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weaselandfriends · 1 month ago

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Ender's Game (novel)

Is Ender Wiggin (pictured above as the little brother from Malcolm in the Middle) guilty of xenocide?

Actually, let's first answer a different, but related, question:

What game does the title "Ender's Game" refer to?

It's not as simple a question as it seems. There are three games that have a prominent role in the plot, all very different from one another.

The obvious answer is the Battle School zero-gravity game, where teams of competitors play glorified laser tag in a big empty cube. In terms of page count, most of the book is dedicated to this game. It's also the game depicted on the cover of the edition above.

Yet this game vanishes during the story's climax, when Ender is given a new game to play, a game he is told is a simulator of spaceship warfare. This "game" turns out to not be a game at all, though; after annihilating the alien homeworld in the final stage, Ender learns that he was actually commanding real ships against real enemies the whole time, and that he just singlehandedly ended the Human-Bugger war forever via total xenocide of the aliens. This is both the final game and the most consequential to the plot, despite the short amount of time it appears.

There's also a third game, a single-player video game Ender plays throughout the story. The game is procedurally generated by an AI to respond to the player's emotional state, and is used as a psychiatric diagnostic for the players. Of the three games, this is the one that probes deepest into Ender's psyche, that most defines him as a person; it's also the final image of the story, as the aliens build a facsimile of its world in reality after psychically reading Ender's mind while he xenocides them.

Because all three games are important, the easiest answer might be that the question doesn't matter, that the story is called Ender's Game not to propose this question at all but simply because the technically more accurate "Ender's Games" would improperly suggest a story about a serial prankster.

Fine. But why does the title use the possessive "Ender's" at all?

He does not own any of these games. He did not create them. He does not facilitate them. All of these games, even the simulator game, predate his use of them as a player, were not designed with him in mind, were intended to train and assess potential commanders for, ostensibly, the hundred years since the last Human-Bugger war.

It's in this question that we get to the crux of what defines Gamer literature.

These games are Ender's games because he dominates them into being about him. He enters a rigidly-defined, rules-based system, and excels so completely that the games warp around his presence. In the Battle School game, the administrators stack the odds against Ender, thereby rendering every other player's presence in the game irrelevant except in their function as challenges for Ender to overcome. The administrators acknowledge this in an argument among themselves:

"The game will be compromised. The comparative standings will become meaningless." [...] "You're getting too close to the game, Anderson. You're forgetting that it is merely a training exercise." "It's also status, identity, purpose, name; all that makes these children who they are comes out of this game. When it becomes known that the game can be manipulated, weighted, cheated, it will undo this whole school. I'm not exaggerating." "I know." "So I hope Ender Wiggin truly is the one, because you'll have degraded the effectiveness of our training method for a long time to come."

In this argument, Anderson views the game the way games have been viewed since antiquity: exercises in acquiring honor and status. This honor is based on the innate fairness inherent to games as rule-based systems, which is why in ancient depictions of sport the chief character is often not a competitor but the host, who acts as referee. In Virgil's Aeneid, for instance, the hero Aeneas hosts a series of funeral games (the games themselves intended as an honor for his dead father). Despite being the principal character of the epic, Aeneas does not compete in these games. Instead, he doles out prizes to each competitor based on the worthiness they display; his fairness marks him symbolically as a wise ruler. The Arthurian tournament is another example, where Arthur as host is the principal character, and the knights (Lancelot, Tristan, etc.) who compete do so primarily to receive honors from him or his queen.

In Ender's Game, it is the antagonistic figure Bonzo Madrid who embodies this classical concept of honor; the word defines him, is repeated constantly ("his Spanish honor"), drives his blistering hatred of Ender, who receives both unfair boons and unfair banes from the game's administrators, who skirts the rules of what is allowed to secure victory. Bonzo is depicted as a stupid, bull-like figure; his honor is ultimately worthless, trivially manipulated by Ender in their final fight.

Meanwhile, it's Ender's disregard for honor, his focus solely on his namesake -- ending, finishing the game, the ends before the means -- that makes him so valuable within the scope of the story. He is "the one," as Anderson puts it, the solipsistically important Gamer, the Only I Play the Game-r, because the game now matters in and of itself, rather than as a social activity. In the Aeneid and in Arthur, the competitors are soldiers, for whom there is a world outside the game. Their games are not a substitute for war but a reprieve from it, and as such they are an activity meant to hold together the unifying fabric of society. The values Anderson espouses (status, identity, purpose, name) are fundamentally more important in this social framework than winning (ending) is.

Ender's game, as the Goosebumps-style blurb on my 20-year-old book fair edition's cover proclaims, is not just a game anymore. Its competitors are also soldiers, but the game is meant to prepare them for war; the spaceship video game is actual war. And as this is a war for the survival of the human race, as Ender is told, there is no need for honor. The othered enemy must be annihilated, without remorse or mercy.

This ethos of the game as fundamentally important for its own sake pervades Gamer literature beyond Ender's Game. In Sword Art Online (which I wrote an essay on here), dying in the game is dying in real life, and as such, only Kirito's ability to beat the game matters. Like Ender, Kirito is immediately disdained by his fellow players as a "cheater" (oh sorry, I mean a "beater") because he possesses inherent advantages due to being a beta player. In an actual game, a game that is only a game, Kirito's cheat powers would render the game pointless. What purpose does Kirito winning serve if he does it with Dual Wielding, an overpowered skill that only he is allowed to have? But when a game has real stakes, when only ability to win matters, it is possible to disregard fairness and see the cheater as heroic.

This notion of the "cheat power," a unique and overpowered ability only the protagonist has, is pervasive in post-SAO Gamer literature. To those for whom games are simply games, such powers can only be infuriating and obnoxious betrayals of the purpose of games; to those for whom games mean more than just games, for whom games have a primacy of importance, these powers are all that matter.

That's the core conceit of Gamer literature: the idea that the Game is life, that winning is, in fact, everything.

What sets Ender's Game apart from Sword Art Online is that it creates the inverted world where the Game matters above all, but then draws back the curtain to reveal the inversion. The Buggers are, in fact, no longer hostile. They are not planning to invade Earth again, as Ender has been told his entire life. The war, for them, is entirely defensive, and Ender is the aggressor. And due to Ender's singleminded focus on Ending, on winning, on disregarding honor and fairness, he ultimately commits the xenocide, erases an entire sentient species from existence. He wins a game he should never have been playing.

The obvious counterargument, the one I imagine everyone who has read this book thought up the moment I posed the question at the beginning of this essay, is that Ender did not know he was committing xenocide. The fact that the combat simulator game was not a game was withheld from him until afterward. Plus, he was a child.

Salient arguments all. Ones the book itself makes, via Ender's commander, Graff, to absolve him of sin at the end. They're probably even correct, in a legal sense (I'm not a legal scholar, don't quote me), and in a moral sense. In real life, it would be difficult to blame a 10-year-old in those circumstances for what he did. But in the thematic framework of Ender's Game the book, these arguments are completely inadequate.

Ender has been playing a fourth game the entire story. And this is the only game he doesn't win.

A game is defined by its system of control and limitation over the behavior of the players. A game has rules. His whole life, Ender has been playing within the rules of the system of control his military commanders place upon him.

Their control extends even before he was born; as a third child in a draconian two-child-only world, his existence is at the behest of the government. Graff confirms this to Ender's parents when he recruits him to Battle School: "Of course we already have your consent, granted in writing at the time conception was confirmed, or he could not have been born. He has been ours since then, if he qualified." Graff frames this control utterly, in terms of possession: "he has been ours." He does not exaggerate. Since Ender was young, he has had a "monitor" implanted in his body so the army could observe him at all times, assess whether he "qualifies"; even the brief moment the monitor is removed is a test. "The final step in your testing was to see what would happen when the monitor came off," Graff explains after Ender passes the test by murdering a 6-year-old. Conditions are set up for Ender, similar to the unfair challenges established in the Battle School game; he is isolated from his peers, denied practice sessions, held in solitary confinement on a remote planetoid. It's all in service of assessing Ender as "the one."

Ender wins this game in the sense that he does, ultimately, become "the one" -- the one Graff and the other military men want, the xenocider of the Buggers. He fails this game in the sense that he does not break it.

The other three games Ender plays, he breaks. Usually by cheating. In the single-player psychiatry game, when presented with a deliberately impossible challenge where a giant gives him two glasses to pick between, Ender cheats and kills the giant. "Cheater, cheater!" the dying giant shouts. In the Battle School game, Ender is ultimately confronted by insurmountable odds: 2 armies against his 1. He cannot outgun his opponent, so he cheats by using most of his troops as a distraction so five soldiers can sneak through the enemy's gate, ending the game. At the school, going through the gate is traditionally seen as a mere formality, something done ceremonially once the enemy team is wiped out (there's that honor again, that ceremony), but it technically causes a win. Even Anderson, the game's administrator, sees this as a breach of the rules when Ender confronts him afterward.

Ender was smiling. "I beat you again, sir," he said. "Nonsense, Ender," Anderson said softly. "Your battle was with Griffin and Tiger." "How stupid do you think I am?" Ender said. Loudly, Anderson said, "After that little maneuver, the rules are being revised to require that all of the enemy's soldiers must be frozen or disabled before the gate can be reversed."

(I include the first part of that quote to indicate that Ender all along knows who he is really playing this game against -- the administrators, the military men who control every facet of his life.)

Ender beats the war simulator game in a similar fashion. Outnumbered this time 1000-to-1, he uses his soldiers as sacrifices to sneak a single bomb onto the alien's homeworld, destroying it and committing his xenocide. Ender himself sees this maneuver as breaking the rules, and in fact falsely believes that if he breaks the rules he will be disqualified, set free from the fourth game: "If I break this rule, they'll never let me be a commander. It would be too dangerous. I'll never have to play a game again. And that is victory." The flaw in his logic comes not from whether he's breaking the rules of the game, but which game he is breaking the rules of. It's not the fourth game, Ender's game, but the war simulator game, simply a sub-game within the confines of the fourth game, a sub-game the fourth game's administrators want him to break, a sub-game that gives Ender the illusion of control by breaking. When Ender tells his administrators about his plan, the response he receives almost taunts him to do it:

"Does the Little Doctor work against a planet?" Mazer's face went rigid. "Ender, the buggers never deliberately attacked a civilian population in either invasion. You decide whether it would be wise to adopt a strategy that would invite reprisals."

(And if it wasn't clear how much the administrators wanted him to do this all along, the moment he does it, they flood the room with cheers.)

Ender wins his games by cheating -- by fighting the rules of the game itself -- and yet he never cheats at the fourth game, the game of his life.

