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#Indomitable!AU
crassussativum · 14 days
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@turianspeedjunkie
Feeling every possible level of awkward and fucking wrong, Mav was doing his damnedest to "run into" Seamus' daughter Isabella. As his cover Linnaeus of course, timid and not all that much older than her, it still... How did you even talk to teenagers?
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turianspeedjunkie · 10 days
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@crassussativum
Dius kept tags on Isabella that evening. Watched her lounge around the kitchen with her mother for a couple of hours before she headed upstairs. Darting around the garden like a shadow. He watched Seamus make supper, and then sit in front of the TV until it was time to go to bed. Completely normal people stuff. And as he stood there, watching Isabella move about her bedroom through the light coming through the rolled down blinds, it hit him how very non normal his own life was. He'd never had any of this. Was this what Mav pictured when he spoke about dreams for a family? Well... It would never happen for Dius anyway. A mate just wasn't for him. He would never dream to be that lucky.
Dius found himself a good perch, halfway up a tree, where the leaves and branches would hide him, but he still had some view into Isabella's room. He brought up his tool, turning off the lights on the thing and texted Mav.
[text] They're all home. Things are calm for now. But you never know. So I'm spending the night outside their house.
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direwolfrules · 1 year
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Another Mando Time Travel AU (I Don't Know What This Is This Started As A Totally Different AU We Don't Even Get To The Time Travel Till The End)
Tarre Vizsla's relatively peaceful afterlife is rudely disrupted by one Jaster Mereel. Now every time the Ka'ra meets, Jaster's always talking about his son.
It only gets worse after Galidraan, and honestly, Tarre can sympathize. He too would curse up a storm if his entire movement was slaughtered and his son sold into slavery. He actually did perform some of the more colorful acts of vengeance that Jaster describes, all those years ago when he was crude matter, and the Sith had kidnapped his padawan. It was part of what had made him leave the Order, once the Sith had been defeated. The shame of those moments of raw, unadulterated violence, the whispers in the halls that perhaps he was simply too Mandalorian...they had followed him since he was a babe in the creche, but towards the end they had grown in number and volume.
Then one day, Jaster starts cursing Jango's name. It honestly shocks Tarre enough that he breaks his most important rule: not engaging in conversation with Mand'alor the Ridiculously Loud. He's curious, sue him.
(Inside his head Tarre cannot help but chuckle, because his master had often said his curiosity would be the death of him. Now that Tarre was dead, would it be the life of him? He doesn't know. All he knows is his friend Fay would have groaned at that poor excuse for a joke.)
Turns out Jaster's son, his precious boy, his poor, brutalized child, has decided to help in a Sith plot that would see the Jedi destroyed, all for the low price of millions of enslaved sentients.
Tarre – who avoided looking at the affairs of the living after his descendants sacked Coruscant and stole the Darksaber from the Temple where he left it, turning his tool for peacekeeping into a weapon of war and giving the anti-Mando factions in the Senate all the ammunition they needed to unleash the Dral'Han – tunes back in. He's horrified by what he sees.
He can't help but watch as the Clone Wars wages through the galaxy, as Manda'yaim is subjugated by the Empire, as Mando'ade are so brainwashed by the Sith (and oh how it burns, that the ancient enemy managed to slip through their fingers all those years ago) and their propaganda that they build the very weapons the Empire turns on their fellow verde. His brief moment of jubilation at seeing the Mandalorian rebellion nearly succeed is crushed by the Night of a Thousand Tears.
It's horrible, and made even worse by the realization that out there in the darkest edges of the galaxy, hidden away like the spider-roaches they are, the Sith survive. They had devastated his people, both his peoples, and they had survived with plans to do it all over again.
The Ka'ra meets more frequently now than anytime in Tarre's memory since the Dral'Han. Or the first Dral'Han, he supposes.
Things had gone so wrong, the Manda was full of souls who had lived too-short lives and the Force was constantly screaming in pain. Mandalore, Geonosis, Alderaan, Serenno, all were devastated by an ill-tempered madman high on the pain he caused and his army of sycophants. That much needless, senseless death leaves lasting scars on the fabric of the galaxy.
"If we could go back and fix it all..." It's Mandalore the Binder who says it. Harswee's greatest native son had been silent since the burning of his homeworld's fields. Where once there had been herds of wooly-nerfs and banthas grazing without care, now there was only blackened ash. To hear him speak now in that rumbling, gravely drawl of his...they cannot help but all pay attention.
It's a simple statement, one that most of their number had been thinking, but never said aloud. What was the use in longing for the impossible?
But then, Tarre thinks, is it really so impossible?
Tarre's curiosity would be the death of him, his old master used to declare, before indulging his inquisitive padawan's bad habits. Sometimes, such indulgences led to Tarre and his dearest friend exploring long abandoned Temples with little to no supervision. And in one of those Temples, there had been holocron upon holocron dedicated to the study of Time and it's relation to the Force.
It was Fay who put together the fragmented ramblings of half-mad acolytes, the accounts of failed rituals. It was Fay – who the Force loved so deeply even then – who figured out how such a ritual would work. And it was Tarre who she chose to share this information with.
It was heretical, a piece of the Force that tread dangerously close to the Dark. Tarre had shoved that knowledge, that terrible burden his dearest friend had inflicted upon him, deep into the recesses of his mind, never to be accessed again. Until now.
To fix it all, to send back the consciousnesses and/or bodies of a few chosen champions...it's tempting. It tempts Tarre almost as much as the Dark did during that one horrid year, when his master had been killed, his riduur assassinated, his people ripping themselves apart—
He brings it before the Council of Kings. It's the only way to be sure he's not being guided by his own selfish desires. The Mandalores of the past are a vast group, filled with individuals as varied as the stars for which they are named.
The vote is a close run thing. For all the Mandalores who ascended to the position through their love for their people, there are just as many who rose to power through force of arms or hatred of the Jedi. Many of the latter view Tarre's very presence as an insult, as do some of the former.
Surprisingly, it's Mandalore the Indomitable who breaks the tie. The former Mand'alor had served his Sith master faithfully in life, had died to fulfill his oath, and millennia later the Sith repaid his sacrifice with the blood of millions of his own people. He detests the Jedi, he makes this point very clear, but he loves his people more. Let the jetii in their ranks perform his Force osik. Even if the very thought of such an act makes him feel sick to his stomach, the survival of their people and their Creed is more important.
With the vote decided, Tarre merely has to pick his Champions. The range of the ritual can only go so far back. The Force is infinite, but Tarre's presence within it is not. He had gone through great lengths during his early life to not seem too strong, too much of a threat, and his efforts had resulted in a rather limited way of thinking.
He brings in Jaster to help make the decision. As annoying as the man could be, as much as Tarre disagreed with him on matters of morality and honor, he was quite knowledgeable about the destination time period. Both of them made their careers not just on the strength of their arms, but in the force of their personalities. They know what they need to look for in potential champions: those who would follow the orders of the dead, those whose skill set would prove apt for their designated theaters of war, and those who could be manipulated through their honor and beliefs.
That last one, the manipulation, it leaves a sour taste in Tarre's mouth, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.
In their dreams that night, two young Mandalorians and a Jedi are offered a choice by Tarre. They all accept.
Simultaneously, at the very edges of the Manda a father speaks to his son for the first time in many years, and in the face of his buir's stern disappointment the son reverts back to that orphaned fourteen-year-old. He agrees to his orders, and dreads facing his greatest mistake.
And in the Force, the essence of what was once a young knight who sacrificed himself for his family is plucked away from the collectiveness he had been lost in, and offered a similar choice. He eagerly accepts.
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onaperduamedee · 1 year
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Not maintagging because this is dangerously close to shitposting but her face as Nyn and Egwene walk in cracks me up:
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About to indulge in a smidge of rhetoric mastery to persuade twenty-somethings to save the world.
