#like does that make sense?? the fires inside me are ravenous and yet i’m selectively biting into specific wants when domming | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solinarimoon · 3 years ago

Text

A Place in This World

A/N: This is my entry for @mrsalwayswrite 350 follower challenge. Congratulations on your 350 followers! You desreve them and so many more! My prompt was for the sense of sight and old books. I focused on an OC I created that could potentially mold into a larger story. This one shot takes place during season 3 of The Last Kingdom at the nunnery in Wincelcumb.

Warnings: angsty, bastard, and abandonment.

Word count: 2219ish

A Place in This World

The rustling of Edlyn’s steps echoed along the corridor. She tried to keep her feet light and gentle as she walked, but the bare walls and cold floors captured all sounds.

Evening meal would not be served for another hour or more. Instead of waiting to be roped into helping prepare the food, Edlyn had taken her first opportunity to explore the new convent she was thrust upon.

Rounding the corner, Edlyn came up short when she saw a door ajar at the end of the hallway. Peering into the room, she saw a warm glow from the fireplace illuminating a small chamber. Lining the walls on one side, across from the fire so their spines danced in the flickering light, were shelves of books.

Without thinking, Edlyn crossed the room and ran her fingers across the dusty volumes. Slowly, her eyes rose taking in the sight of so many new stories to read. One book in particular caught her eye, near the top shelf. Edlyn glanced around to her side and saw a short stepping stool.

Carefully, she moved the stool before the shelf and climbed to reach towards the volume.

“It would be polite to inquire for permission before taking a book from our meager library, young lady.”

The sudden shock of hearing a voice, startled Edlyn. She lost her footing and stumbled off of the stool to thump into the wall, somehow managing to refrain from knocking any of the books off in the ordeal.

“I’m sorry?” she questioned once she regained her footing. She turned to face the other side of the room obscured by the open door.

“I was suggesting you ask if it is alright for you to take a book from our library.”

An elderly nun sat in a cushioned chair next to a round table. There was a large collection of pages in front of her.

Edlyn cautiously approached the woman and squinted at the writing on the pages.

The nun settled herself back into the chair and folded her rheumatic hands into her lap, allowing Edlyn to view the pages properly.

Reverently, Edlyn slid several of the pages towards herself and picked them up to bring them nearer to the firelight.

“You must be Edlyn.”

The young woman nodded wordlessly.

“And what has brought you to our convent, young Edlyn?”

Shifting her eyes to meet the nuns and then back to the papers, Edlyn replied, “I believe you already know the answer to your question.”

“I know what my abyss has told us. But despite my youthful appearance,” the crone chuckled wryly, “I am old enough to know that there is usually more than one side to stories like yours.”

Frowning, Edlyn brought the pages back to place on the table. Contemplating how best to answer, she wandered back towards the bookshelf.

“Were you told of my parentage?”

“I was,” replied the old woman.

“Well being the bastard daughter of a king does not allow for a large selection of lifestyle choices.”

“Your brother found a path that did not include confinement in a monastery.”

Shocked, Edlyn quickly turned her head to meet the woman’s sharp, birdlike eyes. Those eyes bore into Edlyn daring her to refute her words.

“Yes, he did.”

Edlyn had not expected to hear her brother mentioned, but in truth it was the second reminder of him she had since entering the room.

“Tell me,” the woman compelled Edlyn.

Edlyn sensed this particular nun was not to be ignored or contended with. Sighing, she stepped back onto the stool and reached for the book on the high shelf.

“When we were children, after our mother died, my uncle paid the church to house us and to keep us together. I’ve no doubt that he was largely influenced in this decision by our father as well.”

Edlyn stepped off the stool. Glancing around the room and seeing no other chair, she picked up the foot stool and brought it to rest beside the fire.

Taking a seat, she continued, “Osferth was always the more studious child. Being twins, you might think we would favor one another, but we could not have been more different. Even our looks did not favor each other. He is light. Light brown hair and gentle, blue eyes. And you see me before you. Hair the color of raven’s feathers and eyes stormy like the sea. He enjoyed our lessons, was courteous, respectful. He was devout and the apple of the eyes of many of the nuns.”

“And I am guessing you, young Edlyn, were not those things.”

Chuckling mildly to herself, Edlyn shook her head in reply.

“Abyss Bethylda was constantly recalling my attention back to our lessons. I have a sharp tongue and a questioning and goading nature… Or so I am told,” she shrugged.

“So I ask again, how is it I find you here, in my library at this convent? It does not seem like the life that you would choose for yourself. If I may make such a judgement after only meeting you a moment ago.”

Edlyn stared down at the book in her lap.

“This book contains stories of the viking raiders and their plunder of Northumbria?”

“It does,” answered the woman with a ponderance in her voice.

“As children, the one thing my brother and I had in common was a love for books. For stories, really. Our Uncle Leofric would visit us often. We always listened to his war stories with rapt attention. And we always found ourselves most fervently reading accounts of the northmen. Particularly the attack at Lindisfarne.”