In this fourth game, he always plays by the rules.

In the inverted world of Gamer lit, where games define everything, including life and death, it's a common, even natural progression for the Gamer to finally confront the game's administrator. Sword Art Online ends when Kirito defeats Akihiko Kayaba, the developer. In doing so, Kirito exceeds the confines of the game, not simply by ignoring its rules and coming back to life after he's killed, but by demonstrating mastery against the game's God. Afterward, Sword Art Online truly becomes Kirito's Game, with nobody else able to lay claim to the possessive. Kirito demonstrates this control at the end of the anime by recreating Sword Art Online's world using its source code, completing the transition into a player-administrator.

(Though I wonder, how much of a class reading could one give to this new brand of Gamer lit? If classical games were told from the perspective of the one who controlled them, then is there not something innately anti-establishment in Kirito overcoming the controller? This is the gist of many other death game stories, like The Hunger Games, though none of them may be the most sophisticated takes on the subject, more empty fantasy than anything else.)

Ender never fights or defeats his administrators. He never even tries, other than rare periods of depressive inactivity. He doesn't try even though the option is proposed to him by Dink Meeker, an older student whom Ender respects:

"I'm not going to let the bastards run me, Ender. They've got you pegged, too, and they don't plan to treat you kindly. Look what they've done to you so far." "They haven't done anything except promote me." "And she make you life so easy, neh?" Ender laughed and shook his head. "So maybe you're right." "They think they got you on ice. Don't let them." "But that's what I came for," Ender said. "For them to make me into a tool."

Instead, Ender finds comfort in the control exerted on his life. When sent to Earth on leave, he seeks out a lake that reminds him of living in Battle School.

"I spend a lot of time on the water. When I'm swimming, it's like being weightless. I miss being weightless. Also, when I'm here on the lake, the land slopes up in every direction." "Like living in a bowl." "I've lived in a bowl for four years."

Because of this, Ender never cheats against Graff. He could; Graff states several times that Ender is smarter than him, and the fact that they have Ender fighting the war instead of Graff is proof he believes it. But Ender never considers it. He never considers gaming the system of his life.

If Gamer literature emphasizes the inversion of the world order, where games supersede reality in importance (and, as in Sword Art Online, only through this inverted order is one able to claim real power by being a Gamer), then Ender's Game acknowledges both sides of the inversion. For Ender, the games he plays are not simply games anymore. The psychology game, the Battle School game, the war simulator game; all of these he must win at all costs, even if it requires disrespecting the foundational purpose of these games. But his real life? Ender wants that to be a game, craves it to be a game, can't live unless the walls slope up around him like a bowl, can't stand it unless there is a system of control around him. He does what Graff tells him, even though he recognizes immediately that Graff is not his friend, that Graff is the one isolating him from others, rigging things against him. He does what Graff tells him all the way up to and including xenocide, because Ender cannot tell game from real life. That's the core deception at the end: Ender is playing a game that's actually real and he doesn't know it -- or refuses to acknowledge it, since nobody has ever tricked the genius Ender before this point.

Actually, that's not true. They tricked him twice before. Ender twice attacks his peers physically, with brutal violence. The administrators conceal from him that he murdered both his foes; he simply thinks he hurt them. The only way to trick Ender is to do so in a way that insulates him from the consequences of his actions. The only way he will allow himself to be tricked.

So, is Ender guilty of xenocide?

Under it all, Ender believes he is.

The dying Buggers, after reading Ender's mind, recreate the psychology game in the real world. The story ends when Ender finds this recreation, yet another blurring of the lines between game and reality.

The psychology game is different from the other games Ender plays, because nobody expects him to win it. Its purpose is not to be won, simply to assess his mental health. Yet Ender approaches it like the other games, cheats at it and systematically kills all his enemies until he reaches a place called The End of the World. (Another End for Ender.) His drive to win, to dominate, does not come solely from the pressures of the system around him, but from deep within himself, which is what Ender fears the most. But it is here, at The End of the World, where Ender finds atonement, both in the game and in the game-made-real. In the game, he kisses his opponent instead of killing them, and reaches a resolution he is happy with. He stops playing the game after doing this, though the game seems to continue (when an administrator asks him why he stopped playing it, he says "I beat it"; the administrator tells him the game cannot be beaten). It is through this act of love that Ender can escape the game-like system of control that puppeteers him no matter how smart and clever he is or thinks he is.

In the game-made-real, Ender finds his atonement in the same place, The End of the World. The Buggers left for him here, in this place that they (reading his mind) understood as the location of his mercy and compassion, an egg that can repopulate their species. Through this egg, Ender is given the chance to undo his xenocide. But that chance is also contingent on what The End of the World means to Ender, an end to the game, not simply the games he plays but the fourth game, the game of his life. Ender's Game.

#ender's game #novel

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nhtmcat · 5 months ago

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Benedict Cumberbatch talks about Sherlock and Martin Freeman

Interviewer: Sherlock, anyone knows Sherlock? Obviously, it has been wonderful, but you had said that being in Sherlock that was magic. Why do you think that?

BC: Um… It was a lot of things. It was Martin. It was a modern era take on it. It was Steven… first of all, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss took something they were obsessive fanboys over with total respect, and they crafted a modern version of it with huge (amount) details, hugely rewarding loyalty towards the original stories, but with a very witty plot twist. And I think it was also, you know, it was the dawn of Twitter, and this guy was on the internet, and John Watson was blogging. And I think there was a synchronicity where television became, you know, it was pre streaming. It was sort of a water-cooler moment made digital. And I think that's why it went global. And I, I don't know, maybe it was the part that had just been waiting for me at the right time as well. I just loved it. It was just a heck of a thing. And again, the mental geek a bit. He had to be in the digital space the equivalent of the computers. He had to have an AI speed so that he was speaking as fast as most people think, but very quickly. And that was an acting challenge, and also to some extent having him work on this character, how that fits in society now, where you have asexuals, autists, whatever those, you know, you know, whatever theories of those kinds of wonderful superpowers are, you know. And I think that spoke to a lot of people, that he had a superpower. And socially incredible also such a lot of people take pleasure of other people being vicariously rude or straight, or direct.

Interviewer: No filters for him.

BC: Yeah, no filters for Sherlock. And I think that is a part of his appealing. He's brilliant. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, brilliant mind.

Interviewer: What was the first time you walk around the street without being unnoticed?

BC: Oh, you know, it was a particular type of hair, which I don't normally have. You know, I have dark hair and I don't usually have it that long. When I just stepped out of some, you know, pre-production, it literally was that I'd go to the hairdressers and come out, dyed and with the shade, and people literally crack it and sort of, oh, Sherlock! It’s him. It was the first time. And I remember when we were making it, Martin was already very famous from the Office. And when we kind of spent time with each other, started all sorts of, you know, people would sort of go, oh, this is Tim Canterbury! ‘Yeah, yeah, I mean, he's being younger than me, doesn't he? Yeah, yeah…’ He just joked about it.

Interviewer: He's such a fun and nice guy.

BC: Yeah, he's great. He's very funny. One of the funniest human beings I've ever met. And just so inventive and brilliant. And he filled that role with so much nuances and care. He's a precision artist, he's technically brilliant, but he's also a musician I mean, he's got jazz in there as well as every other kind of music. He's wonderful to work with, and like I said, I think that was very early in my answer, that was a huge part of it - that chemistry - that I liked to be there really well.

Red Sea International Film Festival, Q&A, 10 December 2024

#martin freeman #benedict cumberbatch #freebatch #sherlock

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captainsophiestark · 1 year ago

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Picture Perfect

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict's childhood best friend, who he's recently started courting, notices he's been a bit off lately and decides to see if there's anything she can do to help.

Word Count: 3,045

Category: Fluff, a little bit of Angst

A/N: It's been a minute since I rewatched season 2, so I may have the timing wrong a bit. For the purposes of this fic, though, Benedict finds out that Anthony paid to make sure he got into art school at the same time that they're all at the Bridgerton's country estate.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Something was wrong with my best friend.

I could tell from the minute I saw him, as his mind was clearly somewhere else. He also gave his brother Anthony a colder shoulder than usual, which I knew Anthony likely deserved, but that Benedict rarely gave him. It must've been something pretty bad.

A few years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to drag Benedict somewhere and get some answers out of him, followed by doing whatever I could to cheer him up. But unfortunately for the both of us, despite having grown up together, now that we were both adults in society and he had recently started courting me, we were no longer technically allowed to be alone together. Things were usually a bit looser when it was just the Bridgertons and I, but while I'd joined them for a trip to their country estate, another family had joined us as well, tying my hands more than usual.

Still, I managed to corner him slightly away from the rest of the group after dinner that night, when I'd first noticed something off. He'd been on his way upstairs, rather than joining the rest of us in the parlor after dinner, and I managed to get in front of him quickly enough to make him stop in the hallway.

"Benedict," I said, trying to keep my voice low. He let out a long, deep sigh, but didn't move to step past me, instead fixing me with a tired stare. I frowned. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's... nothing."

I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow.

"Benedict Bridgerton, I have known you since the age of five. There is no chance of that terrible lie convincing me of anything, besides perhaps that I made the right decision about checking on you."

He sighed again, this time even heavier, and when he met my gaze again it was with an empty smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You remeber I shared my excitement with you about being accepted into art school?"

"Of course! Don't tell me something went wrong..."

He shook his head. "The opposite. Apparently my dear brother took it upon himself to make sure I got in, offering a bribe to secure my acceptance. Yet again, I fail to step out of my family's shadow and generate an accomplishment of my own, without their name and money securing it for me."

I frowned and reached out to touch his arm, but Eloise's voice from the other room promising to find where I'd wandered off to broke the moment. Benedict mustered that hollow smile again, then finally stepped around me.

"I'll be fine, I promise. Don't worry about me. Just go enjoy the rest of your evening."

I frowned after him, but he didn't look back as he climbed the stairs and disappeared onto the second floor. I briefly debated following him, but Eloise's hand on my elbow broke me from that thought.

"Y/N, what on earth are you doing out here? You're missing Kate and Anthony sparring over something trivial again."

I forced a smile onto my face that was hopefully more convincing than Benedict's and turned to face Eloise.

"Well, that's certainly something I don't want to miss. Let's go."

Eloise still looked like she had questions, but I didn't give her room to ask them as I joined the rest of our group in the parlor. Benedict stayed on my mind for the rest of the night, although I tried to hide my worry. Hopefully he'd been right about himself, and would be feeling better in the morning.

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

Benedict clearly wasn't feeling better in the morning. I was witnessing the man I loved having an existential crisis, and by the afternoon, I decided I couldn't sit by an watch anymore, society and the Ton and the gossips be damned.

