#also my inbox is woefully empty

[pickledpet]

why is my cunt not stretched around something huge ????

[charincharge]

I Don't Want To Wait, seventy-one

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

TW: College admissions. Sorry if you’re going through this now! Also, I went through this a longgggggggg time ago, and I know this isn’t exactly how admissions works, so apologies for creative liberties. I was supposed to post this before Aelin's birthday, but I missed May 3. Just by two days, though, so not too shabby! Okay, lets go. Final stretch, my loves.

“What do you mean you don’t want to celebrate your birthday?” Rowan scoffed. “Ace, you love your birthday.”

Aelin stretched her arms overhead and reached to touch her toes, ignoring the way her boyfriend stared at her with his usual hawklike intensity and instead leaned into her shins, helping relieve the ache from sore and overworked muscles. Dance practices had been relentless on her body, especially with the spring showcase just a few weeks away, she seemed to be in perpetual knots always.

Well, she guessed she couldn’t just blame dance on that. She was having a hard time with everything at the moment. While her friends were smiling and laughing at their last few weeks of high school, Aelin was feeling an acute sense of panic. The weeks following spring break had melted away faster than she could process, gone in the blink of an eye, filled with an onslaught of dance practices and AP exam prep and constantly checking her inbox for that little email notification from Wendlyn. And not nearly enough Rowan, who was spending all his free time with his lacrosse team. Not only that but everyone around her seemed more excited than ever with the prospect of leaving Orynth right around the corner, but with each passing day the knot in her stomach grew tighter. Everything was a ~last~ —and she was having a hard time enjoying that. She didn’t want any of this to be her last. Why was everyone excited that time was moving so fast? Why couldn’t she just freeze right here in this moment. In this limbo things were stressful, but they were still fine. Without knowing what her fate held.

College acceptances had come rolling in, one by one, her friends grinning wildly as they opened their emails. But Aelin’s inbox remained woefully empty. So, she wanted her boyfriend to forgive her for not feeling particularly celebratory, but then again, she hadn’t discussed any of this with him for fear of making him feel guilty about it.

As she breathed into her next stretch, she turned her torso to look back at Rowan, who was still waiting patiently for her response.

“My birthday last year was a disaster,” Aelin finally replied, completely ignoring the real reason she was feeling less-than-enthused. “How quickly they forget.”

But Rowan just rolled his eyes. “That was an exception. I have a feeling that no one is going to get arrested or go to rehab this year. Usually your birthday is all you can talk about for months. Are you really telling me you haven’t planned anything? For your eighteenth birthday?” he asked. “It’s in less than a week.”

Aelin shrugged, leaning to the other side and groaning as she stretched out a particularly tender muscle.

“I just don’t want to do anything this year,” she said. “The spring dance show is in two weeks, and I’ve been practicing every night. So, for my birthday I just want the night off.” She paused. “Is that really so bad?”

“No…” Rowan said quietly, picking up his phone and furrowing his brow. She’d know that face anywhere. He looked concerned.

“What?” she snapped and immediately regretted it when she saw Rowan’s face. He didn’t deserve to be the receptacle of her stress or ire. All he wanted was to make sure she had the birthday she wanted. Her sweet, sweet Rowan. “Sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I’m just…”

“Tired?” Rowan filled in, and she nodded and lifted her arms above her head, extending them out for him. He swooped in quickly and helped her to her feet, enveloping her in a warm and comforting embrace. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered into her hair, and she could feel her tension melting away with each one of his butterfly kisses.

Aelin finally looked up at him, and his worried green eyes were staring back down at her. “I’m so tired, Ro,” she admitted as she squeezed him against her tighter. “The idea of doing something big for my birthday just seems like so much work.”

“It’s just a big one,” he replied softly. “I don’t want you to regret not celebrating.”

“And I appreciate that,” she said, letting herself melt into his chest fully. His heartbeat helped center her, and she rued the day that she wouldn’t have it there for her at a moment’s notice. “But I just want to hang out with you, eat too much chocolate cake and maybe go to sleep early.”

“So I should tell Lorcan to cancel the surprise trip to the strip club?” Rowan asked. Aelin’s head shot up, and her boyfriend’s answering smirk was telling enough.

“You almost had me there,” she said.

“He tried,” Rowan laughed, “But I shut him down pretty quickly.”

“What kind of strip club are we talking about?” she asked, causing Rowan’s worried expression to disappear, as she intended. As Rowan explained how he had to talk Lorcan off the ledge, Aelin took out her phone and needlessly refreshed her phone over and over. But her inbox remained unchanged.

. . .

“Stay calm and vote Manon and Elide as queens for prom!” Dorian shouted while shoving a rainbow flyer into a passerby’s hands. “A vote for Manon and Elide is a vote against The Man!” he continued, causing Aelin to snort into one of the crown-adorned cupcakes Maeve had contributed to the cause. Dorian had taken it upon himself to run point for Manon and Elide’s prom queen campaign and had recruited Aelin to help him during their shared free period. Not that he needed the help. Orynth High had rallied around the pair of women, and there was no doubt as to who would sweep the vote, but it was still something that Aelin could do without that horrible nauseous feeling taking over her entire body – which might have been helped by the fact that Dorian was also still waiting for a college acceptance email, and so the pair of them were happy to use lifting up their friends as a distraction. Or at least use it as a reprieve from constantly refreshing their email. He’d received a few rejections and was pinning all his hopes on one last college.

“A vote for Manon and Elide is a vote for equality!” he shouted, offering up his own plate of cupcakes to a nearby freshman, who accepted it readily.

