#ive complained about this many a time i know

[ecoustsaintmein]

ghosts (part v of v) - or is it?????

part i here

part ii here

part iii here

part iv here

writing playlist here

pairing: paddy x eoin; eric love (starred up) x killian (angel)

rating: E. 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 buzz, the ache, the heaviness in his head is gone. he feels lighter. it's as if paddy has loosened his grip on eric, but there's still that faint humming; a warning that he musn't fuck this up. or else.

or else what?

he's got free rein of his destiny, now. his limbs are his own. his voice is his own. his thoughts of killian--

they're also his own.

but what does that make him now?

--

in this light, he watches killian sleep next to him. peaceful.

a fragment of paddy's memory does flash in eric's mind then. of paddy seeing eoin's body, partially buried in that makeshift grave. eyes shut. unmoving. pale.

cold.

dead.

eric shakes his head to clear his thoughts. focuses on killian, who is there, instead of eoin, who is not there.

killian, who is warm and alive and open and trusting and sensitive and soft and yet -- he could be hard and unyielding and sharp and cutting when he needs to be.

eric shifts on the bed, snuggles closer to killian. comforted by the rise and fall of killian's breathing. he's alive, eric thinks. and he's here.

this is killian's bed. cu chulainn's bed. the bed that he's always seen in those videos, from many months before. he doesn't have the guts to tell killian that he knows. the secret shames him, but it also excites him.

eric doesn't want to leave, because then the fantasy will be over. what will happen to them now?

he reaches over and runs his fingertips over the palm of killian's hand. killian stirs, turns his head around and opens one eye into a slit. squints sleepily at eric. he closes his eyes again, but his lips curve into a soft, lazy smile. tightens his fingers around eric's, the way eoin's never did, in that last moments in the desert.

eric doesn't want to let go.

hot tears form in his eyes despite his herculean efforts, of willing himself to blink them away.

--

fuck, he thinks. we've really, really made it worse.

--

'eric?'

'kill?'

'we have to wake up.'

'mm. five more minutes.'

eric could hear killian snickering, his fingers stroking eric's hair. he couldn't see killian from this angle, but he knows killian's close. he could feel the heat of killian's body behind him, pressed against his back. killian's just gotten out of the shower. eric knows this, because he smells of that fresh fancy shower gel that always makes eric go nuts. pavlovian, almost, the way it makes him yearn. the way his body snaps to attention when he's aware that killian is near. killian smells good. always has.

against his better judgment, he takes a sharp, deep breath and turns his head into killian's chest. breathes him in deeper. the scent of him in his lungs. he wishes he could trap it there forever. if that's the last thing he'll ever do. 

'it's been five minutes ten minutes ago,' killian complains. eric could feel the throaty rumble of killian's voice against his cheeks; imagines his pout.

he wants to kiss it away.

eric sighs into killian's shirt; an old tattered football kit from an irish division two club he's never heard of. 'time is relative,' eric mumbles. the grip on his hair slightly tightens, and eric feels the blood rushing straight to his dick.

'ha,' is killian's only reply. fingernails grazing his scalp, gentle, then a sudden jerk of his hair. not painful-- just enough to make eric gasp. how is killian so normal about all of this? he wonders.

the tears threaten to spill again. eric couldn't let killian see. he gulps, eyes tightening shut, rubbing his face against killian's shirt desperately. the tell-tale signs of an ugly sob coming on -- the heaviness in his belly, getting pulled up, up, up into his chest and into his throat. this isn't like when he's nearly died and neville saved him. this is something completely different, and yet he feels so vulnerable and he hates the way it makes him feel, the way that killian has his life in his hands and yet eric trusts that killian will be kind to him. because he's never trusted anyone, not like this, not ever.

'i don't want to get out of bed,' eric whispers, guttural. meaning: i don't want to have to leave you.

killian holds him closer, presses a soft kiss on the crown of his head. eric looks up, then, red eyes brimmed with tears and killian brushes them away. he kisses eric's forehead, then: the tip of eric's nose. each eyelid. the bottom of his chin. catches eric's bottom lip with his own, coaxes him into another deep, lingering kiss. eric sits up then, straddling killian's lap.

killian carrying his weight.

killian swallowing every sob, every hiccup.

they stay like this until killian's legs go numb and they have to change positions so that killian could straighten his legs again, eric sitting in between them.

they pull apart, reluctantly, then:

'there is a fragrance in your kiss that i have not found yet in the kisses of women or the honey of their bodies,'

killian begins, suddenly, out of the blue. 

'lad of the grey eyes that flush in thy cheek would be white with dread of me could you read my secrets.'

he recites this to himself, to eric, to nobody at all. eric listens, and he wonders -- is killian talking about himself, when he talks about secrets?

about cu chulainn?

is he scared of eric finding out, what eric would think of him?

--

what will happen to us now? eric asks.

i don't know, killian says. but we can take it slow. we can figure it out. i'm not going to leave you.

i don't plan on leaving, eric concurs.

then we can work it out together, killian grins, like there's no care in the world.

won't we?

