#does this even qualify as art is the real question here

[phantasmalva]

He’s fine guys don’t worry💪

[alpaca-clouds]

Schrödinger's Disability

"Stop using your autism/adhd as an excuse!" I cannot tell you how often I got to hear that. Because here is the thing: Most people do not perceive either of those two diagnosises as "real". Even if they know they are real. Even medical professionals do not quite... understand it. Even those working with neurodivergent people.

Of course, if someone is the kinda autistic person who has also some sort of mental impairment, people perceive it as a disability - but if it does not come along with that kinda stuff, a lot of people treat it, as if we make an active choice to do or not to do something.

I told this story yesterday: When I was a kid, the following thing would always happen. When we would have art class, some of my pencils would drop from the table. Most likely because of dyspraxia. Now, when that happened I was simply not able to stop what I was doing. Because my brain cannot handle "stopping one thing to do another thing even for just a moment" very well. And it could handle it even worse when I was a kid. But also, I do not have object permanence. So, if an object does not exist within my field of vision, I just... forget about it. So, I often would just forget to pick the pencil back up. And teachers would be: "Oh, this boy is too lazy to pick up his own things." Which was not at all what was happening.

Another thing that happened to me too often is a very typical autism thing: Someone tells me something. But they do not tell me this in plain words, but rather imply it. So... I very much just not understood it. So, for example, I got told on a Discord Server by one user: "I have muted this channel." Which I understood as: "They muted this channel (maybe because it is very active)". What they said was, though: "I do not wanna see this channel, stop tagging me in this."

And mind you, this happens at work and university, too. A good example is the good old question of: "When are you done with this?" Which I usually understand as: "When are you done with this?" But what they mean to say is: "Hurry up, I need this now."

Last semester I had this happen at university even. Basically I misunderstood the final assignment, because it was not spelled out. Thankfully the professor was less of an asshole about it, than most people. I explained it to him, he understood, still got a good grade. But that tends to be more the exception than the rule.

As I said, this is a thing that even medical professionals do not really get. Even therapists do again and again fail to just communicate with autistic people clearly. They do not think about us usually being unable to understand implied meanings. We only understand the literal meaning for a lot of stuff.

And again: This is especially harsh with people like me, who superficially seem to function well in society. Heck, I have been told by professionals that I could not have ADHD or autism, because I archived a master's degree at university. Because they cannot comprehend that both ADHD and autism are a spectrum. It is not something you "either have, or have not" but it is a wide spectrum of symptoms that are differently strong in different people.

In Germany this also shows harshly when it comes to disability benefits. Because autism on its own rarely ever qualifies for disability benefits at all. Mental disabilities that might be linked to autism do. But autism on its own? No. Same goes with ADHD. And this... is kinda silly, right? Because we have studies upon studies that people with autism and ADHD often cannot work fulltime - at least not permanently. And we also know that generally neurodivergent people are more likely to be fired for a plenthora of reasons. So, yeah, we should kinda be treated like disabled, right?

And the worst part? In the parts where you get legally discriminated because of disabilities? Yeah, we still get that. We cannot immigrate into all other contries. Like, I cannot immigrate into New Zealand, for example, even though I would like too, because New Zealand discriminates against people with autism when it comes to immigration.

So... yeah. No, this sucks.

Nobody would tell a blind person overlooking a visual sign: "Stop using your blindness as an excuse". But with autistic people? It is the norm.

[thegeorgiatennantblog]

*Clanking pots and pans together *

I have a message for all the tin hatters and misogynists in the Tumblr fandom.

28th August, The Year of Our Nerd 2024

To Whom It May Concern

It has been precisely one year and one month to the fact that I first came across this malady that has been plaguing our fandom. Other fandoms have been more or less unfortunate in this regard. What started as a lighthearted joke has now turned into a toxic, vile, festering wound. For a long time I either ignored these blogs and their opinions or very politely tried to dismiss them. For an even longer time I was made to feel that I was in the wrong. After all we live in a free society and all of us believe int he idea of freedom of speech, freedom to hold whatever views and beliefs, and freedom to express those views and beliefs. But the very same citizens of these free society's in today's world are also facing a dilemma: how far does this right go? Is it unconditional? Is it absolute? Or does it qualify to some form of check or some form of necessary derogation under exceptional circumstances? When do those circumstances arise?

Most of us have come to an understanding in regard to the question, though all of us may not agree to it: it is understood that where your right to exercise your freedom offends and restricts my right to do or causes in any way for me or anyone else to feel endangered, then that is where we draw the line.

Reading @do-angels-dream-of-starry-seas 's post today I have come to the conclusion that the time has come to draw that line. It is a question on where we stand as a fandom if we let such bigotry and such hate prevail any longer.

I want to let everyone know where I stand. I have nothing against fanfiction. I have nothing against RPF. People have been creating RPF since time immemorial. If not for RPF a large amount of literature, film, music and other forms of art would not exist. Shakespear's Histories are essentially RPF, Hamilton is RPF, Netflix's The Crown is RPF, Le Morte d'Arthur is RPF, Baz Luhrman's Elvis is RPF and so is Andrew Dominic's Blonde. You may like some of it, you might dislike some of it. You might even be vehemently against some of it. But that's all it is at the end of the day; fiction. It doesn't hurt anyone. The real problem arises when people start becoming unbale to differentiate between fiction and reality. And that's no better than thinking that just cz someone played a serial killer in a movie means they're evil irl too.

It becomes suffocating for others to exist in these spaces when the delusion that the RFP is real transcends to take an even worse shape namely hating the real people involved in said person's life. How could you justify hating on their real life partners just so you can satisfy your delusional belief that these men are actually in love with each other.

Maybe it springs from a need to justify our lives in terms of conspiracy theories in this growing pandemic of untruths and fake news. Maybe it springs from some deep rooted internalized misogyny. Who can say?

Before I move on I want to highlight some problems with the wntire tinhatter discourse.

The existence of a PR. I want to clarify this here and now. PR works for important, famous, insanely rich people whose global fame makes their identity a part of the public domain so much that their entire image needs to be curated to meet certain requirements. PR works for Taylor Swift and Leonardo DiCaprio and Barak Obama. Who is does NOT work for are people who are only locally well known, live reasonably ordinary lifestyles, and have a painfully insignificant following outside their own cultural context.

The idea that one picture or a five second video can tell the truth about someone's entire personal life. It cannot. It never will. Body language is not even a science. Body language is misleading. Facial expressions are misleading. I am writing this right now with the most bland expression on my face. People around me think I'm writing an email. My internal emotions right now are another story. Moreover no one owes anyone any sort of information on their personal life, their love life, their mood, their life choices or whatever. Their lives are not public property. Please respect that.

The women are the villains. This blatant misogyny has become intolerable as the days go by considering most of these posts are written by women themselves. The whole controlling wife, poor meek guy trope is so fckng infuriating. When did we wake up to a world where women hold the reigns and an adult white upper middle class male cannot tell her that he wants a divorce. I thought this only happened to unprivileged women in third world countries who cannot file a divorce bcs then she will be left penniless and socially disgraced. The women baby trapped them. Of course they feel responsibility for the kids now. Child birth is the second most painful experience after being burnt to death. No woman does it for the pleasure of it nor for some strategic benefit that it will serve her. And giving birth to not just one but many. And then raising them. That's not easy! Secondly, having children is a mutual decision and process. If only women could make babies, we'd get rid of men for good lol! (this is a joke plz don't @ me) If someone decides to have children with someone, and we're not talking just one accidental pregnancy or sth... we're talking several kids over the years.... then they probably have that level of attachment, love and commitment to their partner. It's just common sense.

Absolute cynicism. Anything Georgia and Anna do is met with cynicism and their words are deliberately twisted to mean the opposite. While D and M will be applauded for speaking up for a cause, when G and A do the same, they are shouted down as pretentious or that PR made them do it. When D and M show affection towards each other that's all real and true but when G and A show affection to their partners it fake and a PR stunt. Moreover, the way they interact with their partners is also completely misunderstood. Anna is more private and subtle about her gestures of praise and affection. But from what she does show publicly we know that she absolutely adores her partner and her kids. Georgia on the other hand has her own way. She teases, makes jokes, pokes fun at him, but she's also literally the woman that is being ultra-horny for him on Twitter and Instagram in front of everyone else. And I think that comes from the fact that they were friends first and lovers second and they have maintained that playful friendly relationship with each other. Still, she is accused of never being appreciative, being cringey, possessive, creepy and always bringing him down. Oh, and we never talk about how Michael next to never promotes Davis's achievements. In fact, no one else I know does it. Literally the only person is Georgia jumping up and down going "This is my partner! Have you seen them! Have you seen how awesome they are! I love them!" Not just that, these tinhatters have such double standards that while D's neurodivergent traits are being praised, G takes the rap for it. She's a careless mum, an unworthy partner; none of her professional achievements matter. She is fighting her dyslexia and neurodivergence to achieve something but the tinhatters will make ableist remarks to bring her down. But they don't just stop there. They accuse her of abuse, rape and cyber harassment. Pray that she doesn't find out because accusing someone of that can get you behind the bars hon!

I know that none of this is going to disappear over night. We fight the fight every day and we hope that tumblr goes back to being the safe space it once was. But till then, it is important that we stay strong and stay together. I have had people come into my ds with links and other stuff that made me want to jump off a cliff. I have been subjected to some horrendous lies, all in a bid to 'convert' me. Sadly that's not happening babes.

So I just want these tinhatters to know that if you're here, then we're here too. And no matter how much of this toxic bile you keep spewing we'll keep washing it away. And that @dtmsrpfcringe and @goodomenswarning don't have to do it alone. If you wanna go at them then come at me bitches!

And I'm not scared to call y'all out @ingravinoveritas @letscoffeebreak @nightgoodomens

@invisibleicewands @climb-dtennant-like-a-tree @thetardisisbluandroseistoo and others but mainly you guys cz you're the ring leaders. Go on block me if you want to I don't care! Or better, send me some of those creepy asks you guys send Tori. At least it would take the burden off her!

Oh and, before I go, @dtmsrpfcringe you're a champ and we love you and we stand with you!!!

Yours Sincerely,

Meena. x

curator of TheGeorgiaTennantBlog

[communistkenobi]

Obviously art does not rest on methods, media, or the amount of effort a person exerted in making it, but I think AI art is yet another way that capitalism is changing the form and function of art (separating artworks from their original meaning on a different and even larger scale) and given that it is made by exploiting workers (the original artists and the people they pay pennies to sort through it to remove disturbing images) it makes people feel yet more powerless in the face of corporations so there is a big negative reaction to it. This negative reaction may not be articulated in the way you want but I think it's very understandable that people have reactionary feelings about large scale corporate exploitation.

just for the record before I respond, I am replying to this ask in good faith just as you are asking in good faith, I’m not angry at you and many of these questions I’m asking are rhetorical, for the purposes of reflection. So please no slapfighting in the notes, thank you!

First: I’m not disputing exploitation. in fact privileging AI as uniquely exploitative handwaves away the massive amount of exploitation that artists already endure and have endured for a very long time, as well as the horrific amounts of labour exploitation involved in mass producing the ‘tools of the trade’ so to speak.

But this is, again, a non-sequitur to my argument, which is that art produced under exploitative, destructive, “lazy” or politically repugnant conditions is still art. MCU films are art regardless of the fact that they are 3-hour long informercials for the American empire and require massive labour exploitation from CGI animators, actors, film set workers, and everything else: advertisements are art: AI art is art. Horrifying, trite, unoriginal, bad, socially destructive, maybe all of those things are true and we can talk about the merits of those claims (I certainly have strong opinions about them), but what is politically gained from saying bad, unoriginal, horrifying, or trite art isn’t art? Whose definitions are we using here, and if those definitions should be universalised, what does it mean for artists who are only unoriginal, only bad, only whatever else?

I return to my original example: are children not qualified to be artists if they only make “bad” art? I used to trace movie stills from Harry Potter photo books as a child because I loved the characters - am I a fraud for doing so? Am I given grace for my incompetence and “theft” on the basis of me “still learning how to do real art”? When does this grace period end? If we argue that only struggle can produce art, what level of struggle? Struggle for whom? Drawing isn’t difficult for me because I was taught how to hold a pencil, read, write, and draw by a western industrial publicly-funded primary school by a teacher paid with public tax dollars, supplemented with help every night from my mother and father, two married cishet middle class people in a mostly stable (if miserable and verbally abusive) marriage - all of which is resting atop stolen indigenous land. Under what historical conditions can arguments for artistic struggle be made? When we argue for struggle(/hard work/whatever) as the basis of art we are pre-supposing a universal subject whose struggle is globally standardized and calculable - which in all of these discussions on here is (implicitly, though sometimes explicitly) a white able-bodied settler living in a western state who benefits from universal primary education that teaches them the foundational skills of how to make art. You can probably add university educated to that too, given how many of these arguments seem to be swarmed by undergraduate students.

Arguing that there needs to be some threshold for method, labour, intent, or message for art to ‘actually be art’ is politically reactionary and is what I am responding to. It requires transcendental claims about the Artist as a unique labourer set apart from and superior to all others, one whose skills are universalised and whose intent is always observable and present in their work. So if people want to talk about exploitation they should talk about exploitation, not the definition of art. It’s not my fault people can’t stay on topic!

[ficsforeren]

Our Little Secret - Chapter 6 (End)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger X Female Reader

Genre: College AU, Spider-Man/Spider-Girl AU, Fluff, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut

Series Summary: Eren Jaeger, a 21-year-old virgin college student who loves his camera a little bit too much, has a crush on you. Every night, he switches on his camera and talks about you but he never could find the courage to speak to you in real life. Strangely enough, he finds it easy for him to befriend Spider-Girl, the crime fighting vigilante, not knowing that you both share the same identity.

Chapter Summary: Eren still can't believe that he just went on a date with the most popular girl in school and kissed the hottest superheroine in town all in one night. He tells himself that he has to make a decision—to choose between you and Spider-Girl, not knowing that you two are the same person. Well, maybe it's time for you to reveal your little secret.

Content Warnings: swearing, mentions of characters going through depression, traumatic past events, a little bit of smut near the end (not too explicit)

Word Count: 16k

Poster art by the most talented @rainbuniart on Twitter

Armin Arlert loves Eren Jaeger. He does. He really does, like in a platonic-but-can-also-be-qualified-as-super-gay-way-sometimes. 

He adores him. Might even name his fictional son after him in the future, who knows? He thinks Eren is the best friend he could ever ask for. Armin wouldn’t put his life on the line to save him, true, (‘cause as much as he loves the guy, that bitch can die on his own since it will probably be because of his damn fault anyway), but he would definitely sacrifice his most precious body pillow if Eren’s life depends on it and that’s saying something. Actually, hold up. Let’s not make any hasty decisions here. It’s a special, limited edition dakimakura with his fictional wife printed on it while wearing a slutty maid outfit. He ain’t gonna throw those glorious 2D titties just for Eren’s lousy ass.

Though his actions may speak otherwise, Armin does care about him. More than he has ever cared about anyone else, really. Even on those days back in high school when he was a bit… bicurious, Armin had imagined himself—more than once (or ten)—being with Eren and how hot it would be if he had Eren all tied up on his bed with his body shrouded by wet tentacles that were stimulating each of his sensitive spots. He knew it was weird to imagine his best friend begging him with tears in his eyes, saying lewd things like “Please, Master Arlert, please give me your thick, hard cock and fill me up with your seeds. I want you to breed me like a fucking whore,” but Armin was an eighteen-year-old virgin with a raging sexual desire, okay? Can you really blame him? (yes, please blame him, he's insane).

It didn’t help that Eren looked so pretty with his hair down either, especially when he was sitting half-naked on Armin’s bedroom floor during those hot summer days with a popsicle stuck inside his mouth, making questionable groaning and sucking noises as he jammed his thumbs against his X-Box controller. It also didn’t help that Armin had watched too much hentai in his spare time but at least, he was proud of it. Eren watched tentacles porn too—and enjoyed it—but he would always pretend he didn’t and say that he preferred lesbian porn just so he could “fit in” and “be normal” or whatever. Fucking coward.

We’re getting sidetracked but the point is, Armin loves Eren to the moon and back, but sometimes, sometimes, he just wants to break all 206 bones in his body, squeeze him into a pulp and flush him down the toilet. And by sometimes, he means now.

“Armin!” He can hear the sounds of small rocks hitting his window, followed by Eren’s husky voice calling his name in a mix between a shout and a whisper. “Armin! Dude, wake up!”

Armin only has one eye opened, glowering at the digital clock on his desk that shows it’s two in the fucking morning. His parents might be heavy sleepers—the government has to drop a nuclear bomb for them to wake up—but Armin needs complete silence to be able to wane into his dreamland (which would be the only place for him to be embraced by his fox-eared waifu). He tries to ignore the asshole standing outside his window, but that so-called green-eyed butthole is as stubborn as he is relentless. 

Gathering a handful of pebbles, Eren throws them one by one, continuously hissing Armin’s name like a demonic cat. With each stone hitting his window, Armin transforms even further into a seething monster. By the sixteenth pebble Eren throws, the blonde-haired boy pushes himself off the bed, grabs the baseball bat he hides inside his closet—which he bought not for sport, but for this very reason—and stomps his way to the front door.

“Armin!” Eren rejoices when he sees his best friend walking past his lawn, moving toward him. “Oh, thank God, you’re awake! I need to talk to you—WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING TO DO WITH THAT BAT?!”

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, JAEGER!”

It’s always like this with them—Eren annoying the shit out of him and Armin trying to kill him two or three times in a row—but it would all end well, not with laughter, but with a massive bump on Eren’s head that may or may not be big enough to trigger permanent brain damage. But then again, Eren is already an idiot. He’s probably maxed out at this point. 

“One of these days, Arlert,” Eren groans in pain, rubbing the back of his skull as he wills his tears to stop brimming in his eyes. “I’m gonna file a restraining order on you.”

“That’s my line, you nincompoop.”

“I don’t know what nincompoop means but that doesn't sound pretty.”

The two boys sit on the little stairs that lead to Armin’s porch (five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay). Armin still has his baseball bat between his legs, his golden hair all tousled from his one-hour sleep. Eren, who’s usually attentive to another person’s well-being, is too excited to pay attention to the bags forming under his eyes. Playfully bumping his shoulder against Armin’s, he asks him, “Dude, guess who just had his first kiss tonight?”

“Why do we strive for perfection if it is not attainable?” Armin says, dramatically sighing into the night. “What is the meaning of a good life? Is there a meaning in life itself? Are we human or are we dancers?”

Eren, now confused, has his smile wavering. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, I thought we were just throwing out random questions.”

“That last one wasn’t even a question. That was `Are We Human’ by The Killers.”

“Yes and they were asking us whether we are human or dancers when they should have been asking: why can’t we be both?”

“It’s me,” Eren replies flatly. “I just had my first kiss.”

“Oh, wow, congratulations. I did not see that coming at all.” There’s no mirth or enthusiasm on Armin's face. He's just clapping his hands as he keeps his voice monotone. “Your lips aren’t a virgin anymore. Make sure they don’t turn into a whore.”

Eren, well-accustomed to his sarcasm, remains unfazed, continuously acting like the love-struck puppy that he is. “Aren’t you gonna ask me how it felt like?” He wiggles his eyebrows, showcasing a cheeky grin. “I’ll give you a clue. The word starts with an A and ends with a G.”

“Anal Rimming?”

Eren sends him a flat stare. “It’s amazing.”

“Sure, if you say so. I mean, I’ve never done anal or rimming before so I wouldn’t know, but hey, if it’s amazing then good for you, buddy.”

“I meant the kiss, Armin!”

This attitude Armin is throwing at him is his way of saying dude, I love you but I’m so fucking pissed at you right now, and Eren understands how much he’s being selfish for taking Armin’s precious sleeping time. He knows and he apologizes for it. But if he doesn’t tell Armin about the kiss—about how he’s both overjoyed and conflicted by it—he’s sure as hell he’s going to lose his mind. 

Armin, despite how snarky he is, can only exhale exaggeratedly in defeat once Eren puts his best-kicked puppy look on display. “Fine, you twat. Spill.”

And with his permission, Eren’s words come rushing in like a bullet train. “Dude, it was insane.” Whenever he thinks about the kiss, the first thing Eren feels is joy. The kind of joy that is so fierce, it leaves him burned and paralyzed by it. “I’ve been imagining what my first kiss was gonna be like since forever but even the sweetest dream wouldn’t be able to compare to how amazing it was.”

Armin can see it—that glow on his face. It’s the first time he’s ever witnessed his best friend being this happy. It's disgusting. “You sound like that sappy Aerosmith song.”

“And to think that I was having my first kiss upside down!”

“Wait, what?” Armin finally shows a reaction, his eyebrows adjoined in the middle. “Upside-down?”

“Yeah, she was hanging upside down.”