Gazing down at the bound pages, Edlyn traced the words and found her mind returned to a moment many years past.

~~~~~~~ 10 years earlier ~~~~~~~~

“Edlyn, don’t!” Osferth exclaimed as his sister climbed on top of the table.

“Hush, you’re meant to be guarding the door, Osferth. And it’s fine. I just need to step here and then I can reach it,” Edlyn whispered harshly. The ten year old placed a foot onto the shelving encased on the wall beside the table she was currently standing on.

Osferth turned back from peering out the door and down the hallway.

“There is no one coming. Did you reach it yet?”

“Not...yet….almost,” Edlyn spoke while straining to reach her arm up higher.

“Edlyn!” Osferth whined while approaching the table. “Why don’t we just ask someone to get the book down for us?”

“Yes, why don’t you?” A deep, rumbling voice came from the doorway.

With a gasp, the young girl and her twin both turned to see who had caught them in their plot. Edlyn’s foot slipped and she shrieked as she felt herself begin to fall.

With two large strides, the man crossed the distance with the speed of a cat to snatch Edlyn before she hit the floor.

“Uncle Leofric!” Edlyn exclaimed while throwing her arms around the man's neck.

He let out a hearty laugh.

“I have missed you too, little Eadlyn.”

He placed the young girl onto her feet.

“Keeping up with your studies, Osferth?” He asked while stretching his arm out to grasp the boy's shoulder with a fond smile.

“Of course, Uncle. Abyss Bythilda suggests I should pursue becoming a scholarly priest.”

Quickly, Edlyn cut her brother off, “why would you want to do that Osferth?”

The boy turned his face down to the floor and shuffled his feet, mumbling “I never said it was what I would want. Only what the abyss suggests, Edlyn.”

“Stop giving your brother a hard time, young lady,” Leofric commanded. “Now, children, what was it you were willing to risk such daring behavior to access?” He asked while approaching the shelves.

Osferth was quick to reply, “it was the accounts of the Northmen’s raid on Lindisfarne!”

“This one up here,” Leofric asked while sliding the volume off the shelf and bringing it over to the window. He opened the tome and turned to have a seat on the bench resting underneath the window’s ledge.

The children nestled next to him as he began reading the account aloud to them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Edlyn broke from her reverie to look back up at the nun. She found the woman’s own eyes studying her.

“If you had met Osferth when we were ten, you would have seen him as the one pursuing a life of God fearing obedience and prayer. Abyss Bythilda certainly thought so. But we all realized much too late that he did not want that life any more than I did, than I do. He ran away in order to pursue a different life. He left me behind.”

Edlyn spoke these final words softly, while bringing her eyes back to the book in her lap.

“And what stopped you from also leaving the safety of the church? You have a reputation for being strong and independent, young one. And it is no secret that you have refused to take the vows, becoming one of our Order. It is what has sent you to our doors from your previous nunnery. Do you intend to continue to take advantage of the church’s generosity for the rest of your life? Being a bastard but still using your royal lineage to garner room and board”

Edlyn jerked her head to meet the older woman’s gaze once more.

“You do not hold back your questions, do you old woman?”

Chuckling, the nun replied, “No I do not. I am Sister Agatha. And I would not see a soul such as yours crushed under the obedience and piety that our lord demands of his disciples. Why is it that you stay? Truly?”

Edlyn stared at the old woman, not daring to trust herself to speak. The woman’s questions cut to the core of the inner demons that Edlyn felt warring inside her head daily. Her spirit longed to follow in her twin’s footsteps. Osferth had left her. He had struck out to forge his own life. And Edlyn could not dismiss his betrayal.

She longed to lead a life that was more. More than what the church could offer. More than prayer and obedience. More than quiet contemplation and reflection. Just… more. But the truth was that Edlyn was scared. From her very birth, she had been forced to face adversity. The life of a bastard daughter of a king. She had endured the abandonment. The rejection of her father. Then the loss of her mother and being thrust upon the church. Then when her uncle was lost in battle. And finally the abandonment. Waking up to find Osferth gone.

When he left, he had placed the account of the northmen’s attack on Lindisfarne on her bedside table along with a short note.

“I can not remain here any longer.

I must make my own destiny and find my own way.

It is where God is leading me. I will miss you dear sister.

All my love,

Osferth”

Edlyn could barely make out the words in Osferths scratchy hand through the tears overwhelming her eyes. With all of the loss in her life, all of the hardship, Osferth had been hers to rely on. The twin piece of her soul that she could cling to when the rest of the world was dark and desolate.

And he had left her.

In the deepest and most secret part of her heart, Edlyn knew she was terrified to be abandoned again. It was what kept her tethered to the church. The church, despite her nature to rebel and push back on the strict and stingy rules, had always been there for Edlyn.

“You ask why I stay, Sister Agatha? Truly?”

The sister answered with an unwavering stare.

“I stay because I fear to lose myself out there. The church is my safe harbor in a world that I fear would drown me. But despite your blunt words, they ring true. I am not made to be wedded to God.”

Edlyn frowned at her hands gripping the pages of the book in her lap.

Sister Agatha considered the young woman before her for some time.

“We will see about that, young one. We have had many young women come to our halls seeking refuge and protection. And I have seen the lord call to some of them and seen him deliver many from peril. I have also seen women find their courage and forge their paths. Paths that do not lead to a life of nunnery. I realize I have just met you, young one, but your eyes speak to me of great things. We just need to find your mettle.”

Edlyn gazed at the old woman, thinking over her words.

Before she could formulate a response, Sister Agatha rose and held out her arm to the young woman.

Standing and replacing the book on its shelf, Edlyn took the older woman’s arm and the two retraced Edlyn’s previous paths to the kitchens to check on dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aethelflaed rode fast and hard towards Wincelcumb nunnery. Eadlyn did not know it, but the arrival of her half-sister would bring about immense upheaval in her world. And Sister Agatha’s predictions were soon to bear fruit. Eadlyn would find her courage. And she would find her family and place in this world along the way.

Tagging my usuals (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my list):

@maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world

If you would like to read more of my works, you may do so here

#The Last Kingdom #mz350celebration #osferth #should I make this more than a oneshot?#leofric

37 notes · View notes

writings-and-wonderings · 6 years ago

Text

High Tide - Chapter 4

One shot/ Chapter No: 4/? one , two, three

Summary: (Y/N) is the daughter of a governor,and is promised a happy life with her betrothed. But her heart yearns for the ocean and the mysteries it carries. After an argument with her soon-to-be-husband, she heads down to the docks, only to find something - or someone - she wasn’t expecting

Words: 1,684

Notes/Warnings: violence. also thank you to everyone who is following the story now, it means a lot to me. just to let you all know there won’t be any updates for a while because i’m going back to school and tumblr is blocked on their wifi soooo yeah. i would very much appreciate your patience! but i promise i will upload new chapters as soon as i can. much love.

------

Chapter 4

