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everschade.bsky.social
Eóghan : : ⏾
@everschade.bsky.social
200 followers 75 following 600 posts
A bad poet with dreams.
Agender. He/Him. 30’s.
Chronically late to games.
Occasionally nsfw.

» ✉️ everschade.straw.page
» ☕️ https://ko-fi.com/everschade
» 📝 ao3.org/users/hawkeing_eta

Saoirse don Phalaistín.
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everschade.bsky.social
I’m fighting with myself to see this as the accomplishment that it actually is but I had to be brutally honest with myself when I made that goal at the beginning of the year, and for a bit there I didn’t think I’d even do this. Small steps. I’m getting myself back in small steps
Screenshot and crop of StoryGraph’s goal tab. It reads: “2025 Reading Goals. You have read 6 books this year.” In smaller text beneath the full progress bar reads: “Reading goal met! 🎉”
November 15, 2025 at 2:31 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Still illegible, sorry, but wrote more. We’re getting there (also yes I am recycling/reworking a strawpage request here)
A close-up photo of a writing tablet. The screen is completely filled with handwritten prose. The handwriting itself is unfortunately hard to make out and the author apologizes for the inconvenience.
November 7, 2025 at 7:53 PM
everschade.bsky.social
No holds barred apparently (they just included this with him)
An art card is being held up by the author. It is a cute drawing of Tenna in pinks and reds with light angel wings as he floats up, his antennae in the shape of a heart. Smaller Tennas surround him in various poses: one about to shoot a cupid’s bow with a large smile, one giggling, and another hurriedly flying off with an arrow comically stuck in his butt. “ROMANCE SEQUENCE” in various fonts is in the upper right corner, and all the available blank space is filled with little hearts of various colors.
November 5, 2025 at 10:36 PM
everschade.bsky.social
They are reunited once again
Two plush toys of Tenna and Spamton. They are seated side-by-side on a black floor chair with a white throw blanket behind them.
November 5, 2025 at 10:24 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Also I swear I have been writing, I’ve just been making myself hand write things out since I miss it and prefer it, however that also means it is illegible until I copy it over. Sorry. I’m working on spamtenna stuff I promise
A photo of a writing tablet set on top of a workbench. The page is completely full of handwritten prose, but the writing itself is messy and hard to make out.
November 2, 2025 at 11:01 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Sprite of tiny angel Spamton.
October 19, 2025 at 1:58 AM
everschade.bsky.social
A blurry photo of a little black cat jumping around excitedly inside a white bathtub.
October 18, 2025 at 8:59 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Sometimes lying down just makes the pounding in my head worse when I have a migraine so I tend to just power through the worst of it with sunglasses in my dark room until the exedrin kicks in
A scribbled doodle of the author’s fursona, bundled up in his large cardigan and blankets, and wearing large circle sunglasses—pain scribbles radiate around his head. A game controller is in his hands and a plush Spamton is tucked into his arms.
