#Which idk if I am I'll get there when I get there

[salemlinnet]

p179, and that's the end of ch5! i will see you all really soon with a few tumblr message doodles and the public version of the valentines day special. i'm cooking a up few nsfw comics between chapters, though i am well into ch6 now, and patrons are gonna start seeing the first scene real soon.

man we're so far into the story now. it's amazing, i keep drawing and i keep chewing up script. ch6 is short (comparatively) at around 20 pages (with a short patron only/for purchase nsfw epilogue (i'm cooking lately)) and then after that ch7 will happen. and then ch8. and ch9. and, just, in a story structure sense, you guys get it. i have page 200 sitting on my ipad as a bunch of squiggles in four panels right now.

thank you all so much for reading along, everyone. i know i'm a... well... slow burn author doesn't feel like harsh enough a phrase. i really look forward to a time when i can read this back to myself when it's complete, i hope everyone else is having as much fun as i am slowly following the path from a to b. thank you so so much to my patron supporters, i really can't emphasize how much the monthly salary has helped me to be able to make more art and to make it faster and put more energy into it. i have to acknowledge that times have changed since i started, not just in terms of inflation but in light of the many more comics coming up for patrons, more hours put into the comics, etc. i will be raising the price of the subscription to $6 shortly. idk. when i'm over ch5 finally being published. the $3 price for current patrons will not change, as a thank you to those who joined so early i'd like everyone to keep their starting price as a policy. i may offer lower tiers for just nsfw/just early access/just postcards in the future someday.

life really tired to stop this cliff hanger, but i won't let it happen. i am, like, so excited for the upcoming chapters like they're gonna be beasts (except ch6 which is no beast, he's a sweet, sweet little angel in no2 dress service and he's a dream and a peach and he gets all the smooches (although admittedly the first scene has, like, such a frankenstein background collage i had to paint like 1/3rds of it in and i'll be damned if you can tell which part is shitty png, layered with like 15 detailed extra characters so idk maybe i just have backward facing euphoria cause that part's fucking finished and now it's just ghost and soap and uniform) but they'll be so worth it.

read the whole series at salemlinnet.com/domesticated

[vadedoesart]

OTP rough sketches, idk if I'll ever finish. I'm a multi-shipper. I'd just like to state that for the record. I love me some good Sonamy, Sonadow, Sonshadamy, Silvonic blah blah blah etc. Honestly, as long as it's not anything illegal or creepy, then I either like it or am indifferent towards it. But of course, I have my OTPs and my personal headcanons. I am aware that some people won't SHARE my headcanons, and that's FINE! Anyways besides Shadamy being my OTP, here are my two other favorite ships, and the dynamics I like for them. There's more for Metilver bc they're a rarepair... I crave to RP them or write a story for them or something someday... </3

Metilver:

My headcannon for Silver (He/Him) is that he's constantly being told to chill out or calm down, and he's one crash out from leveling an entire city with an uncontrolled telekinetic surge. Overall, he's outwardly optimistic and gentle, inwardly, however, he's repressing a LOT of emotions, which is rather unhealthy, and he has memory issues because of it sometimes. He's also like- 1/4th Komodo dragon, and his spit is venomous. He has a mouth and he wants to kiss, but cannot kiss... Metal is the exception to this because he isn't organic. He's Demisexual.

My Metal Sonic (He/They) is selectively mute. He doesn't speak to anyone but Ivo (father), Sage (sister), Orbot (cousin), Cubot (cousin), Amy, and Silver. He 100% believes that he is the REAL Sonic, but also feels as though he is completely different from the blue blur as well. He was obedient at first, but during one of his inactive stages when Tails was repairing him, Tails installed a virus in his hardware that gave him more free will before setting him free. He listens to Ivo out of his own volition, and is morally neutral evil at best. Metal is very much Demiaroace.