The entire structure of the ship seemed to shake, but there was an excitement in my core that I had not felt before. The cries of the men above made my heart lurch into my throat as the danger of the situation sunk in. But it didn't make me want to leave immediately, it made me want to pick up a sword and be alongside them as they boarded the ship. My eyes darted over to the cutlass on the bookshelf, and my fingers itched to pick it up. I felt compelled as I walked over towards it, and as I picked it up, the cool metal seemed to calm my thumping heart but stirred my sense for adventure. The canons stopped firing a few moments later, and footsteps pounded overhead as all the men headed to board the merchant ship. My curiosity got the better of me and, gripping the cutlass slightly tighter, I opened the door and peeked out. Our ship had not a soul left on it, but the chorus of shouts coming from the other left nothing to the imagination. I wandered out a little further, looking cautiously over the side. The merchant ship was around the same size as ours, but with a much larger crew. Yet somehow Loki's men had managed to overtake the ship, round up the men in the centre, and start gathering all the supplies they wanted. I couldn't see Loki, but Kidd was circling the captured crew in the middle, intimidating them as best he could. Crates started coming up from the bowel of the ship, and there was a range of items bring transported, which made me wonder who they were for. Usually on these sorts of ships they only carry one or two select items, like the East India Trading Company does. But it seemed that the supplies were more specialized, for a party perhaps? It seemed rather extravagant that such supplies would need to be shipped in from elsewhere. Regardless, the men were taking everything they could, and started bringing it back over to our ship. My brain told me to go back inside, but my gut told me to stay and help. There were a lot of crates to handle. The men started a chain along the gangway they created, and passing the supplies between them, as the first crate got to the ship, I dropped the cutlass, ran forward, and offered to take it. "You sure you're strong enough lass?" A man I thought was called Edward asked. "I would hope so," I replied, taking it from him and walking it over to the middle of the ship, before going back for more. Eventually we got to the last few, and it was only Kidd and Loki on the merchant ship, who were addressing the crew. From what I could make out, they were going to let them go, and I breathed a sigh of relief I didn't know I was holding. I understood piracy meant killing some... but the idea of murdering an entire crew because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time seemed unfair. They went round cutting the crew loose, before standing before them again, bowing theatrically, and heading towards the gangway. But as they both turned, one of the crew pulled out a gun, aiming straight for the back of Loki's head. I went to scream his name in warning, but before I could even collect my breath, Loki had turned and shot the man in the head. "Anyone else?" He shouted, voice tense, but his manner calm and collected, his hand steady despite just killing a man. "Let's go, Kidd." Once they were both on the ship, the gangways were pulled in and the anchor drawn up. It took a few minutes for Loki to acknowledge I was standing by, watching him closely. "Are you okay?" I asked quietly as he looked at me. "Quite fine. It certainly isn't the first time it has happened, nor will it be the last." His voice still sounded tense, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Loki looked me over, smirking a little as he crossed his arms almost triumphantly. "Did you help bring the crates on?" "Was I not supposed to?" He laughed at this and put his arm around my waist as he lead me over to the pile of crates, which all the men were eyeing with eagerness. "What was the shipment for?" "Army." He went over to the nearest crate and pried it open, revealing the red uniform of the British Army. "I didn't realize we were at war," I said quietly, reaching down and picking up the coat on top. It seemed so inappropriate, no matter where they were fighting. "We are always at war." He put the lid back on, his body slightly defeated. "But there's enough supplies here to feed the crew for a while, and enough to spare for a celebration," Loki grinned down at me, "if you are up for it, of course." "Always," I grinned back up at him. "Then I do hereby order a celebration," he announced to the ship, and then, leaning in, he said quietly to me, "and I do humbly request a dance from the most beautiful woman on this ship." "There's hardly a basis for comparison," I laughed as I hit his arm lightly. "But yes, I accept your request." He grinned and took me into a waltzing stance, swaying me from side to side. "Oh, there should be some new clothes for you. It will be a stripped down Army uniform though," he said quietly, still swaying me from side to side. "Though you do look cute in that dress." I smiled, a blush rising to my cheeks. "Well, I look forward to being able to actually move about properly." As I said this he swung me out to the side before bringing me back in and holding me closer than before, his chest pressed up against mine, and his hand holding my waist tightly. A few minutes later, he leg me go and bowed, kissing my hand. "I'll leave the rest for tonight," he said, the characteristic smirk spreading across his face. "Now, clothes," he turned back to the crate he had originally opened and sorted through them, taking out some trousers and a shirt. "There's a sewing kit in my quarters if you need to take the trousers in a bit." He passed the clothes to me, our fingers brushing slightly and, despite the intimate moments we have shared, it still sent butterflies to my stomach. "I shall go and sort these out then, for tonight," I winked at him before walking into his quarters, putting the clothes on the table as I walked around trying to find the kit. I eventually found it and started to get to work, mending the trousers to fit better. As I was sat down, stitching the waist in, my mind was able to wander around for a little. I started to think about my family back home, more specifically my mother, who must be worried sick. My father, I was sure, would be able to get over it within a few days time. I then began to reflect on all that had happened. Not only had I run away from home and joined a pirate ship, I had also witnessed a man being killed. The severity of what I had seen finally sunk in, and it was only my pricking myself that brought me out of the feeling. I sucked on my finger as I thought about the man's slumping body against the wood of the ship. The stillness of Loki's arm. But this was what I had signed up for, wasn't it? If I was going to weasel out at the first sign of death then I would never be able to achieve my dream. Yet, the coldness of Loki's manner afterwards continued to disturb me. I took my new clothes into the bedroom and closed the door behind me, before changing out of my dress and into the uniform. The trousers were uncomfortable to say the least, however if it meant I had more freedom of movement I would happily wear slightly scratchy clothes. The shirt itself was not too bad, and hung loosely around my body. A knock at the door sounded, and then Loki's voice. "Are you alright? The party is nearly starting." "How long have I been away?" I asked, suddenly aware of the darkening sky. "Are few hours," he said, his voice closer than before. "You know if you have any concerns you can talk to me." The doors creaked as he leaned against them, he then slid down, and the soft thump of his head against the door compelled me to sit in a similar position on my side. "How many men have you killed?" I asked quietly. A sigh came from the other side, his fingers tapping on the wood of the floor. "Over a hundred. I lost count. But you can bet I remember every single face." My breath hitched in my throat. "Do you regret it?" "Some of it," he paused, and his fingers stopped tapping. "But this is an evening meant for making happy memories," he stood up and I mirrored him. "May I see you?" I opened the door, striking a pose when we were face to face. "The trousers are a bit uncomfortable, but I like it," I said, grinning. "You look amazing," he grinned. "My Pirate Queen." "Aren't you going to escort me to the dance, Your Majesty?" He smiled and offered his arm, our conversation minutes before seemingly forgotten. We walked together onto the deck of the ship, food laid out on top of empty crates haphazardly, and the realization I hadn't eaten in almost a day finally sunk in. "Ravenous?" He whispered in my ear, chills running down my spine, but whether it was the cold air or his breath I couldn't tell. "So very," I whispered back. He outstretched his hand. "It's all yours for the taking," and I had a feeling he wasn't just talking about the food.

-------

Want to request an imagine?

Send me a song and a character and I’ll write a story!

Taglist:

@fuckthatfeeling @aliebestraum @laeticafe03 @fakelchv @m4shtyx @fire-in-her-veinz @huntersvibe

#loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #reader insert #high tide #high tide chapter 4 #marvel #pirates #pirate loki #pirate au #pirate queen

23 notes · View notes

eldritchsardine · 6 years ago

Text

BBRae Week 2018 Day 5: In Laws

I forgot to put this here since I usually just use FF.Net. Better late than never though right?

Raven glanced at the changeling beside her nervously one last time, before steeling herself at his confident nod. She turned back to the objects before her, resigned to following through with this insane venture. In front of the pair and at the center of the half-demon's shadowed room, a large silver brazier floated in the air, suspended there by her magic. Her hands found the matchbox beside them and she struck one, lighting it. She dropped it into the brazier, igniting its contents, which consisted of many objects she would rather not dwell on. Suffice to say that a ritual this powerful and dark required more than just a few magic words and fairy dust.