“Hanging? How—why—” You know that Jackie Chan meme? The one with him looking all confused? Yeah, that’s Armin right now. “Where were you? In her room?”

“Umm… no. We were outside.”

“In public?”

“Yeah, but no one was around. Oh wait, there were like three guys around us but they were unconscious.”

The more he explains, the more perplexed Armin becomes. “Why were they—no, who were they?”

“Just some dudes wanting to steal my camera.” Eren turns sheepish, his index finger scratching his cheek at the memory of you fighting so gracefully under the rain, almost like dancing. The words he says don’t match his expression at all. “They had, like, a knife against my throat. It was really scary.”

“Oh yeah, I can tell, ‘cause you’re blushing so hard right now.” At this rate, being sarcastic is the only way for Armin to keep himself sane.

Eren, to Armin’s horror, giggles. “I remember the way she came by. It was so dramatic. She beat their asses to save my life like bam, kapoww, kapoww!”

Almost getting hit by Eren’s lame attempt at re-enacting your punches, Armin cringed, “Please stop.” 

“We kinda flirted a little bit after that and I just, you know…” Eren has really turned into a thirteen-year-old girl at this point. “I kissed her. She was hanging upside down. There was rain pouring above our heads and we were, like, smiling into the kiss. It was so romantic.”

Fuck Jackie Chan. That meme needs to be reinvented using Armin’s face now. He’s more confused than any Chinese man could ever be. “Hold up, you fucker.” He pushes his eyeglasses up his nose, a pair of sapphire eyes scrutinizing Eren's face as if he could find the answer if he looks hard enough. “How and why was she hanging upside down?”

“Well, she was about to swing away when I stopped her and so she was hanging onto her web and—”

“Her web?” This dude makes absolutely no fucking sense! Armin is now picturing you (not Spider-Girl. You.) in your preppy girl outfit hanging upside down on a tree like a fucking monkey, exchanging tongues and saliva with an actual monkey who was twice your size. The result? Absolutely ludicrous. “Dude, what kind of kinky shit are you guys into?!”

And it’s only then that Eren remembers something. “Oh, no, you’re getting the wrong idea. I wasn’t talking about her. I kissed a different girl.”

“You kissed a diff—” Armin stops himself before he explodes. Taking a deep breath, exhaling with his eyes closed, he mutters under his voice, “Lord, give me strength.” When he blinks open his eyes again, Armin seems much calmer, although his grip around his baseball bat is tightening twice as hard. His fingers are just itching to smack the shit out of his best friend. Again.

Eren, scared for his life, has both hands in the air. “Calm down, Min.”

“I’m calm, I’m calm.” But he takes another deep breath just in case. Armin smiles—that kind of deadly smile that doesn’t reach his eyes—when he asks, “Let’s start from the beginning. You went on a date with Miss Popular.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But you didn’t kiss her and instead you kissed someone else.”

Now that Armin phrases it like that, that feeling of remorse that Eren felt an hour ago comes back rushing in. Eren still loathes himself for kissing another girl right after his date with you ended but the thing is, it felt right. It felt like it was something he had been wishing to happen for years. He had spent all this time imagining what it would be like to share a chaste kiss under the rain with you—the college version of you. But when the moment was there, he couldn’t do it. It didn’t feel right. He felt guilt at that time, knowing that Spider-Girl kept showing up in his head when he was supposed to be thinking about you. But he didn't feel any of that when he shared those kisses with that alter ego of yours. He just felt joy. It felt amazing. It felt right. 

But with Armin confronting him about it, he returns to the dilemma he was drowning himself in a few hours ago. The time when he realized that he was in love with Spider-Girl instead of you.

“Yeah,” Eren admits in shame, casting his gaze downward. “I kissed someone else.”

Armin fixes his glasses again, just so he’d have something to do instead of looking flabbergasted at the revelation. “And who did you kiss?”

“Umm… Spider-Girl.”

Armin looks at him and Eren looks back. Three seconds pass by in silence and then—

“AW!” Eren shouts in reflex, not caring if it’s two-thirty in the morning, right after Armin smacked him with the end of his baseball bat. “Dude, stop doing that! It hurts!”

“You’re fucking with me,” Armin says, hitting him repetitively on his side. “You’re absolutely fucking with me right now. Can’t believe I woke up to listen to you spouting bullshit!”

“I’m not bullshitting you!” Eren winces, trying to dodge his next attack.

“You’re saying you kissed one of the town's hottest superheroines? The same girl who took down the Lizard—no, the same girl who looks smoking hot in that white spandex—you kissed that girl?”

“Yes! Fuck—Stop hitting me!” Eren, at some point, manages to snatch away the bat from Armin’s grip. His body feels sore all over, even more than when he fought those men in the alley. “Yes, Armin, I kissed her.”

“Yeah,” Armin snorts. “And I just had some raunchy sex in the barn with Green Goblin. Expect his babies to pop out of my ass in nine months.”

The brunette rolls his eyes. “Look, Spider-Girl and I have been friends for weeks now. Here.” Eren retrieves his phone from his pocket, going through his gallery before he shows the selfie he took with you in your costume on the night you shared stories on the rooftop of St. Mark’s theater. You were both so close to each other, shoulders nearly squeezed together as you tried to fit your faces inside the frame. Eren had the biggest, gleeful grin, his skin seemingly tanner than usual next to your white mask and hoodie. Armin examines the picture with suspicious eyes, his gaze shifting back and forth from his friend’s face to his phone. 

“Hmm, very convincing,” Armin comments. “Not sure where you found the skill to photoshop this shit so fast when it took you a week to choose a fucking filter for your Twitter PFP but okay. Assume that I believe you—I don’t,” he emphasizes. “But for the sake of our conversation, let’s just assume I do."

"Fine." 

"So you kissed her.”

“Yeah.”

“Upside down in the rain?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And how was it?”

“It was…” Eren’s cheeks sizzle at the memory. “They were… soft. Her lips, I mean. They were so soft and they tasted… sweet.”

Armin’s expression turns from suspicious to I’m-tired-of-your-shit-Jaeger in 0.2 seconds. “I was thinking more like it was bad because I’m sure she had rain clogging up her nose, ‘cause that would’ve sounded more realistic, but sure, let’s be corny.”

“Wait,” Eren blanches. “Do you think she was uncomfortable?” It’s stupid that he only realizes this now, but then again, what else is new?

“Yeah, well,” Armin shrugs. “Hanging upside down certainly didn’t seem like it was the best position to make out in, 'cause you have blood rushing to your head and all. And since it was raining, she definitely had water getting up her nose.”

“Oh my God,” Eren utters in horror, his hands going to his head. “Why didn’t I think about that?”

“Probably cause you were too busy sticking your tongue down her throat.”

Eren has no consistency in managing his emotions because at one point he was panicking, and now, he’s back to giggling like a schoolgirl. “Yeah, we used tongue a few times. It was so exciting.”

“Give me back my bat. I’m gonna kill myself with it.”

But jokes aside, the question remains. How could Eren, who has zero games in dating as far as Armin knows, kiss another girl—and not just another girl, Spider-Girl—right after he went on a date with one of his campus’ most popular girls? Even the sentence sounds bizarre and he hasn’t spoken them out loud. Most importantly, though, why? Why did Eren do it? “I thought you were in love with her,” Armin says. “Miss Popular, I mean. You spent the entire summer jerking off to that one picture of her wearing that short skirt and now you’re saying you like some other girl whose face you don’t even know?”

“Did you have to phrase it like that?” Eren mumbles in shame though he can’t deny the fact that he did spend—well, not the entire summer, the entire two weeks, probably—masturbating to the thoughts of you. It wasn’t the proudest moment in his life, but in his defense, that skirt you wore looked super cute on you. “I know, I fucked up,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m the worst.”

“How did this even happen?”

Eren tells him everything, and the more details he reveals, the harder he drowns in his guilt. He feels like he just betrayed and disrespected you—both you and Spider-Girl and it hurts him terribly because he still can’t decide between the two of you. He’s so conflicted he feels like he’s about to vomit his insides. 

“It’s so weird, you know?” Eren says. “At the end of the date, I was sure she wanted me to kiss her. I mean, like, the moment was there. We both felt it, and I wanted to do it but I… I kept thinking about Spider-Girl and it just felt… wrong. I didn’t want our first kiss to go that way—me kissing a girl while thinking about another girl. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“Should’ve just kissed her, in my opinion,” Armin counters. “If you had done it, it would’ve been easier for you to make sure of your feelings now.”

 “But that would’ve made me the biggest asshole in the world.”

“You are the biggest asshole in the world. But yeah, probably. Did it feel right when you kissed Spider-Girl?”

Though the remorse on Eren’s face still stands vividly, some of it morphs into delight at the memory. “Yes, it was,” he admits. “It felt like… something I should’ve done weeks ago, you know? Like, why didn’t I realize sooner that I’m in love with her kind of feeling. And I keep thinking about everything—about my feelings toward Spider-Girl and my feelings toward her and it’s stressing me out. Do you think a man can be in love with two girls at the same time?”

“You’re talking to a guy who has, like, seven different waifus. Of course, you can,” Armin snorts. “The problem is, unlike my wives who don’t know I exist, you have to choose. Unless you want to continue being a gigantic fucking asshole for the rest of your life, you need to decide who you want to be with.”

“I know...” Eren starts chewing on the inside of his cheek. It feels like he has a storm raging inside him. “I think I’m in love with Spider-Girl because I feel like… I know her better. I mean, I’ve been spending more time with her, so she feels more like a person to me. More… You know, real.”

Armin nods. “But when you went on a date with Miss Popular, did you enjoy it?”

“I did.” His answer is immediate. “More than I expected I would. She was so nice and funny and she… She gave me a scarf ‘cause she thought I was cold. She was so caring. She was great.”

“What if her personality is just as attractive as Spider-Girl’s then?” Armin provides a new perspective—a genuinely good one, which is rare considering how big of a pervert he is. “I feel like you just need some time to get to know her better.”

“Yeah, but how can I do that if I keep thinking about Spider-Girl? What if every time I see her, all I do is compare her traits to hers? It’s not fair.”

“Okay, let me ask you this,” Armin sighs loudly into the air. “Can you really see yourself dating a superhero? You don’t even know her real identity or what she looks like. What if she’s ugly?”

“I don’t care how she looks.” Determination stands thick in Eren’s voice. “It’s her—” He clears his throat, his face turning scarlet. ��I-it’s her heart that I love.”

“Oh my God, I’m gonna throw up on you.” 

“I mean like her mannerisms!” Eren hastily adds when Armin threatens to jam a finger inside his own mouth. “Her attitudes, the way she talks, the way she thinks, and the stuff we talk about—that’s what I care about the most. She’s my best friend.”

“Excuse me?” Armin repeats, offended, picking up his weapon.

“A-after you, of course.”

“That’s right, bitch.” He drops his baseball bat back to the ground. “Okay, fine, you don’t care if she’s ugly. Not my problem. But does she like you?”

“I think so? I mean, she kept asking me to kiss her again. You don’t do something like that with someone you don’t like, right?”

“Yeah, well, strangers fuck at nightclubs all the time. I won’t think too much over a kiss.”

The pretty shade of red that paints Eren’s face turns pale by the second. “You don’t think she likes me?”

“I do, but is it enough for her to want to date you?” Armin lands a hand on the other man’s shoulder, giving him his best sympathetic look. “I wouldn’t be so sure, man. Look, I’m not trying to sound like a douchebag for crushing your R-rated dream so early like this but you’re my friend and you need a reality check so here it goes. She’s a superhero. Okay? She’s busy. She doesn’t have time to play tonsil hockey with nerds like us. Plus, if she cares about you then maybe she won’t date you ‘cause you’ve seen what happened to Mary Jane, right? That chick got taken hostage at least once a week these days, ’cause of what?”

“Umm… Cause she’s dating Peter Parker?”

“That’s absolutely right, you nincompoop.”

“Like I said, I don’t know what nincompoop means.”

“At this point, MJ doesn’t even scream anymore when she has a gun pointed at her head. She’s just like—” Armin pretends he has his smartphone between his hands, his thumbs moving to type something. He keeps his face blank and his voice monotone, talking in an exaggerated New York accent. “‘Oh no, please, don’t hurt me, I’m scareeeed. Hashtag SpideyDrama, hashtag Spidey-MJLoveStory. Take a cute selfie with my kidnapper—” He pretends to take a picture, puckering his lips while forming a peace sign with his two fingers. “—aaaand post.’”

Under different circumstances, Eren would have laughed. Armin’s impression of her was spot on. “Yeah, but that’s because everyone knows that Peter is Spider-Man. No one knows who Spider-Girl is.”

“Yes, but if you keep making out with her in public, they’ll know about you, and then what? You want to start doing your own TikTok trend? Hashtag PrayforErenJaegerTheNewDamselinDistress?” Eren parts his lips to answer but he’s stopped by two hands squeezing him by the shoulders. “Look. Just give Miss Popular another try, okay? It’s easier to be with her than being with Miss Vigilante, I promise you. Plus, Spider-Girl knows how you feel about her, right? Don’t you think it would make you sound like a player if you talked like a lovesick fool about another girl, but then you confessed to her three days later?”

Again, it’s absolutely ridiculous that Eren just realized this now. “You’re right,” he utters in horror. “Holy shit, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am.” Armin scoffs, tossing back his imaginary long hair over his shoulder. “Forget about Spider-Girl for now. Give it a week or two to sort out your feelings. Or focus on something else, like jerk off to your favorite tentacle porn or something. If you still feel like you can’t move on from her then, we’ll go to Plan B.”

“W-what is that?”

Armin retrieves his bat. “Me, beating the shit out of you until you suffer from a massive concussion and forget about this whole thing.”

“Yeah, why don’t we just stick to Plan A for now, thanks. But no tentacle porn.”

"Pfft, whatever, your loss."

***

You have never—never—felt like you were floating in the clouds after sharing a kiss with a boy, and yet there you are, climbing through your window with the biggest dopey smile on your face. You take off your mask, throwing yourself on your bed with the longest, most blissful, content sigh you’ve ever heaved in your life. 

You have two fingers tracing over the seam of your lips, your skin somehow still tingles whenever the memory of that kiss resurfaces. The sweet, pleasant taste of his mouth still lingers near. The soft texture of his lips is the best thing you’ve ever felt against your own. 

“Eren…” His name drifts past your lips and you find yourself giggling, turning over to your stomach before you let out a high-pitched scream against your pillow. It felt like a first love’s kiss and perhaps it was since he is your first love, isn’t he? You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Every cell in your body seems to scream I love him, I love him, I love him every time his smile appears behind your closed lids. It feels like you’re thirteen again, just a lovesick girl whose fingers are itching to pour every emotion you felt into your journal. 

Dear diary, I’m in love. 

You didn’t think your first kiss with him would be like that, but it was ten times better. No, a million times better, even if you did have rain clogging up your nose at some point. Eren was so… passionate, you think to yourself as you feel your stomach flipping at the memory of his lips melding against yours. You may be a virgin, but unlike him, you have experienced many first kisses before and none of them was this memorable. None of them managed to awaken the butterflies in your stomach as his kisses did. And none of those boys tasted as good as he was.

“I am down so bad,” you sigh as you hug your pillow close to your chest, a dreamy smile sketched upon your lips. I can’t wait for tomorrow to come. I want to see him. I want to be with him again.

With that thought in mind, you begin to create your diabolical plan to reveal your true identity to him. As cute as he was looking all conflicted from falling in love with both you and Spider-Girl, you decide not to torture him even longer. It’s unbelievable, the amount of elation you felt the moment you realized that he’s fallen for Spider-Girl. It’s clear proof that he wasn’t just attracted to your looks, but your personality too. It puts you at ease, knowing that he keeps catching feelings no matter what persona you’re putting in front of him. He fell for you when you were just an innocent little girl who couldn’t do anything but fangirl over Wonder Woman all day. He fell for you when he saw you stepping onto the podium to accept your science medal, blinding everyone with your perfect smile. And he fell for Spider-Girl, your alter ego that embodied your true personality.

I wonder how you would react when you find out that I’m all those three?

“Maybe I should step up my game,” you mumble to yourself. “Maybe I should be a little…”

The corners of your mouth curve up. Your smirk is just straight-up evil at this point. Hell, even Norman Osborn didn’t look this wicked when he turned into Green Goblin. 

“Aggressive.”

***

When Eren told his brother, Zeke Jaeger, that he wanted to borrow his motorcycle to pick up a girl this morning, his brother was on the floor. Literally on the floor. 

Zeke was skeptical at first, snorting loudly as he muttered, “Pfft. As if you could get a girl to notice you. Bet my ass you’re just being delusional.” But then Eren, heaving the biggest sigh, raised his phone in the air, flashed his wallpaper—that one picture you took on your date with you smiling as you kissed his cheek—on his brother’s face and Zeke collapsed to his knees.

“Oh my God.” Zeke landed both palms on the parquet, eyes shaking in horror. “Oh my fucking God.”

Eren, who was accustomed to his brother’s dramatic antics, simply shrugged when his aunt Dina looked at them funny. “He’s having a moment,” he explained and Dina just returned to her cooking, not wanting to deal with any of that. 

It usually took Zeke a while to get back on his feet—literally—when he was having an episode like that. Eren simply waited with his back leaning against the wall, checking his watch with boredom written in his eyes. “Try and make it quick. I got a date.”

“I can’t believe you found yourself a girl before me,” Zeke sobbed. “I thought it was Armin dressing up as a girl again—"

“We’re over that phase now.”

“—but no, she’s actually a cute fucking chick. Probably has massive badonkers too.”

“Please don’t say that.” Great, now I can’t stop thinking about it too, Eren adds inwardly, face flushed. What if she… does have massive badonkers—I mean, tits—I mean, breasts. He shakes his head. Eren, you idiot. Who cares if she has huge boobs or not. Flat, or huge, those are still great tits—no, stop thinking about her tits!

“Fuck, what if it’s true?” Zeke looked up to his brother from below, like a tortured servant to his sadistic master. “What if she’s packing some dobonhonkeros? Like, massive dohoonkabhankoloos, ya know what I mean? Big old tonhongerekoogers—”

“Language, Zeke,” Dina chimes in from the kitchen. “I don’t understand what you’re saying but I know they’re filthy words so stop it.” 

Eren, in the meantime, is conflicted between not thinking about your breasts or smacking the shit out of his brother. “You’re being disrespectful, stop it.”

“GOD, I WANT A GIRLFRIEND—”

“JUST GIVE ME THE GODDAMN KEYS!”

Zeke, almost with tears painting his eyes, handed them over to him. “Once you’re finished with it, do me a favor and just run me over. I don’t have the dignity to keep on living anymore.”

“Will do,” Eren said—promised—as he threw a black leather jacket on top of his white shirt. “I’ll be back in two hours,” he informed his aunt. “We’re just gonna study in my room after that.”

“Studying each other’s bodies?” Zeke uttered with jealousy coating his tongue. “Gross.”

“Statistics, actually.” Eren planted a small peck on Dina's cheek. “See you, Aunt Dina.”

“Bye, love,” Dina chuckled, seemingly proud that her nephew—one that she regarded as her own child, unlike the other one—was old enough to bring a pretty girl home with him. “Make sure to bring her something. Us girls love gifts.”

“Okay.”

“And buy some condoms on your way home.”

Eren nearly tripped over his feet. “I-it’s not like that!”

Zeke was lying flat on the floor at this point, like a stabbed victim on a crime scene, only in his case, the knife was invisible and he was bleeding tears from his eyes. “When can I get myself some bonkhonagahoogs…”

“Please kick him out before I get home,” Eren said.

“Trust me, darling,” Dina sighed. “I've been trying to do that since day one.”

“Guys, I’m literally right here.”

“Shut up, Zeke.”

***

Eren is just as jittery as he was during his first date with you, only this time, it’s ten times worse as he keeps thinking about Spider-Girl no matter how much he tries not to. The guilt he felt over the kiss sticks permanently in his mind, and it feels like he just committed adultery with a church elder or something when he isn’t even in a relationship with you—any version of you. But even so, he tries to stick close to his plan. He has promised to spend some time studying for finals with you, and he intends to give his full attention to you and no one else. Since he’d brought you a bouquet yesterday, he decided to buy you homemade chocolate truffles from this cute candy store downtown, one that Dina claimed to be the best one in the world. 

He arrives two hours early at your ballet studio, feeling so nervous to see you again that he feels like the whole world is spinning too fast before him. He’s waiting outside in the parking lot, leaning against Zeke’s all-black Royal Enfield Classic 350 with his phone in one hand and his head on the clouds.

What am I going to say to her? Can I even act normally around her? What if she—

“Eren.”

“Fuck!” The boy jumps on his feet, almost losing his grip on his phone from how startled he is. He spins his head around to the side, spotting you standing close with your gym bag slinging on one shoulder. His shock-filled eyes quickly traverse down your body, taking in the sight of you dressed casually in your fitted black tank top and white track jacket. “W-why are you not wearing your tutus?”

