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rhodesrider · 1 year

Text

Stress

Bloodline x Little! Black! Fem Reader

SFW! 18+! Minors DNI!

Warnings: Age Regression, Affirmation Names, Crying

After a long day of work and school beating your brain like mush you got in the door and sighed in relief sitting down finally. You dropped your bag down and laid your head back on the couch stressed. All your classes have you this pit of anxiety and made you worry and sick to your stomach. That’s why most of the time your little around Roman and the twins and solo.

Solo was listening to music coming from downstairs looking up seeing you. “Hey mamas.” He smiled and kissed your forehead going to sit with you. You waved a bit and still had a worried face about your work. “What’s the matter angel?” He put his music away and he got closer to you, you look at him putting on a fake smile. “I’m fine baby.” You say but solo knew better. “You looked stressed out baby. Is it school again? You’ve been doing good with your classes.” You just shrug irritated about it now because there’s a class that’s at a low grade. It’s not the end of it you can still pass it but it’s just hard. You look at your phone about the scores and what the professor said to you about your grades. It soon starting messing with you. Solo saw the tears starting to swell in your eyes making you sniffle and he quickly took your phone away and grabbed you getting you on his hip kissing your cheek.

“You wanna go and see your others daddy’s too?”

You nod quick wanting to forget this stressful day and slowly just slip. Solo got you up stairs to your room changing you and getting you in more comfy wear. You were still sad shedding tears still in a slipping process. Solo got your pajamas on and kissed the tears away, then looking that the large Afro puff you had in a pony tail. “Hmmm imma need help.” He texted Jimmy to come in for the hair. Jimmy knocked and walked in smiling. “Hey pretty baby.” You wave lightly and Jimmys smile kind of disappeared. “She’s not fully little yet.” Solo informed. “Ohhhh lemme fix that.” He smiles again and get the hair equipment ready but first getting her teething necklace and a squish mellow to hold. “Ok don’t get me wrong but you were holding Mario all week and King is pretty Jealous.” He held the big sting ray to his ear nodding. “Yea he’s sad that you forgot alllll about him.” You frown sniffling some. “Nuuuu! I sorry king!” You reach for him more and Jimmy happily gives you the plush.

Jimmy finished up braiding your hair in two as you and solo were watching some hello kitty YouTube shows. “Ok princess all done! Now let’s see about bonnets.” He looked around and grabbed two he picked out. “Let’s see light blue or pink?” You sat there for a minute looking at them and then your pjs not sure. “I think the pink matches so let’s do that.” Jimmy puts it on covering your eyes a bit making you giggle. “Sounds like someone is extra little today.” Jimmy informed Solo and he nodded. He’s honest still learning as well, so extra little usually means 3 years old to 5 years old besides the usual middle age 8 you are.

Jimmy carried you out on your hip going in the theater chill room where Roman and Jey were. “Is that my babydoll?” Roman looked up before Jey and smiles. “Dada!” You giggle as Jey ran up to you tickling you. “Munchkin! You know I missed you more than anyone in here.” He smiled grabbing you. Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Sure.” “Is she ok now?” Roman asked as he went over to give kisses as you sat on Jey’s lap. “Shes ok I got her phone too.” Solo tossed Roman your phone and you reached a bit for it. “Here baby.” Jey gave you your black pacifier, making you immediately forget your phone and you played with his dog tags on his chest. Roman got solo to the side. “What triggered her?” “Stressin about school. It happened slow too…” Roman nodded and smiled kissing your cheek. “You wanna watch some TV mamas?” You nodded quick still on Jey and bounced some as they put the tv on to your favorite show.

About two hours in, you started to yawn. “Ooo sounds like someone gettin sleepy.” He smirked and he picked you up. “Nuuu dadas more Bluey…” You babbled some as you were getting more sleepy. “Romie is gonna tuck you in thou. And he’s got a good book for you.” He informed and you suddenly stopped moving. “Ok..” You agreed and they went ahead back to your room. “Hi princess.” He was already in the room, with a new Disney princess book and some warm milk in a sippy cup to help you sleep. Roman took you from Jey, but before that he gave you a bunch of kisses on your face. “You get some good sleep ok mamas?” You nod and he waved saying goodnight. Roman got you in bed and tucked you in giving you the bottle, tasting the milk you were happy he remembered to put vanilla in it. “So what princess tonight baby girl?” You just shrugged honest not able to choose. Roman looked at the book and decided to pick Mulan.

“You know baby, Mulan reminds me of you.”

You looked confused as you handed him your cup getting ready for bed. “Dada im a princess like her?” He nodded. “Yes. A brave one. You have a lots on your plate when you’re my big girl. And yet you get it done and it’s so amazing. You’re very strong too.” He smiled. “Like dadas?” He chuckled. “Yes like dadas. Very strong. But what if I told you Rommie wasn’t strong all the time?” You gasp a bit. “Yea I know. Sometimes JJ and Jimmys isn’t that strong or dada solo. But you make us strong princess.” You smile hiding your face a bit embarrassed. “But we still get stuff done and we work out anything that’s making us feel icky.” You nodded. “Schools makes me icky and cry.” He nodded agreeing. “I know. But that’s where you think of your Dadas and be strong. You can get it done mamas.” He kissed your forehead and went to turn on the nightlight. The room was soon filled with beautiful stars and you smile your eyes getting heavy. “I love you babygirl. You sleep tight.” He watched as you went to sleep fully.

“You’re gonna be ok baby.”

#wwe one shot #wwe imagine #wwe smackdown #wwe raw #wwe roman reigns #wwebloodline #jey uso #jimmy uso #solo sikoa #age regressor #age regression

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critical-reflex · 2 months

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♡♤

♤: can you lose your wallet and still have an identity?

♡: it matters who people think you are.

♤: what about who i think i am?

♡: irrelevant.

♤: what about you?

♡: i'm reading the writings on the walls. some of the ink has turned colors.

♤: and so here you are.

♡♤: waiting for the moment i confirm or deny.

♡: well, for the first five months of twenty-twenty i slipped into a dream and it was so meticulously crafted that i didn't notice the bizarre irregularities as i went on about my business.

example. the dream deli where i loved to tickle Jimmy's beard for a cold sub was situated at Roswell and Hunter. that's not accurate at all in reality, it's between Cheshire and York. but who cares, names are names.

i carried on doing what felt right. i worked at my desk. i was a good little boy and said excuse me every time i passed gas. i took Frogger out for a walk along his favorite route. no one stared at him weird for only having three legs. in reality he had four. numbers are numbers mmm.

at night i took out my contacts flawlessly - amazing because i never learned how. i washed my hands with the invisible water rushing out of the faucet. the heat pouring over me was a sure sign that it existed. and that's when i knew you were real - well, thought - because when you put your arms around me and snuggled me safely into your wings, i rediscovered love.

safety and love are rarely different.

and now that i'm awake, shaking from deep inside bone marrow, seeing constellations and mountains disappear without notice or news reports, segments of the sky being torn down like 80's wallpaper, i'm still a little iffy about a couple of things ...

♤: like when will i see you next?

♡: of course.

♤: if you're lucky, at the next meteor shower or blood moon.

♡: and what am i supposed to do until then?

♤: as you were. dreaming.

♡: dreaming is the only option i ever had.

♤: have you tried making music out of the chaos and destruction?

♡:

♤: hold my hand.

■

#poeticstories #poetryportal #bitsofstarglow #spilled thoughts #smittenbypoetry #spilled ink #poetry #original poetry #poems and poetry

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rainbowchaox · 1 year

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i gotta do it, team rancher

(also if it tickles your fancy, maybe some scarian?)

The Ranchers 💚💛❤️

Whose the cuddler?: Look I be honest both are. I will say that Tango is more open about wanting cuddles and maybe even more PDA stuff. But Jimmy quickly gets used to being ok with wanting cuddles all the time. (Me holding fanon Jimmy with touch starvation). So yes I think Tango starts the affection but Jimmy soon follows suit.

Who makes the bed?: Look I’m sorry but there’s no way in the Nether that Tango “Gets distracted by numerous projects and builds at a time” Tek remembers to make the bed. He isn’t dirty persee just the sort of person that has a idea and needs to do something about said idea in the moment. Plus look at me and try to say that Jimmy wouldn’t gladly do it daily. He is a adorable male wife (COUGH COUGH he feels he needs to be useful so he does chores and cooks and stuff COUGH COUGH)

Who wakes up first?: Look it’s Jimmy. Either it’s tango crashing because his dumbo self stayed up all night doing blueprints on way too much caffeine or Jimmy too comfy won’t get up.

Who has weird taste in music? Honestly probs tango. I feel Jimmy would only listen to all flavors of Folk music and Country music. Tango tunes is probs a train mixed with a electric bass or something.

Who sings in the shower?: Jimmy! And he is hecka good at it (tango calling him his songbird my beloved)

Who cries at the movies?: Look LOOK both of them would hug each other as they cry. GOALS.

Who spends the most out shopping?: Tango solely because in lore I always imagine redstone machines and stuff are hecka expensive. Jimmy usually makes everything he uses (Farms? Basic clothes? Basic furniture etc)

Who kisses more roughly?: Honestly I feel like it be Tango because I feel he would be overly excited while Jimmy gets flustered with a peck on the cheek (my beloved birb)

Who is more dominate?: Honestly I feel like Tango. Primarily because Jimmy has sorta a soft spine and gets trapped over so Tango gives me vibes of “he asked for no pickles” energy.

My rating of the ship: 100 @hybbat I saw you asked the same question (it came when I just finished here)

————————-

Desert Duo 💚💛❤️!

Whose the cuddler?: Okay it’s scar because primarily I can see no fanon Grian where he isn’t like a feral cat being forced to have affection and cuddles upon him

Who makes the bed?: Grian but he gives me vibes of being the type of person to loudly complain while he does so.

Who wakes up first?: Grian but he isn’t a happy morning person but sleep avails him.

Who has werid taste in music?: Look it’s scar. Just the vibes

Who sings in the shower:? Scar and Grian both are good singers. I mean Griande has to have decent cadence to be such a pop sensation.

Who cries at the movies?: Scar primarily I feel he would get so connected to whatever he watches.

Who spends the most out shopping?: Scar “Capitalist” Goodtimes clearly. And I always imagine it’s the most random stuff ever. Like the stuff your grandma buys off those annoying ads about random things.

Who kisses more roughly?: Knowing the fics I have seen especially post cheating arc? BOTH ARE LIP VAMPIRES.

Who is more dominate?: Okay the thing is they are equal level of chaos gremlin so they are equal in fluff and insanity. So it depends really.

My rating of the ship?: 9/10 (I find it cute but not otp level.

#team rancher #rancher duo #lifeline game #desert duo

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dustedmagazine · 11 hours

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Listening Post: Mdou Moctar

Mdou Moctar is, without question, one of the pre-eminent rock guitarists of our time, as much a master of heavy, hazy grooves as of double-tapped Van Halen-esque shreddery. His music is steeped in a very specific desert blues aesthetic, the swaying, side-to-side rhythms that evoke camel caravans, the keening call and response that suggests lonely attempts at communion in remote campsites, the hard-bashed but intricate percussion, the silky multi-colored tunics that the band sports onstage. And yet, it’s universal in the same amp fried lineage as Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Eddie Hazel and, oh right, Eddie van Halen.

Dusted has been enamored of Mdou Moctar for quite some time, beginning with Patrick Masterson’s highly entertaining review of the Akounak Tedalat Taha Tazoughai OST in 2015—the music for a remake of Prince’s Purple Rain in the Tamashek language— on Sahel Sounds.Masterson observed, “The idea of a Tuareg Purple Rain would have been unthinkable in 1984, not least of all because —and I cannot stress enough how funny I find this — there is no Tamashek word for ‘purple.’ Yet, 31 years later, here we are — the magic of a smaller world has helped bring an academic outsider’s joke to life. The punchline, of course, is that it’s as good as advertised.”

We collectively fell for Ilana (The Creator) and its out-of-hand shredding in 2019.Isaac Olsen noted, “If you still have a punk-induced allergy to flashy guitar solos, be warned; there’s not a track on Ilana where Moctar doesn’t take every available opportunity to — no other word for it — shred. Fortunately, Moctar earns the right to play his ass off by recruiting a band whose hungry energy matches and spurs on his own and by, for the first time, writing a whole album of tunes worthy of his chops.” The record brought a normally fractious Dusted roster to unity and dominated the 2019 Mid-Year feature.

Two years later, Afrique Victime won praise for its less showy, more groovy vibe. Said Jennifer Kelly in her review, “While he’s been one of rock music’s best guitarists for a while, the larger platform takes him out of the niche desert blues category and into the broader multinational arena. He might be excused for capitalizing by leaning into the rock elements of his sound, but instead, he’s putting forward the droning, mystic, call-and-response twilight magic of northwest African guitar music.”