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annachum · 3 days
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Julius Caesar and Cleopatra VII's wedding in that Asterix Hillbilly AU ( once again crediting @romaine-arts for that wonderful AU )
. Okay so it's a lavish June wedding
. After around a year of dating, Julius Caesar and Cleopatra VII finally tied the knot
. That wedding is held in Caesar's big Nashville mansion, with a bunch of celebrities and everybody be dressed to the nines
. Irina is there amongst the bridesmaids of that wedding btw
. In that wedding, Caesar wore a snappy black and white tuxedo with a red rose corsage
. And Cleopatra VII wore a gorgeous ivory mermaid wedding gown with a backless cut, long fingerless matching gloves, a lacy veil attached to that updo which was decorated with Pearls and a white rose wreath, ans ivory heels. The edges of the dress and gloves are laced with Italian lace btw
. The groomsmen all wore red and black tuxedos and the bridesmaids all wore different shades of blue gowns
. The wedding is a total blast - a fancy buffet, free flowing fancy wine and all that
. It is one of the highlight celebrity weddings of the year btw
. Meanwhile back at Asterix's Hillbilly town they all be watching some stuff of that celebrity wedding from their TVs ans then Geriatrix goes, ' Here we go, Caesar has now taken a new young bride. '
Taillefine : A little like us, honey pie
Geriatrix : Why, yes, dearie, but in my eyes you are more beautiful than Cleopatra
Taillefine : Awwww * blushes and kisses a smiling Geriatrix on the cheek *
. Those Indomitable Gauls be watching that wedding like it's some reality TV show lol - snacks and all that.
. At that wedding, they got Volumnia Cytheris to perform as a guest performer. She shows up in a gorgeous black and gold dress pop attire and Mark Antony is ALL OVER HER THAT EVENING
. Yeah well all the grown ups in that wedding went roaring drunk and pretty soon Caesar and Cleopatra are drunk rag dogging at Caesar's suite room lol.
. Julius Caesar and Cleopatra's wedding dance song is ' I just called to say I love you ' by Stevie Wonder
. Also after that wedding, Caesar and Cleopatra went on a 2 week honeymoon in Egypt ( cruising down a part of the Nile and back again ), similarly with IRL.
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hashketchum2 · 1 year
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grown ash waltzing through the delia's front door, as he's (quite sporadically) wont to do, so happy to be home and see his mom.
delia remembers a time she'd see his smaller figure lumbering down the hall and feel nothing but radiant joy that her son had come to visit.
nowadays, there is but a microsecond of some unnameable feeling, like a solitary bead of ice crawling down her spine. just before the light at his back recedes and she can see his face in the shade of the hallway, just for that tiny split second —
she wonders if his father, her husband, has finally found his way home.
but it's never him. always ash. he looks so much like him now... no, no, perhaps ash has even outgrown him. who can say?
ash's 36th birthday approaches. delia never even got to celebrate his father's 25th with him.
who can say anymore?
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aceparagoned · 1 year
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TAG DUMP THE VERSE STRIKES BACK
☆ VERSE: MAIN ☆ a world ravaged by war; yet still stands strong due to the efforts of protector vita and the pipe. ☆ VERSE: THE CHILD WHO WOULD PROTECT THE WORLD ONE DAY ☆ this is her beginning; the cosmos shall guide her. ☆ VERSE: PERSONA 5 ☆ BREAK THE CHAINS THAT BIND YOU TO SOCIETY'S EXPECTATIONS — foster your rebellion. ☆ VERSE: FF7 (AU) ☆ a former turk — i chose my morals above anything else; you won’t make me bend to your will. ☆ VERSE: FFXIV ☆ from an adventurer ascending to the warrior of light; a beacon of hope and bastion of strength for the realm. ☆ VERSE: DEVIL MAY CRY ☆ oh how the sun’s radiance shines within you child of Amaterasu; for you wield Her blessing to protect humankind. ☆ VERSE: IDOL ☆ may my voice raise you higher & higher with hope; inspire you to achieve your dreams; watch me as I shine with this melody. ☆ VERSE: HONKAI IMPACT 3RD ☆ inside resides the undying flame known as humanity’s hope; for as long as I am able I vow to never give up. ☆ VERSE: YU YU HAKUSHO ☆ a mortal I may be; but you’d do well to remember there is an indomitable spirit within me that will never go out. ☆ VERSE: SAILOR MOON ☆ another time; another reality; yet we share the same purpose—to protect the galaxy from cosmic threats. ☆ VERSE: BNHA ☆ magic flows through your veins; will you use it to create or to destroy? how silly to ask since you have a hero’s heart. ☆ VERSE: BAD END ☆ what are you willing to sacrifice so as to save the galaxy? Everything; even one's own humanity to end this war.
#☆ VERSE: MAIN ☆ a world ravaged by war; yet still stands strong due to the efforts of protector vita and the pipe.#☆ VERSE: THE CHILD WHO WOULD PROTECT THE WORLD ONE DAY ☆ this is her beginning; the cosmos shall guide her.#☆ VERSE: PERSONA 5 ☆ BREAK THE CHAINS THAT BIND YOU TO SOCIETY'S EXPECTATIONS — foster your rebellion.#☆ VERSE: FF7 (AU) ☆ a former turk — i chose my morals above anything else; you won’t make me bend to your will.#☆ VERSE: FFXIV ☆ from an adventurer ascending to the warrior of light; a beacon of hope and bastion of strength for the realm.#☆ VERSE: DEVIL MAY CRY ☆ oh how the sun’s radiance shines within you child of Amaterasu; for you wield Her blessing to protect humankind.#☆ VERSE: IDOL ☆ may my voice raise you higher & higher with hope; inspire you to achieve your dreams; watch me as I shine with this melody.#☆ VERSE: HONKAI IMPACT 3RD ☆ inside resides the undying flame known as humanity’s hope; for as long as I am able I vow to never give up.#☆ VERSE: YU YU HAKUSHO ☆ a mortal I may be; but you’d do well to remember there is an indomitable spirit within me that will never go out.#☆ VERSE: SAILOR MOON ☆ another time; another reality; yet we share the same purpose—to protect the galaxy from cosmic threats.#☆ VERSE: BNHA ☆ magic flows through your veins; will you use it to create or to destroy? how silly to ask since you have a hero’s heart.#☆ VERSE: BAD END ☆ what are you willing to sacrifice so as to save the galaxy? Everything; even one's own humanity to end this war.
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hushgore · 8 months
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finally decided to block the jonmartin tag, i fucking love TMA but y'all motherfuckers annoy me. am i the only TMA fan who wanted to see Jon be allowed to be an avatar? its a story about Jon uncomfortably riding the line between his newfound power and his humanity and he rides it poorly. this is not a critique of the writing, because forcing your character to stay riding that line takes skill. its easy to just say "fuck this tension" and pull it one way or the other.
i commend TMA for doing that. Jon is too monstrous for his cohorts to accept him and he still does too much avatar shit to be seen as a good person by his peers, but he's not enough of an avatar to be accepted by that world.
he's trying to be a good person despite his changing nature, despite those around him refusing to accept his efforts, and in the end his last few "freinds" don't even trust him, they go "oh he's gonna do that stupid thing" Jon says "no i won't you assholes" and then does it anyway, proving that he never could resist his nature.
it never feels like Jon is in control of his own life, and it feels like the narrative never sympathizes with that. amd it feels like he's fighting for acceptance by his former friends that will only ever be given conditionally.
to me, Jon's feelings for Martin come out of nowhere, one day he hates him and then slowly, for no reason, he's falling in love with him. it might just be that im Aro but what do they know about each other? what do they have in common? all they do is bicker, fuss, and act sweet to each other, and then Martin Oh So Lovingly tells Jon that he'll be irredeemably evil if he isn't constantly fighting his own nature.
it Feels Weird man!!
