#but looking at this post reminds me how drake is so ugly up close

[rxdshood-a]

bring on the monsters // batbros discord

WHO: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd. Mentions of Barbara Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, and Ra’s al Ghul.

WORD COUNT: 3663 words.

LOCATION: Dick’s apartment.

GENERAL NOTES: Jason visits breaks into Dick’s apartment to get some answers on how to get their brother back.

WARNINGS: Brief vague mention of past death, past injuries.

JASON:

Jason was staring entirely too hard at the apartment building before him. One he couldn't even recall if he ever stepped foot in. In all honesty, he doesn't think he has. Mostly out of pure spite and deep seated anger that had been under the surface, frothing and bubbling up ever since he saw Tim donning the Robin suit. There was a lot of anger he held for Bruce, but that in turn trickled down and started to build for one Dick Grayson. The big brother he had wanted and craved in his Robin years, feeling left behind as he saved the world with his Titans. One of two people he had choked out for with blood dripping down his lips, broken fingers clawing at the locked door that was seconds away from blowing. 

There was reluctance Jason always held to let anyone in, let anyone close enough to really get in close proximity to his jagged and sharp edges. He had seen too much of himself in Tim, in the other Gotham boy with something to prove. The replacement had gone from a bitter reminder to what was taken from him to someone who understood, someone to look out for. Be the big brother that he always wanted. Now he was gone, all because Ra's al Ghul. 

The mere mention of the name sent that green fog striking out like a deadly viper. 

Tampering down the anger, Jason rolled his shoulders back and he huffed, taking to the alleyway and to the fire escape ladder. He eased the window open, slipping into the apartment and shutting it behind him. Immediately his nose wrinkled up at the mess. Of course. Kicking a shoe out of his pathway, Jason made his way through the disarray and into the living room to take a seat and wait.

And wait until the door was unlocked and pushed open. "You and me gotta talk, big bird." Oh. That...was. That was a name from a lifetime ago. Entirely too long ago, a sour memory that was shoved to the side and eyes steeled as he stared at his older brother Dick.

DICK:

Dick wasn't the best at dealing with missing members of a team, of a family. There was something in him that Bruce never managed to snuff out: a light that never dimmed, and with that came every repressed emotion the big bad Bat himself never let out. Now, more than ever, Dick felt more like Batman than he did Nightwing, throwing himself into his jobs, rarely taking breaks to rest... Is this what Tim did? Why they both seemed to be shadows lurking in deeper shadows? It was a bad habit they all gathered, he thought, the justification settling in his brain as he fumbled with a key, unlocking his door, ready to switch uniforms and go again.

The minute the door swung open, something felt off about the room. He didn't switch on the light, scanning carefully until he found a shape on his couch. Shit, was this Wilson again?? What the hell did he want this time? Putting on his best scowl, Dick reached for the emergency 'rangs (He called them wing-dings once upon a time. Where did the fun go?) stashed in the duffel full of his police uniform and slammed the light on with an elbow.... deflating the minute he saw his younger brother instead of his adversary

Not in disappointment. Relief.

With a heaved sigh, the vigilante dropped the throwing weapon, absently kicking it to the side and fully shutting his door. "Jason," another breath, wandering over to stand in front of the other, one open hand on his hip, some weird sort of exhausted sorrow taking over his face. "This is a bit of a surprise... Always figured I'd be the one climbing through your window to get you to actually sit and talk to me again."

JASON:

Jason merely cocked an eyebrow when he was faced with a batarang aimed right at him. "Already got a fun scar from one of those, Dickhead, it wouldn't be too surprising to get another one." He gestured at the slash on the side of his neck from what seemed like years ago, but also entirely too fresh. The sting from the injury, from who gave it to him would never cease he thought. There was an eye roll when it was merely dropped to the floor, among all the other disarray. 

"First of all, do you even know where I live?" Jason had made sure to not ever divulge that information for a reason, spiteful intentions and anger at keeping the family as far away from him as he could manage. Though, he wouldn't be surprised if Tim knew. He could cover his tracks, he had been good at that, but give Tim a haystack and he'd find that needle. 

The thought of his little brother brought him back to the present, shaking his head and standing before Dick. It was still disconcerting from time to time to Jason to stand taller than the eldest Robin. There were times he forgot he wasn't nearly as small as he once was when he ran around donning the scaly shorts and cape. For some it was a lifetime ago, for him? Was too close to feeling like it had just been yesterday.

"I have Tim's laptop." Straight to it, no beating around the bush. "His other one, because c'mon. You guys really thought he only had one laptop? Please." Jason huffed, "and before you ask, yes, it's unlocked. He has to have something that can lead us to him and I..." This was the difficult part, the part Jason had been dreading. Asking for help. He didn't ask for help. He had always been so headstrong, determined to do things on his own after feeling burned and shunned by the people he had once considered family. Now? He knew he couldn't do this alone, as much as it pained him to admit that to himself silently. 

"We...we need to get our brother back. So I need you to get your head out of your ass and help me save him." Okay, maybe not the best way to ask. The immediate urge to lash out and be scathing, keep people, especially his family, at arm's length rearing its ugly head. There was a moment of vulnerability, but he reared it back as soon as it happened.

DICK:

Everything he said just had to make Dick feel shitty, didn't it? Every word meant to twist the multiple knives he'd already thrown deeper into his chest, get a rise out of him for no particular reason outside of seeing his reaction. The smirk he'd get from a normal crack like that would usually have him snarling back, but this time they both stayed calm, neutral. This was business, they suddenly had a job to do.

One eyebrow ticked up slightly at the mention of another laptop. Sure, he knew Tim had a desktop and one laptop he used for classes, for travel... But it felt very Tim to have another one hidden away. Damn, he should've known. At least Jason was getting to the point, getting most of the information out there so there was less of a struggle, less work trying to question what they were really trying to do here. With another jab at his ego to boot. Great.

Dick let himself sigh again, sounding more gravely than before. A grunt, a hum, letting the stuffed bag fall from his shoulder. "Right. It's past time to do something about this." Surprising the World's Greatest Detective hadn't been able to find the Second to hold the title, but Tim was good at covering himself, he knew everyone's tricks. It was a wonder that this secret, and obviously not wanting to be known of, computer was in their hands. 

"Well..." A vague hand gesture, his eyes flashing with just the faintest light of hope. "Let's crack that puppy open, see what we're working with." With any of that residual hope, they'd pop open a mini-Bat-Computer with all the information they'd want.

JASON:

"Entirely way too past time to do something." Jason reiterated with a huff. "I haven't actually looked at it yet. Figured I'd...well. Wait for you." The admission was one that had him grimacing out of sheer habit. It was ingrained in him to keep Dick at arm's length, the golden boy who was everyone's favorite. The man he never was able to live up to. Though, deep in the back of his mind, there was still that Robin that was leaping around to impress his older brother and laugh over shared ridiculous stories of Bruce over the best chili dogs in Gotham City. 

"Right. Let's...do that." Jason shook his head, shoving away any remaining nostalgia. He grabbed the backpack he had tucked away at his feet before Dick entered his apartment and unzipped it, tugging out the laptop he had managed to snatch while visiting Steph. The reminder of her empty, sad eyes had him letting out a harsh breath, ignoring the residual sting and opening up the laptop. 

"Let's see what you got for us, Timbers." Jason muttered, the now unlocked screen coming to life before them. He was eternally thankful for Babs and her getting him into Tim's laptop with no questions asked despite her obvious curiosity. He knew she likely knew what he was up to, but regardless, kept her questions to herself, trusting him. That was more he could say for some of the bats.

DICK:

Wait for him. Now why would the guy who's been avoiding his ass for months, years, be saying something like that? Dick noticed the flinch, the facial tick. Jason didn't like saying it either. That was either a lie, an admittance, or... something he didn't really know how to exactly describe. Jason was always a hard read, maybe that's because he read him so much when he was younger, knew his affinity for literal body language.  Wouldn't it be something to get a true read on him someday?

The small smile that came up was genuine on his side, shoulders slightly relaxing as the other finally pulled the hopefully final piece of evidence they needed to crack this case wide open. It almost made him laugh, how many bats did you need to really dig into this smart-ass's tech? He'd known Tim since he started the Robin gig, just barely before then, met him even when he was still the youngest Flying Grayson, not the only, the last surviving. 

Dick came around to the side, watching at a moderate, and hopefully safe, distance at Jason's side. Yep, suspicions confirmed. It was like he copy-pasted the entire Cave operating system into his personal work-horse. He didn't even want to know what kind of customization Tim had to do to get that to work, let alone make it look so inconspicuous. While they all got the same detective and forensic training, it was really the smaller bird that took it and ran, really got into the tech side of it all. Who knows, without him they might be stuck in the stone ages of steel 'rangs without radio tech.

Reminiscing aside, Dick squinted at the screen, the all-too-common tick most of their family kind adapted from the old man. (It starts as a joke, the "bat-squint", then you start doing it unironically.) "Alright. We have it, it's unlocked and most likely decoded... Where to start?"

JASON:

Jason eyed Dick when he came around to stand near him. He refrained from outright snarling at the close proximity and instead turned back to the laptop screen. He would have time later on to punch Dick in the throat, or dick. The thought made him smirk slightly and he focused on the task at hand. It wasn't surprising in the slightest Tim had his own version of the computer in the Cave, because of course he would. Jason had snooped in Tim's room while Steph had finally vacated Tim's room (probably at Alfred's prompting) for 'fresh air'. The moment he had found the computer he had bolted from the manor, trying to ignore the anxiety that threatened to choke him with its intensity. 

"Guess the answer to that stupid question would be to see if he has any League related files." The barb was out before Jason could stop it and he grimaced internally. It was a reflex, to lash out at his former...family, if you could call it that, to take a knife and shove it in violently and twist and twist until it hit something vital. Maybe it was to see if they'd react just like he feared thought they would, say something equally as harsh and biting to make the already wide canyon between them even bigger. 

Jason bit back the urge to immediately lash out again, throw out another biting remark and instead starting typing to find anything League related on the computer. His brow furrowed at the files that popped up, clicking into them and trying to find something, anything that would help. "Oh shit." He breathed out. "He's been tracking their movements. Holy shit."

DICK:

Dick didn't allow himself to flinch away. He was staying right there, right where he could double check the evidence himself, go through the regular process of sleuthing. Jason could try all he wanted to keep pushing him away, but Dick wasn't one to give up so easily. Just as much as he held harsh grudges, he held on to those past bonds he wished he could tie back up. After all, it was the younger bird that came to him. He couldn't fight this chance to at least attempt to make things right again.

The squint on his face widened as red-tinted files flashed open in front of his very eyes. Direct pattern mapping, software that was still tracking movement, lists of known members, known affiliates, known locations. "Holy info overload," he mumbled, leaning in closer with a hand fisting in his hair. "Way to get 'traught, baby bird." There was a small flicker of pride in his heart, a smile following as he absorbed as much of what he was seeing. It was a lot. Yet another thing he had no clue how Tim managed to keep complete track of, the kid was surprising him still every day.

Surprise.... "Check on last known locations of Red Robin. He had to have a tracker built into the suit, something to... to track his own data output. Tim was a walking computer in that thing, there has to be a pinpoint where his tech stopped transmitting data."

JASON:

Jason's eyes took in all the information he could. Dick was right, it was a shit ton of information. What did they expect from Tim though? There was an overload of info they were sifting through and Tim likely was able to keep it all straight. The kid surprised him more and more each day. Not that Jason would admit that. Well, with anyone else present at least. 

"Got it, Big Bird." Jason muttered without much thought, typing rapidly to pull up the last location that Tim was pinged to. It took a few moments but Jason was able to pull up the coordinates of the last pinged location Tim had been to before all data had been halted. "He was pinged to some warehouse." Jason frowned after inputting the coordinates. 

Looking over at his brother predecessor, Jason cocked an eyebrow. "I always hated warehouses." He huffed out a breath, ruffling the white stripe of hair. "What now? We go look at that warehouse? We follow the leads he has? He has to have their last known base on here, somewhere we can find the bastard."

DICK:

... Something clicked, wide eyes snapping a big wider as he stared. Did he hear that right? Was he saying that the entire time?? That's a nickname he hadn't heard in years, not since he went off to college, the police academy in Haven, when he'd been gone for too long. Did he ever apologize for those nights he'd forgotten about? Did Jason even remember those times? No, focus, Grayson. You have a job to do. One brother is already here, you need to get to the other one.

"Warehouses. It always has to be warehouses, doesn't it?" The crack fell flat, daring a quick look at the other's scar-riddled face was enough to remind him exactly why Jason hated them. Nevemind. A hand went to cover his mouth, thinking silently as the evidence set in front of them rattled his brain. "... Cross-reference the last date and time of Tim's transmissions with air transport of the League. See of there was any aircraft his software marked suspicious." If the program he'd made even had time to create that kind of label, if it even worked if the man wasn't manning it.

"And... Check for any influx of League mandated imports. If Ra's was planning on keeping company, he's going to want to stay there himself." Commanding the charge like this, it was a different kind of nostalgia. As far as he knew, the two birds were equals, working on the same playing field with different strategies that ultimately got the job done. Maybe he was overstepping, maybe he was asking for too much at once. "If... If we can find a hot spot, that might just be our target." It sounded unbelievable, to find a man nearly impossible to find until he showed up at your door with his own curtains to bust through, and yet here it was, all the evidence at their fingertips. It was almost terrifying.

JASON:

Jason huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. Where else would the bad guys do their illegal activities? In a Kohl's?" He muttered, "at least something a bit more grandeur would be entertaining for once. They never think of us." At Dick's prompting, Jason immediately started typing and searching for their gotcha moment. This felt entirely too familiar, Jason blinked and suddenly he was a foot shorter, donning black gloves and a cape sat at his back. The familiar flash of blue in the corner of his eye as they poured over the computer, working seamlessly together while Bruce observed from a distance away. The one time they didn't actually fight.

A sharp breath was exhaled and familiar scarred fingers replaced the gloved ones, body too big for what he was used to back once more. It was dizzying, made him long for simpler times, times where he didn't feel like he was against his family at every turn. Where they didn't hate—

Enough.

"I got it. I don't need to be ordered around. I was never your Robin, don't start acting like it now." Jason snapped, the nostalgia burning and hurting, the immediate response to lash out flaring up in an instant. His jaw clenched and he continued typing, eyes moving in a rapid fashion as he read and read trying to make it click. To find that missing puzzle piece.

"...I think I got it." Jason let out a breath and turned the laptop to face Dick, pointing at the coordinates that popped up. "Influx of League import. Air travel that left not too far from the warehouse Tim was last pinged at, sent straight for where the influx was located. We...I think we got him, Dick."