And so we come to Funeral for Justice, another scorcher. The new record is as sharp and impassioned as any Moctar and his band have done so far, and it is inflamed with political energy. It comes after a period of exile after civil war in Niger. It calls out the injustices of colonialism, economic inequality and exploitation in cuts including the title track, “Oh France” and “Modern Slaves.” It cooks on the strength of a band that has never sounded better or more locked in, and it has one or two guitar solos, too.

Intro by Jennifer Kelly

Jennifer Kelly: How are you all liking the new Mdou Moctar? I’m feeling like it’s the best thing he’s ever done, not different exactly but more intense and volcanic. Definitely turned up to 11.

Bill Meyer: My first reaction is that while Funeral For Justice definitely foregrounds the shredding, I miss the layered sound of Afrique Victime. But I’m tickled to hear the increased prominence of electronic percussion and autotune. It’s kind of a roots move, given that the first time a lot of people heard him was on a tune originally identified only as “Autotune,” which appeared on the Sahel Sounds compilation, Music From Saharan Cellphones.

Tim Clarke: I saw Mdou Moctar live last year at a music festival, and it was very loud and thrilling. This is the first time I've listened to a full album. It makes me realize how little I'm drawn to fast guitar playing! And the band's trademark "cantering" rhythm feels like a bit of a musical rut. But when they explore outside these parameters, things get more interesting, especially when they play around with a mix of recording fidelities at the start of second track, "Imouhar." I also like the fact the record is concise and well-paced. Definitely piqued my interest to hear more of what the band can do.

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Christian Carey: The combination of desert blues and intense rock solos is amazing - and fairly singular. The group vocals create an appealing contrast to Mdou's shredding.

I'm not sure that he can raise the intensity level any higher than this — turned up to 12?

Jennifer Kelly: I'm so glad you guys picked up on this. Lots to think about.

First regarding Bill's comment about a "rootsier" sound, it's complicated isn't it?

We look to third world artists for authenticity, which in its most reductive form means less electrification, fewer electronics, etc. But as Bill points out, Mdou's early stuff was heavily autotuned, as for instance here:

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And a lot of the Sahel Sounds’ (and thanks, Bill, for making sure we gave them credit for being first with this stuff) cellphone compilations have a very slick, disco-electronic vibe. And that's music largely produced for African audiences without much consideration of a global audience. So which is authentic?

Also, my understanding, Tim, is that the rhythm is based on the way camels walk and a nod to West Africa's nomadic culture and heritage? You hear the same beat in Tinawarin's stuff.

Tim Clarke: I can definitely hear the camel's gait in the cantering rhythm section, that slightly awkward, loping feel. It's certainly unique.

Bryon Hayes: The almost hard rock riff in the intro of the title track originally confused me (did I put the right album on?), but I found it really powerful upon further spins of the album, especially how it segues into the cantering rhythm. Also, the roar as the lower fidelity section of “Imouhar” transitions to a higher fidelity is downright mind-melting! He’s experimenting with song form, and it really works.

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Michael Rosenstein: As much as I've liked Mdou Moctar's music, I have to admit that this one is starting to lose me a bit. But that has way more to do with my musical proclivities than it does to the music at hand. What originally drew me to Moctar's music was the rawness of it; that uneasy balance of "shredding" that others have mentioned with a trance-like, cyclical flow. That was really foregrounded in his early albums like Afelan or Anar both of which were released a decade ago. This new one sounds, to my ears, much more heavily produced and fussed over. I admit, though, that I'm really uneasy with my assessment in that, as much as I hope I'm not, I fear I am just bringing my old, white, privileged judgement to bear. Is this just me judging that the music is no longer "authentic" enough? Or is it just that he is embracing the rock leanings inherent to his music and that just resonates less with me?

I do find it curious that, as far as I can tell, none of Moctar's music on Sahel Sounds is available anymore (including the one track on Music from Saharan Cellphones: Volume 2 referenced by Bill.) I have no idea if that is by his choice, by contractual obligations with Matador, or by the choice of the Sahel Sounds folks.

Jennifer Kelly: I noticed that those records were missing, too, when I looked for the Sahel Sounds records to hear the autotune. I wonder what happened?

Some of the songs are still very trance-y..."Imouhar," for example, especially at the beginning (it gets loud later), "Takoba" all the way through. The production seems about the same as on Afrique Victime to me, clean but not overly so. (Though, I will admit that I probably like the rock stuff more than Michael does.)

We haven't really talked about the political backdrop to this record, have we? The fact that Civil War in Niger has left them stranded in the States since 2023. I don't speak Tamshek but it seems that a lot of the songs with English titles are about politics and colonialism, which may affect the way they play and present the material, yes? It's different from writing songs about village life or falling in love with the local beauty.

Ian Mathers: I'll admit, there's at least a part of me that wishes this whole record was just unabashedly Going For It as hard as the opening title track does. Not that I don't like the relatively more restrained material; I'm not terribly knowledgeable about African music in general but "Takoba" reminds me of one of the few records from the continent I do very much know and love, the one Ali Farka Toure did with Ry Cooder (Talking Timbuktu) that my dad played all the time when I was in high school. Toure was from Mali, which at least shares a border with Niger, so hopefully I'm not being too ignorant hearing similarities in some of the guitar playing there. The more monomaniacally the band gets cooking here, generally, the more I like it (I really like "Sousoume Tamacheq," for example). I think I probably like it a little more than (the also excellent!) Afrique Victime, although I think for similar but opposite reasons to Michael, that it's just more to my taste and not necessarily a better record.

I'd also love to see a full set of lyrics/translations, and everything I've read about the sociopolitical context of the band and this music has been fascinating, but mostly right I'm just appreciating and enjoying this record in a similar way to, say, Oneida's "Sheets of Easter" or that U SCO record I picked for our 2023 Slept On round up.

Tim Clarke: Further to what you're saying about enjoying the "everything on 11" aspect of Moctar's sound, I can't help wondering what the band would sound like recorded by Steve Albini. That I'd like to hear!

Ian Mathers: Oh, good point; maybe because we talked about African Head Charge a while back I'm now also wondering what Adrian Sherwood would make of them.

Bill Meyer: I don’t think you’re too far off the mark in seeing a similarity between Moctar’s and Ali Farka Toure’s music, Ian. Toure worked with the languages and styles of several ethnic groups from the Malian interior, soI’m sure he would have been acquainted with the precedents for what Moctar does. Moctar is from subsequent generation, so his music is more in touch with what has been popular in the Sahel in this century. But another thing they both have in common is that they’ve been worked a lot on non-African stages, gotten hold of gear that isn’t particularly available back home, and undergone a personal course of development on a world stage.

Their politics are different, though. I think Toure was the mayor (or something similar) of his town. He was pretty invested in fostering the stability of the existing Malian state, thus all the songs in different languages that encouraged people to get along. He was the big man in town who responsibly leveraged his popularity as a musician to obtain resources for his community. Your CD purchases generated income for Niafunke’s farming community. Moctar, on the other hand, was just another guy on the street, albeit an artistically ambitious one, until musical opportunities permitted him to tour and make records outside of Niger. His stance, as far as I can grasp it, is critical of African leaders who don’t look out for their people, and even more critical of the foreign powers that have run roughshod over his country (mostly France and the US).

Matador came through with the lyrics.

[Here are some excerpts.]

“ FUNERAL FOR JUSTICE”

Dear African leaders, hear my burning question

Why does your ear only heed France and America?

They misled you into giving up your lands

They delightfully watch you in your fraternal feud

They possess the power to help out but chose not to

Why is that? When your rights are trodden upon

“ MODERN SLAVES”

Oh world, why be so selective about human beings?

My people are crying while you laugh

All you do is watch

Oh world, why be so selective about counrties?

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed.

Jennifer Kelly: Wow, that is fiery stuff.

Ian Mathers: I can also see in the translated lyrics even more of a connection between the two countries, with Tamasheq described as "A helpless orphan abandoned by 3 countries / Mali-Niger, Niger-Mali and Algeria as the third." Interesting to note the gap between Toure and Moctar's respective places in society (at least right now, for Moctar). I didn't specifically think of reggae when I was reading the lyrics, Bill, but once you point it out there does seem to be a number of shared themes, maybe even some metaphors and imagery, there.

#dusted magazine #listening post #mdou moctar #funeral for justice #matador #sahel sounds

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thepinkwriterr · 1 year

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Capricorn Season Chapter Twenty-Four

Table of Contents

Word Count: 4.4k

"You're going to another Sabbath show?" Jimmy asked.

"Yes! And this time it's by myself. I get to make my own contacts and build connections."

He sighed. His brows weaved together in worry. "Why can't you just stay here with us?"

"I know you're nervous about me going off on my own," she rested her hand on his shoulder, lithe and warm, "but it's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay."

"You promise?" He stuck his pinky out and waited for her to do the same.

She hooked her pinky around his with a smile. "I promise." She then stood to get dressed, going to her suitcase as Jimmy started up again.

"But why can't you go when we don't have a show? Why must you leave us? You're our best girl."

"Lorelei will just have to suffice tonight. William is really proud of me that I landed Sabbath. They're new and already generating a lot of buzz. If we can catch them on the front side and have the photos in a couple of months everyone will want to work with the company, and me by extension. This is important."

He sighed again, looking her over. She was undressed from the waist down, which didn't help his growing anxiety about her going out. He was already jealous, conjuring images in his mind of horny men and her inability to say no. "I suppose I understand."

"You better suppose. This is good for my career. How would you feel if I bellyached about you making an album? Or going on tour."

"I see your point, darling. Just promise me you won't go off and shag some man in the club toilets."

"Well, the night is still young. I can't make any promises," she joked with a shrug.

"Come here you cheeky bint!" He grabbed her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She let out a squeal that was heard by Lorelei and Robert in the next room over. As he tickled her she only grew louder, causing the blond couple to make assumptions about their actions.

"What in the bloody hell are they up to over there?" Robert pressed his ear to the wall, waiting in silence to hear another sharp sound.

Lorelei scoffed. "You are so weird. You're intruding on them, y'know? How would you feel if they did that to you?"

"I bet Jimmy does, the ole chap. He's always been a little too fond of my hair," he mused, fluffing his flaxen curls.

Lorelei giggled. "You have such a big head."

"You think?" He said with wide eyes.

"Will you wear my bracelet?" Jimmy asked, holding tightly onto her wrist. He didn't want to let her go.

She laughed at him. He was acting like a child. "Why do you want me to?"

"Just to give you something to remember me by."

"Remember you? I'm going to a club, not Afghanistan."

He looked at her with a pained expression. "Fine," she sighed. He slipped the bracelet on her wrist with a smile.

The club was crowded and hot, packed to the brim with a slew of already too-drunk people. This club was larger than the one in L.A.; every seat was full. Luckily, she would be standing the whole show.

As the lights dimmed a wave of people cheered, roaring before the music even started. They were insatiable. She could understand why having felt the driving force of their music last week. The chemistry of the four was undeniable and produced something magical.

"This is some new material, off the album coming in a couple of months." Ozzy's voice was deep and inviting, ushering a hand to the audience to join them in their coming madness. "It's called Paranoid," he said with a flourish as the show began.

Gwen was swept in as the group dove into a stuttering number. The brooding lyrics of exile and soiled love were fitting for his outcast persona, perhaps accurate for the odd man. She had to forcibly still herself as she clicked the camera button, the music taking her over. She wanted to jump around and dance, just a,s Ozzy was. At the first show, she was unfamiliar and stunned by their prowess, but now she wanted to join in on the fun.

She did just that when the band started on NIB. She knew it already, having replayed it endlessly on the record she bought. She annoyed Jimmy with this, as he did not enjoy the heavy sounds. She thought maybe he was jealous, seeing her fawn over another English band.

Or perhaps he just didn't like the sound. He's more of a bluesy, classical fan anyway. He wouldn't get it, although a pioneer of heavy metal himself.

The flow of energy fueled her as she snapped photos. Each frame was turning out wonderfully. Although she could not see them, she knew already they would be great. She could feel the inspiration dancing in her fingers. Wi, the every movement of the band there was a synergy created. The camera was merely recording the transaction as she stood as a witness.

As the show wound to a close, the energy in the room filtered into a steady buzz. The crowd was filled with adrenaline and alcohol, the vilest of combinations.

She filled three film reels. She'd taken almost eighty photos. William would be pleased, albeit a little bitter with the price.

She didn't join the guys backstage like she originally wanted. When she checked her watch, which was borrowed from Jimmy, she saw that it was almost two in the morning. She could already feel her energy dwindling.

When she returned to the hotel, she saw Jimmy had waited. The lamp was still on, and he was sat up in bed, his lower half burrowed under the covers. He was reading, the cover's two sides resting in his hands. He was devouring a book about astrology; the same one he'd bought at the Texas bookstore.