As if they’d heard their names called, the pair rounded the corner, hand in hand, smiling softly at each other. Manon pulled away for a second as she tied up her newly dyed turquoise hair into a messy bun, causing Elide to sigh dreamily. Aelin watched as they slid their fingers tighter as they came back together and leaned into each other’s shoulders. They’d both received their acceptances to Perranth, a small liberal arts school nearby, earlier this week and the pair hadn’t stopped smiling since. Aelin was happy for her friends; honestly, she was. But that didn’t stop her stomach from churning with jealousy at the fact that they were going off into their post-high school future together.

“Oooh, are those Maeve cupcakes?!” Elide asked, eyeing the funfetti confection in Dorian’s hand. He lifted the plate, offering it up, and Elide wasted no time in grabbing it and shoving half of it into her mouth.

“Sooooo good,” she mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs. Manon rolled her eyes at her girlfriend’s enthusiasm and used one of her long nails to brush away a bit of frosting from above her lip. Unable to control herself, she swooped down and kissed the spot she’d cleaned, as if to make sure it was completely free of sugar.

“And I thought Rowan and I were disgusting,” Aelin laughed.

“You are,” her friends all said in unison, not wasting a single beat.

Aelin flipped them all off, burying her face into her own cupcake instead as Manon asked Dorian for a status update on his polling info. She was taking this extremely seriously, and it kind of warmed Aelin’s heart to see her cold friend use her ruthlessness for good. Well, for Elide’s good.

Though they were deep in conversation about numbers and which cliques were voting for whom, Dorian stopped and gasped loudly.

“What?” Manon asked, and Dorian opened his phone and showed it to them.

In bold at the top of his email inbox was a brand new email, waiting in bold from Anielle University with the subject: Dorian Havillard, Application Status.

“Oh my god, OPEN IT!” Manon shouted as she reached for the phone, but Dorian clutched it to his chest in horror.

“NO!”

“No?” Aelin asked, raising a brow in his direction.

“I can’t open this in the middle of the hallway,” he hissed. “What if it’s a rejection?”

Aelin’s chest panged with sympathy. She knew how hard Dorian had worked this year with volunteering at the hospital and all his APs to get into the college of his dreams. Aka, one far away from his father. Anielle was as far as it got, and it was a great school, too. Not to mention it was the last one he was waiting to hear from.

“Do it when you’re ready,” she said. “Don’t let these college admits pressure you,” she continued.

“Ah, fuck it,” he said. He closed his eyes tightly as he pressed the bolded link. He took a deep breath, and cracked an eye open before shutting it again. “I can’t look. Someone look for me.”

“Give me that,” Manon grumbled, pulling the phone out of Dorian’s white-knuckled grasp. As a wide smile appeared on her face, Aelin’s stomach clenched further. She knew what that look meant. “Look yourself,” Manon said, handing the phone back to Dorian, whose eyes were still clenched tightly closed.

He blindly groped for the phone before Aelin shoved it into his wandering hand. “Congrats,” she whispered, knowing what the email would say without even seeing it herself.

Dorian’s eyes shot open, darting across the screen as that very same smile she’d seen on all her friends one-by-one ripped across his face.

Aelin tried to smile back as Manon and Elide crowded him with high fives and hugs and lifted celebratory cupcakes into the air and cheersed them together. Aelin refreshed her own inbox, but there was nothing there. Of course there wasn’t. At this point she was just assuming that she would have to reapply to colleges next year and maybe do community college locally for the year. That would be fine, though. She’d continue to teach dance and maybe volunteer at the hospital some more. Get some real-life work experience. Plus, she’d have time to drive out to Wendlyn and see Rowan on the weekends, if he still wanted her to do that, of course.

“Still nothing?” Elide asked Aelin, having noticed her quiet smile.

Aelin shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll get the rejection soon,” she laughed. “I just wished they’d do it sometime soon and put me out of my misery.”

Elide reached across the table and squeezed Aelin’s tense shoulder. “I know this is going to sound patronizing, but I mean it. If they reject you, it’ll be their loss.” She paused. “Have you talked to your mom, asked her if there’s anything she can do?”

Aelin physically blanched at the mention. “No. Not since the interview debacle.” She cringed more, realizing that her mom would most-likely be calling her on her birthday in just a few days, and she’d be wondering what Aelin’s status was. And Aelin would have to admit that she as a disappointment, just as she always assumed she’d be.

Yet another reason why she would not be in the mood to celebrate turning the big one eight. She’d need a full day to recover from whatever her mom said to her. She tried to remember if Evalin had ever forgotten her birthday before. She was pretty sure she had. And those years had hurt, had made her want to celebrate her birthday even harder. But she wasn’t sure if talking to her this year would be worse than not hearing from her at all. I guess only time would tell.

Instead of wallowing in her feelings, Aelin joined the celebratory cupcake party, drowning her feelings in Maeve’s delicious buttercream frosting, and hoped yet again for a single email to arrive and put her out of her misery.

. . .

Three days later, Aelin woke up to a small nudge against her nose. Then a soft kiss to one cheek, then to her other.

“Five more minutes,” she groaned, causing the offending kisser to laugh against the soft skin of her neck as his kisses trailed down toward her shoulder. “I’m serious, Buzzard, fuck off,” she said, but it lacked any real vitriol. After all, the man of her dreams was kissing every inch of her skin as thoroughly as he could while still being gentle enough to rouse her from her dreams with ease.

“Happy Birthday, Ace” he whispered as his lips ghosted over hers.