DICK:

Things were going so smoothly. It really felt like things were going to work again. Falling into place, fixing a shattered relationship with ducttape... But some things probably just weren't meant to be fixed. Maybe their relationship was too beyond repair, Dick barely even flinched at Jason's lashing. Was he really too used to it by now? The thought had sadness settling in his eyes, but a small frown just underneath them. 

Venom, pure venom, meant to hurt and kill. Push him away even further. If he wasn't such a damn fool he'd think it was a lost cause. 

The revelation broke his current thought process, most emotion wiping to a blank flatline state as his eyes caught the big red target they were looking for. I think we got him. It felt too good to be true. "Holy... Shit." Dick leaned in, hand over his mouth in shock, slightly as he rushed through the flood of information again. "Gee... What... Do we go? We can't charge into this head first, he's expecting us..." No, wait. No he'd be expecting Bruce. A justification crossed his mind, whipping once again to lock eyes with his younger, lost brother. "He won't expect you at all. You can lead the charge."

JASON:

"Of course he's expecting us. He's been expecting us since Steph went missing only to be dumped on the doorstep of the manor, bruised and bleeding." Jason sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. He froze the moment Dick whipped around and made eye contact with him. The shock was clear as day on his face. Him? Dick wanted him to play leader? The man who everyone always turned to take the lead? It wasn't that he didn't know how to play leader, he was just as bossy and commanding as the other Robins, but he didn't think Dick well...Believed in him, if he was going to be honest.

Wiping the surprise off his face, Jason took a few moments to debate over it. Ra's wouldn't expect him, the divide between the bats he's had for so long, to be working with them may just be unexpected. To have Jason leading it all at least would be. This might just work. They had the pieces of the puzzle put together before them, now they just had to act.

Looking at his...his brother, Jason nodded once. "Okay. Let's fuckin' do this then. We'll kick Ra's al Ghul's ass and get our little brother back."

#{{ BROTHERS!! B R O T H E R S !!! }} #int: discord #int: dick grayson #dick grayson: 005 #discord: dick grayson #death mention tw #injury mention tw #cxrcusbxrd

[flyingkiki]

Curiosity 5/?