October 17, 2025 at 11:42 PM
everschade.bsky.social
[2/2]
* IT'S ALL I WANTED. TO [[Showroom]] YOU A [small] TASTE OF [[HyperlinkBlocked]]. Slowly, he pushes himself up, the blankets shifting off his shoulders. The heavy weight of Tenna's arm across his waist keeps him pinned, but he doesn't push far. Spamton just stares into that dark screen and begs himself to see it as it is. There are no cracks, no scratches or blemishes on the glass despite how a dark shadow lays across the screen. Tenna is fine and safe. His hand shakes and he doesn't even realize as he reaches out and grips the edge of the plastic casting. They are safe and sound in a big comfortable bed and there is no snow and dust surrounding them and there is no frantic yelling somewhere in the distance and he isn't crying. The plastic of Tenna's casting is solid under his hand. The bedsheets and pillowcases are soft beneath his body. Tenna's arm is heavy on top of him, and the dark is quiet. A finger scratches against plastic. * FOR YOU, [[Cathode]]. He stares. His hand shakily slides along the casting until it rests on top, the side of Tenna's screen, and Spamton drags himself forward. It's too dark to see his own reflection on that black screen and it is a little blessing he will never admit to. * YOU [[???: File Not Found]] WHAT IT [[For Intended Purposes]]. FOR YOU. FOR YOU. IT WAS [[All Or Nothing]] FOR YOU. He presses further more, until his forehead gently knocks against the hollow glass of Tenna's screen, and he feels the gentle soft sensation of the static radiating from it. He stills. He drags his head a little further down the screen, dispersing the fuzzy static more, then holds very still. He doesn't know for how long. Finally he sighs and sinks into himself and the dark screen. * I'M THE BIGGEST [[Clown Around Town]]. I JUST WaNTED [[HyperlinkBlocked]]. I WAN TeD [HyperlinkBlocked]]. I WANT3D yOU TO KNOW [HyperlinkBlocked]]. His hand slips from the casting, and he slips further down Tenna's screen until he hits the pillow beneath, and sinks into it, pressing himself further into the glass and casting like trying to hide away in the corner of an alley. The plastic clinks as he burrows further, little wires and springs of his joints settlings into themselves and finally he stills and quiets again. Only briefly, Tenna shudders.
October 12, 2025 at 6:33 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Strawpage drabble request 🙇‍♂️

#spamtenna [1/2]
A strawpage anon message: drabble about spamtenna: Spamton struggling to communicate his feelings to tenna, tenna trying to avoid receiving the message. There's a lingering scent of ozone and burnt plastic hanging in the air. The light, crisp scent twining with the thick, heavy air he's sure will stick to the bedsheets for a while yet. It presses down the more he recognizes it, the more familiar it is and the way it creeps in like a faint memory. It's more than faint. The weight of it is near crushing and Tenna is asleep. It had been impulsive, as most things are with him. Tenna asking too many questions, those hands wandering and lingering in places setting off alarm bells like car horns in his head and it had to stop. It had to move, don't touch that, don't look at that, don't worry about it. Shove his hands somewhere else, shove the questions to the side, there's not enough room for them if his mouth is preoccupied with his teeth. Spamton doesn't want to talk about it. It's easier to just feel than to think, and Tenna wouldn't find satisfaction in the answers he seeks anyway. Surely he wouldn't. From his little bundle of blankets and arms he's tangled in, Spamton stares at that dark blank screen as it rests sunken into the pillow. There's the urge, lying just beneath, to get up and leave. Tenna's bed is large, soft, and luxurious. Just like before, like he remembers. Spamton feels the weight of the blanket alone pressing down on him and it's a grounding, secure weight. it leaves him on edge, like he'll get tangled up in the sheets and comforter if he tries to move, let alone from the weight of the arms around him. He could slip out and maybe Tenna wouldn't notice. Spamton shifts just enough to wiggle one of his arms free. It rests against the pillow and sheets. Tenna lays beside him, encompassing everything, still and quiet. A small plastic finger scratches against the pillowcase. * ...YOU WANT TO [[Listen Here!]] A JOKE, [[Boobtube]]? It is an effort to keep his own voice down, to something even resembling reasonable and not crack the stillness of the dark bedroom. Tenna remains quiet and comfortable, and it's only in these little in-between times that there's a chance of honesty able to exist. That little finger scratches a little harder until the rest ball the fabric into his fist.
October 12, 2025 at 6:33 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Hands ache too much to type much more, have this in the meantime..