An acrid scent began to fill the air as it burned, fire spreading much more rapidly than natural. Within seconds the entire brazier was ablaze, nearly singeing the empath before Beast Boy pulled her back slightly. Her nose wrinkled at the stinging, pungent smell, and another glance at her companion showed he was also affected, even more so due to his animalistic senses. She cast a quick spell to null the affects, and received a grateful smile in response.

Raven rotated back to the fire once again just in time to see it die down just as abruptly as it had started, leaving only a dark and heavy smoke curling through air.

A feeling of confusion emitted from behind her, and Beast Boy spoke up. "Did it work?"

As if in response to the changeling's query, the smoke, which had remained an indistinct mass above the embers rather than dissipating, began to roil and twist in a cloud, before settling slightly to resemble a vaguely sphere-like shape hovering before them, now tinged with crimson on its edges and waves, flashes of white barely perceptible within its innermost depths. As it did so, Raven releases her magic on the still-floating brazier, allowing it to fall to her carpet with a muted crash.

After another brief still, this one without any questions breaking the silence from her green teammate as they stared at the spectacle in trepidation. Eventually, a chill descended over the room, a breath of power seeping into the surrounding air, as well as an overwhelming sense of pure malevolence. Behind her, Beast Boy's hackles rose slightly and a quiet, yet threatening growl vibrating from his throat. Despite herself, Raven felt herself tense, and unconsciously checked the corners of her room, searching for entities prowling in the darkness.

When from within the smoke he emerged, she was almost relieved for an end to the disconcerting silence.

Almost.

'Emerge' was a bit too strong a word as well. His arrival was felt through merely an increase in the irrepressible hateful feeling, followed by four narrowed eyes emerging in the darkness of the smoke, glowing a malignant yellow. Eyes that had plagued her for nearly her entire life, and had hoped she would never see again.

"Daughter."

His voice was much as she remembered; deep, powerful, and containing a sinister, cruel undertone that spoke much of his true nature. However, it contained an additional sound as well. A grudging respect, as well as intense bitterness, no doubt a result of the last time they had come face to face. Namely, when he had brought about the apocalypse before she defeated him, banishing his essence to the pit for eternity and undoing all the damage he had done in her world. Her home.

"Hello father," she responded, keeping her face and tone impassive, placing a calming hand on Beast Boy's thigh behind her as his growl rose in volume. Now was not the time to lose control.

"Why have you called upon me? Wishing to gloat over your victory?" Trigon thundered, before adopting a honeyed tone, which did absolutely nothing to dilute the boundless evil it still contained. "Or perhaps, you've realized your true self, and are ready to embrace your destiny fully, and summon me once again to your realm?"

The changeling behind her moved forwards, taking his place beside her and stared the smokey apparition down defiantly. "How about you shut it and let her tell you why?"

The demon's deep, cruel laugh reverberated throughout the room. "Ah yes, the shifter. How could I forget your team's ever-faithful lapdog? Very well, explain yourself, girl."

An influx of anger from her side brought the empath pause, and she quickly placed a placating hand on his shoulder. It was faint, a mere brush of her fingers against his tense form, but enough to relax his limbs and lessen his temper. However, her one anger burned bright as she glared at her father's presence. "Well, this lapdog has a name. Garfield is why I've summoned you."

Trigon's guffaws insanely filled the air. "Garfield?! Oh, that is rich, girl. But very well, what is it you have to say, mortal?"

Beast Boy raised his chin in unspoken challenge. "I'm going to be your new son-in-law."

Raven tensed. This was not how they had agreed they would break the news. They had a strategically laid-out plan on how and when to reveal their relationship, and Beast Boy ruined it all in seconds, even though he was the one who had been so insistent that they tell him. He had bothered her about it unceasingly for weeks until she finally caved. And here he was now, proving the reason she had been so unwilling to follow through with the insane plan exactly true.

Well, too late to go back now, she thought to herself, waiting for her father's reaction. His eyes were shifting between the couple slowly, as if expecting one of them to jump up and shout 'Just kidding!' Finally, he spoke. "I'm torn between surprise, as I always expected you to never find anyone at all, and disappointment, as this is pathetic, even for you, girl."

Raven and the man beside her bristled, but she held her temper in check. The same couldn't be said for her fiance, however. He snarled in rage at the smokey specter, pupils dilating and growing slightly in size. She couldn't see them, but the half-demon was certain that his claws were elongating in preparation to rip apart whatever dared insult his mate.

But then, Trigon continued. His gaze turned to the changeling. "So, beast, what are you intentions with my daughter?"

Beast Boy quieted, emotions growing slightly confused by the unexpected change of conversation. He recovered quickly however, and lifted his head again before answering. "I love her, and am going to marry her."

No sooner had the words left his mouth when Trigon's amusement once again flooded the room. "Love," he echoed scornfully. "Pah! Love is for weak mortals and their foolish sentiments. What else?"

"I will give life and limb to make her happy for the rest of both our lives, and will do whatever it takes to keep her. In life and in dea-."

"Don't make me sick," her father interrupted. "What will you give her?"

Beast Boy paused, a flurry of emotions running through him too fast for Raven to keep track. "Well, I have a large inheritance from my parents, and I'll continue to make more money through work as a hero, all of which will go towards making the love of my life happy." As he finished, he cast her a small smile, which she responded to with an eye roll. The information of his inheritance was news to her, though she kept her poker face on.

Trigon's collection of eyes seemed to roll as well, though it was hard to tell, what with them being mere slivers of light and all. "Material possessions matter little.

Her fiance now was floundering in confusion, so much so that Raven was forced to struggle not to smirk as he scratched the back of his head, lost as ever. "So if you're not interested in material things or sentiments like love, then what are you asking?"

The demon let out a huff of impatience. "Raven is the daughter of Trigon the Terrible. She is a demon, and as such, has specific needs. Now, to start, will you be supplying her a steady supply of freshly slaughtered mortals to feed on, and what age will they be? The younger the better."

"Father!" Raven cried out in irritation as Beast Boy choked on his response. "How clear must I make it that I have no interest in entertaining that side of myself?!"

"Is that so?" Trigon replied, his gaze falling to her briefly before turning back to her companion. "What of your own father? I take that as a heavy indicator of the offspring's own merit. What does he do?"

Beast Boy bit his lip, hurt welling up inside him. Raven resisted the urge to comfort him, knowing it would only show weakness before her father, and the green teen would likely just interpret it as unwanted pity. "He was a doctor, but he died to save my life when I was a child. I was adopted by Mento in the Doom Patrol later though."

"A selfless sacrifice and a superhero. Disgusting," Trigon declared. "Your prospects continue to diminish, beast."

Raven snorted. Like what you think of him matters.

"Anyways, there are more traits belonging to demons than just a thirst for blood," Trigon continued. "Even from here I can sense many emotions from you. Affection, trust, caring, and many others which brings me to question my own daughters sanity at selecting you, but along with them is a heavy feeling of lust." At this, his eyes glimmered brighter. "Tell me, creature, have you fucked my daughter?"

Mortification flooded the changeling's emotions and expression immediately and he pulled off an excellent impersonation of a fish gasping for air on dry land even without the help of shifting, which Raven took as her cue to take over the conversation in his stead. As her father said, she was part demon after all, which came with a familiarity and comfort around specific topics such as this. "He has."

