starting to grow impatient. Every tick of the clock set him off as he paced back and forth in the living room. As soon as he heard the front door opening, he stopped and poked his head up, looking in the direction the sound had come from.

Surely enough, you came in with your dance bag and your hair still up. He nearly tackled you the second you walked through the door, but upon seeing your expression, he stopped himself.

“Pancake?”

You looked up, having held back frustrated tears the entire way back, you rushed into his chest, finally letting them fall. 

“Ayato! It was the worst competition ever!” You declared as he slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

He frowned and looked down at you, his piercing green eyes searching for the reason that was making you upset, “Eh, what happened?”

“I-I-” You stuttered past a few hiccups, “I didn’t win.”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion and anger, “HUH? What the hell? But you worked for forever for this! How could you have not won? You even made me watch over you all those times... was it really for nothing?”

“Ayato!” You snapped, slightly annoyed that that was what came to his mind.

“...Sorry.”

He pushed you back slightly on onto the sofa. “So what happened? Yours Truly is here to listen so you should be thankful.”

Had you not been wiping a few tears from your cheeks, you would have rolled your eyes or punched him in the arm, but you decided to let it pass as you started explaining.

“...So even though she had the most basic routine I had ever seen in my life, she still beat me!” You finished with a frown. 

Ayato had to admit, half of the things you had just said, he didn’t understand. He was still pretty unfamiliar with dance terms, all he knew was that whatever had happened had upset you.

He paused for a moment before scoffing, “Tch, those judges, did they really think they could mark down something that belongs to Yours Truly? They should be glad that I even allowed you to partake in their useless competition, I knew it was a bad idea, you should have just stayed here with me-”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile forming on your lips at the reminder that your boyfriend was such an immature vampire. “Ayato...”

“It’s true! You left me here, alone, for nothing.”

“Ayato!”

Suddenly, he pushed you down, hovering over you on the sofa. “Why are you even letting this bother you? You should spend your time thinking about Yours Truly instead.”

He leaned closer and caught your lips with his own in a soft yet passionate kiss before leaning to the crook of your neck and slowly sinking his fangs in.

A small gasp escaped your lips, “A-Ayato!”

“Shh,” He whispered, his voice sounding right by your left ear, “You left me alone for an entire day, what did you expect? Now, stop thinking about that stupid competition, and start thinking about me.”

He moved to your collarbone, pushing the fabric of your shirt aside to get better access before he started kissing, aiming to leave a mark that would ensure everyone knew you weren’t available.

“Ayato... don’t...”

He didn’t respond until he was done.

He leaned forwards again, your noses almost touching. “Oi, pancake,” his voice was deep and demanded all of your attention, “you shouldn’t care what other people say, you should focus all of your attention to me.”

“Got it?”

You nodded slowly, “O-Okay.”

“Good,” He stole another kiss, a quicker one this time, before saying, “I love you.”

Kou Mukami

Kou had decided to put together a special treat for you for when you came back from your competition. He was eagerly adding the finishing touches to the living room when he heard the front door of the mansion open.

He looked up and quickly bounced over to the door as you walked in.

“Welcome home, M-Kitt...en...” He trailed off upon seeing your red, puffy eyes. 

Immediately, he went to comfort you. He put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, gently removing your dance bag from your side. He then carefully led you to the nearest sofa and started rubbing you back as the frustrated tears you had been holding back finally started to fall. 

For a few minutes, he didn’t say anything. He just held you close as you let yourself fall apart in his arms. 

Once it sounded like you were starting to calm down, he asked, “What happened?”

You carefully started to explain how you had lost the competition despite the other girl’s lack of flair or originality in her routine. He knew how much you had practiced and worked on your choreography for this competition seeing as he did try to help you with his own dancing ability so to hear that you lost to someone who couldn’t even leap properly was both shocking and infuriating for him.

“Oh, M-Kitten, I’m sorry things didn’t work out. I don’t want you to cry over something like this. You know there’s a lot wrong with some of these judges in these competitions. The competition probably paid them off ahead of time. It doesn’t matter what they said, we both know your routine was better than here’s. Hell, the audience probably knows too.”

A small smile formed on your lips at your boyfriend’s reassuring words. “Thank you, Kou.”