[snippet]
There's a lingering scent of ozone and burnt plastic hanging in the air. The light, crisp scent twining with the thick, heavy air he's sure will stick to the bedsheets for a while yet. It presses down the more he recognizes it, the more familiar it is and the way it creeps in like a faint memory. It's more than faint. The weight of it is near crushing and Tenna is asleep. It had been impulsive, as most things are with him. Tenna asking too many questions, those hands wandering and lingering in places setting off alarm bells like car horns in his head and it had to stop. It had to move, don't touch that, don't look at that, don't worry about it. Shove his hands somewhere else, shove the questions to the side, there's not enough room for them if his mouth is preoccupied with his teeth. Spamton doesn't want to talk about it. It's easier to just feel than to think, and Tenna wouldn't find satisfaction in the answers he seeks anyway. Surely he wouldn't. From his little bundle of blankets and arms he's tangled in, Spamton stares at that dark blank screen as it rests sunken into the pillow. There's the urge, lying just beneath, to get up and leave. Tenna's bed is large, soft, and luxurious. Just like before, like he remembers. Spamton feels the weight of the blanket alone pressing down on him and it's a grounding, secure weight. it leaves him on edge, like he'll get tangled up in the sheets and comforter if he tries to move, let alone from the weight of the arms around him. He could slip out and maybe Tenna wouldn't notice. Spamton shifts just enough to wiggle one of his arms free.
October 11, 2025 at 10:47 PM
everschade.bsky.social
You don’t know how to play that.
A plush doll of Spamton placed on a floor chair. A bodhrán is resting over top him and a beater happens to be tucked under his tiny little arm. It is all much too big for him to play properly.
October 7, 2025 at 2:42 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Little thing, but I liked it.

[snippet]
A laugh bubbles up. He keeps seeing it through all the posturing and pain, all the little pieces that make him question and drop everything he deluded himself into believing, built up as an edifice for his own anger and grief, a foundation for what little was left of his sanity to ground him to what delusional reality he was left in. He can still make Tenna bloom.
October 6, 2025 at 1:31 AM
everschade.bsky.social
Little guys came in the mail today…
Two acrylic charms held up in the author’s hand. One charm is Spamton with a yellow outline and pink star-shaped hook, the other is Tenna, with a pink outline and yellow star-shaped hook. Both art looks like they are dangling by their shirts from the hooks. Very cute.
October 1, 2025 at 12:13 AM
everschade.bsky.social
I’ll write more for this a little later, I promise

[drabble] #spamtenna
A message from strawpage: first date drabble… 🥺 please…. "Do you remember our first date?" He's fishing. Tenna asks it in such an aloof, offhanded way, like it had been just a passing thought that slipped through the filters. He doesn't even look Spamton's way, just keeps gazing out at the dark expanse beyond the railing. A cigarette dangles between his fingers as he leans his head into that same hand. Spamton does not pause the idle tapping of his fingers against the same railing he perched himself on. Tenna asks such a nonchalant question that bears a heavy weight of the expected answer. The smoke weaves between them in the still, cool air and the answer is just as tangible. * NO. The trouble is the honesty. Tenna's screen briefly flickers, but makes no other indication of tangible disappointment. He simply knocks a little more ash off the cigarette before leaning further onto his forearms, idly turning what's left of it this way and that. Spamton watches, plastic tapping against metal, and briefly he sees flecks of snow. They used to sneak off set, watch the snow and dust drift down from the cold dark air, and he remembers how they would pass Tenna's screen, the radiant light would catch on them and they would glint and sparkle. They glistened like stars. With a drag of his own cigarette, a thought would worm its way into the back of his mind, and every time they'd share a smoke break out there it would only grow louder, more consuming. He wanted Tenna to see them one day. The way he had. Tenna sighs, and the snow is gone. His fingers stop their soft tapping, and those antennae droop a little more. Only in these brief, selfish moments does Spamton find some relief in his inability to fully emote. Tenna was never very good at playing his emotions off as no big deal. He does finally turn to him and the pout painted across his screen is pathetic, like a sad dog getting scolded.