Out of all the things he could’ve said, of course, that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “Because I’m still outside and my practice isn’t going to start for another ten minutes?” You reply with a hint of teasing in your voice. “You look handsome today, by the way. I always think you look hotter wearing a leather jacket instead of a hoodie. Not that I don’t like it, though. Hoodies make you look cute.”

This is an ambush, Eren thinks. You, casually throwing your compliment at him as if it’s nothing, feel like a fucking ambush to him. “I—Umm—You look—You look cute too.”

“Thank you,” you titter. “I can’t believe you arrived here before me.”

“Oh... Y-yeah.” It suddenly feels like it’s twenty degrees hotter for him. “I guess I was a little early.”

“As always,” you toss him a smile—the one that has the perfect amount of beauty and shyness that makes his heart swell in his chest. “You’re not planning to wait out here for two hours, are you?” When Eren has no answer to give, you chuckle. “Gosh, you are too cute. Come here.”

“Huh?” 

“You can wait inside.” It’s so natural the way you tangle your hand around his even when you can feel your own heart palpitating. “It’s warmer there.”

Eren, with his cheeks turning scarlet, follows after you. “Is—is it really okay?”

“Well, no. Usually, we don’t allow strangers to watch our rehearsals.”

“Then, why—”

“Relax, Ren.” You hurl a wink at him. “Petra—my instructor—is a close friend of my mother. I’ll just tell her you’re my boyfriend and she’ll make an exception for me.”

Three things left him dumbfounded. The first one is clearly the fact that you just called him your boyfriend. Second, it’s that naughty, naughty wink you threw at him, one that matches your cute little devilish grin. But none of those were as surprising as the way you called him with that nickname. 

Ren.

You’ve never called him that before, have you? But Spider-Girl called him Ren all the time, which is why to his ears, it sounds so familiar. The way you said it. The way your voice sounded when you did. Even if his mind tries to deny it, his heart still pounds. It feels so strange for this to just be a coincidence but you don’t give him a chance to think about it long.

“I’m gonna go change into my tutus, okay?” You tease him once you enter the studio, chuckling at your own words. “You can sit at the back. Try not to stare at the other girls as you wait.”

He knows he’s dumb but today he just feels ten times dumber and it shows. “W-why not?”

“Well, obviously, because you’re pretending to be my boyfriend today.” You reach out a hand to fix the collar of his jacket, watching him flinch at the way your fingers brush against his collarbone. “And also…” You look up at him, turning your voice into a breathy whisper as you feign a pout. “I don’t like seeing you look at other girls. I want you to look at me.” You take a hold of his key-shaped pendant, twisting your fingers around his necklace. “Only me.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. If there was steam coming out of his ears, Eren wouldn’t be surprised. He does feel like his face is about to explode. “I-I’ve only been looking at you.”

“You sure?” Your tongue peeks out to wet your lower lip and Eren swallows at the sight. “You seemed so… distracted last night. You weren't thinking about some other girl, were you?”

He’s staring at your lips. He’s definitely staring at your lips. Oh my God, her lips. “I—I didn't—I wasn’t—” He’s panicking. He’s already having a hard time trying to stay alive from your attack. You really didn’t need to bring back Spider-Girl into his head, but you did and that’s why you fit more as a supervillain instead of a hero.

Eren can practically taste the minty scent of your breath from how close you are when you grin at him. “I’m kidding,” you giggle, patting his cheek and giving him back his space. “You look like you’re about to pass out. You okay over there, big boy?”

“Yeah…” Just feeling like I’m having a cardiac arrest but I’m fine. “Good luck with your dancing—your practice. Break an arm.”

God, he’s an idiot, I love him. Refraining yourself from laughing, you stand on your toes and grant him a soft kiss on his cheek. “It’s break a leg, dummy,” you whisper in his ear, your smirk brushing against his earlobe. His face is practically in flames when you turn on your heels, tossing him one last smile before you disappear inside the changing room. 

The rehearsal starts on time and there you are, walking back into the studio dressed in pink seamed ballet tights, a black halter-neck leotard, and a pair of beige pointe shoes. Your outfit, the way the fabric hugs your body tightly, leaves no room for his imagination to wander. It’s so unfair that you look both adorable and effortlessly sexy at the same time. Eren doesn’t know whether he wants to say, “You’re so cute, I want to squeeze your cheeks!” or “You’re so hot, I wanna clap those cheeks.” He wants to do both, honestly, but he’ll need to rephrase that last line if he wants to be, ehem, respectful.

He can see your back muscles contracting as you perform, your skin glistening under the light, coated by a thin layer of sweat that somehow only makes you look more erotic. He hates the way his mind thinks, so he tries to focus on your movements instead. Every posture you strike is as graceful as it is beautiful and Eren has to remind himself to blink before his eyes fall out of his sockets from staring too long.

You try to concentrate as much as you can on the instructions Petra gives you but every time you see your reflection in the mirror, you also notice the way his eyes are entranced with every gesture you make. He’s staring at you like you’re the only girl in the room—the only girl in the world, even. As much as it pleases you to be the center of his attention, it’s also harder for you to focus on your steps. You just can’t wait for your practice to end.

Eren is so captivated by everything you do, and if he had brought his camera with him, he would’ve taken every bit of your expression. He wishes he could record everything. The way your body moves… Even the slightest lift of your finger is fascinating to him. At this moment, all thoughts about Spider-Girl vanish away from his mind. It feels like he’s falling for you all over again, his heart throbbing like on that day when he saw you on campus for the first time. You’re so pretty. So, so pretty that you leave him breathless.

“Hey,” you greet him again once your rehearsal has ended. “Sorry you had to wait long.” You’re dabbing a towel against the side of your face, gathering your belongings in your arms as the other students are making their way to the changing room without you. “I’m all sweaty so I’m just gonna go take a shower real quick. Is that okay?”

Eren can see a bead of sweat running down the side of your face, disappearing right between your cleavage. It’s the most pornographic thing he’s ever seen and this comes from the man who spent the whole summer watching questionable porn clips with Armin. It also doesn’t help that Zeke’s face keeps appearing in his mind, whispering to him, “Bro, look at those badonkers,” and no, Eren doesn’t want to look at your badonk—breasts. It’s very inappropriate, and you deserve to be respected. 

Fucking monke. Eren is going to run him over for real after this.

“Eren? You okay there?”

He coughs once, trying to focus on your face instead of your, in Zeke’s words, dohoonkabhankoloos. “Yes, I—uhh… I’ll just go wait outside, okay?”

“Okay.”

You’re not sure what you’re expecting but when Eren walks away without saying anything about your performance, you feel a sliver of disappointment growing inside you. Keeping your thoughts to yourself, you tighten your grip around your bag and pivot on your heels.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Eren says, stopping you in your tracks. You turn around, facing him with a questioning brow. The boy smiles at you, doing it so beautifully, so delicately, so lovingly that you feel like you can fight the whole world just to protect that smile. “You look so beautiful when you dance,” he says, his eyes gleaming in the adoration he holds for you. “So graceful, you’re like, uhh… Like an angel.”

It’s corny. It’s corny and cliche, and embarrassing, and you love it. If anyone else had said it, it would’ve sounded like the cringiest pick-up line, but not him. Eren said it like a confession as if he truly felt that way and he had to tell you the truth no matter what. He doesn’t intend to sound corny, of course, but what can he do? You did look like an angel in his head. But now that he’s hearing the words out loud, he can’t help but feel mortified by them. “S-sorry,” he blushes. “I didn’t mean to sound so… lame.” 

“No, it’s fine.” You could feel a pleasant warmth pooling inside your stomach. “Thank you.” You smile back at him, a bit timidly but as beautiful as always. “Will you… come and watch my recital next time? It’s not until three months from now, but—”

“Of course!” His eyes light up in excitement, his voice loud enough to make three people turn their heads at the sound. “Of course, I would love to! Can I bring my camera with me?”

You almost laugh. He reminds you of that little Siberian husky he owns, the way she looked so excited as she ran down the street, chasing a hummingbird. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

***

There are a lot of things Eren is grateful for in his life. He’s thankful that he has his Aunt Dina taking care of him and his brother after his parents passed away. He’s thankful that he has Zeke, no matter how obnoxious he is, for always lending him his credit card whenever Eren is in desperate need of money (involuntarily, true, but let’s not get into details). He’s thankful that he has Armin in his life to knock some sense back into him, both literally and figuratively speaking. And of course, he’s thankful that he met you—every version of you, though he hasn't noticed yet. But today… Today he doesn’t direct his gratitude to his Lord. Today, he wants to thank whoever it was who decided that motorcycles should have these super cramped seats because holy shit, they’re doing God’s work.

“I’m sorry for holding onto you like this,” you say with your hands tangled around his waist, a little bit embarrassed with how close you are to him. The motorcycle itself is designed to be a two-seater, but apparently, comfort for the pillion has not been a priority—which is a good thing for Eren because you don’t have other options left but to have your front all squeezed against his spine to fit in.

“Umm…” Eren swallows and he swallows hard. You’re wearing his leather jacket above your clothes and yet he can still feel the way your breasts—oh my God, they’re so soft—are pressed against his back. Maintaining his eyes on the road, he tries to focus on his surroundings as best as he can. “I-it’s okay.”

“Are you sure you’re not cold? You can take back your jacket if you want. I can just use mine.”

“No, it’s fine. Yours is too thin.” He refrains himself from sniffling because damn it, it is cold. He should’ve thought of bringing a spare jacket for you, but no, of course, being the idiot that he was, he didn’t. “Don’t worry about it. My house isn’t far from here.”

“Okay.” Despite his reassurance, you still have your eyebrows knitted in concern as you can still feel him shivering from the cold. As a way to warm him up—which is only an excuse for you to touch him even more, and to continue with your diabolical plan—you embrace him from behind, tightening your arms around him just a little bit harder. 

Fuck, Eren thinks, face flushed. You’re plastered against him like a conjoined twin and he can feel your warmth seeping through his shirt. It’s a wonder that he’s still able to maintain his grip on his vehicle. “W-what are you doing?”

“Umm… Making you feel warm?” You reply sheepishly which drives him insane. You’re already so beautiful and sexy in his head, now you get to be so innocently adorable too?

Eren only responds with a little "Oh..." because that’s the only thing his pea-brain can manage to form with all this blood rushing to his head. God, you wish you could steal a glimpse of his face. What kind of expression does he have right now? He must look so cute.

He’s dying, that’s how he looks. Probably about to combust into flames too. Why are they so sooooft, Eren wants to whine, feeling your chest pushed up against his back even more. Is this the kind of sweet torture people talk about? The kind that makes you feel like you’re both in heaven and hell at the same time? It certainly feels like one. 

“Sorry, Ren…” Noticing the way his body is tensing, you loosen up your hold. “Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” 

“No!” Eren takes off his left hand from the steering wheel and snatches yours back before you can retrieve it. He keeps it in place, pressing your splayed fingers tight against his stomach until you can feel the shape of his abdomens underneath the thin layer of his white shirt.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he says, his voice subdued by the wind. You fail to notice the way he stutters his words. “Hold on tight so you won’t fall."

When he’s only driving twenty miles per hour because of traffic ahead, even if you did fall, you would only get a scratch on your palm at most but neither of you cares. You both know it’s just an excuse anyway. "Okay."

"And also, uhh…” Eren is glad he has his helmet on to conceal his face. “It’s… warm. You, I mean. You're so warm.”

“I'm glad I am,” you giggle, winding your arm around him again, even going as far as resting your chin on his shoulder. Feeling a bit naughty, you lower your pitch, seduction ringing in his ears. “Kinda wish we were alone in your room right now,” you purr, your fingers hovering dangerously close above the hem of his jeans. “I know something else we can do to warm you up.”

That’s it. That’s the final string. Eren’s concentration breaks and he’s easily startled by the car driving past him on his right. Veering his vehicle immediately to the side, he nearly collides with the motorcycle on his left. 

“WATCH IT, JACKASS!”

“Sorry,” Eren mutters in chagrin, while you’re cackling like a witch behind him. From his bar-end mirror, you can see how he childishly pouts at your laughter. “Why are you laughing—that wasn’t funny!”

“It was a bit funny,” you sneer. “You panicked like a girl.”

“Well, you were saying some nasty things to me!”

“What nasty things?” 

“Y-you said you were going to do something else to warm me up.” 

“Yes, I was speaking about making some hot chocolate for you. What were you thinking about?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, and repeats these two actions three times more before he gives up and grouses, “Oh, shut up.” Eren spends the rest of his drive pretending to be upset about it, even when you can tell he’s having the hardest time masking his smile. He can’t do it for long since your giggle is infectious. 

“You seem happy,” he comments, mirroring the joy on your face. 

“That’s because I am,” you reply, snuggling close. “I feel like I’m the happiest when I’m with you.”

Oh, for fuck's sake. “Don’t make me crash our bike into another car, I swear to God—” 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”

When the laughter has receded, Eren shares stories about Dina and Zeke, the two family members he loves dearly—well, he loves Dina, Zeke can go to hell (affectionately)—and how they are very excited to meet you today. But the second you arrive at his house, no one comes to answer the door.

“Weird,” Eren mutters as he walks past the entrance, dropping the keys on the counter. “I thought they’d be—” He stops short when he notices a piece of paper lying on the coffee table. With a frown, he picks it up and runs his eyes across Dina’s neat handwriting.

Zeke and I are going shopping to give you kids some time alone. We’ll eat outside too so we won’t be back until nine. Remember to use protection ;) - Love, Dina.

Eren, too busy trying to understand what the fuck is going on, doesn’t notice the way you’re standing on your toes, trying to steal a peek at the paper from behind his shoulder. Unlike him who needs a whole minute to process her words, it only takes two seconds for you to finish reading the whole thing. 

Eren shrieks at your presence, crumples the paper with both hands, tosses it inside the trash bin, and hopes the whole thing gets swallowed by hellfire. “You—You didn’t read that, did you?” It feels like he has his heart throbbing in his throat.

“Read what?” You play dumb, even tilting your head to the side for a cute, dramatic effect.

“Nothing,” he says, and when you arch your eyebrow at him, he spins you around, placing both hands on your shoulder as he guides you down the hallway. “Let’s just go to my room. Go, go, go, go, go.”

“Wait.” You stop him with one hand in the air, putting on your best solemn face. “Have you brought protection with you?”

“OH MY GOD, GO!”

***

Things aren’t going as smoothly as Eren had planned. Actually, nothing went as planned. For all he knew, all he had been doing was just turning red like a fucking tomato for the whole two hours he had spent with you, and you teasing the shit out of him. And it doesn’t seem like you’re going to stop anytime soon!

Is she planning to kill me? He sighs as he opens the door that leads to his bedroom, welcoming you in. She wasn’t like this yesterday. Now, don’t get him wrong. Eren loves how aggressive you’re being—he hasn’t unlocked his kink yet, but he’s secretly a sub who longs to be dominated by his women, both in bed and in real life—but with how smooth you’re going right now, constantly flirting with him as if it would kill you if you didn’t make him blush every ten minutes, this is getting so bad for his heart.

And it doesn’t help that he’s now alone with you in an empty house for the next—he takes a glimpse at his phone screen to check on the time—three hours and twelve minutes. His thoughts are going insane. From Dina’s message to the image of you in your skin-tight leotard, and of course, the way you embraced him on the ride home too. You’ve been giving him signs that you like him. You’re more honest and blatant compared to how you behaved during your date, and as much as he is certain that Spider-Girl is the woman he’s in love with, he can’t deny that he has feelings for you too. And the way you’re looking at him right now, sitting on the edge of his bed in your cute little red dress and your cute little matching headband with your smile never faltering away from your lips—everything about you right now is so… titillating.

“You’re such a dirty boy,” you smirk.

Eren nearly collapses. “W-what?” What the hell is happening? She can hear my thoughts now? WHAT IS GOING ON?! “What do you—I’m not—I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I said you’re a dirty boy.” Your salacious smirk turns into a mischievous grin. “As in your room is a mess.”

“Oh!” He laughs once in relief, his hand coming up to wipe cold sweat off his forehead. “Oh, you were talking about my room, thank God.” Wait. He panics again, eyes moving back and forth from one corner to another, scanning his room. He’s sure that he’s cleaned up everything he could this morning, and by cleaning up, he means picking everything off the floor, jamming them inside his closet, and pretending that they don’t exist. Everything seems to be in order. There are no clutters on his computer desk. No laundry on the floor. Sure, the books on his shelf are in disarray, but at least they’re not too dusty. “It looks clean to me, though.”

“On the outside, sure,” you titter. “But your wardrobe looks like it’s seconds away from exploding. I don’t need to take a peek inside to know that you have dirty clothes and questionable things stored there.”

“I don’t have… q-questionable things,” Eren says very unconvincingly. Poor boy can’t lie to save his life. Unable to stand the way you narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, he sighs in defeat, “Well, it depends on how you define questionable.”

“Playboy magazines?”

“Nope.” Why should I buy one when I can just see naked girls for free on PornHub?

“Erotic novels?”

“No.” Ha ha, too bad. You were close, though, cause instead of erotic novels, I read—

“Erotic mangas, then?”

Fuck. “N-no,” he coughs out.

You wait for him, watching him with the nastiest grin you could muster until he gives up on his lies. “All right, all right, you got me,” Eren says, rolling his eyes. “I have some hentai mangas hidden in my closet. Happy now?”

“Immensely,” you chirp back and whatever it is you’re doing, it’s working well because Eren feels like he can breathe properly again. 

Now that the tension isn’t as suffocating, you both settle down on the carpeted floor, your backside leaning against the side rail of his bed. You have your textbook perched on your lap, a pen between your fingers as you teach him about univariate and bivariate transformations. Eren wears a pair of eyeglasses when he studies, and you hate whoever invented those black frames for making him look more attractive than he already is as if his little man-bun wasn’t strong enough to emphasize that. 

An hour passes by in a flash and Eren asks for a ten-minute break. You follow him to the kitchen, watching him make two cups of hot chocolate while casually throwing back some of your earlier teasings. It feels so domestic—the playful banter you throw, the way you share smiles and giggles while you both sit on the kitchen aisle with your legs dangling in the air. And while you secretly fantasize about spending every morning with him like this, Eren is constantly reminded of the time he spent with Spider-Girl.

Why does this feel so familiar? He ponders. Is your personality similar to hers? Is it the way you talk? Or is it because he unconsciously starts projecting Spider-Girl on you? Because he can’t stop thinking about her even when he’s trying his best to focus on you today? He grows restless at the thoughts. Because if that’s the case, then what’s the point of doing this? It’s clear that he’s still searching for Spider-Girl everywhere he goes. Even when he’s seeing you, he still thinks about her. He was sure he managed to forget about her earlier today, but the more he grows comfortable with you, and the more you show your true personality to him, the more he sees Spider-Girl in you.

When you return to his bedroom with him trailing after you, you notice a little box sliding out of his bag. Eren follows your gaze, mumbling, “Oh, shit, I forgot,” under his breath before he snatches it away. “I bought something for you earlier today,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of his bed with you settling down right next to him. “I wanted to give this to you back when we were at the studio but…” He smiles a little bit sheepishly as he hands it over to you. “I got, uhh… distracted.”

The way he said his words, it was clear that you were his distraction. “Thank you,” you reply, your fingers playing with the little red bow that ties the package together. “You’re always so thoughtful. I wanted to give you something too, actually, but I couldn’t get it done on time. It’s going to take a little while before I can finish it.”

“Oh?” His whole face brightens at once, seemingly giddy at the thought, as it would be the first time he’ll receive a handmade gift from the opposite sex. “You’re making something for me?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.” Your coquettish smile quickly becomes one of his favorite things in the world. “For now,” you land a hand on his shoulder, leaning up to brush your lips lightly against his cheek. The kiss is light and chaste, and yet, Eren turns rigid, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. You break away with a bashful smile painting your lips. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Umm…” He mumbles out, unfocused. “Yeah…”

The moment is there. The same atmosphere, the same tension that you felt when you were about to part ways at the end of your date has returned, ten times thicker than before. You maintain your gaze on his face, while Eren learns the texture of your lips with his eyes. They seem so soft, so inviting and he wants it. He wants to know how it would feel like to have your mouths pressed against one another but at the same time…

He’s conflicted again, you think to yourself, and if you’re not careful, your devilish smirk will rise to the surface again. It’s such a fun game watching him like this. You can almost literally see the way he’s battling against himself. On one side, he wants to kiss the bejeezus out of you, while on the other hand, he wants to push you away and say, “Girl, you’re making my jeans tighter than ever but this heart only belongs to one woman, and as long as you’re not dressed in white spandex, you’re not her.”

The evil that you are, you plan to make it even more interesting. “Kiss me.”

