#tagging some blogs i’ve seen who are at least aware of the band… anyways hi. hello. 👋 i can be cool sometimes

[beetlejuce]

“It’s a kind of out of body experience where you’re leaving behind all the mess; there’s a sense of inescapable fate to it, where you’re wanting to pass on into a place that’s away from all this. And then whatever happens next, whether it’s in another record or whatever, will be what happens next."

NEPTUNE — Foals (2019)

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Six! If you’d like to be tagged, please send an ask or message. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Unrequited feelings. Sexual awareness. Guilt. Use of a currently nonsingle actress, but I love her. So...she’s here. Next chapter starts the steamy side of things ;)

Word Count: Roughly 2,900

The set was solemn as you walked onto it. Two sets of tiny hands tangled with yours as a third held onto your hip. Making your way to the guillotine slowly. Aware that cameras were rolling just around the bend.  

“And we just wanted you to hear from us that, um...” Jensen's voice was strong as Jared cleared his throat beside him. However, as you approached, you saw the strain all three men were under. All eyes were red. Puffy from the tears. The other two hunched around Jensen as if he were their rock. “Although we're excited about er...next year? Um...I...It will be, uh...” He looked towards Misha. Arms crossed over his chest as he talked, “the finale.”

Suddenly, you'd understood why Jared had texted you. Suggesting that the kids may be the boost Jensen needed to get through the day. Your heart broke all over again as a sniffle echoed from the side. Another broken crew member trying to hold themselves together.

No one made said a word as the men finished the beginning of their goodbye to their life's longest work. As soon as they were done? Applause rang through the air. The support in the room overwhelming with its intensity.

“Is Daddy okay?” Arrow's voice was soft as she watched in confusion. Brows pinched together tightly.

You didn't get a chance to answer before Justice Jay spoke up, “No...he's sad.” Her eyes moved up to meet yours. “But, Y/N will make him feel better. That's what she does.”

“Go hug him, Y/N!” Zeppelin insisted, lips tugged down. Upset at his father's pain.

“That's your job, kiddo.” Ruffling his hair, you urged them forward. It didn't take much prodding. As soon as the green eyes caught sight of the three children rushing his way, they lit up.

Your hands stuffed into your back pockets as you followed. Keeping your distance. As if they'd truly not let you be part of the fray. Jared tugged you under his arm as soon as you were within reach. Rubbing his knuckles into your hair affectionately. “Nice of you to answer your texts.”

“I figured you were on set,” A pinch to his ribs gave you a rewarding yelp from the giant. But, the glee only lasted a moment. “How're you holding up?” Growing serious, you looked up at the overgrown child. Fingers cocked under his chin to make sure he didn't turn away from your gaze.

“I'll be alright,” The shadows under his eyes said otherwise. But, the grumbling from Misha had you passed around before you could protest. Demanding a real answer.

Jensen watched as you were lifted into the bubbly man's grasp. Laughing at your long lost friend. Misha had a thing about adopting the unusual. And you fit right into the pack.

“Daaaaaad!” The drawn out cry forced his attention back to Zeppelin as both girls snuck off to hunt down the makeup crew and demand their annual glitz and glammer day. “You need to hug, Y/N!”

“I...I ne...need to what?” His held tilted as he crouched down to his son's level. To not only talk man on man, but to ensure his voice didn't carry as far.

“She gives nice hugs. She'll make you feel better.” Earnest as always, the boy tugged on his hand. Concern etched on his mini's brow as he stormed on in his mission. “Trust me, I know.”

“Oh, do you?” A firm nod was the answer. Lips puckered as he inspected the red in his father's eyes. “I bet you learned to give some pretty great hugs yourself, then.”

“They're okay.” The tiny shrug brushed it off. Still zeroed in on the idea that you'd save the day. Kicking at the ground all the while.

Jensen chuckled before reaching out to tug the boy into his arms. Zeppelin let out a giggle for the ages as he wrapped his tiny arms into a vice grip around the thick neck in front of him. “See? Told you.”

His eyes closed as he breathed in the moment. Squeezing his son tight. As if that would hold his life together. When they opened again, the E/C gaze was on him. A small nod your way said it all. An answering bob his way had his lips pulled up.

The day passed by in a blur of emotion. Social medias were lighting up from the announcement. Fans around the world mourning as much as the cast and crew. All three kids were out cold. Tucked into their beds in the lavish apartment. Sighing, you settled down on the couch. Rubbing at your eyes sleepily.

“Hey,” You yawned out without even looking as Jensen walked in. A muttered curse and small crash followed as he tried to tug his footwear off without bending. When you turned to see if he would make it, you found him looking worse than you felt. “I was starting to think you got lost.”

“Long day.” That much you understood. Slowly, you patted the tan material of the couch beside you. As he sank down into the fabric with a deep sigh, you passed him your own unopened beer. Knowing just a bit of relaxation made up for some of the struggles. “Thanks.”

“You good?”

“Not really.” The defeated huff had you looking over every line on his face. You knew the strained expression well. Grief had risen its head again. “I'm just tired. I'll be fine.” Silence stretched between you two. Tense and heavy. Then, the dam burst. Only, it was the furthest thing you'd expected to hear. “I've got a date next week.”

Excitement was the last thing you felt at those words. But, you weren't what was important in that moment. “You don't sound very happy about it.”

“Aren't you supposed to say 'congratulations' or something like that?” He huffed out. Surliness over ruling the sad. “Ya know, supportive?”

“I was just making an observation.” The unimpressed frown had you letting out your own, exasperated breath of air. “Okay, okay, fine. I'll leave that alone.” Against your better judgment, you crossed your legs. Turning to face him better, you decided if you were going to play the role of therapist? You might as well do it properly. Start where he wanted to. “Who's the girl?”

“Gemma Chan.” As you pulled out your phone, the head tilt of confusion was aimed your way. “What-”

“If I have to do the encouraging friend thing? I gotta do what women do best...research.” Captain Marvel. Crazy Rich Asians. She was bigger screen than him, certainly. Gorgeous. Just a few years younger than his forty three years. Single for a little over a year. There wasn't anything notable to find fault with, there. “Damn... how'd you land her?”