Here’s a post-smutgiving present for all of you. 

~~~

Raven was dangerous. Tim decided with finality. And he wasn’t talking about her ability of wiping out an entire dimension with the flick of her wrist.

No.

He was talking a whole new level of dangerous that seemed to have slowly presented itself in front of him. He shouldn’t even dip his fingers into the dangers, because he was the smart and rational Robin. However, his entire Ivy League education seemed to be thrown out of the window. He feared he might be slowly threading in dangerous waters after all.

“Are you okay?”

Raven’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he briefly cast his eyes her way. She eyed him curiously, brows creased, as she pulled herself away from staring out of his car’s window and turned fully to him. “You’re thinking very loudly again.”

Tim felt his cheeks warm, embarrassed to have been caught. Of course she could hear him. She was an empath. Tim cleared his throat and continued driving. “Just thinking if tonight’s a good idea.”

Raven watched him thoughtfully. Tim was sure she could see right into his core. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched her tilt her head a bit and a small knowing smile formed on her lips. “Nervous?”

Tim tapped the steering wheel mindlessly with his fingers. He made a dismissive sound at the back of his throat. They turned into a parking space that was located a couple of blocks away from the warehouse. Parking their nondescript black Toyota, Tim killed the engine. He felt his nerves run a mile a minute as he thought over everything, tonight’s undercover plans included. “Wouldn’t necessarily call it nervous. Probably just had too much coffee.” He finally replied.

Raven raised a delicate eyebrow. “You always have too much coffee.”

Tim laughed, the mood in the car lightened. He leaned back in his seat and fiddled with the zipper of his leather jacket absently. “Hey, don’t judge.”

Raven rolled her eyes and removed her seatbelt. “Ready?”

“As I ever will be,” Tim offered a lopsided smile. He tried to open car door, but Raven’s hand on his forearm stopped him. Turning back to her, he looked at her questioningly. “Huh?”

“We can’t have Tim Drake walk into the club.” Raven eyed him. “Even if clubs like these are pretty discreet and like to keep secrets, people may still talk. And there are a few humans in there.”

Raven paused and watched him eye her curiously. She stared at his well-defined face and the corners of her lips raised. Tim’s eyes were a different shade of blue from Richard’s. She silently thought she liked this shade better. Her right hand glowed softly with her dark magic and she raised her hand towards his face.

Tim’s eyes widened slightly, alarmed at the close contact and her glowing hand. Instinctively his right hand quickly grabbed her hand’s forearm, stopping her from coming closer. “You’re not going to punch me right?”

Raven laughed. Tim taught it was a beautiful sound.

“No,” she shook her head and gently pulled her arm out of his hand. “Even if it is tempting  sometimes.” She teased and Tim chuckled. “I’m just going to cloak your face, so people will not recognize you. It’s a simple spell. You’ll still look the same to me, but to others you’ll just be some random handsome stranger,”

Tim smiled, eyebrow raised. “Handsome?”

Raven blushed and felt her insides tingle. “Careful,” she whispered. “Don’t get cocky.”

“You think I’m handsome?” he teased and watched a soft blush spread across her cheeks. He allowed her glowing hand to touch his check and he felt a soft warmth momentarily spread across his face. Her hand was soft, Tim noted. He tried not to lean into her touch.

“Don’t be full of yourself,” Raven rolled her eyes, and pulled her hand away quickly as soon as the spell was done. “It doesn’t look good on you,”

“So you think I look good?”

Raven huffed and dropped her hands into her lap. “You’re spending way too much time with Jason.” She turned to open her door and stepped out of the car without much of another word.

Tim scrambled out of the car, following her out into the cool evening. The parking lot was mostly empty and he locked the doors behind them. Stuffing his hands into his leather jacket, he stepped around the car and stood next to her.

Silence fell on them as they looked around the parking lot. His eyes landed on her as she shifted in her spot next to him, Tim watched Raven momentarily. Her purple eyes scanning their surroundings, on high alert, but at the same time she looked relaxed. There was an energy around her he could not entirely place – it was as if she was ready to spring into action and more. He faintly wondered if she regularly went to clubs like these. It would be a good addition to his notes.

Raven was dressed in a black sheer top with a black bra top that left little to the imagination. She wore a leather skirt and black boots. Silver and black bracelets adorned her wrists and her signature rings were on her fingers. She looked captivating. Tim tried really hard not to stare. He felt his throat dry and he swallowed mechanically.

“Ready?”

Tim was pulled out of his thoughts as he heard her voice. Her purple eyes were bright in the glow from the lampposts, and Tim thought she looked beautiful.

Raven watched Tim, feeling the soft wave of his emotions. She felt her stomach flutter at the familiar push of attraction and interest from him. Where all the other Robins where a wild mix of emotions, Raven had quickly learned that Tim’s emotions were more gentle and warm, though persistent.

They walked out of the parking lot and headed towards the warehouse. The streets were mostly empty, except for a few people passing them along the street. The area was a warehouse district, so it was largely a given that only a few people would be around. They walked in companionable silence, keeping an eye on their surroundings and sticking close to each other. Raven was a little wary of her surroundings, this being her first time in the area.

“Did Constantine give any new updates?” Tim asked as they rounded a block. His eyes shifted to the right, briefly looking into a dark alley as a cat ran past their feet.

“No. Details are pretty much the same. His contact will just approach us,” Raven murmured. She pointed towards the corner up ahead. “We take a turn there.”

Tim nodded. He looked down at her out of the corner of his eyes. “And we’re sure we can trust Constantine’s friend?”

Raven made a wry smile. “I’m sure that the contact is not his friend. But yes, we can trust the contract to a certain degree,”

Tim huffed and stuffed his hands into his jeans. “That’s reassuring.”

Raven took his elbow and pulled him into the small alley they just walked by. A rat scampered past their legs and Raven made a face. “Here.”

Tim frowned. They alley, for the lack of better words, was ugly. The brick walls on either side of them were wet from the rain earlier in the evening and a couple of trashcans were upturned at the end of the alley. Up ahead, they could see a dim light over a raised cemented doorstep.

The entrance to the club was a nondescript steel door. The alley looked dangerous and Tim could smell piss coming from somewhere down the alley. He eyed their surroundings warily, senses alert just in case someone decided to jump them. He turned to Raven, and watched her shoulders tense. She shot him a quick glance before moving closer to him.

“Remember, play along.” She whispered to him before leaning forward and knocking loudly at the rusty door.

A small hatch in the door opened and large green eyes stared back at them. Tim swore that they glowed and he felt the atmosphere around them shift as the eyes stared back at them. He felt Raven tense next to him and her body shifted closer to his, elbows brushing up against each other.

“Here for some fun,” Raven announced, she bounced lightly on her heels.

The green eyes narrowed and shifted between them. After a few moments, they blinked. “Humans not allowed.” The voice sounded scratchy and muffled behind the door.

Tim wanted to argue but before he could, Raven shifted next to him and her left arm snaked around his hips. She pushed herself flush against him and he acted immediately, both relishing the contact and reminding himself to act natural by wrapping his right arm around her shoulders. He pulled Raven closer to him and Raven hummed softly, her hand resting dangerously low on his stomach. She looked at the calculating eyes over her shoulder and she gave an sultry grin. “But I want to show him a good time.” She practically purred, and pushed herself closer to Tim.

Green eyes narrowed. “Fuck your human somewhere else. Not here,”

Tim’s eye’s widened a fraction of an inch. Fuck? What kind of club was this?!

The hatch was about to close when Raven reached out with her free hand and with glowing fingers stopped the hatch from closing completely. “Wait, wait.” Raven called.

The green eyes narrowed again and stared at them expectantly.

Tim was grossly unprepared what happened next. He watched transfixed as a sultry expression crossed Raven’s face. He felt her press herself up against him again, her left hand curl into his plain white t-shirt under his leather jacket and the fingers of her other hand drop into one of the front pockets of his jeans, pulling his hips towards her. Breathe, Tim. His fingers on her shoulder tightened.

“I can share him,” Raven purred.

She leaned up, body pressing up against his, and she kissed the underside of his chin.

Holy fuck. Tim swallowed involuntarily.

Raven seemed not to show any signs that she minded at how Tim’s fingers dug into her shoulder. He felt her cools skin underneath her mesh top. She smiled alluringly up at him, purple eyes shining in the dim light, before titled her head and sent the green eyes a sexy smile over her shoulder.

There was a moment of silence as the green eyes stared at them. “Fine,” the voice finally said and the hatch slammed shut.

The rusty door swung open suddenly and Tim heard Raven sigh softly against him. The door revealed a dark hallway with soft ambient music coming from the depths of the warehouse. Raven pulled herself away from Tim and her left hand slipped into his hand. Their fingers intertwined and Tim involuntarily squeezed her hand. Raven looked up and offered a small smile.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

They stepped through the threshold and the rusty door behind them slammed shut.

“Demon,” called the familiar scratchy voice from behind them.

Raven tensed and they both turned around and stared at the Goblin standing on a wooden crate. Eyes narrowed dangerously as he watched them. “Make sure you keep your human on a short leash. You don’t want to lose him here,”

A playful smile spread on Raven’s lips and she tugged Tim closer to her. “Don’t worry, we like short leashes.”

Ignoring the innuendo and the images that immediately sprang to mind, Tim grinned and gave the annoyed Goblin a smug two-finger salute. He allowed Raven to pull him down the sparsely decorated hallway, dim light illuminating their features. He cast a brief glance at Raven, taking in the confidently alluring sway in her movements, and Tim had a feeling he was way over his head now.

At the end of the hallway was an old wooden door with chipped red paint. Tim could see scratch marks on the door, and he silently wondered why there were scratch marks (though he also didn’t want to find out too). Raven pushed open the door and they stepped into a dimly lit club. Ambient techno music filled the air immediately and the strong musky air of sweat and people packed in a cramped space assaulted their senses.

Tim blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the dark light. Raven seemed to have no problems with the lighting, her purple eyes bright as they quickly scanned the room on high alert. Her hand tightened in his own and he quickly looked down at her.

The club looked more like an burlesque club with dark corners that held sultry secrets. The club had high ceilings, with hidden second and third levels that looked over the main dance floor and tables. There was a small stage on one side of the room with spotlights on a couple of sultry dancers with a few sets of extra orange eyes. There were arches and old beams that went around the club, and red and black tassels and curtains hung from the ceilings and arches, hiding from the prying eyes movements in the shadows. The air in the club was warm and there was a sweet, alluring scent that came with the musky air of people and sweat. Tim swallowed as he watched silhouettes move in the dim light. Mostly looked human, with curves of women dressed in typical club clothes and broad shouldered men in ordinary wear. There were a few metas and other beings with extra limbs and horns that moved through the club. Tim stared as a woman with horns and orange skin walked past them dressed in incredibly tiny leather shorts.

“It’s impolite to stare,” he heard Raven murmur into his ear. Tim was sure his mind was at least a tiny bit foggy because he hadn’t felt Raven lean up into his ear. He tried to blink some clarity back into his system.

Raven offered him a sly smile, and she titled her head, watching him for a moment. “Let’s go to the bar,” she announced and pulled him with her towards the long, dark bar. They took a spot at one end of the bar that was empty and gave them a good view of their surroundings. Tim watched Raven lean on the bar with practiced ease and she flagged down the bartender.

“Hey,” Aside from the extra sent of arms, nothing seemed out of the ordinary with the bartender. He grinned at Raven and dropped all four hands on the bar in front of him. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the house special and he’ll get a scotch and a bottle of water,” Raven said.

The bartender looked at Tim briefly, chuckled, and nodded. “Sure thing.” He turned away to prepare the drinks.

Tim raised an eyebrow and waited for Raven to explain. She shrugged and simply shuffled into his space, standing right next to him as his right side leaned against the bar. Her left hand rested on his forearm on the bar while she absently surveyed their surroundings. While Tim knew that he should be actively looking around and remain on high alert, he was silently enjoying seeing this side of Raven.

Three hands appeared in the space between their bodies and Tim watched as the bartender set their drinks down in front of them. Raven’s was a dark silvery substance in a martini glass. “Here you go,”

“Thanks,” Tim said, taking his scotch glass and taking a small sip.

The bartender lingered behind them and watched as Raven took a sip from her silver drink. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” stated the bartender with a tone that obviously meant something else.

Raven turned fully to the bar, her shoulder pressing into Tim’s chest. She smiled coyly at the bartender. “It’s our first time in Gotham,” she announced over the ambient music. “Just taking him here for some fun,”

“Ah, human,”

Tim smiled slightly, thinking it was the right thing to do. With his other hand, he wrapped his fingers around Raven’s forearm on the bar. “Yeah,”

The bartender grinned and tilted his head in Tim’s direction. Blonde hair fell into his grey eyes and he eyed them both appreciatively. Tim didn’t like the way his eyes seemed to linger on Raven’s chest. “If you two need an extra set of hands, you know where to find me.” And with that, he winked and disappeared down to the end of the bar.

“Ugh,” Raven breathed, turning back around to face the entire club next to Tim. She sagged a little against him, as Tim’s free hand came around her back and rested against the bar.

“What kind of club is this, Rachel?” asked Tim, using her alias. He leaned down towards her and his brows furrowed.

Raven looked around cautiously before replying. “It’s a club for metas,” she tilted her head thoughtfully and met Tim’s probing look. She shifted guiltily, feeling like she was at the verge of spilling a dirty little secret. “Fine. Some of these places have the reputation where you can let out some pent up energy in a place where you don’t have to worry about humans walking in on you, hearing you, and, I don’t know, getting hit by some energy ball when someone,” Raven pauses, “orgasms.”

Tim’s hand behind Raven’s back involuntarily balled into a tight fist and he felt warmth spread through his body. He leaned down, eyes wide and slightly alarmed. “You took me to a sex club!?”

“What, no!” Raven pulled away slightly. “Look, there’s a reason why not a lot of humans are allowed in here. There are just some beings who have to store a lot of energy within them while they are outside. When they’re in places like these, they can be whoever they want. Release doesn’t always mean sex. Whatever you’re seeing is because of some of the pheromones in the air which help people to, err, relax.”

Tim blinked, felt his cheeks warm just a bit. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see a group of patrons just talk. Raven looked at him a little amused. “Some of us just do come to places like these just to hangout and talk, you know.” She poked him in the chest, playfully. “Get your mind out of the gutter,”

Tim chuckled and made a grab for her hand. “Sorry, sorry.”

Raven watched as Tim held her hand and they both paused with the teasing. Her purple eyes shone bright in the dim lights. “Although, some beings do bring their human partners here for some sort release and play. Sex and BDSM with supernatural beings and demons. Apparently, some humans take a lot of pleasure knowing that their dirtiest kinky monster dreams are real.” Raven gave him a smirk and interlaced their fingers again playfully, she was teasing him again. “That’s why most people here think that I brought you here so you can live out your dirty little fantasies with a demon and others,”

“Rachel!”

Raven took a sip from her drink and sent him a shrug. “I told you guys this was a meta-only club.”

Tim downed the rest of his scotch in one go, wincing at how it burned. He hoped it would work at distracting him from the teasing, flirty Raven next to him and the internal battle of emotions he was feeling – and undoubtedly Raven was feeling from him too. He needed to calm down. This was getting very dangerous.

“Hi,” a presence made itself known next to them. A woman in black jeans, white crop top, and blonde wavy hair stood in front of them. She looked normal enough – but then again, Tim wasn’t all too sure. He watched her more closely and as the light hit her skin, it turned a deep shade of blue.

“I never seen you two before,” the woman said, grinning at either of them. She turned to Raven, a sly smile spreading on her lips. “You brought your human.”

Raven frowned. “I don’t share,”

A wicked smile played on the woman’s lips and she swiftly stepped into Raven’s space, hand sliding over her hip. Tim’s eye’s widened at the intimate action and he felt Raven’s fingers curl tightly into his hand. “Who says I want to share your human?” The woman pressed herself up against Raven, having caught her off guard.

“I don’t share,” Tim announced and with strength that surprised the woman, he slipped has arm around Raven’s small waist and easily pulled her towards his chest fully. He nudged the woman (being?) away with his elbow and possessively held Raven close to him. He noted how easily Raven fit into his embrace – something that was definitely worth noting and remembering.

Proving their point, Raven sent the annoyed woman a sly smirk over her shoulder, and very fluidly pushed herself up against Tim’s firm chest and kissed him. Raven hummed and her right hand curled around Tim’s neck, leaning in more.

Tim blinked once and tried not to look shocked when Raven all but crowded his space. When soft lips touched his own and he felt a soft hum from her, he was lucky he still had half a brain to make everything look natural. His arm tightened around her waist and his other hand curled around her bicep and pulled her closer.

Tim felt his entire body react and come to live as Raven hummed again and he felt her fingers toy with his hair. The delicious press of her curves against him took all the self-control he possessed to not push her up against the bar behind them and kiss her senseless. But they were on a mission, out to find demons, and ready to –

Her fingers curled into his long hair, she tugged softly, and when she opened her lips against his own, Tim finally knew he was long gone. He saw stars.