i don't know why they are in love! i feel like Jon never got a say in his life! and i feel like Jon is fighting for friendships that won't treat him well anyway. he feels like the ounching bag of the narrative and the story is telling us "this is just, this is right"
I've had a lot of conditional acceptance in my life, so of course this irks me more than it would with others, but you know what? fuck it man.
jonmartin pisses me off, so I'm not looking at it anymore. self care, bitch
#man now i wanna write a villain jon AU#story is normyup until the unknowing and then when Jon wakes up he realizes just how horribly everyone is treating him#he knows its because he's becoming the thing they are fighting and he tries explaining he's not in control of the change#“well work hard to fight it!” “oh then you work hard to never kill or do harm since its so easy! you know plants feel pain too-#“-cant even use the excuse of 'oh im vegan' you will never live a harmless life. im trying my fucking best” “try HARDER” “FUCK YOU”#Jon would still fight the rituals because a world without the archive would starve him#Jonah would still try and direct Jon but Jon would be like “fuck you dude i don't care what you're turning me into”#maybe at some point Martin comes to Jon and is like “i see you're trying hard and im so glad you're trying to do the right thing”#Jon snaps at him like “oh so you only care if I'm doing what you want me to??” “no it's just its the right thing”#“im not arguing the morality of my choices martin. im pointing out how you said you'd always be by my side and when these things started-#HAPPENING TO ME. not chose. forced. you acted like it was ny fault for being weaker than forces beyond my comprehension“#yes yes indomitable human spirit but i am one man. Martin. and none of you cared to learn how to help me“#you all stood on the sidelines and booed. i wanted help. i wanted to get better. but all of you just said it was my fault for being a“#victim in the first place. so fuck you Martin. i don't care if you still think you care. you left me to rot“#sorry for learning how to live in the mold and spores of my life“
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its-tortle · 5 months
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firstprince fic recs 👑🇺🇸
put this together for my bestie a few weeks ago and thought i may as well share it here :)
(baby) don't make me spell it out by extaswings - 2k - the most popular proposal fic and for good reason omg
fsotus & hrh feat. the web's most searched questions [for approval] by loveonpurpose - 2.4k - silly little transscript of alex and henry doing the most searched questions interview
class(room) warfare by @cha-melodius - 7.7k - alex and henry are both professors and alex doesn't wipe the board before henry teaches in that room so he has to write a strongly worded email that obviously turns into argue-flirting, and so on.
what we might do (if we stop keeping a secret) by @indomitable-love - 8k - lovely lovely au where their emails don't get leaked and they get to come out how they want to. bonus points for the bleachers title
am i the asshole by @everwitch-magiks - 9.5k - a fun reddit aita gets posted and everyone thinks they should fuck
right at home by @omgcmere - 10k - college au with a library study buddies meet-cute and a little fake relationship schtick
all the old showstoppers by @cha-melodius - 20k - in an au where alex didn't go to the royal wedding, they meet a few years later on bake off
god save the blessed american president mom by @zipadeea - 31k - someone attempts an assasination on ellen, and alex gets hit instead. this fic is absolutely amazing. make sure you have tissues tho
rule number nine by clottedcreamfudge - 43k - the kissing booth au that is way better than the movie
hit (my love) out of the park by bleedingballroomfloor - 49k - baseball au!!
and history remembered by sherryvalli - 55k wip!! - rwrb from the perspective of twitter in the rwrb-verse. so so so well done it all feels so real i am screaming
camp llwynywermod by bleedingballroomfloor - 56k - camp couselor au!!
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rwrbficrecs · 5 months
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Here's our October recs ❤️ also, look at our new banner !! 🥰 Happy reading !! I’m just too soft for all of it by @bellamysgriffinprincess (book/movie-verse)
@dot524: This is a sweet one shot where Henry is struggling with depression, Alex drops everything to be with him, and they comfort each other. Very well done.
Confidential Memorandum by @sherryvalli (book-verse)
@wilmonsfolklore: this is such a sweet kidfic. Henry is Alex's boss, and Alex keeps getting calls from Henry's daughter when Henry is busy. It's heartwarming and comforting and the dialogue is wonderfully written, especially their love confessions.
@babiemonk: the perfect lighthearted kidfic! The child dynamic is perfect and the humor is spot-on. If you’re looking for a fun, feel good, story with some domestic fluffiness this is it.
@rmd-writes: a sweet, funny fic with excellent banter, and a stellar supporting cast of OCs. It quite literally made my face do this: 🥰 I saved it with the note "read when you need to feel better about the universe).
Aged Like a Fine Wine by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)
@babiemonk: Alex and Henry are older now and cakegate never happened. There’s lots of emotions and angst and growth and it’s really quite beautiful but also tragic at times. It hurt my heart and my feelings before putting them back together again.
In my dreams (In your dreams) by @lizzie-bennetdarcy (book-verse)
@babiemonk: very cute drunken love confessions— absolutely precious friends to lovers
all of our love filling all of our room by @kill8a (book-verse)
@inexplicablymine: this is so incredibly soft and childhood friends to lovers I have reread this more times than I’m willing to admit
Help Me Hold On To You by @affectionatelyrs (book-verse)
@read-and-write-: A one- shot, a very cathartic one about the aftermath of a fight between Alex and Henry. This is one to cry from beginning to end, it's beautifully written and you will be left speechless.
flatline by rizcriz (book-verse)
@wilmonsfolklore: exes to lovers is one of my favourite tropes and this work shows perfectly how naturally and fully Henry and Alex love each other. it's sad and heartbreaking but it has a happy ending that makes the crying all worth it.
What I Need Tonight by @sparklepocalypse (book-verse)
@zwiazdziarka: This fic was written for Kinktober's prompt "selfcest", which for some might be sound a little too weird, but that's exactly why I picked this one as my monthly fave. If you like reading smut, give this a chance. Yes, it's hot but also emotional and it has Oxford-time slutty Henry!
heartbeats under coats by @hypnostheory (book-verse)
@heybuddy-drabbles: one of my favorite works to come out of FirstPrince week. It's really sweet and sexy. There was only one bed at its finest.
All Booked Up by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)
@heybuddy-drabbles: another FirstPrince week gem. This was just so beautiful. Alex and Henry meet during a vacation, spend three perfect days together and then loose contact until June and Nora force Alex to read a book they both love and something about it makes Alex think of Henry. I absolutely fell in love with it.
@rmd-writes: it's no secret that I'm an allmylovesatonce fan and this is one of my ultimate favourites of hers. A very cleverly told love story, with some wonderful June and Nora content as a bonus!
praying our bridges don’t make waves by @anincompletelist (book-verse)
@rhubarb1210: This fic is such a cool take on soulmates. Henry agrees to pretend to be Alex’s soulmate to get June health insurance. Lots of universe building. And I can’t give away more! Inspired by Fractured by @clottedcreamfudge
everything's growing in our garden by matherine (book-verse with a few movie elements)
@indomitable-love: Absolutely loved this hanahaki fic – the pacing and tension are so good, the relevance of all the different flowers is just beautiful
It's Nice to Have a Friend by @mainstreamelectricalparade (book-verse)
@read-and-write-: Childhood Best Friends to lovers AU, where Henry, the prince of england meets another boy during a holiday, they send each other letters and they fall in love, it's soft and it's beautiful, a love that tascends the page and is reflected on all the characters actions.
I feel the beating of your heart, I see the shadows on your face by @anincompletelist (book-verse)
@daisymae-12: This fic has such an interesting premise, and although I’ve never been into the bodyswap trope I’m so glad I gave this one a chance. It was done so incredibly well and was such a fun, wholesome fic.
Henry Fox, All-American Hero by @tintagel-or-cockleshells (book-verse)
@daisymae-12: This is a fic inspired by Meg Cabot’s All American Girl (which I am a huge fan of) and everything about this fic had me screaming in delight. Loved this so much, I’m obsessed.
maybe take me into your room by @smc-27 (book-verse)
@thesleepyskipper: Alex and Henry are both the children of ambassadors to Canada from their respective countries in this lovely AU. Friends-to-lovers perfection, this was so, so good.
a degree of fate by @softlofty (book/movie-verse)
@dot524: In this AU, Alex and Henry meet as university students. This is a sweet get-together fic with depth and heart.