She finally cracked her eye all the way open and couldn’t help but smile widely at the sight of Rowan kneeling beside her bed, a sparkling glint in her best friend’s eye as she came to life beneath his gaze.

“Eighteen years old,” she whispered back, her voice still hoarse from hours of sleep.

“I know you said you wanted chocolate cake,” he said, “So I considered making you my poor attempts at breakfast cake again,” he laughed, reminding her of the day she’d woken up on her sixteenth birthday and resolved herself to kiss her best friend within that year. How far away that birthday now seemed, even though it was a mere two years ago. They were different people then. They hadn’t known how much they’d go through, how much life they’d live together to come out of it in this moment on her birthday again. Together. “But I decided to do you a solid and just bring a chocolate fudge cake for breakfast. Because you’re a grownup now. And grownups eat chocolate fudge cake for breakfast.”

She loved that despite their long history that Rowan still rambled when he got nervous with her. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close, kissing him thoroughly. Her tongue slid between his lips and he groaned in response, kissing her harder and letting himself fall on top of her, despite still being on his knees.

“Maybe my first act as an official adult should be having morning sex with my boyfriend,” she mumbled against his lips, tugging him closer. He kissed her back, but shook his head and pulled away, causing her to pout sadly.

“As much as I would love that, your dad is downstairs.”

Aelin closed her eyes and stuck out her hand, revealing a thumbs down. Rowan laughed heartily, and she loved the way it made her feel dizzy.

“But we can eat some cake first,” he said, handing her a fork.

“Thanks, Rowan,” she said in a rare moment of sincerity between the two, not joking at all, and she loved the way his cheeks colored with a dark pink as his head ducked.

“I love you,” he simply replied. And though Aelin had dreaded the approach of this day, she relished in the fact that this boy – her best friend – loved her. For right now, that was good enough.

. . .

“Happy birthday, baby,” Rhoe said, enveloping Aelin into a warm hug.

Aelin quirked a brow up at her dad, who was not usually this sentimental, but she accepted the hug regardless.

“Shut up,” he said, chuckling softly as he pulled back. “It’s the last time I’m going to be with you on your birthday morning, and I deserve a hug. As a reward for getting you to eighteen at the very least. I think I did an okay job,” he said, looking her over.

“You did more than okay, Rhoe” Rowan said, pouring a large cup of coffee into Aelin’s favorite mug and then handing it to her. “You did amazing.”

“You’re already forgiven for waking me up too early,” Aelin laughed, but accepted the coffee nonetheless. “Mmmm, hazelnut,” she said, appreciating that her household had made her favorite flavor, despite not loving it themselves.

“DID I MISS IT?!” Lorcan asked, his voice breathless as he burst his way into the kitchen.

“Missed what?” Aelin asked, looking around at the empty kitchen.

“The gifting of porn and cigarettes, obviously,” Lorcan said with a wry smirk. But Aelin just rolled her eyes.

Her dad narrowed his eyes and looked at Lorcan with disdain. “You’re so lucky I like you.”

Lorcan’s grin only widened in response. “Happy eighteenth, slugger,” he laughed, handing Aelin a pile of scratch-off lotto tickets. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Rhoe’s lips curled into an unwitting smile as he wrapped his arm around Aelin’s shoulders, tugging her close once again.

“Dad?”  

“Lorcan is being an absolute idiot, like he always is.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I know you’re still waiting for official replies, but no matter where you end up next year…” Rhoe began. “I’d like you to be able to come and visit as much as you like.”

He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Aelin. “Happy birthday, Aelin.” He looked around the room. “From all three of us.”

Aelin looked at the men in the room, staring back at her, before processing that the thing now resting in Aelin’s hand was a key. Not just a key. But a car key.

“SHUT UP,” she said, her eyes widening. “SHUT UP!”

“I will not,” Rhoe said, but he couldn’t help but smile.

Aelin sprinted for the door before anyone could stop her, and she was practically crying as she reached the driveway where a dark green sedan waited for her.  

“She’s old, but we gave her a pretty good makeover,” Rhoe said, apologetic. But Aelin knew how huge a gift this was.

“You guys did this?” she asked, and Rhoe nodded.

“One of my crew members was ready to retire it for scraps. It’s a got a fair amount of miles on it already, but we replaced all the important parts. New alternator, air filter, battery, breaks, headlights… pretty much anything that wasn’t up to code from 30 years ago.”

“Dad…” she said, running her hand over the shiny fresh coat of paint. “That must have been really expensive…”

But Rhoe simply shook his head. “It was less than I thought it’d be. The whole crew helped out during their down time, and these two bozos put in a fair amount of labor on some overnight shifts.”

Aelin’s gaze shifted to Rowan, who was pushing the toe of his sneaker into the gravel of their driveway.

“I might have lied a few times about being too tired after lacrosse to come over. Sorry,” he said, tucking his chin into his chest, and Aelin was suddenly buzzing with an warm feeling in her chest. The knot that had been there, tightening for weeks, suddenly loosened. Love. That’s what this feeling was. Just the sweetest, most incredible feeling. To be cared for like this by the people around her. So overwhelmed, she couldn’t help herself; she corralled the three most important men in her life together and widened her arms around them into a giant group hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She made sure to say it three times, thanking each one of them.

“Well,” Lorcan said. “Don’t you want to get in?”

Aelin squealed, throwing herself into the driver’s seat and adjusting the chair to her particular height. She breathed in the pine scented air freshener they’d hung on the rearview mirror and smiled. It was perfect.