Relationship-wise, Silver believes he can fix Metal and make him better, while Metal thinks he can corrupt Silver and turn him evil. Together, they even each other out, and Metal in return never tells Silver to "chill out" or "calm down". Silver is a yapper, and Metal is a listener. Although Metal is a robot and therefore cannot "love" he's incredibly fond of Silver, and eventually becomes loyal to only him after Ivo inevitably passes. Using his Neo form, he eventually uses his bio scan to make himself a bit more... "Organic" and learns that he does in fact, love Silver.

Knuxouge:

Rouge (PROUD She/Her) is an ordinary vampire bat, and discreetly drinks blood. She's an ordinary Morphian by... my AU standards, but she doesn't believe in all the purist interpecies ableist bullshit. She's Shadow's best wingman and has a sort of older sister bond with the edgie hedgie. She's Bi.

Knuckles (He/Him) is considered an Evomut in my AU because of his odd coat color, but isn't harassed too much because he's a massive dude who would willingly punch a bigot. He's very much a feminist and has a big brother bond with Amy. He loves her to death (platonically) and is very much an advocate for her. He's the straightest motherfucker in the group, but he's 100% an ally.

Rouge "wears the pants" in the relationship. She's a huge flirt to Knuckles, and at first both of them are dancing round each other like a lovesick war. Eventually, when they do get together, Knuckles absolutely adores Rouge, and Rouge absolutely loves Knuckles. They take care of the master emerald together.

[the---hermit]

03|05|2025

The original plan for today was to fix the notes I took during this week's lectures, but since the professor has not shared her ppts yet I didn't do that. I mostly need to read what she had in her presentations, because there were a lot of direct historical sources and I couldn't get all the useful infos down. I will be doing that on Monday morning before going to the lecture, if she has shared the material by that time. The next best thing would have been to start writing down notes for everything I read yesterday, but I was in the mood to read in the morning, so I decided to continue with that task. I don't think I'll struggle too hard to write notes down even if I have to go back. Additionally I really need to work with whatever kind of motivation I have in the moment. So even if it makes less sense compared to how I normally study I am trying to listen to myself a bit more, both when I need breaks, as well as when deciding what tasks I feel like I can work on.

today's tasks:

continued reading and underlining the book on Magellan

made little cards for each one of the ships that took part in the exploration, that way I can have a visual representation of who is doing what (it just makes more sense for my brain to have a visual, which is also why I am using a map to track the journey as i read about it. I plan on adding informations on the ship cards as I continue, updating who the captain is, and what individual explorations they do also I really like doodling ships idk why lmao)

listened to the first episode of re:dracula (oh, how I missed our dear friend jonathan harker) and also dracula's guest (I had read the short story year ago but I did not remember it at all, and I really liked this adaptation)

Irish on duo

[brujaluas]

WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL COULD YOU BE?

Hi my deers!!! (yes, deer, I love these animals and I love you too, so it all makes sense, especially since the topic is about animals and their archetypes). I received some lovely ideas for a pack from a dear person and I came to read about it, the person is anonymous but I thank you in advance for your help (my creativity was low). You are incredible!! Thank you!!

pile 1

Many people who chose this pile are very different from each other, I think this pile or/and 3 will be the most chosen, well, the animal that could be your archetype is the dog, oh my good and faithful companions! You know, I had said that many different people looked at this pile but I don't know, some here had many experiences in life that changed you completely, but you are loyal to your ideals and what you believe, you are true listeners, you know how to make people feel comfortable, look at that! As I said, you look like dogs, but many of you here have gone through many changes in your life, and this has shaped you to look like snakes, such distinct animals, right? The snake is a symbol of transformation, and even mutation, sensuality. Many of you are excellent communicators, you know what needs to be said and communicated. I would say that if you are thinking about a career or hobby where you need to communicate with many people, don't be afraid! It is your path. I will not mention the negative aspects of the snake or the dog here, but mainly of the snake, since only positive cards came out, so you practically do not come into contact with the shadow side of these animals.