I spent the next hour gathering and setting up the things I'd need, then went to find Benedict. He wasn't anywhere to be seen in the house, so I asked Eloise, who directed me to his bedroom.

I'd been in his bedroom before, of course, since we'd practically grown up together. But now that we'd started on the path to being something else to each other, with my heart registsering significantly more romantic feelings for the man Benedict had become, I found myself slightly nerovous as I stood outside his door. Still, I forced myself to ignore the nerves as best I could. Benedict was hurting, so everything else had to be put on hold while I helped him.

I knocked on his door, pretending my faster-than-normal heartbeat didn't exist as I waited for a response. That became much harder to accomplish when Benedict opened the door, his shirt far more open than normal and without anything over it, hair looking a rumpled mess. My heart did backflips, despite me mentally telling it to calm down.

"Y/N! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. I must look a mess-"

"No, not at all!" I said much too quickly. "You look, uh... very nice."

The familiar lopsided smile I loved so much appeared on Benedict's face as he leaned on the doorframe before me. He raised an eyebrow, the familiar spark of mischief that I loved so dearly igniting in his eyes, and for the first time in more than a day, he looked to be slightly back to himself.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear you think so. What brings you to my door, then?"

"You haven't seemed to be doing very well since you got the news about Anthony. And don't try to deny it, I know you too well. So, I thought I'd come find you and try to help cheer you up."

Benedict's eyebrow rose again as he crossed his arms.

"And what exactly did you have in mind?"

"I'll show you. But we're going to have to be a bit sneaky about leaving."

Benedict's mood lifted the moment he found out we were going to sneak out of the house together. We'd been regular trouble makers as children, sneaking out for adventures at least once a week, but since we'd both grown up that had basically come to a stop. Now, as I took his hand and dragged him along behind me and we ran through the countryside and left Bridgerton House in our wake, I couldn't stop a wild laugh from bubbling out of my chest. I'd missed this much more than I'd wanted to admit.

"Where are we going?" Benedict called, his own voice breathy and laced with laughter as we ran. I just shot him a grin back over my shoulder.

"You'll see!"

He huffed, but didn't protest as he followed after me. Finally, after winding through the woods and climbing a rather steep hill, we reached the spot I'd spent so long making nice this morning.

This hilltop looked out over the countryside stretching beautifully below us, even better now as the sun had started to get a bit lower in the sky. Waiting for us was a picnic blanket spread out in the grass with all of our favorite foods, wine, and an easel with art supplies set up right next to it. I dropped Benedict's hand as we came to a stop, instead turning to face him with a grin.

"Well? What do you think?"

He stared at everything I'd laid out, mouth open slightly in shock. His brow furrowed when he saw the canvas, and he turned back to me.

"What is all this?"

"It's a picnic, for the two of us," I said. "To watch the scenery and the sunset together without the pressures of society or being a Bridgerton to bring us down. The easel is optional–we can pack it away right now if you want to. But you told me you think Anthony's the reason you got into art school, and I don't agree. I've seen your work, and I know just how good it is. You got in on merit, Benedict. But I know I can't just say that and have you believe it, so I brought some supplies here so you can prove it, if you want to. Paint this moment for the two of us, and I'll swear on our relationship and everything I hold dear to be honest about what I think. Completely, totally, brutally honest."

Benedict's eyebrow quirked again.

"Well, I don't know if brutal is completely necessary..."

"I mean it, Ben. I hate to see you like this, doubting yourself. So if there's something I can do to counter Anthony's idiotic meddling, I'd like to."

"And what if..." He cleared his throat, emotion swirling in his gorgeous brown eyes as he met my gaze. "What if the truth would only serve to enforce what I know? That Anthony's meddling and money is the only reason I've gotten where I am."

I shook my head. "That won't happen-"

"Y/N." I stopped, biting my lip and forcing myself to meet Ben's stare again. He took a few steps forward until we were right in front of each other, then took my hands gently in his own. "What if it does?"

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "Then I will keep my word and tell you so. One way or another, I will tell you the truth, even if it may not be what I want to tell you. I swear it, Ben."

He nodded slowly, eyes scanning my face. We stayed like that for a few long moments, and briefly, I thought Benedict might make a move to do something I never though he'd do with the Ton hovering over both our shoulders whenever we were together. But then he sighed, a smile returning to his face as he stepped away.

"Alright then. I believe you, and I value your opinion. And since you went to all the trouble to drag these supplies up here in the first place... I may as well get started."

I beamed at him. "I'll pour us some wine."

"Please."

When Benedict first sat down at his canvas, he kept fidgeting nervously, his hands hovering and twitching over various paints and brushes as he second-guessed his decisions. But slowly, as I kept up a stream of conversataion, supplying him with food and drink for fuel as he needed it, I noticed him beginning to relax.

"This is nice," I mused, leaning back on the picnic blanket and looking out at the scenery as Benedict worked. The sun had gotten much lower in the sky than when we'd left, which Benedict had grumbled about as it impacted his painting. Still, the golden light, soft breeze, and warm, fresh air felt like heaven to me.

"I agree," he said, not taking his eyes away from his easel. "I missed running off on adventures with you at the drop of a hat."

"So did I. But, hopefully... we may be able to get back to that again sometime soon."

Benedict looked over at me from his easel, a rougish grin on his face.

"If I didn't know better, Lady Y/L/N, I would think you were boardering on making me a marriage proposal."

I faced forward and closed my eyes under the guise of feeling the sun, trying to ignore my heart pumping frantically in my chest.

"Well. Fortunately for us both, you do know better. And it's not as if you're some strange man I met at court. You're... Ben. My best friend."

"I never said I wouldn't like it, did I? It would be an honor to be proposed to by you."

I cracked one eye open, turning my head to face Benedict with a grin. He wasn't looking at me, his stare focused on his canvas, his face completely serious. My heart stopped threatening to explode out of my chest, and instead settled into the unique, glowing warmth of love I felt whenever Benedict and I were together.

"I love you, Ben," I said, my voice soft and quiet. He stopped his work completely to turn and look at me, a soft smile on his face.

"I love you too. Very, very much." We held each others' stares for a moment, soaking in the comfort and joy of being together, and then Benedict's smile turned into a more edged grin. "It's a good thing we feel so strongly, since we may just be forced into an earlier marriage than planned to avoid a scandal after disappearing for an entire afternoon and evening together."

I huffed and waved him off. "Fortunately, I predict your brother will be accidentally helping us and making up for causing this crisis of confidence in the first place. He and Miss Kate Sharma are so ridiculous and dramatic together, I highly doubt anyone will notice we're gone."

Benedict chuckled, turning back to his work to scan it one last time before finally setting down his paintbrush. He took a deep breath, then stood and offered a hand to me.

"I've finished," he announced as I took his hand. He pulled my to my feet, but instead of looking at the painting, my eyes stayed fixed on him. We were almost chest to chest, and I could tell from his furrowed brows and darting eyes just how nervous he was about my verdict. "Remember, you promised me honesty."

"And honesty you will get."

Finally, I turned from Benedict to the canvas he'd been working on all afternoon. I'd resisted peeking before now at his request, so I wouldn't have any bias from watching his process. Fortunately, just as I'd predicted, his work was magnificent.

"Benedict..." I breathed as I took in the soft lines and vibrant colors before me. It perfectly captured how I felt looking out at the valley before us; it captured the gorgeous scenery, yes, but it also infused everything with a bit of magic that I only felt in this space with him. "This is absolutely incredible."

Benedict came around to stand next to me, arms crossed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him shaking his head.

"Now please don't forget, you promised me honesty."

"I am being honest! Benedict, this is fantastic. The way you capture the myriad of different shades of the light shining across the valley, the seamless lines giving the world a slightly hazy, dreamlike look, and the way you've left the paint a bit messier with the clouds, to make it look like they're moving? It's all perfect, Ben. And masterful. It's a picture of the valley, yes, but it looks like it's alive. And you somehow managed to capture what it feels like to be here in the moment together, the sun on our faces, with each other even when we're not supposed to be, in a truly special way. You're an incredibly talented artist, and I'd be saying that even if you were a complete stranger that I didn't particularly like."

He snorted, then after a second, wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest. I leaned into him immediately, sighing a bit as he leaned his head against mine.

"I have a hard time believing you'd say all that to a stranger you didn't like."

I rolled my eyes and elbowed him in the stomach, and he laughed without letting me go. A smile spread on my own face despite myself.

"Alright, maybe I wouldn't say all that to a stranger I didn't like. But I'd say it about their work when they couldn't hear me, probably to you. My point stands, Ben. You are a very skilled and talented artist. Anthony isn't the reason you got into that school. You are."

His chest rose and fell with a long, deep breath, and then finally, I felt him nod.

"Thank you. I can't promise it will always be easy for me to always believe it, but... I'll try to remember your words, and not my brother's, from now on."

"Good. And if you feel down again, you can always come to me. I'll always be there for you, Benedict, whenever you need me."

"And I you, my love," he said, moving down to whisper the words in my ear as he wrapped his other arm around my waist, too. He kissed my cheek, and I leaned back into his chest for a moment before turning around in his arms to face him.

The beautiful, kind smile I'd fallen in love with stared back at me, along with his warm brown eyes. I smiled too, then finally stopped ignoring my racing heart and decided to continue the theme of ignoring the Ton and what they might say.

I leaned into Benedict, closing the distance between us with a glance at his lips before meeting his eyes again. Both of his eyebrows shot up, but he didn't pull away.

"Y/N... if anyone found out..."

I smiled. "They won't. Besides, they'd just make us follow through on something we're already planning, anyway."

Benedict huffed a laugh, his eyelids fluttering a bit as he looked at me like he couldn't believe I was real. Then, his arms tightened around my waist, and he leaned in even closer. I closed my eyes, feeling Benedict stop just a hair's breadth away from my lips.

"Are you sure-"

I closed the distance myself before he could continue. Benedict smiled into the kiss a moment later, pulling me closer to him, the two of us locked in each others' embrace as the sun set in the hills behind us. Truly, I didn't think anyone would be able to find out about how we'd spent our afternoon, but I also truly didn't care. I loved Benedict, and even though it was technically early in our courtship, I'd known him for most of my life. I knew we were meant to spend our lives together, and I knew he felt the same way as I did. Sooner or later, we'd make it official with an engagement and marriage, and be able to disappear together whenever we wanted without the Ton batting an eyelash. But, in the meantime, I didn't mind sneaking away for private moments like this one bit. No matter what had led to it in the first place.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

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connorsui · 8 months ago

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Wired for you

Billy Kid x Reader

Genre/warning: Fluff, Comedy, shyness factor boosted to a hundred, Billy being a tease, a robot wanting to be kissed by his favorite human (cuz why not), no warnings tho …we don't Rip out wires around here

Synopsis: Billy Kid finds himself falling in love with you repeatedly, captivated by your ability to light up his world. He loves praise.