Somewhere at the back of his head, a nuclear bomb explodes, killing half of his brain cells at once. “W-what?” Eren croaks out, sounding like he hasn’t spoken in years. 

You lean closer, your breath fanning his lips. God, your perfume, the scent of your breath—you smell so fucking wonderful. Sliding a hand up his chest, fingers gliding smoothly against the fabric of his shirt, you whisper again, “I want you to kiss me, Ren.”

“I—mmph—” His eyes close in reflex the moment your lips touch his, his eyebrows sewn together in the middle. You frame his cheek, bringing him closer to you than ever. For a moment, he succumbs, his fingers fisting the sheets underneath him. You press your body against him, and he wonders if you can feel his heartbeat reverberating on your skin. He lets out this cute little whine when he feels you parting his lips with yours, but the second he feels the tip of your tongue touching his, his body flinches and Eren breaks away.

“S-sorry.” He stands up abruptly from the bed, one hand shooting up to cover the bottom half of his face. His blush creeps up from his neck to the tip of his ears. He seems breathless, panicking out of his mind.

Your lips are just itching to exhibit a wicked grin but you pretend to be confused. “Is there something wrong?”

“I—I can’t—” He’s looking anywhere but your face, jittery hands moving animatedly as he speaks. “You and me—we can’t—I can’t do this with you—Not right now—Not when I’m—I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Poor Rennie looks like he’s having a heart attack. “You can’t?” You’ve never taken any acting classes before, but you’re sure as hell this performance you’re doing right now deserves an Oscar's Best Actress nomination. Guess binging Euphoria all weekend has some perks after all. “But…” You perceive him with glassy doe eyes. “I thought you liked me…”

“I did!” He shouts out the words like it physically pains him to say them out loud. He’s losing his mind and it’s hilarious. “I did…” Eren goes down to his knees before you, his hands reaching out to take yours before he settles them on your lap. They’re sweating, and so cold. “I really liked you but…”

You start to feel bad but the sadistic villain inside you wants to see more so you just fake a sob. “But now… You don’t like me anymore…”

“Oh, God.” You, brushing your nonexistent tears with your fingers right now, are his kryptonite. “Please don't cry. No—no, it’s not like that! I like you!” he shouts, his eyes shaking as he peers into yours. “Jesus, I think I even loved you at some point and maybe I still do, I don’t know—I don’t understand my feelings right now, I just—”

“It's okay,” you say, trying to calm him down. You're a bit worried now because if this guy ends up passing out, that’s going to be your fault. “It’s all right, Ren… I know what you’re saying…”

He pauses to take a deep breath. When he speaks again, he no longer sounds as squeaky as before. “Listen to me,” he squeezes your hand, and even if his fingers are still trembling, they’re doing their best to comfort you. “I really, really do like you. Honestly? I was so obsessed with you before. I stalked you like a pervert. I took pictures of you when you weren’t looking. I've had your photo as my wallpaper for God knows how long. My video journals—”

Are all about me, you echo the words in your head as he speaks the same thing. Oh my God, he’s freaking out so bad, he’s telling every bit of his secret now. So cute. 

“I did all those things because I liked you and you should hate me for it—”

“I’ll never hate you, Ren. I want to be with you.”

You’re killing him. You can tell you’re killing him inside. “And you don’t know how much those words mean to me but the truth is, I’m—” He hesitates, still contemplating whether he should say the words out loud. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but if he continues doing this, letting his desire overtake him once again, he’s only going to hurt you even more. He needs to make a decision. “I’m in love with someone else.”

You fake a gasp, even going as far as covering your mouth with both hands. “Y-you are?”

“Yes…” He answers in dismay. “I know maybe I should give myself some time to figure this out but I don’t want to be selfish. I don’t want to make you wait for me. I don’t want to make you feel confused. And I know it would be easier to love you instead of her—I don’t even know how she feels about me but… I can’t. I can’t deny that I’m in love with her. And it’s not fair if I keep doing this with you when I keep thinking about someone else. I don’t want to be that kind of person.”

He’s kind. Eren is always kind. He could’ve just dated you both if he wanted to, but he didn’t. “I see,” you solemnly respond. “Can you… tell me who you’re in love with?”

He nibbles on his lip, looking down when he says, “S-Spider-Girl.”

FUCK, YES! In your mind, you’re punching the air in triumph with Cardi B and DJ Khaleed throwing a party in the background, celebrating your victory. But if you take a look at the situation, how fucking ridiculous is this? Imagine if Spider-Girl wasn’t your alter ego. It would be like you confessing to that delusional nerd Armin, only to be rejected by him saying he’s in love with a random cosplayer whose real name he didn’t even know. Well, with Armin, it’s still a plausible thought. Ridiculous, sure, but plausible.

“I see…” You land a hand above your heart, pretending like it’s breaking when you’re really trying your best not to cackle like a madman. “Oh, gosh… I don’t know what to say… This is such shocking news to me.”

Colors drain from his face. “I’m sorry.” He looks like he’s the one who’s having his heart shredded apart. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I’m sorry for leading you on. I should’ve told you last night. You are such an attractive woman. You’re beautiful. You’re brilliant and you’re so kind and—”

Oh my God, he’s consoling me now. It’s getting harder and harder not to guffaw at his face. "Ren—"

“—I’m sure there are a lot of guys out there who would love to date you,” Eren says, his eyes drooping in sadness. “And I know this is a selfish thought but I hope we can… still be friends?”

God, you better be grateful I’m Spider-Girl ‘cause this feels like a terrible break-up movie and I’m livid. “We can,” you nod. “But only if you do something for me.”

Eren blinks, his eyes turning hopeful. “Yes, anything. Anything you want, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, then, sit down on the floor.” With a confused frown, he follows without a word. “Lean back.” You give two light taps on the railing of his bed and he rests his backside against it. “Good, now close your eyes. Don’t open them until I say so.”

“Umm… Okay…” 

“Promise me that.”

“I promise.” His furrow turns deeper when he senses you crawling up his bed. You position yourself behind him, lying down on your stomach with your elbows propping the upper part of your body. 

You lean close, whispering breathily in his ear, imitating the words he once said to you on the night he kissed you. “Can I try something I’ve never done before?”

He shivers. The way your voice echoes through his mind sends his mind reeling. “Y-yes…” It sounds more like a question and you almost laugh. He’s beyond nervous. 

Your hand slithers down his cheek before you hook your fingers on the underside of his jaw. You lift his face. His gaze would’ve lingered on the ceiling if he had his eyes opened but Eren keeps them pressed shut. Your touch feels burning on his skin. “W-what are you doing?” he stutters out as you take off his glasses.

“Telling you my biggest secret,” you murmur, leaning closer until you have your face hovering above his. He can almost feel your every word on his skin. “Do you trust me?”

“I—” He noticeably gulps. “I do.”

With an elfin smile, you lower your head. Eren softly gasps when your lips are connected. You’re kissing him upside-down, similar to the kiss he shared with Spider-Girl. You try to replicate the way he kissed you that night, starting out slow, giving him a light, innocent kiss. There’s no pressure on your lips, nothing to distract him away from how soft they feel against his. This is that kiss—your first kiss together.

And Eren remembers it. His body, his lips, his heart remember it.

A few seconds are spent with Eren holding his breath and when you pull away, whispering, “Look at me,” he slowly opens his eyes but they stay half-lidded, completely dazed. 

You stroke his cheek, your smile is an everlasting beauty. 

“I’m in love with you too, Rennie.” 

Your confession certainly comes as a shock, but it’s not as much as the way you called his name. Eren has his heartbeat ringing clamorously in his ears, his eyes widening at the pet name you gave him back when you were nine-year-old. His flashback hits him at once and it strikes him like thunder. He has never told anyone else about the little girl he met in the hospital except for Spider-Girl, and even then, he didn’t tell you that she used to call him Rennie. So how the fuck can you tell? 

Eren turns around, almost knocking his head against the railing as he does. “Wait—” He rises to his feet, both hands stretched out forward. He is mortified beyond belief. So embarrassed, that he wishes he can light himself on fire so he doesn’t have to deal with whatever the fuck that’s going on. This can’t be—she can’t be—

He catches you grinning at him no matter how much you try to hold yourself back. “Calm down, Rennie.”

“No, don’t call—” Oh my God, I can’t breathe—This isn’t happening right now—She—

You’re laughing—great, now you’re laughing—interrupting his thoughts and sending him even further down this endless hole of shame. “So, I’m your first love, huh? Been crushing on me ever since we were nine? Damn, didn’t know you were such a simp for me, Tarantula Boy.”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” He only has one color on his face: red. “You can’t do this to me—”

“And you jerked off to my pictures?” You playfully scold him, stepping down from the bed and making your way to his spot. “Can’t say I’m pleased with that. Also, I can’t believe you kissed me right after our date ended. Not to mention, I had to save your ass again—”

Fuck, I can’t do this. Eren spins on his heels, literally trying to run away in shame as his brain turns into mush. He has one hand around the doorknob, ready to run and jump off the nearest bridge when you stretch out your arm and shoot out your web. Snaring him by his wrist, you pull him back toward you with a hard yank. With a startled yelp, Eren tumbles back, his body nearly crashes against yours but you catch him just in time. You flick the web off your wrist and tangle your arms around his neck. 

Standing on your toes, you press your body against his, meshing your lips together and laughing against his mouth in response to the muffled sounds of his protest. “Kill me,” he sighs against your mouth, followed by a strangled moan when you part your lips just to close them around his bottom one. “Just kill me now, please.”

“You sure about that?” You tease him, one hand sliding down his chest. “Cause I’d rather do something else if you ask me.” You nip on his lip, not being as gentle as before. 

Groaning in defeat, Eren frames your face with both hands. He decides to take control of the kiss as a way to make you feel just as flustered as he is now. He’s still awkward, his teeth almost knocking against yours but when his tongue slides inside, he manages to steal a gasp out of your mouth. 

You lean your entire weight on him, clawing against his chest as he winds his arm around your waist. “Easy, Tarantula Boy,” you giggle, still sounding mischievous albeit a little breathless.

“You’re evil.” Eren moves his lips to your jaw before he settles his head in the crook of your neck. “I can’t believe you played me like this. Is this the reason why you were being so aggressive today?”

“I’m sorry.” Your small laughter morphs into soft moans as his tongue slithers against yours again. Your fingers slip between his strands, your eyes closed in pleasure as you face the ceiling, giving him more access to nibble on the supple skin of your neck. “I didn’t mean to go this far, actually. I just wanted to tease you a little bit but—” Your sentence ends abruptly in a gasp when he seizes you by your waist and throws you down to the bed. His strength surprises you but the way he handles you so easily, losing almost all the tenderness in his touch, lights your stomach on fire. He crawls on top of you, pinning your hand down against the sheets before he smashes your lips together again. The sudden change in his attitude baffles you but you're quick to display your smirk again. “My, my, look who’s being so aggressive now.”

“Shut up,” he replies, face aflame, robbing you of the ability to speak. Eren kisses you deeply, almost frantically, demanding, plundering your mouth with his own, and you understand why. He doesn’t use his passion to cover his embarrassment, not like what you thought he was doing. He’s kissing you like this, like he owns you and you own him, because he’s been in love with three different people all this time, and all of them are now in his arms, in the shape of you. And, God, you are beautiful.

“Calm down,” you remind him again, sliding your fingers up and down his spine, effectively slowing down his pace. His bun is a mess, his strands falling all over the place, all designed by your eager hands. You play with the baby hair on his nape when he pulls away, your smile is too delicate to be real. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to rush.”

His heart hammers inside his chest and it’s beating so fast, it’s frightening, but Eren loves it. He’s always felt this way when he was with you—with any version of you—but now that he knows you’re all of them, his heart beats three times faster. “I don’t think I can do it.” He keeps his face close enough for the tip of your nose to brush against his when he whispers, “I’ve been in love with the same girl for twelve years and now you’re right here and I’m… I’m going insane.”

He’s adorable. So adorable. “Well then, maybe I feel the same way…” You untangle his hair tie with one hand, pushing back his hair behind his ear before you caress his cheek. “‘Cause I’m sure I’ve been in love with the same boy for twelve years too.”

He melts in your arms, weak with the surge of joy that suffuses his body. “It’s hard to believe that you’re Spider-Girl,” he breathes out, resting his temple above yours, closing his lids. He seems so blissful, so relieved at the revelation. “But at the same time, it feels so right. This is the perfect moment of my life, I feel like I’m gonna die.”

“Don’t die just yet,” you titter. “You haven’t loved me enough yet.”

He breaks away with a peal of laughter flowing past his lips. “I’m already going insane because of you and you still want me to love you harder than this?”

“If you can.”

“So demanding.” He jokingly rolls his eyes. “That little boy in the hospital.” He twines his fingers around your wrist, bringing your hand closer to his face. He speaks his next words with his lips brushing against the lines of your palm. “Have you always known it was me?”

“No…” You’re entranced, eyes turning a bit hazy at the way his long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. He peppers soft kisses on your skin down to the veins that paint your inner wrist. “I only realized it was you when you told me that story.”

“That night on the rooftop?” His pout returns. “You should’ve told me then.”

“Well, yes, but then I wouldn’t get to have this much fun.” You toss him your signature Cheshire Cat grin. Eren throws you a playful snort before he dives back to taste your lips again. “Plus, I was too… embarrassed to say a word back then. I’ve always thought you looked familiar but I had no idea that you were that boy.” You hug him close, breathing right against his ear. “You grew up so handsomely, Rennie….”

He’s buzzing with joy, every part of him is. “You’re really trying to kill me right now, aren’t you?” Eren tickles your side, making you laugh hard enough for his neighbors to hear. He takes in everything, the crinkles in your eyes, the way you have your mouth opened wide, and that adorable laughter you emit–he loves it all. “This is how I always imagined you to look underneath that mask when you laughed,” he confesses, settling himself between your legs. 

You play with his necklace, fingers hooking around his silver chain. “Are you disappointed that I’m not as feminine as I usually behave on campus?”

“Are you kidding? I love you more like this.” Your heart thrashes wildly, no matter how hard you tell it to stay put. Eren props his elbows on the bed, trapping you between his arms. He gently swats the bangs out of your eyes, taking his time to examine your every feature, using the chance to commit every part of you into memory. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on but it’s Spider-Girl whom I’m in love with, and I never cared about her looks. I care about the way she comforts me with her words.” He presses a gentle kiss on the center of your temple, stunning you with intimacy. “I care about the way she cares about me.” He drags his lips to your cheek, lips as light as feathers. “How she gets upset on my behalf when I blame myself for something that isn’t my fault.”

“Yeah, you do that a lot, it’s annoying,” you giggle and you can feel his smile growing on your skin. “What else do you care about?”

“I care about the way she uses sarcasm as her weapon.” His lips are now closing around your earlobe, letting you know the shape of his smirk as he speaks. "And how she gets snarkier when she's embarrassed, not knowing what to do when she receives a compliment."

You flinch, a little bit sensitive in that area. Especially when he sounds breathier like this, huskier as if he just woke up from his dream. “I thought I was irritating.” 

“Sometimes, sure.” But in his next lines, he abandons all the mirth in his voice, and he speaks sincerely from the bottom of his heart. “I'm kidding. I just find you endearing. I care about how you always pretend to be strong when you’re actually scared.” He grants a soft kiss on your nose, breaking away to look you in the eyes as he strokes your hair. “I care about how you seem like you don’t need anybody else in your life, when the truth is, you’re always searching for someone to be there for you. Just like everyone else, you’re scared of being alone.”

Your gaze softens, your stomach somersaulting at his words. “I can never lie to you, can I?” Your voice is not louder than a whisper, your lips only a breath away. “Ever since we were kids, you always knew what to say to me. You understood me more than anyone else.” It’s such a wonderful feeling to be with someone you can truly open yourself to. No secrets. No lies. No sweet nothings. No boundaries. “I wish we had never grown apart during those years. I would’ve loved to spend every moment with you. Growing up together. Being your best friend and making out with you on our school’s rooftop during lunch breaks.” You brush two of your fingertips against his lips, tracing the pretty shape of his mouth as he chuckles. “Maybe I could even give you that radioactive spider that bit me so you could be my sidekick and we could fight crimes together.”

“Your sidekick?”

“It’s kind of a package deal. Plus, I have better social skills. You're not ready to be a superhero, trust me."

"And why not?"

"'Cause even if you were able to kick some ass, you’d never win against your true enemy.”

“Which is?”

“The press. And Tony Stark ‘cause he’d just bully you like crazy without me.”

He just can’t seem to stop grinning when he’s with you. “Well, it’s not too late to start. I'm sure there's some radioactive spiders somewhere.” He gently bites on the tip, rolling your finger between his teeth. “Can you find me a tarantula, though? Spiders are a little bit overrated.”

“Of course, baby. Whatever you want.” 

Eren smiles, bestowing another kiss and letting himself drown in your taste for a minute before he pulls away with a pout. “You said you could never lie to me,” he mutters. “But you’ve been lying to me about your identity for three months.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, throwing your head back. “Stop being so butthurt about it. I said I’m sorry.”

He chortles, gathering your face in his hand again. “You’re so annoying.” He pecks your lips. “But I love you.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You pull him for another kiss, separating your lips to welcome him inside. “But I love you.”

Your kisses seem never-ending, and none of you complains about it. It’s so addicting, so exciting to have his taste lingering in your mouth, to feel the flick of his tongue against yours. Eren may be an inexperienced kisser, but he learns fast. By the time he regains confidence, it’s easy for him to steal your breath away, leaving you all dazed and needy for more.

You have your body squeezed against his, your heels hooked behind his waist, but you’re left feeling unsatisfied as you still have layers of clothing separating your skin from his. “Can I do something I’ve never done before?” you ask him with a cheeky grin.

Eren, who was suckling on your neck a second ago, elevates his face just to give you a flat stare. “Can you stop embarrassing me for one second?” 

“What, I can’t speak English now?”

“You’re using my words!”

“Since when are those words your words—It’s basic English!” Laughing, you roll him to his back, position yourself above his lap and watch him gulp in anticipation. With a naughty smirk, you slip your hand underneath his shirt, your fingers tracing the ridges of his abdomens before you bunch up the fabric in one hand and push it up to his chest. “Wow…” The word accidentally slips out of your mouth as you stare shamelessly at him. “Jesus, when the heck did you work out?”

“S-shut up.” He pushes down his shirt, hiding as much skin as he can from your hungry eyes while blushing like the virgin that he is.

Well, actually, you’re a virgin too, but at least, you act like a pro. “Why are you covering—let me see your abs!”

“No!”

“Wha—” You’re trying to pry his hands away. He’s pretty strong, and you don’t want to use your superhuman strength to pin him down just so you can marvel at his stomach (you won’t stoop that low).

“Stop trying to undress me, woman!”

You know what, if he keeps fighting you back like this, you might as well tie him up with your web. “Rennie, come on, just give me a peek!” Did you sound desperate? Yes. Are you desperate? Yes, times a thousand. “I’m your girlfriend, you know!”

“You literally just became my girlfriend like seven minutes ago!” He’s struggling just as much, keeping the hem of his shirt as low as possible. “Also, being my girlfriend doesn’t mean you can do whatever you like with my body! Ask me for my consent first!”

You see, he’s right. He’s totally right, but— “Babe, I can literally feel your dick poking against my thigh right now.”

“Y-yeah, but still…” Aaaaand he's blushing. 

“Huh. Cute. Now let’s get back to the game, darling.” You grab the hem of his shirt and— 

“No, wait! I’m not mentally ready and we're—” Eren gasps loudly—almost too dramatically—in both horror and surprise when you shoot two lumps of your web, snaring his wrists and keeping them glued on the bed right on each side of his head. He turns to face you again, his jaw dropping low when he speaks, “Did you just use your web on me?”

You did. Holy shit, you did. What happened to not stooping that low? “I-I’m sorry.”

“Just to see my abs.”

You palm your face, your cheeks blazing hot. “I’ll let you out—”

“You know Peter Parker wouldn’t do this to MJ, right?”

You sigh. You kinda wish you were bitten by a radioactive bunny so you could dig really fast and bury your whole existence inside a hole. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t know–”

“Steve Rogers would judge you so hard right now.”

“Steve’s actually a kinky bitch. I’m sure he likes it. Look, just calm down,” you tell him, settling yourself on his lap while trying your best to ignore the way his cock is twitching in his pants at the sensation of your weight pressing against him. “I won’t do anything to you without your permission, all right? I'll act like a gentleman. A gentlewoman, if you must.”

“Oh, am I your lady now?”

“You’re acting like one right now, aren’t you?”

“Oh, shut up.” He yanks on his wrist, trying to break free but your web is unyielding. “Can you get this off of me? This looks ridiculous!”

No, it doesn’t. This looks kinky as fuck. Never have you imagined that you’d be using your superhero ability to tie up a handsome man on his own bed, but you learn something new every day, I guess. Trying not to stare so much at the way his biceps are flexing with every attempt he makes, you ask the most important question. “Are you nervous because you’re a virgin?”