It's Tradition by @f-ing-ruthless-baz (book-verse)
@zwiazdziarka: Alex and Henry's soulmate bond revealed itself publicly and now they have to act like they're in love, even though they hate each other. This fic is such an excellent use of soulmate trope and looks into so many possiblities in a world were soulmate bonds exsist. It's also super funny, a little angsty and Alex is even more oblivious than usually.
I’d be smart to walk away (but you’re quicksand) by @littlemisskittentoes (book/movie-verse)
@dot524: Such a wonderful, heartfelt 5+1 based on canon events when Henry walked away and one where he stayed.
Catalyst of Change by @uglygreenjacket (book-verse)
@myheartalivewrites: an AU that’s pretty close to canon in some ways: Alex (still a well known child of politicians) and Henry (still a prince) meet as students in Edinburgh. This story is sweet and gentle and heart wrenching at points, but also incredibly uplifting in Henry and Alex’s determination to be together no matter the obstacles. And the Scottish setting is gorgeous and really evocative.
Ghosted by @tintagel-or-cockleshells (book-verse)
@suseagull04: Twists and turns abound in this story that borders the line between life and death. I love the depth of the plot and just how deeply and quickly Alex and Henry fall for each other- and the fantasy aspect immediately put this high on my list of faves! Not to mention all the great references to my favorite things throughout the fic. This fic is amazing!
Such a Burden, This Flame on My Chest by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)
@heybuddy-drabbles: a 911 Lone Star!AU very angsty but with a happy ending. Alex going through grief felt really fucking relatable. It's also spicy in contrast with the angst.
But I love him, whether or no. by @leaves-of-laurelin (book-verse)
@dot524: This firefighter AU is one of my favorite RWRB fics ever, and I’m glad I was able to follow it from WIP status to complete this month. Alex as a firefighter is irresistible (Henry thinks so too) and somehow these two feel so true to character even in a completely different context. There are so many fun scenes here - riding a bull, an airport scene, shenanigans at a fire station, sentimental piano playing - but none of them are forced. Truly a wonderful fic that I know I’ll be returning to again and again.
@wilmonsfolklore: seconding this one so so so much!! read it in one sitting and have been thinking about it ever since then. there are so many heartfelt and sweet conversations in it. everyone's so true to their character in such a different situation. can not recommend it enough
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crassussativum · 18 days
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@turianspeedjunkie
Siska had bought down all the blankets and pillows he could find. He wanted Cato to be able to build a proper nest, it had seemed important to the boy. So he put them all on the bed and went into the shower. Only stopping long enough to pull Cato into his arms on the way there, and give him a long kiss. He couldn't get those tones out of his head and Siska did a deep dive among his memories as he stood in the shower, cleaning off today's mishap.
He found it in a box he'd stashed away, labeled private, secret, dreams. The first time he told Dius he loved him.
Siska came out of the shower a few minutes later, got into the soft clothes Cato had put out for him. Face deep in thought, he padded on soft feet out to see what the boy had built.
......
Siska had more blankets and pillows than Cato would have thought and at some point, he promised himself, he'd go see what other neat things were in the attic. But not now. Now, he was busy arranging said pillows and blankets.
He fluffed the pillows to make them softer and made sure that only the softest blankets were near the center of the nest where they would lay. Cato purred to himself as he worked, making everything perfect and comfortable and just right. He'd never made a nest to share before, not in the same context. He'd made them with friends and family, little places to curl up and nap or just snuggle and talk.
This nest was different though. It was to show Siska that he loved him.
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turianspeedjunkie · 10 months
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@crassussativum
They’d skirted the range of the EMP Mav had built, activating it, on their way to the pizza place they’d started to favor. The only sign it was working was the way a light in a window blinked and went out, leaving the building in darkness. So Dius and Mav had continued on to grab some food. Which was just as good as they remembered. 
Right now the plate was half empty and they were a few beers into the evening. “So the call comes through right?” Dius was telling him about one of his and his units’ former missions gone wrong. They’d started out the evening as their roles, but as the time went on, alcohol consumed, and the pizza place kept being half empty of guests, the masks had slipped and now it was anyone’s guess who they were. “And remember, I’m hanging outside along the wall of this building, twenty-five stories from the ground, to get to this signal. Harness digging in. Cars going by just a couple of arm-lengths behind my back. And I’m trying to blend in and not be spotted by any of them. Sure it’s dark, but if a headlight caught me just right...? Yeah. And I’m thinking, pull me up already? What’s taking so long?” he chuckled, running a hand the length of his fringe.
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thewriterwithnoplan · 2 months
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THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)
Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.
Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.
Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)
Word Count: 4296
Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.
Masterlist
You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.
Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.
Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.
Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.
Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.
Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.
“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.
Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.
“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”
The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-
Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.
“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”
“She is my only daughter.”
“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”
“She is a child.”
“A Targaryen child.”
“She is my child.”
“Then let her prove it.”
“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”
“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”
“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)
“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”
“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.
“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”
And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.
So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.
“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.
As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.
You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.
A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)
You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.
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There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.
One.
You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.
“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.
“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”
“Do you not offer him food?”
The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”
“Offer him better.”
“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”
“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”
“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”
And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.
Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”
Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”
And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.
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Two.
Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.
“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”
“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.
You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”
“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)
“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”
Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.
“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”
Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”
“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”
“Not my brother?”
“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”
“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”
“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.
“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”
“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.” 
“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”
And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.
But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.
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Three.
It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.
You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.
Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.
So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.
Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.
And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.
“Father.” She greets.
“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”
The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”
“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”
“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.
“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”
“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”
“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.
You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”
“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.
You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”
“Very well.”
“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”
“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.
“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”
No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.
“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.
“It is my duty to my house.”
He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”
To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.
“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”
He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.
“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”
Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.
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Four.
The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.
At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.
“Mother?”
Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.  
“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”
You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”
“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”
“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.
“Your grandsire is dead.”
You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”
“Yes.”
“You did not wish for this.”
“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”
“That is not a solution.”
She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”
You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.
“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.
“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”
Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.
“What of my brothers?”
Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”
“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”
“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”
“She has gone to Dragonstone?”
“She has.”
“And no one has come for me?”
“They have not.”
For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.
“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”
Your fear swells, “Mother.”
“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”
“I don’t understand.”
She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”
“I ca–”
“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”
“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.
“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”
“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”
Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.
“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”
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Five.
You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.
You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.
(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)
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thot-of-khonshu · 3 months
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All Access, Chapter 1
All Access Masterlist | Ko-Fi | A03 Link
Pairing: 70s rockstar! frankie morales x f! reader
Rating: 18+ (explicit, minors do not interact)
Word Count: 6.4K
Summary: It's 1975 and you're one of the rare women given the opportunity to write for Rolling Stone. When you get the opportunity of a lifetime to travel with the hottest band in the US, Triple Frontier, you're welcomed into their den of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. But what happens when you fall for their bass player and it becomes more than just a story?
Content: explicit drug use, heavy partying, triple frontier as rockstars, eventual smut, 1975 au
A/N: Thank you so so so much to my beta readers @heythere-mel, @proxima-writes, @nostalxgic, and @pedropascal-whore I am so insanely, eternally grateful you have no idea! Thank you to anyone who has been waiting for this story since it was just a random idea in 2022. I hope you all enjoy it and it makes you sing as loudly as Santiago.
TRIPLE FRONTIER: FROM BATTLEFIELDS TO CENTER STAGE
As the dust of the Vietnam War settles, a new sound emerges from its ashes. Four war veterans—Santiago, Benny, Will, and Frankie—unite under a new banner, Triple Frontier, capturing the soul of a generation seeking peace, love, and rock 'n' roll.