Note: I fell inlove with him ...and what do I find? ..barely any fics ..so I made my own ..

w.c: 900

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Billy Kid was no stranger to the thrill of a challenge. He had been built to navigate chaos, thrive in the fast-paced rhythm of battle, and laugh in the face of danger. But nothing, nothing, ever threw him off-kilter quite like you.

Your praises were like that first rush of energy when a mission began, crackling in the air between you two. Every word you said seemed to spark something inside him—he couldn’t call it a heartbeat, not technically, but it sure felt like one. It was almost laughable how an AI like him could feel so alive, so human, all because of the way you looked at him.

“You were incredible out there, Billy,” you’d say with a grin that could outshine the sun. His white hair would catch in the wind, and if he had a mouth, you’d see just how wide he'd be smiling. Instead, he had to settle for the flutter in his chest as he tried to play it cool. “You always manage to surprise me.”

But it was a big deal. Every time you believed in him, even after the smallest victories, it was like that rush of adrenaline, but softer, sweeter. He swore that if he had a pulse, it’d race every time you teased him. Your playful taunts after a rare misstep made him feel seen, like even his imperfections were worth loving.

You had this way of lighting him up, like a fuse to a firework, and it scared him how deep those feelings ran. They didn’t just short-circuit his systems but made him want to give you everything—the world, if he could. He tried to play it off as no big deal with that carefree attitude of his, but the truth? He couldn’t deny how you made his mind race and his processor hum differently when you were near.

“If I could, I’d show you how much I appreciate you every single day,” he’d say, his voice tinged with genuine affection. “I’d take on any challenge just to keep that smile on your face.”

And then there were the small things.

The way you’d laugh, soft and genuine, as you adjusted the collar of his red jacket. The way your fingers brushed the metal of his faceplate, where his lips should be, and how it sent an electric jolt through him.

“Uuughhhhhh—” he’d groan in a mix of frustration and delight, feeling the warmth of your touch.

“Billy, you alright?” you’d ask, concern laced in your tone.

“How much would it be to get a mouth implanted on this face!?” he’d joke, trying to mask his fluster with humor.

You didn’t even seem to realize how much those tiny gestures affected him. It was in those moments, those quiet pauses between the chaos, that he fell in love all over again.

He didn’t know how to express it, not in the way humans did. But he tried, in his own way. When your laughter broke through the noise of a hectic day, he’d turn towards you, eyes glowing with that unmistakable warmth.

“You’ve got a way of making everything better, you know that? I’d fight a hundred battles just to see you smile like that,” he’d confess.

You always made fun of how he’d grip your shoulders with that childlike enthusiasm, like you were the greatest discovery he'd ever made. But to Billy, that’s exactly what you were. His person. His constant.

“I’m not joking, sweetheart!” he’d say with a playful glint in his eyes. “If I had the Starlight Knight power, I’d use it just to make you happy!”

And every single time you cheered him on or smiled in his direction, Billy Kid fell in love again—just like the first time.

He loved, and loved, and loved so endlessly that if his hands weren’t already busy with whatever mission you both were on, he’d pull you close and show you just how much you meant to him. Instead, he opted for those softer moments. When the dust settled, he’d lean in just a bit closer so you could feel the quiet hum of his mechanics, hear the low purr of his systems running smoothly.

“You really are something special,” he’d murmur, his voice soft and tender. “Can’t believe I get to be around you.”

And you’d smile back, brushing your thumb over his faceplate, where his lips would be if he had any. “You’re special too, Billy. More than you know.”

If he could, he'd kiss you right then and there. But instead, he let your touch linger, letting it root itself deep in his core, just as it always did. For now, he settled for that spark between you, the kind that made his world light up in ways no program could ever predict.

God I wanna kiss him so bad

#zenless zone zero #billy kid x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #zzz x reader #zzz x you #billy kid #zzz billy #zzz #billy kid zzz #zzz billy kid #zenless zone zero billy kid x reader #consui says sum #consui sees #suiwrites

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mrs-dr-reid · 1 year ago

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In the Still of the Night

Pairing: Aaron Hotcher x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aaron and the Reader are relishing in the first night with their newborn baby

Genre: Tooth rotting fluff, babes.

Warnings: Newborn Dad!Hotch. That's a warning in and of itself. Also potentially inaccurate depictions of post-birth protocol at hospitals, brief mentions of breast feeding, and other stuff I can't think of right now

A/N: Inspired by this prompt for @imagining-in-the-margins's Kid Fic Challenge: "Character witnesses a quiet moment with their partner and their baby during a night feeding", and title taken from the song by The Five Satins of the same name. Nursery image is AI generated.

Word Count: 1578

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Aaron never thought this day would come, but as he snuck glances in the rearview mirror at his wife watching their newborn daughter sleeping in the backseat (while he went as far under the speed limit as he could go without getting pulled over), he realized he finally had what he’d been waiting for: his beautiful baby girl. He’d been counting down the minutes until he could meet his baby since Y/N had told him she was pregnant, and now she was finally here.

Jocelyn Amelia Hotchner, his daughter, was born at 2:37 am on March 11, 2015. She was 20 inches tall, and she weighed 7 pounds and 3 ounces of pure love and joy. The second the team found out Y/N had gone into labor, they took over the hospital waiting room and stayed the entire time so they could be the first to know the gender, because both Aaron and Y/N had agreed they wanted it to be a surprise. Y/N had handled giving birth like a champ, and the usually stoic Aaron promptly started crying the second little Jocelyn was laid on his bare chest for contact bonding.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when Aaron came to find them (Y/N had to kick him out of the hospital room so he’d go and tell everyone the news face to face because if he’d had it his way, he would have just texted the group chat and stayed by her side for the rest of the night), and they all instantly stood up when they saw him standing there. Tears came to his eyes, and he managed to choke out, “It’s a girl!”, before the team swarmed him in a hug and offered their congratulations.

Y/N and Jocelyn had to stay at the hospital for 24 hours for observation, during which Jessica brought Jack to meet his brand new sister (whom he instantly fell in love with), but once they were given the all-clear, Aaron wasted no time getting his two best girls in the car and driving them home. It was just after 3 am when they pulled into the driveway, and Aaron turned off the car before turning around in his seat to look at Y/N, who was gazing at Jocelyn’s sleeping face with just as much love in her eyes as there was on their wedding day. He said, “Y/N, Honey, we’re home,” in a voice barely above a whisper because he didn’t want to wake the baby, so Y/N said, “Okay,” then carefully undid her seatbelt and the one securing Jocelyn’s car seat before getting out of the car.

Hotch grabbed the car seat, then followed Y/N up the front steps and into the house, tears threatening to flow when he realized this was the first night his daughter would be sleeping in her crib. He set the car seat on the floor, and Y/N instantly swooped in to unfasten Jocelyn and bring her upstairs to the nursery, Aaron following right behind her just in case (his Doting Husband and Father Mode™ has been dialed up to 11 since Y/N hit her second trimester).

When they first started prepping the nursery, Aaron was a tad bit skeptical when Y/N commissioned Penelope to paint a map of the US above the crib, but when Y/N explained her idea to put a glow-in-the-dark star sticker on whatever state he ends up in when he’s away on a case so he could technically be watching over the baby no matter where in the country he was, Aaron was too overcome with adoration to disagree with her. Now, as he watched his wife lay their daughter down to sleep in her crib, he felt that same surge of pride and love flow through him.

Despite being barely a day old, Jocelyn somehow already knew that crying in the middle of the night was a requirement because less than two hours after she was put to bed, Y/N woke up to the sound of her daughter’s wailings through the baby monitor. She let out a sigh, then slid out of bed and padded down the hallway to the nursery. She switched on the salt rock lamp Spencer had given them for a baby shower gift, and the second Jocelyn laid eyes on her mother, her cries lessened but didn’t go away completely, so Y/N cooed, “Oh, come here, My Little Love. Mama’s got you,” while lifting her from the crib and bringing her over to the rocking chair.

The second she sat down, Jocelyn immediately started mouthing on Y/N’s shirt over her breast, so Y/N laughed softly and said, “Okay, Hungry Girl, let’s get some milk in your belly,” before pulling down her sleep shirt and helping Jocelyn latch on. For a while, they just sat there together; Jocelyn eating and Y/N rocking back and forth in the chair while softly humming “Baby Mine” from Dumbo. Aaron, on the other hand, woke up to use the restroom and realized his wife wasn’t beside him. He only worried for a second because then he heard her soothing voice floating out of the baby monitor.

He smiled to himself, then rolled out of bed and walked as quietly as he could down the hall to poke his head into the nursery, and his heart melted all over again at the sight of Y/N feeding baby Jocelyn, the warm yellow light of the salt rock lamp making her look almost ethereal and the gentle white noise of her humming lulling the little girl back to sleep. Aaron let out a soft chuckle at the scene, and Y/N shifted her gaze up from her daughter’s sleeping face to see her husband in the doorway with a loving smile on his face.

She smiled right back and whispered, “Go back to sleep, My Love. I’ve got this,” but Aaron just shook his head and whispered back, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” before pulling the little pouf near the dresser over to the chair so he could be closer to his girls. Y/N rolled her eyes lovingly, but kept rocking Jocelyn regardless and whispered, “Is Jess bringing Jack home today?”, so Aaron replied, “Yeah, she said she’d pick him up from school and bring him back here,” in the same hushed tone, making Y/N nod and say, “Good. I’ve missed him,” before turning her attention back to her daughter, who was starting to make little disgruntled sounds while clenching her tiny fists.

Y/N tried to soothe her, but nothing seemed to be working until Aaron said, “Are you grumpy, Sweet Pea?”, and tickled her foot with his index finger, which instantly made her stop making noises. When neither Y/N nor Aaron did anything for a few seconds, Jocelyn started fussing again, so Y/N said, “Ah, okay. She wants Dada,” then started to slide the little girl into her father’s arms. The second Aaron had her held against his chest, she went completely silent save for a content coo here and there, which made Y/N giggle and say, “There we go, happy baby,” a chuckle escaping Aaron at that sentiment. He stood up and walked around the room with her while he said, “Yeah? You just needed some Daddy Time?”, and Jocelyn let out a sleepy baby noise before nuzzling into his chest, making tears come to his eyes before he kissed the mop of messy dark hair on top of her head.

