#but i want to talk about meaningless stuff

[sadtonight]

Eric Venue — Vil Street

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[romansmartini]

can we hold hands and listen to this together

[slug-demon]

look. proship vs anti-ship is another one of those debates that is treated too black and white for my tastes. i do not consider myself proship and a lot of people who choose to describe themselves as proship make content that makes me deeply uncomfortable and conflicts with my personal moral perception of the world. however i am STRONGLY anti-censorship and i feel like a lot of anti-ship people really do not understand the implications of the stuff they seem to want. like i hate to say it but i like ao3 because you can host just about anything there. you never have to worry about 'sensitive' topics being banned unjustly. and like, you can't really ban a topic all together in most situations because it blocks productive portrayal and discussion around real-life topics which is important. i would rather have uncomfortable and weird fanfic on the site i use than have to worry about the website being bought out or changing management or some shit and starting censoring any mention of 'distasteful' or 'inappropriate' topics. sometimes writing contains rape, incest and other uncomfortable topics in a non-glorifying or productive light and censoring those works would be unfair. also the idea of all art needing to have a purpose or a sort of productivity to it comes from capitalistic ideals about art as a product and not as expression, so i also don't think the gross underage incest rape fic should be censored either. if you start censoring, where will the line be drawn? how will you maintain the line? what will you do if societal and/or popular opinion of what should be allowed changes? it's all deeply rooted in capitalism and exclusion and othering/'i'm better than you' ways of thinking. so i'm not proship or anti ship i'm anti censorship and pro minding my damn business when something unrelated to me makes me uncomfortable. ao3 has tagging. block the tags from your searches. it is that easy.

[caffeinatedopossum]

I don't know what to say. Someone very close to the most important person in my life just died. Probably the most important person in their life. And I never got to meet them

[peregrineggsandham]

But that’s wrong? Someone can say “Its raining”, but that doesn’t mean the other person hears or even understands them, even if they speak the same language. It means nothing.

I mean, we can just talk about the sequence of sounds that we can write out phonetically as /ɪts ˈreɪnɪŋ/. And yes, those are inherently meaningless. It's just a bunch of noises! As I said, nothing iconic, or even remotely evocative of rain.

But meaning is formed around that sequence of sounds by those who create and hear it - speaker and listener alike. And that meaning is predicated on a wonderful mix of speaker intention, listener bias, historical context, shared cultural knowledge, and a host of unspoken conversational maxims and patterns.

I was definitely focusing on the meaning as interpreted by the listener in that last post, so I'm sorry if that confused things. And I was sort of assuming that the listener and speaker were in an ongoing conversation and understanding each other. But even if they weren't, even if the listener couldn't understand the speaker, that doesn't mean the utterance itself "means nothing". If said with the intent to communicate, then it definitely means something at the very least to the speaker! Like you said - someone can say it! And there lies a full half of the meaning.

Conversation is inherently a collaborative act, but it starts with the speaker's intent behind an utterance. They're taking a complex idea - the concrete "rain", the more abstract "-ing" and "'s", the somewhat idiomatic "it" - and turning that combination of ideas into the movement of a stream of air, following a strict set of patterns and rules that developed organically over thousands of years. That's neat!

If the listener doesn't speak the language, or mishears, then they may not pick up on that meaning. It could just be sounds, to them. Or they may even misunderstand, and pick up an unintended meaning. If they lack some of the required context (e.g. by not knowing a word), or if the speaker is flouting one of those unspoken maxims (e.g. by being sarcastic) and the listener doesn't realize it, the meaning may be warped.

The utterance of the sounds /ɪts ˈreɪnɪŋ/, the writing of the phrase "It's raining", you're right that these aren't inherently meaningful. If the sequence "itsraining" happened to appear in a randomly-generated string of letters, I wouldn't personally assume any meaning to it. And since this train of thought did start on the topic of magic, I'll say I find nothing particularly magical about a string of random sounds or letters either.