--

eric's seen that q&a video where killian has replied to one of the subscribers, who's asked if killian's seeing someone. his brain shortcircuited the moment killian opened his mouth, because that response was killian and not cu chulainn, with that thick cork accent, not a hint of him even trying to hide it.

the chat blew up then, but killian had ignored the comments about his sudden accent switch. it was as if killian purposely answered that specific question as himself, and not cu chulainn the performer.

eric's gotten riled up watching it, because, fuck. who is this boy that killian's talking about, the one who was so near and yet so far? surely not eric. surely not him. the video was posted just after he'd bumped into that kcl posho matt, who killian said he's not seen in ages. could it have been matt instead?

eric wanted answers, and he immediately thought:

'do I dare disturb the universe? in a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.'

eric's always been impulsive. but he also didn't want to give himself away. in the separate dm chat with cu chulainn, which he'd stubbornly ignored since killian sent him the voice notes with the poems that sliced through him, he feverishly typed:

'i hate and I love. why I do this, perhaps you ask. i know not, but i feel it happening and i am tortured.'

he'd shut his laptop, then. pushed it away. thought nothing more of it. he's getting good at being cryptic, the way paddy had been.

but then that afternoon killian had asked if they should fuck.

cryptic, my arse, he thought.

--

eighteen hours later, they did fuck.

fuck all good did it do them.

--

i hate and i love, he thinks. i am tortured, he thinks.

but now, he's here. they're in the shower together and killian's lathering shampoo on his hair and eric's scrubbing the lime shower gel on killian's skin and he's never felt more content.

they're able to touch each other without thinking about shagging all the time, now, which -- okay, so that part's been fucked out of their system. but this is a different kind of intimacy that eric's never shared with anyone.

in some ways it's made things worse, because what are they now?

i hate and i love, he thinks. i am tortured, he thinks.

--

killian's still texting matt, sometimes. he tells this to eric straight, and eric doesn't tell him, no, 'you can't see him.' but he still wonders, who is matt to killian?

who am i?

he looks around killian's flat. eric's parka is hanging there, at the corner of the room. his jeans in killian's laundry basket. eric's come to killian's flat once and found him darning the holes in eric's socks. he still doesn't know where killian keeps his cu chulainn paraphernalia, and eric doesn't want to snoop.

he returns to his own flat and there is killian's guitar, lying on the sofa. killian's books strewn on the floor. his st christopher's medal, on eric's bedside table.

eric smells like killian's soap bar.

killian's wearing eric's baggy shirt.

they walk to work in the mornings, like nothing else has changed.

--

christmas is a muted affair.

turns out killian's a lapsed catholic and he doesn't go to church let alone observe mass. mrs sinha ends up making a very non-traditional christmas feast (chicken ruby, black daal, chicken biryani) and eric thinks, fuck christmas and turkey and minced pies and potatoes, this is the actual good shit right here.

killian's still waxing lyrical about the different kinds of potatoes in ireland, though, and how the english ones are shite. so mrs sinha allows him to make his special roasted potatoes which actually goes well with the chicken ruby sauce.

khushi whispers to killian that she's confessed to the girl she's got a crush on, sabrina, and that they're now officially together. eric asks, does your mum know?

yeah, khushi says, when mrs sinha is bringing food out of the kitchen and killian helps her out. she's completely ok with it, she says. apparently both khushi and mrs sinha are fans of 'love actually' and got the idea of khushi learning the guitar to impress sabrina, by christmas, from that film. eric stares at mrs sinha then, thinking, i wish i had a mum like her. i wish that i had been as free as khushi. things would have been easier.

then eric stares at killian, thinking, i've got nothing to impress you with.

--

they exchange gifts.

mrs sinha and khushi got an indian cookbook for killian, and a new fjallraven kanken backpack for eric to replace the manky, tattered old jansport one that he's got currently.

killian, eric and mrs sinha saved up to buy khushi a new guitar instead of a second-hand one that she's been using, and a drumkit. she's chuffed, beyond the moon.

killian says to eric, i've got something for you, but it's not here.

eric says, me too.

i've got vouchers for a trip to belfast, killian says. he doesn't want to plan anything, he says, lest eric doesn't want to go, for whatever reason. killian tells eric that he does want to go -- to bury the ghosts of paddy and eoin once and for all.

this is the first time they've spoken openly about the dead souls that had been haunting them, since they fucked.

they've not fucked since, but it doesn't mean that eric doesn't want to. and he knows killian knows this too.

eric could sense paddy, just floating, simmering underneath his skin. curious as to how eric's going to play this out. as if saying, 'the choice is all yours, sweetpea. it's up to you now.'

eric bites the bullet and says yes.

yes, he says. i'll come with you. 

--

killian's first reaction when he sees his christmas gift for the first time is one of absolute joy. then disbelief. a twinge of horror, perhaps, from the way he looks at it and then back up at eric and back at it.

eric's stomach does drop, then, blood leaving his face and rushes to his feet. absolute fear that killian's really, really seen through him now. knows who he is.

what he's done.

withers yips.

and yips. 

and yips. 

killian picks up the dog and coos at it, hugging it close to his chest and scratches its head. 'withers,' he says, and blinks at eric. withers yips again, then makes a sad noise when killian stops stroking him. eric's never seen killian cry, but there are proper tears running down his cheeks, now.

'merry christmas?' eric asks, uncertain. he tries to be glib about it all, but he thinks he's failing thoroughly. like when he had to give a presentation during mrs thompson's english class and everyone was laughing at him. 

but killian's not laughing at him now. 