"Hello, Gweny," He looked up to her with a smile as she entered. She gave him a sloppy greeting and crashed into the bed.

She could feel the time wearing on her weary body. This tour was doing so much damage, running her ragged as she burned the candle from both ends. Every morning was an early rise and every night stretched into the late hours. This was the penance of her job.

"I'll take it you're tired?" He spoke, stating rather than asking. She nodded her head into his arm, resting her hot and tired forehead on his skin. "Come here." He raised his arm and allowed her to crawl into his chest and curl up, lying like a cat in his warmth. "Better?" She hummed a short response and quickly succumbed to sleep.

The next morning she woke up with a joyous feeling. She looked forward to the work she was to do that night. When the morning sun rose, barely peaking from behind the clouds, she opened her eyes. Her movements woke him.

"G'mornin', love." His mumbling was barely audible.

"Good morning, Jimmy Jam. How are you?" She asked while stroking his hair.

"Would be better if you didn't call me that."

"My apologies, Jimmy. How do you feel now?"

"Like a bird with new wings." She chortled into the pillow he was laying on. His British humor was never lost on her.

"Do you want to go to breakfast?" She asked.

"Is anyone even down there? It's so fuckin' early. Why are you up?"

"I don't know, I was just spirited this morning."

"You usually aren't up unI'dI wake you. And by then, I've already been up two hours and taken a shower. It's quite cute how you're a deep sleeper."

"Thanks, I guess. No one has ever said that to me before." She turned to look at him from the skinny hotel closet. She dressed in a white shirt and short overalls, finishing the look with two messy pigtails.

"Hello, Mr. Jones." She smiled as she sat down at the breakfast table.

"We're here to ruin your quiet morning." Jimmy jested.

"No, no, you couldn't ruin my morning. I was just doing some light reading, as usual." He sat his book on the theL-ShapedIt was a copy of The L Shaped Room. "Y'know, Gwen, I think you would really like this book. It's about this girl who gets pregnant out of wedlock and her father kicks her out. She has to go live in this boarding house, and she meets all of the other denizens of the house. They are all outcasts and oppressed people. The main theme is a woman finding her own happiness through herself and her experiences. It's absolutely wonderful so far."

"That sounds like a good read. You should lend it to me when you're done. Ooo, and then we can talk about it. It'll be like our own little book club!"

"We should start one of those. You can give me a book and then we can talk about it," Jonesy's face was painted with a genuine smile.

"I actually just finished reading Sisterhood Is Powerful. It's another feminist book. It's a little more academic, but I really loved it."

Before he could give an enlightening response, Robert's loud voice filled the lobby. "Good morning, friends!" Peter was in tow, seemingly chasing the blond like he was a toddler.

"Bright blessings." Jimmy smiled.

"Huh?" Robert asked, his face twisting in confusion.

"You say merry meet, Robert. It's a greeting." Gwen said.

"Oh, merry meet, Jimmy." He felt cool now that he was in on it. He smoothed his sweater down as he sat next to Peter, who was billowing with smoke.

"I would love to give it a try after I'm done with this one. I'm always on the hunt for new books." Jonesy ignored them, pulling Gwen's attention back to him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Robert leaned into them on his elbows, a cheeky smile on his bright face. A cigarette sat between Peter's swollen fingers, the ash growing longer as he let it sit. His eyes swept over the morning paper. He was realL-Shapedignor,ng them.

"The L Shaped Room." Jonesy said.

"So, you said it's about a woman who gets pregnant out of wedlock, and she doesn't stay with the father?" She asked.

"I thought it was about a lesbian," Robert said. Gwen and Jonesy gave him a confused look.

"What?" Jonesy asked.

"Y'know, L-shaped. Lesbians. They both start with L." This made Jimmy laugh, but the other two were quiet.

"No, she isn't interested in him. It's kind of a running theme, a woman's right to choose." Jonesy pushed his comment aside.

"Where's Lorelei?" Gwen asked, bringing the attention back to Robert, much to Jonesy's chagrin.

"She's sleeping beauty. I left her good and tired last night." Jonesy grimaced and Gwen laughed. Jimmy was staring off into space, pretending he was somewhere else. "Have you heard Joni Mitchell's new album?" Robert asked, not to anyone in particular.

"Oh my god, yes! I love her so much. I didn't know you listened to her too." Gwen chose to believe he was asking her.

"I adore her too. This new album was very special. I've been wanting to show it to Lorelei." Robert was lighting a cigarette of his own now. He fished it out of the cellophane wrapper and put it between his lips.

Gwen grimaced as Robert flicked open his zippo. "I think it's their best work so far. I mean, conversation is one of the best songs I've ever heard."

"Woodstock is just marvelous, really. I think she's doing some good stuff," his lips formed around the cigarette as he spoke.

"I know! Her voice makes my soul leave my body. Jimmy, we have to have a Joni listening party when we get back home!" He nodded deftly and went back to his own imagination.

The joyful breakfast was interrupted by an overexcited Bonzo. He ran from his room, pants bunched around his ankles. "Guys, guys!" He was barreling toward the group, pulling up his pants. He buttoned and zipped as he ran closer to his confused friends. "You have to see these titties, they're crazy!" Jonesy looked to the others; confusion thick on his features. Bewilderment was passed from each person in silence. Bonzo stood, petulant and wild-eyed, coaxing them to come into his hotel room. 'causedn't see 'um last night cause I was pissed, but I saw them this morning. They're crazy!" He repeated.

The group was quite still, but Jimmy and Robert stood from their chairs, going to follow their friend. Gwen grabbed his sleeve, wrapping her fingers around his forearm, "Down, boy." She pulled him back into his seat, but Robert followed Bonzo to the room.

An uncomfortable silence sat around the table as Jonesy slurped his soup. He was trying his best to keep decorum and pretend this wasn't absurd. "So how did you enjoy the Sabbath show last night?" He asked.

"Oh, it was lovely," she started awkwardly, staring daggers into Jimmy, "They have a lot of energy so they're really fun to shoot. I'm sure my photos are going to turn out great. I had to wake up early and send them off to William. I planned to shoot them again, tonight."

Before Jonesy could make any livelier conversation the two guys were back. "Oh dear fucking god." Jonesy sighed.

"What? What could you possibly want? You two are freaks!" She said.

"Against my better judgment, Bonzo was correct. They really are quite a spectacle." Robert spoke with his usual tender and sonorous voice.

It was a gross perversion that he used this tone to speak such vile words, Gwen thought. "No, Jesus! You guys are disgusting. And it's quite terrible that you're doing this."

"Oh c'mon, don't be such a prude. They're just titties. W'emve all seen um, you've got em!" Bonzo shouted, rather excitedly.

She looked to him with a glare, "It's not the matter of seeing them, it's not consensual and gross. You can'thatjust laugh at someone like th-"

He interrupted, "This is just like the other night when you wouldn't accept my drink. We're on tour, let loose a little. Have some fun!" He implored, "You can even take some photos."

"I will not be doing that." She said as she stood. The other two guys joined her and they went on their way.

The floors creaked under their weight as they tip-toed to Bonzo's room. He pushed the wooden door lightly, the hinges squeaking as it swung open with a creak. The woman lay tangled in a mess of dark sheets like a slumbering dragon. Her body raised in light breaths, hollowing to exhale. The men looked at her as a mythical creature, while Gwen looked at her friends as foreign beings. She was disgusted by their curiosity while possessing it herself. This interest was satiated when she turned on her back, exposing her chest. The group was in awe, now understanding Bonzo's sentiment. Their spell was broken when he stepped forward, reaching for the mysterious, scarred, and lopsided chest.

"Stop it!" Gwen delivered a harsh smack to the back of his head. The sound echoed through the room, followed by his howling.

"You bitch!" He turned and caught her by the arm.

"Hey!" Jimmy started.

The slumbering woman began to stir. Everyone turned to look slowly in unison, faces covered in fear. Bonzo turned and ran from the room, scurrying through the doorway. Robert followed suit, mumbling a quick apology as he went. The woman was fully awake now, staring at them with wide and confused eyes. Jonesy backed out of the room, leaving just Gwen and Jimmy. He tried to follow his friends, but she caught his arm, holding him firm in his spot.

All she could muster was an apology. The woman sat with a sigh, covering her bare chest with the sheets. "I got a bad boob job..."

Jimmy stifled a laugh, casting his head down. Gwen slapped his arm and glared. "Don't be ashamed, it's not your fault. It's also not your fault they're a hoard of circus clowns."

She looked appreciative, "Thanks. I tried to hide it but it's not easy. I wish I hadn't even gotten it."

She was lovely, Gwen thought, outside the botched surgery. "Go on and get dressed, I'll make sure you can leave with some dignity." She pulled Jimmy from the room, wearing an angry look. "You're a fucking barbarian." But they were laughing, nonetheless.

The group returned to the breakfast table, quieter than ever. The guys, other than Bonzo, were avoiding her scorned looks. Bonzo was angrily buttering his English muffin, which he referred to as just a muffin. Gwen stared right back, not breaking contact. This was the first rift between them, the first time Gwen saw behind his façade.

"You think you're better than us, don't you?" He sat his knife down with a heavy thud. She didn't respond, simply sipping from her mug. The group looked from him to her, tension thick amongst the table. He raised his brows, prompting for an answer.

"Are you upset? You seem like you're upset." She finished with a smile. This enraged him even more.

"Fucking bitch." He slammed his fist on the table and stomped away, his chair clattering to the floor.

"You just couldn't leave it alone, could you?" Peter broke the silence. "You're always riling up the boys! Your job is to take photos, I don't care if you're Jimmy's girlfriend or the bloody fuckin queen. Don't fuck with my band." His voice was getting louder with each word. The walls shook around each syllable, trembling with fear as Gwen did. Tears pricked in her eyes and she looked around at her friends. Their eyes were fixed on the ground, avoiding the situation. Her sadness and embarrassment turned to bitter anger in a swift gust of pride.

"You helped so much. Thanks, Jimmy." She was gone now, her chair emptied in a flash.

"Yeesh..." Robert said. He too left the table, his sight set on his,room. Now it sitting Jimmy, Peter and Jonesy, sat, alone. Jonesy was still eating, seemingly unbothered.

"You really fucked that one up." Jimmy was just about to leave when he heard the man speak. Jonesy's words caught him off guard. He didn't expect to be called out, one final kick in his side.

"That one's a fuckin' mess." Peter turned to Jonesy after Jimmy left. He didn't speak. Peter breathed out a heavy breath and tucked a napkin into his shirt, digging back into his breakfast. The jam covered muffin sat on his plate, untouched and isolated. He chose to devour the eggs first, saving the sweet for dessert.

When the door to their hotel room was opened, squeaking with desperation, he saw her. She was sitting on the bed, her back turned to him. She was sniffling, tears scalding her cheeks.

Guinevere was a regal name, one that conjured images of royal ambiguity. She took after the moniker, the queen's reputation for being the ultimate destruction of Arthur's kingdom ringing true for her. The walls of her castle heart were put up, the drawbridge closing, reflecting in the moat of her tears. Jimmy was dressed in a suit of armor, trying his best to break down her wooden and hardened fortifications. Her ramparts were anger, bloated by the drowning of her tears.

"You didn't say anything." The hot flash of fury showed through in her clipped cadence.

"I know, I'm sorry, but that's just how things are around here." He shuffled his feet, drawing his eyes downward to admire the fraying of his aglets.

"You were so cowardice. You didn't stand up for me."

"Cowardice? No, I just don't go causing drama where there doesn't need to be any." Now his rapier was drawn, parrying her jabs.

"When someone yells at your girlfriend, you say something about it." Another stab.

"You were the one who started it all." He evaded accountability, diving out of her range of motion.

"It seems none of you have met a woman who stands up for herself. I happen to think that's what everyone's issue is."

"Oh, god, don't start with that, you know it's not true." He was a man of dichotomy. The coin was flipped, glistening with new cruelty. This was cold and uncaring, something she'd never known of him.

"The issue is that y'all don't see anything wrong with your behavior. I just pointed that out and everyone started yelling. Sounds like that was the problem."

"No, no, the problem was that you got everyone upset. We were just having a good time before you got upset. And then you got your feelings hurt."

"You're being such a dick right now." She seethed, standing to meet his eyes.

"And you're being immature. I am not fighting with you." His arms were crossed in a dismissal of her.

"I'm not trying to fight with you. I am upset."

"You can be upset, but it's not my job to fix it."

"You're the reason I'm upset!"

"You should be upset with Peter and Bonzo. I didn't do anything!"

"That is the issue! God, it's like you're not even listening. Just- I'm gonna leave if you're gonna be like this. I'll come back when we're not angry." She planted her feet on the floor, unsure if this was the right decision.