“Cliff had Jared and Gen set me up.” When your brow lifted in question, he diverted from the details further. Skittering back to where he wanted it. Only telling you in more ways that he was hiding at least one thing. “Anyways, I could use more of that support stuff right about now.” He waved you on.

“She seems like...a lot.” His exasperation at your answer was quickly cut off by the rest. “But, you're great, Jensen. Okay? You have the perfect kids. A hell of a resume of your own. Don't look half bad...” The last one earned the breathy, sheepish chuckle you'd been going for. His chin tucking down to touch his chest as his hand ran through his hair. “Even if it doesn't work out? It's not the end of the line. There's a whole world out there outside of this one girl.” A gentle squeeze of his bicep had him straightening up on the couch, “And if you're worried about what Danneel would think?” He hid it well. But, you caught the flash of it at the name. Vulnerability. He was losing his show. But, with the date? He was also losing another tie to his dead wife. You were certain that the pain you'd seen stemmed from all that loss. “Don't, Jay... She'd just want you and the kids happy. Okay? That's the goal, here.” He swallowed tightly. Nodding in agreement. “Good.”

--

“What do ya think?” Jensen turned to the small crowd on the black couch; showing off the brown leather jacket and black tie combo he'd thrown together over jeans.

“It's a no from me.” Justice Jay had no qualms about speaking her mind. She leaned back into the couch with a squinted up expression that looked so much like her mom that you had to bite back a smile. The whole thing was pulled off perfectly with the neon green head band she'd taken from her mom's closet years before. Offsetting the pink t-shirt she'd just grown into.

“Arrow?” Size had nothing to do with personality. The tiny little beauty had dressed herself in a pair of overalls. A bright yellow shirt rested under the jeans. Too loud pink frilled around her from the tutu wrapped around her hips. A red and a black sock covered her swinging feet. Neon green sunglasses rested on her nose. In order to bring the outfit together, she donned a sky blue bow in her fine hair. Looking every bit as solemn as she could, the tiny, rainbow themed child shook her head no; lips pursed into a frown. “Oh, who asked you?” The grumble earned a giggle that made Jensen roll his eyes. “What about you, Zep?”

“Dad...” The actor's mini-me stated very seriously. Folding his hands onto his grass stained knee. Oblivious to the ravioli crested dinosaur on his chest. “I love you.” That earned a raised brow. “But,” Kid or not, Zeppelin went right for the throat, “you need to work on your style.”

It was as if they'd all stabbed him through the heart. His hand rubbed over his chest. Brows furrowed as he took in the beings he'd helped create. Their own fashion statements blasphemy to the outside world as they shot him down. “You're all monsters.”

“It's just casual, right?” You asked from your perch on the floor. Turning away from the puzzle the kids had abandoned half an hour before to save the last shred of dignity on the actor.

“Right,” He was full of nervous energy. Shifting from foot to foot as you inspected his choice in clothes. His squared jaw was smooth from the fresh shave. Too spic and span for your liking.

“Lose the tie, drop a few buttons, and channel Dean. You'll be golden.” With that, you moved back to the puzzle. Forgetting about anymore of that extra bit encouragement he'd asked for when he'd told you about the night out. A deep tug of a frown graced his lips.

Jensen watched the way your fingers trailed across the pieces of cardboard. Pulling together the image of a raven carefully. The same way you seemed to go forward with everything. When did you ever really let loose in your life? Even a little?

“Dad! You're still blocking the TV,” Arrow finally spoke up. Not wanting to miss a second of her precious Rapunzel. Pulling him from his thoughts.

“Right,” He turned away, tugging off the offending tie like you'd suggested. Glancing at the clock to his right, again. The night was supposed to change his life. Get his mind back to reality instead of every lewd image it'd created of the nanny, as Cliff had said. His bodyguard had laid out the perfect plan. It was just a matter of pursuing it. “Alright, there's an hour until bed time-”

“Yes, daddy.” A mocking tone was nothing compared to the words themselves. His breath caught in his throat. The very reason he'd found himself about to go out lingering in the air. “I know the routine,” You chastised without looking his way. Sounding more like an exasperated mother than a nanny. “Go. Have fun on...” You glanced back his way. Knowing that he wasn't ready to let the kids in on what was happening. Quickly, you fixed your wrong. “With your friend.”

Unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, Jensen walked away. Muttering to himself to quell the nerves. It didn't stop as he paced to locate his phone and keys. Didn't even end when he shouted a final goodbye.

When the door finally shut behind him, you let out your breath. In Austin, you could escape his allure easier. Remind yourself that while they cared for you, you were ultimately a side piece in the family. But, in Canada? Things were more cramped. Intimate.

Hanging out on set. In the trailers. Being in the next room over from the father you needed to escape at nights. Torture didn't begin to describe it. So close. And yet, ever out of reach.

The announcement of the ending had only drawn more attention towards the cast and their families. Everyone trying to see what came next. And with that? Came the attacks.

Every kind of conspiracy theory existed. You'd be the next beard for J2. The cast and crew didn't give two shits about your existence, but needed the attention your closeness to Jensen could give them. How you used Jay's grief to trap him into some kind of toxic web. Posts existed about which child you favored and why. Bets on who'd end up in boarding school once the show ended.

You should have ignored them. None of them had any credibility. There wasn't one of them who could say they knew any of you personally. And yet, every one of them dug under your skin. Settling into a poisonous knot in your stomach.

Worriedly, you turned back to the door. Imagining what would happen if he were caught by a photographer. TMZ had eaten his wife's death up. Announcing it a mere hour after it had happened. A grieving widower moving on would be the perfect desert for them.

Shaking away the thoughts, you got to your feet. Ignoring the way Oscar's head shot up at the jerky movement. Sitting around and waiting was useless. There were things to clean. Time to kill.