Pile 2

life is hard, right? Many of you are feeling hurt (idk why but i heard salt?), I am truly sorry! I know how disadvantageous it is to feel shaken or without purpose. As if everything were falling apart. You look like a hummingbird! I REALLY like archetypes, I do subliminal listening and I'm always learning (I'm even thinking about making a post about it on the blog, I don't know), but do you know the hummingbird archetype? It's precisely identified for people who need to overcome trauma, or some kind of emotional problem, even in more serious cases like depression and anxiety. The hummingbird is fragile and delicate, but people are wrong when they think that this is a negative characteristic (I think you might think that, you know?). This delicacy can make you see life in a lighter way, appreciate the little pleasures in life, which we often don't consider so much but can be something that really does us good, like when we eat our favorite food, it's simple, right? But it makes us very happy and satisfied, for example. You can also get out of a stagnation, since it is an extremely active animal, have you ever seen them flapping their wings? lol but you are only seeing the shadow side of this animal, you are running away from your reality, thinking that feelings and superficial relationships are enough, wasting your time with things that don't even matter that much (sorry), you also remind me of the horse! but just like the hummingbird you are also only taking the shadow side of this extreme and beautiful animal, horses are free, loose, wild, an immense sense of independence and freedom, but here, you seem to control this wildness within yourself for some reason, maybe because you don't think it's right? Let that sink in, some here may end up not being able to focus on anything, have insomnia, agitation (not in a good way) or even accept being tamed and controlled! You are much more than that! remember! I BELIEVE IN YOU.

Pile 3

I'll be honest, there's a species here that I don't know about, I think it's extinct, it's rarely talked about or I simply don't know about it, excuse my ignorance, but you are them. The other animal is the horse, unlike pile 2 that only has the shadow side of the horse, here I see that you can balance this, at the moment you can be on the shadow side of the horse (if you want to read stack 2 feel free, I went into more depth about this in that pile), you think you need to be alone, but later you will see that everything has to do with letting people into your life, this not only brings you joy but also knowledge, I feel that many here who are reading are studious or very young, do not be afraid, I think you are afraid of being "tamed", afraid of people pruning you, putting rules in your life, telling you how you should act, feel, dress, in short, you really appreciate your own freedom and in fact, when you are alone we have nothing to stop us from something, but I believe that you can achieve relationships even if you love your freedom, everything is question of limits, I believe that every type of relationship should have limits, be it lovers, friends, family, everyone should have their limits as far as they can go with you and your life, establish that.

[royalarchivist]

[A sad violin song plays over an image of a sad hamster]

Pac: This doesn't have anything to do with me – I wear a blue sweatshirt, you're crazy, this mouse doesn't even have a sweatshirt, this hamster! [Reading chat] Am I a depressed hamster?

[ Transcript continued ↓ ]*

–

Pac: Actually– that's fine! I embrace that idea – of course I'm going to be depressed, are you crazy? [He hits his desk, then starts counting off people on his fingers] Fit is gone, Richarlyson is gone, Ramon is gone, Bagi and Empanada who were always there when we were there are also gone, I haven't seen them! It's just me and Tubbo, and sometimes Philza shows up.

Pac: I lost Chume Labs, I lost the Favela, I lost Murder Mystery, I lost Ilha Chume Labs, it's crazy! Look at how much I've lost, and I've gained nothing! Of course I'm going to be depressed, are you crazy?! How am I supposed to be happy?!

Pac: [Reading chat] "You have us Pac," that's true, thank you. No, that's true, sorry.

* NOTE: Please note that this is an incomplete transcript, as I was primarily relying on Aypierre's translation mod at the time and if I am not confident of the translation, I do not include it. As always, please feel free to add on translations or message me corrections.

[ecoustsaintmein]

ghosts (part i of ????)

part two here

pairing: paddy x eoin; rating: M. slow burn.

this was the first time they'd had this conversation as eric and killian. but it was as if they'd had this conversation, many years ago, many times before.

(or, paddy mayne and eoin mcgonigal, reincarnated as eric love from 'starred up' and killian from 'angel'. they meet again, during the heights of the pandemic -- but they don't remember - until much, much, much later).

the next quack he saw after oliver was dr wilson, who was a no-nonsense scottish lady who struck fear more than deputy governor haynes ever did. she was young but wise for her years, with curly dark hair and spectacles and a soft dundonian accent. turned out she knew oliver baumer from some forensic psychiatry conference but it wasn't like eric to show that he's interested to know more. no, he didn't miss oliver, he said to her in their one-to-one session. he missed his dad, though.