“I’m not—” His face catches on fire. “I’m not nervous, I’m just—okay, yeah, I’m nervous.”

“Because you’re a virgin?”

“No,” is his first answer but then bashfully he corrects with, “Well, yeah, kinda. But I’m more nervous about the fact that you’re… not.”

“Not what?”

“A virgin.” He tucks his chin, his voice muted. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.” Because Eren knows that you’ve dated several popular guys on campus in the past. Porco Galliard, Colt Grice, even that notorious bad boy, Floch Forster at some point. How can he compete with that? He wants to have sex with you—God, he wants nothing more than to get his dick wet with the girl he’s been in love with for twelve years—but what if you’re not satisfied with him? What if he sucks (no pun intended)? What if he’s supposed to suck but he can’t suck properly? Like sucking on your tits, for example. What if he can’t suck them right? What if—

“I’m a virgin, though,” you say.

“Okay, you can do whatever you want with me. I’m ready.” 

That’s it. That’s all it takes for you to get his consent. The next thing you know, Eren has his shirt bunched up around his chest, your fingers splayed and pressed flat against his stomach. “Damn,” you murmur under your breath, eyes transfixed on the way his muscles tighten underneath your palm. “If I had known you looked like this underneath that hoodie, I wouldn’t have wasted all these months keeping my identity a secret.”

His blush blossoms fast on his face, flinching when he feels your fingertips tracing the dip of his V-line. “I—I thought you were trying to keep your identity a secret to protect me.”

“Well, yeah, that too, but—” You brush your pads against his navel, feeling the little happy trail that disappears behind his jeans. He lets out this little sound, like a mix between a yelp, a whimper, and a moan, and it’s so fucking cute. “I think I’d be okay with you getting kidnapped once a week if I get to do this every day.”

“It feels so weird to have a hot girl talking about me like this, but okay.” Eren, despite how bizarre this conversation is getting, still has his focus on how to break himself free from your webbing. “Can you do something about this, please? It feels sticky on my skin.”

“No.”

“What do you mean 'no?' I can’t touch you if I’m like this!”

“Yes, that is the point, now shut up.” To Eren’s surprise, you casually yank your dress over your head, tossing it haphazardly on the floor and leaving you only in nice lacy lingerie that matches the shade of your lipstick.

“Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath, his gaze quickly shifting down to your chest. He gulps at the sight. “B-badonkers…”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, your tits—your breasts!” He stammers. “They’re—they’re perfect. Like, the shape of them and how they look so… so soft and…” He clears his throat, realizing just how much lame he’s being. “You know, like a really nice pair of natural, fully functional breasts.”

You scrunch up your nose at his words. “Are you going to be like this the whole time?” You reach one hand behind your back, unclasping your bra.

“I… hope not…” He’s staring with unblinking eyes, practically salivating at the sight of your breasts bouncing once as you position yourself better on his lap. Fuck, they really are perfect. “A-are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“You mean sex? No.” You lean forward, crawling up his body until you have your face hovering above his again. “Why?”

“You just seem awfully calm and—” You leave him speechless for a good few seconds when you press your breasts against his chest. Eren whines, closing his eyes as he throws his head against the bed. “Fuck.” 

Your lips twitch up into a smirk. “Soft, aren’t they?”

“Like fucking marshmallows.” He dreamily sighs—almost sobbing, really. “Can I have your tits in my mouth, please?”

Perhaps sometime in the future, when you look back into this scene again, you’ll have the biggest cringe moment in your life because what the fuck is he asking but right now, everything just seems so hot, you don’t even care. “Yeah, but maybe later once I’m done with you.” You reward him with a kiss to distract him, stifling his protest. “To tell you the truth, I’ve gone to second base before but I’ve… never gone past that.”

“Oh… Why not?”

“Just didn’t feel like it was the right thing to do at that time,” you answer with a shrug. “I almost did it with Porco but… It felt like I was missing something so I stopped him at the last minute.”

There’s jealousy burning inside him, but the revelation also provides him some relief. “I see…”

You can sense it, the tiny hint of fury raging in his chest and you nuzzle the tip of your nose against his to soothe him down. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” 

He is. He so is. “Would you like it if I said I was waiting for the right person?” You slide down one finger from the middle of his chest to the dip of his belly button. “Waiting for you?”

“N-no.”

He would. He so would. “You’re cute.”

“Stop calling me cute—ah!” A moan is snatched away from the back of his throat the second you grind your hips against him. Even the slightest friction drives him insane and now he has you rubbing your clothed heat against his bulge. “Fuck, baby, that feels good.”

You recall the way he called you by that pet name on that night you shared your first kiss with him, and as pleasant as it was in your ears, this one feels a million times better. It’s laced with urgency, desperation, and need. “Can I take off your jeans?” You ask him, even when your fingers are already playing with his zipper. 

“Are you going to ask me questions the whole time?”

“You said you wanted me to ask for your consent.”

“Yeah, fuck that. Do whatever you want with me. I’m yours.”

You almost laugh. “Well then, don’t mind if I do,” you say, a moment before your lips meet in a frenzied kiss. Eren arches his back, wanting to close every inch of gap between your skins until he feels like you’re completely plastered against him. He can feel your hand sliding down his stomach, toying with the button of his jeans before you push them down to his mid-thighs, along with his briefs. With a sheepish smile, you maintain eye contact as you curl your fingers gently around his shaft.

“How does it feel, Rennie?” You keep your face close, loving his expression. “Feels good?”

His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, his face scarlet and erotic. “Feels ama—”

Right at that exact moment, Zeke Jaeger comes bursting inside his room with a phone in his hand, recording everything as he shouts, “AHA! CAUGHT YOU GUYS IN 4K! I knew you wouldn’t be studying–” He freezes at the sight of you stroking his sibling’s cock, your naked breasts practically dangling over his face, and for a second, none of you make a sound.

And then, it’s chaos.

The three of you are screaming at the same time, with you quickly grabbing the nearest pillow to cover your front, completely forgetting to throw a blanket on your poor boyfriend who’s practically buck-naked on his bed. Eren, with his wrists still glued to the sheets, can only spout out incoherent words, while his brother, who’s so horrified at the sight of Eren’s cock, spasming and leaking in desperate need of attention, can only stand still, his brain unable to function. It’s only until Eren screams, “ZEKE, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!” that he returns to his senses, whining out, “DINA, MY BROTHER IS FUCKING BEFORE ME!” as he runs back into the kitchen.

You hastily jump down from the bed, shutting the door and locking it up. “Use your web,” Eren says, “He has a spare key. He can still barge in anytime.”

“I think he saw us,” you utter in horror.

“Yeah.” 

“If I drop him off the building and make it look like an accident, do you think you’ll be okay with that?”

“Will I be okay with you killing my brother after seeing your boobs and catching me getting tied up to my bed and being dominated like a fucking masochist by my girlfriend?” Eren watches his cock wilting away. “Yes.”

“Well, not killing. I’m just gonna punch him hard enough to give him like a massive concussion or something.”

“No, no, no. Let’s just stick to murder. I like murder.”

***

AN: Hi, everyone! It took me a while but I finally got to finish this series. I wanted to write a small epilogue that will feature a funny scene where they get to lose their virginity to each other but since I'm pregnant with my second child now, I don't think I'll have the energy/time to do it, I'm sorry 😭😭😭 I hope you enjoyed the story despite how cringe this is (I'm never gonna do comedy again oh god what was I thinking). Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I'll see you next time!

Tagging:

@l6ffys @vivi-et @halparkebitch @fwess @littlemochi @thebeardedmoon @didiyogo @coyloves @erenbean @tehehebri @justasketch @infnteen @naiomiwinchester @spiderlingh @doyochii @ahornyenby @aengelren @sakurashell @princess-okkotsu @resonancesoul @blrqt @cacapeepee @persyhange @jaegersdiary @erentoes @trashygremlin04 @meed18 @j0livi0ni @snowflake-201 @eva-gates @claudevonstrukesblog @sofijaeger @rinsie @blanccofiie @ereninbunu @natanialora @khinjito @jaegeriess @watermelon-online @tropicsoda @damselofblueroses @alexackrman @bblgumz @jurrasicpork @erenjaegercult @holycandypizza

[lindwurmkai]

it would be all too easy to consider the kind of art i make these days "not real art" because it doesn't involve drawing strokes by hand. it did start out as more "graphic design" than "art" in the sense that i developed most of my techniques making images that were intended for a specific purpose - avatars, headers, banners, textures, wallpapers and tiling backgrounds.

but here is the thing. i've spent a lot of time contemplating the question, "what is art?" and basically i've reached the conclusion that it comes down to self-expression.

are you "just" arranging pretty colours in a pattern that appeals to you? then you're expressing your aesthetic preferences. are you making art as a form of stimming or meditation, without a goal in mind or a conscious awareness of what you're expressing? that's definitely still art. taking photos of things you find beautiful, fascinating or important? art.

i can't say when exactly i crossed the threshold from graphic design to art, but in a way i started blurring the lines long before i actually had these thoughts. somewhere around 2005 or 2006, i made a small set of livejournal icons - 100x100 pixels - that were deliberately intended to be tiny, personal art pieces. i even put them on deviantart! here's one of them:

does that make you feel anything? it never fails to affect me. (yuck.)

a lot of time passed before i consciously chose to make art in this way again, but some of the graphics i made in that time surely qualified regardless.

having already thought about this at length, i decided i would confidently present my art as if it were normal and expected for such works to be considered art. which i'm sure a lot of people already agree with anyway, but you know how it is. digital, abstract art created mostly using filters? sigh.

i would be interested to hear if my definition of art seems to leave anything out. paid work still expresses the artist's aesthetic preferences and unique perspective to a degree, doesn't it? i truly feel like it doesn't have to be any more complicated.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

How do you feel about lolis? Both real and fictional lolis?

Lolis is a complicated topic because people stop listening when they get the answer they want. I've been a lot more open about this lately but I'm a person that's was sexually abused as a child. And that's important context for my answer.

Loli as a term can mean a number of different things. If you ask an anti what it means, they will say kid. If you ask some anime fans, they will say it's either kid or small girl. The context in which I know Loli to be, is more centered around the Japanese definition, which means petit girl. The implication does not always mean "child like" contrary to popular belief. It means more small girl with small assets. Like Rebecca from Cyber Punk Edge Runners. Trigger "a studio in Japan" themselves called her a Loli.

So by that vein short stacks, and vertically challenged people/dwarfs qualify more times than not as Loli. However, even with all of this said, I personally don't like calling real women lolis because it feel like to me Loli is a term meant for fiction. We in the West tend to use, regardless of if they are offensive, words and phrases like midget, dwarf, short stack, petit, etc to refer to girls that could potentially fall under the qualification of "Loli".

My biggest issue with calling real women that is that I don't like mixing fiction and reality. Especially not anime. Anime isn't hyper realistic art. And people should not go out of their way to mix fiction and reality because they are not the same. As far as Loli in anime I don't really care here or there about it. Some Loli characters are "of age" some are not. But regardless of depicted age they aren't real.

Now I guess the next logical question would be an I against the under age Loli nsfw stuff. And the answer is a resounding meh. Don't get me wrong in the slightest. I personally find even fictional non realistic kids in nsfw to be gross. And to those it bothers, I understand that. However, they are fictional. And unless it's against the law where a person is, leave it be. You don't even have to associate with that person. You can even block them.

But saying a person that likes lolis is a pedophile is a stretch. Reason why? Because there's a trend of people looking fictional characters and character traits they otherwise would not like in real life. On a similar note, saying that it could lead to pedophilia is like saying playing shooter games will least to a person going out and shooting people. Or that people that play fighter games will go out and start fights. But there are dozens of studies, all showing that violence in videogames has no translation to causing it in real life.

Similarly, there are people that like chargers in anime and gaming who wouldn't like real life versions of those characters. Because they are invested in the characters IN the fiction specifically.

Lastly, I think it bares me saying it. I think consumption fictional nsfw kid stuff is raunchy. But as a real person who's fallen prey to actual sexual assault when I was a kid, do not EVER put fictional content on the same level as what happened to me. They are not real. They can be any age the author/artist/person in possession of says they are. They are not real. And, so long as the artistic depictions are not hyper realistic do not report it. Because on the US it's only illegal if it's pictures of real kids, or is clearly realistic enough to look similar to a real life kid. If you report anything else you are wasting resources that could be used to help real kids.

And do not be ever let me hear in person that a person legitimately reported anime Loli to the authorities. Because if I ever meet them, even as against violence as I am, I will hurt them. When sexual assault cases are being investigated, minutes matter. Especially with groups as vulnerable as kids. And when you submit an inquiry that takes minuets away from their ability to sift through all the BS reports that are otherwise unactionable. Meanwhile, while they are done a cursory check maybe there was another submission BURIED under the reports of anime Loli, where it's a real kid or real kids, and it's not gotten to until the next day.

As such tl;dr Real people should never be called Loli unless they want to be. Loli are not by default kids. Fiction and reality are not the same. Do no bog down reporting lines on non hyper realistic fictional content or you are an evil person who wants to have children be harmed.

[cksjptblog]

On SAO and Simulation/Simulacra

Sword Art Online follows Kazuto "Kirito" Kirigaya as he is trapped within a Full Dive Virtual Reality game called “Sword Art Online” where dying means dying in real life. The story follows the various adventures and struggles he goes through in an attempt to reach the end of SAO and complete it allowing the playerbase to escape.

This anime inherently heavily deals with the simulation and simulacra, The first half of the season is entirely placed within a simulated world, that of the titular Sword Art Online. To the protagonist this world is Hyperreal becoming inherently meaningful, and to them in a way more meaningful than the real world as they mention in episode 1 “And even though it’s a virtual world I feel more alive in here than I ever did in the real one”

In addition to this it becomes questionable whether this simulation can be truly considered a simulacra, or another reality as real people have real consequences in this world rather than it just symbolically having meaning. The hardships the players face, the deaths and loss they face are real so even though the world is itself a simulated experience does it truly qualify as a simulacra or hyperreal experience? Or does it itself become another form of reality?

An alternative viewpoint is that Virtual Reality is a first order simulacra, representing an alternative reality however SAO became a second order simulacra by locking its players into a death game where it became a representation of a Virtual Reality game whilst being in actual a life, partially losing the original meaning of being an escapism from real life.

The world of SAO can be contrasted with the world of Alfheim Online the centerpiece of the second half of the season which can be seen as a true simulacra a world completely virtual disconnected from reality except by the player themselves without the drastic consequences of SAO. And yet even within this simulacra a fragment of reality lies due to the forced kidnapping of the female lead Asuna being locked within its simulated walls (alongside several other unnamed players).

Together these two worlds show a contrasting but similar viewpoint of simulations and simulacra, one attempting to subsume reality and the other a normal first order simulacra plagued by remnants of the former.

[myclippings]

The Four Loves - C.S. Lewis (Part 7)

22 December 2023 18:35:01 to 18:57:25

"People can live anywhere if they put their mind to it.”

"Two friends delight to be joined by a third, and three by a fourth, if only the newcomer is qualified to become a real friend. They can then say, as the blessed souls say in Dante, ‘Here comes one who will augment our loves.’ For in this love ‘to divide is not to take away’."

"Friendship arises out of mere Companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, ‘What? You too? I thought I was the only one.’"

"But as long as each of these percipient persons dies without finding a kindred soul, nothing (I suspect) will come of it; art or sport or spiritual religion will not be born. It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semi-articulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision—it is then that Friendship is born. And instantly they stand together in an immense solitude."

"The Companionship was between people who were doing something together—hunting, studying, painting or what you will. The Friends will still be doing something together, but something more inward, less widely shared and less easily defined; still hunters, but of some immaterial quarry; still collaborating, but in some work the world does not, or not yet, take account of; still travelling companions, but on a different kind of journey. Hence we picture lovers face to face but Friends side by side; their eyes look ahead."

"[Those who] ‘want friends’ can never make any. The very condition of having Friends is that we should want something else besides Friends. Where the truthful answer to the question Do you see the same truth? would be ‘I see nothing and I don’t care about the truth; I only want a Friend’, no Friendship can arise—though Affection of course may. There would be nothing for the Friendship to be about; and Friendship must be about something, even if it were only an enthusiasm for dominoes or white mice. Those who have nothing can share nothing; those who are going nowhere can have no fellow-travellers."

"That is why those pathetic people who simply ‘want friends’ can never make any. The very condition of having Friends is that we should want something else besides Friends. Where the truthful answer to the question Do you see the same truth? would be ‘I see nothing and I don’t care about the truth; I only want a Friend’, no Friendship can arise—though Affection of course may. There would be nothing for the Friendship to be about; and Friendship must be about something, even if it were only an enthusiasm for dominoes or white mice. Those who have nothing can share nothing; those who are going nowhere can have no fellow-travellers."

"The co-existence of Friendship and Eros may also help some moderns to realise that Friendship is in reality a love, and even as great a love as Eros. Suppose you are fortunate enough to have ‘fallen in love with’ and married your Friend. And now suppose it possible that you were offered the choice of two futures: ‘Either you two will cease to be lovers but remain forever joint seekers of the same God, the same beauty, the same truth, or else, losing all that, you will retain as long as you live the raptures and ardours, all the wonder and the wild desire of Eros. Choose which you please.’ Which should we choose? Which choice should we not regret after we had made it?"

[spartanlocke]

Hi, fellow artist here! I've been following this AI stuff for a few years now and hopefully I can shed some light on your questions.

Now, I'm not going to argue on what does and doesn't qualify as "art" (Though I personally don't consider AI to be art either.) that's an incredibly subjective topic and one that people have been debating over for centuries. But what I do want to do is provide what I hope will be convincing evidence that AI generated art is not only theft, but theft that is costing people their careers.

I'll start with your first question:

Is there a means of explaining how AI art steals from artists that doesn't imply collage and/or inspiration are also forms of art theft?

Yes, there have been many videos, threads and articles made by artists (who've often had their work stolen, as shown in the article below) explaining how AI "prompts" directly take artist's work without their consent or knowledge. For the sake of not making this thread ten pages long I'll just post two that I hope get straight to the point:

For an artist, is anything intrinsically lost when their art is used as a sample in an AI's data model?

Yes. As I'm sure you know, most artists use our work as a source of income, especially via commission. But here's the thing about AI: why commission an artist when you can just feed their art to an AI and let it generate an illustration mimicking their art style?

This isn't a hypothetical situation by the way, it's happened dozens of times and someone even wrote a guide on how to scam artists by ordering sketch commissions then using AI to finish it, making it so you get a fully rendered illustration for the price of a sketch. This is dishonest to the artist, often goes against their ToS and scams the them out of their money.

When it comes to AI generated photographs, is art theft still occurring?

As explained in the article above: AI cannot make art from nothing, it requires a source to "learn from" and mimic. If you make a photo via a generator, then it is building that photo off real photos that have been fed to it. Same as it does with any other form of art. So, still theft.

Suppose I were to train a data set on, say, Rembrandt's paintings to try and generate my own "new artwork" of his - just to hang in my living room. He's famous and dead, so this action doesn't affect him at all - is anything wrong with me doing this?

Sorry to get a bit blunt here, but just because someone is dead does not mean taking their property is alright. The British Museum continues to be a strong example of why this is.

Similarly, suppose a commercial entity or institution were to do the same, and sell or display it with the pretext that it was generated - would this novelty not at the least be somewhat intriguing?

Not really! In fact, Disney's response to the WGA/SAG strikes was to introduce positions for AI generators after laying off thousands of employees.

And mind you, the amount Disney offering for this position is several times the amount they pay their animators.

It's not that AI is cheaper, or that they don't have the money, it's that they want to punish their workers for not accepting their terrible treatment. It's to say "You're expendable and can be replaced at any time" and multiple corporations from films to gaming are jumping on the bandwagon to use AI so they don't have to pay animators.

So to go back to your second question: Yes, we lose a lot from AI. For some of us, it's our entire careers.

How about if a team of experts assessed the product, and personally corrected and altered details to keep it consistent with his other works if necessary?

Sorry, I'm genuinely not sure what you're asking, but if it's in the case of artwork used without the artist's consent, then I'm not really sure consistency is going to fix the problem. If that's what you meant.

I want to emphasize: AI generators are not human. They do not create anything on their own and can not experience creativity, meaning they cannot "take inspiration." And humans are not the ones making the art, the AI is. Even when humans are inspired by other humans, they have something unique that only they can bring to the table because no two artists are the same. AI meanwhile cannot do this because it doesn't have anything of its own to say.

Additionally, even humans, when taking inspiration from other artists, generally feel the need to credit said artists as their inspiration.