The car was old, that was not a question. But that only added to its charm. The seats were a comfortable worn-in fabric with a pattern that reminded her of the old Terrasen airport carpet, with its greyscale geometric patterns. The dash was covered in a faux wood pattern that she recognized as being trendy decades ago, but it just made her love it more. This car had history. She’d seen things. She was well-traveled, and Aelin couldn’t wait to give her a brand-new life and explore even more. She knew they’d have many, many adventures in this car. Overhead, there was a sunroof, which she immediately opened to let in the mid-morning light, and she couldn’t help but tilt her chin into the light and let the glow warm her skin.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she finally said, lowering the window to look at her dad, who was more than pleased with his own handiwork.

But Rhoe simply scoffed at that comment. “So, are you driving us all to breakfast or what?”

Aelin grinned as Rowan pulled up a playlist titled, “A-ight-teen” and connected it to the clearly refurbished stereo system.

She laughed as the first song came on loudly – Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman – causing Rowan to grin widely, a grin that he reserved solely for her. Their matching smiles morphed into guffaws as Rhoe and Lorcan folded their hulking, tree-like bodies into the backseat, squeezing into the cramped sedan with no complaints.

“To Maeve’s?” Aelin asked.

“Yes, Jeeves,” Rhoe said in a ridiculous fancy accent, causing them to break into laughter again.

. . .

“SURPRISE!”

Aelin literally jumped as her friends popped up from behind the counter of Maeve’s. She glared at her dad and Rowan, who had clearly planned this, despite her specifically telling them she hadn’t wanted to celebrate her birthday with a party. I mean, had she known she was going to see more than just Maeve she would have at least put some makeup on!

As if reading her mind, Rowan wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered, “You look beautiful.”

She frowned but accepted the compliment and a long kiss. As they parted, Aelin was swept into a number of excited hugs from all her favorite people. Manon, Elide, Dorian, Chaol, Lysandra, and Aedion circled around her, and she gasped as Aedion stepped in, surprising her with a bear hug and lifting her off the ground. They were causing a bit of a ruckus, especially with Lorcan making his own rounds saying hi to everyone he hadn’t seen in a few months, so Maeve quickly ushered them all out to the back patio where she’d set up a special table, and Aelin couldn’t help but moan with pleasure at the plates stacked high with all her favorite breakfast foods.

“…stuffed French toast, maple cured bacon, cinnamon rolls with extra frosting…” Maeve started listing, pointing along the table at the overly filled table.

“Anything for someone who doesn’t want to go into diabetic shock?” Rhoe laughed.

“Cheesy scrambled eggs, potato hash, bagels, and toppings for breakfast tacos,” she said, pointing out all the savory options on the table, too.

“Yummmm,” Aelin groaned, her eyes practically rolling back into her head with pleasure at her first bite of French toast, despite having a chocolate cake appetizer barely an hour earlier.

“I think she’s fine with the surprise,” Rhoe snorted, elbowing Rowan, who practically jumped out of his chair, tearing his eyes away from Aelin’s mouth.

Manon cackled with glee. “As if we would let the birthday queen not celebrate her birthday. It’ll probably be the last time.”

A round of awwwws went around the table, but instead of the tightening Aelin would usually in her stomach, her panic was abated by Rowan’s fingers lacing with hers beneath the table. He squeezed, as if to silently say, I’m here and I know and I love you. And Aelin let the familiar feeling of his callused finger pads calm her quickly. As he drew circles on the back of her palm, she couldn’t help but think at how different this birthday was from the one only two years ago – the one where she’d planned to tell Rowan her feelings and chickened out. She remembered the way he’d simply sat in the corner, watching her socialize, and she wondered what would have happened if she’d told him then – would they still have ended up together? Or did they need to go through… everything in order to get to where they needed to be today.

Looking at the way he made conversation with everyone from Lorcan to Lysandra, something shifted inside her. This man would one thousand percent have rather been alone with her all day, but he also knew that – despite her protests – she did actually want to celebrate with her friends. Because he knew her. Fully. And that’s when she knew without a doubt that regardless of what happened between them two years ago, ten years ago, or ten years from now, Rowan would always be with her, silently loving her and helping her be her best self.

Aelin gulped, that knot that had abated earlier suddenly tightening in her stomach again. She had been so panicked for so many months about every moment being the last, progressively becoming more stressed as each of her friends discovered what their future held, while she still didn’t. But what was shockingly clear all of a sudden is that she did know what her future held. I mean, sure, she didn’t know where she’d end up or what she’d end up studying or exactly what her life would look like, but she knew that Rowan would be there by her side no matter what.

She almost laughed at herself. Wasn’t that what he’d been saying to her over and over and over? Why did it take until this moment to make her believe that?

“Presents?” Maeve suggested, and though Aelin nodded and smiled through each one, her mind was elsewhere, thinking about what she needed to talk about with Rowan tonight. Her stomach flipped – although she wasn’t entirely sure that couldn’t be blamed on the copious amounts of sugar she was consuming and her never-emptying mug of coffee.

“You okay, Fireheart?” Rhoe asked, nudging her ankle from across the table.

“Yup,” she answered, forcing a smile back onto her face and actually meaning it for the first time in a while. “Too much frosting,” she laughed, patting at her overly full stomach. Rhoe simply returned her laugh and handed the plate of frosted cinnamon rolls to the other end of the table where Dorian accepted it eagerly. And though she continued to open her presents and bask in the love of her friends and family around her, Aelin couldn’t wait to get Rowan alone.

. . .