"You're the only one who is angry." Jimmy was avoiding her, his eyes now fixated on the paintings on the walls. She sighed and left without another word.

"Yeah, and then Peter yelled at her. I thought it was a little dramatic. From both of them, really." Robert's eyes were wide as he recounted the events to Lorelei. She slept through the entire ordeal, only being woken when Bonzo slammed his door.

"They both yelled at her? Oh my god, that's terrible. Is she okay? I know I wouldn't be if Peter or Bonzo screamed at me."

"I'm sure she's fine. She's a tough cookie. That's why I like her." Robert said with a smile, his thumb resting in the cleft of her chin. Before Lorelei could respond there was a knock that interrupted them. Robert answered, pulling his door open to reveal a tear-stained Gwen.

His gaze softened when he saw her, the red puffy look that painted her face troubled him. "What's wrong?" He asked, letting her in.

"I got upset after what happened and Jimmy made it worse." She planted her face firm in his chest, enveloping her troubles in his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, allowing her to cry into the soft cotton of his clothing.

"I'm sorry," was all he could muster, his parade of apologies was never-ending today. He thought Jimmy was being spineless, secretly siding with Gwen. He wouldn't tell anyone that, for fear of starting more troubles. This was all a big mess, and the reason no one got in Bonzo's way.

This happened before, but with a random groupie. Peter threw her out so fast their heads spun. He couldn't do that with Gwen, and there was an emotional attachment to this issue. He wanted it all to go away, so they could go back to having fun and being friends.

"I know I'm overreacting, but I was so upset when Peter yelled at me. I didn't feel like I deserved it, Bonzo was clearly in the wrong. And then Jimmy didn't stand up for me, so I was angry about that. And when he didn't apologize or acknowledge how shitty it was I just broke."

"Well, what happened after that?" Lorelei asked, sitting at her side on the bed.

"I told him that I would be back when I wasn't upset anymore. We were both getting mad at each other, and it wasn't productive. So, I came here because, well, you're both my only friends." She ended with a huff of a laugh, scratching at her head with confusion. How did they end up here? This was all a giant mess that never needed to happen.

The two blondes entertained her while her nerves melted, settling into a contended happiness. They watched TV, talked about a musical Lorelei had recently seen, and played some cards.

When she was thoroughly mellow, Gwen decided gathered the courage to return to her room. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Lorelei asked, her eyes soft and warm. Her gaze was a warm hug, a gentle soak in a hot spring.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm sure Jimmy will be cooled off when I get back. I'm just a little nervous because we've never gotten into a fight before."

"He'll be fine. He processes better when he's alone." Robert offered some much-needed insight. This was an extension of friendship, an offer of peace. "Things will settle and no one will be mad. I give it maybe two more hours and Bonzo will be back to his usual self." His joke lightened the mood and gave her one last push towards strength.

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate you letting me hang out."

When she returned to her room the lights were off and Jimmy was asleep. He looked peaceful under the covers, his hair spread across the white sheets in a wild display of comfort. Soft snores escaped his open lips. She settled into the blankets and cuddled up to his side, content to rest for a few hours.

The two woke to Peter knocking on their door, telling them to get up. "Ten minutes, Page. You have a job to do." She shook Jimmy, who slept through the racket.

"What?" He asked, barely lifting his head from the pillow.

"You have to get ready for soundcheck." He rolled out of the bed and onto the floor, curling up and closing his eyes once more.

"C'mon, you have to get up!" She laughed, poking him with her foot.

"Don't touch me with those filthy things." He mumbled, rolling away from her touch.

"They're not filthy, 1, and 2, you have to get up. Peter said you have 10 minutes." She said.

"Five more minutes. I'm tired." He grumbled.

"No, you have to get up!" She grabbed a hold of his thin hips and began pulling him, attempting to drag him to his suitcase. "You are way heavier than you look." He didn't budge, now laying next to his unzipped bag. "C'mon, get up. I don't want to be blamed for you being late!" He sat up at her pestering, slowly rifling through his clothing.

"Are we okay?" He asked. His leg was propped on a wooden chair that sat next to the small TV. He was tying his shoes, a pair of black converses.

"Can we talk after your show?" She asked.

"Yeah, if you promise not to yell at me." He finished with a final yank, making a perfect knot.

"Well, don't give me a reason to." She jested.

"Alright, I'll see you after the gig," He leaned into her lips, cradling her face in his soft hands.

"Enjoy your show."

"I will now." A wide smile bloomed on his face.

Taglist:

@anothercanyonlady , @jonesyjonesyjonesy @paginate54 , @seventieswhore , @jimmypages , @jimmys-zeppelin , @jimmysdragonsuit13

#jimmy page #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fanfic #Jimmy Page smut #capricorn season #classic rock fandom #classic rock #classic rock fanfiction #jimbert

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edgymegatronus · 3 years

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so drum n bass huh

who are you and how do you know my dark secret

#asks #not tf #look.#it’s good #it’s good music and it tickles my jimmies

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eagerforhoney · 2 years

Text

Fluffmas Day 1 - with Clyde Logan

Day One: Putting Up the Tree

Clyde Logan x Reader

WC: 969

CW: mentions of marriage, holidays, Christmas, family

why do I wanna be Mrs. Logan so damn bad?????

Fellow rats who I want to impress: @hedgy-hog @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @jynzandtonic @mariesackler

@hopeamarsu @maple-princess @leatherboundbirate

@feed-the-rats @mina-logan @millenialcatlady @strangunddurm @peachyproserpina

Twelve Days of Fluffmas Masterlist

This was your first Christmas together as a married couple. Before this, you and Clyde would put up a few decorations, but spent most of the holiday at Jimmy’s with the rest of the Logan family. Now that you had moved into your new home on the wooded property Clyde had found, it was really game on. As you followed your husband down yet another row of identical looking trees you were quickly beginning to understand just how seriously Clyde took Christmas, as if him proposing on Christmas eve the year previous wasn’t enough. You had pointed out a few that you liked and thought would look nice in your living room, but your husband was very particular about the tree he wanted in your home.

The night before you were laying in bed and had asked him when you’d be getting the tree you were now hunting for. “Well, darlin’, there’s a farm my momma and daddy always took us to growin’ up,” he hesitates before continuing, “or we could always get an artificial one if that’s what ya prefer”. You look at him wide-eyed and scoff. “I would rather die right here, right now, than have a fake Christmas tree in my home. We’ll go to the farm and continue the Logan tradition” you say with finality. Clyde is smiling at you now, you can almost see the twinkle in his eye. “Ya see, dumplin’, that’s jus’ one of the many reasons why I married ya” he says before pouncing on you and tickling you until you're giggling and squirming underneath him.

You think to yourself how much you’d prefer to be back in that cozy bed warmed up by your large husband right now than walking through the infinite aisles of trees in the cold West Virginian winter air. Clyde had told you he was gonna take a second look at one he was eyeing. When he came back, however, he was wrapping his arms around you from behind with both hands holding hot chocolate. You crane your head to the side to see him smiling down at you, your sweet man. He leans down to place the softest kiss on your lips, warming your cold nose with his own. You grab your cup and turn around to wrap your arms around Clyde’s middle. “M’sorry I’m bein’ so picky ‘bout the tree. Jus’ wannit to be perfect” he says with a kiss to the top of your head. You smile up at him and reply “I know, baby. I want a good one too”. You peer around the side of your wide husband to see a tree standing almost on its own, not really in line with the others. “What about that one, honey? I think it might check all your boxes for the perfect tree” you say with a wink as you point to the tree with your empty hand. Clyde turns around and walks toward the tree. As you walk to catch up, he’s rubbing his flesh hand over his mouth as he circles the tree, appraising it. Taking sips of his cocoa to help make a final decision, he looks up at you. “I like this one, honeybun. Whaddya think?” You smile and nod eagerly at him. He nods back with his signature pout before he lightly jogs to the main entrance, coming back with a handsaw. You are enamored with the show of watching your big man get down and start sawing away at the trunk of the tree. You grip the tree near the top as Clyde gets closer to sawing all the way through. Once it’s tied to the top of the car and the ticket has been paid, you are off back to your home to put it up and decorate.

Classic Christmas music plays softly in the background as Clyde finishes setting up the tree in the stand, making sure it’s secure and has enough water. You bring over the strings of lights and offer an end to Clyde before you stand on the other side of the tree. You both giggle as you take turns hugging the tree trying to evenly wrap the lights around it, eventually giving the rest to your husband who can reach the top. You are laying out all the ornaments and notice an older looking box. “Baby, what’s this?” you ask Clyde as he makes his way to look over your shoulder. He puts his flesh hand on your shoulder and his prosthetic hand grips your hip. “Those’r some ornaments from my momma’s collection. These’ve been on my family’s tree since before I think even Jimmy was born” he almost whispers into your ear. You smile and begin taking them out and carefully placing them on the tree and Clyde follows suit. You and Clyde then place the ornament that you had gotten that morning. A new ornament each year was a tradition you wanted to start and Clyde thought it was a great idea.

After the ornaments, new and old, are on the tree, you hand your very tall husband the topper. He places the star on the top with ease and comes back to stand at your side. With hands wrapped around each other, you both look at your first tree with pride and so much love for each other and the life you’ve begun to create together. When you look up at Clyde he’s already looking at you with a soft smile. “I love ya so much, honeybun. ‘M so happy to be makin’ memories with ya like this”. You beam up at him and squeeze him a little tighter to you. “Me too, baby. I’m never gonna forget about this, our first Christmas tree. I love you”. He cups your face in his warm hand and kisses you deeply. Yeah, you won’t be forgetting this moment.

#eagerforhoney12daysoffluff #adcu community #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #fluffmas #whumpmas #my writing #adcu fanfiction #adam driver #logan lucky #adcu fandom #christmas fanfiction #eagerforhoney #picky clyde #i love him

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mrs-march-ahs · 3 years

Text

Random Facts About The Evans That Are True Because I Decided So

None of these have any basis whatsoever, but these are certain things that ever since I began watching American Horror Story I thought about the Evans. If you disagree or have anything to add then definitely tell me, I’d love to know! I think it’s interesting that one character can be so many different things to so many different people!

I will accept constructive criticism, APART FROM JAMES AND BRITNEY SPEARS. That is facts and we all know it.

Some of these are really really stupid but they’re still true.

Enjoy:)

----

Tate

-Likes a finger up the booty

-Has at least one butt plug

-Plays video games like Assassins Creed but just walks around aimlessly every so often

-Over thinks dialogue options in video games

-Plays acoustic guitar

-Has a million different nicknames for his private parts

Kit

-Sings in the shower

-Always humming or whistling

-Wrestles his kids

-Talks to his dogs all the time

-Drives fast

-Tells the cashier to keep the change or puts the change in any charity box nearby

-Opens doors for old ladies and helps them get up if they need help

-Loves golden hour

-Really bad at accents

Franken Kyle

-Likes to make fart noises with his mouth

-But gets upset if he spits on himself

-Likes to play with sand

-If he sits in a field he WILL grab fistfuls of grass and pull it out

- (runs over to the side walk)

- “Ky what are you doing?”

- (steps on a leaf and hums in satisfaction)

- “cronch”

Jimmy

-Can tie a cherry stem in a knot with his tongue

-Party trick is juggling

-Very upset that he’s never experienced picking his nose as a child because his fingers don’t fit

-Has been pulled over on his motorbike at least 3 times

-Very serious grown up man, but would get super pissed if you’re out of peanut butter if he was craving a PB&J

-The type of man to drive three towns over to get the ‘good’ peanut butter

-Humble but good tipper

-Really good at impressions

James

-Hates modern music, but likes Britney Spears

-One year on Halloween he went to a concert

-If you ask him about it, he insists it’s because she’s a sexy woman but he definitely knows the entire Circus album back to front

-Will never admit it though

-Does cocaine

-Does excessive cocaine during Devil’s Night

-Doesn’t masturbate at all, he’ll simply buy an escort if he needs one

-Claims that he’s never burped or farted in his life

-Likes to tickle his s/o

-Will never show you pictures of him when he was younger because he doesn’t want you to see what he looked like without a moustache

-Doesn’t care for sex tapes, but definitely wants to record you consummating your marriage so he can watch it back

-Maybe this is a very British thing but he can do that thing where you put a Malteaser on your lips and then blow it up in the air and catch it

-Can open a beer bottle on the table or on his ring

Kai

-Allergic to something like peanuts or certain fabric softeners, but wont admit it -Knows conversational Spanish -Has names for his balls but he won’t tell you what they are -Pre-blue hair he was very nervous flirting with women -Scared he’ll say the wrong thing, so he’d just ask them questions so they’re talking to him -Has lots of bitcoin even though he doesn’t care about the money, just likes coding -I think he actually created the “Look At My Horse, My Horse Is Amazing” video -Loves Microsoft Excel

#ahs #american horror story #the evans #tate langdon #kit walker #kyle spencer #jimmy darling #james march #james patrick march #mr march #kai anderson #evan peters character #evan peters characters

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softlass27 · 3 years

Text

an ibhfc version of emmerdale's first pride (plus another one in the future) to make up for this week's upcoming episodes with aaron and the village's resident kayaking creep

AO3 link here

Pride 2021

“Right, that’ll be £7.99, please.” Victoria pushed Aaron’s lunch towards him.