AI, along with many people who use it, do not do that. One of the main reasons there are lawsuits against the usage of AI is because it takes without consent or credit, artists and musicians and voice actors have been very open that they do not agree to their work being used like this. And in response, multiple generators began to offer the option to hide your prompts - AKA, omit credit to the artist.

Long story short: AI doesn't create any art of it own, it's used to take from human artists without their knowledge or consent, and is being actively exploited by corporations to lay off employees or punish employees for wanting better pay and work conditions.

...That's all, I hope this answers your questions!

nice job supporting ai stealing artwork dickweed 👍

First, let me start with a disclaimer:

I don't like AI art personally. Subjectively speaking, it just doesn't feel like proper art to me.

I just think that the rhetoric behind why, from an objective standpoint, AI art in particular is bad (i.e. immoral) deserves more thought.

Some questions which you might find worth answering:

Is there a means of explaining how AI art steals from artists that doesn't imply collage and/or inspiration are also forms of art theft?

For an artist, is anything intrinsically lost when their art is used as a sample in an AI's data model?

When it comes to AI generated photographs, is art theft still occurring?

Consider the post you're getting mad at me about. whompthatsucker1981's copy of the AI generated photo likely wouldn't have existed without an AI generated photo to copy. Is there no value to be found in the AI enabling the creation of the art?

Suppose I were to train a data set on, say, Rembrandt's paintings to try and generate my own "new artwork" of his - just to hang in my living room. He's famous and dead, so this action doesn't affect him at all - is anything wrong with me doing this?

Similarly, suppose a commercial entity or institution were to do the same, and sell or display it with the pretext that it was generated - would this novelty not at the least be somewhat intriguing?

How about if a team of experts assessed the product, and personally corrected and altered details to keep it consistent with his other works if necessary?

Many years ago, I met an artist called Doug Fishbone while he was doing an exhibition called "Made In China" at the Dulwich Picture Gallery. There was no clear piece on display as part of the exhibition; there was, however, an impostor. One of the paintings in the gallery had been replaced with a replica commissioned from the Meisheng Oil Painting Manufacture Co., who only ever saw the painting they copied as a high resolution photo - thousands of visitors were invited to guess which.

This both questions the value of originality in art (is the copy really less valuable than the original if you can't tell the two apart? How about if it's utilised as part of a philosophical point or artistic message?) and reveals, via the copycat painting's minor discrepancies, that even in careful replication, the preferences of the artist often shine through (perhaps this is a motivation in the encouragement of copyists by many old masters).

I would certainly agree that it isn't particularly desirable to study the "eye" of an AI all too closely - its own quirks will simply be the mean of other artists' idiosyncracies. But suppose that the image is then copied, modified, or used as inspiration - is its place in allowing for another artist to develop a concept not valuable at all?

To be clear, these questions aren't rhetorical; I'd like to hear your views. If you reply, I hope you do so in good faith.

[losthomunculus]

Online Safety Relevant to the Current State of the Internet

On twitter I made a tweet about how online safety lessons in school can be very out of touch but that the advice of people who are familiar with the current internet shouldn't be disregarded. So here's my informal collection of online safety tips

Sources: unrestricted internet access since elementary school (not recommended), being a formerly involuntarily home bound person for several years that amassed way too much online experience

This could possibly hold upsetting reminders to people who had bad experiences online including mentions of grooming and emotional manipulation so please proceed with caution!

Information Sharing

Make an online pseudonym for public profiles and websites.

Don’t feel like you have to list everything about you for the world to see.

Sometimes it’s not a question of “can this information be used to locate and identify me irl?”, but simply “do I want this information publicly available and linked to my online persona?”

Unlike offline, being online leaves a constant trail of who you were accessible at all times. People are constantly growing and changing. Try to limit the information you share so you can ditch that trail and start over if need be.

Sharing information with people you make friends with and trust is a judgement call on your part, but always be on the safe side and be protective of your information.

Start as cautious as possible with online safety. Any risks or judgement calls can come later when you are 1. aware of the risks, 2. ready to address them if they occur, and 3. have gathered plenty of information instead of doing something blindly and hoping for the best.

Do not share your triggers publicly, they can very easily be used against you. Instead use websites with a large amount of filtering options to curate your online experience. If you are going to share them, only do it privately with people you trust.

Importance of Boundaries

It doesn’t matter how mature you are, don’t enter age limited spaces you don’t qualify for. It’s disrespectful to the boundaries of the people who made that space. Boundaries like this exist for the comfort of both sides involved.

Just because you can “handle it” doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Desensitization is not something to brag about.

Venting or making r18 posts as a minor on a public account is VERY dangerous. Intense emotional vulnerability is something manipulators will look for as a way to get to you. The same with sexual jokes to develop your comfort talking about those topics casually and eventually escalating the situation. If you are going to talk about such things please keep that in private conversations with people you trust in your age group.

Note the difference between public and private online space. Tweeting something on a public account is not the same as having a conversation in the cafeteria with your friends.

If an adult tries talking to you about r18, run the other way. Doesn’t matter how cool you are, it says something weird about THEM if they’re willing to talk to a minor about that stuff.

If someone( like 3+ years, honestly depends on how old you are) older than you wouldn't be comfortable saying what they're saying to you in front of other people (like a teacher or guardian), that's suspicious as hell. Run in the other direction.

The younger you are, the more age gaps matter. There's a bigger difference in development between a 13 year old and a 17 year old than there is between a 20 year old and a 24 year old. It helps to try to contextualize it with real people instead of numbers. Instead of thinking "oh just 4 years? that's not that weird" consider "oh. that would be like a freshman (13/14) dating a senior (17/18). yikes."

Be just as wary of people your own age talking about things that make you uncomfortable. Just like irl, sometimes you’ll meet people your age that are hurtful.

Friends complain to each other and talk about their issues, that alone is fine. But when people are doing it without permission, draw a line. When people are making it feel like you’re responsible for maintaining their mental health, you need to draw a line. When it starts to effect your mental health, PLEASE DRAW A LINE! I know it feels like your responsibility sometimes, but it’s not. You cannot be there for others if you’re not taking care of yourself first and foremost.

Don’t be afraid to block people. Even for petty reasons. It’s good to block people. Don’t force yourself to see stuff you don’t want to see.

Being Constantly Online

The 24 hour news cycle is not a good thing to follow 24/7. Taking social responsibility is a good thing, but your brain is NOT built to worry about every issue in the world at once. One strategy I use for staying sane is I try to only check the news once a day, and if something needs more attention to set aside an amount of time I’m going to focus on it before I need to take time to step back.

Touch grass. Not literally, unless you can in which case I highly suggest it, sometimes it’s just good to lay in a field. What I mean is you need to dedicate a good portion of your time to being offline (sleep does not count). What your offline time looks like is going to differ depending on your level of ability, but even if you are house bound it’s important to build some hobbies that don’t rely on the internet. Talking to people offline is also a good goal if possible, even just to your housemates.

Social etiquette greatly differs online and offline and sometimes the reminder that were all just Some People gets lost behind the numbers and the fabricated personas. Keep in mind the difference in how information is shared without forgetting that the fact we are all people remains the same.

Be generous with your etiquette. You will avoid a lot of stress if you conduct yourself with the same politeness you would have in an offline interaction. Master the art of "minding your own business" for your own sake.

Arguments and Competition

As soon as you can, you need to internalize the fact that leaving an argument is not losing.

It is inevitable you will be exposed to many people who disagree with you. Some people only want to argue to rile you up. Sometimes that’s not their intention, but it’s what they’re doing. You do not have to remain in conversation with people, especially if they’re not interested in actually coming to an understanding. Even if they are interested, sometimes they just suck!! Leave!! You can leave!!

On that note, sometimes you are going to get valid criticism and it’s going to hurt. That is part of learning. If someone says you messed up and did something hurtful, take a second to step back from your defensiveness and consider: intent ≠ effect. Apologize, repair what you can, and move forward with the ability to do better in the future. You’re going to mess up every once in awhile, it’s inevitable.

To summarize the past two points: don't waste your time on unnecessary hostility but don't close yourself into an echo chamber either. Debates should be about learning.

Sometimes people are not going to like you. This happens offline too but people tend to be a lot more blunt online. Sometimes people dislike you for no reason or for really petty reasons. That’s not your problem, move on.

Don’t actively seek out people you don’t like or who don’t like you to argue with. Whether or not your side is the “right side” doesn’t matter, it’s going to cause you so much unnecessary stress. Feel free to keep posting your opinions on your own profile but don’t seek out unnecessary conflict.

This is a different type of competition than previously mentioned, but be aware of the danger of comparing yourself to other people. Especially if you’re a creative or student, DO NOT GET SWEPT UP IN THE GRIND CULTURE. It’s more subtle in some places than others, but anytime you see the notion that you should be working yourself to the bone be VERY critical. Also be critical of any online cultures (such as gaming and art communities) that brag about unhealthy habits or act like it’s ~part of the culture~ (ex: all nighters, not taking breaks, getting hurt. Any activity that neglects health to work toward a goal).

Not just grind culture, any community of subculture that shares anti recovery sentiments is a huge red flag. Even if they're joking, it's not worth the risk of internalizing those statements.

Everyone’s social media presence is to some degree doctored because it’s a purposefully selected collection of what they allow you to see. It’s fine to like the persona you see being displayed, but never forget that it is not reflective of the entire person. Everyone online is JUST SOME PERSON. Do not forget that and start holding yourself to a standard you can’t even see every side of.

By posting online you are opening yourself to criticism. Whether or not it’s justified can vary, but either way it’s going to happen. Mute stuff, go private, disable comments, etc if you need to.

Misc Tidbits

these are technically just general info that is also good for offline but I have seen things that make me think people online need the extra reminder.

Learn what cults are, how they recruit, and what they do to their members. I'm not kidding. This is particularly relevant at the moment because of current societal unrest and widespread loneliness. No one is immune to cult propaganda, and not every cult is based on pre established religion or family. Many exist ONLINE and are able to manipulate people without ever meeting face to face. (learn more: Loneliness as a Pandemic: The Dangers of Online Cult

Familiarize yourself with the concept of pseudoscience. Please familiarize yourself with the concept of pseudoscience and then learn how to identify pseudoscience. (learn more: Karl Popper, Science, & Pseudoscience: Crash Course Philosophy #8)

Q. How do I know if a source is reliable?

Final Thoughts

It's important people of ALL ages learn these lessons, because the internet is constantly changing and we are all vulnerable when in the presence of other people.

Be cautious and stay safe

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! Feel free not to answer this question if it is in any way too much, but I've been wondering about something concerning the "western" mdzs fandom. Lately, i have seen multiple pieces of fanart that use what is clearly Christian symbolism and sometimes downright iconography in depicting the characters. I'm a european fan, but it still makes me vaguely uneasy. I know that these things are rarely easy to judge. I'm definitely not qualified to do so and was wondering if you have an opinion

Hi there! thank you for your patience and for the interesting question! I’ve been thinking about this since i received this ask because it?? idk, it’s difficult to answer, but it also touches on a a few things that I find really interesting.

the short answer: it’s complicated, and I also don’t know what I feel!

the longer answer:

i think that this question is particularly difficult to answer because of how deeply christianity is tied to the western art and literary canon. so much of what is considered great european art is christian art! If you just take a quick glance at wiki’s page on european art, you can see how inextricable christianity is, and how integral christian iconography has been in the history of european art. If you study western art history, you must study christian imagery and christian canon because it’s just impossible to engage with a lot of the work in a meaningful way without it. that’s just the reality of it.

Christianity, of course, also has a strong presence in european colonial and imperialist history and has been used as a tool of oppression against many peoples and nations, including China. I would be lying if I said I had a good relationship with Christianity--I have always faced it with a deep suspicion because I think it did some very, very real damage, not just to chinese people, but to many cultures and peoples around the world, and that’s not a trauma that can be easily brushed aside or reconciled with.

here is what is also true: my maternal grandmother was devoutly christian. my aunt is devoutly christian. my uncle’s family is devoutly christian. my favorite cousin is devoutly christian. when I attended my cousin’s wedding, he had both a traditional chinese ceremony (tea-serving, bride-fetching, ABSURDLY long reception), and also a christian ceremony in a church. christianity is a really important part of his life, just as it’s important to my uncle’s family, and as it was important to my grandmother. I don’t think it’s my right or place to label them as simply victims of a colonialist past--they’re real people with real agency and choice and beliefs. I think it would be disrespectful to act otherwise.

that doesn’t negate the harm that christianity has done--but it does complicate things. is it inherently a bad thing that they’re christian, due to the political history of the religion and their heritage? that’s... not a question I’m really interested in debating. the fact remains that they are christian, that they are chinese, and that they chose their religion.

so! now here we are with mdzs, a chinese piece of media that is clearly Not christian, but is quickly gaining popularity in euroamerican spaces. people are making fanart! people are making A LOT of fanart! and art is, by nature, intertextual. a lot of the most interesting art (imo) makes deliberate use of that! for example (cyan art nerdery time let’s go), Nikolai Ge’s What is Truth?

I love this painting! it’s notable for its unusual depiction of christ: shabby, unkempt, slouched, in shadow. if you look for other paintings of this scene, christ is usually dignified, elegant, beautiful, melancholy -- there’s something very humanizing and humbling about this depiction, specifically because of the way it contrasts the standard. it’s powerful because we as the audience are expected to be familiar with the iconography of this scene, the story behind it, and its place in the christian canon.

you can make similar comments about Gentileschi’s Judith vs Caravaggio’s, or Manet’s Olympia vs Ingres’ Grande Odalisque -- all of these paintings exist in relation to one another and also to the larger canon (i’m simplifying: you can’t just compare one to another directly in isolation etc etc.) Gauguin’s Jacob Wrestling the Angel is also especially interesting because of how its portrayal of its content contrasts to its predecessors!

or! because i’m really In It now, one of my favorite paintings in the world, Joan of Arc by Bastien-Lepage:

I just!!! gosh, idk, what’s most interesting to me in this painting is the way it seems to hover between movements: the hyperrealistic, neoclassical-esque take on the figure, but the impressionistic brushstrokes of the background AAA gosh i love it so much. it’s really beautiful if you ever get a chance to see it in person at the Met. i’m putting this here both because i personally just really like it and also as an example of how intertextuality isn’t just about content, but also about visual elements.

anyways, sorry most of this is 19thc, that was what i studied the most lol.

(a final note: if you want to read about a really interesting painting that sits in the midst of just a Lot of different works, check out the wiki page on Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa, specifically under “Interpretation and Legacy”)

this is all a really long-winded way of getting to this point: if you want to make allusory fanart of mdzs with regards to western art canon, you kind of have to go out of your way to avoid christian imagery/iconography, especially when that’s the lens through which a lot of really intensely emotional art was created. many of my favorite paintings are christian: Vrubel’s Demon, Seated, Perov’s Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, Ge’s Conscience, Judas, Bastien-Lepage’s Joan of Arc, as shown above. that’s not to say there ISN’T plenty of non-christian art -- but christian art is very prominent and impossible to ignore.

so here are a few pieces of fanwork that I’ve seen that are very clearly making allusions to christian imagery:

1. this beautiful pietà nielan by tinynarwhals on twitter

2. a lovely jiang yanli as our lady of tears by @satuwilhelmiina

3. my second gif in this set here, which I will also show below:

i’m only going to talk about mine in depth because well, i know exactly what i was thinking when I put this gif together while I can’t speak for anyone else.

first: the two lines of the song that I wanted to use for lan xichen were “baby, I’m a fighter//in the robes of a saint” because i felt that they fit him very well. of course, just the word “saint” evokes catholicism, even if it’s become so entwined in the english language that it’s taken on a secular meaning as well.

second: when I saw this scene, my immediate thought was just “PIETÀ!!” because LOOK at that composition! lan xichen’s lap! nie mingjue lying perpendicular to it! the light blue/white/silver of lan xichen in contrast to the darker robes of both nie mingjue and meng yao! not just that, but the very cool triangular structure of the image is intensely striking, and Yes, i Do love that it simultaneously ALSO evokes deposition of christ vibes. (baxia as the cross.... god..... is that not the Tightest Shit) does this make meng yao joseph of arimathea? does it make him john the evangelist? both options are equally interesting, I think when viewed in relation to his roles in the story: as a spy in qishan and as nmj’s deputy. maybe he’s both.

anyways, did I do this intentionally? yes, though a lot of it is happy accident/discovered after the fact since I’m relying on CQL to have provided the image. i wanted to draw attention to all of that by superimposing that line over that image! (to be clear: I didn’t expect it to all come through because like. that’s ridiculous. the layers you’d have to go through to get from “pretty lxc gifset” --> “if we cast nie mingjue as a christ figure, what is the interesting commentary we could do on meng yao by casting him as either joseph of arimathea or john the evangelist” are like. ok ur gonna need to work a little harder than slapping a song lyric over an image to achieve an effect like that.)

the point of this is: yes, it’s intentionally christian, yes I did this, yes I am casting these very much non-christian characters into christian roles for this specific visual work -- is this okay?

I obviously thought it was because I made it. but would I feel the same about a work that was written doing something similar? probably not. I think that would make me quite uncomfortable in most situations. but there’s something about visual art that makes it slightly different that I have trouble articulating -- something about how the visual often seeks to illustrate parallels or ideas, whereas writing characters as a different religion can fundamentally change who those characters are, the world they inhabit, etc. in a more... invasive?? way. that’s still not quite right, but I genuinely am not sure how to explain what i mean! I hope the general idea comes across. ><

something else to think about is like, what are pieces I find acceptable and why?

what makes the pieces above that reference christian imagery different than this stunning nieyao piece by @cyandemise after klimt’s kiss? (warnings for like, dead bodies and vague body horror) like i ADORE this piece (PLEASE click for fullview it’s worth it for the quality). it’s incredibly beautiful and evocative and very obviously references a piece of european art. I have no problem with it. why? because it isn’t explicitly christian? it’s still deeply entrenched in western canon. klimt certainly made other pieces that were explicit christian references.

another piece I’d like to invite you all to consider is this incredible naruto fanart of sakura and ino beheading sasuke after caravaggio’s judith. (warnings for beheading, blood, etc. you know.) i also adore this piece! i think it’s very good both technically and conceptually. the reference that it makes has a real power when viewed in relation to the roles of the characters in their original story -- seeing the women that sasuke fucked over and treated so disrespectfully collaborating in his demise Says Something. this is also!! an explicitly christian reference made with non-christian japanese characters. is this okay? does it evoke the same discomfort as seeing mdzs characters being drawn with christian iconography? why or why not?

the point is, I don’t think there’s a neat answer, but I do think there are a lot of interesting issues surrounding cultural erasure/hegemony that are raised by this question. i don’t think there are easy resolutions to any of them either, but I think that it’s a good opportunity to reexamine our own discomfort and try and see where it comes from. all emotions are valid but not all are justified etc. so I try to ask, is it fair? do i apply my criticisms and standards equally? why or why not? does it do real harm, or do i just not like it? what makes one work okay and another not?

i’ve felt that there’s a real danger with the kind of like, deep moral scrutiny of recent years in quashing interesting work in the name of fear. this morality tends to be expressed in black and white, good and bad dichotomies that i really do think stymies meaningful conversation and progress. you’ll often see angry takes that boil down to things like, “POC good, queer people good, white people bad, christianity bad” etc. without a serious critical examination of the actual issues at hand. I feel that these are extraordinarily harmful simplifications that can lead to an increased insularity that isn’t necessarily good for anyone. there’s a fine line between asking people to stay in their lane and cultural gatekeeping sometimes, and I think that it’s something we should be mindful of when we’re engaging in conversations about cultural erasure, appropriation etc.