'how did you know?' killian mouths silently.

eric shrugs. pretends he hasn't seen that video where killian's literally said he wanted a dog and has a fondness for strays.

fervently hopes killian doesn't find out about who user @/blaire_e is. and eric thinks:

'lad of the grey eyes that flush in thy cheek would be white with dread of me could you read my secrets.'

it's not just you, killian, who has secrets.

--

later, eric says: 'kill, i've got something to tell you.'

'hmm?'

but the words are stuck in his throat.

he wants to say, i'm blair, i've always known who you were, this was how i knew about you wanting a dog and your deepest, darkest desires.

but he's a coward.

instead, he says:

'maybe the reason why they didn't get together was so that we could. maybe the reason why we're here is to give them closure. maybe it's not just them that needs it but also us,' all in one breath. 

killian looks at him. really looks at him. as if to say, 'i see you. i know you. if only you'll let me hold up a mirror to you so you can see yourself too.'

they are sticky and filthy from come and sweat but eric doesn't care. they'd promised to each other that they won't fuck again until they've properly figured this out, having established that their decisions are no longer being driven by paddy and eoin.

but then they picked up withers from battersea and something definitely shifted in the air between them, after.

eric's headed straight for the showers without a word.

he scrubbed at his skin, washed his hair, lathered himself with soap and water – letting the hot water spray all over him, draining his sins away.

he closed his eyes, before sliding down against the shower wall and sat down in his shower cubicle while the shower spray was still on. he pulled his knees up to his chest, and shuddered at the thought of being shunned if killian were to find out how long he'd known about cu chulainn.

his dick still twitched at the thought of killian -- not of killian as eoin, or killian as cu chulainn. but killian as killian. he lowered his hand to his groin, wrapping his hand around it, before stroking in earnest. he hadn't even realized that killian's knocked on the bathroom door.

'eric?'

he'd thought about straightening up, about stopping – but he’d been too far gone. eric let out a moan as the pressure on his cock intensified, as he increased the speed at which his hand was moving.

'you alright in there?'

killian's voice hadn't helped at all. not good. eric bit his lips to cover his groans, but then he decided, what's even the fucking point. he shut his eyes tightly, rivulets of water trickling over his stiff cock. head hung low as he fucked his own fists. his groans became louder. obscene.

killian yanked the shower curtains open just in time as eric began to come. killian didn't even budge, or had the sense to be surprised. instead, he just stood there, hand gripping the wet shower curtains. 'withers's asleep now,' he'd said expressionlessly. as if eric hadn't just came in front of him, hissing killian's name on eric's lips.

killian tilted his head, lips pursed. 'does it feel good, eric?' 

eric moved his hand away from his limp cock. lifted up his face, to look at killian. cheeks burning from the heat of the shower, but not the shame building inside of him. 'it felt amazing, yeh,' he replied. nonchalant. 

a beat, then --

'right on then,' killian said, stripping down and joining him under the shower. 'kill—,' eric warned, before killian leaned down and kissed him, ardently, as if saying, i know. i know. i know who you are.

but eric hadn't dared ask the question. so he let killian manhandle him inside the crowded shower stall. he could feel killian hardening against his thighs. his own cock began to stiffen. he lets himself be kissed again and again.

the slippery floor really didn’t make them great friends with gravity. in their struggle to put their hands on each other, eric managed to lose his footing and stumbled on his arse, pulling killian on top of him in the process.

killian laughed, hard, then. it echoed through the tiles of the bathroom, ringing sweetly in eric's ears. 'i just wanted to have a shower with you. of course you had to try to kill us both in the process,' he said, with a cheeky fucking grin, and reached down to pump them both together. 'you're such hard work,' he said, but there was no malice in his words. 'i never know what to make of ya, eric love.'

'keeps it interesting, innit? life can't be straightforward all the time, yeah?' eric managed to say breathlessly -- as he thrusted harder into killian's hand.

'you keep doing my head in,' killian huffed. 'how did you even know that i wanted a dug for christmas? surely paddy's ghost didn't tell you that?'

eric couldn't help but let out a grunt as he arched his hip forward, craving more of killian's touch. ignored the jab, the pointed question about the dog. 'i'm doing your head in? you're the one doing my head in,' he burst out, as killian continued to torment him with the way that he was using his hands. 'from the moment you turned up with that awful accent and that hair, yeah?' eric began, to which killian tutted, 'ah, but you adore my accent.' eric chuckled, and groaned at the same time, before resuming his rant:

'and you just swanned in quoting wilfred fucking owen, and getting me to do shite i've never done in my life before,' eric said, as killian watched his filthy mouth whine about all the allegedly terrible things killian's made him do. he increased his speed, moving faster, harder, and eric thought he could see stars, the way that killian's flicking his wrist, the friction, the pressure, the thought that they were going to come together. 'do this, he grunted, as killian panted against his mouth, hand frantic. thumb against the slit of eric's cock. 'go there,' eric hissed. 'try this indian food. watch this fucking boring black and white movie from the 1940s. don't fall in love with ya though i'm completely hung up on ya'.

killian's gazed up sharply, into eric's eyes, then.

there was only silence. there was only their breathing, heavy, against each other's skin.

they came, and they came hard. together.

killian wiped his hand on the towel next to him. he looked down at eric, gentle, fond. a drop of water from killian's wet curls fell onto eric's bottom lip, and he licked it away. their gazes never left each other. eric watched the way killian watched him, and his heart raced faster, as if it could leap out of his ribcage at any minute, the way it fluttered frantically against his chest. 