Fuck the mission.

Tim groaned against her lips and his arm tightened around her waist, he pushed himself against her and his other hand pressed firmly against her upper back. Her tongue swiped against his own and she titled her head just enough to give each other better access. He felt fingers tangle into his hair and tugged again, making him see lights against his eyelids. He bit into her lower lip and he felt her soft moan rumble low her chest.

It felt like his body was on fire where Raven’s other hand traveled. She sighed against his lips and fingers danced over his bicep and sides. Groaning and feeling a slow pooling desire to touch her more, Tim’s own hand slid low and rested on the curve of her ass. His hands tightened around her and his tongue took another possessive swipe against her own.

She smelled like lavender and vanilla. And Tim inhaled her familiar scent deeply and felt his mind fog with desire. Wanting more, he threw caution into the wind and pushed her against the bar behind them. Her hips met his in a delicious press of bodies and he heard her moan softly against him. He pressed himself against her more when she pulled her lips away from his and proceeded to kiss his neck. Tim’s hand curled tightly around her bicep again and he was sure there’d be a bruise. He felt sharp teeth brush against his pulse point and his eyes fluttered. Cold fingers barely slipped underneath the hem of his shirt, teasing the heated flesh underneath. Growling low in his chest, Tim pushed Raven away from him slightly and moved to try to pick her up to sit her on the bar. He kissed her soundly once more, tongue demanding and needy. And just as he was about to hoist her up, he elbowed his scotch glass off the bar.

The sound of glass shattering over ambient club music broke the spell.

Holy fuck.

Purple eyes flew open and Tim breathed heavily as he pressed his forehead against hers. Her hot breath fanned over his face and he swore this was the fastest his heart beat – ever. Her eyes were hooded and clouded in a dark purple hue that was so attractive he had to stop himself from leaning in again.

“Hi,” he finally whispered, still breathless. A crooked smile slowly pulling along his lips.

Purple eyes blinked slowly. The corner of her lips lifted as her cheeks remained flushed. “Hi.”

Tim’s mind was still foggy and it took some time before he slowly peeled himself away from Raven. He held her elbow to steady her and he watched her carefully. Neither made the move to move further away.

Raven cleared her throat and she briefly looked away from Tim’s stormy eyes. Tim’s emotions were warm and intense, she felt them possessively wrap around her and push into her. Her own emotions were roaring alive with Lust practically purring in content. She involuntarily leaned closer to Tim, still seeking his warm emotions. She looked up at him, her insides warming at the sight of his tousled hair. “That…sorry – Probably the pheromones in the air,” she whispered softly.

Tim swallowed and his fingers dug into her elbow. He leaned down slightly and stared at her flushed face. “No,” he said and watched as purple eyes widened.

He fixed his gaze at her. “Definitely not the pheromones,”

They stared at each other again, the air definitely shifting between them. Raven’s eyes shifted briefly back to Tim’s lips before looking into his eyes. Her purple eyes were bright again and a slow, small smile formed on her lips.

“Okay.” She whispered and her hand rested on his forearm.

Tim inhaled slowly. And as he watched Raven with her small smile and the memories of her lips against his own hot on his mind, he was reminded just how dangerous this has all become.

And he liked it.

#timrae #timrae fanfiction #Tim Drake #raven #Curiosity TimRae #Should these bb birds smush soon? #Gaaaah. Hot and confused tim is the best tim

[stopforamoment]

Part Ten: More Ready to Move On (Series Ten, Part 10 of 12)

Series Ten: In Limbo (Twelve Parts)

Part Ten: More Ready to Move On (Series Ten, Part 10 of 12)

Masterlist

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three)

Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OFC Rinda Parks

Word Count: 1,667

Rating: M for Language

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh.

Thank you @asherella-is-a-dork-3​ for always being my sounding board! Thank you @liam-rhys​ for still being a part of the journey!

Series Summary: It’s the week of October 8th, the fifth week of school, and the first week without Bastien as the security officer at the school. Henry has until the end of the upcoming weekend to decide if they should stay in Cordonia or go back to America, and this will be the first week Rinda and Bastien do their long-distance . . . whatever it is that they’re doing. Or not doing. At least until Rinda knows if they’re staying in Cordonia or not.  

Chapter Summary: Bastien and Rinda spend time together in the library and clear up some miscommunication.

Part Ten: More Ready to Move On

When they went into the library Rinda gasped when she saw how different it looked since the last time she was there. Queen Évelyne’s favorite books were gone, replaced by books on Cordonian laws and history. “Oh, Tiger. I know you had to change things for security reasons, but it’s like she was erased.” She turned to Bastien. “It must have hurt you to do this. Liam too.”

Bastien stepped closer to her, staring into her eyes. Yes, it did hurt. “Tria, there are security cameras here now. Let’s go in a corner.” She nodded and let Bastien lead her to a small couch in a corner of the library where they could talk.

Yes, it did hurt him when they had to remove her books, but Liam was able to move them to his personal library. And yes, Drake did lose his secret hiding place. It was still there, but there was a new way to access the panic room that even Rinda wouldn’t be able to figure out. Bastien booped her nose when he said that, knowing Rinda probably could if she put her mind to it.

“Now relax, Tria. I’m going to give you a head and neck massage.” He kissed her head and whispered into her ear “Dat da da da da,” and Rinda was soon leaning into him, completely relaxed as he worked his magic.

. . . . .

Rinda was snuggled against Bastien, her legs sprawled across his lap as his fingers ran lazy circles above her knee and he kissed her forehead. For the hundredth time that week Rinda thought about how stupid she was being. Her heart would be broken if Henry wanted to return to America, whether she actually kissed Bastien and told him how much she cared, or whether she didn’t. But right now, in this moment, it was enough for her. But was it for him?

“Tria?”

Rinda pulled back so she could look at Bastien. There was something else he needed to tell her. He saw her and Collin leaving the archives that morning, and he did some research to find out who he was.

Rinda flinched. “Oh God, Bastien. He’s met Henry. I thought we were going to work together. What is it?”

Bastien’s eyes widened when he realized she completely misunderstood what he was about to say.

Of course she would immediately think of Henry’s safety.

No, that wasn’t it at all. Bastien blushed and he wasn’t able to make eye contact with Rinda. He knew it was stupid, and he was so sorry, but when he saw how intimate she and Collin looked, he wanted to know who she was talking to. Yes, partly for palace security. Yes, definitely to make sure Rinda was safe. But also because he was jealous. “I’m sorry, Tria.”

Rinda looked at him for a moment. “Tiger, I’m going to shift onto you, okay?” She moved so she could straddle him, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Is this okay?”

His arms circled around her. “Yes, Tria.”

She wanted to shift so she could look into his eyes and be closer to him. “Thank you for telling me, Tiger. And I’m so sorry that you felt that way. I never want you to feel jealous or uncomfortable, so how can I help?” She nuzzled his nose and kissed it. Then his forehead. Her hands were now gently rubbing his neck and shoulders, then she ran her fingers through his hair. She was so generous with her affection toward him, and Bastien loved every moment of it.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Tria. Please don’t ever think that. That was me being insecure, and I wanted to be honest with you. I don’t talk about this very often, but my dad was in the Royal Guard and he was gone a lot. It was difficult for my mom to deal with, and they got a divorce. There were other things that happened too that I will tell you about, but not tonight. I always knew that I wanted to join the guard, like my father and grandfather, but I also knew that meant I’d probably never have a long-term relationship. When I met Jackson and saw how much he and Bianca loved each other, I knew there was a chance it could still work for me, too. But I never found the right person who could understand that my career has to come first at times. And when Jackson died, I knew I couldn’t do that to anyone I loved. Or anyone who could love me. And as I earned promotions and got more responsibilities, it just seemed like I wasn’t meant to have a family. I had my career, and Drake and Savannah were like a nephew and niece to me. I guess they were the children I knew I’d never have.”

Rinda listened to him, gave him time to think and process. And they were quiet for awhile before she asked. “Bastien, how does it feel with us? Does it make it worse because Jameson died?”

“I don’t know, Tria. I think about that night after you saw the video and we went to get a drink. When I had to take that phone call and I came back in, I was so shocked that you were calmly waiting there with everything taken care of. I’ve been on dates where that happened, and the woman I was with was either furious or pouting. I understand why they were upset--they had every right to be. But each time it just reminded me of how impossible my career is, and it reminded me of what my parents went through. But with you it was different. And even though we were just two people unwinding after a long day . . . Tria, in that moment I saw what could be, if I was with the right person. I’m sorry. That was one of the worst days of your life, and I’m telling you that something wonderful happened to me that day.”

“No, I understand Tiger. That day the pain of Jameson’s death felt like a wound reopened, but I think it never healed properly the first time, if that makes any sense. I was just going through the motions of life. Fuck. I was teaching at the school where Jameson died. I did it to be closer to Henry, but it was also because I needed to keep returning to that spot where they forced me to let him go. Every fucking time I walked that hallway, I thought of that moment and it wasn’t healthy. But when I saw the video I had to start all over again, and you were the one who brought me back. Really, truly. I did feel your heartbeat the entire time and that’s what I held on to during my panic attack. And that night we went for a drink. You gave me so much hope after dealing with Kakos. And even though we were just getting to know each other . . . at first it felt so awkward with annoying small talk. But you’re so comforting, and I started to relax when we talked. And I remember laughing so hard that I was crying. I hadn’t laughed like that in so long. Even though it didn’t feel like it at the time, that day turned out to a good thing for me too. But Tiger, what about Jameson dying? That I’m a widow and I’ve gone through this already?”

“I don’t want to do that to you, Tria. You don’t deserve to have that happen to you again. And when we talked this week and you told me that you understood Liam and Riley’s safety had to come before yours and Henry’s . . . I can’t be put in that position, where I couldn’t protect you and Henry first.” He saw the wave of panic, then pain that flashed across Rinda’s face. She closed her eyes and buried her head into his shoulder, but Bastien could see she had started to cry. “Tria.” He moved an arm so he could brush her cheek. “Tria. Please look at me. What’s wrong?” When she looked at him her eyes were aquamarine and it broke his heart to see her crying.

“Bastien, so you don’t want to do this? Should we stop making time to see each other?”

“Oh God, Tria. Sweetheart. No . . . I mean yes . . . YES I still want to do this. Yes, of course I still want to see you. And Henry.” He was brushing away her tears. “I said that I don’t want to do that to you, but there’s more. I could take a different position in the guard, if necessary. Or I could retire and do something else. It’s something that I’ve been thinking about even before we met, and now that I’m back I’m realizing that I’m more ready to move on than I realized. I’m still working through it, and we’d figure it out together.”

Rinda had started to take gasping breaths, she was crying so hard. “Bastien. You still want to do this? I thought you were telling me that you realized that you couldn’t be with anyone anymore. That you didn’t want to see me anymore.” Her face was buried in his shoulder again as she continued to cry.

“Oh sweetheart, Tria. I’m so sorry. Of course I want to be with you and keep seeing you. I’m so sorry I made you worry. Rinda. Sweetheart. I only have a handkerchief for a damsel in distress. Your Tiger doesn’t have a huge towel for his Tria in distress. I’m so sorry that I’ve made you cry. But you can mess up my clothes again with ugly crying and booger bubbles. I don’t mind.” Rinda started to laugh as she cried, but she still held on to Bastien, unwilling to let him go.

#bastien lykel #rinda parks ofc #choices trr #long post

[alexandralyman]

Could you make a one shot/short story that’s sort of a prequel to Gloriana? Like how killian and Emma became close and what happened that night at Hatfield house?

Gloriana - my Tudor Court AU with Emma as Elizabeth I and Killian as a mix of Robert Dudley and Francis Drake - was one of those fics that I did intend to continue but time just got away from me, and it did work as a one shot so I left it as it was. But I had started writing a second part forever ago and when I got this message I pulled up the file, reread it and my inner history nerd came out again and….

….7,000 words later, here is Part 2. I always envisioned this as a non-linear story anyway, so there’s two flashback scenes plus a scene that takes place after the events of part 1 and I’ve included the night at Hatfield referenced in this line, “She hadn’t been a virgin since that night at Hatfield House lo those many years ago, when Killian had taken her to his bed and made her a woman in his arms, ruining her for any other man from that day forward.”

(so yeah, it’s rated M - hope you like it, Nonnie!)Part 1 is here on Tumblr and the fic is posted on ff.net hereGloriana - Part 2Hampton Court PalaceSome Time Ago

“I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my lord.”

“We have not, but I’m afraid I must correct you, Your Highness, as I am not a lord.”

“And I must correct you, good sir, as I am simply Lady Emma and in my sister’s court it is a foolish mistake to call me Highness.”

The tall man with bright blue eyes that reminded Emma of the sea leaned down slightly in a graceful hint of a bow and lowered his voice so that it carried only to her ears, “I assure you I am no fool, Your Highness. My name is Killian Jones, and I have come to court to swear my service solely to the Princess Emma, lawful daughter of the great King David and true heiress to the throne of England.”

Across the room Philip of Spain bowed somewhat stiffly to Emma’s half sister Mary, daughter of her late father David and his first wife, the repudiated Kathryn. The whole of the court was there to celebrate their marriage, including Emma, the rather inconvenient heiress presumptive who Mary could hardly bear the sight of at times but couldn’t quite ignore completely. The courtiers tended to follow their queen’s lead and few were brave enough to be seen conversing openly with Mary Blanchard’s daughter. Queen Mary’s memory was long and her hatred of the dark haired siren of a woman who had drawn her father away from Kathryn had never abated over the years, frequently spilling over to the only child of the passionate union between king and commoner.

“Watch your tongue, Master Jones. You very nearly speak of treason,” Emma warned in a hiss, back straight and gaze darting from side to side to reassure herself that no one had overheard. She might have been standing alone amid the wedding revels before the stranger approached her, but she was not so foolish as to believe that she was unseen. Spies were rife at the English court, as Spain, France and Scotland all vied for European supremacy and England was the board on which the pieces moved. Bishops, knights, kings, and a little white pawn with faint hope of being queened.

The man smiled, clearly unconcerned. “I merely speak the truth. Spain might be England’s bedfellow for a time, but planting seeds in a fallow field is no guarantee of a fruitful harvest.”

Emma was faintly shocked by his daring, both for speaking to her at all and for the rather crude reference to her sister’s marriage bed. But there was no denying that Mary was of an age where the prospect of children was far from assured, even with a virile younger husband like Philip and every restored Catholic priest in England praying desperately for their very devout queen to get with child. The petty, spiteful part of Emma had chosen to dress in a manner that flattered her own youth and bore the unmistakable hallmarks of her split bloodline for the festivities, golden hair inherited from her father just peeking out from under the curved velvet band of her French hood, whilst Mary’s graying locks were concealed completely in an attempt to camouflage the age difference between her and Philip. The queen’s gown was splendid, sewn all over with gems, slashed and puffed as a peacock, and in contrast Emma’s unfashionably plain dress was as spare and demure as a nun’s habit save for the wide Blanchard sleeves that unfolded so prettily and touched the floor when she’d curtsied to her frowning sister and new, speculative-eyed brother before retiring to her place in the shadows to watch and wait by herself for the tides to turn.

Only now she no longer waited alone.

She glanced at the man who stood boldly at her side while the rest of the court spurned her, a handsome figure in his black doublet, dark-haired, sharp jawed and an even sharper wit that was not unwelcome as he made several more cutting remarks towards the Spanish delegation. Emma was used to her solitude, it was as familiar as a lover to her, and she’d survived this long on her own, but she wondered with a sudden burst of wistfulness if she would ever be allowed to wed. Not so long as the queen remained childless, Emma knew, her claim on her sister’s throne was dangerous enough as it was, let alone if she bore a son before Mary did. Besides, marriage was a shackle that would bind her to the whims of a man as England was now bound to serve Spanish interests and her mother had been bound to her father until his professed True Love turned to something so dark and ugly in the end.

“I’ve vexed you.”

Killian Jones’s handsome smile turned to a frown as his eyes searched her face and his obvious concern pierced her disquiet. Her unringed hand found his sleeve, uncaring who saw the Lady Emma conversing so closely with a man of unknown loyalties, a Scottish spy sent to court by Cora de Guise perhaps, or a Protestant rebel looking to roust the Spanish delegation from English soil. She had the sense that he was neither, seeking not her secrets to sell nor a figurehead for his cause, and his offer to join her service was intriguing. If….when…the time came that the crown should need a new brow upon which to rest, she would need able men to help hold it steady, as a woman without a husband to wear it for her.

“No, milord, you have not.”

“Not a lord,” he reminded her with a saucy wink that made her colour as no nobleman ever had, “As you are not a queen, my Lady Emma.”

His lips just brushed the shell of her ear, whiskered cheek touching hers for the briefest of moments and Emma felt a flutter low in her belly under the stomacher of her gown at both the heat from his body and the promise in the single word he spoke.

“Yet.”

.

.

Several Years Later

“Your Majesty?”