Triple Frontier's latest self-titled album strikes a chord with raw passion and unflinching honesty of their previous work. We can trace their meteoric rise in the music world back to their time serving together in the Vietnam War, an experience that has left an indelible mark on each member and seeps into every note they play.
At the forefront is Santiago Garcia, the charismatic lead singer with vocals matched only by his charm and stage presence; Behind Santiago, Benny Miller lets loose on the drums, laying down the heartbeat of their sound. Will, Benny's older brother on lead guitar, is the soul of the band. He's intuitive and artistic with the guitar akin to Robbie Robertson.
And then there's Francisco Morales on bass. The stoic backbone of the group, his basslines are more than just musical notes—they're lifelines. His bass weaves the music together like a thread that ties each member of the band.
Tom Davis, their manager, has been instrumental in their rise. A fellow vet, he understands their shared history and has transformed their raw, visceral tales into a finely-tuned musical odyssey. Speaking about their journey, Tom says, "These boys have stories that the world needs to hear. I'm just helping amplify their voices."
The band's name, Triple Frontier, references the tri-border area in Southeast Asia—a location many veterans from the Vietnam War will recognize.
Despite the weight of their past, or perhaps because of it, Triple Frontier brings a refreshing authenticity to the rock scene. Their music isn't just entertainment; it's a balm, a therapy, a reminder of the indomitable human spirit.
As they gear up for their nationwide tour, one thing's for certain: Triple Frontier is here to stay, and they're just getting started.
Despite your boss stating he just needed a simple puff piece about Triple Frontier, whenever you reread that review you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when you saw your name in print in Rolling Stone. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
You were on the fast track to doing something big at Rolling Stone by the time you were thirty, you could just feel it. After freelance writing post graduation from college, you landed an entry-level job at the magazine. You knew what you were getting into, the long hours and the male-dominated office could be a lot at times, but you were living the dream as far as you were concerned. To write about music and make it your living was a gift you never wanted to take for granted.
It was a Tuesday afternoon and you were done at work surprisingly early. You lugged your 1969 Dodge home and immediately went to the back patio to light a joint. You slunk back in your chair, inhaling deeply from the joint, and watched the sun dip lower behind the tree line; the warm glow of the Los Angeles sunset never got old. As the smoke filled your lungs, you felt the day slowly dissipate.
The sound of your phone ringing jolted you out of your high-induced stupor but you heard your roommate Jenna flit across the house and yell "I'll get it!" before answering. You took another deep pull off the joint and exhaled, watching the smoke dance around the sky as it faded out.
You heard Jenna call your name from inside. You walked into the kitchen and saw her standing with the phone receiver in her hand, she was looking at you with an expectant expression.
"Who is it?" You asked.
"Some guy named Tom Davis? Sounds foxy." She grinned at you and wiggled her eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and swatted her away before taking the phone from her.
"Hello?"
"Hey! I hope you don't mind me calling you at home. Your work number was listed in the phone book, but I didn't know if you'd want to take this call in the office or not. Figured home was probably better."
You had talked to Tom a month back for the Triple Frontier article. You remembered him as a no-nonsense type of guy who didn't beat around the bush, so you knew even though he was calling you at home it wasn't for a dinner party.
"No, that's okay. What can I do for you? I hope the article came out okay?"
"That's actually why I'm calling, I wanted to thank you again for doing such a great job. The guys really loved it and the boss did too. And we've had some new interest in the band and they think an interview series might be a good way to build some buzz during the tour."
You felt excitement bubble up in your stomach. You didn't want to be presumptuous and assume this was an offer, but you also didn't want to say no.
"I'd love to write more about them! I'm not sure if you just want a song by song review or..."
Tom chuckled on the other end.
"Nah, nothing like that. I know this is actually last minute but we're playing a show at the Troubadour on Friday night and we'd love for you to come. I've already cleared it with your editor at Rolling Stone if you're game."
You tried not to sound too eager. Of course you knew about the Troubadour show, it had been sold out for months. You knew this wasn't an easy ticket to score or an opportunity that just falls into your lap like this.
"I would be an idiot to say no."
"That's what I like to hear! I'll be in touch with more details, but I'll have your ticket and backstage pass ready for you on Friday night."
"Awesome, thank you so much."
"Thank you, we'll talk soon!"
He hung up the phone. You stood in the kitchen with the receiver in your hand. You felt like someone had just punched you in the gut, you couldn't believe it. The Troubadour, backstage passes, exclusive interviews... it was the break you'd been waiting for.
This was real rock journalism, the rock journalism your mom cried over when you said you wanted to move out west and pursue this as a career.
Will Mom still think you're dabbling with the devil if your name is under the biggest story for Rolling Stone with the hottest band in the country?
-------------------------
By the time Friday night rolled around, you felt like you had a permanent case of butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't often you had the opportunity to attend a show and not write about it, so the fact that you had no other reason for going besides seeing the band was enough to set your nerves on fire. But meeting them?
You'd spent the whole week building scenarios in your head - Would these guys even take you seriously? Would they see you as just another fan? Were they even that interesting to interview, or were their music and looks all there was to them?
You shook the thoughts from your head as you walked up to the Troubadour. The line outside was already around the block and you could feel the energy from the crowd. You saw women with long hair down their backs in tight jeans and crochet tops, some men with hair even longer than theirs and dressed in flared pants and vibrant shirts. You could already smell the weed wafting off some people.
As you approached the bouncer at the back door, he glared at you, intimidating and unwavering.
"I'm here to pick up a press pass from Tom Davis." You tried to exude confidence, even though you felt the opposite. He arched his brow at you before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a paper.
"Name."
You gave him your name and also added what you thought would cement your legitimacy. "I'm with Rolling Stone."
He looked over the paper before his eyes settled on your face.
"Right. This way."
The man turned and opened the door behind him, beckoning for you to follow.
Once inside, he led you through the dimly lit back corridors of the club. You were immediately welcomed into a heavy musk of smoke and sweat. You passed other roadies carrying guitars, amps, and microphones. You felt the excitement rising up again and you had to remind yourself to act cool.
He led you into a dressing room with a large group of people. Everyone had drinks in their hands and seemed to be chatting amongst themselves. The walls were covered in posters and various band members from over the years had scrawled their names on the walls where Tom was seated, reading over a sheet of paper.
"There she is! Good to see you." Tom immediately spotted you from the crowd, his tall and imposing figure stood up and made his way over to you. He was wearing a black leather jacket and his hair was pushed back with gel. He looked every bit the rocker, and you couldn't help but wonder if he always dressed like that. With the band but not in the band.
He reached into his back pocket to pull out a laminated press pass. "Here you go, this should get you access to whatever you need."
You took the press pass and held it up, smiling. You were still in shock.
"I can't thank you enough, Tom. This really is an honor."
Tom chuckled and clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Honor's ours. We're looking forward to the piece."
"Speaking of pieces, If you're gonna write about the band you might as well meet them. Come with me."
He started making his way toward the back of the room. As he passed, the people parted to let him through. You followed closely behind, trying to not lose him.
He led you towards a cluster of men in the corner. They were talking amongst themselves, beers in hand and laughing. You recognized Benny–the drummer–from the album cover, by his shaggy, dirty blonde hair. He was bouncing off the soles of his feet, drumsticks tucked in his belt loop, and was the center of the circle.
Will was leaning against the wall, his long blonde hair tucked in a bun. He had a cigarette dangling between his lips and a guitar pick in his hand, fiddling with it.
Next to Will, Santiago was sitting on a couch, his arm draped over the back with a glass tumbler in his other hand. His eyes shined as he was talking to the other boys, taking his hand to smooth out his jet-black hair.
It was true what every girl said - his pants were as tight as his voice.
And then there was Frankie.
He was standing next to Santiago, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingertips. He was leaning on his elbow on the wall behind Santiago, listening to Benny.
