#sorry i didn't edit this

[flowercrown-bard]

Hi there ♡ Could I request a fluffy Jaskier/Eskel ficlet where Jaskier leaves little notes or poems on towns notice boards and Eskel collects them, following the trail until he comes across Jaskier again. It would be even sweeter if it was a first kiss fic.

Thank you ♡♡ feel free to tweak the idea however you like.

Thank you for the prompt!

word count: 2k

Witcher Wanted

Larger cities were a strange thing. Some of them were more progressive, more open towards the other and willing to treat witchers somewhat kindly. Other times, however, it was quite the opposite. More people meant a potentially bigger mob, should things go south. So when Eskel entered Novigrad, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He kept his shoulders hunched forward, so as to appear smaller and less threatening and kept his hood up to cover his scars. For the most part, people ignored him, which was better than he had hoped for. Still, the longer he went ignored, the more did the hole in his chest grow. It had been so long since he had laughed with his brothers, cuddled with his goat or melted at the sound of Jas-

No. He shook his head, stopping himself from finishing that thought. It was no use reminiscing of the times he had stumbled upon the bright-eyed bard, who looked at him without fear and did all he could to coax a smile from him, as if he didn’t even notice the way his scars would turn his happiness into a grotesque grimace. 

It was only when someone gave him a strange look, that Eskel realised that the memory alone had made the corners of his lips twitch upwards. 

He had to stop this or he would do something foolish - like abandon his usual route to head to Oxenfurt. Chances were that Jaskier wouldn’t even be there anyway. It was no use to dream about seeing him again. Eskel had to focus. There had been a reason why he had come here. Though big crowds could prove dangerous to witchers, they were also an easy target for all sorts of malevolent creatures. The year thus far hadn’t been kind to Eskel and chances were that he would find a well paying contract in the big city. 

He ignored his grumbling stomach and the ache of his tired muscles and led Scorpion to one of the notice boards. That was another thing about larger cities: There were multiple notice boards. If you didn’t find any interesting notes on one of them, you might be more lucky looking for more. 

Luck, for once, seemed to be on Eskel’s side. There, right in the middle of the first notice board he checked, hung a piece of parchment - expensive paper, flourishing writing. Clearly, the person who had written it, had coin to spare. And as it would seem, they were willing to use it to pay for a witcher’s service. 

Witcher wanted

If a witcher reads this, please come to the Bread and Butter Bakery, as soon as possible. Your assistance is dearly needed.

Eskel frowned, as he took the note off the board. He turned it around, to see if there was any more information on the back, but no. Nothing. No description of the monster plaguing the bakery, nor an estimate of what they were willing to pay for the contract. Well, maybe it wasn’t wise for a bakery to proclaim that something hairy or slimy was haunting the place where they were selling food. It was worth looking into. 

Eskel folded the parchment, put it into a pocket in his jacket and went off looking for the Bread and Butter. 

It didn’t take long to find. Soon enough, the scent of fresh bread and sweet cakes guided him towards the bakery. Eskel pressed a hand against his stomach to keep it from twisting painfully. Each step that brought him closer to the bakery made him more and more aware of how long it had been since he had last eaten. Hopefully, whatever plagued this place could be done with quickly and if he was lucky, it would pay enough for him to be able to indulge a little into the bakery’s wares. 

He pushed the door open and a little bell that hung above the entrance chimed merrily. A soft looking woman with red cheeks looked up. A strange expression crossed her face, when she took in the sight of Eskel, who made himself smaller. Her scrutinising gaze was uncomfortable, though not unkind. 

“What can I help you with?” The woman asked. 

Awkwardly, Eskel pulled out the slip of paper. 

“This says, you’re in need of a witcher?”

“Oh thank Meletile!” The baker wiped her hands on her apron. “I thought you’d never come.”

“Is the situation that dire?” Eskel asked, tensing. His eyes darted around the room and he strained his ears, but he couldn’t find anything wrong here.

“Dire?” The baker let out a strained laugh. “Dire, he says! Yes, it most definitely is.” Instead of elaborating, she hurried through the backdoor behind the counter, leaving Eskel lost and confused. After a moment, she came back, holding a bundle of something smelling like warm dough and honey. Eskel’s mouth began to water. His eyes went wide, when the baker thrust the bundle at him unceremoniously. 

“What -”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep these warm and fresh when I don’t even know how long I’ll have to do so?” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Next time you place an order, you better specify a time.” 