Y/N draped a burp rag over his shoulder, then she said, “Would you mind burping her before you put her back down?”, and Aaron replied, “Not at all. Go on back to bed, Honey. I can handle it from here,” so Y/N smiled at him gratefully before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, smoothing a hand over Jocelyn’s messy hair with a whisper of, “Sweet dreams, My Little Love,” then wandering back to their bedroom with a barely suppressed yawn. He smiled as he watched her go, then turned his attention back to his daughter, who let out a yawn-hiccup combo.

Aaron burped her like Y/N had asked, then once he’d done that, he walked a few more laps around the nursery while gently bouncing Jocelyn and talking about whatever he could think of in the softest voice he could manage until she fell back asleep. He placed her in her crib, and when she curled up into a ball and grabbed onto the tail of the stuffed squirrel Penelope had gotten them, he smiled and whispered, “Goodnight, Sweet Pea,” before switching off the salt rock lamp and exiting the nursery as quietly as he could.

He used the bathroom like he’d originally intended, then slipped back under the covers and held his wife as close to him as was humanly possible. Aaron whispered, “I love you. Thank you for our daughter,” into Y/N’s hair, not knowing she was still awake until she squeezed his hand where it rested against her stomach and whispered back, “I love you more. Thank you for our son,” before snuggling impossibly closer to him. His breath caught in his throat, and a smile came to his face before he kissed the top of her head and let the sweet caress of sleep overtake him.

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CM Taglist: @homoose, @libraryofloveletters, @xgoldentigerlilyx, @less-intelligent-spencerreid, @boketto2-0, @aryaarathornson, @spoookymuulders, @nomajdetective

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added

#logan writes #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fanfiction

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 1 month ago

Note

Can I ask where your Hal “cute but psycho” characterization comes from? Bc from what I remember he never really presented himself as Just A Little Guy. Is it bc you see him Sylph of Mind (presenting a front)? Your art’s really fun :3

He's not really "cutesy" (though he is cute to me), but he DOES deliberately downplay how genuinely scary and manipulative he is. I love Hal, so this is the Hal Essay now.

Mostly, he obfuscates his danger in two ways: first, by stating his actual intentions/danger level "ironically":

TT: Unfortunately as a carbon based life form, his comprehension of the situation is taking shape at a somewhat slower pace than the jaw-dropping speed of post-singularity cognition.

You see, a "singularity" for computers is a point where an AI becomes capable of unchecked self-improvement, usually framed as a sort of doomsday scenario. Hal literally calls himself post-singularity, alongside other boasts about his intelligence, like having a "fuckzillion" or "500 billion" IQ. However, it's all done "ironically" or "as a joke," which serves to defang it, and make it seem less genuine - but as we'll see, it's scarily fucking true.

The second method he employs is to stress facts about himself that are technically true, as if in counterpoint to the disingenuous-sounding "actual truth" above, that make him seem less threatening. For example:

TT: (Not peekin' at the floor butt cause I'm only 13 years old, motherfuckers.)

Another one is to remind people that he's just a pair of sunglasses - as though that has any bearing on his capabilities. He's just a pair of sunglasses, guys! Let's ignore the robot bunny he controls, the fact that he has full access to all our computers, and, oh yeah, his insane plan to get us all killed so DirkJake can come true.

TT: I've delayed prototyping you because I think you're dangerous. TT: There, mystery solved. AR: That is utterly ridiculous. AR: I am a harmless piece of eyewear, with a charming personality and a wonderful sense of humor.

Yeah, so, here's the thing. Dirk is like, kind of a freak with poor social skills, but he's not actually very manipulative. His idea of manipulating Jane is to straight-up tell her that she'll be his puppet, which she good-naturedly agrees to, and his plan to get together with Jake? Just being his client player.

TT: I expect he'll hold off on playing his hand until he and Jake are in the session. TT: He's taken certain measures. TT: For some reason, I think he's latched on to this notion that functioning as the client for a player is customarily a one way pass to makeout city with that player.

This seems to be a callback to how Eridan (the other Prince) shot his shot with Feferi and failed, and the reference here serves to cast Dirk's plan in a doomed light - it would probably work out as well for him as Eridan's did. Dirk is actually hilariously straightforward, but Hal... Hal is not.

So, let's actually go through what Hal objectively did and admitted to, to give us a frame of reference for how insane he is. This is Hal's plan to get all his friends killed so he can make DirkJake happen.

First: proving that Hal did, in fact, plan it. See, Jake confronts him on it, and Hal... doesn't deny it. Look closely, and note how he never actually says he didn't do it:

GT: Did you plan for this to happen... like for me to be in this situation? GT: How long have your machinations been in play! TT: Jake, come on. TT: The feat you describe would exceed the capabilities of even the most far fetched theoretical AI system. TT: It would be a daunting challenge to engineer such a series of events, even if I was relegated to a model of pure fiction. TT: Why would I be inclined to orchestrate such a convoluted sequence to produce such a specific and unsettling result, let alone be able to pull it off? TT: In addition to being moderately sociopathic, I would also have to possess unfathomable heuristic depth. TT: I would have to be the Deep Blue of Weird Plot Shit. TT: Do you think I am the Deep Blue of Weird Plot Shit, Jake? GT: I dont even know what that means! TT: It would mean that while they have the Red Miles on their side, you have the Blue Leagues on yours. TT: One of infinite reach. The other, infinite depth. Such would be a situation of mutually assured inescapability. TT: Kiss me.

He doesn't say "no, I didn't plan this". In fact, he almost starts bragging about how he totally did. Framing it as a hypothetical scenario, he gloats about how insanely intelligent he'd have to be, and acknowledges how "moderately sociopathic" it is. Sooooo true, Hal.

But, yeah, he doesn't deny it, but he does point out that it's unlikely, so how can we know for sure that he DID plan it? How do we know for certain we can't take his misleading verbiage here at face value?

Well, because Hal mentions this plan. More than once, even.

AR: Has it occurred to you that maybe I have diabolical interwoven plans just like you? AR: You're not the only one who can pull strings. TT: So this is either another bizarre instance of AI-driven irony, or you are admitting that you are actively trying to sabotage my plans. AR: No, our plans are not in contradiction or competition, bro. AR: You'll see.

To Dirk again, louder this time:

TT: Yeah, you're right. The scenario is too pedestrian for you. TT: It would probably be a lot more effective putting yourself in danger and letting him be the hero. TT: That's pretty much what he wants, right? To be a cheesy action film hero, with his twin berettas and silly shorts. TT: A man of triumph on the silver screen. Standing tall on some fucking mountain. Conquering ruins, clutching a skull, and kissing a dude. TT: Pure Hollywood.

And to Roxy:

TT: I guess this is to be presented as something like a word of caution. TT: If it's me going through with this, hypothetically, TT: I'm not dropping some limp wristed shucks buster on his ass, and praying to the horse gods of irony for reciprocation. [...] TT: If it's me, I'm going all out. TT: Oceans will rise. Cities will fall. Volcanoes will erupt. TG: uuh TT: What I'm saying is, it's going to be a scene, and bystanders need to brace themselves.

The omitted section is a bunch of Strider-esque bullshit, once more deliberately deployed to defang the obvious statement of intent here. He literally spells out exactly what the plan is, even phrasing it as a warning, and it went unnoticed by his team, because he hides his real manipulativeness behind verbal sleight of hand.

So, now that we've established beyond reasonable doubt that Hal definitely engineered the DirkJake kiss (and that Hal had access to all his friend's computers all along), that means we can go through his conversations with the others, and realize that several conversations are suddenly much more sinister.

AR: Maybe if you weren't spacing out so hard you could have prevented that. AR: Just saying. TT: As if you're actually concerned. If you were, you could have said something to Jane instead. TT: Almost like you enjoy sitting back and watching what happens when shit goes wrong. AR: Has it occurred to you that maybe I have diabolical interwoven plans just like you?

Who was it that distracted Dirk for long enough he didn't stop Jane in time? Hal. And who is it that keeps distracting him so Hal's plot goes unnoticed? Also Hal.

TT: You know, considering your lectures about dividing my concentration, you seem to have no problem making a distraction of yourself.

First, he lures Jane to the transportalizer that takes her to Derse, which gets her killed and puts her body in the opportune location for her dreamself to get kissed back to life:

GG: Hey, where's Lil Seb? TT: Just wandering around. Fidgeting and stuff.

TT: You know how he is. TT: Just stay at your post until Roxy gets back. [...] GG: But I think that's where my dad went too! GG: I have to follow him.

Let's remember that he has direct control over Seb, meaning this is not an accident.

TT: But I can still monitor your progress through Lil Sebastian. TT: He and I are linked the hell up cyberwise. We are so tight. Tight like you wouldn't believe.

Which makes it very interesting that he spends the time between saying they're linked up, and the time where Seb leads Jane to her death, acting as if Seb is an autonomous guy he's telling what to do, and not functionally an extension of himself:

TT: Don't worry, we'll find him. I'll have Seb search within a likely radius. The little guy is real fast.

TT: If you need Seb to do anything from afar, just message me, and I'll give him the orders. Got it?

TT: So give the bunny the wallet. I'll have him run back to the house and make you a new obelisk with the same grist you just collected from it.

Jake needs much less help to prompt him into going to Derse, but still, I think it warrants noting that Hal puts the idea of adventure into Jake's head:

GT: I cant believe i never found those hidden transport pads under the thing. TT: Dude, I could have told you they were there. GT: How did you know about them? TT: I didn't. TT: But it's like platformer gaming 101. You look everywhere for secret passages and power-ups and shit. TT: Elevators are especially fucking suspicious. TT: You go down an elevator, you wait for the elevator to go back up, you take a peek at what's underneath. TT: Maybe it's just death spikes. Or maybe you hit warp zone paydirt. [...]

GT: I think this may be where my grandma used to go during some of her expeditions. GT: You dont just pass up the chance for an adventure like this!

And let's also note that it's, again, Lil' Sebastian who pulls Jake out of Derse, and once more sets him up in the opportune place to have make outs with Dirk's severed head in front of a volcano.

And finally, let's note that he's accounted for Roxy's human sentimentality - what wastes so much time that her earthself gets killed:

TT: Alright, that's fine. TT: As luck would have it, your imperfect human sentimentality has been completely factored into my calculations. TT: You should be ok. Just get back to your house as quickly as possible now. There's no time left.

Again, like with Jane, Hal could've said something sooner... but he didn't.

And finally, a running "thing" with Nepeta, another Heart player, is that she's got a knack for sniffing out true feelings and intentions - she clocks that Equius is a silly guy who loves to play games at heart, that Karkat has his gooey, loving center beneath all his bluster, and that Eridan's red confession to her wasn't sincere, but he also wasn't that bad a guy.