PERHAPS IT IS OBVIOUS that I have no idea where that line falls LMAO since after all that rambling I have given you basically nothing. but! I hope that you found it interesting at least, and that it gives you a bit more material to think on while you figure out where you stand ahaha.

was this just an excuse to show off cool (fan)art i like? maybe ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(ko-fi)

[forgottenronan]

*slaps the table* IT IS CANON!!!!!!! also now im emo abt these two mourning together and like...them reminding e/o of him -- and the last connection to him, he's stil alive in percy!!!! and cue ronan wanting, all the more, to look out for percy not just for his own sake or bc he looks out for cillian too, which were the reasons i was prev thinking, but also bc!!! its the only way he's got left of reaching out to his friend and keeping his spirit alive and ughhh

but omg yasssss i agree!!!!! i def think there would've been sm loyalty there for percy even before this, but it ups the ante a thousand percent!!!! like perhaps one of the last things his bff ever asked was that he keep an eye out for percy or even if he didn't in words, ronan's gonna do that for him!!!!!! unfrotunately for everyone idk how qualified ronan really is for any of that, given his own status/mental health/etc and there's a good cahnce he'll just make things worse but here we are alkjsdfklsdjfkj also i def feel like they probs leaned a lot on e/o in the early stages of mourning before ronan got himself effectively banished lksdajfkljdsf

anyway basically if he wasn't ride or die for percy before, he is nowwww!!! but also w the explicit subtext that ronan knows best which is...probs factually accurate but ronan truly believes that aklsdjfkjdsf also knowing that percy will back him to the hilt like this is probs...actualykinda a bad thing for ronan bc it gives him the illusion that some of his more unreasonable ideas actually might be reasonable!!! lkasjdfkjsdf

cillian, when he realizes percy has told on him: traitor

he 100% needs backup!!!!! cillian, like ronan, is ~also almost impossible to persuade of anything kalsjdfkjsdf (other great back up options are eithne whom he never wishes to disappoint and sees as his lady, or saoirse who inadvertently uses her mom's tone whenever she's scolding and cillian just can't stand against that even tho saoirse has no idea she does it!! aklsdjfkljdsf) but ronan will back his reasoning up w physically STOPPING cillian if it comes to that, (which the others probs can't help percy do tbqh i feel like, given that he's one of the last field hands, cillian has to be crazy strong like...handling not one but two oxen on the plough???? no matter how lazy, if he's doing that, he just is -- medieval peasants, you were real ones!!! i can't even imagine some of the everyday things you see them doing in everyday art INSANE!!!!! lkjflk;dsafkjdf) tho that being said, cillian ~will generally listen to ronan unless he's like RONAN THATS INSANE (and btw if its a scheme that ~cillian thinks is a stupid idea...yikes...and yes that does sometimes happen esp the more off the rails ronan gets! lkasjdfkljdsjkf) but ANYWAY!!!

klsdjfklsdjfsdf that ps skdljfaklsdf honestly...also it made me imagine:

cillian to cassandra: hey how much pull do you have w edmund? could you maybe...make him less mad w a servant of the malconaire's? or, really, idc if he's mad: specifically, could you persuade edmund to make sure that he never, ever, ever, ever mentions to anyone that their argument ever happened???? better that he put the man to death than that lady eithne or the servant's siblings or the man who tends your horses ever hear of it. anyway, i ask purely out of kindness and generosity towards the greatest servant ever born pls dont ask any follow up questions

jk jk but purely bc he wouldn't want to put cassandra in that position or risk his cover by checking in on his other self -- i stand by all the rest 100% lkdsjfaklsdjfksldf

OOC | Ronan & Percy

honestly, ronan sees percy as basically another sibling!!! he's practically cillian's (unwilling ;D) twin, and ronan sleeps a lot better at night knowing that percy's out there helping to keep cillian alive bc lbr that is a whole village effort tbqh -- ronan isn't much better, bc he's ~also reckless af and a lil shit but he comes at it from a tooootally different angle like his recklessness is more LAST CHANCE FOR THE WORLD desperation and his lil shittery is more just heavy heavy sarcasm laced w way too much honesty really but here we are lkajsdflkjdsjf

saoirse: may all the guardians help me...please. i need sm help w these two.

anyway!! ronan 1) doesn't see himself as at all or in any way a problem (saoirse is just a worrywart! who ~cares what happens to ronan! not ronan!) and 2) v much ~does see cillian as a danger, big brother style alksdjfkljdsf so yeah having percy around looking out is a godsend! also i def feel like between ronan and saoirse, food's always left out for percy like he's a literal guardian ;DD and he always has a place to stay. ironically, cillian is worse at looking out for percy but then cillian can barely look out for himself ssdlkfjalksjdf

[cozylittleartblog]

*grabby hands* Gib me unreleased OC content. Name, favorite thing, anything. Tell me about the children who aren't shown off

an extremely fun question but i don't have any ~ * ~ secret OCs ~ * ~ at the moment (': i can talk about some of the characters i hardly use, though - under the cut, because oops long post

first one that came to mind is frankie stein, she's three years old but i only started using her again in june.

or, well, "started using her again" is slightly an exaggeration, i got really into her for a few days and i haven't actually drawn her since asdlfjkdf. i want more villains so she is supposed to be all the most fun villain tropes - fucked up and evil just for the fun of it, highly theatrical, killer musical numbers, swarms of dumb henchmen with ridiculous names like steve and bill, mildly incompetent so she doesn't get as much done as a "real villain" and just sort of resorts to stabbing people... i mean she's def still a threat and has def killed a lot of people, but. she hasn't taken over the world yet 🤔 hmm.

i was developing her at the same time as the daltons so she was this [-] close to being part of that universe, here's some cut content for u: the group was actually part of tessa's past originally and i was toying with the idea of frankie killing one of them for more than a hot minute >:) but nah she doesn't fit the universe super well and i liked everybody too much

!! SPEAKING OF THE DALTONS, THERE'S ALSO ROGUE

rogue is close to being a secret OC cuz almost all his art either hasn't been posted or was just shared among friends. he's a funky little nonbinary pirate with a passion for annoying people and BFGs (big fucking guns).

i can't wait to share more of him 🥺 its the first time im actually exploring the 'tessa's friends with a bunch of street rats' thread and he's such a little agent of chaos. i don't think he takes jobs for money as much as he does for the fun of getting to steal things and shoot people with whatever fucked up gun he's invented that week. Stealing Is His Favorite.

come to think of it, finch, audrey, and vanessa all probably qualify as “secret ocs” given i hardly draw any of them and they don’t even have th profiles unlike the above two. finch is dakota’s older brother and he and van are in a rock/punk band together, and audrey is van’s girlfriend. i know the band name and they have a playlist where i keep songs that remind me of what their music would sound like, but i wanna design the rest of the band before i actually draw anything for them. only problem is i don’t really have a story for them, they’re just an extension of another story :V mayhaps some day

[a-big-apple]

Whumptober day 13: solitary confinement

Prompt No. 20 - LOST & FOUND

trunk | trapped under water | solitary confinement

First

Previous

Next

Warnings: what it says on the tin, plus some extra sad for flavor

After all the business with the off-color pearl, Pearl’s Morganite warps them back to her residence. It’s enormous; it has its own dedicated local warp, because top Morganites’ work is coveted across the upper crust.

“This way, Pearl,” comes a crisp reminder as Pearl stares around at the sweeping arched ceilings, the vibrant tones plucked from both ends of the visible spectrum, the frescoes on the walls depicting the glorious triumphs of Diamonds and Empire. It’s every inch the sort of home her Morganite deserves; Pearl isn’t qualified to judge, but the frescoes look so intensely real that she finds herself saluting.

They sweep, Morganite ahead and Pearl behind, up a grand staircase and down a hallway lined with burnished frames. Each contains a world, or so it seems to Pearl—astonishing landscapes rendered in vivid splashes and shapes and motion.

“Do you like my art?” her Morganite says, standing by a doorway at the end of the hall, watching her. “These are just commission studies, but personally I feel they capture the wildness of the colonies more accurately than the finished pieces. Unfortunately Realism is in fashion, and I paint what my patrons want.”

Pearl takes a fractional moment to study her Morganite. She doesn’t seem angry, though her brows are furrowed. Perhaps that’s a permanent feature? Her question feels genuine, and even if it wasn’t, a good Pearl always answers a question asked of her. “I like it very much,” Pearl says, leaning carefully close to a tiny painting of a sloping hill covered in some kind of organic growth, a sky of streaky violet gradients and a pair of suns rising into view. “Are—” she begins, and then snaps her mouth shut, uncertain.

“Ask.”

“Are these all colonies?” Pearl says, quiet, casting her eyes up and down the hall.

Her Morganite’s mouth twitches; Pearl hesitantly reads it as pleased. “Yes. My colony work is in high demand; as my pearl you’ll travel with me.”

“I’m very grateful to be your pearl,” Pearl replies, breathless, and means it.

“As you should be,” Morganite agrees. Then something changes in her posture; straightens, tightens. She gestures through the doorway she paused by. “This is your room.”

“My room?” Pearl repeats, dumbfounded, and hurries down the hall to see.

The walls are a deep purple, matched to Pearl’s jumpsuit, which is matched to a thin middle stripe of her Morganite’s layered robe collar; there is room for her to stand, or perhaps even sit curled into a corner, and there’s a pad on the wall outside so there must be a door slid back into the wall.

A space of her own!

When her Morganite gestures with a sweeping sleeve, Pearl steps inside. On the narrow space beside the doorway there’s a tiny console screen.

“Your first task is to stay here and familiarize yourself with my body of work,” her Morganite says, tapping the screen. “I don’t like to be disturbed while I’m working, so in the future I’ll need you to field commission requests and turn down any that are too outside my sphere of interest.”

“Yes, my Morganite.”

“I also need you to memorize the list of past patrons who I will never paint for again, past patrons who get preferential treatment, and influential Gems who have not yet requested my services.”

“Yes, my Morganite.”

“I’ll fetch you when I need you.”

“I understand,” Pearl says, and the door slides shut with her Morganite on the other side of it.

Memorizing is easy—pearls are built for it—so she does that first. Designations and identifying features of each Gem on the three lists gets recorded and stored in her memory banks, swiftly retrievable.

Then she moves on to studying, in chronological order, every image available of her Morganite’s art—several thousand orbits’ worth. That takes a little longer. She lets it take longer; studies each piece, trying to analyze the elements at play, trends over time. Her Morganite has a fascinating relationship to color; nonrepresentational shades somehow contrasting or combining to create a representational image. It’s fascinating and baffling, and Pearl easily passes several cycles this way.

Then she enters a period of her Morganite’s career consisting mostly of staid portraits of high-ranking court members, much more straightforward than her somewhat experimental early work, and the rest of her room seems to take shape again around her. Her legs, locked upright too long, have begun to ache; she paces out a precise square along the walls—two steps, turn, two steps, turn, two steps, turn—to stretch them. After another cycle of portrait viewing, she activates voice control and sits down, knees to chest.

“Next image.”

“Next image.”

“Next image…”

She begins to lose track of the cycles. Oh, she could figure it out, if she wanted to, but here in her room it doesn’t matter. She has her task, and good pearls complete their tasks as ordered.

She stands up to view portraits again when her voice starts to scrape hoarse in her throat.

At last she reaches the landscapes, sweeping scenes that the framed studies in the hall only hinted at, intensely grand or shockingly simple or so baffling as to be uninterpretable. Each one a window into a place that, perhaps, Pearl might see. The shocking breadth of the Empire, stretching on and on.

She’s been so long in her own company, intently focused, that footsteps in the hallway don’t even register as another living sound. Then there’s a quiet tap on the door, a pattern—tap-tippity-tap—that shocks her out of her study.

“Pearl?” comes a voice, muffled through the door. It’s not her Morganite. Are there other Gems here?

“Can I be of service?” she asks, hesitant. The voice presses closer to the door.

“Pearl...it’s me. It’s Ruby.”

“I’m sorry...I don’t know any Rubies.”

There’s a long, heavy pause; then a sigh so despondent it pangs in Pearl’s gem. “That’s what I was afraid of. I guess I’m next.”

Pearl folds herself down beside the door. Rubies are short, after all. “Next for what?”

“It...it doesn’t matter now. What have you been doing in there? It’s been a while.”

“Familiarizing myself with my Morganite’s body of work,” she recites; then clarifies, “I’m working on the landscapes now.”

“Oh,” says the Ruby through the door, her voice oddly wet.

“Are all of those places...real?”

Ruby sighs. “Yeah. They are. Most of them don’t look like that anymore. Been stripped to the core.”

“To expand the Empire,” Pearl says. The most important goal of Gemkind, even when it erases a beautiful landscape.

“Right,” Ruby says. “Hey, Pearl?”

“Yes?”

“I gotta tell you something, because next time I see you I might not remember. It won’t make any sense.”

Pearl considers. “That’s all right,” she says at last. “My Morganite hasn’t forbidden me from holding knowledge outside of what she tasked me.”

That heavy silence falls again; then, up close to the seam of the door, Ruby’s voice comes whispering through. “I don’t regret anything we did,” she says. “I love you.”

Then, before Pearl can process or clarify, Ruby’s quick footsteps fade back down the hall.

All told, it’s a full orbit before Pearl hears her, or anyone else, again.

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader  chapter two: san juan

pairing: jungkook/reader word count: 6.6K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: okay, ya’ll. I really never intended to make this story anything more than a one-shot...but a couple of people asked for more and then the wheels started turning, and I had more than a little crush on this sexy, smartassed jungkook. so here we are! I hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

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

You still think about Jungkook Jeon.

You think about him when you spot his beautiful face on the poster in the hallway at your office, with the word WANTED emblazoned across the top.

You think about him every time you fly because you leave condoms behind in the bathroom like some kind of kinky Fairy Godmother.

And sometimes -- late at night, after you’ve had a glass of wine -- you shut your eyes and think about him when you slip between the sheets and then slip a hand into your panties.

You wonder where in the world he is and how he’s getting away with life on the run -- again.

Though technically he’s not your problem anymore.

The Marshals took over his case after he pulled his vanishing act in Los Angeles, so it’s some other poor sap’s job to find him and bring him in.  You’d done your part -- you’d tracked him down and brought him to the States, even got him before a judge.  

So what happened after that didn’t happen on your watch.

Totally out of your hands.

No reason for you to still obsess over how it all went down.

At all.

Right?

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

The humidity in San Juan hits you like a wall the second you step out of Muñoz Marín International Airport.

You quickly scan the throng of waiting drivers and find the one holding the sign with your name on it.  The suit you’d worn on the plane is already sticking to the backs of your thighs in this heat.

“Welcome to Puerto Rico,” the driver smiles warmly, offering to take your luggage off your hands. You smile back as you follow him to the line of cars idling outside.

The ding of a text alert distracts you for a moment.  

You pull out your phone and see it’s your boss, checking to make sure your flight landed on time.  The driver opens the car door and you slip inside while he pops the trunk to put your bags away.  

You’re so busy tapping out a response that you don’t realize something is off until the driver raps twice on the back of the car.

Because that’s a signal for the car to go.

Because the man behind the wheel is not the man who just loaded you and your bags into this car.

Because the man behind the wheel is --

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you breathe, eyes wide on the reflection in the rearview mirror.

He’s got a snapback pulled low over his face but you can still see his eyes. And you’d know those eyes anywhere. You’ve thought about those eyes a lot more than you’d like to admit.

“That -- “ Jungkook says, pressing the gas, “-- is the weirdest way to say you missed me, too.”

He tilts his head up so you can catch the reflection of his wide smile.

You are in a car with Jungkook Jeon. In a moving car with Jungkook Jeon.  

“Start talking,” you snap.  

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

You slump back into the seat and clap a hand over your face. Damn this man and damn his stupid, smart-assed, beautiful mouth.

“Where are you taking me?”

Jungkook snorts at the note of panic in your voice.  

“To your hotel, dummy.  You have a meeting in like, two hours.”

“Unbelievable,” you sigh after a moment. “Do I even want to know how you know all of this?”

“Well in my defense,” he starts, “you guys still have really shitty firewalls.  You’ve got a lot of nerve calling yourselves an intelligence agency with that set-up in place.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your feedback,” you mutter.

“You should. So anyway, I was reading through your emails one day -- you know, as I do -- and I saw you were coming to town. I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you.”

Holy shit.

That’s a lot to take in right now and you’re still trying to process the series of events that led up to you, in a car with Jungkook Jeon.  You keep asking questions because it seems like the only sane thing to do in this entirely insane situation.

“You read my emails.”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

“Uh….all the time?”

You blow out an exasperated breath.  

“You’re a real piece of work. Just what makes you think I won’t have this car surrounded by Feds by the time we get to the hotel?”

“You could,” he concedes thoughtfully. He looks up from the road for a moment to lock eyes with you in the rearview. “But we both know you won’t.”

His certainty makes you bristle.  Is he right about that?

You force yourself to look away from him and redirect your gaze outside to watch the carefully landscaped palm trees speed by.  He’s been here for some time, you think, as he navigates the streets with ease.  He doesn’t seem to be looking for his next turn or second-guessing which way to go. He’s not even using GPS.

“You are in some deep shit back home, Mr. Jeon,” you say, finally. “You embarrassed them. They hate being embarrassed.”

He chuckles.

“Don’t you think it’s time to drop the formalities, Agent? I’ve had my tongue in your pussy, you know.”

He startles a laugh from you with his casual, crass statement of fact.  You forgot how funny he is -- how smart and affable and completely disarming he is.

“Anyway, that’s their problem, not mine,” he continues. “And not yours anymore either, from what I understand.”

Boy, he really wasn’t kidding about those emails.

You mentally rummage through your inbox, try to imagine what information he’s had access to these past few months.  Countless agency messages, a few personal ones and at least one exchange that could qualify as both. You wonder if he’s seen that one, too.  

You clear your throat, uncomfortable with the thought.

“So what’s your plan, then? Hide out in plain sight in a territory of the United States?”

“It’s worked for me so far, hasn’t it?”

You roll your eyes.

“Anyway, my plan right now is to drop you off at this hotel,” Jungkook says, turning into the drive. “Then you’re going to skip that reception they have scheduled for tomorrow night because you’re going to have drinks with me instead.”

You say nothing for a moment.

It’s absurd that your first reaction to his words is a tingle of excitement. It’s ludicrous that you haven’t picked up the phone to call this in by this point. It’s fucking bananas that you’re picturing yourself sharing a drink with this man instead of having him arrested.

The car rolls to a stop.

“Now, as much as I’d love to act the part of a perfect gentleman and help you with those bags, I can’t,” Jungkook says, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a small piece of paper. “Your hotel is crawling with cameras and believe it or not, I’m trying to minimize the number of stupid risks I take these days.”

You snort.

He reaches behind his seat to hand you the note.

“Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 7 o’clock. Be sure to wear something tight, yeah?”

“You are out of your mind,” you say from between clenched teeth, snatching the paper out of his hand.

Jungkook laughs.

“I know, right?”

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

You should call the Marshals.

You should really call the Marshals.

Why haven’t you called the goddamned Marshals?

“ -- do you think, Agent?”

Fuck.  

You can’t seem to keep your mind focused on this meeting and now everyone around the conference table is looking at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” you’re forced to admit. “Catch me up?”

“I was saying,” Agent Dominguez starts again, “that given the damage done to the office here in San Juan, we should move agents to the mainland temporarily.  Miami, preferably.”

“Yes,” you agree. “That would be best.  Until we can get things back on track.”

Dominguez smiles in a skeptical way, like he knows you’re preoccupied and he’s curious as to why.  You smile back and hope it’s convincing.  

“We’ll have to go over some logistics, of course, after the final decisions are made,” he continues, turning his attention back to the room at large. “But for now, let’s consider that a flight from Miami is just a hop, skip, and a jump.  It makes sense.”

The rest of the assembled meeting guests murmur in agreement.

Your mind wanders back to that slip of paper tucked away inside your bag at the hotel, back to the man who gave it to you.  The ridiculous, self-assured little asshole who just knows you aren’t going to rat him out. Who just knows you’re going to join him for drinks like he’s not an actual federal fugitive and you’re not an actual federal agent.

Dominguez continues to drone on in the background.

“...and if you look at the numbers, you’ll see post-storm crime is actually way down…”

What you would give to be anywhere but this meeting right now.  You pinch the bridge of your nose, shut your eyes and go down the list of facts as you know them.

He’s been reading your emails.

Following your every move.

He wants to see you tonight.

What the hell is wrong with you that knowing all of this excites you instead of freaking you out? What does it mean that a part of you -- a really big part of you -- wants to take him up on his offer?

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

Dominguez pulls you aside after the morning round of meetings wraps for lunch.  

“Hey,” he says, stopping you in the hallway.  “Are you alright? You’ve seemed just a little off since yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say apologetically. “Been feeling a little off these past two days.”

Not technically a lie?

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Dominguez replies smoothly.

“Hope you’ll be feeling up to attending the reception tonight,” he continues. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”

You offer him a weak smile.  The look on his face right now is making you a bit queasy.

What if they knew? What then?

Once was insane enough. Once could be written off as a mistake, a terrible lapse in judgement.  An embarrassing and regrettable fluke.

But twice? Twice is a choice, a conscious decision.  

Twice would make you complicit -- a co-conspirator, a co-defendant and a whole host of other “C” words you’d rather not contemplate right now.  

There would be no explaining away twice.

You busy yourself with getting a bottled water from the vending machine just to have an excuse to look away. You tell yourself not to be paranoid. You have no reason to suspect they know anything and this is not the time to borrow worry.

“I’m going to try and get some rest after we wrap for the day,” you say finally, opening the bottle to take a drink.  “See if I feel better after that.”

Dominguez’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.  

“You do that, Agent.”

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

Wrapped in a towel, fresh from a shower, you alternate between staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror and looking back at that damning piece of paper in your hand.

You should put on the nice-but-work-appropriate cocktail dress you’d chosen for the reception that you should be attending tonight.  You should drop this piece of paper in the trash, forget Jungkook Jeon exists and move on.  You should be having drinks with your colleagues from the San Juan office in an hour, making decisions that don’t amount to career suicide and living life on the straight and narrow like a normal fucking human being.