'i've done all those things you said i did, and i don't regret them one bit,' killian said, placing a hand on eric's heart. 'but i've never told you not to fall in love me.'

--

killian says, i've seen a hanging. and then, he says, i've tried to kill someone.

eric says, i've tried to kill people. and then, he says, people's tried to hang me.

killian kneels by him, fingertips tracing eric's throat, the bump of his adam's apple. as if tracing where the ropes would have marked eric.

never again, killian says.

never again, eric concurs.

--

he opens his dm and finds another voice note from cu chulainn, as a reply to his 'i hate and i love' message.

this time, killian's reads it fully in his native, irish accent, instead of an english one:

'in scenery i like flat country. in life i don’t like much to happen. in personalities i like mild colourless people. and in colours I prefer grey and brown.

my wife, a vivid girl from the mountains, says, “then why did you choose me?”

mildly I lower my brown eyes— there are so many things admirable people do not understand.'

eric plays it again, and again, again. just to hear the rolls of killian's 'r's and the fullness of his vowels.

tries to ignore what killian's trying to say. and why killian's read it as killian and not cu chulainn.

because, surely not. 

surely not. 

--

the last thing eric would have suspected from killian is another cu chulainn video, posted two nights later.

someone's asked him to complete a challenge, to shoot a video in a new place, out of his usual room setup. eric knows that the intention behind the challenge was for cu chulainn to do a solo video somewhere public, like in a park, or in a car -- somewhere that is not killian's bedroom. something outrageously kinky.

eric thinks, this could be interesting. until he realizes where killian is, in the video. and what he's doing.

eric lets out a loud, 'fuck.'

'i'm here,' video-killian says, though eric still can't see his face. but he recognizes the spartanness of the flat. it's eric's place.

it's eric's fucking living room.

it's where they'd fucked at least twice, on that sofa that killian's sitting on. some of the come stains are probably still visible, even through the grainy pixels.

'it's still indoors, but i'll tell you why i chose this place.' killian''s speaking with his normal irish accent, instead of an english accent.

eric panics. when did killian record the video? was it when eric had gone out with withers, for a walk around tooting? and then he'd come home and killian had made dinner?

'i chose this place because this person means something to me. i spend a lot of time here. i can truly be myself, here. with him. i never told him how i felt, because i couldn't. but i think -- sometimes -- he can tell what i'm thinking, what i'm feeling. even if we don't have the words for it.'

killian's stripped down and touched himself. 'for the past few months, when i'm doing these videos, i've been thinking of him. so, la reine d'algerie,' he sighs, 'you're right. i've sort of been seeing someone. good spot,' he chuckles, but there was no humour there -- only a sense of burden and guilt and conflict. bittersweet. 'but i think you've always known that it's going to happen, don't you, eve?'

eric watches in horror. this is not cu chulainn. this is purely, and openly, and honestly, killian. what remains of the last vestiges of his anonymity is the headless shot of the camera. 'i think i love him. i think i'm in love with him--,'

eric shuts his laptop and throws it on the floor.

--

an interlude:

two weeks before christmas, 1955, paddy's gone fishing on a boat in a lake; the same lake where he used to fish and talk to eoin's ghost when the screams and the shouts get too loud and he needs to run away.

eoin's here, saying: this is the last time we'll meet like this.

paddy's fallen silent. 'is it time?'

'it's about time,' eoin nods.

'when?'

'i can't tell you exactly when,' eoin says, 'but soon.'

'will we meet again, d'you think?' paddy asks. he doesn't look at eoin, when he says this. he stares at the far, far horizon. far into the future. a future he doesn't understand.

'one day,' eoin says. 'we will meet again. i won't be me and you won't be you, but we will meet again. it will hurt. it will feel lonely. we won't remember each other, but we will find a way.'

it's probably for the best, paddy thinks. he doesn't want to live in a world where there's war in his own backyard and he's going to be helpless about it. with his aching, creaking body and his drunk, demented mind. he's no longer the paddy mayne of ten years ago. this thought sits with him for a moment, before he looks to his right.

and eoin's gone.

let the young 'uns build their own world, he thinks.

that same world to which he will return.

and he will find eoin.

--

paddy returns to his fishing.

then he'll drive to bangor.

and then he'll drive back to newtownards.

then, who knows?

--

--

killian's been wondering about eric since the trip to battersea, since the day they picked up withers from the compound.

he's had his suspicions since the poems that blair has been sending via his dms. the things he's saying. he could hear it in eric's speaking voice. he's not an eejit. he's not blind.

but they're both cowards. this, killian will admit.

if eric is blair, how long has he known?

killian's sent that last poem to blair, because it's what he feels about eric. no holds barred. then eric's gone and said something about falling for him and then trying to pretend that he hasn't said it and it is really, truly, doing killian's head in.

he knows that blair will watch that last video. it was meant to be 'challenge' for cu chulainn, to record a video somewhere new and different, but it's killian who is throwing the gauntlet to blair.

to eric.

the ball's in eric's court now.

if they are the same person.