September 28, 2025 at 8:46 PM
everschade.bsky.social
I like thinking about how he looks at Tenna

[rp snippet] #spamtenna
He looks at Tenna. He looks at him and he sees the first time they went for drinks together outside of work. The coy and animated way Tenna spoke, nudged the line just as much as he was returning it right back—he remembers being absolutely enamored with the way his screen would subtly shift in color, like a gem shard held up to the light. He remembers his bombastic laugh, the way that laugh would take up his entire body, fill the entire room and it was the most fitting thing for him. It shouldn't be any other way. Tenna is so dim now, but Spamton still looks at him like he remembers. He wishes he wouldn't, if just for the selfish reason that it would be easier on his already cracked heart, and so he could know where to put it. He doesn't know where to put it. Tenna should have shattered out in that field and it would all be so much easier, he should have died, he should have stayed dead, it shouldn't have hurt when he thought he was dead, and yet — * YOU WANNA HEAR [[A Real Zinger]], [Trash Hea- His hand slaps against the table top and abruptly stops himself. He's trying.
September 22, 2025 at 3:28 PM
everschade.bsky.social
A little mostly white cat is hiding behind some striped curtains. Unfortunately, it is a poor hiding spot as only a little under its head is covered.
September 22, 2025 at 4:21 AM
everschade.bsky.social
Carried Spamton around Salem like a chihuahua in a purse.
A rare photo of the author in a beige sweater, a green flat cap, and large circular sunglasses, a rather deadpan expression on his face. A black bag is over his shoulder and peeking out very much is Spamton, his nose, multi-colored glasses, and red cheeks visible. He’s like one of those tiny toy dogs being carried around in a purse. Ridiculous.
September 21, 2025 at 6:57 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Spamton came to high tea with me.
A photo of Spamton sitting on the author’s lap, with a cute floral plate with a green salad and little quiche. He is incredibly out of place. A photo of Spamton peeking out from behind a little ham sandwich with dressing as he sits on the author’s lap.
September 21, 2025 at 4:13 PM
everschade.bsky.social
[Hangs this up on my fridge]
A strawpage drawing submission. It is Spamton’s face with a pipis off to the side, with it labeled and arrowed as such. Beautiful.
September 15, 2025 at 6:46 PM
everschade.bsky.social
One day I’ll be out of there…
A closeup shot of a tabby cat, who looks very exhausted and haggard.
September 12, 2025 at 2:20 PM
everschade.bsky.social
Snippet from chapter 1’s draft. I’ll be fleshing it out more in the rewrite.
It's what he's been waiting for. All these years. It's what he wanted. Tenna smiles, for what feels like the first time since the Phone Call- that plastic performative smile of his, taking up the whole screen, bright and shining and so incredibly flat. Spamton watches silently from atop the kid's head, the soft flecks of snow catching on his glass, as Tenna finally smiles. So eager, so excited. Just like he had been all those years ago. All their plans together, all their work coming to mean something. A phone rings. The pieces fall. There is just static behind his eyes. It should be a poetic justice. He stumbles through the snow, and it's how it was supposed to be. Exactly how it was meant to pan out. Tenna smiles, he has hope again, a future within sight again —and it means nothing.
September 8, 2025 at 9:10 PM
everschade.bsky.social
I don’t actually like this, it isn’t what I was going for and I didn’t hit the transition well enough, but it’s one thing I like to play around in with Spamton—getting the Here and Now mixed up with the Past
Tenna is asleep. The monitor is rested on its side, sinking deep into the pillows, and the barest of a glow is radiating off the glass. A dull static, barely anything, but enough for Spamton to watch as though he'll suddenly see shapes intermingled within the electric snow. He doesn't. Does Tenna still dream? Does he still live in the memories they've left behind? He sinks a little deeper and thinks he doesn't want to know anyway. This was stupid. He sinks even deeper and wants to get up and leave, but it's all so fragile. The static flickers and he watches the snow dance just a little brighter. Plastic fingers reach out from beneath the blanket, and there is static against his skin as Tenna smiles against his palm. He was beautiful once. Tenna leans in closer, and Spamton's hand glides over the screen, tingles with the static as it disperses— he misses that, more than he ever thought he would, never thought it would be something to miss. Tenna says his name; he feels it in the static against his palm. He wants to get up, stretch his legs, have a smoke, but Tenna's hand is lingering against his side, fingers inching their way to any part they can reach, and it's delicate right now. Tenna would cry, the emotional pendulum swinging from that enraptured high to devastated disappointment.