Queen Emma didn’t turn around, standing at the window of the small audience chamber and looking down into the courtyard below. Ladies walked arm-in-arm in their bright gowns, followed by more soberly clad servants who carried shawls and baskets of necessities. Courtiers stood in small groups, their swords at their hips and their heads bent close in discussion. There was a clear divide, between the old guard of Catholic families who still retained a few drops of royal Plantagenet blood despite her father and her grandfather’s best efforts to stamp it out, and those risen to new estates and titles as rewards for supporting the young Nolan dynasty and its even younger Church.

She had such a reward to grant now to one who had always supported her since the day they met.

“Your Majesty we really must discuss this further.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” she replied in a crisp voice, tapping a long oval nail against one of the diamond-shaped window panes, “I shall make the formal announcement tonight.”

“But….Lord High Admiral? You are really going to appoint Captain Jones to such an exalted position?”

“After the success of his voyage he has more than proved himself able to hold the post.”

“No commoner has ever been named-“

“Which is why,” she interrupted, “I will also be conferring upon him the title of Earl of Misthaven.”

Silence reigned for a long moment before Sir Archibald Hopper, Secretary of State and longtime advisor to the queen, let out a heavy sigh at the news and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The Spanish Ambassador will not be pleased by that.”

Emma smiled, idly tracing patterns on the glass that bore more than a passing resemblance to the letters K and E. “Nothing pleases the Spanish Ambassador, and nothing ever will so long as I remain so inconveniently alive and in his master’s way. Ever since I refused Philip’s generous marriage proposal when my sister had scarcely grown cold in her tomb and denied him a second chance at England’s throne I have suffered much Spanish displeasure. You’d think the presence of his new French bride at his court would console him more, they do say Aurora de Valois is quite the beauty.”

“It won’t only be Spain, there are members of the council who will also object to this appointment. The Duke of Norfolk has been angling for his own candidate for several months now.”

She turned at that and arched a scornful brow, “While he corresponds behind my back with the Queen of Scots. His Grace is angling for much more than another royal appointment for his household, he is seeking a crown. But when he finally proposes marriage to Regina Stuart without my permission then he will either cool his heels in the Tower or join her in Edinburgh as an outlaw while I take his lands and title as forfeit. He can marry her as plain Robert Locksley and try to rule the Scottish chieftains if he is so inclined, but he will keep his greedy hands off my scepter.”

Her voice rose in anger and a lesser man would have backed down in the face of her obvious displeasure, but Hopper, her Conscience, as she called him, was made of sterner stuff and looked his queen right in the eye. “They say that Captain Jones also has his eyes on a crown, Your Majesty. You can name him Lord High Admiral and raise him to the peerage if you wish, but you must know that you can not marry a man of common birth.”

“Why is everyone in England so obsessed with the notion of marriage?” she snapped, two spots of colour appearing high in her pale cheeks, “I have no intention of marrying Captain Jones, Lord Hopper, nor any man, be he prince or peasant.”

“You can’t continue to hold all of Europe at bay without a husband and an heir to succeed you,” Hopper explained patiently, and not for the first time, “You have your choice of any unmarried noble from your court or the younger sons of all the royal houses, France, Sweden, Savoy, but eventually you must choose.”

The queen swept from the window, worrying at the gold coronation ring on her finger. “Have the letters patent drawn up. Killian Jones will be named Earl of Misthaven and Lord High Admiral of the English fleet. I trust you can handle any objections from the Council, and perhaps lay aside some smelling salts for when the news reaches the Spanish Ambassador.”

“Who is Killian Jones to you, Your Majesty?”

Hopper’s voice stopped her before she reached the door. The royal back went straight and silence reigned again for so long that he was sure she wasn’t going to answer. But at last she looked over her shoulder and regarded him where he sat on a low stool. Few were afforded the great privilege of sitting while the queen stood, only Hopper, Mistress Ruby Lucas, and one other who only ever exercised that right in private, never in public.

“He was a friend at a time when I had precious few and each was more valuable to me than any jewel. For his continued loyalty he has earned his reward, as I reward all who serve me and only me, yourself included, Sir Archibald. My family name is Nolan, for once we had had no land of our own and only the slimmest of claims to the throne. But now I am queen and I am England, and England has many enemies, some of whom dwell in this very court like snakes hiding in the grass. I need men like Captain Jones at my side to help flush them out and keep them from striking.”

The queen left Sir Archibald Hopper alone in the empty room, where he shook his head sadly and murmured to himself, “Killian Jones may walk behind you and sun himself in your glory, Emma Nolan, but he can never truly stand at your side.”

In a court where gossip was a currency more valued than coin the news surprisingly did not leak in the hours between the meeting of the Privy Council and the start of the banquet, another celebration thrown by the queen in honour of Captain Jones and the success of his voyage. The privateer was dressed all in black as was his custom and the queen had opted to don a new gown of white silk embroidered with thousands of pearls. Ropes of them also hung about her slender neck and fell from her ears, and it did not escape notice among the assembly that she had chosen to adorn herself so lavishly with gems from the sea. They all watched as she made her entry into the hall, framed between the carved oak doors that stood fifteen feet high on either side of her. Skirts rustled as the ladies curtsied to their queen, dipping down low when she passed with eyes demurely lowered to the floor. Emma walked straight to Killian, seeing nothing but him, the rest of the court was nothing but a smudge on the glass, unimportant and beneath her notice. Sir Archibald was her Conscience, her guide through the tricky and treacherous world of ambitious men and duplicitous women that she ruled, Mistress Ruby Lucas was Chief Lady of the Bedchamber, keeper of her deepest, darkest secrets and immune to any form of bribery or threats, while Killian Jones was bestowed with a secret title, one spoken only in stolen moments and known to only the two of them.

He was Emma’s Heart.

Not the queen’s.

Emma’s.

The sword at his hip was ornamental, a blunted blade beneath a silver guard and a pommel shaped like the neck of a swan, curved to fit his hand and adorned with emerald eyes that matched the gems in the necklace he had gifted her (and had, in fact, been chipped from one of the stones). A gasp went through the crowd when the queen unsheathed it with her own hand, reaching around his waist to do so in a gesture of breathtaking intimacy between Sovereign and subject. The Duke of Norfolk let out a strangled noise in the back of his throat while the Spanish Ambassador swore violently in his head, both realizing what was about to happen a minute too late.

“Captain Killian Jones, I confer upon thou as our most able subject for the post, the office of Lord High Admiral of the English fleet, to protect and defend the realm from those who would seek to do us and our kingdom such grievous harm.”

Killian had knelt obediently at Emma’s feet when she drew his sword, face betraying none of the smug satisfaction he felt. He’d known she would grant him this after the great success of his voyage, making the bitter years of separation sweet at last with his victory over all who’d sneered at his common name and scorned his prowess on the sea. No one would protect England as he would, for Emma was England personified, and he would protect her and defend her, until his dying breath. But her next proclamation caught even him off guard.

“I also name thee Earl of Misthaven.”

The flat of the blade lifted from his shoulder and caught the candlelight, flashing bright and seeming to ripple along the metal like a stone dropped in a still pool. So too did a ripple run through the crowd, as the implications of their queen’s decree sank in just as quickly. Emma Nolan had raised a commoner to the peerage, a dark-haired, French-educated commoner who groped for her free hand and kissed the back of it, head bent reverently over her slim wrist. David Nolan had done the same for Mary Blanchard once upon a time, the dark-haired, French-educated commoner he had loved so ardently.

And everyone knew how that story had ended.

“My Queen.”

The new earl looked up at his queen, seeing a smile playing at the edge of her vermillion lips. The memory tugged at the back of his mind, of another night, in another court, where he’d first paid his homage to a bastard daughter with barely a farthing to his name as a marriage was celebrated around them. Now she was the Sovereign, her inheritance firmly secured by nothing but her own skill and cunning, and he was a nobleman, one of the wealthiest in the entire country thanks to her royal patronage.

“My Lord.”

Emma swept back a lock of black hair from his forehead with a lingering touch, her expression tender and unguarded as she looked down at him and the court watched with bated breath. The Spanish Ambassador would write in his next dispatch that the English Queen “is clearly following in the footsteps of her father with the commoner Jones, now Earl of Misthaven, her close companion since his return from sea, and allows him to take unprecedented liberties with her person while he makes love openly to the queen with his increasingly lavish gifts and insincere flattery and is even said to be planning a marriage proposal” while Regina of Scotland sent a coded letter to the Duke of Norfolk upon hearing the news in Edinburgh and asked “Dearest Robin” if it was really true that “the illegitimate Blanchard bitch traded yearning looks and doey eyes with Captain Whoreson, a perfectly matched pair in their pretentions, as the self-styled Saviour of England has exalted a man of no name or family out from under her skirts” but no one openly challenged the queen’s decree and they all gave way to the couple when the earl rose to his feet and led the queen to the raised dais at the end of the hall where she gave the order to begin the feast.

“Will you come to me again tonight?”

His blue eyes were dark and imploring, the sea upon which she’d gladly drown. Emma rubbed a finger over one of the pearls sewn onto her skirt and gave an imperceptible shake of her head, speaking behind her goblet of wine.

“It’s too risky. The eyes of the entire court turn to you tonight, Lord Misthaven, and there is not shadow enough at Whitehall now to shield us from their scrutiny. Though you would not lack for feminine companionship in your chambers if you so wish it.”

“I wish only for you.”

The ladies of the court held no allure, and though he was a man of healthy appetites and knew he could easily charm his way into almost any bed he wished with his dashing countenance and new title, the Earl of Misthaven had his sights set on one only.

“Spain is watching us, as is Scotland through Norfolk’s eyes,” the queen cautioned, her own gaze finding the sour-faced ambassador and her scowling cousin Robert Locksley across the room. No one was close enough to overhear, but both men had other ears planted in the queen’s household, listening intently for any hint of scandal, and the most scandalous thing about the unmarried queen was her close relationship with her new, equally unmarried Lord High Admiral.

“If there is not shadow enough at Whitehall, my ship is docked at Portsmouth, and we could be there by the morrow on a fast steed. Say the word, Emma.”

A look passed between them that did not go unnoticed, a memory shared not by queen and earl, but by the woman under the silk gown and the man behind the moniker.

“It’s too late for that now, Killian.”

The pearl came free from the silver thread and was pressed into his palm in lieu of what she could not grant him tonight, her fingers closing his around it and lingering for a brief moment before the queen abruptly stood and everyone around who was seated scrambled madly to their feet. Mistress Ruby Lucas remained where she was in her chair, exercising the privilege granted to her by her royal charge until the queen passed the gaping courtiers and she finally rose to fall in step behind her, her scarlet gown like a trail of blood following the pristine white. In public Captain Jones always stood when the queen did, and he shifted his weight to one foot and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword with the pearl clutched tight in the other as he watched her walk away from him and his offer for the second time in his life.

“Congratulations, my lord Misthaven.”

He accepted Sir Archibald Hopper’s loud acknowledgement of his new status with a stiff nod, while several nobleman traded black looks and low conversations arose up and down the hall as alliances shifted like the sands to accommodate this latest development. He expected several to darken his door over the next few days with their proposals, to place younger sons in his service and even perhaps to attempt to arrange a marriage and see a daughter or a niece made a new countess at his side.

“Her Majesty was adamant that there was no one else who could fulfill the role and that any dissenting opinion would not be tolerated.”

That mollified Killian slightly and he flashed a smile that sent several of the young and not so young ladies standing nearby into a blushing tizzy. “I’m a hell of a captain.”

Hopper’s face was placid and his tone was light, but there was no mistaking the warning when he spoke to the man his queen had chosen if not as consort, then as something as unprecedented as her own unlikeliest of ascensions.

“Good. Because the storm is brewing on the horizon, and when it hits, all of England will feel the consequences of these decisions. Especially the queen.”

Emma had made her choice long ago, on a night when her path forked and a vow was sworn in blood. It had stained the sheets between them, the spilled drops a dark crimson circle on the pale linens like the red petals that ringed the white of the Nolan rose. The emblem of the royal house to which she would always truly belong to more than any man was inescapable, even during those few, secret hours when she was oh so fleetingly his.

He answered the Secretary of State not in the manner of a courtier, elegant and refined and as flexible as the wind, ready to twist and turn and follow whichever way it was blowing. Earl of Misthaven and Lord High Admiral of the English fleet he might be, Killian Jones was, at heart, a cunning pirate who’d sailed through his share of storms even before he was the queen’s privateer and it was that man who replied as he would on the docks, with a dip of his chin and a single, clipped, “Aye.”

.

HertfordshireLast Months of Queen Mary’s Reign

The lone rider urged his large black horse to a gallop along the winding roads and lush green fields of the countryside far from the capital, cloak flying out behind him and hat pulled down low on his head, raising a great cloud of dust beneath the sharp hooves that pounded unrelentlessly mile after mile as his own heart pounded madly against his ribs.

Not from the exertion of the strenuous ride.

From fear.

His gloved hands were cramped tight around the reins and only loosened a fraction when the squat rise of Hatfield House finally came into view, the low sloping roof stark against the rapidly setting sun that plucked fire from the red brick and leaded windows of the large country estate. In London the heretics burned at Smithfield and the sky above the city was black with the smoke for days on end, it drifted as far south as the docks at Portsmouth and carried the ash of the condemned souls away on the wind while the ships in the harbour still limply flew both English and Spanish flags in honour of the disastrous marriage pact between their half-Spanish queen and Spain’s king.

Captain Killian Jones served neither queen nor king, having sworn himself to another whose swan badge he wore in secret, close to his heart. He alighted from the saddle and left his lathered horse in the care of a white-faced groom before entering the house, scarcely stopping to knock the dust from his boots in his haste. Mistress Ruby Lucas met him inside the Great Hall as if she’d been expecting him, answering his half-entreaty, half-command of, “I need to speak with Her Highness. Now.” with a thin-lipped nod, not questioning the reason for such urgency.

“This way, Captain.”

There was hardly a servant to be seen about in the corridors or in the rooms glimpsed through open doors as Killian followed Mistress Lucas deeper into the house where Princess Emma had spent much of her uncertain childhood and remained her principal and favoured residence after the deaths of both her father and brother, an inheritance that went unchallenged by her sister to keep her away from London. Normally bustling with activity as the quasi-royal household of the heiress to the throne and shadow court to Mary’s, Hatfield House was strangely shuttered and still now, quiet as a tomb with only the faint retort of his own footfalls echoing along the long gallery. There were no squires cooling their heels and waiting for an audience, no messengers taking a mouthful of wine after delivering a letter, and Killian thought scornfully of rats deserting a sinking ship, as news must have spread that the Lady Emma had lost what little remained of her sister’s favour and the hangers-on had all fled lest they go down with her as well.

But not Killian Jones. He had made straight for Hatfield when his own man had sent the word.

It was at Hatfield where Emma had personally supplied Killian with the funds that went straight to his small ship, allowing him to purchase the foodstuffs needed for longer, more profitable journeys than he was currently able to undertake and speculate on cargos with no ready buyers to front the cost. It was at Hatfield where he’d brought her back the fruits of his voyages, spools of Brussels lace and costly Venetian glass, watching her face light up at both the gifts and at his safe return from sea and telling her tales by the fire of the lands he had visited as the wine flowed and the hours slipped by without notice or care.

It was at Hatfield where he had fallen hopelessly, utterly, wholeheartedly, in love with the girl who should be queen.

Mistress Lucas ushered him into a chamber and she was seated in a chair by the window, sitting straight-backed and staring at nothing. He hair was loose, a spill of gold down her back with no modest hood to conceal it, while she was garbed in a robe that was hardly suitable for receiving an unrelated man, though it was heavy and fur-trimmed against the chill it was low-necked and revealed the white swell of her bosom and the slim column of her throat, slender and delicate, as her mother’s was said to have been. Her former governess withdrew with a curtsey and closed the door behind her when she left, soft click of the latch loud in the silent room and leaving them alone without so much as the pretense of a chaperone to guard against wagging tongues and whispered allegations. Killian supposed it no longer mattered, not now, not when the worst accusation of them all was about to be levied against the Lady Emma’s Grace.  

He spoke without preamble, “My spies have informed me that the queen signed a secret warrant for your arrest, on charges of high treason. They will be here no later than tomorrow afternoon to escort you back to London.”

There wasn’t so much as a flicker of emotion in response to his announcement, no gasp of alarm or draining of colour from her cheeks. There was only the barest arch of a brow as her gemstone-green gaze finally flicked to his.

“You have spies in my sister’s household, Killian?”