“Cheers.”

“Oh, almost forgot!” She grabbed a brightly-coloured collection tin that was sitting on the end of the counter. “We’re taking donations for the Pride festival if you’ve got any spare change?”

Aaron frowned. “What Pride festival?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Charles is organising it.”

“In the village?”

“Yeah, he says it’s mad that we’ve not had one before. Apparently it was always a big event at his last parish. He’s not wrong, really, it’s about time we did more than your mum sticking a bit of multi-coloured bunting up behind the pub each June.”

“Huh.”

“Think you’ll go? It’s next weekend.”

“I – ”

“From what Charles and Ethan said, it should be fun,” Vic spoke over him, hands waving animatedly. “There’s music, food and games, all sorts! It’s family-friendly too, so you can bring Seb. We can go together if you want? I was planning on meeting up with Matty and Amy but – ”

“Vic, stop for breath would ya?” Aaron huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I'm up for it.”

On the morning of the festival, Victoria let herself into Mulberry Cottage and cast an appraising look over Aaron. He shuffled uncomfortably.

“What?”

She gave a quick wave to Seb, who was sitting on the sofa, and looked Aaron up and down again. “That’s what you’re wearing, is it?”

He glanced down at his black t-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing! Except, well, it’s not very colourful is it?”

“You’ve known me, what, 13 years? When have you ever seen me do colourful?”

“But it’s Pride!”

“So?”

“Oh come on, you have to get into the spirit of it. Speaking of which – ” She rummaged in her oversized handbag and pulled out a small, light blue article of clothing, passing it over. “I saw this in town and I couldn’t resist.”

As Aaron unfolded it, he realised it was a child-sized pair of dungarees with a bright rainbow stitched across the chest. His mouth quirked upwards.

“Alright, that’s pretty cute.”

“I know, right? Should’ve got something for you too, you big grump.”

The retort Aaron was about to give her was cut off when he felt tug on his trousers and looked down to see Seb standing next to him.

“Is that for me?” He asked, looking at the dungarees with curiosity.

“Yep, Auntie Vic got them for you to wear to Pride today. What d’you say?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’d better hurry and get ready, though, or we’ll be late!”

Seb grabbed Aaron’s hand and started tugging him towards the stairs. “Daddy, come on!”

Although he was a little young to quite get what Pride was all about, he’d been full of beans about the whole thing ever since Aaron had told him they were going to a party, especially once he’d found out Isaac and Dotty would be there, too.

“Alright, let’s get you changed.” He looked back at Vic and rolled his eyes. “I’ll get changed, too.”

She grinned at him.

“Did you and Robert ever go to Pride?” Vic quietly asked as the four of them made their way to the field where the festival was being held, Seb in his new dungarees and Aaron in the one green t-shirt owned (“It’s a colour that’s on the flag, Vic, that’s as good as you’re getting.”)

“Nah.” Aaron shook his head. “Never got round to it. We used to talk about maybe going to the one in Leeds or something, but somethin’ always came up. Then we'd always say we’d go the next year but… ”

But we ran out of years.

“Yeah.” Vic’s face fell a little and she squeezed Aaron’s hand lightly. “But we’ll have a nice time, won’t we?”

“Daddy, there’s music!” Seb called from where he was walking just in front of them. They could indeed hear the sound of upbeat pop music blasting through a speaker as they got closer to the festival. “Hurry!”

“Coming, mate.” Aaron called after his retreating back, smiling at his enthusiasm. He sighed and squeezed Vic’s hand in return. “Yeah, we’ll have a good time.”

Considering Emmerdale’s tiny size, the village’s first Pride event had a pretty good turnout. The festival was full of so much colour and noise that Aaron ended up hoisting Seb up on his hip, slightly wary of losing track of him in among the chaos. The three of them wandered around for a while, taking in the party-like atmosphere and watching Charles and Ethan both make heartfelt speeches on the small stage that had been set up.

At some point Marlon called Victoria's name and she went over to catch up with him and April, leaving Aaron and Seb to carry on exploring alone. The little boy seemed to love it so far, taking in the sights and sounds with increasing delight.

“You wanna get your face painted? Aaron asked, pointing to a tent where Matty and Amy were emerging hand in hand, both of them covered in body paint.

Seb clapped his hands enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

They made their way inside and sat across from a girl who looked barely 20 and was covered head to toe in paint and glitter.

“Hello.” She smiled brightly at Seb, who predictably turned under the attention bashful and tucked himself against Aaron’s chest. She tilted her head down to catch his eye. “What’s your name?”

“Seb.”

“Nice to meet you, Seb, I’m Freya. Do you want some rainbows?”

Seb nodded shyly and sat as still as a three year-old could while she carefully painted a small pride flag on each of his cheeks, Aaron holding his waist to stop him from squirming too much under the tickle of the brush.

“There, all done.” She brandished her brush towards Aaron. “Are we doing your face as well?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Yes.” Seb smacked a palm on Aaron’s cheek enthusiastically. “Rainbows for you, too!”

Aaron sighed. The things he did for his son.

“Alright. Do your worst.”

When they emerged from the tent five minutes later and bumped into Vic again, her eyes lit up with glee.

“Aaron Dingle with glitter on his face.” She fumbled frantically for her phone. “Don’t move, I need a photo.”

“No, don’t – ”

“Moira!” Vic ignored him and called over his shoulder. “Both of them, can you believe it?”

Aaron turned around to see Moira coming towards them with Cain just behind her – Cain whose cheek was adorned with a rainbow flag identical to Aaron’s. He let out a snort that had Cain’s eyes narrowing dangerously at him.

“Not a word out of ya.”

“Wow, how’d they get you?”

“This one made me.” Cain gestured to Isaac, who dropped his hand to run towards Seb, the two of them immediately chasing each other in circles around the adults' legs.

“Come on, you two!” Moira was stood next to Vic, both their phones held up. “Smile!”

Neither of them smiled, but they let them take a couple of snaps.

“Perfect,” Moria smirked down at her screen and turned the phone so Aaron could see a photo of himself and Cain both with matching scowls and rainbows on their faces. “This one’s going on the fridge.”

“You have fun today?” Aaron asked Seb as he carried him home.

Seb’s arms were wrapped loosely around Aaron’s neck and he could barely keep his eyes open, exhausted like most of the other kids in the village. The daytime part of the festival was over, only the child-free people sticking around into the night to keep drinking and dancing.

“Mhm,” Seb hummed tiredly, head flopping around on Aaron’s shoulder. “C’n we do it again?”

“If they do another one next year, then yeah. We can go again.”

He unlocked the door to Mulberry Cottage one-handed, depositing Seb on the sofa and carefully easing his shoes off. He glanced at the photos on the mantlepiece, Robert’s smiling face looking back at him. Aaron straightened up and moved to stand in front of them, adjusting one of the frames slightly.

“Finally went to Pride,” he said quietly. “Can you believe it?”

Just wish you could’ve come with me.

****

Pride 2025

“Morning!” Vic let herself into Mulberry Cottage, Harry in tow. “Happy Pride.”

“Happy Pride!” Seb shouted back from where he was fiddling with Molly’s rainbow-coloured leash (a purchase he’d talked Aaron into making from one of the stalls the previous year).

“Hiya.” Aaron jogged down the stairs. “Thought you’d be goin' with Ryan this year. He’s got the girls, right?”

“Yeah, we're spending the day together but I told him that me and Harry would meet him there. Us lot always go to Pride together, I’m not breaking tradition now.” She gave Aaron’s blue jeans and red t-shirt an approving nod. “Wow, red and blue this year. Really pushing the boat out.”

“Shut up, you.”

“Where’s that brother of mine?”

“He was just dropping some stuff from the cafe off at the festival, cakes and sandwiches an’ that. Said he’d come back before we set off, though.”

“Well he’d better hurry himself up, I don’t wanna miss whoever Ethan’s got opening the festival this year. And it’s Robert's first one, we can’t be late!”

“Alright, keep your hair on.” Robert appeared in the doorway, nudging past her to come inside. “You can’t be late to a festival, Vic, they’re sort of all day things.”

“You get the food sorted alright?” Aaron asked, shoving his wallet and phone into his pockets.

“Yeah, Jimmy and Nicola are all set up. They’ve roped Angelica into helping out, poor kid.” Robert ruffled Harry's hair before grabbing a bottle of suncream from the coffee table and kneeling down in front of Seb. “Right, suncream on then we can go.”

“I can do it myself,” Seb protested, batting Robert’s hands away from his face.

“Hm. See, I believed you when you said that at the beach the other weekend and we ended up coming home with you looking like a lobster. Keep still.”

Seb sighed and let Robert rub suncream all over him with only a bit of squirming, giggling when Robert finished by poking him sharply in the ribs.

“Dad, not on my t-shirt!” He said, smoothing a protective hand over his new rainbow-striped top. “Don’t get it dirty.”

“Alright, you big fusspot,” Robert teased, kissing him on the head and rising to his feet.

“Leave him alone, you’re no better,” Vic said with a tut. “Right, come on. Chop chop!”

She opened the door to let both Seb and Harry run outside, following closely behind them. Aaron picked up Molly’s leash and held out a hand to Robert.

“Ready?”

Robert grinned and took it.

“Let’s do it.”

The thing about Charles and Ethan was, they always had to one-up themselves. Aaron had no idea how they did it, but every year they somehow managed to increase their budget enough to make Emmerdale Pride bigger and better until now, four years on, the first festival they held looked tiny in comparison. Huge crowds of people swarmed the village, taking in the countless stalls, games, music, drag acts and and live bands playing all day. There were even a few rides this year.

As they made their way through the madness, Aaron gave Robert a quick nudge.

“Okay?”

They were only in the village and they knew a lot of the people there, but there were still some days where Robert and large crowds didn’t mix well. Thankfully, it seemed that today wasn't one of those days, as Robert shot him a small smile and nodded.

“I’m good.”

“Dads!” Seb shouted, running back to tug both their hands. “Can we do the face-painting first?”

Robert let out a mock groan. “Do I have to?”

“If I’m not getting out of it, neither are you,” Aaron muttered.

“Doesn’t have to be rainbows,” Seb said to Robert, shrugging matter-of-factly. “You can get the bisexual colours if you want?”

Aaron watched Robert’s eyes widen ever-so slightly in surprise, before he nodded and let Seb lead him towards to the face-painting tent.

After a few hours of exploring and mingling with the other villagers, Aaron and Robert collapsed with a couple of pints at one of the picnic tables, both of them in need of a breather. They’d picked a spot in the shade, keeping half an eye on Seb playing with a group of other kids while they listened to the band currently playing on the stage. Molly drank from the bowl of water they’d put down on the grass for her, before jumping up into Robert’s lap.

After sitting in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Aaron took a long, cooling gulp of his pint and looked away from Seb to glance at Robert. His husband was absently stroking Molly, watching the festival with a slightly pensive look on his face that made Aaron’s brow furrow.

“You alright?”

Robert blinked and turned to look at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“If you're tired, we can go home, y'know.”

Robert gave him a reassuring squeeze on the wrist. “I know. Honestly, it's nothing, just... ” He trailed off and stared once more at the festivities around them. “Could you ever have imagined anythin’ like this in the village when we were growing up?”

That was an easy question to answer.

“No.”

Aaron knew for a fact that the teenage version of him would have never imagined in his wildest dreams seeing the village transformed this way, decked out in bright colours, full of people like him, every resident open and accepting. And he knew the idea would’ve seemed even less likely when Robert was a teenager.

“Bet your dad’s rolling in his grave.”

Robert barked a surprised laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

They watched the party for another couple of minutes, then Robert nodded towards where Seb was tackling Dotty in an overly-enthusiastic game of tag.

“I’m glad that he gets to grow up in this version of the village,” he said softly. “Whether he turns out to be straight or gay or bi – whatever – I don’t want him to ever be scared of being different, like you an’ me were back in the day.”

“Don’t say ‘back in the day’, makes us sound ancient.”

“Well if you keep complaining about your back aching every time we – ”

“Oi!” Aaron gave his shoulder a punch, before trailing his hand down his arm to link their fingers together as they both watched Seb. “Yeah, me too. It is different for him, he knows he can be whoever he wants here. No one’s gonna have a go at him over who he does or doesn’t fancy. And he knows we love him no matter what.”