“Did you have a good birthday?” Rowan asked, fluffing the pillows on the ground as Aelin gathered a warm quilt and pulled it over their makeshift bed. It’d been months since it was warm enough to go up to Maeve’s rooftop, but it felt like the perfect place to end the day.

“It’s not over yet,” Aelin said, snuggling into his side.

Rowan looked at his phone. “You’re right. You have ninety more minutes to celebrate. How do you want to commemorate your eighteenth year of life?”

Aelin raised her brow. “You think I brought you up here just to talk?”

Rowan snorted and pulled her closer. “You’re a menace. Come on, talk to me. I’ve seen your brain working a million miles an hour all day.”

Aelin looked up. “How do you do that?”

Rowan shrugged. “Do what?”

“Read my mind,” she said. “It’s spooky sometimes. I feel like you know things before I say them out loud allllll the time.”

Rowan chuckled. “I wish I could read your mind,” he said, tapping the side of her temple gently. “Now, come on. Tell me what’s going on.”

The words were on the tip of her tongue when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She’d been so distracted all day that for the first time in weeks, Aelin hadn’t spent every minute of every day refreshing her inbox.

She froze, and then her heart took off in a gallop, racing until she felt shaky with adrenaline. Sure enough, as she pulled the phone up, it was lit up with an email alert from Wendlyn University. Re: Aelin Galathynius Admission Status.

“Oh fuck,” Aelin whispered. Rowan’s eyes darted to the screen, and he shot up, sitting up too quickly and knocking Aelin off him.  

“Are you gonna check it?” he asked, but even as Aelin clicked into her inbox, she couldn’t press it. The email that would tell her whether she and Rowan were going to end up at the same school for the next four years. And then, suddenly, she knew what she had to say. And she had to say it before she opened up that email and revealed her fate. Because her fate could only be one thing. One person, really.

She placed her phone down and looked Rowan straight in the eyes and said with as much conviction as she possibly could, “I think we should get married.”

[oh-shit-i-spilled-my-genderfluid]

Not sure if you're still taking suggestions but: a younger Drayton trying to comb a young Nubbins's, kid keeps trying to pull away, chop top has a comb of his own and is singing into it, it's chaos

Ask and ye shall receive! Drayton has been wrestling Nubbins for twenty minutes and is two seconds from getting the broom. Chop is just happy he isn’t getting his hair brushed (yet)

Idk how to draw kids but i sure tried to

Also i always take requests! My inbox is woefully empty and I’m always open to new ideas and suggestions

[secularbakedgoods]

I return from the frozen north

This is a crosspost of my newsletter! If you’d like to get posts like this direct to your inbox or RSS reader, subscribe here.

So I'm back in the UK now, after three weeks visiting in Canada — specifically Edmonton, a city I am now woefully maladapted to living in. People here in Newcastle constantly complain about the state of its public transit system, but that's only because they've never been to Edmonton: a place where you will wait 90 minutes for a bus at 40 degrees below zero until the wolves get you.

Despite the jetlag, I'm currently working on final edits for the next Casefile of Jay Moriarty story. It's turning out to be around 12 000 words long, which brings the total wordcount of the series to a little over 80 000. That's long enough to justify a print collection, which is making me think about putting out a print collection — if only for the benefit of those among my friends and family who want to read my writing but struggle with ebooks.

They might also struggle with the gay transgender sex and constant railing against late-stage capitalism, but that part is more of a "buyer beware" situation.

Spooky Season Sale on itch.io

For the month of October, all my horror/dark fantasy books are on sale over at my itch.io store! "The Scent of Blood," "Possession," and "Move Fast and Break Things" are each 25% off, or you can get all three in a bundle for $1.50 USD.

This Week's Links

Officers allegedly damaged MRI machine after police rifle snatched by magnets

... an officer walked into the room with his rifle "dangling... in his right hand, with an unsecured strap," which was quickly ripped off his body and pinned to the MRI machine, the lawsuit said.

Bop Spotter

I installed a box high up on a pole somewhere in the Mission of San Francisco. Inside is a crappy Android phone, set to Shazam constantly, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It's solar powered, and the mic is pointed down at the street below. Heard of ShotSpotter? Microphones are installed across cities in the United States by police to detect gunshots, purported to not be very accurate. This is that, but for music.

Alleged Tax Dodger Says It’s a "Legitimate Snail-Farming Operation"

In this case, the council says the ground-floor office space at 9 Dale Street is currently empty and the firm renting it should be paying full business rates. The firm and its landlord disagree, saying the space isn’t empty and is being put to an “agricultural use.” Specifically, the space is occupied by fifteen (15) crates each containing at least two (2) snails. So the firm—Snai1 Primary Products 2023 Ltd—says it’s exempt.

Some of my work on this latest Moriarty story involves tweaking one of Sebastian's fight scenes, following feedback that his opponents should — and I'm quoting directly — "hit his pretty face." It's good to have beta readers who understand your art.

-K

[edgy-fluffball]

song for the winds || Geraskier

Some angst I word-vomited into @silence-of-the-night‘s inbox last night. You can also read this on ao3.

Geralt makes it to the coast, eventually. It's dreamy spot, this small fishing village perched at the edge of a cliff with heather and sea asters blooming in the sandy ground, dotting the landscape with purple and pale pink. There are nets hung up along the market place and he figures the first group of fishermen are already back from their morning fishing trip.

It's a summer afternoon and the salty breeze is a welcome cooling on his skin where it shows under his leathers. Roach trots into the shadow provided by narrow houses around the near empty place. A few kids play in the fountain at the centre of the square, splashing and laughing as if there is nothing wrong or evil in the world.