--

seven years later, eric is allowed parole on the grounds of good behaviour. the world around him has changed, and so has he. is he fully rehabilitated? has that bloody posh quack oliver baumer cured him of his violence?

dr wilson told him she knew about haynes and cardew and the comings and goings of the previous corrupt prison regime. oliver blew the whistle and there had been a massive investigation and as a result, most of the inmates' cases were reviewed, including eric's.

'what would you do, then,' eric once asked, 'if you manage to rehabilitate me? then you'd be out of work, won't ya?' but now eric realized that there were worse evils out there in the world that subsumes the hearts of men.

subsumes.

ha.

there was once a time when eric would laugh in the faces of those who would use big words like that. but since he spent more time with tyrone, hassan, ashley, dr wilson, he'd started reading and expanding his vocabulary. he's even started reading poetry.

sublimation was a word he recently learnt. dr wilson was drawing a timeline of his life and a map of his thought processes and how he came to be the way he was. some things in his past can't be changed, she said, but the way he responds to things, can be altered.

neville died of stage four prostate cancer five months ago. dr wilson fought for eric to be allowed to attend his dad's funeral. he even has a social worker now, nate, who is about the same age as he is, but is a tall, strapping bloke from liverpool with a heavy scouse accent. they talk shite about football and how neither of their teams were doing well in the prem.

then oliver visited him in prison, only to tell him that he's moving to new brunswick. where the hell's new brunswick? nova scotia, oliver said. new scotland?

canada, oliver nodded. because he said they needed psychologists there and the nhs pay was shite and for all his pains oliver wasn't a saint.

jews don't have saints, eric said. oliver looked at him for a moment before they both broke into laughter. well, eric shrugged. you're a saint enough for me. you've performed a miracle. i don't punch people when they smile at me wrong now.

five months later his parole application was accepted and he was free.

except. two months later the whole country went into lockdown.

and this was how he met that irish waif, killian, with the dark curls and the dark eyes and the accent no one can understand, especially when he spoke, words swallowed underneath that blue mask that everyone's got to wear.

he never got to witness that wide, easy smile of killian's in real life, until six months later, but then, that's another story.

--

they met as hospital volunteers in south london, during the height of the pandemic. they both live two flats apart on the same floor, in the same council tenancy building, just ten minutes walk from st george's.

but they weren't friends, not straight away. there was nothing memorable about killian apart from that shocking mop of unruly curls on his head and that awful accent, though eric's learnt to keep quiet and let killian repeat himself several times to the staff and patients on the ward; 'it's killian with a k, not a c like cillian murphy,' he'd said, pulling at his ID badge and pointing at his name. 'this is how i look like under this mask, by the way,' he says, and the patients will laugh. it's a terrible photo, worse than eric's own prison mugshot.

they were wary of each other just as eric was often wary of strangers. he's sublimated enough by being kind to patients and their relatives on the wards -- he doesn't need to continue wearing the same mask with other people.

his new social worker, subodh, once chided him for this.

--

everyone seemed to struggle with lockdown, but eric thrived. he's so used to isolation that he never ran out of ways to entertain himself.

the internet is a beautiful thing.

--

he didn't realize who it was, not at first. eric has his allowances and benefits and saves them up -- he's got no need for new trainers or clothes; and even with food he's rationing them up like he did in prison, he's not a glutton for mickey d's or domino's or that chinese takeaway across the street.

but eric's got urges, sometimes -- an urge that started out as a curiosity, ever since he found out that neville and ashley were together.

the internet is a beautiful thing.