--

eric unsubscribes to cu chulainn straight away. deletes his internet history. wipes it clean. he's still in the middle of doing this, when killian (who else???) comes knocking at his door, with withers on a leash, asking if he wants to come dog-walking.

it's in the middle of the night, and it's freezing as hell. but withers needs to poop, killian says, batting his eyelash at eric. he could do with a walk.

eric fully understands killian-speak, now. what he means is: we need to talk.

away from here.

away from where we'd fucked like animals in wild abandon. find somewhere neutral.

eric looks back at the laptop on his table. killian could see the way eric's gaze shift from killian to the laptop, and eric notices how killian's clenching his jaw. killian rarely clenches his jaw, or looks even mildly pissed off. there is an irritability there that eric's never seen before. it's like a ticking time-bomb. it's obvious.

it's obvious that killian knows.

and eric's tired of running away. of hiding.

--

underneath his skin, paddy is laughing his arse off, the cheeky bugger.'

and then, a voice in his head, saying: 'you've got this, boyo.' 

--

down the streets of tooting broadway, in the middle of january, killian asks: 'how long have you known?' 

'since we started speaking to each other. even before we became -- friends,' eric chokes. 'are you angry at me?'

'no. i'm just-- why didn't you say anything?'

'what was i meant to say? hi, i'm blair and i've been wanking over your videos?' eric asks, voice rising to a fever pitch. 'your videos were fab, by the way.'

killian rolls his eyes. gives eric a side-eye and nudges their knees together. eric's gaze falls on their hands, cold, in the bleak midwinter. he reaches over and takes killian's hand, the one not holding withers' leash, and holds it in his. firm.

it's the first time he's ever done this in public.

there's a first for everything.

'when did you know i was blair?' eric asks.

killian takes a deep breath. 'i've suspected for a while, but getting withers was a dead giveaway. between that and the fucking poems, brother, you're not exactly subtle,' he winks.

eric shakes his head, thinking, yeah. he's never been subtle. 'vivid girl from the mountains,' he thinks. it's him. killian's been talking about him, all this while, he realizes. the feeling is odd but not wholly unwelcome. he's still unsure, but the only certainty he has is that killian's here and he's holding his hand. the only way he knows this is real is when he moves his hand, so that he could interlink their fingers together. and killian lets him. killian grips their hands tighter, two hands, joined up in a fist. shaped like a heart.

he's surprised at how easy it is for them to talk like this. he's expected it to be harder, to be more confrontational. after all the stop-starts. but then, he thinks, without those stop-starts, they wouldn't be here right now, walking around tooting with a wee dog, without the need to bite each other's heads off.

he's surprised that he's not angry. he's surprised that he hasn't felt the urge to thump someone.

killian's wearing a beanie that hides his curls, to keep his ears warm. eric's got his parka hood up. eric thinks, i want to be the one to pull that beanie off when you get home and fluff up your hair again, when your curls get flattened.

'did you mean what you've said?' eric asks. his voice tiny, shrill, like a scared little boy.

'i've said many things, eric. what did i say?'

'about -- being in love -- with me.'

killian pauses in his steps, then looks at eric. really, really looks at him. 'well. first of all. did you mean what you've said? about falling for me?'

eric blushes. he hates this feeling of being seen and being known, gaze lowered to the ground. 'hey, eric. look at me,' killian says. 'i've been where you were. i was scared too. i've never fallen in love, but i know how it feels to want something you think you could never have. because it's been drilled into you that it's wrong. but then i met you, and for the first time i got really, really scared. because this is different. this is not just a want or a need, or an urge,' he says, and eric thinks he could see tears in killian's eyes. 'this is real. you're my friend. i enjoy being around you. fucking and kissing and everything else besides. i don't want to ruin it. but i don't want to keep going on in circles.'

'how could someone like you want to spend time with someone like me? i've got nothing apart from a long list of charges and a prison record.'

'you keep selling yourself short, eric. i don't fucking care about your charges or you being in prison. and for fuck's sake if you bring up paddy or eoin i will thump you first myself.'

eric laughs.

then, killian says:

'i love you, eric love. there. i've said it. i love you.'

--

eric remembers the conversation he's had with ashley, a few weeks ago:

'there ain't no such thing as a soulmate. there's no one who will give you everything. it won't fucking happen,' ashley had said. 'so you get anything you can get. a fuck here, and there. and if you're lucky, you find someone who can give you a fuck and be a good friend. but if you're really lucky, you get someone who can give you more than just a good fuck or being just a good friend. those things don't come by easy. so take the chance when you can get them. or you'll just end up like me. or neville. alone. lonely.'

is this why eric's always been alone and lonely, then?

but eric's always liked being alone – to have his own space, his own privacy. before he met killian, he's unfussed with the idea of coming back to the flat with the empty fridge and the plastic chairs and the pot noodles leftovers from yesterday. even if it also serves as a reminder of his own loneliness.

but since killian, even the lumpy sofa is cosy, even the hard mattress that's unslept in feels comfortable. even the neighbour’s car alarm wailing from three streets away that stops him from staying asleep won't want to make him kick the wall and hurl something out of the window. even the pigeons disturbing his laundry hanging out to dry on the balcony seem...cute.

everything feels bearable.

everything feels easier.

--

'i love you, killian.'

--

--

years later --

the world will probably end soon, but killian and eric will stay together for as long as they can.

they make plans to go to belfast, to dublin. revisit the ghosts of their past. they'll go to galashiels and arran, on the train, hours and hours of just looking out the window and having good craic.

killian's studying to be a mental health nurse. eric's become an experienced youth worker and he gets something out of his job. the bbc interviewed him one time about the rise of knife crimes. oliver facetimes him from canada after watching it and said 'i can't believe this was the same man who had the prison officers balls in his mouth ten years ago.' eric cackles, and from behind he could also hear killian wheezing with laughter in the background. 'yeh I've got someone else's balls in my mouth now don't I?' eric says to oliver, winking suggestively. 

killian throws a piece of crumpled paper at eric's head then. 'hello killian!' oliver says, through the screen. killian waves at oliver. 'hiya!' he says, beaming. flour on his cheeks and hair and nose. eric tells oliver, 'kill's making sausage rolls. it's better than greggs.'

it's the truth.