“Course he does.”

Robert grinned warmly at him and leaned across the table to press his lips to Aaron’s. The two of them kissed lazily until Molly jumped up between them to lick at both their chins and they broke away with a laugh.

“Can't go more than five minutes without needing attention, can you?” Robert pulled her back into his lap, scratching her behind the ears until she settled again. The pink, purple and blue stripes on his face were smudged from where Aaron’s thumb had just rubbed over his cheekbone.

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“Piss off.”

Aaron drained the last of his pint and put the glass to one side, resting his elbows on the table. “Good first Pride, then?”

“Great first Pride.” Robert quirked an eyebrow at him. “It’ll be even better if we carrying on celebrating at home. Y’know, once the kid’s in bed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Think we've got a bottle of champers in the fridge; I say we crack that open, take it upstairs and then – ”

“Daddy!” Seb ran up to them, grabbing Aaron’s elbow with a pleading look in his eyes. “Can we go on the dodgems? Isaac says him and Uncle Cain are going on.”

Aaron groaned and stretched his arms over his head. “Right now?”

“Yeah, we have to get them!”

Aaron huffed a laugh and dropped his arms. “Well in that case.” He paused and turned to Robert. “Unless you’d rather have a go?”

Robert shook his head rapidly. “Nah, me and Molly are good here, we'll save the table. Go crash some cars, boy racer.”

“Come on, then.”

As they headed in the direction of the bumper cars, Aaron looked back to see Vic appearing at Robert’s side, looking a little tipsy as she sat down next to him. By the time they were standing in the queue for the ride with Cain and Isaac, he could see the Sugden siblings had been joined by Ryan and his girls, plus Diane and Harry, all of them piling onto the table and surrounding them. Robert was laughing at something Ryan was saying, eyes crinkling. When he saw Aaron watching, he shot him a small wave. He looked happy and content, and the sight of it made something warm settle in Aaron's chest.

It wasn't his first Pride, but it was the best one he'd had so far.

“Dad,” Seb piped up, grabbing his attention. “It's our turn”

“Alright, let’s show Cain and Isaac how it's done.”

#ibhfc #the pride ep hasn't even aired yet and i already felt the need to do a fix-it fic #my writing #robron

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maria-scribbles · 3 years

Text

cocoa

sick of hearing his parents fight day after day, reggie goes to the one person who knows exactly what he's going through: the pretty violinist who lives next door.

fandom: julie and the phantoms

ship: alive!reggie x reader

word count: 1.5k+

featuring: swearing (as always), fighting, allusion to an abusive relationship, general sadness, mention of a family member’s death

a/n: day 2 of my holiday challenge: hot chocolate! this is kind of depressing and i'm sorry, sad!reggie was stuck in my head and he wouldn't leave until i wrote this but it has kind of a hopeful ending tho so i guess that counts for something? this is also my first time writing for this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. as usual, unbetaed so all mistakes are my b.

come join my holiday challenge!

December 1994

They were fighting again. It was the same old story: his dad being an ass on purpose, his mom taking the bait, wash, rinse, repeat. Their shouts rang harshly throughout the house, gloomy and miserable despite the cheerful decorations strung up in every room and the massive Christmas tree downstairs, dressed in its festive best and looking like it came straight out of a seasonal catalog.

Reggie had gone to them at the beginning of the month, begging them not to fight, please; his everyday life was already ruined by their screaming matches and the only thing he wanted for Christmas was some peace, quiet and civility to celebrate his favorite holiday. His father had pretended not to hear his son's pleas, ignoring him completely like he always did while his mother offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"We'll try, honey." She'd said and he knew it was a lie. His mother always lied, his father always threw a plate at her head, Reggie always wished he had the courage to run away for good, like Luke did. But he wasn't Luke, he never would be, and he just didn't have it in him to leave them, even though he was the one who came out worse for wear after each fight.

The distant shatter of ceramic drifting up the stairs was his cue to go until things cooled down again -he never stuck around after the first dish got thrown, not anymore, the scar on his arm the perfect reminder why- and so he jimmied open the window of his room and climbed down the trellis into the salty air, the crashing waves of the Pacific covering his escape like a blanket.

(He could've stormed down the stairs and slammed the door behind him and his parents still wouldn't have noticed he left but something about sneaking out and risking a broken bone made him feel alive, the same rush he felt when he was on stage, bass humming in his hands, performing alongside his bandmates and knowing they felt it, too.)

Even outside, the echoes of his parents' angry voices still rang in his ears, haunting him all the way to the house next door, its sparkling lights shining brightly and guiding him through the darkening night like a beacon. The driveway sat empty, sans for one lone bicycle haphazardly lying on its side in front of the garage and he carefully propped it up on its kickstand before climbing the stairs to the front porch.

The faint sound of a slow, somber violin came to a stop as he knocked on the door, followed by a quiet, familiar voice Reggie knew like the back of his hand.

"It's open."

He found Y/N alone on the couch, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the strings of the violin on her lap and she glanced up at the tap of his boots on the hardwood floor, face brightening the slightest bit at the sight of her friend rounding the corner into the living room.

The girl didn't speak as she gently placed the instrument aside and stood, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around his neck to draw him into a crushing hug. His own arms wrapped around her waist and held her just as tightly, his head resting on her shoulder, and the warm vanilla scent of her soft hair tickling his nose helped calm the storm in his heart.

"I'm sorry, Reg." Her voice was low and soothing in his ear and he didn't know how he could possibly hold her any tighter than he already was but he managed as he replied, "I'm sorry, too."

While his parents fought like wildfire, explosive and loud and raging with the wrong type of passion, hers were like a deep freeze, icy and cold and desolate in the worst possible way. Too many times Y/N was left to her own devices, all alone in an empty house with her thoughts and a violin her only company (at least they had given her that, the gift of music and a beautiful, expensive instrument to prove their love was real, albeit superficial).

It was some time later before she pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye and brushed a wayward strand of his dark hair back from his forehead with one calloused finger. "Okay, pity party's over. It's almost Christmas and we're not spending it being sad about shitty parents. Deal?"

She held out her pinky with one eyebrow raised expectantly and grinned when he nodded and hooked his pinky around hers. Reggie loved really liked that about her, the way she could just make all the heartache and pain and disappointment vanish from his mind like magic and replace them with thoughts of her and her sunny smile, her big heart, her touch that made the very blood in his veins spark like lightning. Y/N was his bright spot, his safe haven, and while Luke, Alex, and Bobby knew what he was going through, they just didn't understand like she did (they had their own problems to deal with, anyway, so he couldn't blame them).

"Good, now come on," She wrapped the rest of her fingers around his hand and started tugging him down the hall to the kitchen. "You're helping me make hot chocolate."

"Peppermint?" He asked, smiling when she glanced up at him with an offended look on her face.

"Duh. Only a heathen would make it without peppermint, Reginald."

Another thing he liked about her: she never did anything halfway; half-assing things, taking the easy way out, cutting corners just wasn't her style. It even applied to hot chocolate apparently, as he watched her flutter around the kitchen with practiced ease -heating milk and cream on the stove, measuring sugar and chocolate, slowly adding drops of peppermint oil- and despite her saying he was going to help, the only thing he got to do was crush some candy canes. Not that he minded, though, because while his hands could play bass like no one's business, they were a total disaster when it came to cooking and he knew Y/N was well aware of that fact, considering it took a week for the burnt popcorn smell to fade from her microwave the last time he tried.

The violinist smiled and proudly handed him the finished drink, whipped cream piled high and candy cane bits almost overflowing from the edge of a red mug. "This is my grandma's recipe," She said, one hand holding a purple mug for herself and the other reaching to grab onto his wrist and pull him out the front door. "She'd always make it when she came to visit for the holidays and we'd sit out on the porch and watch the ocean, each and every year."

"She was the best," Reggie said as the two sat together on the porch swing, his right side flush against her left. "I still have dreams about her cookies and wake up drooling."

The cool ocean breeze ruffled Y/N's hair and carried her laugh off down the beach. "She loved you, you know that? She was always talking about 'that nice boy next door.' Pretty sure she wanted us to get married."

"I loved her, too." He took a sip of his drink in an attempt to hide the blush that was taking over his entire face. "And we still have time for the whole marriage thing."

"I'm still waiting for my ring." She laughed again before looking down at the mug in her hands, voice becoming quiet as she replied, "I really miss her. She was the only person in my family who actually cared about me 'cause my parents sure as hell don't."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong but he knew it'd be a lie and he never did that, refusing to become a pathological liar like his mother, so instead he just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. "Hey, no more talk about shitty parents, remember?"

"Sorry, I know," She took a long sip of her cocoa, then rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "I just feel alone sometimes when you're not around. I mean, you have your band and I always had my grandma to talk to but now she's gone and I'm kind of...lost."

"You have the band, too, Y/N! Alex and Luke love you and Bobby, well, he's Bobby. No one really knows what goes on in that guy's head but I know he thinks you're cool. We all do, especially me, and you should know you're never alone 'cause you'll always have us."

The girl abruptly sat up and grabbed the mug from Reggie's hand before he could blink and placed it alongside her own on the floor, then threw her arms around his neck in another one of her fierce hugs.

"Has anyone told you how fucking amazing you are?"

"You just did." He buried his blushing face in her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist once again. "I'm serious, Y/N. You'll always have me."

"And you'll always have me, Reg. No matter what."

And as they sat there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other's arms, Reggie knew as long as he had Y/N in his life, things were gonna be okay.

#obxmermaidholiday #julie and the phantoms imagine #jatp imagine #reggie jatp #reggie x reader #reggie x y/n #jatp fic

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 3 years

Note

Hey there, baby! 😘 I got a prompt for you: Prompt List #1 Fluff 21. “I haven’t seen (her/him/them) smile like that in ages.” About our Clyde Logan Logan, please!

A/N: @wayward-rose thank you so much for sending this in I really love this little blurb for our country boi! I hope you enjoy it! I tried to channel the end scenes from Sweet Home Alabama only slightly though! Love you babe🖤

Warnings: Huge amount of FLUFF, titty grabbing, kissing and lots of them, playful newly married banter, hickies, all of the love I could add into this thing because Clyde gives me all the softest vibes

“Clyde baby hold still!” adjusting his bowtie as the both of you sat crammed in a limo on the way to the bar. His hands rubbing and touching every single inch of your crisp white dress, darting from your fingers trying to help his wardrobe malfunction.

“Darlin’!” he whined moving his face into your open neck, “I don’t need ma bowtie fixed!” making his lips pucker in midair as he tickled your sides.

“Yes, ya do silly boy!” swatting his giant bear paws away from your cinched waistline, “now sit still big bear or else!”

“Or else what…. Mrs. Logan?” he raised his eyebrow, pulling you flush to his black tuxedo, “ya got no reason at all to punish me tonight,” moving his plush lips onto your pulse, kissing it ever so softly as he exhaled his hot breath on your delicate features.

“Mr. Logan,” you whimpered, rubbing your hands in his thick hair, “ya got all night and the honeymoon to have me any way ya want, but right now I need ya to be the good boy I know ya are and let me fix this so ya don’t look a damned fool,” trying to push him off of your plunging cleavage spilling from your sweetheart neckline gown.

“Mmmmm,” he groaned, kissing over the mound of your breasts, latching onto the top of the right one, and sucking with full force.

“Clyde Logan Logan!” you screamed, knowing that would leave the most noticeable mark, “I swear to God!” watching him lift his head with the most devilish smirk on his face.

“What honey?” his puppy dog eyes gazing into yours, “I just wanted to leave a lil’ reminder for the boys gawkin’ at ya durin’ the ceremony,” feigning the most innocence he possible could.

Lifting your banded left ring finger, basically flipping your new husband off, “this shows them boys what’s up, not a goddamn hickey on my tit!” your face going red as an apple as you gazed down at the already bruising mark he’d left.

“I think it looks good baby girl,” he muttered, running a thumb over it, then gripping the whole boob in his large hand and squeezing as you let out a subtle groan from the pressure.

“I think ya like it,” he mused as you leaned into his massage on your sensitive mounds, “In fact, darlin’, I think ya love it,” he winked, watching your mouth drop open as you stared into his honeyed gaze.

“Dontcha, Mrs. Logan,” he whispered once again, leaning in to shove his tongue down your throat, the both of you moaning into each other’s ministrations.

“Fuck,” you whispered, “I do. I love it,” latching back onto his mouth, grabbing his head to choke him with your tongue.

He chuckled at your forwardness, “I knew it, baby girl,” gripping both tits in his hands as the tonsil hockey commenced.

The limo came to halt suddenly, indicating the arrival at the Duck Tape. The both of you star struck from the make-out session, looking like two hot and bothered teens, stumbled out of the car, holding each other to settle before you entered the establishment for the first time as husband and wife.