--

eric's watched too many of those videos, now, but to say that he has a favourite or a type would be a stretch too far. he's even tried jacking off to them, but he couldn't even get hard -- not when all he could think about when he heard the men on screen moan was to think of ashley and his dad, together.

no.

he slammed his laptop shut (yes, the same laptop that he got for free from that scheme subodh signed him up for). he learnt how to use vpn. just because he spent his formative years in and out of prison doesn't make him a technological heathen.

but the next night he decided to watch some solo videos instead of acted porn, and this was how he ended up clicking on the profile of user @/cuchulainn1995.

he never shows his face, and despite the irish handle he speaks with an english (sussex?) accent. the first thing eric noticed is he's got a low, deep, growling voice, and such big hands, long beautiful fingers. one of the videos started with cu chulainn (that's how eric calls him now) wearing a white button-up shirt and slacks, but slowly he unbuttoned it and palms at his slacks, deft fingers unbuckling his belt. the hand motion on screen was slow, steady, confident. eric was utterly mesmerised by the way those hands floated across, like butterflies, as cu chulainn stripped down oh-ever-so-slowly.

he's wearing a lacy bra underneath the shirt, flat against his chest, and a lacy thong that could barely hold in his entire length. he's well hung, slim, but he hasn't even grown into his full girth yet, as he begins to pump himself through the lacy fabric.

against eric's will, he got hard too, as he watches this stranger tweaking his nipple under the bra and whispering filthy things about wanting to fuck a bad boy and wishing to destroy something beautiful. this man who talked of not wanting to be fucked, but to fuck. all while wearing that lacy bra and lacy thong that eric wanted to rip up with his teeth.

eric's never come so hard in his life.

maybe that's why all of those losers raided the tescos for toilet paper. for wanking to videos this good.

--

killian's the one who approached him first, at the canteen, while eric was flicking through the copy of 'oxford book of war poetry' he found amidst the old magazine stacks of hello! and ok! in the nursing office.

the blt sandwich was a bit dry, and the coffee stale. this was eric's excuse for coughing up his food and spluttering them all over the table, when killian sat in the chair in front of him and asked, 'what passing-bells for these who die as cattle?'

'what the fuck?' was eric's only illustrious response.

'-only the monstrous anger of the guns,' killian replied, voice muffled under the mask. 'wilfred owen.'

'i prefer robert graves.'

'of course.'

this was the first time they'd had this conversation as eric and killian. but it was as if they'd had this conversation, many years ago, many times before.

killian tore up his roll and dipped it in his golden vegetable soup. he pulled down his mask and ate voraciously. like he hadn't eaten in months.

it was the first time eric saw killian's face, in full.

killian smiled, as he licked soup off his fingertips, inadvertently making kissy noises as his lips left each finger. 'i prefer yeats,' he said, oblivious.

eric tried not to stare, he really did. there was something about the movement that was so familiar to him.

but he couldn't place it.

he also thought, that birthmark on killian's left hand looked familiar too --

but surely not?

--

eric's throwing money he doesn't have to cu chulainn, subscribing to his live videos and in his head thinks that he's having a parasocial relationship with this faceless man with a beautiful body, like one of those marble statues the brits pilfered from ancient greece.

his colouring was dark, gingery, and eric wondered if they were as coarse as his own hair. eric wondered if he was as dark, or darker in real life.

in the busy chatbox filled with filthy comments from horny subscribers, eric once gathered the strength to type, 'if ur english why the name cu chulainn?'

eric watched the slight pause in the body language, face unseen from the neck above. and then, for a split second, the sussex accent switched to a soft irish lilt, 'who says i'm english?', and eric thought, 'i've heard this voice before.'

but eric forgot everything when cu chulainn started his show, and when he called his audience a 'good boy'.

eric thought it was a private message just for him.

--

they bumped into each other, at the aldi queue for the self-service checkouts, a metre apart. eric eyed the shite killian's got in his basket -- bananas, spinach, macaroni, yorkshire tea and a bar of dairy milk. eric eyed his own -- pot noodles, crisps, rich tea biscuits. then killian waited for him outside, humming mindlessly, a foldable umbrella in hand. it's started drizzling -- then raining, hard, unheard of for tooting, before walking up to their flat together.

eric pulled up his hoodie and made a point not to stand under killian's umbrella, although he's getting drenched like a wet soppy dog and killian called him out for it. 'stop being an eejit and get under the brolly,' he said, without raising his voice, and eric acquiesced.