“Aye,” he answered, bothering to speak like a courtier as he moved to kneel in front of her and took her unresisting hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the rapidly fluttering pulse on the inside of his wrist. His informants had been well paid and it had been worth every penny to be kept apprised of the state of affairs at court, where Emma’s sister had failed to conceive a child and Philip had left his wife behind to wallow in her failure while he returned to his father’s empire and refused to come back to England. There would be no heir of Mary’s body born to succeed her, but she was loathe to let the daughter of her greatest enemy take her crown.

“My ship is docked at Portsmouth, we could be there by the morrow on a fast steed. My own is too spent from the journey, I’ll have the groom saddle a fresh mount from your stable whilst you don your plainest riding habit. The Dutch will surely offer you sanctuary inside their borders, or we could make for the Low Countries or-”

“I’m not leaving England.”

He reeled back as if she had slapped him, “What? Your Highness, please, if you don’t come with me tonight then they’ll take you to the Tower, and there will be no chance of rescuing you once you are secured behind those walls.”

She trembled and gave a heavy swallow at the mere thought of the ancient stronghold, but Emma did not waver in her conviction. “If I flee with you now, the moment I set foot off English soil my guilt will be confirmed in the eyes of the entire country. I will be convicted without fair trial, be branded traitor to the crown, and so will you.”

His face was a twisted mass of thunderclouds and storm, raging with the force of his emotions and the hand on hers tightened almost painfully. “Damn me for a traitor then, for I’ll not serve any crown or any prince save you and would rather sail lawlessly under the crimson flag for the rest of my days so long as you were kept safe from your enemies. For God’s sake, Emma, fair trial or not, you could still be executed for this, as your mother was before you.”

No one spoke the name Mary Blanchard at Hatfield, though her presence was the unseen ghost behind every fluttering curtain when there was no breeze and the shadow from every candle that flickered and danced so merrily before snuffing out. Once upon a time a king had loved a commoner he could not have, loved her beyond all reason and sense, a love so deep that it had nearly rent England right in two. Emma Nolan was her father’s daughter with her golden hair, but ambitious Blanchard blood ran through her veins, blood that had been spilled to see a daughter set upon a throne where no woman had ever sat before.

Killian begged and pled, “Don’t do this, Emma, please!” but she would not be moved. It was her destiny, set in motion long before she had even been born. It was a curse, inescapable, that had swept across the land and only she could break it.

There were tears on his face in the amber light from the fire, wet rivulets that carved tracks down his cheeks and she tasted the salt when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was a brand, a promise, a whisper of words she could not speak. Emma rose from her chair and let the robe fall from her shoulders to reveal the white silk chemise that she wore underneath, pure and unblemished, a thin, unsubstantial thing without corset or farthingale to shape and sculpt her form into that of a king’s daughter. Killian Jones sat dazed on the floor while she stood, too stunned by the sight of her to even try to arise to his feet when a lady did as a gentleman should.

“I will be queen and I will make you a lord, and all of England will one day be mine. But if I am truly fated to die on the scaffold like my mother before me, then I do not wish to die a virgin.”

She too loved a man she could not have, common born but with a noble heart hidden underneath that would best any prince. In a flash Emma was in his arms, pressed boldly against him from shoulder to shin while his mouth crashed down on hers and his large hands spanned the narrow turn of her waist to pull her even closer. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, sending it clattering to the floor in a heavy thump of leather and cloak and codpiece both quickly followed. In nothing but flowing shirt and close-fitting hose Killian lifted her up, striding into the adjoining bedchamber and kicking the door closed impatiently with his heel. The curtains were already pulled back and tied to the post, letting them fall straight to the mattress with his mouth never leaving hers.

Killian went onto his knees on either side of her and took the neck of the chemise in his hands, tearing it open down the front with no care for the cost of the silk in his ardour. Nude, she was much smaller than when fully gowned in sweeping skirts and padded bodices, delicate as gossamer with fine white skin that would bear the marks of his loving to be hidden away afterwards, his rough, sailor’s hands not meant to touch the likes of her. But touch her he did, thumbing over the apples of her cheeks as gently as he could and tipping her chin up to receive his kiss again. The long golden curls coyly veiled her breasts like a siren of the deep, he pushed the strands aside to reveal the rosy tips that went pebbled and tight from the exposure and even more so when he bent to take one in his mouth, a tiny gasp of surprise escaping her at the sensation and hands fisting tight in his hair with a burst of pleasure-pain that prickled all along his scalp. Killian slid a palm down over her hip and felt the brush of the downy hair that feathered over her mound against his stomach, making him twitch with need and fighting his baser instincts, laying his head on her breast and closing his eyes to take a breath and quell the boiling urge rising within lest he lose all control and just take her without care.

“Killian.”

The weight of his body on hers was not the burden she expected to have to bear, it was a comfort, warm and reassuring even as she trembled under him with the nerves she fought so hard to conceal from everyone but her most intimate of companions. There was nothing to conceal her now from his avid gaze, dark and wanting, and oh did she want, wanted nothing more to be the only woman he looked at like that. She laid her hands on his bare chest once he tossed his shirt aside, eager to touch and explore and marveled at the fine mat of hair that covered it all the way down to his navel, feeling the flex of his ribs and the scars normally hidden by linen and wool, lash marks laid on his broad back from uncaring masters who she swore would feel her own wrath one day. His maleness stood out proudly from the wiry thatch between his legs and was hot and velvet-smooth against her palm, while her heart raced and her pulse throbbed between her own, suddenly slippery thighs, an ache that only grew more demanding with every brush of skin to skin, every sigh that escaped kiss-swollen lips.

“Lay back, darling.”

The order was breathed into her ear and she reclined back against the pillow while his knees spread hers apart and his hips rolled forward until there was nothing that remained but the final join of his body to hers and it would be done. Her maidenhead belonged to England, not her, but Emma was already a traitor in the eyes of the Crown just by virtue of her birth anyway. High treason was committed at Hatfield not in any secret plot or plan to seize the throne, but in a pirate’s bed when he claimed her virtue for his own in a sharp thrust that stole the breath from her lungs and she let out only the barest cry as he pierced through the barrier inside with his forehead pressed to hers. Dark satisfaction filled her even as Killian did, firm buttocks cupped under her heels and hips positioned just so between her open thighs. She belonged to England, but she loved a man as her father had loved her mother and like the late King David she would have both, her land and her lover and let nothing and no one stand in her way.

Killian started to move, a heavy slide of flesh against flesh that made her shiver despite the fact that she was far from cold, clutching at his shoulders and giving in to the urge that had her legs hitch up higher on his waist, revelling in the low groan he let out in response.

“Bloody hell.”

The pleasure of their coupling rolled down Killian’s spine and pooled low at the base, making his hips jerk hard against Emma even as he tried to be as careful as he could, taking most of his weight on his arms when all he wanted was to pin her to the bed and take his pleasure hard and fast until he was fully spent. But they had all night and he had to make it last as long as he could, both because he didn’t know if he’d ever have this again and to make sure Emma did not go to the Tower carrying his bastard child. He railed against her going there at all, anger lacing his love for this stubborn woman and tempting him to spirit her away anyway by force. Killian swore to himself that if it came to that, the scaffold or sanctuary abroad, he’d find a way to smuggle her out of England on his ship come hell or high water and raise the crimson flag once more.

He was too close to completion, balls and belly both tight and poised on the very knife’s edge of satisfaction, buried as he was in her silky quim. He had to stop before it was too late and it was a whore’s trick to prevent conception that he employed, pulling out and finishing with his hand instead in a few quick pumps. The sticky mess soiled the formerly bedclothes, along with the small bloodstain smeared on the sheets that marked the moment of consummation. Royal blood spilled by his own sword, and Killian felt a surge of masculine pride that had his cock faintly stirring again against his groin before it softened again and curled limp. There was a basin and ewer on the stand and he’d clean them both up after regaining his breath, but for now he lay on his back with a princess in his arms and thanked every lucky star he could name, for fate had smiled upon Killian Jones and his own lips curled with satisfaction while a small hand settled over his heart.

A sailor always rose before the dawn, but the sun was streaming in through the window and he could feel it even behind his closed lids while he groped across the bed and quickly realized the pillow next to his was empty. Killian sat up, coverlet falling to his waist and blinking his eyes open to start at the sight of Mistress Ruby Lucas seated on the edge of the bed, gazing at him as placidly as a wolf would a rabbit. Still a striking woman, he sensed she’d have no scruples against striking him if she felt the need arise.

“I loved Emma’s mother, Captain Jones, and I love her as if she were my own.”

He was uncomfortably aware of his nudity under the bedclothes but he kept his face carefully blank, even when she threw a pointed glance towards where the coverlet dipped a hair too low.

“You must be gone before the queen’s men arrive. Dress now, and leave through the window, your horse is saddled and waiting. I’ll see that the bedding is taken out and burned afterwards. You were never here, and nothing happened last night. The Lady Emma spent the evening secluded in the chapel at prayer, if asked, I will testify to it under oath. Do you understand?”

Killian scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of something settle on his shoulders. He understood perfectly and he nodded, knowing that like a fearsome she-wolf would protect her pup, Mistress Lucas would protect Emma from any hint of impropriety being discovered. A bundle of clothing was thrust unceremoniously at him along with a flask and a bit of bread and cheese tied up in a square of muslin for the journey back to the coast.

“Mistress Lucas?”

She paused in the doorway with one hand resting lightly on the wood and glanced back over her shoulder, “Captain?”

He spoke four words and then he stood, caring not for protecting his modesty as he shook the wrinkles from his shirt and began to dress. She understood his true meaning, he could tell by the knowing smile that flitted across her face before it was schooled back into a stern look.

“Long live the queen.”  

#cs ff #cs fic #cs au #my fic #gloriana

[blazerina]

Pain into Power (Liam x MC)

Summary: A few years into their marriage, Cordonia is at war and Charlotte is learning to live in her new normal; missing her husband, trying to lead her country and keeping herself together is proving to be much more difficult than she ever anticipated.

Author’s Note: I have no idea where this story came from. I just started writing and it came out…but I kind of love it? I may keep exploring this AU for Liam, Charlotte & Drake…we’ll just have to see! As always, thanks for reading this little drabble. I appreciate it so much!! xoxo

Word Count: 2328

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Thunder roared as Charlotte stepped out of the black town car and immediately muttered a word of thanks to the staffer holding an umbrella above her head.  She scanned the crowd gathered along the stairs for a glimpse of her husband, but he was nowhere to be found.  The press called out to her as she clutched her coat, trying to keep it closed near her neck.  She looked down at her feet for a brief moment and realized her insides were shaking.

She didn’t want to do this. Putting one foot in front of the other was harder than it had ever been before. Somehow it felt as though this was the first time she’d ever spoken in public or met with hurting people.  Everything in her wanted to crawl back into the backseat of that car and cry.  She wasn’t sure that she could hold it together when she found Liam.  How could she explain to him what she was going through? What had happened? He didn’t even know…it was yet another secret she had kept from him for far too long.  Not to mention it was selfish to ask him to be there for her, when the country they ruled together was in the middle of a war.

Everyone else was looking to him for guidance as a king, as a soldier, a leader and monarch – the portrait of stoic perfection and fierce devotion, all in one.  In this moment, she just needed him to be her husband; her partner in life – but Cordonia was the one who needed him most right now. She knew when she became queen that she would have to share him. He would put Cordonia first, now she would too.

Taking a long, deep breath, she slowly resumed her walk towards the steps leading into the town hall as the press and local citizens called out to her.

“Queen Charlotte – now that the enemy is close to taking over, how will the palace respond?”

“Charlie, you’ve always been on the people’s side of things. Why isn’t anyone telling us what’s going on?”

“Booo. You say you care about us but you would rather watch us starve and die on the streets than surrender.  Your pride will take us all!”

Charlotte plastered on a smile and tried to nod a gracious hello to anyone that would make eye contact with her.  It was already hard to be queen of a country she didn’t know – it was already hard giving up the life she knew and accepting one in which her every move would be noted and dissected – it was already hard not having her husband by her side and feeling alone most of the time, while he fulfilled his duties to everyone else – and days like today made this life even harder.

Cordonia had been at war for almost two years and she had been married to Liam for three.  The first year of their marriage was spent in anguish and turmoil when Liam found out that Drake and Charlotte had a short, but significant, relationship before Charlotte ultimately accepted Liam’s proposal. Thankfully now, Drake was still loyal to Liam and was by his side always. Liam only trusted Drake more knowing that Charlotte was truly devoted to him.

Things were just starting to get better for Liam and Charlotte when the capital of Cordonia was bombed in the middle of the night and war broke out the next day.  The past few years had been full of daily ups and downs; rebels attacking palaces while farmers and other lower wage earners began protesting the rich.  Soon those angry mobs found their way to Liam and Charlotte’s front lawn as the war continued to grow.

Charlotte had started off strong; by Liam’s side through it all – appearing everywhere with him. Speaking to those who would listen and offering support, shelter and encouragement. She was on the cover of magazines, all over the television, trying her best to promote the good works of her husband and tell the world of the smart decisions he had made and the ways in which he would ensure a victory for Cordonia, promising a quick return to life before “the blast” as they called it.

For a while, Charlotte’s popularity was soaring. She was carrying the country through a difficult time. People were loving her positivity and the ways in which she helped others believe the best about the current situation, despite what they were seeing or hearing from others in the news.  Liam continued his quiet but steady style of leadership. He pushed her to the front, urging her to speak and be the face of the royal family during this time. Charlotte was exhausted and missed him terribly, but wanted to prove to him that she could be strong and not needy.

Things looked to be all right when out of nowhere the highest-ranking general in the Cordonian military, General LeVaille, who had been working closely with Liam, surrendered his post and left suddenly, causing all the positive movement they’d made to crumble and wither away.  The soldiers were upset that their fearless leader in the war had abandoned them and the enemy took full advantage.  The countryside was ravaged and taken over quickly. Entire towns and cities were taken over before Liam and Charlotte could blink.  The tables had turned on them so quickly; and when the General took to the airwaves to share his grievances and problems with Liam and some of the decisions he made, the rest of the country followed.

Liam and Charlotte were no longer safe together. Security for the two of them was tighter than ever and it seemed that anyone who was still loyal to the Rys family was constantly worried, crying, or reminding the two of them they could not be together for longer than 24 hours. They had to keep moving, changing their locations, in order to keep assassins or anyone else wanting to harm them, off their heels.

Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in her own bed or been in the palace that she and Liam called home.  It had been two and a half weeks since she had seen him.  She was crumbling. She was scared.  The people who loved her yesterday, hated her today, and the one man who promised to protect her through it all, couldn’t even hold her hand. But maybe this speech would change everything.  There was a small sliver of hope for them tonight.  Liam had decided to surrender.

The large wooden doors creaked as they shut behind her and the yelling finally stopped as she stepped into the foyer of the building. It felt as though there were just as many people inside the building as there were outside.  Again, Charlotte took a deep breath, feeling relieved. She opened her coat to let the air fill her lungs.  She began to feel a little light headed and her breath quickened. Grasping for something to hold on to, she felt a pair of hands and strong arms catch her as she wobbled, about to go down.

“Charlie. Charlie. Can you hear me?”

Her body had gone limp, but her eyes focused on Drake’s face in front of her.  

“Get some water for the queen!” He ordered.  “Now!”

The hustle and bustle had stopped abruptly, everyone watching the interaction between Drake and Charlotte.  Pretty much everyone knew that they had been together before Liam proposed; it had never been officially addressed or talked about, but the gossip had spread.

“Here. Lean on me. Come sit down.” Drake instructed, leading Charlotte to a nearby chair.

Someone brought over a glass of water, handing it to Drake as he knelt down beside Charlotte.  He was still, and always would be, in love with her.  He gently swept away a few loose strands of hair from her face, looking her over, making sure she was okay.  He used the back of his hand to pat down the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead.

“Are you eating?” He whispered as her eyes fluttered open.