Ten minutes after tucking the kids into bed, you heard the door click open. Icarus' head lifted from your lap as you turned to see Jensen stroll in. Looking like he'd been through the ringer. For the second time in the span of days, you found yourself about to nurture the head of the house.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” He sighed out. Unzipping his jacket sharply. When it was off, he tossed it haphazardly across the room. Not caring that it landed on the floor.

“Right...” The dirty look you got made you roll your eyes. You picked up the aging cockapoo from your lap. Moving close to the grumpy giant, and placing the snowy pooch in his owner's arms. “Sit down. Cuddle the dog. I'll be right back.”

“Wha-”

“Just do it, Ackles. Trust me!” You ordered. Walking away to raid the kitchen. A few minutes later, you found him less agitated. His hands running over the freshly groomed coat as he rested on the couch. “Take this. And then when you're ready? Spill the dirt.” Your legs tucked under you as you passed him a mug of tea.

“Thanks,” His voice was still gruff. But most of the tension had left his shoulders. After a moment, he finally opened up. Venting about the awkward silence. The pained, overly polite smiles. Everything that fit the fating scene. “Maybe it's too soon,” Jensen leaned back against the couch. Making himself cozy in the habit that had developed between you two.

“Or maybe she just wasn't right for you,” It was a relief to say it. But, you felt for the guy all the same. Dating sucked. “Or,” Being the good guy sucked even more, “maybe she was just as nervous as you were.” He seemed to think that one over. Nodding as if he agreed. “Drink up, kid. You have work tomorrow.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” He groaned out, taking another sip of hot liquid. “So...what about you?”

It was ridiculous how many butterflies swarmed inside of you when his eyes turned your way, “What about me?”

“You aren't gonna find someone if you never go out,” At that, your shoulders drooped a bit. Plopping back against the couch in an almost pout. “It's true, ya know.”

“I know,” You refused to look over at him. Pondering over everything. “What made you decide it was time?” The question had been just another thing eating at you.

“I just...” He wouldn't explain it all. Couldn't. That'd involve coming clean about every look your way. “I miss the little things, ya know? Waking up to a smiling face and all that jazz. I don't...” His throat worked as he talked. “I don't wanna be alone.”

Silently you absorbed everything he'd said. The fragile crack in his voice. Pain in each note. Relating to it more than he knew. Me either, Jay...Me either.

Part Seven

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @supernaturalginger​ @lilulo-12​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @michaelneedssomemilk​ @lemondropirwin​ @fanfictionismydeath​ @neii3n​

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​  @woodworthti666​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord @smoothdogsgirl @ima-be-a-mongoose @briagallen @agusdoti @my-proof-is-you @deanwinchestersmydaddy @sucker-for-dean @blacktithe7 @thevelvetseries @sucker-for-dean  @sociopathtime @deans-baby-momma @aomi-nabi​ @brandinicole911 @demonqueen47 @c-ly-g @bakabozza @socalgem1124​ @hillface89​ @winchester-fantasies​ @redwineloves​ @monkeymcpoopoo​ @mcshloemer @hillface89​ @chocolateheart

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 1/?

Happy birthday, @teamhook​ ! You have been a faithful reader of my fics from long before I came over to tumblr, and I appreciate your support so much! As a matter of fact, you were the first one to encourage me to get a tumblr blog. Anyway, I hope you have a marvelous day, my friend.

You told me this Gabrielle Aplin song was one of your favorites that reminded you of CS, so I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Then, just a few days ago I watched a Hallmark Christmas movie (yes, I’m already watching them, don’t judge) called a Christmas to Remember. It had Elle McKinnon in it, who played young Alice Jones on Once, and the whole thing gave me CS vibes. Then I realized the song really fit the movie’s plot, and this fic was born. Unlike the movie, however, this doesn’t happen at Christmas. I also couldn’t finish it in a one-shot, so here we go, another MC/WIP. It’s worth it for you though, @teamhook​. I hope you enjoy it!

Many thanks to the CSRT discord chat for helping me brainstorm parts of this, especially @shireness-says​ for giving me the idea to make Emma part of a rock band. I was having a very difficult time coming up with a band name that hasn’t been used yet in the fandom, when the name of a band from my college came to mind - Wendy Sews it On. It suddenly hit me what that band name is a reference too, and I was giddy with excitement!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is?

Side note: Has anyone else written from the point of view of someone who can’t remember her name? Well it’s hard, ya’ll - lol!

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and both Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook@kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree​@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @winterbaby89​ @distant-rose@shireness-says​ @xhookswenchx​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @branlovestowrite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​

Oh today I’m just a drop of water and I’m running down the mountain side. Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean. I’ll be rising with the morning tide.

The road stretched before Emma’s tiny yellow bug, she was sure, for miles upon miles of the thick forests of northern Maine. Yet all she could see out her windshield was about a car’s length in front of her through the thick swirling snow. Her tires kept sliding on the slick roads, and more than once she had trouble keeping the car pointed in the right direction. It didn’t help that she was completely and utterly lost, her GPS losing signal at some point miles back.

Emma cursed rural Maine, cursed the snow, and even cursed Regina for suggesting this week of r&r to begin with. A cabin with all the amenities next to a spa sounded like heaven. Or maybe anything secluded sounded like heaven - a place to get her head on right again, maybe even write a new song.

She just wasn’t sure it would be a love song like Regina and the record label was hoping for. She added Walsh to her list of stuff to curse.

Her headlights, for a brief moment, illuminated a sign up ahead: “Welcome to Storybrooke.” She cursed again as she squinted down at her phone which still mocked her with the little swirling icon and the word “buffering.”

“Come on,” she muttered. She started to type in “Misthaven Resort and Spa” again, glancing from her phone screen to the road and back again. She knew it was dangerous to use her phone while driving, especially in weather like this, but if she didn’t figure out where the hell she was, she might run out of gas and die out here in the snow anyway.

It was a cost benefit analysis, really.

God, she needed to start spending time with people besides Regina and Walsh. She hadn’t even seen her former bandmates since this solo career train had catapulted out of the station.