He nodded and patted your head, kissing your cheek. “Don’t let something like this bother you too long.”

It wasn’t until then that you noticed the unfamiliarly bright colors around you. You looked around the room to see that the place was covered in bright party decor and there was a collection of all your favorite snacks/desserts on the coffee table in front of you.

“Uh, Kou, what is all this?” You asked carefully as you kept looking around.

He looked around too, as if he had forgotten that there was anything there also. “Oh! This is a welcome home party! I put it together while you were away, what do you think.”

You smiled and looked up at him, holding his hands in yours. “I love it.”

A wide grin spread across his face, “Good!”

He proceeded to show you every little detail he had put into making the place look perfect for you. 

The two of you spent what felt like a perfect eternity with one another, laughing and joking all the way until you left the memories of the competition in the dust. 

At one point, however, Kou’s switch was tapped ever so slightly.

The two of you were close, close enough to feel each other’s breath, as suddenly the laughter stopped and the sound was replaced with the feeling of his lips against yours. The kiss was intimate and meaningful as he pulled you closer by your waist. 

Once your lips parted for you to catch your breath, he leaned to your left ear, “Hey, M-Kitten, don’t you think I deserve something in return for doing such a good job of cheering you up? Don’t I?” There was the feeling of a kiss on the shell of your ear that made you shiver ever so slightly. 

He chuckled and leaned down to first kiss the nape of your neck before he sank his fangs in, being slow and careful at first. 

“Kou...”

His name was all he needed to hear.

“Ah, M-Kitten, you really drive me crazy, you know?”

He toppled you on the sofa, catching both of your hands and holding them down. 

“But that’s why I love you.”

[takeallyourloveouttame-blog]

game on.