(Now, if you did see meaning in that random string, I think you'd effectively be practicing some kind of divination, by believing that there was intent behind the randomness. That the universe or whoever or whatever produced the string was actively trying to communicate with you. That's a pretty common idea when we talk about certain kinds of "magic". I think it's interesting that words, symbols, and communication from some unseen "speaker" are so integral to our understanding of it, and I think there's something to be said there for seeing language itself as an inherently "magical" thing regardless of whether your interlocutor is just your next-door neighbor or... whatever you personally believe is at the other end of an alectryomancy session. But dammit Jim I'm a phonetician, not an occultist.)

Point is, in conversation, in the context of a person speaking to another (regardless of whether it's understood), an utterance (or any sequence of symbols) is meaningful because of the intent behind it. Not the sounds themselves, but the very act of turning ideas into symbols - and back again.

...

I apologize if I'm repeating myself a bit - it's quite late and the question of "what does it mean for a utterance to have meaning" is actually a really interesting and complicated one, anon!

I'm admittedly being more flowery and less technical about it here because in the end my other main point is just "Isn't language really astoundingly neat?", but this is the stuff from which journal articles are written. (Usually involving a surprising amount of predicate logic.) It's an important line of inquiry because it can help explain a lot of where communication goes right and wrong, how misunderstandings happen, and how to effectively convey ideas to others.

That said, to be fair this isn't my specific area of expertise - I'm in the phon/phon corner where we ask people to make noises and stare at spectrograms all day, this is more the sem/prag corner where they put lambda calculus and philosophy in a blender.

@cryptotheism Ach, look what you made me do, I'm rambling about sounds.

[pochapal]

Oh yeah, remember to do the Tea Parties and ??? chapters after each episode, they're important.

i have no clue what these things are so instead of thinking about this i will pretend that this information does not exist until the time when i would learn about it naturally. (not trying to be mean or anything but this is skirting very much into spoiler territory! things are more fun when i figure things out/approach them at my own pace and in my own time!)

[morelikedoccock]

Alright I’m finally gonna address this because it frustrated me enough that it’s been sitting in my drafts for weeks (cw another long and angry ramble about respect and boundaries) ⬇️

This is just… very frustrating. I am an outspoken advocate for curating your internet experience, which means blocking people for any reason (from genuine irritation to just off vibes) if you feel the need to do so. I block empty blogs most of the time cause they annoy me. I’ve blocked people because I disagree with the things they post, or just because the way that they interact with me doesn’t feel great.

Not to sound like a real dick or anything, but I don’t owe any stranger on here anything. If we’ve been friends for a while, I might feel obligated to explain a hard block via DMs (which I have done before and will do again if the situation arises), but other than that, we’re all just strangers on here. If I have blocked you, it’s because I don’t want you to be interacting with my stuff anymore, that’s it.

The fact that this person felt the need to send this to me probably from an entirely separate tumblr, (despite us never having had even a whole conversation), just immediately tells me that they don’t respect my boundaries as a blog or a as person. Long answer short: no, I’m not going to explain specifically why, and I don’t think I need to.

If you’re decent and respectful, I promise I will have absolutely no problem with you. I appreciate y’all who follow me a fucking lot. Y’all have been lovely and kind and sweet to me, and I very much enjoy interacting with y’all.

If you and I don’t know each other at all and you do find yourself blocked here, though, I would prefer if you simply respect that boundary I’ve established and move on.

I’ve worked hard as fuck to try to have a good time on here, including being respectful and decent to others as best I can, but doing that work involves setting and respecting boundaries. I’m just an anxious human person existing in this wild hellscape, and I’m more than happy to do the complicated work of communicating with friends about conflict if need be, but I’ve also learned to be pretty hard and fast about those boundaries, and it’s helped me a lot.