Anna would have loved that mixed metaphor. It was the kind of line Emma’s red-headed, bubbly, almost little sister would have put into a song. Like the Beatles, every member of Wendy Sewed it On wrote songs for the band. Anna’s were quirky and upbeat, Elsa’s were soaring, epic ballads, Ruby’s were tongue in cheek and driving.

And Emma . . . well, fans said her songs were sad and haunting, but deep. Wendy Sewed it On had their biggest hits with Emma’s songs, even though it was Elsa who belted them out. Being all alone on that stage, laying her soul bare with those lyrics . . .

Emma’s thoughts were cut off and a scream flew out of her mouth as a wolf bounded onto the road in front of her. It was all a blur after that: breaking glass, her continuing screams, pine trees surrounding her on all sides as she plowed off the road and down an embankment of snow.

There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then it’s like the sun came out.

A severe winter storm warning has been issued for central Aroostook County. Visibility will be extremely low, roads impass-

Killian switched off the radio in his pickup, not wanting to alarm Henry. His windshield wipers were on the highest setting, his lights on bright, and for now, he could still make out the road far enough ahead of them that he was fairly confident they would get home long before the storm reached its peak. Part of him was second guessing bringing a ten year old along on this call, but Henry had been so excited at the prospect of helping deliver the foal at the Nolan farm.

“Dad,” Henry said, picking at the aluminum foil Mary Margaret had used to wrap up a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, “why doesn’t Uncle David work with you anymore?”

“Well, he and Mary Margaret had been saving up for years to buy that farm. I always knew horses were his dream, not the animal shelter.” He glanced from the road to grin at his son. “And you’re dying to have one of those cookies, aren’t you?”

Henry’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

Killian laughed. “I’ve been a dad for a decade now. I have a sixth sense.”

“So can I have one?”

“No, you have to share with Alice.”

“Aw man,” Henry pouted, but it was short lived. Both of his children were extremely curious and regularly peppered him with questions. “Why couldn’t Uncle David just deliver the foal himself? He knows animals.”

“Because it was breech - that means it was upside down inside the mother horse. David’s not a vet, so he called me.”

Henry arched his brows. “And they pay you in cookies?”

Killian chuckled again. “David and Mary Margaret, yes.”

“They are good cookies,” Henry agreed, taking a big whiff of the plate in his lap. “Maybe Alice wouldn’t mind if we - DAD!”

Killian saw the figure in the road at the same moment his son did, so before the word even left Henry’s lips, Killian was swerving to avoid the person. The roads were wet and slick enough to send his tires sliding, and if Killian didn’t have so much experience driving in such dangerous conditions, they may have ended up in the ditch. When the truck finally came to a stop, he turned first to Henry.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked him, running a hand nervously over the boy.

“Yeah,” Henry gasped, “I’m good.” The boy twisted around in his seat. “What was that?”

That was a good question. It had looked like a person, but who would be out in this weather? Unless they were in trouble. Killian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Stay here,” he instructed Henry, giving him a steely look lest his overly curious oldest child be tempted to disobey. Thankfully, Henry nodded, his face a mask of intensity.

After Killian exited the vehicle, he could clearly see a woman stumbling around in the middle of the road. He approached her cautiously, fully aware that a man appearing before the woman in the middle of the forest could be frightening to say the least.

“Are you okay?”

She turned then, and he could tell from the blank expression on her face that she was in shock. She had obviously experienced some sort of trauma, and his heart plummeted at the thought. He walked slowly closer. The woman was now turning in a circle, unsteady on her feet as if she might be inebriated. Her gaze was lifted to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings. When he was close enough, Killian reached out tentatively to rest his hand on her upper arm. She was wearing a red leather jacket; not the smartest choice of outerwear for snow like this.

“I’d like to help you,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on injured animals. “What are you doing out here?”

She blinked, as if trying to focus on his face. Her skin was almost alabaster, her hair completely coated in a layer of snow, and he wondered how long she’d been out here in the elements. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked down at it, almost in confusion. When she did, he noticed the blood matting the top of her head.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered.

“I - am?” she whispered back.

He smiled, relieved to hear her voice finally. “Aye, you have a rather nasty gash on your head there. Were you in an accident?”

“Was I?” her voice sounded thready and far away as she reached a trembling hand up to touch her head. “Ow, that hurts,” she gasped. Yet she kept patting at the wound frantically.

“I’m not surprised, so let’s stop touching it shall we?” he took her slender, ice cold hand in his to still her nervous movements. “What’s your name? Can I call someone for you?”

“I . . . I . . . “ she began to sway as her words turned to incoherent mutterings, then she crumpled against Killian’s chest. He scooped her up in his arms, turning his gaze nervously to the sky as the snow fell in fat, thick flakes. He followed the tail lights back to the truck. He had no choice but to take the mysterious woman home with him before the storm got worse.

**********************************************************

She awoke in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange little girl staring at her. She hurt everywhere, but her head especially throbbed with a sharp, jabbing pain. The sunlight pouring through the window made her wince, and the image of the little girl sitting at the end of the bed went fuzzy.

“This is my room,” the child told her, “but you can use it until you get better.”

She looked around her, evidence of a child everywhere from the dollhouse in the corner to the childish artwork tacked all over the walls. What was she doing here?

“My name is Alice,” the girl continued, bouncing on the bed a bit, making its injured occupant wince. “I’m seven. How old are you?”

“Alice,” another voice gently rebuked from the doorway, “let our patient rest, please.”

“Okay, daddy,” the little girl sighed, but obeyed, skipping out of the room.

A man drew closer to the bed, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest, the urge to flee overwhelming. He lifted both hands, slowing his approach, a gentle look in his eyes. It didn’t help - she didn’t know this man or where she was.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my family’s home,” he explained, “my name is Killian Jones and my son and I found you wandering in the road. We’re in the midst of a bad storm, so I had no choice but to bring you here.”

She had never been so confused in her life, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and she reached up to find a bandage on the top of her head.

“What happened to me?”

“Well,” Killian told her patiently, “you had a gash on your head and some other cuts and bruises. I bandaged you up.”

“You’re a doctor?”