You both looked at each other on the porch, making sure to be presentable at the very least for the hoard of people wanting to celebrate your nuptials before taking a deep breath together.

“Ya ready ma gorgeous bride?” gripping your hand in his and the other reaching for the door.

“I was born ready ma handsome groom,” you squeezed his hand as he turned the knob to reveal the largest capacity the bar had seen since it opened.

A wall of cheers, whistles, hoops, and hollers rang through the humble abode at the both of you. Looking to each other in complete shock of the crowd that had gathered including friends and family clapping and wolf-whistling to the happy couple.

Jimmy walked up with two champagne glasses, handing one to you and the other to his baby brother before lifting it up to toast the both of you.

“To Y/N and Clyde! Y’all make us believe true love exists and will last forever! Cheers y’all!” he said with tears in his eyes, turning to you as the whole crowd raised their glasses and sipped their concoctions.

“Now let’s get a kiss!” Melly screamed out, to which a round of claps rang through the bar.

Clyde glanced over at your beaming face, tears in his eyes from the salute Jimmy had given, “what do ya say honey?” he gripped your waist, pulling you to him.

“I’ve never been more ready in my entire life big bear,” moving along with him as he dipped you down and bent over to kiss you like the famous WWII picture.

The crowd resumed its hoops and hollers, cheering at the love you both shared in the steamy kiss before them. He lifted you back upright, releasing your mouth and lifting your arm up in his to another series of cheers.

“Now let’s all party!” you yelled as the music started bumping in the bar, and the drinks began to flow.

Tennessee Whiskey started to blare from the jukebox as your husband pulled you to the dancefloor, taking you into him as close as possible.

You’re as smooth as Tennessee Whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time.

Both of you melting into the song as you gazed at each other, smiling and crying at the reality of the entire day.

“I love you ma big bear,” you whispered, rubbing your hand to smooth his white undershirt.

“And I love you ma sweet baby girl,” he cooed, lowering himself to place a soft kiss on your lips.

Melly and Jimmy were sat at the bar top, gazing at their baby brother and his new wife.

“What do ya think sis?” he questioned, watching her sigh as she lifted an elbow to rest her head, “ya think they’re happy or what?”

She turned to gaze at him, “I’ve honestly haven’t seen him smile like that in ages,” she chuckled as he slid a shot her way, lifting it so they both could toast their sibling and his neverending love with you.

_____________

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

#clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x female reader #clyde logan x you #clyde logan smut #clyde logan fluff #logan lucky #clyde logan blurb #wayward-rose #asks

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weareallstoriesintheend · 3 years

Note

Clyde fluff?

Clyde fluff you say Anon? Why yes I can do that! 😊

First Date (Clyde Logan x Reader)

Word Count: 1,185

Warnings: None - Fluffy goodness

He paced back and forth on the street, tapping both his hands against his thighs nervously. You watched him from your car parked across the street smiling to yourself. You couldn’t help but feel bolstered by his nerves. You’d tried on at least three dresses before coming out, re-done your make up and started loudly complaining to your roommate that your damn hair just wasn’t sitting right! So your nerves were high to but seeing him pacing like that made you giggle.

Clyde had asked you out at the beginning of the week and you’d promised him dinner. He stumbled over his words in his usual way and you’d lent up against the bar waiting for him to finish stuttering out his question. “Of course I would” you’d whispered, hitting him playfully with the dish towel you were holding before turning to the sound of your name being called by one of the tables you were waiting on. “Dinner Friday?” you asked, making to leave to go and serve the customers, he’d nodded quickly. You walked over to the table biting back the biggest smile.

You’d worked at the bar for three years now and had been harbouring a crush on the big bear of a man behind the bar for just about the same length of time. He was gruff but sweet, occasionally you’d stay late letting him tell you story after story about his unusual family long after closing. You’d help him clean up, trying to get him to dance with you to the music on the radio as you washed glasses. He’d always roll his eyes, pouting and calling you ‘silly girl’ but you’d catch him shaking his hips slightly when he thought you weren’t looking. His big lumbering body looking like it moved better than he let on. You’d always noted how comfortable he felt when he’d hug you goodbye at the end of the night, in your lonelier moments you’d wondered what it would be like for him to wrap you in those arms as you fell asleep on his chest. His brother, Jimmy, had always teased you both about how you should be “damn married by now, look at that state of you two. Fawning over each other like kids!” Clyde would throw him a look and force another drink into his hand, whispering something to him with a stern face but his brother would only laugh and throw a wink your way. Later on in the night, whilst Clyde was cleaning up empty spots at the other end of the bar Jimmy would always pull you aside, the smell of whiskey wafting off his breath “You know you should, he’s mad for ya” he’d say. “Oh hush up now Jimmy, you’ve had too much of that” your reply would be every time, tapping your nails on his empty glass. “Nah seriously, my brothers shy but he’d die for ya.”

You swung your legs out of your car, checking the street so you could cross and locked the door behind you with a click of the button on your keys. He looked up at the sound of the beep of the lock in the relatively quiet street. As he caught your gaze and waved sheepishly you all of a sudden felt heat creep up the back of your neck; what if he thought you were overdressed? What if he was just being polite because you always flirted with him? “Hi” he said as you walked into his waiting arms for a hug “You look-“ He stopped and stroked your arm tentatively. You blushed at the look on his face as his eyes ran over you “-You look beautiful darlin’” he said finally, his voice strained. He coughed and smiled slightly as you smacked him on the arm “You stop that Clyde Logan, right now. This is…nothing. It’s nothing” you giggled, gesturing to the deep blue knee length dress. You’d been desperate to look at least a little different to the minimal makeup, t-shirt and jeans look he was used to on you. He blew air through his pursed lips and looked you up and down again “I’m serious, you look stunnin’. I’m just lucky you said yes” “I guess you are just lucky Logan” you teased, throwing him a wink, and then you gestured that you should both walk inside. He dived forward and grabbed the door ahead of you to open it for you. That started the evening of Clyde being the perfect gentlemen; holding out your chair, pouring your wine and holding your hand at every opportunity he got. He would run the pad of his thumb gently over the back of your hand as you spoke, sending tingles up your arm. Clyde always looked intense, it was sort of his default expression, but you loved how he listened to you despite the fact you were telling him stories he’d heard before. It didn’t really feel like a first date despite the typical butterflies deep in your stomach. And you made him laugh – oh making Clyde laugh, even just smile some days, was like ecstasy to you. How his eyes lit up and his lips would pull up into a smirk made your heart flutter. You realised, sitting across the table from him, that maybe Jimmy was right. Maybe this was meant to be something more.

As he walked you across the street to your car, both of you groaning with how full of food you were, he had grabbed your hand again. It was a simple gesture but it showed you how he was feeling, he was in this just as much as you were. “umm Clyde…” you started, turning round to face him as you reached the car door. Before you finished your sentence he had crashed his lips to yours, after the initial impact he softened and dragged his tongue between your lips and you couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped. He lent you back against the car, pressing his body weight into you and running his flesh hand up into your hair. Suddenly he stopped and leaned back, you opened your eyes to see him blushing – genuinely blushing – “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me sweetheart I just-“

You started giggling and reached up to stroke your thumb over his bright red cheek “You are just so adorable Clyde Logan, you know that?”

He shook his head and laughed “Now you stop that” he reached up and took your hand from his face, placing a kiss to your palm and then to the back of your hand. “See ya at work?” he asked eyes wide, looking at you hopefully.

“See you tomorrow” you sighed, butterflies churning in your stomach once again. You blushed yourself this time, coughing to ease the tension and turning to open the car door “See ya” he said quietly before turning and walking the direction of his trailer.

You got yourself sat down in the car and in the complete silence you could hear how fast your heart was beating, you could still feel the tickle of his facial hair on the palm of your hand and you smiled.

Maybe Jimmy was right…

#clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan fluff #logan lucky #fic request #anon request #anon reply

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rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years

Text

only the black rose (chapter 3)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: vague sexual references, two mentions of keith richards and a whole lot of fluff. also poetry about jimmy page because i’m a simp.

words: 3.4k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: not beta’d as always! this story does follow a playlist of mine, because i put too much thought into things. also this chapter is full of jimmy moments (finally) so i hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

playlist

chapter one

chapter two

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“He’s coming!”

Hushed whispers echo through the studio as amps become hiding spots, and instruments camouflage the people crouched behind them, anxiously waiting. Layla finds herself kneeling next to Bonzo and Jonesy, Robert a few feet away, giggling silently at the anticipation.

Feeling for the leather handle of the prize slung over her shoulder, Layla smiles wide, excitement dancing in her eyes like a perfect waltz. Hearing soft footfalls on the tiled floor drawing near, a charged silence falls over the studio. Sun-kissed curls poke out from behind the amps to spot the intruder. With a subtle nod to hidden companions, chaos erupts.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices yell in near unison, startling the intruder, who puts a hand to his racing heart.

“Happy birthday, Pagey.” Robert trots up to his friend, grinning impishly at the stunt he had pulled. Jonesy and Bonzo follow suit, hugging the guitarist, while Peter lumbers out of his hiding spot, knees groaning from his crouched position. A pat on the shoulder and smile gracing his face, Peter wishes the man a happy birthday as well. Minutes pass, packed with greetings and formal well-wishes, until misty green meets warm brown once again.

“Happy birthday, Jimmy.” Layla starts towards the man, pulling him into a familiar hug, his unruly curls brushing her cheek like the soft caress of a lover. The hands that wrap around her back finally feel the handle of the weathered guitar case, and he pulls away, confusion creasing his handsome face.

“Layla, is that a guitar? I didn’t know you played...”

“This isn’t for me… It’s, uh… It’s your birthday present.”

“You…”

“Well don’t just stand there gaping at her, Pagey! Open it for God’s sake! She picked it out herself!”

Hands quivering almost imperceptibly, long fingers reach for the clasps of the case, snapping them open with a click. A soft gasp permeates the tense silence as the lid is opened, revealing the beautiful instrument. Lifting it out of the case delicately, Jimmy’s face fills with awe, eyes shining, clear ponds of morning dew. Running a hand down the neck of the guitar lightly, Jimmy looks back at Layla, then at the instrument once more, mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish.

“Layla… It’s… Thank you so much.”

“Of course, Jimmy,” Layla whispers almost shyly at the gratitude of the man before her, “I hope you like it. I saw it and thought it was perfect for you, but obviously you don’t have to use it if it’s—”

She is cut off by the sensation of long arms around her once more, cradling her as though she was a precious gift. She is once again surrounded by the dusky sweet scent of smoke, pine and citrus. Ebony ringlets tickle against her cheek once more, and she is home.

“You know,” Jimmy starts, voice a calming rumble against Layla’s cheek, which is pressed to the tall man’s chest, “I may not be great with words. That’s why everyone else writes the lyrics. But believe me, petal, I’ll never forget this.”

“Petal… That’s a new one, Jim.”

Layla and Jimmy jump apart then, laughing shyly at the intrusion. Hands wringing together, desperately searching for a distraction, their eyes meet once more. Twin blushes rise on their faces, and they turn to face their friends.

“Well, I do believe it’s time for the cake!” Peter claps his hands together, signalling the end of the awkward moment that had transpired, “Boys, let’s go get everything ready. Except for you, Pagey. You’re the birthday boy, we’re not gonna let you lift a finger to help today.”

“But—”

The only response is the patter of footsteps against the floor, signalling their exit. Layla chances a look at the man next to her, and finds him looking back once again. Mulling it over in her head, she decides to ask the question she’s been contemplating since the beautiful guitar was uncovered.

“Jimmy, you said you weren’t great with words,” Layla breathes out, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, eyes downcast, “Would you be able to play something for me? You obviously don't have to, but—”

“Layla, I’d love to. I need to try this beauty out anyways, might as well do it while you’re here to witness it.”

A smirk sits familiar on his stubble-dusted cheeks, dimples just visible. It’s obvious he was joking, but the thought of him playing something solely for her, on the guitar that she gifted him, was a lot for the young woman.

“Do you have any requests, petal?”

“Not really, but I’m sure anything you play will sound amazing.”

“Oh, you flatter me too much,” A hand moves to the crown of his head, graceful fingers scratching nervously, a betrayal of the man’s attempt at nonchalance. Jimmy stops then, cogs almost visibly turning in his brilliant mind. “… This will have to do.”

He sends a smile to his companion, and launches in, a flurry of beautiful chords resonating from it’s polished wooden body. Layla is in awe, watching his deft fingers slide across the fretboard with practiced ease, never missing a note. It’s when he starts singing, quietly, under his breath, that Layla’s eyes shoot up to his. Jimmy’s eyes are closed in pure concentration, a small smile dancing playfully on his lips. She can barely make out the words that float from his mouth, until he hits the chorus.