Once again, to all y’all who follow me, appreciate what I do, and respect me (and also have gotten through all of this rambling):

I appreciate y’all endlessly. Please know that you boost my artistic self esteem and brighten my days routinely, and that means a heck of a lot to me❤️

[kelprot-old]

theres one piece of discourse that’s been floating around in my head for a month or two now from my sideblog that i wish i could discuss in some way but i also have no idea if it’s just something i’ve got weird personal views on or whatever

[spicebiter]

Watching Serial Experiments Lain was an experience because it's weird- it feels something like a fever dream and a glitching one at that, but with a story that I can still follow enough to want to stay asleep. I'm reminded of that Rob Zombie movie House of 1000 Corpses and the way it was interspersed with cuts of VHS tapes, altered footage of landscapes, and bits of documentary-type footage.

It has times when it makes no sense at all, mostly when they're talking about coding God and whatnot, but it's sort of a science fiction type so there's bound to be things that they'll say with their whole chest that mean fuck all. The factor that makes it work is not over-explaining or trying too hard to make the bullshit you say sound real. It has to sound implausible but possible (ie 'That doesn't sound right but I don't know enough about ____ to dispute it'), and Lain does a wonderful job of that especially with the episode that has bits regarding scientists and philosophers that lead up to the whole concept of coding God.

I decided to watch the series because I've been seeing it brought up in memes and references a lot lately and having seen it now I'm not surprised it's resurfacing since apparently Y2K aesthetics are coming back into style and the series is, of course, chock full of that. It really has charming technology design. Watching Lain's room fill with computer parts and intricate cooling systems and such really makes me want to crack open a PC's casing like nothing else. The phones are really eye-catching, as well, and remind me so much of all the short lived cell phone designs that came out in the 2000s before the market was taken over more solidly by Apple and Samsung and such. I have a whole inspiration folder filled with tech like that because they had sooo much character you can't find existing naturally in tech design anymore with things being focused on streamlined silhouettes and compactness.

It's also interesting in concept, most especially with the ending. All in all, it's a series that goes by quickly and is easy to watch in one sitting if you have a couple of hours free, and I'm glad to have dedicated a few hours of my own time to it. (Fair Warning, the series has extensive focus on suicide, drug use, and de-realization/de-personalization/un-reality)

[arthyritis]

I constantly fight myself on what I want my tattoos someday to be

Some days I want to be covered in vines and tree branches and things

And other days I want a patchwork kind of doodle thing

I have special tattoos planned

And I have meaningless things with the intention to look less human

I have no end goal here I just want to be me

[edettethegreat]

[medicinemane]

You know, capitalism is another one of those words that sadly is like problematic in that it's functionally useless because people just toss it out and then everyone gets so hung up debating the meaning of the word capitalism that the whole point is lost

That's why I don't ever really use it. It doesn't really matter if it's capitalism or if it's cronyism or... whatever, I think it's bad when companies make record profits while prices go up up up

I think there's probably an issue and it probably needs to be solved (and I'm afraid you can't convince me less regulation is a magic bullet)

I like currency and exchanging currency because it seems like a good way of moving goods and labor around, but I also strongly support welfare and think that any group of more than 50 people is probably starting to get corrupt

Don't trust the government, but sure as hell don't trust corps...

I don't know, my original point is that sadly capitalism gets tossed around too much to mean anything anymore... but I just see too many argumentative people online so I'm tossing out my stances to avoid getting side tracked debating what I mean

What I really really mean is just fucking say what you're saying and don't bother saying capitalism cause you'll just make people argue and miss your point

[jayvespertine]

I want to throw you against a wall, wrap your legs around my waist and kiss you. Kiss you until we have to stop to catch our breaths. I want you and only you. I want to take you on road trips that lead us to pulling over on the side of the road because we can’t keep our hands off each other. I want you and your flaws. I want your messy makeup from teary eyes as I hold you and talk to you about life. I want the 3am phone calls because you can’t sleep at night. I want to be yours and only yours. I want to taste all your cooking, even if it’s not good, even if it’s experimenting I’d have you cook every meal for the rest of my life. I want you. I want my trembling hands to grab your waist and dance with you in the middle of an empty room. I want to struggle on days when I can’t see you. I want to fight about meaningless stuff that will lead to meaningful sex. I want you. I want your hand to rest on my forearm as we enter a party, so I can reassure you that you are safe with me. I want to sing to you in the shower and have you shut me up with kisses because we both know I’m no singer. I want the ups and downs, the winter and summer days. I want you and only you