Beast Boy whirled to stare at the empath, eyes bulging and his face a ruddy green-brown blush. "Rae!" He choked out in horror.

"And?" Trigon pressed.

Raven allowed herself a miniature smile of contentedness. "He's a beast."

"He's big?"

"Oh, very."

"And what of his powers? Does he use them as you rut? Perhaps for greater strength or size, or a unique position? He could even add tentac-."

"Raven!" Beast Boy cries again, pleading her with his emerald eyes, bringing her a pleasant warmth in the pit of her stomach.

"Well, I suppose there's that, at the very least," Trigon muttered to himself, apparently satisfied on the topic. "However, you could do much better, Raven. Don't you know the number of beings who would kill to have the hand of the daughter of Trigon?"

"They'd want more than just my hand I would imagine," the half-demon deadpanned.

"Demons, succubi, demi-gods, even angels, daughter," her father continued, as if he hadn't heard her.

Raven sighed. It looked like there would be no easy way out of this. "Well, he's the one I fell in love with."

After she said it, Beast Boy's strained and mortified expression morphed immediately into a joy-filled grin shining back at her, just as Trigon groaned in disgust. "I have never been so ashamed to be a father."

At this, Raven turned to the smoke. "I don't care. I am in love with him, and I am going to marry him, regardless of your thoughts on the matter. I merely summoned you now because he wouldn't take no for an answer for the issue. I denounce my demonic attributes, and do this for myself, and my love."

With her impromptu speech concluded, Raven turned to her fiancé, wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him close, and pressed her lips to his passionately. As she did so, a sound that was suspiciously similar to gagging and restrained puking could be heard from before them, and the chill pervading over her room lifted. When she finally pulled away from the changeling, both flushed and breathing heavily, the smoke and glowing eyes were gone.

"Well, I think that went pretty well," Beast Boy panted, out of breath from the unexpected and heavy workout of his mouth. He then turned to the empath wit a scowl. "That was damn evil though, talking about our... stuff like that with your dad."

Raven shrugged, feigning a disinterested, bored expression. "It was an important conversation, I couldn't simply ignore it."

"I didn't ignore it either, unfortunately!" Beast Boy exclaimed, though his face quickly adopted a mischevious grin, as well as a suspicious light in his eyes that gave her a heavy sense of unease. "Although since I did hear it all, good ol' pops did give me a good idea involving... tentacles."

Raven paled.

#bbrae week 2018 #bbrae #in laws #day five #fanfic

51 notes · View notes

jimmys-tangerine · 8 years ago

Text

IV. Ne pleur pas

22 February 1972, Melbourne, Australia

It didn’t take long for Billy to fall in love with Caroline. Less than twelve hours, in fact. And it didn’t make much effort. When the concert ended, he had seen her slowly drink herself into a strange, sexual obscurity. Maybe it was her laughing—she would shake with her whole body then ebb inward to return to her catlike nature, her eyes turning down and her lips curving cleverly. Maybe it was the way she spoke—with unfounded authority and a foreign lilt. She wasn’t even a coquette or a temptress, she just was an inevitable object of affection.

And Billy wasn’t alone.

Men pulled on her skirt and tried to make her laugh, or tried to make her smile—at least. They wanted to see the crooked overlap of her bottom two teeth and hear the cascading cackle that entered your body via the ear and somehow wound up tickling your toes. And the man and the boy and the journalist within Billy fought when Caroline slipped down onto the couch beside the one man who she might actually love back.

He was the one who tucked the champagne pink flower behind her pointed ear, dragging his fingers through the unruly tufts of orange hair that fell from her braid. And he was also one of the four men in the world Billy would most like to interview.

Jimmy Page wore a pinstripe blazer with patches of beige suede on the lapels. Beneath his coat he wore a light blue button-up tucked into denim bell-bottoms. He was quite the fashionable man, Billy noted alongside the comment in his notebook that read: “Page’s signature beard shaven by early morning of 21 February.”

Caroline was reading a book with her head on Jimmy’s shoulder as John Bonham called her name, asking for a treat. Billy had taken careful observations of her role in the band; she wasn’t entirely a groupie, she seemed more vital to the band’s functions than providing sexual relief. Billy knew there was an ulterior motive to her stay, aside from Jimmy’s quite obvious infatuation with her.

Billy had sworn he would never publicly shed light on the band’s myriad vices and sinful behavior. He only watched from afar as Caroline fashioned a straight line of blow between the breasts of a popular groupie Billy couldn’t remember the name of.

Why is she the one who’s always called over for cocaine? Billy asked himself.

“You’re only here because of her, you know,” a voice announced from behind Billy, ripping him out of his scrutiny. Jimmy Page, dark and brooding as ever, stood just inches from him with a glass of brandy in his pale, ringed hand.

“I know,” Billy assured. He swallowed loudly—sure his eyes were wide like saucers. He had questions to ask—questions upon questions upon questions, but he couldn’t find the words within him to ask. The only thing that could leave his mouth were clipped grunts of simple communication.

“But if you keep watching her so closely, she’ll get rid of you,” Jimmy added as he took a sip from his glass. Billy admired how Jimmy could handle his liquor so proficiently; Billy couldn’t down a sip of that stuff without a wince.

“What do you mean?”

“Ever been to a big museum? Where they house a lot of important art—think the Louvre, or the Tate, or the MET?”

Billy hesitated, messily remembering his tour of the Louvre when he visited France as a boy. “Sure.”

“And when you’re at these places there are necessary sightings. You know, you have to see the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, The Oxbow, The Death of Socrates, The Water Lily Pond, Weeping Woman, et cetera… Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“But these big pieces… If you sit there staring like a half-wit and leaning in too close to the big pieces, one of the guards will give you a gentle shove backward or tell you to get a move on?”

“Alright.”

“Well, with her,” Jimmy tilted the rim of his glass toward Caroline as she burrowed her head into a pillow while she laughed at something Bonzo had said. “It’s the same principle. You sit their staring with a slack jaw and moon-eyes, fervently scribbling notes and sketches, silent and uncanny… Someone’s going to tell you to get a move on. It might be me, it might be Mister Peter Grant; it will most likely be her, actually.”

“I—”

“You don’t need to excuse yourself or apologize. I get staring at her—if anyone does, it’s me,” Jimmy followed with a light chuckle. “But I’m just letting you know. If you want to stick around, don’t be so obvious.”

Billy nodded quickly, several tufts of his bangs dancing along with the swift shake.

“And Caroline told me you asked her something,” Jimmy looked downward, summoning a memory. “Ah, that you asked, ‘From where do you believe Led Zeppelin derives their greatest source of inspiration?’”

“I was interested in her answer, as I imagined from a groupie’s point of view it would be—”

“She’s not going to give you the right answer because she’s humble,” Jimmy laughed. He leaned in several inches closer to Billy, though his eyes were locked upon Caroline. “I guess I could give you the answer most would give—the standard. Women, love, sex, homesickness, childhood, death, travel, drugs, power, money… The works. But perhaps seeing it yourself would make more sense…” Jimmy urged. His temple nodded in the direction of Caroline; Billy pulled his eyes from the formidable green glance beneath Jimmy’s unkempt bangs.

Caroline stood on a velvet ottoman, with one leg swinging like a pendulum as she tried to balance herself. She was bent at odd angles, yet it was painfully graceful. She looked like a constellation.

“Jimmy, let’s pick out this evening’s attire!” She exclaimed from across the room, making eye contact with him. Jimmy snipped all ties of conversation from him to the journalist and made way for Caroline with a bright smile on his mouth. Billy understood a bit better.

“Well I’m wearing an ivory dress, Jimmy!”

Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked down at Caroline, who sat inside of his opened and emptied suitcase. “And?”

“We need contrast! I insist upon the black shirt.”

“Why do we need contrast?”