“God only knows what I’d be without you…”

He opens his eyes then, a smile growing at the open-mouthed expression of the woman next to him. He hums the rest of the song quietly, smirk never leaving his face until the very last note. Taking a deep breath, he turns to the woman, ducking his head slightly, the confidence leaving as though it had never been there at all.

“So… What did you think?”

“Here’s what I thought, Jim,” Layla says, a mischievous smirk of her own present on her face, as she stands looming over the guitarist. Soft lips meet the apple of a stubbled cheek, a sharp inhale of air punctuating the complete silence of the studio. Layla moves back, taking in the shocked expression on the angelic face of her companion, “Now, I think it’s time for a birthday celebration, so I’ll meet you in there, birthday boy.”

Layla, walking to the door, chances a look back at the guitarist and find him in the same position, staring off into space dazedly, a hand pressed to his cheek. Layla laughs lightly under her breath, and leaves the room. She finally meets up with Peter and the boys, who take one look at the smile that hasn’t left her face, and snicker amongst themselves.

“So, Layla, what were you and Jimmy talking about? Anything important that we should know, birdie?”

“Nothing at all, Bonzo. I do appreciate the concern, really, but don’t you worry your million dollar heads over it.”

“You know, that smirk isn't very reassuring, little dove. How do we know you didn’t break him somehow? I told you that outfit was gonna be a lot for him.”

“Well, I’m glad that someone had the balls to do something about the tension between you two, but I didn't think it’d be you, Layla.”

“And why not, Jonesy?”

Jonesy’s reply is cut short by the clacking of shoes on the floor, approaching the group. They look over, and Jimmy, seemingly recovered from the shock of lips meeting skin, walks into the room with a large smile creasing his pristine features. Taking hold of the glass of champagne Peter passes him, Jimmy tips it back.

“Tough night, Pagey?” Peter jokes, sipping from the glass in his hand, smiling as wide as ever.

“Not at all, Peter. Actually, my night got even better,” He sends a subtle glance over to Layla, confidence back in place, “Let’s get this party started.”

----------

What feels like daggers appear to be piercing her head as Layla awakes, mouth feeling like a barren desert. She turns over and is assaulted by the bright morning light, and shields her eyes from the onslaught. Finally adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Layla takes in her surroundings, confusion evident on her drowsy face until she remembers the events of the night before. Jimmy’s birthday at the studio. The impromptu performance, the first sip of Jack Daniels burning its way down her throat like a kerosine blaze. Then it goes hazy, flashes of booming music and drunken dancing pound invisible fists against the inside of her head.

Layla, arm resting over her eyes to block out the world for just a little longer, misses the light click of the door opening, and startles when cold, callused fingertips press like droplets of rain to her sleep-warmed cheek. She looks at the offender, and sees wispy dark hair framing a porcelain face. Kaleidoscope eyes gaze into hers, a content smile resting on rose pink lips.

“Good morning, petal.”

“‘Morning, Jim.” Layla yawns, subtly pressing into the hand that now cupped her cheek.

“Are you feeling any better? Didn’t think a spitfire like you would be such a lightweight.”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore that comment,” Layla grumbles, wincing at the light chuckle Jimmy lets out. “I’m feeling a little better, thanks.”

“I’m glad. There’s some coffee waiting for you in the studio if you’re up for it. I’ll, uh... let you get dressed.”

Layla immediately becomes aware of the friction of the soft blanket against bare skin. The woman was left in her undergarments, thankfully, but the clothing she had been wearing from the night before was nowhere to be seen. Layla gasps, grasping at the retreating hand, the guitarist turning around to acknowledge her, cheeks blushing scarlet as he glimpses her exposed shoulder.

“Jim… Did we…?”

“What?”

“...”

“Oh. Oh, no. Last night, you indulged a little too much in our selection of drinks and, well… spilled about a litre all over your clothes,” Jimmy says, smirking at the woman in front of him. “I took you up here, and got the clothes into the wash. Don’t worry though, I turned around. There’s a change of clothes on the end of the couch.”

Layla laughs, squeezing the thin hand clasped in hers in thanks.

“Besides, petal, you deserve more than a drunken birthday fling. I’d kick myself if I didn't do this right.”

At this, the guitarist turns around, and walks out the door. Layla’s eyes bore into his retreating back, mouth hanging open at his admission and quick retreat. Standing finally, her eyes find the change of clothes on the end of the couch, just like Jimmy had said. A pair of black slacks, and a familiar silk shirt, a deep maroon in colour. Slipping them on and tying her hair into a low bun, she slips out of the room. The decadent smell of coffee tickles her nose as she walks on to the studio, and, nearing the door, she is met with the ever-present sound of laughter.

“Ah, look who finally decided to grace us with her very presence. I’m so honoured.”

“I’m just here cause I was promised coffee, Jonesy.”

“Cold, little dove. I thought we had something special here.” Fake tears are wiped from sun kissed cheeks, Bonzo and Jonesy hiding their smirks beneath their hands. Jimmy, who had been tasked with the making of the coveted coffee, looks over at the woman, chuckling softly.

“Well, blondie, if we had something special you’d have known that I need coffee in the morning to function,” she takes the steaming mug that the guitarist hands over, and takes a sip, a dreamy look on her face, “Jimmy is automatically the best out of all of you. He can make a great cup of coffee, and that’s enough for me.”

“Sure, that’s why he’s your favourite…”

“What was that, Bonzo?”

“...”

“Exactly what I thought.”

“Note to self: don’t talk to Layla before morning coffee. Got it.”

“Finally, you’re learning!”

The sound of footsteps approaching punctuates the end of the conversation, and Peter Grant rounds the corner, smiling ear to ear. Spotting Layla in the mix of his boys, Peter sends her an amicable wink, which earns him a grin in return.

“Good, you’re all here. Layla, are you all packed, dear?”

“Yep, all packed.”

“Wonderful. Our plane is due in just a few hours, so we’ll stop by your flat on the way. Next stop: Netherlands.”

Cheers sound from around the studio as the excitement for the upcoming tour ramps up. Peter silences the group, laughing, a tell-tale smirk settled on his lips.

“I must say… I think you’ll all find the ride there quite enjoyable. Even you, Pagey.”

----------

“A private jet?!”

“Her name is the Starship, but we’re accepting suggestions if you have a better idea.”

“Peter… This is…”

“Didn’t think it was possible to make the birdie speechless, I only know one person who can,” Bonzo meets Jimmy’s eyes then, a blush rising on the latter’s pale face. “Good job, Grant.”

“How did you even afford something like this?”

“My dear, I did mention that this was a very famous band, did I not?”

“Well, yeah, but… I was expecting like… The Black Keys level of popularity, not like, One Direction.”

“... Who?”

Layla catches Jonesy’s gaze, and when the man shakes his head minutely, eyes wide, she knows she messed up. Shit.

“Uh… Exactly! You guys are good, sure, but I thought you guys would be like… more underground, or something.”

Good save.

“Little dove, we’re like… one of the most popular bands in the world at the moment. You know, you really did pick a good day to almost get a concussion. Who knew that our Mr. Grant would be there?”

“Oh god… Boys… what if she had been snatched up by The Rolling Stones instead?”

“I have heard that Keith Richards has been getting all the women lately…” Jimmy says, hand moving to rub at his arm in mock anxiety, callused fingers catching ever-so-slightly on the lush green silk of his shirt. The mischief written all over his face exposed the ruse.

“Okay,” Layla starts, a smirk growing on her face in anticipation, “As much as I actively avoid saying it… you guys are pretty great. I’m glad I met all of you, and I won’t leave you for the Rolling Stones. How was that?”

“Acceptable.”

“Very sorry to interrupt this lovely moment, but the Starship awaits.” Peter says, smiling sheepishly at his intrusion, hand raised to show the majesty of the plane before them.

Piling into the aircraft, Layla is met with sleek silver and dark upholstery, yet another inkling as to how famous the boys really were. Strolling through the aircraft, Layla is stunned by the presence of a fully stocked bar, expensive spirits gleaming in the waning morning light. Walking to the comfortable sitting area, she gapes at the beautiful fireplace to her left.

“Is that safe?” she mutters under her breath, eyes wide as saucers, amazed at the level of luxury. This jet is more expensive than anything she’s ever seen, and she gets to experience it with her boys. As much as she’d like to return home, to her own time, this is a pretty great experience.

A sudden tap on the shoulder of the woman in question snaps her out of her thoughts, and, finally raising her eyes to spot the offender, she is greeted by the handsome face of Jimmy Page staring right back at her.

“Hey, petal. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Well…,” Layla jokes, giggling when she spots the hesitant look on the man’s face. “I’m just kidding, Jim. Of course, take a seat!”

Plopping down onto the couch beside her, the guitarist turns his body to face Layla, his full attention on the young woman beside him. Knee to knee with him, Layla can just barely smell the expensive cologne the man wears, mingling with the scent she now associates with the man: light accents of pine and citrus infused with warm, heady tobacco. Layla looks up at Jimmy then, and is struck by his beauty. His ebony ringlets fall to his shoulder, and, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the open plane windows, gives the impression of holiness. A sprinkling of subtle freckles look like stars falling across his cherubic face, and his eyelashes frame his perpetually tired eyes like a precious work of art. His eyes, a deep vivid emerald that she could get lost in forever, search the woman’s face, and it is when she looks down to study his angelic lips that she sees he is trying to speak to her.

“Earth to Layla,” Jimmy says, smiling shyly once he realizes that Layla was staring. He’s not as used to this silent reverence as he had expected. “Hello, is anybody in there?”

Shaking herself out of her reverie with a nod of her head, chestnut curls bouncing with the movement.

“Sorry, got a bit…. distracted… What were you saying, Jimmy?”

“I could tell, petal,” Jimmy scoffs, not unkindly, and Layla can see a pink tinge rising on his cheeks. “I was just wondering how you were doing. I mean, with everything that’s happened, of course.”

“You’re sweet, Jim. I’m… doing much better than I had expected,” Layla says, eyes softening as they roam over the worried face of the man next to her. “I woke up after the accident and thought I was done for, and then I met Peter, and… you, and the boys, and you were all so incredibly kind to me. I’m still trying to find a way to repay you guys.”

Her eyes stray from his face, then, to meet her shoes, preparing herself for what she is about to express.

“I know I can be too sarcastic, and I hold my cards too close to my chest, but I really do appreciate all of you. Even if I don’t always say it.”

Layla lays her hand on his then, looking into his eyes earnestly. Placing his own hand on top of hers, warmth seeping from one to the other, he shakes his head vehemently.

“Petal, you’re not some kind of burden that was left outside our door. I’m… We are glad we found you when we did. You’re not going to get rid of us that easily, Layla.”

“Damn, that was my goal.”

“I knew it. There’s another talented, devilishly handsome band you’re affiliated with, isn't there?”

“Jimmy, how do I say this… I’m so sorry. It was Keith Richards. I was lying to you guys earlier.”

“Just as long as it wasn’t Jeff Beck, or I’d have to have a talk with him.”

Smirks grow slowly on their faces, and they let out twin giggles, unconsciously drifting closer to one another. Their laughter soon fades, and they are left enraptured with each other once again, eyes never straying from their gaze on the other. Finally, Jimmy breaks the eye contact between them with a forced cough, and the pair turn away, hands still clasped absentmindedly.

Layla chances a look at the guitarist, who is apparently set on never looking at her again. Noticing how their hands are still interlocked, she gives his a light squeeze, and he looks over once more.

“Jimmy, I just… I really do want to thank you. For checking up on me, and for making me laugh, and just… Thank you.”

“Layla, it’s my pleasure,” Jimmy says, reaching a faintly shaking hand to push back a stray curl that had fallen in the woman’s face. “I care about you, and I want you to be happy. If I can make that happen for you, then I’m going to do it.”

Speechless, Layla can only squeeze his hand once more. Finally noticing the slight tremors that run through it, she looks up at Jimmy, whose jaw is clenched tightly, tension clear on his face.

“Jim, are you alright? Your hands are shaking…”

“Oh, I’m fine, petal. I just get a bit nervous on planes is all. It’ll pass.”

An idea comes to Layla then, and she stretches out her legs, shifting forward once more.

“Put your head in my lap and sleep through it, so you won’t be a bundle of nerves the whole time.”

“Layla, it really is fine—”

“Jimmy, just do it. You’ll never relax otherwise.”

“...Fine.”

Jimmy’s head comfortably placed on her lap, Layla threads her fingers through the tastefully messy curls, and, minutes later, Jimmy is out like a light. Satisfied, she leans back, hand still buried deep in the raven locks, and dozes off as well. The pair sleep on, oblivious to the snickering of the rest of the band, and the shutter click of Robert’s camera.

----------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)

#led zeppelin #led zeppelin fanfic #jimmy page #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #classic rock fanfic #only the black rose

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