He smiled, and despite the situation, she found it charming. “A vet, but the principles are largely the same. Nevertheless, I’ve called the town doctor and he’ll be coming out once the roads are cleared.”

“The roads?”

“We’re snowed in.”

She moaned. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and shame washed over her. She couldn’t let this stranger see her cry.

“Listen,” he said softly, “you were hurt and wandering around. Do you remember what happened?”

She lifted both hands to cover her face. “No, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”

“Well, how about your name? Let’s start there.”

“My name is -” Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “Oh my God. I don’t know! I don’t know my name!”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Killian soothed, laying a hand tentatively on her shoulder, “you hit your head, so it’s understandable. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”

How could he be so damn calm? She didn’t know who she was!

“I . . . I . . . “ she looked down at herself and saw a pajama top covered in pink roses, “I’m in pajamas.”

The man smiled again in that way that made her heart flip like a damn teenager. “And you look good in them, so that’s a win.”

“I hate pink,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “And flowery shirts.”

Killian’s eyebrows quirked up. They were quite expressive, she noticed. “Well there you go, you remember that!”

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “how did I get into pajamas?” Surely she wasn’t wandering the road in her pjs.

His eyes grew large and he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me! My friend Mary Margaret did that. She’s a volunteer down at the hospital.”

“I helped!” Alice called out, popping up from the foot of the bed. “Cause I want to be a nurse. Or an artist. Or a pilot.”

“Alice Milah Jones,” her father scolded, “I thought I told you to give our patient some peace and quiet?”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Killian looked back at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”

She bit down on her lip, those damn tears threatening to spill over again. “No. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

He frowned, the pity on his face clear. She hated pity. How did she know that? And that she hated pink? And flowered shirts? But not her own damn name?

“Okay,” he told her softly, patting her foot gently through the down comforter on the bed. He was handsome too, she noted. Dark hair, a strong jaw covered in nicely trimmed scruff, bright blue eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that somehow made them more piercing. Suddenly, taking him in from head to toe and thinking of quirky but sweet little Alice, she was sure that she was in a safe place. How she knew she wasn’t sure, but it settled deep within her and took root.

Killian left, closing the door silently behind him. She slid beneath the warm blankets as her eyes fluttered closed. She dreamed of snow and blue eyes and strong arms but not of who she was or where she came from.

[nomdy-plume]

Have you seen ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’?

It’s a good job I don’t post a new blog every week – I’d have nothing to talk about.  

Whereas, leaving it a few months between updates, I have LOTS to cover. You ready? Let’s begin:

Since returning from Texas, I have completed a month’s contract onboard another ferry, after my management were kind enough to offer me a way out of short-term pecuniary disenfranchisement. It was the sister-ship of the one that I normally find myself on and I’m pleased to say that it was the better of the two: the indoor smoking room (I no longer smoke) was a [much larger and better equipped] gym and the gym room was a very plush TV room with a full satellite package.

Given the cricket world cup was taking place during my contract, it was wonderful to be the only person on the ship who wasn’t busy working during the day. I had the whole TV room to myself (about 25 yards from the mess, food, drink, etc.) to indulge in what was an amazing tournament.

On my last two contracts I was playing in the main theatre (in the belly of the ship) with a party band but for a month I was providing troubadour, solo, action upstairs in the Sky lounge – my first contract as a soloist.  After an initial knee-jerk reaction to accepting the contract of downloading a ton of backing tracks, so I could provide a range of musical options, I realised pretty quickly that this was completely  unnecessary.

Performing 4x 30min sets a night: I started out by planning 3 days’ worth of unique sets, which I figured I could adjust and tinker with until I was happy with how they all worked out. Slow, mellow ones to start with before whipping the crowd into a frenzy with sing-a-long classics later on in the night. I think I had about 150 songs in my solo repertoire to choose from and it’s basically about 7 or 8 songs a set (depending on how long I drag them out for).

It was the usual mix of songs that I know I can play and sing – which work in a solo setting – and a desperate grab for as many other suitable songs which I could learn or which I really wanted to try out acoustically.

However, pretty early in the contract, one of the ladies on security in the port was kind enough to pass on her head cold to me. My throat was soon swollen enough for me to ask my Entertainments Manager (EM) if it would be OK if I just played some instrumental stuff until my voice was better.  His reaction – reading between the lines, and the indifferent shrug – told me that he couldn’t care less what I did as long as I was up there making some form of noise for my allotted times.

Now, this meant that the bar staff / bar manager in my venue must have been happy with what they had heard of me so far: they are always the ones to complain if something isn’t working or going to plan.  This pleased me: the bar staff have to listen to the solo act over and over and over again, every night for weeks on end, so whereas the passengers might only hear one or two performances, the staff will hear every single one.  

They become very sensitive to how good/bad people are in both their playing and their selection of material – normally the lack of it.  150 songs might seem a lot, but that’s only 5 days worth before you repeat yourself IF you stick to playing every song.

Anyway, to cut to the chase, I quickly got the 30 min sets down to 3 or 4 songs – only two of which I might sing on. I needed to come up with a few more jazz instrumentals to bluff my way through as the staff were hearing Autumn Leaves and Blue Bossa every night, and I don’t want to drive them too mad…

It was a good exercise in needing to be creative with a looper pedal as well as figuring out which of my repertoire I could drag out for around ten mins with solos before and after each verse/chorus…

It meant that I could reduce the songs on which I did sing down to a select, polished group.  It was a great relief to know that I could just throw down a loop and meander whimsically around some melodic lines for the duration of the sets. Audience were happy, bar staff were happy – I was over the moon!

The audiences were a mixed bag.  Most were very receptive: in the warm summer evenings, the top lounge where I played was the place to be. Plus it is right next to the open smoking decks – so there have been some good numbers of bodies in, most of the time.  They don’t seem to mind me in the corner with a looper pedal just noodling away and I’ve been able to play all the requests thrown my way so far. The German passengers seem extra friendly and receptive – apparently they LOVE a bit of Dire Straits, which suits me right down to the ground because so do I.