“Because we’re going as a pair, are we not? I agreed to attend the press party as your date, now you must follow a few rules.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes and balled up the red shirt he had in his hands. He threw it into the opened closet of his shared hotel room. Caroline gasped and lunged for it, folding it neatly in her lap and scolding him with a glance and a few words: “I like this shirt. Why do you like dressing in wrinkled clothes? Why would you wrinkle this lovely shirt?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “I’ll wear the black shirt with the white pants.”

“Which white pants?” She tested him.

“The flared, taffeta pants.”

“Perfect.”

“Now go put on your dress,” Jimmy said as he pulled Caroline out of the suitcase. “And I’ll put on my outfit.”

Jimmy was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when he heard the sound of a body collapsing on the one of two full-size beds in the room. He turned around to see Caroline tucked into a fetal position on the bed that belonged to him.

“How did you know that one was mine?” Jimmy asked as he shrugged the sleeves of his shirt off of his shoulders and threw the shirt onto the ground.

“I smelled your Pantene shampoo on your pillow,” she said as she tilted her nose into the plushy wall of his pillow. Jimmy’s thin torso was soon covered by the black shirt Caroline had selected for him. Once the buttons of his shirt were done, he reached for the buckle of the belt on his jeans.

“Protect your modesty, Jimmy!” Caroline shouted, covering her eyes with her fingers. Jimmy laughed loudly, throwing his belt to the floor with a silvery clang. He hadn’t thought of Caroline’s reaction to him changing; with all the women that had seen him entirely naked after his success in the music industry, he didn’t really hold any qualms about nudity.

Caroline peaked out of the gaps between her fingers as Jimmy pulled the jeans off of his long legs. She was absolutely awed by the completion of his thinness; his legs were nearly toothpicks. Yet, a masculine definition echoed in every outlined muscle. Caroline could not look away from the awkward and unconventional beauty of Jimmy’s legs.

He presented himself in his new outfit with an auditory fanfare. Caroline pealed away her eyes and immediately clapped her hands, excited by Jimmy’s innately chic appearance. Perhaps it had to do with his narrow form, or with the black-and-white polarity of his raven hair and ivory skin.

As Jimmy picked up his previous outfit from the floor, Caroline caught a glance his chest which was exposed by several undone buttons. There suddenly seemed to be a very murky serenity in the room—quietness, secrecy, and darkness. Caroline stretched her arms upward as she stretched in the bed. The alluring scent of Jimmy—some obscure cologne, fire, and books—was warmer than any blanket. Caroline grew tired.

After glancing at the old pocket-watch on his bedside table, Jimmy looked at Caroline with words of urgency on his tongue. But upon seeing her fluttering eyelids and resting lips, he placed the words elsewhere. And he just stood there, darkly looming like a shadow, memorizing the serenity that laced her every feature.

Had he not been subconsciously leaning and stepping toward the bed, Caroline would not have met his hand when she reached for it. But she did, and caught onto his palm like a baby would. Her hand slowly slipped from his tiredly, but he caught it with a hook of his fingers. He soon formed a tighter grip on her small hand. And perhaps it was the quietness, the secrecy, or the darkness of the room that made her stealthily tug his hand toward her sleeping form; either way, she was not sure.

She turned with the yank and he soon crashed onto the small bed beside her—feet dangling off the end. He had been forcibly wound in a ball during his one night in Melbourne, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again tonight. But at that moment he had never been so gracious for a bed so achingly small. For between the close sides of the bed, Jimmy’s arm caged Caroline’s torso, his knees knocked against hers, his chest served as a pillow to her freckled cheek, and her bare toes climbed into the wide ankle opening of his pants.

Jimmy held in a sigh; he was instantly worried a single breath could fracture the delicacy of the situation. He had longed for something as little as an embrace from Caroline for an unimaginable length of time, that which only felt extended by the relationship with women he normally assumed.

Impossibly fragile was the green-eyed glance she gave him, though long-lasting. He would have kissed her if he had not so feared losing the closeness. Kissed her very slowly too—the way teenagers do after their third date. Jimmy was at a loss of all power, all will, all capacity; especially was he so vulnerable when she laid her fingers on his jaw and cheek—her touch as light as the landing of a butterfly. Amusedly her fingers drummed against his cheek lightly—possibly mockingly.

Jimmy had had enough, he thought. Though this defiance was fronted with a cowardly submissiveness; he could not overrule her. So he compromised, and very slowly placed a kiss on her soft hairline. He held his lips against her skin for a while—until she returned his cautious kiss with a peck on the chin then turned away. His skin burned as she turned her back to him to sleep.

Both Jimmy and Caroline were kicked off of the bed. Jimmy, the heavier sleeper, merely groaned when his bottom his the floor. Caroline—on the other hand—instantly lashed out and yelped.

“Dégage!” Caroline shouted from the floor.

“You two are pushing it,” Robert spoke sternly.

“What?” Jimmy asked groggily from the floor.

“You’re lucky it’s me who walked in,” Robert shook his head as he walked toward his wardrobe. He yanked open the doors and confronted a colorful rack of clothing. Caroline absent-mindedly noticed how Robert hung up all of his clothes for the two-day stay in Melbourne, while Jimmy kept it all in his suitcases.

“Il est quelle heure?”

“It’s eight,” Robert responded bluntly. All who traveled with Caroline had picked up a very rudimentary level of French.

“Merde!” Caroline shot up. She had thirty minutes to get showered, dressed, and have her makeup done. Before sprinting out of the room, she grabbed Jimmy’s forearm and shook him awake. “Jimmy, you only have thirty minutes to do your hair!” She exclaimed.

Jimmy instantly stood and ran into the bathroom. Jimmy’s hair was a delicate issue.

As per usual, Caroline’s bedroom was beside that of Jimmy. She shared it with several groupies, and they were all crowded around the horizontal mirror hanging above the sink in the bathroom when Caroline walked in.

“Je dois me doucher,” Caroline hurriedly told Margaux, her one roommate that was also French. Margaux stayed put—hovering over the sink penciling on a fifth coat of emerald eyeliner. “Allez-vous en!” She screamed, pointing toward the door.

The bathroom eventually cleared; the women relocated to either Jimmy and Robert’s room or the skinny mirror between the hotel room’s two windows. As they left, Caroline watched them with a fragmented thought. They all wore gossamer garb and did their make up lavishly; they were covered in jewels given to them by now-distant men. Margaux always wore an amulet around her neck that Jimmy had given her for her sixteenth birthday, it was made of alexandrite—a stone as kaleidoscopic as her eyes. Caroline felt a nudge of jealousy—not toward the necklace, but toward the undeniable glamour of these women. Caroline wished she exuded opulence as those girls did.

Caroline washed her body and hair quickly so she would have several minutes to melt beneath the boiling water that poured out of the shower head. She left herself just a few moments to curl in a ball on the floor of the shower, letting the skin of her fingers and feet wrinkle like a prune.

When Caroline got out of the shower, she wrapped her hair in one of the hotel towels and wrapped her body in the lavender towel she always brought with her. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she shockingly discovered Jimmy sitting at the end of the unmade bed.

“How did you do your hair so quickly?” Caroline asked as she walked across the room. Jimmy watched her closely as she sparkled with every step. She was so there, so easy, so taunting—and yet, she could not be touched.

Jimmy cleared his throat in order to speak. “It was obedient today.”

Caroline chuckled as she slipped on the enormous robe the hotel provided. Once it was securely wrapped around her, the lavender towel beneath it dropped in a pool around her small feet. She walked back toward the bathroom with the robe forming a train behind her. Before opening the door to the bathroom, she stopped and turned to Jimmy.

“Want to blow-dry my hair while I put on my make up?” She asked him with an excited smile. Jimmy’s eyes widened before he enthusiastically nodded, warming at the idea of being able to hold that red silk in his unworthy hands.