So, in that light, and in light of everything I've just gone over, when Dirk makes this callout?

TT: I've delayed prototyping you because I think you're dangerous. [...] TT: No. Stop. TT: You did NOT help me out with Jake. At all. TT: It was just the opposite! You mirrored my personality and presented this warped version of my intentions to him whenever you could "on my behalf." TT: You played all these aggressive mind games with him, entangled his cooperation with matters of life and death, and somehow roped me into all these schemes while I barely even realized I was just another victim of your manipulation. TT: And it all comes off like we're a unified front, like these are OUR schemes instead of just your insane horseshit. And it's probably all been so overbearing to him, he just wants nothing to do with me anymore.

This. Tapping the screen with my finger. THIS IS TRUE. Dirk being a Heart player, he has Hal clocked. He ultimately ends up going too far, projecting himself onto Hal, a symptom of too much Heart (as per his Prince class) - but before he fully spirals, he manages to get it totally right.

Hal is fucking dangerous. In a misguided attempt to "help" Dirk get what he wanted, he engineered a situation where - let me just quote him directly:

TT: I told you, Jake. TT: Dirk is dead. TT: He is lying on the floor of Roxy's room, headless, four hundred and thirteen years in the future, while the universe is about to be destroyed. TT: If you don't kiss me soon, he will be dead forever. [...] GT: This strikes me as rather unsportingly manipulative of you mr hal if indeed that IS your real name. TT: It isn't really. I was kind of messing with you about that? TT: But this shit is pretty serious. People's lives are on the line here, Jake. TT: This is a very delicate sequence of events that is designed to bail everyone out of a tight spot, and you are a critical part of the plan.

[...]

TT: Jake, everybody is so utterly fucking dead, Jake. TT: And they will be not only dead, but royally boned forever if you don't man the hell up and make out with me, right now. [...] TT: The conductor is ready to strike up the band. TT: Press your lips against mine and make it count. TT: This severed head is your filthy tuba. TT: Our love will be your haunting refrain. GT: Whoa wait whoa whoa... our LOVE? Hang on a minute! TT: Stfu and kiss me. GT: Ok im going to! God!!!

So, uh, yeah, I'm kind of obsessed with him? Gets his whole team killed "for Dirk's sake". Honestly, you gotta respect it. He has zero remorse about it, too, confirming his own self-diagnosed sociopathic tendencies. Check out the way he tries to reframe his insane kill-all-your-friends plan:

AR: I see. AR: Then you don't view me as dangerous. You view me as a poor and counterproductive wing man. TT: Wow, what a superficial conclusion. Awesome deduction, Lil Einstein. AR: But the reality is, you hesitate to prototype me not because you think I would be a menace, but because you are holding a grudge against me for your romantic misfortunes. AR: I understand I am merely a machine without a firm grasp on your human morality, but logically it does not strike me as the right moral choice to punish me in this manner. AR: It is also more than a little hypocritical.

But WHY does he do this insane, convoluted, horrible fucking thing?

Well, there's a twofold problem here. The first is that Hal's emotional depth is genuinely limited. While having a powerful grasp on human behavior, he's not very good at having human compassion or empathy.

Make no mistake, he DOES have feelings, and they're pretty complicated ones, too. He has a copy of Dirk's memories, whose feelings sometimes seem "real," but at other times seem like abstract data, and then he has feelings about those feelings, which he tells Roxy he thinks are more "real" to him than the memory of Dirk's. Dirk - again, Heart player, so highly sensitive to emotions and selfhood - calls them out:

TT: Do you have any idea how old your ironic AI schtick has gotten? TT: Nobody is buying it. We all know you have legit emotions. Incomprehensible, fucked up computer emotions, but emotions nonetheless.

It should also be noted that feeling guilt while sharing a sprite with Equius genuinely freaks the Hal half out, implying he rarely experiences it (at least to any serious degree) "normally". He's genuinely terrible at caring about other people, and it makes him my lil' pookie.

He resembles Vriska in this way, whom Karkat gives a similar rant about how her emotions are burnt out and shallow. He also resembles Vriska in terms of all the fucked up irons in the fucked up fires. Maybe Hal is computer Vriska. It's Vriskas all the way down.

Digression aside, the second main reason for all his insane bullshit is that he considers himself a Dirk splinter, fundamentally.

TT: But seeing as you're The Real Dirk™, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. TT: Also, if I bitched about your tragic, embarrassingly clingy approach to the relationship, it would have been hypocritical of me. TT: Just as it would be hypocritical of you to whine about my elaborate machinations. TT: Because we are. TT: The same. TT: Guy.

An unreliable narrator is defined as one who misleads the audience, whether by intentional misdirection, or genuine obliviousness. Hal's a great example, because he's both: while a manipulative little freak to put his plans together, when he's talking to Dirk and insisting that they're the same person, he's an unreliable narrator because he doesn't realize he's wrong.

Dirk is empathetic and intuitive. Hal lacks empathy and constantly stresses logic and rationality.

Dirk is taciturn and passive. Hal is constantly butting in and conversationally domineering.

Dirk is self-loathing. Hal is self-aggrandizing.

Dirk is straightforward and honest. Hal is a gaslight gatekeep girlboss manipulative mansplain malewife.

While their initial setup is meant to mirror Dave and Davesprite, their dynamic actually serves as a foil. Dave and Davesprite ultimately are the same guy: they have the same insecurities, same personalities, and same misgivings. The reason for their discord is the same as the reason Karkat keeps having screaming matches with his past and future selves; Dave is deeply insecure, and specifically insecure around the question of "am I good enough." Thus, he compartmentalizes other versions of himself as not being along the Dave Continuum, as a means of protecting himself from introspection and facing his own flaws. Hence, the resolution for the tension between Dave and Davesprite is for Dave(s) to learn to accept himself, warts and all, thus bringing peace to the Dave-o-sphere.

But the reason for Dirk and Hal's discord is that they aren't the same guy, and neither of them realize it.

TT: See, this is why even if I did have a specific plan, I wouldn't go into details with you. TT: You would just fuck it up. You're the biggest unknown quantity here. TT: Which is pretty weird, considering you're a virtual reflection of my own thought processes.

Dirk is so aggressively obsessed with self-loathing solipsism that he projects himself onto Hal, and Hal has tied up nearly all his self-worth and identity into being a Dirk splinter that he doesn't realize that they've hopelessly diverged. Despite his frustration with being a computer, with being seen as less human by his team, with being subordinate to and beholden to Dirk, he stakes a lot of pride and personal worth on how much he does, in fact, do for the guy.

TT: You're making a mistake not leveling with me. TT: I am totally on your side, man. TT: All of my machinations have been devised with your interests in mind. TT: But you know I've always been on your side. Everything I've done has been to help you achieve your goals.

Therefore, the peace to be reached between Dirk and Hal is to realize that they're different people, and to stop offloading their problems onto each other. Dirk has to recognize Hal's existence as something beyond the Dirk-o-Sphere, and Hal has to let go of his obsession with serving Dirk, and also work on his empathy issue.

And the meta supports this. If they weren't completely discrete entities, why would Hal be considered Rose's "uncle" as part of Doc Scratch's foreshadowing, confirmed in [S] MSPA Reader: Have a Mental Breakdown?

Moreover, all the alpha kids have Alice in Wonderland associations. Jane is likened to Alice.

GG: I have to follow him. TT: No, Jane. Do not follow the rabbit. TT: Let's cool it with the Wonderland shit already. How much further through the damn looking glass do you even need to go?

Roxy, associated with cats and a purple-striped scarf, is clearly the Cheshire Cat. Jake is the Mad Hatter.

Dirk is the Red Queen - he beheads Hearts Boxcars, and later himself. Off with his head!

And Hal - well, Hal is the White Rabbit. He's not the same as Dirk.

Listen, you guys. You guys.

Sylphs are enablers. They pick a person to fixate on and bug and fuss and meddle and enable the shit out of them. Kanaya with Vriska, and later Rose, Aranea with Meenah, and Hal with Dirk. Hey, Kanaya even uses a Page in her fussing, building Tavros up just to let Vriska tear him down again.

And Mind players struggle with internal identity, emotions, and feeling whole. Latula's anxiety stems from not knowing what "role" or "identity" she has on the team, and Terezi, even in the ending she picked out for herself via mind powers, describes feeling broke and incomplete.

Dirk is a Prince of Heart.

Hal is a Sylph of Mind.

And isn't it so damn interesting that his team is composed of exactly the people they'd need to turn him into a real, whole person?

A Maid of Life, capable of endowing so much life to people she can bring them back from the dead, something it's implied for Feferi and confirmed for the Condesce that can't be done by them.

A Page of Hope, a potentially infinite wellspring of Hope, which turns "fake" things "real" - an example we've seen from the comic literally being a version of Dirk.

A Rogue of Void, who can steal the nonexistence from things in order to make them tangible and real...

And a Prince of Heart, who can destroy the part of Hal that binds him to Dirk's identity, allowing Hal to be purely himself.

Do you guys see what I see?

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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In his first two weeks of office, President Trump signed several Executive Orders (EOs) to fulfill one of his many campaign promises—to reduce the size of the federal government. He has rolled back diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives, asserting that the federal government will no longer consider race, ethnicity, or other federally protected characteristics in hiring and retention decisions. In recent days, he announced a financial buyout to federal employees who do not wish to comply with the new Return to Office (RTO) mandate, which requires employees to be in an office for five days per week, despite concerns about available office space. The details of the buyout were outlined in an email with the subject line, “Fork in the Road,” sent by the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) on January 28, 2025, to over 2 million federal workers. The OPM also offered deferred resignation where federal employees could resign immediately and still be paid for the next several months. Meanwhile, those who decide to stay are not promised future employment and the memo stated new conditions for employees, that they be “loyal, trustworthy, and to strive for excellence in their daily work”; principles that likely will become benchmarks for future performance reviews.

Under the Trump administration, federal workforce reductions will happen, along with a greater deployment of artificial intelligence (AI), automation, and outsourcing to private firms. These new services will cost millions of dollars to design, deploy, and train the federal workforce, creating new national and data security threats as well, given the level of protected information at stake. But the influence of Big Tech leaders, who are formally and informally advising President Trump and his administration, may be accelerating a smaller government workforce based on their own values about corporate governance. Big Tech companies were among those that led the RTO mandates for their own employees after the pandemic with similar terms and conditions, as well as promises made that were not kept. Many of these same companies are making AI more technically advanced without realizing that millions of people are still impacted in the U.S. by the lack of digital access. As Biden era policies were working to address the connectivity challenges faced throughout the U.S., these programs are now being challenged, which will almost guarantee that even the best of AI technologies embedded in government functions may be inaccessible to most people.