I wouldn’t call you if I didn’t really need you. I have no one else to fucking call. The words replay in my head again and again. I’m overly tired and rightfully so. I’ve been working overtime trying to infiltrate this criminal group without luck. I could hear Dustin in the background shouting, stomping; anything to make noise and announce to the neighborhood that he was overly pissed. I knew - given Kitt’s broken voice - that it wasn’t going to be a pretty scene. I knew I would be overly pissed too. I also knew that if it was what I thought it was - my plans would be changing soon. My hands find pockets as soon as I exit the subway train and jog my way up the stairs to the brisk welcome of night. Continuous prompts remind me to stay calm and clear of mind. I don’t have enough skin in the game yet to over-emote. My only in at this point is Dustin. Mind flashes to Kitt and her quivering voice. Eyes darken as I press the damn-near broken buzzer for their apartment and hear the obnoxious gargle signaling the door is open. Pulling the door wide, I stride the stairs rapidly and don’t care to knock on the door belonging to the siblings’ shared apartment. As I enter, Dustin gets in my face, wild-eyed and face-flushed. “He beat her real fuckin’ good, man. I’m gonna kill him. I don’t care what happens to me.” Fingertips press against his chest. I can feel the heat rising off of him and can smell his bravado. I don’t doubt that he’s willing to kill for his sister, but I do know that I need him to do the opposite and remain my main point of contact to this syndicate. I also recognize that I’m not ready to see what awaits. “If you want your sister to bury your sorry ass, go put a few plugs in someone. You’re not thinking straight. Probably can’t even aim a gun right now. Where is she?” My eyes waiver toward the bathroom door. The light fixture buzzes audible through the cracked door, but isn’t loud enough to drown out the pained croons and hitched breath. “Dustin. Sit down, stay there.” Approaching the door with measured steps, I lightly rap my knuckles to the back of the unevenly stained surface so it doesn’t nudge open further without invitation. “It’s me. I’m coming in.” The door creaks as I slowly push it open - and I immediately see the same blinding red that fills Dustin’s gaze. My heart begins to drum rapidly in the barrel between my ribs and I kneel in front of her, taking in a visual assessment of the damage, thumbs pushing back hair from her face. “Please tell me there’s a corpse somewhere,” I whisper hotly through a seething clench of my teeth. “I just want to fucking shower and sleep and I can’t get my own shirt over my goddamn head without almost passing out from the pain.” “No corpse then?” I quirk a brow, and watch tears brim her eyes but refuse to fall. My jaw tenses again and I nod in understanding, straightening up to assess the shower and then her state. “This’s gonna hurt.” She nods and I bend and scoop arms around her, straightening her up and trying to ignore her throated cries. “How much do you like this?” I ask, giving a small indicating tug to the hem of her tank top. “I doubt the blood will come out. Just get it off of me,” she says and I notice the hitch in her breathing; the pain in her eyes. It doesn’t matter if she likes it in that moment. “Scissors,” I say and turn toward the medicine cabinet, opening it wide to ruffle through without a car, pushing past menstrual medications, tylenol, unmarked bottles, and tampons. “Dustin, bring me scissors,” I holler and hear him immediately shuffle around. His hand appears with a pair of shears in the crack of the door and I grab them, then close the door entirely. “Turn around,” I offer in a firm, yet gentle tone. I fight to hide my anger, but know I will get my ultimate revenge. With her back toward me, I pluck the material away from her skin and skim the scissors along the rails of her spine, slicing until the tank top splits. My hands carefully guide the material over her shoulders and down her arms, trying to be the least intrusive for her battered body. Dark, deep bruises paint her skin. Especially along her ribs. “I’m gonna undo your bra,” I say with a bit of hesitation, fingers gently clasping fabric on either side of the hook and loop. I want further consent and feel my heart ripping through my ears, but I know she’s been through trauma and don’t want her to have to console me to be able to fulfill a request that was hard for her to make to begin with. I pull the fabric apart just enough to loosen the hook from its notch and keep a grip on both ends to keep it from snapping against her burdened body, guiding the fabric down her shoulders and arms until it falls to the bathroom floor. I stay behind her and make the transition to her pants, arms reaching around to her front when I feel her hands on my forearms. “I can do my pants, you perv.” Our smiles are audible, though hers extinguishes with a pained exhale and I take a step back and swing my body to avert my eyes. Staring down a lone scar in the wall, I listen to the pain in her breathing and refusal of tears and I force myself to remember them - for later. For the right time. “Ready,” she tells me and I turn toward her, eyes dipping for a brief second over her naked form before stepping toward the shower. I dip in and turn the dials, gliding my fingers through the stream until it warms to a comfortable level. “Ready when you are,” I say, securing my eyes to hers. Her movements are slow and measured. I can tell she’s trying to cause herself the least amount of pain with each step. Her knees near the ceramic edge of the tub and I find my natural frown settling a bit deeper. “This is going to be really fuckin’ rough. Take it at your own speed and lean on me as much as you need. I won’t let ya fall.” She seethes, her lips vibrating as she lifts her leg and steps over the tub’s side, her other leg quick to follow. I can tell she wants to bleat out but she bites it back. Kitt is tough as nails and I wouldn’t expect anything less. I close the shower curtain around her and wait before I hear the familiar exhale again. My head pops through the water barrier and I see her attempting to reach for her shampoo. “Easy,” I warn, already shrugging from my jacket. Quickly kicking off my shoes and tugging off my socks, I enter the stream still in my white t-shirt and jeans, realizing I need to ditch my phone and wallet rapidly too. Outstretching my hand and securing the shampoo bottle, I squeeze a growing amount into my palm before she gives me a silent nod. She turns her back toward me and I feel relief. “Smells like a unicorn’s asshole,” I note and spread the goo between my hands before dragging my fingers through her hair gently. I remember the gash near her hairline and try to keep the suds away from it. Brush strokes of red slip down the drain. “What else do you need?” I ask, my clothes now clinging heavily to me. “This yours?” I grab a loofah and note Dustin’s obvious bar of soap - greasy hairs attached to it like a magnet. A bottle of cheap soap with a colorful label with some kind of cheesy vanilla graphic catches my eye and I hold it in front of her for verification. Stringing soap along the loofah surface, I rub it in and she turns her head. Our gazes linger and she slowly takes possession. My gaze turns and I linger in the back of the tub, listening to more hisses and grunts until she’s had enough, dried and fresh blood pooling through the running stream. “I’m done,” she says and refuses to sound defeated. Leaning forward, I flick off the water and step out, water puddling at my feet as I reach for a towel she directs me to. I wring pools of excess water from my shirt into the tub, the fabric hanging loose at my waist then take another towel and attempt to pat myself down. “Can you-” she starts and I interject. “The whole reason I’m here’s so Dustin doesn’t see his sister naked, right?” I help wrap herself with the towel and open the bathroom door. Dustin sits up, suddenly alert, though he’s poured himself at least half a bottle of whiskey just during the wait. “Your sister’s a badass,” I assure him. “You alright Kitt?” He’s clearly distraught, angered, and overly protective, but he's also eyeing me and my soggy, sloshing clothes. She nods, mostly because nothing about this is alright. She helps pick out items from her closet and I ask, “did you lose consciousness at all?” “I don’t even fuckin’ know.” I help slip the flannel on one arm at a time and secure the buttons, eyes on hers other than to navigate which button I’m on. “Just go fuckin’ commando and cut me a break here,” I relent and she nods as if it isn’t a big deal. When I bend over to secure the leggings over one leg, I struggle and she bobs for balance. “Use me,” I urge and feel her palms on my back as I struggle to roll the leggings up. “I don’t know how the hell you wear these.” Sweat threatens my brow line when I finish, straightening up my stiff spine with a grunt. “Bed,” I tell her. “Dustin, get in here!” Within seconds, Dustin jogs into her bedroom. We help her into bed and I instruct Dustin to lay off the fucking booze and whatever else. I warn Kitt to stay awake no matter how bad she wants to sleep through the night in case she’s concussed. I tell them I’m going to leave, but I stay perched on the top step in the hallway just outside of their door for hours. Dark eyes lost in a longing gaze, trapped inside my head as I plot my next move. Before I finally leave, I replay the words in my head. The words I made her tell me before we left that bathroom. “Who did this to you?” “Like you don’t know.” “I need you to say it, Kitt.” Confusion riddling her eyes - then emotion. She blinks, skews her jaw, and says the magical words: “Fuckin’ Ace.” 