Should, should, should.

You walk over to your suitcase and pull out a slim-cut sundress with spaghetti straps instead. You smooth your hands over the delicate material, imagine the light weight of the fabric would feel just right in this humid weather.  You slip the dress over your shoulders, smooth it down with your hands, turn from side to side to assess the fit.

For a moment you close your eyes and allow yourself to imagine Jungkook slipping his hands underneath this dress, pushing the hem up your thighs. You imagine his thumbs and fingers circling the sensitive skin there.  His lips on your neck.  His voice in your ear.

The sound of an incoming text knocks you out of your fantasy and you open your eyes to see your flushed reflection staring back in the mirror. You reach for your phone.

you gonna make it out tonight? [ 5:48 PM ]

You stare at Dominguez’s message for a moment.

Decision time.

Are you?

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

You’ve been over every step you took before leaving the hotel at least a dozen times by now.

You’d sent Domniguez a text, claiming to be under the weather.

You’d left your phone in the safe in your room.

You’d walked out of the hotel through a service exit and into a waiting car.

All clear, decisive, sane choices despite the fact that you are obviously a crazy person. Because no one in their right mind would be pulling this kind of stunt.

The ride is short, only a few minutes from your federally-funded accommodations to the much more humble beachside hotel where Jungkook told you to meet him. You give the driver more than enough money to cover the fare and tip and step out into the thick night air.  You spot him a short distance away, sitting at a tiki bar just off the water.

Puerto Rico has apparently been very good to Jungkook Jeon.  

He is reclined casually in a barstool, drinking a bottled beer.  The creamy off-white of his linen shirt is a perfect contrast to the deep golden tan he’s managed to acquire these past few months. He’s let his wavy black hair grow long again and it falls just below his ears. The laugh he shares with the bartender reveals his smile and makes him look relaxed and radiant and fucking perfect.

Jungkook turns in his stool just as you approach and the slow, appreciative once-over he gives you makes your entire body feel warm. The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile.

Dammit.

You’ve got to get your head on straight.

Jungkook isn’t some hot, available guy you’re trying to land. He’s a wanted man and the fact that he’s sitting out in the open at this tiny outdoor beach bar makes you nervous. It’s a saving grace that the bar is damned near dead but there are still too many angles, too many clear lines of sight. You’re annoyed that he’s being so flippant about keeping a low profile.  

You wait until you are close enough to whisper before you speak.

“This is a terrible idea.”

He cocks a brow. “Drinks?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you hiss. “We need to go somewhere more private.”

“Christ woman,” he groans. “Don’t you know it’s polite to wine and dine me first? I’m not a piece of meat, you know.”

He grins when you huff your frustration.

“Besides, if you were really worried about drawing attention --” he pauses, rakes an appreciative gaze across your décolletage, “-- you certainly wouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, does he ever turn it off? Is he incapable of recognizing how risky and fucked up this situation really is?

“You’re an idiot,” you bite out, turning to leave -- but Jungkook grabs for your wrist.

“Relax,” he soothes, pulling you back.  “Seriously.  I have the situation under control.”

A charged moment passes as you give him a long look. His hand remains firm and warm around your wrist.

“Do you trust me?”

What a ridiculous question.  

What you know about Jungkook Jeon could fit on an index card, and what little information you do have doesn’t exactly do him any favors. You’re putting your career -- potentially even your freedom at risk even being here.

But something about the naked sincerity on his face makes you want to trust him.

God only knows why.

You take a deep breath in and out before sliding into the barstool he’s pulled out for you.  The bartender smiles from a few feet away, makes his way over.  You tense, turning to face away and Jungkook puts a steadying hand on your knee.

“It’s cool,” he murmurs. “He knows me.”

“Why on earth do you think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” you fire back.

“I think -- you just need to have a drink,” he reasons, eyes sparkling. He lifts his beer to his lips and you catch yourself staring for a moment at the way the tendons in his arms flex, the way his lips slide over the mouth of the bottle.

Has the simple act of drinking a beer always looked that masculine?

Shit, you do need a drink.

You order a mojito without ever looking the bartender in the eye. Whoever he is -- Jungkook’s buddy it would seem -- he’s understanding about your appalling lack of manners. He can probably recognize a truly fucked-up situation from a mile away and is steering clear like someone with an inkling of common sense.

For his part, Jungkook has dropped the flirtatious act for a moment and the small smile that plays across his face is calm and reassuring.

It works.

“Alright Jeon,” you sigh after a moment. “Let’s talk. How did you do it?”

He takes a long drink of his beer.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

You’d expected as much. You would bet everything in the bank that his parents helped him get out of Los Angeles.  The kind but guarded look on his face is the closest you’ll get to a confirmation of that fact.

“Ask me anything else.”

“Fine.  How did you pull off the stunt at the airport?”

“Oh, that was easy,” Jungkook teases. “I found the driver holding your name card and offered him twice the fare. He was happy to help me out. Nice guy, actually.”

“He’s lucky you didn’t cut me into pieces,” you grumble.

Jungkook laughs. “You’ve got a wild imagination. Besides, who wouldn’t trust a face like this?”

To make his point, he turns from side to side to offer you a better look at his profiles. Outwardly you roll your eyes, but inwardly it’s hard to ignore the sharp line of his jaw, the perfectly symmetrical angles of his face.  You take another long drink from the cocktail in your hand.

“Why Puerto Rico?”

“Why not? The scenery is beautiful, the food is delicious, and people know how to mind their own goddamned business,” He takes another sip of beer. “Besides, you guys didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of options when you took my passport. And hey -- thanks for that, by the way.  Finding a good fake is a real bitch.”

“We’re not travel agents, Jeon,” you snort.

He laughs.

“So this -- “ you motion to the small building attached to the tiki bar, “ -- is where you’ve been staying?”

“Dammit, woman — I said ask me anything, not everything. You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”  

He grins at the glare you fix him with.  

“I’m kidding, obviously. No way you’d be able to hide a wire under that delightful little number.”

He chuckles when you flush.

“So yeah, this is one place I’ve been staying. Mostly locals around here.  After the storm, so many new people turned up to help rebuild that it’s been pretty easy to blend in with the new faces.  Plus, it’s not hard to find work.”

“So you’ve got this all figured out, huh?”

“Some of it,” he demures, and you can’t help but notice he’s managed to slide a little closer.  His proximity is distracting. You’ve only had one drink and you already feel a bit lightheaded.

Jungkook scrubs a hand down his mouth, fixes you with a long look.

“Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Fair enough,” you concede.

“You gonna go to dinner with him?”

You exhale a nervous laugh against the rim of your glass. You’d wondered if the series of back-and-forth emails between you and Agent Kim Namjoon would come up. You should have known it would.

Agent Kim’s last email came this week. It said he would be traveling to Los Angeles for some training soon.

It said that he wanted to take you to dinner.  

You should have fired back an enthusiastic yes! right away because Agent Kim is hot and smart and to your knowledge has zero outstanding warrants.

But you didn’t.

Jungkook tilts the mouth of his beer against his lips.  

“Well?”

“Yes,” you say, finally.

“Don’t.”

The reply is so abrupt, so emphatic that you have to laugh.

“Why?”

“He’s an empty suit. A cardboard cut-out. Not right for you at all.”

The smirk on Jungkook’s mouth indicates he’s teasing, but his tone indicates something else entirely. The territorial current that runs under his words is annoying and exciting and complicated.

“He’s just trying to fuck you, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at that.

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“No,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I have fucked you. I plan on fucking you again. He and I are not the same, at all.”

His words set off a throb between your thighs and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, uncross and recross your legs.  Jungkook leans back, looking satisfied with how much he’s managed to unnerve you.

“So this is some kind of pissing contest?”

You laugh to keep the sounds of your words light, but your words come out uneven. “You stalk my inbox for months and abduct me from the airport to what -- keep me from fucking Agent Kim? You hate him that much?”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Kim,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“You know what this is about. Don’t play with me.”

He’s right, of course.  You do know what this is about.  

It’s why you fucked him in an airplane bathroom against all rules of decorum and common sense.  It’s why you’re here, making stupid decisions and taking dumb risks instead of back at your hotel playing it safe. It’s why you’ve never been able to stop thinking about him.

Something connects you to this man, something you don’t really understand -- and now you know for a fact that whatever it is, it isn’t one-sided.

Your body is rigid, unnaturally still as the bartender drops off new drinks and you immediately reach for the glass, if for no other reason than to stall.  Jungkook takes a long sip from his new beer before speaking again.  You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t look back.

“I like you.”  

No sarcastic quip follows. No charged sexual innuendo.  Something about that simple admission is more intimate than the fact that he’s literally been inside you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” is the only thing you can think to say.  

Jungkook shoots you a playful smile.

“I know you like mojitos.  I know you have a standing appointment with some fancy hair salon in LA every six weeks.  I know you order Chipotle far more than is necessary or probably healthy.”

He leans closer and the look on his face changes into something different -- something that makes you shiver.  He slides his hand under your jaw, tips your head up, strokes a thumb across your cheek.  

“I know what you sound like when you come,” he whispers. “I know I’d like to hear that again.”

Oh, God.

This must be what it’s like to drown. To see your demise play out before your eyes but still feel powerless to stop it.  Every smart-assed retort you could fire back dies on your tongue and all you can do is blink when Jungkook brushes his lips against yours.

“And I know you like me too,” he whispers against your mouth.

He’s right.

You do.

You really, really do.

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

It’s like a switch flips inside your brain.  Once you start kissing him, you can’t stop.  

You both fall through the open door to his room in a tangle of limbs and lips.

Jungkook lifts you up off the floor and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, never stopping the assault on his mouth and skin.  He moans when you lick a stripe up his neck. He tastes like salt and sunscreen and sex and you are so desperate to feel him inside you that you can’t think straight.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he protests, walking you both over to the mattress.  He drops you unceremoniously on top of the bedding.

“Stop.”

“God, no,” you groan, panting.  “Why?”

He takes a deep breath in and out, shoves a hand through his hair.  

“I promised myself I was going to take my time with you if I ever got this chance again,” he explains, voice ragged with arousal. “No cuffs. No rush. Not this time.”

You huff in exasperation and climb up onto your knees on the mattress.  

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you drop both hands to the hem of your dress and pull it up and off in one swift motion.  You’d had to forgo a bra given the skimpy nature of your sundress and it’s easy to forget he hasn’t really seen you naked. The look on his face says he heartily approves.

“Take your time later,” you fire back.  “Take your clothes off now.”

Jungkook laughs.  “Are you always this bossy?”

“Yes.  If you wait one minute longer I’m going to sober up and realize this is a terrible decision. Take your clothes off.”

“Hush woman.”  

He silences you with mock annoyance as his fingers drop to work the buttons of his shirt. You catch your mouth before it drops open as he pulls the shirt off, exposing the chiseled planes of his body.  You swallow thickly when he drops the garment to the floor.  

No human being should be allowed to look like this.

It’s obscene.

The tattoos that run across his hands and forearms extend up to his shoulders, across his chest. The defined lines that outline his abdomen are made even more plain by his deep breaths.  He is -- hands down -- the sexiest man you have ever seen in your life.  

“Shit Jungkook, you’ve been holding out on me,” you breathe, a note of awe in your voice.

“And I knew you had amazing tits,” he grins, shoving his jeans off his hips. “Lie back.”

The gruff command makes your body tight with anticipation.  Jungkook’s face is damp with sweat, locks clinging to his brow when he sinks down onto the mattress and crawls until he’s hovering over you.

“Goddamnit,” he whispers, slanting his lips over yours.  “Goddamnit, I’ve been thinking about this for so damned long.”

You sigh into his mouth.

Me too, you want to say. But you don’t.

“I’ve thought about the way you taste every single day, did you know that?”

He circles one aching nipple with his tongue and teeth.  You whimper at the heavy drag of his tongue.  

“I’ve imagined getting my mouth on you again far more than is normal or sane,” he whispers against your skin, pulling the damp lace of your panties off your ankles and tossing it away.

“Jungkook,” you whine. “Please.”

His lips skate over the sensitive skin between your breasts, across your stomach as he slides downward.  Your body stills when you feel his lips at your entrance, breath warm against your wetness.  

The first touch of his tongue is quick, teasing.  You’re wound so tight your hips jerk off the bed at that light contact.

“Easy girl,” Jungkook teases, sealing his mouth over your clit.  The strong fingers of one hand press into your hip, grip you tight to keep you from pulling away.  He slips one long finger from his other hand inside you to join his tongue in the all-out assault.

“God you are sexy,” he groans, licking deeply into you.  You grab handfuls of his damp hair in between shaking fingers.   “You’ve ruined me for all other federal agents, you know.”

Your laugh bleeds into a gasp when Jungkook slips a second finger inside of you, presses harder against you with his tongue.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, legs trembling. You roll your hips mindlessly, enjoying the way he moans in response.

“You gonna let me hear it again?” his words vibrate almost painfully against your already aching clit. “Be as loud as you want this time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh in agreement, feeling that telltale prickle building between your thighs.

He sets you off with the firm press of the heel of his hand on your mound.  You can’t control your body’s reaction when the pressure against that sensitive wall and the stimulation of your clit combine.  Your back arches high off the bed when you start to come apart, moaning wantonly.

Your orgasm seems to go on and on forever and Jungkook whispers words of encouragement as you ride it out.  He doesn’t stop with his tongue and fingers until you start to quiver from the overstimulation, breaths hitching when shudders run up and down your back.

“Dammit, Jungkook,” you gasp once you regain control of your ragged breathing.

He laughs as he kisses his way back up your body, across your chest and neck.  You welcome the press of his body when he settles over you.  He grinds his hips down and you whimper at the feel of his rigid cock straining against his boxers.   You clench hard at the memory of him deep inside you.

“Take those off,” you order, scraping your teeth against the damp skin of his neck.

“Ask me nice and I might consider it,” he teases.

You shoot him a playfully disapproving look before pushing against his shoulder until he rolls over.  His eyes fall shut when you climb over him and drag your drenched center against the firm outline of his cock.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers, and you lean forward to seal your lips over his.  He pants into your mouth as you rock against him.

You slide down his body after a moment, hooking your fingers into his boxers and pulling them down with you.

The thing about your hurried little encounter inside that airplane bathroom is that it’s hard to remember the details.  It was so rushed and illicit and bizarre that you can barely recount what he felt like, what he looked like in the moment.  But right now -- when his cock springs free and he looks down at you from beneath heavy lids and he looks so sincerely fucked out -- you make sure to commit this moment to memory.  

Jungkook sucks a strangled breath between his teeth when you take him in your mouth.  His fingers immediately wind into your hair and you sigh around his length when he groans his satisfaction.  His hips jerk when you pull off of him, dragging your tongue against the sensitive spot under the head of his cock before releasing it.

“Shit,” he moans, “I forgot how good you are at that.”

You laugh and wrap one hand firmly around the base of his cock. He’s already leaking at the tip and he hisses when you sweep your tongue across the swollen head. He gathers your hair in his hands, pulls gently on the strands but you can feel the restraint he’s exercising. His body is radiating tension, taut with unspent energy.  

“You can get rougher if you want,” you breathe, pumping him steadily with your hands.  

His agonized groan tells you he’d love to take you up on that offer.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he pants, words sounding pained. “I’m doing everything I can not to literally blow my second chance here.”

You release his cock with a smile and he pulls away to shift his body up the bed. He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a condom.  He holds it up for a moment and the two of you share a knowing laugh.

The laughter dies the moment you crawl up the bed to join him and take the condom out of his hand.  Jungkook’s eyes are dark and focused as you rip it open and roll it down his straining cock.  Once it’s in place he steals the air from your lungs with a deep kiss and pulls you onto his lap.  

You’re struck still for a moment when you look down at him just as you are lining him up with your entrance. He looks back at you with those blown-out pupils and kiss-bitten lips and you lose your momentum.  You should say something or do something but it’s so damned hard to focus when he’s looking at you like that.

He brushes a damp lock of hair away from your face with his fingers and fixes you with an expectant look.

You want to tell him how handsome he is.

You want to tell him that he’s the most interesting person you’ve ever met.

But you don’t.  

Jungkook rescues you from your sudden crisis with a well-timed tease.

“You’ve been rushing me since we got here,” he chuckles, brow raised. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”

He grabs the base of his stiff cock with one hand, rubs the head against your clit to make his point. You answer him with a desperate kiss, swallowing the groan he makes when you finally sink down.

His hands move to either side of your ass to guide the movement of your hips.  Your first few thrusts are hesitant, shaky as you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you.  He feels harder and thicker than you remember.

“Oh, god --” you moan.

You feel his faint hum of satisfaction against your breasts.  He tongues messily at your aching nipples, sucks them into his mouth.  His fingers dig into your ass as he thrusts up to meet your thrusts down.  

His mouth is full of you. His hands are full of you.  You are full of him.  The feeling of filling and being filled is unbearable at this point.  It’s so much stimulation at once that it borders on painful.

“Feel so good wrapped around me like this,” Jungkook groans. “I can’t get enough.”

Me neither, you want to say. I’ve been dying to feel you like this, you nearly whisper.

But you don’t.

You feel disoriented for a moment and grab onto the headboard for desperately needed balance.  It gives you the leverage you need to take him deeper, faster, and the steady rhythm of his thrusts and breaths starts to pick up in speed.

Then you make the mistake of opening your eyes and looking down into his face.

He is covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes hooded and mouth slack with pleasure. He fixes you with a look so erotic you nearly blush.  It’s pretty ridiculous to be literally riding a man’s cock and feel suddenly shy, but that’s exactly what happens.  

You force yourself to close your eyes.

Jungkook buries his face in your neck. You feel one of his hands move away from your hips, down to where the two of you meet. The rough pad of one thumb starts to work your clit and the stimulation distracts you for a moment, makes your rhythm sloppy.  

“I want to feel you come,” he breathes, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone and neck. “I want to know what it feels like when I’m inside you.”

“So close,” you whine on a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna go off like a bomb,” he groans, stroking so deep you see stars.  “Take me with you.”

If it weren’t for the one hand keeping you anchored to the headboard, you’d have collapsed onto him with the sheer force of your orgasm.  You whimper as Jungkook’s orgasm rips through him, body shuddering as he pounds harder and faster.  It takes a few frantic, frenzied moments for his rhythm to slow and his moans to subside.

Then you do slump onto him, spent and sweaty and rubbery with utter exhaustion. You’re both still for a moment, damp bodies pressed together as you both catch your breath.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

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

You take a shower together.  

Afterwards, you both fall back into bed clean and warm.  

You make good on your promise to let Jungkook take his time this go-around.  He fucks you slow and relaxed from behind while you lay side by side.  The steady lap of the waves outside his window is a perfect backdrop as he whispers into your ear and buries himself deep inside you.

Afterwards, everything is still but the waves.  

You both enjoy the complete silence for a while.  Your stroke your fingers across the strong forearm Jungkook has wrapped around you and he breathes deeply into your hair.  It feels natural, somehow.

It feels good.  

You can’t remember the last time anything felt this good.

“Stay with me,” Jungkook whispers after a while, nosing into the nape of your neck.  He drops a soft kiss on the sensitive skin just below your ear.  

“I can’t,” you whisper back.  “I have a meeting first thing in the morning. Don’t tell me you skipped that email.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I wasn’t talking about tonight.”

You go rigid from head to toe.  Maybe you didn’t hear that right.

“What?”

“Stay with me,” he says again, like it’s going to make more sense the second time he says it. “We could go all over the world and eat the best food and fuck in the most beautiful places.”  His fingers stroke up your side, sending chills up your back. “It could be great.”

You wait for him to laugh.  He doesn’t.

You pull out of his hold, flip your body so that you’re facing him.  You expect to see his teasing smirk staring back, but you don’t. He looks serious.

“What the fuck was in that beer, Jeon?”

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he says quietly. “You could think about it for a while.”

You stare at the side of his perfect profile, dazed for a moment by the strange combination of feelings swirling inside you right now.  

There’s disbelief at the insane Bonnie and Clyde fantasy he’s decided to pitch.

There’s disappointment because there’s a tiny part of you that wants to entertain that fantasy.

And there’s a little bit of heartache because right now he looks so lonely.  

That’s the part that gnaws at you.  It makes you feel raw and exposed.  So you do what you know best and try to redirect with humor.

“Who’s got a wild imagination now, huh?”

His lips twitch into a wry smile.  

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

You’d waited until you were certain he was asleep before slipping out of his arms and out of the bed.  He slept heavy, not stirring once while you slipped into your clothes and shoes.  He slept like someone without a care in the world.

Hardly.

It had taken a moment to find a piece of paper.  It was only just as you were about to give up that you remembered Jungkook’s note, tucked safely into your bag.

You looked back at him in the bed -- studied him for a moment before quietly scrawling a note on the other side of that piece of paper.

you know i can’t. i’m sorry.