As per most contracts, there were times when a small, appreciative crowd were loving everything I was playing – just as there were times when a large, unappreciative crowd couldn’t have cared less what I was doing.  In my final week, I was determined to give it everything I had in those final shows – I poured my heart and soul into everything I did.  And no-one noticed, cared or gave a hoot.

Such is life!

Some nights I sucked, didn’t want to be there… some nights I was on fire, didn’t want it to end… I had a ton of fun, even if it didn’t feel like it all the time. I also got to head into Amsterdam a couple of times which was wonderful, it’s possibly my favourite European city and I’ve spent so many hours wandering around the canals and streets.

There’s a breakfast café very near the station which always – ALWAYS! – has a queue of about 10-15 people waiting to get in.  It’s called Omelegg and I’ve always wanted to know what the food is like in there… all the online reviews say it’s incredible… my lifetime quest to find out for myself continueth…

The party band who were onboard were a nice bunch. They were in the lamentable – but not uncommon – position of joining the ship with a guitarist who was young, naïve and completely unprepared for the contract. However, he was a nice, well-meaning guy and the others didn’t seem to be willing to cuss him out: they were kind of hand-holding him through the contract. Bless.

Bands are responsible for making sure they know what they are doing, are rehearsed, etc. and apparently this kid had known for a year that he was doing it.  Sounds like his reasoning was as follows (taken from ad verbatim quotes from the band):

·         I’m the best guitarist at my university

·         I can play anything and I can sing a bit

·         I should be able to figure out / jam along to whatever the band play

I was torn: between admiring the sheer, bare-faced audacity of naïve youth and gobbling popcorn at the eye-widening, car-crash drama of it all. I managed to catch a few of their songs – when our set-times overlapped a little – and it was, indeed, painful to witness.

I wish I could say that I hadn’t been there before, in his shoes (albeit under slightly different circumstances), but I had.  All I can say is that if you survive a baptism of fire like that and STILL want to pursue it as a career, you’ve already displayed enough courage and determination/perseverance to almost guarantee some level of success. It is being right at the bottom of a very steep, painful learning curve.

I also loved my Ibanez jazzy hollow-body guitar on this contract, too.  I bought it in Hong Kong a few years back (the Tom Lee store there is incredible: an Aladdin’s cave of guitar goodness) and hadn’t really touched it since.  I wasn’t sure if the contract would stipulate ‘acoustic-only’ – but that was me being overly cautious.  Not only does it sound great – that oaky, woody, jazzy sound you’d expect from that style of guitar – but it plays so much more easily than anything else I own.

And, because you guys are always most interested in the tragic, nerve-wracking, up-and-down drama of my life as a musician, I’ll fill you in on current events.

I’d been lining up a contract for later in the year, back onboard the last cruise ship where we did the acoustic duo gig.  This time as the party band, which – although fraught with its own logistical challenges – was at least a contract on the table.  Indeed, I had digitally signed and returned it and was relieved to have another 5 months of work booked in to keep my head afloat.

However, the delightful and immensely-talented LT had previously – and both I and the drummer were loosely aware of this – auditioned for a cruise line which paid nearly twice the money for not quite half the work, but certainly a much more agreeable working environment.

So, it was with a sense of dread and doom that we read her message saying that she had been offered a contract with this other cruise line and we weren’t going to be able to tag along. We weren’t going to do the contract without her and we all knew that she was destined for greater things than earning minimum wage with no days off for five months.

So, here I am under fairly intense financial pressures and no work on the horizon.  It’s all very Inside Llewyn Davis, which pleases and disgusts me in equal measures.  On the plus side, in my attempts to get some sort of a side-gig going, I’ve done some work as an extra on a major Netflix production which was being filmed in Wales. It’ll be out later this year, I’m hoping to get some screen time – it’ll be something to laugh about with my family.

So yeah, there’s the update. I may leave it as long again to allow enough to occur to make it a riveting read… but then I don’t have much on at the moment and may end up publishing frequently as a means to pass the time…

*salutes*

[rewrite-the-night-court]

What I’d change about TOG

So, I saw another blog dedicated to fixing the problematic/uninteresting things about the ACOTAR series. Personally, I have been mentally doing the whole “if I had to remake this, I’d probably do it more like that” thing for years, and I’ve now decided to start a blog dedicated to it, but mostly to the series (and by extension, author) that initially made me start thinking about what I’d change: Throne of Glass.

Now, this is a LONG post dedicated to what I’d change about the first book in the TOG series. I mean no harm to SJM (which is why this is in the main tag, though I can remove it if it’s inappropriate to put this post there), this is just my take on how I think the books could have turned out differently.

If you disagree, feel free to do so; if you’re even so interested as to have a (civil) discussion with me, I’d love to talk to you! My inbox is always open!

It might be an incoherent mess, it might have more than a few plot holes, but I hope you enjoy the read anyways.

I’ll start with my feelings on the book in general. I actually took me a while to finish reading the entire thing. I bought the book because I really like the concept of a badass assassin struggling for her freedom by competing in deadly challenges, especially with some political/court intrigue and magic thrown into the mix. It seemed right up my alley. I did, however, put it down about 3/4ths in, because I did not feel like the book delivered what it promised, but rather that it trivialized the Tests and focused completely on the (very standard) love triangle.

My second “problem” with the book was Celaena herself. There were things I liked about her: For example, it was amazing to see a YA-protagonist not even admit, but even liking that she was good-looking and being confident in herself and her skills (YA sorely lacks female protagonists like that). Other things bothered me, in a way that eventually overshadowed the aspects of her character that I liked. I just kept thinking: “The world’s most feared assassin at 17?” It seems a little unlikely, not matter if she trained since she was 8 or not.

Those aspects of her character ties up to my problem with her as a character: She’s too powerful. I understand the appeal of a female power fantasy, especially for young girls. It’s badly needed in a sea of media in which women are portrayed as weak, or assets to male protagonists, without being given much, if any character development themselves. However, putting the world’s most feared assassin in a competition for her freedom... against other assassins? The stakes are close to zero. Not once was I worried about her victory, or safety, for that matter.