He was handsome. His brown hair was covered in his signature baseball cap, and the stubble along his jaw along with his mustache gave him a rugged look. You couldn't help but notice the muscles underneath his thin shirt. You could see his arms flexing underneath the material, his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of his beer.
He was the first one to notice you, looking at you before he did Tom. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but you could tell he was assessing the situation.
"Boys," Tom boomed, "I want you to meet the writer from Rolling Stone."
Santiago and Will turned their heads in unison, but Frankie's eyes stayed fixed on you.
Santiago's smile broadened, and Will raised his eyebrow and nodded. Frankie's expression didn't change.
"Well, hey, welcome to the party." Santiago stood up and extended his hand. You reached out and took his, shaking it. His hand was soft and his grip was firm.
"Nice to meet you." You tried to sound confident.
"You've already met Tom, obviously," he gestured towards Tom, who smiled at you, "and this is Will and Benny, and that's Frankie."
Benny smiled at you, and Frankie's eyes flickered over to Santiago as he said his name, but he didn't speak. You had a feeling this was his way of letting everyone else talk.
"Nice to meet you all, I'm a huge fan." You offered them a friendly smile.
Benny spoke up, "Well then, I like you already. You'll make us look good!"
Tom looked down at his watch and then snapped up at the guys. "Shit–we have ten minutes before showtime, you guys need to get down to the stage."
They started moving and shuffling: Will stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, Benny put down his beer, and Santiago tossed back his drink. Frankie had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to watch them all go by.
Tom turned back to you, "What are you doing? You're going down with us. ‘Can't write about the show if you aren't there."
You felt the rush of adrenaline surge through your body. Your face broke out into a huge grin.
"Yeah, right. Okay."
Tom smiled and turned, heading for the door. You followed him, trying to keep up with his strides. Backstage was a flurry of activity and you felt like you were on a hamster wheel trying to stay out of the way. You couldn't help but stare at the scene before you, the lights and the sounds, the smell.
After navigating through the throng of people and equipment, you found yourself on the side of the stage, the lights dim and the sound of the audience humming through the floorboards. While Tom had stopped to talk with one of the lighting guys, you could see the boys getting into their instruments and tuning up.
You looked over and saw Frankie. He had taken off his hat and was carding his hand through his thick hair. His mouth was turned down into a frown, but you could see the glimmer of his eyes.
He looked up at you. Your breath hitched and you could feel your cheeks start to burn. He held your gaze for a moment before turning away and putting his hat back on.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed and the audience erupted in cheers. The guys, including Tom, went into a huddle and you slowly inched yourself closer, not wanting to miss this moment.
You heard Benny shout, "Let's get it done tonight, boys! Let's give the fans what they came for."
You could see Santiago's grin spread across his face, "This is our mission. Our job. Our purpose."
Tom placed his hand into the middle, "I'm proud of you, boys. Now, let's go fucking rock this shit."
They put their hands together and Santiago began to sing "Stop, hey, what's that sound..."
Like a ritual, the rest of the men in the circle sang "Everybody look what's going down."
With that, the boys dispersed and you felt so lucky to be in that moment. You feel their connection, their comradery, their love.
You saw Tom pat Benny on the back. "Showtime!" he boomed. Benny ran onto the stage and the crowd roared. You could hear the clatter of sticks in the air as Benny hit the cymbal to start playing their song "Echoes".
The rest of the guys filed onto the stage and you were immediately struck by the sheer energy radiating off the crowd. They were cheering, clapping, dancing. There was so much movement and excitement and you felt the hairs on your arms stand up.
The band started their set with a bang. You watched as Santiago worked the crowd, his voice smooth and strong. He walked slowly, confidently, swaying with every step. The crowd was eating out of the palm of his hand.
You'd never experienced a concert like this, being able to watch from the sidelines and take in everything. The lights, the sound, the way the crowd responded.
Your eyes drifted to Frankie. He was focused and precise with his guitar, his hands moving effortlessly across the strings. You watched the muscles in his arms flex and strain as he played along with the concentration in his eyes.
The rest of the concert flew by. Before you knew it, the band was finishing up their final song, and the crowd was going crazy. You watched as Santiago, Frankie, Benny, and Will took their final bows.
The audience screamed. Santiago leaned over and spoke into the microphone, "Los Angeles, thank you. We love you! Goodnight!"
And with that, the lights dimmed and the guys filed off stage. Tom turned and motioned for you to follow as he led you to a different area where the guys were drinking bottles of water and catching their breath.
Benny was sweating, his face flushed red. "Man, we really fucking killed it."
Santiago grinned, wiping his brow. "You bet your ass we did. That was one of the best shows we've done."
Frankie was leaning against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand. He was drinking it slowly, his eyes looking up and meeting yours.
Will looked over at you and gave you a wink. "Did you enjoy the show?"
"Oh my god, yes. That was incredible." You were trying to be professional, but your excitement was starting to show through, an excitement that Santiago could start to see through.
Santiago clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Now that we've broken your legs, I think it's time for the afterparty. Are you coming with us?"
"The afterparty?"
"Of course," Tom chimed in, "you don't have to go, but it might give you some time to chat with the guys more and get some quotes. These things tend to be a good time so I can also book you a room, on us. It's at the Chateau Marmont."
"Holy shit."
"That's the spirit." Santiago winked.
You hesitated, knowing how big a decision this was. The idea of the afterparty excited you, but it was also a chance to spend more time with these guys. To talk to them one-on-one and maybe get some insights that would really sell the article.
You took a deep breath and looked around the room, at the guys waiting expectantly.
"Alright, count me in."
You could have sworn you saw Frankie's lip twitch up into a smile.
-------------------------
The afterparty was at a bungalow at the Chateau Marmont and it was a mess of people, noise, and debauchery. You tried to take it all in but you just couldn't. There was too much happening at once.
You found a bar top to sit at, watching the scene unfold. Santiago was at the piano playing some old jazz tunes and laughing with gorgeous women surrounding him. Tom was chatting up some record exec, a scotch in his hand. You even saw Benny and Will having an impromptu arm wrestling match in the corner. Frankie so far wasn't anywhere to be found.
The music, the lights, the alcohol. All of it was almost overwhelming and you were starting to wonder why you decided to come.
This world of excess and debauchery was so foreign to you, a far cry from the quiet solitude of your apartment where you usually did your writing. You've been to parties but nothing like this. You thought about your male coworkers at Rolling Stone, who seemed to fit seamlessly into the rock and roll lifestyle, effortlessly bonding with their subjects over shared experiences and unspoken understandings.
You focused on scribbling notes in your notebook, trying to make sense of the chaos around you and organize your thoughts about the concert. The more you wrote, the more your head cleared, and you found yourself able to better compartmentalize everything you'd experienced.
As you were finishing up your notes, you felt a tap on your shoulder.
"Hey."
You turned and saw Santiago standing behind you. He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and his eyes were slightly bloodshot.
"Hey." You replied.
He moved to stand beside you, looking at the party in front of you.
"What are you doing over here by yourself? Having fun?" He asked, taking a swig of the whiskey.
You shrugged, "I guess I just wanted to take everything in, get a feel of the scene. "
"Through your notepad?" He asked, gesturing towards your notes.
"Yeah, uh, it's easier for me to write things down."
"Ah," he took another swig, "can I ask you a question?"
You looked up at him. He was staring down at you, a smirk on his face.
"Sure."
"Why do you wanna write a story about us?"
It wasn't the question you were expecting. You had prepared for a list of generic questions like how you got into writing and your favorite bands, but this one caught you off guard.
"Because..." You hesitated, not sure how to answer, "...because I think you guys are cool."
Santiago smirked, leaning in.
"Cool? That's it?"
"Yeah," you said, feeling slightly defensive. "I think you guys have something special."
He chuckled to himself, taking a joint from a walking passerby, and taking a hit. "That's what they all say."
"All who?"