September 5, 2025 at 1:20 AM
everschade.bsky.social
Have more spamtenna rp stuff in the meantime
It's what he wanted. He wanted this. An out for his anger, frustration, the tar pit of despair he could never pull himself out of with the tangle of strings and wires pulling him back down over and over again, his hand clinging to just one like a lifeline. He wanted this. He wanted Tenna to feel the despair that consumed him for so long. But when has his wanting ever gotten him anything good? Briefly perhaps. He had been briefly happy once. Truly so. But what good was it? Tenna approaches, a dull cloud hovering over him as he crawls his miserable way onto the bed and Spamton hears his motors and machinery groaning under the pressure of broken joints trying to carry his weight. Spamton stands from his little perch at the bedside and he stares as Tenna falls into the sheets. He has nothing good to say about his incessent "nickname." He will say it again. He'll look right at Tenna, right into his shining screen, see his reflection, and say it again and again, like a doll with a pullstring. He's selfish, self-centered, and greedy. He's an Addison, at his core. We're Vultures. It's all he's good at; play the game as designed, find the loopholes, find the hook, worm your way in and drain the dunce for everything they're worth, it's an art, baby. A song and dance to be played over an over until you've had enough, and that's the point. There is never enough. Addisons are selfish, self-centered, and greedy. It's all he knows. The code breaks when they try to do more than they should. Well, he was never a very good Addison anyway. Never enough and too much. He approaches, feet unsteady beneath the small give of the mattress and kneels down beside one of Tenna's shoulders. He had been selfless once. His hands pause against the metal of Tenna's shoulder, plastic fingers stilling over the torn casing and nudging against the duct tape. He still remembers how the heat radiating from Tenna's internals, warming his casing, felt under his hands. He stares at his own ball-jointed fingers, how the touch is just dull and muted now-not gone, and he silently thanks something, anything, he doesn't want to say what in case it's still listening, that he can still selfishly indulge in this-and what good had being selfless done him? I'VE SEEN WORSE. It's all he offers the despairing CRT beside him. It's all he can. He's never been one for supportive words, comforting peptalk beyond cliches. Even he sees this isn't the place for hollow platitudes, so he's honest, in what little ways he can be anymore. He finally drags his hand away. Without those bright glasses to hide behind, something in his eyes seems to flicker as he comes back to the here and now, refocuses on the task at hand, and Tenna is at least somewhat right. He can't truly fix this, not like this. He nudges the arm to lay a little higher, so he can get better access to the socket and the absolute mess it had been left in. Amateurs, and he keeps the thought behind his teeth as a hand reaches in between panelling and gaps. He has to fight the urge to just rip the whole thing off and out and rework the whole damn thing. But Tenna isn't one of his garbage dump cars to ransack for parts. IF YOU THINK I CAN'T [[Reset To Factory Settings?]], THEN YOU MUST'VE TAKEN A [[Split Screen]l- His jaw snaps shut. Focus. It's over. Just focus on the now. A poorly joined wire is tugged out enough and he pries them apart before biting down just hard enough to tear the insulation coating just a little further down the exposed wire ends. With the flick of a tongue and sharp puff of air, he spits the bit out over the edge of the bed, then twists the copper back together, and maybe there's the smell of hot plastic now and then, but he ignores it, or just simply doesn't bring it to attention.
September 4, 2025 at 2:56 PM
everschade.bsky.social
[kicks my feet] If I have to have brainworms of that little mailman I Will be sharing them.
A crudely finger-drawn Spamton leaning against a table. There is a rose between in his big toothy grin. A doodle of pleasantly surprised Tenna is on the side.
September 2, 2025 at 2:36 PM