I saw someone rant about this on reddit, once, and they suggested one simple change. I’ll run along with their idea, as I feel it would change the books in a way that could be very engaging.

What if Lillian Gordaina the jewel thief was the 17 year old protagonist, and not just Celaena’s alias?

I imagine the book would start with Lillian having been caught stealing some jewelry, probably from a very rich merchant who have strong ties to perhaps the most powerful merchant’s guild in the land. Her father begs for the merchant not to do anything, reasoning that Lillian is still a child and meant no harm, but for some reason, the merchant is furious. In fact, he is so furious that he doesn’t want to settle for regular punishment, he’ll make sure she faces something even worse than just a fine.

When word arrive that Lillian is to partake in a contest and compete not only for her freedom, but for a position as the king’s champion, her family is shocked. What in the world would Lillian have to do there? She stole some jewelry, for Gods’ sake! As rumors start to circulate about the land’s most feared thieves, most skilled assassins, and most brutal warriors are to take part, Lillian’s parents attempt to spirit her away. She is caught, however, and is taken to the castle anyways.

Also in this version there isn’t an actual castle of glass. While it’s very Aesthetic™, it wouldn’t suit the story as of right now. From an actual architectural standpoint, it also makes very little sense.

When she gets there, it quickly becomes clear that she’s mostly there as a filler contestant. There’s about ten or so people there who seem actual candidates, from what Lillian can gather without there having been an official introduction round, but the ten are in turn actually terrible criminals with no qualms about murder. The king, partly because of his cruel streak, partly because he’s not actually that dumb, knows it’ll be more intimidating to say you chose your champion after having the most brutal criminals in the land slaughter each other for the honor of serving their king. Lillian bands together with a couple of other candidates who’re more on the weak side. The three of them know that they’ll probably die, but decide to try and help each other survive either way.

Still, Lillian is a noble woman, who, up until now, has been leading a pretty sheltered life. The fact that she might die terrifies her, and she has a breakdown about it in her room. Her servants and the guard posted outside of her room (she only has one, as she isn’t a very big threat to anyone) feel bad for her. Enter Chaol, who in this story starts out as just a regular guard. He offers to tutor her, if he is given permission to do so. Lillian accepts, knowing she has no chance against her opponents but hoping the lessons will soothe her a little bit.

Chaol, who isn’t even given permission to see the king, ends up meeting Dorian face to face by coincidence. Dorian gives him permission to train Lillian during the evenings (for whatever reason, I haven’t figured out all of the character motivations yet).

The following morning, there is a court gathering. Some of the competitors (mostly women) are invited. At the gathering, Lillian ends up standing out; she is rather pretty and she knows how to enhance her beauty by dressing well, gaining a lot of attention for it. She speaks to Kaltain and Nehemia, surprising them both by knowing the Eyllwe tongue. The three of them chat a little in Eyllwe, before Lillian knows who Nehemia really is. Kaltain, who is used to the ways of court, warns Lillian about standing out once she reveals that she is a competitor. Lillian, now suddenly aware of all the eyes glued to her, makes a hasty (but discreet) exit.

She does not know her way around the castle, and ends up stumbling into a secret passage. Terrified of where they might take her, she tries her best to find a way out again, but she is lost and doesn’t know where she is going. Instead, she stumbles into a room she has never seen before, where she finds a woman whose feet are shackled to the floor. 

Lillian learns that this woman is Celaena Sardothien, after some conversation. Celaena seems to be less interested in Lillian and the competition that she is in her garden; in her room, she has a small collection of pots from which various plants are growing. The two come to a sort of understanding, and before Lillian leaves (she’s afraid of being caught in there), Celaena says that she’ll offer Lillian advice and help in exchange for favors and asks Lillian to consider.

The next day is mostly dedicated to training. Insert some Witty Banter™ and flirting here. Lillian and Chaol do get along very well. It’s clear (at least to the reader) that they’re both interested in each other. Lillian, without mentioning Celaena, asks Chaol if he thinks it’s right of her to do things that might be bad in order to survive this ordeal. When he says that yes, he thinks she deserves to survive, she decides to go along with Celaena’s request.

She goes back again that night, as quietly and carefully as she can. Celaena reveals that the King intends for her to compete to be his champion. She also reveals that she, too, is only there as canon fodder. The story is much more interesting if the king’s champion defeated the strongest assassin in the land, after all. She goes on to tell Lillian that physically, there is no way either of them are strongest. Celaena worries that the final test will be a fight to the death between her and whoever the king will pick, a match she’ll have no chance of winning after a year in Endovier. She isn’t worried about Lillian’s fate: Doing dirty work like this is about competence, first and foremost, with “dirty” being the keyword. They’re criminals, the bad guys, the scum of society; the king doesn't need or want them to play by the rules. Celaena believes this can help Lillian survive.

The next day, the first test takes place. It’s a race to capture the flag, strapped to the top of a large tower. Lillian freaks out, as there’s no way she can climb that tower. With her squad of underdogs, she recalls Celaena’s words about not playing fair, and realizes that the winner of the contest is the one that delivers the flag to the judge first. Through some quick scheming, the three manage to get the flag after Celaena brought it down, and one of them (not Lillian, though, she chooses not to pick up the flag when she has her shot) ends up being the one to win.

Chaol trains with her again that evening. One of his superiors find them, and while Chaol isn’t not allowed to train her, he gets in hot water as he is dragged away by the other guard. Lillian heads up to her room, only to be woken in the middle of the night by screaming and angry yelling, before there’s desperate pounding on her door. She knows she’s safer if she stays in her room, Celaena’s voice echoing in her head, so she doesn’t open it, feeling like a coward. Eventually, she falls asleep, still shaking beneath the covers.