[spacelazarwolf]

this is the thing. if i talk to a zionist and tell them my stance, they tell me i’m a zionist. if i talk to an antizionist and tell them my stance, they tell me i’m an antizionist.

this is the exact reason i don’t identify myself as either. because in online discourse, they are essentially meaningless. if i’m talking to someone who identifies themself as a zionist, i don’t know if i’m talking to someone who just thinks jews should be able to live peacefully in the levant if they want to, or to someone who wants an authoritarian jewish theocracy at the cost of palestinian lives. if i’m talking to someone who identifies themselves as an antizionist, i don’t know if i’m talking to someone who staunchly opposes the israeli government and its occupation, or to someone who thinks every israeli citizen should die and hamas should establish an authoritarian islamic theocracy.

when i think about my stance, what my goal is, what i want to accomplish with my activism, my last priority is trying to decide what to call myself. i don’t give a fuck which word people on the internet decide matches up with my opinions. i care about what i can do in the diaspora to facilitate liberation. and to be clear, there really is not much i can do. i will not single handedly free palestine. but i’m hoping i can appeal to both zionists who care about the well-being of palestinians and oppose the atrocities committed by the israeli government, and to antizionists who care about the well-being of jews and want to find a solution that keeps us all safe.

and like. i know this is the arguing about labels website. but these labels are so charged that there’s constantly pressure from both “sides” to pick one. and i am simply not going to do that. bc i do not matter. my opinions do not matter. what matters is the safety and well-being of palestinians, so instead of arguing with tankies on the internet who will always demand i be more violent, i’m going to do what i do best. which is just be some guy on the internet who does their best to post some educational stuff and try to have nuanced discussions for people who actually want to have them.

[futureplayboibunnie]

Heartless Pt.1

Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem! reader

You and Miguel are married to each other…and it wasn’t because of love.

okay i’ve redirected this fic and made it into a slowburn multi chapter series, in hindsight my last idea was too abrupt. i feel like this storyline is wayyyy better. I LOVEEEE SLOWBURN. i hope ya’ll like this one better! Part 2 up now!

PS. if you don’t like this type of stuff, don’t be stupid and comment on it because I really don’t care enough to hear it, use ur fingers and scroll. it’s not that hard.

You thought your wedding day would've been more romantic than this.

More personal, more involved, a consolidation of the many moments you shared with the man you were going to love forever, but free will and liberation were something that you gave up when your parents decided that it was in your family's entrepreneurial interest to participate in a partnership with the O'Hara Dynasty.

You weren't mad. It was just...different. You knew this day was coming but it was all wrapped together quite nicely, in a neat little bow.

Everything was done with the utmost sensitivity and respect, the O'Hara family's Consigliere placed piles of paperwork in front of you, NDAs were rarely ever necessary, and guns and fists normally did the trick but Miguel personally wanted all of this to be clean. He was getting married for the sole purpose of extending his power and influence, being a part of the 5 Families in this city wasn't something that was done without shedding blood. And Miguel shed a lot. This was a very important occasion to him, marriage was important in all generations of his family, and almost every single Don arranged a marriage with a woman from another Dynasty just for the purpose of spreading influence and agendas. Miguel and his brother talked for hours about it and in the end, he had to do what was necessary for his family and his capos. He needed to conserve what was his whilst also inserting his power.

Dealing with ill-tempered men and being a sounding board for their last scraps of sanity wasn't new but Miguel wasn't that. He was just silent in a way you didn't like. It was almost unsettling. Maybe it would be easier to hate him if he was an asshole, but he was very kind and respectful in the little words he said to you.

All of this was strictly professional, a beautiful show for the underworld. It was ridiculous and you felt like a fool, and after the day you had, it felt perfectly reasonable to feel that way.

It was your wedding day and word got around fast.

The dress he picked was fine.

The ceremony was fine

The ring was fine

Everything was just fine.