--

it's only natural that when the government announced that 'members of a household could be part of another household' as a 'support bubble', that eric became killian's.

and killian eric's.

subodh told him that it's good that he's found a friend, though under no circumstances did eric admit that killian was 'a friend'. they had nothing in common, he said. apart from the poetry and the football (why does he support liverpool? he's irish, for fuck's sake).

eric's been in killian's flat, which was a mirror image of his own, except that they were filled with the most bizarre trinkets when eric's was more spartan. killian never let him inside his bedroom, though, and eric's never pressed further.

killian grew herbs in his flat. a pot of chilli, too. there was a time when he grew up on a farm, he'd said, and everything he ate was from the land around him, because he learnt how to grow them. he learnt how to forage in the wild, he learnt how to slaughter animals. he's good with a machete and an axe too, he'd said, before he realized he'd said too much and fell silent.

this was when eric knew that there was more beyond the softness of killian's visage - there were dark secrets there, hidden behind those eyes, underneath those long, dark lashes.

eric spent more time at killian's flat than at his, since the support bubble rule was introduced. killian can cook. and for some reason, despite saying that he's living on benefits too, he's got subscriptions to all the streaming services and has the latest games on his ps.

eric wondered where he got the money from.

--

it didn't take long for him to find out.

--

in eric's defense, it was killian who told him to fetch his phone charger from the bedroom.

killian's bedroom, which for the past three months had been off limits to eric, because the door was always shut and killian had never invited him in, not even for a casual 'this is my room' tour. boundaries. if there's one thing he's learnt from oliver and dr wilson and the likes of 'em, it's to learn how to respect people's boundaries.

it's the grey wall and the bedspread that caught eric's eyes first. his first thought was, surely not. his second thought was, surely not.

it wasn't as if there were toys splayed across the room for eric to see. the room was pristine, unlike the mess that was the living room, but eric had just seen one of cu chulainn's videos yesterday and this was where he had sat.

and the laundry basket was in the corner of the room. there was no weird smells, no bras, no lacy thongs - but he noticed the slacks and the white button down shirt. killian had never worn slacks and a white shirt to work, he was always in his casual stripey t-shirt before he changes into scrubs, and then, oh then, there's his belt.

the belt.

the images of killian's fingers, on the ps controller, or when he picks up a brown roll and dips it into soup during lunch hour, come rushing back. the birthmark on the back of killian's left hand, as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his slacks and touches himself. the way his knuckles disappear as he works his fingers up into himself.

and he hears killian's irish lilt, now, in cu chulainn's forced english voice. eric realizes now that he's one of the men who's paid for the way that killian's living.

eric doesn't feel anger. he doesn't feel panic. he's floating, in this room, because he's always seen it through the pixels of his laptop screen, but never like this. he doesn't even know whether he wants to hate killian or hate himself, because at the end of the day eric was the one who had been searching for it, again and again, like a man obsessed; addicted. killian was just there, doing his thing.

killian had been here, last night, doing his thing. and eric had fantasised of doing more, imagined that he could be touched the same way, on this very same bed. eric leans down and touches the ikea bedspread, clean - it's as if killian's washed all the stains off of it from last night, and the room itself smells woody, citrus-y. it smells like killian.

it smells nice.

killian barges in and asks what's taking so long, wooden spoon in hand, flour dust on his nose and cheeks. he's attempting to make sausage rolls from scratch, he says.

eric's eyes glaze over, like he's neither here nor there. he only ever had sausage rolls from greggs and his own mum was a terrible cook, so homemade pastries were out of the question.

the phone charger is still plugged in at killian's bedside, where he's dumped his camera and lighting equipment in a storage box. eric pretends not to see it, and hands the phone charger to killian, careful not to let their fingers touch.

'you ok?' killian asks, concerned.

'yeah,' eric lies. 'it's just that, i've never been in your room before. it's nice,' he says --

-- which isn't a lie.

killian softens, as he tilts his head to one side and squints at eric. 'aye, because you never asked, ya daftie.'

it's almost fond.