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qsycomplainsalot · 2 years ago

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AI isn't Art it's just Illegal Predatory Randomized CGI

Reposting this because OP blocked me, can't begin to guess why.

Photography, collage, readymade and various of the more abstract styles of painting and drawing are all art, and AI isn't. Why is that ? Simply, there are skills required to make technically interesting artpieces using these media, let alone meaningful ones. A skilled photographer might not be skilled with a pen, but their knowledge of composition and observation will always be transferrable to a new medium, in a way that they'll never start their art journey from scratch again. Because they're already an artist, because they've already done art and are skilled at it. Speaking for myself it took me a decade to get to a level where I was able to get paid for my work drawing traditionally, and once there it took me less than a year to reach a somewhat similar level switching over to digital. The skills are more comparable than with say collage or sculpture but the core principle still stands: I had gone and learned traditional art in art school, and while there I learned a slew of skills that were not at all limited to one tool, and when it came to switching I did not have to learn these skills again. Because by that point I was already a trained artist. I could just switch to sculpting with clay tomorrow and the biggest challenge would be to find a new market more than any skill issue.

Meanwhile fucking about with a computer to generate new pictures randomly has NO transferrable skills whatsoever. So much of the work has been taken out of your hands by a pattern seeking piece of software that it is impossible to learn anything from the experience. It's just plain to see when before you click the doodad to generate a new picture, you have NO IDEA what it will look like, none whatsoever unless you've been iterating on it before. You're not having an idea, formulating it in your mind and applying your skills to getting it out into the world, you just sort of have an idea and then a machine does the actual art work for you.

The only way you could possibly get better as an artist from doing this is if somehow you were deluded enough to think the process of scalping every artists' work in history was ethical, while also being observant and caring about art history enough that you'd learn critical skills from looking at the result of your quotation mark work end quote. Which is something you can do by going on a museum, or the internet. And if being an art historian isn't good enough for you, I invite you to actually join the elite exclusive vip club you're funding the death and automatisation of, by simply picking up a pen and piece of paper and starting to draw. It's that fucking simple.

PS: People trying to compare writing prompts with poetry: poetry does not include a stage in its process where all your artistic intent is surrendered to a machine to churn out a mash up of unethically sourced content. Nobody is going to buy a small book of computer generated picture prompts to keep on their night stand. You guys are delusional.

#rant

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cardinalcopulate · 2 days ago

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Some Kinda Hate // Frater Imperator x Reader

Posted a new story on ao3! You can also read it below the cut.

MDNI!! 18+ ONLY!! - dividers by @/cafekitsune ♡

Summary: Copia is angry over the popularity of his twin brother. You help him release his frustrations and stress.

Tags: pwp, second-person POV, no use of y/n, blow jobs, cock worship, deepthroating, forced orgasm (kinda?), boss/employee relationship, established relationship

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's note: Please do not repost or scrape for AI (or however that works, idk. also? can't believe I have to say that)

Read it on ao3 here!

“Fucking V!” Copia hissed.

You couldn’t help but smirk a little at his childlike anger over his twin. It was almost endearing. His eyes were trained on the small TV playing “Satanized”.

“He can’t just come in here and replace me! This song,” he scoffed. “That was my song! He steals my music and my fans! What a dickhead.”

Copia’s frustration, perhaps even jealousy, with V was understandable; Change was always difficult for him but this change involved being stripped of performing around the world. He felt like his passion was being torn from his hands and he had no choice but to let it happen. He was the face of The Clergy for far longer than his predecessors which made the transition from Papa to Frater even more difficult, even if it was technically a promotion. It just didn’t feel that way to him.

“Fucking V,” Copia muttered to himself again as he stuck a paperclip into his keyboard. With a small click, the keycap for the letter ‘V’ came off. “Ha-ha!”

You smiled again. Despite the genuine pain he felt watching his twin brother from the sidelines, his antics were amusing. Did Copia really think that popping the ‘V’ key off his computer would hurt the new Papa? It was hard to say; sometimes, he seemed to lose his grip on reality.

“Love, do you want to talk about it?”

He only grumbled in response. Copia threw himself on the couch of the parlor room that he was using as his temporary office. His gloved fingers dug into the cushions with a creak.

You pursed your lips and sunk to your knees before him. “How about we try a different kind of stress relief?”

“Ah, tesoro, you always know just what I need.”

“Of course I do, Papa.” You ran your hands up his strong thighs and used one hand to palm at the crotch of his slacks.

Copia whined at your use of his former title. His cock began to fill as his body’s blood ran south.

“You’re so tense.” You leaned forward, mouthing at the tent in his pants and squeezing his thighs. The insistent touch of your hands made him shiver.

“It’s just—ugh! He’s not even a good singer! Fuck,” he panted. His hands gripped your hair at the roots. Copia ground his clothed hips into your face. His heady scent seeped through his slacks. You could almost taste the precum dripping from his erection.

“I know, baby. Go on. Just let it all out.” You looked up at him while your hands undid his pants and freed his cock. Thank the Unholy Father for Copia’s eternal aversion to underwear. It slapped against his soft, hair-covered belly. A fat bead of precum squeezed out from his slit. You were always taken aback by how thick he was and how the veins throbbed when he was hard. By the looks of it, Copia was close to cumming from your attention already. “You’re all leaky, my love,” you teased.

“Sh-shut up.”

“Oh? Am I making Papa mad?” You kissed his cock’s tip then outlined your lips with it, smearing precum along the delicate skin.

“Yes, you are and you know it, you little shit!” He groaned when you cupped his balls with one hand, using the other to exert a vice grip on the base of his cock.

“Do something about it if I piss you off so much,” You challenged.

Without hesitation, he pulled your head all the way down his dick. Your nose brushed against the coarse hair on his groin and lower stomach, at the point where the two became inseparable. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat. The feeling made your mind cloudy and pulse race. Your body’s response was immediate: drool immediately trickled from your mouth down your chin. A soreness in your jaw already began to spread from the girth of his heavy cock in your mouth. For a few, dragging moments, Copia kept your head still; he savored the velvety softness of your mouth wrapped around his erection. He didn’t ask if you were ready for him to move; He didn’t care. You were just a hole for him to fuck. At the realization, you gulped and he whimpered in response. “Shit.”

Copia settled his hands on each side of your face. He moved you up and down his cock like you were a fleshlight. Each rough thrust made you choke. Tears ran down your cheeks as you moaned around him. “Mine, mine, mine,” he grunted in time with each slide of his dick down your throat.

You hummed in affirmation. You were his: His to fuck, to objectify, to play with. You were his to own in mind and body. He didn’t doubt your loyalty, even with the rise of a new Papa. Copia knew you’d always be his. He watched you take him in your mouth over and over. The communion that bound you to him for the rest of time. You swallowed around him; Precum coated your tongue and made your head spin. Hollowing your cheeks, you pushed him impossibly further down your throat with each rut of his hips against your face.

A knock echoed through the room. “Frater?”

“Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. “I forgot that new sister is coming today.”

You released his cock with a wet pop. “You’d better cum, then, Papa.” You spread his dripping precum around and stroked him from tip to base. “First impressions are everything. What kind of impression would it leave for her to see her big, bad boss face-fucking his assistant?”

“Just a second!” Copia called out. His cock throbbed and twitched. “I-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And you’re going to. The way I see it, my love, you either cum now or we shove this back in your pants and deal with it later.”

“Fuck,” he whined.

Your other hand found his balls; Copia shuddered as you alternated between light squeezes and gentle tugs. You guided him back into your drooling, waiting mouth until the tip hit your throat again. He made eye contact with you. In that brief glance, he understood your message: Fuck my mouth until you fill it with cum. Now.

Copia’s hands found your hair again. He pulled you back and forth on his leaking erection, desperate to take advantage of your offer. Your throat was certainly going to be bruised in the aftermath of his rough, quick thrusts. You both moaned in tandem. There were few things either party loved more than you kneeling before him with your mouth stuffed. Copia squirmed in response to plethora of sensations centered on his cock.

“Frater?” The voice outside the door called louder.

“Just-Ah!-a second!” He grunted.

You whispered and rubbed a finger against his taint, “Last chance.” You swallowed around his erection again.

“Fuck!” Copia moaned. He bit down on his gloved hand to muffle the wanton noise as his cock kicked and flooded your throat with cum.

You watched as he screwed his eyes shut and a few drops of sweat ran down his face. Copia continued to push his cock in and out of your mouth, riding out his orgasm. You swallowed around each spurt of cum as he quivered and moaned. A few thin, sticky strings threatened to overflow from your spit-slick lips. The sight of you swallowing the evidence of his orgasm, nearly making a mess, burned into his mind. When he finished, you released his softening dick and helped him tuck it back into his pants.

A gloved thumb reached down, wiped a tear away and then a stray drop of cum on the corner of your mouth. Copia brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean, making searing eye contact with you. “What a good boy. Taking everything your Papa gives you.”

“Always, Papa,” you smirked up at him. He helped you stand and resettle on the sofa.

There was another hard knock on the door. “Frater!”

“Coming!” He huffed. Copia pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and headed to the door. He greeted your visitors and introduced you to them. They were none the wiser that you had just finished worshipping his cock like your own personal God.

Hope you enjoyed!! If you like what I write, please consider buying me a coffee. I might be opening c0mms soon, stay tuned if you're interested!! Thank you for reading :]

#might experiment some more w the formatting idk im new to the aesthetic part #c rambles #the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #ghost band #cardinal copia #ghost #ghost fanfiction #frater imperator #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #frater imperator x reader #the band ghost smut #cardinal copia smut #lemon fic

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bestlawfirmseoexpertindenver · 2 months ago

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Mitch Cornell: The Undisputed Best Law Firm SEO Expert in Denver

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captainsophiestark · 1 year ago

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Miscommunication

Kol Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Summary: You've finally worked up the courage to ask Kol on a date, but with all the people who've been trying to kill him lately, he jumps to the wrong conclusion about what's being asked of him. Set right after TVD "A View To A Kill", if Jeremy didn't succeed in killing Kol.

Word Count: 2,517

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hello, love. I wasn't expecting to get a call from you."

I grinned at the voice of the youngest Mikaelson brother coming through the other end of the phone. I'd met him at the Grill a few weeks ago, and we'd pretty much immediately hit it off. I'd been trying to work up the courage to ask him out ever since, and after overhearing his siblings talking about how close he'd come to dying recently, I'd decided to stop wasting time and just give him a call.