Now you were in his cold, lavishly destitute penthouse at an ungodly hour, sitting around, still in the wedding dress that you haven't taken off for some reason- maybe to compensate for the fact that you'll throw it in a corner, leave it in the cold and black dark, collecting dust for you to never see it again. Miguel's capos had to scamper around and follow you just about anywhere but for once, they left you alone with Miguel shooing them out.

Is this what your life would be like? Sitting around, waiting for something to happen? Was everything meant to be so banal and grey?

“You looked lovely today.” A low voice grumbled behind you, you whipped your head around to see Miguel leaving his study and entering the living room, he was still wearing his tux with that unknotted ugly bow tie that was crooked the whole ceremony. He looked tired. You gave him an agreeable smile in response.

"Thank you.” You said politely, there was just nothing purposeful behind your voice. All there was between you and Miguel was agreeable conversation, polite and meaningless drivel to distract from the very true and real fact that you were betrothed, you both owed each other something. Miguel gave you protection and you gave Miguel his pathway to influence- it was a business transaction, that was all, but it didn't mean that all of this wasn't abnormal. “I can't reach the zipper, can you please zip me down?” You asked as if it was a normal question- it wasn't for your kind of relationship but what the hell was normal nowadays? For Christ's sake, you were married to a man you barely knew and you slept in different rooms.

Miguel approached you in silence, watching you stand up from the couch and turn around. He liked the dress, he picked it out himself, you looked nice. His fingers found the zipper and pulled down slowly, watching the slivers of skin appear with every small tug down.

As far as women go, Miguel wasn't really that interested in sleeping around, every woman he shared himself with became a target or an opportunity pry into his head- he didn't want anyone messing with his internal affairs. Sometimes he'd cave and fuck one of the women serving him drinks at private poker nights, they always made eyes at him, begging him with fluttering eyelashes and wet lips to fuck them senseless. He was a man after all, sometimes it was enjoyable, sometimes it wasn't, he just needed to get off.

You on the other hand, you were unreadable in a way that he didn’t know how to approach.Though sometimes he did find you talking to him like an acquaintance vaguely irritating he would definitely be a hypocrite for calling you out.

It felt like you were holding your breath when he was finished, you settled baxk into your senses, he gazed over the patch of skin peeking out of your dress. He stopped his gawking when you turned around and gave him a weak smile like you would a friend or a neighbour. "Thank you. Goodnight Miguel.” You walked passed him and went to your designated room. Miguel did the same

You never really thought of yourself as an incurable romantic, but this was truly dull and you contemporary marriage like this. Even if it was to one of the most dangerous men in the city.

-

You awoke to a cacophony of sizzling and rustling noises coming from outside your room, your dreary eyes lulled by sleep couldn't fight against the delicious smell wafting from outside. Before you could fully register that breakfast was being made, the first thing you noticed was the heavy feeling of dread resting on your chest, you raked a tired hand over your face and rubbed your eyes awake. Opening them up fully, you saw the white fabric on the floor. In another life, the husband you actually loved would be laying next to you, whispering sweet nothings. Your wedding dress and veil were strewn about as if it was an article of clothing a teenage girl would carelessly discard while figuring out what to wear for a date with Tommy or Billy or Jason or whoever. But this wasn't high school drama, this was the type of life you were conditioned into.

Blood, war, and money.

You weren't complaining, the protection it offered you was immense. Miguel was a corrupt man dealing with equally corrupt politicians and people of interest, he had to adapt in his work but a part of you didn't believe he was the poisonous person everyone always made him out to be. Maybe it was because you hadn't seen him in his raw, primal ways, beating people bloody. That's what made you weary.

You shifted up and headed over to the walk-in wardrobe. This was the part that really stunted you, Miguel wanted you to wear what he specifically liked, everything was picked out by him and you still didn't know how to feel about it, but it made you grimace. You stepped in and glanced at the hangers, they were all ordered out by color and style. You noticed that he seemed to like satin and silk, and he was very particular about color, he liked black, silver, grey and even a baby blushed pink in certain articles. Your fingers grazed over the silk of the nightwear dresses, and the fabric of the gala dresses- you didn't like the idea of having to play pretend in front of too many people. You idled towards the drawers and wondered what he preferred when it came to underwear. You raised a cynical eyebrow and your lips pursed in curiosity as you let your finger pull it open.