Geralt leaves Roach to drink from the trough in front of the inn, beginning to rub her dry.

One of the children eyes him, curiosity bright in her eyes. She can't be older than eleven years, scrawny and probably under-fed but happy and lively in this bright, peaceful place, nonetheless.

'Show me the bard's house,' he says when she edges closer to where he is patting Roach down, relieving her off the saddle for a moment, 'I'll give you a coin, if you make it quick.'

And she leads him, through the tiny village, past more fishing nets and a few boats that have been pulled onto land for repairs or because they are done for the day. He gets a further impression of the village as they move. Few adults are outside and the girl leads him straight out of the settlement and along the edge of the cliff. It is a beautiful place, colourful and tranquil but the sound of the waves surging against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff spoke of lively, wild waters and looming dangers not to be forgotten amidst the beauty.

Geralt allows himself to breathe in deeply, lets the salty, humid air fill his lungs along with the scent of thousands of flowers and trees. It smells warm and familiar, no matter that he has never been there before. He carries Roach's saddle over one shoulder and she enjoys the lifted weight by striding alongside him as they follow the small girl.

A house comes into view, a cottage, made of wooden planks, faded under the impact of sun and salt, with a stone wall surrounding it. Bushy shore pines cast shadows into the garden, birds sing in the cool green tree tops and butterflies and bees feast on the multitude of flowers growing everywhere. It is a spot that speaks of love and the caring hand of its inhabitant.

Geralt feels himself speed up, he lets go of Roach's reigns and she stops, begins to graze, and runs past the girl, through the wicket gate, along the overgrown path. He wants to call out, announce his presence, lace his words with an apology long overdue, with a promise he wanted to make long ago, a promise he has made to himself that he intends to keep.

No word leaves his throat. He stands in front of the door of the small cottage that looks like it should not be any different, and all he can do is stare, as the door opens.

He stares and then he wants to turn around, take the coin away from the girl and run, make Roach carry him away as fast as possible. Instead, he stares into the brown eyes and the soft face appearing in the doorframe.

She is slender enough to look like she makes her living out here, everything a product of her calloused hands and hard work. Her clothes are worn and no longer in fashion but they look like they once witnessed royal banquets somewhere south. She has bright eyes that carry wisdom and the experience of a few years, and a confused smile on her lips that is probably there because she has opened the door to find a witcher on her door step. Then, she sees the girl behind him and waves.

'You bring strange guests today,' she says and her voice is warm and soft and melodic, as if she's singing.

Geralt bows his head, almost sheepishly, overwhelmed with the situation.

'Forgive me, I must be at the wrong house, I was looking for the bard -'

'Oh, but I am here,' she lowers her hands from the doorframe, opening up a little to size him up with eager ambition, 'do you need someone wooed? Entertainment for a wedding? A commissioned song about your heroic deeds?'

Geralt tries to make sense of her words but fails. She looks at him expectantly and now he sees that her hair is held up by a tin whistle stuck through the bun in the back of her head, he sees the lute leaning against the wall behind the door.

He is at the bard's house, after all.

'Forgive me,' he manages with all manner and patience he can muster, 'I was told somebody else lived here, a famous bard, well-travelled, going by the name of Jaskier?'

Something in her eyes changes but it is fast gone and then she smiles woefully, 'Of course. A witcher looking for Master Jaskier. You must be Geralt of Rivia, then. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Priscilla.'

He hums in acknowledgement. The woman pulls the door shut as she steps outside and past him, 'I studied under Master Jaskier for many years after he came out here, he took me in after he found me in one of the towns close by, trying to earn money with my singing. He trained me, gave me a roof over my head for the longest time. Come with me, I will show you.'

And Geralt follows her, through the garden, around the corner of the house, out of the back, past a vegetable patch, over the fence into the thick heather growing here, past some haws and wild roses. The wind is stronger up here, close to the edge and it blows Geralt's hair into his face and makes his eyes burn for a moment.

Then, the moment passes and they stand a few feet from a soft mound where there is no more wind, just flowers and roses swaying in the wind. Priscilla takes a few more steps before turning around and standing aside, as if to make space for Geralt. Her eyes shine after walking in the strong wind.

'He wanted it to be here. Oftentimes, I would find him out here, no matter the time or weather, without a blanket, singing to the winds. That's what he said he was doing, he sang to the winds, willing them to carry the words and melodies out into the world, to his witcher. He loved this spot very much. One time, he told me to bring those here who sought him after everything.'

Geralt takes a first step, and maybe it wasn't the wind that made her eyes sparkle as wet and salty as the sea stomping and rolling far beneath them. He takes another step and Priscilla wipes at her eyes, discreetly and with a smile that makes him hurt more than getting his bones broken in a fight.

There is a small, earthen mound on top of a cliff, looking out over the sea and the world, surrounded by flowers and trees and stubborn plants that have no reason having roots strong enough to withstand the wind. Stubborn like him.

Geralt makes it to the coast, eventually. But he comes too late to see his bard.

[rubird--playsotome]

Is he winking (he’s definitely winking)  😘

Some upcoming WIPS I will try to tackle during my break from posting (this included as well as the stuff in the top bar). I want to finally get into a regular drawing and posting schedule(ish) when I get a feel from grad school so please bear with me!!

Also, who wants to see a set of guys in aprons? I have plans for these three but other apron suggestions welcome, my inbox is always open and woefully empty 🙃

[welllpthisishappening]

All Knotted Up (A Blue Line Oneshot)

He’s never actually done anything like this – brought a girl home for Christmas. No, not just a girl – Emma. Emma was coming to the brownstone for Christmas and the entire Vankald family would be there with traditions and bread pudding and there had to be gifts.