Eskel was so dumbfounded, that he forgot to protest. All he could come up with was, “I have no coin.”

The baker gave him another strange look. “So? It’s already paid for. Now, if you’ll excuse me, now that these are finally off my hands, I need to get back to my other orders.” She left again to the backroom. For a moment, Eskel simply stood there, honey cakes in hand and more confused than he had been in a long time. But there clearly wasn’t anything for him to do here, so for lack of a better idea, he left the bakery. He carefully stowed the cakes into one of Scorpion’s saddlebags - but not before taking a small bite off one of them. He closed his eyes and could barely suppress a moan as the flavour melted on his tongue. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something as delicious as that. He almost ate the rest of the cakes right then and there, but he forced himself to go on. Best to get a room first, so he could sit down, rest his weary bones and savour the cakes fully. 

And in order to do that, he had to get coin first. So off to another notice board he went. And wouldn’t you know it, he found another note, written by the same hand and on the same expensive parchment. 

Witcher wanted

If a witcher reads this, please come to theFlourishing Florist, at your earliest convenience. Your assistance is dearly needed.

A creeping suspicion rose in Eskel, as he neared the small botany shop. People were going in and out, and not a single one looked unsettled at the least. No one - but the shop owner, who pressed a huge bouquet of dandelions into his hands, muttering something about how keeping such weeds around made him appear like some cheap amateur. 

Next, Eskel found a note proclaiming he needed to go to a tailor, who turned out to have been booked for the entire day, for the sole purpose of fixing any holes he might have in his clothing and provide him with a new pair of gloves.

After that, Eskel found a note that sent him to a stable, where there was a box ready for Scorpion. 

With each note he found, the harder it got to stop from smiling. He sped up his steps in his pursuit of the next notice board, when he caught sight of someone sitting by a fountain at the marketplace. The hunched over figure was clad in bright blue and hastily scribbling something down, while their tongue was sticking out in concentration. Eskel’s heart leaped in his chest and he made a strange sound that must have been louder than he had anticipated, for the figure looked up from their writing. Blue eyes widened when they landed on Eskel and the quill scratched across the parchment, splotching ink all over it. 

“No!” Jaskier scrambled to his feet. “You can’t be here!”

A pang went through Eskel’s chest at the words, but before his mind could spiral, Jaskier added, “I’ve not finished this one yet.” He waved the parchment through the air, making the still wet ink run slightly. “It’s taking forever to make all of these preparations and pay people off. You’re still supposed to be at the bakery eating! Did you not find that note yet?” With each word that was spilling from Jaskier’s lips, the warmth in Eskel’s chest grew. 

“I kept the cakes,” he said softly, though there were a hundred other things he would have rather said. He didn’t think he’d be able to find the right words for any of those things. “I wanted to make the most of them.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of red. “You liked the surprise then?”

At that, a laugh bubbled up in Eskel’s chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel the need to cut it off. He let it spill freely from his split lips. 

“Like it?” He repeated incredulously. “Jaskier, that - I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to. I just - well, I hoped I could give you a little happiness.” 

Jaskier made to scratch the back of his neck. Apparently, he had forgotten about the quill he was holding, for he accidentally drew a dark spot onto his cheek.

“You do,” Eskel said, perhaps too quickly. He swallowed and almost took his words back, but then he took a deep breath and a step forward. “The flowers, the food - everything. You have no idea what that means to me.” After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and wiped gently at the smudged ink on Jaskier’s cheek. “But the greatest happiness is finding you.”

Jaskier’s lips fell open into a silent ‘Oh.’

Eskel wanted to pull his hand away, but Jaskier leaned into his touch and suddenly breaking the contact was the hardest thing in the world.

“Then I suppose, I don’t need to finish this message?” Jaskier half-joked and waved the letter he had been writing. 

A smile tugged at Eskel’s lips. “You don’t,” he agreed and cocked his head to the side. “Though I’m curious. What would that note be for?”

“A room at an inn,” Jaskier said. He turned a shade darker and averted his eyes. Nervously, he picked at the edges of the parchment. “Though I suppose, now that you’ve found me, I could just invite you to share my rooms? I have a benefactor here and my rooms are big enough for two. You don’t have to - obviously, you don’t, I just thought -” “Jaskier.” Eskel caressed Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb and Jaskier fell silent. 

“Yeah?” “I would love to share a room with you. And as much time as you’re willing to give.”

“Oh. Good.” Jaskier’s tongue darted out and it looked like he was debating something with himself. Then, he glanced back at Eskel. “In that case, though…could I change the note?” 