"People, the press. They all want to write a story about the cool, rebellious, rock and roll band, but the thing is, no one ever actually gets it."
"Maybe because the people who write about you are only interested in the glamorous lifestyle and not the reality of it."
He cocked his eyebrow.
"The reality?"
"Yeah," you said, closing your notebook. "I don't want to write a story about what I see here. This is a party, a show. It's not what's real."
Santiago studied you for a moment, and you felt the tension in the air between you. It was as if he was trying to read you, to figure out what made you tick.
"I'm here to witness the magic, the brotherhood. You can feel the bond between you guys: it's real, it's tangible, it's magnetic. People come to see your shows to see it. Shit, people come to the Chateau Marmont at 1 AM to see it. People want more."
You met his gaze, unwavering. You weren't going to back down.
He laughed, taking a step back. "Okay, okay. I believe you."
You smiled, relieved.
"But I'm gonna let you in on a little secret…Tom? He's over the moon, hunky fuckin' dory that you're writing this piece, but the truth is? We're a little skeptical, a little worried. We wanna look good but we also don't want this to be a puff piece. You've convinced me though, I believe you when you say you wanna do something different. So here's the deal - if you want the real story, the one that matters, you need to prove it."
You swallowed.
"And how do I do that?"
He smirked, gesturing to the crowd. "Come hang with us, chill out, see how we are when it's just us. If you can do that, I'll tell you whatever you wanna know. If you wanna get to know the real us, you gotta dive in."
Santiago offered you the joint, and you took it from him, putting it to your lips and inhaling.
He grinned. "Welcome to the team."
You hesitated for a moment. You wanted to get the real story, the one that mattered, but you were afraid. What if you didn't fit in? What if the guys didn't like you?
But Santiago had a point. You needed to prove yourself, and what better way than by actually hanging out with the band?
So you sucked it up, took a long drag off the joint, and threw caution to the wind.
----------------------------------
You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the party was still in full swing. The doubts and fears that plagued you had floated away along with your sobriety. Santiago had been a great host, introducing you to people, making sure you had a drink in your hand, and keeping the conversation going. You'd lost track of how many drinks you'd had, but you were feeling good.
He'd also gotten you better acquainted with Will and Benny. Will was reserved but he was incredibly knowledgeable about music, and you spent most of your conversation talking about some of the more obscure bands you both liked in common. With Benny, he was the life of the party. He had an infectious smile and was quick to laugh.
Frankie was another story entirely.
Frankie had eventually been found at the party but he'd stayed off to the side, talking quietly with a group of people, occasionally smoking a cigarette or sipping from a glass. You watched him throughout the night.
He'd glance at you from time to time, his eyes dark and unreadable. His gaze would linger, sending shivers down your spine. You would try to catch his eye, but he'd look away before you could make contact.
A model that you recognized from a cover of Cosmopolitan pulled out a baggie of coke and offered some to everyone at the table. You politely declined and headed for the bathroom.
You walked around the hallway and saw a few sets of doors. You opened a door to see Tom sitting on the bed, the phone cord stretched across the room.
"Of course I'm thinking about this damn offer, it's all I can think about. Fuck, I just don't know if this is the right move. If I had another band under my roster the boys would kill me, but the money they're offering? It's the kind of money we can't turn down."
You tried to back out of the room quietly, but sobriety be damned, the heel of your shoe clicked loudly on the hardwood floor as you tripped. Tom turned, his eyebrows raised and his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.
You mouthed an apology and quickly made your way out of the room. Humiliation and embarrassment flooding through you, you decided you needed some air.
You made your way outside, the cool air hitting your face. You inhaled deeply, trying to clear your mind and slow your racing heart. You only had a bit of context but you knew that wasn't a conversation you were supposed to hear.
You sat down on the ground, resting your head against the wall. You could feel your body relax, the tension easing from your shoulders.
As you closed your eyes, the events of the evening replayed in your head. The music, the energy, the excitement.
Suddenly, you felt someone sit next to you. You looked over and saw Frankie, his expression still unreadable.
"Hey."
"Hi." You tried to sound casual, hoping the high pitch in your voice didn't sell you out.
He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly. The smoke curled in the air, dancing in the breeze.
You sat in silence for a moment, watching the smoke drift away, trying to distract yourself from the man in front of you.
"Having fun?" Frankie's voice was low and husky, his question caught you off guard. "What do you think of all of this so far?"
"It's definitely not what I'm used to."
He chuckled, and you couldn't help but smile. He took another cigarette from the carton, offering one to you.
You took the cigarette from him and he lit it, the flame flickering in the darkness. You felt the smoke fill your lungs.
"What are you used to then?" He asked, his eyes locked on yours.
"Lighting a joint at the end of a long day, writing a draft for an article, and throwing it in the trash. Sitting at home alone and wondering if I'm ever gonna break out."
Frankie smiled. "We're not what you expected, huh?"
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not at all."
You took another drag of the cigarette. The combination of weed, whiskey, and nicotine was making your head spin, and you couldn't stop the giggle that escaped your lips.
Frankie smirked.
"Lightweight."
You nodded, leaning your head against the wall. You looked over at Frankie, his profile illuminated by the moonlight. He was handsome, his jawline sharp and his lips full. His hair was tousled under his hat and his stubble was perfectly trimmed. You could see the muscles in his arms flex as he brought the cigarette to his mouth, and you felt your breath hitch.
You looked away, feeling a blush creep up your neck. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol, the drugs, or his presence that was making you feel so flustered.
"What are you doing out here anyways?" You asked, trying to distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach.
Frankie shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I could ask you the same question."
You laughed, the alcohol and weed finally settling in.
"I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, I needed some fresh air."
Frankie nodded, understanding. "I'm not really one for big parties."
"Is that why you weren't around earlier?"
He gave you a curious look. "You really are quite the observant reporter."
You grinned. "I'm a professional."
He smirked, your gaze turning back to the sky. You couldn't help but feel his eyes linger on your skin, you felt like you were burning up.
"I'm just not a huge fan of the crowds. I like the music, the shows, but the parties are sometimes too much."
"I can understand that."
"Can you?"
You looked at him, surprised by his question. "Of course."
He raised his eyebrow. "How so?"
You shrugged. "I've had my share of experiences. Not quite like this, but enough that I get it. Sometimes I'd rather just sit back with a joint and observe it all."
Frankie's lips twitched into a small smile. "Me too."
You couldn't help but smile back. He seemed much less guarded now.
You took another drag of your cigarette; the smoke swirling around the two of you.
"Can I ask you a question?"
Frankie glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching again.
"Sure."
"What brought you into music? How'd you end up here?"
He considered your question for a moment, tapping the ashes of his cigarette.
"Well, I just always loved music. I was a quiet kid and my parents weren't around a lot. Santi moved to Miami when we were eight and we just immediately hit it off. Whatever he did, I did. If he joined the baseball team, I joined the baseball team. And then he started playing guitar. We'd sit in his garage for hours and play. I never knew I wanted to be a musician until then. It just felt right."
He paused, taking a long drag of his cigarette.
"How'd you get into journalism?"
You froze. The truth was, you had no idea. You just always felt drawn to writing. You had a knack for it and it came easily to you. You never had any grand plan or vision, it was more like a calling.
"I guess I just felt called to it. I was always writing stories as a kid and then I wanted to write about real people and real stories."
He studied you, his eyes searching yours.
"So far, do you like my story?"
You grinned, "I don't know your story yet."
He smiled, exposing a dimple as you felt your heart skip a beat.
"It's been a long time since I've actually talked to someone like this."
"Me too."
There was a moment of comfortable silence. You could hear the sounds of the city around you, the cars honking, the music and laughter drifting from inside. Suddenly, you heard the door open and Tom stepped out.
"Some chick from Apple Records just threw up on my Italian boots. This is a disaster."
Frankie rolled his eyes. "You've had worse, Tom."