--

they can't go to egypt for various reasons; the first being financial and the second being eric having problems getting a visa because of his criminal past. which is all fine, really.

which is how they find themselves on a boat, in a lake, fishing. like paddy and eoin used to do.

paddy and eoin are still there, sometimes, but they don't do anything apart from enjoying the ride. this is killian and eric's story. not theirs.

--

some nights he lets him explore his body, tracing every outline, every ridge and curve, with his fingers, with his lips, with his tongue. some nights he lets him do the same to himself – and some nights, they do it to each other. there has never been a rule about who should be in control, although most nights it is him who surrenders everything, when he's so tired of being in control all the time, and he needs to let go, and he needs him to take the reins. there has never been a rule about how often they should fuck, or make love, or make out – but they have always been comfortable even without that kind of intimacy, because they've understood from day one that their relationship means more than that.

--

cu chulainn makes a final video to say that he's with someone, for real, now. it's been a trip, he says to his subscribers. eric's joined too, but only in the background. a speaking voice. tangible evidence that cu chulainn is indeed, with someone.

user @/la_reine_d_algerie types, 'i'm so pleased for the both of you. i'm glad you found yourselves. i hope you stay together, for the rest of your lives.'

eric who has never been in one of these videos before, says, 'that is the intention.' he pauses, then adds, 'and after that, who knows?'

--

and after that, who knows?

maybe one of them will die before the other. maybe they will live for another five, ten, fifty years.

maybe there will be another war in their lifetimes.

but for now, they are here. in this moment. together. no longer hiding. no longer afraid.

paddy and eoin still linger, paddy and eoin still live on --

but it's eric and killian who will write their own histories.

no longer haunted by the ghosts of their pasts.

--

hold hard then, heart. this way at least you live.

--

.end

[supercupcakecollector-love]

another thing iv noticed is the dog whistle of "but it's a Slavic story it should be made by Slavic people", those people don't directly say the bigoted things mentioned but you know they care more about Yennefer and Triss "not being played by Slavic actresses" than they do Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri not being played by Slavic actors

And The Witcher is a weird thing to get mad at as an adaptation when there are so many other adaptations and expansions of the canon if you do not like the show, especially if you can speak Polish:

The Hexer (has worse effects than a '70s doctor who episode, and is completely bonkers at times, especially at the end but has its own slav jank charm)

a stage musical (which iv heard from Polish fans is actually the most accurate of the visual adaptations)

a fully voiced audioplay of the books with dozens of actors, music, and sound effects

and if you dont speak Polish, there are the Peter Kenny audiobooks, who does such a theatrical and sing-song performance that captures the original feel that may have been lost in the English translation

one of the greatest video games of all time brought the world to life in a way few other books ever got to be and brought the series to a wide audience ( and the critics of the show complained The Witcher never got to be seen by a wide audience in a good adaptation because of the show while acting like this game isn't one of the most acclaimed and popular games of the past decade )

My favorite Witcher adaptation of all time, Thronebreaker an incredible RPG that has everything I love about the Witcher lore,( and doesn't have the things I don't love like the misogyny and over-sexualisation of the books and games) is closer in the story and tone to the books than the mainline games, even if it doesn't star any of the well-known characters from the franchise

and numerous other comics, the TTRPGs, the lore expansions from stuff like the Gwent game, and weird stuff like the officially published fanfiction "Szpony i kły"

any problem anyone has with the show is more than likely properly portrayed a way they like in one of these adaptions anyway, so what is the fuss about

"i'm pretty tired of seeing hateposts about the netflix show everywhere people talk about the witcher. it's like the only thing people talk about anymore, especially on the subreddit (which is just a shitshow anyways). the show wasn't just made for the hardcore books & games fans - it was made for anyone to be able to watch, digest, and enjoy. i'm totally fine with people having opinions and i know not all of the show is accurate to the source material, the hate just gets ridiculously excessive. if you really hate the show that much then just ... don't watch it and don't post about it?

to be clear: valid criticisms are one thing and that's not what i'm talking about; there's just so much hate like "this show is shit!" with no real explanation, or "characters being gay & poc is woke!" that comes from a place of bigotry."

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

queer signalling: louis and harry living their beautiful queer lives, collected by me

since we must take note of our fellow queers when they signal that they are very much one of us, despite being closeted. since i've had a very very queer few years thanks to them, thanks to their signalling, thanks to them being brave.