He needed to buy a gift. Or, at least, get a gift. 

And the list of people who wouldn’t laugh right in his face at the idea of Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, freaking out about that was growing more and more slim by the minute. 

AN: This is not one of the half a dozen fantastic Blue Line prompts I still have in my inbox, but @distant-rose has had a hell of a last 48 hours and this story would be nothing without her, so here are several thousand words about Killian Jones freaking out over what to get his girlfriend for Christmas. Also it’s December so, boom, rationalized. This is not on Ao3 because I’m lazy and really do, at some point today, have to work. Also I spent too much time making Ryan McDonagh look like Killian Jones. 

It took less than a full ring.

“Did you decide yet?”

Killian rolled his eyes, pressing his lips together and trying to take a deep breath through his nose. He was half positive this was a mistake before he even picked up the phone, but his options were rather limited and he’d been told, in the strictest of confidence by Ruby two days before, that Mary Margaret was absolutely awful at keeping secrets, so the list of who to ask for help began and ended with Elsa.

“KJ,” she said and she’d, apparently, still been talking and he was just, mostly, trying not to fall off the bench in front of his locker. “KJ, you called me, you have to actually partake in this conversation, otherwise it’s just rude.”

He scoffed and that wasn’t doing much to help whatever breathing exercise he was doing, but she was right and she’d answered far too quickly.

She was waiting for the call.

“Have you just been wandering around your office all day with your phone in your hand, El?” Killian asked knowingly, the smile inching across his face before he could remember that he was still lingering somewhere in the realm of anxious and frustrated and kind of hungry.

“Ok, see that’s both rude and assumptive,” Elsa muttered. She was smiling though – he could tell. And, it sounded like, pacing in her office.

“Are you supposed to be in some kind of meeting, El?” Killian asked. “Is Colorado going to fall into financial ruin because of this phone call?”

She clicked her tongue, but she was also mumbling something under her breath that was probably instructions to a small army of assistants because she was totally blowing off a meeting to have this phone call.

“El,” Killian continued, stretching one leg out and deciding to do this in the middle of the afternoon, in the locker room was probably some kind of absolutely horrible idea. But they were done with under-the-radar and Emma was coming to the brownstone for Christmas and nothing like that had ever happened before ever and Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous.

Terrified.

He wanted to do this right.

And he had no idea where to start.

“I already asked my question,” Elsa said, dropping into a chair loudly several thousand miles away. “No, no, no, tell them I’ll be there in ten minutes tops, I’ve just got some stuff to take care of first and then we can talk constituents.” “Constituents,” Killian echoed. “That’s the fanciest thing you’ve ever said.”

“See you’re teasing, but I know it’s because you’re also avoiding. You’ve got to get her something, you know that right? That’s how Christmas and relationships work.” “I know how both Christmas and relationships work.” “Eh….” “Ok, well, in theory I know how both of those things work,” Killian amended and Elsa, at least, tried to turn her laugh into something a little less judgemental. “This is why I’m calling you, El. You’re supposed to be supportive. Motherly.” “Rude.” “That’s a compliment.” “Yeah, it didn’t sound like that.”

“Knowledgable,” he said, the smile still tugging on the corner of his mouth. “Is that better?” “It’s getting there at least.” Killian groaned, leaning back and snapping his jaw when his head crashed into a set of shoulder pads that felt as if they were made of iron. “It’s got to be something good, El,” he muttered and it felt like the biggest admission in the world.

Well, no, maybe not the biggest, but that was completely uncharted territory and slightly thin ice and he was, clearly, going insane just a few days before Christmas.

There were only a few days before Christmas and another game that night and the mumblings about the Hart were starting to get a little bit louder and, truth be told, part of Killian just kind of wanted to spend the entire break in his apartment with his girlfriend, but the other part of him desperately wanted to do this right.

And he had absolutely no idea where to start.

Elsa had started talking again. Or had never really stopped and he didn’t mention that out loud because he wasn’t particularly interested in being yelled at from several thousand miles away.

“I mean...you could just take her out or something,” Elsa suggested and she was probably wincing because even she knew it wasn’t one of her better ideas. They were, apparently, both horrible at this. “God, no don’t do that, that’s awful. Wait, have you even gone on a date yet?” “Technically,” Killian answered. He was wincing too.

Elsa made a noise in the back of her throat. Judgemental. “Technically sounds like a very fancy way of saying no. How has that not happened yet? What have you been doing?” “Oh my God, El.”

She made a slightly different noise. “Oh my God. Let’s just...erase that from the record. Did you ask Anna? She’s better at this kind of stuff than I am. She’d probably have eight-hundred ideas.” “I am not asking Banana about this,” Killian said sharply. Elsa probably rolled her eyes. “And all of her ideas would probably linger around things that sparkle and like...I don’t know scaling mountains or something.” “I’m going to tell her you said that.” “Don’t do that. I will throw out your bread pudding.” Elsa hissed in her breath and she was, now, probably, scowling and Killian widened his eyes at the distinct lack of another person in front of him. “Don’t you dare,” she muttered and the threat was obvious and, well, Merry Christmas or something.

“I’m not kidding, El,” Killian promised. “Do not tell Banana. Or Liam, for that matter. This is…” He cut himself off, glaring at the otherwise empty locker room and the equipment around him and he didn’t really have to finish.

Elsa could, after all, read his mind.