Your mouth unhinged in a surprise you expected, but not in the way you thought of. He definitely had a thing for lingerie. God, there was a pair of everything, lacy, strappy, padded, unpadded, sheer garters, sparkly garters, knee highs, thigh highs. He was very particular indeed. It was tailored to your perfect cup size. Fucking hell. He liked Brazilian underwear but he seemed have an affinity for a thong too. You sighed and closed the drawer, you didn't want to read into it. Your eyes wandered to the muted pink silk robe hanging next to the drawer. Hm. That'll do for breakfast.

Miguel looked up from his newspaper to see you padding barefoot to the table where a spread was laid out. His maid, although young, ditzy and so obviously desperate to fuck him, was a very talented cook but the coffee she made always tasted like dirt. “Thank you.” He said to her plainly, he couldn't even look at her due to him being distracted by your presence. Your face creased into a light frown as you stared at the eye candy handing Miguel his coffee before she left as Miguel waved his hand. Of course the women who worked around him had to be insanely beautiful.

“Good morning.” Miguel grumbled before taking a sip. You were wearing the silk robe he liked. Good. Good girl.

You didn't say anything back, acting aloof and nonchalant seemed to be the only way of conserving whatever sanity you had left. The back of your throat had back drool when you stared at the delicious spread in front of you. You didn't know what you wanted to eat first. You grabbed a few pickings of everything, topped off with a mimosa. You ate in polite silence, minding your business, uninterested in anything he had to say at this point. Miguel settled down his newspaper and glared at you, you weren't particularly bothered by his presence, and that made him...unsettled. It went on like this for a solid few minutes.

“What?” You asked him, not even giving him the decency of looking him in the eye. Miguel was silent for a moment, contemplating your presence before he opened his mouth.

“We're leaving the city tonight.” He said oh so casually in that deep, low voice of his.

"And why is that?”You sighed tiredly, a slightly amused smirk twitched at your lips at this out-of-the-blue statement.

Miguel clicked his tongue and cooed at you, “Because cariño, my Consigliere has informed me that our marriage is not boding well with the other 5 Families, they think it's a covert attack in some sort of way, a questioning of power or sorts. And also..” He cut himself off for a reason unknown to him. “He also thinks it's a prudent idea to have a honeymoon, to hone everything in and make this...real.” He murmured as he rolled up his shirt sleeve.

Your eyes pricked up at the word 'real.' Wasn't this real? The papers were real. The ring was real. But the actual connection…? You glowered at him, your eyes narrowed.

“Do you think this is real?”

Miguel didn't know how to answer that. “Isn't real relative?”

“No.” You replied thickly like you didn't even need to think about it.

“Look. I don't want to discuss this.”

“So you can't compromise.” You shot back.

“No, I won't.” He pushed his chair back aggressively and sat his coffee down hard, he looked irritated by all of this. He didn't like that you thought you had the power to interrogate him.

Miguel walked past you as he went to exit the room but then for some reason he halted in his tracks. Compromise. Miguel is not known for compromising. The people around him know that for a fact, but he doesn't want this marriage to be another agenda that he has to put up with. He didn't want to hate you.

He sighed.

“Choose where we go. Tell my brother and he'll tell my pilot.” Miguel said coldly, his tone clipped and gruff even when he was trying to build a bridge of some sort.

It didn't seem like you had a choice, so now you were just another lackey he ordered around.

[munson-blurbs]

How do you think Eddie would react to a fwb reader who uses sex as a distraction from their feelings?? Like, they’ve been having a bad week an their mental state isn’t great but heyyy there’s sex. Reader doesn’t really care about the pleasure part of sex just the distraction. Worried Eddie would feel a little used ngl :P

((Dancy dances away nervously))

I know you started this with "do you think" but my brain said WRITE A BLURB so here we are. Also shoutout @corroded-hellfire for helping me make it cute without being cliche.