(!! this list isn't exhaustive, and if i've forgotten your favorite, by all means let me know. there's always room for another edition. it's been a while since i made a compilation and felt there was a need of a new one on my blog. this one goes a few years back, since my last one dates from 2021 :'o. so yeah. here we go.)

harry in my policeman, playing a closeted queer man, based on the book that's long been one of his favorites. lauded by the director and co-stars for how well he portrayed this character, how well he understood.

harry wearing a green flower on his chest for the mp premiere, placing himself (once again) in the same line of history as oscar wilde.

louis's green flowers on his initial 28clothing jersey at the first afhf, which includes bonus roses and 28s all around

the entire late night talking mv bc!!!!!

louis's rainbow stage lights during sibwawc. he really did that. every single night.

the entire dazed magazine happening. “I’ve always tried to compartmentalise my personal life and my working life,” he explains. / “I have unlocked an ability to be myself completely, unapologetically,” he says with conviction." / “I think through my own sense of self and personal journey, I am realising that happiness isn’t this kind of end state.”

louis's gay exit songs: most notably 'ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've)'

harry flirting with stanley tucci

louis and his gay ass tank tops !!! we must point it out !!!!!!

all along

harry kissing a pride flag during harry's house ono in nyc

rainbow flare during the btm mv

harry being gifted a mask of his own face at munich n2, which prompted him to say that he feels like he's wearing a mask sometimes

28 in a triangle for 28clothing!!!!!!!!

kit connor soft launching 28 clothing. a young actor starring in a queer coming-of-age series, who was forced to come out after being accused of queerbaiting. he was the first one, besides louis, to wear 28clothing

harry's grammy's speech "people like me" (which ppl sadly misunderstood), echoing what he's been saying on tour for years. this doesn't happen to people like him. if they only knew, right?

harry's freddie-inspired outfit for the grammy carpet (which also brought back his theme for clown/jester fits, like harryween 2021 n2. wonder why)

louis's merch graphic where a boy is trying to smash a glass ceiling

harry posing for david hockney, actual living legend, gay artist of the ages. "Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio."

louis having suspicious visuals during back to you, the only visuals of that type on tour

harry's 2022 harryween outfit: dressed as danny (literally. he did that. he went grease on us.) but wearing sandy's jacket

louis at barricade aka held safely in the arms of strong security personnel

harry singing man, i feel like a woman and still the one with shania twain. while wearing a rainbow discoball jumpsuit (parallel with kacey musgraves wearing a rainbow dress to sing it with him years ago.)

louis's gay ass merch for the away from home festival

harry dressed in nina ricci by harris reed, an explicitly gender-fluid line. "At 18 I found myself living in london creating ruffle blouses, corsets, fabric flowers and flares from my kitchen floor (...). My creations at the time were met with nothing but criticism for being “too feminine” or “costume”, teachers said I should focus on “menswear” or “womenswear”. l remember it really wasn’t until I started dressing for myself and who I was that it all clicked. @harrystyles was my first ever client who embraced the fun, fluid and expressive clothing I was creating."

continuous bluegreening. to name a few: harry's werchter fit, all this time lights, satellite caps in two colors only, louis's smiley flickering bluegreen on tour in 2022, the james cordon shit, louis in uncasville. enjoy this post here

harry's snl shoot unseens: him as ariel

louis out in amsterdam at a gay bar

harry going to the women's only swimming pond (on a day it was open for men, but this is important to me okay)

harry's use of orchids in his visuals during 'she' during love on tour '23

the 'hairy mermaid' tour visuals

harry as a mermaid during the mfasr mv. as a supreme physical manifestation of harry as the mermaid he truly is inside. but in his true form he gets chopped up and consumed. literally

as it was mv and its parallels with the matrix, hints to harry as the woman with the red dress.

louis jumping up on barricade against the one spot where a pride flag was draped over it

oh yeah that exact same thing happened in 2022 too

harry forming a skirt with a pride flag in brasil after his pants ripped

that gay ass denim getup with the fur collar?? while wearing the fucking peace ring????

harry and phoebe breaking gender norms in the tpwk mv dance. no i'm not over it yet shut up

louis wearing a basquiat t-shirt, another famously queer artist joining the ranks

harry bought an actual genuine basquiat. flex

harry dressed in skirts for gucci

"happy pride! happy pride! 'tis the season! can you tell i'm relaxed?"

"isn't all of this sparkly bi music?"

satellite mv rainbow planet tshirt

louis's bigger than me promo where he's literally george michael like??? IM SORRY???????

harry kissing lewis capaldi at the brits

harry kissing nick kroll at the dwd premiere. lol

and... harry as friend of D O R O T H Y. sang over the rainbow. we all cried. especially me at this clip of harry glancing in relief at his band after over the rainbow.

[robotsafari]

redrawing my favorite gba chain of memories scenes with my own interpretations part 1(?):

“You’re thinking about me… You’re afraid of the darkness I command.” (NOT SHIP)

[call-me-pup2]

"Sleep soundly my prince" - Me to my upstairs neighbour that I can hear snoring away so I know I'm not bothering him by make tiny noises existing

[br4inmu1a]

Cuz why tf do i have to do literally everything on my own without an ounce of any freaking help

[dnpbeats]

what is wrong with ppl on phannie twit and not giving any attribution ever for anythingggggg 😭😭

[sonknuxadow]

just saw the opening animation for sonic dream team .... why are they wasting all these fun concepts and gorgeous animations and new characters and characters that havent been playable in forever on an apple arcade exclusive game that almost nobodys going to play