--

some nights eric will wake up, alone in his bed, grouching. he remembers the night he was about to be executed by the prison guards, to make it look like he's hung himself, before neville saved him.

he dreamt of walking out of prison, with no one to greet him but a dreary, empty council flat near tooting broadway.

some nights, eric will wake up, alone in his bed, grouching. but this time, he doesn't remember that night when he was about to be executed the prison guards, to make it look like he's hung himself, before he ended up walloping all of them, before walking out into the hot desert sun.

he dreamt of walking out of prison, but this time killian is there, saying, 'the dead arose and appeared to many,' -- except this isn't killian and he isn't eric, and eric struggles to remember the name of this man who looks so much like killian and yet just isn't.

his mannerisms are still the same, though, from the way he stretches and yawns and grins like a cheshire cat, and he is as generous with his touches as killian was. this man laughs at his unfunny jokes about sweating in hospitals and nightclubs and getting someone's goat, and serves him soup from the gazelle that eric-who-is-not-eric has allegedly shot.

killian-who-is-not-killian smiles, as he licks the soup off his fingertips, inadvertently making kissy noises as his lips leave each finger, and eric thinks, oh.

oh.

--

paddy, he says.

eric wakes.

--

at lunchtime, killian shows him an empty notebook that one of the elderly patients had gifted him, on late shift last night. it's worn and battered, faded ink on the yellowed pages.

'she stopped me in the corridor and told me i had to have it,' he says, 'and then she was gone.'

'which ward was this?' paddy asks. 'maybe she's just a bit off, ya know, with delirium.'

'aye, it was off rodney smith ward,' killian nods, before leafing through the pages again, carefully.

a note falls out.

'from paddy, to eoin,' killian reads out loud, squinting to make out the words.

'eoin,' eric says, weighing the word on his tongue, before deciding that he enjoys the way his lips have moved, the way his throat has closed, to form the lovely sound ringing between them.

'paddy,' killian agrees.

--

'so, the sand of the desert couldn't keep your soul buried, eh eoin?'

--

killian thinks, when he was growing up, his real da used to say: 'coincidence was god's way of being anonymous.'

but this isn't what he chooses to believe.

he believes it's more like poker: life won't always give him easy hands, but it'll be down to killian how he chooses to play it.

so he chooses to believe that it was out of his own free will that he chose to sit at that table and quoted wilfred owen at eric love.

he chooses to believe that it was out of his own free will that he chose to wait outside aldi in the pouring rain, umbrella in hand, to walk eric love home.

he chooses to believe that it was out of their own free will that they became friends, despite the dreams that he had been having lately: of quiet conversations in flimsy tents, of secret trysts under the desert moon.

'when it was the desert, and you, and me,' killian thinks --

only those words weren't his, nor were they eoin's, but from a fragment of eoin's soul that paddy's carried with him.

from egypt to sicily to normandy.

from dublin to ballymena to newtownards.

and now, to fucking tooting, of all places.

how poetic.

--

he couldn't find the woman again. she was, he thinks, not of white-european descent, and her accent was foreign, but killian had thought nothing of it when she handed him the notebook--

-- and disappeared.

the nurses had never seen her before, when killian attempted to describe her. and with everyone wearing masks, it became even harder to identify who killian was talking about, and the nurses looked at killian as if he was still hungover from whatever he'd smoked the night before.

killian will call her 'eve', he thinks,

and the notebook his forbidden fruit,

these phantom memories are akin to a serpent.

'take a bite,' they call out to killian;

-- and so he does.

this way, at least, he'll live.

--

tbc.

part two here

[ineed-to-sleep]

I'm still working on this btw. Chipping away at it one little panel at a time 🥲

[deoidesign]

.