Fuckin’ Ace. Game on.

[99lleon]

fossa.

                             i said   ᴛᴏᴏ    ᴍᴜᴄʜ,   said  the   𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈  thing                              𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔  the  𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦  i was  trying  to                              𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝  to  𝘠𝘖𝘜.  cast an 𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓, think i'm                             ｌｏｓｉｎｇ  my head. sometimes i FEEL-—                              be what you want,  i  𝘊𝘈𝘕   be what you want                              be what you want,  i 𝘾𝘼𝙉'𝙏 be what you want

     it’s dark when he finds time again, the past two days have gone by in such a blur that it’s only then leon feels the thunder in mind settle, leaving nothing but dark waves behind. once soren’s no longer there, he makes his way to the roof, knowing it’s the place for quietude, a chance to calm down and breathe. and that’s all he needs. the proto clutches a notebook and a pen in his grasp as he climbs up the stairs, holding on to two objects as if they're the only thing that’s grounding him, the only thing that will give him some kind of solace when the world around him seems to crumble slowly but surely.

     a few minutes later he has settled on the floor, an idle coldness seeping through his wires, the body enclosed in a material that eerily feels like skin. it’s not the cold in the same way others feel, he knows, it’s his receptors warning him instead, an advanced thermometer of sorts instead of the blood that's not running through his veins. his back to the wall, he has a vast abyss of darkness in front of him. too vast. a day doesn’t go by without leon missing riku, but it hits more than usual that night, the darkness is too much to bear without him, without his family. even though he hasn't been on this world for so long, he feels old, as if the past two years were two decades instead. perhaps time is a different quality to protos as well, with his enhanced memory unable to forget any single detail.

     the notebook and pen lie on the floor next to him as he pulls his legs towards himself, arms propped up by elbows as he lets his head fall into his heads, fingers clutching his own hair as he breathes — tries to breathe. there's no need, he knows, his body doesn't need oxygen nor nutrition, but at that moment, there's a feeling that he might just suffocate, lost in the abyss of his own mind, the loneliness that surrounds him, fear of everything that has happened, and everything that lies ahead of him. the speech just two days ago still echoes in his mind, the certainty in the man's words, the implication that lay underneath them. they knew things were going wrong, and as leon keeps repeating that event over and over again in his mind, he feels further on the edge, a fear gnawing in his mind.