“Yeah, I know it is, KJ,” she said softly and he didn’t really need a longer list. “Ok, so we’ve crossed off things that sparkle and scaling mountains, so what else you got? You could...get her merch? Or is that too on the nose?” “She’s already got merch, she works for the team. And definitely too on the nose.”

Elsa hummed and they were running out of time – she had a meeting and he had film and he really needed to find something to eat. It was some kind of festive miracle that they both hadn’t already been interrupted.

And it was probably good he was still sitting on the bench outside his locker because the idea seemed to slam into him like he was being checked by it, only it was slightly more...romantic or something. Maybe.

He hoped so.

That was the general idea of all of this.

He must have gasped or made some kind of telling noise because Elsa was demanding to know What’s going on? Oh, did Scarlet find you or something? Tell him to define his relationship, but Killian’s mind was moving several thousand miles a minute and sprinting from blue line to blue line and he really needed to reign in his metaphors.

He didn’t remember standing up.

“KJ,” Elsa shouted again and it sounded like she’d slammed something onto her desk. It might have been another phone. Or an assistant.

“El are you slamming other humans into your desk?” Killian asked incredulously and he’d never actually taken his skates off. None of this was very well thought out. Except this part. He knew what he was going to get her.

“I do not have the upper body strength for that nor is it medically advisable for me to try,” she muttered. He stopped moving for half a second to tilt his head at that, certain he was still missing something, but Elsa wasn’t done yet and he’d never actually answered any of her questions. “Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking now or did I ignore constituents and their needs for nothing, KJ?” He sighed as dramatically as he possibly could, which wasn’t really much, truth be told, because this was a good idea.

And kind of cliché.

But that was also kind of a Vankald tradition and Emma was coming for Christmas and both of those things were enough to rationalize all of it.

“What if it wasn’t merch they actually sold in Chase Square?” Killian asked and Elsa made an impatient noise when he didn’t continue explaining it. “I mean...what if I talked to Kristoff and got something from earlier this season? Something potentially game-worn?” It took her less than a full second to figure out. Of course. She could read minds. Or just Killian’s mind.

“Yes,” Elsa said. There was little room for doubt in those three letters. “Yes, absolutely. But don’t do that at home because Anna really will lose her mind. She’s already going nuts at the prospect of you bringing a girl with you.” “You two need to find something else to talk about. Doesn’t Banana have some kind of natural wonder to conquer or something?” “I think you’re woefully underestimating the power of modern technology, KJ. And how invested people are in your happiness.” “Ah, you’re going to make me feel guilty for being an ass.” She probably shrugged. It sounded like she shrugged. “I mean, good,” Elsa said, the smile clear in her voice. “But only for an appropriate amount of time because we’re actively working our way out of guilt aren’t we? Something a bit closer to generic happiness?”

“Oh that was almost too much, El.” “I’m a conversational time limit, that’s why. You can’t expect my best work under that kind of pressure.” Killian laughed softly, dropping back onto the edge of the bench and running his hand through his hair. “You guys are going to be good though, right? Not overwhelming or insane about the bread pudding?” “You’re harping on this bread pudding a lot.” “I’m just saying.” “I know you are, KJ and I’m just saying, yes, we will all be on our best behavior because you’re bringing Emma home for Christmas. Everyone will act relatively normal and then you can give her pieces of a uniform to hold onto for the rest of time and it’ll all be incredibly romantic and festive.” He took a deep breath, huffing it out and his shoulders shifted, but it felt a little bit like they were straightening and that almost felt like too much too. Elsa had used Emma’s name, though, and he needed to find Kristoff.

“Romantic and festive sounds like a plan,” Killian said, pressing his phone against his ear to try and tug off his skates with both hands.

There were more voices in Colorado and Elsa mumbling under her breath about the location of very specific folders and they’d reached their conversational deadline. “Go save the world, El,” Killian said, twisting around to find sneakers and a sweatshirt.

He was going to be late to film.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Elsa muttered, the chair in Colorado squeaking when she pushed away from her desk. “And you’re going to get fined if you’re late for film.”

“I don’t think it’s even started yet.” “You’re the worst liar in the history of the world.” “Eh.”

Elsa laughed softly and the assistant was asking questions again and Killian could dimly hear voices coming down the hallway because he was absolutely going to be late for film.

“There he is,” Will announced, swinging around the open doorway and waving an arm towards another voice that hadn’t actually become a body yet.

Robin rolled his whole head in frustration when he stepped back into the locker room. “Seriously, Cap, you’re going to get us all fined if you blow off film.” “I’m not blowing off film,” Killian grumbled and Elsa couldn’t quite contain her laugh in Colorado. It probably confused her assistant. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, El.” “Yeah, I’ll see you soon, KJ. Try not to get fined.”

And he was just about to hang up, ready to toss his phone back in his locker so he could, finally, get changed when he heard the screech on the other end of the line and both Will and Robin’s eyes widened at the noise.

“KJ,” Elsa shouted. “KJ! KJ, wait I’ve had an idea!” Killian glanced towards the doorway – Will using Robin as support to try and stop himself from falling over with laughter. Robin shrugged. “What, El?” Killian asked.

“You should tie ‘em. When you give them to her. That way she can wear the laces.” His eyebrows leapt up his head and both Robin and Will stopped laughing long enough to looked slightly confused by that, but Killian waved a dismissive hand and they were all going to get fined. Or Arthur was going to make them sprint more before puck drop.

He didn’t move.

“That’s a good idea, El,” Killian muttered and she probably fixed the entire world with the force of her answering smile.

“I know it is,” Elsa said. “I’ll see you in a couple days, KJ.”