[vulpinesaint]

nobody wants to live in my beautiful world with me where the items you make at the end of this quiz are actively malicious and fucked up. on the one hand i literally never said it was metal. on the other hand if you put a bunch of blood into stone and wood and ended up with a metal ring that started changing shape on its own then it's probably got some other issues that might make it difficult to cut it don't you think? "stone and wood and blood don't make a ring" buddy at what point in your time in this workshop that had a literal magic wand in it did you think it was going to be rooted in reality. do you want me to tell you It's A Cursed Magical Ring? kill all the fun and mystique of it? where's your fucking whimsy

[screechingcheesecakecheesecake]

Trying to get my hands on more ToriChia and you're telling me that in order to know their birth months I have to buy the special edition of this volume and to see them sharing an umbrella I have to buy the special edition of ANOTHER volume???? LIKE HELLO WE ONLY HAVE 2 MAIN COUPLES IN SiH MANGA YOU'RE TELLING ME TO GET MORE TAKARITSU TO HAVE MY TORICHIAS????

JUST GIVE US MORE NOVELS OR AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE BONUSES ATP DAMN 😭

[bunnyboy-juice]

OH MY GDD I FORGOT TO TELL YALL MY WIFE CAME HOME YESTERDAY AND JUST. WOOP. PICKED ME UP LIKE NOTHING. AND THEN DID IT AGAIN LIKE 20 MINUTES LATER AGAIN LIKE NOTHING.

[ichorblossoms]

i've been bitching and moaning less abt the writing process lately bc i think i've gotten past some of the pain and agony that comes with being entirely new to things and am at a point where i'm still painfully aware of how far i have to go but at least i am now able to Get More Words on the page abt it

[bookshelfdreams]

Hey, probably a question you have heard a thousant times. But what is the best way to get into any of the fiber arts? Books? Youtube? Actual people teaching you? (and if so how in the hell do you find them)

I started crochet and knitting but I pretty much can't get out of the basics, I can't managed to finish something that I have started cuz I always get frustrated that it's starting to look bad...

Hi! That's actually a really good question. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, depending on how u look at it) the only way to get any better at fibre crafts, is to keep doing them. Practice really does make perfect. There is no book or video tutorial or in-person teacher that holds the one ultimate secret that will make you Good At Crafts. All of these can be valuable resources if you struggle to understand how to do a specific thing; you can be taught stitches, and how to read charts, and such things. But the only way to really learn is to practice.

This is because there are more skills involved in crafting than just knowing how to do certain stitches. Confidence, patience, frustration tolerance: you can't learn that from tutorials. These are essential skills that you need to build. And the best way to build them, I'm afraid, is to actually finish the damn thing. Even if it has mistakes. Even if it "looks bad". You need to learn how to tolerate imperfections, if you ever want to get anything done.

Now that doesn't mean you should bully yourself. If you get easily bored and frustrated, leave the scarves and sweaters for now, and start small. Potholders, dishcloths, scrubbies or coasters are all projects that finish up quickly and yield usable objects, even when they are not perfect. If you never allow yourself the dopamine rush of Fuck Yeah I Made That, how do you expect yourself to build up the resilience to stick through the parts where it is slow and difficult and makes your fingers hurt?

Here are Ravelry searches for free dishcloth and potholder patterns.

Of course that doesn't mean you should only do those projects. You can do whatever you want. The most important thing is to teach yourself that you can have success, and the only way to do this is to successfully make things.

Also, it should always be fun. If it's not at least a little bit fun, maybe the technique isn't for you. This is also an important skill to develop: To learn when to stick through a bout of frustration, and when to abandon something.

There is a very steep learning curve. But you can and you will get there. I believe in you, and I also believe that what "looks bad" to you is perfectly fine.

[eggsistential-basket]

thinking about the person i could have been if i tried a little harder to find my own way

[rimouskis]

can I be so open and vulnerable with you guys. the card I was given from people at my old office was sincerely so nice and really validating but also I feel like the main impression I left other people with was "she's really nice" WHICH IS GOOD, I DO WANT TO BE KNOWN AS NICE but also part of me is like... should I maybe strive for "innovative" or "creative" or "a go-getter" because being The Nice One just feels a little mealy-mouthed of me y'know?

[todayisafridaynight]

i cant explain it but daigo being subtitled to just be like 'you're making me look like i have no balls' feels so illegal and wrong. hilarious but something's off