As her breathing stilled, she looked deep into his eyes and was instantly so grateful for his presence next to her.  Anything normal or familiar brought so much relief in these trying days.  She had not wanted to admit the toll it had taken on her emotionally and physically, but there was no denying that this war had taken a lot out of her in more ways than one.

“Thank you.” She whispered, reaching for the glass of water.

“You look like hell. You have to eat, Charlie.” Drake instructed before giving her the water.  

She smiled warmly, feeling his hand against hers briefly.  “Thanks for the compliment.”

Her eyes closed for a moment as she tried to savor a moment of peace before the world would know that Cordonia was in agreement with the rest of the globe, that they had lost this war. As horrible as she felt about the way things had turned out, she was eager to get back to some semblance of life. Even though she knew this would mean walking Liam through a very difficult time, they had been through so much already, she was sure they could get through more.  

Seeing each other and being together had to make a difference, right? And once they could put the war behind them and focus on the future – whatever it may be – life would begin again.  It would be a relief to not have to worry about their safety anymore. To be in each other’s presence for more than 24 hours at a time. To tell him things he should know about. To inform him of the things he’d missed. To reassure him. To love him. To be in his arms and show him the passion for him that still existed. So much of their relationship had all but been forgotten over the course of this battle.  

Charlotte was by no means happy with the decision to surrender, but she knew most of the Cordonian people would be.  It had gotten so ugly and so horrible; they wanted something, anything, other than what they had right now.  She knew it would be tough but she was tougher.  She knew it would be a long road, but she was ready.  She knew that Liam would be devastated, but she also knew no one could make him feel better or help him heal faster, than she could.

“Charlotte? Charlotte’s here? Charlotte!”

Her eyes flew open upon hearing his voice.  She sat up straight, handed the glass back to Drake as he stood up, and then helped Charlotte out of her chair.

“Liam!”

She practically leapt into his arms, tears stinging her eyes as she threw her arms around his neck and held him as tight as humanly possible.  Her senses took over and she almost melted, remembering his sweet, floral but masculine, scent and feeling his broad chest against hers.  He slid his hands up from around her waist, along her arms then to her shoulders and ultimately her face.  He pulled her away from him and stared into her eyes, locking his gaze with hers for a long while.

“My god, I have missed you.” He said slowly, taking in every part of her face from the light freckle underneath her left eye, to the small scar under her chin.

Not speaking another word, he leaned in and kissed her softly and sweetly, but with so much emotion at the same time.  The tears Charlotte had been trying so desperately to hold back, came tumbling down her cheeks and she smiled as he pulled away. Liam gently ran his thumb over each cheek to wipe the moisture away.

“Every happiness in my life is because of you.” He searched her eyes, pleading with her to believe him.

Charlotte held his wrists and nodded.  Slowly she dissolved into him for a brief moment and laid her head on his chest while he slowly rubbed his hand in circles on her back.  She tried to savor the sound of his heart beating – she had missed falling asleep to that sound every night.  Soon, with the war ending, this would be hers again.  She’d have her husband, the love of her life, by her side and the future would be bearable, no matter what, as long as they were together.

The soft groans and moans from outside the hall were growing louder as the crowds began to get rowdy, waiting for the king to speak.  They had no idea what was about to happen, but to keep everyone safe, Liam needed to go.

“I’m coming with you.” Charlotte said, as Liam pulled away.

“Of course you are, my queen.” Liam kissed her hand, smiling.

“Drake told you the news, yes?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, dear. What news?”

“We’re not giving up. The war can be easily won according to our new general.  Cordonia will survive this along with the storied history that built her thus far.  We no longer have to surrender.”

She froze.  Not wanting to show Liam her disappointment, Charlotte couldn’t move; didn’t breathe, but could have been knocked over with a feather.

“Well then!” She inhaled sharply, adjusting her coat and buttoning it once more as she prepared to go outside. “Let’s share the news with the Cordonian people.  They need to know we will continue to fight.”

As Liam walked out onto a balcony in the cold and pouring rain, he addressed the angry, tired, worn out crowd of Cordonians below.  And in that moment Charlotte realized why she was so easily able to win over the people before – while she would still press on and support Liam with everything she had, she was just as angry, tired and worn out as they were.

Turn the pain into power, Charlotte. She told herself.  Pain into power…

#TRR #liam x mc #liam x charlotte #blazerina babbles

[dontlookdown]

Nick’s Favourite Music of 2018

In the time that I’ve been doing these yearly round-ups (ten years(!), although my first list was literally just a list), they’ve gotten a bit easier to write. It probably helps that I’ve done actual planning-ahead for the last couple of turns. The one thing that doesn’t get any easier is these introduction posts.

2018 was, and I don’t think this is a controversial stance, shit. I joked this time last year that 2017 was best summed up as “further complications”, but 2018 was fucking something else. I’m resisting the urge to list my grievances, because I doubt I’d ever stop. It’s exhausting to even think about attempting to take stock of everything that happened. To cap it all off, the website I’ve published these posts on since the very beginning had a panic attack regarding the sexual content that some people were uploading, and decided to address the situation in the bluntest way possible. This isn’t something that affects me directly (there’re no nudes in my blog. Hell, I felt anxious about including a photo of myself with clothes on that one time), but it affects people I look up to and care about, and a good portion of my audience for these things. I’ve considered leaving the site entirely in solidarity. I still might. It might be time that I focused more energy on writing a bit more frequently anyway, and setting up a new home for my work is a good starting point. Demi Lovato believes in me. We’ll see.

But for now, let’s focus on the reason that you clicked on this link in the first place: the music of 2018.

It was a good year. It was also a strange one for me. Whereas in previous years there were always one or two big standout albums or songs that held my attention for months on end, this year I really had to dig deep and re-listen to a heap of stuff to remind myself of what had actually left an impression on me. The critical consensus was all over the place too. The end-of-year lists I’ve seen from various outlets over the last two months have been the most diverse I’ve seen for as long as I’ve been paying attention. There were a few names they had in common, but they all featured a lot of unique choices. Hopefully you’ll feel the same about mine!

Sticking to my familiar rules (20 songs, no repeating artists) always means that there’s a couple of gems that don’t make the final cut. 2018’s wide breadth of musical talent means that this is the longest ‘honourable mentions’ list I’ve ever done! Here they are:

Beach House – Lemon Glow

Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally’s seventh album was probably my most re-listened album of the year. They’ve always been a band with a sound that rewarded repeat plays, but this release seemed to have its own gravitational pull that kept me coming back to reappraise it, despite finding it a little overwhelming on multiple occasions. “Lemon Glow” absolutely excels as a lead single. Those gravitational waves are in full force here, a light electronic throbbing acting as the thread I kept trying to follow to the end.

The Beths – Little Death

The Beths were a late discovery, and welcome breath of fresh air after I’d been deep in a fog of more ambient sounds. If you’ve been looking for a vibrant, punchy rock band to brighten your January, I highly recommend them.

Jenny Hval – Spells

Part of my planning process this year was learning to accept that I don’t always have the words or ability to explicitly pinpoint what I like about particular songs. This track is just nice. I like the way it glides along, building up ever-so-slightly as it goes.

Joey Purp – Elastic

Joey Purp followed up iiiDrops and “Girls@” with even-more-minimalist trap. This is straight no-nonsense fire. Add it to your dance playlist. And if you don’t have a dance playlist, make one!

Kali Uchis - After the Storm (feat. Tyler, The Creator & Bootsy Collins)

Kali Uchis’s debut Isolation proved her to be an artist with fantastic taste. It’s a lot easier to nail a woozy sound that throws back to the work of Parliament-Funkadelic when you get one of the original members involved. I also want to highlight Bootsy’s use of the amazing line “Look both ways before you cross my mind” which, incredibly, is a phrase that no one seemed to have coined before George Clinton dropped it on To Pimp a Butterfly in 2015. It’s a line that perfectly encapsulates the P-funk mood, and it’s less than five years old!

Let’s Eat Grandma – Ava

Let’s Eat Grandma’s (no, I’m not sure how I feel about the name either) second album split focus between spacey synth-pop journeys and straightforward piano ballads. “Ava” is one of the latter, beautiful with lo-fi touches (listen closely and you can hear the rain falling on the recording studio windows). Enjoy this track now, before someone sticks it a Christmas advert for a shop.

Madison McFerrin – Insane

I’ll save you the Google. Yes, Madison McFerrin is the daughter of Bobby “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” McFerrin and, yes, she also has a unique talent for vocalising. Musically speaking, this track comfortably sits in-between the work of Sade and Solange.

Post Malone & Swae Lee – Sunflower

Among the many, many accomplishments of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is this cut from its soundtrack, a Post Malone track that I actually like!

Robyn – Missing U

Robyn’s been one of my favourite pop artists for a while now, so I really, really wanted to love her big return. Sadly, I’m not quite there yet. The music on Honey is lot colder than I’m used to, most likely by design to reflect the change in Robyn’s (and the world’s) mood in the years since Body Talk. “Missing U” is the closest thing the album has to a big hook-y single like “Call Your Grilfriend” or “Dancing On My Own”.

Spiritualized – I’m Your Man

J Spaceman approached his final album as Spiritualized with as much brassy gusto as he did twenty years ago. A gorgeous send off.

Arctic Monkeys - Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

I understand the disappointment some people had when was released and sounded nothing like AM, but I think those people lost sight of the bigger Arctic Monkeys picture. The lounge-y, Pulp-y sound of Tranquility Base is something that Alex Turner has been hinting at since the Submarine soundtrack. I heard the album several times and, while there isn’t any standout track that makes everything make sense, I’ve never been bored listening to it.

Jon Hopkins – Singularity

Bleeps, bloops, beats and bliss. Jon Hopkins continues his reign as one of the premier electronic musicians.

Pusha T – Daytona

The hardest, sharpest (and shortest) hip-hop album of the year. A reminder that King Push’s skills as an MC haven’t dulled, and neither has Kanye’s skill as a producer. Ye was crap, though.

Tierra Whack – Whack World

An interesting experiment to debut with, Whack World is a 15 minute album with 15 tracks, all unique in their sound, and all with their own music video (presented as one 15 minute film). Few of the tracks are long enough to stand as songs on their own, but they weren’t designed to be. These are concentrated blasts of pure creativity, and deserve to be supported. Besides, there was something really cathartic of seeing Tierra cheerfully singing “Fuck Off” while gleefully snipping balloons free of their strings. “Pretty Ugly” was my personal favourite.

Angélique Kidjo – Remain in Light

This was a nice surprise that popped up on my Spotify Discover. Remain in Light by Talking Heads is one of my all-time favourite albums, a moment when the band fully embraced an Afrobeat influence and stretched it as far as they could. But what if an actual Afrobeat musician had recorded that album? The answer is Angélique Kidjo’s full-length cover album, another Spotify Discover, uh, discovery. A fascinating, and highly danceable, rework. Tracks like “Once in a Lifetime” were already rays of sunshine. Kidjo’s arrangements turns them supernova.

Justin Hurwitz – First Man

2018 was an equally cramped year for films too. First Man seems to be getting ignored by the major awards, which is a shame as it was one of my favourites of the year. (Hey! If you’d like to see me expand on that thought, you consider subscribing to our film podcast, Sunshine Cinema Club! We’re about to cover our top ten of the year! First Man will be one of them!) I’m especially disappointed that people aren’t talking about Justin Hurwitz’s score, which combined the saddest instrument in the world (the theremin) and the gentlest instrument on the world (the harp) to create the loneliest soundtrack of all time. The perfect accompaniment to a story of a man, emotions dulled by grief, faced with the infinite possibilities of space travel.

As always, I’ll be posting about the twenty entries on my list across the next twenty days. Here’s the Spotify playlist of the final twenty, sequenced for musical effect.

In the past, I’ve updated the Spotify list as the entries go up, acting as some sort of musical advert calendar, keeping future songs under wraps. It’s since occurred to me that this method isn’t actually useful to anybody. Nobody cares about spoilers when it comes to this list, and it’s a big ask for people to keep tabs on a blog and a playlist for three weeks. So, consider that list a preview for what’s coming up and a chance to wonder how I’m going to justify sticking Drake and a black metal band on the same list! (I won’t. Accept my weird, varied taste in music!)

Lists from previous years can be found easily using the tag “best+of+20xx”. See you tomorrow!

#best of 2018 #music #beach house #the beths #jenny hval #joey purp #kali uchis #let's eat grandma #madison mcferrin #Robyn #spiritualized #arctic monkeys #jon hopkins #pusha t #tierra whack #angelique kidjo #justin hurwitz #First Man

[nitemice]

Hey, here's my latest post over on my main blog:

For those who have been wondering “what ever happened to Skye Sweetnam?”, here’s a surprise for you. Sumo Cyco is a punk rock/metal band out of Toronto, where Skye Sweetnam now resides as lead singer, under the alter ego of Sever. With MD13 (Matt Drake) on lead guitar and Thor (Ken Corke) on bass guitar, Sumo Cyco have produced two albums, a live EP, a number of cover singles and a tonne of music videos. I had intended to write a review of their first album, but by the time I got to it, their next album was just around the corner, so here’s a review of that instead.

When I first discovered Sumo Cyco, I was a bit horrified at the turn Skye Sweetnam’s musical style had taken. But after giving it a chance, I actually started to really enjoy it. And when you consider the transition from Noise From The Basement to Sound Soldier, you start to see how she got here; From punk pop, to punk rock, to punk metal. This evolution makes even more sense when you find out that some of the other members of Sumo Cyco used to be part of Skye’s tour band. Skye has said that her aim with Sumo Cyco was “to be able to sing any style..[and] to not feel constricted by genre”, which shows in the variety present on both Lost In Cyco City (Sumo Cyco’s first album) and Opus Mar (their second album). Sometimes it can border on screamo or growling, sometimes it sounds like rap, and sometimes it can feel more like power pop, but mostly it falls under the general banner of metal. Skye herself has classed the band’s music generally as “dancehall metal”, inspired by UK band Skindred . I’m no heavy metal connoisseur, but I can tell you Sumo Cyco produces a punchy, yet danceable fusion of punk metal with any number of other styles in any given song. So even if you don’t much like some song, you’re likely to find one you do (unless you can’t stand rock/metal at all, in which case, this is not the band for you).

As I mentioned, I was going to review Sumo Cyco’s first album, Lost In Cyco City, but I never quite got around to it. Suffice to say, I liked its unique blend of fiery, soaring vocals with shredding guitars and body-shaking drums. Surprisingly, it reminded me, in parts, of some of Paramore’s really early stuff, but with less emo and more metal. So when I heard they were crowdfunding a new album through PledgeMusic, I was excited but cautious. While I enjoyed their first album, much of the music Sumo Cyco had released before that had been much heavier, and I was worried this new album might tip into territory outside my comfort zone. Ultimately though, the main thing that stopped me from pre-ordering was the cost. Shipping to Australia, plus a poor exchange rate, meant a copy of the CD alone would have set me back just under AU$50, which is just too much for a CD. Instead, I spent the first few weeks after the album came out repeatedly listening to it on Spotify. Now that I’m convinced of its quality, I’ll be buying it directly.

Sumo Cyco also posted a series of videos explaining the meaning and writing process behind each track on Opus Mar. I wrote most of this review before watching those videos, so I could give you my uninfluenced impressions and interpretation of the songs, but I did watch them later, so I could give a more definitive comment on the message of each song. Before watching the videos, I was a bit worried that hearing their meaning might make me dislike some of the tracks. However, it turned out that it only made me like most track even more.

As with my other album reviews, I’ve listed previous songs each track reminds me of (by Sumo Cyco or just Skye Sweetnam), with the album they come from, a rank for each track on this album, as well as a short comment about each track. Plus there’s an overview of the album as a whole at the bottom.

1. Anti-Anthem

Reminds me of: My Name Is Rock N’ Roll [Lost In Cyco City], Interceptor [Interceptor] Rank on this album: 4 A perfect opening track, Anti-Anthem sets the tone for the whole album, with its blend of punk rock, heavy metal and modern pop elements. It starts with faux radio noise, which instantly reminds me of the previous album, which also used effects like this to open. It’s a bit of a misnomer, but the band claims this was on purpose, because it’s arrogant to declare your own song an anthem. But the meaning behind it runs deeper than that, being about the plight of stateless refugees, with literally “no place to go”. The vocals really open up towards the end, and the track closes with more sample dialogue.

2. Free Yourself

Reminds me of: Brave [Lost In Cyco City] Rank on this album: 1 Probably the catchiest track on the whole album, Free Yourself stuck in my head from the moment I heard it. With a heavy rocking intro, memorable chorus, relentless drums, and slick guitar riffs, this song is a perfect illustration of why I love this band. If you want to introduce Sumo Cyco to a friend, this would be my go-to track. It’s a fantastic anthem of self-reliance and looking to yourself for strength, rather than outside world.

3. Move Mountains ft. Benji Webbe