The next day, it is revealed that one of the actual good competitors killed the friend of Lillian who won the first test, as well as a few guards before Chaol managed to grapple him from the back. The chaos that erupted was partially because the guards realized they had no idea where the king was. It truly dawns on Lillian that her life is in danger. Finding a quiet corner to break down, Kaltain and Nehemia finds and comforts her. Lillian confesses that she blames herself for the murder of her friend, since she helped her win. Nehemia tells her that it’s nothing she could have done about it, and that she herself has had similar feelings. As the youngest royal child of her country, she wielded little political power, and was unable to do anything when Adarlan invaded. She feels guilt for being useless.

She heads up to Celaena that evening, partially to seek validation for not trying to help (Lillian doesn’t outright admit it to herself, but she knows). It’s never discussed as she sees Celaena’s bruised face. The king visited her last night, angry at her for losing the flag to Lillian’s friend. She seems more upset that he ruined all of her flowers, especially taking care to rip the rarest of them apart with his own hands. A strange and very rare plant, rarely found outside what Celaena calls “her homeland.” Lillian can’t decide whether Celaena genuinely cares more about that flower than herself, or if she is redirecting her attention to something else so as to not think about the king, but either way Lillian decides not to pressure Celaena into talking. Celaena eventually asks Lillian if she could secure her a meeting with Nehemia, having heard that they were spotted together at court.

The next test comes a few days later. Lillian tries fading into the background along with her remaining ally. It’s a simple archery test. Lillian can’t figure out how she would play dirty in such a scenario, and ends up coming in dead last. Chaos finds her afterwards, asks her if she is alright, and informs her that he can’t train her anymore; because of him catching the murderer, his superior was impressed and gave him the reins for the investigations. This might be his chance to climb the ladder.

Nehemia has, with the help of Kaltain, gotten much better at speaking the language of Adarlan. Kaltain and Lillian, for some reason, manage to get Celaena an audience with her. Nehemia seems shaken when she comes out, and when asked by Kaltain what has her so shaken, Nehemia tells them that Celaena is planning on becoming “the next king’s champion,” to which Kaltain corrects her gently (“The king’s next champion, my dear”). Nehemia doesn't react to it at all, in contrast to her usual fondness for learning, but simply leaves, still pale and stiff. Lillian sneaks in, demanding to know what Celaena said that upset Nehemia so. Celaena doesn't answer, instead suggesting that since Chaol now is rising in rank, Lillian would do well to get “friendlier” with him. Lillian storms off.

The third test takes place, and Lillian somehow wins. Fearing for her life, she seeks out Chaol, again thinking of Celaena’s words. It disgusts her that while yes, she likes Chaol, she did seek him out for the sole purpose of gaining both his affection and protection. He managed to find out how the competitor escaped from his chambers (or something), and got promoted.

I’m getting a bit lazy now, but things happen and Celaena requests an audience with Dorian this time. Lillian goes through Chaos to get to Dorian. Dorian, unlike Nehemia, doesn’t seem as shaken after his audience with Celaena. After a little digging, Lillian finds out that Dorian was the one who proposed the idea of Celaena being a competitor in the first place, as well as the one who agreed to get her a little garden (it was the only thing she requested). He hasn’t gone back to see her since, apparently being a little intimidated by her.

The king has grown mad/angry with more and more of the contestants. Lillian, who actually won a test, barely mangled to escape from his ire. After a fourth test, in which Lillian purposefully fails and Celaena wins a second time, Chaol realizes that Lillian has been using him and ends their friendship. It is afterwards discovered that a second competitor escaped during the fourth test, resulting in something close to a “lockdown” in the castle.

When the king is found dead in his chamber, panic erupts. Chaol, once again, finds and captures the escaped competitor–alive, this time. Lillian asks for permission to see them, and it turns out to be her friend (whom she drifted apart from during the competition, as she became more focused on herself and not dying). They swear that they didn’t kill the king, and Lillian knows they didn’t. Celaena’s lessons about playing dirty rings through her head and it’s no doubt about who killed the king. Lillian deduces that it might have been some kind of poison that led the king to his death, thinking of Celaena’s garden and how the king destroyed it himself in order to make her suffer. Fearing her wrath, however, Lillian doesn’t say anything, instead wishing to confront Celaena afterwards.

Upon confronting Celaena the next day, she is unwilling to say anything about anything. Lillian figures some things out on her own, e.g. that Celaena always planned to escape, killing the guards with the poison she could get from the plants and whatever else she could get her hands on. For some reason, Celaena changed course, seeing an opportunity to get some actual power and using Lillian as a pawn in a much larger scheme (Lillian probs already had her suspicions about this, though she did as Celaena asked, considering it in the long run seemed to be a mutually beneficial relationship). As Lillian is there, Dorian shows up with Chaol and another guard. Chaol is furious as he sees Celaena and Lillian together, but Dorian tells him to stand back and that he while seeing her there right now was a surprise, it was as good as time as any to reveal that he knew that Celaena was going to have his father murdered, and that 1. he looked the other way, therefore indirectly helping, or 2. the poison never worked and Dorian did it himself (depending on whichever would make Dorian not completely unlikable, it’s meant to have been a moral dilemma for him).

More things happen, Dorian is crowned and gets engaged, Nehemia stays as a representative for her country and an ally of Celaena, yada yada yada. There’s drama here towards the end, especially between Dorian soon-to-be-king and Celaena I-got-you-to-where-you-are-now-you-owe-me. Again, this would be a bit more nuanced than if I wasn't just roughly outlining the concept.

Finally, Dorian declares that the competitors are pardoned. Lillian prepares to go back to her family as Celaena calls on her again. They don’t meet in Celaena’s chambers, but somewhere else, where a certain white-haired merchant is waiting alongside Celaena. He reveals his true name to be Rowan and that he was working with Celaena all along (he didn’t actually give a shit about that ring). Through some Quality Banter™ and intriguing and mysterious wording, Celaena reveals that Lillian is, in fact, the lost princess Aelin Galathynius and that if she wants to live, she has to go with Rowan right away. Lillian, for some reason, answers yes almost immediately, wondering to herself whether she said yes for survival’s sake or something else. (Dun dun dun do I sense a sequel in the distance?)

And that’s it. I hope you enjoyed my word-vomit of an outline folks.