Confused, Eskel simply nodded and let go of Jaskier, who turned around and quickly scribbled something onto the paper. He all but thrust it at Eskel and fiddled with his thumbs. Eskel’s breath caught in his throat, as he read. 

Witcher wanted. 

That was it. Not a single word more. In fact, all the other words that had previously been written, where crossed out. 

“What does this mean? Witcher wanted?” 

“Exactly that,” Jaskier said softly, uncharacteristically shy. “And not just any witcher. You. When I heard, you were in town, I - I just wanted to spend time with you. I want you.” He looked away and tugged at some strands of his hair that had fallen into his eyes. “If you want me too, that is.” “I do.” Eskel gently took Jaskier’s chin in his hand and tilted his head until their faces were only inches apart. “Believe me, I do.” Slowly, to give Jaskier enough time to pull away, Eskel leaned in. Jaskier did not flinch back. Instead, he flung his arms around Eskel’s neck and pulled him closer, capturing his lips and sealing his widening smile with his own lips. 

Tomorrow, Eskel might make a comment about how he now could see the appeal of big cities. For now though, there was not a single thought on his mind, other than that he was finally holding his happiness in his arms, and impossibly making Jakier happy in return. 

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[moonlightpirate]

Someone To Say

Happy almost valentines day! As Promised here is one part of my mini series of one offs based off musical songs I like (okay its looking like its all going to be from Cyrano at this rate but regardless)

Masterlist

AO3

Jaskier sighed a lonely sigh as he watched Geralt ride off into the distance again leaving him behind, probably going off to be with Yennefer or some other woman. Uncertain as to where to go he made his way back to Redania where he knew at least Vespula was.

“Really it has been months since I have seen your face around here. What makes you think I’m going to let you in?” Vespula jeered at him. 

“I just need a place to sleep dear. Then I will be on my way. Geralt has left me again to fend for myself. I don’t have any money for an inn please.” Jaskier pleaded, gently caressing her face.

She swatted his hand away, “Why do you keep going back to him? He always hurts you. But fine, come in.”.

“I can’t describe how he makes me feel.”

“You are basically his pet. He uses you, Jaskier. You need to find yourself someone that will make your songs and poems worth writing and they will be about dancing in the sunlight not these gloomy battles.”.

“I suppose you are right. Do you mind if I take a bath?”.

Vespula shook her head no and Jaskier made his way upstairs to the bathroom. He took a long bath trying to get the memory of Geralt getting on his horse and leaving him out of his mind.

“Come on out of that tub. I know just how to distract you.” Vespula grinned, standing in the doorway seductively. 

Jaskier coyly smiled as he got up out of the tub and went over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her against him and kissing her beautiful lips. They made their way into the bedroom where they made love until they both passed out. It was early the next morning when Jaskier woke up. He looked over at Vespula and sighed before he gently pulled the covers off of his body and quietly got up off the bed. Jaskier got dressed and made his way outside. What he realized that night while they made love was Vespula was right he did deserve better. 

He walked until he found a nice spot outside of town where he sat down underneath a tree and watched the sunrise and quietly sang to himself. “What does it feel like to slow dance in sunlight with someone you love? Somebody who sees you And won't ever leave you alone? Whatever comes I need someone to die for, write poems, cry for and I won't be ashamed. I'm nobody's pet!” Jaskier paused as he noticed a tall man with long blonde hair watching him. Hastily he got up and started to walk away from the man.

“No wait! Please don't leave! The song was beautiful. I couldn't help but stop and listen. I will leave.” The man shouted. 

“No, I should go. But thank you.” Jaskier hollered back.

“Are you Jaskier? I do love your music.”. 

Jaskier froze before turning back around, “Yes I am he. I am glad you appreciate my music but I really must go.”. 

“My name is Radovid. Please, are you really that busy? We are to have a ball at the castle. We need a musician. The king would love a musician like you.”.

Jaskier pondered the request for several moments, “Well I suppose I am not that busy. Lead the way.”. 

Radovids face lit up, “Oh thank you! Come with me.”. 