Familiar with a blowdryer, Jimmy set up the appliance as she began applying a sheer layer of foundation to her freckled, olive skin. Jimmy carefully removed the towel from her hair and grinned at the wet vermillion mess he had exposed. As he turned on the blowdryer, Caroline handed him her brush.

He worked slowly through her hair, relishing in the soft and flowery scent that flew his way with every blow of hair. Minutely, he urged forward until his toes barely touched her heels. He couldn’t tell whether her discreet and minuscule movements backward—toward him—was just her way of getting a better angle of herself in the mirror or was her consciously trying to get closer to him. Jimmy’s heart buzzed and spun in his ribcage quickly. When his fingers delicately brushed then stayed on Caroline’s neck—just along the gentle climb of her carotid artery, Jimmy swore she leant into his touch.

Jimmy then realized he’d been too focused on his fragile ministrations to look in the mirror at her. His eyes met the glass—a natural pinkish blush bloomed on her cheeks and slightly on her neck; her eyes were closed.

Like studying the results of a tricky science experiment, Jimmy slid his fingers downwards ever so slowly. He watched the small space of chest the robe exposed rise and fall quickly as his fingers moved. It was truly amazing watching her respond to his touch, and it ignited a furious fire in his every organ… Especially one. Never before had his pants grown so quickly and so easily tight.

When Jimmy flipped the switch of the blowdryer off, her eyes opened. And he knew by the look in her wet eyes that he was not alone in this hole-and-corner devotion, this furtive worship, this afire allegiance and heated curiosity. She looked away into the drain of the sink beneath her before Jimmy could further realize she liked looking at and talking to him as much as he did her; but he caught her nonetheless.

While opening his mouth to speak he decided a better use for his lips. His head lowered and met the side of her neck; he breathed her ensnaring scent through his nose and only laid his lips upon her delicate skin. In all the time that Jimmy had known women—the quiet sighs of women, their soft skin, their ripe lips—he had never been so enamored. And the core of his adoration was not lust but something so much stronger; a tug toward salvation. Caroline wasn’t a pair of legs to lay between whenever his frustration built or whenever he was drunk and aroused by nearly everything—she was another half to meet and complete. An unfinished circle. Something to love and fill and hold and trust and speak to and kiss and cry with.

She suddenly began to rile; she lashed quietly with a cry. But Jimmy kept her pinned as his hips met the small of her back. She felt his forearms encircle her waist and his lips ascend to the small, warm space of skin behind her ear. There his lips met her skin with a kiss. The sensation of his breath against the shell of her ear caused a first tear to meet the slope of her cheekbone.

It was wrong. Not only was it forbidden in the context of her job, but seeing her recent decline in health—it was wrong for him. He had to stop, she knew. She had to stop, she knew too. It could not go on. But his embrace was warmer than anyone’s she had ever encountered, and the rigidness pressed against her tailbone made her insides heat like an oven.

Her fragile hands shakily met the tops of his that lay on her abdomen. He instantly parted his fingers and pulled hers into a reversed hand-hold. His mouth hovered over her ear before it dropped onto her cheek, kissing away saline tears.

“Ne pleure pas,” he spoke quietly. His words only engendered a steady flow of tears; his effort set aflame her heart. He spoke French for her; he loved her. She knew he loved her.

Caroline shook—her body racking between a laugh and a sob.

“Ne pleure pas,” he repeated.

“Don’t you dare speak French to me,” she laughed as tears left her eyes. She looked at him and saw him smile endearingly. Most of Jimmy’s smiles were top-layer; he found something humorous or joyful and he smiled for it, but beneath it loomed other emotions. Never was it just a smile. But this was… just a smile.

Turned around partially now, her fingers left his hand and made delicate sashays up his wrist. Her short and bare fingernails dipped slightly beneath the hem of his shirt upon which she had so fervently insisted he wear. And Jimmy—inches above—watched her like he was watching a baby come to understand touch for the first time. He watched her fingers moved slowly through the screen of her long, wet lashes.

Jimmy bundled up Caroline tighter in his arms, and she laid her head against his chest. A tear still rolled down his flushed cheek when she looked up at him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so beautiful before in his life.

And neither did she. So she met his kiss when his head quickly lowered and instantly sunk her fingers into his wild hair. With one arm still around her back, Caroline felt Jimmy’s other arm wrap around her lower torso. And it was not slow—it was gripping and warm and wet.

Jimmy tasted like… she didn’t have a word for it. But he would hold her head straight so her mouth fell open and just kiss her repeatedly, endlessly, lovingly. Sometimes they were fast, and he’d breathe a hot breath quickly then tilt his head so he met her from another angle. Sometimes they were slow, and his tongue would meet hers; he’d just dive in so deeply she was sure he’d leave her lips bright and blooming like red carnations in June.

The rest of his body worked against her like a tidal wave meets a spiked rock. He rocked against her without restraint; she loved it. He spread her knees with his so her robe fell open and let some of him in; she loved it. His arms—when available—constantly moved to touch her and move her and hold her against him tightly; she loved it.

“Jimmy!” A feminine and familiar voice erupted from the bedroom. Caroline instantly repelled, rejected, revolted. She used the palm of her hand to wipe a smudged tear from her cheek then slammed her hands onto his chest, pushing him away.

“Imbécile!” She yelped and left the bathroom. She was immediately met with Margaux’s face.

“Pourquoi le garde pour toi? Tu ne dorme encore pas avec lui!” She whispered harshly at Caroline, who ignored her and slipped around her to snatch up her dress and shoes.

“Caroline!” Jimmy shouted after her. By the time he tried to get by Margaux, she was gone.

Taking Caroline as a date seemed no longer possible, especially seeing he couldn’t find her prior to being forced to go to the press party. However when he walked in—disoriented and quiet—he saw her across the floor of dancing people. Her dewy skin glittered and hands fumbled absentmindedly with the straw of some drink; she wore that little ivory dress and he swore to himself the damned nymph would be in for it.

Caroline refused to look up when she heard the crowd of groupies she was squished between wake up at the sight of the inevitable guests—the band. She refused to meet his eye, to say his name, to acknowledge his presence. She had no choice to reject him completely. Her blood drew a watch around her wrist—she had so little time left. She could not hurt him.

Meanwhile Jimmy pulled a roadie to the side—a fellow named Tomas—and ordered him to call the hotel they were staying in and rent out another bedroom. A suite—he preferred. Only the best for her.

“For what purpose, might I ask, Mr. Page?” Tomas asked before leaving to reach a telephone.

Jimmy looked around the room—at the fluttering groupies that seemed to eat Caroline like a hungry mass. “There’s quite a lot of ladies here tonight, and I’d not like to share them with Robert�� You know?” Tomas smirked and shook his head in the way men do. He left to ring the hotel.

Caroline was taking the remaining sip of her vodka tonic when she heard: “You’re the loveliest one here.”

She turned her head to see Billy. He smiled boyishly and held a beer in his hand. A smile finally nudged at Caroline’s mouth—a shy one, but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you Billy.”

“How are you?” He asked her. She looked at him with wide eyes.

“Ask a more interesting question,” she said quietly. However small and ashamed she felt, she could never fall to boredom.

“Okay,” he laughed awkwardly. “What are you drinking?”

She smiled, looking into her drink. “Now that it’s all gone—nothing. Could you get me another?” She held her empty glass out for him.

Hesitantly, he took it. “What should I get you?”

She shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Bewildered by her fantastic ambiguity, he trod proudly toward the bar—glad to be getting a drink for such a pretty lady. When the bottom of his glass met the table and he opened his mouth to call for the bartender with a virile tone and agenda, he was stopped.

“Get her a French Blonde,” a wonderfully familiar voice spoke lowly. In spite of how much he wanted to hear this voice normally—he did not want to hear it at this moment.

“Wh—” Billy turned his head to see Jimmy page holding up his hand for the bartender. The bartender was preparing several mixed drinks prior to seeing Jimmy, but he left them all where they were to attend to Jimmy.