Warnings: mentions of smut (18+ only, minors DNI), friends with benefits, angst/yearning, idiots in love, made it fluffy because I'm a sap

WC: 747

--

You hadn’t thought anything of it the night he’d called you “baby.” He was deep within you, melding his body with yours. Lost in the moment.

Or the night he’d mumbled, “your pussy was made for me” while slamming into you from behind. It was just dirty talk; nothing more and nothing less. 

Maybe you should have been tipped off when he’d growled, “mine,” his voice barely above a whisper as he pressed soft kisses below your earlobe. You’d figured the word, like the sex, was meaningless. 

But tonight’s comment stops you in your tracks. Your legs are wobbling beneath you, exhausted from riding him, as you step back into your pants. 

“Do you wanna, like, cuddle for a sec?”

A giggle escapes from your lips, swollen and kiss-bitten. He’s joking; he has to be. The two of you have a perfectly choreographed routine: you have a bad day, you call Eddie, you fuck, and then you leave. And his latest suggestion would definitely interfere with step four. 

When your eyes meet his, you realize that he’s serious. Hurt and confusion at your laughter crease his brows, and he tugs the sheet up a bit higher. 

“Sorry, I, um…” He shakes his head and rubs his face. “Never mind. You probably have to go anyway.”

You’re in no hurry to return home, fresh off of yet another argument with your roommate. That’s why you’d come over to Eddie’s trailer in the first place. And it isn’t as though you’d never thought about being in his strong, tattooed arms. The way he’d hold you flush against him, your cheek on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear. It’s something you’d once wanted—craved, even—but you couldn’t let vulnerability infiltrate you like that again. 

You spent high school watching him pine over the cheerleaders. He unwittingly broke your heart over and over with each woman he hooked up with at the Hideout, overlooking you despite your presence at every show. Being friends with benefits is risky enough, and post-sex snuggling will send you teetering over the edge back into the rocky terrain of unrequited love. 

And so you lean into humor as you shrug on your shirt. “I don’t think this friends-with-benefits arrangement includes cuddling.” Keeping your tone light and even, restraining every desire to crawl into bed with him. 

“Right, yeah.” He sighs and offers a sad half-smile. “It’s just…I was thinking—”

“That’s dangerous.”

He flips you off and continues. “I was thinking that maybe we could be more than that. Y’know, maybe we could have sex when you’re happy, too.” 

“I am happy when we have sex,” you counter.

Eddie shakes his head again. “I’m talking about before we do it.” He gnaws on his thumbnail. “It feels like you only want me when you have a bad day. A-And I’m glad I can be here for you and stuff, but sometimes I wonder if I’m a friend or just a good lay.”

You try to look at him when you speak, but he keeps his gaze trained on the ground. “Eddie,” you start, taking a seat next to him. His chest is slick with sweat, the soft hairs matted down. “Eddie, I had the biggest, dumbest crush on you when we were younger. And knowing I couldn’t have you tore me apart.” You let your hand rest on his. “I can’t risk having you and then losing you.”

“Losing me?” Eddie laughs softly and his free palm comes up to cup your cheek. “Look at me. Where am I going?”

“You could find someone new, someone better, someone who—”

He cuts you off with a searing kiss, remnants of your arousal still tinging his lips and tongue. “There’s no one better,” he murmurs. “You see me answering the door at two in the morning for anyone else? Think I’d miss out on precious sleep for them?” 

One arm hooks around you back and pulls you in until you assume the little spoon position. Nimble fingers undo the button of your jeans, slowly and patiently, a stark contrast to the way he’d practically torn the denim removing them earlier. 

“‘S that comfier?” He asks through a yawn.

“Mhm.” And it is. It’s the most relaxed you’ve been in a while, at least without him inside you. 

His curls tickle the back of your neck as he nuzzles into you. He staves off sleep long enough to speak one last time. 

“I’m glad you’re staying, baby.”

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