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

genuine question but is there any fandom where a character is well written by the majority. im thinking about fandom culture and the spread of frustration when people dont write characters well but. honestly in all the fandoms ive been in there's only like, a Select number of authors who i trust to write Well, let alone write Well AND In Character. character analysis and writing and getting inside characters' heads are all separate skills (all of which are trained by roleplaying fyi can CONFIRM playing pretend with your friends is good for you). there's been more than once where I've disagreed with an interpretation that others agreed with, and then I turned out wrong. or i turned out right. like it doesnt matter WHO is right it just matters that differences in character analysis exist, so even if you DO write well AND write in character, your in character is still going to be someone else's out of character

there's this sort of. vibe. that to play in the sandbox you Need to be able to make a castle, and if you can't make a castle then you shouldn't bother, and it completely dismisses the idea that youre in that sandbox to PLAY in the first place. there's this Weight of disappointing someone if you can't build something that they like, but that forgets that you aren't there to build them a castle. like, be KIND. if you disagree with someone then please make an effort to do so kindly. i dont give a shit about fandom discourse but there is a reason kids get removed from sandboxes if they keep throwing sand in people's eyes. but if they don't like your misshapen sand pile, then youre not obligated to change it. even if you yourself end up hating that same sand pile later- youre not building a legacy. youre playing. and sometimes the result of that play is out of character drivel. theres a reason there are so many authors and so few who i like to consistently read and thats because everyone is Fucking Around in their hobby space. hash tag brag or whatever but i can build castles. ive built several that im v proud of. ive also dug holes in the sand for fun and then tripped on them when trying to get up. I often dug a hole and then got up and fucking- whoops, its a castle now, and i didn't realize i'd made something to be proud of until after the fact. the whole time while creating shit i was Convinced it was bullshit that didn't make sense. and then other times i was Convinced it was bullshit and then i was Right and i can look back and go. huh. ew. but it doesn't matter what the end result was, because i had fun playing in the sandbox

this wasn't meant to turn into a ramble but i have Feelings about bad art and art that's badly perceived and how public perception can screw with your head and how making art youre proud of is fucking. it's so difficult!!! it's hard!! it's really fun, which is why i try to make it, but i promise you it is Okay to not tryhard creativity. even if you CAN, it's okay not to do it all the time. or ever, even. fuck around find out have fun etc

[tittyinfinity]

Not excited to go back home and give up the rest of my money in the hopes that someone who took 5k from me will still let me live in the house I pay bills in

[databent]

sorry my posts suck today i have a headache and im stressed about my doctors appiintment tomorrow and its making me stupid. in my brain

[funky-lil-ghost]

i’m not exactly the person to complain about this but man it would be nice if accessibility standards were totally normalized. like yeah i can see and hear just fine but what if i prefer to read a video transcript because of adhd or not wanting to turn up the volume on my phone for whatever reason. i scroll past videos i would’ve liked to watch sooooo often cause there’s no transcript.

also IDs r so nice when u have low signal and the images won’t load

obviously it’s more important to normalize accessibility standards because they’re absolutely necessary for making things accessible to the people they’re designed for. they’re just also rad as hell & i wish everyone appreciated them as much as I do cause maybe then people would start noticing how inaccessible a lot of stuff currently is

[bluinary]

With no hate to that previous post I just reblogged bc its valid in and of itself:

I get what they're saying, but it's actually *not* like Rick Riordan broke into your house and moved all of your furniture.

It's more like you *bought* furniture and installment services from Uncle Rick's Home Goods in 2008, a lovely niche shop focused on serving our underserved community of neurodivergents. And then, despite your furniture from that time still being exactly as it was when you bought it and billions of exact copies being for sale, when Uncle Rick said, "Hey guys, I'm going to make this same line of furniture out of completely different material, and Im adopting a new installation tactic, but it's going to stick to its general function and purpose," you giddily clapped your hands and said, "I can't wait to see the exact same thing made out of entirely different materials!" Forgetting, of course, that that is literally impossible.

And **then** you came home and found that Rick (whom you left the door open for!) moved all of your furniture slightly to the left. Also he replaced every item with near-identical copies.

"I liked it the way it was very much, thank you!" Then don't get the update, idiot. It is so optional to watch this show. You had to wait a week between every episode. You had to torrent every 40 minute video on a weekly basis, or drive to visit your one family member who won't give up Disney+ anyway. And when things started proving to be different, *you* made the conscious choice to see where things were going. Now you're mad and miffed that it wasn't as faithful an adaptation as The Lion King 2019 was to the original 💀. Coming from an AuDHDer, please understand that your neurodivergent rigidity can only be accommodated so much, my friend. Real people worked hard to make this. Different people from the book's production. *More* people than the book's production. And you know what's crazy is that, despite all of this, some of the tone of minor scenes may have changed, but nothing major truly did. We did it-- we got a faithful adaptation!! If it's not your cup of tea, if your mind's eye just cannot be topped, it's all good. Just say, "this seemed cooler in my head." But oh my god, I'm tired of the Rick slander. The overall crew slander. As if people didn't work their asses off to make this show happen at all. "Rick Riordan broke into my home--" you let him in. *You* watched the show; you let him in and consented to whatever the fuck he was going to do (which...wasn't even much).

If you are scared of coming home and finding your special interest moved slightly to the left, stop letting the author back in through your front door.

[size-two-shrimp]

Being involved in anything V2 related makes the "hey girl i mean they" meme hover behind me like a malevolent spirit.

[masqueradewaltz]

i feel like atsv was pandering to the marvel fans a little. itsv remains superior.

[itsalwaysdark]

aww its kinda cute finding me complaining abt my dads whole lisa thing from 2017. honestly so overshadowed by everything else and also i was so annoying when i was 12 aw .