Tom groaned. "I'm gonna call it a night. You guys have that radio station interview tomorrow and I need to get ready for it in the morning."
"I should probably get some sleep too." Frankie stretched out and yawned, his shirt riding up and exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans.
You felt your mouth go dry and quickly looked away.
"Did you get the room key I left for you?" Tom asked you. "We rented out the whole second floor, so you've got your pick of rooms."
"Yeah, thanks." You dug into your back pocket, pulling out the key.
"I gotta clean this shit up so I'll see you guys in the morning."
He retreated away from the cottage, leaving you and Frankie alone once more.
You stood, dusting off the back of your pants. "I guess I should get some sleep, I'm pretty wasted."
"I'm heading up myself, so I can walk you to your hotel room."
"Oh, okay." You said in a high-pitched tone.
"Unless you don't want me to."
"No! No, I want you to, I just wasn't sure if you wanted to say goodnight to the guys?"
"They're honestly too fucked up to remember anything right now. Besides, I'd rather make sure you get there safe."
You blushed, the alcohol and weed still affecting you. "Thanks."
You and Frankie made your way back into the main building, the party still raging on from the cottage nearby. While you walked through the halls and into the elevator, you marveled at the luxury of the famous chateau. You'd heard so many stories but to say you'd gone to a party there, even for a couple of hours, was something you’d never forget.
The two of you got into the elevator, and you were acutely aware of Frankie's presence. He was tall–at least a foot taller than you–and his shoulders were broad and muscular. You could smell his scent, a mixture of spice, nicotine, and citrus.
The both of you got off on the second floor, walking silently down the hallway. The hotel was dark and quiet; it was as if the rest of the world had faded away.
You reached your room, fumbling with the key and unlocking the door.
"This is me."
Frankie nodded. "Good night."
You stepped into the room and turned around, watching as he walked away.
"Good night."
You watched him disappear around the corner, the butterflies in your stomach erupting again.
Once the door had shut behind you, you exhaled a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You were still buzzing from the alcohol and the pot but there was something else, an energy that you hadn't felt before.
You stripped off your clothes, letting them pool on the floor, and crawled into the bed. As you drifted off, you felt yourself smile.
-------------------------
You were jolted awake by the shrill ring of the hotel telephone. Before you could even think, your head was already pounding from last night and its excess. You squinted at the clock next to you, the bold white words focusing on 9:30 AM.
"Hello?" Your voice was hoarse and still heavy with sleep.
"Morning! It's Tom." Tom sounded surprisingly chipper given last night's circumstances with his Italian shoes. Not one to beat around the bush, he started, "I have a proposition for you."
You were instantly alert, sitting up straight in the bed. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"I had a long talk with Santiago this morning. About you."
You swallowed nervously. You knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
"Okay.."
"He told me that you really want to tell the real story of the band, that you want to get to the bottom of who we are."
You paused, considering your words carefully.
"That's correct. I think there's more to your story, more than meets the eye."
"That's exactly what I thought, which is why I have an offer for you."
You held your breath. You didn't want to seem eager but you couldn't help the excitement building inside of you.
"I'm listening."
"Rolling Stone wants an in-depth piece, right? Well, what better way to get that than by joining us on tour?"
Your heart skipped a beat as his words sunk in.
"You mean..go on tour with you guys? Be a part of the band?"
"It's the only way to really understand us, right? Get into our world, our culture, and experience it for yourself. I already pitched it to your editor and he said as long as the label pays for expenses and you're game, he's game."
You were astounded at the things that Tom Davis could get done before noon.
"But..how would that work? Where would I stay? I don't have any experience touring or writing on the road."
You took a deep breath, processing everything Tom had just told you. "I'd be lying if I said that this wasn't an incredible offer."
"An incredible offer you can't refuse?"
You couldn't help but smile, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "An incredible offer I can't refuse."
Tom let out a hearty laugh, "That's what I like to hear! Look, we've already discussed it amongst ourselves, and as for accommodations, we're a tight-knit group, we always look out for one another. You'll have a place to crash every night, always a nice hotel to stay in."
Your mind was racing with possibilities. The chance to immerse yourself in their world, to witness their artistry up close and personal—it was an opportunity unlike any other. "What about interviews? Will I have unrestricted access?"
Tom nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. We want this to be as authentic as possible. You'll have full access to everyone in the band, backstage, on the bus, wherever we go. Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"Promise me you won't hold back. We want the real story, the gritty details, the highs and lows of life on the road. Don't sugarcoat anything."
You nodded with determination. "I promise, Tom. I'll give it my all."
"Good," he said with a satisfied smile. "I have a feeling you're going to fit right in."
As you pressed down on the end call button, a surge of adrenaline shot through your veins. This was it - the opportunity to delve deep into the core of the band and capture their raw energy in words for all to experience. Just thinking about it made your heart race, and as you thought of Frankie, you felt an unfamiliar warmth in your belly.
You'd have a new adventure ahead of you, one that would change your life forever.
157 notes · View notes
cha-melodius · 4 months
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Hiiii, do you have any rwrb fic recs (preferably something like, long and an au)? You’re my favorite author so I trust your opinion very highly
First of all, thank you so much! I'm absolutely thrilled to hear you love my work so much. I had to have a think on this one (and find the time to dig out my faves—why do I never use bookmarks?). This is definitely definitely not comprehensive, and there are so many more I love but here are some of my fave long (>40k) AUs.
I have two previous RWRB rec lists (here, and here), and though not all the fics on them fit this request, there are some long AUs on there that I'm not repeating here, but you should definitely check them out.
Never a Guarantee by @clottedcreamfudge (87k, E) Including kidnapping, secret identity, and not-quite-arranged marriage all in a delightfully intriguing historical/fantasy/modern-esque setting (just go with it).
Faster, Higher, Stronger by @everwitch-magiks (65k, E) I am always weak for a figure skating AU, and this one was such a great entry into the genre!
What, like it's hard? by @rmd-writes (65k, E) Lawyers AU. I'm linking the long fic but you definitely need to read the first fic in this series before diving in.
Teach Me, Teach Me, Teach Me (How to Love) by @historicallysam (53k, E) Single dad Alex and elementary school teacher Henry. Absolutely a delight from start to finish.
Speak for Yourself by @welcometololaland (106k, E) Accidental housemates AU, a delicious slow burn, I need to read this one again but I remember really enjoying the whole ride.
Hit (My Love) Out of the Park by bleedingballroomfloor (49k, E) The baseball boyfriends AU is a classic in the fandom, and for excellent reasons. Everything you want out of a sports AU.
into the spotlight by @indomitable-love (40k, E) An actor AU but not the classic "they have to star in a movie together" trajectory. Absolutely love how their relationship develops in this.
A Delicate Balance by @orchidscript (87k, E) Another actor AU, this one of the forced-to-star-together variety, and a wonderfully done example of the genre.
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annachum · 3 days
Text
Referring to that wonderful Asterix AU of @romaine-arts
I imagine in a Modern AU,
Caesar's fashion be having some nods to those of Tony Stark, Vincent Cassel, Michael Corleone and Alain Chabat
Mark Antony's fashions be having some nods to those of Richard Burton and Johnny Storm
Junia Secunda's fashions be having some nods to those of Lucille Ball and Serena Van Der Woodsen
Manlia Torquatia's fashions be having some nods to those of Gina Lollobrigida and Pepper Potts
Lepidus' fashions be having some nods to those of Emmett from Legally Blonde and Frank Sinatra
Silanus' fashions be having some nods to those of Chris Evans and Chris Hemsworth
Claudia Vassilia's fashions be having some nods to those of Diana Spencer, Jackie Bouvier and Grace Kelly
Julia Aurelia's fashions be having some nods to those of Eleanor Waldorf from Gossip Girl, and Sylvie from Emily in Paris
Porcia Catonis' fashions be having some nods to those of Jessica Rabbit, Kate Moss and Selina Kyle
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