[fudgecake-charlie]

beloved friend sent me one of scar's newer tweets and i HAD to draw it

[stellarspecter]

Jon Matteson and Joey Richter in Nerdy Prudes Must Die (2023) / The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals (2018)

[heilos]

I already promised some more MSA sketches in the future for my watchers, but I figured ya'll deserved at least one cleaned up sketch right now since I haven't posted any art of the gang in awhile. Purely for fun as I've always wanted to draw the gang in more alternate outfits. :D

[explorersaremadeofhope]

im doing a very quick (aka skimming-a-lot) GO reread and i'd forgotten how much i love discorporated aziraphale. he is 3000% done. he has no fucks left to give. this part of the book is just him and crowley, independently of each other, having hit rock bottom and come through despair and out on the other side into "fuck it we ball" and it's wonderful. they're so in sync and so unhinged.

favourite discorporated az moments:

telling mr shadwell he's the southern pansy

gets so annoyed with the televangelist he tells him that heaven only has a 50% chance of winning and the rest is propaganda, after denying it for the whole book

"you lot [humanity] are all going to be civilian casualties either way"

telling mrs ormerod that he knows he's in england because nobody else could have asked such a fucking stupid question

world's least sincere "wasn't that touching."

'the exorcist' reference *

extremely eager to murder adam young

i cannot emphasise enough how down with child murder he is **

tells madame tracy they need to be doing 70mph and then makes her fucking vespa warp through space at 200mph

"i'm the nice one. you can't expect me to—oh, blast it. you try to do the decent thing, and where does it get you?" aziraphale snapped his fingers.

* im willing to bet money that was crowley's idea and ended with him feeling vaguely queasy while aziraphale sat next to him going "what absolute nonsense, this isn't how it works at all"

** until he actually meets him. but still.

[gentlemancowboy]

Gayest Dean Moment Not Involving Cas Number 3 ➼ Church Confession

Bonus:

[evermqres]

EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED — TAYLOR SWIFT ↳ my swiftie spring/autumn exchange gift for @actual-sleeping-beauty ! ♡

[montanabohemian]

honestly, the people bitching about an objectively insane episode of wwdits are SO BORING. it's just a silly little comedy about some idiot vampires that live together and commit atrocities in new york. like what is so difficult to comprehend about that.

of course lazslo would create horrifying animal lab experiments that can talk that guillermo has to take care of.

of course nandor and colin are besties.

of course nadja makes 50 dunkin runs for a crazy lady.

it's just a weird show that is outrageous and funny and sometimes carries an emotional wallop. it's not fucking rocket science.

[buglaur]

if virgil was in a horror movie he'd probably be first to die

[aq2003]

thanks reddit

[iamthedancing]

warning to to my fellow photosensitives: last night's game changer episode (deja vu) is amazing but is also full of flashing lights

please be careful and "watch" by just listening to the audio/give this one a skip/take care in whatever way makes the most sense for you and your situation!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

ORV is about enduring the horrors in real time.

(for @everyonesfavoritebastard)

[ghost-proofbaby]

my little scaredy cat

request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha

warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao

pairing: eddie x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k+

i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.

This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea. 

You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday. 

It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it. 

Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson. 

His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger. 

And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not? 

Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play. 

You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch. 

“Shit!” 

Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow. 

“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!” 

“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?” 

And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions. 

Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through. 

His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”

Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph. 

“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.

Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences. 

Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts. 

Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.” 

The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove. 

“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…” 

You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.” 

“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.” 

Your stubbornness is admirable. 

Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.  

Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there. 

A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.

The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares. 

The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest. 

He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt. 

You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.

When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip. 

“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“ 

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.” 

It’s more than fine.

His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior. 

Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his. 

After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.” 

Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.

“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness. 

He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder. 

“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.

“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.” 

“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“

And so, he decides to stop speaking. 

It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.

You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain. 

Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you. 

He breaks away for just a second, “I-“

“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten. 

Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss. 

And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”

This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses. 

“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“ 

“Hold on, what?”

He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.

“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“

“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?” 

“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“

“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.” 

Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”

“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“

“You like me?” 

Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing. 

He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.” 

You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”

His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.” 

“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”

“So?”

“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.” 

“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“ 

“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm. 

It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe. 

“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.” 

Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place. 

Right. It’s so fucking right.

“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.” 

His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.

“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.” 

“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.

You like him. He didn’t fuck it up. 

You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.” 

“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.” 

Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.

When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.” 

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.” 

“Please turn off that goddamn movie.” 

He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog. 

It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally. 

“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.

Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told. 

“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.

It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

[royalarchivist]

The recent QSMP official streams are formatted like old Saturday morning cartoons, and since the Federation Bunnies have been playing the role of pathetic cartoon "villains"...

Well, an idea got stuck in my head, so I made this quick silly edit. :'D