     it's not something he can fix like a circuit, he can't zoom in and detect the problem like he would with a piece of machinery — and for the first time in weeks, he feels mad at riku for leaving him so alone, for making him feel so much when there's nothing he can do to help it. is it really fair ? that leon feels so much when he shouldn't, that the thunder in his mind doesn't make sense for a being whose entire purpose is to be logical. it hurts, feeling him hollow, and after a short moment, he feels even worse for harbouring such thoughts about riku, the man who made him, the man who loved him for who he was. he remembers the first time he opened his eyes, he remembers the man's thick but soothing voice reading books to him, everything from dostoyevsky to kafka to anything else, both of them tucked into bed even though leon didn't need a blink of sleep. it was so odd back then, that this man who was superior in every aspect would devote such a great proportion of his own time, to a simple proto who could download things easily and do anything riku wished. there were many things that surprised him through the months, but one thing he didn't see was how much he cared about him, how much they bonded, how much he has learned and changed. one thing he can't forget is the smile on the man's face whenever he did something that wasn't purely logical, an illogical of emotion, feeling. that smile is crystal clear in his own mind, as it's the last moments they spent together.

    and looking back now, in a period where a change in protos is shunned, leon feels like his entire existence is tainted, labelled as a defect. what can he do ? what should he do ? he refuses to believe in what they say, because they contradict with riku's words so strongly, it reminds him of the hate-mails he read, the strong words, the threats— the only difference now is that there is no riku there to smile up at him and shake his head, no one to reassure him that there's nothing wrong with who he is. the doubts are too recent, too clear in his mind, the conversations with soren and kitts has left him feeling less lonely, eased him out of the mindset that he needed to leave —- but still, he fears that he's being a burden on them, on every one of his friends. the same curiosity and excitement that makes leon who he is,turns into dread and fear, and when he feels like he can't take it anymore, he grabs the notebook and begins to write. no preamble, his words simply bleeding into the paper.

          you left — you left and i don't know what to do. i know you told me i could write to you whenever you were busy and i wanted to let it out but is it okay for me to do now ? why did you leave ? why didn't you tell me something could happen — wasn't there anything i could do ? we could have left — just the two of us like you said. you were going to show me other cities, the places you read to me about. there was so much we could do, but the cause, you always cared a lot about it, and i can't understand now, i don't understand anything. maybe you've foreseen this ? — did you ? did you know that protos like me would be labelled as defects, seen as a threat ? 

          did you make me like this regardless ? i just want to know, i feel like there's a huge piece missing, one that you took with you, one that you always kept from me no matter how much we talked. i can't help but feel like i was always waiting for something, being honed to be next to you, to become something better but — now... there's nothing, and i don't know what to do — please, please you have to tell me, you have to teach me again, i wasn't — i'm not ready for what's about to come, i'm not. i’m not ready.

     the letters begin to feel more rushed, the pen in his hold shaking as he continues to write, his teeth sink into the back of his lip, his eyes stinging as he fights for words, no matter how in vain they are. they'll never reach riku, but he has to let them out, in a way he did when the man was busy in his office, when leon was told to be patient, calm. he wants to believe it's just a long meeting riku has gone to, but his mind is too cruel, too precise to remind him immediately how he died in his own arms, how his heartbeats faltered and diminished into nothing, into a silence that still haunts him. he clutches the pen hard, and feels a few tears leak out of his eyes, another thing that he'll never understand why riku ever gave him. it was a surprise back then at the house, the dampness in his cheeks foreign, but now he knows what they are, and the sole purpose they serve is to make him feel weaker, utterly lost. he didn't know what they were back then, because riku was there, he was happier than he had ever been. if only he knew — if only there was anything he could do. the storm had been brewing even then, but leon had been too naive to notice, the same storm that begins to take its full force now. he clutches the pen once again, scribbling down the last few words, the paper slightly wet that ink begins to blot.

          i miss you. i feel lost. i don't know what to do.

      there are no more words to be said or written. these three sentences sums up his entire being, so with that, he closes the notebook, puts it back down and buries his face back in his arms. and the shivering that takes his frame has nothing to do with the cold outside, but the one inside him.