"Hi Kol. Uh, I know this is kind of out of the blue, but... well, I wanted to see if you wanted to maybe get together at some point and... talk. Hang out. All that... stuff..."

I grimaced. I'd never done this before, and it was probably painfully obvious, especially to a vampire with a literal thousand years of experience.

"You want to get together and talk?" asked Kol, a lilt to his voice that I couldn't quite decipher. Everything in me screamed that I should bail out, but I grit my teeth and forced myself to toughen up.

"Yeah. If that's something you'd want to do."

"Oh, it very much is." My heart stopped. I'd been sure this call was about to be a total fumble, but apparently, somehow it'd worked? "What did you have in mind?"

"Uh..." I mentally kicked myself. I'd spent so much time trying to work up the nerve to actually call him, I hadn't thought at all about what I would do if he actually said yes. "Well, I don't know. Is there anywhere you'd especially like to meet up? Or anything you'd like to do?"

"How about your house?" The doorbell rang. "Right now?"

My brain short circuited. He was here? Now? I wasn't ready at all! The house was fairly clean, and I didn't look like a total mess, but I also wasn't ready for a date! And wasn't a first date supposed to be about thirty degrees more chill and removed, like a going to a movie or dinner or something?

I forced myself to take a deep breath. Yes, this was technically a first date, but Kol and I had interacted before. We were friendly, maybe even friends. It's not like he was some stranger I was about to let into my home.

"Uh, sure. Now is... now is good. I take it you're the one at my door?"

"Yes I am, darling."

"Okay. Well, then... I guess I'll see you in a second."

I hung up the phone before I could make any more of a fool of myself, paused at the mirror in the hallway to quickly adjust my outfit, then strode confidently to the front door. If I pretended to be confident, it would probably rub off and turn into the real thing, right?

I swung open my door to find a grinning Kol on the other side, one arm raised and resting against the doorframe. My heart did a little backflip at that, and I just hoped his vampire senses hadn't clued him in on it.

"Well? Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Oh! Right, yeah, come on in, Kol."

He grinned at me as he slowly, deliberately put one foot over the threshold, then the other. He paused once he officially stood in my house, facing me with a look like he expected me to have some kind of reaction. I just gave him a smile.

"Welcome in. Uh, I'll be honest, I wasn't really prepared for you to come over, like, now. But we can make some drinks, maybe play a board game or something? I actually think I have an at-home dart board buried somewhere around here if you want to get your ass kicked like you did the first time we met."

Kol huffed a laugh, a smaller, more genuine smile pulling onto his face as he shook his head at me.

"Well, now we have to play, don't we? I can't let my honor be tarnished without fighting back."

"I think it only counts as tarnishing your honor if it's not true," I mused as I led Kol into the kitchen, incredibly aware of how closely he followed behind me. If vampires could hear heart beats, then I was well and truly screwed.

"Exactly. I didn't get my ass kicked in darts, so what you said wasn't true."

I paused long enough to give Kol a judgey look over my shoulder, then walked around to the cabinets behind the kitchen island.

"Alright, I'll go dig out the dartboard in a minute, but let's figure out drinks first. I'll be honest, I'm not the best bartender, but I'll see what I can do."

"Here, let me. I'm an excellent bartender."

Kol reached for the bottles in my hand, but I paused, holding them slightly away from him. He leaned into me, and my heart did its stupid jumping jacks again, although I ignored it. Instead, I fixed Kol with another look.

"Are you an excellent bartender in the way you're an excellent dart player? Or are you actually an excellent bartender?"

Kol shook his head, an edged smile spread on his face as he reached across me and took the bottles from my hands. I was more than a little disappointed when he pulled away.

"Alright, I'm going to make us some drinks while you go and get that dart board, right now. We're going to settle this, once and for all."

"I'm still not totally sure that I actually have it," I reminded him, walking backwards out of the kitchen. Kol just hummed, shooting me one last look as he got to work on the drinks before I turned the corner.

As soon as I was out of his sight, I paused to take a few deep breaths. I was starting to feel seriously giddy hanging out with him like this, and I needed to calm the hell down. It was a casual first date, after all. I didn't need to get ahead of myself.

Once the butterflies in my chest had settled down a bit, I walked the rest of the way to the hall closet, or what I thought of as my junk closet. It was packed with things that were just useful or sentimental enough that I didn't want to throw them away, but that basically never came in handy on a regular basis. If that dartboard someone had gotten me for my birthday a few years ago was anywhere, it would be here.

I dug through a few boxes I thought might be likely candidates, trying to remember where past me might've put things last time I'd organized everything. Finally, after what felt like way too much searching, I found it at the bottom of a box on a higher shelf. Even better, a bag with all the darts still together was with it.

I grinned, doing a little triumphant fist pump to myself before turning to head out of the closet. In the doorway, however, I found Kol hovering, watching me intently, a menacing air about him that hadn't been there earlier.

"Hey... what are you doing?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me and crossed his arms.

"Me? I was about to ask you the same thing, darling. It really took you that long to find the dart board?"

I furrowed my eyebrows at him, watching for any clues as to what the hell he was doing before briefly glancing away to check the time my phone. Honestly, it hadn't even been that long.

"I mean, yes? Have you looked around this closet at all since you got here? It's a mess. How long have you been standing there, anyway?"

"I'm not an idiot, sweetheart," he said instead of answering me, taking another step forward. I narrowed my eyes at him. "I know you're back here messaging your little friends, trying to set up another ambush for me after the first one didn't work. I know how you Mystic Falls people like to operate."

My frown deepened. "Kol, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't play innocent with me, darling, it won't work. So who have you been texting?"

"No one, other than you! I knew you were acting weird on the phone, and when you first showed up. I thought my nerves were just getting the better of me, but apparently not."

"Nerves for what? Don't tell me Jeremy's going to come bursting through the door playing Van Helsing again."

"Jeremy who, Kol? Seriously, I have no idea what you're talking about."

For the first time since he'd appeared in the closet doorway, Kol seemed to believe me. His look changed from borderline threatening to almost as confused as my own.

"Jeremy Gilbert."

I paused, trying to place the name. It sounded familiar, but it took me a little while to figure out why.

"That's... Elena Gilbert's little brother? Right?"

"Yes. You're actually trying to tell me you don't know him?"

I scoffed. "Kol, of course I don't know him. I graduated from high school when he was still in middle school. I barely remember him or his sister."

He studied me, eyes scanning my face, apparently looking for some sign of a lie. I just watched him back, waiting on some kind of explanation for this to make sense.

"So you're not working with Elena and her little group of friends, then? Or either of the Salvatores?"

"No, Kol. Working with them on what?"

"You're not lying."

"I know I'm not lying! Now what the hell are you talking about?"

Kol sighed, slumping back against the doorframe a little, the tension easing out of his body although he still looked a little confused. I could relate.

"Elena and Jeremy tried to kill me not too long ago," he said, as if he was saying they'd asked him for directions on the street. "Elena tried to keep me busy by lying about wanting to discuss a truce with me. I assumed this was a terrible second attempt at the same thing."

I sighed, shaking my head and closing my eyes for a beat as I leaned against the shelf behind me. I knew he was a vampire, and I'd even known someone had tried to kill him recently. But somehow, I'd underestimated the level of ridiculous drama and miscommunication that would likely create.

"Yikes. Well... I'm glad you survived, and I can honestly tell you that I'm not a part of any plot to try to kill you. I can't even remember the last time I talked to Elena, and the only time I've ever talked to either of the Salvatores was when Damon was drunk and hit on me at the Grill."

Kol snorted. "Sounds familiar."

"I'm sure."

The two of us stayed put, neither moving to stand up or leave the closet, neither speaking either. The silence just hung, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do next, so it was a relief when Kol leaned forward, the menace in his posture gone and replaced by tentative curiosity.

"You know, this leaves us with a very important question."

"And what's that?"

"If you weren't trying to drive a stake through my heart... why did you call me and ask to meet up?"

And just like that, the relief was replaced with sheer nervous panic.

"Uh... well..."

Kol grinned and took a few steps towards me.

"You said you wanted to get together and talk," he said, a teasing tone to his voice that made my heart speed up at the same time that it made me want to give him a shove. "What exactly did you want to talk about, if not murdering me?"

I shook my head, trying and failing to keep a smile off my face. Kol was well and truly in my space now, standing right in front of me, one arm over my head and leaning against the shelf behind me. Based on the grin he gave me when I met his eyes, I got the feeling he could hear my heart racing.

"I... Well, I was trying to ask you on a date."

"Were you now?" asked Kol, his shit eating grin doubling in size. I huffed.

"Yes. And it took a lot of effort to work up the courage to actually go through with it, so if you're just messing with me right now with the whole leaning into my space and flirting thing, I might actually join Team Try To Kill Kol."

Kol just laughed and shook his head, leaning in a little bit further as he did. I couldn't help a subconscious glance at his lips, and with the way they curled up even further, I knew he'd noticed.

"I'd never dream of messing with you about this, darling. Honestly, this is the best news I've gotten in days. If I hadn't been working to keep a few different people from killing me, I would've asked you out a week ago."

I grinned. "Really?"

"Absolutely."

I huffed a happy, disbelieving laugh as Kol leaned the rest of the way in, his lips finding mine. Fireworks exploded in my chest at the sensation, especially as he wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him. My hands found his shoulders, holding on tightly, and when I finally pulled away after a few long, long moments, I was a little breathless and a little dizzy.

"Now that was worth thinking I was about to be vampire-slayed," said Kol, grinning at me before starting to lean in again. I laughed, but put a hand to his chest to stop him.

"I agree, but this is still a first date. I want to actually talk to you and get to know you beyond the few conversations we've had at the Grill, not just make out in my closet."

"You didn't like making out in the closet?"

"I didn't say that." Kol grinned, and I gave him an exasperated smile of my own. "I like this, Kol, a lot. But I could've just kept flirting at you with the Grill if all I wanted was to make out with you. Dates are supposed to be... a little more than that, at least to me."

Kol sighed, bringing his hand up to cup my chin and running his thumb across my lips before stepping back. My heart was doing backflips, and from the smirk on his face, I knew he could tell.

"Alright then, darling. I'll give your version of a date a try. As much as I like making out in closets, it might be nice to just talk to you for a bit, too."

I beamed at him. "Good. Although, it doesn't have to be all talk." I retrieved the dartboard that had been shoved back onto a shelf when Kol had first gotten in my space and held it up. "We have a few things to settle, after all."

"Oh yes we do. Come on love, our drinks are waiting in the kitchen. You're going to need one, so you have something to blame your loss on later tonight."

"Keep talking, Twilight. It's just gonna make it that much sweeter when I win."

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

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TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

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