“How can I help you, sir?” The man asked; his teeth were white and shining with his gripping smile.

Jimmy looked at Billy, who raised his eyebrows in confused shock. “A French Blonde, please,” Billy hastily answered.

“Anything for you, sir?” The bartender looked to Jimmy again, but Jimmy ignored the man and turned to Billy.

“I need you to ask Caroline something for me,” Jimmy leant in, lowering his forehead so his bangs drew curtains over his eyes.

Billy held up the French Blonde as he made his way back to Caroline. Impressed by his smart taste, she raised her eyebrows approvingly.

“Un choix judicieux,” she said quietly.

Billy cleared his throat, ready to begin asking the questions Jimmy had assigned. “Caroline, I was wondering…”

“Yes?” She looked up from a long sip of her French Blonde.

“Because you told me to ask a more interesting question,” he clarified. “Do you love anyone?”

“Sure, I do.”

“And who is worthy of such affection?”

“My mother, my sisters, my father, and my brother.”

“No one else?”

Caroline squinted her eyes analytically. She briefly glanced upward to see if Jimmy was watching her from some strange angle, but she saw his lovely mane of ebony curls turned against her, where he spoke to several domineering men. “No.”

“What do you think of all the girls hanging around Zeppelin? Do they ever annoy you? Do you like them?”

“I respect other people’s choices because they’re not mine. They can do what they wish with their time and their bodies. I’ll do what I wish.”

“Have you made friends with any of them?”

“I’m not very good at making friends.”

“You’re friends with Jimmy, aren’t you?”

She then downed her drink and headed out to the dance floor. She was drunk enough. Booming from the massive amplifiers was The Rolling Stones’ Who’s Been Sleeping Here? and Caroline was ready to dance—a hobby she typically didn’t partake in, but something told her to tonight. So she danced and danced and danced—wrapping herself in the warm crowd of those wild groupies, and pretending that everything in her life would work itself out.

“She hardly answered any of your questions!” Jimmy exclaimed, running an angry hand through a handful of dark curls.

“Well—you know her! She’s very shifty and… sly!” Billy argued.

“This is true,” Jimmy stopped pacing. “But you failed, regardless.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Page. But…” he looked out into the crowd. She was hard to miss—glittering like the moon in a galaxy of complete darkness. The Beach Boys now played; she moved like the ocean. “Listen, why don’t you go ask her yourself? She’s out there, she’s dancing alone… Go talk to her! If she really needs to talk to you, she will. If she won’t, then it’s not time and, therefore, it’s not even worth sending me out there.”

Jimmy’s brandy was on the counter and he was gone. Billy couldn’t tell whether he regretted his words.

Joni Mitchell played now—Cactus Tree. Caroline wanted to sit on the floor with her knees to her chest so she could cry furtively. She missed warmth. She missed him already. Though she was soon met by a tender embrace. An embrace that could part a crowd—which it did.

Jimmy latched an arm around her slender waist. Her fighting was in vain—not only was he besetting, but as were her feelings. Jimmy laid his chin upon the top of her head; she pressed her cheek against the opened buttons of his black shirt.

She could feel his heartbeat—in spite of the footsteps and the shouts and the music. She could hear it like it was her own heart beating. And she thought—momentarily—about Jimmy. And how good he was to her, and how he had become her best friend, and how she was slowly slipping into him and she didn’t ever want to leave. Caroline turned her head and pressed her lips against the concavity between his collarbones. She kept her mouth there, breathing in the scent of his skin.

“Can you come with me to the hotel?” Jimmy asked once his lips touched her ear through her thick hair. She did not respond. So he continued: “Caroline, please.”

With a fast glance, she looked up at him. Then she looked around them. Most were distracted with their own controversies and wrongdoings to take notice of the forbidden activity going on between Caroline and Jimmy. She nodded against his chest and reached for his hand. Once he developed a steady hold on her, he began to move toward the exit of the press party venue.

Once outside, things were relatively quiet. Or at least comparatively so—in cities usually everything teemed with some dimension of life at all hours. But in Sydney, walking away from the clubhouse as two mere figures walking hand in hand, against one another—they were a part of something much quieter.

“J’ai tombé amoureux de toi,” Jimmy tried.

“Je suis tombée amoureuse de toi,” Caroline corrected and admitted—though not to his knowledge. She took his hand and spun around beneath his arm—until she was standing properly in front of him and walking backwards. “Mais, I like your attempt.”

“Et tu es ma meilleure amie.”

Caroline stopped and smiled. “You’re my best friend too.”

Jimmy smiled a whole smile again—where there was nothing else beneath it.

Hand-in-hand, they kept walking along the sidewalk. Jimmy would try and sneak kisses against her temple and her hairline, and maybe on her neck and lips, but she would inch away and just pull him onward. Eventually they came across a bar, and Jimmy watched as Caroline tilted her head upward; neon lights illuminated every sharp and gentle curve of her face. She dragged him into the bar. Being so late at night, it wasn’t terribly crowded—though there were no seats at the bar. Caroline had other plans, however, and she dragged Jimmy to one of the shadowy booths in the back before anyone could recognize him.

Jimmy first extended his hands across the table, palms open. She grasped them hesitantly, smiling once her skin touched his. She brought his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. The hands provided a place where she was not too deep nor too shallow. His knuckles were not his lips, though she wasn’t not kissing him.

“Caroline—”

A waiter came over to the darkened booth with a pad of paper. “What can I get you?”

“Two glasses of your house red,” Caroline ordered for Jimmy.

Not being able to recognize Jimmy Page in the long shadows cast by the booth’s chairs, he scribbled down the order and was off.

“Why’d you order my drink?” Jimmy asked with a smile. He could not stop smiling. Everything she said, everything he said, everything she did, everything he did—all in this moment made him genuinely happy.

“You ordered my drink at the party,” she said with lowered eyes.

“You knew that was me?” Jimmy chuckled.

“Like Billy could order that,” she rolled his eyes. He soon was up as she laughed and Caroline watched him scale the table. He slid in beside her, letting a hand move behind her back and hook her hip. He tugged her toward her and she crashed into him, laughing fervently.

“I’m so in love with you,” he spoke brightly, with a glorious light in his eyes. For that he earned a kiss. He tried to hold it but she slipped away. “And all I want to do is touch you, and talk to you, and kiss you.”

Another kiss. “You know, everyone thinks of you as this… shady enigma. Yet, you couldn’t be less of this—it seems,” she said and he kissed her again. She sighed into it briefly, igniting a quiet fire in his heart and loins.

“Really?”

“You’re just this… romantic cornball.”

“Romantic cornball?” Jimmy laughed loudly. She latched a finger around the ball of his jaw and pulled him in. Her mouth was open this time—warm and welcoming. The quiet sounds she made only worsened Jimmy’s southward condition. Soon he was sure she’d have to say something about the stiffness against her leg as she slowly draped herself across him. He couldn’t even be ashamed at the ease this came to him—everything she did made him hard.

“Yes,” she whispered, pressing her lips against the underside of his jaw.

“How’s that?” He asked but she was on him again—latched on. When one of her hands moved to sit on his knee he knew he was done for. A quick breath left Jimmy’s mouth and he eagerly moved his hips so she felt him. They didn’t even realize the waiter bringing the wine.

“That easy, huh?” She asked, quietly acknowledging his arousal.

“This is what you do to me,” he muttered. She shook her head and laughed. Then she reached for her wine and drank slowly—Jimmy watched like a suitor watches an available princess. “God, I love you.”

“Did you ever finish that book I gave you?” She asked and he took a sip of wine. She watched him drink—watched him like a mistress watches her king.

“The Lady of the Shroud?” He clarified. She nodded.

“I did,” he grinned.

“Well, what did you think?”

#jimmy page #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fan fic #jimmy page fan fiction #led zeppelin #led zeppelin fanfiction #fanfiction #robert plant #john paul jones #john bonham #classic rock

43 notes · View notes