Reminds me of: (Let’s Get Movin’) Into Action [Sound Soldier], Like A Killer [Lost In Cyco City] Rank on this album: 9 Tracks with featured artists are often divisive, and Move Mountains is no different. On the one hand, it’s an epic song with a dead simple, yet catchy hook, thumping drums and bass beats. I think I even heard a Wilhelm scream in there! On the other hand, Benji’s vocal part stands in stark contrast to Sever’s. While stylistically similar, his sound is so different and just wasn’t something I much enjoyed. For me, Skye’s vocals are one of the main points of attraction, so anything that reduces that is bad in my book. That said, I understand that it was a really big deal for the band to have one of their idols perform with them on the album (Benji Webbe is the frontman for Skindred), and the track grew on me. I can imagine a really awesome superhero-based music video for this song, which I hope gets made one day.

4. Passengers

Reminds me of: We Ride [Lost In Cyco City], Mercy [Live Sessions 1] Rank on this album: 11 Passengers delivers heavily on the two big themes of this album: the need for social change on Earth, and trains. It paints a vivid picture of how the earth is being destroyed, and we are all just passengers, along for the ride. It implores listeners to stop ignoring what’s happening and “fight for the promised land”. Even though they’re Canadian, the band said this track was also partially influenced by the USA election of 2016. Musically, Passengers delivers shredding guitars and drums, with a strange Maroon 5-esque bridge with electronic vocals.

5. Brave II

Reminds me of: Crowd Control (Do What We Want) [Lost In Cyco City] Rank on this album: 5 Apart from its name, Brave II shares little in common with Brave, my favourite track from the original album. This song wears its meaning quite clearly on its sleeve, talking openly about the rise of conflict, extremism and echo chambers that exist in the world today. It encourages the listener to fight this wave of fear and anger with love, tolerance and open-mindedness. It would make a perfect backing track to a protest video. The band have said that the song was also influenced by the numerous shooting that have taken place in recent years in music venues, and is about having the guts to keep on doing what you want to, rather than living in fear or terror.

6. Sleep Tight

Reminds me of: Hypocrite [Noise From The Basement], Human [Sound Soldier], Cry Murder [Lost In Cyco City] Rank on this album: 7 Sleep Tight opens with a softly-spoken intro, back by an endless guitar riff, which gives way to smashing guitar, and screaming verses. The bridge has a weird disco vibe to it. This song is about how money serves as the unspoken motivator for many, and how it drives marketing and the media to pull the wool over our eyes, in aid of capitalism.

7. Rivalry

Reminds me of: The Ugly [Lost In Cyco City], Shot To Pieces [Noise From The Basement] Rank on this album: 2 Based on the experience of a fan dealing with suicide and depression, Rivalry is about facing your inner demons, and using music to fight the negativity. It’s solid rock all the way, with a punchy, pseudo-rap break for a bridge. Glitch effects and distortion add extra colour to vocals, which reminds me of the last Garbage album, except they work really well here.

8. Kids of Calamity

Reminds me of: Fuel My Fire [Lost In Cyco City], Danger [Danger] Rank on this album: 12 Like it’s compatriots, Kids of Calamity focuses on the need for social change in the world. Specifically, in the way the previous generation is leaving the planet for the next. It is a call to arms for this new generation, to rise up and be better.

9. Won’t Put Me Out

Reminds me of: Go Go Go [Lost In Cyco City], Permanent Holiday (Locked in the Trunk of His Car) [Live Sessions 1] Rank on this album: 6 With one of the calmest opening by Sumo Cyco’s standards, Won’t Put Me Out is a slow burn that builds through call-and-response verses. Ironically, this track is about being in the zone, on stage. There’s a great, stompy guitar riff that gives the track a vague tribal vibe.

10. Words

Reminds me of: Fighter [Lost In Cyco City], Ultra [Sound Soldier] Rank on this album: 3 Wordscombines fast, rapped verses with a simple, yet endlessly catchy chorus hook. The thing that sucked me in was the pop culture references in the first verse. The track, which is about the way people twist each other’s words when they fight, closes quite appropriately with distorted vocals seemingly glitching out.

11. The Broadcasters (Murdering by Radio)

Reminds me of: Where Do We Go? [Where Do We Go?], We Ride [Lost In Cyco City] Rank on this album: 8 The Broadcasters starts, unsurprisingly, with the sound of a radio tuning. It’s mostly rap, backed by a gruff chant, that builds to each chorus, with soaring vocals in the bridge.

12. Rally

Reminds me of: Limp [Limp] Rank on this album: 13 Rally opens with a racing guitar riff, which never lets up. A call-and-response chorus and crashing cymbals help keep the pace. The ending is a refreshing surprise, with light acoustic guitar and sweet vocals.

13. Building Castles

Reminds me of: Scary Love [Sound Soldier], Loose Cannon [Loose Cannon] Rank on this album: 10 Building Castles tries to end the album on a high, positive note, talking about the reward for pushing through times of struggle. With a complex instrumental intro, and a bridge that reminded me of Lady Gaga, or Yiddish music full of running arpeggios, musically Sumo Cyco furfills their goal. The train metaphor is completed as the song fades out to railway noise.

As a whole, Opus Mar flows really well. When I first listened to it, I didn’t even notice the transition between some of the track. It feels like one continuous musical journey, with endless variety and passion. In that way, it sort of reminded me of a live set, but much cleaner and crisper than live albums characteristically are. That said, each track stands well on its own, with some really coming into their own when listened to apart from the rest of the album.

Skye Sweetnam has always packed her lyrics dense with meaning and references, and with the amount of rap on Opus Mar, that’s truer than ever before. Yet every song still has a catchy, strong, and memorable chorus. All the song seems to be going at a million miles an hour; much faster than the last album, which had some pockets of solid, calm groove. Every track on this album also seems to have a bridge of one sort or another, be it in the form of a rap break, or a brief interlude in a totally different musical style, which really helps keeps some of the tracks feeling fresh. Skye’s voice have always been amazing, and this album is no exception. That said, her sweeping, sweet yet powerful vocals are far less common on this album. As mentioned, it has a lot more rap and gruff metal voice than the last album, which will not be to everyone’s taste. For me, the addition of these elements wasn’t as off-putting as the loss of what they supplant. Although the scarcity does make those rare moments all the more powerful.

Many of the trimmings of modern music are here: reverb, distortion, glitch effects and the like. However, while these sorts of tricks are often employed to disappointing or plain-out distracting ends, they all seems to fit quite comfortably here. They’ve been used in ways that suit the style of music, and are appropriate within each track.

One thing I was surprised by, and on reflection sort of impressed by, is the fact that there are no explicit tracks on the album. Despite the fact that the whole album is about the sometime frustrating and seemingly hopeless quest for social change, Sever never resorts to swearing to get her point across.

The two main themes of this album, as mentioned above, are social change and trains. While the reoccurring train motifs are little more than a novelty, the push for social change is anything but. Sumo Cyco has clearly chosen to take a stand with this album, and make a statement about how they view the state of the world today, and what needs to be done to improve it. Almost every song makes mention of how terrible the world is these days, and how we can help change that. There’s definitely a sense of doom and gloom to it, but what makes it so impactful is that there’s also a sense of hope and empowerment too. Although Sumo Cyco is from the “Great White North”, their message seems to resonate remarkably with what’s been going on in America. No doubt it’s applicable all over, and has been for a while, but it feels much more present in people’s minds now.

Overall, Opus Mar is a strong, impactful, timely and rocking album full of music with a message. It may not be what you expect to hear from the teen popstar we knew as Skye Sweetnam, but that doesn’t overshadow its quality. While there are elements of the previous album that I preferred, there are also elements here that are an improvement. Between the two is a fascinating fusion which I hope to hear on Sumo Cyco’s third album, whenever that may appear. In the meantime, this is a solid entry into a fast-expanding catalogue that I hope will make people, not only dance, but think.

RATING: 8/10 – ★★★★★★★★☆☆

But you don’t have to take my word for it…Listen to the album for yourself, and make up your own mind. Then you can let me know what you think of Sumo Cyco’s Opus Mar.

So, have you ever heard of Sumo Cyco, or Skye Sweetnam? What’s your favourite songs of theirs? Did you pre-order Opus Mar? What do you think? Did it live up to your expectations? Have I said anything you disagree with? Tell me & everyone else who passes through here what you think in the comment below.

To Infinity and Beyond,

Nitemice

Filed under: Leisure & Hobbies, Music, Reviews

#IFTTT #WordPress #Music #Leisure & Hobbies #Reviews

[thesinglesjukebox]

SAM HUNT - DRINKIN' TOO MUCH [5.33] What've we got here? Why, it's a CONTROVERSYBOMB!

Ramzi Awn: A bold experiment with a few good ideas, "Drinkin' Too Much" employs dark moments of candor to highlight a muddled mix. [5]

Olivia Rafferty: The heart and soul of country music is storytelling, which is why this track works so well. "Drinkin' Too Much" shifts the typical country subject of alcohol abuse to the context of sad man R&B, aka Drake's genre. The spoken verses contain a rawness that could only be conveyed with that style of delivery, and the lyrics themselves are so vivid. Lay this over a subtle blend of 808s and slide guitars, and you have a solid attempt to influence the direction of country music. Let the genre-mashing begin. [8]

Anthony Easton: John Prine, in a recent Rolling Stone cover story, spoke about how Dylan's Nashville Skyline broke apart country music for him (he was a folkie at the time): "Man, there's something there where their two paths crossed. My stuff belongs right in the middle." This is also in the middle: between soul and hip-hop, between the drinking and heartbreak of Nashville and the fame-wasted ennui of Kanye and Drake. But it's also at the bottom: the bottomed-out production, how Hunt trips over details, how he extends stories, how he never quite brags about his money, how his self-loathing bubbles up like swamp gas. It's the opposite of all those party songs, the opposite of Moore and Eldredge and Gilbert. It has a singular voice -- a songwriting voice, but also how he sings, a gravelly push that reinforces his production choices. It is the smartest thing he has done, and maybe the most heartfelt. [10]

Alfred Soto: I'm no country corn pone. I like electronic whooshes and the kind of manipulation of space more common on Drake or "Climax"-era Usher, but Sam Hunt can't even talk-sing without his sockless boat shoes tripping on his ill-lettered cadences. He comes off like a lunkier Chainsmoker, in the market for any hook that'll get him on the radio and laid -- two of his more admirable virtues. Find better songs, dude, and don't try so damn hard. [4]

Thomas Inskeep: This non-single posted on SoundCloud is the audio equivalent of a viral video, and like many viral videos, it's also essentially a journal entry set to music. Frankly, it's not up to snuff: this is him doing his rhyming couplets (he loves rhyming couplets) with a woozy rhythm track from Pro Tools or whatever. It also sounds a lot like a demo for Justin Bieber. Most of all, this is slightly creepy oversharing; I want a Silkwood shower after listening to it. [0]

Elisabeth Sanders: Everything about this is deeply embarrassing, and that's why I love it. While I can't pretend I like this as much as anything off Montevallo, it makes up for it with "I wish you'd let me pay your student loans," and I'd like to submit this as a great entry into a music category I'd like to call "voice-memo pathetic-wave." (The other artist in this genre is Mike Posner with his great, deeply pathetic album At Night, Alone.) The song approximates, sonically and with almost nauseating accuracy, the feeling of being just too drunk enough that the room is spinning a little, being very sad about something that might be your fault in a crowded place at 2 in the morning. BEEN THERE, SAM. [7]

Jonathan Bradley: In which Sam Hunt pens a letter to Montevallo's Courtney From Hooters On Peachtree and proves himself to not be country music's Drake, but rather its Mike Skinner. The hook is the weakest part; it doesn't resolve Hunt's thoughts but elides them. (The austere "8pm" take works better and is worth a point or two more.) There is frisson in a lyric that pushes too far past the fourth wall, threatening to combust as it reaches the event horizon -- for the non-country, non-rap examples to which "Drinkin' Too Much" draws nearest, look to emo acts like Cursive's The Ugly Organ or Say Anything's "Every Man Has a Molly." "Hope you know I'm still in love," Hunt closes, except it's a correspondence that is only intimate the way a performance is, and so his words are combustible as well as heartfelt. The sour sense that this song bears too much truth is its most compelling point but also its most repellent; Hunt is too casual in his exhibitionism. [5]

Will Adams: It feels right; we've reached the level of bleakness in our pop music that songs can now just be actual shitposts with first draft choruses tucked in. [3]

Katherine St Asaph: Did we need another country "Marvin's Room"? In every country review I keep harping on artists telling the same generic story addressed to the same imaginary sorority girl, but here's a lyric and addressee that are certainly not generic or imaginary, and I'm not sure what to think. If Sam Hunt's byline didn't scare off the traditionalists, the first vocoded note is almost deliberately scheduled to shoo away the rest (none of the subsequent vocal is so blatant), leaving a smaller audience of fans and an explicit audience of one specific, named girl. There's something inescapably creepy -- voyeuristically creepy for the listener, manipulatively creepy for the artist -- about this, this couple chords and a tirade. Most of his target demographic will hear this as romantic, but for those unfortunate enough to have been stalked, the details are so familiar as to be textbook: presenting her with his un-rebuttable imagination of her life, in which she stages the Everytime video every time she wants to cry, in which there's nowhere else in Georgia she can buy peaches, in which everything reminds her of him, or at least does now; reminding her of her debt while holding Montevallo money over her head; apologizing for boosting her profile while writing her name into a huge triumphant chorus; pondering "whether it's OK to lie" while careful to mention none of the indiscretions that got him there -- merely their consequences, which now seem unreasonable. Better to address this as fiction, then -- like most "autobiographical" songs by celebrities, somewhere between songwriting exercise and publicity stunt, because you don't cross over into pop and stay without some dating drama. What's left is slapdash: accurate-sounding candor spewed over a couple identikit country choruses, each piece well-crafted but only assemblable by a real-life happy ending. Which is the point, and the problem. [5]

Megan Harrington: Too much of my instant dislike of "Drinkin' Too Much" hinged on the preposterous way Sam Hunt apologized for (more or less) doxing his then ex-girlfriend, now fiancé Hannah Lee Fowler on his debut album Montevallo, only to turn around and close the song by singing her name. In case there were any straggler fans out there who hadn't quite put her identity together, I guess. It was incongruous in a way that grated on me until I realized that it was the perfect synecdoche for the song, one that indulges overwrought production as 40 as it was country and several different singing styles, including plain old talking. It's right there in the way he names her his first fan and then cheats on her, the way he dismisses her sisters as "matchmakers" but hopes her dad still prays for him. Real life is messy and filled with leaps forward followed by half-steps back, relationships are chaotic and confusing, and Hunt captures all of it, ending hopefully with a (sort of, he hopes) romantic pledge to win her back. And it (sort of, I think) worked? [7]

Crystal Leww: The first time I heard "Drinkin' Too Much," I did not like it. I did not like the 40-esque production, the sad sap lyrics, the way that Hunt called out his ex-girlfriend. Then I listened to the 8pm version, stripped of the production flourishes, and figured that it was just the production that was bugging me. The lyrics were sad, but they were so specific: peaches in Pelham, a hotel room in Arizona, and that devastating, heartbreaking "hope your dad still prays for me," a reminder that breakups are the deaths of families, too. I've never liked the comparisons to Drake -- Drake is someone who has clearly never been in an adult relationship with a real woman rather than a built-up image of a woman, but Montevallo and "Drinkin' Too Much" feel like they're about real adults who have genuinely loved each other and created lives together. I still like the 8pm version more, but I've come around on the full version. It's dramatic, but I appreciate the attempt to appeal to a broader audience, and it highlights that Hunt's lyricism shines through anything, even snaps and strings. [7]

Josh Langhoff: A prof used to tell us, "People who are sorry weep bitter tears." I don't buy Sam Hunt's sorrow. Nor do I buy that this song has a melody or a beat, that it has any connection to country or R&B, that this is the same Sam Hunt who did "House Party," or that picking peaches is anything but the pits. More schnapps! [3]

Katie Gill: Look, I'm sorry, I can't hate this. With the exception of that "I hope your dad still prays for me" bit, the verses are awful, not singing but the Sam Hunt Spoken Word Poetry Hour. They swing between endearingly hokey and the awful Nice Guy sort of patronizing that was the entirety of "Take Your Time." But the chorus is AMAZING. It's so silky and smooth, perfectly mixed, and Hunt shows that he has a halfway decent R&B(ish) voice. But the two never really meet. The transition between verse and chorus is awkward every time, as the buttery-smooth chorus butts up against the not very smooth speaking voice of Sam Hunt. [6]

Joshua Copperman: I keep singing this title to the tune of Twenty One Pilots' "Ride", attempting to remember what little melody this song has ("I've been drinking too much, help me..."). Until the bridge -- which would make a better chorus -- nothing is worth remembering: not the strings, not the drum machine, and especially not the single strum of guitar to signify that it's still country. What made "Marvin's Room" work was the honesty and subtextual self-loathing that Drake would spend the rest of his career distilling. This seems less stream-of-consciousness and more trying to write stream-of-consciousness, which rarely works as well and results in lines like "I wish you'd let me pay off your student loans." The dramatic piano ending makes clear Sam Hunt's lack of shame in copying Aubrey, but that just makes him sound even less authentic, even though the backstory contains more than enough drama for something genuine. [3]

Edward Okulicz: The first time I misheard the line as as "I'm sorry for making the album Montevallo," but this sketch wouldn't be a repudiation even if he were sorry for that. And it's really not that much more than a series of lyrical fragments and a chorus, but I find myself nodding along at some parts, and being frustrated at the lack of detail in others, and going to the "Personal life" details of his Wikipedia article to see the resolution. So that means it's fairly compelling for its limitations. [7]

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